Book Two. Chapter 37. What love can do

An illusion which is a real experience is worth having.
D.H. Lawrence, The Ladybird

What staggers me is not the persistence of illusion,
but the persistence of the world in the face of illusion.
A. G. Mojtabai, Mundome

Is not this whole world an illusion?
And yet it fools everybody.
Angela Carter, Nights at the Circus

With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls,
For stony limits cannot hold love out,
And what love can do, that dares love attempt.
Romeo and Juliet, act 2, sc. 2, l. 66-8.

This is one of the miracles of love:
It gives … a power of seeing
through its own enchantments
and yet not being disenchanted.
C. S. Lewis, A Grief Observed



Dawn kept looking over her shoulder, her eyes drawn to the dark shadows between buildings, the darker shadows where no light penetrated. The feeling of something – or someone dogging their footsteps wouldn’t leave her and she knew her behavior was bugging Casey but she couldn’t stop herself.

Being outside at night was somehow wrong.

Okay, it is Sunnydale and weirdness only gets weirder at night, but the feeling crawling along her skin right now was beyond ookie. This was . . . I’m eleven again and there’s more than one evil vampire out there. . . .

This was knowing the monsters in your head didn’t just exist there.

This was . . . . Nothing more than bad memories coming back to haunt you at the worst time, Dawn.

Rolling her eyes at herself, and her over-reaction to being out after dark, without Buffy or Spike around, Dawn slipped her arm though Casey’s and ignored the darkness creeping closer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oz played with a melody that was working its way through his head, his eyes unfocused as his fingers plucked out the chords for the song he’d yet to finish writing. The strains of the acoustic rang in the air of his otherwise quiet apartment and he couldn’t shake the image from his mind, the one his melody was invoking.

A scent teased at his nostrils, his clothes and skin covered with it and for a long moment Oz just let his mind drift. Sandalwood and honeysuckle and dark blond hair, soft limbs. . . Oz thought his mind was playing tricks on him when Tara’s face swam into his consciousness. Why am I thinking about my ex-girlfriend’s new girlfriend?

Because – her scent is all over you.

Oz’ fingers faltered on the strings and he put the guitar down. Memories and perceptions can be altered, but his wolf senses over-rode what his human mind knew. His senses were telling him he’d been with Tara for days – without any hint of Willow anywhere.

Grabbing up his dry erase board, Oz left a note for his roommates and headed for. . . . well, he wasn’t sure where he was going, but his nose would know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t hard at all to pretend panic.

For some inexplicable reason, at least at the time, Faith had lied to the California State authorities upon her entrance into the system. She’d listed Buffy Summers as her sister and next of kin.

And for some equally bizarre reason, no one had questioned it ever.

With the gut-clenching, throat-constricting fear riding her belly, Faith played her hand with the warden. Thankfully, the warden was of the male persuasion – and not immune to Faith’s contrite act and more than willing to allow her to make a phone call, in exchange for Faith’s complete compliance.

Wasn’t the first time she’d sold the use of her flesh to get something.

Was just the first time she did it for someone other than herself.

Hope I’m there in time B – otherwise this is just gonna piss me off more.

With a smile that never reached her eyes, Faith slipped out of the prison issued jumpsuit and got ready for another performance.

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Spike had goaded Giles into ordering food for them all, using the argument that Buffy was exhausted and looked about to keel over from fatigue and hunger to get the old man to open his wallet. Not that the older man minded. He seemed to be willing to delve deeper into what both he and Buffy had been trying to tell them.

The bell over the shop entrance rang and Spike got to his feet, surprised when Willow’s dog-boy came in with a white board and marker. Wesley pivoted in his chair, his eyes pinned on the new arrival and Giles started to speak, but the phone ringing pulled his attention away from their visitor.

“Oz?” Buffy’s question broke the silence at the same moment Giles picked up the receiver.

The werewolf smiled, which consisted of nothing more than a raising of his upper lip and he pointed to the dry erase board. “Something’s up. I smell like Tara.”

He’d expected a bit more of a reaction than he got, which was Spike merely tossing aside a book he’d been reading, then head for the training room as a distressed groan emerged from Buffy; and Wesley pivoting on his chair, then writing down something on the papers beside him.

The arrival of Willow’s former boyfriend triggered a memory within Wesley that he felt an almost desperate need to write down before it eluded him. The words poured from his pen, in short flowing script and Wesley fought the pull of the distraction of the voices around him. The growing list of – warnings from a grim-voiced Dawn, repeating words in a language she did not speak surfaced in his head and Wesley quickly wrote them down, ignoring the discussion going on over his head.

Can’t help but think this is all in some way connected. The images in my head, the cryptic warning. . . . Wesley laid it out on paper, then spoke, interrupting whatever discussion was being conducted around him. “Do either of you have any recollection of a message delivered by Dawn?”

Spike and Buffy shared a look, but it was Giles who spoke. “Was it delivered in Gaelic? Or some other . . I’ve a sense of something teasing at the edges of my memory and I cannot seem to grasp it completely.”

“Yes. That would be my vague recollection also.” Wesley jotted down another note, idly noting that Spike once again had the whimpering baby in his arms. “When was the last time the baby had a bottle?”

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There were a couple of moments, especially when everyone first woke up, that had given Willow butterflies.

When the baby screamed and wouldn’t let her hold him.

When Buffy got a far-away and distracted look on her face.

When Tara had gone to get snacks earlier.

Every time something like that happened, Willow held her breath, hoping – praying the spell would hold and solidify.

The spell itself was perfect – and she even used English – not some other ancient obscure language that she couldn’t speak. The ingredients for the casting had been perfect.

Her intentions were clear.

It was a simple stupid spell – so how come when she’d cast it there had been – some sort of mystical block? No, wasn’t a block. . . . was more like ties – threads, braided together into a beautiful and unbreakable tie. Bonds.

Willow couldn’t trace the source of whatever it was – couldn’t figure out what exactly was stronger than anything she’d ever encountered before – so she just ignored it, tried to pretend it didn’t exist. But she couldn’t just ignore something that was eternal and elemental, deep and strong as an ocean and as solid and sturdy as the earth’s core. And because she couldn’t just ignore it she had serious doubts about the spell’s stability. She had a horrible sinking feeling that it was going to come crashing down – and she was filled with doubts about what she’d done.

Tara stroked her hand down Willow’s arm, brushing her knuckles deliberately over the sides of her sensitive breasts and Willow’s resolve and faith in her actions was bolstered.

I did the right thing.

This is the way it’s supposed to be.

