CHAPTER ONE

--

Mahtiki, or the Great Mahtiki as some call him, stared into his watch basin. Reaching into his golden robes he pulled out a long, slender rod that shone as though made of pure sunlight. Grasping the handle with a steady yet practiced grip Mahtiki gently prodded the silvery liquid swirling within the basin. A soft glowing light immediately encased the rod and inched up to touch Mahtiki’s fingertips. The demigod’s eyes fluttered shut, his lips curled into a satisfied smile as the light traveled further to cover his entire hand. The power was warm and welcoming; it greeted him like an old and dear friend.

Mahtiki slightly relaxed the grip of his hand holding the rod. He let the power direct him. It tugged at his hand, pulling him in seemingly endless directions. It stopped momentarily at brief moments, but it quickly began moving again as though changing its mind. The demigod waited patiently. He’d been scrying into his watch basin for too many years to have any doubts about the abilities of his seeing stick.

The seeing stick stopped suddenly. Mahtiki waited a moment, but when it didn’t move again he opened his eyes. With an agile grace belying his ancient years he leaned forward and very carefully slipped the rod out of the liquid. At the tip of the seeing stick a long, silver string had attached itself. Mahtiki patiently kept pulling until the liquid string broke off. The demigod twirled the seeing stick in the air above the watch basin and the silver string of liquid gathered in on itself into a palm sized ball. Mahtiki continued to twirl it with a knowledgeable grace.

The liquid began to thicken and expand. Palm size became two feet, then four feet. It stretched into a thin membrane and hung in the air taut with tension. Mahtiki continued without fault to twist his seeing stick, his eyes taking in everything change.

Color flickered across the now six foot tightly drawn liquid. Mahtiki’s movement paused.

Flick, flick, flick.

Color melted into a moving picture. Mahtiki put down his seeing stick with a pleased smile. His smiled only broadened when he took in the figured in the moving picture.

The slayer. How very interesting. He watched her curiously. He knew of slayers, dealt with a couple of them in the distant past, but unless his mind was proving faulty (which he highly doubted) he’d never seen one quite like this one. She was absolutely marvelous, more powerful than any slayer he’d ever seen before. Listening in he chuckled delightedly; she was a spitfire too.

Mahtiki leaned closer, his eyes riveted to the scene playing out before him. How very, very interesting. It was incredible - amazing. Was it really possible? Mahtiki blinked then looked again. It had to be true. He knew it was true. How completely and utterly unexpected. Mahtiki wondered briefly if Dardiana had a hand in it, but he pushed the thought aside. He frowned watching the scene play out in the basin.

Well, this wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all. Mahtiki grabbed up his seeing stick. He knew what to do. Just a little push, a little changing. It was quite simple really. He flicked his seeing stick at the liquid picture and let it fall and dissolve back into the watch basin. Spinning his seeing stick in a decisive movement the demigod set to work.

-

His dark princess, bless her little twisted heart, was even more incoherent than usual. Where Spike would have, in the past, delighted in deciphering every part of his black goddess’s seemingly incomprehensible mutterings, he found himself more annoyed than intrigued.

Drusilla’s eyes were wide. “Miss Edith does not want to play. She says the lilies have sprung and have clogged her throat with frogs.”

Spike sighed, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette. “That’s nice, pet.”

She grabbed at his arm, catching him with cool, spider-like fingers. Though her grip was steady, her eyes were hazy and disorientated. “My prince mustn’t follow the yellow brick road. All it will lead to is aches and dead flowers.”

“Been watchin’ the Wizard of Oz again, love?”

Drusilla’s bottom lip trembled, her eyes shining.

“Oi, pet, none of that,” Spike said, tenderly wiping away an errant single tear that escaped.

Drusilla suddenly frowned at him, pushing his hand away. “No cookies for bad little boys. Only for good boys who know mummy’s milk is the sweetest.”

Spike merely raised an eyebrow, too used to Drusilla’s sudden mood swings to be bothered by it.

When interpreted correctly Spike knew Drusilla’s prophetic ability was not something to scoff at. Spike could remember many occasions where even Darla and Angelus had used her hidden meanings as guidance (such as in 1891, Spike remembered fondly, when Drusilla’s ability saved the Aurelius family from an angry mob). But frankly, that night Spike couldn’t have cared less if she had been spouting prophecies about a dozen virgins coming to lay themselves for sacrifice at his feet.

He was feeling antsy. Plans were … not exactly going, well, according to plan. The slayer was proving to be a bit more difficult than he’d previously considered. And not to mention bloody Peaches and his soul-filled existence. His grandsire making moon eyes at the slayer was bloody blasphemy if anyone asked him. Thinking about it made Spike shudder in revulsion. Sure, he could appreciate a slayer for what they were: genetically engineered fighters. However, they had, in his past two experiences, proven to be adequate but slightly disappointing adversaries.

He could remember when he first heard of the slayer. It was 1882 and he was sitting alone in a grungy Spanish bar. He couldn’t recall where his family was exactly, likely making use of the whorehouse Angelus had admired when they had arrived in Cordoba a few nights earlier. Sipping on the local cerveza his ears picked up a conversation a couple tables away. A couple demons were whispering about a superhuman. A human being that had the strength of a hundred vampires. A human being that was created to destroy anything that was a threat to humanity. He was intrigued. He learned as much as he could about slayers and it soon became an obsession.

Up until he had his fight with his first slayer Spike had held a preconceived notion that slayers were a nearly indestructible creature. He knew the slayer was human and a woman, but that mattered nothing to him. He’d watched Darla and Drusilla giggle with homicidal glee while gutting and torturing a family of ten. Any misconceived idea he held about the fragility of women before Drusilla changed him had been fully eradicated. In his longing for fighting a slayer, he expected fireworks - a battle to end all battles. To truly test his limits against the infamous master fighter kept him occupied for decades. When he defeated his first slayer during the rebellion he thought perhaps it was a fluke that she wasn’t as strong as he had expected. However, after snapping the neck of his second slayer in New York his beliefs in the practically immortal slayer took a severe blow. Not that the second slayer had been an easy kill, she certainly hadn’t. She was full of fire and cleverness, but she burned too quickly.

In all honesty he felt cheated. Not that he wanted to be dust. But through the worst of Angelus he had lived and breathed the legend of the slayer; after his grandsire left it had become more than an obsession for him. It was (after Drusilla of course) his reason for continuing his existence. After the disappointment of the second slayer, and Drusilla’s illness, he had mostly given up on the slayer. He wouldn’t say he’d given up on it forever, but the drive he once had for it was severely diminished. But still, somewhere deep down he knew he would never be truly satisfied until he found that nearly indestructible mythical fighter.

Spike stood up, tucking his lighter into his duster. “Be back in a bit, pet.” Leaning down he kissed Drusilla’s brow, but she was too far gone in pixie dust to notice.

Leaving the factory he breathed in deeply and let the needless air pour out slowly. It was a warm night. He felt a deep need for a spot of violence. It itched between his shoulder blades making him stalk forward at a hurried pace. He followed his nose finding himself drawn to the alluring scent of blood, sex, lust, and everything in between.

He was quick to find himself in front of the Bronze. He smirked. Figures. He could sense them all in there: humans filled with desperation and hopelessness, just waiting to be plucked. Licking his lips he was about to step inside when he felt a familiar twinge at the back of his skull. Slayer. He snarled, baring his sharpened teeth slightly. But then he smiled to himself; he had been looking for a fight, hadn’t he? Who better to scratch that itch than the slayer herself?

Spike crossed the street and melted into the shadows to wait for her. Maybe catch her off guard, scare her a little. His demon giggled in anticipation.

A second later he felt something else. Someone else. The twinge this time was more familiar, and sharper. Grandsire. Angelus was with her. Spike felt a moment of indecisiveness. Even though he knew that logically his grandsire was no longer Angelus, the older vampire’s presence was still able to strike fear in the youngest Aurelius where no one else could. Spike’s years of torture and forced submissiveness stamped into him a fear that the blonde vampire was certain would never completely go away. Spike shook himself hard mentally feeling thoroughly disgusted with himself. He wasn’t that Spike anymore. He was not that vampire that was more William than Spike.

After Angelus had left sporting his shiny new soul, Spike had felt, among many other emotions, extremely confused and wrong-footed. Decades after Angelus left Spike had been able to look back and realize (and he was loathe to admit it) that he had felt very lost when his grandsire left. Yes, he had been relieved that his main torturer was gone, but in a very unhealthy, twisted way he had been … hurt. Not that he regretted the ponce leaving, surely. What had hurt was that Angelus had left his family so easily. They had depended on him greatly … and he left as though they meant nothing. Spike had felt rejected, and abandoned.

It was sick. A disgusting form of Stockholm syndrome. But calling it sick didn’t make it any less the truth. It took many years before Spike could reconcile that Angelus was never truly returning. Hurt turned into anger, anger into hate.

Minutes later they appeared along with a couple of the slayer’s friends. Spike watched as the slayer’s two friends entered the club, but his grandsire and the slayer remained outside talking in low tones. Spike strained to hear, but was frustrated when they were talking quietly enough that he couldn’t. The slayer stood on her tip-toes, planting a soft kiss on Angelus’ mouth before they slipped inside.

