She struggled, pulling at the metal studded dog collar buckled tight around her throat. She hated that collar and hated the leash that was clipped to it. So she struggled, even though it was useless to pull against the leather and the strength of the hand that so carelessly held the other end of the leash. But struggling was all she had left.

"Come on, Pet. I ain't got all day." The command was accompanied by a jerk to the leash that send her stumbling down the stairs behind him so that as she fell hard against him, her tired body sliding down to rest against his legs. "Stay" he ordered.

Curling up on the cold concrete floor, she stayed. She knew better than to move. Knew better than to look up at him. Knew better than to let the other vampires in the room see the bubbling hate in her eyes. But most of all, she knew better than to look in the direction of the other two humans who shared this room. For them, she defied the leash and the collar and the vampires.

Raising her head she met the haunted gazes of Buffy and Giles from where they stood chained against the far wall. She read the horror in their eyes as they saw her, saw the bruises and bites that decorated her body, saw her hacked off, ragged hair, and saw the leash and collar that bound her.

Her defiance lasted only a moment before her master caught her, as she'd known he would. She didn't even flinch as he cuffed her, knocking her flat against the ground. This time she kept her eyes averted.

"Keep, you eyes down where they belong, little witch, or I'll pluck 'em out."

Studying the scuffed and weathered concrete beneath her with fixed determination, she murmured a quiet, "Yes, Master." As the other vampires in the room laughed, she closed her eyes and focused on the hate.

*****

Satisfied that his new pet was showing the proper respect, Spike turned to survey the half-dozen vampires that lounged around the room. Briefly his eyes traveled over the Slayer and her Watcher. He noted the thickness of the chains that bound them to the wall. They were taking no chances. Her could see fresh tears on her cheeks, slowly soaking into the gag that kept her silent. When she lifted her eyes from his pet's huddled form, the hate there was almost a physical blow.

But even her hate was nothing to the rage in the eyes of the Watcher. If Buffy's eyes promised Spike's death, the Watcher's promised a slow and agonizing one.

"Spike," a cheerful voice called from the other side of the room.

Turning from the Slayer and the Watcher, he headed over to the vampire who'd called him.

"Blake."

His own tone was noncommittal, neither friendly nor unfriendly. Blake was a younger vampire, new to command of his own clan. Spike was older, his status as a Master vampire secure, but he was a guest in another master's lair. That called for a semblance of courtesy.

"So, what can I do for you, Spike?" Blake tried for nonchalance, but Spike could hear the nervousness in his voice.

Spike grinned in amusement. Blake had good reason to be nervous. As a Master Vampire he could chose to challenge Blake for the leadership of his little clan and try to take the Slayer. However, considering how much this clan had staked on the Slayer, he'd probably have to fight them all, which didn't make for good odds as far as he was concerned. This little band had a lot resting on this. Blake and his band were too young yet to have earned a reputation in the demon community. Their upcoming sacrifice of the Slayer and her Watcher on the Eve of Blood would make that reputation.

Digging out a cigarette and his lighter, Spike wandered over to the two chained prisoners. "Well, mate, it's like this, I've been fighting this particular Slayer off and on for two years now. She and her little friends were a constant thorn in my bleedin' side. She's spoiled my plans, dropped a fucking organ on my head, and all and all ruined a perfect good time." Lighting his cigarette his blew a cloud of smoke into the Watcher's face and grinned in appreciation as the Watcher's eyes narrowed in impotent rage.

Turning back to his audience he continued, "But now you've got the Slayer and her Watcher. And funny thing, the Eve of Blood is just around the corner."

A vampire leaning again one wall made an excellent show of confusion. "What's the Eve of Blood?"

Spike pinned him with a look. "Don't blow smoke up my ass, junior." Taking another drag on his cagarette, he continued. "I've always been a bit fascinated with the old ways -- tradition, don't you know. Not many know of the Blood Ritual because it's damnably hard to catch a Slayer and her Watcher and keep 'em alive long enough to perform the rite. The Eve of Blood is in 8 days. You're gonna sacrifice those two," he added with a jerk of his thumb in the direction of the captives, "mix their blood and have yourself a Slayer/Watcher cocktail, complete with transference of their strength into you." Spike threw himself down into a chair and propped his feet up on the table as the vampires milled around nervously.

Finally, Blake stopped them with a curt gesture. "The Slayer and the Watcher are ours. We caught them. We've kept them alive. You may be older but you're outnumbered here." There was no mistaking the threat in his voice or the glitter of gold in his eyes.

Spike laughed and used his feet to tilt his chair back, the perfect picture of unconcerned ease. "Not to worry, mate. I'm not here to try to take 'em. They're your catch. Besides, I've already had two Slayers. Three would just be gettin' greedy." Removing his feet from the table, he let the chair's front legs hit the ground with a bang that startled everyone in the room. "I just want to be around for the bloodletting."

Blake studied Spike and considered. Spike was dangerous, unpredictable and uncontrollable. But to have a vampire of Spike's reputation in his little clan, with Spike acknowledging his leadership, would increase his own reputation enormously. Spike's presence brought certain advantages and it wouldn't do to make an enemy of him. At least, not before he was strong enough to take him in a challenge. Still considering, he indicated the girl on the floor, "What about her?"

"My little pet?" Getting up from his chair, Spike walked over to Willow. Crouching down he ran one hand along her hair, stroking her in an obscene parody of petting an animal. "When you took the Slayer and Watcher you missed her in your little rampage."

He suddenly knotted his fingers in her shorn hair and jerked her head up so she was looking at the vampires gathered around the table. "She's the Slayer's pet witch. Or more precisely, she *was* the Slayer's pet witch. Now, she's just my pet." Tilting her head so she stared up at him, he added, "Isn't that right, sweet?"

At her stammered acknowledgement he leaned forward and placed a brutal kiss against her bruised lips before letting her head fall back down to the ground amid the laughter of the gathered vampires.

"Little witch thought she could threaten me with restoring my soul. Now I get the joy of stripping hers, one exquisitely painful piece at a time. And watching the Slayer and the Watcher die is going to be very painful indeed."

Blake grinned, having Spike as a guest was going to be fun. Decision made, he snapped his fingers at one of the younger fledglings. "Get us something to drink, preferable fresh and young. It's time to celebrate and honor our newest guest."

Spike marginally relaxed as he was accepted into the group. With blood and alcohol flowing freely, he called his pet to his side. She was tired, cold and undoubtedly hungry, but she made no sound as she settled herself on the floor at his feet. A few minutes later he snaked down one hand to rest upon her head. Idly running his hand through her hair, he fingered her cropped locks. Under the soothing caress of his hand he felt her finally relax. With a soft sigh she leaned against his legs to wait out the night as those at the table spent their evening in drink and hair-raising tales of torture and death.

Dawn found them still seated around the table, empty liquor bottle scattered around and the remains of a card game spread across the table.

"So, Spike," Blake's second, a large, greasy looking vampire with the unlikely name of Hick began, draining the last of the whiskey in his cup, "why don't you throw your little pet into the pot?"

He felt Willow stiffen against his legs, the first sign of movement from her in hours. He'd begun to think that she'd fallen asleep. He should have known better. Stretching to work out the kinks developed in a night of sitting, he caught the eye of the Watcher across the room. He noted absently that the Slayer seemed to be asleep in her chains. He watched, amused, as the Watcher strained against his bonds. This was almost to easy. Nothing like a little mental torture to end the evening.

Speaking to Hick, but keeping his eyes locked with the Watcher's, Spike growled low in his chest. "My pet is mine and mine alone -- body, mind and soul -- to do with as I please."

He swung his gaze away from the Watcher and over to Hick. "Touch her without permission and I'll stake you myself."

Silence hung in the room, until Blake cleared his throat trying to ease the sudden tension. "Isn't that a bit much? She's only a human after all."

"Her suffering is for my enjoyment alone." He swung his gaze around to the others, letting them see their death in his eyes. "She will not be touched."

"Sure, Spike. Your pet is yours alone." Standing suddenly, he stretched his arms wide. "It has been a long night and the sun is coming up. I suggest we sleep. Come on and I'll show you to your room."

Blake lead them away from the common room and then down a long hallway until they came to a door at the far end. "Guest accommodations," he said with a grin.

Opening the door Spike stepped inside, tugging sharply on the leash to pull Willow in behind him. The room was larger than he expected it to be. Simply furnished -- bed, table, dresser, a couple of chairs. He could see a connecting door leading to a bathroom. The room would do nicely for his needs. Tossing a casual "Thanks, mate," at the other vampire, he closed the door.

Blake stood listening on the other side of the door. He grinned as his patience was rewarded a few seconds later when something heavy landed hard against the door, making it shiver in its frame.

From the other side he heard Spike growl, "So, slut, trying to attract another one, are you?"

Her voice soft with fear, he heard her stammered, "P-Please Master. I d-didn't."

"Don't lie to me, my little bitch. You think you can get Hick to fight me for you? You think he'll set you free? Or maybe just give you your death? Think again. You're mine."

Blake felt his own arousal as he heard the human begin to sob, tears making her voice husky.

"No, please, Master. Don't. I'll be good. I promise."

The laugh that answered her was cold enough that even Blake felt its chill through the heavy door.

"Oh, you'll be good, pet, of that I have no doubt. Now get to your knees like a good little dog."

The girl's broken sobs continued for a few moments more only to be abruptly cut off. Blake chuckled, his imagination filling in the reason why her sobs had stopped. Reaching down he rubbed his own half-erect cock. Maybe he ought to find himself a nice human pet. Still chuckling, he headed back down to the hall to his own rooms.

*****

Vivid imagination notwithstanding, Blake could never have conjured the true scene on the other side of the closed door. The body that had slammed against the wood was Spike's, who was currently wearing a grin of malicious humor, as he listened to Blake's retreating footsteps down the hall.

Willow was not kneeling, nor did her eyes reflect the fear contained in her voice. Instead, there was captured there an emotion more akin to Spike's deviltry than to any terror. Her bearing was straight and bore no relation to the cowering slave that had been in the common room earlier. The only thing that connected this Willow to the cowering girl known simply as "Pet" was the dog collar that still encircled her neck and the leash that lay like a thin leather snake down the front of her body.

"Wanker's gone." Spike finally said, as he pushed himself away from the door.

At his words an almost imperceptible shiver traveled down her thin frame. He had only that subtle warning to brace himself before she threw herself against him, her arms locked tight around his neck and her toes dangling several inches above the floor. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her warm body tight against his own, and for just a moment indulged the fantasy that she was hugging him, Spike, and not just overcome with her joy and the desire to share it with someone, even if that someone was him.

Her words shattered his fantasy as she finally pulled slightly away from him. "Oh Goddess, Spike, they're here. They're alive. Alive! I told you. I told you it would work!"

"It hasn't worked yet," he cautioned. "We might have found them, but we still haven't freed them." He felt almost guilty for dashing the joy from her face. It was the first time he'd seen real happiness on her face since they'd started this hare-brained scheme of hers. He saw the light die in her eyes.

"You're right, " she agreed solemnly. "Finding them was easy compared to freeing them. But, Spike," she added, resolve clearly read on her face, "we will free them."

He forced undead lungs to heave a long-suffering sigh. "We'll get 'em." he grumbled, his enthusiasm somewhat less than effervescent.

Stepping back out of his arms, she tried to keep tight rein on her bubbling hope but she couldn't control the slight bounce in her step. They had searched so long for Buffy and Giles. She had begun to lose her belief that they would find them alive. Even facing the odds against them now, she couldn't quite dampen her good spirits. Leaving Spike to his muttering and grumbling, she unsnapped the leash from her collar and tossed the hated thing onto the bed. The collar stayed locked around her throat, a small brass padlock giving testament to its permanence.

Going over to dig onto the oversized leather duffel bag that held both of their possessions, she grabbed a small case and her sleeping clothes. "I'm going to take a shower.

As Willow disappeared into the bathroom, Spike flopped down onto the bed and rubbed at his temples. This whole plan was completely insane. How in the bloody hell was he going to get the Slayer and her Watcher out without getting himself and Willow killed? Muttering curses under his breath, he rolled off the bed and pulled his own clothes off, absently running through various liberation scenarios in his mind. Each one seemed to end in a disaster just a little bloodier than that last. Tossing his clothes into a pile on the floor, he climbed back onto the bed clad in nothing but a pair of black silk boxers, though they were more for Willow's modesty than for any concern of his.

