The PitBy Medea
Chapter FourWillow slept soundly through the early morning hours and well into the following afternoon, her body needing to regenerate after the strenuous feat she had performed. Leaving her to rest in Angel's bed, sire and childe returned to their "unfinished business" with zeal until they, too, collapsed in an exhausted, tangled heap back in Spike's room -- each sporting a distinctive, visible mark on his neck.
As dusk approached, Spike awoke before his sire and discreetly extricated himself from the elder male's arms. Slipping on his pants, he stretched and wandered down the hall to check in on the young fledgling who had restored him. He found her still asleep.
Moving cautiously so as not to awaken her, he ducked into Angel's closet and began to sort through Willow's clothes. Whereas the stretchy cottons and sweatpants were rumpled with frequent use, many of the more feminine articles that Cordelia had picked out seemed to be gathering dust on their hangers. Spike appraised the blouses, skirts and dresses with a withering look of disdain and decided that the ex-cheerleader's fashion sense ran toward the sordidly flashy rather than elegance.
And what he had planned for the evening called for elegance.
Spike owed a certain captivating minion a debt of gratitude, and he intended to repay with interest.
If he had grown to accept her odd, somewhat hybrid status, and developed a fond attachment for her, and even accepted that her strength of will aroused him to no end, this latest stunt made him want to worship her like she'd never been worshipped before.
Forming his game plan, Spike quietly exited his sire's rooms and went out to place a few calls on the phone at the desk in the lobby. By the time he had returned to his room, gotten dressed, and pilfered a credit card from Angel's wallet, the sun had sunk below the horizon. Spike picked up the keys to his DeSoto and was just about to slink out of the room when Angel mumbled:
"The limit on that card is $5,000. Don't go over it."
Spike arched an eyebrow as he glanced over his shoulder and quipped, "I'll do my best."
After the blond vampire stalked off to tend to his errands, Angel got up, padded sleepily down the hall, and crawled into his own bed to wrap himself around Willow, who was indeed dead to the world.
*****
Willow was appalled to discover that it was already after 10:00 p.m. when she awoke, although she quickly reminded herself that she probably shouldn't expect to put in a full night's training after the spell she had performed had left her so drained. She sat up somewhat stiffly and then moved to her usual spot on the floor where she settled into her yoga-like meditation and performed her nightly rejuvenating spell. When she was through, she crossed over to the closet to grab her sweats and a tee shirt. And that was when she saw it.
Dangling from a satin hanger hooked onto the closet door was a simple, sleeveless gown in green velvet.
The green was so dark and poisonous it was almost black. While the front neckline was demurely high, the back plunged to tantalizing depths, crisscrossed by a network of satin cords that resembled nothing so much as a spider's web. Willow lifted it off the hook and held it close to her body, admiring the soft feel of the skirt that fell in a clean, straight line all the way to the floor. Her curiosity piqued, she resolved to find out why it happened to be waiting there for her when a throat cleared behind her. Whirling around, the dress still clutched to her nude form, she saw Spike standing in the doorway.
He cut quite a figure, Willow realized.
Attired completely in black, he was the very picture of Death, with a black dress shirt tucked into leather pants and, completing the outfit, his familiar leather duster. She arched her eyebrow at him and nodded down at the dress, inquiring, "Was this your idea?"
"I felt like celebrating," came his silky, even reply.
"Any particular occasion?" she teased with a grin.
"The imminent deaths of about half a dozen people," Spike grinned back at her without the slightest remorse.
Willow's astonishment was evident in her features. "You mean you haven't been out to hunt yet? I thought you would have done it the minute the sun set."
"I can show a surprising amount of restraint when I need to," Spike protested, feigning wounded pride before he smiled at her and added, "I didn't want to make my debut until you could join me. However....my patience *is* waning...."
"Well, then, the sooner you give me a little privacy, the sooner we can leave," Willow struggled to sound prim, but was unable to contain an infectious grin.
For a moment, Spike looked as though he might argue with her but then thought better of it and simply excused himself. Willow easily slipped on the dress and was wondering if Cordelia had gotten her any nylons when her glance fell on a few extra items that Spike had left on a chair in the corner.
No...he couldn't be serious.
