* * *
 

I remember a snippet of my college freshmen psychology class, in which we were taught that fear is the driving force in all human life.  Afraid of growing up, growing old, afraid of death and failure and betrayal.  I remember agreeing at first, but then wondering: what was the driving force of those who lived and thrived on fear?  If humans were eternally fearful, then they were indeed fear itself.  Yet they run from the demons who come to claim such fear and drink it all away.

I suppose it was my way of justifying everything in the beginning, not that my mind required justification.  It was too good to be true, at first. I could feel everything but fear.  No regrets, no compassion for what was below me, no conscience to get in the way.  It was in this way that I  actually felt truly human, merely higher up on the food chain.  And I reveled in these feelings.

I scarcely remember the night of my rebirth, but what I do remember now brings a wicked smile to my face.  I remember seeing, after the nothingness had cleared, what a fool I had been.  What I had now been given was a far better way to live!  Or die, depending on your point of view.  By embracing the monster, I had turned nightmares to dreams, fears into confidence, weak love into the much stronger hate.  It had been so
wonderful.

Mother doted upon me, gave into my every whim, save for when I had been "naughty."  Then she would punish me, whip me, which wasn't really punishment to me at all.  And afterwards, Mother would wail out her insecurities and her inability to raise me, and I would have to comfort her--yet another reward.  Oh, how many nights did I spend in her room, showing her just how much I appreciated her, and being shown just how much I meant to her.  Sometimes I'd catch him watching us, a jealous glint in those feral blue eyes of his.  He wasn't the baby anymore.  And he hated me
for it.

He tried every way possible to get rid of me without physically harming me himself.  One morning I awoke to find my canopy bed surrounded by a curtain of crosses, trapping me under the bedclothes for fear I'd burn to death.  He poisoned the blood of the few humans we kept captive in the basement with holy water, but that had stopped soon after Mother had taken ill from feeding off one of the tainted bodies by mistake.  She had been so angry with him, I thought she might stake him herself.  He bought her a new doll to make up for it.

"Mother, why does Spike hate me?" I asked her one early morning.  She sighed and flitted about as she always did, fussing over my blood-red hair and brushing it until it was glossy and perfect like I was one of her dolls.

"He's hateful because he feels you're stealing me away..." she replied in that dreamy, sing-song voice of hers.  "But don't fret, kitten...you are who he worries for...."

Looking back, I wondered if she knew what would happen between our family all along.

* * *

"Willow!  What did you do with my spikes?!" Spike's voice bellowed angrily through the mansion one evening.  I hummed softly to myself as I heard his frantic footsteps thud down the hall, coming towards my room.  It was a lovely room, done completely in black, save for the ivory satin sheets that adorned my king-sized bed, and the gauzy curtains that sighed down from the canopy.  The furniture was all done in cherry oak wood, and a beautiful altar had been set up along one wall.  Mother had decided early on that I should pursue my practices of black magick.  Along the opposite wall were French doors at least ten feet high cloaked in heavy, dark velvet curtains that led to a wide balcony adorned with ivy and climbing roses  of the deepest red, so red that they appeared nearly black.  But the thing I loved most about my room was the smell; always like rich vanilla.  I loved the way it affected me, and others as well.  I knew it had to be what made Spike stop suddenly as he appeared in the threshold of my doorway.  His nostrils flared slightly as he took in the scent, and I could've sworn I saw his eyes flutter ever so slightly before he remembered what he had come for.

"Willow.  Spikes.  Now," he ordered gruffly.  I merely shrugged at him, knowing that it would only enrage him more.

"I dunno."

He growled, and I smiled wickedly in the way I had cultivated by watching Mother.  Just a small smile, devilish, like the Mona Lisa only a thousand times more potent because it was real.  He stalked towards me, a menacing glare playing upon his face.

"Girl, if you don't hand over those spikes right now I'll skin your bloody hide and make a cap out of that fiery hair you fancy so much."

I sighed.  His threats were usually empty, so I wasn't at all nervous.  He'd be too worried of upsetting Mother if he ever harmed me.  "Whatever," I complied, and bent down to pull a small wooden box out from underneath the massive bed.  Spike's eyes widened in fury as he took in its contents.  Every single one of his spikes that I had managed to get my crafty little hands on had been carefully bent in half, a tedious operation that I had spent time on specifically for the purpose of annoying him.  He surprised me, however, and didn't utter a word.  He only grabbed me roughly by my wrist and yanked me up to his level so that his face stared down into mine.  I fought the urge to wince as his grip tightened and he turned around, dragging me behind him as he left the room and headed downstairs to the foyer.  "Let go of me!" I demanded, but he ignored me and kept on walking.  I began to grow anxious.  Had I finally pushed it too far?  Certainly I could last in a fight against him--I had been trained well, by both my mother and by watching him when he didn't know I was there, and I could be damned lethal when I chose to be.