Fifteen minutes later he had the beginnings of a plan. A rough plan. A plan that he wasn't liking in the least. The only problem was, he wasn't seeing any other options. "Fuckin' Hell," he swore loudly just as she stepped out into the room.

Ignoring the vampire on the bed, Willow puttered around the room, checking for a phone jack for her laptop and to make sure that the blinds and heavy drapes over the windows in their room were secure. The wooden boards nailed on the outside of the windows reassured her. It had become a night-time ritual with her, partially to project herself and in a way to protect Spike as well, though he could certainly take care of himself. Nevertheless, she prowled their rooms each night, no matter where they stayed, checking for anything that could jeopardize their safety. Satisfied that the coming dawn would bring no danger, she returned to the bed where Spike still lay stretched across the slightly dusty, faded comforter.

He had the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes and he'd slipping into what sounded like German. Willow had grown used to Spike's quiet cursing over the last two and half weeks they'd been together. She'd discovered that he swore and talked to himself when he was thinking hard and planning. He'd even taught her a few of the funnier curses in a variety of languages. In his past two hundred years, he'd learned a lot of them. She'd also learned that he didn't like being interrupted, so leaving him to his imprecations, she set about putting their small room to rights. There were 8 days left until the vampires planned on sacrificing Buffy and Giles, so there was every possibility that they could be living in this room for awhile.

Digging back into their duffel bag, she pulled out clean clothes and other assorted belongings and began putting them away in the small battered dresser. Pulling out her spell book and her laptop, she spent a few moments looking for a hiding place. She had no doubt that their room would be searched at some point and had no desire for their vampire hosts to find either of these items. She finally settled on prying up a floor vent. The bend in the vent kept the computer and book from sliding down and it would hopefully be the last place anyone would look. That done, she picked up Spike's dirty clothes and tossed them, along with her own, back into the duffel bag. They were going to have to hit a laundry mat soon and get things washed.

Her evening chores finished, she stifled a jaw-popping yawn. Flicking her eyes over Spike's form stretched out across the bed she checked to make sure that his eyes were still closed and then indulged herself for just a moment, firmly telling herself that there was absolutely nothing wrong with looking. Just so long as she remembered that she wasn't to touch. Noting the long lines of his legs and the smooth muscles that made up his arms and chest, she wished with just a trace of wistfullness that she wasn't who she was, that she wasn't the wearer of the original pair of goody-two shoes. She wished that for once in her life she could do the irresponsible thing. Smiling ruefully at her own foolishness, she shook her head and banished those thoughts. If her life wasn't tied to his, she had no doubt that he'd kill her in a heartbeat.

"Spike?" she called softly. When his blue eyes snapped open to pin her with a fierce glare, she said simply, "I'm tired."

She didn't ask about his planning and he didn't say anything. She'd also learned that he would tell her when he was ready and not before. She would wait.

He opened his eyes to see her standing by the bed clad in one of his black t-shirts and a pair of ratty looking boxer shorts. She'd washed off the makeup she used to enhance the dark circles under her eyes, though truth be told they didn't need much to enhance them. She'd lost weight during this misadventure of theirs and he could clearly see the bruises along her arms and legs that he'd deliberately inflicted on her to establish their cover as master and human slave. Right now she looked more like a lost child of twelve rather than the determined 18 year old young woman she'd been just a few weeks ago.

"Willow, you look like shit! You need to get some sleep."

She gave him a tired half-smile. "Thank you, Mister Vampire," she replied, sarcasm thick in her voice.

Chuckling softly he rolled up off the bed and padded silently across the room to get the light while she got into the bed and slid under the covers. Their sleeping arrangements had made her uncomfortable when they'd first set out to find Buffy and Giles. She'd never shared her bed with anyone except for the occasional girl at a slumber party. To share a man's bed had made her extremely nervous. The fact that that man was also a vampire had kept her awake almost the entire day the first time they'd had to share. Now, knowing Spike was just an arms length away gave her a weird sense of security. He'd never once strayed from his side of the bed. Then there was their physical sleeping arrangements. She didn't know if it was because of their deal or maybe something to do with protecting Drusilla all those years, but Spike always slept on the side of the bed closest to the door. Whatever horror came through that door, it would have to go through him first before it got to her. And though neither of them said anything about it, she was grateful for that small courtesy on his part, no matter what its origin.

Getting comfortable, she murmured a sleepy good night and was almost asleep before Spike finished climbing back into the bed.

Settled back into his own pillow, Spike stared into the dark and went over his plan one more time, not liking it now any better than when he first came up with it. He snorted softly to himself so as not to wake Willow. The two of them had a history with stupid plans, he didn't see how this one should be any different. His mind turning over ideas he thought back to the original stupid plan that gotten them into this in the first place.

*****

"Do you have any idea how idiotic this plan of yours is?" he yelled. "I thought you had more brains than this?"

The scorn in his voice pushed her over the edge she been so carefully clinging to ever since the night of the attack. Now all the anger and fear came boiling up to the surface. Once released it could no longer be controlled and Willow Rosenburg let it go with a feeling almost akin to relief, for having found her target, she spared him no mercy.

Her voice steadily rising, she lay into him. "Damn you, Spike, don't you think I know this plan is stupid. But right now its the only one I have. Buffy and Giles have been taken. I don't even know if they are still alive. Xander and Oz are both in the hospital. I can't find Angel and Cordelia, neither one is answering their phones in LA. I'm it, you stupid vampire. I'm the only one left. So, I'm going to do this and you are, by the Goddess, going to help me."

"Look, little witch, I like you, but I'm the demon here, not the hero. I've helped the Slayer these past weeks 'cause I had no choice. Now the Slayer's gone and I'll be leaving too." He was halfway across the destroyed library when she spoke again.

"No, you won't be leaving."

Something in her tone stopped him in his tracks. If Spike didn't know that it was the harmless little witch who stood behind him, he might have felt a stab of fear. He turned slowly, body tensed for a fight.

"Don't make me kill you, Willow," he growled. "You know I will."

She nodded and swallowed hard. "I know. But if you don't help me, I'll restore your soul."

He made a rude noise in the back of his throat. "What's to stop me from just killing you here and now, before you cast the spell?"

Her eyes flickered down to the floor and then around the room before finally coming back to met his. "The . . The spell has already been done . . . cast b-but not complete." She paused and then added, "I tied it to a trigger."

"A trigger? What the hell are you talking . . ." He stopped. She was the smart one. Smarter than the others often gave her credit for being. Fool that he was, he'd fallen into the same trap. He'd forgotten that a very dangerous mind lurked behind the sweet smile and innocent eyes. "Bloody hell, you tied it to your life."

She confirmed his suspicions. "If I die, the spell releases . . . and you get your soul back."

"You'll go after the Slayer and her Watcher whether or not I go." It was more statement than question.

Yes."

"You'll get yourself bloody well killed."

"Not if you keep me alive."

He looked hard at her. "Willow, do you realize exactly what you are asking me to do to you?"

He could see the fear clearly in her eyes when she answered, though her voice was firm. "Yes."

He tried one last time. "This is beyond stupid."

"You'd look lovely with a soul -- all bright and shining in your eyes."

"Bloody Hell."

+++++

PART II

He awoke to soft whimpers and a warm body pressed up against his own. Moving slowly so as not to wake her, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, rumbling a soothing growl deep in his chest. The noise calmed her now as it had on other nights. He knew the dreams wouldn't last long and when the day's fears were done replaying in her mind, she'd once again roll away from him to her own side of the bed, never knowing that she'd sought him out for comfort.

Her sounds of distress easing, he loosened his hold on her. Such an amazing creature Willow Rosenburg had turned out to be, even for a human. When he'd been drafted into being the Slayer's "vampire on the inside", his contact, both verbal and physical, was centered solely on the Slayer. He'd seen the little witch, made some smart-assed joke about his kidnapping of her earlier that year, and then promptly dismissed her as beneath his notice. Now he knew what he'd missed in underestimating this woman-child.

She never complained, never raged at the humiliation she was put through or the pain he caused her. In the past sixteen days, he'd developed a healthy respect for her. Using her computer, she'd been the one to discover why Buffy and Giles had been taken. She was the one who suffered the bruises and the collar. Most astounding of all, she didn't break; not when he hit her, not when he tormented her for the amusement of the others, not when he bit her. After all he did to her, that she would, even unconsciously, turn to him to chase away the nightmares stunned him. It was for that reason, that whatever bit of enjoyment he derived out of torturing her was soon swamped under the disgust that he was beginning to feel for himself. In his unlife he'd killed without hesitation or remorse. He'd tortured humans and demons alike when they had earned his wrath, but he'd never in all his years, tortured for the sake of torture. That had always been Angelus' twisted gift. But to pull off this charade, he'd patterned his behavior after his grandsire's relationship with Drusilla. If it had angered him then, it was beginning to repluse him now.

In so many ways, she reminded him of his beloved mad goddess. They shared the same child-like innocence, a subtle grace that others casually dismissed, a fire that burned deep. He'd also discovered a core of strength within Willow that Drusilla lacked. Like the Willow that was her namesake, she simply bowed low before the onslaught until you thought she would break, but then with the passing of the storm, she stood upright again, branches wind tousled, a few leaves stripped away, but still unbroken.

He let her go as she finally rolled out of his embrace. Turning over he closed his own eyes and drifted back into sleep.

*****

A sound in the hallway beyond their door brought her to heart pounding wakefulness. She lay still for a minute but the noise that had awakened her wasn't repeated. Heartbeat and breathing returning to normal, she rolled over only to be confronted with a pair of startling blue eyes regarding her intently. Sucking in a startled breath, she frowned in annoyance as he grinned at her.

"Do you have to do that?" she asked in exasperation.

He shrugged, "I'm a demon, we get our jollies in strange ways."

Chuckling as she rolled her eyes, he got out of the bed. Curling back up on her pillow, Willow to the opportunity to drift back into a light doze as Spike took a shower and got dressed. He shook her awake before he left the room to bid her good-bye. As he left the room, Willow got up and began her morning routine. A routine that included a round of meditation where she sought the still place within herself that allowed her to do what she had to do to survive in this existence with Spike.

An hour later Spike was back carrying an apple and a pear. Tossing them one at a time to her, he gave her an apologetic smile. "Best I can do for the time being. They're left over from what they're feeding the Slayer and the Watcher." Making a grimace of annoyance, he continued "Blake wants to show me off to the neighbors so we're going out on a group hunt. I need you to stay here and find out the ways in and out of this place -- accessways, doors, windows, everything. Also, find out how many guards Blake's leaving for the Slayer when he's gone."

Willow nodded her understanding as he talked, munching determinedly on her apple. The vampire clans they'd visited before they'd found Buffy and Giles hadn't always had human food available. She'd discovered what going hungry felt like and now ate whenever she could.

"I'll be back early from the hunt. Be ready to go out afterwards."

He stopped suddenly but Willow caught the flick of his eyes to her throat. "Willow, I'm going to have to leave you unprotected here."

He didn't have to explain any further. She'd learned first hand about vampire territorial instincts. With him gone, she'd need a fresh "reminder" to the others that she was taken property. He'd already bitten her at least a half-dozen times since they'd been together and he seemed to find it increasingly more distasteful. When her thoughts veered off into the stranger realms, she often wondered if his reluctance was because of her, if maybe her blood tasted bad.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she reached for that calm place and when she had her lingering fears and doubts firmly under control she opened her eyes and stepped up close to him.

Wrapping her arms around him, she lay her head on his chest listening to the silence. "Do it."

She came so trustingly to him. He'd called her an idiot in the library, back what seemed a hundred years ago. He no longer thought her an idiot but still considered her a trusting fool to place her life in his hands so easily. It didn't matter that she'd tied his soul to her life, he could do a thousand things to hurt her. It was within his power to bring her to the very brink of death itself and not let her fall. But every time that thought came to him he saw the image of Drusilla. His beautiful black goddess crawling to him, dozens of vicious bites scattered across her pale body and bloody tear tracks staining the porcelain of her skin. She was his sire. He was her childe. It was her duty to protect him from the excesses of the demon Angelus but she couldn't even protect herself. But she was his sire and he loved her so. Each time he'd gather her up and tend her wounds, feed her body and place himself in Angelus' way until she was strong enough to be called back to him. Now, his Dru was his no longer. She no longer needed or wanted him to stand between her and death. Now Willow needed him. Enemy or not, he found himself stepping between her and what would do her harm. Maybe he was the one who was the fool.

