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.



Chapter One

Volumes of Forgotten Lore


The air smelled of sunrise.

They had officially been searching for Drusilla for three hours, and it was growing harder and harder to convince himself that she had disappeared for a quick snack. Granted, his sire wasn’t the most reliable vampire; she went missing almost weekly, but never during their ‘family time.’ Such was what she lived for. She spent hours communing with the stars, foreseeing the best hunting ground, and generally getting on Darla’s nerves.

Normally, that last bit was what made the family hunting time worthwhile. On his best day, Spike couldn’t tolerate Darla. Her blatant disapproval of his dark princess and Drusilla’s choice in mate drove him to uncomfortable extremes. He would just as soon stake the old bitch and suffer the wrath of Angelus than deal with her nagging for another two centuries.

Granted, if he killed Darla, he wouldn’t be around to bask in the nag-less atmosphere. But it was almost worth it.

“Let’s go, already,” the bitch in question moaned. “If she dusts, she dusts. And honestly, after more than a century, she should know the rules by now.”

Angelus grinned and wrapped his arms around her middle, lapping at the blood that stained her throat. Spike rolled his eyes and looked away. “I wouldn’t be too worried about that,” he purred in turn. “Dru’s a resourceful girl. She always finds her way home.”

Darla cooed in approval. “Well, we can always dust her for fun.”

Her eyes leveled with Spike’s, a cruel smile splaying across her lips.

“Or we could wait around. See if she’s up for some fun later,” Angelus retorted, squeezing her breasts.

Spike’s jaw clenched and he glanced away.

Fucking typical.

They didn’t share any love. Not like he did with his sire. The great overbearing sod and his bint of a mate were about as callous to each other as they were to the people they preyed upon. Too often, they enjoyed fucking their food before killing them. He didn’t know how many times he had walked in on them during their ‘suppertime’; Angelus ramming into a sobbing co-ed as Darla held her mouth to her pussy. Or Darla riding her boy into oblivion as Angelus’s fangs tore into the most painful parts of a young girl’s body. They would meet in a bloody kiss and fuck until they both passed out.

They had no tact. No affection. Nothing beyond devotion to the same blood-drenched lifestyle. They enjoyed each other thoroughly, of course; if such a thing as best friends existed in the world of vampires, they were certainly that. Lovers, friends, cruel demons who got off on the pain of others. Who got off on inflicting pain upon each other.

Oh, and they were mates.

There was no love between them, and they were mates. They had the outward appearance of love, but it wasn’t there.

Spike hated them. He hadn’t always, but he hated them now. Hated Darla for her mocking, hated Angelus for pretending to be the mediator. He had eyes for no one but his mate, and yet, he enjoyed toying with his grandchilde by fucking Drusilla whenever he felt the now-peroxide vampire was too comfortable with the affections of his sire.

Dru loved it, of course. It was a big game with her.

She never screamed as much as when Angelus was bringing her pleasure, and Angelus brought pleasure to no one without payment.

Similarly, Dru never cooed as much as when her mouth was around her sire’s cock.

Dru was supposed to be his, but she never looked at him the way she looked at Angelus. She never stopped crawling to Darla for her grandmum’s impossible approval. She never attempted to please Spike the way she pleased her Daddy. She never attempted to be Spike’s girl.

Spike loved Dru. Why was it that loving her meant he couldn’t have her?

Darla loved taunting him with it. She absolutely loved it. When his eyes were wet with tears from sobbing over Dru’s joyous infidelity, Darla would straddle him, smile, and whisper in his ear about how his black goddess wasn’t his, and never had been. How it hadn’t happened the way it happened between her and Angelus. That the reason it hurt so much when the insane vampire fucked someone that wasn’t him was because he knew, deep down, that he had no right to lay claim on her.

Angelus and Darla were mated. They were meant to be mated. That was simply the way it was. As with humans and their simplistic sentimentality, vampires had their share of legends—some were true, most were not. Over the years, it became increasingly difficult to separate fact from fiction; especially with the elder generations of vampires either already mated or dead, while the younger generation was simply apathetic.

One of the most popular stories of vampiric legend had been buried under myth, mainly because it hardly happened anymore. The same with humans and their delusions of finding their ‘true love.’ Vampires had the same thing, only love was optional. Love was the factor that too many felt weakened the bond. Spike couldn’t help but love. It was the way he was. The way he had always been. Turning away from that simply wasn’t an option.

Darla enjoyed telling him of the minute she knew Angelus was hers. The minute she saw him crawl out of his grave, and his eyes flashed gold.

It happened only once and was the subject for half of the world’s fairytales, as well as the universal obsession with gold. The gold at the end of the rainbow. Once a vampire’s eyes met another’s and their eyes flashed gold, it was over. That search. That longing. Darla had not sired Angelus with the pretense that he was the one she was supposed to be with; it had simply worked out like that.

Drusilla had sired Spike with the same hope.

Over a hundred years had passed. A hundred years of pretending Dru was the one he was destined to spend his eternity with. A hundred years of loving her, of willing servitude, of waiting for her eyes to glow. Convincing himself that fate would catch up with him. That Dru was his—she had to be. Else he would not love her as he did.

It had been over a century. He had done everything he could think to win her affection. He had slain two slayers, showered her with gifts, killed who she wanted, attempted to love her with his body the way he wanted, and bruised her in sex when she demanded it. Nothing helped. Nothing worked. He was hers, but she was most certainly not his. She belonged to Angelus.

She was her daddy’s girl.

“Ugh.” Darla shook her head. “My skin’s starting to peel.”

Bleeding tragedy that was.

“Don’t worry, Spikey,” Angelus drawled, jerking his sire to his side with another one of those wondrous pretenses of affection. “She’s probably just found someone with much more…stamina…to keep her occupied while we were out. No worries. She’ll be crawling back in no time.” He smiled cruelly. “She always does, right?”

Spike growled lowly but didn’t rise to the bait. It was useless—humiliating, but useless. Years of conditioning had taught him that much. Angelus was the head of the household; not even Darla could challenge his mastership. And surprisingly, he didn’t think that bothered the bitch. She truly seemed to only need Angelus. The women of the clan were completely enthralled by the enormous wanker.

Why was anyone’s guess.

And Spike stood on the sidelines. Always on the bloody sidelines. Watching as the brutal sod took everything he had away.

No. That wasn’t right. None of what Angelus took had ever been truly his. It had only contained the pretense of being his.

Lashing out got him nowhere. He’d learned that the hard way.

“My little prince needs to be taught his lesson. Never raise your voice to the elders. It upsets Miss Edith.”

Drusilla was frighteningly inventive when it came to punishment. She’d once conned Spike into chains that she usually captured him with to fuck him senseless, and performed maliciously similar acts only to inflict pain instead of pleasure. And the amazing thing was, her innovation paid off.

He simply didn’t know if it was what she did, or the way she did it.

The way she regarded him with such cold loathing when she was upset with him.

Not your mate.

That nasty voice had been haunting him for months now; now for no particular reason. Their hundred-year anniversary was just behind them, and he was realizing for the first time that what he wanted was forever out of his reach as long as he continued to expect more from Dru than she was willing to give.

She didn’t love him, and she never pretended otherwise. He’d simply made himself believe that she had to. She had to; else she would have never chosen him.

More than ever, he was realizing that the world he’d been living in was temporary. A gift of time until she discovered eyes that truly flashed of gold and locked him out of her bedroom forever.

And then he would be at the mercy of his family.

He’d be lucky if the only thing they did to him was feed him his own dust.

This town was eating him up.

As though reading his thoughts, Darla linked her fingers through Angelus’s and threw her head back, drawing in a deep, appreciative breath. “You know,” she said as they strode down one of the many glum alleys of a city gone mad with corruption. “I’m beginning to love LA.”

“Told you, babe,” Angelus agreed. “This town? Closest thing you can get to the Hellmouth without actually having to, you know, be there.”

Angelus had a strange aversion to hellmouths. Spike always reckoned it was a symptom of his ego. Hellmouths were demon breeding grounds. Every mischievous sprite within a thousand-mile radius unconsciously sought the warmth of home soil. Ancient mystics suspected that since hellmouths were literally designed to operate as gateways to Hell, the ground above them was the unholiest earth any evil thing could ever want. A playground for all the nasties that literally went bump in the night.

Angelus prided himself in his reputation as being one of the few vampires that gained respect from the hierarchy of Hell’s demons. On the Hellmouth itself, he would have to compete for notoriety. When he walked into a downtown LA bar, all he had to do was flash the fangs, order a drink, and he had everyone under his thumb.

Bloody ridiculous, was what it was.

Their current home was one of the many abandoned buildings that had long been scheduled for demolition but somehow never taken down. It lacked anything Spike would call comfort, but Angelus was confident he could fix it into one of the palaces he and Darla constantly referred to nostalgically.

A place with a view, he said. Darla loved a good view.

There were a few sofas, three beds, a set of chains, and plenty of bums to pick off the streets. It would do for now, but they wouldn’t stay. No matter how much they sodding liked Los Angeles, they wouldn’t stay. They never did. Angelus and Darla grew bored too easily. Not that Spike was known for his patience; he was content with someone to hunt, Drusilla to please, blood to drink. Location hardly mattered. With his elders, though, location was everything.

He was bloody sick of it.

“Here we are,” Angelus drawled as he threw the door open, his hands sliding around his sire once more, palming her breasts. “And not a minute too soon. It stank of daylight out there.”

“Mmm,” Darla cooed favorably. “I’m ready for a nightcap.”

“Breakfast, you mean?”

Spike rolled his eyes and stalked ahead.

Bloody right. We’re the Manson Family, ‘cept we have issues.

The minute he crossed the threshold, he knew she was here. Knew she was downstairs, just as the others had known all along. He couldn’t even bother to collapse in relief. To count his blessings. To praise the all-knowing maker for granting him one more day with his black goddess.

He’d reached his breaking point, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

That wasn’t all. The air hung with the scent of tears and vibrated with the thrill of terror. She’d brought home a snack. Honestly, he couldn’t even be bothered by that right now. Knowing Dru, she’d want to play and bathe in innocent blood, then shag until the sun had fallen again. Not this time.

Not this time.

This time, it would be different. He’d kill the unfortunate and face her anger. Better her anger than this sham of an existence he’d been conned into living for the better part of a century.

No more fooling himself. He couldn’t bear it.

It ended tonight.

“My prince has come home,” Drusilla singsonged the minute he pushed the door to their room open. She was lying across a settee, her body clad in black lace. The sort she knew instinctively drove him out of his nutter.

Okay. So this was going to be harder than he thought.

“The stars spoke to me tonight, my William,” she said, purring in satisfaction. “Whispered little nasties. Told me the circus had come to town, and that the elephants have no tea.”

She ignored the wails of what he now knew was a small child as freely as she might ignore a whining puppy. Pain of the young didn’t bother her—never had. And true, while he was too much of a monster to kill with anything that resembled prejudice, some inner shadow of the man he had once been had never rested well with burying children.

He would kill them; he simply took no pleasure in it.

“Tea-drinkin’ elephants, pet?” Spike sighed and stripped his duster down his arms. “What a bloody pity.”

“Miss Edith told me you were cross.”

“Bit wore out. We din’t know where you were.”

“But that’s the great secret, you see.” Drusilla shrugged her shoulders like an eager teen, her eyes shining with malicious delight. “Would have been in poor taste to tell. Little boys who whisper in the dark can’t picnic with the rest of us. I won’t allow it.”

He sighed again, feeling the beginnings of a headache stirring. “What’d the stars tell you, pet? That it’s February? To vamp Harrison Ford? That pink is the new ‘in’ color?”

A low whine tumbled through her lips, and she pouted at him. “My prince has lost his temper.”

“Jus’ not in the mood tonight, ducks.”

“But I brought you something!” She jumped to her feet, clasping her hands around his, walking him backward toward the sound of the cries. “What the stars told me, you see. What Miss Edith promised. She has come, my darling. The one to change it all. This one called for you.”

He frowned, confused. These mind games were hardly new to Drusilla, but she was playing something different tonight. “Called for me? What are you talking about?”

Her face fell at that, a sharp gasp rupturing through her stomach as though she had just been struck. “No answers,” she moaned. “All questions. No answers. No answers for my sweet tonight.”

“You brought me a child…”

“She was calling for you.”

“Is this like the time that orangutan was callin’ for me? ‘Cause pet, as much fun as that was, ‘m not up for a bleedin’ game of charades tonight.”

“It’s all new. All new. It itches.” She started scratching at her arms at that, as though the thought alone bothered her to submission. “It itches all over. And she waits. Taste her blood. Mummy brought her just for you.”

Best to go ahead with this and get it over with. Spike exhaled deeply and nodded, moving around Drusilla intently. Kill the child, drink her, make his sire happy.

Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow would be the day when things changed.

Doubt clouded his heart. As pleasant as the thought was, his future was a pattern of days like these. Days when he didn’t know if the woman he’d loved since crawling out of his grave would be home to share his bed. If she would admit him to her body, or save herself for the time when Daddy wanted to play. If she would go on the hunt and meet the one she’d thought he was so long ago. Meet the one, and leave him behind in search of sunrise.

He hated how weak she made him.

There were days when he hated pretty much everything about her. Hated her so richly that it was easy to forget she was the one that had taken him from a world he’d loathed and given him the night. Hated her to the point where it was hard to remember why he’d loved her so long in the first place.

He would snap out of it, though. He always did.

Spike huffed out another breath and pushed the door open, the child’s fear washing over him in strong, almost painful waves.

Snap her neck. Taste her. Have it over with.

The girl was small—no more than four or five. She was in her pajamas, her golden hair pulled back in pigtails. Her back was to him, and she was trembling hard.

“I want Mommy,” she wailed. “I wanna go home!”

Spike swallowed and stepped forward. “Where’s home, Pidge?”

The girl gasped at the intrusion but didn’t reply. Instead, she scurried further into the shadows; an ineffective move in the eyes of a vampire, but she couldn’t know that.

“There now,” he said, closing the door behind him gently. “’S jus’ ole Spike. Nothin’ here to hurt you.”

He’d never felt so uncomfortable telling that lie in the course of his unlife.

The guilt expanded when he felt her relax.

Bloody right. Wouldn’t Mum be proud?

Spike frowned and shook away the thought. What the bleeding hell was wrong with him? The girl was a girl and there were thousands like her. He didn’t have a full-out conscience about these things, and he wasn’t looking to grow one. The kid was food—plain and simple. Best to do it now and get it over with.

“The mean lady won’t let me leave,” the girl said softly, her voice tentative and exploratory.

A wry, bitter grin tugged at his lips. You an’ me both, ducks.

“Tell you what,” he said instead, walking forward slowly. Her back was still to him, disguising the mask of his demon that fell comfortably over his face. “Why don’ we leave together, yeh? I’ll take you home. We’ll make a run for it.”

An impossibly long beat passed at that. Then the girl turned around.

Something slammed into him hard. His lungs gasped for air that he didn’t need, and his body shut down completely.

Not possible. Not bloody possible.

But it was there. God, it was there.

The girl was beautiful, even with tears trekking down her cheeks. Her pajamas were rumpled and there was a worn teddy bear in her arms. She was looking at him with hope. With the beginnings of trust he didn’t deserve. With a thousand things he couldn’t begin to fathom.

And her eyes…god, her eyes.

Spike fell to his knees and his world collapsed.

Her eyes shined with gold.

 

 

Chapter Two

Season of Change


He didn’t register how hard he was trembling until he felt a tentative hand on his face. The girl was close now. So close. The air around her had changed from terrified to curious. She wasn’t crying anymore. She was simply there. A small girl with eyes swimming in gold, looking at her captor with concern beyond her years.

“You have strange eyes,” she said softly, her soft hand sweeping across his forehead.

“Yeh?” Spike choked. “How’s that?”

“Shining.”

A long, controlled breath hissed through his lips. His mate. God, it was over. He’d found his mate. Drusilla had brought him his mate, only she was so small. So small. Not that the demon cared; not a lick. The demon was screaming and clawing at him, demanding that he get over whatever reservation he had and tie his mate to him forever.

No.

She was just a girl. He wasn’t going to do that to a girl. He didn’t even know how it was possible; humans weren’t compatible for vampiric mates. Darla had never seen Angelus’s eyes glow before she killed him—it had been a lucky break. The child in front of him was not a vampire. She wasn’t.

But she was his mate. There was no second-guessing that. After so many years of belonging to no one, he finally was with the one meant to share eternity with him. He’d found her in the most unlikely form. His destiny. His mate.

And the demon wanted the world to know it.

Take her. She’s yours.

No.

No.

She was so young. He wasn’t about to tie himself together to a child. Not now.

A heavy sigh rushed through his lips. He had to get her out of here. He had to get her home. Had to get her as far from danger as possible.

And then, what else was there but to wait? This girl was his. He had to get her out.

Then watch and wait until she grew older until he could take what was his. Make sure that no other big nasty brought harm to his girl.

“Am I gonna die?” the girl sniffled, her eyes welling with tears.

The thought that anyone could bring his mate harm made the demon snarl protectively and up the urge to sink his fangs in her throat and link her to him forever. Christ, he had to get her out of here now. Get her out and away from the others; away from him. Far away.

“No, sweetpea, you’re not gonna die.” Spike forced a smile and brushed her hair out of her face. “I’ll take you home, yeh? Back to your mum an’ dad.” He smiled as her eyes softened, warming him with the undeserved radiance of her tender trust. “What’s your name, pet?”

She buried her face adorably into the fur of her teddy bear. “Buffy,” she said.

He smiled. “Buffy, huh?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Your mum told you not to give your name out to strangers, right?”

Another nod. “Yeah.” She paused. “But you’re not a stranger, are you? I know you.”

Spike’s head ducked and he shuddered another sigh, tears stinging his eyes. It wasn’t fair. He’d waited so long, and now here she was. Much too young to claim, but his. Wholly his. He couldn’t have her. He couldn’t take her like this.

The world had fallen down around him. In simple seconds, whatever cause he’d dedicated his existence to for the past century was null and void. Decades worshipping Drusilla amounted to nothing. He felt the fabric of time around him had woven into a tapestry of lies. He couldn’t stay with his family. Not now that he’d found her. He couldn’t do anything but watch over her until it was time. Keep her safe from predators like himself. Keep her protected.

“Not a stranger,” he agreed, stiffening as Drusilla’s scent wafted near the door. “You know me.”

“But I don’t remember you.”

Don’t think that’s the way it works, ducks.

“I know.”

Jus’ somethin’ I’m gonna have to explain when you’re older. He cleared his throat. Much older.

There was a creak by the door. Buffy stiffened. “She’s back,” she cried, her eyes welling with tears. “The mean lady is back.” Her small body tightened in his arms. “She’s gonna hurt me.”

Something dark and dangerous fell over him, and he practically saw red. “Hurt you?” he growled. “Did she hurt you? Before I got here? Did Dru—did the mean lady—”

Buffy shook her head. “She said I was a surprise.”

“Surprise.”

“For you.”

Drusilla had brought his mate to him. There was no way she would have done that consciously. Intentionally. While his sire certainly entertained no aspirations of offering herself to him for all time, she similarly was possessive when it came to people she felt belonged to her. She would never have brought his mate to him if she knew that was what Buffy was.

The stars had told her that the girl needed Spike. But that was all. And as she would, thinking absolutely nothing else of it, she had brought the child to him because that was what she believed Miss Edith wanted.

Well, she was right about one thing. He hazarded a glance to the door. You, my darling Buffy, were definitely a surprise.

“My William…” Drusilla cooed, edging into the darkness. The girl gasped and threw herself into Spike’s arms, burying her frightened face in his shoulder. Her teddy plopped to the ground beside him. “Do you like her? Isn’t she a pretty dolly?”

He had never been so terrified in all his life. Buffy was shaking uncontrollably, her small arms around his throat. He felt the hum of her pulse racing just inches beneath his mouth. His fangs had no problem with their propinquity. He needed her blood. He needed her now. Now that his mate was with him, he needed to never let her go.

This is so bloody wrong.

“Sure thing, luv. Pretty as a picture.”

“I hoped you wouldn’t be cross with me, my dearest. Her blood is for you. Yours to taste. Yours to take.”

You have no idea.

Spike forced his eyes shut, his hands wrapping around Buffy’s small arms. “Let go, ducks,” he murmured soothingly. “Jus’ let go for a minute.”

“No!” the girl wailed. “The mean lady’s gonna kill me!”

“Ohhh.” Dru moved further into the room, a pout crossing her lips. “Does the dolly not want to play? Miss Edith won’t approve. No, no. No cake for uncooperative dollies. You make mummy’s tummy hurt.”

“Spike!” The girl was sobbing, and the man inside nearly broke at the sight. The demon raged on, demanding her blood, and he had never been so thoroughly torn. “Spike, don’t let me go! Please!”

His sire cackled in glee. “Ohhh, look at the dolly dance!”

“Dru—”

“Please don’t let her kill me! Please!”

“Shall we tie her up, my sweet? Take turns, you think?” She sneered nastily. “This one will scream for us. Scream all sorts of dreadful things.”

He vamped then; couldn’t help it. Amidst Buffy’s screams and Drusilla’s giggles of pure delight, the demon burst through, and he forfeited control. There would be no harming of the girl. He didn’t care what he had to do; what he lost. None of it mattered now. Nothing mattered.

He had to get Buffy out.

“No,” he barked, holding up a hand.

Dru whimpered. “Are you displeased?”

“’Course not, sweets.” He turned to her then fully, doing his best to ignore the feel of the girl wrapping her body around his leg. “Jus’ wanna enjoy my prezzie all to myself, right? ‘S what the stars told you, innit?”

The pout resurfaced. “Selfish boys don’t get to play with toys.”

“There now,” he cooed, brushing a kiss across her lips. “You can punish me later, yeh? Tie me up an’ tell me what a naughty boy I’ve been.”

She smiled a bit at that.

“See? I know what my princess likes.” He kissed her again. “You should go play with Daddy. See if your grandmum feels up for a game t’night.”

“Daddy!”

Spike nodded encouragingly. “He was talkin’ about you,” he said. “Told me he wanted a taste of your goodies. See if they were as delicious as he remembered.”

It worked. Thank the bloody maker, it worked. With an elated laugh, Drusilla clapped her hands together and bounded out of the room. He waited until he felt her leave their quarters of the half-furnished mansion before allowing the unneeded breath he’d been holding to rush through his lips.

Great. One problem taken care of.

Buffy’s arms tightened around his leg.

“Is the mean lady gone?” she asked softly, her voice stifled with tears. “Is it okay now?”

Spike willed his eyes closed.

“She’s gone, pet.”

“Is she coming back?”

Well, ‘f I know Angelus…

“Not tonight, sweetheart.”

That didn’t make it safe, though. Nothing made it safe. He had to keep Buffy safe until nightfall. Until the sun had submerged once more and he could take her home.

Had to keep her away from his fangs. Had to keep her safe from himself.

At the same time, he recognized this was all he was going to get. For years at that, this was the nearest he could be to his mate without endangering her. Whatever time he had with her was precious. He could coddle her through the day, envision the woman she would eventually become, and pretend that the next decade and a half wouldn’t be the longest years of his life.

Take her, the demon raged. She’s yours. Take her!

“No,” Spike murmured to himself, shaking his head. “I won’t.”

“Huh?”

He forced a small smile to his lips and gathered her in his arms, making sure to scoop up her teddy bear as well. Having been with a woman with an affinity for inanimate objects, he had a good idea how young girls grew attached to stuffed animals. Furthermore, he wanted to pamper her with as much comfort and familiarity as possible. Relax her enough so that she slept. “You’re gonna get some sleep, ducks. I’ll take you home as soon as I can, okay?”

“What about the mean lady?”

Her question coincided nicely with a noisy crash on the floor above them. Spike’s brows perked. He felt a surge of the same old irritation, though it was more obligatory than painful. William understood, even if he ached. The demon didn’t care. The demon had forgotten Drusilla in lieu of the radiance of his mate. The demon didn’t care for her age. The demon didn’t care for any human reservations. The demon wanted the girl in his arms, and he didn’t want to wait.

William wouldn’t allow it.

Spike just hoped his inner ponce was strong enough to overpower the thing that Dru had planted in his body over a hundred years ago.

“Don’ you worry your pretty li’l head about the mean lady,” he told her, carrying her over to the bed he shared with Drusilla. “She won’ bother you.”

He stopped and cringed when he reached the edge of the mattress, a shudder running through his body. No. He couldn’t take his young mate to the place he’d been with the woman before her. His eyes scanned the room before settling on a worn rocker that had likely been there years longer than the building’s recent occupants, and decided it would have to do.

“Where did she go?”

There was another crash and a deranged chuckle on the floor above him.

“That’s a conversation for you an’ your mum to have…but not for a few years, yeah?”

“A grown-up thing?”

He smiled. “Yeh, ducks. ‘S a grown-up thing.”

Buffy’s nose crunched up adorably, and she tightened her arms around him when he settled into the rocker. “I hate it when Mommy tells me that.”

“Your mum has her reasons.”

She nodded. “One time I saw my daddy watching a movie. I think it was a grown-up movie, because I don’t know what it was about.”

“Yeah?”

“This man was hurting this lady.”

Spike turned his head to smother his grin. “You pap was watchin’ this?”

“Mommy got mad at him.”

“Rightfully so, yeh.” He brushed a kiss across her brow and shuddered at the taste of her sweet skin. “How old are you, Buffy?”

She held up four fingers.

“Four, huh?”

Bloody hell.

Four years old. His mate was a tender four years old. And he had to wait.

“Mommy says I’m a very old four. I don’t know what that means, but she says it a lot.”

“Means you’re mature for your age, sweets.”

“What’s mature?”

“’S…you act older than you are, I guess. Know more than you should. ‘S a good thing. Your mum says it ‘cause she’s proud of you.”

Eighteen, he decided. I’ll wait until she’s eighteen. Eighteen’s a good, rite-of-passage age. I’ll wait till then.

A good fourteen years away.

“When do you turn five?”

“March.”

“Anythin’ you want?” He brushed wayward strands of golden hair out of her face, relaxing slightly when she snuggled into his chest. “Anythin’ you’ve been pesterin’ your mum for?”

“I want a pig.”

“A pig?”

“There’s a piggy in the store. That’s where we were. Mommy let me go birthday shopping, and I saw a piggy I want.”

Spike’s eyes fell shut. Dru had taken this angel while she was out with her family, looking for birthday presents. In hindsight, he suspected he would eventually have to thank her. Were it not for her intervention, he would have never found Buffy. There was no reason to think his mate was trapped in the body of a child.

He still didn’t know what he thought about that. What there was to think about that. And for now, he was satisfied with passive acceptance. There would be plenty of time to curse the card that fate had dealt him.

“Is this piggy like your bear, here?” He held up the teddy, doming his brows. “All…fluffy?”

“Mr. Jenkins is not fluffy.”

“Mr. Jenkins? You named your bear Mr. Jenkins?”

“Of course not,” Buffy replied indignantly. “That’s just his name.”

“Ah, I see.” He smiled. She was a picture of innocence. Purity. Pure vivacity. She was the sun to his midnight; the embodiment of everything he was not. Everything a creature of his nature did not deserve. “So is this pig like Mr. Jenkins?”

“He’s a stuffed aminal.”

“Aminal?”

She nodded. “Uh huh.”

“Well, you’re a smart one, then. Real pigs? That’d be a bloody mess.”

Buffy made a face. “Bloody?”

Gah. Why did he have to mention blood? His eyes were drawn back to her throat before he could stop himself, and he wet his lips as the strings of his self-control tightened even further.

You don’t have to wait. You can claim her now. You’ve earned it.

No! William screamed. I won’t!

He wasn’t going to turn Buffy into an eternal child. That wasn’t fair. Not fair to either of them.

He was going to wait. Wait fourteen years…then he’d have earned it.

“Never you mind,” he told her, tugging on one of her pigtails. “Jus’ be a good girl for Spike, an’ you might get a surprise on your birthday, yeh?”

“You’ll get me the piggy?”

“Ah, ah, ah, sweetpea.” He pressed a finger to his lips, eyes twinkling. “Don’ wanna spoil the surprise.”

“Humph.”

“Ohhh, pouty.” Spike grinned and kissed her forehead again. The demon roared in objection at the presentation of compassion, but he forced himself not to care. “Rest now.”

“And you’ll keep the mean lady away?”

“Yeh. I’ll keep the mean lady away.”

Buffy smiled and closed her eyes, seemingly content with this. She tugged her oddly-named teddy bear to her and sighed. “Sing me a lullaby.”

“Don’ know many lullabies.” None that he wanted to sing. “You fancy any bands?”

“My mommy likes the Beatles.”

He grinned. “That I can do, poodle.”

He’d sung Drusilla to sleep more times than he could remember. Never had it seemed as precious as it did now. The woman he’d spent his unlife with was mentally no older than the small bundle in his arms. He deserved more. He deserved what his mate could give him.

That promise calmed him from now.

“The long and winding road,” he began softly, rocking her back and forth. “That leads…to your door…”

She was asleep within minutes, her angelic face bringing him comfort, even with the drool that spilled onto his shirt.

In less than an hour, his world had been granted new life. He had a new reason for living. A new reason for surviving.

How it was in the body of a child, he didn’t know.

Only that he would die protecting her.

He was a vampire; she was his mate. That was simply the way it was. The mold of his making forbid him from even considering anything else.

The rest he would think about later.

All he had was time.

 

Chapter Three

Goodbye’s Such A Hard Thing To Say


“This is the one you want?”

Buffy nodded brightly, smiling into the face of a stuffed pig. The sun had been down for about an hour; the minute it disappeared beneath the horizon, Spike had taken his small mate, gathered what few belongings he carried with him, and left the only family he had known for a century. What little remorse he felt was quickly dwarfed by the promise of the future, however long he had to wait. It was as though he had experienced life without sight, and was suddenly bombarded by a rainbow of color.

He hadn’t said goodbye to Drusilla, and it bothered him that it didn’t bother him.

Being in the presence of his mate was all-consuming. Making her smile filled his small, dreary existence with sunlight. He’d never been around children; not unless he was tickling one of Dru’s fetishes. Had he known the simple pleasure of being the source of a child’s delight, he might not have wasted so much time with the Order. Not for the want of what he could not have—more for the promise of the world that was willing to love him the way he loved. The way he experienced love with the entirety of his being.

The way Drusilla never had, or could.

He had feared sleeping past sunset, and his worry transformed into an inability to rest throughout an hour without jarring awake in a panic. Buffy, it appeared, slept soundly, and had mumbled her complaint when he gently brought her out of slumber.

“Time to go, ducks,” he had whispered. “Time to go back home to your mum.”

It was easier said than done. The minute he stepped into the fresh night, his reluctance to let go of his mate intensified. And suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to prolong his time with her.

After all, it would be the last for more than a decade.

Now they were in a toy store near the same one that Buffy had indicated Drusilla had snatched her from, talking to each other over the head of a small stuffed pig.

“This is the one you want?” Spike said again, brows arching playfully. “Ugly li’l bugger, isn’t he?”

An insolent pout crossed the girl’s face. “Mr. Gordo is not ugly.”

“Mr. Gordo, is it?”

“Uh huh.”

He grinned. She was adorable. “Tell me he din’t tell you his name,” he said. “’ve had enough of birds who talk to dolls.”

“You know birds that talk to dolls?”

“One or two.” Spike placed the pig back on the shelf and sighed. “Right then, Miss Buff. I’ll have to remember that for the big day.”

“Oh, you don’t have to wait if you don’t want to.”

“Is that right?”

She nodded innocently, clutching her bear tighter. The employees of the toy store seemed to think nothing of it, especially since the stuffed animal looked more than a little worn.

Still, it had to be more than a little suspicious. A little girl in pigtails and PJs in a neighboring toy store the night after she vanished? Somehow, the vampire didn’t suspect her mother took her disappearance with a wink and a nod. There had to have been more than just a scene. And he didn’t particularly fancy getting arrested for kidnapping. The human police force was just tedious, and he doubted any cop would be sympathetic to his aversion of southern exposure when it came time to select a holding cell.

“Why’d you come birthday shoppin’ if you were ready for beddy-by?”

“We were on our way back from Nana and Papa’s house, and I saw the store and Mommy said we could go in if we made it quick. My jammies have footsies. See?”

She held up her foot; or tried to, and tripped. He caught her with a laugh, completely enthralled with her girlish charm. “Yeh,” he said, grinning. “You got yourself some footsies there. Your mum really thought of everythin’, din’t she?”

Buffy nodded brightly before the mention of her mother brought her back to reality, and a desolate look befell her face. “I bet she’s real scared, huh?”

“I’d imagine so, poodle.”

“I don’t want her to be worried.”

“We’ll get you home right quick, okay?”

That thought didn’t seem to rest well with her, either. “I’m not gonna see you again, am I?”

A small, sad smile crossed his lips. “Not for a while, no.”

“Why not?”

He paused. “’S a grown-up thing.”

“I hate it when people tell me that.” Her pout deepened. “I wanna be a grown-up so I know what that means.”

“I want you to be a grown-up, too.” For entirely different reasons. “You’ll know some day, sweets. I’ll be back for you then.”

“Back for me?”

Better bloody believe it.

“Yeh,” he said softly. “I’ll be back for you.”

“Back from where?”

Closer than you think.

“I’ll tell you when I’m back, yeh?”

The child’s eyes averted coyly to the abandoned pig. “What about Mr. Gordo?” she asked. “Will you be back for him?”

Spike grinned and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Well now,” he said. “Can’t leave Mr. Gordo behind, now could we?”

“I think he’d get lonely.”

“Yeh, I’d wager so.” He paused, then released a deep breath and lifted her into his arms. “Tell you what,” he said. “Let’s leave him for now. See if he finds…Miss Piggy…or somethin’…to keep him company.”

“Miss Piggy is married to Kermit.”

“Well, that doesn’ make sense, does it? Kermit’s a bloody frog. Interspecies relations are jus’ wrong.”

“What’s inter…speci…what you said?”

Spike groaned and rolled his eyes. “Another grown-up thing,” he replied. “Come on, poodle. Let’s get you home to your mum so she’s not worried anymore, right?”

“Okay.”

It wasn’t until they were outside that Buffy spoke again.

“I don’t want you to go away,” she said.

“I don’ wanna go away either,” he replied honestly.

“Then why do you gotta?”

Because I don’ want you to think of me as your bloody father or favorite uncle.

“’Cause we don’ always get what we want.” A note fell within him at that, and a deep breath rumbled through his lips. “One thing I’ll promise you, pet…you’ll see me again.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah.”

An’ then you’ll never get rid of me.

“When?”

“When you’re older.”

Buffy lived not too far from the toy store, making their final minutes together regrettably brief. The neighborhood wasn’t everything he’d hoped for his little mate, but far from some of Los Angeles’s more noted slums. It didn’t much help that he had to duck behind a tree to avoid being spotted by a police car. Not that he was surprised; had the coppers not been patrolling the area, he’d be suffering even more reservations about leaving his little mate with her family.

As it was, he stopped outside the house a few minutes later, his heart heavy, the pangs of separation already beginning to set in.

There wasn’t anything to the girl aside the fact that she was the one destined to share his eternity. He found her unspeakably adorable, though he knew somewhere that it wasn’t the demon—rather the man he had once been. The demon wanted her blood. Wanted the words. Wanted everything that would betray the one he was never supposed to hurt.

It wasn’t just Buffy that wasn’t ready; he wasn’t anywhere near prepared. Not like he thought he would be. It was one thing to wish and hope—the game changed entirely when fate handed him what he’d been searching for. Especially like this.

“Here we are.”

“How’d you know where my house is?”

He smiled. “Your scent.”

“You can smell me?”

“Oh yeh.”

“Do I stink?”

His grin broadened and he shook his head. “Hardly. Now listen, poodle, never, ever let anyone as cold as me,” he pressed a hand to her brow, “into your house, ‘kay?”

“Okay.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.” Tears were welling in her eyes, and she wrapped her small arms around him. “I don’t want you to go away. Please stay. Mommy will say it’s fine. She will, I know it.”

Spike paused. “’S for the best.”

“No.”

“Buffy—”

“That’s just a thing grown-ups say when they don’t have a real reason.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Well, that’s part of it. It’s somethin’ we say when we know we can’t explain it very well.”

