Awards for the Yellow Brick Road Series

Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17 (for language and adult situations)
Summary: Book I of the Yellow Brick Road series. An alternate version of Season 3's Helpless, in which the Council locks a drugged and powerless Buffy in with a certain bleached-blond vampire who already has two Slayers under his belt.

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Part One

There was nothing quite like the passage of time.

It wasn't as though she’d asked for this. Time had not bothered to slow for her; had not granted her the opportunity to run in the other direction the minute she was approached by an old man in a fedora outside Hemery High. Before her life and every constant she had ever depended on was stolen in a blink.

Before the weight of the world was placed on her shoulders.

However, she couldn’t deny that power was addictive in that entirely unfair sense. She had grown dependent on her strength over the years, which made the fall all the more devastating. The world was an iniquitous place. Four years of her life had been dedicated to battling evil, hunting demons, and preventing numerous apocalypses.

And now?

She had wished away her power so many times. Just months before, she had argued with her mother, screaming that she would do anything to be a “normal girl”—to shop, gossip, and study. To reclaim her purloined childhood—her youth and vulnerability. To return to a time of innocence before the heartache that no girl her age should have suffered.

And yet...

She was supposed to be the only one. One to speak for a planet chock-full of people. One to defend. One to lay down her life when the time arrived. One to do all the work for a billion-plus nameless citizens who would not recognize her if she ever took that final bow. She was supposed to be the only one, but there were two.

There were countless theories to explain her sudden lack of power. Perhaps the Powers had finally caught up with her and realized that the Calling had been handed down.

Why it had taken them so long, she didn't know.

However, speculating on her lack-of-powers and possible ties to the recent Chosen Two didn’t get her very far. After all, there had been two slayers for over a year now; if the Powers were indeed just doing their housecleaning, they could have, at the very least, sent her a warning.

There was no conclusive explanation. No one good reason for anything. Buffy simply had no strength. End of story.

Furthermore, her lack of slayer-power was not accompanied by a lack of slayer-instincts. It took every ounce of her resolve keep from jumping into each conflict that plagued the Sunnydale campus, let alone to refrain from patrolling. While Faith was there to keep the vampire population under wraps, there was something about getting the job done personally that she missed. The lack of action left her feeling vacant and unsatisfied. And true, while the other slayer had proved herself on a number of occasions, Buffy simply didn’t trust the anyone but herself when it came to sacred duties.

Her mood was decidedly gloomy as she took her seat in the cafeteria. Not even Xander’s characteristic grin could cheer her up.

“Top of the afternoon to you. How goes the world through the eyes of the Buff?”

The smile she offered in return was halfhearted at best. “Same old,” she replied flippantly, picking at her paper lunch bag. “I assume you two had fun Bronzing-it last night while I was reaping the benefits of Watcher orders?”

The reaction was instantaneous; her friends assumed an identical façade of extreme disinterest and shook their heads. “It really wasn't that much fun,” Willow assured her. “I mean, not as in the entire...'oh, we do this every night.' To have a reason to stay at home...very cool.” She paused awkwardly. “Have you spoken with Giles since the 'stay-inage' orders of yesterday? And idea on what—”

“No, not yet,” Buffy retorted, her tone harsher than she intended. Her mood, despite milieu, rolled on an exceptionally short yoyo as of the recent. She really couldn't be held accountable; all things considered. Impending circumstances affected her like a bad case of food poisoning. “Sorry, Will. He doesn't seem too wigged as of the current. When he loses his cool, that's when I'll go into panic-mode.”

That was a lie, but she found no point in worrying her friends any more than necessary.

“Let's not focus on thoughts of unhappiness,” Xander said easily. “After all, big eighteen coming up. Outlandish birthday plans, anyone?”

Buffy grinned in spite of herself. “I thought I told you...quiet reflection is the theme for this year's Slayerfest. Birthdays in the Land of Buffy don't have a history of resulting in hugs and puppies. Big yay for quiet reflection.”

“Oh, come on,” he prodded, flashing a puppy smile. “I just know there's a party weasel buried in there somewhere. Slip into your fun shoes and get yourself a noisemaker. If your dad's gonna be a no-show for skating, I say Wills and I take it upon ourselves to entertain the Buff.”

She sighed at that. Though it was no secret, she didn't appreciate being reminded of her father's shortcomings. “Thanks for the thought, Xan,” she retorted. “But I think I'm covered. I'll make Giles take me or something. He owes me.”

“How you figure?”

“World saveage. He can spare one night to treat me. Especially when I'm feeling this...” She made a face. “Lethargic.”

Willow frowned and leaned forward supportively. “I'm sure it'll wear off soon,” she said, though her tone lacked confidence. “I mean...it has to, right?”

The Slayer paused and forced a nod. “Yeah. Like I said...no major Gilesy wiggage in action right now. I should keep my cool. Be mature about this.”

“About losing your power?”

Worry lines stressed Buffy's face, and in a complete collapse of fortitude, she consigned her head into weary hands, whimpering.

Willow lurched forward, eyes wide. “Ohhh! I didn't mean that...I...you're going to get your powers back. I mean...you have to! You're the Slayer. No sense slaying without...slayage powers, right? You're probably just...worn out or something. And...no worrying from Giles, remember? I mean, you're right. If Giles loses his easily-wigged-British-cool, then yeah. Panicky is perfectly acceptable and...but Buffy...you're going to get your powers back. I mean, you have to. How else can you slay?”

“Faith,” she pointed out.

“Pshaw.” Willow rolled her eyes. “The slayer-slut-bomb?”

“Well, she was the one they tapped.”

Still, sense was not being made. No sense at all. Not with her friends, and certainly not with her Watcher. And with as much as she tried to force her thoughts to greener pastures, her mind kept dragging her back to the frightening reality that she might never get her powers back.

God, she didn’t know what she would do. Despite the burden of Slayerhood and all the heartache and stress that came with it, she couldn't imagine a world without her strength. Not anymore. Not with everything she knew. There was a demon population out there that needed to be controlled, and she knew how to do it. It would be difficult without strength, but she would find a way. She had to. She couldn't sleep at night knowing that innocents were being taken at the whim of a newly risen vamp or a vindictive sprite granting vengeancy wishes.

There would be no rest. Not in this lifetime.

Willow waved a hand in front of her face. “Buffy? You sure you're all right?”

She blinked at her friend and forced a smile. “Yeah. I'll be fine. Just...you know...”

“Worried?”

She nodded. “Well...it's not exactly something that's easy to let go of.”

“It'll pass. It has to.”

Willow’s tone, however, was clouded with doubt. And it followed Buffy the rest of the day. Through class, through faking through her homework, and finally to the library, where Giles would almost assuredly tell her that there was nothing to do but wait.

The library was not often regarded as a place of sanctuary, but she could not deny the relief that encompassed her when she crossed the threshold. Buffy paused a minute, sighed, and dropped her belongings into a chair. She didn’t know when the library had started to feel like a second home to her; it was only a matter of time, she suspected, before her Watcher started bickering at her to clean up after herself.

“Giles?”

The librarian appeared on prompt, popping out from the office. “Ah. Good afternoon. Feeling any better?”

She shook her head and sighed again, lifting herself into the table. “Nada. Any luck with the research?”

There was a subtle, however detectable change in manner. It was minor enough to be overlooked by the casual observer, but three years together had schooled her well in deciphering her Watcher's various mannerisms. She could, by no means interpret the meaning, but it definitely indicated that something was up. The look on his face betrayed his discomfort. However, it was fleeting at best, and he shook it off the next minute. “No,” came the reply.

Disappointment filled her whole. “Didn't figure.”

“I still believe that all you need is rest.”

Buffy snickered at that. “Sure. Make it sound all simple. Like I resting is an option. I had a dream last night that I was walking through the graveyard at night and...” Buffy trailed off; she didn’t need to elaborate. “But then the vamps dressed in drag and sang Broadway show tunes. It kinda took away from the big picture.”

A small, nearly indiscernible smile tickled his lips. The gesture was transitory, but it succeeded in giving her an inkling of empty hope. If he could find something like that amusing, he couldn’t be too concerned. Maybe when she hit month six of her weakened state, he’d concede she caught the Slayer bug.

Still, shaded hope was better than none.

“Well,” Giles said after a minute. “I have decided that...given everything, you deserve a night to yourself. Your mother called...she supported my taking you to the ice show this evening, despite my—”

Buffy blinked incredulously. “Seriously? I mean...you do realize that cotton candy and assorted souvenirs of all types will be included? Not to mention the event itself.”

The look on the Watcher's face dimmed softly, a sort of fond reflection. “Your mother...” he repeated, an eyebrow flickering in discomfort. She couldn't blame him. After all, not much time had passed since they were making out like horny teenagers. The Slayer had yet to progress beyond the ick-factor; she couldn't begin to imagine how they felt. “She...she said that she had offered to take you but...understandably, you consider it more of a...erm...”

He wanted to say 'fatherly responsibility.' That enough was clear in his eyes. It was a fair estimation. Over the past three years, he had marked the bar as more of a parent than her biological relation could ever hope to touch. Buffy smiled her gratitude. “Great. So you're taking me. As in the...really? You're all about the takage of your—”

“Yes, I believe we have covered that.” Giles stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You deserve it, after everything. With what you're going through. What time do these things normally begin?”

“Seven, but we'll wanna get there early.” She wriggled in excitement. It was so good to feel something other than worry. For one night—one night—things were going to go the way they were supposed to. She could forget her slayer-y worries for one night. It wasn’t much, but it meant the world. “Ohhh...major yayness! Thank you so much!”

He nodded with a small smile. “Of course. But first—”

“Slayer trainy-ness. Gotcha. 'Course, you...all work and no play.”

“All things considered, I would call that an unfair conclusion.”

She grinned wickedly. “I really appreciate this, Giles. I mean...Mom's right. I didn't mean to throw it in her face, but it really is a...something you do with...” At that, she cast her eyes down, feeling suddenly awkward. “Well, you get it.”

The look on his face betrayed something more than knowledge; rather, a sort of poignant understanding. And before things could get too awkward, training ensued. The naming of random stones, the beg for forgiveness when she found her mind wandering down a random path yet again. The familiar look of irritated fondness that tackled Giles's countenance whenever she did something so entirely adolescent that it caused everyone to stop and remember that the Slayer had a life unattached to her duties.

It was near five when he dismissed her, leaving an hour and a half for preparations. A quip was made about her ability to beautify herself within such time constraints, resulting in traded jibes even after she had exited the library.

From there, it was a matter of patience. Of keeping collected. Had she lingered, Buffy would have seen her Watcher finish cleaning up evidence of their training session. Fifteen minutes passed. He took his time; collecting himself in an instant of discomfort before finally reaching for the phone to call Quentin Travers.

The message was short but to the point. There was no need for elaboration.

“Everything is ready.”

Part Two

Giles had recommended that she dress sensibly—meaning in case she came across trouble of the fanged kind—but without strength, dressing sensibly meant dressing for an outing, and not patrol. Since the sated state of her worn strength didn't reveal signs of improving within the new few hours, she figured it was safe to cash in her chips and thoroughly isolate herself from the Slayer-persona. After all, without the power, acting the part seemed rather futile. And if she was going to be average-citizen Buffy from now on, she might as well get into the swing of the 'damsel in distress' routine.

The thought gave her chills, but Buffy forced her mind elsewhere. There would be no doom-and-gloom over her uncertain future tonight. Tonight, she was determined to forget that demons existed; that she had been hand-picked by the Powers to stop them, and that her demon-slaying abandoned her. Tonight was about the all-around birthday celebration. Once again, her dad had cancelled, but it didn’t matter because Giles was there. Giles, her surrogate father and so much more deserving of the title, would save the day. As it was, Giles’s were too difficult to fill. Hank Summers would be fortunate if she ever wanted to go anywhere with him again.

Her mom flashed her a smile as she gracefully descended the stairs. “Are my eyes deceiving me?” she asked. “Or is my daughter wearing a skirt?”

Buffy rolled her eyes but grinned just the same. “I have been known to dress girly, you know.”

“It’s just such a rare occurrence.”

“Hey, you’re the one that told me to stop patrolling in skirts.”

“Well, honey, those kicks you do leave little to the imagination.” She crossed her arms and smiled fondly. “You look lovely, Buffy. I just know you’re going to have a great time tonight.”

Buffy nodded. “Well…ice. Skating. Pretty regular, if you consider the full. I just…I'm glad he's coming.”

“He's like a father to you,” she observed. “You deserve this. One night from slaying demons.”

The smile on her face faded sourly. “Yeah. One night.”

Given her recent disability, Buffy had yet to confide her fears in her mother. The woman was still reeling from the bombshell that was Slayerhood—to take it back now was borderline cruelty. Joyce had seen so much in just a few weeks. Furthermore, she would consider the disorder a blessing in disguise—a chance for normality—and would never understand why the loss of such strength would be anything but a blessing.

The thought sent cold shudders up her spine, and she flexed her shoulder experimentally. No change.

The foyer suddenly filled with headlights. “Ohhh…that's Giles! Gotta jet.”

“Have fun, sweetie!”

“Will! Love you!”

Before Joyce could get another word out, Buffy pecked her on the cheek and bolted out the door.

There was something funny about this.

