::Needlework:: by Holly

*banner by bloodshedbaby*

Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17 (For language, violence, and sexual situations)
Timeline: Season 5. Goes AU during Buffy v. Dracula
Summary: Buffy awakens to a new world where the rules as she knows them don’t apply and nothing is as it was. Without her friends, without her calling, there is only one person who can save her from self-destruction.

Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. They are being used for entertainment purposes out of respect and admiration, and not for the sake of profit. No copyright infringement is intended.

*~*~*

Author's Note: This is an answer to one of the challenges at BSV, and I'll post the guidelines once the story is complete. A few things: you will notice the very vague similarity to Schez's Dark Gift, but that is due to the guidelines of the challenge. I contacted Schez after I decided to take on the challenge to make sure she was okay with this, and she has been amazingly accommodating, and for that, I'm more than grateful. Second, yes, surprise surprise, Holly is doing another Vamp!Buffy fic. What can I say, I just like 'em. However, in this story, Buffy's vampirism is the basis of the entire plot and not a consequence of the plot, and, if I write it well, should explore things I didn't touch in either Sang et Ivoire or Harbingers of Beatrice.

I've also stolen the rule for sired slayers from Harbingers of Beatrice, mainly because it seems, to me, like the most feasible reason to keep slayers ensouled. I feel bad, but I talked to the author, and she was cool with it (heh).

Thanks to Megan, Kimmie, Dusty, and Yani for betaing. You all rock.

Chapter One

Once Upon A Midnight Dreary

Buffy hadn’t truly thought it possible for her night to get any more bizarre. From beginning to end, she had been transported into some upside-down play the likes of which only Andrew Lloyd Webber could compose. Not that this particular vampire made a convincing Phantom of the Opera with his playboy looks and rich accent, but her reality was nonetheless shaken.

It didn’t help that when she opened her eyes, he was there.

Until tonight, she hadn’t thought any of the fables ingrained into vampiric folklore had any merit whatsoever. The ability to manifest themselves into bats? Sleeping in coffins? The myth about killing the master vamp if one wanted to be cured? Vampires’ inability to walk on hallowed ground? Lies, lies, and more lies. And if all of that stuff inspired by a hack-writer’s wet dream was false, then definitely the most infamous vampire of all, Count Dracula, was sure to be nothing more than the creation of some loony-toon psychopath.

That was until he poofed right in front of her. Parlor tricks, Giles had said; any vampire could master them if such was their prerogative. Xander had punned on the Count’s accent, Anya had appraised his sexual prowess, and all Buffy could do was slobber over the fact that a famous vampire had heard of her. Her as in Buffy Summers and not the Vampire Slayer. Buffy, the woman.

Buffy who sneaked out of her bedroom every night and worked out her sexual frustration while she was on the hunt.

She was alone in bed tonight. Dracula’s sole focus. The only member of his audience.

“I don’t remember inviting you in,” she said strongly, doing her damndest to suppress how hard she was shivering. There was something overpoweringly potent about the vampire’s eyes. It was unlike anything she had ever known; stronger, even, than the alluring pull of the Master five years earlier.

The Master had pulled her in with power alone. Dracula had charm; had charisma; had more than just thrall working for him.

For a vampire, he was devastatingly sexy, and she found that disturbing.

In Buffy’s mind, there were only two vampires in the world that were allowed to be sexy, and one of them was only a begrudging acknowledgement. She was just getting over the other. Just now allowing her long-suffering hurt to transfer to anger, her love scrapped in the face of the realization of everything this last year had cost her. The mistakes she had made in the wake of getting over her first twisted relationship. Parker. Racing to Los Angeles…twice.

And the replacement of her Angel that loved her unconditionally…

Riley. Her human Angel.

The only other vampire allowed to be sexy was the one she had the displeasure of seeing in every day life. The fact that he was incredibly easy on the eyes only made him more annoying. Still, that hardly stopped him from being so. He definitely had the stereotypical association of the undead to coincide with his namesake. Hauntingly beautiful, devastatingly lethal, and wholly forbidden.

Those were the sort of qualities that usually went unappreciated for the sake of his less-mystic and more annoying traits.

The vampire in front of her was gorgeous in that tall-dark-and-handsome way…and though that seemed to be the type Buffy fell for, she felt her stomach curl in apprehension.

“I required no invitation,” Dracula replied coolly, though a spark in his eyes alerted her to his lie. Her mother, most likely. This tall-dark-and-handsome thing was generic with Summers women. The tendency for the men that fit that description to be selfish assholes seemed to be generic as well. “Merely a desire to bask in the presence of death.” He reached out to brush tendrils of fallen hair from her face. Buffy drew in a deep breath, frowning as small shivers scattered down her skin. “A desire to taste…”

She blinked and jerked back at that, her eyes flaring dangerously. “There will be no tasting of me tonight, pal,” she barked, straightening as the haze around her world dissipated and the veracity of the situation became palpable. “Now get out before I—”

“Stake me, yes. That is what the vampire murderer does.” Dracula’s eyes flickered meaningfully. “She kills without prejudice, because it is all she knows.” He reached out to her again, fingers finding her hair. “But the marks on her throat are telling, no? She has been tasted.”

Angel’s bite seared with a sudden outburst of pain.

“He was—”

“Unworthy,” the vampire said decisively. “He let you go.”

Buffy inhaled again, the fog settling once more. There were certain things every vampire slayer knew, and never to be without a stake was one. Granted, she had never suspected a non-Angel or Spike-shaped vampire to enter her bedroom unannounced, but her lack of an immediate weapon sent a sharp pang of fear down her spine.

“You need to leave,” she said. Her mind was no longer her own. She didn’t know what he was doing, but it was overtaking her little by little. “My mother doesn’t like me to have vampires in my bedroom.”

“I only want a taste,” Dracula countered, a slow smirk drawing across his lips. “My Slayer will allow me a taste, won’t she?”

“I am not your Slayer. I am not your anything.”

“You are the Vampire Slayer. You belong to vampires.” He smiled. “I am a vampire, no? Tonight you belong to me.”

The fear entertaining her insides grew sharper. Fear was foreign to her now, especially where vampires were concerned. Her body wasn’t following her commands. Her arms were heavy and immobile, her heart pounding to the brink of pain within her chest. If he was going to do something, she couldn’t fight him. He had her under something. Had her will trapped beneath something too weighty for even her strength to move.

Belong to him? God, what did that mean?

“I…I think you should leave,” Buffy said.

“Yes,” Dracula agreed, his fingers skimming the length of her arm until his hand was clasped with hers. “We should be leaving.”

“We?”

“Yes. You will come with me, won’t you?”

No! shrieked her mind. That strong part of her that was kicking and screaming, pounding invisible fists against the walls of her will. No! Don’t even think about touching me, you piece of—

“Yes,” said her treacherous mouth, fingers entwined with his. “Where are we going?”

“Away,” the vampire replied, tugging her from the bed.

And then her room was not there. Her body separated from her will, moving toward something in the far reaches of understanding. She didn’t know how he moved them, or to where. She couldn’t see anything but the blur of colors clouding her vision, couldn’t feel anything but the cold touch of the vampire that was holding her hand. She was with him. That was all she knew, all she recognized. Dracula was leading her away from herself.

And he wasn’t letting go.

*~*~*

There were many unusual dwellings in Sunnydale, and at one point or another, Buffy had been to them all. Her job had a tendency of taking her to every corner of the miserable town. Every time a new demon mobster hit the Hellmouth, a new strange residence sprang from the soil as though it had been there for generations. With Spike, it was the factory. With Angelus, it was the mansion. With Adam, it was the Initiative itself.

Granted the Initiative didn’t spring from the ground as much as it buried itself beneath it.

With Dracula, though, it was a castle.

A castle erected in the outer reaches of Sunnydale. Buffy saw it without seeing. The dark premonition curling her stomach grew stronger with every step. Her inner voice kept screaming in protest, begging her senses to succumb control and allow the Slayer to take over. The shadows lurking in her mind were far too potent, the screaming woman inside trembling at the sight of the walls that would seal her fate. She knew that something bad was about to happen. She knew that stepping over that threshold while holding onto Dracula’s hand would be the means to her end.

If she walked into the castle, it would not be Buffy that walked out.

Oh God. I can’t stop him. I can’t…

“There is no reason to fear,” Dracula said over his shoulder, calm and collected. “I would not have harm befall one as lovely as you.”

Strange how those words inspired more fear than comfort.

“I will immortalize you.”

No. No!

“No,” Buffy broke through, commanding her feet to a halt. Her strength was denied her, but she persistently battled his own to pull her wrist free. “I won’t. You can’t make me. I—”

“Why this resistance?” the Count asked, frowning. “I will give you everything your former vampire could not.”

His voice dripped sexual promise, but the thought of his touch suddenly had her skin crawling. She had to get out. She had to get out, and now.

“No thanks. I have a boyfriend.”

Yeah. My name is Buffy the Lame-O, have we met?

Like Dracula cared if she had a boyfriend. Or, you know, free will and a mind of her own, including wishes that were not of the please-vamp-me nature. Her mind was still misty with blurred lines of defined right and wrong. She knew she needed to escape. He was no longer touching her, and while that was a step in the right direction, it did little to ease her nerves.

His eyes were still on her. And they held the most power.

Dracula was not going to let her do anything he didn’t want her to do.

“He is unworthy of you,” the vampire replied smoothly. “No mortal man could hope to touch the Slayer and feel her greatness. Not like those that she hunts.” His eyes flickered meaningfully. “Those that she kills.”

“Slays,” Buffy said automatically.

I am not a killer. I am the Slayer.

“You are the killer of my kind, yes?”

“I don’t kill. I slay. I have a calling.”

I am Chosen.

“I have a calling as well.” He glanced toward the castle meaningfully. “Now we go inside.”

“No.”

This he would not take from her. The free-will of Buffy was not for sale.

“You will follow me inside.”

Of course, vampires mostly stole what was not handed to them.

Even if the object of their desire was a human being.

And Buffy had no means of denying it. She heard herself agree to his command and the inner screaming started again, but there was little stopping the compliance of her body. Her feet carried her forward; her hand offered itself to Dracula’s grasp once more.

And then she was inside, and Sunnydale was a lifetime away.

Oh God.

“My home,” Dracula said, turning to her intently. “You approve?”

It was perfectly clear that he didn’t give a damn what she said, but at the same time, something told her that it was likely a good thing to be an accommodating guest to a master, legendary vampire. Even though she wasn’t so much a guest as she was a kidnapped slayer.

Besides, she’d only say no to be contrary. What was there not to like about a castle?

“Yes.”

“I think you will like it here.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide. Free-will…now would be a good time to come back from the dead!

This could not be happening. Not now. Not to her.

“For now, you should rest.” Dracula continued, stepping forward. “I will satisfy my hunger for you with a taste. Nothing more.”

Hunger? Me? Taste?

There was just no part of that sentence that Buffy liked.

Oh God. This is real. This isn’t a dream. It’s real.

Dracula’s fangs descended smoothly and his eyes went yellow. But that was all. There were no bumpies. There was no growling. He was the antithesis of every vampire she had encountered. And despite the paralyzing fear rushing through her body, she was alarmingly void of reaction. This was not her. Not really. It was a façade. Something was blocking her. An invisible wall crested between hysterics and serenity.

He had immobilized her. He had robbed her of her night. He had taken her away.

And now his fangs would find her throat.

And she would know nothing else.

*~*~*

The room was unfamiliar but comfortable. She felt miles away.

Her throat was throbbing, and she didn’t know why. A foreign thirst tore through her body, scratching at her skin with cuts of pleasure as well as pain. A bullet of fear pierced her heart, but by the time she had thought to resist anything, to fight anything, the pain had receded and she was back. Comfortable. Waiting in her silent oblivion.

Strange.

Buffy’s eyes fluttered open. She was bathed in lavender. The night was quiet, and she couldn’t see stars through the windows. But it was dark and she knew it would be for hours. The sun was a world away.

How she had come to this room, she didn’t know. Nor did she have the strength to get up.

Don’t have the strength for anything.

Sleep fell upon her again. Her eyes lost the battle for wakefulness.

The last thing she saw was her reflection in the hang mirror across the room. It was fading quietly; struggling for existence. Not gone but not there, either. Caught somewhere in the middle. Caught in the area in between.

What a strange dream, she mused, her eyes falling shut once more.

Ignoring the screams of her will, the girl locked inside that beat against soundless glass for freedom that would never come.

And she slept.
tbc

Chapter Two

The Garden of Good And Evil

Buffy was gone.

There was nothing but that knowledge. Riley had thrown open the door to her bedroom and found it empty. The bed was unmade, the window was open, and she was gone.

Buffy Summers was one of the least conventional Slayers to have ever been selected by the calling, and everyone that knew her knew that. Her methods were innovative and oftentimes shrouded in misgiving for their simplistic nature. Too frequently she ran off by herself to fulfill some task, kill some demon, and satisfy her sacred duty. She didn’t wait for others if she felt she didn’t have time; time and time again, she didn’t even mention where she was going or why. It was the way she worked. Granted, those weren’t entirely consistent with the person she was becoming—with a boyfriend who could watch her back while easily facing the forces of darkness—but Buffy did as Buffy thought she should. Her absence that morning was strange but didn’t really surprise anyone.

Such was Buffy.

Only today was different, because there was a vampire in town that needed absolutely no introduction. A vampire immortalized in time. A vampire that had inspired generations of folklore, novels, films, and ghost stories. A vampire that actually existed—something that the Slayer herself hadn’t known until the night before.

It was even more disconcerting when Riley discovered that Joyce Summers had mistakenly invited a pale foreigner into her home. That was all that the Slayer’s boyfriend needed to hear. Buffy was gone and Dracula had an all-access pass to her house.

Seemed like Spike had been right after all.

He hated it when Spike was right.

“I had no idea,” his girlfriend’s mother was saying frantically. He was so far placed he nearly didn’t hear her. “I…oh God, where would he have taken her?”

“I don’t know,” Riley replied, pivoting sharply, his face unreadable. “But I’ll find her, Joyce. I promise.”

A task easier said than done. There was no Initiative anymore. No place to start. Nothing but intuition, and a held breath that he was doing the right thing.

He had to go to Giles, then. He had to get on this.

From the way the Slayer had been going on about him last night, Riley couldn’t imagine which scenario he hated more. The vampire had Buffy, or Buffy was with the vampire.

Buffy who had a history with vampires.

Buffy who might not be a captive as much as she was a willing guest.

God, he hoped not.

*~*~*

“Well, I think we have Dracula factoids,” Willow said, glancing up. She wasn’t accustomed to seeing Giles’s house so vacant, but Buffy and Riley’s absence wasn’t so conspicuous. Her friend hadn’t exactly been coy the night before when she invited her boyfriend over; and from what she knew of their sex-life, the provocation had likely not gone refused for long.

“Like any of that’s enough to fight the dark master,” Xander retorted insolently, munching on a donut.

Giles and the redhead paused and looked at him strangely.

“…bator.”

The Watcher’s eyes shifted to her, and he looked more than a little irritated. She merely grinned. “A lot of it we already knew,” she said. “Turn-offs: wood, fire, crosses, garlic. Turn-ons: nice duds, minions, long, slow bites that last for days…” She cleared her throat. “If you…you know…like that sort’ve thing. Which I don’t.”

“Because you’re into girls now,” Xander said.

“Yes.”

Giles flushed and removed his glasses. “Right,” he retorted.

The quiet of the room crashed with the erratic swing of the front door, and Willow’s preconceived notion of her friend’s previous nocturnal activities dissipated instantly. Riley was there. Riley was there and Buffy wasn’t.

A spool of dread gathered her insides. Something was wrong.

“Oh,” the Watcher said in greeting. “Hello.”

“Buffy’s gone.”

The room froze.

“What?” Willow demanded. “What do you mean, Buffy’s gone?”

“Joyce invited Dracula into the house last night, and now Buffy’s gone.” Riley shook his head. “He took her somewhere, I know it.”

Giles frowned, paling. “Are you…how can you be sure?”

“Joyce invited him into the house! He’s a vampire, she’s a slayer. She was all…gushing for him last night, wasn’t she? In that…” He released a deep breath. “Buffy…after she saw him, she was different. I can’t even…”

“Buffy would never have just gonewith Dracula,” Willow protested, frowning. “That’s ridiculous!”

“Well, if Dracula’s objective was to kill her, he could’ve done it last night and just left her in her bed. He didn’t. She’s gone. She didn’t tell anyone here, did she?” Silence was his answer. “I didn’t think so. She’s with him…and we don’t know…what he’s doing to her—”

The Watcher’s frown deepened. “I don’t believe Dracula is the sort to do anything to any of his victims, aside turn them into…” The room stilled uncomfortably at that, and he did not feel the need to drive the point home with words. “But everything we have on him suggests that he prefers the more traditional turnings. If that’s true, then she might not be in any actual danger right now.”

A worried look crossed Willow’s face. “Traditional turnings?”

He nodded. “Well, your own research says as much,” he replied, indicating the open book in her lap.

The Witch’s eyes widened and she glanced down. “Oh right. Ummm, yeah, Dracula’s objective is different from other vampires. He’ll kill just to feed, but he’d rather have a connection with his victims…especially victims he sees as high-profile. Victims like…well, Buffy, in this case. He even has mental powers to draw them in.”

“So he might’ve thralled Buffy into going with him?” Riley demanded.

“Yeah. If she…yeah. He also has mental powers, so he could’ve put some cosmic whammy on her to make her more compliant.” The look on the redhead’s face grew increasingly worried as her eyes scanned the text before her. “Giles, this isn’t good. The ending result is always the same. He seduces his victims, but it’s always to make them a vampire. With Buffy’s case…”

“He wants her,” Riley snapped decisively.

Xander shook his head. “That’s ridiculous. I think you're drawing a lot of crazy conclusions about the unholy prince.”

The room paused again and stared.

“…bator.”

Giles’s eyes narrowed. “Xander…is there something you’re not telling us?”

Harris drew in a sharp breath and shook his head. “Nope. Nothing. Nothing that I can think of. Certainly nothing concerning the supremely spooky dark master.”

Willow released a long sigh. “He’s under Dracula’s thrall, isn’t he?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Xander recoiled at that. “No! That—that’s ridiculous, is what that is. The evil lord could’ve used anyone! Why would he, in his infinite wisdom, select me?” A forced, disbelieving laugh sputtered through his lips. “That’s just silly…that is.”

Riley’s eyes darkened and he stalked forward dangerously. “Where did he take her?” he demanded. “What do you know? Talk.”

The other man’s hands came up neutrally. “I know nothing!”

“You’re under Dracula’s thrall and you don’t know anything? Right.”

“Not what you’re talking about, no!” Xander retorted indignantly. “His Excellent Creepiness told me he wanted me to take Buffy to him!” He blinked as though the words spewing from his mouth suddenly made sense, his gaze clearing. “I-I…I didn’t take Buffy to him. I really didn’t.”

Giles’s expression grew even more troubled. “Dracula placed you under his power for the purpose of obtaining Buffy, but why…” There was just no part of this that made sense. “Perhaps his intention was to set us apart. He came to Sunnydale for the Slayer. According to what she said last night, he had heard enough of her to call her by name. He said she was a legend among the undead…it’s very possible that he knows about us. That he is employing the same technique that Adam attempted last year in separating us so that we’re too jumbled to find her before—”

“He turns her,” Willow concluded, her eyes wide. “Oh God, we have to do something.”

“Something,” Riley muttered blankly. “Yeah, something.”

The Watcher’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I went to see Spike last night. Gather up some information on Sunnydale’s newest resident.” He paused. “Last time a Big Bad decided to split you guys up, Spike was involved, right?”

Giles and the redhead nodded.

“Then it’s feasible that Spike’s in on it, right?”

“‘In on it?’” the Watcher repeated incredulously. “What is there, exactly, to be ‘in on?’”

“If Dracula’s modus operandi is ultimately siring his victims, then—”

The older man shook his head dismissively. “Spike wouldn’t help with that,” he said. The certainty in his voice lent everyone pause.

Riley was staring at him. “How do you know?”

“Because he’s fought Slayers before and not once has he attempted to sire them. The two he killed were killed, not turned. Spike’s likely one of the few vampires that know about Slayers.”

“What do you mean?” Willow asked.

“Sired Slayers retain their souls,” Giles replied grimly. “You might call it a practical joke on part of the Powers That Be. As any vampire will boast, being a sire establishes a certain measure of power and control over their childer. Being the sire of a Slayer would make the vampire nearly invincible. It also would guarantee that every Slayer called would not strike fear into the world of the undead—instead of running from her, they would run for her…hoping to lay claim to her throat and obtain the power that being her sire would warranty. But Slayers retain their souls, and being as strong and assuredly angry as they are when they awaken, will usually not only destroy her sire and his childer, but every vampire in her path until she is stopped. If Slayers remained soulless, you can be sure that Spike would have taken advantage of that by now. Buffy sired wouldn’t be good news for any vampire in Sunnydale.”

The redhead worried a lip between her teeth. “Doesn’t Dracula know that?”

“One would think. Perhaps he doesn’t care. If we’re correct, and Buffy is with Dracula, we can assume it’s due to a mind control similar to the thrall that Xander is under.” The room eyed the carpenter warily, and he blinked once in response. “Or,” Giles continued, “it might be that Dracula hopes his influence as a sire will be too great for Buffy to resist.”

“That happens?” Riley demanded.

“Not in recorded history, no…but Dracula is a master of mind control.”

“Buffy’s the Slayer!” Willow protested. “I mean…shouldn’t she come with some…anti-mind control tags or something? Especially where vamps are concerned…it just doesn’t seem…how could this happen?”

“Erm, Buffy’s also one of the slayers in history whose close personal relationship with vampires has been problematic for the Council,” Giles replied awkwardly, avoiding Riley’s eyes. “She dated Angel and she’s allowed Spike not only to continue existing, but has been almost…protective of him in the past few months.”

“Protective?” the room echoed disbelievingly.

“Well, she hasn’t staked him, has she? Furthermore, she’s saved his life on a number of occasions. Granted, he’s done the same for us, but details like that don’t matter to the Council.”

“Don’t matter to me, either,” Riley murmured irately.

“Regardless,” the Watcher intervened sternly, “Buffy finds him valuable, and until he outright refuses to help us, it’s best to have a somewhat-ally that has an ear to the workings of the underworld. Besides…” He paused. “It might prove beneficial to pay Spike a visit with this. If Dracula does indeed have Buffy, Spike could well be the best way to get to her.”

Riley glowered at that. “The best? You think bringing in a vampire to track down a vampire is going to do us any good? A vampire that, by the way, happens to hate Buffy and everything she stands for? I have experience in slaying vampires. Maybe not a sacred calling, but I never knew that was a prerequisite.”

“You can’t honestly believe that asking Spike to help us is any more damaging than not,” Giles rebuked. “He might not want to, but he’ll do it.”

“How do you know?”

The Watcher’s expression turned grim. “I can be…persuasive.”

*~*~*

People always went a little bit crazy when a celebrity came to town.

For the past three months, the Slayer and her pals had done little to even acknowledge the existence of their resident vampire, much less pop by at all sorts of odd hours. Now, two nights running, the door to Spike’s crypt burst open, provoking the platinum blonde to his feet in nearly record speed. It was a scent he wouldn’t have associated with a nocturnal visit, but the presence of Buffy’s Watcher only went to validate his theory.

Honestly, one famous name bursts into the Hellmouth, and the bloody town goes wonky. First the Super Soldier, now Ripper Giles himself?

He couldn’t deny he was a bit disappointed. Dracula had been in town for nearly twenty-four hours and there had not yet been word from the Slayer. Was Buffy suddenly too good to go to him directly, or had she finally wised up and realized she was virtually a dictator with a staff of loyal lackeys?

Spike rolled his eyes and lit a cigarette. “Welcome to the bloody jungle,” he muttered, more to himself. “Lemme guess, you need information. Bloke’s a li’l taller than me, paler, Romanian accent, an’—”

“Shut up.”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed. “Oi there, mate. You’re in my home—uninvited, I might add. Might be surprised where a li’l manners can get you.”

“I need help.”

“Well, I coulda told you that years ago.” He grinned. “’m right, though. This is about good ole Vlad.”

“Yes, Spike, your perception is truly extraordinary.” Giles glanced down. “It’s Buffy.”

The vampire exhaled a puff of smoke. “Yeh? What about her?”

“She’s missing.”

Spike’s brows perked. He knew the point had to be coming.

Giles said nothing. Just looked at him.

Point was evidently lacking.

“Yeh, and?” he demanded. “This is the Slayer, remember? Pullin’ disappearing acts is what she does best. Need I remind you ‘bout that time last October when—”

“This is different, Spike. Dracula’s involved.” He paused. “He has her.”

For no reason whatsoever, those three words struck an ugly chord. Spike froze, cigarette burning between his fingers. He didn’t know why—he couldn’t explain it, but a wave of outrage washed over him, and his eyes clouded. The idea of Dracula touching his Slayer inspired a fury the likes of which God himself would tremble in fear. Buffy was not one to be thralled into submission. It didn’t work that way—it wasn’t supposed to work that way. Not for Slayers, not for Buffy. Buffy was his. She always had been.

“Spike?”

The vampire blinked back to himself, surprised at the look on Giles’s face; even more so at the realization that he was seconds away from allowing his bumpies to emerge in a fit of rage.

Still, he couldn’t help himself. No vampire touched Buffy. If he lost her before he made her throat his chalice, it wouldn’t be to another of his kind. It wouldn’t be to a demon at all. Buffy was either his or the world’s to destroy. She died at his hand or in the apocalypse. That. Was. That.

He wisely ignored the inner voice that had been growing steadily in volume for the past few weeks. A voice he feared carried a horrible truth that he was not ready to face.

That he would never really be ready to face.

“I told Soldier Boy when he came here last night,” Spike said slowly, blowing out another stream of smoke. “Told him Vlad wouldn’t back off till he had what he wanted. I also told him to bugger off an’ watch over his honey: once the count sets his all-knowin’ mind on somethin’, he doesn’ give up.” He paused. “He nabbed her last night, din’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Was Wonder Bread there?” His kept his tone purposefully neutral. If he betrayed just how unnerved he was at Buffy’s disappearance, Rupert might suspect he had something to do with it.

He would never credit him for the other. Whatever the other was, in this regard.

Respect for thine enemy, he quoted to himself, though the words fell empty even within his cavern.

Shades of palpable frustration began leaking through the Watcher’s eyes. “Spike, we don’t have time to play around with semantics. Dracula has Buffy…who knows what he’s doing to her. Is your alliance up for sale today?” He took a breath. “And let me remind you, if it’s not, I can make it for sale.”

Spike didn’t see a sliver of wood in the old man’s hands, but he knew his Slayer had to have learned that ‘stake up the ass’ trick somewhere. “When was she last seen?” he asked.

“She was at my flat last night discussing her encounter with Dracula.”

“An’ that’s the end of it?”

“As much as I know.” The Watcher eyed him warily. Spike knew well that he had yet to quote a price. Rescuing the Slayer…what sort of dollar amount could that equate?

A few seconds passed, and Giles heaved a long, aggravated sigh. “I don’t have time to wait for you to make up your mind,” he said. “Buffy is in danger, and—”

Split second decision. No more time for considering that line dividing what he should do and what he wanted to do. It was all left to instinct. A realization down to the core—he couldn’t stand by right now. It had nothing to do with money, and everything to do with that set of values that vampires were supposed to lack. That law he had established for himself without even realizing it. Buffy was his. No vampire was going to take her from him.

“Don’ get all testy,” he retorted, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out. “I’m in.”

Giles blinked his surprise. “How much—”

“We’ll talk about that later, yeah? You’re a man of principle. I don’ imagine you’ll cheat me out of a fee based on a sudden lack of desperation.”

The Watcher nodded absently. “Right. Well, Riley will be here to—”

Spike’s eyes widened. There was absolutely no way he was going to do anything or go anywhere with that stuck up wanker. If that was what the old man wanted, he had another thing coming. For this, he wanted nothing to do with the Scoobies. They could search their way; fine. He would search his way, and he would find her first. And there was no fucking way Riley Finn was going to be any part of that. “No,” he growled definitively. “I work alone.”

“We can’t—”

“I work alone or you’re on your bloody own, got it? I’m not sharin’ anythin’ with Captain Cardboard. If he’s so sodding sure he’s the man for the job, you wouldn’t’ve come here. ‘Sides, I told him everythin’ he’d need to know to find Vlad last night. Kinda stings, doesn’ it?” He sneered unpleasantly. “Had the enormous ponce listened to me, your girl would be snuggling up in her beddy-by tonight instead of enjoyin’ the company of vamps. I’m not goin’ out there with the wanker who’ll be responsible for her death if we can’t get to her in time. Don’ need you forgettin’ which one of us you need to hang from your gallows. I’m goin’ alone.”

Giles held his eyes for a long moment. “All right.”

“What?”

“All right. You’re right. Pairing you up with Riley for this would only incite more chaos than resolution.” He paused. “If you do find Buffy…if you bring her back to us…”

His voice trailed off, taking the rest of the sentence with it.

Imagining being indebted to a vampire wasn’t easy for those trained to hate them.

“I’ll bring her back, Rupert,” Spike replied softly. “Save the rest for then.”

The Watcher looked surprisingly grateful at that, and the vampire couldn’t blame him. It gave them both time to contemplate the invisible line that had been crossed. Their private Rubicon.

But he wouldn’t think about that now. He couldn’t. All he could think about was the Slayer. His Slayer.

And how to get her back.

To be continued in Chapter Three: To Conquer Death…
Chapter Three

To Conquer Death

There had never been hunger like this.

It began before she awoke—clawing at her insides, attacking her blood, parching her throat with a craving so innate, her wake knew only suffering. The blackness of the room offered nothing to quench her terrible thirst. Her surroundings were foreign; stark and cold in the midst of a lonely rouse. Every inch of her ached with newness coupled with strength. Strength beyond her knowledge, bound to her muscles, fused with her very essence.

Everything hurt. Her lungs rejected the air she gasped. Her eyes blinded with a barrage of color. She was deafened by every crick and creek that pierced the silence. And through it all, there was the hunger. The yearning. A need so inherent she wondered if she had ever known anything else; wondered if this terrible craving had been there all along.

Somewhere, though, the blackest part of her knew the truth.

There was nothing to grasp as she fell. A twist of bedsheets locked her legs and left her dangling over the side of her cushioned prison. The jerk of movement deepened the alien sensation spreading through her body until she was swallowed by the clutch of her worst fears realized. There was nothing but this—a sad reckoning with a new world that denied her peace. Denied her endless thirst a drink. Watched as she suffered a hunger so deep, it felt her body was collapsing into itself.

I’m dying.

Buffy choked a sob, wrestling her limbs free until she fell with finality to the floor at last. The impact sent sharp shards of foreign pain through her tender skin, but she bit her tongue before her anguish could know voice.

I’m dying.

Then it was okay, because he was there. An unspeakable outreach of serenity from where she knew only chaos. Buffy’s warring psyche calmed and the rage within her forfeited the battle. All was well. He was there, and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.

No. That’s not right.

“This is no dream,” Buffy gasped, her voice producing a sound akin to two dead leaves mating in an autumn wind. “This is really happening.”

“You have just awoken,” came the answer. The presence at the door was soothing and repulsive all in one stroke. Something within her rejoiced at the sight of him. Something that hadn’t been there before. Something she didn’t understand, and desperately needed to grasp. The dark power that loomed in his aura quelled the fury within, but the look in his eyes terrified her. There was power there. Power that hadn’t been there before.

Power that went beyond the thrall, and aimed solely for the kill.

Buffy struggled to her feet. “What…have you…you done to me?”

“You are feeling disoriented,” Dracula said obviously, running his eyes down the length of her scantily clad self. She doubted she could have felt more naked if she decided to strip out of the negligee that she had somehow donned through the night.

Had he dressed her like this?

She didn’t care to examine that possibility. She just needed to get out.

Preferably now.

“What did you do to me?” Her mind was spinning again; the room distorting in a haze of dark colors. “You…did you drug me?” She didn’t realize that she was holding onto the dresser until the wood beneath her fingers cracked and crumpled into a handful of splinters. “Oh my God.”

“It is frightening at first,” the Count acknowledged. “Most newly risen vampires overcome the disorientation quickly. Most have to claw through the soil toward the night.” He gestured to the window. “I brought the night to you, my lovely. Calm yourself. The worst will be over soon.”

The room was suddenly very cold.

“Newly…risen?” Tears welled in her eyes. “Newly…I…you…what did you do to me?”

“I made you as I am. I gave you new life.”

“You…you…you turned me?” A strangled cry tore through her lips, a hand flying to her chest, desperate for the reassuring thump of her heart. The heart that had beat for her for nineteen years. The heart that had strengthened through victory and suffered more ache than any girl her age should ever know.

The heart that beat no longer.

She was dead. She was really dead.

“Oh my God.” Buffy collapsed again, tears clutching her throat, her body rejecting the air she tried desperately to give it. “Oh my God! You bastard! How could you do this to me? How could you, you—”

“I gave you life,” Dracula repeated, his voice a mimic of a petulant child just discovering what actions merited discipline and what didn’t. “I immortalized you.”

“You bastard! You’ve killed me! You’ve killed me!”

“I made you the way I am. I made you into a huntress in form as well as title.” He cocked his head. “This is different. Why do you resist me?”

“You made me a vampire!”

“I made you into what you are destined to be. You are mine now. For now and always.” Dracula smiled and moved forward. “A rare stream of sunshine in my world of darkness. You are mine.”

No. If there was anything worse than being a vampire, it was being his.

“I am not yours,” Buffy all but growled. She felt the bones in her muscles shift, a sharp shard of pain shooting through her body as her fangs descended and her bumpies emerged for the first time. “You’ve killed me. You understand that? You killed me! I am anything but yours. I will never be yours. I hate you!” Her eyes fell to the discarded shafts of wood that she had broken from the dresser, her hands aching for the familiarity of a wooden stake. “I’ll kill you if you try to touch me.”

Kill you.

She flexed her wrist. The air was deafening with the sound of her unbeating heart.

Her heart that would never beat again.

Then myself.

If he was moved by her threat, the Count didn’t make it known. Rather, he smiled diplomatically and spread his hands. “I am your maker, my darling. I made you into what you are. You are mine. For now and for all eternity. Resisting me is fruitless. You are mine.” He stepped forward. “You need me.”

“You are the last thing I need.”

Dracula paused, his eyes narrowing. “It was not supposed to be this way,” he said, frowning. “You are unchanged.”

“No, I think I’m pretty well changed.”

“Your conscience…it remains.” He paused. “Your soul still lives within you. The demon should have killed it by now.”

“I think the demon’s probably more worried about the fact that I plan to kill it before it kills anything.” Buffy expelled a deep breath, biting back a cry at how it hurt to use her lungs. She couldn’t live like this. She wouldn’t. Soul or no soul, she wouldn’t allow herself to exist in this state of nonliving.

He had killed her body. She would do the rest.

Right after she saw his dust collect on the ground.

“You are confused,” Dracula said, holding out a hand. “You need to feed.”

Buffy was quite sure she felt her stomach turn. She’d been the Slayer for too long to mistake his meaning. The thought of blood was too nauseating for words; the way her body reacted, though, disgusted her the most. “If you even try to make me…feed…I will end you.”

Her sire smiled. “Such a vibrant woman,” he said appraisingly. “Give it time. You will come to love it here.”

“Here?”

“With me.”

The lengthy silence that settled between them made her skin crawl. With him. Did he honestly believe she was going to bow to his every whim? Sit back and let him have her?

“Perhaps I spoke too soon,” Dracula said a minute later. “We will not be staying here. The Hellmouth…it is too crowded with demons that would not appreciate you. What you are.” He was within inches of her now, seemingly unconcerned for the way her eyes continuously flashed to the makeshift stakes at her feet. As though he had every confidence that she would not be able to go through with it, even when so thoroughly provoked. “We will return to my home, yes? I will lavish you with everything a woman of your nature could ever want.”

Buffy recoiled in horror. “No.”

“Why do you resist me?”

“Gee, let’s think!”

“You want this,” he replied, unbothered.

“No, I really, really don’t. I don’t want anything from you.” Rivers were streaking down her face. “You’ve killed me.”

“Mia cara,” he cooed soothingly. “It will get better, yes? You are a vision of perfection. A creature of the night. You could grow to love me just a little, don’t you think?” He palmed her cheek almost reverently, thumb flickering at her tears. “I will show you things no other man has ever dreamed of. Not even…” His fingers skimmed down her throat, resting over Angel’s bite mark. “…him.”

God, it was happening again. That slipping sense of self. His commanding power over her shook her foundation. Even now; her body trembling with rage and devastating grief, and he wheedled into her psyche, defusing her effortlessly with nothing more than the draw of his eyes.

“I don’t…” she heard herself saying. As though she was watching a picture show; unable to do anything but stand aside and say the things that her sire wanted her to say. He had something over her—she knew that from last night. Knew that was the way he had lured her into his clutches.

He came with the appearance of wanting her. He didn’t.

He wanted the puppet his powers made her.

Buffy wanted so badly to shove a stake through his heart. There were plenty scattered on the floor. All she had to do was draw herself away from his eyes, enact her Slayer agility, and be done with it.

Please God, give me strength.

She released a long breath. Her chest ached at the exertion. Everything ached.

Please.

“You won’t do it.”

He was still staring at her, and she was still staring back. And he saw what she was thinking.

“That just goes to show how much you really don’t know me,” she returned coldly.

Dracula offered a curious smile. “I know you, my queen. What I don’t know, I will.” He ran a hand down her arm, coaxing a trail of gooseflesh to follow its lead. “I will know you. I will know every inch of you.”

God no. Please no.

She would never give him that.

The stake would find itself in her chest if not his.

“For this,” her sire said, fingers finding the strap of her negligee. “We will wait. Yes, I think you should love me just a little before I take you.”

“You’re in for quite a wait.”

This did not seem to bother him. “All we have is time, my love.”

The term of endearment made her skin crawl.

Grab a stake. Have it over with.

Her arms remained immobile. She was seconds away from breaking all over again.

“You can’t do this,” she said, her voice filled with all the conviction her body wasn’t conveying. For everything she couldn’t do with actions and everything she could with words. “You can’t keep me prisoner and force me to love you.”

“I am quite confident that force will not be necessary.”

I’m going to see you in all kinds of pain before this is over.

Something dark flared within her. Something that would have terrified her were she not standing in the face of an adversary that had brought her deepest nightmare to life. Something squirming within her, clawing at the shattered remains of everything she had been just hours ago. Something that demanded release so that it might reign destruction.

“We will not worry about such things right now,” Dracula decided. “Now, you must feed.”

Her insides stormed with a resurgence of fury. “Funny, this sounds just like something you said a few minutes ago. Maybe you didn’t understand…you try to feed me, and I’ll castrate you. I’ll gut you. I’ll gouge your eyes and shove a stake through your chest, just centimeters above your heart so that every time you move, you know the true meaning of a brush with death.”

The Count merely maintained his odd little smile and leaned forward, brushing a repugnant kiss across her forehead. “Such fury,” he murmured with reverence. “Such dark beauty. Oh yes. I will love you well.”

Buffy flexed her hands, screaming orders that went ignored. Her body wasn’t listening to her. Her words were strong but there was a tremble of uncertainty that she couldn’t help but betray. She was in far over her head, and they both knew it.

She was in a world she didn’t understand, and she wasn’t waking up.

“My friends will find me,” she said. “They won’t stop looking.”

“You are beyond them now, my sweet.”

“They will find me.”

“There will be nothing to find,” he replied easily. “We’ll be gone before they even think to come here.”

Buffy drew in another breath, nearly unaware of the tears that were spilling over her eyes. There was nothing else. Reality at its finest, and there was nothing else. She was really here. This was all really happening. Dracula had her at his mercy. He had done something to her that she had feared every day since she was called to her duty. Something that haunted her dreams even when she kept them to herself.

Prophetic dreams.

God no. This couldn’t be it.

“Please,” she heard herself whisper. “God, please. Don’t do this to me. Please.”

He frowned. “You will come to love me.”

“No, I really won’t.”

“I will wait until you do. And until then, there is so much to teach you.” He smiled and moved back. “I will bring you something warm to dine upon, yes? Your first kill should be the sweetest. An initiation into your new life.”

“I’m not killing anyone.”

Still, he appeared smug and unworried. Near the door now, lingering outside her domestic prison. Giving her a view of the barrier outside this place in which he had captured her. “We will see,” he retorted. “Once the hunger strikes you, you will not be able to resist.”

A muffled sob scratched at her throat.

Oh please. Let me die before I hurt anyone. Please.

“My friends…” she heard herself saying. “They will come for me.”

Dracula paused at last, cocking his head to the side as though considering this for the first time.

Then, “There is no one capable enough of penetrating this fortress. Your friends are human. My people are not. If any should try, they would be killed.” Another meaningful pause. “You should hope, then, that they don’t come for you, yes? That would be most…unfortunate.”

The door closed with a definitive click and the twist of a lock. A lock that would not keep her. A lock that was for show. A lock that would scream her release if she crashed through the door, and send Dracula and his others to stop her from escaping.

And Buffy fell to her knees.

Oh god oh god oh god.

She had to get out. There was nothing but that. She had to get out.

Because he was right. There were more vampires in his residence than just the two of them. She could feel them by simply being. Sitting where she was, doing nothing but existing.

She felt the power in this place. Any attempt by her friends to recover her would be met with messy death.

There was no one.

Her nightmare had only begun.

*~*~*

Spike had been staring at the castle for the better of an hour. Contemplating. Considering. Doing his best to contain himself from declaring an all out war on his former nemesis. The vampire that had dared storm into his town and take his Slayer away. The vampire that had her now.

