Chapter 2
Buffy cried herself to sleep that night. She was destined to always fall for boys she couldn't have or didn't want her, and the sitch with Angel was getting her down. He always seemed to be stalking her and they were hovering on the brink of a relationship but never quite taking that step. It was frustrating, and painful and she was done with it. Tonight was the last straw; she was all set to get snugly with him, even going so far as suggesting a date at the risk of seeming forward, and he’d as good as blanked her. Well, tomorrow she'd start getting over him. Just see if she didn't.
Morning came after a sleepless night, and Buffy was up and out of bed before her mom called her for once. No point lounging about in a pit of despair; life was too short. Well, hers would be anyway. It was her destiny to die young. And here she was with nothing to look forward to except slaying and school. Life sucked.
Classes went by in a blur; even Willow giving up eventually when Buffy was monosyllabic in response to any questions. She was just so sick of playing by the rules, being the dedicated Slayer, the attentive schoolgirl, the considerate friend. So when Cordelia cornered her and laid out her entire plan for going to the frat party, Buffy surprised the cheerleader by agreeing. She stunned herself too – listening dazedly to Cordelia’s lecture on what not to wear and the dos and don’ts of dating frat guys. All Buffy could do was nod in agreement. It felt as if somebody else had taken charge of her body and was doing the driving.
And she was enjoying it. And Angel? Who was Angel?
+ + + + +
The frat guys in question were in the middle of a big marking ceremony, all knives and scars and hooded robes, when Spike sauntered into the basement. There was some oily geek in the centre of the circle being marked with a sword, the scent of his blood making Spike's nostrils twitch. He wasn't really partial to biting blokes, but he’d never been one to turn down an easy snack… waste not, want not!
The boy holding the sword had a fancier robe than the others and was obviously the boss, speaking a form of words that led the others to reply in harmony. When it was over, one of the Delta Zeta Kappa members tossed over a can of beer, but before the leader could catch it, Spike stepped forward and plucked it from the air.
"Hey!"
Spike pulled the ring tab and calmly drank down the entire can, crumpling it when he'd finished and lobbing it over his shoulder. The nervous boys now surrounded him, and the leader was still holding the sword. He wasn't too worried. Didn't look like the git had a clue how to use it, and he'd bet he could drain them all before they could get to him with anything like a threat. He eyed them, one by one, and when he had their full attention vamped out. Cue the lot of them taking a step back.
Yeah, he was the Big Bad.
"So. You guys are all worshippers of Snake Boy, yeah? When's he due to make an appearance? I'm just askin' because I've heard a lot about him and I think we'd get along. Course, he'd have to share his harem. He does like young girls, doesn't he? It's what I've been hearin'."
The leader, who was called Richard by his followers, took a few steps forward his chin jutting as he brazened it out. He was scared, his heartbeat and scent told Spike that much, but he had enough bravado to answer him.
"We are followers of our Lord, Machida. We act in his name. Who are you?"
"Name's Spike. And I hear you're planning a party. I'll be there."
The girl he'd watched pursued through the cemetery was chained up against the far wall. She was begging to be freed, her voice raw with tears and fear. Spike wandered over to her and trailed cool fingers down her face and her torso, his tongue curled behind his teeth as he sneered at her. She closed her eyes and tears ran down her face.
Delighted with the response, Spike turned to his newfound acolytes. "So. When do you gather in the rest of the girls?"
Richard grinned. "I've already got two picked out. A blonde and a brunette, and they're young and ripe. Just what our Lord needs to feed on. They'll be along later, and we've prepared a cocktail to knock them out."
"Right then. But just so you know, I get first dibs. S'only fair, as the guest."
+ + + + +
Buffy got out of Cordy's car on unsteady legs after it had slammed into the parked car by the frat house. Cordelia wasn't in the least bit perturbed that they'd hit the car, in fact blaming the other driver for getting too close. It must be great to be that sure of yourself, Buffy thought, as she followed the ever-confident prom queen into the party.
They passed through the doorway, Cordelia leading the way, and walked through the buzzing throng to a vantage point by the far wall. Cordy's eyes were narrowed speculatively as she surveyed the room, mentally assessing and rejecting all but the most influential and wealthy of the fraternity. She didn't mind if Buffy were to hook up with her rejects, she wasn't a complete bitch – but only the best would do for Queen C. This was her world.
