What Place Is This?
by Megan/Peta

Author's Note: Written for the wonderous Vampkiss - Mandi I hope you had a wonderful Birthday. Massive thanks to Holly for betaing and to Tami and Stacy for the encouragment. For Schez for the final butt kicking into posting.
 

“Spike!”

She’d been smart. She’d been brave. But she was scared out of her wits even more.

As feral amber eyes found her and focused on her stake, he commanded his minions to stop, to let the humans—sheeplike and just as stupid—leave the bomb shelter so it was just her…and them. Slayer…and vampires. Slayer…and Spike.

“Down the stairs,” Buffy commanded, her voice hard in her effort to stem the fear that threatened to buckle her knees. Her hand shook, the stake scratching against the fabric of her hostage’s dress. Moving slowly, Buffy prepared to push the beautiful Dru down the steps into her companion’s arms when the vampiress startled her and spoke.

“We’ve made it now, my Spike. Always searching till I could find where you belong. The sun can shine upon you now; let you glow till you find that power. Don’t hurt the girl, my love. Be brave for Princess.” And the psychotic Dru fell forward onto the stake, the sharpened wood sliding easily through her skin and further as the weight of her body brought force into Buffy’s unintentional blow.

When nothing but dust separated them, Buffy looked at the vamp face in front of her in horror. Flinched from the shock and pain that held him still. Without words his minions knew his will and had attacked her at once, caught her and knocked her unconscious, his glowing eyes and the madness of Drusilla’s phrase the last things she knew as her world became black.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

She never knew your insides could burn so hot that you felt like you could melt. Never knew that fear could manifest in a blinding fire that rendered limbs powerless and the beat of a heart almost tired. When Buffy opened her eyes, it was to a sight that made hope useless. Stripped her bare of any emotion but one that left her trembling, her eyes shining in fright she couldn’t hide and her legs shaking as they strained to keep her body standing.

Even in her lack of consciousness she’d known she was chained. Hung from the ceiling by heavy thick links that forced her to be still. Forced her arms apart until her shoulders ached and her head screamed in pain. And then her eyes cracked open and it was no longer just a fear inside her head; it was a fear her whole body could react to, and did.

She was in a room, a small space that held a bed in front of where she was held aloft, and a vampire staring at her with eyes beautiful in shade but glaring hate and menace. Buffy knew she would be dead—just like he wanted. Just like he’d come to Sunnydale to achieve. After what happened with Drusilla, she almost felt like she deserved it—deserved to be punished for killing the loved one of even a vicious vampire. Somehow, she didn’t think Angel would be of the happy with her either.

“Spike?” Her voice wavered, had lost its strength on the comatose journey from the bomb shelter where her friend had sold her out in favour of vicious immortality.

His eyes were red with grief and Buffy could feel something odd twist in her heart; she’d seen the power of his emotion when aimed at the dark vampires when he’d seen her in trouble. Seen it and was guardedly jealous of it. Still, she’d never forgotten what they were, and as obvious as her danger was now, she felt like giving up. She’d killed by accident and it should have made her want to gloat, flaunt the fact that she had destroyed a being that was a century and a half old. But she’d made a judgement on love, on devotion without meaning to and to see the anguish in the one left behind was too awful for her mind to hold.

She’d killed, like was her duty, and now she was in the path of retribution, and that was his right. That was his reward for being evil and for catching her off guard. She’d hold her head high, and die like a Slayer.

She swung back in the chains, her body reacting harshly to his as he pounced from the bed, lashing out until he’d slapped her face, relishing the welts that came up from the semi-deep scratches left by his nails. Then he collapsed at her feet. Feet bolted to the floor and chained so that she was suspended just centimetres off the floor. She was helpless, and it was fitting.

“I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done. I don’t know what the bloody hell she was on about but she was weak, not in her own mind to off herself like that on a Slayer’s stake.” And he found a knife and set to cutting her clothes from her body; pants falling to the floor and leaving her in her skimpy panties as his fangs sunk hard into her thigh.

Buffy cried out at the pain, tears rolling down her cheeks despite her avowal to herself to die like a warrior—with no admission of weakness. She knew what was going to happen. How could she not? Angel had only tonight told her what he had done before he’d turned Drusilla and she would be a fool to think Spike hadn’t been taught to torture in the same manner.

She felt his teeth scrape over her skin as he made it to her top, and suddenly it was ripped from her body, leaving her exposed to the cold and even colder sapphire eyes, gone dark with hatred.

“Dru liked to be touched. Do you like to be touched, Slayer?” His lips were curled in that hateful smirk, even though he revealed the pain behind the actions with the glassiness of his gaze.

Buffy could see so much in him that she’d never thought she would have ever cared to observe. This was no emotionless demon. How had she thought that pain for them would be physical, that they would react to a wound but something of the heart was out of their depth without a soul? This vampire held agony in his heart like her friends had at the loss of Jesse. Showed such overwhelming grief to her that she didn’t deserve to see. He was showing her his weakness and she was defiant about her own. Again she was acting wrong; she nodded in answer to his question.

“Yes, Spike. I like to be touched.”

He looked at her in shock, his lip beginning to tremble the longer he tried to keep strong, and watched her as she stripped herself bare to him, let the block on her emotions slip and revealed her own fear and hurt to one who would take advantage.

The growl started in his chest like an irritating itch, yet as she stood there and looked at him in silent apology, it fuelled his hate, made him want to bite her and fuck her and hit her till she passed out, and then do it all over again. He roared in outrage that a Slayer could soften his intentions with watery eyes and a display of vulnerability. She was meant to fight, even if caught and apparently helpless.

