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| In Omne Tempus - Flights of Angel by Holly (10 Reviews) | | - - abc + |  | | | Chapter Thirty-Two
Flights of Angels
When he stepped out of the house that night, he could feel them.
Moreover, so could she. The air was ripe with their scent and their presence vibrated through the town with every step.
Spike’s demon roared, though the cry never escaped his throat. He clamped a hand around Buffy’s as her eyes met his, wide with determination that disguised her fear. He knew, despite what she said and everything he’d advised to the contrary, that she had been living on thin hope that Angelus and Darla had died in the fire—that her fears were all for nothing. That the wait would prove fruitless, as agonizing as it was.
For her part, Buffy didn’t gasp or cry. Didn’t curse the world for not giving her a loophole, or dealing her the right cards. That wasn’t her nature. She had suffered loss, yes, but she was so much stronger for it now. She was above the world, and her reaction made him proud.
She tossed her hair over her shoulder and released a deep breath. “We need to get to the library.”
Spike opened his mouth to reply, his eyes falling on the brush across the street from her house. The scent of his grandsire was too intrusive, too potent, and he knew then. He knew exactly how Angelus wanted this to play out.
Two hundred and fifty fucking years, and the stupid sod never changed his modus operandi. Unbelievable.
But overwhelmingly to their benefit, he realized. Angelus didn’t have the luxury of change. He had the option, yes, but it had never been forced upon him. Not since day one, when he crawled from his grave and into the arms of his waiting mate. Oh no. Angelus hadn’t had to want from the beginning of his long and overly glamorous career. He had never been forced under the winds of change, nor done something strictly for the pleasure and convenience of someone else.
Spike, though, had changed all too much in the past fourteen years. Angelus kept trying to gauge his reactions based on past experience; for all the arrogance in the world, he was continuously surprised.
“I don’ think that’ll be necessary, kitten,” Spike said, nodding to the underbrush. “We’ve got company.”
Buffy froze. “They’re here?”
“Playin’ a round of hide-n-go-seek.” A shadow crossed his face. “Come out, Angelus. We don’ have time for this nonsense.”
His grandsire was many things—a disappointment was not one of them. No sooner had the words escaped Spike’s lips did the dynamic duo step into the streetlight as though the entrance had been planned from the get-go.
“Now, now,” Angelus said with a coy smile. “What’s your hurry?”
He felt Buffy freeze up, though he honestly couldn’t tell if it was for astonishment or fury. It was the face of Willow’s murderer. The face of the one that had raped her world of the protective lens she had always relied on. The face that had revealed the truth behind the lie—that the good guys didn’t always win, the hero’s pals didn’t always escape, and there was always an exchange of tears for blood.
Angelus had forced his girl to grow up in ways Spike had never fathomed. And true, she had seen him the night that Willow died—that surreal night a thousand years in their past, despite the sting of its freshness—but it hadn’t been like this. It had been quick and instinctive; not anticipated.
She’d gone that night for him. Now he was by her side, and she had nowhere else to look but at the vampire right in front of her.
“No hurry,” she replied, her voice deceptively calm. “In fact, we were just leaving to see you.”
“Oh, look,” Darla cooed, cocking her head to the side. “It thinks it has a sense of humor.”
“Oh look,” Buffy told Spike in the same manner. “It thinks it’s intimidating.”
That little quip didn’t seem to amuse. Rather, the bemused expression on his great-grandsire’s face faded into anger. “Watch your mouth, little girl.”
“Someone needs to teach your mate to mind her elders,” Angelus agreed. “Attitude like that’s going to get her into trouble.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Is there a point to this family reunion, or are you here to bore me to death?”
Spike smirked appreciatively. “They excel at that, luv.”
“Well, honestly, shouldn’t they be trying to destroy the world, already? I have a job to do.”
“Someone’s a little eager to meet her end,” Darla quipped.
“Besides,” Angelus continued, his tone calmer. “There’s time enough for that. After all, considering all we’ve shared, it would seem impolite not to say goodbye.”
Buffy shook her head, thoroughly unimpressed. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Well, if your boy is willing to share, I’d love to give you a private demonstration.” He favored her with a leer that had the Slayer shuddering and her mate all but snarling with outrage for so much as looking at her. “Though you must know, he has the world’s largest inferiority complex.” He turned to Spike with a condescending grin. “Have you told her how you used to cry as I fucked Drusilla into the ground? Man, the look on your face…that little sound you’d make when she’d beg me to pound her harder. Ahhh…I can’t imagine anything sweeter.”
