Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17 (for language, violence, and sexual situation)
Timeline: Season Two (Post Passion, although in a verse where Darla did not die in Season One’s Angel)
Summary: A brokenhearted vampire discovers that the truly important things in life often come from surprising places, and even more surprising people. Suddenly, Spike finds himself in a crisis of faith—the better angels of his conscience battling the restraint of his demon, all for the love of a girl he shouldn’t want. A girl he’s drawn to, even beyond his own reckoning.
Distribution: Mandi, Yani, Luba, and the ladies at B/S Diaries...it’s all yours. Everyone else, just drop me a line. You can have it as long as I know where it’s going.

Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant enemy. They are being used for entertainment purposes out of love and admiration, and not for the sake of profit. No copyright infringement is intended.

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A/N: Giles and Xander in this chapter are a little more stereotypical in this chapter than I like writing, but considering that it follows Jenny’s death in Season 2, I felt it was appropriate. Just warning you: teh!cliché!

Previously: Having confessed their true feelings to each other, Spike claimed Buffy and she accepted. Meanwhile, the Scoobies are researching Acathla to preempt Angelus’s attempt to destroy the world.

Spike didn’t like the way the old man was looking at him, though honestly, he couldn’t say he was surprised. Not with his arms around his mate’s waist and his mouth irrevocably drawn to her throat every few seconds. And to her credit, Buffy didn’t seem to mind. If she even noticed her Watcher’s disapproving glare, she didn’t let it show. Instead, she rested against him, her back pressed to his chest, and spoke when addressed as though she hadn’t just broken every rule in the Slayer Handbook.

It wasn’t like Spike could help himself. For the first time in a century, the demon was entirely at peace. Perhaps they could have been more discreet, but except for the occasional death glare, Spike didn’t care. Buffy’s back was pressed to his chest, her fingers laced through his where his hand rested at her belly, and the contact was so soothing that he was fighting off a purr.

He’d heard that vampires became very amorous in the immediate period following a claim, though that understanding in no way prepared him for the wealth of what he felt. Every brush of her flesh against his made him tremble. He couldn’t stop touching her if he tried.

“So,” Buffy said, “lemme get this straight. We’re talking a sword-in-the-stone thing, here.”

“There’s a chance the translation is faulty,” Giles replied, though his tone told Spike that he didn’t believe it. “But yes—in its simplest form, we are dealing with a realized fairytale. If Angel succeeds in pulling the sword from Acathla’s chest—”

“The whole world does a loopty-loop into Hell.” She nodded. “I think we got that part covered.”

“The legend is allegedly written on Acathla’s sword in Aramaic,” he continued. Then paused. “Though Acathla’s legacy is about as renowned as the story of Arthur and the true sword-in-the-stone.”

Spike nodded thoughtfully. “For a time in the ’80s, Angelus tried to get me interested in history. Never saw the appeal.”

“So you didn’t know your peoples’ sword-in-the-stone story?” Buffy teased. “My poor, deprived boyfriend. This explains so much.”

He smirked and nipped at her throat. “Quiet, you.”

“The ’80s?” Xander murmured, frowning. “I thought Angel’d been all…Soul Boy for at least a century now.” His eyes narrowed and shifted to Buffy. “Is this another thing you’re just now telling us?”

“The 1880s, I believe,” Giles corrected, smothering a cough. “When you live for centuries, you have to be more specific.” He paused and his expression hardened. “Though I suppose that’s something that Buffy will eventually know firsthand. Isn’t that right, William?”

A very still beat settled through the library.

“Giles—”

Spike growled and tightened his arms around his mate, his mouth brushing a kiss over his mark possessively. “That’s not up for discussion, Watcher,” he said. “We’re discussin’ the apocalypse, remember? Somehow, I think that’s slightly more important than your slayer’s bedmate.”

He felt Buffy’s flush as vibrantly as he would his own, but he couldn’t help the streak of pride that raced through him when she didn’t berate his vulgarity.

Giles’s jaw hardened, and though he resented it, there was something to be respected in the hate that colored the old man’s eyes. It took a lot for a human to hate that much; he’d seen it a time or two, but never from one as stuffy and proper as Buffy’s Watcher.

Then again, Spike had been around long enough to know that there was more than met the eye about everyone.

“Guys,” said the soft-spoken redhead. The chit who’d had the bloody brilliant idea of reensouling Angelus in the first place. “We really…ummm…with the plan? I know that everyone’s all wigged because of…well…” She glanced to the blonde couple tellingly, and cast her eyes away again just as quickly. “B-but, really…pressing matters. I-I think berating people on personal…stuff…can really wait until after world saveage. I’d much rather be alive and interventiony than not-so-alive.”

The vampire exhaled slowly and squeezed Buffy to him with another possessive grunt. While that afternoon had done wonders to quell his fears that the Slayer would run back into the Great Ponce’s open, overbearing arms the second he gasped her name in penance, there was a still a very real, very vocal part of him that couldn’t help but dread the next few days. Buffy was Spike’s girl—no questions there, though he didn’t think that she had a handle on how much power Angel had had over her in the before-time. Prior to popping her cherry and twisting their world on its axis.

How her stomach would clench and her heart would pound when he turned his remorse-drenched soulful eyes to her and reached for her hand.

It would never happen, she’d promised him. Never. And she’d spent the afternoon loving him with her mouth and body, telling him that he was her new everything. Allowing him to sup from her throat as he possessed her completely, and claimed her as his own. Spike knew she belonged to him. He knew she was his. He knew that she loved him; God, he felt it with her every move. Every glance. Every everything, and it had nothing to do with the claim. Buffy hid nothing from him. She’d been so hurt so recently, and yet she offered herself to him completely. No worries. No second-thoughts. She loved him.

There was nothing in the world quite like that knowledge. For the first time in a century, he held something precious in his hands. Something pure. Something more than what he was. Buffy’s love was everything he’d never thought to touch, and any threat to it—even those he imagined—made the demon roar.

Adding stress to his mate’s life now was not in the least beneficial. She didn’t need an impending verbal crucifixion weighing on her shoulders as she went in to save the world and confront the bloke who had ripped away her innocence.

The Watcher was still looking at him as though he’d singly masterminded the Holocaust, and Spike felt his patience running thin. For as much as the rational part of his brain told him to suffer through it—that Buffy was worth a world of animosity—he increasingly felt like the proverbial cornered animal. It was only a matter of time before he lashed out.

“Very well,” Giles said finally, nodding to Willow in agreement. “You’re right, of course. Angel takes priority. All else can wait until the apocalypse is off-course.”

Spike couldn’t help himself at that. He was too irritated to give a bleeding fuck about appearances, now. “The fact that I jus’ said the exact same thing doesn’ mean rot to you wankers, does it?”

“Not really, no.”

“You bloody hypocrite.”

Buffy covered his hand supportively and squeezed. “Don’t worry about him,” she said loudly, earning a scalding glare from her Watcher that likely bothered her more than she let on. “Really…let’s just get this over with. The more time we spend here, the less time you and I have for patrol. I’m really all for stopping Angelus before the ritual, and the more time we spend here, the less I see that happening.”

Cordelia sighed stridently and rolled her eyes. “Oh, would you guys give it a rest?! We’ve been here for twenty minutes and all you people have done is repeat what the last person said. Angel. Ritual. Big demon. Apocalypse?” She turned to Giles. “I’m guessing the removal of the sword begins the badness?”

“Whoa,” Xander said.

The Watcher looked at her for a dazed minute, then flushed and nodded. “If I remember correctly, the ritual discusses a sacrifice. The blood that is supposed to initiate Acathla’s awakening.”

“Angelus needs a blood sacrifice?” Buffy sighed and elbowed Spike in the ribs. “What is it with you people and blood sacrifices?”

“Comes with the territory, pet. ‘F you don’ know by now, I think you’re in the wrong profession.”

“Especially if you’re going to be so liberal in the application of the word ‘people,’” Giles added disapprovingly. He turned back to Cordelia before either of them could respond. “I believe the ritual is deliberately misleading in the definition of ‘blood sacrifice.’ If we’re lucky, Angel will be prone to believe that a ceremonial killing is involved.”

“Lucky?” Buffy spat incredulously.

“Lucky as in…he will be wrong, and the world will not be destroyed.”

“Lucky as in someone’s gonna get killed ‘cause Angelus doesn’t believe in Cliff’s Notes?”

“There’s a chance to prevent him from killing at all.” Giles paused, frowning, and cast a pointed glare in Spike’s direction. “And as it is, I don’t see where you have room to talk.”

Buffy stiffened. “Stop it,” she said quietly.

“I don’t—”

“No, Giles. Stop it.” The room suddenly fell deathly still. “I know this is hard for you. I know you don’t approve. I know that you likely will never approve. However, newsflash, my life. My life, my Calling—as in, not yours. Thank you. The End.”

A storm besieged Giles’s eyes. “Yes, well,” he replied in a low tone, removing his glasses. “I’d be more prone to agree with you if your recent decisions concerning your life and Calling hadn’t resulted in the careless desouling of one of history’s most infamous vampires. Your choices tell me that you don’t care about the blood he’s spilt so much as you do about your own happiness, so don’t lecture me on my willingness to sacrifice one life for the benefit of the whole.”

There were several degrees to fury; Spike knew this from experience. And while he was hardly the most tempered example in history’s pages, it generally took a lot for his wrath to reach its peak. In a simple matter of seconds, Giles had surpassed every degree, and was aiming for a new record. “That’s enough!” Spike snarled, his face shifting. “You—”

“Spike—stop.” The resolve in her voice didn’t betray how hard she was shaking, and just like that, he found himself overwhelmed with her determination. She was a pillar of force—a tower of fortitude that had him thoroughly floored. A century of disconnect from humans, and he’d somehow forgotten how strong they were. How much they could give when it was necessary, and how deeply they could hurt.

“Giles,” she continued, her voice low and dangerous. It was a tone Spike had never heard her take before, even with her enemies, and the power she displayed with mere words was enough to make the heavens tremble. “This isn’t up for discussion. Not now. Not ever. I can’t help it if you have a problem with it. Spike is…well, we’re together. And we’re gonna stay together. He’s gonna help me save the world.”

“And then run back to Morticia?” Xander barked. “Once the competition’s gone, the insane-girlfriend thing—”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Knock it off, White Bread. I left her.”

“Because of Angel.”

“Because she’s a cold-hearted, unfeelin’ bitch who used me for a century.”

“Yes…and you just figured that out when she started knocking boots with Angel?”

A snarl tore at his throat. The next thing he knew, he had relinquished his hold on his mate and was dangerously close to storming up to the boy and giving him the scare he so richly deserved. And perhaps he would have, had Buffy not seized his wrist sharply and tugged him back to her side.

He felt the sting of her jealousy, and it surprised him so much that he nearly fell over. Not for all the reading he’d done did he ever expect to feel so much through their connection. He couldn’t read her thoughts, but he could definitely feel her feelings. In time, he knew, she would develop walls to block him from sensing her moods—sensing everything—as it was the way of other vampires.

Feeling her envy of a woman he wouldn’t touch again for all the blood in the world wasn’t the heady experience he’d expected. Rather, it left him feeling hollow and crestfallen. He loved Buffy too much to let her believe that he would ever want anything but what he had with her right now. He wanted to banish her jealousy. Right now. This second. Prove to her—to everyone—that what he had with her was worth more than all the time the world could have offered him with his maker.

“What happened is none of your sodding business,” he said coldly. “I left Dru for me.” He paused and squeezed Buffy’s hand. “But your slayer gave me strength.”

“Must be all that blood she’s donating.”

“Okay, that’s it.” The surge of rage that tore through him was foreign for both its strength and the face behind it. The next thing Spike knew, Buffy was across the room, decking her friend in the eye with such force that he flew—quite literally—across the check-out counter and crashed haphazardly against the wall. “Is it going to take the world ending for you guys to shut the hell up?” she screamed, ignoring the roomful of stunned looks. “Spike and I are together. We’re mated. Hell, we’re in love. It’s not my problem if you can’t accept that. You know what my problem is? The world ending. Anyone here want to see the world end?”

Xander slowly peeked over the countertop but didn’t rise fully to his feet. No one else moved or spoke. They all just stared.