Aside his quiet, there was something generally fidgety about his mood. He had hardly said a word since she got into the car. Nothing aside an initial, “Good evening,” and an irritated, “I told you to dress sensibly.” The trip was awkwardly silent. Something was on his mind, she knew, but she didn't want to ask. Tonight was not about shop. Tonight was about enjoying herself to the fullest. Plus, birthday fest. Tonight was definitely about the birthday fest. Reality could check-in tomorrow, she had tonight called for ice-fantasy of the much-deserved kind.

However, that nagging feeling refused her a moment’s rest. Perhaps her Watcher had discovered something that he was afraid to share.

A few minutes later, and any lingering doubt was thoroughly vanquished. Giles brought the car to a stop somewhere that was definitely not the ice show. For a minute, she thought he had lost his sense of direction. It didn't seem very characteristic, but again, she rather doubted he made regular habit of visiting the rink. In retrospect, perhaps it would have been wiser to drag Angel to this thing. Wiser, but somehow, sharing the experience with a non-father figure seemed sacrilegious.

The spider-sense of panic didn't start screaming until he killed the engine. There they sat still for a few minutes, encompassed in shadows and tempered with silence. It wasn’t until he turned to face her that Buffy realized the fullness of her anxiety. This was not like him at all. This was serial-killer-patchety-murdery behavior. If were anyone but Giles, she would be pounding on the door and practicing her damsel-scream.

But it was Giles. It was—as in not Hannibal Lecter. Whatever was troubling him, she could handle it. She and Giles could handle it. That was what they did, after all. They handled things—world saveage, ancient prophecies, research papers, and midterms—they had everything covered.

“There is something I need to tell you,” the Watcher said softly. The edge in his voice unmasked her confidence, and without warning, she felt like a lost child. “It…it came about…I am sorry to deceive you. Understand that this has been one of the most trying times for me. Buffy…I—”

Without realizing it, she had backed against the car door, hand fighting to find the handle. Great. Let’s really get into the part. Maybe my boobs will bounce when I run up the stairs. “Let me go out on a limb and say we're not going to the ice show tonight,” she ventured slowly, her tone deliberately tempered.

This is Giles. Old, tweedy, British, Giles.

“The very position of my…the duty I perform as Watcher, as well as your continued training…depended on what I am about to tell you.”

Who was scaring the shit out of her, and the sensation was so foreign that she had to tell him. Tell him that he was scaring her so he could call her ridiculous and they’d both get a kick out of it.

No such luck.

“Giles…you're scaring me.”

“It's a test, Buffy. It's all a test.” At last, he looked at her, eyes burdened. “Your sudden ailment. The loss of your powers. All of it. A test each Slayer is to perform when she reaches her eighteenth birthday. The Council…I've been…”

Her world fell apart without warning. Every fundamental understanding on which she had based her belief system shattered into a thousand shards of deceit. More than abandonment seized her; every whim she trusted was suddenly put into irrevocable question. There were no words to describe betrayal. There was nothing to trust if not the man sitting beside her. There was simply nothing.

“You knew,” she said at last, doing her best to keep herself from lashing out in fury. The calm collectiveness strained in her voice would not last—not with the outrage pumping through her veins. “You knew the entire time. You knew what was happening to me. You saw what it was doing to me…and you…”

God, this was not happening.

“I wanted to tell you,” he said desperately, twisting to face her. The saddle of release weighed heavily behind his eyes, but she did not care to see it. “Believe me. I wanted nothing more in the world. Hiding this from you…it was reprehensible. I understand. But…there was no way I could tell you. What you're about to endure is something that has been…these are the ethics of the Council. I had no personal say—”

“But you saw what it was doing to me!” Her rage refused to be contained; she kicked the glove compartment and ignored the foreign pain that shot through her body at impact. Pain. The pain was Giles’s fault, because he had betrayed her. “God, Giles, you stood right there and watched! You watched as it drained me! You saw my head spinning…you saw my pain! How could you…how could you not…how could you do this to me?!”

“Listen, I have no time to explain myself now.” The Watcher exhaled deeply and glanced to the building just outside her window. “Your test will begin shortly. They…the Council…is relying on you to use cunning and…well, everyday skills to defeat the vampire they obtained for the event.”

Her insides froze. “What event?” she demanded coldly.

“A test of cunning, like I said. I—”

“What vampire?”

“The vampire that Quentin Travers captured for the test.”

“No, Giles. Tell me straight. What vampire?”

At that, he sighed, removing his glasses and consigning them immediately to the hem of his shirt. “I was under the impression that it would be a vampire called Kralik—clinically insane and very powerful. However…something unfortunate happened. I tried to get Travers to call off the whole thing—”

“What happened?”

“Kralik was killed. Evidently…another vampire got wind of the test and seized the opportunity.” The Watcher glanced at her, though she knew his vision was nothing without his bifocals. He did not wish to see the look on her face, and for the world, she did not blame him. “Travers did not share with me who, but I have an intuition…” He sighed heavily. “Buffy…you have every right to…I know what you must be thinking—”

“You. Have. No. Idea.” Before she knew it, tears had welled in her eyes. She made no move to draw them away. “I thought…how could you do this to me? I thought I was losing everything…I thought—”

“Your powers will return.”

“That's not the point. You betrayed me!”

Another sigh hissed through his teeth. “Now is not the time for this,” he said softly. “You're going to have to face whatever is in that house. There are vials of holy water, crosses, and a few stakes in the glove compartment.” A short pause. She did not offer a reply. “I will wait here—”

“Don't bother.” With an angry huff, Buffy pried the glove compartment open and seized a stake. “So much for a quiet, normal night, huh? Not so in this universe. Not if you're me. Thanks for the great birthday present.”

She didn’t miss the flash of hurt that colored Giles’s eyes, but remained unmoved. And he didn’t say a word.

The march to the old house was slow. When she reached the doorway, Giles's car was still there.

“Of course,” she murmured. “Don't bother ever listening to me. It'll get you killed, but hey, what's the big?”

A sigh rolled off her shoulders, then she disappeared inside.

Buffy shuddered as she crossed the threshold into pure darkness. She was surprised but pleased when her eyes complied to adjust quickly, even if there was nothing to see. No members of the Council—nothing to suggest controlled conditions. Her breaths were harsh against the cold silence, and every step she took betrayed her location.

Her slayer tinglies might have been out of commission, but she felt the vampire. The knowledge sliced her to the core. What would happen if this thing bested her? Would the Council simply stand aside and allow her to die?

She’d experienced death once. She wasn’t eager to do it again.

It took a few minutes, but she ultimately conceded the fact that she wasn’t going to surprise anyone, and instead of creeping around and pretending to be stealthy, she decided to throw all her cards on the table. After all, aside her life, there was nothing to lose. The vampire could sniff her out, as it was. The unexpected surge of her spider senses had dwindled again. There was nothing left to do. She wasn’t going to make it if she didn’t think on her feet.

Take away her strength and her skill, and all that was left was her mouth.

“Yoo hoo?” she called softly. “Big Bad Vamp. Paging Mr. Big Bad Vamp. Come out, come out, wherever you are. Let's just get this damn thing over with.”

She didn’t sound confident. Four years of making insidious commentary had left her splendidly dry—and even that was fitting. Her powers were gone; why not the annoyingly obvious barbs as well?

Her voice rang in mocking echo for a few seconds before dying altogether. Buffy heaved a sigh, and a few minutes of silence followed. Nothing. Nothing at all. The house moaned a little—the way old houses were prone to do, but betrayed nothing. The vampire could be anywhere—waiting for her anywhere. She was marching the parade route to her own execution, and she couldn’t do a thing to save herself.

How could Giles do this to her?

A part of her expected to wake up and find herself in the safety and comfort of her bed. The day had been so surreal that anything, even pipe dreams, seemed feasible. However, her gut knew differently. This was reality—cold, hard reality. She was really here, lurking in the dark of an old abandoned house, searching for a vampire whose silence would put any mime to shame. She was stripped and powerless. And the walls betrayed nothing.

Nothing.

An instinctive twist in her gut told her that the game was nearing its end. She tensed slightly; aware that every hair on her arm was sticking up. She shivered hard despite the unforgiving heat, and bit her lip as she crossed to a separate hallway.

It took every ounce of her resolve to avoid cursing Giles for not packing a flashlight—for not giving her anything at all aside his apologies. Her anger with him had already reached immeasurable heights, and there would be plenty of time to scream at him when she was home and not-dead. Whatever she could have done to alter the outcome of the evening was out of her hands now, and she refused to dwell on what couldn't be changed.

Still, a flashlight would be nice.

Steadying her breathing, Buffy decided to attempt opening the lines of conversation once more. It couldn't hurt. At this point, really, nothing could hurt. Either the vamp showed itself or didn’t—either she lived or died. She didn't know how much longer she could take the wait.

Turning her eyes back to the hall, Buffy raised chin slightly and called out, “All right. Enough. Come on.”

Nothing.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Heeeellllo?”

Silence.

“Well, for Pete’s sake, are you a scaredy vamp? ‘Cause if you think this is how I wanna spend my birthday, you’ve gotta—oaf!”

It happened so fast. So freaking fast. The sensation of being dragged off her feet commenced a dizzy spell…then the room was spinning. In a fury of quick movements, she felt her stake arm twist behind her back. The cold flesh against her sweaty, clammy skin made her shudder. She could see nothing, but her other senses were going haywire. The smell of wafting nicotine tickled her taste buds. The harsh breath at her ear smelled of cheap brandy. He said nothing, still, but she sensed his amusement—his excitement, and it made her insides tremble.

The vampire twisted her stake-arm furiously, and in a flash, she found herself weaponless. He roared in victory and spun her around to face him. Their eyes met—a clash of violent blue—and she felt a something hard fall within the pit of her stomach.

The impression was brief. Buffy had time to fight, but the thought never surfaced. She was only aware of Spike's grasping her wrist as he pulled her roughly to his chest. A flash of fangs, then his hand closed over her mouth, and he rolled them against the wall.

“Well,” he drawled, his breath hot at her ear, “looky looky at what I found.”

Part Three

Her heart cadenced against the cold silence, and she was certain the floor had dropped from under her. For long seconds, there was nothing she could do but panic. Pure, unadulterated panic. Spike. Spike. Slayer of slayers—the thorn in her side, the one vamp in all the world that would cross oceans just to get a taste of her neck. Spike.

And yet, somehow, there was clarity and calm with that knowledge. It was a vampire she knew. Somehow—somehow—she was comforted.

But not for long.

Against her better senses, Buffy began struggling, and spat out his name like a bad flavor. “Spike.”

“You called, gorgeous?”

A moan tore at her; every nerve in her body was shaking. “Someone up there must really hate me.”

“Yeh. Isn’t this fun?”

She pried her hands free of his—little good it did—and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, attempting unsuccessfully to wriggle from his grasp. “They chose…you?”

“I know. Don’ make much sense, does it? A bloke who’s killed two in his past to do the Slayer in good, especially when she’s not at her best.” He pecked her cheek teasingly. “Sounds like a bloody good joke to me.”

Buffy laughed humorlessly and jerked her arm backward, butting her elbow into his gut. There was a surprised gasp, and he released her, though some foreign pull compelled her to remain where she was instead of making the more sensible run for it. Instead, Buffy turned to face him, and she saw nothing but the violent blue of his eyes. “I’m all with the impressed,” she snapped. “You were able to keep quiet for almost a full five minutes.”

“I know. Amazin’, innit? Woulda lasted longer, but the entire thing got borin’ real quick-like.” The blue eyes sparkled with glee. “An’ here we are. Whaddya say, luv? Ready to take on the Big Bad, all defenseless?”

“I’m sorry. I’m having difficulty getting all scared when my last image of you was a drunken buffoon, slobbering all over himself to get Drusilla back.” She crossed her arms contemptuously. It was likely not the brightest tactical move, but there was no way the Council could believe she would refrain from provoking such a blatantly walking target as the vampire before her. “How’d that work out, by the way? Obviously not very well if you’re here with me and not…wherever with her.”

She felt rather than saw the snarky grin melt into a scowl. It stung with empty retribution, and at once, she felt cold again. Monster or not, it wasn’t kosher to make fun at someone else’s pain. Granted, it had never stopped her in the past, but this was different. Dru was very much to Spike what Angel was to her, and she knew better than to make jibes at that sort of heartache.

She wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it; if anything, Spike would not be mocked without getting some of his own back—be it words or blood. He backhanded her the next instant and she fell to the ground, pain spreading through her body like a slingshot. God, is this how it felt to normal people? There was blood on her lip and every inch of her hurt.

Spike offered a biting chuckle. “Imagine the irony, pet!” he said giddily, circling her. “When the chips are down an’ you’re all powerless, who do they call but me? Add number three to my bloody belt.” His lip curled into a tight sneer. “Someone out there must really want you dead.”

Buffy coughed, holding her stomach as she fought to her feet. “Join the club.”

“Got that covered way back.”

“Fantastic.” She held onto the wall, which was not as sturdy as she would have liked. “So what? You had the chance to bite me two seconds ago and you—”

“Woulda been too easy,” Spike retorted with a shrug. “I mean, come on luv. Of all the hours I’ve spent imaginin’ this moment, it’d be a bloody insult to kill you right quick. What, with all the grief you’ve caused me? Way I see it, I got you to myself all night.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Please. If that means listening to you yammering all night, just kill me now.”