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He didn’t know what had given the Slayer’s people the arrogance they were currently exhibiting, and he honestly didn’t care, because they were playing right into his hands. The smell of the little girl and the boy was intoxicating – deliciously fresh and untouched – both of them. Inhaling deeply, his senses focused on the two teenagers walking boldly down the dark streets of downtown Sunnydale. Ahhhh, untouched virgins. . . . Angel watched them swinging their hands between them, noting the body language of not-yet-lovers and smirked.

Soon . . . .

The slayer’s sister stopped, peering around and checking shadows for . . . Me?

Oh this is touching. . . she’s feeling something following her and she’s sensing. . . Realizing that he didn’t want to fully reveal his presence until he was ready, Angel slipped further away, taking to the rooftops instead of being on street level. It would be harder for the girl to sense him.

He was in the mood to play with his prey, to stretch out the hunt.

Let Dru deal with all the guests. . . . Daddy’s girl loves a party anyway. I’ve got better things to do with my night.

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Obviously this wasn’t Connor’s first trip to the Magic Box, because there was canned formula and a bottle on a shelf in Giles’ office, which they managed to get heated by jury-rigging something with the electric teapot. He stayed quiet as long as Spike held him, which by turns amused the slayer and aroused a sense of jealousy that she couldn’t control.

“How come you can get him to be quiet?” Her pout was adorable, and Spike wondered what the watchers would do if he actually acted on his impulse to pull her onto his lap and nibble on it while someone else tended the baby.

“Dunno, sweets. Might be the lack of heartbeat or the boy’s sense of smell.” Instead of diving for her lip, Spike looked away, catching the speculative look on Giles’ face. “What’s that old man?”

He shook his head. “Loathe as I am to admit it, you do have a probable reason why the infant reacted the way he did.” Giles reached for one of his personal journals, thumbing through it for a moment before continuing. “He is only a few months old and his mother lacked a heartbeat for nearly the full term of her gestational period. It’s quite possible that the lack of same is a comfort for him, instead of alarming.”

Apparently he found what he was looking for, because he stopped speaking then said, “by the way, Buffy, that was Faith on the phone. Evidently she’s had a few alarming slayer dreams in the past week. Have you been plagued similarly?”

Without moving from her spot in front of Spike, Buffy glanced over at Giles, snuck a glance back at Spike as she rolled her eyes and said, “no Giles, I haven’t had any slayer dreams. . . but then would I remember if I did or didn’t?” Spike hid the grin while she started on a rant. “Isn’t this part of why we’re here? Because something’s off and none of us can make with the eureka! I’ve got it?”

“Actually its eureka! I’ve found it.”

“So not the point. You know what I mean.” Buffy gave him a look that spoke volumes about his nitpicking over word usage and faced her watcher squarely.

“Spike and Connor have bonded, which is wiggy enough. Spike has claimed me, which should be even wiggier and isn’t. . . . Oz smells like Tara. . . which is . . . “ a strange look crossed her features and Buffy burped then made a face like sour milk had curdled in her belly and before any of them could ask her what was wrong now, she grunted and ran for the bathroom.

Her retching could be heard through the suddenly quiet shop and without thinking about his actions, Spike stood up, handed the baby off to Wesley and took after Buffy. The other three men exchanged looks while Anya quickly shooed the last customers from the shop.

“Giles? I think there’s something wrong with Buffy.” Anya stepped in front of him, a quirky smile on her face that looked more likely to turn into tears than not, and she said, “perhaps you should make sure the claim is okay before we do any more research. Claims that are tampered with can be . . . well, I’ve actually never heard of anyone trying to tamper with a claim, but there’s always a first for everything.”

“Indeed. Perhaps you are right.” Directing Wesley to hand him one of the books on his desk, Giles said absently to Anya, “you might want to see what’s keeping dinner.”

Handing his journal to Wesley, Giles pointed out the passage he’d been searching for, then turned his own attention to the other book.

“So you did make note of this prior to today. Have you looked for any other, well, clues wouldn’t be an improper word, would it?” Wesley wrote down something else on the papers, using Rupert’s journal as a guide.

“Hhmm?” Giles didn’t look up from his reading until Oz banged his hand on the table, trying to get the Englishmen’s attention. “What?”

“Oh dear.” Oz was writing furiously on his board, erasing and starting again, when Giles reached out and stayed his hand. Looking down into the concerned eyes of the werewolf, Giles asked once, “are you certain it was Angel?”

The only answer he got was the squeak of the marker against the board.

It was enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy was crying.

She on her knees, hunched over the toilet, her stomach clenching hard, bile and the remains of everything she’d eaten that day forcing their way back up her esophagus. A hiccup escaped her mouth and she groaned softly, trying to force air into her body.

The creak of the door opening behind her was masked by the upsurge of vomit which also explained why she jumped when a damp hand-towel was pressed against her face.

“Breathe kitten.” His voice was a welcome sound, his presence solid against her back. Strong hands slid around her belly and lifted the hair off her neck and cool lips nuzzled behind her right ear.

She leaned into him, letting the small movements of his hands and fingers calm the tempest raging inside her. From beneath lowered lashes she watched the muscles of his forearm flex and move – the actions lulling her into serenity.

“Do you love me?” Her whispered question, if it startled him, didn’t show in his movements. They remained strong and steady, matching her slowing breaths.

“I do.” The vibrations of his chest deep voice rolled through them both and she settled closer into his embrace.

“How long do you think we’ve been mated?” Her voice was oh-so-soft, and he could feel when speaking made her belly clench.

“Doesn’t matter. For-bloody-ever. A day. Time doesn’t matter.” Spike settled his weight, shifting so that she was shielded between his limbs, his body surrounding her, protecting her from the outside world.

Buffy’s fingers entwined, playing with the rings she wore. “So nothing can break this, right?”

“Right. Leastways that’s what the legends all say.” Trying for a bit of levity, he quipped, “‘course the legends also mention yours truly. Used to be Big Bad . . . “ a sigh escaped him and he caught her twisting hands in one of his. “I love you. Doesn’t matter what’s going on now with this nonsense. This wrongness we’re both feelin’. One thing I do know is that I love you. Promised you I’d never leave. That means never.”

Meshing their fingers together he continued, “claim means ‘m yours and you’re mine. For always.”

Lifting her hands to his mouth, Spike kissed both palms, folding each hand into a fist. “Promise.”

Buffy stared down at the fists he’d made, then slipped the ring on the middle finger of her left hand off. It was white gold or silver with delicate filigree on the exterior, like lace leaves or vines. Inside was an inscription she couldn’t read. Before she could stop herself, Buffy pointed it out to him. “What’s this mean?”

He took the ring from her, mumbled something that sounded like “poesy ring” then stopped. When he spoke again, Buffy didn’t understand the language, but it didn’t matter because Spike did. “Eras, es, eris meorum solum amorum aeternum.”