Amazing. His most adult conversation was being held with a four-year old. Dru never let him talk to her like this. Dru wanted to be a little girl, pampered by everyone around her. And while Buffy was like that to a degree, she similarly seemed to genuinely crave the wisdom that only age could bring.

He wished he could make it easy for her—easy for both of them.

“You promise me I’ll see you again?” she whimpered. “Y-you’re not just saying that?”

“I promise.”

“Are you gonna go back to see the mean lady?”

A bitter chord struck within him, and his soothing smile turned pained. “No,” he said. “’m not goin’ back to the mean lady.”

“Do you wanna?”

Bugger all, what a question.

“Not really.”

“She wanted me dead.”

“’S a good reason not to go back, then. Don’ want the mean lady after my best girl.” He forced a look of comfort and nodded. “Right then. Better toddle on home.”

“You’re not coming?”

“Buffy, I told you—”

“Not even to meet Mommy?”

Spike expelled a deep breath and raised his eyes to the house. It wasn’t a good idea, he knew. Knowing his luck, Buffy’s mum would be the sort that never forgot a face, which would make her severely distrustful when he reappeared in fourteen years to claim what was his.

And yet, the old fashioned sod in him that his little mate had resurrected couldn’t help but concede.

“Okay. Let’s go meet your mum.”

Since he had awakened a vampire, the thought of warming someone’s life with happiness had been a strong source of repugnance. His demon relished tears and not tears of joy. The moment the door opened, Buffy bounded from Spike’s side and propelled her small body into her distraught mother’s arms. The woman nearly fell to her knees, color flooding her pale cheeks as she sobbed her relief into her daughter’s hair.

“Oh, Buffy!”

“I’m okay, Mommy. Really, I am.”

It took a good ten minutes of Spike’s awkward tacit supervision to convince her mother that she was, indeed, okay. He didn’t think the woman even noticed him until Buffy tugged at her and pointed upward.

“Mommy, this is Spike.” She beamed. “He saved me from the mean lady!”

He suddenly found himself under uncomfortable scrutiny. The glare of the porch light made him look even deader than usual.

“Saved?”

“The mean lady was gonna kill me,” Buffy went on. “Spike made her go away. He saved me, Mommy!”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Really…Spike?”

He cleared his throat. “William,” he said instinctively, then growled at himself.

Meet your mate, an’ all goes to hell.

The name he had promised to bury was suddenly the forefront façade he was allowing everyone to see. He needed to get away from them and drain some co-ed just to feel like himself.

“William?”

“Willyum?” Buffy frowned. “No. I like Spike better.”

A grin tickled his lips. That’s my girl.

“She’s exaggeratin’ ‘bout the other,” he said. “It was no big deal.”

“No big deal!” the woman exclaimed. “You saved my little girl. Oh, what am I doing? Come in, please! Have some coffee, or…oh hell, have the whole house. I—”

Spike grinned. Jackpot.

An invitation. That was all he needed. Not that he needed the temptation to encourage further contact between them for the next several years, but he wanted the comfort of knowing he could get to Buffy if need be.

“No, thank you,” he replied politely, his accent dragging back to the days of bloody awful poetry recitals. He needed to get away and fast.

Buffy’s lip began to quiver again, and the demon once again found itself shoved to the back. “Please don’t leave, Spike.”

He gave her a stern look. “We talked about this, remember?”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“Buffy,” her mother berated, shooting him an apologetic look. “You heard Mr.…William. He probably has work to do…or something.”

That didn’t stop the girl’s tears from becoming heavier. “But—”

“No ‘buts.’”

“’S all right.” Spike flashed a disarming smile. “Come here, poodle. Give us a hug.”

It hadn’t truly registered how hard this was going to be until he felt her small arms encircle his neck for the last time, her stuffed bear bouncing softly against his back; until the scent of her tears was right under his nose, her sweet skin touching his, the hum of her blood against his mouth. Never before had he heard of a vampire that couldn’t claim his mate the minute he saw her eyes flash for him. Never before had a vampire’s mate been trapped in the body of a child. Never before had any vampire had to say goodbye to the one that eternity had given him.

None that he knew of.

It wasn’t fair.

“Goodbye, Buffy.”

“No…”

“’S time to put this fairytale on hold,” he told her, low enough so that her mother wouldn’t hear. “’S not forever. I promise.”

She pulled back at that, hiccupping and wiping at her eyes.

Her mother looked as though she might cry as well. “You obviously made an impact on her,” she said. “Buffy never lets anyone touch her. Not even her father.”

Spike suspected that notion was well founded, but held his tongue. Instead, he smiled once more, and shrugged. “Guess she jus’…I dunno. She doesn’ strike me as the shy type.”

“Well, I…oh! I’m gonna go get my card. Just in case you, you know, ever need anything and can’t find someone to—”

He held up a hand. “No, that’s—”

“I insist. Please, it’s the least I can do.”

She wasn’t going to be satisfied until he said yes to one of her offers. And the longer he stood before the tearful girl, the more he wanted to grab her and run. Sod his plans. He’d watch over her and claim her when she was old enough. He’d do anything to stop her crying.

The connection between mates, even without the words and the blood exchange, was potent enough that he reckoned he would feel her pain for days before the sensation finally knew rest. They’d been together now for nearly fourteen hours. What she felt, he felt. It was a part of nature. A part of what made her his.

A part of his reasoning for turning away.

“Right,” he said, nodding. “Your card. Thanks.”

The woman disappeared down the hall at his acceptance, and he was alone with Buffy again.

“Here,” his small mate said, thrusting her teddy bear into his arms. “So you won’t forget.”

“I won’ forget you, ducks.”

“Mr. Jenkins won’t let you forget me.”

“Take Mr. Jenkins? Won’t he miss you?”

“No. He wants to go with you.”

“Does he, now?” Spike’s eyes rose once more as Buffy’s mother reappeared. “Your daughter is tryin’ to pawn off her stuffed animals on me.”

“She’s giving you Mr. Jenkins?”

“I want Spike to have Mr. Jenkins!” Buffy said stoutly. “Mr. Jenkins wants to go with him.”

The woman smiled awkwardly. “Well,” she said, “there is no swaying her when she sets her mind on something.”

“I don’ feel comfortable—”

“I don’t really, either. She loves Mr. Jenkins…she’s had him since she was born.”

“Well, then—”

“But if you don’t take him, I won’t hear the end of it for days. I guess you’re adopting a bear.” She handed him the aforementioned card. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.”

His eyes fell to the name.

Joyce Summers.

“I won’.” I will. “Thank you.” He pocketed the card and turned his gaze back to the child. “You’re sure about this bear thing?”

“Take him. He doesn’t like it here anymore.”

“’m sure that’s not—”

Joyce raised her hand. “Trust me, if you start down this road, you’ll never leave the house. She won’t change her mind. You don’t know Buffy.”

I will, though. Better than anyone.

“Well…” He looked back to his mate. “’F you’re sure.”

Buffy nodded.

“Okay.” Mr. Jenkins found a temporary home under his arm, and he nodded with finality. “Thanks.”

“No,” Joyce objected. “Thank you for bringing my baby back.”

“Was nothin’.”

It was everything.

“’Bye, Buffy,” he said softly, eyes leaving her face for the last time as he turned and began his way down the walkway, forbidding himself from stopping when she called after him. From even glancing back to what he was leaving behind.

There would be a day. He knew there would be a day.

“Well,” he said, shifting the bear before him. “Look like it’s jus’ you an’ me, Jenks.”

A piece of her to remember her by.

He found it rather comforting. Not her offer; rather the idea that she wanted him to remember her. That she was so terrified he would forget.

Perhaps she would remember him, then, when the time came.

Perhaps.

*~*~*

Three weeks later, he sat outside her bedroom window, listening as an ecstatic shriek pierced through the air.

“Mommy!” he heard her cry. “He got me Mr. Gordo! Spike got me Mr. Gordo!”

Satisfied, he stuck a cigarette between his lips and turned to get on with his life.

No regrets, now. He forbade it.

His family was leaving the city today. He felt it. And if they were looking for him, they would be unsuccessful.

He didn’t care to see any of them again. His life was in LA.

No matter how long it took.

Chapter Four

Where The Road Goes


He truly could not stand the passage of time.

Before, when he was unaware of it, time seemed to fly as though the hand of God could not stop its course. He had barely blinked and the Boxer Rebellion came and went. His fifty-year anniversary with Drusilla happened nearly the day after he was turned. He’d lived through three major wars, witnessed a thousand smaller skirmishes, and with a few exceptions, had all but ignored the chances brought with each passing day. Technology was gained, but he took to it without fawning. He’d learned to drive, grew into music fads, and picked up smoking, it seemed, all in the same weekend.

When Buffy was six, he watched through the window as her mother prepared her for her first day of kindergarten. Watched as she was given the low-down on the dos and don’ts, and how Joyce promised six times within five minutes to be at the school the minute the dismissal bell rang.

He watched her as she struggled to find sleep. Watched and waited, and felt all the more useless for not being able to comfort his mate.

Felt more and more like some Angelus wannabe for the way he couldn’t seem to distance himself from the girl. Stalking wasn’t Spike’s forte—well, not in the manner of his grandsire. He knew how to be stealthy, but rarely enacted said knowledge for the greater thrill of being startling and unpredictable. Furthermore, it was difficult for him to remain secluded for any number of years. His nature wouldn’t allow him to stay away.

It was against everything he knew as a vampire. Vampires were destined to protect their mates. He couldn’t protect her if he couldn’t see her. If he didn’t know, every minute of every day, that she was all right. That she wasn’t sick, or hurt, or upset. He didn’t have the bloodlink yet. He couldn’t feel her simply by existing. He couldn’t do anything but watch and hope that some night, when he awoke, it would be her eighteenth birthday and this insufferable waiting would be over.

He dreamed of her often. Dreamed of the woman she would be when he could see her eyes again, wondered if she would even remember him.

If she would remember the night she had changed his destiny, and set the course for hers.

He didn’t know if he wanted her to remember him. As much as he cherished the thought of her brightening the minute he walked back into her life, he didn’t want their last moments together to be the foundation of their relationship. Didn’t want her to ever think of the way he’d turned and left her as she begged him to stay.

That and the thought of seducing his mate was simply too tasty to dismiss.

He wondered what she would look like. How much of the girl he knew would shape her into the woman she became.

He drove himself mad with the thought of her, but there was nothing else for him.

Nothing else to do but watch and wait.

*~*~*

She was eight years old the day she first came home with bruises on her arms. He watched from outside, as always, after the sun had gone down, and he was assuredly enveloped in darkness. There was a wall and a good twenty feet between him and the family inside, but distance provided no obstacle, nor did the physical barrier that kept them from each other.

Hank Summers, Buffy’s father, had arrived home late again, and was none too pleased with what Joyce had to say.

“So she got in a fight,” he told her dismissively. “Buffy’s ten—”

“Eight,” Joyce corrected, her face marred with ire.

“Eight. She’s eight. Getting into fights is what kids do.”

“This wasn’t a kid’s fight, Hank! The bruises on her arms…it’s a handprint. Do you know many eight year olds with adult-sized handprints?”

“You’re imagining things.”

“I am not!” Joyce’s temper finally spun out of control; she’d been working up to it for about ten minutes. Spike watched with interest as the plate she was washing smashed against the counter, sending sharp, orange shards across the floor.

Bugger. She ruined her fiesta plates.

The years had taught him that Joyce was a woman who liked order. They’d also taught him that he hated Buffy’s father with a passion, and respect for his small mate was the only thing that kept daddy dearest alive.

For the moment, though, his rage had shifted to the phantom that was harming his girl.

“Buffy keeps telling us that Mrs. Krane treats her badly,” she said. “That she’s strict with children, and she doesn’t—”

Hank waved his wife off with a snort and a roll of the eyes. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he said. “Mrs. Krane? You think Buffy’s teacher is responsible for this? That’s a pretty serious allegation, Joyce.”

“Well, I happen to think black and blue marks on my daughter’s body are also pretty serious, Hank.”

“I never said—”

“No, stop it. First thing tomorrow, I’m going to arrange a meeting with Mrs. Krane and see what sort of disciplinary acts she feels are appropriate against eight year-olds.”

Spike had heard enough, and his demon was riled.

Joyce needn’t worry about arranging a meeting.

*~*~*

School had been out for a half hour.

Spike had spent the day in the basement of Buffy’s elementary building; pacing, smoking himself into a frenzy, and angering his demon to the point of homicidal outrage each time he replayed the conversation he’d overheard the night before.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard of this sort of thing. Hell, when he was Buffy’s age, a caning was a perfectly acceptable punishment for all sorts of misbehavior. Then again, girls, as he recalled, never got it quite so harshly as the boys. Furthermore, there had been a few cases, even recently, where teachers were criticized for their disciplinary techniques; spankings and the like.

He had little doubt that Joyce’s assumptions were correct, and he wasn’t exactly looking to garner proof. If he was wrong, he’d feel maybe the twinge of a twinge of guilt—but more likely a tug of annoyance at having wasted a perfectly good kill on the wrong victim—shrug, and then kill the one truly responsible.

Joyce’s meeting was scheduled for four in the afternoon, right after she closed her gallery. It was a holiday weekend, and a Friday at that, and he had learned that she liked to reward her employees by wrapping up shop early whenever the opportunity presented itself.

He found Mrs. Krane as he suspected he would; she was seated at her desk, grading what had to be spelling quizzes. She didn’t even notice him come in.

The sun was on the other side of the building now. It was dark, and she was alone.

All too bloody easy.

People never paid attention anymore; whether it be in a classroom, not a notably hostile scene, or walking down alleys after dark. The stupidity of the human race seemed to fluctuate by the year. Honestly, this was Los Angeles—and not a very respectable neighborhood, at that.

Mrs. Krane didn’t seem bothered.

“My, my,” Spike drawled, sticking a cigarette between his lips. The woman screamed and jumped out of her seat, and he felt her pulse intensify. “Looks like a li’l birdie is workin’ after hours.”

Seeing him only appeared to intensify her discomfort.

Yeah…that was good.

“C-can I help you?”

The woman leapt to her feet, straightening the few wrinkles in her skirt and adjusting the glasses on her nose. She was a small, mousy thing. Her hair was long and brown, pulled back into a severe bun. She couldn’t be more than thirty, but her fatigue gave her the look of forty-five.

Amazingly, Spike wasn’t moved to sympathy.

“’m here on part of a student of yours.”

“Ohhh…really? Which one?”

“Buffy Summers.”

“Oh.” Color returned to her cheeks, and she offered a tentative smile. “I thought it was going to be Mrs. Summers that—”

“Joyce is still comin’.” The strictness in his tone caused her skin to pale again, her eyes widening in fear. There was something, he admitted, about people that charmed him for their ability to sense danger the minute it was directly in front of them. Not before—not when it mattered—but they were extremely talented in pinpointing their final moments right before said final moments commenced. “You, I’m afraid, won’ be here to take her meetin’.”

He stepped forward; she stepped back. And then they were dancing.

“I…I don’t understand…”

“Buffy’s been comin’ home with bruises,” he said gravely, prowling another step forward. “Bruises that look to be a li’l…well, let’s jus’ say, adult, considerin’ the kids in your class.”

“I don’t—”

“Yeh, you don’t.”

“Mr. Summers—”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “’m not Buffy’s father,” he growled. “’m her…benefactor. An’ I have a special interest in makin’ sure she gets her learnin’ in an environment where she doesn’ feel she might be beaten if she answers a math question incorrectly.”

“I would never—”

“Now, now. We’re both smarter than that.” He smiled thinly. “Let’s be adults about this, right?”

Her expression turned from fear to defiance in a matter of seconds. “You can’t prove anything.”

The smile turned malicious, and her bravado vanished. “Thanks to that,” he snarled, his fangs descending. “I won’ need to.”

Mrs. Krane threw her head back and screamed. She screamed loud and well. Screamed like a woman trained to scream when faced with actual danger, however fruitless it might be. He had her cornered in seconds.

Then her screams stopped, and he drank.

*~*~*

Five years passed before he found it necessary to directly interfere with Buffy’s life again.

She was thirteen. God, he couldn’t believe she was thirteen. She was bubbly and sweet, and popular from what he could tell, and blossoming in the way all young girls blossomed when they first entered the radar of the opposite sex.

Spike had promised himself somewhere along the way that, regardless of what happened, he would not let his jealousy motivate his demon. There was a protective need among mates, especially when approached with competition, to eliminate whatever factor stood between them.

He didn’t think Buffy would warm to him too much if she found out he was the cause of her adolescent boyfriends’ nasty habit of turning up dead. Thus, he watched as she experienced her first kiss from the shadows. Watched her fall into what she thought was love while barely maintaining his need to rip the boy’s head off his shoulders. There were a couple days when he found himself so consumed with possessiveness that he ended up killing three or four similarly-looking blokes simply to feel vindicated.

He didn’t interfere, though. It took everything he was, but he refused to interfere.

He didn’t want to do things now that would spurn hatred for him later. It wasn’t as though she knew any better. Wasn’t as though she was doing this to purposefully torment him. He wagered she had long ago dismissed his memory as a distant dream.

He didn’t know whether to feel valiant or like a big wanker for restraining himself. The years hadn’t seen him change his lifestyle. He still hunted. He still killed. He still enjoyed it. On the surface, nothing had changed to make him any more or less the vampire he had been for over a century.

On the surface, nothing had. It was all internal. He refrained from killing when he thought it might upset Buffy. He stalked her from the shadows because it was as close as he dared to get to her. And he hated every moment of it.

Spike didn’t belong lurking in the shadows. For the past near-decade, he had nearly gone mad with silence.

And it wasn’t over yet. Five more years waited for him. Five more years of watching.

If any bloke came close to taking Buffy’s virginity, though, they would die. He didn’t care what she thought of him. There were parts of her that belonged to him, and he wouldn’t allow anyone else to get close enough to even know the thrill of her scent.

Not that he credited human males for appreciating the musk of an aroused woman. Not that he’d been close enough to Buffy to know the scent, himself. She was still a child. She was blossoming into a woman, but she was still a child.

Something a git by the name of Thomas Randall didn’t seem to understand.

It was the first actual date his girl had ever been on. The boy even came by to pick her up at her house. Spike waited on the sidelines as he always did, and followed in his Desoto, and watched.

Thomas Randall took Buffy to a park. That was the first warning sign. A park, after dark, in Los Angeles. He might be a male kid, but he was still male. Either he wanted to show off, or he was interested in getting her somewhere secluded and vulnerable.

Buffy said no three times. Thomas Randall didn’t want to hear it.

And the minute he got forceful, the demon within Spike snapped. The demon didn’t think. He couldn’t. He vamped and roared, and it was over. In a blink, he rushed them, tackled Thomas Randall to the ground. Buffy was already across the park by the time the kid was dead.

Spike dropped by her house later to make sure she arrived home safely. She had, and he about collapsed with relief.

Buffy didn’t have any dates after that for a long, long time.

*~*~*

In eleven years, he’d only interfered twice.

In eleven years, he’d stood in the shadows and watched her grow up.

They were extreme circumstances, understandably. A power-hungry teacher and a kid who wanted to become a man much too early, and now never would.

Eleven years, and he only had to interfere twice.

Then the day happened. Buffy turned fifteen.

His girl turned fifteen.

And everything changed.Chapter Five

The Minor Fall And The Major Lift


Spike sat in the driver’s seat of his Desoto, stunned motionless. For the first time in fifteen years, Buffy had snuck out of her house. He didn’t know whether to be proud or alarmed.

More over, she was following some tall bloke in a fedora and a long brown coat. No, no, no, he didn’t like the look of this at all. The old sod had the classic appearance of a pervy pedophile.

Buffy also looked fidgety. That bothered him more than anything. In the eleven years he’d spent following her, she’d never had a nervous moment. Right now, she looked downright terrified, and it was doing a number on him; every muscle in his body was wound tighter than a violin string.

The old man led her to a car that gave Spike’s Desoto a run for its money in the category of charm. The vampire allowed them a brief head start. Very brief. The numbers on the old man’s license burned in his mind; there was absolutely no way he could ever lose her. Her sight, her scent, the impression she made on him…body and the other thing. He waited about two minutes, drew in an unneeded breath, then revved the engine to life.

Fifteen minutes later, he couldn’t believe where he was.

The man had taken Buffy to a cemetery.

Bleedin’ fuck! He’s tryin’ to get her killed!

If not to administer the killing blow himself, then to certainly make her vamp meat for all the newbies rising that evening.

Good Lord.

As Buffy got older, the temptation for Spike to reveal himself to her had similarly been getting stronger. Watching as she wasted time with boys she had no future with. As human hands touched what was his. As others tasted her lips, ran fingers through her hair, and fumbled over his gorgeous girl.

She was gorgeous. Painfully so. It only served to weaken his resolve.

But he wasn’t going to do it. He forbade himself. She was still far too young, and he refused to pull an Angelus and turn a blind eye when it came to things that young girls weren’t ready to grasp. He’d stood by for a hundred years, watching little girls get sired and staked for fun. Watching and knowing what his wanker of a grandsire had done to Drusilla; what he did to pass the time.

It hadn’t truly bothered Spike until he mentally put Buffy in the shoes of so many of those faceless girls, and then it enraged him.

Truthfully, eighteen was still a bit too young, but he didn’t think he could stand to wait any longer than that. He would make his move the day California law saw her as an adult. After all, if it was good enough for the feds, he wagered it was good enough for him. Until then, there would be more nights like this.

More nights following her, hoping he walked into a time warp that dragged the years ahead.

This man was taking Buffy to a cemetery. If anything happened, Spike feared losing his heart’s desire. Everything he had been setting himself toward. Every goal he’d made. Every promise he’d sworn he’d keep to himself.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Buffy was saying. “I can’t believe I’m in a graveyard with a strange man hunting for vampires on a school night.”

Spike froze.

Hunting for…what?

Oh my God.

“Why didn’t you ever tell anybody about your dreams?” the man replied, his voice aged with an accent Spike was very familiar with.

And just like that, everything around the vampire collapsed.

No. No. It can’t…she can’t…bloody hell, this isn’t fair!

Buffy was the Slayer. Buffy had been called. God, Buffy had been called. Just a few days ago, Spike had gotten word that the one from Paris had died in a patrol gone bad. And now here he was, and Buffy was the Slayer. Buffy was the new Chosen One.

In a day—in one bloody day—his mate, his salvation, had been given an expiration date.

No.

Tears stung his eyes. The past few years had conditioned him to accept that his young mate was human. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t imagine he ever would, but it no longer bothered him. Rather, he had embraced the wonder and gratitude that he had found his mate at all. Whether or not he had to wait for her, that span of time would be nothing compared to the eternity they would eventually have.

And now this.

Buffy was the Slayer.

His Buffy.

Spike killed slayers. He’d tasted the life of two before her. Before he even knew her. Before he even knew it was possible that anyone out there was destined to belong to him.

Buffy.

Not fair. None of this was fair. Was he such a miserable excuse of a vampire that this was his punishment?

“Oh, yeah, tell everyone that I’m crazy,” Buffy retorted cynically. “’Cause that option is with the sense-making.”

Spike willed his eyes closed and muttered an oath. He had to have strength to get through this. To not lose it here. To watch and wait. To be given some sort of explanation for why he was forever the Powers’ punching bag.

My mate. My gorgeous mate.

“This is it,” he heard the man say. They had stopped at a headstone. “Robert Berman was killed three days ago. The body was found in the bushes out by the canal. Extensive tissue damage—tearing—at the neck and shoulders. Coroner thinks it’s a dog.” He turned and indicated a plot across from the grave. “You sit here.”

Buffy obeyed reluctantly, and plopped atop another stone.

Even now, with new knowledge compressing him, wrangling his willpower, he found her graceless beauty enchanting.

Mine.

Buffy was his. Slayer or not. Enemy or not. She belonged to him.

The man—whom Spike could only assume to be her Watcher—reached into his jacket, pulled out a stake and a cross. The latter he handed to the Slayer.

Buffy froze, and the vampire froze right along with her. “Wait a minute,” she said uncertainly.

“Just for protection. You won’t have to do anything. I just need you to watch.”

“All right. What do we do now?”

The Watcher paused dramatically, then moved over to the headstone opposing the girl. “We wait for Robert to wake up.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Spike could’ve sworn his heart was beating again.

“Do you have any gum?” Buffy asked after a minute.

The Watcher tossed her an irritated glance. Then there was nothing.

It didn’t take long. After a few moments of prickly silence, a low, almost indistinct moan filtered slowly through the soil and touched the night air. Buffy sat up straight, the cross in her hand shooting protectively to her chest. The moan became louder in a flash; a growl instead.

Spike’s ears tingled. He knew well that sound.

Some little boy was digging his way through his coffin.

The Watcher was pitching a newly called slayer into the thick of it without even telling her where to aim her stake? Spike’s horror faded to outrage, and he felt his face shift and his fangs descend. If this baby vamp came anywhere near his mate, there would be all hell to pay.

First the youngster, then her Watcher for pitting her against a fledgling without proper training.

The look on Buffy’s face was stunned; aghast. She watched the vampire climb out of his grave; stared as her Watcher grabbed the newly revived Robert Berman and raised the stake over his head.

Spike knew that she had seen this before, of course. Eleven years earlier after his former lover had abducted the little girl from a toy store; Buffy had seen Dru’s bumpies. Hell, she had even seen his. Spike honestly didn’t know if Buffy was now frozen with astonishment or if her mind had jarred a distant memory, and she was reliving something he was nearly certain she’d forgotten.

She didn’t notice the stirring beneath her. But Spike did.

Another vampire was going to rise tonight.

Shit.

The arms burst forward first, seizing her around the middle and pulled her to the ground. Buffy snapped out of her daze and screamed. She screamed like she had never screamed before, and Spike burst forward before he could help himself. His mate was in trouble; there was no way he could sit still and watch.

It didn’t make much of a difference. He stopped just as Buffy yanked herself out of the vampire’s grasp, began to run, then remembered the cross that her Watcher had given her. She shoved the small crucifix against the woman’s skin and her eyes widened in horror as the vampire began to burn.

“’Bye now,” his mate said quickly, turning and running toward for her Watcher.

Spike’s eyes fell to the abandoned woman, whimpering at her cross-burns. A familiar look of angered vengeance shadowed her eyes, and he cursed loudly. Buffy had already broken a cardinal rule; she’d left an enemy alive.

His eyes fell to the ground; a makeshift stake in the form of a fallen branch meeting his gaze.

He was about to break every law of his nature—throw himself in with a slayer. For her he would kill his own kind, and not out of defense or anger, or any reason justifiable to the unspoken vampiric code. Kill his own kind because his mate was the Chosen One, and she was in danger.

His mate.

He had the stake in his hand the next minute, and watched it spiral across the graveyard until the angered vampire was nothing but an explosion of dust.

Bugger.

Everything he had known for a hundred years was gone.

Spike glanced anxiously to Buffy, who was on the ground, staring at her hands, a cloud of dust falling around her. Her back was to him, her knees tucked under her body, and he could see her trembling even at a distance.

My girl.

He’d never seen a slayer the night she was called. Truthfully, he’d never even thought about it. Never cared enough about the terror that the girl must feel. Never thought of the life her calling interrupted. Never even blinked in consideration. To him—to all vampires—slayers were either feared or hunted. He’d killed two and spent every day thereafter either bragging about it or reliving it in times of staunch boredom.

Buffy was terrified. His girl was wholly terrified.

“Where’s the other one?” the Watcher asked, shooting a look in Spike’s direction.

“I…” She shook her head and shuddered. “I don’t…know.”

“You didn’t stake the other one; where did it go?”

“My answer hasn’t changed since the last time you asked me that question.” She slowly rose on wobbly legs, wiping dust off her body, her eyes trained on the ground. “I…I killed—”

“Staked,” the Watcher corrected. “Slayed. You didn’t kill anything. Robert was already dead.”

“I…”

“You did him a favor, I promise. Vampires are mere shadows of the people they once were. Robert was dead; you slayed the thing that killed him.” He placed a hand on Buffy’s shoulder. “This is what you do, now.”

What she does.

Spike’s eyes darkened dangerously.

What she does. She kills my kind. She hunts us. An’ they will never stop huntin’ her.

She’s the Slayer.

That thought had the demon raging. Kill Slayer. And then all chaos broke loose, as any notion to lift a hand against his mate was enough to rip his innards to shreds. He couldn’t fathom harming her. He’d walk into sunlight before touching her in anger or rage. He couldn’t make her bleed without dying.

Slayer…

Spike’s eyes fell shut and he expelled a deep breath.

Mate. The Slayer is your mate.

Mate.

What she does…what she is…is yours.

Her voice snapped him back, and his eyes absorbed her as though he was seeing her for the first time. She was gorgeous. His mate—his Slayer—was absolutely gorgeous. And she was all his.

“What I do. Why is this what I do?”

“Because you were Chosen.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “Yeah, well, unchoose me.”

“That is not an option.”

Spike’s heart broke. Oh, Buffy.

If he ever found the sod that thought mucking with his unlife was so hysterical, he swore he was going to rip out his innards and feed them to hungry maggots.

“Not an option?” Buffy’s gaze flared as she tossed her stake to the ground. “Watch me make it one.”

She turned and stormed away in a huff, her anger doing little to mask how hard she was still trembling. And Spike was torn.

He needed to be with her. Needed to console her. Needed to hold her as they shared their mutual outraged confusion. His fear for the future; his fear for her. In a hundred years, he hadn’t had anything to fear. Not as a member of Aurelius, not even as Dru’s boy toy. There had never been anything to fear before. Not until Buffy.

Can’t. Can’t go to her now.

His earlier resolve remained; furthermore, even if it didn’t, dumping on her that she was the mate of a vampire the very night she discovered she was destined to dedicate her life to fighting vampires wasn’t fair to her.

Not that any of this was fair to him. It hadn’t been from the beginning.

He followed the Watcher, who caught up with Buffy without much effort. She had stopped at the entrance of the cemetery; the weight on her shoulders crashing down.

“Why me?” he heard her ask, her voice overwhelmed with emotion. She hadn’t even needed to turn around to sense the elder man there. She simply stood waiting for him to join her. “Why, Merrick? There are billions of girls in the world. Why the hell was I tapped?”

“That’s a perfectly fair question,” the Watcher replied. “And I don’t have an answer.”

“I’m only…there’s only one? There’s just me, right? And…how many vampires?”

“Considerably more than one.”

Buffy’s eyes welled with tears, and the scent only weakened Spike’s resolve.

“I can’t do this.”

“Well, no. Right now, you can’t. But you will be able to. With time and training, you’ll be ready.”

“Ready?”

There was a pause. “An exceptionally old vampire arrived in Los Angeles three days ago, foreseeing the calling of a new slayer.”

Buffy forced a humorless laugh. “I’ve been the Slayer for an hour, and I’ve already got a fan.”

“He’s old. He’s wise. He’s also as arrogant as any vampire I’ve ever encountered.” Merrick expelled a deep breath. “Perhaps with the exception of one or two from the clan of Aurelius.”

Spike couldn’t help it; he smirked.

“Who is it?” the Slayer asked.

“An ancient. His true name was lost to the ages; he goes by Lothos.”

The vampire froze in his tracks and moaned.

Bugger.

Lothos. He bleeding hated Lothos. Some buggering slayer-killer who enjoyed a good rampage every other century. And yes, while a brief run-in during World War I that resulted in making Angelus look even more the git than he was had briefly warmed Spike’s opinion of him, he still hated the so-called ancient just for his planet-sized ego.

Lothos was the only vampire in history whose slayer rap sheet was longer than his, and that was only due to the fact that he had a few hundred more years on his side. Admittedly, he was one of the oldest vamps that had made it to the twentieth century, and consequentially, he thought he was invincible.

He sired those who were too weak to fight him. He killed slayers that had only just been called. He took lives that weren’t worth living, or weren’t strong enough to give him a decent run for his money.

And Buffy was his latest conquest.

Not if I have a bleedin’ say about it.

If his mate was a slayer, she’d be the best bloody slayer the world had ever known.

That would be a challenge for him, too. He’d have to fight his demon’s urge to protect her against every threat that came her way. To step in when he felt her life might be getting too dangerous. She was the Slayer. Her life was destined to be dangerous.

She was also branded with an expiration date. She was also supposed to be alone.

No.

Not alone. Not his Slayer.

Even if she didn’t know it, she’d always have him watching over her.

He followed them back to the Summers’ residence, only he took the shortcut that would save him from looking overly conspicuous. He was outside as the Watcher walked his mate to her front door, talking to her quietly as she nervously searched for her house key.

“Go to school tomorrow,” Merrick told Buffy. “Try to act normal. Don’t let anyone know what’s happening. This is important. When the vampires find out who you are…you won’t be hunting them anymore.”

That was a load of bull, but it needed to be said, nonetheless. Spike knew only a handful of vampires that would openly attack a slayer. Furthermore, the older a slayer, the more notoriety she obtained in the underworld. Her name would be broadcast among those she hunted; no stretch of caution would change that.

“All right,” Buffy said shakily.

The Watcher handed her a slip of paper. “Meet me at this address after school.”

“I have cheerleading squad.”

Oh yes. The cheerleading thing. That had been the subject of many of Spike’s nasty fantasies over the past few months.

“Skip it,” the Watcher replied.

“Merrick…they can’t come in, right? Unless you invite them. Is that true?”

“It’s true.”

Spike sighed. He had an invitation to Buffy’s house. He’d had one for a long time. The last thing he needed, though, was for the Watcher to fill her mind with horror stories of vampires. While most—if not all—were true, he didn’t need any more barriers between them.

He was soulless as any vampire. He’d never felt it, but he was.

She’ll want me to stop, he realized. Stop killin’. Stop everythin’.

He didn’t know what was worse; changing his nature, or the sudden swell of devotion he felt to whatever it was she needed from him. Even if it meant defying everything he was and had been.

“You know, she’ll be able to sense you some day.”

Spike stiffened, his eyes narrowing as Merrick turned the corner, his expression unimpressed.

“’m not too worried,” he replied. “I’ve gotten this far, haven’ I?”

“Buffy is the Slayer. She’s going to learn to scope out her surroundings. Going to learn to sense when vampires are near.” The Watcher studied him gravely. “And what are you doing following her every move, anyway?”

“She’s the Slayer, isn’t she?”

“No one knows that yet. No one can. The only vampires she’s run into—”

“You know nothin’ of the vamps she’s run into.”

“Really? Try me.”

Spike snickered. “Well, ‘f you think Lothos is bad business, you really shoulda been around eleven years ago. She was snagged by one of the nastiest clans in history.”

Merrick gave him a long, cold look; then his eyes widened with understanding. “You’re William the Bloody,” he said. “You’re the one that went missing.”

“The one that went missin’? Is that what they’re callin’ me these days?”

“The Order of Aurelius lost William the Bloody eleven years ago. Coincidentally, that was when they were recorded for a brief stint in Los Angeles.”

The vampire fidgeted uncomfortably. “How do you know that?”

“I’m a Watcher. It’s my job to know that.” Merrick’s gaze flickered to the house, then back to the vampire before him. “So it’s happened, then. I don’t believe it.”

“What?”

But that was all he said. The look on his face went stony, and Spike all but screamed in outrage.

He knew something. The old bugger knew something.

“If you hurt her, you will suffer for it.”

Spike arched a brow. “Funny. I was about to tell you the same thing.”

“I’m her Watcher.”

“Yeh, an’ Watchers have a nasty habit of gettin’ their slayers extremely dead.”

“William the Bloody leaping to the defense of slayers? Now I’ve seen everything.” Merrick shook his head. “You’ve been with her for eleven years, haven’t you?”

“Din’t I jus’ say that?” Spike’s eyes darkened and he stepped forward. “An’ you know why.”

“Of course I know why. I just didn’t think it was possible.”

“Well, that makes two of us.” The vampire turned and fumbled through his duster pockets for his cigarettes. “I won’ hurt her, mate. It’s physically impossible for me to hurt her, even if I wanted to. I don’t. I can’t even…I don’ care if she wins the Slayer of the Millennia award. When she’s cut, I bleed. That’s the way this thing works, yeh? An’ for the record, I got that other vamp tonight. You think I’m gonna let my girl go out by herself?”

“You have to.”

“Bollocks.”