Locking one arm around her waist he tilted her head to the side, baring her throat to him. Demon rising to the fore, he felt his canines extend, razor sharp. Pressing his lips against her, he inhaling the scent of her and the sweet blood that rushed just beneath her skin. His bite was hard and deep, piercing her fragile skin and releasing a flood of her hot blood into his mouth. Her taste overwhelmed him this time as it had each of the previous times. The heady sweetness of blood freely offered mixed with the underlying tang of adrenaline released by her nervousness. Overlaying it all was the taste of Willow -- fire, spirit and a dark desire buried deep in her blood.

With a growl he carefully withdrew his fangs a few minutes later. Broad sweeps of his tongue cleaned the wounds and washed away any traces of her blood. She was slumped against him, paler than she'd been before. He'd not taken much but the exhaustion and poor eating of the last weeks had taken their toll on her.

Gathering her up in his arms he moved to lay her gently down on the bed, memories of carrying Drusilla the same way flashing through his mind. Grabbing his duster he turned to leave, giving her one last glance as he licked the last trace of her from his lips, that odd taste of desire lingering still. One day he would ask her who she fantasized about when he held her and drank her blood. He'd find out what manner of man could bring forth the beginnings of passion while she was trapped in a demon's arms. He'd wondered if her thoughts drifted to the wolf-boy or maybe even to Angel. Was desire for his grandsire yet another trait she shared with Drusilla? A longing for the Slayer's Angel could well explain the forbidden taste to those suppressed desires. After all, a part of him insisted, Angel always won -- Drusilla and the Slayer -- why should Willow be any different. Growling softly at his turn of thought, he shut his mind to thoughts of Willow in his present and Drusilla in his past. This time he walked out the door without looking back.

*****

She awoke an hour later, her head pounding and her mouth dry. Groaning, she sat up and ran an unsteady hand through her hair, shaking off the half-remembered dreams of Spike that always filled her sleep after he'd fed from her.

Figuring that those who were hunting were long gone, she got up to carefully apply her make-up, only she sought not to hide the bruises and dark circles under her eyes but to enhance them. Make-up done she deliberately chose a shirt that displayed her neck and the now angry red bite mark that rested right above her collar. It was tender to the touch but not overly painful.

Glancing into the hand mirror she used to apply her make-up, she make a face at her reflection. "Time to face the great outdoors."

She did her survey of the place first, avoiding the common room and her two friends. She wasn't ready to face them quite yet. So step by slow step she inched down the corridors and explored the open rooms, noting doors and unblocked windows. She even discovered a skylight in what looked to have been an office at one time.

In her explorations she met two other vampires, a woman who cuffed her hard on her shoulder as she passed, slamming Willow into the wall, and a man who simply growled threateningly at her as she hugged the wall while he passed.

It took an hour to completely explore the place to her satisfaction. Now she only had to gather up the courage to enter the main room. It was funny in its own sad way. She'd gone through so much to find Buffy and Giles and then when it came down to it, she couldn't even enter the room where they were. Spike was right, she decided, she was an idiot. But it was the remembered sound of Spike derisive laughter that spurned her forward in the end.

But even stubborn pride couldn't stop the sob that welled up inside her the moment she looked at her friends. Giles was sporting a black eye that hadn't been there the night before and Buffy had a defeated look about her that scared Willow more than anything she'd seen so far. Her heart longed to call out their names in recognition but the three heavy set guards that stood silently around the room made her keep her peace.

It didn't take much acting to put the trace of fear in her movements. Her jerky progress across the room was followed by five sets of eyes. Two held compassion and anger, the other three were yellow-gold with a hunger that made her skin crawl.

Spying a roll on the table she slid her eyes in her friends' direction. It was obviously left over from their feeding, like the pear and apple Spike had brought her earlier. Darting nervous glances at the guards she grabbed at the roll and took it to a far corner where she sat down to eat it slowly. She knew that from the outside she looked like pitiful scavenger, a broken shell of what she had been. But inside, she was dancing as she chewed the bread. Her act was being bought by the guards and they dismissed her as harmless. Harmless was good. Harmless let her at least be close to Buffy and Giles while she studied the room under lowered lashes. She only wished she could talk to her friends.

*****

She wasn't sure how long she sat there before the sound of voices came from the short hallway leading outside. She had no problem picking out Spike's distinctive tones. Knowing what was coming, she braced herself. This was going to be harder than the other times, knowing her friends were watching.

The minute Spike stepped into the room and caught sight of her he headed in her direction. Across the room, Buffy and Giles both started struggling against their chains to the amusement of the vampires filing into the room.

Spike just grinned and reached down to grasp the dangling leash. Wrapping it once around his fist, he pulled her upright, snapping her up against his hard chest.

"Miss me, pet?" he crooned.

"Y-Yes, Master." Her voice subservient and terrified.

Spike chuckled. "Liar."

Shifting to the demon's face he tilted her head and ran his tongue across the bite mark he'd left earlier, grinning at the shiver that traveled her frame.

"Come on, pet, time for your evening walk."

Tossing a wink at the grinning Blake, Spike lead her out into the night. He removed the leash as soon as they were well away from the lair, stuffing its length into one of his coat pockets as he gave the leather duster to her.

Willow raised an eyebrow in inquiry as she took the coat from him.

"Put the coat on, Willow, and cover up the collar. You're bordering on anemia and you need some decent food, especially if we're going to get your bothersome friends out."

"What do you mean I'm anemic?" she asked in confusion. Her answer came to her as she asked the question. "You can tell that? Just from tasting my blood?" At his nod of confirmation she screwed up her nose in disgust. "Ewww, that is so . . . ewww."

Her disgust didn't last long though as Spike lead her to a restaurant and ordered her a steak and Willow proceeded to stuff her face while Spike watched her eat.

Leaning back against her seat, she rubbed at her stomach. "Oh goddess, that was good."

"I can't believe you think my eating habits are disgusting."

"Spike, you kill and eat *people.* I mean, it'd be bad enough if you were just . . you know . . . eating the people without the killing part. But it's the killing, . . . well, . . . that, and the rampaging and the general murder and mayhem and stuff, that kind of makes you one of the bad guys."

He snorted in amusement. "You aren't starting that up again, are you? I've told, luv, half the fun of being a demon is the whole 'killing-without-remorse-just-because-we-can' part."

"But you don't *have* to kill people," she countered. The argument was a long standing one, played out now, more for a diversion than either really trying to change the other's opinion. "I mean, okay, I'll give you the thrill of the hunt and all that but can't you just bite them and leave them alive."

"Where would be the fun in that? Besides, death gives its own special flavor."

"Gross, Spike. I could have lived a very long time without that piece of knowledge."

"Face it, luv, we're just going to have to agree to disagree on this one."

They each fell silent as the waitress came to clean the table and brought Willow a cup of coffee.

Studying the chipped porcelain cup, Willow ran one finger along the handle, waiting until the waitress had moved several tables away. "So, what's the plan?" she finally asked, the teasing tone from a few minutes before gone from her voice.

Spike silently acknowledged her desire to get back to business. "Not a good one, I can tell you that," he replied with a forced sigh. "If there wasn't the potential for so much power to be gained, I'd just bloody well challenge Blake and be done with it. But that won't happen because the whole blasted group will benefit from the Ritual. If I challenge one, I'll end up challenging them all. Blake, one or two of the others I could take, but not all of 'em at once."

She lifted the cup in front of her and sipped at her coffee, savoring its long absent bitter-sweetness. "But you have a plan," she said between sips.

"Less of a plan, more of a bar brawl. I'm going to let the other nearby clans know what Blake's up to."

She saw immediately where that would lead. "They'll, in turn, want to seize Buffy and Giles for their own."

"Exactly. Vampires aren't exactly shy about killing their own if it'll further their own goals. The other clans should come out in force."

She looked at him in a kind of awed horror. "It'll be a bloodbath."

He grimaced, "I'm thinking a little more dusty actually, but you've got the idea. The confusion alone should be enough for you to free the Slayer and Watcher and get them out of there."

There was no hiding the concern in her voice, "What about you?"

He didn't like this part. It put her in too much danger and any danger to her, meant ultimately a danger to him and getting his accursed soul back. That was something he had no desire to see happen. "Willow, when the attack starts, they'll ignore the Slayer and Watcher, because they don't want them harmed, but you . . ." he didn't finish the sentence but trailed off into silence.

Slowly the picture he was drawing coalesced in her mind. It was be a free-for-all, vampire fighting vampire for the ultimate prize of the Slayer and the Watcher. She'd be the lone human in the group and the only thing standing between her and death would be Spike, who didn't want to be there in the first place, fighting for her life and his own.

"Oh Goddess."

*****

PART III

The door to their room swung open with more than the usual violence as Spike stormed into the room screaming what she'd quickly learned was his favorite curse. "Fuckin' Hell!"

Looking up from her laptop, Willow arched a brow at the extremely irate vampire. "Bad day at the office?" she said with a laugh.

Spike swung to pin her with a glare that at one time would have had her cowering and babbling apologies. Now she simply scowled back at him.

Ignoring her quip, he growled, "I'm going to enjoy driving a stake through the heart of that annoying little twit."

Hitting the send button on her e-mail to Oz that he and Xander she was still safe, she closed her laptop. Turning on the bed, she gave Spike her full attention. "Tell me."

"Blake," he hissed. "Wanker doesn't trust me. Not that I blame him, really, 'cause I'm not exactly the trustworthy sort, and all, but he's putting a real crimp in our plan."

'Our plan.' Such simple words but they gave her a warm glow of acceptance. She wondered if he even realized how much he'd begun to include her. 'Our plan' was a far cry from the early days when he could barely look at her without snarling in disgust.

Unable to hold in her grin, she watched him stomp around the room. "You were going to make the rounds to the other clans in the area when the sun went down tonight."

"Right. Only Blakey-boy won't bloody well leave me alone. If I try to go out alone, he insists on going with me, or he sends someone to tail me. Can't bloody well lose the tail without it looking suspicious, `cause why in the hell would I want to lose a tail unless I was up to something rotten."

"Simple then," she said, "we just need an excuse for you to stay in and you can go out the window in here. The boards shouldn't be too hard to pry away from the window."

"Not simple, luv." Walking over to the bed, he motioned her to move over and sat down beside her. "There's just not a hell of a whole lot that would keep me in my room all night along."

Reaching up she rubbed her hand against her collar, making the small padlock jingle. "What if you were . . .you know, discipling me for something?"

He shook his head no. "They'd buy that for an hour or two, but not all night. Not to the extent where I wouldn't go out hunting."

She pressed the issue, sure that a big scene was the way to distract the others. "So we make a big production out of it . . .drama, tears, blood. Give them all sometime to gossip about." With every word she could feel Spike tensing up beside her.

She glanced over at him curiously. It seemed perfectly logical to her. Granted, it probably wouldn't be much fun for her but he'd become pretty good at making it look like she was getting a lot worse "punishment" than she really was. She didn't understand why he'd be so relunctant to put on another show. ""Spike, I don't see . . ."

He cut her off abruptly, making her jerk back in surprise at her tone. "No."

Seeing her startled expression, he ran a hand up through his hair before starting over. "Willow, the kind of scene they would expect would be . . . extreme. You could be seriously hurt." Looking away from her, staring at something only he could see, he added. "You," he stopped and started again. "Mortals are so fragile."

She shivered at his words. "Yeah, guess you wouldn't want your soul in jeopardy like that."

He turned a strange look in her direction and started to say something only to stop before the words left him. Turning back away from her he finally said, "Sure, luv. Can't put my soul in danger."

"But what if we . . ."

"No." His refusal was immediate and firm; his face set in lines of absolute resolve.

So that's what I look like when I do the resolve face, she thought. Pretty impressive. But his resolve was about to come head to head with hers. He needed to get out. Buffy and Giles' lives depended on it. She thought herself remarkably calm once that decision was made. It was simple. She was going to get her friends free. One stubborn vampire wasn't going to stand in her way. Ater everything else she'd endured, how bad could it really be. It wasn't like he'd really hurt her.

She knew what she had to do. A part of her that was quietly having hysterics intoned in the back on her mind . . . *Tonight on Mutual Of Omaha's Wild Kingdom, Willow Rosenburg will go one on one in the wild with a vampire. It'll be an exiting show tonight, folks.* Ignoring the internal babbling, she calmly set about putting away her computer while Spike sat on the bed and scowled. In a way, it was a relief to be taking some kind of action. During the hunt for Buffy and Giles, Spike had actually done most of the work. She'd simply been window dressing. The occasional bruise, cut, or bite being just something she had to endure while she was paraded around in front of them. Once the other vampires were over her presence, she simply faded into the wood work, regulated to a status beneath their notice. Well, she was about to be noticed in a big way.

