Disclaimer: Some dude named Joss Whedon owns them. Really. No really. How can I convince you?
Summery: How do you choose between the man you love…and the man you never stopped loving.
Spoiler: Oh…S4 of Buffy and S2 Angel
Rating: R is for violence
Couples: Angelus/other, Spike/other, non-sexual Aus/S interaction
Distribution: Want? Have? Ask. And of course on The BTVS Collection.
Feedback: What? What’d you say? You had an opinion?! Sure I’d like to hear it.
Dedication: to dia who wanted me to write a sequel to a sequel, and Susi for liking the parent-story so much that she posted it. Thank you
Author’s Note: this is old. This is soooo old. I never thought I’d publish it, but here it is. Hopefully my writing has improved since and, also hopefully, you’ll enjoy this as much as I surprisingly have now that it’s properly aged.
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Prologue
“Lady.” He saw that she was deep in her own thoughts despite the revelry of Mardi Gras around them. “Christina.”
Her head turned with a snap. “Derek,” she smiled.
“You seem--” How did he tell his maker, his mistress, his Sire and sometimes lover that she seemed out of phase with the rest of them? Spike and his new toy were getting along famously, Angelus played with their daughter, Grace. Katie, Derek’s mate, trailed behind. “It’s just that--”
“Got one,” Grace said, offering the mortal’s neck to Spike, her grand-sire, first. They all, except for the toy, took a drink before discarding it into the throbbing, writhing crowd.
Christina wiped her red lips and smiled. “I think Katie’s lonely.”
Turning back to protest he found her at Spike’s elbow ignoring his pet human. It would have to wait for another time.
Home
Cassiopeia: (n., proper) 1. the wife of King Cepheus who gives birth to Andromeda and is later changed into a constellation 2. (n.) a northern constellation between Andromeda and Cepheus
If she had thought about it on her long walk through the moonlit open-arched corridor she would have reveled in her choice of houses and architects. Yes, it was opulant for most of their kind but they weren’t most, were they?
Clutching the ice white satin sheet to her naked chest she walked past arch after arch after arch, legs peaking through to the hip with each step as wispy and often ripped mosquito netting drapes brushed her exposed skin. And if a particularly strong breezed forced it over her face and hair like a macabre version of her wedding day, the end of the California king size sheet her train, she didn’t smile.
“You wanted me?”
Spike smirked at his childe. “Come straight from Angelus’ bed, then, have you?”
“What other git would have satin sheets,” she said in that calm dead way that made many of the minions call her the Gemini. A face so young and innocent should not have a voice so heartless and dead. They loved her.
“Don’t much like it myself but--” it fell in a wide shimmering pool around her cinnamon feet. “Never mind.” At his beckoning she came to stand between his open, jean-clad legs. “I’m so glad you set us at different ends of the house,” he said silkily, huskily.
She shrugged. “Sire and childe never got along much even when the childe was the sire. Besides, I didn’t want either of you disturbing my sleep.”
“Is that all?” Spike asked, nuzzling her smooth stomach.
Pushing her hands deep into his hair she pulled him back to look up at her. “You know me better than that Sire. You know me.”
“Yes, Kitten,” he said, pulling her down, “I alone know you,” into a tempestous kiss.
Sibling Rivalry
“What the bloody hell is all that racket about?!” No one answered Spike. “You, you over there,” he pulled the minion by his ear, “tell me what’s going on and be quick about it.”
“Angelus and Gemini, sir.”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, tossing the minion aside. Storming across the now heavily draped corridor he thought of various, interesting and creative ways to torture his children.
As Spike reached for the door handle that would lead him to the common room it shuddered as if something large and heavy had been thrown against it. He shoved it open.
“I do not belong to you, Angelus,” Christina said, her voice an ice flow but her eyes blazing hot and black.
“And who do you belong to,” he asked cockily, “Spike?”
The vampire in question kicked Angelus’ knees out from under him. “Bloody well believe she does.” He could hear her soft snort of disagreement across the room. “Got something to say about it, Kitten?”
“Of course not, Sire,” she answered, half bowing to him. Before storming past him and a still kneeling Angelus to the corridor and her rooms beyond. Screams followed in her wake. Both vampires turned to see what she had done: each of the heavy velvet and muslin drapes had been pulled back as she passed as would normally occur at night. Minions caught unawares were scrambling into the narrow patches of shadow between arches and near the far wall. “Quite the little fire starter isn’t she?” Spike ignored his childe’s quip and ordered the drapes closed, “Now!
“And you--”
Angelus’ smile said, Who me?
“I don’t know what mind games you’re trying to play with her,” he fumed, circling his childe, “or what ever else you think you’re doing by baiting her day in and out but you will do it some other time or place where I can’t bloody well hear you!”
Angelus stood and bowed with a flourish. “As you wish, Sire,” he ended with a sneer. “But you can’t handle her,” he said to Spike’s back. The blond turned. “You think you know what to do with Chris? You think because you sired her, because you gave her Grace that she’s your pet?” Angelus laughed. “Oh, my dear boy,” he said silkily, “you are quite mistaken.”
“I am not your dear boy, Angel,” Spike gloated as the barb hit its mark, “and if you think you can own her then you’re wrong. Don't make me remind you who is Sire and who is childe here or who Christina shares her blood with.
“That is what you want, isn’t it? That’s what you’re after. You don’t dare challenge me without her neck as your chalice. Without her support you have no hope of winning over the minions to your side, because you know as well as I do that you’re too weak to take me on your own, or to threaten the lackeys to back you up. Don’t think because you have Grace, mate, that you can have Gem.”
Glowering Angelus turned and walked away. “No one can have her,” he murmured.
It was good to be the Master.
Longing
Maybe it was because Slayer’s blood ran beneath her cold brown skin, but something about her touch was magical. Merely standing behind him, with her hand draped over his left shoulder, made him feel powerful. It didn’t make any sense, her standing behind him as he lorded over the minions. Usually this was her place. Usually Derek and Katie, her disciples, stood behind her, emblems of her power, her enforcers. But tonight, in a way that brought back memories of his old glory, Christina stood behind Angelus still as a statue, quiter, until, when she left, he felt lonely, cold, naked and abandoned.
He missed her.
Mediator
They were playing a deadly game of chess when she walked in. “Who’s winning?”
“Stalemate,” Grace said, disgusted.
Still a newborn at five years dead, games of chess didn’t interest her as it did her elders. “Katie, Derek?” Christina’s two most devoted followers -- Katie had lached onto her in Brazil and Derek, though technically her childe, so poorly made and cared for until Katie came along, had long lived with the status of minion -- instantly appeared at her side. “Take Honey out hunting.”
Katie whined hanging onto her mate. “Mistress, Grace's a big vampire, can’t she look after herself?”
Curling a fingertip under the dark skinned Brazilian’s chin she answered, “No one said you only had to hunt for food. Find someone else to take care of her. Someone I’ll approve of,” she added dangerously.
“We will, Lady,” Derek, the more star-struck of the two, answered.
“Good boy,” she said smiling. It had taken him years and years but he was finally worthy of being called her childe. Perhaps he knew that had it not been for the return of her, then, mortal daughter it was a position he would have never attained.
She walked them out of the common room, past Angelus’ quarters and the minions rooms to the front door. “Now go, the three of you. And Honey Grace?” The young vampiress turned. “Be bad, very, very bad. Bring me something Italian, preferably in its twenties.”
One task down, another to go, she thought.
Returning to the room she saw that her sire and brother were still locked in the deadly serious chess game. It was yet another subtle play for dominance. Christina wasn’t sure whether she was sick of them or amused. Boys and their . . . If she were still a Slayer she would have to update the Watchers files on Spike. It seems not only did he know how to play chess but was absolutely willing to go with less obvious displays than he was known for. Then again throwing Angelus through the window every few days had to get boring eventually.
Taking her chosen place behind Spike she threaded her tapered fingers through the short short hairs on the back of his neck. Slowly rubbing and scratching she felt his muscles relax. If she continued, she knew, he would begin to purr. She stopped just short of that more than a few times before he called, “Checkmate,” softly. Minions had gone in and out as they played, ignoring them and being ignored for the most part.
“Lady?”
Christina turned, “Yes, Ajax?”
“Derek told me that as soon as you were done to tell you that your dinner was waiting downstairs for you to eat or run as you choose. And,” he added hastily, aware of his lady’s easily provoked wrath, “that they couldn’t find Italian so they brought home Mexican, French and Taiwanese for you to choose from.”