"You know what's so cool about college? The diversity. You've got all the rich people, and all the other people. Richard!" Richard definitely featured on the Cordelia digs list. She turned on her best fake smile and prepared to dazzle.
"Welcome, ladies."
Buffy took the proffered drink warily.
"Oh… i-is there alcohol in this?" She knew from past experience with eggnog that Buffy and alcohol were definitely not mixy. She felt Cordelia's glare but avoided looking at her.
Richard smiled and took a sip of his own drink before he replied. "Just a smidge."
Cordelia almost fried her with her penetrating stare. "C'mon, Buffy, it's just a smidge." Buffy was killing her!
But Buffy was the Slayer. She wasn't going to be browbeaten into drinking when she didn't want to. "I'll just..." her words tailed off as she set down the drink. Cordelia almost snarled. If Buffy put this yummy hunk off with her goody two shoes act she'd...well, she'd do something.
"I understand. When I was your age, I wasn't into grown-up things either. Have you seen our multimedia room?"
Cordy stepped in front of Buffy, anxious to save the day and chugged down her drink to prove that she, at least, was plenty old enough to be of interest to Richard and his influential friends.
"Oh, the one with the cherry walnut panelling and the two forty-eight inch televisions on satellite feed? No. Wanna show me?"
Richard blinked at the dazzling smile that was inches away from his face.
"What about...?"
Cordy dismissed Buffy with a wave of her hand. "Oh, her? She's happiest by herself."
Richard found himself gripped by Cordy's well-manicured hand and dragged off, leaving Buffy trying to fade into the background and plan her escape.
Spike eyed his prey from the shadowy corner of the room. When the pair had appeared at the door, Richard had indicated to him that they were the chosen girls who would feed his master later, along with the one already shackled in the cellar. So, the Slayer had delivered herself up to him and he hadn't even had to make an effort! A smug grin on his face, Spike had left Richard in no doubt that the blonde was his. Richard could do what he liked with the brunette. Flashing some fang to underline the threat, he'd been gratified at the sweet smell of fear that emanated from the boy and the hastily stuttered assurance that once drugged, Buffy Summers would be delivered to him for his pleasure.
But the chit had turned her nose up at the tainted drink, leaving her unaffected and entirely in charge of her actions. Bugger. It wasn't that he didn't think he could take her, it was just that he wanted to take his time, preferably without an audience, when he did so. If she was knocked out, he could easily whisk her away and toy with her at his leisure. It became even more pressing when he spotted her male sidekick, the one with the floppy brown hair and an obvious crush that she ignored, crash the party.
As one of Machida's followers strolled past, Spike grabbed him and whispered instructions in his ear. Eager to be released, Tom nodded and scurried off to do his bidding. Spike smiled. He always liked having minions to scurry and do his bidding. The twits were falling over themselves to do as he said. And that was as it should be. All he had to do now was wait and Miss Buffy Summers would be trussed up and unconscious and at his mercy.
+ + +
Buffy felt completely out of place, like she'd forgotten how to have fun. Not that she'd ever been to a party like this before. Suddenly she felt so young and stupid. But Tom was nice. He'd come to her rescue as she was about to be pounced on by an enormous thug and whisked her away, dancing with her and making her feel almost normal. She cradled the glass he handed her before recklessly guzzling it down even though she knew it was more than just soda. But as soon as she'd swallowed the drink she regretted it. It tasted yuk. She didn't like it or the after-effects -- even less as things started to go woozy. At least there was no danger of her becoming a drunk, because one drink and she was out of it. She needed to lie down. Room. Need a room, with a bed...stairs...upstairs...
Spike watched as she lurched along the corridor towards the stairs, knocking drinks over as she went, her eyes unfocused and heavy. Tom followed her at a distance until Spike once again dragged him to one side.
"Thanks, mate. I’ll take it from here. And what was that you slipped her? A bit of roofie? Need to know what to expect, I'm on a restricted diet you know." As the boy nodded, Spike let him go, patting his shoulder. "We'll be off then. Good luck with the get-rich-quick ritual; thank Snakey for the carry-out."
