Chapter 1


The minion call took him by surprise. Down in Mexico, Spike heard it vibrate in his skull and knew at once who had issued it. The contemptuous, peremptory tone of it was unmistakable. Darla. All members of the Order of Aurelius to report immediately to the Boca del Infierno in southern California.

The summons left no option to ordinary members of the Order; they would not be able to resist the call even if they tried. Spike was exempt of course. He belonged to the elite, the four vampires in direct line to the Master. The Master had sired Darla, but had not bound her to his Order; she stayed with him out of choice, fully capable of leaving him, as when she had chosen Angelus over him, but always coming back to the Master in the end. Darla’s siring of Angelus had therefore passed on only the prestige and the line, not the bond; and Angelus’ subsequent siring of Dru and Dru’s of Spike only carried the ability to hear the call, not the compulsion to obey.

Dru would pay no attention to the call unless Miss Edith or the stars told her to. Angelus, as her sire, could have commanded her to come, but Angelus had been missing in action for over a hundred years and Darla hadn’t even bothered to call him. Spike would have sensed that.

Spike’s curiosity was awakened though. No one had thought of the Boca del Infierno for sixty years, not since the Master had tried to open the Hellmouth and failed when an earthquake had destroyed half the town and interrupted the ritual. Spike hadn’t been there, but Darla had told him about it. The Order’s whole purpose was to open the portal and bring the Old Ones through, the ancient and truly powerful demons who would give the Master the power to rule the earth. The earthquake had come at the worst possible time, trapping the Master within the Hellmouth. Darla’s calling the Order now suggested that she had finally found some way of releasing him.

Spike didn’t care one way or the other. He liked the way things were right now—dog racing, Manchester United, billions of people walking around like Happy Meals with legs—why fuck with a good thing? Unlife wouldn’t be so much fun with the Old Ones back and the Master ruling the roost. Old Batface tended to throw his weight around, and all those rituals and stuff were so bloody boring.

He’d go and take a look. He had time on his hands at the moment with Dru going off in a snit like that, the way she did every decade or so. Fucking a Provilax demon! Dru had no bleeding taste sometimes! Well, he’d show her. Think a Provilax could take care of her better than he could? No way. But that would teach her a lesson and then she’d come crawling back to him the way she always did after a lapse of judgement like that.

It hurt him though that she should take up with someone else, throw away a hundred and twenty years of his caring and devotion as so valueless that it wasn’t even worth a thought. But that was how vamps were supposed to act. He was the one at fault, not her. His love and commitment to her was his weakness, was unvampiric and shameful. He knew that. It had been made plain to him in the most painful of ways over and over again, by Darla, Angelus, even Dru herself that Dru was not his and never would be, that if anything she belonged to Angelus. That in fact nothing really was his.

It was his curse, that need in him for something to cherish, to belong solely to him. For someone who would want to be with him, choose to be with him. Definitely not the correct ‘want, take, have’ of a proper demon. A flaw in him, that desire. Some flaw in his turning perhaps, caused by Dru’s mental state, that nothing—neither Darla’s scorn, nor Angelus’ cruelties, nor Dru’s humiliations, nor his own attempts to shove under and deny—could correct or beat out of him.

Dru would come back though. Not ‘crawling’. That was just bravado on his part and even he knew it. She’d come sauntering back when she had use for him again and he’d take her back, gratefully, because he needed someone to love, even when he knew he was being used.

By the time he reached Sunnydale, the old moon had passed and a new moon was rising. With a smirk, Spike drove the DeSoto right through the ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign, flattening it, then got out of the car and lit a cigarette. From this vantage point, he had a good view of Sunnydale spread out in lights below him. One foot on the fender of the car and one elbow on his bent knee, he smoked and studied it thoughtfully.

A real nothing of a town. Except for the Boca del Infierno beneath it. He was a demon. He could feel the Hellmouth, the emanations of it. But those emanations were weak, the portal existent but blocked and useless to any demon, there but not there, frozen on a plane between worlds, still caught in the chains of that failed ritual the Master had tried to perform.

There was a seethe of vamps there now. Spike could sense them like ants below the ground as he drove through the town. Darla had called them all and most of the Order had arrived. He’d bet anything the cops were tearing out their hair wondering why the number of deaths in Sunnydale had suddenly shot up into the stratosphere.

He quartered the town slowly, checking it out, seeing which places to avoid and which could give him protection or an edge. He did this routinely on entering any new area. He wasn’t a fledgling, hadn’t survived a hundred and twenty years by not taking simple precautions.

He braked suddenly with a screech of tires.

That vibe!

He had felt it twice before. Slayer!

He spun the DeSoto in a reckless, illegal U-turn, provoking an angry blare of horns and squeal of brakes from the other cars on the road, then rushed back to where he had sensed that vibe. Oh, this was too good to be true! A Slayer! He had killed two Slayers already and was really jonesing for another. Things were looking up wonderfully. Was he ever glad he had decided to investigate the minion call! He should have thought of this before, that an increase in activity around a Hellmouth would inevitably draw a Slayer.

He got back to where he had picked up the vibe, parked the DeSoto, then bounded out onto the sidewalk. She had gone off into a maze of alleys. He followed the trail, but not on the ground. He wasn’t dumb enough to just go up against her cold. Any Slayer was dangerous. That was what he liked about them. And that was what he respected about them. He wasn’t a brainless fledgling to throw himself at one, frothing at the mouth, and get himself staked. He wanted to check her out first, see what she was like, how she operated. He had done that with the other two and it had paid off; he had killed them.

The rooftops were the way. He ran lightly along them, leaping from building to building, chasing down that thrilling vibe.

There! A slender female figure strolling through the alley, her movements light and lithe. This one was blonde, golden hair falling about slim shoulders. Surprisingly small and delicate, but then that Chinese Slayer had been little too, but an absolute wizard with that sword of hers. He still had the scar from that encounter. Little didn’t mean bollocks with a Slayer. He could sense the power in her, knew her for the predator she was, the ultimate, implacable enemy of all vamps.

He jumped a building to get ahead of her and see her face. She moved through a patch of moonlight and he got a good look at it. Bloody hell, she was young! The youngest Slayer he had ever seen, younger even than the Chinese one. She couldn’t have been called all that long ago. Now that was a shame. She hadn’t had time to get any experience, probably didn’t even know how to fight that well. It was going to be too easy. No challenge at all. Spike liked a good fight and this was gonna be like shooting fish in a barrel. Not sporting. Damn!

Pretty though. Not his type; he liked sleek, sexy, knowledgeable women like his dark princess, mental though she might be. But still. This Slayer’s clean, fine-boned face, shampoo commercial hair, slender delicate figure, had their own attraction, yeah.

He became aware that someone was following her. A tall form moving through the shadows. He picked up the vibe. A vamp. Hell, he didn’t want someone else getting her! So far, he was the only one who had killed two Slayers and he was really looking forward to the rep he would get when he had three notches on his belt.

She picked up the vibe too. How not? She was a Slayer. She’d be able to sense a vamp as long as he wasn’t out of her range as Spike was, up on the rooftop. He could see the faint tensing of her body. Then, without looking around or breaking stride, she moved smoothly around the corner.

Spike suddenly recognized the vamp’s signature just as the figure passed through that patch of moonlight and his face became visible. Angelus? Angelus? What the hell was he doing here? The last time Spike had seen him was on that Nazi sub, decades ago. Had Darla managed to reach him? But Spike hadn’t picked up any call from her and surely he would have felt something like that passing over the Aurelian link. Sod it, it was just like Angelus to turn up right now and screw things up for him!

Angelus turned the corner as well and frowned, seeing the alley empty in front of him. Spike, high above him, had a better view. The young Slayer was no longer on the ground. She was doing a handstand on a bar that crossed the alley, a couple of feet over Angelus’ head. Angelus moved forward and she swung downwards in one fast wheel. Her feet slammed into his back.

“Nice move!” muttered Spike, grinning, as Angelus was knocked forward onto his face on the pavement.

The Slayer landed smoothly, then laid a foot on Angelus’ chest when he twisted over onto his back, holding him pinned to the ground. There was a stake in her hand now.

To Spike’s surprise, instead of attempting to fight, Angelus just smiled ingratiatingly.

“Ah, heh. Is there a problem, ma’am?”

“Yes, there’s a problem,” snapped the Slayer. “Why are you following me?”

Angelus held up his hands. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry. I don’t bite.”

“Yeah, right,” muttered Spike. “Don’t buy that, kid. I mean, you know he’s a vamp.”

The Slayer stepped back cautiously, clearly realizing that Angelus might make an attempt to grab her leg if she stayed in that position. Angelus got warily to his feet and she let him, frowning a little as she studied him. But she didn’t relax her fighting stance.

“Truth is,” said Angelus, massaging his neck, “I thought you’d be taller or...bigger muscles and all that. You’re pretty spry though.”

Conversation? And lame conversation at that. Spike stared. He knew Angelus liked to play mind games but, if he thought he could put one over on a Slayer, he had to be even more mental than Dru. All right, Angelus had never met a Slayer before, had always avoided them where Spike had sought them out; but surely he must know that a Slayer, with all her abilities, would certainly be aware that he was a vamp.

“What do you want?” demanded the Slayer, as wary and distrustful as Spike expected her to be.

“The same thing you do.”

She scowled at him. “Okay. What do I want?”

He stepped towards her. “To kill them. To kill them all.”

“Sorry, that’s incorrect. But you do get this lovely watch and a year’s supply of Turtle Wax.” She rolled her eyes. “God, I am so sick of this! Crazy librarian Watchers and stupid prophecies and now even the freaking vamps! Can’t any of you guys leave me alone?”

Angelus started to say something and she swung hard. The stake in her hand slammed through his chest. Angelus’ mouth fell open incredulously and then he dusted. Spike’s jaw dropped, then he folded up on top of the parapet, laughing himself sick.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, there’s another one up there!” he heard the Slayer exclaim, but he was howling with laughter and too weak to move. “Come down here and fight like a man! Or a vamp! Whatever!”

He waved a hand helplessly. “Oh, ha! Oh, my God, ha! I’ve never seen anything so funny in a hundred and twenty years!” He wiped at the tears of laughter on his face. “Oh, Slayer, you get a pass from me! At least for a month. That was just unbelievable. I can’t miss seeing what you’re going to do next!”

“I’m guessing he wasn’t a buddy of yours,” she called.

“Not by a long shot. Oh, bloody hell, my stomach hurts!” He wheezed painfully, unable to catch his breath. “Heee...! Master vamp, nastiest one around, two hundred and forty years old, Scourge of sodding Europe, and poof! Just like that! What’s your name, Slayer? I might have you canonized.”

“Buffy Summers. What’s yours? Oh, wait. You’re not going to be around long enough for it to matter.”

“Oh, I’ll be around, Slayer. I’m not dumb like that ponce. I don’t go strolling up to Slayers and asking to be staked.”

“You don’t want to fight?”

“Oh, I love to fight. And one of these days we will get it on. Guaranteed. But right now I don’t think I can stand.” He snickered helplessly. “Oh, you made my unlife, Slayer.”

“Will you stop calling me that!” she snapped irritably.

“What? Slayer? But that’s what you are.”

“Well, I don’t want to be!”

“Got no choice, have you?”

“Yes, I damn well do!”

Oh, cute. A Slayer that didn’t want to be a Slayer.

“Well, that’s a break for us vamps, innit?” He grinned mockingly at her. “You just made it open season in Sunnydale, pet. If you’re gonna be sitting around with your thumb up your arse, it’ll be a sodding buffet for us. Thanks for the free pass.”

She glowered at him and he laughed at her.

“Us. There’s us now? How many us are you talking about, vampire?” she growled at last.

“Spike. The name’s Spike. And how many? A lot. Almost the whole Order of Aurelius. If you don’t know what that is, just ask your Watcher.”

“Vamps, Watchers, Order of freaking Aurelius,” she muttered resentfully. “Who asked for that? All I want is to go to school and have a social life and maybe a few dates, just like any other girl. Dammit, what does one have to do to get a life?” she yelled at the heavens.

“Well, if you’re gonna whine, I’m outta here,” shrugged Spike. “See you around, Slayer. Oh, wait. Maybe I won’t. With that kind of attitude you’re not gonna be a Slayer very long. You’re just gonna be dead. Been nice knowing you.”

He flashed away, leaving her snarling with fury behind him.

Well, that was different. All the Slayers he had met or even heard of before had all been heavily into the Slaying thing. Carefully indoctrinated by their parents, guardians and Watchers, seriously dedicated, all grim duty. This one was an anomaly. This one resented it and, from the looks of things, hadn’t been a Slayer that long, maybe hadn’t even known what Slayers were before being Called. She hadn’t had much Watcher indoctrination, if any, that was clear.

Sure wasn’t the usual. A real SoCal, valleygirl, cheerleader-type bint. Prolly nothing in her head but nancy-boys and shopping. Scream bloody murder if she broke a nail. He really would do everyone a favor if he snapped her neck right now. That would get him another notch on his belt and give humanity a proper Slayer.

But the Powers That Be never made a mistake. And she had dusted Angelus with shocking ease. Spike started to snicker all over again at that delicious memory. She had bought herself a reprieve with that. Maybe there was something more to this nutball Slayer than was apparent. He didn’t have to hurry. He had all the time in the world; he was freaking immortal, wasn’t he? He’d watch her for a while, see how she shaped up, test her out maybe. It would be fun.

He didn’t have any trouble tracking the Order down. The entrance to their lair was through a mausoleum in a central cemetery. Any human entering there would have been instantly detected, but he was a vamp. The members of the Order would think he was one of theirs. He slid silently through the passageways until he reached the huge open area which was the buried ruined church in which the ritual had been performed sixty years ago.

There were candles everywhere and many vampires bearing torches were standing around a deep pool of blood in the center of the cavern. Another ritual was being performed. A large, burly, thickset vampire with a face that looked as if it had been carelessly thrown together out of lumps of clay was leading it, chanting monotonously out of an ancient tome.

“The sleeper will wake. The sleeper will wake. The sleeper will wake...”

The others chanted with him, a harsh rumble of sound filling the cavern. Grace notes floated above it every now and then from some ecstatic vamp or the other lost in the trance: "He will! The Master will! Go Luke!”

Spike sighed deeply and sat down on a boulder in the shadows at the back of the cavern, his shoulderblades against the rock wall and one knee comfortably bent. They had all got themselves into a half-hypnotized state, what with the ritual and the repetitious words, swaying back and forth like cobras, their eyes glazed over. He wondered how long they had been doing this. Probably from the minute the first member of the Order had shown up in Sunnydale.

“The sleeper will wake, and the world will bleed!” intoned Luke on a sudden high of zealotry. “Amen!”

“Amen!” exclaimed his followers.

But nothing happened. It wasn’t time yet. A certain pitch, a certain number of vampires was required for the ritual to take. That hadn’t been reached yet. Spike could sense that. The vibe in the air had to be raised a lot higher before things gelled. He watched them for a while, then found himself starting to nod off. He shook himself awake and decided to go get something to eat and make a few inquiries about this new Slayer. From the feel he was getting, nothing much was going to happen here for at least a day and, God! was it boring!

One dead Sunnydale citizen and a comfortably full belly later, he followed his nose to a demon bar. Willy’s, said the sign over the door, and to his surprise the proprietor was human, a sleazy, unimpressive, little twirp. The clientele however was what he was looking for, a mixed bag of assorted demons.

“Whiskey,” he said and looked the git over thoughtfully as the human nervously poured the shot.

“Don’t eat Willy, vampire,” said a Rathorn on the bar stool beside him. “This place is convenient for us and so is he. We wouldn’t take it kindly.”

Spike lifted a scornful brow. “Think I care?”

“You must be new in town. You one of these Order of Aurelius assholes come messing up our turf?”

“You got a problem with the Order?”

“Yeah, we got a problem,” muttered a massive Strivald to his left. “Everything’s cool, no hassles with the locals, Order turns up, starts feeding and now we got a Slayer in town.”

“Should make things interesting,” remarked Spike and the Strivald glowered at him.

“Too fucking interesting. You an Aurelian?”

“Associated. The name’s Spike.”

The Rathorn gulped. The Strivald’s jaw was hanging. A dead silence spread through the bar and the crowd started to thin out as demons prudently and stealthily headed for the exits. Spike grinned.

“Heard of me, have you?”

“Oh, yeah,” muttered the Rathorn.

“Not interested in the Order’s hijinks. Am interested in the Slayer.”

“So the rumors are true then. Did you really get two?”

“Don’t like to brag...” Spike stopped short and grinned widely. “Who am I kidding? I love to brag! Yeah, I got two. Tell me about this one.”

“Don’t know much. She just arrived.” The Rathorn jerked a clawed thumb at a Riherejk a ways down the bar. “Ask Kibble there. He knows everything.”

The whites showed around the Riherejk’s panicked eyes and he started to back away hurriedly.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Spike said softly and the Riherejk froze. “Running makes me salivate and Riherejks make good eating, don’t you, Kibble? You don’t want to set off a kneejerk reaction.”

“No, no,” whispered Kibble in a language all clicks and pops. “Please, master...”

“I’m not the Master. The Master’s plugging up the Hellmouth like a bung in a hole.” Spike snickered, then gave Kibble a hard stare. “Tell me about the Slayer.”

Count on a Riherejk to have the lowdown. Seemed that Buffy Summers was sweet sixteen and had just relocated from L. A., together with her mother.

“Mother?” exclaimed Spike in surprise. That was different.

Hadn’t been Called that long ago as he had guessed, but had already taken out a major vampire boss, Lothos, and his gang there in L.A.

“Impressive,” murmured Spike. “No wonder she took Angelus out slicker’n spit.”

There was an awed silence.

“She took out Angelus?” the Strivald breathed.

Spike grinned. He wanted the Slayer to have a rep. That would make his own rep bigger when he finally took her down.

“Oh, yeah. He’s dust now.”

Oh, she had potential, this one, for all that she was so green! The PTB hadn’t made a mistake when they’d arranged for her to turn up in Sunnydale just when the Order arrived. He really was going to enjoy watching the show. While stirring the pot. Yeah, things were gonna be fun.

He dropped in at the Slayer’s home at 1630 Revello Drive just to scope out the lay of the land, then caught some zees in the basement flat he had rented from a Krasevic demon at Willy’s. Not a bad place—nice big bed, big-screen telly, good sound system, all the comforts of home. One could always count on a Krasevic to deliver the goods. It threw his body clock out a little bit to be sleeping before dawn, but he wanted to be up early to shadow the Slayer during daylight hours to track her m.o.

The painted over windows of the DeSoto let him watch her as she interacted with other students at the high school. She seemed to be making some kind of connection with a nerdy redhaired girl and two geeky gits. Unusual. And she had a mother too. A Slayer with family and friends. That sure as hell wasn't in the brochure.

When school was out and she’d gone home, he peeled off to check on what the Order was doing. The vibes were way stronger. Almost there, he thought as he slid into the shadows at the back of the cavern.

The chanting had a triumphant edge to it. Something moved within the pool of blood. Spike leaned forward, watching intently. It looked like they had shaken loose the plug. The cork was no longer in the bottle.

Luke fell to his knees beside the pool as the Master rose out of it.

And there he was, in all of his glory. Heinrich Joseph Nest. Old Batface himself. Well over six hundred years old, even older than Dracula who had been turned only in 1462. Ugly as hell. Spike only hoped that, if he ever got to be six hundred years old, he didn’t end up looking like that! Drac sure didn’t. Despite his looks though, Nest was one of the most powerful vampires in existence. And against him the PTB sent a sixteen-year-old girl, a greenhorn. Spike shook his head.

“Master!” exclaimed Luke, clasping Nest’s hand reverently as the Master extended it to him.

“I am weak,” the Master said, frowning.

“'In the Harvest he will be restored,'” breathed Luke, clearly quoting scripture.

“The Harvest.”

“We're almost there. Soon you'll be free!”

He wasn’t free yet, Spike noted as the Master stretched out a hand to test his surroundings. He was free of the Hellmouth, free to move within the ruins of the shattered church. But he was still caught within the mystical confines of the ritual he had performed sixty years ago and those bonds were as strong as ever. He was still trapped within the church and the Hellmouth was still closed.

“I must be ready,” said the Master. “I need my strength.”

“I've sent your servants to bring you some food,” nodded Luke.

“Good. Luke?”

“Yes?”

“Bring me something...young.”

That should be entertaining, thought Spike and slid silently out of the cavern. Let’s see how our reluctant Slayer deals with this.

Maybe she’d duck it, if she were so against being a Slayer and all. If she did, he’d take her there and then. Some champion for the PTB she’d be if she didn’t even try. Bleeding disappointment. But he might as well pick up that third notch for his belt.

He checked her house at Revello Drive, but she wasn’t there. His vampire senses were attuned to her now though and he was able to track her scent trail to the Bronze. As the only ‘cool’ place in this podunk town, it was packed. Sprung Monkey was playing and off to one side was the Slayer, talking to that redhaired bird.

“Life is short,” she was saying.

Gonna be very short for some of these snotnosed brats dancing in blind ignorance here at the Bronze, Spike thought, grinning. He could see a couple of the Order already hunting down appetizers for the Master.

“Not original, I'll grant you, but it's true,” said Buffy. “Why waste time being all shy and worrying about some guy and if he's gonna laugh at you. Seize the moment, 'cause tomorrow you might be dead.”

And wasn’t that the truth? she thought. That bleached-blond vampire last night had made her wonder about the safety of the people in Sunnydale and, defeated, she had gone to see Rupert Giles earlier this afternoon.

“You said his name is Spike?” Giles asked, rummaging through books.

“That’s what he said,” Buffy muttered, glowering at him resentfully. She really didn’t want to be here talking to him, the way he kept insisting it was her ‘destiny’ to be a Slayer, but who else was there to talk to? He at least knew about vamps.

The worst thing was that Spike said it was her destiny as well. That was somehow convincing, when vamps thought being a Slayer was her destiny and she had no choice about it. When the enemy told you that you were considered to be their major opponent and started coming out of the woodwork after you, maybe it was time to leave Egypt.