The bra was ripped from her body and his fangs penetrated the flesh, biting viciously into the padded softness of her breast as his other hand squeezed its partner painfully. Buffy screamed, her body flaming in hot, excruciating pain. He dragged his mouth from the wound as his hand grabbed her hair, dragged her head to the side and left her waiting for another of his punishing bites, leaving her to wonder if this was the one that would leave her breathless.

Buffy didn’t struggle, knowing it was her fate to eventually die at the hands of one of these monsters, but she wanted him to know before he took her life, wanted him to believe that what had happened had not been her intention.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his chin, closing her eyes as he gave another roar of ferocity and buried his fangs in her throat, the ticking pulse rapid against the piercing pain of his pointed fang. And then it drifted and ticked slower, leaving her feeling drained and resigned. Then she passed out.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Heaven looked a lot like the bedroom Spike had had her chained in before he drained her life away. Big difference was the comfy bed, and the shaking body that was reclining beside hers, wracked with sobs.

“Spike?” she asked, her voice raspy with the lack of strength that came with perishing by losing all your blood. “Not that it’s not nice to see a familiar face, but how come they let you into Heaven with me?”

“I offered to bite all the angelic traitors. Are you off your bleeding nut? I didn’t off you yet. You’re not in Heaven, Sunshine.”

Something struck him, a word that was now bouncing around his skull and joined the one that stopped his strong gulps of the girl’s blood just before he took it too far. ‘Sunshine. Don’t hurt the girl.’ Dru and her cryptic messages. It really pissed him off. Somehow she didn’t want him to kill the Slayer, yet he couldn’t help but take out his building fury on the one who held a stake to his dark princess’s chest.

“Oh,” was her belated answer. Buffy couldn’t deny that her head was more cottonwool than usual, but even she thought this reprieve was odd. Why didn’t he kill her? It’s not like she wouldn’t have driven a stake through anyone who had killed Angel. Well, like she might have done before he did the emotional blackmail thing and forced her to verbally commit to feelings she wasn’t sure she felt.

“You’re bleeding.” He shocked her with the obvious but she didn’t have the energy to do anything but raise an eyebrow. She couldn’t even muster up any fear when he buried his head at her throat once again and licked the wound clean, placing a pad of cloth over it and pressing a little hard to stop the flow of blood.

Buffy hated to admit it, but his cool tongue had felt kind of nice; soothing against the fire in her skin that came with the blinding flashes of pain that came with being attacked by sharp implements.

“Could-could you do that to the other wounds?” Buffy looked quickly at the one that had mutilated her breast and instead of anger, she flushed red with embarrassment.

He didn’t answer, just moved over her so that he could gently take the torn flesh into his mouth and bath her clean with his tongue. Buffy was incapable of keeping back the moan of pleasure she felt at having her skin cared for in such a manner, and despite the fact that she had evil lathering her naked skin, she felt the beginnings of arousal.

It was sick. She was insane, but as he nudged her nipple with his tongue and gulped her flesh into his throat, all thoughts of violent death escaped her mind to huddle in that darkened corner she’d pushed Angel into after the forced ‘I love you’ declaration earlier that night. For reasons that escaped her at this minute, she had felt more violated being put on the spot like that than she had being stripped and mauled by her enemy.

The peroxided head lifted; he refusing to look at her while he covered her with another square of cloth, a thumb just feathering over the other puckered nipple so softly she thought she imagined it in this unsure state.

“And—“ Before she could ask his lips were on the inside of her thigh, a vampire kiss in reverse as his tongue made gentle swirls over the twin needle marks, his hand absently stroking the small square of fabric between her legs.

Buffy felt her body shudder even as her legs unconsciously fell further apart. Her eyes were closed and she was lost to the sensation of his cool tongue, feeling the tightening of her body as he stroked her clean. Buffy couldn’t help herself as she dug her heels into the bed, lifting her hips slightly to encourage something—she didn’t quite know what.

It was with shock that she jolted as her panties were harshly ripped from her body and a mouth buried deep in her pussy, tears falling fast as a cold wet tongue delved into places she didn’t know existed, the rough surface driving her mad with need for something she was only just learning made her body feel good. Despite her weakness she felt her fingers tangle in his hair, both trying to get him away from her as well as make him stay, make him give her something, soon…now…please.

It was there, just out of reach as he feasted on her clit, his mouth suctioning the stretchy organ until she writhed. Almost at release he pulled himself away, his eyes turned golden in fury as he abruptly unzipped his pants and grinned as Buffy’s eyes went wide and she moved up the bed in fear. He grabbed her ankles and yanked her back down, quickly ridding himself of his jeans as he rejoined her, hands strong on her hips as he held her down.

The rounded curve of his cock made her cry as it nudged her thigh, slipped over her thoroughly moistened pussy and stretched her entrance almost painfully.

“Spike, please don’t. I’ve never—“ Before she could blink he had her hands in cuffs and tethered to the bedhead.

“I know that, sweetheart. You said you were sorry, now you can show me how much.” And he pushed his cock till Buffy screamed her protests, her pussy walls jittering in objection even as fluid gushed to make his slide more bearable.

“Spike, please stop. You’re hu-hurting me.”

“Not now, Pet.” He thrust into her deep, his hands wandering from her hips now she was captured and finding the hard points of her nipples, letting his palms rub over them as his cock undulated against her.

Sensation turned brilliantly intense; she saw colours, felt ridges as his cock rubbed her emotions raw but slicked her good. Buffy could feel her mind detaching, drifting up and watching as this monster took her against her will, but lovingly treated her body as a gift, his hands not painful as he teased her tender nipples. Watched as he drifted down to lift her legs around his waist and moved closer so he could thrust slowly, her hips lifted to an angle for deeper penetration and opening her up for all sorts of wonders.

