Chapter 6
Buffy only slept for two hours. Even though the past
several hours spent poring over books had drained her mentally, she still had
had more than enough sleep prior to their marathon research session to let her
nap for long. Slipping out of Spike’s arms, she quickly dressed and let herself
out of their room. She had some shopping and a little exploring to do.
Situated on the waterfront, Dover offered an array of
sights for her eyes to take in. As she walked down the sidewalk, she eyed
longingly the families and numerous couples enjoying their vacation. Probably
something they’d spent all year saving for. Something so far removed from what
she and Spike were doing here, it brought a pang to her heart. A feeling of
homesickness so acute, as to cause her to pause a moment to catch her breath
before she broke down in tears.
Those couples, the families – they had something she’d
never have again.
Normal. A normal life.
Oh, it had been bad enough when she’d been called. But,
she’d adjusted. Especially after her move to Sunnydale. She’d made friends,
bonded with her watcher. Now that was all stripped away. On the run from the
mysterious Order, her life had gone from strange, with a healthy dose of
secretive, to downright complicated. No longer able to go home for fear of
retaliation against her friends and family, she was alone. Only not quite.
This time it was a deadly vampire who was her sole companion.
Thoughts of the blond-headed demon caused her lips to turn
down in a frown, unsure what, exactly, he meant to her. Yes, they’d formed that
truce. Yes, they guarded each other’s back. And yes, they comforted each other
with their bodies.
But, something had shifted last night.
A change in the status quo.
He’d been unusually thoughtful. Getting her juice to help
her body recuperate from the blood he’d taken. Bringing her dinner. That
moment when they’d paused, eyes locked on one another, moments away from
starting…something.
Buffy stopped momentarily in her tracks, her hand
unconsciously ghosting over the marks on her neck where he’d bitten her. Wasn’t
surprised when she felt a rush of fluids dampen her panties – memories alone
erotic enough to cause her legs to twitch as she attempted to relieve the ache
between her thighs. When someone accidentally bumped into her, she forced her
legs into motion and continued her aimless wanderings.
A while later she passed in front of a glass window of one
of the shops, her reflection seemingly jumping out at her. The dark hair and
Goth-like clothes seemed strange on her, but at the same time appropriate to her
situation. Then a thought came to her…
She’d done the complete 180 in terms of clothes and
hair, but Spike was still the same 80’s reject as before. Eyes narrowed in
thought, she set out for a local corner mart. He was going to pitch a fit, but
if she could do it, so could he. It would be good for him. Not that she
didn’t secretly love the platinum locks, but a nice black color to complement
her own would be kind of cool. At least for a little while. And, she knew
she’d never get rid of his duster – not that she wanted to. But, some blue
jeans, and maybe some blue shirts might alter his appearance enough to avoid the
notice of the Council and the Order.
~*~*~*~*~
Arms laden with her recent purchases, Buffy let herself
into their hotel room a little before noon. She wasn’t surprised when Spike
shifted in his sleep at the sudden noise before resettling, once more, into a
deep slumber as the faint stirrings of “slayer” reached his senses. The packages
slipped quietly from her fingertips to drop almost soundlessly to the floor,
leaving only her lunch held by her hands.
Moving off towards the table, she opened the Styrofoam
container that held her burger and fries and picked at the food while she opened
another book to resume her research. Since Spike had done a bit while she had
slept, it was only fair that she do the same. And, the quicker they made their
way through the books, the sooner they could bring about the Order’s
destruction.
~*~*~*~*~
Buffy looked up from a particularly boring passage she was
reading to glance over at her…
Mortal enemy. Partner. Ally. Lover. Friend.
Spike was all those things.
For the past week, they’d spent the majority of their time
holed up in their room, practically reading around the clock to piece together
the clues to the Order’s secret headquarters. In that time, their relationship,
such as it was, slowly began to evolve. Forced into close proximity with the
other, the two had quickly established a routine. Learned the other’s likes and
dislikes. Spent hours talking before drifting off to sleep, bodies replete
after making love.
Making love.
Not just comforting sex.
Not anymore.
Although, they hadn’t put a name to this thing growing
between them, the slayer could tell the difference. Whether it was hard and
fast, slow and drawn out; when their bodies came together, it was different than
before.
Before that look they’d shared. When he’d brought her
dinner.
They were going to have to discuss it eventually. Figure
out what it all meant. For now, they just lived in the moment, taking one day
at a time. Neither verbalizing the change that had come over both of them. The
compromises they were making as they strove for a common goal.
Eyeing the dark, disheveled curls on Spike’s head, a
reluctant smile came to her lips as she remembered his reaction to the box she’d
held up in her hand once he’d awoken.
~*~
“No bloody fuckin’ way!” he shouted at the slayer,
mindless to the people that might have been in rooms on either side of them.
“’M not dyin’ my hair.”
“What’s wrong with black? At least it’s not brown…or…or
red.”
Spike crossed his arms over his chest, scarred brow
arching at her words.
“Come on, Spike. I don’t even know why you’re fighting
me on this. It should have been done a long time ago. You stick out like a
sore thumb. And, it’s not as if I’ve got you wearing polos and khakis,” she
whined.
“As if that’ll ever happen.”
“Dammit, Spike.”
“No.”
“You’re getting this done if I have to hogtie you to
that chair.”
“Shheaaa…right.”
~*~
They’d run around the room then, Buffy chasing after him
with the box of hair dye until she’d tackled him on the bed. Needless to say,
the dye job was forgotten for a while as she straddled his waist, their moment
of fun flaring into a mind-consuming passion that had them tearing at their
clothes in their haste to touch bare skin.
In the end, Spike had compromised, sitting docilely in the
chair while the slayer administered the dye to his platinum locks. His one
concession being that she’d had to do it right then. She’d jumped up, grabbing
her clothes to slip them on before he could change his mind, but he’d stopped
her. An evil smirk on his face.
“Nu uh, pet,” he’d said. “Right now…no time for clothes.”
Her eyes had gone wide, but she’d agreed. Pulling out a
chair, she’d had him sit down while she’d quickly mixed the chemicals.
When she’d turned around, her eyes couldn’t help but focus
on his erect cock, and she’d decided to start with the hair on the back of his
head to escape temptation. She’d made quick work of that area, swallowing hard
as she moved to his front. There had been no way she’d be able to reach his
hair without straddling his lap. As she’d glanced down, Buffy had seen him
smirk, realizing her predicament. Evil bastard.
Well, two could play that game…
It was a wonder Spike didn’t have two-tone hair. As she’d
straddled him, she’d positioned her body just so and sunk down on his length.
He’d dug his fingers into her waist, the sound of her name a hoarse shout as the
sensation of being surrounded by her heat threatened to overwhelm him. He’d
nearly displaced the bottle of dye from her hand as he’d thrust up into her.
Only his strong grip had kept her from falling over backwards as he’d bucked
beneath her.
Her eyes had rolled into the back of her head as the tip of
his cock brushed repeatedly over her sweet spot. The fist holding the bottle of
dye had nearly popped the plastic container as her fingers had tightened
reflexively. At the last moment, she’d allowed it to slip from her fingers,
enabling her to wrap her hands about his back and hold on tight.
She became an active participant then, using the muscles in
her legs to ride him to oblivion. Her fingers around his back dug into the pale
flesh, leaving crimson crescent marks where they’d pierced his flesh.
Spike had smelled his own blood on the air and lost it.
Rising from the chair, he’d settled her on the counter behind them. The pace
he’d set had been relentless, his hips almost a blur of motion as they’d thrust
against hers. Buffy hadn’t minded in the least. Had actually reveled in the
barely leashed violence of his lovemaking.
Her climax had taken her completely by surprise. One
moment she’d been reaching for the peak, the next, her breath had been stolen
away as her orgasm tore through her body. She’d hugged him to her, keening her
pleasure as her body convulsed around his. Only then had his fangs had sunk into
her neck, pulling her blood into his mouth as he flooded her womb with his
seed.
Breathless, her limbs complete putty in his hands, she’d
felt herself lifted – still intimately attached to Spike – and resettled on his
lap when he’d sat back down in the chair. She’d wanted nothing more than to lay
her head against his shoulder and take a short nap, but the bottle had appeared
before her face, and she’d reluctantly finished his hair.