He was just reaching for the door handle that would lead outside when I had enough.  Gracefully I spun into a roundhouse kick that connected solidly with the back of his head.  I was turned around with my legs straddling his arm, which still held firm to my wrist. Spike swore in an incalculable number of languages at the dull ache in his head and before he could react I had already jumped up and was yanking him beneath me.
This caught him off-guard, disrupting his normally flawless fighting balance.  I landed with my knee on his chest and my free hand at his throat.

"Let.  Go.  Of.  Me," I ordered, but still he did nothing.  Almost nothing.  With a sudden cat-like pounce, he had flipped both of us over and now had
both my wrists pinned above my head on the cold tile. He grinned smugly.

"Now you listen here, you little bitch: you will never.  Ever.  Under any circumstances.  Touch my spikes again.  I don't care if you've got a bloody
stake in your back and the choice between one of my spikes and a Teddy bear to defend yourself with, you better pray to bleedin' Satan in Hell that the Teddy bear is stronger than your opponent.  Is that clear?"

I smiled sweetly, containing the rage that boiled within me.  "Crystal."

He nodded once and rose, still taking me with him.  I wasn't sure where he was taking me, but damned if I wasn't bored in that house anyway, so I went along with it.  We walked a long while in silence, Spike at the lead and me hovering behind him through a fog of cigarette smoke drifting back from my companion. Finally, we reached the railroad tracks, at which he shoved me to the rocky ground.  I glared up at him, outraged by his show of dominance, and allowed my vampirical face to emerge.  With a feral cry, I jumped on him, toppling the both of us to the ground.  I was screaming, punching, kicking and clawing with everything I had in me.  I wasn't even trying to fight him properly--the only thing that surfaced right then was anger, and I would give him Hell for it.

He managed to grab me by my hair and snap my neck backwards so that my head slammed into the filthy gravel.  I struggled, despite his advantage in position on top of me.  When it became apparent to him that I would keep fighting, he gripped me tightly by my sides and drug me over the tracks.  The sharp stones and metal sliced at my unprotected upper back, and I roared at the assault.  How dare he do this to me!  I would gut him!

Furious, I reached up and felt along the track until I felt something smooth and metallic touch my fingertips.  I would show him.  His intestines would
be strewn across the length of the entire track from here to Mexico, disemboweled by the same goddamned thing he was so proud of--a railroad spike.

I tugged at the spike viciously, tearing off two nails in my efforts.  Finally, I was able to pry it loose and slid it out of its hole.  With newfound rage, I growled and sprung up at him, pinning him down by his throat as I ran the sharp tip of the spike from his groin to his belly.  My hand drew back, and I plunged it down.

He caught my wrist just before I could impale him.  He twisted it, stopping just before I could feel the pops of my bones break.  I dropped the spike, and he smiled up at me.  Lucifer, he made me so angry!  I hissed at him, then stopped in surprise as he lowered my bleeding fingers to his mouth.  He kissed them softly, making me flinch, before gently sucking on them, his tongue swirling around, cleaning up the blood and nursing the wounds.  Why couldn't he ever make up his mind?  It was either kiss me or kill me with him. Granted, he had never actually kissed me; that sort of thing was forbidden between childer unless the sire allowed it.  But, oh, was he ever frustrating!  And I was so angry.  And I wished then that he would kill me
when I felt the bloody tears stream down my cheeks.  I couldn't help it.  I would just get so mad sometimes...

He sat up and moved behind me, brushing my hair away from my back to examine the cuts and scrapes that were already beginning to heal.  I jumped when I felt him run his tongue along the drying blood, removing any trace of what he had done.  I knew it was just so he could save his own ass if I decided to tell Mother.  I wouldn't.  I fought against him just as much as he fought against me.

When he had finished, the scowl had returned to my face, but at least I was in control of myself.  I watched him reach for the discarded spike.  He
fingered its point a few times, studying it.  It was no doubt made of silver, but dust had taken away its gleam and had given it a cakey look.  Spike ran the lethal tip of the thing along his wrist, allowing the blood to flow.  Violently he yanked me towards him and pushed my face to the cut.  I knew an invitation when I saw one, and began to feed greedily from his cool veins, replenishing the blood I had lost.  His blood tasted wonderful, coppery and spicy and rich with his age.  I stopped myself before I took too much and licked my lips appreciatively.  Spike only nodded once and stood, then lifted me up by my forearm, even though I could have very well done it myself.  He spun the spike between his fingers expertly and turned to me, grinning.