“Now, now, Slayer…where’s the fun in that?” He slammed his arm against her again, sending her back to the ground with a grunt. Pain exploded and seared, and when she didn’t automatically begin the pathetic crawl back to her feet, he sighed and circled her. “’Course, ‘f you’re gonna lie there all night, I got better things to do. Come on. Gimme all you got. Power or no power, I know there’s somethin’ in you that won’ let you back down while I have my fun.” There was a teasing pause. “Then again…that also has its perks.”

Where these delusions had originated, she had no idea. Spike should know better than that. She was not about to let him beat on her until he decided he was bored. The vampire was sloppy enough to let his guard down.

She cursed herself for not bringing a cross; she’d left the car in too much of a huff. With a gasp, Buffy rolled to her feet, stretching her sore muscles until it hurt. “Remind me to kill Giles when I get out of here.”

“Why should you have the fun?” Spike retorted. “An’ who says you’re gettin’ outta here?”

There was no time to think. She summoned every ounce of strength left in her broken body and kneed him fiercely where men don’t particularly like to be kneed. An agonized moan ripped through the air, and then she was running. For the moment, she had the advantage, and she was running. Her thunderous paces quaked beneath her feet. The world was spinning and she was dizzy with weakness and ache. God, he’d only hit her twice, and she felt ready to die.

Note to self. More training.

Spike’s howls diminished just as quickly—quicker than the last time she’d kicked a vamp in the balls, granted then with the coveted slayer strength. Perhaps the impact had surprised him more than hurt. Either way, after the angry grunts and growls subsided, the air was once again occupied with the vampire’s cynical commentary tickled. His words were muddled with distance; she didn’t hear anything beside the hum of his voice and the rhythm of his words. She knew that rhythm—Spike was still in mock-mode, though his temper had surely been tested.

The reality of the situation was overwhelming. She was racing through an empty house with a vampire in full pursuit—a vampire that that had two slayers notched on his belt. Her stake was gone. The supplies she could have taken had been left in Giles’s car in the heat of her outrage. She was alone.

Buffy came to a sudden stop. That thought was silencing. Spike could track her easily—if her noisy steps didn’t betray her, her scent certainly would. Running would do little good. Drawing in a collected breath, Buffy edged to the hallway wall, trying in vain to immerse herself in the some of the darker shadows. It would help, maybe, but not for long.

The vampire was nearing. It was funny to think of Spike as patient, but the steps he took were slow and measured; he obviously wanted to relish this. There was no sense in rushing things when he knew there was nothing to lose. When he knew that there was no escape for his intended. She steadied her breathing, for the little good it did; she knew he could hear her heart pounding. Hell, at this rate, Giles could hear her heart pounding.

Giles. The name stung with treachery. Shivers broke loose across her skin and tears flooded her eyes. Who was there to trust if she couldn’t place faith in the one man that literally held her life in his hands? The one man that had never turned his back on her? Who, not too long ago, had accused her of exhibiting no respect for him or the job he performed? Giles had been her most trusted friend, her mentor, and he’d led her here. Led her to Spike—to her executioner, and she had nothing with which to defend herself.

Was this payback for keeping Angel’s return a secret? Angel was her responsibility. Her actions could have been monitored, sure, but what did he expect? As if it had been easy for her to run a sword through her boyfriend. As if she didn’t relive that horrible morning again and again, even when she knew he was back and all undead. As if she concealed his return to intentionally hurt those she loved.

As if she didn’t know the dangers of having him with her again.

“Here Slayer, Slayer, Slayer…”

Buffy snapped back to cold reality. Spike was just a few feet away, and he was going to kill her. And suddenly, she found herself crawling through the ceiling on parent/teacher night. She’d seen Spike’s demon face and knew without fault that he was an enemy, and that her mother and all her friends would die for the sake of his disreputably infuriating impatience.

That first meeting…

“The last Slayer I killed...she begged for her life.”

She knew him, now. She’d seen him at his best and worst. He’d helped her save the world, then he’d locked her friends in the basement of a burnt-out factory and blackmailed her to help him win back Dru’s love. Somewhere, it had become difficult to remember just how dangerous he was.

Spike was rounding up the staircase.

If nothing else, a thousand years would pass before she begged Spike of anything.

“Oh come on, pet!” he called carelessly, banging on the walls. “Don’ be such a tight-ass. You must be goin’ bug-shaggin’ crazy without anythin’ to vent all that lovely frustration on. ‘F you come out now, I’ll let you beat on me. Jus’ a li’l. Whaddya say?”

Yeah, he’d enjoy that.

A floorboard creaked. Buffy steadied herself against the wall; eyes trained on the advancing bulk at the end of the corridor. She was spotted, she knew. She’d betrayed herself the moment she attempted to skid across the telltale floor, and likely before that. The grin on his face was bright enough to attract incoming airline traffic.

“Now,” he said, taking a step forward. His paces were slow and seductive, and his eyes burned her with heat that astonished almost as much as the familiar clenching in her belly. She knew that look; he had given it to her the night they first met. The sort of look that made her knees go weak, only to slam with her the devastating realization that he was an enemy. “Now that I got you here…”

“Oh, save it,” she snapped. “Good God. Blah blah blah. You just really love to hear yourself talk, don’t you?”

At that, he shrugged and the snarky grin grew wider. “Well, what can I say? Got me an eternity to kill. ‘S better if I’m a good conversationalist.”

“Or if you live under such delusion.”

“Come on, luv.” He was just a few feet away now, his silhouette outlined against the blackened stairwell. “Don’ tell me this doesn’ excite you jus’ a li’l. You an’ me…cooped up in here till your Council friends decide to pop in an’ see if you’re as dead as they want you. Surely you can admit…if one vamp was gonna do you in, can you think of anyone better?” He paused. “An’ if you say Angel, I’ll rip your bloody head off.”

“Aren’t I running that risk either way?”

“Less bitchy you are, the longer I’ll keep you around.”

“Doubt anyone could follow those rules.”

He huffed. “Speakin’ of the Great Poof, where is he on your big night?”

Buffy blinked dubiously. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Talking to me. Shouldn’t one of us be dead now?”

“Well, if that’s the way you wanna play it.” Spike shrugged, withdrawing a cigarette from the lapels of his duster. “Thought we might catch up a bit, is all. After all, kitten, how long has it been?”

She rolled her eyes. “Really. Next time you blow into town unannounced; remind me not to help you.”

“Bloody likely.” He blew a string of smoke into the air. “Come on, Slayer. Cough it up. Where’s your boy? The big one/eight and he decides it’s not even worth a soddin’ birthday card? Typical of Angelus, if memory serves.” He paused thoughtfully. “Then again, Dru always said ‘e gave the best presents.”

Something dark coiled within her, but she would not bite. She knew that remark stung him more than it did her.

“Angel and I celebrated earlier this week,” she retorted instead. “And Dru—God bless her sick little mind—is right. He does give the best presents. I’m going on two years running here. What’s the matter, Spikey? Were you just…inadequate in that department?”

A growl tore at his throat. “You’re one to bloody talk!” he snapped, stomping at her fiercely. He wrapped his ironclad grip around her shoulders, heaving her off her feet and throwing her at the wall. “Jus’ with the stories Angelus told! The nancyin’ around you two did? How’d it feel, Slayer? Your first go sent him right into the arms of someone as loopy as—”

“That wasn’t him,” Buffy retorted bitterly, clamoring to her feet.

“Really? An’ you know him so well to know the difference.” Another blow sent her to the ground again. “Christ, Slayer, I’d’ve pegged you for smarter than that. Sure, you din’t know the git before the firs’ change, but I gotta admit…I had a bit more faith in your judgment. Four year old could see it. He had the bloody talk an’ walk…well, with a bit more confidence, ‘course.” Spike grinned nastily, fisting her blouse at the collar and pulled her to her feet. “Then again, givin’ a bloke a happy tends to add a li’l juice to his stride, regardless.”

“Pig,” she spat, cursing herself when she couldn’t come up with something less original.

His smirk burned without suggestion. “Well,” he conceded, “s’pose I should be honest. Wasn’ exactly all rosy for me; watchin’ Dru shag him into the bloody ground right under my nose.” The fire his eyes drifted and something relative to shared pain tainting his features. It didn’t last long; the next instant, he was smiling again, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. “Neither of them could match us, luv. We sure made a helluva team, din’t we? Always knew I should’ve stayed around for the saved-the-world-victory shag.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“You know, for something that caused you so much pain not too long ago, you don’t seem to mind yammering on and on about it.”

He shrugged and let her go, walking her against the wall. The cold surface against her back surprised her; it wasn’t like the other walls she had encountered that evening. It felt…stronger. Perhaps reinforced with steel, or something else. A panic room in the midst of a crap-shack that would collapse if the wind blew too hard.

“Jus’ friendly warnin’, luv,” Spike murmured, blowing another low stream of cigarette smoke that tickled her upper lip. Buffy fought off a wince—she couldn’t stand smokers. It was an image she associated with Angelus. Though she couldn’t remember him actively lighting up, the scent was always heavy when they fought. Smoking simply didn’t fit Angel—whether he was the demon or the man she loved. The platinum-haired vampire, however, wore the habit well. With the leather he sported and that dreadful car he drove, adding a few packs of cigarettes and bottles of cheap alcohol completed the cliché, though in a way she couldn’t help but find exciting.

I’m deranged.

It was hard to believe that Spike had lived for over a century. He would fit in so well with the crowd at Sunnydale High…except, of course the drinking of blood, allergy to sunlight, and random killings of those that annoyed him.

Against her better instincts, she felt her body relax. Why couldn’t he act like a vampire? Fangy and grrrr? There was too much lapse in his judgment. Wasn’t there some rule amongst bloodsucking fiends? Something along the lines of: don’t sweet-talk the prey—just kill.

“Last time I was here, you an’ King Forehead were on the road to forgettin’ all past achies, an’ I know where that leads. Down a bloody…bloody path.” Even he stopped at his redundancy. It was hard not to crack a grin.

“Why do you care?” she asked.

“Why else?” Spike shrugged again, pressing forward. “I’ll give it to you; Angel annoys the hell outta me. But…” He grinned ironically. “Let’s jus’ say he’s the lesser of two evils.”

“And to that, I add a major ‘duh’.”

The vampire narrowed the space between them with another step. “Like I said, pet, jus’ a little advice. Don’ feel obligated to follow, or what all. By all means, ‘f you’re anythin’ like the other Slayers, you likely have a death wish. So go ahead. Bang your boy. See what I care.”

Buffy couldn’t help it; she arched a brow and took a boisterous step forward. “And here I thought you were going to kill me. Are you giving me an option?”

Spike grinned. They were practically nose-to-nose. “That depends, Slayer,” he retorted softly. It was a tone he had never taken with her before. “You wanna offer me somethin’ better?”

At once, her knees felt weak.

What was that? What what what?

When he didn’t continue, she heaved a breath that rose against his chest. It was then she realized how close he was. How…

Before her thoughts could catch up with her, the steel barrier behind her suddenly gave way. She lost her balance, causing Spike to lose his, and they tumbled together into a vat of darkness.

He landed on top of her, his face between her breasts and his pelvis pressed against hers. Buffy gasped a sigh and arched, causing his erection to dig into her more sharply. He was evidently comfortable enough not to move anytime soon, and in a moment of blind panic, Buffy shoved him off her misbehaving-reacting-oh-so-wrongly body and made a run for the door.

She reached it just as it slammed shut with emphatic force.

“Bloody hell…”

Buffy would not be defeated so easily. She would not fall into the role of the helpless heroine. This was not a movie. No one was outside, and the door was unlocked.

Only it really, really wasn’t. It took several minutes for her determination to melt into despair. Banging against the door accomplished nothing; she was not up to full strength. In fact, she was more drained than ever.

Buffy heaved a defeated sigh and sank into the darkness.

Trapped.

That was not the world’s most encouraging thought.

Part Four

Buffy sighed and propped herself against the door, trying to ignore how hard her heart was hammering.

So not good. So completely not good.

“Who turned out the lights?” Spike demanded gruffly, huffing as he pulled himself to his feet.

She tossed him a wry glance, but it was lost in darkness. Stupid vampire makes me waste perfectly good glares. “Shut up,” she snapped instead, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Jus’ sayin’, luv. If I can’t see a bloody thing, it’s dark.” There was a brief pause. “What happened?”

“You pushed me into a broom closet. That’s what happened.”

“Ohhh, kitty’s got claws.” A beat. “I’d hope you’d realize how big the average broom closet is, kitten. It’s not that small. More likely a panic room.”

She decided to ignore the fact that she had thought the same thing before, well, being shoved inside. Instead, she grumbled and forced herself to her feet. “Perfect. This is just perfect.”

The next thing she knew, Spike was right in front of her, practically pressing her into the door. “Move over, pet. Gonna test the door.”

“It’s locked,” she said, frowning at the tremor that commanded her voice. The hell? “I already tried.”

“You’re not up to full strength, remember?” Without waiting for her reply, he closed his hands around her upper arms and forcibly moved her to the side. The sensation was brief and slightly heady, and he had already turned back to her by the time it occurred to her that she should be angry at his rough insistence. “Bugger all.”

“I told you.”

“The door’s locked.”

“Yeah.”

“An’ we’re stuck.” He paused, and she could have sworn that she saw his eyes flicker over her thoughtfully. That was impossible, of course. She couldn’t see a thing. “In here. Together.”

