Chapter 44:

“She still won’t come in?” Mrs. Wadsworth asked.

The cook lifted the curtains covering the window overlooking the back lawns. She shook her head in the negative replying, “Nope.  Still sittin’ smack dab in the middle of the gardens allowin’ the sunlight to pour down on her head.  Poor li’l lamb.”  She sighed, allowing the curtain to shield the window once more.

“Don’t know why she won’t come inside,” the housekeeper commented.  “The master would make her feel better.”

The Marquess’ valet had relayed the horrid condition of their mistress, the dark bruises that covered her neck, the tears she’d been unable to stem.  Why she sat out where she knew her husband couldn’t reach her was anyone’s guess. 

“How’s he taking it?” Mrs. Cremshaw inquired of the housekeeper.

A crash sounding from another part of the house seemed to answer her question, and the two women cringed at the cursing easily heard from the study.  A moment later, the door opened to the kitchen and Higgins, the butler, appeared.  His normally stoic face absent in the face of their master’s ire.

“Please tell me she’s given up this foolishness and has come inside?” the man begged.

Both women showed him sympathetic expressions.  Under normal circumstances, they’d have taken much delight in teasing the butler for his less than dignified demeanor.  But these weren’t normal times, and his position put him at the forefront of the master vampire’s rage.

“Well, would one of you go out there and bring her inside,” he implored when they replied in the negative.

“He’d have our hides if one of us dared touch her,” Mrs. Wadsworth pointed out.

“He’s gonna have my hide if she doesn’t come inside soon,” Higgins muttered.  He cursed the fates that made today, of all days, an unusually bright and sunny day in London.  Where was the fog and dreary rain when you needed it?

~*~*~*~*~

Spike barely noticed the shambles that was his study, his entire focus centered on the girl that refused to come in out of the sun.

He’d woken the instant he felt her rage through his claim, and in an instant, he’d known where she’d gone.  Then her pain enveloped him, though it had been a distant second to the anger still churning through her system.  But, he’d felt it.  Knew it had to be one of the humans causing it…thus guaranteeing the death of whoever it might be by the master vampire’s own hands.  No one laid a finger on what was his.  No one.  Hurriedly throwing on clothes with the intention of racing to Whitt’s, he’d growled his frustration as he was brought up short by the glaring rays of the early morning sun.

It hadn’t helped his mood one bit, and he’d retreated to the study to plot out all the things he was going to do to the human that had dared to touch the slayer while he waited for her return.  So intent on his task, her heartache and despair barely registered with him.  Finally, he felt her approach and waited for the moment his study doors would burst open and she’d fling herself at him, desperate to be comforted – he’d actually looked forward to it, liking how the gesture made him feel.

Only, the doors hadn’t opened.

When he’d found out she’d plopped herself down smack dab in the middle of the garden, using the sun as an invisible shield to keep him away from her, he’d gone ballistic.  And he hadn’t been nice about it, tugging at the tethers of his claim to bring her to his side until he knew her skin had to be on fire. But still she’d resisted, and that’s when the vampire had started trashing things. 

Nothing had been free from the brunt of his anger.

Now, in the aftermath of the destruction, he waited.  The grandfather clock – that had miraculously evaded annihilation – ticked off the minutes until sunset in the otherwise silent room.  His staff wisely left him alone as he stewed in his temper…

…and waited.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy felt his approach and didn’t bother to run away.  She’d known the moment the sun dipped beyond the horizon he’d be out the door.  That he’d come the second the gardens had been shaded in shadows showed how mad he was.

But, that was ok.

Right now she needed his anger.  Anything to take her mind off the uncertainty she was feeling.

“Wanna explain to me what you’re doing out here, pet?”

Oh yeah, he was pissed.  That voice was too calm for him to be anything but.  She imagined if she were to raise her head and look at him, she’d see clenched jaw where he struggled not to yell, his amber gaze boring into hers, the ridges of his brow prominent… too far gone to bother restraining his demon.

“Better answer me, Slayer, or I’ll turn you over my knee right here, and to hell with who may be watching,” Spike growled, anger mounting at her continued silence.

Head still bent, she opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a faint squeak; her throat was swollen from where the human had tried to choke her to death and the anxiety that had built as she’d ensured the humans’ death with her actions made it impossible to get anything past her lips.

Buffy lifted her head to look at her husband, her eyes begging him to understand her conflicted emotions.  She’d no idea how bad the bruising on her neck was, but seeing the way Spike’s amber gaze almost glowed with seething rage, they had to be bad.

For the first time in his unlife, Spike was struck speechless.  Her neck was a mangled mess of black, blue, and purple bruises from where someone had wrapped their meaty fist around her and squeezed.  That she still lived and breathed was proof that being the slayer endowed her with certain strength… as well as healing abilities.

He’d known she’d been in pain, but her anger at the time had eclipsed what she’d obviously gone through.  Spike lifted his hand to finger the marks, assure himself as to their voracity.  Though his touch was gentle, he still saw her flinch and almost left her standing there as his demon raged within to right the insult done him.

And, if she’d not looked on the verge of collapsing he would have.

Grumbling under his breath, he swept her up into his arms and left the garden.  The door to the kitchens seemed to open automatically as his staff fell over themselves to aid master and mistress.  Their shocked gasps on finally getting a gander at her forced him to, once again, stifle the urge to exact his revenge right then.  Barking out orders, he hurried through the room and into the hallway, taking the stairs two and three at a time to reach the master bedroom.

The door stood open and the sounds of water being poured into a tub drifted out to him as he walked down the hallway.  Before he reached the door, several male servants exited his room carrying empty buckets.

“I took the liberty of having m’lady’s bath prepared here.  Heather is waiting in her room to see to her needs, I’ve only to call her,” Travis told the Marquess as he stepped inside the room.

“No.”

“As you wish, m’lord,” he replied, adding, “I’ve toiletries and towels laid out.”

He’d seen the bruises on his mistress’ neck as well as her tear-streaked face and knew she’d be wanting a bath once she came home.  He’d paced the master bedchamber after seeing to the horses and carriage, his travels often taking him by the window to watch as the Marchioness sat amongst the greenery, shoulders hunched over while she cried.  She’d confused him, closeting herself off from the vampire as she sat in the sunlight, not coming inside to seek the comforting touch of her husband. 

He’d sprung into action the moment the vampire had slipped outside to put an end to her foolishness, taking it upon himself to have a bath drawn here in the master suite rather than the Marchioness’ room.  Travis had figured on his master’s possessiveness and his terse negative had confirmed it; he’d not be letting anyone else touch her just yet.  Not even her maid.

“M’lord?”

“What is it, Travis?” he barked out, impatient to get the slayer out of her clothes and into the bath.

“I’ve liniment...for the swelling.”  He gestured with his hand towards his own neck.  “It’s made for the horses, but ‘m guessin’ it should do the trick.  Smells a bit, but…”

Spike nodded, effectively dismissing the man.  The valet took the hint and moved off.

“Travis?” the vampire called out as his man reached the door.

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Thanks.”

The valet smiled and slipped silently from the room.

~*~*~*~*~

After his man left, Spike set the slayer on her feet and practically shredded the dingy gown and undergarments before placing her in the tub.  A minute later, he slid in behind her, pulling her back against him.  She turned on her side, wrapping her arms around his back as she laid her head against his bare chest.

“Wanna tell me why you ventured a trip to Whitt’s…alone?” 

Though his tone was soft, there was no mistaking the underlying steel.

“I was going to let them go…well…at least I thought that’s what I was going there for,” Buffy told him honestly, her voice low, barely a whisper, as her throat muscles protested their use.  “I’m not sure.”

She felt him stiffen beneath her, but he wasn’t growling, so she took that as a sign to continue.

“I just…I’m the slayer, Spike.  I can’t help that.  So…I was going to go down there.  Give them a chance.  I knew you’d be able to find them easy enough, but at least I’d done something, ya know?”

“What stopped you?  I‘m assumin’ they’re still locked up in the dungeon?”

“They did.  It was like…I dunno.  Spike, they were evil.  I could feel it!  And what they said…”  She shivered in memory, and took comfort in the arms that tightened about her.  “I was so angry.  I taunted them…Walked right up to where they were leaning against the bars and mocked them for being locked in a cage, awaiting death.”

“Nuthin’ wrong with a li’l taunting, pet.”