Patting his cheek benignly, and somewhat menacingly, she thanked him.
“Spike,” her voice and renewed stroking of the hollow where his skull and neck met awakened his deep concentration on Angelus without breaking eye contact, “come feed with me?”
He looked up at her. “Always, Kitten.” Rising he left with his childe, ignoring Angelus utterly.
Foundation
A bruise blossoming and wilting on her cheek, Christina pulled Angel swiftly into a hard, tight, feverish cold embrace. Thought and anger melted from his mind like ice under a Saharan sun as she poured emotions he hardly cared to name into an all-consuming kiss. He returned it with equal measure, lust rising in him like mercury.
Christina pulled away suddenly. Viciously. The uppercut she landed on his chin pushed him backward, stumbling, flailing over cumbersome furniture. More than a few pieces were already broken.
Shaking his head Angel rubbed his aching jaw. He’d been expecting that about as much as he had the kiss. If it meant something, he didn’t care. Rushing her like an angered lion he threw his entire body weight onto her forcing her back and down hard on the floor. Dead bodies didn’t bounce either.
Dazed she reacted with instincts he’d borne in her and vaulted his weight off herself. In the moments between her recovery and his, she was inside his defenses having decided long ago that a change in fighting style was in order. She used to hate such close fighting, prefering to go in, strike quickly then get out and recover. New stratagems were always best though. It was like hitting a punching bag. Angel was hard and heavy and thick and took a lot of punishment. He yanked on the dangling chain of her heavy silver and amber choker pulling her away from his body. This infuriated her. No more holding back. No more mercy or taking their past into consideration.
The makeshift leash slid painfully from his grasp as Christina wrenched it from him, ignoring the pain it caused her. This was what it had all been leading up too. That one moment, that one perfect shot that would end this pointless fight started over trivial matters because one of them or maybe both of them had this irrational need to prove, of the two siblings, who was the better, who better deserved the unswerving loyalty of the clan and who was the better vampire: the one that had lived two lifetimes as both vampire and human or the one who had lived her sole human existence as the destoyer of what she was.
It was a strange way of glorying in his body, destroying it sinew by sinew, but she was. She revelled in his pain, in the muscles she forced into flashy displays beneath his clothing. It was odd indeed. There were less painful ways of manipulating flesh, his flesh. But none were so full of being, so full of self; he knew she was there.
Angelus crumpled to the floor. A swift quick jab. That was what he had taught her, wasn’t it? It wasn’t always the big punches, the roundhouses, that felled an opponent. Sometimes it was all the little jabs, the swift little punches that weren’t always felt, that came down like an avalanche -- delicate, pretty six-pointed fluffy white death.
Vaguely Christina listened as a vampire or other collected on the winnings he’d made from her victory. What she wouldn’t give for a warm body in her arms, or better, blood straight from the font of her sire. She laughed to herself. She’d have to be near death for that to happen.
“So I guess this means you won, Mom?”
Christina looked at her daughter and childe, “Are you upset?”
Grace, called Honey, shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter to me, does it?”
Dragging her hands through her daughters curling, wavy hair as they passed each other in the hall Christina walked on. “I suppose not,” she said to herself. “I suppose not.”
She could do without seeing anyone right now. “Ajax!” The vampire snapped to attention from where he lounged in a low couch. “I’m going to the armory and don’t wish to be disturbed. See that the word gets around. The only people allowed in are food or those who think they’ll be able to handle the consequences.”
Within ten minutes the entire house knew that Mistress Gemini was having one of her “peaces” and not to be bothered on pain of death. Painful death.
“I SAID” the throwing stars were off their wall display and across the room in the time it took for her to hear the door creak open “. . . I don’t want to be disturbed.” It was Spike’s pet human. A first as far as Gemini knew.
She’d just nicked the girl’s shoulder, sheared off a small section of hair and barely missed slicing her face. Hmm, she’d have to work on her aim later. “Foolish little girl,” she said softly, dangerously, “to disturb my peace. You should leave before I decide to work on my aim now.”
The human sputtered, outraged. “You . . . You! How could you?! You nearly cut my face!”
“I know. Stay longer and I’ll rectify the problem.”
“Who do you think you are? Don’t you know I belong to Spike?”
Gemini laughed. “I am Lady here, make no mistake. Run along now,” she said, her voice dropping to a deadly growl, “before I make a snack of you.”
The girl’s eyes widened in terror. “Spike’s gonna hear about this.” Sliding along the wall she cut herself again across the shoulders as she scampered out of the room. Christina, too deep in her own thoughts to care about the haughtiness of one meal, turned back to the wall, the incident all ready nearly gone.
Someone knocked on the heavy oaken doors. She’d made nearly a full circuit of the room and was close enough to turn the doorknob if she wanted. “Who is it?” she asked blandly.
The vampire messenger trembled. It was the calm they all feared, not the rage. “Kendal, mistress. Spike . . . S-Spike wants to see you, mistress.”
She opened the door. The vampire cringed, ready to have his throat ripped out or something equally dramatic. “Tell him I’ll be there in moments. Thank you.”
“You wanted to see me, Sire?”
Spike turned to his eldest -- and if pressed he would add dearest -- childe. “Kitten, my pet here has quite the tale to tell,” his voice all glittering steel. “Says you were brooding in the armory.”
“I was.”
“She says you chucked throwing stars at her when she came in, without asking who she was or why she might want you.”
“I did.”
“And do you have a good explanation why you threw throwing stars at my pet when she walked into the armory, a place she is allowed as much access to as anyone else?”
For the first time Christina acknowledged the pale girl, whose name she had never bothered to learn, simpering at Spike’s feet. Of course she had heard the heartbeat, but why deign to recognize such a creature existed when he was going to kill her anyway?
“She disturbed my peace.”
Spike rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “Well, you should have told me that right off, Luv,” he looked down at his slave. Yanking her up by the chain attached to her collar he continued, “I could have handed you over to Kitten straight off and ended this whole bloody mess.” He shoved the girl at his childe. “Have fun, Kitten.”
“But . . .but,” the slave sputtered.
Laughing, Spike said, “If she’ll attack me, her bloody maker, what chance do you think you have? A snowball in hell knows better than to disturb her peace without facing consequences. Apparently you’re dumber than that. God,” he said, awed at his sudden insight, “even Harmony knew better. Someone dumber than Harm.”
“I could just kill her for you now,” Christina offered dispassionately.
Spike shook his head, sauntering over to her as the slave struggled against the and leash held firmly in the Black vampire’s hand, “And miss hearing her scream? No way, Kitten.” He nuzzled her, “You know how much I enjoy your handiwork.” Christina laughed.
“I’ll make a prezzie for you, Daddy.” The words was so like Druscilla but the voice, the voice was all cold rationality. Cold frightening rationality.
Burn
He was never sure he liked this house. Only when he and Angelus fought or when looking the git in the face made him want to vomit did he appreciate his childe’s vision. It was amazing what an army of architects could do with two nearly adjoining abandoned warehouses and a basic sketch. They had more than enough room to avoid each other with the three stories; a spacious basement allowed them to play with their food if they so chose. Making the interior a completely open space with a balcony running around the second floor turned out to be a good idea too, he thought, remembering the party they’d thrown for themselves inviting scores of college-aged humans. A good time had by all. It was also nice for spying on the minions and his growing family. And for making an example of some nonce or other. Another good thing about converting a factory: keep all the hooks and such on the ceiling.
He knew she liked the connecting hall best. She’d seen it in some movie or something. Target practice out the archways was fun to watch. It was a little too gentrified for his taste but she liked simpler aspects of vampire life too. Ah, she was quite the sight at a massacre. Bloody marvelous.
Walking through the Great Hall, as he heard her call it, was like going through a bloody maze. Seemed more and more vamps joined them every night. They had quite the growing reputation. Unconsciously he looked up at the ceiling and it’s newest . . .addition. He smiled. Really, she did good work.
But when he was trying to find someone, as it seemed he often was, it was a bloody nuisance. He should have awakened a minion or two and sent them searching. Rot it all, he was up now and it wasn’t like he didn’t know where she probably was. If she wasn’t with him and she wasn’t in her own bed there weren’t too many possibilities left.
Smirking he stood in Angelus’ doorway. It would figure the git’s bed would be the largest piece of furniture in the entire room. And closest to the door too. Angelus and Grace, called Honey, were tangled in each other and the blue-white satin sheets sleeping . . .like the dead. Quite conviently, she lay on her stomach, a little apart from them as if she had merely watched the festivities and not participated -- much. He crouched beside her naked torso. Riding low as the sheet was, he had to assume the rest of her was equally nude.