“You disgust me,” Buffy spat.
He shrugged. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
“You’re not touchin’ her,” Spike growled darkly. “She’s too pure for the likes of you.”
“Oh, but not for you?” Darla retorted, arching a brow. “Please, William. Stop acting as though you’re so above this just because the Powers decided to make you their bitch. You’ve killed. You’ve enjoyed it. You and Dru used to paint entire towns red. Remember that chapel in Marseilles? The two of you ripped apart the clergy, then fucked in the pulpit.”
“Buffy,” Spike said slowly at the burn of rage he felt spread through her. “She’s—”
Darla’s hands came up in a mock display of innocence. “I was just mentioning it. Making conversation. Or is the little girl so insecure that she can’t handle hearing about the women in your past?” Her eyes flickered maliciously. “Has he told you, dear, how he used to follow his sire around on his hands and knees, begging her to—”
“That’s enough,” the platinum vampire growled. “You—”
“No, Spike,” Buffy said calmly. “It’s all right.”
He shot her a worried look. “Sweetheart—”
“It’s all right. I know what she’s doing. It’s not going to work, but hey, good try.” She flashed a sardonic grin. “And to answer your question, Darla, no. I’m not that insecure. I’m not anything right now besides…well…bored. So can we fight already, or get on with your apocalypse? Because really…this banter thing you’ve got going is getting kinda old.”
“Big talk,” Angelus noted.
“No, that’d be you. I’m starting to think that you bored all your victims to death.”
Spike smirked appreciatively. That’s my girl.
“You’ve got spunk, I will admit that,” his grandsire said, raking his eyes down the Slayer’s body appraisingly. “I guess I can see what he sees in you after all. Nice warm pussy to fuck. Gotta love that. Well, granted, I’m usually ripping the poor girl’s throat out. Like your friend…Wilma? Was that her name?”
That was it. The trigger. That was what Angelus had been digging for. Spike instantly clamped his hands around Buffy’s shoulders, tugging her back to him before she could lunge. The damage, however, was done. The elder vampire saw he had a hold over her—saw the pain that had flickered across her face—and knew exactly how to exploit it.
Buffy struggled admirably against his grip. “Let me go!”
“Sweet, he’s tryin’ to provoke you,” he murmured into his mate’s ear.
“It’s working.”
“He knows.”
Angelus’s eyes flickered. “Oh yes, I know.” He cocked his head, considering her. “You know your friend wasn’t a virgin, right? Not only before I enjoyed her…she had the stink of that werewolf all over her. Made her more responsive, and her pussy wasn’t as tight as I’d been hoping—oh, come on, Spike! Let the girl go! She wants to fight, then we’ll fight.”
No bloody way. If fighting was their intention, they’d be fighting now. Spike knew his family well enough to know that, while they liked to dick around, usually didn’t waste so much time with verbal taunts.
And as though she suddenly understood, Buffy’s struggles subsided, and a wave of calm overcame her.
“All that potential wasted,” Darla said. “At least Drusilla, even at her craziest, stood up for those she cared about.” She turned to Spike. “I can’t believe you dusted her for this cosmic joke.”
“Din’t know you were so bloody fond of Dru, great grandma,” Spike snarled.
“I wasn’t. This is what I’m saying.” She shook her head. “Asmodeus is going to devour you.”
“Yeah? What does Asmodeus think of your presumption that you can make a demon of his caliber do anything?” Buffy demanded. “Have you done any research on this guy whatsoever? Do you have any idea what he’s capable of?”
“We have our ways,” Angelus retorted enigmatically.
Spike rolled his eyes. The wanker’s ego knew no bounds.
“Is that so?”
“Asmodeus can’t touch us,” Darla spat, though there was a flash in her eyes that revealed her insecurity.
And just like that, Spike knew. God, he knew.
“Then why waste time with us?” the Slayer continued. “Shouldn’t you be ending the world right now?”
“Asmodeus won’t end the world, lover. You, yes, but not the world. Not unless he feels like it.” Angelus smiled. “And with as much fun as he had before, I’m thinking the modern world’s gonna provide more than enough for our boy to play with.”
