As silent as a shadow, and about as visible as one, he stalked through the night. 

Cold anger leant a grace to his movements that even he normally didn’t possess, sleek and sure. This wasn’t for fun, though there was that quality to this chase. No this was for her. Buffy was in danger, even if this little uprising was nothing more than a pathetic attempt at playing in the big leagues. There mere fact that there were those who wanted Buffy harmed – and were stupid or brave enough to do it – sent Angelus into a rage the likes of which only Sunnydale could have truly appreciated. 

The scent was strong here, telling Angelus that he was right in following his instincts. The information he’d gleaned from the informant Saffir had discovered proved useful; but only as far as location went. Once in the Pyrenees, Angelus tracked the so-called Federation Movement south through Spain and into Portugal, killing off a member here and there when he grew bored with this particular chase. 

But now he was bored, anxious after three days away from Buffy, and he wanted this over with so he could see his beloved mate again. 

Imagine, the nerve to spread lies such as they had. Actually, that wasn’t what bothered Angelus so much. What bothered him was that they were after Buffy. And there was that thrill of apprehension along his spine again. No one went after his love. No one. Even now fear twisted his gut and made his blood run cold. He couldn’t live without Buffy. 

After over two hundred years with no Buffy in his life, now Angelus couldn’t live without her. 

Those who would harm her were closer, now, and scared. Good. Their little uprising had failed; half their group was gone, the other half…would soon be. It didn’t stop the knowledge that this was a trap. He knew it was; everyone knew it was. Didn’t matter. That didn’t stop Angelus from pursuing the demons trying to overthrow his rule, trying to hurt his mate. 

Giles and Paul were behind him, and the three were spread out to stop any demon attempting to run, attempting to escape. Angelus was taking no chances and knew his companions weren’t, either. Giles because he loved Buffy, and Paul because…well, Angelus wasn’t entirely sure why. 

The older vampire admired Buffy, Angelus knew that, and knew Paul cared for her in his own way. But to lay down his life for Angelus’ mate? Paul had given both Angelus and Buffy an oath, and had stood by it all these years. Angelus didn’t expect him to back out now or betray them. This proved that. This proved what they’d said all these years. 

That they were truly a Family. 

“Did you really think you could run?” Angelus’ soft voice, filled with menace and venom and promise, floated though the night and into the darkened cave by the ocean. There was no answer, not that Angelus expected one. 

“You’ll never escape, haven’t you figured that out by now? Haven’t you learned your lesson by now? You shouldn’t have gone after her,” he added. “Never go after her.” 

There was no answer, not that any of the three vampires expected one. Angelus shrugged, Giles gave a low snicker – he was tense and antsy for action, for anything that let him relax a little from the research they’d been doing. And Paul was merely ready. He didn’t like threats to his Family. Especially one that he’d finally found after all his long and oftentimes lonely years. 

As one, they moved, leaping forward with the grace of a pack of wolves, sleek and sure, ready to defend what was theirs to the death.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Are you sure about this spell?” He asked his longtime partner. The three of them had controlled their company for a long, long time, and while he might have trusted the other two implicitly, that didn’t mean that mistakes couldn’t be made. Even by them. 

This was too important not to double – and triple check – the details for which their company was so well known. 

“Yes,” the other man nodded, turning towards the table. Laid out with meats, wines, and cheeses from various dimensions, it was truly a delicacy to behold. Carefully selecting a piece of meat, cooked only slightly over a smoky hearth just as he liked it, he chewed on the delicious morsel before continuing. 

“It’s specifically designed, for her,” the Hart went on with an acknowledging bow to the woman seated to his right. “She’s strong; her slayer prowess merged most uncannily with her vampiric demon to create a new and wonderfully vicious creature. And while she’s stronger than any before her, she has one weakness: Her love and devotion for Angelus.” 

His companions nodded in agreement and he finished, “That will be her downfall. By using the fear she has for his safety, we’ll manipulate her into rushing to his side. Then we’ll have her.” 

