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.