In Omne Tempus

Author’s Note: This is the answer to a BSV challenge, and as before, I will post the guidelines at the end of the story. Similarly, this story is radically different from anything I’ve attempted to write before. It is Spuffy, and after two or three chapters, that should be very obvious…I just don’t want to freak people out too badly with the first few. It’s all set-up.

I’m molding some popular vampire traditions in some of the vampire romance novels I’ve read – *sheepish* – so I will be tampering with a bit of the myths outside Whedonverse. As far as I know, these new venues are wholly my interpretation.

Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17 (For language, violence, and sexual situations)
Timeline: Outside canon.
Distribution: Mandi, Yani, Stacy, Luba…it’s all yours. Everyone else, just drop me a line. You can have it as long as I know where it’s going.
Summary: For a hundred years, William the Bloody has led a trail of bloodshed and chaos across Europe and the Americas. That all comes to an end when the woman he’s devoted his existence to brings his mate to him in the guise of a late-night snack. A small girl with eyes of green and blonde hair. And suddenly, Spike is thrown into a world of color beyond the black and white, and his life is never the same.

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

Naturally, his decision to put space between them lasted all of twenty minutes. The vision of her, shattered and crying, refused to give him peace. He had to know that she’d gotten home safely. That she wasn’t hurt, beyond what he’d done to her. There would be no rest until he made sure of that.

He didn’t have an invite as it was; he couldn’t hurt her if he couldn’t reach her.

He had to make sure she was all right. He didn’t care how wrong it was. He couldn’t get into her house; therefore it was safe to assume that he couldn’t hurt her anymore than he already had. He could reassure himself that she was okay, then go home and pray for the strength not to walk into sunlight the next morning.

Serves you right.

The look in her eyes would haunt him forever.

Hurt her.

He’d hurt the girl. After waiting for fourteen years to see her, hold her, claim her as his, he’d done something utterly deplorable. He’d hurt her, and he would never forgive himself.

She’s gonna stake you the second she sees you again.

Bugger all. He’d chance it. He needed to see her face. Then he would retreat into the shadows, and leave her be.

For as long as he could, anyway.

Spike drew in a deep breath, his bravado withering when her house came into view. The air was fragranced with her tears, and the knowledge that he was the source of her pain ripped him to shreds.

Were the rules completely different just because she was human? Because she was the Slayer? He had no clue. Only that, if the Powers had mated him to a slayer with the intention of being her weakness, they would be bitterly disappointed. He had no idea what the game was about, but he knew simply from tonight that he never again wanted to be the source of her anguish.

Without even asking it of him, she had him thoroughly defanged.

The knowledge bothered him. The past few years, up until her calling, Spike had lived under the assumption that his taking her and claiming her as his would coincide with turning her into a vampire. It was the only option that made sense to him. The only way he could justify the unconventional mating in the first place. He still didn’t presume to know answers as to why he’d been issued the short straw in the department of mates, though that hadn’t stopped him from daydreaming up a few theories. The most logical being that fate had screwed up and he was destined to not only claim her, but sire her.

That had changed the night he witnessed her first patrol. There was just too much to gamble on chance. Too much at stake; his being destined to a human was one thing—having that human just coincidentally filling the role of slayer? Not possible. There was something else. Something larger than him; something he didn’t want to bugger up.

Moreover, she was the Slayer, and one simply didn’t turn slayers. He didn’t know all the lore, didn’t know how much of it was based in fabrication, but he knew enough to accept that siring slayers was essentially signing a death warrant.

That was reason enough. What was worse, he was nearly certain that he wouldn’t want to condemn her to his world even if he felt it was an option. Buffy was sunshine, and her light was what made her beautiful.

Not that she wouldn’t be gorgeous in moonlight, but he cherished her the way she was.

And that terrified him.

Spike shook his head and sent the thought away. He wasn’t ready to explore that, yet. Wasn’t ready to completely disassociate himself from the past, despite being chin-deep in the waters of the Rubicon. His life with Buffy had been lived in shadows thus far; imaginary figures playing out what they would eventually have with the promise that it would remain on hold forever. He didn’t know what to expect with her. He had his dreams, but fantasies were nothing founded in reality.

He expelled another deep breath, eying the tree that he was certain had been planted especially for him. Unlike the tree in Los Angeles, this one was nearly an extension of her bedroom. The other had provided a keen view of the happenings in her room, but not a walkway. This tree was made specifically for stalkers, and as long as he was the only one reaping the benefits, he was more than fine with that.

Tonight, he ventured closer to the window than he’d ever before dared. He no longer cared if she saw him; he needed to see her.

And his heart nearly broke all over again when he did.

She met his eyes immediately. As though she had been waiting for him to arrive. As though she knew he wouldn’t leave it as they had. Funny; in fourteen years, she had not once cast a glance in his direction. Tonight, though, they couldn’t help but sense each other.

Spike had no earthly idea how long they remained like that; remained frozen in a moment. Only that the hurt had completely vanished, and confusion was in its place. Tormented confusion; the sort that would keep her awake all night, tossing and turning while she tried to make sense of what had happened tonight.

Well, there it was. He’d done what he needed to do in order to find sleep. Spike held her eyes a beat longer, then turned to climb back to the ground.

Something happened, then. Something he hadn’t planned.

Buffy opened her window.

“Spike?”

The vampire forced his eyes shut, relishing in the sound of his name on her lips. “I jus’…I wanted to make sure you got home all right, kitten,” he said, refusing to look at her. “Din’t mean to…I jus’ needed to see that you got home.”

“How did you know where I live?”

A bitter chuckle sounded through his throat. “You’ll be hard pressed to find somethin’ I don’ know about you.”

She licked her lips. “Okay. That’s kinda wigsome.”

“You don’ know the half of it.” He sighed. “Look, luv, I don’ expect you to believe me…or forgive me for what happened. ‘S not why I’m here. But for what it’s worth, I am sorry. ‘S jus’…I’ve waited so long, an’ here you are, an’ my demon couldn’t take it.”

“Take it?”

“Bein’ near you. I lost control. I never meant to hurt you.”

She was silent for a long minute. “I…I know.”

He couldn’t help himself; he turned to face her. “What?”

“I’m not saying I’m not freaked, ‘cause consider me freaked, but…I know you didn’t meant to…I just know.”

Spike was stunned speechless. “How?”

A small, girlish smile tickled her mouth. Her eyes were haunted, but spoke the truth. No pain; only confusion and fear. Confusion he could deal with—he never wanted her to fear him—his earlier musings aside—and the thought that she did made him want to bathe in holy water.

“Well, I was there for one thing,” she replied softly. “I don’t…you just scared me a little.”

He nodded numbly. “Din’t mean to do that, either.” A pause. “Din’t mean to make you cry.”

“I know.”

A dubious huff tore past his lips. “Don’ mean to be cynical, sweets, but I was there, too. It was ten bloody minutes ago.”

“Yeah.” Buffy glanced down. “I just…I saw your face. And on the way home, I remembered…well, some stuff…about you. Some stuff I’d…I dunno.” A short laugh rolled off her body. “You know, tonight is just…I stopped thinking about you a long time ago.”

He winced.

“Well…I made myself. I made myself forget everything. I never thought you’d ever really come back. I just thought…I thought you said you would just to get me to stop crying. I never thought you’d…” She met his eyes again tentatively. “I dunno what I thought. I just forced myself to stop thinking about it…and after a while, I did.”

“What a brilliant second impression I’ve made.” Spike shook his head, trembling with self-disgust. “Touch you for the firs’ time in fourteen years, an’ I…Christ, Buffy I—”

“I don’t understand why you’re back. Why now?”

“You’re nearly eighteen.”

She shot him a dry glance. “And how do you know that?”

“Same way I know you cuddle up every night to the pig I gave you.”

Buffy went rigid. “Okay, kinda stalkerish.”

He smirked. “Baby, you have no idea.”

“Why do I get the feeling that that’s supposed to be the half-full?”

He’d started back for her without even realizing it; it was innate. Buffy was there, therefore he went to Buffy. There was little that freewill could do or say to alter his instinct. “’Cause you’re amazingly perceptive.”

She glanced down once more and expelled a deep breath. “What you did to me,” she said softly, her voice landing somewhere between pained and confused with a smidge of awe that had him thunderstruck. “I…no one has ever…”

Spike bit his tongue. He didn’t wager that she would take his word that he knew exactly how far she’d gone with her past boyfriends all too well. “I din’t mean for that to happen,” he said again. “I jus’ saw you. Suddenly, you were right in front of me, an’ I couldn’t handle it. ‘S not an excuse, luv. Nothin’ can excuse that. I jus’ din’t…I never would’ve gone near you ‘f I’d known that my control was that easy to snap.”

Well, that was partially true. Spike’s control didn’t exactly have an upstanding reputation as it was. He’d simply been banking on the fact that he’d never before exercised control, or attempted to, before Buffy came into his life. And up until their fumbled reunion, he’d been convinced that he’d done an impressive job.

There was a short, albeit heavy silence. “Why did you?”

“What?”

“Control…snap. I mean, I can…my mind is kind’ve…” She trailed off, unable to elaborate, but a charming bashfulness had taken over where fear once lived.

Why? God, there was a question. Which version did she want?

Might as well go for broke. Like he had anything left to lose.

“Because, sweetheart, I’ve been waitin’ for you for fourteen years.”

She went rigid again. Hell, he couldn’t blame her.

“What?”

“Chit’s gotta learn to listen. ‘F you think what I did…bringin’ you back to your mum while you were begging me to stay with you was easy, you’re off your bird.” He shook his head. “But it’s only fair, right? You knew the minute you saw me, too…you jus’ don’ know what it means.”

“What?”

He smiled wryly. “The eyes, pet. Yours glow gold for me. Not always…jus’ the firs’ time I saw you…an’ earlier tonight, when you looked at me again.”

“Yours did, too.” She paused. “That’s not…that’s never happened before.”

“I’d wager not.”

“Does it mean…what does it mean?”

He stilled. “Means you’re mine…jus’ as I am yours. That’s what it means. Only I couldn’t take you before…you were a li’l tyke. You’re not that anymore. An’ I’ve waited.”

“You’ve waited.”

“Yeh.”

“For me.”

“’S taken you forever, too. Trust me, pet, I’ve seen a lot of years in my time…none of them went by as slowly as these past fourteen.”

Buffy wet her lips. “Why? Because of the glowy eyes thing?”

“You could say that.”

“Well…why didn’t you try to go find another pair of glowy eyes, if waiting for me was so terrible?”

Spike smiled sardonically, unsure if she was hurt at the notion that waiting for her had been a chore, or simply curious. Buffy had a peculiar talent of spinning a sentence six different ways and making each ring true. He knew that much from having watched her. “’S not that easy, luv.”

“Why?”

He was silent for a minute. “Because it only happens once.”

Buffy drew in a sharp breath, her eyes wide. “Oh.”

A smile itched his mouth. “Appropriately put.”

Buffy released a sigh, her eyes darting to the floor of her bedroom again. She didn’t say anything else concerning their link, which Spike found surprising, yet somehow expected. She might not be a vampire, she might not know the history, might not feel it as richly as he did, but she was a girl that had likewise found her mate. Whatever had happened between them had terrified her, and rightfully so, but at the same time, he could see that she was more bothered by the fact that she wasn’t as bothered as she thought she should be.

And oh, he knew that feeling well. So well.

Spike tentatively lifted his hand to the unseen barrier between them, smiling desolately when the wealth of energy tickled his skin with the impending threat of rejection. “You know,” he said softly, a lump forming in his throat when she raised her hand to mirror his. “We’ve gone full circle. You begged me not to leave you before, an’ now I’m forbidden from your home.”

Her skin was so close to him. The demon, surprisingly, was quiet. He didn’t know why, and didn’t think to question it. There was calm in the atmosphere; perhaps, then, his earlier reaction had simply been a response to having her so close for the first time in as many years. Perhaps it had been a factor of the moment’s anticipation. God, he hoped so. Being this close to her without touching her was more torment than anything he’d ever endured.

“You’re a vampire.”

“Yeh.”

“Well, I slay vampires. And I don’t let them into my house.”

“I’d never hurt you, pet.” A pause. “Not on purpose. Never. ‘S not in my workin’. I wanted to stake myself earlier tonight.”

“Because of the glowy eyes?”

No, dammit. God, not jus’ because—

He growled inwardly and cut off the thought before his subconscious could betray him. “No,” he snarled instead. “Not because of the eyes. You think, after all I’ve waited, all this time I’ve wanted you, that it’s only because you’re mine? You think—”

“You don’t know me,” Buffy objected softly, but there was no austerity in her eyes. “How can you—”

“I know you.”

“Spike—”

“I know you, Slayer. Trust me…I know you well.”

Buffy drew in another breath and shuddered, a conflict strained behind her eyes. Her hand was nearly touching his through the invisible barrier, and he rattled at the warmth that emanated from her flesh.

“What happened tonight…I’ve never felt anything like it. I never thought I could…” A soft blush touched her cheeks. “You scared me.”

A pang struck his heart, but he was beyond explaining that whatever he’d done wasn’t his intention. She knew, and therefore, he could only offer penance. “I’m sorry.”

“But I…I don’t even know how to explain it. With as terrified as I was…I…”

Spike smiled slightly. “Enjoyed it?”

Buffy’s blush deepened. “I felt like…it was right.” She frowned. “Is that because of the glowy eyes thing?”

Slowly, very slowly, Spike felt the burden of guilt washing off his shoulders. Perhaps he had misunderstood everything, which wasn’t too far from the realm of believability. Perhaps the hurt had been more attributed to confusion. He’d been a demon too long to bother distinguishing pain from fear. And while he knew that, with as rough as he had been, she had been in pain, he took some measure of comfort in the fullness of her disclosure. She didn’t seem angry—rather scared and confused. But she was his mate, and the draw between wasn’t a one-way street.

She was also an adolescent that had reached and shot beyond the age where most kids were thinking about sex during every spare second. Most of her chums, little innocent Willow included, had already experimented. He was surprised that Buffy hadn’t caught on. Then again, he could smell it, and he rather doubted that his Slayer would want any part of that particular ability.

