The silence between them would strangle a lesser man. Thankfully, he wasn't the sort of bloke who depended on air.

So why was his throat so damnably tight? Why did his lungs ache with the need to breathe? His skin burned from where he’d held her. From the molten heat at her crotch to the ample softness of her breasts, the silky perfection of her mouth…it was too much for one vamp to handle. Too much for one with no moral ties to keep him grounded—none but the want of Buffy.

She was doing her best not to look him in the eye. Doing her best not to look at him at all.

Spike’s jaw clenched. Perfect.

Bloody perfect.

Still, there was no way he was about to stand for silence. Not with everything that had already transpired between them, and especially not through dinner. From the way she was dressed Spike guessed their chosen locale to be somewhat formal—either that or she just wanted to impress him. Not that she was dressed to the nines, though he supposed he would have thought so no matter what she wore. Her hair was pulled back elegantly into a braid she'd hastily slapped together in the aftermath of their snogging session, and though stray strands of blonde had eluded or escaped her rapid hands, there was nothing sloppy about the way she'd fashioned herself. Likewise, the red blouse she'd pulled over her luscious body accented her soft, pink lips in a way that made his insides twist. Her black slacks cut off at the heel of her practical shoes—strappy things made to seduce. Made to slay. Perhaps it was why she'd chosen them. Her life had to double on all fronts. Gone were the mini-skirts of her youth; the outfits so revealing he'd often execute certain attacks only to receive one of those high-kicks which always betrayed her knickers.

She looked glorious. So glorious.

So distant.

“This place far from here?” Spike asked, then immediately kicked himself. Fuck. He'd sworn he wouldn't be the one to break the silence.

Buffy nodded. “Yeah,” she replied, her voice strained. “Ummm…we could walk if you'd rather…”

Walk? And drag out the tortuous silence? No thanks.

“Car's easier.”

She hummed in agreement and bolted for the passenger side of his beloved Desoto.

Right. This was going to be a fun night. Spike heaved a sigh and ducked behind the wheel. The burn to touch her wasn't getting any better. If anything, the closed confines of his vehicle only worsened the brewing sickness in his stomach. But he'd survive. He would. If she wanted him, she'd have to be the one to say something. He'd made it bloody clear how he felt—well, not the part where he was hers for eternity if she'd let him, but under the circumstances that was a matter of preserving what little pride he'd managed to not toss in the gutter. She knew enough; she knew he was hers if she wanted him.

He just wished he could tell the burn the same. It was bloody unbearable.

“Go out the front drive,” Buffy said softly. Did the stupid chit not realize how fucking sultry she sounded? Was she doing it on purpose?

It’d be like her to torment him just for kicks. She’d relish the sting.

No. The rational man inside waved a red flag. He was just irritated and suffering from the biggest case of blue balls he'd known in his life. He was also mad in love with his enemy, which could throw a wrench into anyone’s day. And the need to touch her blazed through him with all the fire of the devil's whimsy.

“Up Rankin,” she instructed, staring dead ahead as he maneuvered the away from Oak Hill. “I walked it earlier today…Jefferson's a one-way street, so we'll have to park and walk up a block or so.”

The Desoto rolled to a stop at Union. And then, for no reason he could pinpoint, the wheels aimed themselves right and took off before he could register he'd made a wrong turn.

What the bugger? Spike’s eyes went wide and his hands clenched hard around the wheel. “Fuck me.”

Buffy sat up sharply. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“What the crap, Spike?”

There was a Chevron station and a left turn ahead—one he very much intended to take. One his hands firmly ignored and his lead-heavy foot promptly scoffed at, zooming ahead with steadily-increasing momentum. The burn itching his insides exploded to full strength, and realization collided with sensation.

The burn hadn’t been a response to Buffy.

It had been the call of the Reaper.

He was such a dolt. Such a thickheaded wanker. How he’d meshed Buffy-lust for his demon’s insane desire to be a part of some wretched monster collection was beyond him, but with his eyes open everything became unmistakably clear. He remembered this feeling well—the confused tug propelling him from New Orleans to this hole-in-the-wall of a town. The blind need which had brought him here.

“Might wanna buckle up, sweetheart.”

No need to make the suggestion. Buffy had edged as far back into her seat as physics allowed. “Where are we going?”

“No idea.”

Her voice hit a shrill. Understandable, under the circumstances. “What do you mean?”

“Remember how I got here?” Spike tossed her a glance, nodding when her eyes went wide. “Yeah. Reaper’s on the move, an’ I’m behind the wheel. Not stopping till he stops, I’d wager.”

A beat. “I left all my stuff at Oak Hill.”

Spike slammed the breaks before he crashed into a semi. Bugger. He hoped the demon didn’t get so antsy it ignored traffic rules. Not that he was particularly partial to them himself, but the Slayer was soft and breakable…though perhaps not as breakable as other creatures possessing heartbeats, but he wanted her very much the way she was. “Your stuff’ll be there when we get back,” he told her.

“The last time you hopped in the car and drove after the Reaper, you ended up in a different state.”

Oh. Right.

“If we wind up in Missouri, I’ll buy you a new wardrobe.” He paused. “Well, knick you a new wardrobe.”

“Spike!”

The Desoto veered left without warning, speeding toward the highway. “Looks like we’re heading out on the road.” He flashed her a quick grin. “Hope you weren’t too hungry, kitten. Looks like we’re gonna miss that reservation.”

Buffy shrank further into her seat and crossed her arms, and things grew quiet again. In easy seconds they were cruising down I-60 South, making a smooth beeline for Louisiana. And though he was mildly irritated at the Reaper’s intrusion, a very real part of Spike couldn’t help but be grateful at the distraction. Tension between them remained palpable but, in some small way, conquered. Thus as his black beauty cranked up to seventy-five, whined and fell back to sixty, Spike didn’t let the silence bother him. He wouldn’t. If Buffy wanted to address him, she would. She could say whatever her pretty little heart desired.

Didn’t necessarily mean he had to listen.

Didn’t necessarily mean anything. He was his own free vamp in the world and he didn’t owe her any favors.

“I’m sorry.”

It took him a few seconds to realize the voice wasn’t imagined. Spike blinked and tossed her a surprised glance. “Huss’at?”

She provided a heartbreaking image. Head bowed, eyes on the floorboard, her hands folded pristinely in her lap: a child awaiting punishment. How she could remain so oblivious to the power she held in the slightest gesture was beyond him. Buffy was the pounding in his head and the ache in his heart; he wanted to strangle and hold her all in one stroke. So infuriating. So confusing. So fucking beautiful.

“What happened back in the room,” she continued softly. A beat, then she inhaled and glanced up. “I’m sorry for that. My feelings are…well, kinda all over the place right now. It’s…this thing we’re doing is totally insane. You know that, right?”

“Snogging me, you mean?”

“Presuming my translation is correct, yes.” Her nose wrinkled adorably. “Snogging is English for making out, right?”

Spike stifled a chuckle at her wording. “That’s right, pet.”

“If we…if I snog you…okay, that just sounds weird coming from me.” Buffy shook her head hard. “If we make out…if I kiss you…this thing is freaking me out.”

“What thing?”

“You and me. I kissed you yesterday to save your undead ass and suddenly we’re all with the…kissing all the time and you staying in my room and…” She broke off, again tearing her eyes away. “I don’t get it. I don’t get how I went from just…distracting you yesterday with a quick kiss to—”

“There was nothing quick about that kiss, Slayer.”

“Well, it was supposed to be quick before your hands made with the grabby.”

Spike smirked. “Had a gorgeous, warm woman wiggling against me. Might not have a heartbeat, but I’m still a man, sweetness. My hands went where they wanted. Can’t be held accountable.”

There was a pause. “Gorgeous?” she repeated shyly, her cheeks pink.

“Come on. You know you’re gorgeous.”

Buffy smiled and met his eyes again. “Not really. I don’t know it…I have good days and bad.”

“Well, take it from me. I’ve been around a long time an’ I think I can identify beauty.” His grin grew wicked. “So you’re all in a mess about us, then.”

“I don’t get how you’re not. You were the one all up in Angel’s case for his—”

His smirk faded immediately. Damned grandsire was the parent of all killjoys. “Ever consider that had more to do with it being sodding Angel than you?” he retorted. “Stupid git had to be the best at everything, din’t he? No matter which face he wore. I snuff slayers, he has to bloody…” He trailed off before the thought could reach fruition, and judging by the look on Buffy’s face, it wasn’t a beat too soon. “Yeah,” he allowed a second later. “Maybe a part of it was you. But it’s different now.”

“Different?”

He shrugged. “’S me. That makes it different.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “Spike—”

“You wanna know why Dru broke it off?” he demanded, unaware of the words until they tickled the air. As soon as they were free there was no taking them back, especially when her wide eyes demanded a follow-through, even if she couldn’t voice her curiosity. “Because of you. At firs’ because of the deal we made, right? The one that saved the world from your honey? It was that…but then after I found her again, it was…because I kept seeing you. Everywhere. On the streets. In my dreams. Over an’ over. She kicked me out because I was already gone where it counted. Jus’ din’t realize till I saw you the other night. Till I stumbled across you in the cemetery an’ knew the truth of what she’d told me.”

The silence which settled between them was deafening. There was nothing for a full three minutes—nothing but her thundering heart and rocky breaths, and something which suspiciously smelled like tears.

At last, he couldn’t stand the silence. “Buffy—”

“He left me.”

Something dark twisted in his stomach. “Angel.”

“So my…so I could have a normal life.”

His jaw fell slack. “You gotta be kidding me.”

Buffy said nothing. He took her silence as indicative that she thought the reasoning as ridiculous as he did.

“What did he think?” Spike erupted, hands tightening around the steering wheel. He swerved hard to the right and back again to avoid the idiot in the Toyota who thought the speeding limit was a suggestion. “His highness bows out of the limelight an’ suddenly you’re not the Slayer anymore? No more apocalypses, no more demons, no more uglies to go bump in Buffy’s night?” He laughed harshly. “That’s right, the arrogant git. Thinks the whole fucking world revolves around his enormous forehead.”

“He thought he was holding me back from a real relationship.”

“Yeah. That year an’ a half you had with him had all the markings of a dry-run.”

A small sound erupted from her lips. When he glanced over she was grinning.

Spike smiled tightly to himself. Good.

“I tried dating a normal guy once,” Buffy confessed. Then frowned. “Well, twice. Both pre-Angel. Pike in LA—”

He arched a brow. “Pike?”

“I know, freaky huh?” Buffy leaned back speculatively. “Actually, like this…when you’re not fangy and lunging at my throat, you kinda remind me of him.”

“Only I’m better, right? Tell me I’m better.”

Her grin widened. “Oh, no contest. Pike was…fun to hang around…but we weren’t…I didn’t ever feel…this.”

This was progress. Definite progress.

“Actually,” she continued, “after Acathla, I thought about looking him up. Not because I wanted to…or anything. Just…he was the only person in LA I thought I could trust. But I’d become someone else entirely and I decided against it. And…well, you only remind me a little of him. He had other qualities that weren’t so…but he knew about my slaying, which made it easy and uncomplicated. And then my first year in Sunnydale, there was this guy. Owen. He was nice and normal and I couldn’t…because he was nice and normal. The Slayer and normal can’t coexist.”

Spike blew out a deep breath. “So you know it.”

“Yeah.” Buffy worried a lip between her teeth. “So I can’t do normal and I can’t be abnormal. I can’t have either.”

“Slayer…” Before he realized what he was doing, he’d reached over to seize her hand. He tensed for a second; so did she, but there was no point in letting her go. The warmth of her skin against his was enough to sustain him no matter how treacherous the upcoming storm. He didn’t want to forfeit her touch. “These hands…your calling…you’re not made of the same stuff as the people you risk your life protectin’. Their normal isn’t yours. But this…” He squeezed her softly. “You can’t deny this.”

A pause. “But I’m still human.”

“How much?” Spike countered. “You’re like us in so many ways…you jus’ fight for the other side, is all. Same mold with different faces. Who’s to say you won’ live forever like we do? No slayer’s ever gotten far enough to know the truth. Humans age an’ die, but you’re more than that.” He paused when he caught the look on her face. “Din’t say that to scare you, pet.”

Buffy shook her head numbly. “No, I understand.”

“Yeah?”

“Just never thought of it like that.” Her voice trembled. “I don’t know how…this is all screwing with my head and I don’t know whether to be worried or confused or elated.”

“I like elated. Why don’ you stick with elated?”

“I just don’t understand how I got here from yesterday. From my God, Spike’s annoying to trying to fight off the temptation of jumping your sexy bones.” Buffy drew in a shaky breath. “This entire thing has me so…muddied. It scares me.”

“What?”

“No. You. You scare me.” Buffy met his eyes and held until he had to look at the road again. “In ways I don’t think you want to. Not in a vampire way…more in…I’m not the kinda girl to rebound. At all. And if I let myself…with you…”

The ache in his chest was so potent he could have sworn his heart had started pounding. “Buffy…”

“I don’t rebound.” She settled back in her seat, crossing her arms. “And I don’t know what’s happening here.”

It took willpower beyond his reckoning to bite his tongue. There was nothing in the world he would have enjoyed more than wearing down the wall guarding her heart. But something stopped him—grabbed his reins and pulled. Pushing Buffy toward a decision wouldn’t help him…not in the long run. In the long run it might end up destroying them both. So in the meantime he remained silent.

At least he knew what she wanted.

The only remaining question was whether or not she’d trust him enough—trust herself enough—to go after it.

*~*~*

St. Francisville was a small town Spike had previously only associated with Travel Channel programs—the sort he was prone to watch when everything else on his telly had gone gray and fuzzy. He’d raced through it on the heated drive from New Orleans without giving it much thought, but as the unseen hand guiding the steering wheel cemented into a cold grip, realization likewise broke over the mental horizon.

“I know where we’re headed,” he announced suddenly, jarring Buffy awake. The Desoto veered right without warning, landing them in the drive of Myrtles Plantation—a joint known for hopping tourism and active spiritual landscape. “Yeah…here we go.”

The Slayer blinked sleepily. “How long was I out?”

“’Bout twenty minutes.”

“Mmmm.” She stretched her arms over her head, a move which outlined her breasts against her blouse. Spike forced himself to keep from licking his lips. “Feels longer,” she concluded with a yawn.

“We’re not far from Natchez. Give or take an hour. My guess? Reaper’s collecting the spooks that escaped last night.”

“And he brought us…” Buffy winced and peered out the windshield as the car rolled to a halt in the gravel parking lot to the left of the entrance. The plantation wasn’t grandiose—wasn’t the sort of place to come to mind at the mention of the Old South, but there was a sort of haunted beauty about the exterior which placed it in a category of its own. “Where are we?”

“Jus’ over the Louisiana state-line.”

“We’re in Louisiana?”

“No, but I’d see why you’d think so.”

She smirked. “No need to get cheeky. I’m guessing this place isn’t known for its food?”

“There’s a restaurant ‘round back, actually.” Spike grinned at the look she tossed him. “From what I’ve heard, this is one of the more celebrated haunted joints in America.”

Her brow furrowed skeptically. “Really?”

He nodded.

“Doesn’t look haunted.”

“They never do,” Spike mused wisely.

“And you think the Reaper’s here to pick up all the pieces that fell out last night?”

“’S the only thing that makes sense,” he reasoned with a shrug. “Either that or he missed it the firs’ time…but I figure I was a good ways behind him on the drive, so yeah. If this dive really lives up to its reputation, then he’d’ve made a stop on the way.”

Buffy didn’t look convinced. “And these ghosts are important enough to make a special trip back?”

“Don’ see why else we’d be here.” Spike shrugged again and tossed open the driver’s side door. “Either way, need to stretch my legs. Gonna take a look around.” A pause. “Might need a pretty distraction if I run into a certain cape-wearin’ ponce. You comin’, Slayer?

She made a face to indicate disinterest but it didn’t take. Her eyes sparkled much too much for apathy. “Yeah, yeah.”

The grounds were much larger than a first glance would betray. Two dependencies offset the main-house from the back: the restaurant Spike had mentioned—to which he was likewise only privy thanks to the telly—and the gift-shop. A courtyard stretched along the back patio between the two smaller structures, and was, unsurprisingly, flooded with eager patrons likely waiting for the next tour. Further back along the lawn was a white wooden bridge which stretched over a small pond toward a gazebo. Large oak trees provided the allusion of isolation, and likely granted tourists with a more ethereal atmosphere than would have been granted were the highway visible.

Buffy sidled up to him as though seeking body heat. “What time is it?”

“Twenty till eight.”

No sign of the Reaper. Odd. And yet, the burn in his stomach had assuredly led him here. There was no mistaking what he felt.

“Looks like something’s about to start,” she observed, nodding at the eager crowd gathering around the back patio.

“A tour, most likely.” Spike glanced from the main house to the gazebo. Something very much wasn’t right. It should be stronger. He should feel…something. “Right…come on, kitten.”

“Where are we going?”

He nodded to the gift shop. “On the tour.”

“Why?”

Bugger if I know.

But he didn’t say that. Not that the Slayer was the sort to spook easily, but he didn’t want to set off her warning alarm. Not just yet.

But something definitely wasn’t right. He should be able to feel more—or less, or something other than what he felt. The drive which had thrived in his chest over the past ninety minutes had dwindled to a mere itch, and there was none of the persistent need that had dragged him across the Longwood lawn. There was something here, though…something unlike anything he’d felt before.

“We’re here to find the ghostnapper, right?” Spike said at last. “Where better to look?”

Buffy frowned, surveying the tourists. “Hey, check it out.”

Spike followed her eyes but didn’t see anything. No cloak. No tall, hooded figure. Nothing. “What?”

“Edith’s son and his fiancée are here.”

“Edith?”

The Slayer narrowed her eyes at him. “The nice woman you were a jackass in front of this morning?” she explained. “Not the mumbly one.”

“Oh, right.” Now he saw them. Not particularly amorous for two people about to get hitched, but perhaps Spike was the only bloke around who wouldn’t go anywhere without letting the world know the tasty dish at his side was very much claimed. “The drive’s not a long one. Probably popped down for the tour.”

“Weird, though,” Buffy observed. “You’re not getting any vibes off them, are you?”

He smirked. “Sorry, sweetheart; if they were anything but human, I would’ve sniffed it out at breakfast.”

Damn all if she didn’t look disappointed. “Okay. Well, I got the cash I was gonna use at King’s Tavern if we wanna tour.”

“Don’ think so, precious,” Spike replied, delving a hand into his duster pocket. “My idea; I’ll front the cash.”

She arched a brow as he brandished a couple twenties. “Where’d you get that?”