“Meaning?”

Spike shifted so he was looking into her eyes. “You were, you are, you will be my only love eternally.”

“Oh.” Buffy stared down at the circle in his hands, her teeth biting at her lower lip. A watery shimmer covered her vision for a moment and she glanced up at him. There was so much emotion – his jaw was clenched, his eyes dark and intent, almost midnight blue, blazing into her, reading her soul.

“Yeah. Oh.” A slight smile – not a smirk at all, crossed his lips and he leaned closer then pressed his lips against her forehead. Buffy laid her head on his shoulder, her hand covering his open palm, the ring held tightly between them.

“This so beats the other ring you gave me.”

He chuckled, the sound reverberating against her ear, the movement of his chest forcing her closer to him.

“Do you have any ideas about any of this?”

Spike twisted their hands so that their fingers were clasped, the ring still between their palms. “Lots. Not sure any of them might explain all of this. Got more questions than answers, and more as the night goes on. Right now ‘m worried why your innards are rebelling and determined to be out. The rest can wait a bit.”

Buffy made a face, wrinkling her nose and furrowing her brow at his mention of her stomach. Her thumb brushed over his index finger. “Can we. . . I dunno what it is. Could it be part of the wonkyness or is it something else? And is there any way to tell?”

Spike’s shrug shifted them both and he nudged his nose against her hair. He sniffed her, then shifted her a bit more in his arms. “You smell different – like me an’” he did it again, then pulled back a bit. Shifting their hands, he eased the ring back on her finger then brushed his thumb over the marks on her neck. “These are fresh – like we renewed the claim – not that it needs it. Do you trust me?”

They were face to face now and Buffy’s eyes were trained on his, not once wavering. Her lashes lowered and she whispered, “I think you’re the only one I do trust.”

“Don’t. . . . Christ, Slayer, you. . . “ he shook his head, for once words escaping him. Clearing his throat, Spike took a moment to compose his thoughts. “Don’t get angry with me kitten, but, I think I need to do this.”

“Do what? Bite me?” Buffy watched the look on his face change and she blurted out, “I can feel you, what you’re feeling, almost what you’re thinking and that was pretty clear. And,” she added almost shyly, “I think I want that too.”

“Right then. Won’t take much, just enough to know.” He kissed her forehead then trailed his lips down her hair to the marks on her neck. His tongue licked over her skin and tingles swept through her nerves.

“Oh. . . oh.” Her breathy little gasps urged him on and her fingers digging into his forearms caused an answering rumble in his chest. “Please.”

The second he morphed into game face Buffy shivered, her body knowing what was about to happen, even if her mind wasn’t fully capable of remembering. His fangs grazed the marks and the shivers increased, edging her closer to him, her hands easing up his arms to reach under the hem of his sleeves. Latching onto her neck, nipping at the vein pulsing beneath her skin, Spike gently eased into the marks, reopening them. At the first pull, his eyes flew open wide and the growl emerging from his throat echoed in the small bathroom. On the second mouthful the growls subsided into chest deep purring, while Buffy clawed at the skin of his shoulders, raising finger-tip sized welts over his skin. She sighed as he licked closed the punctures, her head pillowed on his strong arm, watching his jaw for his reaction.

From behind hooded eyes he stared at her, a look on his features that she was willing to swear she’d never seen before. It was feral, possessive and it reinforced to her that she was still dealing with a master vampire, one who held an enormous power over her life. . . and her heart.

“Spike?” Her hand reached out to him and he caught her fingers between his teeth.

“Buffy. . . . you’re pregnant.”

“I am?” Fear filled her gaze as she scrambled to understand. “No I wouldn’t . . . if. . cheat. . I . . that’s not me. I’m not that girl and I wouldn’t do that if we are together. Spike you have to believe me.” Her belly clenched, fear riding high, her heartbeat accelerating, thundering in her ribcage. “I swear I didn’t.”

He stared at her while she babbled, a blank expression on his face, then as her words reached him, he pulled her close, brushing his lips over her forehead. “Kitten. . . . Buffy. . . Buffy.“

Her words finally trailed off when his fingers dug into her shoulder, she turned scared eyes to him. “Dunno how it’s possible, an’ right now, it hardly matters. . . . It’s mine.”

Relief flooded through her and she slumped in his arms. “Oh thank god.”

This time he smiled, ending the tense moment by pulling her against his chest, his strong arms wrapped around her. “Mine, kitten. Both of you.”

Insistent knocking and Rupert’s voice from the other side of the door pulled them from the short peace of their moment. “Buffy? Spike? We need to talk. Oz remembered his attacker was Angel. And I’ve also found one of my journals. Can you please come out so we aren’t conversing through the door?”

“Give us a moment. We’ll be right there.”

Having to settle for that, Rupert snapped his journal closed and walked back into the shop area.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were eating pizza, uncaring of his presence just beyond the bright lights of the restaurant. Angel crouched down, perched on the rooftop of the building opposite, his eyes trained on the two teenagers.

He could taste the anticipation running through his nerve endings. Time to make his move. . . she knew something was following them. . . despite her seeming unconcern, Angel knew the slayer’s sister couldn’t be this ignorant. And it was time. . . .

Time for the slayer and her pet vampire to know.

Know he was waiting. . . watching.

The two teens got up from the table, heading for the door, both of them laughing and smiling brightly.

A smirk crossed his features and Angel let them cross the street, dropping to the ground soundlessly when they walked past his perch.

Time. . . . .

Book Two. Chapter 38. The monsters of our childhood

There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them.
Andre Gide

Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is.
German Proverb

He who fears something gives it power over him.
Moorish Proverb

It's been said that fear of the unknown is an irrational response to the excesses of the imagination. But our fear of the everyday, of the lurking stranger and the sound of footfalls on the stairs, the fear of violent death and the primitive impulse to survive, are as frightening as any X-File, as real as the acceptance that it could happen to you.
Mulder, X-Files

Hope is ambiguous, but fear is precise.
Leo Rosten




Faith hung up the phone, confusion swirling in the depths of her dark brown eyes. Something was up with Giles, he was less clear than usual – she had barely understood what he was saying. It was almost like they’d been having two or three different conversations. So it had been a couple of years since she talked to him, she didn’t think the old man had lost it in that amount of time.

Going over everything they’d said, Faith realized it was like her dreams, the messages all jumbled and incoherent until she caught onto the pattern. Okay, girl, what’s the friggin pattern? What was watcher-man saying. . . And not saying?