Lightly, very lightly he ran the pads of his fingers up and down her sensative back, tempted by the globes of her breasts rounded and pushed out by her weight. He created the simplest pattern but done so gently, so gently and softly on her so sensative back. Her back that when merely rubbed she purred.
Awareness was slow in coming. She opened her eyes and blinked owlishly at him. She turned to her childe and Angelus then back to her sire.
“Come with me.”
She nodded sleepily and slid noiselessly out of the bed and away from it inhabitents. Unashamed of her nakedness as she never would have been in life she followed him over sleeping vampires and listened with a deaf ear to mortals in agony. “Do you like your prezzie?” she asked looking up at her masterpiece hanging from the ceiling.
“Course, I do, Kitten.”
“She’s coming down tonight. You can have her back. She didn’t enjoy it with me the way she does with you.” She lapsed into silence.
She made the long walk down her beloved hall to his wing -- hers too -- of the mansion answering his whispered questions on the way, marveling at how cool it was even during the day.
“If the two of you fight like banshees why do I constantly have to retrieve you from the nonce’s room?”
“Grace wants me to come.”
“And do you like to play with the kiddies?”
“I like to watch.”
Yes, and with the intense stare she had, a way of looking that made you believe that she was hyperaware of all you said and did, most liked to have her watch. “Then you don’t play.”
“Not usually.”
“Not even with Angelus?”
“Not anymore.”
“Since when?”
She shrugged liquidly. “A long while. We fight a lot.”
“Doesn’t stop most.”
“I have you.”
“Not like you’re my mate. Never expected you to be faithful or some rot like that. What about Derek?”
“He’s different. He’s mine,” she said without the heat of a mated claim.
“And you’re mine.” He turned to see her nod. “If I told you I wanted to see you and Angelus together . . .?”
“Why would you?”
“Don’t bloody well ask questions. Who cares why, what if?”
“I would. I guess.”
“Bet you’d enjoy it too,” he said snidely, thinking of past grievances. “Probably. Angelus’ pride wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Inside his rooms now he threw a long loose nightgown at her -- he enjoyed the way her body was both painfully obvious and deceptively covered -- comfortable in just his jeans himself. Slipping it over her head she crawled between the covers -- black and scarlet and cotton -- into bed. He pulled her into his lap. “It’s probably too late to start treating you like a proper childe isn’t it?”
She nodded against his chest, making herself comfortable.
“Would a week chained to the foot of my bed break you, you think?”
She yawned. “Did that my first year.”
“We bloody well see where that got us,” remembering the way she lashed out at him when he finally released her. Their fights were red with scars so much deeper than the ones ever inflicted on each other. “Put a collar on you?”
“Wearing one.”
“Right. Bloody well forgot. It’s far too pretty. How long have you had it?”
There was no answer for a long time. “Six years.”
“Ah well, it doesn’t matter. You’re only a bad girl when you go loopy and I’m always there to watch the massacres and make sure the locals don’t burn you at the stake or something equally tacky.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll be badder.”
He chuckled, the sound reverberating through them both. “No worries, Kitten. You just go to sleep,” and he meant it. He had just wanted her to know she slept with him, in his arms, and not Angel’s. There was something comforting about watching her rest, silent and still in his arms.
“Spike?”
His lips whispered against the skin of her forehead, “Yes, Kitten,” his voice low and rumbling between them.
When she didn’t answer he knew she had fallen asleep again and thought, Well it mustn’t’ve mattered. If it had she would have stayed awake, wouldn’t she, or she would--
“Love . . .” he stopped stroking her long white hair, “it burns.”
Confused he whispered, “What burns? What love? A person? What is it, Kitten?” But she was asleep.
Spike was gone when she awoke that night. It was late. She should have been up hours ago. And something . . .happened last night. She couldn’t remember what.
She’d think about it in the shower.
“Almonds,” she said to herself picking out one of the many shower gels she kept in her sometimes-lover’s bathroom and smelling it. She took it and a sponge, turned the water on hot, stepped inside the glass shower and heard no more.
Every body in the mansion stopped mid-action whatever they were doing, every head turned, as a primal scream of intense agony echoed throughout the complex. Vampires and prey looked at each other for once unaware or concerned about their status as hunters and hunted.
- What was that?
- I don’t know.
- Don’t you know?
- How should I know?
By the time Derek and Katie arrived Grace had maneuvered her mother from the floor halfway to the bed. Between the three of them they had made her as comfortable as possible when Spike and Angelus came bursting into the room, together.
“What happened?” Angelus demanded. “Who was here first?” Spike asked at the same time.
The lovers looked to Grace. “I was here first and . . .and I don’t know. It looked like she’d been burned.”
The figure on the bed writhed silently, her face a mask of pain. Hair plastered to her head, the dark brown roots exposed, bed sheets clinging to her body she rocked from side to side tears streaming down her ridged face. Spike was instantly at her side pushing the water-darkened white hair from her forehead. “It’s all right, Kitten. We’ll fix it, Christina.”
Angelus pulled Grace to one side. “Tell me everything you know, now.”
“I heard the scream and, I don’t know, I just knew I had to find it. I passed a bunch of other stunned minions and, and Vera ran past me and then I was in here and . . . Mom was on the floor screaming,” her eyes looked into the distance. “And some of her skin was on her hands,” she said quietly, beginning to shake and shiver now that the moment was over. “Then Katie and Derek were here and they helped me, I think, and then you and Spike were here and . . .” She trailed off shaking violently now. Angelus passed her to the Brazilian couple.
“What she say, Angelus?” Spike asked. His hands pressed gently into Christina’s abdomen until her agony seemed to subside.
Angelus walked over and looked down at the moaning vampiress. Second-degree burns ravaged her lower abdomen while her upper abs and left breast had less intense first-degree burns. The skin was gray and dead looking but the rest of her body . . .flushed with fever. “Grace was the first one here. She said something about se--” he paused mid-sentence. “Derek, you and Katie seal off the entire house. I want trusted minions at every exit including the archways. Make them wear blankets if they have to,” he barked.
The couple looked to Spike. He nodded. Swiftly, they left the room. “Got a fix on who did this, Angel?”
“Grace said Vera ran past her on the way here.”
“You think she did it?”
“She seemed to think you liked her. I’m sure she didn’t enjoy becoming part of Christi’s living artwork, hanging for all to see.”
The lines around Spike’s mouth were grim. “Funny, I enjoyed it,” he said darkly. Beneath his hands Christina began to writhe. “Bloody hell,” he mumbled. “Angelus, bring your cold hands over here. She’s burning up.”
Angel quickly took Spike’s place on the vampiress’ abused body. As quickly as it had started, she calmed but he could see what Spike meant. Touching her was like dipping his hands in hot wax. This was a temporary solution at best. “We need--”
Derek burst into the room a bag in hand..
“What are you doing here? I sent you to make sure the house was secure.”
He ignored Angel and ran into the bathroom. The sound of rushing water filled the room. Angel scowled wanting to go after the insolent vampire but unwilling to leave Christina. Spike did it for him. Stomping off into the bathroom, he pulled Derek back from the edge of the sauna deep tub by the scruff of his neck. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing? You were given an order,” he ground out.
“She’s hot. I felt it when we helped put her on the bed. I was burned bad once. It was like I was still on fire. The water’s cold, with ice in it. It should help.”
“You couldn’t send a minion? If her attacker gets loose I’ll save their punishment for--”
“The house is secure. I wouldn’t let her attacker get away.”
Spike dropped him to the ground.
The sun had risen hours ago. Vampires stood guard within and without, slathered with sunscreen that was hardly effectual, covered with blankets and dark shades over their eyes. Spike, Angelus, Derek and Katie took turns doing quick patrols of the house, at least one of them in the bathroom, ready to cool the water as need be. Still, somehow, a time-stopping wail of agony managed to leave her. For long, long seconds no one moved held in its powerful call of pain. Then, as one, they shivered, some more strongly than others, and returned to their work.
Grace crouched in a corner.
“She’s not healing well,” Katie mentioned in one of the rare moments they were all in the large bathroom together.
Angel looked Christina over critically. “It’s true. She doesn’t look any worse but not any better either. Katie go see what we have in the kitchen. Grace, go with her.”
They brought back young teenager and a twenty-something. “It’s the best we have.”
