He drank slowly, savouring the sensation of the warm blood as it coated his tongue before flowing down his throat, imbuing him with the unmistakable and truly remarkable feeling of strength and power that was unique to slayer's blood. Her struggles gradually lessened and then stopped; as her heart began to labour, he lifted his head, gently lathing the wound to stop the bleeding.

From the moment she'd thrown her arms around his neck his mind had been made up. He no longer wanted to fight and defeat this girl; in fact, he never wanted to see her defeated. He wanted her for his own, with all her fire and spirit intact. She was remarkable, and he didn't want to drain her and leave her body unwanted on the filthy floor of the Master's lair; however, he wouldn't take her by force, wanting to leave the decision to her. He wanted a consort, an equal and willing partner, and he didn't have very much time in which to convince her.

Turning on all the charm he’d garnered over the last hundred and twenty years, he spoke quietly, "You deserve better than this kind of life, love. Better than being the Council's pawn." He supported her carefully with one arm as he stroked the hair back from her face; allowing his face to shift back to his human guise, he fixed his eyes on hers and willed her to see the truth in them. His sire was gone, and for the first time ever he was alone in the world; this girl would understand, had herself known loneliness for too long. Granted, he had seen her with her friends, but he recognised the loneliness in her, could see it in her eyes; even surrounded by her mates, she was all alone, as slayers always were. "You don't have to die here tonight, kitten. Let me show you how amazing life can be, show you the world and all its beauty."

Her eyes widened at his words and she shook her head, her struggles beginning anew; he held her close to him until her strength waned, her efforts ceasing once more. "Shh, love. 's up to you, kitten. 's your choice, has to be your choice, little one. Just think about it. No more slaying. No duty. No unlamented early death with nothing but a short notation in the Council's records. You'll never be alone, love. I'll show you wonders you've only ever imagined." His lips brushed against her hair before trailing down the baby-soft skin of her cheek. He murmured soft endearments between kisses as his lips moved gradually along her jaw, eventually dancing whisper-soft across her lips, gently teasing until she hesitantly responded. Spike slowly deepened the kiss, allowing his tongue to trace across her lip and moaning softly when her tongue snaked out to brush tentatively against his; her soft little sigh of pleasure thrilled him more than he would ever have imagined.

He felt her racing heart flutter as it began to falter, skipping in an erratic, labouring beat, and he reluctantly broke off the kiss. "Need you to decide, love." His gaze captured hers once more, entreating her to say 'yes'. He watched as her eyes came back into focus, losing their recent lust-filled haze as she studied him before seeming to come to a decision, smiling shyly as one little hand reached up tentatively to cup his face.

"I'm scared," she confided quietly.

"I know, love." He pressed a tender kiss against her palm. "I'll be here with you, won't leave you. Won't ever leave you, kitten."

Her face scrunched in frustration, and she shook her head slightly before continuing. "No. That's not what I mean... I... I don't want to hurt my mom. Or my Watcher. Don't want to kill them," she finished, her voice catching in a soft sob.

"Shh. No, love. I won't let that happen, I promise. I'll take you away from here. Won't ever come back," he assured her, gently claiming her lips once more in a soft, chaste kiss. "Take you far way, baby."

"Promise?" she asked, her eyes brimming as she clutched at him desperately, her legs weakening as her heart continued to struggle.

"I promise, pet. I promise." He held her close, supporting her body with his own as he once more sought her gaze. "Please, love, I need you to decide," he urged again.

Buffy swallowed hard, her tongue snaking out to wet suddenly dry lips. She nodded slightly, her whispered agreement barely heard as she buried her face against his chest and allowed the tears she had battled to fall and soak into the soft black material beneath her cheek.

Spike allowed his features to shift once more and drew a sharp claw across the inside of his arm; he turned Buffy carefully in his arms until her back rested against his chest, then brought the wound to her lips and brushed soft kisses against her hair, murmuring gentle words of encouragement as she drank. "That's my girl," he told her proudly. "Drink up deep, love. Gonna be so strong, baby. Gonna be so powerful. Such a beautiful girl. My lovely slayer." He continued his encouragement as she drank deeply of his blood, knowing that the more she took now the stronger she would be when she rose. As he felt her weaken, he turned her once more, cradling her against his body as his arms encircled her protectively. "'s alright, kitten. Time to sleep for a bit, love. When you wake, we'll be together, an' a long way from here," he assured her as he found his mark once more. Her heart struggled fiercely for a moment, then faltered, and he felt the life slip from her as he bent to gather her limp, lifeless body in his arms.

A minute shift in the shadows at the far end of the cavern caught his attention, and he gently lowered Buffy to the ground as he focused his senses on the deep shadows around the ornate archway. A slow, predatory smile curved the corners of his mouth as he identified the source of the movement. Spike stalked across the room; the heady aroma of fear that mingled with the arrogant child's scent brought more satisfaction than he would have imagined, and Spike felt a thrill of anticipation course through him. He was going to enjoy this kill. He quickly closed the distance between himself and his prey and, as he neared the archway, the boy bolted out of the shadows in an attempt to break past him. Spike's hand shot out with the lightning speed of a master vampire, catching and hoisting the child into the air by his throat.

