Becoming Undone
Chapters Five ~ Eight
Chapter Five ~ That Old Black Magic
“Oh my God…”
‘Mine.’
That single word had her tensing herself to throw him off. She wasn’t as oblivious to vampire customs and mating rituals as her watcher believed her to be. What he had refused to stammer out when she questioned him, she had discovered on her own- or with Willow’s help- in the many dusty tomes that lined the shelves in his office at the library. Ancient, mildewed books that held her enthralled as they revealed their dark secrets to her devouring eyes when her interest had been sparked by an entirely different vampire than the one holding himself braced over her.
He held himself in check, his body unmoving where it was intimately joined with hers. Her efforts to arch away only served to drive him further inside, his rampant girth stretching her virtually untried body to uncomfortable limits that had her instinctively lifting her legs to his hips in an attempt to ease the incredible pressure.
Sensing her fear and uncertainty, he frowned down at her, the obvious concern in his eyes confusing her even further. His behavior was completely at odds with what she had anticipated as he leaned down and sniffed delicately at her neck.
Anxious moments passed as he lingered there, his tongue coming out to trace over where he had bitten her before he pulled back and deliberately puffed currents of tepid air over the damp trail he’d left on her skin. He repeated this action several times until she found herself relaxing under its soothing effect. Moving until their bodies were melded from chest to toes, he continued to nuzzle and purr against her, alternating between gentle nips and flicks of his tongue along the smooth column of her throat.
Buffy lay completely boneless and submissive beneath him by the time he closed blunt teeth over his mark. It wasn’t painful in the least, but it was just enough to prove himself the dominant partner in this unexpected joining; his demon asserted its control over the slayer in her. Holding her firmly with his teeth gripping her neck, he began to move within her using slow, fluid strokes.
Nothing in her previous experience had prepared her for the sheer intensity of sensation his measured movements were eliciting from her body. The discomfort of his invasion was quickly forgotten as she writhed beneath him. One trembling hand came up to grip his head, holding him at her neck, while the other found the flexing muscles of his backside, fingers sinking deeply into his flesh to urge him on.
His free hand skimmed down her side, following the indentation of her waist and the flare of her hip before coming to rest on the knee that gripped his hip. He pushed the shaking limb upward, opening her further. Buffy gasped heatedly as he sank even deeper inside her, reaching places she’d never dreamed existed.
Spike wrapped his arm around her upraised leg, holding it tightly to his side as he quickened his pace. He leaned over her, his face inches from hers as he caught and held her wide green eyes within a prison of blue.
Before she lost herself completely in that swirling cerulean vortex, Buffy fisted both hands in his hair and dragged him down, smashing her mouth to his in a bruising kiss. A growl of approval rumbled from Spike as she nipped and sucked voraciously at his lips. The last vestiges of her docility were cast aside as she arched up to meet his forceful thrusts.
What little control she had left was diminishing rapidly, swept away by her body’s reaction to his touch. The hand gripping her knee had slid up to tease and fondle the sensitive tips of her breasts while the hand above her head twisted in her hair, tilting her head and baring her throat to him.
He tore his mouth from hers and buried his face in the curve of her neck. The instant he bit down, the tension that had been building within her womb seemed to explode, flooding her entire body with such a powerful glut of sensation that she actually blacked out for a moment. It went on and on, ceaseless waves of intense pleasure coursing through her electrified nerve endings, only fading when he released his hold on her and lifted his head.
Buffy shivered but wasn’t sure if it was in reaction to the mind-shattering orgasm or the predatory gleam in the golden eyes staring down at her.
His body continued to rock against hers, his still-throbbing cock sliding deliciously in and out. The hand that was tangled in her hair tightened almost painfully as he guided her mouth to his throat. When she protested and tried to turn her face away, he barked out some foreign sounding words in a harsh, commanding voice.
“No!” she cried out, bringing her hands up to push against his shoulders.
The second her denial burst from her, he released his hold on her hair and leaned back to give her an obvious glare of irritation. Grateful that he wasn’t going to push the issue of her returning his claim, Buffy urged him back down. She found the faded scar on his throat and gave it a good lick before drawing the skin into her mouth and sucking as hard as she could, careful not to bite down and draw blood.
Spike lunged against her with a guttural moan, his hands grabbing at her hips to hold her beneath him as he came hard, hips still thrusting as he filled her with his thick spendings.
She pulled her mouth away as he slumped across her body with a groan of repletion. He wasn’t still for long, though. He rolled off to the side and drew her to him, her back against his front as he cuddled her close and purred into the scented tangle of her hair.
Buffy only meant to rest her eyes for a moment. She really needed to try and make Spike understand that she had to leave for a while, but that she would be back.
Lulled by the vibration of the vampire’s chest and the soothing circles his fingers were brushing up and down her hip and thigh, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
~*~*~
She woke a few hours later with a raging thirst, pinned to the mattress by a sleeping vampire. Buffy scooted stealthily to the edge of the bed, carefully sliding her pillow under the arm that Spike had draped over her waist in his sleep. Gathering her scattered clothing, she dressed quickly in the darkness.
It was while she was searching for her shoes that she found the chains under the bed. Making as little noise as possible, she inched the restraints out and weighed them contemplatively. He was going to be seriously pissed when he woke up to find himself bound to the bed, but her choices were severely limited. Spike was a killer and his feral state only served to make him even more unpredictable. There was no way she could risk letting him roam free.
It would take a miracle and a lot of fancy maneuvering to get him hog-tied, but they just might be strong enough to hold him until she could get back this evening with some blood.
The fates were smiling down on her for a change. Either he was exhausted or he simply didn’t sense that she might be a threat to him, because he didn’t wake up. There were a few tense moments when she’d had to roll him over onto his back to attach the chains on the far side of the bed to his arm and leg, but she finally managed to finish restraining him.
