Chapter 1

The Slayer circled to the left as he bounced in place, following her moves with his golden eyes. It was all Spike could do to keep from throwing back his head and howling with glee. This was living, or unliving in his case. The fight, the exhilaration of the ultimate opponent - the Slayer, his for the taking if he could only earn the prize.

He circled to the right in response to her steps, keeping her in his sights. And what a sight she was. He had to give it to her. Vamps were as distractible as any males and he’d lost his concentration more than once to a flash of her legs as she kicked high and twirled in that short little white skirt. Far cry from the demure little Chinese Slayer from the turn of the century, or even that foxy New York Slayer, though that one had her own appeal. Guess they couldn’t all be California girls he mused to himself as he watched her set her stance and wait for his move.

The sunlight reflected off her bright hair and highlighted her bronzed skin, giving her a golden glow he didn’t remember from their last encounter. Spike paused. Wait, that couldn’t be right. Sunlight? He momentarily diverted his gaze and snuck a glance at his arm. No smoking, no incineration. Ah well, he shrugged and turned his attention back to the main attraction.

The dance began in earnest as he made a graceful lunge and she parried his attack. Twist and bob, turn and weave, the pair circled the open courtyard with a dance unique to them. He did howl then as he executed a particularly swift move, pinning her lithe body. The Slayer who’d been the bane of his existence, the one just out of reach, was finally his. His mouth watered at the prospect of the rich tang of her blood rolling down his throat.

He was only moments away from sinking his fangs into her ripe flesh when she deftly reversed their position and he found himself suddenly pinned against the rough surface of the wall that flanked the courtyard they had traversed in their back and forth. As the Slayer twisted his left arm behind him with just enough pressure to be painful, he suddenly became aware of the proximity of their bodies for the first time, her heat against his back, his own hardness now pressed uncomfortably against the unyielding stone of the wall.

Her hot breath tickled his ear as she leaned closer and spoke for the first time. "Do we really need weapons for this?" He gasped as he felt the point of a wooden stake trace the back of his neck and slowly settle below his shoulder blade, poised for a entry that would reduce him to dust.

"I just like’em, they make me feel all manly," he responded as he found himself suddenly whirled around to face the Slayer and heard the clatter of the stake hitting the ground. Somewhere in the transition, the distracting little white skirt ensemble had mysteriously disappeared and he was now confronted with the full-frontal image of a highly aroused Slayer. He blinked rapidly, then realized as her eyes slid appraisingly down his body that he was in a similar condition. Well . . . now this could get interesting.

"I think you feel all manly without them," she purred as she licked her red lips and slid one toned thigh up his hip to grind herself against him. He growled and slid his now free arms down to hoist her higher as he reversed their positions again and planted her against the wall. Their tongues met and began a vicious thrust and parry as she wrapped her legs firmly around his waist, poised ever so enticingly just a hairsbreadth away from letting him bury himself in the warmth that he suddenly craved.

Somewhere in the back of Spike’s lust addled brain, it occurred to him that this wasn’t right, he should be sinking his fangs into her smooth white neck, not devouring her mouth like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever had access to. He batted the thought away and sank further into the smells and taste of Buffy.

She broke away from their kiss, twining her fingers though his hair and pinning him with her hazel eyes. "You want me, don’t you Spike?" He circled his hips, desperately trying to loosen the iron grip of her thighs so he could slide in further. She shivered at the friction, but refused to back down, grasping his chin and forcing him to meet her eyes. "Admit it Spike. Say it out loud. You’re mine, aren’t you?"

As she spoke, he sighed in defeat. "I’m yours, Slayer, I’m all yours." His acquiescence complete, she slowly impaled herself and he shuddered as he felt her sweet walls surround him and begin to milk him…..

Spike sat up with a gasp, looking wildly around the shuttered darkness of the posh villa he’d ‘liberated’ from it’s owner after his return to Brazil. What the hell was wrong with him? Life was good, he had Dru back, well, mostly back, Rio was a perfect hunting ground and Sunnydale was a distant memory. He rubbed his eyes. This had to stop.

It had been innocent enough at first. She’d popped up here and there in his dreams after that pitstop in Sunnydale, part of the melody of mayhem and violence that made for the most pleasant of nightmares. He found that her appearances, though sporadic, were always prominent when they occurred.