“’S legitimate.”

Buffy didn’t look convinced.

“Well…” He shrugged carelessly, nodding at the man from Oak Hill. “Legitimately lifted from Curly over there. Swiped it when he went back for seconds.”

“Spike…”

“’Eh, a second ago you thought they were demons.” Spike winked, surfing a renegade cigarette from his pocket and plopping it between his lips. “Be back in a flash, love. Hold tight.”

Ten minutes later, he found Buffy sitting at a small garden table with the couple from Oak Hill, chatting animatedly with the blonde. Whatever reserve she’d exhibited had evidently been conquered. Perhaps on matters of the heart, she just needed female advice. He strolled up behind her and dropped her ticket into her lap. “Evening all,” he said.

“We got tickets?” the Slayer asked, surprise coloring her voice. “Donna said she thought they were about sold out.”

“Donna?”

The blonde waved a hand. “That would be me.”

“Ah. No, we got in all right.” Spike nodded and placed a small figure on the table. “Here, pidge. Thought you might want a souvenir.”

Buffy glanced up with a grin. “A voodoo doll?”

“What else?” He favored the others with a brief look. “So what brings you lovebirds down here?”

“Donna’s obsessed with ghosts,” the man said, bored.

Spike smirked appreciatively. “Yours, too, eh?”

The man’s brows perked. “I take it you two haven’t stopped…reconnecting?”

“And on that note,” Buffy said, collecting her things and rising from her seat, “we’ll leave you to it. Enjoy the tour.”

The blonde offered a friendly nod. “You, too. Drive back safe!”

“See you at breakfast tomorrow,” said her traveling companion with all the enthusiasm of a patient awaiting a root canal.

Buffy linked an arm through Spike’s and steered him a good distance away. “A voodoo doll?” she asked, holding up the doll in question. “You bought me a voodoo doll?”

“Bought’s such a strong word…”

Her eyes darkened disapprovingly. “Spike!”

“Evil, pet. Remember?” Spike tossed an arm over her shoulder before she could bat him away. “’Sides, I fronted the cash for the tickets.”

“With Joshua’s money!”

“That why you were chatting them up?”

She shrugged and didn’t reply, but he could see the truth in her eyes. Buffy felt guilty on his behalf. His little slayer with a snow white conscience…well, where it really counted. It was the sort of thing that shouldn’t make his demon soften with adoration, but he couldn’t help himself. She was so good. So innocent. So pure.

The tour began a few minutes later and went very much as expected. Hokey for the most part and filled with small moments and objects that had Buffy grinning brilliantly. Things like the cross-paned glass lining the windows on either side of the entryway doors. Things like the upside-down keyholes the tour guide said were designed to ward away evil spirits. Things like the cherubs and nuns on the chandeliers which allegedly guarded rooms from all things malevolent. Things like the mirror in the hall—the only place in the house where photography was encouraged. The mirror which received more attention that night due to Spike’s lack of a reflection.

Décor aside, there was little to the tour but stories and fables concerning the manor’s history. A few people speculated whether or not a fallen candle in the dining room could have supernatural energy behind it, but otherwise the experience was tragically uneventful. The dull burn in his belly aside, the entire trip felt like a whopping mistake.

Didn’t rightly explain why he’d been led here in the first place.

Unless something larger was going down somewhere else.

Spike bit the inside of his cheek to keep his suspicions from surfacing as the tour group scurried into the final room. The crowd was large enough to drain the available space rather quickly, especially since a dining room table sat in the middle. Of all the rooms toured, this was easily the smallest—a smoke room or something with a wonky portrait of a dead child on the wall and hunter green wallpaper that made the chamber seem even smaller. He and Buffy ended up wedged into a far corner beside a mahogany buffet table.

His head pounded with the thunder of thirty heartbeats. The scent of fresh blood made his fangs and his stomach growl. It’d been too long since he’d eaten—really eaten. The pig’s blood Buffy had brought him satisfied the craving but not the hunger. Not for what he really wanted.

They were passing around a large portrait to investigate the alleged ghost the home’s owner had captured while snapping pictures. Well, at least it was almost over.

In a few minutes they would be on their way back to Natchez…without answers, granted, but at least with the return of his free-will.

“Bloody glad the tickets were on Curly’s tab,” Spike murmured, though admittedly only so he could lean in and get a lungful of Buffy’s delicious scent. “What a waste, yeah?”

A small smile cracked her lips, and her head fell back with what he thought was laughter. That was until he saw her eyes roll up—until her body fell slack. And then everything went slow. Buffy fell backward, her neck craned and her mouth ajar, every fiber in her body suddenly without possession. And all thought abandoned him. Everything abandoned him. He didn’t hear the excited squeals of the few kids on tour or the calls of Buffy’s pseudonym by their unlikely travel companions. Nor did the cries of the tour guide break through the hardened exterior guarding his mind. There was nothing. And though he didn’t remember reaching out for her, she was in his arms in a blink, her head a half inch away from cracking against the buffet.

It took a few seconds, but finally he realized his was the voice shouting her name in blind panic. And then he was moving. Mowing over and through a herd of people for the door that led to the patio. Cool night air touched his skin and the weight compressing his long-dead lungs lifted without warning. He carried her a good ten yards away from the house before collapsing to his knees, his frantic eyes consuming her face as his hands blindly searched for injury.

“Buffy! Buffy!”

The time lapse between her blackout and the wonderful opening of her bright, emerald eyes was likely ten seconds, fifteen at most. However, by the time she was looking at him again it seemed hours had passed. The longest quarter minute of his life; he didn’t know if he would ever stop gasping.

“Buffy,” Spike whispered urgently, suddenly mindful of their audience. “You’re all right, aren’t you? Tell me you’re all right.”

She blinked in confusion, then frowned and pressed a hand to her head. “When did we go outside? What happened?”

“You passed out.”

“I what?”

“In there. You passed out.” The relief flooding his veins was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Not even after Prague. Spike gasped again, holding her head to his chest. “Christ, love, you can’t scare me like that.”

“My God, is she okay?”

He glanced up sharply. It was the blonde and her fiancé. He hadn’t felt them approach.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Jus’ a li’l shaken.”

“What happened?”

Buffy sat up without warning, which was no small feat considering how tightly he held her. She offered Donna a small smile. “I’m okay,” she assured them. “Just a…a pressure or something on my chest. I don’t…I don’t remember…” She turned back to Spike with a frown. “I really passed out?”

“Think you gave the ghost-hunters something to gab about,” Joshua observed.

“Quite a conclusion to the tour,” Donna agreed.

“Yeah, right.” Spike rose to his feet, taking Buffy with him. “We’re leaving. Now.”

There was no way he was going to sit around and chitchat—not with what had happened. It took a lot to bring a slayer down, and he’d never met one stronger than the girl at his side.

Let the tourists think it was spooks. He knew better.

The Reaper. The Reaper was here, or had been here. And he’d gone after Buffy.

The Reaper had gone after Buffy, and he’d done it in the shadows. He’d done it quietly. He’d done it so no one would be any the wiser.

There was no doubt. No one could tell him differently. Slayers didn’t faint without reason; the Reaper was the cause. Spike was certain.

And he wouldn’t be satisfied now until he tasted the bastard’s blood.

Author’s Note: I know it’s been forever and a day since I actually posted new material, but I’m still here—promise!—and I’m working on Part 7 already. As I mentioned in my last update, I spent most of May and all of June without a laptop, able to write only at work (which, after you read the contents of this chapter, you will understand wasn’t the easiest feat) and what little I could accomplish in my notebook. I apologize immensely for the long delay, but I promise I’m back. I’m writing up a storm, and I’m not going anywhere. Those of you waiting for Strawberry Fields: it’s coming. I know it’s been months, literally, but I haven’t and won’t drop it. Real life just got in the way.

My thanks for your patience. Also, much thanks to megan_peta, spikeslovebite, dusty273, and therealmccoy1 for looking over this chapter for me.

Previously: After following the Reaper, a cosmic baddie who’s collecting an assortment of demons and other nighttime nasties, to a noted haunted hotspot, Buffy gets attacked from the inside, passing out into Spike’s arms, who takes it personally.

VI


No words were exchanged over the long drive back to town, though every few seconds Spike felt the slow sizzle of Buffy's eyes as she alternated from staring at him to staring at the road. He never glanced back; he couldn't. He was too shaken, too afraid, and he knew if he looked at her, she would recognize it.

Spike didn't know how the Reaper had attacked her, or why he'd chosen the venue he had. All he knew was he'd been used, and there was nothing he abhorred more than being used.

He needed to know how to overcome the Reaper's pull so he could rip apart the bastard himself.

It was late when the Desoto pulled into the drive at Oak Hill, though not as late as it felt. Spike killed the engine and at last turned to Buffy, who wordlessly opened the car door and climbed into the night air. Perhaps that was it, then. They simply weren't going to talk about it.

“You want me to pop inside an' grab you a nibble?” Spike asked. He'd never noticed how strange his voice sounded after a lengthy silence.

Buffy glanced up with a grateful smile. Her eyes were bright and awake, and after the drive they nearly brought him to his knees. She was so strong—a tower of fortitude. He'd never known a woman who could go through something like what had happened at the Myrtles without wilting; not one who possessed any softness about her, anyway. But then, perhaps that was his own folly. He'd never known a strong woman. Not his mother. Not Cecily. Not even Drusilla; his sire had always grabbed at him when something befell her, and though it made him feel needed, there was nothing compared to Buffy's unyielding resolve.

Buffy didn't need him. She wanted him.

Spike had never before appreciated the difference. Not like he did now—looking at her wonderful, bright eyes which wished for nothing more than his presence. His company. His being at her side.

“I'm not hungry,” she said at last. “Weird, huh?”

“You had that milkshake before we headed out,” he observed. Spike had insisted on it. No one knew better than he how blood operated. She needed something in her system after fainting, and though it conflicted with his intense desire to vacate St. Francisville as quickly as possible, knowledge overwhelmed instinct.

“I guess it filled me up.” Buffy tucked a few stray strands of blonde hair behind her ear. “I'm really wired, though. Like...I dunno, the last time I passed out it was because of...” A frown depressed her lips as a hand rose to her throat, fingers gently stroking the mark Angel had left behind. And immediately, Spike's mood worsened. “It...ummm...I was really revv'd by the time I woke up. It was kinda...” She pursed her lips and looked away quickly. As though the subject matter made her feel as exposed as it did him. As though she was ashamed of what had transpired.

Not that Spike knew what had transpired, but the mark stank of Angel. Angel had sunk his pompous fangs into the Slayer's delectable throat. He didn't want the particulars. Just knowing his wanker of a grandsire had dared presume he had the right to take what was rightfully Spike's had his demon flaring in a dangerous way.

He didn't need to know.

Only if Angel's demon had staked a claim on the Slayer...

No. That he would know. He would have sniffed it on her the second he saw her fighting the demons in the graveyard. There was no doubt.

Though it must have been torture on the old git to taste the girl's blood without letting the world know to whom it belonged—at least in Angel's warped mind. No matter he'd left her behind to pursue other, nobler things. Other quirky blondes to muck up. Or perhaps the girl had grown too old for him. Eighteen did make Buffy a woman, and God knew Angelus didn't take a fancy to girls unless they were underdeveloped.

Then again, Spike might just be bitter.

“Let's get you inside,” he murmured, avoiding her inquisitive eyes. The last thing she needed tonight was anger inspired by jealousy. What she needed was a good night's sleep.

What she needed was nowhere in the ballpark of what he needed.

What he craved.

Spike sighed and flipped on the light-switch, eyes drinking her in as she moved around the room. There weren't any bruises marring her milky flesh—none that he could see, but an assault like the one she'd endured came with no guarantees. After all, if the Reaper could defeat her by attacking from the inside, what else could he do by working a bit of mojo? What could he do to her?

Buffy met his eyes and smiled softly, making him feel more vulnerable than he had in the whole of his existence. “You were really freaked, weren't you?”

“Wouldn't say freaked.” She arched a brow and his defenses met the gutter. Spike sighed, his eyes hitting the floor. “All right,” he conceded with a sigh. “Christ, pet, you're the strongest woman I know. The strongest...not jus' talkin' brawn here. You've survived more than any girl—any bloke—anyone could. An' when you fell, I fell with you.”

Her lips twitched. “You were there to catch me.”

“You don't need catching.”

“Not normally, but I did tonight.” Buffy moved toward him, tugging at her worn braid until ribbons of blonde cascaded over her shoulders. “Things have been...well, crazy. And I'm not...I don't know how to feel about a lot of things. But when I opened my eyes and saw you, I wasn't afraid. It's insane, Spike. A couple days ago...God...but tonight...” Her hands criss-crossed as she grasped the hem of her ruby blouse. And it didn't dawn on him that she was going to draw it over her head until the offending garment between them was gone and he was left staring at her white, lacy bra.

“Buffy...”

“I'm not afraid anymore.”

He dragged his gaze away from her breasts long enough to find her eyes. “You're not?”

“No.”

“Afraid of what?”

“You. This.” She gestured between them. “I don't understand it, but...you...”

A harsh, shuddering breath ricocheted through him, knowledge warring with desire. She'd had a scare tonight—something had crawled up inside her and every fiber of her delectable body had weakened. There was every chance she was reaching out now only for the need to connect with someone who could hold her to solid ground. He knew it—he knew she could snap to herself at any second and reestablish the wall between them. The one she'd so rigidly defined earlier that afternoon—the one she couldn't possibly be ready to conquer.

The man inside knew this, and furthermore knew what he should say.

But Spike was not a man beyond cosmetics. Not here—not where it counted. For a few precious seconds he'd feared he'd lost her, and his body was in desperate need of hers. He needed to reassure the angry demon that she wasn't lost after all. That she was, indeed, as tangible as she seemed. Her eyes were open and trusting and she stood before him in an invitation the blind could spot. He wanted her. Wanted her warmth against his skin and her pussy cradling his cock. Wanted her lips against his and her hair curled around his fingers. Wanted to feel her gasp and spasm against him. Wanted so many things.

Most of all, he wanted to commit her to memory. If they were on borrowed time he would make the most of it. Learn her now before she slipped through his fingers forever.

Words clawed at his throat but he shoved them aside. The next thing he knew, he'd closed the space between them and jerked her into his arms, his mouth crashing over hers with urgency he barely recognized. She offered no resistance; her arms flew around his neck without hesitation as her tongue plunged inside his mouth, echoing the eager thrust of her hips against his erection. He'd never felt so fucking sensitive in his life—so scorched by the touch of any woman. So ablaze by the feel of her squirming against him. A growl savaged his throat as reality crashed hard with fantasy. Her lips fell slack with a half-moan, her tongue curling under his teeth as she grasped his upper arms to leverage herself against him. The wall between them had collapsed—the same that had compelled her to shove him away just a few hours ago. The things she'd told him out of some sense of self-preservation. The things she'd told him to keep her heart from shattering anymore than it already had. She'd already lost herself once, and though there was no hesitation in the way her lips molded against his, he felt her reserve. Her fear. Her absolute terror of falling again.

Of falling the way she was. In the arms of the enemy.

In the arms of a vampire. A real vampire. A vampire unlike the watered-down sort Angel had been. There were no excuses from where Spike came. No want of being anything other than exactly what he was.

Liar.

Spike growled into her mouth, digging his fingers into her firm arse and rubbing his cock against her molten core. He wasn't ready, and at the same time, he'd never been more ready. Her warmth had his flesh melting off his bones, and the burn had never been so sweet. She tasted so feminine. Body spray spiced with toothpaste and hints of a chocolate cookie she’d eaten hours before, offsetting the vanilla stolen from the milkshake he’d bought her after she fainted. All things which made her Buffy. Made her the woman to whom he’d lost his heart when he wasn’t paying attention. The girl. The human. The Slayer.

“So sweet,” he murmured against her lips when they broke apart, his hungry mouth dipping to taste her throat before he could miss her warmth. “So fucking sweet.”

“Ungh…”

“Wanted you the first second I saw you, kitten. You know that, right?” He sucked her flesh between his teeth and tugged. “Wanted. Couldn’t touch. Not like this…” Warm breasts filled his palms, thumbs exciting her nipples through the tantalizing fabric of her bra. “’Course, I din’t know it. Couldn’t know it. Couldn’t see what I see now.”

Every inch of her trembled under his touch. “What do you see?” she whispered. How a nymph could sound so shy was beyond him, but there was nothing of the seductress who had, just a few minutes before, shed her blouse and proclaimed her body his for the taking.

“You.”

She shrugged self-consciously, doing her best to ignore his wandering hand before he snapped the clasps holding up her bra. The offending fabric slipped down her arms and bared her breasts to his hungry eyes as her arms twitched with the ostensible need to cover herself. How she resisted, he didn’t know. For a girl who had only been naked with a man once before…

Not that Spike had much experience with virgins or the sexually inexperienced. His life had revolved around a woman with more sexual tricks up her sleeve than the best-paid whores on God’s green earth. Likewise, the revenge fucks in which he’d indulged hadn’t been with chits looking to protect their fluttering virtue.

The darkest chapter in his personal history stood as irrevocable proof that Buffy had known a man’s touch, but she could still wear white without any sense of irony. He wanted to tear into her body and stake his claim on her, at the very least with his dick if not with his fangs. He thought he’d had perfection before, but the sins of the past fell in shame when placed in the light of Buffy’s purity.

Her self-awareness humbled him. It betrayed a desire to be desirable, as if the notion were a stretch of the imagination.

“You’re soft,” Spike whispered, dragging his fingertips around her back until he had a handful of Buffybreast cradled in each palm once more. “You smell…”

“I smell?”

He glanced up wryly and chuckled. “Delicious.”

“Oh. I thought you meant I stink.”

A scoff. “Hardly,” he replied, his tongue flicking one of her nipples. “You’re real. Earthy. Smell like…Buffy…jus’…”

“I didn’t know Buffy was a branded scent.”

He laughed again. “I prefer to keep it to myself,” he replied, dropping to his knees as his mouth moved southward, dropping kisses over her taut belly. “Don’t know how you bloody do it.”

A hard shudder commanded her body. “Do what?” she asked breathlessly.

“You’re so hard.”

“Ummm…thanks?” Buffy replied, uncertain, before regaining confidence. With an air that had been nonexistent a fraction before, she quipped, “And here I thought that was my line.”

Spike aimed another amused glance upward. “You gotta be hard,” he explained, tonguing her bellybutton and tugging at her slacks. “All muscle an’ fortitude…so strong. So hard, an’ I don’ understand it. Don’t understand how someone so hard can be so fucking soft.”