Spike held back a chuckle. He might be new to this ‘claimed’ thing, but he knew that attacking one’s mate, be it verbally or physically, was dangerous business. Especially when dealing with a newly mated couple—those who hadn’t developed the experience to control their baser emotions.

Her friends were in for it if they didn’t watch themselves.

“Yeah,” she continued with a short nod. “Didn’t think so. You can hate me all you want, but keep it to yourself. And hey! After we’ve stopped the apocalypse, you guys can all go back to pretending like my life should be run by committee. I don’t need any lectures. I don’t need any interventions. I don’t need anything but a little help in keeping the world from not being sucked into Hell. If anyone has a problem with that…” She pointed demonstratively. “There’s the door.”

The library fell silent amidst shock and wonder, and Spike was certain that he’d never seen her look so glorious. Her eyes were on fire. Her chest was heaving. Her expression was fueled with angry determination. It would crash down on her later; he knew that as well as he knew anything. The lack of support from her Watcher—the bloke that was practically her surrogate father—would be crippling once the rage was gone. Once she fell from her high. After this was over, Spike reckoned it might be wise to step aside for a while and let her piece her relationships back together—though as a mate, he wasn’t sure if that were possible. His first impulse was to comfort her, followed closely by his need to repay those that had caused her pain.

And even if he did melt into the background for a while—didn’t accompany her when she went out with her chums and did the things that girls did when they were her age—he knew simply from standing with her that things would never be the same. Buffy had asked him to tie them together, and he had. Their destinies were the same now, and nothing could change that. She’d accepted him. She’d accepted his claim, and now she belonged to him.

He would simply have to guard his temper, lest he made things worse.

“Okay,” Buffy said slowly. She reached for his hand, but didn’t look at him, and he was at her side in a heartbeat. Her fingers curled through his and squeezed; he was encompassed in warmth. “Willow…start putting the stuff together. Whatever you need to reensoul Angel. Spike and I are going to go patrol.” She turned to Giles. “And you…I need you to tell me how to stop Acathla. If we can’t get to Angelus in time and he starts the ritual, I need to know how to stop it.” A beat. “We’ll be back in two hours. Have some answers ready.”

Buffy turned on her heel without missing a beat and led him out of the library. And as they stepped out beneath the night sky, after the shadows of disapproval ceased their chase, she stopped and turned to kiss him. Telling him without words that she was okay. That they had survived the first hurdle of this new thing together.

That was all he needed. Spike moaned and melted into her, and that was all he needed.

Words could wait. He had her hand in his, her mouth teasing his mouth. He was at her side—where he belonged—and words could wait.

She honestly didn’t know when he’d become so fucking obsessed with ending the world.

Darla had never suspected that she would become one to pine for the good ole days. Four hundred years, and she had welcomed each new passing century as enthusiastically as the next. Time was a wonderful, boundless thing that could not be rationalized nor controlled. She was, after all, a proponent of chaos, and time was in chaos’s corner. She adored watching nations rise and fall—she had followed church collapses, had defiled priests, and introduced the profane into every realm of the known Sacred. The past century had given her independence, even where independence was not wanted. She had learned to live without Angelus—and until just a few years earlier, without the Master.

And yet, despite her love of independence, she had missed Angelus. She’d missed his creativity, his wit, his brutality—oh God, she’d missed his brutality. The face of the monster she’d loved so much, watching as he slaughtered children in front of their parents, just to bathe in their pain. Watching as he made people bleed just to remind them of their own filthy mortality.

She’d missed him; there was no denying that. And now she had him back.

She had him back, but he wasn’t the same. Angelus had never before shown a lasting interest in ending the world. True, he had always been more ambitious than any other vampire she’d known—Master included—but he had never thought to obliterate the whole when it was so much more fun to destroy in segments. He liked torment. He liked pain. He wanted his enemies to fear him and his allies to fear him more. Ending the world, while a fun thought, simply wasn’t Angelus. Not the Angelus she knew.

He was over-compensating. And it wasn’t that Darla couldn’t understand how confining a soul could be. Hell, watching him had been painful enough. Making kissy-face with the Slayer—what a fucking abomination. But God, it wasn’t as though he had anything to prove. Not to her. All she wanted was a dead slayer and maybe a night on the town. It wasn’t too much to ask.

But he wasn’t listening to her. A century trapped within a soul, and Angelus stopped listening to her. He wanted the world to end—he was set on it.

Dru thought it was brilliant, of course. She clapped and sang and told her daddy how much she was looking forward to dancing with the devil. She twirled around with her dollies and whispered to the stars. Fucking halfwit would have done anything her precious sire asked of her. Even drenched in soul, she had wanted him. Tormented Spike to death, but then, Darla had always found that part funny.

And as tragic as it was, there was nothing funny about the world ending. Nothing funny at all.

Darla heaved a sigh and eyed the dormant statue wearily.

Angelus was going to try for Armageddon, and there was little she could do about it. Any attempt to stop Angelus would be suicidal. He’d kill her if she tried to thwart him—and even with her advanced age working in her favor, he was stronger than her—stronger than any vampire she’d known. As it was, even if she managed to dust him before he dusted her, Darla wasn’t fool enough to believe she could escape the mansion unscathed. Not while it crawled with cronies that were loyal to Angelus’s cause.

There was little she could do.

The end of the world was coming. Angelus was going to destroy them all with his ego.

And all she could do was watch.

There were reasons that Giles invited them over so infrequently, and most centered on Xander’s penchant for touching things. He supposed the boy’s determination to get a feel for every weapon in the flat was compensation for having so few male friends. He’d be fortunate if all of his so-called “good” weapons weren’t thoroughly worn and useless by the time he had his home back from the invading teenagers.

Moreover, Xander’s recent stint as a soldier had him thinking, for whatever reason, that he was the expert on all weaponry rather than simply guns and other phallus-shaped instruments that made a large noise when activated. Twice now, Giles had barked at him to leave the lance alone, and to please not point the crossbow at the antique vase that sat precariously on a stand next to his library shelf.

“Oh come on, G-Man,” Xander objected. “How old can that thing be?”

Giles arched a brow. “It dates to 325 A.D, and for the money I spent, I could have put the lot of you through college. Now please, put my crossbow down.”

The color drained from the boy’s face, and he quickly obliged. He plopped down on the settee next to his girlfriend, who rolled her eyes and checked her watch.

“Willow is putting the last ingredients together,” Giles assured her. “We’ll get started soon enough.”

“Yeah,” Xander added weakly. “Besides, who wants to rush the apocalypse?”

“I’m not being impatient,” Cordelia said. Then paused. “Well, yes, maybe a little impatient. I don’t like sitting around here, watching my boyfriend get scolded while the world could get sucked into hell at any moment. And could Willow’s ingredients smell any worse?”

“Oh, they could,” Giles replied, his brows arched. “So let’s not tempt fate, shall we?”

Willow and Oz emerged from the kitchen then, each equipped with a tray.

“Smelly-herb man,” Cordelia observed.

Oz shrugged. “I do what I can.”

Xander frowned and waved a hand in front of his nose. “Don’t werewolves have a heightened sense of smell?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged again. “It’s okay. I’m manly.”

Willow shot him a proud grin. “Yes. Oz is all man. Man enough for smelly herbs.” She glanced back to Giles. “Where should we put these?”

“Here on the floor. The text indicates that we need a sacred circle.” He paused. “Xander and Oz will sit with you. Cordelia…I don’t suppose the impending annihilation of Earth would persuade you to wave around the…erm…smelly herbs?”

She threw her hands up. “Hey. I can sacrifice my nose for the planet. I’m not that shallow.”

Xander turned to beam at Willow. “She’s all man, too.”

“Oh, bite me so hard.”

Giles cleared his throat and tried not to grin. “All right. We should try this now.” He nodded at Willow. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with channeling so much power?”

“No,” she replied, her voice slightly shrill. “But I think I can do it.”

“Very well, then. Let’s all—”

It all happened quickly. Very quickly. The alarm sounded just seconds before the smoke from the upper level permeated into the living room, clouding over the herbs in simple seconds. And despite the sinking sensation in his stomach, an eerie calm overcame him as he rose to his feet.

“Giles…” Willow began, her voice shaking as she sniffed at the air. “Is that…that’s not—”

“It is,” he replied. “Xander, you may take the crossbow now. Everyone—outside.”

“What the—”

“Outside!” he yelled.

There was a certain measure of acceptance. Spike’s warning had prepared him. Thus when he found himself staring into Drusilla’s yellow, angry eyes, there was nothing but seasoned recognition.

“Giles!” Willow was at his arm, tugging at him like a child. “We can’t—”

“Kill the others,” Drusilla said loudly to the fanged cronies behind her. “Daddy needs the professor.”

The piercing crash of shattered glass exploded through the air, and Giles’s home went up in flames.

They had only been mated for a few days, but Buffy could already tell that Spike’s overprotective streak had just as much potential to annoy as it did to fill her insides with warmth. Right now, he was being so possessive and vampire-y that she was half tempted to shove him into the nearest mausoleum and seal it shut until the upcoming confrontation was in the past.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love him to pieces for his protectiveness, but it was a little smothering when she could so take him in a fight.

“Spike, for the last time—”

“He’s gonna sense me there, anyway, pet. I don’ see why—”

“—you’re going to have to stay back until it—”

“—we’re even goin’ for the ‘gotcha’ routine. The second I step into the soddin’ graveyard—”

“—becomes absolutely clear that I need—”

“—the gig’s gonna be up. Honestly, one would think—”

Buffy stopped and stomped effectively. “Oh, will you please be quiet? Seriously, Spike, this is only going to work if you—”

He held up a hand, tugging at her with his other until they fell into pace again. “’S not gonna work—period. Oh, don’ gimme that look, pet, you know it as well as I do. Angelus isn’t gonna fall for anythin’. He din’t crawl out of the grave yesterday. If I’m with you, he’s gonna know I’m with you. Doesn’ bloody matter how crafty you are.” He paused. “Really, sweetling, I think he’d be disappointed if you showed up alone. Angelus doesn’ like complacent bait. An’ if you try to pull the wool over his eyes, he’s jus’ gonna be pissed.”

“I think we’re running that risk either way.” Buffy sighed and crossed her arms, shivering despite the southern California heat. “I don’t get why he wants to see me at all,” she said. “It’s not like he needs my permission to destroy the world.”

“No,” Spike agreed, his tone soft as he reached up to stroke her back reassuringly. “But he is drawn to you.”

“Phooey.”

He arched a brow. “You think I’m kiddin’? Fuck, pet, you’re all he talked about. Was drivin’ Darla outta her mind, an’ when Dru wasn’ beggin’ him for his dick, it annoyed her, too. He’s obsessed with you. He was inside purity an’ he can’t get over it.”

Buffy shuddered. “I don’t want him obsessed with me.”

“Believe me, sweetheart, I don’ want him obsessed with you, either. I know the way he gets when he’s obsessed. I’ve seen it.” Spike exhaled sharply and shook his head. “’S why I din’t want you comin’ by yourself. One of many, many reasons.”

“I still say I can handle myself,” she pouted.

Spike grinned and brushed his lips against her cheek. “I have no doubt.”

“Yeah, your overbearing protectiveness really speaks volumes for your confidence in my ability to handle myself.”

“Overbearin’?”

“A little overbearing.”

“Buffy, you’re gettin’ skittish at the thought of how obsessed with you this wanker is! How do you think you’ll handle yourself when—”

“Angelus has no power over me anymore. He can’t play the Angel card, ‘cause I’m not in love with Angel anymore.” She sighed. “And he knows he can’t do that…if he really can feel everything, he knows that you claimed me—”

“An’ since he considers you his personal property, he might feel a bit put out that I took what he sees as his. This might be a way to punish you, luv.” Spike frowned. “An’ if it is…trust me…you’re in no way prepared. He’s been playin’ with you up till this point—tryin’ to drive you daffy like he did Dru. Murderin’ the teacher, breakin’ into your house an’ makin’ sketches of your mum. Spillin’ the truth about poppin’ your cherry.”