When he leaned forward and sucked a nipple hard into his mouth, Buffy felt herself fall back to coherency. All three bite marks seared her, her pussy shuddering around him as the sensation of him inside her made her insides heat to boiling. She could feel the flush all over, could feel the tightening of her own legs as she held him, her tears drying up as he thrust into her slowly.

He released her aching nub with a sloppy ‘pop’, watching her almost shyly as he slowed the movement of his hips even more. His eyes were as clear as crystal, a blue flame that took her to the edge of fire with a lust look. His rough thumb pad found her clit just as he asked, “Still hurt, luv?”

Buffy shook her head, not knowing what to do now that the slowness that stretched her wide with no pausing in the build-up made her want to writhe beneath him and clutch his hair.

It felt good and she felt almost grateful that such an animal could be so gentle with her during something so evil. It released her, this taking of her when so long she had been dancing around the act with Angel.

And this sensation was divine; this pleasurable feeling of having thickness invade her and moving so slowly. It was almost driving her out of her mind, and she wished she could see. Wished that her first time—and likely only time—wouldn’t be such a teenage cliché. Dashed in darkness and mystery. She wanted to know what he was doing to her, and she wanted him to see that if this was how she could help make him feel better about losing Dru…well, she wasn’t begrudging the act.

But she was young; she didn’t know the etiquette, let alone that with a master vampire like Spike. She let him slide in her, eyes pleading for him to understand, to know she was okay if her mind and Slayer were objecting to it all. As she watched, he ripped the rest of his clothing off, his chest finally becoming bare to her watery gaze as he tossed the tee across the room. Then he slid up her body and she felt the barest brush of her breasts against his chest, felt his cool breath at her ear as it teased her hair.

And was blasted with an almost uncontrollable urge to turn her head and let her lips brush his. Her mind was lost to the fantasy, her heartbeat pounding in her chest even at the thought of their mouths meeting for something so sweet as a kiss. When Buffy felt the sudden fall of her hand as it was released from a cuff, she immediately used it to tangle in his curls, her eyes drifting open in some drugged haze to find her fantasy real, and he was loving her with his mouth.

Yet it was a lie. He didn’t love her; didn’t even like her. Was using her as nothing but a vessel to assuage his grief. And when had she ever cared what he felt and what he did? He was evil. Spike, a monster that would kill her as surely as her name was Buffy. Her enemy.

And yet she was becoming lost in the soft way his lips moved against her own, felt her head go fuzzy as his tongue met hers. Felt every defence shatter and run as the kiss—slow and sure—echoed the rhythm of his cock as it swelled and rolled inside her.

Her other hand was released and it went straight to the curly wonder of peroxided locks, holding him so close as she lost her mind to his mouth. It was so much sensation—much more than she’d ever experienced. Her body fighting to claim something new, to accept some delightfully explosive shivers as they bounced around her body, preparing her for something so huge she had no words. Buffy knew the words, had had her own small self-induced ones after trying out some Cleo tips, but had never thought such fierce rightness could ever be achieved in her long, slow exploration of feelings with Angel. Now she had it here, trapped in a body that wanted to lose all boundaries and scream to the world how amazing she felt.

The kiss got a little rougher, Spike moaning into her mouth as his teeth nibbled on her lips, his hips moving a little faster and causing a friction against pussy walls that eagerly encased him. Then he broke roughly away, gasping in air he didn’t need and quickly diving in to deliver peppered kisses over her throat and breasts.

“Do you wanna see? Want to see me pound into you?” He was trying to shock her, trying to claim back the control over this vicious act that had lost its animalistic fervour almost as soon as he’d penetrated her and nearly burned to death.

“Please,” she whimpered and it didn’t quite sound like the plea for mercy that he’d been counting on.

Without leaving her body, he sat her up in his lap then shuffled forwards so she was leaning against the head of the bed, some gentlemanly remnant dictating he ensure her comfort as he loaded soft pillows behind her back. He pushed two under her and then had her sit back, catching her eyes in his as he slowly looked down at his cock being sucked by her newly initiated slickened lips.

Spike felt angry at how her eyes seemed to eat up the sight, how she seemed to push out her breasts a little as she watched his cock sink into her and slowly pull out, the sucking sound as he did audible to both of them. The Slayer was breathing heavily, her heart and blood were racing, and his cock was swollen to almost unbearable widths on the power of his consumed Slayer blood. He wanted to bite her again, feast on her blood until she was an unresponsive corpse beneath his body, but words held him back. Kept him on an edge of furious outrage that he was doing this, sharing himself with the woman that took his salvation away.

Even if he knew it wasn’t her fault.

He wanted it to be. Wanted so much to blame her and hit her and cut her till she bled out all over the bed. But a sense of fairness wouldn’t let him. He’d been lost in cold fury, taking it out on this little blonde when he knew it was his Dru who had made the decision. Had played kamikaze vampire on a skewer as she uttered strange prophetic words that he knew better than to ignore.

So, she’d brought him to this place. Introduced him to a purpose she’d not mentioned since the night she’d made him a monster. So all he had to do was find his sun, and he tried to work the riddle as he looked into the face of one of the loveliest humans he’d seen in a long time. And she wasn’t clawing and biting at him; wasn’t fighting for her freedom from his brutal invasion of her body. She was watching his glistening cock as it joined with her, seemingly mesmerised by the motion of his pole moving back and forth.

And then she reached out her little hand and slid warm fingers over him as he moved, stroking him almost lovingly as he slid all the way out. He stayed out for seconds, gasping as she let her hand drift and cup his balls, looking up suddenly to make sure it was okay. Then she pulled on his sack and he was moving within her again and he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop it when he fell forward and his lips found hers again.