A low moan of protest slipped through her lips. “I’m not soft.”

Her trousers bunched at her ankles, freeing his fingers to explore her panties. The dewy circle at the crotch had him mesmerized, as did the shuddering breaths rocketing through her small, fiery body. And before he could help himself, he’d dipped under the elastic and deftly combed through her damp curls. “Not soft?” Spike whispered, rubbing his nose against her. “I beg to bloody differ.”

“Ohhh…”

“Has anyone tasted you here?” he asked softly, bunching her panties entirely to the side to bare her quim to his ravenous eyes. The question didn’t need an answer. Angel was the only man whom had ever been near her pussy and the thought of his mouth anywhere near this perfect flesh fed Spike’s demon a jealous rage unlike anything he’d ever felt.

He didn’t want to know.

As it was, Buffy tensed the second he breathed across her delicate skin. “You don’t…Spike…”

“Mmm?”

“You don’t need to…do that.”

He arched a brow. “Need has nothing to do with it, kitten. You really don’ know how wonderful you are, do you? How you look…how fucking lovely you are. An’ you smell…you smell so sweet…Christ, you make my mouth water.”

She blinked prettily, her expression bewildered. “You…you like doing that?”

Spike quirked his head. “Surprised?”

“I…I don’t…” Buffy blinked hard and looked away. “I just…I’ve read stuff. Not much but…and I didn’t think…that was something guys liked…you know, doing.”

“Vamps rely on the senses, pet. Can’t rightly speak for human blokes.”

“He tried,” she continued quickly, still not looking at him, speaking as though he had not. “That night…he tried, but I was too nervous to…respond. My leg was shaking too hard—just one leg, not both. Isn’t that weird?”

Spike wrapped his arms around her legs and buried his face in her belly. He didn’t want to hear, but it was important that she speak and thus he didn’t dare interrupt.

“I barely felt anything. I was too…” Her hands found his shoulders and squeezed. “You don’t…you don’t need to try.”

He scoffed and nuzzled her hot, delectable flesh defiantly. “I told you,” he replied. “Need has nothing to do with it. I want your taste on my tongue. Want you to ride my face so good I’d suffocate if I were alive.” Spike fisted her panties and rendered them useless with a fierce tug. “On the bed with you.”

He kept expecting her to snap back to herself, and she kept surprising him with her resilience. Before his incredulous eyes, she kicked off her shoes and wiggled out of the trousers that had pooled at her feet. She moved quickly but without objection, and when she turned around and sat on the mattress, her eyes were clear. Anxious. Fearful. Eager.

And his. All his.

He couldn't lose this—any of this. Her trust. Her confidence. Her eyes open and wide and fixed on him. Spike inhaled sharply. He had to do this right by her. Had to convey with his hands and mouth how much she meant to him.

He made quick work of his clothing, intensely aware of her eyes following the trail of his t-shirt as he stripped it off his chest. And when she gasped as his cock bobbed free, his eyes fogged and the demon's need overpowered the man's desire to do this softly. She was spread on the bed, her lips swollen from his kisses, her legs open and her pussy his for the taking. She wasn't fighting; she was offering. Buffy was offering herself to him, and there was no fear in her eyes.

Spike shuddered hard, wrapping a hand around his erection. “Spread your lips for me.”

Her alabaster skin melted into bright red. “My...” She hesitated before her hands trailed downward, framing her quim as a shy smile tickled her lips. “I feel so naked.”

“Mmm, yeah.”

Buffy squirmed, laughing. “It just feels weird,” she said. “I've never been so...ummm...nude before.”

He smirked, reaching for her foot with his free hand, his other pumping his cock harder. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I mean...when I wasn't three and being given baths by my mom.” She blinked hard and looked away, the pink in her skin turning a deeper red. “Not even...”

Spike drew in a short breath. She hadn't let Angel see her in the light like this? Hadn't spread herself on a bed, perky breasts standing proudly in the air, nipples drawn and pussy flushed with liquid need? She hadn’t shown this to anyone else. He was the first. Spike. Spike the killer of slayers. Spike who had been her enemy only a week ago.

Fuck. It was no wonder he was in love with her. She kept surprising him.

She’d never stop.

Spike took another step toward her, the movement ricocheting through his insides like a shotgun blast. “Never?” he murmured.

“Nerves. If I’d…let’s just say, it would’ve killed the mood.”

He nodded, forcing the jealous knot down his throat. “You nervous now?” he asked. His right hand traveling up the silky contours of her left leg until her mound was under his fingertips.

“Are you kidding me?” Buffy replied, shrill. “Spike…I…”

“You can stop this whenever you want.”

“But I don’t want.”

“You don’t?”

“No. No, I want…” She broke away, her eyes finding some random spot along the wall. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. I just…what I felt tonight was so…and you were there and you’re here and I don’t know. But something’s happening. It wasn’t just…when we’ve kissed, there’s been something.”

“I’ll bloody well say.”

“And I knew…God, is there any way we can talk when I’m slightly less naked?”

Spike smirked and kneeled before her. “Get my way, an’ naked’s all you’ll ever be,” he replied.

“Your way is science fiction.”

“Baby, you’re the guardian of the world an’ I’m one of those creatures that goes bump in the night. We’re the stuff of science fiction.”

Buffy fidgeted and blushed; she was the most adorable thing he’d ever laid eyes on. And before she could fidget her way into changing her mind, he slid his arms under her hips and lifted her pussy to his ravenous mouth. “But we’re real, aren’t we?” he continued, nuzzling her soaked flesh. “My li’l Slayer.”

“Not…yours.”

His heart twinged but he ignored it, deciding instead to focus his attention on the gift open and ready for him. Perhaps he could change her mind if he gave her what no man had given her. If he showed her what her body could do. “Can’t you be my slayer?” he asked, parting her lips and gently running his thumb over her clit.

The response was immediate: Buffy gasped and twisted, her pelvis thrusting hard against him and her head falling back against the mattress. “Gahhh.”

“You were saying?”

“You’re a vampire.”

Spike frowned thoughtfully and caressed her again. “No, I don’t believe you were saying that.”

“Slayers…no vampires.”

“You did it before.”

“Learned my lesson,” she replied, hips arching off the bed, beseeching his fingers for further attention. “Not his.”

“That mark on your throat says different.”

Buffy’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Well…you misunderstood.”

“So you don’ do vamps anymore?”

She shook her head, though her expression bore no sign of resistance. “Supposed to stake you, you know.”

“Mhmm.” His brow arched again. “Could you, Buffy?”

“What?”

“Stake me.” His thumb moved over her clit again, soaking up the sight she presented. Her breathing had become labored in a second, beads of sweat gathering at her brow, her eyes sparkling with warmth he’d never before seen. “Could you really do it?”

“No,” she replied, arching hard against him. “Not unless…you plan on staring at me all night.”

Spike’s fingers skimmed her labia. “Wouldn’t mind. You’re very pretty, love.”

“Spike—”

“Gorgeous, even.”

“Stop.”

“Make me.” He grinned and waggled his tongue at her, his eyes dropping again to her pussy. “Can’t rightly stop. You’re so warm an’ wet an’ I’m a parched man.”

Another jerk of her hips, this time accompanied by a whimper of protest. “If your goal is to make me less nervous, it’s really amazing how fantastically you’re failing.”

“I like you nervous,” he returned. “Nervous makes you wiggle.”

An anxious little laugh rushed between her lips. “You have no idea.” Buffy’s eyes squeezed shut, her hips moving along with his fingers, as though she were guiding his attention back to where she wanted it. “Mmm. Spike…”

“I love you like this. Panting for me. An’ you have such a sweet li’l clit…” He flicked her softly, eliciting another sharp jolt. “An’ you smell…”

She wiggled again. “If you keep saying that, I’m going to hide in the shower.”

A smirk stretching his lips, he slid his fingers over her entirely. “Never knew the Slayer could be so self-conscious,” he mused, pressing her harder as his mouth neared its target. Her thick, womanly smell just about did him in. It was difficult enough keeping his mind on track; if he moaned aloud, he might forfeit the advantage. After all, this was almost more for him than for her. Memorizing her taste. Committing her to memory. Knowing every sinful, juicy crevice of her quim so he had something to carry with him for eternity.

Her whimpers echoing in his ears…God yes, this was for him. All for him.

Spike licked his lips. “Jus’ occurred to me…I never got to eat tonight.”

“Ahhh…”

“Think I want a taste.” He rubbed his cheek against her inner thigh. “Don’ worry, kitten.”

“Who’s worried?” she replied with bravado she clearly didn’t feel.

“You’re trembling.”

“You’re nose-to-nose with my girly parts. And you’re, you know…” She wiggled again. “Spike…”

“’m Spike,” he agreed, spreading her again and baring her sweet, vaginal opening to his eyes. His prick swelled. She was so wet. God, she was so fucking wet and tight as a newly-tuned drum. And she was his.

If only for right now—for this moment—she was all his.

“That’s not what I meant. I—”

“Jus’ want you to remember which name to scream.” And without further prompting, he dove into her warmth, and lost himself entirely.

*~*~*

She’d never felt anything like this.

The night Angel had stolen her virginity, she’d nearly torn the bed apart with her body’s violent, nerve-induced tremors. While she didn’t remember hating the experience, any pleasure she had taken away from the night had been long buried under the hell that had followed. There wasn’t much in her memory beyond a sting of pain and the unbearable sense of being invaded. It had been quick and, in her young mind, hopelessly romantic. Covered in rainwater on the eve of her birthday, enjoying womanly pleasures for the first time, still buzzed from the chase. Happy to be alive. Happy to have each other.

The fairytale was gone, and with it its fluffy, protective cushion. This bed was real. The quilt beneath her body. The cracks in the ceiling. The air against her skin. The vampire kneeling before her, delicately exploring her soaking skin with his mouth. Electric shocks followed every tentative lap of her flesh, but after a few seconds, the ache in her clit swelled to heights heretofore unexplored and she realized he was teasing her. He was touching her but not touching her. Tasting her, but not tasting her. The ball of his tongue tentatively traced the walls of her inner labia, his thumb navigating the sensitive area around her clit without giving her what she wanted. Teasing. Spike, whose legendary lack of patience would make him any gambler’s best bet, was teasing her.

“What…what are you…”

His eyes flickered upward and met hers; the shock of watching him as he sampled her pussy with his mouth rocketed through her with unexpected urgency. Buffy gasped and jerked, her head tugging her back to the mattress but her eyes wouldn’t follow. She kept watching him. Watching as he grinned and waggled his face against her. Watching as his tongue parted her lips and slipped over her clit, sliding back and forth with such tenderness she would have cried had it not felt so good. And more. More. Every touch left her wanting more.

“Oh my…God.”

Spike chuckled and licked her opening once, twice, then finally sank his tongue inside her, lapping delicately at her inner walls. “Mmm.”

“Oh…”

“Mhmm,” he agreed, delving deeper, the rich sound of his murmur reminding her of a large cat. Licking up milk and purring its contentedness into the saucer. He pulled away once to smack his lips, brows flickering devilishly. “Not so shy tonight, are you, kitten?”

“That…oooh, I like that.”

He had the audacity to chuckle again. “Good thing, that,” he replied. “’Cause baby, you’re delicious.”

Spike was in her again before she could reply, tongue plunging in and out of her pussy as his fingers brushed over her mound to tickle her clit again. And rational thought abandoned her completely. She felt herself detach in favor of the white-hot shards tearing through her veins. It was so good—so good, but not enough. He was tasting her but teasing her all the same. Her slippery pearl remained woefully unattended, given a nudge or a cursory tap every few seconds, which only fueled the fire pushing at her insides. She needed something she couldn’t identify. She needed something she’d never before felt. She needed…

“Spike!” Buffy sobbed, arching her hips in offering. He followed without breaking stride. “Ah…I need. I need.”

He pulled away again and licked his lips, sliding a finger into her slick passage in the absence of his mouth. “What’s that you need, Slayer?”

“I…I don’t know.”

He quirked his head and ran his fingers over her clit again. Again, an electric shock jolted through her body. Again, it was woefully short-lived. “You don’t know?” he asked, rubbing his cheek against her inner thigh. “You have no idea what your body is capable of, do you?”

“Ahhh…”

“Beyond those fancy-dancy moves you do…the way you move, contort. The way you mold yourself into a weapon…” He nuzzled her pussy again. “But you don’ know what you can do down here. How you can switch from pain to pleasure in a bloody blink. How these legs guard somethin’ so precious…so wholly…Buffy.”

“Wholly Buffy?”

Spike nodded, licking up her slit again. “Your core here. You’re not the Slayer now. You’re jus’ a girl. Jus’ my girl, if only for tonight. For this moment. Right here.”

Buffy whimpered and jerked, rolling her hips in nameless desperation. His voice clashed with understanding; it wasn’t until he’d lowered his head again that words separated from sound and made sense. Just for tonight. Just for the moment. Did he really think this was all it was to her? A night—a single night. Nothing more beyond a venture into stolen time? The thought made her stomach twist. Whatever had occurred at the Myrtles, whatever had been brewing between them over the last couple days, wasn’t the sort of fire one could douse with a quick roll in the sack. As it was, Buffy wasn’t built for it. She couldn’t share this passion with someone and look at them the next day as though nothing had changed. As though she hadn’t born herself vulnerable in the most intimate way possible to his hands and mouth. To his eyes. To him.

This moment wouldn’t be good enough. If she let him into her body…

But there was a fine line between stolen moments and a relationship. No matter what she thought in the heat of passion, she couldn’t ever afford to forget Spike was the same vampire who had hunted her vigorously the past two years. The same vampire responsible for Lord-knows how many deaths in Sunnydale alone. The same vampire who made a career of matting Slayer-skin to his walls. The same Spike who had nothing but evil lurking within his chest. The last time she’d lost herself in a vampire’s arms, the world had nearly ended. And she’d trusted him so much. With everything she was. Spike she couldn’t trust for anything.

Except that wasn’t the way it was anymore. Something had changed. Oh God, yes, something had changed. Spike looked at her as though she were crafted by the gods themselves. He touched her in such a manner she might believe he could feel the soft tenderness of his own caresses against his skin. When he spoke with her, it was as an equal. Not an older, wiser being with years of experience under his belt. A man who saw her as someone who matched him in every way imaginable. In the way he looked at her—the way he’d held her when she opened her eyes and awakened after fainting—never before had she felt more cherished.

All from Spike. It didn’t seem real.

And she didn’t want it to go away.

“This is what you need, innit?” he whispered, flattening his tongue over her clit. She must have spasmed, for the next thing she knew he was chuckling against her wet flesh hard enough to rack her body with violent tremors. “This is your magic button, kitten. Rub here, lick here…” His mouth closed around her swollen pearl and gave a good tug, earning a hard gasp and another eager thrust of her hips. The tip of his tongue balled again, rubbing her, teasing her, loving her so gently she nearly came apart just for his tenderness. “Mmm,” he mused, pulling away again. “You like that, don’ you?”

Buffy lifted her hips again. “Spike, please.”

“Please what?”

“More.”

“More of what?”

She scowled at him. “Jerk-off.”

A grin tugged at his lips. “Now, now. No need for name-calling.”

“I’m burning up!”

He shifted and covered her pussy with his hand, rubbing her with the heel of his palm. “I’ll bloody say.”

“Guh.”

“Makes me so hard,” he purred, eyes eating her up. “Watchin’ you moan. Feeling you writhe. You look at me an’ I…” Spike broke off and turned his attention back to her sensitive flesh. “You’re perfect. You’re so perfect. This quim. Every delicious move your body makes. Your skin. I jus’ wanna lose myself in you. Over an’ over an’ over again.”

His lips slid over her clit again before she could muster a reply, his right hand slipping up the length of her abdomen to palm a breast as his other hand ventured to her opening and danced across her labia. “So wet,” he murmured. “Feel this, baby? Feel your honey rolling over me? I tell you, a man could die happy here. Give me some an’ all I want is more. More of this. More of your taste. More of you.” He pressed two fingers into her opening, inhaling sharply when she mewled. “The sweet li’l sounds you make. For me, right? This is all for me. You’re letting me have every luscious inch.”

“Spike…”

“You want me inside you?” His fingers slipped inside her again, then out and in again. In easy seconds he’d developed a steady rhythm, stretching her, testing her, filling her. Stirring within her a hunger she barely understood but reached to gratify nonetheless. Every thrust deepened her craving, gnawing away until there was nothing but the harsh desire to have it satisfied. And when his tongue began flicking her clit again, thought dissolved into a blanket of ecstasy. White hot bolts of pleasure liquidated her veins, centering in her stomach and massing to a boil so sweet she could barely stand it.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Spike encouraged between licks, drawing her clit into his mouth and wagging his head. “Mmm. Mmm.”

“Unh…”

Buffy forced her eyes open and looked down again, and the sight of Spike eagerly feasting on her body set her off. The beads of pleasure ignited into something fierce, something ruthless, something which forced her from her body entirely. Jolt after jolt of pure euphoria rattled through her skin, constricting her veins, rushing through her with potency unlike anything she’d every touched. The cries ripping off her lips barely sounded human, much less like they belonged to her—throaty, harsh, and desperate. Her body tensed and released and he didn’t let her up. Wave after glorious wave rendered her thoroughly conquered and Spike kept sucking. Kept licking. Kept laving her clit and exploring her pussy as though her body had secrets it had yet not betrayed.

“Spi—” She tried to sit up but he overpowered her, free hand flying to her thigh to hold her to the mattress as his mouth devoured. “Ahhh…oh Gohh…stop. I…what…what are you…oooohhh…”

He chuckled, leaving her clit with a parting lick before his mouth wandered to her opening again, lapping up her body’s juices. Every flicker delivered a sharp, electric shock, and the burn was so good she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to pull him closer or push him away. In the end her body chose for her, spasming impossibly once again toward a dark abyss of pleasure. She didn’t know how long it lasted—time lost its meaning once she regained use of her eyes. Her skin prickled. Her chest heaved. Hot rolls of sweat trickled into her eyes.

Spike lay curled between her legs, eyes shining, his mouth twisted in a very pleased grin. “Ever feel anything like that, Slayer?”

His voice triggered something primal. Something hot and needy. Before thoughts could connect with action, she’d sprung up and seized her vampire by the cheeks, hauling his mouth to hers. And she devoured. She inhaled him, sucking on his tongue, drinking in his taste, intoxicated by her own essence upon his lips. Every crevice of his mouth was hers to explore. Hers. All hers.

“Oh baby.” Spike’s arms enveloped her, pressing her back to the bed, his thick cock resting against her achingly wet flesh. “Bloke can get used to this.”

