Lost In Time

Chapter 64

The phone had only rung once in his ear before Adam’s voice was telling him that Spike and several of the others were already on their way. That their sire had sensed Buffy’s distress. Alric hung up without having uttered a word, his hand automatically reaching for his sword.

Staring at the three before him, the vampire was torn.

Did he reveal himself and have to contend not only with the new Slayer, but with Spike’s sire as well? Should he do nothing and wait to see what the vampiress wanted?

Before he could make a decision one way or another, Alric sensed someone else approaching. Out of the corner of his eye, he recognized the faint outline of Angel as he raced towards Drusilla and the two Slayers, cursing under his breath when the vamp caught sight of him – though his face bore no hint of recognition – and changed directions to engage him.

Buffy cried out and Alric’s attention was immediately diverted back to her, ready to intercede on her behalf at Drusilla’s attack. He’d taken a step, maybe two in her direction, when the full weight of Angel slammed into his back sending them both to the ground, where the two rolled over each other, both trying to gain the dominant position.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy barely had time to think Spike’s name before Drusilla was upon them. She’d been led to believe the vampiress was ill and barely lucid, but right now, that seemed furthest from the truth.

What made matters worse was that she was Spike’s sire, and some small part of her was telling her not to hurt the vampiress. So, rather than stake her outright, Buffy toyed with her without trying to make it obvious to Kendra, trying to lure her away from the other Slayer – whom she hoped was running fast and furious in the opposite direction.

Drusilla seemed to know it too, her eyes alight with maniacal glee. It finally cost Buffy a trio of slash marks across her cheek, the blow sending her backwards over a headstone she’d lost sight of, knocking the wind out of her when she landed flat on her back.

Giving Drusilla just the time she needed to engage the other Slayer, who foolishly thought she was strong enough, experienced enough, to take her on.

Kendra raised her stake ready to strike.

Drusilla weaved before the girl, instantly morphing back into her human mask. Blue eyes bored into chocolate brown, lulling the second Slayer into a sense of complacency.

“Look at me, Dearie,” the vampiress urged, swaying to and fro.

Kendra was powerless to resist; her movements began to unconsciously mimic the gentle sway of the vampire’s, the stake she’d held gripped tight in her hand going slack until the sharpened wood fell, forgotten, to the grass.

“Be… in my eyes. Be… in me…”

Drusilla smiled when the Slayer’s eyes lost focus and glazed over. She moved in, smelling the sweet tang of innocence and power – that was now hers. As she lowered her head to the girl’s neck, her demonic features rippled into place. Fangs sank deep into dark-skinned flesh, drinking greedily of the sweet elixir that was Slayer blood.

~*~

Buffy roused herself from her position on the ground in time to see Kendra slide free from Drusilla’s grasp into a heap upon the grass, her eyes open and unseeing. A bellow of rage tore from her lips and Buffy launched herself at the vampiress, uncaring that she was Spike’s sire.

Though she’d barely known the other Slayer, some part of her had bonded with the girl. Maybe it was that they were alike. Both Chosen. A calling that neither had asked for but both had tried to fulfill to the best of their abilities.

Tears for the fallen girl came unbidden, blurring her vision. Her anger at Kendra’s death made her hasty, made her discount all those years spent training. Drusilla’s blood-smeared lips added fuel to the fire, taunting her.

Buffy threw a series of punches which the other easily dodged.

The last one was caught by the vampiress, and she held the Slayer’s hand immobile, enabling her to deliver a backhanded blow that sent the blonde reeling.

Shaking the cobwebs from her head, Buffy looked up and suddenly realized Alric was there… and that Angel seemed to be attacking him, again. She made to go after the pair, intent only on reaching Angel and shoving him away from Alric, but Drusilla prevented that from happening.

The kick to her ribs sent her headlong into another headstone, the sound of bone meeting cement eclipsed by the incensed growl that seemed to envelop the cemetery. Concussed, eyes unable to focus, Buffy failed to see the black blur that flew past and engaged her tormentor.