Buffy fought off a grin at the jealousy that flashed across her lover’s face. As much as she hated the feeling, she loved it that he got all growly over Angel’s incredibly brief stake on her body. Spike’s possessiveness over her was something she was totally cool with—it empowered her with femininity and confidence. It still overwhelmed her that she could have any means to attract Spike at all—watching him wiggle because he knew that she had once loved another gave her authority that shook her to her core.

Spike shot her a sharp glance, his eyes narrowed. “Think it’s funny, do you?” he demanded.

She tried unsuccessfully to will away her grin. He was just so cute when he was jealous. “I didn’t say anything,” she replied innocently.

“’S not funny,” he retorted, the hand on her back sliding around her waist and hugging her to his side. “An’ I would demonstrate how thoroughly unfunny it is, but I won’ because I’m a gentleman.”

“Pshaw.”

“You’re pushin’ your luck, pet.”

Buffy’s mirth deepened, and she brushed a soft kiss against the nape of his throat, earning a long, sensual purr. “You know I love you, you big dummy,” she said. “And hey, you really can’t be mad that I had a boyfriend before you.”

Granted, the mention of her former boyfriend immediately conjured images of his former girlfriend. And just like that, her own words became her folly. Her stomach churned, and she suddenly experienced a violent twist of the ugly side of jealousy.

Lousy Drusilla.

Spike tossed her a knowing glance and smirked. “Doesn’ feel so good, does it?”

“How’d you know?”

“We’re mated now.”

Grumble. Of course. “Gah. That’s gonna get really old really fast.”

His smirk melted into a gentler smile, and he hugged her closer reassuringly. “Once this is all over, you an’ I’ll have to sneak away some weekend an’…practice blockin’ out our feelings from each other.”

“You can’t…read my thoughts, can you?”

Spike tossed her a coy glance and waggled his brows. “Why? You have some interesting ones?”

“Spike…”

“’S okay. I already knew I am a better shag than Angel.”

“SPIKE!”

“Li’l louder, pet, an’ every hope of a surprise attack’s gonna go out the window.”

“My God…” She shook her head and crossed her arms in a mock-pout, though she couldn’t keep herself from giggling when he tickled her side and nibbled affectionately at her neck. “Freak,” she said, though there was no venom behind it.

He was grinning like an idiot now, and he looked so happy and carefree that she couldn’t help the surge of pride that commanded her. Just a few days ago, he’d been a miserable shell of a man who couldn’t think but to destroy the source of his pain. He’d been fueled with agony and drunk with despair, and now he was happy-smiley-guy who totally loved her and made her burn every time he met her eyes.

“I can’t read your thoughts,” he finally admitted. “But I can sense how you’re feelin’. Since the claim is so new, I’m guessin’ all of your emotions are jus’ hittin’ me at full force.”

“Bad?”

“No. I rather like knowin’ when you’re horny.”

She blushed and glanced down. “Meanie.” A beat. “Why can’t I feel you and all of your pervy horniness?”

Spike was quiet for a moment. “’Cause you din’t claim me, sweetling.”

“I didn’t?”

“No.”

“Why? You didn’t tell me…” Buffy jutted out her lower lip. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought we’d done everything. I made it final, didn’t I? By accepting—”

“Yeah, luv. It’s final.”

“Then why—”

“Claimin’ me means you’d feel everythin’ I feel.” He paused meaningfully. “An’ I do mean everything. The bloodlust an’ the Buffylust. And then the lust for Buffy-blood. An’ everything in between.” Spike sighed and glanced to the ground. “I don’ know if I want you to know that about me yet.”

“Know what?”

“I’m a monster. You know it, yeh, but you haven’ felt it. I’d never want you to feel me feelin’ what I do, especially since we’re both so new to this.” He shook his head. “I’m evil, through an’ through. You might be my conscience, pet, but that doesn’ make the evil thoughts go away. They’re there—I jus’ stopped listenin’ to them.”

Buffy frowned. It wasn’t as though she didn’t understand his logic—because she was total understand-o girl. There was something incredibly wigsome in the idea that she might experience bloodlust via her connection to her mate. However, a larger part of her knew that the reward would completely justify whatever she had to put herself through to get to the good stuff. A part of being with Spike was accepting Spike as he was, and refusing to ignore the demon—the part of him that was and would always be evil and monstrous.

He was shielding her. She knew he was shielding her. As much as he loved and trusted her, there was a part of him that didn’t believe she could ever accept him wholly as he was.

Well, she wasn’t going to be chased off like that. It might be hard at first, but it’d be totally worth it in the end.

They were in this together, through and through.

“What if I said I wanted it?” she asked softly. “If I said it was worth it…I wanna share something like that with you.”

Spike drew in a sharp breath, tightening his arm around her middle. “You do share it with me, sweetling. Trust me, you’re gettin’ the better end of the deal. We have the connection, an’ you—”

“But I want—”

“You don’ know what it means.”

“I’ll find out.”

He paused sharply and shook his head. “You love me now.”

“I’ll love you still.”

“Maybe, but things are bloody perfect the way they are. I don’ wanna muck it up. I don’t want to risk you…lookin’ at me any different.” His head dipped and he kissed her brow, a ragged sigh shuddering through his body. “I want you to keep loving me.”

“I do.”

“Yes.”

“And even if—”

“Buffy, no. I can’t…” Spike drew in a deep breath and shook his head. “It’s too important to me. You can’t know that nothin’ will change, and I can’t risk losing you over somethin’ like this.”

“We’re mated. You can’t lose me.”

A small, poignant smile tickled his lips. “Oh, I can, luv. An’ then not only will you not love me anymore, but I’ll spend the rest of eternity knowin’ exactly how miserable you are. How much you hate me.”

“Spike, I won’t—”

“You don’t know that.”

“And you don’t know that the world will end if I claim you back.”

“Since I know how things are right now, I’m reasonably secure in sayin’ it’s better to stay like this forever than risk losin’ it all because I’m a vampire.” Spike sighed again, his shoulders rolling back. “Try to understand, luv, this is more than I’ve ever had. More than I ever thought I’d have…an’ the thought of jeopardizin’ what we have jus’…I can’t wrap my mind around it.”

“Spike—”

“You can’t be sure of anythin’. An’ I’m sure that havin’ you like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, an’ I’d just as soon dust as bet against the House.”

Buffy sighed and bit her lip. This wasn’t a fight she was going to win. Not right now.

But he was in for a big surprise if he thought the conversation was over.

He smelled her before he saw her, but that didn’t ward off the shock at all.

It happened just a few minutes after Buffy fell silent about the reciprocal claiming, and for that, Spike was glad. He felt her dissatisfaction as strongly as if it were his own, and had the terrible notion that he was dangerously close to giving in. And giving in was not an option—not when he knew that it could cost him everything.

Darla was not one to carry weapons. She was completely old-school in that regard, saw weapons as a weakness; she felt that anyone who relied on weapons was compensating for strength they didn’t truly possess. Spike supposed this was one of many reasons why it was so disconcerting to see her hand curled around the handle of a rather large, abrasive sword.

The look in her eyes didn’t do him any favors, either. The second her cold gaze met his, his fangs burst through his gums and his throat erupted with a snarl. “Oh, is that it?” he demanded. “A set-up?”

Buffy tensed at his side, whipping out a stake from her back pocket. “What the hell is this?” she demanded. “You two were gonna lure the Slayer out here and tag-team it? How pathetic are you?”

Darla stopped in her tracks, tossed Spike a dry look, and rolled her eyes. “Oh please,” she drawled. She kicked the stake out of Buffy’s hand without blinking, her hands coming up the next second in some mock-semblance of a truce. “If I was here to kill you, you’d be dead by now.”

“Over-confident bitch,” Buffy all but growled. “Just try it.”

“I reiterate, ‘oh please.’” She eyed Spike, thoroughly unimpressed. “Can’t you pull the reins on her or something? Or should I have come with the proverbial white flag?”

The Slayer balked. “Excuse me?”

“What the hell is this?” Spike snarled, struggling to push Buffy behind him as she collected her fallen stake. The fierce surge to protect his mate had overwhelmed his sense of logic. “Are you wankers so fucking desperate that you’re willin’ to pull anything?”

Darla blinked. “Wow, did you drop the ball, or what?”

“You smug—”

“You know what? You’re right. This was a bad, bad idea.” She shook her head and sighed emphatically, thrusting the sword into Spike’s arms. “There? Does that make you feel any better?”

He blinked dumbly and glanced to Buffy, then to the sword, then up again. “All right. You jus’ handed me a sword.”

“Wow, William. Can’t put anything past you.”

“What the hell is this?”

“That’s a sword.”

“I know that. What the hell is it doin’ in my hand?”

“Well, you were freaking out when I was holding it, so I gave it to you to make you feel better.” Darla flashed him a condescending smile, then glanced to Buffy and rolled her eyes again. “God, call your girlfriend off.”

Buffy smiled sweetly, her stake arm never faltering. “Sorry, honey. I’ve been told not to trust trash when it talks.”

“You know, any other day I’d rip your throat out, but since I don’t really care about you at the moment, I’m gonna let that slide.” She turned back to Spike and nodded at the sword. “A couple days ago, Dru got a vision from…oh, fuck if I know…the postman or something.”

He frowned. “What the hell—”

Darla held up a hand. “I don’t know. I don’t want to know. I’ve never pretended to understand her, and I’m not about to start now. Either way, her vision led us to the sword, which was intercepted on its way to Slutty the Vampire Layer’s watcher.”

In the world of all things Darla, the insult was rather tame. Incredibly tame. However, the demon within him roared in outrage, and the next thing he knew, Buffy’s arm was around his middle, keeping him from tearing his sanctimonious great-grandsire’s head off. “You fucking bitch!” he snarled. “I oughta rip your tongue out an’ shove it down your throat.”

Darla stifled a chuckle. “Yeah, but you’re on a leash.” She grinned at Buffy. “He really is incredibly easy to train, isn’t he?”

The Slayer’s eyes were cold and uncompromising. “Talk,” she said shortly. “Make it quick. Make it good. Make it worth my time, or I’ll add you to the pollen count.”

“Ohhh, feisty!”

“Talk!”

Darla’s eyes sparkled mischievously, but she nodded her compliance and exhaled slowly. “The sword is from…” She drifted off with a frown, then sniffed suspiciously at the air. “Oh my God!” she gasped, waving a hand in front of her nose. “Jesus, you claimed her?”

Spike and Buffy exchanged a skeptical glance. “You’re just now picking that up?” the Slayer asked.

“I make a point to ignore everything that I feel coming from Spike’s side of the Order.” She shook her head in disgust. “But goddamn, I thought you had at least some dignity. I mean, you finally got up the nerve to leave Dru, albeit dick-led by the Slayer, and you claim her?”

Spike was snarling again. “Talk,” he growled. “Or so help me, I will kill you.”

“It’d be funny to see you try.”

“The sword, Darla. You’re on borrowed time.”

“Right, right.” She rolled her eyes again. “The sword’s from the other slayer. She sent it a few days ago.”

Buffy froze, and Spike froze along with her. “What?” she demanded. “What did you do to Kendra? I swear to God—”

“Do you listen when other people talk, little girl? I told you—postman. Intercepted mail. There was some lame note saying that her watcher felt that you already had all the help you needed.” Darla shot a pointed look in Spike’s direction. “I’m assuming she meant you. The sword is…something to do with Acathla. It was blessed by the knight who killed him. I guess it was the fallback plan. If Angelus manages to wake him up…” She nodded at the sword. “This is probably the best way to stop it.”

Spike glanced down at the aforementioned sword, his brows perked. “Yeh, okay. An’ I’m holding it…why?”

“You know, I’d almost forgotten how thick you are. I was this close to forgetting.”

“Darla—”

“I want you to stop it. The end of the world. The apocalypse. My God, do you need me to spell it out for you?”

Buffy arched a brow. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Oh, were it so simple.”

“Lemme get this straight…you came out to meet us with a sword and we’re suddenly supposed to stop the apocalypse?”

“Yes.” Darla tossed her hands up. “I know, I know. I can hardly believe it myself. It’s your fault. You fucked with his head and now he needs to compensate for being a soul-drenched Slayer-fucking wimp for a century by, well, destroying the world. And as good an idea as that is on paper, I kinda happen to like the way things are now.” She glanced to the sword. “So there it is. You stop the end of the world, I’ll take Angelus somewhere and break him.”

