| Needlework by Holly |
| Chapter #3 - To Conquer Death |
To Conquer Death There had never been hunger like this. It began before she awoke—clawing at her insides, attacking her blood, parching her throat with a craving so innate, her wake knew only suffering. The blackness of the room offered nothing to quench her terrible thirst. Her surroundings were foreign; stark and cold in the midst of a lonely rouse. Every inch of her ached with newness coupled with strength. Strength beyond her knowledge, bound to her muscles, fused with her very essence. Everything hurt. Her lungs rejected the air she gasped. Her eyes blinded with a barrage of color. She was deafened by every crick and creek that pierced the silence. And through it all, there was the hunger. The yearning. A need so inherent she wondered if she had ever known anything else; wondered if this terrible craving had been there all along. Somewhere, though, the blackest part of her knew the truth. There was nothing to grasp as she fell. A twist of bedsheets locked her legs and left her dangling over the side of her cushioned prison. The jerk of movement deepened the alien sensation spreading through her body until she was swallowed by the clutch of her worst fears realized. There was nothing but this—a sad reckoning with a new world that denied her peace. Denied her endless thirst a drink. Watched as she suffered a hunger so deep, it felt her body was collapsing into itself. I’m dying. Buffy choked a sob, wrestling her limbs free until she fell with finality to the floor at last. The impact sent sharp shards of foreign pain through her tender skin, but she bit her tongue before her anguish could know voice. I’m dying. Then it was okay, because he was there. An unspeakable outreach of serenity from where she knew only chaos. Buffy’s warring psyche calmed and the rage within her forfeited the battle. All was well. He was there, and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. No. That’s not right. “This is no dream,” Buffy gasped, her voice producing a sound akin to two dead leaves mating in an autumn wind. “This is really happening.” “You have just awoken,” came the answer. The presence at the door was soothing and repulsive all in one stroke. Something within her rejoiced at the sight of him. Something that hadn’t been there before. Something she didn’t understand, and desperately needed to grasp. The dark power that loomed in his aura quelled the fury within, but the look in his eyes terrified her. There was power there. Power that hadn’t been there before. Power that went beyond the thrall, and aimed solely for the kill. Buffy struggled to her feet. “What…have you…you done to me?” “You are feeling disoriented,” Dracula said obviously, running his eyes down the length of her scantily clad self. She doubted she could have felt more naked if she decided to strip out of the negligee that she had somehow donned through the night. Had he dressed her like this? She didn’t care to examine that possibility. She just needed to get out. Preferably now. “What did you do to me?” Her mind was spinning again; the room distorting in a haze of dark colors. “You…did you drug me?” She didn’t realize that she was holding onto the dresser until the wood beneath her fingers cracked and crumpled into a handful of splinters. “Oh my God.” “It is frightening at first,” the Count acknowledged. “Most newly risen vampires overcome the disorientation quickly. Most have to claw through the soil toward the night.” He gestured to the window. “I brought the night to you, my lovely. Calm yourself. The worst will be over soon.” The room was suddenly very cold. “Newly…risen?” Tears welled in her eyes. “Newly…I…you…what did you do to me?” “I made you as I am. I gave you new life.” “You…you…you turned me?” A strangled cry tore through her lips, a hand flying to her chest, desperate for the reassuring thump of her heart. The heart that had beat for her for nineteen years. The heart that had strengthened through victory and suffered more ache than any girl her age should ever know. The heart that beat no longer. She was dead. She was really dead. “Oh my God.” Buffy collapsed again, tears clutching her throat, her body rejecting the air she tried desperately to give it. “Oh my God! You bastard! How could you do this to me? How could you, you—” “I gave you life,” Dracula repeated, his voice a mimic of a petulant child just discovering what actions merited discipline and what didn’t. “I immortalized you.” “You bastard! You’ve killed me! You’ve killed me!” “I made you the way I am. I made you into a huntress in form as well as title.” He cocked his head. “This is different. Why do you resist me?” “You made me a vampire!” “I made you into what you are destined to be. You are mine now. For now and always.” Dracula smiled and moved forward. “A rare stream of sunshine in my world of darkness. You are mine.” No. If there was anything worse than being a vampire, it was being his. “I am not yours,” Buffy all but growled. She felt the bones in her muscles shift, a sharp shard of pain shooting through her body as her fangs descended and her bumpies emerged for the first time. “You’ve killed me. You understand that? You killed me! I am anything but yours. I will never be yours. I hate you!” Her eyes fell to the discarded shafts