Spike briefly considered following them into the Bronze but thought better of it. Not that he was a coward. He was anything but that. But he also wasn’t stupid. He had great confidence in his vampiric abilities, but him against a slayer and his grandsire alone? He might be masochistic, but he certainly wasn’t suicidal.

Whistling a little jaunty tune he walked away from the Bronze deciding to look for some game. Only a couple minutes later Spike sniffed the air. Blood. Fresh blood. He grinned around his incisors. Following the scent he weaved through back alleys, not at all concerned how long it was taking to track the source of blood. Turning onto a particularly darker alleyway Spike stopped abruptly. Four demons wearing brown robes stood in the alley, each looked at Spike with expectancy.

Eyeing them warily Spike sniffed the air. “Allo, mates. Seen a little wounded birdie ‘round here?”

“You’re him?” The one on the far left asked.

Spike raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“The vampire,” The same demon said.

“That I am,” Spike said dryly. “Good on you.”

“You are the vampire named Spike?”

Spike looked at the demon sharply. “And if I am?”

The demon on the far right took over. “Our master has a challenge for you. Do you accept?”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “What are you gettin’ at, twitchy?”

The demon’s looked at each other as though uncertain of how to continue. The demon next to the far left one said, “Our master wishes you to accept his challenge. Do you accept?”

“I heard that the first time, you berk. What kinda challenge?” Spike narrowed his eyes, studying the demons speculatively. “Your master, eh? Does he wanna fight me for mastery of Sunnyhell? Thas it isn’t it? A vamp wants to usurp my command. Bleeding hell. Where’s this poser? Can’t face me, gotta send the minions to do the dirty work, eh?”

Not rising to his insults the demon only repeated, “Do you accept the challenge?”

Spike sniffed the air again. “One mo’. Where’s the kill, then?”

“Kill?”

“No lies now. I can smell it. Vamp as you so astutely pointed out, yeah.”

“Ah,” said the demon on the left. “We had to entice you away from prying eyes. We thought it the best way. It is a spell - nothing more.” He waved a hand and the smell disappeared.

“Dirty pool. Lucky you didn’t get a flock of vamps here.”

“The spell was specially made for you. Only you.”

“Well, that’s right creepy, that is.”

“Do you accept the challenge?”

Spike scowled. “Bleeding right I do! I don’t just sit around letting any vamp – or demon! – think they can take what I rightfully earned. Okay, so I kinda lied and cheated to get the gig, but honestly who doesn’t? I got rules, yeah. And when I say - ” Spike suddenly gasped, grabbing at his chest. It burned. It burned. “Fuck!” He ripped off his duster, then his shirt and tried to distinguish the spontaneous fire. But there was no fire. At least none he could see. He tried to appeal for help from the demons but he found he couldn’t speak.

The demon that had spoken to him first looked down at Spike with pitiless eyes. “You’ve accepted. So it shall be.” Then they disappeared into thin air, leaving Spike alone in the alley.

Falling to his knees Spike braced his hands on the ground in front of him. Taking long keening breaths he let out a whimpered sob. He’d never felt anything like this before. Never. It was worse than crosses, holy water, or any other torture he could think of. It burned him thorough and thorough. The only coherent thought he could muster was that he should be burning into ash but he wasn’t. He wished he was. Death would mean peace from the fire that suffused him; saturated him to his very bones. He scratched at his chest leaving long gashes from his fingernails where strips on skin shredded off. But he didn’t feel it. All he could feel was the fire expanding from his chest into the rest of his body.

He knew he was dying. Really dying. He could feel the burn spread to his throat and down to his toes. It was continuous and excruciating. Every fiber in his body screamed in agony. He was dying, and the moment he passed out he welcomed the darkness.

--

CHAPTER TWO

--
Spike woke with an agonized groan as the sun was rising. He thought a distinct, ‘bugger me’, then dragged himself as far as he could – behind the nearest dumpster – to shield his very sensitive vampire flesh from dusting. Once in the minimal shade, and not caring about the distinct stench of urine, he promptly passed out again.

A few hours after sunset Spike woke slowly, his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as the fogginess between unconsciousness and wakefulness left him. He didn’t move at first, taking in his surroundings. His memories came back sluggishly. He tried to raise his head but quickly let it drop back to the ground with an unhealthy smack. The agonizing burning was gone but left in its wake was an aching pain that clawed throughout his whole body, leaving no spot of respite. He breathed in a sharp breath between his clenched teeth. Fuck he hurt. He felt like he’d been beaten within an inch of his unlife and then some more.

He lay on the hard cement for over a half hour before he attempted to sit up. Spike was, after all, no stranger to pain. In his fledging years Spike realized very quickly that when one lived under the reign of Angelus one would have to learn very quickly how to compartmentalize pain so he wouldn’t go mad.

Very slowly and carefully he grabbed onto the side of the dumpster and pulled himself up into a sitting position. His breath came in quick gasps as pain raced through his joints. Breathing, while a useless commodity to vampires, had always managed to soothe Spike in moments of high emotion – such as extensive pain. He leaned back into the wall behind him and closed his eyes, willing his breathing to become long and measured.

A moment later Spike’s eyes snapped open. What the buggering hell …?

His demon was snarling. Spike could feel its raw, red hot rage. Consequently, Spike felt a familiar sweet rush of adrenaline but he didn’t know why his demon was so furious. Puzzled, Spike looked up and down the alley but he found it empty except for himself. His demon howled as Spike tried to comprehend why …

Tap, tap, tap.

Spike froze, his breathing stilled. His demon roared in anguish.

Tap, tap, tap.

He could feel something. Heavy. In his chest. Something he hadn’t realized was there because the pain had numbed him to everything else. Something that certainly hadn’t been there last night.

As though it had been waiting for that moment when he acknowledged it, Spike felt it smile. Smile? He frowned. What the bleeding hell was going on here? He focused on the weight and felt it hum with pleasure at the attention. His demon keened in discontentment. Pushing the demon back, Spike concentrated inwardly, he mentally pressed against the foreign weight. It felt warm, welcoming. Without thinking he pressed more of himself against it. It – whatever it was – cuddled against him like a warm blanket. It felt wonderful. Like home.

Spike ripped himself away from it. He instantly missed the loss of warmth and he also felt its great displeasure and hurt at being so suddenly pushed away. He shook his head then winced at the movement. What the hell had those demons done to him?

He felt the warm weight tentatively reach out to him again, but he hurriedly set up a mental block, not letting it past. He felt it recoil in confusion and Spike immediately felt guilty.

Guilty? What?

Spike never felt guilty. Not ever. He’d lived (or unlived if you wanted to get technical) over a century promoting mayhem and pain and death (and not always in that order). He’d bathed in the blood of countless victims and delighted in it. Not once had he ever felt a twinge of conscience. He was a vampire and thus acted accordingly.

But he couldn’t deny the gnawing guilt lying in his belly. It was a strange nauseating feeling.

What the bleeding hell happened?

--

It was near sunrise when Spike fell through the front door of the factory and collapsed on the front landing. Groaning and swearing viciously he struggled to stand up again.

“My poor, sweet William.”

Spike looked up at Drusilla. She stared down at him with eyes brimming full of tears. Her voice was a mere whisper, “I warned my dark prince. But no, he followed the road in search of answers.”

Spike stood shakily leaning against the wall. “Give a hand, pet?”

The vampires clutched at her doll. “I fear you are lost, my William. I do not think I can save you.”

Exhausted, Spike sighed deeply. “All you gotta do is help me to bed, love.”

Drusilla hesitantly stretched out a hand towards him then quickly grabbed it back. “Ooh … burns it does.”

Spike, feeling his consciousness slipping from him, mumbled, “Dru … please …”

Before he passed out he heard her murmur, “My William was always full of stars.”

--

Later, when he woke in the bed he and Drusilla shared, he opened his eyes to find Drusilla staring at him unblinkingly. Her eyes were wide and dark, but she didn’t seem to notice he had regained consciousness.

Spike’s stomach grumbled in hunger. “Pet?” His voice was scratchy and strained.

“How shiny you are. Sparkling, like snow on a summer day.”

Spike cautiously sat up, pleased when he only felt mild discomfort at the movement. “Shiny, love?”

She reached out towards his chest, but stopped her hand a breath away. Her eyes held awed curiosity. “It shines like the sun but yet it does not burn.”

Spike stilled. He had almost forgotten about the weight in his chest. Once he thought about it he felt it expand its warmth. Alarmed, Spike mentally blocked it off. It balked at his mental barrier backing off with puzzled unhappiness. He studiously ignored that he was interpreting emotions of a foreign weight in his chest. “You can see … whatever it is, pet?”

“Scorches my eyelids, it does.”

Spike licked his lips. “What is it, Dru?”

Drusilla sat back, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment. “The stars natter at me. Many different paths, but only one to take. Which one. Which one. I do not know.” She brought a hand up to his head and brushed away a few blonde curls. “My poor prince.”

Spike tried to pick the meaning behind her cryptic words but quickly gave up when the effort brought a sharp pain behind his eyes. Sighing, Spike leaned his head against the headboard. “Paths, pet?”