Once the chains were in place, she couldn’t help but admire the view. He really was divine. She had thought so from her first glimpse of him outside the Bronze, but that attraction alone wasn’t responsible for her earlier actions. Something deep inside her had responded without restraint to his dominance and she just couldn’t bring herself to be disgusted by what had come of it.
Before she realized what she was doing, she leaned over and pressed a tiny kiss on his sleep-softened mouth. Spike stirred restlessly for a few moments, causing Buffy to nearly pass out as she held her breath until he relaxed once more.
Chiding herself for her stupid whimsy, she gave the still figure one last look and made her way out of the warehouse, bound for home. It was too much to hope for that her mom hadn’t noticed her absence. Joyce had finally accepted the truth of her daughter’s destiny, but still found it difficult to treat her as anything but a teenaged girl.
Buffy heaved a sigh of relief when she reached the house and saw that her mother’s SUV was gone from the drive. Not that she was dense enough to think she was in the clear. The inevitable confrontation was just postponed.
Letting herself in, she took the stairs in several impatient leaps. She felt a powerful urge to get cleaned up and be gone before anyone showed up looking for her. The phone rang constantly while she showered and dressed, and when she checked the caller ID it was filled with calls from Giles and Willow.
Her responsibility to her watcher and friends warred with the inexplicable need she felt to get back to Spike. One hand was hovering indecisively over the phone when the front door slammed open and Joyce stormed in.
“Buffy Anne Summers! You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, young lady. I want to know where you’ve been for the past—” Joyce glanced at her watch. “Twenty hours!”
~*~*~
Buffy slouched in the passenger seat of the car; arms folded tightly and pout firmly in place.
Valuable time had been wasted arguing with her mom over her insistence on driving Buffy back to the warehouse with Spike’s blood. No matter which argument she used, Joyce had shot it down, refusing to give an inch.
“I can be just as stubborn as you, missy. Now, get in the car.”
So she was pouting. What good were supernatural powers when you had the eminent threat of being grounded over your head? The Powers That Be and the Council of Watchers had it totally wrong. They didn’t need a Slayer. All they needed was one massively overprotective mother on a mission!
Joyce cast her daughter an impatient glance as she parked the car in the shade of the warehouse.
“Are you sure this is the right place? It looks unsafe to me.” She reached down to open her door and winced as Buffy’s hand closed over her wrist in a painful grip.
“What are you doing? You are NOT getting out of this car, Mom. You’re gonna sit right here and wait on me, remember?”
“I’ll do no such thing…”
Unfortunately for Joyce, Buffy had anticipated this argument. In seconds the hand that still clasped the steering wheel was wearing a bulky silver bracelet while its mate was snapped around the steering wheel itself and a triumphant slayer was waving the key under her mother’s nose.
“You evil, unconscionable child!” Joyce sputtered as Buffy made sure that a bottle of water and a bag of Fritos were within easy reach. “And do I even want to know why you have a pair of handcuffs?”
“Sit tight, Mom. I’ll be back as quick as I can,” she informed her indignant parent gleefully. She grabbed the sack of blood and jumped out of the car, slamming the door on some pretty impressive cursing.
The warehouse was pleasantly cool after the heat of the California midday. Buffy entered cautiously, her eyes searching every shift in the shadows. Once her eyes had adjusted to the change in light, all she had to do was follow the outraged growls.
Oh yeah. He was pissed. Morbidly so.
As soon as he caught her scent, he went wild; snarling horribly and lunging at his restraints to get to her. There was just enough leeway in the chains for him to get to his knees, and as he strained towards her, the iron links creaked alarmingly.
Buffy held back for a moment, busying herself with lighting the few candles she could find and studying him carefully as she tried to decide the best way to approach him. When he refused to settle down, she shrugged and walked right up to him, her right cross leading the way.
Spike flew backwards from the impact of her fist against his jaw. The back of his skull cracked against the headboard with a hollow thud and he dropped heavily to the mattress. He lifted his head and shook it dazedly before his eyes rolled back and he blacked out.
She rubbed her bruised knuckles with a heavy sigh before making her way around the bed and tightening the chains. When she finished she leaned against one of the tall posts at the foot, her eyes drinking in the sight of all that naked skin.
His nudity was the biggest reason she hadn’t wanted her mother to follow her inside. The thought of anyone else seeing him in all his glory filled her with searing jealousy. Even in repose the muscles of his chest and abdomen looked rock hard and her fingers itched to familiarize themselves with all that yummy goodness. Instead she contented herself with gently trailing her fingers over his face and forehead in an apologetic caress.
When he started to stir, she stepped back quickly and went to get the first bag of blood.
“C’mon, Spike, I know I didn’t hit you that hard. Wake up and drink your dinner,” she sang cajolingly as she waved the bag under his nose enticingly.
His eyes popped open, sparks flaring in their golden depths as he glared, first at her, and then at the packet of pig’s blood. He gave an offended snort and turned his nose up at it.
Buffy huffed indignantly. “Oh, come ON. You’ve gotta be kidding me! Whoever heard of a finicky vampire?” She tried once more, shoving it close to his mouth and getting snapped at viciously for her trouble.
“Hey! Watch it, mister. What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded.
Spike continued to glare at her, his expression similar to that of a sullen two-year-old minus the impressive show of fangs. He spat something at her in the same strange sounding dialect he’d used earlier and turned his head stubbornly away from her.
“Stop being an ass about this, Spike. I don’t have time to baby you right now, so eat!”
When he continued to resist, Buffy lost what remained of her temper and flung the blood across the room in a fit of pique. The quick look of approval from the contrary vampire only served to piss her off even more.
“Look what you made me do, you ingrate! Now I only have one bag left and that was supposed to be for tomorrow. What; you think the only thing I have to do with my time is run around town finding blood for your sorry ass?” she ranted, stomping back to the table and snatching up the spare packet. Struggling to rein in her temper, she tried again to coerce him into biting through the bag.
