| 1997…
“Do we really need weapons for this?” Buffy asked sarcastically.
With a lascivious grin, Spike prowled closer. “I just like ‘em,” he
retorted in his cocksure British accent. “They make me feel all manly…”
He dropped the pipe. He also dropped his hand, allowing it to slide sensuously
down his muscled chest, moving ever downward until his thumb hooked into
the waistband of his jeans.
Buffy gulped as her traitorous eyes followed his hand’s motion and then
continued downward to the natural conclusion of his hand’s journey. Her
own weapon clattered to the ground beside her, even as her eyes widened
at the obvious – and large – sign of his arousal. Shaking herself
back into the fighting mindset once more, her hazel eyes met his yellowed
ones.
The growing smirk on his face indicated all too clearly that he knew
she’d caught sight of his hardness and was pleased by her reaction. “Tell
you what,” he said casually, slinking towards her with the deadly grace
of a panther, “I’ll make this easy. As a personal favor from me to you.
Won’t hurt a bit.”
He was so close now, and the hidden implications had her blood burning
for him. But the more immediate struggle had a fiery rage building up within
her as well. As usual, anger won out. “No, Spike,” she retorted with a
nasty grin of her own, “it’s going to hurt a lot.” With that, her fist
struck out to hit him squarely across the jaw.
His head snapped back in response before he let out a delighted whoop
of laughter and struck right back. Buffy wheeled with the force of the
blow, but she countered instinctively with a high-kick. He blocked, and
she spun and hit this time, an exclamation of triumph escaping her lips.
Spike was back on his feet in an instant, avoiding the sharp hell of
her boot, and three well-placed kicks to her head had her backed up against
the wall. Buffy’s toe struck upwards between his legs as hard as she could,
but he leapt back in time to avoid the painful blow.
In the split-second of reprieve given her, Buffy wiped the trickle of
blood from the edge of her mouth. Her opponent mirrored her action, and
for an instant she felt the rather childish impulse to insist that she’d
made him bleed first. The odd thing was that, for the merest fraction of
a second, she could’ve sworn that a similar juvenile instinct had overtaken
Spike.
Both shook the moment off, and Spike ran at her with a roar, fists flying.
Buffy dodged to the side at the last possible second, and his punch impacted
with the wall instead of her head, breaking clean through the plaster.
For one second, Spike’s arm was trapped, and Buffy used it to the best
of her abilities, aiming swift kicks and his kidneys and knees, making
him buckle against the wall.
A deep growl emitted from his chest at that, and he ripped his arm free.
The wall shook with his strength, and a long crack split it. Eyes flashing
with yellow fury now, Spike swung out wildly at her.
Buffy leapt back, keeping her distance while his rage gave him the added
advantage. It wasn’t an easy task, however. It seemed as though berserker
instincts had taken over him, and her reflexes weren’t enough to match
his pace. Blocks came just a second too late, and each of his hits glanced
painfully into her, each impact slowing her down just a little bit more.
A final spinning kick knocked her backwards, and she fell hard to the
ground. White sparks of pain flashed behind her eyelids when she hit her
head, and for a moment blackness threatened to overcome her before she
fought it off.
She didn’t have any time to react before Spike was atop her, though,
his hand holding her neck down as he straddled her waist. Buffy bucked
up against him, trying to shake him off twice, but she merely got a return
grind and that wicked smirk of his in response.
“You like, pet?” he taunted, rubbing his hardness pointedly against
her before he leaned in for the kill…
Buffy’s hand reached out wildly as his fangs closed in…and landed squarely
on the lead pipe that had been dropped earlier. With a cry of triumph,
she bashed the bar into the side of his head, stunning him for long enough
to throw him off and rise to her feet.
“Actually,” she quipped, flipping her hair back over her shoulder, “I’m
the kinda girl that likes being on top.” She spotted her fallen stake in
the wreckage and dove for him, wielding it with deadly accuracy.
Those lightning-quick reflexes saved him again, though, and he rolled
out of the way of the death strike. A delighted bark of laughter escaped
his lips, and he panted heavily now, despite the fact that he didn’t need
the oxygen. “Oh, ‘ll bet you do…” he purred suggestively, looking her up
and down in a possessive manner.
Buffy’s eyes narrowed.
Slowly, the two of them rose to their feet once more, eyes never leaving
the other as they prepared to face off once more.
“It hurting yet?” Buffy taunted, blocking his first lunge.
He chuckled and rolled his tongue up beneath his front teeth. “You hurt
me so good, baby,” he ribbed her.