He’d pouted afterwards…naturally. So much so, that she’d had to placate him with comments about his sexiness. And, in truth…the black had looked just as hot as the platinum-blond look he’d sported. The clothes had been even less of a problem. Her inadvertent comment about how the blue shirts would bring out the color of his eyes was enough for him to forgo the black…for now. She’d let him keep the boots; although, the cut of the jeans allowed for the pant legs to lie over the top, leaving just the toes of his boots showing.
~*~
“Let’s take a break,” Buffy told him. “We’ve been cooped
up inside this room for over a week…neither one of us leaving except to eat.”
“Alright, pet. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. Something. Anything. Let’s go walk along
the coast. Play at being tourists for a bit. Can we pretend, just for a little
while?”
Spike put down the book he’d been reading and stood up.
The slayer had been holding up remarkably well. Never complaining about their
enforced confinement and not resorting to the petty arguments that came about
when two people were cooped up for any length of time. And, a few hours
reprieve from the research wouldn’t make or break them.
He felt relatively safe that they were under the radar of
both the Council and the Order.
“Come on, luv. Let’s go.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem, kitten,” he replied, brushing his lips across
her forehead and leading her towards the door.
Once outside, he slipped his hand into hers, the pair for
all the world looking like a normal, everyday couple out for a nightly stroll.
For a few hours, they pretended that they weren’t slayer
and vampire, hounded by a deadly sect, each seeking revenge against those
determined to kill them.
For a few hours, they were just Buffy and Spike. Woman and man. Enjoying the nightlife Dover had to offer.
Chapter 7
Buffy closed the leather bound volume – the diary of one of
the watchers who had apparently broken into the Order’s intimate circle – and
rubbed her eyes wearily. After finding the map, she’d discarded the journal
thinking that it had yielded all of the information on the sect possible. But,
Spike had been relentless, and after alternating between a few other tomes
scattered about on top of the table, she’d made her way back to this one.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like reading the personal entries
of a man probably long dead. Not really. His words actually drew her in, the
writing style easy to read and far from boring. It was just that…since nothing
seemed to pertain to the Order, she couldn’t remain focused on it right now.
She leaned back in her chair, eyes roving over the figure
sprawled on the bed. The sheet pulled haphazardly over his hips covering, but
in no way hiding, the semi-hard cock lying passively against his thigh. The
slayer turned away from the enticing picture he made before she became too
distracted. She stretched in her chair to get more comfortable before she
opened the journal once more, and ended up displacing it from her lap.
Smiling slightly at the tongue-lashing she no doubt would
have received if her watcher had been present, Buffy leaned over the arm of the
chair to retrieve the misplaced book. Frowning slightly when she noticed a
worn, folded piece of paper. Picking it and the journal up, she placed the book
on the table, distracted as her eyes stared down at the yellowing paper in her
hand.
Her curiosity getting the better of her, Buffy opened the
edges, the slight crinkling as the note slowly revealed its secrets, causing her
body to tighten in anticipation. Hazel eyes quickly scanned the document – a
letter addressed to the journal’s owner by another watcher – before she settled
in to read. As the words seemed to jump out at her, each line slamming into her
gut with the force of a battering ram, tears filled her eyes.
Halfway through the letter, the water swimming in her eyes
spilled over. She bit her lip to keep from shouting her anger, the slayer in
her wanting nothing more than to rage against them. Them. The Council. Those
self-righteous assholes that would put this girl, this slayer, through such
trials. As she continued to read, hands shaking slightly at her building
emotions, she realized it wasn’t just this one. It was all of them.
Any slayer that was fortunate enough to reach their
eighteenth birthday.
Buffy thought of her own watcher. Giles. The soft-spoken
British man whose looks suggested that he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, harm a fly.
Apparently, they’d been deceiving.
Her rage at his deception and eventual betrayal consumed
her, and she’d risen and snatched the phone off the hook, placing the
international call before she could regret the impetuousness that may give away
their position.
But, she had to know.
Know if her watcher knew about this Cruciamentum. Or if he
was just as blissfully unaware as she had been.
~*~*~*~*~
The shrill ringing of the phone woke him from a sound
sleep. Not that he’d slept much in these last few weeks, having spent many
sleepless nights poring over books, aiding his absent slayer in the only way he
knew how…by searching for a means to destroy the Order of Taraka. Thus enabling
her to come home where she belonged. Back among her friends and family.
Ever since his slayer had disappeared without a trace, he’d
tapped into every resource he possessed, called in every favor owed him, all in
an attempt to ferret out her location. To tell her that he was trying to help
her deal with the assassins.
But it had been all in vain. No one, and he could only
assume the Order was included in there somewhere, had seen neither hide nor hair
of the blond-headed slayer. It was like she’d just disappeared. Had simply
vanished without a trace.
However, about a week ago, Giles had learned through one of
his associates that someone had broken into the Council’s headquarters and
stolen several volumes containing what limited information they had on the Order
of Taraka, and the watcher couldn’t help but smile at his slayer’s ingenuity.
He was ashamed to admit it, but he would have loved to have seen the expression
on Quentin Travers’ face when he realized that his supposed fortress had been
robbed. Giles, however, said nothing of his theory that it had been Buffy that
had broken into their stronghold. No…better to let his slayer have every
advantage she could.
Besides, with her feisty attitude and lack of anything
structured when it came to her slaying, the senior members would never believe
that Buffy would have the discipline to pull off something of that magnitude –
let alone employ the patience required to conduct the research that would be
necessary upon obtaining the books.
“Hello!” his terse reply sounded into the phone, belying
the fact that he’d just been woken from a sound sleep. His fuzzy brain took
note of the delay, his mind quickly shifting gears as he recognized the
characteristics of an international call.
“Hello?” he asked, this time more softly. “Buffy? Buffy,
is that you?”
He heard breathing, harsh breathing, and wondered if maybe
it was a crank caller trying to get a cheap thrill. Giles was just about to hang
up the phone when he heard her voice. Only…
“Tell me you didn’t know,” she ground out into the phone,
and Giles was left in no doubt how angry she seemed. Confused, he asked, “Know
what? Umm…I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.”
“Let me refresh your memory then, shall I? Say, a little
matter of my eighteenth birthday. A trial of sorts…ringing any bells, Giles?”
The silence on the line was deafening, and the slayer had
her answer. He knew.
Giles forced his brain to work, part of him wondering how
she’d managed to find out about the Cruciamentum, the other wondering what he
could say to appease his overwhelming sense of guilt at another of the Watchers’
machinations.
“Buffy? Buffy, are you there?”
Silence was his only answer.
Little did he know that his connection had been terminated
by someone listening in on his line – who was even now carrying on a
conversation with the missing slayer.
~*~*~*~*~
One minute Buffy was listening to the sound of her
watcher’s silence that indicated his guilt, the next, another voice had intruded
upon her call. Its sinister voice carrying across the phone line and causing
chills to dance along her spine.
“Good evening, slayer. Or, should I say good morning? Or
maybe even good afternoon?”
“Who the hell is this?” she practically shouted into the
phone. “Where’s Giles?” Concern for her watcher temporarily overrode her anger
at his deception, and she ground out, “So help me, if you lay one hand on his
head—” She paced back an forth in the limited space the phone cord allowed.
“Tsk. Tsk. Slayer. It’s not your friends and family we
want. It’s you. And the vampire... Tell me, slayer…have you seen him?”
“As if I’d be caught anywhere around the evil undead,” she
snarked into the phone, finally sitting down on the mattress and gripping
Spike’s hand. “Slayer here, remember?”
Spike’s eyes opened as her hand wrapped around his – hard
enough to almost crush a few bones. He was just about to turn towards her and
blast her for it when he noticed her talking on the phone. He arched his brow
enquiringly before his smirk faded and anger took hold.
Disjointed bits and pieces of the man’s conversation caught
by his preternatural hearing. Whoever it was on the line, the bastard was
playing dirty. Using the slayer’s mum as bait to lure her to his side.
“…You’ve got five days, Slayer. Or all bets are off. Your
mom, your friends, that stuffed shirt watcher of yours…”
“Oh, I’ll be there. Mine will be the last face you see
when I strangle the life out of you,” she shouted at the assailant.
Rather than slam the phone in the cradle to punctuate her
point, she just held the receiver in her hands, staring at it as if it were
something she’d never seen. Soon, she started shaking, the adrenaline that had
been rushing through her veins having nowhere to go.