This time she didn’t get the chance to toss the offending liquid after its predecessor. The chain holding his left hand broke with an ominous clank and he ripped the bag away from her with a disgusted snarl.
Before she could blink, the far wall was a dripping red canvas and his hand was latched painfully around her wrist. Spike twisted sharply, wringing a pained cry from her as he dragged her down on top of him.
Buffy scrambled to put some distance between them, wincing as the small bones in her wrist ground together alarmingly. She squirmed in his grip, her breath rasping in and out as she fought to mask her rising panic with full blown temper.
“Great! Just great! Am I supposed to let you starve to death? Fine. That’s fine. It’s no skin off my ass if you wither away to nothing, you ungrateful jerk!”
He frowned at her ferociously as he struggled to keep up with her virulent tirade, his narrowed eyes focused intently on her pink lips as she fussed at him.
Her pause for breath was her downfall.
The punishing touch at her wrist was transferred with lightening speed to the back of her neck. Panic skipped through her brain; a warning of things to come that she just wasn’t prepared to handle as he hauled her down and covered her mouth with his.
Chapter Six ~ What’s Mine is Yours
It should have been alarming, the ease with which she surrendered, sparing only a cursory thought for the mother she’d left imprisoned in the safety of their car before losing herself in the bliss that was Spike lips ravishing hers.
The chain holding his right arm screeched in protest as he wrenched it free, his hand moving immediately to the waistband of her pants. Before she could form a coherent thought and kick out in protest, the stretchy fabric was skimmed down her legs and pitched over the side of the bed.
Spike yanked at her thigh impatiently until she hovered over his lap and with a sinuous twist of his hips, he slammed into her with barely controlled ferocity.
She flung her head back, mouth stretched in a silent scream as her body detonated around his throbbing length. He granted her no reprieve, working her over mercilessly, barely allowing her time to draw breath between intoxicating kisses as his hands flashed from each pleasure center to the next.
Her own hands were never still, nails cutting into his shoulders and dragging thin trails of blood red down the alabaster smoothness of his chest and belly. Buffy was appalled at her wanton response but helpless to resist his dark temptation.
A shudder ripped through her as his thumb found her clit and circled it, his rapacious touch driving her to the brink of insanity. She clenched around him, every muscle tensed to fling herself joyously into that endless void that beckoned so seductively.
He sank his fingers into her hair and wrenched her head back sharply to expose the long line of her throat. The burnished glow of his eyes fixed on the pattering tattoo of the pulse at the base of her neck and the nearly healed marks there. Growling softly, he moved in.
Buffy caught her breath as his lips and tongue worried at his earlier bite, the resulting surge of anticipation causing a flutter of weightlessness deep in her belly. She moaned, low and frustrated, as he taunted her, barely scraping her sensitized flesh with his fangs.
Vampire foreplay, she thought dazedly. And God, he’s driving me crazy with it!
She couldn’t control the exultant shout of his name as he bit down, sending his sharp canines deep into her throat. The pleasure-pain of the bite and the first deep pull he took of her blood sent her careening over the precipice. Each softer, subsequent tug at her flesh only intensified the effect in a mounting maelstrom of sensation.
Her entire body shuddered with the force of her orgasm and she clamped down on him as tightly as she could with her inner muscles. His answering roar of repletion made her ears ring, but her hearing wasn’t so hindered that she didn’t hear the possessive words that burst from his lips as he found his release.
“Slayer. Mine!”
It took a monumental effort, and even then her legs were refusing to cooperate with her brain when she attempted to lift herself off of him, but she finally made it off the bed and on her feet. Thankful that the shackles on his ankles still held, she moved to put some much needed distance between them before she confronted him.
“You have got to stop doing that,” she insisted hating the tremble of her voice. She located her reasonably unscathed pants and fought to get them on. Where her panties were she had no clue. She couldn’t even remember him tearing them off of her.
“No.” The harshness of his tone drew her eyes back to him. He was glowering fiercely at her as she nervously set her clothes to rights and then fussed with her hair in an attempt to hide the glaring, puffy-looking brand he’d gifted her with.
“No. Slayer mine,” Spike repeated his voice harsh from disuse.
She was ready to tear her hair out in frustration. “No, Spike. Not yours. Bad idea. Very bad idea,” she insisted. “No more of the…the uh… um… what just happened. And no more with the bitey-claimy stuff, either!” No matter how big of a happy it gave her.
The blue eyes that followed her every move were brimming with amusement as they took in her flushed cheeks and evasive eyes, and a ghost of that familiar cocky smirk curved his lips.
“I’m glad you find this so amusing,” she snapped. “I’m already in deep shit with my mom over this-this… God I don’t even know what this is or why you’re even here, but…”
“You,” Spike said, that single word effectively interrupting her tirade.
Buffy swallowed hard, suddenly very nervous as she met the intensity of his gaze. There was a clarity there that had been missing before, but he still had to struggle to express himself coherently.
“Me?” she prompted keeping her voice deliberately soft, moving closer but careful to stay out of reach. She’d quickly come to the conclusion that she lost all control once those wicked, wicked hands came into contact with her skin.
“You,” he repeated. He shook his head with an impatient growl, frustrated with his inability to convey his thoughts. When he finally found the words, they seemed to reverberate in the silence of the small room. The same words he had spoken in her dream.
“Be…ready for…me.”
~*~*~
She fled like the hounds of hell were nipping at her delectable little backside, spurred on by both his words and the strident blaring of a car’s horn from somewhere outside.
Spike threw himself back against the mattress with a growl of frustration, cursing his uncooperative tongue. For some reason, his attempt to tell her of the dream that had been his salvation during his stint in hell had sent her running for the hills instead.