“You have to. If I’m going to believe this, she can’t be distracted by your presence everywhere she goes. It will throw her off. It will endanger her. Your being there could well get her killed.” Merrick’s eyes darkened. “You can’t stop her from being the Slayer, but you can stop her from being a good one.”

“So I’m s’posed to stand by the sidelines an’ twiddle my thumbs while my mate’s out there, possibly catchin’ herself an’ extremely serious case of dead? Don’ think so.”

“If you step in for her every time there’s a threat, she’ll never know what she’s truly capable of.” He paused. “Just out of curiosity, why haven’t you done it?”

“Done it?”

The Watcher arched a brow. “Taken her. There are no marks on her throat, and I don’t believe her stunned fear was a show. You’ve just been watching her, then. You haven’t enacted your right on her.”

“She was four.”

“She’s fifteen now.”

“Yeh, an’ everyone’s all grown up when they’re fifteen.”

“You’re waiting until…”

“She’s eighteen.” Spike threw his hands up. “Never said I was a saint. I can’t bloody well wait forever.”

“And you don’t want her to see you.”

“Gee, sparky, was it my ‘skulkin’ to the shadows’ game plan that clued you in to that?”

Merrick shook his head. “A vampire doing his best to respect the boundaries of a girl that is, for all intents and purposes, his. My, my, I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Well, I’m glad to make your ‘Top Ten Things I Thought I’d Never’ list, but ‘f you don’ mind, I have a mate to protect.” Spike nodded to the tree outside Buffy’s window. The same that had practically been his second home over the past decade.

“You sit and watch her every night?”

“Most nights.”

“That’s…”

“What I do. All I know to do.” The vampire kicked at the ground. “’m the firs’ of my kind, that I know of, that couldn’t claim his mate right off. What the hell else am I s’posed to do? Knit sweater sets? Take it with a sodding smile an’ a nod? When vamps mate, they feel everythin’. There’s a connection there that you can’t…there’s a connection. I don’ have that. All I have is this thing where I gotta make sure she’s all right, ‘cause my eyes are all I can rely on right now. So yeh. I stalk. I lurk. I take notes outta my wanker of a grandsire’s book. Am I proud? Fuck no. You got a better plan, an’ I’m all for it. But this is all I have right now. Some day, she’ll be mine, an’ I think you’re a smart enough bloke to know not to stop me from takin’ what’s mine.”

“Stop you? No.” Merrick paused. “But don’t think I won’t stake you just because you’re an exception.”

“Don’ think I won’ eat you ‘cause you’re her Watcher. I’m willin’ to bet that I got a lot more experience killin’ pulsers than you do stakin’ vamps.” Spike tossed his half-smoked fag to the ground and stomped it out. “Now, ‘f you don’ mind, I got a mate to watch over.”

“If word gets out that Buffy has a vampire mate, they’ll use her against you…and vice versa.”

The thought made him shudder, but he didn’t take the bait. “I like to live dangerously.”

Merrick didn’t move for about ten minutes. By the time he did, he was all but forgotten. Spike’s eyes were glued to the window separating him from his mate.

His small Slayer.

Why the Watcher left without making an attempt on his life, Spike didn’t know or care. Everyone had their reasons, and it seemed Merrick wasn’t quite as ignorant to this business as the vampire was. Perhaps there was something more there. Something to be learned.

When he was alone, the vampire took his usual place in the aforementioned tree. His mind was clouded with dark thoughts, but he refused to be moved. Buffy was the Slayer? So bloody be it. It wasn’t as though they didn’t have obstacles to overcome anyway.

If Spike was a pun to the fates, he was going to give them a run for their money. They obviously didn’t know who they were dealing with.

He didn’t call it quits when he was nearing the finish line. He didn’t. They could throw whatever they liked at him, and he’d take it in stride.

There was Lothos. He would deal with Lothos, and it had very little to do with Buffy. Rather, he’d been looking for a reason to kill the bastard ever since their first meeting, and now he had one.

He wasn’t a part of the Order anymore. He was just a vampire.

And master vamps didn’t take too kindly to their territory being threatened. Los Angeles had been his territory for over a decade, and he wasn’t going to let some big-name-no-show take over as though they were stuck in one of those drastically unfunny westerns.

Buffy was the Slayer. His small, innocent girl.

Spike fidgeted and withdrew his pack of cigs again.

He just hoped she was up for it. He wasn’t going to let her bow out. She would be the longest living slayer in history. She would live as long as he did.

She would be the best.

 *~*~*

Two weeks later, Buffy was kicked out of school. She’d burned down a building. She’d come home every night with bruises and scrapes, tempting his fangs with the richness of her blood.

She’d burnt down a building.

And Merrick was dead.

Lothos was dead, too, but that was a different story. A short, funny story about a vamp that spent his time siring wimpy, Pee-Wee Herman like lackeys and very little time doing actual grunt work. He’d growled a threat at Spike and was dust the next second.

Buffy, in the meantime, had lost her Watcher and burnt down a building. In her second week, she was already the best. What a nymph she would be. What a goddess.

His Slayer. His little Slayer.

And he couldn’t wait to share the dance.

Chapter Six

Somewhere In Her Smile



There was something about the ground of the Hellmouth that made his demon purr like a kitten. Truthfully, there were times when he felt uncomfortable with the demon’s need to be somewhere that he would just as soon leave were it not for Joyce’s strange determination to make life work in Sunnydale. The woman didn’t seem to understand that picking up the pieces didn’t mean the puzzle had to stay together on the first try. But then again, she didn’t have a hundred and seventeen years of undead living under her belt for the needed perspective.

What was worse, he felt himself growing comfortable in Sunnydale. The small town feel was a pleasant change from the fast-paced life he’d come to know in Los Angeles. More over, the graveyards were older, and the local mausoleums had a feel to them that was homier than most; like they needed to be domiciles as much as they were tombs. He’d found one perfect for his needs the first day in town, kicked its resident out—which didn’t matter much, as said resident was quite dead—and packed it in with all sorts of goodies that every vampire needs.

Eleven years in Los Angeles. He couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t stayed in one place that long since before he was turned. It made the move bittersweet, but he felt no pangs of loss. It didn’t fill his blood with reservation when Joyce announced to her daughter that they were leaving. No local school would take Buffy as it was, and LA had too many negative connotations for her anyway.

Some she knew about; some she didn’t.

Hank Summers had packed and left a week and a half after Buffy was expelled from Hemery High School. Spike had sat faithfully outside her bedroom window in the tree that now belonged to someone else, his heart breaking as she sobbed into her pillow. Hard sobs; sobs he knew even better than he wanted to admit.

He’d wanted nothing more that night than to open her window, take her in his arms, and promise her that he’d do everything in his power to keep her from that sort of hurt again.

She lost her school. She lost her friends. She lost her boyfriend—which was really better for the boyfriend, as Spike’s understanding of her girlish need to flirt had about run its course. She’d lost her father. She’d lost her Watcher. Then, to top all off, she lost her home.

But that had been three years earlier, and things were different now.

Buffy was rapidly approaching her eighteenth birthday. Yes, things were considerably different now.

She’d also blossomed into the fiercest slayer he’d ever known, and watching her was his favorite hobby. She moved as though she could twist the air around her into poetry. She was glorious when in the midst of a fight. When fangs were bared, it felt as though her prey had crossed the invisible line from their world and into hers; problem was, her world contained rules that she set out, whereas the vampire game never changed.

Spike kept a careful distance. Merrick, it turned out, had been right. She was all too talented at feeling when vampires were near. She was the Slayer. No longer a little girl. No longer set by the laws of society. No, she was definitely the Slayer.

His outrage at the Powers had long since quelled. He would never pretend to understand it, and he was far from all right with the twist that fate had handed him. There simply was no point in arguing with it. Nothing could ever change what he knew to be true; Buffy belonged to him. He hadn’t chosen it, but it was the way things were. The way things were supposed to be. And as much as his reputation might suggest otherwise, he wasn’t much for picking fights where he knew the outcome was already set.

There had to be a reason. A reason, or a cosmic mix-up. Either way, that didn’t set him apart from anything. Buffy was his.

And his demon was tired of waiting.

The hardest year was her seventeenth. Knowing it was the last. Knowing all he wanted was a short three hundred and sixty-five days away. Knowing that she was so close to him, he could practically feel her skin beneath his, and that the distance between them was no longer mapped by time.

That she was close to him.

On the nights that he was brave enough, he would climb up the tree outside her bedroom window and watch her sleep. Watch her burrow her face in her pillow and clutch the pig that he had given her forever ago close to her heart. Her love-worn Mr. Gordo that practically traveled everywhere that she did.

Seventeen years old, and she didn’t let anyone quite as close to her as she did that pig. Not her sodding ex of a pulser boyfriend, not her mates, not even her Watcher—the permanent one. The one that hadn’t gone dead in two weeks.

Buffy’s life since she arrived in Sunnydale had been the expected teenage melodrama of ups and downs, only with the added dose of a hellmouth’s touch. She had stopped the gates of Hell from opening twice now. Hell, she’d even done in the Master. The Master. He’d all but forgotten about the Master. Darla’s prince of a sire that had gotten himself under the ruins of a church.

Spike had nearly come out of the shadows then. Buffy slipped away to kill the Master when no one was watching.

He would never forget that feeling. He’d been asleep, kept with the lonely company of Mr. Jenkins, only to feel the deep, agonizing feel of his unclaimed mate in danger—a sensation he hadn’t even known existed until that moment. He’d practically shot out of his crypt. Had shut down all emotions except the one innate honing device that knew where she was at all times. That knew how to get to her. That felt her when she was out of reach.

It was on the night of some ridiculous dance. He knew that because she’d come home, bitching about the fact that she couldn’t wear her dress anymore due to the nasty cut on her arm.

The whiff of her blood was potent. So warm and welcoming. So his.

He was surprised to this day that he hadn’t tackled her to the ground then.

He’d watched her for so long. Watched her grow from a little girl to a slayer, then from a slayer to a young woman. He thought he might have reservations about this, regardless of his demon’s need. Thought it might be strange for him. Thought it might be anything but what it was.

He never fooled himself. Never tried to be a part of her life more than his nature needed. He’d interfered twice, and then she was a slayer.

He didn’t know how to feel about the rest. He reckoned he wouldn’t until he felt her flesh against his. Until dreams crossed that unspoken line into reality, and her eyes met his for the first time as woman.

Right now, she was patrolling in his cemetery. Christ, she was just ten feet from his front door. And she wasn’t alone.

“I can’t believe I got a B on that test.”

“Well, that just goes to show that the myth about studying helps preparing for quizzes is something that old wives didn’t just make up.”

That was Willow, Buffy’s little redheaded friend who thought the world would end if she got anything below an A+ on everything she did. He remembered one night where, during patrol, his Slayer had spent a half hour consoling the girl for the 92% she’d received on an English paper.

“Well, I must admit that it was nice to read a question and not feel like it’s phrased in Aramaic.”

They were chattering on the way young girls do. Her scent haunted him, even at a distance. Spike watched the door steadily, almost daring her to sense him. Daring her to come into his home and meet his eyes. It wasn’t as though she respected the privacy of vamps; he’d been following her too long, watched her stake too many, to think it otherwise.

And if she came in now, it’d be over. He’d scare the little redhead away, then take what was his.

“Though, totally, Civil War? Got it covered. At least it’s interesting history.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you discovered that Patrick Swayze looks good in Confederate gray.”

“Hence my appreciation of all things historic.” She giggled. “I have no reason to deny this.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, I have a B on a history test. You know how I know it’s mine? My name’s on the top. Buffy Summers, it says. Even in my penmanship.”

“If that’s what you wanna call that illegible scribbling of yours, sure.”

“Funny girl.”

“I have my moments.”

Spike drew in a sharp breath and hazarded a step toward the door. It sounded as though they had stopped just outside; likely reclining against the headstone that was planted literally feet from his door.

“So are you going to the thing on Friday?”

“The ‘oh, as if there aren’t enough reminders that we’re seniors’ thing?”

“I think they’re calling it a mixer.”

“Yeah, well, my title’s more accurate.”

The vampire chortled lightly and took another step toward his door. He heard them as though there wasn’t a wall between them. As though he was beside his mate, and the barriers between them now no longer existed.

“You know,” Willow said, “Owen’s been giving you the eye all week.”

“Owen’s also obsessed with death. Me? He associates with death.”

“I’m just saying, it might be nice to have, you know, a date to the mixer.”

Buffy sighed. “I dunno, Will, I just don’t think I wanna go. It’s gonna be a big thing and I have more tests to attempt to get Bs on.”

“Okay…did the world just flip upside down on its axis, or are you seriously using homework as an excuse for missing a night of partying at the Bronze?”

Spike could practically see his Slayer shrug. “No…it’s just…you don’t need to feel obligated for the lack of action in the department of Buffy’s love-life.”

“I just really don’t want you to be all—”

“Third-wheely?”

“Yes. No!” Willow scowled. “Don’t do that.”

“Freudian-slip you into truth telling?”

“I’m not telling the truth…or…gah. You’re just a big bucket of sneak today, aren’t you?”

“I do what I can.”

“I’m just…I want you to have fun, too. And Xan’s gonna be there—”

“With Cordy. And you’ll be there with Oz, and third-wheel Buffy’ll be there, doing her third-wheel thing and making all her non-third wheel friends feel bad with the guiltage…and that’s never good.”

He could see every move she made. Every flicker of emotion that washed over her face. He knew her so well. Knew the crinkle in her nose when she found something distasteful. Knew the ire that tickled her eyes when a vamp or a demon refused to die quietly. Knew her harmonious laugh, and the way she could light up a room simply by looking into it. He knew her better than anyone, he wagered. Even her mum. He knew what went on after she closed the bedroom door. She was so close that he could practically taste her, and his demon was screaming at him to throw caution to the wind and be done with it.

He wanted to. God, how he wanted to. Seventeen years old; she was so close to eighteen. So bleeding close.

You’ve never been this patient in your life.

Oh, he’d been more than patient. He’d been a bloody saint. Somehow, he’d equated waiting for her in the same category as earning what was his. He didn’t know how that had happened—it simply had, and some blasted internal mechanism wouldn’t allow him to consider anything else.

“You understand, though, that now I’m gonna have guiltage over you being at home.”

“Make you think twice about going out to have fun without me, right?”

“You’re a cruel wench.”

“I’m the Slayer—I’m allowed.”

Spike grinned; he couldn’t help it.

That’s it, baby.

“What if Mr. Right’s at the Bronze and you’re not ‘cause you’re at home, harboring all these delusions of being third-wheelish?”

“Because the chance of that…”

“You’ll never know. All I’m saying is it could happen.”

Buffy snorted and shook her head. “I don’t have that kind of luck.”

Jus’ you wait, sweetheart. Just you wait.

“You’ll never know until you get out there and try to have that kind of luck.”

“Easy peasy says the girl with the boyfriend.” Buffy laughed and held up a hand. “I’m fine, Will. Seriously. Go. Party. Make with the fun. Really, who wants to be out on the town when I can be up to my ass in demon guts? It’s a total no-brainer.”

“I thought you were gonna study.”

“Yeah, because that’s, you know, happening.” She shook her head. “It was a total fluke, that B.”

“You said you studied.”

“Oh, I did. That was the fluke.” There was a sigh. “Well, I think Mr. Harrison isn’t going to appease us tonight.”

“I thought there were severe wounds to the neck…as in, vampire: mark of?”

Buffy worried a lip between her teeth. “Maybe he fell on a rake?”

“That went right through his neck?”

“Well, that’d cause him severe deadness, right?”

Spike smiled and leaned against the wall beside his door. He willed his eyes closed, envisioning her gorgeous face scrunching up in confusion as her quirky mind entertained a variety of assuredly creative possibilities.

“I don’t think we have that kind of luck,” Willow remarked unhappily.

“Let me live in my delusion, okay?”

No such luck. Predictably, the low growl of a vampire tore through the air just seconds later, effectively killing his mate’s adorable theory and rendering the fledgling’s unlife to a handful of regretful seconds.

“Wow, you’d think that vamps would just stop siring lackeys, for all the good it does them,” the redhead observed.

“Yeah, my job would just be so much easier if vamps just stopped making other vamps.” There was a droll note in her voice that forced Spike to stifle a chuckle. “Okay, well, that seems to be the big excitement for the night.”

“Man, and I was all riled up.”

A palpable note of loss struck the vampire’s heart when he felt his mate turn away and start back in the direction of her home. A feeling he was so wretchedly familiar with; that starving ache that whimpered at the loss of her. The wails of his demon had kept him company for a decade and a half, and with the exclusion of Mr. Jenkins in the corner, had served as the only constant he knew he could depend on.

Buffy was too unpredictable to call a constant. He felt her, and that had helped keep him calm; at least until she became the Slayer, and everything went up for grabs.

It wasn’t long, though.

His patience deserved some sort of prize after all this was over. Admittedly, it didn’t take much for Spike to impress himself, but having been a eunuch for fourteen years, especially with as much as demons needed the physical. Somehow, his left hand didn’t make a satisfying bedmate.

That much hadn’t been his choice. He figured the Powers might’ve granted him some leeway in that department, seeing as he got the fuzzy end of the lollipop where mates were concerned. However, his demon reacted just as violently when he even considered satisfying his needs elsewhere as it would under a full claim.

Moreover, despite fourteen sexless years, he found he didn’t want the solace of another woman’s body. That bothered him. His feelings for Buffy, while protective, had not touched what he thought to be traditional love. They were confused, stormy, and passionate, but didn’t touch love. At least, didn’t touch the sort of love he knew. There was no way to love her from afar like this. To love at her; he only hoped that the infatuation buried within the demon’s draw turned into something as powerful as what he’d had in the past. What he’d felt.

Though the longer he mulled it over, the more he was drawn back to the source of his insecurities. The lack of what Dru had given him, and what Darla had always told him would never be his. Buffy was his mate, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. Chances were, she wouldn’t. Chances were, she’d put up a fight.

He’d tie her to him, but she might never love him the way he wanted her to. The way he was afraid to love her, especially without knowing her up close.

The demon didn’t want to admit it, but there was no hiding from the man. Spike needed love. He wanted it. He wanted it from his mate. And if she didn’t love him, he would spend eternity in mourning.

Thus for now, he kept delusions of love aside. Love would be saved for later; after he knew her. After her eyes met his for the first time since she was a child. For the first time as a woman.

He just hoped the demon could keep in line. The closer the day came, the more he itched to have it done with now before he burst with longing. The thought of her close to him was almost too much to even imagine, let alone categorize as inevitable. He’d waited so long, it felt, even with its imminence, that the day would never arrive.

The demon’s control was holding onto its final strings, but not tightly.

He was so close. So damnably close.

The next few days, he feared, would feel longer than the years that preceded them.

But he would get through it; he’d come this far. He wasn’t about to fail now.


*~*~*


There was an unmistakable scent in the air; a scent that froze his blood. A scent that gripped him with alien fear, and sent his mind spiraling through a thousand terrible scenarios. A thousand grizzly images. A thousand ways to inspire his demon to a chaotic snap, take what was his, and make a dash for it.

Couldn’t be. They’d found him at last.

The minute Spike stepped outside his crypt, he knew, and it all but crippled him.

The Order of Aurelius had come to Sunnydale.

ly nervous about this chapter. My betas have all loved it—thankfully—though there have been conflicting opinions, so I’m going to try and cover all bases.

It’s important to remember that the Buffy in this story is very different from the Buffy in Whedonverse. This Buffy doesn’t have the experience with Angel to sour her opinion of vampires and relationships—or anything, now that I mention it. She also is, unknowingly, the unclaimed mate of a vampire. Thus she is subject to the same drives that Spike is, only it’s a lot more jarring as she has no idea what’s going on. It’s also important to remember that Spike is an unrepentant, soulless vampire. I tend to shmoop him up in my fiction (‘cause I love shmoopy Spike), and this story is likely as close as I’m going to ever come to experimenting with the evil demon aspect of his nature. I tend to play with later season stuff to avoid this very thing…so this is new territory for me.

Also, proceed with caution. This borders on non-con. Just remember that you love and trust me. *innocent smile*

As always, thanks to my amazing betas. And another astonished WOW to everyone who has read/reviewed/emailed me about this fic. You guys are totally awesome. Thank you so, so, so much.




 Chapter Seven

The Gleam In Your Eyes Is So Familiar A Gleam


The arrival of his family changed everything. It wasn’t like before; it wasn’t a matter of simple interference because his demon couldn’t stand what was happening to his mate. This was a whole new ballgame. Angelus had come to the Hellmouth, and Spike could only hazard a guess why.

If they thought they could take his mate away from him—if Angelus was looking to kill his first slayer—they were going to be bitterly disappointed.

He’d made his decision, then. No more waiting.

Buffy was his, and she was going to know it tonight.

He watched her from his normal vantage point near her bedroom window as she scurried out her front door, giving her mother some well-rehearsed excuse as to where she was going. She was headed out in the familiar direction of his cemetery.

A slow smile crossed his lips. He ground out his cigarette, took in an appreciative, however unneeded, breath of night air, and started after her.

Spike’s mind raced. He’d envisioned his reunion with Buffy a thousand different times; a thousand different ways. In some scenarios, she remembered him, and her eyes would light up with joy at the simple sight of his face. In others, she’d spit some nasty gibe and attacked with her reliable stake, only to be overpowered, as he had spent years memorizing every delicious move her curvy, womanly body had to offer the hunt.

He preferred the latter of his fantasies. Seeing her angry in recent years never failed to get him horny. He felt at times like one of those nasty old men that camped outside high school football games to get a glimpse of nubile bouncing cheerleaders, but similarly, he took no shame in it. Buffy was his, and he intended to memorize every inch of her. It was his right.

Now that the wait was over, he could embrace everything he’d ignored for the past decade and a half. Inner barriers came crashing down, and the demon all but shrieked in delight.

Mine, mine, mine.

Spike ducked behind a mausoleum, his skin tingling at his proximity to her. She was so agonizingly close; closer than she’d been to him since the night he’d taken her home. Granted, he’d come pretty close to her the night he’d done in Thomas Randall. Close, but not close enough. Not like this. He could feel himself waging a losing battle with self-control. The scent of her nearly drove him out of his mind, and the promise of her blood was playing a dangerous game of chicken with what little reserve he had left.

My Slayer, his demon growled. She’s mine!

He could practically see her mind racing. She felt him. He was close enough that she had to feel him.

Small shivers were dancing up and down her arms, and her eyes were wide. She regulated her breathing to hide the hint of fear that was wrestling with her tenacity, her fingers curled around her stake.

Buffy never lost that knowledge that every fight could be her last, despite how good she was. He admired that. Too many slayers—including the two notches on his belt—mentally placed themselves in a rank above those before them; convincing themselves that they were different, and would not share the final fate of the Chosen Ones. They were good; both the slayers he’d fought had been a rush unlike anything he’d experienced. They’d similarly suffered from that dreaded superiority complex. They’d failed to recognize that he was a vampire of the ages, and that was what had gotten them killed.

Buffy was good and she knew it, but she likewise feared appropriately. And it was her fear that kept her strong.

“Okay,” she said after a few minutes, a delicious edge to her voice. “Not that I’m not enjoying this excerpt from a Sting music video, but whoever’s there better come out now.”

Spike grinned. Oh, such spunk.

“I’m serious. A moody slayer is a dangerous slayer.”

“Really? It’s a wonder that li’l tidbit wasn’ highlighted in the manual.”

Her head whipped up and her eyes met his for the first time in fourteen years, flashing with gold so vibrant he felt himself nearly moved to tears. Her gasp of surprise would remain with him until the end of days; he knew it.

Mate! his demon screamed. Mate! She’s mine!

Buffy saw it, too. She was frozen in place, shock numbing her body.

“You…” Small shudders began wracking her shoulders. “Y-you…your eyes.”

Inwardly, Spike grinned. That had been the first thing she noticed about him when she was four. It was fitting. It tied every end together. His eyes were gold for her, as well. “Glowing,” he agreed, taking a step forward. “Like yours.”

“Mine are glowy?”

“Effulgent.”

He was tormenting himself. The girl was shaken and confused, and he kept coming toward her. With every step, the demon screamed for more. Clawed with the need to touch her. To revel in the thrill of her pulse against his mouth. Sample the sweetness of her lips. Stake his claim on her now so that no one ever doubted that she belonged to him.

Buffy raised her stake again, taking a step back. “Wh-who are you?”

“Jus’ another vamp, luv,” he retorted with a disarming shrug. “Another nasty that stalks young girls while they sleep.”

“No.” She shook her head, her eyes not leaving his. “I know you.”

“’S that right?”

Take her! Take her!

The young woman studied him hard for a long, silent minute. “Okay,” she said, shaking her head again. “Well, maybe I’ve just…run into you on patrol…before. Vampire, right?”

“Jus’ confessed as much, din’t I? Though I gotta say, kitten, I’m an awful bit hurt that you din’t find me memorable.” Spike grinned as he continued to advance. Every inch of him flooded with excitement. “Change your mind, then?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m focused currently on the vampire part.”

His eyes flickered. “What a shame.”

Buffy might as well have offered him her throat. Instinct prevailed over sensibility; she leapt forward the next second, a kick aimed at his head, pleasantries foregone and the part of her that was destined against him setting her reflexes on autopilot. The demon likewise reacted on instinct, snarling to life, fangs descending in need for her soft throat.

At the same time, his body rejoiced as his arms closed around her, even in the heat of battle. God, she couldn’t know the dangerous game she was playing. Her skin was so warm; her hair smelled of vanilla, he could nearly taste her exhilarating rush of adrenaline.

His cock grew painfully hard and bloodlust washed him over.

No! cried his inner-William. No! Stop!

“So feisty,” he growled into her ear, shoving his inner-William aside. “So bleedin’ hot.”

He was intoxicated with her scent, and his control was quickly spiraling out of grasp. He needed her blood. He needed her taste. He needed to know the haven of her body, and tie her lifeline to his for eternity. She was against him, her breath hot on his skin, and he was irrevocably lost.

“Oh, Buffy,” he moaned, closing his hands around her upper arms, using his leverage to flip her beneath him. His mouth was automatically drawn to her throat, tongue peeking out to lave her skin worshipfully, his fangs moving over her jugular in a slow, seductive dance. “My Slayer. Christ, you taste good.”

She went rigid beneath him, her body tight with fear. “Wh-what…what are you…what are you doing?”

Spike lowered a hand to her wrist slowly, coaxing her stake away from her with his persuasive fingers. “’m takin’ what’s mine,” he whispered into her.

“What—what?”

“Buffy…”

“How do you…” A sharp gasp tore through her, and she arched into him when his blunt teeth sank into her throat. God, he was just tormenting his demon now, but Spike had an affinity for torture that hadn’t been fully tickled in years. He was touching her for the first time as an adult, and all sense of knowledge and reason had completely collapsed in the face of brute desire.

Too fast! Inner-William screamed. Too fast! You’re hurtin’ her!

Doesn’ sound hurt to me, Spike mused absently. He was burnt with a sudden need to erase her mind of every intimate touch she had received from foreign hands. The world had dissolved around them; he was emerging from a long famine, and what he needed was directly under his fangs.

Buffy shuddered violently beneath him, drawing in a sharp breath. “Don’t…”

“Stop me. You’re the Slayer, aren’t you?”

That seemed to snap her out of it. The next minute, Spike found himself smashed into a nearby mausoleum, an irate Buffy glaring at him as she jumped to her feet. “Yes,” she spat, reclaiming her stake from where he had dropped it, raising it with a perked brow. “I am the Slayer. Need a definition?”

“Don’ think so, luv,” Spike retorted, unable to hide his grin, eyes flickering as she approached. “’ve had my share of slayers. Jus’ not…” His gaze raked down her body. “Carnally.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not like other girls.”

“That’s for bloody sure.”

It was nothing of consequence, but the fire in Buffy’s eyes withered once more as she studied him carefully. He could see her thinking; could feel her thoughts unraveling as long buried memories fought their way to the surface. There was recognition there; recognition beginning to be called upon. He could feel her need, reveled in her confusion, and all while he kept against the wall and forced himself not to leap forward and take her in his arms. The hum of her blood echoed against his teeth. Christ, he needed her so bad.

Too soon. Too bleedin’ soon.

“I know you,” Buffy said again, her voice hesitant, stake aimed warningly. “I’ve seen you before.”

Spike nodded. “Yes, you have.”

“I don’t…” Her stake hand was trembling. He’d not once seen her so shaken on patrol, and he didn’t know if it was more appropriate to revel in his success or comfort her with an explanation. “You were a vampire when I knew you before?”

“All vampire, baby. Have been since 1880.”

“Then that’s a big yes.”

He waggled his brows suggestively. “Very big.”

Her expression turned stony. “Were you this much of a twisted perv when I knew you before?”

“Yes,” he replied shamelessly, “I jus’ din’t act it around you.”

Buffy’s brow furrowed, and recognition stormed her eyes. Recognition charged with ire and something else, adding up to an explosion of sensory. “Dammit, you weren’t supposed to exist!” she snapped, tossing the stake to the ground. Whether or not she intended to render herself unarmed, Spike didn’t know. Regardless, her outburst had the full of his attention now. “I’ve spent years convincing myself that you were just a dream! God, why now?”

“You remember?”

“No. I just…” She shook her head, licking her lips, which prompted a groan from Spike. “I’ve…you’ve…you’ve been there. Wherever I…”

Her eyes widened then, and the vampire could’ve sworn his heart leapt.

She remembers.

Buffy hazarded a cautious step forward. Her entire body was trembling, her breathing labored. And he swore she’d never been as beautiful in all her life as she was at that moment. “…Spike?”

For a split second, he felt he could lose himself in tears. The sound of his name on her lips was exquisite. It lasted all of an instant, but to him, that single beat was worth everything he’d given up; everything and more. The boundless look that overwhelmed her face, the way her eyes widened, the way she was both haunted and moved all in the same chord.

“Spike.” She tore away from his gaze, trembling. “Oh my God.”

He released a steady breath. “Promised you I’d be back, pet.”

“I thought…God, I thought…”

“Keep my word, right?”

“You…this can’t…” Tears welled in her eyes before she could help herself, and his heart about broke. “I can’t…you’re a vampire?”

A nervous chuckle sputtered through his lips. “Well, yeh, last time I checked. Come on, kitten. Tell me you don’ remember playin’ peek-a-boo with my bumpies.”

“I convinced myself I made that up.”

“Off what?”

“I don’t know!” Something erupted then, and indignation flooded her eyes once more. “So you’re just coming back now, to, what? Do what you didn’t do when I was a child? Was that entire ‘bringing me home’ thing a ruse to get on my good side for when my blood suddenly became Slayer-flavored?”

Mentioning her blood was a foolish thing, and to her credit, she realized this when her outburst was answered with an impassioned growl.

“Don’ toy with me, Slayer,” Spike snarled.

“What? You’ll rip my throat out? Puhlease.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you decided to not kill me when I was four. I wasn’t born in a barn, and I didn’t start doing this just yesterday.”

“’m not here to kill you, sweetling.”

“Oh yeah?”

Spike nodded and took a step forward. “I told you,” he said lowly, “back then, an’ a few minutes ago. Before I knew you were a slayer…before everythin’…I told you I’d be back for you. I promised.”

She was giving him the strangest look. Lost, confused, but drawn. Oh, so drawn. Like a moth to the bloody flame. He knew that look well. Knew it, because for the past fourteen years, it had been nearly his only driving emotion. “Why?” she asked headily. “Why?”

He stopped when she was just a breath away, his demon screaming its need again. She was so near. Her fear both fed his lust and egged him to provide her comfort. The night was unfolding like a dream; he could barely conceive that she was actually there. Her eyes were glowing for him, and she was there.

He released a deep breath, raising a hand to run up her arm, shuddering when she shivered beneath his touch.

Fuck.

I gotta have her.

Control was slipping.

Tell her to run. Tell her to run now.

But he didn’t. He was much too selfish for that. His mate was standing before him, and he’d already waited far too long.

“Buffy…” he groaned, reaching for her before he could stop himself. The next second, his arms were around her waist, her body was against his, and he buried his mouth in her throat, peppering her sweet skin with hot, hungry kisses. “Bloody hell.”

She froze in his arms. “Spike…”

It was all lost. Completely lost. Control had snapped. He growled into her, twisted her in his arms, pressing her against the stone wall of the mausoleum. Her soft, supple body was against him, the warmth of her burning him from the inside. God, she smelled so good. So fucking good. And it had been so, so long.

“Buffy,” he whimpered, suckling at her flesh. “Oh Christ, Buffy.”

There was no response. She neither fought nor reciprocated his touches, and he was too far gone to notice. His hands explored her immodestly; he cupped her breasts, tweaking her nipples through her blouse, grunting brusquely into her skin. “So hot,” he growled. “Taste so sweet.”

Been forever.

The scent of her arousal was nearly as prominent as her fear, and once it hit his nose, he nearly fell to his knees. God, how long had he waited for this? How long had he followed her, led by the promise that she was his, and that he would be the one she kissed goodnight for the rest of eternity? His lips were on her skin. He was swimming in her desire, and the rush of her blood was his for the taking.

“My Slayer.”

“Ohhh…”

He dipped a hand between them, pressing his leg between hers so that he fell between them, and fumbled hastily with the zipper to her jeans. “You smell so good.”

Her nails dug into his forearms; the thunderous pounding of her heart driving him onward. The air around her hung in fear, but he ignored it. Ignored everything. The hum of her blood urged him onward, the sweetness of her desire giving him all the justification his demon understood or needed. She might not know it, but she wanted him. And he was a fool to think he could wait.

“What are you—”

He didn’t let her finish. Couldn’t. Gone was the quiet, reasonable voice of his inner William, lost irrevocably to the feel of his mate against him. The warmth that touched his fingertips, the rush of fluids that danced over his skin as his fingers traced her pussy lips, soaking up her heat.

“Mine,” he growled into her hair, sinking a finger inside her. And he was swallowed by warmth. “You’re mine, Buffy.”

“Please, I don’t—”

God she was so tight. So fucking tight. Spike pressed his lips to her forehead and plunged another finger into her, his thumb settling over her clit. His need was too great to keep it slow. Too starved for touch to treat her delicately. To remember that she was a virgin. To remember anything other than, for the first time in over ten years, he was with a woman he could have.

Everything else simply blanked out. He ground his cock against her, thrusting his intrusive fingers into her body, massaging her clit furiously. Hungry eyes soaked up the outrage and fear, the passion and the confusion. She was a thousand things at once, and all of them were his.

“Bleeding hell, you’re so tight.” He willed his eyes closed, pressing his brow to hers.

“Guh…”

“Buffy—”

It was over, then. Buffy threw her head back and cried out, spasming into his hand, drenching his skin with her spendings. She clung to him sweetly, her pulse hammering a thunderous cadence, and he about lost himself all over again for the feel of her against him. The scent of her orgasm in the air. Her juices dribbling down his fingers as her body exploded and came down.

He might have done it then, if it hadn’t been for what next hit the air.

Blood first. Then tears.

My God.

Spike reeled back in horror, devastated.

Buffy was crying, and not from pleasure.

Oh my God.

What the hell had he just done?

His demon didn’t care. His demon was riled and horny, and desperate for her body. Desperate to feel the welcoming warmth of her pussy strangling him into a new life. In terrible need of her, now that he’d given himself this first taste.

His demon didn’t care that Buffy was crying. His demon didn’t care that his force had hurt. Not the way it should. She was his, what he had done to her was the way it was between mates, and that was all his demon wanted or needed to know.

The part of him that was more than the demon, but less than the sobbing William—the part of him that was Spike—was thoroughly horrified.

“Buffy…” He wanted to hold her, but didn’t dare bring her into his arms. Didn’t even dare to take a step forward. He’d hurt her in a way that was far more than a flesh wound, and far more permanent. And in doing so, he’d gutted himself. “Buffy…run.”

She just looked at him.

“Run. Run now. Run home.” His jaw clenched. “Before I lose control again.”

Something different flashed across her eyes; something beyond confusion. Something that touched compassion. Something akin to awe and wonder beyond the fear and uncertainty. Something, he was nearly convinced, that he’d just imagined.

It was gone the next second, and so was she. Running like she never had. Running in the direction of home.

Spike collapsed.

Good God.

He’d hurt her. He’d hurt Buffy. That was supposed to be impossible.

So many things are supposed to be impossible.