“Stars. My prince full of stars. Burning so bright. So bright.” She watched him with troubled eyes. “The wheels turn. The stars whisper their secrets and his princess knows. She knows.”

“What’s this, pet? Did the demons put a hex on me?”

Drusilla only shook her head empathetically, tears streaming down her cheeks. Abruptly she stood, backing away from the bed.

“Where are you going, Dru?”

A choked sob was his only response.

Spike tried to stand but he fell back onto the bed before his feet touched the floor. The pain that had felt mild only a moment before seemed to return ten-fold. Groaning he whimpered out to Drusilla. But she was already gone.

--

“You haven’t gone to Buffy with this, have you?”

Angel shook his head. “I thought I’d let you know first. See what your take on it is.”

Giles tipped back his tumbler swallowing the last finger of scotch. “I think we should leave it at that for right now. No need to worry her over something that might not even happen.”

Angel studied the watcher for a moment. “It’s not a question of if, Giles.”

Giles looked up at the vampire, an eyebrow raised. “You don’t even know what it means.”

Angel looked away. “I may not know exactly what it means. But I know it’s bad.”

“All you’ve told me is that you’ve ‘sensed’ something through your vampire line. You don’t know what it is. Forgive me for being skeptical.”

“You don’t understand. After I got my soul I cut off my connection from them. I haven’t felt or sensed anything in over a century. I don’t know why, or how, but that connection was crossed. The only reason I can think of is that they’re planning something terrible.”

Giles reiterated mildly, “But you don’t know what that something is.”

Angel raked a hand through his hair. “No, I don’t. But Giles, what I felt wasn’t like anything I’ve felt through my line before.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just an accident on your part? Maybe the connection wasn’t as cut as you thought?”

Angel’s jaw hardened. “I will always have a connection to them; there is no way around that except death. But it was nothing like that. I know they’re up to something.”

“Are you positive?”

“This was not a mistake on my part.” Angel replied stubbornly.

Giles sighed. “Okay, fine. Let’s say you’re right. What can I do about it?”

Angel paused a moment. “At the moment - nothing. At least until either something happens or I figure out what’s going on. I thought you’d want to know.”

“And I appreciate it.” Giles stood. “And if you don’t mind, beings of the living variety usually sleep at this time.”

Before closing his front door Giles softly called out to the vampire. Angel looked back with a questioning glance.

“Let’s keep this from Buffy for the time being. At least until we have for information.”

Angel’s jaw tightened slightly, but his response was a single nod.

--

Buffy grabbed the vampire by the waist and flipped him over her head. In a flash she had a stake out and plunged into the vampire’s chest. Wiping dust off her hands she grimaced at the smears on her pants.

“Major ew.”

“Buffy.”

The vampire slayer jumped. Clutching a hand to her chest she turned. “God, Angel. You scared me.”

Angel looked at her with sorrowful eyes. “Sorry.”

Buffy waved her index finger. “Didn’t we have a talk about this stalking thing?”

“I don’t stalk … I follow at a leisurely pace.”

Buffy smiled impishly. “I forgive you.” She leaned in and kissed him. He smiled down at her briefly before matching his stride to hers. Two fledglings later Buffy looked up at Angel curiously.

“Are you okay?”

Angel glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

“You’re all with the tense-ness.”

He looked away. “I’m fine.”

“Angel …”

Angel sighed. “It’s nothing, Buffy. Really. Don’t worry about it.”

Buffy chewed her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. “You can tell me what’s wrong.”

“Buffy,” Angel said sharply.

Buffy threw up her hands. “Fine. Geez, you don’t have to get pissed off.”

“No,” he pointed behind her, “vampires.”

A couple hours later found Buffy walking home alone. Angel begged off because he had something secret to do. Not that he said it was secret, but with all his evasiveness he might as well have. Buffy thought he really just wanted to get away from her so she wouldn’t start asking him more questions.

It’s not that she minded that Angel kept some things from her – she knew everyone had their secrets, but sometimes … sometimes …

Buffy stopped outside her bedroom window and sighed. Climbing up the familiar, sturdy tree she glided back the well-oiled window and slid into her room soundlessly. She made quick work of getting ready for bed. Slipping between her cool sheets Buffy turned to face her window. The leaves on her tree fluttered in the light wind creating dancing shadows across her bedroom floor.

--

Chapter Three

--

It was late afternoon when Spike awoke. As his senses sharpened, he could feel the sun slipping past the horizon. He gingerly sat up and blessed his vampiric healing when his body barely protested at being moved. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and called out to Drusilla. When he received no response, he sniffed the air. He could smell her, but her scent was faint. She’d been gone for over a day.

Spike’s face twisted into a small snarl. Bloody Drusilla had left him like some untried fledgling. Muttering to himself, he stood. Spike stumbled slightly, and leaned against the wall for support. While accelerated healing was a wonderful perk of vampirism, it couldn’t make up for the fact that he hadn’t fed in several days. His stomach’s loud protestation reinforced this fact, and forced him to put hunting down his black goddess on the back burner. First he needed to feed.

--

Spike pushed the girl away harshly. She stared up at him with tear streaked cheeks and an unmarred neck.

“What the bleedin’ hell is happening to me?”

He couldn’t feed. He had had the girl in his clutches, his fangs poised at her throat, but he just couldn’t slide them into her. Her seductive, delicious blood pumped under her fragile skin, just waiting for him to bite into her like a ripe peach - but he couldn’t do it. He felt bad. Guilty. He didn’t want to harm the innocent girl.

Bloody hell.

Since when did he care about innocents? Looking down at the girl, he licked his lips. He was starving; he needed blood. Drinking from a human, as Spike had done countless times before, should be easy. Grabbing the girl with superhuman speed, he plunged his fangs into her throat.

But he didn’t drink. He told himself to tug in a draught, but he couldn’t. Something inside wouldn’t let him. It wasn’t just the warm weight in his chest, though that was making its own disapproval known, it was something else within him. Something inside him that he couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard he tried.

Extracting his fangs, he backed away from the sobbing girl. He growled, his eyes flashing rage and confusion. He let out a bemused howl before he turned and fled.

--

Spike banged into the Sunnydale High School library. He had tried two more times to feed, but each time he hadn’t been able to go through with it. His desperation and confusion were rising. He needed answers.

And where better to find answers about demons and vampires than a Watcher?

The high school library was empty. On the threshold Spike paused momentarily. He needed information about the occult, about magic; subjects most schools seemed to consider taboo. The Watcher surely wouldn’t have left such literature out in the open for any student to come across, would he?

Spike roamed through the aisles. Minutes later he came across a magic / mythical beasts section. He raised a scarred eyebrow. Interesting.

Shortly, Spike had books covering the entire surface of one of the library tables. Not a half hour later he groaned in frustration, and threw one of the books at a wall. He’d found nothing that would help him. Everything was generic, or the information was more suggestion than definite fact. Perhaps the Watcher had not left the important texts available for just anyone to come across.

Spike cocked his head. He could hear footsteps. Lifting his head he sniffed. Watcher. Spike grinned.

--

Giles sipped his tea, the hot liquid sliding deliciously down his throat. Distractedly, he shifted the books he was holding in his arms. Balancing the books and tea with one arm, he pushed open the door to the library with the other.

Giles came to a stop on the foyer. Lines between his brows bunched together in confusion. He knew he hadn’t left any books out when he left earlier…

Walking further into the library, Giles looked at the texts spread across the table. Seeing that most of the books dealt with the occult, Giles’ first thought was that Willow must have been researching something. But wasn’t Willow at a mathletes meeting, or some such thing? Deep in thought, the Watcher failed to notice he wasn’t alone until a strong, pale hand reached out and grabbed him by the throat. The books Giles was holding dropped to the floor, and his hot tea spilt down his front.

“Good lord!” Giles choked out with surprise and pain.

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that mate. I mean, no. Pain is good. For you. I like giving humans pain. Grr.”

Giles twisted his head, trying to view his captor. “Spike!” he said incredulously.

Spike grinned nastily. “In the flesh.”

Giles paled, his lips forming a tight line. He tried to twist out of Spike’s grasp, managing to a sharp elbow into the vampire’s gut.

Spike smirked, unaffected. “Oi, now, Watcher. I appreciate the effort, but I’m not here to kill you.”

Giles stopped struggling. “You’re not?”

“No,” Spike confirmed. “Now, when I let you go, you be the good gent I know you are. No funny stuff. It will only cause you a lot of unnecessary pain.”

Giles hesitated. “Okay,” he said slowly. Spike immediately let him go. Giles ripped himself away. When several feet separated him from the vampire, the Watcher faced Spike with a cross in his hands.

Spike looked impressed. “Where’d you get that?”

“My pocket.”

“Convenient, that.”

“Indeed.” Giles shook his head, brandishing the cross. “Back, demon!”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Bleedin’ … didn’t I just say I wasn’t going to eat you?”

“Like I would trust a demon’s word,” Giles scoffed.

Spike darted forward, knocking the cross away. The Watcher dropped it with a yelp. Spike took a step back and watched Giles rub his arm. “Can’t we discuss this like gentlemen? I promise I won’t eat you.” Spike did the Boy Scout’s signal with a smirk. Then, narrowing his eyes, he glared at Giles. “If you stop trying to piss me off, that is. I am mighty hungry.”

