Summary: Spike is in for the fight of his life as he takes a vampire challenge. Buffy, now a vampire, is Spike's minion...but will she ever be his Queen?
Rating: R, for gore and adult themes
Disclaimer:Joss Whedon, the WB and Fox own Buffy and Co. Sandra owns the rest
Jeremiah's voice never changed. "Four cards now in the ring...Any others?"
Several vampires wavered...for an instant Spike wondered if the whole thing would end in some chaotic free-for-all. That might have been to his advantage. But the sight of the four already in the ring was unnerving...Spike could see realization dawning that perhaps discretion would be the better part of valor.
Not that he blamed them, Spike thought grimly. Sheer madness had brought him to this- and the odds of his survival were not good.
Jeremiah looked around, then nodded. "Four cards. Combatants are Fergus, Master of Los Angeles. Jaqar the Babylonian. Damien of Quebec. Spike- William the Bloody. Begin."
Fergus leaped into the center of the ring, magnificent muscles rippling while he roared defiance.
"Theatrical," Spike sneered- but he knew better than to underestimate a Master. Fergus was more powerful than he; it was very possible that he would die tonight, in a quixotic attempt to acquire a former Slayer who'd once fought him to a standstill.
Damien was quick to answer Fergus...leaping directly at him as if he expected the giant to stand still and take it. Fergus batted him half-way across the room; while Jaqar took advantage of the distraction to spring on Fergus' back. But his attempt to slit the giant's throat fell short; Fergus turned in time, shook Jaqar free...and the dark vampire rolled away and rebounded lightly to his feet.
Fergus closed on him...as Damien attacked again...Jaqar evaded easily...but Fergus, maddened by his own bloodlust, got his hands on Damien...there was a scream as the L.A. Master's huge arms crushed the younger vampire's chest.
Spike had his own hands full now...with Fergus preoccupied, he'd planned to strike- only to find himself menaced by Jaqar. The Babylonian had decided to eliminate another rival before dealing with Fergus; Spike's face never altered but inwardly he was enraged that the Babylonian considered him the lesser threat.
His rage gave him added power- and the Babylonian went reeling back. Spike had the satisfaction of seeing a brief flash of respect in those dark eyes....
Fergus ripped Damien's head from his shoulders, turned, and hurled it at the other two. The gesture saved Spike's life...Jaqar sought to slice him open but merely managed to open a deep wound in his shoulder as Spike twisted away...
Spike knew he was in trouble. He was losing blood rapidly; unless the fight ended soon, his own life would be forfeit.
Then- inspiration struck. He let his shoulders slump, his eyes glaze over as he staggered to one side.
Jaqar's dark eyes shone with triumph...he moved in for the kill, only to be intercepted by Fergus. For the giant had decided, as Spike had hoped, that the Englishman was all but finished, and the lone remaining threat was Jaqar...
The two sparred for a minute- the bear-like Fergus trying to get his hands on the swift fighter Jaqar..
It was the blood which undid the Babylonian. Weaving in and out, seeking to tire Fergus, he slipped in Damien's blood...just long enough for the L.A. Master's powerful hands to close on his throat- and tear it out.
Fergus bellowed his elation; then, almost incidentally, turned to finish Spike.
Spike, on one knee, watched dully as Fergus thundered toward him... then his hand grasped Damien's head by the hair, and swung it with all his strength into Fergus' face, shattering his nose.
As his opponent screamed, Spike leaped to his feet and gouged at the giant's eyes, temporarily blinding him. Fergus yelled again, clawing at his face...
Spike kicked his legs out from under him, and Fergus went down like a massive tree.
Then- Spike snapped his neck.
That whole huge hall had gone silent.
Jeremiah stepped forward, as serene as always. "The challenge has been met," he intoned. "The victory is awarded to Spike...William the Bloody."
He paused for a minute, then extended a gold key. "To the victor...belong the spoils."