“Is this him?” Giles held out a book open at a page of fading sepia photographs.

Old time clothes and what looked like light brown hair instead of bleached white, but:

“Yeah, that’s him. Not exactly the typical vamp.”

In her admittedly limited experience, vamps were all snarly ridges and fangs, or something like Lothos with his cape and Dracula schtick. Spike wasn’t that way at all.

“He isn’t,” said Giles, reading rapidly. “He’s been a vampire for a hundred and twenty years which makes him a master. The older the vampire, the more dangerous he is. Oh, dear Lord!”

“What?”

“He’s killed two Slayers!”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “He has?”

“No other vampire has ever done that!” Giles peered at her over his glasses. “Buffy, you have to be very, very careful.”

“Ya think? Hey!” Buffy pointed at another picture. “That’s the vamp I dusted last night.”

“You dusted Angelus?” Giles gaped at her. “Good Lord! Well done! This says he was a very old vampire. Two hundred and forty years a vamp. Part of the Scourge of Europe.”

“Scourge of Europe, yeah. Spike said something like that. But I thought old vamps are supposed to be dangerous. This one just came walking up and I took him out with one strike. Even Spike was floored by that.”

“He was Spike’s grandsire. Darla, Angelus, Dru and Spike made up the Scourge, ravaged Europe for two decades. Then Angelus falls off the radar, disappears and the group splits up. There’s no explanation of why he vanished.” Giles looked worriedly at her. “This Spike might have some ideas about revenge for his death, Buffy.”

“Don’t know about that. He nearly killed himself laughing. You’d think I did him a favor. Didn’t seem to be much family feeling there, Giles.”

“Well, he is a vampire and they are incapable of feelings,” Giles mused. “But he still might be thinking of making you his third Slayer kill. The prestige in that would be enormous.”

“Mm. What about this Order of Aurelius thing?”

“Now that is really worrisome.” Giles yanked another book out of the pile. “Contrary to popular mythology, this world did not begin as a paradise. For untold eons, demons walked the Earth. It was their home, their...Hell. But in time they lost their purchase on this reality. The way was made for mortal animals, for man. The Order of Aurelius is an ancient religious cult of vampires dedicated to ushering in the return of the Old Ones and the destruction of mankind.”

“Spike said almost the whole Order is here in Sunnydale right now. You think they’re planning to do that now, on my watch?” Buffy looked heavenwards in exasperation. “Why me, Lord? Isn’t it bad enough being two hours down the freeway from Neiman Marcus?”

“Buffy...”

She sighed. “How are they gonna do this ‘ushering’ bit?”

“Sunnydale’s built over something the Spanish who first settled here called the Boca del Infierno. Roughly translated, the Hellmouth. It’s a sort of, um, portal between this reality and others.”

“And they decide to open this freaking portal when I get here?”

“Well, they tried sixty years ago and failed. The Master of the Order, a very old, very powerful vampire attempted to open it at that time. But opening dimensional portals can be a very tricky business. An earthquake hit Sunnydale in the middle of the ritual and he got, well, stuck, phased between dimensions.”

“And he’s been phased for sixty years. So we should be all right, shouldn’t we?”

“But why should the Order be gathering here all of a sudden?” Giles looked at her anxiously. “They might have found a way to get him out. And once they do, they’ll try the ritual again.”

“And open the Hellmouth. Let’s hope he stays phased then.”

As if that was gonna happen. Not with her luck. She looked about now at the cheerful normality of the Bronze all around her and thought how fragile it was. Outside was the dark, pressing in upon the bright lights and bouncy music here. And in the dark were monsters.

She wished she could forget all about vamps and demons and be as carefree and unaware as Willow, with the only thing bothering her the worry that some guy might laugh at her. Buffy sighed, looked away from Willow’s oblivious face and found herself staring at Spike.

The monster. Standing right there in the middle of the Bronze, in the middle of his ‘sodding buffet’, bold as brass.

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. He smirked.

“Um, I'll be back in a minute,” said Buffy to Willow and got up.

“Oh, tha-that's okay,” mumbled Willow, as usual sure that no one in their right mind would choose to be with her. “You don't have to come back.”

Buffy smiled at her gently. “I'll be back in a minute.”

“Seize the moment,” she heard Willow muttering to herself, but all her attention was on the vampire grinning so provocatively at her.

It was a challenge. ‘Try and dust me,’ he was saying. ‘Right here in front of everybody.’

Well, she would. People see only what they want to. She had found that out back at Hemery High when Lothos and his gang of vamps had attacked, and all anyone remembered afterwards was the fact that the gym had burned down, nothing about what had caused it. It was a good thing she was carrying a stake, tucked into its concealed sheath in the small of her back.

He drifted away from her as she came towards him. Playing games. His eyes were blue, she saw now, an incandescent gas-flame blue in the lights of the Bronze, full of laughter and mockery. God, he was hot! She’d never expected a vamp to be hot. But he was. Fallen angel face with strong, prominent planes, killer cheekbones and a sensual mouth. Seriously ripped bod in that black duster, black tee and black jeans, which all contrasted so effectively with his bleached white hair. Carefully planned, that look.

“Never thought I’d ever see a vamp trying to be Billy Idol,” she sneered, resenting his effect upon her. The last thing she wanted to be was turned on by a vamp!

“Hey!” he exclaimed, offended. “Billy Idol stole my look, I’ll have you know, Slayer!”

That was crazy enough to be true.

“So why didn’t you eat him?”

He shrugged. “Liked the music.”

“You were turned in 1880 and you like punk rock?”

“Waltzes are boring. Rock’s so much more fun.” He tilted an amused eyebrow at her, still drifting backwards so that she was forced to follow him. “So you had your Watcher look me up, did you? Better be careful. You might turn into a real Slayer one of these days.”

She snarled at him. “Oh, make no mistake about it, vampire. I am a real Slayer.”

“You’re gonna have to prove it.”

“Stop running and I will. You’re the one who’s being chicken.”

He just laughed and shoved the back door of the Bronze open. “Just finding a better venue for our dance, pet. Come on out and let’s play.”

She realized that he had maneuvered her very cleverly out into the empty alley. But she too wanted a clear field for a fight and so she had no objections. She let the Bronze’s back door swing shut behind her and moved smoothly forward, pulling her stake out of its sheath.

“Got your weapon, have you?” he grinned and went into gameface, fangs flashing. “I’ve always got mine.”

But then to her surprise he went back to his human features.

“You don’t want to fight?”

“Don’t need the fangs to take you, Slayer. You’re not good enough yet to give me even a halfway decent workout.”

She swung at him with the stake, furious, and he jumped back, laughing, so that it just missed him.

“See?” He hit out, a solid blow that sent her staggering back against the wall of the alley. “Come on, Slayer. Surely you can do better than that.”

On her mettle now, she settled down to fight coldly and clearly, using everything Merrick had taught her and everything she had learned fighting vamps in L.A. But he stayed ahead of her every step of the way. He had the counter for every one of her moves and, fast as she was, he was faster. And he was way more experienced, she realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Need a lot more training to take me, pet,” he mocked. “Got a long ways to go to get to my level. Hundred and twenty years I’ve been at this game.”

And he’d made an art of it, she realized. He could have killed her a dozen times already.

“So stop playing and get it over with,” she said bitterly.

“Nah. I’m having too much fun.”

“Thought you’d want that third Slayer kill.”

He evaded the desperate spinkick she threw at him. “Too easy. I like a challenge. And I promised you a month, din’ I? You’ll be better by then. A little more experience, a little more practice. You need it. You’re gonna be tested.”

“What?”

“Cork’s out of the bottle, Slayer. Order managed to pop the Master out. But he’s not free yet. Needs strength and for that he needs the Harvest. Ask your Watcher about that.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Hold no brief for Batface. Gonna be fun watching the two of you slug it out. You’ve still got a chance against him. Small one, but, hey, that’s better than nothing, right? And I’ll always have the chance to take you out and get my third kill if I see you going down.”

“Gee, thanks. Nothing I like better than providing entertainment for a vamp.”

“Did I hurt your feelings? Need a thicker skin than that, pet. You’re gonna have losses. That’s inevitable. People are gonna die and you won’t be able to stop it. Even tonight, with the Master hungry and the Order arranging home delivery.”

The stake she was swinging at his chest froze midway through the strike. “Home...”

“Your little friend, Red, just seized the moment and went walkies with the wrong person.”

Buffy spun. “Willow!”

His hands caught her wrists, swung her around and yanked her against him.

“See there,” he purred. “You let yourself get distracted. Very bad move. Gotta concentrate, pet. Gotta focus on the thing that needs doing now, not the one that comes after it.”

He had knocked the stake out of her hand and was twisting her arms behind her.

“You lied!”

“Oh, no. She’s gone. I can sense it, sense the vamp taking her to the Master.”

“Let me go!”

“So you can save her? Gotta save yourself first, pet.”

She realized that he had her in an unbreakable grip, locked against him, with her arms twisted behind her back. She struggled, trying to break free, but he just pulled her tighter against him and his gaze dropped to her neck.

“All that Slayer blood just pumping away.” His eyes had gone dark and intense, their pupils dilating. Yellow flickered in his irises. “Just below the skin here.”

He bent and his mouth closed over the vein in her neck. He sucked hard, drawing the blood up to the surface. She froze, waiting for the killing bite and the drain. But all she felt were blunt human teeth.

“So tempting,” he murmured. “Shall I do you, pet?”

His head came up and he laughed down at her.

“Or shall I do you the other way?”

His mouth took hers abruptly. She gasped in shock and his tongue was within, thrusting and sliding against hers. Her knees nearly buckled. Pike or the other boys back at Hemery High had been just that—boys. They hadn’t had this wicked expertise. Arms twisted behind her so that she was crushed against him from breast to knee, her whole body went up in flames. He kissed her and kissed her, his mouth twisting on hers, his tongue plundering every corner of her mouth, his laughter running through her almost as vividly as the heat flashing like lightning along her every nerve.

“That way’s tempting too,” he purred. “Maybe next time.”

She realized that he had released her wrists, shoved at him furiously, sending them both staggering away from each other.

“I’m going to kill you!”

“You can try,” he laughed and jumped, a twenty foot leap straight up and onto the roof of the Bronze. “That should give you a little incentive, shouldn’t it?”

It was all a gleeful joke to him. Kissing her like that. The delightful fact that she was a Slayer and he a vamp and anything like that between them was strictly forbidden, anathema. The whole situation—the Order, the Master, the Hellmouth—had him in stitches. Buffy however was shaking with rage.

He was playing them all, just for the hell of it, and she was damned if she was going to let that happen.


TBC

Chapter 2

Turned on! Turned on by a goddamn vamp! Buffy was just sizzling with fury and shame.

Sizzling with heat as well. The fumbling attempts of the boys at Hemery High had never curled her toes like this. And he had only been playing, hadn’t even been serious. Dammit! Dammit! She had to stop thinking about that!

She raced down the street, trying to find where Willow had gone.

“Xander!” she exclaimed in relief, catching sight of him. “Have you seen Willow?”

“Not tonight, no.”

“She left with a guy.”

Xander’s brows rose to his hairline. “We're talking about Willow, right?” He grinned widely. “Scorin' at the Bronze! Work it, girl...”

“No, I need to find her,” snapped Buffy, interrupting brusquely. “Where would he take her?”

“Why? Oh, hey, I hope he's not a vampire, because then you might have to slay him.”

God, was there a school bulletin? Was it in the freaking newspaper? Was there anyone in the town who didn't know she was the Slayer?

“Heard you and Giles talking,” said Xander smugly. “C’mon, Buffy! There’s no such thing as vampires.”

“Just tell me! Where would Willow go?”

She had her Slayer senses stretched out as far as they could reach. It was a new thing for her to extend them like this and she wasn’t sure whether she was picking up everything she should. The most she had ever done before was scan a place about the size of the Bronze or Hemery High’s gym. But the right kind of feeling was coming from the northeast.

“What’s that way?” she demanded of Xander, pointing.

“Just the cemetery.”

Okay, that made sense. She ran that way and was aware of Xander pounding after her. She didn’t dare take time to try to talk him into going back. The closer she got to the cemetery, the clearer her sense of Willow became. And the clearer her sense of vamps in the vicinity.

That mausoleum. She could hear voices within it, then Willow’s scream. She flung herself through the mausoleum’s doors.

Willow was crouched on the floor beside Xander’s friend, Jesse. Jesse had a bite mark bleeding on his neck. Two vamps turned to stare at her, a male and a female. The male seemed not much more than a fledgling, wearing a carbon-dated outfit that only someone living underground for years would think was still the look. The female was dressed in girlish clothes that were far too young for her, not when one saw the terrible age of her eyes. She wasn’t a fledgling and those eyes had seen centuries.

She heard Xander stumble in behind her and come to a sudden halt in shock.

“Well, this is nice,” said Buffy quickly, trying to focus the vampires’ attention on her rather than on the humans who were their prey. “It's a little bare, but a dash of paint, a few throw pillows... call it home!”

She moved behind a sarcophagus to draw the vampires away from the others.

“Who the hell are you?” demanded the female.

“You mean there's actually someone in this town who doesn't know already? Whew, that's a relief I'm telling you! Having a secret identity in this town is a job of work.”

“Buffy, we bail now, right?” muttered Xander, edging towards the doorway.

“Not yet!” growled the male vamp.

“Okay, first of all, what's with the outfit?” asked Buffy. “Live in the now, okay? You look like DeBarge.”

The male snarled and both vampires closed in on her. She turned to face the female as the more dangerous of the two, but kept her senses tuned to what the male was doing. They didn’t know what she was and her hands were empty, so they thought she would be an easy mark. But tucked into its sheath at the small of her back, she had the stake she had retrieved once Spike had left.

“I’ve got her, Darla,” growled DeBarge and lunged. Buffy yanked the stake out from its sheath and jammed it into his heart. He fell back and turned to ashes. Willow, Xander and Jesse all gaped in disbelief. Darla looked surprised too, taken aback by the fact that Buffy had actually managed to dust a vamp.

“See what happens when you roughhouse?” Buffy remarked. “Xander, go!”

“Don't go far!” purred Darla, heading for Buffy.

Jesse was weak with blood loss from his bite, but Xander and Willow grabbed him and dragged him out of the mausoleum while Buffy blocked Darla. Buffy was aware of them hurrying away as Darla tried to backhand her. Buffy blocked again and followed up with a front snap kick to Darla’s stomach, then slammed her elbow down into her back as Darla folded over from the pain. Clearly she wasn’t a fighter like Spike, though any vamp was dangerous.

“You know, I just wanted to start over,” muttered Buffy. “Be like everybody else. Have some friends, y'know, maybe a dog...But, no, you had to come here, you couldn't go suck on some other town.”

Darla leaned against the wall, winded. “Who are you?”

“Don't you know?” mocked Buffy, then was grabbed by the neck from behind.

“I don't care,” rumbled a deep voice in her ear.

She got a fleeting glimpse of a blocky, thickset figure with a face like lumps of clay smashed together. Then she was flung across the room.

The newcomer yanked Darla onto her feet. “You were supposed to be bringing an offering for the Master! We're almost at Harvest, and you dally with this child.”

Darla gave him a resentful look. “We had someone, but then she came. She killed Thomas. Luke, she's strong.”

“You go,” said Luke contemptuously. “I'll see if I can handle the little girl.”

Darla ran out while Luke came toward Buffy as she staggered to her feet. She blocked his blow, then delivered a punch to his gut and a hopping front snap kick to his jaw. He stepped back, amused.

“You are strong.” He landed a solid backhand on her. Buffy went flying. “I'm stronger.”

Buffy hit the ground and rolled, lunged for Luke with her stake the moment she came up. But he was too quick for her, and caught her wrist.

“You think you can stop me?” he rumbled. “Stop us?”

He grabbed the stake with his other hand and broke it.

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

He lifted her by her shirt with one hand and flung her at a sarcophagus. Her spine smashed against the stone rim and she gasped, then rolled off onto the floor, dazed with pain. Her Slayer hearing picked up Willow, Xander and Jesse outside, crying out as their escape was blocked by vampires.

Luke was coming towards her, declaiming as if he were quoting scripture. “‘And like a plague of boils, the race of man covered the Earth. But on the third day of the newest light would come the Harvest. And the blood of men will flow as wine when the Master will walk among them once more. The Earth will belong to the Old Ones. And Hell itself will come to town.'”

Okay. Time to bail. The guy was a nutcase and her friends were in trouble. They had to come first, even if it looked like she was running. She cartwheeled away from Luke, then raced out of the mausoleum’s door. She could hear Willow screaming and a vampire’s roar.

Willow was on the ground, a vamp bending over her and about to bite.

“Hey!” yelled Buffy.

The vampire looked up and Buffy snapkicked him off Willow. He hit the ground in shock, then got up and ran. Just a fledgling and no real threat.

“Xander!” gasped Willow and Buffy saw Xander being dragged away by two vampires.

She ran after them, high punched one and sidekicked the other. No stake. Luke had demolished it. She broke a dry branch off a tree as a makeshift stake and plunged it into the chest of one of the vampires struggling to get up. It dusted and the other rolled desperately, achieved his feet and ran.

“Xander, are you okay?” panted Willow, rushing up to bend over Xander still on the ground.

“Man, something hit me,” he mumbled.

“Where's Jesse?” asked Buffy urgently.

“I don't know!” gasped Willow. “They surrounded us!”

“That blonde woman grabbed him and took off,” blurted Xander.

Buffy looked around. “Which way?”

“I don't know!”

Buffy stood up straight and slowly scanned the cemetery. Nothing moved.

“Jesse!” she whispered, her heart heavy with guilt. She hadn’t taken things seriously, had been heavily into denial, and look what had happened. It was her fault.

“It’s not your fault,” said Giles firmly.

“I was fighting it all, trying to avoid my duty,” said Buffy miserably. “And Jesse paid for it. He was my responsibility and I let him get taken.”

They were in the school library the next morning. Willow and Xander were there too, struggling to come to terms with what they had seen last night. Both Buffy and Giles would have preferred that they not be here, but there was no keeping things from them. They knew too much now.

“If you hadn't shown up they would have taken us too,” said Willow. “Does anybody mind if I pass out?”

“Breathe,” said Buffy and Willow nodded weakly.

“Breathe. Right.” Her gaze focused suddenly on Buffy’s neck. “What’s that?”

Everybody stared at the hickey Spike had left on Buffy’s neck. Her hand flashed up to cover it and she blushed hotly.

“Vamp got too close.” She wasn’t going to tell anyone about Spike and what had happened. That was way too personal and embarrassing.

“You could have died!” Giles exclaimed. “That really was too close, Buffy!”

“It won’t happen again, Giles.” Ever. Focus. She had to focus. “This big guy, Luke,” she said to Giles. “He talked about an offering to the Master. If that’s where they were taking Jesse, not just feeding themselves, then Jesse may still be alive. I'm gonna find him.”

“But how? You don’t know where they would have taken him.”

Buffy bit her lip ruefully. “I looked around, but soon's they got clear of the graveyard, they could have just, voom!”

“They can fly?” asked Xander, clearly visualizing bats, like in the movies.

Buffy just looked at him. “They can drive.”

“Oh!” Xander went red in embarrassment.

Willow frowned. “I don't remember hearing a car.”

“Let's take an enormous intuitive leap, shall we,” said Giles dryly, “and say they went underground.”

Buffy nodded. “Vampires really jam on sewer systems. You can get anywhere in the entire town without catching any rays. But I didn't see any access around there.”

“There probably is one.” Willow reached for the computer keyboard. “Let me just call up the plans.”

Giles stared at her. “The city plans are all just open to the public?”

Willow blushed. “Um, well, i-in a way. I sort of stumbled onto them when I accidentally decrypted the city council's security system.”

“Someone’s been naughty,” grinned Xander as Giles started to polish his glasses.

But when Willow called up the plans, there was no access to be seen anywhere near the cemetery.

“There's nothing here,” Buffy exclaimed in frustration. “This is useless! I’m useless!”

“I think you're being a bit hard on yourself,” said Giles gently.

Buffy shook her head. “I’ve let everybody down. I wasn't prepared enough.” She wasn’t good enough. Not to take Spike. Not to stake Luke and Darla and stop them from seizing Jesse.

‘People are going to die and you won’t be able to stop it,’ Spike had said.

She let out a shuddering breath. “I thought I was on top of everything, and then that monster, Luke, came out of nowhere...”

She stopped abruptly, flashing back to the fight in the mausoleum.

“What?” asked Xander.

“He didn't come out of nowhere! He came from behind me. I was facing the entrance and he didn’t come through there. He came from behind me and he didn't follow me out. The access to the tunnels is in the mausoleum! Darla must have doubled back with Jesse after I got out! God! I am so mentally challenged!”

Xander’s face lit up. “So what's the plan? We saddle up, right?”

“There's no 'we', okay? I'm the Slayer, and you're not.”

“He’s my friend!”

“You can’t fight vamps, Xander. Didn’t you get that last night? They’ll just grab you like they grabbed Jesse.”

“I'm inadequate,” muttered Xander bitterly. “That's fine. I'm less than a man.”

Willow gave him a sympathetic glance. “I know where he’s coming from, Buffy. I'm not anxious to go into a dark place full of monsters, but I do want to help. I need to.”

“Well then, help me,” said Giles. “This Harvest affair seems to be some sort of preordained massacre. Rivers of blood. Hell on Earth. Quite charmless. I'm a bit fuzzy, however, on the details. It may be that you can wrest some information from that dread machine.”

Everyone stared at him. He flushed.

“That was a bit, um, British, wasn't it? Translation,” sighed Giles to Willow. “I want you to go on the 'Net.”

“Oh, sure, I can do that.” Willow began to type.

“Then I'm outta here,” said Buffy. “If Jesse's alive, I'll bring him back.”

It was the middle of the day. She couldn’t think of a better time to go after vamps, even if it did mean cutting classes. With any luck, they’d be sleeping and she’d be able to break Jesse outta there. She ran into Principal Flutie who didn’t buy her excuse about running an errand for Giles during a free period. She got away from him though, but had a sick feeling that this was going to get back to her mother. Great way to start her Sunnydale school year. She could just hear Joyce saying, ‘We haven’t even finished unpacking and I’m getting calls from the principal.’