“Even so—”
“They need the Gem of Amara,” Spike said loudly, enjoying the look of surprise that flashed across his grandsire’s face. Rah-bloody-rah, you arrogant git. “They need the gem that Solomon used to control the demon. The ring. Li’l fact that it makes vamps impervious to sunlight, stakes, an’ fire’s jus’ a fun bonus. Isn’t that right, Peaches?”
Angelus quickly covered his astonishment with a smile, and shrugged as though it made little difference. “We have it on good authority that the gem is somewhere in Sunnydale.”
“An’…what? You were thinkin’ the Slayer’d jus’ hand it over?” Spike scoffed and shook his head. “You’re completely off your rocker, aren’ you?”
“I wasn’t going to be asking so much as…holding a stake to your chest and telling her that every minute that the gem wasn’t in my hand, you got that much closer to death.”
The platinum vampire shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
“What’s that?” Darla demanded.
“Your boy. He still thinks he’s scary.”
“Well, that plan didn’t go as I’d’ve liked. See, your slayer here got a little spontaneous and burned our house down.” He turned and delivered her a sharp glare. “Not the nicest thing when you’re a guest in one’s home.”
“Yeah, you can imagine how much sleep I’ve lost over that.”
“An’ now?” Spike demanded.
“Now…well, let’s just say, I think little Buff has special interest in doing exactly what I want her to.” He turned to her fully, his eyes sparkling cruelly. “That is, if she doesn’t want her remaining friends to find themselves underground…in the same casket.”
Buffy didn’t flinch. “Asmodeus.”
“Oh yeah, baby. In the flesh…anytime now, I’d imagine.”
“And the only way to keep him from ripping apart your friends?” Darla ventured. “The Gem of Amara.”
“The choice is yours.” Angelus shrugged. “’Course, the warlock is doing the ritual now, and we did leave that jar in the library…didn’t we, love?”
“We did,” the blonde fiend agreed, her eyes flashing.
“Though a Watcher like yours…friends like yours…I’m sure a few will…survive long enough for you to save the rest. All you need to do is find me the ring.”
Spike drew in a deep breath. It was a good ploy, he had to admit, but there was absolutely no way that Buffy was going to fall for it. He felt her calm. He felt her reasoning. He felt everything so clearly. So clearly.
That was why, when she tore off running in the direction of Sunnydale High, he was hot on her heels.
*~*~*
She could have sworn that the earth was on fire as she burst through the library doors, screaming something unintelligible at the top of her lungs. Her mind was a collage of colorful, violent images, each worse than the last. Life had given her too much experience—given her too much to picture in worse-case-scenarios. And it was all coming back to haunt her now.
The library, however, was eerily calm when she burst through the doors.
That didn’t stop her from shouting. “Giles! It’s happening!”
The Watcher looked up from where he was hunched over the checkout counter. “Buffy?”
“Where’s Ms. Calendar?” she demanded, coming to a sliding halt in front of him.
“In the stacks.”
As if on cue, Jenny appeared from a long aisles of books, her expression troubled. “What’s wrong?”
“Asmodeus is bein’ raised,” Spike said, startling Buffy with his presence. She hadn’t realized how close behind her he’d been all along. “Right now.”
Giles’s face went blank. “Where?”
“Here!” Buffy tore from the counter then, rounding to the weapon’s cabinet. “Whatever you guys have going, we gotta do it now.”
“We haven’t—”
There was nothing quite like the protective feel of a crossbow in one’s arms. Buffy loaded the arrow chamber on autopilot, her hands working mechanically, though not without expertise that came with experience. In half a second, the bow was aimed at the library entrance, and an arrow discharged as Angelus and Darla burst through the doors.
Reality faded. She watched, detached from herself, as the projectile spun across the room. Watched the look of outrage flash across the face of Willow’s murderer. The air split with the weight of Darla’s scream of pain. A twist; the arrow burst through Angelus’s side, and he fell over with a pitiful moan.
“Ms. Calendar, I’m serious!” Buffy screamed, loading another arrow and redirecting her aim at the eldest vampire as Darla overcame the pain through her mate’s link. “Now would be good!”
“You’re gonna wish you were never born,” the blonde snarled.
“How stunningly original,” the Slayer spat. “I wouldn’t move if I were you.”
“Yeah, well, thankfully you’re not.”