Spike's red silk shirt hung in tatters, a blood-soaked rag; but he refused to remove it to display his wounds. He knew he had no supporters in the hall; he knew that Fergus did. The risk was not yet over. He picked up his leather coat and put it on...then he took the key and unlocked the captive. Her wrists and ankles were rubbed raw from the cuffs, but she tried to stand.
It was Spike who forestalled her. In one swift movement he swung her up into his arms and carried her through the mob...which parted before them. Vaguely he was aware he'd just enhanced his reputation to the status of the legendary; but all he wanted was to get himself and the Slayer to a safe haven before he collapsed.
He almost made it...he got the door to his hotel room open, keeping a tight grasp on the girl...then the blackness overtook him.
Spike did not awaken until the following night; and then found he was alone in his hotel room. Cursing, he tried sitting up; someone had bandaged his chest and shoulder, and that same someone had also divested him of his clothes.
But- where was she?
"Damn that girl!" Spike swore. "I might have known she'd try to run. When I find the little bitch, she's going to regret pulling a trick like that!"
There was a slight sound at the door...and Buffy entered.
"Where the flamin' hell have you been?" he growled. The flutter of fear he'd felt had subsided; now he was annoyed that she'd made him feel it in the first place.
"Listen to me, pet. You don't go anywhere without my permission, is that clear? By winning that sodding fight, I acquired the full rights of a sire over you. You don't hunt, you don't feed, you don't MOVE- unless I say so! Understood?"
"Yes," she responded quietly. She held out a small paper bag.
"What've you got there, then?" he asked ungraciously.
"Blood for you."
Instantly he felt a fool; but he fought against the impulse to apologize. She was his minion- no different from any other- and she'd better not get the idea that she was in any way special to him. He seized the bag and drained most of the bottle he found.
"Easy kill?" he grunted.
"No..." she shook her small blonde head. "I didn't kill him."
He glanced at her sharply. "Why not?"
"I couldn't," she said simply.
Spike frowned. "You'll get over that squeamishness soon enough."
He then observed that she was still wearing the black velvet gown she'd had on during the fight. "Did Fergus give you that dress?" he demanded.
"No, Charlotte did," the Slayer replied. "After..."
"After she brought you over." Spike nodded, his suspicions confirmed. "Take it off."
"What?" Buffy blinked in surprise.
Spike grinned at her without amusement. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, my girl...I'm in no shape for what you're thinking. And..." he yawned deliberately, "I'm not all that interested, either. Now- I gave you an order."
Her sea-blue eyes blazed; but she said nothing. Instead she reached back and unzipped the dress. It pooled around her feet in a wealth of inky blackness...
She met his fascinated gaze defiantly.
Spike tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. He had meant merely to check for possible injuries...but the sight of her naked, perfect body had put everything else out of his mind.
"You can wear...one of my shirts," he croaked. Silently she removed one from the closet and put it on. Only then was he finally able to drag his eyes from her.
"Where did you sleep today?" he asked.
"There's a love seat in the living room," Buffy explained. "Rather short, isn't it pet?"
She shrugged. "So am I."
"From now on," he informed her, "you'll share my bed. I want you where I can see you."
She raised her eyebrows. "Afraid I'll kill you?"
Spike grinned meanly. "Hardly. There are grave penalties for killing your sire, pet. No...you and I are now linked for eternity- unless, of course, I decide to set you free. Or kill you."
"Why did you fght for me?" she asked suddenly.
Damned if I know, Spike thought sourly. "For fun," he said aloud. "For the danger...besides, winning you did wonders for my reputation. And- it'll be amusing, handing out orders for you to obey. First one- help me up."
She seemed about to protest hotly; then, her expression changed. He saw a flash of something...impish amusement? It puzzled him, but not for long. Swiftly she helped him sit up, pulled back the sheet...
"Stop!" Spike yelled.
"What's the matter?" she asked innocently. But he saw the corners of her mouth twitch.
"Nothing," he gritted. "Go fetch my dressing gown." He felt the impulse to punish her for his embarrassment; but he couldn't do that without revealing the effect she had on him. He could only hope she hadn't noticed.