Buffy lifted her head and looked Spike in the eyes.  “You don’t understand.  I did it on purpose.  I wanted to anger them…piss them off enough to strike.  And they didn’t disappoint.  If I’d not been the slayer…”

There was no stopping the growl this time.

“But, even with his hand squeezing my neck, I still taunted him.  He had the nerve to call me a monster when I practically broke his wrist.  Me!  A monster!”  She barked out a laugh, the sound pitiful even to her own ears.  Buffy looked away and lay back against Spike, her cheek once more resting upon his chest.

“He was right though,” she confessed.  “I am a monster.”

“Oh, pet.  You’re not a monster.”

“Yes, I am…I’m gonna let them die, Spike.  And a part of me…a part of me actually wants them to.  To pay for what they did to Mrs. Rothworth.”

“Still doesn’t make you a monster,” he murmured into her hair.

“No?  Then what does it make me?”

“Human, pet.  It makes you human.”

Neither said another word as Spike went through the motions of getting the slayer cleaned up and into bed.  The adrenaline that had been rushing through her system in the wake of her confrontation with the humans had dissipated, and the lack of sleep had finally caught up with her.  Buffy smothered a yawn as he settled her in bed, pulling the covers up over her shoulders.

Spike brushed the hair out of her face and leaned down to give her a kiss.

“Ever stop to think that this is what the Powers wanted, luv?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just sayin’… they’ve got you claimed by a vamp.  Hell, practically all your friends are vamps.  And there’s nothing they wouldn’t do for you…an’ I don’t think it’s all because of me either.”

“So…what?”

“Maybe it’s part of this destiny thing—”

“That I’m what, supposed to live with vampires?”

“You already do that, pet.”

“You know what I mean,” Buffy grumbled.

“Well, truth be told…bloody hell!  Why didn’t I see it?”

Spike jumped off the bed and started pacing. 

“See what?” Buffy asked, sitting up.

“We’ve managed to form our own sect within the Aurelius clan,” he told her, drawing to a halt.  “All that’s lackin’ is the blood.”

“Blood?  What blood?”

“I’ll explain later.” Spike walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. “Get some rest.  I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Buffy was all set to argue with him.  She really was.  But, another wave of exhaustion washed over her, and she laid her head back upon the pillows.

Spike resettled the covers once more, brushed a kiss over her temple and was gone.

Chapter 45:

Spike didn’t bother with the front entrance of Whitt’s, not interested in being waylaid by anyone he might happen across once inside the gentlemen’s club.  No, the discreet back entrance was good enough for now – he wasn’t going to be here long.  Doors seemed to open automatically for him as he headed downstairs towards the dungeon.  There wasn’t a vamp in the building that didn’t know what had been done to his wife by one of the humans and knew that the master vampire would make right the crime perpetuated against one of his own with all possible haste.

The secondary bet book – the one only the vampires used – was loaded with entries on the length of torture the Marquess would enact, as well as the type of said torture.  Though, truthfully, not one of them cared if they won; they just wanted to be witness to the event.

Her scent seemed to overwhelm the room, as he descended the steps, drowning out even the smell of urine and bile coming from the prisoners.  He was pleased to see that the men were cowering in fear in a far corner of the cell.  The details of their impending death no doubt extolled in great detail by the minion set to watch over them. 

“Have the preparations been seen to?” Spike asked without preamble.

“Yes, Lord Thornton.”

“Who’s hosting?”

“Hawk…er, the Earl of Hawkingstone, m’lord.  His estate has the best landscaping to serve our purpose and he’s already there seeing to preparations.”

Spike grunted, shifting his attention to the humans as he neared the cell.  Unlike with Buffy, the closer he got, the further they tried to sink into the back wall.  As a human, his presence commanded respect.  But with ridged brow and menacing amber eyes, like he was now…

“Open it,” Spike commanded.

The minion was at his side in an instant, metal keys jingling in his haste to open to door.  Before any of them had time to react, Spike was through the door and had the one that smelled the most like Buffy pinned against the wall…his body held suspended three feet above the ground.

He ignored the man’s frantic attempts to free himself from his grasp, instead gazing at him dispassionately with amber eyes.  The others, he noted, had scrambled as far away as possible from him, unwilling to draw his attention to them.

“So, this is what it felt like,” Spike spoke conversationally.  “Can’t say that this appeals.  ‘M more of a fist and fangs kinda bloke.  But, you bein’ human an’ all….”

The man’s face started to change shades as his air supply was slowly choked off.  His struggles lessened until his arms fell limply at his sides.

“Still…like begets like.”  Spike leaned in, his face mere inches from that of his victim.  “You made a mistake thinking you could touch what was mine,” he growled menacingly.  His grip tightened, and a moment later the sound of bone crunching could be heard as he inadvertently crushed the man’s windpipe.

Disgusted with himself and the piece of offal he held pinned against the wall, Spike tossed the soon-to-be corpse aside, stubbornly refusing to take even one drop of the man’s blood.  He turned towards the remaining three, lip curling in disgust as he caught whiff of their loss of bodily function, their repeated mutterings of, “Oh God! Oh God!”  He rolled his eyes as he stormed from the cell.  Their attempts at suddenly finding God were laughable to the vampire. 

As if He would deem to save them now.  Not bloody likely.

“Do something with that,” Spike ordered as he marched up the stairs and out of the dungeon.

“Yes, m’lord,” the minion replied as he secured the cell door.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike didn’t return home right away like he’d planned.  Instead, he took a seat at one of the tables in a darkened corner of the club.  A waiter appeared almost instantly with glass and bottle, placing them on the table before hurrying away.  If nothing else, the service here was a damn sight better than Willie’s rundown bar back home in Sunnydale; the staff seemed to know his wishes before he ever expressed them aloud.

He downed several shots in quick succession before he dared think about what had transpired below.  The kill had been extremely dissatisfying to his demon; his blinding rage allowing the man’s death to come entirely too quickly.  He’d only gone there with the intention of singling out his victim for the festivities later, something to bide his time as his wife slept and healed.  But as the scent of Buffy washed over him…the scent of her on the human…as well as the man’s size in comparison to the slayer…

Images of her bruised flesh had flashed before his eyes as he neared the cell and Spike had had the man dangling from his grasp before he thought to question his actions.  Minutes later, the human had been dead.

Justice had been swift, and surprisingly merciful.

Completely out of character for him.

Staring down at the bottom of his empty snifter, Spike didn’t even look up at the other’s approach.

“Get your own glass, and bring another bottle while you’re at it,” the vampire grumbled as he poured himself another drink.

Doyle snorted and shook his head, then turned away, gaining a servant’s eye and gesturing for another bottle and a second glass. Satisfied his request was being seen to, the half-breed pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Guess you’re probably wondering what I’m doing here, huh?”

Spike raised his head and pinned the man with a look.  “No doubt to tell me about the latest development from the ‘Powers That Fuck With Me.’”

Doyle barked out a laugh, but at the less-than-pleased look sent his way by the vampire, he bit his bottom lip and tried to appear contrite.

“Oh, go ahead.  Laugh it up.  You know you want to,” Spike snarked.

“What?”  Doyle was confused.  Spike seemed unlike himself at the moment.

“’S not like you don’t know.  Hell, I may as well hand over m’ balls while I’m at it,” he grumbled after tossing back another shot and pouring another.

“Ok.  Now I’m lost…”  He closed his mouth as the waiter appeared with his glass and another bottle, silently watching the vampire’s forlorn expression.  When the man walked away, he snagged the half-empty bottle and poured himself a stiff drink, demanding, “You mind telling me what the hell is going on.”

“I crushed his bloody windpipe,” Spike mumbled.

“Okay.” Doyle drew the word out, not understanding the comment that seemed to come out of left field.

“You don’t understand.  That’s all I did. No fist.  No fangs….” Spike sighed dramatically.  “Hell, not even a taste…”

“Still lost here—”

“The slayer, man!  Dammit, Doyle, bloody pay attention!  I killed the man what hurt my slayer.  Only…only I crushed his windpipe…like he was doin’ to her.”

“What?  And you’re upset because you didn’t bite him?”

Spike narrowed his eyes and glared at the half-breed.

“It wasn’t enough,” he growled.  “He shoulda been—”

“Yes, yes…torn to shreds while you feasted on his blood like fine wine…only after a long and adventurous hunt in which you gloried in his fear,” Doyle interrupted sarcastically.  “Pardon me if I’m not sympathetic.”