“The nightmares will come first…”
~~~~~~~~~~
It had been years since she’d had this nightmare, back when the world was still fragmented and mostly human. Back when she was new to her role, when they were still new together, and when, even though she knew his feelings for her, she was still scared that something would happen. 

Buffy whimpered in her sleep, her body and mind at odds, and yet all too collected in their single need. Angelus. Her body, so used to tasting the spiced blood of her mate, cried out for Angelus. She needed him near her; his blood in her veins, his cock filling her in mutual passion, his fangs claiming her as his…his body curling around her as they lay together after fulfilling all their passions and desires. 

The withdrawal was brutal, and yet Buffy knew this was only the beginning. The worst was yet to come. She wasn’t too worried; Angelus would be back in another three days, at most. Still, this was the longest they’d been apart since her turning, his rebirth, and their renewed commitment to each other. Another tremor gripped her body, a fine shiver that burned itself in her bones with the utter coldness of the loss. 

And yet it was her mind, wrapped in the shrouds of sleep, that worried her. Buffy was unable to wake, though some part of her knew this to be a dream; it did nothing to soothe her feelings. Loss, unbearable loss, gripped her insides, twisting and turning. Hopelessness, the void of despair that yawned before her, grasped her heart. 

Faith had killed Angelus. 

The slayer, strong and vicious, no longer controlled by her desire to please those who had turned her into what she now was, attacked Buffy’s lover. Over and over, in an unending bloody battle of fists and knives, Faith slowly cut Angelus, letting his precious life’s blood seep out from him, making him weak. Making him vulnerable. 

And then, the stake. A horrible replica of Mr. Pointy, shoved into Angelus’ chest, piercing the heart, disrupting whatever lay between life and death. Ashes. Angelus’ ashes on the ground, outlining his once perfect body. And Buffy was too far away to help. No matter what she did, how fast she ran, how loudly she shouted, it wasn’t ever enough. 

Her lover was dead; again and again Faith killed him, somehow gaining the upper hand, somehow actually pulling it off. 

“Didn’t miss the heart this time, did I B?” She’d say every time, her face blood spattered – Angelus’ blood – holding the stake up for Buffy to see. But Faith never came after her, almost as if she knew that with Angelus gone, Buffy didn’t care. With Angelus gone, Buffy’s life had little joy for her, little meaning. 

“Angelus!” Buffy screamed, her hands clawing the silken sheets winding around her body, his scent wafting around her, filling her senses. 

She screamed again, caught up in the unending nightmare, her worst nightmare come to horrible life. Buffy didn’t notice when the door to her rooms burst open, didn’t notice a half dressed Spike race through them, vampire face to the fore and weaponless, ready to attack whatever was attacking Buffy. 

Looking around wildly, Spike took a moment to absorb the scene. Buffy was still in bed, screaming out Angelus’ name, there were no attackers, no assassins, no one there but she, and now him. What the fuck…? 

“Bloody hell, slayer,” Spike sighed as he went over to wake Buffy from her disturbed sleep. Holding her tightly by her wrists, he shook her. “Slayer,” he said, unwilling to let her arms go lest she attack him. 

“Buffy,” he tried again, “Wake up!” It took long, long minutes before she responded, before she opened her eyes and looked, confused, at Spike. 

“Spike?” Buffy looked around the room. Her voice was soft, scared, almost tiny in the empty room. “Where’s Angelus?” 

“On the Continent, you know that. What’s going on here, Buffy?” Spike asked, slightly panicked as he took in the scene before him. Buffy was fully now awake, sitting up in bed with the sheet clutched to her chest. Unneeded breaths came in fast, heavy pants as she tried to still her raging system. Her eyes were wild as they looked around, and her scent was off. 

“I had a dream,” she murmured, terror wracking her body. “Faith killed Angelus.” 

Snorting, Spike desperately wished for a cigarette, but he’d left them in his own rooms. “Not bloody likely,” he assured her. “She’d never harm Angelus, Buffy, you know that. Besides, she’s in LA with Drusilla; no doubt fucking anything Dru will let her until they die. That slayer,” he said with admiration, “She’s a pistol.” 

Buffy shot him a look, anger, annoyance, a hint of an ironic smile, and something else. That terror was still unabated. “I bet,” Buffy said as she climbed out of bed, uncaring of her nudity. She had to get to Angelus. 

“What are you doing?” His voice was choked with shock as he watched Buffy’s still perfect – and naked – body glide gracefully across the floor. 

“Angelus is in trouble,” she stated as if it were obvious, reaching for a leather bag to put a few things into. “I’m going to find him.” 

“No you’re not,” Spike asserted, standing now. He tore his eyes from Buffy’s rounded backside, and grabbed her robe off the bathroom door. Angelus was going to tear his eyes out if he ever found out about this. “You’re not going anywhere, Buffy,” he said as he wrapped the robe around her shaking shoulders. 

“You think you can stop me?” Her voice was hard, certain, with a hint of amusement underneath. 

“If I have to,” Spike nodded, “Yes. I will.” He had no idea how, but he was going to. Even if he had to make Willow shoot off some kind of spell to restrain Buffy. 

“What if it’s a prophetic dream?” Buffy demanded, changing tactics and not ceasing in her packing. She needed only the minimal and yet, between fear and withdrawal, was unable to move quickly enough for her liking. 

“Slayer,” Spike said, stopping her with a tight grip on her shoulders. What was going on with her? He looked at her, really looked, and knew. Suddenly he knew what the problem was. “My God,” he pleaded to a deity he’d long since forgotten, and one he’d taken great pains to curse with every thing he did. 

“What’d he do to you?” Spike demanded, dropping his hands from her shoulders. The wild look in her eye, the fine tremors that gripped her body, the way she absently scratched at her arms, drawing blood…drawing Angelus scented blood. “What did that bastard do to you?”
~~~~~~~~~~
“And these nightmares,” the Hart asked, “Will they move with enough speed to fit into our timetable?” 