His dressing gown was sapphire silk, quilted and luxurious. He had her place it carefully over his shoulders and then stood, wrapping it around his body.
"Not too bad, " he decided. "Good as new in a day or two...let's go shopping."
"Are you up to this?" Buffy questioned as Spike led the way into the mall. "I'm fine," he said coldly, almost as if he resented her concern.
"We'll start here." He headed inside a Victoria's Secret shop.
Buffy had lost her ability to blush along with her mortality- or she'd have turned scarlet and stayed that way as Spike, no whit shy, calmly selected the filmiest, laciest underwear for her. He did not bother consulting Buffy as to her likes or dislikes; and ignored any opinions she offered.
Later, he chose dresses, pants, tops with the same coolly detached care, not even glancing at any price tags.
Buffy felt somewhat humiliated; it was almost like he was dressing a mannequin, she thought resentfully. Yet she had to admit he was good at choosing clothes for her; they were trendy upscale versions of the types of things she'd always worn...and she was startled to see how well he remembered her favorite styles and colors. Spike arranged for their purchases to be delivered to their hotel; and they started to walk back. They were nearly there when the five vampires attacked- all seasoned fighters.
Normally they would be no threat to him, but Spike realized he was still weak from his injuries in the ring.
Fortunately- Buffy was there...fighting by his side. It was she who vanquished the last two, sending them fleeing into the night.
Spike clenched his jaw, trying not to pass out. "What did you do that for?" he rasped. "I could have taken them."
Buffy glared at him. "Yeah, right. You can barely stand up." She grabbed his arm and pulled it over her shoulder.
"Get away from me!" he snarled, trying to resist.
She ignored him, slipping one arm around his waist to half drag, half carry him along.
She lowered him onto the bed, stripping off his shirt. He could see the bandage was soaked in blood, but her expression didn't change.
Quickly she stanched the bleeding and applied fresh bandages.
"Since when did you learn the finer points of nursing, pet? " he sneered. "Playing...ow!...bloody Florence Nightengale..."
"Ingrate!' she retorted lightly. "I suppose you'd rather bleed all over the bed?"
"What? Makes you squeamish? Don't forget you're a vampire now."
Buffy gave him a long, level look. "I haven't forgotten," she said quietly.
He felt a flicker of something that might have been remorse; but he refused to apologize. Instead he deliberately closed his eyes- only to open them again when he realized she was still hovering over him.
"What is it?" he asked irritably.
"Would you like..a sponge bath?"
He was about to refuse angrily; but hesitated. In truth he desperately wanted a bath but didn't think he could take a shower without passing out. At his reluctant nod, she brought towels and warm water and sponged him gently, careful to avoid his injured shoulder.
He almost smiled...it felt so good. Suddenly, to his horror, he realized he'd grown..aroused.
"That's enough!" he snapped. He pushed her away; some of the water spilled over onto the floor. Silently she took away the bath things, while he struggled to contain his rage and embarrassment. Had she noticed his condition? Was she amused...or disgusted?
It was because he hadn't had a woman in so long, he decided. Not since Dru....
The thought of Dru brought the familiar stab of pain...he couldn't believe he still mourned the loss of that faithless bitch! It was his own fault though, giving his heart to a woman to play with. He'd never do that again...
Buffy came back into the room and looked at him expectantly.
"Now what?" he asked in exasperation.
"That attack..."
"Yes," he said broodingly. "Power play...someone will grab for Fergus' position as Los Angeles Master."
"Will you?" she asked.
"I haven't decided yet," he said coldly. He had no real interest in ruling a city; and he was strongly of the opinion that he ought to make himself scarce for a while before Fergus' supporters tried to take him out. He was a restless sort...he preferred to move around.
On the other hand, he did need a permanent base somewhere- why not here?
The knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Spike!" Buffy whispered. "It's Isabelle!"
Spike swore under his breath. He should have anticipated this visit from Isabelle...and it wouldn't do for her to find him flat on his back.