“Break him?” Buffy repeated.

“Undo the damage you did.”

“Yeah, let me list the reasons that’s not happening. Starting with, oh yeah, he killed Ms. Calendar!”

Darla’s eyes narrowed. “Okay. Let’s do it this way. You let us go or the world gets destroyed. He was mine first, and you’ve trained a new lapdog.”

Buffy made a face. “Oh please. It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I touch Angel again.”

“And here I thought you were still bitter that you got stuck with the consolation prize.”

Surprisingly, that didn’t bother him all that much. It stung, sure, but the pang was familiar now. He was tempered—controlled—and didn’t much give a damn what the old bitch said.

That didn’t explain the sudden urge of rage that coursed through him, or the predatory growl that tore through his mate’s throat. The next thing he knew, Buffy had torn herself from his side, and Darla was on the ground.

“You skanky ho-bitch, if you ever insult me or my mate again, I will personally rededicate the rest of my life to ruining the rest of yours. Do you get me?” She kicked the moaning vampire in the gut again. “Do you get me? I’ll chain you up some place and keep you alive until you’re begging to be dust. I’ll starve you until you rot, feed you, then starve you again. I’ll stick a stake in your chest just inches from your heart, and saw off your arms and legs so I can watch you wiggle. I’ll tear you apart. Understand? I’ll tear you apart.” Buffy flipped her over, delivering a vicious backhand. “You think I’m bluffing? Try me. So shut up and settle with the idea that, if I decide to go along with this crazy scheme of yours, you’re stuck with Angel and his needle-dick for the rest of your miserable, meaningless existence.”

Spike was dumbfounded. Absolutely dumbfounded.

Oh holy fuck.

She was feeding off him—feeding off of his demon, even when she couldn’t feel it. When she wasn’t supposedto be able to feel it. There was no other explanation. The fury in Buffy’s eyes wasn’t hers—not entirely. It was theirs; it was shared pain accumulated into mutual outrage. The words tumbling from her gorgeous lips weren’t hers, either. She was tapped into him—body and the other thing—and she felt everything that he felt.

Perhaps he was channeling it to her subconsciously. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t felt his own outrage—he’d poured everything he had into her.

“Buffy,” he said softly, stepping forward. “It’s all right.”

She glanced up, the haze leaving her eyes when she met his. “Huh?”

“It’s all right, sweetling. Let her up. She can’t hurt anyone right now.”

And she couldn’t. Darla was thoroughly defanged—defanged and humiliated. Her face was a mixture of bloody bruises and cuts, and she had to hold her stomach as she fought to her feet.

Spike stepped in front of Buffy again, handing her the sword. The rage had drained away, leaving her confused and shaken. Her eyes were on the ground. He didn’t want her to have to look at Darla again. She shouldn’t have to see what his fury had done—what he’d managed to accomplish simply by being her mate.

It wasn’t fair to her, especially when she didn’t understand what had just happened.

“Darla,” he said, his tone low. “Where is Angelus now?”

Spike had to admit that it was rather gratifying to watch his great-grandsire struggle to find words. She was battered and bleeding. Her blonde hair was streaked with red. And despite his shame, he felt a surge of pride at the thought that Buffy had enough of her own anger to do that to her. To stand up for him where Drusilla never had.

She’d hit her friend a few days ago, and now she’d practically ripped Darla apart.

“Where’s Angelus? I won’ ask again.”

“He’s…um…” She shook her head with a sigh. “He’s waiting for you. Restfield.”

“Why did he want to see me?” Buffy demanded, fighting to find her voice.

“It’s a diversion. He can’t get Acathla to wake up, and he needed you out in the open so that your friends would be somewhere unprotected.” At that, Darla straightened her shoulders and sighed, resolve setting in once more. “He wants your watcher.”

“Giles won’t talk,” the Slayer insisted. “And besides…they’re somewhere where Angelus can’t reach them. They’re at—”

“His house.” Darla sighed, appearing for the first time since Spike had known her to be thoroughly exhausted. “Wood is still flammable, right?”

Buffy inhaled sharply. “Oh God.”

“That’s right.”

Spike curled a hand around her wrist. “Buffy…”

There was no time to think. He felt it the second before she took off. The Slayer tore through the night like a silver bullet, and he was hot on her heels.

The sky was on fire. The lawn was littered with people; stupid, gawking people who wanted to watch the world burn its way into Hell.

She saw Oz before she saw anyone else, and ran so hard that her legs ached. He was on the ground just a few feet away from what had been Giles’s front door, cradling an unconscious Willow. There was no sense asking what had happened.

She’d walked into Angelus’s trap. God, she fell for it every single time.

“Oh God,” Buffy gasped, a hand going to her mouth. “Is she…?”

Oz shook his head. “No. The ambulance is on its way.”

“What about the boy?” Oh thank God. Spike was there. She’d nearly forgotten that he’d followed her. “Harris. Where is he?”

“He and Cordelia hopped into Cordy’s car to follow them.”

“Them?”

Oz glanced up. “Drusilla.”

Buffy froze and reality collapsed. “Giles,” she said.

Drusilla had Giles. Angelus had Giles. And the sky was on fire.

She glanced down. She still had the sword. Kendra’s sword. The one to stop Acathla.

The one to stop Angelus and Drusilla, and lay waste to her enemies.

They had her watcher. There would be no further negotiations.

All bets were off.

The crash to the floor made every cell in his body ache.

“I brought you a present, my sweet,” Drusilla cooed, brushing herself off. “Nasty doggy chased me home.”

Angelus arched a cool brow. “That Dalton?” he asked, his eyes following the cloud of dust that fell to the ground around Giles’s head.

“He wanted to be my prince.”

“Looks like he died a martyr. I swear, Dru, we lose more lackeys protecting your hide than we do fighting the fucking White Hats. Though honestly, I guess we should’ve guessed Dalton would be the one to get staked in the back.” The vampire grinned at that and stalked toward the sealed window, inhaling sharply. “Don’t tell me—it was—”

“The boy. The one I wanted.” Drusilla’s shoulders slumped and she dug her heel harder into the side of Giles’s head. He let out a pitiful, purely reactionary moan which seemed to please her, though the effect was fleeting. “He wanted to come to the circus, Daddy. He wanted to dance with the lions, but I would not let him.”

“Xander.” Angelus shook his head and stepped back, seemingly dismissing Giles entirely. “He really followed you?”

“He chased me down in a chariot.”

“Dru, we’ve been over this before. They’re called cars.”

“Don’t you like your present?” She fixed her heel over Giles’s throat and giggled. “He’s a bad, nasty dolly. He can’t join us for supper.”

“Ah, yes.” A slow, predatory smile crept over Angelus’s face as his eyes trailed downward to the librarian. “You did good, baby. This is exactly what I wanted.”

She squealed in delight and hopped over to her sire like a child eager for a treat. He kissed her savagely and squeezed her breast before returning his attention to the Watcher that littered his floor. “Ahhh, Rupert,” he said softly, a mocking note of fondness tagging his voice. “You can’t imagine how long I’ve wanted to see you bleeding on my rug.”

Giles rolled onto his back, gasping for breath.

The ceiling seemed so far away.

“The doggie’s gone back now,” Drusilla chimed melodically. “Back to fetch his master.” She huffed then. “She’ll spoil the milk for our party.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“My William is with her. He’s so very cross with you.”

Angelus’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I have a word or two I’d like to say to him at the moment. If little Buff and her trained lapdog decide to show up, well, it’ll be a real party then. In the meantime…” He glanced back to Giles and grinned. “Well, we need to figure out how to wake up the guest of honor.”

Giles looked up then—really looked up, and his eyes went wide with realization.

“Oh God,” he mumbled.

“No,” Angelus said softly, shaking his head. “God can’t help you here.”

That was the last thing he heard before the world faded to black.

She liked to maintain that she possessed a quiet dignity. While she flaunted and taunted and teased like any other self-respecting vampire, she similarly understood the necessity of subtlety. She hated that Angelus would know that she’d bled recently almost as much as she hated that she’d, well, bled recently. It was degrading, and the circumstances of her humiliation didn’t help matters any. She was crawling into the mansion, fresh from selling her lot to the enemy, and little Buffy had practically beaten her to a pulp.

Darla wasn’t especially surprised at her apathy, even if she had expected to feel more. The decision to betray Angelus had been an easy one. The human world had many flaws, and while she enjoyed watching her food wiggle, she had sense enough to know that she didn’t have what it took to withstand Hell. The actual Hell—that was a realm of darkness beyond her.

Should Angelus stop to think rationally rather than vengefully, he’d come to the same conclusion. And even if he never forgave her for siding with the enemy—she still couldn’t wrap her mind around that one herself—he’d at least come to appreciate the pride she’d sacrificed to offset his unbelievable bout of stupidity.

“You’re bleeding.”

Darla whirled around in surprise. Angelus shadowed the doorway. She hadn’t even sensed his approach, hadn’t bothered to close her chamber door. She had just peeled away her ripped blouse, and stood nude in the middle of the room, bare and vulnerable to his assessment.

“Your observational skills are astute as ever, my love,” she retorted after a delayed second, gathering her bearings. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

Her brows arched appraisingly. “Don’t tell me you suddenly care.”

A short, humorless chuckle rumbled through his throat, and he shook his head, taking a step forward. “Now, now. No need to get all pissy just because you got your ass handed to you by the Slayer.” He sniffed the air suspiciously. “Not Spike, though. He was there but he didn’t touch you.”

“He didn’t need to,” she grumbled, limping over to her vanity. The three-paneled mirror reflected only empty space, and yet, four hundred years had done little to quell her all-too-human habit of glancing upward to catch her likeness. The surprise to see nothing had long ago waned, but the habit itself showed no signs of following suit. At least not in this lifetime. “Mousy Little Buff took care of it herself.”

“Yeah. Here’s the thing, though.” Angelus lifted her silk robe off the end of her bed and held it out for her. “I don’t see why you were there in the first place. I thought we had an understanding.”

Darla rolled her eyes. “Well, God, Angelus, what did you expect from me? Dru’s so cock-up determined to impress you that she didn’t want grandmummy stealing her thunder when she went to snatch the old man. You’re heading off the Slayer. What the hell was I supposed to do? Sit here and knit?”

“So you decided to head out on your own?”

“Yes. I made a decision for myself. It’s this crazy thing I do from time to time.”

“I’m still not sure how your exercise in independence led to thwarting my killing of the Slayer.”

“It’s not like I have advanced knowledge of where she is and isn’t going to be. This is a small town, and unlike our resident psychic, I know basically as much as anyone else.” Darla sighed and flipped her hair. “I said something she didn’t like, and our newly mated friend just couldn’t contain herself.”

She was only moderately surprised when her reference to Buffy and Spike’s claiming ritual earned little more than a fleeting irritated look from Angelus. The past few days, he’d been screaming about a lot while he wasn’t planning the apocalypse, and chances were, his wayward grandchilde’s presumptions had made the top of the list. Not that she listened—unless directly addressed, Darla had adapted the habit of tuning him out. His constant bitching and exaggerated ego-trips had done little more than relegate him to a place of respect just slightly higher than Drusilla, and she did as much ignoring of people that irritated her as possible.

“So she beat you to a pulp,” he drawled instead.

“No, I’m just extremely partial to limping.”

“You let the Slayer beat you to a pulp.”

She tossed him a dirty look. “Seeing as she was likely channeling both Spike’s rage and his strength at the moment, I don’t think it’s particularly fair to say she beat me as much as she had an inequitable advantage.”

“What you’re telling me is you gave the pavement a fairly good mop-job with your ass.”

A growl tore through her throat. “Would you stop?”

“Why?”

“It’s humiliating.”

“Yeah, but you have to look at it this way.”

“What way?”

“It’s incredibly entertaining for me.” He reached out to finger the material of her robe, flashing her a predatory grin before fisting the lapels and baring her body to his hungry eyes. “Plus, I like seeing you bloody.”

“You like seeing me bloody because you know I hate it,” Darla retorted, shivering as he captured one of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. Despite her current uncertain status in the world of all things Angelus, he’d always had the uncanny ability to turn her into an annoying puddle of feminine goo whenever he touched her. Her reaction to Angelus had always been a source of frustration just as much as it was a source of pleasure. It just seemed wrong for someone as strong-willed as she was.

