| Yellow Brick Road - Book I: Cupidity by Holly |
| Chapter #3 - Part Three |
Her heart cadenced against the cold silence, and she was certain the floor had dropped from under her. For long seconds, there was nothing she could do but panic. Pure, unadulterated panic. Spike. Spike. Slayer of slayers—the thorn in her side, the one vamp in all the world that would cross oceans just to get a taste of her neck. Spike. And yet, somehow, there was clarity and calm with that knowledge. It was a vampire she knew. Somehow—somehow—she was comforted. But not for long. Against her better senses, Buffy began struggling, and spat out his name like a bad flavor. “Spike.” “You called, gorgeous?” A moan tore at her; every nerve in her body was shaking. “Someone up there must really hate me.” “Yeh. Isn’t this fun?” She pried her hands free of his—little good it did—and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, attempting unsuccessfully to wriggle from his grasp. “They chose…you?” “I know. Don’ make much sense, does it? A bloke who’s killed two in his past to do the Slayer in good, especially when she’s not at her best.” He pecked her cheek teasingly. “Sounds like a bloody good joke to me.” Buffy laughed humorlessly and jerked her arm backward, butting her elbow into his gut. There was a surprised gasp, and he released her, though some foreign pull compelled her to remain where she was instead of making the more sensible run for it. Instead, Buffy turned to face him, and she saw nothing but the violent blue of his eyes. “I’m all with the impressed,” she snapped. “You were able to keep quiet for almost a full five minutes.” “I know. Amazin’, innit? Woulda lasted longer, but the entire thing got borin’ real quick-like.” The blue eyes sparkled with glee. “An’ here we are. Whaddya say, luv? Ready to take on the Big Bad, all defenseless?” “I’m sorry. I’m having difficulty getting all scared when my last image of you was a drunken buffoon, slobbering all over himself to get Drusilla back.” She crossed her arms contemptuously. It was likely not the brightest tactical move, but there was no way the Council could believe she would refrain from provoking such a blatantly walking target as the vampire before her. “How’d that work out, by the way? Obviously not very well if you’re here with me and not…wherever with her.” She felt rather than saw the snarky grin melt into a scowl. It stung with empty retribution, and at once, she felt cold again. Monster or not, it wasn’t kosher to make fun at someone else’s pain. Granted, it had never stopped her in the past, but this was different. Dru was very much to Spike what Angel was to her, and she knew better than to make jibes at that sort of heartache. She wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it; if anything, Spike would not be mocked without getting some of his own back—be it words or blood. He backhanded her the next instant and she fell to the ground, pain spreading through her body like a slingshot. God, is this how it felt to normal people? There was blood on her lip and every inch of her hurt. Spike offered a biting chuckle. “Imagine the irony, pet!” he said giddily, circling her. “When the chips are down an’ you’re all powerless, who do they call but me? Add number three to my bloody belt.” His lip curled into a tight sneer. “Someone out there must really want you dead.” Buffy coughed, holding her stomach as she fought to her feet. “Join the club.” “Got that covered way back.” “Fantastic.” She held onto the wall, which was not as sturdy as she would have liked. “So what? You had the chance to bite me two seconds ago and you—” “Woulda been too easy,” Spike retorted with a shrug. “I mean, come on luv. Of all the hours I’ve spent imaginin’ this moment, it’d be a bloody insult to kill you right quick. What, with all the grief you’ve caused me? Way I see it, I got you to myself all night.” Buffy rolled her eyes. “Please. If that means listening to you yammering all night, just kill me now.” “Now, now, Slayer…where’s the fun in that?” He slammed his arm against her again, sending her back to the ground with a grunt. Pain exploded and seared, and when she didn’t automatically begin the pathetic crawl back to her feet, he sighed and circled her. “’Course, ‘f you’re gonna lie there all night, I got better things to do. Come on. Gimme all you got. Power or no power, I know there’s somethin’ in you that won’ let you back down