The mausoleum was deserted when she got there. She came in warily, looking and listening. Now that she was searching for them and not focusing just on what was right in front of her, her Slayer senses did pick up the vamps in the area. The tingle of their presence all around was almost overwhelming. So many! A scrabble of claws on the stone brought her head around sharply, but it was just a rat.

A careful search of the mausoleum at last located the tunnel access. The door was chained and locked.

“Allow me,” said Spike behind her. She jerked away with a gasp of shock and he grinned at her as he ripped the lock off the door. “Knew you’d figure out this entryway sooner or later.”

“Christ, Spike! You nearly stopped my heart!”

With so many vamp vibrations around, she hadn’t sensed him at all.

He smirked. “Don’t you know my signature yet? Should tune into it. You’ll be seeing more of me. Gonna be around, y’know.”

“Something to look forward to,” she said acerbically, irritated by her failure to detect him.

He saw the way she was gripping her stake and flashed backwards, laughing, to swing himself up onto a sarcophagus and sit there comfortably at ease.

“No need for the stake, Slayer. Not gonna to start a fight. Unless you insist, of course.” He tilted an amused brow at her. “Not here to interfere, just to observe.”

“Another test,” she said bitterly.

“Sure.”

“Were you observing last night too?”

“Oh, yeah. Not your finest hour, Slayer. Didn’t exactly come through with flying colors. You got your friend, Red, out, yeah. But you lost that Jesse git. And you almost lost that Xander ponce as well, by dragging him into the mix. But I suppose you did survive, so that’s something. Not a high score though. Kind of a muddle.”

Her breath hissed between her teeth. “This is all just a game to you, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah.” He grinned at her. “Points right now to the Master. And you didn’t even go up against him. Just his lieutenants. Keep this up and you’re gonna lose. Luke or Darla will take you, forget about old Batface.”

“Darla. Is that the Scourge of Europe Darla? Your...great grandmama?”

“The one and only.”

“No family feeling?”

“Not a whit. Can’t stand the old cat. You stake her, you have my blessing.”

“I’m certainly going to try. With or without your blessing.” She turned to the tunnel entrance.

“Not a good idea to go down there, Slayer,” he said sharply. “You don’t endanger a queen to rescue a pawn. A no-no in any chess game. Very bad move.”

“Jesse is not a pawn! He’s a person and I have to get him out.”

“Because it’s your fault he’s there? That’s not so, Slayer. If he was dumb enough to fall for Darla’s tricks, it’s his own fault. Git was a moron, just a gamepiece lost in play.”

“You would see it that way,” she said scornfully.

“You shouldn't be putting yourself at risk. Not for him. He’s bait, pet. Don’t you see that? He’s the little piece of cheese in the mousetrap. Don’t let yourself be sidetracked. There’s a bigger game on the board. Tonight’s the Harvest. Unless you can prevent it, the Master walks.”

“I've got a friend down there,” said Buffy flatly. “Or at least a potential friend. Do you know what it's like to have a friend?”

“No. But I’ve been a friend. And I’m telling you as a friend, Slayer, you’re wasting your time. He’s gone. Accept that. Focus on the real game. The one that matters.”

“People are what really matter, Spike! Not some stupid game! I’m not here to amuse you, just to do my job.”

“Your job’s stopping the Master, Slayer!”

“My job’s saving lives!”

“You’re a bloody fool! Oh, well,” he sighed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She gave him a scathing glance, then stepped into the tunnels.

“Head east towards the school,” he called after her. “That’s where you’re likely to find them.”

He heard her let out a breath, whether in acknowledgment or exasperation he couldn’t tell. He slid after her, stood at the crossways, listening. A little while later, he heard Xander Harris arrive. He was tempted to eat the idiot or at least chuck him out of the tunnels and bar the door against him. The moron would make things worse for the Slayer, another human to worry about and possibly lose.

But it was the Slayer’s play and he wasn’t going to interfere. Even when the move was utter stupidity, so blindingly wrong that it drove him crazy. Would more experienced Slayers do this? Would the Watchers encourage it? He didn’t know. He was a vamp and the thought processes of white hats eluded him, were beyond him. Would he have done this as William? But William had been a nerd, only a poet, not a man of action; and he thought in terms of words not deeds. No help there. Spike had become a man of action only once he had been turned and the warrior that he had made of himself since then refused to even consider acting in such a clearly hopeless and pointless fashion.

Jesse had been with them for over fifteen hours. Did the Slayer think they had left him untouched? Dead or turned. Those were the only choices. Yes, he was a meal for the Master. But the Master could always be provided a fresh meal. Storage of a snack wasn’t necessary. If the boy was still alive, he was bait. And what better bait could there be than a bait turned into the enemy, into a vamp? But the Slayer hadn’t even considered that, obvious as the move was.

Too young. Too naive. And her Watcher new to the job as well.

They were waiting for her of course. He heard it all, his preternatural vamp senses stretched to their limit. Heard her find Jesse shackled, accept him on faith, break him loose of his bonds and hurry him away from the vamps coming after them, only to realize with shock and distress that he too was a vamp.

But she survived again. Pure luck this time, finding that ventilation duct that led to the surface and the safety of the sunlight.

Zero points. For either side. Sure the Slayer had been stupid. But the vamps chasing her had been clumsy. The Master wasn’t going to be happy about their losing such an easy target.

Well, she’d made it. And hopefully learned something in the process.

He extended his vamp senses to hear what was going on in the Master’s lair. The Master was furious and Spike couldn’t blame him. For those vamps to have botched such a perfect setup was astounding. The Master took their group leader’s eye out as punishment for it.

Then a new ritual started—the one that would turn Luke into the Master’s vessel. He wondered how the Watcher was doing researching the Harvest...

“It comes once in a century,” Giles said. “‘On the third day of the newest light.’ The third night of the new moon, don’t you see? Tonight! The Master can draw power from one of his minions while it feeds. Enough power to break free and open the portal. The minion is called the Vessel, and he bears this symbol.”

He drew a three-pointed star on the whiteboard.

Buffy studied it intently. “So I dust anyone sporting that symbol, and no Harvest?”

Giles blinked. “Simply put, yes.”

“Any idea where this little get-together is being held?”

“There...there are a number of possibilities.”

“They're goin' to the Bronze,” said Xander flatly.

Willow stared. “Are you sure?”

“Come on. All those tasty young morsels all over the place? Anyway, that's where Jesse's gonna be, trust me.”

“Then we should get there,” Giles exclaimed, grabbing his coat. “The sun will be down before long.”

“But what’s our plan?” protested Xander. “We’ve got to have a plan, don’t we?”

“It’s real simple,” said Buffy. “I go in the front and start taking out vamps. You all sneak in the back while they’re distracted, get the exit cleared and the people out. That's all! Don't go Wild Bunch on me!”

“Right! Where are you going?” gasped Willow as Buffy broke away from them as they ran down the street.

“I gotta make a stop,” Buffy called over her shoulder. “Won't take long.”

“What for?”

“Supplies.”

She had stakes, crosses and holy water stored at home. She kept the sharpest stake for herself and packed the rest for the others. Joyce came in just as she was shoving them into a bag. Principal Flutie had told her about Buffy cutting classes. So now of course she was grounded.

Couldn’t stay in her room when people were being eaten at the Bronze. She yanked her window open, then nearly banged her head against the sash when Spike looked back at her from the tree just outside.

“Planning on inviting me in, Slayer?” he mocked

“Not that stupid.” She flipped the bag towards him and laughed when he jerked away from contact with it. Even through the tote’s canvas, he could feel the holy water and crosses inside. “Back up, Spike. I’m coming out.”

He jumped lightly down to the ground and waited while she climbed down the tree. The sun had gone down and the indirect light still in the sky didn’t harm him.

“Loaded for bear, are you?” he remarked, lifting a brow at the bag.

“Who’s the Vessel, Spike?”

“Luke.”

“Not Darla?”

“She’s in the Master’s black books right now. Got hungry and took a drink from Jesse while she was bringing him in. Didn’t even think that the Master might get pissed. He doesn’t share and he doesn’t appreciate getting what he thinks of as someone else’s leavings. Four hundred years and she still doesn’t know him. Always was stupid about really obvious things, that bint.” He raised his scarred eyebrow at her. “And talking about stupid, wanna discuss this afternoon’s goings on, Slayer?”

She glowered at him as she strode down the street. “No.”

He kept up with her easily, staying just out of the reach of her stake. “Got away by the skin of your teeth. No skill involved, just luck. Hope you learned something.”

“Shut up, Spike.”

“You really should take up chess, pet. Along with learning how to fight properly. Chess would teach you tactics. Such as, the only time one does a queen sacrifice is to avoid losing the game. In your terms, preventing an apocalypse.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to prevent one now. So just get out of my face, Spike.”

“And where do you think that’s happening?”

“At the Bronze.”

“Good guess.”

So Xander had been right.

“Got any more of your useless tips?” she said to him scornfully.

“Yeah.” He stopped just outside the gates of the main cemetery and grinned at her. “Better hurry, Slayer. People are already dying.”

Her eyes widened and she ran. She could hear him laughing behind her.

Giles, Willow and Xander were at the front door of the Bronze, which was locked. All of them could hear the screams coming from inside. They looked at her helplessly.

“What now?” Xander asked.

“I’ll get in somewhere in the front. You all go round to the back door. They may have forgotten about that. Here.” She tossed Giles the bag. “There’s crosses in there. Put them on. And stakes and holy water in case you need them.”

Breaking the front door of the Bronze open would warn every vamp in the place and bring them all down upon her. Buffy couldn’t take on all of them. She had to focus on Luke. Dust Luke and the threat of the Harvest would be over. She broke open an upper window and crawled through there instead.

She was up on the catwalks that gave access to the Bronze’s stage lighting. From there she had a good view of vamps herding terrorized humans towards the stage where Luke was feeding on one after the other.

“I feel him rising,” Luke yelled in triumph, fangs dripping blood. “Every soul brings him closer. Tonight is his ascension. Tonight will be history at its end!”

At the cemetery, Spike had his vamp senses extended both ways—out to the Bronze and the melee going on there, and downwards to where the Master was stalking around his invisible prison, testing his confines. He could feel the Master’s growing triumph.

“Almost free!” Heinrich Joseph exclaimed. “More! Give me more!”

Spike ran forward to where he could look into the window of the Bronze. Giles, Willow and Xander had managed to break in the back door of the Bronze. He could see them grabbing at people and shoving them hurriedly out the back. In the excitement, Luke’s vamps didn’t notice their presence.

Buffy had somersaulted down from the catwalk and was going straight after Luke. Spike winced.

“I hoped you’d come,” said Luke with satisfaction. “Your blood has the power the Master needs. And I always wanted to kill a Slayer!”

“Sod it!” muttered Spike. He didn’t want Luke snaffling her. Slayer was his.

Slayer was good, but not good enough in a straight fight with an older and more powerful vamp like Luke. Luke was a hundred years older than Spike and physically he was enormously strong. Buffy’s spinning hook kicks and roundhouse kicks staggered but did not stop him. Spike snarled as Luke threw her right across the stage and she thudded painfully onto her back.

“Come on, pet. Get up!”

The one thing Spike had to grant this Slayer was that she didn’t give up. She hung in there. She staggered to her feet and went on fighting.

Spike caught sight of Darla leaping onto Giles as he tried to get the front door open when the crush of fleeing club patrons was too much for just the back. There went another Watcher, he thought, amused.

“Get off of him!” Willow yelled and flung all of a small bottle of holy water into Darla’s face. Darla recoiled as if acid had struck her, her flesh smoking. She screamed, tore loose and rushed from the Bronze.

Well, that would mess up the beauty Darla was so proud of for a while. She’d heal of course, but it would keep her out of everyone’s hair for a month or two.

Buffy had grabbed a microphone stand and was holding it like a javelin.

Luke sneered. “You forget. Metal can't hurt me!”

“There's something you forgot about too,” Buffy threw back. “Sunrise!”

She hurled the stand straight through a small window behind Luke. The window broke and bright, yellow light flooded through over Luke. He flung up his hands against it instinctively, then realized that it was only a spotlight. But in his moment of horrified distraction, Buffy slammed a stake into his back and right through his heart.

“It's in about nine hours, moron!” she laughed.

Luke staggered, fell off the stage and exploded into ash.

Spike laughed outright. Deep below the cemetery, the Master howled in rage and frustration. Spike could hear him.

“Noooooooo!”

He had been only moments away from breaking free of his prison. Now he could not, and there was no time to create another Vessel.

“Score!” grinned Spike. “Well, how about that, mate? Teeny little still-wet-behind-the-ears Slayer did you proper!”

In the Bronze, Willow and Buffy were high-fiving each other.

“You did it! You did it!” Willow squealed. “No more Harvest! The apocalypse is over!”

“But not without cost,” muttered Giles, looking at the dead bodies scattered around the stage.

“Jesse,” said Xander under his breath.

“Xander! Did you dust him?” gasped Willow.

“I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t. He was my best friend, Will! Someone pushed him and he fell onto my stake.”

“He wasn’t Jesse anymore,” said Giles quietly. “Jesse was already dead, Xander. The creature that was staked wasn’t him. It was the thing that killed him.”

“It looked like him. It talked like him. It was just like him. But it was a demon, right?” Xander rubbed at his wet eyes. “I hate vampires!”

“Let’s go home,” said Buffy gently. “Can we do that, Giles? What about all this mess?”

“It’ll sort itself out.” Giles turned his head at the sound of sirens. “Someone’s already called the police and the ambulances. I think it might be best if we just make ourselves scarce.”

“I’ll go with you,” Willow said to Xander and he nodded numbly.

Buffy and Giles watched them go, Xander walking along with his hands jammed into his pockets and his shoulders hunched, and Willow trotting at his side, looking at him worriedly.

“I wish they hadn’t gotten involved in this,” Buffy muttered.

“So do I,” said Giles. “But we weren’t given a choice.”

“Well, we averted the Apocalypse,” sighed Buffy. “I give us points for that.”

Or Spike would, in that game of his, she thought bitterly as she walked home by herself. She didn’t know quite how to feel. Whether to be joyous or depressed. The cost had been high. But they had won, after all!

“Averted the Apocalypse?” Spike said softly. “No, you haven’t, Slayer.”

She looked up in surprise. He was crouched like some great cat on the top of one of the concrete pillars of the cemetery’s gates. His white hair gleamed in the moonlight and she could see the blue glitter of his eyes.

“The game’s not over, Slayer. If this were a race, I’d say you just did the first lap.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Spike? The Harvest’s over! We won!”

“You killed the Vessel, sure. You dusted Luke and, yeah, the Harvest’s gone bye-bye. But that’s just the beginning, pet. The Master’s still here. You didn’t dust him. Or Darla. The two of them, they’ll find a way to free him. To open the Hellmouth. And in the meantime you got most of the Order of Aurelius wandering around, snacking on your town. Gonna let them do that, Slayer?”

“Aw geez,” she sighed.

“The race goes on, pet.” He laughed at her. “Did you think it was gonna be that easy? You’ve been in Sunnydale only three days and now you think you can sit back and relax?”

She hadn’t really been thinking. She had just been focusing on stopping the Harvest, hadn’t thought of what came after.

“You won by a fluke. Luke would have broken you in half. You tricked him. But he wasn’t all that bright, y’know. He was just strong and fanatical. Not all the vamps you’re gonna come across are gonna be stupid or fledglings. Darla isn’t. I’m not. And you’re not ready for anything. Haven’t got the training. Haven’t got the moves. I could have taken you last night.”

She bit her lip. She knew that he could have.

“Could have made you my minion.” He grinned at her. “Might be more fun, at that. Don’t have to kill you to get that notch on my belt. Word would get around. Spike has a Slayer minion. What a coup that would be! I’d rule! Slayer blood on tap. Slayer herself getting fucked in my bed every night.”

She glared at him, completely taken aback and horrified. “Never!”

“Think you’d have a say in it? You’d be my slave. You wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.” He tilted his head consideringly. “Yeah, that does have its attractions.”

“I’d rather die!”

“Then you’d better learn to dance a whole lot better than you do now.”

In a flash of vampire speed, he jumped lightly down from the pillar and was right in her face. She slashed at him with the stake that she had kept concealed at her side the whole time she had been talking to him.

He caught her wrist before the point of the stake even grazed him. They were equally strong and the stake went nowhere.

“Think I don’t know your tricks, Slayer? I saw that coming a mile away. Gotta work on both your moves and your tactics, pet.” He grinned down at her, his eyes intensely blue. “Or I’ll...have you.”

He leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose lightly, then let her go and flashed off, laughing. She flung the stake after him and missed because he did a smooth jink to one side as he went.

“Told you I know your tricks, Slayer,” he called back over his shoulder and she snarled.

TBC

Chapter 3

“You a minion?” exclaimed Giles, amazed. “Whatever gave you that idea, Buffy? You’re not a vampire. A stronger vampire can force a weaker vampire to agree to be a minion, yes. But vampires cannot force humans into becoming minions.”

Buffy let out a breath of relief, then turned her head to listen as Cordelia’s voice floated in from just outside the library doors, telling Harmony about what had happened last night at the Bronze.

“Well, I heard it was rival gangs,” Cordelia was saying. “You know, fighting for turf? But all I can tell you is they were an ugly way of looking. I mean, I don't even remember that much, but I'm telling you, it was a freak show!”

Buffy rolled her eyes.

Giles shrugged resignedly. “People have a tendency to rationalize what they can and forget what they can't,”

“Yeah, that happened back in L.A. They blamed everything on me.” Buffy sighed. “Getting back to the point, is there any way that a vamp can control a human?”

“There’s something called a thrall. But you’re too strongminded for that, Buffy. It would need a very old and powerful vampire like Dracula or the Master to seize your mind. I don’t think even someone as old as Darla could do it. Oh, wait! There is one other thing a vampire can use to control a human. A claim.”

“What’s that?”

Giles was searching through books. “A mutual claim between vampires or even between a vampire and a human is like a marriage, linking the two of them together and giving them equal power over each other. A one way claim however really is like owning a minion. The one who makes the claim has all the power and the one who is claimed has to obey.”

“Giles!”

“But you have to agree, Buffy! That’s the out. The one who is being claimed has to say yes.”

“And I’d never do that! Are you sure, Giles? This is important.”

“You’re safe. Here.” Giles held out a book. “Read for yourself.”

Buffy very carefully read the chapter he pointed out and saw that he had indeed given her the correct information. Spike had been twisting her tail. Laughing at her. Giving her a scare just for the hell of it. Damn him!

“I need training,” she said reluctantly. “Merrick was training me back in L.A. But Lothos killed him. I need to learn how to fight better. Spike said I got Luke just by a fluke and he was right. And Spike himself is way beyond me. I’m nowhere near his level.”

“Crossbows,” suggested Giles. “That would let you dust him from a distance.”

“Mm.” But Buffy wasn’t going to use crossbows. That wasn’t playing fair. Especially when Spike had made it clear that he wasn’t going to kill her, at least not for a while. And when he did decide to kill her, he would tell her first. He had his own kind of honor, strange as that was for a demon. He wanted that third notch on his belt, but he wanted to win that notch fair and square.

“I do agree that you need training, Buffy,” Giles was saying. “I’m so pleased that you realize it and suggest it yourself. The Council does have a training regimen laid out.”

He somehow managed to get after hours access to the gym where she could use the punching bags and do tumbling runs and other exercises. That helped and would keep her fit, but Buffy had a sinking feeling that all these exercises weren’t teaching her how to fight.

“Step by step,” insisted Giles. “It takes time. You have to learn how to walk before you can run.”

The thing was—how much time did she really have? The Master and Darla and their Order were keeping low for a while, set back by their defeat at the Harvest. But how long would that last?

“Finally taking the Slayer bit seriously, are you?” Spike’s voice mocked behind her in Tranquility cemetery while she was doing what had now come to be her regular patrol. “Makes me tremble with fear, that does.”

She spun to face him. He was sitting comfortably on a tombstone, smoking and grinning at her. She glowered at him.

“Do you have a thrall?”

He laughed outright. “Nah. Have to be really old for that. Or have a knack for it and I don’t. Even Darla doesn’t and Angelus never did. Dru does though, so I’d watch out for that if you ever go up against her, Slayer.”

“So what was all that minion crap you handed me then?”

“Put a scare into you, dinnit? Made you look.” He smirked at her. “Ignorance is never bliss, Slayer. It’s just stupidity. Don’t like to read, do you? Don’t like to put yourself to the trouble of learning. But not knowing what Slayers can or can’t do will get you killed. There’s a handbook, y’know.”

“What?”

“Slayer handbook. Your Watcher hasn’t even told you about it because he knows you couldn’t be bothered to crack it open. Suggest you do take a look at it though. A little knowledge wouldn’t hurt. You need it.”

“God, you’re a smug bastard!”

“You might scare the fledglings, Slayer. But you don’t scare me. Even with the ‘training’ you’re doing right now. All those cute little exercises your Watcher’s come up with. The slow-mo Tai Chi crap. The rope skipping, tits bouncing, ass jiggling. Real nice to look at, but won’t get you far when it comes to real combat.”

She glared at him. “You’ve been watching me?”

“Yeah, sure. Gave me a giggle. Only way to learn to fight is to fight, Summers.” He drew a last drag at his cigarette, then flicked the stub away. “Trouble is, you’ve got no one to fight with. The Watcher’s no good. Just a wuss. He throws a punch at you, you knock him cold. Want a sparring partner, Slayer?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nah. Want you up to speed. Want a real challenge when it’s time to take you down. Right now you’re a pushover, pet. Boring. And it’s gonna be fun kicking your ass on a daily basis.”

She snarled and poised her stake. “It’s not gonna be that easy!”

“Oh, it will. I’ll even leave you your stake. Won’t make no never mind.” He flashed at her, struck it aside and delivered a solid blow that sent her tumbling away ten feet on the turf. “See?”

She recovered her feet and threw herself at him, humiliated and furious.

“Got guts, pet,” he said with pleasure. “Gotta give you that. But what you need is skill. Gonna teach you that.”

