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Chapter 39

The bed was in shambles; the two figures exhausted and thoroughly replete lay among the tattered remains of the linens. From her position sprawled atop Spike, Buffy groaned when her stomach growled, too tired to get up from her cozy position to stop the growlies.

“Come on, pet. Let’s get you somethin’ to eat,” he told her, moving to set her aside so that he could get up.

“Don’t wanna,” she mumbled sleepily in the crook of his neck. “Later.”

Spike tightened his arms about her as the Slayer slipped off to sleep, smirking in satisfaction that he’d managed to wear her out...again. He’d give her an hour then shake her awake; she needed something in her stomach with all the blood he was constantly taking from her. Purring contentedly, he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of her slow and steady heartbeat, feeling her chest cavity expand beneath his fingers as she breathed deeply.

The other four vampires had no doubt gone off to the Marquess of Darderwyne’s estate. It had been decided amongst the small group to include the two in the master vampire’s secret. Both Esme and Derrick had proven themselves loyal and discreet – Esme being a close acquaintance with the Marchioness of Haversham and Derrick having a keen mind and a head for business, much like himself.

And, although they still had roughly twenty years left before whatever this thing that the half-breed had mentioned necessitated them “fulfilling their destiny,” it wouldn’t hurt to begin amassing a select few generals to see their plans – whatever they might be – carried out.

An hour later, Spike nudged the Slayer awake.

“Time to get up, luv. ‘M sure the others are waiting for us.”

The Slayer ignored him, grumbling under her breath sleepily and burrowing closer to him. The vampire took a moment to bask in her affection before his hand descended on her ass with a loud thwap.

Buffy bolted upright at the sting of his palm, peppering the air with her expletives as she rubbed her offended posterior. She glared at him, her chest heaving at the sudden adrenaline rush – and ire at having been spanked – causing her breasts to bob up and down becomingly.

His playful look turned to one of intent as Spike lifted his hand to caress one of the pale globes. But before he could reach his target, the Slayer had vaulted off of him and slipped from the bed – his face betraying his frustration, mouth open in silent objection as he stared at her retreating back.

‘There’s always later,’ he assured himself and Spike closed his mouth and rose as well. His delicate ears picked up her mutterings – which had him suppressing a chuckle when she grumbled about being spanked like some misbehaving two-year-old – as she stalked towards the dress and undergarments that, amazingly, she’d managed to shed without incident before he could get his hands on her. Spike was set to tell her about his little “love tap” but thought better of it; the conversation would most likely lead to a demonstration then they really would never get out of there. Later.

He got hard just thinking about it, and he eyed his erection with disgust and reached for his pants. Damn thing seemed to have a mind of its own sometimes.

When she’d gotten all the frilly undergarments on that she could manage without assistance, the Slayer grabbed her corset and walked towards Spike.

“I need help,” she grumbled. Neither her maid nor his own manservant entered the master chamber when both were within. And, even if she’d crossed through the connecting door to her own bedroom, her maid wouldn’t have been inside. Buffy had dismissed the girl for the evening since they’d planned on staying over at the Marquess of Darderwyne’s place. Well, that was the plan anyway. All being based on the vampires’ reaction of what she and Spike told them.

Buffy thrust the constricting garment towards him, which he took a little warily. Spike was a pro at pulling (more like ripping) the things off of her. Not the other way around. The Slayer had presented him her back, but when she didn’t feel him move behind her so that he could help affix the last piece of her undergarment in place, she turned back around. And rolled her eyes. He was just standing there, holding the thing between thumb and forefinger with something akin to shock.

“Oh for—” she griped. “Gimme that.”

She snatched the corset out of his hands and fixed it around her abdomen. “Now, lace me up already. And, not too tight!”

He seemed to snap out of whatever trance he’d been in and worked his fingers over the laces until she was strung up tighter than a Thanksgiving turkey. So much for listening…

As much as she liked the way the corset made her look, she’d be happy when she no longer had to wear one. Never again would she complain about the bras of the underwire-variety. Those things had nothing on this contraption! She struggled to draw a deep breath, but like any other time, realized it was a lesson in futility and settled for what amounted to a slight pant to draw necessary air into her lungs.

His hands hadn’t moved from her waist and Buffy struggled not to react to his nearness. If they didn’t get out of this room soon, they never would.

“H-help me with my dress?” she asked softly.

Neither moved for the space of a moment. Then finally, Spike stepped away and walked over to where her red dress lay over the back of a chair, returning quickly and slipping the garment over her head.

The act – him dressing her – seemed to make her breath hitch. The intimacy of the moment not lost on her. It was the first time he’d done this roll reversal. He seemed to be just as affected as she, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders as the red material fell to the floor around her frame.

She felt him lean in to her, brushing her hair to the side so that he could do up the tiny row of buttons along her back. Felt each one as his fingers manipulated the closures, goose bumps rising on her flesh in answer to his nearness, his touch. By the time he’d reached the last one at the nape of her neck, Buffy was a bundle of nerves, her body thrumming with need.

She knew he could smell her. Knew that just the slight tang of her desire was enough to see her back in bed and him thrusting between her parted thighs. Her body tensed as if preparing for it…

Spike closed his eyes and ground his teeth. The heady scent of her arousal was causing his cock to harden almost painfully.

Even though they’d been going at it for the last three hours. It was a constant hunger, being surrounded by her heat. Almost as if burying himself in her tight quim was more important than the blood he consumed to keep the demon alive.

The vampire knew she was more than willing, her body tight…knowing that he was going to throw her over his shoulder and march her back to bed. He struggled with his need. Determined, for once, to be its master.

But he couldn’t resist just a little taste…especially given so blatant an invitation.