“Watch it, mate.”

Doyle leaned back in his seat, nonplussed.

“Gah!  I can’t believe I’m…have you told the slayer you love her yet?”

The change in topic took the vampire by surprise.

“What has that got to do with anything?”

“Revenge.”

“T’wern’t revenge.  It was retribution.”

“Uh huh….tell me you didn’t take one look at him…hell, with you, you probably just had to smell him.  Anyway…don’t tell me you didn’t take one look at him and in the back of your mind decided he was going to die, in the exact same fashion the slayer almost did.  Those bruises on her neck didn’t prompt any rash behavior on your part…”

“Like begets like.”

Stony silence was his only answer.

“…only human nature,” Doyle concluded.

“You’re forgetting one small point…I’m not human.”

“No, but you’re mated to one.”

“Claimed!  I’ve claimed one.  Big difference.”

Doyle’s look said, “Yeah, ok,” but he didn’t belabor the point with the vampire.

“As much as I find this conversation amusing, that’s not why I’m here,” Doyle told Spike.

“Figured as much.”  He pushed the matter of the human’s death aside for now, leaning back in his chair as he regarded the Power’s emissary.  “Mind tellin’ a fellow why I’ve somehow become the leader of a new and secret sect within the Aurelius clan?  You do realize what would happen if word of this got out, don’t you?”

“Darla and Angelus were fools to see you as nothing more than a glorified babysitter for your sire,” Doyle murmured, impressed.

~*~*~*~*~

The small group descended on Sunnydale with a stealth they’d acquired over the years.  Their first destination was the place they’d be calling home for the duration of their stay – a warehouse bought years before by a dummy corporation that was a byproduct of another dummy corporation.  Just another in the long list of bogus companies Adam had created throughout the last few centuries.

The place was modeled to their exact specifications; its security system impenetrable.  On the outside, the building appeared normal enough, the Mayor calling the influx of business brought about by the company a boon to the city. 

Marcus unlocked the door, ushering the others inside.  Last to arrive was Alric; he’d brought up the rear after assuring they’d not been followed.

“Any problems?” Marcus asked as he pulled the door closed and set the first of several alarms.

“No.  Just a bunch of minions rising—”

“You didn’t confront them, did you?”

“And blow my cover?  What do I look like, some wet-behind-the-ear fledge?” Alric grumbled.

“Nos es quam ventus. Occaeco, salvifico hebes vestigium sanus excido ab suus obduco.”

“Je sais,” Alric grumbled. “And lay off the Latin, will ya? I get the whole, ‘We are the wind’ crap.  Why do you think I’m the one covering everyone’s ass?”

Derrick clapped the disgruntled vampire on the back, smiling at his petulant look.

“Come, let’s catch up with the others.  We need to keep a close watch on the town and see how much the watcher and the others know.”

The two walked down a flight of stairs and into a secure room with no trace of windows.  At the back wall, Marcus punched a seemingly invisible button.  A door clicked open announcing another flight of stairs.  Once they reached the bottom, more codes were entered and a final steel door slid open allowing them entry into the main room.

Surveillance cameras covered one entire wall, along with a multitude of computers and accessories to see to their security.  A table stood in the middle of the room, where even now, a few had already sat down, having stored with their personal affects.

Marcus and Alric hurriedly dispensed with their bags and returned to the table.  There was much to be discussed before the group split up and became familiar with Sunnydale.

~*~

Derrick and Esme stood hidden among the stacks on the upper floor of the library.  It had been tricky at first circumventing the master vampire that seemed to hover around the school-aged children and watcher.  Though he was their elder by some thirty years, their life experiences far exceeded that of the Aurelian vampire pacing back and forth on the ground floor, and they’d eventually managed to slip into the room undetected by him or the others.

“Spike was right about him,” Esme commented in their own unique language, a special blending of all those they’d learned throughout the years.

Derrick quirked his brow at his mate inquiringly.

“Broody and lacking any facial expressions?” she clarified deadpan.

Derrick bit his lip to keep from laughing, and his pointed look promised retribution for him almost giving away their position; Esme just winked at him before turning away to stare down at the small gathering once more.

“He’s rather smart for a human,” Derrick commented some time later, referring to the watcher.  The pair had listened intently as the group downstairs had pored over several books, trying to determine what had happened to their slayer.  “What?  I’m just saying.  They had to ‘ve figured it out since they managed to snatch Buffy back, right?”

“Look, Angel’s leaving,” Esme interrupted.  “I better let Clayton know so he can take over surveillance.”

“Be careful,” he whispered to her while trailing a finger down along her pale cheek.  She nodded and stepped away, her stride swift, yet silent as she made her way out of the building. Derrick’s eyes remained on her retreating back until she was out of sight, only then did he return his attention to the Englishman and three students.

Chapter 46:

“You do realize what would happen if word of this got out, don’t you?”

“Yes. I…we…it was more than they ever thought possible. It was just supposed to be you and the Slayer. How…how did you manage to sway them to your side.”

“Don’t rightly know m’self,” Spike answered truthfully. “It started with the Slayer tellin’ the Marchioness, and it just kinda snowballed from there. Chit seems to inspire loyalty. Hell, they don’t even realize what they’ve done yet.”

“Will you make it official?”

“And have the Master seek me out? Are you bloody crazy?”

Doyle bit back a retort. He’d already overstepped his bounds when he’d shown the vampire what would have happened had they returned to their time period and played out that timeline. Some things were better left to witness firsthand. Spike didn’t realize it yet, but, his demon was going to demand it – the question was how long it would take.

The two settled into companionable silence after Spike’s outburst, each lost in thought as they finished off the second bottle. It wasn’t until the last of it had been poured into their glasses that the vampire spoke.

“How long you here this time?”

“Got nothing pressing to attend to just yet,” Doyle replied.

“Guess that means I’m putting you up, huh?”

Doyle grinned and downed the last of his drink. “You gonna tell the Slayer,” he asked as he rose to his feet.

“Prolly.” Spike pushed his chair back and stood as well. “Hell, I practically alluded to it before I left the house tonight, so she’ll just nag me to death until I tell her. Not that anything is going to come of it, mind. But if I don’t tell her, she’ll ask one of the others. An’ it’s not something I need getting out.”

They left the club behind, the Duke of Sevring offering the pair a ride home in his coach. Talk soon turned to the ball being held tomorrow night at an acquaintance of both the Duke and Marquess, and how they could possibly get out of going. Everyone was chuckling as the coach pulled to a halt outside Spike’s townhouse.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, then,” Spike told the human.

“I suppose so. I don’t think Caroline is going to let me get out of this one,” he replied. “Especially given that business has kept me away from the last two.”

Inside, Spike ushered Doyle upstairs to the room he used when he happened to “drop in.”

“I’ll have my man bring something by for you to wear tomorrow. Oh, and if you happen across a redheaded female? Play nice. She’s the slayer’s new project.”

“Play nice? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

But, the vampire didn’t answer; he was already inside his room.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy really hadn’t wanted to attend the ball being held, something which pleased Spike (and Doyle) to no end. The thought of celebrating so soon after Mrs. Rothworth’s dusting had left a bitter taste in her mouth. But, she’d forced herself to go. If for nothing else than to socialize with the few human friends she had.

All traces of the incident had been eradicated, the clan planned on staging a carriage fire for the day after the ball. Their purpose was twofold; it enabled them to wax over the minute details of a wake and subsequent funeral, and it allowed the vampires to slink off to the country under the guise of a brief mourning to deal with the remaining humans.

She was still on the fence as to whether or not she was going to go. Spike, surprisingly, hadn’t pressured her one way or the other. In fact, he’d been unusually subdued on the subject – as if he were harboring secrets of his own.

Which reminded her, she still had to ask Spike about his blood comment from earlier. And what in the world a sect was.

The final notes of the piece the orchestra was playing drew to an end, and Buffy halted in front of her dance partner, Marcus’ father, the Duke of Rutherford.

“Thank you for the dance, m’dear. I believe my son is next on your dance card?” the elderly man asked.

“My pleasure, Your Grace,” Buffy responded sinking into a curtsey, just as she felt a slight tingling sensation at the vampire’s approach. She glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, the Duke’s heir was making his way to her side.

“Marcus,” she greeted.

“Buffy. Father.” The Marquess inclined his head towards his father as the elder man relinquished his hold.

“Good evening, son. If you’ll both excuse me, I see the Earl of Valasay trying to gain my attention.”