~*~*~*~*~

Angel had his knee in the back of the unknown vampire. He grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled his head off of the ground so that he could see his face.

“You!” he growled.

Alric, who had been cursing long and loud at the vampire that had tackled him, took advantage of Angel’s momentary surprise and managed to twist enough so that his back was on the ground.

“Off!” Alric ground out, maneuvering his feet so that he could send Angel flying back over his head. He paid no attention as the vampire easily rolled to his feet and assumed a defensive stance. No, his eyes were only for his Slayer. He vaulted to his feet, ready to attack the vampiress that had dared kick Buffy, but the sound of his sire’s bellow of rage stayed his hand.

With that avenue of vengeance cut off, he turned towards the ensouled vampire. Pausing only long enough to pull off his sword and laying in carefully on top of a tombstone, Alric ran towards Angel and punched him in the face.

Angel staggered under the force of it, just barely managing to keep his balance and remain upright.

“Stupid vampire!” he yelled. “This is all your fault!”

Another punch. An uppercut. Followed quickly by a roundhouse kick to the vampire’s stomach.

Then it started over again, deadly punches and kicks, until Angel’s face was a bruised and bloody mess and he was barely able to stand.

Alric wanted nothing more than to stake the bastard for interfering yet again, for keeping him from his duty to look after Buffy, but she called his name. Hearing her pain-filled voice, Alric almost did it anyway. He stood there, his body heaving in righteous indignation, looking down his nose at the beaten vampire swaying unsteadily on his feet. Then, with a snarl of disgust, he pivoted on his heel.

And stopped.

His foot shot out in a back kick, sending the vampire flying into a tree. Alric heard the distinct sound of cracking ribs and smiled. He didn’t bother to turn around and watch as Angel crumpled to the ground where he lay unmoving. His Slayer needed him, and he retrieved his sword from where he’d left it before hurrying to her side.

“You look like hell, Buffy,” Alric told the girl, attempting to smile to cover his worry for her. He knelt down beside her and carefully lifted her into his arms. She winced and Alric did too, murmuring an apology for inadvertently hurting her.

“Can you…?” The Slayer gestured to her face and the three gouges that oozed with blood. “I don’t want him to see.”

“Bit late for that, sweets,” he told her, but did like she asked. He drew his tongue along the marks, lapping at the blood and stemming its flow.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike didn’t allow himself to think as he threw himself at Drusilla. As crazy as she was, she should have known better than to attack what was clearly marked his. It was that insult that he could not allow, no matter that she was his sire.

He slammed into her, sending them both to the ground. Though, he was prepared and easily vaulted back to his feet while she was left floundering in her long dress. She raised wounded eyes to look up at him, and any other time, it would have had him rushing to her side, begging for forgiveness.

“Spike?” she whimpered in that pitiful tone of hers.

Spike stiffened but made no move to assist her.

Drusilla stared at her childe. Only he wasn’t. There was something off about him – his smell. She hissed, catching the scent of Slayer. Her eyes narrowed and she pushed herself off the ground. Miss Edith had warned her, told her that her sweet William would be lost to her. That coming to the Hellmouth would be a mistake. But she’d been too weak to offer up any kind of protest. Her childe had gotten word that the Slayer had been here, and he’d been adamant about killing the girl, then using her blood to heal her.

In truth, it hadn’t been Slayer blood that she needed, but sire’s blood. Angel had gifted her with it, trying to calm the vampiress from her keening wails. Hoping that once she’d reached a semi-lucid state, she would tell him about Spike…and the Slayer.

It always came back to the Slayer. She’d usurped Drusilla’s position with both vampires, one eager to protect the girl, the other having claimed her for life. Her lip curled in disgust, before it evened out and she’d let her human mask fall back into place.