She did better than she had that first night that they had fought, but he still kicked her ass. She got in a few good shots, which was something, but she was still bruised and bloody and barely able to stand by the time he called a halt.

“What this really is,” she said bitterly, leaning against a tombstone to stay on her feet, “is softening me up for the Master’s minions.”

“Oh, no, Slayer,” he said softly. “This is making you all you can be. This is boot camp. My boot camp.”

“Beating me up like this?”

“One learns by doing. By taking the shit. You’ll heal, sweet. You’re a Slayer. As long as I don’t kill you or damage you too much, you’ll heal by tomorrow. And then we’ll do it all over again.”

“I should use those crossbows Giles suggested!”

“But you won’t. That would be admitting you haven’t got the right stuff, Summers.” He flashed to stand right in front of her, caught her jaw in his hand and jerked her face up so that they were staring into each other’s eyes. “I’ll always be checking you out first. I see a crossbow and we’re done playing. I’ll take you down right away and get that third notch on my belt.”

“Fuck you!”

“Think I might like that.” His face was alight with laughter and mockery, long creases slashing down his cheeks. “You keep bringing that up, it might give me ideas.”

She tried to shove him away angrily, but her arms were rubbery. He bent suddenly and kissed her with that wicked expertise that turned her bones to water and sent fire blazing through her every nerve. By the time he lifted his head, she could only gasp. He licked at the trickle of blood that a blow had left running from the corner of her mouth.

“Slayer blood,” he purred and his eyes went half-lidded in heavy sensuality. “Tasty. I’d forgotten what a rush that is.”

“Bastard!”

“Me Mum says not. See you tomorrow, Slayer,” he laughed and flashed away, disappearing into the shadows in an instant.

No way was she letting this go on. She limped home and spent a long time soaking out her bruises in the bathtub. He had been careful not to break any of her bones or do any damage that would incapacitate her for more than a day. By morning, she was fully recovered just like he said, all ready to take another beating that night. She hated this cat and mouse game that he was playing.

“You want the Slayer handbook?” Giles gasped, totally flabbergasted. “Of course you can have it! I never thought you’d want it!”

“Wanna read up on Slayers,” muttered Buffy.

Giles beamed approvingly at her. “I’m so glad you’re taking things seriously at last.”

Buffy glowered.

“Go away!” she snarled at Spike when he turned up that night.

He laughed. “And here I was thinking we were having such fun, Slayer.”

“I’m through playing your games! I’m not going to fight you and you can’t make me. You won’t kill me. Not for another month, you said. You’re getting too much of a charge kicking me around. No more! I’m done.”

He put one foot up on a tombstone and leaned on his bent knee, smiling. “Pride, is it? You don’t like losing.”

“No, what I don’t like is being made a punching bag for your entertainment!”

“Think if you just refuse to play, you won’t lose? That’s losing on a big scale. That’s chickening out. ’Course you don’t like losing. No true warrior does. It burns them. Chews them right up. Gotta win. Only way to win though is to get good enough.”

She gave him a resentful look.

“You’re a warrior, Slayer. You won’t quit.”

“I just did.”

“Oh, no, no. Can’t let you do that, pet. Old Batface’s planning things with Darla. His minions are swarming all over Sunnydale. You don’t have time to be peevish, sweet. Your training’s gotta be accelerated and your Watcher’s pattycake exercises aren’t gonna cut it.”

“I can handle minions,” she growled.

“Stubborn bint, aren’t you? Just have to be contrary. Don’t like losing face. Sorry, but life demands that you do what’s needful, pet.”

She scowled at him. She had done what was needful. She had finally accepted having to be a Slayer. She didn’t have to accept being tormented by a cocky, arrogant vamp.

“Staying alive’s not incentive enough? Well, there are other incentives, Slayer.”

He flashed at her suddenly, taking her completely by surprise, was at her back, wrapping his arms about her so that her elbows were locked against her sides. Instinctively she began to struggle, then remembered that was what he wanted and forced herself to stay still.

“You won’t kill me,” she said scornfully.

“No, I won’t,” he said, amused. “I do keep my word. But I didn’t say I wouldn’t drink from you.”

Her eyes flew wide with shock and this time she did struggle. But it was too late. She had allowed him the advantage and he had her wrapped up tight. She couldn’t move her body and even twisting her head couldn’t keep his mouth from her neck. She tried to kick his legs out from under him, but he anticipated that and she failed. He laughed against her neck, then she felt the sting of his fangs sinking into her flesh and then the drain as he drank.

He took a slow sip and purred. “God, that’s good! Nothing like Slayer blood. Delectable stuff.”

“Damn you!”

He shoved her away, laughing. “Don’t want me to drink your blood? Then stop me. We’ve both got incentives now. Don’t fight me, I drink. Fight me and lose, I drink. The only way to stop me from taking a sip is to win. Coming at ya, Slayer.”

Of course she fought. And of course he kicked her ass.

“You’ll recover from that too,” he grinned after taking his sip when she was too exhausted to prevent him. It hurt. She had heard that it didn’t have to, that he could make it not hurt. But this was intended as punishment. “Slayer blood on tap. Oh, yeah. Things are really looking up. See if you can do better tomorrow, pet.”

Maybe tomorrow she’d have Giles or Xander take him out with a crossbow first, Buffy thought furiously. But she knew she wouldn’t. He’d have the better of her if she did that. This contest was between them. It was personal and bringing outsiders in would be to lose. He would be dust, but she would have cheated to make him so. She didn’t cheat and neither did he. Theirs was a twisted kind of honor, but they were warriors. They understood each other.

“What are you doing?” asked Willow, coming across Buffy searching through the stacks in the library. “I thought research was Giles’ thing, not yours.”

Buffy carefully adjusted the scarf she had around her neck to make sure that the bite marks Spike had left on her neck were safely hidden.

“I just wanted a couple of books on hand-to-hand combat.”

“Isn’t Giles training you?”

“Well, you know. A little extra study never hurts. Ooh. This looks good.”

Willow peered over her shoulder. “Thai style fighting? Is that like kickboxing?”

“Sort of. It utilizes every part of the body. Hands, elbows, feet, shins. Strikes and kicks and leaps. Just what I need,” said Buffy with satisfaction.

“Where did I hear of that Thai thing before?” Willow snapped her fingers suddenly. “Dwayne in history class! He was talking about that last year. I think he had a couple of VHS tapes. He’d probably copy them for you if you asked him. Oh, but maybe you only have a DVD player.”

“We’ve got one of those combo things. Dwayne, huh?”

Dwayne was perfectly willing to copy the tapes for her for a price. Buffy paid it with no hesitation and Dwayne promised to drop off the tapes at her house once school was done. Buffy spent the day reading the Thai book surreptitiously under cover of the textbook of whatever subject it was she was supposed to be learning about, Willow elbowing her whenever a teacher showed signs of noticing or asking her a question.

The tapes Dwayne duly delivered proved useful as they demonstrated what the book only talked about. Buffy watched them intently, then went out into the back yard to practice some of the moves. Her Slayer abilities allowed her to pick the basics quickly, though she knew it would take a lot of practice to become truly proficient at it. Still, she might take Spike off guard if he wasn’t familiar with the style.

“Thai!” exclaimed Spike delightedly when she tried one of the kicks on him that night. “Watcher didn’t teach you that!”

“So you know it,” she said with disappointment.

“Oh, yeah.” He grinned at her. “Been at this game a hundred and twenty years, Slayer. There isn’t a fighting style I don’t know. You’re not doing it quite right though.”

“No one to show me,” she shrugged. “Getting it off diagrams and tapes.”

“Yeah, you’re kinda handicapped having only a Watcher for an instructor. They’re into books, not martial arts. Doesn’t seem quite fair.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “How about a truce for tonight? I don’t bite you, you don’t stake me, and I’ll show you the moves. Once you have them down, you can practice on the punching bag.”

“Okay.”

She had a good memory and he was a careful and precise teacher.

“The angle is important for maximum thrust,” he said, demonstrating a kick. “See how it goes in slow-mo? The left foot goes here. The right leg bends like so. See the angle? Then it snaps out. You’ll find yourself going off the ground and then the ball of the foot will impact. Try it. Right!” he said with satisfaction as she did it a couple of times in slow-mo. “Now really do it and aim for my hand here.”

She accurately impacted on the hand he held at head height and he grinned.

“Perfect. That’s my Slayer. It just comes to you, doesn’t it, once you’re shown the move.”

She shook her head suddenly. “This is weird.”

“What is?”

“You teaching me how to take you down.”

He laughed and reached out to flick away the scarf she still wore around her neck. “I’m still levels ahead of you, pet. It won’t be that easy. Maybe in a month or so, if you practice. In the meantime, I’ll be getting a heck of a lot of sips of Slayer blood.”

He brushed the fading bite mark on her neck with his thumb and grinned. She shoved his hand away, half-amused, half-exasperated.

“You’re a very strange vamp, Spike.”

“That’s what they keep telling me. Don’t fool yourself, Slayer. I’ll eat you quite happily when the time comes.”

“No quarter.”

“None.”

“And I’ll dust you without a thought.” She grinned nastily right back at him and they both laughed. “Now show me the next move.”

“Goes like this...”

She learned fast and, now that she knew how the moves should go, she practiced them over and over again. She was getting better, the exhausting hours of hammering kicks and hits into the punching bag starting to pay off. He still bit her on the nights when they sparred instead of him demonstrating new moves, but she was holding him off longer. It wasn’t so easy for him to beat her any more. He was starting to have to work for it, she found with satisfaction. She could see the pleasure and satisfaction in his face too. It was weird, but he was taking a kind of proprietary pride in the way she was shaping up.

It was becoming a routine now to meet him in the graveyard after her patrol, to fight and learn. They often ended up sitting on the tombstones chatting afterwards. He’d seen a lot in his hundred and twenty years as a vamp and had missed nothing. His take on things was interesting and she found she was enjoying his company. Also, talking to him gave her insights on the way vamps’ minds worked, though she could clearly see that he was not a typical vamp.

“’Course we have feelings!” he said scornfully one time when she mentioned something in her Slayer’s handbook. “That’s Watchers’ Council bullshit. Anything with a brain has feelings, even the smallest brained snake or lizard or little bird. I’ve seen them respond.”

“Not family feeling. Not love. You didn’t give a damn when I dusted that Angelus guy and he was your grandsire, wasn’t he?”

“Hated his guts, Slayer. He put me through hell when I was a fledgling and couldn’t fight back. Don’t think much of Darla either. But you lay a finger on Dru and I’ll kill you. Love? I’ve loved Dru a hundred and twenty years.”

His face had gone cold and lethal, his eyes slitted in menace and his lips pulled tightly back against his clenched teeth. She looked at him with interest.

“You do, don’t you? Does she love you back?”

“Yes!” he said with unnecessary force, then his gaze dropped, avoiding her eyes. “As much as she can.”

Buffy said nothing, sensing the vulnerability.

“Maybe it’s just me,” he muttered at last. “I always wondered about that. Maybe I’m not a proper vamp. Too much left in me from what I was before my turning, could be.”

She frowned. “Giles said that nothing was left of the person after a turning. That it wasn’t Jesse, say. Just the thing that killed him.”

“Those Council sods would say that. Makes it easier to kill us if you think we’re just the demon. But the demon merges with the personality of the turned, Slayer. How much of that personality remains depends on the strength of the individual. Most aren’t that strong. Don’t think ‘is he, isn’t he?’ when you’re going after the Master’s minions. Just dust ’em. You can’t afford to hesitate.”

She nodded. She was working her way through the Order every night, dusting them whenever they came out to feed and she got a chance. The Order was haemorrhaging badly with those losses and the Master was furious, Spike told her.

Other things were also happening. Even closed, the Hellmouth put out energy and demons were drawn to it. Witches at the school, teachers who turned out to be giant freaking praying mantises... Like she didn’t have her hands full already. Giles had found another stupid prophecy, this one about the Master acquiring some sort of important ally. Some new monster called the Anointed One. Giles was researching that.

What with patrol and Spike and the Order, her social life was in the toilet. She hadn’t even had one date since she came to Sunnydale. Xander kept trying of course. But honestly! Xander? He was like a brother. She just couldn’t see him any other way.

And then Owen Thurman asked her for a date. Owen! All the girls in the school drooled over Owen, and that included Cordelia, who always bragged about being able to get any guy she wanted. But Owen asked Buffy!

So why was she so unenthused?

Because he was like...nothing, compared to Spike. Oh God! she thought in shocked horror. She was comparing every guy she saw with Spike. And of course there was no comparison. No boy her own age was going to measure up to Spike, was ever going to be anywhere as cool or sexy or goodlooking or experienced. But Spike was a vamp and evil and had no soul. Besides, Spike was in love with Dru. He had been very open about that. Loving Dru was part of him, no doubt or question about it.

She couldn’t allow herself to obsess about Spike, to make comparisons or even think of him like that. It was fundamentally wrong in so many ways. Humans, for Pete’s sake, Buffy, you moron! Concentrate on humans, the way it’s supposed to be. Not vamps. Never a vamp. That was just plain unnatural, hot though the damned man might be.

She said yes to that date with Owen.

Of course, Giles had to come up with a stumbling block. Buffy was beginning to think that Slayers were really doomed not to have a social life. He had figured out that prophecy. It seemed that the Anointed One was a warrior who would arise ‘from the ashes of the Five on the evening of the thousandth day after the Advent of Septus.’ Which turned out to be the evening of her date with Owen. What else?

“Buffy, this is no ordinary vampire,” Giles insisted. “We have to stop him before he reaches the Master.”

“But...Cute guy!” yelped Buffy. “Teenager! Post-pubescent fantasies!”

“Those will just have to be put on hold,” said Giles sternly.

So another night spent in the graveyard, except this time with Giles. And it was a bust. Nothing happened except for Spike turning up and smirking at her behind Giles’ back, then disappearing before Giles noticed At least once they finally called the whole thing off in defeat, Giles did apologize for ruining her evening.

Owen bought her excuse for not showing and they set up another date for the next night.

And of course Giles turned up just before Owen arrived to pick her up.

“Buffy's not home!” Buffy tried to close the door in his face, but he pushed in without even noticing.

“My calculations may not have been as far off as I thought.” He held up a newspaper.

Buffy looked at the headline. “‘Five Die in Van Accident.’”

“‘Out of the ashes of five shall rise the one.’ That's the prophecy! Five people have died!”

“In a car crash.”

“I know it doesn't quite follow, but...but it's worth investigating. Look! ‘Among the dead was Andrew Borba, whom the police sought for questioning in a double murder.’ Now he may be the Anointed One. The bodies have been taken to Sunnydale Funeral Home. We can...”

“I have a date!”

“Another date?” Giles frowned. “Don't you ever do anything else?”

“This is the first date!” snarled Buffy in outrage. “You screwed up last night’s! This is my maiden voyage!”

“Buffy...”

“We don't even know if this is anything!”

“Well, I-I suppose it is a fairly slim lead...”

“Damn right,” muttered Buffy, shoving him out of the door as fast as she could.

So finally here she was at the Bronze, dancing with Owen. It was nice. A bit dull and prosaic— they really didn’t have that much in common, so conversation was a bit strained—but, hey, normal, right?

“May I cut in?”

And there was Spike standing beside them, looking Owen up and down disdainfully, his scarred eyebrow raised almost to his hairline. Owen flushed and stammered under that dismissive, contemptuous stare.

Buffy gave the exasperating vamp a warning glower. “Spike...”

Spike simply hooked an arm around her waist and swept her clean over to the other side of the dance floor from Owen.

“Don’t think much of your taste, pet.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she exclaimed angrily.

“What are you? Geesh, Slayer! Taking up with a wimpy white mouse of a guy like that? Either of us could kill him with a little finger and pick our teeth with his bones. You can do better than that.”

“I like Owen!”

“Why?” he asked incredulously, looking at Owen hesitating on the edge of the dance floor.

“He’s nice!”

“Nice.” It was a sneer. He was scowling as he looked down at her.

“Look, it’s none of your business what I do! I just want to go out like any other girl. I just want to have a little fun. What’s wrong with that?”

“Hormones running?” he mocked. “Planning on giving it up, are you?”

The hot color shot up into her face. “How dare you!”

“Now there’s a girly comeback.” He raised a scornful eyebrow. “Giving it up is what all this leads to, innit?”

“That’s a long way down the road!”

“Is it? You’re thinking about it, Slayer. That’s what this game’s about.”

“Will you get your mind out of the gutter! What’s it to you anyway?” she snapped defensively.

He scowled. “Trying to keep you from making a really big mistake.”

“Going out with a nice boy is a mistake?”

“He’s not your match, Slayer.”

“No one’s my match! Should that keep me from having a life? I just want a normal date with a normal boy. What’s so wrong with that?”

“Oh, pet. You still don’t get it, do you? You’re a Slayer. You’re not normal. A normal boy’s only gonna get himself killed around you. Don’t you understand that you’re just setting him up as a target for any vamp who wants to get at you? Think what the Master would do to him.”

“Oh, God.” She knew he was right. “Why should you care?”

For a moment he looked oddly uncertain. “I don’t.”

“Well then, go away and leave me alone.”

“To go on with your mating dance?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous,” she flung at him angrily.

Something flickered behind his eyes. She caught her breath.

“Spike!”

“He won’t get you off, Slayer. Don’t you know that? With that Slayer strength of yours, you’d break him like a twig if you ever really got going in bed.”

She blushed furiously. “Shut up!”

“You’re special. A Slayer needs someone as powerful as she is.”

“And that’s no one! There’s no such thing as a male Slayer. What am I supposed to do? Stay pure and untouched all my life?”

His eyes went dark and heavy lidded. “Oh, I could show you the ropes, pet. Just ask me nicely.”

Her eyes widened.

God, it was tempting! She was too aware of him. He was holding her tightly to prevent her from pulling away and going back to Owen, his arms locked in the small of her back, his body hard against hers. Why did it have to be a slow dance? She was far too aware of his body rubbing against hers from breast to thigh as they swayed in place. Of the scent of him—leather and cigarettes and whiskey and something very male underneath, which was the scent of his skin itself. Of the supernatural beauty of that fallen angel face bent to hers, its laughter turned into a strange intensity. His eyes had gone half-lidded, their incandescent blue darkened to a black smolder of heat as his pupils dilated. His parted lips made her aware of the cave of his open mouth, made her remember the way that mouth had tasted, the way his tongue had felt sliding and thrusting against her own.

“You’re a vampire,” she said flatly, reminding herself exactly why this was forbidden.

“‘Aye, there’s the rub,’” he mocked. “But vamps make the best bedfellows, sweet. Not like that nancy-boy you’re trying to take up with, that puppy, barely old enough for his testes to drop. No balls. Can’t even keep another man from walking off with his date.”

“That’s unfair! Owen had to be polite.”

“Polite doesn’t belong in bed. Bed’s raw. You can do better than a silly boy doesn’t even know what to do with his willy yet. I can do better by you. No inexperienced fumbling and groping here, sweet. A hundred and twenty years of practice I’ve got.”

His hand was flat in the small of her back, pressing her tightly to him. Her breasts were flattened against his chest. He was bending her back over his arm, stomach and hips insistent against hers. His thigh pushed between hers.

“You want it,” he murmured. “I can tell.”

She did want it. And he was turned on too. She could feel that telltale hardness pressing against her belly.

“Spike, stop it! Whatever game you’re playing, just stop it right now!”

“But games are such fun.” Fingertips trailed lightly up her spine and she shivered. His mouth brushed hers, his breath shuddering against her lips. “You have no idea of the way I can make you feel.”

Perhaps not, but she was starting to guess. Her whole body felt hot, her skin burning, her bones liquid. His cheek dropped against hers, cool against her overheated skin. Then he turned his head. His tongue slid along her jaw line, licked underneath her chin. That tongue had gone raspy like a cat’s and the sensation was incredible.

“See?” he purred.

God! She was wet between her legs and shaking uncontrollably.

“Dru,” she said sharply.

It didn’t set him back the least bit.

“Not professing undying love here, pet,” he said dryly. “Just suggesting a good fuck.”

“Well, I want my first time to mean more than just a good fuck,” she snapped and shoved at him angrily.

He shrugged, smiling, and loosened his grip. “Pity. I could have initiated you proper.”

She jerked out of his arms. “That’s what you came here for? To initiate me?”

“Actually, no.” He grinned at her. “Wanted to tell you something. Got a little distracted. You’re very distracting.”

She ignored that determinedly. “So what did you want to tell me?”

“Watcher’s in trouble. He’s barricaded in Sunnydale Funeral Home with a bunch of vamps after him.”

“What!” Then she saw Willow and Xander searching for her desperately in the crowd. “Damn you, Spike!”

But he was gone, only his laughter lingering after him.


TBC

Chapter 4

Giles was all right. He had hidden himself in a body storage drawer and the vamps who were after him had gone when they couldn’t find him. But that Borba guy that he had come to check out at the funeral home did rise as a vamp. Right there and then. Nutty as a fruitcake and strong with the manic power which that gave him. They all got knocked about a bit before Buffy managed to fling him into the crematory. He flamed up at once and that was that for the Anointed One.

Which should all have been very satisfactory, except that Owen had managed to tag along. Xander and Willow hadn’t been able to stop him from following Buffy and Andrew Borba had coldcocked and nearly killed him. Spike had been right in saying that humans were vulnerable.

And to put the cherry on top, Owen got all enthused about nearly getting killed. It seemed it made him feel all manly and alive, and he was jonesing to do it again. What he wanted for their next date was to go walking downtown at three in the morning and picking a fight in a bar. No way in hell was she going to be responsible for him ending up in hospital or in that crematory right next to Andrew Borba.

She glowered resentfully at Spike when he turned up on patrol the next night.

“No date tonight, pet?” he mocked. “Pretty boy got pissed, huh? Getting dumped two nights in a row. Not good for the male ego. But duty comes first, right, Slayer?”

“He came along.”

His brows shot up. “You took him with you? That must have been interesting. In the morgue now, is he? Or did he just run yipping off into the sunset?”

“He got off on it.”