Tom scuttled off to find Richard, leaving Spike to scale the stairs in search of the hopefully comatose Slayer. He found her easily, following her scent to a room shrouded in darkness and occupied by her and the brunette from earlier. He stepped over the girl on the floor, not concerned with her and wanting to grab his prize and get out of there. The scent and sound of so many young and horny partygoers was messing with his head; he struggled to focus. With the Slayer slung over his shoulder, her pert butt nestled at the side of his face, he cast a glance back at her slumbering friend. Not bad, quite a looker. Nice long legs, enticing rack. Machida would feast well tonight.
He made his way downstairs and through the throng of revellers. A snort of laughter escaped as he saw the Slayer’s pal had been set upon by the college kids and dressed in a curly blonde wig and a huge bra over his shirt, dancing and prancing for their entertainment. Thank god they hadn't had fraternities in his day and age. He frowned and bit his lip as he slinked away. Chances were that if anybody had been ridiculed and made to prance it would have been William the Bloody Awful Poet. That thought had him pissed; maybe when he'd finished with the Slayer he'd come back and eat a few of the fuckers, strike a blow for the underdog. Over-privileged bastards.
But right now he had other things on his mind. Delectable things. Rounded and pert things. Depraved things. Her scent was assaulting his nostrils, and he was starting to drool. He offered up a silent thank you to Dru for her insanity and her ravings. He'd show her how grateful he was once he got back to her, but not before he'd done the Slayer. In every way possible.
+ + + + +
Angel, Willow and Giles bumped into Xander as he was walking away from the house, dressed in one of the hooded robes he’d seen some seniors wearing when he'd spied on them earlier. There'd been no sign of Buffy. Nor Cordelia. And that bothered Xander more than he cared to think about.
"Hey, guys! What are you doing here?"
Willow looked chastened, her cheeks red as she responded. "I kinda told them that Buffy was here."
"Yeah? Well, she isn't. Cordy neither. I've looked everywhere. Bunch of guys drinking deep of icy cold brew and shaming unsuspecting victims, but no Buffy and no Cordelia. And no orgies." He looked at them from beneath his hood. "Don't think these frat parties are as good as they're cracked up to be."
Willow tilted her head quizzically. "Xander. Are you wearing makeup?"
He wiped at his face, eyes widening as he noted the pink smear on the back of his hand. "Makeup? Nah, just...Gatorade, that's all. Come on, let’s head to the Bronze? I'll bet the Buffster's there already, dancing and snuggling. Or not."
He bit off his words as he saw a flicker of amber in Angel's eyes. That guy was scary! Definitely not one to piss off. But really, where else would Buffy be? She'd be in the Bronze or at home. That was all. Laughing at them for ever thinking she was incapable of looking after herself.
+ + + +
Spike settled back into the ancient armchair he'd procured from the city dump and watched the Slayer for signs of her awakening. The young girl lay resplendent on a satin comforter, liberated from the city dump and a little worse for wear, her head resting on a bundle of old clothes. He'd actually considered leaving her unbound, up the ante a little, but he'd finally opted for caution and manacled her wrists together and tied her ankles with stout rope. It wasn't enough to stop her entirely – hell, he quite fancied a round of chase me, catch me, round the crypt anyway, get her blood pounding – but it should at least slow her down a bit. She looked delectable; naked, of course, her hair spread out in its golden glory on the makeshift pillow and her cheeks flushed.
He'd laid her on top of a sarcophagus, a bed would have been too much bother for this quickie in his hidey-hole, but he felt sure the Slayer wouldn't mind. Tough if she did. He chuckled, eager now to get on with his games.
It was ten minutes later that he sensed the increased heart rate and breathing that signalled her awakening. He leant forward to watch her first reaction, noting the soft curves of her young body, the sheen of her skin as she stretched. His cock hardened in his jeans and he shifted to make himself more comfortable so that he could enjoy the show.
Buffy's eyes fluttered open, and she swallowed around a swollen tongue. Her throat felt like sandpaper and she struggled to moisten her mouth, groaning with pain as she swallowed. Vague memories came back to her, tattered snippets of a spinning hallway and the urgent need of somewhere to lie down. And she'd found it; a nice soft bed with warm covers. Belatedly, she felt the chill of the air that whispered over her body... her decidedly nude body, and she finally registered the fact that her hands and feet were bound. And what happened to the soft mattress? This was as hard as... stone?
