Chapter 2


"Master Rurik will see you now," a short, skinny maid said while she
curtsied before Spike.

"About bloody time," he mumbled. Rurik had kept him waiting for at
least an hour and Spike's patience was wearing thin. Although he
couldn't complain about the way he was treated.

As soon as he and Buffy arrived at Rurik's manor, a manservant had
taken him to a comfortable room. A fire roared in the hearth, doing
its best to dispel the dampness and give the place a hospitable feel.
And even before Spike had had the chance to settle himself in one of
the comfortable armchairs, another servant appeared with a goblet of
blood. It had been fresh, and human, too. Spike had agonized for a
long moment about drinking it, concerned that the chip might not let
him and afraid what Buffy would say when she found out. The hunger
gnawing at his insides had made him change his mind. He told himself
that whoever the blood came from had shed it already so he wasn't
going to hurt anyone. Besides, there was no telling when he would
have his next chance to feed and he had a growing suspicion he was
going to need all his wits about him. Thus assured, Spike had downed
the cup and settled in to wait.

He fretted about Buffy. While he was escorted to the waiting room,
Buffy had been led away with assurances that she was going to be
fine. Spike wasn't so certain. How fine could a slayer be in a
vampire's household? However, when he tried to voice a protest and
keep her with him, the servants looked put out. And Buffy hissed at
him that she could take care of herself, thankyouverymuch.

Irritated, he had allowed them lead her away.

Shaking off his worries, he got to his feet, ran a hand through his
hair, and followed the maid across the hallway to another room,
inwardly preparing himself for whatever he was going to find.

"Welcome, Master Spike, to my humble abode," a deep voice spoke while
the maidservant closed the door behind him. "I'm sorry to have kept
you waiting. I take it you have been well-cared for?"

Spike followed the voice to its source and found a dark-haired,
deeply ridged vampire with pale yellow eyes approaching him, a hand
held out in greeting. The stranger oozed strength and power and Spike
knew he had to be old. Very old, to grow this strong. He accepted the
proffered hand in a human-like gesture of civility.

"You 'ave quite a setup here, mate," Spike acknowledged with a wave
of his hand to take in the room, and the entire mansion. It was a far
cry from his dreary crypt. Marble floors and columns. Rosewood
paneling, crystal chandeliers holding flickering candles.
Upholstered, leather chairs and delicate furniture. And outside the
chamber, a wide staircase led up from the immense entry hall to more
floors.

"I can't complain," Rurik conceded with a quirk of his mouth.

"So, you're Rurik?" Spike continued bluntly. "Can't say I ever heard
of you." From the moment Buffy's captors mentioned the name, he had
been racking his brain for more information, coming up blank every
time.

The master chuckled. "I have never heard of you either. I must say,
it's quite an unusual name: Spike," he continued. "You must have come
a long way."

"Oh yes, bloody long," Spike agreed.

"Hungry?" Rurik asked. He indicated a dark corner and when Spike
squinted he could make out a shackled woman suspended from a hook in
the ceiling. She was naked and hung motionless, with her head lolled
forward, dark curls hiding her face. Several bitemarks punctured her
marble skin.

"Nah." Spike shook his head. Despite the goblet he drank earlier, the
faint scent of spilled blood wafting from the victim threatened to
bring out his demon. However, if he tried to feed on her, the chip
would zap him. Worse, that would allow Rurik to see his weakness.
Spike didn't trust the other vampire any further than he could see
him. "Thank you for the offer, though. I fed on my way in."

"Ah, yes, of course," Rurik said. "Your pretty villein." He chortled,
causing a shiver to run along Spike's spine. He did not like the
sound of that laugh. "I have been told she's quite willful. Well,
Spike, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. It will be
morning soon, so don't let me keep you any longer. I will have one of
my servants escort you to your quarters. Tomorrow night we shall talk
more. You will, of course, join me in a celebration of the beauty of
unlife? It will be a good opportunity to meet the others."

Spike nodded. "Of course." Whatever Rurik was jabbering about, a
party would offer a chance to find out more about the powerful
vampire, his allies, and his world.