Giles stared at the vampire, studying him. “What do you want?” he asked finally.

“Some information,” Spike said simply.

Giles blinked. “Information?”

“Yeah. I need some info on some demons.”

Interested in spite of himself, Giles asked, “What kind of demons?”

Spike shrugged. “Not sure, really.” He held up a hand, and continued, “They’re ‘bout yay tall. Ugly blighters with hanging skin and pointy ears. Smelled terrible. They got accents – a bit German, I’d wager. And … they have magic abilities. Curses and such.”

Giles narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “I have a couple of books I could look into.” He moved to walk away. Spike grabbed his arm.

“Where’re you going, mate?”

“My office,” Giles said, pointing.

Spike nodded. “Alright, but don’t get any smart ideas.” He followed Giles into the small office. The Watcher walked over to a bookcase full of large, old books and removed several fragile volumes. Spike leaned against the wall watching Giles’ every move. The Watcher flipped through a few pages, muttering quietly to himself.

“Well?” Spike asked impatiently.

Giles frowned at the vampire. “I’m not a bloody magic eight ball. You can’t come in here, shake me up, and expect answers right away. This takes time. This takes research.”

Spike growled, “Watch it, mate.”

“If you’re so impatient, why don’t you pull up a chair? Mind you be careful with these books.”

Spike grumbled a moment before doing as Giles suggested.

A couple of hours later they had flipped through half the books, and they had also finished half a bottle of scotch. An hour or so into the impromptu research session, Giles had pulled out the scotch and gruffly asked Spike if he wanted a glass. Spike, never one to turn down free liquor, was quick to accept the offer.

In the motion of pouring himself another glass of alcohol, Spike exclaimed, “That’s it!” He emphasized his words by stabbing a finger at the page Giles was reading. “Those are the demons!”

Giles pushed up his glasses. “They’re called Samduri demons.” He scanned the page before continuing. “Rather nasty fellows; they eat brains and such. They’re worshippers of a deity called Mahtiki. Ah, look at that. They’re hatched out of swan eggs. Fascinating.”

Spike nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes. Get on to the magic. Curses. What does it say ‘bout that?”

Giles ran his eyes down the page. “Ah, there we are.”

“Well? What is it?” Spike asked anxiously.

“They’re not magical per se, but more conduits of magic. If I’m reading this correctly, Samduri demons only gain magical or rather … supernatural powers from their god, Mahtiki.” Giles raised an eyebrow. “Mahtiki, it seems, is a god of souls. It’s not exactly clear, but I assume Samduri demons are Mahtiki’s earthly vessels … that Mahtiki gives them the ability to control souls. Or some such thing.” He paused, tapping his index finger to his lips. “I’m sure I’ve heard of Mahtiki before … I think I may have another book that mentions him.”

Spike stood suddenly, his chair spinning violently out behind him. Giles jumped at the movement, looking up at the vampire warily. Spike was beyond pale; a sick pallor coming to his cheeks. Words ran through his mind: Mahtiki. Soul. God of souls.

The warm weight preened. Spike looked inwardly. Soul? The warmth expanded. Spike gasped, and physically and mentally threw himself away from the warmth.

Spike stumbled into the wall, whispering “no” repeatedly.

“Are you alright, Spike?”

Without sparing the Watcher a glance, Spike tore out of the office.

--

Hunger, denial, rage, and confusion ripped at Spike. It was impossible. Absolutely impossible. A soul? Absolutely not. It was inconceivable. Absurd.

However, he couldn’t deny the foreign, warm feeling that now resided within his chest. But it couldn’t be possible. He wasn’t like the poof. He wasn’t suffering from overwhelming guilt; he wasn’t trying to repent for his past deeds. He didn’t feel remorse. If he had a soul, wouldn’t he be like his grandsire - aching with grief for being a cold-blooded killer for over a century, or some such rubbish? Why could he look back on his kills and conjure up feeling of nostalgia, rather than repulsion or regret? Sure, now he couldn’t kill because he was suddenly feeling compassion for his would-be victims … but if he had a soul, why didn’t he feel any regret for his past actions?

The only answer was that he didn’t have a soul.

But doubt niggled at him. And he knew of only one person - or rather one vampire - that would be able to tell him with certainty.

Spike knocked harshly on the door. A moment later it opened.

“Spike.”

“Grandsire.”

Angel’s human feature melted into hard ridges and sharp fangs. “What are you doing here?”

Spike swayed on his feet. His adrenaline rush was wearing off, and his hunger made it hard to concentrate. “I need to know what’s happened to me.”

Angel stared at his grandchilde for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “What?”

“Please … I need to know.”

Angel stared at him suspiciously. “What kind of game are you playing, Spike? Whatever it is, I’m not falling for it. I -”

Spike growled, his game face replacing his human features. “Shut up and look at me, you bloody moron!” His anger left him as quickly as it came. He stared at Angel, not caring if the older vampire could see the desperation in his eyes. “Can you sense anything? Anything that’s not supposed to … be.”

Grandsire and grandchilde, both in their demon faces, stared at each other. Angel blinked once, then twice. His eyes held Spike’s for several long moments as though searching for something. Angel’s eyes widened. Without realizing it, he reached out a hand towards the younger vampire.

“My god,” he breathed, awe coating his words, “You have a soul.”

The combination of stress, hunger, and every other emotion Spike had experienced in the last couple of days seemed to pile on him in that moment. He muttered, “Bloody hell” before passing out at his grandsire’s feet.

--

CHAPTER FOUR

--

“Absolutely extraordinary,” Giles murmured. “How is this even possible?”

“That’s why I called you,” Angel said.

Giles blinked, tearing his gaze away from the platinum blonde vampire lying unconscious on Angel’s couch. “Right, right,” he said distractedly. “It could be a curse, like yours. But this Mahtiki business doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Mahtiki?”

Giles looked up over the rim of his glasses. “A deity that deals in souls, apparently. Spike said he met up with a couple Samduri demons.” At Angel’s quizzical look he continued, “Samduri demons are worshippers of Mahtiki. It seems Mahtiki uses them as a sort of passage way into our realm.”

Angel’s eyes narrowed slightly. “So, what you’re saying is that a god … Mahtiki … gave Spike a soul?”

The Watcher shrugged. “At the moment, I cannot say anything for sure.”

Angel glanced at his grandchilde, then back at Giles, disbelief still evident in his eyes. “Why would a god do this?”

Giles sighed. “I really have no idea. I think I have a couple of books in the library that have more information. I know I’ve read of Mahtiki somewhere else …” he trailed off taking off his glasses and scrubbed them with the edge of his shirt.

Angel nodded absently, his gaze returning to the younger vampire. “Why Spike?” Giles looked up at him. “I mean, why would a god give Spike a soul?”

Giles slid his glasses back on. “That is a question that I very much want to know the answer to, also.”

Angel paused, thinking a moment before standing. “I think he might need more blood.”

Giles watched the older vampire move into the kitchen and take out a packet of blood from the fridge. Slitting it open, Angel poured the thick red liquid into a mug.

“Do you think this is what you sensed through your line?”

Angel put the mug into the microwave and started it. He thought a moment before replying, “It must have been.”

“Did you ever think this could have been the cause?”

“No. It never crossed my mind.”

Giles looked at him, curiosity shining in his eyes. “So, vampires of the same family can sense large events that happen to their members, but they don’t always know what the cause is?”

The microwave beeped and Angel took out the mug. “It’s not that simple. If a member of a vampire’s family were to die, they would know that immediately. But if something like this happens,” he motioned to Spike’s unconscious form, “the cause is not always clear through the line. It really depends on the relationship between the family members. Dru might have known, being his sire.” Angel stuck a straw into the mug. “If Spike had a mate, she would have probably known exactly what happened the moment he got the soul.”

Giles stared in fascination at Angel. “Spike doesn’t have a mate?”

Angel’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile. “Not for lack of trying.”

Giles opened his mouth to ask another question when a low groan came from the couch. Both Angel and Giles turned to Spike, and watched his eyes flutter open.

For a few moments Spike was disorientated. His brow crinkled in confusion as the last vestiges of sleep left him. Where was he? He turned his head, pinning his blue gaze on Giles and Angel. The events of the previous night flitted through his mind. He sat up, keeping his eyes on his grandsire and the Watcher.

“Are you feeling better?” Giles asked cautiously.

Spike ignored the question. He sniffed the air, his eyes locking on the mug Angel held. Angel, noticing his grandchilde’s stare, set it on the table in front of Spike. Spike eyed it warily, his nostrils flaring.

Angel arched an eyebrow. “We didn’t poison it. If we wanted to kill you, it would have been easier when you were unconscious.”

Needing no further prompting, Spike grabbed the mug. He sneered at the straw and tossed it on the table. Tipping the glass back, he took several long swallows. He wrinkled his nose at the taste. Coagulants. Of course Angel wouldn’t have anything on tap. Draining the glass, he licked his lips. His head was clearing, his vision sharpening.

Spike looked at the Watcher suspiciously. “What are you doin’ here?”