Buffy tried to sit up but her muzzy head wouldn’t cooperate. She managed to roll over onto her side and peered into the darkness.
"Hello..." she shouted tentatively. "Is there anybody there? Hello?"
Scuttling sounds echoed round the room and Buffy shuddered – rats and Buffy were definitely not of the good. But where was she that had resident rats?
She shouted again, her befuddled brain finally making the link between the echoes and her whereabouts. There was only one type of place that lent such deathly tones to the human voice. She was in a crypt.
Suddenly wide-awake and clear-headed, save for a dull throbbing around her temples, Buffy tested the efficacy of her manacles. Top grade steel, no doubt about it. Whoever had her bound was a professional, well used to tying people up and meaning it. Which put her, him, or it in either the box marked demon or the box marked evil.
Come to think of it, there was a definite tingle running down her spine, and it had nothing to do with the surroundings. Vampire. Master vampire at that. Good thing she did listen to Giles sometimes -- the hone your skills mantra was a favourite. But hey, sensing a vampire by stretching out her senses – check. Just call her Buffy the bloodhound.
Despite her nudity, her anger came out top over and above her embarrassment, and she kept yanking on the metal links, which jingled and creaked but didn't give way. The rope at her ankles was another matter however, and it soon snapped. She jumped to the floor, assuming a fighting stance as she tried to spot the vampire who'd dared to truss the Slayer up like a Thanksgiving turkey. No way was she going to be someone’s celebration dinner!
"Listen, I know you're there. You obviously know who I am, so let's get right to it. You give me my clothes back and undo these manacles and I promise I'll stake you quickly. But if I have to hunt you, you’ll really wish you’d gone with my first offer before you're dust. What'll it be?"
Spike chuckled to himself. Took after her mum, that's for sure, feisty. Dangerous. Exciting. He got to his feet, the creaking of the chair betraying his whereabouts. All of a sudden he was backing away from a furious Slayer as she rushed him. Naked, warm flesh knocked him backwards into the chair he'd recently vacated and he ended up sprawled, half-sitting, with the Slayer struggling to get her manacled hands around his throat. He deflected her easily, gripping her wrists in his hands and pulling her face tight against his.
"Slayer!" he growled, "quit the heroics. Stop the struggling and we'll talk. You're not exactly in a position to argue with me, now, are you? Play nice...there's a good girl."
Buffy continued wriggling, but the grip wasn't loosening and she couldn't get any purchase with which to break free. She definitely didn't have a stake hidden anywhere, and Spike – oh, she recognised him all right! - was strong, almost as strong as she was. She didn't have any choice.
"Okay! Let me go. And the first thing you'd better tell me is where my clothes are or so help me I'll…"
"Do what, exactly, Slayer? No, I'm interested, really. Seems to me that you're not quite at the top of your game. Out of practice maybe, or could it be that the sorry vamps in this town don't stretch your slaying skills? Or maybe you're frustrated, want more than a slap around with a cold body. Ah, maybe I'm right – see that struck a chord. You're up for a good tussle as much as I am. I knew I sensed something other than anger from you that night at the school. Vampires get you hot."
Spike shoved her away from him and stood up, arrogant and sure of himself… and sexy as hell.
Buffy snorted. "They so do not! Don't flatter yourself. And even if they did, it wouldn't be you. You must be really pathetic if you have to drug a girl and chain her up. Call yourself a master vampire? Angel's more of a .."
"Angel's a prissy wet misery guts and you know it. Tell me, Miss Summers – he made it to second base yet?"
Buffy scowled, tried to place her hands on her hips but was caught up by the manacles, which reminded her that she was naked and shackled and trading barbs with a dangerous master vampire who had tried to kill her the last time they'd met. Her pulse was pounding and she found her breath coming out in little gasps, and despite her attempts to attribute it to her anger and embarrassment, she couldn't quite fool herself. Spike was looking her over with burning eyes, and that damned tongue of his was sweeping his full lips and making them glisten. She was oblivious to what he was saying now as he did that thing where he ran his hand all the way down his chest and stomach to rest framing his crotch. He'd done that at the school and she'd barely managed to pull her eyes away from his bulge then; now it was totally impossible for her to do so. What the hell was going on? Oh, right. She'd been drugged.