She burned him like the sun—her beauty, her goodness. Her acceptance and her enthusiasm. She made something inside him shine, gave him a sense of power he hadn’t felt since that first night he’d encountered Dru. Felt earlier that night long ago when he was all buoyed up with the possibility of love.

As the riddle cleared and made sense, he sucked on her tongue, feeling tears slip from behind his closed lids and wrapped her in his arms. Her body shivered against his, her legs wound tight around his waist as his thrusts finally sped up, needing finally to gain a release that would put an end to this and work out what the beginning would be. He was insane for even thinking there could be one.

He was evil. A predator that fed on her world, and yet he wanted to be a part of her.

But how could he? He’d robbed her of her innocence for the selfish motive of making her pay for something she wasn’t responsible for. As he made a decision, he felt himself swell, stretching her walls to the brink as he pulsated against her, kissing her deeply as he came. He found her sensitive pulse and stroked her, feeling the sense of doom as she squeezed him tighter, held her shuddering body against his as he released tears into her neck.

They breathed against each other, Spike reluctant to let her go for the relief it gave him to touch her. Buffy clinging to him with the joy of the most intense sexual experience of her life. He felt the twitch of her lips against his shoulder, nearly jumping out of his skin when he felt tiny human teeth sink into his flesh and her beautiful mouth suck some of him into her. It was enough to hope—but not enough to change his mind.

He pulled away, a sincere look of apology in his eyes as he slowly leant forward and gently kissed her lips. Then he located what he needed beside the bed on the floor and placed it in her hands, turning his back once and for all and reclined on the bed.

Turned his back on a Slayer and her stake.

 
It vibrated in her hand. A lonely stick of wood with the sole purpose of ending the existence of the undead. Walking death that had surrendered his voyage through time to a risky end, lying with his vulnerable back to her after giving her intensity that she deserved. On a closer look, Buffy found it wasn’t the stick that moved in a buzzing beat in her hand, but her hand itself that shook. A loose grip on a tool of her trade, less than a metre from its destiny.

Spike’s back was smooth and pale, white skin shining through the blur of moisture in her eyes. She couldn’t reconcile it in her head—frenzied passion and kisses the like that almost stopped her heart, against the fear of being used, of being taken and ruined by the soft hands of a monster. Yet there had been no animal on the bed with her. The moment she’d woken thinking herself in Heaven, Buffy had been beside the body of someone who…maybe not cared, but not someone that hated.

God, confused much?

Buffy was tired, sore and cold. Her hands felt even looser around the cylinder of wood and she suddenly felt a rising anger. She couldn’t kill the one who had taken her virginity, whether it was through lack of consent or not. Her mouth had not conceded to his actions, had not given voice to the one word that would allow her head to be alright with the event. But her heart seemed to consult with no other part of her and influenced too many of her feelings and actions.

Buffy squeezed her eyes closed and threw the stake, shuddering as the impact of her decision settled. Opening them again slowly she spied the yucky looking lace coverlet and pulled it up over herself, shifting forward so that her naked body was pressed into the equally bare back of the vampire who had completely altered her world. Her arm curled around his ribs and as she held her breath, Buffy nearly jumped against him as he slowly touched her hand and finally held it, a thumb stroking the skin she just willingly gave him.

Pent up tears fell as both blondes lay spooned in the bed that had once belonged to someone else, trying hard to forget how the night had come about, while memorising the events that brought them to this moment.

And after awhile, they surrendered to their emotional fatigue and slept.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It was a vision he’d refused to ever contemplate. The girl he loved snuggled up to a notorious killer, quite obviously enjoying the closeness that came in being with her maker. He remembered what it had been like, being the one under Darla’s expert tutelage and overwhelming lust had certainly made him rather happy, and he’d returned the favour when his darling Drusilla had joined the family. But he’d never consented to this. Would never have allowed Spike to take what was his. Would never allow his Buffy to be tainted by what he had been, what he still was.

She was dead.

They’d suspected it when he’d made it to the club checked out with her friends the previous day, finding Buffy’s old LA school friend dead—neck twisted thankfully. He’d not been fed on in front of her. But then Angel identified her blood at the top of the stairs and had felt himself die again with acknowledging the truth. If Spike had the Slayer, she wouldn’t remain alive.

He’d caught one of the less diligent minions outside the factory walls, holding him with just a snarl and a forearm as the less than loyal one told a horrifying tale. His Dru was gone, apparently dusted by her own madness and yet a casualty to the Slayer’s stake. As the haunted howl was seemingly ripped from his throat, he’d felt the tears and had to wait hours after hearing. He’d dusted the minion and gone to wail away from the factory, knowing if he stuck too close Spike would sense him.

He should have felt her pass. Should have known the very second she’d left his blood, but his neglect left him too much on the outside. The guilt was there. He’d failed them both. He should have taken Dru under his wing when he’d first seen her in the park, should have tried to change her and help her heal. He was her sire, and she loved him. Something could have been done.

And Buffy. He knew that under the circumstances it would be too late anyway. Far too late to storm the factory and save his beloved. And still the image replayed in his head—her stake, her threat. Dru might have impaled herself, but Buffy had given her the weapon. For a brief soulless moment, he was glad that Spike had her. And he’d hoped his grandchilde had made the girl hurt.

And so the night had passed—he oblivious to one childe’s passing, but ever aware of the other one’s pain. Angel had locked himself away in silence, his own crying the one sound in his apartment as he drank more and more yet became more sober by the minute. His bleak hatred for the one that caused it to happen finally turned into himself and showed him rationality.