He needed her, but he didn’t dare follow. Not now.

Not now, when he had made her bleed.



To be continued in Chapter Eight: Could We Start Again, Please…

Chapter Eight

Could We Start Again, Please


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.


To be continued in Chapter Nine: Careful Where You Stand…
 

 

 Chapter Nine

Careful Where You Stand


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.


To be continued in Chapter Ten: Companion of the Night…
 

 Chapter Ten

Companion of the Night


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.



To be continued in Chapter Eleven: Sweet Dreams To Carry You Close To Me…

 

 Chapter Eleven

Sweet Dreams To Carry You Close To Me


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.


 

To be continued in Chapter Twelve: For What’s Inside Awaking…

Chapter Twelve

For What’s Inside Awaking


“I don’ have to leave, sweetling.”

As a matter of fact, he wanted to do anything but. If not for the ache that shuddered through him at the thought of more imposed physical distance between them, then certainly for the ache that shown in her eyes. It was strange; a mere twenty-four hours of being this close to her, and all of his senses were both calmer than before, but also never closer to being completely out of control.

The look on her face all but begged for him to stay.

She’s beginnin’ to feel it.

Buffy didn’t have a demon to answer to. A demon that screamed and snarled and played at the lasting ends of her control. He didn’t know, honestly, if that made it better or worse for her; the time they had together, though, seemed to wear her down. He’d seen shades of it the night before after she’d kissed him. When she’d told him that she was losing control, and he was the one that made her feel that way.

That had nearly unmade him. Just knowing that he had a sliver of the same effect on her; that after the thought of her had tortured him for fourteen years, he was getting some of his own back, was unspeakably delicious.

The look in her eyes tonight broke all boundaries.

“No,” she said with some difficulty, leaning against the doorway in the kitchen, playing absently with the lapels of his duster, her eyes glued to his chest. “You need to go.”

“’d feel better if you sounded like you meant that.”

Buffy drew in a sharp breath and met his gaze. “I don’t mean it. I don’t really want you to leave.”

“I don’ have to.”

“Yes, you do.” She shuddered and smiled weakly. “My…if you don’t leave, I don’t think I’ll…”

Spike exhaled softly, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I’m not a patient man, sweetheart,” he murmured. “These past few years have nearly done me in. An’ now that I know you…” He ran a hand down her arm. “Now that I’ve tasted you…’s gonna be even harder for me to stay away.”

She worried a lip between her teeth. “I know,” she said. “It’s still…it’s just a little much for me to take, okay?”

“You know I’d never do anythin’ to hurt you, right?”

Her eyes shimmered. “You’ve killed slayers before.”

“Buffy, I…” He heaved a deep sigh. “What I’ve done can’t be changed. I know your Watcher…you don’t really think I’d do anythin’ to cause you pain, do you?”

She studied him for a long minute. “No,” she said, glancing down. “Giles was just worried about me. Worried…I think he knows something, about the mate thing and the glowy eyes. You were what he researched first.”

Spike forced a smile. He had no doubt that the Watcher knew something. While his past indiscretions had dealt specifically with slayers, he knew enough to grasp that knowledge surrounding slayers was pretty much universal in the world of the Council. Merrick had known something about her three years earlier, and while he had displayed surprise at Spike’s declaration that Buffy was mated to a vampire, there wasn’t astonishment. There wasn’t denial. There wasn’t anything that would suggest the revelation came as a total shock.

The Watcher knew something, and it was time to figure out what.

He’d waited long enough.

“I won’ be far,” he said. “’F you need me, luv, I’ll feel it.”

A look of wonder flashed across her eyes. “How?”

He smiled softly. “The same way I felt your pain when I started to leave earlier,” he explained. “When you…I think the claim’s growin’ stronger…more agitated. An’ now that I’ve tasted you…” He marveled at the shyness that sparked her gaze before she lowered her eyes. She was tainted innocence; his only remaining temptation. How it was that a girl like her could bring him so quickly to his knees, he didn’t know. He’d been hers from the moment her pretty green eyes met his. That flicker before they turned to gold. That fraction of an instant when she wasn’t his mate—when she was simply Buffy. Yes, he’d belonged to her even then—and now all over again, simply in a manner that had evolved into something spectacular. “Now that I’ve tasted you…taken blood, the demon’s gonna crave the ritual even more. ‘S gonna be even harder to…but I won’. Not until you’re ready.”

Buffy looked grateful at that, even though he could tell she was still deeply shaken by the idea of being his mate at all. Of being cornered into a relationship she wasn’t ready for, a commitment too grand for her young mind to grasp. She wanted him; oh, there was no doubt that she wanted him. He felt it with every breath she took. She simply wasn’t ready for what it meant.

Which was only fair. He’d had years to get used to the idea.

“I…I’m sorry,” she said, startling him. “About earlier…losing my temper and all. Well, I just think that…it’s all so much, you know? Vampire, mate, the entire thing just scares me. And I want you.” She glanced down, flushing brilliantly as his awed gaze took her in. “I want you and that’s just strange…for me. I’ve never wanted anyone, and suddenly you’re here and it’s just…it’s wonderful, really…but it scares me. More than any vampire or demon or apocalypse or—well—you name it has scared me. I don’t get scared, Spike. Not like that. But you…” Her eyes hazed with tears. “I just…if the claim’s as strong as this, does that mean what I feel isn’t real? That my emotions are being toyed with…is that the draw between the claim or…” She shook her head and glanced down. “I need it to be real. Whatever it is…I need it to be real.”

Spike drew in a sharp breath. Christ, he wanted nothing more than to reassure her fears. He wanted to drop to his knees and wrap his arms around her and tell her that claims didn’t equal love. That the claims he’d seen in his time had been based on anything but love. That what she was feeling was genuine—it had to be—because love was one of the only powers in the world that couldn’t be fabricated.

But she hadn’t said love. She hadn’t. And he wouldn’t fool himself otherwise.

“I know, sweetling,” he said softly. Me, too.

A very still beat stretched between them.

“You’ll feel me?” she asked, eyes wide and vulnerable. “If I need…if there’s anything…”

“I’ll feel it.”

An’ you’ll feel me.

He didn’t tell her that, though. He didn’t want to frighten her anymore than she was already.

And he didn’t want her to know exactly how close he intended to be throughout the night.

“Okay.” Buffy smiled softly, then tentatively brushed her lips against his. Her touch was so soft, so tender, so heartfelt, that he nearly felt himself moved to tears. There was no way he was giving this up. These past few hours around her had been more than intoxicating; they’d given him a reason he hadn’t foreseen in all the years spent waiting for her. A reason to see the day after her eighteenth birthday. A reason to go on after this period of waiting was over.

He’d never really thought about the future; he’d spent so much time obsessed with the deadline. But she would be his. The day would come and pass, and she would still be there the next morning. Buffy belonged to him. He felt it with more than the pangs of an incomplete claim. It was there in her touch as she cupped his cheek. There in the softness of her kisses as her lips moved over his. There in the hesitant inquiry of her tongue, stroking his softly, lulling his demon into a calm he’d never before experienced. Lulling him even as she unwittingly stroked a growing fire of passion. She was a little girl playing with matches near a container of spilled gasoline, and she didn’t even know it.

“Buffy,” he murmured, reluctantly pulling away from her kisses, shivering at the moan of complaint that rumbled through her body. “Baby, ‘f we keep at this, I’m not leavin’.”

She looked confused for a minute, then her eyes widened. Her surprise charmed him; her sweet virtue. She was panting, her pelvis pressed against his denim-clad erection, and the air hung with the scent of her arousal.

“You drastically underestimate how badly I want you,” he told her quietly.

“Ohhh…”

“An’ I’ve been rightly chivalrous about it thus far…’cept for the thing.” He glanced down. “But ‘f you’re not ready for this, you can’t jus’…I need to be near you, an’ at the same time, it tests me ‘cause I also need to…” Spike drew in a deep breath and shook his head. “I better go.”

“Spike—”

“No, I need to go.” He brushed another kiss across her lips, then at her brow. “I’ll be close.”

That was it. He turned and forced himself away, ignoring the snarl of the demon as it rose in the face of her confusion. Pangs of separation were expected. He’d been experiencing them for years now. And granted, while they were stronger than they ever had been before, the strain was similarly new to her. She didn’t know what she was feeling, or how to handle it.

Spike was resigned. He knew that she was his destiny. Nothing could change that.

Only now, he wanted to know why.

And he knew who had the answer.

 *~*~*

The past few years had taught Spike that Rupert Giles was a creature of habit. It was the night of a school dance, and being an authority figure of said school, the Watcher was stationed reliably at the library. Even if the dance was being held at the Bronze, and nowhere near the school grounds.

And just as predictably, the old man was pouring over a stack of dusty books. Likely researching the dirty secrets of the Order. The family name he’d given to Buffy so that she would be on guard. So that she would know exactly what she was up against.

“Y’know,” Spike drawled, “’f you knew we were mated, it’d’ve made more sense for you to have told her yourself. Leas’ the girl wouldn’t’ve been so bloody off guard tonight.”

Giles started and jerked up. “Oh dear Lord.”

“My sentiments exactly, Rupes.”

“William the Bloody.”

He smirked. “’S Spike nowadays, mate. Has been for over a century.”

“What are you doing here?”

The vampire heaved a sigh, as though he was extremely put out, and stepped forward. “Well, I have a bit of a problem,” he said. “An’ I think you know what it is.”

“I told her what I had to,” Giles said. There was no want of denial; Spike hadn’t expected he’d find any. And for that, the Watcher was a refreshing breath of air, unneeded as it was. At least there were no mind games, and he could count on the bloke to be straightforward. “I wanted her to know exactly who she was dealing with.”

“We’re mates, you know. ‘S not like knowin’ my whole bleedin’ history’s gonna change that.”

“I know.”

“An’ I also know you won’ stake me.”

“You’re right,” Giles acknowledged with a nod. “Staking you would be the worst thing for her. Especially now that you’ve…”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “An’ how is it that you’re not surprised that she’s my mate?” he demanded. “In a hundred years, I’ve never heard—”

“Because she’s the Slayer.”

There was a heavy pause. “What?”

Giles shook his head. “It was in Merrick’s diaries, you know,” he said. “Not you…or your relationship to Buffy, but he had started researching the connection between slayers and the vampires that are…their mates.”

That was it. Spike was effectively stunned speechless.

Slayers…and vampires…

“You’re not the first,” the Watcher explained. “Every slayer called has a vampire mate. That’s the way it is. You are, however, the first to have found your mate…in the form of a slayer…that we know of.”

“How is that possible?”

“You’re of the same mold. You and Buffy…vampires and slayers. The powers intended for slayers to be the equal, but, as you know there is only one. Therefore, as it was written, every slayer would have a mate in a vampire. One with a particular knack for…redemption.” He said the last like it was a disease, and Spike couldn’t help but agree with him. His mind, however, was frozen with astonishment.

Not unique after all.

Just a sodding pansy to the forces.

“It simply has never happened before,” Giles concluded. “It’s in Watcher’s Diaries, catalogued thoroughly in the Council, and every Watcher must live knowing that his slayer might be the one to break the standard. Might be the one who finds her mate. It’s been whispered now for centuries…but I knew Buffy would. Merrick’s indication notwithstanding…Buffy is…extraordinary.”

Spike’s eyes darkened. “So naturally, instead of explainin’ everythin’ to her, you give her my ugly past deeds, an’ send her out after me with a mind to kill.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Rot.”

“I told her who you were and what you had done, but I would be entirely foolish to think that she could stake you.”

“An’ bloody yet.”

“You are a vampire, Spike. And since this hasn’t exactly happened before, forgive me if I don’t know what to expect.”

“What the bleedin’ hell about Angelus? Or Darla? Those are the soddin’ vamps you need to be worryin’ about.” The vampire’s eyes darkened. “They’re the ones that are here to kill her. They wanna get back at me for leavin’ the clan. They wanna get back at her for killin’ the Master. An’ you tell her things to give her nightmares of the one vamp in the whole bleedin’ world guaranteed to never hurt her.”

Giles did not look moved. “I’m sorry if I’m not immediately inclined to throw in my trust with a vampire that has, not only murdered slayers, but will be closer to Buffy than any other that you have mentioned.” He paused and shook his head. “I know misleading her was wrong,” he said. “But there is too much of the claim that is shrouded in mystery. Too much that I don’t know about. This has never happened before. Never.”

Spike expelled a deep breath. “I wouldn’t hurt her,” he said. “I’ve been watchin’ over her too bloody long to ever hurt her. She’s my world.”

“And what of Drusilla?”

He balked. “What?”

“I’ve been doing my reading. Drusilla…your sire, correct? Am I to presume she is traveling with the Order?” Giles held up a book. “It’s all here. Everything you did for her in the name of love. Every person you killed to appease her appetite. Every time she saw a dress she liked, you’d make damned sure she got it, with a waiting chalice to quench her thirst.”

There was absolutely nothing he could say to change that, and he had no want of denial. It was, after all, the truth. “Dru is my past,” he said. “She led me to Buffy. As far as I see it, she had a purpose. I mistook her for the other, yeh, but you’re both daft an’ wrong ‘f you think she’s a threat to me an’ my mate.”

“Not a threat. You loved her.”

“Very much.”

“Can you say, honestly, that you feel the same for Buffy? That this blind devotion is to her as she is, and not the ideal?” Giles arched a brow. “I won’t see her hurt, Spike. Bloody mate or not, I will not see her hurt.”

The vampire felt his demon stirring. The old man was just begging for a chunk to be taken out of that overly-pompous arse of his. “I’d walk through fire before I’d hurt her,” he growled. “You’d do better to understand that.”

“I believe that you believe it.”

“’S not enough that it’s true?”

“When you mate with her, Spike, she’s going to become immortal. The part of her that is demon enough to have a vampire mate will take hold. She won’t change, according to the books, but she will be denied what every slayer has a right to. Peace.” Giles heaved a sigh. “Buffy can’t grasp that right now. Immortalizing her will hurt her…and you have to be fairly thick to not see how.”

“So you’re askin’ me to not do what the bleedin’ Powers have set in motion.” Spike shook his head with an incredulous chuckle. “I gotta hand it to you, Rupes, you do have balls of brass.”

“I merely want what’s best for her.”

“So do I.”

“I believe it.” A pause. “But I don’t trust you.”

“’S fair. I don’ trust you, either.” He nodded to the books. “But you’re better off researchin’ the vamps that mean her harm, mate.”

“I intend to.” He paused. “You will consider what I said.”

“Consider, yeh. But ‘f you think your cautionary tale is gonna stand between me an’ what the fates have handed me, you’re off your rocker.” He turned and started heatedly for the doors. “’S not jus’ me, you know,” he said. “Buffy’s gonna feel the need to make it final, too. She needs me jus’ as much as I need her. An’ she might not be as understandin’ ‘bout your twisted sense of logic as I am.”

There was a pause. “You obviously don’t know Buffy very well.”

That was thoroughly laughable. Spike stopped at the entrance and turned. “I know her, Watcher,” he said. “Better than anyone can or will. I’ve been with her for years. An’ in the end, I’ll be the only one who never abandons her.”

That was all he said. All he had to say. His mind was spinning.

And he had a sudden need to be near his girl. Near his mate. To feel her warmth through the glass.

To mull over what he knew now, and consider the wealth of what it meant.

Chapter Thirteen

Shining Its Brightest Light



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.



To be continued in Chapter Fourteen: Out Of The Dark…

Chapter Fourteen

Out Of The Dark


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.

It was wonderful.

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.

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.

Spike murmured something incoherent and tightened his arm around her middle.

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.

Buffy drew in a sharp breath, her heart thundering.

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.

So yeah. Reservations aside, she was pretty well terrified.

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.

So strange. He seems alive.

A pause. But he’s not.

Buffy licked her lips. But that doesn’t matter. He’s mine.

That thought sent a deeply possessive vibe through her bones.

He’s mine.

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.

Okay. Blanket stays up.

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.

Shivers spread across her skin.

Oh God.

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.

The feel of his erection with fabric between them was enticing, but not enough.

She wanted more.

Come on. You’ve gone this far.

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.

You’re so asking for it.

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.

“Oh,” she breathed, barely hearing herself.

This is wrong. Stop what you’re doing now.

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.

“Fucking hell.”

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.

She froze completely, her hand quite literally in the cookie jar.

Oh God.

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

“I…I…”

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.”

“H-h-how long have you been awake?”

“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.”

“Spike?”

“Feels so good, baby. Oh, god.”

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.”

“I was just—”

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

“Tighter?”

He nodded, thrusting forward.

“I won’t break you?”

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?”

“Oh yeah.”

“This is good?”

“Bleeding wonderful.”

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.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come.”

Heat rushed her blood. “Okay.”

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.

She felt sparks fire across her skin.

“Oh God.”

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.”

She fidgeted self-consciously. “Was not.”

“Was so.”

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.

Great. Mixed signals, much?

She reluctantly broke her lips from his. “Spike…I can’t.”

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

“Touch?”

“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?”

Gah.

“No mouth,” she said, even as her body protested.

Spike pouted. “Why not?”

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.

That she wasn’t ready for. She wanted it, but she wasn’t ready.

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.

“Spike…”

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.”

“Ohhh…”

“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.

Okay, this might’ve been a bad choice.

“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.”

“Ohh…”

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

Another gasp ripped past her lips. “Spiiike…”

“That feel good?”

She nodded desperately, thrusting her hips into his hand. “Oh my god!”

“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.”

“Spike!”

“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.”

“Shhh.”

“Spike!”

“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.

“Oh!”

“Wanna make you mine.”

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.

“You’re amazing,” he told her softly. “So bloody amazing.”

“Oh my God.”

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

“Spike…”

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.

She just needed to get past the part where it changed her life.

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.”

“I know.”

“An’ then wakin’ up with you…”

“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’…”

He glanced down, and silence stretched between them.

Buffy sighed. I’m playing Jeopardy meets the Game of Life.

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.

Spike was with her now. He had stayed because she asked him to.

He had stayed. He had held her through the night.

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.

Just perhaps.



To be continued in Chapter Fifteen: Wait For Stormy Skies…

 Chapter Fifteen

Wait For Stormy Skies


Buffy watched in fascination as Spike moved about the kitchen, collecting ingredients for what he assured her would be a better breakfast than anything she’d ever had at the local Aunt Martha’s Pancake House, where she occasionally met her friends on Saturday mornings.

She was of the persuasion that ignoring the small things he knew about her life was a good thing. Much less chance of being wigged every second throughout the day.

Still, some things were hard to let go of. “I can’t believe you’re making me breakfast.”

She’d been saying something to that effect every few minutes now for the past half hour. Spike merely glanced up and grinned, masterfully maneuvering the spatula over the eggs that were cooking to yummy goodness in the frying pan. “After this mornin’, luv,” he said with a wicked smirk, “I think it’s the leas’ I can do.”

She flushed brilliantly and glanced down once more. “You’re never gonna let me hear the end of it, are you?”

“From where I’m standin’, sweetheart, I’m hopin’ for many more of these sleepovers.” He favored her with a lavish leer. “Wakin’ up to you…that was jus’ delicious.”

“I’ll have you know that I don’t wake up everyone with a handjob.”

The word was out of her mouth before she could stop herself, and the ground seemed to quake beneath her feet. She managed to give her actions this morning a term; a rather crude one at that. The blush burned deeper and she refused to meet his eyes.

Spike’s shoulders went rigid, but he didn’t bark his instinctive reply. The one she knew surfaced automatically, and though she knew he was thinking it, there was some comfort in the knowledge that he could tame his demon. That she was the motivation behind keeping the monster in line.

I’m the biggest hypocrite ever.

Instead, he muttered a noncommittal, “That’s reassuring.”

She was the first Slayer to have to tolerate thoughts that betrayed her Calling. And yet, how could it be betrayal if the Powers made it so? If the Powers mated her intentionally to the one she was supposed to kill; the one who was supposed to be her enemy. He fought his demon, she fought her slayer, and they would balance each other out for everything else that happened.

Clarity was still a ways off, but she was getting there. Slowly.

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed, smiling gently when he met her eyes. “You’d probably eat whoever I touched anyway, right?”

Spike studied her for a long minute, as though trying to gauge if the question was meant to trap him, then slowly grinned his thanks and nodded. “’m the only one you get to touch,” he retorted instead, still testing the waters, not trusting the calm. “’Specially like that. Anyone else who tries should be well an’ warned.”

“That you’ll eat them?”

“See, Slayer, there are certain things you’re not gonna get me to say, ‘cause I’ve found with as annoying as it can be, I do enjoy livin’ the unlife.”

“Well, I enjoy you living the unlife, too, so we can rule out death by slayer-stakeage.”

“Fair enough.” He scooped a helping of eggs onto a plate for her, where he had the potatoes and bacon already prepared. “You want orange juice or milk?”

“You really expect me to eat all that?”

“Every bite. What do you want to drink?”

“Are you fattening me up for Thanksgiving?”

“’m makin’ sure you don’ turn into a bloody beanpole, Slayer.”

She laughed uncertainly. “No chance of that. I have pouch-tummy.”

“In some mad world of Buffy’s Irrational Delusions, I’m sure you do.” He placed the plate at the island and flashed her a challenging glance. “’S nummy, baby. I’m a bloody good cook.”

“It smells good.”

“An’ you don’ eat enough.”

“I eat plenty!”

“Bollocks. You din’t touch that sandwich I made you last night. You haven’t eaten since your apple an’ yogurt yesterday at lunch.” Spike grinned wickedly when her eyes widened in shock. He tapped his nose and shot her a look of pure superiority. “Now eat.”

“You’re kinda creepy, you know that?”

The vampire barked a laugh. “In all my years, pet, that might be the tamest thing anyone’s ever called me.”

“I’ll bet,” she retorted wryly.

“Eat.”

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? Death by greasy breakfast goodness?”

“Sweetheart—”

Buffy grinned and threw her hands up. The look on his face was treading on hurt that she apparently didn’t want to eat his food, and exasperation with her fixation on her weight. Well, that’s a girl thing. He has to get used to it. Instead, she walked to him, brushed a kiss across his lips, and said, “Okay. I’ll give it a try just because you’re pretty.”

If anything, that made him moodier. “Am not,” he scoffed.

“Well, I guess I can’t blame you for not knowing. I mean, you have been mirror-challenged for over a century.”

“Men are not pretty, Buffy.”

“Yeah, see, here’s the thing where I think my judgment is better than yours.”

“You’re off your bird.”

A frown crossed her face. “Didn’t know I was on a bird.”

Spike cracked at that; he laughed richly. “Eat your brekky, you saucy minx,” he said, shaking his head, his eyes glimmering.

Buffy smiled and took a bite of eggs, sighing as though it was a big inconvenience. “I guess this is okay,” she said, doing her best to suppress how good it tasted.

“Jus’ okay?” he asked with a teasing grin.

“I’ve totally had better.”

“Uh huh.”

She grinned and conceded without making a sound, rather lowering her fork to her plate to scoop up another mouthful. It was nice; just sitting with him as though they were normal. As though she wasn’t the Slayer. As though they weren’t so horribly complicated, and the burden of the future didn’t mean it would change her life forever.

Merrick had changed her life, but that wasn’t the same thing.

Spike looked at her and her world was different.

She knew he was being patient for her, and that she wasn’t making it any easier on either of them. Not with her actions the night before, not with the way she had woken him, not with the way she felt every cell in her body urging her to the solace of his embrace.

The faster she confronted what was holding her back, the faster she could be with him without a weight holding her down.

“Spike,” she said, nibbling at her bacon. “What’s going to happen?”

“When?”

“When we…I mean…what I feel now has nearly taken over me. Will it completely when we…” Buffy flushed and glanced down. “When it happens…is it going to get worse?”

“No, sweetheart.” He smiled. “It’s this bad now ‘cause we haven’ done it. It’s gotten worse with time. The more we’re around each other, the more we need to make it complete, I’d wager. Which is why it feels like this when we’re together.”

“Like this?”

“Always on the border of losin’ control.” Spike sighed and shook his head. “You’re feelin’ it as richly as I am…only you don’ have a demon, so when you lose control, it’s not nearly as bloody violent. An’ you don’ know why you’re doin’ it.”

“This morning?”

A grin. “That wasn’t a loss of control, pet. That was a girl bein’ a girl. You’ve never…this is all new to you.”

“But not to you.”

Spike paused, frowning as though he was weighing his words carefully. “I’ve been with women before, yes,” he said slowly, wincing when she winced. “But no, Buffy…’s never been like this for me before.”

“Liar.”

“I bloody swear to you.”

“I’m not exactly the best consolation prize. I mean—”

A growl tore through the air and he stormed forward, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her to him fiercely. “Never think that,” he snarled. “You irritatin’ thick-skulled chit, I wouldn’t say it if I din’t mean it. You drive me wild. I’ve waited for you, wanted you, dreamed of you for fourteen years. An’ now that I’m here…that I’ve touched you…tasted you…god, there’s no way to explain it. An’ I’ve never felt anythin’ like it. Ever.”

Buffy shivered, her insides rattling under the power of his gaze, but she refused to lose her footing. “But it’s because of the claim, right? Not because of me.”

Spike’s eyes squeezed shut, as though he was about to lose his last hold on control. “No,” he ground out. “Not the claim. Not the sodding claim. The claim jus’ means you’re mine; it doesn’ mean rot to how I feel about you.”

“How…you feel about me?”

“Right.”

“You feel…”

A small smile crossed his face. “Yes, Buffy. I feel many, many things.”

“Spike—”

She didn’t get another word out. The vampire seized her lips in a furious kiss, and she instantly melted into him. She flung her arms around his neck, sighing in relief as the distance between them that had tortured her all morning became nonexistent. His mouth was against hers, his hands on her body, his hips thrusting into hers. Her flesh was on fire, her panties were drenched, and the haze that threatened to overwhelm her completely suddenly didn’t seem so daunting. She was in Spike’s arms, and it was wonderful.

“God, Buffy,” he gasped between kisses. “I want you so much.”

“Uhhh…”

“’ve wanted you forever. Want to be inside you. Want your hot, sweet pussy squeezin’ me to oblivion. Want to taste you. Drink you. Fuck, I want it all.”

He was tugging on her slacks.

No. Not here. Not like this.

“Spike—”

“Want you so much.” He broke his lips from hers, mapping a wet path to her throat. “Want you to be mine.”

“Spike! I…stop!”

Buffy pressed her palms to his chest and forced him off her, even as her body cried out in protest. He crashed haphazardly against the counter, his eyes wide as he returned to himself.

“Oh God.”

She was heaving deep breaths that made her chest ache. The distance between them nearly tore at her skin, but there was something dangerous within her that would push her boundaries to unfamiliar territory if she dared touch him again. This was becoming insufferable. She needed him, but the need terrified her. The need was chipping away at her resolve. The need was devouring her whole.

Still, the look in Spike’s eyes told her plainly that it wasn’t any easier where he was standing.

“So,” she said between gasps. “This…this goes away when we make the claim official?”

“Well, partly.”

“Only partly?”

He flashed a weak smile. “There’s no way that my wanting you is ever gonna go away.”

“Oh.”

“It’ll jus’ be easier to control.” A pause. “Most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

A wicked grin spread across his lips. “Once I’ve had you, baby, I don’ think I’ll ever get enough.”

“What if I suck?”

He waggled his brows. “I wouldn’t mind at all if you sucked a bit.”

“Spike!”

“Or called out my name. You can keep doin’ that.”

“I…” Her cheeks were burning. She cast her eyes to the ground and expelled a deep, controlled breath. “I really…so we mate…we claim each other. And that’s it? Nothing changes? Except I’ll be in control of myself and the mate of a vampire. Does that mean I’ll be all…submissive? ‘Cause buddy, I don’t think—”

Spike held up a hand. “Sweetheart, I don’ want you submissive, so you can wipe that thought right outta your pretty li’l head.” He smirked. “Though ‘f you ever feel the need to drop to your knees before me an’ do some of that aforementioned sucking, I won’ be one to stop you.”

“You pig!”

“Oink bloody oink. Never denied it, baby. Don’ you forget it.”

That much was true. Didn’t do much to help her blushing problem, but he was honest with her, and she appreciated it. Buffy just grinned and looked anywhere but his stormy eyes. That always got her in trouble. Those eyes were lethal weapons.

“So…no submissive-Buffy.”

“’Less she feels like it.”

She conceded that point. “Unless I feel like it. Will I…is there anything else?”

The teasing fire died from Spike’s eyes, and he glanced down.

“Spike?”

“There’s one more thing. Your Watcher told me as much last night.” He paused. “Buffy, the part of you that makes you the Slayer…the part of you that gives you your strength…that part of you will…I don’ know what it is, really, but Rupes implied that you have a li’l demon in you.”

Her body went numb. “D-d-demon?”

Spike didn’t say anything.

“There’s demon in me? What? I can’t…how is that—”

“’S where your powers come from, baby, an’ it’s not evil. Jus’ makes you a li’l more the superhuman than all the other girls your age. ‘S nothin’ to be ashamed of…or afraid of.” He met her eyes steadily. “But when it happens, when I claim you, that part will immortalize you.”

A long silence stretched between them. “What?”

“Slayer…”

“Immortal?”

There had always been a strange combination of fear and peace in the knowledge that her life would be short. Granted, while she didn’t crave death, the prospect of fighting the forces of darkness for the entirety of her life had always shrouded her future in darkness. And now…

Now…

“I…” Buffy shook her head and stepped away. “I can’t do this.”

“What?”

“I can’t do this.”

Spike’s eyes darkened. “I thought we covered that this isn’t somethin’ either one of us have a choice in.”

“I don’t mean I…I need this…Spike, I can’t…I…” She shook her head again, and turned so she wouldn’t see the pain in his eyes. “I just…I need to think. I can’t just do this and…”

“So you’re kickin’ me out.” A beat. “Again.”

“When you’re here, I can’t think of anything but what it feels like when you touch me. I never act like this, Spike. Never. And yes, I know that it all serves a greater purpose, but where does that mean I have to be immortal?” She had started crying without realizing it; rich tears spilled down her cheeks, and her body was shaking with the weight of her confusion. “Please…”

There was a slow, controlled breath. She felt him step closer. “I don’ wanna leave you while you’re upset, baby.”

“I need you to.” She shook her head. “There’s the basement. I use it sometimes to sneak out when Mom’s made sure to lock my window from the outside, and I get out through the sewers to patrol.”

He nodded. “I know, kitten.”

“Yeah, I thought you would.”

Spike stepped forward once more and prompted her to face him. “I don’ wanna leave you while you’re upset,” he said again. “You don’ know what your tears do to me.”

“I know.” Buffy forced a smile. “But I can’t do this. I can’t just be with you until I’ve figured some things out for myself.”

“How long will that take?” he asked hoarsely. As though she had the answer. “I can’t be away from you for long, sweetness. Not now that we’ve…that I’ve gotten so close. I can’t—”

“I know. Me neither. I just…please, Spike.”

“I’ll make it worth it for you,” he swore ardently. “Immortality’s not such a bad gig, y’know. I’ll make it so you never regret it.”

“I don’t doubt it. I just…I have this thing and I have to sort it out without you here. You…my feelings for you are too strong for me to think for myself, and I just need some space.” Against her better judgment, she closed the space between them once more and brushed a kiss against his lips. “It won’t be long.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Like she could stay away from him any more than he could from her.

A sigh rumbled through him. He kissed her again before forcing himself away; he grabbed the duster that was hanging by the back door, and disappeared into the basement. She didn’t budge until she no longer felt him in the house, then allowed herself to collapse.

God, it hurt.

It hurt.

“What’s happening to me?” Buffy drew in a sharp breath and wiped her eyes. But it was a redundant question; she knew what was happening, and why.

She wanted him. He was gone only seconds, and already it felt as though part of her was missing.

She needed to talk to someone.

Thus she did what any girl in her shoes would do; phoned her best friend, and begged her to come over.

This required tissues, Terms of Endearment, and gallons of ice-cream prior to the part where Willow talked some sense into her.

After all, such was the contractual obligation of the best friend.


v
 Chapter Sixteen

From Now Until Forever


“I think this milk is bad,” Willow said, making a face as she thrust the gallon jug away. “Or evil.”

“Evil milk?”

“It’s the Hellmouth. Everything here’s made with a heaping of evil.” The redhead turned her eyes back to the contents of the refrigerator, locating an unopened jug of milk behind some relatively ignored containers of cottage cheese and mayonnaise. “Why do you keep bad milk if you have good milk?”

“We didn’t know the bad milk was bad.” Buffy shrugged. “Mom and I typically don’t drink milk.”

“But Spike made you eggs this morning?”

“I think he was using other milk. We had three jugs in there. He must’ve gotten lucky and grabbed one that wasn’t evil.”

“You sure he didn’t cook with spoiled milk because he’s…you know…evil?”

The Slayer frowned at her friend. “Spike lo—cares about me. He wouldn’t make me eggs with spoiled milk.”

Willow released a sigh and uncapped the milk, reaching for the glass she had set out for herself on the island. “So,” she said conversationally, “start at the beginning. I only caught the part where he’s on his way to becoming your personal everything.”

“This isn’t a high school thing, Will.”

The redhead scowled. “I didn’t say it was. Me and Oz aren’t a high school thing. Nuh uh. I-I just think it might be, you know, too soon to say he’s the big it, especially since it’s only been a couple days…and the entire ‘he’s a bloodsucking fiend from beyond the grave’ thing.”

“Don’t. It’s not like that.”

Willow shot her a skeptical glance. “He’s not a vampire?”

“Will…he’s my mate.”

There was a heavy pause.

“Huh?”

Buffy licked her lips and turned her eyes to the counter surface. “This is…it’s a little strange. My mind is still trying to wrap around this entire crazy concept. But apparently Giles knows, and has known.”

“He’s your mate?”

“Yeah.”

“Like…penguins?”

The Slayer blinked. “Um…yeah. Okay.”

Willow released a deep breath. “It might be a good thing if you started at the beginning. Spike is your mate?”

“Yeah…apparently all vampires have mates. Like…predestined mates. When they find each other, their eyes flash a kind of gold and they’re pretty much…well, that’s it. They mate. I think there’s some kinda ritual involved, but that’s the gist.”

“But…you’re not a vampire.”

Buffy smirked. “Why thank you, Will.”

“You know what I mean!”

A sigh rattled through her body, and she nodded. “Yeah, I…Spike went to go see Giles last night. I kicked him out, and he went to go see Giles, then he came back to make sure that Angel…Angelus and the others didn’t come by and try to burn down the house or something.”

Willow’s eyes went wide. “Spike went to go see Giles?”

“Yeah.”

“And he’s, you know, still all with the undead?”

Buffy arched a brow. “You think Giles would be dumb enough to stake my boyfriend?” She held her friend’s gaze for a minute longer, then glanced down and offered a sigh of concession. “Okay, so yeah, it confused me, too. But from what Spike’s told me, Giles has known something about this all along.”

“What? That’s impossible.” A pause. “Giles wouldn’t deliberately keep information from you! He’s…British. They don’t do that.”

“Well, it’s not like he’s the only one to keep his lips all sealed. This is evidently a huge cover-up thing. The Council didn’t want it getting out, and up until now, no one else has known about it.” Buffy expelled a deep breath. “And after Spike explained what he thought were the reasons behind it, I admit, it makes sense.”

“Spike explained to you? There was no Giles ‘splainy?”

“Will, Spike’s my…” Mate. “Boyfriend. I don’t typically see school-types on weekends.”

“Except Giles! And that’s the second time you’ve said boyfriend in reference to a vampire. And yes, I’m all with the liberal, political-correctness and what have you, but that’s kinda wigging me out.”

“You’re dating a werewolf!”

Willow flushed and glanced down. “Again…liberal, political-correctness.”

“A member of the slightly-furry society?”

“Well—”

“Spike found out that there are some vampires…that every slayer that’s ever lived has had a vampire mate. Well, there’s been one predestined to a vampire…like Spike and I are predestined for each other. But as far as we know…as far as the Council knows, or is willing to share…Spike and I are the first that have ever found each other.” Buffy paused. “The first…I’m the first slayer to have a vampire mate…and know about it.”

There was a long, deafening silence.

“Willow? You still with me?”

“You’re mates with a vampire?”

Buffy released a high pitched laugh. “Here I could’ve sworn that’s what I’ve been saying for the past ten minutes.”

