by Spikesdeb & SpikesKat

Chapter 20

~*~*~*~*~

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked,
       upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
   Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
   Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
       door!"
                 Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

 

Edgar Allen Poe
The Raven

~*~*~*~*~ 

Quentin Travers cowered in the cellar beneath the library.  He’d tried to escape from the building but the exits were locked – and bound with more than mere everyday metal, he’d wager.  The locks were both physical and magical – and there was no way out.  His mind flashed back to the Cruciamentum, Buffy’s mention of the ancient ritual was disturbing.  He’d been involved in three of them in some form or other, the last two during his tenure as Head of the Watchers’ Council.  He’d observed them impassively, setting loose a vicious vampire to prey on a weakened girl.  He watched not caring who survived, simply noting the Watchers’ files with the outcome. 

And now he was the hunted. 

How had the vampires bypassed the barriers?  And the vampire with Buffy Summers?  He knew him – or knew of him, rather. William the Bloody – Spike.  Slayer of Slayers.  What had occurred to have the vicious beast turn a Slayer rather than slaughter her?  

The thought of a vampire Slayer with the combined strength of her natural ability and that of the creature she should be slaughtering was terrifying. 

His heart was pounding in his chest and he was shaking, whether from the cold or from fear he didn’t know, probably both.  He’d burrowed beneath a shoddy desk pushed into the far corner of the cellar and forgotten there for half a century.  A pile of old rugs had slipped back into place to cover him in his hiding place and the dust was just visible in the almost total darkness where it was settling down around him.  Instinctively, he pushed himself further back into the sanctuary of the desk well.  

His heart almost stopped when he heard the clacking of heels on the stone floor.  He couldn’t tell whether they were approaching or going away, the echoes of the footfalls distorted by the cocoon of rugs and the heavy wooden desk surrounding him.  He held his breath as he listened. 

Silence. 

Maybe he was safe?  Maybe they’d given up trying to find him?  His mind raced, panicked, as he went over his options.  None.  None at all.  He’d exhausted all escape routes; even the ones that only he knew about were shut solid.  He wondered, idly, which of the interlopers had such strong magic that they could bind the building so completely.  Buffy Summers and William the Bloody were vampires; they had no need of magic.  That left Giles and the girl.  He doubted it would be Giles.  He was a failure as a Watcher and would be equally so as a warlock.  So it had to be the girl.  Willow Rosenberg.  He was impressed, despite the dire straits he found himself in.  She must have access to enormous power, and still so young.  He’d begun to relax as his safe haven remained unbreached and let the tension ease from his aching limbs.  The cold and damp from the floor was seeping through him and his teeth began to chatter. 

Somebody was sure to notice his absence and take steps to oust the intruders.  It was only a matter of time.  He just needed to sit it out.  The Watchers’ Council was impenetrable. 

Heavier footsteps drew his notice.  He could hear the soft sound of someone talking and wondered whether he should peek out to see if his rescue party had arrived.  No matter; even if he wanted to, he doubted his legs would obey him.  He’d just have to wait and see. 

Footsteps again, definitely coming nearer – nearer still…stopping.  He held his breath once more, willing his racing pulse to quiet and clamping his hand over his mouth to forestall the rising urge to scream from bursting forth. 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the sibilant female voice chanted. “Come out, come out wherever you are…” 

Quentin Travers started to sob quietly. 

“Yeah, Watcherman – we know you’re here.  We can smell you.  Right tasty treat, you are – all succulent and full of fear.” 

The vampires’ quarry whimpered, the sound just barely audible but pinpointing his position exactly.  Buffy and Spike shared a smile.  They’d slaked their hunger en route to the cellar by draining a number of unlucky Council employees who’d crossed their path; but there were other needs to see to. 

Revenge.  Bloodlust.  Chaos. 

Spike nodded towards the pile of dusty rugs, motioning silently with his hands that he would rip them back. Buffy nodded her agreement, her yellow eyes glistening in the half-light of the cellar.  She licked her lips in anticipation of the treat to come.  It was her Sire’s gift to her. 

Quentin was huddled, arms wrapped around his knees as he tried to curl in on himself.  He was chanting silently, lips moving, eyes tightly shut.  Absolute terror had closed down his thought processes so that all that remained was the repeated litany of a childhood prayer. ‘Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, look upon…’  

He felt the rush of air as the rugs were wrenched away, his eyes opening automatically and limbs poised to run with the adrenaline boost his pumping heart delivered.  He tried to scramble forwards, only to find his vision filled with feral yellow eyes and murderous fangs.  Buffy shot her hand out to grip his throat and dragged him from his bolthole. 