“Amazing,” she gasped, sucking his lower lip between her teeth and edging backward. “My…Spike…”

“Mmm, that’s right.” He thrust his hips hard against hers and chuckled when she moaned. “Your Spike. All yours.”

“Never…never…”

“You’d never come before?” If anything, the satisfied grin on his lips spread wider. “Always knew my grandsire was a prat.”

Buffy blinked dumbly. “That’s what that was?”

“Want me to do it again? If you weren’ sure…”

She shook her head hard. “Oh God, no. No. I think you’ll kill me.”

His brows perked. “’S funny…I hear you say no, but your body…” Another jerk of his hips rendered her a whimpering mess. “Oh yeah, your body wants more.”

“Spike…”

“’S not the main event. Jus’ a sampler. A li’l sampler. I want more.” Spike’s mouth dropped her to throat, doctoring her skin with wet, ardent kisses. “Felt you come apart on my tongue. Now I gotta feel you around my cock. Squeezin’ me. Strangling me. Hurting me so good I’ll beg you for more. An’ you’ll wanna give it. You’ll give it over an’ over again.”

Something large pressed against her opening, parting her flesh as though it were a missing piece of her coming home. Buffy willed her eyes shut. She couldn’t survive another orgasm but she needed it all the same. Needed to feel what he promised. Needed him inside her—his body rocking against hers, plunging again and again. She needed it.

“Wrap your legs around me, precious.”

Buffy snorted inelegantly. “Legs? What are legs?”

He barked an appreciative laugh. “In your case? Lethal weapons.”

“That I currently can’t feel.”

“Better for me. Means I can do whatever I want.” A hand curled around her knee and stretched it around his waist. “’Atta girl. Now your arms. Around my neck.”

Somehow, she found the strength to obey, allowing him to edge them effortlessly up the mattress. Then she was stretched entirely across the bed with a pillow propped under her head and her legs spread to accommodate him. “It’s only been once,” she reminded him. His cock slid between her pussy lips, driving her insane with an impossible renewal of lust. Where her body had the strength to want more she didn’t know—all she knew was she did. She wanted more. She needed more. She needed in ways she didn’t know she could need, and she needed it now.

“I know,” Spike whispered, burying his face in her throat. “I know.”

How had she not known this side of him existed? How had she missed it? In the two years of their acquaintance, never had she accredited Spike with any form of tenderness, yet now, as he pressed her body apart and began the slow slide within her, it seemed so wholly obvious she doubted she could ever trust her own insight again. Her memories of him were warped forever, twisted into something different yet the same altogether. She’d known he was good to Drusilla—he’d coddled her, loved her, romanced her…every day during the hellish year of their initial acquaintance, he’d made it very clear that a hundred years hadn’t wilted a single petal on the rose. It was passion women craved; passion Buffy hadn’t truly believed to be real.

He wasn’t ramming into her, though for the way he sucked in his cheeks, she could tell it was what he wanted. He wasn’t smirking at her; rather his eyes were devouring her in wonder. Her name rolled off his lips as he found solace in the crook of her neck. Further and further, her pussy expanded and welcomed him, dragging him inside her cavern inch by agonizing inch. Her heart leapt into her throat and tears stung her eyes. It was too much—it wasn’t enough. She needed less and more at the same time, and her body sat war-torn, splitting with pleasure and stinging with pain. It was nothing like she remembered.

God, it was so much better.

“Ahhh,” Buffy hissed, arching beneath him to propel his cock deeper within her. “Spike…”

He murmured against her throat. Then sniffed. And before she could blink, a growl ripped through his lips and his hips surged forward, burying himself as far inside her as physics would allow. She gasped and clutched at his forearms, her chest thundering so hard she thought it might break. Then there was nothing but Spike. Spike inside her. Spike’s body pressed to her body, his heavy gasps rocking his chest against hers. He lifted himself onto his elbows and searched for her eyes. “’m sorry,” he panted. “Din’t mean to…jus’…the mark. Had…you’re mine. Mine, Buffy.”

She blinked up at him before recalling Angel’s bite, and understanding dawned. He’d smelled another man on her and his reaction had been immediate. Primal. It should have scared her—it didn’t. If anything, it made her want him more.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, lifting her head to kiss him. She needed closeness. She hadn’t had closeness in such a long time. She needed to feel his kiss as he moved against her. As he withdrew from her body, her flesh pulling against his, and sank inside her again.

“Buffy…” His brow came to rest against hers, his fingers curled against her cheeks. “God, so warm. Burning me up. Burning…you always this hot, baby?”

Buffy’s head rolled back, raising her hips as he slipped away again. No, no, no, she needed him inside. Why couldn’t he understand that? She needed him inside. “I…ahhh, umm.”

He chuckled shortly. “’ll take that as a yes.”

“Can’t talk. Can’t…don’t make me.”

His lips brushed over one of her eyes, and she suddenly realized she had squeezed them closed. But she wanted to see—needed to see. She’d tried to hide before, but not now. Never again. She needed to look at him. She needed to drown in his eyes.

Perhaps he lived in her mind, for the next thing he said was, “Look at me.” And she did. As though awaiting his command.

“So pretty,” he whispered, stealing another kiss from her lips. “So tight. Squeezing those muscles around my prick. Love this. God, how I love this. More, kitten?” He thrust harder without awaiting a response. “Do you love this, too? Love the feel of me inside your cunny?”

Buffy whimpered, digging her nails into his forearms and rolling her hips. “More. I need more.”

“More of what?”

“You. Deeper.”

Spike smiled, nibbling on her lower lip, driving his cock harder inside her. “Like this?” he asked. “Oh…that’s it, Slayer. Squeeze me hard.”

For whatever reason, hearing him address her by her title sent white hot sparks through her insides. “More,” she gasped again, wrapping her arms around his throat and kissing him before he could reply. It didn’t matter—his reply was in his body. In the slippery drive of his cock into her pussy, in the sound of flesh slapping together, in the squeaks of the mattresses and the slams of the headboard against the wall. In the throaty moans ripping off Spike’s lips and falling into her mouth. More, more, more. More of this. More of him. More of everything.

“Oh God.”

“Fuck yeah,” he agreed, pumping harder into her. Harder. Harder. It couldn’t be hard enough. She needed to meet that edge again. Meet it and fall over head first. “Fight me, precious. Fight me.”

“Need…”

“I know what you need.” He bit at her lips again before his attention drew southward, mouth peppering kisses along her skin until he had one of her nipples sucked between his teeth. “Need to come apart. I need it, too. Need it. Want it. Wanna feel it. Want you coming around my prick.”

“Ahhh…” Her teeth pulled at her lower lip, her fingers tunneling through his hair as his hips smashed against hers. The burn she’d felt earlier flamed again, churning deliciously in the pit of her stomach. He kept pulling away, and while the feel of his cock dragging against her flesh had sparks flying before her eyes, she needed more. She needed it—an it she couldn’t identify but similarly couldn’t stop fighting to keep.

She needed…

“So beautiful. So beautiful.” He squeezed one of her breasts, his mouth playing with the other. “An’ all mine. All mine, Buffy. You hear?”

She wouldn’t dream of denying him now. Not now. Not when she needed. “Yes. More. Spike…more. Please!”

“So hot. So tight.”

“More!”

“All mine.” He shifted and something sharp skimmed her throat. Somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, she knew what it was, but she didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the burn. The sparks shooting through her body. The need to touch—need to feel—the need…

The need to keep him locked in her body. Time to fight back. The next time his cock stabbed her pussy, she contacted her muscles around him hard. Capture. Hold. Need.

“Bloody fuck!” Spike roared, his head reeling back, yellow eyes blazing. “Oh God. Oh yes. Again!” He thrust harder, feral. “Again. Do that…oh Buffy. Buffy. Buffy Buffy Buffy. My Slayer. My Buffy. Squeeze me. Fucking yes.”

She bucked wildly. “Spike!”

“Buffy!” The hand at her breast was suddenly gone, suddenly between them. Then his fingers were over her clit. Rubbing her. Teasing her. Playing with her. The burn deepened, need expanded. She was so close. So close.

The second his fangs sliced into her throat, her body exploded. Wave after wave crashed over her, seizing her and carrying her somewhere she’d never before traveled. The bed vanished. The walls vanished. Everything vanished—everything but Spike. Spike thrusting hard, growling into her bloodied throat as he trembled harshly and emptied himself inside her. Tiny pinpricks danced across her sweat-laced flesh. Pleasure roped her veins and held. And when it was over, when the last wave receded, he was still with her. Still a part of her. Still inside. Still hers.

And it hit her. What she’d known before but hadn’t realized. Hadn’t understood. What she could only truly know at a moment like this.

He was hers. He was completely hers.

Spike was hers.

And he always had been.

VII

There was no going back from last night. No way he could turn his head and walk away. No way he could survive with the mere memory of her. No going back after this. No pretending anything less than Buffy at his side would ever be enough for him. No pretending. No telling himself one thing in preparation for what he’d inevitably lose. Losing Buffy had no cushion. Had no bright side. Had no silver lining. He’d lose her because of what they were—what the world had molded them to be for each other. Foils. Enemies. Vampire and slayer. The other’s killer. He’d lose her because of what he was. He’d lose her, and there was no going back.

Not from last night. Not while her warmth surrounded him. Not while the heat from her skin still had him sizzling. Not while he was still drunk on her kisses. Not while his cock was still nestled against her ass, hardened with the memory of how her pussy felt around him. She’d gasped and clawed at him, squeezed him until he popped, and she’d looked him in the eye the entire time. She’d whispered his name. She’d held onto him. And she’d asked for more.

Now she was in his arms and he had no idea how long she’d let him hold her. When the day broke against the sky, would she remember what she’d asked? Would she remember how she’d wanted him? Would anything remain with her? Had any of it been real at all?

Spike inhaled sharply, running a hand down her arm. He’d been around long enough to identify next-to-perfect moments, often mistaking them for the true thing until something else reshaped his vision. Until he had a new appreciation for what perfection truly was. It wasn’t with Dru; it had never been with Dru. It wasn’t in the taste of human blood or a sodding good brawl. It wasn’t even in the thrill of snapping slayer necks. It was here. Right here. With Buffy. Buffy beside him. Buffy curled in his arms, believing in him without betraying a thing. He could do whatever he liked to her now and she couldn’t stop him. She’d allowed him into her world and trusted him not to hurt her—and she didn’t even realize it.

She had to know. Before they parted ways—hell, before they went any further with each other—she had to know.

A soft little moan spilled across her petal-pink lips. Spike buried his face in her hair, drew in her scent as the arm around her middle tightened. He wasn’t letting go without a fight.

She awoke slowly, but the transformation had him spellbound. She was peaceful and still one second, then light touched her cheeks and her body began to stir. Buffy blinked sleepily and yawned, stretching her luscious curves against him. She paused when she encountered his erection, hesitated, then offered a grin and wiggled her delectable arse. “Good morning.”

He murmured in response and his mouth dropped to her throat, irrevocably drawn to the mark he’d given her. Where his fangs had eradicated Angel’s memory. Where he’d truly tasted perfection.

“Mmm…” Buffy shivered, then twisted in his arms. She didn’t balk when their eyes clashed. Rather, it was as though her face had kissed the sun for as bright as she smiled at him. “You realize if we have to kill things today, I’m completely out of luck. My legs lost all functionality sometime between the third and fourth time.”

“That’s being gracious, kitten,” Spike retorted with a smirk. Then, sobering, he seized her lips in a long, delicious kiss. There could never be enough of this. “Taste so sweet…”

Her nose scrunched adorably. “Kissing me is icky first thing in the morning.”

“’ll be the judge of that.”

“Morning breath.”

“Mmm…Buffy breath.”

“Morning plus Buffy plus no toothpaste equals massive ick.” She frowned contemplatively, then kissed him again in an almost methodical manner. As though she was conducting an experiment. “How do you taste so yummy?”

Spike grinned. “No breath. No morning breath.”

“No fair. I’ve seen you breathe.”

“Voluntarily,” he replied, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

“Well, no more kisses until I make my breath user-friendly.” She scooted to the edge of the bed, her hand dipping over the side in search of clothing. A soft smile crossed her face when she located his discarded tee. “Be right back.”

Christ, she did more for his clothing than he ever could. Spike licked his lips, eyes absorbing the way the black cotton contrasted with her creamy skin. He groaned when she slipped off the bed entirely. The hemline hit her at the hips, concealing her quim and teasing him with glimpses of her arse. She was so bright this morning. So much lighter than he would ever have dreamt. There was no reason to believe it would last or that it meant anything beyond what she was giving him, but against his better judgment, he hoped. He hoped.

“I love you.”

The words were out before he could think to stop himself. It was what he wanted—what he needed. He needed this between them before they went further. He needed her to know what was at stake.

The look she gave him would remain with him forever. She turned around slowly, astonishment blanketing her face, her wide eyes drinking him in before falling into the softest warmth he’d ever known. It touched her lips, her cheeks, colored every inch of her skin. She had him drowning without effort. No one had ever looked at him like that.

No one.

He thought she would speak; she didn’t. Instead, she drew in a deep breath and stepped forward, hands criss-crossing at the hem of the tee and drawing it over her head, nothing left of her former shyness. Spike sucked in his cheeks. Fuck, she was a goddess. A warm, living, breathing goddess. A goddess the likes of which he hadn’t known existed until she stumbled into his life. It had just taken him a long bloody time to realize what should have been obvious.

She climbed onto the bed and crawled up his body, hissing when the length of his cock dragged along her sopping pussy. His hands found her breasts, a shuddering breath rocking through his chest. “Perfect,” he whispered. “So fucking perfect.”

“I’m not perfect,” Buffy replied, seizing his cheeks and drawing his mouth into hers. He moaned loudly against her lips, his hands dropping to her hips to anchor her into a hard thrust. She explored him eagerly, licking every crevice of his mouth, sucking on his tongue with desperate, reckless need. Her kisses were enough to inebriate the strongest of men. And when her hand slipped between them to position his cock at her opening, he would have sworn his entire existence had been a prelude to this moment. In Buffy’s eyes, he was finally made whole.

“That’s it, kitten. Take me inside.”

She smiled shyly. “I’ve never done it like this,” she replied. “On top.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Bloody right. The less you’ve done with any other bloke, the better for me.” He lifted his head to suck her lower lip between his teeth. “Fewer gits I gotta off.”

Buffy arched a brow. “You’re gonna kill all my old boyfriends?”

“They touched what’s mine.”

There was no response to that. No acknowledgment. No rebuttal. No rejection. Nothing. And the nothing both invigorated and offended him. She wasn’t denying it, refusing it as she had the night before, but after he’d proclaimed his love for her, he wanted something tangible. Something to solidify that what he had here—what he was touching now—was something he would have forever.

Instead, she kissed him. He just hoped her kisses were her way of saying what she couldn’t.

“What happened to morning breath?” he asked when they parted, nipping at her lips.

“I figure you can deal with it. Buffy want now.”

“Buffy want what?”

She merely grinned and sank down, and God if the sight of her pussy swallowing his cock didn’t rattle him to the core. Spike swallowed a moan and slid his hands up her legs, clutching hard as she began rolling her hips against him. It was slow and delicious, and even if he yearned for a hard rutting if only to demonstrate how very much his she was, he knew this was important for her. Buffy needed to know how this sort of control felt. She needed to know how she could steer his cock with the slightest jerk, wrangle him with a squeeze of her sweet vaginal muscles. She needed to know this brand of power.

And he wanted to be the one to show her.

He wanted to be the one to show her everything.

“You have such a pretty pussy.”

Her creamy skin turned a cute shade of red. “Do not,” she argued, her head rolling back.

“Mhmm. An’ I’m gonna show you everything it can do.”

“It doesn’t do magic tricks.”

Spike smirked wickedly, slipping his fingers up her sides until his hands were hooked under her shoulders. “Oh, baby,” he purred, encouraging her forward so he stretched deeper within her. “Fuck yeah. So hot. So wet. So bloody tight. You’re perfect, love. An’ everything you do is a magic trick.”

“You’re high.”

His grin widened and he stole a kiss from her lips. “On your sweet cunny.”

She blushed harder. “Spike…”

“That’s it, baby. Moan for me.”

And she did. She moaned. She whimpered. She came apart.

And she knew he loved her. She knew it.

But she didn’t say it back.

*~*~*

Spike loved her.

Giddiness bubbled in her chest, searing her skin with newfound life and inspiring her heart to wild, erratic bursts every time she replayed his declaration. Every time her mind brought her back to his eyes and the achingly desperate way he looked at her. Swallowing her in a sea of endless possibilities. She had words, now. Words to accompany the love she'd felt last night every time his skin brushed hers. Every time his lips caressed her lips. Every time he smiled at her. Every time he sank inside her pussy. She'd felt it with every thrust, every whimper, every delicious moan. Spike loved her, and he'd given her the words.

The rest was up to her.

So much had changed in the past few days. Things she never would have thought of herself were emerging in astonishing new light. She'd left Sunnydale with a mission and a broken heart. She hadn't been looking for anything beyond ridding the world of an apocalypse-happy demon. A fling had been out of the question, which was fine, because whatever she felt for Spike surmounted the place where flings lived.

Looking back, she felt the years with Angel had imprisoned her in a fantasy world. There had been no happy medium for them—it was one extreme or another, and at one point it had been terribly romantic. Her girlish heart had loved him completely. But even after he returned from Hell, even before he shattered her world when his face dissolved into that of a killer, a part of her had understood it couldn't last. Fantasies never did.

Strange. Nothing about Spike embodied fantasy. He was harsh. He was dark. He was real. God, he was real. He was so completely real. And he loved her. He'd grown to love her over their tumultuous relationship. He'd seen who she was and fallen—he hadn't merely decided to love her, as Buffy was sometimes convinced Angel had. And that was the kicker. In so many ways, Angel's love had been conditional—a choice he made against his better judgment. He'd loved her best when she was in her element. When she was Buffy, however, he tended to scowl and get preachy on her lack of important priorities. He loved nothing better than to tell her what she should be rather than what she was.

When she was just Buffy with Spike, she made him laugh. Their conversation was lively and entertaining, their interests frighteningly similar. They shared personality and humor, superficial cares and attention spans. Her calling might have brought them together but it wasn’t what had kept them together since their unlikely alliance.

Her calling wasn’t why he loved her. He loved her in spite of it, not because of it.

Spike’s loving her changed everything. Everything. Things she wanted changed. Things she feared changing. He kept her grounded but sent her flying in the same beat. And when the Reaper was behind them and they were ready to part ways, she didn’t know what would happen.