Rurik pulled a cord and somewhere deep in the house's innards a bell
tolled. A moment later the door opened and the skinny maid
reappeared. At a gesture from Rurik she scurried back out of the
room; Spike followed her.

She led the vampire up the staircase and down a carpeted hallway
until she stopped in front of double doors with polished
doorknobs. "These are your quarters, Master Spike," she said. "I
think you will find them quite satisfactory. Please, don't hesitate
to let us know if you need anything." She turned to leave but Spike
grasped her wrist.

"The woman who came with me?" he asked, game face surging forward.

The maid squeaked. "She's... she's inside," she stammered. "Waiting
for you. We took good care of her. She's been bathed and fed and
clothed."

Spike blinked. Bathed and fed? The woman made it sound like Buffy was
a beloved and pampered pet. Which, come to think of it, was probably
what her supposed position was in this universe. He grinned inwardly.
He bet the slayer liked it real well.

His ridges faded and he let go of the woman's arm. "Thank you," he
said. "And good night."

"Good night, Master." She scampered off while Spike opened the door
to step inside.

"Slayer?"

Several thick candles chased away the darkness and cast the room in a
soft glow. A large, four-poster bed took up most of the space. In the
corner to Spike's left was a small sitting area with a low coffee
table and two easy chairs. Along the walls stood several closets and
a dresser. On the right, a door led to what he presumed was a
bathroom.

"Buffy?" Spike called out a little louder this time.

He concentrated and discovered the faint rustle of breathing and the
soft thump-thump of a relaxed heartbeat in the vicinity of the four-
poster. He approached the bed and smiled; Buffy was fast asleep on
top of the downy comforter.

Spike sauntered across the room. He peeked out through the heavy
drapes that covered the windows and caught the sky glowing pink on
the horizon. The sun was going to rise soon. After making sure the
drapes were drawn tight, he propped up one of the chairs against the
double doors. Just a precaution, he told himself. Nobody would come
in without him waking.

He kicked off his heavy boots and strolled back to the bed. For a
long moment he stood gazing down at Buffy as she slept peacefully.
The light of the candles bathed her in a soft yellow, and her
features were relaxed. Damn, she was beautiful. His gaze drifted from
her face along her body. She was dressed in a thin shift of pale,
cream-colored silk, and it didn't do much to hide her soft curves.
Spike gulped and growled deep in his throat, willing away the
unbidden response of his body at the sight. Even though there was no
way in hell Buffy was hiding a stake anywhere within that silky
little number, he was going to do the gentlemanly thing and not take
advantage of her. Attractive as the thought might be.

Sleeping, however, was another matter. He'd be damned if he spent the
day curled up in a chair. The bed was big enough. Gently, careful not
to wake her, he scooped Buffy up and flung back the comforter. After
he replaced her on the mattress, he covered her with the blanket.
Buffy mumbled something in her sleep and rolled over onto her side.

Spike shed his duster and shirt, and made himself comfortable on the
bed beside her. He was asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.


* * *


Unwillingly, Buffy let go of a pleasant dream when she discovered
that her cheek rested on something cold and hard. A small frown
appeared as she sleepily contemplated the contrast between the hard
pillow and the soft mattress she lay on.

A faint, familiar scent reached her nostrils. Tobacco smoke, mixed
with old leather. Spike!

Her eyes flew open and she shot up from the bed. A strangled gasp
escaped her throat when she found that she had snuggled up against
the vampire in her sleep, resting her head on his chest.

And what was Spike doing in her bed in the first place?

The memories came flooding back: the argument in the graveyard, the
thunderstorm, the woods, her capture.

Buffy recalled her embarrassment when servants took her to a bathroom
and filled a bath with steaming buckets of water. Thank heaven for
small favors, they had left her alone to enjoy it. But when she was
done, her dirty clothes were gone, and instead she had found a thin,
shapeless gown. When confronted with the choice of wearing the shift
or going around naked, she had pulled the dress over her head. It had
a wide, low neckline, although not indecently low. And the hem
reached halfway down her shins, so it would have to do.

