Effulgent

by SpikesKat

“And there will be a time of crisis, of worlds hanging in the balance. And in this time shall come the Anointed, the Master’s great warrior. And the Slayer will not know him, will not stop him, and he will lead her into Hell.” 

“Five will die, and from their ashes the Anointed shall rise. The Brethren of Aurelius shall greet him and usher him to his immortal destiny.” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

In the distance, crickets chirped happily. 

It was the only sound the two lone occupants of the cemetery could hear. 

Bored beyond tears – not to mention mildly pissed off at her watcher because she’d had to forgo her meet-up with the mysterious Owen – Buffy sighed dramatically, causing said watcher to cast an annoyed look her way.  He winced around the pain caused by having his ass glued to the cement structure for the last three hours. 

“Perhaps I miscalculated,” he threw over his shoulder, unwilling to meet the sarcastic gaze of his Slayer.   

“I’m thinking yes,” Buffy replied.  She finished off what remained of her drink, slurping noisily on the straw. 

“Well, you know what they say… ninety-five percent of the vampire slaying game is…waiting.” 

“You couldn’t have told me that ninety percent ago?” 

“Well,” he groaned heavily, rising slowly from the cold slab as his leg muscles protested their sudden activity.  “…we’ve certainly waited here long enough.” 

“Besides, there aren’t any fresh graves,” the Slayer added.  “Who’s gonna rise?” 

“Apparently no one… tonight,” Giles agreed reluctantly.  He pulled out his notebook to jot down the night’s activities – or lack thereof. 

“So, I can bail?”  Buffy jumped to her feet, eager to be away.  Maybe she’d be able to catch up with Owen after all… 

“Oh, very well then,” he grumbled. “Follow your hormones if you want. But I assume I don't have to warn you about the hazards of becoming personally involved with someone who’s… unaware of your unique condition.”  

“Yeah, yeah, I read the back of the box.”  

The watcher went on, undeterred by her flippant remark.  “If your identity as the Slayer is revealed it could put you and all those around you in grave danger.”  

“Well, in that case I won't wear my button that says, ‘I’m a Slayer. Ask me how!’” 

Giles looked down at his charge, lips pursed in a disapproving grimace at her lippy comment.   

Buffy took note of his expression, but ignored it.  She’d already given up the majority of her night – for nothing, she might add – and didn’t want to get into it again with the man.  She whirled away, throwing a backhanded wave and goodbye. 

Giles sighed at her retreating figure.  “‘Five shall die, and from their ashes the Anointed shall rise’… I was sure it was tonight.” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Black jeans drew taut over powerful thighs as the figure shifted on the backseat of the small bus that carried him from the Sunnydale airport to the Sunnydale Inn.  Normally, he would have followed someone out to their car and nicked their wheels after a quick meal, but he was dog tired.  The transatlantic flight and subsequent puddle-jumper from Los Angeles to Sunnydale had sapped his strength.   

Then there’d been that whole situation in Prague… 

Thoughts of his dusted sire were eclipsed by the man walking the short aisle of the shuttle, spouting some nonsense about judgment and making a general nuisance of himself towards the other three passengers – thankfully, he’d been spared from the man’s prattle.  Still didn’t mean that the annoying twit wasn’t going to be the first on his list to eat the moment the bus stopped at their destination. 

“That day’s gonna bring fire. Fire comin’ down! Judgment! Don’t think you’re ready, ready to look upon him. If there’s sin in there, there’s sin all around. It’s a liquid. On that day there won’t be anybody tellin’ us what to do or why we’re doin’ it. You can’t prepare. On that day—” 

Spike tapped the man on the shoulder, effectively cutting off his tirade.  He smiled around his fangs, allowing the zealot to get a good look at his demonic features.  The smell of piss flooded his nostrils and Spike wrinkled his nose in disgust.  Still, a meal was a meal.  He attacked, his demon reveling in the terrified screams of his victim and the other passengers. 

The bus swerved, nearly displacing the vampire; the driver had glanced into the wide rear view mirror upon hearing the agonizing screams of the burly man as he was attacked by the smaller blond male that had been secluded in the back of the bus.  He tried to bring the large vehicle back under control but overcompensated; the bus fishtailed back and forth along the deserted rode, but in the end, the driver ended up steering them headlong into a tree along the side of the road. 