"Thanks, love."  He winked at me and started back to the mansion.  I blinked.  That ass!  He knew I would--and that--he did it on--!  I growled through gritted teeth and followed him, weaving my way through the woods surrounding the railroad tracks.  I really hated him.

* * *

I awoke the next evening to the sound of the large stereo system in the sitting room being blared at full volume, which told me that Mother had already left to hunt.  She couldn't stand Spike's music, and would not permit it to be in the house while she was there to hear it.  To make up for it, whenever she was gone, Spike would play the Hell out of it at full blast, savoring the British trash while he could.  I listened carefully, and could just barely make out my blond brother screaming out the words along with Sid Vicious.

"I am an anti-Christ!  I am an anarchist!  Don't know what I want, but I know how to get it!  I want to destroy the passerby!  'Cos I...wanna be... anarchy!"

I couldn't help but giggle.  He did sound eerily like the long gone musician when he did that.  With a yawn, I rose and stretched and dressed in my usual leather hunting outfit--a long leather skirt and matching bustier, both black of course.  I quickly laced and tied the knee-high black leather boots and ran a brush through my straight crimson hair, which fell just at my shoulder blades.  I brushed my teeth and stared at the reflection of my room in the mirror.  Mother usually made me up before we went out, since I couldn't see myself to do it properly, but since she had departed early I would have to settle for a mere dusting of pale power, some mascara, and a slick of brick-red lipstick.  Perfume was almost never worn amongst vampires--the scent gave away our position to others too quickly, not to mention the assault it was to our enhanced senses.  The first time I had tried it, my eyes bloodied tremendously and I had sneezed for what seemed ten minutes straight.  That was the end of perfume for me.

I glanced down at my broken nails.  The ones that had been torn off the night before had already healed over the bed; their length would take a bit of time to grow back.  Frowning, I left my room and descended down the stairs to point and laugh at Spike, as was the evening custom.

"How many ways to get what you want!  I use the best! I use the rest!  I use the enemy!  I use anarchy! 'Cos I...wanna be...anarchy!  It's the only way to be!" Spike yelled, his head bobbing in time with the guitar and drum beats while he puffed on a cigarette.

"Damned right," I commented.  He spun around, having not heard me enter the room over the blare of the music.  He gave me a nod of regard and took another drag off of his smoke.  "Where's Mother?"

Spike immediately scowled, hate marring his normally beautiful features.  I knew that something wasn't right; he was never upset over a simple hunt.  My eyes scanned the room, and I noted the half-empty whiskey bottle sitting on the end table.  Whatever was wrong, it was something enough for him to get drunk over. "She went to find the sodding poof.  He's in town," he finally growled.  Angel.  I knew of Spike's immense hatred for our grandsire, and of Mother's loyalty to the older vampire.  Nervousness gripped me--what if she had left us?  The slayer and her goons that I had once foolishly called my friends had no knowledge of our existence here in Sunnydale.  After Spike had gotten the chip out of his head, he had taken off, presumably to find Mother and kill anyone who came across his path.  They had both returned months ago, and Mother had sired me.  It was agreed that we live in secrecy until each of us had grown strong and powerful enough thanks to the use of both Mother's and my magicks.  According to the "Scooby Gang," I had simply vanished into thin air, they would never see their friend again.  They were right; I was no longer any friend of theirs.  It had surprised me at first how concealed we had managed to remain.  I knew where the slayer hunted, her patrol routes, everything, and we had managed to evade her watchful eyes.  But now, with Angel back in town...it jeopardized everything.

"No.  She wouldn't.  She's not that insane," I assured myself, shaking my head in disbelief that she would put the lives of her own childer at stake just so she could be rejected once again by our souled grandsire. Spike said nothing, but I saw his jaw clench angrily. She couldn't have possibly... we were a family.  She loved us--she loved me!

But then...she had abandoned Spike more than once. How could I have been so thick-skulled to think that she would never do the same to me?  Perhaps the way she cared for me as if I was one of her dolls was more true than I cared to admit.  Perhaps to her I was nothing more than another doll for her play with, then cast away when she grew tired of me.

"Spike, tell me this isn't true!  You're a lying son of a bitch, I know you can't be telling the truth!" I screamed at him, stalking closer, my fists balled at my sides.  He snickered scornfully.

"It's the sodding truth, baby.  She's ditched us. It's not the first time, and I doubt it'll be the last."

"No," I denied it.

"Afraid so.  It's rough the first time.  Gets easier after a while," he amended, and I knew he was trying to console me in his own twisted way.

"But...this place, will we have to leave this place?"