Spike sat up in bed and carefully removed the phone from
her tight grasp, setting it back on the hook. His eyes sifted over the slayer,
watching quietly as her body started to shake. He’d have to take care of that
unused energy later – either by fighting or fucking – because right now they had
to get out of there. If the Order was able to tap into the phone lines, it
would just be a matter of time before they’d triangulated their location.
He threw the sheet off, unmindful of his nudity, shoving
the slayer to her feet so he could get up.
“Come on, pet. We gotta get outta here. Just a matter of
time before they show up.” He moved away from the bed to retrieve his jeans and
slip them on.
Buffy just stood there, frozen in place, unmoving but for
the shivers wracking her frame.
Spike glanced over at her, one leg shoved into his pants.
He hurriedly stepped into the other then stalked over towards her. Gripping her
shoulders, the vampire shook her, trying to break her out of her trance. They
didn’t have time for what he wanted to do, so he hauled off and punched her,
sending her flying into the wall behind him.
As expected, she came up swinging, and Spike grabbed her
and held her close, effectively stilling her movements.
“Sorry ‘bout that, luv. Ain’t got time to give you a
proper seein’ to, yeah?” he told her, tugging lightly on her hair to get her to
look up at him. “We get outta here…Hell, I’ll even let you hit me back. But,
right now…we gotta go.”
Buffy nodded at him, hesitantly at first, then more
forcefully, channeled her energy towards packing their meager belongings.
Minutes later, the two were dressed, duffle bags slung over their shoulders.
They didn’t bother to check out; they’d paid cash for their room and just left
the door keys inside. When the maid came in the morning, she’d see that they’d
left and alert the front desk. The passports they’d left behind not needed with
the spares they both had. It was probably better that way.
~*~*~*~*~
“I can’t believe you hit me!”
“Bloody hell, slayer! Not this again. I told you, it was
jus’ a li’l love tap.”
They walked side by side in the sewer, ignoring the smell –
wasting time until the last ferry departed for Calais. They’d decided to skip
to France and take a flight from Paris, by way of Rome, back into the states.
Just one more step to cover their tracks.
Buffy rubbed her jaw. “Love tap, my ass,” she muttered.
Spike affected a mock gasp. “Slayer! ’M shocked. Such
foul language.”
“Fuck you, Spike.” She cursed him with a smile. “And, I’m
sooo gonna get my lick in later.”
“I’ll hold you to that, pet.” He flicked his tongue behind
his teeth and gave her a sexy smirk, deliberately misinterpreting her words.
But Buffy being Buffy, had to get in the last word.
“Oh, you won’t seem so eager once I’m through with you, smartass.”
Chapter 8
“You sure we’ll be safe here,” Buffy asked, toweling off
her recently dyed locks. “We shouldn’t just make that flight to
“Nah…even if they did manage to find where the call was
comin’ from, there’s too many variables for them to be able to pinpoint our
location. They’ll prolly just wait you out, bein’ as you said you’d be there.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, sitting down beside him on the
bed where he lay sprawled on his back, his hands tucked behind his head. “It’s
just…with Giles…and finding out about that Cruciamentum thing…I wasn’t
thinking.”
“Hey now, none of that. We managed to escape just fine.
No worries, yeah?”
Spike didn’t like to see the slayer cry, and she seemed to
be reeling from this latest blow dealt her by the Council of Wankers.
“If it makes you any feel better, we can always go back to
Buffy had tried to be strong, to be brave and face this
thing alone. Not involving her watcher or her friends. But, her absolute faith
in Giles had crumbled with his silence, and if it weren’t for the fact that the
Order wouldn’t just target him, but her mother and friends, she would have left
him alone to deal with his fate. Then, to have Spike offer to make things
better for her…
Even if she was sure he was just joking.
Only, she knew if she’d but say the words he would do it.
Would kill any and all that had hurt her. Just as she knew she’d do the same.
Had in fact done so in that hotel what seemed like forever ago.
Such was just the nature of their evolving relationship.
That thought seemed to comfort her, and she finally dried
her tears on the back of her hand then hastily tried to wipe his chest clean.
“I’m sorry,” she told him, gesturing to the mess she’d
made.
“’S just water. You alright now?” he asked, loosening his
grip so that she could sit up.
“Yeah…and about that…um, if I ever say yes…to what you
offered, know that I’m kidding, ok. No matter how much I might want it to be
otherwise. It’s just…I don’t understand.”
“Who…the Council of Wankers?”
“No, them I can see doing something like that. They’re all
about control and this little test of theirs practically ensures that their
slayers never get too old, too mature to be dictated to. I just thought Giles
was different…but I guess I was wrong. He knew! Knew about it, and never told
me.”
“Maybe he wouldn’t’ have done it… An’ what is it
exactly?” Spike asked, confused.
“You mean you’ve never heard?”
“Wouldn’t be askin’ if I did, pet.”
“Yeah…sorry…just thought you being around and all. Hell,
you’d think the vamps would be lining up for a shot at a vulnerable slayer…you
especially.”
“Me?” He sounded deeply offended, as if the mere idea
repulsed him. “I’ll have you know, I fight my battles fair ‘n square. Where’s
the sport in pittin’ my skills against the slayer if she can’t even properly
participate?”
Buffy arched a slim red brow at him, complements of her
recent hair change.
“Well, ‘s true. Both slayers knew I was gunnin’ for ‘em.
Hell, you did too. So, I’ll be havin’ your apology.” Disgruntled Spike was a
sexy Spike. And with that pouty lip of his…
“’M waitin’, slayer,” he grumbled.
“You’re right. I remember the first time I met you…in the
alley behind the Bronze,” she told him. Affecting a falsetto voice she spoke
from memory, “‘You’ll find out on Saturday. What happens Saturday? I kill you.’”
Spike growled and rolled over, effectively pinning the
slayer beneath him. She giggled at his maneuver, in no way worried about him
hurting her. No, hurting her was the last thing on his mind…hers too, for that
matter. Explanations about the Cruciamentum slipped by the wayside as he
lowered his mouth to her breast and latched on to one pert nipple.
She arched into his mouth, groaning in delight when he
sucked harder. Her fingers sifted through his dark hair that was free from the
gel that kept it slicked back against his skull. With the new color, he’d taken
to wearing it product-free, allowing the curls to stick up at will. A drop dead
sexy look, to be sure.
His hand moved to give attention to her other breast,
rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, coaxing the nub to an even
harder point.
Buffy couldn’t seem to get enough of him, writhing beneath
him until she felt the tip of his cock nudge against her sex. She shifted
again, trying to draw him inside.
“Fuck, Buffy,” he gasped, tearing his mouth away from her
breast as his oversensitized prick brushed against her womanly curls. “Can’t
wait…gotta be inside you now.”
“Yes…now…don’t wai—”
“God, yes,” he hissed as he sunk inside her moist heat.
“Spiiiike,” she groaned, her inner walls stretching to
accommodate his girth.
Their dual gasps mingled at their joining, then they began
moving in that age-old rhythm of lovers everywhere. The synchronicity of their
movements heightened both of their pleasure. The slow pace, their whispered
words – although both were careful to avoid using the “L” word – proved the
growing affection between the once mortal enemies. Soft caresses and tender
looks shared without guile.
It was as if only they existed. Not the Order. Or the
Watchers. No one.
Just the two of them moving to music only they could hear.
Buffy opened her eyes to see Spike looming above her. His
face a mask of ecstasy as he thrust slowly in and out of her body. Just seeing
him like that caused another wave of moisture to cover his cock while her body
constricted reflexively around his length.
“Yeah, baby, tha’s it. Squeeze me tight.” She could see
the corded muscles in his neck as he surged up into her, and she lifted her head
to trace its path with her tongue. He seemed to like that, his measured
movements becoming more forceful. Her mouth continued to tease the line her
tongue had made, alternately sucking and nibbling at his flesh.
Buffy’s legs wrapped around his hips as his pace increased,
the force of which causing the headboard to slam rather loudly against the
wall. She didn’t care, too mindless to the way he was making her feel. The
fluttering within her womb signaled her impending orgasm, and she bit his neck
to keep from yelling her pleasure – hard enough to leave teeth marks, yet not
breaking the skin.