Her hand still on the receiver, Faith closed her eyes and cleared her mind. Something’s seriously wrong in SunnyD. That much I got. Something else is up and they haven’t figured it out yet. All righty then. Forcing her mind to clear once more, she stared at the phone. The urgency that had been goading her for days notched higher. There was. . . . turning away from the phone, Faith eyed the trussed and tied-up warden.

“Sorry dude. Gotta motor. Duty calls.”

She realized the irony even as she spoke the words, but she pushed it aside. Snagging the warden’s car keys and emptying his wallet, she smiled, flashing a dimple at the man .
“I’d take you with, but dude, you’d just slow me down.”

She bent down, smirking as his eyes followed her cleavage, quipping, “thanks for the ride though” and knocked him out with one blow.

Sauntering through the office doors, Faith headed for the guard’s locker rooms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oz and Wesley were trading notes, well, Oz was writing while Wesley questioned him, when Rupert returned to the public area of the shop. He was stopped short by a small sound coming from his office.

Hesitating beside the open door, Giles spied Anya sitting at his desk, the day’s receipts spread out before her. Normally this was one of her favorite pastimes, counting the day’s totals, but today, she wasn’t enjoying it. Her hands were fisted around some bills and her head was bowed, tears streaming from her eyes.

“Anya? Is it that bad?” He stepped into the room, concern etched on his features.

She sniffled, wiping her eyes, getting the money all wet. “No. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Anya dear, we’ve either lost the shop or. . . what’s wrong?”

Her little laugh ended in a sob. “We haven’t lost the store and my management of our funds won’t allow that. It’s not the shop at all.”

“Ah. Would you tell me anyway what’s troubling you?” He couldn’t imagine what had her so upset, because nothing ever seemed to faze her, she was always so cheerful. ‘I don’t like seeing you this upset.”

“I don’t think Xander loves me the way I want him too.” She put the money down on his desk, turning tear-filled eyes on him. “He ignores me. He yells at me. And I don’t remember why.”

“There, there. I doubt that’s the way of things. You’re just reacting to the stress of the day.” He awkwardly patted her back, unsure of how to help her.

“What stress? I’m not stressed at all. I don’t have any stress.” Anya moved under his arm, putting her head on his chest. “How come he can’t be more like you?”

There wasn’t anything he could say to that, no phrase or comfort he could come up with to make her feel better. So he did what his body, instead of his brain, wanted. Rupert brushed his hand over her hair and pulled her head toward his, sweeping a kiss on her temple, he found himself with an armful of former demon. Anya wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled through her tears. Not liking the look of sadness and despair in her whiskey eyes, Rupert threw caution to the wind and kissed her.

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Willow laid small kisses over Tara’s shoulder, her small hands cupping around a soft breast, thumb slowly flicking her nipple. Sliding her body around Tara’s side, she latched onto the nipple, her teeth gently scoring over the puckered flesh. Her fingers trailed downwards, circling her navel, then dipping lower to play between the folds of Tara’s sex.

Her lover arched up into her hands and mouth while Willow’s mind chanted the litany she’d been repeating to herself throughout the day.

This is the way it should be.

I did the right thing.

This is what should be. Where I should be.

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“Yours.” Buffy’s gaze searched his for any hint of untruth, but Spike’s eyes were clear and steady, bright and intense upon her.

“Not far along I’d guess, but I imagine that’s part of why everything’s off. The claim wouldn’t allow any mojo to block it and. . . “ he stopped speaking when a tear dropped on his hand.

“Kitten?”

“I never thought. . . babies weren’t supposed to happen. Slayers aren’t . . . I guess I stopped thinking about a normal life a long time ago. I guess I sort of gave up hope, after being. . . After Riley. Spike? How come I can remember stuff like Riley leaving and Mom being dead and . . . Fighting Glory, but I can’t remember anything else?” Buffy clutched at him, panic starting to filter through her.

“My guess is someone’s got some serious mojo working so we’ll forget.” He got to his feet, pulling her up after him. Reaching under the sink, Spike pulled out some mouthwash. “Here use this.”

Waiting while she did, Spike ran his hand down her back, gliding his arm around her, then splayed his hand over her belly. His voice sounded in her ear, raising gooseflesh and triggering her nerve endings. “When this is all sussed out, kitten, we’re gonna celebrate this news.”

She couldn’t see his reflection in the mirror, but she could imagine the look on his face. When she turned to look at him, Buffy wasn’t disappointed with the guess. His lips met hers in a searing kiss and Spike threaded his hands through her hair. He held her close for long moments, reluctant to release her.

“Let’s go see what the watcher wants.”

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The Huntsman woke from sleep, eyes unfocused, ears pricked to sounds only he and the hounds under his control could hear. The first hound growled lowly, waking the others.

His face turned to the east, the Huntsman got to his feet.

“Time is on us lads. . . “

His words weren’t necessary, since the hounds too had heard the wind’s whisper and they were at attention, their heads poised, bodies tense and ready to spring.

At the cave’s entrance, the Huntsman stopped. His hand raised and an eerie whistling filled the night, stilling the air.

As one, the hounds bayed into the night, shuffling and edging forward.

Once more the Huntsman paused, whistled, then let loose the hounds of hell.

Their forms were but darker shadows in the night as they sought their prey, gliding on silent padded feet through the streets of the hellmouth.

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Angel closed the distance, his strides drawing him nearer and ever nearer to the two oblivious teens.

He could smell their arousal now, so new and unfocused, they couldn’t possibly understand – but he did – oh he did.

Circling around them to meet them head on, Angel wiped his face of any expression. Best to hide behind his other self until it was too late.

Ahhh. . . . there they are.

Keeping his voice carefully neutral, Angel stopped in front of the two. “Hello Dawn.”

Dawn’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice. She hesitated, unsure of why he might be in Sunnydale, wary of his presence. Angel being around was never of the good. “Hey Angel. Looking for Buffy?”

“Yeah, I came to see her. She, ah, wasn’t home.” The lie came easily, but he knew Dawn hadn’t been home since before nightfall, and it was going on eleven. “Shouldn’t you be on your way home?”

“We’re heading there now. Not like you’d know if I had a curfew or anything.” Dawn got in her dig, which he let slide.

“Dawnie?” The boy took her hand, pulling it and her closer to him.

“Sorry. Angel this is my boyfriend Casey. Casey, this is my sister’s ex.” Dawn shrugged, then said despite the alarms going off in her head, “so like she’s probably out, doing that walking thing she does all the time. You should go look for her. C’mon Casey.”

Dawn, tugging Casey behind her, started to move around Angel, who sidestepped to allow her, then caught her arm.

“Yeah, about that. See, the thing is, I can’t let you. Go home that is.”

His grip was tight, not allowing her any movement.