The dream. Him and the slayer, bound together in what seemed like a child’s version of hell, complete with dragons and annoying little imps. Even more fantastical had been the vision of her tight little body writhing on his lap while her succulent lips sucked the evil right out of him.
That fanciful little delusion had been the only thing he’d had to cling to in the nightmare that his life had become the minute he’s been sucked into that portal instead of Angel.
Angel.
Angelus.
At one time the younger vampire had adored the alpha male of their little quartet. Had strived constantly to emulate his elder’s evil and sadistic ways, no matter how much his actions had offended the faint essence that somehow remained of the shy, romantically inclined William.
Nothing had ever been good enough. The cruelties he had endured, both great and small, had all been for naught. Angelus had thrived on building him up and then methodically tearing him down time after endless time.
The smallest transgression often resulted in hours of senseless torture. Memories plagued him of his bloody and broken self lying in a heap while his grandsire had pressed a careless splinter of wood to his heart with ominous intent.
“You came back wrong, Will. Dusting you would be a mercy killing in so many ways.” That hateful, sibilant whisper echoed in his mind to this day.
In the beginning there had been a part of him that wished for Angelus to leave off the taunts and drive the intricately carved stake home. The constant inner battle between his demon and the tattered remnants of the man he had been was enough to drive him as starkers as his beloved sire. Only the demon’s rapacious will to survive had saved him from a dusty oblivion, ruthlessly beating the more tender facets into submission.
It had been the demon that had taken everything that Angelus could dish out and thrown it back in his pompous face, grinning all the while and knowing that one day he'd get his chance to chop him down to size.
Maybe he had come back wrong, but whose fault was that? Only so much of the blame could be laid at Drusilla’s feet. After all, who had forsaken his twisted creation, leaving her to roam the dank alleys in despair while he sank his miserable excuse for a cock into Darla’s diseased crater? Angelus was just as much at fault for the botched turning of William the Bloody Awful Poet as Dru and her fractured little mind was.
Spike lay back on the rumpled bed and allowed the tears to flow as he grieved for his sire. He knew his dark princess was lost to him with the same certainty that told him that the slayer hadn’t been the one to do her in. He'd seen the grief in her eyes as he was sucked backward into hell. She’d had no time for thoughts of Drusilla.
That left Angel and his bloody pompous soul.
He seethed with hatred for his grandsire. It festered inside him like some noxious boil, ready to spew forth its ichors. It didn’t matter what face he wore, Angelus or Angel; it was past time for him to atone for his sins. Their day of reckoning was coming, Spike was sure of that.
Spike shot up with a snarl, glaring balefully at the blood-splattered wall in front of him. While he was grateful to be back from a hell he still couldn’t think about without having to bite back horrified screams, something told him that vengeance against the souled poof wasn’t the main agenda. Higher powers were definitely at work here.
He didn’t know how. He damned sure didn’t know why. All he remembered was feeling weak and dizzy, free-falling through time and space until he landed with a jolt. There were vague memories of stripping and crawling into the familiar bed. While hovering on the edge of sleep, the sound of fighting had called to his demon.
He remembered the blood. Remembered slashing and tearing until the miserable creature had begged for the death he so obligingly provided for the one that had dared to touch his property.
His slayer.
The demon had been in total control, but even in his feral state it recognized the girl for what she was. Knew it and felt compelled to claim her anyway; had rejoiced in the act, in fact.
Not that he had any regrets now that he was reasonably coherent and almost back to what passed as normal for him. The attraction--the all-consuming lust—for the little golden morsel had always been there. The demon had merely taken advantage of the situation. Her presence had danced its way through far too many of his fantasies since the night she had been pointed out to him at the Bronze, and in spite of his devotion to Drusilla, his demon had been enraged by the knowledge that his prancing arse of a grandsire had been the object of the tiny blonds affections.
But Angel had made one glaring error. During their one night of unrestrained passion, he had neglected for whatever reason to claim the slayer as his own.
A mistake Spike’s demon had been careful not to duplicate.
He was confident that she would be back in spite of her fear and confusion. He’d taken her blood three times now, and each time he did so it strengthened the claim he’d placed on her.
The restorative properties of slayer blood were renowned. He could feel it coursing through his body, practically sizzling as it raced to his extremities, healing his broken mind and spirit as well as his battered limbs.
Casually, almost disdainfully, he reached down and grasped the chains that bound his legs. With one powerful tug the links snapped, leaving him free to lever himself from the bed in search of his clothes.
Once dressed, he sat back to explore his options. Going out wasn’t even remotely possible. Not only was the sun shining, but he was nowhere near ready for the inevitable confrontation with his grandsire. As soon as the ponce caught his scent all over Buffy and got a gander at the nifty little scar he’d gifted her with, Spike had no doubt he’d be seeing a side of Angel that he never had before.
Because this time, he might have had the girl first, but in the end, she belonged to Spike.
Chapter Seven ~ Burn One Down for Me
She watched him from the shadows, heart pounding and body taut with the effort to hold herself back from rushing in to confront him. She wanted to bury her hands in that supple leather and shake him until the answers she needed spilled from his lips.
It didn’t surprise her that he had broken loose. The chains had been strong but she knew from past encounters that he was far stronger. He had also found his clothes, she noticed. He was sprawled in the only chair in the room, head resting against the high back, eyes staring contemplatively at the ceiling.
“Might as well come out, luv. I sensed you the minute you walked into the bloody building.”
After nearly two days of nothing but grunts and growls, the rich timbre of his voice sent a frisson of chills down her spine. Buffy clenched and unclenched her hands a few times before wiping her damp palms on her pants and moving into the muted candle light.
“I expected you earlier,” Spike commented, rolling his head to watch as she crept forward, his eyes caught up in the way her small white teeth worried at her full bottom lip.
“I had to wait until the fourth drink,” she replied cryptically.