“Partly,” he replied honestly. “I’m drawn to you ‘cause of the…eyes. An’ because…” You’re Buffy, an’ a bloke can’t help but be drawn to you, ‘specially when he knows how amazing you are. “There’s a connection, yeh? You feel it.”

He didn’t want to say the words ‘mate’ or ‘claim’ around her just yet. It was a delicate matter; something he felt he needed to ease her into.

She nodded, and he about collapsed in relief.

Now that she was standing before him, he wondered if this was what his demon had needed all along. Perhaps the bite could wait. Perhaps he just needed to be near her, and his earlier actions had simply been his demon’s way of telling him that.

God, he hoped so. He wanted so much from her.

He wanted Buffy to love him. He wanted the promise of her love before they were tied together forever. And if they had time, if his demon could wait, then he could build on the start of this thing they had.

So strange how so much could change in the course of an hour. Knowing her up close, even as briefly as he had, had thoroughly challenged every prior conviction.

If she could love him, then he could allow himself to love her. To cross that last finish line. Until she was his completely, he refused to let his heart into the matter—beyond how deeply he was already entrenched. He’d loved before, and it had nearly killed him. Buffy was unlike any woman—vampire or human—he’d ever encountered. Loving her would be beyond matters of the heart; it would entail giving himself over fully.

Something he was all too willing to do, as long as he had the assurance that he would not suffer a broken heart for it. There was nothing else if Buffy rejected him. If the one woman on this planet that was destined to love him denied him that, he was truly a mock of his race.

His race and hers.

Buffy drew in a deep breath and combed her fingers through her hair. “Then…you don’t want to kill me?”

He arched a skeptical brow. “Slayer—”

“Me or my mother?”

Harm Joyce? I’d sooner subject myself to a Pauly Shore marathon.

Instead, he said, “Never.”

“And my friends?”

Might as well swear an oath to never drink from the tap, willin’ an’ otherwise, ever again.

He shuddered inwardly. He hated it when that thought surfaced. It refused to stay dead and buried, which was exactly where it belonged.

But faithfully, he said, “Never hurt anyone you don’ want me to, sweetheart.”

And it was the truth. Goddammit, it was the truth. And he’d just said it. Given her all the ammunition she would ever need to keep him from killing again, acquaintance of hers or not. Spike sighed desolately, but made no move to retract the statement. Better to be defanged and loved than fanged and alone. This he’d known from the beginning, and had begun accepting since the day he watched her stake her first vampire.

He couldn’t take anymore of the insufferable alone. He wanted Buffy, and he’d give up whatever he had to in order to have her.

The next second, he swore it was all worth it. Awe shone through her eyes, and her pulse leapt with excitement. “Really?”

He swallowed hard.

Final treachery, mate. You’re an enemy to your own kind, now.

Her eyes, though, sold him all over again.

So worth it.

“Yeh, luv,” he said softly. “’Course.”

A pause, tentative at best. “I have no reason to trust you.”

That made his demon snarl in objection, giving Spike all the means to agree with her. “I know.”

Buffy wet her lips again, evidently having no grasp on how such small displays moved him, and nodded to herself. “Then,” she said softly, “I think you should come in.”

Spike froze. “What?”

“Come in. I’m…God, what am I doing? I’m inviting a vampire into my house. I must be the most careless slayer in history. Giles is so gonna kill—”

He bounded into her room before she could talk herself into circles. The air hit him immediately—thoroughly Buffy Summers. Thoroughly his girl. It was like stepping into a painting he’d admired for years. She was a masterpiece, and she was letting him see the place where she lived.

He knew it was as close to Heaven as he would ever get.

Mr. Gordo stared at him from her bed. He smiled.

Hello, pig. His eyes turned to the posters on her walls, the pile of dirty clothes shoved hastily in a dark corner, the chest of weapons that was poking out from under her bed, the pictures of her with her friends, and he felt at home. Bloody dream come true.

“Spike, you totally can’t stay. My mom will pull a massive wig if she comes in here and there’s a strange man in my bedroom. I just wanted you to—”

“I know, pet. I’ve jus’…” But there were no words to describe what he was feeling. No words that would do anything more than terrify her. “I…”

“I’m not sure how to feel about any of this,” Buffy said carefully. “I really don’t. And I haven’t decided whether or not…God, I’m so confused.”

“I know,” he said again.

“But I…” She studied him for a long minute, then did something he would, in a million years, never have expected.

She closed the gap between them, cupped his face, and kissed him.

Spike was stunned for a second, then growled as he felt her lips moving over his. He wasted no time with teasing nibbles that alluded to what he truly wanted. He drank her in fully, plundered her mouth with his tongue and drew her taste into him. He grasped her shoulders and pulled her against him, thrusting his pelvis into hers.

She pulled back just slightly. “Spike—”

“Mine,” he snarled in turn, primitive, drawing her mouth back to his. “My Buffy—”

“I—mmfff.”

For a few wondrous seconds, there was nothing but her taste. The sweet flavor of her kisses. He could feel pressure rising, heard his inner William’s screams not to lose himself again, but it all went numb against the glorious feel of her body against his.

His mouth broke from hers, the hum of her blood calling him home. He whispered her name into her skin, then trailed a hot path of kisses to her throat. His fangs tingled from the rhythmic rush of her pulse, but he made no attempt to sample her; rather enjoyed nibbling at his chalice, sending his demon into a peaceful lull at the promise of what would eventually be his.

For a few seconds, at least, until his fangs wanted a personal taste. His bumpies burst through before he realized what was happening, and Buffy pushed him away with force.

Spike looked at her for a minute in confusion before his eyes widened, and he glanced down. Bugger all.

Forget all that rot about understanding him. He couldn’t be around her now. Not without losing it.

“I…I think,” she said, panting harshly. The air was perfumed once more with the tantalizing scent of her arousal, sending his demon spiraling. “I think it’s best…if you leave now.”

Good going, mate. Your girl kisses you, an’ you let your fangs do the thinkin’.

It was good, though. Being near her was intoxicating, and he felt he’d already lost so much of himself. The rate of his change was terrifying; the life he loved to live. The life he’d been living happily since the night Drusilla helped him out of his grave. Even as Buffy’s unclaimed mate, he’d still relished in the kill from the shadows. He’d taken lives with nothing resembling remorse.

Suddenly she was near and he knew the taste of her kisses, and he was willing to hand over everything that had once made him what he was. More importantly, who he was.

And despite his need for her, he wasn’t ready for that.

“Yeh,” he agreed. “Buffy, I—”

“Just…I feel like I’m all…” She shook her head, laughing nervously. “I’ve never been out of control…you make me feel like I could lose control.”

The admission graced him with warmth. “Know the feelin’, kitten.”

Her gaze burned him with passion. “I mean really lose control…when you touched me…” Buffy stopped when she realized what she’d said and flushed brightly, glancing down. She was quite possibly the most adorable creature he’d ever seen. “I’m just…I need some space. And yeah, inviting you in and then kissing you? Not the best indicators of the needage of space, but I do.” She shivered. “I don’t know what I’m feeling…only that you seem to know everything sans confusion.”

Spike didn’t say anything for a minute; merely nodded. “I understand.” He moved for the window. “I…I know I’m not practicin’ what I preach here, luv, but I’d never hurt you. Never. I’d rather stake myself.”

“I know.” A pause. “That’s what scares me.”

Fair enough.

“There are some ancients in town,” he said as he climbed back onto the trusty tree branch. “A bunch of the nastiest vamps you’ll ever meet. For what it’s worth, that’s…I couldn’t wait as long as I thought to come for you.”

“Oh,” she said.

“’S not like I wanted to wait,” he assured her. “’d jus’ promised myself I would. Bloody family got in the way.” An’ judgin’ by what waitin’ did to me, let’s count our blessings. “Have your Watcher look up Angelus an’ the Order of Aurelius.”

That was placing him in danger of scrutiny, too, but he didn’t care. His life with them was over, and the past couldn’t be changed by wishful thinking. He couldn’t make her love him, and irregardless, he wanted no secrets between them. None.

Buffy hugged herself. “Okay.”

Spike paused, then turned to her once more. “’m sorry, kitten.”

“I know. Me, too.”

He tilted his head. “For what?”

She pondered a minute, shrugged, but didn’t answer. There was no good answer.

But it was there. The want of something. It was there even if she didn’t know it. He took some cold comfort in that.

Cold comfort was better than nothing, and aside his pride and jaded hope, it was all he had.

Buffy awoke bubbling with a sensation she had never felt before. It was strange—wholly girlish and slightly terrifying, but overwhelmingly good. As though she had discovered chocolate for the first time and felt it was time to over-indulge for the many years she had missed its sweetness.

It was so strange. Never in all her life had she thought anything like what had occurred the night before could happen to her. Just when she had made peace with her fate—the law that all slayers were destined to live their brief lives alone—a vampire she tried so hard to forget came storming back into her life. A vampire.

Spike.

He was dangerously addictive. In just one night, she had found her Achilles Heel.

Never had she thought it would be in the form of her enemy. Never had she thought it would come to her in the form of a revived a dream, buried so long ago.

It was so strange, the things she chose to remember. When she was nine, she had forced herself to stop thinking about Spike. Forced herself to stop hoping he would return to her some night, and convinced herself that the eyes she felt following her everywhere didn’t exist. She took what became an infatuation and forced herself to cut old strings.

It had seemed like such a monumental decision, being nine years old. And the amazing thing was, it had worked. Once she cut Spike’s memory out of her life, she had found herself living in a world with no expectations. With the promise of nothing in her future. It seemed strange now that she had thought of such dreary, adult things as a child, but Buffy similarly acknowledged that she had grown up very fast. And even before she reached the age of ten, she had felt things that she realized now were far too mature for her to have experienced.

Now he was back. Spike was back in her life. He had exploded back into her world, and everything she had once relied on was, once again, scrambling to piece itself back together. She had no idea what to feel, or why the feelings she did feel were as strong as they were. In one night, he had taken down all the barriers she had thought she had so carefully constructed around her heart. He had invaded her. He had, for all intents and purposes, violated her…and she had invited him into her home.

Dangerously addictive.

Willow often asked her why she never managed more than one or two dates to the few boys that had asked her out since she arrived in Sunnydale. It wasn’t due to the fact that she was repulsive, or that her reputation as a troublemaker sent potentials boyfriends screaming. And try as she might, Cordelia Chase’s affinity for gossip hadn’t done much to tarnish the mystery that Buffy’s fellow classmates insisted on forcing on her character. Her evasive manner only served to up the male interest in her. She simply hadn’t felt the drive to date the same guy for more than a week at a time. She was a heartbreaker, some said. No one could come close to touching her.

That was until last night, when she finally felt that it was right.

And that was what terrified her. The past few years, she had spent so much time constructing an impenetrable wall around her heart. Ever since she resigned herself to the acceptance that she was the Slayer, and she was therefore destined to be alone. She never felt right when she was sharing herself with anyone.

Then Spike came back into her life, and it felt as though a missing piece had been reattached; a piece that she hadn’t known was gone until he gave it back to her, and now felt that she could not live without. His invasion of her body the night before had hurt, but the pain had quickly dwarfed to pleasure; her insides had rattled with the burden of completion, and the feeling had overwhelmed her.

She had cried. She remembered racing home, the air impossibly cold for southern California, wind slapping her tear-stained face as her mind spun out of control. As she searched futilely for an answer to everything that had happened between them, settling at last with the bubbling euphoria that Spike was back. After so many years, after forcing herself to forget, Spike was back.

Only he was a vampire. The one she had waited for was a vampire.

Irony, how I mock thee.

It wasn’t fair. God, it wasn’t fair. She’d shut herself out, only to open herself to the one person she shouldn’t want, and could never have.

He was a vampire. A very torn, very hot vampire. It was strange; after she was called, Buffy had thought she would be drawn to vampires simply because of the ‘forbidden fruit’ thing, and due to the fact that they always looked flawless and beautiful in movies. Well, more current movies. The old movies hadn’t been very generous to vampires. Still, that notion fell to the wayside after her first few patrols. Vampires were snarling nasties—better off as dust, and not only to save innocents. She had yet to find a vampire that truly embodied everything Anne Rice seemed to find so glamorous.

Spike was different. He was gorgeous. Like a fallen angel, pale with the glow of what he had once been. Furthermore, he looked at her as though she was the sunrise he had not seen in over a hundred years. Even when his eyes had roamed her body, there had been flecks of awe within his gaze that even lust could not eradicate.

Buffy’s mind was a jumbled mess. She should have been outraged at what he’d done to her the night before, and yet, all she could think of was how it had felt, beyond the terror. Beyond the pain of a foreign touch. Despite however much her mind had rebelled against him, her body had been more than receptive to his ministrations, and berated her for running like a coward after he explained that he was seconds from losing control.

Faced with him, there was familiarity and something else. Something she couldn’t quite grasp. Something that told her that Spike belonged to her. Only the notion was ridiculous. Despite what he had said the night before, she didn’t own anyone, much less a vampire. And she certainly didn’t belong to anyone.

That didn’t stop the very girlish part of her secret identity from doing cartwheels. There should have been outrage, but there wasn’t. There was only glee. Glee that couldn’t be shadowed with confusion.

Everything was so messed up. She had a very hot vampire that had taken the few kisses she’d given and received and turned them into fragmented, unwanted memories. Her body wanted no one but Spike.

Willow was going to be thrilled. For the first time since they’d forged their friendship, she had a guy to gossip about. A guy who wasn’t Owen, who only liked her because she had taken him to a morgue once. A guy who wasn’t Jeffrey, her stupid pre-Slayer ex that had convinced her that she was in love with him simply because they held hands at school.

Granted, she had never truly thought she was in love with him. She’d been all of fourteen at the time, and was more concerned with the idea that such might be as close as she ever came to love.

Much too adult thoughts for a girl of that age.

Hell, I still think I’m too young for this.

Buffy went through her morning routine as though her life hadn’t changed, and she took some comfort in normality. She made breakfast, snagged a note her mother had left for her on the fridge that apologized for the short notice, but she would be out of town for the next week or so. Joyce’s aunt, Marti, had suffered a stroke in LA. Buffy’s mother was incredibly close to Marti, and had left around three in the morning after the call arrived. More over, the convention that Joyce was supposed to host began the following Monday, thus she’d be taking some extra time off.