"Here," Buffy held out his dressing gown. "Sit in this chair...and I'll put this blanket over your knees." She got him setted and swiftly made up the bed.
Isabelle swept in imperiously.
"Spike! Cheri, I would have come to you last night; but thought you looked..."
"Hello, Isabelle," Spike greeted her heartily, wondering how soon he'd be able to get rid of her. "To what do I owe the pleasure, ducks?"
Her lovely dark eyes widened. "But, Spike...I told you if you killed Fergus, I would become your consort!"
Spike felt a jolt. He'd nearly forgotten that part of the chat with Isabelle; and now tried too hastily to extricate himself.
"I don't need a consort, pet."
"But Spike..." Isabelle's eyes fell on Buffy. "Is it because of her?"
"Hell no!" Spike responded deliberately. "She's just a minion...she's not my consort, won't be my queen- so there's no need for you to concern yourself, Isabelle."
Her black eyes flashed. "But...I think I will concern myself, Spike!"
She flounced out of the room in a towering rage; and Spike sighed. All he needed...another enemy.
The following night he moved them to another hotel- one of the finest in Los Angeles. Buffy toured the suite, examining everything; and he couldn't help smiling at her delight.
"I never stayed in a hotel this nice before," she said defensively, when he caught her eye.
He found this endearing, in a way...Dru had always taken anything he did for her for granted, and complained that it was never enough. Almost he regretted the roughness with which he'd been treating her.
"Don't invite any vampires in," he warned. "Especially not Isabelle...I don't trust her."
"No, she wants to be the L.A. queen," Buffy agreed. "I think that's why she got rid of her sister."
"Isabelle got rid of Charlotte?" Spike asked in astonishment. "She said Fergus wanted you; and set Charlotte on to turn you."
Buffy shook her head. "The siring was Isabelle's idea! I mean, Fergus was going to get one of his minions to do it 'cause he knew whoever did might die! But Isabelle convinced Charlotte it would be a good way to prove her love. And Charlotte died. I think maybe Isabelle wanted Fergus herself. But he wanted..."
"You." Spike nodded, his thoughts confirmed. "She must have been upset when you survived the change."
Buffy said nothing; but looked so bleak that he realized she wished that she'd died along with Charlotte. Because she had become something she'd always hated? Or was there another reason...?
Enraged, he grabbed her arm and hissed, "Fergus wanted you...did he have sex with you? Answer me!"
"What? No!" Buffy was horrified. "Did you really think that Fergus raped me?"
"I didn't mention rape, pet," Spike said contemptuously.
Shesytared at him blankly for one second- then she slapped him so hard she almost dislocated his jaw. Reacting, he seized both wrists; and threw her roughly across the bed.
"Don't you show temper to me!" he ordered, holding her down beneath him.
"I'm not your slave!" she retorted, defiantly.
His icy eyes met her blazing ones. "You're whatever I say you are, " he informed her. "I am your sire."
He was aware of a growing excitement; he released her hands to touch her neck...her smooth, cool skin.
Buffy stopped struggling, her big eyes fixed on him.
"If I say so," he continued, "you're my minion. You're my acolyte..."
"Acolyte?!" she exploded. "Since when do you care about religion, anyway!"
His fingers touched her lips, tracing them with obsessive intensity. "No. New-made witches served as acolytes too...did you know, they brought candles to the devil?"
Suddenly he lunged forward and bit her lips until they bled; Buffy cried out, and her body jerked under him.
Spike licked her blood away, and raised his head. "If I say so," he repeated, "you're my acolyte... and if I say so..." he smiled nastily, "you're my whore."
"No!" Buffy thrashed wildly; but was unable to dislodge him. Spike lay on her, longing to go ahead and take her...
She turned her head away from him; but not before he saw the tears glistening beneath her lashes.
Swearing, he wrenched himself away from her.
He was trembling with frustration as he headed into the bathroom.
He turned on the shower...a moment's reflection convinced him to make it a cold one.