Both nodded, and a moment later, Marcus twirled them away as the beginning strains of a new song began.

“How are you feeling?” he asked without preamble. Word of Buffy’s abuse had swept through the clan, the majority of the vampires wondering how she’d managed to survive nearly being choked to death. It was only a select few that knew the real reason she was all right, that the bruise marks she’d obtained were no longer visible on her neck.

“I’m fine,” she responded. “Slayer healing and all that.”

“Are you going to come? Tomorrow?”

“I don’t know yet. It’s…” She sighed, unable to explain her reticence.

“You don’t have to watch. Just being there would be enough. Solidarity of clan and all that.”

“I’ll—”

“How’s Angelina?”

“Huh?” The abrupt change in topic took the Slayer by surprise. So much so, that she faltered in her step, the vampire’s lightning-quick reflexes smoothing over her mistake before anyone happened to notice.

“The human girl? Lady St. James?”

“Oh! She’s well.”

“She’s not here tonight?”

“No….uh….she didn’t feel up to it just yet.”

The young vampire just snorted.

Buffy’s eyes narrowed, pinning him with her characteristic “don’t mess with me” look.

“You leave her alone. She’s been through enough without having a…someone like you breathing down her neck.”

“Someone like me?” he exclaimed in mock affront. “What did I do?”

The Slayer just rolled her eyes.

“How about overbearing, thinks-he-knows-what’s-best-for-everyone… .male?”

“So, it’s not me being a vampire that’s bringing out these maternal instincts?”

“Pfffft. Not hardly.”

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?”

“I’ll give you two weeks before I start making my presence known.”

“Two months.”

“Two months?! One month…and not a day more!”

“Agreed.”

Buffy bit her lip to keep from looking smug. In all honesty, she thought Angelina was doing remarkably well given her circumstances. She’d only pushed for two months’ time because she’d known the vampire would force her to half that. A month to stew would do the handsome fledge some good. He’d no doubt had the ladies – human and vampire alike – throwing themselves at him since his formative years.

“But, you have to desist if she doesn’t... you know,” she threw in as an afterthought.

His leer told her that wouldn’t be a problem.

After Marcus, the parade of men seemed to blur until, finally, she felt Spike at her back claiming her for the next dance.

“Having fun, pet?” he murmured in her ear before twirling her around to face him.

“My feet hurt,” she complained. “I feel like I’ve been dancing all night. What time is it, anyway?”

“Gone two o’clock.”

“Two o’clock! Gah! I have been dancing all night! I’ve barely said hello to Celeste or Caroline. They’re going to think I’m avoiding them.”

“No they’re not. Do you want me to take you over there so you can visit?”

The first few notes of the waltz began and Buffy shook her head.

“No, I want to dance with my husband first.”

“Whatever you say, luv.” Secretly, Spike was thrilled. He loved these unconscious gestures of the Slayer’s affection. How she put him first before all others, as if it were a foregone conclusion.

He basked in the feel of her in his arms as they moved about the floor with a few other couples, the majority of them vampires. The waltz had yet to take a firm hold within London’s polite society; the only reason it had as much a following as it did was because it gave vampires a chance to shock their human counterparts somewhat secretly. Personally, he loved the near-scandalized looks of the prim matrons, knowing that the only reason they seemed to put up with the dance was because the ton’s eligible bachelors enjoyed it so.

Spike swept Buffy from the dance floor just before the song ended and settled her amongst her friends. He bent and gave her a quick kiss before he left, causing a few of the women in the Slayer’s circle to sigh dreamily.

“Does Lord Thornton have a long lost brother we don’t know about?” Celeste asked her friend, knowing good and well the answer. Not to mention that she was already affianced.

“Think they broke the mold with that one,” Lady Jordan replied. “Though my Rafe seems like he could hold his own in a match-up.”

Buffy blushed, pleased with her friends’ assessment. It made her feel better knowing she wasn’t the only one that noticed Spike’s unguarded moments. Those little things he did or said that proved his, heretofore, unspoken affection.

A few hours later, the Slayer was doing everything in her power to hold back the yawns that seemed to plague her. She was tired, both physically and mentally. She’d still yet to decide as to whether or not she was going with Spike to the Earl of Hawkingstone’s estate. Something she’d, no doubt, spend what little remained of the night trying to figure out since most were riding out just before dawn.

Mentally sighing, she smothered another yawn and tried to focus on the conversation swirling around her, wondering when Spike would show up and take her home.

“Excuse me, ladies,” a familiar voice called out a greeting behind her. “I’ve come to steal Lady Thornton from you. Her husband bade me fetch her.”

Buffy rose gracefully, grateful to finally be going home. As much as she loved her friends, right now she was ready to get out of her dress and crawl between the sheets of her bed and sleep.

Farewells were given all around then the Slayer gratefully took Doyle’s arm and allowed herself to be led towards the exit.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy moaned out loud at the first touch of Spike’s cool fingers on her skin. Both were devoid of clothes, the Slayer stretched out on the bed, Spike sitting beside her. With a few fingers, he traced a random pattern around one perfect mound, watching with interest as the darker-hued nipple tightened almost instantly. He rolled the pert nub between thumb and forefinger, smiling as it hardened even more.

Unable to resist, he lowered his head, cupping her malleable flesh as his mouth closed over his prize. He felt her practically jackknife off the bed and used his free hand to pin her to the mattress before attacking her flesh voraciously, alternately biting and sucking until the Slayer was near mindless with need.

When he felt she couldn’t take it anymore, he released her breast with a last loving caress of his tongue, and before she had a moment to recover, Spike had stretched out over her body to pay homage to the other.

Buffy was dying, she really was. It never failed. Here she was ready for hard and fast, set-the-sheets-aflame, mind-numbing sex… and Spike was being Mr. Take-My-Time Guy. It left her feeling frustrated. Like a rubber band stretched wide on the brink of snapping, but unable to achieve the end result.

“Spike,” she whimpered helplessly.

He seemed to take pity on her, releasing her over-sensitized nipple from his mouth.

‘Oh thank god,’ she thought, just a second before he resettled himself between her legs, his erection nestled intimately against her sex, and kissed her. Her toes curled as he plundered her mouth with his tongue, his bold possession leaving her gasping for breath. Afterwards, soothing her with a gentleness so sweet, it brought tears to her eyes.

A few stray drops seemed to slip past her closed lids, and Spike kissed them away, murmuring nonsensical words in her ear that caused even more tears to fall. These, too, he licked away…

Like he was taking her pain inside himself.

How was it that he knew what she needed when she herself didn’t? His attentiveness to her released the floodgates she’d been trying to hold back ever since learning about Mrs. Rothworth. Holding him tight, she sobbed her grief into his bare neck until she could cry no more.

Spike held her all the while, knowing she needed to get it out of her system so that she could begin the healing process. When she was finished, he made love to her with the same gentleness he’d shown earlier. Afterwards, he held the Slayer close until he felt dawn approaching. He eased himself away from his slumbering wife, quickly donning his clothes so that he could make it inside his waiting carriage before the first rays cut across the sky.

He’d not bothered badgering the slayer into attending. True, she’d come a long way in her attitude. And while she may condone what was being done to the humans, Spike didn’t think she was quite ready to witness it firsthand.

 

Chapter 47:

Buffy awoke with a smile on her face until her muddled brain registered two things simultaneously: her hand encountered an empty space where her husband was supposed to be and the lack of tinglies along the back of her neck that indicated he was nowhere in the room. Frowning, she opened her eyes and looked around. Sure enough, the room was vacant except for her.

She climbed out of bed and snagged her robe from the back of a chair, quickly making her way towards her bedroom. A bath lay waiting for her as she stepped through the connecting door; her lady’s maid, Heather, was setting out an emerald green day dress on the bed for her to wear. Sensing her presence, the girl looked up and bobbed a curtsy, murmuring a polite greeting.

Buffy inclined her head before slipping behind the curtain and sinking into the warm, inviting water. How the servants seemed to have everything ready and waiting for their lord or lady’s pleasure just boggled the slayer’s mind. She scooted down in the tub, careful not to disrupt the water too much, until her head rested against the lip, closing her eyes as the soothing liquid enveloped her body. The deep ache that had settled in her chest and refused to let go seemed lighter today…Spike had seen to that.

Just thinking about how gentle he had been with her caused her bottom lip to tremble slightly.