Buffy was in there. He felt her. Smelled her blood. Sensed her fear.

Felt her through means that rightly terrified him.

He had to get her out. He didn’t know how or why; only that she was in there, and he was her only ticket to freedom. If the Scoobies got involved, they would get her killed—and likely themselves in the process. Right now, she was alive. Torn in that gray area that tugged her between life and death.

An area he knew all too well.

Spike drew in a sharp breath, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out beneath his heavy foot.

It couldn’t mean what he thought it meant. It bloody well couldn’t.

With as much as he thought he hated Buffy, he would never wish his lonely existence upon her. She was light and warmth; beauty and glory. To rob her of sunlight would be a worse crime than any of the bloodbaths coloring endless red across his past.

He felt her, though. Caught in the stage between life and death.

It couldn’t mean the worst, though. He wouldn’t let it.

He would get her out.

And Dracula would taste dust for touching her.
Chapter Four

Return To Me Salvation

In a hundred and forty years, he had never known such a night.

The castle looked as though it had enjoyed five centuries of aging. It sat majestically, bathed in the soft glow of the fuzzy moonlight as the magnificent orb in the sky peeped in and out of its cloudy veil. Spike had been staring at the moon for about a half hour, blowing pillars of smoke into the sky as he considered the decades that didn’t seem so long ago; those short years when the huge rock had been the quest of every major power in the world.

An unobtainable query, once upon a time. The stuff the biggest dreams of the day were made of. He remembered begrudgingly three or four poems he had dedicated to the glory of the moon when he became enraptured with the enigmatic beauty in his latter teen years. It had been so far away. So untouchable. Such a plethora of mystery.

That was a good hundred years before Neil Armstrong uttered the famous words and became immortalized among American heroes.

He didn’t know when Buffy had become the moon for him. Untouchable. A plethora of mystery. Something worth risking everything to save. The Slayer; she was one of thousands in a long line of succession, and there would be thousands more after she was gone. He had tasted the lifeline of two Slayers. He had rejoiced in their death and bathed in their blood, and ever since he arrived in Sunnydale, he had been anticipating the day that he drank from this particular Slayer’s royal fountain.

He couldn’t remember when his loathing for Buffy changed into something else. When his hatred for her softened with tender admiration. When the cheeky girl had wormed her way into his heart.

She was his match. Of every slayer he had ever hunted, of the two he had killed, of even Drusilla and the few vampire floozies he had bedded since the fall of his once great love…there was none that could have ever come close to being his equal as Buffy did.

The last thing he wanted to do was put a name to the confused emotions he felt for the girl. The things he had safely ignored until Giles barraged into his crypt and told him that Buffy was gone and Dracula was to blame. Dracula, who was more show than threat. Dracula who made up for what he lacked in strength with persuasion and magic tricks.

Buffy was out of his reach. He was so close, but he could not touch her. He felt her inside the walls of the castle. Felt her presence as fiercely as though she was standing right before him. He could nearly taste her. Could nearly smell her hair. That rich Slayer musk that drove him out of his mind whenever she was near.

Spike expelled a deep, exasperated breath and tossed his fag to the ground, stamping its light out beneath his boot. The grass was accumulating an impressive collection of discarded ciggies—a testament to how long he had been waiting outside the castle, waiting for a brilliant plan to strike. Sad fact was, there was none. Dracula never traveled alone. Even if he didn’t feel the unmistakable presence of several vampires within the fortress, the Count’s liking for a posse was almost as notorious as the demon in questions.

If he took a step with the intent of knocking down the walls, snatching the Slayer, and making a quick getaway, he risked ending her here and now. If Dracula thought he was being threatened personally, he would slaughter Buffy and be out of town before anyone could hope to touch him.

And even if he didn’t slaughter Buffy, there was absolutely no way he would leave her behind.

Vampires had an incredibly potent sense of self and awareness for others. Dracula would know if the waters surrounding his citadel became dangerous. He would know if the cavalry was coming.

Spike was captured in a vicious cycle. The longer he waited, the slimmer his window of opportunity became. If he tried to get in now, he endangered the Slayer’s life or any hope of getting to her before she was beyond their reach. The Scoobies wouldn’t understand that. Moreover, with warm, fresh blood pumping their veins, they were walking beacons for the undead.

But God, waiting outside was against every instinctive nerve in his body. Buffy was out of his reach. He had to get to her now before all was lost. Before she was lost forever.

In that instant, he was so close to forgoing all else and storming the damn place that his feet started carrying him toward the fortress before he realized what he was doing. Buffy’s tug on him was stronger than he could have ever fathomed; such that he was nearly willing to cast all else aside and forfeit whatever was left to his name to get her out. And fuck if he knew why. He didn’t. He had no idea.

He had no idea why rescuing Buffy was suddenly so important to him.

That bothered him more than anything. Buffy was the Slayer. She had been his enemy since the moment she was born. Since the moment the Powers That Be selected her to become what she was destined to become. From the moment he had plowed over the Sunnydale sign, he had known his destiny was directly related with the Slayer’s. Buffy over any Slayer he had faced, or would ever face. He had lost track of the times he had tried to kill her. He had lost track of the times she had tried to kill him. How many times they had come to an impasse for their inability to get past the fighting and go directly for the ugly death.

Now Buffy was in actual danger of dying. She was strained in the gray behind the white of life and the black of death. He had to get to her before the light turned dark forever.

And bloody hell, he didn’t know what he would do with himself if that happened. The strain he had always placed on himself to maintain distance between his query and his own ethics was wavering. When Buffy Summers had ceased being his next big kill and begun down a venue of her own, he didn’t know. But she had.

And if she died inside Dracula’s castle, a part of him would die with her.

The largest part.

He would never forgive Riley Finn for putting him in his position. For bringing feelings he wasn’t ready to have front and center. For shedding light on something he had known for a long time, and taking her away before he had a chance to explore the wondrous sensation of feeling like this again. Feeling warmth where there had only been cold. Feeling light where he had so long been in the dark.

Drusilla had been all dark. Spike didn’t know when his feelings for his once dark princess had begun slipping into something that no longer resembled love. Something twisted and unrecognizable. A vaguely fluffy feeling for the woman he had been with for a century.

The fact that Buffy Summers had all but taken her place in his heart terrified him.

The fact that it had taken something like this to snap him from his denial left his insides quivering with dread.

He had no idea when it all had changed. But Rupert had made him aware of it.

For now, there was nothing. He couldn’t stand out here all night and hope to be stricken with divine inspiration. The longer he waited, the more Buffy slipped away from him. The more danger he put her in.

He had no idea how to pull off a great escape, but he was determined to do it. If he had to look up whatever demon Houdini had sold his soul to, he would do it. But not like this; not without an idea of how to get in and out without endangering Buffy or losing the one chance he had to get her out.

Spike released a long sigh. Turn around. You’re not doin’ her any good here.

Walking away from Dracula’s castle that night was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. But there was no other option. Not right now.

He had about eight hours to figure out how to get her to safety. After that, he would keep trying, but he feared his options would have dwindled to mere happenstance of luck. Still, he had to leave now before Dracula called his bluff and ended all before he stood half a chance.

Spike had never been much for plans. Sitting down and thinking out something for the better of himself simply was not his forte; when others were involved, others he cared about, he tended to get in over his head and forfeit the high ground. He recalled vividly the last time he’d visited Los Angeles. Angel had something he wanted, which wasn’t thoroughly unbelievable, and he had sworn to himself that he would take back what was rightfully his. Just as he had sworn that going to Buffy during the reign of Angelus was the only sure way to attract Drusilla away from her Daddy. Just as he had thought coming back to Sunnydale to kill the Slayer so many times would actually get anything accomplished. Every plan he had ever concocted had been foiled or abandoned, though for the first time in a long, long time, he was terrified of the results. Of what it could mean. What he could lose in turn.

He needed something that wouldn’t fall through.

Something that wouldn’t get Buffy killed.

He was so unbelievably outraged at Riley Finn’s gall; he was half-tempted to let the enormous football player know exactly how well the Initiative chip was working.

Just how much pain he could inflict before his brains started leaking out of his head.

Perhaps he could find Harmony and send her in to distract the ego-stricken master vampire. An empty smile tugged at his lips. The bint was so out of her bloody head; she wouldn’t know what to do with herself in front of such notoriety. On the plus side, she might serve in confusing the Count to the point that he let his guard down.

Spike couldn’t be sure of anything anymore.

Only that he had so much time to figure out what he was going to do.

He heaved a sigh and plucked out another cigarette, striding long, heavy steps in the familiar direction of his crypt.

An hour. He would be back in an hour.

And he hoped to whatever was out there that he would have an idea on how to proceed. How to get her out. Alive.

He had an hour.

*~*~*

The last thing he needed in order to maintain even a sliver of sanity was to see the face of Riley Finn. But there he was, waiting outside his crypt, a look of severe displeasure coloring the overgrown dolt’s features. As though the past twenty four hours hadn’t occurred, and the conversation that could have easily saved Buffy’s life had never happened.

Something cold shivered down his spine.

He couldn’t allow himself to consider Buffy’s life as beyond his reach. That sort of thinking would shove her firmly from the gray into the black, and she would be lost to him forever.

Though there was that small voice that warned him the line had already been crossed. That by the time he got inside Dracula’s fortress, he would find nothing but a cooling body with golden hair and smooth, near-flawless skin.

And it would be entirely Finn’s fault.

From the look in his eyes, Riley didn’t see it quite that way.

“You know, mate,” Spike drawled. “This might be the firs’ time you’ve respected my privacy enough to wait outside my home for an invitation.”

“I was about to kick the door open and I heard you coming up.”

“Ah, well there goes that, then.”

“I want to know what the hell you’re playing at.”

The vampire blinked. “’m sorry, me?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Giles says that you’re not in on this, but me…I’m not so sure.”

Spike snickered, huffing out another cloud of smoke. “Well, that’s because you’re a wanker an’ you need to learn that there’s not always a conspiracy theory to blame everything on. Especially things that make much more sense when they’re blamed on you.”

“You have something to say to me?”

His eyes darkened. “Many, many things.”

“Well, I don’t—”

“The bloody number of things you don’t would be enough to run a sodding Dateline special,” he growled. “Lemme guess…you’re here to express your dissatisfaction with the fact that Rupert came to me instead of you to find your girl.”

“My girl. Let’s remember that.”

“Yeh, I’m sure the Slayer’d love to learn that she’s been reduced to the likes of drinks an’ stereos an’ other earthly possessions.” He shook his head. “How you ever managed to dupe the poor girl into sharin’ your bed is bloody well beyond me. You let her see this side of you when no one else is lookin’? She know how you get your rocks off by bullyin’ around others, one in particular that you personally saw incapable of fightin’ back? Fuck me; I never thought her taste in men could get worse after Peaches. Guess it’s nice to be proven wrong every now an’ then.”

“Angel has nothing to do with this.”

Spike chuckled. “Ooh, does someone have an inferiority complex?”

“Shut up.”

“I never thought there’d be a bloke I’d hate more than I do my ponce of a grandsire, but I’ll say this for Angelus: he has stones. He’s been at both ends of an apocalypse more times than you’ve gotten laid, an’ he makes it worthwhile.”

“I’m sure you’d know this personally.”

A small, ironic smile crossed the vampire’s face. “Yeh, that’s how the big boys take it, right? Accuse everyone of bein’ a poofter to avert attention from their own drastic lack of masculinity. Sorry, but I don’t know it personally. Well, not personally, personally, but I do have an in with pretty much every bird the enormous ponce has ever shagged. Darla stuck with him for two centuries; Dru carried a torch for him for a soddin’ generation. An’ as someone who had to witness the star-crossed lovers an’ their endless soap opera a couple years back, I can tell you, your girl doesn’ work herself up nearly as much over you as she did for him.”

When the blow came, it was expected. The meaty fist smashed into his cheek, sending the peroxide blonde into the nearest headstone with more force than even he would accredit the former soldier. The impact tore his skin and sent a trickle of cold blood down his face, but the pain was minimal compared to the satisfaction he had indulged with the verbal toss.

“Yeh,” Spike drawled, wiping his blood away. “You’re the poster boy for moral values.”

“So says he who doesn’t know the meaning of the term.”

“Watch how you speak to your elders, boy.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

The vampire laughed again, shaking his head. “You’re bloody unbelievable.”

“Well, thanks, I try.”

“Problem is, mate, you’re makin’ this personal. All I’m tryin’ to do is get the Slayer back in one piece instead of fifty.”

“You’re not a person. It can’t be personal.”

“I could say the same about you. I’m a vampire. I’m soulless. I don’ come with a conscience. What’s your bloody excuse?”

Riley stepped forward, glowering dangerously. “What exactly are you implying?”

“You made the fumble an’ you’re lookin’ for someone to blame.”

“What—”

Spike’s eyes flared and he cast his half-smoked cigarette to the ground in a flash of fury. “I bloody well gave you everythin’ you needed to avoid this, White Bread.”

“You told me nothing! I asked you if I should check out mansions and—”

“I told you to go home to your girl. Somethin’ you obviously had a problem with. An’ as much as you’re hopin’, pointin’ fingers at me’s not gonna get her back.” He shook his head again. “She’s gone an’ it’s your fault.”

“You had something to do with it, I know it.”

“Do you listen to yourself when you talk, or do you drift in an’ out?”

“I swear—”

Spike spread his arms. “What in God’s name would I have to gain for helpin’ Drac? Do you know what the wanker does to the girlies he pursues? You don’ fuck with sired Slayers. No one wins from that.”

“And you honestly expect me to believe that Dracula doesn’t know about Slayers?”

“You gotta understand the thing about him; tall, dark, an’ deadly…not too much with the smarts. Buffy’s the firs’ Slayer he’s ever had the gall to go after. His usual bird is small an’ frail an’ too fixed on her place in society to worry about things like intelligence.” He quirked a brow. “So far, does this bloke sound like the type to do his research?”

“Oh, and I suppose you did?”

“You’re damn right I did. I didn’t meet a slayer for fifteen years after I firs’ heard of them. The firs’ one I killed came three years later. You’re for bloody sure I did my homework.” A condescending chuckle erupted through his lips. “Slayers are the only things in this bloody world that demons have left to fear, besides each other. You honestly think a newbie vamp would go after her without knowin’ exactly what he’s gettin’ into? You’re off your bird.”

“Then why wouldn’t Dracula?”

“Because he’s not a newbie vamp. He thinks he’s learned everything there is to learn.” Spike expelled a deep breath and cast a hand through his peroxide locks. “’m not nearly as stupid as you’d like me to be, boy. You wanna learn yourself the goods on slayers, you come to me. I’ve done nothin’ but follow the sacred line since I firs’ heard tale. There’s no one who knows it better.”

“No.”

“No? You really wanna argue with me ‘bout this?”

“No. I mean, you’re just as stupid as I’d like you to be.” A pause. “Just not in this.”

It wasn’t an apology or even an acknowledgment, but it was something. And it was as far, Spike wagered, as he and Captain Cardboard would ever get with civility. Either way, time was running out, and he had yet to conjure a suitable plan that did not involve storming a castle and becoming a pile of dust.

“You better toddle off,” he said. “Slayer’s still out there. I’m sure she won’t be too mightily pleased when she learns her super honey decided to talk up all the reasons he thinks he’s better than me instead of comin’ to her gallant rescue.”

That seemed to strike a nerve, and for a minute he thought the soldier was going to waste more time by scolding him on points that mattered for absolute shit while the Slayer’s life dangled in the balance. It made him wonder, though he figured Riley was likely suppressing. It couldn’t be simple, knowing you were the reason your girlfriend was in the clutches of the world’s most notorious vampire.

“Yeah, well…yeah.” Riley started past him at that, not meeting his eyes. “I still have the north side of town to hit. I just…I wanted to know if you knew anything.”

“Accordin’ to you, that’s impossible.”

“Just let us know if you get word, okay?”

You’re the last person I’m goin’ to when I get her out.

“Yeh,” Spike agreed. It was easier than the other. “Right.”

And then the door to his crypt was between them, and that was that. He was in the cool seclusion of his home, left to himself once more. Left to the reminder that Buffy was gone and he was her only hope; time was now more a factor than ever.

He was left to darkness.

Only…he wasn’t alone.

He was anything but alone.

It came slowly at first. A steady sense of recognition that came at the expense of shoving established boundaries aside. Something was different here. Something had changed. It was a presence he knew painfully well; a presence that struck both a terrible fear and the most overwhelming sense of relief through his worn body. There was blood. That unmistakable scent of the essence of the undead. She was here; stretched between thin lines of life and death. She was here.

Oh God.

“Oh God,” Spike gasped, freezing at the entry.

No. Please no.

But she was there. He saw her. She was standing in the middle of the room, her back to him. And she was as still as death.

“Buffy.”

Chapter Five

The Skies Are Falling

Every time she opened her eyes, he was still there.

She prayed, too. Prayed to a god that had stopped answering her prayers years ago. A god she had never truly allowed herself to believe in. A god that she was almost certain had been killed by society that very first day of true civilization. But once more, her pleas went unanswered, and she was left staring down at a dead man.

She could smell his blood from across the room. She knew exactly how warm it was. How desperately her body craved it. How good it would taste if she only gave in.

The smell was intoxicating. And he had no broken skin.

A dead man Dracula had brought her. A nameless nobody, who’d lived in Sunnydale, and had been alive only a while ago. He had been killed because of her. Because she needed to feed. Because she was a vampire.

She was so cold. Her veins were frozen. Her heart didn’t beat. Her lungs didn’t breathe. And she was so hungry.

She needed warmth.

The dead man was losing warmth. Every second that she denied herself, the more warmth he lost. The colder he became.

Soon, he would be just as dead as her, only better off for it.

She recalled the way her slayees would often gaze at her throat with hungry longing. She had long thought it was merely like averting one’s eyes from a buffet, and that vampires too often focused on the drive of their hunger to enhance the motivation for the kill. She remembered the day she had taunted Spike while he was chained in Giles’s tub, running her fingers up and down the column of her neck to showcase exactly what he needed and would never have.

She hated herself richly for that. For ever mocking this hunger.

The man across the room was dead. The thrum of his pulse was not even there to tempt her; only the smell of his chilling blood. Blood encased in pale skin, waiting for her taste.

This hunger that would not leave her.

This hunger that scratched at her insides, demanding to be quenched.

Tears raked her cheeks. She had no conception of how much time had passed. How long Dracula had kept her here. Distantly, she was more than aware that she had the strength to break free, but for reasons beyond understanding, her muscles felt newborn and feeble.

She had the terrible suspicion that that was something easily remedied by giving in. By succumbing to her darker nature, and drinking the dead man while his blood was still fresh.

She had seen vampires crawl out of their graves, surging with new strength.

She had the strength. It just wasn’t working for her now.

Willpower.

Perhaps willpower had something to do about it. Perhaps she had forfeited the will to continue, simply by becoming what had been forced upon her.

Perhaps.

The dead man was still staring at her. And her hunger wasn’t going anywhere.

Buffy released a choked sob, tossing the mirror a glance. Nothing stared back.

I am not the Slayer anymore.

She felt the bones in her face shift. Felt the change spread through her. Felt the stab of hunger intensify. Every inch of her ached. Her fangs craved flesh. Her body craved the life that had been denied her. That richness that pumped through the veins of others. She thought of all the times she had complained about her growling stomach for things so ridiculously foolish. Thought of how her mouth used to water at the idea of chicken parmesan and slices of greasy pizza. How warm food seemed repugnant to her now. Now when she was starving for something her fangs promised would be much sweeter.

Buffy crawled to her feet and approached the dead man tentatively.

She had to get past him and into the hallway. She had to break free.

If Dracula tried to stop her, she would force him to end her existence. She would not become a thing. A creature of the night. Something to be hunted. Something she had been born to kill. She would not.

The dead man was staring.

It was like falling very fast and knowing what waited at the bottom. She saw herself falling and could not stop it. Saw herself from a distance and could do nothing. A foreign roar tore through her throat, and the next minute, pure ambrosia flooded her mouth. It was mild—not warm, but not cold. Sticky. And delicious. She slurped everything his neck would give her hungrily, fangs ripping through dead flesh, fingers clawing at him to draw more of his precious essence to the surface.

It was only when she caught herself licking the fingers of one hand while the other dug into the dead man’s belly that she recoiled in horror. Stunned realization. Blood covered the floor around her. Her skin was smeared with red. There was a moist sensation painted around her mouth. The aftertaste stung her tongue. Filled her system. Purified her confusion but presented her with all new anguish.

“Oh God,” she gasped, tearing away from him. “Oh my God.”

The dead man’s eyes had turned accusatory, the frozen look of horror on his face now crying out in pain.

“Oh God!”

Dracula had known this would happen. He had put the dead man right in front of the door because he had known she would try to leave, and that she couldn’t leave without succumbing to the scent of fresh blood. He had known that, and he had placed the dead man right there so that she would fall to her knees and drink everything his cooling body had to offer.

He had made her drink.

A flash of outrage spread through her body, tapping into her pain. The blood remained defiantly sweet; the blood pouring still from the dead man tempting her mouth for a second helping. She could feel its strength pumping through her. Feel it empowering her muscles; enhancing her senses to the point where every creak in the room was nearly deafening. Every scent was overwhelming. Every color shone with such vibrancy that it all but blinded her.

She could feel everything in the castle. Dracula. His cronies. Vampire women pleasuring vampire men. And someone was outside. Outside the fortress, watching over her. Someone was watching her. She felt it.

Someone was here.

Someone was here for her, and she knew it. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she knew it.

And she knew who.

More over, Dracula knew he was there, too. The connection she felt with her sire was powerful; more so now, with fresh blood flooding her system, than ever. She felt her maker’s outrage. The potency of his wrath. He was going to kill Spike, and he was going to do it now.

He was going to kill the one who was there to help her.

Buffy sprang to her feet and shot for the door, all but ripping it from its hinges in the heat of her anguished fury. The clamor of nuts and bolts scattered along the floor, covered in fresh sawdust and splinters. A chunk of wood found its way into her hand, and she bolted down the hallway with hell on her heels.

She wasn’t going to let Dracula kill the one that was there to help her. She would wonder about the how’s and why’s of Spike’s presence later. How she knew he was there. How she knew it was for her. Why he would even care that she had been kidnapped by the notorious vampire, she didn’t know. But she would not sit here and do nothing as her sire attacked the one that was here to help.

Not after all he had taken from her.

With fresh blood coursing through her dead body, she would see him dust now. Now or never.

He would know the fury of a sired Slayer.

And die begging her for forgiveness.

*~*~*

The castle was dead.

Buffy sat on the floor of the foyer, staring at the stake that rested in her blood smeared hands. Every breath she stole tasted of dust. Every tear she shed born for the monster raging her insides. A part of her had died. She had thrust the wood through Dracula’s chest, and everything within her had fallen in the most agonizing mourning she had ever known. Something within her screamed for mercy. Wailed for the sire that had breathed life into her after having torn it away from her. She felt she was bleeding to death from the inside, but death would not come. Death had already been given to her, and the one person she needed was now gone, at the treacherous turn of her own hand.

Spike was gone, too. She didn’t know why or to where; if he had abandoned her or not. All she knew was, she couldn’t have done this without him and survived.

Every vampire in the building had been distracted by his presence. By the time she unleashed her rage, it was too late to stop her. She had watched herself from far away—a torn, tattered girl who wore a familiar face and a blood-smeared nightie, fighting her way through those who were now her kinsmen. Thrusting a stake through the surprised eyes of her sire, and sinking to the ground over his ashes, haunted by the betrayal that had flashed across his face before he dissolved into nothing.

He had killed her, but it was only now she was dying.

Her sire was gone.

“No.” She was quivering and lost, but she was not defeated. Not for this. “It’s not supposed to be like this.”

Dracula had killed her, and she had killed him. She had killed him and everything else in this castle of sin. She was the Slayer; that was what she did. She killed vampires.

I have to get out of here.

There was no one stopping her anymore. She was free. Her own bloodbath had seen to that.

But there was nowhere to run. She couldn’t go home. She couldn’t go to Giles’s, or turn to her friends. Not like this. The thirst was already coming back, and she wouldn’t have happen to them what had happened to the dead man. She would not kill anyone; she would not become a threat to her friends. Her own vow to end her existence rang empty now, as she was so terrified of the death that waited beyond this.

To die again…

Nowhere to go.

She was a vampire. She couldn’t turn to her friends. Not while they pumped fresh blood. Not while her fangs craved everything that moved. Not for how she knew they hated vampires.

Giles would weep. Willow would fix her with magic. Xander would shut her out. Riley would stake her.

She couldn’t turn to them.

There is someone.

Spike had been here earlier. Spike was a vampire. Spike was her vampire.

Spike would understand.

She had to get to Spike.

Buffy released a deep breath, whimpering at the pressure that all but crushed her chest. Can’t breathe.

Spike breathed. Spike was around them all the time. Spike had to restrain his hunger. Spike would help her. He had been here to help her, and he would help her now. He would. He had to. He could teach her what she needed. He could make the pain go away.

And if he wouldn’t, she could at least ask him to stake her. He would have no qualms in that.

She would use the sewers. Spike used them often to navigate through Sunnydale; to turn up wherever she was in some unending quest to pester her. Now, she could not have been more grateful. The sewers would lead her to Spike. His scent would be potent. She would find him.

And safely bypass any chance of meeting a person on the outside.

Any chance of hurting someone, and starting down a path she would never recover from.

She would get to Spike.

And pray that he would help.

*~*~*

A strange sense of tranquility overwhelmed her the minute she crawled through the ground and into the soft sanctuary of Spike’s crypt. She knew the place was his, even if she had never been to the underground of his dwelling. There was a bed in the corner, a few random belongings scattered along the floor, and the scent of cigarettes polluted the air. It was comforting, though. Being here. In the home of another vampire; a vampire that she knew.

They were not friends, of course—they had never been that. Friendship was beyond them. A few days ago, they were enemies. Born enemies that occasionally helped each other out. An enemy she had taken for granted for the wealth of everything he had to offer. Now she was in his home, and the weight of his presence surrounding her now almost felt like home.

She would do whatever he wanted. She just needed to be here for a while.

It didn’t take much to locate the hatch that led to the upper level; the place she knew. It was empty, too, but she didn’t care. It was okay here.

Except there was someone outside. Someone who was not Spike.

Riley.

Buffy fought back the temptation to draw in a deep breath. She could smell his blood from here. The hunger burning her insides roared its need. In seconds, she was crying again, and she couldn’t look at the door.

Fresh blood. Warm blood. Live blood.

No, no, no. God no.

It didn’t last long. The presence she had felt so fiercely at the castle soared its reassurance just seconds later. Spike had arrived.

And he was angry.

They exchanged words. She listened as they argued. Listened without hearing what was said. She turned away from the door and wrapped her arms around herself, and waited for the storm to pass. Waited.

She felt the door open more than she heard it.

And seconds later, she heard his voice.

“Oh God,” he gasped, his voice making her tremble. There was emotion there that she had never heard before. Emotion she didn’t think he could express for her, especially with the way she had been. He had come for her. Was this emotion why? She didn’t know, and she no longer cared.

Then he said her name.

“Buffy.”

She turned slowly; suddenly aware that she was wearing the negligee that Dracula had dressed her in before she awoke. It hadn’t mattered before. Nothing had mattered before. She had just left. And now she was here, in his crypt, wearing next to nothing.

“Buffy…” Spike drew in a sharp breath and started for her cautiously. “Are you with me, kitten?” His eyes widened as he drew nearer. “God, what did he do to you?”

A shiver skated down her back. She was barely aware of how hard she was trembling. The way he was looking at her was enough to reduce anyone to tears. She had never fathomed anyone, much less someone who hated her, gazing upon her as though she was an angel fallen from the heavens.

He raised a tentative hand to caress her cheek. Whether he needed to familiarize her with touch, or simply reassure himself that she was not an apparition, she didn’t know. The feel of his skin against hers made her insides sing. It was the first time since turning that someone had really touched her without inspiring fear or revulsion. As though the sanctuary around her had manifested, and was here to reassure her that everything could still be all right.

“Buffy?” he asked softly. “C-can…it’s me. Can you—”

“Spike.”

Relief flooded his eyes. “You know me.”

She nodded, fighting sudden exhaustion. The promise of sanctuary gave her courage. She wanted to curl up and sleep away the next thousand years. “I know you. I had…there was nowhere else to go.”

“I was comin’ to get you. I was. I was there earlier. I jus’ had—”

Buffy shook her head. “He felt you. The house felt you. I felt you, too. You were there, and he was going to kill you. I killed him.” The words chased away her fatigue and penetrated her veil of security with the burden of guilt. Suddenly, it was all real. It was all too real. The dead man. The dust of her sire. The others of her line that she had slayed without prejudice. Something inside was broken. “I killed him. I killed him and ran. I ran here, because you were the way that I killed him. You helped me, and I killed him.”

Her voice was raw, nearly torn, and tears from nowhere flooded over her eyes.

Her dead sire. The thing that lived inside her screamed its outrage and inspired pain beyond pain. She needed solace so desperately, and Spike was the only one to offer it. Before she could stop herself, she threw her body into the mercy of his arms and unloaded the full of her sorrow into his shoulder, uncaring now if he rebuked her or not. Comforted her or not. Staked her or not. He was the way to peace, one way or another. She was certain of that if nothing else.

Why was anyone’s guess.

Buffy wasn’t truly prepared for his acceptance. He asked nothing of her. He let her weep for a long few minutes—running his hands through her hair, massaging her shoulders, simply allowing her to grieve. Asking nothing. There was no point to ask; she suspected he already knew.

When at last her cries subsided, he brushed a tender kiss across her forehead and scooped her into his arms. “Hush, little love,” he murmured. “Spike’s got you. It’s okay, now.”

His voice was so soothing. She could almost believe his words.

When he carried her downstairs, she didn’t know. Time and space moved, and she was on his bed in a blink. Spike was beside her; watching her with that anguished despair in his eyes that she did not understand. He was quiet for a long minute, then placed a gentle hand on her belly.

“Have you fed?” he asked softly.

The word chilled her, and she thought of the dead man.

“Yes.”

Spike froze for a minute, but nodded. His eyes dropped to her negligee. “Did he…dress you in this?” he demanded, fingering the flimsy strap.

Buffy shifted subconsciously and wrapped her arms around her middle. “Yes.”

A twisted curse tumbled from his mouth, and he leaned back to retrieve a blanket that was bunched at the headboard. “Here,” he said, draping the fabric over her shoulders. “I don’…Buffy, he din’t—”

She shivered. “No.”

His shoulders sagged in relief. “Oh thank God.”

Buffy stiffened. “God had nothing to do with it. I’m hurting all over. I’ve drank blood. He killed someone and I drank. And then I felt you were there, and they weren’t thinking of me. For the first time, they weren’t thinking of me. You’re the way I got out, Spike.”

“No—”

“If you hadn’t been there, he would’ve…” She choked back a sob. “He wanted me to love him. Be his queen. He said he would…he was going to make me…”

“He’s gone now, sweetling.”

“Then why do I hurt so much?”

Spike pursed his lips. “Because he made you. He’s your sire. He was part of you. Killing him meant…” He trailed off with a sigh. “The connection between vamps an’ their makers…’s one of the most potent ties in our world. Newly risen vamps rely on that connection, even if they never see their sire again. Killin’ him went against your demon. Your demon’s in mourning.”

Buffy nodded numbly, barely aware of the silent tears that still ran down her cheeks. “I…Spike, I have nothing. I have nowhere to go. I don’t know what to do. I need help.”

“I’m here,” he whispered.

“I feel so…”

“’S okay, precious. I’m here.”

“You’ll help me?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Even though you…you’ve wanted me dead for so long—”

“Not like this,” he said forcibly. “Never like this. You’re light. You’ve always been light. I’d never curse you to this. Never.” He shook his head. “I jus’ wish I’d’ve found it sooner. If I’d been there…”

“You couldn’t have done anything.”

“Ye of li’l faith.”

She shook her head. “It happened before anyone knew I was gone.” She shivered. “I can’t…I lost myself over the dead man, and he was already gone. What am I going to do? I don’t have a chip. I don’t have anything. Is the hunger always like this? Can I never go home? God, Spike, I’m so—”

His arms came around her, and he coaxed her head back to his shoulder with a soothing rumble of understanding. “Shhh. You don’ need a chip, pet. You already have everythin’ you need.” He placed a cautious hand over her unbeating heart and smiled kindly. “Here. Like Peaches, right?”

She paused. “I’m not like Angel.”

“Yeh. He, I’d’ve booted the minute I stepped inside.”

“You’re not like Angel, either.” She frowned as he went tense, and lifted her head. “I couldn’t have gone to Angel. He would’ve…he would have judged me. Said things…told me not to worry. That I am strong enough to deal with it, and I’m not. Not after…” She went quiet for a minute. “You’re the only one I could go to. You wouldn’t…be like him.”

With the way Dracula had continuously referenced Angel while she was his captive, there was no way she could even think of her once great love without flinching.

Something in Spike’s eyes had changed. He smiled only slightly and nodded his concurrence. “I’ll help you, Buffy. Whatever you need. It’ll be fine. You have my bloody word.” He paused and glanced to the head of the bed. “You need a good night’s rest now. Go ahead an’ curl up. I’ll take the floor, yeah?”

She smiled through her tears. “Thank you.”

“Anythin’ you need, you jus’ ask.” He nodded to the space beside the bed. “I’ll be right there.”

She was bereft when he moved away, but didn’t have the words to tell him.

He was already doing so much. Sharing his sanctuary. And she was so grateful.

There were no words to tell him how much. Not now.

Not now when she was broken.

To be continued in Chapter Six: Sound and Fury…
Chapter Six

Sound and Fury

The night was closing in on her, and there was nowhere to run. No air to breathe. No water to drink. No food to satisfy her hunger. She saw it all from far away, watching herself tear down empty corridors and scream for help that would never come. The walls were alight with torches, but she didn’t need them to see. Her eyes were made for darkness. It was what she was now. What she had become through the nothing that surrounded her.

A flash. He stood at the end of the corridor, his eyes heavy with sorrow.

You have killed me.

“I didn’t mean to,” she gasped, vision blurring with tears. “I needed out. You wouldn’t let me out!”

A curious smile spread across his lips.

You only needed to love me a little. I would have given you the world.

Something inside her was screaming for release. Clawing at her insides, ripping her apart. Yarn by yarn. She felt she had reached the lowest form of herself. Standing there in the empty hallway, gazing at her dead sire. The voice inside screamed for retribution; screamed for her own blood for his. That she turned the stake that had landed in her hands to her chest, and end her suffering before it consumed her.

This is not right. This is not the way of things.

Dracula had known dust because she willed it so. It was what she wanted. What she had needed to escape. The things he had told her had filled her with rage and disgust. And she had killed him, because that was what she did.

She killed vampires.

It did not matter that she was one.

The force within her screamed its outrage.

You ended me. Now you know pain.

She was bleeding from the inside, and she couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t see to stop it. The walls were closing in and there was no one. Even her sire had abandoned her. Dracula’s visage from the far end of the corridor disappeared. Dissolved into the pillar of dust she had wished upon him. The torches were going out.

She would be left in darkness.

She would be left alone.

*~*~*

Buffy awoke with a muffled scream, drowning in her tears.

The room around her was unfamiliar but comforting, and the air sounded with the most gruesome sound she had ever heard. A piercing, guttural wail that pained her ears, lashing undeviating marks into her heart. She couldn’t think. Her chest ached from the weight of the air her body told her she needed. A fact buried within necessity but lost with logic. She was breaking from the inside, and no one could help her. No one could take this pain away. It was there. It consumed her. It was all she was.

“Buffy. Buffy!”

Buffy shook her head. Someone was on the bed with her. Someone who had not been there before. Strong, soothing hands grasped her flailing wrists and coaxed her battling body from the mattress. She was suddenly encased in someone’s embrace; an unbeating heart pressed against hers. Matching hers.

She wrapped her arms around him, buried her face in his shoulder, and sobbed.

“Shhhh,” Spike murmured, running a hand through her hair. “’S’okay, sweetheart. You’re safe here.”

“It hurts,” she gasped against him. Her eyes were sore from crying. “It hurts so much. I can’t make it stop.”

“You had no choice. If you hadn’t killed him, you wouldn’t’ve gotten out.”

She didn’t even have to tell him what hurt. He knew. Somehow, he knew. And he was rocking her back and forth gently, encased in the security of his arms. She had no idea how Spike had become her haven, her comforter, but he had. He gave her peace even if she could not use it. The thing living inside her was in agony. Wretched, ugly agony, and she felt the weight of its anger. It made her bleed. Wounds that time had healed were open again.

“I can’t make the hurt stop,” she cried. “It’s eating me up. I can’t breathe.”

Spike brushed a tender kiss across her forehead. “You don’ need to breathe, baby,” he murmured. “It makes the hurt worse.”

His unbidden use of pet names was a source of strange comfort. She remembered when she hated them. Remembered shivering in what she had called disgust. Recalled the wealth of memories of that brief time when his mouth had been on her; when they were in love and getting married. A time that seemed closer now that the sanctuary he offered was around her again.

Logically, she knew his words were true. She just couldn’t get her body to listen to them.

“You breathe,” she replied, her sobs beginning to quiet.

“Mmm,” he murmured in agreement. “I’ve also been a vampire a lot longer than you, an’ my body knows it.” He was still rocking her gently; somehow, her legs had found their way around his waist, and she was in his lap. Her breasts were pressed flat against his chest. Something hard was pressed against the apex of her thighs, but she refused to allow her mind to wander.

Of course he would be aroused. She was in his lap. He was a guy. Case closed.

She wouldn’t think of how her body responded to him. She was emotionally unbalanced, and she wouldn’t allow her grief to overwhelm her control. She wouldn’t ask him to comfort her with sex, though she found it strange that the idea had even manifested.

He felt familiar, still. Again, she recalled their ill-fated engagement. How he had felt then. How he had given her bliss for just a few hours before the spell waned and she was herself again.

But she wouldn’t think about that.

“What does that mean?” she asked instead, her voice hoarse. “Your body knows it, but mine doesn’t?”

Spike shook his head. “’S the soul, sweetness,” he replied softly. “Sired Slayers keep their souls. The human soul isn’t s’posed to know what vampirism feels like. Why on bloody earth do you think Peaches spent the better part of the last century in the sodding gutter?”

“I always thought it was the guilt.”

His lips found her temple. “That was part of it,” he admitted. “Not the whole.”

“I feel so cold.” She shivered. “God, Spike, it hurts so much.”

“I know, kitten.” He brushed another kiss across her forehead. “I’d do anythin’ to make it better.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Why you’re here. Why you let me stay.” Buffy was trembling when she glanced up, eyes meeting his. He burned her with his gaze, melting away the cold. “Why you came after me. Was it…did Giles…he gave you money?”

Spike smiled warily. “He came by here,” he replied honestly. “He told me you were gone, an’ that Dracula was the one that had you. He asked me to go.”

“So you came after me because Giles wanted you to.”

“No.”

“Spike—”

“I came after you because I wanted to. Rupert offered me money, but I…” He released a breath and shuddered. “I din’t save you, Buffy. You got out yourself.”

“I got out because you were there.”

“Buffy—”

“You gave me what I needed to get out. I don’t know what it was, but it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been there.” The Slayer pressed her brow to his. It was so strange. She remembered hating him. She remembered it so clearly. She remembered wanting to stake him half a dozen times. She had bruised his body with her fists more times than she could imagine. She had done nothing to deserve his kindness, or want it when offered. She thought of herself; the shade of a girl that had been alive just two days before. The girl that had hated Spike with the prejudice of a slayer that hated all vampires.

There was no place right now that she would feel safer. Spike’s arms were around her. She was dressed in a skimpy negligee that showed more than it concealed, she was in the bed of her former enemy, and she was sitting on his erection. And it didn’t bother her.

Not at all.

Everything had changed. She didn’t want to be anywhere but where she was.

“You came for me and you don’t want the money?”

She felt him smile against her. “Never said I don’ want the money,” he replied. “’m jus’ not takin’ it.”

“Why?”

“Because I din’t save you.”

“You could say you did. I’d tell Giles to—”

“I don’t want money for savin’ you, Buffy. I never even…” Spike expelled a deep breath. “I went after you because I wanted to get you out. Because somethin’ happened to me when he told me that you were gone.”

“What happened?”

He froze. “I about lost my head.”

“Why?”

“Buffy—”

“You’re calling me by my name. You’re telling me that you came after me because you wanted to, and not for the money.” She drew back again. “You’re different. I’m not the only one here who’s different. You came after me. You hate me, Spike.”

A smile crossed his lips. “Not anymore.”

“What happened?”

“Dracula took you away.”

“And?”

His eyes flooded with that emotion that had crippled her when she had turned around upstairs. When their gazes had met, and he had known what happened. That she was a vampire. That she had come to him. He had known it all, and he hadn’t said a word.

He had just looked at her and broken her heart.

She didn’t know it was possible for people she didn’t love to break her heart.

“An’ my world about ended,” he said, and then glanced off with a heavy sigh. “You don’ need this right now, sweetheart. You don’ need to hear from me all the…all you need to know is that I’m here. An’ you can stay with me as long as you need.”

“I want to know.”

“Slayer—”

She smiled. “There it is.”

“I jus’—”

“I want to know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Why not?”

A mordant look crossed his face. “You won’ like me anymore.”

“What makes you think I like you now?”

There was something in his eyes that made the cold melt completely. And then there was only heat. “Oh, I don’t know,” he replied, thrusting his hips forward just a little so that his erection prodded the wet warmth between her legs. “Call it a hunch.”