Spike started to laugh. “Git’s got a death wish. He’s not gonna last longer than the next fight you drag him into.”

“Oh, shut up, Spike. Like I don’t know. I’m doomed never to have a social life,” she muttered glumly. “I told him we couldn’t go out anymore, but...”

“But you’d still be friends? Ouch.” He laughed at the look she gave him.

“But at least we got the Anointed One.”

“Uh...”

“What do you mean, ‘uh’?” She swung around to stare at him. “Don’t say ‘uh’ like that! Andrew Borba’s a pile of ash!”

“Yeah, but Andrew Borba isn’t the Anointed One. Anointed One’s this little brat of a kid and he’s already with the Master.”

“What? But he’s supposed to be a warrior! That’s what Giles’ prophecy said!”

“Guess it depends on your definition of a warrior. Doesn’t have to be Conan the Barbarian, you know. Just has to mean someone on one side or the other. Plus, age is irrelevant. Especially with a vamp. Brat might have been turned when he was just a kid, but God knows how old he really is. And kid vamps can be vicious little rats.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Buffy wailed.

“Didn’t know till I saw the brat with the Master, did I? Dropped in on the cavern to check things out this morning and there he was.”

“Things are going just great,” she sighed.

“Don’t get your knickers in a knot, pet. Not like you’re gonna have that much trouble taking him out if you have to. But I’d get Watcher looking into what the brat’s Anointed for. It won’t be combat. Gotta be something else. Better find out what.”

“Yeah.” She had started to seat herself on a tombstone, but moved away abruptly when he stepped towards her, uneasy with having him near her after what had happened last night.

He raised an amused eyebrow at her.

“Oh, sit down, Slayer. Not gonna jump your bones.”

She gave him a distrustful glance.

“Won’t say I won’t put the moves on you, but rape was Angelus’ game, not mine.” He hooked a hip onto a tombstone himself and grinned at her. “Offer’s always open though.”

“Why? Dru...”

“Dru’s not here, is she? Dru’s off fucking a Provilax demon.”

“So you’re getting your own back?” She bit her lip. “Gee, thanks. I’m really flattered.”

“Nothing to do with Dru.” His eyes had darkened. “You’re hot, pet. You’re a real turn-on, you are. Thought that from the beginning. You’d be something fierce in bed, you would. All that Slayer strength and stamina. It’s tempting. You’re tempting. Never done a Slayer before. Never even done a human. Too fragile.”

“Curiosity? That’s what it is?”

“Oh, more than that.” His gaze ran over her, lingering on lips and breasts and hips. She flushed and turned away. “But you’re curious too, aren’t you? That’s what that mating dance of yours was all about with the puppy last night. But it will be the same for you as it is for me, pet. Humans are too fragile. You’ll find that out. You’ll have to hold back all the time less’n you break ’em. And sex is no good if you have to hold back.”

Now there was a depressing thought.

“We’re matched, Slayer. Just like when we spar. You’ve learned that game from me. I could teach you this one too.”

“I’m not taking lessons in that from you, Spike!”

“You want it. We both want it. You can feel it, can’t you? The pull.”

“Oh, yeah. The attraction’s there. You’re hot, Spike, and you know it. Stay right there!” she said sharply, backing away as he started to get to his feet. “You’re hot, but I’m not going to sleep with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a vamp. Because it’s wrong...”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not like we’re tying ourselves to each other for life, pet. It’s just sex.”

“Because it’s just sex. I want more. I want to be loved.”

There was a small silence.

“Who doesn’t?” he muttered, then looked away.

“But that’s not gonna happen between us, is it?”

“Guess not.”

“So there it is. Discussion’s over and we’re not gonna talk about it anymore,” she said firmly.

He gave her a sudden, sideways, sloe-eyed look. “Nothing wrong with talking. I like to talk.”

“Damn it, Spike!”

“Whatever you say, Slayer,” he said demurely, but his eyes were flickering with laughter and provocation, and she knew that he would keep it up, like water dripping on stone, trying to wear her down. He didn’t give up. Not Spike. She knew him that well already. And he wouldn’t be able to resist teasing her like that, driving her crazy. Especially when they both knew that she was tempted.

The sparring didn’t stop. But she was holding him off now. The fights were ending in a stalemate and for a week he couldn’t take his triumphant sip of Slayer blood. Buffy felt really good about that. Between his training and her Slayer abilities, she was gaining on him fast.

“Won’t need me in a little while, Slayer,” he said, smiling.

“And then we do it for real?” she said dryly. So far she hadn’t been using her stake, not wanting to take the chance of dusting him, and he hadn’t been using his fangs, except for that drink if he won.

The month he had promised her was almost over, only a few days more to run.

He looked at her sideways and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Maybe.”

He reached out suddenly and flicked away the scrunchie holding her hair back, tilting his head to watch her hair tumble down onto her shoulders.

“Might have better things to do with you.”

She pressed her lips together in exasperation. “I said no, Spike.”

“So you did.” His eyes were amused, the tilt of his head provocative. “Pretty hair.”

His fingertips slid down a strand. Then before she realized what he was doing, they slid even lower to stroke between her breasts.

She flushed and struck his hand away. “Stop that!”

“You don’t really want me to.”

“Yes, I do!” But some part of her did want him to go on, against all thought and reason.

His mouth opened on another teasing remark, then his head jerked around suddenly.

“We’ve got company. See you tomorrow, Slayer.”

And he was gone. She looked around to see Xander coming towards her.

“Who was that?” he asked, staring after Spike.

“Just a fr...” When had she started thinking of Spike as a friend? He wasn’t a friend. He was the enemy. “Just someone I ran into.”

She wasn’t going to tell Xander who Spike was or that he was a vamp. Xander would tell Giles and they would both be shadowing her with crossbows after that, looking to take him out. Spike was none of their business. Spike was her problem and she’d decide what to do with him. She didn’t want Xander or even Giles, her Watcher, telling her what to do and interfering. She was the Slayer and Spike was Slayer business.

She wondered whether she was lying to herself.

“What are you doing here this time of night?”

Xander shrugged. “Thought I’d come and see how patrol was going.”

She didn’t want him doing that. Not only because then she wouldn’t be able to train with Spike, but because it was dangerous.

“And what if a vamp jumps out at you?”

“You’ll take care of it.”

“I might not be there,” she said sharply. “You go walking in graveyards at this time of night in this town, you’re going to get yourself eaten. The Order’s all over the place.”

“Okay,” said Xander sulkily. “I won’t do it again.”

It still bothered his male ego that he couldn’t do what she could. And the yen he had for her was strong. She had found that out a few days ago when he had tried to rape her under that hyena spell that had overtaken him and a few other students. Principal Flutie had died before she had been able to break the spell. Those students had eaten him. But only Xander had tried rape.

Deep-buried desires coming to the surface. That made her uneasy, knowing what was beneath Xander’s boy-next-door schtick. He wouldn’t try it again; only the spell had made him do that. But that he was capable of it made her wary. She could have understood if desperation had driven him to it. But it hadn’t been desperation. It was just a crush for him, not love; he hadn’t gotten to the point of love yet. Lust had motivated him, not love.

He was here right now because he wanted reassurance from her that she had forgiven him. Well, she did forgive him, because she knew that it was the spell that had released that in him. But she wouldn’t forget.

She let him come with her on patrol that night as he wanted. He was no danger to her. Even with that hyena strength, he hadn’t been able to best her. But it made her nervous that there was that darkness in him. There was darkness in everybody, she supposed. That was a new thought, that things weren’t as black and white as she had assumed. As Giles tried to make it. Xander had shown her that.

So had Spike.

He wasn’t pure evil, just as Xander wasn’t pure good.

The Council of Watchers wanted to keep things simple, so that she wouldn’t doubt or question, and so hesitate. But things weren’t simple. Things were complicated and now she was aware of that.

Don’t think, just act, said the Watchers. So did Spike, her friend, her enemy, the soulless vamp. But she was thinking now, seeing the grays, growing up.

He made her think, this vampire who sooner or later would try to make her the third notch on his Slayer killing belt. He had become her mentor, more than Giles, teaching her so many things, so much more than just combat.

She laughed involuntarily and Xander gave her a startled look.

“What?” he asked.

“Just a thought.”

Slayer trained by a vamp. She really would have the edge on all the other Slayers who had come before her. Spike laughed too when she mentioned that to him the next night.

“You’ll be the best ever, pet. I like that. I like a challenge. I like to take on the best.”

“Still so sure you’ll win.”

“Not anymore.” He grinned at her. “Another few weeks and you might take me, Slayer.”

“And you like that idea?”

“The risk’s what makes it fun, pet. Dancing over the abyss. Dancing with death. Don’t you enjoy it too?”

She thought about that. She didn’t think so. She wasn’t exactly like him. Danger didn’t turn her on. But the challenge did. She wanted to beat him. Wanted to win.

“Master’s up to something,” he said. “Darla’s finally healed of that holy water burn and the two of them have got their heads together. I’d go into defensive mode right now until you know what’s going down.”

“I’ll tell Willow, Giles and Xander to wear their crosses and be careful about who they invite into the house.”

He glanced at her suddenly. “Does your Mum know not to invite strangers into the house?”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “She doesn’t know about Slayers or vamps. But she wouldn’t do that!”

“Wouldn’t she? Only seen her from a distance, but she seems a right friendly lady. Could knock on the door, I could, and say, 'Hey, I’m looking for Buffy,' and she’d invite me right in, wouldn’t she? Any of the Order could do that, if she doesn’t know better.”

Oh, God!

“Dead or turned, pet. Master would like that. Would be a devastating blow for you, wouldn’t it? I’d clue her in, if I were you.”

She did, taking Giles with her to give her credibility. Joyce didn’t take it very well, even with all the books Giles brought to show her and Giles explaining them nonstop for an hour.

“You don’t have to believe us, Mom,” Buffy said. “Just don’t let anyone in. Giles and Willow and Xander are okay. But no one else. No one at all, doesn’t matter what kind of excuse they come up with. Promise me that.”

“All right,” said Joyce reluctantly and Buffy let out a breath of relief.

The Bronze closed for a couple of nights to exterminate their roaches, then opened again with a fumigation party—free drinks to anyone who caught or stomped a surviving roach. Willow and Xander dragged Buffy along and it was fun. It meant that she had to skip patrol that night and she fully expected Spike to turn up, if only to tease her about it. To her surprise, he didn’t.

Walking home after Willow and Xander decided to call it a night, she picked up vamp vibes as she passed the mouth of an alley. Not Spike’s. Members of the Order probably.

Buffy sighed and stopped. “It's late, I'm tired, and I don't wanna play games. Show yourself.”

There was a roar and a nasty looking vamp dropped down from a height above her and landed on the sidewalk behind her. Buffy yanked out her stake and spun to stake him. An even nastier looking vamp leapt at her from the side and grabbed her arm before her strike connected.

“Whuh?” exclaimed Buffy in surprise as the stake was knocked from her hand.

A third big vamp turned up on her other side and grabbed that arm.

“Hey!”

Before she could recover from the shock, she was dragged into the alley and slammed up against a chainlink fence in a singing clatter of metal. The first vamp came towards her menacingly.

“Okay, okay,” growled Buffy. “Look, I really don't wanna fight all three of you...”

She snapkicked him solidly in the groin.

“Unless I have to.”

She yanked her arms free from the other two, elbowed one hard and tried to punch the other. He blocked her swing and kneed her in the gut, throwing her back into the fence. The metal links clamored loudly with the impact. As Buffy gasped in pain, he and his partner grabbed her again, pinning her to the fence.

The vamp she had kicked in the groin recovered and approached her with death in his eye.

“Oh, come on, pet!” exclaimed Spike. “This is pathetic!”

Buffy’s head jerked around and she stared. So did the vamps. He was sitting comfortably on the fire escape a couple of feet above the four of them, one knee bent, the other leg swinging, and a disappointed look in his eye.

“I was expecting more of a show. Talk about being a pushover. You can do better than that! There’s only three of them.”

“Who the hell are you?” demanded a vamp.

“You must be from out of town. You the Three?”

“Yeah. And you must be one of the Master’s minions. Stay out of this. You don’t belong here. The Master hired us. She’s ours.”

“Wouldn’t dream of interfering. Just wanna watch. Might pick up a few pointers, you being such pros and all.”

“So watch. Just don’t get in our way. This is our job.”

“And it looks like an easy one,” said one of the others.

“Don’t count on it,” said Buffy and swung both her legs off the ground in a straddle kick, using the grip the two vampires had on her arms as the leverage point. Her feet hit them both in the face. They spun and she tore loose, landing neatly on the concrete. But the third vamp was flinging himself at her.

“Heads up, Slayer!” called Spike and tossed a stake at her.

She caught it and slammed it into the vamp’s heart. He exploded into ash.

“There we go,” said Spike with satisfaction.

The two remaining vamps gaped. Then one of them ripped a piece of iron bar off a basement window and swung at her with all his considerable strength. Buffy ducked, then snapkicked it out of his hand with one of the Thai moves Spike had shown her. The bar described a circle in the air, then clanged onto the ground on the other end of the alley.

“Accurate,” approved Spike. “Right on the money, that was. Very nice.”

“Who the hell are you rooting for?” one of the Three—now Two—roared. “She’s the Slayer! You’re a vamp, for Chrissakes! You oughta be ashamed!”

“Yeah, but you gits are so lame!” complained Spike. “The Three! Big whoop. Wee little Slayer’s kicking your ass!”

The two vamps bellowed in fury and flung themselves at Buffy.

“Oh, gee, thanks, Spike!” she growled as one of them grabbed her from the back as she tried to spin away, hoisting her right off the ground. The other was roaring towards her, fangs gleaming. “Had to piss them off, didn’t you?”

“Don’t you want a real contest, Slayer?”

“As a free show for you?” With both her feet, Buffy kicked the oncoming vamp hard in the gut, using the chest of the one holding her as a brace. As her feet came down onto the ground again, she threw the one holding her right over her head, slamming him onto the ground. Before he could recover, her stake slashed down. “This. Is. Not. A. Game!”

That vamp dusted.

“No, it’s a graduation,” said Spike.

The vamp she had kicked had staggered back, hit the wall just under the fire escape Spike was sitting on, and had nearly fallen. He found his feet now, staring, then suddenly swung on his heel, clearly intending to run.

Spike leaned down and casually staked him.

“What did you do that for?” exclaimed Buffy as the vamp poofed into dust. “He was running away!”

“That’s why. You told him my name, Slayer. And even if he didn’t remember it, he might have given the Master a description of me when he got back underground. Then old Batface would have put two and two together. No one’s told him I’m in town and I find I like it that way. Gives me maneuvering room.”

He jumped down lithely from the fire escape and struck her lightly on the shoulder. It was like an accolade.

“Well, Slayer, you passed. Want me to make you up a nice little diploma with some odd piece of parchment? Congratulations. You’ve graduated.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve been taking out minions for a month. You said the Master was upset by it.”

“So upset he hired this lot. Don’t know them, do you? They called themselves the Three. Professional assassins. The best. And you took them out, Slayer.” He grinned at her. “Not a greenhorn any more. Just lost your amateur status. You’ve made it into the big leagues. You’re playing with the big boys now.”

Buffy smiled involuntarily, then gave him a suspicious look. “So are we going to dance now?”

“Not tonight. You’re tired and won’t be top form. Wouldn’t be fair.” He adjusted the collar of her leather jacket delicately, his eyes very blue and half-lidded. The tip of his tongue was pressed against the edge of his teeth in mocking anticipation. “I’ll tell you when.”

She bared her own teeth. “Just say the word.”

He gave her back a smiling, deadly look. “Oh, I will.”

The next couple of nights were quiet, though Spike told her with satisfaction that the Master was furious. Buffy took out a few more members of the Order. They were so easy after Spike and the Three that she saw that Spike had been right when he said that she had only been facing fledglings before.

“Sloppy!” said Spike behind her after she had dusted the last one. She turned to see him frowning at her. “Getting blasé. Not bothering to keep a real guard up. Starting to get a swelled head, are you, now that you think you’ve finally made the grade?”

She flushed. She really had eased off the perfect form that he had taught her. The last few vamps just hadn’t been worth it.

“It’s just when you think they’re all fluffy bunnies that you find a scorpion in the mix. Can’t relax, Slayer. Think of them all as pros until after you’ve dusted them.”

“Yeah, sure,” she muttered, embarrassed.

He hit her suddenly with all his force, a straight shot that sent her staggering back to almost fall over a tombstone.

“Never relax.”

“Bastard!” She hadn’t expected that at all.

“Not your friend. Not a fluffy puppy with weird teeth. Not teaching you as a favor to you. Teaching you as a favor to me. Let down your guard and you’ll have me at your throat.”

“Is this the dance then?” She grabbed at the stake in the small of her back.

“No. You won’t need that stake. Not gonna kill you. Just teach you a lesson.”

“Maybe I’ll teach you one!”

They battled from one end of the cemetery to the other. Her stake remained in her waistband; his fangs remained sheathed. But other than that, they went at each other full out. After a while, she started to grin. She couldn’t take him, but he couldn’t take her either. They were matched now. She could see the laughter and enjoyment in his eyes.

Then her cell phone went off in her pocket. She glanced down, startled, and in that split second of distraction he slammed her up against a crypt wall and held her pinioned there with all his weight.

“Ah, there,” he said, exasperated. “You lost your focus again. Didn’t I warn you about that the very first time we fought? Take care of the thing in front of you first before you think of the next.”

“Sorry.” She was furious with herself. She knew better than to let anything distract her, especially when it came to an opponent as skilled as Spike was.

“Looks like I get my drink after all. Bonus!” He grinned down at her and blew her hair away from her neck rather than release his grip on her to push it back. “Didn’t expect to. Thought we’d end in a stalemate. But, hey, not gonna pass up a gift like that!”

“That’s not fair! If my cell hadn’t gone off...!”

“Life will trip you if it can, Slayer. Compensate or die. Sure it isn’t fair and, if I was one of those ‘nice’ boys you’re so big on, I wouldn’t be doing it. But evil here, yeah? And you’re that good at the game now that this might be the last sip of Slayer blood I get until the day I put you down for real. ’Course I’m gonna take it.”

He bent his head and she felt his breath cool against her neck, the prick of his fangs upon her flesh. She braced herself for the pain that he always made sure she felt when he bit her.

“And one more lesson,” he murmured.

His fangs slid into the vein. She caught her breath. No pain. His bite was smooth as silk and when the draw began it was excruciatingly slow. Instead of the pain, a heady, voluptuous rapture thrilled through her, setting her every nerve on fire. She sagged against the crypt wall, her knees turning to water and her whole body shuddering with pleasure.

She had never felt anything like this before in all her short life, that incredible sensation singing through her. She was drowning in it. And it went on and on, seemingly forever. Her body arced to his and her mind blanked out and she was hopelessly wet between her legs.

His grip had loosened and she could have pushed him away. But she was incapable of that. He was leaning heavily against her, pressing against her, and her hands came up to grip him even closer, her arms fierce about that hard, insistent body.

God, it felt so good! He felt so good.

His fangs slid out of her neck and then his mouth was on hers. She could taste the faint coppery tang of her own blood from where his tongue had licked the puncture wounds to seal them, but that heated thrumming in her veins hadn’t stopped, just kept building, and so she didn’t care. Their mouths twisted together, his tongue invasive and demanding, and her tongue thrust and stroked and sucked right back on his in unthinking response. She was on fire, burning, and his mouth and his body moving against hers only stoked it. She wanted more, much more, and her body moved restlessly, urgently, against his, instinctively searching for release.

“That’s the way I can make you feel,” he whispered, tearing his mouth away. “Think your nancy-boys can give it to you? I’m the only one can give you that, Slayer. Think of feeling that when you come. It’ll blow your mind. You’ll reach heights you’ve never dreamed of.”

He was drawing her downwards towards the grass and she almost let him, wanted him so badly that her body screamed for it and her brain was frying, just like he said, into nothing but blind heat and galvanic sparks. Then her Slayer instincts woke up and reminded her of exactly what he was, this creature filling her senses, shorting out her brain. Not a man—a vampire and an enemy and evil.

Her knees locked, holding her upright against his insistence.

“No,” she mumbled.

She had to remember as well that this was just casual sex to him. Meaningless. Just amusement and the thrill of having a Slayer. She had her pride, wouldn’t let herself be used.

“Very tempting,” she said dryly, recovering herself, painful as that was. “But the answer’s still no.”

“You want it.”

Oh, yes. Her whole body was shaking and shuddering, her breath rasping in her throat. He was gasping too, even though he didn’t need to breathe. He was as turned on as she was, his body hard and urgent against hers.

“Maybe. But it’s not gonna happen.”

“Maybe? Come on, Slayer! You want it as much as I do.”

“Why do you?” she muttered, puzzled. “Like I’m so hot.”

“Oh, you’re hot.” His gaze ran over her, then he shrugged when she lifted an eyebrow at him. “Slayer blood. Aphrodisiac.”

“Ah!”

“Still no, huh?” he said wryly. “But you’ll think about it now, Slayer. You’ll dream about it.”

“Don’t.”

His eyes were burning. “Now you know what it would be like, could be like. What I can do to you. What I can make you feel. And you’re not going to forget.”

She had a terrible feeling that as usual he was right. The temptation would always be there in the back of her mind. There wasn’t going to be a day now she wouldn’t be struggling with it as long as he was around.

“Won’t be used, Spike.”

“What’s wrong with being used?” he mocked. “I’ve been used all my life. No big.”

“Well, I’m not gonna be. And I’m not going to use you either.”

Something shifted behind his eyes and he stared at her.

TBC

Chapter 5

She checked her cell once he had gone and saw that the call had been from her mother. Joyce must have been worried about her. She hit the speed dial.

“Hey, Mom, it’s me. I know it’s late, but I really am on my way home right now.”

“Buffy!” Joyce exclaimed. “Oh, I’m so glad you called back! I was just going to call Mr. Giles.”

Buffy tensed. “Is something wrong?”

“No, not really. I just...well, you said to call if I wasn’t sure...”

“Sure of what?”