Upon reentering the room, she had found a covered tray with a
delicious smell wafting up from beneath the dome. In response to the
scent, her stomach growled; she had not eaten anything since hours
before her patrol, and Buffy had devoured the food with relish. Then
she had tried to leave the room, to find a stern guard outside the
door and windows that had been nailed shut. Although she had clawed
and scraped at the nails until her fingers were bloody, she had
failed to dislodge them. The failure added to her suspicion that her
slayer-strength was missing. She hadn't dared try and take on the
guard, for fear that her suspicions were right. So, instead, she had
decided to wait for Spike, and must have fallen asleep on the bed.

The vampire opened one eye and smirked up at her. "Morning, Slayer.
Sleep well?"

Grateful that she had woken before Spike so she wouldn't have to
explain how she ended up on his chest, Buffy gave him a dirty look
and hopped down from the bed. She began a thorough search of the
room.

"Did you find out where we are?" she asked Spike while opening up a
closet and peering inside. "Did you meet this master Ruski, or
whatever his name is?"

"Rurik," Spike corrected. "Yes, I met him. Don't know where we are,
but it definitely isn't good ol' Sunnydale. And before you ask, yes,
Rurik's a vampire. A bloody powerful one too. Very old."

"I can fix that," Buffy murmured. She slammed the door of the cabinet
and wrenched open a drawer. It was empty, and she flung aside another
closet door. "Damn it!"

"What are you doing, Slayer?" Spike asked. He remained seated on the
bed and watched her antics with an amused smile.

"Looking for my clothes," Buffy snarled over her shoulder. "So I can
get dressed, dust this Rurak and go home."

Spike chortled. "Hell, Slayer, whyever would you want those old
things back? I like this dress a lot better. Did you know it gets all
transparent when you walk in front of a candle?"

Buffy whirled around, eyes flashing while a blush crept up her
cheeks. "Wha--No! You're such a pig, Spike!"

He laughed harder.

Stomping through the room, shift billowing behind her, Buffy blew out
the candles and cast the room in darkness. She immediately regretted
it, as the gloom made it nearly impossible to see where she was
going. And how was she ever going to find her clothes when she
couldn't see?

"Embarrassed, Slayer?" Spike's soft voice drifted from the
bed. "You 'ave nothing to be ashamed of, Buffy."

The sound of her name, spoken softly in that British accent of his
caused butterflies to dance in her stomach. Her heart rate sped up,
and for a brief moment Buffy allowed herself to believe that Spike
had actually said something nice to her. Then a memory invaded her
happy moment. Harsh words, spoken in that same accent. "Things not as
high, not as firm."

"Shut up, Spike." Buffy bit her lip and pushed back the tears that
threatened to spill from her eyes. Those words had cut her deeply,
especially because the wounds of Riley's leaving her had been so
fresh at the time. She'd be damned if she let that peroxide pest make
fun of her again.

She fumbled her way around the room until her hands came in contact
with the material of the heavy drapes that covered the windows.
Without thinking, she pulled the curtains. A bright beam of sunlight
illuminated the room and fell across the bed.

"Bloody hell, Slayer!" Spike yelled as he threw himself out of the
sun's path, off the bed into the safe shadows behind the four-
poster. "What are you trying to do here? Bleedin' roast me?"

"Wouldn't be such a bad idea," Buffy muttered below her breath.
However, igniting Spike had not been her intention and she adjusted
the drapes until only a small ray of light peeked in from the side.

"Bloody hell," Spike repeated while he climbed back to his feet.


* * *


A knock on the door interrupted any further conversation. Buffy cast
a glance at Spike. He shrugged and she began to pull aside the heavy
chair that blocked the door. Spike frowned as he watched her efforts.
Something wasn't quite right.

The knock was repeated. "Master Spike?"

Buffy rolled her eyes and Spike threw her a cocky grin. "Yeah?"

The door opened and a boy, perhaps thirteen years of age, stuck his
head inside. "Master Rurik sends me. The master thought you might
like to have some clothes for the party. He also sends a pretty dress
for your villein. Oh, and I brought her some food."

"Well, then, what are you waiting for?" Spike said after a moment
when the kid showed no further indication of entering.

