Midnight in the Garden of Evil

by Spikesdeb & SpikesKat

Chapter 7

~*~*~*~*~

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,

 

Edgar Allen Poe
The Raven

~*~*~*~*~ 

Willow hung up the phone and turned to where Drusilla was swaying and dancing round the bound form of her friend.  Head slumped, mouth gagged, Xander’s hands were lashed around the pillar behind him.  His left eye was swollen and closed shut; his mouth bloodied from the beating the vampire had given him before dragging him to the factory.  Once he’d realized that Willow had set him up to be taken down by Drusilla, he’d struggled and kicked with all his might, desperate to escape.  He’d caught Willow across the cheek leaving a bright red weeping welt on the pale skin.  He’d pay for that.  

Gliding to stand in front of her friend, she grabbed his hair and yanked him up to look at her.  

“So, Xander.  How are you enjoying your little adventure so far?  Still want to be part of Buffy’s gang?  Or do you want to be part of mine?”  

“Will…what’s got into you?” he slurred through his damaged mouth.  “Why are you doing this?”  

“Why?  You need to ask?  Tell me, Xander, do you see me now?  Look at me…”  

Reluctantly, Xander swept his gaze over her form, one eye closed completely, the other cold and filled with loathing and hurt. 

Willow was clad head to foot in black leather, her slim body encased in a tight boned corset that dipped low between her breasts to show creamy white flesh spilling over the top.  The red hair was sleek and glossy, eyes outlined in black kohl and blood red lips.  Her legs were encased in the tightest of tight pants, flared to drape over stiletto-heeled boots.  Her usually natural nails were red with white tips to match those of the mad vampire cavorting around the two of them.  He had to admit it; the usual Willow garb it was not, but it was hot.  His cock twitched despite himself.  Hell, he was still a guy and she was leaning over towards him, all quivering breasts and girlie-smells.  

‘CRACK!’  Drusilla’s slap drew his attention away from his friend’s hitherto undiscovered charms.  

“Naughty!  Not yours to have…the pretty girl wants to play with the dollies, don’t you, Willow?”  

Willow curved her lips in a smile as she moved to Drusilla and pressed up against her, ensuring that Xander had clear view as she slid her tongue up the vampire’s neck then captured her moist lips in a deep kiss.  She released her then turned back to face her friend, her black eyes startling him to such an extent that he tried to back away from her.  

“Aw, poor little Xander, feeling left out?  You want some?  Drusilla…why don’t you give him a special welcome.”  

The ethereal figure of the giggling vampire waltzed towards him before sinking to her knees and unzipping his trousers.  Xander struggled, kicking out at her then stilled suddenly when Willow muttered an incantation and with a gesture he was paralyzed in a blaze of blue light.  

“Your choice.” she spat at him.  “Drusilla, he’s all yours.  It’s time I went for Angel.”   

She left the vampire crawling on hands and knees towards her rigid friend.  

~*~*~*~*~  

Buffy had had a really bad night.  A newly risen vamp had jumped her in the playground and it had taken all her strength to dust him. Her breath was coming in short gasps as she limped along the sidewalk, holding her side to cradle ribs she was sure had broken in the fight.  She was done.  Time to head home.  The vamps would still be rising tomorrow night, she’d still be the vampire slayer, and Sunnydale would still be Monster Central.  She deserved a rest in bed with a little chicken soup and some hot toddy.  If she knew what that was.   

Dammit!  She remembered that her mom was out of town tonight, just when she needed some comfort and cuddles.  There was nothing like a mommy cuddle when you felt ill.  Oh well, Mr. Gordo would have to do.  

The lights were on in her house as she reached the front door.  Her mom must have left them on for her before she left.  It lifted her spirits a little to think that her mom had thought to do that for her.  Maybe she’d left her some dinner too…  

Buffy fitted her key into the lock, since her usual entry via her bedroom window was a no-go in her current condition.  Entering the haven of her home, she closed the door and leant back against it wearily.  Maybe she’d forget about dinner and head straight to bed.  She felt like she could sleep for weeks.  

“Buffy!  You’re back!  I’ve taken the liberty of laying out some supper for you.”  

“Giles!  What are you doing…and here?”  

“Well, your mother asked me to keep an eye out for you while she was away and as you’ve been feeling unwell I thought I’d make sure you were eating something hearty.”  

“You talking to me, Ripper?”  

