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Chapter 45

Spike didn’t bother with the front entrance of Whitt’s, not interested in being waylaid by anyone he might happen across once inside the gentlemen’s club. No, the discreet back entrance was good enough for now – he wasn’t going to be here long. Doors seemed to open automatically for him as he headed downstairs towards the dungeon. There wasn’t a vamp in the building that didn’t know what had been done to his wife by one of the humans and they all knew that the master vampire would make right the crime perpetuated against one of his own with all possible haste.

The secondary bet book – the one only the vampires used – was loaded with entries on the length of torture the Marquess would enact, as well as the type of said torture. Though, truthfully, not one of them cared if they won; they just wanted to be witness to the event.

Her scent seemed to overwhelm the room as he descended the steps, drowning out even the smell of urine and bile coming from the prisoners. He was pleased to see that the men were cowering in fear in a far corner of the cell. The details of their impending death no doubt extolled in great detail by the minion set to watch over them.

“Have the preparations been seen to?” Spike asked without preamble. The four men’s punishment was going to be swift, but at the threat to his wife, a much more satisfactory means of justice was being planned.

“Yes, Lord Thornton.”

“Who’s hosting?”

“Hawk…er, the Earl of Hawkingstone, m’lord. His estate has the best landscaping to serve our purpose and he’s already there seeing to preparations.”

Spike grunted, shifting his attention to the humans as he neared the cell. Unlike with Buffy, the closer he got, the further they tried to sink into the back wall. As a human, his presence commanded respect. But with ridged brow and menacing amber eyes, like he was now…

“Open it,” Spike commanded.

The minion was at his side in an instant, metal keys jingling in his haste to open to door. Before any of them had time to react, Spike was through the door and had the one that smelled the most like Buffy pinned against the wall…his body held suspended three feet above the ground.

He ignored the man’s frantic attempts to free himself from his grasp, instead gazing at him dispassionately with amber eyes. The others, he noted, had scrambled as far away as possible from him, unwilling to draw his attention to them.

“So, this is what it felt like,” Spike spoke conversationally. “Can’t say that this appeals. ‘m more of a fist and fangs kinda bloke. But, you bein’ human an’ all….”

The man’s face started to change shades as his air supply was slowly choked off. His struggles lessened until his arms fell limply at his sides.

“Still…like begets like.” Spike leaned in, his face mere inches from that of his victim. “You made a mistake thinking you could touch what was mine,” he growled menacingly. His grip tightened, and a moment later the sound of bone crunching could be heard when he inadvertently crushed the man’s windpipe.

Disgusted with himself and the piece of offal he held pinned against the wall, Spike tossed the soon-to-be corpse aside, stubbornly refusing to take even one drop of the man’s blood. He turned towards the remaining three, lip curling in disgust as he caught whiff of their loss of bodily function, their repeated mutterings of, “Oh God! Oh God!” He rolled his eyes and stormed from the cell. Their attempts at suddenly finding their Creator were laughable to the vampire.

As if He would deem to save them now. Not bloody likely.

“Do something with that,” Spike ordered as he marched up the stairs and out of the dungeon.

“Yes, m’lord,” the minion replied, once more securing the cell door.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike didn’t return home right away like he’d planned. Instead, he took a seat at one of the tables in a darkened corner of the club. A waiter appeared almost instantly with glass and bottle, placing them on the table before hurrying away. If nothing else, the service here was a damn sight better than Willie’s rundown bar back home in Sunnydale; the staff seemed to know his wishes before he ever expressed them aloud.

He downed several shots in quick succession before he dared think about what had transpired below. The kill had been extremely dissatisfying to his demon; his blinding rage allowing the man’s death to come entirely too quickly. He’d only gone there with the intention of singling out his victim for the festivities later, something to bide his time while his wife slept and healed. But as the scent of Buffy washed over him…the scent of her on the human…as well as the man’s size in comparison to the Slayer…

Images of her bruised flesh had flashed before his eyes as he neared the cell and Spike had had the man dangling from his grasp before he thought to question his actions. Minutes later, the human had been dead.

Justice had been swift, and surprisingly merciful.

Completely out of character for him.

Staring down at the bottom of his empty snifter, Spike didn’t even look up at the other’s approach.

“Get your own glass, and bring another bottle while you’re at it,” the vampire grumbled, pouring himself another drink.

Doyle snorted and shook his head, then turned away, gaining a servant’s eye and gesturing for another bottle and a second glass. Satisfied his request was being seen to, the half-breed pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Guess you’re probably wondering what I’m doing here, huh?”

Spike raised his head and pinned the man with a look. “No doubt to tell me about the latest development from the ‘Powers That Fuck With Me.’”

Doyle barked out a laugh, but at the less-than-pleased look sent his way by the vampire, he bit his bottom lip and tried to appear contrite.

“Oh, go ahead. Laugh it up. You know you want to,” Spike snarked.

“What?” Doyle was confused. Spike seemed unlike himself at the moment.

“’s not like you don’t know. Hell, I may as well hand over m’ balls while I’m at it,” he grumbled after tossing back his shot and pouring another.

“Ok. Now I’m lost…” He closed his mouth as the waiter appeared with his glass and another bottle, silently watching the vampire’s forlorn expression. When the man walked away, he snagged the half-empty bottle and poured himself a stiff drink, demanding, “You mind telling me what the hell is going on.”

“I crushed his bloody windpipe,” Spike mumbled.