Sometimes he won, relishing the victory of his third slayer, sometimes she won and he’d had that peculiar sensation that occurs when you meet your own death in the world of Morpheus. But he’d thought it was nothing more than him wanting to do what he always did - best the best.

Dru had taken him back after he’d reasserted his Big Badness and he felt he’d carved out a comfortable little niche for them in the warm, dark, vibrant city that demons of all kinds called home. He’d deliberately maintained a low profile, but found that Dru liked to be seen and frequently begged to be squired to the latest party or event that was thrown. So he’d dutifully accompanied his black beauty, glad they had repaired the wounds opened by that sodding resouled ponce.

But as the months passed, the dreams had changed. No longer was she an infrequent visitor. Her appearances became an almost nightly occurrence, taunting, teasing, fighting, until he was no longer surprised to see her when he closed his eyes. He tried to shake it off, there was no way he was going back to Sunnyhell. He’d wait for the next Slayer to make his mark again. But she continued to invade his sleep.

News filtered through the demon grapevine that some crazy type, the Mayor of Sunnydale, had attempted an ascension that failed spectacularly, thanks to the efforts of one Miss Buffy Summers. Spike had shuddered gratefully to be far from the scene of that debacle and renewed his vow to stay out of California for a good many years.

But that same night, as he lay sated from feeding and fucking, his dreams had taken an even more disturbing twist. For the first time, the Slayer didn’t approach him in full battle mode. She’d sauntered up, garbed in some come-hither little straps of material he’d seen chits of her age wear to attract men, and begun to flirt with him, before suddenly surprising him with a roundhouse to the head which had knocked him flat. Her laughter had echoed in his ears as she’d staked him that time.

At the summer progressed, the dreams grew more vivid. She taunted, she teased, she lured him ever closer, like a moth to the flame, always promising, never delivering, as the dance between them grew more intense. But it had never gone this far, never been this vivid. He’d felt her heat, smelled her musk, drowned in her eyes.

Spike gripped his head as he suddenly became aware the sheets were a mess due to his little dream excursion. Bugger, wouldn’t do to have Dru find this, didn’t want to answer the questions that would raise. Puzzled he looked around, suddenly realizing Dru was missing, again. He knew it was nearly dusk, but they often spent the early evening together before going out.

Except the last few weeks she’d been rising earlier, flitting about and murmuring in her charmingly incomprehensible manner about things he’d been less attuned to than he should have. She’d taken to frequenting Ric’s Place, an open-air bar that catered to the demon population, run by a vamp with an apparent fascination for Casablanca and Ingrid Bergman. He’d humored her fascination with the bar, personally finding most of the locals to be less than interesting. But it seemed to make her happy and she’d return chattering about the antics of Tim or Rick or Selena. Spike sighed. Keeping Dru happy and content seemed harder than ever these days, even worse than before that little stunt she’d pulled in Prague that had nearly gotten them both killed.

He glanced at the clock on the mantle. He didn’t have long before his appointment with Edward, another ex-patriot who had found the South American environment and high demon population to be a boon for his art and collectibles business. He’d contacted Spike a few days before with information about a new trinket, some lovely rare emeralds he’d come into possession of. He’d visit Edward, pick up something nice for his lady, maybe take her out for a bite or two, then home for a good shag that would rid his mind of the bloody slayer and bring his Dru close to him again.

He shuddered again at the memory of the dream. Must be some sort of id thing - sex and violence and all that - getting all melded together and representing itself in the icon of death for vamps. Well, he’d always been a little twisted. He shrugged into his jacket and exited the villa.

* * *

Chapter 2

Buffy let the sunglasses slip from her nose as she peered across the sand at the frolicking Willow and Oz. She wasn’t sure if Oz frolicked, but he did appear more animated than normal as he followed his girlfriend across the sand. She smiled. It was good to see them so happy. Willow had confided that she and Oz had "carpe diemed" and it had been a better morning after experience than Buffy had personally witnessed. It gave her some hope that maybe, just maybe, there was truth to the myth of romance after all. She just wasn’t sure if it would ever be true for her.