She lunged with her stake, causing him to leap backwards. “And soon
I’ll hurt you dead,” she countered flippantly, aiming a spinning
kick at his chest.
He retreated again, backing himself up against the wall once more. “Mmm…you’re
good,
luv…” The inflection he put on the words made they statement seem downright
scandalous. “Can’t wait to get my sweet taste…”
“As—” Buffy was cut off in mid-syllable as he ripped the exposed beam
from the wall behind him and swung it at her, knocking the stake from her
hands and sending her back down to the ground with a cry of pain. The breath
knocked out of her lungs at the force of the impact, and for one moment
she was completely trapped as Spike closed in. She saw her life flash before
her eyes then, and knew that this was it…
Fangs clenched in a feral snarl, he raised the beam for the killing
blow…
And then a face popped into his mind. Wide, dark mooneyes, gaunt cheeks,
skin tinged blue with illness. Just waiting for the proper meal to make
her whole again…
The beam struck Buffy in the head, knocking her completely out.
And Spike breathed heavily three times, fully contemplating the danger
of his latest spur-of-the-moment plan. It was probably crazy. It would
probably get him killed. But then he was known for doing crazy things that
would get him killed.
He paused for one moment, eyeing the stake just beside her right hand
and feeling anxiety course through his body, before he said ‘to hell with
it’ and cautiously leaned in to pick up the slayer’s (hopefully) unconscious
form.
He tensed for one moment when he slipped his arm around her back and
lifted, but it was just her head lolling against his shoulder. He breathed
a quick sigh of relief and lifted her up in his arms.
“Aren’t you a tiny, li’l thing…” he murmured, slightly surprised when
he realized just how small she really was. “Hope you’ve got enough blood
in you for my dark princess.” But Dru had been eating less and less lately,
so it probably wouldn’t be a problem. But he tried not to dwell on that
fact too often.
Buffy’s unconscious form didn’t respond, of course.
And, with that, Spike slipped out into the night, escaping through the
shattered window…
* * *
Drusilla tisked lightly at the chanting upstairs. Silly demons that
didn’t even realize that the party was just now ending. With that certain
knowledge came one of the innumerable pains to her temple that she’d felt
almost constantly since that mob in Prague had gotten its hands on her.
With a little whimper, she staggered back to the bed and rested her
aching head on the pillow, body curled up to ward off the unnatural chill
that so frequently took over her limbs these days. Her stomach was feeling
unsettled now after tasting that junky girl from earlier, and she squeezed
her eyes shut tight, forcing back the urge to vomit.
Now, Drusilla – contrary to whatever airs she might put on – wasn’t
a particularly weak or helpless vampire. She had struggled on her own in
dozens of occasions during her 136 years of unlife. That didn’t mean that
she didn’t enjoy having a mate to pamper her. But this completely vulnerable
feeling, like she just wanted to curl up and die to make the pain stop…
I want my Spike.
It was unusual for the depths of her insanity and that shard of intelligence
that not even Angelus had fully destroyed to come together like this, but
that one needy thought dominated all else at the moment.
Almost in response, she heard a scratching at the window.
The moment was actually frightening. She hadn’t sensed the newcomer’s
approach either with her physical senses or her second-sight. It was as
though she were doubly blind all of a sudden, her limbs too weary to even
turn over to see the intruder. Dru rarely felt fear, but for one instant…
“Pet?”
A wave of relief flooded her body. “William…” she whimpered piteously.
The sound of a body dropping to the bed behind her. No, two. The clanking
of chains. Apparently, Spike had brought home another treat.
“Got you some take-out, my sweet nightshade,” he cooed softly, coming
over to the other side of the bed to brush her hair back from her face.
“You feelin’ worse?” Deep concern etched upon his perpetually youthful
features for an instant.
Drusilla shut her eyes and nodded. There was a certain peace to knowing
that he was back, that if she needed anything all she had to do was ask.
Spike shut his eyes for a second and clenched his jaw. If he hadn’t
already ripped those witches in two that had cursed her with this malady,
he’d do so again in a heartbeat. And all the men that had beaten her down
while she was helpless to fight back…
“Brought you the finest treat of all tonight,” he countered in a hopeful
tone. “Have a taste. It’ll make you feel right as rain again.”
Drusilla shook her head lightly, afraid to open her mouth because the
bile and vomit were swelling up within her again now. But then her senses
seemed to clear, and she smelled the delicious aroma for the first time.