“There’s a cup in my--”
Spike interrupted him. “Let her drink them straight.” Katie tossed him the teen. Holding the girl down with one hand, he ripped open her wrist then held it to his childe. He made sure she drained the girl and repeated the process with twenty-something. “She look better to any of you.”
“Take her out of the water,” Angel suggested. Spike met his eyes. They all remembered what happened last time they attempted to pull her from the icy water.
Stooping low, Spike reached beneath Christina and lifted. And waited. It had been instant the last time; as soon as the skin of her belly touched air her mouth opened into a blood freezing scream. This time, though, nothing. Everything seemed--
Christina whimpered. “Spike?” she whispered, “Angel?” not seeing either, “it burns. It--” Her mouth opened wide and shut as Spike quickly replaced her in the water. “More blood then?”
“Something more powerful.”
“Slayer’s blood,” someone added.
Spike whirled around, spraying water. “Who said that?!” A minion standing in the door raised his hand. “She is a bloody Slayer you bloody whimpering twit! Now get out!” But he didn’t kneel beside the tub again. “Follow this, Angelus, would you? Christina is a Slayer, right.” It was rhetorical but Angel nodded anyway. “She was sired by a master and she’s been undead a quarter of a century.”
“She should be healing better than this.”
“Precisely.”
“What they hel--”
“She hasn’t been eating!”
Everyone in the room turned to Grace. “What do you mean she hasn’t been eating?”
“She made me promise.”
Spike stalked the already cringing girl. Pulling her up by the front of her shirt he shook her. “Tell me.”
“She-she eats when someone brings her something, you know, like Derek or if you or Angelus bring home something but otherwise . . .”
“I would notice--”
“She sips from us. From me and from Derek and from Katie.” The couple nodded. “And not just us but everyone. She chooses different ones different nights. They love her. They would do anything for her and she only takes a little bit. They-they feel honored.”
Spike had already set her back on her feet. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I just know she does. I think that’s why she hasn’t been ending the fights with Angelus sooner. She’s not as strong.”
Derek did it first. In the silence that followed Grace’s shaky rush he strode to his lady’s side tearing his own wrist. “Drink.” Rousing herself, Christina protested. He persisted until she did and persisted still when she refused to do more than skim. Grace stepped forward next, legs and hands steady for the first time since finding her mother. “Mommy, drink please.” And this time Christina didn’t protest as hard. And her protest was almost gone altogether when Katie, then Angelus offered her their blood.
As each finished they left looking to restore themselves.
Christina gazed up at Spike with clear eyes for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours. “Scared us, Kitten.”
“I thought that was a good thing,” she said weakly, her wry smile back.
“Let’s get you out of this water.”
Neither mentioned that Spike hadn’t offered her his wrist.
Two more days of feedings and the skin had grown back over the worst of her burn while the ugly gray flesh above had become a thin, itchy, but brown, scab. And Vera was chained to a wall down in the basement awaiting judgement. Tomorrow, he and Angelus had decided, would be best. Tomorrow Christina could watch her would-be killer . . .
Spike let the thought go as he curled his body around his childe’s. She looked like a child when she slept. The white hair with its dark roots only made her appear more ethereal. Looking at her, he wondered what his fascination for the defective was.
“Look what we have here,” Christina purred.
Spike’s pet, covered from head to toe with delicate swirling, dipping and spiraling scabs, save her neck, struggled between Katie and Derek, both in game face. Twisting futily in their gasp, she opened scabs all along her body. Christina took a long snuffling breath. “Mmm, she’s ripe with fear.”
All around the main room vampires, in various states of demonic guise, nodded waiting to see the little human punished.
Spike lounged like a spoiled prince across an armchair, Angelus and Grace on either side. The short, two-step landing that led to the main dual staircase had been converted into a dais for the little family. Christina sat sprawled across the steps. None but she and Katie knew that her pants rode extra low on her hips and that her empire-waist shirt was to keep as much cloth from her newly healed and still pealing skin as possible. No, the minions only saw their Mistress, ruddy from gorging on two youths in less than an hour.
Leaning back on her elbows she half turned to Spike. “Can I eat her now?” He nodded. “You’ll understand -- Vera is it? -- if I’m not the neatest eater.” She smiled, humanity bleeding away, “Just had a little accident you know.” The girl’s screams only made thegathered vampires laugh.
Cradling his favorite child to his chest Spike felt, for the first time in over two decades, the piercing bite of another vampire on his neck.
Reminders
Spike glanced up from his jeans in the direction of the bathroom. “You all right in there, Kitten?”
“Fine.” The sound of the shower door sliding followed.
Jeans up and on. Black t-shirt over his pale chest and he was nearly dressed. All Spike had to do was find his socks and he could be on his merry way.
“Gemini, where’ve you put my socks?! I thought I told you to leave things where I drop them.” There was no answer from the bathroom.
But neither could he hear the shower running. “Gemini?” Spike knocked on the door. “Gem, you all right in there.” No answer. Cautiously, aware of his childe’s ever changing moods, he pushed the door open. “Ah, Love.”
Christina was huddled, naked, in the far corner of the immense shower, as far from both the door and the faucet as she could get.
Her scream of terror was short and strangled at the sound of Spike’s feet on the cold tiles. “No, please,” she whispered to herself, eyes glassy with unspent tears.
“Shh, shush now,” he crooned, holding her until she loosed herself from the rigidity he felt the moment his arms went around her. “It’s all right, Kitten, it’s all right. No one’s going to hurt you. I saw to that didn’t I?” Spike felt her body melt into his. “That’s right. That’s my girl. Come now, let’s get you cleaned up,” and he stood and turned on the water as hot as it would go.
“Chris?”
The vampiress turned. “Carlo?”
Older than she had remembered, her childhood friend stared at her in wonder. “Wow. You look-- Wow. You’re beautiful.”
Blinking rapidly she could only mumble a thanks.
“I can’t believe it’s been six years since we’ve talked. And you were pregnant last time I actually saw you. How long ago was that, fourteen years?”
They still stood some feet a part, as if wary of each other. But they had been best friends. They had each been one part of the Three C’s.
That couldn’t be a breath caught in her throat. Really she was too old for such nonsense. “How’s your wife?”
Carlo nodded. “Good, good. So are you in LA long?”
“I, uh, I live outside of town. A couple of hours away.” She should just kill him and get it over with.
“It’s just, you know, everything-- Ah, what the hell am I saying?” And whatever had been holding them let go. They embraced as they hadn’t since the fateful death of the third C, Carmen. “It’s so good to see you, Chris. You have no idea.”
Oh, God, was she crying?
“Oh, wow, are you crying? Wait, I think I have a tissue.”
They pulled back. Laughing and hastily wiping away the damning ruby tears, she stopped him. “You know me, Miss Sentimental. I guess I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed you. And Carmen. My life’s been one non-stop train for so long.”
“Maybe it’s time you pull into a station.”
She laughed. “Oh now your giving me advice in cliches?”
He joined her. “As if you’d ever listen. Imagine if our kids could hear this, their parents talking like them. They’d want to sink into the ground and die.”
Her answering smile didn’t touch her eyes. “I really have to go. My Si--” She’d almost said ‘Sire,’ but she wasn’t sure she could make ‘husband’ come out of her mouth. “They’re expecting me at home.”
“You had more kids?”
“Um, yeah. A son and then his friend kind of adopted me.”
“That’s good, that you have family. They don’t tell you to slow down?”
She laughed for real. “I don’t think they’d notice the difference unless I did.”
They hugged. “Hey, you know, I’m only in town until tomorrow. How ‘bout we go out somplace to eat? Catch up.”
Just kill him, she thought. It’s what Angelus or Spike would do. It’s what she should do. Her mouth against his soft neck she couldn’t even make the mask of humanity slide away. Why couldn’t this be her reality? “Sure,” she said with a smile instead.
Carlo smiled back.
“Fight me!” The doors slammed behind her in a thunderclap. Minions two steps below her, laying about in the main room and those above, hanging over the balcony, stopped and stared. “I said fight me!”
Slowly, as not to incite her wrath, they pulled away from her. “Damn you all to Hell! Are you all afraid of me?” Silence was her answer. Roaring her rage, she stormed through their ranks, picking up and tossing any that had not moved out of her path. “Will none of you fight me?!”
“I will.”
She was almost through with them when she heard his voice. Her laughter was a harsh bark. “Oh, I’m sure you will Angel.” One hand out in invitation she waited for him in the thick of lounging, stunned vampires. He lept over the railing. She threw her head back and laughed “Show off” and threw him across the room. “This isn’t playtime, little Angel,” she ground out, stalking his prone body, not quite caring if he were conscious enough to hear her. “No holding back tonight. No stroking your ego.” Standing over his body now. “My anger, my rage -- I win.” She snapped his neck.