She slid her glasses back up as she turned to ensure an even tan on her back and reached for the bottle of lotion. She was mildly surprised when she heard a voice to the side. "Need any help with that?"

She took in the nicely proportioned surfer’s body that knelt next to her blanket. Dark hair, dark eyes, nice tan, sweet smile. She shrugged and took a deep breath. Experiment number, what was it now? Probably 42.

"Sure, I never can seem to reach that little spot in the middle of my back." Maybe this would be the one that could help her move on. She pasted on a perky smile. "I’m Buffy, by the way."

"Jason."

She nodded and passed the bottle to his hands, then lay back down as he began to smooth the lotion into her bare back. Jason. Nice name, very solid. Broad daylight, clearly not a vamp. Seemed normal. One small tattoo, looked like a dolphin or something. She racked her brain momentarily, was that a sign of some sea mammal cult? She came up blank, decided to let it go. She relaxed as his hands stroked down her back, just enough pressure to feel good, not too gropey. The coolness of the lotion felt good against her flesh warm from the sun.

"So Buffy, I don’t think I’ve seen you here before, come here often?"

"Umm, occasionally. I live in Sunnydale, it’s about thirty minutes or so from here. My friends and I are trying out all the beaches this summer. You know, fun summer before starting college."

"Oh, a college girl. Where are you going?"

"UC-Sunnydale. You?"

"I’m a junior as Santa Cruz, marine biology."

"Oh, gee that’s neat." Buffy tried to sound enthusiastic, but really, how many marine biologists did the world really need after all? She was convinced half the men with that major thought chicks would dig someone who was sensitive to sea lions. Well, at least that explained the tattoo. His hands were suddenly to hot against her back.

"Umm, Jason, could you add a little more lotion? Want to make sure I don’t burn, you know?"

She flashed him a bright smile and mentally sighed with relief as the coolness returned to the massage. She was seriously warped, but his warm hands had just been too, too…too much somehow. She tried to ignore the implications of that and enjoy the moment, just forget about a vampire and love and loneliness.

Jason finished up, capped the bottle and handed it back, then politely asked if he could join her for a while. She agreed and he retrieved his beach towel from where a crowd of his friends had gathered a short ways down the beach. She could see the winks and nudges among them as he grabbed his things. Time for the internal pep talk.

Jason plopped back down by her side and began to engage in small talk, idle banter, talk of nothing really, just general getting to know you stuff. She carried on the conversation with little thought. After all, once upon a time, she’d been the master. She’d been a May Queen, a cheerleader, she’d had boys eating out of her hand. But that had been before. Before she was chosen, before she’d fallen for a vampire, before she’d averted apocalypses, killed her love, tried to kill her fellow Slayer. Yep, Buffy Summers was no longer the perky little prom queen she once could have been. But….on this bright sunny day, with the waves pounding and this admiring guy at her side, she could maybe pretend.

As the day progressed, Jason invited her to join his friends for a beach party they were planning for later that night. Willow and Oz had agreed to come too, and the three had hung around with the new group as dusk approached. Jason asked Buffy if she wanted to go for a walk and she agreed, already knowing where this was heading.

As they strolled down the beach, out of sight of the rest of the crowd gathered around the bonfire, he draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. The moonlight provided just enough light for her to see the desire in his face as he lowered his lips to hers. Buffy responded, trying to feel something . . . anything. His hand slowly slid up her side and gently brushed her breast and when she didn’t protest, his caresses became more bold. He pressed kisses against her cheek, her neck, slowly descending as he expertly untied the neck of her top and began to slowly remove it.

"Is this okay Buffy?

Buffy nodded, feeling almost detached as she watched his dark head descend to kiss her shoulder as his fingers brushed her nipples, drawing them into tight buds. She closed her eyes as the mental pictures began to flash through her head, another dark head, suckling at her breast, gentling easing his cool body into hers, holding still, his body straining with the effort, as she slowly adjusted and welcomed the intrusion. The gentleness as he urged her to the edge and beyond, the sweetness of his soft kisses as they both lay replete from the aftermath and her drifting off with a soft, "Love you, Angel."