“Oh my God!”

“And it finally hits her…”

“That’s so…oh my God!” There was a strange light of romantic intrigue in her best friend’s eyes; the last thing she would have expected from Ms. Sensible. “I can’t believe that! So, he’s like…he’s your match, then! If the Powers were all with the match-making and he’s the one…Buffy!”

The Slayer blinked. “Did the Pod People come by? Who are you, and where were you three minutes ago?”

“I’m just saying…that’s kinda dreamy.”

Buffy offered a weak smile. “Yeah, he—it kinda is. Spike’s…” Wonderful. “Pretty dreamy.”

Willow’s excitement deflated slowly. It wasn’t difficult to sense her friend’s dismay. The heavy barrier that kept her from embracing the lemons that life had handed her. “What’s wrong? He hasn’t…I mean, this isn’t a good thing? Buffy plus love equals happiness, right?” She sighed. “But then, if it was a happy thing, you probably wouldn’t have called me, jonesing for sad chick flicks and Ben and Jerry’s.”

“Ah. I see you’ve slipped into your secret identity.”

“Huh?”

“Willow Rosenberg—P.I of Loooove.”

The redhead flushed. “Well…I guess not really a secret identity if you know about it.”

“Ahh, secret identities are overrated…and totally easy to maintain. Seriously, there could be a feature called Buffy Summers—The Vampire Slayer That Could in the paper and people would still be clueless.”

The other girl heaved another sigh. “I just want you to be happy. And hey! Not saying that a vampire was my number one choice, but the Powers know better than I do, I guess. Why can’t this be a happy thing for you?”

Buffy was quiet for a long moment. “It’s…it’s complicated, Wills.”

“So…uncomplicate it. Explain it to me.”

There was a long, thick silence. “I…ummm, I…it’s just hard. I don’t know how to explain it. I guess it’s…the longer I’m around him, the longer we’re around each other, the more attached we become. And not just emotionally…emotionally I could deal with. It’s a physical thing. Like…he’s been gone for a little while now, and I miss him. I miss him to the point where it almost hurts. Kinda like my leg was amputated and I’m still trying to feel my toes. He’s here…I can feel him, but I can’t see him, and he isn’t close enough to make the hurt go away.” Tears filled her eyes just thinking about it, and she cursed herself for her weakness. Buffy Summers was not a cry baby. Not the way she had been in the past few days. She didn’t cry. She refused. She was too tough to cry—she had a sacred duty to upkeep, and tears would only get in the way. “I’ve never felt anything like this.”

Willow frowned and placed a supportive hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“No!”

“Oh, Buffy—”

“I don’t want to be this dependent on someone! I don’t…and even if I wanted to say no, I can’t. Spike’s it. He’s the only one I can have…the only one that I’ll…” She held up a hand, foreseeing the other girl’s protest. “It’s something in our…aura…blood, I dunno. But it’s…it’s pretty much the reason why I haven’t been able to be with anyone else.”

“Because you and Spike…”

“Yeah.” Buffy sniffed. “I’m just…Spike’s been wonderful, Will. I don’t want you to think he hasn’t, because he really has. He’s just…he’s ideal. Like Prince Charming if Grimm’s Fairytales hadn’t been Disney-ized.”

“So what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if it’s me he wants.”

“What?”

She exhaled slowly, her eyes finding a spec on the counter to focus on. The root of her fear was suddenly front and center and she didn’t know if she could handle it. Granted, Spike had done everything to convince her of the contrary over the past two days, and with as much as she wanted to believe him, she had too much experience with the general nastiness of people to place too much trust in good will alone. She didn’t want to judge Spike as a vampire, because he had earned more of her esteem than a casually branded stereotype.

So she judged him as a man, and that was almost worse.

Tying her deepest worries with the weight of eternity on her shoulders, and she was fairly terrified. And now, those fears were no longer blocked by the passionate storm of her vampire’s eyes. Now it was just Willow. Willow who was her friend, and fairly objective; Willow who wanted the best for her, and would not lie.

“When Spike…when we mate,” she began softly. “It’s forever.”

“Forever?”

“As in forever forever. I think it’s some sort’ve compensation…me being human and a slayer; i.e, the very thing that vamps are supposed to, you know, hate and kill.” Buffy paused. “Vampires don’t have to love each other, though. They can be mated and hate, and use each other for blood and sex and nothing else. I don’t want an eternity of that.”

“You think Spike is using you for—”

“What? No! God, no. I just…I don’t know if he knows…if he wants me because of me, or because I’m his mate. He’s been following me forever, Will. He’s waited for me to be old enough for him.” She shook her head at the dumbstruck look on her friend’s face. “Don’t ask—I don’t wanna go into it.”

“Okay.”

“But he’s been waiting. Whatever I’m feeling now, he’s dealt with it for years. And now that we’re…I just don’t know if he can tell the difference between warm fuzzies and his demon being all with the excitement that the wait is over. That it isn’t just the claim he’s feeling.” Buffy bit her lip. “I don’t want an eternity of being resented.”

“Why would he resent you?”

“He’s the only vampire who’s had a slayer for a mate. I’d resent that.”

“But it’s not your fault, Buffy.”

“Like that matters?”

“Well, it doesn’t sound like you’re giving him enough credit. If the man’s followed you around for so long and not acted on his first impulse for…well, years, you said…it can’t be all about the claim.”

“I don’t…this is forever, Willow. And I can’t go back on it. When it’s done, it’s done.”

“I understand that.”

“You don’t have the look and sound of someone who understands.”

The other girl shook her head. “Well…look, I don’t know Spike. All I know about him is what you’ve told me. But you said that claims don’t include love…so if he’s not feeling anything but the claim, he would’ve acted on it. He has to care for you, just a little. And you’ve said he’s been honest with you. If the guy was one-track minded, don’t you think he would’ve lied to you to get what he wanted while telling you what you wanted to hear?”

“No.”

Willow nodded. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because Spike’s not like that.”

“Then…well, Buffy, there’s your answer! If he’s not like that, then he’s feeling something other than the claim. If he’s all with the ‘give spacey’ and the honesty and the patience and the…well, don’t you think that if all he wanted was to get this claim business out of the way, he would’ve done it?”

Buffy shook her head. “No…I’m not saying he’s trying to manipulate me or get me to…I’m just worried that he’s feeling things that don’t exist.”

“That’s stupid.”

The Slayer’s eyes narrowed. “So says she who was briefed on all this ten minutes ago!”

“Well…what do you feel for Spike? Beyond the pained achies that you’re away from him…is there anything else?”

That lent her pause. Was there anything else? Dammit, she was terrified that she was halfway in love with him, and that was just crazy. Buffy had never been in love before, and had never considered what love would feel like when—and more likely—if she found it. There were only hours of acquaintance between them. Hours. She hadn’t even known him yet for half a week, and she was afraid she could love him.

More over, she was even more terrified that it had very little to do with the claim.

“Yes,” she said hoarsely. “More than the claim.”

Willow nodded eagerly. “And you know it’s more than the claim?”

“Yes.”

“Then why the hell do you think Spike would confuse one for the other? Does he have a disability that you haven’t told me about?”

“No!”

“Then…are you sure this is the only thing? ‘Cause Buffy, being worried about forever isn’t something to be ashamed about. I’d be scared if I were you! Hell, I can barely look past college…an eternity?”

“That’s another thing…” Buffy released a steady breath. “It terrified me when he said it, but…the word stopped scaring me. I don’t know how…but I think I could handle it.”

“Then you’re a braver woman than I am…though I guess that goes without say.”

“Forever doesn’t scare me like it should. I’m wigged that it doesn’t, but honestly, the past two days have been jam packed with things that should creep me out to the inth degree but haven’t.” She paused. “It doesn’t wig me out. I think maybe I was just…since this was a possibility for me, being the Slayer…a possibility all along.”

Willow nodded again. “That makes total sense.”

Buffy released a steady breath. “I’m scared.”

“Of what? Give it a name. It’s okay.”

“Change.”

“That’s natural.” She waited a beat. “But you want it, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s all you need to know. You want it, Spike wants it…and you can’t make excuses like, he doesn’t really care about you. You know he cares about you. If he didn’t, you wouldn’t be worried and upset. You’d be angry and with the throwing of sharp objects…hopefully while on patrol.” Willow smiled sympathetically. “But it is a big thing. I think you just need someone to tell you that it’s all right…and believe it.”

The Slayer shook her head. “I don’t understand how you can be so optimistic. You don’t know Spike…all you know is what I’ve told you.”

“Yeah. And you’ve told me all I need to know. I might not know Spike, but I know you. And I’ve never seen you like this. Never. You can’t tell me it’s the claim, because it’s not.” Willow paused a beat. “I’ve been on the Hellmouth and your sidekick long enough to know when something’s mystical and something’s not. Maybe not all vampires love who they’re mated to, but yours will. Else he wouldn’t be mated to a slayer.”

“What if this is the way of the Powers taking me out?”

“You think Spike would do that?”

Buffy didn’t even need to brood over that one. “No.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

“You know, I think there might be a reason you’re Valedictorian.”

Willow shook her head, blushing furiously. “Naw…honestly, Buff. Anyone could’ve told you that. You just needed to be heard by someone on the outside. People who know you know you, you know?”

“I know.” She smiled. “Thanks, Will.”

 *~*~*

She discovered the hard way that pain increased when she was alone.

When there wasn’t someone there to distract her. To take up her time with chatter and distract the inner pangs that demanded the comfort of Spike’s embrace.

It began to hurt again just seconds after Willow left. Within an hour, the pain was unbearable. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt, or wanted to feel again. As though her body was failing her, split down the middle, and the leg she could no longer feel was now half of her being.

Everything that rises must converge, she thought bitterly.

She wondered if Spike was going through the same thing, or if he was so used to this that he could block it out.

He’d dealt with this for fourteen years. And he’d done it for her.

There was no way she could patrol tonight. She’d be dead before she could lock up the house.

Buffy hobbled to the sofa and turned on the television. Looked like another night for AMC and some of the golden oldies.

Only when she looked up, her breath caught in her throat and the tears she’d been keeping at bay all night came spilling down her cheeks.

“Spike…”

“Came in through the back,” her vampire said solemnly. “Sorry, sweetheart, I jus’ couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Take it?”

“Could feel you with every step I took.” He moved forward, eyes drowning away her sorrow. He’s here! He’s here! her mind shouted, and her body went numb with joy. “Till the end, I din’t know if it was you or me that I was feelin’ anymore.”

“Oh…”

A long beat stretched between them.

“’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve…” A sigh rolled off Spike’s shoulders and he turned again to leave. “I jus’ thought you needed me.”

Buffy sprung to her feet, her heart hammering. He was just feet away, and the ache had already begun to dwindle. Suddenly, the rest didn’t seem to matter nearly as much. “I do!” she cried. “Please—”

That was all he needed to hear. Spike pivoted promptly, his eyes awash in relief. “Oh thank God.” He spread his arms, and that was all she needed. Space between them no longer existed. She practically flew into the comfort of his embrace, her skin rejoicing with the feel of him against her.

Calming the rage that was snarling and clawing at her insides.

Giving her peace.

Spike murmured words of comfort into her hair.

The rage was quiet. Her mate was with her.

And for now at least, that was all that mattered.



To be continued in Chapter Seventeen: Just One Little Dance...
 

Chapter Seventeen

Just One Little Dance


Things had changed. He could feel it with every move she made. Every time her eyes met his, shy and uncertain, yet resolved in something she had not yet voiced. She no longer had the look of a small girl, lost in the big bad world of otherworldly truths and faced with a decision that wasn’t so much a decision as it was a reality. No, it appeared she had made peace with it, even though she hadn’t told him anything.

She really hadn’t needed to. The cautious glances she gave him were not frightened, rather shy. Like she had emerged from childhood into adulthood in the time they were apart, and she wanted him finally in the way he wanted her. The way he needed her.

Her bashfulness enchanted him. She had touched him that morning like a lover, but without truly realizing the full impact of her actions. She moaned when he explored her, sighed into him when he kissed her, and looked at him like he was a giant among men.

She had been afraid of him before. And while some of that fear was still present, there was warm acceptance as well. She basked in it.

“I bloody hate musicals,” he growled, albeit good-naturedly, as she turned the channel to AMC, and Gene Kelly filled the screen. They had decided after an uneventful patrol to return to the house and attempt to talk things out, but had thus far made it no further than the sofa and a teasing argument over what to watch on the telly. “Dru used to drag me to every sodding flick that came out, an’ then she’d eat everyone who criticized her for singin’ along.”

Buffy stiffened in his arms where she had previously been soft and relaxed, and it took him all of six seconds to realize what he’d said and begin the many rounds of kicking his inner self.

Right. The girl finally wants you an’ you bring up your former.

He truly didn’t expect her to say anything, and for a few long minutes, she didn’t. However, after watching Gene Kelly dance in a rainstorm, she drew in a breath and turned over slightly so that he could see her eyes. “Do you miss her?” she asked gently.

“Miss her?” He was playing dumb and she knew it, but this was not a conversation he wanted to have.

Buffy didn’t call him on it. Instead, her gaze remained patient, and she elaborated the obvious answer. “Your old girlfriend.”

“Sweetheart—”

“It’s okay if you do,” she said. “You kinda…I mean, I know it’d be easier if she was the one you were supposed to mate with.”

She was a strong girl. A strong, brave girl. He knew from experience that even considering a mate with another was the source of cold shudders and raw outrage. And yet, even as she said it, Buffy refused to balk. She held his eyes, and the small, nearly indiscernible flickers of pain he found in hers broke his heart.

“It’d be easier,” he replied honestly, tightening his arms around her when she shuddered. “But I wouldn’t change this for anythin’.”

“Why?”

The immediate response on his lips startled him, and he nearly shoved her away with the blunt edge of realization. However, he refused to voice it now. The weight of the words was too heavy to consider, too earth-shattering for a world that he wasn’t ready to give up. And yet, there was no other way to explain it. What he felt for Buffy went beyond emotion. Went deeper than any feeling he’d harbored for Drusilla—those old pangs and longings that he’d already conceded were a falsity from the start. A trick his nature had played on him in an effort to guide him to the arms of his salvation; the girl who was looking at him now with wide eyes that demanded honesty. With a body she had entrusted to his touch. A heart she was giving him freely, even in the midst of her fears.

So why couldn’t he admit that he loved her? Why was that so difficult?

Because he did, he realized. He did. And he’d already promised himself that he wouldn’t love without having love returned to him. That promise was evidently forgotten; replaced now with a revised agreement to admit to nothing until he was certain that he would not be hurt again.

Ponce. Bloody ponce. You’re afraid of a girl.

Ah, but Buffy Summers wielded power over him that she couldn’t possibly comprehend. Not only did he love her, but she was his mate, and that gave her more control than anything else the earth could hand her.

Spike found himself choked slightly, and he forced his eyes away for a second.

I love her.

The realization was overwhelming. It liberated him, brought his demon peace, and sent him into a world of deeper reckoning. Not only did he love her, but she was the first woman in his life—his existence before and his existence now—that was worthy of the love he had to give. The love he had tried to give others, those he had mistakenly revered as goddesses. Now, the idea of anyone else made him feel ill. That hadn’t been love before. It had been infatuation, and he’d been used and taught that it was something it wasn’t.

Drusilla, Cecily…they were spiteful. They lived in darkness. They were born to it. They could not touch sunlight.

He could. Buffy had given him that. Buffy touched him, and he was lost in light. She wasn’t spiteful; she was innocent. And unlike the women in his past, she cared for him. When she touched him, it wasn’t to incite her own pleasure, it was to convey her affection in any way she could.

Spike had gone a hundred and thirty years without the love of a woman. And even if Buffy didn’t feel it yet, even if she never did, she had given him so much more than Dru ever had simply in letting him hold her without it turning into sex. Without using his body to satisfy her desires. He hadn’t realized how much he needed that until it was given to him.

Tell her. Stop bein’ a bloody coward, an’ tell her!

No. He couldn’t. Not yet. His history with love was dark and sad, and now that it was real for the first time, his courage was running on empty.

He hated himself for it. He was a vampire, he was a part of the most revered, feared Orders on the planet. He was the thing that went bump in the night. The creature made of nightmares…and yet, he was so terrified of the power the girl in his arms held over him. What she could do with his love if she wanted to.

She wouldn’t, though, he told himself. Buffy isn’t like that.

He knew it was true. He knew it. But that didn’t help budge his reservation.

My sweet, sweet Buffy. My gorgeous mate.

“What I felt for Dru…” he began carefully, mindful of the jealousy in her eyes. “…it doesn’ even begin to compare to what I feel for you.”

There. Told her without tellin’ her.

That didn’t make him feel any more of a man, but it would have to do for now. Even vampires were allowed their fears.

“It doesn’t?”

“God, no.”

“So…if the claim wasn’t a thing, and it was me or Dru, you—”

“Sweetheart, you’re…you’re everythin’ to me. An’ that much doesn’ have anythin’ to do with the claim.”

“But you loved Drusilla.”

I thought I did.

He didn’t say anything; merely looked at her.

“You loved her,” she pressed, “and you feel more for me than you did for her?”

Spike smiled. Clever girl.

“Spike—”

He shut her off with a kiss, determined to distract her away from this dangerous train of thought. She melted into him immediately, her tongue plundering his mouth with bravado that surprised him. He groaned and grasped her shoulders, twisting her so that she was under him. So that her hips were cradling his erection, her warm softness inspiring a symphony of heat through his skin.

Spike broke his lips from hers, trailing a wet path of kisses down her throat, his hands sliding down her arms. God, he needed her so much. “Christ,” he moaned, suckling at her throat. His demon roared and his fangs tingled. “Buffy…”

“Oh…”

“You’re so gorgeous. So pretty.” His fingers slid under her camisole, caressing the undersides of her breasts. “My li’l Slayer.”

She whimpered and arched into him. “Spike…”

He released a deep breath and drew his lips away from her skin reluctantly. The desperate little mewl that tore through her throat inspired a grin to his face. Gorgeous. “You’re not gonna kick me out, are you?”

Her lust-filled eyes fought for clarity. “Huh?”

“I need to touch you. Taste you.” He lowered his mouth to her neck again, nibbling at her skin seductively. “I need to make you come.”

Her face flamed. “Oh my God.”

“You want me. I can feel it.”

Buffy released a muffled sob and nodded fervently. “Oh yes.”

“But—hey, look at me.” He tilted her chin up and waited until he had her gaze. “I don’ wanna do anythin’ that makes this worse for you…the eternity thing, your fears about control. If you need me to leave, tell me now before I do somethin’ to bugger it all up.”

“No,” she gasped, tugging his mouth back down to hers. “Please, stay. I won’t kick you out again. I won’t. I just need…”

“I won’ claim you without permission,” he swore to her.

“Then I have nothing to worry about.”

He felt for a second like a lying bastard. Bleedin’ hell, she’s so trusting. The last thing she needed to do was relax around him. The words were easy enough to say, and while he meant them with everything he was, he was terrified that his demon would get in the way. Hurt her before he could rein in the control he spent every second around her fighting for.

You love her, he thought. You love her. You won’t hurt her.

God, he hoped so.

“Spike,” she said, kissing his cheek. “I don’t expect you to be a saint.”

“I jus’—”

“I know.” A small smile flitted across her lips. “I trust you.”

He moaned in protest, sliding her camisole completely over her head. “Hope you know what you’re doin’,” he told her, licking one of her nipples. “I’m a bloody brute.”

“Oh…”

“Such sweet little titties.” He kissed the swell of her breast, laving a wet path around her areola, one hand palming her neglected breast as the other slid a languid path down her abdomen, circled her bellybutton, then began tugging at her sweats. She had forgone panties tonight; they’d gotten home, she’d changed, and she hadn’t put on panties. She’d wanted this, and the knowledge filled him with delight. “Fuck, you smell so good.”

Her heart was thundering, her pulse humming melodically against his fangs. She was nervous. Hell, she was petrified…but she also wanted him. He could feel how much she wanted him with every shiver of her skin. She was a girl on the edge of embracing her womanhood and the thought was appropriately terrifying. What she felt was new but natural. What she felt was the reason wars were fought. The reason man had come out of the cave.

She was feeling it all for the first time. He was guiding her into a new world, and fearful as she was, she followed. She craved. She moaned her pleasure when he nipped at her breast, when his skilled fingers slid over her pussy and teased the juices that told him—in no uncertain terms—how desperately she wanted him. How her body wanted him in ways that she couldn’t yet comprehend. Mechanics aside, he knew the power of sex beyond the simple union of bodies. He knew, because Drusilla had used sex to make him believe he loved her. Used his inexperience to make him believe that the one he gave himself to would be the one he was with forever.

God, he’d been so horribly naïve then. Such a bloody pathetic wanker. Duped so easily. Old fashioned, even for then, when the term meant something else entirely. Hell, old everything. An old man at twenty-eight. He’d thought that love was the way the poets wrote it. That, despite the debauchery of underground London, most people equated love with sex.

Dru had known that about him. She’d used her sex as well as her power over him as his sire to get what she wanted, and she’d done it for over a hundred years.

She’d used sex to make him believe he loved her, and he never wanted Buffy to be in that position. He wanted her to love him before he took her body. Before he sank his fangs into her throat and made her completely his.

Now that he loved her—now that he knew he loved her—everything changed.

God, he wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her so badly.

“Buffy,” he murmured, releasing her breast with a soft plop.

“Oh…” She arched beneath him again, her fingers threading through his hair. “Spike…”

His mouth wandered southward, peppering soft kisses across her stomach.

“I need…”

“Gonna give you what you need, sweet.” He nipped at her skin. “Gonna eat you up.”

“What…”

“Let me?” He had already sat back and was edging her sweats down her legs. “I wanna taste you so badly. Your sweet li’l puss is jus’ beggin’ for my mouth. Lemme give it to her, yeah?”

“What about…” Buffy whimpered slightly and attempted to sit up. He licked at her cleft, sending her back to the cushions with a long mewl. “Oh God!”

“Fuck yeah. Lemme taste your honey. You want it, don’t you?”

“Spike!”

He chuckled against her, and he couldn’t help but grin when she moaned at the vibrations he sent shuddering through her body. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“What about…oh god…what about you?”

“Me?”

Her skin was turning a charming shade of red, and it took only seconds to decipher what she meant.

“Oh Buffy…” His mouth returned to her sodden folds, nibbling gently, drinking in every pleasured moan that erupted from her lips. “This is what I need,” he promised her. “Right here.”

She gave him so much in simply letting him touch her. Be with her. Share her home, share her sofa, share any part of the world that had been graced by her.

“I want to…Spike, I wanna make you…” His lips wrapped around her clit, and she trailed off with another throaty moan, her head digging further into the cushions as her hips thrust against his hungry mouth. “Oh!”

He shuddered at the implications of her open-ended sentence, sinking two fingers within her tight sheath. “Such a tasty quim,” he growled, teasing her swollen pearl with the hint of his teeth. “You like that?”

“Oh!”

“You like me licking your clit?”

She trembled, and he trembled with her. His thrusting fingers venturing just a bit further with every plunge. He didn’t want to hurt her, but she was so warm. So bloody hot. So open and inviting, even if she didn’t know it. And her innocence about ripped him apart. Somehow, he knew that there was no other man—alive or dead—that would ever begin to understand the gift Buffy had to offer. She was his for the taking. She was all his.

“Spike!”

“Want my tongue inside you, baby?” He thrust his fingers deeper within her. “Want me to taste you here?”

She was flushing so brilliantly, he honestly didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or arousal. He hoped the latter—as much as her shyness enchanted him, he never wanted her to feel ashamed of what they did together. As crude as he was, whatever happened between them was natural, and poncy as it might sound, beautiful. She’d given him beauty where he thought it couldn’t possibly exist anymore.

“Don’t be shy,” he murmured, suckling her clit into his mouth again. “Tell me what you want.”

“Spike…”

“You got that.” He grinned. “You got that for life.”

“Uhhh…”

“What do you want Spike to do? He’s all yours. He’ll do whatever you ask.”

Buffy moaned and thrust her hips forward. She was blushing hard, her eyes avoiding his.

“Tell me, pet.” He tongued her sensitive button roughly, coaxing another long whimper. “’S all right. It’s all right to want. To know what you like. I wanna know. I wanna know exactly what you like. You like my fingers inside you, or would you rather have my tongue? Don’ be shy.”

“Ooohh…”

“Don’t be shy, kitten. No one here’s gonna laugh at you. It’s jus’ you an’ me.”

That seemed to relax her a bit. “I want…”

“Tell me.”

“Your tongue.”

He nodded his encouragement. “Where?”

“Inside me.”

Spike grinned and pressed a parting kiss to her clit. “Good girl,” he growled appraisingly, slipping his fingers out of her wet sheath and plunging his tongue inside. She arched back again, howling in pleasure, panting hard as his thumb settled over her abandoned clit and began stroking her roughly.

“Oh my…oh my God!”

“Mmmm…” He pulled back for a beat, smacking his lips. “You taste divine. Like milk an’ honey.”

“Spike!”

“You like this, baby?”

She nodded furiously. “Oh God.”

She was like wine. Pure ambrosia. He couldn’t get enough of her taste. Her juices trickled down his throat, bathed his tongue, and he couldn’t get enough. He felt immersed in purity. Like he was touching the heavens without fear of dusting. God, she tasted even better than she had the night before. When it had been rash and passionate, when he had taken her pussy with his mouth out of anger turned to lust, and lust that demanded a taste of what was his. The promise of what was his.

Now, right now, with her…with her cries of pleasure in the air, the taste of her in his mouth…this was the reward for his patience. This was the reason he’d waited for her for fourteen years. Her legs were around his head, her delicious cunny was thrusting against his face, and he was where he belonged. Where he’d always belonged.

“You’re close, aren’t you?”

Buffy didn’t answer; he doubted she’d even heard him. The next second, she clutched his head again and held him to her as she came. He was awash in her spendings, lapping up everything she had to give him. Drinking her greedily. Holding her as she fell back from the stars.

Stars he’d given her.

Bloody hell.

She was so amazing.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, prying her eyes open almost reluctantly. “Oh my God.”

Spike grinned, resting his chin against her pubic bone. “You like that?”

Her chest was heaving and she sat up weakly. “You’ve turned me into goo.”

He smirked, sliding a finger into her pussy. “I’ll say.”

“Oh God, I can’t again.”

“Ohhh, I think you can.”

“Spike, no, I—”

It was too late. He was gone; determined to prove her wrong.

And he did. Twice. He could have stayed between her heavenly thighs all night.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” Buffy asked, pulling her sweats over her hips before he could dive in for fourths. “This is the way you do it. Death by orgasm.”

He was surprised she managed to say the word without blushing, though he figured if she grew any redder she might burst into flames. “Yeh, that’s it,” he drawled. “This is how I did in the other slayers.”

From red to green in point two seconds. Interesting.

“What?!”

Spike chuckled and tugged her into his arms. “Kidding, luv.”

“Better be. I’m still not wild about the idea of you and another woman for a hundred years. That’s hard to compete with.”

“No, sweetheart. Not you.” I love you. “I’ll never want anyone but you. Never.”

“Never’s a long time.”

“I promise.” He kissed her. “You think you can promise me that? Forget the claim for a moment. You think—”

“Easily.”

The word meant nothing compared to the conviction in her voice. She meant it. God, she really meant it.

She was his.

Buffy adjusted herself so she was sitting completely in his lap, her pussy rubbing his straining erection. He would have thought she didn’t know what she was doing had there not been a wise, womanly look in her eyes that explained, in no uncertain terms, that she knew all too well exactly what she was doing. “Tell me what you like,” she murmured, nibbling at his throat. “Tell me what to do for you.”

Oh God.

Spike drew in a breath. The weight of her offering had him ready to come in his pants, and he figured that would be one hefty mood spoiler. “Buffy—”

“I want you.”

“Fuck, I want you, too, but we can’t—”

“Why?”

Why?

Yes, that was a very good question.

“You don’ owe me anythin’, luv.”

Buffy frowned and drew her head back. “You don’t want me to—”

“Bloody right I want you to. I jus’…” He sighed and cast a hand through his hair. Stupid git, how the hell did he explain this without coming out looking like the mother of all wankers?

“I think we should go to bed.”

“We?”

His eyes narrowed. “You don’ want me to stay?”

“I want you to stay…I just didn’t know if you were going to.”

“Sweetling, the only way to get me out now is to kick me out, an’ we’ve established that’s something you’re not likely to do anytime soon.” Spike smiled and tugged her further into his arms as he rose to his feet. “You’re tired. I don’ want you doin’ anything now ‘cause you feel like I expect it. Like you owe it to me.”

Buffy looked offended for a minute, then flushed again and glanced down. “I just wanted to…I wanted to make you feel good.”

“You do, baby. You think I don’ get off from tastin’ you?”

“Well, I’ve read—”

“Forget what you’ve read. None of that rot applies to me, an’ since I’m the only one touchin’ you—now or forever—you don’ need to waste your time with anythin’ else.”

She smiled sleepily and didn’t offer further objection; rather let him carry her upstairs.

She didn’t speak again until he was settling in bed beside her.

“Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“What do we do about Angelus?”

He drew in a breath and froze. Angelus. Christ, it was so easy to forget the presence of his family when he was in his goddess’s arms. He’d seen them only the night before, but it felt as though so much time had passed. As though Buffy had the ability to alter time and reasoning, and he’d lost himself completely.

Angelus wouldn’t remain silent for long. The sooner he was dealt with, the better.

“Tomorrow,” he told her, kissing her brow. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Rest now.”

“I wanna know…”

“Tomorrow.”

“…what you like. What to do for you.”

His cock stirred at that. God, this girl was going to be the death of him. His death, salvation, and rebirth. She was everything.

“Tomorrow,” he repeated hoarsely.

“Promise?”

His cock wouldn’t let him hold off any longer, he feared. His cock wanted tomorrow to start right now.

But she was tired, and he loved her so much. Too much to ever use her as means to physical gratification. That wasn’t the way he loved, and certainly not the way he loved her. At the same time, he wasn’t a saint, but she made him want to try.

“Promise,” he said.

That seemed to satisfy her, and the questions stopped. She curled in his arms, and was still in seconds.

For the second night in a row, he was given the sanctuary of her embrace. Only now they were both older—they had both wizened and would not repeat the mistakes of that morning.

He held her now as she slept. Held her with love he hadn’t known to recognize the day before.

Held her in the solace she’d given him without even realizing it.

Held her in peace.


To be continued in Chapter Eighteen: The Devil Is A Gentleman… Chapter Eighteen
The Devil Is A Gentleman


He’d only been asleep an hour and a half when the feeling jarred him awake. Spike’s eyes flew open. He was still in Buffy’s room, his little goddess pressed intimately against him, slumbering sweetly. Her head was tucked just under his chin, her arm draped over his chest, her right leg resting over his. He could hear her steady heartbeat; feel the rush of her pulse. It was slightly irregular—not in a worrisome way; rather as though she was alert despite being lost in sleep. As though her body knew that he was near.

Spike drew in a deep breath. He wanted desperately to ignore the stirrings that had jerked him from sleep, label them as being paranoid delusions of an over-active subconscious, but he couldn’t. No force on earth could recreate the presence of family. Angelus was near. Angelus was outside. Angelus was at Buffy’s house.

More over, Angelus was there because Spike was there. He’d brought Angelus to Buffy’s house. He didn’t know how he knew—it was simply there. An understanding. A truth. Angelus wasn’t outside for the Slayer; he had made the midnight visit to torment the youngest member of his family.

Spike wasn’t one to disappoint. With a deep sigh, he cautiously extracted himself from Buffy’s embrace. He didn’t want to disturb her, or worry her with what was about to happen. Though he hadn’t the faintest idea why Angelus would seek him out, especially since the enormous sod had done all he could to ignore him while he was an active part of the Order, there was no reason for the Slayer to get involved. Not now. Not if it was avoidable.

The vampire sighed again, turning back to Buffy. She looked so peaceful. So beautiful. So warm and inviting, even in sleep. And she was safe in her room. Angelus couldn’t get inside, and if he did try one of the less-conventional methods of getting humans out of their homes, Spike would get to her first. As her mate, any alternative was impossible.

As the man who loved her, it was even more so.

Spike slid his discarded t-shirt over his chest and proceeded downstairs. He found Angelus where he knew he’d be; outside, a demon without shame, looking in through the paned side-window with a half-curious, half-bored look on his face.

God, he hated the sod. He hated him so much.

Irregardless, he had to find out why his grandsire had decided to visit. It wasn’t like him; Angelus liked sneaking around and leaving surprises for those he targeted. Until he was ready for the big show-down, he used lackeys to deliver his messages outright. He rarely showed his face until he was ready. Until he felt it was time.

He really was the greatest wanker of them all.

Spike pried open the door and greeted his grandsire with a dry, unimpressed look. “What?” he spat.

The dull, faintly amused but overly indifferent eyes of Angelus met his outrage, looking at him as though he was the intruder. As though coming to Buffy’s at all had been a drastic inconvenience, and that the younger vampire should be honored to be graced with the presence of his elder.

“What?” Angelus spread his arms with a condescending smirk. “No hug?”

“Get the hell outta here.”

“You know, we really never did perfect your people skills.”

“I can see this is gonna be one of our more enlightenin’ heart-to-hearts, so let’s skip the small talk. You’re a heartless bastard. Now leave.”

“Well, yeah.” Angelus’s brow furrowed, his tone deepening in condescension. “I am heartless.”

“So you decided to pop over here an’ share this li’l revelation?”

“I don’t see why you’re being so hostile.” The elder vampire shrugged. “I came here in peace. I’m not snarling. Not name-calling. I’ve been rather pleasant, I must say, even in the face of unreasoning resentment. Why don’t you hear me out before you throw stones?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “I got a better idea. Why don’ I close this door an’ forget your miserable face came within a hundred feet of my mate tonight. That sound good to you?”

“Ahh, yes, that’s exactly what I’m here to talk about.” Angelus’s eyes twinkled maliciously. “Your mate.”

His chest tightened and the demon snarled. He knew what the other vampire was pushing at, and he wasn’t about to forfeit the reaction he knew the other was garnering for. He would keep his outrage to himself. That was that.

“Uh huh.”

“See…your mate’s the Slayer…”

“Thank you for that. Havin’ been born yesterday—”

“Tsk tsk tsk. No need to get snippy.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. He could talk all he liked, but he knew Angelus wasn’t going anywhere. Hell would freeze, thaw, and freeze again before he abandoned the sanctuary of Buffy’s house, abandon Buffy, simply because there was bad blood between him and his grandsire. He didn’t fear Angelus—no, he’d never feared Angelus. But he knew him well enough to know that complying with what he wanted was likely the stupidest thing anyone could ever do.

Angelus was an arrogant son of a bitch, but he wasn’t stupid. If he was here, there was a reason.

“What is it?”

The elder vampire arched a brow. “Hrm?”

“What do you want?”

“Can’t a vampire visit another—”

“No. Get on with it.”

There was a sigh and he shook his head. “Fine, have it your way.”

Balls. It was never his way. Never Spike’s decision. Angelus didn’t give a fuck about him, or anyone else for that matter. He barely conjured enough empathy for his own mate. He helped Darla because when she was in pain, he was as well. It was all self-serving. And in that regard, it was to everyone’s benefit that vampires lacked reflection. If Angelus could see himself in the mirror, he wouldn’t be able to draw his eyes away from his own visage long enough to feed himself.

Though, in retrospect, that wasn’t a bad thing.

“I came here ‘cause Dru wanted me to make a direct appeal. For whatever reason, she thinks you’re important.”

Spike took the insult with a grain of salt. He wouldn’t allow Angelus the pleasure of seeing him flinch. “For what?”

Angelus shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care. Just got tired of her yapping. You know how she is.”

He was trying to provoke a violent response. It wasn’t going to work.

“So you’re over here to recruit me for a job that you don’ even have the inside info on? Sorry, mate. With as miserable as these last few years have been, I’ve taken certain pleasure in not havin’ to deal with you an’ the merry band.”

“Ah, that’s right.” His eyes twinkled as though he had just remembered something. “You’re housebroken now.”

Spike shrugged. “’F that’s what you wanna call it. We’ve already traded pleasantries, Angelus. I don’ give a rip ‘bout you or the rest of them, an’ I certainly don’ care what you think of me.”