“Angel called me after you collapsed on his front step.” Giles studied Spike carefully. “He told me you had a soul.”

Spike flinched. The warm weight stretched out, licking his insides with feelings he didn’t want to decipher. He pushed it back. “Bollocks.”

Giles sat on the loveseat facing the couch. “Do you know what happened? How you got your soul? You mentioned the Samduri demons …”

Spike stood suddenly, his eyes flashing. “I don’t have a soul!”

Angel stepped forward. “Spike …”

Spike turned to his grandsire, growling, “You’re wrong. It’s not a bleedin’ soul. Don’t you think I would know if I had one?”

Angel’s jaw hardened. “Look, you can deny it all you want, but you’re drenched in it. I know you may not believe it right now - I sure didn’t when I got mine, but eventually …”

Spike cut him off, “This is nothing like you, Peaches. Nothing. This cannot be a bloody soul. You feel guilt, right? For the things you’ve done?”

Angel’s face closed off. “Every day.”

“I don’t!”

“What?”

Spike looked between the perplexed faces staring at him. “I feel nothing for what I’ve done. No remorse. No disgust. I don’t feel like soddin’ brooding!”

Angel and Giles stared at him. “But you have a soul,” Angel finally said. Giles looked at Angel, raising a questioning eyebrow. Angel frowned. “He has a soul. I can sense it all over him.”

Spike glared at his grandsire. “All I know is that ever since I met up with those Samduri blighters I have this … thing in me.” He thumped a hand on his chest. “And I can’t feed anymore.” Spike closed his eyes, disgust pouring out through his voice, “Because I feel bad.”

Giles stared up at Spike, enthralled. “How interesting - a souled vampire with no remorse except for his present actions. Almost like a blank slate.”

“Thanks, John Locke,” Spike said sarcastically. “I need to get this thing outta me.” He froze. The warm weight recoiled angrily, leaving behind sparks of sharp pain. He shuddered.

Angel reached out a hand towards Spike. “Are you alright?”

“It didn’t like that.” Spike groaned.

“It … knows that you don’t want it?”

Spike laughed without humor. “I’m thinking yes.”

Giles leaned forward. “You’re saying your soul has … separate feelings … a separate consciousness than your own?”

“If by that, you’re askin’ if it has its own ideas, tries control my emotions and whatnot, then yes.”

Giles asked, “Is your soul like that, Angel?”

Angel shook his head, studying Spike speculatively. “No. It doesn’t feel separate like that at all.”

Spike leaned back on the couch and moaned. “Isn’t this a right peach.”

Angel watched Spike. “Does Dru know what happened?”

Spikes eyes flashed gold. “Yes,” he bit out. “And she left.” He looked around. Grabbing his boots he tugged one on.

“Where are you going?” Giles asked.

“Where the hell do you think I’m going? To get this thing out.” He winced as his soul jabbed at him painfully.

“Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

Spike pulled on his other boot. “Bloody hell, Watcher, yes! While the souled gig may work for peaches here, this is not my scene at all.”

Giles studied Spike thoughtfully for a moment. “What if I helped you … get rid of it?” Spike stopped tying his laces and looked up at him.

“Giles,” Angel said, surprised.

Giles ignored Angel, his eyes locked on Spike. “I’ll help you, if you do something for me.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “I’m listening.”

Giles smiled pleasantly. “If you let me study you, do some write-ups about you and your soul.” He paused, then, “I’ll help you get rid of it.”

Spike raised a scarred eyebrow. “You wanna study me?”

Giles nodded. “Yes.”

Spike stared at the Watcher skeptically. “You wanna study me … and then you’ll find a way to get rid of it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Giles, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Angel muttered, slightly rebuking.

Spike stared at Giles. He really needed to get the soul (he inwardly shuddered at the word) out of him. Then he would be able to get Dru back. And getting Dru back was the only thing that really mattered. Spike was not stupid; he knew that as much as he denied it, the warm weight within his chest was his soul. He also knew the odds of finding anyone that would be able, or more importantly, willing, to help him get rid of it was poor at best. If Giles was willing to help him, far be it from him to refuse.

He’d snap the Watcher’s neck as soon as the … soul … was gone. So it was a win-win situation really. Spike frowned at the feeling of guilt that swept through him.

“Alright,” Spike said. “I’ll be your little project. But double cross me, Watcher, and soul or no soul, you’re dead.”

Giles visibly swallowed. “It never crossed my mind.”

Spike smiled coldly. “Good.”

--

Buffy entered the library. Spying Xander whittling stakes and Willow reading a book at one of the tables, she sat down with a large sigh. “Mr. Johansson is such a tool. I mean come on - I so deserved a better grade.”

“I absolutely agree. Total tool. The test cemented his major toolness.” Xander nodded sympathetically.

“I dunno, I didn’t think it was that bad.” Willow said.

“Oh hush, Ms. Smarty-pants, of course it was easy for you.” Buffy smiled, taking any bite out of her words.

“You got the best mark in class, didn’t you?” Xander dropped his finished stake on the growing pile. Willow flushed slightly.

“We could study after school on Monday. I’m more than willing to help … if you guys want.” Willow said earnestly.

Buffy inwardly sighed, feeling as though she was watching her free time disintegrate before her eyes. “I dunno, Will. I usually train after school.”

Willow shrugged. “After that then.”

“I dunno. Maybe.”

Xander shot Buffy a look that said, ‘If I can’t get out of this, neither can you.’

Buffy let her head fall to the table. “I just want to forget the test ever happened. If I do, then I won’t have to show my mom. And then I won’t get grounded.” She propped her head up on one hand. “It’s too bad they don’t have vamp slaying classes. I’d ace those.”

Xander snickered. “And the rest of us would fail abysmally … ‘cause we’d all die.”

Buffy grinned. “Well, you guys -” she suddenly froze. Xander and Willow looked at her curiously. Buffy’s smile disappeared into a thin line. She stood abruptly, her face impassive.

“What’s wrong, Buffy?” Willow asked, staring at Buffy with wide, worried eyes.

Buffy was studying the library doors. Her eyes narrowed as though searching for something.

“Buffy?” Xander prompted.

Buffy blinked then looked back at her friends. “Vampires,” she said shortly. “I can sense them.”

“In the school?” Willow asked, her voice trembling a little.

Buffy only nodded in response. She unconsciously took a fighting stance. Every nerve in her body was on alert. “You guys stay here. I think I’d better go -”

She was cut off when the library doors swung open. Angel and Giles strode in having an obviously heated discussion. Following closely behind them was Spike. Xander and Willow shot up from their chairs, both grabbing one of the stakes Xander had been whittling.

“Giles!” Xander exclaimed, pointing with a jab of his stake, “Spike!”

“Wait!” Giles said sharply. “He’s not going to hurt anyone.”

Xander stepped forward. “What are you talking about?! Dangerous, blood-sucking, killing vampire right behind you.”

Giles took in a deep breath. “He has a soul,” he said calmly.

“Oh!” Willow gasped.

Xander gaped. “Oh come on! You gotta be kidding me.”

“It’s true. Spike has a soul,” Angel said seriously.

Xander stared between Giles and Angel incredulously. “You don’t believe this, do you, Buffy?” When she didn’t say anything Xander turned to her. “Buffy?”

But Buffy wasn’t listening. She was deathly pale and her breathing had accelerated. One of her hands came up to rub the flesh over her heart. Her eyes were wide and riveted to the blonde vampire.

Giles, Angel, Xander, and Willow all took steps towards her voicing concern, but Buffy didn’t see or hear any of them. All she saw was him.

Spike was fairing no better. The moment he had walked into the library and met her eyes, he was lost. Everything around him dissolved into meaningless noise. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. His soul was jubilant with euphoria. It was bubbling over with excitement and exuberant happiness – hundreds of emotions thundering through him. His soul expanded, suffusing Spike with overwhelming feelings.

Giles was the first to notice the connection. He looked between his slayer and the vampire. “Oh, dear,” he muttered.

Spike keened in the back of his throat. At that moment he desired nothing more than to grab Buffy, and cuddle her to him. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. It was a mistake. He could smell her. God. She smelled fantastic. Better than anything he could think of. He took an involuntary step towards her. Watching her, face he could see the same confusion and distress he felt playing across her features as she took a step towards him.

“Buffy,” Giles said, taking her by the shoulders and firmly turning her to face him, subsequently tearing her eyes from Spike’s.

Spike blinked. He hurriedly backed away until he felt the library doors at his back. He almost … he had wanted to …god, what the hell was happening?

He looked back at Buffy but quickly looked away. He wanted her. He wanted her so much it frightened him. His hands trembled as he reached for the door.

“Spike,” Giles called out. “Spike don’t …”

But Spike had already slipped outside, the memory of her eyes burned into him.

--

chapter five

--

Dardiana, a volatile goddess at best, was eyeing Mahtiki with barely contained ire. “Do you have something to tell me?”

“What do you mean?”

Sliding a finger around the edge of Mahtiki’s cauldron, Dardiana’s voice was deceptively calm, “You have done something you shouldn’t have.”

Mahtiki stared at the goddess for a moment. When she only continued to stare at him passively he asked, “Which is?”

Dardiana huffed in irritation. “Don’t play coy, Tiki. It’s quite rude, really.”