His icy lips grazed her throat. “I like seeing you bloody because it makes you smell delicious.”

“We don’t have time for this—”

“The apocalypse isn’t on a timetable, Darla.”

“Well, obviously.”

He lapped at a cut on her collarbone. “So I think we have all the time we like.”

“Angelus—”

The next thing she knew, she was against the wall, her legs hiked up around Angelus’s waist as he tugged at the fly to his trousers. She released a long gasp and dug her nails into his upper arms as the head of his cock slid against her folds before he grinned and thrust inside her.

“Gah!” She scowled and slapped his chest. “I wasn’t ready, you jackass.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before,” he snarled. “Me, either, for that matter.”

“Jackass.”

“Well, hold on tight, darlin’.” He withdrew sharply then slammed into her again. “’Cause I ain’t slowing down.”

Darla’s eyes fluttered shut and she arched against the wall, stretching her arms around his neck. “Apocalypse?”

“All the time in the world.”

“Buffy—Buffy!”

“I’m not slowing down, Spike. You’re just going to have to keep up.”

“Pet—”

“They have Giles. What part of that don’t you understand?”

“The part where you barge in like a maniac an’ get yourself killed.” Spike seized her wrist and jerked her to a fierce standstill. “Sweetheart, I know you’re brassed off, but you can’t jus’ go in there an’ start swingin’.”

“You want to watch me?”

“Buffy—”

“He has Giles.”

“Yeah, an’ I’m sure your bein’ dead is gonna go a long way in turnin’ that around.”

“That’s where you come in.”

“Believe it or not, luv, I don’ have superpowers.”

“And here I thought you did, thus the basis for the appeal of the whole vampire thing.”

Spike rolled his eyes, curling a hand around her upper arm. “Oh for Chrissake, pet, you know—will you bloody well slow down? I meant not more than the usual for my kind. An’ even so, I’m willin’ to bet that we’ll be outnumbered.”

Buffy’s anger melted just as quickly into frustration, stopping short when he tugged her to his side and shaking her head. “You’re just…I let him take Giles. I let him get the best of me and take Giles.”

He frowned. “Bollocks.”

“I let him—”

“You din’t let him do anythin’, sweetling. He wanted to get to Rupert, an’ so he did. There’s nothin’ you could’ve done about that. If it wasn’ this thing, he would’ve found another way.” Spike’s eyes softened and he brushed a kiss against her brow, and just like that, she felt a wave of calm wash through her. He had a way of making everything seem all right, no matter how bleak the world looked. “Angelus knows you’re anxious about meetin’ up with him an’ havin’ this bloody mess over with. That’s why he used himself as bait.”

“Which is why I fell for it.”

“We all fell for it, luv. It wasn’ just you.” Spike tugged her closer to him and kissed her temple. “Your lot did everythin’ they could. They relocated to a safe hold—”

“For all the good that did.”

“You did all you could. Honestly, Slayer, you’ve got to stop blamin’ yourself for every li’l thing. Like it or not, you’re not omniscient, you’re not all-powerful, an’ things are eventually gonna happen that you can’t help, much less predict.”

She exhaled and glanced down, her eyes falling to the sword in her hand. “And Darla?” she asked softly. “Can we be sure that Darla was telling us the truth?”

“No.”

Buffy frowned and slapped his shoulder. “Hey!”

“Ow!”

“Not much with the comfort, Mr. Man.”

Spike rolled his eyes and took her hand, tugging her back into the hasty stride toward the mansion. “I don’ think she was lyin’,” he explained quickly. “But what you asked me was if we could be sure, an’ of that we definitely can’t. Darla’s an evil bitch, but she’s not hankerin’ for the end of the world. An’ when he’s thinkin’ with a less crazy head, Angelus doesn’ want it, either.”

“So that means she’s willing to betray him?”

He shrugged. “She’s an odd bird to predict. She’s devoted to Angelus, but she doesn’ like answerin’ to anyone. She has an alliance to herself above all others. An’ since she came to you, I’m guessin’ that’s a fair indicator that she’s bein’ honest.”

“How do you figure?”

“Even if it was a ruse, Darla hates appearin’ weak. That an’ it’s too bloody, what’s the word…”

Buffy’s brows perked. “Lame?”

“Yeh. It’s one of those things that’s too lame to fall for, an’ Angelus would be more inventive than that.”

“Or maybe we’re just hoping that he’d think we’d think he’s more inventive than that.”

“That’s the million dollar question, then.”

She sighed again and fought off a grin, linking her arm through his. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said. “You sound silly.”

“I shouldn’t use American colloquialisms?”

Her nose wrinkled adorably. “Huh?”

Spike grinned. “Nothin’.”

There was simple quiet for several minutes. While her frustration with herself had subsided, she could do little to help her pounding heart or the sense of dread itching at her stomach. She had no idea what to expect—no idea if she could even count on seeing Giles alive again. She knew he’d die before he betrayed the secret to awakening Acathla, and that thought terrified her. Angelus had more patience than others, granted, but that didn’t mean he’d endure the silence of a defiant old man for endless hours before his temper flared and he hurled a lance through the Watcher’s chest.

Not to mention, once she knew whether or not saving Giles was a viable option, she still had a world to save and a vampire to destroy.

And then there was Drusilla. Buffy hazarded a glance at Spike. She knew how he felt about his sire, and despite the jealousy burning in her chest, she understood. Furthermore, her mate told her a couple of days ago that he didn’t want Drusilla to be dust, though he hadn’t said he’d stop her from rendering her as such. No, he’d let her dust Dru, but things might never be the same between them.

But if Dru insisted on becoming an obstacle to saving Giles, Buffy wasn’t going to sacrifice her surrogate father over her love for Spike.

A shuddering sigh hissed through her teeth when she saw the mansion. It stood against the black night like a castle in old horror films.

This was it, then.

Now or never.

She started to move forward, only to be tugged back into Spike’s arms, his mouth suddenly on hers, his arms cradling her to his body. He kissed her desperately, urgently, and it suddenly occurred to her that this might be the last time she knew the simple bliss of his embrace. She could die. He could die. The world could end.

Though that was a moot point. If he died, her would world end, anyway.

Though there was something in his kiss; the way his lips moved over hers only fueled her determination.

“I love you,” he whispered raggedly, kissing her again. “I love you. I don’ tell you enough.”

“You tell me all the time.”

“Could never be enough.” He trembled against her and pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat. “Jus’…no matter what, baby. No matter what. I love you.”

There wasn’t one nerve in her body that didn’t hum with delight. “I love you, too.”

“So whaddya say we stop this apocalypse, save the old man, then I take you home an’ shag you until you can’t walk?”

Her cheeks flushed. “Sounds brilliant.”

“That settles it, then.” He kissed her again before releasing his hold, patting her hand encouragingly. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can do the other.”

Buffy grinned and nodded.

No matter what, it seemed, Spike could inspire her with hope. She just hoped it wasn’t false.

Still, false hope was better than no hope at all.

He didn’t like thinking about what he was about to do, but really, Darla had left him no choice.

There were many things about her that he would miss. The way she laughed when she was torturing children. The way she rolled her eyes whenever Drusilla opened her mouth. The way she stroked him at night when she thought he was asleep. The century without him, it seemed, had made her more affectionate. Not to his face, of course, but when the mansion rested and she was curled at his side, he’d feel her cold hands mapping out the contours of his body. He knew her touch so well. So incredibly well, and he’d miss it.

He’d miss this, though, most of all. The way she clawed at his back as he fucked her. The way she sliced her fangs into his chest and feasted, her vaginal muscles squeezing the life back into his cock as she cooed her pleasure. The way she encouraged his own fangs to her already bloody and broken body, and the way she cried out when he gave her want she wanted.

He hadn’t wanted to believe Dru when the vision hit. God, how he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Angelus had seen much betrayal over the past couple hundred years; had orchestrated a coup once or a thousand times, but never against his maker. Never against the one he seemed destined to share eternity with. And honestly, he didn’t know what she was thinking. What could she possibly be thinking?

No, he hadn’t wanted to believe Drusilla or the stars that whispered such secrets to her, but Darla stunk of the Slayer and the sword was missing. The sword was missing.

Darla had betrayed him.

He’d managed to get one last fuck out of her, though. Angelus would miss her, but at least his last moments with her were good ones. There was no yelling. No screaming. No accusations. He just fucked her, memorizing every squeeze of her pussy, every gasp that tore through her lips, every time she laughed and bit at him. He’d miss this. He’d miss this a lot.

It didn’t stop him, though, from rolling her beneath him. And when he pulled out the stake he’d stashed under their pillow, he offered little more than a somber, albeit knowing grin and a shrug.

“Et tu, darling?” he growled. Then he pierced her heart, and it was done.

He hadn’t expected the astonishment on her face, and found it surprisingly moving.

“Angel?” Darla gasped.

And then she was gone. She dissolved beneath him, and he collapsed to the mattress, covered in her dust.

There would be no traitors on the streets of Rome tonight.

Spike knew something was wrong the second he stepped into the mansion. No matter how much Angelus had changed, he knew his grandsire’s penchant for littering his space with fledglings remained the same. Back in the days of Holtz, it was the only way to stay alive—once the dust hit the ground, he’d grab Darla and they’d be on the run again.

It was something that had kept them undead. Something he’d passed onto his childer. Spike wasn’t a fan of lackeys, but he recognized the necessity of having pawns to take the fall and distract the goody-good guys as he made a run for it. Only now, by some perverse twist of fate, he was the goody-good guy. He was here with the Slayer to stop the apocalypse.

The small girl at his side who had somehow stolen his heart.

He knew what she was thinking, and it destroyed him to feel her in such deep turmoil. Her feelings about Dru had become especially sharp since the mating; her concern over his ultimatum—the one he hadn’t even realized he’d given until the words tumbled through his lips—had loomed over them for days. She was worried about saving her Watcher—about how it might conflict with the promise she’d made to herself to not screw anything up, and what would happen if she ended up with no choice.

It hadn’t been a fair thing to demand of her, but Spike honestly didn’t know what else he could have said to convey how he felt about his sire. He knew his own primal instincts were geared toward tearing Angelus a new one; it had everything to do with Buffy and nothing to do with the decades of torment that Dru had put him through. Knowing that Angel had been inside Buffy, had known her sweetness before Spike had even thought to give her a taste, made his insides clench and the demon roar in fury. And from the vibes that she was radiating, the pangs that Buffy felt were much deeper. She wasn’t competing with one night—she was competing with a century.

But she had nothing to compete with. Spike had given up his love for Dru a long time ago. Long before he even met the Slayer, as he was beginning to realize. Long before Sunnydale. He’d wanted to love her with everything he had, but he couldn’t; not when his tenderness was met with apathy. Dru doted on him when she needed something. She was amorous with everyone, and it had taken him a long time, even beyond Angelus’s cruel lessons, to understand that.

And yet, even if he didn’t love her anymore, he couldn’t wish her dead. She’d been too much a part of his life to hate her. Furthermore, she’d brought him to his true destiny, and for that, he’d be forever grateful. How he’d made it until now without Buffy, he’d never know. Never.

But Dru had gotten him this far, and he wasn’t about to destroy her for not loving him. Not loving him, contrarily, had turned into her greatest gift.

When this was all over, he owed Buffy an explanation. One backed by their mating. Now that he knew she loved him, and that she was his forever, spilling his heart wasn’t so terrifying.

None of it was so terrifying.

However, first things first. He had an apocalypse to stop before he got started on the eternity he had with his mate.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” he murmured.

“I hate that expression.”

“Huh’s that?”

“Peeled eyes? Gross.” She squeezed his hand. God, she was such a tower of strength, even trembling as she was. “Is it just me, or is it really quiet in here?”

“He knows, love.”

“He does?”

Spike clenched his jaw and nodded. Through a not-quite-repressed distant strand of connection that he felt with Darla, he sensed that something was incredibly amiss with the family matriarch. Unlike Dru, he couldn’t sense when things happened—just as he hadn’t sensed when Angelus got stuffed inside a soul or when the Master had gotten his arse so deservedly handed to him before he was turned to dust. He’d never cared much for his family, outside Dru, and aside from whatever teachings Angelus had pawned off, he’d attempted to block out the abuse and other nonsense once he realized that they weren’t going to be buddies.