All she knew was the thought of leaving him made her insides twist and her heart ache. Returning to her regularly scheduled life held little appeal. Not after last night—after what had happened here. Not after spending hours in Spike’s arms as his hands and mouth loved every crevice of her body. Not after hearing the words.

She wasn’t made for flings. She wouldn’t walk away unscathed. But dragging Spike along with her wasn’t fair, especially if he loved her. Her thoughts were too jumbled, too confused, too out there to be given a label. She couldn’t offer him anything at the moment—she wasn’t ready to make the leap.

Not ready to trust. Not ready to put her heart on the line, especially since she’d just finished patching it up.

Fool me once.

Buffy sighed. From the other room she heard the shower shut off, which meant in mindless seconds she’d be presented with pure temptation, and this time she had to be strong enough to say no. Five times already they had both tried to get clean, thrice together and twice separately. Showering was fruitless when they jumped each other’s bones the second they flashed each other with naughty parts. And though there was nothing she’d love more than to spend the day entangled in Spike’s arms as he made a harvest of her body, the Reaper remained at large, and she couldn’t hide in her room forever.

Better to distract herself now so Spike couldn’t when he reentered the room. Buffy reached for the phone and punched in Giles’s number. She hadn’t updated him in over twenty-four hours, which meant he was probably crawling up the walls and checking flight schedules for the quickest route to Mississippi. Silly watcher. Trust her to protect the world, but one little cross-country trip and he was Mr. Dad.

Sure enough, he didn’t disappoint. “Buffy?” he demanded harshly upon answering.

“The one and only.”

Giles sighed one of those full-body sighs that could be felt as well as heard. “Good Lord, Buffy, do you have any idea what you’ve put me through the past few hours?”

“I have a feeling you really want to tell me, but really, can’t listen at the moment.” Buffy glanced up as Spike padded into the room, a towel wrapped scrumptiously around his hips, flecks of shower-water splattered across his chest. His hair was wet and tussled, his eyes sparkling mischievously. Instantly, her mouth ran dry and her brain short-circuited. Guh. Honestly, there ought to be laws against looking that good. Buffy inhaled sharply and pressed her thighs together, doing her best to ignore the sinful outline of his swelling cock.

Her ears must have stopped working, for when sound returned, Giles was practically screaming at her. And she hadn’t noticed.

Spike dulled her senses, reforming her to be receptive to only him.

“Giles! No, I am still here. Giles!”

“What the devil happened?”

The words rolled off her tongue before she could stop them. “Spike stepped out of the shower.”

She froze. So did Giles. Spike merely blinked at her before a smirk drew across his lips. Right. He would find this funny.

“Spike? He’s still in your room?”

“Ummm…yeah?”

“Buffy, have you completely lost your mind?”

“Not completely!” she protested, scowling at Spike, as though it was his fault she couldn’t come up with a decent lie. “I told you he’s helping me.”

“I don’t see why he needs to be in your room to help you!”

Buffy’s jaw fell slack, her mind blanking. Dammit. If she said anything resembling the truth, Giles would be pounding on her door quicker than Dorothy could click her heels. Though he’d given her every sympathy when Angel left town, she knew he’d thrown the vampire a personal going away party to which Giles was the only guest. Buffy getting involved with another vampire would put her watcher at DEFCON 4.

Though honestly, he had to suspect something. Spike had been in her room two days running. And their past was too colorful for the sleepover excuse, especially since Buffy’s attitude toward Spike had always been stake-on-sight. Nothing in that regard had changed until she left Sunnydale. She could certainly comprehend why her new mind-set raised eyebrows. She didn’t understand what had happened, either.

“Look,” Buffy continued, determinately ignoring Giles’s Spike-related squawking. Let him think what he would. Her love-life was not the motive behind the phone-call. “Something happened last night.”

“With Spike?”

Spike’s brows perked, his tongue making play with his teeth. Buffy scowled at him and turned away. “The Reaper’s thingamajig triggered Spike’s…otherworldly senses. Or whatever. We ended up at some place called The Myrtles.”

Mention of the Reaper had a calming-effect on Giles, and in easy seconds he switched comfortably into shop-mode, though his tone was still precarious. As though he couldn’t trust her for the company she kept. “The Myrtles?” he repeated. “Really? The home in Louisiana?”

“Right. That one. But when we got there, Spike felt nada.”

“Perhaps he was luring you there for other means.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. So did Spike. “No,” she snapped. “We were supposed to hit hot-spots in town but when we got in his car, it kinda—I dunno—dragged him there. I think the Reaper was trying to take me out and needed a place with lots of energy to do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“He attacked me, Giles.”

“Spike did?”

At that, the vampire’s patience ostensibly snapped. “Bloody hell, how thick can you get?” he yelled. “Would you shut your gob an’ listen to the girl?”

“Yes, Giles,” Buffy retorted dryly. “Spike attacked me. He attacked me so bad I decided to let him sleep it off in my room last night. Would you get real?”

“Well, I’m sorry if your choice in bedfellows has me on edge, but honestly, Buffy, what are you—”

“The Reaper, attacked her, mate,” Spike barked. “Haven’t bloody figured out how, but he did. Attacked her from the inside.”

There was a long pause at that. Then, quietly, Giles asked, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Buffy replied dryly. “But I’m thinking if he’s upping the ante to personal attacks, we must be getting close to the full shebang. Do you have anything that might tell us where he’s planning to unleash Pandora’s Box?”

Giles cleared his throat. “Yes, actually—”

“An’ you were planning to tell her when?!” Spike shouted at the phone. “Wanker.”

Buffy batted at him. “Shush!”

A pause. Giles exhaled deeply, the continued, “Willow was able to pull up some modern theories on the Reaper’s modus operandi. Apparently he has quite a following among the demon world and his progress is being tracked on assorted demon-run websites by fanatics who, as you might imagine, are very eager to see the world’s natural order reverse itself. Using…well, means I’m not entirely comfortable with, Willow was able to extract a few key details. Pandora’s Box must be let loose before the new moon. Which, if you’re keeping up to date on your lunar cycle, is—”

“Tonight,” she finished, sighing. “He’s doing it tonight?”

“You knew tonight was the new moon?”

“Giles, my best friend is dating a werewolf. I do pay attention.” Buffy huffed. “Some details would be helpful, please.”

“It will be haunted ground,” the Watcher continued. “The Reaper requires a sort of…prism. An establishment where he can concentrate the contents of Pandora’s Box into one energy. It will be a haunted house or a mausoleum. Or—”

“No,” Spike interjected sharply. “Haunted house means rot to the ground it stands on.”

“A cemetery, then,” Giles rebuked.

Spike glared at the phone. “No.”

“What the bloody hell do you know?”

“Cemetery’s not haunted for shit. It’s the people you put in it who give it energy. Not the ground itself. Haunted ground doesn’ mean the obvious, Rupes. I’m bloody ashamed of you.” The vampire shook his head, turning his eyes to Buffy. “We’re looking for a place that’s been touched by fire.”

“Fire?” Buffy repeated. Giles was silent, therefore she assumed he was brooding that he hadn’t reached the same conclusion.

Spike nodded. “If it’s haunted ground we’re aiming to find, we need a place that’s been dead, see. Fire kills the ground. Marks it. Leaves an impression. Can’t bloody do much with a cemetery except collect ghosties, an’ if he’s done doin’ that, we need to look beyond cosmetics an’ find a place where the land itself’s been dead.”

That did made sense. Even Giles begrudgingly admitted so.

Buffy’s brow furrowed. “If that’s true, though, we have a major problem.”

“What’s that, pet?”

“We’re in the American South surrounded by fire traps. If I took anything away from US History, it’s that the North pretty much torched this place in the war.” She sighed. “Also, these old houses? I heard Daniel telling Edith that three caught fire last year alone. There’s one really big one off Main that’s just a big…house skeleton. If we’re looking for a place that’s known fire, that narrows it down to every piece of land south of the Mason Dixon Line.” Buffy grumbled and pinched the bridge of her nose. “We are royally screwed.”

Spike blew out a deep breath. “Well,” he drawled. “I reckon we better start looking.”


A/N: My thanks, as always, to my betas. And to my readers. Your enthusiasm for this story makes it so much fun to write. Thank you for your patience and understanding in the delays. Only two parts to go after this!




VIII

Buffy felt like a criminal creeping through the back of the main house. She was likely the worst guest Daniel had ever entertained at Oak Hill, and though it wasn’t her fault, she couldn’t help the cold fingers of guilt from grasping her insides. Twice now she’d snubbed him for breakfast, and the one time she’d managed to make it to the dining room, she’d unwittingly dragged along the baddest, rudest vampire in the Western hemisphere. Daniel was much too clean, much too fussy to ever forgive her indiscretion, and now she was back because she needed help.

Immediacy of the apocalypse trumped etiquette. Buffy inhaled sharply and pushed the back door open, her senses instantly overwhelmed with the lingering aroma of whatever delicacy Daniel had whipped up for breakfast. And as always, rich, chocolatey cookies waited on the silver tray. Worrying a lip between her teeth, she caved and snagged one, rumbling stomach reminding her she hadn’t eaten anything since lunch the day before.

Well, excluding the plate of cellophane-wrapped cookies left on her doorstep by a mysterious benefactor. She and Spike had snacked on those throughout the day, and apparently she hadn’t eaten her fill.

“Anne?”

Buffy whirled around, licking chocolate from the corner of her mouth. “Ummm. Hi. Sorry. I—”

Daniel frowned, poised in the doorway leading to the kitchen and Oak Hill’s owner’s quarters. He looked thoroughly bewildered. “Are you all right?” he asked. “I was just getting ready to bring you something. Donna said you fainted last night, and when we didn’t hear from you…”

She blinked. God, had that been only last night? So much had happened since then.

So much.

Spike.

“Oh, right,” Buffy replied, plastering on a quick, watery smile. She might feel guilty, but she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to blame her bad manners on something intangible. “Yeah, ummm…I was a little lightheaded. Spi—erm, William drove me back and…”

Daniel’s eyes darkened slightly, worry lines receding. “Your friend’s still with you, then?”

“Well…yeah.”

Disapproval weighed his expression, but he was too much of a gracious host to vocalize it. “Well, I’m glad you had someone taking care of you. Have you eaten anything besides cookies? You must be starving.”

She grinned and nodded to the cookie plate. “I’m fine. These are delicious.”

“Let me make you some real food. The sort with proteins.”

“No…I mean, that sounds great, but I actually came in here to ask you something. Or see if you have any books or anything that would help.” Buffy drew in a deep breath, mind racing. “I, uhhh, am doing some research for a class.”

“It’s summer.”

Damn. He’d noticed. “Right.”

“And…didn’t you just graduate?”

“Summer class,” she explained quickly. “For Mr. Giles, actually. The guy who, you know, set me up here? He’s teaching it. The class. And we’re…ummm…” God. She used to be so good at this. Like three days ago, she was good at this. Had sleeping with Spike completely fried her brain?

Probably.

Especially when she had yet to stop spinning. Spike was a vicious, remorseless killer. A killer who kissed and stroked her. A killer who made her body sing. A killer who made her feel warm where she’d been cold.

A killer who loved her. Spike loved her.

Thankfully, Daniel threw her a lifeline. Either he pitied her or wanted to move onto the next thing. “What is it you need, Anne?”

“Places down here that have burned. Like…ummm…” Buffy’s brow furrowed and she cast her eyes downward. Excuses vanished. Explanations faded. She had no idea how to proceed. “We just need places that have caught fire. Research them…find out—”

“Caught fire?”

“Right.”

Daniel barked a laugh. “Well, that narrows it down—”

“I know. Really. And that’s sort of the problem. I thought maybe…you could tell us some of your top choices. Any place in particular that you’d…recommend?”

There was a long pause in which Daniel just studied her, as though trying to determine whether or not she was serious or stalling. As though expecting Spike to peek around the corner, arms full with the good china. But to his credit, he shook his head, slid his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Well, historically, there are hundreds of places in the area.”

Great.

“Oh?”

“There was a house on Clifton Avenue, right around that turn toward the cemetery? Looked just like Rosalie.”

Buffy nodded. “The house by the river.”

“Right. Well, local lore says the home was torched by a scorned Union officer when he failed to receive an invitation.” Daniel frowned thoughtfully. “A factory explosion killed a bunch of girls in the ’20s. The turning angel in the cemetery—the namesake of that Greg Iles book?”

She nodded again, searching her memory. Her first day in Natchez hadn’t been entirely eventful, but she did remember talking with a few ladies about the local celebrity author everyone in town loved to hate. A tell-all novelist whose fictional stories relied on local Natchez secrets, typically tattling on rich-blood families. His novel, Turning Angel, had made famous the actual turning angel monument in the cemetery.

“There’s also Arlington.”

“Arlington?”

Daniel nodded. “The house on Main. Owned by Tom Vaughn. He—”

“Right! That big one. The—”

“Caught fire and he just let it burn. Of course, his entire family is batshit crazy.” Daniel laughed hard at that as though he’d said something really funny, but his eyes were dancing with authentic mirth, which led Buffy to believe he just loved gossip. “You know about Arlington, right? The family took it off Pilgrimage in the ’30s when a black family tried to take a tour. Really remarkable home. Gorgeous. Had a doll collection worth—oh God, millions. It all went up in the fire. And we’ve had buyer after buyer come here with offers like you wouldn’t believe, and Tom turns them down.”

Buffy balked. “Why?”

“He’s crazy. Also, I think he knows it’d make a lot of people happy to see Arlington restored. But yeah, that’s very hush. A big tomb on the side of the road. It’s really sad.”

And it was her best bet. All other places in town would be too pristine, too managed, too well-lit to attract the Reaper. If Spike was right, and she had every faith he was, they needed some place in the shadows. Some place remote. The skeleton of a mansion was ideal.

It was where the Reaper would go.

“Thanks, Daniel,” Buffy said, turning for the door. “That…that’s exactly what I needed.”

“Where are you going?”

“Arlington.”

Daniel’s eyes went wide. “Oh no. You can’t. It’s private property.”

“Well, I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“If Tom’s in town, he’ll be there guarding the place.”

Buffy frowned and paused, glancing back. “Guarding a burned down house?”

“Crazy,” Daniel explained again. “He’s been known to shoot at cars if they turn up his drive.”

Well, crap. She’d just have to hope Crazy Tom wasn’t in town. And if he was, Spike would have to lead. Not that she wanted him shot, but vampires could withstand a lot more than humans, slayer strength or not.

She favored Daniel with a small smile. “I’ll be super careful.”

“Anne—”

“And if I get shot, I’ll tell them you did your best to talk me out of it.”

“I really can’t advise—”

“You really can’t stop me.” The smile turned saccharine. “Thanks for the cookie, Daniel.”

Then, without awaiting a reply, she spun on her heel and marched intently out the door.

*~*~*

“I’ll give you this, love,” Spike drawled, slinging a particularly lethal axe over his shoulder. “The place is damn spooky.”

Buffy arched a brow. “You do remember you’re a vampire, right? You thrive in the spooky.”

“Yeah, that’s the point.” He sighed and glanced to the starless sky. “No light at all. Even in good ole Sunnyhell, you got the moon shinin’ down on you, right? These bloody trees block even the headlights from the road.”

“I like the trees.”

Spike exhaled. They were at the footstool of the mansion. It was a great, two-story piece of history, rotted with burnt wood and crumbled plaster. A lamppost entwined with strings of ivy guarded what had once been a grand circle drive. Scorched columns held up a slanted veranda. It was a solid silhouette, cold, unfeeling, abandoned. And the solitude moved him beyond reproach.

“Strange, innit?” he said softly, turning to face the road. “I forget at times.”

“Forget?”

He nodded. “How quiet it gets outside the big city scene, right? Dru an’ me…we used to lie on our backs in fields an’ look at the stars. She showed me things I…” Spike stopped abruptly, noting the distant look on her face. She shone brightly in the darkness. So bright. And she looked…upset.

Spike stared at her for a long minute, a slow grin stretching across his lips. “You’re gorgeous.”

Buffy blinked and crossed her arms, avoiding his eyes. “What?”

“All jealous.”

“I am not!”

“I mention Dru an’ you shut down.”

“I was…thinking.” She pouted, and God, if that didn’t make her even lovelier. “About…apocalypse stuff. Are you getting any vib—ooommm!”

The axe clamored to the cement floor; he had her pressed against one of the columns before she could utter another syllable, mouth ravaging hers with all the passion he’d forced himself to bottle since leaving the privacy of her rented room. But seeing her like that—seeing the evidence of her desire for him in her eyes…he lost all reason. Lost everything aside from the need to taste her. And taste her he did. Her warmth. Her fire. The hint of her toothpaste colliding with warm chocolate and diet soda. She whimpered and clung to him, teeth scraping against his lips as she fought his mouth with desperate, fiery strokes, sucking fiercely at his tongue. Spike growled, pressing his body hard against hers. He parted her legs with his knee, tugging her forward until her pussy rested against his thigh.

God, she could melt his clothes right off his body. She was so hot. So fiery. So fucking intense.

He wanted her here. Wanted her wet and writhing against him. Singing his name against the quiet night as he marked her body—as he eradicated any thought of the man who had dared touch her in the past. The man whose grubby hands had so presumptuously explore what belonged to Spike. What had always belonged to Spike. Buffy’s hot, desperate moans had him thoroughly unmade.

Spike hissed, sucking hard on her lip before pulling away, kissing his way to her ear. “You’re all I need, Slayer,” he growled, rubbing his leg against her molten center. “All I’ve ever needed. Jus’ took me a bloody long to find you.”

“Guhhh.”

“So wet,” he purred, tenderly stroking her belly. “Makes my mouth water.”

“Spike, we can’t…” Buffy sighed and pushed against his chest, her eyes large and apologetic. “Reaper.”

Duty warred with desire, but one look at his girl’s shining eyes, and he knew he’d lost the battle. “Buggering Reaper,” he drawled, stepping back and steadying her as she regained her footing. “I mean what I said, though. About Dru. About how you’re all I’ll ever need.”

He felt heat rise to her skin. Felt her pulse race and her heart thunder. Her eyes darted to the black space between them. “Spike…I don’t…”

“Feel the same. I know.”

“It’s not—”

“I jus’ wanted you to know, love. Before we throw down an’ fight the good fight. What I said this morning is true. I do love you. Fuck all if I know how it happened…I just do. Makes no bleeding sense to me, but I can’t shake it. I jus’ know, you know? You’re what I’ve been meaning to find.” He paused, cupping her cheek. “Buffy…I love you.”