It wasn’t Buffy’s fault. She’d probably done what she’d needed to do to get out of that place. He’d seen the door. Could tell if it closed there was no easy way out—especially if you were locked in with a room of ravenous vampires, two of those being of old. So, how could he hate her? How could he have left and condemned her to a sure and brutal death?

And his soul kicked back in painfully and he mourned for yet another loss, and this, one that he could have saved. He’d been brought to her by Whistler to offer direction, to fulfil a prophecy—who could possibly know with the cryptic Powers That Be? Whatever the reason, whatever purpose he’d been given, it certainly hadn’t been to offer her up as a ripened peach to a tormented, grieving vampire like Spike.

The one thing he’d never suspected, though, was an addition to his family. He’d not felt it. Not felt the line swell in number. He’d blocked out each addition over the years, finding it less than productive to torture himself over and over to wonder which of his family had added another death to their ranks.

A turned slayer.

It was wrong, and it ripped out his heart without the benefit of dusting. It killed him that he’d have to take care of her, dust her before she could kill. Oh God, if she hadn’t killed already. It didn’t seem that way, instead looking like other vampire carnalities had taken place. He could see the chains hanging free, could see the splashes of blood on the floor where he imagined she hung waiting for Spike to kill her. Her clothes were flung torn to the side, and the image of her naked body being abused and tortured for the sake of Dru made him want to begin howling all over again.

But that would take away the surprise, would make it too difficult for him to take her against the force of them both.

She moaned from deep in her throat and seemed to snuggle closer to Spike, her bare back so close a target for Angel’s stake. Tears clouded his view but still his path was chosen. Only then did the pain erupt and he roared as he lunged, even the sudden surprised movement of the lovers before him not enough to prevent the stake from penetrating and her blood seeping forth—splashing over his hands.

Screams rent the air, snarls and fury dripping from fangs as Buffy lay whimpering on the bed, pain filled cries echoing all around him. Spike attacked, taking Angel down with a solid kick to the side of his head and another to his crotch. He ripped the wood from his grandsire’s hands, flung it so hard it lodged almost the full length into the wall.

“What the bleeding fuck do you think you’re doing?”

It was the pause that was needed, time enough for Angel to wonder at the urgent thumping heartbeat that slowed as he stood fascinated, watching blood pool down Buffy’s back.

“Sp-ike,” she called out, her voice weakening even as her eyes closed. Spike caught her as she collapsed, his eyes flashing amber as he looked at the intruder that had tried to rip away his hope.

He kissed her brow, his hands urgently tracing around the wound and growling in his chest when copious slippery liquid slid under his fingers.

“H-how bad is it?” Angel asked numbly, seemingly totally disassociated, seeing not his would-be girlfriend but a human that he might accidentally have killed. Yet the shocking pain he’d expected was slow to reveal, the crippling agony of all his past misdeeds as Angelus having far more impact than this attempt at righteousness.

His answer was a feral snarl, and he flinched at the unaccustomed hatred on Spike’s face. They’d always had their clashes, but they’d never breached the bond of care that came with being family, with being tied to each other through the incestuous twist of sire and childe.

More than he could ever suspect, it was this possible loss of his last close family member that broke him, made his soul cry for his mistake. Not the attack on Buffy. Not being the one to almost kill the Slayer. That she hadn’t been vamped by a grieving Spike hadn’t even entered his mind yet. He was blocked to all but this infringement on vampiric law—attacking a favourite of his family in front of her paramour. Dru was dismissed from the situation momentarily, and instead he thought of what punishment would be befitting of his crime. What he would have forced upon Spike had he done something similar to him.

The expectation of what was to come wasn’t pretty, but rather than even focus on what had occurred in clan lore, Spike was keening painfully over the wound in Buffy’s back, gentle lips and tongue removing the mess obscuring the damage so they could know what she would need.

Angel could hear her heartbeat now, slow but loud and he sighed in relief. How did he miss it when he first entered? How could he ignore the steady beat of something so heavily in existence in a silent room? Stunned recriminations were diverted by feral yellow eyes, warning that his presence was not welcomed—nor would be borne any longer.

Like the epitome of what he was, Angel slunk out of the room and blended morosely into the night. News for the Scoobies would be patchy at best. He’d almost killed Buffy—because she wasn’t dead like he’d assumed.

She’d been bedded, though. That much he’d smelt and the thought now made him nauseous yet strangely calm. He’d not yet managed the switch from wanting her dead for the dusting of Dru, and recognising it wasn’t her fault and that she didn’t deserve to be drained. Except she hadn’t been—hadn’t even appeared to be tortured. Instead, loved? He had no clue what to tell Giles, if he could even open his mouth to speak.

His childe had acted out of character, abandoning the eternity he had bestowed upon her and robbing them of another fourth of their group. The women were gone and behind they’d left two broken men. What Spike had chosen to do in that state was yet to be made clear to Angel, and in his confusion, he completely bypassed the Watcher’s home. Locating a bottle of alcohol instead, he sunk into a depression that had been spared him when he’d taken Darla from his world by his own pointy and handy arrow.

He had nothing to tell, so for now he would be silent.

Dead men told no tales.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

She felt too cold in his arms; too much like Dru after they’d spent the night feeding and fucking. She felt dead, despite the weakened pounding from her chest. His mouth had bathed her wound, taken in the ambrosia of her blood as it leaked purity from her body. The bleeding had slowed once he’d pressed balled fabric against it, putting too much pressure on it but still she remained oblivious in a comatose state.

“Slayer. The wanker’s gone now, pet. Come on. Time to open those gorgeous eyes of yours.”