And then as Jason began to explore further, his fingers sliding, teasing the sarong she’d casually tied around her waist, the images kaleidoscoped faster. The roar of thunder waking her, the empty bed, the rumpled sheets, the soreness between her thighs and the muted silver on her hand the only evidence of the love she’d just experienced. The cruel words the next day as her lover had rejected her, the look on his face as she’d driven home the sword that sent him to hell, the shuttered _expression when he disappeared into the smoke and fog, unwilling to make an attempt at a relationship. Buffy suddenly came to herself as she realized Jason was calling her name.

"Buff? Buffy? You okay there?"

She realized by this point she was topless and they were now lying in the sand, not far from rounding another base. Jason was looking at her with a puzzled _expression, clearly not used to having women zone out during his attempts at seduction.

"Jason, I’m sorry." She drew him in for a soft kiss and suddenly realized that like all her other attempts this summer, this was never going to work. She pulled back. "Jason, I’m sorry, I really am, but I think I’d like to go back now."

He looked slightly pained, but nodded and helped her to her feet. They walked along in silence for a short distance before he asked the question. "Is there someone else?"

She looked out at the waves slowly rolling into shore as she pondered the question. "Yeah, there is. Or there was. And I’m not really over him yet." She turned her head and met his gaze. "I’m sorry about that, back there. I, I really wasn’t trying to lead you on. I . . . he . . . he left me with some baggage and I’ve not been able to get past it yet."

He nodded. "It’s just, you, well, you were almost frozen, like you thought I was going to hurt you. Did he….hurt you like that?"

She looked down. "Not exactly, it was just a real mess. I’m looking into counseling."

Jason nodded. "That’s a great idea. My sister works with the rape counseling center, she says this happens a lot in those situations."

Buffy turned and started to walk again. Great, he had to be all sensitive guy as well. "Yeah, I know. I’m working on it. Jason, thanks for being understanding."

He shrugged. "No problem. I didn’t realize, well I thought you were into it to, you know."

They had reached the edge of the circle of partying college students and Buffy knew it was time to make an exit.

"Jason, thanks again, I think maybe we’d better be going." He nodded and followed her to grab her things, insisting on giving her his phone number and e-mail in case she changed her mind or just wanted to talk.

As Oz’s van pulled away, Willow gave her a look that spoke volumes. "Not Mr. Right?"

Buffy sadly shook her head. "Not even Mr. Right Now."

* * *

Chapter 3

Spike opened the door to Edward’s shop and made his way to the back where he found the Avarician demon mulling over paperwork.

"Ah, William the Bloody, how are you this fine day?"

Spike nodded, prepared for the pleasantries that always accompanied dealing with Edward. "I’m well, and you?"

"Lovely, lovely, business is doing well, everyone’s always a little more flush in spring you know. Can I offer you a cup of something? Tea? I might have some O+ if you’d like. Or something stronger?"

Spike settled in. He hated this negotiation, but Edward wouldn’t do business any other way. "Cup of tea would be fine, thanks."

The demon hurried around making the tea, and they continued to exchange small talk about who had left town, who had arrived and other gossip.

"You’re related to Angelus, aren’t you?"

Spike nodded. "Dru’s sire, my grand. Course he’s gotten himself all souled up again you know, lapdog to the Slayer up in the old U.S. of A. last I heard." He suppressed a twitch at the memory of his dream.

"So I’d heard. Very odd turn of events that. But apparently he’s moved on."

Spike set up a little straighter from the slouch he’d adopted. "Really? Where’s he gone?"

"Oh not far, Los Angeles I believe. Appropriate location, don’t you think?"

Spike agreed. "Hadn’t heard that mate, thanks for the update. Always good to know where the family is, even if we’re not exactly close these days."

Edward nodded. "It’s even better - apparently he’s opened a detective agency. Isn’t that a hoot?"

Spike raised his brows. "Always was an odd one, was Angel. Well, maybe it’ll keep him busy, might interfere with the brooding a bit though." Finished with the updates, he began to steer the conversation towards the reason for his visit.

"So, I understand you have some new merchandise?"

"Oh yes. Some lovely pieces that would look marvelous on your Drusilla. But I just had an arrival that came in today, might be of interest to you as well. You’re the first vampire to drop in since I acquired it, so I’ll give you first option."

"Really? What is it?"