The same lost, awed look which had tickled her face that morning warmed her again. She bathed him in sunlight without a thought or a prayer. “I know,” she replied softly. “Spike…I just…I don’t know…what’s going to happen from here. After we stop the world from ending and go…I’m just—uhh, confused. And I don’t know what I feel right now.”

Spike blinked and stepped back, combing his fingers through his hair with sudden awkwardness. He hadn’t wanted to make things strange for her, but at the same time, she had to know what was at stake. She had to know how deep this ran for him, and how seriously he took those words. He’d only said them to four women in his life, and only one of those had meant it when she said them back.

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair. He supposed Dru meant it in her own, twisted way, but it hadn’t been enough for him, and that, as much as anything, had ultimately driven them apart. His need for all-encompassing love was unique, perhaps, but no less real. Living off what he was offered wasn’t good enough anymore. Dru loved with whimsy. Spike loved with his whole being. In all his years, he’d only come across one person who loved the way he did. And she was standing at his side.

“Right,” he said shortly, glancing up. “Well, sorry to tell you, pet, I’m getting no tinglies here. I—”

“Spike—”

“Props for the setting, though.”

“I didn’t mean for it to sound that way.”

He paused and met her eyes. “That way?”

“You told me something beautiful and I didn’t know how to react.” Buffy waved a hand. “God, I don’t know how to react to any of this. My life has turned completely on its head since I got here. I came here to do the job and get my mind back on track. To get—”

“To get over him.”

She balked but didn’t back down. Rather, swallowing hard, she offered a brave nod. “Well, yes. But not the way you think. Not even the way I thought. You showed up and changed everything. And it’s happened so fast, Spike. Everything has happened so fast. And now you love me.”

“I’ve loved you a long bloody time, Slayer. Jus’ took seeing you to realize it.”

The admission nearly had her in tears, but nonetheless, she pushed on. “I can’t give you what you want. The most I can…I have feelings for you. As in much. And it’s so different from anything I felt with…” She paused and broke away. “It’s real. It feels…real. Angel never felt real. And I decided I loved him too quickly. I decided, and yeah, it grew into something else, but it began with a decision. He had the big broody, romance-novel-cover thing working for him, and it was so hopeless and romantic and I don’t…it was never real, though. It was Romeo and Juliet, and that’s never real.” Buffy sighed. “I don’t want to decide I love you. If it happens, I want it to be real, too. As real as whatever we have now. If I decide I love you, like I decided with him, it becomes a fairytale, and we can’t be a fairytale, Spike. I haven’t had anything beyond the fairytale before. Everything you and me have had has been real. Everything we’ve done…and it has to stay that way. The feelings I have for you are real, too. And powerful. I just don’t know if I can call it love. I’ve known you forever, but I only saw you a couple days ago.” A watery smile traced her lips. “Give me time?”

Spike could do nothing but stare. In all his years, he’d never come closer to perfection. Buffy’s perfection. He’d touched her, but hadn’t really held her before. Not before this instant. Before her words knew breath and her eyes gifted him with new life. It was more than he’d ever had. More than anything. Anything. She was the first woman in his life to speak plain truths—to give him something beyond lacy words and empty promises. Beyond…Christ…

“Buffy…”

“I know that it’s not what you want—”

“It’s perfect.” He cupped her cheeks and drew her mouth against his, tasting every delicious crevice. Treasuring every sinful stroke of her tongue. Loving this. Loving her. Needing more and more. Needing…but happy.

Happy.

God, what a fucking notion.

“Perfect?” Buffy asked. Her eyes positively shone. “Really?”

“God yes.” Spike sighed, resting his brow against hers. “Thank you.”

“Mmm…for what?”

“Giving me this.” He kissed her again before drawing away with finality. “More later, yeah? Right now we have bigger gits to worry about.” Spike rubbed her shoulders, his eyes hitting the sky again. “But I meant what I said before. I got nothing here, love. Either the Reaper found a way to shut off my trigger or we’re fuck all outta luck.”

She licked her lips. “Well, there are tons of places around town.”

“Doesn’ need to be in town, does it? Can be anywhere.”

A groan. “You’re not really helping with the encouragement.”

“Sorry, pet. We can drive around, if you like. See if something snags me.”

“And if he did find a way to shut it off?”

Spike shrugged. “We’ll get there.”

“Time’s kinda of the essence, here. If the ritual’s going down tonight—”

“Yeah, yeah. Go fight the big fight. We’ll get there. I’m a bloody man of my word.” He leaned over and seized the handle of the fallen axe. “This bloke’s history. Jus’ gotta find him an’ make sure he knows it.”

Buffy nodded distantly, rubbing her arms. They turned on the same foot and started back for the car. Whether her mind was with him or on their missing baddie, he didn’t know. All he knew was he had to get the Reaper out of the way so he could get back to more pressing matters.

So he could chain her to a bed and make love to her until the feelings about which she spoke solidified, and she knew she felt the same thing he did.

It wasn’t until his hand curled under the door handle that his gut twinged.

“Oh bugger.”

Buffy’s head shot up. “What?”

“Get in the car.”

“Spike, what’s wrong?”

“Get in the sodding car.”

She blinked in surprise but obeyed without another question, not speaking again until the metallic clink of her seatbelt secured. “What is it?” she demanded. “Is it the Reaper?”

“We’re about to go for a ride,” Spike agreed, charging up the engine. “Hold on, kitten. Looks like the git finally sent our invite.”

The Desoto’s wheels squealed as he pulled back onto Main, and then they were off.

Chasing shadows into the night.



TBC


Note: Arlington, as all the locations in this story, is a real place I had the privilege of touring with “Daniel” about a year and a half ago. We went with the owner, Tom’s, cousin…and were on pins and needles the entire time we were there for fear that he might arrive with a shotgun. The house is a beautiful disaster. If anyone is interested, you can view the photos here: Ruins of Arlington.

Likewise, the author, Greg Iles, and the book Daniel mentions are real. Mr. Iles lives in Natchez and writes suspense/thriller novels that bring him local notoriety, even if the locals hate him because he talks about the not-so pleasant side of the sleepy town. He’s a great novelist, though, and I highly recommend his work.

IX

“I don’t like this.”

By the way Spike’s jaw tightened, she sensed he didn’t either. He didn’t say anything, though, and she appreciated it. Buffy didn’t want him confirming her fears, even if fear itself kept her grounded—kept her human. Kept her in a place where she realized her mortality and molded her weaknesses to serve her needs. But she didn't want to feel fear now, and she certainly didn't want Spike voicing his own misgivings. With as much as he’d seen and done it would understandably take a mountain to rattle him. He knew what went bump in the night even better than she did.

“I don’t, either,” he agreed a second later, shifting the car from first to third. And though his words lent her pause, his tone had her nerves sighing in relief. “The gravel’s bloody murder on my traction.”

“This isn’t like before. This is the middle of nowhere.”

Spike blew out a deep breath, neck craning to catch a glimpse of road. “Well, we figured the Reaper’d want something a li’l private. Can’t get more private than this, pet.”

They likely had only been traveling for a few minutes but it felt like hours had passed. The stretch of highway before them had been endless, dark and vacant. A few wandering cars had passed them, sure, but nothing to ease the isolation. Two minutes ago, the Desoto had taken a sharp turn off an exit-ramp, and they were speeding toward a thicket of trees which broke into a dense forest. Still no foreseeable destination. Nothing but the Reaper’s tug at Spike’s demon—and even then, they didn’t have the guarantee it was legitimate.

“I have no idea what we’re going to do when we get there,” Buffy said, her head rolling back as she restlessly wiggled her legs. “Well, okay. I have some idea. I need to stop the Reaper, destroy Pandora’s Box, and somehow keep you from falling head over feet for the guy, if this thing’s legit and not some decoy.” She paused. “If we’re not being dragged out here for a distraction.”

“Mighty good thing you got super powers, yeah?”

“Spike…”

He shrugged. “If he starts tugging at me, we know how to break it.”

She tossed him a wry glance. “Yeah. I’d like to explain that one. Sorry I let the world end; was too busy macking on my boyfriend.”

Spike inhaled sharply and the air between them sparked with new life. Buffy swallowed and waited, but nothing happened and the moment faded to a calm, comfortable acceptance. Whatever had happened before had evidently placated him enough to keep him from jumping at every reassurance of her affection. And that’s what it was. Affection. The warmth. The haze. The touches. It was all affection, and they both knew it. He didn’t need to pry or demand what the word meant. If it was Freudian or genuine. If she meant it. Those questions were quiet now, even if the quiet was temporary. For the moment, there was nothing but peace.

Instead, Spike shrugged and reasoned, “Sounds good to me.”

“It won’t to Giles,” she retorted.

“Can’t expect much from a bloke who’s only had his left hand for company.”

Buffy made a face. “Gross, Spike!”

“What?”

“If we survive this, I’m so making you pay for that visual.”

Spike smirked and waggled his tongue at her. “God, I hope so.”

A soft blush warmed her cheeks. “You still getting nothing?” she asked, nodding at the road.

“’m getting a lot,” he replied. “Just nothing that helps us.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I know, kitten.”

“It’s creepy out here.” She shivered and rubbed her arms. “There are no lights.”

“We’re in the country.”

Buffy nodded. “I noticed that.”

“There typically aren’t lights in the country.”

Her eyes trailed upward through the windshield. “You’re telling me.” She shivered again. “I don’t know how people live out here in Nowhere Land. I kill demons and avert apocalypses professionally and this still gives me the wiggins.”

“Which is pretty fucking cute, if you ask me.”

She shot him a glance. “You’re not helping.”

“’m not?”

“No.”

Spike paused. “Am I supposed to?”

“I need to get my mind battle-ready. And all I can think about is the fact that it’s freaking-scary dark out here.” Buffy blew out a breath. “Maybe it’s the not knowing, you know? Where we’re going.”

“Makes sense.”

“I don’t like feeling like this.”

Spike reached over and gently grasped her hand, curling her palm under his fingers with a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not scared, pet,” he said softly. “Believe me, I’ve seen people scared bloody witless, usually at my hand. You’re not scared—you’re ready. It’s just typically never this quiet before you go into war.”

It had been happening often over the past few hours. Little moments during which she found herself lost in the realization that everything had changed. Beyond the trip or trying to escape Angel’s memory, or even allowing another vampire into her bed, everything had changed. Spike changed things. Made them revolutionary. Made them whole.

If she asked him to come home with her, he would. Spike loved her. She knew he loved her. There was no doubting it, no questioning its authenticity. Perhaps they’d been moving toward love the second they met. After all, they’d both been in disastrous relationships and knew their own self-made fairytales had to end eventually even if admitting it hurt. They fought and fought and, while their battles were always lethal, they had also been fun. Fighting Spike was fun. It was the reason she always preferred fighting him. Always. If anyone was going to take her down, she wanted it to be him. She wanted to die while having fun.

It was perverse and wrong, but no less true. Fighting Spike made her feel alive.

Sleeping with Spike made her feel something beyond alive—it made her feel immortal, and while that was dangerous, she didn’t want to lose the sensation. Ever. Her body hummed from where he’d touched her. Every inch of her buzzed. His fingerprints burned into her skin, and she still felt ghosts of kisses from the path his lips had taken as he explored. As he searched and discovered.

He understood her. Spike understood her. He understood her now, when she said she felt uneasy. When she told him she needed time. When she held up a hand for silence or instructed him with her eyes. Spike understood her.

“Maybe it'll help if we go over it again,” Buffy offered with a sigh, closing her eyes and wiggling her shoulders. “The quiet makes my brain do funny things.”

“Like think?”

She made a face. “You're hilarious.”

Spike shrugged and offered a wicked grin. “Still evil, pet.”

“Believe me, that message comes in loud and clear.” She inhaled sharply. “Okay. So once the Reaper does his thing, the ground will do some mystic mumbo-jumbo that makes it impossible for any human hand to move Pandora's Box.”

He nodded. “According to your old man, that's the bulk of it.”

“Because if he opens it without consecrating the ground, or whatever—”

“Consecrating?” Spike repeated, arching a brow.

Buffy waved a hand. “Or whatever!”

“You're adorable.”

“And you're getting on my nerves.”

Spike shrugged again. “It's what I'm good at.”

“Well, find something else for the minute.” She aimed another glare at him which went tragically unacknowledged. “If the Reaper opens Pandora's Box without all the pomp and circumstance, the ghosties go all over the place and it's all for nothing. And we're banking he won't be careless enough to do that, so we need a back-up plan.”

“Right, 'cause nothing's ever easy.”

“Not in my line of work,” Buffy agreed with a woeful sigh. “Have any spare back-up plans on you, by chance?”

“Doesn't seem to be much room for plans,” Spike retorted. “You said it yourself. Impossible for human hands to move the box. Figure someone not human has to step up, don't you?”

Buffy blinked. “You mean you?”

“See any other volunteers, Slayer?”

Logic and reason refused to collide. The words made sense, yes, but she couldn't understand. “No,” she said shortly.

“What?”

“No.”

Spike laughed. “Buffy—”

“It could be dangerous.”

“Apocalypses typically are, sweetness.”

“I don't want to risk you.”

“An' I don't wanna risk you,” Spike replied. “Seein' as, of the two of us, you're the one with a pulse, I figure it'd be safer to let the demon handle the demon's box, don't you?”

Buffy blinked, flustered and lost. Her mind refused to connect the dots. “No!”

“Why?”

“I don't know! I just don't like it.”

“Slayer—”

“We'll get there in time. I'll kill him in time.”

“Right. An' if you don't, big daddy steps up to the plate.”

“I don't want you anywhere near the plate!”

Spike shrugged a shoulder. “Can't always get what we want.”

“Spike!”

“You have any other ideas, love, an' I'll be happy to hear them.”

Words weren't forthcoming, therefore she didn't try. She sat dumbfounded for a few seconds, mouth opening and closing in the hope of accidentally stumbling across something witty, but pearls of wisdom were in short supply and she fell back into a confused silence. The functional, rational side of her brain told her she was being unreasonable; but she didn't care. Her chest swelled and her head pounded, and Lord help her if she knew why, but the feeling in her gut refused to abate. Something would go wrong if Spike tried to manhandle Pandora's Box. She knew it. It didn't matter what the rules said—didn't matter what they'd dug up on the Reaper, she knew something would go wrong. Slayer senses had yet to betray her when it came to these things and she wasn't about to start second-guessing them now.

Spike wouldn't understand. How could he? She wasn't exactly skilled at verbalizing this sort of knowledge. All she knew was something bad would happen and she couldn't stop it if it did. And she wasn't ready. She wasn't ready to evaluate herself…or the magnitude of her feelings for him. It was too soon. She needed more time and it was too soon. She wasn't ready. She couldn't risk this when she wasn't ready.

She'd just have to make sure the Reaper didn't get too ritual-y before they arrived.

“We’re getting close,” Spike said suddenly.

Buffy sat up, eyes drawn to the black road ahead. No foreseeable shapes emerged from the woods. “We are?”

“Bloody gotta be. This feeling…like I’m missin’ something. Like there’s some place I oughta be.” Spike heaved a sigh and reached inside his duster, fishing out a cigarette. “Might give you a run for your money, Slayer.”

“I won’t let the Reaper snag you.”

“Yeah, well, there’s no telling if I’ll let you stop him.” He groaned. “God, I’ll be happy when this bugger’s in the ground.”

“And so say all of us.”

“This sodding magical mystery tour he’s aimin’ to—”

“He won’t.” Buffy drew in a deep breath, doing a quick inventory of their supplies. They didn’t have much, but what they had would be enough. Her bets remained steadfast that one of the reasons the Reaper was so hard to catch was he knew he wouldn’t stand a living shot against a real live foe if he didn’t pull a few tricks out of his bag of wonder. Things like beckoning Spike to join the catalogue of other nasties he’d gathered, or luring them to a nondescript haunted location to attack Buffy blind.

Spike smiled through the dark and she was surprised at how quickly she warmed. “I love you.”

She blushed. “I know.”

“An’ I’m not one for heroics, but I bloody well mean it when I say this. Get the job done. Don’t worry with me.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“The Reaper goes after me, you get your shot, yeah?”

“The Reaper’s getting nowhere near you.”

“Slayer—”

“Vampire,” she returned sharply. “Like you said, you’re not one for heroics. Don’t start now.”

“Love’s a funny thing.”

“What does that have to do with—”

Spike’s hand stretched the back of her seat, fingers tunneling through her hair. “Everything,” he replied. “If you’re worrying with me an’ end up losing the world, not only will we all be royally fucked, but you’d never forgive me.”

“Never forgive you for something you can’t help?”

“What can I say? You’re unreasonable.”

“Spike—”

“An’ even if you do forgive me, you’ll bloody never forgive yourself. All this presuming you an’ me live long enough after the world’s turned topsy turvy for you to get reflective.”

Buffy batted his hand away and glared. “I am not losing you to the Reaper, and I definitely am not losing the world. You start going after him and…I dunno, but if you ever want a repeat of last night and, well, all of today—ever—you sure as hell better plan on sticking around.”

He grinned. “You’re so cute when you’re trying to intimidate.”

“Spike—”

“Can’t bloody stop me, love.”

“I can knock you out and toss you in the back.”

“Ooh, feisty.”

“Will you take this seriously?”

“Have I said anything that makes you think I’m not?”

“I will kick every inch of your pale ass.”

“An’, knowing me, I’ll enjoy it.” Spike jerked the steering wheel and veered the Desoto sharply to the right, introducing it to an even bumpier and narrower road. “I got me something to live for, pet. Not saying I’m asking the bloke to make me a part of his stamp collection, but…oh fuck.”

Buffy followed his gaze, a gasp clawing her throat. What stood in a break of trees had likely once been grand. Something fallen to time. It wasn’t an obscure mark—the chains around the structure warding off trespassers told as much, but it was so far off the road no one would intervene with the Reaper anytime soon. The pillars stood straggled between each other, marking where a house once stood. Large, gothic columns scarred by flame and aged with unkind winds and rain blocked off a small piece of grass. It was large and beautiful, and it might be the last ground upon which she stood.

“Think this is where the party’s at?” she whispered.

“I’d bloody well guarantee it.” Spike nodded to the middle of the tattered fortress, where stood their cloaked friend. The Reaper blended nicely in the midst of shadows, knelt before his satchel of goodies. “Grab something pointy an’ hop on out, sweetness. Big git’s not even waiting to start the grand show.”

There was every possibility Spike didn’t intend her to take his words literally, but she chose to worry less about that and more about other things. She seized the axe Spike had hauled up Arlington’s overgrown drive and tossed herself out the passenger-side door before the Desoto could even consider slowing down. She heard her vampire call after her, but refused to break. Her objective was firm and unmovable. Kill the Reaper. Do it now. Do it before Spike’s incredibly lame thoughts of noble heroism could cement.