“Of course,” the woman smiled, feline like and deadly. “Angelus is busy elsewhere, and won’t even know anything’s wrong. Once he realizes it, once his dear Buffy tries to run to his side, it’ll be too late. Our magick will have worked through her, and she’ll be ours.” 

“The room is set up?” Their third companion asked, sipping his own goblet of wine. “And the mystical transportation ready for her move?” 

“Yes,” the woman, nodded. “As soon as she leaves that castle, we’ll have her.” 

“And what,” the Ram asked as he continued to sip from his goblet, “Is the timetable for this?” 

She shrugged, looked to the Hart. “Another four days at most.” 

Hart nodded. “Yes, the dream spell is designed to work slowly, to plant the seeds of fear and then to wait as they grow.” 

“Excellent,” the Ram smiled. “Excellent.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“Bloody hell,” Spike snarled, “What did he do to you?” 

“It’s nothing. Now go away, I have to get to Angelus,” Buffy spat at him, jerking her arms away from his touch. 

She couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the feel of his skin on hers. He was nothing like Angelus, nothing like her mate, the soft coolness, the electrical touch of his skin against hers. Spike felt wrong, cold and clammy and skin crawlingly wrong. Buffy knew that Spike’s skin wasn’t any different than hers, any different than Angelus’, but…she shuddered in revulsion. It certainly felt that way. 

“You’re not going anywhere, Buffy,” Spike snapped. Anger coursed through him at the sight of her, at the knowledge of what had happened to her, and all he saw was red. Drusilla was his mate, his ultimate love, his obsession, but he cared for Buffy, maybe more than he should. With a roar, his hand shot out and jerked the bag out of Buffy’s hand, scattering the contents across the floor.

“He’s got you addicted,” Spike growled, eyes glowing yellow in the half-light of the room. “Angelus addicted you to his blood! Damn it, Buffy, you’re in withdrawal!” 

“No, Spike,” Buffy snarled, advancing on him with all the grace her powerful body possessed. Despite her shakes, despite her fear for Angelus, her fear that Faith was after him, that the Faith analogy meant that it was something else after him, she was mad. And mean. 

“You’re wrong. You know nothing, understand?” Her eyes flashed black as she continued to advance on the other vampire. Her fist shot out, catching him unawares in the jaw and making him stumble backwards. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Another punch, but this time Spike saw it coming. He did nothing to block it, knowing that she’d wear herself out sooner this way. 

Addicts had fierce strength, but tired easily. At least that was the story that circulated, Spike hadn’t actually ever seen a blood-addict. 

“You breathe one word about this,” she hissed as she spun from him and back to her packing, “And you’ll wish I had staked you years ago in Sunnydale.” 

“Buffy,” Spike said, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “Damn it, you’re not leaving.” 

Spike had no idea how he was going to stop her, he truly believed her threat, but he had to do something. He just wasn’t sure who scared him more, Buffy or Angelus. 

“Spike,” Buffy mimicked and then calmed. She wasn’t going to give in; she wasn’t going to let the madness clawing just beneath the surface overwhelm her. She wasn’t going to let Spike know just how close to the edge she was. “I’m fine,” she reiterated, even though she knew Spike didn’t believe her. 