He’d been so caring last night, somehow instinctively knowing which buttons to push to bring about the tears she’d really yet to shed on the vampiress’ dusting. Holding her close as she’d lamented the loss of her mother figure. That she’d been a vampire hadn’t mattered. The woman had been kind to her, helping “Elizabeth” settle into her life amongst the Aurelius clan.

Heather intruded on her reverie minutes later to help wash her hair, and Buffy was suddenly eager to see Spike. Tell him thank you for last night. Out of the bath and seated before the vanity, she fidgeted in her seat as her maid put the finishing touches to her hair. Once she was pronounced fit enough for a certain vampire, the slayer was out of her chair and racing towards the door, calling out a thank you to her maid over her shoulder.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy knew before entering his study that he wasn’t there. That he wasn’t anywhere in the house.

And in a moment of clarity, she knew.

He’d left to see to the humans.

She didn’t know whether she should be mad that he’d left without her… or hurt that she’d been left behind.

Backtracking out of his study, the slayer headed to the kitchens. If anyone knew where the vampire had gone, it would be the more senior servants.

The cook and housekeeper were chatting at one of the tables when Buffy sailed into the room.

“Have you seen the Marquess? Or, more to the point, do you know where he’s gone?”

They both shook their head in the negative, the housekeeper adding, “Lord Thornton left before sunup this mornin’ takin’ Travis with him, m’lady.”

“And you don’t know where he might have gone?”

“His lordship has gone to the Earl of Hawkingstone’s estate and won’t be back for a few days,” Higgins announced as he entered the kitchen.

“Lord Fielding’s?”

“Yes, m’lady.”

“How long does it take to get there?”

“M’lady?”

“I said….how long does it take to reach his estate?”

“Several hours by coach, m’lady. But surely you don’t mean to—”

“Oh, I mean to, all right. Have someone saddle a horse for me. Mrs. Cremshaw, I’m going to need some clothes. Trousers and a shirt… shoes as well. Is there anyone here that you trust to see me to Lord Fielding’s?

All three shook their heads negatively.

Crap. Buffy had no idea where she was going and needed a guide. Someone that wouldn’t be hurt on the return trip home because he just happened to be out at night, alone on a deserted country road.

Then she had a thought.

“How do you guys communicate with the other servants?”

“M’lady?”

“You know…the servants of the other vampires? Those that know?”

“The seal. Invert it when you seal the missive and the others will know that it can be read.”

“Higgins, you’re a life-saver! I’ll be in the study. Mrs. Cremshaw, you’ll see about some clothes?”

The older woman frowned but nodded.

“Hurry! I want to leave as soon as possible.”

Buffy lifted her skirts and hurried from the room. In the study, she sat at his desk and penned notes to several of her friends. They’d no doubt all left for Jason’s estate, but she didn’t figure they’d take all of their servants with them.

She really didn’t want to have to travel alone. She had other, more important things to worry about. Like how she was going to manage staying upright on the horse she’d be riding. At a very fast pace. It was why she’d asked for the mannish clothing. Buffy doubted very much she’d manage the feat in a dress.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy paced the confines of Spike’s bedroom in the borrowed clothes the housekeeper had managed to acquire. True, it hadn’t even been a half an hour since she’d had Higgins see to the delivery of her notes, but she was becoming impatient.

Oh, who was she kidding? She’d passed impatient the second the young male servant had left the townhouse to deliver her missives. A brief distraction had come when Mrs. Cremshaw had knocked on the bedroom door with a set of a young stable boy’s garments and well-worn boots to match. The switch in attire had taken her all of ten minutes to accomplish. Then she’d been back to pacing.

A knock sounded suddenly, and the Slayer raced to open the door. Higgins stood on the other side, slightly flustered.

“Good evening, m’lady. Johnston, the Marchioness of Haversham’s man, is waiting below to see you to the Earl of Hawkingstone’s estate.”

“Thank you, Higgins!”

She hurried past him to rush down the stairs, but his voice stopped her.

“M’lady?”

“Yes, Higgins?”

“May I be so bold as to suggest a hat?” He held out a billed woolen cap that was large enough for her to stuff her hair inside before securing it on her head.

“Higgins, you’re a genius! I don’t know what I’d do without you!”

The servant blushed at her praise, but couldn’t help muttering, “Just remind Lord Thornton it was you that wanted to go hieing off into the night after him, so he’s well aware of who is actually deserving of his displeasure. And that his loyal servants did everything in their power to dissuade you from this course of action.”

“Trust me, Higgins. He’ll know. Vamp’s got a lot to answer for, leaving me behind,” Buffy griped.

~*~*~*~*~

“The Earl’s estate is straight ahead, Lady Thornton,” the servant called out as their horses galloped down the dirt road.

Buffy was grateful that she’d had the foresight to change her clothes. There was no way she would have been able to stay astride the spirited mare she’d been given to ride burdened down by her cumbersome skirts. She’d had to rely on her slayer’s coordination to remain upright as Renee’s man had kicked his horse into a gallop just outside the city proper, and hers had leapt right after his, eager for the chase. Riding lessons were definitely going to be at the top of her list.

She applied the reins, forcing her mare to a walk.

“I can go alone from here,” she told the servant.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lady… but my mistress would flay me alive if I didn’t see you to the front door.”

“It’s ok, Johnston. I can take care of myself.”

“Either way…I’ll be seein’ you to the door, m’lady.”

His tone brooked no argument and she nodded, allowing him to kick his mount into an easy canter for the rest of their trip.

~*~

There were no carriages that greeted them. Except for the two servants, vampire by the tinglies racing down her back, the place looked deserted. No sense advertizing their presence here.

The pair dismounted, her traveling companion taking both sets of reins and walking towards the stable.

“You’ll be okay here?” Buffy asked, concerned.

Renee’s servant nodded.

“I’ll just bunk down in the stable. Head back to London in the mornin’,” he replied.

“You’re sure?”

“They’ll not harm me, m’lady. Now go on.”

Buffy cast one last look at Johnston as he lead the horses away before hurriedly making her way up the massive steps to the front door of the mansion; one of the servants standing sentry met her halfway.

“Lady Thornton! What are you—”

“Where’s my husband?” she demanded, cutting him off abruptly.

“Uh….”

“Master vampire. About yea high. Goes by the name of William…”

If the vampire noticed anything funny about her speech, he didn’t comment on it. “Lord Thornton….he uh…he…” The minion glanced over his shoulder, seeking aid from his comrade.

“It’s simple really. You either tell me where he is, or I’ll find him myself……And you really don’t want me to have to find him by myself.”

They’d reached the top of the steps and the other minion rushed to open the door for her. She smiled her thanks – manners being an ingrained thing with her now – as she stepped across the threshold and into the main foyer.

No sounds came to her, but her slayer sense was going haywire – there was a good crowd assembled here. Mrs. Rothworth must have been well loved by the clan. The thought caused another pang in her chest, but she shoved it aside for now, focused on finding the others.

She sailed down the hallway deeper into the Earl’s home, her booted feet echoing in the deserted corridor. The first minion rushed to keep pace with her while the second remained behind on guard duty.

“Buffy?”

The slayer halted in her tracks, turning towards the source of the voice that had called her name.

“Byron?”

“Buffy, what are you doing here?” the Earl of Hawkingstone asked. He dismissed the minion at her side back to his post then took the slayer’s elbow and led her towards the gardens at the back of his estate and the others.

“I’ve just as much right to be here as anyone else,” she argued.

“I’m not saying you don’t. Does Sp-William know you’re here?”

“No. The bastard left after I fell asleep. To which we’ll be having a few words about, trust me.”

Byron hid a smile at her words. Renee had told him and the others that Buffy was going to be upset that she’d not been here, but the master vampire had seemed adamant that it was too soon. Just goes to show how well the vampiress knew her friend.

Opening a set of doors that led out onto the back of his estate, the vampire guided Buffy towards where the others were beginning to gather. No lanterns had been lit, the moon being the only source of light they’d need. He heard the slayer stumble behind him, and with lightning-quick reflexes, managed to catch her before she fell face first to the ground.

“How the hell do you see…” she began as looked up into his face. “Oh… never mind.”

“Here. Take my hand.”

Buffy slipped her hand in his and allowed Byron to lead her to the others. The closer they got the tighter her stomach knotted, but she ignored it. This was something she had to do. If the vampire noticed her agitation, he didn’t say anything….something for which she was eternally grateful. If he’d said something to her just then, she didn’t think she’d be able to go through with this.