Because they were standing in the aisle, Spike, along with his victim, went flying through the front window when their forward momentum came to an abrupt halt.  The human died instantly, his neck having snapped upon impact; Spike managed to control his fall, rolling end over end on the ground until his chest finally collided with a tree.  He groaned in pain at the distinct crack of a few of his ribs.  Cursing under his breath the whole while, he flopped over onto his back and cast an evil glare at the corpse lying on the ground a few feet away.  If the man hadn’t already dead, Spike would have cheerfully spent the next few hours torturing the bastard for getting him into this mess. 

Especially given that he’d only recently recovered from his injuries inflicted by the mob in Prague.   

“Buggerin’ hell…” he wheezed.  The smell of his blood was heavy in the air.  Blood he could ill afford to lose. 

The horn blew incessantly, shattering the quiet, the loud noise ringing in the vampire’s ears and compounding the pain in his head.  He sat up, muffling a groan, and could see the driver slumped over the steering wheel either dead or unconscious.  The remaining three passengers seemed to be in the same condition, Spike wasn’t sure.  The sounds of their heartbeats were muffled by the continuous drone of the horn. 

The smell of gas began to flood his nostrils and an ingrained sense of danger told him to put some distance between himself and the bus, and he’d not lived to be as old as he was by ignoring such a warning.  Unmindful of the cuts and bruises marking his face and hands, as well as the stabbing pain in his chest, Spike struggled to his feet.  He swayed unsteadily for a moment, the pounding in his head making it difficult for him to see, let alone move, and his hand shot out to grip the nearby tree for support. 

When he felt he could walk without too much difficulty, he shoved off, his gait unsteady as he stumbled deeper into the forest and away from the crash. 

He’d taken maybe a handful of steps when the sky lit up as the vehicle burst into flames. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy kicked a discarded can lying in her path as she walked down the street.  She was beyond pissed at her watcher now.  It was because of him and his assumption that the Anointed One was supposed to arrive tonight that she’d missed her chance with Owen.  Cordelia, that octopus-like man stealer, had her arms and legs wrapped around the boy – and said boy didn’t look like he appeared to mind the girl’s sluttish attentions.  She’d left The Bronze before either could witness the effect seeing the two of them together had on her.  She had her pride after all. 

“‘He will rise from the ashes of the Five on the evening of the thousandth day after the Advent of Septus.’”  Her voice was high and whiny as she mocked the man.  She walked over to the can and gave it another kick, sending it some distance ahead of her again.  “Yeah, right… Stupid watcher.”  She caught up with the can and kicked it again.  “Stupid prophecy.” 

With her night now shot to hell, Buffy figured she may as well do another sweep before heading home.  Not that she really expected to find anything; like she’d told Giles earlier, there was a decided lack of new graves. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike stumbled out of the cemetery and nearly collided with the blonde girl walking alone along the deserted street.  He took note of the well-toned legs shown off by the obscenely short dress she wore, the jaw-dropping outfit topped off with a pair of knee-high black boots and a tiger striped coat. 

He felt himself harden within the confines of his jeans – never mind that he was ready to pass out from the pain of his injuries and blood loss. 

“Hello, cutie,” he slurred.   

She twirled around, her lightning-fast reflexes and defensive stance would have been something to set him on edge if he’d had all his wits about him.  As it was, his attention was centered on her ass and thighs, noting the way her sudden movement made the hem flare just a bit, providing him with a glimpse of white knickers.   

He watched her eyes grow wide as saucers at being caught unaware, how she barely managing to bite back a scream.  The startled look quickly changed to one of concern as she appeared to take in his appearance.   

“Oh my god!  Are you ok?” she asked, and Spike felt himself warm all over at her obvious concern – however misguided.  She rushed to his side, propping her shoulder under his arm so that he wouldn’t keel over, and Spike suddenly realized how close he’d been to doing exactly that.  The move brought her lush curves flush against his side and her neck within easy striking distance.  His gums itched where his fangs pressed against their surface, and he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into her throat and drain the girl of her blood to help heal his injuries.  Her hip brushed against his erection and he hissed out a breath.  He heard her gasp when she figured out what she’d inadvertently done, and nearly groaned again at the girl’s blossoming arousal tickling his nose. 

Thoughts of draining turned to thoughts of fucking, and Spike figured he could eat her afterwards.  He smirked at the thought, then promptly passed out. 

Buffy felt him turn into dead weight in her arms and cursed under her breath.  It was just her luck that after nearly colliding with such salty goodness, he passed out in her arms.  And boy was he a hottie!  Cuter than Owen, or even the mysterious Angel.  This guy had high cheekbones that would make a model weep and a full bottom lip that begged to be kissed.  And his eyes!  God!  So deep a blue, she could stare at them forever and never get tired.  Even the over-bleached curls standing on end were a turn-on.  He probably left a pile of girls in his wake… 

But at least for now, he was hers.  She could feel her flagging self-esteem bolster at the thought and shifted her stance to allow him to drape over her shoulder.   