He lowered his head, his tongue tracing the distended line that pulsed with her life’s blood. His face shifted, his fangs piercing her flesh until they struck gold. Spike wasn’t able to prevent the possessive growl that erupted from his throat, or the way he tightened his arms around her body to hold her close.

Buffy moaned at the pleasure-pain of his bite, her head falling back against his chest. It was a good thing he had such a good grip on her body, or she would have slumped to the floor in a boneless heap. The feel of his fangs buried in her neck oddly erotic. He didn’t take much, just a taste really. Enough to get her motor kicked into high gear and left running.

Almost as quickly as he started, it was over. His tongue lapping at the fresh marks upon her neck. His lips trailing open-mouthed kisses along her sensitive flesh. If tonight hadn’t been so important, she might have turned around in his arms and shoved him down upon the bed. The aggressor for once. Instead, she struggled to regain her equilibrium, pulling away from him to see about putting a brush to her hair. There was no way she was going to be able to style it; she’d have to settle on getting rid of the tangles and letting it fall free down her back.

And since Spike seemed to like it down, she didn’t worry about her lack of a perfectly coiffed hairdo.

~*~*~*~*~

To say they were stunned was an understatement. The redheaded vampiress and the sandy-blond vampire stared from master vampire to Slayer and back again before turning their gazes to the other vampires that had instinctively taken up supportive positions behind the two.

“Slayer?”

“Time travel?”

The two spoke at once. Both trying to come to grips with the story they’d just been told.

“So, what are you saying exactly? That the world regresses to the point that vampires become bloodthirsty savages that skulk about in the shadows? No clans that keep their childer in line?” the male vampire asked, incredulous.

“Somethin’ like that, yeah,” Spike replied. “Hell…by the time I’m turned, these houses, such as they are, are non-existent. Vampires practically live underground, coming out at night only to feed. I was the rare exception in being chosen, coddled and trained by my sire, my grandsire…most vamps nowadays are spawned by other, equally weak, fledglings. There is no order, only the kill.”

The vampires seemed to shake their heads at the near extinction of their way of life. A sense of loss for an uncertain future casting a pall over the group.

“Is that what you’re here for, what the Slay—Buffy is here for?” Derrick asked.

“We don’t know,” Buffy replied honestly. “All I was told…all we were told, was that we’re here to ‘fulfill our destiny.’ We’re probably going to catch flack for letting you in on our secret, but, I sorta spilled the beans with Renee, and well…” The Slayer gestured to the other three males behind Spike.

“What is it you want us to do?” Derrick asked.

“Yes, why tell us?” Esme added.

“Because I don’t know what I’m up against, and I’ve come to…care…about you all. I don’t want to see you get caught in the crossfire when this thing goes down,” Buffy spoke before Spike could. Seven sets of eyes shifted towards her. “What? I’m just saying.”

Esme walked over to her friend – a Slayer – and embraced her warmly. “What do you need us to do?”

“Train. Learn. Anything and everything,” Buffy replied.

“And start liquidating some of your assets…discreetly,” Spike added. Derrick caught what the master vampire didn’t say. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t likely to end well. Money would be needed to pave the way for a new life somewhere else once whatever was destined to occur came to pass.

~*~*~*~*~

“Although her given name was Elizabeth, the Countess of Arundel, soon to become the Marchioness of Chadsworth at her father-in-law’s passing shortly after her wedding, was known amongst the ton as Lady Buffy, until all recorded documents seemed to reflect the nickname,” Giles murmured aloud as he read. “The Lord and Lady were the toast of London and it was said that invitations to the annual ball held at the Marquess’ ancestral home were highly coveted by the lesser nobles. While most marriages amongst the nobility were to increase one’s station and wealth, theirs was a love match. And, even though Lady Thornton never bore the Marquess an heir, he doted on his wife until their unfortunate—”

“What?” Xander questioned anxiously. “Their unfortunate what?”

“Death,” Giles replied quietly. “Some twenty-odd years later.”

“But, that’s not possible!” Willow gasped. “She’s…she’s…” Her voice trailed off.

“What else does it say?” Xander asked.

“That’s it,” the watcher remarked, the book falling carelessly from his hands as the enormity of the situation hit him. Collapsing in one of the chairs and whipping off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

“But…that’s not fair!” Willow whined. “She’s good. Surely fate wouldn’t let something like that happen to her!”

“Yeah!” Xander added. “It wasn’t like she was supposed to be there.”

Giles looked over sharply at the dark-haired boy. “What did you say?”

“Uh…she wasn’t supposed to be there?”

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before…Xander, you’re a genius.”

“I know…wait! What?”

“Ethan. He must have cast some type of spell…invoked Janus before I could crush the statue.”

Willow stood up, excited. “So, if we figure out what spell he cast, we can reverse it?” The redhead danced up and down excitedly at the prospect, that hope of seeing her friend alive again wasn’t lost.

“That is my hope, yes,” the watcher replied.

“I guess this means more research, huh?” Xander griped, but good-naturedly, tempered by the prospect of seeing his friend returned safely to her time.

In the midst of their babbling excitement, Cordelia got up and went to one of the computers that indexed the school’s library books.

“Uh, Cordy, what are you doing?” Xander asked as she moved away.

“Research. What else?”

“I don’t think you’re gonna find spell books in there,” he told her condescendingly.

She looked at him, one delicate brow arching as she looked down her nose at him. “Duh! I’m looking for books on English history. See if I can find out what exactly happened to Buffy…and Spike.”

Giles hadn’t thought of that, and nodded approvingly at the cheerleader as he got up and walked to his office to retrieve even more books, this time on spells of the chaotic, time-traveling nature.

But, there was a pep in his step that hadn’t been there before. He just might be able to have his Slayer back in her own time before he had to explain to her mother why her daughter was suddenly missing.

A conversation he could cheerfully do without.

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