The boy blushed. He opened the door wider and rolled in a small cart
with a tray full of cakes and pastries. He walked back out of the
room to return a moment later and handed Spike a pile of
clothes. "These are for you and the girl," the boy explained. "Master
Rurik said to tell you that the party starts in one hour. He will
introduce you to the other masters."

Buffy inhaled sharply but Spike held his features in check. It wasn't
unexpected. Master vampires that threw parties usually invited other
master vampires.

At a dismissive nod from Spike the boy left.

Buffy scoffed. "What's wrong with these people? I do have a name. I'm
not 'her' or 'the girl', and I'm most definitely not 'your villain'.
What's this villain-crap anyway?"

"Villein," Spike corrected absently. "Means I'm your lord."

She gave a snort while watching Spike shift through the clothes.

"Fuck," he muttered when he found a pair of dark blue, velvet
breeches. "I'm gonna look like a bloody ponce."

Buffy giggled.

Spike growled at her and flung her a red garment. "I think that's
yours, luv."

She held it up and grimaced.

Spike caught her smirk and it was his turn to chortle. The gown was
another thin, silky dress like the one Buffy wore at the moment. He
had to hand it to the people in this dimension: they knew how to
clothe their womenfolk. The ruby silk was going to bring out her
blond hair and green eyes to their best. Buffy would be breathtaking
in it. And he could only imagine how the soft material would cling to
her flesh, hiding yet revealing.

"Aren't you going to put it on?" Spike asked, another grin playing
around his lips. He couldn't wait.

Buffy looked at him pointedly and Spike raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Some privacy too much to ask?"

Spike shook his head. "Uhn huh. You got it backwards, Slayer. In case
you missed the memo, these are my bloody quarters, and you share
them. You can get changed right 'ere, or go to that bathroom over
there. I'm not moving an inch." To emphasize his words, he folded his
arms in front of his chest.

Buffy's eyes flashed, and if looks could stake, Spike would have been
dust. As it was, he won the staring match when she wheeled around and
stalked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her for good
measure. Spike winced, fully expecting the door to fly off its
hinges. It merely shut with a loud bang.

A renewed frown creased his forehead. Something was definitely off
with the slayer.

Spike used Buffy's absence to change into the clothes Rurik provided
him. Good thing he didn't reflect in the mirror, the vampire thought
glumly when he gazed down his body. He really looked like a bloody
poof! Snug velvet breeches covered his legs, a white, lacy shirt with
frills along the collar and cuffs his upper body. As a finishing
touch, he had been given a long, blue velvet coat with green
embroidery, which matched the pants.

He forgot his misery the moment he lay eyes on Buffy. If he had been
breathing, his breath would have caught in his throat. As it was, he
inhaled a sharp, unnecessary hiss. She was even more stunning in the
sheer silk than he had imagined. "Slayer, after you've dusted Rurik,
think we could ask 'im if we can take that dress home? You look
bloody appetizing."

The moment the words left his lips, Spike frowned. That was the exact
effect the shift was supposed to have. After all, Buffy was
designated his always-within-reach-snack. Spike's good mood
evaporated as he wondered what sort of parties Rurik gave.

The dress was the color of freshly spilled blood. It was cut low, so
her throat was bare, the skin soft cream against the glaring red of
the silk. Buffy's pulse point was clearly visible to a vampiric eye.
That could be a problem, Spike realized. No bite marks. How would any
vampire in his right mind believe he fed on the girl if she showed no
puncture wounds?

"Here," he said after digging through the pockets of the duster he
had dumped on the bed. He handed Buffy a blue-and-green scarf. "Tie
that around your neck."

Buffy looked at him, a question in her eyes. "You have no fashion
sense, you know that?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "To hide the lack of bite marks," he
explained. "I'm supposed to feed on you. It'll raise doubts when all
they see is some old scars."

She took the length of fabric, scrutinized it, then narrowed her
eyes. "I have one just like this. And what are you doing with scarves
in your pocket anyway?"

Spike wracked his brain for a quick way out. "It's Harm's," he
said. "She likes to play games."