“Think we’re all in agreement there,” Spike growled, seizing his great-grandsire with a growl, pulling her back to his chest and fixing a stake over her heart. “I believe the lady told you to not move.”
Angelus froze, his face a mesh of pain, fury, and horror. “You wouldn’t,” he gasped, jerking the arrow from his side.
Spike’s eyes narrowed. “I killed Drusilla, you arrogant sod. You think I’d blink to stake a bint that I give less than a piss about? You’re off your rocker.”
“Yeah, but you’re not gonna do that,” he growled. “If you do, you know what happens.”
Buffy drew in a deep breath, her mind screaming at her to run for the stacks and help Ms. Calendar saddle up for the imminent bad that could literally erupt under their feet at any second while her instincts commanded her to wait for her mate. To wait until the danger had passed and he was by her side again.
Then his eyes met hers, and filled her body with calm.
Go. Go now.
“I off her, an’ you’re off to meet that great dustpan in the sky.” Spike smiled cruelly. “You know it as well as I do. Now, why don’ you do us all a favor an’ call that warlock of yours? I think we can strike up a deal that the lot of us can benefit from.”
Buffy’s heart was hammering. She couldn’t see her mate, but she heard him as though she was standing at his side. Saw what he saw through his eyes as she collapsed next to Jenny Calendar, who was surrounded by a semi-circle of opened, ancient texts. He had bought her time. Time enough.
“Ms. Calendar!” she whispered hurriedly. “It’s happening—right now.”
The teacher met her eyes and nodded. “Buffy, I need you to go back to Rupert.”
“Did you hear what I said? Asmodeus’s jar is—”
“I know.” Her gaze dropped to the book in her hands. “Go back to Rupert.”
Buffy released a deep breath and nodded. There was no questioning the look on the woman’s face. Whatever else, Jenny Calendar knew what she was doing. She knew what she was doing, and she had a plan.
The Slayer raced back down the aisle, leaping over the railing and back into the library foyer.
“Buffy—”
“Too late,” Darla spat, her foot slamming on top of Spike’s, bolting to safety when he released her with a yelp of pain. “It’s too fucking late. It can’t be reversed.”
The relief that colored Angelus’s face as his mate returned to his side made Buffy’s insides coil with revulsion.
Asshole doesn’t give a damn about her.
Why it mattered to her that there was no love between the murderous couple that had raped and butchered her best friend, she didn’t know. It was just a thought that flooded her being with outrage.
How dare he? How dare he?
A vampiric claim was something sacred; being linked with Spike had released her in ways she had never before believed possible. Perhaps that was it—the blatant self interest that burnt Angelus’s eyes in the face of something so holy. Darla could have dusted and he wouldn’t care for anything but his own fate.
“Buffy!”
Spike’s scream of warning snapped her back to herself just in time to see Darla rushing toward her, her fangs elongated, her eyes blazing yellow.
Someone was chanting in the distance. The ground began to tremble.
“Here he comes!” Angelus announced, clapping his hands together. “You’re gonna wish you’d listened to me, lover.”
“Giles!” Buffy screamed. “Duck!” She didn’t toss her Watcher a glance as she leveled the crossbow at Darla’s chest. The blonde stopped immediately, her eyes cold and unforgiving.
“‘Giiiiles, duck!’” Willow’s murderer pantomimed. “Love your strategy, Slayer. Asmodeus is going to gobble you up.”
The trembling intensified. Books rattled and danced off shelves. A crash sounded through the air as Giles’s weapons cabinet toppled over.
And somewhere, the chanting continued.
“Li imploro, aperto…”
Buffy met Spike’s eyes, her crossbow trained on Darla. He seemed so far away. They were caught in an impasse—waiting now, simply waiting for the demon in question to make his anticipated appearance.
“Lasci i cancelli che separano…”
The air began to crackle.
“…il tessuto da questa realtà al vicino a più per esistere.”
A low growl reverberated through the walls. Buffy’s blood froze.
“Lasci il mondo venire stacchi. Lasci il cancello aperto.”
And then it happened.
The room exploded with color. A fusion detonation of light as the ground quaked and dust blasted off the walls. Buffy screamed something even she couldn’t comprehend, her body carrying her across the floor toward her mate, her mind barely registering that she was moving at all. The air around her was swallowed in a snarling, macabre roar that rattled every fiber of her being—propelling her into a state of awareness that she had never before touched.
Here it is.