of wood that she had broken from the dresser, her hands aching for the familiarity of a wooden stake. “I’ll kill you if you try to touch me.” Kill you. She flexed her wrist. The air was deafening with the sound of her unbeating heart. Her heart that would never beat again. Then myself. If he was moved by her threat, the Count didn’t make it known. Rather, he smiled diplomatically and spread his hands. “I am your maker, my darling. I made you into what you are. You are mine. For now and for all eternity. Resisting me is fruitless. You are mine.” He stepped forward. “You need me.” “You are the last thing I need.” Dracula paused, his eyes narrowing. “It was not supposed to be this way,” he said, frowning. “You are unchanged.” “No, I think I’m pretty well changed.” “Your conscience…it remains.” He paused. “Your soul still lives within you. The demon should have killed it by now.” “I think the demon’s probably more worried about the fact that I plan to kill it before it kills anything.” Buffy expelled a deep breath, biting back a cry at how it hurt to use her lungs. She couldn’t live like this. She wouldn’t. Soul or no soul, she wouldn’t allow herself to exist in this state of nonliving. He had killed her body. She would do the rest. Right after she saw his dust collect on the ground. “You are confused,” Dracula said, holding out a hand. “You need to feed.” Buffy was quite sure she felt her stomach turn. She’d been the Slayer for too long to mistake his meaning. The thought of blood was too nauseating for words; the way her body reacted, though, disgusted her the most. “If you even try to make me…feed…I will end you.” Her sire smiled. “Such a vibrant woman,” he said appraisingly. “Give it time. You will come to love it here.” “Here?” “With me.” The lengthy silence that settled between them made her skin crawl. With him. Did he honestly believe she was going to bow to his every whim? Sit back and let him have her? “Perhaps I spoke too soon,” Dracula said a minute later. “We will not be staying here. The Hellmouth…it is too crowded with demons that would not appreciate you. What you are.” He was within inches of her now, seemingly unconcerned for the way her eyes continuously flashed to the makeshift stakes at her feet. As though he had every confidence that she would not be able to go through with it, even when so thoroughly provoked. “We will return to my home, yes? I will lavish you with everything a woman of your nature could ever want.” Buffy recoiled in horror. “No.” “Why do you resist me?” “Gee, let’s think!” “You want this,” he replied, unbothered. “No, I really, really don’t. I don’t want anything from you.” Rivers were streaking down her face. “You’ve killed me.” “Mia cara,” he cooed soothingly. “It will get better, yes? You are a vision of perfection. A creature of the night. You could grow to love me just a little, don’t you think?” He palmed her cheek almost reverently, thumb flickering at her tears. “I will show you things no other man has ever dreamed of. Not even…” His fingers skimmed down her throat, resting over Angel’s bite mark. “…him.” God, it was happening again. That slipping sense of self. His commanding power over her shook her foundation. Even now; her body trembling with rage and devastating grief, and he wheedled into her psyche, defusing her effortlessly with nothing more than the draw of his eyes. “I don’t…” she heard herself saying. As though she was watching a picture show; unable to do anything but stand aside and say the things that her sire wanted her to say. He had something over her—she knew that from last night. Knew that was the way he had lured her into his clutches. He came with the appearance of wanting her. He didn’t. He wanted the puppet his powers made her. Buffy wanted so badly to shove a stake through his heart. There were plenty scattered on the floor. All she had to do was draw herself away from his eyes, enact her Slayer agility, and be done with it. Please God, give me strength. She released a long breath. Her chest ached at the exertion. Everything ached. Please. “You won’t do it.” He was still staring at her, and she was still staring back. And he saw what she was thinking. “That just goes to show how much you really don’t know me,” she returned coldly. Dracula offered a curious smile. “I know you, my queen. What I don’t know, I will.” He ran a hand down her arm, coaxing a trail of gooseflesh to follow its lead. “I will know you. I will know every inch of you.” God no. Please no. She would never give him that. The stake would find itself in her chest if not his. “For this,” her sire said, fingers finding the strap of her negligee. “We will wait. Yes, I think you should love me just a little before I take you.” “You’re in for quite a wait.” This did not seem to bother him. “All we have is time, my love.” The term of endearment made her skin crawl. Grab a stake. Have it over with. Her arms remained immobile. She was seconds away from breaking all over again. “You can’t do this,” she said, her voice filled with all the conviction her body wasn’t conveying. For everything she couldn’t do with actions and everything she could with words. “You can’t keep me prisoner and force me to love you.” “I am quite confident that force will not be necessary.” I’m going to see you in all kinds of pain before