Together with a whisper-soft pair of black silk stockings, which Willow didn't mind so terribly much, were a pair of black pumps that could be considered modest from the point of view of their height, but certainly not if one took into account their wickedly spiked heels. He couldn't honestly expect her to wear something that impractical, could he? Not when they still had to be prepared to fight others of their kind, should the need arise. Picking them up, she stomped indignantly out to the lobby and found Spike seated casually on one of the lounges.
"What am I supposed to do with these?" she demanded, dangling the hazardous footwear before him.
"Well, you might want to check with your girlfriends since I'm not really an expert...but I think you put them on your feet and wear them," he drawled in amusement.
"I'm serious, Spike. How am I supposed to fight in these if we run into a few, unfriendly vamps?"
With graceful ease, the blond vampire rose to his feet and regarded her appreciatively, promising solemnly, "You'll be with me. Trust me, luv, I'll handle anyone who so much as looks at you the wrong way."
"Oh, no you don't," Willow countered sternly, folding her arms in front of her, "You are *not* going to turn me into a fashion accessory for your grand re-entry to the world of slaughter. Weren't you the one telling Angel that I can't cower every time things get a little rough? If we're going out, I'm at least going to do it on stable footing so I can be prepared for anything."
"Willow," he entreated, bringing his hands up to rest lightly on her elbows, "Indulge me a little, just for one night."
Willow winced and pulled away from him as the phrase "one night" conjured up unpleasant memories. Too late, Spike realized his mistake and clenched his jaw in frustration, muttering, "That didn't come out quite right."
The mood was certainly broken, although Willow was reluctant to dismiss the entire evening. She still found it hard to reconcile the Spike she had grown comfortable with during the past few weeks with the cruel demon who had initially treated her with such contempt. He had never really apologized for it, although Willow realized that he probably never would. Being a vampire, especially according to Spike's rulebook, meant never having to say you're sorry.
Although Willow considered that perhaps an elegant, green velvet dress was a reasonable facsimile of contrition.
For a demon.
Forcing an unnecessary breath out of her dead lungs, Willow sighed dramatically, "Oh, all right. Just this once. But for the record Spike? I *hate* heels."
He grinned at her, relieved. "I promise, I'll make it worth your while. Oh, and Willow?"
Willow had already started walking back to the suite, and paused long enough for him to finish his statement.
"You look good enough to eat in that dress," he purred devilishly.
Her eyes widened in momentary shock before narrowing disapprovingly as she fired a warning glare at him.
As he admired the sinewy sway of her retreating form, Spike's grin broadened even further.
*****
True to his promise, Spike did indeed make the evening a night to remember.
They started out at an art gallery opening where an eclectic mix of artists, well-dressed connoisseurs and tight-lipped critics struck disinterested poses before a myriad of canvases and sipped champagne. The blond vampire knew exactly what he was looking for: creative inspiration. He spied it in an earnest young woman who was seated on a bench and gazing intently at one of the paintings.
She was fresh, pure and obviously dazzled by the glamour of the event in a way that set her apart from the jaded ennui of the others. Spike excused himself from Willow's side and moved toward the young woman. Seating himself beside her, after a few moments he struck up a conversation with her.
Willow watched as he slowly charmed his prey.
His voice was low and seductive, so Willow couldn't really hear what he was saying to her, but the young woman smiled bashfully and leaned back on her arms, warming to his attentions. Soon he began leaning closer to her until he ventured a stray brush of his lips just beneath her ear.
Willow recognized the instant that he went for the kill, as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder to disguise his actions and then lowered his mouth to her jugular. With considerable finesse he began merely by suckling at her tender skin, easing his fangs into her so imperceptibly that the smile never wavered from her face. The only outward sign that her life was slowly being drained from her was the glazed look that steadily fell over her eyes.
When he felt her heart stop, Spike withdrew his fangs and, licking his lips discreetly to remove all traces of blood, he made sure that she was still propped up on her arms. Then he rejoined Willow and escorted her out of the gallery.
Casting a final glance at the young woman's body, immobile as a statue, Willow smirked and commented, "You should have been a sculptor, Spike."
"Liked that, did you?" he noted casually.
"I'm impressed. I don't think I'd have the nerve to drain someone right under the noses of so many people," Willow admitted.