Buffy spun round to seek out the owner of the gravelly voice.  She paled as she took in the peroxide hair, the leather duster, the sardonic grin, chiseled cheekbones.  Spike.  The way she was feeling, she doubted she could take him.   

“Giles!  Run…go; get Willow and Xander.  Go now!”  

She had her back to the watcher, her eyes locked on the swaggering form of the vampire in front of her.  

“Now, why would I do that, Buffy?  And miss the show?  When I’ve paid for front seat tickets?”  

“What did you say?”  She turned to face him, her face a picture of puzzlement, her brain failing to process the words her ears heard.  

“I think what the watcher is sayin’, luv, is …scream…”  

As Spike grabbed her from behind and his fangs pierced her neck, she did exactly that.  Ripper looked on with undisguised glee as Spike started to drain the Slayer, gripping her round her waist and pulling her snug against him with one arm, the other gripping her shoulders to keep her upper body flush against him.   

Raising his head, Spike spoke, his fangs dripping with the blood of his victim.  “Off you go, Ripper.  Get Angel.  This is for me alone.”  

Ripper nodded once and left.  The vampire was right.  He had plans afoot and Spike could handle the Slayer on his own.   

As the door closed behind Ripper, Spike gathered the almost unconscious Slayer in his arms, her head lolling back helplessly and exposing her bleeding neck.  He licked the twin puncture holes, reveling in the taste of her slayer blood, the slight tang of the herbal drug administered by Ripper causing his head to spin.   

“Gonna get us all nice and comfy, luv.  No point in wasting this opportunity…”  

He took the stairs two at a time, kicked open the door to her bedroom and tossed her onto the bed.  She looked so helpless, weak.  It made his demon sing to see her stretched out and silent.   

It was only now that he realized she would be the first Childe he had sired.  He had been content with Drusilla, bowing to her will in all things.  He hadn’t known any better; but now, things would change.  His demonic nature gloried in the fact that being reborn as a vampire would be the thing Buffy dreaded most, while his poetic side hoped that she would embrace the change and cling to him.  He couldn’t forget the first time he’d seen her at the Bronze; halter top clinging to every curve as she gyrated to the music, hands in the air as she shimmied her hips.  His cock had hardened even as he’d plotted her downfall.  Even then he’d wanted her.  And now he would have her.  

The duster flew across the room as he kicked off his boots.  The shirt next, ripped off in haste, and all that remained was his jeans, the crotch under so much pressure from his rock hard erection that it would pop any second.  His main mission was to turn her, his secondary, to turn her on.  

Never looking away from her barely breathing body, he popped the top button of his jeans and unzipped the fly.  Her eyes fluttered as she registered the noise, her head turning slightly in an attempt to locate the origin of the sound.  As she managed to open her eyes, she mouthed “No” as he shoved the pants down and stepped out of them.  Naked and outlined by the moonlight coming through the window, his cock erect and jutting, he slowly came closer.  Buffy tried to raise herself but collapsed back, her strength failing.  She sobbed, the sound caught in her throat as he reached the bed and knelt at her side.  

“Well, well…looks like you’re in a bit of a pickle, Slayer, in your bedroom with a strange naked man.  What would Mum say?”  

“You’re not…a…man… you…you monster,” she managed between gritted teeth, the effort of fighting blood loss and the serum causing her forehead to glisten with sweat.  

“That right, pet?  Wanna test that theory?”  

He ripped open her vest, revealing her naked breasts.  So, the Slayer went commando, huh?  This girl had hidden depths and he was going to plunder them.  She fought him, her fists flailing at his chest as he lowered his head and sucked a rosy nipple into his cool mouth.  The defensive blows slowed and stopped as he licked round the hardening nub, nipping at it gently then harder as he sensed her arousal building despite her protests.   He grabbed her other breast roughly in his large hand, squeezing till she cried out in pain.  It made his demon howl and he bit down on the nipple, drawing her sweet blood into his waiting mouth.  

She wept as he suckled at her, too weak to do anything else.  The helpless keening was like an aphrodisiac to him and he tore at her trousers to get at her pussy, the smell of her driving him crazy.  Her body yearned for his touch, even as her mind vehemently denied it…he knew that, and that made it all the more intoxicating.  He was in charge.  