It sent Spike right over the edge. Roaring his release –
he didn’t care who heard him – the vampire’s face shifted and he buried his
fangs in her throat, hips on autopilot as he bucked against her while filling
her with his seed.
The slayer gasped at the initial piercing of her flesh.
But the slight pain gave way as he began to draw her blood into his mouth as his
hips continued to move. Drawing her orgasm out until it was almost painful.
He finally stilled, his body a boneless mass atop her, he
continued to nuzzle at her neck, sucking and laving at the open marks. Buffy
held him close, unwilling to let him move off her. And Spike didn’t seem
inclined to move either.
~*~*~*~*~
“I like the red,” he murmured sometime later, his finger
idly twirling a lock of her hair. Snuggled in bed together, they’d come to a
mutual decision and decided not to bother with research tonight – just in case
they needed to make a fast getaway. Instead the pair had romped in bed (it was
a good excuse, right?), until exhausted, had managed to haul their asses towards
the shower to get cleaned up.
That had led to more of the same, until finally, they’d
managed to get cleaned up and flop into bed, both of them lying there, waiting
for sleep to overcome them.
“Yeah?” she questioned sleepily.
He growled, nibbling on her ear. “Oh yeah. Very sexy.
Although, the black was rather hot too.”
From her position in front of him, Buffy smiled allowing
her eyes to close. She’d never been called sexy before and rather liked it.
Spike felt her drift off, her body relaxing into his as
sleep overtook her. He held her close, the soft cadence of her heartbeat
soothing. It was still a little early for him to join her in slumber, but
rather than get up, he just held her body close, delighting in the warmth of her
skin against his…the softness.
Towards dawn, he too, drifted off.
~*~*~*~*~
The trip to the airport was accomplished with relative
ease. There was one slight snafu when Buffy was selected for the practical
strip search the airlines passed off as a security check. She rolled her eyes
at being typecast, although, looking down at her clothes, she wasn’t surprised.
Throw in the appearance of her boyfriend…
‘Whoa? Boyfriend, Buffy?’
She looked over to her traveling companion. His amusement
at her expense, something she’d be taking up with him later. The slayer cocked
her head to the side as she regarded him – the move reminiscent of Spike’s.
‘Hell, even his mannerisms are rubbing off on me. But,
boyfriend? Well, he’s a boy…man…and he’s my friend?’
‘Gee, avoid much?’
‘What do you want me to say? That Spike is my
boyfriend? Like we’re dating or something?’
‘You are sleeping with him…’
‘So?’
‘So…it’s not something you’d take lightly. And him
being your first…’ her inner conscience prodded.
‘Shut up! Get out of my head. Go bug someone else already.’
‘Just sayin…’
After that parting shot, the mocking voice drifted away,
leaving her alone with her thoughts. Finally cleared from any possible
terrorist activities, Buffy joined back up with Spike, and together they made
their way to their plane.
~*~
“Something wrong, pet?” Spike asked as they buckled
themselves in their seat.
“No…not really. Just thinking, is all.” And Buffy wins
the prize for understatement of the year.
Spike nodded, saying nothing. He wasn’t going to pry.
Besides, he had a lot on his mind. Like what he was going to do after they’d
finished what they’d started. If the slayer planned to go back to Sunnydale.
And, whether or not she wanted him to stick around.
Their individual thoughts made for a quiet trip to Italy.
Chapter 9
“I can trust you to keep your fangs sheathed around my
friends, right?” Buffy asked when they landed in Los Angeles on the third day of
the five the slayer had been granted by the Order. Spike didn’t even dignify
that comment with a remark – and it wasn’t like he was going to volunteer that
he’d adjusted his feeding habits to keep her conscience fairly clear while in
his company. It was something that, whenever he happened to think upon it,
shocked the hell out of him.
But, she’d somehow managed to worm her way into his
unbeating heart, and he’d rather grown to like her company. And, it wasn’t like
there was a shortage of would-be criminals for him to sup upon.
While still in France, the two had formed a tentative game
plan for dealing with the threat in Sunnydale. They’d timed their flight from
Paris so that there was just enough time for them to clear customs before
catching the early afternoon flight from Rome into Los Angeles – that time
chosen because it would allow them to arrive in California during the evening
hours, making it much easier for the pair to move around. The biggest hurdle
had been ensuring that Spike wasn’t singed by all the sunbeams filtering into
the numerous windows of the airport; said vampire only breathing a sigh of
relief once he was huddled in the far back corner of the plane and away from any
glass fixture.
In a final attempt to throw off the assassins, Buffy had
bought a bogus bus ticket in her own name from Las Vegas to Sunnydale, due to
arrive the morning of the fifth day. Neither was figuring that the Order would
fall for it, but it couldn’t hurt, and on the off chance it allowed the pair to
slip into Sunnydale undetected, the hundred dollars had been deemed well worth
the expense.
With their duffle bags slung over their shoulders, Spike
and Buffy made a quick stop by the airport lockers to stash the books they’d
stolen from the Council’s stronghold. Then, they escaped into the night to find
sleeping accommodations and food, with Buffy leaning more towards the former.
~*~
The door had barely closed behind them before Buffy was
stripping out of her clothes to fall exhausted onto the bed. Spike made sure
she was settled beneath the covers before he let himself out. He needed to hit
a few demon bars to see if he could suss out any details about the situation on
the Hellmouth. Plus there was the matter of obtaining a few weapons before he
and the slayer made their grand re-entrance in good ole Sunnyhell.
By the time he slipped inside their motel room a few hours
before dawn, he felt a little better about them surviving the encounter with the
Order. He had information and weapons in spades, now it was just a matter of
them acting on what he’d learned and obtained.
Spike pulled off his clothes and slid beneath the sheets
behind the slayer. He pulled her back into his arms, smiling into her hair when
she seemed to relax in his embrace. The soft cadence of her heartbeat and the
borrowed blood filling his veins – not to mention the lack of sleep during the
past forty-eight hours – soon lulled the vampire to sleep, neither waking until
sometime after noon.
~*~*~*~*~
“I still don’t like it,” Spike argued. Not for the first
time.
“Spike, we’ve been over this,” she pointed out. “The Order
doesn’t know that we’ve teamed up. We stand a much better chance of splitting
up and arriving in Sunnydale separately.” She held up her hand when he would
have interrupted her again. “And, yes, I know…you still don’t like it.”
“Damn right I don’t,” he grumbled under his breath.
Buffy got up from her chair and straddled Spike’s lap,
smiling slightly at the muscle that ticked in his jaw from where he was
clenching his teeth to keep from arguing. That she could smile now in the face
of his anger boggled her mind, but it was no worse than willingly sitting on a
somewhat docile master vampire’s lap – the same vampire that, a month ago, was
eagerly plotting her destruction.
“It’s only for a few hours, and I won’t do anything
stupid. Just get off the bus and scope out a secure place for us to hole up.”
She held up three fingers in a mock Boy Scout honor pledge, to which he didn’t
even crack a smile. Buffy sighed then, a long heartfelt exhalation of breath.
“You know I’m right, you’re just being stubborn, and all with the brooding.”
That remark didn’t seem to go over very well at all.
Before she had time to even process his actions, he’d
fisted his hand in her hair and leaned over her, effectively pinning her body
between his lap and his chest.
“I don’t brood,” he growled.
Then he crushed her to him, his arms banding so tight
around her back that if she’d been merely human, she’d have been looking at a
few cracked ribs. As it was, his strength was still in jeopardy of messing with
her slayer constitution.
“Uh….Spike? Ribs? Kinda’ don’t need ‘em broken right
now.”
He didn’t seem to hear her with his face buried in her
neck, the telltale ridges pressed against her tender flesh, causing her slayer
warning bells to go off. But, she ignored them, trying to concentrate on what
he was mumbling against her skin. While the exact meaning was lost on her, she
did manage to pick up on the possessive tone in his voice. The worry he was
unable to hide.
She didn’t know if she should be insulted or pleased by his
concern.
“Look I know you don’t like—”
The fangs in her throat took her completely by surprise,
his bite being the last thing she’d expected. Before she had a chance to grip
his hair and pull him away, he’d released her, his demon retreating so that he
just sucked at the piercings he’d made. Buffy relaxed against him, not sensing
any danger.