And above it all—somehow above it all—the chanting continued.
“Li imploro, aperto!”
Just like that, it was over. The library was engulfed in a sea of light, and for one terrible second, Buffy considered the interference of the Divine for simple means of stopping something biblical, despite her own lack of belief. Her insides were burning. She screamed a soundless scream and reached for Spike, and while it only lasted a few seconds, she could have sworn years had passed before the world returned.
“Fine! Li comando, vicino!”
Then the screaming died. Not in a long wail, not with a burning echo—it was there, and then it wasn’t. The library stopped spinning, the walls stopped trembling, and all was still.
When Buffy opened her eyes, she was on her back, staring at the ceiling. She was strewn across one of the tables, yards away from where she’d been a blink of an eye ago. There was a distant ringing in her ears, her vision was colored with spots, and she was aching in places she wasn’t aware could ache.
Her lips parted. “Spike?”
She heard someone shuffling in the background. Then he was above her, his hand on her face as his lips peppered her skin with sweet kisses coated in relief.
“’S all right, luv,” he murmured. “I’m here.”
She moaned and shifted; a sharp pain jolting through her body. “What happened?”
“Dunno,” he murmured. “Are you all right?”
“Asmodeus?”
“Gone. Can you move at all?”
Buffy made a face, gripping his hand hard as she sat up. She saw Angelus and Darla across the room in much the same state, crawling to wakefulness as the world around them returned. Giles poked his head over the counter, a look of confused fear coloring his eyes. Ancient texts littered the floor; the weapons chest was open, its contents scattered across the room. But there was no Asmodeus.
No Asmodeus.
“Oh my God.”
Spike nodded, his arm wrapping around her middle. “Yeh.”
“What happened?”
He brushed a kiss across her brow. “Dunno.”
“You said that already.”
“Yeh, but you asked me again, an’ I still din’t know.”
Buffy smiled, then glanced to the counter. “Giles? Are you all right?”
“Quite,” he agreed with a grunt, a grimace coloring his face as he straightened himself. “What was that?”
Angelus climbed to his feet on the other side of the counter, his eyes burning yellow. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
The Slayer’s heart stopped. “Giles!”
“Bloody hell,” the Watcher grumbled, racing toward his fallen weapons’ cabinet.
“See, that would normally seem like a good idea,” the vampire agreed, bending over and collecting one of Giles’s prized Assyrian daggers. “I find it much more productive to use whatever’s lying around.”
Spike leapt up at that, his demon bursting through his human façade. “It’s over, you bloody git.”
“Yeah?” Angelus retorted, twirling the blade in his hand. “Says who?”
“Asmodeus is gone,” Darla grumbled as she fought to her feet. “Oh, and I’m fine, by the way.”
“Asmodeus is not gone,” the blonde’s mate growled ferociously. “Because of what? That? Please.”
Buffy drew in a deep breath.
That? That got rid of Asmodeus?
Impossible.
“A gateway to Porthos,” came the answering voice from the landing. “I’d say it’s fairly probable.”
“Porthos?” Darla repeated incredulously. “You? A human? You can’t channel that much power.”
The look on Jenny Calendar’s face begged to differ. “Really? You think so? Well, I’ve never tried twice in ten minutes before, but if you’re looking for a demonstration…”
There was something particularly satisfying in the fear that flashed across Angelus’s face. It only lasted a second, granted. He appraised the woman with a flicker of the eyes, then glanced to the dagger in his hands. “Hrm…interesting. Well, when you put it that way…”
It happened fast. He was standing there with the pretense of collectiveness one second; the next, the dagger was spiraling across the room, the blade slicing into Spike’s abdomen. Agony exploded through Buffy’s body, a scream burning her throat. She saw nothing but—felt nothing but Spike’s pain as he collapsed. She felt her blood was on fire. Felt everything around her screaming out in anguish.
The pain was second only to the fury that filled her veins. A terrible sense of rage flooded the entirety of her being, spreading through her as a piercing, guttural wail tore from her lips. She couldn’t think; couldn’t breathe. Her eyes flashed up to Angelus, but he was gone.
Gone.
Rage clouded her like nothing other.
Coward. You fucking coward!
Buffy collapsed by her lover, barely aware of how hard she was trembling. “Spike! Oh God, Spike—”
The illogical fear rushing through her body fell the next second. Spike was all right. Of course he was all right. He was a vampire, and there were only a few things that could harm a vampire. He sat up with a wince. “’m all right, luv.”