"It takes practice," Spike acknowledged, and then snorted wryly, "Although that lot had their noses turned up so far they couldn't see much past them anyway."
From the art gallery, the deadly pair made their way through a well-manicured botanical garden where they easily picked off a man and woman who were clandestinely groping each other in the bushes. After a leisurely stroll through a grove of blossoming cherry trees, they returned to the DeSoto and Spike drove them to an exclusive night club where he hoped to find his much-anticipated main course: brash, self-important, All-American men like those who had put the damned chip in his head. He doubted he'd encounter commandos, but hoped for the next-best thing.
Arrogant, preening, beady-eyed little pricks out to impress their dates...and even more so out to impress each other, although the rampantly homophobic mask most of those types presented to the world would deny it vehemently. Marines, state troopers, jocks, stock brokers, corporate lawyers...premature ejaculators, the lot of 'em.
Spike wasn't disappointed. When they entered the club, the dance floor was crowded with women who looked like mannequins and athletic, confident men who wore the superior expression that so often accompanied the belief that they were *in control* of things.
It was perfect.
He grasped Willow's hand, raised it to his mouth and kissed it with a sinful, come-hither look.
Intrigued, she pursed her lips slightly in amusement and let him draw her out to the dance floor.
Pulling her close, he guided her in a slow, sensual dance that had nothing to do with the frenetic beat of the music or the pulsing strobe lights. Clasping one of her hands loosely down at their side, he ran the fingers of his free hand over the smooth skin of her lower back as they swayed together. Tenderly, Spike nuzzled at her neck and kissed his way up to her ear, savoring the delicious scent of her hesitant, uncertain arousal before he whispered his plans to her. Quite simply, he intended to pick a fight.
They danced on, and Spike devoted the same energy to his vertical seduction of Willow as he did to his keen-eyed observation of the club's patrons. And in an effort to hold her own against her companion's subtle yet erotic provocations, Willow kept her eyes focused on the crowd and tried to guess whom Spike would target. She was pleased when she found that she had guessed right. Spike signaled her that he wanted to follow the four young men she had been watching as they made their way out to the parking lot.
It took little effort on Spike's part to start the fight. Already drunk, the men were easily baited when Spike smashed a taillight on their car. A flash of fists and powerful kicks erupted into a full-scale ballet of violence as he vented more than a year's worth of pent-up rage and bloodlust. Considering it therapy, Willow was content to leave the melee to Spike, although she did dispatch the lot attendant who rushed forth in a fatal attempt to break it up. Within minutes Spike stood amid four battered and drained corpses, a look of pure exultation on his face as their blood dripped from his mouth and chin.
As he stepped over the bodies and walked back to her, Willow teased lightly, gesturing to his face, "Such a mess, Spike. You're practically wearing your dinner."
She reached up to wipe off a smear with her index finger but Spike caught her wrist in a firm grip. Willow shivered when she realized what he intended as he lowered his face until his mouth hovered close to her own. His eyes smoldered with raw desire, yet rather than pressing his lips to hers, he waited until Willow snaked her tongue out and began licking him clean. She bathed his chin, savoring the salty, coppery remnant of the men's lives. When she ran her tongue along the corner of his mouth, his lips parted and his tongue reached out to tangle with hers. As he devoured her mouth with maddening gentleness, Spike made it very clear to Willow how he wanted the night to end.
However, as Willow struggled with the ghosts from the past, sorely tempted by his actions yet still smarting from their first encounter, she felt a sudden sense of alarm. Tensing instantly at the vivid sensations that she had encountered only once before, Willow hissed urgently, "Spike!"
He, too, had sensed the approach of other vampires and went on the alert.
As five minions encircled them, Willow and Spike turned slightly away from each other so that they were back-to-back. It was one of the first defensive strategies that Angel had taught the young fledgling, and Spike was glad to see that it came so naturally to her that he hadn't even had to prompt her.
Willow tilted her head slightly and murmured to him, "The one on the left is Manuel. He's the Master, and the one who made my sire. I'm not sure, but I think the vamp at his right is called Leo or Theo or something."
Spike nodded curtly, his eyes fixed on Manuel, knowing full well that to anticipate the tactics of minions one had to watch the Master.