The tension in him ebbed at her capitulation, relieved that
she was ok with this…with him marking her. For the next few minutes, he lulled
her into a state of semi-arousal, knowing that this next bite was going to go
deep, its pain a testament to the mark’s staying power.
The slayer was riding a soft swell of pleasure as his
tongue laved at the twin pinpricks on her throat. Her body slowly rocking
against the bulge in his pants. His next bite, when it came, ripped her from her
pleasure-induced haze and knocked her back into cold hard reality. The searing
pain was intense, and she scrambled to get away from him. In response, he just
growled and held her body still, forcing her to submit to him, his teeth digging
deeper into her flesh.
She whimpered against him, unable to escape, trying to
figure out what had set him off so that he was now trying to kill her. Tears
welled in her eyes to fall unbidden down her suddenly pale face, his name a
whispered question escaping her mouth. He started purring then, a soft rumbling
centered in his chest that seemed to engulf his entire body, and it was then,
Buffy realized, that he wasn’t draining her so much as marking her. And she
forced her body to lie passively above him, surrendering herself to the pain.
Dimly she was aware of being lifted, and figured she must
have passed out momentarily. He’d removed his fangs and was lovingly licking at
– what she was sure to be – a rather large wound. Then her back came into
contact with the mattress and he was lowering himself on top of her.
Spike smoothed the overly-red strands of hair from her
face, his thumb tracing the line of her tears where they’d not completely
dried. With his demon sated, he looked upon her confused features, his deep
blue eyes taking note of every little nuance. He meant to go slow, make this
joining special, give her back a little bit of what she’d given him. But the
second his lips touched hers, and he felt her limbs wrap around his body…he was
lost.
Clothes were shed with all possible haste, until nothing
remained between them. With his hand around the base of his cock, he lined
himself up with her slit and rammed his way home. He breathed a sigh that she
was so wet and he’d not hurt her more with his invasion. And, oh god…was she
wet. And tight, so tight. Like she’d been made just for him. Her vaginal
walls gripped him so lovingly…
“Fuck…slayer,” he hissed once he was completely sheathed
within her pussy. He stilled above her, forcing her to open her eyes and look
at him. He could see the lust and impatience swimming in her hazel depths and
he couldn’t prevent the self-satisfied smirk that graced his lips.
Spike rocked his hips against her, pleased to see her eyes
flutter from the sensation, the way she arched her neck and lifted her hips to
take more of him. He was automatically drawn to the puckered scar on her neck,
proof that she was his now – whether she wanted to be or not. When this was all
done, the Order no more, she’d have a hell of a time walking away from him.
He wasn’t sure why he’d marked her. Some need to establish
some type of connection. Maybe because she’d mentioned his grandsire in a
roundabout way and the fact that he was now alone, his family completely gone.
A lone Aurelius master with no one to lord over. He’d claimed her in a moment
of weakness – unable to bear it if something were to happen to her while they
were parted.
This little slip of a girl who was a slayer. His sworn
enemy.
“Spike.”
Her whispered plea brought him back to the present and he
increased his movements, the sound of the bare skin slapping together as they
raced towards release fighting for supremacy in volume against their growls and
groans of pleasure.
Buffy was anxious. It was different this time. Somehow.
The mark on her neck seemed to vibrate harder and harder the closer she got, and
it felt as if he were inside her. Reading her thoughts, searching out all of
her secrets. It scared her how vulnerable she felt at this moment.
Before it had been about mutual need, mutual comfort. The
pleasure they’d derived from each other’s bodies hadn’t weakened them in the
least.
Now…now it seemed strictly one-sided. Like the bite he’d
inflicted had granted him an all-access pass to her soul. With no hint,
whatsoever, of what he might be thinking. Or feeling.
And she started to struggle. To escape his all-seeing eyes
and go back to what she was before. A girl closed off from the world.
Unwilling to open herself to anything or anyone. Her heart encased in ice.
Spike sensed the change come over her and he countered her
movements. Slowing his thrusts so that he could take possession of her mouth,
his tongue slipping between her parted lips to begin an intimate dance with
hers. Slowly, hesitantly, he seduced her out of her shell until she was panting
and clinging to him once again. Her little mewls of pleasure near driving him
insane. He tore his mouth from her lips and trailed kisses along her jaw
towards her ear. Felt her get wetter as he trailed his tongue along the outer
shell, wetter still when he nibbled on the lobe, his cool breath skimming the
wet surface.
“Tha’s it, slayer,” he encouraged as her vaginal walls
tightened reflexively around his cock. “Squeeze me tight.”
“Spike…more…need…”
“I know what you need, baby.” He punctuated that statement
with a surge of his hips. “Mmmm…yeah…like that, did’ja?”
Buffy nodded, unable to speak.
“Again?”
Another nod.
He drove himself back into her, a twisted snarl of rapture
transforming his features. His eyes closed tight as he concentrated on angling
his hips just right…
She gasped and jumped beneath him, and he grinned. Spike
held her body just so while he pounded away at her pussy, ignoring her whimpered
cries of too much until she couldn’t say anything, caught in the grips of her
orgasm. He watched as she struggled to open her eyes, to focus on the man above
her, as her body convulsed.
The intensity in her gaze was near blinding, his possessive
nature rearing its ugly head. Only for him. Only he could make her look that
way. Feel this way. Didn’t matter how they got here, she was his.
“Mine,” he growled, hips never stopping their punishing
pace, his face looming above hers. At her slight nod, he gave in to his body’s
demands and flooded her womb with his seed.
Spike collapsed on top of her, happy when she tightened her
arms and legs around his body and held him close, her body struggling to breathe
normally. They lay there like that, neither moving nor speaking. Just floating
along in the aftermath of the most intense orgasm either had ever felt.
When she’d felt she’d wasted all the time she could, she
loosened her grip and rolled them so that he was sprawled on his back beneath
her.
“I’ve got to get ready so I don’t miss my bus,” she spoke
softly.
He nodded, not saying anything. Knowing that this was
their best course of action, no matter how much he hated being separated from
her. Spike helped her up and followed her into the bathroom to shower.
Neither spoke as they washed each other off, their touch
almost impersonal so as not to start something neither would be able to finish.
Afterwards, Spike dried her off and nudged her towards where her clothes were
laid out on the second bed, before wrapping the towel around his lean hips. He
watched silently as she dressed quickly, her movements efficient as she
transformed from the girl he’d made love to not twenty minutes ago into the
slayer. One with a vendetta.
Buffy’s hardened gazed swept around the room until she
noticed her packed duffle of weapons, clothes, and a little cash, lying on the
floor near the door. Without a backward glance, her stride ate up the short
distance across the motel room, and she leaned down and gripped the bag in her
hands. Hand on the door, the slayer drew a deep breath, steeling herself for
the coming battle.
A moment later she dropped the bag and flung herself at the
vampire watching her departure. She attacked his lips, her fingers slipping
into his dark locks to hold him close, kissing him with a desperation bordering
on panic.
Spike crushed the slayer to him and kissed her back,
slanting until she seemed to get a handle on her emotions and reluctantly
pulled away.
“I’ll see you tonight?”
“Count on it, luv.”
“You’ll be able to find me?”
The vampire smiled then. His fingers brushed over the
hidden marks on her neck, watching the telltale shiver that the action
elicited.
“Anywhere.”
Buffy nodded, trusting his words, then she turned and
walked out of the room, her duffle held securely in her hand.
It was going to be a long eight hours.
Chapter 10
When the bus pulled into Sunnydale in the early afternoon,
Buffy was surprised at how much the place had changed. Or, maybe it hadn’t
change. She’d changed. The headlong flight out of her hometown almost a month
ago had forced her to grow up overnight… more so than when she’d first learned
about vampires and slayers.
Now the city seemed overly bright. Its inhabitants overly
cheery – and completely oblivious to the events that seemed to occur during the
night.
The bus route into town led them past the high school, and
she watched as several students lounged in the parking lot and on the grounds,
chatting with others or waiting for rides after having just been let out for the
weekend. Her gaze swung instinctively towards the library where no doubt,
Giles, Willow, Xander – maybe even Cordelia – and Kendra were inevitably
engaging in some type of research party. A fleeting smile graced her lips at
the thought of the small group before she hardened her heart.