‘Where to go?  Where to go?’ she thought, turning back and forth on the street in indecision.  It wasn’t like she could take him home, even with her mom being out of town – she may be young, but she wasn’t crazy, no matter how infatuated she might be.  There was the hospital, but those she avoided like the plague, and his injuries didn’t seem severe enough to warrant a trip to the emergency room.  Besides, Slayer here.  It wasn’t like she wasn’t good with the patching up. 

The Slayer headed back towards town and the nearest motel.  She’d get the man a room and patch him up.  Maybe he’d wake up and tell her what had happened to him. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy set the man down on the bed and couldn’t help but visibly shudder at what had just transpired.  The night clerk hadn’t even batted an eyelash when she’d asked for a room.  His leer as he’d eyed her up and down had made her wrinkle her nose in disgust, however, and Buffy felt sure that she was going to have to take a shower just to get rid of the creepy sensation his ogling had caused. 

Dismissing the disgusting man from her mind, the Slayer turned her attention to the unconscious man sprawled out on his back on the bed.  He was every bit the bad boy, from the black Doc Martens to the tips of his peroxide hair.  He was everything she’d avoided since Pike had died and she’d moved to Sunnydale. 

She turned away from her silent perusal and walked into the bathroom.  Grabbing washcloths and towels from off the rack, the Slayer wet the smaller of the two before striding back towards the unconscious man.   

Buffy knelt over his face and began wiping away at the blood splotches marring his pale skin and was surprised to see the cuts practically healed.  About the time she figured out what it might mean, his eyes opened, revealing blue laced with shades of amber; she was flung to her back and held in place by a grinning vampire. 

“Hello again, pet,” Spike murmured, gazing down at the blonde appreciatively. 

“Get off me,” Buffy growled. 

“Rather get off on ya.”  He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, grinding his cock against her cleft. 

“Ewwww…”  Buffy began to squirm beneath him, but all it did was to place him more securely between her legs.  Her face flamed as the evidence of his desire nudged her mound, and she barely managed to bite back the moan of pleasure it caused. ‘Evil vampire, Buffy.  Let’s focus already.’ 

“Body seems to disagree with ya, luv,” he murmured knowingly. 

“Wha—” 

“Can smell you, pet,” he told her.  He rubbed against her again and closed his eyes in delight as another burst of her arousal assaulted his senses.  “And you smell delicious.  Just the right amount of innocence and passion.” 

“No…” Buffy shook her head, vehemently denying what the vampire was telling her. 

“Yes.”   

Spike lowered his head and claimed her parted lips.   

His kiss was anything but gentle.  He nipped at her bottom lip, tugging it into his mouth, worrying it with teeth and tongue.  She gasped and Spike took advantage, boldly thrusting his tongue inside to trace along teeth and gums before mating with her own. 

It had been a while since he’d been with a human, and the inferno that was her mouth caused him to groan in pleasure.  Made him wonder if other parts of her would be equally hot. 

Buffy couldn’t believe she was actually lying beneath a vampire while he kissed the breath out of her… and enjoying it too.  He’d obviously had lots of practice, and it wasn’t long before he’d licked and nipped any and all resistance right out of her. Hell, she’d given up struggling to get away and was actually trying to draw him closer.  She’d even wrapped her legs around his back to keep him in place above her.   

“Taste so good, kitten,” he murmured in her ear, finally giving her a moment to catch her breath, and Buffy silently preened under his whispered praise.  “Gonna taste every li’l bit of you.”  

She gazed up at him in dazed wonder causing Spike to chuckle at her innocence.   

“Never had a bloke do that to ya?” he guessed. 

Buffy shook her head in the negative, her face flaming even brighter. 

“Shame that… Can’t say ’s I’m not happy to know I’ll be the first.  But after…gotta have you now before I burst.” 

The dress she wore posed no problem; it barely covered her ass when she was standing upright.  Lying on her back with her legs hiked up around his hips forced the thing up until he could easily see the serviceable white knickers she wore.  Those were quickly ripped off, and it was a simple matter for him to lower his zipper and shimmy his jeans down his hips so that his cock sprang free.  He rubbed the tip against her opening, coating it liberally with her juices to ease his entry. 