"Well, if it isn't our little refugee," Manuel observed coolly, "And she seems to have found a friend."
"You blokes need to learn some manners," Spike countered just as coolly, "The lady and I prefer to dine alone."
"Ah, but from the looks of things, dinner is over," Manuel glanced at the corpses littering the ground, before raking his eyes suggestively over Willow, "Surely you wouldn't mind if we joined you for...dessert..."
Willow rolled her eyes in disgust at the sordid insinuation, and Spike, who had a similar reaction to the remark (which sounded to him like something straight out of B-movie pornography), whispered to her, "I can see why you wanted to get away from this lot. This bloke is the sultan of smarm."
The redhead giggled and said somewhat louder, for the benefit of the other vampires, "Oh, I'm definitely glad I left that party early. But the Master *did* do me a favor by staking my sire."
Manuel fixed her with a deceptively gracious stare and bowed slightly. "It is an honor to be of service. I take great pride in keeping my own house in order. And it appears that now I will have the chance to clean up the remaining untidy business."
One of the younger, more impetuous minions in Manuel's entourage took that as his cue to advance on Willow. However, as he reached for her she brought her knee up sharply against his groin and as he was doubled over she wrapped her arms around his neck and twisted his head off, effectively dusting him.
Although the other vampires were visibly startled, Willow took it all in stride and merely growled sullenly at Spike, "I *told* you these heels were a bad idea."
"Nah, this is child's play, luv," Spike chuckled at her over his shoulder as they both braced themselves for the onslaught. And it came almost instantly, for the other minions sprang forward as soon as they had recovered from the shock of seeing a creature they expected to be weak dust one of their own so easily.
As two of the minions fought to keep Spike occupied, the other two threw themselves at Willow. She ducked their blows and, kicking one of her shoes up into her hand she slammed the spiked heel into the face of one of the minions, who staggered away, incapacitated. It was then a relatively simple matter for her to snap the second minion's wrist, wrench the stake he had been wielding away from him, and dust him with his own weapon. For despite Spike's concern that Angel had been pulling his punches during Willow's training, there was still a tremendous difference between fighting minions and fighting seasoned Masters, even if only in practice bouts.
When no further attack came, Willow looked around her and discovered that only she, Spike, Manuel and Theo remained.
"Now, this is more evenly matched, don't you think?" Spike taunted the other two vampires, still wearing his demon visage.
Showing no alarm, Manuel merely leaned in toward Theo and asked, "What was her count?"
"Two...or three, depending on whether or not you'd count the pitiful wretch who ran away," Theo answered, his voice turning sour with disgust at the coward who had fled. That one would surely be staked before sunrise.
Willow's ability to hold her own had made an impression on Manuel, who commented, "He's taught you to fight."
"He and his sire," Willow replied smoothly, her stance that of graceful self-confidence.
"And his sire would be...?" Manuel prompted.
"Angelus," Spike pronounced with a deadly smirk. He took great pleasure in the brief glimpse of fear he detected in the other two vampires, and upped the ante. "He's taken the little one under his protection."
"Would they have been around long enough to know about Alexei?" Willow asked him.
Spike observed no reaction in Manuel's childe, but Manuel himself clenched his jaw at the mention of Alexei's name. Gesturing toward him, Spike acknowledged, "This one knows about him."
Manuel ignored Spike's goading and said to the blond vampire, "If your sire is Angelus, I gather that you must be William the Bloody."
"Spike, these days," Willow's companion corrected, pressing his full advantage by making reference to his longevity. "I haven't gone by William the Bloody in a century or so."
"Be so kind as to tell your sire that we shall be calling on him soon," Manuel declared with courtly formality. With a final, appraising glance at Willow, he and Theo withdrew.
Willow and Spike remained in defensive posture for several minutes more, until they were reasonably certain that the threat had passed. At last, Spike broke formation and turned toward Willow, holding out his hand to her.
"Come on, luv, let's get you home."
She smiled at him, bent down to pick up the one shoe that remained of the treacherous-spiked-heels-of-death, and then clasped her hand in his.
"Thanks for a lovely evening, Spike," Willow offered sincerely, then frowned slightly as she gestured with the shoe, "Although I regret that during our last dance I seem to have ruined the shoes you bought me."