Stashing her computer in its hiding place she went to run a brush through her hair. Bending over she retied the laces on the black boots she wore. She'd grown fond of those boots Spike had made her wear. She'd initially hated the clothing changes he forced on her when they started this; the black jeans and tight black tops. But the clothes fit the illusion they'd created. Staring down at the scuffed toes of her boots she wondered when the illusion had started to blend with reality. She'd discovered something about herself these last couple of weeks. She liked the sense of power in those boots. She'd developed a taste for the danger and the intrigue of their game. She liked being able to indulge her somewhat offbeat black sense of humor. And if these things she'd discovered about herself were not exactly the best she had to offer, they were a part of her. A part she owed to Spike.

"Spike?"

"Yeah, luv?"

"I want you know something. I-I want to know I like you . . . a-as a person . . . or a demon . . . or whatever. You don't treat me like I'm stupid. You laugh at my jokes. Even the strange ones that no one else ever seems to get. You talk to me like I'm an equal and . . well, other stuff too. But mostly, I want you to know that even if you are an evil demon and . . and a vampire and you only keep me alive because you have to because of the whole soul thing . . " she trailed off as she finally paused for breath in her ramble. "Well," she began again, "I just want you to know that I like you. Just for being you."

Browns knit together Spike tried to follow her rambling speech.

Seeing his confusion she laughed softly. "And Spike, I want you to know that I understand you'll just be doing what you have to."

Before he could puzzle through that one, she swung on him. The open palm of her hand connected with his face, her nails dragging sharply across the skin of his cheek. The crack of her hand against his cheek numbed her fingers and stunned him, his eyes flying wide in shock. Time seemed to slow down for her then as she saw a single drop of dark red blood bead up on one of the deep scratches. In that frozen moment, she was the only thing that seemed to move at normal speed as she whirled on her heel and took off for the door, the pounding of her boot heels sounding almost like heavy rolls of thunder to her ears. She was halfway down the hall before she heard the roar behind her.

"Willow!"

With a single word he released the spell around her and time snapped back into its proper flow around her. Strangely enough the thought that circled in her head as she rounded the corner into the common room was a memory of herself as a little girl. Her mother had been telling her to never, ever, run from an angry animal. It only made them see you as food and chase after you, she remembered with startling clarity. Bursting into the main room, she wondered what her mother would have thought about running from demons.

He was furious. Her fleeing form calling up the feelings of the hunt within him. In that sudden blaze of anger, the mortal veneer of the man burned away to the baser emotions of the demon.

Mere steps behind her he saw her barrel into a female vampire, her shoulder slamming hard into the other woman, knocking her back in surprise. Willow never paused in her headlong dash for the outside door, going down with the vampire and rolling with the impact, coming up to her feet in a graceful roll while the vampiress struggled to her feet beneath Willow.

Spike lunged for Willow.

*****

PART IV
 

"Willow!"

With a single word he released the spell around her and time snapped back into its proper flow. Strangely enough the thought that circled in her head as she rounded the corner into the common room was a memory of herself as a little girl. Her mother had been telling her to never, ever, run from an angry animal. It only made them see you as food and chase after you, she remembered with startling clarity. Bursting into the main room, she wondered what her mother would have thought about running from demons.

He was furious, her fleeing form calling up the feelings of the hunt within him. In that sudden blaze of anger, the mortal veneer burned away to the baser emotions of the demon.

Mere steps behind her he saw her barrel into a female vampire, her shoulder slamming hard into the other woman, knocking her back in surprise. Willow never paused in her headlong dash for the outside door, going down with the vampire and rolling with the impact, coming up to her feet in a graceful roll while the vampiress struggled to her feet beneath Willow.

Her tumble, however, cost her precious seconds and allowed Spike to catch up with her fleeing form. Lunging forward he caught her across her shoulders, his weight driving her to her knees before him. But now his own momentum worked against him as the force of his leap carried him past her falling body, his own legs tangling in her flailing limbs. They both went down heavily, a cry of mixed pain and surprise being torn from Willow's throat.

Even as he realized he was falling with her, the urge to protect her rose up in him. Wrapping his arm around her, he pulled her falling body in close to his, twisting in mid-air to land heavily on his shoulder so as not to crush her beneath him. They both lay stunned on the concrete for a moment.

Then with a growl of disbelief he felt her pull herself from his arms. Only demon-enhanced reflexes stopped the heavy boot heel she swung around in his direction. Grabbing her foot he twisted hard, forcing her to roll across the floor or risk having her ankle snapped. Still, he felt ligaments twist and tear under his fingers, heard her cry out as pain shot up her leg.

Willow's cry only served to wind the demon's anger tighter. She'd challenged him and his authority in front of witnesses, witnesses that were even now gathering in a tight ring around them, waiting with amused and hungry eyes to see what he would do with this lowly human who had presumed to defy his authority. If it had been any other human the transaction would have warranted death. Spike knew the gathering vampires were expecting to see her blood flow, rich and thick, but he retained just enough presence of mind to remember that his soul was tied to her life. A hold that was tenuous at best as conflicting desires tore at him.

Her attack and flight had called up the demon's killer instincts, yet her very vulnerability stirred the old protective urges that had developed from protecting Drusilla for over a hundred years. Hurt her. Protect her. He didn't know what he was doing anymore. Only one thing was clear to him. She'd left him little choice in the way he was going to have to punish her. She'd started this insanity, but the demon was looking forward to finishing it.

Standing up slowly, he watched her from under lowered lashes as she tried to crawl away from him. A faint, chill smile curled the corners of his mouth, showing just the ivory tips of his fangs. It was the smile of the tiger when it sees prey within reach.

Willow stared into hot yellow eyes and for the first time felt real fear course through her. She watched his nostrils flare as he caught the heady scent of her terror. Swallowing hard, she pushed back with her uninjured foot, scooting herself a little further from him and towards the presumed safety of the wall.

Spike simply watched her, never moving as she inched further away from him. With a single wave of his hand, he parted the ring of vampires at her back, letting her through their ranks. He knew she was seeking the safety of the wall, putting non-threatening stone at her back. He let his smile widen in appreciation. Such a smart little human she was; to bad it wouldn't do her any good.

As her back hit the wall, he took his first step towards her. She was scared, and yet, he could still read defiance in her eyes. Squatting before her he reached out to trace her jaw with the tip of one finger.

"You should have run a little faster, Pet," he rumbled, his voice low and menacing.

Willow tried to speak, tried to say something to disarm the situation but her mind had gone blank with the first touch of his hand on her cheek. He'd touched her before. Touched her a thousand times since they'd been together, but nothing had ever felt like this and she couldn't suppress the shiver that ran the length of her body.

At the touch of her soft skin, his features shifted back to human, the demon's fearsome visage hidden once more beneath the guise of humanity. The others in the room stood at his back and wouldn't be able to see this lapse in his control. He saw Willow's eyes widen as his human features returned. She gave him a tremulous smile and he hated himself for what he was about to do . . . for this was an old trick he'd watched Angelus pull on his beautiful Drusilla time and time again. And just like his sire, Willow fell for it.

Thinking her ordeal was over, she leaned forward and raised her own hand, not enough to touch him but close enough so that he could feel the heat from her skin.

"Spike?" The word came out softly, a hesitant plea that spoke of understanding and human compassion and things he couldn't afford to acknowledge.

His own hand came up before she even had time to brace herself, the slap knocking her head back against the wall behind her.

"Master," he snarled, demon mask firmly back in place. "You will address me as Master."

Shooting his hands out, quicksilver cobra strikes, he grasped her shoulders tight and pulled her up to him, standing as he did so. Digging his fingers painfully into her arms, he shook her. Tears welled up in her eyes as he repeatedly knocked her back against the wall.

"You think to placate me with tears? It is way too early for tears, pet. Trust me, tears will be much more useful . . . later."

He pressed the length of his body up against her, more intimate now than when they'd lain together in their bed. Pulled up tight against him she was his to do with as he pleased. Mindful only of their avid audience that waited at his back like a back of vultures, he lowered his face to hers and kissed her.

For Willow it was like time stopped. She'd known what as going to happen. Or at least she'd thought she known. She'd been ready for cuts and bruises, for pain. That she could have handled. She was unprepared for his kiss. It was unlike any kiss she'd ever shared with Xander or Oz. Rough and demanding, it bruised in its heated anger. It was a kiss meant to punish. He pulled back just enough he let her pull in a stunned breath before he descended on her again.

The second kiss was even harder, pushing her head back until she connected solidly with the wall. She felt the sting of pain as sharp fangs ripped the delicate flesh of her lips. The copper taste of her own blood sent her reeling. This time he snapped his head back. Eyes blazing, he lifted her in the air; vampire strength holding her aloft against the wall with indifferent ease. Feet no longer touching the floor, she hung completely helpless in his grasp, eye to eye with something she wasn't quite sure was her Spike anymore.

"You will submit to me," was growled out through clenched teeth. The words echoed through the chamber, pulling in the others who watched the unfolding drama. Then right before his lips claimed hers for a third time, he whispered for her alone, "Need me."

His demand this time was clear. He sought entrance to her mouth, and bewildered and confused, she opened her lips to his questing tongue.

*****

PART V
 

"You will submit to me," was growled out through clenched teeth. The words echoed through the chamber, pulling in the others who watched the unfolding drama. Then right before his lips claimed hers for a third time, he whispered for her alone, "Need me."

His demand this time was clear. He sought entrance to her mouth, and bewildered and confused, she opened her lips to his questing tongue.

She was drowning. There was no other way to explain the maelstrom of thoughts and feelings that threatened to pull her under as Spike tightened his hold on her and deepened the kiss.

Feeling the waves closing over her head she reached out for something to save herself. Then over the roaring in her ears she heard the sharp rattle of chains. Buffy! Buffy, became the anchor she latched onto. Her mind had something to focus on now. This was for Buffy. Everything she'd done, everything she'd endured had been to rescue the Slayer and her Watcher. Holding tight to that thought, she found the strength to tear her lips away from Spike's.

Forcing her eyes open, she looked over Spike's shoulder into Buffy's horror-filled eyes. Willow had no idea what Buffy saw in reflected her face but whatever it was, it the sent the bound Slayer surging against her chains. A muted scream of hate rising behind her gag, Buffy twisted in her bonds, the chains swinging together and groaning with the stress of containing a Slayer's unleashed fury.

Seeing the burly vampire guards heading towards her friends, Willow knew she had to do something. They wouldn't kill them, but they would hurt them, especially if Buffy kept fighting them. Willow couldn't stand the thought of her friends being hurt because they were reacting to what Spike was doing to her. What she'd very deliberately, and with malice aforethought, had invited Spike to do to her.

So she did the only thing she could think to do. As she felt Spike's sharp teeth at her throat, she lashed out and kicked him hard in the shins.

He never flinched. Feeling a scream of frustration rise up in her, she finally gave vent to her fear. The scream seemed to release something in her and she came alive in his arms like a wild thing, struggling, screaming and clawing at him, as she fought to free herself.

As she struck in out in her panic, Spike finally pulled back from her and released his hold on her arms so that she dropped to the floor. The unexpected release didn't give her enough time to shift her weight and she came down hard on her twisted ankle. The sudden pain stilled her fight. Silent tears running down her face she caught Spike's eyes, just inches from her own. Surprisingly enough, she thought she saw the man looking out at her through those demon yellow gaze.

Flicking her eyes back over his shoulder at the screaming Buffy, she mouthed "Please."

The word seemed to tip the balance of some internal battle he was waging and he swung her around so that she stood pined against his side, facing the crowded room.

Avoiding the corner where a nearly unconscious Buffy now hung in her chains, Willow dropped down to her knees as Spike released his hold on her.

"Enough!" he roared. Even though this was not his band, the note of command in his voice stilling everyone in the room.

The silence hung for a moment, broken only by Buffy's harsh breathing and Giles' moans of pain. Stalking over to where the Slayer hung, Spike brought up one finger to run through the trail of bright blood trickling down her arm from where the metal cuffs had bit into her wrists during her struggles. Bringing his blood covered finger to his mouth, he made a show of savoring the taste, sucking on his index finger in a way that made Willow's insides clench in sudden tension.

"Hhmm, exquisite. There is nothing quite like the taste of Slayer's blood. Unless, of course, it is the taste of magic in a witch's blood."