He shook his head.  "Knowing her, she'll run off somewhere to sulk and nurse her wounded pride by fucking any random demon that comes her way."

"Don't talk about her that way!" I yelled at him, and for a moment we were both startled by the role reversal.  Usually it was he who defended our mother, not I.  But I was young, inexperienced.  I made the sort of snappy, obnoxious remarks all youths make to their parents, but deep down I knew I loved her.  Had I inadvertently driven her away into the arms of a most hated enemy?  "It was my fault..." I whispered, and sank defeated into the plush cushions of the embroidered couch.  I heard Spike sigh deeply before sitting down next to me.

"I know I'm gonna regret this in about five seconds, but it had nothing to do with you.  He's her sire. That sort of loyalty is eternal.  I mean, Hell, look at us."

I knew he was right, and all the denial and sorrow and regret turned in a second to anger, betrayal, and disappointment.  How could she?  I hated her for being so thoughtless, I would hate her forever!  At least I thought those thoughts were hollow.  The bond between sire and childe would override all of my feelings of hate towards her.  Wouldn't it?  Blood is thicker than water, and we three shared the sort of blood that connected each of us to each other.  It could never be severed, except for a layer of dust.  I reached around Spike to the end table and grabbed the whiskey bottle. With no hesitation, I downed the rest of it in large gulps, thinking of the burning liquid as fuel for the rage in my undead heart.  Damn it, she would pay for this!  I would make sure of it.

My brother must have noticed the anger in my eyes and felt a pang of remembrance.  He pulled the bottle away from my lips and moved my face so that we were staring hard into each other's eyes.  He had such piercing blue eyes.

"Look at me," he ordered.  I already was.  "You are not weak.  She made sure of that...and so did I.  You are completely capable of surviving on your own.  The only thing holding you back is your attachment to her. Short of a stake, that can't be rectified, but I'll be damned again if I'm gonna have a pansy-ass little mummy's girl tagging along with me.  We are here, she is not, and the only thing that matters now is survival.  Independence is the closest thing to virtue right now, and you must realize now that she's not always going to be looking over her shoulder to keep
an eye on you.  At least not for a long while.  I will teach you to be self-dependent, but I'm never going to act as a mummy's replacement."

His words jarred me back into the reality of the situation.  It hurt.  But once again, I knew he was right.  Damn, when the hell did he learn so much about everything?

"I've been around nearly two centuries, pet.  You don't live that long by being an idiot," he answered me, as if he had read my mind.  Somehow, I managed to draw upon him to shove all other feelings aside and resume my normally indifferent poise.  I shrugged slightly, looking at him with mock-sorrow in my eyes.

"But who will do my makeup now?"

* * *

I felt the small brush lightly color my eyelids with delicate powder, sheer green--my favorite.  I wished I could see his face, brow furrowed in concentration as he meticulously applied my makeup, sweeping the eyeshadow along the crease of my lids.  His strong hands brushed against my cheeks while he worked.  I had convinced him to change the music to something that would more suit my tastes, and now k's Choice played softly, serving as background music to his task, and our situation.  Very quietly, even so that I could barely hear myself, my lips parted and I began to sing along with the melancholy tune.

"Not so long ago we both felt love became a word...no more than that with sex that felt like wings without a bird..."  I opened my eyes when he finished and smiled a bit.  I was genuinely surprised when he not only didn't glare, but returned the smile.  I don't think I'd ever seen him smile at me unless he was either being sarcastic or laughing at me.  Both resulted in bloody lips for him, so I wasn't quite sure how to react to this one.  I couldn't punch him for being sincere.  So...I just kept singing.  "I always heard I could get hurt, I knew that from the start...break my face, my back, my arms, my neck, but please don't break my heart..."

"You know, your voice isn't half bad when you're not using it to screech at me."

I hit him.

"Ow."

And I smiled.  I'd only just found out she'd left, and already I wasn't nearly as scared as I had been when Spike first told me.  And deep down, I knew it was because of him.  I didn't question his sudden change of heart.  Maybe I should have.  But it did feel nice not to be despised by the only family I truly had left.  I couldn't help it.  I was only a child.  We were both only children; he the older brother, looking after and protecting the little sister he had hated the moment she was borne.

"Solid wood will rot if you don't keep it from the rain...we were surprised when we found out that love feels just like pain...I always heard I could get
hurt, I knew that from the start...break my face, my back, my arms, my neck, but please don't break my heart...break my face, my back, my arms,  my neck, but please don't break my heart..."