Her soft moan brought air past his lips and for the first time he realised it had hurt not to breathe. Actually pained him to not do what he’d been reborn to leave behind. She shuffled a little in his arms and he almost wept his relief. She’d be okay. She’d be once again warm and be the sun of his heart.

He had to kill Angel. No two bloody ways about it but the fucking nancy dipshit had to go. He’d broken code, interfered in lore that he’d had no right to. The Slayer had been beside him, still human but for all the git knew, chosen to be more than a bed partner. Selected to join their diminished family in one form or another. The loss of her heat told Spike he would never sacrifice her life just so he could have her for eternity. Dru had warned him to not hurt the girl and killing her would do more than that.

As far as he knew—and he’d done his fair share of studying the Slayer line—no Slayer had ever been successfully turned. No vamp would have wanted to. No matter how much irony might be in the act, in the achievement, no vamp would want to bring over one who had devoted her breath to extinguishing their kind.

As much as a trendsetter Spike considered himself to be, he wasn’t going to be the first one to do it. Not when he’d felt what it was like to bathe in the sun. When the heat of confused green burned into him for answers, he almost folded. Almost forgot who he was and crumbled over her, holding her safe against him forever.

This metamorphosis was too much, too soon. He’d barely realised the loss of his sire, let alone the partner of his eternity being gone from him forever. And now the last of the four was breaking code, pushing boundaries that the two-faced wanker had pounded into him for the first year of his unlife.

It was wrong for one vampire to interfere with the kill of another. Wrong to attack a mate, a possible mate, or even a special one chosen by a familial member. Sharing was allowed, relished even, but only once consideration and permission had been granted. Angelus had no right to trespass in his bedroom without an invitation, whether he’d thought the Slayer in danger or not. For making such a gross mistake against their code, the brooding hair gel obsessed poof would cop it, and Spike was going to enjoy pounding the living fuck out of something. His grief was obscene, rising up righteous and furious once again, and a whimpering Buffy wouldn’t be the one he took it out on this time.

She didn’t speak a word, silently watching as his face went from concern to hate in almost a split second. Fear rose and made her blood pound through her body, gushing back into the balled cloth at her back. Buffy jumped as his growl tore from his throat, the fabric pressed harder and he looked at her with not so gentle rapprochement.

“Spike?” Buffy watched as his demon took over and fangs descended, yellow eyes clashed with her pain filled green. Weakness clung to her limbs and no matter what she was in for now, she had no hope of escape. No possibility of even retrieving the stake he’d handed her earlier in the night. The one she’d tossed in decision as she’d curled into his back.

Despite the amount of blood she’d already lost, Spike dived at her mouth, fangs ripping harshly into her lips. Buffy’s pained cries didn’t stop him at first, too intent on letting the demon vent and retrieving his battered ego. It had all gone wrong, from the moment he’d allowed that oily haired teen to enter his lair and offer a trade. The Slayer. How could he not have known it was too easy? And now his lover had gone and he’d initiated a replacement within hours—apparently with Dru’s own approval.

He was a vampire. He’d been made immortal, raised within the truth of evil and rules. Too many had been broken, too many lines crossed and the only control he could regain was to make Angel pay.

With a not so gentle thrust, the Slayer was away from him, huddled fearfully on the quilt that his Dru had lovingly placed upon their bed. He suddenly felt sick, felt unfaithful and disgusted. He’d been controlled, been ignored in the order of decision. Dru had no right to make those plans—even if she had seen something foretold over a century ago. Angelus had had no right—not to bound into his room and attempt to eradicate his replacement mate. It was time to wreak havoc on this town, kill indiscriminately until the ache in his chest eased.

He was dressed and standing at the foot of the stairs in minutes, ignoring the crying form of broken Slayer on his bed.

He left her there—refusing to deal with why he’d wanted to even have her as his mate, and no replacement at that.

Events shifted around him and he was powerless to stop it.

Powerless to do anything. But kill Angelus.

She couldn’t stop shaking. Shock had begun to seize her limbs and her face felt numb from the cold of her tears. Buffy hugged cold, numb arms around herself, her mind almost blank as the torn flesh at her back almost crippled her to pain.

Angel had attacked her.

The thought was terrifying in itself. Buffy remained huddled on the bed, naked and shaking as she replayed the event in her mind, only snippets and no words sinking through the barrier that wanted to protect her even now. But Spike’s voice carried a name as he shouted and tried to pull her out of the way, and her back itched and seared with fire as her flesh was viciously cut into with wood. She’d seen that much, seen Spike in his protective rage bury the implement in the far wall after seizing it from Angel’s hand. Blurred to the impact the event then had as she faded from consciousness.

She’d thought she was safe. It was irony at its best. One vamp had tried to stake her in the back, and another was all vamped fury in her honour. A Slayer at the mercy of vampiric whim, and yet she’d felt safe with Spike watching her back. Literally.

It all seemed different when she’d pried her eyes open again. She was weak. Afraid. Obviously in need of medical attention as she felt the slow flow of blood as it again took to trailing down her skin. And she was alone. With no explanation other than threats against Angel, he was gone, leaving her to stain a bed that didn’t belong to her. A bed in which she’d been left naked and weak.

She wasn’t alone, though. Buffy could feel her neck tingling with awareness of the presence beyond this room. Knew without any doubt that too many minions lay just beyond her and she would be dead before she even got out of the building. She was bleeding profusely; it felt warm as it slid over the skin of her back. It would be some kind of miracle if she made it to the top of the stairs without a swarm of vamps waiting just on the other side of the door.

But the continued loss of blood was making her weak, and Buffy came to the frightening reality that she didn’t have a choice. She could feel the thumps of her own straining heart as they echoed throughout her entire body. For any kind of a chance she had to leave; had to attempt to make it to a hospital where she could have her wound treated and possibly submit to a blood transfusion.