He frowned. “Fourth drink?”
“My mom. After the fourth drink, she passes out and I can sneak out my window.”
Her words painted a mental picture of this slip of a girl, the most feared being of vampires everywhere, shimmying her way down a convenient tree. Spike grinned at the image and a soft chuckle rumbled forth.
“I’m glad to see you acting so much better. More like yourself, I mean,” Buffy said.
There was a sudden flare of heat in the eyes that met hers. After a heart stopping moment they dropped to linger almost caressingly on the bite marks he’d left on her neck.
“Yeah.” This time the smile was slow and darkly seductive. “I only had to wait on the third drink,” he murmured softly.
Buffy had to stifle a gasp as her body once again reacted to the power of his voice. Primal, feral Spike suddenly seemed easier to deal with than this Spike. This Spike’s penetrating blue eyes seemed to delve into her soul, glittering with all the fierce intelligence that had been missing before.
Aside from the heated looks and the subtle sexual inflection in his voice, he hadn’t made a move towards her. Maybe now that he was in control of his thoughts and actions, he wouldn’t’ be making with the pounce-y, growly sex. Which was good, right?
Right?
“W-we need to talk,” she stammered refusing to meet his eyes.
“Right.” Spike leaned his head back once more and loosed a gusty sigh. “Just don’t ask me how or why I got here, luv. I haven’t got a bloody clue.”
Buffy went to work on her bottom lip again, small white teeth gouging the tender flesh and drawing blood. She refused to ask the one question that was whirling through her chaotic thoughts. How did one even broach such a subject? ‘Oh, by the way, Spike, I know you bit me. Kind of expected it, with you being a vampire and all, but why did you claim me?’
“I might not know the how, but I’m pretty sure I know the why,” she told him warily. “H-how much do you… remember? About where you were, I mean.”
Spike flinched from the painful lash of memories and the eyes that met hers were dark with remembered pain. “All of it.”
Before she could ask him to elaborate he was out of the chair and pacing to and fro in agitation, his body practically vibrating with leashed energy, his demeanor much closer to that of the Spike she remembered.
“Can you--”
“No.”
“But--.”
“Leave it go, Slayer,” he bit out.
Buffy persisted. “Look, Spike, we need to--”
All she saw was a blur before he was on her, his eyes like molten gold, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her upper arms as he snatched her up and held her aloft.
“I said. Leave. It go!” he snarled, his nose nearly touching hers.
She flinched, turning her head to avoid his enraged countenance. “Put me down, Spike.” She shivered in spite of her efforts to quell her rising panic. “Please.”
Hearing the quaver in her voice and smelling her fear should have appeased him, but instead he dropped her like she had scalded him and quickly backed away, keeping his back to her as he struggled to regain control.
Buffy stumbled against a scorched armoire, barely catching herself on the edge to keep from falling.
“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. We can talk later. Why don’t I just get out of here and leave you alone?” she murmured, her voice softly placating as she inched back towards the door.
Running away went against everything she stood for. She knew she should stake him. Her hand even found its way behind her back to the reassuring presence of wood tucked into her waistband.
But one glaring fact stayed her hand. She had been gone for quite some time because her mother’s wrath over the handcuff incident had burned for hours. While he was obviously not completely healed mentally, physically he was as fit as ever. There had been nothing and no one to stand in his way if he decided to cut a bloody swathe through the unsuspecting town, yet he was still here and had clearly been waiting for her.
She decided to try one last time to get through to him. If he refused, the next time she faced him would be the last for one of them. She could only compromise her morals so far.
“Look, I know I haven’t had it nearly as bad as you have, but it’s still been pretty rough. I want to know what’s going on here as much as you do, but how are we going to figure it out if we don’t talk about what’s happened to both of us?”
Her softly spoken words were directed at his stiffly held back. He was so tense she wondered if he might break if she touched him. Buffy was just about to give up when he turned his head infinitesimally in her direction.
“We do this; there are limits to what I’ll tell you. I won’t lie to you, but don’t expect me to tell you every soddin’ detail, either. Agreed?” he asked harshly.
“Agreed.”
Spike motioned for her to take the chair while he continued to pace. It was distracting for her, but perhaps that’s what he intended, so she said nothing.
She had no idea where to begin. Apparently he had no such qualms. “Why did you run earlier?”
Her face flamed. It would be so easy to use her mother as an excuse, but if he was going to be honest with her she owed him the same courtesy, didn’t she?
A quick glance showed that he had stopped the ceaseless pacing and was staring at her with narrowed eyes as he waited for her answer.
“What you said? It kinda wigged me out,” she admitted. “What made you say that?”
“First, tell me why it scared you,” he countered.
“I’ve had some pretty intense dreams about what happened that morning. Different scenarios, but the end result was usually the same; I end up skewering you anyway and Angelus rips my throat out just before I wake up screaming.”
Buffy couldn’t repress the shudder that last image evoked. “The last few nights they were different, though. In this one, it’s just you and I in what you tell me is my version of hell.”
She didn’t miss the sudden tightening of his features at her mention of hell and rushed on. “We talked for a little while. I can’t remember what about. And then I… You… We-”
“Had the same dream.”
“We huh?” she squeaked. “No way!”
Spike had to smile. Even slack-jawed and bug-eyed, the slayer was just too cute for her own good. The smile was quickly followed by a ferocious frown. His demon should be howling with rage over the softer feelings its host was evincing towards the girl. Instead, the faithless creature was practically rolling over and waving metaphorical paws in the air like a hound begging for a tummy scratch. He faced her with a resigned sigh.
“Right. Went a bit like this…”
In seconds he’d picked her up and taken her place in the chair, dropping her down to sit astride him, her knees digging into the chair beside his hips. His hand at the small of her back nudged her forward until the moist warmth of her cleft cradled his straining erection, her heat searing him through the layers of their clothing.
