Title: In The Company Of Wolves
Author: Jonquil
Email: serpyllum@yahoo.com
Distribution: Just ask.
Rating: R (strong language, violence, sexual references)
Spoilers: Fourth season, post-Oz, pre-Tara
Summary: Willow has re-fanged Spike, and must deal with the consequences. Sequel to "Blinded By Science".
Feedback: reinforces the desired behavior.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to large corporations, and were created by the brilliant writers for Buffy and Angel.

Chapter 1


When Willow regained consciousness, she was slumped against something hard. She opened her eyes. A car door. Cigarette smoke. Black windows. Oh, gods, Spike's car! She sat bolt upright, then regretted it as her head began to pound and her stomach twisted.

"Sorry, pet. Don't make sudden moves for a bit. No permanent damage, though."

"How would you know?" spat Willow, keeping her face straight ahead.

"Practice. Lots of it. We both know I don't want you dead -- not this year. "

"And if I vanish from Sunnydale, they'll think I'm dead."

"Doubt it, luv. Not with the long chatty letters you'll be writing, telling your friends -- and your lawyer -- about how you decided to make a clean break from the memories of that ex-boyfriend of yours."

Ouch. That was my lie, not his. "And why will I write these letters?" Spike glanced at her. "Use that clever brain, pet. You're alone. No rescuer coming. The chip's gone. Need I go on?"

Willow swallowed. Change the subject. "My head hurts."

"That's what punches do, ducks. You'll get better."

"Can we stop so I can get some aspirin?"

"At a friendly, human-infested store where you can get help? Don't think so. Points for trying."

"Where are we going?" Willow looked sidelong at the vampire.

Spike's right hand flashed out, grabbed her wrist, and twisted.

"Ouch!" His hand automatically flew up to his head, then he pulled it back and smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile.

"Let's get this clear, witch. I'll ask the questions. We're going where the Slayer won't look for you, and that's all the information you'll get."

Willow made one last try. "But why?"

"Call it a whim. No more questions."

Willow closed her eyes and slumped, only to have her cheek slapped once. "No more sleep. Not smart after a head injury."

Willow sat up and flashed a glare that should have incinerated Spike. He met it with a chipper grin.

If looks could kill, pet, this world would be a desert.

Willow peered through the gaps in the window, seeing nothing she recognized. Maybe I can find some aspirin in my pack. She looked on the floor. No pack. She twisted her head to the back. Ouch! No pack.

"Spike? I think I have some aspirin in my pack. Where is it?"

"In the trunk. You can have it when we stop."

"But my head hurts now."

"Having spent five months with the Instant Migraine Machine, somehow I can't get terribly concerned. You'll get your pack when it's safe to stop."

Willow fell silent and watched the road whip past. It was a deserted two-lane road, too small even for signs. The moon rode high in the sky.

After a long silent while, the road widened and intersected a state road. At the crossroads, there was a dilapidated '30s cottage-style motel and a combination convenience store and gas station. Spike pulled up to the motel, cut the engine, and turned to her.

"Let's be clear, pet. Try to get help from the staff, and I'll kill them all. Your life is safe for now, but I'm really looking forward to a spot of bloodshed. Stay silent, and I kill only what I eat. One word, one move, and their blood is on your head. Understood?"

Willow bit her lip.

"Understood, witch?"

"Yes. I understand."

"Wait here." Spike got out, rang the night bell, and negotiated with the sleepy desk clerk. Then he reentered the car, jingling a key, and drove to the most secluded cabin. "End of the line, pet. All out."

He got out, walked around the back, and opened the door for her in a parody of courtesy. When she stood up, he grabbed her wrist hard in his right hand and pulled her back to the trunk. He released her, opened the trunk, grabbed her pack, and slung it over a shoulder.

"Ladies first." Willow silently walked to the cottage door. Spike followed her, dropped the pack, unlocked the door, and waved her inside. After she had gone in, Spike shut the door, locked it, stalked over to the only chair, sat down, and unzipped her pack.

"Hey, that's mine! And it's private!"

Spike looked up at her. "Red, as of several hundred miles ago, you lost the ability to command." He began to rummage through the pack. He threw her Book of Shadows on the floor Arrgh!, snickered at and discarded her copy of Jane Eyre, and tossed her Java book atop them. Moving on, he confiscated her Swiss Army knife, spare stake, and laptop, and stacked them on the floor beside him. Then he rezipped the pack and tossed it to her.

Willow found her aspirin, put the pack down, and headed to the bathroom. When she returned, Spike had draped the windows with the coverlet, and was lying on the bed with his hands behind his head and his feet crossed at the ankles.

"Come here, pet."

Her heart sank. This had always been a possibility. "No."

"We both know I can make you."

"We both know I'm not making it easy for you."

He heaved an airless sigh. "Have it your way, then."

He sprang up, crossed the room, grabbed Willow by the waist, threw her down on the bed, pulled handcuffs from his hip jeans pocket, and handcuffed her to the bed frame.

Oh, God, it's October all over again. And I destroyed the one thing that kept me safe.

Spike smiled down at her and said "Pressing business, Red. Back soon." He dropped a kiss on the pulse in her throat, then rose, picked up the laptop and other contraband, and strode out whistling. The door locked behind him, and Willow was alone with her thoughts.

What a mess I've made. As she began to cry, a small, calm, practical part of her noted, Bloodlust is stronger than any other need. I must remember that.




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