Angelus yowled in pain. “That may hurt but it doesn’t do much.”
“I don’t want to kill you. I want to hurt you.”
“Mmm, tell me more, baby.”
Her angry screech made the minions cringe. The crunch of bones being ground into dust and Angelus’ answering howl opened their eyes. “Not” kick “playing” kick “tonight!” Kick! If he was lucky his ribs would be better by morning. There was no telling for the wrist. Breathing hard as if, somehow, she needed to, she whispered “Not playing” just for him. Just for the two of them.
“Mom?”
“Grace,” she growled, eyes steady on Angelus’ pain twisted face, “don’t touch me unless you want to fight.”
“Mom? Dad?”
Christina’s laugh was delicately cruel. “Oh, yes. You might want to help your father, Honey. We fought.” Turning away, she stormed through the parting sea of vampires.
“Where is she?” Spike demanded of Angelus. Grace, called Honey, stretched out beside him, tending his bruised and broken ribs. “Christina do that to you,” he indicated Angel’s limp and bandaged hand.
“What do you think?” Angel spat.
Spike chose to ignore the insolence. “Now where has my Kitten run off to?” he asked as if finding her later would be just as fine as sooner.
“I’m surprised you don’t know.”
“Some of us were doing productive things with our nights instead of falling for their ex’s taunts. Or under her heels.”
“Some of us don’t know what it means to be a Master Vampire. Some of us will always be the childe,” his voice a soft, vicious needle.
Spike crossed the room in two loping strides. “Hurt your pride she did,” he said softly, almost purring. “Finally showed you who’s who ‘round here, hmm? Make you want to lash back,” he drew a lazy finger down Angelus’ nose, “doesn’t it?” They were so-- Spike’s lips nearly brushing Angelus’ as he spoke. “Got you by the balls, doesn’t she? You want her, want her power but can’t have either and it bloody well kills you.”
He backed away suddenly. “Any idea where she might be, Honey?”
“Outside, maybe.”
Spike smiled, lazily, “That’s a good girl, but how’s she gonna do that with the sun blazin’ overhead?”
Angelus’ laugh was hearty -- and annoying. “You don’t know about the cuff do you?”
“What cuff?”
“It’s kind of a family tradition,” and now he’s the cat that ate the canary. The Cat who Saw Too Much. “Chris’ mother gave it to her, when she died she gave it to Grace and when she died she gave it back to her dead mother. Rather sweet don’t you think?”
“And what’s so special about a bloody cuff, Angelus. ‘Less you want to find out what’s worse than having a powdered wrist.” But the large vampire laughed still.
Grace spoke for him. “It will protect her from the sun.”
Spike growled. “Another Gem? And you bloody well didn’t tell me?”
She shook her head fervently. “It’s something about the engraving or the stone but she’s not immune. She’s weak as a human out there. Maybe weaker, I don’t know, I’ve never used it.”
“But she’s all right?”
Grace, called Honey, nodded. “Make sure he doesn’t scream,” Spike shot over his shoulder, leaving the room.
“You all right out there?”
“Yeah. Just, you know, missed the sun.”
“No, I don't bloody well know. You’ve got the minions thinking your some kind of dark goddess.”
Laughter, weak. “Only Druscilla. I’m just a twisted little vampiress so desperate to be warm she let herself be weak as a kitten.”
“You’re my Kitten.”
“Yes, I am yours aren’t I.”
“Gonna be out there long, Kitten?”
“Till the sun sets.”
“I should give you a once over for pulling a stunt like this.”
“Will it do any good?”
Sigh, also weak. “With you? Probably not.”
“Spike? Spike?”
No answer.
The room was empty as she glided ‘cross the threshold. Angelus was lying, hurt still, in the center of the large bed watching her. His eyes questioned her. She climbed onto the bed. “I saw Carlo,” she whispered.
“And why are you telling me?” he asked sullenly; a muted kind of anger. She slid alongside his body, down his length ‘til his cast-covered hand was at eye level.
“And why are you telling me? About Carlo?”
Lying on her side, propped up on her elbow she looked down at him, studying him. “Even if you are an evil bastard, Angelus, somewhere in there is the man this body loved. The man who killed her.” Her hand hovered about his prone form, but it was her own neck she lightly caressed. “You’re the only one who knows what it means, seeing him.”
Angelus’ laugh was sharp and cruel, and pained. “I’m not Angel,” he reminded her, darkness glinting in his chocolate eyes.
Her smile was slow and lazy as any cheshire cat’s. It knew. “Is that what you tell Spike, what you told Druscilla and Darla and Buffy? Mmm, I bet it’s even written in the Watcher’s Diaries.” She paused. “Yes, it is. But, I know. You told me I know even when I had no idea what you meant.”
“You’re lover’s dead, little girl.”
SMACK!
The sound hung heavy in the quiet room. “I couldn’t kill him, Angel. I should have but I couldn’t,” she whispered as if her hand weren’t stinging from the blow and Angelus’ cheek wasn’t quickly turning red. Curling up into his side, she lay her head in the crook of his shoulder.
“You crying down there?” but it was far more tender than any would believe could come from Angelus. She laughed, a tinkle of shattered glass. “Of course. Of course I am. God, I loved you.”
Angelus had no answer for her.
He met Spike’s eyes over Christina’s sleeping, purring body and the answering purr of his own.
Arrogant
Christina looked up from the hissing and spitting underneath her bed. “Will you tell your daughter to come get her drata cat!” It swiped at her and she yowled.
“I don't know,” Angel said with a smirk, “I think she likes you.” Christina scowled at him. “So, this place has certainly changed.”
Angelus steps into his “sister’s” room for the first time. “Kind of spartan, isn’t it?” There is almost nothing for his roaming eyes to see; a full-sized bed covered in mosquito netting, a desk at right angles with the high windows, lamps in the corners, a chair in one of those far corners and candles on the windowsill, on a small table near the bed. “No books, no laptop?” he asks, peering around the room. “How very atypical of you, Christi.”
“I’ve hardly ever been typical.”
There was almost no place for him to stand. Nearly every available surface was covered with books, the plastic sheets they used as paper these days and sheets and sheets of the real thing. A winding path lined with stacked books led him to her, lying on the floor. Another path led from the open ringed space to the desk with its glowing computer screen and another to the window. “Been studying?”
“What do you want, Angelus?”
“Just coming to see how my girl is doing. Haven’t seen you out and about these last few days. You’ve cut your hair.” He reached out to touch it. She jerked away. “Ah, well, it will look better when it grows out. The white tips will be interesting.” She scoffed. “And how is my girl doing?” She slapped him. “Just fine I see.” Angel’s lips turned up in a definite smile as he turned on his heel and left.
Play
“What are you doing in my rooms?”
The minion stood stock still at the sound of her voice. It was dangerous to be caught in the Mistress’ rooms without her permission, without her being there already. “What are you doing in my rooms?” she asked again, her voice dangerously calm, serene. The slap, slap of her long leather riding gloves didn’t help his disposition.
He slowly turned, facing her. “I-I was s-sent.”
“Oh,” the angle of her head said she didn’t believe him, “by whom?”
He would not answer.
“You were sent?” she asked slowly. She had met her fair share of simple vampires before. He nodded. “Someone had a question to ask of me? Spike or perhaps Angel?” There was no recognition in his eyes. “One of my children?” Her patience was running deadly thin. “You realize,” she said negligently, “that whoever you are protecting wouldn’t protect you.” Carefully she removed the beautiful silver and black tabby cat from her left shoulder and placed it on the floor. It sped out of the room. “That they probably sent you up here knowing the consequence. You have committed a capitol offense.” Oh, but how she enjoyed the rabbit-fear in his eyes.
“WHY ARE YOU HERE?!” No answer. “Fine, I’ll get an answer from you. Of some kind.”
“Got yourself a pet, Gem?”
Christina, called Gemini, turned to her sire. “He followed me home from school,” she said laughing at her own little joke.
“Got him right housebroken. Well, broken at least.”
“Mmm, isn’t he pretty, Daddy?”
“Indeed he is, Kitten. Does he have a name?”
“What’s your name? Tell Spike your name.” She yanked hard on the minion’s chain.
“Lukas,” he managed from around his swollen tongue and between his broken lips.
He could hear the music from the sewers. It seemed someone had skipped sleep altogether and started the party without him.