When the colour seemed to seep from every object she looked at, she made up her mind. On spaghetti strong legs, Buffy regained her feet and felt around for her clothes. Her slayer vision was failing, some things blurring even as the black clothing around her stood out stark in memory—if not in sight. The Slayer cringed when the back of her shirt stuck to her back, blood seeping through and making it stick tighter than any bandage. That was bad. Had to mean all kinds of bad that there was so much blood. Spike must have only stopped it for awhile.

Finally the struggle with shoes was at an end and one foot rested on the bottom of the stairs. No amount of directed breathing or slayer pep talk could calm the fear and her heart beat a rhythm loud enough to wake the dead. Being that it was night, and she was surrounded by at least twenty walking demons, she wasn’t thinking they really needed the extra help. The scent of Slayer blood was more than enough to have them gathered and snarling over an easy meal.

Then again, miracles had happened before. She’d lived through the previous night, despite being at the mercy of a grieving vampire who’d been after her blood since he rolled into town. Events had been turned so far to the other side of what should have been expected, that Buffy was more than willing to take another gamble right now. If she didn’t—if she remained naked on that bed waiting for her world to suddenly once again make sense—she had no doubts the minions would find her dead on the comforter anyway.

The first step hurt, but the second step was much worse. Pain wracked her body in excruciating detail, leaving no cell bereft of the message. Yet still a foot matched a step until she was at the door, a shaking hand raised to push it open and face almost certain death in an effort to save her own life.

The door opened too slowly, the creak of the hinge echoing throughout the factory like an injured calf baying for its mother. It was almost prophetic, that sound that warned of her entry as she stared at a multitude of glowing amber eyes all aimed at her, almost eating up her pain and fear. Whatever hope she had clung to—that the factory would be empty or that Spike would come running to her rescue, or even that she was dreaming and Angel hadn’t really stabbed her with her own chosen weapon—crash dived in the face of over twenty ravenous vampires. Elongated fangs salivated at the scent of her strong blood.

Buffy closed her eyes as she took the first step into the room, keeping them closed when she took another and another. Tingles raced over her skin and pounded into the back of her skull, the inherent demon warning almost knocking her out in inbred Slayer panic. Her will hadn’t yet deserted her, but Buffy did not retain the strength needed to take them all on and keep walking.

She was barely walking now, and as she made the fifth step and remained unharmed, she allowed her eyes to hesitantly slide open. The sight made her scream and she stopped still, heart thudding a race to get out of her body. To run and never quit running until someone forced her to.

They were so close. Not touching her but less than an arms length away. She could reach out and rest a hand on them if the thought didn’t completely squick her out. Buffy could feel the blood gurgling at her open wound, could feel the cold of helpless tears as they asserted a path down her cheeks. Could almost smell the fetid breath of these less grooming friendly minions.

She didn’t know what to do. They were in front of her, behind her, beside her, all eyeing her neck greedily like she was some special entrée they had all been fighting over and now still hadn’t reached the decision of who got to bite her first.

She couldn’t look. Even if she’d had a stake and hadn’t been incapacitated, Buffy couldn’t take on twenty vamps and made it out alive. The odds were more than against her, and yet on trembling legs she reached the factory exit and found herself surrounded by the cool reassurance of the night.

More followed as Buffy ventured her way to the hospital, darting frightened looks over her shoulder at the enlarging number of vampires that were following her path. She suspected her wiggins levels had just been blown right off the chart. Forcing herself to move on, to ignore the strangeness of what was happening, Buffy pushed on. One step after another until in a particularly dark alley had her turning slightly and crying out in distress to see her following had swelled in number to such a degree that it looked like a parade.

None of them came more than a step closer to her. None of them pushed the very obvious advantage they had to attack and tear her broken body apart.

Buffy’s body was shaking alarmingly in shock as she descended the steps into the hospital, almost fainting in relief on a free passing gurney. Falling face forward, she finally gave in to her terror and cried, allowing the blood that saturated the back of her shirt to tell the tale while emotion allowed her to claim some semblance of sanity.

Then painkillers and Doctor’s voices reassured her that if the monsters of the night hadn’t killed her outside when there were no witnesses, then they weren’t going to do it once she’d reached a kind of haven.

Her last thought was of a confused collage of Spike’s attitude and care before her world went thoroughly black.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

It had not been a conscious decision, but rather one based more on vampire code and instinct. She’d reeked of Spike; they’d scented his scars on her body. So, though enticed almost out of their minds by the high of her blood, the claim their master had on this Slayer through bite and sex was far more than what a little taste would be worth. Spike may be new to their group, might be new to them as Master, but his reputation wasn’t exactly non-existent. He’d lost one of his women this night—if they’d dared take another…it just wasn’t worth the pain. The end to their existence. The quick introduction to hell.

The aroma had been too strong to ignore altogether, though. It had called to them like a siren song and so minion after minion succumbed and crowded her, imagining what that one little taste must have been like. Spike must have had more than a taste as more than one bite could be scented. They’d followed her like dogs eager to not lose their bone, pulling in a crowd as they drifted past other nests and dreamed of that one taste all the way to her destination.

The strange behaviour of explicit looking but not touching the Slayer must have intimidated the newcomers. The ones that didn’t bow down to Spike’s rule yet were wary enough to not want to cross the unknown element. His strength was renowned for sure and any challenge on a woman covered in vamp bites and still walked…well, none of them admittedly had the balls. So they walked alongside her as if in a funeral brigade and then mourned once she passed into the relative safety of the hospital.

They didn’t disperse until close to sunup.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“H-hello?”