“Angel, what’s your deal? I gotta go home.” She tried pulling away, but his grip tightened on her, bruising her, fingers digging deeply into her skin.

“Dude, we gotta get home. My parents are gonna freak if I get in late.” Casey stepped closer to Dawn, standing between the two of them. Dawn freed her hand from Casey’s grip, winding her fingers around his upper arm. Worry for him became paramount, because Casey had no idea what Angel really was.

“Lemme go. I’ll tell Buffy you’re looking for her.” Dawn managed to free her arm from Angel’s grasp, starting off toward Revello Drive. “See ya.”

“Dawn. I can’t let you go.” This time he pulled on her hair, fisting it around his hand. His voice was low, yet the menace was clear. “You are my message to your sister.”

“Casey. Run.” Dawn ground out, fighting against the pain of her hair being pulled. “Get to the Magic Box. Get Buffy. Or Spike.”

He stared at her for a few seconds, indecision clear on his features. Her head was almost horizontal now, Angel tugging her closer and closer to him. Tears sprang to her eyes and Dawn pleaded with her boyfriend. “Casey. Go, please.”

Angel grabbed her by the throat. “Enough talking Dawnie.” He glanced at the boy. “That’s it. Be a man. Run while your girlfriend protects you.”

Fighting off Dawn’s struggles, Angel lifted her by the neck, her feet inches from the ground. “That’s it Dawn. Fight me.”

Casey hit him just under his upraised arm, almost knocking him off his feet, loosening his grip around Dawn’s neck. Grabbing her hand, Casey tugged her after him, his feet already moving. “C’mon Dawn, we gotta move.”

She was coughing, trying to draw in breath so she could run, but Dawn couldn’t open her throat to speak, much less scream. So when Angel once again grabbed her, all the signal Casey got was her being pulled from his hand.

Casey whirled around, looking about for Dawn. There was a crumpled form a few feet away and Casey ran toward it, recognizing her jacket. Blood darkened her face, her jacket but she was breathing, because he could hear the harsh gasps rasping from her throat. “Oh god Dawnie. Oh god.”

He knelt down beside her, pushing aside the hair covering her face and nearly threw up. Long furrows had been raked over her face, splitting open the skin of her cheek. Gathering her up, Casey tried to get to his feet with her in his arms.

Staggering upright, he nearly dropped her twice before he got twenty feet, but he tightened his grip on her and set off for Sunnydale General. He’d call her sister from the hospital.

So focused on Dawn, Casey never realized his every footstep was being followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So what’s the sitch?” Buffy faced two watchers, one vampire, one werewolf and an ex-demon and didn’t feel that was the least bit strange.

“Oz says it was Angel that attacked him. Wesley’s got a list of what feels off. And Faith called.” Giles furrowed his brow, adding, “I realize that none of this makes any sense and I believe that is a large part of our problem.”

Wesley spoke next. “It appears someone – whether human or demon – attempted some sort of spell and somehow the mating bond you and Spike share partially blocked the effects of said spell. And in doing so, it altered the stability of the entire spell.”

“The problem appears to be there are other events or situations the spellcaster was ignorant of.” Giles took up the litany. “And while that shouldn’t normally affect a spell, in this case, those circumstances appear to be triggering our memories of what actually is going on – opposed to what the spell is actually telling us. Or rather what our altered reality is telling us.”

“So that means? What exactly?” Buffy’s head was swimming. Giving in to her impulse, she pushed Spike back from the table and sat down on his lap, which mirrored his earlier impulse.

Strangely enough, no one else batted an eye. Anya had already closed the shop and Connor was sleeping quietly in his stroller. Spike laced his hands around her, then brushed a kiss on her shoulder. The talk continued and Buffy closed her eyes for a minute and promptly fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She ditched the car in south-central Los Angeles, stealing another one more than two miles away. Faith figured they’d spend a while looking for her in Los Angeles and by the end of the week they’d start looking in Sunnydale for her. Might not ever stop searching LA, coz this piece of shit is probably stolen also.

That’s what she was hoping for anyway.

Every time she passed a cop she tensed up, her entire body on wild alert. Gotta chill. So far so good. Just gotta keep my cool.

Faith drove through the night, anxiety keeping her adrenaline high.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel watched the boy falter again.

Safety and the hospital weren’t that far away – but he wasn’t going to let them reach the false sanctuary.

“You’re a brave boy. Carrying a bleeding girl through the streets of the hellmouth with who knows what kinds of demons following you.” Angel’s tone was conversational, but it still made the hair on the back of Casey’s neck stand up.

“What the fuck? Dude, get the hell away from us.” Casey kept walking, trying to ignore the looming figure matching him step for step.

“Wow. That’s no way to greet the guy who’s been watching your back for the last half hour.” Angel shook his head. “I’m really disappointed.”

“Look, dude, I don’t know who you are and I don’t really care. You hurt my girlfriend. So just leave us alone.” Casey’s tone was a mix between belligerent bravado and rising fear. Dawn started stirring, soft whimpers sounding in the air and Casey tried picking up his pace, but his arms and back weren’t strong enough to carry Dawn’s inert form for so long and he was tiring. He faltered and Angel snickered.

“You’re going to drop her. There’s no way you’re going to make it to the hospital. Face it boy, you just aren’t strong enough.” The grin broadened and Angel laughed when Casey stumbled.

“Such a foolish brave boy. Too bad you won’t ever be a man.”

Angel struck, knocked Dawn from his hands, the blow rocking Casey nearly off his feet, splitting his lip and snapping his head back.

Casey reeled, shaking his head. “What the fuck? What is your problem?”

“Your girl is my problem. Her existence and her sister’s.” Angel circled round him, kicking Dawn in the side as he moved around her.

Casey shouted, then raced back to Dawn’s side, dropping to his knees. “You’re a sick fuck, beating on girls.”

He tried lifting her in his arms, but the hit Angel had given him hurt more than he’d thought. He watched the bigger man warily, as he tried instead to wake up Dawn. “C’mon, Dawnie, wake up, gotta help me here.”

“You’re calling me sick, boy? What do you call a guy who hides behind his girl? I’d call him a pussy. . . weak. . . pathetic.”

Faster than he could follow, Angel punched Casey twice, knocking his head back and opening a second cut over his right eye.

The teenager stumbled again to his feet, once he realized that Dawn was coming too. He needed to protect her – and if that meant getting his ass kicked, well, he’d recover. “You always pick on guys smaller than you?”

Hiding her movements from Angel, Dawn wiped away the blood from her face and tried not to make any noise. A thought surfaced through the pain, one that she didn’t question, just followed. Slipping her hand into her jacket, Dawn located her cell phone and rolling over, shielded it from view. Punching in a sequence of numbers – ones she had no idea what they meant or why – Dawn closed the phone, left it on the ground and slowly got to her feet.