“Spike…”

“Yeh. I think you might like me jus’ a li’l.”

“I…” She tore her eyes away from his, though it did little good as there was nowhere to look that didn’t lead back to him. “I just…I…”

It felt good when he chuckled. He was still pressed against her, and she felt the movement rumble through her skin. Rattle her insides. It fed the heat he gave her with softer warmth. It made her feel loved.

Warmth made her feel loved. And he gave her warmth.

“’S okay,” he said softly. “Don’ be embarrassed. Vampires feel it more fiercely than humans.”

“Feel it?”

“Your sex drive is more…it feels more.” He paused and cocked his head, studying her intently. “Are you blushing?”

“Spike—”

“I din’t think vampires could blush, but I’d swear—”

“I’m not blushing.”

Spike smiled. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he told her honestly. “I’m not reachin’ for anythin’. I’m holding you because I want to. Because you need someone to hold you right now. Jus’ because I feel like this…’m not askin’ you for anythin’. I’m jus’ holding you because I can’t stand to see you cry.”

“You can’t?”

“Tonight was the firs’ time. I couldn’t stand it.”

Buffy drew in a breath and winced at the pain it brought. His arms tightened. “Like this?” she asked when the ache subsided. “You said…because you feel ‘like this.’ What’s…Spike, what do you—”

A sigh tore through his lips. “’S nothin’, luv.”

“No, it’s not ‘nothing.’ You would’ve told me if it was just nothing.”

“I jus’ did tell you it’s nothing. You won’ believe me, an’ that’s frankly not my problem.”

“Spike, please.”

His eyes softened, but his resolution didn’t waver. Instead, he coaxed her back to the mattress, disentangling her legs from around his waist. A small murmur of complaint rumbled through his throat as her weight shifted off his cock, but the view of her lying before him in the scrap of a thing her sire had given her provided enough fuel to sustain his fantasies.

“You should get some sleep,” he said gently, placing a hand on her stomach.

“I’m hurting.”

“I know, sweetling.”

A pained look crossed her face, and she arched her back into his touch. “It felt better when…I can’t do this, Spike.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I can’t. I hurt too much.” She shook her head. “I’ve never hurt like this.”

“No, I don’ imagine so.”

“Spike—”

The vampire released a sigh and edged up beside her, lying down and taking her hand in his. “I’d take it away if I could,” he said. “It gets better. It’ll get better. I promise you.” He paused. “You’re strong. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. The strongest bloody slayer I’ve ever fought. You’ll get through this.”

“Does it matter that I’m not so sure?”

“I’m here.” He held her eyes for a minute, then looked away sheepishly. “’F that means anythin’. I know I’m not what you—”

Her hand tightened around his. “It means something, Spike. It means a lot.” She released a breath and winced again. “I never thought it would hurt to breathe.”

“Your lungs aren’t made to breathe anymore.”

“You breathe.”

He smiled. “That’s the second time you’ve reminded me.” He went quiet for a minute and watched her as she battled the impending cloud of fatigue. “You should get some rest, pet.”

“Will you stay?”

“Stay?”

Buffy tugged on his hand until the length of his arm splayed across her abdomen. “Stay with me.”

“I’m here.”

“I mean…here. In the bed.” She turned away shyly when his eyes filled with that wondrous look again; her skin felt flush even if she knew it was impossible. “It doesn’t hurt…as much…when you were holding me, it didn’t hurt as much.”

Spike licked his lips and smiled at her, spreading his arms. She snuggled against him without hesitation. Curled in his embrace. Pressed against his unbeating heart. Wrapped in his scent.

Safe in the arms of the enemy. She never thought it possible.

It felt like she had been with him for years already. That generations had past since the time she thought of him as her adversary.

She didn’t know what had changed between them. If he was helping her now because she was no longer the Slayer, or because she was Buffy.

She hoped it was the latter.

She wanted him to want Buffy. Not the thing Buffy had become.

Spike brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Sweet dreams, my little love,” he murmured. He was silent for a minute, his hands caressing her sore skin. Softening her where she was hard. Soothing her where she ached. “You know why, Buffy,” he said a minute later, voice barely above a whisper. “You know why.”

For a moment, she could’ve sworn her heart leapt in her chest.

She did. She knew why. She just couldn’t believe it.

She only hoped she remembered this. Being held in the safety of her enemy’s arms. Her enemy that was no longer her enemy. Her enemy that had become her savior.

She hoped she remembered this in the morning. She wanted to share it with him.

For the first time since she had awakened as a vampire, she felt the screaming within her calm. Felt the rage within her roll into a gentle peace. Felt normal for a blink of her abnormal life.

Spike gave her that.

She had come to him, and he gave her peace.

The first night in a lifetime that was not plagued with nightmares.

Not after Spike chased them away. Not after he gave her back the night.

Not after he offered her comfort with the whispered promise of a lover’s embrace.

To be continued in Chapter Seven: Chapter Seven

The Soft Glow of Morning

A soft breath fanned the skin behind her ear and tickled her scalp through her hair, and the arm around her middle tightened as Spike shifted behind her. His body molded hers flawlessly, the persistent state of his arousal nestled into the curve of her ass. Buffy lay awake in his embrace for a long while before she dared herself to open her eyes. Before she allowed the peace that had guarded her through the night to face the chance of sabotage.

She was so terrified that she would awake and be in the castle. Be in the room Dracula had locked her in. The place that had been her prison for days that felt like years. That everything that had happened last night would be accredited to a dream, and the haven in which she had found refuge would be a place she had imagined in a fit of despair.

Spike’s arms tightened around her once more, and he murmured something unintelligible into her hair.

Four days ago, the possibility that she would sleep the night in Spike’s arms would have been a source of outlandish amusement and unspeakable disgust. That had changed somewhere between waking up under Dracula’s thrall and making the conscious decision to seek her former enemy for sanctuary. Last night, something had changed. Something she wanted to change. She had seen something in Spike’s eyes. Felt something in his embrace. She had come to him for help, and he had opened his arms for her.

Something had changed before that. Before she even saw him. Before she knew he would help her.

She had gone to him. She could have gone anywhere. She could have gone to Angel. She had given herself a thousand excuses why she shouldn’t. Being around people was the wrong move to make. She couldn’t trust herself around the dead; around her friends was absolutely out of the question.

There were other things, too. The bigoted hatred her friends—some more than others—expressed for vampires terrified her beyond anything. Giles loved her like a daughter, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t stake her for her own good if he had to.

She could have gone to Angel, but she hadn’t. And it wasn’t out of shame.

It was because she knew him too well, and knew what he would do.

Instead, she’d gone to Spike.

And Spike had helped. Spike’s arms were around her. His erection was pressed into her backside. He was rumbling incoherent nothings into her ear. He was the way she had gotten out. He was holding her in his arms now, and she felt safe and loved.

In the arms of her former enemy, she felt safe and loved. As much as she had in her life.

Something had changed.

Somehow between slaying vampires and becoming one, Spike had turned into the one person in the world that she could trust implicitly. The one who would help her without judging. Without screaming at how she could have let this happen. The one who would understand how much pain she was in. How badly she hurt.

She trusted Spike. Between slaying what he was and becoming what he was, she had placed all of her trust in the vampire that held her now. The vampire that had made the screaming stop for the first night in what felt like centuries. She had been dead for just over forty-eight hours, but she hadn’t been home in years.

She trusted Spike.

“Mmm,” he moaned into her hair, his hand sliding back until he was massaging her stomach softly. “Buffy…”

She froze.

“Spike?”

There was no intelligible response. He mumbled something and nuzzled her reverently. His hand slid northward until he was palming her breast, fingers pebbling her nipple through the material of her negligee.

Oh God.

Buffy drew in a deep breath and winced at the sharp pain that struck in retaliation. She honestly didn’t know what to do. Spike had not been coy with the fact that he wanted her the night before. He hadn’t done anything about it, but he hadn’t tried to hide his arousal. He hadn’t seemed particularly embarrassed, either. And he had said that she knew why he had come for her.

He was asleep now. He was caressing her. He had murmured her name.

“Buffy,” he gasped again, thrusting his hips into her backside. “God, Buffy…”

Vampires feel it more fiercely than humans, he’d said. There was absolutely no chance that Spike had gone to bed with a woman in the past hundred and twenty years without it being sexual. The fact that she was in his arms now, that he smelled her, that she had slept in his bed had his body feeling things stronger than a human would.

He was dreaming of her. He had murmured her name.

There was something pooling in the bottom of her stomach. A fire she barely recognized. Her skin was blazing. She felt a warm rush of fluid between her legs, and nearly gasped aloud. She had not thought to feel anything like this ever again. Not from him. Not from Riley. Not from Angel. Not from anyone. She was dead. She didn’t think she could feel alive when she was dead.

She didn’t think it could be Spike.

Spike.

At least she hadn’t until last night. Last night had changed things.

And now Spike’s hand was sliding down her abdomen, slipping under her nightie. She felt her thighs part instinctively to welcome his touch and had to bite down on the inside of her cheek when she felt the first tentative brush against her aching wetness. Buffy stifled a small sob of pleasure, lifting her leg to curl around his. She didn’t want to think right now. Didn’t want to allow the reality that surrounded her a chance to break through. She needed this. She needed escapism.

Spike.

His name rushed through her mind; a ceaseless mantra of recognition. It was Spike that was touching her. Spike whose cock was grinding against her backside. Spike whose caresses her body invited. She needed this. She needed to know that. She had died. She hadn’t lost her humanity. A vampire loses humanity, but she hadn’t lost hers.

And somehow, she had recognized that Spike had never lost his, either. There was no creature on the earth that could look at her the way he had looked at her, care for her the way he had cared for her, and be completely void of compassion. He was a vampire; he was supposed to be a remorseless creature of absolute evil, but he was not.

It was the reason she had come to him. Because he was the only one she could think of that hadn’t hurt her. Not in the way that she got hurt.

She needed comfort, but she wanted him. And that knowledge shook her.

She wouldn’t use him. After what he had done for her, there was no way she would use him. She cared for him too much to use him.

Just in one night, she had come to care for him.

She felt she was centuries away from the girl she had known. The girl who had lived in her body for nearly twenty years.

“Buffy,” Spike moaned again, fingers slipping into her wet sheath. “So hot. So soft. My Slayer.”

Her vision blurred with tears, and she thrust her hips into his touch. His sleep-induced caresses was driving her out of her mind, exploring her gently, slipping in and out of her passage at a leisurely tempo. His thumb settled over her clit, rubbing her tenderly. Hot pinpricks of pleasure stabbed at her insides; filling her with warmth that she thought never to have again. The cold gone now for the fire he was stirring.

I should wake him up.

It was funny; the things one should do were usually the furthest away from what one desired. Her skin was warm for the first time in days. She could feel heat spreading through forbidden recesses of her body, a foreign pressure commanding her as he stroked her closer to the edge.

“Buffy…”

A muted cry tumbled through her lips as Spike jerked to wakefulness, and she felt his body tense behind her.

“Oh God, Buffy…I’m sorry. I din’t mean…” He was panting hard; his erection was still pressed against her ass. His thumb poised over her clit, frozen in the horror of wake.

Buffy gasped again and buried her face in the pillow she had cradled all night, lost somewhere beyond mortification. She didn’t know what was worse: losing the wondrous sensation sailing through her body or begging him to continue. Risking the chance that he wouldn’t. She needed this so desperately, but through it all she remembered that the one she trusted and cared about had no reason to feel the same for her. He had taken her in; that didn’t mean anything. She thought it did, but it didn’t necessarily have to.

“Buffy…oh fuck.” His fingers began moving again uncertainly, as though he needed her release as desperately as she did. He stopped once more when he realized what he was doing and withdrew his touch completely, rolling onto his back. “’m so sorry. I never…I shouldn’t have—”

“Spike!” she mewled before she could help herself. “God, please!”

He released a shuddering, barely controlled breath. “Please?”

Buffy welded her eyes shut. Her body was aching. For the first time in days, she ached with something that wasn’t pain. Something that was as wonderful as it was terrifying. Her chest was heaving with breaths that didn’t hurt.

She was as aroused as she had ever been. And God, she needed it.

“Please!” she gasped. “Touch me.”

If he denied her, she would stake herself. Better to face death than lose her sanctuary. Than have the kindness he had shown her drown out for mockery of what he would never willingly give her.

But there was no mockery when he spoke. His voice was filled with passion, clouded with arousal, and was easily the sexiest thing she had ever heard.

Her name rolled on his tongue like that…

“Buffy…” A gentle hand prodded her shoulder until she rolled onto her back, his azure eyes engulfing her flaming face. When he found whatever it was he was looking for, he drowned her in that look of raw astonishment and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

Then his hands were on her again. His left arm propping him up against her, cupping her breast and caressing her through the lace of her negligee as the other dropped to her center. “It’s okay, baby,” he assured her warmly, sliding two fingers inside her. “’m here.”

“Oh God.”

He brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth, then at the pulse of her throat, hesitated, and then tongued her nipple through the thin fabric separating them. “’S all right, sweetheart,” he said, eyes glued on her face. “’S all right.”

She didn’t know she was crying until he raised his head to kiss away a tear. His thumb slid over her clit once more, stroking her reverently. Watching her. Pressing his brow to hers.

It was all too much. His proximity. The softness behind his kisses, the wealth of awed feeling behind his touch…she felt herself tumbling as her cry touched the air. Somewhere between bliss and the other. The emotion she was too unfamiliar with to name. Too lost to explore. She just knew she felt it. There were tears running down her cheeks, some for feeling, some for this distant emotion that was arising within her. Pained with something other than hurt. Twisted with the need for something she could not see.

She was so lost. So hopelessly lost. Spike was all she knew anymore. The only peace she had. She knew this without having to know anything. And as the most intense orgasm she had ever thought to experience rocked through her body, she found herself latching onto that distant strand of hope. Hope without direction, but hope nonetheless. It was there. She felt it.

It was the sweetest joy she had ever known. And she couldn’t keep herself from weeping.

“God,” Spike gasped, cautiously removing his fingers from her core. “You smell so sweet.” He drew his digits into his mouth and licked away her spendings, his eyes rolling up inside his head. “And, bloody hell, you taste like heaven.” His gaze met hers again, and dissolved at the sight of her tears. “Oh God, Buffy, don’t cry. Please. I’m sorry, I din’t—”

She launched herself into his arms before he could say another word, hugging him in some fleeting attempt to convey the wealth of confused feelings, even as her body wracked with sobs. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Spike went still. “Buffy—”

She didn’t allow herself to think. Not about what he was going to say next.

Not now.

So instead, she pulled back, searched his torn eyes, and pressed her lips to his.

He was flavored with her taste. And she knew then, kissing him, that she was home. This was home.

And if it wasn’t, it certainly provided a good imitation.

“Buffy,” he moaned, pulling away. His eyes were storming with passion.

And she lost herself all over again.

*~*~*

He couldn’t have been more surprised if she had slapped him across the face.

The entire morning felt like a dream. He had spent the evening in her arms. Buffy had come to him. She had told him that he was the reason she had willed it in herself to escape. To do what she needed. That he had helped her without helping her at all.

And he had spent the night in her arms. Dreaming of her as though they did not have the invisible gorge between them. As though she was in his bed because she wanted to be, not because she felt she had nowhere else to go. And somehow, the fantasy had met reality, and he had awakened bathed in the rich scent of her arousal. Had awakened with his fingers exploring that intimate part of her he never thought to touch. Not like this. Not even if he had performed the rescue she was accrediting him with. Not even for how desperately he feared he loved her.

Any uncertainty he had about his feelings diminished the minute he saw her standing in his crypt.

And now he was swimming in the alluring fragrance of her orgasm. The orgasm he had given her just hours after she had buried herself in his embrace and begged him not to leave her through the night.

She had rolled over and was partially splayed over his body. Her fingers were dancing dangerously close to his denim-clad erection.

“Buffy,” he gasped when she lowered the zipper, his cock springing into her welcoming hand. “W-we shouldn’t—”

Bloody fuck, did he even listen when he spoke?

“I just…I want to…” With as blissful as it was being held by her, there was absolutely nothing compared to the wondrous sensation that scaled through his body when she began pumping his shaft with her heavenly touch.

He wasn’t going to last. He could barely grasp that this was actually happening; he wasn’t going to last.

“Buffy.” He mewled and thrust up into her willing hand. “Fuck, that feels so good. You…God, what are you doin’ to me?”

Her eyes met his uncertainly, and the doubt there all about broke his heart.

“Feels…so bloody good.”

Her thumb pressed into his aching head, caressing him with shy tenderness.

“Oh, fuck!”

He didn’t know what did it for him. He honestly had no clue. He wanted to accredit it wholly to the masterful stroke of her hand, but it was her eyes that owned him. That tentative, fear-stricken, hopeless, but impassioned look that broke his heart a thousand times over. His broken heart that was thoroughly hers.

He had never felt this for anyone, and she was with him now. And that knowledge sweetened his orgasm all the more. Like dying all over again. Like kissing the clouds of paradise before he fell back to earth.

He whimpered a small complaint when she released him, even though his body was screaming at the loss of her touch. “B-Buffy,” he gasped. “I…fuck, that was…”

There were no words for what that was.

Only she was no longer with him. She was in the bed beside him, but her mind was no longer with him. She was staring hard at the inches of mattress separating them, and her eyes were far away. Lost beyond lost. Somewhere where he could not follow.

Yet.

“Buffy?”

She jerked her head up, and something foreign crossed her face. Not regret. Not disgust. Not apathy; none of the things he would have expected after sharing that with her. With the Buffy he knew.

The Buffy he knew was wounded and terrified. And she was clinging to him out of something neither could name. She was burned with scars he could not see. Wheedling beyond the hurt she had suffered and finding sanctuary that confused more than it comforted.

God, it couldn’t be ruined with this.

“Buffy…luv, I—”

She rolled off the bed then and straightened her negligee. Her back to him, trembling as though she was seconds away from breaking again. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Sorry?”

He would give her anything if she looked at him, but she did not.

This wasn’t rejection. It was something else.

Something.

She was up the ladder that led to the first floor before he could implore again. Back to the place she knew. Back to the only room where the world made sense to her.

Spike expelled a deep breath and flopped back on the bed.

“Wanker.”

How could he help her if he couldn’t keep his hands to himself?

It wasn’t rejection, logic told him again.

It wasn’t. He didn’t know what it was. Only that she was hurting. She was broken and confused. But she was still here. She might be upstairs, but she was still here.

She was still with him.

If nothing else, there was that.

To be continued in Chapter Eight: There Will Be An Answer…
Chapter Eight

There Will Be An Answer

Buffy was coming to understand that there was nothing she hated as richly as silence. For the past thirty minutes, she had been curled on the worn sofa that Spike had set in front of his television set, comforted by the darkness that surrounded her. It was a warm blanket of protection; keeping her from the light of reality. From the world that waited on the other side of the crypt. She was comfortable in the darkness.

The silence, however, was driving her out of her mind.

Spike had still not come upstairs, and she didn’t blame him. She didn’t know where she would even begin to explain her earlier behavior. How she would find it within herself to look at him without wilting in shame.

There was no place to start. She was so thoroughly lost. Days before, she had been the perky, pun-quipping Slayer that struck fear into the nonbeating hearts of Sunnydale’s residential undead. She’d had friends. She’d had a Watcher. She’d had a boyfriend.

That girl had lived a blissful life of ignorance.

That girl didn’t deserve the sanctuary that she needed now. What kind of life had she really been living, if the only person she could go to when she was in such pain was the one that nature had designed as her enemy?

Riley had been here the night before. He had stood outside and argued with Spike about her. She hadn’t listened to the entirety of the conversation, but there were certain things that simply couldn’t be blocked out. Riley had accused him of having an ulterior motive and claimed he wasn’t worthy.

For everything, she felt she could rip her boyfriend to shreds, and that pure rage was just one of many factors that terrified her.

The pain crippling her body was a disease. She couldn’t move without feeling a stab of endless sorrow, every inch of her skin aching with the loss of the one who had given her new life. She couldn’t take it; she couldn’t take her body longing the presence of a sire that the rest of her thoroughly detested. She summoned images of his ghostly touch and shivered for the impact of simple recollection.

She felt like she had been living the past two decades in a dream. That waking as a vampire was her first step into a world not concealed by rose-colored glasses. That every pain she had ever endured was a steady build up for the removal of her safety net. Everything seemed so insignificant now. Death at the hand of the Master. Losing Angel—twice. The confusing year she was still recovering from in which the Big Bad she was so used to fighting had come in the shape of a military branch with a fabricated enemy on which to vent all her frustration.

She didn’t care anymore. Not about the life she had been living. The things that were once important. The false perfection she had been striving for, ignoring the fact that life was never perfect and that a Slayer’s life could never be normal. She’d craved normal for so long.

There were certain things associated with her existence that were so completely flawed without direction for blame. Riley. The man that should never have been her boyfriend. The years spent mourning a vampire that she could barely think about without flinching now. A vampire that was so far placed from the woman she had become. A vampire that had robbed her of her childhood with the guise of being the only man in her life that she could love.

That had always been Angel’s problem. His humanity; his wanting normal for her when she was anything but, and he was hardly in a place to pass judgment. Now he was living the good life in Los Angeles, doing anything but leading a normal existence, or allowing those he worked with to follow his own advice. It seemed she was the only one that was supposed to suffer full of his magnanimous misguidance. What she had done to earn such an honor, she did not know. But the fuzzy lens that had fogged her opinion of Angel for so long was gone now. There was nothing there but the distant pulling of a few fond memories, but even then, the bad far outweighed the good.

It seemed she had aged centuries in just a few days. No longer the mourning sixteen-year old in a nineteen-year old’s body. She was a woman now. A woman who knew life only because she was experiencing death.

And beneath that knowledge was pain. Pain of losing her maker. Pain of having her net taken away. Pain of knowledge itself.

She had taken advantage of Spike downstairs. She wanted to do something to express her gratitude. To explore the wealth of unfamiliar feelings stirring her insides. She had never thought she would awake in the comfort of her enemy’s embrace. She had never thought that he could see anything in her other than a query to be killed. An addition to his impressive roster of dead slayers.

In the midst of everything, he was the only one she could trust, and she had taken advantage of that. What she felt for him was revolutionary; fast and terrifying. And she had leapt into him before thinking, and now was more confused than ever. The wealth of pain soaking her insides was intolerable. She felt split down the middle. Caught in the veil between two worlds. She had the knowledge; she just didn’t know what to do with it. The old set of values she had so long followed were faded and jumbled. Every truth she had believed in had died with her body, and she had only the man downstairs to guide her through the world as it was.

He would not guard her from the truth like everyone else; similarly, he would not leave her to learn it alone. For some reason, she had faith in that.

What had happened downstairs was perhaps the most fiercely passionate encounter of her existence. Why Spike wanted her, she did not know. Only that he provided solace in a world gone mad with reality. He was the reason she was here. The reason she hadn’t faced real death. The reason she wasn’t dust.

The silence was driving her insane.

As if answering a prayer, a loud slam sliced through the cold serenity that surrounded her. She could’ve sworn her heart jumped, but she knew better. And then his scent flooded the air. The warmth he offered without even knowing it. She felt her pain ease simply with his presence, and had to fight the urge to throw herself in his arms all over again. Lose herself in sweet succor before she had her thoughts untangled. Before she had her world sorted.

She felt so lost. She didn’t want to drag Spike into it any more than he was and risk them both for her uncertainty. For the broken pieces she was trying to fit together. The shattered remains of an existence that no longer made sense.

But god, it would be so easy.

Spike didn’t look at her, though she knew he was acutely aware of her presence. She watched him without looking at him. Felt him move around the crypt. He popped a bottle of something and settled next to the refrigerator. And watched her.

The strength he gave her simply by being there was overwhelming. Her aching eyes filled with tears all over again.

The last thing she wanted to do was run from him. Screw the rest.

Buffy expelled a deep breath, her eyes fluttering shut as she waited for the pain to pass. Then she rose to her feet, wrapping her arms around her middle.

Their eyes met. The torrent of confusion behind his tore her apart.

Then he released a sigh and glanced down. “’F you’re plannin’ on stayin’,” he said, “we should get you some clothes.”

“I…I’ll stay if you want me to stay.”

“What I want…” He met her eyes slowly, an emotion burning there that sent shivers through her body. There was a heavy silence, his words hanging in the air like a storm cloud of possibility. Then he looked away, sighed again, and turned back to the refrigerator. “I don’t have a microwave.”

“What? You want a microwave?”

A humorless chuckle shuddered through his body. “Well, I wouldn’t object,” he said. “No, sweetness, I mean it’s gonna be cold.”

“What’s going to be cold?”

He paused meaningfully. “Buffy, you have to eat.”

The word stilled the air, and she flashed back to the dead man.

“I don’t think—”

“No. You need to eat.” His eyes were stern. “I’m not gonna see you wither away. Not while you’re here, you hear me? You want that sort’ve bollocks, you can go some place else. ‘S what you are now. You need blood to survive.”

Buffy licked her lips. The severity in his tone was defensive, and she deserved it.

“Okay.”

He opened his mouth, presumably to further his argument, then balked in surprise when he realized she had agreed with him. “Oh. Good, then.”

She smiled weakly. “Seems I took away all your fun.”

That earned a grin. “There are worse things.” A heavy pause. “’S gonna be cold.”

“Does that make a big difference?” She glanced down, ashamed of her ignorance. “I remember…last night, I felt I had to drink the…the dead man. I had to drink him before it went cold.”

But she hadn’t. She hadn’t just consumed the blood; she had torn him to bits. She had dug into his stomach and licked up whatever trickled down her hand. She had seen lions show zebras more courtesy than she’d had for the dead man last night.

It wasn’t her hand that had killed him. She wasn’t responsible for that.

She was the one that had destroyed him.

“’S a matter of preference, I s’pose,” Spike retorted with an airy shrug. “Like pizza. As I understand it, some people like it better cold, others warm. Doesn’ rightly matter. It has the same bloody effect.”

“Pun intended?”

He offered a half-hearted smile and crossed the room. “Eat up,” he said, handing her a glass full of blood. “We’ll find out ‘f you like it warm or cold.”

“Don’t you need to eat?”

His eyes met hers tellingly. “I’ll survive.”

Before she could respond, he turned, flicked on the television, and settled on the sofa beside her.

At the other end of the sofa. Intentionally putting that space between them. A matter of inches that somehow composed a couple hollow feet. A matter of inches that seemed like miles.

Something snapped inside her at that, and nothing else mattered.

Spike was her sanctuary. She was confused, she was broken, but he was the only thing keeping her sanity intact. He was the only thing that wasn’t broken. Wasn’t confused. The only thing she was sure of, and that was what made him so dangerous to her. So terrifying.

The only thing in the world that was terrifying in a sense that didn’t scare her witless. That didn’t inspire fear as much as hope.

Hope was oftentimes more terrifying than fear.

Buffy drew in a deep breath and glanced to Spike. His eyes were focused on the screen, though his body was tense and terribly aware of hers.

She glanced to the glass in her hand, braced herself, and downed its entirety in one long drink. Its taste wasn’t as rich as the night before, and did little more than flare her hunger for something more.

But it was blood. It was what she needed.

Spike still hadn’t looked at her, though the corners of his mouth were tugging in an almost reluctant grin.

Buffy heaved another sigh, winced, and set the empty glass on the floor behind the sofa. Then she glanced back to the man at her left and edged down the cushion until she was under his arm. Until her head was against his shoulder, and her body curled into his.

Spike shuddered and closed his arm around her, something heavy rolling through his system. And just like that, the tension was gone. His eyes closed in relief and he dropped a heartfelt kiss across her brow. “There now,” he murmured, snuggling her into him. “Isn’t this better?”

“Oh yes.”

He smiled. “Did the cold cup strike your fancy?”

“No.”

“I much don’ care for it either. We’ll have to get a microwave, eh?” His eyes traveled back to the television, though he was no longer watching it, if he ever had been. “I’ve been tryin’ to think of a way to lift Rupert’s from his flat for bloody ages. Old sod never uses it.”

Buffy laughed shortly. “We can get some money from my room,” she said. “I’m not…I don’t have an invitation, but you could get in there…get some stuff for me.” She paused. “Tell my…my mother…”

Spike was quiet for a minute. “What do you want me to tell her?”

“She must be so worried.”

“Yeh. I’d imagine.” He turned to look at her, his eyes wide and vulnerable. “Your mum’s gonna love you no matter what. Mums are like that. Won’ bloody matter to her ‘f you’ve been turned or…or what happens. If you wanna go home—”

“I don’t.”

He smiled slightly, but shook his head. “You can’t really wanna stay here, luv,” he said. “You don’—”

“I want to stay here, Spike. I can’t be around people.”

A brief silence. The television blared loudly in the absence of his voice.

“’S that the only reason you wanna stay?” he asked softly, his voice trembling. “Because you can’t be around people?”

Buffy glanced up. The uncertainty in his tone tore her down all over again.

“No, Spike,” she replied. “It’s not the only reason. It’s not even…I came to you because I…I needed someone who…I just needed someone who would…”

He looked at her and smiled. “’S fine, baby,” he told her, kissing her forehead again. “You don’ have to say anythin’.”

“I feel like I should. I’m so sorry for what happened downstairs. I—”

He winced at that, and she felt false heat rise to her cheeks. “No, not that,” she clarified, her voice barely above a whisper. “That was…I…”

There was a beat, and he was smiling again. “Yeh,” he murmured. “It really was.”

“I’m just…I’m so confused.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t…I didn’t mean to—”

Spike squeezed her tighter. “I know, sweetheart. It was…you’re glorious.”

She ducked her head in embarrassment.

“But I jus’…I don’ expect anythin’ from you, Slayer. You should know that. This mornin’ was wonderful, but ‘f…I don’ want you to do that for me because you feel you have to, right?”

“I wouldn’t. It wasn’t. I wanted…” She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. “Something has changed with me. More than the vampire thing. More than…I’m not the girl I was. I’ve changed. I’m lost, and I’m terrified, and I hurt…I’m broken, but you’ve kept me from shattering.”

He released a deep breath. “I don’ know how.”

“I don’t, either. Except that you’ve…you haven’t treated me like I’m broken. You’ve treated me like Buffy, only with this thing. This slightly undead thing.”

“You don’ know that the Scoobies wouldn’t.”

She gave him a look.

“Okay, so you do. An’ Soldier Boy—”

“Riley would kill me.”

Something dark stormed his eyes, and his arms tightened around her. “I won’t let him touch you,” he growled. “Don’ care how bloody much it’d hurt. He won’t come near you.”

“Spike—”

“’m serious.”

“I know you are. I just don’t know why. I have no idea why you’ve…why you’re doing this at all. Why you let me into your home and…you’ve been so…since last night, you’ve—”

“Mhmm.” He caressed her temple gently, fingers woven through her hair. “I know.”

Buffy licked her lips. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“Told you enough last night. You wouldn’t like me anymore ‘f you knew the full of it.”

Another sigh trembled through her body. That wasn’t all he had said. He had held her close and whispered that she already knew why. She shivered and slid further down his body until her head was resting against his stomach, her arms wrapped around his waist.

“This feels nice,” she said, nuzzling his belly.

“Yeh,” he agreed breathlessly.

Her hand brushed against his crotch and he drew in a sharp breath. Buffy bit her lip and pulled away as though burnt.

“Sorry.”

Spike glanced down at her heatedly. “Never be sorry for that,” he berated, wrapping his fingers around her wrist to guide her touch back to the bulge that seemed a persistent condition when he was around her. “Never.”

Buffy considered him, studying her own hand for a minute before she shifted with intention, and cupped his erection fully. He bit out a small moan and his arm came around her.

“Christ,” he gasped, arching into her touch. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

“Not really, no.”

He glanced down at her skeptically.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this from you,” she murmured. “I’ve treated you like…well…”

“A vampire?” he suggested. “You’re the Slayer. That’s how you treat vamps when you’re the Slayer.”

“I’m not the Slayer anymore.”

Spike smiled wanly. “Baby, he can’t take that away from you.”

Buffy stiffened against him but didn’t pull away. “When…will the hurt go away?” she asked a few minutes later. “You make it better, but it’s always there. I feel him still. The place where he should be, and it hurts so much. It won’t…I feel so…”

A sigh tumbled through his lips. “Sweetheart…it doesn’ go away.”

“What?”

“Not entirely. You get used to it, I s’pose. Peaches did, after he offed Darla. He mourned, but he din’t make a big show of it till he went soulless. Then, when he wasn’ shaggin’ Dru or plottin’ world domination, it was all he could bloody talk about.” He made a small sound of discontent. “Maybe you should’ve gone to him after all. You two have that much in common, plus the whole—”

“No.”

“No?”

“I didn’t want Angel. I don’t.”

There was a small beat. “You don’t. But you came here.” He paused again, moaning when she removed her hand from its intimate position over his cock, but he couldn’t blame her for her discomfort. “Buffy…I…you can’t tell me that an’ expect me to not…do you…” His hands halted their soothing caresses across her body as she stiffened, and they shared an uncomfortable moment.

“I don’t know anything right now,” Buffy said a minute later. “But this feels right.”

“What feels right?”

She tightened her arms around his middle. “This. And that’s all I understand right now. Everything else is so…messed up.”

Spike smiled. “That’s somethin’, then.” He broke off again. “There’s one thing that’s stronger than a sire’s hold on childer.”

“What?”

He hesitated a beat. “A claim.”

“A what?”

“Vampires…when they…they claim each other. Best way to describe it is a marriage or what all. A blood trade, an’ it’s forever. It forms a bloody unbreakable bond.” He exhaled deeply. “Mated vampires are rare today.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s…it’s forever. Once a claim is complete, it’s forever. An’ it’s as powerful as anythin’ else.”

“Stronger than a sire bond?”

“Oh yeah. Childer can’t choose their sires, luv, but every vamp can choose their mate. Mates are designed to feel each other. Once you’re claimed…once you’ve accepted the claim an’ claimed back, there is nothin’ stronger than that.”

“Are…did you claim Dru?”

He was quiet a minute. “I tried once.”

“Tried?”

“She didn’t accept me.” Spike drew her hair away from her face. “Bloody blessing in disguise, really.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Well, I won’t lie; it wasn’ any fun at the time.”

He shook his head, but didn’t say anymore on the matter. Either because he wasn’t ready to speak the words, or she wasn’t ready to hear them.

She just didn’t know anymore.

“I’m glad,” she said a minute later. “I know it’s…but I’m glad. I’m so glad you’re here, Spike.”

“Me, too.”

They said nothing more on sires or claims. Rather, simply sat there in the non-threatening silence of his crypt, curled in each other’s arms, pretending to watch the television. In the silence that he had made safe again. The blessing of quiet that he had given back to her, simply with his understanding.

Despite everything, despite the chaos of her existence, she had never known simple harmony like this. Bliss that came in such a small touch. Something given to her for nothing at all.

Her body was warring with change and fighting off pain, but her mind was calm.

There was simply nothing like this.

Nothing like feeling loved.

And she did. Simply lying in his arms, she felt loved. More so than she had in her entire existence. Coiled in his sanctuary. In this haven he had given her.

She felt loved.

Death had given her what she could never reach in life, even if the words were only imagined. If the feeling was there out of wishful thinking and nothing else. He had given it to her.

Spike didn’t say a word when he felt her tears leak through the cotton of his shirt. He simply tugged her closer, whispered something into her hair, and kissed the top of her head.

He did not try to stop her tears, or tell her there was no need. They were both too smart for that.

Instead, he held her in his arms, and let her have her cry.

Let her mourn what had passed and fear what the future held.

He held her as she wept, and she knew no greater peace.

The Wild And Windy Night

The last thing he wanted to do was leave her, but Buffy was adamant in her refusal to be anywhere near people. It wasn’t as though he didn’t understand; unlike the great souled wanker in Los Angeles, his Slayer didn’t have the luxury of a century or two of experience being around people. Hearing heartbeats from across the room. Craving the rush of blood that pumped through waiting veins. Schooling herself without a conscience; accepting falls and moving on after slipups. There weren’t such things as second tries with her. If she killed, she would be forever destroyed. And Spike couldn’t tolerate the thought.

“I won’t be long,” he said, finishing off a cigarette. “I need to pick up some blood, an’ I’ll get your mum to pack you some stuff.”

Buffy shook her head. “Don’t…just…just get in and out. Don’t let her…I don’t want her to know yet. I know I said it earlier, but I don’t want her to know. I changed my mind. I…don’t say anything to her.”

Spike cocked his head and considered her, stepping forward. “Your mates’ll come after me soon enough, pet,” he said. “As dense as the lot of them are, they’ll find Drac’s castle an’ likely be able to piece two an’ two together. Then they’ll come for me. ‘Specially ‘f I’m not out an’ about. ‘F I disappear to be with you, they’ll come here an’ you might find yourself around people a bloody lot sooner than you want.”

She went silent at that, her eyes fixed on something he could not see.

“I know you don’ wanna think about it,” he continued softly. “But you know your pals. You really think they’ll jus’ stop lookin’ for you if you never turn up?”

Buffy shook her head numbly. “They won’t…they’ll try to take me back. If they come here…if they know I’m with you, they’ll try to take me back. To them. They don’t trust you.”

“Neither did you a few days ago.”

“That’s changed.” A beat. “Everything has changed.”

“You trust me now?”

It was a foolish question with an obvious answer. If she didn’t trust him, there was no way she would be with him now. No way would she have ever let him touch her. She came to him because she felt he was the only one she could trust, and he wasn’t about to do anything to jeopardize her sanctuary. If she felt safe here, he would let her stay as long as she wanted. If she felt threatened, he would take her somewhere, and the Scoobies would never find them unless they wanted to be found.

“Yes,” Buffy said a minute later, drawing him back to her. Her eyes were on him now, and he was startled at how deeply such a small word could affect him. Especially given that it was the response to a question he already had the answer to. “I trust you, Spike. You’re the only one I trust.”

He exhaled a deep breath and just stared at her, taken thoroughly aback.

The only one she trusted. The only one.

How could it be that they had hated each other so richly only days before? That once it had been his life’s mission to destroy the glorious creature before him? He lived and died with her now. Her pains were his. When she wept, he wanted to scream his outrage at the bastard that had done this to her. Wanted to find a way to resurrect him just so he could kill him all over again. Slowly. Properly. Torture him so richly that Angelus’s nasty streak would become a children’s story. He wanted to write a new book on torment.

But when he looked at Buffy, everything left him but his desire to relieve her of her personal hell. Replace her pain with pleasure. Fill her sadness with joy. Any pretense that he wasn’t in love with her had fled him the instant he saw her standing in his crypt. Not even a day had passed, and he knew he was irrevocably lost. Lost more than he ever had been when it came to love. Lost in ways that made his relationship with Drusilla look and feel like children’s puppy love—so far placed from the real thing, he couldn’t begin to fathom how he had ever mistaken one for the other.

She broke from his gaze when his intensity became too much. When he couldn’t pull his own eyes away. “What will you say?” she asked softly. “If you talk to my mother, what will you say?”

“I won’ talk to her if you don’ want me to.”

“But if you did—”

“I’d let her know I was takin’ care of you. An’ that she shouldn’t worry. You’re still you.” Spike inhaled again and stepped forward until she was just a breath away. He studied her for a minute and raised a tentative hand to palm her cheek reverently. “No matter what happens to your body, sweetling,” he said heatedly, thumb caressing comforting circles into her skin, “you’re still you where it counts. Here…” He gently drummed his fingers against her temple, then slid his touch southward until it rested above her nonbeating heart. “An’ here.”

Buffy’s eyes were large with awe and some emotion he was too hesitant to name. She leaned forward until her brow was touching his, her mouth provocatively near his own. He wanted so desperately to say sod all to the rest and kiss her until she remembered she didn’t need to breathe. Take her in his arms and sample the richness of her mouth. Taste the sweetness of her skin. Memorize every inch of her with his tongue. Lose himself in her body. Bring her over the edge again and again, until he was drowning in her pleasure.

Bugger, he was hard just thinking about it. This wouldn’t do.

“Spike…” she murmured.

“Mmm?”

She pulled back just slightly at that, but didn’t respond. There was something else in her gaze. Knowledge that hadn’t been there a minute ago. She knew how much he wanted her without having to be told; she just didn’t know how desperately he loved her, and that was where she was confused.

He couldn’t tell her yet. He didn’t know if he ever could. If it would ever be something he could whisper in her ear. If the solace of her body would ever be his sanctuary. If there was a middleground to reach in the midst of all this pain. She felt his erection against her stomach, and consequentially, he bathed in the warm scent of her arousal. But he would not take advantage of her. He would never do to her what Dracula had done. Never make a decision for her that wasn’t his to make.

Resolve like that was becoming entirely too difficult to hold onto. He feared a snap of willpower with each second that ticked by. He couldn’t help her if he let her forget. He wouldn’t let her destroy herself, but he similarly couldn’t afford to allow her to become entirely dependent on him.

That sort of love had destroyed him before. That sort of dependency. Dru had only been with him because he’d loved her to the point of obsession; to the point that his care for her overshadowed all else. She’d never loved him in return. Never even said the words. He had simply mistaken affection and gratitude for love, and it had cost him everything.

He was so terrified of that. Of loving so deeply that it no longer mattered if he received the feeling in return. In becoming a sanctuary, and only a sanctuary. He would help her until she no longer needed help. And then he would pray for the strength to let her go.

If it happened, it would be because she loved him, too. Not because she needed to forget.

He feared it, though. Feared if she asked, he would tumble over himself and do anything just to touch her.

“I should go,” Spike said, releasing her with some difficulty. “Sooner I’m gone, sooner I can come back, yeh?”