There was allegedly some hierarchy among vampires, and in that, he was expected to respect his elders. That hadn’t happened; Spike honestly couldn’t give a fuck about his elders. Perhaps more familial vamps felt their sires and grandsires and the assorted list of an Arkansas-like family clan; he didn’t. Never had. Not with any measure of strength, at least.

However, he could sense that something was wrong with Darla.

He stopped as they stepped into the great hall that led to Acathla. Yes, something was very wrong with Darla.

Angelus and Drusilla stood side-by-side. The statue was behind them. Darla was nowhere to be seen.

Buffy squeezed his hand to mask her astonishment. “Well,” she said blandly. “So much for our surprise attack. Lemme guess…the blonde bitch ratted us out?”

Something dark crossed Angelus’s face. Truly dark. Spike knew him well enough to get that his famous short temper was more a product of his impatience—the same impatience that he disguised by pretending that his mind games, while fun, didn’t drive him crazy. He enjoyed the buildup, but the collapse was what he loved the most. Angelus became irritated—never angry. Not unless something was well and truly wrong.

Right now, he looked angry. Very angry.

“Spike,” he said softly. “Pity you won’t ever have a chance to teach your mate never to speak ill of the dead.”

“You are late for the party, my sweet,” Dru scolded, her eyes flashing. She giggled and pressed a finger to her lips. “Bad doggie. Where are your manners?”

“Dead?” Spike quirked his head, relishing in the rush of satisfaction that came from blatantly ignoring his sire.

“Dead?” Buffy echoed, her eyes going wide. “Darla’s dead?”

“Grandmum didn’t love us anymore,” Drusilla cooed, pouting. “She brought spoiled milk for the children.” She turned to Angelus and stroked his arm lovingly. “Daddy had to take care of things.”

“What?” The Slayer snapped incredulously. “She didn’t want the apocalypse so you, what, kill her? For disagreeing with you?”

Spike smiled wryly. All things considered, it was actually one of the more rational reasons employed by Angelus for signing someone’s death sentence. Then again, as vampires, there generally wasn’t a need for reason behind action.

“It wasn’t so much that she disagreed with me.”

Buffy didn’t bother in playing dumb. “She came to me.”

“That’s right.”

“To stop you.”

“Correct again.”

“And you killed her for that.”

“Man oh man, never let anyone tell you that you’re a slow learner, Buff.” Angelus’s eyes twinkled maliciously. “You’re certainly on a roll tonight.”

Spike’s gaze narrowed, and he gave Buffy’s hand a small, encouraging squeeze. “Wouldn’t be so impressed, mate. It doesn’ take much to keep up with you.”

“Something tells me that Rupert might disagree with that.”

A nerve was successfully struck. Buffy practically growled, her fingers flexing around the sword handle. “Why you—”

“Ah, ah. Put on the brakes. I had to put your watcher’s torture on hold. The stupid prick thinks he actually has something to live for.” Angelus crossed his arms and took a step forward. “And something tells me that you’re a big part of that delusion. I’m thinking that once I present him with your bloody, lifeless body, he’ll start singing for me.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Honestly, where do you get your lines? The Idiot’s Guide to the 101 Lamest Threats?”

“She worries,” Drusilla whispered nastily, glancing to Spike with a coy grin. “She knows your thoughts, my darling.” Then she turned back to Angelus. “Little Slayer fears her Spike doesn’t want the dove after all. That he will spend forever yearning for his raven.” A mocking cackle tickled the air; Dru framed her hands around her pussy and thrust her pelvis forward, her eyes flashing. “Mummy’s milk is always sweetest.”

Spike snarled at that, shooting a concerned glance in his mate’s direction. His hope that her inexperience with Dru’s riddles had worked in his favor was quickly dashed. Buffy was red with anger and humiliation, and she refused to meet his eyes. The pure hatred he saw flickering across her face—felt coursing through his own veins—served more to break his heart than anything else.

Once this was over, he needed to take her away somewhere. Take her away and worship her with his hands, mouth, and body until there could be absolutely no doubt as to how much he loved her. How he wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world. Not anything.

“That’s nice,” Buffy spat through clenched teeth. “But I really don’t see what it has to do with the apocalypse. Shouldn't you guys be pulling the sword out of Al Franken or whatever his name is? Or is the ritual too much for you without Giles? How sad. How long have you been around again?”

Spike grinned. “He never was a quick one.”

“Look who’s talking,” Angelus retorted.

“Oh, come on,” the Slayer continued. “He’s not the one that has to take the Armageddon for Dummies course.”

“You talk big for a girl I’m gonna be raping for the next couple days.”

“If you think that sounds threatening, you obviously haven’t lived in LA.”

She was lying. Spike could tell by how hard as she trembled, but God, the courage in her voice made him swell with pride. She might be terrified of her uncertain future, but she wasn’t about to let the enormous wanker relish her fear. Angelus saw enough simply through experience; Buffy wasn’t going to cower.

“There’s time enough to end the world,” Angelus continued matter-of-factly. “I wanted to say goodbye first. You are the one thing in this dimension that I will miss.”

Spike’s hand found the small of Buffy’s back, caressing her soothingly. Angelus was eating this up. He loved the talk-downs; the bantering; the verbal exchanges. He loved the Bond moments. He could give away all his secrets and still walk away unscathed.

Well, unless there were any gypsies around to stuff him full of soul, but the odds of lightning striking twice were slim.

“This is a beautiful moment we’re having,” his mate retorted with false sweetness. “Can we please fight?”

“You came here to fight?” Angelus retorted, frowning. “Gosh, I was hoping we could get back together. What do you think? Do we have a shot?”

Buffy actually laughed. “Are you kidding me? Sorry, I just…oh, God. I’m still thanking my lucky stars that Dru was stupid enough to let Spike slip through her fingers. Don’t get me wrong; you were…well, you were certainly…present, I think. At least Spike let me know what an actual orgasm feels like.” She barked another laugh and shook her head. “You’re pathetic.”

“Bad kitty,” Dru scolded.

Angelus’s face was as raw with loathing as Spike had ever seen, and the knowledge of what was coming was the only thing that stopped him from bursting into laughter. There would be time enough for laughing at the sod when all this was over. There would be time enough for plenty of things.

Angelus took a dramatic step forward. “That sword is mine,” he snarled.

The Slayer quirked a brow, raising the blade between them. “What, this one? It was a gift.”

“Paid for in blood.”

“Don’t you mean dust?”

“You have no idea what you’re holding.”

“It’s long and shiny and has a pointy tip. I’m going for exaggerated phallus symbol.”

Drusilla clapped with glee and bounced on her heels. “He’ll paint the walls with your entrails, dearie,” she cackled, and Spike saw red. In all his years, he had never known her to hate anyone, but there was no mistaking the blackness in her eyes. It wasn’t necessary for vampires to hate—evil didn’t need motive. She was too daft, too far removed from reality to really care about what went on around her. As long as she had blood to live on, people to feed on, and strong vampire men to mollycoddle her, she didn’t have a worry in the world.

So seeing her hatred for his mate shoved him over the proverbial edge. Dru might have been the vehicle that led him to salvation, but that didn’t mean he’d align himself with her out of appreciation. And she was even more out of her mind than he’d granted if she thought so.

“Darla gave it her best,” Angelus continued, taking another hazardous step forward. “She really did. And when it’s all over, I’ll make sure history remembers her for the martyr she was.”

“Point being?”

“The sword’s not gonna save you.”

“You want it so bad?” Buffy retorted. “I’m standing right here.”

And then something happened—something stark and unexpected. A piercing wail tore through the hauntingly still air around them, and the next thing he knew, Drusilla had lunged herself at the Slayer, her red nails scratching at her neck. The move was so random, so uncoordinated, that even Angelus looked surprised.

“They chase the light!” Drusilla shrieked. “They want to send the darkness away!”

Angelus’s face went slack with astonishment, and he glanced back to Buffy, his eyes filling with rage. “You—”

“Make her bleed! Make her pay!” Dru tore at Buffy’s arms. “The light cannot have my daddy!”

It was a strange realization. Spike felt so far away. He heard himself snarl from a distance. Watched his fangs descend and his eyes flash yellow as he whipped something out of his back pocket. He felt the stake in his hand. Felt the tiny splinters of wood that pierced his skin when he tightened his grip, and the familiar resistance as he whirled his sire around and slammed the pointed end into her chest. He watched it all from far away, but simultaneously experienced every second of it. Watching as her eyes went wide with sorrow and regret, suspended astonishment washing through the halls.

“My William,” she gasped, and then she was gone in an explosion of dust.

Spike glanced up, his face stone, seizing Buffy’s wrist to yank her behind him.

Nothing.

He didn’t feel a thing. Not a bloody thing. And perhaps that would have worried him once, but not now. Not when his mate’s skin was a map of bloody riverbeds, thanks to Drusilla’s claws. No amount of sodding gratitude would ever prompt him to stand by while the woman he loved was hurt. And in doing that, Dru had become just another face.

“Oh my God, Spike,” Buffy gasped. “You—”

“You presumptuous little bastard,” Angelus barked.

Calmly, Spike stroked the inside of his mate’s wrist with his thumb. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. He felt the race of her pulse, and it was enough. “Jus’ taking a chapter outta your book, mate. Wasn’ it you that always said I’m a follower?”

“So you fucked my slayer—”

“Yeh, well, I can’t help it if you don’ manage to do things right.”

Angelus snarled again, and this time, Spike saw the strains of control snap completely. And while untimely, the sight provided one hell of a satisfying rush. Control wasn’t something the elder vampire gave up easily—even when provoked. He took a sip of his grandsire’s fury and found it exquisite.

“You were always a mistake,” he growled, his eyes flashing. “Drusilla’s shining prince that could never quite give her what she needed. Sure, we tolerated you. Darla thought you were good for a laugh, and you were always oh so eager to learn.” He flashed Buffy an unpleasant grin. “You should’ve seen the stuff we had to teach this one. Would you believe he didn’t know how to eat a woman out until Darla held—”

Spike sucked in an angry breath, but before he could get in a word, he was blown away by the force of Buffy’s hatred. “You know, if you’re going for the gross-out factor, you’re gonna have to try a little harder,” she growled. “I slept with you, remember?”

“Oh, baby, I could never forget.”

Buffy tore from Spike’s side before he could make a move, fueled with fury that had to be his—that she had to feel from their connection. She was a blur of motion, a flowing stream of violent poetry, and she was so channeled with rage that even he couldn’t touch her.

“Mmm, yeah!” Angelus cooed, ducking a series of blows, his arrogance never fading. “Maybe if you’d been this lively, your precious Angel wouldn’t have been so quick to bolt.”

Spike broke forward, but she wasn’t paying attention to him anymore, and he couldn’t get close enough. God, he might as well have not been in the room at all. “Buffy!”

“You sick sonofabitch!” She took another swipe at his head, her swing messy, her form crippled by fury. “You—”

“I like what you’ve done to her,” Angelus called to him. “Definite improvement.”

“No!” Her leg kicked at his ankles, stealing his balance. It was like watching giants fall—the surprise in the elder vampire’s eyes was worth the world. It bloody figured. Angelus had always overestimated his own power while underestimating that of others. Buffy lowered the sword to his throat, planting her foot on his chest. “You don’t get to look at him. You don’t get to talk to him. You’re dealing with me, now.”

“Ummm, hello! My family, Buff; not yours. And I say, the kid needs a time-out.”

“Yeah, well, I think your body would look better without your head. Which theory do you wanna try first?” She pulled the sword back and flashed a cheeky, dangerous grin. “Well, since I’m on top…”

In as many years as he had existed, Spike had never experienced a moment where time was put on hold—not until tonight. Just a few minutes ago, he’d dusted his sire—the woman he’d loved for a century—and time had stopped for him. Now he was caught; he wanted to move, but he couldn’t. He wanted to be there for her when she collapsed, but his legs refused to obey. He saw it coming—saw the flash just seconds before she did, and time absolutely stood still.

The sword swept in a low arc toward Angelus’s neck, and he gasped. He gasped and his eyes shone bright. A true flash of color—the light that Drusilla had screamed about—and then it was over. The rage marring his face vanished and he fell back, panting for air, his expression confused and worn. And it was suddenly over.