"A volume called the Legend of Amarra, quite fascinating really, written by a scribe of a legendary mage who moved through the North American region in the 1700s. I knew you were familiar with the area, though it might amuse."

Forty-five minutes later, Spike exited the shop with a necklace sure to please Dru and the slim volume tucked into his duster.

~*~*~*~*~

Oz dropped off the girls at Willow’s house and they quietly crept in, trying to avoiding waking her parents, who for once were both home. As they dropped their bags, Willow turned to Buffy.

"Okay, you were off for a long time with Jason. Dish. He’s quite the hottie."

At Willow’s hopeful and expectant _expression, Buffy slowly shook her head. "No go. I don’t know what’s wrong with me Will. I want to move on, I really do. I’m trying. But it’s the same as it was with Scott back in high school. I’m not normal, I never will be. These guys are great, but they’ll never accept the real me."

"Buffy, there’s more to it than that. I’ve watched you all summer. You dance, you flirt, you reel them in, then, kaplooey, no action. You don’t given them a chance."

Buffy plopped down in the floor beside the bed. "I know. It’s like every time I get remotely intimate, more than a peck or a kiss, I just freeze. Every memory of Angel just comes back in full Technicolor, the good and the bad and I can’t seem to respond."

She blushed slightly and looked away. "It’s like they’re too warm and I don’t feel anything you know? No…excitement, nothing. Jason, the guy tonight, he was really sweet when I stopped him. He was better than most. Some of them get snarky and then I have to show them I’m a little stronger than the average girl. But he was nice about it. He asked if I’d been raped Willow, he thought that was what was wrong."

Willow knelt beside Buffy and laid her hand on her friend’s shoulder. "Buffy, it’s okay. I know Angel never hurt you like that, but mentally, well, pardon my French, but he fucked you up, Buffy."

Buffy mock gasped. "Ms. Rosenburg, what a mouth."

Willow grinned. "Yeah, it’s from dating a guitarist. Anyway, Buffy, it’s like this book I’ve been reading, you know to get ready for our psych class?"

Buffy stifled a grin. Only Willow would begin advanced reading for the course before they even had an assigned text.

"It’s like you’ve associated love and sex with betrayal and heartbreak because that was your first experience. So every time you start to try to move on, you freeze up because you think if you take that step and fall in love and have sex again, you’ll have the same aftermath. You’ve been conditioned by a traumatic experience to only expect the worse."

Buffy nodded slowly. It made sense.

"You do know you keep going for guys that look a little like him, don’t you?"

Startled, she stared into Willow’s serious green eyes. She was right. They’d all looked like Angel. Coloring, build, height. Could she set herself up any more?

Willow patted her shoulder to bring her back to attention.

"Hey Buff, don’t worry about it. We’re starting college next week, there’ll be new guys all over the place, new setting, totally Angel free, and you can move on, ‘kay? Maybe you just need to throw caution to the wind, have a one-night stand and let it go?"

"Willow! Are you suggesting I be Slutty Buffy?"

"Maybe." Willow grinned at her. "No, you just need to accept that it doesn’t always have to be a grand passion."

Thanks, Will." Buffy hugged her best friend. She didn’t think Willow realized just how serious her problem was, but she appreciated her concern. She’d been trying to have some kind of fling all summer, ending up in the dark hallway at the Bronze, the alley it really wasn’t safe to make out in, the backseat of a few cars and now a deserted beach in an attempt to move on. But so far, nothing had worked.

Maybe Will was right though. College was a whole new game, new place, new faces and a new life. She’d be College Buffy, mature, jaded, ready to try new things. Angel was a thing of the past. She pulled the crumpled paper with Jason’s info on it out of her bag and smoothed it out slowly. Well, maybe not quite yet. She threw away the scrap and grabbed her bag to shower as soon as Willow exited the bathroom.

As she slid in to the bed minutes later next to an already sleeping Willow, she drew a deep breath. No dreams of Angel tonight, not going to happen. Willow had been rattling on about focused dreaming or something like that earlier today on the way to the beach. That’s what she do. Focused dreaming. I won’t dream about him, I won’t. Chanting her internal mantra, she drifted off.