The ground rushed beneath her feet and wind whipped across her face. The length of chain breaking the drive from the structure swung under her legs with the rush of her leap.

“Hi honey!” she said cheerily, aiming a hard kick at the Reaper’s upturned head. “Sorry I’m late. Bit of trouble finding the place.”

The Reaper hissed, but hissing didn’t save his head from meeting the business end of her foot. He rocked back, falling off his feet and flying back a good ten feet. Buffy hit the ground running. “You know,” she said conversationally, smacking him hard with the handle of the axe. “I guess I should be grateful. I mean, you are this colossally huge pain in my ass, but hey! Got me out of town. Got me over my emotional disease of an ex, got me in the best bed I’ve ever slept in, and got me laid big time.” She crushed the teeth of the blade into the creature’s side, jerked it out and hit him again. “But here’s the half-empty. You…drove me out of town.” The axe found the Reaper’s neck. “Attacked me like a girl.” She kicked him hard in his wounded side, swinging the blade high above her head before bringing to down again. “And here I think…it’s because you were too much of a wussy to fight me face-to-face.”

Buffy panted hard, blowing a lock of hair out of her face. In a matter of seconds, she’d chopped the Reaper down. It was easy—too easy, but she wasn’t going to question it. With all the guy’s fancy moves and diversionary tactics, he was sure as hell broke without a fight. A few swings of her axe and he was scattered in several ooky pieces, wailing pitifully as she raised her weapon again.

“Definitely too much of a wussy,” she agreed whimsically. “Don’t feel too bad. If I had a nickel for every big name apocalypse-happy demon that fell this fast…well, let’s just say, I would’ve cashed it in and gone to Disneyland by now.”

Footsteps behind her broke her concentration. “Slayer—”

Buffy blinked but didn’t waver. “Now’s not a good time to distract me, Spike!”

“The git’s dead, pet. We got bigger worries at the mo’.”

She whirled around just in time to catch the end of the show. Pandora's Box had illuminated in a brilliant flash of color, spiraling upwards as the earth beneath it began to tremble. A symphony of a thousand shrieks molding into one burst through the air. Symbols carved into the wood burned and sparked to life—a pillar of pure energy burst through the top and broke clear into the night sky. The blaze was blinding, blinking iron dark away with nothing but pure white. And she couldn’t see. Everything faded away and she couldn’t see.

“Spike!”

If he responded, she didn’t hear. She couldn’t hear over the thunder of a thousand demons bursting to newfound freedom in a world reborn.

“Spike!” Buffy stumbled forward awkwardly, axe falling to the ground. “Spike!”

It was no good. She couldn’t even hear herself. It was over. Overconfidence tied with severe lack of preparation had been her undoing. She’d defeated the Reaper, sure, but not his pet project. She hadn’t stopped the thing she’d come here to stop.

The world was changing. Everything was changing and she couldn’t stop it.

And as quickly as it had started, it ended. The world fell still again. Dark. Silent. Secure. It took several seconds for her ears to stop ringing. Even longer for her eyes to adjust once more. Her skin pricked and her body hummed, and with every twist of her head, she expected another wail. Another demonic scream. The full pressure of evils unknown to this world still scratching at the air around them. Everything fell quiet. Fell still. Everything just fell.

And when the dark began to piece itself apart, she saw him.

She saw him.

“Spike!” Her legs wobbled, but she forced them to work. Forced herself to her feet, stumbling hard against the uneven terrain. He seemed a thousand miles away in that second. Still. God, were vampires supposed to be still?

“Oh God, you idiot,” Buffy cried, nearly toppling over again. She couldn’t seem to get this gravity thing down. “I told you! I told you not to…and what do you do?”

He lay on his stomach just a few feet from the ruins, Pandora’s Box having tumbled from his grasp after he fell. It rested uselessly on its side, lid swinging off its hinge, the contents spilled and gone. But it was the last thing she saw—her attention was entangled in Spike.

Spike.

“You lousy son of a bitch. I told you!” She collapsed at his side. “I told you.”

Spike didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Of course he didn’t breathe—he was a vampire, for crying out loud—but the not-moving thing…he was a demon. A demon’s hand had touched the box. He’d moved it with his demon hands and he was supposed to be okay now. He was supposed to be okay.

Buffy shook him again. Shook him hard. She wasn’t beyond breaking a few bones if it got him to open his eyes. “Wake up!” she commanded, tears choking her. “Stupid vampire, wake up!”

Nothing. Still nothing.

She hated the feel of tears splattering her cheeks. God, she’d never cried so hard as she had in the last two years—cried for Angel, for herself, for her mother, for Angel again…she didn’t want to cry for Spike. She wanted him to be the one who saved her from tears. “I am so kicking your ass for this,” Buffy promised breathily, peppering his face with wet kisses. “I swear to God, Spike. You can’t do this to me.”

Silence was her answer. He remained so far from her.

And then there was one thing she hadn’t said. One truth she hadn’t realized. It was honest but fast. It was something she’d known forever but only now understood. The burning in her chest. The tears strangling her throat. The swollen pain puffing around her eyes.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you, you big dummy. I know I said I didn’t know…but I do. I love you. And you can’t—”

It happened without warning—without struggle. One second she was a basket-case, listening as the roar around her faded to a soft, calming lull. The next she was looking into his smiling eyes, full of mirth and shining with life. “Hey there, gorgeous.”

Buffy blinked at him and then stumbled back. “What…?”

“Once in a lifetime chance, love. Can’t tell me you wouldn’t’ve taken it.”

Astonishment and outrage replaced grief. Buffy was on her feet in an instant, body trembling, an accusatory finger pointed at his unrepentant face. “You…you ass!”

“Buffy…”

“You made me think—”

“I told you it’d be all right,” Spike reasoned, climbing to his feet. “I told you.”

“And then—”

“Like I said…once in a lifetime chance.” He smiled and took a step forward, then another when she failed to recover it in the other direction. And another. And another. And before she could help herself, she found her breasts pressed against his chest. Found her face captured between his hands. Found her eyes lost in a sea of endless blue. “Din’t mean to scare you.”

“Like hell,” Buffy replied, not without a few sniffles.

He caressed her cheek with curled knuckles, leaning inward to nibble lightly on her lips. “I love you.”

“I hate you.”

“No,” Spike replied, kissing her again. “You don’t.”

Damn her easily-meltable defenses. “No, I don’t,” she agreed breathlessly, though not without a moan of protest. “But God, it’d make things easier.”

“Tell me?”

“You don’t deserve it.”

He grinned. “Not much in this world I do deserve. Tell me anyway.”

A long sigh coursed through her body. There was no sense in denying it. No sense in fighting. She hadn’t had a chance from the very start. From the second their eyes clashed in the cemetery four nights ago. Hell, from the second their eyes clashed two years ago in the alley outside the Bronze. It would always end this way. They could have played it anyway they liked but they would have ended up here. Fighting. Snarling. Dancing. Loving. They were bound to end up here—in each other’s arms.

“I love you,” she whispered. Then added, “Ass.”

Spike chuckled and nudged her mouth with his. She found herself lost in his lips the next second, a slave to his tongue, wound in his arms. She was gone then—gone with him to a place from which she never wished to be recovered.

The world had a way of melting when he kissed her.


X

Fuck, but he loved her like this.

“Come on, Slayer,” Spike implored, rocking impatiently on his heels. “Hit me!”

“Someone’s a little too eager to be punched in the face,” Buffy retorted dryly, though her eyes were dancing. God, she was a vision. Tussled hair. Sweat-drenched skin. Pulse racing a thousand miles an hour. Her sassy mouth twisted in a self-satisfied smirk. She was a vision. A pure, fucking vision.

And she was all his.

“What?” he threw back, flexing his shoulders. “Don’t tell me you don’ like it. Come on, Buffy. Give it to me.”

She snorted and shook her head. “Too eager, I say.”

“You’re wrong. Jus’ eager enough. Plenty eager.”

She sidestepped a headstone, inhaling sharply and casting her eyes heavenward. “I do love this cemetery,” she admitted. “It’s so pretty. Why aren’t the cemeteries at home this pretty?”

“Sunnydale’s a bloody heap of dead folks, kitten,” Spike pointed out. “Too many graveyards, not enough donations.”

Buffy nodded. “I’ll miss this.”

He paused and arched a brow. “Miss the cemetery?”

“The quiet. It’s really quiet here.”

“’S not like the Hellmouth’s a budding metropolis.”

“Well, no,” she replied, “but there’s always some creep jonesing for the next apocalypse, and then things get really noisy in a big way. This place?” She spread her arms and twirled, and she looked so fucking cute he nearly tumbled over himself in his desperation to touch her. “It’s totally dead out here.”

Spike smiled and prowled forward. “Yeah. That’s the point, love.”

“No vamps rising. No ugly demons trying to ruin my date.” Buffy grinned at him. “See? Totally unlike home.”

“Take many blokes on patrols?”

She blinked. “Umm, hello? Vampire was my last, vampire is my current.”

Mention of her last had his bones rattling with the need to mark his territory. Though she’d spent part of the morning convincing him with her hands and mouth that she was completely his, the claim was new enough to trigger his rawest instincts. His fangs tingled. He wanted to taste her again—affirm it again. Wanted to feel her humming against his lips. “Vampire is your bloody only,” Spike growled. “This vampire, anyway.”

Buffy winked at him. “Memo gotten.”

“Not gotten enough.”

“Is this possessive thing gonna be…well, a thing? Because as cute as it is now, I have a feeling it’s going to get of the old.”

Spike shrugged. “Don’ rightly know. Never been claimed before.”

“Damn straight you haven’t.”

His grin broadened. He loved it when her eyes flashed green. And being one with her in this sense—broad, all encompassing, every cell in his body attune to hers—removed all limits and pushed aside all boundaries. He’d never felt so alive in all his days—not as a human and certainly not as a vampire. He had her blood in him, her words, her very being. Just as she had him. It was more than he’d ever dreamed. More, everything, wonderful…and he couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

It had happened that morning. Spike had awakened slowly, every nerve in his body singing with ecstasy, Buffy’s luscious mouth wrapped tightly around his cock, moving up and down his shaft as her hands rolled and squeezed his testicles. She’d smiled at him, much like she was now, and mentioned something about trying something she’d never before attempted.

“N-never?” he hissed, thrusting his prick deeper inside her throat. “Oh Christ…”

“Sordid sexual history is kinda blank,” she replied, tonguing the underside of his erection. “Whole lotta stuff I never got to try.”

“Fuck, Buffy…”

“Buffy wants to suck first.” And with that, his aching head disappeared between her lips, and she swallowed him whole.

“’m yours,” Spike sighed. His fingers wove through her hair, tenderly massaging her scalp. He wanted to seize her, hold her, thrust hard. He wanted to fuck her mouth, but he didn’t dare. Didn’t dare. This was about her, not him. Her exploration. Her curiosity. God, her heavenly mouth. “Oh… that’s so good.”

She released his cock with a wet plop. “Good, huh?”

He nodded and purred. “Fuckin’ amazing.”

Buffy’s head dipped again, tongue exploring his sensitive slit, one hand squeezing his shaft. “Mmm. I like the way you taste.”

“Buffy…”

“Musky. Manly.”

“Slayer…”

“Is this good? You like this?”

“Fuck yeah.” Spike lifted his head and fell back again. The sight of her feasting on his cock had his balls tightening and every nerve in his body prepared for send off. But it was too sweet. Feeling her—her mouth, her tongue, the faintest whisper of teeth against his skin. She was so warm and perfect and he needed more. “Your hand…”

The hand around his prick tightened. “This one?” she asked.

“Yeah. Ohhh…stroke me, pet. When your mouth’s…jus’ stroke me. God, that’s it.”

Her hand began pumping him without further encouragement, mouth sucking hard. She slurped and licked and introduced him to new levels of pleasure. Knowing it was her—Buffy. His Slayer. His girl. The girl who loved him. It was her mouth. Hers. Her hands. Her eyes that met his. It was Buffy.

“Buffy!”

And when he came, she didn’t pull away. She drank every pearly drop.

Her fist connected abruptly with his nose, sending his head rocking back.

“Bloody hell!” Spike roared, hand flying upward. “What was that for?”

Buffy shrugged. “You asked me to hit you. I hit you.”

“I thought we were talking about graveyards,” he replied, groaning and surveying the damage with soft, tender pats of his sore skin. “Bloody well broke my nose.”

“Did not!”

“Think I need a doctor.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think you’re full of crap.”

“Oi! Mind the wounded.”

“What kind of slayer would I be if I only hit vampires when they asked me to, huh?” Buffy sighed and crossed her arms, though her irritation fell to the wayside when Spike failed to drop his hands and retaliate. With a thoughtful frown, she stepped forward. “Here…let me see it.”

It was the perfect opening—and a thoughtful lesson while he was at it. The second she let her guard down, he sank his fist squarely in her jaw, knocking her off her righteous legs to the mossy earth and bouncing eagerly at the prospect of having one-upped her. It didn’t last, of course. Buffy wasn’t the sort of chit to take a smack to the face with a wink and a smile. She wouldn’t be his slayer otherwise.

“Ouch!” she spat, leaping back to her feet. “You ass!”

“Let your guard down, pet.”

“Yes!” Buffy agreed, aiming a punch at his eye, which he caught with ease. Didn’t stop her spunk; she knocked him off his game with a harsh kick to his side. “Because I hurt you!”

“This?” Spike stumbled awkwardly, wiping away the bit of blood that had drizzled out of his nostrils as a result of her enthusiasm. “Barely felt a thing.”

“Oh please.”

“Kinda tickled, now that I think of it.”

“You ass!”

“That one’s stale.”

“I’ll stale you up here in a second.”

He blinked. “Pardon me, pet, but was that supposed to make sense?”

Buffy all but snarled and lunged for him.

She landed astride his hips, giggling at the look on his face. “Hey there, handsome.”

Spike blinked blearily, doing his best to return to even ground. His cock strained, hard again and ready to go, rubbing her naked arse with resurging desperation. “Oh my fuck, am I still alive?”

Buffy giggled again and suckled sweetly on his lower lip. “You never were.”

“That explains it.”He sighed happily, hands dropping to her hips and lifting her up so the head of his erection pressed against her sopping vaginal folds. She was so wet for him. Drenched. Sucking him off had turned her on, and fuck all if that didn’t make him want her more. He hadn’t thought it possible. “You’re heaven, you are.”

“Heaven, huh?”

Spike grinned. “That mouth of yours, anyway. This pretty pussy…”

She pouted. “That’s all? My mouth and my…”

Her skin flushed and her voice trailed off. She was so cute.

“Can’t say the word, can you, love?”

“It sounds weird coming from me.”

His cock slipped inside her—infusing his body in pure bliss. Warm. Slick. Wet. Tight. God, so tight. She clenched around him, hands prone on his chest, eyes absorbing his face. She was so beautiful. So bloody beautiful. A nymph. A goddess. And all his.

“No,” Spike gasped.

“No?”

“All of you. All of you is Heaven. Love you. Love you so much. Oh Christ, squeeze me like that.”

She batted her eyes with mock-innocence. “You liked that, did you?”

“Buffy…”

“Say that all you want. I’m the one on top.”

Spike’s eyes flashed dangerously at that, and before she could murmur another quip, he had her on her back, cock pistoning wildly into her body. Deeper. God, deeper. Her silky walls compressing around him, holding him, her hips battling him with every thrust. Trying to reclaim him, seal him inside her body. Her voice faded into low moans and whispers, her nails at his back, clawing, scratching, digging.

Heaven. Pure Heaven. As close as he’d get.

“Buffy Buffy Buffy…”

“Ahhh…”

“Feel so good. So wet. So tight.”

“Oh…gah…”

Spike chuckled against his better judgment, raising himself up on his forearms to get a better view of her pretty face. Her eyes were squeezed shut, teeth worrying her lower lip. She mewled every time he slipped away, every wet slide out of her body, every aching move inside her soft, molten pussy. She was burning him alive and he was happy to go.

“Not so confident now, are we, love?”

Her eyes flew open in a scowl, but he chased it away with another thrust. “Yeah, you like that,” Spike crooned. “Like it hot. Like it hard. Like me digging jus’ a li’l bit deeper…”

“Over-confident…jerk.”

He chuckled again, lips falling to her neck. The thrill of her pulse had his demon writhing, but he held his fangs at bay. “You love it,” he replied. “Jus’ like you love me.”

“Jerk!”

“Say it, Buffy…” He drew back and licked her lips, eyes blazing. Then, punctuating his words with hard thrusts, he ground out, “You. Love. Me.”

“Lies!”

“You can’t get enough of me. Or this. You love what I do to you.” He smirked, mouth dipping to nurse on one of her breasts as his hand slipped between their warring bodies. The air was consumed with their gasps and sweet slap of flesh moving, wet smacks punctuating every thrust of his cock inside her quim. Her pretty pink folds molded around him, suctioning him deeper with every plunge. “You…love…me.”

“Fuck. Off.”

“Am,” Spike replied happily, though his response was dragged out on a moan. She chose a very opportune time to put those Slayer muscles of hers into good use, and his body trembled as result. A few more squeezes like that and he was a goner. “An’ you love me.”

“Ahhh…”

His finger slipped over her clit, and he earned a sharp gasp and a hard twist in turn. “Say it, Buffy. Say you love me.”

“I hate you.”

Spike chuckled and beckoned her forward. “Sing me another one, love. That one’s lost its music.”

“I can bring it back. I’m a trend setter.”

He shrugged as though the matter were of no consequence. “It’s all the same, I s’pose. Anyway, I know how to get my favorite song to play.”

Buffy grunted with another well-aimed kick, this one crashing into his shoulder and sending him flying a good fifteen feet across the hilly terrain. “Damn annoying vampire,” she grunted.

“Oh come on, pet,” Spike protested, brushing dirt and bits of grass off his duster. “Don’ go all pouty.”

Buffy stomped her foot insolently, lower lip jutting out. “I do not pout,” she insisted.

The sparkle in her eyes betrayed her. She knew exactly what she was doing, and was rather unrepentant about it. Still, knowing he was being played for a fool, Spike couldn’t help his melting defenses. “Truce?” he offered, hands coming up.

“Truces never work with you.”

“Now, now,” he chided, “you’ll hurt a bloke’s feelings. I’d say they work out really well.”

“Except when you leave me to die because you’re toting your ho-bag girlfriend away.”

He arched a brow. “Are you still brassed about that?”

Buffy waved a hand. “Angel could’ve killed me!”