Reaching out, he caught another drop as it slid down Buffy's arm and tasted it, ignoring the warning growls from the two guards standing beside him. Turning, he found Blake seated calmly at the table, as if the little drama that had just played out before him had been a performance just for his amusement.

"Blake, I don't think I'll be going out with you this evening. It seems I have new plans."

Willow felt his heated gaze come back to rest on her crouched form.

"It seems," Spike added with a low chuckle that brought to mind the darkest pits of hell, "that someone is in need of some remedial training. And really, what kind of Master would I be if I let this kind of disobedience slide?"

Blake laughed and rising from his seat, clapped a hand against Spike's shoulder. "Have . . . fun."

"Oh, it'll be a bloody good time, " Spike answered, "At least for one of us."

As Blake called his riled up clan around him for the night's hunt, Spike turned and headed back down the hallway to their room. A clipped command of 'Come', and Willow crawled after him, her face burning bright red at this added humiliation. Clenching her teeth, she dared not look at Buffy or Giles for fear that the guilt at adding to their pain would overwhelm her. The crawl back down the hallway was the longest thrity feet of her life.

*****

His long stride put him at the room long before Willow finished her painful crawl. Spike used those few extra minutes to get firm command of himself once again. He almost had his anger under control when she finally appeared in the doorway. Pulling herself the last few feet, Willow collapsed just within the door.

The sight of her sprawled, shaking at his feet, undid in an instant his careful control. Stepping over her, he slammed the door closed, fixing the deadbolt with a ringing snap.

She raised her head as the door closed behind her. He suddenly wanted to rage at her as she turned those proud green eyes on him. But even more than the rage, he wanted to make her scream. He wanted to hear her scream in pain and he wanted to hear her scream in ecstasy, and he didn't know which one he wanted more.

Take her. Rend her. Ravish her. Destroy her.

He had to get out.

As if Willow sensed his struggle, she stayed quiet on the floor. She made no comments, never moved from her position as he went about ripping the wooden planks from their window. Only when he was about to crawl through did he hear her call to him.

"Spike?"

He didn't answer, merely turned a fierce scowl in her direction. She didn't flinch back but met his eyes with steady resolve. She opened her mouth to say something but seemed to think better of it. Raising her hand, she ran her fingers across her forehead and down her nose.

It was the only with her gesture that he realized that he'd never resumed his human face. Shifting his features back to human, he gave her one last look before climbing out the window.

Willow sighed softly as she watched him climb out the window. Only when he was gone did she let herself slump. She was exhausted, hurt, confused and angry. She didn't know who she was anymore. Staring out after Spike's retreating form, she realized she wasn't the only one. It was alarming to learn that even demons could have their own inner conflicts to contend with. Surprisingly enough, the one person she needed to help her explain what was going on, was the person who'd put her in the position to begin with. Damn him.

She stared out the window for a long time until movement out in the hall shook her free of her daze. She had a charade to maintain, for both of their sakes and for the lives of Buffy and Giles. Now was not the time to fall apart. Pushing herself off the floor, she limped heavily over to the door. Satisfied that the door was securely locked, she picked up their one chair. Holding it above her head she swung it with all her might against the wall. Then right on the heels of that splintering crash, she screamed.

In that long, drawn out wail she forced all the terror, anger and hurt that she'd been keeping bottled up within her. The wail trailed off painfully, catching on a sob that she refused to release. She waited. One heart beat, two, then she screamed again. This time the cry was different, lower pitched, but still as echoing as she gave vent to all the conflicting feelings and thoughts that Spike inspired in her.

*****
PART VI

She stared out the window for a long time until movement out in the hall shook her free of her daze. She had a charade to maintain, for both of their sakes and for the lives of Buffy and Giles. Now was not the time to fall apart. Pushing herself off the floor, she limped heavily over to the door. Satisfied that the door was securely locked, she picked up their one chair. Holding it above her head she swung it with all her might against the wall. Then right on the heels of that splintering crash, she screamed.

With that piercing cry Willow gave vent to the emotional tangle that Spike had stirred up in her, but like a floodgate opening, once released she couldn't stop it. For the first time in her life, Willow let go. Grabbing one of the broken pieces of the chair, she swung it repeatedly against the door and walls, her cries rising and falling around her with each strike until she screamed herself hoarse and only broken sticks of splintered wood remained in her hands. The turmoil, however, still raged within her. Sinking to her knees, she continued to beat them against the floor in time to the pain still pulsing within her, a flood of emotion that once started, refused to be controlled until it had finished running its course.

When her voice finally fell silent, the tears began. Finally releasing the wood in her hands, she collapsed with the wracking sobs of someone at the end of their strength. Willow cried for herself and the girl she'd been a few short weeks ago. She cried for Buffy and Giles, who probably thought that Spike was raping and torturing her, possibly even killing her. She cried for the loneliness and all the pain and fear she'd had to endure. And in the end, she even cried for Spike, for forcing him into this and for whatever the sadness was that she sometimes caught in his eyes.

Eventually, even her tears ran out and she lay exhausted on the cold floor. As she lay there, eyes closed, she realized she felt the most extraordinary thing. She felt . . . better. She was still hurt, her life and Buffy and Giles and even Spike's still hung in the balance. She still had all her problems, but the ball of tension that had sat in the pit of her stomach for days was gone, released in the flood of misery.

With a soft giggle, she realized that for the first time in her life, she understood the attraction of primal scream therapy. Unfortunately, finding that newfound calm brought the pain in her ankle back to center stage in her thoughts, no longer hidden behind the larger pains in her heart and soul.

Wearily she pushed herself up from the floor. She had to find out how much damage had been done to her foot. From the lightening sharp stabs of pain, she was expecting the worst. Hobbling back to the bed, she proceeded to pull the boot from her foot amid swearing that would have met with Spike's approval.

Getting her first good look at her ankle, the only word she could think to cover the situation was, "Ow."

Her foot, propped up on the bed, had already started to turn several different colors, a mottled purple dominating the color scheme with blue running a close second. The skin beneath her fingers felt tight and hot and she could feel her heartbeat pounding deep in her ankle. It was definitely sprained, possibly fractured.

Probing gently at her foot, she added a mental addendum to her list of things never to do again. Deliberately pissing off a vampire was going to be number-one with a star.

Propping herself back against the pillows, she wondered what she was going to do now. She needed ice for her foot but she was stuck in the room. She'd long ago adopted vampire sleeping habits, and with sundown just upon them she should have been wide awake, but between her fight with Spike and the emotional and physical exhaustion brought on by her outburst, she could feel sleep tugging at her. Her mind and body telling her to rest, she slipped into a fitful doze broken by hazy dreams of running and an elusive safety that seemed always to be just beyond her fingertips.

It was her dreams that finally woke her.

"Spike!" she gasped, spread fingers clawing at his side of the bed, seeking comfort . . .protection . . . something.

The pain in her ankle brought her back to reality, that and the aches in the rest of her body as muscles that had stiffened in sleep protested every little movement.

Willow groaned softly and felt tears she'd thought exhausted earlier prickle beneath her lids. But just as quickly, she clamped down on the urge to cry. She'd needed those tears earlier but she couldn't afford them now. Now she had to be strong again. When this was all over and they'd won, then she would sit down and have another good cry but not until then. A few deep calming breaths later, her mental armor was back in place.

Glancing at the clock beside the bed she noted the time. Its steady crimson glow showed the time as almost midnight. She been asleep for almost four hours. Knowing that Spike had a lot to do before he'd be back, she settled down to wait.

She studied her spellbook for an hour before her concentration finally disintegrated beneath her restlessness. For her next distraction, she turned to her computer. After sending Oz an e-mail informing him and Xander that she and Spike were okay, she found herself unable to concentrate on the screen in front of her as her eyes kept being drawn back to the glowing numerals on the clock and then to the open window.

Heaving a sigh of disgust, she snapped the laptop closed. "Fine, I give up. If all I'm going to do is sit here and wait like a ninny, then I guess that's what I'll have to do."

She discovered that waiting, however, was easier said than done. Waiting left her mind free to wander down dark and twisting paths. Paths that always seemed to begin and end with one person; Spike.

Spike. Because of the need for his help, she'd performed the gypsy magic again. She blackmailed a vampire without even a twinge of conscience, knowing that if she died, he'd receive his soul.

Chewing on a hangnail she glanced at the clock again. 2:15 am. It was still early by vampire standards. There was no reason to start worrying yet.

Spike. He'd chopped off her hair, dressed her black jeans and boots and skimpy tops that showed off the bruises and bites and the collar that he'd locked around her neck.

Running her fingers through her hair, she tugged at the shortened locks in exasperation before looking again at the clock.

2:30. Who would ever have thought that fifteen minutes could pass so slowly.

Once again Willow wished that he hadn't hacked off her hair that first night. She still felt exposed without that familiar curtain to hide behind and she could no longer tuck that one strand behind her ear when she thought.

Another glance at the clock. 2:45 stared back her with mocking steadiness. She glanced at the window and tried to ignore the small niggle of worry that curled in her stomach.

Spike. He'd taken her to stay with several vampire 'families' in and around Sunnydale in their search for Buffy and Giles. He'd given her a glimpse into the vampires' world that Giles' books had never mentioned.

Checking the clock again, she hissed in a mixture of rising fear and annoyance, "Three o'clock. Where are you, Spike?" not sure if she should be worried about him or mad at him for being gone so long.

Spike. He'd expected her to fail, to cry at the first bruise, to crumble the first time he yanked her into a roomful of grinning vampires who saw her as nothing more than amusement and a meal. She should have failed. She should have cried and crumbled and curled into a ball. Instead, she'd become strong in defiance of his expectations and the scorn she'd seen in his eyes. Now, she realized, she'd remain strong so that scorn didn't come back.

The clock showed 3:33. She fought the urge to grab it up and hurl it against the far wall.

Spike. She'd struck Spike. More importantly, she'd struck Spike and lived to tell about it. She was probably one of the few people who could say that. She didn't blame him for his reaction to that slap, even though her ankle still throbbed and already new bruises, aches, and pains were making their presence known. She'd known when she'd made the decision to hit him that she was playing with fire. Taunt a demon, run from it, and you have to be ready to pay the consequences. She'd expected violence, she'd even feared that he might lose his control and kill her.

The clock again. The anger was fading, the worry growing stronger with each advancing flash of minutes. She went back to biting at her ragged nails.

Spike. He hadn't killed her. He'd kissed her, *that* she hadn't expected. But even more than the kiss, she hadn't expected her reaction to it.

Ignoring the clock this time, she surged up off the bed and made her way across the room to the bathroom to get a glass of water. Concentrating on the pain in her foot, she let its sharp sting wash out the memories of his kiss. She wasn't ready to think about that yet; wasn't ready to think about the reaction she'd had to him, his demand for her submission, his plea for her to need him. She wasn't ready to think about the fact that she'd been ready to give both to him, so she locked those memories away. Where they'd be safe. Where she'd be safe.

A sudden noise from the hall interrupted her progress back to the bed. Glancing worriedly back at the window and the clock, she cursed Spike under her breath. The stragglers of the evening were returning and seeking their own rooms up and down the hallway. It was time to put on another show. Drinking down the last of her water, she hefted the glass in her hand, and paused to consider, and then reconsider.

"Oh what the hell. I've always wanted to do this." Rearing back, she threw the glass at the door, a satisfied smile on her face as it shattered in a tinkling shower of glass shards. Then, for her vampire audience, she let out a few whimpers and a low moan that cut off abruptly. That seemed to satisfy whoever had paused at the door and as the hall once again grew quiet she turned back to the bed . . . and to the ever-present thoughts of Spike.

The clock now read 4:10.

It wasn't hard to imagine any number of things that could have happened to him. Vampires routinely fought and killed each other. Any young fledgling thinking to make a name and reputation could have ambushed Spike. Zombies and ghouls that fed on the dead considered vampires a rare delicacy. Demons, warlocks, witches, even those rare human hunters who knew of the existence of the demon inhabitants of the world could have captured him, hurt him, or even killed him.

And it didn't even have to be foul play. Spike could have left her. He didn't want this fight, didn't want to save Buffy. So he got his soul back, big deal. Spike had not been a good man, even as a mortal. Even now, he could be screaming down the highway, leaving her to her fate. Leaving her.

She was almost afraid to look over at the clock this time but forced herself to once again check the time. 5:02 am. Dawn would be a little after six o'clock. Worry officially became panic.