Almost instantly her nausea vanished. “Slayer?” she whispered in delighted
awe, finding the energy to roll over and look at the petite, unconscious
blonde chained up beside her on the bed.
“Saved her special for you, luv,” he assured her with a slightly shy
grin. “A powerful one, too.”
Drusilla let out a girlish little giggle and caught hold of the lapel
of his black leather duster, guiding him down to her. “My sweet Spike,”
she cooed, brushing her lips up against his. “Such a good provider for
mommy. So strong…”
He purred lightly against her, savoring the moment of affection. “All
for you,” he assured her whole-heartedly.
But Drusilla’s attention had already turned back to the captured warrior
beside her. Almost lovingly, she brushed back the slayer’s hair, studying
her face intently. Her head cocked to one side curiously for a second,
and her dark eyes unfocused.
“Give me strength, sister,” she finally whispered into Buffy’s ear before
sinking her fangs in deep.
Spike watched his mate feed off of the slayer’s unconscious body. There
was a brief moment of alarm when a gasp of pain escaped the blonde’s lips
right at the moment of penetration, but then her head lolled back to the
side as Drusilla took several deep drags from her throat.
He circled the bed again, watching his love feed with an enthusiasm
she hadn’t shown in weeks. That fading flicker of hope burned to life within
him again as he watched the blue fade from her arms, replaced by the usual
porcelain luster of her skin. The bruises up and down her arms didn’t fade,
but he would take whatever he could get for now. It really had been an
impulsive and desperate decision to come to the Hellmouth in the first
place, but it looked like it would pay off this time…
“Let me hold her for you,” he said, sitting on the mattress on the other
side of the slayer, propping up her head against his arm so that Drusilla
could feed more easily. The young woman’s cheeks were turning pale now,
and there was just a flicker beneath her eyelids, one last brief struggle
against impending death.
Drusilla noticed it as well, her yellowed eyes shinning with renewed
vitality as she pulled back from her prey. “Slayer’s about to join our
dance…” she sing-songed, demonic features fading to reveal a face slightly
less gaunt than it had been just minutes before. “Doesn’t my William want
to finish off his third?” she inquired with a tilt of her head.
“Had your fill?”
She stretched languorously in response, pale arms reaching high above
her head in an exotic dance, the red silk of her dress sliding against
rounded breasts and lean muscles. “Oh, yes,” she agreed, noting the hungry
light in Spike’s eyes with a sly smile of contentment. “Bring…” she frowned
for an instant, her eyes far away.
Spike recognized the signs of a precognitive trance instantly and caught
her hand in his. “Dru?” he asked, concerned.
“Buffy?” Drusilla couldn’t help but giggle, then shrugged. “Bring Buffy
into the fold, my pet,” she encouraged. A little sneer and growl was directed
at the celebration above. “And then we have work to do…”
It took Spike a moment to register what Dru was asking of him. “You
want me to turn her?” he finally exclaimed incredulously. “She’s the slayer!
For Christ’s sake, Dru, have you gone mad?!”
Her dark eyes widened with hurt for an instant, and she let out a meek
little whimper.
Inwardly, he slapped himself in the head at that same moment. “Didn’t
mean it like that, my love,” he quickly assured her, catching her up in
his arms and holding her close.
Drusilla tensed for an instant before allowing herself to lightly nuzzle
his shoulder. It felt good to have him hold her like this again. Too often
lately, he’d been overly cautious, like she was delicate and could break.
Which, actually, wasn’t all that inaccurate of an assessment…
“But we don’t turn slayers, remember?” he continued to argue in that
tender voice that was reserved solely for her. “Girl’s done her part and
earned her death.”
“Or maybe,” she whispered huskily against his ear, teeth nibbling on
it tantalizingly, “she’s earned another life…”
He frowned and pulled back, gripping her by the shoulders so that he
could look into her eyes. “You seein’ something?” he asked hesitantly.
Between them, the slayer slowly stirred. “Spike…” She even managed to
fill that groan with a cold threat.
Drusilla glanced back up at her mate, forcing away the swirling images
that danced behind her eyes as she tried to focus on delivering this very
important message. “Mommy won’t always be there for you,” she finally said
in a dreamy voice. “Best to hatch the eggs before they’re laid…”
“Dru?” His face paled visibly. “You’re not dying on me. You hear?” He
shook her gently.
