Chapter Six:

Sunnydale, California. Just a quiet little burg to outsiders. Picture-perfect, sleepy bedroom community with parks and Sunday picnics and white picket fences. One would never know, just by looking, that the original Spanish settlers had named it Boca Del Inferno- loosely translated: Mouth of Hell. The untrained eye never saw beneath the surface; didn't see the creatures that went bump in the night or the legions of undead that pulled themselves from fresh graves on a nightly basis. Even a majority of the town's populace refused to recognize the dangers surrounding them.

O' little town of murder, mayhem and destruction. How you mock me, Xander Harris thought as he backed out of the bedroom and closed the door. A fine tremor shuddered through his muscular frame. Never. Not once in the seven years since he'd been forced to see the truth of his hometown, had he seen what lay inside the room he'd just vacated. His mind raced for something, anything which would explain what he had just beheld. Sleep deprivation? Tricks of light and shadow? Imagination running wild? There had to be some logical, sane explanation.

Hoping that if he just closed his eyes and counted to ten the scene would have changed, Xander did just that. Only, without anything else to distract him, the scene unfolded in stark, vivid relief. Slayer with a lapful of vampire was what he'd expected, as that's how he'd left them twenty minutes ago.

The only difference was that, twenty minutes ago, Buffy's eyes had been a glowing chartreuse. Not that it wasn't a pretty color, but since when had Buffy's eyes looked as though they belonged to a very large cat? Then, of course, were the fangs. Itty-bitty fangs- again reminiscent of a cat- all but gleaming in the soft glow cast by the lamp on the bedside table. Had she actually growled at him? He'd just been trying to-"OW!"

Xander whirled around in time to see Cordelia's hand -or more importantly, those talons of hers- return to the bowl she held.

"Please, Harris," the Seer rolled her eyes.

"You pinched me!"

"You were just standing there, in my way, and not answering me when I called your name." She held up the bowl and its suspicious smelling contents. "If you're not going to help, park that tush somewhere else."

Eyeing the potion, Xander gave his ex a pout and made a beeline for the door. Air. He needed it. He needed time to understand the things he had just witnessed. Time to figure out the things he had learned. The effects of the previous week and its stress settled like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach.

Things were rapidly going to hell around him and the people he cared most about in the world. Recess was over. School was out. Backing out of parking lot, Xander pointed his silver Lexus in the direction of Revello Drive.

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The human was already fast on the road to becoming an afterthought before the door had even closed. Some lingering bit of humanity tried to wriggle itself free of the steel cage her demon had imprisoned it in; tried to wag a metaphorical finger at her and make her the feel guilty or ashamed. The Slayer wasn't listening, though, as it drop-kicked the inner human back into its cage and locked her up tight.

The now-absent intruder didn't matter. He would get over it. Or not. It wasn't the Slayer's problem. Only one thing mattered...

Alone once more, Buffy eased her self down onto the mattress beside her mate, lowering her face to the wounds on his chest. The lingering scents of the ones who had harmed the magnificent creature brought a low growl trickling from her lips. Tentatively sticking out her tongue, the Slayer gave one of the raw gashes a little lick. A soft sigh sounded above her and a tiny smile curved across her lips. He may be out of it, but Spike's body, his demon, still knew she was there.

Encouraged by that small reaction to her touch, she leaned in closer and swiped her tongue across the wound. Slowly, ever alert to any signs that she was causing pain, Buffy continued bathing the cuts and abrasions. A quiet rumble reached her ears and she nearly giggled with pride and delight that Spike was unconsciously purring from her ministrations. The soothing sound went a long way in easing her heart.

With every slow, wet glide of her tongue against Spike's flesh, more and more knowledge blossomed within Buffy's awareness; ancient knowledge passed down through the eons along with the Slayer package. She looked down at his chest, looked with that knowledge and could actually pinpoint the exact location of every fractured rib. The one puncturing his right lung was the worst of the damage.

Something within her moved in that moment, something Buffy had no words for other than to call it power. Pure, undiluted power sliding, gliding, twisting, turning, writhing beneath her skin and searching for a way out. It built within her, danced along her skin, brought a long, low moan from her trembling lips. Her hands reached out to caress too-pale flesh.

The moment skin connected with skin, the power flared to a white hot brilliance behind her eyes and Buffy threw her head back. Spike arched beneath her hands, crying out at the myriad sensations. Heat and cold, pain and pleasure. She could feel the power burst free at last and knew she could direct it to do her bidding. In her mind, she gathered it into a ball and shoved it into Spike; targeted the broken bones and the torn flesh. In seconds, his ribs were whole once more and the gashes faded to light pink scars.