Buffy screamed as he buried himself inside her in one powerful thrust; tears filled her eyes at the pain.  But, it paled in comparison to the fangs suddenly buried in her throat. 

Spike couldn’t help it.  The sudden, overwhelming scent of Slayer blood had flooded his senses – senses that had lain dormant due to his concussed head, not revealing the girl for what she was – and he’d reacted instinctively, striking the artery of his mortal enemy without thought.  Her blood flooded his mouth and he’d taken several long pulls of her blood before he stopped. 

Mus’nt kill the dolly. 

Dru’s voice filled his consciousness and he stilled.  A wave of longing for his sire swept over him and he tore his mouth away to stare down at the dazed, tear-streaked face of his enemy – the killer of his kind – with hate-filled eyes.  He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, but it was like he was being teleported back to another time.   

“You must leave me, my Spike.”  After a week of delirium, her voice was surprisingly clear. 

“Shhh…Quiet, luv.  You need to save your strength.”  Spike knelt on the bed, brushing the hair from her face, hair that had once gleamed with vitality but was now just dry and lackluster.  Her skin was paler than normal and almost sagging on her tiny frame. 

“I see what you want…Something glowing and glistening…Something…effulgent…” 

“That’s you, luv… You’re effulgent.” Spike was near tears.  He could feel his sire slipping away. 

“Not me…another.” 

“There is no other,” he vowed. 

Drusilla lifted her arm so that she could trail her palm along her childe’s cheek.  “Such a good boy.” 

“Always.”  Spike took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it before resettling it at her side. 

“Promise me, my Spike.” 

Spike shook his head in denial.   

“She is your effulgent.” 

“No…” 

“No!” he screamed his denial. 

Spike pulled out and slammed his cock back into the Slayer, his eyes never leaving her face.  He watched as her fearful expression gave way to something else.  Felt the muscles of her tight sheath ripple along his cock, stretching to accommodate his girth as he began to slide in and out of her pussy, slowly at first, then faster as he, too, was caught up in the act.  The bed began to squeak in time with his thrusts; the headboard slammed repeatedly against the wall, barely masking the smack of flesh on flesh or the heated cries of the two blondes suddenly caught up in the dance.   

The Slayer’s climax caught her completely unaware, tearing a scream from her throat as her body began to convulse repeatedly.  She clung to the creature above her, her anchor in an otherwise turbulent sea of emotion and feeling. 

His hips never let up on their frenetic pace as Spike watched the Slayer experience her first orgasm.  He ignored the way her inner muscles clenched around his cock, determined to stave off his body’s demands for release.  Concentrating instead on her flushed face, the way her head arched back against the pillows revealing the pounding pulse on either side of her neck, her mouth open in breathless wonder. 

Effulgent. 

When the Slayer finally sagged against the mattress, he rose awkwardly to his knees, dragging her with him.  His jaw clenched as the new position allowed him to slide deeper into her molten heat.  He ignored her startled gasp, his hands digging deep into her hips, forcing her up and down on his throbbing shaft until she caught the rhythm.   

Up, down, up, down – over and over, grunting each time he was buried deep inside her searing passage. His grip tightened almost painfully; he could feel his balls draw up in preparation of his orgasm, and Spike urged her to an even faster pace.  She eagerly complied, riding him as if her very life depended on it. 

“Fuck,” he swore as he came.  Spike buried his face against the Slayer’s neck and held tight, continuing to rock his hips against her until he was spent.  He felt her walls constrict against his length, wringing him dry.  His orgasm having sparked another, small one, by her.  When the last tremor subsided, he somehow managed to twist on the bed until he lay on his back, the Slayer stretched out on top of him.  Their bodies still intimately joined. 

Damn Dru and her clairvoyant predictions!  He’d come to Sunnydale on a lark, figuring the Hellmouth would be some place that he could lick his wounds and heal.  Who knew that his sire’s demented ramblings would come to pass? 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike trailed a hand along the cooling flesh of the girl lying on her stomach upon the tangled sheets.  Clear, blue eyes took in the bite marks littering her pale body with satisfaction, but it was the bloodstained lips that gave him pause.  Made him wish the coming dawn would pass quickly and fade back into night to see the rebirth of his girl.  His effulgent. 

With a last lingering caress to her bare flank, he stood and let himself out of the room that reeked of blood and sex.   