Buffy flushed, and on the same beat, they moved to their own respective corners in the room—as far from each other as possible, granted their options. She slowly slid to the floor again, hugging her knees to her chest.

“Why do you even care?” she asked after a minute, feeling small and vulnerable, and hating herself for it. “I’m under the impression that I’m vampire lunchmeat any way I look at it.”

“Well, we can’t get the door open, an’ I wager it’s better to be stuck in here with someone than bore myself to death. Or…more to death.” With a sigh, he reached for his cigarettes. “’Course, it can always go the other way if your yammerin’ gets outta hand.”

“Well, don’t piss me off.”

“Wouldn’t be talkin’, pet,” he retorted nastily, blowing a ring of smoke into the air. She stifled a cough. “Seems to me that you’re not in the position to be givin’ orders.”

“If you think I’m going to take orders from you, it’s better you just kill me now.”

“An’ miss out on all this fun? Not a chance, sweetheart.” A beat. “’Course, I’d get close to that door, if I were you. The second it opens up—”

Buffy smiled sweetly. “You’ll be dust by then.”

“Is that right?”

“Giles isn’t here to drug me up, is he? Slayer strength comes back and hence…Spike-dustiness.”

“Won’t happen.”

It was her turn to be pessimistic. She arched a brow and leaned back. The wall against her shoulders was comforting in a bizarre fashion. “And how?”

“Killed me a few Slayers, pet. Can’t give me the willies with that kind of talk, pet.”

“Yeah. And I’ve staked me a few hundred vamps. You’re no different.”

The boom of his laugh provoked both a grin and a snicker. Such confidence was not in the least attractive. “An’ you assume your precious Angel is?”

The mention of Angel threw her, but she refused to let it show. “He has a soul.”

“Yeh. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

A growl rumbled through her throat. “It’s not going anywhere this time. We’re not going to…there will be no…of us…doing things that would make his soul go away. I mean, don’t you think he’s learned his lesson? Don’t you think I’ve learned mine?”

“Kitten, you’re what…eighteen today?” Her eyes had finally decided to adjust, and immediately followed the sound of Spike’s voice, projecting off the wall opposite her and outlining his familiar face against the darkness. A flicker of orange marked his mouth. She wondered how many cigarettes he would go through before she choked on secondhand smoke. “Yeh. Rite of passage, an’ what all. You’ve been with…hmmm…let’s think. Oh right. Peaches…an’ that’s it. I’ll admit, he’s a cool one to wait as long as he did. His accounts of the past weren’t as flatterin’, an’ judgin’ how he acted as that soulless git, restraint is not his middle name. You think in a century you’re the only one to have given him a happy?”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “Well. Gee. Let’s think. Happy for Angel equals no long soul. Basing it on—”

“An’ there’s another thing. Demons really don’ separate the line between sex and violence. Ask Peaches sometime…I know he has a few skeletons hangin’ in his closet. Things he’s too bloody proper to admit.” The falsity behind his laugh made her shudder this time. It reeked of the truth—the side of the truth she would never bring herself to fully investigate. “Gotta admit, never really thought of good ole Angelus as proper.” He shook his head, taking a long drag. “Anyway, the point, luv, is that no man…regardless of his bloody lot in life, can go that long without…well…you get it.”

The thought made her nauseous. “You pig.”

He snickered. “How stunningly original. ‘S the truth, Slayer. Can’t blame me if you’re not strong enough to handle it.”

There were no words to describe her disgust. “Just because you—”

“Not me, pet. Don’ turn this around on me.” She saw his hands come up in suggestion of mock peace. “An’ don’ get your knickers in a twist. I’m payin’ you a compliment, here. Angel got his rocks off before he met your precious self, but at leas’ it din’t make him happy. Or at least, not enough to drive his soul away. Bloody bastard din’t love any of those bints. God, if you think that’s all there is to it, then you’re gonna be mighty surprised when you start goin’ out there in search of a comfort fuck every five seconds.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

Spike arched a brow at her pointedly. “What? Just ‘cause I’m evil means I lack emotion?”

That wasn’t true. Buffy knew it wasn’t true. If anything, Spike was commanded by emotion. She’d seen it when he came to her before—to help her stop Angelus. She’d seen it just a few months ago, when he showed up a slobbering, pitiful, recently-dumped drunk. And yet, she couldn’t help but go for the dig. Couldn’t help but lash out, as it was all she had right now. “Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.”

The humor behind his snicker rivaled brewing irritation. He was hurt—she could tell—but he fell to sarcasm rather than anger. “A vampire slayer that knows jack ‘bout vampires. Look out world; here she comes.”

“I know all I need to know about vampires,” Buffy retorted. “Vampire equals evil. Evil equals nice pointy weapons. Nice pointy weapons equals dust, ergo no more vampire.”

“What about the hunt? You knew enough to threaten me with Dru, if memory serves.” At that, he flustered. “Which, by the way, made the list of the many reasons I’m gonna kill you.”

“Because you never tried to kill Angel?” she snapped defensively. “And besides…this is a stupid argument. You can’t love! You have no soul. You don’t know what love is…what feelings are. It’s all lust to you. There is no difference.”

A nerve had been hit—she knew without needing to hear him speak. And before she could wallow in regret, the vampire was on his feet, stalking toward her, his eyes raging. “How can you explain me an’ Dru?” he demanded, slamming an angry fist to the wall behind her. “If sex is all we care about, why the bloody hell would I stay with her? Don’ tell me it was ‘cause of deep, philosophical conversations. I’m sane; she’s not. She likes the idea of destroyin’ the world; I don’t. But I would’ve gone through time for her. I could have anyone I—”

“Wow. Ego much?”

There was a beat there when she thought she might have pushed him over the edge. His eyes blazed and his fangs descended. The hatred in his gaze made her inner little girl shrivel up in fear, but somehow—just as rapidly as they’d flared—the sparks of anger began to fade.

What the hell was he trying to prove? Spike wasn’t the type to sit there and his chat his dinner up before sinking his teeth in. However, against all odds, he withdrew and ran a hand through his platinum strands. “Don’ knock what yeh don’ know ‘bout, is all,” he concluded softly.

Why she would continue to patronize him, even she didn’t know. She found it nearly impossible to keep her mouth shut. “You stayed with her because she made you,” she retorted. “That’s what Angel said about him and Darla. About pretty much all vamps and their…makers or whatever.”

Spike stared at her for endless seconds before small, humorless chuckles commanded his body. “Yeh. He would say that.” He turned back to her, and she realized, belatedly how close he was. For the first time next all evening, she felt she saw fully him. “Bet he conveniently left out the part where he followed his dear maker to China where Dru an’ I were havin’ a bloody bloodfest durin’ the Boxer Rebellion. He was gaga over her, sweetheart, even with a soddin’ soul.” Spike laughed again. Coldly. “Bloody tore him apart when she told him to sod off. Couldn’t stand the humanity in him. Then you came along an’ suddenly he’s all heroic…stakin’ the girl that loves him to save the Slayer. Don’ you think he regrets it? Even jus’ a li’l?” When she didn’t answer, the vampire chuckled and turned away again. “Sure made a fuss ‘bout it to me an’ Dru last year. Our ‘happy family’ was missing its matriarch.”

Buffy was silent for a long minute. In all honesty, she’d never given the matter much thought. Angel was not the type to willingly discuss his feelings or past inadequacies. What she knew about Darla was limited to the attack on her mother and that she used to be Angel’s one-and-only. It had shocked the hell out of her when Angel found the courage to end his sire—almost as much, she was sure, as it had shocked him. The look of betrayal as Darla tasted dust had seen to that.

Darla was most assuredly evil. There was no questioning that. Angel had known it as well as anyone, but it had taken him a century to end her.

Buffy shuddered. Doors were opening to a selection of rooms she had never before thought to explore. It was very possible, of course, that Spike was stringing her along to believe more by her own influence rather than confront the issue. However, the art of the mind game was not his forte. If he wanted to hurt her, he would—and not through words.
For the moment, they were merely talking.

“Why?” Buffy found herself asking. “Wait. No—”

He blew out a pillar of smoke and was pensively silent for a long minute. She expected him to mock the inquiry, but he did not. “Why?” he repeated. “Why’d he go back to her, is that it?”

“If he knew what she was…yeah.”

“Well…have you ever been a vamp, pet?”

The question was asked sarcastically but she grinned in spite of herself. “Well…now that you mention it…yes, I have been.”

He arched a brow. “Tryin’ to be serious, here. No need to get cute.”

“One day, two years ago, everyone’s worst nightmares began coming true, courtesy of Lucky Nineteen.” Buffy hissed a sigh. “One of mine…well. I turned into a vamp for about thirty minutes. Longest half hour of my life.”

There was a brief, astonished silence. “You’re not yankin’ me, are you?”

“Do you see a chain around here?”

“Well, don’ know exactly.” She heard him rustle to his feet, sparks flying off the end of his cigarette as he tossed it to the ground and stomped it out. “Din’t give you a full search, luv. Don’ know what sort of goodies you might’ve packed with you.”

“Ass.”

Spike ignored her. “Angelus went after Darla ‘cause she, me, an’ Dru were his only relations. Don' know what I’d do ‘f some nancy tribe of gypsies tried to wire me up. Couldn’t rely on Dru, that’s for bloody sure.” He huffed, and she could tell that he was masking a greater hurt. “She doesn’ like me as it is.”

“Are you looking for sympathy?”

He arched a brow at her. “No. I’d hope you’d know be better than that.” Spike moved suddenly, and, to her utter dismay, slid to the floor beside her. Buffy forced herself to bite her tongue. She knew that he wanted a response, and she wasn’t about to oblige. “So, how’d it feel, Slayer? The bloodlust? That taste of the dark side. Did you enjoy it?”

She shuddered. “It was my worst nightmare. You do the math.”

“Worst nightmare? Those are the best types.” He flashed a condescending grin. “Come on, pet. You don’ expect me to believe that you din’t think, jus’ for a split second that you could get used to the extra strength. ‘Sides, your bein’ vamped would solve Angel’s problem right quick. Wouldn’t be bloody human ‘f you—”

“Don’t tell me what is and isn’t human!” Buffy snapped. “You can’t lecture me on things you know nothing about.”

“Nothin’?” Spike retorted incredulously. “An’ what, you fancy yourself the Mistress of all Humanly Knowledge? I got a lot of years on you, Goldilocks.”

“I’m sure you have a point.”

Perhaps it was the aggravation searing through his tone that made him reach again for cigarettes. Buffy thought it more likely that he was trying to annoy her. “You can’t stand there an’ tell me the thought din’t cross your mind,” he objected, then feigned a gasp of shock. “You mean the Slayer has a naughty side? Well, we already knew that, din’t we?”

“My God! I swear!”

“Yeah, yeah. Swear all you want.” He lit up and she could see him again. Brief, flickering light. His dancing eyes told her that he knew just how much she hated smokers, and just to irritate her, he blew in her direction. “No one can be that pure without wantin’ a taste of life on the wild side.”

“Would you please put that thing out?” she asked, waving at the smoke. “Some of us do have to breathe.”

“Humanly hazard,” he replied, indulging on an extra long drag. “Not like these things’ll kill me. Kinda impossible when you’re already dead. An’ furthermore, why exactly should I care? You’re forgettin’ that I hate you.”

“There are less annoying ways to kill me.”

“Yeh.” Spike grinned tightly. “But you’re so cute when you’re angry.”

“Tick tock,” she retorted. “The more time you waste, the more it buys my strength to return. Then your ass is mine.”

Wrong thing to say around Mr. Everything’s-An-Innuendo, and she realized her mistake a second too late. If possible, the condescending smirk his lips grew even more condescending. “Kitten, all you gotta do is ask.”

This lack-of-strength thing was beginning to really piss her off. Buffy tried to shove him, but he barely budged. There had to be something she could do to wipe that arrogant look off his face.

“So,” he began again, his voice annoyingly conversational. “What else? There’s gotta be somethin’ to do in here to keep us occupied till your Watcher decides to bust you out.”

“I like the idea of you leaving me the hell alone.”

He continued, ignoring her. “Wish I had a deck of cards or somethin’.” They locked eyes again. “Okay, so in the tryin’ to keep from gettin’ too horribly bored…what’s your favorite flick, Slayer?”

“What?”

“Come on. Got any better ideas? Start yappin’ an’ keep my mind off my stomach. I’d rather be hungry an’ busy than full an’ bored. Take your bloody pick.”

A cold, dark air beset her. “I don’t have a favorite.”

“Bollocks. Everyone has a favorite.”

“Do I look like everyone to you?”

“Come on. What else ‘s there to do?”

“I’m not here to humor you.”

“Right. You’re here to feed me. All things considered, I’m lettin’ you off easy.” A sigh sounded through the air as he shook his head. “An’ my tummy’s gonna start makin’ with the rumblies sooner or later. Get to the topic, pet. Favorite flick?”

“I told you,” Buffy retorted with a huff. “I don’t have a favorite.”

“What was the firs’ thing that came to mind, then, ‘f you’re gonna play it that way?”

“Why do you care?”

“Why don’t you? Come on. The longer you yap, the longer you live. ‘Sides, it’ll keep us both from dyin’ of boredom.”

Buffy was quiet for a long minute. In the end, there was nothing to gain from being contrary. “Ferris Bueller, I guess,” she murmured with a long, defeated sigh.