Wouldn’t do to have anyone witness her smile with the
hard-as-nails image she currently portrayed. Not that there was anyone in her
immediate vicinity to see – the occupants of the bus had taken one look at her
overly-fake red hair and Goth-like clothes, and given her a wide berth. It was
kind of nice. Plus, it allowed her to keep her bag within easy reach in case
she had to defend herself.
Yes, dressing like a rebel made it easier to tell Order
members from the naturally friendly. Anyone that tried to get close to her
looking like this was instantly suspect.
As the bus pulled into the depot and stopped, Buffy waited
until the last passenger got off and wandered away before she slid out of her
seat. Her eyes were on constant alert for anything out of the ordinary. Her
senses tuned to anything that might make the hair on the back of her neck stand
on end.
Catching a cab proved a lesson in futility, so she ended up
walking through the rundown section of Sunnydale to find a motel for her and
Spike. She scoped out two others before deciding on the third since it provided
the most escape routes – one of which was through the sewer tunnels.
With nothing but time on her hands, she leaned back against
the headboard and channel-surfed, disgusted with what passed for daytime
television. She finally settled on cartoons but even they confused her, the
card-wielding anime characters were nothing like what she used to watch as a
kid. After several successive shows of similar themes, the sun finally started
to dip in the sky and she changed the station to the news to see if anything out
of the ordinary was happening in town.
Sunnydale was soon enveloped in darkness, and the slayer
began to get antsy. Oh, she knew she still had a couple of hours yet before
Spike arrived, especially since he’d probably not left LA until the sun had gone
down. Still…this waiting was fraying what little was left of her nerves. She
should have grabbed a book or magazine to flip through to help pass the time –
having long since given up on the five whole channels the archaic television was
able to tune in.
The tingling along her scar began as an infrequent buzzing
in her subconscious. A bumblebee that whizzes past your ear, the noise soon
fading as it flies away. She discounted the sensation as a lingering effect of
Spike’s rather harsh bite, figuring it was her slayer’s healing knitting the
skin back together. She’d still yet to figure out why he’d bitten her so damn
hard, and had put it down to his anger at their impending separation, even if it
wasn’t really but for a few short hours. Probably just him getting back at her
– maybe it had been the brooding remark that had set him off – because while the
bite had hurt like hell, he’d barely drawn any blood from her body. And, the
lovemaking afterwards had more than made up for any pain she’d suffered.
The second hum a short while later caused her eyes to widen
momentarily at the intensity, and she moved to the mirror to see if maybe she’d
caught an infection. Though, she dismissed that thought as soon as it popped in
her head. Vampires may be of the undead variety, but germs and diseases were
just a few of the nice things they didn’t have to worry about.
She shrugged out of her leather duster, only just now
realizing that she’d left it on. The black t-shirt displaying some obscure punk
band on the front was pulled from her body, leaving her clad in a red racy bra
almost the exact same shade as her hair. She leaned in towards the mirror,
poking at the puckered scars and examining her latest “wound.”
“Stupid vampire. That’s so going to leave a mark,”
she grumbled under her breath. She turned this way and that, examining the bite
mark from all possible angles. It wasn’t that bad, actually. But, the raised
scars seemed to smack of ownership – his fangs had completely obliterated those
left by the master.
It was while she was inspecting her neck that she felt her
slayer senses kick into overdrive.
‘He’s here!’
She tamped down the rush of excitement his presence brought
her. Why she was suddenly so giddy at his return raised questions she had no
wish to answer. Definitely something that bore a bit of soul searching at a
later date. Right now she just chalked it up to after having him constantly
underfoot, she’d gotten used to his presence. And, when he was gone…
‘Shoving thought aside now.’
Buffy threw open the door and stared in slack-jawed
amazement. Humpable didn’t even begin to describe the new look he was
sporting. Her eyes gave him the slow once-over from the tips of his black lace
up semi-dress shoes all the way to where his dark locks stood on end and all
the places in between, seriously admiring the way the black slacks he wore
seemed to cling to his thighs and mold around his cock. The blue sweater hugged
his lean frame and seemed to enhance – in her mind’s eye – the hard limbs and
abs it covered. The piece de resistance were the wire-rimmed black frames
perched on his nose that did nothing to conceal the fire blazing within the
depths of his blue eyes. That wicked look combined with the riotous spikes
jutting up along the top of his skull contradicted everything his GQ-ensemble
tried to portray.
It was like they’d done a complete flipflop. She the rebel
without a cause, he the upstanding citizen. It sparked a kink she didn’t knew
she had, and when they had more time, she was definitely going to play out that
fantasy.
For now, she settled on wrapping her arms around his neck
and kissing him senseless.
Spike quickly warmed to her greeting and was all set to
shove her up against the wall and shag her six ways from Sunday, but she nixed
the idea, squirming out of his grasp.
He drew breath to argue, but the look in her eyes – that “I
really would like nothing more than to fuck your brains out but we’ve got work
to do right now” expression – mollified him somewhat, and he released her so he
could grab his bag from where he’d dropped it on the floor just outside the door
as she’d begun kissing him. Duffle in hand, Spike closed the door, expression
serious while she laid out her plans for the evening.
Just a simple reconnaissance. She’d do a quick sweep of
her friends’, watcher’s, and mom’s place; him sticking to the shadows and seeing
if she drew any notice. Both were still hoping that the assassins in town had
bought her ploy and were laying low until tomorrow, thus giving them a chance to
stalk the stalkers. And, if they could take out a few tonight…all the better.
“You gonna wear that?” she asked as they moved towards the
door.
“Something wrong with what I got on?” He stopped, forcing
her to stop as well. Never in a million years would he confess to hating the
clothes he was wearing, but having seen her overwhelmingly positive reaction to
his appearance, he’d staved off changing into something more “Big Bad.” Nope!
That William the Bloody was dressing for someone else’s pleasure would never
come to light.
“N-no…no! Nothing wrong,” Buffy squeaked, then forced her
feet into action. ‘Nothing that a cold shower or quick round of sex wouldn’t
cure.’
Oh, who was she kidding…it was going to take a lot more
than one round.
Spike smirked knowingly at her retreating back, then
followed her out the door.
~*~*~*~*~
As soon as they stepped outside, it was like their whole
demeanor underwent a drastic change. Gone was the lust-ridden couple, in its
place stood two warriors. Intent on their prey.
Spike let the slayer take the lead, allowing her to slip
from his sight, until just his sense of smell and his claim would be able to
guide him to her. In his poncy clothes he probably made a picture – an easy
conquest – as he strolled down the rundown section of Sunnydale, but as his
would be assailants drew near, something in the way the vampire held himself,
that cocksure gaze that just begged to be trifled with, made them rethink their
plans and slink back from where they’d come. When he neared the slayer’s old
stomping ground, he melted into the shadows, senses attuned for anything out of
the ordinary.
The school was Buffy’s logical first stop – a quick lap
around the perimeter confirmed her suspicion that the building was being
watched. The knowledge forced her to the sewer tunnels to make an undetected
entrance. Her fingers trailed along the wall, memories of hiding out with Spike
bringing a reluctant smile to her lips. A few turns later and she was climbing
the ladder that led into the school’s basement.
Her combat boots where whisper silent as she slipped down
the hallway towards the library.
‘Just a peek,’ she promised herself. If all went
well, no one – her friends, her watcher, not even her mother – would ever know
she’d returned. She’d take care of business here, ensure their continued
safety, then beat feet out of Dodge to continue her search for the Order’s
stronghold.
Only…Buffy never planned on seeing her mother hunched
beside Giles in the midst of the other Scooby gang.
It threw her for a loop. Made her wonder what, exactly,
had been explained about her absence. Honestly, since leaving so suddenly
almost a month ago, she’d at first been too despondent to even think about her
mother. And then later, she’d been so caught up in research…and Spike.
‘Can’t forget about the vampire.’ Her mom was just a distant memory – her
parental influence fading with time.
But, as she gazed upon her earnest expression, a little
part of that girl she used to be, cried out for her. ‘Mommy…’ Her title
an unspoken whimper as she held her hand pressed against the library door’s
window.
~*~
Joyce sat next to the librarian poring over page after page
of text in the hopes of finding some clue as to the secret location of the Order
of Taraka. She’d been near frantic when she’d returned from her latest buying
trip to see the Jamaican girl, Kendra, sleeping on her couch, her daughter
nowhere to be found. She’d torn the house apart, shouting for Buffy at the top
of her lungs.