“No, Buffy,” he said seriously, truly worried for her. “You’re not.” 

“Angelus doesn’t know,” she said suddenly. Looking up from where she was repacking her bag, she spotted the surprise in Spike’s eyes. “You thought he did this on purpose?” It was phrased as a question, but they both knew that was what Spike thought. 

“No,” she stood then, swayed from dizziness. Spike was there in a second, steadying her. Nodding her thanks, she moved back to her closet. “He doesn’t know.” Not entirely, Buffy silently added. 

Angelus knew she needed his blood, that she wasn’t ever quite satisfied with regular human feeding, but he didn’t know the extent of it. He didn’t know that his absence would cause her this, or he’d never have left, Buffy was certain of that. He didn’t know that more and more frequently, human blood tasted sour to her, rancid. That it was only tolerable because Buffy had him there. 

“And he won’t,” she threatened. “If you breathe a word of this, Spike, I’ll see you tortured for a hundred years,” she promised. “Understand me?” 

Oh, he did. Spike understood perfectly. And he believed her, absolutely. Damn he really wanted a cigarette. And a drink, yes, he needed a drink, desperately. 

“On two conditions,” he promised, knowing this was tricky. When Buffy only raised an amused eyebrow, he ploughed ahead. “You stay here until I figure out just what’s happened to Angelus, if he really is in trouble, and you try to eat something.” 

Buffy was silent. Panic was flooding her in ever increasing measures, and she wasn’t sure she could wait. On the other hand, she wasn’t strong enough to make it on her own. Even now she could feel her body shutting down, screaming for Angelus’. 