Buffy snorted but continued to tie the scarf around her neck. "You
have any stakes?"

Spike shook his head, glad with the change of subject. "Nope. Used
the last one back in Sunnydale."

"Drat!" Buffy muttered. She shrugged. "Well, guess I have to
improvise. Let's go, see what's what and dust this Ricky and his
friends so we can find a way home." She turned and began to walk to
the door.

"Slayer, wait," Spike told her. He strode up and stopped inches from
her. "Hit me."

"What?" Buffy's eyes grew round.

"Hit me," he repeated. "Give it to me good, Buffy."

Buffy shook her head. "Nów you're getting off on me hitting you?"

Spike sighed. Of all the times to grow qualms about hitting a
defenseless vampire! Without warning he brought out his game face and
lunged at her, inwardly preparing for the chip's bite.

Buffy reacted instinctively, as he had known she would. Her left arm
shot up to block him, while her right fist swung wide to connect with
his nose.

"Bloody hell!" Spike shouted the instant she touched him. Why did she
always go for the nose? It took him another second to realize he
didn't hurt -- much. Definitely not as much as he should. He grabbed
her arm and swung her around, pressing her back against his chest
while he caught her other arm, holding her tight. Buffy struggled
against his grip but he held her without much effort.

"Let go of me," she sobbed with frustration.

He relaxed his hold somewhat, remembering she needed to breathe, and
dipped his head so his mouth was level with her ear. "When were you
going to tell me?" he asked in a low whisper.

She slumped in his embrace. "What?" she said just as softly. "That my
strength is gone? That I am not the slayer anymore? I was hoping:
never."

He let her go, suddenly too aware of her warm body pressed against
his. "This is important, Buffy," he reminded her. It changed their
plans drastically. If Buffy no longer possessed slayer strength, he
couldn't count on her to fight. Instead, it would be up to him to
keep her out of the masters' fangs.

"I know," she said, her head forward. "I hoped--"

Spike held up his hand to silence her. His enhanced hearing had
picked up footsteps down the hallway, approaching their
quarters. "We'll talk about this later. For now, just follow my
lead." He took her arm and proceeded to guide her out of the room.

TBC in Chapter 3

Chapter 3


If the situation hadn't been so grim, Buffy would have poked fun at
Spike, she thought as she walked beside him down the stairs and
through the main hall, following the servant that had come for them.
She knew how much he hated the way he looked in the borrowed clothes.
She peered sideways out of the corner of her eye. Actually, she
amended, maybe she wouldn't have. He looked pretty good. The blue
suited him, better than the black that made him look so... evil. Her
lips curled slightly at the thought; she knew the black was designed
to make him appear sinister.

Truth be told, she was glad Spike was here. Although once her mortal
enemy, Buffy was ninety-nine percent convinced that he would help her
get out of this situation. It was the single percent of lingering
doubt that had kept her from telling him she'd lost her powers. That,
and the weird notion that as long as she didn't say it out loud, it
wasn't true.

She snuck another glance sideways when the servant opened the double
doors. Spike took her hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze before
he strode ahead of her into the room. Buffy followed, and froze on
the threshold. Her eyes popped at the spectacle; instinct told her to
jump into a defensive stance. It took every smidgen of willpower to
keep a meek appearance as she took in the room.

Six, no, make that seven vampires were seated in a circle. They were
all in game face, sharp-ridged and yellow-eyed. However, that wasn't
what really shook her. At every vampire's right side, perched on a
low stool at their feet, sat a human, dressed in the same style of
robe as she was wearing. Five were women, and two were young men.
They were around her age: late teens, early twenties. What the-- She
searched out Spike's gaze and was shocked to find he had also shifted
into his demon visage. Doubt gnawed at her heart. What if she had
misjudged him? It would be so easy for Spike get rid of her,
especially since she was no longer the slayer. He could have her
killed and live happily ever after in this vampire-invested reality.
Literally forever.

As if he sensed her unease, Spike winked at her, with his back to the
room. The golden-eyed wink looked so out of place that she almost
burst into nervous giggles, yet she instantly felt better. She had
trusted him with her mother's and sister's safety, she had no choice
but to trust him with hers also. If he had planned on selling her
out, he would have done so by now. Wouldn't he?