“But he didn’t. You were better. You’re better than the lot of us.”
`
“Humph!”

Spike grinned and took a step forward. “Come now, love,” he drawled, running a hand down his chest and hooking his fingers through the belt loops of his jeans. “You’re not really mad. Wouldn’t be near as much fun if I jus’ let you ride out your high horse, would it?”

She pointed her nose upward and crossed her arms. “I say again: humph!”

“Buffy…”

“You’re a mean man.”

“Evil,” he corrected. His hands itched to touch her and his feet could barely wait. Slow, methodical steps accompanied every breath that rolled off his lips. “Bad. Wicked. Naughty. All of the bloody above. An’ you love it. You fucking love it.”

A pause then. Her eyes grew wide and her voice wavered. “Do not.”

“Liar.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Uh huh,” Spike retorted in the same manner, reaching for her arm. “Come now.”

The game ended without warning. Her pout melted in favor of a mischievous smirk, brows flickering as that piece of sin she called a tongue took a swipe of her lips. “Come where?”

Ripples of excitement seized his body, his prick twitching and small shivers rolling over his skin. “Doesn’ matter where, love,” he retorted in much the same manner. “As long as it’s on my cock.”

“You’re bad.”

“Very. An’ I’m gonna kiss you.”

Buffy grasped his cheeks and dragged his mouth to hers before he could blink. “No,” she replied against his lips. “I’m gonna kiss you.”

She bit him. Bit him hard enough to draw blood. Dug her teeth into his lower lip and sucked, nails digging into his forearms. Spike growled against her mouth, bruising her with his thrusts and doing his damndest to fight off his orgasm. He wasn’t ready to come. Not ready—he wanted to feel her pussy tighten and drench him. Wanted to feel her precious body spasm before he allowed himself to tumble over. She knew what she was doing—God, she had to know what she was doing.

She released his lip with a wet plop, contracting her muscles around his cock. “I do,” she said softly.

“Animal, you are…”

“I love you, Spike.”

He grinned. “Fuck yeah, you do. Love you. My naughty girl.”

“And…I want it.” Her head flew back against the pillow, fingers clutching him tighter. He thrust harder. Harder. Needing more. Needing everything. “Spike…do it.”

“Do…”

“Make it…forever.”

There was no way he could second-guess her. No way he could help himself. Stopping was impossible and his demon knew what it wanted. Knew what he needed. In a blink, his fangs burst into his mouth and made haven of her throat, drinking, consuming, feeling…oh God…

“Mine!” Spike snarled into her throat. “You’re mine, Buffy. All bloody mine.”

He tensed then. Holding himself between two worlds. The one with which he was most accustomed and the one he was exploring with her. She spasmed hard, drenching his cock with her hot juices. She clutched and gasped, clawing, her pussy so hot and tight. So wonderful. So…

“I’m yours,” she whispered, hips rolling seductively against him. The words had his heart clenching and unneeded breath seizing his throat. “Yours, Spike.”

The demon roared in triumph. The man stared in wonder. “Buffy…”

“Yours. God, you feel so good.” She thrust her pussy upward, suctioning him in deeper. “And you’re mine.”

Sentiment she made permanent a second later, her teeth piercing his skin and triggering the most powerful orgasm he’d ever known.

She made him his, and he accepted. After all, he’d always belonged to her. Always. Every step had merely been leading him here.

The words just made it complete.

She smelled of grass and perspiration, spiced with faded hints of body wash and her rose-scented shampoo. Like nature. Like the night. Her lips were soft, her tongue exploratory. She tasted of peppermint and wine, and him. He tasted himself all over her, and it near did him in.

“Buffy,” he whispered, walking her backwards until she was trapped between a mausoleum and his hard body. “Need you.”

“Need me?” Buffy replied, nipping at his lips. “You need me?”

“Always.”

“Right here?”

“Right anywhere.” Spike’s lips broke down her throat, his hands occupied with her soft, perfect breasts. He stroked her—played with her nipples through her thin cotton t-shirt. “Feel me?” he murmured, rubbing his jean-clad cock against her center. “Feel how bad I need you?”

Buffy grinned, her hands dropping to his belt. “Am I special or is this a permanent condition?”

He chuckled. “What can I say? You bring it out in me.”

“So it’s just me, right?”

“Just you.”

“Good.” She kissed the corner of his mouth as her nimble fingers dragged his zipper down. Then her hand was worming through the flaps of his fly to free his cock. And God, her warmth would melt him right to the bone. “I’m a jealous sort.”

Spike nuzzled her soft flesh. “Mmm. You an’ me got that in common, pet.”

“Really?” She favored him with a cheeky grin as they fought to free her right leg of her slacks. “Never would’ve guessed.”

“Minx.”

“Yeah, but you love it.”

His fingers glided over her quim. She’d gone without knickers tonight—likely as he’d destroyed the last pair she’d packed before leaving home. Bloody shame, that. Buffy had scowled at him but without true anger. They weren’t her good panties, anyway. It wasn’t like she’d thought she’d be getting naked with anyone when she was assigned this crazy mission.

“Love it,” he agreed, aligning his cock with her dripping opening, teasing her clit with soft taps. “Love this. Love you.”

“Lots of love for an evil guy.”

Spike shrugged, pushing himself inside her wet haven. Her scorching heat ripped the skin right off his dick, but the burn was too sweet to forfeit. In just a few days he’d already lost sight of how he’d ever managed without this. Without her warmth—her smiles, her quips, her playful eyes, her sweet pussy…without her.

“’m an anomaly,” he answered, seizing her in a brutal kiss as he began to thrust.

It was a quick, desperate coupling. With the night air against their flesh and an insatiable need to feel the other tremble into orgasm, they had each other howling with release in minutes. Spike shivered, face buried in her throat, eager tongue lapping at the mark he’d given her. The mark she’d let him give her.

The one making her his.

“We…din’t talk much…”

Buffy smiled up at him, caressing his cheek with tenderness to which he would never grow accustomed. “We talked enough.”

“It was jus’ a second, love. I don’t think you got it.”

“I’m not a moron, thank you. I understood. You spoke slowly and used small words. Besides, slayer much? I have to know these things.”

“Vampire mating rituals?”

“Vampire rituals in general.”

“But these…these things…” Christ, it was difficult to think with her pussy squeezing him like that. Even more so when his brain was fried with pleasure and wonder, and all he wanted to do was lose himself in her arms. “Buffy…”

“I wanted this. Obviously, or I wouldn’t have done it.”

“But…”

“I love you and you’re not going away.” She blinked hard and forced her eyes to the ceiling. “It hurt with him…even though it was a fairytale, it hurt when it was over. But you…you’re real, Spike. I told you that. And if we…I’m not going to let you leave me.”

“Couldn’t,” he agreed with a gasp, his cock unable to keep from renewing its thrusts. More, more, more. He always wanted more. “Not you. Buffy…”

“And…I just…wanted it…final.”

“An’ normal?”

She waved a hand before grasping his shoulders, her hips resuming their rhythmic rolls under him, her pussy recapturing him every time he dared leave her body. “We’re freaks.”

“Oh yeah…”

“I can’t…have normal. Not without you. You’re…you’re my normal, Spike…”

Spike purred, but it fell into a groan when his cock slipped free of her warmth. “Have you given any thought to what you’re gonna tell the Scoobies?”

Buffy frowned. “About what?” she replied, slipping on her pants. She was a vision. Eyes shining from her orgasm, hair even wilder than before. Still bloody hard to believe she was his, but he wasn’t about to question it. Not when he still didn’t trust the world to take it away again.

“Us.”

Her eyes grew distant for half a second, thoughtful, but she ultimately shrugged with a casualness that made his heart soar. “To deal with it? Xander took a vengeance demon to prom and boned an evil slayer. Willow’s dating a werewolf. And you’re…well, you tried to kill us, but saving the world twice—willingly, even—makes up for it.”

Spike barked an appreciative chuckle, tucking his cock back into his jeans. “How you figure?”

“’Cause this is my gig and I say so.” Her shoulders slacked the next second, a warm smile tickling her lips. “Honestly? They’ll throw a massive wig. I see many hissy fits in my near future…possibly an intervention or two. But eventually, they’ll get a handle on the idea that my life is my business and this is my choice. And if they don’t…well…I’m not gonna apologize. I spent too much time apologizing for Angel. You’re going to be a good boy for me, so—”

He scowled. “Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Vampire, love.”

She waved a hand. “Slayer, love. And you’ll be good for me because you love me, and it’d kill me if you hurt anyone. Ergo, no bities for Spike.”

“Think so, huh?”

She nodded. “I know so. You’re whipped. I can feel it.” A thoughtful pause. “I have an excellent sense about these things.”

“Actually,” Spike countered, “you have no sense about these things. Even so, pet…it's my nature.”

“To kill humans. You know…the kind I'm supposed to kill you to protect. That's my nature.”

He spread his arms. “We're at an impasse.”

“You need blood for food. I can deal with that. Pig's blood—”

“Is disgusting. You fancy cleanin' the loos at the county fair with your tongue?”

Buffy sighed, her head rolling back. “Spike…for me? I can't handle it if you're going to be out there hurting people.”

“I know.”

“Then why—”

Spike smirked. “'Cause I like keepin' you on your toes. Already thought this one out, Slayer. Got me a plan.”

“Hopefully nothing I'll have to stake you over.”

“There's a vamp-run gig in LA. Import human blood at a fancy price, yeah, but it's the good stuff. I can swing the cash.”

She burned him with a suspicious glare. “Legally?”

“Does it matter, so long that the human population doesn't snuff it?” Spike broke away with a sigh, spirits falling. While he'd known this conversation would be difficult, he'd hoped to postpone it for at least a few days. “There aren't a lot of options for blokes like me. Vamps who have no cause to behave 'cept for the girl they love. I can either munch on the tasty towners without landing them in a morgue or drink imported human blood. Blood those humans will lose one way or another. Can't be legal, but at least it's not…”

Buffy held up a hand, smiling softly. “Spike, I was kidding.”

“You were?” He blinked, then said with conviction, “I mean, of course you were.”

“Do you have any idea how much it means to me that you're willing to do even that? You have nothing to keep you from making my life a living nightmare. Not like…well, I hate using the A-word, but he had a soul.”

“Think I hate the s-word more than the A-word,” Spike muttered.

“I wasn't saying…my point is his reason was, well, that. You don't have that but you're still…for me.”

“You're all the soul I'll ever need.”

“And I know that. I know…and anything you do to keep me from…it means the world.” Buffy sighed and glanced down. “That's what I'm going to tell my friends. You're who you are and you always have been, and you're doing this for me. Human blood or not…you're doing it for me. Not killing.”

“Humans,” Spike interjected swiftly. “Demons are on the bloody market. Gotta give me some violence.”

Her face fell slack. “Oh, heaven forbid you try to help me save the world.”

Spike glanced around. “Not so loud, kitten.”

“You ashamed?”

“Of you? Never.”

“But that's…I want you with me. Always. I kinda made that clear this morning.” Buffy smiled tenderly, reaching up to caress the place on her throat where his fangs had made her his. “I just trusted you wanted me with you, too…and even though this isn't what either of us want as far as your hunting patterns go…I thought…it's a compromise, right?”

Not what he wanted. A slow grin spread across his lips, the sudden weight on his chest lifting entirely. Silly girl. Silly, gorgeous, brilliant girl. It wasn't as though he'd wanted to concern her—rather, as soon as admitting he was in love with the Slayer, he'd all but conceded having her would coincide with a radical change in diet. Truthfully, he was blown the hell away at her acceptance of his alternative. Keeping Buffy meant more to him than anything. Even if it meant giving up human blood altogether—he didn't want it, but he wouldn't have put up much of a fight. It was his curse and his blessing. For her there was little he wouldn't do.

However, there was no reason she needed to know that just yet. Leave a bloke with some room upon which to stand.

“I love you,” Spike said, stepping forward and tilting her chin upwards to meet his kiss. She poured so much into kissing him. Devouring him. Stripping his mouth with her tongue and loving him with silent words. It was difficult to remember he was in the middle of making a point with her making love to his lips, but he forced himself to pull away with a grin. “You're all I need.”

Her eyes positively shimmered. “Really?”

“Well. You, sex, blood, violence, an' the telly. I got you, an' with you I get sex. Lots an' lots of it.” She flushed but didn't object. Spike just grinned before continuing, “An' we already covered blood. Violence I can get on any given night in good ole Sunnyhell. Reckon if we fix up a place, we'll get a telly. But none of that's doable without you. You're the bloody deal-breaker. An' you give me more than I thought possible.”

The power of her smile would cripple a lesser man. “Well,” she replied, beaming. “I am rather giving.”

“I'll say.”

“And I love you.”

“God, I love those words.”

“Good, because you'll be hearing them a lot.”

Then she was kissing him again, melting away rational thought for the warm haven of her mouth.

He would never tire of kissing her.

*~*~*

Giles hadn’t picked up the phone.

Buffy flashed Daniel an apologetic smile, twirling the phone cord around her finger. Since she’d officially checked out of her room at the Mellan House, she had to beg for use of her host’s private line to make a final call before leaving Natchez—which he granted graciously, if not eagerly. Daniel was, head-to-toe, a showman. He thanked her for her stay and invited her back again, though whether or not the offer was genuine or a part of the package, she wasn’t sure. After all the trouble she’d given him, she couldn’t imagine being welcome beyond this visit. She hoped so—her girlish mind had already pictured weekend getaways with her vampire.

Natchez would always be their place.

“Does he have a cell phone?” Daniel asked, glancing up from the book he was reading.

Buffy smiled awkwardly. “Giles is allergic to technology.”

“Ah. One of those.”

“Very, very British.”

The other end of the line picked up at that. “Hello?”

“Wow,” she said, turning away from Daniel to gain as much privacy as possible—which wasn’t much, given the fact that she was on his personal line. “Lazy much? What happened to picking up the phone the second it rang?”

“My apologies,” her Watcher replied sleepily. “The world didn’t end, so I assumed all went well. I was indulging in a long nap.”

“It did go well. Very well. Spike saved the day.”

“…Spike did.”

Daniel’s brows arched but he didn’t look up.

“Yeah. He grabbed the thing and…well, it ended.” Buffy blew out a deep breath. “Well, we’re on our way back. I just thought I’d let you—”

“We?” Giles repeated, fatigue abandoning his voice. “Who is ‘we’?”

“Spike and me.”

“Spike is coming with you?!”

“Yes, he’s coming with me. Things are different, Giles.” Buffy glanced to Daniel, whose eyes were latched onto his book. He was trying to listen without being overly obvious, which made it all the more obvious. She had to laugh—her host was many things, perhaps most prevalently a gossip-hound. “I…uhhh…kinda fell in love with him.”

Dead silence.

“…Giles?”

His voice was grave when it tickled the receiver again. “You’re not serious, are you? Tell me you’re not serious.”

“Giles—”

“This is one of your funny jokes.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “No, Giles. I’m not joking. Spike and I…well, we…it just happened. I don’t get it and I certainly won’t try to explain it. But he’s coming home with me. And…we…we kinda got…uhhh…married.”

Daniel’s head flew up, his eyes wide. His reaction, though, was nothing to her Watcher’s squawking.

“What?!”

“Well…in Spike’s—uhh—custom. Not in the American—”

“You let him claim you?!”

“Yes, and before you go into a big lecture, it’s done and you can’t make me feel bad about it. It was actually my idea.”

“Buffy—”

“And we’re going to take the Desoto home. I’m not ready to end my vacation.”

“Do you have any idea—”

“It’ll also give you time to tell the others and get used to the idea. I know exactly what I’m doing. Things are gonna change.” Buffy glanced up, catching Daniel’s uninhibited staring. His eyes bounced back to the book immediately, a warm blush spreading across his cheeks. She grinned in spite of herself. “Anyway, Spike’s waiting in the car. We’ll be home before semester starts.”

Giles was still in a rage—for all the good it did him. “I can’t believe you’d—”

“See you in a couple months.”

“Months?”

Buffy hung up the phone before he could tear down another righteous tirade, turning to her host with a knowing grin. “He…he said congratulations.”

Daniel just arched a brow, his eyes sparkling. She imagined her phone call would be a hot topic at breakfast tomorrow.

“Tell Edith I said goodbye? And Donna?”

He nodded. “Will do. It was a pleasure, Anne.”

His tone sharpened around her alias, alerting her he was very much aware—or had grown so—that she was flying under the radar. It didn’t matter anymore. “Yeah. I love your place…and if Spike and I ever come back, I promise I’ll be a better guest.”

“As I said, you’re welcome anytime.”

Something in his eyes told her he was speaking the truth.

*~*~*

“Ready to rumble, pet?”

Buffy grinned, settling in the seat beside him. It wasn’t a chariot or a horse-ride into the sunset, but she’d grown to appreciate the piece of junk Spike called a car…even if she’d never admit it. “Ready and willing.”

Spike tossed her a wink. “Jus’ how I like you.”

“Any idea where we’re going?”

“Does it matter?”

She grew silent for a second, considering. No, it didn’t matter where they went. As long as they were together nothing seemed to matter. The next few weeks would open doors she’d never even considered. And though they might lead down tumultuous paths, she was confident she and Spike could emerge from any conflict better for it.

She loved him. He loved her. And he wasn’t going to leave.

Nothing mattered beyond that.

“No,” Buffy replied, leaning over and brushing a kiss across his cheek. “It doesn’t.”

“Then let’s find out when we get there.”

An eager giggle bubbled off her lips. Spike grinned at her and reached for her hand. Sun bounced off the blackened windshield, old rock blasted through the stereo, the air smelled of cigarettes and alcohol, and she didn’t care.

It wasn’t where she’d seen herself going, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Not so long as Spike was beside her.

“Hold on, kitten,” he murmured. “We’re in for a wild ride.”

His eyes were dancing, and she believed him.




The End

Ending notes: My endless thanks to my wonderful betas, Megan, Kimmie, Mari, Tami, and Elizabuffy for their work on this. It took much longer to write than I anticipated, but I’m very satisfied with the way it turned out. Likewise, thank you so much to everyone who stood by me even when updates weren’t forthcoming. Your emails, comments, and reviews made this such a joy to write. Thank you, my readers, for your kindness.

For those of you wondering about the others at Oak Hill Inn Bed and Breakfast, I will be making an announcement when Kimmie begins posting her story, similarly titled Southern Comfort, which tells the story on the other side of this one. Our favorite blonde couple makes an appearance, too…though as minor background characters, as hers focuses on Josh and Donna, and the wackiness that ensues from that end.

Thank you again!! You guys are the best. :)