She seemed to snap to at that and with a serpentine twist of her neck
turned back to the awakening slayer. “Such a pretty golden childe,” she
murmured. “Oh, the centuries will be filled with blood…”
“You see her?” Spike had gotten somewhat frighteningly adept at interpreting
Dru’s visions over the past century. “You see her as one of us?”
Drusilla smiled at that, and it seemed as though something deep inside
her had come to life. “Our childe…” she agreed, taking Spike’s hand in
hers and giving it a squeeze. “Give her life, William,” she requested softly.
He hesitated for a second, then shrugged it off. “To hell with custom,”
he agreed with a cocky smirk before leaning in over the small blonde who
had just blinked her eyes open.
“Spike?” Buffy’s vision swam, and her body felt uncharacteristically
heavy. Like a weakness had taken over her limbs and… she felt the pain
in her neck. She was bitten, then. Incapacitated by loss of blood.
His hand came up to cup her cheek, and inwardly she was disturbed at
the one split second when her mind found his touch comforting. “Shh…Slayer.
Don’t fight,” he soothing surprisingly gently, leaning in to brush his
lips across the virgin side of her neck.
Of its own accord, her body shivered at the touch – whether from the
cold or something else she refused to acknowledge.
“Promise still holds,” he assured her. “’ll make it quick. And I never
break a promise to a lady…”
And then she felt his bones shift against the column of her throat,
an instant before twin points of pain brought a gasp to her lips. And then
he was inside her, hard and deep, pulling on her very essence.
She tried to struggle at the pain and then…
She’d been bitten before. And not just the other bite she’d received
tonight while she was unconscious. The Master had been cold, rough, brutal.
There had been no connection, just a bite rather like a blow before he’d
left her for dead. But this…
Unbidden, a moan escaped her lips. God, what was wrong with her that
this felt good? How could he…?
“Drink,” a female voice cooed in the background.
Buffy for the first time became aware that Spike’s bleeding wrist was
pressed against her lips, inviting her to taste. The slayer’s instinct
within her screamed in denial, but something even deeper – a young, carefree
girl that had stripped of her life – was yielding.
White-hot streaks of pleasure ran through her body as Spike pulled on
her veins, in sharp contrast to the cooling of her limbs. Her mouth went
dry, and she licked her lips, but that wasn’t enough to quench this thirst.
One brief thought – Take something for yourself for once – and her
lips parted, sucking hesitantly on his flesh at first, but then deeper,
hungrily, desperate to drink him in.
Images flashed behind her eyes. Sweet, carnal pleasures that had been
forbidden to her before now. The freedom she’d been denied ever since she’d
been called as the slayer. And more than anything, she felt Spike
for the first time.
It was as though their beings were merged, each pulling on the other
until they mixed so deeply – so intimately – that they were undistinguishable
for an instant. It was the moment when that strange pleasure that had been
swelling through her body reached its climax. One final cry, and a flash
of blinding white light, and suddenly she understood the meaning of it
all: Sire.
And then blackness overtook her.
Spike pulled back from Buffy’s body with a gasp, eyes flickering back
to blue, his lips still coated with her blood. He’d turned his fair share
of vampires in the past, but never had he felt a connection so deep
with any of them before. But this little slayer… It was like some core
of their beings had just been waiting for them to join, like they were
two halves of one shattered whole…
Drusilla leaned forward to lick the last of the slayer’s blood from
her mate’s lips. He seemed not even to register her at first, still too
awed by the power of what he’d just experienced. “Same thing happened to
me when I turned you, my love,” she whispered, for one split-second sounding
perfectly clear-minded and rational.
Spike snapped to at that, caught her against him, and…there was a knock
at the door. “G’way,” he growled, vamping out once more.
A similar growl sounded from the other side of the door. “The Anointed
One commands your presence,” the other vampire informed him.
Spike and Drusilla exchanged a look. “Not pretty,” Dru tisked, shaking
her head.
Spike sighed and rose from the bed. “Not pretty at all,” he agreed,
holding out his hand to her.
She took it gracefully and let him lift her to her feet, sidling up
against him as they approached the door. Spike opened it just as the minion
moved to knock again. Dru blocked his view of the bed as the two of them
slipped outside.
“This had better be good,” Spike snarled as he closed the door, yellow
flashing in his eyes for an instant at the younger vamp.
Drusilla hung on his arm and looked meek as the pair of them were led
upstairs to the main audience chamber. Spike noted several of the minions
he’d brought with him on the raid at the high-school were now present and
quickly concluded that he’d been found out.
“Suppose I’d better go and make nice,” Spike commented for the benefit
of their guard.