“It’s daylight still.”

“’S never stopped me before. I don’ want you here by yourself after dark, sweetling.” He shook his head. “Don’ get huffy; I know you’re the Slayer an’ all…an’ you have all kinds of other strength goin’ for you now, but—”

“No. No, I understand. I don’t want to be here alone after dark, either.” She wrapped her arms around herself subconsciously. “I don’t want to be here alone.”

“You could come with me,” he offered softly. “I won’ let them take you.”

“I know. I just…I can’t…” Buffy shook her head. “I can’t, Spike. I know I should. I really know I should. I hate myself for being so—”

Spike stepped forward again. “No. You’re not. Whatever you think you are, you’re not. Bleeding hell, Slayer, do you have any idea how sodding remarkable it is that you din’t lose it right off? There’s a reason vamps lose their souls, luv, an’ it’s not jus’ because the demon likes to horde space. You’re a fighter. You’re the strongest person I know, an’ I’m not talkin’ about brawn. Any one who asks you to do anythin’ you’re not ready to when you’ve only been away from the wanker that did this to you for a day jus’ doesn’…they don’ understand. I will never ask anythin’ of you that I don’ think you’re ready for.”

“What if I don’t?” she asked. “What if I don’t think I’m ready for…whatever, and you do?”

He smiled gently. “Then I’ll help you until you are,” he replied, unable to resist the sinful temptation of her lips. It was a soft kiss; too short to be passionate, too passionate to be chaste. A sweep of her mouth, the slightest hint of her tongue; her hands curled around his arms, but released him the minute he stepped away.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised, turning away from her before leaving was no longer an option.

“Please,” Buffy agreed, her voice hoarse. “I don’t want to be alone for long.”

“You won’t be.”

Spike forced his eyes to stay ahead of him as he made his way back to the lower level of the crypt; toward the sewers and the spider web of underground tunnels that spiraled under Sunnydale. He knew he could get to Buffy’s house in his sleep if he needed; and if she didn’t want him to talk with her mother, he wouldn’t—not unless it became necessary.

He didn’t think it would be.

A sigh rolled off his shoulders as his feet sloshed into the expectant shallow river that flowed against the cold concrete of the underground. He loathed leaving her, though he knew he wouldn’t be gone long. Joyce was avoidable, and she didn’t need to know anything her daughter wasn’t ready to share.

But she wasn’t his only stop. The Desoto was parked in an underground garage not too far from the crypt, though he felt it safer to go to the Summers residence first, rather than burst in through the front door. From there, he could retreat to his car, and drive to his final stop. The place where stealth wasn’t needed.

Spike intended to make sure that no one came after Buffy. No one.

Not until she was ready—however long it took.

*~*~*

There wasn’t a word strong enough to apply to the look on Giles’s face when he saw who his visitor was. Granted, it wasn’t as though Spike had taken the time to knock; rather, he’d come in as he always did: smoking, cursing, and hurrying to beat the sun under the questionable protection of a blanket. He figured the indignation he received was less for his haphazard entrance and more for the fact that nearly a day had passed since the Watcher came to the vampire for help, and he had still produced no Slayer.

“It’s about bloody time,” Giles all but growled. “What the hell have you been up to? Do you have any idea—”

“Sod off, Rupert.” Spike rolled his eyes, ignoring the look of furthered resentment his flippancy earned him. “’m here for one reason. You’re gonna shut your gob an’ listen well, you get me?”

“Why, you righteous little—”

“I have the Slayer.”

A combination of horror, outrage, and shock flooded the Watcher’s gaze—his face slack with numb astonishment. “She’s…she… my God, where is she? What have you done with her!”

Spike’s eyes darkened. “I’ve done nothin’ to her, you pompous, self-righteous sod. She came to me after she escaped. She had nowhere else.”

“What do you mean—”

“He turned her.” That shut the old man up. “Dracula…he turned her. He kept her there until last night…tryin’ some rot about makin’ her his queen. I found the castle right as the wanker was makin’ her feed.”

Giles was white. His eyes had gone blank—the rest of him contorted with anguish. He released a trembling breath and shook his head, stepping back until his legs met the cushion of the nearest chair. His body collapsed, trembling with something the vampire didn’t want to consider right now. Didn’t want to feel for the old sod, especially when his priorities were with the Slayer.

But God, the Watcher’s eyes had filled with tears. Beyond hurt. Beyond outrage. He’d just been told his daughter was dead. His Slayer made into the thing she was meant to kill. There was no emotion for that. It was a train wreck of sensory. Of things no man ever wanted to feel. Things no Watcher should ever go through.

“Dear lord.”

Spike nodded. “She sensed me there. The whole bloody house did. She says it’s the way she had the strength to escape. She killed everythin’ there, then came to me.” His eyes hardened. “An’ she’s not goin’ anywhere unless she wants to. You understand?”

“What? I don’t—”

“Buffy. She’s stayin’ with me.”

That was evidently all the Watcher needed to come out of his stupor. To push mourning aside and listen to what the vampire was saying rather than focus on his own loss. Outrage once again replaced grief, and he jumped to his feet in a fury. “Like hell she is!” he thundered. “You despicable little wanker—if you think I’m going to let you near her while she—”

“’S what she wants, Rupert,” Spike replied, doing his best to remain calm. “She came to me ‘cause she can’t be around people right now.”

“Why the hell not?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why do you bloody think?” he retorted. “She’s a vampire. Understand? She’s my kind now.”

“She will never be your—”

“Moreover, she has a soul. Sired Slayers don’ last, Rupert. You know it as well as I do. An’ they don’ last because they can’t bloody well cope with what they’ve become. There’s a reason vamps don’ come with consciences.” He released a steady breath, attempting to maintain his growing infuriation. “We need blood to survive. We’re drawn to blood. The hunger’s a bitch. It drives you to the edge of insanity an’ back again. She couldn’t resist a dead bloke after Dracula shoved him under her nose. How do you think she’d feel ‘f you made her be around people before she knows how to control the hunger? What happens if her demon bests her an’ she tries to kill one of you? What happens if she succeeds?”

“Buffy’s stronger than that.”

“Yeh, but not without bein’ taught how.”

“She doesn’t need you. The last thing she needs is a soulless, remorseless killer teaching her how to be a vampire. If what you’re saying is true, Angel is—”

His vision nearly went black with fury. “She doesn’t want Angel.”

“You bloody fool, do you really think I’ll believe—”

Spike held up a hand, commanding his more basic instincts inward. He was seconds from bursting into game face. Seconds from lunging for the old man’s throat. Seconds from finding a piece of wood plunged through his chest. “She doesn’t want Angel,” he growled lowly. “An’ if you try to come after her, I’ll know it. I’ll sense it well before you even get to the cemetery. If you try to go against her wishes, I’ll take her away. We’ll be long gone by the time you get to the crypt. You won’ find us, an’ I’ll take care of her until she’s ready to come back on her terms, not yours.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

The vampire’s brows perked. “’Kay. You can believe that, ‘f you like. Go ahead an’ try it. It’ll be the last you see of either of us for a long, long time.”

There was a pause. “Even if she’s ready to come back?”

“Something tells me that she won’ wanna be around blokes that don’ honor her wishes. Who knows? You might be in the ground before she feels up to lookin’ at you again.” Spike held his eyes for a long minute. Held them until he knew the Watcher understood he was serious. Then, slowly, he reached for the discarded blanket and moved back toward the door.

“She loves you,” he said, opening the door. “She loves all of you. ‘S why she came to me. She knows she won’ hurt me. She’s in no danger of losin’ control. If she hurt one of you, it’d kill her. I’ll take care of her Rupert.”

Giles didn’t say anything.

“Right, well, I’ll be in touch.”

It wasn’t until he turned to retreat into the sunlight that the Watcher broke his silence.

“Do take care of her, Spike.”

“Don’ worry.”

“I do.” He paused. “If you hurt her in any way, I will personally introduce you to a new definition of pain and suffering.”

The words were so overused in petty threats that Spike had to bite down the instinctual smile that tickled his lips. He knew the man was serious. He knew Giles would kill him over and over before he had his fill of justice if anything went wrong.

Giles didn’t know, though. Didn’t know that if anything went wrong, if he hurt Buffy, retaliation would be useless. Whatever happened to the Slayer happened to him, now. If he hurt her, he would stake himself. Walk into sunlight. Do anything to bring himself to justice. Spike simply didn’t hurt the ones he loved. And he loved Buffy more than any woman, any person, that time had given him.

Thus, he merely nodded his understanding, and let the Watcher have his play.

“Understood.”

Then he was gone. Back to the Desoto, where her clothing was stashed.

Back to the crypt, where his Slayer waited.

Back to his Buffy. His glorious, wounded girl, who trusted him.

*~*~*

Something was wrong.

He knew it the minute he stepped into the crypt. The minute his nose hit the air, and drew in the familiar, repugnant scent of burnt flesh. Something within him dropped, constricting his heart with the worst rush of fear he had ever known. Her clothes plunged to the ground and he bounded for the ladder that led upstairs.

Oh god. Oh god oh god.

If something had happened to her while he was gone…while he wasn’t here to stop it…

Oh God, what if Riley had been back? What if he had seen Buffy here and…

No.

Riley’s scent was vague. Distant. That hovering, offensive presence from the night before. It was too faint to be recent.

“Buffy!” He exploded into the upper level, panting heavily. The scent was stronger here. “Buffy! God, where…”

Then he saw her. And his heart broke.

“Oh God.”

She was sitting beside the front door, rocking back and forth, cradling her left hand. Her face was a mess of tears, her body wracked with sobs, and she cried out at every breath instinct told her she needed. If she heard him, it had not registered. She was somewhere else. She wasn’t with him.

“Buffy…” Spike blinked back tears as he tentatively approached. The last thing she needed was to see him cry for her. Not when he was supposed to be the strong one.

I never should’ve left her.

This is my fault.

Then she began to speak. Her voice cracked with torment, hoarse from the grief she couldn’t keep from spilling. He lost himself all over again at that. The despair, the want of what she couldn’t reach…it was nearly too much. He feared breaking for her. Every pained gasp she took reminded him what dying felt like.

“I…I wanted…I wanted to…” She shook her head. “I wanted you. I couldn’t…I needed to…I didn’t want to…and I tried to go…I went outside, but…but I forgot. I’ve never had to…and I forgot. And the sun was so bright. I couldn’t see. My hand hurt, and I couldn’t see. I tried to get back inside, and…”

That was it. Spike turned away, wiping erratically at his eyes as guilt consumed him.

“I should’ve known,” she continued, small and lost. “I should’ve remembered. I just…I…I just didn’t.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. Fuck the rest; he needed to feel her in his arms.

She reached for him as he stormed over. A little girl recognizing the safety of the one who loved her. He lifted her into his embrace, careful of her wounded hand, and carried her back to the sofa they had spent the morning on, curled in each other’s arms.

“’m so sorry,” he gasped. “’m so bloody sorry. If I hadn’t left—”

Buffy shook her head. “No. It was…I was stupid. I didn’t think. I’ve never had to…it was all me.”

“’F I hadn’t left…God, why the bloody hell did I…fuck, you could’ve jus’ worn my stuff. A man would die to see you dolled up in his clothin’—why the hell did I go off—”

She was still shaking his head. “No.”

“Buffy—”

“No.” The next thing he knew, her arms were around him, and her lips were touching his. And he melted. He drowned into her mouth, his tongue plundering her cavern, drawing from her desperate, tear-flavored kisses that drove him rightly out of his mind. She was everywhere. Her lips on him, her scent pooled around him. She suckled his tongue urgently, whimpering into him as his own sorrow poured into her. His own desperation. His own need.

“Buffy,” he gasped, mouth taking chart down her neck. “Oh God.”

She clung to him needily, burying her face in the crook of his throat. “I would be nowhere,” she choked. “If you weren’t here, I’d be nowhere.”

He hated the sound of her so thoroughly defeated.

“No,” he objected, kissing her cheek ardently. “You’re not jus’ any Slayer, Buffy. You’re the bloody best. You’re the best I’ve ever seen. The best I’ve ever fought. The best in the sodding line. You wouldn’t be nowhere.” His arms came around her and he inhaled the essence that was her. The heavenly aroma of Slayer musk, spiced with the equally excruciating flavor of her sorrow. “You wouldn’t be nowhere, baby. I know you. You’re the best. The bloody best. You wouldn’t be nowhere.”

She shuddered but didn’t respond, just hugged him tighter.

He wanted to tell her then. Wanted so badly to tell her how much he loved her. That he would never leave her. That if she wanted, she would never be alone.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t yet. He didn’t want to frighten her.

Didn’t want to risk hurting her any more than she was.

Didn’t want to risk his heart, even if it was already lost.

To be continued in Chapter Ten: Sure To Fall…

Sure To Fall

He made her stay awake throughout the duration of the night so that she would fall asleep at daybreak. It wasn’t easy, but neither was eradicating twenty years of dedicating nights to rest and days to partying. Even as a slayer, whose life thrived amongst the nocturnal, Buffy’s baser habits were still thoroughly human. So he made her stay awake all night. Another exercise of living as a vampire.

The night was wrought with tension, tentative glances and shy touches. He made no untoward advance, though there were times she caught him looking at her with such yearning that she would swear her heart was beating again.

“Are you staying with me tonight?” she asked as dawn approached, her body begging her for sleep.

His eyes twinkled. “This mornin’, you mean?”

“You know you’re a fascist dictator.”

“Well, not exactly, but I came close to eating one once.” Spike smiled and motioned for her to join them. “Come here, sweetling. Gonna get you ready for bed.”

Buffy just looked at him.

“Not gonna undress you,” he clarified, though the prospect had a veil of dazed lust clouding his vision. “’Less you want me to, of course.”

“I…” Her eyes darted downward, and she could’ve sworn her skin was blazing.

“I wanna make sure your hand’s all healed by tomorrow. I also want you to sleep well.”

“I’ll sleep well if you’re with me.”

The heat burning in his gaze intensified, and she felt her resolve weaken. It was beyond strange, being here with him and inciting this sort of reaction. Wishing he would make the decision for them. Wishing she didn’t have to be the brave one. It was all still so new to her. She felt at times as though this reality had been the one her body had fought to reach for the entirety of her existence. That Spike wasn’t the vampire that the Watcher’s Council and Angel and everyone that had ever tried to control her opinions had made him out to be. That Spike was the one that had been there for her all along.

“Then I’ll be with you,” he promised. “But we’re bandagin’ your hand all the same.”

“I heal fast.”

“Yeh? This’ll make you heal faster.” He gave her a look, crooking a finger. “Come on, luv. I don’ bite.”

Buffy laughed shortly at that and stepped forward. “Yeah.”

“Well, okay, so I do.”

“I’ve been told.”

“Won’ bite you, though.” He paused. “Unless you want me to.”

“Is there a list of things you’ll do ‘if I want you to’?”

“Edited an’ alphabetized in my back pocket. Now come here.”

She couldn’t tell if he was being playful or playfully coy. Or if she was reading too much into his words and shouldn’t think of jeopardizing what they had while she didn’t know exactly what he wanted from her. If his interest in her was in friendship only, and his physical reactions were simply what came from having a close friendship with a member of the opposite sex.

Their encounter that morning had her thinking otherwise. They had shared kisses. He’d given her the sweetest orgasm she had ever experienced. She had placed her hand on his cock and touched him in a way that she had never thought to touch anyone. Her experience when it came to such things was abundant in the ever tedious more of the same. Two one-night stands that had taught her that men don’t really care what happens to their bedmates as long as they achieve their own pleasure, and the past few months dating the most boring, unfulfilling sex that made her believe the female orgasm was a myth akin to Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.

Angel had been an attentive lover, she had to admit; but the night was shrouded so much in horror and pain that she’d all but forgotten the part where he had taken her innocence. His pleasure was less the expected pun and more the evil their brief night together had unleashed. By the time Parker had talked her into bed, she had all but forgotten what sex felt like.

The afterwards always seemed to be the same. And now she and Riley had been sharing a bed for nearly a year—and her experience with Spike that morning, through nothing more than the feel of his fingers inside her—opened her eyes to the world that she had been denied.

If it ever happened between her and Spike, though, she never wanted it to be simply for the promise of sexual satisfaction.

Though for the warm feelings blossoming through her body, she somehow suspected that if they ever did make love, it would be because she had admitted that her feelings for him were based in something deeper than simple affection.

Spike reached out and tentatively touched her hand, raising her burnt skin to his lips.

Her stomach twisted in knots. It was already deeper than simple affection.

“Let’s wrap this up,” he murmured. “Then we’ll go to bed.”

He was so delicate with her. Her hand was already well mended; Slayer potency combined with her new vampire strength made for even faster healing than before. She felt bandaging her hand was overkill, but the notion that he cared that much warmed her insides.

It wasn’t until they were downstairs and he was settling beside her in the bed that she was struck by a whim of domesticity. Like this could be the way of things for the rest of her life, and she was more than okay with that.

The thought of falling asleep in Spike’s arms every night for her new eternity gave her peace, and filled her with something that she had never before experienced. Something she was hesitant to name, if only for her fear of falling too fast and being cut off too quickly. Of becoming so emotionally attached to him and having none of it returned.

Not in the way she would need it returned. She knew Spike felt something…she just didn’t know what.

If it was anywhere near what she felt.

Spike held his arms open for her, and she settled against his chest, slipping a leg over his. He settled a hand over her hip; the other at her arm, thumb tracing the skin at her shoulder tenderly.

“Goodnight,” she murmured, snuggling against him.

He smiled and brushed a kiss across her forehead. “’Night, sweetheart.”

And they slept.

*~*~*

“Patrolling?”

He nodded. “We’re goin’ out tonight.”

“Why?”

“’Cause it’s one of the things you need to do.”

Buffy drew in a breath. “I…but…what if—”

“We run into your mates?”

She nodded.

“We’ll deal. I won’ let you hurt them, an’ you’re off your bird if you think I’ll let them hurt you.” Spike smiled, throwing open the front door of the crypt. “Come on, Slayer. Time’s a wastin’. Won’ want the Hellmouth to grow into a bleedin’ tourist attraction for the undead, right?”

“I thought it already was one, it being a hellmouth.”

He shrugged sheepishly. “All right, so I don’ want any noisy neighbors. We’re goin’ patrolling.”

“You know,” she said as they stepped into the night, “I remember a time not too long ago that you were angry at me for…what, ‘killing your friends?’”

Spike smirked, fingers lacing through hers and they set through the graveyard. They walked leisurely, as though taking a stroll rather than hunting. “Firs’ of all,” he said, “the only time I used those words was when we were under a spell, an’ that was, what, a year ago?”

“Not quite a year.”

“Still…”

“Hey.” She scowled. “You remembered, too.”

“Yeh, well…” He stopped, frowned, and looked away. Like a little boy who’d been caught gazing at his crush. “Okay, second of all, I don’ have any vamp friends. A few demons I hang around an’ play cards while swiggin’ beers an’ what all. Harmless blokes. Think you’d like one of ‘em.”

“Like him?”

“Well, hopefully not like you like certain others.” A smirk drew across his lips, and he tugged her closer. “He’s not exactly easy on the eyes.”

She smiled shyly. “What makes you think I like certain others?”

“You dated one.”

“So three years ago.”

He arched a brow. “You’re practically livin’ with another.”

“He’s not a demon. Not like the others.”

Spike stared at her hard for a long minute, then shook his head with a smile. “’m a demon, kitten. You can’t ever forget that, right?”

“You don’t act like a demon. Not with me.”

He dropped an ardent kiss across her brow. “You make me wanna be more than I am,” he replied softly. “You’ve put so much faith in me. I don’ ever wanna not deserve it.”

Buffy pulled him to a standstill beside her, turning so that they were eye-to-eye. “Don’t think you don’t, ever,” she said. “No matter what happens…please. I know I didn’t treat you right in the past, but that’s… If you weren’t here, I would have fallen apart. I still don’t know why you’ve been so good to me…but I’m so grateful, Spike. For everything.”

“Hush now,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her forehead again. “The past is over. We have forever to right old wrongs.”

She swallowed hard, sure she had heard wrong. “Forever?”

Spike froze, and his eyes ducked away in embarrassment. “I…well…obviously, we’re both gonna be around forever,” he amended quickly. “I’d imagine over the centuries, we’ll run into each other every now an’ then, right? The world’s not as bloody big as some people like to think. What’s that sayin’? ’S a small world after all?”

Buffy fought a grin. He was adorable when he was flustered.

Why on earth had it taken something like death to bring her to him?

“Yeah,” she agreed, squeezing his hand. “The saying.”

He nodded. “Yeh. Well, forever’s another reason we’re out here,” he said. “’F you’re gonna make it forever…so we can run into each other every now an’ then…you’ll have to make sure you satisfy your demon’s need for the three essentials.”

“Three essentials?”

“Blood,” he said, counting off on one hand.

“That one’s obvious. What are the other two?”

Another finger went up. “Violence.”

She nodded. That made sense. For the first few weeks after the chip had been implanted in his head, Spike was morose with a lack of being able to vent his demon’s need for brutality. The only way he had refrained from dusting himself came with the realization that demons didn’t register on the chip’s radar. It had given him a whole new reason to live. It was something that had seemed more for the sake of vanity, and she remembered being disgusted with him at the time, even if a small part of her begrudgingly understood. Yes, she could very well appreciate a vampire’s need for violence.

More over, it wasn’t so far placed from the Slayer’s.

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “What’s the third?”

At that, he looked sheepish. “Sex.”

“Sex?”

“Now, Slayer, I know you know about sex.” He grinned as she flushed and glanced down. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

She stiffened, wide eyes meeting his. “I am?”

“God yes. How can you doubt it?”

“I don’t…” Buffy glanced down, shaking her head. “I don’t…even like this?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Baby, Drac vamped you, he din’t make you any less than what you are. I’ve always thought it.”

“Always?”

“From that very firs’ moment I saw you. Dancin’ in the Bronze, an’ blissfully unaware of how every bloke within twenty feet would trip over himself jus’ to win a smile.” His eyes twinkled when she glanced up, and the brightness that graced her face won him over completely. “There it is. Jus’ like that. A girl needs to be told she’s gorgeous every day.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re even cuter when you get flustered.”

She shot him a devilish glance. “So are you.”

“I don’ get flustered.”

“Yeah? What was that talk about forever earlier? It’s a small world?”

Spike grinned, reached up and ran his fingers through her hair. “That wasn’ gettin’ flustered,” he retorted. “That was wishful thinkin’.”

“Wishful?”

“We have patrollin’ to do.”

“You’re just going to keep avoiding this, aren’t you?”

He nodded, grin broadening. “Yeh. Till I’m sure I won’ get staked.”

Buffy frowned and tightened her grip on his hand as they started walking again. “I won’t stake you, Spike. Never.”

“Never say never.”

“I won’t.”

“Never’s a long time, you know.”

“Are you trying to talk me into staking you?” She shook her head when he shot her a wry, amused glance. “It won’t happen. You…I don’t even know how to describe what you’ve done for me in just the past couple days. I feel so…God, I can’t imagine how I went through life without feeling like this.”

He nodded pensively. “Know how you feel, pet.”

“I know you do.”

“Still don’ know why you din’t go to Peaches.”

“Still don’t know why you didn’t boot me the minute you saw me in your crypt.” She held up a hand as his eyes flashed his objection. “And don’t give me that ‘you already know’ crap. Do you have any idea how annoying that is?”

“I do, as a matter of fact.” He was grinning like an idiot. “Din’t take you long to rekindle with your sassy self there, did it?”

“Would’ve taken longer—”

“—’f it wasn’ for me,” he finished for her. “’m not the only one that’s been a broken record, sweetling.”

“Yeah, well…you’re…yeah.” She glanced down. “Sorry about that.”

“Sorry?”

“For being sassy.”

Spike rolled his eyes and tugged her to another standstill. “Buffy,” he said shortly, “I want you to be you. You’re not yourself ‘f you’re not a bit bitchy every now an’ then.”

“So it’s bitchy now? What happened to sassy?”

He smiled. “Case in point.”

She opened her mouth to retort, then stopped when she realized she would be proving his words all the more.

“See?” he murmured. “I want you to be you. All bloody sides.”

“When I’m bitchy, I usually hit you.”

“Well, I don’ particularly want to get back to that phase of our relationship, but if it makes you feel better—”

She shook her head. “No. Please. No.”

“Too temptin’?”

“Spike…I don’t…I’m not the girl I was then. I don’t want to be her. I don’t like her. She…” Buffy’s eyes hazed with tears for no reason whatsoever, and she found herself growing irritated at her own inability of expression. How could she tell him what she felt if she didn’t know, herself? He made her forget so many things without even trying. He gave her peace; he gave her back the world. He gave her what she needed, and he did so seemingly with no thought for his own welfare. “The girl I was then…I’m…I’m so torn.”

“I know.”

“I can’t…what I know now…when you’re not with me, and I’m thinking about the girl I was, I find myself hating her so much. She didn’t know anything.” She shook her head again. “She thought she did. She thought…”

“There, there, now,” Spike murmured, drawing her close. She relaxed as her head found his shoulder, his arms coming around her. “Din’t mean to upset you, luv. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t. This was…” Buffy laughed humorlessly and pulled back, wiping at her eyes. “You…I felt normal for the first time just a few minutes ago. Really, really normal. But I…I don’t like that form of normal anymore. It’s familiar but…I’m not nice when I’m in normal. Not to you.”

He smiled. “Sometimes I don’ deserve it.”

She released a deep breath, but didn’t wince. That one didn’t hurt. Her breaths hadn’t been hurting as much since the day before. Since she wrapped herself in Spike’s arms and pretended to watch the television while the day aged around them. “I want a new normal,” she said a minute later.

“We’ll get you there, pet. It jus’ takes a while.”

“I want…I don’t want you to…I want you to be a part of the new normal.”

There was a beat at that, and rich emotion flooded his eyes. Awe, affection, and tenderness that she was coming to adore. Like he was on the brink of overflowing with this feeling he had for her, and would wash her over with his warmth.

“I can do that,” he promised fervently.

There. There it was. A loose definition of this wonderful thing they had. Something to build on. Something to aspire to. A future filled with a new form of ordinary. Where the predictability was still the unpredictability, but on a whole new level.

She wanted him to be a part of that. And he wanted it, too.

There was a definition.

Spike smiled, gripped her hand tighter, and they continued walking.

The first steps into the new normal.

With him.

To be continued in Chapter Eleven: The Farther One Travels…

The Farther One Travels

The Bronze.

She attempted to recall the number of reasons she had given herself when she’d decided to come here tonight. She felt misplaced and cold; her skin terribly aware of the heat compressing the bodies of others around her. The music was intolerably loud, but strangely no more so than every other time she had come to this place with the intention of burning off some non-slayage steam. It was as though her ears were hearing for the first time.

There were so many things about vampirism that she didn’t understand. Spike liked loud music. She didn’t. Spike could breathe without it hurting; she was getting there. They both liked warm blood. Little things like that—things that were so obvious now—were things she had never associated with lacking a heartbeat. Being raped of the ability to walk in sunlight.

And now with the steady drumming of so many heartbeats, the promise of warm blood with every body that surrounded her, racing pulses and the deafening cadence of life—life that she lacked. Warmth that she lacked. Her fangs were piercing her gums with the need to drink. And she was here because she wanted to see if she could take it.

She couldn’t.

Especially when she saw her friends at a table beneath the eagle view of the balcony. Her friends that were miles away from her. They were laughing about something Xander had said. Tara and Willow were sharing a plate of chicken wings that Anya kept trying to eat off of. Riley was there, too; the only one not laughing. Not having a good time. As though he wanted to be elsewhere.

She thought she would’ve been angry to see her friends so carefree while she was in pain, but she wasn’t. Rather, it was nice knowing that they weren’t burdened by what had happened to her. Perhaps Giles had told them about his meeting with Spike. Perhaps they had understood. It wasn’t a matter of them having fun without her; they were having fun. It didn’t mean she was forgotten.

The demon inside was screaming. She wanted blood. And she wanted a lot of it.

She wanted it warm. And she wanted it now.

A trembling gasp escaped her throat and she willed her eyes closed, hands enclosing around the railing that guarded the upper gallery. It had been a mistake coming here, but she needed to know. She’d needed to feel it for herself. And now she was here, she was feeling it, and she was alone. She hadn’t even told Spike she was leaving; she was alone.

This was something she needed to do herself. But she’d gone too soon.

Then his scent washed over her, and the angered, hungry demon cooed to a soothing obedience. A sigh of relief rolled off her shoulders, and she allowed her body to relax.

Oh thank God.

“I wouldn’t’ve argued ‘f you’d said you needed to do this by yourself, sweets,” Spike mused thoughtfully, wrapping his arms around her middle. Her back was suddenly against the comforting fortitude of his chest. “I would’ve worried until I heard from you, or more likely, followed you from a distance, but I wouldn’t’ve argued.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I can tell,” he replied, his mouth finding her throat. Her legs about buckled at the softness of his kisses. There was no way she had lived without this voluntarily; those first few years of her life had to have been under a glamour that kept her from him. The spell Willow had placed them under a year before had been a hint from the PTB that this was the way things needed to be between them. Spike with his arms around her, his mouth worshipping her throat, his erection pressing into the curve of her ass. “Know how?”

“H-how what?”

He chuckled against her. “How I can tell you’re glad that I’m here.”

“How?”

“You haven’t thrown me over the balcony yet.”

“Those days are so over.”

“Hmmm, almost disappointin’. You’re so hot when you’re feisty.” His arms tightened around her, and she moaned slightly in complaint when his kisses ceased. “You know,” he said, hooking his chin over her shoulder, “you can go down there an’ see them, if you want.”

“I don’t.”

“Really?”

There was a pause. “Well…no, I don’t. I came here to see if I could…come here, and I can’t.” She sighed. “I’ve been wishing you were with me since the minute I stepped out of the crypt.”

“’m here now.”

“How’d you know where to find me?”

Spike grinned against her. “Same way you knew I was here before I said anythin’. An’ I felt it the minute you shimmied away from me this evenin’.”

“I didn’t shimmy away. There was no shimmying.”

He laughed shortly. “Pity.”

“Spike—”

“You sure you don’ wanna say anythin’ to your mates?”

“I’m sure.” Buffy released a sigh. “I’m not ready yet. I don’t want to see them when I’m not ready.” She shook her head, trembling. “I want to feed. The second I came in here, I wanted to bite everyone around me.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“That and I don’t want them to…I’m afraid they’d come after you. If what you told me about your talk with Giles…they’d come after you.” She shuddered. “And I’m afraid of what I’d do to them if they came after you.”

Spike froze. “You’d…they’re your friends, sweetheart—”

“Yeah, and I went to you. If they’re really my friends, they’ll understand that. But they won’t. Will, Tara, and Anya…yeah. Xander and Riley?” She shook her head again. “There’s no way they’d understand.”

Then, for no reason whatsoever—other than it was infuriating to have him with this invisible barrier between them—Buffy twisted in his arms, linked her hands behind his neck, and crushed her mouth to his. Spike was motionless for half a second out of surprise, then he rumbled a growl into her and pulled her tightly against him. It was liberating, kissing him here in front of everyone. Feeling his lips moving against her, his tongue invading her mouth, growling into her. If her friends glanced up, they would be in plain view, but Buffy didn’t care. She wanted Spike. She was tired of denying herself the one person guaranteed to give her peace. She wanted Spike, and for the way he was grinding his erection into her, his hand cupping her ass and pulling her against him, he wanted her, too. She was wet and he knew it. There was a familiar burn searing her insides, warming her where she was cold. Spike was kissing her and that was everything.

“Mmmm,” he mewled, pulling away from her lips as his kisses detonated into an exploration of every inch of her that he could reach without breaking any standing decency laws. “God, Buffy…”

Her mouth found the soft skin at his throat and began nibbling slightly.

“Christ!” he gasped. Then froze. “Slayer…” he growled warningly. “You do what you’re aimin’ to do, an’ your friends are gonna know we’re here right quick.”

His voice broke through the haze clouding her lust-filled mind. “What?”

“You’re hungry,” he said, edging her mouth away from his throat. “An’ you haven’t fed. An’ you’re about three seconds from sinkin’ your fangs into my throat. Somethin’ I’m not above explorin’ when we’re home…but it’s too bloody dangerous here.” His eyes dropped to her lips, and he kissed her again. “Havin’ said that, wanna go home?”

Buffy smiled shyly and glanced down. “Home?”

“Well, my home.”

“I kinda think of it as home, too.”

A look of pure adoration flooded into his gaze, and he cupped her cheeks reverently, brushing his lips against hers. “’S yours, sweetling,” he promised. “As bloody long as you want it to be. As long as you wanna be with me, you have a place. ‘S jus’ a hole in the ground, so—”

“It’s more than a hole in the ground, Spike. It’s…” Buffy tore her eyes away from his when the intensity with which he regarded her became too strong. “It’s…I forget it’s a crypt most of the time. You know how you walk into a place, and it’s all new…and you don’t know where anything is, and it’s new and strange? Does that make sense?”

“More so than you’d think.”

“Well…you know then how after time passes, the place that you thought of in one way becomes another? You know the place so it looks different?”

He nodded.

“The crypt’s like that. I’ve been there so much that it’s like…I don’t remember thinking of it as the other thing. It’s like home.”

“What about your real home, luv? The one with your mum?”

She glanced up. “It seems so far away. I know it’s there, and you’re right…she will love me no matter what. I just…the girl that lived there isn’t around anymore. I’ve changed…and not just in body temperature. I can’t live in the house. I can’t go to school. I can’t…well, I can’t really do anything. Except patrol.”

“You wanna patrol?”

“Violence is one of the three things, right?”

“Yeh. One of the three.” His eyes flashed. “We better go before your friends see one of the other two.”

Buffy grinned cheekily. “Yeah? Which one?”

A devilish smirk crossed his face. “Well now,” he said. “That’d be tellin’.” His gaze wandered over the railing. “Better go, yeh? Your pals are about to embarrass themselves on the dance floor. Wouldn’t want them seein’ anything you don’ want them to see.”

“Like what?”

Passion stormed his eyes, and he placed her hand over his erection. “Use your imagination.”

Buffy flushed but flicked her brows challengingly, squeezing his denim-clad cock before releasing him with an affectionate pat. His gaze widened in surprise before dissolving into desire, a long whimper tumbling through his lips. “I can imagine a few things,” she replied softly.

“Bleedin’ fuck,” Spike gasped, shaking his head and enclosing a hand around her wrist. “Takin’ you outta here now.”

They left through the back entrance. Away from her friends. Away from the people. Away from warm blood. Away from walking temptation.

The vampire at her side took her hand as they walked, as though claiming her as his for anyone who happened across them.

“Thank you,” she whispered after a few minutes of silence.

He glanced to her quizzically. “For what, pet?”

“For coming after me. I…I was losing it before you showed up.”

Spike smiled softly, grazing his thumb over knuckles with tender adulation. “’m not so easy to get rid of,” he replied. “’Specially when it comes to those I care about.”

Buffy wet her lips. “You care about me?”

“Pet, ‘f that’s not painstakingly obvious by now, we gotta work on our communication skills.”

“No…I know. It’s just…it’s a different thing to hear it.”

He nodded. “I know.”

A beat. She drew in a deep breath.

“I care about you, too.”

Spike’s eyes twinkled as he turned to her, brushing a kiss against her temple. “I know, kitten,” he murmured lovingly. “I know.”

*~*~*

She was so close to him, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

For the days he’d spent curled in her scent, he expected one night to awake and find her gone. A figment of his imagination. The calling of a distant dream, alerting him to what he would never have. Now they were lying side by side on top of the blankets, and all he could do was stare at her.

It was a terrible sensation, dueling with his guilt at having failed her. At having her cursed with his existence when she was made for the sun. But he would be lying to himself if he tried to believe these past few days hadn’t been the best of his life. If her tragic twist of fate hadn’t been his saving grace. He loved her so much, and what had happened to her had consequentially brought her to him. Given him a chance of what he would never have obtained with the Buffy she had left behind. The Buffy that Dracula had killed. The wiser woman in his arms represented everything he had begrudgingly admired in her in their years as adversaries, but aged with that cynicism, that knowledge, which only true death could provide.

This thing that was happening between them was more than he’d ever hoped to touch. And every second with her burned him so good; he couldn’t help but come back for more. Like he was spiraling out of control and chaos had never tasted sweeter. He’d known this sort of bedlam before. Loving Drusilla had eaten away at his insides; consumed him wholly until he was only a shady version himself. Buffy had given him back everything that he once thought lost. And amazingly, she’d done so without being any the wiser.

His previous personal commandment to let her go when she no longer needed him had all but vanished. The thought of letting her go made him ache.

But if she wanted to go, he would not stop her. He loved her too much to deny her happiness, in whatever form she found it in.

Spike released a trembling breath, a hand sliding up her arm, brushing her hair out of her face. His lips grazed her bare shoulder. She was in the habit of dressing for bed in the negligee that Dracula had given her; something he found both irritating and strangely uplifting. In his trip to her house, he’d been sure to pack her several pairs of pajamas. Pajamas that sadly concealed more than they showed off. Buffy had opted to show off every night she spent with him.

He simply was too cautious to say it was for his sake rather than hers. Perhaps the negligee provided a subconscious link with her sire, and helped her deal with his death even more.

The thought of her trying to make peace with another man had him seething with jealousy, but he was too old to question the link between sires and their childer. If she needed peace, he would conquer nations to give it to her. If sleeping in her sire’s gift provided what he could not, that would be his problem. He would never deny her anything.

“Mmmm…” Buffy moaned, shifting in her sleep. And he was suddenly awash in the rich aroma of her arousal. “Spiiiiike.”

His eyes widened. “Sweetheart?”

She whimpered again, her eyes welded shut. “Gawwwd, Spike.”

Oh fuck.

She was dreaming of him. She was dreaming of him. Like that. And he was drowning in her heavenly scent. His cock was painfully hard, rubbing subconsciously against the curve of her ass. God, he needed her. He needed her so much.

“Buffy…bleedin’ hell, you’re killing me.”

She mewled but did not awaken. Instead, her hand snaked down her own body, hiking up the hem of her negligee. “Spike. Need…uhhh…”

He willed his eyes closed. Gotta…wake her…

Buffy whimpered again and twisted in his arms. Her mouth was suddenly achingly close to his. He knew how sweet that mouth tasted. Knew the flavor of her kisses. He knew how wet she became when she was aroused. Knew from that first morning how delicious she was.

Goddamn…

He slithered a hand between them and freed his cock from his jeans. “Jesus…” he gasped, stroking his shaft in time with her whimpers. Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew that wanking off to her wet dream was wrong. “I can’t take much more of this,” he told her, even if she couldn’t hear him. “Jus’ so you know. I want you so much.”

“Spike…”

He didn’t really know how it happened. The next minute her bumpies had shifted forward, the gorgeous visage of her demon, and her fangs slid into his throat.

Spike roared and came. Like a schoolboy on his first date, only worse. Now her eyes were open. Now she was awake. And he was holding his cock, his hand full of his spendings. He didn’t know whether to be sorry or humiliated, or to call her on this mating ritual she’d been teasing him with, whether intentional or not. He wanted her, and he knew she wanted him.

One look at her face, though, halted anything he was about to say. Her eyes were awash in mortification, trained on the marks in his throat. “Oh God,” she cried. “Oh my God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…I—”

Spike’s eyes went wide.

“Not sorry,” he replied hoarsely, and seized her lips before she could say another word. “You’re amazin’. Never felt anythin’ like that.”

“Felt?”

“Mmmm…” He was hard again, his erection wandering disobediently between her legs. “You drive me outta my mind.”

“Spike…”

His fingers skimmed her inner thigh. “Want you so much,” he rasped. “You smell so sweet.”

“I…Spike…I…”

“Wanna bury myself inside you. Make love with you till nightfall.” He nuzzled her throat. “Taste every inch of you. Christ, Buffy…”

“I…”

She wanted it, too. He could see it. Her eyes shone with uncertainty, but she wanted him in every way he wanted her. The hesitation, though, lent him pause. With as much as he craved to lose himself inside her, he wanted absolutely no doubt between them. Wanted nothing but that promise of the future they could have together. Not the reservations of a world that gave its blessings as readily as it took.

“I won’ do anythin’ you don’t want me to do,” he promised.

“Spike…” Her eyes filled with tears that broke his heart. “I do. I want you so much. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you. I’m just…I don’t know why I’m…God, I’m just…”

He shook his head and brushed his lips against her cheek. “Don’t cry, sweetness,” he murmured. “When it happens, I don’ want you doubtin’ anything. Least of all me.” His gaze dropped to her mouth and he kissed her again. “But God, lemme taste you. Touch you. God, anythin’. Please. Your scent is drivin’ me outta my bloody head.”

“T-t-taste?”

He frowned and studied her a moment, then his gaze went wide. “Oh, you’re bloody kiddin’ me.”

“I don’t—”

“Don’ worry.” Spike sat up and pushed her gently back to the mattress, kicking his jeans off his legs. Her eyes bulged at the sight of him fully nude, and he couldn’t help the dose of male pride that spread through his body at her silent appraisal. “Gonna take care of you.”

Buffy was studying him intently, burdened with both intrigue and desire, and the combination was heavenly.

He flashed a reassuring smile and fisted the material of her negligee. “You like this?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“Why wear it?”

“It’s sexy. I…” He swore her pale cheeks flushed bright, but that could be easily accredited to his overactive imagination. “I don’t have…you didn’t…I want to be sexy for you. It’s the only thing I had…you didn’t bring…my other stuff.”

Ardor stormed his eyes. “Oh Buffy.”

