Prologue
The Crawford Street Mansion was quiet—too quiet—in the fallout of the latest averted apocalypse. The world was safe again—for the time being. The residents of Sunnydale slept soundly in their beds, unaware of how close they had come to the end, only a handful aware that something had happened. A watcher sat in his apartment, downing glasses of brandy while elsewhere some teenagers tossed and turned in their beds, trying to keep the faith in their friend—the redhead a bit more sedate in her hospital room due to her medication. A mother sat up watching the clock on the mantle.
Back in the mansion, two warriors were suffering from the aftermath. The bleached vampire sat in the corner hugging his knees with his eyes locked on the crumpled blonde in the middle of the room, lying there in a growing pool of blood. The stone statue stood as a silent observer.
Moments Before
Angelus was on his knees before Buffy after a ferocious fight between the Slayer and vampire. He looked up at her with smoldering hate before his features went slack. His eyes glowed briefly, but Buffy kept her sword held high as she watched warily. Behind him, the portal continued to grow, pulling at their hair and clothes.
“B-Buffy?” he asked hoarsely, as if coming out of a deep sleep.
Her brows furrowed for a moment then her expression hardened. This could be just another ploy to get her to drop her guard and she needed to close the portal before it sucked the world in. Biting her lip, she made a decision that was surprisingly not as hard to make as she would have thought a couple months ago. No, not after everything he had done to her and her friends, making her think she was to blame for it all. That “moment of happiness” had required two people. He carried just as much blame for that as she did, probably more considering his two centuries of experience.
That realization made it very easy to bring down the sword in an arc that removed his head cleanly. His shocked expression was the last thing she saw as he dissolved into dust and was sucked up in the portal, closing it with a final blast that knocked her off her feet and sent the sword skittering across the floor.
Buffy barely had a moment to try to regain her breath when a sharp cry pierced the room. Looking up, she scarcely had time to comprehend what was happening before Drusilla attacked her. The crazed vampiress kicked at her viciously and stomped on her limbs, breaking the slayer’s arm and snapping at least a few ribs.
******
As per his agreement with the Slayer, Spike had been taking his dark princess the hell out of dodge while Buffy took care of his wanker of a Grand-Sire. Just as he was getting Dru into the car, she came to and delivered a powerful kick to his head that had him seeing stars for a moment. By the time they returned to the heavens, she had run back into the mansion.
He had rushed after her to see that while at least Acathla’s destruction had been averted, his sire was now attacking Buffy. Drusilla raised the sword she had picked up from where it had fallen and stabbed at the Slayer, and then she brought it up as if to do it again. Something came over him and he didn’t take the time to analyze it as he grabbed a spear from the wall. There was just something about the scene that enraged his demon and before he fully comprehended the action, the dust of his sire was settling to over the injured Slayer.
A sudden sob tore from him at the loss and he fell to his knees, scrambling over to the corner where he began rocking as the adrenaline ebbed in the wake of the fight. What had he done? Why? Why did he do it?
Now he was all alone in the world. His companion of over a century was gone. By his hand. His sire was gone. His demon even surprisingly mourned the poof, because with him still undead he would have had some family, at least. Now, he had nothing. Nothing at all. There was no reason for him to survive.
******
A soft, feminine groan broke the silence. The Slayer was going to die without medical attention.
This was not readily apparent to the vampire as he remained lost in his grief. He was alone. All alone. The man didn’t have the will to go on and would have gladly stayed right in that spot until he wasted away. The demon, however, was not as ready to stop fighting for its existence and assumed control.
The now feral vampire sat up straighter and blue eyes turned gold as they looked towards the girl lying in the center of the room. His nostrils flared at the scent of the powerful blood.
Slayer.
He crept closer and nudged her with a hand, curled slightly like a paw. The responding groan caused him to back up, but at least he knew the girl was still alive. He looked at her curiously as he momentarily debated eating her, but suddenly the demon had a better idea.
Sniffing at the Slayer, Spike scooped her up carefully and made his way out of the room in search of one of the bedrooms where he gently laid her down on the bed. His demon wanted her to be his new family—to keep her. It even figured that by mating with her—once she was healthy—they could start a whole new line. A better line. It was the age old continuation of the species—the primal urge that was as old as life.
Her clothes were carefully removed so that he could inspect her injuries. The stab wound was the worst, but thankfully had missed any vital organs as Drusilla hadn’t stabbed deeply. Buffy also had some broken ribs and her arm was lying at an odd angle. The demon knew enough instinctively to do a simple splint—though he didn’t know that’s what it was—to the arm with a bed post it broke off before bending to lick at the blood on her.
Yellow eyes rolled back at the taste of the blood considered the gourmet blood of the demon world, but his plans kept him from going for anything fresher. If he drank any more he would have to turn her and then he wouldn’t be able to get her to bear his offspring. Before he could mate with her, he would have to nurse her back to health and get her strong again.
He couldn’t feed from her or act on his sudden arousal, but he couldn’t stop himself from touching her. He continued to lick at her wounds while his hand stroked her side with odd gentleness. Now and then he paused to nuzzle at her, inhaling her scent and seeming to take the time to savour it as he would her blood.
It didn’t take long before he sensed the Slayer begin to rouse again. He didn’t stop his work, feeling it was the most natural thing in the world to tend to his injured mate-to-be.
Buffy didn’t exactly see it that way upon first awaking. The scene resembled something out of one of her worst nightmares. She took one look at the feral vampire lapping at her bloody wounds and gave an ear piercing scream.
Tbc...