"Put me down," the boy ordered, summoning as much dignity as it was possible to maintain while dangling in the air and gasping for the air with which to speak.

Slamming the child hard against the arch that had recently been the boy's refuge and holding him so that their eyes were level, Spike slowly tightened his hand. He felt the crack as the boy's windpipe crushed beneath his hand and watched with pleasure as Colin's eyes widened, the fear rolling off the boy in almost tangible waves.

"See, the thing is, I don't take orders—from anyone. Most especially not from some pissant little git who couldn't fight his way out of a Girl Scouts jamboree. I don't care how fucking 'anointed' you are. Do you understand me?"

The child's eyes widened further, tears of fear brimming as he nodded vigorously.

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other," Spike smirked as he closed his hand, watching with satisfaction as the Anointed Brat's dust swirled towards the ground.

"Buffy. No!" A grief-filled roar sounded from the entrance, and Spike spun around to see his grandsire staring in horror at the Slayer's lifeless form. A human boy tore out of the tunnel and was unable to stop himself before colliding with the grieving vampire, the momentum carrying them both over the ledge to tumble, cursing and snarling, into a mess of limbs on the floor of the cavern.

After quickly freeing himself from the ungainly human, Angel surged to his feet, his demon visage to the fore as he stepped cautiously toward the girl, his eyes frantically searching the room for Buffy's murderer.

"Get away from her," Spike ordered, making his way back across the room in a furious swirl of black leather; he stepped over the Slayer's prone body, his fists clenched tightly at his side as he prepared to protect his childe.

"Spike," Angel snarled.

His grandsire's voice dripped with too-familiar contempt, and an answering growl formed deep in the blonde vampire's chest.

"What have you done?" Angel demanded, his eyes flicking between the wound on his grandchilde's arm and the trace of blood on Buffy's lips. "Where's the Master?"

"You're standing in him," Spike responded dryly, keeping his attention fixed on the older vampire and ignoring the human who was struggling to his feet.

"The Master's dead?" the boy asked brightly. "That's great. That means that Buffy..." His voice faltered as his eyes lighted on his friend's motionless body.

Angel winced, his eyes drifting once more to the beautiful girl he had begun to hope would one day be his.

"Buffy?" Xander's eyes flicked between the two vampires. "We're too late, and he killed her?" he asked despondently. "Looks like you were right," he told his companion bitterly. "There was nothing we could do."

"The Master didn't do this," Angel growled.

"Too bloody right he didn't," Spike agreed. "No way that useless prick could've beaten the Slayer," he added, his eyes sparkling with pride as he glanced at his childe.

"I should kill you," Angel growled.

"You can try," Spike replied, shrugging nonchalantly, purposely trying to infuriate the older vampire.

"You know him?" Xander stared at the dark-haired vampire before adding, "Why does that not surprise me?"

"Keep out of this," Angel warned. "Better yet, leave. Go get Giles and the others. Spike and I have some—unfinished business—to take care of."

"Keep out of it? That's my friend laying there. Yet another one of my friends dead because of you filthy bloodsuckers, so don't tell me to stay out of it." Xander glared at Angel for a moment before turning his attention to the blonde. Without another word, he launched himself at Buffy's killer, fury and tears blinding him; he didn't see the blow coming until Spike's fist contacted with the side of his head, sending him crashing hard into a nearby column. Spike watched the boy's progress through the air until he landed with a heavy thunk against the marble, slipping to lie in a broken and bloodied pool on the floor.

A resounding growl drew Spike's attention back to his grandsire with just enough time to duck out of the way, taking only a glancing blow to the shoulder; recovering, he bounced lightly on his toes and sent a vicious kick flying towards the heavier vampire's chest, knocking him back and away from the helpless slayer. Spike's every instinct told him to guard his childe at all costs, as he knew that this souled-up version of Angelus wouldn't hesitate to kill Buffy.

The two faced off, each eying the other warily. A lot had changed in the hundred or so years since Angelus had lorded over his unruly childe, but as each prepared for the fight, they felt the years melt away as long-buried feelings surged to the fore. Grief, anger, sorrow, affection, and bitterness, as well as pangs of regret for what might have been, warred within each of the men as they faced off.

Shaking off the ghosts of the past, Angel glanced past the blonde to the lifeless body of the young girl who had so recently begun to worm her way into his heart.

"Why?" Angel asked, his voice filled with despair. "Why did you have to do this to her? Wasn't killing her enough? You had to go and do this to her?"

"This was her choice," Spike stated flatly, his eyes hardening as the older vampire moved fractionally to his right, attempting to circle around him and get closer to the prone slayer; with an exaggerated step, he placed himself, once more, firmly between Buffy and her great-grandsire.

"No," the brunette denied vehemently. "Never. Buffy would never choose this."