Buffy let loose a startled gasp, a little shocked at his manhandling, but all thought of protest fled her mind once he settled her on his lap. She sat there in stunned anticipation of what his next move would be.
His mouth covered hers, swallowing the breathless moan that burst free as the hand at her back pushed her down harder into him while the other tangled in her hair, angling it to deepen the kiss.
Buffy responded without hesitation. He had that effect on her and she quite simply was helpless to fight against it. There had never been any mention of Spike having thrall in anything she had read about him. Maybe all vampires had it to a degree? Or maybe it was just the way he was. She more than suspected the latter.
His tongue coaxed hers out to play, to mesh and tangle with his in an erotic dance that sent shivers down her spine and curled her toes. Her hands fluttered up to rest on his shoulders before sliding up to sink into the soft hair at his nape.
She gasped as his mouth left hers to trail a damp path across her cheekbone to her ear, and from there down the long line of her throat to where the healing marks of his earlier bite itched and tingled unbearably, begging for his attentions. Her head fell back and her body arched, gliding back and forth in a steady rhythm across the fly of his jeans.
“I remember this part the best,” he panted needlessly against the soft skin of her neck, his cool tongue burning a path over firm, resilient flesh. “The part where you begged for my fangs. For my bite. Your body remembers, doesn’t it?”
She nodded, knowing her voice wouldn’t hold strong enough for a coherent reply. Impatient hands divested her of the light jacket and tight little tee she wore, then moved down to the crotch of her silky lounge pants. The delicate material gave easily, shredding between the strong fingers that were soon delving under the lacy scrap of her underwear and shoving them to the side.
One hand busied itself parting her slick folds, finding her needy clit with unerring accuracy while the other wrenched open his jeans and freed his pulsing sex.
Buffy threw her head back, a soundless scream shaping her mouth as he pulled her down onto him, his cock filling her so completely she was sure she would burst from the incredible sensation. Her nails scored down his back, shredding the material of his tee shirt and leaving angry red welts in their wake.
Spike’s demon howled in lusty appreciation of her reaction to his invasion and he growled, burying his face in the lush curves of her breasts. The diamond hard tips brushed over his lips and he latched on to one and then the other, sucking and nipping in turn with hedonistic gusto.
She couldn’t stifle her cries of pleasure as they rocked against each other. Close. She was so close and only he had the power to tip her over the precipice and into the beckoning darkness beyond. Her hands left off kneading the hard muscles of his shoulders and came up to frame his face, her fingertips digging in lightly as she tilted his head back and kissed him wildly, devouring him with lips and tongue.
Their mouths parted and their eyes locked, his flashing amber with the intensity of the moment. A slow, cunning smile curved her lips as she tilted her head invitingly to the side, her eyes never leaving his as she dared him to take what he had laid claim to.
Irresistible, he thought as his demon burst forth in response to her coquetry. Baby had a bit of the dark side in her that was just begging to come out and play, whether she believed it or not.
His hand on the back of her neck dragged her down, her body flush against him as his lips and roughened tongue worried over the scars.
“I told you to be ready for me, didn’t I, luv?” he rumbled the rich decadence of his voice sounding like pure unadulterated sin. “Are you ready for me now, Buffy?”
The sound of her name on his lips wrung a shudder from her highly sensitized body. Reservations were flung to the four winds as she arched ever closer, baring her throat to him in supplication.
“Now, Spike,” she breathed in a dark, sensual voice in no way recognizable as her own. “I’m ready for you. Want you, now.”
Who was he to deny what she begged for so sweetly? Spike sank his teeth into the ripe succulence of her neck, moaning as her indescribable, spicy essence flavored his tongue. He pulled another mouthful, savoring what he had been unable to appreciate in his more feral state.
Buffy screamed as she reached that elusive edge and plummeted over, the muscles of her passage clenching around his girth as her body quivered from the intense rush of her climax.
Spike threw his head back and roared his release to the rafters, bruising fingers at her hips slamming her down as his cool seed flooded her womb.
After what felt like an eternity, he slumped back in the chair, arms moving to encircle her limp warmth as she sagged against him.
“You’re mine, Buffy.” The words were whispered into the soft cloud of her hair as it fell across his face, cloaking him in her fragrance.
She turned her head on his shoulder, burying her nose in his neck with a sigh that warmed his skin before sleepily mumbling words that jolted the heart that hadn’t spoken in over a hundred years.
“Yes, Spike. Yours.”
~*~*~
Far above the slumbering lovers, shrouded by the shadows that mirrored the darkness of his soul, Angel fisted his hands and fought the urge to swoop down on the pair and brutally expose their perfidy. He ached with the need to rip and tear at both of them, to flail the skin from their bodies until their treachery flowed forth like the blood from their veins.
Instead, a rare smile bloomed in an expression that would have chilled the hearts of anyone who might take note of it. It might rankle to let it go for now, but he had to be patient.
Revenge would be so much sweeter for the wait.
WARNING!!!
Before reading any further, please understand that this chapter deals with non-consensual sex and some mutilation and is EXTREMELY graphic.
Chapter Eight ~ I’ve Got No Soul to Sell
She tapped her beautifully manicured acrylic nails on the table impatiently, fathomless dark eyes simmering with irritation as she watched for him.
How dare he stand her up? And this was the second time in a week!
Who in the hell did Xander Harris think he was? Her inner rant continued until she spied Harmony Kendall and her herd of sheep flocking towards her. Wonderful. Expressive brown eyes rolled with dramatic precision. Now she would be forced to endure their sly innuendos and bitchy comments about her choice in boyfriends. Her crappy night was complete.
Cordelia snatched up her tiny handbag and slid off her stool. She’d show him. Xander Harris was about to learn that Cordelia Chase waited for no man!
“Hi, Cordy.”