Travers whimpered, so terrified that he lost control of his bowels and bladder, his jaw slack as he gave up all hope of survival.  

Buffy wrinkled her nose in distaste; she’d lost all appetite for his blood now that he’d soiled himself.  Still, she knew what had to be done to cause him the most horror but he’d have to be cleaned off first. 

“Ok, pet?  Ready to do your worst?” 

Buffy nodded, squeezing tighter until Travers lost consciousness.  Thing was, she couldn’t bring herself to touch his rank body any more than necessary.  Spike realized her dilemma when she distastefully dropped the unconscious Watcher to the floor.  

“No time to go all dainty on me.  Big bad vampire now, sweetness.  Got to get your pretty little hands dirty every now and then.” 

Buffy turned to face him, eyes downcast and still blazing yellow, fangs overlapping her bottom lip quite marring her attempt to pout.  She was the picture of corrupted innocence.  Spike wanted to rip off her clothes and corrupt her even more.  But there would be time enough for that. 

“Right then.  No problem – we’ll just bundle him up in a rug and drag him back to his office.  You grab his hands, pet.  I’ll take the mucky end.  And let’s get a move on, yeah?  Ripper and Red must be shagged senseless by now and raring to get down to business.” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Willow stretched out her pale body, arching her back and smiling dreamily as she lay on the carpeted floor of the dining room, surrounded by dead Watchers.  Ripper was patting down bodies in an attempt to find some post-coital cigs but so far was coming up empty-handed.  Willow lazily waved her hand, the gesture producing the requisite object and matches to lie on the table.  Her naked lover grinned and crossed the room, kicking the corpses out of his way as he went.  Lighting up, he took a long drag and turned lust-filled eyes on his young protégée lying oh so appealingly, open legged and open armed, with her kiss-swollen lips.  

Regretfully, he willed his burgeoning erection to sag.  Delightful as another round would be, they had other pressing business.  Ripper sank to his knees and swept his hand along from her toes up towards her sex.  Willow arched into his touch, begging him wordlessly to bring her off again.  Then the feel of his fingers was gone and he was slipping on his trousers. 

“Ripper…please…” 

“We haven’t time.  Later.  Once we’ve dealt with Quentin, I’ll fuck you until you scream, I promise.  Now we’ve got to go murder some more sorry souls.  Get dressed.” 

Willow sighed, but did as he asked, her mind replaying the events of the past hour and flushing her skin at the heated memories.  Hand in hand they’d wandered the corridors, Willow throwing up a glamour as they’d moved through the Council’s headquarters.  She took perverse pleasure in casting the illusion of Quentin Travers and chuckled to herself when she noted the glances of distaste that came her way.  

Locating the dining room, Ripper had thrown open the door to find about a dozen Council employees seated at the table enjoying dinner.  The slam of the door without anybody touching it had the diners in a panic and when Willow shrugged off the appearance of their leader and her eyes had darkened to raven pools, cries of consternation had filled the room.  She’d silenced them quickly, a gesture shooting them up to the ceiling, arms and legs spread as she’d done earlier to Travers.  Reveling in the fear that permeated the air, the witch and the demon had seized each other, tearing at clothes and flesh as they copulated violently under the horrified stares of their victims.  As an added pleasure, Willow stretched her captives until they screamed; the orgasms that followed for both her and Ripper were all the more intense for the soundtrack. 

And when her lust was finally satiated, she’d ripped out their guts and let them fall in a mess of blood and intestines to the floor. 

“Ready?”  Ripper was standing by the door, holding out his hand.  Willow scanned the red-stained carpet and the gory bodies with satisfaction.  Kicking at a lolling head that impeded her path, she joined her lover and headed back to Travers’ office and the culmination of their plans. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike lounged behind the desk, crossed feet resting on the top as he reclined on the tilted chair.  Buffy was pacing in front of the door, still wearing her vamp face as they waited for Ripper and Willow to turn up.  

Travers lay naked in a wet puddle on the floor, still unconscious.  Spike had unceremoniously grabbed a passer-by from the corridor and had him strip the soiled man and bathe him before dumping the Head of the Council back in his room.  The cooling body of the unlucky assistant was slumped in a corner, the fang marks in his neck still bloody; his mouth similarly smeared with red. 