Spike emerged from the basement to a room full of dancing, painted, writhing vampires. Angelus sat in a wingback chair wearing a paper crown looking rather displeased. A giggling line of painted vamps danced by. “What the bloody hell is going on here?”
One of the dancers disengaged from the line. “Just having some fun, Sire.”
“Gemini?”
She bowed with a flourish, “At your service,” and giggled. Painted entirely in deep blues, purples and greens, her only distinguishing feature was her new buzzcut. Her head was too large to make it a particularly flattering style, but Spike got the distinct impression that it was a means to an end. About an inch of white hair lay smoothed on her scalp. And it was only standing as close as he was that Spike could tell that she wore a tiny bikini at all. Yet, standing this close she looked wilder than she had when he didn’t know who she was -- when she was just another minion.
There was something a little desperate about the way Spike searched his childe’s painted face looking for answers to questions he didn’t have. Is she mine? Course she is. Of course she is.
“Join us?” she asked demurely as if inviting him to tea instead of a wild saturnalia.
“All right,” and it might as well have just been the two of them, “little bit of fun and games never hurt a bloke.”
“Much.”
Spike grinned. Christina grinned back. The dancing line of vampires came round again. Someone at the end of the line held their hand out. With a whoop, the vampiress took it and rejoined their merry, painted, band.
Taking a better look around Spike noticed some food hanging from a chain. And Christina’s new toy. “ ‘Lo there, Lukas. Enjoying the fun are we?” Crouched like the good dog Christina had trained him to be, Rumor -- whose cat was she? Gemini’s or Honey’s? -- lay draped across Lukas’ shoulder. When he didn’t receive an answer Spike yanked on the vampire’s chain. “I asked you if you were having fun.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Now,” he continued much more amiably, “is that because I just threatened your life or are you genuinely having a good time?”
If the fledgling wondered why Spike was so interested he gave no indication. “I am pleased to see my mistress pleased.”
Spike looked him over carefully. “In love with her, are you?” He shook his head. “Poor sod. She may very well kill you tomorrow, or tonight, you realize.”
Lukas nodded.
“Eh, so long as you know,” he said off-handedly as a passing vampire painted in gold and red caught his fancy. “Sophie, luv, let’s dance.” Shucking his duster onto Lukas, he gathered her up and started an old-fashioned reel.
“You used to wear velvet, Angel.” Christina stood just behind the low wing-backed chair.
“And you used to wear cotton.”
She laughed. “I still am. But you aren’t enjoying yourself.”
“I’m enjoying watching you,” he answered dourly.
“Aw,” she pouted, leaning over further, “don’t you want to have your way with one of the pretty, young, painted, dead or undead things here?”
“What if I say I want you?”
She laughed brightly by his side. “But I’m the Hostess!” And with that she was off again.
Spike looked up as the three of them barreled into the house. Flush and warm with a night of extravagant kills, Christina, Katie and Derek approached the seated master vampire dragging a pitiful mortal behind them.
Christina sauntered up to him, hips swaying dramatically. “Hey, Daddy!” She sat on his lap. “We got a question that only you can answer.”
“Yeah,” arm around her waist, he was game, “what’s that?”
She looked from Spike to her faithfuls and smiled that wild smile that made her the Gemini. “Well, see, we want to know what kind of blood’s the best. From a vampire. Fresh out of the victim, with the vamp as a kinda blood filter, a couple hours old to get some real vamp flavor or full and glutted vamp but aged all night.”
Spike raised his expressive brows. “Can’t rightly say that I know, Kitten.”
“That’s okay! We brought the experiment to you!” Hopping off his lap, she went to caught up the mortal gasping in pain behind Derek and Katie. “Had to break his legs. He kept trying to run away.” Her voice wondered why he would ever attempt such a thing. “Anyway, Kates, you’re up first.”
Smiling madly, maliciously, dangerous and deadly like her Mistress, Katie stepped up to the small dias on which Spike sat. Blowing them both an air-kiss, she turned and quickly finished the mortal. Hardly letting the body drop from her dark arms she was in Spike’s arms, neck bared to his fangs being drunk whole.
Her smile was decidedly more dreamy when he released her into Derek’s waiting embrace. “Whoa.”
“Indeed.”
Katie let her lover lower her onto the steps after assuring him that Spike had not drained her completely.
“You’re next,” Christina purred, crooking a finger at Derek. As he bared his neck for Spike, she explained that he had fed only a few hours earlier, sometime between two and six. She couldn’t remember, one of her feeds had been a drunk.
Derek stumbled back, caught in Christina’s open arms, as Spike released him, very near sated.
“And now I believe it’s your turn.” Christina turned from her woozy childe at Spike’s voice. “Yes,” she agreed, “it is.” She was tempted, for a moment, to open her arms to him like some kind of supplicant. It passed.
“And when did you eat?” he asked.
“Hours and hours and hours ago. Can’t you feel my ghost of a heartbeat? Can’t you feel the warmth coming from my skin.” Her smile slow, thick, sensual, “Glutted on blood and it’s all for you.”
Savagely, Spike pulled her head to one side and sank his teeth into the faintly pulsing vein of her neck. Every vampire in the room, hitherto going about their own business, watched the frankly sexual display. Which one got off on the feeding more, no one knew.
“You. Then Katie, then Derek,” he growled into her neck, passing his red lips over hers. “You.”
Mad Prelude
“What are you reading, Love?”
Christina set the book aside discreetly. “Nothing very important.”
Spike sauntered over to her enclosed table. “Been catching you more and more often in here, Kitten. Once upon a time you said books meant nothing to you anymore.”
“Once upon a manic-depressive time,” she countered smoothly, smiling. “So what do you really want, Sire.”
“First off, for you to stop calling me sire. It’s bloody annoying.”
She laughed. “What else.”
“Been talking to Angelus--”
“And what shall I tell the workers we need fixing tomorrow? I hope it’s not the photo-sensative windows from the skylight. Do you know how hard that is to find?”
“Actual talking, Kitten, with words and everything.” Her face said, Oh, really. “Peaches says you used to hear stuff from the spirits. Premonitions or the like.”
Christina scowled. “Hardly. They were messages from familiar spirits, a kind of lesser demon. They knew what I was, a Slayer, and something of my future. I’m sure they wanted to taunt me with it.”
“So they lied to you.”
“No. They start off telling the truth then they lie to you, twisting the truth. By that time, though, you’re so deep in their mudo crudoff it might as well be Gospel. I never let them get that close.”
Spike sighed. “Thought you might have been something like Dru.”
“No, Druscilla had the gift of Prophecy long before the Church started recognizing such things. Then she became a demon, but a gift’s a gift . . .” she shrugged. “I used to get flashes from the familiars every now and then, a kind of temptation, but the moment I became a vampire --” she snapped, “gone. What’s the use of torturing a fellow demon? Not much I guess.”
Christina stood. Standing on tiptoe she wrapped her arms around Spike’s unyielding neck and brushed a kiss on his nose. “I’m going out.” She slowly disengaged herself, “Don’t wait up.”
With reflexes just out of her own sphere, Spike enveloped her in a tight embrace and kissed her properly. Grinding against her meaningfully he murmured, “I will.” He fingered her quickly growing hair. The inch wide white edge hung, flipped up, just under her ear.
Christina slipped from his grasp and bounded from the room, reminding him of a frightened deer or an overzealous child. Curious still at what she had been reading Spike picked up the old leatherbound book she had been fishing through. Apparently she had been studying it for some time because the book naturally fell open to a number of very definite pages when he opened it. One very definite set struck his fancy in particular.
The entire hall was utterly silent when she entered. Only Lukas moved to greet his long-missing mistress. Grace followed closely behind -- Derek and Katie were still out looking for their mistress in the cool of the evening.
“Miss me?”
“Mother.”
Christina looked up from her fingers tangled in the kneeling vampire’s very brown hair -- nearly the color of her skin -- to her daughter’s round face. “Honey.” Her smile was beatific -- and frightening.
“Spike’s been looking for you.”
“Yes I have.”
Concern etched into every line of Christina’s face at the sight of him. Shirtless and barefoot, his hair was in a tangled disarray and in need of at least a trim. Both finger- and toenails were caked with dirt and as he approached Christina could smell that he had foregone bathing for at least three days. She had only been gone five.
“You look like so much walked in mudo crudoff, Sire.”