Except maybe this one.
Although technically he wasn’t a man. Well, not a living one, but compared to what this town had to offer, he was a definite step up. Pasting on her patented cheerleader smile, she turned to face him.
“Angel.” Her voice was a sultry purr as she sidled a little closer. Xander who? She though bitterly. She was perfectly aware of her boyfriend’s hatred for the dark haired vampire and planned to capitalize on it.
“Waiting for the others?” he asked casually. One strong hand clasped her elbow lightly as he led her back to the table she’d just vacated.
Cordelia made a big show of blinking in confusion. “The others?”
“You know. Xander. Willow.” The faintest pause. “Buffy maybe?”
A trill of forced laughter bubbled forth. “Why would I ever be waiting on those losers?”
Angel frowned. “I thought you and Xander were…”
She leaned forward and laid a soft, pampered hand on his muscled forearm. “So over that,” she advised him with a coquettish wink. Cordelia’s heart leapt when he smiled at her and laid his hand over hers resting on his arm.
“Why are you here? Waiting on Buffy?” she probed with studied carelessness.
“Buffy is… busy tonight. I decided I needed some…me time,” he said, his soft voice sending a frisson of lust up her spine.
Mmm. Buffy’s loss, Cordy thought smugly. Hadn’t she told the blonde that when it came to men, she was the slayer? She sighed. They never listened.
“Would you care for a drink?”
“Sure! Evian is fine,” she told him, bumping up the wattage on her perfect smile.
Cordelia watched him as he made his way to the bar, fully aware of the expressions of stunned surprise on the faces of Harmony and her friends. Take that, you bitches!
Angel was back and slid a glass in front of her. Cordelia frowned as she stared down at it in disbelief. That was not Evian water. She picked up the tall stemmed glass and leveled a look at the normally broody vampire over its rim.
“What is this?” she demanded, her charming façade slipping the slightest bit.
He shrugged. “It’s a mimosa. Champagne and orange juice. I figured a classy girl like you would know that.”
“I know what it is; I meant why did you get it for me? You do know I’m only seventeen, right?” For the first time, she noticed the large tumbler filled with golden liquid he held. “I didn’t know you drank alcohol, Angel.”
Angel leaned forward, one large hand covering hers where it rested on the table and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Ahh, darlin’ girl,” he whispered. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
Flirting. Angel was flirting with her. And where had that lilting accent come from? God, what a turn-on!
Feeling suddenly overheated, Cordelia gulped down half of her drink before she realized it. She wasn’t too worried since she’d had champagne before with her parents. The funny aftertaste she blamed on the orange juice.
He bought her several more drinks over the next few hours. They talked and he even danced with her to a couple of slow songs, stealing her breath when his hands seemed to drift accidentally onto sensitive places. And then he kissed her.
It was good. Not Xander good, but good enough that she didn’t protest when he suggested they step outside for some air. Her head was swimmy and she giggled helplessly, feeling curiously weak as he led her out the back door.
He had her behind the malodorous dumpster and up against the wall before the door closed, his mouth voracious as it devoured hers. She gasped in pain as his lips smashed hers, splitting the soft flesh until the coppery tang of blood coated her tongue.
“Hey!” Shocked and outraged, Cordelia tried to push him away from her. “Angel, stop it, you’re hurting me! W-what the hell is your problem?”
Hard hands bit into her shoulders and he slammed her back so hard her head cracked into the brick wall. He thrust his leering face close to hers, his soft, chilling laugh turning her blood to ice.
“A-A-Angelus?” she stammered, her eyes wide with terror. “Oh God, no…”
That low, wicked laugh again. “No, sweetheart, but I’ll be sure to tell him you said hello,” he assured her silkily. One of his hands pinned both of hers above her head, the small bones of her wrist grinding between his meaty fingers. The other swept up the side of her thigh, the delicate lace thong offering no protection as he ripped it away and dropped it carelessly to the ground.
Cordelia panicked, kicking and thrashing against him and turning her face away in disgust as he tried to kiss her again. He chuckled, running his tongue up the side of her face.
“Ahh, I do so love the taste of a fresh, young virgin,” he drawled. “So hot and sweet, you are… And the smell of you!” He buried his face in her neck and breathed deep of her scent. “I can’t wait to bust that tart little cherry of yours, Cordy lass.”
His mocking words renewed her struggles, her choked sobs and whispered pleas only inciting him further.
“I slipped a little something in your drink to make you more… agreeable, so don’t waste your energy fighting me, darlin’. You’re gonna need it when I start fuckin’ that hot little quim of yours.”
Angel braced her thighs open with his knees and shoved two thick fingers into her virginal channel, smothering her pained scream with his mouth. She bit his lip savagely and he jerked away with a snarl.
“So much for foreplay, I guess.” His free hand fumbled with his pants to free his hard cock. “Wanna see what I got for you, Cordy?” he jeered.
“Oh God. Angel, please don’t do this,” she begged, a mixture of tears and make-up spoiling her pretty face. “You’ll lose your soul again if you do this.”
Her pitiful attempts to reason with him made him roar with laughter. “No, I really won’t,” he scoffed. “I’d have to care about you to lose my soul, Cordy m’ girl. You’re a nice wet gash to bury m’ prick in, nothing more.” He drove his fingers into her once more, twisting them viciously within her until she cried out. “Well, maybe not wet, but I can work around that.”
Cordy winced as he held his hand up in front of her face; certain he was going to slap her.
“Spit,” Angel ordered. “Don’t look at me like ’m daft. You’re dry as the desert and I need some lube. Now, spit.”
A smidgeon of her bitchy nature surged forward and a feral smile curled her bloody lips. Rearing back, she gathered as much spit as her mouth offered and sprayed it across his face instead.
Angel grimaced. “Cordy, Cordy.” He shook his head as he wiped his face clean with his shirt sleeve. “I guess we do this the hard way.”