The fear and frustration were becoming overwhelming now. Fear that Spike was dead somewhere. Frustration in the fact that she couldn't give vent to her fear. With her ankle, she couldn't pace; her throat still hurt from the screaming she'd done earlier, and she was afraid that if she gave into the tears again, this time she wouldn't be able to stop.

In her desperation she pulled Spike's pillow into her chest, burying her face into the cloth, her eyes shut tight against the ugly little room, the broken chair and shattered glass, and against the clock and its relentless march of time. Cocooned in the darkness behind her closed eyes, surrounded by Spike's smell, she did the only thing she could think of left to do. Willow prayed. She prayed to the God of her parents, she prayed to her Goddess, she prayed to whoever and whatever chose and gave Slayers their powers. She prayed to anyone or anything that would listen, and hoped that if the forces of good where indeed listening that they didn't laugh when they heard her pray for the safety of a soulless vampire.

A scraping noise that shouldn't have been there brought her head up, her body tensed to either flee or fight. Heart pounding she scanned the room, and then she saw a pale hand catch at the window sill.

"Spike!" she cried in relief as the vampire finally climbed in through the window. Tossing the pillow aside, she hurried as fast as she could across the room, her joy at his return causing her to throw her arms around him. Burying her face against his shoulder, she held on tightly until embarrassment caused her to release him.

Taking a stumbling step backwards, she felt her relief turned quickly to dismay as she caught her first good look at him. Spike had been in a fight. His clothes were dirt streaked, one sleeve torn. A long gash started on the back of his left hand and wound further up out of sight beneath his sleeve. She didn't need to see it to know how far up his arm it went. The blood from the wound stained the shirt almost to the elbow.

As he stumbled over the sill she rushed to help him, her own injuries forgotten. Helping him to the bed, she fussed over him, ignoring his low growls of warning at her attentions.

Spike suffered her ministrations less than graciously, but finally allowed her to help him when his growls didn't deter her.

She hissed in sympathy as she helped pull his shirt over his head. "Goddess, Spike, what happened?"

"Remember the second group we stayed with when we started this bloody rescue mission of yours?" he asked, then snapped out, "Stop that!" as he kicked out at her hands that had been pulling off his boots. "I'm not a bloody invalid. I got into a fight with that piss-ant Gregory. Thought he and two of his goons could take me down . . . take more than three of those wankers to get me . . . stupid pricks."

Willow was really only half listening as she checked him over to make sure that he wasn't seriously injured. But finally his mutterings sank in and she turned wide eyes up to him. "You could have been killed!"

"What do you care, Witch?" Spike fairly growled at her.

She recoiled from the emotions swirling in his eyes and then firmly reminded herself that he was hurt, angry, and probably still wound tightly from the fight. At this moment, he was very much like a wounded animal, prickly, snarling, and not to be messed with. Sighing, Willow backed away from him, telling herself that his injuries were minor and he'd be healed by morning. He was alive. He'd come back to her. That was the important thing.

Catching blue eyes that flickered with streaks of amber, she soothed him as best she could. "I'm sorry, Spike. I was worried about you. I . . ." she almost said 'need you' but something held her tongue. Instead, she stuttered "I -I was afraid s-something had happened. B-but, you're okay . . . so, I'll leave you alone."

Turning away she limped away from him towards the window.

Spike watched her painful progress over to the window to check the boards he'd pulled back into place, making sure that the drapes were shut tight against the coming dawn. Watching her perform her nightly ritual of checking the room calmed him. The routineness of her actions was finally letting him release the tension he'd held since the fight earlier.

Watching her now he felt a stab of remorse hit him. He'd hurt her. He truly hadn't wanted to hurt her but the sight of her running before him, the thrill of the chase, the bloodlust rising as she fought against him, had been more than he could stand. Seeing her now though with the limp and the fresh bruises and scrapes decorating her pale skin, he realized he'd hurt her more than he'd realized. The little witch had proved herself to be made of iron, but that core of strength was housed in such a fragile package. A fraction of his strength and her skin wore the imprint of his fingers. She was lucky she wasn't dead.

Spike knew he'd crossed a line earlier and now he didn't know how to make amends to Willow. He had always known how to apologize to his Princess. Whenever in his anger or impatience he had hurt Drusilla's fragile feelings, he'd always offered her the comfort of his body, letting his passion and love for her express his sorrow at causing her pain. But Willow wasn't Drusilla and he didn't know how to tell her what he needed to say. So in the end, he simply remained silent.

Finally, he snapped out a terse, "I'm going to take a shower," and left to seek solitude under the pounding jets of water in the shower.

He emerged thirty minutes later to find Willow already in the bed, the covers pulled up tight around her. Flicking out the light, he crawled wearily into bed beside her.

A few minutes later Willow spoke, her voice soft and hesitant as she fumbled for her words. "I'm . . . I'm sorry, Spike. For hitting you, you know. And for running and . . . and making you have to . . . to do . . . what you did. I know you didn't like it. But I - I don't hate you. You only did what I made . . . well, forced you to do. And, I'd do it again, Spike. All of it. You didn't do *anything* I didn't want you to do." The last was finished in a rush as if her courage in getting the words said was running out on her.

Beside her, he lay silently, wondering if she really had any idea of what he could have done to her that afternoon and how very close he'd come to actually doing it.

*****

PART VII
 

Warmth. Heat. Life. It was the last one, life, which brought him to wakefulness.

He was lying on his side, facing the door, and he could feel Willow's back pressed up tight against his own. Her body heat warmed him; the thumping of her heart vibrated his own body in time with hers. It was a strange sensation, feeling her pressed so close against him. Back-to-back, each of them facing outward to confront their enemies, trusting that the other would stand behind them. Thinking back on his life as both demon and mortal, he couldn't remember anyone he'd ever trusted at his back, not even Drusilla. Because love her he may have, but her insanity meant that he was ultimately alone. How far had he fallen that he would even consider trusting his unlife in the hands of a mortal?

So lost in his thoughts, he was startled when her voice came out of the darkness. "You're awake."

Surprised at the surety in her voice, he asked softly, "How did you know?"

"You breathe."

"I what?" That was not what he expected her to say.

Willow laughed at the faint sound of disgusted disbelief coloring his voice. "You breathe. Well, not really breathe . . . because, of course, you don't have to breathe because technically you're dead and the whole breathing thing is kind of a non-issue. But you have to at least inhale in order to speak and definitely in order to smoke . . . I'd always wondered about that, you know. And you all do . . .breathe that is. I've been watching. I kind of think it's a reflex. So that even after you're turned, the reflexes still work. You blink, you swallow, and you breathe; leftovers from life. Which brings us back to me knowing you were awake. You were still when you were asleep and then when you woke up, you took a breath."

Finally stopping her ramble, she took her own breath, suddenly afraid that she'd let her enthusiasm get away from her again.

When Spike finally did speak, she heard the laughter in his voice. "For the sake of undead everywhere, I should kill you now. I have a feeling that you and that quick little mind of yours have learned far more from this experience that you should have."

She didn't even question her certainty that he teased her. "But you won't," she answered, with just the tiniest amount of smug satisfaction coloring her voice.

"No, I won't," he answered with a sigh of exasperation. Falling back into silence, he waited for her to pull away from him, but her back remained firmly against his. Surprised and curious about what was running through that quick mind of hers he continued to wait, knowing that she wasn't done yet, and she'd tell him when she found the words. He didn't have to wait long.

"You made contact with the other groups."

It was more statement than question, but he answered her anyway. "Yes. They know. They'll probably attack at dusk hoping to catch Blake by surprise."

"We could all die tomorrow."

Again it was a statement, as if she was working through her thoughts out loud, only needing Spike to confirm what she already knew. He could hear the underlying fear but her voice was steady. He wondered when he'd grown to know this mortal so well that he could now hear the thing she sought to hide. Hoping to distract her, he asked his own question of her. "Will you be able to do the pencil trick with the key?"

"I'll be ready."

He heard her swallow hard and the rustle of fabric as she wrapped her arms tighter around herself.

"Will you promise me something, Spike?" This time the tremor of fear was stronger in her voice.

"What, luv?"

"Don't let them turn me. I don't want to be a vampire. I've met what I would be as a demon, and I don't want that. She was empty and so very lonely."

`Emptiness and loneliness' . . . those he understood all too well. Out of everything she could have asked him, this was a promise he could keep. "I can't promise it won't happen, luv, but if I live, I'll make sure that you die the last death."

Willow was satisfied. If it came to it, Spike would stake her himself. It was a cold kind of comfort, but comfort none-the-less.

Spike listened to the silence between them, thinking that was all she asked of him. Then her voice came again, so soft even vampire hearing strained to make out the words. "I'm scared, Spike. I've come all this way, done . . ." a small hitch of breath before she continued, "done . . . everything I've done. It never seemed real, you know. Just playing a part, never letting myself think too hard or too long. But now it is here and I'm scared out of my mind. You were right, Spike. I'm a bloody fool and I'm going to get us all killed."

There was a note in her voice that Spike knew well. He'd heard it from Drusilla when she came out of her visions, when she was lost between the reality of her visions and the real world. During those times was when Drusilla had needed him the most, to ground herself in him and let Spike override the endless terrifying images that danced in her head. And Spike responded to that need now as he'd always done.

Turning, he faced Willow, pulling her over on to her back. Propping himself up on his elbow he stared down at the young woman who lay next to him. When she met his eyes, he pushed himself up and over her until he knelt over her body. Willow found herself surrounded by Spike, his shadowed eyes staring intently down into hers. He had her effectively trapped by his body, his arms and legs caging her. She started to say something but was stopped as he laid a finger against her lips and gently shook his head no.

Willow didn't understand what he was doing, but she felt the first stirrings of panic along her nerves as he lowered his head down to hers. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, wondering if after all this time he'd finally decided just to kill her and live with getting his soul back.

She waited, breath held and heart pounding, but nothing happened. No biting. No pain. The need for air finally forced her to let out her held breath. Still nothing. Opening her eyes, she gasped to find Spike hovering inches above her face.

His lips were curled in a faint smile, and she could see amusement in his eyes. It was the amusement that sparked her courage. She had always thought that he considered her some kind of useless little girl, but she'd endured too much to be laughed at, even by a vampire. At her narrowed eyes, his smile widened, almost as if he could tell he'd pricked her temper.

But that flare of defiance turned just as quickly back to panic as he lowered his face to hers and brushed his lips across her own. The shock of that feather light contact left her reeling in confusion. Before she could protest, his lips moved on to her hairline before wandering down over one eye. The contact was light as the brush of a butterfly's wing, a tickling sensation that electrified her nerve-endings and raised goosebumps across her body. But as his lips brushed across one cheekbone and down her neck she couldn't help wondering if now her death would come. But it was not to be, as the tip of his tongue joined the soft caress of his lips to trace around the collar that encircled her neck.

Willow was so shocked she didn't know what to do so she lay there, frozen beneath Spike. She couldn't seem to think and every time she grabbed onto a thought, the touch of Spike's lips drove it from her grasp again. She should stop this. Stop him. But she couldn't, or maybe . . maybe it was she didn't want to stop it. She didn't want to think about the consequences. She only wanted to feel the silky whisper of his lips against her skin. His touch sent the fears away, his lips stilled the tangled thoughts in her head until she threaded her fingers in the hair at his nape and pulled him up to her lips. He accepted her invitation with a hoarse growl that had more than a touch of warning in it.

Lost in the pounding of her heart and his touch, she didn't even protest when his hands slid up her stomach, pushing her t-shirt up her body. For how could you protest when logic said this wasn't happening and that it was all just a dream? And it was dream-like, the brush of his fingertips against her skin, the slide of his palms up her arms as he pushed the shirt up over her head. But the eyes that ran hotly across her skin belonged in no dream she'd ever had. She could almost feel his gaze against her. And she'd never had a dream like this one as Spike's cool lips returned to her skin.

He'd worked his way across her throat before she figured out what he was doing. It wasn't random kisses or caresses that he trailed across her but deliberately placed touches. Each bite mark met with a slow swipe of his tongue. The long scratch across her collarbone received a series of gentle kisses. He stopped at every bruise or cut, lavishing attention on each hurt as if he were trying to erase the pain of each one. His touch was gentle and almost non-erotic in a strange way, the touch of his lips light and innocent, if that word could even be used in conjunction with a soulless vampire.

It was that unreal sense of almost innocence that allowed her to let him pull her boxers down her legs until she lay naked beneath him. And when the barrier of her clothing had been removed, he returned again to her skin, moving across her hips and down her legs until he reached her ankle. She heard him hiss softly -- in anger, in remorse, maybe even sympathy. She wasn't sure. But his gentleness went to new levels as he trailed cool fingertips across the swollen flesh.