A quick tear and her sire’s gift was no more. And his eyes drank her in. Buffy lying before him. Her gorgeous body bare to him. There was not an inch of her that he did not adore. That he would fail to taste. Everything. She was his. If not before, certainly now. He was never letting her go after this. Not after tonight.

“Buffy.” Her name came out a choked sob. “God, you’re so gorgeous.”

She arched beneath his perusal. “Spike, please.”

He nodded, grateful for the invitation. Had he forced himself to keep his hands off her another second, he was sure he would know death all over again. He palmed a breast reverently as his mouth dipped to sample the other. He laved a wet path around her nipple before drawing her bud into his mouth. “Mmm,” he hummed against her skin. “So sweet.”

“Guhh…”

His other hand spread her thighs. “Gonna taste you now,” he told her. “God, I need to taste you so bloody badly.” Before she could open her mouth, he slid unceremoniously down her body and nuzzled his face into her sex.

Buffy arched off the bed. “Spike!”

“Screamin’ my name already,” he mused, nibbling on her folds. She was already panting. Her eyes wide with awe. It amazed him that for all the tossers she’d been with, not one of them had done this for her. Not even his own wanker of a grandsire, who’d not only had her love, but had robbed her of her virginity. Torn into her body without…his eyes clouded with rage. None in her past had been worthy of this. Lying between her thighs, gazing up her body, feasting on her pussy. No. If they didn’t know how to properly worship a goddess, they weren’t fit to share a room, much less her bed.

“Oh God,” she gasped. “Oh my God.”

He sank two fingers within her. “You’re so wet,” he moaned. “So bloody tight.”

“Uhhh…”

“Feel good?” he asked tentatively, pulling his digits out and driving them back in. Her response drowned out in a long, encouraging mewl. His tongue lapped at her eagerly, watching her face through hooded eyes. Watching as she writhed at his touch. It was unlike anything he had ever seen. Buffy whimpering for his touch. Buffy shaking in hard sobs of pleasure. Her eyes shining with light and desire. For him. All for him.

Fuck, he would never tire of this.

“Spike…oh god…please.”

“I know what you need, sweetling,” he murmured. He smiled into her and drew her clit into his mouth. His tongue swirled around the needy bundle as his fingers thrust deeper into her. He was swimming in her. Losing himself a thousand times over. Everything on overload. Her scent. Her responses. That lost look in her eyes. He couldn’t get enough of her. If leaving this glorious creature behind was in his making, he wanted no part of it. She had his blood in her body now. He had her taste rolled on his tongue. His fingers were inside her, stroking her to perfection. His cock drove madly against the mattress, demanding attention that he refused to turn to himself. She was crying out for him, and the air had never known a sweeter sound. His Buffy on his bed. His Buffy that slept in his arms. She thrust her hips against his face, incoherent babbles spilling through her perfect lips.

“You taste like wine,” he told her, withdrawing his fingers from her passage.

“Spike!”

“Gonna take care of you, baby,” he promised. “Gonna drink you till you can’t come anymore.”

His hand settled over her pubic bone, fingers dipping into her again. Finding her abandoned clit and massaging her in speedy, tortuous circles as his tongue plunged into her pussy.

“Oh God!” she screamed, arching off the bed again. Her fingers tunneled through his hair and held him to her. Her legs settled over his shoulder and drew him into her, sobbing her pleasure in the form of his name again and again. And he lapped at everything she gave him. Explored the extent of her body’s secrets, rejoicing in the honey that rewarded his tongue. With every second, he lost himself a bit more. He would gladly wait out the trials of eternity here if only to hear his name screamed in her voice. Watch as the pleasure he gave her engulfed her face. Taste her nectar as she came. She was purity lost in darkness, and she gave him all her light.

When she came, it was a bloody revelation. He was overwhelmed with her taste, lost in the sobbing contours of her body. Holding her as she trembled and cried his name, his mouth not leaving her until the tremors subsided. Until she fell back against the mattress, panting deep breaths that no longer hurt. Her gaze was clouded with tears again, but there was such joy embedded in her eyes that he did not question her. Merely licked her flavor off his lips, suckled his Buffy-drenched fingers into his mouth, and rested with her as she came down. His arms curled around her and rested his cheek against her stomach, a lazy hand toying with her breast. Waiting for his goddess to return to him.

Sharing this with her was unlike anything else in his existence. God, if he hadn’t known before a thousand times over, he bloody well knew now.

Fuck, I love her so much.

“Spike…”

He met her eyes slowly and melted at what he saw. The peace in her eyes was contagious, settled there with pure adoration that he had never before been given. He felt loved. Warm. There in her arms, her scent flooding him wholly. Her smile. Her peace. Her love.

The words weren’t there, but he felt it.

“You’re so…” He stopped shortly, and then shook his head. There was nothing he could say. Nothing that would summarize the wealth of what he felt.

Instead, he prowled up her body and kissed her. Poured everything he was into the union of their lips. Let her taste herself, spiced with the taste of him. Her arms came around him. Body to body. Holding each other in the aftermath. Holding each other in the embrace of day, with the promise of something new.

He had helped her reach penance.

Now they would try for fire.

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Chapter Twelve

Take Me To A Place So Holy

She awoke curled in warmth.

Strange. As a vampire, warmth was not supposed to exist. And yet, for everything, the comfort of Spike’s embrace provided something she had never touched in life. More so at this waking than all the others she had shared with him. The blessed few days she had spent with him.

He was breaking her barriers, one by one. Everything she had thought of vampires for so long had been replaced with the more startling reality of her nature. She knew that most of her kind were soulless monsters. That most would just as soon kill her as look at her, whether or not she was one of them now. The title of Slayer deified the Chosen in the ways of fear and hatred. She was a symbol of reverence and terror, and she always would be. Buffy, the Immortalized Slayer. Buffy, the girl that was Chosen in the last of the twentieth century, and fell in love with two vampires before being sired by the most famous vampire of popular culture.

Spike’s head was pillowed at her breast, his right arm curved over her abdomen. His cock was hard against her leg, and a blissful look of serenity graced his sleeping face. No one had ever made her feel the way he did. Not only for what he did to her, how effortlessly he aroused her with his touch, but for everything else. The small things. The way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. The way he would brush kisses against her forehead or her hand when she was distressed. The way he shared her pain without losing his fortitude.

She was in love with him. She had known it the night before and still hadn’t surpassed that idyllic euphoria that came with realization. It was a slow coming love. Slow because it was the first time she had had ever truly felt it. Warmth that came without fear or doubt. Kindliness that wasn’t clouded with misguidance or riddled with angst that had dominated her previous relationships. Real love wasn’t like that. She had been a fool to ever think it was. That losing Angel had been the worst pain she could endure. That he was her pinnacle of love, when in the face of actual despair, he was the last person she could ever turn to.

Spike was curled around her. He had reintroduced her to magic the night before; magic she had thought she was too jaded to feel anymore. He had given her love when she had thought the concept something distant, if not wholly made-up. Had given color to a heart worn with blacks and grays. God, yes, she loved him. In just a few days, she had come to love him so much.

The future terrified her, but she felt she could bear it if he was with her.

If that was what he wanted.

Buffy released a sigh and ran her fingers through his peroxide locks, surprised at the softness that greeted her touch. He moaned a bit, his eyes fluttering open. It took a few seconds, but he found her gaze with sleepy adoration, the light that flickered across his face sending warm tremors through her body.

“Mornin’ baby,” he purred, tweaking her nipple.

“Morning,” she replied, arching slightly beneath him.

“Sleep well?”

“Very.”

He smiled. “Good.” He brushed his lips across her forehead, mouth dipping to her throat. “Never thought I’d wake up like this…with you,” he murmured, peppering kisses across her collarbone, then further south until his mouth engulfed her breast, suckling at her sweetly. “You’re so gorgeous like this.”

“Panting and moaning?”

Spike flashed a wicked grin. “Well, I was talkin’ about naked, but I’ll take pantin’ an’ moanin’.”

“Are you ever not horny?”

His eyes flickered dangerously. “Around you?”

She grinned shyly and glanced away. “I never thought…I dunno, I just never thought I’d wake up like this, either.”

“Like this?” he retorted challengingly, licking her nipple again. “Or…” Her eyes went wide at the suddenness of his invasion, two fingers sliding effortlessly into her sodden passage. “This?”

She released a trembling sigh and clutched him tighter. “Either or both.”

“You’re so wet.”

“Mmm…well…what can I say?” Buffy wheedled a hand between them and took hold of his wrist, easing his touch out of her. A confused, hurt look flashed over his face—brief, but she decided in that split second that she never wanted to see it again. That sort of wounded countenance that gave her the impression that he felt he wasn’t good enough for her.

Time to put that fear to rest.

Her legs wound around his waist and she flipped them over in half a second, pinning him to the mattress with a wicked smile. “You bring it out in me,” she concluded, enjoying the smoldering look that flashed across his face. Her eyes flashed teasingly, her mouth dropping to his chest. Spike’s gaze widened in surprise and he threw his head back, a low, tangled moan erupting from his lips.

“Buffy—”

“Turnabout,” she retorted with a cheeky shrug, teeth scraping delicately at one of his nipples. He whimpered and thrust his hips into hers. “And all that.”

“You’re so bloody amazing,” he growled, eyes glazed over with passion. “Christ, Slayer…I want you so fucking much.”

She hummed her approval and nipped at his skin, sliding upward to suckle at his throat over the mark her fangs had given him the night before. Spike mewled again, wandering hands palming her breasts reverently. She was startled at the shards of rapture that shot through her own body—elation like nothing else she had ever experienced. With every sweep of her tongue over her mark, she felt her insides tremble and a slow burn of orgasmic bliss seared through her skin.

It was a bite mark, nothing more. Her bite marks had been a source of pleasure, yes, but nothing like this. And if a bite mark could elicit such euphoria from her, the gasps erupting from his mouth gave her preludes to ecstasy she had only read about.

“God.” His hips surged forward again, his cock sliding against her sopping pussy, eliciting a shared moan between them. “You’re doin’ this to torture me, right?”

“Uh huh.” Her voice didn’t sound controlled so much as needy, but she was still the one on top. And if Spike noticed, he didn’t reveal it. As alluring as it was, exploring the many venues of vampire eroticism, there was so much more of him that she wanted to taste. Her own sexual curiosity was breaking through after two years of being sexually active but similarly repressed. There were things she knew that two people could do together that she had never had the courage to try. Never with Angel, certainly not with Parker, and she had never felt close enough to Riley to do more than the basic ‘insert, withdraw, and repeat as needed.’ She had never had the nerve to take command in bed. To follow what she wanted more than what her bedmate thought she wanted.

With Spike, those fears were nonexistent. And her comfort with him only served to fuel the new, very real love that warmed her cold blood. She could only be like this with someone she loved. She had never known love before him. Love that didn’t feel like this wasn’t love at all.

Furthermore, vampiric intimacy still intimidated her. She wanted to know more about her demon’s nature before she pursued anything else with her fangs.

Buffy leaned back and grasped his wrists, drawing his hands away from her breasts. He whimpered at that, his eyes wide and imploring. She merely smiled reassuringly, then began sliding down the length of him, enjoying the growing tautness of his body until she was face-to-face with his erection. The head of his need was beaded with drops of precum, his skin tremulous with promised anticipation. Spike panted a loud mewl and caught her chin with his fingers.

“B-Buffy, you don’ have to—”

She tugged herself free defiantly, indulging a long lap of his cock. “I want to.”

“Oh Jesus.” He fell against the mattress in surrender and welded his eyes shut. “Bleedin’ fuck.”

“I’ve never done this, just so you know.”

A tense beat rattled through his body. “Buffy…”

She cupped his balls reverently, suckling at the underside of his length. Her thumbs massaged circles into his sensitive skin. “Tell me if I do something wrong,” she murmured heatedly, tongue trailing his cock again until his belled head bobbed against her lips, and she drew him into the inferno of her mouth.

“Oh my God.” Spike flexed and thrust forward involuntarily. Forcing himself deeper into her throat. Then he froze. “S-sorry. I can’t…you feel so good. Feels so fucking good. I’ll try to…not do that.”

Personally, Buffy was impressed he was able to get a sentence out. She was so turned on at his eagerness that she doubted she would be equally successful. The view of him panting and writhing at her touch was one of the most empowering sights she had ever beheld.

She nodded and he moaned again, his fingers tunneling through her hair, lovingly massaging her scalp. “Nothin’ wrong,” he said heatedly. “There’s no way you could do anythin’ wrong.”

Buffy smiled around him, earning another whimper. Then she drew her mouth back to his tip, tongue swirling around his sensitive head. Her hand gave his sac a final squeeze before curling around the base of his erection, pumping him with rhythm natural to her body. As though she had opened a door to a world of new things she was already knowledged in. Her teeth scraped his skin just slightly, and she left his cock to the feel of her explorative fingers, placing a kiss against him before trailing her lips southward. Her hand continued a path back and forth, kneading him in time with his moans and half-coherent praises and vows of adoration.

“Jesus,” he mewled. “Feels so good. Feel so bloody good. God, you’re so perfect. My hot li’l Slayer.”

Her tongue enveloped his sac, suckling him into her mouth.

“Oh God!”

She drew her mouth away at the harshness behind his tone. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Did that hurt? I didn’t—”

Heated tenderness stormed his gaze. “No. God, no. You’re perfect, baby. You hear me? Like satin. Like milk an’ honey. Fuck…” Lust veiled his eyes when she lowered her head once more, capturing his length in her mouth and suckling delicately. Then her hands cupped him again, and she drew him into her until his head brushed against the back of her throat.

Then she began swallowing around him.

“Buffy…I can’t…” His hips thrust forward desperately.

“Mmm?”

“I’m going to…’m…”

She nodded her understanding around him. And her compliance was all he needed. She didn’t rob him of her touch. Didn’t pull away, didn’t leave him to reach orgasm in the cold of the room. Her mouth remained on him, suckling him intently, welcoming his climax into her throat.

“Oh fuck.”

The impact of his taste overwhelmed her. Anya had described the earnings of blowjobs before with an air of aversion, and while Buffy couldn’t say it was the best thing she’d ever had in her mouth, she suspected she found him delicious because of the feelings she harbored for him. In the end, the taste itself didn’t matter. It was that she had made him do that. His pleasure was hers, and his thunderous roar of release sent tingles of anticipation through her body. He was panting as though he needed air. As though a hundred plus years of conditioning could be eradicated with a few minutes of euphoric intimacy.

His cock slid from her mouth with a wet plop, and she placed a kiss across the head with a tender purr that surprised her. In her life, she had never purred. Not once. Now she was, and she had a distant feeling that her newfound vampirism had very little to do with it.

Perhaps it was the happiness. She rested her cheek against his abdomen and wrapped her arms around his waist, waiting for him to come down. Happiness. Happiness as a vampire that she had never achieved as a human.

Buffy was no stranger to having one part of her life going well while everything else was falling apart. The wailing of her demon for the death of her sire hadn’t bothered her for two days now. It ached still, sometimes sent sharp shards of pain through her body, but hadn’t really bothered her.

She no longer felt broken. And it had happened so fast, she didn’t know how to catch up with herself. Spike had pieced her back together when she wasn’t looking. Had given her something that she didn’t know she needed. Had given her reason to smile once more when she thought all reason had died along with her body.

But she wasn’t dead. For the first time, she understood that. Her body was dead; she wasn’t. She had never felt more alive than she did now. Not once in the long line of her weary existence had she begun to touch life as she had since Spike molded her into a new line of understanding from that shady form of herself that could have been her undoing. He had given her blood and made her realize it was okay to drink. If blood was what she needed, it was okay to drink. It was okay to be a vampire without being a demon. It was okay to love her savior. It was okay to love him even if he wasn’t.

She loved Spike, and she had never loved anyone before him. And he had shown her that. Yes, she loved her mother and her friends and her Watcher, but there was a major difference between the love of family and the love of lovers. For so long, she had mistaken the love of family for the love of lovers. Spike provided a ground-shattering both. He was her family, but he was her lover, too. He was her friend and her equal. And she loved him wholly from all aspects.

He made her not afraid, but similarly let her know that fear was natural. To not fear was to be truly inhuman. She was touching humanity for the first time, and it was because of him.

“Buffy.” Spike tugged her back up his body until she was sitting in his lap. His cock was hard again and aligned temptingly with her pussy, but he made no move to enter her. Instead, he kissed her with tenderness no man had ever treated her with. As though every touch from her was a gift from Heaven itself. “You’re so amazin’.”

She smiled gently and brushed her lips against his. “That was okay?”

Spike gaped at her in amazement. “Kitten,” he whispered furiously, drawing her in for another heartfelt kiss. He plundered her mouth with his tongue, pouring the full of his feeling into the union of their lips. “You’ve blown the cap off my bloody world. That was…I’ve never felt anythin’ like that.”

“I find that rather doubtful.”

His eyes narrowed. “You callin’ me a liar?” he asked, fingers trailing along her abdomen, dipping between them. “Saucy li’l minx.”

“I’m just saying, my zero experience next to the tons of experience by, oh say…” Buffy drew in a sharp gasp, her eyes squeezing shut. Spike’s thumb settled over her clit, rubbing her in slow, tortuous circles, two fingers exploring her tight passage. “Cheater.”

“’m cheatin’?”

She nodded, moving over him, welcoming the gentle thrust of his hand. “Uh huh.”

“Jus’ thought you might listen to me ‘f I was doin’ this.” His mouth fell to her throat. “Plus the smell of you was makin’ my mouth water.”

“Ohh…”

“Yeh, oh.” He suckled gently on her bite mark. The one given to her by her sire. The one he intended to erase with his own fangs before long. “You’re amazing. You make me burn. You make me feel things I’ve never felt before. Things I…” He shook his head and raised his eyes to hers, his thumb massaging her sensitive button rapidly now, his fingers thrusting into her as though he needed her release as desperately as she did. “An’ when I say I’ve never felt anythin’ like that before, that no one’s ever done to me what you do, I bloody well mean it. This mornin’…your smell…your taste…everythin’ I’ve…this is beyond for me, what you might think it is. It means more to me than…anything. You hear me?”

The sincerity in his eyes won her over, and she nodded with a sob of pleasure as he pushed her over the edge. Her insides rattled. Sharp shards of rapture spread through her body, and she touched the light of paradise before plummeting back to earth. Quivering in his arms as he held her through the delicious afterglow of her orgasm. As she tumbled from wonder back to reality, her cheek resting against his shoulder, soft sighs of completion escaping her lips. He held her, his words softening her fall, and she believed him.

“Never,” he whispered again.

Buffy didn’t say anything. She pressed her brow to his, quivering in his arms, but not of fear or uncertainty. Of something else altogether.

She knew then. Without the words, she knew.

He loved her. He’d just told her without saying it at all. And she didn’t know why. She didn’t know how. She had no idea how they had gotten here. All she knew was that he loved her, and somehow, she had known it all along.

You know why, Buffy. You know why.

She did. She’d known it that night, and she knew it now. Spike loved her.

And for that, she felt perhaps there was no true reason to scream her pain again. She was in the arms of the one she loved, and she was loved in return. The words had yet to be said, but they weren’t needed now. There was a time for such confessions. Now was not it.

But soon. Right now she knew.

And that was all she needed.

Just for now.

*~*~*

“You don’t miss her, do you?”

Spike handed her a glass of warmed blood from his newly purchased microwave. It had taken about an hour to set it up; eventually, they settled for hooking it up via extension plugs to the same outlet that powered his television set. It was a cheap microwave, but an effective one. Buffy felt strangely like the new girlfriend furnishing her man’s bachelor pad into a place where a woman could live.

“Who?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You know who,” she retorted, sipping at her blood.

Definitely better when warm.

“Drusilla.”

She did her best to ignore the sharp pang of jealousy seized her stomach. “Yeah. I just…with what you said…before…” His gaze turned passionate and she glanced shyly to the ground. “I mean…you were so into her for such a long time. It’s just…I guess it’s hard for me to believe that you really…say Drusilla showed up and was over her Chaos Demon and wanted you back.”

“Dru would be outta luck.”

“Spike—”

“I don’t want Dru. She’s my sire, yeh, but that’s about that.” He shook his head. “I got over Dru. Don’ know when, but I’m over her. An’ I’ve been over her for a long time.”

“Long time?”

Spike smiled softly. “Well, maybe not so long. A few months after a sodding century together…I thought she was it. But she wasn’t.” He reached for her then, guiding her chin upward so that she could see the sincerity burning his eyes. “She wasn’t,” he said again. “She was my firs’…well, pretty much everything, but that doesn’ mean she was it. She wasn’.”

“How…I…”

A trembling sigh escaped his lips. “She never loved me. I was a toy to her. Someone who’d give her whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it. Someone who loved her unconditionally an’ din’t rightly care if he was loved back. Someone who wasn’ smart enough to note when somethin’ wasn’t what he thought it was. An’ yeah, I did. I loved her. I loved her because she gave me freedom. She brought me this far. She also used me. She was never mine, an’ she was fine with that so long as I took care of her an’ pleased her, an’ it din’t matter what she gave back to me because a look from her was more than I deserved. That’s not love, Buffy. Not the kind’ve love that lasts as long as I thought Dru an’ I were s’posed to last. That’s…it was infatuation. I woke up one night an’ I was a vampire. She was my sire. That feelin’ you felt for Drac? I din’t know how to tell the difference between that an’ love, because I don’ have what you have.”

A small grin crossed her face. “You?”

He smiled softly. “A soul. Dru gave me somethin’ I never got in life, an’ I was fool enough to mistake that for actual affection. It wasn’t. An’ to be fair, she never tried to make me think otherwise. I jus’ kept seein’ what I wanted to see an’ justifyin’ all else. Angelus would shag her right in front of me, make her come screamin’ his name, an’ I’d forgive her. She’d beg him the chance to suck him off, an’ I’d forgive her. An’ it wasn’ jus’ Angelus. It was any vampire or demon or randy son of a bitch that thought she was as enchantin’ as I did. It wasn’ love. She toyed with me to toy with me, an’ she never gave me any reason to think she felt the way I did. She din’t love me.”

A still beat settled between them. And suddenly, the barriers she had placed between them and the sacred words evaporated. Spike was standing there right before her, recounting something terrible in his past even if he wasn’t aware of it. She wanted something she was hesitant to name, even with her own love for him burning from within. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but she bit her tongue for uncertainty she knew was foolish but needed anyway. She knew he loved her, too. He had not said the words, but he loved her. A man couldn’t look at any woman the way he looked at her without love being the driving factor.

“And she wouldn’t complete the claim because of it,” she said, reaching out to cup his cheek. Bringing him back to her. “Is it bad that I’m not sorry?”

His smile returned. “No, sweetling,” he replied, dropping a kiss across her palm. “Believe me; I’m not sorry, either. It needs to be real above all else, right? If I’d been mated to her, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be tied to eternity to someone who doesn’ love me. Someone I don’…no, I’m not sorry.”

“You don’t miss her?”

“I did for a long time. Then somethin’ happened.”

“What?”

Spike caught her eyes and held. “I moved on. I became wiser somewhere, though how that happened is anyone’s best bloody guess. I learned the difference between the sire connection an’ love.”

She swallowed hard. “Oh?”

“Yeh.” His gaze warmed with knowledge. That look that read he had all but told her and knew that she knew, but the words themselves remained out of reach. Unspoken. Dangling there between them. Palpable. A manifestation of feeling waiting to be expressed.

Buffy cleared her throat and tore her eyes away. “How…ummm…to get mated to…someone, how does that work?”

An odd grin stretched Spike’s lips. “’S simple, really. You wouldn’t think one of the most powerful, permanent bonds on the bloody planet could come outta somethin’ so simple.”

“How?”

“Why are you so curious?”

She looked anywhere but him. “I-I…if I’m going to be a vampire, I need to…obey the three rules, right? And…say I do…meet someone. Someone that I want to…and I’m guessing the matey thing goes with…sex, and—”

The room rumbled with a hard growl, and he grasped her wrist, yanking her to him. “No,” he barked.

“No? It doesn’t deal with sex?”

“No, there will be no sex.”

Confidence was slowly leaking back. Buffy met his eyes teasingly. “At all?”

“With anyone who’s not in this room, holdin’ you right now.”

“Why, Mr. The Bloody,” she retorted cheekily. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Told you enough last night.”

“Did you?”

“’F you don’ know what my mouth was sayin’…” He growled again and yanked her fully into his arms, their respective glasses of blood shattering on the floor. “Then I’ll jus’ have to say it over again. Slower this time.”

“Spike!”

He deposited her on the sofa without ceremony, tearing her slacks down her legs. “You should really go back to wearin’ those skimpy li’l skirts,” he observed. “Think I might’ve grabbed one or two when I got your stuff.”

“Uhhh…”

Her panties joined her slacks. Spike knelt beside the sofa and yanked her to his mouth, positioning her legs over his shoulders. “An’ as much as I love tastin’ your unmentionables, this…” He buried his face in her pussy, “is what makes my mouth water.”

“Spike…I was…uhhh…trying to…ask you a question.”

“Blood exchange,” he replied, suckling her clit into his mouth. “An’ words.”

“What…oh, God!”

Spike grinned up at her, sinking his fingers deeper inside her passage. “‘Mine,’” he replied. “That an’ the blood swap. ’S easy. See what I mean?”

“That’s it?”

“The full it. Now be quiet. I’m eatin’.” He licked up her slit. “Christ, you taste so good.”

It was a while before they left the crypt that night.

*~*~*

They were making the normal rounds tonight. And while there was nothing Buffy would have liked more than to curl up in Spike's arms and forget the outside world was there, there were several truths to be reckoned with. Eventually, with or without the warning Giles had been issued, her friends would come for her. Soon she was going to have to face her friends and the harsh realities of the life she had left behind. Soon she would have to make decisions as to the laying out the path of her future.

A future she didn't want without the vampire at her side. And that was something her friends would not understand.

Something some of them would never accept. But she couldn't think about that now. Tonight she was patrolling. Spike was beside her, squeezing her hand every few steps. Offering her everything he had before, even with the intimacy they had shared. That was something she'd never had. Not even with Riley, who had been filling the role of her boyfriend for the past few months. There was always ingrained awkwardness in every thing after anything sexual. And granted, while she and Spike had yet to make love in the most rudimentary sense, that gracelessness was nowhere to be seen.

He had done things to her in just the past twelve hours that easily surpassed her most stimulating sexual experience.

Now they were left for the night. For patrol. For finding the evil things and killing them. And it was because she needed it, not because it was her job. Not because some old Watchers in England decided that patrolling was what she should do, or Giles thought there was a big demon rising that night and she was the only one who could stop it. No, she was patrolling now because she loved the hunt. She was a vampire as well as a slayer, and vampires loved the hunt. Now that she was no longer bound to her former duties, she had discovered her long-missing admiration for the night.

“Looks like another slow night, pet,” Spike said with a sigh. “Sorry. Know you've been itchin' for a fight.”

She shrugged. “It's not so bad.”

“I really thought we'd've run into your mates by now.”

“Well, there's every chance that they took your conversation with Giles seriously.” She threw up her hands at the look that comment earned. “I'm just saying. Anything's possible.”

“The day the bloody Scoobies listen to me is the same day that...” He paused, frowning. “Well, no, that already happened.”

“What?”

He smirked at her.

Buffy flushed and jabbed him in the side. “Pig.”

“Oink bloody oink. There are worse things.” His eyes lit up, then slowly raked the length of her. “So good of you to have worn that skirt.”

“After, oh, twenty minutes of a certain peroxide Cockney telling me to 'wear tha bloody skirt,' I'd certainly hope so.”

He pouted. “Do not sound like that.”

“Right. I was being generous.”

“Oh, you're gonna get it, missy.” His wandering fingers tickled her sides mercilessly.

A long giggle tore through her lips and she immediately leapt to the defense.

It wasn’t long before the tickle attack transformed into something else entirely. In the graveyard, battling an age old vampire, she felt even more like herself. Back into the place she no longer wanted but could not completely desert. She had slaughtered a house of vampires only days before, had a few stragglers on patrol, but there was nothing like fighting Spike. Nothing like a challenge, even for she who was now beyond earthly challenges. Her strength was monumental, and quite frankly, terrifying. The possibility of what she could do now was beyond thought. Beyond all understanding. Slayer strength spliced with vampirism…Spike had told her sired slayers had never lasted. And she wondered if that was due to their own device, or because they hadn’t known the potency of their own strength.

She suspected the first. None of the sired slayers before her had what she had.

“Don’ hold back,” Spike panted, lunging for her again. “I won’t.”

“Never do,” she retorted, meeting him with a kick. “Just tell me if I get too rough.”

In all fairness, it was more what he saw that cost him, rather than the kick itself. But at that, Spike didn’t look too disappointed. “Naughty Slayer,” he drawled, wiping blood off his chin. “No knickers?”

She smirked. “What’s the point?”

“That’s my girl.”

There was absolutely nothing else like this. Nothing like letting loose in the midst of a cemetery. Answering the call of her demon with the man she loved. There was no one in the world she enjoyed fighting more than Spike. He knew her every move, but she knew his much better. His eyes gleamed with anticipation every time she rushed him, even if it resulted in another tumble to the ground. There was hunger there that hadn’t been there before. Hunger for something more than blood. More than sex. More than anything she had ever experienced. Fighting Spike arose a primal calling from the place she had only dared explore with him holding her hand.

Now they were in the heat of the moment, sparring in the middle of Sunnydale’s most visited cemetery, and the rules were different.

Very different.

Such to the fact that she didn’t recognize the heated growl that tore through her throat. Nor did the flash of surprise register as she tackled Spike to the ground.

She straddled him, her skirt riding up her thighs, her pussy grounding into his denim clad erection. The demon within roared again. There was something about this. Something she recognized. Something innate even if it was new. Something celebrated.

Spike’s eyes flashed ardently. “Buffy…”

She was too forgone to hear him. Bent on her instincts. Nothing could stop her now. Her fangs broke through her gums and she tugged him to her.

Then bit down. And drank.

To be continued in Chapter Thirteen: Tear At The Darkness All Around Me…

Tear At The Darkness All Around Me

It felt like a dream. And he was lost. Irrevocably lost. In dreams, rules didn’t apply. In dreams time, patience, and personal vows were thoroughly immaterial. All he knew was that Buffy’s fangs were in his throat; her pussy was pressed against his aching erection with only his jeans between them. And everything else was left to instinct.

His demon burst through before he could stop himself. He shoved her back to the ground and settled between her open thighs. Then his zipper was down, his cock in his hand, positioned at her opening, her scent filling his nostrils.

She was his. That was all he knew. She belonged to him. And now he would have her.

And he was swallowed by warmth. By the most blissful sensation he had ever experienced; watching her eyes go wide, her head snap backward with his blood dribbling down her chin. Her human face melting the demon away, and it was just Buffy again. Buffy looking at him with eyes shining of awe and distant shades of paradise. A strangled moan tore through his throat and his body rejoiced. He was inside her. Her body was around his body. His body set a furious tempo to appease his demon. Thrusting into her haven with a roar of triumph, feeling her tremble around him, feeling her ambrosia on his length. Her flesh molding his flesh. And it was the sweetest homecoming he had ever known. There was no place for him but this. For the past century and a half, he’d searched for something that had been out of reach until just days ago. He simply hadn’t known until she had come to him. He hadn’t known until fate brought them together. Until her nightmare became the answer to everything he’d never known he needed.

It was the explosion of pleasure that ripped through him first.

The second was the realization that his cock was buried inside Buffy, and she was beneath him. He was making love with Buffy. He was thrusting into her and she was moving beneath him. Her hips moving rhythmically to recapture him with every withdrawal. Not twenty four hours had passed since she told him she wasn’t ready for this, and now he had invaded her body. He had shoved himself inside her before he could even test her readiness, even if the rich scent of her arousal swam around him. Pleasure drowned out to guilt, and his demon faded with horror.

“Oh God!” he gasped, pressing his forehead to hers. Coming to a standstill within her. Searching her eyes desperately. “I’m so sorry. I…you…oh Jesus…”

She cupped his face and kissed him softly, her eyes shining. “No. God, don’t be sorry. Please. This is what I want, Spike,” she gasped, throwing her head back. He began moving again, watching her intently. Trying to grasp that it was real. “I want you.”

“Oh Christ.” He buried his head in her shoulder, panting into her. “You feel so wonderful.”

There had never been sensations like this. Never before in the long years of his existence had he known such sublime bliss. Never had he poured himself so thoroughly into feeling and have it reflect back, more potent with every second. She was molded around him. Her eyes were fixed on his, and she was smiling through tears. It was beyond him that he was actually with her. The slow glide of flesh from her warm paradise and back again, her vaginal walls squeezing the life from him, her lips moving over his…it was all more than he could take.

He had never thought to touch this. Not with her. Not even with everything they had shared. It had always seemed beyond him. Not only Buffy; he had never been with anyone that looked at him with love. There was love in her eyes, even if she didn’t realize it.

“Buffy…”

“You feel so good,” she mewled, fingers digging into his leather-clad arms. “Spike…oh God…”

He had never been with someone so warm before. She was a vampire; she wasn’t supposed to be warm anymore. None of the women that had shared his bed had been warm. Her eyes were a veil of emotion. There was awe buried within her gaze with every inward plunge. Her juices coated his length and teased. He was drowning in her and he could care less. Losing himself in her haven with no thought of finding his way back again.

“Never,” she panted. “Spiiike…please!”

“’ve never felt anythin’ like this,” he murmured against her lips, thrusts gaining momentum. His fingers slid under the hem of her top, palming her laced covered breasts, his face buried in her throat. He wished they were home. That he had had enough foresight to drag her back to his bed so that he could strip her of every barrier and explore her to his satisfaction. Massage and caress her as she deserved to be worshipped. Send her over the edge time and time again before taking her body with his.

He peppered kisses along her throat, fighting his demon’s urge to sink his fangs into her skin. If he tasted her blood, it would be over, and he didn’t want it to be over yet. He wanted to feel her quiver around him first. Feel her body tremble, her pussy choking him into another life. Taste the air around her as she came. He slipped his left hand under the cup of her bra, pebbling her nipple between his fingers; his other hand stroking her stomach and dipping between them.

Buffy threw her head back as he captured her clit and began fondling her furiously. “Oh, oh God.”

He drew his mouth away from her and buried his brow in the crook of her throat, focusing on the burn spreading through his body. “Taste so sweet,” he murmured. She was going to tear holes into his duster if she grasped him any tighter, and he couldn’t find it within himself to care. Her strength was beyond her now; he could feel her as though there was nothing between them but skin. She could hurt him so sweetly, and every show of strength hastened his thrusts. His need to feel her come around him. He swirled his hips with every plunge, massaging her clit feverishly. “Come for me, baby.”

She grew tighter and wetter with each fall. The slick slide of his flesh from hers against the cooling night air that echoed with the slaps of their bodies. A long tremble ran down his back. His cock and his hand pushing her closer to that break of euphoria. He watched her hungrily as her eyes shone with a familiar yellow gleam that made him shiver with something he distantly recognized yet didn’t know the name for. There had to be something for that. As gorgeous as she was in human guise, there was something so utterly primal about her wearing her demon face. At that moment, he honestly didn’t know which he preferred. His girl was his in whatever visage she wore. Appeasing his humanity as well as the demon that lived inside.

He had to push her over before he took his own pleasure.

He needed to taste her blood.

An animalesque roar slashed through his throat and the bones in his face shifted, fangs tearing into her soft skin before he could vocalize his warning. And she exploded around him. Her scream of release sang into the cold night surrounding them, and that was it. It was a cyclone of sensation. Each whimper that tumbled through her lips made his blood sing. She was sobbing her pleasure, trembling in a tumultuous climax, and her life’s nectar was in his mouth.

He was so thoroughly hers. He would do whatever she wanted if it meant he could keep her. Any pretense of letting her go was thoroughly eradicated. He had thought it the night before, sampling the sweetness of her pussy with his mouth. He had thought it again at their wake, when her tongue had enveloped his cock in velvet fire. He had thought it so many times, and each instance only inspired the knowledge to further conviction. She gave him heaven. She gave him what he never thought he could reach. Not as a man, and certainly not as a vampire. There was nothing like this. Absolutely nothing. And he would never let her go.

When he came, it was unlike anything he had ever felt. It surpassed every cliché he had ever associated with sex. Eradicated every thought of life before her. Buffy was still panting in her aftermath, moaning her encouragement as he emptied himself inside her. She was cooing encouragingly in his ear, whispering little nothings, brushing soft kisses across his face until he collapsed with her.

And the world came tumbling back.

“Oh my God,” Spike gasped against her neck. “Buffy…”

She murmured something unintelligible and suckled on his ear gently.

“Please tell me you don’ regret this. I don’ think I could bloody take it.”

Buffy pulled back slightly at that and smiled. There was no regret in her eyes. Rather, the emotion there was so far placed from regret that he nearly burst into tears. It was something he had never seen; something no one had ever given him. “I told you I wanted this. I…there’s nothing I want more than this.” She swept a tender kiss across his lips. “More than you. You…God, Spike…”

“I have to tell you this.” He caressed her cheek tenderly. The words were there, but he was so terrified of speaking them. Of throwing them out there. Of making them tangible, and ruining the cloud of perfection he’d spent the past few days living in. He was so sure she felt the same, but as long as the words remained unspoken, he could live happily in his fairytale and never risk the chance that he didn’t have everything he thought he did. That this bliss wasn’t really his. But he needed to say it. He couldn’t continue to share this with her and remain taciturn as to his feelings.

She needed to hear it; he needed to say it. Even if this was where it stopped.

“Buffy…” He kissed her lips amorously, released a breath, and held her eyes. “I love you. You know I love you, right?” Before she could respond, he kissed her again, and buried his face in her throat. “God, I love you so much. Sometimes like I can’t bloody take it. Like it’s too much. You jus’…I needed to say it. I needed…I love you. An’ I needed to say it.”

He didn’t realize how nervous he was until he heard his words. How terrified love had made him of rejection, even when he was all but sure that she felt the same.

Which was why he could barely take it when she cupped his cheeks and leveled her eyes with his.

“I know,” she murmured. “You told me I knew that first night.”

He nodded. “That’s why I went after you. I jus’ hadn’t…I din’t know it until you…I might’ve never known had this never happened. An’ I’m sorry that I’m not sorrier. That your being sired is the best bloody thing that happened to me, even if it killed me that it killed you. But fuck Buffy, I love you so much.” He pressed his brow to hers, his eyes fluttering shut. “So much.”

A pause. “I love you, too.”

And the world stood still.

“C-can…” He pulled back and stared at her pleadingly. “Can you say that…again?”

She smiled. “I love you, Spike. I love you.” A beat. “So much.”

Passion devastated his eyes, and he smashed his lips to hers. Kissing her hungrily, dueling with her tongue for dominance. She whimpered into him, squeezing her thighs around him, earning a long moan and a quick thrust. He wanted her again; he wanted her until the end of time. He was hard and he needed her—fueled with love and the promise of a future that was now tangible. A future he could see. A future that they could have together.

“I love you,” she whispered again.

“I love you, too, kitten.” He nibbled lightly on her neck. “An’ I want you again.”

Her vaginal muscles compressed around him, eliciting a long whimper. “I really don’t mind.”

“I do. Don’ wanna do this out here. Wanna take you home.” He kissed her forehead. “Wanna make love to you till mornin’. You deserve better than this.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

He pulled out of her before she could object. Before his cock made another decision for him; he wanted to explore her in bed, not out here where anyone could stumble across them. They were fortunate enough that the Powers hadn’t interfered yet; hadn’t sliced into their sanctuary. Hadn’t sent the Scoobies to find her, with or without his warning to the Watcher.

Perhaps she was right. Perhaps they were taking him seriously. But he wasn’t about to tempt fate.

Buffy whimpered when he separated his body from hers, collapsing to the ground beside her. He tucked himself back into his jeans and released a deep sigh, turning to her. The look in her eyes inspired him to new heights of something he was still exploring, still trying to name. “I’ve never…” he began. “You’re the firs’.”

“What?”

“The firs’ woman, other than my mum, to tell me that.” He glanced down, then edged near her again. Using the corners of his shirt to tenderly clean their mingled spendings from her inner thighs. “I’ve never…”

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “Never? Oh, Spike…” Her arms enveloped him. “I can’t…never?”

“Well, it’s not like…” He paused, trailed off, and flashed an awkward smile. “Told you already that…Dru din’t love me an’ never pretended to. The reason I was turned, Cecily…she had me thinkin’ I wasn’ good enough for her, either. My entire life’s been spent…you really love me? You’re not jus’ sayin’ it?”

She stroked his cheek reverentially. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t feel it,” she said. “I love you.”

He was going to be an utter wanker and burst into tears. He could see it in her eyes. He had known it before she said it. He had known it simply by looking at her. The words, though, were so much more powerful than unadorned supposition. “God, Buffy,” he gasped, tugging her into his arms. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why?”

“For not bein’ sorrier. You bloody well broke my heart when I saw you in my crypt that firs’ night…an’ this terrible thing that’s happened to you has turned into the greatest gift for me.” He shook his head frantically. “An’ I don’ know how to…how can I be so happy about somethin’ that made the woman I love so miserable?”

“I’m not miserable, Spike.” She kissed his cheek. “Do I look miserable to you?”

“Sweetheart—”

“I really don’t know how I feel about it.”

“I’ve been with you every day, Buffy. You can’t tell me that this hasn’t—”

“It wasn’t. Not at first. But I…I’ve told you I don’t like the girl I was. It’s changed everything. I still hurt. I still…there are things I don’t understand, but you helped me through that.” She paused. “And I love you. I have more in death than I did in life…so what does that say about the sort of life I was leading?”

“Buffy—”

“I love you. I wouldn’t have let myself love you if this hadn’t happened.”