this is over. Something dark flared within her. Something that would have terrified her were she not standing in the face of an adversary that had brought her deepest nightmare to life. Something squirming within her, clawing at the shattered remains of everything she had been just hours ago. Something that demanded release so that it might reign destruction. “We will not worry about such things right now,” Dracula decided. “Now, you must feed.” Her insides stormed with a resurgence of fury. “Funny, this sounds just like something you said a few minutes ago. Maybe you didn’t understand…you try to feed me, and I’ll castrate you. I’ll gut you. I’ll gouge your eyes and shove a stake through your chest, just centimeters above your heart so that every time you move, you know the true meaning of a brush with death.” The Count merely maintained his odd little smile and leaned forward, brushing a repugnant kiss across her forehead. “Such fury,” he murmured with reverence. “Such dark beauty. Oh yes. I will love you well.” Buffy flexed her hands, screaming orders that went ignored. Her body wasn’t listening to her. Her words were strong but there was a tremble of uncertainty that she couldn’t help but betray. She was in far over her head, and they both knew it. She was in a world she didn’t understand, and she wasn’t waking up. “My friends will find me,” she said. “They won’t stop looking.” “You are beyond them now, my sweet.” “They will find me.” “There will be nothing to find,” he replied easily. “We’ll be gone before they even think to come here.” Buffy drew in another breath, nearly unaware of the tears that were spilling over her eyes. There was nothing else. Reality at its finest, and there was nothing else. She was really here. This was all really happening. Dracula had her at his mercy. He had done something to her that she had feared every day since she was called to her duty. Something that haunted her dreams even when she kept them to herself. Prophetic dreams. God no. This couldn’t be it. “Please,” she heard herself whisper. “God, please. Don’t do this to me. Please.” He frowned. “You will come to love me.” “No, I really won’t.” “I will wait until you do. And until then, there is so much to teach you.” He smiled and moved back. “I will bring you something warm to dine upon, yes? Your first kill should be the sweetest. An initiation into your new life.” “I’m not killing anyone.” Still, he appeared smug and unworried. Near the door now, lingering outside her domestic prison. Giving her a view of the barrier outside this place in which he had captured her. “We will see,” he retorted. “Once the hunger strikes you, you will not be able to resist.” A muffled sob scratched at her throat. Oh please. Let me die before I hurt anyone. Please. “My friends…” she heard herself saying. “They will come for me.” Dracula paused at last, cocking his head to the side as though considering this for the first time. Then, “There is no one capable enough of penetrating this fortress. Your friends are human. My people are not. If any should try, they would be killed.” Another meaningful pause. “You should hope, then, that they don’t come for you, yes? That would be most…unfortunate.” The door closed with a definitive click and the twist of a lock. A lock that would not keep her. A lock that was for show. A lock that would scream her release if she crashed through the door, and send Dracula and his others to stop her from escaping. And Buffy fell to her knees. Oh god oh god oh god. She had to get out. There was nothing but that. She had to get out. Because he was right. There were more vampires in his residence than just the two of them. She could feel them by simply being. Sitting where she was, doing nothing but existing. She felt the power in this place. Any attempt by her friends to recover her would be met with messy death. There was no one. Her nightmare had only begun. Spike had been staring at the castle for the better of an hour. Contemplating. Considering. Doing his best to contain himself from declaring an all out war on his former nemesis. The vampire that had dared storm into his town and take his Slayer away. The vampire that had her now. Buffy was in there. He felt her. Smelled her blood. Sensed her fear. Felt her through means that rightly terrified him. He had to get her out. He didn’t know how or why; only that she was in there, and he was her only ticket to freedom. If the Scoobies got involved, they would get her killed—and likely themselves in the process. Right now, she was alive. Torn in that gray area that tugged her between life and death. An area he knew all too well. Spike drew in a sharp breath, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out beneath his heavy foot. It couldn’t mean what he thought it meant. It bloody well couldn’t. With as much as he thought he hated Buffy, he would never wish his lonely existence upon her. She was light and warmth; beauty and glory. To rob her of sunlight would be a worse crime than any of the bloodbaths coloring endless red across his past. He felt her, though. Caught in the stage between life and death. It couldn’t mean the worst, though. He wouldn’t let it. He would get her out. And Dracula would taste dust for touching her. To be continued in Chapter Four: Return To Me Salvation… |