“Hmmm. Really?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “Why?”

“Ferris reminds me of Xander…if Xander were smaller, confident, and popular.” A small grin tickled her lips. “Willow is Cameron. The thought of skipping school is one of the seven deadly sins in the world according to her. But Xander definitely has Ferris potential. He just never lets it out.”

Spike nodded reflectively. “Xander’s the tall, gangly kid, right?”

She frowned in irritation “You kidnapped him and it took you that long to remember who he was?”

“Oi. I was half drunk.” At her pointed look, he shrugged and conceded, “Well, all right. Mostly drunk. Soberin’ up after a bad break split’s not somethin’ to aspire to, Slayer. Don’ s’pose you ever let yourself have a taste of the wild side when you—”

“Shut up.”

“Thought not.” There was a brief silence. “He fancies you, doesn’ he?”

“Who?”

“The boy.”

“Xander?”

“That’s what Angelus said.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you care?”

“Jus’ makin’ conversation. No need for the defensive melodrama.”

That wasn’t what had her concerned. “Angel actually took the time to tell you how much Xander annoyed him even after he lost his soul?”

Spike shot her a surprised look, then chuckled incredulously. “You really have no grasp of jus’ how much you affected that bloke, do you? If he wasn’ tryin’ to find a way to kill you, he was definitely achin’ for another go.”

Something dark shuddered down her spine. “What do you mean?”

“Don’ act so innocent,” he retorted dryly. “Y’know exactly what I mean. Angelus was a bloody prat who cared ‘bout nothin’ outside shaggin’, killin’, an’ playin’ those sodding mind games with his food. Puppies nailed to walls, an’ the like. Nice bedtime stories for the kiddies. Some if the things he did were so…hell, there were times even I thought he crossed the line.”

She arched a brow at him.

“Don’ look so surprised, kitten.”

Disbelieving silence.

He sighed when he saw he wasn’t going to get anywhere with her, playing that hand. “The point is you shouldn’t go all blushing virgin on me. You’re old enough to—”

“You’re telling me that I shouldn’t be disturbed that my boyfriend wanted to rape me?”

Spike sighed in aggravation. He was being uncannily patient—not at all to character. “You’re lookin’ over the big picture. He wanted to kill you more than anythin’. Since when is killin’ you okay an’ wantin’ your pussy so bloody shocking? Creature of the night, an’ what all. Don’ think there’s ever been another of my kind that I hated before him.” There was a brief pause. “An’ strictly speakin’, like I said, sex an’ violence are pretty much one in the same for a lot of demons. For a vamp to make the distinction is a stretch. Angelus knew—yeh—but some of us…well…you get it.”

An arctic breeze commanded her tone, though she didn’t know where to aim it. “Why protect him then? If you hate him so much?”

“I’m not protecting him.” Spike tensed at the suggestion. “More general defense for my kind. Trust me, pet—if you want rid of Peaches, you have my blessin’.”

To that, she had no reply, and silence inevitably set in. And then her mind couldn’t help but wander.

How long would the Council have them wait before checking in? Did they care succeeded? Did they care if she didn’t? If she died, what did that prove?

Her stake was on the other side of the barrier, and odd as it was, she was almost glad. Despite appearances, it was much better being trapped with someone rather than alone. Even if that someone was the bane of her existence.

Better not to let the conversation die. Her options were to keep talking or risk a bored Spike, and a bored Spike meant a murderous Spike. Despite his reasoning, she was continuously amazed that he had refrained from indulging a sweet tooth. Slayer blood was reputed to be the richest in the world, which only served to confuse her more. Spike had talked plenty, sure, and made his fair share of threats. And yet, he hadn’t laid a finger on her—not even when she provoked him.

It was such a far cry from the Spike she’d thought she knew.

“What happens on Saturday?”

“I kill you.”

He wasn’t playing—she knew that because he wasn’t Angelus. That was abundantly clear. Spike wasn’t Angelus. One couldn’t hold a conversation with Angelus—not without a hefty set of bars and plenty vials of holy water standing firm in between.

It was this motivation that prompted her to ask, “What’s your favorite color?”

The vampire’s brows perked with interest. “Huh’s that?”

“You heard me.”

“Oh, so that was you?” That irritating smirk returned. “Jus’ making sure I wasn’ delusional.”

“Good God! Would you save it, already?”

“Well, aren’t fickle tonight?” Spike’s eyes were dancing—not threatened in the least. “What’s my favorite color?” He pretended to consider. “I s’pose it’d be black.”

Buffy made a face, still fidgeting with the need to pound him in the ground and then some. “Black’s not a color.”

“Sure as hell is.”

“It’s a shade, you moron.”

“Watch it, Summers,” he berated mockingly, lighting another cigarette. “You’ll hurt my tender feelings.”

“This is me not caring. Name another color. An actual color.”

“That is an actual color.”

“God!”

“No need for that,” he said glibly, then sighed and leaned back comfortably. “Oh, let’s see. Red. There? That’s a bloody color, right?”

A sigh rolled off her chest. Buffy didn’t realize how angry she had become until she caught herself counting backward from ten. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Why so interested? Gonna buy me a prezzie?”

“A muzzle, if you’re lucky.”

“Throw in a few chains an’ you’ll—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” She huffed indignantly. “Honestly, are you seriously trying to press me?”

“Depends on the context, pet.” Spike took another long drag off his cigarette. “But that’s beside the point. Aside the boy, why’s Ferris Bueller your favorite flick?”

“To shut you up, mostly.”

“You’re breakin’ my dainty heart.” His eyes flickered. “Come on. There’s gotta be a better reason than Stay Puft.”

She was quiet for a long minute. “I guess I like it because it symbolizes everything I could want out of my high school career.”

“How you figure?”

It was so odd to hear sincere interest in his tone. She’d become so accustomed to raw contempt.

“Well…look at him. He fakes illness and has the best day of his life. Of course, by the time I was old enough to…well, let’s just say Mom rarely fell for it.” Buffy laughed humorlessly. “His major concerns are…well…you’ve seen it, right? With an eternity on your hands, I’d be on a non-stop movie-fest.”

That earned a grin. “An’ then some, pet.”

“Well…Ferris embodies everything I can’t have. One good day. A normal family. A world where the number one concern is getting a car instead of fighting demons. And hello to a normal boyfriend.” Spike’s brows perked challengingly. She had spoken before thinking. “Don’t get me wrong. I love Angel. I do. It’s just…”

“He’s not normal.”

“In a nutshell.”

“An’ you want normal?”

“No. Yes. Not exactly.” It was stupid—talking about this. Sharing personal matter with a soulless fiend was never strategically a good move, but he had opened the floodgate. Unwittingly, perhaps, but it was open, and there was no going back. “It’s not just that he’s a vampire. It’s…he’s Angel. He rarely opens up. I know that he…I just get jittery when he’s near.”

He laughed outright. “That’s jus’ bein’ clever, pet.”

The remark earned a glare.

“’m jus’ sayin’,” he continued, “you want it all an’ that’s not somethin’ you’re lookin’ to ever get. Normal Average Joe boy…someone who doesn’t spend more time brooding than he does talkin’ to you.” He shook his head with another chuckle. “That’s what really annoys me ‘bout Peaches. He—”

“You wouldn’t know anything about it,” Buffy snapped. “You’re Mr. ‘I’m Evil Ask Me How.’ Angel can’t see passed what he did because what he did was terrible. You don’t get that. Don’t give me advice or…lectures on things you can’t possibly begin to understand.”

That had undoubtedly struck a nerve. The next thing she knew, Spike had leapt to his feet, and his eyes were blazing. “You wanna play, bitch? Fine then. I’ll play.” He flicked his half-smoked cigarette to the ground and extinguished the bud beneath his boot. Then he was right in front of her. She hadn’t said anything particularly climactic, but a vampire needed no reason beyond hunger to trigger outrage. However, when she waited at his feet, he halted and schooled himself to uncharacteristic restraint. “Here’s what I understand. I know you bloody humans make more with the dramatics of livin’ than you do the actual livin’. Every sodding generation’s the same—an’ all die off before they can warn the next one. I got me forever to learn what this gig’s all about. Don’ fancy ever carin’, of course, but the option’s there. It’s not a problem for me—it’s the saps with consciences. An’ Slayers. I know a bloody lot ‘bout Slayers. You don’t have as much time. You hardly have any time. An’ look at this…you’re gonna waste away what time you got by playin’ mind games with some prat who has forever to brood? This ‘s it, pet. All you’ll ever have.”

With a grunt, she pulled herself to her feet, holding his fiery gaze despite the temptation to look away. Words hurt, yes, but the truth hurt more. It was something her friends were particularly sensitive about—her imminent death. A second time. A final time. There was something to admire in such blatant honesty, even if she resented it.

She would die before admitting it. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

Spike huffed contemptuously and took a boisterous step forward. And again until he was pressing into her, inside her bubble. He didn’t thrust his hips forward—he didn’t need to. And despite the suddenness of it, Buffy wasn’t surprised to feel his hard cock through the thin fabric of her skirt. It didn’t surprise her, and it didn’t disgust her. She wanted it to disgust her. God, she wanted disgust so badly, but it refused to come. After all, he had warned her that members of the demon world did not easily distinguish sex and violence. Something dark shivered up her spine. Was he thinking he’d provide a demonstration? It didn’t seem entirely unlikely—but again, Spike wasn’t one to fuck his food.

If she ever pushed him over that edge…the consequences would be heady indeed.

She didn’t know what he was trying to prove aside reasserting his dominance. Spike wanted her to know that he was in charge. That despite his clemency, he could kill her anytime he wanted. He could do anything to her anytime he wanted. There were no words. No threats. Nothing aside the feel of him against her, his erection pressing into her stomach, his eyes dark with intent.

Forever passed before he moved away. She didn’t know which was worse—the cold body pressed against her or the colder air that struck her when he left. She was ashamed when he left her panting. Without forward indication, something had changed. Something significant.

His back was to her. The dark did little to conceal the trembles seizing his wiry frame. He had felt it, too. Whatever the change was—however great or small. Perhaps they had reached a plateau where anger no longer touched them.

“You back to havin’ a death wish?”

“Go to hell.”

And perhaps not.

Part Five

She liked it better when they were talking. Silence burned—no matter how much he angered her, how irritating his answers and innuendos were, there was something soothing about listening to him speak. And despite any amount of wanting, Buffy knew that it had very little to do with the logic that an occupied Spike was much safer than a hungry-jonesing-for-slayer-blood Spike. That was just an excuse—a front, though the heavens and earth would collapse before she admitted it

“What’s your favorite movie?” Buffy asked, hating the resignation in her tone.

Spike did not turn to face her. “What’s that?”

“You’re favorite movie? You asked me.”

“Din’t know you still fancied chattin’, luv.”

She shrugged. “Might as well.”

He chuckled. “So you’re still in the game, eh, sweets?” He sighed again, sliding to the floor across from her once again. Since his earlier break in temper, he’d returned to his attempts put as much space between them as possible. “Okay. Let’s see. I’ve always fancied some older pictures. An’ Monty Python’s bloody brilliant.”

She made a face. “I hate Monty Python.”

“No. You don’ hate it. No one hates Monty Python. You jus’ don’ get it. There’s a difference.”

“How typical. ‘I hate it.’ ‘No, you just don’t get it.’” She rolled her eyes. “You’re an ass.”

The vampire grinned broadly. “I can’t help it if you don’ get British humor, pet.”

“This isn’t a British thing. It’s a good taste thing.”

“Next time you see your Watcher, ask him if he prefers Gilliam or Palin. Though if he’s a true fan, he won’ have a favorite.”

“Giles doesn’t watch Monty Python.”

“’Course he does.” Buffy’s eyes narrowed. Spike scowled, albeit good-naturedly. “What?” he demanded. “He can summon demons, but not while demandin’ that someone bring out the comfy chair?”

“How did you know about the demon-summoning stuff?”

“How else you figure?” he replied. “Angelus yapped endlessly. Almost as much as you do.”

That should have been obvious. “And you think just because Giles was a ticking time-bomb in his youth that he’d enjoy something like…Monty Python?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Because it’s…Giles!”

“Are you naturally this ignorant?”

Buffy crossed her arms in a huff. “Says you.”

That flash of annoyance she was so accustomed to barely flickered in his eyes. Things were growing oddly comfortable, and she didn’t know if that was a good thing. “Yeh. Says me.” There was a brief pause. “What was the question again, luv? Oh right…favorite flicks. Well, Dru always liked that musical from the 70s. Made me buy the soundtrack an’ all.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. In the hundred and thirty years since his siring, she highly doubted that Spike had lawfully purchased anything. “Buy?”

He caved with an insolent shrug. “Right. I ate the guy workin’ the counter an’ knicked the record. What else do you need to hear?”

“What musical?”

“Not even gonna mention. Took a bloody decade to get those songs outta my head.” He shook his head scornfully. “Let’s jus’ say it was one of the only things out there as wacky as her. That should explain enough.”

“I take it you’re not an Interview With The Vampire kinda guy, are you?”

Spike scowled. “Hell no. Pitt playing a sap who’s bloody Angel all over again? Makin’ with the guilt without a tribe of gypsies to blame it on? What a bloody rip. It’s good for a laugh, an’ all that, but not much else. Truth be told, Slayer, I don’ like many of the monster flicks. None of them even touch on our world. Only one I can think of that deserves even a nod is The Exorcist, an’ that’s only ‘cause it was so funny.”