"Ah, there you are." A dark-haired vamp waved at Spike.

"Rurik," Spike muttered from the corner of his mouth. Buffy took
another good look at the vampire.

"This," Rurik told the circle of vampires, "is Spike, who is visiting
us from faraway lands. That's Codrin, Doru, Vaclar. The pretty lady
over there is Rusalka." His voice droned on, introducing the others,
gesturing at them one after the other.

Buffy paid him no mind; the humans, their eyes glassy and unfocused,
and their skins a ghastly white, caught her attention. It didn't take
a genius to put one and one together and come up with two. These
people were the vampires' -- what was the word they used? Right,
villeins. Possessions, well cared-for private minibars to be drunk
from at will. But why did they let them? Why weren't they battling
for their lives? At the very least they would die fighting, instead
of being taken like lambs to the slaughter.

"Summers!" Spike's quiet hiss drew her from her thoughts and she
realized he had called her name repeatedly. He pointed to the stool
next to the empty seat that completed the circle. "Sit."

While Buffy settled herself, Spike sat down in the chair beside her.
He leaned forward and, in a whisper so low she had to strain her
hearing to make out the words, whispered in her ear: "Looks like
you're beneath me now, eh, Slayer?" She could hear the amusement in
his voice and she heaved a sigh. She supposed she had that coming.

Animated talk ensued around them, the nearest vampires asking Spike
where he came from, what he had seen on his travels and how long he
would stay. Buffy remained quiet, the wheels in her head whirring
over what she heard and saw, and how they could use it to their
advantage. Damn, if she still had her slayer strength, she and Spike
could have wiped out the entire room and finished this farce once and
for all. As it was--

Cold fingers curled around her chin and lifted her head. She realized
the vampires had been talking about her.

"How long has she been with you?" Rusalka, the vampiress at Spike's
right and directly next to Buffy, asked. She tilted Buffy's face this
way and that, studying the slayer's features with her yellow
eyes. "She still has such a rosy-cheeked complexion."

Buffy quivered with anger and disgust at the feeling of the undead
hand on her skin. If not for Spike's reassuring touch on her back,
she would have flinched. As it was, she merely gritted her teeth and
swore to douse the vampiress with holy water before she staked the
bitch.

Spike was spared having to come up with a reply when Rurik snapped
his fingers, demanding everyone's attention. "Gentlemen, milady," he
nodded at Rusalka, "welcome. As you may know -or not-" he winked
at Spike, "a new slayer has risen."

Buffy stiffened, prepared to spring into action at a moment's notice,
preternatural strength be damned.

"The old one passed a week ago. I would like a moment's silence in
her memory."

She blinked, confused.

A second later Rurik continued with a low chuckle. "Now that we have
paid our respects, it's time I present you with the new slayer. Lady
and gentlemen, can I have your undivided attention..." He paused for
dramatic effect. Buffy glanced around and noticed that every yellow
eye was focused on the door at the far end of the room. At a gesture
of Rurik, a servant opened the door and--

Buffy jumped to her feet. Spike clamped his hand on her shoulder,
fingers digging painfully into her flesh as he forced her back onto
the taboret.

"Easy, Slayer," he muttered in her ear.

Aghast, Buffy goggled at the scene that unfolded. A girl, fifteen if
she was a day, her long, copper-colored hair hanging loose to her
waist, shuffled in. She wore the same blood-red gown as the other
humans except hers was embroidered with white patterns along the
sleeves and neckline. And she was shackled. Heavy manacles tied her
wrists to her sides and clung around her ankles, rattling as she
entered. The chain that connected the cuffs around her ankles was not
quite a foot long, so she walked in a hobbling gait. She held up her
head proudly, however, her eyes flashing.

"As you can see," Rurik continued while Buffy's gaze was glued to the
girl, "she's quite young. If we treat her well, she'll last a decade
at least and we won't have to worry about a thing."

"Not if I can help it," Buffy muttered through clenched jaws, and
Spike tightened his hold on her.