Buffy saw it too, the sword checking in mid-flight and then dropping from her hands, clamoring heavily to the concrete floor.

“Oh God,” she murmured.

Spike’s legs were weighed with lead, but he moved toward her just the same. “Kitten—”

“Buffy?”

She staggered back in horror. “Oh, God.”

“Buffy…” Angel fought to sit up, blinking as though he’d only now regained his sight. “I…I can’t—”

A choked sob tore through Buffy’s throat, and the next thing Spike knew, she lunged forward, sinking her fist into Angel’s gut. Then again. And again. Her body was trembling, tears rained down her cheeks, and she hit him. She hit him until she lost her balance, until she was straddling his waist to leverage her punches. Until the ground around her was painted in Angel’s blood.

And the screams that stabbed the air tore at Spike’s heart.

“You sonofabitch!” she roared, ignoring his cries of pain, the blatant confusion in Angel’s eyes; ignoring everything but the power of her grief-laced fury. “Give me one reason! One good reason!”

Spike rushed toward her as the weight began to lift. “Buffy—”

“One reason!”

“Buffy!”

He didn’t know how it had happened. Somehow, he was the one pulling her off Angel, holding her as she struggled in his arms. She was sobbing; her voice weak with the power of her outrage, but it didn’t stop her from screaming. And by the time Spike had her away from the other vampire, she dissolved. Completely dissolved. The confused vehemence in her eyes broke him all over again.

It took looking at him, meeting her mate’s worried gaze, for Buffy to return to herself. “Oh Spike,” she whimpered, then buried herself in his embrace.

“Shhh…” He pressed a kiss to her brow and turned her head away from Angel, rocking her as his grandsire gathered his bearings.

A century of wishing for this couldn’t have prepared him. And when he met Angel’s eyes, he felt nothing but disgust. No hatred. No anger. Not right now.

“Spike…” Angel croaked, fighting to regain his feet. “What’s going on?”

It wasn’t until the older vampire took a step forward that Spike felt a fresh surge of anger. He vamped quickly and took a step back, tightening his arms around his trembling mate. “No,” he growled. “You don’ see her. Don’ touch her. You don’ know what you’ve done, but you will in a few minutes.”

Angel coughed and leaned forward, pressing his palms to his knees. “I don’t—”

“No, you don’t.”

“Spike…I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“Get out.” He took another step back. “Out of Sunnydale. If you try to come near her again, I’ll kill you.”

“I…” Then it hit—the realization. The dawning. He watched time return to his grandsire, watched a tower of fortitude collapse. Watched him melt in devastation, and for reasons beyond him, it wasn’t as much fun as he’d thought it would be. Angel gasped again and his face dissolved with tears. “Oh my God. Oh, God, Buffy…”

The trembling slayer in Spike’s arms hardened at that. She was still, then she pulled away, wiping at her eyes. “You heard him,” she said. “Get out.”

“Buffy. Oh God, I can’t—”

“Get. Out. I mean it. Get out. I’ll kill you. I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”

“Buffy. Please! I need help. Help me!”

She tugged at her mate’s arm and shook her head, tears tracking down her cheeks. “Go help yourself.”

Spike slid his arm around her waist, steering her away. “Your Watcher?” he muttered.

“Yeah. Then take me away from here.”

He nodded and kissed her temple. “Anything you want, baby.”

“I want to be away from here.”

Then away he would take her. Anywhere she wanted to go. Away from Sunnydale, away from the broken vampire on the floor—away from everything.

As long as she wanted, he’d keep her away.

He’d move the stars to give her what she wanted.

A/N: Okay. Whew! And this is the end, folks. Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read/review/email me about this fic. I can’t believe I finally got a long fic done in less than 20 parts.

Major, major thanks to Megan, Mari, Jen, and Teri for betaing! And to Seven Seasons for giving me the excuse to finally write a Season 2 fic.

Thank you all so much again! *snuggles*

Buffy stared at the white cream of the motel wall. It was strange being back here, lying in the same room she’d shared with Spike only a couple weeks ago. A couple weeks ago when her life had been less with the sense-making and more with the emotional breakdown. He’d brought her here after beating her within an inch of her life, and slowly, she’d started to live again.

Of course, in her wildest imagination, she never would have guessed that she’d ever see this hellhole again. She never would have guessed what a relief it was to be in a room that had nothing that belonged to her. She never would have guessed that she’d enter this room as the mate of a vampire.

Buffy exhaled slowly and shifted. She’d been awake for a while now, just staring at the wall and thinking. Was it fair to assert that her life had ever made sense? If it had, she was sure she’d missed it. There must have been a time when she could have said no. When she could have ditched the whole sacred calling thing and returned to her regularly scheduled life. And even if her attempt wasn’t successful, she could say she’d tried.

But then, she didn’t really want that. She was just hurting. She was hurting, and she didn’t know why.

Probably because Angel was still alive. After all he’d put her through, all that he’d done, she still hadn’t been able to stake him. However, she had practically ripped him to shreds with her hands. Maybe that was the thing that bothered her. How quickly he’d gone from being the one she loved to the one she had to be pried off of before she beat him to dust.

She knew that Spike thought it was his fault. That he’d channeled his demon into her—as he had when she’d attacked Darla earlier that night—but he was wrong. Buffy knew what his demon felt like. For the past few days, she’d attempted to reach out to him—to his dark side—and the couple times she’d been successful, she’d come to know the demon personally.

She was beginning to wish she’d just met Spike haphazardly, persuaded him to fall madly in love with her, claim her, and have everything they had now sans the baggage. No Angelus. No Angel. No Drusilla. No dusty Drusilla. No Darla. No Acathla. No apocalypse. She was sick of choosing between her personal life and what was best for the world. She wanted this—what they had right now. She wanted to spend all her nights without worrying about tomorrow.

She wanted something she could never have.

The mansion already seemed decades in the past. After finding Giles, they had dropped him by the hospital, run home and posted a hastily-scribbled note to her mother, and Spike had brought her here. The second the door closed behind them, she’d turned and leapt into his arms, and they’d made love for what felt like hours.

Now Spike was still beside her. He wasn’t sleeping; she could feel his eyes wandering over her body. Occasionally, he’d run his hand down her back, brush her hair over her shoulder, or whisper something that he didn’t intend for her to answer. Small things. Huge things.

She felt him vibrantly, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.

She needed more.

Spike dropped his lips to her shoulder, his hand sliding across her back sensually. “I heard that.”

“I thought you couldn’t read my thoughts.”

“I can sense your feelings.”

Buffy sighed and turned over, enjoying the way his eyes glazed over with lust at the sight of her breasts. As though he hadn’t sucked them tender just a couple hours ago. She wondered if he’d always get a kick out of her body. If, after six hundred and eleven years, she could turn over in bed and inspire him to all sorts of naughty thoughts.

Spike gave her a look. “I heard that, too.”

She smirked. “Peeping Tom.”

“Don’t you mean eavesdropper?”

“You can’t eavesdrop on things you can’t technically hear.”

“Oh, but you can watch them, is that it?” He returned her smirk and leaned forward, laving her right nipple with his tongue. “An’, to answer your question, you daft bint, I’ll always want you. Always. I’m bloody addicted to you. Whatever time we have will never be enough. Could last forever an’ it’d never be enough.”

She flushed and slapped his bare chest. “Sap,” she accused fondly, her eyes dancing and the corners of her mouth itching upward in a smile.

“Well, at leas’ I got a grin.”

“Doesn’t take much.”

He smiled gently and brushed a kiss across her brow. “You wanna chat up what happened tonight?” he asked. “’S all right if you need to talk about it, sweetling. He was your honey bear, an’ you—”

“I’d’ve beaten him into a bloody pile of dust if you hadn’t stopped me.”

Guilt flashed across his face. It was fleeting, but very present. “That was my fault.”

“No, it really wasn’t.”

“Buffy—”

She pressed a finger to his lips and shook her head. “It wasn’t. Believe me, my life would be easier if it was. Yeah, I was kinda juiced on Spike rage for my wail-out on Darla. But Angel? That was all me.” She shuddered. “I didn’t think I had that sort of fury in me, really. I didn’t think it was possible for me to…but evidently, it is in a big way. When he said my name, everything just came rushing forward and…God, I just really, really hated him in that moment. And I needed to rip him to shreds. He took everything from me and spat on it.” A pause. “But then…without him, I wouldn’t have you, would I?”

Spike smiled again, kissing her shoulder. “I would’ve found you.”

“How?”

“Somehow.”

“And we’re back to the sap thing.”

“Yeh, well, callin’ me a sap doesn’ make it any less true. You’re the Slayer. I’d’ve found you.”

“But love me?”

“Always.”

Buffy licked her lips, her eyes growing serious again. “And Dru?” she asked softly. “Spike, you killed Dru.”

He nodded. “I know, pet. I was there.”

If he was deliberately trying to guard his emotions, he was doing an admirable job. Buffy couldn’t sense a thing—not a thing—and while he might think he was protecting her, it only made her curse the dominantly one-way claim all the more. She didn’t want any part of him to be shut out from her—even the parts that he felt would hurt. The parts that he feared she wouldn’t like.

Hating Drusilla, though, wouldn’t make her memory die. It wouldn’t erase the century he’d spent with her; all the times he’d told her that he loved her, all the times he’d taken solace inside her body, all the times he’d sworn to her that he was hers, eternally, and that no woman would ever take her place. Spike might belong to Buffy now, but a very real part of him would always be Drusilla’s. Her memory would follow him, even in death, and one day he’d have to answer to the reality that he’d killed her because the claim told him to. Because of the stupid protection ritual that Giles had insisted they do. And the thought was nearly more than Buffy could bear.

“You know, you’re terribly cute when you’re wrong off your arse.”

Buffy blinked and scowled, hitting his chest again. The laugh that rumbled beneath her fingers warmed her heart, but it did little to change reality. “Stop prying in my thoughts!”

“Feelings,” he corrected, propping up an elbow and resting his cheek against a closed fist.

“Well, my feelings are being pretty damn specific.”

Spike shrugged. “Jus’ call it like I see it, baby. You’re wrong. I know what feelings are related to what. Your jealousy, your insecurities, your fears about the future…all of that. I’ve gotten good at readin’ them.”

Her frown deepened. “I really need a padlock on my feelings.”

“One of the many things we’ll work on, but for now, I jus’ gotta tell you, you’re wrong.” He paused meaningfully. “It wasn’ the claim, or the sodding ritual, or anythin’ else made me kill Dru. I’d know it otherwise. I’d’ve felt it. In the end, I din’t need any help seein’ what was right in front of me. I killed her because she was hurting you. I love you, I don’ love her. Once, yes, but not now. I’ll always be grateful to her…bringin’ me here. Bringin’ me to you. But jus’ because she was my tour-guide doesn’ get her a ‘get-outta-jail-free’ card. She was hurting you.”

“But she wasn’t killing me.”

“That’s right.” He blinked. “No one hurts my girl. You understand?”

She flushed. “I can take care of myself, Spike. I’m pretty much a self-made woman.”

“Yeh, an’ I like playin’ hero every now an’ again. An’ just because you can take care of yourself doesn’ mean I can’t worry about you, or get mad as fucking hell when I see you bleed.” Instinctively, he reached for the place on her throat where Dru had clawed her, and his eyes darkened. “She did this. She hurt you. No one gets to hurt you.”

Buffy swallowed hard. “You know you beat me to a pulp once.”

“Bygones.”

“Well, not if you ask Giles.”

“I jus’ helped avert the bloody apocalypse an’ carried the bloke to the nearest emergency room. You tellin’ me he’s not gonna let go of his sodding grudge?”

“I’m telling you that he’s my surrogate father and he’s not prone to forget things like seeing me all bloody and limpy.”

Spike pouted, and for a second, she saw a second wave of guilt color his eyes. “Yeh, well, not my shinin’ moment, but you can’t ask me to regret it. It brought me to you.” He paused. “Besides, you din’t put up a fight.”

“I so did!”

“Yeh, if your best defense is lyin’ on your stomach while the Big Bad kicks your slayer arse.”

“It was all a part of the plan.”