Actually stand by and allow these vampires to kill the three humans they held captive.

Renee was the first to notice hers and Byron’s presence at the edge of the clearing. Her eyes conveyed the vampiress’ understanding before she smirked at the others present. One by one the mini conversations going on ceased as they noticed the pair, Spike engaged in a heated discussion with Clayton and Joseph thus being the last to turn her way.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike knew the second she’d joined them. Hell, he knew the moment the slayer had woken up that she’d been both pissed and hurt at his leaving. But, he’d had to do it. If she were going to come, it would be because she wanted to. He didn’t want her to be able to come back and say he’d coerced her if he’d brought her himself.

Which was why he was arguing with Clayton and Joseph. They’d wanted to get right to the matter at hand, but Spike had held back…wasting time as he waited for the slayer to show up. The reason they were arguing was because he’d not told anyone that Buffy was on her way. He needed their circle to see for themselves that she could do this without his influence. Give proof that she was part of their clan because she wanted to be.

Not that any of their group doubted the slayer’s loyalty. Or he theirs to her.

He just wanted the slayer to have their trust and respect because of her own actions and not because he’d claimed her. She had that with the Marchioness. After today, the others would give it as well.

“’Bout time you showed up, luv. The clan here was getting a mite restless,” Spike called out.

The silence that followed was nearly overwhelming in its intensity.

Chapter 48:

Buffy eyed the proceedings with cool detachment. They’d become more frequent in the recent months and she had to wonder if the latest uprising within the clan wasn’t what Doyle had eluded to all those years ago. She could feel the agitation of the vampire seated beside her and placed a discreet hand on his thigh. His outward demeanor didn’t change – he still bore the face of his demon as he glared at the latest perpetrator – but she could feel the subtle easing in his body.

Right now, he wanted to rip and tear at the fledge that had dared to feed so openly. And not even from someone that wouldn’t be missed – the vamp had drained the only daughter of a lesser nobleman. One due to be married in the coming weeks. An event that she and Spike were supposed to attend, but had declined since they were due to travel to Paris next week for an extended visit.

Clayton had been the one to stumble across the body, and after quickly hiding the evidence, had set out after the fledge who’d seemed to be on a feeding streak throughout the city. Her friend had found the vampire easily enough, the bodies left in his wake providing a trail the simplest of humans could find. Clayton had drained the careless vamp to incapacitation levels and left him bound and hidden out of sight, then spent the next few hours disposing of the bodies. It was nearing sunup when he’d finally brought the vampire to Whitt’s and left it for the clan to decide his fate.

“Stake him.”

The words brought Buffy out of her reverie and she and the others seated along the table on either side of her nodded their agreement to Spike’s verdict. The vampire had jeopardized the clan. The penalty was death.

Chained to an unbreakable ring in the stone floor, the vampire sentenced to die hissed and cursed, baring fangs to the two that moved in with wooden stakes to see the sentence carried out. A few minutes later, it was over, the vampire’s dust floating to the floor as the chains clanked against the ground.

Now that the distasteful task of seeing to the disposition of one of their own had been concluded, the clan’s interest perked up. As the two human males were led into the room, it took all Buffy had for her to remain seated and not jump over the table. This time it was Spike that soothed her.

‘Justice, Buffy. Not vengeance,’ she fervently reminded herself. It didn’t work. She knew this was going to be personal. It had become personal the moment they’d dared to touch Celeste. She’d seen the battered and broken body of Marcus’ sister. Had comforted the distraught vampire while the others had hunted for the person that had killed her.

Angelina had been at the front of the pack, the young vampiress had wanted to gift her mate with the human that thought he could kill the sister of a Duke and get away with it.

Buffy’s eyes shifted from the hulking man in front to the smaller, softer male behind him. Celeste’s husband. The man that thought he could kill off his wife and her brother, then lay claim to the Dukedom through their sixteen-year-old son. He’d soon seen the error of his ways when he’d been thrown to the floor at the Duke’s feet by Angelina and had lifted his eyes and taken in the true countenance of the man he’d tried to kill. His bravado had left him then, urinating on himself as he witnessed the ridged brow and fangs staring stonily down at him. The begging had begun, but to no avail.

It had been Angelina that had discovered the man’s plot, intimidating the one that had actually done the deed until he’d been babbling like a baby and confessing to a multitude of other crimes. Crimes that Celeste’s husband had had him commit.

She could feel the restlessness of the others and knew that all hell was going to break loose in a moment. And, unlike before where she’d normally sat back and observed with impassive eyes…this time…this time she wanted so much to be a part of it.

A silence seemed to descend over the room.

At some unseen signal from Spike, Marcus attacked. He leapt over the table, claws and fangs barred, a snarl escaping his mouth. The others were right behind him.

Buffy watched the proceedings with a smile on her face. As the two humans’ blood was spilled, she couldn’t help thinking about the first time she’d observed Aurelian justice.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy knew she was probably breaking several of the bones in Byron’s hand, but couldn’t bring herself to stop. They were all looking at her. Every single vampire standing in the clearing. Her nervousness grew to near-epic proportions, the anger she’d been feeling towards her husband as she’d ridden hell bent on the back of her mare washed away as everyone’s attention centered on her.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything…but her eyes locked with those of the bound humans staring at her so helplessly. Her grip on Byron’s hand tightened even more, and this time she could hear one of the bones snap. The vampire, bless his heart, didn’t even flinch. Just watched the others watching her… as she continued to watch the humans.

‘You can do this, Buffy.’

She could feel herself wavering, her slayer instincts rearing their head in the face of all the vampires present.

“They killed her without remorse. Just yanked her out of her carriage and into the burning sunlight. They probably spent the next several hours drinking…off the money they stole from her.”

The words were for her alone. Byron didn’t look at her as he reminded her why she was here, not wanting the others to see her brief lapse.

She nodded once to let him know that she heard, steeling her heart and glaring at the three humans. Giving the vampire by her side a quick squeeze to his hand, she released it and crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her body so that she would be looking straight at Spike.

“Sorry I’m late, husband. Seems someone took the carriage and then forgot to leave me directions…”

Renee laughed outright. The majority of the other assembled vampires – those not within their inner circle – eyed Buffy and the vampiress with a mixture of confusion and fear. Fear on her behalf that she’d speak so boldly to the master vampire, even if he were her husband.

“…but please. Don’t let me hold you up any more.” She gifted her husband with a feigned smile and waited to see what he’d do.

“You heard the lady,” Spike told the group.

His words had the desired affect. Conversation ceased. Everyone’s attention returned to the three chained humans that cowered near a hedge as the master vampire stepped away from Clayton and Joseph and moved towards them.

Where the officious-sounding words came from, Buffy didn’t know. But, Spike seemed to be reciting text long memorized as he charged the assembled humans with crimes against the Aurelian clan. It was a scene straight out of a courtroom drama, but with the obvious deviances. For one thing, there was no jury, just a group full of angry executioners. For another, there was no innocent plea – they’d been found guilty and the “hearing” was just a formality before the sentencing phase proceeded.

Buffy watched it all without flinching. Some sort of morbid fascination made her unable to turn away as the men were bandied about amongst the vampires, their blood slowly drained amidst the cries and pleas as they begged for mercy.

When the last body fell to the ground unmoving, Buffy quietly slipped away as the mood of the group changed. Fresh off the high of blood from the source, it would be a while before the revelry wound down.

She didn’t need to watch this. She’d seen what she’d needed to see. Had actually done nothing to stop their form of justice.

He was there before her legs gave out, sweeping her up into his arms and striding back towards Byron’s home.

“You did fine, luv,” Spike whispered against her ear as she clung to his neck. It seemed to be all the impetus she needed. She couldn’t even say why she cried, those men had definitely deserved their fate. Maybe it was the lack of guilt she felt at doing nothing. Perhaps it was the way Spike held her in his arms, more comforting than sexual, as if he knew how hard it had been for her, seeing beneath her show of bravado in front of the others to the conflicted slayer she was trying desperately to hide.

Her tears fell silently down her face as Spike moved down the hall on the way to the room he’d been given. He didn’t say a word as she thoroughly soaked the front of his shirt, just held her close and kept on walking.

“I love you, Spike,” she mumbled into his chest as they reached the room they’d been given.

Spike brushed a kiss across her forehead and said nothing. The door opened and Travis stood back to allow them to enter.