His vision was blurred with tears. God, he was such a bloody cry baby. “An’ that makes it okay?”

“I don’t know what it makes it. But I’d rather have you and be a vampire than not have you and be the Slayer.” She shrugged. “I’m happy that you’re happy, okay?”

“But I—”

She kissed him again. “Everything else…you understand that it’s only been a few days. The fact that you have me out here, saying this, feeling this…you make me forget without letting me forget. If this is how I feel in just a few days, what’s going to happen in a week? In a few months? You brought me here. I’m sitting here, and I’m not broken, and it’s because of you.”

Spike smiled through his tears. “I don’ know what I did,” he replied honestly. “I jus’…I…”

“You understood. You didn’t let me give up. You gave me what I needed.”

“I don’ want you to love me outta gratitude, Buffy.”

She shook her head. “I don’t. I love you because I love you. The fact that I’m grateful is just…there.” A pause. “There’s a reason I went to you, Spike. Not just because you’re the way I got out. Maybe I didn’t think of it when I was there…when I made the decision to go to you, but there was something.”

A trembling sigh shuddered through his lips. “God, I’ve done nothin’ to deserve this,” he said, heaving a breath and drawing them to their feet. “I’m a monster, luv. I don’ have a soul. Don’ ever forget that. I might be a tame monster, but I’m not the Cliff Note’s version. When this chip goes out, I don’ want—”

“I won’t.”

“What?”

She straightened her skirt as he watched her, then stepped forward and laced her fingers through his. “I’m not the girl I was,” she said. “I know what I’m getting myself into. I know what loving you means. What being with you means. Don’t try to talk me out of it; it won’t work.”

There was a beat, and then a large grin spread across his lips. “Let’s get home.”

Home. She really was beginning to think of the crypt as home. And the acceptance on her face warmed every inch of him. Their home. The crypt could be their home.

His home with the woman he loved. With the woman who loved him back.

There was simply no feeling in the world comparable to this.

No feeling at all.

*~*~*

Having the words between them changed everything.

It was as though she was seeing light for the first time. As though the world had only blinked into existence, and she was kept there by an anchor that would never betray her. It was strange, but warming beyond imagination. She was in a crypt in the graveyard, and she was home.

More than that, she was naked and spread on Spike’s bed, and he was looking at her like a man starved.

The man himself was standing at the edge of the bed, his hand stroking his erection almost subconsciously. “Christ,” he said. “You’re so lovely.”

She eyed him needily, licking her lips. “Spike…”

“Shhh…” The mattress dipped with his weight as he began to prowl toward her. He inhaled deeply, nuzzling his face between her legs. “You smell divine,” he growled, lapping at her slit. “An’ you taste…”

“Spike!”

“Mmm…” His tongue delved into her, licking her sweetly, before turning his attention to her swollen clit. “Yeh,” he decided. “You do taste like me.”

An alien giggle escaped her lips. “Perv,” Buffy replied affectionately.

He chuckled into her, and the vibrations felt so unexpectedly good that she didn’t realized she had gasped until she met his dancing eyes. “Get up here,” she whispered.

An insolent look crossed his face and he defiantly suckled her clit into his mouth. “You don’ want me here?”

“Oooh…”

A finger slid inside her. “I rather like it here.”

“Spike…”

“So lovely.” He dipped his tongue into her again before reclaiming her delicate button, slipping another finger into her tight passage and thrusting delicately. “The sounds you make…the way you taste.”

“Oh God!”

“But,” he conceded with a sigh, “’f you insist…” He drew his fingers out cautiously and sucked them into his mouth as he prowled up her body. The head of his cock teased her folds, slipping over her wet skin. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, his arms hooking under hers. Not a breath passed between them.

Then all tease was gone. He kissed her so tenderly she thought she might cry.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“Love you.”

He sank inside her with a moan of completion.

And this was it. Home. In the arms of the man she loved. The man who loved her back. He was moving within her. His mouth was on her. She was swimming in him and it wasn’t enough. Too much but still not enough.

So much had changed in such a small amount of time.

Spike was murmuring into her throat. Whispering things that set her blood aflame. He drove her to new extremes without even realizing it. Made her want to weep her joy for the feel of it all.

He had replaced her pain with love.

And she wouldn’t let anything come between them.

To be continued in Chapter Fourteen: I’m Longing To Linger Till Dawn…

Chapter Fourteen

I’m Longing To Linger Till Dawn

Buffy awoke at home. She was sure of it.

There were certain human-based instincts that so many people took for granted. She remembered the feel of waking in hotels on family trips before the divorce. Of spending the night with her girlfriends only to attempt futilely to find sleep on hardwood floors cushioned with the faulty support of a worn sleeping bag. She remembered waking in Angel’s apartment so many years before after having spent an awkward night torn between childhood and maturity. Riley’s dorm was the same. Hell, her dorm was the same. There was absolutely nothing like the call of home.

She was home now. She awoke feeling at home. Her arm was resting over Spike’s chest; his own entwined around her touch. Her right leg having crept over his left sometime after they fell asleep. Her head was pillowed at his shoulder, his left arm curled around her.

Buffy blinked and fought off a yawn, shifting slightly. The crypt was the same. The room had not changed. She was snuggled thoroughly into the side of the man she loved after having shared the most phenomenal night of her life. It was strange but thoroughly welcoming. As though she had rewound time to the night she had breeched this particular venue of womanhood, only it was Spike she had shared it with. As though she had regained everything the past few years had cost her, and she was a new woman for what he had given her the night before.

His words of love warmed her thoroughly, and she found she couldn’t keep herself from smiling.

God, how quickly things could change.

Buffy dropped a kiss across his shoulder, shifting further until she was astride his hips. He was sporting a morning erection that she found endearing. There were so many things about him that were thoroughly human; things she would never have accredited him with before her turning. He was a man first and a vampire second in her eyes. And he was thoroughly hers.

“Spike,” she murmured, nibbling gently at his throat. “Wakey, wakey?”

He whimpered slightly but did not stir.

“Humph,” she pouted, sliding down his abdomen, gasping when his cock brushed her folds but forcing herself to lower herself still. “And Mom calls me a heavy sleeper.”

Then, she mused to herself when she was nose to nose with his erection, on the other hand, this did have its benefits. And she planned to tell him so.

Later.

Curling a hand around the base of his cock, her eyes flickered once to his dozing face, her tongue poking out to play. She never thought that this was anything she would enjoy. Never. Parker had tried to get her to suck him off, and she had wisely refuted—though at the time it was more for the sake of her embarrassment at her inexperience. She had been so certain that she was repulsive to the male race during the months following Angel’s disappearance that she thought now she might have done anything to prove it otherwise to herself.

Granted, Parker’s similar dismissal hadn’t done much for her ego. And it made her feel all kinds of shallow to think that Riley’s presence in her life had been nothing more than a continuous stroke of her esteem. Someone who was so enthralled with her that all her faults were ignored for mediocre sex and the promise of her coveted normal.

With every day, she hated her former self all the more. What a sniveling weakling she had been.

Spike didn’t make her embarrassed. He made her feel cherished. Her only fear was displeasing him, though he assured her with every look that such was impossible.

She enveloped the velvety head of his cock with her tongue and drew him into her mouth, suckling sweetly at the drops of precum beading against his skin. Her hand squeezed him delicately, her other dropping to cup his balls. The whimpers spilling from his lips were becoming more pronounced. She smiled slightly around him, taking him further into her mouth as her hand became more boisterous.

And then he moaned aloud, and shot awake. The blue of his eyes drawing her in, and his hips thrust forward as a long, desperate gasp strangled his throat.

“Oh…oh bloody fuck.”

Buffy drew her head back, lapping delicately at his tip. “Morning,” she said cheekily, squeezing his sac.

“Christ,” he whimpered, thrusting into her mouth again. Unable to stop himself. “B-Buffy…I…how long have…I been…”

She slurped at him hungrily. “Missing out?” she asked, exploring his cock in long laps of her tongue.

He nodded furiously. “An’ here I was…plannin’ to…wake you up like this.”

“I just wore you out good, huh?”

“Best bloody…god, Buffy, I need you up here.” Before she could whisper a word of complaint, he had curled his arms around her shoulders and dragged her up the length of his body until her pussy was hovering over his erection. “Like this,” he whispered, seizing her lips as she sank onto him.

Her eyes fell shut and her walls squeezed around him. “Oohhh.”

“Fuck yeah,” he gasped in agreement, hands settling on her hips. His eyes took in the sight of her. Her body cast over his. Atop his. Her thighs imprisoning him—and he the willing captive. “Ride me, baby. Ride me to a bloody gallop.”

Then her eyes were on him, wide and uncertain. And he understood.

“Lean back a bit,” he whispered, doing his best to contain his shock when she complied. That was something he would never get used to. Buffy not arguing him for the sake of arguing. Buffy with him because that was what she wanted. He was buried inside her; he was sharing with her a sacred union. Touching places inside her he had only previously imagined. Finding her warm even in death.

“Bleedin’ hell,” he gasped as she squeezed him again, his hands trailing up her sides until he was cupping her breasts, pebbling her nipples between his fingers. Watching her move over him was one of the most breathtaking scenes of his unlife. His eyes were trained on the hungry, glistening sight of her pussy swallowing his cock with every thrust. In all his years, he’d never seen anything that affected him like that. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

“Ohhh…”

“You know what you do to me, don’ you?” he whispered, his voice a rough hiss that barely elapsed the sound of their bodies moving together. He thrust into her with a needy, heated frenzy. This wasn’t going to be a long, drawn out lovemaking. He needed to feel her come around him. Needed to hear her scream her release into the formerly lonely silence of his bedroom. Needed to reach that with her now. “Make me so hard I can’t think of anythin’ but you. How good you feel. How delicious you are. How wet you get for me. Your mouth on me…you drive me insane.” One hand dropped to where they were joined and began massaging her roughly. “Need that hot, tight li’l quim of yours. Need to taste you. Lap at you with my tongue.”

“Spike…”

“You feel so good,” he mewled in agreement. “So fucking good.”

Her shyness was gone. Her uncertainty was completely eradicated. She was slamming into him, her muscles strangling his cock. The ecstasy flashing across her face only served to feed his own need. He needed her to feel it now. Needed to watch her as she came.

He was stroking her clit furiously, drinking in the hard sobs of pleasure erupting from her mouth.

“Oh God!” she gasped, throwing her head back. “Ohhhh…”

“Need to taste you,” Spike growled, hauling himself up, suckling intently on the proud bite mark he had given her the night before. “God, Buffy…”

“Please!”

That was all he needed. His fangs elongated and sank into her milky flesh, and she exploded around him. Her head thrown back, her eyes overwhelmed with rapture, riding out the throes of her orgasm with the most harmonious cry that had ever touched his ears. Her blood pouring into his mouth. Her body coming hard around him. He growled into her and flipped her over, thrusting into her with a frenzy that he had nearly forgotten over the years.

She had awakened something in him that had been dead for longer than even he had acknowledged, and he would never stop worshipping her for it.

Then he felt her fangs pierce his throat, and he was coming hard. Her muscles milking him for everything he had to give her. She held him soundly as the world came tumbling back. Spike panted against her, burying his face in her throat and hugging her to him.

It was amazing. He had been alive for so long, but had never experienced this sort of intimacy. Had never felt this close to someone, and have the sentiment returned. She gave him everything.

Purring with satisfaction, he pulled back and kissed tenderly.

“Hi,” she said after their lips parted, enchanting him with her blush.

He grinned. “Hey.”

Buffy settled back against his pillows, her shyness dissipating again. “How are you?”

“Bloody blissful.” His head dipped to nuzzle her throat delicately. “An’ you? Am I squishin’ you?”

“Not possible.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m never movin’.” In direct contradiction to his words, he rolled them over again so that she was sprawled over his chest, his cock slipping from her warmth, inspiring a joint moan of protest. “You bloody well blow my mind away.”

“I woke up very horny.”

“Not complainin’. Point of fact…” He nuzzled her with another small growl. “Any time you wanna jump my willin’ body, don’ let anythin’ stop you.”

“I don’t plan on it.”

A warm chuckle rumbled through his chest. “I love you,” he murmured, brushing a kiss across her temple. The words hadn’t been spoken today, and the minute they escaped his lips, he immediately clamped down in apprehension, daring fate to take yesterday’s gift away. Daring the love that had been there to have been the fabrication of wishful thinking.

That fear vanished the next second. “I love you, too,” she whispered.

A wide grin spread across his lips. “An’ I’m never gonna get tired of hearin’ that.”

She smiled, settling against his chest. “This is nice,” she said redundantly.

“Understatement of the bloody year,” Spike agreed. “’m so…I’d half convinced myself that I’d dreamt up last night.”

“I woke you up.”

“From a very pleasant dream.” He smiled. “Then I woke up, an’ she was still here.”

“You are so lame.” Buffy flushed in spite of herself. “But you’re sweet.”

His smile melted into a scowl. “I mean it.”

“I know.”

He wedged a hand between them and tweaked her nipple. “An’ don’ be callin’ me lame.”

She giggled. “Sorry.”

“You are not.”

“Well, you’re awfully adorable when you’re lame.”

A mock growl tumbled through his throat. “I bloody well am not adorable,” he snarled, bumpies bursting through his human pretense as the basis of his demonhood was threatened. “’m a bad, rude, crude man.”

“Uh huh.”

He rumbled in disapproval. “Need me to prove anythin’?”

“No,” she replied, slithering a hand between them and wrapping her fingers around his cock, her mouth finding her proud bite mark on his throat and lapping at him delicately. Instantly, the demon receded inward and Spike threw his head back with a long mewl. “I don’t think proof is necessary.”

“God, baby…”

She smiled. “We better stop,” she said regretfully, removing her touch.

“Why?” he nearly whined, thrusting upward needily.

“Because if I stay here, I’m gonna make love to you again.”

Her brazenness while using even the gentlest language sent a rush of lust straight to his erection. “Not really a problem here,” he gasped, bucking into her again. “Fuck, what you do to me.”

“Not a problem,” she agreed. “Except I’m hungry.”

He grinned a little at that. “Well then,” he said, sitting up. “Let’s go see what’s in the fridge, right?”

“So we can come back and make with the sexcapades?”

Spike’s gaze heated. “Sounds like a plan,” he agreed fervently.

Now it was just a matter of getting out of bed.

Successfully.

*~*~*

“What’s gonna happen?”

Buffy glanced up from where she sat on the corner sarcophagus, sipping on the gently cooling blood that he had handed her in one of Giles’s purloined ‘Kiss The Librarian’ mugs. The sudden sense of solemnity in his tone worried her. “When?” she asked softly.

“When you meet your mates.”

A chilled breath rolled off her shoulders. “I…I’m not there yet.”

Spike nodded and stepped forward. “I know, sweetling. But you’re gonna be.”

“I’m not.”

He met her eyes and held. “But you’re gonna be,” he said again. “An’ I guess…luv, I know things are different now. Believe me, I know it. But what happens when your mates try to…when they—”

“Try to take me away from you?”

A wry grin tickled his lips. “I doubt they’d get very far in makin’ you do anythin’ you don’ want to do.”

“Hence the ‘try.’” She smiled wryly and heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I think…if I sit down and talk them through it, it’ll be okay. Will, Tara, and Anya…they’ll understand. Maybe even Giles.” She paused. “Xander won’t. Not at first.”

A silent beat settled between them.

“An’ Solider Boy?” Spike asked softly. “How does he fit in?”

“He doesn’t.”

That obviously surprised him. “Not at all?”

“I don’t want Riley. I’ve never…” Buffy glanced down, ashamed. “Riley…he’s nice, in that big ‘aren’t I just the gosh-darndest best thing on two legs’ type of guy. And I wanted to feel…something with him. I really did. And I really, really tried.”

He winced. “I remember.”

“I don’t want him. I want you. I love you.”

He held up a hand and smiled softly. “I know, pet,” he said. “I jus’…he’s not gonna take this lightly. Captain Cardboard’s already President of the Let’s Stake Spike Club. When he finds out about us…”

“He won’t care.”

“I find that rather unlikely.”

“I’m a vampire, Spike. He won’t care. And it’s all the better, really. He’ll bow out and that’ll be the end of that.” She shook her head. “I’m terrible. I don’t want to hurt him, but I also…I don’t want him to be here. Around you…us. I don’t want to have to worry that he’s going to do something crazy in what he’d think is protecting my honor.”

“Bein’ in a relationship with me is that bloody self-deprecatin’?”

“In his world, yes. And I know it, because it was my world not too long ago.” A trembling sigh spilled through her lips, and she shook her head. “Everything I’ve ever done to you, and you still—”

Spike was at her side the next minute, tilting her chin upward from where she had subconsciously averted her eyes to the ground. “’S a two way street, sweetling,” he murmured. “I’ve done things to you that are bloody well unforgivable.”

“Not really.”

“Well…said things, in any regard.”

“I’m past that.”

He nodded. “So am I.” A brief pause. “But Buffy, your mates aren’ gonna sit around an’ twiddle their thumbs forever. We’re bloody fortunate we haven’ stumbled across them on patrol jus’ yet. Eventually they’re gonna get tired of waitin’ an’ come for you. Then what?”

“I thought you told Giles we’d leave town.”

“’F that’s what you want, you bloody well better believe it. I’ll take you wherever you wanna go, kitten. Jus’ say the word.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Doesn’ change what you’re gonna have to face, though. You love your friends. You’ll wanna chat up Red ‘bout some girly flick you wanna see. Or maybe strike up conversations with Demon Girl on the virtues of earth-shakin’ orgasms.” He waggled his brows, inspiring a cool flush against her pale skin. “’S gonna happen, though. Don’ doubt it.”

“I don’t. I just…” She looked at him pleadingly. “I’ve tried though, right? I’ve tried going near people. I’ve accepted that I need blood and every time I drink, I just want more. I need a chip…or something. You think Riley could hook me up with an Initiative chip?”

Spike’s eyes darkened and he growled lowly. “That git’s not gonna touch you. You think I’d let him knock you out an’ put you under the knife? Are you—”

“No, of course not.” Buffy smiled humorlessly. “Bad joke.”

“Oh.”

“But I…I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Well, for starters, luv, you din’t ease yourself into feelin’ round the humanly types. You went to the single most popular place in town. Of course you felt your control slippin’.”

She shook her head. “But it shouldn’t be like this. I just…God, I don’t know.”

Spike studied her for a few seconds, then muttered an oath and took her into the protective circle of his arms. She curled around him instantly, nuzzling her face into his chest, quivering with the weight of the world that seemed so adamant on cutting into her happiness. Happiness founded in pain, but had served as the one thing that kept her from falling completely apart.

“Vampires aren’ meant to bag it, darling,” he murmured into her hair. “’S against your nature. A part of eatin’ blood comes from the kill. The violence of it. The rush. Achievin’ two of the three essentials in one swoop is…well, what we’re made for. ‘S one of the reasons why bringing fangs into our sex life is so bloody unbelievable.”

The tremors wracking through her body intensified. “I’m not letting myself kill anyone,” she swore. “It’s not happening.”

“I know. I know.” He brushed a tender kiss to her forehead. “We’ll think of somethin’.”

And he was determined at that. Determined to think of something that would appease her need for the hunt and the need for blood. Satisfy the demon so the woman wouldn’t suffer. He’d walk through fire to spare her pain.

There was more to it than that. The demon wanted to claim her. Badly. Every time he slid his fangs inside her, the ritualistic words, in all their simplicity, surfaced for the intrinsic need of being voiced. He loved her so much, but was so bloody terrified that something out there would still swoop in and take her from him. He had already achieved the impossible with gaining her love. He had already broken barriers.

She had asked him time again and time again about the claim. How it worked. What needed to be said. What it meant for those under its power.

Distant hope was better than none. He was nearly sure if he asked her, she would say yes, but it still seemed far too premature to presume. Like popping the question after the first date. At least marriage offered the luxury of divorce. Claims were forever; and one didn’t just rush into forever.

Spike knew what forever felt like. She didn’t. To suppose she would feel the way he did for the rest of eternity was a hard gamble. He would love her until the world ended. He was almost sure she felt the same—felt that degree of love…but almost wasn’t good enough. Not for forever. And he never wanted to be one of her regrets.

He would ask her, though. The promise of true eternity in her arms was worth any risk.

He just needed time and courage. He would steal the rest.

A Moving Target

Giles didn’t know when they had stopped asking about Buffy.

In the beginning, she was all they could talk about. The source of heated debates and hot tempers. Of anger and bewilderment, and everything in between. No one knew exactly what to expect from her anymore; when or if they would see her again. Making suppositions for the future was dangerous, though, and the Watcher knew it. Only days had passed since the platinum vampire visited him and dropped the bombshell of the Slayer’s change. Only days, and yet it felt as though years had gone by since he’d seen Buffy’s face or heard her casually berating him for some British habit that he refused to sacrifice to American culture. Nightmares had only plagued him the first restless night.

Every night thereafter was spent under terrible speculation of what Spike was doing to her. There were times, though few and far between, when he would admit the inner struggle waned a little with a softer resolution that the master vampire was perhaps the best link they could have hoped to find Buffy in the hours following her transformation. Times when he needed peace above everything else, and his mind offered some comfort in knowing that Spike’s behavior had to be monitored based on what he knew the Scoobies would do to him if he tried to hurt her.

Then again, the thought of hurting a sired Slayer was blatantly preposterous.

Comfort was his default position whenever she haunted his thoughts. Most days and nights were spent agonizing over what was happening to her. If Spike’s bloodlust for Slayers had won over what little humanity he had. If he had staked Buffy as she slept, then high-tailed it out of town before anyone could know a damn thing about it.

That seemed a little ridiculous, though. Even to one that trusted vampires as little as the Watcher did.

At the same time, Giles was convinced that Spike would honor his threat to leave Sunnydale with Buffy if anyone attempted to approach him. Furthermore, the fact that Buffy had yet to show up on his doorstep only soothed his raging conscience in that staying away was the best thing he could do. That Spike had spoken the truth the night he told him that Buffy wanted nothing to do with any of them. Not now. That she needed the help of a vampire, and that placing her in the same room as humans was the most dangerous, damaging thing anyone could ask of her right now.

It just didn’t seem right that Buffy wouldn’t have gone to Angel. Angel had a soul. Angel loved her and would do whatever he could to help her. Angel wouldn’t be the danger to her that Spike was.

It wasn’t as though Giles liked Angel—he didn’t, and he would never pretend otherwise. But as far as trusting vampires, he knew where his Slayer’s former boyfriend stood. Spike had no motive other than money to help Buffy adapt to her new life.

He had yet to ask for money. He had yet to ask for anything.

The reaction from her friends went as expected. Willow had panicked. Anya had shrugged. Tara had stuttered but refrained from saying much. Xander had gone crazy and demanded they storm the bloodsucker’s crypt and save their friend, as she had obviously been brainwashed.

Riley hadn’t said much at all, which surprised everyone. He had sat silent for a few minutes as chaotic debate exploded around him, a distant look on his face. Somewhere between rage and apathy. A twist of something not many could touch. As though he was not as much surprised as he was disappointed, but angry with himself at his own verdict.

In the few days that had passed, temperament among her friends had dwindled from casual discussion to begrudged acceptance. Willow and Tara came to the conclusion that, if sired Slayers truly did keep their souls, then Buffy had to have gone to Spike of her own accord. And if Buffy wanted to be elsewhere, she would be. Right now she wanted to be with Spike, and they were in no position to deny what she needed. Even Xander had come around—not completely, but he said the other day that if Buffy felt she needed to be with Spike to get through whatever she was going through, then he would support her. They had no way of gauging how this was affecting her, and to presume they knew what was best was as ignorant as it was callous.

Perhaps it was Joyce’s reaction that had calmed everyone down. So much like his own. Horror, then outrage, then relief, then acceptance. Her daughter was not dead, nor was she a monster. And after Giles explained the terms that Spike had set out, Joyce was determined to keep her daughter’s friends away from the cemetery. She trusted Spike for reasons beyond everyone, and she honored what Buffy wanted.

If Buffy needed Spike right now, she said, no one was in the position to deny her that.

They were nearing on the end of a week, though, without any word. Only a week.

The longest week of Giles’s life.

His living room was filled with the expected crowd. Willow and Tara were chatting about some spell they had finally nailed the night before. Anya was on Xander’s lap, trying to persuade him to sneak off with her upstairs so they could get in a pre-Scooby meeting orgasm before she had to be bored for an hour and a half. Riley was sitting by himself, not engaged or even paying attention to the world around him. He looked as though life itself had been drained, and that nothing would ever make him happy again.

Giles sighed and removed his glasses. He didn’t particularly want to see the facial reactions to what he was about to say.

“I have decided,” he declared loudly, slicing through the mingled conversations around him, “to phone Angel.”

There was a brief silence at that; everyone stared.

“Phone Angel?” Willow finally asked. “Why?”

“He deserves to know what has happened,” the Watcher replied. “Furthermore, I’m not entirely sure that Buffy’s judgment has been…well, obviously, we can’t know what’s going through her mind, but I am getting worried, as I’m sure you are, as well. She’s been with Spike for nearly a week now, and we have no idea what he’s doing to her.”

Tara’s eyes went wide at that. “D-d-doing to her?” she stammered. “What do you mean?”

“Spike wouldn’t have the gall to do anything to her,” Xander agreed. “She’d stake him so fast, he’d see his own dust.”

“I don’t trust him,” Giles said firmly. “Buffy wouldn’t have left us without word from her this long. Not a phone call. Not a letter. Not even a stop by her mother’s.”

“But we all decided,” Willow argued. “Spike said she was having trouble coping…you know, with the fangy thing? Being around people equals bad? And if she wanted Angel to help her, don’t you think she would’ve said so?”

“Do we really trust Spike to have told the truth in that regard?”

Xander frowned. “Not to be coming to Captain Peroxide’s defense, because hey, that’s so not happening, but…why would he not tell the truth? That just doesn’t make sense, G-Man. Like he wants a live-in houseguest for god-knows-how-long? Especially in Buffy-form? This is the guy that—”

“Kills Slayers,” the Watcher finished coldly. “Yes, Xander, I am perfectly aware of who we’re talking about. Which is all the more reason to intervene before something happens that we’re incapable of stopping.” There was a pause, and he sighed. “I’m not about to forcibly remove Buffy from where she feels comfortable,” he clarified. “I just…I have yet to hear from her, and that worries me. The idea that she wouldn’t have gone to Angel, or at least tried to, simply doesn’t make sense. He’s the one with a soul. He’s the one she…” His eyes caught Riley’s in the corner, and he flushed brightly and glanced away. “I’m not sure Buffy has actually weighed in an opinion, and I’m simply tired of taking all of this on faith from a vampire that has attempted to kill us all more than once, especially knowing that he has a particular agenda when it comes to slaughtering Slayers. Perhaps Buffy realized that she couldn’t get to Angel in time, and went to Spike as a fallback under the provision that he help her to Los Angeles.”

“If killing Buffy was his intention, don’t you think it would have been a little easier to have not come and told you that she was staying with him?” Anya intervened, looking bored and unimpressed. “One would assume that he would have found her, killed her, and not said a word to anyone. Spike’s been around for a hundred years or more. He might be thickheaded, but he’s not stupid. What is it with you people and constantly searching for hidden motives, especially where demons are involved? Especially ones that make absolutely no sense?”

“Because demons often have hidden motives, sweetie,” Xander said, patting her back.

A look of pure agitation flashed across the blonde’s face. “You just don’t understand me at all, do you, Xander?”

Willow’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, I’m about to do something kinda crazy here, but I agree with Anya.”

“Thank you,” the former demon said, smiling proudly.

“I’ll admit, you do raise a good point,” Giles conceded. “However, under the circumstances…especially while we know so little…I believe that we should contact Angel. If Buffy truly wants to stay with Spike, that’s fine. I would simply rather hear it from a vampire whose last life’s conquest was not in the Slayer’s death.”

“He doesn’t want her dead,” Riley murmured, his eyes glued to the window.

The entire room froze and turned to look at him.

“How do you know?” Giles asked.

“He doesn’t want her dead,” he repeated, turning to face them. “He just wants her.”

Xander’s eyes bulged. “Say that again? That sounds like the sort of sense that…you know, doesn’t make any.”

“He wants her.”

“Spike?” Willow forced a small laugh. “Spike hates Buffy. Why in the world would you think he—”

“Because I…” He released a short breath and glanced down. “The other night…when we were all at the Bronze…Buffy was there.”

The five faces surrounding him went slack with disbelief.

“She was?” Xander asked, voice quivering. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was going to, but then Spike showed up. She looked very…she wasn’t happy.” He paused. “She looked like she was in pain, or something. Like she was…she just looked bad. But I only saw her for a few seconds, and then Spike showed up and she was fine.”

Willow heaved a deep sigh. “Well, then, that doesn’t mean he…he wants her or anything. He was just there and—”

“She grabbed him,” Riley said shortly. “And kissed him. And they practically had sex on the balcony. That’s why I didn’t say anything. Buffy’s with Spike because she wants to be, and Spike doesn’t want her dead. He just wants her.” He turned his eyes to the ground. “Makes sense, I guess. He’s killed so many…why not want one…to have?”

The room fell deathly silent.

“Buffy…” Xander was shaking his head violently. “No. No, she wouldn’t do that.”

“She’s a vampire,” Riley replied. “Why not?”

“She has a soul!” He pointed at the Watcher. “He promised us that sired Slayers keep their souls! Why would she…with Spike? That’s…that’s just…”

Anya shrugged. “Well,” she said, “it’s about time she got some sexual gratification.”

Xander and Riley glared at her.

“What?” the former demon asked, genuinely confused. “Buffy’s been needing a good orgasm for months. I would have thought you,” she glanced to the Slayer’s boyfriend, “would have noticed that. After all, you were the designated orgasm provider. If she wasn’t satisfied, it makes sense that she would have turned to a vampire to fulfill her sexual needs. They have amazing stamina.”

Riley looked angry enough to throw her through the window, with or without Xander attached. He pointed to himself irately. “I have amazing stamina!” he whined.

“You’re human,” Anya retorted. “Humans don’t have amazing stamina.”

“Ahn.” Harris was bright red. “Now’s not exactly the time—”

“Buffy always said—”

Willow threw up her hands in a desperate call for neutrality. “Okay!” she quipped, tossing her girlfriend an apologetic glance. “This is really approaching the line of TMI.”

“Approaching? Oh no,” Giles muttered, “look behind you.”

“There’s no way Buffy would ever…with Spike,” Xander declared, making a face. “You saw wrong.”

“I didn’t see wrong. You think I like this? My girlfriend’s a vampire; she went to a vampire because she didn’t trust any of us not to stake her on sight, and now she’s sleeping with Spike.” Riley shook his head in disgust. “Trust me, if there was a way to see it wrong, I would’ve spun it by now. There wasn’t. Buffy was there. She molested Spike on the balcony, and he really, really didn’t mind. And they left in a hurry, so where they were going with what intention really leaves little to the imagination.”

“And you really kept all of this to yourself?” Giles shook his head in outrage. “You selfish, stupid boy.”

The farm boy glared at him. “You have something to say to me? I didn’t want…I don’t know…”

“If what you’re saying is true, you should have told us from the beginning. But you didn’t. To spare your broken ego, you kept your mouth shut. And now Buffy is…” He broke off with a muttered curse. “If she really is…with Spike like that, I’m sure there’s a reason.”

“She’s a vampire, he’s a vampire, I guess they hit it off.”

The entire room turned to glare at Xander.

“I was just kidding,” he said, holding his hands up, his eyes distant and confused. “Look, I know I’m the last person in the world to say this, and obviously the prospect doesn’t make me want to leap to my feet and do interpretive dance, but…Buffy is…if she feels she can trust Spike…and if he’s what she needs, I guess…”

Willow’s brows perked. “And just a few seconds ago, you were about ready to declare war on the thought.”

“A man can’t grow in a few seconds?” Xander shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong, nothing—and I mean nothing—gives me a bigger case of the wiggins than thinking of Buffy and Spike and anything to do with…” He glanced to Anya dismally.

“Orgasms?” she provided.

“Yeah.” He heaved a sigh. “That’s just…but she’s…she’s going through something, you know? She has to be going through something. She went to Spike, and…” He made another face. “Gah, this entire conversation is just wrong.”

“You have no idea,” Riley all but growled.

“Well, that settles it,” Giles said. “I’m calling Angel.”

Willow’s eyes went wide. “Why? Color me stupid, but throwing Angel into the mix…especially if Buffy’s involved with Spike…like that…isn’t that like, a bad idea?”

“Not any worse than Buffy sleeping with Spike,” Riley retorted.

“B-but,” Tara interjected, glancing down shyly. “I-i-if Buffy is w-w-with Spike, doesn’t it st-stand to reason that she w-wants to be? She’s a v-vampire now, right? A-and Spike’s there for her, s-s-so…m-maybe we should trust that she knows what she’s doing.”

“Or maybe he’s brainwashed her,” the shunned boyfriend muttered.

“Into sleeping with him? Buffy doesn’t get brainwashed.” Xander paused. “Except for the entire ‘allowing Drac to lure her to his castle and vamp her’ thing.”

Giles released a hard sigh. “We don’t know anything,” he said. “This is all pure speculation. However, if Buffy and Spike have developed a…physical relationship, as Riley’s testimony seems to suggest, I do believe that calling Angel is essential.” He held up a hand. “To make sure…no one has ever been able to reach her like Angel did. If what she’s…doing with Spike is nothing more than a side-effect of her turning, Angel should be able to reach her.” He paused. “If Spike has taken advantage of her…”

“You really think that might be it?” Riley asked, shades of hope crossing his face.

“I don’t know. It might be.”

“But if it’s not, we’re just creating a whole new problem,” Willow said. “If Angel’s here, and Buffy’s all naked and groiny with Spike, don’t you think he might, you know…go to the Dark Side?”

Giles rolled his eyes. “Willow, it takes a moment of pure happiness to make Angel…go to the Dark Side.” He stopped almost disdainfully at his own recitation of her words. “I rather doubt knowing that Buffy and Spike have engaged in a…physical relationship will give him any emotion remotely connected to happiness.”

“Yeah, but…” The redhead shook her head dispassionately. “Angel’s all…with the temper? You know. He came here and practically beat the crap out of Riley. And Riley’s all…human.”

“He did not beat the crap out of me,” the former soldier reneged.

“Children, please.” Giles placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “We’ll deal with that when it happens,” he told Willow. “Right now, Buffy is our priority.”

“Yeah, and if she gets pissed and runs off with Spike, we might never see her again,” Xander retorted. “Say this thing she’s doing right now is legit. She’s not going to be happy that you called Angel.”

The redhead tossed him a wary glance. “You really need to stop doing that.”

“What?”

“Acting all logical and sense-like.”

“I know. It’s kinda creeping me out, too.”

Giles smiled humorlessly. “Well,” he said. “If it…comes to that, hopefully she will have the foresight to acknowledge that we were acting in a way that we thought served her well being. I simply cannot…my Slayer is out there, turned, possibly involving herself with another vampire—be it voluntarily or not, and I have to know…she’s my daughter.” He earned another roomful of stunned glances. “Figuratively,” he clarified. “She’s my Slayer. My daughter. If she’s with Spike because she wants to be…I will try to find it within myself to not stake him and lock her in a room until she realizes what she’s doing. But if she isn’t…if she wants to be with us, or heaven forbid, Angel, we need to know.” A short pause. “I can’t keep waking up every day, worrying about her like I do. It’s killing me.”

Those three conclusive words sent a cold shudder through the room, and effectively killed any rebuttal waiting to be fired in his direction. Riley turned back to the window, taciturn and displeased. Xander exchanged a long look with Willow, then nodded when they reached a silent accordance.

“I’ll make the call,” Willow said, slipping off the couch.

“No,” Giles said shortly. “Leave that to me.”

*~*~*

“You ready to pack it in?”

Spike glanced up, wiping dust from his hands, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Three vamps?” he retorted, tossing his stake to the ground. “You’re ready to pack it in with jus’ three vamps?”

“Well…” Buffy’s eyes fell bashfully to the side, raising a hand to fondle the leather of his duster lovingly. “You looked really hot doing that.”

“I look really hot doin’ anythin’.”

She smirked. “Wow, have I stroked your ego one too many times?”

“Feel free to stroke anythin’ of mine that tickles your fancy.” Spike dipped his head to suckle tenderly at the proud bite mark on her throat. His hand captured her wrist and guided her touch to his crotch. “Anythin’ tickle your fancy?”

“Well…it doesn’t really tickle.” She gave his erection a fond squeeze, eliciting a long, ardent rumble from his lips.

Spike threw his head back with a long whimper, then took one look at her smirking face, scowled, grabbed her hand and began storming back to the crypt with a fury.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothin’,” he retorted. “But something’s gonna be in you in about five minutes.”

“Oh, someone’s feisty.”

“Not feisty.” He nearly growled as he turned and tugged her into his arms, ravaging her mouth with a hungry kiss. “Horny.” Another kiss. “Want you…but not here.”

“Have you already lost your sense of adventure?” she replied teasingly as he renewed his mission to get her to the crypt.

“In a town full of wankers who want me dead? More over, who want you dead?” He shook his head. “Never. Jus’ don’ fancy sharin’ you with the whole bloody world. You’re all mine.”

“Am I, now?”

“Better bloody believe it.” He turned to her again, his expression softening. “I love you.”

She smiled. “I love you, too.”

“You are mine, you know.”

Buffy kissed him again, smiling still. “This ownership thing goes both ways, right?” she asked teasingly. “’Cause if you’re mine, I won’t need another Christmas present as long as I live.”

“That’s quite a long time, pet.”

“I knew it when I said it.”

He scoffed. “Like I’m gonna let one bloody day go by without showerin’ you with gifts.”

“Well, just wanted to let you know that I’ll still love you if you don’t.”

Spike grinned and they continued walking. Their fingers entwined. Like lovers taking a moonlight walk on the beach.

Not the beach, but damn close.

God, he loved her so much. And she was his.

It was only a matter of time before he made it official.

To be continued in Chapter Sixteen: A Softer Place To Land…

A Softer Place To Land

He would never forget the look on her face. Never. In a thousand years, after they’d spent each day in each other’s arms, overcoming foes and obstacles unforeseen in this century, this moment—today—would be fresh in his mind. Fresh sparks of happiness filling eyes that only a few days ago had been so thoroughly devastated. He had brought new life to her. Life that neither one of them had been prepared for. Now at the end of their first week together, it seemed impossible that he had ever gone an entire day without this. Without waking up with her in his arms. Without knowing the wonder at being the one she needed. Without having her all to himself—her taste, her kisses, the raw agony of her tears.

A few days. She had tried to go outside and found herself scathed in return. She had awoken sobbing for the loss of her sire, but the wail was gone now. Even without the connection he wanted, he would have known if her demon was still in that state of agony only a lost vampire could describe. Buffy was no longer a lost vampire. She had a long way to go still, but then again, so did he. He just made a better show for covering it up.

There wasn’t much for candles and romance in his crypt. Buffy deserved so much better than a hole in the ground.

And then he had asked her, and the world stopped turning.

“You…” Buffy had started slowly, looking at him in awe. “You really want that?”

The fact that she even had to ask tore him to bits.

“God, yes,” Spike replied ardently, fervor storming his eyes. “I love you. Of bloody course I want it. Wanted it that firs’ night, when you were here an’ cryin’, an’ I couldn’t do anythin’ for you. I wanted you…” He glanced down and released a steady breath. “This is it for me, sweetheart,” he began slowly, looking up when he had a tighter rein on his emotions. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. As much as I love you. An’ I never will. You’re it for me.”

She paused cautiously. “But you thought Dru was it for you, too.”

“She wasn’t.”

“But what if you meet someone else and…someone who’s not hampered by a soul and is all ‘Oh, humans! My favorite on-legs happy meal!’” Buffy tore her eyes away uncertainly. “I just…I just want you to be sure. I couldn’t take it if you…I just couldn’t take it.”

“If I killed?”

She wet her lips. “If you left. If you realized you’d made a mistake. If you met someone who…and you realized you’d made a mistake with me, but were bound to me for forever. And you couldn’t—”

Spike growled slightly and hopped off the sarcophagus, storming to where she sat and all but yanking her into his arms.

“Now, you listen to me,” he said slowly. “I love you. I don’ dick around with words like that without meanin’ it. You own me, body an’ the other thing. An’ I know you’re it because it’s never been like this for me. Never. There’s no one out there I could ever begin to want as much as I want you, let alone love. I don’ do it half-assed, Buffy. If my feelings were different, I wouldn’t’ve asked you. If I thought this was a fling, I wouldn’t’ve said a bloody word. You’re it for me. An’ I want you as my mate, an’ I’ve never wanted anythin’ as much. I want our life together to begin now.” He broke off, shaking his head aggressively. “I can’t fathom an eternity without you. The thought alone…” A violent shudder rang through his body, and he felt tears sting his eyes. “I won’ do it. I can’t do it. I got over Dru because she wasn’ it. Because what I felt for her was jus’ an imitation of the real thing. You’re it. You…leavin’ you wouldn’t jus’ destroy me. There’d be nothin’ left at all.” He paused. “Destroyed…not defeated. Is that how the sayin’ goes? You can destroy a man, but you can’t defeat him. So you see, sweetheart, you already got yourself a mate in name. I’m gonna feel whatever you feel. I’ll be there till the bloody end…an’ I want this more than…” He shook his head again, pressing his brow to hers as his body calmed. “God, I love you so much, Buffy. To hurt you is…I’m not gonna be like the others, right? I’m not gonna leave you. I never could. It’d be the end of me. With or without the claim, I’m yours forever. I jus’ want you to be mine, too.”