Eyes flashing yellow, he brought his demon forth, smiling at her through a mouthful of lethally sharp teeth. Holding her horrified gaze, he bent his head to her chest.
Slashing at her silk dress with his fangs until it hung in tattered ribbons; he sank his teeth into one of her plump breasts, tearing at the satiny flesh until her blood flowed in crimson rivers.
Cordy bit back her screams, refusing to give him the satisfaction. She turned her head into her shoulder as he swiped his hand through the blood.
“You’re gonna bleed anyway; what’s a little more gonna hurt, huh?” he crooned as he stroked his bloody hand over his cock.
She tried to summon the strength to fight him off. She did. But whatever he had slipped in her first drink was now in full effect and she could only hang limply from his punishing hands as he shoved her quivering thighs apart with his hips.
Crushing her slim body into the bricks, Angel released her hands to fall lax at her sides. Grabbing her knees, he forced them high and wide. He still wore his vampire guise and she caught his fangy grin as he bent over and spat a blob of saliva on her trimmed pussy and rubbed it around.
Without warning he plunged his blood smeared cock into her, tearing her delicate flesh and bursting through her maidenhead with no regard for her untouched status, reveling in the pain he caused her.
There was no one to hear her pleas for help as he pounded her against the wall relentlessly. The monster that wore Angel’s face mocked her as she cried bitter tears.
“Why do you cry? I’m doin’ you a favor, lass. Getting’ you all broken in for your little boyfriend. Think he’ll want to fuck you after you’ve been with a monster?”
He pressed an incongruously soft kiss to her wet cheek, his tongue lapping at the salt of her tears as he tasted her humiliation, laughing as she cowered away from him with a mewl of disgust.
Trying to block out his hateful spiel, choosing instead to concentrate on Xander’s sweet, dopey face and warm brown eyes, Cordy cursed herself. Stupid. Spoiled and selfish and stupid, stupid, stupid.
Staring down into the deformed face of the demon bent on her destruction, Cordelia Chase knew that if she managed to somehow survive his attack, she would never again be the bitch-queen of Sunnydale High. Would never again look down on others from her pretty pedestal of superiority. Angel had broken that golden pedestal as sure as he had broken her body.
He kept at her, his feral grunts and groans rising in volume as he savaged her with cock and fangs. She felt as if he were splitting her in two. Her crotch burned with pain and she could fell the steady drip of her blood as it coated her thighs. It flowed copiously from the bite marks that now littered her shoulders and breasts.
A look of horror dawned across her face as he reached between them, wetting his thumb in her virgin’s blood and sweeping it roughly over her clit.
“No!” she screamed. “No, no, no!”
This was familiar to her body, a part of the innocent love play that she and Xander had indulged themselves in rather than going ‘all the way’. For Angel to force her to find any kind of pleasure in this heinous act was the ultimate defilement of her innocence.
“Oh, yes!” His maniacal laugh rang out in the stygian darkness. “Can’t leave you wantin’, now can I?” he chortled as she thrashed against him, glorying in the hatred that poured from her flashing eyes.
“You fucking bastard,” she hissed as she fought her body’s reaction to his ministrations. She gritted her teeth against the onslaught of her unwilling orgasm. “Nooooooooooo!”
“Oh, it just gets better, baby,” he taunted. Grabbing a fistful of her long hair and yanking her head to the side, he sank his teeth into the vulnerable artery.
Cordelia shuddered with the strength of the climax that swept over her. The guilty pleasure that suffused her was at war with her feelings of filth and shame that he had been successful in making her come, that the body she thought she knew so well could betray her in such a way.
Angel roared as his own release followed close behind hers and he ground against her with each burst of dead seed that coated her womb. He continued to suck greedily at her neck.
Her long eyelashes drifted closed and she could feel her heartbeat stutter alarmingly. Cordelia was seconds away from death when she heard the soft murmur of a familiar voice and the scrape of footsteps coming towards them.
Angel jerked away with an enraged snarl, yellow eyes alert as he peered into the darkness. A quick sniff of the air told him who was approaching.
And who she was with.
Stepping back, he let her fall to the ground, smiling as she fought for control of her rubbery legs enough to stand, her eyes spewing her contempt for him.
Allowing his demon to finally recede, he fastened his pants and smoothed his hair.
“Not bad, Cordy m’ darlin’. Give me a call if Xander doesn’t hit it right.”
Blowing her a kiss, he quickly disappeared into the darkness, the off key song he was singing floating back to her, burning her ears with its coarseness.
“Oh Cordy, well you came ‘cause my dick got you shakin’, then I threw you away, oh Cordy…”
~*~*~
The insidious weakness of shock and blood loss seeped through her limbs and fogged her vision. The voice came again, closer this time and there were two of them now; one the deep bass rumble of a man. Desperate to reach them, whoever it was, she forced herself to move.
Cordy whimpered and began dragging herself from behind the dumpster he’d ravaged her behind. An inch at a time, her fingernails snapping off at the quick as she scrabbled for purchase against the crumbling asphalt of the alley.
Bits of broken glass and sharp rocks shredded the soft flesh of her forearms and knees as she pulled herself along. Just a little further…
“Slayer.” The deeper, accented voice reminded her of Giles. “Might want to get your ass over here, pet. This doesn’t look good.”
A pair of worn black boots stepping into her path brought a halt to her efforts and she collapsed to rest her cold, bloody cheek against pavement still warm from the heat of the day.
Another pair of boots, also black but with a stylish, chunky heel joined the first.
“Oh my God. Oh, Cordelia…”
Her red-rimmed eyes lifted to meet the horrified hazel eyes of the slayer and she sagged with relief into Buffy’s arms. She could rest now.
Cordelia had never felt so safe.
To be continued
Icon by Dasugraphics
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