Buffy hadn’t told her, but the convention conductor had phoned the day before to inform her that her mother was also receiving an award, but the plaque wouldn’t be ready for another two weeks. The job itself had been motive enough for Joyce to agree. She was being paid richly for it, which had been the only reason she agreed at the eleventh hour.

She tried hard to suppress shivers of anticipation. This certainly frees up the house for guests of the nocturnal persuasion.

Buffy expelled a deep breath and made herself some toast. While she was confident that Spike wouldn’t hurt her—for reasons she couldn’t totally understand—she was more than wary of letting him so close so soon, especially with how loose a grip he seemed to have on his control.

With how badly he affected her, how desperately he made her want him when he should be dust for what he’d done to her. How she believed him with no reason to. How he made her want.

And God, she did want.

Yep, a visit with Giles was exactly what the doctor ordered. Maybe he’d have some answers. Maybe he could explain glowy-eye vamps that made her knees go weak.

She wanted to know if she could truly trust Spike, or if the comfort she felt was there because he wanted it there.

She hoped so. This playing it by ear thing would definitely get old soon.

Giles would know. Giles always knew.

Always. He wouldn’t let her down.

*~*~*

Giles cast a disapproving look in her direction when she waltzed into the library. He was stacking books, tweeded up as usual, and looking even more uptight than he was on most days.

“I thought we discussed this,” he said. “You’re not to come here when you’re otherwise scheduled to be in class. You know how Principal Snyder—”

“Makes with the weasel. Yeah. I believe I got that memo. What? You think I’d be here after last time if it wasn’t important?”

“Well, we both know how well you listen to me, and I happen to think you like me a bit more than you do him.”

Buffy shook her head. “That doesn’t make me any more or less inclined to listen to either of you when you’re not with the sense-making, but that’s not the reason I decided that the social decline of 17th Century Europe could be missed today. Something’s happened, Giles. Something big.”

As expected, that earned the full attention of her Watcher. Gone was the disapproving father, replaced with the old professor that loved analyzing prophesies and telling her the many ways she was scheduled to die in upcoming months. He was refreshingly predictable like that.

“What is it?” he asked, his former ire completely gone.

“I ran into a vampire last night.”

There was a pause. “Something tells me that you wouldn’t be dropping by to report an average patrol,” he said cautiously. “Unless you’re desperate to get out of class.”

“This vampire wasn’t like any vamp I’ve faced before.”

Giles perked his brows. “Oh?”

“He was…” Mine. “He…he didn’t want to kill me. And his eyes…they were all glowy.”

She froze. Her Watcher had a look on his face that clearly eluded to thoughts on a prophesy that involved her and untimely death.

At least, such had been the case the last time he had that look.

“Giles?”

There was a sharp breath. “Good Lord.”

“What?” Buffy’s eyes were wide. “Come on, you can’t ‘Good Lord’ me and then pretend like you aren’t on the far side of wigged.”

Giles glanced down, avoiding her gaze. “Erm—yes, quite right. I only mean, vampires with glowing eyes…that definitely is something that you have never seen before.”

“I so totally do not buy that.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That he was…” Heat rushed to her cheeks. “A lot of things, actually. Giles…there’s something I never told you…about when I was little.” She waited until she had his eyes again before continuing. “When I was four, I was kidnapped.”

“Good Lord.”

“Okay, you really need to stop doing that.” Buffy shook her head. “I was kidnapped…by vampires, actually.”

She’d shocked him into silence.

“Giles?”

“It’s not possible that they would have known of your calling—”

“No. No, no. God, no. But I was kidnapped by vampires…or, one vampire. I don’t remember much except that the same vampire that I saw last night was the one that rescued me.” She waited as Giles swore something British and removed his glasses for the expected handkerchief polish. “And he said then, which I didn’t remember until he reminded me last night, that he’d be back for me.”

There was a long, heavy silence.

“Why on earth haven’t you told me all of this before?” Giles demanded. “Why is this the first I am hearing of your—”

She frowned. “Umm, hello? It’s not like I automatically connected the dots. I’d half convinced myself that I imagined the entire ‘my captors have funny foreheads’ thing. It wasn’t until last night that I was sure. Besides? Totally not the point.” A pause. “Look, I can’t kill this vamp…this vamp I ran into last night.”

“The one with the glowing eyes?” the Watcher asked softly.

“Well, they didn’t glow the entire time. Just at first, but…” Buffy exhaled deeply, her heart racing a bit just thinking of him. “But I can’t kill him. And I don’t mean just that I don’t want to, ‘cause really, I don’t want to…but the thought…it makes me…”

“The thought of killing this vampire has a physical effect on you?”

He said he’d sooner stake himself. And I’d sooner let myself become vamp food.

That thought nearly knocked her off her feet, and her insides grew cold all over again.

What the hell is going on?

Buffy’s eyes found the ground. Suddenly, she couldn’t keep from shaking.

Spike didn’t tell me everything. And now Giles is even more uptight than usual.

“Yes,” she answered softly. “And I…you know what it means, don’t you?”

It wasn’t so much a question as it was an accusation, and the Watcher caught the tone immediately. “I can’t be sure,” he said. “And I’d rather not alarm you right now with my theory.”

“No, ‘cause I’m the picture of mental stability.”

A shadow crossed his face, and he sighed heavily. “Buffy…”

“No, really. It’s only my life, right? My life but not my existence. I don’t get to know what’s going on with me until you and your stupid Council does.” She made a face, turning to leave. “I’m gonna go to class. Suddenly, Europe’s social decline sounds very appealing.”

“Bloody social decline,” Giles muttered. “Look, Buffy—”

“Oh.” She stopped on her way out and faced him once more. “Before I forget…Spike, my vampire, said for you to look up some vamp called Ang…Angelus? Does that sound right?”

The Watcher went unspeakably pale.

“What?”

“What else did your vampire say?”

Buffy felt a warm rush at that. My vampire. Yes, she was quite certain that Spike was her vampire. All else besides, that was the one certainty the night before had given her. Spike was definitely hers.

“To look up the Order of Cornelius.”

“Aurelius, you mean?”

She nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one.” Giles looked even more miserable at this, inspiring the cold burn to return without much incentive. “What? What’s—”

“That’s the Master’s line,” he replied grimly. “The Order of Aurelius.”

Buffy froze completely. “T-he Master? As in the ‘let’s open the Hellmouth’ Master?”

“The one and only. Did he say why we needed to research Angelus and the Order?”

“B-because they’re in Sunnydale. Well, he said some nasty vamps have come to Sunnydale, and then he mentioned Angelus and the…oh God. So that makes Aurelius vamps, what, family of the Master?”

Giles nodded. “As far as families go, yes, that’s an accurate description.”

Okay, panicking.

“S-so, what?” Buffy demanded. “These vamps just…just blow into my town and suddenly are all with the…oh God, what are they doing here?”

“It’s possible they’re seeking vengeance for the death of the Master.”

“Three years later?”

The Watcher shrugged. “Perhaps they decided to take the scenic route.”

“Okay, you’re choosing now to be a smart-ass?”

“I have my moments.” Giles expelled a deep breath. “I’m going to read up on the Order and Angelus. You go onto class, and come here straight after. We’re going to want to know what we’re up against.”

We’re, he says. Like he’s out there risking his ass every night.

Buffy nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. Right now, she preferred the environment of text books and note-taking to the reality that constantly tagged at her heels. At least she had lunch with Willow to look forward to.

A vampire out there that had made it very clear that he would fight on her side.

Cold comfort’s better than none, she thought.

Hopefully she’d have more answers before nightfall.

When she saw Spike next, she wanted to be prepared.

*~*~*

Willow was staring at her blankly.

“Okay, you’re joking,” she said. “No man can look that good.” She turned to Oz and flushed a little, smiling. “No offense.”

The werewolf shrugged. “No, I agree,” he said. “This guy sounds like the new hotness.”

Buffy giggled. God, she loved Oz. His dry wit was occasionally the only motivator she had to get through a day. And she couldn’t be happier for Willow. The redhead and her boyfriend were honestly too cute together. And bonus—they didn’t perform a mass gropefest in public in the manner of Xander and Cordy. With Oz, it was as though she was just hanging out with friends more than feeling as third-wheely as she did when around Xander and Queen C. They were very obviously a couple. Willow and Oz were friends who dated each other; there was a difference.

And that difference was the largest motivator for the redhead to invite Buffy everywhere, including to dances where she’d otherwise be going stag. While the Slayer often joked about it, there were never any genuine third-wheel vibes. She just preferred to give her friends a little time to be Willow and Oz The Couple without her tagging along.

“Not joking. He’s…gah, he’s just…” She blushed. “Okay, I’ll be frank. He’s sex on legs, is what he is.”

“Buffy!”

“Well, he is!”

Willow was positively beaming. “Buffy has a crush!” she said shockingly, glancing around as though their conversation was being monitored. “Does he go here? Is he someone I know?”

Errr…

“He’s not exactly…a student.”

The redhead’s eyes flashed scandalously. “Oooh! You’re crushing on an older man?”

“Older…now there’s a word.”

“Huh?”

Buffy licked her lips and glanced down. “Heskindofavampire.”

“He’s a what?”

“A vampire,” Oz translated, shrugging when Willow’s gaze widened in horror. “Buffy’s joined the club of otherworldly significant others.” He nodded at the Slayer and took a sip of his orange juice. “We have hats.”

“Wait, whoa, hold the phone.” The redhead waved a hand. “You’re crushing on a vampire?!”

“Gee, thanks, Will. I don’t think they heard you in Scandinavia.”

“But Buffy…with the bad? With the fangs and the grrr?”

The Slayer’s brows arched. “Your boyfriend is sitting right next to you.”

Oz shrugged and popped a fry into his mouth.

“But…I…I don’t get it. Aren’t vampires the bad guys?”

Buffy shook her head. “Not this one…not in the way…I don’t know. This one saved my life…a long time ago. And yeah, last night, he was rather…” Rough. “Enthusiastic. He…ummm…I guess he’d been waiting for me for a while.”

“Waiting for you?”

The Slayer just smiled. “Something like. He’s not like the other vampires.” God, how cliché is that? “He’s a hottie who seems to really…I can’t explain it. He’s just…there’s something different about him.”

“Like ‘kill you dead’ different?” Willow asked, concerned.

“No. He wouldn’t do that.”

“Buffy—”

“Trust me. He wouldn’t do that.” You didn’t see him last night when he thought he’d hurt me. “But I know you’re right…I’m not going to try and pretend like he’d be the picnic-on-the-beach type. And I don’t think he’d wanna take me to the dance, or get a house with a white-picket fence and…well, all of the above. I can’t have a future with him.”

God, that’s really true, isn’t it?

Buffy sighed, and Willow’s look of concern melted into compassion. She reached across the table and patted her hand sympathetically. “But he’s hot?” she asked, searching again for the good. “And into you?”

The Slayer offered a slight smile. “Very, very hot,” she replied. “And oh yeah…I’d say he’s into me.”

So much that it scares the both of us.

“Well…maybe he will wanna take you to the dance.”

She laughed. “Don’t think so. It’s a little short notice. Seriously…you guys go and have fun tonight. I’ll do a quick patrol, head home, and have a Brad and Tom fest.”

“Ah. A pretty-boys-with-no-brains night?”

Buffy nodded her agreement. “Pretty much.”

“Well, you’re always welcome to come with us,” Oz said.

“I know. And I appreciate it.”

Why party when she could patrol? Her mind had been with Spike all day, and she wouldn’t find him at a mixer.

No, she’d find him. She would find him.

And they would talk.

*~*~*

“He kills slayers.”

Buffy froze. “What? Angelus?”

Giles shook his head, rising to his feet and holding up the text he’d been reading. “William the Bloody. Spike. Isn’t that what you called him earlier? He earned his nickname by torturing his victims with railroad spikes. And he’s killed two slayers. One in 1898 during the Boxer Rebellion, and one in New York in the 1970s.” He handed her the book. “It’s all there, Buffy.”

So strange how fast she could feel like she was dying.

Stop it! He’s just a vampire.

“Why are you showing me this? I thought you were going to research Angelus and—”

“Oh, I am. But I’m not as concerned with them at the present.”

“Why not?”

“Because Angelus isn’t the one whose eyes glowed for you.” Giles looked at her gravely. “Because Angelus isn’t the one you told me about this morning. Spike. This William the Bloody…he kills slayers. He seeks out whoever’s Chosen.”

Buffy’s heart shattered and her eyes were suddenly stinging with tears.

Not the vampire I met last night.

It couldn’t be that; there had to be some explanation. Some reason. No vampire could fake such raw sentiment. Spike had saved her life once without tangible reason. Why on earth would he take it back now?

Fulfilling a promise.

Some explanation. There was one somewhere.

She just had to find it.

Buffy burst out of her home two minutes before sunset. She couldn’t help it; patience wasn’t exactly a strong suit. The town was going to be bustling tonight, anyway; demonic activity always seemed to be on the up when it came time for a school function.

She just hoped that Spike didn’t go to the Bronze, expecting to find her. While a very small part of her lamented her decision to opt out of teenage fun, the larger, more vocal part was screaming in anticipation for the night’s patrol. She wanted to see Spike so badly. Wanted to ask him about the night before. Wanted to demand answers over what Giles had discovered throughout the day. Wanted to know if everything he’d told her was true, or if he was just shaping her up to be his third prized kill.

The first hour or so was disappointing. With every dash of movement, her eyes convinced her that she’d seen a flash of platinum hair. No such luck. Her nose would tell her that the air was tainted with leather and cigarettes, but then she’d realize that some residents were barbequing tonight.

“Stupid no show vampire,” she muttered, kicking at the ground. Men were always irritating when they didn’t read minds.

Nix that. Men=always irritating.

The night was looking to be a complete waste.

“Could be worse,” she muttered to herself. “Could be raining.” With that, she tossed a warning glance to the skies. “And don’t you dare take that as an invitation to rain just because I enjoy random movie quoteage.”