“Can I speak to a Mr. Rupert Giles, please?” The efficient nurse glanced up from the file in her hand and smiled briefly at a passing nurse.

“Speaking. W-who is this?” The voice was worried, suspecting as if he’d been waiting a long time for news of tragedy.

“Mr. Giles, this is nurse Johnstone calling from Sunnydale Memorial. You are listed on Ms. Buffy Summers file as next of kin. She has just come in and is being treated in Emergency. Would it be possible for you to come in and take care of admittance details?”

“Oh Lord, how is she?” The British accent cracked a little and then there was some kind of interference over the phone as the nurse suspected she heard some kind of fabric muffling the sound.

“You would need to discuss Ms. Summers’ condition with her doctor. I’m sorry I can’t help you, but I am not up to date with her circumstances. Will you be able to come in soon?”

“Oh yes, yes, of course. I am on my way.” The phone clicked abruptly and was obviously disconnected.

Nurse Johnstone was almost disappointed that the nice sounding man had clicked off the connection, doubting she would get to put a face to the voice as her shift ended and she gathered her jacket and headed for her locker.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

They’d been gathered around the table looking up any information on William the Bloody and his girlfriend, Drusilla. Trying to fill in the time with purpose while waiting for Angel to show up with some kind of news. Xander spent most of his time staring with blurred eyes at pictures and words that didn’t relate to anything he knew, and looking up to share terrified looks with Willow. Giles had uncharacteristically thrown one book after another aside, parrying off his own desperate need for alcohol with numerous excursions to his kitchen and subsequent kettle, not returning to the teenagers till he had a tray laden with cups of tea that no one intended to drink.

Eyes spoke louder than words as each of the three periodically studied the clock on the wall, trying to tamp down rising fear every hour on the hour when Angel failed to show. When the phone rang, the only worry that flittered through their minds would be that Mrs. Summers had for some reason gotten the number from someone and was wondering where the hell her daughter was. No one expected it to be news of Buffy herself, and certainly not from the hospital. That Angel had failed to gather the information or save Buffy from whatever hell she had been catapulted into had never crossed their minds. Despite his vampiric status, they trusted him to find Buffy and make their world okay again. Make their world once again safe enough to sleep in.

So, it was in varying shades of shock that they made their way to the hospital, finding it necessary to dodge a number of vampire groups on their way from the carpark to the front entrance. Just that short trip was fraught with enough fear to keep their hearts pumping and to stave off total exhaustion and catatonic shock.

They found Buffy unconscious, dressed head to toe in white and lying on her side. A Doctor outside her room informed them of the damage to Buffy’s back, the need to boost her blood supplies with transfusion and the very real need for a restful recovery. They had no information on how she came to be stabbed so viciously in the back, but he was very caring in his relief that she had survived the attack.

“I-it’s almost like she’s been…staked.” Giles thought about his Slayer’s condition in a quiet stunned fashion, hardly believing that this girl he had begun to very much care for was not only still alive, but had almost been killed in the manner of the vampires she was charged to eradicate each and every night of her life.

“But, why G-man? I mean, a vampire would know she’s not dead, and even if they thought she was—and I can’t even imagine how those perky vamp ears wouldn’t hear her heartbeat—why would they kill her with a stake in the back?” Xander stood staring at his unconscious friend, a look of dazed puzzlement on his face.

“I-it could be some kind of bizarre retribution. Kill the Slayer in the manner she kills.” Giles stood beside Xander, both opposite a silent Buffy and a contemplative Willow.

“Or…maybe someone felt she had been turned and they thought they had to kill her before she could start to hunt on her friends.” Willow refused to look at Giles, only chancing the smallest look at Xander before she had the courage to continue. “We haven’t seen Angel. What if he thought she was dead? Thought she was a vampire? If he was all grievy it could be possible, right? He might have been too heartbroken to hear her heartbeat. So, just maybe, he staked her and now he’s either all dusty from Buffy protecting himself or all of the hiding because he is freaked out from almost killing her.”

“That actually makes a lot of sense. And if that’s what happened, then Evil Undead better not come around here no more.” Xander puffed out his chest against his crossed arms, a furious line of hate straightening his lips.

“Was that an obscure Tom Petty reference? I never thought you listened to him, Xander. I might have to reassess your intelligence in regards to good music,” Giles told him with a burgeoning pleased smile.

“Say what now? Never heard of him. Does he do country?”

“Oh, I give up,” Giles conceded and shook his head as he fell back into the only visitor’s chair in the room.

They resumed the awkward silence of earlier and just waited. For what they didn’t know. Sunrise? Angel to return and straighten out this mess…or maybe best of all, for Buffy to wake up and tell them where she had been for the past two nights and why she was sporting the gaping hole in her back that was the rage amongst all fashionably unlucky vamps in the Hellmouth area.

No answers materialised as the night wore on, leaving them to greet a tired sun with a continually confused frown. Buffy was yet to wake, and for them to still be out when school beckoned for their presence, questions would possibly need to be answered when they showed up to get either sleep or a book bag.

In tacit agreement they stayed, shifting uncomfortably on chairs that had been provided by thoughtful and compassionate staff. Buffy’s waking up was the priority, and knowledge of the situation at hand of the utmost importance.

Giles was the first to call in and beg off work for the day, citing the accident of a close family friend. When Willow took the risk and told her mother where she was, the woman who supposedly knew Willow best told her it was perfectly acceptable for her to want to spend her time at Muffy’s bedside. As long as she returned some time that day. Xander made no move to phone the school or his parents, figuring neither would really care or miss him till the damage had been done.

So, together they stuck side by side, waiting for their warrior to return to them and shed what light she could.

There was little more they could do.



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