“You have until sunset tonight,” she said, and finished packing.
~~~~~~~~~~
“And when she runs to her lover,” the Wolf laughed, flashing canines as she did so, “We’ll have her.” 

“Are you so certain that she will?” The Ram was fairly certain she would, yes, that wasn’t the point. They’d all had a part in this plan, and knew the intricacies inside and out. What he wanted to ensure was their success, and in order to do that, he wanted to know all the details one more time. 

“Of course she will,” the Wolf laughed again. “All this time, all they think they’ve been through, she’ll run to Angelus before she even realizes the extent of her fears. Buffy needs him, and she’ll do anything for him. Just as he,” the grin was malicious and cunning. “Will do anything for her.”

“Including,” the Ram laughed, toasting his longtime companions, “Trading with us.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“Drink up, pet,” Spike said with a grimace as he held the woman before Buffy. 

This was what he was reduced to, nursemaid. It was unfortunate that he reveled in that role. Helping Drusilla all these years, then Dawn and Buffy, Willow even. He liked taking care of the women in his life, liked that strong independent women sometimes needed him. It wasn’t something he got off on, simply something he did well and enjoyed. 

Buffy wasn’t enjoying this one damned bit, and they both knew it. She was in her room in Giles and Saffir’s castle, avoiding Willow and Saffir, and anyone else in residence, and hating every second of it. Then again, she was also prone to fits of uncontrollable rage and crying jags that ended up with her arms covered in self-inflicted scratches. Her face had shifted into her vampire one, and she hadn’t the energy to return it, nor did she overly care at the moment. 

Growling, Buffy tried to refuse the offering. The woman, whimpering and obviously scared, knowing what was about to happen to her, was gagged to prevent her pleas for release from distracting the two vampires. Buffy hated the way she smelled, spoiled and rotten, so very unappetizing. 

Spike scowled in warning, the thought that should Buffy regain her strength before he managed to run for his life foremost on his mind. She was a vicious bitch, and while he loved her, she scared the life out of him. 

“Come on, Buffy,” he coaxed, bringing the woman closer to the slayer. The window seat was wide enough for the three of them, but Spike was wary of getting to close to her in this state. “You have to eat, pet, now be a good vampire slayer, and drink your dinner.” 

Buffy, still scowling, did as he bade. She was starving, needed the nourishment the blood in this girl promised, but the mere thought of it had her appetite fleeing. Still, it was nice to have Spike hunt for her, even if she was still toying with chaining him in the basement and seeing just how long vampire stamina lasted while being tortured. 

Her fangs dipped into the nameless woman’s throat, piercing the artery. Gulping greedily, Buffy swallowed quickly, the scent of fresh blood, the feel of it sliding down her throat was wonderful. It was the taste that made her sick now. Pushing the woman away, not caring that she was still strong enough to stumble away on her own, Buffy turned back to her view. 

She felt trapped, trapped and in danger, and dangerous, and scared. God, she was scared for Angelus. There was a certainty deep within her, despite her own logic and Spike’s ascertains, that something was wrong with her beloved. 

“All of her, Buffy,” Spike ordered, bringing the weeping woman closer to the blonde vampiress. “You have to drink all of her.” 

Shrugging, Buffy resumed her position against the woman’s neck, lapping the blood that still gushed out of the open wounds. It took a while, longer than it should have, but Buffy managed to drink the woman dry. Letting the corpse drop to the ground, she stumbled back against the window seat, feeling sick. 

“God, Spike,” She snarled, “Did you have to find an addict? She tastes rancid.” 

“She’s fresh, Buffy,” Spike said gently, sitting opposite her. Brushing a strand of long blonde hair away from her face, he added, “It’s the withdrawal speaking. Nothing tastes right to-” 

He never finished his sentence, as Buffy jumped up and raced to the bathroom. Spike sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose before joining her in the bathroom. Buffy was throwing up all the blood she drank. Her stomach, her system couldn’t handle the non-mate blood. 

Crouching down behind her, Spike pulled the hair away from her face, and waited her out. It wasn’t long, though he was sure it felt that way to her. When she was done, he sat her on the edge of the tub and ran a washcloth under the faucet. Handing her the warm cloth, Spike waited. 

“We’re trying again,” he said before she had a chance to say anything. “Little bits, Buffy, small sips, I don’t care what it takes. You’re going to eat and that’s that.” 

An hour later, Spike returned with a strong man, fit and healthy. He chained him to the wall and went to fetch Buffy. She was right where he’d left her, curled on her side in her and Angelus’ bed. Shaking, mumbling, eyes closed as blood tears stained her cheeks. Christ, this was bad. 

“Come on, Buffy,” Spike said gently. “It’s dinner time.”

Picking her up, he carefully carrying her to where the man – also gagged because Spike didn’t want anyone else knowing what was happening here – stood chained against the wall. 

Five minutes later, and barely a few sips, Buffy collapsed against Spike, who was still holding her. With a resigned sigh, he carried her back to her bed and let her sleep a little while. He needed to hunt himself before he made her eat again. All this caring for others made a vampire hungry. 

He thought of sending Willow or Saffir out for something, but as he’d already left twice on the pretext of hunting, that would look more than a little suspicious. Still, Spike hated leaving Buffy alone and in this state. 

It was nearing dawn before he arrived back at the castle. While he hunted, Spike tried to gather as much information as he could, but no one seemed to know anything. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but there was something off about what they didn’t know. Or maybe he was just overly paranoid, knowing that his immanent torture and death were only a Channel away, knowing that Buffy was in seriously bad shape, and knowing that he didn’t know how to fix it. Help her. 

Buffy hadn’t moved, and Spike was scared. Connor was due this evening, and he hoped that maybe drinking some of her childe’s blood would help. His next step, however, was his own. 

“Buffy,” he said softly, helping her sit up in the large bed she shared with Angelus. “It’s time to eat again.” 

“No,” she protested as her stomach roiled at the thought. Her veins screamed for nourishment though it’d only been a couple of days, but she couldn’t handle it, not this way. 

“Yes,” he said firmly, and carried her to the dozing man. He wasn’t dozing for long when Buffy’s sharp fangs dug into his neck. “Small sips, yes, that’s it, luv, come on, just a little more.” 

Buffy obediently drank, but when Spike wanted her to finish, she pulled back. Her body was protesting, she hated the taste of the man, and she only wanted to curl back in bed, letting Angelus’ scent fill her senses. 

“Okay, Buffy,” Spike sighed, bringing her back to the bed. Laying her under the comforter again, he brought his wrist to her mouth. “Come on, pet,” he encouraged. Angelus was going to kill him when he learned of this, but Spike didn't care. Being dead was better than being alive to see Angelus destroy the world because his precious Buffy was dead of mate-blood withdrawal. 

Instinctually Buffy’s mouth closed over his wrist, fangs piercing the veins there. She took a little, swallowed, took some more, and Spike was encouraged to see that her now constant and violent shakes had lessened. He was also aroused as hell, but wasn’t about to let her know that. 

“This is a good sign,” he told her even if he wasn’t sure she understood what he was saying. “See? You just needed a little blood in your system, Buffy.” 

Not saying a word, she dropped his arm and lay back against the pillows. Spike pulled the covers higher over her and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. He’d wake her in a few more hours and feed her again.
~~~~~~~~~~
Connor arrived that evening. 