God, how lame was she? Party night at school, and she ditched for some quality time with Sunnydale’s resident dead and, more often, undead. All with the guised hope of running into a vampire that likely intended to kill her the next time he saw her.

You don’t believe that.

No, she really didn’t. But she wished she did. It would certainly make her life a whole lot easier. Despite whatever Giles had found, there was something about Spike that failed to scream ‘dangerous predator’ where she was concerned—and that was a lot, considering what he’d done to her the night before. No, the thing with Spike was much more complicated than she wanted to consider. He was her enemy, but he couldn’t be, because he belonged to her.

And God, wasn’t that the creepiest thing ever? She owned a vampire? She was possessive over a vampire? A vampire that had, for all intents and purposes, violated her the day before? Since when?

No violation. You were more scared than hurt, and you know it.

It should have hurt. How could something so wrong, so intrinsically wrong, have felt so right? That was messed up. She was messed up. She needed some serious psychotherapy and a nice two weeks in a room with padded walls. Spike had stuck his fingers inside her sans permission, and that dirty little part of her that she wanted to stake had liked it.

She felt so unclean for having liked it. It was one of the female commandments, right? Sex crimes were so not to be enjoyed.

This wasn’t a crime. He’s yours.

Guh. Yes. She was, without a doubt, entirely messed up.

And Spike was pissing her off for refusing to appease this insane need to see him by, well, not showing up.

Probably skipped town, she thought bitterly, kicking at another headstone. She didn’t believe it, of course. She was just angry with herself for being less than what she felt she should be. Angry, confused, and something inside her was desperate for the awesome healing power of Spike’s embrace.

Which totally made no sense, as he’d never held her, and they’d officially been reacquainted now for twenty-four hours.

Why the hell wasn’t she more wigged over what had happened? Why did she want him after the massive wrong he’d committed against her? Why, why, why did she need to see him again? Did she crave that sort of abuse? Was she just that cursed as a Slayer that she needed the comfort of being cursed as a woman, too?

That was all stupid. She’d let him into her house. She’d spoken with him. She’d kissed him, and she’d let his fangs near her throat. Near the international vampire no-fly zone. And when she’d pushed him away the night before, it hadn’t been in horror, as she’d tried to convince herself.

No, it was more due to the fact that what she’d told him was true.

Control was slipping. She wanted him. She wanted him badly. She wanted him in ways she shouldn’t even know about, being as woefully inexperienced as she was. She wanted him, and she didn’t know him. She wanted him, and he was a vampire.

It was so, so wrong.

Typical Buffy blunder, she mused irritably. Be the ice queen to every normal guy who comes on to you, but warm up to Mr. No-Pulse.

What in the world was she thinking?

That he’s gorgeous, sexy, considerate, and totally into you.

He’d followed her home, left when she asked him to, and all with this look in his eyes that all but begged for a stake to find its way into his heart after his fumbled first take on their long awaited reunion. That was what she kept coming back to. The knowledge, the instinct, that whatever had happened had been the last thing he intended.

Yes, I believe we’ve sufficiently beaten this to the ground.

Bah. She just wished he’d show up so her jumbled thoughts could be placed on hold for the creation of more memories that she could agonize over tomorrow.

Buffy was halfway to the exit of Restfield Cemetery when her stomach suddenly twisted with the familiar forewarning of nearby vampires. Her heart leapt into her throat and she turned around slowly, stake raised.

Please. Please, oh please.

But it wasn’t Spike. No, it was a woman. A tall, pale woman whose physique resembled a coat rack. Vampire, no doubt, but not one that enjoyed eating.

Callista Flockheart meets Morticia Addams.

And there was something unsettlingly familiar about her eyes.

“Ohhh,” the vampire said, head tilting as she appraised the Slayer. “My dolly’s all grown up. Bad dolly. One must ask before taking all the jam.”

Buffy blinked. “Huh?”

Morticia took a step forward, her gaze gleaming. “So this is the princess,” she said, still talking dazedly to herself. “The little ray of sunshine that stole my William’s heart. You’d do best to heed me, dearie. Miss Edith gets frightfully upset when the children don’t pay her mind.”

It was as though someone had dropped a blanket over her senses. Two more vampires emerged from behind the same mausoleum. One a fierce looking woman with blonde hair, the other a tall, towering bulk of a guy with more forehead than face. He appeared to be aiming for that sort of ‘tall dark and handsome’ look that so many women fell for, and it was obvious he was more than a little pleased with himself.

“So this is she?” the blonde said, her tone unimpressed. “God, Spike does know how to pick them, doesn’t he?”

Buffy’s heart pounded. Spike?

“Oh I don’t know,” the male said, quirking his head to the side. “She looks…feisty. Bet she tastes ripe and sweet.”

Buffy scrunched up her nose. Okay, crude much?

“Is she mute?” the blonde barked.

“No,” the Slayer snapped. “Just bored.”

The blonde’s brows arched appraisingly. “We could always kill you and have it over with.”

“She stole my William away, Daddy,” Morticia pouted, tugging at the man’s arm. “She’s a nasty dolly. Can we eat her up?”

The tall guy ran his eyes down Buffy’s body in a way that had her all but shivering in disgust. “Oh yeah,” he drawled. “Bet she’s nice and…tight. Spike wouldn’t have broken her in just yet. He’s too much of a wimp when it comes to these things. That pussy’s all seasoned for the taking.” His dancing gaze met her horrified face, and he blew her a mocking kiss. “Isn’t that right, Buff? Spike just couldn’t find his dick to stick it in you, much less claim you before you wander out to meet all kinds of dark, bloodthirsty nasties. And he has the audacity to call you his mate.”

“Okay,” Buffy said, stepping back. “Number One: Ew. Number Two: You’re a pig. Number Three: Ew again. Number Four: How the hell do you know my name?”

“You killed the Master,” the blonde spat maliciously. “What? You think that kind of thing just gets forgotten?”

“Well, seeing as it was three years ago…yeah. I can’t even remember what he looked like.” She pretended to think. “Oh, except he had bad breath and squealed like a girl.”

The blonde snarled at that and all but leapt forward. The tall hulk of a guy kept her from charging. “Now that was uncalled for. See,” the male vamp said, taking a slow, exaggerated step forward. “We’re here for a couple reasons. Starting with the fact that you pissed off Darla. And no one pisses off Darla and, you know, lives to tell the tale.”

The Slayer rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Ann Coulter called. She wants her sense of humor back.”

The one she pegged as Darla grew even more irritated at that. “Come on, Angelus. Do we even need to draw this one out? I just wanna see the little bitch bleed.”

“Fancy that,” a familiar, welcome, accented voice drawled, sending Buffy into an unexpected state of ease. “’S a good thing we don’ always get what we want.”

Spike was standing in front of her before she knew what was happening, his stance protective.

“Ahhh, William.” Angelus seemed sadistically giddy at the sight of him. “And here I thought maybe you’d gotten yourself staked by an angry mob. So much for wishful thinking, huh?”

“Peaches,” the platinum blonde all but growled. “See you’re still the overly boisterous egomaniac. ‘S a right comfort to know the years have treated you, well, more of the same.”

This seemed to amuse the vampire more than anything. “So, you obviously grew a pair in your years of solitude.”

“You’d be amazed at what bein’ away from the self-righteous sods of your lot can do for a bloke’s clarity.”

Angelus merely chuckled and returned his attention to Buffy. “Gotta hand it to you, Spike,” he said. “It takes one screw-up of a vamp to be this tragic in the span of a hundred years. You’ve succeeded admirably. What, with the way you fumbled Dru around, and now this? Mated to the Slayer? You know, I’d doubt you were from my clan if I didn’t have the regrettable memory of encouraging Dru to take pity on you all those years ago.”

Spike growled lowly. Buffy could feel him. Could feel every agonized inch of his body. He was seconds from losing control, and having already witnessed an out-of-control Spike up close and personal, something told her he’d be in a world of trouble before he could help himself.

She placed a hand on his arm, then, and was amazed when she felt him relax beneath her skin.

“Oh yeah, the rumors were true,” Angelus said nastily. “My own grandchilde…so thoroughly defanged.”

“Do you talk just to hear the sound of your voice?” Buffy demanded. “’Cause I gotta tell you, buddy. Doesn’t do much for the women with a pulse.”

“I don’t like her, Daddy,” Morticia moaned. “She’s taken away our cake and won’t play with the kittens.”

“Yeah, Spikey,” Angelus spat. “Gotta say, your taste in women seems to get worse with each passing year.”

“You shut your gob.”

“My William doesn’t want his princess?”

“Your William doesn’ live here anymore, Dru.” Spike stepped back, threading his fingers through Buffy’s without looking at her. “Don’ rightly know why you decided to show up now,” he continued conversationally. “Does Peaches need an ego boost, or are you so bored with him that you’ve taken to hittin’ hellmouths for a spot of fun?”

“That girl killed the Master,” Darla snarled, shaking with fury.

Buffy caught a flitter of a proud smile as it danced across Spike’s lips. “Yeah. She was bloody marvelous that night.”

“You knew she was going to do it and didn’t do anything to stop her?” the blonde vampire demanded, her bumpies bursting through. “I can’t fucking believe you. Do you have any idea—”

“I have all kinds of ideas. Funny how none of them center on givin’ a fuck about the Master.” Spike stepped forward once more. “Now the lot of you are gonna make yourselves scarce.”

“Remind me, when did we start taking orders from the pages of History’s Greatest Siring Faux-Pas?” Darla snarled. “I swear, Spike—”

“Ooohhh!” Dru cooed. “You angered grandmum. No treats for you.”

“I don’ give a rip if I angered the Marques de Sade, the lot of you aren’t comin’ near my mate.”

Buffy felt a rush of pride swell within her breast. The possessiveness of his tone warmed her insides. For the first time in her life, she felt like she truly belonged. That there was something beyond the ins and outs of her daily routine to strive for. Even becoming the Slayer hadn’t made her feel complete.

Spike was with her. She wasn’t alone.

Not alone.

“This is pathetic,” Angelus spat. “You mean to tell me you’re taking this ‘mating’ thing seriously? Spike, the girl’s a slayer.”

“The girl’s my mate, you overgrown sod. An’ you aren’t touchin’ her.”

His mate? Whoa…what?

Darla stormed forward only to be halted by the domineering hand of Mr. Forehead. “I don’t seem to recall any shining examples of your bravado,” she ground out. “Seems to me, you’re taking a lot on faith. You were always the weakest link of the clan, and following Dru, that’s quite a feat. If you’re harboring delusions of white-horses and playing the hero, that’s both sad and more than a little pathetic.”

“He kills our kind,” the one called Dru said loathsomely. “My William.”

“Wouldn’t settle for just slaying slayers, now he has to fuck them, too.” Angelus shook his head with amusement that barely concealed his outrage. Apparently, the good-humored cruelty he’d worn since presenting himself was wearing off for the more present appearance of fury. “You’re a joke of our kind. A foul up. A mistake. Always were, quite frankly, but you were one of us before, so we let it go. And now that you’ve betrayed the clan and have decided to side with the enemy, well…” His eyes turned dangerously dark. “There’s just not one good reason not to kill you.”

Buffy’s grip on her stake tightened.

I so don’t like where this is going.

No time for second guessing herself, then. She made her decision and ran with it. Unfortunately, by the time she had pitched her stake forward; her target was already in midleap, therefore the cylinder of wood sliced into Darla’s side rather than through her heart.

It was enough. Thank God, it was enough. Something in Angelus’s eyes sparked and he went immediately to the side of the fallen vampire. The other one—Dru—merely moaned pitifully and crumbled to her knees.

Spike didn’t hesitate. He seized Buffy’s arm and ran. Ran like all of hell was chasing him. Ran so hard, she could barely sense the ground beneath her. Barely saw the whip of scenery as it flashed before her eyes. She wasn’t aware of anything beyond the place where he had hold of her until he shoved her against the familiar entry door of her home, barking barely coherent commands to get them inside.

The minute she stepped into the familiar sanctuary of her home, she found herself mauled with a brutal twist of lips and fangs. Spike pinned her against the door just seconds after he slammed them inside, attacking her mouth furiously as his hands formed wordless poetry against her skin. He touched her everywhere. Grazed her cheeks with his fingers, slid his hands down her arms, cupped her breasts through her thin t-shirt before pursuing the roundness of her hips. All the while, he never broke his mouth from hers. His tongue initiated a dance that her body seemed to know, even if she had never practiced the moves before.

The sensual attack ended as soon as it began, and she was left under the angry glare of Spike’s yellow eyes.

“Din’t I tell you to be careful?” he demanded. “Din’t I tell you that Angelus an’ pals were in Sunnyhell? What the bleedin’ hell were you thinkin’?”

Buffy stared at him, stunned, for endless seconds.

Then her own ire bubbled over.

“What was I thinking? Umm, hello? Vampire slayer here. Perhaps I was thinking, hey, there are vampires…might as well take that sacred calling and see if the warranty hasn’t expired.”

Spike slammed an angry fist beside her head, but she did not flinch. “You coulda been killed!”

“News flash? I could be killed every day.”

“Not like this. You don’ know Angelus, luv. Not like I do.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you two were real chummy back in the day. Or does he just resent you ‘cause you’re the slayer slayer in the family?”

The vampire balked in surprise, but it was short-lived. “Goddammit, Buffy—”

“I really don’t know where you get the nerve,” she barked. “You barge into my life, turn my world upside down, then presume the right to tell me what to do? I don’t think so.” She paused, fuming. “You know what? Screw you.”

She made a move to shove past him, but he slammed her against the door again, his yellow glare fading into the deepest blue she’d ever seen. Even there in the dark of her entryway, he pierced her to her core. There was passion buried within his endless ocean. Passion, outrage, and devastation.

The last she realized before he gasped, his anger dissipating. Taken over by an emotion stronger than fury; taken over by despair. He fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her crotch. It wasn’t sexual, but she couldn’t help the instinctive stirring her body roused at that, and she collapsed against the door with a long-winded sigh.

Anger had a short lifespan tonight, it seemed. She was ready to bow out of the argument completely and simply relish in the earlier joy that he’d come for her at all. That he’d been there to place himself between her and the others.