"Not to worry, luv. These things happen," he assured her with a sly grin, glad that she had a sense of humor about the turn of events. "Although I'm afraid the evening didn't end up as I'd planned."
Willow's playful smile faded and her brow furrowed thoughtfully as she considered the road ahead. "I think we have bigger things to worry about in the near future."
<Damn,> Spike cursed silently to himself. It was official. He now bore a considerable grudge against Manuel and his lackeys for their untimely interruption. The mood had been spoiled for seduction. Spike knew that Willow's mind was focused on survival.
He couldn't resist one final effort at humor, though.
"You know, luv, it's rather bad form to suggest to the gentleman entertaining your company for the evening that you have your mind on *bigger* things..."
She whacked him in the chest with her shoe.
*****
They lost no time in making preparations for the "visit" that Manuel had promised.
Angel contacted Wesley and asked the ex-Watcher to assist Willow with a spell that would deny vampires entry to the hotel, despite the fact that the residents were themselves vampires rather than human. Of course, the three vampires felt somewhat sheepish when Wesley suggested a far simpler solution: he merely had Angel transfer the title to himself and moved in for a few days to reinforce the building's new status as a human abode. Not yet comfortable with the idea of sleeping in the same building with Spike, Wesley soon returned to his own apartment, promising to camp out in the hotel every few days. Before he left, though, it was a simple matter for him to grant his three "guests" a permanent invitation to their own lair.
In the meantime, Angel and Spike intensified Willow's training, and put her through an exhausting series of drills in everything from hand-to-hand through the way to handle knives, stakes, quarterstaffs and axes with lethal effectiveness. Angel had been encouraged to hear Spike's account of her ability to fight the minions they had encountered in the club parking lot, but he knew that the Master of the other lair had also assessed her skills. The next challenge she would face would not be so easy.
Indeed, Angel's concern for her safety was great enough that he asked her to refrain from hunting for a while. Much to Spike's dismay, she agreed and fell very comfortably back into her feeding arrangement with his sire.
He wished he could resent them for it, but after Willow had gotten rid of the bloody chip his loyalty to her had skyrocketed. Her survival now mattered more than the immediate gratification of his own desires, and he reluctantly admitted to himself that this was the wisest course of action for the time being.
Although it did bother him somewhat that it didn't seem to occur to her that he, too, had blood to offer which was almost as potent as his sire's.
Despite Spike's effort to keep his frustration to himself, both Willow and Angel perceived clearly that something was bothering him. It wasn't really that he took out his aggressions during their sparring as he had done once before. However, he retreated from their company and often went out to hunt alone, saying little to them when he returned just before dawn.
One evening, after Spike had left the hotel and Angel had drawn Willow with him to his bed, she finally broached the subject with her mentor as she lay in his arms, his blood coating her lips.
"Something's bothering Spike."
"He wants you," Angel observed matter-of-factly as he tenderly caressed the subtle hollow at the small of her back, "And you're here with me."
Willow sat up and wrinkled her forehead as she thought about Angel's statement. As he waited patiently for her to process his words, Angel took one of her hands and, raising it to his lips, proceeded to nuzzle her palm and suck her fingers, drawing them one by one deep into his mouth. One consequence of her feeding from him was that he couldn't resist the urge to touch her, to delight in a tactile exploration of her body and revel in the eagerness of her response.
After a few minutes, Angel asked, "Do you want him?"
Hesitantly, Willow confessed, "I'm not sure...part of me does. My demon recognizes the vicious killer in him, the strength of his bloodlust, and finds it irresistible. But I'm worried that if I give in..."
"...you'll let that side of yourself get too strong," Angel concluded, understanding her concern.
"Especially if I let him feed me. I can tell that he wants to," Willow added.
"It's the most intimate act that vampires can share with their lovers," Angel agreed. He punctuated his observation by biting into her wrist and sending a shiver of pleasure through her.
Willow looked at Angel intently. "Why do you do this? Is it just out of pity, or some sense of responsibility toward me?"
"Make no mistake, Willow," he whispered against her lips, kissing her soundly before he continued, "I enjoy this, and I'm grateful for everything you allow me...most of all, your trust. You are as precious to me as my own childe. But if it became something more, if I loved you, then you and I would no longer be able to share this. It would be too dangerous."