Mahtiki raised a single eyebrow. “If you clarify the situation, maybe I can be of better help.”

Dardiana sighed loudly and rolled her eyes. “You really take all the fun out of being an evasive and mysterious higher being, you know that Tiki?”

“You tell me that at least once every millennia,” Mahtiki said dryly.

Dardiana ignored his comment. She looked at him seriously. “You’ve done something terrible, Tiki. I don’t think you even realize the dire consequences.”

“Well, this sounds properly foreboding.”

Dardiana frowned. “You’re really quite uppity for a demigod, you know that?”

“Semantics,” Mahtiki said dismissively.

“Let me spell this out for you, Tiki. You’ve given out a soul that wasn’t yours to give. You’ve screwed up the timeline and the fates have been royally pissed off. We’re all in major kaka with the higher-ups.”

Mahtiki was silent for a long moment. “I did not realize that I, a god of souls, did not have authority over said souls.”

“Not when it screws with the fate of the world, Tiki.”

“Alright,” Mahtiki said calmly. “Of the three souls I have given I am going to assume it is my most recent. The one I gave to a vampire.”

“Yeah. The vampire. Otherwise known as the ‘Dark Knight’ in most of our prophecies, or whatever lame ass name the PTB came up with.”

“The vampire whose soul is the mate of the slayer’s.”

Dardiana rolled her eyes. “Don’t even get me started on that one.”

Mahtiki shrugged. “I fail to see the problem.”

“The problem is that this vampire was not supposed to get his soul back … at least not right now.”

Mahtiki raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Dardiana’s eyes narrowed. “Haven’t you been listening? Major consequences. Possibly world ending consequences.”

Mahtiki looked at the goddess curiously for a moment. “They don’t know?”

“What?”

“The PTB don’t know what the outcome will be?”

Dardiana bristled. “Of course they know!”

“But you said ‘possibly world ending consequences’.”

The goddess deflated slightly. “Okay, fine. They didn’t tell me exactly what would happen. But they of course know. They know everything.”

“I don’t know about that,” Mahtiki mused. “I remember a few instances where things did not progress how they said it would. Rome, for instance.”

“Well, it never really fell did it? It’s still there, isn’t it?” Dardiana’s brow scrunched. “I’m not here to argue with you about the PTB, Tiki. I’m here to ask you to remove the soul.”

“No.”

Dardiana gaped incredulously. “No?”

“Well, for one, I can’t. And even if I could, I don’t know that I would. So far everything you’ve told me is circumstantial. Mere possibilities and maybes don’t make a certainty, Dardi.”

The goddess sucked in a deep breath. “You … can’t … take back the soul?”

Mahtiki shrugged again. “Nope.

“Well, shit.”

--

He was gone. That was the only thing clear to her at that moment. They had been staring at each other, for how long Buffy truly didn’t know. Could’ve been a minute. Could’ve been forever.

In that moment she had been privy to something absolutely amazing. Staring into his eyes, absorbing his presence, just being near him felt so right. Something inside her clicked into place. She felt completely confused, exhilarated, thrilled, and so many other things that she was sure she was going to explode into a mess of indecipherable goo.

Then he was gone.

Where did he go?

Buffy was still staring dazedly off in the direction Spike had disappeared when she felt the hands gripping her shoulders tightening. Blinking stupidly, she turned to see the hands were attached to her Watcher. Giles’ face was pale and grim. Xander was saying something but Buffy only stared at him blankly.

“Quiet, Xander,” Giles said sending the teenager a sharp look. Looking back at Buffy he studied her carefully. “Buffy,” he said slowly as though he was teaching a child a new word. “Are you alright?”

Buffy stared at Giles for a moment, watching his lips form the question again. Glancing past him she saw Xander and Willow watching her with concern and confusion. Angel was standing a few steps away, his brow creased with confusion.

Xander stepped forward. “Buffy, what’s going on?”

Buffy lifted a hand and rubbed her forehead. “I … I don’t know,” she replied weakly.

“Give her some space,” Giles clipped tersely.

Xander’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t see you giving her any space.” Xander shook off the restraining hand Willow placed on his forearm.

Giles glared at the teenager with a flinty eye. “Do not test me at this moment, Xander.”

“What are -”

All movement and talking abruptly halted when a loud snarl filled the room. Angel stalked forward, a hand outstretched to grasp Buffy’s arm, but before he touched her he ripped his hand back, a low angry growl emitting from his throat. Buffy looked up at him, still a bit befuddled. “Angel?”

“You … you …” Angel sputtered, disbelief and rage emitting from his every pore.

Tight lipped, Giles held up a hand as though to block the enraged vampire. “Angel, just stay calm -”

Angel looked at the Watcher and spat, “Calm! How the hell can I stay calm?”

Giles sent the vampire a warning look. “We mustn’t jump to conclusions.”

Angel laughed harshly. “You cannot possibly understand, Watcher. What I felt when he … it’s a claim.” He was breathing heavily, his eyes flashing gold. “It’s a goddamn claim!”

The three teenagers stared at Angel incomprehensively.

Buffy frowned. “I – what?”

Angel turned hard eyes on the vampire slayer. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before now. God, I’ve been such a goddamned fool.”

Buffy moved her hand to place it on his arm, but Angel hissed and quickly moved away before she could touch him. Stung, Buffy fought back a rush of tears. “Angel?” she whispered. “I – I don’t understand … what’s happened?”

Angel snarled, “Like you don’t fucking know!”

“I don’t!” Buffy cried out, distressed at her boyfriend’s increasing hostility.

Giles quickly noticed the destructive glint in Angel’s eyes directed at his slayer. “Before we start making accusations, I think we need to get all the facts.”

“I’m not listening to this,” Angel growled, turning to stalk out of the library.

Buffy stepped towards the retreating vampire. “Angel, please!” she beseeched, a tear sliding down her cheek.

Angel paused, his back to her. Growling low in his throat he turned abruptly to face her. His eyes were hard with anger and pain. “Fine. Talk.”

“I don’t … I can’t …” Buffy looked up at her Watcher with large uncertain eyes. “Giles, what happened?”

“I think,” Giles began, directing his comment at Angel. “That anyone who knows Buffy knows she wouldn’t willingly mate herself to a vampire. Especially not a soulless one.”

Angel looked away from the Watcher’s hard gaze.

“Mate … what does that mean?”

Giles sighed, hating how vulnerable and confused Buffy looked. Willow and Xander waited for the Watcher’s answer with equal amounts of curiosity. “It’s a vampire ritual. An exchange of blood between two vampires, a few ceremonial words and then they’re basically bonded for the rest of their existence.”

Angel snorted softly. Giles glared at the vampire over Buffy’s head.

“But I … I’m not a vampire. Why would … how could I be a … mate?”

“The ritual can be done between a human and a vampire. It isn’t done often. I’ve only read of it once. But it’s possible.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “But I wouldn’t! Giles, you know I wouldn’t do that.”

Giles smiled gently. “I know, dear. I know you wouldn’t.”

Xander grimaced. “Of course you wouldn’t do that, Buff. Let a vamp drink from you and be bonded to them for life? Hell no.” He inwardly smiled at the brief look of hurt that passed over the Angel’s features.

“Spike.” The four humans turned to look at Angel. The vampire’s face was stony. “Spike did this.”

Giles sighed. “Angel …”

“He did!” The vampire hissed, his eyes jumping between yellow and brown. “That goddamned sonofabitch! I’ll kill him!” Angel ranted, now pacing. Vamping out he snarled, “I’ll kill him.” And with a burst of vampiric speed, he was gone.

--

Spike growled his way through another bag of O-negative. Bleedin’, buggerin’ Slayer. If he was of any right mind he’d be hightailing it for another state. Hell, if he was of any right mind he’d be well on his way to Europe. But he wasn’t. He was sitting on Angel’s couch, drinking Angel’s coagulated blood. Fuck.

Damn Slayer.

What the hell had she done to him?

After leaving the library Spike had no idea where he should go. Or what he should do. Thoughts and feelings, decipherable and indecipherable, ran through him at a dizzying rate. What had happened between him and the slayer in the library? Why did he feel that way when he looked at her? And why did he want to run back to her, grab hold of her and never let go?

It all came down to those damned Samduri demons and their damned curse. Somehow whatever they did implanted something inside him that made him feel certain things for a certain slayer. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Spike’s soul seemed to express disbelief at the vampire’s vehement denial, but Spike studiously ignored it.

Somehow, without knowing how he arrived, he found himself at Angel’s apartment. Stooping down Spike lifted the mat, and smirked when he found an extra key. Unimaginative blighter. Inside the apartment he was quick to follow his nose to the fridge and grab a couple bags of blood and warm them in the microwave. He blindly watched the blood turn round and round in the microwave. He couldn’t get her out of his head. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He could still smell her; picture her as she was in the library. Beautiful. Stunning. He’d never seen anything more gorgeous.

His brow furrowed. He tired to reconcile this magnificent picture with the slayer he’d met before. It was a given that she’d always interested him because of her slayer status. And in spite of her relationship with his poof of a sire, he had honestly been impressed with her. He’d studied her technique and found she was quite formidable, but not the best fighter he’d ever seen. However, after watching her he could see the undeniable talent that was straining against her young body. When she was older, and more experienced, he knew she’d surpass him, and every other demon. If she lived that long.