"Yeah?" Spike asked with a smirk, scared eyebrow cocked mockingly. "Maybe you just don't know the girl as well as you think you do."

The furious roar echoed around the cavern as Angel's fist connected with Spike's jaw before the younger vampire had even had time to process his elder's movement. His head snapped back, and Spike felt his mouth fill with blood; with a laugh, he wiped the blood away in a slow, calculated move before licking his finger clean in one long, lascivious swipe of his tongue. "Pretty little chit," he mused, watching with satisfaction as fury, horror and disgust flashed across his grandsire's face. "Passionate, too. One hell of a ride, I'd guarantee."

This time, when Angel attacked, Spike was ready for him; his own fists flashed out in response, one blocking the potentially painful attack and the other aiming true to strike the larger vampire's stomach. As Angel doubled over with a loud grunt, Spike spun quickly, the heel of his Doc connecting effectively with his grandsire's temple. Before he had time to enjoy his brief victory, Angel fell on him, the larger man's fists striking in rapid fire against his chest and abdomen.

They continued to trade blows, their fight an intricate a combination of street brawl and chess match as each tried to manoeuvre the other closer or further away from the Slayer's still form. A powerful punch to Spike's jaw sent him flying across the room to land painfully against one of the many broken columns strewn across the floor; he watched in horror as, rather than continue to advance, his grandsire instead turned to make his way towards the girl. Spike threw his arms out to steady himself and heard a clatter as his hand knocked against red's makeshift club; wrapping his hand around the weapon, he kipped quickly to his feet and shook his head to fend off the momentary wave of dizziness. With a furious growl, he charged the older vampire, the wrought iron post held in front of him like a lance.

At the sound of Spike's roar, Angel spun around to continue the fight and dispose of his trying descendant once and for all. As the dark-haired vampire turned, the sharp point of the fencepost caught him just below the diaphragm and continued its journey upwards, exiting between his shoulder blades. Spike's fury carried them across the room, past the blonde's sleeping childe to the long-unused altar on the far side of the once-beautiful church. Delighting in the older vamp’s screams of pain, Spike's lips twisted into a cruel smile as he veered slightly from his original course and buried the sharpened wrought iron barb into the aging wood of the large, ornate cross at the side of the alter.

"I seem to recall a lesson you once tried to teach me, 'bout what's mine an' what's not." Spike spoke clearly, the better to penetrate the fugue of agony encompassing the now-smoldering vampire. "Consider this payment in kind," he concluded, flipping a cigarette into his mouth and lighting it before stepping back to watch dispassionately as his former tormentor was consumed by righteous fire. Angel's agonised cries cut off suddenly as his body crumbled away, and Spike tossed the half-smoked cigarette negligently onto the ground to mingle with the fresh pile of dust.

After checking to make sure that the slayer had taken no harm and then moving her carefully into the shadows, Spike made his way to where the boy lay in a crumpled heap. "Looks like you get to help your mate out after all," the vampire mumbled to the unconscious figure as he hefted the dead weight onto his shoulder. With a last glance around the room to assure himself of Buffy's safety, he made his way quickly up the tunnel and out into the night.

Spike moved fluidly through the shadows, despite his burden. Exiting the cemetery, he quickly glanced around; the streets were deserted at this time of night, and he made his way without incident to where he had left the car. After securing his childe's meal carefully in the boot, he drove back to the tunnel entrance and set off underground once more.

*****

Spike passed the ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign and pulled the car over and onto the shoulder, dust clouding around the black behemoth as he threw her into park. Slamming his hands repeatedly into the steering wheel, he swore furiously; he should never have come here, never have given in to Dru’s demands. If only he had taken her to Europe as he’d originally planned, she would be safe, rather than littering the filthy floor of the Master’s tomb.

Looking down at the still, silent form resting on the seat next to him, his anger diffused fractionally; he reached down to smooth back an errant strand of gold from her face, his fingers lingering for a moment against the soft, smooth skin. He didn't love her—his heart was Dru's, and always would be—but he wanted her. She was magnificent—beautiful, powerful, and vibrant—and she was going to make a hell of a vampire.

Brushing her cheek gently, he murmured quietly, “’s just you an’ me now, pet. Guess there's not a lot of point worrying about what coulda been, is there, love?” Drawing several slow, deep breaths, he calmed his raging temper. His fingers continued to absently caress the soft, silken skin of the Slayer's cheek. After a few moments of quiet contemplation, he drew a hand brusquely across his face and whispered a final goodbye to his sire before turning the ignition and pulling back out onto the asphalt.

As he pointed the DeSoto’s nose down the road once more, he realised it was time to begin a new journey. With his powerful childe by his side, he would make a new life; the future was theirs, to make of it what they would. He planted his foot on the accelerator; he had promised to take her away from there, and he intended to keep his promises to this girl. He would show her the world, and lay it at her feet if that was what she wanted; everything was theirs for the taking, and together with his beautiful slayer he would take it one mile at a time. Starting with putting as much distance as possible between them and the Hellmouth before his slayer rose.

the end