During it all, he'd never said a word, and the silence of the room beat at her and pressed in on her until she felt the need to scream. And then he stopped, his body still, the only movement, one thumb that gently caressed along her ankle.

Staring up at Spike, Willow realized she wasn't afraid anymore. She felt safe and warm and protected and Spike had done that. He had built a cocoon of safety around her with nothing more substantial that the moonlight and his touch. But it was real enough and the fear was gone, banished beyond the reach of the bed to where it could be faced later. And it didn't bother her that the eyes that held hers reflected no soul. What she did see though touched her just as deeply . . .compassion and desire and old hurts and loneliness. She saw his own needs laid bare before her, stripped of pretense and lies and half-truths. Honesty. And as Spike laid himself bare to her gaze, she couldn't hide behind her own fears.

Reaching upwards, she held out her arms to him, and when he leaned towards her, Willow slid her hands up his arms and across leanly muscled shoulders. Pulling him down to her, she whispered her assent and offered him his own solace. "Make it go away, Spike. Make it all go away."

This time when Spike touched her there was no hint of innocence.

*****

Willow woke, panic sending her heart soaring as she registered the foreign weight resting heavily across her body. Clamping down hard on the instinctive urge to scream, she opened her eyes only to discover that the weight pinning her to the bed was Spike.

Sometime while they'd slept he'd turned sideways on the bed until his body was stretched across its width. His head now rested on her stomach just below her breasts. She was effectively pinned with one of his arms lying against her side, his hand tucked up into the small of her back. The other stretched across the top of her thighs, his hand clutched tight at her hip. There was something almost childlike in his position; as if he were a small boy who'd snuck into his mother's bed looking for comfort. But the sensuous feel of his skin against hers and the tight grip he had on her body dispelled any thoughts of childish innocence.

Lifting her hand, she rested it upon his bent head, her fingers sinking into the softness of his hair. Stroking him, she ran gentle fingers across the back of his head down to the nape of his neck. When he didn't stir she repeated the gesture, this time continuing the caress down his neck and across the smooth expanse of his back as far as she could reach.

He shifted suddenly beneath her touch, and she waited for him to pull away, but instead he tightened his arms around her, nuzzling gently into her stomach before relaxing again.

Breath held, she waited, her hand hovering in the air over him. As the seconds ticked by and Spike still didn't move, she relaxed again and let her breath out slowly.

Spike had been a confusing mixture of tenderness and fierce possession. It had been nothing like the furtive scrambling with Xander or the controlled and deliberate lovemaking with Oz. Spike had been passion and fire, his touch sending shivers of pleasure racing through her body. She'd been unable to control the arch of her body, or the shuddering gasps for breath as Spike had used two centuries of knowledge to slowly drive her out of her mind.

She'd felt no shame in crying out, words of 'more' and 'again' tumbling from her lips. She'd felt no fear as sharp teeth had grazed sensitive flesh. She'd had no doubts as she'd twisted, pinning him in turn to replay the things he'd done to her and hear him cry out, words of 'more' and 'again' as sweet on his lips as they'd been on hers.

Willow would have liked to say that she was sorry, or maybe that when she thought of Oz, she felt the keen slice of guilt across her conscious. But if she was truthful with herself, she felt no guilt, no remorse for what had happened. In fact, if she was really truthful, she had wanted it. No, she thought, the real truth . . . she had wanted Spike. And he was both everything and nothing like what she'd imagined.

Now there was nothing left to do but stay in this bubble of safety and security that Spike had created for her until it was time to go out and face her demons, the ones down the halls and the ones living inside her head. But that was still hours away, and for now all she had to do was keep up the steady stroke of her hand over the bowed head of the man sleeping against her.

Which was why when he spoke, she was surprised and probably wouldn't have caught the words he murmured against her skin, if she hadn't been so focused on him.

"I'm sorry, Dru. Couldn't stop him . . . couldn't protect. He hurts you, baby. I can't stand it when he hurts you."

Then he moved slightly, turning his head enough to place a kiss that was more reverence than passion against her stomach.

Understanding dawning on her, Willow kept up the soothing caress of her hand. She'd known he didn't like playing the games of Master and slave. She'd never understood it. To her thinking, Spike should relish the opportunity to hurt her, mortal and friend of the Slayer that she was. New-found understanding though brought to mind other things, like the old Watcher Journals. She knew what the books said Angelus did to Drusilla. Only then, it had been just words on paper. She hadn't understood. Now she did. Drusilla had been where she was now, only for Drusilla it hadn't been a game. What had it been like for Spike? To watch a woman he loved beyond reason . . .she shook her head. Oh, Spike.

*****

Warmth once again brought him to wakefulness, teasing warmth this time that caressed his skin in abstract looping patterns. Willow. Opening his eyes he raised his head, levering his body up off of hers.

Only when Spike once again knelt over her did she notice the dark smears of blood marred his forearm. She didn't remember him biting her but the blood was spilled truth and she need only find the wound. In the end, the mark she sought was Spike's not her own. Confused, she reached down to brush gentle fingers over Spike's wrist, the flesh torn and jagged, so unlike the precise bites that marred her own flesh.

Troubled green eyes finally swung up to meet blue. Her finger stopped its delicate tracing to poise resting against his skin. "Why?"

It took only that innocent question for the memory to slam into him, its impact a physical blow of sensation, desire and raging want. His face buried against her shoulder. His lips pulled back to expose deadly fangs. Her blood pounded a hairsbreadth away. His ears were filled with the sounds of her pounding heart, overlaid with the soft gasps and whimpers that were wrung from her every time his length slid within her. Her scent, sharp with arousal and the tang of sweat, filled his nostrils.

He brushed his face against her neck, scraping his fangs across her skin. He felt her shiver at that touch, but she didn't pull away from him.

The need to bite roared in his head, pounding through him in time to the rhythm of Willow's blood beneath his lips. The litany going around and around in his mind. Take her. Drain her. Kill her. Own her. Possess her. Need her.

Need her. That was the force that drove him. He'd sworn he'd never need anyone or anything like he'd needed Drusilla, ever again. So with a snarl he turned his head aside, denying himself the sweet taste of her blood and sank his fangs into his own wrist. Fangs sliced through skin, releasing a flood of dark blood into his mouth. He choked on the taste, heavy and thick, tainted with the taste of death, instead of the fast, bright blood of the woman trembling beneath him. Grinding down, he welcomed the flash of pain, felt ivory scrape hard again bone.

The pain blossomed and grew until it mixed with the heat of her body and threw him into his own orgasm, his weight pressing Willow down into the bed, as his body jerked violently.

"Why, Spike?"

Her question pulled him back to himself, to find her still earnestly watching him; her lower lip caught fast between her teeth. It would be easy to lie. Safer certainly, for both him and her. He could lie, twist the facts so far into themselves until they showed no more reflection of the truth than his own missing reflection showed his own soul. But the lie wouldn't come.

Clenching muscles and tendons shifted beneath Willow's finger and, without a word she shifted her hand along his forearm, her touch the faintest whisper along his skin, smoothing out the tension, relaxing corded muscles.

"Spike?"

He met her eyes and let her see the hunger on his face. "Because I wouldn't have stopped."

She nodded at his answer and gave him a sad half-smile. "I understand," she said, then turned away from him and moved back to her own side of the bed.

He stared at her back for a moment longer but then there was nothing left to do but lay back down on his own side of the bed and turn his back to her. A few minutes later he felt her move again, and nothing -- not being turned, not Angelus or Drusilla or even the Hellmouth -- had ever surprised him more than when he felt her inch backwards across the mattress until her back was once more pressed against him. His back guarded, Spike fell into a dreamless sleep, waiting for dusk and the end of everything.

*****

Spike paced, nervous energy expressing itself in endless movement. Willow, in contrast, sat as still as a statue, never moving from the corner she'd claimed when the two of them had first entered the room. She had played her part to perfection. Her walk was that of an old woman, as if every movement caused her pain. She visibly flinched whenever Spike's swinging leather duster brushed against her. She was, in the eyes of those who took the time to look at her, everything she was expected to be . . . cowed, beaten and completely submissive to her Master.

In another time and place she would have laughed at the obtuseness of those that looked at her, seeing only what they wanted to see. Now, she did not laugh. Too much was at stake and the consequences of failure unbearable.

So she turned deaf ears to Buffy's muffled screams of hate as she was bound to the makeshift altar. She turned blind eyes to Giles' suffering as he watched the preparations that would sacrifice his Slayer. Sightless, soundless, she trusted in Spike to guard her as she turned inward to pitch magic against the laws of gravity and physics.

And what after all did Newton and Einstein know of witchcraft? Of impossible things that science could not define? And not even a flicker of triumph marred the passive cast of her face as the iron manacle key, thought to be slipped safely into a pocket, fell up instead of down and defied all the laws of those men of science to hover out of sight and out of reach, waiting for the moment when it would be needed.

Only peripherally was she was aware of Spike's impatient argument with Blake, the words washing over her consciousness as she concentrated on holding the key to Buffy and Giles' release in the air. Angry words . . . "now" . . . "not yet time" . . . "do you dare to challenge me?" . . . "NO!" The voices beat at her, trying to break her concentration and now new sounds assaulted her. Breaking glass, screams and growls spun around her. Then she heard what she'd been waiting for. Spike and the words, "Now, luv."

Willow woke from her self-induced trace to a scene straight out of hell. Dozen of vampires filled the room around her each bent on destruction. The various clans may have started this assault together, but true to form their allegiances were breaking down as each vampire sought to get to the Slayer and Watcher to claim them for their own. Within that seething hell, Willow crouched in the corner behind the meager protection of Spike's legs. She wanted so badly to give in to the terror clawing at her insides but she did not, though her nails had long since cut into the palms of her hands from the her tight fists.

Trusting that Spike would protect her, she concentrated on the key she was levitating even while around her chaos reigned -- a key which finally found its home in the lock holding the Slayer captive.

The weeks of inaction and lack of adequate food and water had seriously weakened Buffy. But the feel of the chains that had bound her for so long sliding off her wrists sent a surge of energy through her that had her rolling off the makeshift altar with only a slight jerky movement to betray her true weakened state.

Buffy knew she'd pay for this last burst of energy she drew from within, but right now, she didn't care. Only one thing remained for the Slayer, one driving imperative - kill Spike. And if to get across the room to kill him meant killing the vampires in her path, then she'd simply go through them. As the first unlucky vampire crossed her path, Buffy gave herself over to the instinctive hate and urge to kill within herself and simply became The Slayer.

It was several minutes before Spike noticed a difference in the movement and sound of the fight that ebbed and flowed around him. His confusion turned to comprehension as he realized the Slayer was free, and it didn't take long to figure out she was coming for him.

Spike twisted around and grabbed Willow's arm, hauling her to her feet. "Get the Slayer and Watcher out of here." She felt keys pressed into her hand. "Go!"

As she stumbled away from him, he guarded her back, memories of Prague and the sheer terror he'd felt when he saw Drusilla go down surrounded by the mob clawing at his insides.

Snarling, he staked a vampire that got too close. "This is not bloody well Prague and it won't happen again. Not this damn time," he growled.

"Buffy," Willow screamed over the noise around her. The Slayer never paused in her fight, Willow's scream unheard in her single-minded dance of destruction.

Seeing that Buffy was beyond hearing her now, she ran to the altar and retrieved the key still stuck in the padlock. Snatching it up, she moved to free Giles from his chains. Giles crumpled to the ground when released.

"Willow, leave me. Get out of here."

Seeing the Watcher on the ground, giving in to his fate, Willow felt something inside of her snap, and an unaccustomed rage swelled up in her. "Damn it, no! I did not do all this just so you could die here. I will NOT let you die. Get up!"

As Giles struggled upright, Willow screamed at Buffy one last time. This time the Slayer heard.

As Buffy reached Willow and Giles, she came up under Giles' unprotected shoulder, taking some of his weight off of Willow.

"Buffy, this way," Willow indicated a door off to their left, and the three made their way across the room with Spike still shadowing them, always keeping Willow within sight. As they broke free from the building, Buffy turned, only then catching sight of the vampire behind them. With a howl of pure hate, Buffy dropped Giles' shoulder to spring at Spike, a makeshift stake grasped tight in her hand. "You bastard!"