Why did the thought of her dying make his chest hurt?

Spike shook his head. What was happening to him? Did he actually care about the welfare of a slayer …? Taking the blood from the microwave he sat on Angel’s couch. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought of her as a more than attractive girl when he first saw her at the Bronze. He’d be lying if he hadn’t been more than a little turned on by her shimmering hair, slim hips and suggestive dancing. She was beautiful. He realized that before, but in the library … when he looked at her … she was a goddess personified.

No. No, this wasn’t right. This was a mere flight of fancy. His goddess was Drusilla; he’d bled and sweated for her for over a hundred years – something like that couldn’t be tossed aside on a mere whim. He loved Drusilla, and she, well, cared for him after a fashion. It wasn’t her fault that half the time she wasn’t right in the head …

Angrily, Spike tossed a full bag of blood across the room. It landed with a satisfying smack against the wall, leaving behind a long blood trail as it slid to the floor. He couldn’t stand what he was feeling. Wanting to fuck the slayer, he could understand. Wanting to hold her was something he couldn’t accept. Standing, Spike began to prowl around Angel’s living room. He grabbed a vase and threw it to the floor. When the destruction didn’t relieve his rising aggressive tension he searched for something else to destroy.

Spike was delighting in breaking all Angel’s CD’s when someone crashed into the apartment. Spike wasn’t surprised. He’d felt him long before he made his entrance. Snapping one more CD in half, Spike rose to his feet with mock laziness. With a feral grin, Spike turned and came face-to-face with his sire.

Chapter Six

--

When Angel shifted into game face, Spike fought the urge to change himself. Spike’s hands itched with tension; his demon was laughing manically, goading him to throw the first punch.

Angel glanced at all his broken CD’s. “Did you break my U2 CD?”

“Mighta.”

A growl rumbled from the older vampire’s chest. “Fucker.”

Under Angel’s glaring yellow eyes, Spike smashed the CD’s into smaller pieces with his Doc Martins.

“I’ve always hated you.”

Spike smiled coldly. “Ditto.”

“Before I kill you,” Angel’s voice was raspy around his incisors. “You’d better tell me what you did to her.”

Spike didn’t need to ask who ‘her’ was. “I didn’t do anythin’.”

Only years of living with Angelus enabled Spike to dodge the punch Angel aimed at his stomach. The surprise of the attack had Spike slightly off balance and Angel took Spike’s momentary distraction and threw his fist into his grandchilde’s kidney. Spike groaned but remained standing and slammed the back of his head into Angel’s jaw, sending the older vampire several feet back. Angel regained his balance and glared at Spike

“I could smell you all over her. What did you do, Spike?” Instead of waiting for an answer, Angel jumped forward and landed a hard punch to Spike’s chest and smiled with satisfaction when he heard a bone crack.

“Fuck!” Spike growled. He let his features shift to game face. He grabbed for Angel, but the older vampire quickly moved out of Spike’s range. Ignoring the pain of the shifting bone in his chest, Spike pounced and knocked Angel to the floor. Spike landed a few hits to his face before Angel kicked him off.

Angel spat blood. “What’d you do? Thrall her?”

Spike deflected a kick Angel sent to his mid section. “I did not bloody thrall the bleedin’ slayer, you stupid poofter!”

Angel crouched, dodging Spike’s fist by a hair. “Then what? Did you drug her? Knock her out? What’d you do, boy? What’d you do to get her to agree to your claim?”

Spike froze, his mouth gaping. Angel took advantage of Spike’s stunned immobility and punched him in the face. Spike quickly came to his senses and jumped back. Trying to staunch the flow of blood from his nose, he glared at Angel. “You think I claimed the slayer?! Are you completely mad?!”

Angel grinned but his eyes were thunderous. “Oh no, I don’t think you did, I know you did.”

“You’re mental. Absolutely mental. You can now officially replace Dru as the poster child for mental health.”

Angel shrugged. “Maybe. Can you blame me? Someone stealing what’s yours tends to make one a little unpredictable.” Angel kicked out Spike’s legs, sending the younger vampire sprawling to the floor.

Spike rolled before Angel’s foot was able to make its destination to his throat. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I did not claim the damned slayer!”

“I really wish you’d tell me the truth.” Angel paused, a sudden light reaching his eyes. “Maybe there is a way.” Angel stared at Spike, his voice low and deep, “Did you claim Buffy?”

Spike’s demon howled. Spike could feel the sire’s voice melting over him, forcing him to submit. “No,” he bit out.

Angel looked surprised. “No?”

“That’s what I’ve been sayin’.”

“Did she claim you?”

Spike stared at Angel aghast. “Bleedin’ hell, no!”

Angel stared at Spike, considering. “Then why could I sense you all over her?” He paused and sniffed, he frowned deeply. “And her all over you?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talkin’ about?”

Angel snarled. “I mean that I can sense you all over her, like some sort of claim.”

“I didn’t fuckin’ claim her,” Spike hissed.

Angel and Spike circled each other. They were both watching each other’s movements warily. Angel was silent for a long moment, eyeing Spike thoughtfully. “It’s supposed to be impossible for mates to disown each other. But you never know.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you put a spell on her? Or something else to make it seem like you have a claim on her?”

“No!” Spike snapped. “And stop using your bloody sire voice, I’m telling you the truth.”

“Sorry,” Angel said unapologetically. He swiped out his leg and caught Spike in the side with the heel of his boot.

Spike scowled. He feinted to Angel’s left then quickly shot a right hook into the older vampire’s side. “I want nothin’ to do with your damned slayer.” He brought up his forearm, blocking Angel’s fist. “All I want is to get this thing outta me, find Dru, bugger outta this town and pretend none of this ever happened.”

“You really didn’t do anything to her?”

Spike gritted his teeth. “No, you stupid ponce. If you keep using your damned sire voice -”

“You’ll do what?” Angel taunted. “Bleed on me?”

Spike snarled and leapt for Angel’s throat.

--

Hours later, Giles entered Angel’s apartment to find the two vampires very bloody and bruised but sitting cordially in what was left of Angel’s living room. Angel nodded a greeting while he pressed an icepack to his swelling jaw.

“Ello, Watcher.”

Giles raised an eyebrow at the broken furniture debris that littered the apartment and a couple fist shaped gauges in the wall. “You two have everything worked out?”

Spike shrugged, tapping the end of his cigarette on Angel’s coffee table, which was miraculously still standing. “Pretty much. The ol’ poof here seems to have come ‘round.”

Giles looked at Angel. “So it’s not a claim?”

Angel frowned at the ashes Spike continued to dispose of on his table. “No. It’s not a claim. At least not any kind of claim I’ve come across. It’s different.”

“Different? How?”

Angel kicked Spike’s leg when the younger vampire leaned forward to tap his ashes on the table again. Spike rolled his eyes and brushed the ashes onto the floor. Angel sighed. “I don’t know. Once I got to actually look at it more … clearly … it’s more delicate, but stronger. It’s hard to explain.”

Giles sat on the edge of the couch. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Then what is it?”

“No bloody clue, Watcher. Some mojo those demons worked on me is my best guess.”

Giles pinned Spike with his sharp eyes. “So this isn’t a trick? Not some twisted way to get at my slayer?”

Spike groaned in frustration. “You two are like a bloody broken record. You actually think that I – the bleedin’ slayer of slayers – would purposely get myself attached to one like this? I always knew you Watcher’s weren’t that bright but really -”

“What Spike is trying to say,” Angel said loudly, interrupting what he was sure going to be a long rant. “Is that he didn’t do anything to Buffy. And I believe him.”

Giles raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really.”

“Ever hear of the sire’s voice?”

Giles’ other eyebrow rose but this time in curiosity. “You can do that?”

Angel looked away, an unreadable shadow crossing his face. “Only to those through my direct line.”

“And you’re sure he’s telling you the truth?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Sitting right here, you wanker.”

Giles looked at Spike speculatively. “I think I’d feel better if we put a truth spell on him.”

Spike stood abruptly, his incisors partially extended. “Now see here you bleedin’ -”

“No,” Angel said sharply and stared at Giles with hard eyes. “There is no way to get around the sire’s voice. He told me the truth. You will not be putting any spell on him. You have to trust me on this.”

A long moment passed before Giles nodded slowly. “Alright, Angel. We won’t do the truth spell. But if he tries to hurt Buffy …”

“I’ll kill him myself.”

Spike leaned against the wall and lit another cigarette, hiding the surprise he felt at Angel’s protection. “I’m still here you know.” Two pairs of eyes turned to him in annoyance. “What? Just sayin’. Kinda rude to talk like the person isn’t there, innit?”

“Where’s Buffy?” Angel asked, ignoring Spike.

Giles sighed and ran a hand over his tired face. “I sent her home. She was pretty shaken up with what happened.” He turned his gaze to Spike. “Speaking of which, I’d like to hear your take on it. I wasn’t able to get much from Buffy but maybe you have a clearer picture.”