while I have my fun.” There was a teasing pause. “Then again…that also has its perks.” Where these delusions had originated, she had no idea. Spike should know better than that. She was not about to let him beat on her until he decided he was bored. The vampire was sloppy enough to let his guard down. She cursed herself for not bringing a cross; she’d left the car in too much of a huff. With a gasp, Buffy rolled to her feet, stretching her sore muscles until it hurt. “Remind me to kill Giles when I get out of here.” “Why should you have the fun?” Spike retorted. “An’ who says you’re gettin’ outta here?” There was no time to think. She summoned every ounce of strength left in her broken body and kneed him fiercely where men don’t particularly like to be kneed. An agonized moan ripped through the air, and then she was running. For the moment, she had the advantage, and she was running. Her thunderous paces quaked beneath her feet. The world was spinning and she was dizzy with weakness and ache. God, he’d only hit her twice, and she felt ready to die. Note to self. More training. Spike’s howls diminished just as quickly—quicker than the last time she’d kicked a vamp in the balls, granted then with the coveted slayer strength. Perhaps the impact had surprised him more than hurt. Either way, after the angry grunts and growls subsided, the air was once again occupied with the vampire’s cynical commentary tickled. His words were muddled with distance; she didn’t hear anything beside the hum of his voice and the rhythm of his words. She knew that rhythm—Spike was still in mock-mode, though his temper had surely been tested. The reality of the situation was overwhelming. She was racing through an empty house with a vampire in full pursuit—a vampire that that had two slayers notched on his belt. Her stake was gone. The supplies she could have taken had been left in Giles’s car in the heat of her outrage. She was alone. Buffy came to a sudden stop. That thought was silencing. Spike could track her easily—if her noisy steps didn’t betray her, her scent certainly would. Running would do little good. Drawing in a collected breath, Buffy edged to the hallway wall, trying in vain to immerse herself in the some of the darker shadows. It would help, maybe, but not for long. The vampire was nearing. It was funny to think of Spike as patient, but the steps he took were slow and measured; he obviously wanted to relish this. There was no sense in rushing things when he knew there was nothing to lose. When he knew that there was no escape for his intended. She steadied her breathing, for the little good it did; she knew he could hear her heart pounding. Hell, at this rate, Giles could hear her heart pounding. Giles. The name stung with treachery. Shivers broke loose across her skin and tears flooded her eyes. Who was there to trust if she couldn’t place faith in the one man that literally held her life in his hands? The one man that had never turned his back on her? Who, not too long ago, had accused her of exhibiting no respect for him or the job he performed? Giles had been her most trusted friend, her mentor, and he’d led her here. Led her to Spike—to her executioner, and she had nothing with which to defend herself. Was this payback for keeping Angel’s return a secret? Angel was her responsibility. Her actions could have been monitored, sure, but what did he expect? As if it had been easy for her to run a sword through her boyfriend. As if she didn’t relive that horrible morning again and again, even when she knew he was back and all undead. As if she concealed his return to intentionally hurt those she loved. As if she didn’t know the dangers of having him with her again. “Here Slayer, Slayer, Slayer…” Buffy snapped back to cold reality. Spike was just a few feet away, and he was going to kill her. And suddenly, she found herself crawling through the ceiling on parent/teacher night. She’d seen Spike’s demon face and knew without fault that he was an enemy, and that her mother and all her friends would die for the sake of his disreputably infuriating impatience. That first meeting… “The last Slayer I killed...she begged for her life.” She knew him, now. She’d seen him at his best and worst. He’d helped her save the world, then he’d locked her friends in the basement of a burnt-out factory and blackmailed her to help him win back Dru’s love. Somewhere, it had become difficult to