Those others that, despite her tough words, had scared her more than any she’d faced. Master included.

“You can’t do that to me,” he moaned into her, his fingers playing a slow melody against her thighs. “I’ve waited so long. So bleedin’ long for you, Buffy. You can’t do that to me.”

He was saying it more for his sake, but she felt the tug of tears at her eyes.

“Spike…”

But that was all she said. All she could say. With a deep breath, she lowered herself to her knees and took him in her arms. Soothing him as he shook.

She didn’t know what had happened tonight. Her head was still spinning. But she placed her confusion aside for a greater source of bewilderment. A vampire was in her house, in her arms, and she wanted nothing more than to provide him comfort.

Perhaps the specifics didn’t matter. They certainly didn’t to her at that moment. So much about him terrified her; shook her foundation so hard, she doubted she’d ever get the pieces back together. The vampire in her arms was frightening, but at the moment, she couldn’t contemplate shoving him away.

That knowledge startled her.

Spike murmured her name again into her throat and pressed a kiss against her skin.

It was a small moment. And yet, up until now, she was certain she’d never been a part of anything so powerful.

If possible, the notion only served to strengthen her fear.

She knew where he was even when she could not see him. It was a frightening talent; one she had always associated with vampires, but never dreamt of experiencing while in the comfort of her own home. She felt every move that Spike made. Felt every unnecessary breath that rattled through his body. He was presently in the kitchen, making her a sandwich, and she could feel him.

It was so odd. There was a vampire in her home. There was a vampire in her home, and he was making her dinner as though they were a normal couple.

She changed into her favorite pajama bottoms and a form-fitting cami. It was her customary ‘bedtime’ attire, so she found it a little disconcerting when Spike gasped when she entered the kitchen.

“Bleedin’ hell.”

Buffy flushed self-consciously. “What?”

“You’re gorgeous.”

“I’m in my PJs.”

Spike’s brows perked. “You become less gorgeous in your jams, kitten?”

She wet her lips and shrugged with a small, nervous laugh. “I don’t…I don’t know. Ummm…listen, were you planning on staying long? I mean…I don’t mind you being here, but my mom—”

He tugged at the note her mother had left on the fridge. “’S outta town,” he said. “She left you all alone with all kinds of nasties runnin’ around town. Think it’s my duty to make sure nothin’ happens to you while she’s away.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Spike—”

“I don’ want to leave you,” he said heatedly. “I know I might not be welcome, but you’re my…you’re my priority, an’ while Angelus is out there, I don’ particularly fancy—”

“But he can’t come in, right?” she demanded, suddenly nervous. “He’s not some super vamp who can fly through the air faster than a speeding bullet or enter houses without me saying so. ‘Cause if he can, I can tell you, the Council better start looking for a new girl. I’ll give them my two weeks notice right the hell now.”

Spike smiled softly. “No, kitten, he can’t come in. But there’s no rule that says he can’t set the house on fire an’ force you to run outside.”

A shiver slid down her spine. “Okay…I never thought of it like that. I’m officially wigged.”

“Yeh, so you can see why I’m a li’l hesitant to leave you while my history-filler of a family is about town runnin’ amuck, an’ you’re at the top of their Most Wanted list.” He sighed. “Bleedin’ figures that Darla wouldn’t have let the death of her dear maker rest, even if she hadn’t seen him in two hundred sodding years.”

“The Master made Darla?”

“Your Watcher din’t tell you?” His eyes darkened. “Or was he too busy diggin’ up the colorful history of William the Bloody?”

“Well, excuse Giles for taking the vamp with the all-access pass to my house as the first priority.”

He sent her a narrow look. “You told him you invited me in?”

She flushed at that and glanced to the ground. “Well…not exactly. But when I told him about the glowy eyes thing, he did kinda wig.” She studied him for a minute, but he betrayed no reaction. “And yes, for your information, he mentioned that the Master was a part of this Order of…whatever. I just didn’t know that he was the one to personally step in and make with the siring of Darla.”

Spike looked at her for a minute, then sighed, as though letting go of a matter he wanted to discuss further. “In the 1600s, yeh. Then she made Angelus, who turned Dru wonky before he made her. Then Dru made me.”

“Dru’s…Dru’s the one that took me, isn’t she? When I was little?”

Spike nodded soberly. “Yeh, pet.”

“And you were with her then.”

“Yeh. Tonight’s the firs’ I’ve seen of her since…well, since the last time you saw anythin’ of her. Fuck, tonight’s the firs’ I’ve seen any of them since you came into my life.”

A pause. “Why?”

“’Cause her eyes din’t shine for me.”

“Bull, Spike, I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday. Angelus…he…he called me your…” Suddenly, the vampire in her kitchen had gone rigidly still, and he was watching her with interest. “He called me your mate.”

Spike smiled as though the word gave him pleasure. “’S right.”

“Tie that in with what you told me last night…about waiting for me…about…well, everything. And your freakishly accurate knowledge of my bedroom layout and my personal habits…the fact that you knew where the plates were without having to be asked, or in which compartment we keep the cheese in the fridge.” She paused. “And with what happened…you losing control, my needing you to…well.” Another pause, this one warmed with a blush. Spike was the most distractive vampire she’d ever come across. The power he held simply in his eyes could throw even the most seasoned slayer off her guard. “I need to know what’s going on.”

The vampire studied her for a long minute, then took a step forward. “You’re not gonna like it,” he said. “You haven’t had fourteen years to get used to it like I have.”

“Get used to what?”

“Bein’ mated to you. Bein’ mated to a human who turned out to be a slayer.” He paused, then deadpanned, “An’ you bein’ mated to a vampire.”

The words had an unsettling effect on her. There was a voice, small but persistent, that doubled over in glee at the tone of possessiveness Spike executed where she was concerned. A voice that grew stronger, that needed his arms around her and his fangs in her throat. Needed him so desperately that the rest of her was too busy reeling from surprise to do much more than give into her temptation. But there were some serious things to consider here. Spike was very much a vampire and he was using words that, when sounded out together, seemed to come with the silent tag ‘till apocalypse do us part.’ As in the grand one with the war and famine and disease, piled in with the antichrist and topped with the second coming; not the stupid little apocalypses that seemed to dominate the scene at the hellmouth every other week. Spike’s words had the added burden of eternity.

“You’re not going to turn me, are you?”

He didn’t say anything at first; didn’t rebuke the notion, which disturbed her, but didn’t welcome it, which disturbed her more. Then she grew disturbed at herself for finding the more disturbing option less disturbing, and finally gave up as her word of choice began to sound funny in her head.

“I wouldn’t do anythin’ to you that you don’ ask me to,” he said carefully. “Sired slayers aren’t to be fucked with, pet. I don’ know what your Watcher has told you—”

She feigned a gasp. “You don’t? I thought you were the All Powerful Oz!”

He smirked. “Very funny. Can’t much lurk in the soddin’ library, can I? You’re a slayer; you’d sense that right off. Plus, daylight’s a pretty dangerous time for the man with the flammable hide.”

“I’m pretty sure skin is universally flammable.”

“Not combustible, though. Not a sodding clap-on-clap-off kinda thing.”

She grinned. “Okay, someone watched way too much TV in the 80s.”

“Other than watchin’ you, pet, there wasn’ much for a bloke to do.”

Buffy froze. Every cell in her body froze. Spike’s eyes fell shut as he caught his lapse, and he slammed his fist into the island before turning his gaze upward. “Couldn’t give me one soddin’ break, could you?”

“Y-you…you watched me…even then?”

An odd play of emotions stretched across the vampire’s face, but he settled with resignation, shoulders slumping a bit. “Slayer,” he said, “I’ve been watchin’ you since the day I brought you home.”

The Slayer exhaled deeply. Spike had a strange look on his face; as though he had spoken out of turn, regardless of the calm manner in which the words had left his lips. “You’ve been…watching me ever since…” A warm flush touched her cheeks. She didn’t know if it was more appropriate to be embarrassed or angry. “Why?”

He looked down, as though ashamed. “Sweetling,” he said softly, “since you came into my life, I’ve known nothin’ else. I couldn’t leave you, ‘cause once a vampire has found his mate, leavin’ isn’t an option. I couldn’t be near you, ‘cause you were so little…you were so young, an’ my demon din’t give a rip if you were four or forty. You’re mine, you see, an’ that’s all the demon cares about. So yeh…I’ve been around you for years. Waitin’ for you for years. Watchin’ you…watchin’ you snog boys that can’t possibly grasp how wonderful you are. Watchin’ others fumble with what’s mine. Watchin’ as some git tried to…”

A shadow fell over his eyes, and she was struck then with a horribly dark thought. “That was you, wasn’t it?” she asked. “That night…the night I went out with Tommy Randall, and he…someone stopped it, and I never saw Tommy again. That was you, wasn’t it?”

There was no reply. His silence was all the answer she needed.

“So you killed Tommy…did you do in Mrs. Krane, too?”

“Who?”

“My teacher. I was…god, I don’t even remember how old I was, but I know that I really hated her. She used to…” As if by mention alone, her arm began to hurt, and she rubbed her skin subconsciously. “But she disappeared, and then school was cancelled for three days. Mom wouldn’t tell me why. And she didn’t let me go back until the week after.”

Spike nodded absently, his gaze brightening as though attacked by a faded memory. “Yeh,” he said softly. “I killed Mrs. Krane. An’ I killed the boy. You askin’ me to apologize? To make amends? To fall to my knees an’ beg for forgiveness? You’re my mate, Buffy. To stand by an’ let that rot happen to you? ‘S against my nature, an’ I’m already givin’ up everythin’ else for you.”

A sigh of exasperation rushed through her body. “You keep saying that,” she said. “Angelus said it earlier. What the hell does being your mate mean? That you get to stalk me, kill people at your leisure that have a remote connection to—”

“Your eyes glowed for me.”

She was beginning to get irritated. Doesn’t matter how gorgeous he is, or how I wanna melt every time he looks at me. “Dammit, Spike, that just means that—”

“It means you’re my mate. Eat your sandwich.”

“When are you going to stop being evasive with me?”

Spike sighed. “Sweetheart, you don’ wanna know this yet.”

“Yeah, well, I’m of the understanding that as a person, I don’t always get what I want.” She stepped forward. “So I figure we’ll call this a draw, since right now I’m asking you to tell me something that I’ll regret having heard. Deal it, Spike. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

A smile itched his lips. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

“Just tell me! Please!”

He rumbled a nearly feral growl and nodded. “Fine. Bloody chit, you want the full of it? You’re the mate of a vampire. Me. Basically means, you an’ me? We can’t have anybody but each other. Vampires are made with a mate out there—jus’ one. An’ once they find each other, they’re tied together for eternity. They feel everythin’ the other feels.” He paused and nodded in the unseen direction of the cemetery. “That’s what happened back there. When you threw your stake at Darla, Angelus din’t follow us ‘cause a vamp’s firs’ priority is always, always with his mate. When Holtz had Angelus an’ was torturin’ the unlife outta him, she almost went as wonky as Dru is, but not before she laid waste to the place. I wasn’ around then—a good hundred years before my time, but I have heard tale.” He paused. “When a vampire finds his mate, their eyes shine gold. That’s how you know. How you know you’ve found her.”

Buffy was barely aware she was breathing. The temperature in the room had both plummeted and soared in just seconds. The weight of what he was telling her seemed too heavy to grasp. The mate of a vampire? But she was the Slayer. There had to be some cosmic mistake.

Some seriously unfunny cosmic mistake.

As though sensing the thought, Spike held up a hand. “’ve never heard of it where a slayer was mated to a vamp, pet,” he said. “Never heard it where anythin’ but another vamp was mated to a vamp. ‘S why you were such a bleedin’ surprise. I thought Dru was it. For a hundred years, I waited for her eyes to shine for me. I watched. She’d fuck Angelus, fuck me, laugh at me for thinkin’ she was my everythin’, but always came crawlin’ back. An’ I always let her, ‘cause she was my sire an’ I jus’ bloody well knew she had to be my mate, too. Then she brought me you an’ everythin’ jus’…you’re it. There’s no mistakin’ it when it happens, pet. Since the moment I saw you, I knew.” He took a step forward. “For years, I thought I’d turn you when you turned eighteen. There couldn’t be any other explanation. The only thing that made sense to me was that you were destined to become a vampire, an’ the Powers were a li’l rusty, so your eyes glowed years in advance. But then you were Called, an’ that changed everythin’.”

Buffy was certain every vampire within a thousand mile radius could hear how hard her heart was pounding. “Y-you don’t want to turn me now?”

“Like I said, pet, you don’ fuck with sired slayers.” He paused. “Furthermore, I think I like you jus’ the way you are, an’…that bloody well terrifies me.”

Her veins rushed with a sudden wave of indignation. “Terrifies you? You come into my life, blow everything over, rescue me, leave me, attack me…make me feel…and now I’m your mate?”

His hands came up. “Hold on now, pet, you asked.”

“Well, thank you very much, Mr. Spock!” Damn overly-logical vampires. She cast her hands through her hair and nearly tugged down her ponytail in the process. “So there’s no getting out of this?”

“I could die,” he offered softly.

A sudden wave of agony crashed over her, and she had to reach out to the counter to keep her balance before grief could send her to the ground. “No,” she gasped. “Please.”

“See?” He took another step forward. “That’s exactly what I’ve been doin’ for fourteen years. When you’re cut, I bleed. When you’re sad, I cry. When you’re happy, I laugh.” It sounded like a mantra he’d recited to himself, and possibly to others, several times over the years. Even so, it worked. She felt her resolve melting. Spike had the uncanny ability to turn her into a big puddle of slayer-goo. “I’ve been watchin’ you, an’ when you get hurt, I can’t jus’ sit by an’ not do anythin’. So yeh. When Tommy Randal—” He spat the name out like a disease, “—decided that your goodies were his for the takin’, I took care of it. When Mrs. What’s-Her-Face hurt your arm, I took care of it. An’ it’s been a bloody bitch these last three years, watchin’ you fight an’ keepin’ myself away. Makin’ myself not interfere when you get in those li’l jams that I swear to the unholy maker only you could or would ever get into.” He shook his head. “Your wanker of a Watcher…the firs’ one, he told me to let you do your duty without the help of shadows so you’d know what you’re capable of. An’ I gotta tell you, sweetheart…of all the slayers I’ve seen…even the two that I did in…you’re the bleedin’ best. Not jus’ sayin’ it ‘cause you’re my mate, neither. You’re the best.”