I could have sworn I heard him whisper, "I won't," but simply chalked it up to my hears playing tricks on me. So much news in one night, my mind was bound to be a little jumbled.  Spike moved towards me, hesitated, and then backed off.  The confusion clambering in my head seemed to change to passion in only a split-second, and I picked up where he left off.  In a half-drunken haze, I reached for him, drawing him near with my hand around the back of his head, threaded in his hair.  Our lips brushed tentatively at first, but as the desire grew between us the kiss became more fervent, harder, our tongues lashing out at each other.

This went against the order of things.  It was incestuous.  Sire and childe often mated, but that was the sole privilege of the sire.  Childer were never to consort in a lustful fashion without the sire's approval.  It would be considered a betrayal to the sire, a bite to the hand that fed them.  It was so very wrong...and I wanted it so very much.

Before I could blink, he had pulled on top of his lap, holding me by my sides and leaning forward slightly. It didn't take me long to get the idea, and I wound my legs tightly around his waist, feeling his hardness push against me through the fabric of his jeans and my sheer black panties.  He had pushed my long skirt up to give his hands access to places he was forbidden to touch.  Our kisses were not really kisses at all; rather a brutal gnashing of teeth and tongues, each battling the other in wild need.  My nails clawed at the back of his neck, some of them drawing blood.  No
time was to be wasted in our coupling.  It was our first, and for all we knew, the only time we would be together.  But the chain of events would prove resistance impossible.  For now, for this primary joining would have to be frenzied, almost panicked, and fearful, for if Drusilla ever found out, neither of us knew what she might do.  What if she came back--that night even?  Right then, I really didn't care, and neither did he.

I relaxed the hold I had on him with my legs so he could quickly undo the button and fly of his jeans. Without the barrier of boxers or briefs, his cock
sprang free of its confines, swollen, rigid, and purpled with borrowed blood.  I immediately reached for it, gripping it firmly and stroking it from base
to tip, swirling my thumb and forefinger around the head.  Spike growled low in his throat as the pressure in his groin increased.  His human features slipped to reveal the true demonic visage lying just beneath the surface.  My face did the same.  He snaked a hand towards my aching core and lightly rubbed his thumb along my slit through my damp panties, gliding over the sensitive flesh and pressing a bit harder when he reached my clitoris.  A small whimper escaped my lips as he massaged me, and I squirmed, urging him to go further.  He did.

With one sharp tug, he had ripped off my panties and flung them to the floor.  I kissed him deeply as I rose up and impaled myself upon his shaft.  I gasped involuntarily as I felt him fill me; he felt so large as my muscles contracted around him.  I yelped when he flipped us over so that he was on top and we were stretched along the length of the couch.  He began to pump his hips rhythmically, pistoning in and out of me so hard I thought I would burst.  His pace became faster with every thrust, and every time he did so my clit would rub up against the course hair surrounding the base of his cock to provide me with the friction I so desperately craved.

Spike pulled down the cups of my leather bustier and buried his face in my breasts, licking at them, nipping them as I began my assault on his neck.  I grazed my fangs over the pale skin, wanting so much to sink my teeth into him and drink him dizzy.  But that would have to wait.  Much more needed things took precedence over my bloodlust for once.

We were both panting involuntarily, grunting and moaning and screaming out our desire for one another. I could feel him begin to tremble, and I knew he was close.  I grabbed him by his platinum locks and pulled his face up to mine to ravage his mouth with hungry kisses.  My nails were digging into the flimsy fabric of his black shirt, my knuckles whiter than they already were.  Suddenly, the sweet tension became to much for me, and I let go, my cry of release muffled by his mouth.  I squeezed him tightly inside of me, eliciting a roar from my new lover as he lost control and came, hips jerking roughly as his cold, dead semen spurted deep within me.

We were still for a few moments afterwards, not wanting to move as the fading throbs of afterglow strummed between us.  Finally, he spoke.

"Shouldn't have done that," he murmured, worry tainting his tone.

"Couldn't be helped," I answered truthfully.  Had Drusilla honestly expected us to be living in the same house for so long and not begin to notice each other? Still, Spike shifted, pulling out of me almost reluctantly.

"We can't do this again.  It can't happen, ever."

I don't think I was ever quite sure what made me believe otherwise.  Maybe it was the way he hadn't looked into my eyes when he said it, or perhaps it was because I knew that the walls behind the words were hollow where determination was meant to fill them, or that he kept me held in his embrace the entire time. Hell, for all I knew, it could have simply been another one of his lies.

His body didn't lie, and neither did his heart, unbeating as it might have been.  We were like grievers at a funeral, seeking comfort between
ourselves, numbing away loss with lust.  We were children in mourning, and for now the only thing we had to cling to were the lies, and each other.

* * *

Fin
 

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