After that first time, they’d lain there for a bit before he’d stripped them both of their clothes and introduced his golden girl to the pleasures to be had between the sheets – not that they’d remained in bed.  No, at some point during the night, the pair had ended up on the floor.  There’d been a quick shower, followed by more fucking – up against the wet tile, cool water raining down on their heads; the Slayer bent face first over a dresser with Spike taking her from behind after they’d tumbled out of the bathroom; later collapsing in one of the chairs that now lay in a shattered heap upon the carpet, no match for their combined strength once they’d become more boisterous in their activities.  Neither had minded the second crash to the floor, had barely noticed it, in fact.   

What a vixen the Slayer had turned out to be!  Taking all that he had to give and then begging for more.  Plum near wore him out, she had. 

If it weren’t for her blood filling his veins, he’d be stretched out beside her…sleeping the sleep of the dead.  Unfortunately, her blood was akin to speed to his demon and he’d been practically pinging against the walls before electing to survey the town while she slept. 

He had no destination in mind as he walked along the street in the predawn hours of morning, wanting only to expend the useless energy coursing through his limbs. 

“Master Spike.” 

Spike stopped and watched as three fledglings stepped out of the cemetery entrance and into his path.   

“Come… he is waiting…” 

“All right.  I’ll bite.  Who’s waiting?”  He pulled out his smokes and lit one, waiting to hear what the minion had to say. 

“The Master.  He’s—” 

“Ole bat ears?” he questioned around his cigarette.  Spike inhaled deeply, causing the tip to flare red, ignoring their bug-eyed expressions at his disrespectful moniker.  He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and blew smoke in their faces.  “What the soddin’ hell does he want with me?” 

“Come…he will explain,” the self-appointed leader of the group replied. 

“Yeah… alright.  Lead the way.”  Spike waved the fledglings off and followed behind.  He normally wasn’t one to dance attendance to his elder, especially given that Angelus hadn’t catered to the old sod, and Spike could count on one hand the number of times he’d been around Darla’s sire.  But he had time to spare and could use a laugh, and if he paid his grudging respects to the head of their line now, he wouldn’t have to bother later. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“William, come closer…it’s been awhile,” the Master greeted cordially. 

“It’s Spike,” the blond grumbled, though he knew it wouldn’t do any good to correct him.  Bastard never did listen.  “Mo, Larry, and Curly said you wanted to see me,” he added when the other just walked around him, saying nothing. 

“Mo, Larry, and Curly?” 

“The three stooges lurking in the corner…” 

“Ah, yes.  My faithful.” 

“Whatever.”  Spike snorted and rolled his eyes as the Master continued to circle around him. 

“You’re not what I’d expected, but I must say, I’m rather pleased.  The killer of two Slayers, you’ll be my finest warrior, and grant my release from this prison.”  The Master paused behind the younger vamp’s back and pushed against the invisible barrier, grumbling when it warbled slightly and held. 

“Prison?  What prison?”  Spike turned around and stared at the elder vampire.  “And what’s this about some warrior crap.  I’m my own vamp, I’ll have you know.  This is just a courtesy call…” 

“‘Five will die, and from their ashes the Anointed shall rise,’” the Master intoned.   

“Yeah… ok.  What’s that got to do with me?” 

“Tell me, young William, how you came to be here.” 

“Caught a plane.  What’s it to you?”  Spike was starting to regret having come.  It was just like the wanker to speak in riddles, answering questions with questions of his own. 

“And afterward?” 

“A bus.  Your point?” 

“And did this bus have a mishap?  Say, five human sacrifices?” 

“So, what?  You’re saying I’m this Anointed One?”  He snorted.  “You’re off your gourd.”   

The Master glared at the blond vampire but didn’t reprimand him for his lack of respectful tone.  Certain concessions could be made for his greatest Warrior. 

“‘And in this time shall come the Anointed, the Master’s great warrior.’”  He spouted the prophetic words from memory, pacing back and forth before the blond vampire. “‘And the Slayer will not know him, will not stop him, and he will lead her into Hell.’” 

Spike couldn’t help it – he started laughing.  If he only knew!  The Slayer hadn’t known him, damn sure hadn’t stopped him.  And even now she was waiting to be reborn into her new life.  To walk among the shadows by his side. 

Soddin’ Dru!  Spike would be half tempted to rip her head clean from her shoulders for doing this to him…if she weren’t already dust.  She’d always gone on about family and tradition and how the two of them needed to return to the fold like Darla had.  Spike had always resisted her attempts, enjoying their nomadic existence. 

But, in the end, his sire had gotten her wish.  With her final plea to go to the Hellmouth, she’d managed to tie him to his family indefinitely. 

“‘Lead her into hell…’” he chortled.  At least he’d have his childe to keep him company.  “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” 

The End  

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