Faster than most of the eyes around them could follow, he was in Christina’s face, game-faced and snarling. “Do not ‘Sire’ me, Gemini.” More angry than he knew what to do with, Spike found that he had already unbuckled his belt even as he thought about it. Whipping it out of the belt loops with a sickeningly loud swish with one hand, he drew Christina’s hands foreward with the other. A small hot pink and black koala bear was in one. Snarling he snatched it out of her hand and gave it to Grace.
“Raspberry?” The girl stared at the beloved stuffed animal with wrinkled brow. “But how? He lives at Gran’ma’s house.”
Spike was leading Christina down toward the kitchen and the basement stairs when she called back to her daughter and childe, “I’m sorry Honey, darling, but Gran’ma’s dead. I think I might have killed her.”
“What?!” Grace ran after her mother. Vampire or not she loved her grandmother dearly, preferring to forget the old woman existed than try to reconcile the feelings.
“She saw me.” Spike yanked her along. Down they were going, to the place reserved for playing with food. “I think I gave her heart attack. Maybe ‘cause she thinks I’ve been dead for twenty years!” A terrible laughter rose up from the dark.
Shave
“Too bad you don’t reflect.”
“You don’t reflect either, Kitten.”
Christina smirked. “But think of how much fun it would be to watch me shaving you in the mirror.”
“Intensely,” Spike drawled.
“Hmm, I wouldn’t tease someone holding a razor to my neck.”
“Point taken, Pet, but when was the last time you heard of a vampire killed by slit throat.”
She shrugged. “Never.”
“So if you slit my throat do you think I’d be a happy Daddy or an unhappy Daddy?”
She seemed to think on it for a bit.
“Tick tock, Kitten.”
“Unhappy.”
“Right then. So no more threatening Daddy with a straight razor, hmm?”
“No more making fun of your kitten?”
“But then what will I do for fun?”
“Ignore my children?”
“But I do that already. Although that Lukas seems quite attached.”
She sighed. “Yes, breaking him has been fun. Think I’ll give him to Grace. She’s far too childish.”
Spike’s brow went up. “And since when did you not like childish?”
“Since I became a Sire and a mother. Besides, I’m only your childe, isn’t that right Daddy?”
“Absolutely, Kitten.” Spike’s hand snaked up and back to touch the twin cats -- one of them his gift to her the night she came back to him -- resting tail to tail on a chain below her choker. “Absolutely.”
Liminal
There was something strangely familiar about all this. Maybe because it happened twenty times a week? Maybe because she had made this walk down her beloved hall innumerable times in the past five years? So what if a vampire was tracking her long walk, so what if the bedsheet were different, the men weren’t. She was betwixt and between. What had that professor called it? Oh yes, liminal space. The time between. Neither this one’s nor that one’s but neither was she no one’s. A no thing caught betwixt and between being no one’s and someone’s -- for five years.
Lukas sat at the foot of the bed. She could almost believe that he really was a dog.
Sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, Spike lifted his head as she stood in the door. “Come straight from Angelus’ bed, then, have you?”
“You wanted me.”
Crooking his finger, he beckoned her closer. Fingering the smooth satin material, “Gone back to scarlet, has he?” She didn’t answer. This time wasn’t for her. It never was. Tomorrow, when she made the journey back, it wouldn’t be for her either.
Spike buried his face in her satin covered belly, giving despite all expectations. “Come to bed, Love.” But, shedding the expanse of satin for his body, she knew he didn’t mean this either.
She Falls Apart
“Been spending a lot of time out here, haven’t you.”
Christina didn’t answer.
“Spike notice yet?”
“What do you want, Angel?”
“You insist on calling by that name.”
“You rather I call you Liam?”
The dark vampire chuckled. “Anyone else have a sense of deja vu all over again? Anyway,” he went on when he saw that she wasn’t as amused as he, “isn’t it a little bright out there?”
“No.”
“Well then, isn’t the kid a little . . .alive?”
“You never had a problem with Druscilla playing with her food.”
“Dru, my dear, was quite insane. While you are many things insane has never been one of them. Glorious, bloody, evil, inventive, cruel and worshipped like a goddess, but not insane.
“Insults will get you no where,” and with that Christina rose from the archway she had been sitting against taking the small, sleeping, child with her.
Angel quirked a surprised eyebrow. “Funny, I thought they were compliments myself.”
“You going to stare at her all night, mate,” Spike whispered, the sound loud in the empty great hall, “or are you going to bring her to bed?”
Barefoot and -chested, Angelus picked Christina up, cradling the vampiress in his arms. Her head lolled onto his chest.
“How many times does that make this week?”
“Every day.”
“Where’s that git, Lukas? Thought he followed her around like a puppy dog.”
“She put him off on Grace.”
Spike sighed, drawing a hand down his face. “And now she’s falling asleep in a chair in the bloody foyer like some geriatric.” Turning on his heel he left the room without making sure Angel followed. “You know last night she played bows and arrows with the food -- and some of the minions. Lost Ajax.”
“Think that’s bad, she’s got a pet kid. A boy of about three.”
Spike turned at that. “Really? Where’s she keep him?” Angel shrugged. “Oh well, maybe someone will kill him and she’ll fly into a murderous rage.” He sighed wistfully, a smile playing on his lips, “She has such lovely rages. Not sure she’s been eating properly either.”
“I thought she stopped skimming off the minions after the burning.”
“You tell me, Angelus, does her color seem right to you? Or her moods?” Spike stopped completely and looked at her.
His childe and sire’s silence was answer enough.
They moved down the hall once more, side by side. “Don’t suppose you know what’s wrong.” From his back pocket he withdrew a pack of cigarettes. Finding no lighter or matches, he still knocked fag into his hand and let it dangle from his lips. “I don’t have any ideas how to make her better. Torture doesn’t work for her like it did Dru. You got a thought in that thick head of yours, Angelus?”
“What’d you do last time?”
“Last time?!” Spike stopped as his laughter rang from the high archways of the hall behind them. “Last time I gave her Grace! There isn’t anything left to give her, mate.”
The few short feet to her bedroom were crossed in silence. They walked single-file through her stacks and stacks of books. Spike held back the sheer mosquito netting surrounding her bed. “Do you know what she’s been studying, Angelus?”
“Prophecy.”
“Know what kind of prophecy?” He sat at the head of the bed stroking her nearly black hair like the child she appeared to be.
“Do you?” the dark vampire shot back, docile far too long.
“Old Slayer prophecies. I know, they’re all old, but stuff that’s come and gone already. History.”
Angel’s smile was faint. “She should have been a Watcher.”
“Yes,” Spike agreed, gazing around her summery pastel green cotton bedsheets, so very unlike the vampiress most of the house knew, “she should.”
“The middle of the day and the Mistress doesn’t have supplicants,” Angel said aloud to himself in the empty hallways. The minions were more restless than usual, fights igniting for no better reason than one bumping into another. While Angel liked a good fight as much as the next, this was becoming ridiculous. Besides, no one was listening to him. The very thought made the small hairs on his back rise in anger and disgust. He who had been a master vampire brought so low, and by his childe no less. It was unthinkable.
But here he was.
And so, to relieve himself of the . . .burden of his existence, Angelus decided to wander. Five years in the house that Christina designed and commissioned and he still didn’t know its every secret. In truth he only cared about five rooms: his, hers, Spike’s (although he could have done without that knowledge), the kitchen and the infamous basement. He loved the basement. Christina had stocked it with everything he could ever need to -- he smiled to himself -- entertain.
“It doesn’t matter what I want!”
“Well that explained why no one was in the West Wing,” Angelus murmured to himself, smirking, “the Mistress is going off on another one of her rants.”
“You think I like this? You think I wanted this?! I didn’t know! No. One. Told. Me!”
He listened as Christina’s tread became heavier across the floor. As far as he knew no one was in the room with her. “Told you what, my dear?” he breathed, openly eavesdropping now.
“What do you want?! I can’t be but what I am! I can’t be anything else! I’ve tried. Damn them all to Hell, I’ve tried!”
Angel jumped as a large heavy object crashed into the door. The sound of tearing and other objects crashing followed. While the idea of the precious library Spike had bought, stole and bartered for his firstborn being destroyed by her appealed to him, Angel happened to like and own some of those books.
Waiting for a lull in the destruction, he carefully opened the door. “Christina?” A porcelain figurine flew past Angelus’ head.
“You make me sick! I want you and I hate it!”
Well, it seemed whatever voices she had been talking to still had her in a rage. But that doll had been well aimed. If he hadn’t ducked he would be bleeding at that very moment. Yes, her eyes were boring fire into his skin.