“Leave him alone Angel. He doesn’t know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike was getting Buffy comfortable on the training room couch while the others were doing more research in the other room when more than one cell phone began chirping.

Almost immediately, some stopped, leaving only two still beeping and Spike was searching the duster’s pockets since one source appeared to be there when Wesley’s voice reached him.

“Spike. Dawn’s in trouble.”

“What? How do you know?” He looked up sharply, as his free hand began shaking Buffy awake. “Kitten, Niblet’s in trouble, wake up.”

“The cell phones. Her name popped up on the caller ID and her approximate location, together with what Rupert believes is a ‘code red’.” Wesley was grabbing weapons as he talked, tossing Spike a sword and then he turned toward the doorway.

“Buffy, wake up now.” Spike grabbed his duster and shrugged it on.

“What’s wrong?” She peered at him through sleepy eyes.

“Watchers say Dawn’s in trouble. Came through on the cell phones.” He held out a hand, helping her to her feet.

“Where is she?” Buffy snagged the sword from him, speaking as she walked through the doorway, her mind racing with endless possibilities, none of them good.

Book Two. Chapter 39. Lambs for the slaughter


A mother's arms are strong when her child is in danger.
Dead Man Walking, 1995

Do not stand in a place of
danger trusting in miracles.
Arabian Proverb

I came to believe it not true that "the
coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave man
only one." I think it is the other way around:
It is the brave who die a thousand deaths.
For it is imagination, and not just conscience,
which doth make cowards of us all. Those
who do not know fear are not truly brave.
Leo Rosten


Death is everywhere
There are flies on the windscreen
For a start
Reminding us
We could be torn apart
Tonight

Death is everywhere
There are lambs for the slaughter
Waiting to die
And I can sense
The hours slipping by
Tonight Depeche Mode, Fly on the Windscreen from the album Black Celebration, 1986




They had no idea what the situation might be with Dawn and why she might be in trouble. None of them knew and, as they walked through the streets of downtown Sunnydale, none of them gave those ideas voice.

It didn’t take long for Buffy and Spike to outdistance Wesley, fear goading both of them onward.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Halfway between Los Angeles and Sunnydale, Faith’s nerves were so strung that she couldn’t continue driving without releasing some of the tension coursing through her. The music was blaring, her foot heavy on the pedal and it still didn’t ease the humming through her entire body. Spying the next exit on US 5, Faith cut across three lanes of traffic and headed for the off-ramp.

Knowing full well that she wouldn’t run into any demons, or if she did, they would be more of the peaceful kind, Faith headed for the first bar she found. More than one way to work off the tension. . . . .

Checking out her face in the review mirror, she grimaced. No makeup, stolen clothes yet she was still hotter than half the chicks out there. So what she wasn’t California-blond or tall and willowy. She had tits to make most men drool and an ass to please the rest. It was enough to get her in the door without having to pay the cover charge and more than enough to get her the first two rounds of drinks; if she had wanted to play, there were plenty of takers. She wasn’t there to play. None of the boys in the bar could scratch that itch anyway.

Nope. Nothing short of a real walk on the dark side would get rid of that one.

What she needed was something more physical.

She needed to slay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Determined not to show him any weakness, knowing it could possibly be fatal, Dawn did not – refused – to give into the lassitude creeping through her. This isn’t Angel, her mind screamed, this is your own personal nightmare. With a more than credible imitation of her father’s growl, Dawn ground out “get away from him, Angel, he doesn’t. . . he’s not part of this.”

With a smirk, Angel ignored her, his fist connecting to the side of Casey’s head. “Gee, Dawnie, I think he’s part of this because he’s with you.”

“He doesn’t know!” The shriek had been building since he’d grabbed hold of her arm finally rang through the night, echoing off the buildings, coming back around to blast them.

Casey fell, blood spouting from his mouth and his head thunked heavily against the pavement. He groaned, rolling over, struggling to get back on his feet. Somehow Casey managed to get to all fours and he scrabbled away when Angel kicked him hard in the side, as Dawn tackled into Angel, throwing the vampire completely off balance and knocking him down.

He was up, springing to his feet before Dawn could get to Casey, and he grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him. The slap he delivered to her face nearly knocked her back and she fought to stay on her feet, giving Casey enough time to get to his.

The scent of blood was heavy in the air; the panting breaths of the humans, panic-filled and scared roused his bloodlust. “Can’t wait to get a taste of you, little girl. . . . can’t wait to get. . . . close to you.”

Angel’s snicker ended in a deep throated chuckle, raising the hairs on the back of Dawn’s neck. He stalked toward the two of them, his grin splitting his normally expressionless features and Dawn knew they had little chance of getting away from him. She might be able to survive. . . but Casey – Casey didn’t know about vampires and demons and he would . . . she wasn’t going to let him die along with her. She was about to grab his hand, when he fell to his knees beside her, his strength gone.

“Casey, get up, c’mon, get up!” Dawn wrapped her hands around his upper arm, pulling him vainly. She didn’t dare look down at him, afraid if she took her eyes off the vampire, he’d gut them both.

“Too late. He can’t go on. What will you do now?” She could feel the cool breath the vampire used to speak, his taller, broader form looming over her. “Gonna save the boy? Hhhmmm?”

Encircling her neck with his thick fingers, Angel once more lifted her off her feet, uncaring of her ineffectual kicking. “I’m feeling kind of thirsty. . . . and I know just the thing I need. Don’t you?“

His face morphed, fangs and brow ridges prominent. Unlike other victims, Dawn didn’t scream, refusing to give him the satisfaction. I’ve been here before. . . . he didn’t scare me then and I’m not gonna let him scare me now. Just have to hold on until Spike or Buffy gets here. Gotta give Casey a chance to get away.

Just have to hold on.

She knew, despite not knowing how or why she couldn’t remember, the code she’d punched into her cell phone was a message sent out to the scoobies and to Spike. All she had to do was just survive.

Unable to move her head, Dawn couldn’t see what Casey was doing behind her and she knew - hoped - her struggles gave him more time to escape. She kept clawing at Angel’s hands, her nails drawing his blood to the surface, but also serving to keep his fangs from sinking into her neck.

But the pressure of his fingers closing around her throat didn’t ease and now breathing was becoming an issue. Angel’s face loomed closer, fetid breath wafting over her face and Dawn’s vision began to swim. Panting heavily for air, she scratched at his fingers and the last thing she saw was Casey’s body slamming into Angel’s side before everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike started to outdistance her and for once Buffy didn’t put on a burst of speed just to prove she was better or faster or stronger than him. Instead, she called out, and before she knew it, he was back at her side.