Willow nodded sadly in agreement. She *did* trust Angel completely, and cared for him as deeply as he cared for her. However, even as she acknowledged that her demon was inexorably drawn to Spike, the young redhead had also discovered exactly how much of her former human personality had resurfaced. Though she firmly kept it buried, out of fear of ruining the arrangement she and Angel enjoyed, Willow knew that she had recovered the ability to feel an emotion she thought had been lost forever with her soul.
She was slowly, steadily falling in love with Angel.
*****
Months passed, and still Manuel did not appear with his clan. The prolonged anticipation began to take its toll on Willow's nerves, and she expressed confusion about the delay. Angel explained that, as a Master, his first priority had probably been to replenish the minions lost during his failed ambush on Willow and Spike. Gradually, Willow had resumed hunting with Spike, although they limited their forays to quick, efficient kills.
Finally, nearly four months after the encounter in the parking lot, the perimeter-warning spell that Willow had established around the hotel signaled the presence of vampires outside the main entry. Although Willow grumbled at being sheltered like a helpless baby, she nonetheless waited in the lobby as the elder vampires strode out to parley with the intruders. They returned shortly, accompanied by Manuel, Theo and one minion, while fifteen others were left to wait outside.
"We're all here," Angel declared authoritatively, "Say what you came to say and then go."
"Very well," Manuel announced, "I am here to claim a member of my clan."
Willow's jaw dropped at the sheer audacity of his presumption to claim her when his initial response had been to stake her sire and attempt to do the same to her. However, a gesture from Angel prompted her to hold her peace.
"Such claims are traditionally made by the minion's sire," Angel observed, "Has the sire come forward to re-claim his own?"
"Her sire is dead," came Manuel's low, even reply.
"Then the clan has no claim," Angel countered.
"The one who made her was a fool," Manuel asserted, "but he was under my authority...as are any who were under his."
"I don't recognize your authority," Angel stated bluntly, before turning to Willow and saying, "At any rate, I refuse to decide this matter on behalf of one under my protection when she is fully capable of making her own decisions. Willow, what do you say? Do you want to return with this Master to his lair?"
"I'd rather take a bath in holy water," Willow drawled with contempt, "This is a joke. They didn't want me in the first place, and this is just a ruse to get me back where they can dust me."
"On the contrary, *Willow*," Manuel interjected, using the name he had just learned, "You've proven yourself. You have demonstrated that in a fight, you are worth three minions. That has value. And you need not worry about the others, your position in the clan will be protected...as my childe's consort."
"What?!?" Willow squeaked incredulously. Her eyes snapped to the sandy-haired vampire, Theo, who stood behind Manuel and to the right. He returned her gaze, unsmiling.
"No. Way. NO WAY!!" Willow launched into a tirade, "I am not some piece of chattel to be passed from Master to Master! Angel, you wouldn't seriously-"
"Of course not, Willow," Angel broke in, reassuring her. He turned to the three visitors and said, "Gentlemen, the lady has given you her answer. I think this concludes our business."
Manuel's face remained a smooth mask of diplomacy, but his voice was icy.
"Not quite...Theo?" the Master removed a thin dagger from the breast pocket of his jacket and handed it to his childe. The two of them advanced on Angel.
"Angel, no!" Willow cried out, stepping in front of her mentor to shield him from what she perceived as an impending attack.
Touched by her impulsive desire to protect *him*, Angel reassured her gently, "It's all right, Willow. Step back."
Confused, she retreated and watched as Manuel held out his right palm and pronounced, "The claim passes to the clans. I will bring this challenge before the lairs of the city, to be decided in the Pit."
Theo drew the blade across his sire's palm, leaving a thin trail of blood, and then passed it to Spike who made a similar wound on Angel's palm. As the two Master's clasped hands, Angel said, "Name the date and the place."
With his other hand, Manuel proffered a business card. "One week from tonight. The address is on the card. The usual conventions of the call to order will apply."
Angel nodded, and the three other vampires turned to leave. Theo paused to take one, final look at Willow before following his sire out the front entrance.
Thoroughly perplexed, Willow folded her arms across her chest and demanded, "What the hell just happened here, Angel?"