Spike let his cigarette drop to the floor and stamped it out. Irrational anger filled him. Both his demon and soul were in cahoots on this one. What happened between him and the slayer, while an abomination and revolting (at least, that’s what he tried to convince himself) was private. It was personal and having someone actually ask him what it was like … “I don’t remember,” he said between gritted teeth.

“Surely you must remember something.”

Spike’s eyes flashed gold. “I don’t, alright. Stop bloody asking.”

Angel noticed the sudden tension in his grandchilde’s posture. “Spike -”

Spike paced; Angel’s apartment suddenly felt too crowded. “I don’t know anythin’.” He yanked Angel’s front door open and stepped out.

“Where are you going?” Angel called from inside.

“Out.” Spike said shortly before slamming the door shut behind him.

--

--

Chapter seven

--

After a couple hours at Willy’s bar, an obscene amount of alcohol, and a right good tussle with a couple Vrolski demons, Spike was feeling a bit more like himself. His brain was a bit fuzzier, thanks to the alcohol (and a few good knocks to the head) which in turn muted the displeasure from his chest passenger. He refused to call it a soul. It was a parasite … a chest parasite. A warm chest parasite … like in that movie Aliens … Spike started to laugh; the image of an alien bursting out of his chest seemed totally trivial to the reality of having a soul.

God, he was fucked up.

Stumbling along aimlessly, he found himself in a graveyard. This wasn’t a total surprise. The undead were always drawn to eternal resting places. Spike had, in his more contemplative moments, thought that this was because vampires were jealous of the dead. The dead that got to stay dead. Ironic, he thought.

However, tonight Spike wasn’t just feeling the pull of the graveyard, he was feeling something else. He followed his feet, letting them guide him to wherever they wanted him to be. If he hadn’t been so inebriated, he would have sensed her long before he did. But as it was, he didn’t even realize she was close until he saw her. He came to stop behind a growth of trees, his eyes riveted to the scene before him.

She was magnificent; an utter masterpiece to behold. Her hair flowed freely like a golden halo. Her eyes were bright and sharp, filled with determination and stubbornness. Her body … Spike let his eyes drift over her curves as she moved with supernatural grace. She was seductively lethal. In a blink of an eye she had two vampires dusted before turning to the third. She was beautiful. Taking a deep breath, he groaned softly. She smelled absolutely delicious. His soul purred deep within his chest.

Spike winced when she tripped slightly. The vampire she was fighting took advantage of her mistake and lunged for her. Buffy darted away but not before the vampire landed a sharp hit to her cheek, breaking her skin, letting her blood run free.

At the smell and sight of her blood Spike lost control – all vestiges of drunkenness left him, leaving behind a lethal predator. One second he was standing in the shadows, the next he was vamped out and pounding the vampire into the ground. Raw rage coursed through him. With a vicious twist, the nameless vampire’s head came off and his dust spread across the ground, slipping between Spike’s fingers. He stood, his chest heaving.

All the other vampires had either left or been dusted by the slayer. He didn’t care either way. All he cared about was her. In three long strides he was standing in front of her; his hand ghosting over her wounded cheek.

He said nothing, only scanned her for injuries. He didn’t touch her though his fingers itched to close the gap between them. Finally, he raised his eyes to hers, and like in the library, he was lost. Her breathing was heavy and his sped up to match hers. Buffy watched him mutely, her eyes wide. Lifting a shaky hand, she touched his cheek. He stared at her in wonder before he sighed softly and leaned into her caress.

Her fingers grew bolder and traced his sharp cheekbone. When she spoke, her voice was soft, questioning, “I don’t understand.”

Spike watched her eyes memorizing his face for a silent moment before he replied, “Me neither.”

“Why does this feel so…”

Spike shifted closer to her. He hesitantly rested his hand on her hip, grateful when she didn’t object but rather seemed to sigh and lean closer to him. “I know.”

Buffy curled an arm around his neck. “I don’t even know you.”

Spike smiled crookedly at her, somewhere in his mind he wondered at the absurdity of the moment. “We’ve met before, love.”

“You know what I mean.”

Spike slipped an arm behind her, running his fingers through her hair. It was softer than he’d imagined. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

“I’m the slayer.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “You say that like you expect me to disagree.”

Buffy stared up at him, a bare few inches separating her face from his. “You’re a vampire.”

“Still with you, pet.”

They stared at each other for several long moments. Then, without knowing who leaned forward first, their lips met. Spike groaned and pulled her closer; Buffy grasped him tighter as though she was afraid he would try to escape.

Then, as suddenly the kiss began, it was over. Both vampire and vampire slayer were sprawled on the ground several feet apart. Neither had pulled away from the other, but it seemed a force had driven them apart. They stared at each other dazedly.

Buffy rose to her feet slowly. “What … what happened?”

“I don’ know,” Spike said. He stood and began to walk towards her.

“Don’t.” Buffy held up a hand. Spike stopped mid step. “When you get near me I … I can’t think.” She couldn’t look at him; she was afraid of being caught in him again. “This is … wrong.” Her voice wavered, as though she was trying to convince herself. “We’re enemies … I have a boyfriend.” She missed the hurt and jealousy that crossed his face.

Spike glared at the small blonde; jealousy and hurt licking his insides. “Is that right? Thought I’d heard the slayer was an easy piece. Not really one for spoiled goods, if you get me. Go spread your legs for the ol’ poof. He’d screw anythin’. Always did, always will.”

Buffy slapped him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You … you bastard!”

Spike’s heart clenched at the sight of her tears. Remorse flooded him. “Oh, bollocks, I didn’ mean any of it. Love, please …” He raised his hand to wipe away her tears. She slapped it way. Before he could say another word she grabbed him by the lapels of his duster and kissed him furiously, angrily. Stunned, Spike barely began to respond before she pushed him away harshly.

“Stay away from me,” she growled before running off into the night.

--

His eyes burned her. She knew he hadn’t come after her and was likely still where she left him, but she could still feel him. She could see him in her mind’s eye. His face was so open – so clear to her. She could read him so easily. It was like she’d known him all her life. How was this possible? A few days ago he had been her enemy. A vampire she only wanted to dust. She stumbled, a choked sob escaping her throat. No! She didn’t want him to dust … she didn’t …

She fought the urge to turn around and run back the way she came, just to make sure he was alright.

What was wrong with her? He was evil. And those things he said to her …

How could she have let him kiss her? Why did she kiss him again? It was like she had no control over herself … and all she wanted to do was go back to him. It was wrong. It was some sort of spell. It had to be.

She entered her house without completely realizing she had arrived home. She mumbled something incomprehensive to her mother before she trudged upstairs to her bedroom. Deep in thought she entered her room, closed the door, and was about to fall onto her bed when she realized she wasn’t alone. Sitting in the very middle of her bed was a cat. It was pure white with black around its mauve eyes like a raccoon. The cat watched Buffy with a mysterious haunted look only a cat is capable of achieving.

Surprised, Buffy asked inanely, “Where’d you come from, kitty?”

“I really prefer to be called Dardiana, if you don’t mind,” the cat said.

Buffy’s eyes widened and she gasped. She hurriedly backed away from the bed, her body sliding into a defensive posture.

The cat stared at her impassively. “Samda was right. You humans really are jumpy.” It strode over the edge of the bed closest to Buffy. Buffy squeaked and backed away until her back hit the wall.

The cat seemed to roll its eyes. “Good grief. Some slayer you are; scared of a cat.”

“You’re … a cat.”

“Indeed.”

“And … you talk.”

“Gee, nothing gets past you, huh?”

“Are you a demon?”

The cat snorted. “Hardly.” It seemed to pull itself up straighter, its tail twisted around itself in an elegant manner. “I am Dardiana, goddess of misdeeds and oddities. You may call me Dardi for short.”

Buffy was silent for a long moment. “You’re a goddess.”

“Well, nothing’s wrong with your hearing.”

“You’re a talking cat goddess.”

Dardiana’s eyes narrowed. “I merely take on this form to enter the mortal realm. I am here to set things along the proper course.”

Buffy shook her head, muttering, “This is insane. I’m insane.”

Dardiana’s ears twitched in annoyance. “I assure you that you are quite sane. I am here to restore order and correct the timeline.”

Buffy stared at the cat in bewilderment. “What?”

Dardiana sighed. “Maybe I should have gone to the Watcher first.” Seeming to come to a conclusion she continued, “Let’s go to your Watcher. Maybe he can get through to you with some sense.”

Buffy numbly watched Dardiana nimbly hop out her open window to the tree and gracefully land on the ground. “Come on!” Dardiana hissed from the lawn. Buffy only shook her head again before following the cat outside.

--

When Giles opened the door his hair was tousled and he was wearing a housecoat. His glower immediately changed to surprise and worry at seeing his slayer on his doorstep.

“Buffy! Is everything alright?”

“I … well …” she trailed off, unsure what to say. How does one explain a talking cat? She wasn’t even completely sure she wasn’t crazy yet.

“At the moment, everything is fine, Watcher,” Dardiana clipped.

Giles appeared confused for a moment before his eyes lowered and landed on the cat.

“Allo, Watcher,” Dardiana said, then slipped between his legs and into his home.

“Buffy …”

“Uh huh.”

“Did that cat just …?”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh, dear.”

--