“Okay.” Doyle drew the word out, not understanding the comment that seemed to come out of left field.

“You don’t understand. That’s all I did. No fist. No fangs….” Spike sighed dramatically. “Hell, not even a taste…”

“Still lost here—”

“The Slayer, man! Dammit, Doyle, bloody pay attention! I killed the man what hurt my Slayer. Only…only I crushed his windpipe…like he was doin’ to her.”

“What? And you’re upset because you didn’t bite him?”

Spike narrowed his eyes and glared at the half-breed.

“It wasn’t enough,” he growled. “He shoulda been—”

“Yes, yes…torn to shreds while you feasted on his blood like fine wine…only after a long and adventurous hunt in which you gloried in his fear,” Doyle interrupted sarcastically. “Pardon me if I’m not sympathetic.”

“Watch it, mate.”

Doyle leaned back in his seat, nonplussed.

“Gah! I can’t believe I’m…have you told the Slayer you love her yet?”

The change in topic took the vampire by surprise.

“What has that got to do with anything?”

“Revenge.”

“T’wern’t revenge. It was retribution.”

“Uh huh….tell me you didn’t take one look at him…hell, with you, you probably just had to smell him. Anyway…don’t tell me you didn’t take one look at him and in the back of your mind decided he was going to die, in the exact same fashion the Slayer almost did. Those bruises on her neck didn’t prompt any rash behavior on your part…”

“Like begets like.”

Stony silence was his only answer.

“…only human nature,” Doyle concluded.

“You’re forgetting one small point…I’m not human.”

“No, but you’re mated to one.”

“Claimed! I’ve claimed one. Big difference.”

Doyle’s look said, “Yeah, ok,” but he didn’t belabor the point with the vampire.

“As much as I find this conversation amusing, that’s not why I’m here,” Doyle told Spike.

“Figured as much.” He pushed the matter of the human’s death aside for now, leaning back in his chair and regarded the Power’s emissary. “Mind tellin’ a fellow why I’ve somehow become the leader of a new and secret sect within the Aurelius clan? You do realize what would happen if word of this got out, don’t you?”

“Darla and Angelus were fools to see you as nothing more than a glorified babysitter for your sire,” Doyle murmured, impressed.

~*~*~*~*~

The small group descended on Sunnydale with a stealth they’d acquired over the years. Their first destination was the place they’d be calling home for the duration of their stay – a warehouse bought years before by a dummy corporation that was a byproduct of another dummy corporation. Just another in the long list of bogus companies Adam had created throughout the last few centuries.

The place was modeled to their exact specifications; its security system impenetrable. On the outside, the building appeared normal enough, the Mayor calling the influx of business brought about by the company a boon to the city.

Marcus unlocked the door, ushering the others inside. Last to arrive was Alric; he’d brought up the rear after assuring they’d not been followed.

“Any problems?” Marcus asked as he pulled the door closed and set the first of several alarms.

“No. Just a bunch of minions rising—”

“You didn’t confront them, did you?”

“And blow my cover? What do I look like, some wet-behind-the-ears fledge?” Alric grumbled.

“Nos es quam ventus. Occaeco, salvifico hebes vestigium sanus excido ab suus obduco.”

“Je sais,” Alric grumbled. “And lay off the Latin, will ya? I get the whole, ‘We are the wind’ crap. Why do you think I’m the one covering everyone’s ass?”

Marcus clapped the disgruntled vampire on the back, smiling at his petulant look.

“Come, let’s catch up with the others. We need to keep a close watch on the town and see how much the watcher and the others know.”

The two walked down a flight of stairs and into a secure room with no trace of windows. At the back wall, Marcus punched a seemingly invisible button. A door clicked open announcing another flight of stairs. Once they reached the bottom, more codes were entered and a final steel door slid open allowing them entry into the main room.

Surveillance cameras covered one entire wall, along with a multitude of computers and accessories to see to their security. A table stood in the middle of the room, where even now, a few had already sat down, having stored with their personal affects.

Marcus and Alric hurriedly dispensed with their bags and returned to the table. There was much to be discussed before the group split up and became familiar with Sunnydale.

~*~

Derrick and Esme stood hidden among the stacks on the upper floor of the library. It had been tricky at first circumventing the master vampire that seemed to hover around the school-aged children and watcher. Though he was their elder by some thirty years, their life experiences far exceeded that of the Aurelian vampire pacing back and forth on the ground floor, and they’d eventually managed to slip into the room undetected by him or the others.

“Spike was right about him,” Esme commented in their own unique language, a special blending of all those they’d learned throughout the years.

Derrick quirked his brow at his mate inquiringly.

“Broody and lacking any facial expressions?” she clarified deadpan.

Derrick bit his lip to keep from laughing, and his pointed look promised retribution for him almost giving away their position; Esme just winked at him before turning away to stare down at the small gathering once more.

“He’s rather smart for a human,” Derrick commented some time later, referring to the watcher. The pair had listened intently while the group downstairs had pored over several books, trying to determine what had happened to their Slayer. “What? I’m just saying. They had to ‘ve figured it out since they managed to snatch Buffy back, right?”

“Look, Angel’s leaving,” Esme interrupted. “I better let Clayton know so he can take over surveillance.”

“Be careful,” he whispered to her and trailed a finger down along her pale cheek. She nodded and stepped away, her stride swift, yet silent, as she made her way out of the building. Derrick’s eyes remained on her retreating back until she was out of sight, only then did he return his attention to the Englishman and three students.

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