Buffy suddenly felt very small. “You knew Merrick?”

“Only from that firs’ night. I followed you on your patrol, watched you stake your firs’ vamp, get outta your firs’ hairy situation…your Watcher knew I was there.” He expelled a deep breath. “I also killed Lothos, but that was more settlin’ a grudge.”

She glanced down again. “So, I have no choice?” she asked. “I don’t even know if what I’m feeling is real, or manufactured by the claim. And the reason that I haven’t been able to get near other boys…it’s because I saw you when I was little…and you…with…Dru—”

His eyes darkened once more. “I haven’t been with anyone since the night before I met you,” he growled. “Can’t bloody well now, can I? Once you’ve found your mate, takin’ pleasure in someone else jus’ isn’t in the sodding rule book anymore.”

Her stomach churned, though she honestly didn’t know if it was for the thought of Spike in the arms of another woman, or the contempt with which he made his comment. As though she had chosen this fate for him.

As though she was repellant as the alternative.

“Yeah, okay. Well, I’m sorry it’s been so inconvenient for you,” she retorted. “Trust me, if I had the choice, you could go get your rocks off with any vamp hoe-bag that caught your eye.”

Spike growled again. “You’re not listenin’ to me.”

“Oh no, I think I heard you loud and clear.” She held his eyes, refusing to waver. “And I think you’ve outlasted your invitation. After all, a girl’s got a lot to consider, right? I’ve just found out that, like it or not, I have to become a vampire’s mate because I didn’t have the luxury of not getting kidnapped as a child. Oh, and on top of that, even if I wanted to pass, I couldn’t be with anyone else without getting a massive case of the wiggins. And you have the nerve to act as though I chose this for you!” Her eyes flashed. “Get out of my house.”

Spike held her gaze a minute longer, his own flickering with sparks of fury. After a long, silent beat, he turned and grabbed his duster, stalking heatedly for the back door.

And then something snapped; something wild and desperate. Her tough resolve crumbled and suddenly she was a girl in place of the Slayer. Buffy didn’t know what surprised her more—the deep emptiness that stabbed her heart or the tears that sprang to her eyes. Either way, she was no good at covering either.

“Spike,” she cried, lurching forward, hands grabbing the counter.

She didn’t know what was wrong with her, only that watching the vampire turn to leave had caused a sickness through her body that she wasn’t strong enough to handle.

Then everything was all right again. Everything was okay. Spike had returned to her immediately. His arms were around her, his mouth was pressing ardent, reassuring kisses into her skin, and he was mumbling something about how it was all right, that he understood, and that he’d never leave.

It seemed that nothing else mattered as long as his arms were around her. Not the mate thing, which wigged her completely. Not the vampire thing, which should have repulsed her but didn’t. Not even the stalker-who-occasionally-killed-mean-people thing, which was honestly grounds for staking. She wasn’t herself, but she’d felt broken the minute he started to walk away from her. Like when she was a child, overwhelmed with emotions she was just now beginning to understand.

She’d mourned the loss of Spike for years without knowing any of this. Without knowing how his lips felt against her skin. How he kissed her tears away and murmured his adoration for her into her hair.

“Din’t mean a word of it,” he swore. “Christ, Buffy, don’ cry. Please don’ cry. You don’ know what your tears do to me.”

If anything, hearing him proclaim that much only inspired her to cry more.

“Buffy—”

“What’s happening to me?” she sobbed, burying her face in the crook of his throat. “I can’t…I don’t…”

“I know, baby.”

Then he was kissing her. Really kissing her. Not like the savage mauling of her lips against the door earlier; like it had been upstairs the night before. He was pouring himself into her. Plundering his tongue into her mouth and pulling her flush against him. Whispering lyrical words of artless poetry into her body. She was on top of the island before she knew it, her legs scissoring around his waist.

“Spike…”

“Please,” he murmured into her. “I din’t mean it. None of it. You don’ know what you do to me.” He was tugging at her sweats, and while her heart was thundering, her mind objecting, her body seemed perfectly content, even eager, to feel his touch between her thighs. She even spread her legs wider, small whimpers scratching at her throat that only seemed to calm when his hands were on her body. “Never could’ve touched anyone else,” he swore reverently, cupping her pussy through her cotton underwear once her pajama bottoms were nothing but an afterthought. “Not even if the sodding Powers gave me a break. This was more than worth waitin’ for. Fourteen years? Fuck, kitten, I’d’ve waited fourteen lifetimes for this.”

Her insides warmed, but she was more than half convinced he was swearing his adoration out of the heat of the moment and nothing else. The next thing she knew, her panties were a thing of the past and he was on his knees before her.

“What are you…ohh…oh my GOD!”

Spike murmured and delved his tongue deeper inside her, his hand splaying across her pelvis as his fingers found her swollen pearl and began to stroke her fiercely. He was murmuring into her, lapping at her insides, massaging the intimate parts of her that she had nearly convinced herself would never know this sort of raw sensationalism. She didn’t know what was more appropriate; to lose herself or die of embarrassment.

“Oh my…oh my…oh my god.”

He chuckled into her, and the vibrations sent sharp shards of pleasure across her skin. His thumb was caressing her clit harder now, his tongue delving deeper.

Then his mouth was gone, and she all but screamed in objection.

“You like that?” he rasped, his eyes dark with passion, swallowing her up as she moaned and writhed under his touch.

“What are you…ohh…Spike, oh my god…what are you…doing to me?” His fingers abandoned her clit the next minute, and her head flew back as her body tightened. “Please!”

“What do you want?” he asked her, his mouth dropping to her inner thigh, peppering her moist skin with biting kisses. “You want me, Buffy? Even after everythin’ that’s happened? Everythin’ I’ve told you? You still want me like this?”

She mewled and thrust her hips forward, nodding desperately. “Please!”

“Please what?”

“Gah…” Her cheeks flushed and her skin burned. “Touch me.”

“With what?”

Confidence was building. At the moment, she didn’t care if he laughed at her. If her inexperience was shining through. If he told the world how she fumbled herself at intimacy—mainly because she knew, somehow, he would never do any such thing. And she needed him. “Your hands.”

He growled a bit at that, sinking two fingers within her wet sheath. “Anythin’ else?”

Buffy bit her lip, riding his hand slowly; trusting that her body would not lead her astray. She wanted his mouth, but she felt strangely self-conscious asking…considering he’d just gotten her to beg to stick his fingers inside her.

Spike seemed to sense this. He blew a stream of cool air against her folds and nipped at her playfully. “You want my mouth, baby?” he asked. “Want to feel me nibblin’ at you?”

She nodded desperately, and the next thing she knew, his lips had wrapped around her clit and were suckling intently.

“Oh my god!”

“Mmm,” he hummed into her. “You taste so good.”

“I…I do?”

“Oh yeah…never tasted anythin’ like this. Like honey, only sweeter. You’re so…”

He didn’t finish the thought, but then he didn’t need to. An alien burning sensation pooled in her stomach, rising, rising, rising until she thought she couldn’t take it anymore. Whether or not it escalated by the cool feel of his fangs sliding into her inner thigh or not, Buffy exploded around him. She grasped his head and held her to him as her body shuddered. There had never been anything like this before. No feeling. No sensation. Not even the fantasies she had conjured in her girlish daydreams could compare to this, and she had always been certain that her daydreams would beat out reality. That she could never be the type of girl to feel this sort of passion. That she was somehow tainted, undeserving, by being what she was.

Spike was still suckling at her thigh when she came down. It was strange; the bite hadn’t hurt or even scared her too badly. Somehow, through the daze, the sensation of his fangs in her body felt too right to deny.

That thought scared her enough to not waste time worrying about the vampire’s bumpies.

She ran her fingers through his hair. “Spike?”

Her voice brought him back. Immediately, his fangs slid out of her, and he glanced up at her, his eyes wide with horror. “Buffy, I…God, I din’t mean to. Your blood, it was jus’…god, I needed you. Needed to taste you so bleedin’ badly.” As though his words alone spurned him on, his tongue led him back to the valley between her legs, and he reverently began lapping up the dampness against her skin. “I’ve waited…God, I’ve waited…but that doesn’ mean I should’ve…” To her astonishment and wonder, tears filled his eyes when he glanced up at her again. “’m so sorry.”

How could she tell him that it was all right? She wasn’t angry, but she was frightened. And not at his actions—at her own. Thus, for now, she opted to not say anything. Instead, she tugged him up and burrowed into his embrace. Spike released a deep breath, but the tension wasn’t gone.

“Thank you,” he murmured, startling her. “For letting me taste.”

His arms were around her, his erection pressed against her intimately, and he was nuzzling her hair with caution. And thanking her for allowing him to bring her pleasure she’d only read about, and had never thought to experience.

No, the tension wasn’t gone. If anything, it was more present than ever.

For now, though, it didn’t matter. They’d just shared something remarkable.

She wanted this peace with him before the world crashed down again.

The demon was unspeakably restless. Sitting on the outside and looking in had never been as difficult. He had not known such cold isolation before; not like this. Not now that he had been given a taste of the warmth only her arms could provide, and he was again resigned to simply watch her as she slept. To know that he could enter the house if he wanted to—could touch her with freedom that had not existed before—and yet remain separated through glass was a cruel, insufferable fate.

Even for only a few hours.

His mind was occupied with the weight of what he had learned tonight.

He wasn’t the first vampire that the Powers had mated to a slayer. He was one in a long line of many. Buffy belonged to him because she was the slayer, not in spite of it. Had she not been destined for the Calling, he would not be with her now.

And his kiss would make her immortal.

What that meant, beyond the obvious, Spike did not know. Would she be cursed to walk throughout eternity with a sacred birthright to appease? Would she never know rest? Could he rightfully claim her if that was the case? She was his, yes, and as selfish as he wanted to be, hurting her by damning her was the last thing he felt he could do.

But God, he hadn’t waited this long just to let it all slip away. He knew the way she tasted now. Knew the sweetness of her blood, knew the heady little gasps she took as he explored her pussy, knew the warm awe of her gaze and the solace of her arms when she felt the need to comfort him. He knew her too well, had already taken too much, to turn back on it now.

And bollocks. That redemptionist rot was possibly the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. He might be a housebroken vampire, but he still was a nasty son of a bitch. He hadn’t given up killing because he’d gone soft; he’d done it because pleasing his mate was his first priority.

How does that differ from goin’ soft? Spike growled lowly under his breath and stuck a cigarette between his lips. Bloody git.

He knew that the Watcher had intentionally planted a seed of doubt, but somehow that thought provided little solace.

The vampire heaved a sigh and rested against the tree trunk, blowing a stream of smoke into the night air. He didn’t think Angelus would try anything. Regardless of all else, attacking a girl in the middle of the night if he had to make a big to-do about getting her outside simply wasn’t his MO. His grandsire was more into subtle pleasures. He liked watching his intended victim drown in pain before moving in for the kill.

Then again, Angelus would know that Spike anticipated certain patterns. And that didn’t even begin to factor in Darla, who didn’t care about the method as long as the tale had a bloody ending. There was also Drusilla—his dear Dru, his once black goddess, who was just crazy enough to play with fire.

It was strange, knowing that she was close. Having been in her presence for the first time in fourteen years, he was astounded by the lack of feeling he had for her. The emptiness that consumed him where she was concerned—as though so many years of devotion could be blinked out of existence. How was it that she had once been his everything? How was it that he could forget her with such little regard to the passion they’d once shared? Buffy couldn’t be the reason for it. He knew tales of vamps who spent centuries together only to discover their mate in the form of another, and know agonizing heartache when the demon refused to ignore the flash of gold. When the demon split two vampires apart because the Powers had stepped in and deemed that love, in such a case, wasn’t enough to merit eternity.

He even knew stories of vampires that attempted to claim their lovers without the demon’s permission. That never ended well. Never.

Point was, Buffy being his mate should not have affected anything but the demon. The man inside was supposed to be devoted to Drusilla, yet he hadn’t spared her more than a few short-lived thoughts since leaving her. It shouldn’t have been like that; shouldn’t have been so easily disregarded for the offering of what he’d craved since clawing out of his grave.

That terrified him. Outside the draw of Dru’s spell, his eyes were no longer hazy. He no longer saw her as mesmerizing. No longer felt she was the earth, moon, and sky. Being away from her was like coming out of a long nightmare in the guise of a dream, even as his heart ached and screamed that such a history could not be eradicated with the presence of a young girl with green eyes.

Spike drew in a breath and turned his eyes to Buffy’s window.

He was already too lost in her to look back. Pretending otherwise was foolish. In all honesty, he was more bothered by the fact that he’d been led astray for so many years—had allowed himself to believe something that didn’t truly exist. Had been blind enough to mistake it for the real thing.

What he felt for Buffy terrified him. It was more than the claim. More than his demon’s drive. More than the love he’d felt for Dru—the love he was now convinced had been nothing but infatuation. The need to belong to someone tied in with the strength of his sire’s power over him had completely overwhelmed him, and he had followed her blindly.

Granted, it had paid off. Drusilla had brought him his mate. Perhaps that had been her purpose all along. To sire him, teach him, give him what he needed to survive, then provide him with the face of his salvation.

She was. She was so much and she didn’t realize it. Didn’t know how much she’d changed him, just in the past two days. Didn’t know how rattled his world was for having known her. Every fundamental he’d ever relied on was up for grabs. His mate was the Slayer? So bloody be it. He’d be good for her. He’d be anything she wanted.

What he’d told Buffy was true. He’d waited fourteen years, and he’d wait longer if he had to. He’d wait for her forever, and he could only place so much blame on the claim. The rest was rooted deeper.

The rest was what shook his foundation.

The sound of a window opening crumbled the silence that encompassed him. “Lurk much?” a soft voice asked him gently. “We gotta stop meeting like this.”

“Like this?”

“The tree, the window…it’s officially overdone.”