She couldn’t help herself. “The Exorcist was funny?”

“Hilarious. Though I can see why it’d get you all skittish.”

“I am not skittish.”

“Uh huh. Have you watched it since you became the Chosen One?” His grin broadened when she shook her head. “You must. It’s the funniest film out there. We’ll make a date out of it when we get outta here. What do you say?”

“Maybe when the earth rotates backwards.”

His eyes brightened the challenge, and without realizing it, they had both edged forward. “You mean it, Slayer? ‘Cause I know a fella who knows a demon. I’m sure a li’l rotation wouldn’t be a problem.”

“And the word metaphor suddenly has a brand-spanking new meaning.”

Another long and oddly comfortable silence. She found it strange that she was so calm. After all, the murderer of two slayers sat only a few feet away from her. There simply seemed to be no reason for panic. Spike was equally relaxed, and aside expected threats that surfaced every now and then, had yet to tire of her. She suspected she should be counting her blessings; boredom was a monster he hated above all others. She had known that since their first meeting.

The power inside Sunnydale High fails and two vamps crash through the windows. The night before St. Vigeous. A day early. A day before the promised attack. People scream in hysterical confusion. Then Spike enters, accompanied with a herd of cronies. “What can I say?” he drawls. “I couldn’t wait.”

And thus the reputation of his patience preceded him. She was suddenly lost in another foray of flashbacks.

Willow’s panic. “We can't run, that would be wrong. Could we hide? I mean, if that Spike guy is leading the attack…”

Giles’s cogent patience. “Well, he can't be any worse than any other creature you've faced.”

Angel’s earth-shattering declaration. “He's worse. Once he starts something, he doesn't stop until everything in his path is dead.”

For whatever reason, Spike had stopped now—now when killing her would be the simplest thing in the world. Her mind wanted to rationalize that it was the fight he loved; the fight and everything that came with it, and therefore killing the Slayer without a struggle involved would be tedious.

And yet he had been willing not so long ago. The previous Halloween had transformed her into something even weaker than she currently was. She’d been more than defenseless—she’d been someone else entirely. She’d been trapped in a body that did not recognize her.

He had tried to kill her then. Why were things different now?

It happened fast—everything suddenly became clear. Everything. The clouds parted and she saw things as she hadn’t before. There was one inherent factor: Drusilla. She had been there to fight for—to kill for. Now she was gone. When Buffy last saw Spike, he had been confident that he could win his insane lover’s heart. Not much time had passed, and he was back—without Dru at his side.

What had happened? The need for good scandal surged her veins, but she didn’t want to stir up past uglies.

And since when do we care about the evil thing’s feelings?

“Slayer?”

His voice shook her from her reverie, and she blinked and looked up. His eyes, much like his tone, were soft and conversational. He seemed to warm to her with each passing second, and she knew that had to be just as unsettling for him as it was for her. “Yeah?”

Spike paused, and she got the distinct impression that he wanted to say something profound. Say something that meant something more than the dance they were currently performing around each other. However, the notion faded the next second. Things were irrefutably easier when kept to the easy, known terrain. Buffy knew this as well as anyone.

“What’s your favorite color? An’ if you say pink, I’ll eat your eyes from your sockets.”

The threat was so flippant that she found herself fighting off a laugh. “Don’t have one.”

“You must be the hardest person to shop for in the world.”

“Why do you care?”

“Jus’ askin’. Dru was simple. Get her a few dolls, a severed limb of an ancient demon, an’ maybe a pint full of infant blood an’ she was satisfied.”

“And to that, a major ick.”

“Don’ knock it till you try it.”

“Not planning on trying it anytime soon.”

“Exactly. Don’ knock it, then.” At that, something unnerving jittered through him, seizing his body with the impact of a mini-seizure. “Bloody hell,” he murmured. “Knew I shouldn’t have mentioned food.”

For the first time in nearly an hour, her blood ran cold. “What?”

“Council wankers din’t feed me before…well, they were pretty much countin’ on an all out vamp/slayer bash.”

“And you haven’t…” The implications of his admission had the burden of a thousand cold showers. Whatever companionship she was enjoying flushed to a point of no return. “All right…that’s it. What’s going on?”

Spike glanced up impartially. “What?”

“You weren’t fed…and you’ve been trapped with a weakened slayer for…God knows how long, and you…” For the way he was looking at her, one would assume she had grown another head. “You’re the Big Bad! What the hell are you trying to prove?”

“Are we back to wantin’ a death wish?”

“I want answers, Spike. Now. From everything Angel’s told me about you, from everything Giles has dug up in the library…you have number three sitting right here, and you—”

The vampire’s brow furrowed. “What, Slayer?” he demanded. “You’re complainin’ that I’m not killin’ you? Sounds to me like you’re the one off her bird. I told you, boredom’s not exactly somethin’ I enjoy. Hunger isn’t either, but I can work longer with the second than the first. Rest assured, pet, it’s nothin’ personal. I want to kill you jus’ as dead as you want me.”

“Want you?”

“Dead.”

Buffy bit her tongue sharply, and she saw his eyes flicker and his nostrils flare.

Then he was consumed in mirth.

“Vanity, vanity,” he berated. “’S that it? You’re afraid I fancy you? Or is it the other way around? ‘Cause not that I’m not flattered, but—”

Aggravation rumbled through her throat. “You infuriating prick.”

“Infuriatingly shaggable, you mean?”

“I’ll kill you before I let you touch me.” Shivers crawled across her skin, bunching flesh into tiny goose pimples. Every hair on her arm stood at attention. “Stay away from me.”

“Not exactly an option in here, luv.” He edged forward to annoy her. “’Sides, I’m the one with the brawn, remember?”

“And obviously not the brains.”

Spike scowled. “Watch it, pet.”

“Well, come on—you’ve had the Slayer pinned for what…a really long time. Not only that, but your stomach’s making with the rumblies. And you haven’t even tried? I’m amazed that you have the gall to call Angel housebroken.”

Even as the words left her mouth, she had absolutely no idea why she was talking.

The next thing she knew, Spike had yanked her to her feet and had her pressed into the wall. Her eyes met his strained yellow gaze, his demon ridges melting out the human façade that he wore so well. And suddenly, her body flushed cold with fear. True fear. She hadn’t known she could feel real fear anymore. Not after Angelus.

Spike was proving that she wasn’t as seasoned as she thought.

“All right, kitten,” he snarled, his fangs skimming her throat. “You want the Big Bad? Here he is. The full. Din’t think you’d ever be a willin’ victim—’course I told you that you weren’t the beggin’ kind a long time ago. Never fancied you’d—”

“Oh, shut up!” she cried. “If you’re gonna do it, do it. Don’t talk my head off.”

He growled again. “Right then. Less talk, more feed. You ready, Slayer? Here’s your bloody death wish.”

She had every reason to believe him. He had her against the wall, his hands curled around her upper arms, his chest pressing her breasts, and the undeniable feel of his arousal digging into her stomach. A contended purr rumbled through him, and in a beat, she felt the prickle of fangs at her neck.

Buffy gasped and screwed her eyes shut. Her legs trembled and her body throbbed. And suddenly, she was fighting the incredibly bad impulse to thrust herself against his erection. God, something was seriously wrong with her. This was not a moment to swoon. This was not a moment to wonder how Spike’s mouth would feel against hers, how his cock would feel deep inside her body. He was nuzzling her throat, his fangs pricking at her skin, and there was nothing to suggest this wasn’t the end.

What was he waiting for?

Then it came. His fangs slid across her skin, startling her with his warm sensuality that she barely cared that he had drawn blood. His touch was gentle, nearly caring, and he withdrew from her just seconds after stealing the first taste. Buffy nearly collapsed in need, but he didn’t make another move to take her. Her body was suddenly screaming in protest. It wasn’t over. God, it couldn’t be over. He was going to tear her throat out at any second—she just knew it. This couldn’t be the worst—not when it felt so good.

The worst never came. Instead, Spike snarled and pushed himself away from her, slamming her against the wall. Buffy gasped again as the air was knocked from her, and collapsed into a boneless heap.

God he was furious.

“You bloody bitch!” he screamed. “Bloody rotten bitch! Look what you’ve done to me!”

Buffy blinked and scampered to the nearest corner. “Spike—”

“’S all your fault!” Spike growled, whirling to face her again. “God, I’m gonna kill you. Drink from your bloody brainstem. All this! All your—”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re the bloody reason Dru left me! The reason everythin’ went so fucking bad.” He stopped and laughed bitterly, shaking his head with barely contained fury. “Remind me never to call truce with you again. Why the fuck din’t you beat it over my head that it’s against the rules? Stupid bitch. You should’ve staked me for goin’ so fucking soft. Sod the world. She—”

“I told you as much when—”

“‘All I see is the Slayer,’” he quipped, his voice a derisive falsetto. “‘You’re poisoned with her, Spikey. Can’t see anything else. You hurt my daddy.’” He turned his back to her and started screaming at the opposite wall. “Well, fuck your bloody daddy! I’d’ve killed him a thousand times over for what he did to you!”

“To who?” Buffy squeaked.

“To either of you!” Spike froze in shock, but began pacing again before either of them could dwell on the admission. “None of it meant a lick to him. He played her against me. He played you from every angle from Sunday. But she’d never see it that way. Neither of you would. Nuh uh. To her, it was because of you.” He forced a pained laugh. “Have you ever heard anythin’ more ridiculous? I did it to save you? You?!” His paces were becoming more and more pronounced. “An’ you know what really smarts? What really yanks my chain?” He didn’t even pretend to wait for her reply. “She was right! I have you here, every vamp’s dream, an’ what to I do? Make bleeding conversation! What have you done to me?! What have…” Some semblance of calm began to fight through vibes of searing outrage. And then he stalked toward her again, pulling her to her feet with such ferocity that even he seemed unnerved. “You’re the Slayer,” he said, voice unnaturally soft and angry, his eyes feral. “Things shouldn’t be this buggered up.”

A war of emotions surged within her, each battling for superiority.

“This should be a kick.”

“I violently dislike you.”

“It’s not my fault,” Buffy finally replied, struggling futilely against his hold. “I didn’t trust you. I told you that it was the worst idea ever. You came to me, you arrogant jackass. You wanted my help. It’s not my fault that whatever you did just wasn’t enough for her. I—”

“Shut your gob!”

“Well, it’s the truth!”

“That’s it. Sod all the bloody reservations.” And that was it. She understood. Negotiations were over. Spike growled ferociously and lunged, mouth fastening over the ghost of a bite he’d given her just seconds earlier.

But then it happened—the thing happened. The thing that would change everything. The second her blood touched his tongue, his animosity melted with a moan. His grip on her loosened as lust overpowered outrage, and his fingers began rubbing soothing circles into her sore skin. His vampiric ridges disappeared the next second. And then—oh God—it was all Spike. His lips were on her throat, laving the small wound in her skin, and the hands that held her began to tremble. Buffy gasped and curled her arms around him, barely aware of anything but the feel of his mouth on her, his denim-clad erection thrusting against her pussy. God, she had never been so turned on in her life. He was dry-humping her, his left hand dipping between them to caress her thigh through the thin material of her skirt, and he worshipped her throat with his tongue.

“Oh God,” she moaned, her head falling back. “Oh my God.”

“Buffy…”

She didn’t know who sounded more surprised. The world came rushing back the next instant, she collapsed with realization. Her body was on fire. Her heart was hammering. Every inch of her trembled and ached. She was wet for him. God, she was wet for Spike. Spike, who was panting and looking at her like she was the hybrid of Heaven and Hell. Lust burned his eyes and blood was on his lips. Her blood. And she’d let it happen. She’d let it happen with a vampire. A vampire that was not Angel. A vampire without a soul.

“This is wrong,” she heard him say.

That was the understatement of the year.

Something resembling resentment seared her veins, and Buffy pounced before it abandoned her. “Really?” she spat, hand going to her neck. “What the hell are you thinking?”

His back was to her. He didn’t even bother playing dumb. If the hostility in her voice affected him, he did not show it. And even through the darkness, she could see him quivering. “I don’ know,” he replied uneasily. “God, Slayer…I…Bloody Dru. It’s all her fault. Her fuckin’ fault. Got this idea in my head that won’ go away. I came here to kill you, kitten. To prove to her that…that you…you’re just a girl.”

She balked. “Just a girl?”

“No.” Spike’s voice hardened. “No. Not jus’ a girl. You’re the Slayer.” He whirled around to face her again, his eyes blazing with familiar outrage. Good. Outrage was good. Buffy knew outrage. She knew how to react to outrage. Kissing and groping and dry-humping—yeah, those were things she wasn’t so good at. “You’re the fucking Slayer, for Chrissake! It’s wrong. Don’ you think I know that? An’ if she hadn’t opened her big trap…”

Buffy’s blood ran cold at the unspoken implications. “What are you saying?”

“’m sayin’ I killed that bloody Kralik fellow so I could have a go at you, myself. Give Dru your head on a stick. Prove that you mean nothing to me.” Another growl tore from his throat. “Bloody hell, what’s wrong with me? I’ve killed me two slayers, an’ I enjoyed the hell out of it. Why are you so sodding different? What makes you so special? Why can’t…why do you torture me?”