When that had produced no results, she’d rushed off to
Willow’s seeking answers from Buffy’s friend. Practically embarrassed herself
in front of the redhead’s mother as she tried to ascertain where her daughter
could be.
It had only been later, back in her own home, Buffy’s pig
held tight to her breast, that she’d been told about her daughter. What she
was. And why she’d left.
A vampire slayer.
She’d stared disbelieving at him. The man that had shown
up unannounced at her door. Giles. The school librarian. Only, not just a
librarian. He was a watcher, too. Sent from some Council in England that
oversaw a slayer’s duties. He’d been very nervous, but forthcoming, as he paced
the small confines of her living room, explaining her daughter’s role of “Chosen
One.” The way he’d constantly cleaned his glasses while he’d talked – a nervous
gesture she’d come to associate with him over the coming month.
It had taken awhile for it all to sink in. But, it
explained so many things about her daughter. Both since being here in Sunnydale
and when they’d lived in Los Angeles. The tattered clothes, the recent dip in
grades that had never been stellar to begin with, the sneaking out that her
daughter thought had gone unnoticed. Her seemingly “troubled” behavior. It all
made sense now, and it broke her heart when she stopped to think of how her
daughter had just taken it all – her own mother’s anger and disappointment –
never saying a word. Never even hinting at what she was. What she did.
Joyce had vowed right then that she’d get her daughter
back. That she’d help Giles and the others find whatever it was that was out to
hurt her girl…and she’d make them pay. At the request of Giles – and
apparently, her daughter – she’d had Kendra move in with her. Passing off the
girl’s presence in her home as her being part of an exchange student program –
the same way she explained her daughter’s absence to Mr. Synder. (Not that he’d
seemed to mind the “troublemaker’s” absence. Had actually preened, in fact.)
She’d not even batted an eyelash when she saw both Xander and Willow clustered
around one of the tables when she’d showed up bright and early the next day at
the school’s library. Had just dived right in and gotten to work.
The past month had seemed almost endless, her naïve mind
exposed each day to some new revelation. Her motherly instincts had kicked in
as Kendra had gone out each night to make Sunnydale a little safer for everyone
– not breathing easy until the girl had returned safe and relatively unharmed to
her house on Revello Drive. She’d balked at first at Joyce’s concern, but had
given up in the face of the elder woman’s determination to look after her. And,
it eased her mother’s heart that Joyce was able to give the girl something that
she’d not been able to give her daughter – even though she hadn’t known at the
time.
She spent her days either at her gallery, or with Giles and
the others. They’d relocated their research session to her home during the
week, so as not to gain the attention of the mousy-looking principle.
Afterwards, when she closed the door behind Giles and made sure Kendra was
tucked in bed, she returned to her room. Sometimes crying silently in sheer
hopelessness. Other times, her jaw set in determination. In any case, the last
words she whispered at night were a prayer for her daughter’s safe return.
Now, as Joyce stared unseeing at the blurred text in front
of her, something made her pause. Made her lift her head and glance at the
door.
Where she spied the redheaded girl with kohl-rimmed eyes,
her pale face haunted. She looked so lonely, and heartbroken.
Her hand covered her mouth as she let out a gasp, tears
welling in her eyes as the girl seemed to just disappear.
Buffy.
Her daughter had come back.
She may have done a complete one eighty in appearance, but
Joyce would recognize her daughter anywhere.
“Something wrong, Joyce,” Giles asked distractedly.
She coughed, steeling herself so that she could respond to
the librarian’s question. Something in the way her daughter had acted compelled
her to dismiss her sudden appearance, and she did, brushing aside his concern
with some banality about getting blurry vision from staring at so many books for
the last few hours.
“I think we should call it a night,” he told her and the
others. “Kendra needs to patrol anyway, and I think we could all do with a
break.”
Everyone seemed to shuffle to his or her feet, the quiet
scraping of chairs against the floor the only sound as everyone but the slayer
gathered a handful of books to take with them to Joyce’s Jeep for transportation
to her home. Friday night was spent skimming through piles of books, weeding
out those necessary for further research during the week, and Saturday morning
she treated everyone to a homemade breakfast – something she’d rarely shared
with her own daughter.
But, now her daughter was back. And that would all change. She’d be a better mother, now that she knew. More supportive. She’d changed this past month; she just prayed her daughter lived long enough to see it.
Chapter 11
Spike could feel the slayer’s distraught emotions and
thought she’d been discovered by the Order. He raced along the sewers to the
school’s entrance via the basement, an overwhelming urge for him to get there.
To save her.
He couldn’t lose her now…now that this thing between them
had started to develop.
‘Mommy.’
A single thought, though no less traumatic – for the
slayer, at least. But, it caused the vampire to slow his headlong run down the
tunnel. She’d apparently just seen her mum. Probably thrown her for a loop,
not having seen her in over a month. And, what was her mum doing at the school
on a Friday night anyway?
He had just reached the ladder leading up to the school’s
basement when he felt the slayer and then saw the trap door open. In the blink
of an eye, she was standing before him, throwing her arms about him and crying
like the little girl she hadn’t been for so long. Spike just held her close as
she slowly got her emotions under control, helping her by rubbing her back and
murmuring soothing platitudes to calm her.
After awhile, she drew away, and he couldn’t help the smirk
that came to his lips as he caught a look at her face. He didn’t outright
laugh, no matter how much her tear-streaked make-up made her appear like a clown
– but it was bloody close.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” she told him, suddenly overcome with
embarrassment at her breakdown.
“No worries, luv,” he replied, wiping the black smudges
from beneath her eyes. “How’s it look up there?” He inclined his head in the
direction of the school, trying to steer her away from her melancholy and
getting her back to the business at hand.
Her smile indicated her appreciation and when she spoke her
voice was much more steady. “Scooby gang all present and accounted for, and it
looks like they’ve done a bit of recruiting…my mom.”
“Ahhh…so that’s what the waterworks were about,” he
commented – not letting on that he’d known all along what was bothering her. No
need to get into the ramifications of his having claimed her just yet. Plenty
of time for that later. Say…many years from now.
“Yeah…sorry,” she mumbled yet again. “I just wasn’t
expecting my mom to be sitting there right in the middle of them, her nose stuck
in one of the latest demon books, looking for all the world like she belonged.”
“What did you expect would happen when you jus’ up and
disappeared?”
“I dunno…I hadn’t really planned that far ahead. I
just…needed to keep her safe…make the Order follow me, ya know.”
“Yeah…I do. Come on,” he told her, wrapping his arm around
her shoulder and steering her towards another part of town. “Let’s finish up
our sweep of good ole Sunnyhell. See how many of the Order’s faithful have hung
around.”
“Ok.”
The two walked for a bit, the only sound, that of their
feet as they sloshed in the puddles.
“Thanks, Spike,” Buffy spoke after a time.
The vampire didn’t say anything, unaccustomed to receiving
thanks of any kind.
“Really…I—”
“Don’t make me bite you, slayer,” he responded rather
gruffly. He hauled her close, masking his brief hug within a bid to get her to
move. “Now, come on.”
Buffy smiled anyway, her mood suddenly lightened in his
presence…even if he was more prickly than a lion with a thorn in its
paw.
~*~*~*~*~
By the time they’d finished reconnoitering the town, they’d
counted a total of six assassins; they added a few more to that number, just in
case they’d not seen them all. Two were stationed at the school. One each was
also at her mom’s, her watcher’s, Willow’s, and Xander’s homes.
They arrived separately back at the hotel, Spike returning
some time later because he stopped for a bite to eat along the way – some would
be mugger that took one look at his stylish clothes as he walked along the
rundown section of Sunnydale and thought Spike might be easy pickings,
especially with the added courage in the form of the handgun the man had been
sporting. Well, the thief had gotten quite the surprise when the bullet didn’t
kill his intended victim – had, in fact, just hurt like hell and really pissed
him off.
Spike calmly took off his glasses and slid them into his
pants pocket, unmindful of the blood oozing from the wound to his stomach, then
allowed his demon to spring forth as it sensed the man’s fear.
“W-wha…w-what are you?” the mugger managed to gasp out as
he fell over backwards on a crate as he scrambled to get away from the…thing…the
monster slowly advancing on him.
Spike reached down, pulling up the human by the lapels of
his coat.