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Cordelia looked between Willow’s confused face and the closed bedroom door behind which the raw scent of arousal wafted to her enhanced sense of smell. Her body tingled in reaction and she shrugged inwardly in acceptance. She had intended to aid the vampire’s healing through herbal remedies and healing spells. Apparently, the Slayer had other ideas and Cordelia wasn’t about to stand in the way. Even if attempting to do so would turn out bloody and unbelievably painful for the brunette.

Instead, the higher being made a quick decision and reached for the witch with a gentle hand, placed a finger across her lips and conveyed with her eyes what she needed. Willow smiled.

After all, it’d been awhile since she had someone with whom to do magicks.

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Spike could feel William retreat to the farthest recesses of his mind. The soul knew- just as the demon knew- that what was occurring was, on every level, the most primitive of actions. This was no time for hearts and flowers, no place for words of poetry or whispered promises. This was lust; unadulterated and in its purest form. The air was drenched in the scent of the fluid pooling between his mate's luscious thighs, causing the achingly stiff column of flesh twitch against the cold metal zipper of his jeans.

A low, rumbling growl trickled from his lips as the Slayer's warm, pink tongue darted out to swipe across the soft pillow of her bottom lip. Her hands clenched in the sheet as she crawled up from the foot of the bed. An answering rumble of need vibrated from her throat a scant heartbeat before her hand lashed out and she caught him around the back of his neck to drag his mouth to hers. In a flash, he'd toppled her back onto the rumpled sheets, shredded the dirt caked jeans from her body and buried his face against the source of that delicious smell.

Buffy arched her back, crying out at the sensations rocketing through her body. Her blood pounding in her ears, fingers scrabbling for something, anything, to hold onto as the demon licked and suckled at her needy flesh. Cries, pleas, babbled words she had no clue of were being released on the air as the tension within her belly grew tauter. Her fingers found root in the deceptively soft curls once a platinum white now streaked with dirt and dried blood. Desperate tears of release denied welled in her eyes, a long keening wail tearing loose amongst the harsh panting breaths sawing in and out of her lungs.

Without warning, Spike abruptly pulled away from the writhing female only to grasp her by the ankles and flip her onto her stomach. He gripped her hips. Gasping for breath, her chartreuse eyes peered at him over her shoulder, following the motion of his hands as he tore away the last remaining barrier between them. Their eyes met and held for the briefest of moments before he slammed into her dripping channel, forcing the breath from her lungs with a scream of pleasure.

Too long. It had been too long since the pair had been joined together. Too many months of self-imposed abstinence ensured them both that neither would last very long. One hand flexed on the heated flesh of her hip as he surged into her at a brutal pace. His other hand travelling along her taut, quivering abdominal muscles until the perfect peach of her right breast filled his palm, fingers rolling and pinching the tightly contracted nipple. She mewled and bucked against him, her slick vaginal walls gripping and fluttering. She was so close, nearly there, her moans growing louder as he picked up the pace to frantic rhythm that had his balls drawing tighter.

With a sudden jerk, Spike dragged her up against his chest and drove his fangs into the soft, yielding flesh of her throat as his pounding cock erupted, flooding her womb with cold, milky semen. She thrust back in response, wailing his name to the heavens, gripping him in a cock strangling monster of an orgasm while her nails dug bloody furrows into the flesh of his arm and thigh.

In the next room, the witch and the Seer slumped together in exhaustion.

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"No way!"

Connor nodded vigorously at Dawn’s cry of disbelief. Once the group had returned to the Slayer’s home, the others had gone to bed while Dawn showed him around the modest, yet comfortable house. Well, comfortable in a cramped space filled with way too many human females swimming in rampant girlie hormones. They made him nervous while Dawn just made him feel welcomed. She had also invited him to sleep in the vampire’s basement room while the vampire was being cared for in the apartment he shared with Xander.

Now, as the rest of the house slept away the morning, the two supernaturally created teenagers chatted happily and enthusiastically about their separate, yet equally unusual lives. She had told him about Glory the hellgod and the Slayer’s heroic sacrifice. He told her how he’d entrapped his vampire father in a glass coffin at the bottom of the ocean.

Dawn shook her head, still in shocked disbelief that someone besides Spike had actually gotten the drop on the broody, ensouled vampire. "Man, Angel must’ve been pissed! How’d he get out?"

"Wes," Connor answered simply and debated whether or not to tell her the whole story. But, then he caught the former Key letting loose with an enormous yawn and decided he’d kept the girl from sleep long enough. Instead, he lied and told her he wanted to get some rest while the others were still sleeping. She smiled prettily, making his heart flip in his chest, and said goodnight.

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