“Did you forget your study date for history? She’s here now. Really, Buffy! It’s not polite to ask someone to do you a favor and then just blow them off like that, as you children say.”

“I don’t have a...Mom! Did you let her in?” Buffy started to run home as fast as she could, the phone still at her ear.

“No, I asked her to wait. I promised you I wouldn’t ask anyone in until I checked with you or Mr. Giles. But it’s so rude to leave her outside like this!” Joyce said plaintively.

“Mom, she lied! Willow’s the only one tutoring me. Is this person still there?”

“Why...why, no,” said Joyce in surprise and Buffy guessed she was looking out the window. “She’s gone! Why would she do that? Do you think I offended her by asking her to wait?”

“No,” said Buffy grimly. “She knew you’d be calling someone and she wouldn’t be allowed in.”

“But...She said Willow was helping you on the Civil War, but she was going to help with the War of Independence because her own family went back to those days.”

“She probably goes back to those days. Mom, she’s a vamp! Only a vamp would be trying to trick her way into the house like that. They have to be invited in, remember? What did she look like?”

“Long blonde hair. Very pretty. But her eyes were strange. They were...old. Maybe that’s why I remembered I promised to call you before letting her in. They made me nervous.”

“Darla!”

“Why, yes! She did say her name was Darla. I’d almost forgotten that!”

“She’s dangerous! She’s the worst, she and the Master! Oh, Mom! She must have meant to kill you!”

“Oh, my goodness! You and Mr. Giles weren’t joking, were you? It’s all true! Buffy, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“It’s not like I had a choice about it, Mom!”

The reality of it had sunk in for Joyce now, especially when Buffy rushed right up to her bedroom the minute she got home, then came running back down with the crossbow she had snatched out of the locked weapons box in her room. Seeing the grim ferocity with which Buffy made a careful circuit of the house underlined the danger. As much as she wanted to delude herself to the truth, Joyce couldn’t anymore. It took Buffy a long time to calm her down and they spent most of the night talking.

They should have done this before, Buffy realized. If it hadn’t been for Spike’s casual warning, tossed over his shoulder just as a careless afterthought, she would never have alerted her mother and Joyce would have been dead right now. It was a tightrope walk, making sure Joyce was aware of how serious things were while at the same time trying to downplay the danger to Buffy herself because that might panic her mother. But Buffy managed it and went to bed satisfied that Joyce would be careful in the future without being racked with worry.

She had called Giles, Willow and Xander the moment she finished her scan around the grounds to warn them that they too might be targeted and they had all promised to be on the lookout.

“But you’re the primary target, Buffy,” warned Giles. “Please take a crossbow with you on patrol for a while, if only to put my mind at ease. I know you think that’s not fighting fair, but...”

“I don’t care about that with Darla,” growled Buffy. “Going after my Mom wasn’t fighting fair! I’ll plug her the minute I see her, just like shooting a rattlesnake!”

She took the crossbow with her on patrol, but the next couple of nights were uneventful. There was no sign of Darla or any of the Order. She didn’t bag anything but a couple of newly risen fledglings just heaving themselves out of their graves. Even Spike didn’t show and she wondered whether, now that she had ‘graduated’, he thought she didn’t need any more practice.

She was hunting Darla. Buffy admitted that to herself. The Master was out of her reach, hidden somewhere in that maze of passages below the mausoleum. Spike might have taken her to him, but Spike was a vamp and, however much he might like to see the show, he wouldn’t betray his kind to that extent. Anyway, it was Darla who she was after. The Master might have egged Darla on to attack her mother, but she didn’t need telling that Darla had relished the prospect. Buffy was going to make her pay for the attempt.

Spike had unwittingly taught her about the difference in vamp signatures. Once she had learned to distinguish his, it wasn’t much of a leap to figure out others. She homed in on Darla’s signature outside the house and recognized it from the night they had fought in the mausoleum. Buffy had her senses tuned now to pick it up. Unlike the Master who had his food brought to him, Darla had to come out to feed.

A couple of nights later she picked up Darla’s vibe. Buffy grinned tightly in triumph.

It was late, the whole town asleep and even the Bronze closed. But tomorrow was the weekend and Buffy could stay out as long as she liked. Which was why she was out hunting at three in the morning.

The vibe she trailed led to the Bronze. Darla must have suckered some poor victim into it. The doors were locked of course. Buffy climbed the fire stairs and broke in through the roof. Once inside, she slid silently down the stairs.

“I knew you’d come,” a soft voice purred behind her as she reached the bottom. Buffy whirled to see Darla smirking at her from the other side of the Bronze. “I knew all I had to do was to leave a trail and you would sniff it out like the bitch you are.”

Buffy whipped up her crossbow. “Well, this bitch is gonna dust you. You shouldn’t have gone after my mother!”

“Ooh, scary.” Darla whipped two pistols from behind her back, one in each hand. “Scarier!”

Buffy’s eyes widened and she backed hurriedly. Darla fired. Buffy did a diving shoulder roll over a pool table and took cover behind it.

“Did you think I didn’t see you swaggering around the cemeteries with that bow? But this is real fire power! And, unlike vamps, anywhere on a human is effective, will make you vulnerable to more.” She sighed with satisfaction. “So many body parts, so few bullets. Let's begin with the kneecaps. No fun dancing without them.”

She snapped off a few more rounds. The pool table took a few hits. Buffy popped up with the crossbow and took a shot at Darla. But she was moving and Buffy missed. The bolt hit her only in the abdomen. Darla doubled over, then straightened right back up again.

“See what I mean? Close, but no heart. The heart’s a hard thing to hit even when you’re as accurate a shot as a Slayer.” Darla grabbed the bolt, pulled it out and tossed it aside. “While I just have to get you anywhere, then stroll up and drill you right between the eyes while you’re still in shock from the pain and the bloodloss.”

Buffy suddenly caught sight of Spike strolling casually down the stairs behind Darla. She winced. Darla with those pistols was bad enough, but the two of them together coming after her was really bad news.

“Glocks?” said Spike incredulously. “Sod it, Darla! That’s cheating!”

To Buffy’s surprise, Darla spun to stare at him. “Spike? What are you doing here?”

“Word got around about Nest,” shrugged Spike. “Came for the show. Been following you around a couple of days. What are those? Glock 18s? Christ, machine pistols, not even regular ones! Talk about overkill! I didn’t think they handed those out to civilians.”

“They don’t. It’s all in who you eat. I was told these work really well in enclosed spaces like this.” She glared at the condemnatory look on his face. “There’s no need to be so high and mighty about it! You’re the one who prides himself on his fighting skills. I’ve got better things to do with my time than waste it playing war games.”

“Prefer to play with something else?”

Darla grinned. “Exactly. So I use what works. And bullets work really well on humans. Even Slayers. If you came for the show, just take a seat and let me get on with it.”

“Not much of a show that’ll be,” said Spike, disgusted. “Just spray her with lead? What a gyp! Pfft!”

It was a scornful, contemptuous sound and Darla bridled.

“You’re the one who likes risking your life dancing with Slayers. I just like them dead. Like stomping a roach. This place had the right idea a while back with that fumigation party they threw.”

“’S not right. Passing up a chance at a worthy opponent. How often do we get one? It’s a bloody waste!”

“Oh, God! Dru’s knight’s back!” Darla rolled her eyes. “And where’s Dru? Fucking some demon with slime dripping from his antlers?”

Spike’s eyes went hot and dangerous. Darla gave him a cruel smile.

“Maybe she thinks it’s a step up from you,” she mocked.

Spike’s eyes narrowed. Buffy, who had been listening with interest, shook her head. That wasn’t going to go over without retaliation.

“Angelus is dead,” Spike said. His voice was coldly, softly vicious.

Darla jerked around. “What?”

“Your precious Angelus got himself dusted. It was easy. He was a real walkover. Just came strolling up like some dumb rube and spssh! Gone.”

“Who did it? Her? I’ll kill her!” screamed Darla.

Spike snarled. “She’s mine!”

“You and your damned obsession with Slayers! Well then, fucking do her! I don’t care who does it as long as she’s dead!”

“Nah. She dusted Angelus. Gives me the warm fuzzies, that does. Gonna keep her around for a while just for that.”

“You bastard! You always hated him! Get out of my way!”

She ran towards the pool table Buffy was using as cover, the machine pistols spitting a hail of bullets. Buffy rolled desperately, achieved her feet and flung herself towards a heavy counter that promised more protection.

“Shoot you in the stomach,” Darla was muttering. “You’ll die slow. And I’ll watch you every second. I’ll make it stretch out as long as possible.”

Buffy threw herself over the top of the counter and hugged the floor behind it.

“What are you doing?” Darla shrieked suddenly. “Spike, let go!”

Buffy stuck her head cautiously around the side of the counter. Spike had grabbed Darla’s arm. She spun on him, hissing like a snake.

“You’re asking to get shot yourself!” she spat. “Bullets won’t kill you, but they’ll hurt like hell!”

She turned a Glock on him and in that moment Spike staked her with the crossbow bolt that she had flung away and that he had scooped from the ground.

Darla cried out in pain, her eyes widening in shock and amazement.

“Spike?” she breathed in absolute disbelief, then fell to the floor and burst into ash.

“Told you,” said Spike, looking down at the little pile of dust. “She’s mine.”

He looked up to where Buffy was getting to her feet, her jaw hanging. They stared at each other for a moment in silence, Buffy’s face glazed with astonishment, Spike’s utterly expressionless.

“Been a kick, Slayer,” he said abruptly and was up the stairs and gone before she got her wits together.

***

“Spike dusted her?” exclaimed Giles.

He and Willow and Xander all looked totally pole-axed. Buffy felt the same way.

“They had an argument,” she said weakly.

“That must have been some argument,” muttered Willow.

“The Master isn’t going to take this well,” said Giles. “According to my information, Darla was his special pet. I’d be especially careful out there, Buffy.”

“Yeah.”

But nothing happened. No retaliatory action was taken against Buffy and things went on as usual with Buffy taking out vamps on patrol and weird things happening at the high school. That was starting to become the norm.

Willow and Xander were relieved, but both Buffy and Giles were worried.

“He’s waiting for something,” Giles said. “Maybe there’s another prophecy. Something we don’t know about.”

He threw himself into research. Jenny Calendar, the computer teacher at the school, helped him. She was a techno-pagan apparently, a witch, and she knew computers the way Giles knew books. The two of them were getting very cosy and Buffy thought there was something more than just research going on there. Giles had certainly told her about Buffy being a Slayer, or maybe Jenny had just found out by herself.

“But she’s so little,” Buffy heard Jenny say to Giles once. “And so young. It doesn’t seem right.”

“She’s the Chosen One.” Giles was very big on that. “She’s very good,” he said proudly. “She managed to get rid of the Master’s Vessel and that Lothos chap in L.A. and even Angelus who was part of the Scourge of Europe.”

Buffy glanced around to smile at Giles and caught an odd flash of relief pass over Jenny’s face.

“Angelus is dust?” Jenny looked as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

“You know of him?” said Giles in surprise and Jenny hunched a shoulder awkwardly.

“My family had history with him.”

Deaths, that meant. Giles looked as if he were dying to ask more and even Buffy was curious. But the withdrawn expression on Jenny’s face said that she didn’t want to talk about it.

The two of them went on researching, Giles through his books and Jenny on the computer. So far, they had come up with nothing.

Buffy was coming up empty as well. She had started to ask vamps about the Master’s plans before she dusted them, but all she got for her pains was a defiant ‘He’ll get you in the end!’ flung at her. She didn’t think it was just bravado: they really seemed to know nothing. If the Master was up to something, he was keeping it to himself.

Even Spike was not around to tell her. She hadn’t seen him since he dusted Darla. Buffy couldn’t understand why he had done that. By that one act, he had cast himself beyond the pale. Personal vendettas that ended in death were not uncommon among demons, but Spike had saved a Slayer by that kill and that was not forgivable in the demon world. It had been an unprecedented thing to do, and the Master and every other demon would be after him in spades if they knew.

He was probably staying low until he was sure the word hadn’t got around. Buffy was certainly not going to tell anyone. Whether he had lost his temper with Darla when she had taunted him about Dru or whether he was just determined to keep Buffy for his third Slayer kill, he had still ended up saving her from a very dangerous situation. Whatever the reason, he had protected her. She would therefore protect him.

Maybe he had even left Sunnydale. It would be better if he had. Strangely enough, she found herself missing him. He was a vamp and evil and dangerous as hell, but she had been able to talk to him about the Slayer things that no one else really understood, not even Giles.

The school year was almost over. Buffy had spent the first two-thirds of it at Hemery High in L.A. and only the last third at Sunnydale High but, what with all the goings on, her time here seemed to have passed in a flash. The Spring Fling was planned for this Saturday. No one had asked her yet other than Xander, who got turned down as kindly as possible because she still didn’t think of him that way, but Buffy kept hoping someone would.

Thursday an earthquake happened. About 5.1 on the Richter scale. Earthquakes happened in California. No big. But this must have been Giles’ first earthquake and, when she dropped in on him on Friday, he was freaking.

She stopped just outside the library doors, hearing Jenny’s voice as well.

“It’s not just the earthquake,” Giles was saying to Jenny. “It’s a lot of other things as well.”

“I saw,” Jenny agreed. She sounded worried too. “You know how people are always sending stuff my way because they know the occult's my turf? I’ve been checking the ’Net. There’s been a lot of weird portents. Unnatural births, lakes boiling, that kind of thing. That’s apocalypse stuff. The end seems pretty seriously nigh. But this! It can’t be! You have to be wrong. Have you verified the text, Rupert?”

“I've checked it against all my other volumes. It's very real.”

“Prophecies are tricky. You could be reading it wrong.”

“I wish to God I were!” Giles’ voice was agonized. “But it's very plain! Tomorrow night Buffy will face the Master and she will die.”

Buffy gasped.

“There must be a way around it,” Jenny insisted. “Look for one, Rupert!”

“I did! There’s none! This is the Pergamum Codex. There is nothing in it that does not come to pass. If she faces him, she will die.”

“Then don’t let her face him!”

“But then the Apocalypse happens and the world ends.”

Buffy wanted to run in and scream ‘I quit, Giles!’ She was only sixteen! She didn’t want to die!

But it looked like they were all gonna die. If Giles was right about the book, there was no out. If she didn’t face the Master, he would open the Hellmouth, the Old Ones would come through and the human world would end. If she did face the Master, he would kill her, open the Hellmouth and ... all the rest of it.

Screwed either way.

It was a pity she and Spike had never gotten to that fight. If he had killed her, he would have had his third notch and another Slayer would have been called in her place, one who didn’t have fatal prophecies written about her in hateful codexes.

Thinking about Spike though stiffened her spine. ‘You’re a warrior. You won’t quit.’ Damned if she was going to have less courage than he. He’d go down fighting and so would she. She wouldn’t be shamed by a vamp!

‘Life demands that you do what’s needful.’ And if what was needful meant dying, well, that was just the way it was. That was her job. That was what she had been Called to do. Sure she hadn’t asked for the job, hadn’t even agreed to it really. But she was the Slayer and going up successfully against Spike, the Master and the Order had made her proud of that. What was happening was a lousy deal, but that was the way it was. She wasn’t gonna cut and run just because the dice had turned against her.

She went home in a mood of fatalistic calm. She hadn’t let Jenny or Giles see her and know that she had overheard. Tomorrow she would face the Master. Things didn’t have to go the way the Codex said. Prophecies were twistier than snakes. Look at that bit with the Harvest! The world had supposed to come to an end then, but she had stopped it. So what if everything in the Codex had come true so far? There was always a first time, right?

Saturday came and Buffy stayed home and gloomed, waiting for the night and its terrors. Even though no one had asked her to the dance, Joyce had bought her the pretty prom dress that Buffy had been eyeing in the mall. Joyce wanted her to go to the dance even if she didn’t have a date. Joyce had met Buffy’s father when she had gone to a college dance alone. It was sweet of her Mom to surprise her with the dress like that. The white glimmer of it seemed to reproach her as it hung on the door of her closet untouched.

“Buffy!” Joyce called suddenly from the living room. “Come look at the news! Willow’s on it!”

Buffy raced down. Apparently Willow and Cordelia had walked into the audio-visual room at the high school and found a bunch of students dead. But that wasn’t all, the announcer said. There were killings happening all over Sunnydale and all the bodies had strange marks on their necks.

Vamps. It was the Master of course, taking away her choices, telling her that the killing wouldn’t stop until she came and faced him.

The sun had gone down. Buffy went up and collected her crossbow.

“Buffy, where are you going?” Joyce called from the living room. “You should be dressing for the dance.”

“I’m just going to see Willow,” lied Buffy. “I’ll be back.”

She went to the library instead to tell Giles what she was going to do. She owed him that. He and Jenny were looking at something on the computer screen.

“‘...and the little child will lead them,’” Giles read aloud.

“That’s kind of warm and fuzzy for a message of doom,” said Jenny in surprise.

“Aurelius wrote of the Anointed One, ‘The Slayer will not know him and he will lead her into Hell.’”

“So the kid’s the one, huh?” remarked Buffy and they both jumped and turned, startled. “ Good. I needed someone to lead me to the Master.”

“Buffy, I’m not going to send you out there to die!” Giles exclaimed. “I don’t care what the books say! I defy prophecy! I’m going, not you, and nothing you can say will change my mind.”

“I know,” said Buffy and punched him hard, knocking him out cold.

Jenny dropped onto her knees beside him, then looked up at Buffy. “You fight the Master and you’ll die!”

“Maybe. But if I can take him with me, the Apocalypse won’t happen.”

She left the school and headed towards the cemetery. A little boy was standing outside it, looking lost.

“Help me,” he said plaintively.

Buffy smiled crookedly. “It's okay. I know who you are.”

He looked at her for a moment, then held out his small, cold hand. She took it and he led her into the mausoleum and through the maze of passages to the Master’s lair.

At the entrance to the great vault of the ruined church, he stopped and pointed, indicating that she should go on, then turned and left the way they had come, leaving her alone. Buffy shrugged, then made her way down to the floor of the cavern below. Rocks and rubble lay on the floor amidst pools and puddles of water. Hundreds of candles were burning, but the cavern was empty.

“Welcome,” said a voice that seemed to come from everywhere.

“Thanks for having me,” said Buffy dryly.

The Master stepped into the light. He was not a pretty sight. Spike had been right when he called him Batface. But he had presence.

“Y'know, you really oughta talk to your contractor,” remarked Buffy, glancing around. “Looks like you got some water damage.”

“Oh, fine,” said the Master wearily. “The feeble banter portion of the fight. Why don't we just cut to the...”

Buffy snapped her crossbow up and launched a bolt at him. With lightning reflexes, the Master caught it in mid-flight, right before it struck his heart.

“Nice shot,” he remarked as she hurriedly reloaded. “But you're not going to kill me with that thing.”

“Don't be so sure,” growled Buffy.

“You still don't understand your part in all this, do you?” the Master said, amused. “You are not the hunter. You are the lamb.”

He was suddenly behind her. He knocked the crossbow from her hand as she spun, then grabbed her by the neck, his eyes flashing red. Buffy struck his hand away and whirled to run, then found herself freezing, her body refusing to move. She twisted her head to stare back at the Master in shock. He had raised his hand and was making slow, twisting motions with it. She realized in panic what he had done. He had laid a thrall on her.

“You tried,” he said, coming towards her, taking his time. “It was noble of you. You heard the prophecy that I was about to break free and you came to stop me. But prophecies are tricky creatures. They don't tell you everything. You're the one that sets me free!” he said triumphantly and gloated for a moment. “If you hadn't come, I couldn't go. Think about that!”

He yanked the collar of her jacket aside, bent and sank his fangs into the vein at the side of her neck. She felt the drain as he drank. Deeply. Taking so much that her heart faltered and her consciousness started to fade. When he finally let her go, she fell heavily onto her knees.

Through the roaring in her ears, she heard him exclaim, “Oh, God! The power!”

Her vision was dimming, but she saw him step to the edge of his confines and push against an invisible field. There was a ripple in the air, then his hand forced through. His confines broke in a burst of light and energy. She realized in horror that it was her blood that had given him the power to break free. Then the world went black and she fell face down into a pool of water.

***

Spike knew the Master was making his move. The Order had streamed out across Sunnydale and were killing at will. He didn’t know whether the Slayer was aware of it.

He ran to the Slayer’s house, but she wasn’t there. He could see Joyce looking worriedly out of the living room window. He tried the school library next, figuring that Buffy might be with the Watcher. Watcher was there all right, but Slayer wasn’t. She had gone to face the Master, he gathered from the explanations Giles and his bird were making to Willow and Xander.

Straight up like that was not the way! Spike could have told her that. Should have. The Master was too powerful. And he was capable of thrall. But maybe Slayers were immune to that.

Hell, he was missing the show! He wanted to be there for the face off.

Watcher and his bunch were trying to figure out where the Hellmouth was, digging through books as usual. They knew that it was next to the Master’s lair, but they didn’t know where that was. Spike did and he headed for it at top speed.

The flash of light that came before he reached it told him that he was too late. Sod it, he had missed all the fun! The Master was loose and that meant that...

“Ah, no!” he groaned, flinging himself into the cavern and seeing the small figure face down in a pool of water. She was dead. Even from here, he could tell that her heart was not beating. The jeans and black leather jacket she was wearing were immaculate. She hadn’t even had a chance to fight. The bugger must have taken her in thrall right away.

“Now that just isn’t fair,” Spike muttered. Best little fighter he had ever seen and she hadn’t been given the opportunity to fight. Thrall was cheating, the way he saw it.

He turned her over gently, holding her protectively in his arms. Protection that was too late. If he had been only a little faster, got here five minutes sooner, maybe he could have done something, kept this from happening.

“Sod it!” he muttered bitterly.

Her body was still warm. She couldn’t have been dead more than a couple of minutes. There was still time, he realized. There was a chance! Drowning. Humans could be brought back from drowning. CPR. That was what was needed.

Never had to do it before—hey, vamp here—but he’d read about it. Breathe air in twice, pump chest fifteen times in ten seconds, keep doing it. Hope it restarted her heart; he didn’t have a defibrillator to jump start it.