A small smile flitted across his lips, and he took another drag of his cigarette. “Told you I wasn’ gonna go far away, pet,” he said, shrugging. “Jus’ wanna make sure the night passes without any unfortunate visits from King Forehead an’ his merry crew.”

Buffy wet her lips. “You’re gonna stay out there all night?”

“Till I feel the sun start to rise.”

“Why not come inside?”

Spike drank in her expression. “I’d love to,” he said, “but you kicked me out, remember?”

She glanced down and shuddered. “Yeah…I did, didn’t I?”

“What’s this?” He tilted his head with a grin. “You been missin’ me, kitten?”

“Thought you were supposed to feel me.”

“Oh, I feel you…jus’ din’t think I was wanted.”

Buffy pursed her lips and raised her eyes back to his. “Where’d you go?” she asked, doing her best—to her credit—to keep her suspicion to a minimal. Whether or not she thought he’d gone to kill or gone to socialize with his long lost family, he didn’t know. Only that his annoyance was buried with a warm swell of adoration for her coyness.

“Went to see your Watcher.”

That she wasn’t expecting. Her eyes bulged and her heart started thundering wildly. “Y-you saw Giles?”

“He’s still alive, if that’s what you’re askin’.”

“It’s not. I-I just…” She glanced down again. “He wasn’t too happy about you.”

“So I gathered.”

“Did he try to…you know…” She made a very suggestive motion with her fist that was obviously a ‘try to kill you’ gesture rather than what it looked like, but he grinned at her innocence all the same. “’Cause I will so kick his ass if he’s trying to dust my boyfriend.”

Spike froze and looked at her in wonder. “What?”

Buffy paused, then flushed. “There isn’t any possibility that I said that in my head, is there?”

“Your boyfriend?”

She glanced down self-consciously. “You don’t mind me calling you that…at least to myself, do you? ‘Cause you’ve already done things…” Her blush deepened, entrancing him. “…to me…that would have my mom demanding to see an engagement ring if she…knew.”

“Your mum would wanna marry you off?”

“Well, no…I was just saying.” Buffy flashed a tentative smile. “What did Giles have to say, if he wasn’t making with the stakeage?”

Spike drew in a breath. Here we go.

He refused to lie to her. Even if the truth was terrifying, he refused to lie to her. He knew what he wanted; what he’d wanted from the beginning. Everything he’d waited fourteen years to take.

And despite all else, something in her eyes soothed his fears.

She’s mine.

“When Merrick cornered me three years ago, he said things that clued me into why you an’ I…why we’re unique. Figured it was worth a shot to see if Rupes knew somethin’.” He smiled softly. “You know Watchers…’s like the Borg. The sodding collective of otherworldly knowledge.”

“Giles doesn’t know anything,” she said automatically.

“He does.”

“No. He would’ve told me this afternoon when I—”

“He knows, sweetheart.”

Buffy’s eyes were wide with denial. “That’s impossible. Spike, he would’ve told me. I mentioned the highlights and told him things that, if he knew anything, he would’ve connected the dots in the ultra-speedy, Gilesy way. He wouldn’t have—”

“Pet, I have absolutely no reason to argue with you, or try to call your Watcher’s a liar. I went there, an’ he knew. He told me.”

“Told you what?”

“The reason you’re mated to a vampire.” Spike sighed and shifted uncomfortably. “Apparently, it’s a part of the callin’. Bein’ the Slayer evens out the balance. Vamps are the dark, you’re the light, but we’re all a part of the same balance. An’ since there’s never more than one slayer, your mate is a vampire.” He paused. “A vampire that has tendencies that border on…redemptive.”

“You’re redemptive?”

He balked. “I never said that.”

“Spike—”

“I have never once set out to be redemptive. ‘S against my nature. I don’—”

“You…you said you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me,” she said gently. “Does that include not killing others? ‘Cause if others get hurt, I get hurt…especially if it’s something that I could’ve—”

“I knew what I was sayin’ when I said it.”

“Okay.” Buffy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I was just asking.”

Spike expelled a deep breath. “I know, baby. I jus’…what he told me threw me off, an’ I din’t think that was possible anymore. An’ your Watcher made it perfectly clear that, mate or not, I’m better off with a piece of wood in my chest.”

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell me.”

He arched a cool brow. “Oh, can’t you?”

“Giles doesn’t lie.”

“He’s a Watcher. Lying’s what they’re best at.”

Buffy shook her head and glanced away. “He must’ve thought he was doing it for my own good,” she decided. “In some twisted sense of Giles-logic…that’s the only thing I can think of.” A pause. “So…it’s because I’m the Slayer, then. That’s why we’re…with the…”

He nodded. “Yeh.”

“I didn’t think it’d be that…”

“Simple?”

“You call this simple?”

A wry grin tugged at his lips. “No,” he replied. “But from what Rupes told me, we’re the only ones in the whole bloody history of slayers an’ the vamps that kill them to have ever found…found out. ‘S the Council’s best kept secret, I’m guessin’.”

That didn’t seem to rest well with her, which was more than fine with him. “Why?” she asked. “Why would they want to keep something like that—”

“Imagine bein’ a slayer with every vamp comin’ after you, not only for a chance at your neck, but for the power that bein’ your mate would acquire through the connection.” He shook his head. “I dunno ‘f that’s the reason, but it’s the only thing I could think of that made any sense to me.”

Buffy shuddered. “But wouldn’t a real mate not care about that once it happened?”

“Dunno. I don’ have much experience in this, pet. You’re my firs’.”

“But you’ve seen it before…with Angel and Darla.”

Spike gave her a look. “It’s Angelus, not Angel.”

“Yeah, well, Angel’s easier to remember. What’s the difference?”

A shrugged. “He doesn’ like bein’ called Angel. Never figured out why, though I guess he thinks it’s less poncy if you call him angel in Latin than in English.” He shook his head. “As far as your question, I have no sodding idea. Darla an’ Angelus certainly don’ feel anythin’ but dependency an’ respect for each other. An’ as long as it’s a team effort, they can shag other people.”

“What?”

“Well…sometimes, when they hunt, they like to…play with their food.” Spike nodded grimly as horror spread across her face. “’S not love, what they have. An’ if they can be so callous toward each other, it leads me to believe a vamp mated to a slayer might use that connection for somethin’ else.”

“But you said it was only redemptive vamps.”

“That’s what your Watcher said,” he corrected her with a low growl.

“So you’re just using me for the slayer power, then?” Buffy asked, brows arching. “That will only get you so far, buster.”

A shadow fell across his face. “Does it bloody well feel like I’m usin’ you?” he demanded. “Christ, Slayer, ‘f that’s what I was aimin’ for, you’d’ve been mine in name an’ blood the second I knew you were called.”

She smiled coyly. “I know.”

“Then what the—”

“I just like getting you all worked up.” She half-smiled, then sighed again and ran her fingers through her hair. “Are you…planning to stay here all night?”

“Till the sun rises,” he said again. “Can’t let anythin’ happen to my best girl.”

Buffy wet her lips, trembled slightly, then shifted so that she wasn’t crowding the window. “Then,” she said nervously, “you should come in.”

Spike stared at her, warmth flooding his body. Bloody amazing, this girl is. He’d only known her up close for two days, and he knew already that she would never stop surprising him. “This is the second night you’ve invited me into your room,” he purred, climbing in without argument. “A bloke might start gettin’ ideas.”

She blushed. “Well, so far, I’ve liked your ideas.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She eyed his chest with hunger that surprised him. “You should really take off your shirt.”

“I should, should I?”

“Uh huh. It’s more comfy.”

“To be honest, luv, I usually sleep without a stitch on.” His eyes twinkled. The rush of blood to her face was delicious. He wanted to lick her from head to toe. “But I s’pose I can suffer the discomfort of my jeans for the night.”

She frowned. “Do you not have any…oh…” Her blush deepened. “Oh.”

Spike shed his duster, smirking. “Think you can resist temptation, then?” he asked, hand coming to rest on his waistband. “Think I can crawl into that bed next to you an’ get through the night without bein’ mauled?”

“You have some ego.”

“Don’t I know it, baby.”

“And who said you’d be sleeping in my bed…with me?”

“’m sorry.” He blinked. “You want me somewhere else?”

Buffy bit her lip and kicked at the floor. “No…”

“Then throw some blankets over the windows, unless you fancy wakin’ up to a pile of dust in the mornin’.”

The Slayer didn’t move. Her eyes were glued to the black tee that he had yet to remove, and there was a look of desire in her eyes that he thought, somehow, he’d never get to see. Not like the desire she’d shown him in just the past two days; something raw and primal. Something that spoke for all the passion she kept in that small, luscious body of hers.

The urge to taste her had never been greater than it was at that moment.

And then, as though sensing his hunger, Buffy shook her head and snapped back to herself. “You’re not gonna…you know…bite me while I’m asleep, are you?”

He shook his head. “I’d never take advantage of you like that.”

“What if the demon loses control? That’s not like outside the realm of possibility. We’ve both been there and done that…recently.”

“I won’ bite you, kitten. That night…last night, when I…I wasn’ tryin’ to control it. An’ I wasn’ tryin’ to control it downstairs. I’ll control it tonight, pet. Even asleep, I’m stronger than my demon, an’ I can make sure my fangs come nowhere near your neck.”

She looked at him skeptically. “You’re not just saying that?”

“Believe me, I’d never do anythin’ to make you not trust me. Not intentionally. I have quite a bit of experience when it comes to this, sweetling. I know what I’m doin’.”

God, he hoped so. Even hearing himself speak, Spike could feel the hole growing deeper and deeper. But there was no way he wasn’t going to chance it. Spending the night in her arms? He was nearly sure he’d dusted and been rewarded with fourteen years of relatively good behavior with a glimmer of paradise.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t think he could do it; he did. Only now if it turned out he couldn’t, she’d never forgive him.

As it was, his word seemed to be all that Buffy needed. She tossed an afghan over the windows—the one splayed decoratively at the end of her bed—then turned her attention back to him, her eyes large and full of unspoken want.

Then she was right in front of him, her hands running seductively over his chest.

“Why is this still on?” Without waiting for a reply, she tugged the hem out of his jeans and drew the offending garment over his head.

Then—oh Christ—her hands were exploring his bare skin. Running over scars left by time, tracing his abs, flickering his nipple just to gauge a response. Spike hissed and thrust his hips into hers, surprising her with his ardor but doing little to frighten her away. If anything, the feel of his erection pressed into her only fueled her ministrations. She leaned in and nibbled just slightly at his throat, and the sensation was too bloody wonderful to warn her off before the demon seized her unconscious invitation.

“Mmmm.”

“Buffy!” he choked, reaching for her, but her mouth was leading her southward. The smell of her drove him wild. Her soft, subtle touches burned him with the just rewards of patience tangled in with her innocence. She was shy but curious, and her girlish whims were going to be his undoing.

When he felt her teeth delicately scrap his nipple, he screwed his eyes shut, muttered an oath, and jerked away from her, panting harshly.

Holy bleedin’ fuck.

“Spike?”

Her voice was small and wounded, and tore at his heart.

“God, Buffy…”

“Did I do something wrong?”

He nearly laughed at that. Wrong?

“No. God, no.” A violent shudder coursed through him, and he made himself meet her eyes. “You’re playin’ with fire,” he said. “I promised I wouldn’t…an’ if you keep at that, you’ll make me go back on that promise.” He paused for a brief moment. “I’ve waited too long for you, sweetheart. Too bloody long…that…”

Buffy turned her gaze to the ground. “I just wanted to…with before…in the kitchen…I wanted to give you…something. I don’t even know what, I just—”

“You don’ owe me anythin’.”

“I wasn’t going to do it because I thought I owed you. God, no.” She shivered. “I feel so stupid.”

Spike swore inwardly. Heartless git.

“No,” he all but growled, irritated with himself. “Slayer, you don’ know what you do to me. What every li’l touch does to me. An’ if that’s not enough, the idea that you want…there aren’t words enough to explain it. But if you expect me to keep my control tonight, you can’t…I’m strong enough to fight it off, but not like that. These warm touchies you feel for me? I’ve been fightin’ it longer than you can imagine…an’ to be this close but promise not to get closer…”

“Is this a bad idea?” Buffy asked. “You staying here?”

“Probably,” he answered honestly. “You want me to leave?”

“No.”

A sigh of relief coursed off his shoulders. “Good.”

She smiled weakly and reached for his hand. Their fingers entwined, and he felt suddenly as though he was engulfed in fire—the sort that burned forever in manner of annoying eighties songs, only with meaning. Tentatively, she led him to her bed, climbed in, and edged across the mattress so that her back was against the wall.

The minute he reclined, he found himself with an armful of Buffy. The sweet scent of her hair tickled his nostrils, the steady drum of her heart beat soundly against his still chest, the warmth of her skin enveloped him, and he felt as close to peace as he had since the night he was turned.

“Can I kiss you goodnight?” she asked softly. “Would that be okay?”

Spike nearly purred. “More than okay.”

Her lips were on his the next second.

Kissing her was a pleasure he’d been denied too long, he realized. Too many years without goodnight kisses. Without feeling her arms around him. Without feeling the rush of her pulse and the small mewls that scratched at the back of her throat.

She was paradise.

And tonight, for the first time, Spike was allowed a moment’s peace for the haven of her embrace.

Buffy was quite certain that she had never experienced a feeling quite like this before. She awoke in the protective embrace of a vampire that she had allowed into her bed, listening to him purr against her back, his arm draped over her waist and his erection pressing into her backside. Her room was strangely chilly, and she had the blankets pulled snugly over both of them. For the first time in her short life, she awoke with a man in her bed.

She released a deep sigh and stretched against Spike, her mind awash with everything that had transpired between them the night before. In the light of morning, harsh truths often looked more approachable, and Buffy found the confusion she had felt so strongly only a few hours ago; move aside for the more palatable sense of joy.

For this moment, she wasn’t the Slayer. She wasn’t the Chosen One. She was just Buffy; the girl waiting beneath the title. The Slayer would come out later when night fell; when it was time to patrol again. Right now, she was a girl enjoying the morning with her boyfriend.