Buffy couldn’t think—couldn’t move—couldn’t breathe. What he was saying was beyond impossible—and what’s more, he knew it. He knew it.

“Because you’re screwed up!” she screamed.

And you enjoyed it. What does that make you?

He chuckled bitterly. “Understatement of the bloody year.”

“Stay away from me.”

“Gladly.”

Empty minutes filled awkward silence. There was nothing to say. Astounded neutrality settled where words could not exist. The impression of his lips against her skin blazed with sizzling warmth, but she ignored it. She had to ignore it—had to rid herself of such aberrant evils. She would not allow him to poison her heart.

However, the rage she craved was out of reach. Spike looked just as shaken—his eyes screaming with disturbed confusion.

“It’s wrong,” he said again, though she got the impression that he wasn’t speaking to her.

There was no time to mourn the loss of silence. “You’re damn right it is,” Buffy spat without thought.

“Bloody Dru.”

“You can’t blame that on Drusilla. She didn’t make you—”

“No?”

Buffy shook her head. “She planted the idea. It wasn’t her fault that you decided to act on it.

“This wasn’ my…I din’t mean for that to happen.” When she didn’t answer immediately, he looked at her pointedly. “It’s not like I’m enjoyin’ this, pet. It was wrong enough when Peaches…when he…”

Another silence settled over them. Somewhere, Buffy knew that she should have felt safer now; she knew that he wasn’t going to kill her. That he couldn’t kill her because of this…whatever it was. Had his admission made things better or worse? There was no telling. She didn’t know where the line resided.

Finally, Spike huffed out a sigh and reached for his cigarettes. “I’m sorry,” he said shortly.

Buffy licked her lips and hugged her knees to her chest.

Her feelings were best left to silence.

Part Six

There were times when quiet killed. Buffy had thought things would be better if Spike stopped talking, but she was incredibly wrong. After just a few minutes of his eyes watching her heatedly, she found herself fidgety and self-conscious.

Spike finally sighed his resignation. “So…” he said slowly. “How’s Joyce?”

Logic told her not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Her mouth, unfortunately, didn’t get the memo. “You don’t get to do that.”

“Do what?”

“What you did to me…just a few minutes ago…and then ask about my family as if you care.”

The vampire huffed indignantly, and she saw frustration flash behind his confused eyes. Funny how his gaze could reflect and he could not. It wasn’t fair; Angel had never revealed as much in all the time she had known him—much less delivered such a colorful statement through a single look.

“It’s not all about you, princess. I like your mum. She’s got spunk.”

“Yeah. And you’d kill her the minute you got the chance.”

He arched a cool brow. “I’ve had the chance. Remember? If I wanted that, she’d’ve been dead a long time ago.” Spike shook his head. “You never locked me out.”

“Something I intend to fix as soon as I get out of here.”

“That was Dru’s first clue,” he continued, speaking as though she had not. “I have an invite to your place an’ haven’t offed the lot of you. Din’t even touch your mum. Dru can’t understand things like that. There are very few humans that I like, an’ your mum happens to be one of them. Dru can’t handle that.”

“She shouldn’t. It’s not natural.”

Spike ignored her. “I don’ get it. I’m the Big Bad. I’ve done things…an’ she said I wasn’ demon enough for her. Jus’ because I helped you save the world.”

Buffy was not impressed. “And killing two slayers doesn’t make you monstrous enough for her? Is it because she took out Kendra in the process? Killing everybody you’ve—”

“I can’t help that,” he retorted pointedly. “Don’ feel rotten about it, either—killin’ the slayers, that is. Best nights of my unlife—I’d give anythin’ to do them over again. Add in a few moves an’ spunk that I could brag about now.”

She shivered in disgust. “More than you already do?”

“Hell yeah. An’ once I get outta here, I’ll go find someone to eat right quick. That’s what I do.” Spike scorned disdainfully. “’S what I’m s’posed to do.”

“And I’m supposed to kill you.”

“Not if I kill you first.”

“Been there. Tried that.”

He grinned. “Tables turn when you’re defendin’ your own hide.” A pause. “You gonna sick Peaches on me for what I did? For takin’ a li’l taste of what’s his? ‘You messed with my girl’ kinda thing?”

“I don’t hide behind my boyfriend.”

“You’ll do it yourself, then. Is that right?”

Buffy nodded blankly. “That’s right.”

“Jus’ like that?”

“Just like that.”

That was a bluff if she’d ever heard one. She couldn’t kill him now—not without a reason. She’d granted all past sins clemency in the face of unspeakable confusion, and now, she was at a loss. He’d changed. Against all odds, all logic, all want of anything, Spike had changed. He’d changed on his own.

Whatever Dru had said…

The thoughts complied into dark, looming clouds. Buffy coiled in self-disgust.

“How’s your mum dealin’ with the slayin’ an’—”

“Stop talking about my mother!” She wobbled to her feet and stumbled wearily against the wall. “I don’t care what Dru told you. What you allowed yourself to believe. You’re a vampire, Spike. An evil, disgusting vampire. We’re not friends. We don’t chat and ask about each other’s lives. I don’t give a damn why your psychotic girlfriend left you! That is not my problem. My only problem right now is…well, let’s just say I’m looking at him.” Her lip wobbled at the stricken look in his eyes, but she didn’t let herself falter. Not giving into him. Not giving in. “Just leave me alone.”

Spike bounded to his feet, sheer malice sparkling behind his eyes. “Right, Slayer. No need to say more. If you want the Big Bad, that’s what you’ll bloody get.”

“I want you to snap out of it.”

“You think this is any fun for me?” he barked. “’m s’posed to kill you. It shouldn’t take so fucking much to kill you. Can’t do it, though. I can’t do it. I want it. God, I want it. I want you outta my fuckin’ head. I oughta rip your head right off your neck an’ be done with it for what you’ve done to me.” He chuckled bitterly. “Seems so simple.” A pause. “You know…I can always have it both ways.” She shuddered as he stepped forward. “Make all your achies go away. I’ll drain you dry, Slayer. Then I’ll make you like me.”

She shivered. The words were empty, of course. Even Spike knew better.

A positively wicked smile broke across his face. “Don’ get your knickers in a twist. I’m jus’ teasin’.”

“Don’t even begin to play that game with me.”

“I wouldn’t want you all fangy, luv. You’re enough of a bitch as it is. Besides…you couldn’t handle that much power.”

A string of inbuilt defense coursed through her. The reaction was natural; unstoppable in every facet of her restraint. “Yes I could!”

Spike smiled but didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to; the look on his face got the point across better than words could have hoped.

Buffy flushed darkly. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’. An’ that’s the problem, innit?”

“Get over yourself.”

“I will when you do.”

“I swear…” She shook her head. “When we get out of here, the first thing I’m gonna do is—”

“Take a cold shower?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Yeh.” He was simply patronizing her now, and enjoying every minute of it. “You, too.”

Buffy was too angry to form words. Too upset and confused to see where the line ended, or where it had been crossed. He had retreated into himself again—hiding every emotion from exploitation. Concealing himself for the sake of his own naked vulnerability. It was a side of Spike she didn’t know existed. He was so different from every vampire she had fought in the past.

She knew that, of course. Angel had told her that.

Angel. Buffy attempted failingly to focus. Her mind couldn’t form his face through the dark, and she caved, sinking to the floor again on a note of desperation. Her nerves began to calm. If he would not kill her, if he would not be the demon she knew he was, she had to pass time somehow.

“How long have we been here?” she asked.

Spike arched a brow. “Thought you wanted me to leave you alone.”

“I do.”

“Then—”

“After we get out of here…I want you to leave me alone after we get out of here.” Buffy sighed. “After we get out of here, I want you to leave town and never come back. Never. You got me?”

Spike’s eyes darkened. “Yeh, kitten. I got you real good.”

“Good. Then we understand each other.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He paused. “You understand what you want to.”

“As opposed to you. You see what you want to.”

“Right now I see a bitch with her head so far up her arse that she doesn’ get the big picture.”

“What? That you’re God’s gift? That you’re a demon who has tried to kill me, my friends, and Angel more times than—”

“We’ve both had our outs with Peaches, luv,” Spike retorted icily. “An’ yeah. I have wanted you dead. Still do. Can’t stand the bloody sight of you.”

“Then what?”

“I told you, it’s Dru.” With a growl, Spike pushed himself to his feet and began pacing again. He would walk himself into a trench one day if wasn’t careful. “She has visions—right. Visions about things to come. She knows me better than anyone. An’ if she says…God no. It can’t be that. I came here to prove it. I—”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “And yet, all you do is annoy.”

“Why can’t I kill you?” he screamed, attacking the quiet with such ferocity that it sent shivers down her spine and she nearly clawed up the wall for support. It had been a long while since Spike frightened her; perhaps making jokes at his expense wasn’t the best plan. “I know I want to. I feel it, Slayer. I feel…I need blood. I’m starvin’ half to death…more to death…an’ you’re right there. Can’t eat. Can’t feed. Can’t kill you, an’ I don’ know why. I’m a vampire, luv. I’m a vampire, you’re the Chosen bird. Vampires kill the Chosen bird…that’s what we do.” He stomped toward her with intent, his bumpies bursting through his human mask, and his fangs leering provocatively.

Buffy was on her feet the next instant, but there was nowhere to run. He had her trapped in the corner, and even if he didn’t, there was nowhere to run.

“So what makes you so special?” he demanded, his eyes sizing her up. “William the Bloody here. I’ve never shown anyone a lick of mercy. So tell me why I can’t kill you. No reason. Nothin’ holdin’ me back. I’m in a room alone with the Slayer an’ I…”

The harshness of any vampire while in game face was something she had never before appreciated—not like she should have, at least. Angel’s demonic countenance was something that he had a habit of hiding. He vamped very infrequently, even as Angelus. Spike, on the other hand, had hidden his human face from her for a long while, save the night of their first meeting. She hadn’t seen him sans fangs until the night he changed her life. Until the night he came to her for help.

The night he’d gone against everything a demon was supposed to symbolize.

“We like to talk big, vampires do. ‘I’m going to destroy the world.’ It’s jus’ tough guy talk.”

He had her pushed against the wall the next second, and she felt it again. The shimmer of forbidden excitement that rushed through her blood, coupled with the sudden, unwanted pool of wetness between her thighs. He was gasping against her, and—oh god—she felt it again. Spike’s hard, denim-clad cock probed her mercilessly, thrusting against her pussy and driving her crazy with unwanted arousal. His was panting now, breathing hard against her lips, his eyes wide with confusion.

This was something she’d only shared with Angel while copping feels during routine patrols—then, and that one night where everything had changed. She had it again, but the vampire against her was not Angel. The vampire was a slayer of her kind; one that had killed and would kill again; one that wanted her. Now. Here. She felt it. He wanted her, and there wasn’t a soul to blame it on. He wanted her.

The anger in Spike’s eyes slowly drained, though he refused to slip from game face. He was studying her curiously—the look in his eyes told her that he was fully aware that she was wet and aching with need, and where she expected him to mock her, he did not. As if wanting the enemy was the most natural and just thing in the world. “There’s no such thing as havin’ it both ways,” he said huskily at her ear, the impassioned growl that tagged his words making her knees weak. “Either you’re…food…or you’re…” He thrust his hips forward, earning a strangled moan. “Right then, Slayer. If it’s one or the other… You’re the girl; I’m the one who’s s’posed to deal with it. Here it goes.”

There was a flash of fangs, and that was all she cared to see. Buffy’s eyes snapped shut and her hands instinctually shot to his forearms. Something pierced her neck and all inner fortitude collapsed. Nothing climactic or foreseen; the will to battle simply left her. It was futile; struggling against him or denying what she wanted. What she really, really wanted.

It was bad. It was disturbing. It was unnatural.

Hell, it’s my birthday.

Was that even a reason? Did it matter anymore?

She cried out in surrender and threw her arms around his neck, tugging him into her and thrusting herself wantonly against his erection. That was it. She felt it. He felt it. He moaned almost helplessly, and the fangs vanished into a series of wet, needy kisses. His lips were soft and nearly affectionate against her skin and some hidden part of her swelled with warmth. It was a loving sense of being unloved. Desire in its rawest form.

“Fuck,” Spike moaned, peppering her bloodied throat with kisses. “Fuck, Buffy. What are you doing to me? What have you done to me?”

Angel, rationality screamed. You can’t do this to him.

He pulled back, his eyes wide and vulnerable. He growled at her lips as his hands tugged at her legs until she wrapped them around his waist. “Ohh, fuck, kitten,” he purred, cupping her cheek. “This is gonna be a tight ride.”

Then—oh God—he swallowed her in his kiss, and the last symptom of resistance abandoned her wholly. Whatever hell she put herself through in days to come was worth his kiss. His kiss was so singular to anything she’d ever experienced—he melted savagery with yearning, desire with anger, and tenderness with cruelty.

Her time with Angel had been slow and exploratory. Not once had he been brutal or savage. Truly, the only time she could remember Angel getting forceful with her was during their first kiss—the one that had caused him to vamp uncontrollably. The night he’d taken her virginity, he’d been careful and tempered, not once letting his demon loose even if she knew he was dancing a fine line with his control. It was one of the reasons he had originally insisted that there could be nothing beyond friendship between them.

True, it wasn’t until he lost his soul that she truly saw him as the vampire he was. Her love for him had clouded her judgment in every feasible fashion. And she’d learned her lesson. Oh, how she’d learned her lesson. Not once since his return from hell had she allowed herself to be caught so thoroughly off guard.