“I’d say somethin’ like ‘Your worst nightmare’ but ‘s too
cliché. So, I’ll go with the “’m a bloody vampire, you git, what does it look
like?’” the vampire responded, just before he sank his fangs into the human’s
throat. Mindful of his bleeding wound, he drank fast and dropped the corpse to
the ground. He glanced down at his ruined sweater and mentally cringed at the
confrontation he’d most likely have with the slayer once he returned.
~*~*~*~*~
As expected, the slayer had let him have it with both
barrels, even as she hauled him into the bathroom and practically ripped his
clothes off of him to see to his wound. She’d muttered under her breath a lot.
Stupid vampire an oft-repeated phrase of hers, and it seemed to Spike like she
took some perverse pleasure in pulling the slug from his body – an extra jab
here, an extra twist there.
But, Spike didn’t give her the satisfaction that knowing
her supposed tender ministrations hurt like a right bitch. He’d dust
himself first. Christ! He knew of undertakers with better bedside manner than
she exhibited!
He eyed the small sewing kit she set beside him warily,
about to object that he’d heal just fine on his own with a little rest, but she
spoke before he had the chance. So, he just nodded at her explanation and
closed his eyes, surrendering himself to her hands.
~*~
Buffy knew she was hurting him, but couldn’t seem to help
herself. She was so nervous… and worried. When he’d shown up, she’d nearly
fainted when she’d seen the hole in his sweater, taken in his paler than normal
complexion. He was hiding it, but the vampire appeared moments from passing
out.
She’d dragged him in none to gently and cleaned him up,
before setting to his abdomen with one of the knives she carried on her person.
Her emotions made her more clumsy than normal, and what would have normally
taken her five minutes to accomplish had taken her at least twice that long.
And, through it all, he’d not said a word. Just lay
passively beneath her.
Even when she pulled out needle and thread and set to
stitching his wound closed.
“It’ll help it heal faster,” she explained. Spike just
nodded and closed his eyes while she went to work on him.
Afterward, she crawled up on the bed beside him, leaning
against the headboard – pillows propped up behind her – and staring at the
television. Spike had curled into her left side, his head lying on her stomach,
seemingly fast asleep. Her right hand held the remote and she channel-surfed as
thoughts of his condition seemed to plague her mind.
She knew he’d fed, most likely from the person that had
shot him, given the false warmth of his skin when she’d first stripped him down
and shoved him under the showerhead. But, the fact that he appeared to be
sleeping, and it being barely eleven o’clock at night, spoke volumes. Buffy
called his name a few times to see if he was actually asleep, or just laying
passively against her listening to the TV. When he didn’t respond, she reached
a decision.
Placing the remote beside her, she used that hand to fish
into her pocket to retrieve the 4”-knife she kept on her at all times. She
slipped her left hand from his head, where she’d been idly stroking her fingers
through his hair, to make a shallow cut to her wrist. The slayer allowed the
blood to pool for a moment before she pressed it to his lips.
His mouth opened instinctively to close around her
self-inflicted wound as his demon caught the scent of her blood. He didn’t sink
his fangs into her, just lapped at the blood as poured forth from the cut.
Using the bed for leverage, Buffy folded her knife back up
and slipped it back into her pocket. The gentle rumbling of his chest as he
supped at her wrist soon lulled her to sleep, the television forgotten as she
curled into her vampire.
~*~*~*~*~
Spike woke about an hour after he dozed off; the warm body
draped around him and the drops of blood as they hit his tongue an Eden unlike
any he could have ever imagined. Still half asleep, his fangs elongated to sink
into the flesh before his lips. The flinch of the person wrapped around him
didn’t register, but the first hard pull of blood that filled his mouth did.
He froze, eyes shooting open to take in his surroundings.
The only light coming from the room was from the television that had been left
on.
Carefully, so as not to wake her, he slipped his fangs from
her wrist, cradling her arm so that he could lick both his marks and the one
she’d given herself closed. His eyes shifted to her face looking for any signs
of trauma or discomfort she may be feeling at having fed him for at least the
last hour…given the time on the bedside clock. She appeared to be suffering no
ill effects and he let out an unconscious sigh.
Then promptly got angry.
How dare she take such chances with her life like that! He
could have killed her before he even realized what he was doing. He had half a
mind to wake her ass up and lay into her for acting so foolishly…
Instead, he shifted her body to lie more comfortably on the
mattress, pulling her close. He didn’t bother to remove her clothes, not
wanting to wake her. Just pulled the comforter over both of them.
For a long time, he just held her; listening to her deep,
even breathing and slow, but steady heartbeat. He didn’t bother with leaving
their room – Sunnydale being unlike the other places they’d stayed. His actions
wouldn’t have gone unnoticed, and he needed to maintain a low profile until
they’d enacted their plan for ridding Sunnydale of the assassins lurking around
the slayer’s family and friends.
So far as the Order knew, the slayer was working alone, and
it gave them the decided advantage.
One he wasn’t going to muck up because he felt he needed to
escape the girl that was steadily slipping through the barriers he’d erected
around his heart.
~*~*~*~*~
When Buffy awoke, the sun was trying to peek around the
curtains of the window. At some point during the night, Spike had to have woken
because she was now lying on her side – still fully clothed – a naked, very
aroused vampire half-draped over her.
And, as much as she would love to wile away a few hours,
she had to be in position near the bus station to see if any of the assassins
took her bait. Hopefully, she’d be able to shrink their numbers while she was
at it.
Carefully disentangling herself from Spike, she paused long
enough to change her t-shirt, before grabbing one of the key cards and slipping
soundlessly from the room. She’d not shared this particular part of the plan
with him, especially since he wouldn’t actually be able to help her out, being
that it was daylight – which was why she hadn’t told him.
He would have just argued against it.
The vampire had developed this strange habit of seeing to
her back. Not that she didn’t like it. But, she was the slayer; she was used
to fighting her own battles.
~*~
Buffy looked down at the bus station from one of the broken
windows of the abandoned building she’d secreted herself in. A movement on the
rooftop caught her eye, and she noticed a figure hunch down behind one of the
structures on the flat roof as it sought to spy on the inbound bus from Las
Vegas. Another sweep proved that there was only one assassin there to meet the
bus, and Buffy left her hiding spot to narrow the odds a little more in her
favor.
She took the long way to avoid detection, gaining the
rooftop by shimmying up the drainpipe that was bolted to the exterior wall. The
slayer didn’t take any unnecessary chances, stalking her prey with a silent
determination that would have made Spike proud. Before the assassin had a
chance to grasp that he was being scoped out by his intended victim, he was flat
on his back with a knife to his throat.
His surprised expression indicated that he’d clearly not
been expecting her. And in her present condition. She smiled then, pleased
with her disguise. Apparently, the Order had lumped her into a particular box
and hadn’t expected her to stray too far from the norm. A nice little tidbit
he’d inadvertently given her that she filed away for later.
“How many?” she growled out without preamble.
“I-I don’t know,” the assassin gasped out.
The slayer nicked his skin, causing him to hiss in pain.
“I’m not going to ask you again.” Her grip shifted on her knife, digging a
little deeper into his neck.
“Seven…seven…including me,” he choked.
“Human or demon?”
“Both…”
Buffy leaned close, her eyes boring into the frightened
brown of the man beneath her. “You should have just stuck with me. You should
have left my family and friends out of it…”
He started to make some type of excuse, anything to get her
to remove the knife from his throat.
“Save it. Since you’re in such an accommodating mood…feel
like telling me the location of the Order?” she asked him conversationally, as
if the information she’d just requested didn’t equal that of the keys to the
pearly gates.
The assassin’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, his
negative shake causing the knife at his throat to dig deeper into his skin.
“No?” Without so much as a pause, the slayer slit the man’s
throat. “Yeah…didn’t think so.” With cold, precise movements, Buffy searched
the corpse for any means of identification. A wasted cause, she was sure, but
it didn’t hurt to check. When her search revealed nothing, she slipped the
fire-like designed gold emblem ring from his finger, proof of his membership in
the Order – a souvenir of sorts. Or, a tool that might gain her precious
seconds when dealing with the remaining assassins.
She pocketed the gold piece of jewelry and walked away
without a backward glance.
One down…six more to go.
And, no doubt, one pissed off vampire to deal with.