“Will there be anything else, M’lord?”

“No. Thank you, Travis.”

Travis bowed out of the room and Spike closed the distance to the bed and set the slayer on top of the covers. It was still early yet, and he had every intention of putting Buffy to bed and returning to the others, but one look at her face stopped him cold.

“Make me forget,” she whispered.

It was a long while before either of them slept, and as Spike pulled the slayer close, he pushed aside the thought that she was wrapping him around her little finger.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike had just wiped the blood off of his mouth when Buffy threw herself at him. Her legs locked around his lean hips, holding her body in place, and her lips fused with his as she thrust her tongue in his mouth, for once dominating their foreplay. It didn’t last long, however, as she cut herself on one of his protruding fangs and her slayer-enriched blood filled his mouth.

He growled then, fisting his hand in her hair and yanking her lips away, exposing the smooth column of her throat. Spike struck before he could think the matter through, burying his fangs in her neck and drinking deeply of her blood. His eyes rolled back into his head as her sweet elixir washed over his tongue, his muffled growl as she ground herself against his erection obliterated by the goings on in the room. He felt fingers at the fastenings of his trousers and he did an about face and made for his room.

Barely ten paces out the door, he felt the cool air caress his cock. He picked up his pace to try to reach their room, only to stop a moment later as he felt the head of his shaft nudge at her opening. The chit hadn’t worn her knickers!

He groaned as she slid down on his length, encasing him with her molten heat, and he thought, ‘Screw the bedroom!’

“Fuck, woman!” Spike cried out as he tore his mouth from her neck.

Spike turned and slammed her back up against the wall, grinding his hips into her. The force sent a portrait clattering to the ground, but neither one noticed or cared. He pounded into her, his grip bruising on her hips as he held her in place.

Buffy thrilled at his rough treatment, secretly pleased that she was making him completely lose control. Hard, fast, and wild – he took her there against the wall. Anyone could walk by, and it just heightened the experience. Made her want more. Her nails scored his back beneath his shirt, knowing the effect it would have on him. How the scent of his own blood would drive him over the edge. His sharpened canines found a new home on the opposite side of her neck and the first pull of her blood into his mouth sent her spiraling into orgasm. Her fingers glided down his lower back and gripped his ass. Marveling at the way his gluteal muscles rippled as he continued to pump his hips while he rode out her orgasm.

Spike gritted his teeth as the slayer’s vaginal muscles contracted around his cock, her blood filling his mouth and threatening his own climax. When she went boneless in his arms, he released her neck and lapped sloppily at the wound, pivoting on his heel and continuing his journey to their room. The door stood open and he stepped over the threshold and kicked it shut behind them.

He went straight to the bed, though he knew with certainty that they’d be making their way around the room tonight. There was an air about the slayer; he could sense the barely leashed violence in her and licked his lips in anticipation. It had been a long while since he’d been able to play like this. He could feel himself swelling even more inside the slayer at the thought, and heard her moan in bliss as she felt it too.

The top of the mattress stood nearly waist high, and he lowered the slayer’s upper body down onto it. Before she had a chance to comment on his not joining her, he dragged her ass off of the mattress and began thrusting into her willing body. The position enabled him to fuck her with minimal stimulation so that he could get himself off rather quickly, which he did. Flooding her channel with his release minutes later.

He heard her groan in disappointment as his movements stilled and couldn’t help smirking. Pulling out of her when she tried to grind herself him to seek relief.

“Ah, ah, ahhh, Slayer,” he chuckled. “Do I need to get the restraints?”

He could smell her arousal, but the willful expression in her eyes decided him.

“Restraints it is, then…and don’t think of getting off that bed, or you’ll not like what’s going to happen.”

Well, she would... and she knew it too. For no sooner had he turned away towards the dresser that she’d jumped off the bed and made a run for it. He grinned and took off after her.

The chase was on and it would be a while before either of them slept.
 

Chapter 49:

“They’re growing bolder.”

“Someone’s obviously leading them. Pushing them to test the boundaries of the clan,” the Duke of Abberly commented. His ability to detect patterns was well known to the group of vampires – and single human – gathered at the Duke of Rutherford’s estate.

Spike and Buffy had spent the last six months in Paris after the dealing with Celeste’s husband, taking in the sights of the French city as they’d sought escape from the growing unrest in London. Having just recently returned to London, Spike had wanted to catch up on the latest goings-on and had suggested a quiet retreat in the countryside, and Marcus had eagerly volunteered his estate.

“Can’t be but a fledge himself. We’ve kept tabs on who’s been turned since I and the Slayer showed up here,” Spike commented. The frequency of the attacks was starting to grate on his nerves – that and the Slayer’s dreams that caused her to wake up screaming were enough for him to find the perpetrator and rip out his unbeating heart.

“Unless it’s one of the Master’s other childer.”

That brought Spike up short. He’d never even thought of that. Spike tried to remember everything Darla had ever told him about her sire and his other childer, but was drawing a blank. The only thing he could recall was her saying that she’d left the Master’s court to run off with Angelus. She’d never said anything about vampires mingling with humans, he’d just always assumed how the four of them had lived – on the fringes of society, killing and stealing to get the things they needed – was how it was done. Now he realized that something must have caused the shift, and the growing tendencies of the vampires here in England seemed to suggest it was going to happen. And soon.

“Someone not happy with the way we’re doing things, and seeking to gain a position of power,” Clayton mused.

“It can’t be a titled vampire. They’d have sufficient authority out amongst the ton,” Angelina added.

The group looked at Alric. Though his family was titled, as the third son, he had no hope of inheriting, unless his other brothers were to die unexpectedly – and then, only if neither one had produced the requisite heir.

“It makes sense,” the vampire commented. “But, he still couldn’t be acting alone. He’d have no position of authority to lure others to his cause without the support of someone with a position of power among the clan. He’s probably just a right-hand man of one of the Master’s childer.”

“Probably an unfavored childe,” Adam added. “And, if their plan were to fail, the fledge would take the blame.”

Spike glanced over to see the determined gaze of the Slayer. Her look seemed to suggest that she was thinking along the same lines. Doyle’s prophetic words of their combined destiny came back to him and he thought back to what the half-breed had said. Something about it being twenty or so years in their future. Which happened to be right about now.

Were they supposed to stop this from happening? Allow vampires to continue to mingle with society? Somehow, he couldn’t see how the Powers would allow that to happen. Vampires were, by nature, creatures of the night. While he’d enjoyed this idyllic time here in the past, he knew that this was not the natural order of things.

So, what then was his and the Slayer’s destiny?

Buffy rose gracefully to her feet, her gaze sweeping over the vampires she considered her family. They were all there. Marcus and Angelina, Derrick and Esme, Adam, Joseph, Byron, Alric, Clayton, her dearest friend, Renee. And her husband, Spike – once her mortal enemy, now the love of her life. There wasn’t one among them that she wouldn’t lay down her life for. Protect with her last breath if it came down to it.

Her life in Sunnydale was but a distant memory. Try as she might, Buffy couldn’t bring forth the images of her friends, her watcher, her mother…Angel. Since being thrust into the past, her life had been irrevocably changed, and there’d be no going back. This was where she belonged now.

She had the dagger she always carried on her person out and had slashed into her wrist before Spike could think to stop her.

Buffy remembered Spike’s words from long ago. The conversation they’d had about how the two had inadvertently formed their own line, the formality only lacking the blood rite necessary to complete the separation from the Aurelian clan. He’d stressed the need to keep it from the others. That the second they did something about it, there’d be no going back. The Master would know in an instant, and most assuredly not be pleased.

The scent of her enriched blood on the air had the effect of a naked virgin being dumped unceremoniously on a sacrificial altar. Eleven sets of eyes zeroed in on the blood dripping from her cut wrist.

“Slayer,” Spike growled warningly.

“It’s time, Spike.” Buffy threw her dagger at him, and watched as he easily caught it. She turned and walked over to Marcus’ bar and snagged a Cognac glass, draping her wrist over the opening so that her blood started to fill it.

“You don’t know—”

“I’ve seen the signs. You have too. And, I’d rather not go into this without everyone knowing…”

Spike walked up to the Slayer, snagging her bleeding arm and bringing it to his lips. His tongue laved at the clean mark she’d made to get it to stop bleeding. “You’re a pushy bint, ya know that?” he murmured as he gave her wrist a kiss.