Willow didn't think; she simply reacted. "Buffy, no!" Dropping Giles where they stood, she barreled into Buffy who had Spike momentarily pinned beneath her. Both went tumbling over and over in a tangle of arms and legs.

"Willow, what are you doing?"

"Buffy, he's helped me . . . and . . . and, we don't have *time* for this now."

Spike had gained his feet, hot, yellow eyes glaring balefully at the Slayer who stood trembling a few steps away, barely suppressed rage warring with exhaustion the only thing keeping her on her feet.

"She's right, Slayer." Turning his head, he spat out a mouthful of blood. Rubbing a finger across his split bottom lip, he sneered at her. "You want to kill me, fine. Kill me later. After, you get your Watcher and Willow out of here."

Buffy was caught in her indecision, torn between getting Giles and Willow away and staking the demon in front of her and every other demon in the house until she had enough dust to create her own sandbox. It was, in the end, her Watcher who decided her.

"Buffy, we can deal with this later," Giles said, his voice weak and barely above a whisper.

Something hard and cold seemed to break in Buffy's eyes and she nodded once, sharply.

Willow sighed in relief as Buffy relaxed the grip she had on her stake. "Come on, Spike."

"No."

"No? What do you mean no?"

He quieted her with touch. "You're not Dru. You don't need me. The Slayer and Watcher need you now. Without you they won't even make it to the car."

"Spike, please."

But the vampire ignored her, turning away and heading back towards the house. Then there was nothing left to do but gather up her friends and begin the long journey back to Sunnydale.

*****

Spike walked the corridors of the deserted school, hearing the voices from the library echoing faintly around him. He hated this place. Hated the empty hallways, hated the smells that lingered around him in eddying swirls, odors of youth and humanity, food and the sickly sweet smell of decay that the Hellmouth underneath this place emitted into the air. But most of all he hated himself and the reason that he knew these corridors and these smells and these people down the hall. The Watcher who maintained the farce of librarian, the Wolf-boy and his unflappable calm, that idiot twit Xander, the Slayer who wanted nothing more than to see his ashes scattered on the wind, and Willow.

Willow. He stopped and leaned against the cold, concrete wall, his eyes closed as he savored the memories of Willow . . her fierce eyes as she enlisted his aid, her determined expression the first night he'd inflicted the bruises and bit her, the graceful way she'd knelt at his feet the first time they'd stayed with another vampire group, her grin as she laughed at something he'd said. But not a single one of those memories compared with the look on her face as she'd lain there beneath him, her legs wrapped tight around his body, her head thrown back on the pillow. He dropped his head down into hands to dispel the visions behind his eyes. Heaven and Hell both help him, because he should hate her the most. She had damned him as surely as the demon that had stolen his soul. Vampires should not be trusted by humans and never, ever, should vampires trust humans.

Weakness, that was what she was and he would not succumb. Banishing the thoughts, he reached for the ever-present anger that lived within him and wrapped it around himself like a cloak and went to face his own demons.

*****

The argument started up again as it had almost every night since The Great Escape, as Willow had taken to calling it in her mind. Tonight it was Buffy's turn to lead the argument. At least tonight, Willow thought with a rueful grin that she was careful to keep hidden from the others, they'd actually managed to get a little research done before the conversation turned to her.

"Willow, please," Buffy begged, "let us remove that thing."

Willow answered as she had every night that they'd had this argument. "No."

Across the room, Xander threw up his hands in frustration.

"Why?" The hurt and anger in Buffy's voice was barely held in check. "Will, we don't understand why you are still wearing that collar." She stopped to rein in her temper once more.

Giles picked up effortlessly where Buffy left off, though his voice held more of a note of understanding. "Willow, it's been a week. There is a good possibility that he didn't survive that fight. Spike, being Spike, there is an even greater probability that he did survive and took this opportunity to flee from the duties that he was forced into here with Buffy."

Oz finally joined in the game, his hand resting with a patient gentleness on her arm. "What did he do to you, baby?"

Anger surged then from where it had been simmering, and she fought to control it. They didn't understand. Most of the time she didn't understand it, how could she possibly expect them too? It was like it had all happened to another person, another Willow whose memories she shared. She shook her head, unable to explain. "He didn't do anything."

"Baby . . . "

"No," she said sharply, cutting him off, more than a hint of growl in her voice. "No, baby." She pointed down to the black boots she was wearing. "Don't you all see? Boots. Black, vampire-kicking combat boots. Boots that mean I'm not your baby anymore."

She threw back her head and groaned softly at the confused expressions around her. Taking a calming breath, she tried again. "Guys, I love you. But I'm not the same Willow that left four weeks ago."

Beside her Oz nodded. "It's a growing up thing." His words gave her hope that maybe one of her friends was beginning to understand what this experience had done to her.

"Yeah."

"I can understand that, Will. I'd like to get to know the new you."

Now the tears came and she hugged him fiercely to her. "I'd like that Oz."

"Now, isn't that a touching picture. A bloody Kodak moment if I ever saw one." Cocky and sure his voice filled the whole room.

Willow raised her head to see Spike leaning against the doorjam, a sneer plastered on his face. "So, can anyone join this party?"

Before anyone else could respond, Willow answered. "This is a private party."

She felt his eyes flicker over her, resting lightly on the collar she still wore. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small padlock key. Swinging it on the end of his finger before the assembled group, he grinned wickedly at Willow. "Private party? I think I might have the key to get in."

Willow fought to keep the smile off her face as she took in the sight of him. His stance and bearing screamed violence. The arrogant sneer twisting his lips bespoke exactly the level of contempt that he held them all in. Yet, his eyes held only an amused deviltry. Truly did the devil dance in Spike's blue eyes.

But from the stake that slid down into Buffy's palm to Xander's sudden surge to his feet, it was obvious the others didn't or couldn't see that Spike was just taunting them.

Meeting those dancing eyes she answered his invitation. Sliding down off the countertop to land lightly on her feet, Willow ignored Xander's grasping hand and stepped towards Spike.

He was thinner than Willow remembered. Once she was close, she could see the half-healed burn scars along his hands and noted the stiffness that marred his usual animal grace. He'd been hurt badly after they'd made their escape. Badly enough that he still wasn't completely healed. Which did much to explain his apparent leanness. Injured, he wouldn't have been able to hunt. She wasn't surprised at the pain in her heart, but no pity reflected on her face. She knew he would not thank her for her pity.

"Come with me." His hand was outstretched in her direction and she couldn't ignore that command so without even a glance backward, she followed him out into the night. He stopped out in the quad so that the two of them stood in a pool of light from one of the lamps that lined the brick walkway.

He stared at her for a long moment, his face closed off and expressionless, but Willow could see the struggle going on behind his eyes. "We are not friends," he finally said and through his words were harsh, when he reached up to the collar, his touch was gentle against the skin of her neck.

"No," she agreed, "we are not friends." Looking up at his controlled expression she added, "But neither are we enemies."

The fingers at her throat stilled, then began their movement again. "Neither are we enemies." It wasn't the whole truth, but for now it was one they both could accept.

The faint snap/click of the small padlock sounded loud between them and she was suddenly free. Perversely, she felt suddenly naked without the feel of the collar against her neck.

"I set you free."

The words were formal, distancing, and Willow could feel him pulling away from her. If it were only that easy, she thought, but she made no outward comment.

He gave her the collar then, and her fingers clutched tight to its length, its smooth surface growing cold as it rapidly lost the warmth of her skin. That convinced her as nothing else had, not the fight to free Buffy, not the numbing trip back to Sunnydale in Spike's car, not the confrontations and questions with her friends. Now, it was over. Brought full circle back to Spike and a twenty-inch long strip of leather. She was free but still marked, none-the-less.

So she did what not friends and not enemies did, she set him free as well.

Stepping back from him, she withdrew until they faced each other across the circle they stood in. Taking a seat on the low courtyard wall, she let him continue to back away from her until he stood at the edge of light, half in and half out of the shadows.

Thrusting his hand in the pockets of his duster he contemplated the young woman who sat so motionless across from him. There was a calmness in her expression that eased his own agitation. He needed to be going but first he had to have some answers. "You didn't tell them."

Red hair swung against her face as she shook her head, catching the light from the lamp above them. "No, I didn't."

Unexpected anger burst like a bubble in his chest making his voice harsh. "Ashamed for your friends to find out you fucked a demon? That you fucked me?"

His voice was angry, his words designed to hurt, but she'd been with him too long. She could hear the pain beneath his voice. Who would ever have thought that a vampire could get his feelings hurt. But his accusations riled her own temper. "I'm *not* ashamed, of you or of what we did. I didn't tell them because they wouldn't understand. They couldn't understand because they weren't there, they didn't live it."

The anger abruptly drained out of her and she leaned back with a tired sigh. "Spike, Buffy is so hurt right now. She feels so guilty about everything. About Oz and Xander being in the hospital, about Giles' pain, but especially about what I did to get her back. No matter what I tell her, her own guilt says that you hurt me and she is responsible."

"I did hurt you."

She smiled faintly at that. It was the truth, but she had discovered that there were truths and then there were Truths. "Not like Buffy thinks and right now, the only thing keeping her from trying to stake you, is the fact that I've not told her everything."

"So the Slayer is suffering from a little guilt. Do you know what I could do with that? How with a few well chosen words I could rip her soul in half?"

"This is isn't about Buffy and you know it."

"So, you want me to hold a secret that would cause the Slayer deep emotional pain?"

"Yes. I can't force you. I don't have anything to bribe you with. But I can ask you. Please, Spike. Don't use this to hurt her.

"You'd trust me to hold this secret?" His voice laced with heavy doubt.

Willow didn't hesitate. "Yes."

Her answer seemed to release something within him. She could almost see an unnamed tension drain out of him and with the release of that tension the facade of big, bad vampire cracked and melted away to be replaced by a weary Spike.

"Then you are indeed a fool. You can not give a demon a secret and expect him to hold it freely. That's not the way we work."

"Then give me one of your secrets to hold against it."

He looked over at her then, surprise on his face. But slowly a smile settled over the surprise. Not a happy smile, Willow realized but one tinged with a mocking kind of sadness she didn't understand.

"Always the clever one," Spike said quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself. "And I'm still underestimating you. You'd think I'd bloody well learn by now," he finished with a soft sigh. Then he seemed to rouse himself, staring back at her with his old fierce expression, the one that warned that before her stood a creature that could kill her before she could even scream. "A secret, you say . . . an exchange of equal value . . . my silence hostage against yours. Is that what you want, luv?"

Willow felt herself trembling and not knowing why, but she nodding her head.

"Well, then my smart little witch, why was I helping the Slayer?"

Willow frowned in confusion but answered with what little she and the others had been able to piece together. "We never really knew. Angel found you, beat up and abandoned in a alley in Los Angeles. He brought you here. You were raving that you didn't want to help the Slayer. You'd die first. When you healed, you said that you were being blackmailed. You've never told us by whom, or what they hold over you. Xander thinks Angel did it or had it done." She stopped then and then added hesitantly, "We always kind of figured Drusilla was somehow involved."

Spike made a noise like a short laugh though there was no humor in his voice. "Dru is always involved. Even when she isn't here, she still consumes my life. But then she was gone and I was alone." He raised haunted eyes up to Willow's, a hundred emotions flitting across his face at once. "I haven't been alone in two hundred plus years."

He stopped then and simply stared. It took a minute for what Spike was really saying to sink in, for the understanding to fill her. "Oh my god."

She was stunned. He couldn't be saying what she thought he was saying. it was impossible, insane and . . . and . . . Spike was still looking at her with eyes that showed a vulnerability that scared her. But she understood. She understood everything now and she wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or to cry. Without Drusilla to give his life direction or meaning Spike was lost. And how desperate had he been that for the sake of familiarity he'd turned to his enemies. Oh goddess, he couldn't be trusting her with this. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know if she was meant to say anything.

Spike watched her and wondered. Did she understand what he'd just told her? Did she understand why he told her? Hell, was he ever sure himself why he'd told her his secret? But it didn't matter now. Now it was time to go and get the away from the Hellmouth and the Slayer and red-headed witches. It was time to be on his own. He didn't need Dru and he certainly didn't need this mortal. He didn't need anyone.

Lighting a cigarette, he pulled the smoke deep into his lungs before forcing it back out again. "Good-bye, witch."

It took Willow a second to register Spike's last words, but when she did, she sprang up from her seat towards where the vampire had stood. "Spike, wait," she called, but the vampire was already gone, just the scent of the cigarette smoke hanging in the air.
 

~End~

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