Dru nodded, and the two of them exchanged a quick look before she fell
off into the background, watching the proceedings from the shadows. Spike
hoped he wouldn’t have to draw on her in a fight. He wasn’t sure just how
recovered she was exactly.
“You.” The vampire that hung sycophantically off the boy vampire
Spike had privately dubbed ‘the Annoying One’ accused.
“Last I checked,” Spike countered with a cock-sure grin.
“You attacked the slayer tonight,” Collin commented in an eerily menacing
voice for one who looked so much like a child.
“Uh…yeah,” Spike scratched the back of his neck, “see about that—”
“And the slayer escaped!” Sycophantic Lackey exclaimed in distaste.
“You failed, and dozens were lost!”
Spike quirked an eyebrow. “The cheerleading section did that well, did
they?” he chuckled to himself. And then he spotted two bodies that had
been brought back to the lair, both smelling of the recently turned. Two
females – a redhead and a darker girl – that he immediately recognized
as his slayer’s chums. “Or not so well…” he amended.
“How do you excuse this failure?” Collin demanded with that pinched
little squint of his face that Spike was coming to hate.
“I, uh…I offer penance,” he began, intentionally catching Dru’s eye
where she circled the proceedings. Not like anyone that had known him for
more than five minutes wouldn’t spot that stall for what it was…
Sycophantic Lackey was outraged. But, then, he always seemed to be outraged.
Spike was starting to hate him, too. “Penance?” he demanded. “You should
lay down your life. Our numbers are depleted, the feast of St. Vigeous
has been ruined by your impatience.”
An inward roll of Spike’s eyes. Ah, the Honor of the Order at its stupidest…
“I was rash,” he began, kneeling down in what looked to be a submissive
gesture, “and if I had to do it all over again…”
Drusilla positioned herself behind the two guards that stood watch over
the Heir. She waited with gleeful anticipation.
And Spike broke out into a sudden back of laughter. “Who am I kidding?”
he rose violently, moving faster than Sycophantic Lackey could react. “I
would do it exactly the same, only I’d do this…” He caught hold of Collin
as slung him easily over his shoulder.
“No!” the boy-vampire cried out in sudden alarm.
“…First,” Spike concluded, throwing the Grand Annoying One into the
metal cage that rested in the center of the room and slamming the door
shut.
The two guards lunged only to find twin spikes of wood protruding clear
through to the fronts of the chests. From behind them, Drusilla chuckled
at their looks of startled horror. “Naughty, naughty,” she slurred in a
seductive whisper as they crumpled to ash.
Sycophantic Lackey, at that moment, realized that he was the only one
left to tow the party line. He lunged at Spike with a roar, vamping out.
But Spike caught him by the throat, easily lifting his foe off the ground.
The other vamp’s yellow eyes bugged out as the borrowed blood from three
slayers coursed through Spike’s hands. A sickening crack, and Spike ripped
his head clear off.
Approaching the pull chain for the cage as the dust settled around him,
Spike sent a warning look to all those other minions present. They seemed
too petrified to stop. Drusilla merely clapped in delight.
Spike yanked on the support chain, causing the cage to rise high above
the floor. “From now on,” yank, “we’re gonna have a little less ritual,”
one final tug, “and a little more fun around here.”
A hiss sounded throughout the room as the cage entered the shaft of
sunlight peering in from overhead. Spike didn’t even bother to look as
the Anointed One’s ashes fluttered to the ground.
He paused for one instant, not even bothering to look at his audience.
“And, for the record, the slayer’s no longer a problem – like I promised.
We picked up a third newcomer to our gang tonight.” He gestured to Willow
and Cordelia’s bodies as the other two. “Think that evens it about out,
don’t you?”
Several worried nods and one audible gulp responded. None dared make
a move, even with Spike’s back turned. Which either meant they were real
sheep, or smart. Spike could live with it either way.
“C’mon, pet,” he said, reaching out to Drusilla. “Let’s see what’s on
the telly.”
She smiled and clasped her hand in his, gliding over the ashes of Sycophantic
Lackey and sidling up against our mate. “Perhaps our darling girl will
like the soaps, too,” she suggested as they returned to their rooms…
* * *
And it was less than three hours later that a newly whole demon awoke
with a gasp, yellow eyes flashing and chains clanging against the headboard
as unlife breathed through her body.
A deep-seated hunger seemed to permeate Buffy’s being, and one word
slipped past her fangs and through her lips: “Spike…” |