He scooped her up, laid her on a clear area of the floor, made sure her airways were clear, then got to work.

“Come on, pet. Breathe. You’re a fighter. So fight.”

There was no immediate response. He kept it up. Spike didn’t give up easy. Then her eyelids flickered.

“Ah,” he said with relief and satisfaction. “There we go.”

Buffy opened her eyes and stared blankly at him. Then she turned her head sharply to one side and coughed out the water in her lungs.

“Ow,” she said, rubbing her breastbone where he had been pushing at it.

“Prolly gonna have a nice bruise there,” Spike grinned. “But, hey, didn’t crack a rib. That’s something, innit?”

“Spike?” she said in surprise, realizing who was bending over her.

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“You drowned.”

“You gave me CPR? I thought vamps didn’t breathe.”

“Pfft. Gotta breathe to speak or smoke, right? Just ’cause we don’t have to breathe doesn’t mean we can’t.”

“The Master!” she said suddenly.

“Oh, he’s out. Gone topside and prolly busy opening the Hellmouth right now.”

“Oh, damn. I’ve got to stop him.” She frowned. “The prophecy said he would kill me.”

“Well, technically he did. Your heart stopped. But you know how prophecies are. Often leave out a few things. Like you getting revived.”

“By you.” She looked at him in puzzlement. “Why did you do that?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t seem fair, is all. After all that training, you didn’t even have a chance to fight. Honest to God, Slayer! You can be bloody stupid! Didn’t it even occur to you and the Watcher to think up some sort of plan? No, you just come stomping into the lion’s den.”

“Like to know what kind of plan would have worked,” she muttered resentfully and struggled to her feet. Her Slayer healing was already repairing the damage, he saw with satisfaction.

“No bloody show at all,” he said scornfully. “Just a pushover, you were.”

“Well, stick around,” she growled. “Because I’m so gonna kick his ass!”

She yanked her jacket straight and stomped towards the passageway. Spike followed her, grinning.

“I feel different,” she muttered. “Did you do anything weird to me?”

“Just gave you the kiss of life. Which is plenty weird coming from the undead, if you think about it.” He tilted a sardonic eyebrow at her. “Appreciate the gratitude, by the way.”

“Thanks for saving my life, Spike. Where is he?”

“On the roof of the library.”

“The school library? Why is he there and how’d he get there so fast?”

“Wanted to take a look at the big wide world, I guess. Been cooped up for a long time, y’know. And he just strolled up. The library’s right over us, pet, just a tad to the left.”

Buffy stared at him. “The Master’s lair’s under the school? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked. Watcher, his bird and your mates are all barricaded into the library. I can hear them screaming. Most of the Order’s trying to get at them.”

“Oh, God! I’ve got to...”

“Prioritize, pet. Master’s trying to open the Hellmouth. What comes first?”

“The Master,” she groaned. “Where is the damn Hellmouth? And this time you can’t say that I didn’t ask.”

He grinned at her. “Under the library.”

“What!”

“And the Master’s calling the first of his demons out.”

Buffy ran.

The Master was looking down into the library’s skylight when they got to the roof. A huge, green, three-headed, tentacled demon had burst through the floor below.

The Master clapped his hands idly. “Yes. Come forth, my child. Come into my world.”

“I don't think it's yours just yet,” said Buffy.

The Master stared at her in surprise.

“You're dead!”

“I may be dead, but I'm still pretty. Which is more than I can say for you.”

“You were destined to die! It was written!”

“What can I say? I flunked the written.”

The Master growled and flung out his hand to thrall her once again. “Come here!”

Spike, watching from the roof access door, tensed as Buffy moved forward unresisting. The Master reached to grab her throat.

“You have fruit punch mouth,” remarked Buffy and punched him when he stared in shock. “Aaah, save the hypnosis crap for the tourists. It doesn’t work on me anymore.”

Spike grinned and swung up to sit on top of the roof access from where he had a good view of both the roof and the library below. In the library, the gigantic green demon was going after Giles and his lot. Giles was up on the mezzanine, attacking it with an axe, trying to keep it away from Willow and Jenny. The demon knocked him off the mezzanine. He fell heavily onto a large table below, breaking it. One side of the table fell over onto its end, leaving a gigantic splinter pointing upwards towards the skylight.

‘Now that could be useful,’ thought Spike and looked towards where Buffy and Nest were battling it out.

He saw with pleasure that they were evenly matched. The Master was powerful and experienced. But Buffy was a Slayer and, after all that training, one of the best. The Master couldn’t take her easily. Highly entertained, Spike watched the fight. He knew he was rooting for the wrong side but, hey, she was his Slayer. He had taken time and trouble with her, even brought her back to life when he could have left her dead. She was his. She had become a satisfactory challenge. Worth fighting. Worthy of becoming that third notch on his belt.

Then he frowned. He didn’t want to kill her. What he wanted was for her to really be...his...

And that was an appalling thought!

“The Hellmouth is open,” the Master was saying. “My children are coming. One is already here. My time has come.”

Buffy laughed. Through the skylight, she had seen the upended table below with its huge, pointed splinter.

The Master was offended. “You laugh when my Hell is on Earth?”

“You're that amped about Hell...” Buffy flipped him over her head. “Go there!”

He crashed through the skylight in a shower of glass and was impaled on that giant stake. Buffy watched as he slowly turned into ash until only his skeleton was left.

There was a wail of despair from his minions. Stunned and disoriented by the breaking of their link to him, they fled. Some force yanked the Hellmouth creature back into the portal. The Hellmouth snapped shut and vanished. Giles and the others stumbled to their feet and stared around in amazement.

“I’d crush those bones,” Spike said in a remote voice as he came to stand beside her. “Annoying One could try to resurrect the Master with them if they’re lying around available.”

“Game over,” grinned Buffy. “I won.”

“Swept the board. You did good, Slayer.”

“So do we fight now?”

“No.” He gave her a cool, strange look. “I’m leaving Sunnydale.”

“What? Why?”

“Been away too long. Dru’s due to be getting into trouble right about now.”

“Right. Dru.” She bit her lip. “But I thought you wanted...”

“Do you want us to fight, Slayer?”

“No,” she said. But she didn’t want him to go either, she realized to her horror.

“Broken all the rules so far, we have. But not the worst ones. Gonna get out while the getting’s good.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

But he was gone.

TBC

Chapter 6

“I should have known dying wouldn't stop you,” said Giles afterwards and Buffy smiled at him.

She and Willow and Xander dressed up and went to the prom together. They got there late, but dancing gave them the feeling of celebration that they needed. They had won. No one might know it but themselves, but they had saved the world.

The summer was quiet. Spike wasn’t there anymore to tell her what was going on with the Order. If they were still around, they were keeping their heads down. A couple of demons and a few vamps not part of the Order did turn up. The Hellmouth might be closed once again, but it was still there and its emanations inevitably attracted the ungodly.

Still those few incidents were nothing to compare with the madness of the last few months and Buffy was able to go off with a clear conscience to spend the summer in L.A. with her Dad. She did some partying and a great deal of shopping. Hank Summers was feeling guilty about walking out on her Mom and her like that, and Buffy used his guilt ruthlessly to buy all the clothes she wanted. Cordelia wasn’t going to be the only one in Sunnydale with designer outfits this year.

Buffy changed her whole look. Wee little sweet-sixteen, wet-behind-the-ears Slayer, huh? Well, sod that, as Spike would say. She’d killed the Master. She wasn’t an innocent anymore. Grown-up was a state of mind, and between Spike and the Master she had been forced into a great deal of accelerated growth recently. She wasn’t about to go for the blatantly sexy schtick that would make her look like a ho, but there were all sort of ways to bring out a more assured and alluringly adult appearance that the saleswomen on Rodeo Drive were more than happy to help her achieve.

Take that, Dru! She’d gone back and looked over the pictures of Dru in Giles’ books. That was one sleek and sophisticated woman. If that was what Spike’s taste was, Buffy sure wasn’t any competition.

She didn’t know why she was competing anyway. Spike wasn’t going to come back to Sunnydale and she sure wasn’t gonna take up with him if he did. He was a vamp, after all, and evil. She was piqued, that was all; ticked off because he had left like that. She wanted him to regret it. Word might get back to him across the demon grapevine, how the Slayer looked and acted now. Simple curiosity would make him notice and she wanted to rub it in, what he had walked out on.

Illogical. She knew that.

But she missed him. Missed talking and laughing and fighting with him. Missed just being with him.

God! What Giles and his Council would say if they knew! Slayer fixated on a vamp! Could anything be more wrong!

It was just a teenage thing, that was all. Because he was forbidden, was cool, was a bad boy. She couldn’t even call it a Romeo and Juliet thing, because there wasn’t any love involved on either side, just sexual attraction.

Heavy sexual attraction.

She had crushed the Master’s bones, smashing them viciously into the finest powder, just as Spike had told her to. But, even so, she had expected to have nightmares about the Master biting her like that, killing her. And she did. Except...

The Master biting her kept segueing into Spike biting her...and that rush of fire and rapture that came when he did. ‘You’ll dream about it,’ Spike had said. She did, over and over again. She had feared nightmares about the Master. But these dreams were worse. Waking up shaking and wet with raw, painful desire for something she could not possibly allow herself to have. Rapturous and terrible at once.

It was a good thing Spike had left Sunnydale. She didn’t know whether she could have managed to hold out against him if he had still been here. The temptation was far too powerful.

She got back from L.A. just in time to stop Willow and Xander from being eaten by vamps.

“Man, your timing really doesn't suck,” exclaimed Xander as Buffy dusted the last vamp efficiently.

“Does either of you even have a cross?” Buffy rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Very sloppy.”

“Well, it's been a slow summer,” said Xander shamefacedly. “I mean, that's the first vampire we've seen since you left for L.A.”

“It's like they knew I was coming back,” sighed Buffy.

“Well, you haven’t lost your touch. How was your summer? Did you slay anything?” asked Xander eagerly.

“No. Just hung out, partied some.” She grinned at Willow. “Shopping was also a major theme.”

“Great new look!” said Willow, admiring Buffy’s new clothes and makeup enviously.

“Show you later,” Buffy murmured into Willow’s ear and Willow beamed. “So, how did you guys fare? Did you have any fun without me?”

“No,” said Xander.

“Yes!” said Willow.

“Our summer was kinda yawnworthy,” said Xander and Willow looked hurt.

Buffy glanced at them. When she had got there, just before the vamps jumped them, they had seemed to have been sharing a tender moment. Buffy had hoped that Xander was over his fixation on her. But it looked like that wasn’t happening. From Willow’s expression, Xander had got her hopes up over the summer, but now she was starting to realize that she had been just a fill-in for Buffy. Buffy was sorry. Willow was such a nice person and deserved to have someone really care about her.

The new school year started out kinda flat for everybody. Snyder, the new principal, seemed to have a hate on for every human being under twenty, which seemed to eminently qualify him for his post in the eyes of the town authorities. Buffy wound his clock the most, with that file that existed about her and its accusations about her having burned down Hemery High’s gym and such. No way to explain to Snyder that it wasn’t so and the little troll told her flat out that he was just looking for an excuse to expel her. If Joyce hadn’t known she was the Slayer, Buffy would have been unable to do her patrols due to being permanently grounded from all the complaints Snyder made about her.

Giles was making noises about something called the night of St. Vigeous during which vamps were supposed to be at their strongest. That was in ten days and Giles expected the Order to crawl out of the woodwork then and attack her in force.

Wonderful, thought Buffy. She had hoped that the Order had made tracks out of Sunnydale now that the Master was gone, but it looked like they were still around. Life sucked.

She tramped gloomily through her patrol. Nothing had happened the last couple of nights. All the vamps appeared to be laying low, waiting for St. Vigeous. There weren’t even any demons around or, if there were, they too were keeping their heads down, leaving it for the vamps to take her out.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of movement. A recumbent form lying on one of those flat, marble, full-grave markers with a headstone at one end had suddenly crossed its ankles. It made her jump, because she had taken it for granted that the figure was just some carved statue. Then she picked up the vamp vibe and grabbed her stake out of its sheath.

Glass flashed in the moonlight as a bottle was upended. Great, thought Buffy; the vamp’s drunk. This was gonna be real easy. Then the figure shifted its position and moonlight glinted on white hair just as her Slayer senses clocked in and told her exactly whose vibe that was.

“Spike?” she exclaimed incredulously.

He blinked, then pushed himself up unsteadily and shoved himself backwards until he was leaning back against the headstone. “Sod it, it’s the Slayer. All I need to make my life complete.”

Buffy found that she was smiling widely. That was so not good. She shouldn’t be so happy to see him. But she was.

“What are you doing back in Sunnydale?”

“That’s what I keep asking myself.” He scowled resentfully at her. “Was gonna go to New York. Maybe up the coast to Vancouver. Hell, was gonna take a slow boat to China. Anywhere the pickings are easy. End up here in Sunnyhell. Must be as mental as Dru.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Ain’t I just?” He saluted her with the bottle, grinning, before taking another long slug. “Great feeling. Such a nice buzz and you don’t have to think. Best thing about being drunk, not able to think. Don’tcha agree?”

“Um, never been drunk.”

“Should try it sometime.” His gaze ran over her lingeringly. “Looking good, Slayer. I like that top. The way it clings.”

She glanced down involuntarily. She had gone to the Bronze with Willow and Xander that night before deciding to do a brief patrol, and she was wearing white, dress jeans and a silky haltertop with no back and therefore no bra. She realized that her nipples had hardened under his fixed stare and were showing clearly through the thin material of the top. She blushed vividly.

“Ve-ry nice,” he purred.

“Stop that!” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Hey, a man can look, can’t he?” he grinned. “Gonna stake me for it, Slayer?”

“I should,” she growled. “But not while you’re drunk. Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Yeah. Fair fight. Thass what’s important. No honor in it if you cheat.”

“Is that why you came back? To fight? You left without that notch on your belt. Is that what you’ve come back for now? ”

“Yes. No.” He waved a hand in front of his face irritably. “You’re confusing me. Stop trying to make me think, Slayer. Don’ wanna think.”

She sat down on a tombstone opposite him and studied him warily. His eyes were shifting back and forth from blue to yellow, his fangs appearing and then retracting. He seemed angry about something; but it was an inchoate anger, not focused on anything specific. She had never seen him like this before, so off-balance and unstable. He was unpredictable like this, volatile. Dangerous.

“So how’s your life been, Slayer? Bed o’ roses now that the Master’s gone?”

She shrugged. “Nothing much to speak of. It’s been quiet. Though I understand that might change with this night of St. Vigeous thing.”

“Heard about that.” He snickered. “Got them running scared now that they know you took out the Master. Bunch of candyasses. Thass why the brat’s waiting for St. Vigeous. Hopes it will stiffen their spines some.”

“So the Order’s still there.” She hadn’t been sure of that. That was another thing she had missed with his absence, the information he had tossed her way every now and then about what was going on in the demon world. Devilry on his part, stirring the pot. But it had been useful.

“Oh, yeah. Brat’s got them snookered. Convinced them he’s the Master’s heir. Thass not so, but they’re too demoralized to challenge him.”

“Are there a lot of them?”

“Enough.” He gave her a twisted grin. “They’ll take you, pet. No good ones left, of course. The four, five effective vamps still in Sunnydale never hooked up with the Order and they’re staying out of its way. Order’s gutted. Gone soft. Can’t get it up. But there’s still enough of them to bury you through sheer volume, come St. Vigeous.”

“Great.”

“Gonna be quite a show.” He upended the bottle and took a long slug.

“So that’s what you came back for. The show.”

“Yes. No.” He flung the bottle at her suddenly. She ducked involuntarily, but it shattered on the ground to one side of her and she realized that it hadn’t really been angled to hit her. “Stop pushing me, Slayer!”

What the heck?

“Okay, Spike. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Every-fucking-thing. You’ve ruined me, Summers.”

“What?”

“Gotta stay drunk. Makes things nice and simple, being drunk does. Been drunk for a week.” He frowned, thinking that over. “Or it might be a lot longer. Can’t remember. Since I left Rio.”

“Rio?” She stared. “Why were you in Rio?”

“Dumb question. That’s where Dru was, innit?”

Right. Dru.

“Leave her in Mexico, she ends up in Brazil,” he muttered. “Figures. Never has a buggering clue what she’s about. Just goes where the stars tell her. Was lucky she didn’t go to Prague.”

“Prague?”

“Said she might head that way. Other side of the bleeding planet. But she didn’t. Went to Rio instead. Even so, it took me a while to track her down. And then I get my balls busted for my trouble! All because of you!”

“Me!”

“She dumped me.”

Buffy found herself smiling. She wiped that expression hurriedly off her face before he noticed.

“You...told her about us.”

“Didn’t need to. The stars did. She’s psychic.”

“But...but...nothing happened!”

“Like I didn’t try to tell her!” He went into full gameface and snarled angrily. “‘Covered with you.’ ‘Floating all around me.’ What the fuck was that? Jus’ an excuse, thass all. Hundred and twenty fucking years and she pulls that on me!”

“Because of that Provi-whatsit demon?”

“Chaos. She’d moved on.”

“Chaos?”

He made an irritable gesture, the gameface fading back into his regular human features. “Antlers. Slime. Don’t ask.”

“Um, okay.” Buffy remembered Darla taunting him about that. “Wow, Spike. I’m sorry.”

He rubbed his hands roughly across his face. “Always was mental, Dru. But this time she really...”

“Well, I guess you training me like that, helping me with the Master...”

“Wasn’t that.”

He fell silent, his gaze fixed on her, a puzzled, searching stare, frowning and very intent.

“Spike?”

“Gotta think.” He staggered to his feet, swaying wildly. “Can’t duck that anymore. Gotta get some sleep and then gotta think.”

“Do you have some place to stay?”

“Same place as before. Met up with that Krasevic demon at Willy’s again.”

“What? Never mind.” She caught his arm as he careened past her. “I think I better see you home.”

She didn’t want him passing out somewhere on the way and then getting fried when the sun came up.

He grinned at her twistedly. “Gonna sneak in some night and stake me once you know where I live, Slayer?”

“Told you. When I stake you, it’ll be in a fair fight.”

“Way beyond fair now,” he muttered to her bewilderment. “I’m screwed. Big time. Oh, bloody, buggering hell, am I ever screwed!”

***

He had always had a fatal attraction to the best. The ones beyond his reach. First Cicely, the darling of London’s social set in 1880. Then Dru, always available, but essentially unattainable because of her fixation on Angelus. Now the Slayer.

That was the worst. The ultimate screw-up. He might as well put a stake through himself right now, he had destroyed himself so utterly.

Dru was right. He was...obsessed with the Slayer. He wouldn’t use the word ‘love’. He had spent all that time bombed out of his skull because he hadn’t wanted to face that word.

But there it lay, that word, and there was no gainsaying it, no denying it. He had never spent much time in Egypt. He faced facts, dealt with them. This one was going to crucify him, but it would have to be endured.

First things first. Her safety. It was hardwired into him, to protect those he cared for. He had protected Dru for a hundred and twenty years. This night of St. Vigeous thing offended him. Bunch of chicken-shit vamps too gutless to go up against the Slayer except en masse on a night when they were guaranteed to be at their strongest, egged on by an equally gutless brat hiding in the shadows, with no real right to the position he had only been able to claim by default.

The Master’s heir? Yeah, right. That was not the way the line of succession went. Collin had not been turned by the Master. Spike knew that for a fact. If he had been the Master’s get, Collin would have been part of the link and Spike would have felt it. But he was not. Nest had never turned children; he had only eaten them.

The Master’s heir was Darla and, after her, Angelus, both now dust. Next came Dru, but her mental state disqualified her. Which left...guess who as the rightful Master of Sunnydale.

Spike grinned nastily.

Thirty-odd vamps still in the Order and all of them sworn to the Annoying One, all of them his minions. Spike had the rightful claim. But challenge without backup was going to be tricky. He made a few arrangements.

A week before St. Vigeous, he strolled into the converted factory that Collin and the Order were using as their new base. Annoying One’s present lieutenant—Absalom, his name was, Kibble at Willy’s had told him—was thumping his chest and making with the bombast, and Collin was listening. Spike found that interesting. Collin wasn’t used to being a leader. He was used to taking orders not giving them and, from the poor showing they had made so far, he didn’t know how to motivate his troops. He was unsure of himself and leaning heavily on Absalom, who was clearly seeing this as an opportunity to be the power behind the throne.

“When I kill her,” blared Absalom, meaning the Slayer, “it’ll be the greatest event since the crucifixion. And I should know. I was there.”

Spare me, thought Spike. He stepped lazily forward into view.

“You were there?” He snickered. “Oh, please! If every vampire who said he was at the crucifixion was actually there, it would have been like Woodstock.”

“I oughta rip your throat out!” roared Absalom, stung.

Spike turned his back on him and strolled away.

“I was actually at Woodstock,” he remarked contemplatively. “That was a weird gig. I fed off a flowerperson and I spent the next six hours watchin’ my hand move.”

As he expected, Absalom rushed him from behind. Spike swung his fist up without even looking, hit him in the face and knocked him cold.

“So. Who do you kill for fun around here?”

“Who are you?” exclaimed Collin.

“Spike.”

He looked around at the vamps tensing when they heard his name. They knew where he stood in relation to the Master. Collin’s eyes turned wary. Spike smiled.

The rest of the members of the Order suddenly began filtering in. Collin must have put out a call over the minion link he had with them, the one that Spike could not feel because it was separate from the Aurelian link.

“And you’re this Anointed guy,” Spike went on casually. “How old are you?”

“Older than you,” said Collin with a vicious smirk that looked utterly incongruous on that childish face.

“Guessed that. Who turned you?”

There was a deadly silence. The vamps of the Order exchanged uncomfortable glances. That was the question.

“Wasn’t the Master,” said Spike softly. “Some minor vamp trull?”

Collin looked over to where Absalom was staggering back onto his feet. “Kill him,” he said furiously.

“Glad to!” roared Absalom and flung himself at Spike. So did the other vamps.

Spike went straight up into the air, then came down onto the scrum as they crashed into each other below him. He had a stake in each hand and was spinning like a whirling dervish, dusting vamps coldly and efficiently as they grabbed at him.