"Now, before we start the celebrations -and my friends,
refreshments
of several flavors are waiting for you in the other room- it's
time to pay homage to our demons for allowing us to live forever, and
express our gratitude that we are able to so in this world, where
we're safe. Please, a small ceremonial sip is in order."

As one, the humans tilted their heads a bit; the women pushed their
long locks aside. Buffy gulped when she realized what Rurik referred
to.

"Buffy..." Spike growled, a pained note in his voice.

Her head whipped around and she caught his gaze. Despite the yellow
eyes that looked out from beneath his ridges, she thought she
detected a forlorn helplessness in the vampire. She studied his face
for a moment, ignoring the murmurs of delight and sucking sounds
around them. He was stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place:
if he didn't drink from her, they would seem suspect. And if he did,
the chip would fire up, which was going to look just as suspicious.

"Do it," Buffy mumbled before brushing the scarf aside and cocking
her head in imitation of the others. Maybe the chip wouldn't activate
if she gave him permission. She closed her eyes and braced herself
for the pain as Spike lowered his mouth to her neck.

Her eyes flew open again when all she felt was a little prick and
then something cold and wet that dripped onto her collarbone. Spike
released her a few seconds later and she stared at him. He didn't
meet her eyes.

It wasn't until she caught a drop of blood welling from his lower
lip that she realized what he had done. He pierced her skin, enough
to make a visible mark, then bit himself to provide the bloody
streaks needed to make the ruse believable.

Buffy felt a wave of warm gratitude, respect and even affection wash
over her. She placed a hand on his knee and squeezed softly. "Thank
you," she murmured. Spike lifted his head to meet her gaze, relief
turning his eyes blue for an instant.


* * *


Spike trembled as he licked the blood from his lips. Pulling back
from Buffy without feeding on her, was the hardest thing he had ever
done in his life, ór unlife. The scent of her blood, the beat of
her heart, he wanted her so badly that it hurt physically. But this
wasn't how he imagined he'd taste from her, not like this, not here.
Maybe, some day, when she was truly his, he--

Their host clapped his hands, dragging Spike roughly from the wishful
path his thoughts had been taking. "Time to celebrate!" Rurik cried
and rose to his feet to proceed to the other room. He pulled the
shackled slayer along and the other vampires got up to follow them.

Spike exchanged a look with Buffy, eternally grateful that she seemed
to understand why he had needed to pierce her skin. "We better follow
them, pet," he whispered and she nodded. "Mingle, and try to find out
as much as you can about these wankers. Be careful," he added a
warning.

When he entered the other room, he inhaled sharply in surprise, not
out of necessity. The redheaded slayer had been secured to a ring in
the wall, and forced to watch the scenario that played out before
her. Waist-high tables had been placed haphazardly across the
elegantly decorated chamber, unclad men and women of various ages and
races strapped on top. In the corner, a live pig was thrashing to
free itself from its bonds, squealing in panic.

Spike almost laughed at the irony. Pig's blood. At least he'd be able
to feed without getting into trouble. Although he would want to make
sure none of the other vamps saw him. It was embarrassing, especially
in light of the other treats Rurik made available. This world was a
vampire's wet dream.

His gaze fell on Buffy as she slowly made her way through the room
toward the young slayer, peering unobtrusively out of the corner of
her eye at the chains, and all blissful thoughts fled from Spike's
mind. If he forgot himself, if only for a moment, Buffy would pay the
price. And when a year ago he would have cheered at her death, the
situation had changed. Now, he wanted nothing more than to get her
home in one piece, and preferably shag her until she screamed his
name in ecstasy.

Spike knew he stood a far better chance of accomplishing the first
than the second.

"Master Spike, permit me to ask you..." A stocky vampire drew his
attention away from the slayer-sans-strength. Razvon, he recalled the
vamp's name was. Spike judged this one to have not more than half a
century over him, which made them contemporaries, and he resigned
himself to making small talk. Perhaps Razvon would let slip something
useful. Spike tried to keep an eye on Buffy as the crowd shifted
across the room but he lost sight of her when she sat down in a
corner with one of the male villeins.