She had a boyfriend. A real boyfriend. A boyfriend she wanted, and didn’t feel she needed to be with out of societal obligations for girls her age. Despite her fears, waking in Spike’s arms felt right. God, it felt so right. And while her nerves did little to calm at the slow-coming reservations, she didn’t want to think about the larger implications now.

He belonged to her. Through all the haze, all the confusion, that much was abundantly clear. And truly, Buffy didn’t know what frightened her more: the fact that she had no choice in the matter, or the fact that her lack of a choice didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would.

Granted, dating a vampire hadn’t exactly been her life’s ambition. And this was so much more than dating; this was something fated. Something prophesized. Something she couldn’t change, couldn’t fight, couldn’t do anything about, except sit back and accept.

The feelings bubbling inside felt real, but that wasn’t good enough for her. Call her old fashioned, but Buffy wanted love out of life. If the one she was destined to be with couldn’t love her, or was only with her because of some stupid flash of gold that she couldn’t help, she didn’t know what she would do. Her ignorance in the matter aside, she rather doubted that there was an appendix of ‘what to do in the event of’ section in her Slayers, Vampires, and Their Mates handbook.

There might not have been a choice in the matter, but she didn’t want to get too close. Not unless there was going to be something more between them than sex and a strong need to protect each other. She needed there to be something more. It was important to her; important in ways that she feared he would mock if she bared her soul.

“Buffy,” Spike murmured into her hair, thrusting his hard cock against her ass. The sensation was foreign, but made her press her thighs together to suppress her arousal. Like when she watched dirty parts of movies, only intensified to nearly insufferable levels. She had never felt like this; not until the night before, when he knelt before her and buried his face between her legs. Before he inspired her body to an opus of euphoric wonder. Before he made her feel things she’d felt certain she was doomed to never, ever feel.

She wanted to feel him, too. Feel him the way he’d felt her. Feel him as intimately as he’d felt her.

She knew the mechanics of sex: the basic instructions of insert, withdraw, repeat. That much her mother had spent a particularly uncomfortable afternoon explaining when she was eleven. Naturally, her mom had taken the diplomatic THIS IS FOR BABY-MAKING ONLY approach, leaving Buffy confused as to why it was, then, that she was sent out of the room when people in the movies began taking each other’s clothes off. Later, in school, she’d learned that the baby-making aspect was the initial design for sex, but not always the reason people did it. There were a couple one-day sex-ed courses that fifth and sixth graders were required to take, but the subject matter centered on the female reproductive system and had little to do with the layout of the male body, or what it took to engage in the dirty sex that she was never supposed to know about.

However much Joyce tried, Buffy went to public school, and she wasn’t as sheltered by her peers as she was by her mother and her teachers. Her former best friend, Kimberly, lost her virginity at age thirteen, and wasted no time in telling her inner circle every detail, making it sound horribly romantic when it was, in fact, just slutty. Until the end of her freshman year, Buffy lived vicariously through Kimberly’s sexual excursions, grimacing and looking away when she described the taste of semen and blushing furiously every time she thought of her friend ‘in the throes of passion.’

Sex remained ambiguous to her. An abstract notion that was just out there, and didn’t feel like the next logical step with any of the boys she dated, despite how they attempted to convince her otherwise.

Spike had been in her life for just over two full days, and she felt, impossibly, that she could happily get naked and groiny with him in a heartbeat.

Though, despite all, she was still possessed with the impossible desire to explore him.

Buffy drew in a breath and twisted slowly in his arms. Spike’s sleeping face was nearly angelic; an adjective she was sure would be a subject of serious offense if she gathered the nerve to tell him. His hair was no longer slicked back—sleep had turned his blonde locks into blonde curls, giving him the look of boyish innocence that did nothing to downplay the level of his appeal. He took a couple breaths in his sleep, which surprised her but, for whatever reason, provided some form of comfort.

A deep shudder rattled her body and she gathered her nerve. She wanted to feel him, and something told her that Spike wouldn’t mind being felt. But she didn’t want to leap in without testing the waters; didn’t want to approach him as though she was thoroughly experienced and had not only explored but pleasured numerous men. Spike was her first, and she knew that he knew he was her first.

As for now, she didn’t want anything else but to feel the hard length of him in her hand.

Buffy attempted to sit up, but the vampire quickly tugged her back to him, moaning petulantly at the subconscious notion that she wanted to untangle herself from his embrace. She wet her lips again and sighed.

That thought actually comforted her. If the blanket stayed up, she wouldn’t have to see what she was doing. She wouldn’t have to see her own hand in the alien pose of an intimate caress. For whatever reason, she felt she would lose her nerve if she actually saw his penis. After all, beyond statues and various medical books and the like—the ones that depicted all the nasty STDs one could catch nowadays—she had never seen one up close.

Later, she told herself, slithering a hand between them. Her trembling fingers danced over denim, tracing small, artless patterns into his thigh, stealing time as her mind engaged in a campaign to talk her out of this. When reason failed to set in, Buffy drew in a breath, then slid her touch to cup his hardness.

She sighed and caressed him gently, watching his face for any signs of reaction. Spike’s murmurs became more prominent, but he otherwise remained asleep, settling closer to her as though silently encouraging her explorations to continue.

Buffy bit her lip, then slid her fingers to the clasp of his jeans and undid the top button. She paused, glanced to his face again, then slowly lowered the zipper.

His cock sprang into her waiting hand, and she shivered with the feel of him. He felt large, but then again, she didn’t exactly have an idea of what was big and what wasn’t. A single finger traced him from base to tip and back again, her mind trying to catalogue him inch by inch. Really, she was more taken with the sensation of cradling him intimately than taking his measurements. Big was good enough for her—though any result would have been, as she didn’t understand the male obsession with size—and she settled for that as her itching fingers continued to explore him.

When it seemed that her tentative caresses weren’t going to jolt him awake, her confidence strengthened, and she encircling him completely. Her hand pumped him twice, her thumb exploring the tip of him; familiarizing herself with his anatomy. With his size, with the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips. After a few seconds, her hand developed a curiosity for his balls and delved deeper into his jeans, cupping the weight of him.

Her conscience was kicking in a bit late if it wanted to talk her out of this. Instead, her defiant hand thought it highly appropriate to squeeze him softly, her thumbnail gently scraping against his flesh.

Spike’s eyes were suddenly wide open, and he stared down into her with a look of mixed astonishment, awe, horror, and barely contained lust on his face.

“Buffy,” he gasped after a still minute, thrusting his cock against her with need. “Jesus Christ, what are you doin’ to me?”

A low growl rumbled through his throat and he wheedled a hand between them, grasping her wrist. “You’re playin’ with fire, li’l girl.”

“Long enough to know you’re playin’ with fire.” He growled ardently and directed her hand back to his cock, enclosing her fingers around him. “Like this, pet,” he said, guiding her movements as she went back to pumping his hard length. “Oh fuck yeah. Jus’ like that.”

She was terrified and mesmerized—the wave of pure bliss that crashed over his face wearing down her hesitation, strengthening the need to give him back just a sliver of the pleasure he had given her. She released a trembling breath and tightened her grip on his cock, coaxing a long moan through his lips as his hips thrust forward.

“Ohhh, Buffy.” He grasped her arm, screwing his eyes shut. “You don’ know what you do to me.”

“Drivin’ me outta my mind, is what you’re doin’.” Spike looked at her again, his gaze fogged with passion. “Squeeze me tighter.”

A warm smile crossed his face, and he brushed a kiss across her lips. “No, luv, you won’ break me.”

Buffy dropped her mouth to his shoulder, her fingers constricting just slightly around his length. “Like that?”

There was such raw feeling in his voice, causing her blush to deepen as she continued to pump him, pressing kisses into his skin. Her hand developed a rhythm for it; she evened her squeezes, running her thumb over the head of his cock with every lap. Her heart was pounding wildly now and Spike was panting. His eyes were wide with need, his shoulders were wrought with tension, and he was looking at her like she was a gift from the heavens.

With whatever else, Buffy hadn’t expected bringing him pleasure would make her as hot as it did. Touching him intimately stirred her more than she had thought possible, knowing that she was the source of those impassioned stares, the reason he’d forgotten that oxygen was a luxury for the undead. She was the reason; she had done that. She, Buffy Summers, had the power to turn men into putty.

Well, one man. She didn’t want anyone else. Still, the knowledge was empowering.

Spike groaned and closed his eyes again, tugging her close to him and sinking his blunt teeth into her shoulder as his body spasmed beneath her touch.

Humility had a way of returning at the most inopportune times. The minute the haze around them lifted and Buffy realized—full blown—where her hand was and what she had just done, she released him quickly, barely registering his whimper of complaint, and turned her eyes to the sheets.

“Buffy…fuck.” Spike released another unneeded breath and tilted her chin upward so that she was looking at him. “That was amazing.”

His lips were over hers before she could protest—not that Spike kissage was the sort of thing she would ever dream of protesting. Her body was trembling, her mind racing with the weighty consequences of what she had just done. His tongue warred with hers as his hands coaxed her to roll back onto the mattress. Then he was on top of her, cradled between her thighs, and she felt the warning bells go off.

“I know,” he whispered into her, claiming her mouth again. “But your scent’s drivin’ me wild. Let me touch you, pet. Please.”

“Or taste. Like last night?” He drew his head back suddenly, a wicked grin spread across his lips. “You liked feelin’ me lick your juicy li’l quim, din’t you?”

Because if you do that, I’m gonna have to do something else, and I’m nowhere near ready for that.

There wasn’t any good way to convey that accurately, she decided. Things were spiraling out of control much too fast for her. Three days ago, she would never have dreamed of having a man in her bed. She wouldn’t have thought it possible that she would ever find someone that she wanted the way she wanted Spike. That she could touch anyone the way she touched him, or be on the receiving end of his caresses. His melt-worthy kisses.

If he did to her now what he did to her the night before, she would lose it. The image of his head between her legs…

She felt drenched. Her body was on fire, and yet she was unspeakably wet. Spike lapping her up would crumble the last of her resolve, she knew it.

Her twisted logic worked for her. She didn’t know why she felt so strongly about it, but she did. It seemed that the world around her was slowly burning away, and the vampire at her side was doing nothing but encouraging the flames.

The tease and the mock-insolence vacated his expression, and he pressed a kiss to her brow. A sigh coursed through her body. He understood. “’S okay, sweetling,” he promised. “I won’ do anythin’ you don’ want me to.”

“But you have to let me touch you.” His hand was already tugging at her sweats, her hot skin rejoiced when the added layer was whipped away. “Your scent’s drivin’ me insane. I have to feel you, baby.”

A shrill gasp tore through her throat as his fingers invaded her body. Buffy’s eyes went wide and she lifted her hips off the mattress, urging herself into his touch.

“Christ, you’re so wet.” Spike shifted over her, stroking her ardently as his thumb found her clit and began a steady, torturous massage. “Gonna drown in you. Bloody know it.”

His other hand slid her camisole over her abdomen until her breasts were bared to his hungry gaze. “Fuck, but you’re pretty.”

“Such a hot, sweet li’l pussy.” His eyes flickered and he lowered his head to her breasts, suckling her flesh between his teeth. “You’re so warm.”

“You liked jerkin’ me off, yeah? This is what it did to you?” He nibbled at her skin, tonguing her dusty nipples as his fingers plunged deeper within her. “Liked feelin’ my cock in your hand. Liked bein’ the one to make me come. Mmm, yeah. Made you nice an’ wet. Made you sodden for me.”

The crudeness behind his words only added fuel to the fire burning her insides. Buffy released a long, pleasured sob and nodded desperately. “Spike, please.”

“You’re so close. I can taste it.” He licked a wet path from her breasts to her throat, tongue playing over her jugular as a growl rumbled through his body. “Want your blood so bad.”

His thumb was stroking her clit speedily now, his thrusting digits surging deep inside her. God, his fingers felt so large. As though they had expanded within her, and were far further in her body than was possible.

She had never thought anything could feel so good. Everything he did to her thoroughly shook her foundation.

Buffy bit her lip hard as she tumbled over, pure euphoria washing over her trembling skin. She cried out, her eyes sealed shut, and that was it. She let go of everything for a blink of an instant. Spike’s arms came around her and he murmured soothingly into her hair, peppering her face with kisses, and holding her sweetly as she came down.

He grinned, sucking his fingers into his mouth, slowly licking his skin clean of her spendings. “Mmm…I do love your taste.”

God, she wanted him fiercely. And that knowledge cast a shadow over her, and she fell back again to the cool confusion that had plagued her throughout the night. The answer seemed thoroughly simple, and she knew that once she sorted through the tangled mess that was her mind, she would berate herself for having been so lost in the first place. However, at the same time, it felt that time, at least, was not too much to ask in return for what she was giving him.

Her thoughts must have been easily read. A sigh rumbled through his body and he looked away. “This mornin’…we can have this mornin’, can’t we? I know I shouldn’t…but God, Buffy, you let me sleep in your bed.”

“Spike, I…I just need time.” She forced a smile when he glanced back to her. “I know what the answer is. I just haven’t sorted through the process of getting there yet. And in the meantime, I want you so much and it’s kinda terrifying. And then I do things like this that seem like a good idea at the time but really…I’m sorry. I’m just—”

He sat up at that, and brought her with him. “Don’ be sorry,” he told her. “This…I haven’t felt anythin’ like that in…God, it’s been so long. An’ it felt…” His eyes hazed over. “I’ve never felt anythin’ like that.”

That was laughable. Mr. I’ve-Got-A-Century-Of-Experience-Under-My-Belt hadn’t felt anything like a virginal handjob before? Right.

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Buffy, I’m serious. Never. You’re amazing. You’re so amazing…I jus’…”

She had the answer. It was the question that was ambiguous, as was the path it took to reach the answer.

She wanted him so much. And spending this time with him wasn’t helping in the road to recovery. Yet that much was her fault. She’d made her bed, laid in it, then invited him to join her. She was worsening the situation for herself, and she knew it. Only now he was confused as well. All due to irrational teenage hormonal mixed signals.

Perhaps if he loved her, if she had that much, that much beyond the claim and her destiny, the rest wouldn’t be so hard.