“Spoken like a true protestant.”

“Point. I’m sure you’re gettin’ to that, right?”

“Thought I’d already made myself clear. For reasons beyond me, Dru seems to think you’re valuable. And since I find shutting her up is the best way to keep her off my back when I don’t feel like playing nanny, here I am.” He spread his arms as though he was a saint. “Come on. You can’t seriously be happy like this.”

“Every minute I spend away from the lot of you is the happiest of my unlife. Now bugger off.”

“You really don’t think it’s going to be that simple, do you?” Angelus sighed and shifted. “Listen, we’re not here, regardless of what you may think, because of your precious mate.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “You jus’ bleedin’ said you were here to talk about her—”

“So I lied.” He shrugged. “Partly. Had to get your attention somehow. She is a source of concern, and of course, when Dru told us that she was who you’d been with these past fourteen years…well, that was just funny.”

Ah. So that’s how word had gotten out. His former had had a vision, or an inkling, or whatever it was she had. That didn’t change anything, though. Angelus was still at his mate’s home. His demon sensed a predator—a threat—and it was all he could do to keep himself from barreling over the threshold.

“Dru’s had a lot of interesting visions lately,” the elder vampire continued conversationally. “The one that brought us here is particularly…well…one doesn’t want to use the word ‘delicious,’ but at times, one must. I just love a good apocalypse, don’t you?” He grinned. “Anyway, Dru thinks you’re important for what we need. I’m here to prove her wrong.”

That made him freeze. God, no. “What?” he demanded. “What has she—”

Angelus roared a long, mocking chuckle. “Good God. Do I have STUPID tattooed to my forehead? You’re with the Slayer. Do you honestly think I’m going to sit here and divulge my big, evil plan with all the incriminating details?”

“Well, it was worth a shot. After all, ‘f you think I’d do anythin’ to help you miserable—”

The elder vampire just grinned. “See? Just as I thought. Not important at all.”

“Whatever you have planned, she’ll stop you.” A pause. The words tumbling from his mouth were almost foreign. Something big and evil was going down, and he found himself, for the first time, on the side of humanity. Placing his hope in the forces of good, almost without realizing it. Buffy was sleeping upstairs, and her life centered on saving the world. Therefore, as her mate, his did as well. “We’ll stop you.”

“Oh. I’m counting on it.” A familiar scent hit the air just as Angelus’s eyes traveled to the staircase, a slow grin spreading across his face. “And I’m certainly counting on her.”

Spike froze. “Buffy,” he said calmly, not turning around. “Go back to bed.”

“What’s going on?”

There was no suspicion in her tone like he’d expected. After all, a vampire she’d known only for two days who had all but barreled into her life was talking with a member of the Order he had long ago abandoned. It could look bad, but she had faith. The notion warmed him thoroughly.

God, he loved her.

Still, that didn’t mean he wanted her to be any part of this. He didn’t want to drag her into the wretched bowels of his hollowed existence before she lit up his life. Angelus was here for him, despite all his huffing; he wasn’t interested in Buffy, other than collateral. A slayer to finally add to his belt. And even if he didn’t get to kill her—which he so obviously wanted, simply because he loved tormenting Spike—there would be another slayer after her. Another girl to kill. And another, and another. In terms of forever, his possibilities were endless.

Unless he was dust. And Spike would see him dust. Before this was over, he would see the son of a bitch scattered in particles on the earth.

“Ah, look what we have here!” Angelus drawled. “A little morsel has come out to play. Hello there, Buffy.” He drew in a deep breath. “I was just telling Spike here what—”

“He’s not staying.”

Her voice was lost and confused. “Spike—”

“Go back upstairs, sweet. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Oh, he will.” Angelus nodded. “He’s not enough of a vamp to actually defend your honor. He’ll curl in bed, whisper niceties in your ear, and pretend to not wanna nice fuck while he dreams of women of experience.” He smiled condescendingly. “Isn’t that right?”

Spike’s eyes flared. “Get outta here!”

“See what I mean? You know, Darla and I keep having this argument, so maybe you two could help out.” His smile turned malicious, his eyes focused on the Slayer. “Would it be funnier to tie Spike up and make him watch as I fuck you to death, or to take you from behind while Darla and Dru teach you why no mortal girl could please a vampire?”

Spike saw red. Fury as black as anything he’d ever experienced flooded his veins. The last strains on his control had finally snapped. The bones in his face shifted and he roared his outrage…and had the demon not been immediately drawn to the presence of his mate, he feared he would have foregone every strain of his personal reserve.

He’d never felt Buffy move so fast. Never. In one second, she was at the top of the stairs; the next, she was barreling downward, all but flying over the threshold and toward Angelus’s waiting grasp.

No. Not like this.

Spike acted without thought. He caught her around the middle just seconds before she flew past the door, ignoring the cackling ring of Angelus’s entertainment. “Oh, yeah!” the elder vampire cried gleefully, clasping his hands together. “Big man!”

“Get the hell outta here!”

“You’re sure he’s the one you want making you a woman, little Buff?” he continued nastily, his eyes focused on Buffy in ways that made the younger demon want to forget the claim, if only for a second, so that he could deal with his grandsire without worrying about his mate. Without worrying for a fraction of a moment. “Spike’s still a child. Not capable of handling what a slayer needs. A disgrace of the Order. Christ, the boy wouldn’t know where to put his dick without a manual.”

Buffy growled and struggled against Spike’s hold on her. Holy fuck, she growled.

“Ohh, feisty!”

“Get outta here!” Spike snapped. “Get the hell out!”

“She’s not gonna want to be caged up forever, boy,” Angelus said, shrugging. “Just tell her where to find me when she wants the real thing. I’d love to have a taste.”

“Let me go!” Buffy screamed. “I’m gonna rip his head off!”

“Come on, Spike! Let her go!”

Spike slammed the door closed before his control snapped completely. He released his struggling mate, avoiding the glare of her eyes as he double-checked the locks, peeked through the window panes to make sure Angelus was gone. And he was. His grandsire had accomplished what he wanted. He’d distressed the Slayer, infuriated the only vampire in history to walk away from his Order, and planted a seed of doubt.

Something was coming. They weren’t here for Buffy; they were here for something else. Dru had had a vision, and he was supposed to play a part. Dru wanted him, for whatever reason.

Bugger. That. He would never do anything to bring danger to his mate.

“Why?” Buffy demanded, drawing him back to the present. “You can’t protect me, Spike! This is my job! A vampire was at my house, and—”

“A vampire is still at your house, luv.”

“You should’ve let me kill him!”

His eyes flared. “He would’ve torn you apart.”

“Thanks. It’s so nice to know that my mate for life…or eternity…or whatever has so much faith in my—”

“He would’ve used me against you, you daft bint. That pain you were feelin’ earlier? You can’t control it. Not without makin’ it complete. Your emotions are tied with reactions, an’ yeh, that doesn’ go away, but you do learn how to temper it.” Spike shook his head furiously. “An’ you don’ know Angelus. He’s an arrogant sod, but he’s lived two hundred an’ fifty years for a reason.”

“I could’ve taken him!”

“No, you couldn’t have. Not like this. Not with the pain you’re feelin’. He would’ve used me against you, an’ then you against me. He would’ve used us against each other.” Spike took a step forward. He knew he was being redundant, and he didn’t care. Whatever he had to do to get through to her. “You’re stronger than he is, but you don’ know how to fight him. Strength doesn’ mean rot if you don’ know how to use it. If you think for one second I’m the type to stand aside an’ let the woman I love put herself in danger, you’re off your sodding nutter. I’d sooner walk into daylight.”

Buffy blanched, anger vanishing.

Spike froze, recounted, and cursed.

Bloody hell.

“W-what?”

“Nothing.”

“Spike—”

It was too soon. He wasn’t ready for this. Wasn’t ready for a conversation about love. He had only tonight realized the true extent of his feelings, and she was still terrified of him. Of everything. While she had aged significantly emotionally in the past few hours, he was all too aware of how much love could change things. Could terrify a girl her age who hadn’t felt anything like this before. In any regard, shouting it at her had been the last way he’d wanted to tell her.

Bollocks up everythin’.

And yet, she looked so torn there in the entryway. Fury had faded and she was Buffy again. Just Buffy, not the Slayer. Buffy who was looking at him as though he had just fallen from the heavens. As though the concept of anyone loving her was so out there, that even the one designated to be her mate for eternity would be hard pressed to voice the words.

Before he knew what was happening, she had launched herself into his arms and attacked his mouth with hers. And he melted into her. His arms came around her in a fury, hauling her against him as her tongue found his, stroking him into oblivion with the simple sweetness of her kisses. Her body was so warm and inviting; her heart pounded furiously against his unanswering chest, her pelvis thrusting against his needily, small whimpers scratching at her throat as he guided her back toward the staircase.

God, he needed her so much. Every kiss tested his resolve. Every time he touched her warm, welcoming flesh. Every time her arousal permeated the air. Every everything she gave him. And now, she was surpassing her shyness by letting lust guide her actions. He wasn’t going to be able to wait much longer. His need for her, eclipsed only by his love, had tormented his restraint long enough.

But not now. Christ, he wanted it, but not now. He wasn’t going to let her give herself to him because she thought she had to. Because she’d heard the words, mistake as it had been.

“Tell me,” she pleaded softly between kisses, and the voice of her insecurities broke his heart. “Please, Spike.”

He melted.

God, I’m already damned.

“I love you,” he gasped against her mouth, his hands exploring every soft curve her warm body had to offer. “I love you so much, Buffy.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

She kissed his lips again, then pressed her mouth to his throat, shuddering against him as his fingers found her nipples. “Spike…”

God, she’d opened a gate. “I love you,” he murmured again. “I love you.”

Suddenly, the rest didn’t matter at all. His earlier agreement with himself was forgotten. Buffy was crying again, but for the first time, he’d given her tears of happiness.

Whatever Angelus had planned, he would make sure it never saw fruition. The woman he loved was holding him, crying because he’d told her how he felt. There had never been anything like this. Never.

He would fight for her until the end of the world. No matter what it took.

No matter what it cost.

 

Chapter Nineteen

Forever In Your Eyes


Spike released the breath he’d been holding as Buffy shoved him back to her bed, a womanly, hungry look in her eyes. The sight was enough to make his frozen blood boil—the expression on her face was so intent, he felt the flames of his own demise licking his insides. Gone completely from the girl he had known just a short time ago; he’d made Buffy into a woman. And she was learning to take what she wanted.

She tore his shirt off, and before he could get a word in—teasing or otherwise—her hot, perfect mouth dropped to his chest, pressing wet ardent kisses into his skin. She was moving over his denim-clad erection in long, womanly strokes, and she was driving him out of his mind.

“Oh God.”

He felt her smile against him. “You like?”

“Fuck, what are you doing to me?”

Unwinding him completely—that was what she was doing. He’d been kissed before, but not like this. Not to the degree where he felt certain every part of him was on fire. When every brush of her lips against his skin made his body tremble with the wealth of adoration she fed him.

“I’m finding out what you like,” she murmured, her fingers dancing over his abdomen, dangerously nearing the throbbing predicament in his trousers. “Finding out what you…what I can do for you to make you feel good.”

God, her words haunted him. Teased him. He remembered her asking, but knowing that she actually wanted to please him made everything different. Made everything real.

This wasn’t returning the favor. This was her feeling for him pouring through, and it touched him in ways he couldn’t even begin to fathom.

“I said…tomorrow.”

“Yes. It’s after midnight.” She nipped at one of his nipples. “It’s tomorrow.”

There was reverence in her tone that hadn’t been there before. The words he’d spoken not ten minutes ago hazed around him, and he knew with sudden certainty exactly what she was doing, and why.

“Buffy,” he choked, hissing as his eager cock sprang into her waiting grasp. “You don’ have to…not because I said—”

“I want to. I wanted to before we went to bed.” He watched her adoringly, the warm haven of her touch curled around his shaft, pumping him steadily. She was watching the movements of her hand with mixed fascination and embarrassment, which charmed him even more. She was so innocent, and that wasn’t betrayed by her girlish pursuit of him. Her eyes swallowed his cock with almost unbearable intensity. He grew harder simply by having her silent appraisal. By having her study the movements of her hand hungrily, wringing moans from his throat without even realizing it.

“Buffy…”

“I’ve never seen one before.”

“One?”

“Your…” Rouge tinted her cheeks. “I’ve never seen…”

He arched a brow. He already knew to never pass up a good opportunity to turn her a deeper shade of red, despite his eagerness to see her bashfulness cast aside. “A dick?”

It worked. Her flush deepened. “No.”

A grin tickled his lips. “Yeh? Not even in books or dirty films?”

“Well, you know my whole sordid history, don’t you?”

His grin broadened.

“I don’t watch those movies.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m just saying, I had some idea of what they looked like…if that’s what you’re asking.” She tentatively touched his sensitive head, and a long groan tumbled through his throat. A groan that grew louder when she withdrew her hand and looked at him with wide, imploring eyes. “Does that hurt?”

“Fuck no. Do it again.”

“You sounded hurt.”

“Buffy, please.”

She bit her lip and touched him again, watching his face hesitantly as he released another long, unconstrained whimper.

“I didn’t know they stood up like that when they got…” She avoided his eyes. “Hard.”

“An’ you’ve made it this far through public school how?”

“Hey!”

He merely smiled. Truth be told, her questions and observations charmed him. The less she knew of the male anatomy in her pre-Spike years—the ones she didn’t know about—the better.

“Well…how was I supposed to know?” she replied defiantly. “I didn’t exactly get to any base with my past…and I say this loosely…boyfriends.”

He growled.

“Loosely!”

He huffed and licked his lips, watching her small hand as she stroked him fervently, almost unaware of her actions as she spoke.

“It looks kinda funny.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Careful, sweets,” he said lowly. “A man’s manhood is nothin’ to be taken lightly.”

“I don’t mean in a bad way,” she assured him. “I like it. I just haven’t seen one, and I guess I thought they’d look different.”

“Uh huh. How so?”

“Smaller?” she offered, blushing again as though realizing that they were still talking about his cock as she pumped the hard length of him. “And not quite so…stick-uppy.”

Spike grinned. “Not bad, though?”

“No…” There was a flicker of hunger in her eyes that had him moaning all over again. “Not bad.”

Her attentions to his cock were becoming more boisterous. That small hand of hers worked magic on him. He’d never felt so lost in anything—anyone. Like he was on the verge of losing the entirety of his being, but he didn’t fear the fall. Buffy didn’t claw. She didn’t grab him by the balls and use her sex to bend him to her will. She did nothing of the sort. She was soft and warm and loving, and he would never get enough of her.

Her timid fingers ran up the length of his cock, brushing gently against his head. He melted into another whimper, and thrust needily into her hand. “Buffy…god, baby, please.”

“What do you need?”

“You.”

She blushed and grinned but shook her head. “Spike—”

“I answered honestly.”

“What do you like?”

“You,” he said again, eyes twinkling. “I like you very much.”

“What do you want me to do for you?” Buffy looked at him imploringly. “Please, Spike, I wanna know what you like. What I can do to make you feel good. I’m…” She glanced down. “I don’t know if you…I’ve heard stories and stuff, about…” Her eyes dropped shyly to his erection, and her skin flushed redder. “I just don’t know what I’ll do that you’ll like.”

“I like anything.”

“Spike…”

He felt dirty. Vile. He was the murderer of hundreds, but he couldn’t fathom tainting her with his nasty fantasies. What did he want? He wanted that gorgeous mouth of hers wrapped around his cock, deep-throating him into oblivion. He wanted the feel of her velvet tongue against his skin, lapping at his head, suckling at his balls as she fingered herself. He wanted to see her hand buried in her sweet little quim as she sucked him off. He wanted to tunnel his fingers through her hair and hold her to him as he fucked her mouth, and he wanted to empty himself in her throat.

But he didn’t. As potent as his desires were, he wouldn’t degrade her by asking. By putting a name to his desires. He knew all too well the views of women when it came to blowjobs, and he didn’t want her to ever resent him for what he wanted. Despite his yearnings, simply touching her was enough. Feeling her hand wrapped around him was the sweetest solace he’d ever known. He loved her too much to ask for anything more.

And amazingly, she read his mind.

“Spike, I want to know. I don’t care what it is.” She paused shyly. “Do you want my mouth on you?”

He whimpered and drove his hips forward. “Christ, Buffy!”

“I’ll do it.”

“Oh, God.”

“I want to make you feel good.”

“Buffy, I—oh fuck!”

Her tongue wrapped around his head, suckling sweetly. She was nervous. He could hear her heart pounding, the thunder of her pulse as it raced through her veins. She was a goddess. His hot, fiery goddess. And he was lost in her.

“Buffy,” he moaned, thrusting into her mouth before he could help himself. “So hot.”

“Is this okay?”

He nodded fervently, releasing a choked sob. “Oh God!”

“Spike…”

“So good. Buffy, please…” Spike threw his head back and whimpered. “Please…need your hot mouth.”

She brushed a tender kiss across the head of his cock, and he nearly yelped. “Tell me what to do,” she murmured. “Please…I wanna—”

“T-take me into your mouth,” he pleaded. “Need you. Oh God, Buffy, I need you so much.”

Her lips slid over his head once more, venturing down the hard length of him tentatively, her eyes remained on his face, her small hand circling the base of his erection and squeezing gently. He threaded his fingers through her hair, thrusting only slightly deeper into her. God, she felt wonderful. So good. She was nervous, but her inexperience charmed him. If anything, the knowledge that he was the only man who had or ever would know this bliss made the act itself even more sacred than before. Heightened it to euphoric levels that he had never before fathomed.

Buffy murmured around him, bobbing her head experimentally, venturing a bit more of him into her mouth with every drive.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so hot,” he gasped, arching into her. “So perfect.”

“Mmm…”

“Such a sweet li’l mouth.” He hazarded a glance at her and nearly lost himself. “Buffy…please.”

She looked at him.

“My…” The request felt so vulgar. She was giving him something precious, and he had the audacity to want more. “Please…”

Buffy’s lips left him completely, and he bit the impulse to cry out in protest. “What is it?” she asked, her hand pumping him rhythmically in the absence of her mouth. “Please tell me. I wanna know.”

God, she really did. She wanted to know how to please him. She’d been saying the words for a while now, but only at that moment did he actually hear them. She wanted to know how to bring him pleasure. How to make him feel the way he made her feel. The notion itself was enough to make him fall over the edge. No one in all his years had ever made an attempt to know his body like this. Know what he liked, what he didn’t like, and actually care for him and his needs beyond what he could do for whoever was sharing his bed.

Drusilla, obviously. Always Drusilla. Their sex life had been all about her, and because he’d believed himself in love, he’d allowed it.

Buffy was giving him something he hadn’t known to want. All at once, he felt like a virgin clinging desperately to his last strands of control.

“Spike—”

“My balls,” he gasped. “Please.”

She flushed and he about lost it again as her eyes shyly lowered once more to his sac. She cupped him with her free hand, testing the weight of him in her palm, and licked her lips before raising her gaze to his once more. “You want my mouth there?” she asked softly. “Or—”

“Your mouth.”

Buffy reddened even deeper but lowered her head once more, and suckled his sensitive skin between her teeth. The hand wrapped around his cock remembered itself after a few seconds, and began pumping him ardently once more, her thumb caressing his sensitive slit with every lap.

“Ahhh…” Spike screwed his eyes shut as she bathed him with her tongue. He would have to redefine ecstasy after this. The cold, lonely nights of watching her from afar were over. After so many years, he was where he needed to be. He had the touch he craved with more feeling than he’d ever thought possible. He had everything.

He had Buffy.

“Buffy—”

She glanced up. He curled his own hand around his cock and directed it back into her mouth. For a minute, he thought he might have offended her for the way she paused and looked at him questioningly. That thought died just as easily. She graced him with a small, saucy smile, and took his length back into her haven, resuming the natural rhythm she’d been perfecting before his request.

Watching her suck him off was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. The way her eyes remained on him, careful, curious, unaware of how much every move she made reverberated through his entire being. How effortlessly she drove him crazy.

“God, I love you,” he sighed.

Awe filled her eyes, and for a minute, he thought she might cry.

It was that look that did it for him. That look that sent him over the edge.

“Buffy, I’m gonna…stop!”

Not the best thing to scream. Her lips froze around him in confusion and shades of hurt. Spike cursed inwardly, drew in a deep breath, and jerked his cock out of her cavern, fisting her linen sheets and coming hard in the fabric that wasn’t nearly as warm and welcoming as her mouth had been. It seemed to last forever—that split second of paradise. In a room that smelled of her, tasted of her, with her juices still flavoring his throat from earlier that night and his cock warm with the feel of her, he knew he had touched the hand of God.

It was just a wonder he hadn’t burst into flames in the process.

His body positively hummed as he fell back to earth. Back into the Slayer’s bed, with Buffy curling up beside him. Back to the place he belonged.

“Spike?”

He grinned, his eyes closed as he enjoyed the post-coitus basking. “Baby?”

“Are…” Her voice was small, fragile, and wiped the smile off his lips immediately. “Was that…did I do okay?”

Spike’s eyes flew open and he looked at her. There was such uncertainty buried in her gaze, and though he didn’t know his crime, he was ready to place his head on the chopping block for ever making her doubt herself.

“Buffy…that was bloody brilliant. I’ve never felt anythin’ like it. I mean it.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, frowning when she didn’t look convinced. “Why would you—”

“You pulled away. I just thought…maybe I’d done something wrong, and—”

Fuck.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He cupped her cheeks and drew her mouth to his, kissing her worries away. “I did it because I din’t think you’d…you’d never done that before, an’ I din’t wanna…most girls don’ like swallowin’. It was your firs’ time, an’ I wasn’t about to take advantage of that by—”

“I wanted to.”

There was no way she could know what that meant, but the notion, the innocent sincerity behind her words, had him hard and ready to go. “Buffy—”

“I wanted to. You…for me, you did—”

“There’s a difference. I like doin’ it, an’ I’ve done it before.” He flinched when she flinched. Bloody careless git. “I only mean—”

“I know what you mean. I just…” Her eyes averted to the few inches of mattress that separated them. “It was good, though?” she asked a minute later. “You really liked it?”

“Buffy, you took me to the stars an’ back, an’ I still landed next to a goddess.” He smiled and kissed her lips again. “Please don’ get upset. I din’t wanna ruin it for you. It was…you have no idea what you jus’ gave me.”

A few seconds passed, then she smiled in relief. “Good.”

He waggled his brows. “I’ll say.”

“I wanted to make sure you know that you’re my guy. I know I don’t have a lot as far as experience goes—”

“Stop right there. You’re perfect.”

It was her innocence that charmed him. Had she been sexually active before he staked his claim on her, what had happened here, as well as all that had happened between, them wouldn’t have meant nearly as much. Not to him, anyway. He knew there were women who had a lot more practice, but not more to offer. Buffy was everything he wanted, or would ever need from life. He was with her now, as she explored her newfound sexuality, and he would be there at the end when they were shagging like bunnies, pushing each other to physical and emotional plateaus that poets only dreamed about.

If he feared dust now, he couldn’t wait for the burn she’d give him down the road.

“Perfect? Hardly.”

He caught her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “Believe it.”

Then he was kissing her, rolling over until her body was under his. Her warm, inviting skin teasing his fingers, the steady hum of her pulse crying out for his fangs.

“Spike—”

He sank his blunt teeth into her neck. “Ah, ah, ah. I’ve had mine. Your smell is drivin’ me batty. ‘S your turn, now.”

A shiver ran through her body. “I’ve already had my turn.”

“An’ I’ve had mine. We’re back to you, kitten.” Spike glanced up, eyes dancing. “That’s the way it works.”

“So you get a turn after this?”

Her camisole flew to the ground, eager hands palming her breasts. “Love the sentiment, but if I’m gonna be a responsible mate, I gotta make sure you get your rest.”

“I wanna give you a turn!”

“Had it.” He licked at her nipples. “’S yours now.” He glanced up, chuckling deeply at the look on her face. “Get used to it, pet. I don’ quit until I win.”

That sparked a fire behind her gaze.

“Oh really?”

Her legs scissored around his waist, and the next thing he knew, she’d flipped him over and was astride his hips, pinning his wrists to the mattress and drawing him into a heated kiss.

Despite his surprise, the move had him so thoroughly horny that it was all he could to keep himself from ripping her sweats away and making a full night of it. Instead, he smirked and thrust his erection against her clad pussy, loving the widening of her eyes as she felt the full length of him. “Gotta love me a girl with nice, strong thighs,” he purred once their lips parted.

The words inspired fire to her cheeks, but she didn’t forgo the high ground. “Bad idea, Spikey,” Buffy replied heatedly, mapping a wet path of bitey kisses down his throat. “Never stand between a slayer and what she wants.”

He shivered in anticipation. “Oh? An’ why’s that?”

God, I love her.

She drew her head back, eyes flickering mischievously. “Watch and learn.”
 

 

 Chapter Twenty

Shine Until Tomorrow


Buffy was certain everyone would know, simply from looking at her, what she’d been doing all weekend. She was even more convinced that those who knew her best would be able to tell how often and with whom. No one, however, stared at her impolitely or paid her more mind than usual, thus her theory was readily discarded.

The day went by fast, which surprised her. For how much work her teachers had decided to pile on—especially in the last throes of her high school career—to the careless daydreams of platinum blond vampires she caught herself in the middle of during virtually all of her classes, Buffy counted her blessings that she was relatively ignored by the day’s instructors.

For instance, she found her mind wandering as Mrs. Adams discussed the Pythagorean Theorem. Buffy heard tha which translated to thigh which ultimately led to a silent appraisal of Spike’s thighs. She was similarly fortunate to have eluded attention in English, for she might have answered, “Spike’s killer abs,” when asked about the dominant themes of Animal Farm.

The day didn’t provide much chance to talk with Willow about her weekend beyond the breakthrough her friend had encouraged. The redhead spent lunch period in the library, working on her English paper with Oz proofreading pages as she shot them out. Rather, Buffy found herself seated across from Xander and Cordy, who predictably only came up for air to greet her and to comment on the cafeteria food.

As it was, Buffy was looking forward to speaking with Giles, especially after all that Spike had divulged over the weekend. Her daydreams kept her company in the midst of boring classes, and by the time the dismissal bell rang, she found herself in good spirits, and more than a little anxious to see her Watcher.

“Buffy!”

Somehow, over the casual herding of students as they attempted to flee school grounds as quickly as possible, she heard Willow’s cries and eventually snapped from her latest Spike-filled reverie. Buffy turned with a grin and waited patiently for her friend to catch up with her.

“Paper done?”

“I’m halfway through relating the second major theme to my thesis,” Willow replied, catching her breath. “Oz helped me chop out all the stuff I don’t need.”

“What stuff?”

“The stuff that I think is super interesting but will make my paper not so much a paper as a short novel.”

“Ah. So you’re that into…who are you writing on again?”

“Vasily Aksyonov’s Generations in Winter. It’s about the Stalin era.”

Buffy made a face. “Definitely more a you thing than a me thing.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say?” Willow grinned. “So…are you feeling better? The last time I saw you, you were all with the doom and gloom.”

“Not the entire time!” the Slayer pouted before the infectious smile that had been itching her lips all day bloomed into radiance. “Spike came over after you left.”

The redhead’s eyes flashed excitedly. “Oh?”

“…and he left this morning before sunrise.”

“You had him over all weekend?!” Willow looked impressed. “Buffy!”

“Not all weekend…he was gone for that time on Saturday when you were over.”

“For what, four hours?”

“It was six.” She flushed. “Six long, miserable hours.”

“Buffy…you two didn’t…” Her friend’s eyes widened scandalously. “You didn’t…did you?”

No, they hadn’t. They really hadn’t.

They’d practically done everything but, but they hadn’t.

“He said he loves me, Will.”

“But you—”

“No,” she replied. “We did not have the dirty sex. But he…we…did other stuff.”

Willow grinned knowingly, and it occurred to Buffy for the first time that her friend was in a relationship with a guy, just as she was, and had more than once confessed that she and Oz loved each other. She hadn’t, however, gone into illicit details of what the two did when they were alone.

“He loves you?” the redhead repeated as the library came into view. “He told you that he loves you?”

“Yes.” Buffy smiled, her mind already on a fast-track pace back to her sin-filled weekend. “At first it was an accident…him telling me…but then he…just kept saying it.”

In bed. Making breakfast. In the shower. On patrol. When he woke me with his tongue in my—

Buffy pushed the library door open, shaking the thought away before she lost herself again.

Only a familiar stirring stabbed her insides, and she felt him just seconds before she saw him. For a beat, she thought her mind had finally left her, and her naughty fantasies had come to life. But no, Spike was there. He was talking with Giles about something heated from the looks of it, only to be interrupted when he sensed her near.

For long seconds, they seemed deadlocked. As though years had passed since that morning, and they were old lovers that hadn’t seen each other in a lifetime or two. The moment passed and she released a breath when she realized how silly it was to ogle her boyfriend when she had spent the better part of two days curled in his arms, but her skin felt hot and her heart was thundering, and not even logic could change that.

“Hey,” she said awkwardly, breaking through the silence.

Spike smiled. “Afternoon, kitten. Was jus’ comin’ by to tell your Watcher what happened this weekend.”

Her face flamed and she stared at him, mortified.

“Angelus…he dropped by?” The vampire arched a brow. “Remember?”

Her shoulders sagged. Oh, of course. Angelus. He had come to tell Giles about Angelus…not about the dirty almost-sex. Which, obviously, Spike would never do…because he loved her and he would never do anything to embarrass her, especially in front of her Watcher.

Moreover, she was ashamed that her first thought centered on her sex-life with Spike, rather than the imminent danger of his family. She was the Slayer, and she couldn’t forget that.

He’s totally polluted my mind.

A mind he could read all too well. The next thing she knew, he was grinning wildly and wagging his brows.

“Yes,” Giles said, clearing his throat. “Spike arrived about ten minutes ago by means I’m not entirely sure of…all to tell me that the Order of Aurelius is evidently planning the apocalypse.”

“That’s Spike?” Willow asked, as though awaking from a stupor. “Wow, Buff, you weren’t kidding.”

Spike’s grin broadened. “Huh’s that?”

“Nothing…Willow’s just being…funny.” Buffy blushed furiously and lowered her backpack to the ground beside the check-out counter. “Funny Will, that’s what we call her.”

“I don’t suppose it’s unreasonable to focus on the apocalypse part of Spike’s presence here,” Giles said tiredly. “After all, if Angelus is meaning to end the world, we have all the reason to believe that he’s capable of it.”

“He wanted to hunt down Acathla once,” Spike said. “Dru had a vision an’ he spent a good five years tearin’ up the world to find him.”

“Oh dear lord. Acathla?”

“I’m taking it that Acathla isn’t Latin for hugs and puppies,” Buffy commented dryly, hoisting herself atop the counter.

Spike shot her a wary grin. “Hardly. Acathla’s an ancient demon who got himself speared through with a sword. Legend has it, remove the sword, an’ the world gets sucked into Hell.”

“There’s a bit more to it than that,” Giles protested.

“Yeh, well, my version’s simpler. I know how you Watchers get.”

Buffy made a face. “Honestly, what is it with vamps and ending the world?”

“Oh, watch it. Only a couple vamps you’ve faced have ever had aspirations that high.” Spike shrugged. “I figure it’s Angelus’s soddin’ complex bleedin’ through. He wants to destroy the world to make a name for himself.”

“Won’t that not matter if the world is, oh, I dunno, gone?”

Spike shook his head. “See, I don’ think I can credit the wanker for thinkin’ that far ahead. He jus’ wants the glory of destroyin’ it, even if he only gets to enjoy it for half a bleedin’ second.” A pause as he fiddled through his duster pockets and retrieved his cigarettes. “Most vamps hate the thought of Hell as much as anyone else, luv. In the spectrum of all things unholy, half-breeds are the lowest of the low. We’d be hunted out as much as you pulsers if the world was handed over completely. True demons can’t stand the thought of human blood taintin’ demonic lineage. So vamps enjoy the world up here. Only the oldest of the old, like the Master, would’ve ever thought they stood a chance among the full-breeds.”

Willow frowned. “Then why does this…Angelus want to destroy the world?”

“’Cause of his amazin’ ego. He thinks if he pulls it off, I’d wager, that’d earn him some credibility.” Spike lit his cigarette, ignoring Giles’s protests and observations that smoking on school grounds was against the rules. Rather, he tossed the Watcher a mean look, effectively shut him up, then turned to Buffy. “Angelus wants notoriety in Hell. He’s already considered one of the baddest of the bads up here, even among those who are above the pains of bein’ half-breeds. He used to brag about how the Scourge even thought highly of him.”

“The Scourge?” Giles echoed. “I thought you were the Scourge.”

Spike smiled dryly and puffed on his cigarette. “The Order of Aurelius—Darla an’ her offspring—are called the Scourge of Europe. I’m not talkin’ about that. The Scourge itself is a demon organization of full-breeds that declares war on anythin’ with human blood in it. They’re like Nazis, sans the humor. Like I said, vampires are the lowest of the low. An’ unfortunately, I think Angelus’s braggin’ rights on the Scourge are legit.” When he received nothing but another questioning look, he sighed and continued. “Fine. It was 1956. We were in Singapore when the Scourge attacked, targetin’ this clan of Frylik demons an’ any other half-breed that crossed their path. Angelus got us out of that mess by means I’m still hazy on, but even Darla—who doesn’ brag as much—said that the leader of the Scourge was impressed with my grandsire’s lack of humanity.” He shrugged and blew out a stream of smoke. “Din’t help the lot of us any. Almost wished they’d offed us for as much as the old sod bragged about it for the next three years.”

“You have issues with Angelus, don’t you?” Willow asked.

“Other than the fact that he threatened my mate the other night, you mean?” A dangerous glimmer flickered in Spike’s eyes. “The pages of history at its bloodiest can’t even begin to touch how deep my hatred for him runs.”

“So…yes, in other words.”

He smiled. “Yeh, we have a few issues.”

“However,” Giles added, sighing deeply, “seeing as we can’t begin to know what specific plans Angelus has in store, as he refrained from telling Spike, we’re having a meeting to discuss an entity we can’t fight.”

Buffy frowned. “And here I could’ve sworn that was our job…fighting evil.”

“Perhaps if Spike had decided to not shut his elder out so rapidly, we would have a more detailed account on what we can expect.”

“Are you outta your bleedin’ mind?” the vampire growled.

“He’s British,” came the response as the library doors swung open and Xander, Cordelia, and Oz paraded inward. “So let’s not rule anything out.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Xan…”

“Good day, all.” Her friend stopped and nodded in Spike’s direction. “I see we’re now associating with Billy Idol wannabes?”

Spike sighed. “I swear, one day I’m gonna kill that wanker.”

Xander threw his hands up in protest. “Me? What I’d do?”

“Not you, you prat, Billy Bloody Idol. Some day when his teeth are rottin’ an’ he can’t sing anymore.” At the Slayer’s look, he shrugged and indulged a puff of his cigarette. “What? He might be a git, but the boy’s got good music.”

“Is this the guy?” Oz asked, pecking Willow on the cheek.

Buffy flushed madly. Spike looked especially pleased with himself.

“Yeah,” she said, sliding toward her mate self-consciously. “This is the guy.”

“What guy?” Xander demanded. “Have I missed something?”

“Oh, judging by it being, well, you,” Cordy drawled, slipping coolly into the frosty-bitch persona she always put on when around people and Xander at the same time, “I’d say yes.”

Her friend sighed heavily. “Why do I put up with her?”

“And so say all of us,” Willow muttered.

Spike just grinned and curled an arm around Buffy’s waist, sliding her down the length of the counter until she was beside him. “Nice lot you hang out with, Slayer.”

“Shut up.”

“Who’s the guy?” Xander whined. “Come on.”

Giles cleared his throat. “Spike,” he said contemptuously, tossing the vampire and his Slayer a disapproving look. The coldness of his regard had Buffy in knots. He looked as though she had willfully chosen this fate for herself, and that he couldn’t be more disappointed with her decision if she had decided to abandon her duty completely.

Even so, her feelings over the past few days had blossomed radically, and it was no longer a matter of mates or claims. Not to her, and not to Spike. She felt it with every glance he gave her, every time his lips touched her skin. Moreover, he’d said it himself, and there wasn’t any reason to doubt it.