After long, agonizing hours of chatting and trivial conversation,
Spike gratefully found himself alone. Hungry for blood, he sidled
toward the pig. The creature had exhausted itself and lay on its
side, panting short gasps. "Buffy, Buffy, what have you done to me?"
Spike chuckled with grim humor at himself. Here he was, the Big Bad,
preparing to drink animal blood while several tasty humans were
strung up for the picking. He shook his head in dismay. How low would
he go before he hit rock bottom?

The sow shifted weakly and Spike stared down at it. A bleedin' live
pig. He had never drunk from a live pig before; he always bought or
stole the blood from the butcher's or the slaughterhouse when he
couldn't get it from the hospital. How the bloody hell did one drink
from a pig?

"I see you have a taste for pork," Rurik said with a grin, appearing
beside Spike.

"Well, yeah, mate," Spike agreed, desperately searching for an
explanation. "Where I come from, they're a rare treat. Plenty of
humans to devour, you know, but no pigs. I thought I'd give it a try,
now that I 'ave the chance." Warily, he eyed the squealing beast.

"No idea how, huh," Rurik chortled. He grabbed the sow's snout and
pulled it back until the animal lay still, incapable of further
movement. "See?" he pointed. "There's the vein. All hot and ready for
you. Go on. I'll hold its head."

Spike hesitated a moment longer. The bloodlust decided for him and he
flung himself at the hapless animal. He drank several deep gulps,
wincing at the taste -worse than what he got from the butcher's;
he'd never complain about cold pig's blood again- then
straightened
and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"And?" Rurik asked, an amused smile exposing his fangs.

"Very nice," Spike lied. "Listen, mate, you don't thin--"

A commotion near the other end of the room interrupted him.

"Let me go," a woman's voice yelled, followed by a vampire's growl.

Spike recognized Buffy's voice. He was convinced that his heart
stopped before he reminded himself it hadn't been beating in the
first place. Ignoring Rurik, he raced to the small crowd that had
formed. What he saw when he pushed through would have stopped his
heart for certain.

Doru, a large, bulky vampire a couple of centuries older than Spike,
held Buffy in a viselike grip. Unable to free herself with nothing
but her puny human strength at her disposal, Buffy struggled in vain
to get away from him. The vampire's fangs glinted in the candlelight
when he lowered his face to Buffy's bare neck.

Spike roared deep in his throat and pounced. He grabbed Doru's arm,
wrenched him away from Buffy and propelled him fang first into the
crowd of spectators.

Buffy sagged and he crouched beside her. "You okay, luv?"

She nodded, breathlessly.

Spike pushed himself back to his feet and whirled around to face
Doru. "What the fuck do you think you were doing?" Murder flashed
behind his yellow eyes and if he had had a stake at his disposal, the
other vampire would have been turned to ashes.

"Hey, calm down," Doru said, raising his hands, palms outward. "I
didn't mean-- All I wanted was a little taste. To see if females from
elsewhere really do taste different."

Spike took a deep breath to calm himself. From the corner of his eye
he caught Rurik watching Buffy with a thoughtful crease in his
brow. 'Careful, Spike,' he told himself. 'Don't blow it now.'

"Bollocks!" he said out loud. "I don't know how you do things
over 'ere, but where I come from we ásk before sinking our fangs
into someone else's woman."

"So do we, Spike," Rurik said before Doru could reply. "I wouldn't
want you to think we are uncivilized louts. Doru, please apologize to
master Spike."

Doru murmured something that could be interpreted as an apology, and
Spike decided to accept it as such. He was still fuming inwardly.
Nobody took a bite out of his Buffy except--

He reigned in his thoughts.

Nobody took a bite out of Buffy, period.

She stood behind him as he turned around, trembling and looking
shocked and frightened. Enough was enough, Spike decided. The charade
had taken a lot out of them both and it was time to withdraw while
they were ahead.

"Master Rurik, I thank you for your hospitality," he said formally,
looking up at his host. "But I think it's time that I withdraw to my
quarters."

Without waiting for an acknowledgement, he once more took hold of
Buffy's elbow and began to steer her from the room.

TBC in Chapter 4