Her face was a mess of tears, and she had pulled him to her before he could apologize for making her so upset. Hugging him tightly to her, releasing a long sigh of relief when his arms closed around her trembling body.

“God, I’m such a git.” Spike pulled back slightly and kissed her mouth, shuddering at the taste of her tears. “’m sorry, baby. Never wanted to make you cry.”

“No, no.” She shook her head and pulled away, wiping at her eyes. “I’m okay.”

“Buffy—”

“They’re happy tears, Spike,” she whispered. “I just…I guess…I never thought that you would really…that you could want me the way I want you.”

A small, gentle smile crossed his face, and he kissed her again. “Then you’re daft. I’ve felt this way for-bloody-ever. Longer than even I can keep tabs on. Prob’ly since the firs’ time I saw you. Dancin’ in the Bronze…god, you were so bloody perfect.” He buried his face in the crook of her throat, drawing her as close to him as possible. “Please don’ doubt me,” he whispered. “I was with Dru from the moment I crawled outta my grave, an’ I would’ve stayed with her if she hadn’t gotten bored an’ cast me aside. An’ it wasn’t real with her. It’s real with you, luv. What I feel for you…it’s so much more than anythin’ I even thought possible.”

She squeezed him to her tightly and brushed a kiss across his shoulder. “Me too,” she replied.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’…’f you ever regretted it, it’d break my heart.”

“I’m sure.”

“Buffy—”

She pulled back and kissed him tenderly, stroking his tongue with hers. “I’m sure,” she said. “I’m so sure. It’s…for the first time…real to me, too.”

Spike froze against her, sure he had heard wrong. “The…did you jus’ say the firs’ time?”

“Yes.”

“Even…” He drew in a breath, the name alone nearly inspiring his fangs to descend in a jealous outburst. “Even…it wasn’ real with…you’re sayin’, even includin’…”

Buffy smiled and brushed her lips against his cheek. “Yes.”

“Bloody hell.” He cupped her cheeks reverently and seized her mouth with his, pulling her into him. It was so simple for the world around them to dissolve. For everything else to get shoved aside for the feel and taste of her. For the way she whimpered into him and couldn’t keep her hands from exploring his body. Every touch she gave him drove him completely out of his mind. Just when he thought he couldn’t want her more, she completely turned his world upside down.

“So is that a yes?” he murmured when they pulled apart.

“What?”

“You acceptin’ my…” He broke off, grinning. “Well, proposal, for lack of a better word.”

She laughed lightly and glanced down. “This is the second time you’ve proposed to me in a year,” she said.

“Yeh, well, if you’d actually gone through with it the firs’ time…”

“Me?! You’re the one who called it off.”

“Yeh. ‘Cause that expression of horror on your face was your best ‘come hither’ look. I might be a soulless, bloodsucking thing, but I have my pride, you know.” His grin widened and he kissed her again. “Buffy, I’m on pins an’ needles here.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

Buffy scowled at his dancing eyes. “You know damn well what.”

“An’ a bloke doesn’ like to hear it?” He chuckled as he leaned in to nibble affectionately at her throat. “This is, after all, an’ accepted proposal to an eternity bein’ stuck with yours truly. Don’ wanna walk away from this thinkin’ that you feel you got the consolation prize.”

“You’re so not the consolation prize.” She smirked. “If you’re the consolation prize, I’d like to take a gander at first place.”

“Buffy—”

“What do you want me to say? Yes, yes, yes to all of the above. I want you to claim me. I want to be claimed. I want to claim you. I want to be your mate. I want to spend eternity with you. I want it all.”

Spike tackled her back on the sarcophagus, kissing her into the next world. His hands were everywhere; he couldn’t taste her enough, touch her enough, to appease his insatiable hunger. He wanted to take her now. Wanted to lose himself inside her for hours. Wanted to sink his fangs into her throat as he took her body with his, and whisper those glorious words that would make her his forever.

Pulling away was one of the hardest things he had ever done. There were certain things that couldn’t be rushed.

In order for her to be his—for them to be each other’s—there was one more thing they had to do.

And he suddenly knew how to do it.

A frown crossed her face when he pulled away. “Why stopping?” she pouted. “Want more smoochies.”

He grinned. “Oh, you’ll get them, sweetheart. That an’ more so.”

“Then why stopping?”

“I think I jus’ figured somethin’ out.” He pressed his brow to hers. “’m gonna give you somethin’ you need.”

She was working a hand between them, suspiciously directed at his erection. “Yeah, there is something I need.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Spike seized her wrist and dragged her away from him. “Playtime later.”

“Evil.”

“Yes. I’ve never tried to steer you otherwise.” He planted a kiss on her nose. “I’ll be back soon.”

Buffy sat up, her pout deepening. “So now you’re not only refusing me, you’re leaving me, too?”

“Two things,” he murmured, “that I can assure you are not in my workin’.”

“And yet, towards the door you go.”

Spike smiled. “Won’t be long. An’ then we’ll give this theory of mine a test.”

“Theory?”

“Help you with your demon, sweetling. With the violence an’ the rest…I know how.” He caressed her cheek tenderly. “’S important, luv, before we make it official. That is, ‘course, presumin’ you still want me to.”

The mock-pout in her eyes vanished into something kindled with awe. “You…really?”

He nodded.

“H-how?”

A smile at that. “That, my love, would spoil the surprise, now wouldn’t it?”

“Surprise?”

He winked. “You’ll see.”

*~*~*

Spike was not known for his patience when it came to keeping a secret, even if only for an hour or so. Well, to be completely fair, he wasn’t known for his patience at all, which only contributed to her intrigue at his boyish resilience. He arrived home about an hour after he had left, taken one look at her, then dragged her across town to the wooded area that surrounded Sunnydale. A place she didn’t know very well. Her slaying duties didn’t take her out this far often, and even so, she made little effort to familiarize herself with the paths and trails that would otherwise help her ongoing mission.

“Is this really necessary?”

Spike tossed her a narrow glance. “Would I have you out here if it wasn’t?”

“I mean, is it necessary for me to be out here in the forest? What’s wrong with the graveyard?”

“Well, I’ll bet all the money in my pockets against all the money in your pockets plus a carton of ciggies that you jus’ don’t get out here all that often. An’ I want you somewhere where you don’ know your way around with a bloody blindfold on.”

Buffy smirked. “You want me, eh?”

He chuckled. “More than you know.”

“You know, if you wanted to be voyeuristic, we could’ve gone somewhere more public.” She paused. “Are you filming a porno out here?”

That earned an all out laugh. “God, I’ve completely corrupted you, haven’t I?”

“What?”

“That’s all that’s on your mind, huh? Sex, sex, sex.”

She giggled. “Well, you know that phase in new relationships where you can’t keep your hands off each other?”

A sneer crossed his face. “Do I ever,” he retorted, pinching her ass and earning a squeal. And Buffy was suddenly assaulted by five feet ten inches of an intensely aroused vampire. Out in the open, there was nothing to press her against, thus he lost all pretense and hauled her into his arms, mouth ravaging hers for all it was worth as his lower half came to instant life. Were it not for previous arrangements, he likely would have taken her there on the ground. “What does that tell you?”

It took a second before she remembered that she didn’t need to breathe. “That you shouldn’t be throwing stones.”

“God, I love you,” he murmured ardently.

“Love you more.”

“Do not.”

“Wanna bet?”

“That’s it, woman!” He dropped her unceremoniously. “You’re goin’ down!”

“Maybe later,” she retorted with a smug grin, fighting to her feet without breaking eye contact. “In the meantime…don’t you have some thingy to be teaching me?”

“This is jus’ payback, right?”

“Oh yeah.”

He grinned. He was irrefutably whipped. Whipped with a capital W.

There were worst things to be.

The peroxide vampire eyed her hungrily. Oh yeah. Definitely worst things to be.

“Right. First of all…” Spike nodded at her seemingly empty hands, knowing well very that Buffy never went anywhere without the necessary precautions. It didn’t take years of fighting her to know that. “What’re you packin’?”

She shrugged and allowed her customary artillery—two stakes—to slide out of her sleeves and drop haphazardly to the ground. “Just the usual. Why?”

“Leave ‘em here.”

“Spike, we’re about to go into a hellmouthy forest, and—”

“—You’re a vampire,” he reminded her softly. “Lesson the first: you already got your weapon, luv. An’ this…” He melted into game face, gesturing to himself demonstratively. “Is all the weapon you’ll ever need. You got everythin’ else. The speed, the cunnin’, the strength…everythin’ to scare any worthy opponent.”

Buffy smiled. “Whatever happened to your affinity for weapons, Spike? Now you’re the one who doesn’t practice what he preaches.”

“My reasonin’ remains the same as ever. I don’ need them; I jus’ like them.” He grinned and reiterated the very same action that had sealed their introduction all those years ago, running his hand suggestively down his middle and coming to rest at the waistband of his jeans. “They make me feel all manly.” Then he was serious again. “The difference is, I’m comfy as can be without them. You’re not. You’re always needin’ to improvise. An’ yeh, as the Slayer, that’s expected. It’s what you required to survive; you din’t have a nice pair of sharp fangs at your disposal before. Well, sweetheart, you do now.” He tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned forward to nearly chastely kiss her lips. “So let’s see ‘em.”

There was a minute of consideration before Buffy complied. Spike merely grinned at her. He loved her demon persona. He reckoned he had never seen anything more beautiful.

“Lesson the second,” he continued, slightly choked. “As the Slayer, you were always taught to channel the darker part of you. To push it aside an’ bloody well ignore it because it was wrong, an’ all that rot. We’re all from the same mold, kitten. Demons an’ Slayers alike. The PTB made us what we are…an’ we’re all essentially workin’ for the same cause. For the balance. Your job as the Slayer was to make sure the balance was kept. Your job as a vampire is to disrupt that balance as much as bloody possible.” He held up a hand when he saw her begin to protest. “Now, now. I don’ expect you to go muck-havin’ an’ makin’ life for the new Chosen bird a livin’ hell. That’s not in the innate Buffy Summers wirin’, an’ we couldn’t have that, could we? The real secret is findin’ a medium between what’s good for you as a person…an’ what’ll satisfy your demon. You’ve had the wirin’ for this all along, kitten. Now you’re jus’ playin’ on the other side. Where before you were encouraged to hold back, now you gotta…let go.”

Buffy frowned. “All right…what…?”

Spike crossed his arms and regarded her sharply. “Why do vampires hunt, luv?”

The answer that came immediately to mind was one that had been beaten into her conscience from the first day of accepting her calling. It was instinctive against the cold front of mindless understanding. And while she inwardly berated herself for her lack of insight, the look on Spike’s face clearly betrayed the acceptance that he anticipated the worst form of answer. “To feed,” she answered. “To kill. To cause chaos.”

He smiled softly at her misplacement. “Yeh,” he agreed. “That’s part of it, luv. I won’ lie to you. But, despite how your Watcher might’ve liked to muck up the truth, there’s a lot more. It’s the hunt we need, you see? Doesn’ matter if we’re chasin’ a pulser or a creature of the night, which was why I took to killin’ my own kind as right naturally as I did when the Initiative prats shoved the chip into my cranium. As long as it puts in a good chase, the demon’s always satisfied with the outcome. The difference bein’ the taste. Pig’s blood can be rich as you make it to be, pet. But baggin’ it? It’s against your nature. You jus’ don’ know the difference because you’ve never really been a vampire.” He held up a hand at her predictable protest. “You’re human to your center, sweetheart. Human through an’ through. To be a vampire, you need to have tasted it. Been the full without guilt an’ the rest. An’ you haven’t. Not in the greater scheme of things. Which is why your firs’ trial is gonna be to let loose an accept what the monster inside you wants…what it always wants…”

For a minute, she swore her heart was pounding again. The look he delivered went right through her and shook her to her very core. “What’s that?”

The next few seconds were filled with remembrance. A lifetime ago, Spike had taught her how to be a Slayer. Taught her with more words and action than Giles could ever hope to. Her own pride had led her through trial and error to where she was now. Standing here with a creature she should not want—but did. Someone she should not love—but did. Someone who, against all his inner workings, should not love her back.

But did.

And now he wanted her to accept her darkness. Moreover, he wanted her to understand that there was nothing wrong with it. Slayers and vampires were all spurned from the same dust—one born of light, the other of dark. The nature was there whether she wanted it or not. Accepting nature did not make her evil. It made her simply that—herself.

She had asked for this. And she knew it meant a lot to him. It meant the world to him.

Thus she did not betray any emotion other than a slight shiver when he leaned inward and whispered against her ear, “One. Good. Day.”

Spike smiled and waited until he had her gaze once more before answering. “I want you,” he murmured, “to go hunting.”

With that, a timely squeal sounded through the air and a full-grown pig raced by them. Buffy gasped when she noted the predatory swirl in her lover’s eyes, and knew immediately what he was expecting.

She jumped back as though burned. “You want me to kill the piggy?”

“Close enough. I want you to eat the piggy.”

“Gross! No!”

“Don’ think of it as a piggy. Think of it as supper. A nummy treat.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Sorry. There is a Piggy-Factor here. I can’t eat the piggy.”

“Buffy…” He shook his head. “That’s the very same pig that was gonna be bled for our supper tonight. Forked over a few more bucks, an’ it’s here, now, instead of waitin’ to be gutted at the butcher’s. ‘S not like you weren’ gonna taste it, anyway.”

“So let it be bled!” she barked. “It’s…you want me to…with my…that’s gross, Spike.” Buffy waved her hand airily and stepped back with disgust. “Ew!”

“’S what you are,” he said softly. “You wanted this, Buffy. You wanted me to show you what you are. The demon always wants the hunt. Always. An’ yeh—pig’s blood isn’t exactly the nummiest treat on the planet, but is a whole helluva lot better to take it this way than have it bloody spoon-fed to you. Vamps weren’ made for that, an’ neither are you. They need the exhilaration. The sweat. The speed. They need to know that they’ve earned what they’re taking. Now, if you wanna back out, that’s understandable. But that doesn’ change what you are. What your demon’s always gonna want. What it needs…right now.”

Buffy sighed deeply and forced herself to meet his eyes. There was no backing out. She knew if she resigned herself once more to kidding her bloodline that she was human, things would never be the same between them. He would always love her, of course, but he wanted her to understand. He needed her to understand. Rejecting her nature would be akin to rejecting him, because it was his nature, too.

A predatory grin crossed his lips when she nodded. “Then toddle off an’ get yourself fed, Slayer. Want you at full strength. You’re about to know what fightin’ the Big Bad’s all about.”

Something icy and cold pressed against her mouth but was gone before she could reciprocate, or even realize that she had been kissed. “I love you,” he said gruffly. Then it was over. It was time. Spike had disappeared, and the challenge had begun.

*~*~*

This was getting ridiculous.

Don’t think of Mr. Gordo, she warned herself. Or Piglet. This is not Piglet. This is a stinky, disgusting animal, and I want it for its blood. Don’t think of Piglet. Piglet’s a cute cartoon. Piglet doesn’t smell. Piglet is Winnie’s little friend. This is not Piglet. He could be Wilbur, but he’s not Piglet. Bah!

From her line of sight, she watched the pig snort and bed itself into an earth covered with leaves.

He sure looks like Wilbur…or Babe…stop comparing your dinner to fictitious cartoon pigs!

The swine snorted again. And she could hear its pulse singing through the soundless forest.

And she was hungry.

Very hungry.

And stubbing her toe on a log her brain hadn’t warned her was there.

“Dammit!” Buffy snapped loudly without realizing it, startling the pig to its feet with the realization that it was no longer alone.

Great, now you’ve gone and done it. So much for a surprise attack.

The pig snorted again as its beady eyes scanned the night-fallen forest in search of the creature that had perturbed its rest. Buffy knew it looked directly at her more than once, but she had resolved to such schooled stillness that it somehow managed to miss her completely. Then she remembered her alleged vampiric thrall—the way she had mechanics about her that were supposed to melt her into the scenery, especially when scenery was covered in shadows.

Spike hadn’t taught her that. He hadn’t even mentioned it. She just hoped it was innate.

Even so, that didn’t mean the pig couldn’t smell her.

The Slayer’s tongue caressed the underside of her fang. She was starving. She knew she was starving. Spike had forbidden her to eat anything before she came out here with him. And sure, while she hadn’t exactly expected a candlelit picnic, she had suspected that he’d brought provisions.

Well, Buff, he did. You’re looking right at it. Your man would never let you go hungry.

The demon inside raged eagerly.

Time for a little death.

Buffy grinned. “Here, piggy piggy piggy…”

A hungry roar rumbled through her throat as her prey squealed to attention. Oh
yeah. This was definitely going to work up an appetite.

No more Miss Nice Vamp.

It was suppertime.

*~*~*

Buffy vaguely registered that she was surrounded in the darkness of the forest. She blinked, waning away the instinctive sleep that overwhelmed her after eating a large meal. Behind her, the dead swine lay in motionless glory. She refused to turn around and look at it. The reality of her actions had yet to settle in, but she begrudgingly had to concede that the essence of pig had never tasted as rich before. Laced with the additive flavoring of exhilaration. She had listened to its heart slow to a stop as she fed. She had liked it. She had…

Rewind. She had liked it.

She had liked it a lot.

Can we say eww?

The rational side of her brain stepped in. Stop. You liked it; you just don’t want to admit that a certain lickable peroxide honey was right.

Hunting and killing that pig had enriched the blood to near catastrophic proportions. While Buffy had a vague recollection of the taste, it was like stepping into a marathon of déjà vu. Looking at the dead man in Dracula’s castle. A man that had been hunted by her sire. Hunted for her. And despite the horrors surrounding that night, she remembered how good he had tasted. How right it had felt despite the screaming of her human conscience. How the demon inside had rejoiced.

Spike had been right.

Again.

Damn him.

Buffy looked up sharply when a twig crunched against the earth. Her neon eyes flickered with meaningful dissent and she automatically hissed and scampered for the shrubs. A predator was nearing, and she needed to be on alert.

Predator.

The mark on her throat suddenly burned and a sharp pain attacked her gut. The incomplete claim mark that they had decided to make official when it felt right. While excruciating, she somehow managed to ignore it. It nearly seemed natural. Justified.

Something was about to happen.

Another perk to vampirism: darkness provided no object. While she had been blessed with uncanny perception as the Slayer, Buffy had discovered over the past few days that her night sight was damn near scary at how much she could pick up.

She saw him before she heard him, but that didn’t make his words any less provocative.

“Sla-yer,” the platinum intruder singsonged. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty…”

Tantalizing reiteration. She remembered well the last time he used that line on her.

The night of their first fight. Long, long ago.

I find one of your friends first, I’m gonna suck ‘em dry. An’ use their bones to bash your head in. Are you gettin’ a word picture, here?

Predator. Vampire.

Mate.

Not yet. Not her mate yet.

Something inherent rumbled through her, and she knew all cause was lost.

It was time.

Spike stopped at the pig carcass and inhaled appreciatively. “Got your supper, then,” he drawled teasingly. “Don’ rightly know when your inhibitions became the type that don’ last too long, but I gotta say, I’m pleased, luv.” She watched him scan the terrain, using her own vampiric-mojo to remain stealthily secluded. “I know you’re there, Buffy! I can smell you. Feel you.” He emphasized the last by running a hand down his middle again. She refused to allow her eyes to follow. “Time to come out. Come out, Kitty. We’re gonna dance.”

There was a low growling in the back of her throat—subhuman but as natural as anything she had ever felt before.

Powerful.

Oh yeah.

He had brought her so far in such a small amount of time. From cowering and screaming at what she was to embracing it. She would never have envisioned herself here.

And if he wanted to dance, she would give him a dance.

Slayer and demon combined.

Spike’s eyes widened in glee when she launched herself at him, wrapping herself around him with a fierce roar. He growled back at her, his neon eyes taking in every curve of her body. They struggled for dominance for a few delightful minutes; the younger vampire’s more potent strength evidently did not merit shying away from a challenge. And in the end, it was likely more the surprise that deemed Spike the victor. Buffy gasped with realization as the world came back to her, and her demon receded once more deep within her body, leaving her at the mercy of a master vampire.

That was all it took. Spike trapped her body beneath his, gleaming at her victoriously. Then his own demon purred to satisfaction and let the man inside take over. He lowered his mouth to her lovingly, and wasted no time in lapping at the remaining pig’s blood on her face.

“See there,” he murmured huskily. “What you are hasn’t changed who you are inside. You’re jus’ this, too.”

A long mewl tore through her throat, and she thrust her pelvis into his. “Spike…”

His mouth lowered again, nibbling dotingly on her throat. “Mmmm?”

“God, Spike, please!”

His head reeled up, eyes smoldering. “Not out here.”

“Home then?”

Spike smiled. The world, at that moment, could not have known two sweeter words.

“Home,” he agreed heatedly.

Tonight, then. It would happen tonight.

It was time.

Chapter Seventeen

Time Cannot Erase My Passage Through This Sacred Place

The look in Angel’s eyes brought an ocean of unwanted memories awash, fresh and achingly painful. It surprised him more for the fact that, as Angelus, there had never been vacant rage burning his motive. There had never been anything other than the will to hurt others. Cruelty yes, but not anger. It wasn’t anger that had buried Jenny Calendar; it was vampiric nature in itself. Anger was a useless alibi, and no one understood that more than Giles.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t call me first,” the vampire snarled, storming past him angrily. “How stupid could you be?”

Giles rolled his eyes. “Please, come in.”

Behind Angel came an unfamiliar man with a tough street-face that looked supremely out of place in Sunnydale. He gave the Watcher a long, unimpressed look, then threw his bag onto the floor next to the sofa. “Nice digs,” he said appraisingly. “We hookin’ it up upstairs?”

“Angel…”

The vampire whirled around. “This is Gunn. He’s a friend of mine.”

“That’s all well and good. What’s he doing here?”

“Spike’s mine. I can handle him.” Angel paused. “But if what you said was true, we might have a problem with Buffy.”

“So you’ve brought a friend of yours to distract her?”

“He’s a vampire hunter. He has experience.”

Giles’s eyes widened. “You’re sending a vampire hunter after Buffy? Have you completely lost your mind?”

Riley emerged from around the corner, wiping his hands on a dishrag. “That would imply he had one to lose in the first place.”

Angel rolled his eyes. “What’s Captain America doing here?”

“You really think I was going to let you go after my girlfriend without me?” Finn retorted heatedly, beating the Watcher to the punch.

“Well, it’s obvious she’s not getting any satisfaction from you if she’s shacking up with Spike.” Angel stepped forward. “If she’s so in love with you, why on earth would she turn to her enemy in her hour of need?”

“Maybe because he’s the one vampire that hasn’t left her.”

Giles threw himself between them before Angel could lunge. “Riley has a right to go,” he said. “You two are simply going to have to put your differences aside and think for Buffy’s welfare.” He eyed Gunn warily. “Which is why I think those who don’t know her should be excluded from this.”

“First of all, she’s a sired Slayer. I kinda think she could take him. Second of all, no, the last thing I want him to do is go after her.” Angel shook his head. “We don’t know what to expect. It’s always better to have reinforcements.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I’m not too keen about sending a vampire hunter that I just met after my recently-sired Slayer. How in the world do I know I can trust him?”

Gunn’s brows arched. “You said the girl has a soul, right? I haven’t had too many problems with Angel yet; that don’t mean I wouldn’t stake his ass if he started nailing puppies to walls. I’m just the muscle, Rupes. And I damn well made Angel bring me ‘cause we don’t need no pile of dust signing our paychecks.”

“I’m sure a pile of dust would have more personality,” Riley grumbled.

“And Boy Wonder is one to talk,” Angel retorted.

Giles and Gunn exchanged a long look.

“Okay,” the latter said the next second, “now I’m going just to make sure you two don’t kill each other.”

The Watcher heaved a sigh. “Your prerogative is to ascertain Buffy’s welfare. If she…if it turns out that she is fine and not under some vampiric thrall…” He frowned. “Can vampires put other vampires under a thrall?”

“The weak-minded,” Angel replied, shooting Riley a pointed look. “But Buffy isn’t under a thrall.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, for one, I think we can all agree that Buffy’s not weak-minded. Second…” He paused. “Spike doesn’t use thrall. He never has.”

Giles’s frown deepened. “Are you telling me that in all his years with Drusilla, he never once attempted to master her powers?”

“He had no use for them. I’m telling you, thrall isn’t a part of this. Buffy likely went to Spike because she didn’t know what to do about the hunger. She might…” He broke off, a strange emotion entering his eyes. “If anything…if she is…involved, as you seem to think…it might be some take on the Stockholm Syndrome…or something. She might be mistaking gratitude or…”

“Regardless, if she wants to be there…if you get there and…” Giles drew in a breath. “The last thing I would ever want for Buffy right now is to take away anything that makes what she has become less tolerable. I merely hope that if we reintroduce aspects of her former life, she might realize what she is doing.”

There was a long silence.

“And if she doesn’t?” Angel asked softly.

“Then leave her be.”

“With Spike?” The duo of scorned lovers balked in horror.

“If that is where she wants to be, then no one here has any right to try to tell her whom she can or cannot…” He gestured inarticulately. “If her feelings for Spike are…beyond gratitude and the…carnal…if she truly went to him because she felt he was…she’s her own person. I can’t—I won’t—approve, but she is perfectly capable of making her own decisions.”

“Even if—”

The Watcher leveled his eyes. “Yes. Even if she wants to stay with Spike, I will not abide anyone trying to interfere with…what she wants right now. And in order to ensure that my words of…caution are received in the nature intended, I’ve had Willow and Tara place a sanctuary spell on the crypt.”

Riley’s eyes widened. “From here? How’s that possible?”

“They are two very resourceful witches,” Giles retorted dryly. “If you wish to test my warning, go ahead…but I have it on good authority that the results would not be beneficial should either of you…” He tossed dual glances to Gunn and Riley. “…ever wish to procreate.” He turned to Angel. “And you…well, suffice to say, it should ensure that you will never again be in danger of losing your soul because of a moment of happiness.”

The three men looked at the Watcher for a long minute as though he was Satan incarnate.

“All this to protect Spike?” Riley demanded.

“No. To protect Buffy. If Buffy is with Spike against her wishes, or because she’s disillusioned and confused, I’m sure she will deal with him later…on her own terms.” Giles paused. “Regardless, Spike has taken care of Buffy faithfully for the past several days…I’m not happy with the way he has gone about it, by any means, but similarly, I am not about to go against Buffy’s wishes. She has been through enough, and I think that’s something that everyone can agree on.” He met Angel’s eyes and held. “I called you because if anyone can reach her…should this situation be a charade on Spike’s part…it would be you.”

Riley tried and failed to hide the flicker of hurt that flashed across his face.

Giles ignored him promptly and turned to Gunn. “I know your loyalties lie with Angel, but as the only one here who hasn’t met or had a…relationship with Buffy…I am trusting you to serve as the voice of reason when it’s otherwise astray.”

“I don’t wanna be a eunuch, so I think we have an agreement.”

“Good.” He nodded. “Make it so.”

*~*~*

The crypt was alight with decoration she had only envisioned in her sappier fantasies. While the past few days had taught her that Spike had, among other things, a bizarre affinity for candles, she had never imagined that he would go to such extremes to unwittingly bring one of her favored teenage daydreams to life.

There were candles everywhere of all shapes and sizes. The ground was scattered with white and red rose petals. She felt like she had stepped into a storybook.

“Oh my God.”

She felt Spike smiling behind her and shivered at his touch as he ran a hand down her arm. Her entire body was alert to his presence, drawn to him; such that even the air separating them became intolerable within easy minutes. “Do you like it?” he asked, nuzzling her hair.

“I can’t believe…when did you do this?”

“While you were catchin’ yourself supper.” His lips brushed against her throat, his arms wrapping around her middle. “Wanted it to be perfect for you…tonight.”

“Oh God.”

“You’re not havin’ second thoughts, are you?” He paused. “’Bout the claim?”

“No. No! Of course not. I just can’t…” She twisted in his embrace, her arms going around his neck. “You went to all this trouble for me? It wasn’t…Spike, I didn’t expect you to…you didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to. You don’ like it?”

“I love it.”

He smiled, brushing a tender kiss across her lips. “Then it was worth it.” His mouth began a seductive path down her throat. “I jus’…this is important to me, Buffy. It’s somethin’…’s somethin’ sacred. Not many vamps…” He bristled and tore himself away from her tempting flesh, his eyes falling to the ground. “An’ now you must think I’m—”

“Adorable? Sweet?” Her brows perked with interest. “So gonna get laid?”

Spike smirked at that, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This is more to me than that, sweetling.”

Her eyes fell serious and she cupped his face, kissing his lips gently. “It’s more to me, too.”

“An’ you’re sure?” Spike released a deep breath. “I jus’…you’re ready to do this tonight? We can—”

Buffy’s gaze flickered. “How many times am I going to have to reassure you that I want this?”

“Oi! I had to reassure you this afternoon.”

“Yes, and after that little lecture you gave me, I believed you.”

A small smile crossed his lips. “I jus’…I never thought I’d be here,” he said. “Never thought you’d…you could really want…it’s a li’l beyond me, luv. You’ve given me so bloody much.”

“Not more than you’ve given me.”

“I beg to differ.”

A soft sigh hummed through her throat. “I love you.”

Spike shook his head, kissing her again. “Still can’t believe that, either.”

“Believe it.”

His grin broadened, his mouth dropping once more to her throat. “Don’ know if I’ve told you this…don’ know how to say it without soundin’ condescending or bloody ridiculous…” Wandering hands tugged at her blouse, and a rush of cool air collided with her skin as he flung the offending garment to the ground. “But what you’ve done…not for me, but…you’ve come so bloody far. In everythin’.”

“You’re the reason.”

Spike shook his head, cupping her breasts reverently and exciting her nipples through the lace concealing her from him. “There’s only so many times you can say that,” he replied, skimming the column of her throat with his teeth as his fingers snapped her bra open. “Not that I don’ like the idea of bein’ your savior, mind you. But baby—”

“I’m gonna stop listening to you, because you’re being silly.”

He chuckled against her, manipulating her nipples masterfully. “Yeh,” he murmured. “That’s how civilized people end a conversation.”

“Since when are we civilized?” Her hands were tearing at his belt. “Are we gonna try for downstairs?”

“Thought we’d make it there…eventually.”

She grinned.

“But seriously…what you’ve done…the things you’ve done…in jus’ a few days…” He abandoned his quest of her throat, working down her body. “’m so…” His mouth got distracted then, tonguing her through the fabric of her panties. “Honestly, luv, what have I told you ‘bout wearin’ these?”

“Oh God…”

“Uh huh. That’s what you get.”

“Get up here.”

Her panties were gone the next second, his tongue lapping at her juices. “Make me,” he murmured, drawing her clit into his mouth.

“Oh…”

“Mmm. ‘S what I thought.”

Buffy drew in a shuddering breath and seized his wrists, drawing him up even as her body screamed in protest. “Made you,” she gasped.

“Party pooper.”

“Want you.”

“I was givin’ you—”

“Inside me.”

“Fuck, Buffy.”

She nodded, diving a hand into his jeans and drawing his erection into her eager touch. “Yes, yes,” she agreed. “That’s the idea.”

He whimpered in protest. “Bleedin’ hell…”

“And for the record…you did bring me this far.” She smirked. “Just wanted to get the last word in.”

“Did not,” he gasped, thrusting into her hand.

“Did too.”

“Li’l liar…”

“You taught me…” She ran her thumb teasingly over the tender head of his length. “…the three things.”

“Three…uhhh…”

Another gasp tore through her body as he plunged two fingers into her pussy. “The three things?” Her touch abandoned his cock, earning a long moan, instead sliding under the hem of his t-shirt, nails exploring his chest delicately. “Blood.” She tossed his top to the floor, somewhere near hers, and nipping at the flesh she uncovered.

He hummed in agreement, his own thumb settling over her clit. “Blood.”

Buffy shuddered a long sigh, but wrapped her hand around his wrist, drawing his touch out of her body. “Blood,” she repeated, sucking his index finger into her mouth, and his gaze devoured her with lust.

Then she shot a hand to his throat, her eyes registering the surprised widening of his own only a second before she threw him. Then he was flying through the air, landing rather brusquely on the sofa in front of the television before a word of objection could tumble through his lips.

“Bleedin’ fuck,” Spike gasped.

“Violence,” she noted, her eyes dropping to his cock. Her roughness had only strengthened his arousal.

She had to get him out of those jeans.

Spike must have read the look, for they were nonexistent the next minute. She grinned savagely and leapt in his course, landing squarely on his lap. His eyes flickered with shades of the hidden demon, excitement barely contained. He looked seconds away from losing control.

“An’ sex,” he growled, positioning himself at her opening.

Buffy’s hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, a low rumble scratching at her throat. “And sex,” she agreed, attacking his mouth with hers.

She sank down, nestling his cock within her, and words lost all meaning.

*~*~*

“I still don’t see why you had to come along.”

“Forgive me if I don’t feel particularly comfortable with sending the grand ‘love of my girlfriend’s life’ to check up on her alone. Especially since, well now, that reason you left?” Riley shook his head dismissively. “Not so valid anymore.”

“So this is because you’re insecure?” Angel retorted. “The fact that that same girlfriend is boning Spike hasn’t clued you into the ‘not being interested in you’ kinda thing?”

Gunn arched a brow. “Guys, guys,” he said slowly, “ya’ll need to chill now.”

“If you go near her,” Riley continued, not even sparing the other man a glance, “you’re going to regret it.”

“Wow. Do you write your own lines?”

“Wow. Could you be anymore cliché?”

“I’m beginning to think I should’ve listened to Wes,” Gunn retorted, shaking his head. “He definitely could’ve done a better job of toleratin’ you two without a stake involved.”

*~*~*

It was an animalesque rutting, and there had never been anything like it.

Buffy was moving over him in fast, ardent strokes. Her eyes glazed over with emotions he had never seen. Her skin trembled beneath his touch, her pussy strangling him into his next life. He wasn’t going to last like this. Not with her bouncing on his cock, her ambrosia coating his length, her scent drowning him in bliss.

“Oh fuck.”

“Yeah,” she growled, clawing into his biceps. It was sweet pain, and he relished it. He had helped her reach this understanding. She could hurt him so good, and he would just scream for more.

He would make love to her all the way to the bed. He didn’t care how long it took.

He didn’t want to claim her, though, until they were under the sheets. Until the violence he had given her surpassed and she became herself again. As much as he loved her demon, he had loved Buffy first. He wanted her with him when his fangs found her throat. Wanted his demon shoved aside for that blessed union.

He didn’t know why. He just did. And that was the way it was.

In the meantime, the very tangible part of him that relished in sex meshed with violence took precedence over the man that lived inside. His thumb was speedily massaging her clit to hurry her orgasm; he was so bloody close, but he needed her scream of release before he found solace in her body. Before he allowed himself to fall.

“Fuck!”

Buffy threw her head back, her eyes flashing yellow as her fangs descended.

She was going to do it. Shit, she was going to do it.

“Buffy!”

Her gaze found him then, shining through with understanding even as her body slammed against his. “I love you, Spike.”

His heart soared. “I love you.”

Then her fangs were descending, and sweet bliss tore through his body.

And his eyes landed on the front, where the bewildered faces of intruders were staring at them in horror. Buffy’s body trembled into climax around him, triggering his own orgasm.

They fell together. Her fangs lodged in his throat, her hips moving against him; milking him for everything he had to give her.

And when he opened his eyes, they were still there.

All three of them.

To be continued in Chapter Eighteen: Bathed In Moonshade…

apter Eighteen

Bathed In Moonshade

He felt a shudder race through her body, and knew that she knew. Knew that their scent had pierced through the haze surrounding their lovemaking, and that she knew that their paradise had been invaded. Her fangs were still fastened in his throat, her grip on him becoming nearly unbearable, but he would sooner dive into holy water than ask her to vanquish her hold.

Angel. That righteous ponce. Were it not for Buffy between them, Spike figured one of them would already be dust.

How the hell had he found out?

The silent standstill lasted seconds that felt like hours, but broke accordingly as all things did. When the hush subsided and Riley stepped forward, rage written in six different languages on his face, a low roar erupted from the platinum vampire’s throat. It was over then. Buffy’s fangs slid from his skin and she growled in kind, though the sound that exploded from her lips was more a wail of despair than warning, and it tore at his heart. She scampered from his lap at that, wedging herself between his back and the sofa so that Spike’s body guarded her from the humans that had barraged into her sanctuary. Her arms went around his chest, her breasts flattened against his back, and just like that, he knew.

He had taught her violence tonight. An appreciation for everything vampires relished in, particularly in the kill. She was closer to it than she had ever been now.

And humans were suddenly in her wake.

“Get out,” Spike snarled. His mind was clouded with fury and a deep instinctive need to protect his mate. A mate in faith and words only, if not in blood. He didn’t understand it, but similarly knew better than to question his intuition. A bond forged of nothing else, but potent all the same.

“No,” Riley spat. “I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”

His fangs descended and his eyes blazed yellow, a terrible roar echoing through the crypt. “Bloody selfish bastard! She can’t be around people right now!” He leapt to his feet, demon sinking inward with a mournful whimper when her touch slid from his body. There was no way, though, that he would leave her unclothed in front of intruders in his home. Fuck if two of them already knew what she looked like, it didn’t matter a damn to him. “She’s a vampire. You can’t come into a vampire’s home an’ expect—”

“I’m sorry, her home?” Riley’s eyes blazed. “Who the fuck decided this was her home?”

“She’ll come to you when she’s ready!”

“Yeah, looks like you’ve gone to great measures to make sure she’s ready.”

Spike snarled again, leaning forward and gathering his t-shirt from the floor. “Jus’ given her what you couldn’t, mate.”

Riley’s gaze flooded with rage and he stormed forward again. But before he could get a word in, Buffy’s voice tore through the air with a calamitous plea. Spike turned to her immediately, abandoning his outrage for a beat to return to her side, sliding his t-shirt over her bare skin. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Furthermore, the fact that he had dressed her in his clothing sent a clear message.

Buffy wasn’t going anywhere.

When he turned around, Angel was holding his jeans, his expression stoic.

“Thanks, mate.”

The elder vampire made no move to reply. Instead, without drawing his eyes away from his grandchilde, he said, “Gunn, please escort Riley outside.”

“No way,” the soldier snapped icily. “I’m staying right here.”

“No,” Angel retorted. “You’re really not.”

“I don’t see where you have the authority to—”

Angel nodded to Spike. “You heard what he said. Buffy can’t be around people. Last time I checked, that counted you.” He turned fully at that, his eyes void of negotiation. “Now get out.”

“Yeah. This works out nicely for you, huh?”

Gunn stepped forward at that, holding up a neutral hand. “Okay, okay. Since we’re standing in a graveyard with three vampires, one of which has no control of her fangs, I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that moving our non-undead asses outside is a good idea.”

Buffy nodded erratically. “Please.”

There was a beat of nothing at all. Spike buttoned his jeans and returned to his lover’s side, where she promptly tugged him down to the sofa once more and wrapped her arms around his middle. And perhaps it was that visual that convinced Riley to leave. His former girlfriend clinging to the vampire he loathed above all others of his kind. Buffy asking him to leave her alone.

Buffy asking him to leave her.

“Fine.” Riley released a deep breath and shook his head, meeting her eyes. “Fine. Goodbye, Buffy.”

And that was that. There was no doubt in Spike’s mind that the sight of the soldier’s retreating backside would be the last any of them ever saw of Riley Finn.

Good bloody riddance.

Once they were alone, Angel’s random bout of compassion vanished. He turned to Spike, his eyes dark and severe, without any sign of understanding. “Get up,” he all but growled, indicating to the protective stance his next-of-kin had taken in front of the sired Slayer. “Now.”

Buffy’s arms tightened around him, and he laced his fingers with her over his middle.

“No.”

“I don’t know what you’ve done to her, but I’m not buying it.”

“Well, you ungrateful sod, that would be your problem, wouldn’t it?”

Angel’s gaze darkened even more. He held Spike’s eyes for a long minute before averting his attention to the Slayer behind him. At that, his features softened. “Buffy,” he said gently. “Buffy, it’s me.”

Oh how bloody typical.

“She knows who you are.”

“I’d like to hear it from her, if you don’t mind.” The elder vampire turned back to the Slayer. “Buffy…I don’t know what he’s done to you…told you…but your friends are worried sick. You have people who love you.” His eyes flickered disdainfully to the fuming face of his grandchilde. “People that will accept you no matter what…despite what he’s told you.”

Spike roared and leapt forward at that, his demon overpowering his senses. “You fucking bastard,” he snarled. “I haven’t done anythin’ to her!”

Then something went wrong. Something happened. Her voice reached the air, broken and disheveled, and he felt the world around him collapse.

“Yes you have,” Buffy said softly.

Something inside him screamed out in anguished fury.

No. God, no. This couldn’t happen.

Spike whirled back to her, his eyes shining. No. Just because Angel…

Angel, Angel, Angel. Always sodding Angel.

“Buffy,” he gasped, shaking his head furiously. “No. God, please, no.” Before he could stop himself, his legs carried him to her, kneeling at her side. “Please. God, I love you so much. Don’t do this to me, now. I love you.”

She cupped his face and smiled. “I know.”

Oh God.

“Buffy—”

“I love you, too,” she whispered, brushing a tender kiss across his lips, and he dissolved into her. His arms came around her, his mouth devouring hers in a trembling wave of unyielding relief.

For a few seconds, Angel ceased to exist.

“Jesus, don’ do that to me.”

“I didn’t mean to.” She shook her head, smiling against his lips. “I didn’t…it’s just…you did do something to me, sweetie. Haven’t I been saying this all along?”