Spike loved her. And what’s more, she loved him. She loved him, and she wanted him to know it.

She’d wanted to say it all weekend, but hadn’t summoned the nerve. Ever since he whispered it to her on Saturday night, the words had been itching at her throat, begging for voice.

She hadn’t said it yet for several reasons. She wanted desperately for him to believe her; wanted there to be absolutely no doubt that she spoke the truth, and was not trying to simply return the words in kind. No, she needed him sure. She needed him to believe her.

When they had awoken the previous day, she’d set about ways of telling him, but the timing was always off. No matter what they did, it hadn’t felt right.

She didn’t want to gasp it as he brought her to climax. She wanted it real.

Tonight.

“Okay,” Xander said, shaking her back to the present. “I’m taking it that Billy Idol is Spike.”

“Spike is a vampire,” Giles explained. “As well as Buffy’s mate.”

Xander and Cordelia were the only people in the room that reacted.

“He’s a vampire?” the former screeched, newfound fear pouring into his eyes. “Then why is he all…cuddly with the Slayer? There should be no cuddlies between vampires and slayers!”

“You have absolutely no idea how much I agree with that sentiment,” Giles remarked.

“This just makes her an even bigger freak,” Cordelia decided.

Spike growled.

“Okay, sense is not being made here!”

Willow scowled. “There’s plenty of sense to be had!” she protested. “Spike is Buffy’s mate. He’s not like other vampires.”

“What bizarre-o world are you referring to, there, Will?”

“Willow knows?” Giles demanded.

“I told her on Saturday,” Buffy replied, feeling all of three inches tall. “I was going through some stuff and she helped me.”

“Okay, so everyone knows except Xander,” Xander said irritably. “Everyone always knows except Xander.”

“Oh calm down,” Giles snapped. “Buffy is Spike’s mate. Vampires are predestined to mate with other vampires. It’s eternal, unbreakable, unavoidable, and one of the most potent connections that ever was or ever will be. Though it has not happened before now, it was foreseen that all slayers are similarly destined to have vampiric mates, as slayers and vampires are of the same mold, and there is only one slayer at a time. Spike is the first vampire to have ever found this out…rather, he’s the only vampire who knows how and why it’s possible. And now, other than the Council, the lot of you are in on it as well.” He paused. “Spike is Buffy’s mate. He’s also a slayer killer, and he’s brought his family to Sunnydale to start the apocalypse.”

“Now hold on,” Buffy intervened sharply, hand going to her mate’s and squeezing tightly. “Spike’s been here ever since I’ve been here, and I don’t think we can say the same for the rest of those guys.”

“Huh?” Xander asked, lost. No one looked at him.

“And even so, Giles, Spike is my mate. And you just said that, like it or not, there’s nothing anyone can do about it. So start getting used to it.”

At that, the Watcher glanced down, almost ashamed. It seemed that much had somehow escaped his notice.

“Authority is addictive,” Spike murmured in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “An’ you wear it very well.”

“As for him killing slayers,” Buffy continued, flushed, “yes, it happened. It happened before he knew anything about me or the fact that we’re mated.”

“Have you claimed each other, then?” Giles asked softly.

No. I’m waiting.

For what, she did not know. Just as confessing her love didn’t seem right, she wanted to perform the ritual that would tie them together for eternity after everything was on the table. She didn’t want him wondering about how she felt, or if she could ever love him the way he seemed to love her.

Though she felt if they waited any longer, she would burst.

Tonight. It has to be tonight.

“The Slayer’s waitin’,” Spike explained, squeezing her hand again. “I jus’ dumped this on her recently. Don’ wanna push the girl in too far yet.”

“If it’s unavoidable—”

“Because somethin’ is unavoidable, Rupert, doesn’ mean you get careless about it. This is both our eternities we’re talkin’ about. If she’s not ready, I’m not, either.”

Oh yeah. She totally loved him.

“Very well,” Giles said with another long sigh. “I think it might be best, then, if you two take patrol tonight. We need to know what sort of apocalypse Angelus has in mind. Spike?”

“I’ve been tryin’ to track ‘em down for a few days,” he admitted. “Ever since I saw them the other night. Dru’s either gotten better at magic, or she’s kidnapped a warlock or what all, ‘cause their scent’s everywhere. I keep runnin’ into all these bloody dead ends.”

“We’ll hit it tonight, though,” Buffy said. “This town’s only so big. They can’t hide forever.”

“I am so confused,” Xander muttered.

“Imagine our surprise,” Cordy retorted.

“I’ll come by your house tonight,” Willow suggested. “To talk tactics…for if you find him, and if you don’t. Somehow, I don’t like the idea of an uber creepy vampire out there, just hiding until it’s time for him to push the ‘start’ button on the apocalypse.”

“Sounds good,” Buffy agreed. “What time?”

“Eight-ish? Will that give you enough time to make with the patrol?”

Buffy and Spike exchanged a glance.

“Should be fine.”

“I’ll try to head over around eleven, unless that’s too late.” Oz offered a shrug. “Band practice. Devon learned a new chord, and he wants to wow all of us with his now multi-chord tricks of magic and wonder.”

The Slayer grinned. “Should be fine. My mom’s not due back for another week.”

Cordy’s brows arched. “You get the house to yourself and Mr. Sex-On-Legs with a sacred duty to screw his brains out?” She cursed to herself. “I think I kinda hate you.”

Spike beamed. Oz shrugged. Everyone else looked uncomfortable.

“Ummm, right,” Willow said hurriedly, breaking the ice. “So…eight-ish? Your place?”

“We’ll be back by then,” Buffy said, hopping off the counter and tugging Spike along with her. “Now we’re heading back.”

Xander frowned. “Back where?”

“My house.”

“Isn’t it a little sunny outside?”

Spike whirled around at that, his arm closing over Buffy’s middle. “No worries, mate,” he said, waggling his brows. “We’ll take the scenic route.”

 *~*~*

They made three uneventful sweeps of all the hot spots that night. Though he didn’t say anything, Buffy could tell that her boyfriend was getting irritated with himself. He’d pick up a trail and follow it for about a half hour before meeting a dead-end. There was simply no catching up with the Order. If they were even staying in town—which both Spike and Buffy agreed they must be—they were somewhere well hidden with all the anticipatory moves a vampire would make with the mindset of avoiding other vampires.

It was a quarter past seven. The town was dead—seriously dead. No fledglings, no demons, no nothing.

Nothing but forty-five minutes to kill before they met up with Willow.

Forty-five minutes, and a very agitated vampire who needed to blow off steam.

Which was why, Buffy supposed, she tackled him without warning. She couldn’t decide if she wanted him to fight her or kiss her, but found herself in the welcomed mercy of his arms either way. Spike caught her with ease, his bumpies bursting through. With a quick twist and some very primitive growls that had her all kinds of horny, he shoved her against the side of the nearest mausoleum and attacked her lips.

There was something so primal, so wild, so wanton, about kissing him like this. When his demon was out to play. She loved playing with him, even if she was coming closer to lighting a match to gunpowder. She stroked his tongue with hers, teased his fangs with soft caresses that elicited whimpers of such passion that she thought at first that she was hurting him. His hands were everywhere, teasing her, bringing her body to life in ways that hadn’t been possible until she knew him. Until she had someone who was hers.

“Christ, Buffy,” he gasped into her mouth. “I need you so much.”

“Spike…”

“I can’t wait much longer, sweetheart. I need to…” He drew his lips from hers and lowered his mouth to her throat, his fangs teasing her skin but not drawing blood. She shivered at the feel of it, wondering who got the worst of this torment. Spike, no doubt. His fangs had wanted her blood for fourteen years, and these last few days had known an endless strain on his patience. “I need to taste you. I need to…god, I need to be inside…I need to make love to you so bloody badly.”

Buffy didn’t know what turned her on more. The fact that he said it, or the fact that he’d called their sex-life an act of lovemaking, rather than the cruder fucking she’d expected.

“Spike…I need to tell you…something…”

He drew away from that, eyes wide. “Sweetheart?”

“I just…here’s the thing.” She released a deep breath. “I’ve been trying to think of a way to tell you all weekend, ‘cause I wanted you to know I meant it and that I wasn’t just saying it to say it, you know?”

Awe coincided with the rush of realization. “God, Buffy—”

“I love you—” She found herself mauled with hungry kisses before she could finish, and her body rejoiced. “I love you,” she gasped again as his mouth began tracing a wet path down her neck. “And tonight…we can…tonight.”

He growled, face buried between her breasts, but he didn’t say anything.

“After Willow…and Oz…leave.”

He jerked down the front of her jeans and shed the fabric off her left leg so fast it nearly burned. His force knocked her shoe off along with it.

A thrill raced up her spine.

He lost control. I said it, and he lost control.

Her power over him was terrifying at times, but then, he held the same power over her.

They were true equals.
 

“Spike—”

“Love you,” he replied with soft ferocity, ripping her panties away as he cast her liberated leg over his shoulder. “Gonna show you how much.”

“Tonight—”

“Save tonight for tonight,” he said, nibbling at her clit. “My mouth wants this pussy now.”

Buffy threw her head back and gasped. Spike held her thighs and feasted.

There had never been such a night.



To be continued in Chapter Twenty-One: Masque of the Red Death...

Chapter Twenty-One

Masque of the Red Death


It was going to rain. The skies were clear now, but the weatherman was predicting heavy storms for the night, and the meteorologists in Sunnydale were never wrong. Thus Willow decided to count her blessings that she had a boyfriend with a van. With any luck, they could leave right after Oz showed up. After all, there was school tomorrow, and she wasn’t all too wild about the thought of being up all night, especially when she had finals to worry about and a paper at home, waiting for her finishing touch.

Willow shivered a little. The past three years had been trying on her. While life prior to Buffy and the bombshell of vampires and demons and other crawlies that stalked the night had been relatively quiet, she realized that her sleepy little town had always had its share of creep. She was just more alert to it now. More aware that every step she took, especially after dark, that she was challenging fate.

Granted, the past few years had similarly presented a fair share of problems in which walking at night from one place to another was unavoidable. Xander had accompanied her on a few missions, but he seemed to have less and less time for her and Buffy ever since he and Cordelia discovered they were destined to a love-hate relationship with much of the sex having.

She really didn’t care to think about how she knew about the last part. Finding condoms in her best friend’s wallet while fishing out a dollar for the soda machine? Yeah, that hadn’t been fun. Especially when Xander remembered they were in there. They hadn’t been able to look at each other for a week.

It would be easy to be irritated with Xander had she not been fault of the wonders of having a boyfriend herself. She had discovered Oz around the same time that Cordelia and Xander called off their childhood feud to make with the smoochies. And yes, while it was aggravating to have a super-genius boyfriend who could make peace in the Middle East in a blink but was a fifth year senior due to laziness, she and Oz had been glued at the hip for a good year or so now.

It was similarly nice, despite her outward disappointment, to have him with her when she walked the halls at Sunnydale High. She was no longer Willow-The-Nerd—she was Willow-The-Nerd-With-A-Cool-Boyfriend. It had just seemed so wrong that she found that happiness before Buffy had. Buffy, who embodied every characteristic that she had coveted since kindergarten. Buffy, who could’ve been the most popular girl in school if she wanted to, but had instead befriended her and made her life all the better for it.

Buffy was the Slayer. Willow had always thought her friend chose the road of solitude because of her sacred duty, though it hadn’t kept her from trying to set her up with every available guy with an I.Q to save her from loneliness. With her dating Oz, and Xander with Cordy, the redhead had experienced pangs of reverse-abandonment, and never wanted her friend to think that her love life came before their friendship. It didn’t. She likewise never wanted to be in a position to choose between Oz and Buffy; therefore, it had made the most sense to try to set Buffy up with guys and hope that it worked out. That way, at least, she wouldn’t feel left out of things that were of the coupley nature.

The past few days, though, had served as the ultimate wake up call.

Buffy had never wanted anyone, because there was only one in the world for her. And as twisted as it was, Spike being a vampire and all, Willow didn’t question it. She couldn’t. Simply watching them together had told her everything she needed to know. The way Spike looked at her friend left little room to doubt. Oh yeah. Even if Buffy hadn’t told her that he’d said it already, Willow would have known on first glance just how deeply he felt for her.

She was excited. All pending doom and gloom aside, she was thrilled that her friend finally had someone to double with…though granted, she didn’t know if Spike would be the kind of guy who’d want to double, but it seemed highly unlikely that there was anything Buffy couldn’t talk him into. Not when he looked at her like that. She could probably even convince him to be her date to the prom.

It would make next year easier on her as well. Willow and Oz were talking about getting their own place off campus, which would limit her time with Buffy even further. Now Buffy had a mate, someone with whom she would share a connection so great it would make everyone around them tremble with envy. And the knowledge gave the redhead a sense of endless relief.

She would never abandon Buffy; never abandon her best friend, but she didn’t want to feel guilty for having a boyfriend. And while nothing had ever been said to inspire such a feeling, Willow simply couldn’t help but worrying about it.

Though she had to be careful and pace herself. If she got too carried away, she’d forget imminent danger, such as this vampire that Buffy and Spike were currently trying to sniff out. Some big nasty that even had Giles wigged—a feat that wasn’t too altogether difficult, but unnerving nonetheless.

Perhaps it was a belated realization, but walking after dark? Alone? Not of the good.

Oz will drive me home.

Yeah, she always had some excuse to satisfy her conscience after she did something stupid. Like midnight walks to Buffy’s? Not smart…but then, she had done it all the time before she realized the town was a hellmouth. Particularly when Xander needed a shoulder to cry on in the years when his parents’ fighting wasn’t as easy to ignore as it was now. When he couldn’t escape it by blaring music and making out with his girlfriend. When he didn’t have a car by means to get far away with, or things like impending apocalypses to distract him from issues that looked downright petty in comparison.

Perhaps that was why she felt she could justify her carelessness. At least she was aware of the danger now. At least she was aware. At least she knew.

In the meantime, she would have to crack on a plan on defeating the latest threat to human existence. If it was that thing that Spike had mentioned—that stone hell-sucky demon—she wanted to be all with the ready. She wanted to know there was a plan waiting to be hatched. Something to throw back at the baddies.

Besides now? Two superhuman forces fighting together? So much more with the reassurance. Not that she thought slayage was too much for Buffy, but Willow would never pretend to be anything but relieved that her friend wasn’t out there alone.

The sooner this evil was defeated, the better. She wanted to focus on important things…like finals and term papers and the possibility that she and Oz might start talking marriage once they hit college.

Marriage that young, though, would be stupid, she told herself. Very, very stupid.

A shrill scream tore through the night, slicing through her reverie. Willow started and whirled around just in time to see the flash of blonde hair of a frantic young woman. She nearly ploughed the redhead over in her carelessness, panting erratically, her blue eyes streaked with fear, dodgy, and barely seeing her in the midst of her panic.

“Ohmigod,” she gasped, clutching at her stomach. “Ohmigod.”

Willow was dumbfounded. She hadn’t even heard the woman approaching. However, the fear in the blonde’s eyes automatically shoved aside any curiosity. Something was bad. Her heart had started pounding wildly, and she knew something was very bad.

“Calm down,” Willow said, hazarding a glance to their surroundings. The neighborhood seemed quiet, even deserted. “Calm down. What’s wrong?”

The woman turned to her and stared. “Oh, oh, oh, you’ve gotta help me,” she cried, seizing her by the shoulders. “You’ve gotta help me. He’s gonna kill me. I swear, he’s gonna kill me.”

“Who?”

“His face! Oh God, his face!”

Willow’s blood ran cold, and she looked up again with some urgency. No, the road was still deserted. That didn’t matter, though. If the woman was being hunted by a vampire, he could easily melt into the surroundings that even skilled eyes would overlook.

“Calm down,” she said again, voice full with sudden intent. “Calm down.”

“He’s gonna—”

“He won’t do anything. We’ll get you inside somewhere.” She licked her lips. “Do you live near here?”

The woman’s face went blank.

“Listen!” Willow seized her arm and shook. “Listen, you need to stay with me, okay? I’m gonna get you somewhere safe, but you need to stay with me.”

The woman released a deep breath and nodded. “Y-y-yes,” she agreed, shivering. “Yes, oh please.”

Willow sighed and began walking again at a brisk pace, never releasing the woman’s arm. The poor thing was shivering, and her skin felt cold through the fabric of her blouse. No wonder; the weather recently had been playing a symphony of different chords when it came to daily temperature. It was going to storm tonight, and that was allegedly supposed to be the end of the unusual southern California cold fronts.

“Do you live near here?”

“Yes.”

“Come on. I’ll take you home.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” The woman seemed to snap back to reality at that, as though only then truly realizing that she was no longer alone. “He was gonna kill me.”

“I know.”

“There was something wrong with his face.”

“I know.”

Willow didn’t feel particularly chatty. She understood that the woman needed to speak, but that didn’t mean she wanted a heart-to-heart as they fled for their lives.

“I think he was…oh God, this is going to sound crazy…”

“A vampire,” the redhead supplied. “I know.”

“Oh.” That seemed to shut her up for a minute; stun her into silence. Then, “Thank you so much for helping me. I didn’t know there were people in the world like that anymore.”

Willow released a deep breath and slowed. She didn’t feel like they were being followed, and though her senses were hardly Slayer-refined, being a loyal sidekick for the past three years did have its perks. “I just did what anyone would do,” she said.

“No, I don’t think so.”

A pause. They continued in silence for a few seconds, walking fast. Willow kept shooting glances over her shoulder. They appeared, for better or worse, thoroughly alone.

But she wasn’t going to question the woman and abandon her only to risk seeing her name in the obituary section the next day. Buffy would just have to wait ten minutes.

“I’m Willow, by the way,” she said.

The woman turned to her at that and flashed a smile, an unsettling flicker in her eyes. “Darla.”

 *~*~*

Buffy was slightly disconcerted to see her house dark and unwelcoming, especially in the veil of night where it all but faded into shadows. She had neglected to leave the porch light on by simple force of habit, as she usually left the house for patrol through her bedroom window. She had thought, though, that Willow would have already arrived.

It was a quarter past eight o’clock, and the house was dark.

“Something’s not right,” she said, stopping coldly, squeezing Spike’s hand.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“Willow should be here by now.”

Spike shrugged. “Prob’ly saw no one was home,” he replied reasonably, though there was a note in his voice that set her nerves ablaze. As though he was deliberately trying to keep her calm. “We are runnin’ a li’l late.”

Buffy shook her head. “No, she knows where we keep the spare key.” There was silence, then she realized that her boyfriend already knew that. There was very little about her life that he didn’t know. “She would’ve just gone inside if we weren’t home when she got here.”

“She’s not jus’ runnin’ late herself?”

“Spike—”

He threw his hands up and she immediately missed the comfort of his touch. “Jus’ don’t want you jumpin’ to conclusions, luv,” he said. “Let’s go inside an’ make sure she din’t phone you. Somethin’ might’ve come up.”

Buffy released a deep breath and relaxed. He was right, of course. Chalk up to her nerves being on fire. Since their tryst in the cemetery, she’d found herself growing increasingly anxious, and knew that as time came closer for them to make their union complete, she’d be in a state to make coffee tense.

It was a strange understanding. These were the last few hours of her life as a virgin. She was going to be claimed tonight; going to become the mate of a vampire. The knowledge made the evening seem holy, and she was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the silence that had surrounded patrol since she met the Order of Aurelius to shatter, especially when something so sacred was about to take place.

Spike kept looking at her as though she would vanish; kept looking at her with a world of love and adoration. It made her feel warm, but the weight of what they were about to do was similarly unstable. She feared a girlish breakdown, and that simply would not do.

It felt like her wedding night.

As Spike had predicted, there was a message from Willow on the answering machine. Her friend had evidently decided to wait and catch a ride with Oz later, which seemed more sensible, and spend the time until then working on her research paper. That way, she didn’t hazard taking on a dangerous town alone and after dark, and she could get some homework done in the process. But she did advise Buffy to give her a ring if anything came up.

Relief washed over her.

You need to stop looking for bad in every direction.

Only there usually was bad in every direction. She had Spike, but she was also the target of one of the most notorious Orders in history. That was bad. Bad, but fixable. And she had Spike’s assurance that Angelus wasn’t the type to randomly attack. He planned strategically—which in itself was frightening, sure, but she had an insider feeding her all the information she needed. When it came time for the big fight, she would be Spike’s mate in name as well as blood, thus the danger of using their unclaimed bond would be out of reach.

She hoped so, at least. They were in love; Angelus and Darla were not. It seemed to her that her enemy still had a deadly advantage.

The thought was terrifying.

“There, now,” the vampire cooed, dropping a kiss against the back of her neck. “Feel better?”

“Yeah,” she said, sighing. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just on edge.”

“I know, baby.” He smiled, twisting her in his arms so that he could see her eyes. “Anythin’ I can do?”

The question was innocent enough, but her polluted mind took the back alley without needing any direction. He sensed it, of course, and the grin turned wicked.

“Any virtues you need me to sully?” he asked, waggling his brows.

God, it was so tempting.

“We shouldn’t.”

“Why not? Far as I can see, we have the house to ourselves for two an’ a half hours.” His eyes smoldered and he neared. “Wanna see how many times I can make you come in two an’ a half hours?”

Her knees buckled. “Spike…”

“Wanna see how loud I can make you scream?” He nibbled on her ear lovingly. “Wanna, Buffy?”

God yes.

“But—”

“Won’ put anythin’ anywhere you don’ want it put,” Spike promised. “That’s for later.”

Oh God.

He cupped a breast, stroking her nipple through the thin fabric separating them. “Please, sweetheart?” he pleaded softly. “Need you.”

He hadn’t reached fruition in the cemetery. He’d sent her into two spiraling orgasms before noting that he didn’t like the idea of sharing her with Sunnydale’s deceased residents. They’d made two more sweeps, talking quietly about her English paper before coming home. And all the while, he’d been sporting an erection that he had occasionally thrust against her backside. Whether or not this was to relieve tension on his part or make her all kinds of horny, she didn’t know. Probably both.

He liked making her squirm. She’d be in the middle of trying to answer a question he’d asked her, concerning how her teacher was tackling Orwell’s novel, and he’d break into her explanation by reminding her how much he wanted her.

“You’re a bad influence,” Buffy murmured.

“The baddest, baby.”

“We have two and a half hours?”

Spike grinned.

“Well,” she continued, flashing a saucy smile. “I think I could use a shower. You think you could help me with those…hard to reach places?”

His eyes widened and he kissed her fervently, leaving her breathless with the taste of his passion. “God, I love you.”

Buffy melted. “I love you, too.”

“And I’ll never tire of hearin’ that.”

It sounded like a casual assurance, but there was something in his gaze that spoke volumes of truth. He was in awe that she had said it. More so tonight than ever, she’d catch him staring at her as though she was a flame that would disappear with the slightest hint of breeze; a flame he depended on for warmth and beauty, and all the other virtues vampires were supposed to reject. All the virtues he embraced. As though he was still holding back the full wealth of his feeling to keep from scaring her. It didn’t. She was in love, and with them it was forever. Forever.

Tonight was the night they made it final.

She only hoped she could wait. Even now, with his arms around her, the peace she craved seemed years away.

 *~*~*

“The dolly said it couldn’t act. Bad dolly.”

“Ah, Dru,” Darla replied, leaning back and appraising the redhead with a careless shrug. “You’d be amazed at what people can do under pressure.”

“Oz…”

The elder vampire rolled her eyes. “Oh knock it off.”

“He hears music,” Dru commented, raising her hands to the ceiling. “All he sees is the dolly. Pretty shades of red.”

“Angelus will be here soon,” Darla said, ignoring her grandchilde completely, enjoying the fresh sparks of fear that danced through the girl’s eyes. Really, obtaining her had been ridiculously easy. It was something that she and Angelus had perfected centuries ago, and time had not betrayed them. Humans were still so miserably good-willed that they’d believe anything, and do more than that. All for the want of compassion.

Like this one? Mentioning that little werewolf had her singing in three seconds flat. Even with a knife to her back, a child that swore she couldn’t lie had concocted, perhaps, the most convincing story of her life. Had Darla not known better, she would’ve sworn the girl was wholly sincere.

Lovely devices, answering machines.

It would be fun to tear the girl down.

“You know how much werewolf pelts go for?” she’d asked as the girl struggled against her bonds, refusing to cooperate. The little redhead had frozen at that. Really, Darla couldn’t blame her. They’d ripped away her dignity. She was nude, her hands behind her back, and quite literally in chains. Oh, and they were planning to make her beg for death before actually granting it.

There were times when Darla suspected living on the Hellmouth fulltime would be worth the competition. Plus, the architects in this town foresaw every demon’s needs.

“Their fur is so rare,” she’d continued, “that a few poachers have been known to kill entire villages in search of the one allergic to the moon.”

“Moon,” Dru had cooed, giggling.

“We’d have to keep him alive until it was time for the change, of course. Starve him. Hey, maybe even let Angelus satisfy some of his more…animal needs with you while he watched. Of course, you wouldn’t last as long as the wolf would. We need him for his fur.” She’d grinned. “Then after that’s gone, a feast. You have any idea how good werewolf meat tastes, especially on the first night of a full moon?”

“Like lamb,” came the expected reply from Drusilla. “Only chewier. Bits of it get stuck in my teeth.”

After ten minutes of hearing that, Willow had done whatever they wanted.

A shame for her, really. She’d cooperated, and therefore lived long enough for Angelus to return.

His torture sessions weren’t quite as dainty as Darla’s. Her boy had an imagination to him that Hollywood would drool over.

“Why?” Willow screamed. “Why?”

“There is no why,” Angelus retorted coldly. “We’re vampires.”

“Been trying to get that through her head for a half hour,” Darla observed.

Her mate smiled, grabbing the girl’s naked breast and squeezing with sadistic delight. “But,” he continued as she screamed, “if you’re that hungry for motive, let’s just say I want the Slayer angry enough that she gets clumsy. And somehow, I think killing her best friend might do the trick.”

Darla grinned. Drusilla cackled and clapped with glee.

There was simply nothing in the world like watching her boy play.



To be continued in Chapter Twenty-Two: Seek And Ye Shall Find…

 

Chapter Twenty-Two

Seek And Ye Shall Find


“When were you sired?”

Spike paused. He had just discovered Joyce’s liquor cabinet and was in the process of helping himself. He’d left Buffy upstairs about ten minutes earlier to let her get ready for bed and was busy scrounging through the kitchen for something to eat. There was no blood, of course; and even if there was, he couldn’t fathom indulging himself when he knew the chalice that awaited him that night.

Buffy was dressed in sweats and a camisole, which seemed to be her favorite pajamas. Plus, they were appropriate for company. She looked so sweet, so innocent. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she had paused in the doorway, gracing him with a look that struck him as both domestic and coy. Even with everything they had shared, there was little she could do to take away the innocence that made her so warm and effulgent.

He had her for eternity. For the rest of his days, this was the face he would awake to. A rush of excitement filled his veins, and for the thousandth time in the past ten minutes, he found himself cursing the clock. Now that he knew it was tonight, that she would be his forever in blood and name after tonight, time had slowed to a near halt. His fangs ached like never before, and his body was tense with anticipation.

And she loved him. That was the amazing thing. Buffy loved him.

“When was I sired?” he repeated. “Why do you wanna know, sweets?”

“I was thinking—”

“Ah,” he said teasingly, glancing down to the bottle of wine in his hands. “A dangerous pastime.”

Buffy made an adorable face. “Thanks a lot, smartass.”

“’S what I’m here for. Want somethin’ to drink?”

She paused, looking from him to the wine to him again. “Ummm…you know I’m not old enough for that, right?”

He arched a brow. “Evil, pet, remember? Liquorin’ up innocent young girlies is my job.”

Buffy’s eyes darkened. “There better be no more innocent young girlies,” she pouted. “And here I thought I was special.”

“Better believe it, baby.” He uncorked the bottle and considered it before deciding that he was better off just buying Joyce another rather than dirtying one of her glasses. “If you don’ know by now that you’re the only one—”

She grinned shyly and crossed the room, curling her arms around his waist. “I know it,” she said. “Besides, seducing big bad vampires is totally my job.”

He growled at that, eliciting a giggle from his young mate as she brushed a kiss across his lips.

“Think that’s funny, do you?”

“I think the idea of me seducing anyone, least of all vampires, is hysterical.” Buffy kissed him again. “Oh, and if they’re not you. Vampires who aren’t you are a major yuck.”

“Bloody well better be,” Spike grumbled, taking a long swig of wine.

“Oh, stop. You know I love you.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that. Yeah, he knew. He really knew.

“And you haven’t answered my question yet.”

“When’d I get myself sired?” Buffy nodded. “Dru snagged me in 1880 after some upper class bint broke my heart.” He stopped, surprised with how quickly that confession had rolled off his lips. Speaking of Cecily was always a sore spot, even if he had long ago made peace with the fact that she was a vindictive bitch and hadn’t been good enough for him from the get-go. He hated thinking about her, and had actually dedicated several long hours during his years of solitude to concocting exciting stories about the night he became a vampire, knowing Buffy would eventually ask.

He hadn’t wanted to lie to her, though. He wanted nothing but truth between them.

It obviously wasn’t the answer she’d been expecting. “You got sired because…”

“I’m love’s bitch.”

She frowned. “Gee, thanks.”

Spike shrugged. “Doesn’ mean I haven’t made peace with it, luv. If you think I’d change anything that’s happened between us given the chance, you’re off your bird.”

“Because you love me.”

He smiled. “’Cause I love you.” More than words could express. More than poetry and sonnets, more than light and warmth. So much he felt he would quiver from it, a slow growing burn that threatened to devour him whole.

He’d watched her since she was small. Watched the child grow into a girl, the girl become a woman. He’d watched as she took her first steps as a slayer. He’d watched as she lost and sacrificed, learned and grew. He’d watched her fight with dignity and grace without succumbing to darkness that had always, in his experienced, coincided with great power.

God yes, he loved her. He loved her for being everything he couldn’t be, but loving him anyway. He loved her for her kindness and virtues, her quirky sense of humor, her faults, and every little thing that made her Buffy. He loved her for being his salvation, even when she couldn’t see it. When she didn’t understand what she gave him with a simple touch, and how watching her smile flooded him with warmth.

He watched her; her charming innocence, even in light of everything they’d shared, filled him with grace he had never anticipated wanting.

Amazing how love could change everything.

“And you got sired,” Buffy said, “because of a girl?”

I got sired because of you. Because this was what the world intended for me.

“Guess you can say that,” he replied, taking another long drink of wine. “The chit turned me down, an’ in my infinite wisdom, I ran outside in the middle of a bleedin’ killin’ spree that we’d been talking about that very bloody night, an’ the rest is history.” He grinned. “Guess there was some irony in that the killin’ spree that killed me ended up bein’ the handiwork of the blokes that became my family.”

Buffy quieted.

“’S it hard for you to hear, pet?”

“Yes.”

He felt a pang strike his chest, but shrugged nonchalantly all the same. “You asked.”

“I know.” She wet her lips. “I need to hear it. I need to know…I love you, but I want to learn to love all of you…not just the vampire you’ve been since you came into my life. The goodness you’ve shown me…and the bad. Because if I can love the demon, too, then I can appreciate the man all the more.” She kissed his lips. “After all, the demon’s what brought you to me, right?”

Her words awed him. The part of his existence before her was something he thought she’d never want to touch. Full acceptance was nothing he’d ever had. No one had ever wanted him that much.

Before he could stop himself, a passionate growl rumbled through his throat, and he cupped her face, bringing her mouth to his. She tasted like sunshine, like a star that had fallen from the heavens. He stroked her tongue with his, his hands sliding down her throat, over her arms, and finally cupped her breasts, pebbling her nipples between his eager fingers. He was so hard. God, he’d been hard for years. Waiting for her. Dreaming of the woman she’d become, but never had his fantasies brought him this close to heaven. Never had he envisioned her like this. So perfect, not despite her flaws, because of them. So warm. So accepting.

Buffy loved him. She really loved him. And Christ, he could feel it.

“Buffy,” he moaned into her mouth, lifting her in his arms and setting her atop the island. Her legs parted instinctively, and he seized the invitation before she could recant, thrusting his erection against her cotton-clad pussy. “Buffy, I want you so much.”

“Spike…”

His lips took chart down her throat. “Can’t wait. Need you.”

“Spike, we…Spike…” She half-mewled, half-protested before her hands came to rest on his chest. “Spike, stop!”

The shrillness of her voice brought him back to himself. He ripped himself away from her as though scathed, crashing against the counter, panting harshly.

Bugger.

“I’m sorry.”

Buffy shook her head. “No. No, it was me. I just…we can’t do this now.” She glanced at the clock. “Oz and Will are gonna be here soon, and I…”

He cursed. Bloody well forgot about that. Thoughts of tonight, of losing himself in her body, were taking their toll. He’d waited so long, but never had fate been cruel enough to squeeze in an eternity or two in a few unbearable hours.

“I want to,” she said softly, bringing him back to her. “I really want to.”

“Later,” he promised her.

“Later. Definitely later.”

“An’ all of tomorrow. If you think you’re goin’ to class after what I do to you tonight, you’ve got another thing comin’.” He paused. “Pun intended.”

Buffy’s blush enthralled him, but he forced himself to stay a pace away from her. She held his eyes for a long minute, then smiled and glanced down. “When all this is over,” she said. “And you and I are mated and the Order’s been taken care of, you need to take me out.”

“Out?”

“For a night on the town. Dancing or a movie…something normal.”

Spike arched a brow. “You really think you’d ever be happy with normal, pet?”

“No,” she replied immediately, making a face. “Ew, no. That’d be way boring. But it doesn’t hurt to remind myself why every now and then.”

He smiled. “You wanna go dancin’, an’ we’ll go. We’ll dance all over this miserable town.”

“You actually dance?”

“In my day, dancin’ was a part of society. Granted, it wasn’ as much fun as it is nowadays.” He shrugged and took another long swig of wine. “Plus in the ’40s, Dru was big into swing. She insisted that she had to learn how to ballroom dance.” His eyes distanced as the memory struck: his once black goddess, sinking her fangs into one dance instructor after another if he offered the slightest critique, or if she happened to be hungry. “I told you she was into musicals.”

Buffy nodded, pursing her lips. “Sounds like you two had a very exciting life together.”

“Pet—”

“It’s important for me to understand, Spike. It’s not like I was there in the past for you to be faithful to. I can take it. I’m a big girl.”

“I know.”

He didn’t want her thinking about his life with Drusilla, though. He never wanted her to think that he’d settled for something that was less than what he was. He’d let go of Dru a lifetime ago, it seemed. He’d seen her that night that she brought him his small mate, and it was as though a veil had been lifted and he was using his eyes for the first time. No longer content to watch the shadows on the wall of the cave and mistake that for reality; he needed the sunlight Buffy gave him. Needed it to be real rather than an allusion. He needed it all.

“My life with Dru wasn’ as excitin’ as you might think, luv,” he told her honestly. “It was the life of a vampire. I was a part of one of the oldest an’ most feared Orders in history. I was the only one of them to have ever tasted…the blood of a slayer. But they din’t respect me. Never. Angelus an’ Darla were never secretive in the fact that they thought sirin’ me had been a great injustice to vampire-kind.”

Buffy licked her lips. “Maybe they were jealous,” she said.

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Angelus? Jealous of me?”

“You did kill two slayers…like you said.” She shuddered slightly, but managed to go on. “You accomplished what none of them ever had. For the big reputation, you’d think Angelus would seek out slayers…like you did. But he didn’t.”

Her words sent a haunting resonance through his body. Suddenly, he was a hundred and thirty years younger, and Angelus’s big clammy hand was around his throat. Trying to teach him a lesson. Trying to learn him good on what constituted a good kill. Warning him that his carelessness would eventually result in his death, if not by an angry mob, then certainly by the Slayer.

The Slayer.

He’d sought her out. Angelus never had. Rather, Angelus had waited from the sidelines, hoping that his grandchilde’s aspirations would eventually result in a good dusting. He remembered the big sod’s seething anger when he strolled out of his first confrontation with a slayer, smeared in her blood with a very amorous Drusilla glued to his side.

Angelus had nearly killed him that night, he realized. Why he hadn’t, Spike would never know. It hadn’t bothered him at the time—he hadn’t taken the lout seriously. After all, the blood of a slayer was on his hands. How much of a threat could his grandsire be?