“I—”
“Missed the heart, see? Not even a wooden stake.”
She nodded numbly, only partly understanding the words as her hand gripped the handle of the blade and steadily eased it free of her mate’s flesh. He didn’t move; didn’t moan; didn’t even flash her a look of pain as she pulled the dagger out. Then again, he didn’t need to. She felt it. She felt everything as though it was her body that bled.
Angelus had hurt the man she loved. A flesh wound, yes—one that would heal within hours. One that had already stopped bleeding. And yet, there was nothing but raw fury in the Slayer’s veins. Her mate had been injured. Her mind had no place for rationality—not like this.
“Are you all right?”
Her eyes narrowed incredulously. “Am I all right?”
He smiled. “A bloke needs to be sure.” A pause. “Peaches? Darla?”
“Gone.”
“Figures.”
Giles poked out from behind the counter, his eyes wide at the scene coloring the library, marveling in disbelief as Jenny joined them on the floor. “Buffy…is he…?”
“He’s fine.”
“’m fine,” Spike agreed, wincing a bit as he fought to his feet. “Jus’ a li’l banged up. Believe me; I’ve had worse.”
The Watcher nodded, turning sharply to the teacher. “What in God’s name happened here?”
“Your girl opened the gate to Porthos,” Spike observed.
“What? Impossible.”
Buffy frowned. “What the hell is Porthos?”
“One of the Seven Unspeakable Hell Dimensions,” Giles muttered in awe, gazing at Jenny as though she had descended from the stars. “I can’t believe it. How—how did you…I…”
The teacher shrugged. “Plan B.”
“Plan B?” Spike repeated skeptically. “Your Plan B was to open the gate to a dimension that could’ve swallowed the lot of us?”
“Well, I didn’t say it was a good Plan B. I was kinda running low on options.” She quirked her head. “Besides, it got the job done, didn’t it? Asmodeus—”
“Barely had time for a cameo,” Buffy agreed with a nod. “Thanks, Ms. Calendar.”
“Gave the fam a chance to escape, too.” The vampire released a deep sigh and grabbed his mate’s wrist. “Right. Come on, sweetling.”
“Where are we going?”
“Angelus’s plan is in the dust—he’s gonna bolt town right quick.”
“What? How do you know?”
He gave her a look. “I know my grandsire, yeh? His plans rarely blew up in his face as richly as this one did, but when it happened, he was always on the firs’ train outta town. And bugger all ‘f we’re gonna spend the rest of eternity lookin’ over our shoulders. He’s dust.”
Buffy’s eyes went wide. “He’s really gonna try and bolt town?”
“He jus’ tried to get you to help him enslave an ancient biblical demon after murdering your best friend an’ rubbin’ your face in it. Oh, an’ you’re the firs’ slayer mated to a vamp. Angelus talks a big talk…”
“Oh my God. He’s really going to leave?”
“Slayer—”
Buffy nodded hurriedly. “Giles!”
“One step ahead of you.” The Watcher tossed her a stake and nodded. “Go.”
“Make sure that Patmos thing—”
“Porthos,” everyone in the room corrected.
She nodded. “Whatever. Make sure that it’s closed. Completely. The last thing we need is another apocalypse.”
Her Watcher quirked his head, considering. “Well, technically, this one didn’t go through—”
“Giles!”
“Oh—erm, right. Of course.”
Buffy nodded again and grabbed her mate’s hand. “You okay?” she asked, her eyes dropping to his abdomen.
“Always.”
“Spike, if you—”
“Slayer, if you even suggest I stay behind ‘cause of a bloody flesh wound, I’m never gonna live it down. Have a reputation to maintain, an’ what all.” His eyes flashed. “Plus, you’re off your rocker if you think I’m lettin’ you go after that wanker alone an’ deny me the pleasure of watchin’ him dust.”
The determination in his voice warmed her. It surprised her that it happened at such a moment, and she remembered with absolute clarity how worth it the pain was, if the small rewards could feel like this. How a simple glance could last for a thousand years and she wouldn’t mind.
Especially after tonight. Especially after everything.
Spike was prepared to walk through hell for her. She could expect no less from herself.
After all, they had come this far.
To be continued in Chapter Thirty-Three: Some Solemn Graces...
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