Two hours later, Buffy bolted awake. Now that had been…well, both erotic and disturbing. Definitely a sex dream, but who had the guy been? Not Angel, a relief for once, must be something to that focused dreaming. She could only recall snatches, a few words, a blonde head nestled between her thighs, a cool hand….Buffy’s hand flew to her mouth. Spike? She’d been dreaming about Spike? She firmly shook her head and burrowed back under the covers next to the still snoring Willow. Okay, that was just wrong. She chalked it up to a bad burger at the cook-out and try to drift back off and forget the images her brain had conjured up.

* * *

Chapter 4

Spike swung along the darkened street as he headed for Ric’s place. Dru would be surprised to see him, he’d rarely shown up at this new little hangout, because he’d been distracted by organizing their affairs and making nice with the various demons clans and their various grumblings and rumblings, He wanted nothing to do with those squabbles, but a vampire of his years couldn’t be ignored and he’d found himself being recruited and courted by various sides. Dru with her madness had been mostly left alone and he’d kept her ability to see as quiet as possible, lest some decide she’d be a valuable addition to the cause.

He entered the courtyard of the open air bar and ground to a halt as he realized that the dark-haired beauty whose tongue was buried in the cavernous mouth of a Chaos demon while she stroked his slimy tentacles was his very own Drusilla.

"Hey now, Drusilla, what’s this love?" He struggled to keep his voice even as she turned slowly away from the creature and eyed him coldly.

"My Spike has found another. I’m all alone, must find someone new for me," she replied.

"Luv, Princess, Dru, what are you talking about? There’s no one but you, there’s never been anyone but you. Look what I got you my sweet." Spike reached in his pocket and withdrew the jewels as he ventured towards her while the Chaos demon looked on in confusion.

"Nasty stones, they’re like her eyes." Dru swiped a clawed hand at him and knocked the necklace into the dirt at his feet.

"Whose eyes, Dru? What are you talking about?" He looked at her in desperation, knowing where this argument was going.

"The nasty Slayer. Why can't you kill her?"

Spike suppressed a growl of frustration. "The Slayer? I don’t care about the Slayer luv, you're the one who keeps bringing her up! I haven't said a word about the bloody Slayer since we left California. She's on the other side of the planet, Dru!"

Dru rolled her eyes as she glared at him, "But you're lying! I can still see her floating all around you, laughing. Why? Why won't you push her away?"

Spike clenched his fists, willing away the memory of his recent daydream and the stained sheets back at the villa. "But I did, pet. I did it for you. You keep punishing me. Carrying on with creatures like this." He gestured to the Chaos demon, who to give him credit, looked thoroughly confused by Spike’s appearance.

Spike tuned him out as he watched Drusilla’s _expression grow sorrowful. "I have to find my pleasures, Spike. You taste like ashes." As the other demon edged away from the confrontation at Spike’s glare, Drusilla captured his attention again. "You can't blame the ghoul, Spike. You're all covered with her. I look at you... all I see is the Slayer." She swept past him, leaving the discarded necklace in the dust as she called for the departing demon to wait for her.

Spike swept up the jewelry and departed for home, knowing there had to be a bottle of JD somewhere on the premises.

~*~*~*~*~

Two days later, when Dru had still not returned and he’d finally sobered up, Spike remembered the other purchase from his visit to Edward’s shop. He removed the small book and began to flip through the pages, his excitement slowly mounting as he read the tales that seemed less farfetched than one might expect.

The mention of certain landmarks, some items he recalled from his last extensive stay in Sunnyhell, began to gel and he realized he might just be sitting on a gold mine, the holy grail of the vampire world. He’d heard about the Gem of Amarra before, the enchanted jewel which granted invincibility to the one to wear it, protection from sun, fire, stakes, all the foibles that could end his immortality. This was the key to his problems. Find the Gem, slaughter the pesky Slayer and rid himself of this obsession, then win back his fickle sire.

His mind made up, he threw together a few items, carefully packed the book, and prepared for the trip back to California. He’d left his car stored in Vegas after his last trip, not willing to risk the long drive in his pride and joy. He’d stop there first and pick her up, maybe acquire a little specialized aid in finding what he was looking for. He shoved aside the niggling questions about why he needed to prove himself to Dru yet again and focused on the goal - finding the Gem.