Rather than use her dagger, Spike licked the blood off the blade and handed it back to her. His face morphed to that of his demon and he tore a gash in his own wrist and placed it over the glass the Slayer held. All eyes were on the steady stream of blood, and none of the assembled vampires could hold back their demons as the combined scent of Slayer blood and Master Vampire blood permeated the air.

When the glass was halfway full, Spike removed his arm and hastily licked the wound closed. He glanced around the room, taking in their confused expressions.

He spoke then, drawing their gazes away from the glass of blood the Slayer held and back towards him.

“Many of you are too young to realize this, but as the Slayer and I took you into our confidence, we formed a pact of sorts. As the years have passed, you’ve put our needs over those of the clans…in essence, forming our own separate clan. You did it unconsciously, thinking that our interests were that of the clan’s. But, such is not the case. And, it’s time for you to choose. Things are happening, things we can’t control. Things we’ve warned you about. Change is coming. Vampires… they’re going to go to ground, they’re not going to mingle with humans like they do now, which is why we told you to prepare.”

Spike looked at each of the vampires assembled and nodded as they seemed to get what he was saying.

“Now it’s time for you to make a choice. To stay with the Aurelian clan, or to bind yourself to us...to me. I’ll tell you right now, we’ve no idea what these bloody Powers have in store. We’ve—”

Spike broke off when the group seemed to stand in unison. As they walked forward, their fangs found their wrist and tore into their own flesh, spilling their blood, much in the same way he and Buffy had.

“You do realize—”

“Our place is with you…and Buffy,” Marcus spoke for them all.

Spike sighed, resigned. He glanced down at the Slayer standing by his side. “Hope you’re happy, luv. We do this and we won’t have long to wait for the repercussions.”

“I’m tired of waiting. Better to get this thing out in the open. See who keeps jerking our chain.” Buffy held out the glass as one by one, their friends came forward and allowed their blood to fill a small portion of it.

When the last one had finished, Spike took the glass from the Slayer. The room seemed charged with energy as he murmured the words that would bind them all to him. He finished the brief passage that staked his claim over the group and then turned to the Slayer and offered her the glass.

Buffy took a healthy swig of blood and tried not to gag on the coppery taste as it filled her mouth. She swallowed and passed the cup to Marcus. Seconds later, her head was yanked aside and Spike’s fangs were sliding into her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed and her legs seemed to turn to jello as he pulled her blood into his mouth. All too soon, it was over, and she felt the raspiness of his tongue as he lapped at the fresh marks. Then he grabbed her hand and drove his fangs into her wrist, quickly retracting his canines and allowing the wound to bleed.

She stood there, dazed, trembling with desire as Spike moved away from her and to the next person in line. Marcus’ neck was attacked with the same gusto as hers had been before he tore into the vampire’s wrist and left it to bleed. Buffy found out why a second later when Marcus turned to her and lifted her hand to his waiting mouth. His fangs sank into her skin, not so much an uncomfortable feeling as it was unexpected – she was surprised that Spike would let another bite her. She didn’t have time to contemplate the action, however, as his wrist was thrust into her face and she was forced to drink.

Her eyes closed and she gave herself over to the ritual. Another set of fangs, a different wrist presenting itself to her lips, each one after Spike had finished, until everyone had taken a sampling of her blood, and she theirs. Then, they’d moved onto each other.

Her blood was zinging in her veins – a rush she couldn’t even begin to describe. Her eyes finally opened and Spike was there before her. Bloodlust and just plain lust blazing from his amber gaze. The lust part she could totally agree with. She was so horny it was a wonder she’d not thrown herself at him yet.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, pet? That pounding you feel is each one of us racing through your veins. They’re feeling the same thing too. An awareness of one another. The effects will fade some after a bit, but it’ll be there. Always there, lurking in the background.”

The Slayer nodded helplessly, unable to say anything.

~*~*~*~*~

She was dumped unceremoniously on the bed, and Buffy wasted no time in dispensing with the barriers her clothing provided. Uncaring of her dress, she took a handful of either side and tugged, ripping the garment down the middle and exposing her undergarments to Spike’s heated gaze. She didn’t bother with her corset since the ties were in the back. Instead, she concentrated on the mounds of material wrapped around her lower limbs. Her body was on fire, and she needed Spike to ease the ache between her legs. She tugged and pulled until the material finally gave way under the strain. The cool air rushed over her legs, then his hands were there. His cool palms sliding up her legs to her thighs, gripping them tight and dragging her towards the edge of the bed.

Buffy licked her lips and she stared at his cock as it jutted from the nest of dark curls on his groin. The tip wept with his need, and she regretted that she couldn’t taste the pearly drop of precum as it dribbled out onto the head of his shaft. She stared entranced as he wrapped one hand around the base and leaned forward to guide it towards her entrance. The tip brushed along her slit and she struggled not to close her eyes, wanting to watch as he slowly sank himself into her welcoming channel.

Spike stared at the Slayer as she watched him push his way into her pussy. And he struggled not to spill his load right then. His jaw worked as her inner muscles gripped him tight, her velvety heat doing everything in its power to make him come. He forced himself to breathe as he grabbed her knees and forced them wide, opening her up even more. Allowing her to look her fill.

Which she was doing. Staring transfixed at their joined bodies. Watching his shaft as it slid in and out of her body. His hands moved from her knees to her hips seeking better purchase so he could speed up his thrusts. Her legs remained as he’d left them and Spike watched as she braced herself up on her elbows, staring fixated at her mound, and his cock, as he drove himself into her.

He felt like a voyeur. Him staring at the Slayer. Her watching herself being fucked by him. Neither said a word, as if it might break the erotic spell. Her eyes started to glaze over and he knew she was about to come. His pace increased and he angled his hips, hitting that spot deep inside her womb. She gasped and he smirked, doing it again…and again.

Her inner muscles clamped down on his cock without warning, and he clenched his jaw tight and tried to ride out her climax. She was chanting his name, her love for him, nasty little tidbits that drove him insane as she came all over his cock, unable to look away as it began to gleam with her juices.

Spike closed his eyes and tried to block out the sounds of her climax, determined not to be pulled under just yet. He wanted to stay right here, buried in the depths of the Slayer’s pussy, his cock gloved intimately in her heated passage.

“God… Buffy… feel so good… so hot…fuck…” His hips continued to move, his thrusts delving deep, until he couldn’t go any further. She felt like heaven, her juicy quim squeezing him just right.

Her hands were playing with her breast now in the aftermath of her orgasm, twirling each nipple between thumb and forefinger. His mouth watered; jealous of her fingers he lowered his head to one breast and nudged her hand out of the way. His mouth quickly closed over the taut peek and his fangs sunk into the plump flesh before he could stop himself.

She cried out, her fingers seeking his hair to hold him close, or pull him off; Spike didn’t know, or care. Just continued to feast on her blood as it flooded his mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head and he continued to thrust into her slickened passage. Faster now. Harder. Possessing her with fangs and cock. Staking his claim.

His demon was high off the other vampires’ blood, and the familial bond thrumming through his veins. He tore his mouth from her breast and latched onto the other one, fangs digging deep. Again the Slayer gasped, and Spike felt the reciprocating clutch to his cock. She loved this, the things he could do to her. The way he made her feel. She was his. Only his.

‘Mine. Mine. Mine,’ his mind chanted as he repeatedly speared her with his engorged shaft.

Her blood continued to ooze from the marks on her breast and he tore his mouth away to pull her up against him. The crimson liquid stained his chest as her twin mounds ground against his bare skin. He was fucking her now, mindless to her cries of pleasure, how she clung to him, pleading for more. The rapid pulse in her neck drew his gaze, his faded marks causing a rush of pleasure to course through his being.

He couldn’t get enough of her. Would never get enough of her.

His mouth was salivating now and he latched onto his marks, tearing into her flesh as his cock pulsed with his release. She screamed as another orgasm was ripped from her body, and Spike groaned against her throat while drawing long pulls of her blood into his mouth. His legs gave out then, and he collapsed to the throw rug beside the bed, bringing the Slayer down on top of him.

“Mine,” he mumbled as he squeezed her tight to his chest, too sated to move just yet. “My Slayer. Love you, Buffy.”

Buffy cooed her agreement, a goofy smile on her lips as she drifted off to sleep. She thought vaguely that they needed to get off the cold floor and into bed, but she was too comfortable to move just yet.

Later.

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