As her mind rebelled at his actions, Buffy struggled in an attempt to escape his grabbing hands, but to no avail as she felt the trousers slide down her legs and reveal her lace-clad mound to his golden gaze.  He licked his lips in anticipation before wrenching her legs apart and settling between them, his fingers bruising imprints on her thighs as he gripped her tightly.  She was too weak to buck away from his tongue as it made its way up her thigh and inside the flimsy fabric, licking along her curls to find her cleft and dipping inside her heated pussy.  He flicked it along her cleft, catching her clit with the pointed end and causing her luscious juices to flood his mouth despite her reluctance to participate.  He could hear the blood he’d left undrained thrumming through her body as she responded to his touch, and he just had to taste her again; he turned his head away from her mound and bit down hard on her inner thigh, the blood still flowing freely and coating his teeth and tongue with its delicious tang.  His cock was painfully hard now, the tip rubbing against the fabric of her bedspread as he bucked his hips seeking release.  He needed more.  

Prowling up the bed, he took in her sweat soaked body with his golden eyes, noting with pleasure the bite marks on thigh and breast, the earlier one on her neck, the blood still slowly trickling from the wounds.  He seized his cock in his left hand as he thrust two, then three, fingers deep inside her wet heat, pumping his hand in time to the rhythm he set at her groin.  She was moaning deep in her throat, whether from pain or pleasure, he didn’t know or care.  Either would do.   

He penetrated her roughly, gripping her hips to keep her in place as he fucked her hard, her head hitting the headboard with a resounding thud.  She continued to cry softly, her hands fluttering around his shoulders as the pain in her virgin passage consumed her, the puncture wounds paling into insignificance as he continued to pound her into the mattress.   

“No, no…” she moaned.  

“What’s up, Slayer?  You can’t tell me you don’t like this….” he thrust deep within her to demonstrate and she coiled her legs round his back despite herself.  

“See?  Knew there was a bad girl inside those virgin knickers.  You love it.  I know you feel it.”  He continued to buck against her, fighting down his orgasm to prolong the moment.  When he felt himself peak, he stilled, wanting to see her face as he came, willing her to fall over the edge with him.  With one final thrust his balls tightened depositing cool semen deep inside her as continued to buck against her.  He was thrilled when she ground against his groin, arching her back to get more contact before crying out, a guttural sound of need, as her pussy clamped down around him milking the rest of his come from his softening cock.  It was time.  

He returned his fangs to her neck, finding the wound he’d made earlier, and sucked hungrily.  The pull at her neck zinged to his cock and he hardened again, still buried deep within her passage, as he felt her heartbeat slow, slow and………falter.  He bit into his wrist and pressed the jagged wound against her blue lips, trickling the blood along her mouth to encourage her to feed.  There was no movement.  The Slayer’s body was still beneath him, no breath inflated her chest, her heartbeat was…gone.   

Oh god; he’d fucked it up – he’d taken so much pleasure in the fucking and the draining that he’d taken too much.  Well, fuck it!  He’d bloody enjoyed it and he’d do it again.  The Slayer’s pussy was so tight and hot he’d willingly lose himself in it.  Ripper would have to get his vengeance another way.   

He jumped as his arm was suddenly clasped in the iron grip of the Slayer’s hands as she clasped his wrist against her greedily sucking mouth, dragging his blood deep inside to flow down her throat.  Her eyes were fierce and glittering as she gulped the crimson fluid down, refusing to stop even as he tried to claw her hands off him.   

He backhanded her to stop her draining him too much, her face recoiling from the force of the blow, his blood spinning from her mouth to spatter the white bedspread.  He panted needlessly, dizzy from loss of blood and amazing sex.  Her body was now inert, sprawled lifeless across bed.  She would need time to rise, time for her body to make the alterations so she could be reborn as a vampire.  

“Bugger me,” he gasped.  She was a wild one, no mistake.  He vaguely remembered weakly lapping at the gash Drusilla had made on her chest on the night of his salvation.  But Buffy was gulping at his blood, avid for it.  She’d make a worthy Childe, no bloody minion.  He looked at her still form, the moonlight bathing her in silver, save for the dark marks where he’d taken her blood.  And he was lost.   

She was a creature of the darkness, like him.  She was feral and vicious and cocky.  Her snarky one-liners when slaying should have told him that.  If he’d had a soul, hers would be its mate.  They would lay waste to populations and make love on the bodies of the innocent.  Drusilla would understand.  Or he would make her.  Buffy was his now, his alone.  He gathered his Childe to him, wrapped in the bedspread and nuzzled her hair.  Laying her reverently to rest back on the bed, he settled back to keep vigil until she awoke to her new existence.   

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