So, angry but not insane. Angelus would keep that in mind.
“You don’t want me! No one wants me but I crave it. Crave it like I’m a child searching for her mother. I can’t give it away,” and the ‘its’ seemed to have changed. “I can’t be anything other than what I am. Don’t you understand? Don’t any of you understand? I want it and I hate it!” She flew at him in a rage.
Angel readied himself for attack. A book struck him instead. Midway to her destination she’d changed her mind, preferring to use weapons rather than attack herself. Expensive, heavy pens followed. A crystal inkwell. A creaking old leather-bound volume that exploded when it hit the doorframe. Her next few launches were badly aimed and Angelus wondered why he didn’t just leave.
In Angel’s momentary inattention, he missed Christina picking up a heavy, smooth, paperweight and taking aim. He did see the white hand that suddenly appeared before his face.
“Should have let this break open your face, Angelus. What the bloody hell did you say to her?!”
They ducked another well aimed missile. “Her name!”
“Always had a way with the women, didn’t you, mate?” Spike tossed the paperweight back.
Christina caught it easily, the globe exploding in her hand. The sound filled the room and the resulting silence. Suddenly she seemed to come to herself, turning slowly to her still-clenched hand. Opening it they watched the blood well up and flow freely down her palm.
And the wounds close before their eyes. With an anguished cry, Christina covered her mouth and ran through the disaster that was her room. Spike and Angel were far too stunned to stop her.
Regaining his wits, Spike turned to follow her, “Christina! Bloody hell, where is she going?”
Angelus pushed past him. “Outside.”
“She has the bloody cuff!”
Angel held up a piece of glittering blue and silver, “No she doesn’t!”
“Jesus,” Spike swore. “God, catch her Angelus!”
Like some wraith sent to haunt him, Christina slipped in and out of Angel’s vision. Now he saw her, now she just in his grasp and all the while they drew inexorably closer to the deadly sunlight.
She stopped just long enough to open the door. It was enough. “Oh no you don’t!” Angel snatched her away, squealing. “You want the sunlight? Fine!” Viciously he forced the lapis and silver cuff onto her wrist and thrust her outside, panting uselessly. “Fine.” His eyes met Spikes. “Fine.”
None could rouse her. None could persuade her to drink. Lukas abandoned Grace, miserable, while Katie and Derek, both, kept watch distance away. Her faithful servants. Spike came by, stared for a bit, took a drag of his cigarette and went on to feed. The minions were too scared -- of her or her guardians it didn’t much matter -- to do more than gaze from open second story windows.
Grace lay her head on her mother’s stomach, too confused to do more than just be there, on the ground, with her as she stared at the night sky in the garden outside her beloved arched walk.
Waking, Spike sensed another presence in the bed with him instantly. It took another moment and turning over to make “Gemini” spill from his lips. Curse and prayer. She moved into his space when he left the bed. Just like his sister so many years ago. A shake of his head and the thoughts scattered like so many mortals.
Quick glance at her, dead asleep. Could he pull his jeans on standing up? Screw it. He sat on the very edge of the bed and dressed in the bare minimum. Stood. Couldn’t resist looking at her again. Kissing her forehead.
She had tracked mud into the house. Faint at his door, they were heavy and dark further away. A trail of them led to her room. He couldn’t resist and followed.
“Spike.”
“Yes, Honey,” he answered without turning. She had fixed it. Sometime during the day his Gemini had come back inside and repaired every book she had lain waste to. He stared at the room in frank wonder.
“How did this all happen, you making Mom. I mean,” he heard her come further into the room, “I know you two fought and you won and then she asked you to turn her so I wouldn’t die but . . .there’s something she didn’t tell me, isn’t there.”
Spike finally took a quick glance at her. It was enough. Yes, she had her mother’s nearly black eyes, button nose and small full mouth but her features were squarer, more definite than Gem’s. Angelus’ stamp, assuredly.
And of course she was that beautiful cafe au lait color that death could not steal. “Not much more to tell, Pet. Nothing you can’t ask Peaches about,” and strode past the girl, his granddaughter in mortal terms.
“I should have given you a son, Angelus,” she whispered to herself. “Maybe I wouldn’t have loved him.” She smiled to herself, “If I was lucky.” The singing wind took her words, took her smile and left him with a thing of flowing white-tipped hair whose eyes were ever to the sky.
Angel followed her gaze as it rose to the stars dancing, fleeing, above. He looked from the cold stars to the ones reflected so well in her dark eyes to her midnight hair. “Just one more night, God. Give me just one more night,” he prayed for the first time in centuries.
“You have to choose.”
Christina narrowed her eyes at her sire. “Whatever for? I thought I belonged to you,” she sneered.
Spike slapped her. “Don’t forget I made you,” he said lowly.
“He made me too. This has never been about me,” she accused, “I’ve always been a pawn between you two. You kill me to spite him, he steals my child to spite you, and you want me to choose?” Her laughter echoed harshly in the largely unfurnished third floor -- bouncing off the walls, empty indoor planters, and the photosensative skylight.
Snarling, Spike crossed the room too fast for even her eyes to follow. She struggled against his stone fingers under her chin. Despite it all, he bared her neck to his sharp teeth. “Choose.”
“If you don’t know who I’ve picked,” she gasped for the air to speak, “then you aren’t nearly as clever as the Council thinks you are.”
Christina looked up at Spike from the floor, gently probing her chin, her eyes locked on his.
The sight of every vampire turning as one, as if pulled by marionette strings, to the second floor balcony would have been amusing had Angelus not been one of them. The rich, powerful, darkly dangerous aroma of Slayer filled the large foyer -- running down the double-staircase like a stream and over the balcony like a waterfall the scent rested writhing waves, rising higher and higher, around their calves -- long before Christina was visible. They watched her clutch the banister with one hand and her neck with the other. They watched her nearly stumble down the grand staircase. None moved to her help her; all were transfixed.
Angel rose, stepping blindly over vampires, and went to her. Only a moment passed between staring into her dazed and his true face coming to the fore. Growling, he pulled her hand from her neck suckled on the still-wet blood on her fingers. He cleaned her palm, turned over her hand and licked the blood that had seeped through her fingers; took his time working his way down her arm suckling on the precious liquid of a slayer and vampire, until his mouth came to the bend of her elbow. Her blood had pooled there, in the crook of her arm -- his pulling it out to suck loosed the sluggish flow. Angelus caught the drips in his palm, sucking, wide mouthed, on her pulse point, pulling at blood underneath unbroken skin.
He growled when there was no more light/dark blood to drink. It was no wonder Spike guarded her veins so vehemently. But her scent still lingered.
Blood still pooled, lukewarm and nearly dead, at her collar. Angelus crushed her to him and ravaged her neck.
He threw her away.
“When did Spike claim you?” Angel snarled.
“Minutes . . .ago.”
He watched her swim toward unconsciousness. “When did you last eat?”
She stared at him blankly.
“Why have you been starving yourself?”
She reached the dark shore.
Derek knew he was taking his unlife in his hands by entering his mistress’ rooms without permission. “Lady?”
Her near black eyes shone out of the darkness at him. “Yes, Derek. Come,” she beckoned him to her bed. “I haven’t seen you and Katie lately. How’re you getting along? How is my Lukas?”
“We’re good,” he answered softly, matching her tone, “we’re all good. But we’re worried about you?” He sat on the edge of the bed.
Her eyebrows rose into her hairline. “Oh?”
“Yes. Lukas and Grace feel abandoned. Katie and I are okay, but we miss hunting with you. Even the minions have noticed something is different.”
She snorted lightly, “They miss my bacchanals.”
Derek’s smile was faint. “Yes, that too.”
Very gently, she brought a hand to his face. “And what do you think is wrong?” He rubbed his cheek into her palm, answering, “They torment you.”
Again, Christina’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? And who is they?”
His eyes met hers. “Angelus. Spike. They pull you between them like rope.”
“Were you always a poet?” Her eyes laughed. “Maybe they do and maybe they don’t. I’ll work it out, don’t worry. I always do. I’m sleepy. We’ll go hunting tonight, hmm?”
“Yes, Lady.”
Their mouths met in a chaste kiss. Pulling away, Christina bit her lip, the blood welling to the surface of the slight wound. Derek’s eyes were hopelessly drawn to them; he had not drunk of his sire since he was made. Rubbing her lips together, she spread the heady stuff across her full lips. “Sip,” she ordered.
Tenderly, Derek ran his tongue over her lips. “Thank you,” he said in awe. She shrugged.
End [Game]