Midnight in the Garden of Evil
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.