remember just how dangerous he was. Spike was rounding up the staircase. If nothing else, a thousand years would pass before she begged Spike of anything. “Oh come on, pet!” he called carelessly, banging on the walls. “Don’ be such a tight-ass. You must be goin’ bug-shaggin’ crazy without anythin’ to vent all that lovely frustration on. ‘F you come out now, I’ll let you beat on me. Jus’ a li’l. Whaddya say?” Yeah, he’d enjoy that. A floorboard creaked. Buffy steadied herself against the wall; eyes trained on the advancing bulk at the end of the corridor. She was spotted, she knew. She’d betrayed herself the moment she attempted to skid across the telltale floor, and likely before that. The grin on his face was bright enough to attract incoming airline traffic. “Now,” he said, taking a step forward. His paces were slow and seductive, and his eyes burned her with heat that astonished almost as much as the familiar clenching in her belly. She knew that look; he had given it to her the night they first met. The sort of look that made her knees go weak, only to slam with her the devastating realization that he was an enemy. “Now that I got you here…” “Oh, save it,” she snapped. “Good God. Blah blah blah. You just really love to hear yourself talk, don’t you?” At that, he shrugged and the snarky grin grew wider. “Well, what can I say? Got me an eternity to kill. ‘S better if I’m a good conversationalist.” “Or if you live under such delusion.” “Come on, luv.” He was just a few feet away now, his silhouette outlined against the blackened stairwell. “Don’ tell me this doesn’ excite you jus’ a li’l. You an’ me…cooped up in here till your Council friends decide to pop in an’ see if you’re as dead as they want you. Surely you can admit…if one vamp was gonna do you in, can you think of anyone better?” He paused. “An’ if you say Angel, I’ll rip your bloody head off.” “Aren’t I running that risk either way?” “Less bitchy you are, the longer I’ll keep you around.” “Doubt anyone could follow those rules.” He huffed. “Speakin’ of the Great Poof, where is he on your big night?” Buffy blinked dubiously. “What are you doing?” “What do you mean?” “Talking to me. Shouldn’t one of us be dead now?” “Well, if that’s the way you wanna play it.” Spike shrugged, withdrawing a cigarette from the lapels of his duster. “Thought we might catch up a bit, is all. After all, kitten, how long has it been?” She rolled her eyes. “Really. Next time you blow into town unannounced; remind me not to help you.” “Bloody likely.” He blew a string of smoke into the air. “Come on, Slayer. Cough it up. Where’s your boy? The big one/eight and he decides it’s not even worth a soddin’ birthday card? Typical of Angelus, if memory serves.” He paused thoughtfully. “Then again, Dru always said ‘e gave the best presents.” Something dark coiled within her, but she would not bite. She knew that remark stung him more than it did her. “Angel and I celebrated earlier this week,” she retorted instead. “And Dru—God bless her sick little mind—is right. He does give the best presents. I’m going on two years running here. What’s the matter, Spikey? Were you just…inadequate in that department?” A growl tore at his throat. “You’re one to bloody talk!” he snapped, stomping at her fiercely. He wrapped his ironclad grip around her shoulders, heaving her off her feet and throwing her at the wall. “Jus’ with the stories Angelus told! The nancyin’ around you two did? How’d it feel, Slayer? Your first go sent him right into the arms of someone as loopy as—” “That wasn’t him,” Buffy retorted bitterly, clamoring to her feet. “Really? An’ you know him so well to know the difference.” Another blow sent her to the ground again. “Christ, Slayer, I’d’ve pegged you for smarter than that. Sure, you din’t know the git before the firs’ change, but I gotta admit…I had a bit more faith in your judgment. Four year old could see it. He had the bloody talk an’ walk…well, with a bit more confidence, ‘course.” Spike grinned nastily, fisting her blouse at the collar and pulled her to her feet. “Then again, givin’ a bloke a happy tends to add a li’l juice to his stride, regardless.” “Pig,” she spat, cursing herself when she couldn’t come up with something less original. His smirk burned without suggestion. “Well,” he conceded, “s’pose I should be honest. Wasn’ exactly all rosy for me; watchin’ Dru shag him into the bloody ground right under my nose.” The fire