Spike intercepted him before he could do more than walk through the door. “We have to talk,” he told the boy, leading him past Saffir and Willow. They looked at him questioningly, but said nothing. He’d concocted some ridiculous story about why Buffy wasn’t being sociable, something he barely remembered involving bad blood, and told them not to disturb her. 

Since he’d been on guard just inside her door all day, he knew they hadn’t. 

“What’s wrong?” Connor immediately asked. “Where’s Buffy?” She always greeted him when he arrived home, and now she was nowhere to be found. Something deep within him told him that things were wrong, but he didn’t know what, couldn’t figure that out. 

“How’s the castle?” Spike asked instead, leading the way up the winding stairs to Buffy’s rooms. 

“Nearly finished,” Connor replied. “Where’s Buffy?” 

Opening the door to her rooms, Spike ushered Connor in. “She needs you, Connor. She needs your blood. Are you willing to give it to her?” 

“Of course,” he said immediately, already moving to where Buffy lay, twisting the sheets around her sweat soaked body. “But why?” 

“Long story, I’m not technically allowed to tell you, but I’m dead any way you look at it,” Spike shrugged. “She’s not feeding well, human blood has no taste for her, nothing good anyway. She needs Angelus.” 

“He’s not due back for another day, right?” Connor asked absently as he lifted Buffy to his neck, positioning her fangs over his artery. 

“No,” Spike sighed as he watched the careful way the boy dealt with his sire. Love and affection were clearly there for him to see, and Spike was reassured that Connor loved Buffy, would do anything for her. Including kill and die for her. 

“Come on, Buffy,” Connor whispered. “You have to drink. Please, Buffy,” his hand combed through her hair in an oddly intimate gesture. “Please drink from me.” 

She opened her eyes, golden with hunger, pain, and a desperate need. “Connor?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, moving her head back to his neck. “Now come on, drink from me.” 

She did so, only partly aware of what she was doing. Spike had forced her to feed several times during the day, some from the now gone man he’d brought her, and sometimes from his own wrist. Neither had smelled or tasted the best, but Connor…he smelled like Angelus. 

Piercing his neck, letting his blood flow into her mouth, Buffy sighed. This wasn’t bad, it wasn’t Angelus, but it was…wonderful. She took only small sips, knowing from the day’s experience that too much and she’d be sick again. Slowly pulling away, lapping her tongue over the wounds to stop the blood flow, Buffy smiled. 

“Thank you,” she whispered and closed her eyes once more, already half asleep. 

Gently placing her back on the bed, Connor brushed the hair off her brow, and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. He stood, took in the residual scents in the room, and turned back to Spike. 

“Want to tell me what happened?” 

“She thinks there’s something wrong with Angelus,” Spike hedged. “That he’s in trouble. If that were the case, we’d have heard.” 

“It’s more than that,” Connor asserted as they left the room. “What else is wrong with her?” 

“She’s…” Spike couldn’t say the words, knowing that Buffy would kill him in less than a human’s heartbeat. “She needs Angelus,” he said instead. “They haven’t been apart for longer than an evening since they got back together. She’s not used to it, and she needs him.”

Connor said nothing, but Spike could see the other’s eyes, and knew he’d figured it out. Connor was no fool and, when it came to Buffy, he was just as protective as Angelus. 

“I need you to take her back to Ireland with you,” Spike said as they walked down the hall to join Willow and Saffir. “I don’t want her here, so close to the Continent. If something’s making her think Angelus is in danger, then he most likely is. And that means that she is. If something happens to her, it won’t be pretty.” 

“Okay,” Connor nodded as the dining hall came into view. The women were waiting for them, talking quietly to each other. Connor couldn’t make out the words, but they seemed worried over something. Buffy or finding this spell, he couldn’t say. 

“We’ll leave as soon as the sun sets. Don’t worry,” he told Spike before joining their companions. “I’ll take care of her.” 

Spike knew he would. It wasn’t that he knew Connor was devoted to Buffy, nor even that she was his sire. No, it was the way he smiled. That slightly insane smile that hinted at madness. When Connor smiled, people, vampires, and demons ran. 

It was downright scary. 

But he’d die to protect Buffy. And Spike had a feeling that he’d kill even their Family to protect her.

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