It astonished him. Buffy was right.

Angelus had been jealous. And not only of the Slayer he’d done in during the Boxer Rebellion; of everything since. Of Dru’s doting, of Darla’s silent appraisal, of the boost in status that occurred almost overnight. His ownership over Drusilla barreled to epic proportions after that. After all, he couldn’t have his childe favoring another vampire over him. No, no, that simply wouldn’t do.

And now, Spike had more recognition than ever. The pages of history might remember Angelus as a nasty of son of a bitch, but for the first vampire to ever claim a slayer, there would be volumes of text. Tales of epic romance and sacrifice. How he, above any that came before him, had fought the monster within in the name of love. How he’d come so far. How he’d sought something more than the mediocre existence of a demon. How he’d sought to be.

How the small girl before him had brought him into a life that was actually worth living.

Spike shook his head in awe. “You’re amazing, Summers.”

“What’d I do?”

The ring of the doorbell sliced through the waiting reply on his tongue. The Slayer’s chums were here. He sent her a scorching look that spoke plainly that they weren’t through discussing this.

If anything, he was going to show her how amazing she was tonight. Graphically. With his tongue.

“Gah,” Buffy grumbled, sliding off the island. “I don’t see what the point of tonight’s get-together is, anyway. We haven’t found Angelus, we don’t know what kind of apocalypse he’s planning…so we’re, what? Brainstorming to brainstorm?”

“Gives your mates a sense that they’re prepared for whatever’s comin’,” Spike retorted with a shrug, reaching for his cigarettes. “Might as well humor the lot.”

She tossed him a narrow glance. “You’re actually in favor of wasting potential naked-time planning a strategy that could change in a blink?”

He smirked, striking his lighter. “Never said that.”

She frowned and plucked the cigarette from his mouth. “No smoking in the house.”

He rolled his eyes. “Bloody fascist.”

“Hey, you’re lucky I let you drink my mom’s wine.”

“An’ you were gonna stop me, how?”

She paused and sent him a meaningful look. “Use your imagination.”

Spike smirked and brushed a kiss across her lips. “Hold that thought, pet,” he murmured, moving for the entryway. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

He bloody well hoped as much, at least.

When he opened the front door, though, and saw Oz standing by himself, he knew something was wrong.

“Spike,” the wolf said, inclining his head.

“Hey guys!” Buffy called over his shoulder.

A cold shudder ran through the vampire’s body.

“Just me,” Oz said, stepping inside. “Did Willow leave?”

Spike swallowed. He heard his young mate’s heart skip a beat. The air stank of fresh tension. The fear he’d coaxed her to cast aside only a few hours before returned with a fiery vengeance.

“She’s not with you?” Buffy demanded.

Oz frowned. “I thought she was coming over here at eight.”

“She left a message, saying she’d decided to come with you.”

The wolf shook his head, his normally stoic eyes flashing with sudden urgency. “I haven’t spoken with her since this afternoon.”

“Spike?” The sound of Buffy’s voice, so small and afraid, pierced the vampire’s heart. “What’s going on?”

He had no bloody clue.

“Go play the message again,” he said shortly.

Buffy didn’t need to be told twice. She disappeared back into the kitchen, Spike and Oz following close at her heels.

Willow’s message hadn’t changed.

“Hey guys. Ummm, slight change in plans. I’ve decided to stay and work on my paper until Oz is out of practice. Might as well get it all done at once, right? So, uhhh, if you need me, gimme a call, but otherwise, I’ll see you at eleven.”

“She never called me,” Oz said sharply. “She never told me any of this.”

Buffy shook her head. “Willow doesn’t lie,” she replied. “I mean, she doesn’t lie, and she can’t, even if she did want to. She’s a total crappy liar.”

“She’s in trouble,” the wolf said mournfully.

The Slayer’s eyes were wide with protest. “We don’t know that!”

“What else do you suggest?” he retorted, foreign anger rising in his voice. “You said it yourself. Willow doesn’t lie.”

“Then why would she lie about this?”

“She was made to lie,” Spike said softly.

Of course she was. He knew this. He knew it all too well. How in God’s name had he missed it? How many times had Angelus and Darla pulled this stunt? How many?

Devastation wracked his body; not for him, not even for Willow. His eyes met Buffy’s, and he knew that she knew in that instant. He knew that she knew.

God.

“Made to lie?” his mate repeated. “Made to—”

Oh Buffy.

It was over. He knew it then. Everything was over. He’d played with fate one too many times, and finally, fate had snapped back. He felt the wealth of everything he’d waited for slide through his fingers. The world he’d been building for Buffy and himself had been invaded by reality, and the weight of their self-indulgent avarice was crashing around them.

Avarice that Buffy would have never touched were it not for him.

There was fear in her eyes. He prayed it wouldn’t turn into hate. He couldn’t bear it.

The thick silence surrounding them exploded. A long, familiar wail that felt almost artificial, too far placed from veracity to touch him tonight.

But he knew.

“What is that?”

Spike met Buffy’s eyes and expelled a shuddering breath.

“Sirens.”


To be continued in Chapter Twenty-Three: Excuse Me For My Sins…
 

A/N: I’m sure this won’t come as a surprise to anyone reading, but be warned…this chapter does contain a character death.

Thanks to Megan, Mari, and Kimmie for looking for this for me.



 

Chapter Twenty-Three

Excuse Me For My Sins


Sunnydale wasn’t a town of immense size, and despite the population, the law enforcement very rarely saw the need to get involved. Spike had suspected for a while that the ‘don’t-ask-don’t-tell’ policy when it came to human-demon relations had a seat in some of the city’s high ranking official chairs, though he had never cared enough to investigate. It just struck him as especially curious now, despite the mortality rate on the Hellmouth, that there was an active crime scene investigation, complete with police cars and ambulances. The sirens had awoken the town—human and demon populace alike—such to the point that by the time he, Buffy, and Oz saw where the commotion was, there was already a large crowd blocking their view.

There was something else. Something that made everything fall into place.

Spike knew exactly where his family was. Whatever veil they had used to shield themselves from his nose or the Slayer’s intuition had been lifted, and that clinched it for him. He knew what had happened. He knew exactly. There was no room for doubt.

Angelus. Angelus and the whole miserable family. They weren’t hiding anymore. Their scent hung in the air, tackling him for his lack of foresight—like a name he’d thought he’d forgotten, only to have it resurface when least expected.

He knew what this was. His grandsire had seen how the Slayer dealt with outrage. He’d experienced it; seen that glorious waver of control just inches away from breaking altogether. He knew how protective she was over those she cared about. He knew what killing her best friend would do to her.

Would do to them.

He’s drivin’ us apart.

Angelus wanted Buffy to hate vampires. He wanted her violent and careless. He wanted her in the open where the protection of her mate could not guard her. Slayer or not, he wanted her in her element.

He wanted to use them against each other.

Willow’s blood tainted the cool night air. It was all around him, tickling his tastebuds, warring with his conscience. There was a glimmer of hope in Buffy’s eyes—hope that had not completely lost to anguish. As though light was slowly draining out of her body, and there would be nothing left but darkness. She didn’t ask him if he knew what happened, because she knew he did. And he didn’t say anything, because there was nothing to say. As long as they didn’t discuss it, it seemed that false hope could stay in place.

Perhaps there was a way he could prolong time to make this moment last. To extend that false hope before his mate was crushed with ultimate despair.

Spike wasn’t foolish. The night was compressed with trepidation—with fury waiting to be unleashed. Waiting for a spark to incite explosion.

Oz understood. Spike knew he understood by simply looking at him. There was no false hope in his eyes.

“Oh God,” Buffy gasped, subconsciously seizing his hand. She squeezed tight enough to make his bones crack, but he didn’t wince. He wouldn’t pull away from her for anything now. Not for the whole bloody world. “Oh my God.”

The flashing of squad cars was growing brighter. Spike saw where they were headed. Back to the graveyard, in the courtyard of a church.

Spoken like a true Protestant.

“Oh God. Oh God!”

The next few seconds were a blur. One beat she was beside him, the next she wasn’t. Buffy released his hand as though scathed and bounded across the cemetery lawn. And he saw it. He saw it just as she did. Just as the pained sound choked from Oz’s throat, and he caught the unfamiliar glimmer of tears in the young man’s eyes.

God, it was too real. It was too fucking real.

“Buffy!”

But she was gone. She’d fallen to her knees before the church. The crowd was thick, but not so that he didn’t see where she’d collapsed.

No, no. He didn’t want her to see this. This wasn’t monstrosity—monstrosity she knew. Monstrosity she battled.

This was something else. This was darkness without hope.

“Buffy!”

She didn’t turn. He saw her, but she didn’t turn. She remained on her knees, her hands fisting the blades of the earth as she wept.

At that moment, she was a thousand miles away.

 *~*~*

It was going to rain. She knew it was going to rain. The air felt thick and the skies were heavy. It was going to rain. The heavens would open and tomorrow, no one would know that the ground she sat on was saturated in blood. No one would know tomorrow. Tomorrow, the blood would be gone. It would be as though this moment, this brief stretch of existence, had never been.

The rain couldn’t wash away a memory.

“No!” she screamed. “No, no, no!”

But it didn’t matter how loudly she protested; the scene before her remained the same. A girl was nailed to the front doors of a church, stripped off all clothing; her familiar red hair looked almost black under the moonlight. Her pale, alabaster skin was marred with black bruises and teeth marks, ribbons of blood trailing down her right side. Her arms were outstretched, her body crudely posed in a mocking rendition of Christ. Above her head, written in red against the church wall, were the words: For Your Sins.

“Buffy!”

He was there suddenly. His hands were on her, and he was trying to shake her back to herself. Spike. Spike. Spike was there.

Instinct raged against sorrow. Not the stirring of an unclaimed mate, rather the Slayer surfaced and she saw him truly, looking at him as though for the first time. As though her rose-colored glasses had been ripped away, and the human guise he so enjoyed could no longer hide the demon that resided within. And in that second—that blink of an instant—she was filled with such self-disgust that her body quivered, and she thought she might be sick.

“No!” she screamed, this time at her pained lover, jerking her arm away from his touch. “Leave me alone!”

“Buffy—”

“I hate you!” She collapsed again, though there was nowhere to fall. His arms were around her, his body unmoving, even as she pounded against his chest with closed fists. “I hate you! I hate you!”

Oz was beside her the next minute, placing a calm hand on her shoulder. She could nearly smell his tears.

God, Oz was crying. Oz was behind her, weeping, and she was striking her demon mate with half-hearted swings that weren’t meant so much for pain as they were for release.

“I hate you. I hate you.”

The minute she felt defeat rush through his body, though, the minute she felt he might actually leave her, a pain unlike anything else sliced down her middle. And suddenly, she reached a moment of clarity. A place of reckoning.

Buffy shoved Slayer instinct aside, reaching instead for the warmth of her mate’s embrace. Even as he rose to his feet and started away, the fog surrounding her reality parted, and she remembered again who she was. More importantly, who Spike was. Not just a vampire. Not a demon to kill. Her mate. The man who loved her. He had nothing to do with what had happened here.

She needed him. As the world fell apart, she needed the one she loved.

“Spike…” she cried, her body breaking. “Don’t leave me.”

He didn’t hesitate. The next second, she was in his arms again, sobbing onto his shoulder as local police attempted to get the crowd in order. Attempted to get everyone to back away from the sight. Attempted to conduct Sunnydale police business that seemed so fundamentally out of place. As though this was a crime scene—a real crime scene. As though Willow had been killed by real criminals that manmade law had any hope of stopping.

It was going to rain. God was going to wash the blood away. Hide the world from his crime.

Angelus.

Buffy clutched Spike tighter, her heart blackened.

Angelus killed Willow.

She would tear the town apart. She would bring him close to death a thousand times before granting it. She’d chain him up somewhere and embed a stake in his chest, just inches above his heart. He would know every indignity that Willow had known. He would know the pain of every soul he’d ever destroyed.

But for now, she simply wanted the warm, false assurance of her mate’s embrace. Spike was holding her, murmuring words of empty comfort, but it was what she needed.

If he let go of her, the world would disappear. She was sure of it. The rain would wash her away as well, and there would be nothing left.

Nothing but this black, hollow despair.

 *~*~*

Spike knew the wolf was going to do something. He knew resolution when he saw it. And while he could admire the boy’s bravery, there was no way he was going to let Buffy lose two friends in one night.

He’d taken her home. There was intent in every nerve in her body, but she was in no condition to fight anyone tonight. Moreover, she seemed to accept that. She hadn’t protested when he whispered that she needed to go home. Needed the comfort of her bed, and they would discuss the rest tomorrow.

She’d sobbed herself into exhaustion. He was glad. He needed her to rest. Right now, she was too emotionally charged to fight anyone. She’d be careless and sloppy, rather than cunning. And she was too strong to stop, but not too strong to kill. In this state, there was no way he would let any of the Order near his mate.

“I don’t hate you,” she murmured as he turned down her bed. “I don’t, Spike.”

He released a shuddering breath. The words had cut, even if he’d known that she didn’t mean it. The thought that she could ever hate him made his demon yearn for dust. But she didn’t hate him. Not when she said it, and not now. “I know, pet.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I didn’t mean to say it. I don’t know where it came from.”

Spike knew, and he couldn’t blame her. For that second, she’d become wholly Slayer. For that second, she had seen every vampire as an enemy. It had terrified him, not for what she could do to him bodily, rather that everything they had accomplished together could be gone in a blink. He was guilty of many things, and he would never deny it, but the notion that he could ever willfully do anything to harm his mate was against every innate nerve in his body. He’d made a promise to her, and to himself. If keeping her meant going against what he was, it was a sacrifice he was prepared to make.

But even without that resolve, there was no way he would have ever harmed one of Buffy’s friends. She knew it—he knew she knew it. But the screams of her protest would remain with him for a long time. His girl was the Slayer, and her nature could not be pushed aside.

He brushed his lips against her forehead. “Don’ worry about it, sweetheart.”

Buffy frowned, rubbing at raw eyes. “It’s a dream,” she murmured. “It’s all a dream. I saw Willow earlier today. God, she was working on her paper. Her term paper…on Russia. It’s due next week…she’s gonna wig if it’s never done.”

His eyes filled with tears. Her broken voice made his heart shatter.

“Jus’ sleep, kitten,” he whispered. “Things’ll be different tomorrow.”

“Are you gonna sleep, too?” Buffy sat up abruptly. “Don’t leave. I can’t be alone.”

He released a sharp breath. Slayer or not, there was a very real part of her that would always be a little girl. The same little girl that had proudly displayed pajamas with footsies and sobbingly thrust her loved teddy-bear into his arms so that he wouldn’t forget her.

He couldn’t promise her that he wouldn’t leave tonight. He had to leave. His mate had been hurt, and the demon was screaming for retribution.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” he promised.

“Stay,” she commanded, tugging him down onto the bed. “Stay with me.”

Spike sighed and wrapped his arms around her, resting his cheek against her head. “Always,” he swore, pressing another kiss to her brow. That seemed to satisfy her. The tension she’d been harboring rolled off her body, and she finally relaxed.

It only took minutes for her to find sleep.

What little good it would do, he realized. Sleep would not bring her friend back. Sleep would not make Buffy’s world right again. Nothing could.

He’d walked away from death for so many years. And while he felt nothing more than a twist of pity for Willow, he was devastated in watching his mate grieve. It was this aftermath, this complete ruin of humanity that filled him with shame. Angelus killed to hurt people, always had. Spike had killed for food and, yes, for fun. But never consciously for the intention of being deliberately cruel. Never to watch people sob themselves to sleep. He’d never been comfortable thinking about the family that would weep for those he killed. It had never been enough to make him stop, of course, and even if Buffy gave her blessing, he rather doubted an added insight to humanity would hinder his fun. He was, after all, a demon.

But looking at her, with her red, swollen eyes and dried riverbeds of tears scaling her cheeks, he wanted desperately to be more than what he was. He wanted to be the man she deserved, not just a shadow of goodwill.

He couldn’t bring Willow back, he couldn’t eradicate her pain, but he could bring justice to those that had killed her. He could shed blood in retribution. He could destroy.

It was what he was good at, after all.

Spike waited about ten minutes, holding his sleeping Slayer until he was satisfied that she would not awake. He brushed a parting kiss across her cheek, drew in a deep breath, and slowly extricated himself from her arms. He murmured, “I love you,” into her hair, and forced himself to leave the room without tossing a glance over his shoulder.

He wasn’t surprised to see Oz downstairs, waiting for him.

“Is she asleep?” the wolf asked.

“Yeh.”

“You know what I’m doing, right?”

“You know it’s suicide, right?”

“They killed Willow.”

The agony in Oz’s usually calm voice sent a sharp pang to Spike’s chest. This boy had loved the girl. He couldn’t imagine what he was going through. More of that unwanted association with humans. He was growing softer by the hour.

“Yeh, they did,” he replied. “An’ there are three of them, an’ only one of you.”

There was no point in trying to talk him out of it, though. The boy was determined.

“They killed her,” he repeated. “There’s nothing beyond that.”

“They’ll rip you apart.”

“Probably,” Oz acknowledged. “But I’ll go down taking one of them with me. They killed Willow. I don’t care about anything else.”

Spike understood that. Pain was fresh, and the boy had just lost the one he loved. Vengeance, right now, was the only virtue that offered any comfort.

But he wasn’t going to let the kid get hurt. Not while Willow’s body was still warm. Not with Buffy hugging a tear-drenched pillow. Not with his chest still aching from the fists of her agonized outrage.

She loved him. She trusted him. And he wouldn’t let his family hurt her again.

It didn’t take much. One quick punch and the wolf collapsed.

There would be no more blood tonight. He wouldn’t allow it.

No one knew his family like he did. And strangely, as he left Buffy’s house that night, he wasn’t apprehensive. Wasn’t concerned. There wasn’t even the lingering fear that he would never again know the comfort of her arms.

It ended now. He’d been a bloody fool, and it ended now.

No more blood tonight. Only dust.


To be continued in Chapter Twenty-Four: Into The Deepest Madness… Chapter Twenty-Four

Into The Deepest Madness


She slept only a few minutes, really, but that time submerged in her subconscious was a violent spiral of colors meshed with knowledge, comprehension tangled with justice. She saw Willow nailed to a cross; saw Spike looking at her with sorrow. And she was lost, split down the center.

Her friend was looking at her, her eyes large and dead. Her mate was reaching for her, his arms welcoming and outstretched.

Angelus was there as well. God, Angelus. And an eerily familiar woman was twirling in sunlight, giggling like a child.

“Shame, shame, shame, shame,” the girl singsonged. “The party mask deserves the blame.”

Drusilla. Yes, Buffy saw her now. The woman that had snatched her from her mother’s side when she was small. The one that had brought her to Spike, unknowingly as a mate, rather than a late-night snack. She was the one Spike had spent a century with. She was the one, more than any of the others, that truly had the power to break her.

“I wouldn’t worry about that, Dru,” Angelus sneered. “Our little Buffy slept through what could’ve been a helluva break. Seems to me that the dance is over.”

“She turns him away because the red one bleeds,” the raven-haired loony continued. “On her sorrow, Asmodeus will feed.”

“Humans are so predictable,” the blonde one said, materializing from nowhere. “Did you see her earlier? She’s gonna die for her grief because she doesn’t use it. Not like we do. And now she’s abandoned her mate to embrace pain. Really, it makes our job laughably easy.”

“When the sky is dark, she awakes. Her loneliness, communion breaks.” Drusilla stopped twirling, her childish rhymes died down a corridor somewhere in Buffy’s subconscious. “He rules you, dearie,” she said. “You give him power.”

Buffy released a deep breath. “Spike…”

Darla rolled her eyes. “Honest to God, dealing with such stupidity is exactly what Spike deserves.”

“Yin and Yang.” Angelus smirked. “Too bad her boy’ll be dust before she realizes it.”

Buffy awoke to an empty room.

“Oh God.”

She felt as though she’d been sleeping for centuries. As though she was awaking to a new existence, and the pangs of outside influence no longer mattered. Her body was exhausted still from crying, her throat sore from screaming. She released a shuddering breath and turned her eyes to where Spike was supposed to be, but wasn’t. Spike wasn’t there.

The house was quiet.

It came from nowhere. A burst of knowledge that jarred her from the false world she’d settled into since the wail of police sirens destroyed her doll house rendition of reality. She knew where Spike was. Of course she knew where Spike was.

A sharp pang struck deep inside and the air around her grew thick.

“Oh God,” she gasped again. “Oh my God.”

Pain was gone. Pain had been replaced by fear.

Heart pounding, Buffy threw the blankets off her body. She tossed a quick glance to the mirror, confirming that she was still in the sweats and the cami that she had changed into forever ago. She felt as though she had been wearing the same clothing for a lifetime. When morning finally chased the night away, she promised herself, she wouldn’t touch the garments ever again.

Her bustle out of the house took all of four minutes. She struggled with her sneakers and ransacked her weapons chest. There was the crossbow that Giles had given her for her seventeenth birthday. There were her good stakes, which she spent boring nights carving into affectionate perfection and only sacrificed against particularly nasty vamps. There was a cross on a necklace that Xander had given her after she defeated the Master. There were vials of holy water that Willow had bought for her the last time she thought the world was ending.

Buffy couldn’t stop and mourn the memory of her friend now. Human feelings wouldn’t help. Something greater was driving her onward.

Her mate was in trouble. And she knew without even giving it a thought that his death would thoroughly defeat her. Too much of him was a part of her—and more than just beyond the physiological tug of their unclaimed connection. Spike was so much more to her than that.

She ignored the pang of guilt that inevitably struck. Willow was dead, and she wasn’t mourning. Not now. It felt wrong; it felt so wrong. It felt as though she had betrayed her friend by even considering a more horrendous alternative. By playing out a scenario that her mind, body, and heart suffered for even considering. But at the same time, she needed that outrage. She needed to convert pain to anger, and guilt to action. Willow was gone, but there was no time to cry for her now.

Willow would understand that.

Buffy hardened. She had to. Her mate was in trouble, and it was because of her. Because her friend was dead, because she hadn’t allowed him to claim her over the endless hours that the Order had given them. Because she’d been so focused on her fears that the knowledge of its inevitability hadn’t sunk in. Willow was dead because tonight was supposed to have been their night to make it final. If they’d made it final sooner, she’d be alive.

It was her fault. All her fault. And now, because of her folly, Spike was going to get himself killed.

No, the Slayer raged. No. She’d lost her best friend; she wasn’t about to lose the one she loved. Not like this. Not tonight.

There wasn’t any room for disagreement. She wasn’t going to lose Spike.

She allowed nothing else if not that knowledge. As long as she breathed, her mate would still be of the earth.

 *~*~*

Spike drew in a deep breath. He wasn’t at all surprised that they were expecting him. Rather, it was almost poetic. Angelus the Villain, Darla the Shrew, and Drusilla, his own Ophelia. There weren’t many fledglings covering the main chamber of his family’s new digs—some trashy factory downtown that he and Buffy had crossed a thousand times but never investigated. He staked the few baby vamps he came across, ignoring the shudder that slivered down his spine with every step.

Angelus had known one of them was coming. He’d just been hoping for Buffy.

Wishful thinking. Spike would be dust before he let his grandsire touch his mate.

“Well, damn,” the bastard drawled. “It’s the other one.”

“Kinda sweet,” Darla observed boldly. She was seated at a table, reading the Sunnydale paper. She didn’t even glance up. “He’s come to defend her honor.”

Spike shrugged. “Jus’ thought I’d drop by,” he replied conversationally. “Angelus mentioned somethin’ about an apocalypse.”

Darla rolled her eyes and looked at him. “You know, William,” she drawled, “you were never particularly talented at playing it coy.”

“He reeks of her,” Drusilla spat nastily. “Rolls in filth and expects a treat.”

His jaw tightened and his body grew tense. “Nice to see you, too, pet.” He turned his eyes back to Angelus. “Y’know, if you wanted to piss the girl off, there are more subtle ways to go about it.”

“Ah, so now William the Slayer-Whipped Bloody is going to give me lessons on how exactly I should terrorize the innocent?” Angelus flashed a condescending smile. “This should be good.”

“No.” He tightened his hand around his stake. “’m here to right a few wrongs.”

“The only wrong I see is a presumptuous childe who’s gotten in over his head.”

“Imagine that,” Darla retorted, her eyes glued on her paper. “He thinks because he’s the mate of a slayer, he has the right to assume a moral high ground. How…pathetic.”

“You can’t really tell me that you expected me to sit by an’ do nothin’ when you came after her, can you?”

“Pathetic,” Angelus agreed. “Wholly pathetic.”

“He’s going to try to break the jar,” Drusilla cried mournfully. “Makes him cranky. Makes him bad company. He wants to kill us, Daddy.”

“Yes,” his grandsire replied. “I suppose he does.”

“His presumption displeases Asmodeus.”

Spike’s head snapped at that. “Asmodeus?”

Dru paused, grinning scandalously like a child who’d just spoiled a surprise party. “Oopsies.”

“Well, there goes the neighborhood,” Darla grumbled. “Guess we’ll just have to kill him.”

The peroxided vamp’s eyes flickered dangerously. “You can try.”

“Look at this,” Angelus said, taking a step forward. “Seems our boy’s grown an ego.”

Darla was not impressed. “God, just dust him already.”

“The meat spoils,” Dru whimpered. “No time for tea.”

“You can kill her while you’re at it,” said Angelus’s mate. “Really, her prattling is wearing on my last nerve.”

“He won’t do it,” Spike replied confidently. “Can’t bloody well afford to, can he? Dead worms don’ garner nearly as much attention as live ones. He doesn’ want me. He wants the Slayer.”

Angelus merely smiled.

His eyes flashed again and he stepped forward. For the first time in his many years, he felt nothing of the usual inferiority that resulted in standing near his grandsire. There was nothing impressive about him. Nothing whatsoever. He was a name; a face. Someone who’d bloodied history for the reputation and nothing more. He’d bullied his own sire into being submissive.

But he was just a vampire. An aged vampire, yes, but the Master himself had fallen at the stake of a sixteen year old girl. A girl who then had only touched the breadth of her powers.

“You’ve come here for retribution,” Angelus cooed. “How…sweet.”

Spike just laughed and shook his head.

Bloody pathetic.

“God, how it must bug you,” he said.

“What?”

“The Powers chose me, you git. Not you. Not the bleedin’ ringleader of our miserable family. You got stuck with her.” He nodded at Darla, whose eyes widened in offense. “You got stuck with your sire. How sodding original is that? The big bad Angelus isn’t quite as memorable as he’d like to be…not enough to make you anythin’ more than an enormous egomaniac with an inferiority complex that’s almost as funny as your sense of entitlement to everythin’ this rich world has to offer. What a bloody joke.”

His grandsire’s gaze had grown dark. “You honestly feel that I am jealous?”

“’Course you are.”

“My my my, what a big ego we have.”

“You’re not special,” Spike growled. “You’re not. Out of all the vamps in history, I’m the only one who’s ever tasted a slayer an’ lived to go back for more. Not once, not twice, but three times. First two times, yeh, standard killin’. Nothin’ to brag about too much, ‘cept I managed to do it twice in a century when you’ve fumbled it…how many times now? An’ what’s more, I’m the one that was chosen for the special seat. Not you. You jus’ weren’t impressive enough, I guess.”

Angelus growled. “You’d do better to remember who you’re talking to, boy.”

“’S why you killed Red, right? You wanted to feel you’ve accomplished somethin’…so yeh, you piss off the Slayer by goin’ after her chums. Not demon enough to take all of her out. Can’t even go to her, you gotta make her come to you.” He shook his head, chuckling. “See, you got it all wrong, mate. You fight slayers on their turf, not yours. Gives ‘em a false sense of protection, yeh? Really, if you were lookin’ for pointers, you should’ve given me a ring.”

“You don’t actually believe any of that crap you just spewed?” Darla demanded, rising from her seat. “This coming from the punchline of all our kind? You think you’re extraordinary for being the softest vamp in history? Please. The Powers gave you Buffy for a reason—you’re a joke.”

A scent stung the air the next second, and Spike’s insides froze.

Buffy.

“The light!” Dru wailed. “The light is so bright. My boy drowns in it.”

“He had to go outside his species to find love,” Darla continued. “That’s not special. That’s, as I said, pathetic.”

“Leas’ I have it,” Spike ground out. “’d rather die now than know an eternity without it.”

It was liberating. It was so liberating. The emotions he’d harbored for years, the emotions that he’d been told made him weak, the emotions that his family had ridiculed, were now his driving force. There was no shame in how he felt. No shame in the measures he took, or the people he loved. There was no shame in anything. The condescension in Angelus’s eyes didn’t bother him at all, nor did Darla’s mocking snort, or Drusilla’s pitiful wail. Buffy had freed him. Buffy had led him away from darkness.

She was here now. He could feel it. And if his family didn’t know, they would soon enough.

And he wouldn’t let them touch her.

“Slithers like a snake,” Drusilla moaned, clutching her stomach. She turned from the group and fixed her eyes heavenward toward the upper rafters, her body swaying back and forth. “All in shadows. Little moppet won’t join us for tea.”

“Well, as your grandsire, I can only be so happy as to appease your wish,” Angelus told Spike, eyes not wavering. He didn’t make as if he’d even heard the insane vampire’s wails.

“The party’s ruined!” the raven-haired vampire cried. “She doesn’t want her present. She’s going to take down the decorations!

A century with Dru had given Spike particular insight to her various eccentricities, and habit alone refused to let him ignore the words that poured from her lips. Something was wrong. Buffy was there; he felt it. He didn’t know why Angelus hadn’t thrown it in his face. He didn’t know why Darla wasn’t pitching a fit. He didn’t know where she was exactly, and not being able to see her was absolutely terrifying.

He couldn’t let Angelus see it, though. He couldn’t. So he didn’t spare his former a glance when she began to rant and rave. He swallowed hard instead, his eyes glued to his grandsire. “You can try,” he spat again.

The other vampire’s smile grew tighter. “I can keep you just inches from dust. Just barely undead to make sure your precious little mate shows up, looking for a fight. Which do you think would trouble her more, hmmm? Watching Dru ride you into oblivion, or a graphic detail of just how many times I defiled her friend? How she screamed and cursed her maker, begging little Buff to show up, but knowing, of course, that she wouldn’t? Oh no, of course the Slayer couldn’t make an entrance. She was too busy sucking her mate’s dick.”

“You son of a bitch!” Spike snarled, leaping forward without thought.

Angelus merely chuckled and side-stepped, offering slow, sardonic claps for his effort. “See! That was almost impressive!”

“Ooohhh,” Drusilla cooed. “You’ve angered the bishop.”

The smell of smoke permeated the air. And suddenly, he knew.

Buffy had set fire to the building. He didn’t know where; he couldn’t see the flames, but the smell was unmistakable. And just like that, their time had been sliced in half.

“Darla,” Angelus said. “I think we have a houseguest.”

That was it. Drusilla’s rants and wails suddenly became substantial, and Buffy leapt at her from the rafters. The rafters the vampire had been studying while muttering bits of prophecy to herself.

His sire shrieked in glee, capturing the Slayer by the wrists, holding her close to her chest. “Bad dolly,” she scolded. “No treats for you.”

“’Bout time she stopped lurking,” Darla retorted, jumping up. “I’m hungry.”

But Spike wasn’t listening to her or Angelus anymore. His eyes were locked on Drusilla and the struggling girl that owned his heart.

Oh God.

“Spike!” Buffy screamed.

“Spiiiike!” Angelus cackled, his voice a high falsetto. “Spike, save me!”

Dru burst into game face. The fangs of another vamp were near his mate. It was a split decision at that. Spike wasn’t even aware the stake had left his hand until he saw it spiraling across the room. He didn’t realize what he’d done until it shattered through the back of the woman who’d been his life for a hundred years, and he didn’t feel pain until her body crumpled to dust, and Buffy fell to the ground. It all happened so fast. So fast.

In a blink, a century had been erased. His body was consumed with agony, his physiological ties to his sire screaming out in endless protest. Buffy was on her feet the next second, her eyes wide as she found his.

In that look, they knew each other. Truly.

It had certainly shocked the hell out of Angelus and the other one.

“Oh my God,” Darla gasped.

“You presumptuous whelp!” Angelus screamed. “I’m gonna—”

Spike wasn’t listening. The flames were visible now, licking the rafters where Buffy had materialized just seconds before. There was no time now. No time for anything.

The Slayer was at his side the next beat, knocking Angelus off his feet. Spike closed his hand around hers, turned, and ran like hell was chasing them.

Outside it was thundering, and the skies were a symphony of light.

It was going to rain.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” Spike snarled, turning to his small mate when they were far enough away from the factory to ease his raging nerves. “You could’ve—”

“I burn down buildings full of dangerous vamps, remember? It’s kind’ve my M.O.”

“You could’ve been killed!”

“You went in there by yourself! You didn’t even let Oz…” She shook her head. “Why, Spike?”

“Why?” A long, humorless chuckle rumbled through his lips. “You really gotta ask why?”

In the distance, a roll of thunder crashed.

“What if I’d lost you?” she cried, fighting back tears. “I can’t lose you.”

Spike melted, but his body was still rigid. His mind wouldn’t let him forget the vision of Dru exploding into dust. Of Dru falling victim to a stake he’d thrown. “Lose me?” he retorted. “Lose me? You daft girl, do you have any idea what I jus’ did for you?”

How could he throw a stake into the back of his sire, of the woman he’d worshipped for a century, and feel nothing in the aftermath? Nothing beyond the pain of watching his maker dissolve? How was it possible?

Maybe he was truly heartless.

“Spike, please…”

He looked up again. His gorgeous angel was standing just feet from him, her chin wobbling, her eyes tired and hurt. He’d never loved her more than he did at that moment, but he’d discovered some things about himself tonight that he couldn’t so easily reconcile.

The factory was burning. Dru was dead.

He loved Buffy, granted in ways that surmounted anything he’d felt for his sire, but the night felt changed. Tainted with something beyond Willow’s fresh blood, or the horrors of their besieged paradise. As though he’d been given back his reflection and discovered a truth about himself that he had never before faced. He never thought he’d be able to stake the woman to whom he owed his existence. Never.

He felt cold and barren. Buffy’s eyes were on him. Her lovely, tear-filled eyes. He wanted desperately to take her into his arms, murmur how much he loved her into her hair, and promise that it was okay, that everything would be all right.

But he couldn’t, because it wasn’t. And he didn’t know if things would ever be right again.

He’d felt nothing. Nothing beyond the tug on his conscience that his sire was dead at his hands. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t human, and it was barely vampiric. It was something else entirely.

“Go home, Buffy,” he said softly.

“Spike—”

“I need to be alone for a while. Go home.”

She was crying openly now, but he couldn’t look at her. Instead, he turned around and walked away without waiting for a reply. Watching her weep broke his heart.

But he’d discovered something about himself tonight that terrified him. Beyond anything else. And he needed to be alone. He needed to sort it out.

He needed the woman he was leaving behind, but he couldn’t reach for her now.

There had only been two people in all his life that he’d cared about to die at his hands. His mother in the infancy of his turning—a memory that haunted him still, occasionally spurning nightmares that were near impossible to shake. He remembered lying awake for days after that, after Dru had fallen asleep or was banging Angelus in the other room. Remembered thinking of the look on his mum’s face, the words she’d taunted him with, the feel of the stake as it plundered through her chest.

His world had been devastated at that, and he found then that he truly was a vampire. Not William—he’d become Spike that night.

Now Dru was gone, and there was nothing. Nothing but the want of something. The want of a feeling to let him know that the years with her, as hollow as they’d been, hadn’t been for naught. That he could feel beyond his instinctive urgency to protect his mate, or the wail of a childe that had just lost his sire. That he wasn’t the type of vampire—man—who could walk away from killing a woman he’d shared so much with without so much as a flinch.

He needed time without Buffy. Because if he was that sort of man, he didn’t deserve her.

It was fruitless, of course. He carried Buffy with him wherever he went. He was never without her.

And as for Dru; her teeth had been near his mate. There was no greater sin.

A shuddering breath reverberated through his body. No greater sin.

Lightening flashed and thunder rolled, and the skies opened then. It began to rain at long last.



To be continued in Chapter Twenty-Five: And Here We Are In Heaven…

 

 

 

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