his eyes drifted and something relative to shared pain tainting his features. It didn’t last long; the next instant, he was smiling again, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. “Neither of them could match us, luv. We sure made a helluva team, din’t we? Always knew I should’ve stayed around for the saved-the-world-victory shag.” “You’re disgusting.” “I’ve been called worse.” “Shut up.” “Make me.” “You know, for something that caused you so much pain not too long ago, you don’t seem to mind yammering on and on about it.” He shrugged and let her go, walking her against the wall. The cold surface against her back surprised her; it wasn’t like the other walls she had encountered that evening. It felt…stronger. Perhaps reinforced with steel, or something else. A panic room in the midst of a crap-shack that would collapse if the wind blew too hard. “Jus’ friendly warnin’, luv,” Spike murmured, blowing another low stream of cigarette smoke that tickled her upper lip. Buffy fought off a wince—she couldn’t stand smokers. It was an image she associated with Angelus. Though she couldn’t remember him actively lighting up, the scent was always heavy when they fought. Smoking simply didn’t fit Angel—whether he was the demon or the man she loved. The platinum-haired vampire, however, wore the habit well. With the leather he sported and that dreadful car he drove, adding a few packs of cigarettes and bottles of cheap alcohol completed the cliché, though in a way she couldn’t help but find exciting. I’m deranged. It was hard to believe that Spike had lived for over a century. He would fit in so well with the crowd at Sunnydale High…except, of course the drinking of blood, allergy to sunlight, and random killings of those that annoyed him. Against her better instincts, she felt her body relax. Why couldn’t he act like a vampire? Fangy and grrrr? There was too much lapse in his judgment. Wasn’t there some rule amongst bloodsucking fiends? Something along the lines of: don’t sweet-talk the prey—just kill. “Last time I was here, you an’ King Forehead were on the road to forgettin’ all past achies, an’ I know where that leads. Down a bloody…bloody path.” Even he stopped at his redundancy. It was hard not to crack a grin. “Why do you care?” she asked. “Why else?” Spike shrugged again, pressing forward. “I’ll give it to you; Angel annoys the hell outta me. But…” He grinned ironically. “Let’s jus’ say he’s the lesser of two evils.” “And to that, I add a major ‘duh’.” The vampire narrowed the space between them with another step. “Like I said, pet, jus’ a little advice. Don’ feel obligated to follow, or what all. By all means, ‘f you’re anythin’ like the other Slayers, you likely have a death wish. So go ahead. Bang your boy. See what I care.” Buffy couldn’t help it; she arched a brow and took a boisterous step forward. “And here I thought you were going to kill me. Are you giving me an option?” Spike grinned. They were practically nose-to-nose. “That depends, Slayer,” he retorted softly. It was a tone he had never taken with her before. “You wanna offer me somethin’ better?” At once, her knees felt weak. What was that? What what what? When he didn’t continue, she heaved a breath that rose against his chest. It was then she realized how close he was. How… Before her thoughts could catch up with her, the steel barrier behind her suddenly gave way. She lost her balance, causing Spike to lose his, and they tumbled together into a vat of darkness. He landed on top of her, his face between her breasts and his pelvis pressed against hers. Buffy gasped a sigh and arched, causing his erection to dig into her more sharply. He was evidently comfortable enough not to move anytime soon, and in a moment of blind panic, Buffy shoved him off her misbehaving-reacting-oh-so-wrongly body and made a run for the door. She reached it just as it slammed shut with emphatic force. “Bloody hell…” Buffy would not be defeated so easily. She would not fall into the role of the helpless heroine. This was not a movie. No one was outside, and the door was unlocked. Only it really, really wasn’t. It took several minutes for her determination to melt into despair. Banging against the door accomplished nothing; she was not up to full strength. In fact, she was more drained than ever. Buffy heaved a defeated sigh and sank into the darkness. Trapped. That was not the world’s most encouraging thought. TBC |