“Spike? Let me kill her, Spike. She’s done something to you… taken away my dark knight. Let mommy make it better…”

Spike didn’t show any outward reaction to her proposal, but inside he was consumed with a seething rage, tempered with a hint of sadness that his sire wouldn’t see, couldn’t acknowledge, the Slayer’s place in his life.

That to kill Buffy was to kill him.

Drusilla made a move towards the Slayer when Spike made no objections, but stiffened when her arm was grabbed in a vice-like grip. She smiled wickedly, then snapped her teeth together in a mock-bite, figuring his brutal handhold as he brought her flush against his chest was a bit of foreplay before the main event – her Spike had always liked it rough. Drusilla leaned in to devour her childe’s lips, only to still, her eyes going wide in shock, when the tip of something sharp pushed into her chest.

Right where her unbeating heart lay.

“Spike?” Her face showed her confusion.

“Sorry, Princess.” Then he rammed the stake home before he could convince himself otherwise, killing the sire that had been his salvation. Her body exploded into dust, her shocked expression something that would haunt him for a long while.

~*~*~*~*~

Barely conscious, Angel still felt the bond he had with Drusilla abruptly disappear. Swollen lips parted on an inhuman moan, signaling his grief for the childe whose life had been taken. Though cursed with a soul that had kept them apart, her evilness causing him too much heartache for him remain by her side, Drusilla had been of his making. His demon howled within the confines of his mind. His soul just prayed she was finally at peace.

He heard the sound of approaching footsteps and struggled to rise, knowing that he was a sitting duck just lying there wounded like he was. His ribs protested his movements…so did the rest of his body. Though he knew he could have been worse off.

The vampire could have used his sword.

Angel had known the second he’d caught sight of the vampire that he’d made a mistake. He’d foolishly thought that he was one of Drusilla’s minions, bent on helping her with the two Slayers. It had been his fault that Buffy had been hurt, her cry of pain as she suffered under Drusilla’s assault making him curse his stupidity. Which was why he’d not bothered to defend himself against the vampire. Though, reflecting on the other’s skill, even if he had tried to fight back, it wouldn’t have done much good.

Angel knew when he was outclassed.

And Spike’s childe far exceeded his own skill at hand-to-hand combat.

Finally on his feet, Angel swayed for a bit, his legs threatening to give way. One of his eyes was swollen shut, the other allowed him to see things in twos and threes…and blurry at that. At least, he thought he was seeing double.

Until they got closer, and he could make out male from female, blonde hair from red.

Spike’s childer. The family Doyle had told him about.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike bypassed Buffy, knowing that if he got a look at her, he’d snap. He stalked straight towards Angelus, almost positive that the elder vampire was at fault – he never knew when to stop.

Seeing the condition of his grandsire, he couldn’t help but throw an approving look towards Alric; his childe had surely done a number on him. His face was barely recognizable, thanks to all the bruises and cuts. His gelled hair had seen better days, filled as it was now with clumps of dirt and grass, not to mention being kinked in places from the blood oozing from his wounds.

“I should kill you…but, I’ve been told by Doyle that you’ll actually do some good in L.A,” Spike told him.

“Sorry,” Angel managed to draw enough air into his lungs to get the apology out. And he was sorry too. He’d let his jealousy for the younger vamp blind him to the truth. He glanced around warily through one eye – blurry though it might be – taking in the group of vampires standing so docilely in a semi-circle behind him, knowing that at a nod from Spike they would turn lethal and stake him in an instant.

Spike looked at Angelus, his one-time mentor and tormentor. He felt his childer tense, waiting for the word that would enable them to demand justice for the repeated insult done by the vampire.

It never came.

Spike turned and walked away, proving to Angelus once and for all, that he was no longer inferior to the elder vamp.

His wife was hurt, though not severely, but with the other Slayer now dead, their timetable for “killing” Buffy had been pushed up.

A lot.

REVIEW!!