“Spike, why did you have me feed that man?” 

“You know why, pet.  We have to make minions – unless you want to waste all our time on shit jobs like this.  I know what I’d rather be doing.  Anyway you need to know what to do to make more of us if we’re to have a full complement to pull Ripper’s plan off.  Alright?” 

Buffy nodded, still tasting the tang of blood on her lips and licking at the gash in her own wrist.  She mused on how she’d feel when her first sired vampire rose. 

“But he’s not my…Childe is he -- just a minion?” 

“Yeah, love, you didn’t give him anywhere near enough blood to make a Childe.  And there has to be intent too.  But I’m not showing you that…not bloody sharing you with anybody, ever.  You’re my only Childe and that’s the way it’s stayin’, and you’re never gonna have one.  Minions are all that Ripper needs.  Least ways, it’s all he’s getting.  Soon as this is over, we’ll cut loose and head off.   We couldn’t leave a Childe here, Buffy, there are too many responsibilities.  We need to be free of all that; gonna show you how a vampire lives, pet.  Gonna show you the world.” 

Buffy launched herself across the desk, scattering the papers and pushing Spike backwards to the floor, straddling him as he landed.  She crushed his lips, slicing them with her fangs and drinking Sire’s blood while her hands were busily opening his shirt and jeans.  She seized his cock, pumping it to hardness and loving the way he groaned into her kiss. 

“Bloody hell!  Not that it isn’t a treat watching you two at play, but we do have something to do, I believe.”  Ripper and Willow stood watching the vampires, hungry eyes fixed on Buffy’s hand as it slowly continued stroking Spike’s engorged flesh. 

Buffy didn’t let up until she felt the cool spurt of semen fill her palm and dribble through her fingers.  The onlookers watched as she licked her hand like a cat, not wasting a single drop.  Spike gazed at her in wonder.  She was everything and more than he’d ever dreamed of in a mate.  The sooner they’d finished this, the better.  Then they could get on with their eternity.  Bestowing a kiss to her now smooth brow, he gently set her aside and got to his feet, refastening his shirt and jeans. 

“You’re late, Ripper.  Where’ve you been?” 

“Occupied.  Where’s Travers?” 

Spike thumbed over his shoulder to the naked and bruised man.  Ripper’s delighted smile beamed at him. 

“Pure genius!  I’d never have thought of stripping him.  Very humiliating for him – just the job!  You are an evil bastard, Spike.” 

“Thanks ever so, but it was more necessary than planned.  Wanker pissed and shat himself when Buffy flashed him the fang.” 

Ripper chuckled.  Giles always thought that Travers was a big bag of piss and wind.  Nice to be proven right.  

“Willow?  Wake him.  I want him to know what’s going to happen to his precious Council.” 

The witch snapped her fingers and Quentin’s eyes opened slowly, blinking the room into focus.  Seeing familiar surroundings he had a moment’s blissful notion that he’d dreamed the whole experience…until he focused on the other occupants of his personal space.  A wail bubbled up inside him but never made it out of his mouth. 

“Mute.” Willow waved her hand dismissively.  They needed him to listen; they didn’t need him to speak. 

Like a puppet, he rose to his feet, his body under Willow’s control.  She jerked his limbs to have him stand in front of his own desk facing Ripper, who was now seated in Travers’ righted chair.  

“Suppose you’re wondering what we’re doing here?  Well, here’s the thing, Quentin.  You’re an obnoxious little shit and I can’t find one person with a good word to say about you.  But you have power.  The Watcher’s Council is powerful.  But so am I.” 

Ripper flashed his demon-red eyes at the horrified man.  “See, I’m more than the bumbling duffer you like to think I am.  I had a taste of glory many years ago when you were busy trampling over the little people on your way to the top.  I have craved more ever since.  And now I have the chance.  Meet Eyghon.” 

Ripper’s face became more angular; his eyes red and slanted, his voice deep and booming around the room.  

“I’m taking over in your place and your army of Watchers will become my army of darkness with access to all your secrets, all your resources.  I will use them for the furtherance of evil.  And you, my dear Quentin…you can be my right-hand man.” 

Both vampires rushed him, two sets of fangs piercing his neck simultaneously as they drained him, their hands caressing the back of each other’s neck as they drank.  On the point of his death they stopped, listening to his faltering heartbeat.

Travers collapsed to the floor on the last beat of his heart, Spike’s gashed and bloody wrist still pressed against his slackening mouth.

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