Spike was entirely different, and it didn’t take knowing him to know that. He was able to pour outrage and compassion into his kiss without breaking her. He thrust himself against hers furiously, as though trying to shove her through the wall. He was angry. He was impassioned. He was beyond mystified. He wanted to vent that rage and she was the nearest target.

She was the nearest target, and she was all his.

“Slayer,” he moaned, wrapping an arm around her waist as his other hand pulled at the hem of her dress. The next thing she knew, the fabric was bunched around her hips, and his fingers were outlining her pussy through the thin, drenched cotton of her underwear. “Mmm…you’re so wet for me.”

“Who says it’s for you?” she gasped, bucking against him involuntarily.

Spike’s teeth found her earlobe and tugged, his fingers slipping under the crotch of her panties and rubbing her sopping folds. “Oh, baby,” he growled. “I think it’s for me.”

There were no words. None at all. God, no one had prepared her for this. Angel had been very ‘hands-off’ during their time together. He’d asked without searching, knowing that she was untouched, and that the wrong move could send her screaming. He hadn’t wanted to frighten her by pawing over her every three seconds.

At the time, it seemed considerate. Now, she just felt robbed.

Spike had no reservations. He knew this was only her second shot at intimacy, and he didn’t care. He didn’t care that their past had known nothing but bloodlust. He was not overtly tender, though, and she didn’t want tender. Tenderness suggested something beyond the rawness of lust. Tenderness suggested genuine affection, and that was something he could not possibly possess. Not for her, at the very least.

And I’m here why?

“You’re here ‘cause curiosity killed the Slayer,” he purred, his fingers finding her clit. “’Cause you knew I’d be here.”

Was that even remotely possible?

“No,” she protested weakly, thrusting against his sinful touch. Her own hand remembered itself after a few mindless seconds and began tugging at the clasp of his jeans, finally freeing his hard length with a shared groan.

“Unh,” Buffy whimpered, her fingers curling around his cock. Angel hadn’t let her touch him. Another step taken to keep her from running away, she guessed. Now she was holding Spike intimately, and damn if anything had ever felt so right. “Oh God.”

“Oh, fuck me, baby,” Spike moaned, making her blood hot. “Squeeze me jus’ like that.” His attentiveness intensified, his mouth dropping to her throat again and sucking hard as he pushed her violently against the cold steel of the partition. The growls he released were deep and possessive. She was not his, he knew, but for the moment she might as well have been.

“You like that?” he growled, thrusting into her hand. “You like feelin’ me stroke your clit?”

“Ohhh…”

“Such a hot li’l hand.”

Her heart was pounding so hard, she was sure it would break her chest. Buffy threw her head back with another long groan, and Spike seized the advantage. The dress was suddenly gone, whipped over her head, and except for her undergarments, she was naked in his arms.

“You’re so warm,” he murmured.

She said nothing, squeezing his cock again instead.

“Mmmm,” he purred. “Keep doin’ that an’ you’ll find a mess on your hands.”

“No need to be crude,” she replied.

He grinned, arched a brow, and pinched her clit. “Come on, Slayer,” he rasped. “I wanna hear you scream.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Want me to tug at it with my teeth? I’ll do it. You know I will.”

Small shivers exploded through her body at the thought, and for long seconds, she couldn’t form words. Her grip around his cock tightened again, distracting her with the catlike coo of pleasure that hissed through his lips. He was losing and she knew it. The dick always controlled people like Spike; it just took the right pair of hands.

But he surprised her the next second when his fingers suddenly abandoned her, leaving her aching and unsatisfied. Her clit throbbed. Her pussy ached. And he just grinned at her.

“You bastard,” she growled. “You wouldn’t.”

“I wanna hear you scream for me.”

“Learn to live with disappointment.”

Her brow furrowed and she flexed to release her hold in challenge, but found herself squeezing him tighter instead. Spike chuckled with another coo of delight. “Yeh, baby,” he drawled. “Do it again.”

“You asshole.”

“Want more, you gotta scream.” He gave her clit a good tap. “Tell me who you’re with, Slayer. I’m not him. Got that? I’m not him.”

“Yeah, I can tell. He would have satisfied me by now.”

God, that was such a lie, but it worked. Spike growled angrily and the next thing she knew, her back was pressed to the floor, his mouth tearing at her laced breasts. His duster suddenly flew across the room, and before she realized what she was doing, her hands were dragging his t-shirt over his head, watching heatedly as she shoved his jeans to mid thigh.

“Lose your knickers,” he snapped. Buffy drew in a breath and complied quickly. She was too turned on to argue.

Then he was poised above her, the head of his cock dancing over her wet flesh, sliding between her pussy lips only to withdraw again. It was enough to drive any sane person mad, and for a crazy instant, she felt she could finally relate to Dru. He palmed her breasts with near reverence, finally ripping off her bra and tossing the offending garment somewhere behind him.

“Now, luv,” he rasped gutturally. “You ready to scream?”

She sounded more certain than she felt. “Not on your life.”

“Not a problem.”

Then he plunged inside her, and the world was made new.

“Oh my God,” Spike gasped, tossing his head back, his eyes shining with something she hadn’t seen before. He glanced down at her and grinned. “Hold on tight, darling. This is gonna be a wild ride.”

Buffy barely had time to gasp. The next thing she knew, he had withdrawn from her body almost fully, then slammed inside her again. She felt torn, but pleasure beat out pain. The memories of her one night with Angel suddenly floundered—shades of a bad memory made beautiful again by the man above her.

She blinked away tears and dug her nails into his forearms. “Ohhh.”

“Such a tight li’l quim,” he gasped, slip and slide of his cock from her body driving her steadily out of her mind. “Fuck, baby.”

She didn’t want him to see how much she was enjoying this—God, she was making herself sick with how much she was enjoying this. Her mind was a war of logic and need. “Guh.”

“You’re so warm an’ tight.”

“Shut up.”

Spike’s beautiful face melted into a scowl, his thrusts becoming hard and violent. She squeaked inelegantly, throwing her head back with a throaty moan. “Oh, God,” she whimpered.

“You’re with me now,” he snarled, nipping at her throat as he bruised her with force. “You’re with me, Slayer.”

“Ohhh, God!”

“Say it!”

His cock was striking some bundle of nerves deep within her that she hadn’t known existed, ripping harsh cries from her lips and sending shock waves of absolute euphoria through her body.

Buffy’s eyes fluttered shut. She was torn somewhere between heaven and hell. “Unh…”

“Say it, Slayer!” Spike growled, his hand slipping between their bodies to capture her clit. “Tell me who you’re with.”

“Screw you.”

That might have sounded a tad more convincing had it not ridden out on a moan.

He was stroking her clit furiously, his other hand at her throat as his hips pounded her into the ground. The air tasted raw and heavy. She was barely aware of her answering thrusts—of the need that coursed through her blood and drove her aching body to recapture him every time he pulled away from her. Then his fangs flashed and dove, piercing her breast and searing her with a blindingly hard stab of pain.

She screamed and bucked. He grunted and feasted. Then the pain dwindled, and her body lit with pleasure. Pleasure that melted into panic before drowning in ecstasy once more.

I can’t be enjoying this.

Spike finally glanced up and slipped his fangs out of her, licking his blood-smeared lips with a predatory grin. The hard smack of their bodies bounced mockingly off the walls. His was still stroking her clit, still determined, it seemed, to both bruise her and make her sing to the stars. Their battle had taken form of an age-old dance, and they were determined to give each other fresh scars.

“Say it,” he snarled again. “Goddammit, Slayer, say it!”

Defiance charged her veins. “No,” she spat, scissoring her legs around his waist. There was a sudden surge of strength, and the next thing she knew, she flipped him over, his erection stabbing deeper into her body and prompting a long hiss through her teeth. Spike’s angry growls melted into a whimper at that, his hands immediately finding her hips.

“Oh, Buffy…”

He sounded reverent, and the notion chilled her. Spike wasn’t supposed to moan at her like that.

“Shut up,” she spat again, pressing her palms to his chest as she bounced on his cock.

Hurt flashed across his face, and she chose to ignore it.

“Buffy—”

“Shut up.”

His fingers dug into her hips. “Fuck you,” he growled, thrusting up hard. “You’re with me, Slayer. I’m right here.”

“You—”

“You’re with me, an’ you’re gonna gimme a scream.” Then he surprised her; he cupped her cheek tenderly, his other hand roaming over her bloodied breasts, down her slippery abdomen before settling over her pussy again, nimble fingers massaging her clit with something akin to affection. “You’re with me, Buffy. You’re with me.”

She sobered, tears stinging her eyes again. “Ohh…”

“It’s all right. You’re with me. I’ve got you.”

“Spike…”

“Scream for me. I wanna hear you scream when you come.” His head fell against the floor, thrusting upward. “Wanna hear you scream when you drench my cock.”

She shook her head. “I can’t,” she rasped desperately.

If she gave him everything he wanted, there would be nothing left of herself.

“Yes, you can. It’s all right to like this, sweetheart.”

“What did you call me?”

Spike bit his lip and closed his eyes, driving his hips forward madly. “Nothin’.”

“No, I think it was something.”

The vampire arched a brow at her suggestively. “Can’t remember. Guess you’ll jus’ have to pump it outta me.”

The last thing she wanted to do was comply, but her body ached with lasting need. Buffy pressed her hands against his chest again, bucking her hips once before she began to ride him in earnest. Her ass slapped against his balls with every bounce. He remained focused on her sensitive pearl, stroking her fiercely now, and the sensation of his calloused fingers struggling to keep up with her wild gallop did little more than send her further into the fire.

“God, Slayer…” he moaned. “What are you doing to me?”

“Pumping it out of you.”

“Okay, sweetheart.” He grinned. “But you’re still gonna scream.”

“You first.”

“Don’ think so.” Then he surprised her, sitting up and sliding her down so that she was in his lap. His fangs descended again, and before she could scream her protest, he sank his incisors into her waiting throat.

She trembled around his cock as her body exploded into orgasm, and his name tumbled from her lips in a deafening scream. He muffled his triumphant roar into her bloodied flesh, the vibrations rocking her insides until he finally pulled away from her neck. Watching ruby drops of liquid dribble down his chin sweetened the climax all the more, and as he spilled himself inside her, she collapsed against him.

The room was alight with color. Her ears were ringing, and Spike was tugging at her ear with his teeth.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied sleepily, and then slumped against him, completely sated.

Part Seven

He was licking the dried blood off her breast, a contented purr rumbling through his throat, his hips rocking rhythmically against hers. It took a few minutes for light to pierce the fog swimming around her head. She felt his cock hardening within her, felt her body’s treacherous reaction as fire lit her veins.

God, he couldn’t be doing this to her again.

“I could stay in your quim forever,” Spike sighed, his lips and tongue tenderly caring to the wounds his fangs had inflicted. “You’re so tight, baby. Feel so fucking wonderful.”

Buffy tried hard to repress the shiver that his words inspired, but she couldn’t. It was all so new. She hadn’t had The Talk following her night with Angel; he’d assumed her too shaken and too overwhelmed to discuss what they’d done, so they’d fallen asleep. When she awoke, he was gone, and they hadn’t mentioned that night once since his return from Hell.

“Mmm…” He flashed her a wicked grin, his fingers slipping between them again. Her clit was throbbing, and she jumped a bit when he began to massage her again. “Buffy…”

Her heart pounded. The sound of her name on his lips like that as his cock slid in and out of her pussy was perhaps the most erotic thing she’d ever heard.

“Ohhh…”

“That feel good, kitten?” His mouth fell to her neck, suckling eagerly at her skin. “Come for me. Wanna feel you come again.”

The words were ultimately what sent her over the edge—the words wrapped around the rough arousal in his voice. Buffy threw her head back, choking a pleasured sob as her body spasmed violently around his. She felt him jerk against her, his arms crushing her to his chest as he roared into climax.

Every nerve in her body was alive. Buffy didn’t realize how hard she was trembling until she felt his lips against her shoulder, and the unexpected tenderness of his kiss served as the proverbial bucket of ice water. Slowly, timidly, she willed herself to meet his eyes, and was stunned with what she saw.

He wasn’t smirking arrogantly or waggling his brows to further her humiliation. Instead, his eyes were awash with astonishment. Buffy heaved for air as though drowning. She couldn’t breathe enough.

“Let me go,” she said suddenly, wiggling on his lap and earning little more than a long, strangled moan. “Let me go! Spike, damn you!”

Suddenly his cock slipped out of her, and she was left, her mind panicked but her body pliant with the orgasms he’d given her. She didn’t pause to think—rather, scurried across the small room to her corner, pressing her sweat-laced back to the steel perdition with a long, trembling sigh.

There were no words. She was too embarrassed to speak.

Though hardly any time had passed, it had taken longer than she thought. The first waves of unspeakable remorse. The knowledge that she had betrayed everything she stood for. The look on Angel’s face when he found out what she…

Spike rustled from where she left him, readjusting his jeans without muttering a word. He looked wounded, abandoned, but didn’t make a move to follow her; instead, he edged to the opposite wall, finding her dress and sliding it to her without a word.

Buffy bit her lip and closed her fingers around the fabric. She met his eyes cautiously and sighed.

“Go on,” he said, his tone clipped. “Get dressed.”

She was shakin