“Kitten?”

“Promise me you’ll be careful.” Some sixth sense – or a remnant of a ragged memory – told her they’d been very close to losing each other in the misty recent past of lost memories.

His pace had slowed, matching hers and deftly switching his weapon from one hand to the other, Spike caught her left hand up, sweeping it toward his lips. Ghosting a kiss over the back, he said, “was about to tell you the same, love. Got our sprog there, don’t do anythin’ foolish, yeah?”

Without turning his head, Spike knew that mulish look came over her features, the one he almost hated. “Sunshine. Don’t want anything to hurt you. Couldn’t live with myself if it did.” He paused, waiting for the look to clear. When it appeared she was going to get more stubborn, Spike halted, then pulled her into his arms. “I love you. Don’t wanna lose you. Jus’ promise me you’ll be careful.”

She was poised to argue with him. She really was. But when Buffy glanced up at his features, all thought of confronting him fled. His eyes – wavering between feline amber and human blue stalled her words. The ferocity and depth of emotion was humbling. He felt so much. . . “my promise for yours,” was all she was capable for uttering.

“Already done, kitten.” He started off in the direction of Dawn’s last known location, his words resolute. “Time to rescue Niblet.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Casey plowed into Angel’s side, with as much force as his battered body would allow, his shoulder hitting the bigger man just under his upraised arm. The arm he had been using to slowly strangle Casey’s girlfriend.

The blow nearly knocked the teen out, head ringing and ears popping; Casey knew he heard something crunch hard on impact. He had no way of telling, though, if it had been his own bones or the sicko’s that gave under the pressure. Every inch of him was already in pain, one more body part screaming in agony didn’t matter. He barely kept to his feet, some instinct telling him their only chance lay in staying upright – no matter what happened. Casey’s knowledge and willpower didn’t help, because his legs crumpled and he would have fallen if not for the weak arms suddenly wrapped around his torso.

Dawn’s voice was husky, painful to hear, but in that moment, the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Hope flared within him, bolstering his courage. “C’mon Casey, we gotta go.”

She slipped under his shoulder, propping him up, her desperation to get away easily communicated.

“Dawnie.” He knew what he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t force themselves out.

“I know Casey.” She paused, then whispered, “me too. A lot.”

They had barely gone three steps when Angel’s dark form loomed in front of them.

“Thought I told you – you aren’t going anywhere.”

Dawn stiffened beside Casey, her back almost rigid beneath his arm. “Screw you. . . . Angelus. We got your message and hey, consider it already delivered. I’ll make sure Buffy gets it.”

“See, here’s where we differ.” Angel stepped closer, forcing the teens to give ground. “Your sister and her pet vampire stole something of mine. I’m just taking something back.”

From somewhere deep inside his broken body, Casey found a deeper well, a source – a part of himself he’d never known he possessed. While Dawn faltered beside him, blanching visibly at the words flung at them, Casey’s legs strengthened and his stance miraculously widened. Instead of continuing to cower in front of the psychotic man, he took a step forward, crowding him.

When Angel stepped back, more in surprise than anything else, Casey moved again. Shielding Dawn now, he waited, knowing this was the only thing he could do. Belying the words flung at him earlier, Casey knew the longer he stood his ground, the more man he was.

Angel growled at the defiance. Shaking off his human features, the vampire snarled, gnashing his teeth and stepped closer to the boy. Though he drew in a deep breath, Casey didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. Didn’t even look away when he whispered his girlfriend’s name, uttering the words he’d been unable to say moments before.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air was calm, no wind, no sounds to disturb their hunt and yet their prey was eluding them. No sight nor sound, nor scent teased their preternatural sense of smell. . . it was as if the prey had disappeared, dissipated into thin air.

Expecting to find traces of their prey, the Huntsman had directed his spectral hounds in that direction, only to have them balking and howling their displeasure into the quiet night.

Younger, newer hounds were circling their elders, baying and yipping in question, while the alpha male sniffed the air, searching for some ephemeral trace of the betrayer. . . .

The red-eyed black hound caught the scent, hours old, of magicks gone awry, wielded by one without care or thought of consequences or compassion. . . . The hackles on his neck rose, and he bayed his find, echoing through the still, silent night, reverberating off the trees and brush around them.

The others fell in behind him as he loped off, ground eating strides lengthening as the scent grew stronger. His mate, the smaller sleeker red-spotted black hound raced behind him, then broke off, veering toward the right, her yowls of warning alerting the pack to her departure.

The Huntsman watched her go, a grim smile playing about his thin lips.

Each hound knew their place, each knew their task. One by one, they split off from the pack, until the alpha male was alone, his nose intent on the location of the traitor, while the others cut off all avenues of escape.

Time it is lads . . . . .

Ar hyn o bryd . . . o fewn hwn lle . . . . pechodau dcaw ateb dros. . . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Faith slammed back another shot of tequila – her fourth – realizing her idea to stop wasn’t working at all. Mission Viejo is not a happening place. Well, not the kind of place I’m looking for anyway.

Brushing off the attentive college boys who’d been supplying her with drinks, she headed for the door.

Not working. . . gotta get the hell outta here. Place is way too whitebread.

Without breaking stride, Faith elbowed her way through the wall of admirers and by the time she hit the bar’s main door, she was running.

Shit’s about to go down and what the fuck am I doing? I’m here all stupid like, trying to work off the nerves.

Not happening. Not gonna make the same mistakes all over again.

Tires squealing and heart pounding in time to the music blaring, Faith roared onto the highway, this time focused and determined to ignore her internal distractions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Giving his hand one last squeeze, Dawn let go, then stepped behind him.

The growl erupted from the vampire standing before them sounded low and menacing, breaking through the night. Neither teen flinched, neither one moved. Almost slowly, Angel drew back his hand, preparing to strike the boy in front of him, when Casey once more did the unexpected.

He laughed.

As his laughter rang in counterpoint to the vampire’s snarls, Casey added his voice. “You’re nothing but a bully. Gotta beat on little girls and guys smaller than you. Don’t you ever fight against someone your own size?”

Angel reeled back as if struck, shifting out of game face. The human’s response was so unexpected – as unexpected as the punch the boy threw at his nose.

This time, there was no mistaking what broke on whom.

Blood streaming from his broken nose, Angel roared his anger at the heavens, then turned amber eyes on the two. Wasting no more of his energy on words, Angel smacked an open hand across the boy’s face, grinning as another cut was opened up under his left eye. Not giving him any more chances to recover his bravado, Angel raked his hand down the side of Casey’s neck, opening a fairly shallow cut on his rib cage from collar bone to navel. Dawn screamed, flying at Angel in a desperate attempt to distract the vampire, but he just batted her away, knocking her across a park bench.