He arched a brow. “Oh really?”

“Yes, really.”

“You had a plan that involved gettin’ your delectable rear handed to you?”

“Well, naturally.” She beamed. “You got all guilty and fell madly in love with me, as men are prone to do.” A quick nod of affirmation. “All a part of the master plan.”

“That certainly played out in your favor, then, din’t it?”

“I’ll say.” Buffy grinned and kissed him softly. “So…do we have a plan?”

“Another plan, you mean?”

“Yeah. About, well…us. I’m thinking the claim’s not gonna let us live apart very long. And my mom still doesn’t know about you.” She flushed. “Or me, for that matter. So I guess we need to sit down with her, explain what I am, what you are…what we are to each other and if she doesn’t ship me off to the nearest asylum, work out an arrangement.” She was quiet for a minute, then her eyes lit up. “Oooh! Maybe you can move into our basement!”

Spike arched a brow. “Your basement?”

“Well, I don’t think she’d be in favor of her daughter moving out at seventeen. Especially when we’ve just broken the news that my life is in danger every night.” Buffy’s grin broadened. “Plus I’m in love with a vampire, and that might wig her out a bit more.”

“You haven’ even broken the news to her, an’ you’re assumin’ she’s gonna have a prejudice against vamps?”

“Spike, name one movie that features vamps in a positive light.”

He pouted at her. “’S bad advertisin’, is what it is.”

“Yeah. How many people have you killed again?”

“I’m choosin’ to ignore that.”

“Point being, my mom’s not gonna be too happy with this situation, and it might be good if we stuck it out at my house for a while.”

He domed a brow. “Yeah, an’ tell her to ignore all the screaming an’ panting an’ crashing sounds that come from downstairs? If you think I’m gonna be able to keep my hands to myself, you’ve got another thing comin’.”

“Literally, I’m guessing.”

Spike’s eyes darkened with passion. “Bloody right.”

“Well, I still wanna go away. Far away. And the school year’s nearly up, so maybe you can take me away for the summer. We can work on…” She blushed again at his look and sank down against the mattress. “Stuff.”

“Mind-readin’?”

“More like mind blocking. I like my privacy.”

“I like knowin’ when you’re horny.”

“We’ve already had this conversation.”

Spike shrugged. “Still like knowin’ it. But yeh, pet, I’m right with you. I don’ want you to have to guard yourself from me, but at the same time, you have what’s yours an’ no one—myself included—can take that from you.” He ran a hand down her arm softly, wrapping his fingers around her wrist, tugging her toward him as he slid beneath her coolly, so that she was sprawled across his chest. “I told you mine,” he said softly, and the sudden seriousness in his tone threw her for a loop. “An’ no matter how good I am at sensin’ feelings, I wanna know…”

“What?”

He swallowed hard and looked away. “Angel.”

Buffy stiffened perceptively, then sighed and shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure and more than sure.”

“You’re okay?”

“Very okay.”

“Sweetling, you—”

“I wigged and then some, yes. I just…I was so mad. I didn’t think I’d be so mad when I saw him. Really, I didn’t know what to think.” She dropped a kiss across his chest and sighed again. “I thought I’d done a good job in convincing myself that he and Angelus were two different people. But when he looked at me—soul and all—all I felt was…”

“Rage,” Spike supplied gently.

She nodded. “Yeah. And like I said earlier, it was all mine. All of it. He killed Ms. Calendar. He tried to kill my mom. He tortured Giles. He played mind games with my friends, was mean to you, and threatened to do really nasty things to me. And having him…I’m glad Willow was able to pull it off. Yay, Willow. But…it didn’t change things, the way I’d expected things to change. I’d expected to forgive him, stupid as that sounds.”

“No, kitten. It’s what I expected, too.”

Buffy shook her head, her eyes blank. “I can’t imagine forgiving him now. How could I ever consider forgiving him? After what he’s done? What he did to me? To you? God, I hate him. I hate him.”

His lips brushed against her brow. “You won’ always.”

“Yes, I will.”

“Buffy…”

But he didn’t say anything. He just trailed off and looked at her, a mixture of happiness warring with astonishment in his eyes. And perhaps he was right—perhaps a time would come when she didn’t hate Angel. When she would be able to meet him again and not feel the urge to make him dust. It wasn’t now, though. Right now she hated him. She hated every inch of him.

The only good thing Angel had done was bring her to Spike. Spike, who filled her with warmth every time he looked at her. Buffy held his eyes for a few minutes, then smiled and lowered her mouth to his.

In a thousand years, she didn’t think she’d ever grow tired of his kiss. Or the way he moaned and stretched beneath her. The way he held her shoulders as his tongue explored her mouth, before his hands slid down her body, helping her as she straddled his waist, rubbing herself wantonly against his cock.

“You’re not sore?” he asked gently, reaching between them to position himself between her slick pussy lips.

Buffy’s brow flickered challengingly. “Are you?”

He studied her eyes a long minute, then the smirk returned tenfold as she lowered herself onto his cock, wiggling in his lap. “Minx,” he growled, his mouth claiming hers again. “My gorgeous, fiery minx.”

“My pretty, snarky vampire,” she shot back, her hands seizing his shoulders and squeezing. She rotated her hips, slowly lifting herself from his lap until just the head of his cock was still inside her. Then she slid down, and took him in to the hilt until their curls mingled. It was blissful torture; she loved the look on his face. She loved the helplessness that spread through his eyes, demanding that she give in and gallop him into oblivion but simultaneously indulging every slow, deliciously agonizing second.

Spike attempted to scowl and failed miserably. “Not pretty,” he moaned, massaging her ass encouragingly as she rode him. “Oh, fuck, pet, you feel so good.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

He clenched his teeth, his fingers bruising her hips. “I aim to please.”

“Your aim has always been right on target.”

“Minx,” he said again.

“Yup.”

“Don’t know what you do to me.”

Buffy flashed him a cheeky smile and winked, leaning forward until her breasts were pressed against his chest, her heart pounding against silence. Spike hissed out another long moan, his mouth skating across her shoulder as his eyes fell shut.

“Oh,” she replied, her vaginal muscles squeezing his cock mercilessly as her hungry eyes drank in every flash of ecstasy to grace his face. “I think I know exactly what I do to you.”

Spike opened one eye. “You’re pretty confident for a girl I could beat to a pulp anytime I like.”

“This world of delusion you live in…” Buffy sat up, her hands finding purchase on his chest as she began to ride him in earnest. “It’s nice, right?”

There was a muffled moan in response. Spike threw his head back and whimpered. “Bloody fantastic.”

“Which?”

“Everythin’. You. The world. The world that has you in it.”

Buffy wasn’t surprised to feel her cheeks burn. He could do that. She was bouncing on his cock, and he could make her blush. He could make her insides quiver with the power of just one glance. And God, she loved that about him. She loved that with him, it was never just one thing. No; he wanted her to enjoy a rainbow of experience, and he gave it to her with everything he had.

God, she loved him. She loved everything about him, even the stuff that wasn’t good. The stuff he wanted to keep from her. She loved that, too. She loved it because it had molded him, in ways both good and bad, into the man he was today. The man who was sucking at her nipples as he massaged her backside. The man who showed her love with play, and how being together didn’t mean being alone together. And while it would take time, eventually, her life wouldn’t consist of separate categories for friends, family, and Spike. She could be with him and be Buffy, too. She could be with him and be the Slayer. It wasn’t one or the other.

Even if her Watcher, her friends, and her mother didn’t understand now—or even know to understand—she knew they would someday. She didn’t know how she knew it; she just did. And that knowledge gave her peace.

Buffy had everything she wanted at her fingertips. Everything aside from one thing.

One thing that she was determined to take.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Spike gasped, their pace exploding into frenzy. He drew her down for a heated kiss, brushing strands of hair away from her sweat-laced forehead. “Could watch you all day. All bloody day. Love this. God, how I love this.” He kissed her again, pressing his brow to hers. “Love you. You feel so wonderful. So hot an’ tight. Love you. Love you so much. Ride me, baby. Oh, yeah, jus’ like that. Feel so good. So good.”

Buffy just nodded, her head dropping to his shoulder. “Unh…”

“So good.”

She nodded again, her mouth running dry. Perhaps, one day, she would be comfortable with vocalizing how incredible he felt sliding in out of her body, how he made her clit throb and her body sizzle. Perhaps. However, even with as much as they’d done together, putting actions into words was still hard for her.

Thankfully, Spike said enough for both of them.

He tugged her down and brushed a kiss across her nipple. “Tell me you love me,” he pleaded softly.

“I love you.”

“How much, Buffy?”

“So much.”

He smiled into her eyes and nodded, his left hand finally slipping between them, his fingers sliding over her clit. “I love you, too,” he replied softly, massaging her tenderly. “That feel good, kitten?”

“Ohhhh…” She nodded furiously, her pussy swallowing his cock in a fury of desperate thrusts. “Spike!”

“Tell me how it feels.”

She glared at him. He grinned back unrepentantly. Oh yeah. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Can’t you…feel…how it…feels?” she demanded between pants.

“Ohhhhh, yeah,” he purred. “I jus’ wanna hear it from you.”

The tease in his voice pushed her over the edge. She was bouncing frantically, gyrating her hips against his as his fingers rubbed her clit, and his voice—that damned cocky tone of his—made her tremble into orgasm.

And in a moment of blind ecstasy, she stole her one thing.

Spike didn’t realize her intent until her teeth clamped down on his neck. He yelped in shock, his hands flying to her hips as he spurted inside her. The sound that tore through his lips was a stirring combination of horror, bliss, and hope. And when she said the word, the one word that would give her everything that she wanted, he moaned in protest.

“Mine.”

“Oh Christ. Buffy, you can’t—”

She shook her head desperately and licked at his blood, shuddering slightly. The coppery taste that filled her mouth was neither pleasant nor unpleasant. It was hers. “Mine!” Her vision blurred with tears at the broken look on his face, and she lapped at him again. “Spike, please!”

He looked at her a second longer before his eyes fluttered shut in defeat. “Bloody hell, Buffy, you know I’m yours. I’m all yours. Yours for sodding eternity.”

She jerked and gasped, her body spasming again. And she felt it. She felt everything. The last gate between them was finally wide open, and the flood came rushing in. And she felt everything. Everything. Her world was split in two. She felt his agony, his anger, his fury, his wrath, his bloodlust, his lust, his passion, his uncertainties, his doubt, his kindness, his caring, his jealousy, his fear—and above all, she felt his love. His love for her. His love for her that had defeated all of the baser instincts of his demon. The thing that should have made her run simply made her tremble in awe. That anyone could feel the wealth that he did—the polarities of what he felt—and surpass it all with love was more than she could handle. He embodied beauty. He was a dark, fallen seraph that still looked to the heavens for grace. He held her and loved her, and while he was possessed with violence and fury, he was owned by love and compassion.

Buffy didn’t realize she was crying until he trembled beneath her, raising his hand to her cheek.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said softly, his eyes bathed in fear. “I told you. I bloody told you. Why din’t you listen to me? I—”

She shook her head furiously and curled her arms under his shoulders, peppering his face with soft, sweet kisses. “You’re beautiful,” she gasped. “You’re so beautiful, Spike.”

He stilled, barely willing to hope.

“Buffy?”

“I love you. I love you forever. You’re so beautiful.” Her lips grazed his temple, and she pressed her cheek to his. “And you’re mine.”

Spike shivered, gently turning her chin until she was looking at him. His eyes searched hers for a long minute, and when he found what he was looking for, his entire being dissolved in bliss.

And she felt it. God, she felt everything.

“Oh Buffy…”

Then he was kissing her desperately, and the world around her faded. His kisses were molten. He tasted of tears, cigarettes, and grace. And she loved him.

He had her under him and was moving inside her again, slowly, kissing away her tears as he cried his own. Her name was a prayer on his lips, and with every amen, she felt how much he loved her.

He held her and trembled. She kissed his brow and ran her fingers through his hair.

The future didn’t matter right now. The road ahead would be a long one, but it didn’t matter. They would face their obstacles. They would slam through barriers. They would defeat whatever stood in their way, and they would do it together. They would move stars.

For now, though, the world was silent.

And Buffy and Spike, coiled together, rested in self-made grace.