Angel shifted behind them. “Buffy?”

The Slayer shook her head and wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry I scared you,” she whispered to Spike, not reacting to the other vampire at all. “I just…I was going to…”

“Yeh.” He smiled and kissed her forehead. “I jus’ tend to overreact at times.”

“Ahem.”

Spike rolled his eyes and rose to his feet, pivoting violently to his grandsire. “You heard her,” he spat. “She loves me.”

“I also heard her say that you’ve done something to her.”

“He’s done more than that,” Buffy agreed. “He’s been unbelievable.” She rose to her feet slowly, mindful of her unclothed lower half, but unembarrassed. “Spike gave me something no one else could have…like this. I’m…I went to him because I knew that…he would take care of me.”

“And I wouldn’t?” Angel retorted, hurt. “I would’ve done…anything.” He released a shuddering sigh. “And Giles. And your mother? We would have done anything to help you. Anything.”

“No.”

“Buffy—”

“There is no way you can convince me that you or Giles or my mom or my friends would have begun to do for me what Spike has done.” She shook her head, tears spilling forward. “You guys…all of you…with as much as I love my friends and Giles and Mom…you put me on this pedestal where I’m supposed to be perfect and never…Spike doesn’t do that. Not the way you guys do. And he’s taken more…he took care of me. I was in a daze and he brought me out. It’s been a week, Angel. A week. How can you tell me that I would have been okay after a week if I was anywhere else?”

“How do you know that you wouldn’t be?”

“I do.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Buffy’s eyes darkened. “Then I’m ridiculous.”

“How can you call yourself ‘okay?’” he demanded. “Everything…Buffy, you were sired. Dracula took everything away from you. He turned you into what you hate. What sick, twisted thing has Spike told you that made you think that could ever be okay?”

“You bloody bastard,” the peroxide vampire snarled.

“Stop it!” the Slayer shouted, hands flying up. “Yes, I was sired. Yes. It could’ve killed me. I drank from a dead man, and it nearly killed me. I couldn’t move without it hurting. I couldn’t do anything. Spike saved me from staking myself. He helped me find peace. He helped me…I’m violent. I need blood. I need…sex.” She glanced down and blushed slightly. “I need the things that all vampires need. But I’m still me…just wiser than before. I’m not the girl you knew.”

“And that’s how you’ve justified this to yourself?”

“That’s bloody priceless,” the platinum vampire barked. “You din’t see her after it happened. You weren’t here. You’re only here when it’s convenient for you, right? When you learn that ole Spike is takin’ care of the girl you jus’ din’t love enough. Given her everythin’ you were too good to give her.”

“I would never have done to her what you’ve done.”

“Yeh. You’re right. I love the girl too much. I mollycoddled her a bit, yeh, but I din’t shield her from the big bad world like you bloody well would have.” He shook his head with a long, shrill laugh. “You don’ know how she was. What I saved her from.”

“So he finally admits it,” Buffy muttered.

“You saved her?” Angel snickered incredulously. “You call keeping her in a hole in the ground with a soulless creature something worthy of what Buffy deserves? She has a soul, you idiot. She’s not like you. She can never be like you.”

The Slayer’s eyes darkened. “She’s also standing right here.”

“Buffy—”

“No, shut up. You have no idea what happened to me. What I’ve been through.”

The elder vampire blinked. “Have we entered the Twilight Zone, here?”

“No, your ego’s always been this rich,” Spike spat.

“I killed my sire,” Buffy responded calmly. The telling wince of pain that had haunted her throughout the week was now nonexistent. “And I was in pain. And I went to Spike because he wasn’t you. Because he wouldn’t be…he was the only one I could turn to. I still haven’t been able to go around people without nearly losing control. I—”

“I killed my sire, too, Buffy. I killed her for you.”

“I know.”

“And that means nothing?”

“It meant something once.” She shook her head. “This has nothing to do with the fact that we have souls and dead sires in common. You wouldn’t have given me what Spike did.”

“So you’re grateful. There’s nothing wrong with that. But don’t mistake gratitude for love. This is Spike we’re talking about. Spike doesn’t have a soul. He’s a monster.”

“I love him.”

“You can’t.”

Spike snickered and shook his head. “I’m not sayin’ it makes sense to me either, mate. But she loves me, an’ I love her. An’ you’re not wanted here.”

“I’m not leaving without Buffy.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Buffy—”

“I’m home. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Buffy, I—”

That was when it happened. Angel made the mistake of stepping forward. Of taking a step too far. Of trying to get closer to her than anyone else had attempted. The only one allowed near her right now was Spike, and the elder vampire obviously wasn’t going to accept that.

It was a quick decision. Her fangs burst through her gums and she jerked the platinum vampire to her, and sank her teeth into his throat. Spike moaned aloud, his hands going to her shoulders, holding her to him as she suckled at his blood. As she drew his essence into her.

As she pulled back, Buffy lapped at the wound she had opened, and murmured, “Mine.”

It was a strange, wondrous sensation. As though at that second, the fabric holding the universe together suddenly fit, and there were no more questions. There was no more doubt. There was nothing but this phenomenal sentiment of belonging. Her blood rejoiced, her body hummed in pleasure, and she was complete. One little word brought her the magnitude of the cosmos. All hints of pain residing within her body vanished. The wail of her demon cooed into a gentle purr, and the agony she had suffered, the same she had begun to ignore over the past couple days, suddenly ceased to exist.

She felt rather than heard Spike’s moan of surrender. His hands were on her, and she was against him. He began peppering kisses across her face. She tasted tears, but didn’t know who owned them. They were one. In that instant, they were one.

Then he sighed, “Yours,” into her hair, and the fabric of her subsistence fastened together and held. She had just claimed him, and he had accepted. Spike was hers. He was all around her. Pressing kisses against her skin. She felt thoroughly enveloped in him. Felt his blood rush through her, melding into her own.

And pleasure burst through her. His fangs were in her throat, his arms holding her to him, and heat spread through her veins. It was unlike anything she had ever felt. Any level of ecstasy she had ever experienced. A shrill gasp touched the air as her body exploded in rapture, and his tongue traced the bite mark he had given her, holding her to him in her fall.

All this before the word was even whispered.

“Mine.”

“Ohhhh…yours.”

She was too foregone to notice they were alone. Too lost in his arms to hear the defiant slam of the front door crack through the air. There was only Spike, and the birth of this sacred union between them. Linked to him now in a bond that flooded her being with strength and love. Satisfied her demon and made the rest of her burst into exultation.

“Spike…”

“Mine,” he growled again. “God, Buffy…”

“Yours.”

Tears stung her eyes. She had spent so much time over the past few days crying. Crying for loss, crying for life, crying for death, crying for everything that had been taken away. Crying for the existence Spike had resurrected within her.

She was home now. In his arms. His blood in her blood, tied together by forces beyond imagination. Tied with words of promise, but held with love.

One little word. Even when he had told her, she had never imagined it possible.

It didn’t matter now. Nothing did. They could conquer nations if they wanted.

Spike had not only given her new life; he had given her all of himself.

And if she lived a thousand millennia, she could never make it up to him.

Our Star Will Shine

Gunn stumbled into Giles’s duplex just seconds after Angel slammed the door shut, walking into a heated trade between the old Watcher and his employer. The vampire had stormed out of Spike’s crypt much too fast for any normal human to successfully follow, and while Gunn prided himself on his strength and agility, there was no way to keep up with his boss when he was running on pure fury.

“I told you to leave her alone if she—”

“She’s clearly not in her right mind! She claimed Spike! Do you have any idea what that means?”

“No, Angel, I’m only one of the top human experts on vampires and vampiric ceremonies on the west coast. Please explain a ritual claiming, preferably slowly and with small words.”

The vampire’s gaze raged yellow. “How can you be so calm about this?”

“Ummm.” Gunn raised his hand. “Is this the reason you moved to LA? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you have more than three facial expressions…ever.”

Giles grinned wryly. “One of many reasons,” he retorted without tearing his eyes away from the tall brooding sulk. “I told you to leave Buffy alone if she was with Spike because she wanted to be. You were to go over there, gauge the situation, and only return with Buffy if that was what she wanted.”

“Why isn’t he all…eunuch Angel?” Gunn frowned disdainfully. “Did you just throw in that bit about castration to keep us in line? ‘Cause man, threatenin’ a bro’s package ain’t cool.”

“No,” the Watcher replied. “That much was very legitimate. My only guess is that Angel never got close enough to attempt a bodily removal of Buffy from Spike’s crypt. Is that right?”

“I never touched her.”

“Yes, I suspected as much.” Giles heaved out a sigh. “Very well. You have done what I asked. Thank you.” A pause. “Now leave.”

There was a long, silent beat.

“Leave?”

“This is what a civilized person typically does at the end of a transaction.”

“You really think I’m going to leave while Buffy is mated to Spike?”

Giles’s eyes darkened. “From where I’m standing, you don’t have much of a choice. This was her decision, and quite frankly, if your current behavior exhibits the match she could have had for eternity, I say all the better for her.”

“How can you approve of this?”

“I never said I approved. But, from where I am standing, it is not my choice to make. Obviously, Buffy’s feelings for Spike have changed radically over the past few days. None of us can or should know what happened between them, but if she feels this strongly for someone, I believe you know as well as I do that there is nothing anyone can do to sway her.” A pause. “Especially now, since she has decided to seal her lifeline with his for the rest of time.”

“If I challenge Spike’s claim—”

“No. You will not be doing that. I’ll have Willow whip up a new spell that will ensure you will not bother Buffy or Spike again.”

Gunn drew in a breath. “As in ‘dust-to-dust’ right? I didn’t miss that, did I?”

“No. You did not miss a thing.”

Angel stared at him, his eyes cold and dead. “You don’t know Spike like I do,” he replied. “You can’t begin to know what she has gotten herself into. He’s soulless, she’s not. He is not restricted by moral absolutes. He thinks he’s in love with her, sure. But love affects Spike…he’s at his most dangerous when he’s in love.”

Giles was unmoved. “Then I’m going to count my blessings that it’s the Slayer that won his heart and not a deranged vampire that you made after destroying her family. Perhaps with someone who does hold moral absolutes as his mate, this dangerous shadow in Spike that, quite frankly, has never truly shown face, will dwindle altogether.”

“Never truly shown face?”

“Not in the way you led us to believe when he first barreled into Sunnydale, no.”

“He’s a monster.”

“Yes. And yet, I don’t recall hating him quite as richly as I hate Angelus.” The Watcher’s eyes flickered dangerously, and he stepped forward. “Now get the hell out of my house.”

The look on Gunn’s face had gone slack with both astonishment and distant shades of a man truly impressed. He released a deep breath and stepped forward, placing a hand on Angel’s shoulder. “Come on, man,” he said. “We’re done here.”

“I’m not.”

Giles stepped forward again, his gaze not wavering. “Oh yes,” he said. “You are.”

That was it. No more discussion. No more debate.

There were so many unanswered questions. Things that troubled the Watcher to no end, but similarly, things he recognized he was too far on the outside to understand. Why his Slayer would have chosen Spike to share eternity with, he had no idea. Only that it had to be something extremely potent. Extremely powerful. And something beyond his comprehension. Something so compelling that no one, no matter how close they were to Buffy, would ever fully grasp.

It didn’t matter. He had his answers.

Everything else would come slowly.

And he would simply have to wait until she was ready to come home.

*~*~*

There had never been a feeling like this.

The air crackled. She was aware of every move he made. Aware of every breath that shuddered through him. Aware of the tension wracking his being, the adoration pouring through every cell. From before where it had all been words and the feeling burning her own insides, to now where every tremor through her body vibrated with the wealth of his love for her.

Ever since she came to him, he had shaken her with the intensity of his eyes. How he regarded her with such tender reverence. How he made her feel like royalty. Like she had fallen from reality into Heaven, and there had never been anything like this.

She was sitting at the edge of the mattress, Spike kneeling before her, running his hands up and down her bare thighs.

“You’re so gorgeous.” He buried his face between her breasts and shuddered. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Wanted to do to the claim here. Wanted to be inside you when it happened.” He rested against her for a minute, then raised his head and pressed a kiss to the proud mark on her throat. “Wanted to…”

“It was perfect,” she replied, cupping his face gently. “It couldn’t have been more perfect.”

He smiled gently. “We’re not gonna have a lot of time,” he said. “Angel’s gonna be back with an army once he tells Giles what you did upstairs.”

“Screw ‘em.”

A chuckle clamored through his throat. “See, the only person I wanna screw is right here.”

“Pig.”

“I’m a pig, huh?” He chuckled again, and she gasped at how good the vibrations felt against her. “Don’ you eat pigs?”

She smirked and urged him away from her, smiling candidly at the frown that crossed his face. “Well, I ate one earlier tonight,” she replied, popping the button of his jeans and lowering the zipper. His cock sprang into her grasp, her other hand tugging his trousers down his legs. A long whimper tore through his throat as she lapped at his length, suckling at his head delicately. “It was good, but I think I like this one a little more.”

Spike laced his fingers through her hair. “Jus’…a li’l more?”

“Mmm…” Her tongue took to the underside of his erection, her hand dropping to cup his sack tenderly. “Maybe a lot more.”

It was amazing. Before, their lovemaking had been revolutionary. Beyond anything she had ever felt. Beyond anything she had thought herself capable of feeling. Everything was different, now, and it broke through the boundaries of sensationalism. Every shudder that rushed through his body built her own arousal. Every pleasured nerve that her talented tongue uncovered sent shivers of rapture quivering through her blood. She felt his building euphoria as though it was her own, and it was unlike anything in the world.

“Oh bleedin’ fuck,” Spike gasped, throwing his head back. “Such a pretty, hot li’l mouth. God, Buffy.”

Pressure was building. Her insides were on fire; every stroke against his cock echoed against her clit. She needed him to touch her. Needed to feel hands that weren’t invisible caressing her. And yet, the sweet torture of suckling at his erection and swimming in pleasure through what she gave him was too good to forfeit.

Her teeth slid over his belled head, and dueled gasps ripped through their mouths. Her stomach tightened and she flushed with alien warmth, tiny pinpricks of ecstasy numbing her skin. Buffy threw her head back, her eyes flashing, her hand pumping him speedily in the absence of her mouth. “Oh God!” she cried, unable to restrain herself another beat. “I need you.”

Spike shot her a heated, smoldering look. “’m here,” he assured her, coaxing her away, shuddering when her touch left his body completely. “Scootch back, sweetling.”

“Spike…”

His mouth dropped to her throat, and he lapped attentively at the claim mark he had engraved there. “Always here.”

“Ohhh…I need…”

“I know.” He dipped a hand between her thighs, and she sank her nails into his shoulders as his thumb settled over her clit. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

“Uhhhh…”

“God.” His eyes studied his hand’s ministrations for a few seconds before flickering to her face. He was breathing harshly, gaze overwhelmed with lust that went beyond anything she had ever seen, or shared. “God, I feel…oh my God.”

Buffy nodded urgently with a strangled mewl.

“Oh God.” Spike sank his blunt teeth into the claim mark, eliciting a long moan before he took chart down her body. “I gotta taste you.”

“Uhhh…”

“You’re driving me crazy.” He whipped the t-shirt over her head, mouth latching onto one of her breasts with a hum of approval. “Your scent. Your taste…your…fuck, I love you so much.”

“Love you.”

He released her nipple with a wet plop, abandoning her breasts with some difficulty to kiss a teasing trail down her belly until his face was buried in her pussy. His thumb continued its slow, achingly sweet caresses to her sensitive bundle of nerves, his tongue plunging inside her without formalities. A pleasured cry ripped past her lips and her head whipped back, her legs sliding over his shoulders.

“You taste so bleeding good.”

“Oh God.”

“Christ…” His tongue drew a long line up her slit. “I feel everythin’.”

She nodded unintelligibly, drawing him closer. “Uh huh.”

“Every li’l…thing.” Spike burned her with his eyes, nibbling lightly on her folds. “’S unlike anythin’ I’ve ever felt before.”

“Oohhh…” She arched into him with another long moan, her hands twisting the bedsheets as unbridled bliss tore through her body. “Spike…I…oh…oh my God. I need…”

He withdrew his mouth from her tight channel, replacing his tongue with his fingers. “You’re so hot,” he murmured. “My tight, hot li’l Slayer.” He suckled her clit between his lips, drowning in her juices. In her taste. In every little gasp that rushed through her body. “My gorgeous mate.”

She caught his eyes, drawing him in heatedly. “Mate,” she growled in agreement.

“Want to feel you come.” His teeth scraped over her clit lightly. “Come for me, baby.”

“Spike…”

His thrusting fingers were touching parts of her that only he had explored, secret places within her to which only he held the key. And every time he revisited her, the wealth of sensations collided with each other to the point where she didn’t think she could take it.

And then it happened. She touched the sky and fell back again, a hoarse scream bursting past her lips. She felt Spike growl into her in turn, felt the shudders quaking through his body as they shared the power of her orgasm. Drowning in euphoria that was almost too wonderful to bear. As though she was going to explode with feeling when it became too much. And he was there, holding her in her fall, resting his cheek against her hip bone and purring with contentment.

There had never been anything like this. And it was only the first day.

The first day of forever.

“I love you so much,” Spike whispered softly.

“I love you, too.” She smiled and cupped his cheek, urging him back up her body. He was hard again, his cock nudging her moist folds tenderly. “Spike…”

“Shhh.”

He slipped within her without another word, and buried his face in her throat at the feel of their union. Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck and tossed her head back, her eyes falling shut as he began to move within her. And the plateaus she had thought to have just reached were blown away. Her entire body set aside on a windstorm of discovery. There was nothing like it; absolutely nothing. Pleasure soared through her body; like she was a beginner taking her first attempt at a master’s course, and was too overwhelmed to keep up. The slow slip and slide of his flesh from hers, the burning heat between her thighs, his fingers tweaking her nipples, his mouth worshipping her throat…it was sensory overload, and she was tumbling too fast without anything to hold.

And it was unbelievable.

“Oh my God.”

“Mmmm,” he hummed against her in agreement, thrusts slow and controlled, though there was a burning behind his eyes that she was beginning to recognize as his control slipping away. Unlike when he fought or sought blood, his sexual control had a completely different look. Like he wanted to pound her into the mattress, but needed to continue this sweet torment. “Like satin.”

“Oh.”

He smiled against her lips. “Like satin wrapped in sunlight. You’re so bloody warm.” His mouth danced over hers, tongue dancing with hers, the taste of her mingling with the taste of him until they simply tasted like each other. “You feel like…you feel so fucking good.”

Buffy smiled cheekily. “You’ve told me.”

“Won’t ever stop tellin’ you.” He shuddered a sigh, cock sliding rhythmically in and out of her passage. He was saturated in her juices, swimming in her scent, and burning with the addictive taste of her kisses. “Not like this before,” he gasped. “Not before. Not even with you. ‘S new, baby…this is all new.”

“Yeah.”

“So good.”

“You too.” Her nails dug further into his skin, and then the scent of blood tainted the air, coinciding with a sharp gasp, and his thrusts made the sudden jump from slow and luxurious to speedy and needful. “Oh God!”

“God, what you do to me.” Spike’s mouth returned to her throat, a hand slipping between them. His balls slapped noisily against her with every parry, the guttural sounds rumbling through his lips matched only for the animalesque sounds erupting from her scrumptious body. His fingers found her clit with ease and began a speedy massage, his body tingling with every gasp of pleasure that touched the air. Every vibration of euphoria that soared through her skin soared through his as well, and it was wonderful.

“Spike!”

“I love you.” His fangs burst through his gums, and the sensations surrounding him grew even more potent, if it was possible. “I love you so much.”

“I love you.” Her eyes flashed. “Bite me.”

“I’d be delighted.”

The tease registered, but she ignored it. She was too foregone in feeling to care about anything else. “Show me…what you wanted.”

Spike’s eyes widened and it was over. His fangs slid into the milky flesh at her throat, over the claim mark that tied them together for eternity, and she exploded around him. Sheer bliss tore through her, and she was left to a white feeling of utter clarity. It was all around her. Her mate thrusting into her, her blood pouring into his mouth, and this was it. This was where she belonged. This was where she had always belonged.

And she was finally home.

“Mine,” Spike whispered into her. “You’re mine, Buffy. Forever. Mine.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Say it.”

“Yours. I’m yours.”

He was still thrusting into her as he lapped the wound closed, love shining through his eyes. “Bite me,” he replied in turn after drawing her mouth to his for a tender kiss. “Tell me who I belong to.”

Her demon sprang forward as another fire began building within her. A fire that shook her spiraling into a second orgasm as her fangs pierced his skin and his blood touched her tongue. And Spike rumbled in release, flooding her with himself as her muscles milked him for everything he had to give. She drank him greedily; drawing as much of him into herself as possible

“Mine,” she growled, forcing her teeth back into her mouth, suckling gently at his wound. “Mine.”

“Oh, I am so fucking yours.”

Buffy giggled and drew her mouth away, her eyes dancing. “Yes, you are.”

“Hey, you’re mine, too, you know.”

“Completely.”

Spike smiled and brushed a kiss across her forehead. “I can’t believe this,” he said with a long, contented sigh.

“What?”

“You. You’re here.”

“I’ve been here for a while, buster.”

His grin broadened, and he reached over to the unoccupied side of the bed, capturing two of the rose petals he had scattered throughout the crypt in preparation for their ritual union. For this sacred night. Red and white paper-thin wedges of beauty. He had done all of this for her.

No. Buffy frowned inwardly. That wasn’t right.

For them. He had done it for them.

“You’ve been here,” he agreed a minute later. “I jus’…I guess I never thought you’d really…”

“We have a bad habit of having to talk each other into believing this is real.”

Spike brushed a kiss against her mouth. “When it’s never been real before, pet, I think that’s natural. An’ you’re really here.” He dragged the red rose petal slowly down her chest, encircling her nipple reverently before drawing her into his mouth. “Red for blood,” he murmured. “An’ passion. An’ fury.”

The white rose petal followed course, mimicking the red’s actions against her other breast.

“This for purity,” he concluded. “Perfection.”

“I’m not pure or perfect.”

“No, baby. No one is…but you’re as close as a bloke on this bloody planet could get.” His brow fell against hers. “You make me wanna be a better man. The sort’ve man that could deserve this…someday.”

“Spike—”

“I have you,” he replied. “Doesn’ mean I deserve you. I’m a monster, pet. That’s the way it’s gonna be forever. But I’ll be a good monster for you. I’m gonna do things that…it’s not gonna be perfect, sweetheart. But I’ll give you as close to perfect as I can. I’ll be good for you. I jus’…I—”

Her mouth devoured his, and he lost himself for a few blissful seconds.

“It doesn’t need to be perfect,” she replied. “Just real. I love you. I’m not expecting perfect, Spike. I never will. Maybe I did once, but…perfect doesn’t exist. We’ll burn those bridges when we get there.”

“Don’t you mean cross?”

“No, I think we’ll burn them.” She paused. “You helped me touch the monster…even though eating a pig in the forest is hardly…but I’m not the Slayer I was, if I’m a Slayer at all anymore. If something happens, it happens. I don’t…I’m not that girl anymore. I’m a vampire, and I know what you have to fight. What you’re fighting right now. You’ve shown me everything without trying to hide that part. And I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He released a trembling sigh, wrapping his arms around her as she lowered his head to her shoulder, the rose petals smothered between them. “I jus’ wanted that said before the cavalry arrives. Before your Watcher comes in here, staffed with the entire Sunnydale cleric branch to take you outta here an’ get you to ‘snap the hell out of it.’”

“It won’t happen.”

“Buffy, you can’t be that bloody naïve—”

“Oh no. Not the first part…but someone’s going to get hurt if they try to take me out of here against my will.”

A small smile drew across his face. “That’s my girl.”

Buffy settled back, running her fingers lovingly through his hair. There was something about this; about this peace. About simply resting in his arms with the scent of their lovemaking perfuming the air. His cock resting within her body, more for the need of that connection than anything else.

She had never felt closer to anyone than she did to Spike. Never.

And she never would.

He had delivered her through the darkness and into the light, into a place of calm, soft enlightenment. A place she hadn’t known existed on this plane of being. He had brought her peace. The demon that had raged inside was completely docile, not merely quiet. Calm. The wail for her sire was gone.

She was in the arms of her mate. Their blood was kindled. Their path was the same.

That was the last thought that fluttered through her head before sleep overwhelmed her, and the gentle hum of morning spread over Sunnydale. The beginning of a new day.

And they rested.

To be concluded in Chapter Twenty: The Long And Winding Road…

The Long And Winding Road

She awoke with Spike’s arm around her, his blunt teeth teasing the claim mark on her throat. His arm was draped over her middle, his thumb stroking her stomach teasingly. The potency with which she felt him would likely take years to get used to, but it was the most wondrous feeling she had ever experienced. Every move that coursed through him, every sigh, every inward purr of contentment; she shared it all. Felt it all. And it was so right; she feared even contemplating the way her life would have gone if Dracula hadn’t whipped the carpet from under her feet. Hadn’t torn her away from the world she knew, and introduced her to this existence that she had so violently rebuked just two weeks before. The man behind her, holding her, murmuring his love into her hair as he slipped his erection inside her with a contented growl—the man that she had loathed so fervently in a life that was far behind her.

She couldn’t imagine the girl that had hated Spike. The girl that didn’t know him.

The girl whose life she had so nearly been condemned to live out before a bittersweet twist of fate changed all that for her.

Buffy wasn’t prepared to say that becoming a vampire was the best awakening she had ever had, but similarly, she couldn’t think of her former life without growing disgusted with herself. Without appreciating where she was now. She liked to think that she would have ended up here—with Spike, in his bed, in his arms—without needing a pair of fangs, but she knew better.

The girl that had lived in her mother’s house, the girl that had gone to UC Sunnydale, the girl that was Chosen, was dead.

“Hey there,” Spike whispered into her hair, his hand dancing down her abdomen to dip between her thighs.

She had never had sex in any position that wasn’t featured popularly in Hollywood movies, and the feel of him moving within her from behind sent her to new levels of ecstasy. But she wanted to look at him; see his eyes as he moved within her. She threw her leg over his waist, locking an arm around his neck, twisting slightly so she could see him. The angle spread her wider, sent his cock deeper within her, and she gasped aloud at the pleasured coo that tore through his lips.

“Hey,” she replied hoarsely.

“Fuck.”

“Why yes, I believe that’s what we’re doing.”

Spike smirked and seized her lips, settling his fingers over her clit and massaging her rapidly. “So tight,” he whimpered. “So fuckin’ hot.”

“Ohhhh…”

“I’m not gonna last.” His thrusts grew frantic. “I need to feel you come. Come for me, baby.”

If his whispered plea didn’t do it for her, the feel of his masterful fingers manipulating her body, his cock thrusting into her slick passage, his ivory fangs in her throat pushed her over that final edge. Buffy screamed her release into the still of the room, her walls clenching around him as he emptied himself in her supple, willing body. It was fast but wonderful, and sent her spiraling into an incredible wake.

“You’re amazing,” Spike murmured, lapping her wound closed as he slipped out of her, his arms closing around her and turning her to face him fully. “So bloody amazing.”

Buffy smiled languidly and brushed a kiss against his lips. “You’re pretty amazing yourself.”

“Fancy bein’ woken up like that for the rest of eternity?” He grinned and nuzzled her throat. “Think that’s somethin’ you might like?”

A long, dramatic sigh rushed through her. “I suppose I’ll manage.”

“Right sacrifice from where you’re sittin’, I’d wager.”

“Oh yeah.” Her head settled against their shared pillow with a dopey grin. “Major sacrifice.”

“Minx.”

“Hey, you asked.”

Spike smiled softly and tugged her closer, if such was possible. “I did at that.”

They lay together for a few quiet seconds, enjoying a comfortable silence. Buffy sighed again contentedly, her eyes fluttering shut. There wasn’t another person in the world that she could share this with. A silence that didn’t strain, air that didn’t require words to be meaningful. She knew how he felt without needing it spoken. Knew how to relax in the company of another, simply soaked in his love and kept in the security of his embrace.

“Mmm.” She opened her eyes again to find him watching her, his gaze positively glowing with adoration. “There’s…I think we should go today.”

“Go?”

Buffy wet her lips. “To see Mom. And…the others.”

A frown worried his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“No.” She shivered slightly and buried herself further in his arms. “I just think it’s better if we go to them before they come to us. I don’t want…” Another long sigh coursed through her body. “I need to do be the one who does this.”

“I know.” He paused. “Do you want me to come?”

“Of course I do.”

Spike sat up at that, pulling her fully into his lap. “They’re not gonna understand, pet,” he said softly. “You gotta know that.”

She glanced down, watching her hand sketch artless patterns across his skin. “Yeah, I know.” A beat. “But if they love me, they’ll accept it. Even if they don’t understand it, they’ll accept it…right?”

“Angel’s gonna have told Rupert what happened.”

“Yes.”

“An’ your soldier boy’ll be the bloody icing on the cake.”

“Well…they’ll just have to deal with it.” Buffy shook her head and buried her face in the crook of his throat. “If they can’t deal, well…”

Her voice trailed off. There was nothing she could say. She desperately wanted the approval and blessing of her friends, and while she would not allow them to come between her and her lover, it would crush her if every link to her former life was severed.

She missed them. She missed them, and she was terrified of them.

But she couldn’t put it off forever. And she had promised herself when they met, it would be on her terms.

“It’s okay, my little love,” Spike murmured after a minute. “It’s okay.”

Buffy nodded and pulled back, wiping at her eyes. “I know,” she replied honestly. “I do…I just…”

“If they try anythin’, we’ll leave town, right?”

“I’m so scared it’ll come to that.”

Spike shook his head. “Oh no. No, baby, they won’t…your mates love you. You know it. I was jus’ sayin’…I din’t think it—”

“If they try anything, we will leave town.” She sighed her conviction. “I’m afraid of what I’d do to them if they came after you. Before…and especially now.”

“I wouldn’t let you hurt them.”

“You wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

Spike exhaled deeply but didn’t try to pretend it otherwise. She had double the strength of him, maybe more. And if he tried to stop her while she was in the fury of protecting her mate, he might get hurt in the crossfire.

Then she would never be able to forgive herself.

Buffy endured a quiet minute. “They’re going to ask me why.”

He looked at her for a few seconds, then nodded. “Yeh.”

“I don’t owe them any explanations.”

“You don’t,” he agreed, brushing a kiss across her brow. “Do whatever you want, sweetling. It’s your decision. They can’t make you do anythin’.” He paused, then chuckled shortly. “Your Watcher’ll likely grill me on my intentions, yeh? Insist I get myself a steady job an’ a cozy li’l house with a white-picket fence so you can live out the rest of forever as the 50s li’l vampiress.”

She laced her fingers through his and shook her head. “He doesn’t have the right to tell you to do anything. Besides…I want to stay here.”

“Here?”

“Yeah.”

“Buffy…this is a sodding hole in the ground—”

“It’s home.”

“It’s bloody well beneath you.”

“But not beneath you, is that it?” Her eyes flashed irritably. “You’ve made this place as much a home for me as anywhere else. I know it’s…yes, it’s in a graveyard. I understand that. I know it’s a crypt, but it’s home. I’ve never felt safer anywhere than I do here. With you.”

“It’s a…” Spike frowned. “I don’t understand. I jus’…I always figured you’d wanna move. I jus’…”

“I don’t want to move.”

“Buffy—”

“I don’t want to move. Do you? Do you want to move?”

“I want you to be happy, sweets. As long as you’re happy, I don’ give a flyin’ fuck where we live.”

“I like it here.”

He stifled a chuckle and shook his head. “I jus’ never thought you could ever feel that way about this dump.”

“Well, I’m not saying it’s not a fixer-upper, but I do love it here.” She sighed. “Anywhere else, and I’d be pretending to be something that I’m not. We can’t live in an apartment and go to the grocery store or walk along the beach after playing volleyball in the sun. I can’t go back to school, unless I enroll in night classes…but I really don’t see the point in that. We have here what we’ve had for the past week…do you want to change that?”

He cupped her cheek tenderly and kissed her lips. “Not for the bloody world.”

She grinned. “So we patrol, which is made easy since, hey! Residents of the busiest cemetery in town. And we make with the sexcapades.”

“Out here where your screamin’ like a sodding banshee isn’t an issue,” he retorted teasingly.

“Hey!” She paused, then flushed and glanced down. “Well, yeah…”

“You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed.”

“Yeh, you’re jus’ runnin’ an experiment on blushin’ vampires, right?”

She made a face at him and thwapped his shoulder playfully. “Jerk.”

Spike chuckled appreciatively and seized her arms, rolling her under him before she could get another word out. “Should prob’ly visit your mum firs’,” he said, nibbling on her neck, a hand cupping her breast as his eager, nimble fingers tweaked her nipple. “Make sure she knows you’re okay.”

“Don’t be talking about my mother while you’re…doing that.”

He pulled back at smirked at her. “Make you feel dirty?”

“Now that you mention it.”

“So I should stop, huh?” His hand abandoned her breast. “’S such a shame. Here I am, wantin’ to touch you, an’ you’re havin’ to be all stubborn about it.”

A pout crossed her face. “Meanie.”

“Hey.” He threw his hands up in mock innocence. “Jus’ honorin’ your wishes, pet.”

“Well, you can touch me if you want.”

“Can I?”

She nodded, worrying a lip between her teeth. “Just leave other members of my family out of it. They still think I’m a good girl.”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, everyone but my mom thinks I’m a good girl.”

“Din’t you burn down a school buildin’ once?”

“Shut up.”

“Oohhh, touchy, are we?” Spike skimmed his teeth over the claim mark on her throat, fingers dancing down her middle until he was cupping the apex of her thighs. “Perhaps I have the remedy for that.”

“Oh yes.”

“See here. You’re all wet.” He slipped a finger inside her passage, his mouth working up her skin. “Only naughty girls get wet in bed.”

“Gah.”

Another finger slid inside her. “Very naughty girls.”

“Well…” Buffy drew in a sharp breath and arched off the bed, thrusting needily into his hand. “What my family doesn’t know…won’t hurt them.”

Spike smiled, his head dipping, laving a wet path around her nipple. “Yeh,” he agreed gutturally. “’S what I thought.”

*~*~*

It felt like a thousand years had passed since she stood on her front porch. The feeling had followed her all the way to Revello Drive and had lingered in the back of her mind even when her mother choked a sob and took her into her arms. Sitting in the family room of the home that had been hers for the past five years, feeling strange and displaced, even though seeing her mother provided a different sort of peace that she hadn’t even known was missing. And though that peace was something she sorely needed, the house she had shared with her mother was no longer her house, and she was relieved when they stepped outside again.

Joyce’s reaction to almost everything came with a gentle touch of motherly support. She had grabbed and hugged Spike, sobbing her gratitude onto his shoulder for taking care of her little girl. The look of bewildered discomfort that flashed across his face as he looked to her for help was something Buffy would never forget. Spike wasn’t accustomed to being thanked for anything. He hadn’t known how to react to her whenever she expressed her endless appreciation for what he had given her in their short time together, and now with her mother giving him the same treatment, he was charmingly befuddled.

After the tearful reunion, Buffy had explained quietly what had transpired over the past few days. What decisions she had arrived at, and most importantly, the nature of her relationship with Spike. And Joyce couldn’t have been happier. She was more than a little irate when told that Angel and Riley had paid them a visit, had muttered some decidedly unpleasant things about Giles under her breath, but overall kept to her joy and gave them both her blessing.

With one provision: they were to visit her at least once a week. Something Spike was quick to agree to. By his own admission, he did not want to wake up with an incensed Joyce holding an axe over his head for withholding her daughter from her.

That was the easy one. Her mother liked her mate. Her mother was grateful and supportive. Her mother had been avidly against any attempt to remove Buffy from Spike’s care, and planned to have more than a few words with her Watcher at going expressly against her wishes.

None of that changed Buffy’s relief to leave her former house. The walls were constrictive, the lights made her eyes hurt, and while her bloodlust was maintained, she spent so much time worrying about her demon that she had refused to grow overly comfortable.

Spike squeezed Buffy’s hand, drawing her back to him. They were nearing Giles’s duplex, and she had yet to say a word.

“You all right?”

“Nervous,” she replied honestly.

“I feel that. I meant…you were wound up so tight about seein’ your mum—”

“I just…” Buffy wet her lips and shook her head. “It’s hard to explain. Being there…I’m glad I saw her. I’m glad I got that over with.” A shiver raced down her spine. “Is that a horrible thing to say? I love my mother. I just—”

“You were worried.”

“That she wouldn’t accept me. That she wouldn’t accept you. That…” She ducked her head at his look. “That I couldn’t take being that close to someone…who breathed. That I—”

“You’re still worried about the other.”

She nodded. Spike squeezed her hand again.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t?”

“Worry. We’re mated now, right?” He smiled softly. “I wouldn’t let you hurt those you love, pet. Not before, an’ definitely not now. Not for the bloody world.” A pause. “You din’t feel it though, did you?”

“The bloodlust? No.” Buffy frowned. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

He brushed a soft kiss across her forehead. “Bein’ mated has a few advantages.”

“So even if we get to Giles’s and he and Xander and everyone want to stake you, you’ll be able to control my need to—”

“Well, luv, at that point I think it might be more beneficial to leave before we test jus’ how much control I can filter to your demon. ‘Specially since the claim is less than twenty-four hours old.” A wry grin tickled his lips. “Remember, I might be the experienced vamp here, but neither one of us have been mated before. We’re learnin’ this one together.”

Buffy smiled and dropped a kiss across his shoulder. “I can think of worse things.”

The duplex was directly ahead. A familiar courtyard, unkempt but strangely beautiful for its rugged façade. The open view into Giles’s front parlor. All her friends were there, as though they had known tonight was the night. As though they had known to come and wait for them.

She didn’t feel Angel near. His scent was heavy, but his presence was gone. Riley as well. It was just her friends. No former lovers, scorned with her decisions. Just friends.

Why didn’t that ease her apprehension?

Spike tugged on her hand gently and turned to look at her. The deep azure of his eyes provided strength and reassurance. It was for him that she was here. He had helped her reach this point. He had stood by her side as she suffered through the transition of leaving her former self behind to embrace the wiser girl that stood with him now.

No, not a girl. A woman.

She had finally outgrown her childhood. And Spike was the reason.

“We’ll stay as long as you want,” he told her. “Be it five minutes or five hours, right?”

A grateful, watery smile crossed her face, and she leaned up to kiss his lips. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, too.” He pressed his brow to hers and released a shuddering breath. “So bloody much.”

Buffy squeezed his hand and kissed him again.

Then she was ready.

“As long as you want,” he murmured once more as they approached.

She didn’t reply; there was no need. In short seconds, they were standing before Giles’s door, and the face of her Watcher was on the other side. His eyes went wide with relief and understanding, sorrow and regret. And they looked at each other for long seconds, saying nothing. Merely accepting each other without words.

It didn’t last as long as it felt. A soft smile crossed Giles’s face, and he stepped aside. “Come in, Buffy,” he said softly.

She didn’t move. Rather, she glanced to Spike and back to her Watcher.

She wasn’t going anywhere until it was understood that her mate went with her.

And to his credit, Giles recognized that. There was nothing but understanding behind his eyes. Understanding and acceptance.

“Both of you, of course.” He nodded. “Come in.”

And that was that. Her mate warmed under her touch.

Fingers laced, words and more than words between them, Spike squeezed Buffy’s hand, and they crossed the threshold together.

Crossed one threshold, and burnt the first of many bridges.

fin

Conclusive Thoughts:

Wow. And I mean wow.

You guys have been entirely fantastic. Thank you so much for taking the time to read, and in some cases, review or email me pertaining to your thoughts to this story. I had an absolute ball writing it, and I am more than a little sad to see it end.

I know a few people are going to be disappointed that I did not delve into the Scooby reaction—that, to me, is another story. I decided to end it the way I did because this part of Buffy and Spike’s journey was complete, and that was all I ever really set out to write. Buffy’s trials through the first stages of demonhood, exploring the things that I believe Whedon set out as the essentials for all vampires, and discovering faith and love amidst pain and wisdom. To have written more would’ve made the story into something else, in my opinion. And I always try to keep a few ends loose…if not for the possibility of returning to a retired plotline, then simply for the knowledge that life is never completely resolved.

You’ll notice in the challenge guidelines that Spike was to help Buffy get away from Dracula’s castle, and I interpreted that as help in any way, whether it be his presence or physically grabbing her and running for the door. It was important to me that Buffy make all the important decisions in this story. She chose to go to Spike, because his presence helped her escape. She asked him to hold her their first night together when the boundaries of their relationship had not yet been established. She initiated their kiss at the Bronze in plain view of her friends. And ultimately, she was the one to claim him and make the call when she was ready to face her family. Whether you interpret that decision as ignoring the guideline or trying to bend it constructively is entirely up to you, and I won’t begrudge you if you choose the former. It was simply important to me that Buffy be in control of her destiny instead of relying on others to make her decisions for her, regardless of whether she was aware of it.

Thank you all again for your reviews, criticisms, and emails. I am entirely blessed in my readership. Thank you.

And a special, extended thank you to Megan, Mari, Kimmie, and Yani for betaing this story for me. You gals are simply the best.

Peace,
Holly

Challenge Guidelines

Challenge: 92 at Bloodshedverse

In the episode with Dracula, he turns Buffy. Buffy doesn't want to be with Drac but, she can't get away. When Buffy dosen't come back the scoobies go searching for her( with Spike's help of course). They split up and Spike finds her first and helps her get away!

Must haves:

1.) biteness

2.) SPUFFY

3.) NO DAWN!!!!!!!!!(unless you can work her in well)

4.) Angel coming to town and getting humilliated!