As incredible as it seemed, Casey stood his ground, even attempted to fight back. Dawn scrambled to her feet, trying to get between the two males when Angel’s claws ripped open her jacket and shirt, baring a breast. Angel grabbed her then, his hand encircling the fleshy globe. “When his blood is spilled, Dawnie, I’m gonna take you over his dying flesh and make you suck me off. Gonna strip you bare and fuck you raw.”

Casey moved then, his hands clasped together in a double fish and he swung at Angel’s jaw, once more knocking him away from Dawn.

With a growl, Angel whirled on the boy and before Dawn could gather herself to help him, Angel dug his fingers deeply into Casey’s throat and ripped.

Screams filled the night, in one long continuous howl, pain and despair marking the dark skies.

From two sides, blond blurs raced toward the frozen figures, converging on the tall vampire and his victims.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike heard the sounds of fighting before she did and he raced forward, leaving Buffy behind.

He pulled up short when Casey’s double fist rocked the vampire, then sprang into a sprint, desperate to reach them before Angel could move in on the boy.

But he was too late.

Casey’s life’s blood was already covering Dawn when Spike ran up and tapped the side of Angel’s head with his fist.

Dawn was screaming.

Buffy’s ears recognized that sound and she streaked toward her sister, her brain not registering the presence of two people now battling Angel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kirsten knew she was too late to save Casey. Dammit. Should have come sooner. Dammit.

Putting on an inhuman burst of speed, Kirsten slammed into Angel’s back as Spike unleashed a blow that sent the other vampire ass over teacup, rolling back over Kirsten’s bowed back.

Dawn, galvanized by Casey’s body hitting the ground, dropped to her knees and crawled forward.

“Casey. Oh my god. . . Casey. Please don’t die. . . . please. . . Oh please, don’t.” Tears fell onto the gaping wound at his throat, as Buffy leaned over her sister, trying to pull her away from her boyfriend’s body.

The fight between the other three intensified and Angel, not holding back, lifted Kirsten off the ground and heaved her in the air, toward a tree. Using her own momentum, Kirsten unfurled her legs, ran up the tree trunk, pushed off, back flipping up and over the two vampires.

Spike goggled at her for a few precious seconds, then bore the brunt of Angel’s reminder of their fight.

“C’mon boy, this the best you’ve got?” Angel tried taunting him, but Spike grim-facedly ignored him.

Wesley ran into the small park, his eyes focused on where Dawn and Buffy were huddled over the battered form of Dawn’s boyfriend. The growls of the two master vampires were increasing in volume, the force of their blows growing stronger.

Spike swiped a hand over his split lip, his eyes steady on Angel as the older vampire advanced on him, and he grinned in anticipation. “C’mon gramps, not fighting little kiddies now, got the real thing.”

Kirsten hovered just beyond the two, watching them both warily, her hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword Spike had dropped. She was positioned between the vampires and the others, almost like a secondary line of defense in case Angel got past Spike. Angel took a wild swing at Spike, who ducked out of the path of his fist and then himself struck back at Angel. The distinctive sound of Spike’s chuckle filled the air when Angel roared out in pain as his back hit the tree.

“Spike?”

The sound of Buffy’s voice distracted him and the blond vampire turned away from his elder, his eyes searching out his mate.

“Spike, Dawnie’s bleeding. . . “

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wesley checked Casey for any sign of life as Buffy cradled Dawn from behind. Catching the slayer’s eye, the former watcher shook his head. The noise of the fight occurring behind them was distant, almost unreal, as if the area around Casey’s body were encased in a bubble. Dawn was on her knees, one hand shaking Casey’s shoulder, the other running through his matted hair. Sobs caught in her throat, a chant of the boy’s name streaming from her mouth. From behind, Buffy had one arm wrapped around Dawn at the shoulder, holding her up and away from all the blood.

“No. . . . no. . . please. . . Casey, please get up.” Dawn raised wild eyes toward Wesley, grief swimming alongside her own pain. She stared at him, unwillingly finding the truth written on his face. “No! Not dead. . . no! No! Not dead!”

Fighting free of her sister’s hold, Dawn threw herself at Casey’s body, laying her head next to the gaping neck wound. “Please live. . . please. . . . please Casey.”

Tears spilling down her own cheeks, Buffy pulled Dawn up, holding her against her chest, running hands over her shaking body. Dawn collapsed against her, tears and blood staining her clothing. “Shhhhhh, Dawnie, I’ve got you.”

Incoherent mumblings interspersed with shuddering sobs wrenched themselves from Dawn’s abused throat. Wesley shared another look with Buffy, after which he got to his feet, his cell phone out before he was ten feet away.

The fight raged on and Buffy watched with a detached eye as neither vampire gained an edge. There was a small blonde girl watching them also, something Buffy found very strange. She couldn’t see her face full-on, but something about the girl’s profile struck a chord within the slayer.

Wesley’s hand touched her shoulder and Buffy glanced up to look at him. “Ambulance is on it’s way.”

She was about to speak when Dawn’s shudders increased, her entire body shaking. Trying to hold her close, Buffy struggled with her sister’s longer limbs, unable to get control. The furrows on Dawn’s face and breast started bleeding more heavily and Buffy instinctually called out for her mate. “Spike?”

There was a pause, and without looking toward where Spike battled Angel, she knew she had her vampire’s attention. “Spike, Dawnie’s bleeding.”

The not so distant wail of sirens bounced off the air and Buffy stiffened. This was not good. One handed, she shook Dawn, “c’mon you, cops are coming. Casey. . . c’mon, Dawnie, get to your feet.”

Beyond answering, grief and pain both white hot, Dawn sobbed harder, the tremors increasing. Giving one last cry, she slumped forward, limp and unconscious.

“Spike!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His name sounded in the air – this time there was no way of ignoring the fear and concern in Buffy’s voice. The sound of it gave Angel the break he’d been waiting for, Spike’s attention diverted.

When the younger vampire turned his head, Angel slid back into the shadows, escaping one more time.

“Spike! Oh god!”

The rising panic flooded through him and Spike whirled on his heel, moving toward where his girls were. Two steps had him facing the unknown blond girl and grabbing hold of her wrist, Spike dragged her after him. “C’mon you. Need some answers.”

He didn’t ease his hold on her until they reached Buffy and Dawn. “Buffy?”

“She’s hurt. . . bleeding. . . Casey’s. . . “ tears choked her, forcing her to silence.

“Boy’s gone. Nothing to be done for him.” Leaning down, Spike gathered the teenager into his arms. “Need to get Platelet here to hospital.”

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