But one vamp would never be able to hold off thirty and Collin was smiling with satisfaction as he left the box he had been sitting on and jumped up onto it instead for a better view.

Then screams erupted from the outer edges of the melee. Collin gaped. Vamps he had never seen before had arrived. There weren’t many of them, but they were killing with lethal efficiency.

“Yours are fledglings,” said Spike softly in his ear. “Mine are pros.”

Collin realized that Absalom was gone, dusted. And that the Order was rapidly dwindling.

“No!” he gasped.

But Spike’s stake was already slashing down.

“From now on, we’re gonna have a little less ritual and a little more fun around here,” remarked Spike as the Anointed One exploded into dust.

The surviving members of the Order were crying for quarter.

“No quarter,” said Spike grimly as his vamps looked to him for instruction. “The Order ends now.”

A few minutes later, it was truly ended, nothing left but little piles of dust on the floor.

“Told you it would be a piece of cake,” said Spike to his vamps as they gathered around him.

“Sunnydale’s ours!” one of them said incredulously. “We rule!”

“I do,” said Spike flatly. “And you’re mine.”

“Yes,” they said and came and bent their necks for the minion bite.

Having minions had always bored him, but it was necessary this time to ensure that they would have no choice but to follow his orders.

“The Order’s gone?” gasped Buffy when he told her about it.

Spike grinned. “All dusted. Don’t have to worry about the night of St. Vigeous crap. No one’s gonna come after you.”

“You wiped out the Order? But...why?”

“Oh, you know. Annoying One setting himself up as Master. Pissed me off. Wasn’t even in the line. Thought he could get away with it because he had them all so buffaloed they didn’t even think of challenging it.”

“You challenged.”

“I had the right. Even the Order knew it. I’m next in line. Those five effective vamps in Sunnydale that I told you about? They agreed. Backed me up on the power grab. They’re a lot better off being my minions than going it alone or joining the Order.”

She stared at him. “You’re the Master in Sunnydale now?”

He smirked at her. “Ain’t that a kick?”

She sat down with a thump on a tombstone. “No vamps?”

“Not gonna be that easy, Slayer. There’ll always be vamps. Hellmouth draws them like flies. But you won’t have them coming at you in a bunch.”

He had told his to stay away from the Slayer. They were happy to do that since they knew she would dust them even if they all came at her together, and they were grateful that he had no intentions of hurling them against her.

“I never thought you’d be interested in power, in making yourself the top dog,” said Buffy blankly. “You always seem a loner somehow.”

“Think I did it for your bright eyes, Slayer? Do I get a reward? Come on and give us a kiss then.”

“Hey!” Buffy leaped to her feet and backed away.

He laughed, something glimmering in his eyes, a kind of angry, self-mocking defiance.

“Relax, Slayer. Didn’t think you would. Didn’t make myself Master for you. Fuck that. Demon here and power is power.”

Buffy stared at him as he stood there, leaning back against a tombstone, the moonlight glinting on his bright hair. There was a glittering, dangerous edge to him. Dru dumping him like that seemed to have brought out something reckless and bitter in him.

She didn’t discount ambition from having been his reason for establishing himself as Master, but she didn’t entirely buy it either. Something else was going on with him.

“I think I’d better get home,” she said uncomfortably.

“Running scared,” he mocked and she didn’t deny it. He made her nervous, the way he was now.

A demon with fangs a sabertooth tiger would have envied and claws three inches long jumped them as they were leaving the cemetery. To her surprise, Spike attacked it the moment she did and between the two of them they took it down handily.

“What the heck is this thing?” she asked, staring down at the limp body lying on the turf.

“Grathar. No brains. Vicious. Just an animal.”

“Why did you help me kill it?”

“Animal like that is a liability. Brings the rest of us to the notice of humans. Better for us if the human world doesn’t know we exist. Don’t want humans getting into peasants-with-stakes-and-torches mode. We all get rid of the brainless ones when we can. They cross the lines.”

“Lines?”

“Territorial lines. The occasional turf war happens, but mostly vamps and demons work out what belongs to who. Vamps take the human-occupied territories. More people, the better eating. And we don’t have to worry about being seen. Demons haunt the empty areas. Cemeteries, run-down districts, abandoned factories, that kind of thing.”

“I see.”

Spike frowned down at the Grathar. “Got a bit of a clean-up problem here though. Can’t leave this lying around for someone to find.”

“Yeah,” Buffy sighed, not looking forward to having to haul the heavy thing away somewhere.

Spike looked up suddenly. “Maybe it won’t be a problem. Want it?” he called into the shadows. A piping call came back. “Take it then.”

Small forms stepped out of the shadows, three-foot-high demons with gray skin and little, gargoyle faces. They shuffled their feet and looked as if they were ready to run.

“Slayer,” said one nervously in a high, fluting voice.

“Yeah, but she won’t slay you,” said Spike and shrugged at Buffy. “They’re Firoud. Harmless. Live in the sewers and get rid of a lot of the vermin. Grathar meat’s good eating for them.”

“I won’t slay you,” Buffy confirmed. “Promise.”

They all bowed as one, bowed again and again as they came hesitantly forward.

“We good, yes?” one of them said anxiously. “No bad, we. No hurt, please.”

“No hurt. Promise,” Buffy reassured them and they beamed, converging upon the Grathar with more confidence and chattering among themselves in their high, piping voices.

“There’s a whole community of non-harmful demons in Sunnydale,” Spike said as they watched the Firoud cut up the Grathar and carry it away. “Firouds, Listers, Krasevics, Ano-Movics, whack of others. Hellmouth draws them. They don’t hurt anyone, just want to be left alone and lead their lives.”

“If they don’t hurt anyone, I won’t hurt them.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “Watchers’ Council might not like that. They’re demons, after all. Might say you should drive them all out of Sunnydale.”

“I have trouble enough with the harmful ones. I’m not going to waste my time like that.”

He nodded approvingly at her. “Sensible. The peaceable ones can also be useful, Slayer. These Firoud, for instance. They get everywhere. Know everything that’s going on in this town. You said it helped, my giving you info about the demon world, and that you missed it when I left. Well, there’s your solution. Just ask the Firoud. Or any of the non-harmful demons. Just go into Willy’s and drop word what you’re interested in. Know Willy’s bar?”

“Heard of it.”

“Go there. Willy will tell you, for a price. Or a Riherejk called Kibble. But there’s lots will do it just for immunity or the goodwill.”

“A network,” said Buffy, seeing the possibilities.

He grinned at her. “Oh, yeah.”

All she told Giles about any of this was that St. Vigeous was not happening because Spike had made himself the Master and didn’t have time for it right now. The rest she kept to herself. Giles was floored just by Spike being the Master now. She didn’t think he would be able to handle the détente that existed between them.

More than a détente. A friendship. A partnership. He met her in the cemeteries to spar almost every night now. No let up in that sparring. He was as hard on her as he had ever been. But they were evenly matched now and the contests always ended in stalemate. She could see the approval and satisfaction in his eyes. And he came with her on patrol, taking out vamps or demons right beside her, helping her.

“I like fighting,” he said evasively when she asked him about it. “Besides, these are not my vamps. They’re strangers.”

“And the demons?”

He shrugged. “Hey, demons and vamps don’t get along that well. Always open season on demons for vamps.”

Spike didn’t tell her that demons had tried to jump him at Willy’s, intending to teach him that it was not a good idea to harm demons on the Slayer’s behalf. They had paid for the attempt and Spike had laid out his position to the whole bar, knowing that word would get around.

“Slayer’s mine,” he said flatly. “You go after her, I go after you.”

They got the message. Didn’t mean that they didn’t try every now and then, but the Slayer and he together were a formidable force and they didn’t succeed.

Surely it wasn’t right, Buffy was thinking. He was a vamp and he was supposed to be fighting for the dark, not the light. Things were all upside down. And he never brought up that ‘third notch’ thing anymore either.

Everything was different about him these days. The laughter and the teasing appeared to be the same, but there was an angry, self-mocking edge to it now and the jokes seemed to have a hidden meaning that she didn’t understand, something double-edged and cutting, but turned against himself.

He was always too close these days, well inside her personal space. He was a tactile being and to touch was instinctive. Nothing in it of that aggressive sexual provocation that he had indulged in before. Just light fingers on her elbow or in the small of her back, the contact gentle and protective, the random brush of his hand on her hair caressive. So she allowed it and tried not to admit to herself that she enjoyed it, tried to ignore the way he watched her, the look in the intense, burning blue of his eyes, heavy and dark and silken, bringing the color up into her face.

She was too aware of him.

“Who is that?” Joyce asked one night after he had dropped Buffy off at Revello Drive. “I’ve seen him with you before.”

Buffy blushed and stammered, not knowing what to say. Maybe if she lied and said that Spike was her history tutor or something...

“All that bleached hair and black leather? He looks like trouble. Like rough trade.” Joyce was frowning. “Besides, he’s too old for you. You’ve just barely turned seventeen, Buffy, and he seems at least a college boy. Does Mr. Giles know him?”

Buffy winced. If Joyce asked Giles about Spike and gave him a description, Giles would put two and two together. Then he and Xander would be after Spike with crossbows, which meant that either he or they would get killed.

Only the truth would do.

“His name’s Spike. But...but...Mom, don’t tell Giles about him! He’s a vamp and Giles will kill him!”

“He’s a vampire?” Joyce stared at her. “But...”

Buffy sat her down and spilled the whole story out from the beginning.

“He’s the new Master of vampires in Sunnydale, but he’s helping you?” Joyce said incredulously when Buffy finished.

“Yeah,” said Buffy weakly. “I know it sounds...”

“Honey, you do complicate your life,” sighed Joyce.

“It sort of complicated itself,” Buffy said ruefully.

“I want to meet him.”

“Mom! It’s not like he’s some guy I’m going out with! A vamp is not someone you bring home to be vetted by your parents!”

“This one is. Buffy, you’re spending every evening in his company. I want to meet him—if only to be sure he isn’t someone I should be asking your Mr. Giles to stake.”

“Aw geez!” groaned Buffy.

“Language, dear,” said Joyce sternly.

“My Mom wants you to come to dinner,” Buffy told Spike the next night and he blinked.

“Didn’t know we had that kind of relationship, pet.” He was laughing, but his eyes were warm.

“Neither did I,” growled Buffy and he grinned. “If you even lay a finger on her, Spike, I’ll...I’ll...”

“Won’t eat her. Swear.” He crossed his heart, smiling, but his gaze was grave and steady, and she knew he meant it. “Does she know I’m a vamp?”

“Yeah. She’s trying to decide whether to have you staked.”

“Better be charming then.”

When Spike wanted to, he could be very charming indeed. He talked happily and openly about being a vamp and his turning and the culture he had been brought up in, and showed so much easy knowledge of the literary and artistic matters that Joyce was interested in (and Buffy so not) that Joyce was unwillingly impressed.

“Oxford!” exclaimed Joyce.

“Yeah, but getting turned made that sort of irrelevant,” said Spike ruefully. “Though being a vamp means that one can keep learning forever. Still a scholar at heart. But what I wanted then was to be a poet.”

He shrugged at Buffy’s stunned look.

“A poet,” breathed Joyce who loved poetry.

“Didn’t really have the talent. Took me a long time to figure that out.”

“That must have been painful,” said Joyce with sympathy, hearing the faintly bitter note hidden in his voice.

He looked down abruptly and both Joyce and Buffy got the impression that if he hadn’t been a vamp he would have flushed.

“Yeah. Guess it was.”

“But you’ve got a lot of other talents now,” said Buffy dryly and he looked up, the blue eyes suddenly vivid with wicked laughter.

“Loads. You have no idea.”

“You’re a vampire though,” said Joyce slowly. “And Buffy’s a Slayer...”

“Won’t hurt her.”

“Why not?”

Buffy raised her brows curiously, waiting for the answer. But Spike just shrugged.

“Just...won’t.”

He gave Buffy a sudden sideways glance from beneath his eyelashes. Buffy missed it, but Joyce caught the look in his eyes.

“I see,” said Joyce. She did.

“So what’s the verdict?” asked Buffy once Spike had gone. “Are you going to ask Giles to stake him?”

“No. He seems a nice boy. I won’t mention him to Mr. Giles.”

“Nice!” said Buffy, amused. “Only you would call a vamp nice, Mom!”

“Well, I like him and I’m glad you have someone to help you.”

“That’s the weird part,” said Buffy, frowning. “Him helping. I don’t understand that at all.”

Joyce gave her a thoughtful, sidelong glance. It seemed perfectly obvious to Joyce, but she hoped Buffy would never figure it out. She wanted Buffy to have a normal life and marriage and kids. Buffy being a Slayer would make that complicated enough without adding a vampire to the equation.

“You’re attracted to him.”

“I...” Buffy blushed wildly. “Hey, he’s hot.”

“Even I can see that,” said Joyce dryly. She would have had to be over a hundred not to see that Spike was sex on a stick, she thought wryly. Goodness, she’d have to be dead to miss that! “His being hot is the problem.”

“He’s a vamp, Mom. And I do know that getting involved with a vamp is so not of the good. Huge no. Utterly forbidden. Just plain wrong.”

“Mm.” Joyce was too shrewd to openly object to Spike and possibly drive Buffy into a whole rebellious Romeo and Juliet scenario. But she also wanted to keep an eye on things. “You should bring him around every now and then.”

“Okay,” shrugged Buffy, relieved that Joyce wasn’t making a big deal about it.

The trouble was, Joyce thought weeks later, that Spike grew on one. She had fallen into the habit of inviting him in after Buffy’s patrols and the three of them ended up talking for hours over the cups of hot chocolate that she found he liked. He tried to hide his pleasure at being included in their family group, but it was obvious to both Buffy and Joyce. Joyce found it touching and disarming. Family and belonging mattered to him and Joyce could understand that, though Buffy clearly thought it was strange in a vamp. But Joyce was starting to realize that Spike was not the typical vampire.

She knew that she should tell Buffy’s Watcher about Spike, that Buffy’s association with him was completely wrong. But telling Mr. Giles would be a death sentence to Spike and she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Especially with the way Spike was protecting Buffy on her patrols.

“That’s a bad slash,” Joyce said worriedly when Spike arrived after one patrol with a deep gash across his cheekbone.

Spike just shrugged. “Vamp here. It’ll heal by tomorrow.”

“It was a Laychek demon. They have these really wicked claws.” Buffy frowned at Spike. “But why did you jump in between us like that, Spike? I was handling it.”

“You’d have gotten slashed instead and their claws are filthy. Hope you’re up to date on your tetanus shots, by the way, pet. Vamps don’t have to worry about things like that, but humans do and you’re human, even though you’re a Slayer.”

Buffy made a face. “I don’t like needles.”

Spike looked up at Joyce as she cleaned the gash on his face. “She needs those shots.”

“I’ll make an appointment,” nodded Joyce, taping the edges of the cut together carefully.

“Mo-om!”

“You’re going to get those shots,” said Joyce flatly. “I can’t help you with this Slaying business like Spike does, but I can make sure that you get things like preventive injections.”

“Don’t understand why he helps anyway,” growled Buffy, stomping away. “Interfering jerk!”

“I do,” said Joyce under her breath and Spike gave her a sudden, panicky look.

“Better be off,” he said, getting hurriedly to his feet. “Thanks for the patch job, Joyce.”

“Thank you for taking care of Buffy.”

“No big,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes.

“Ganging up on me,” Buffy grumbled resentfully when she ran across him in the cemetery the next night. “Don’t need a big brother, okay?”

“Slayer scared of needles?” he mocked. “That’s a laugh, that is. Didn’t expect to see you tonight. Thought you were going to the Bronze with Red and Harris.”

“My big Saturday night,” Buffy sighed. “As usual my social life’s a bust. We were, but Willow’s mother did something to her knee and they’re taking her to Emerg. The way things are normally backed up over there, they’ll probably be waiting for hours before they get to see anyone. So I thought I’d do a patrol instead.”

“Want a date? We could go.” He gave her a sardonic, challenging glance. “Dare ya.”

If Willow and Xander were at the hospital, they wouldn’t see the two of them together and get all freaked out. Buffy felt suddenly reckless.

“Why not?”

“Really? Amazing! That’s brave of you, Slayer.” He was laughing at her.

It was not like anything could happen at the Bronze.

Except she had forgotten how erotic just dancing with him could be. His arms around her, that supple, powerful body moving against hers, his parted lips so close to hers, those gas-flame blue eyes watching her, all intensity and heat.

Just sparring with him aroused her, she had found. The necessarily intent focus on each other, the give and take of their moves, that strange intimacy of conflict. But this, with their bodies moving together as one and the closeness...She never should have agreed to it.

“You’re having second thoughts, aren’t you?” He dropped his head to look at her narrowly, his forehead almost brushing hers, their breaths mingling, that beautiful face filling her vision. “It’s only a dance.”

“It was only a dance with Owen, but you called it something else.”

“Ah. Well, you know I’d like it to be something else.”

“Spike...” She backed hastily. “I think I want another Pepsi.”

His arms tightened around her. “Running again?”

“It’s not that.” But it was and they both knew it.

She raised her hand involuntarily and brushed her thumb over the thin white line that was all that remained now of the gash he had on his cheekbone last night. He had discarded Joyce’s strip of tape, unneeded now, and even that faint mark would be gone in a couple of hours.

“Vamp healing,” she said lightly, trying to change the subject, defuse that electric awareness between them. “Useful.”

He turned his face into her hand, so that her palm flattened against his cheek. “I like it when you touch me.”

“Don’t.”

“You know I want you.”

“For a good fuck.”

“More than that, pet. Oh, much more than that.”

She caught her breath in shock. “What are you saying?”

His face tightened. He looked as if he were nerving himself up to something he knew would end badly. “Shall I spell it out? Four letters, starting with L.”

“You can’t possibly mean...!”

But this time there was no missing that look in his eyes, no way to shut it out, deny it. All blue fire, those eyes, burning with intensity. Heat and desire, yes, but far more frightening to her, that silken look of tenderness, of...

“Vamps can’t...”

He just looked at her, his scarred eyebrow rising, and the words died in her throat. Maybe other vamps couldn’t, but Spike could. He had loved Drusilla for a hundred and twenty years.

“Dru...” she said weakly.

“She knew. That’s why she dumped me. She saw it right off. Everything I wasn’t even admitting to myself at the time. Even your Mum saw it. She knows.”

“Oh, God.” It suddenly made sense, Joyce being so at ease with Spike being around, so certain that he would never hurt Buffy despite being a vamp.

She saw the tension in his face, the way his lips were tightly pressed together, the vulnerability. He hadn’t meant to say what he had. It had just come out and now he was afraid of being hurt, was expecting harsh rejection.

“But, Spike...why?”

He stroked her hair lightly, his gaze moving with slow helplessness over her face. “Because of what you are. You shine. You burn. So bright. Like the sun.”

“The sun burns vamps.”

“Don’t I know it. You’ll burn me, Slayer. To ash. Worst thing that could have happened to me, my falling for you.”

“I don’t...”

“I know.” A flicker of bitterness flashed through his eyes. “Does it disgust you, Slayer? Does the thought horrify you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m...flattered. But it just can’t happen.”

“At least you’re not running screaming,” he said wryly on a little breath of a laugh.

“Wouldn’t.” That would be callous and cruel and unfeeling. Even unwanted, love was a gift. A heart was something precious. One didn’t crush it under one’s heel like that, destroy the person offering it, wound him so deeply. Besides...”Too tempted,” she said honestly.

His whole face softened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Can’t give in to it, but still...”

He kissed her.

It had clearly been meant to be light and undemanding, that kiss. But the moment their mouths opened to each other, that changed. Like stepping into quicksand, sucked right down in an instant into a rich, honied, dark sensuality.

Their mouths broke apart, gasping for breath that they both urgently needed, came back together again helplessly, immediately, unable to stay apart. They kissed deeply, tongues stroking and twining ceaselessly. Kissed and kissed again, delicately, hungrily, losing themselves and time and the world in a maelstrom of exquisite sensation.

She opened her eyes for a moment and realized that she was leaning against the wall in the shadows under the stairs. They had somehow moved there, she didn’t know how and she didn’t think he did either, seeing the bewilderment in the heavy-lidded eyes looking back at her, the darkness and helplessness there.

His mouth took hers again and she was lost, forgetting everything, drunk on sensation, on this drugging, voluptuous sweetness, heavy and rich and slow as honey. Her hands moved over him, stroking his face, his hair, unable to settle, coming to rest for a second only to take flight again, knowing how wrong this was, caught between have to and must not.

It was just kissing, she thought dimly. There was no pressure, no demand for anything more. It was as if they had both silently agreed not to take that step forward, to remain just in this moment of absolute delight. She could indulge in it because of that, time and the whole world and every obligation abandoned in an endless, dreaming haze of pleasure.

Spike wasn’t about to ask for more. He knew how to live in the moment, to take what he could get. He was used to living with loss and disappointment, and her permitting even this was a gift, her not thrusting him away in horror. He knew how to cherish what he had. To ask for more would be to break the spell. She would come back to herself then and remember exactly how wrong this was. He didn’t expect to ever get more. This was a moment out of time. He cherished it, stored it up in his memory, drowning in her, the feel, the taste, the scent of her, the way her hands fluttered over him, those light, tentative caresses that got past all his defences and touched every hidden vulnerability deep down inside himself that he tried to deny.

Her mouth clinging to his and her hands stroking him so sweetly and her body responding to his. That surrender. He drowned himself in it, this wonder that he had never expected to have, beyond thought and never wanting to come back to himself again.

Movement around them brought them back to their senses. The Bronze was closing. Buffy leaned back against the wall and stared wildly around her. They had come to the Bronze late, but still...

“How long...?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” He leaned a shoulder against the wall beside her and gasped for breath. They were both still shuddering with passion and heavy, languorous desire.

“Whoa. Never knew...” She dropped her forehead against his shoulder weakly, then drew back hurriedly as she felt the vibrating tremor go through him. They were both too close to the edge, control fraying. “Where’d the time go? I’ve got to get home.”

“I’ll walk y...”

“Not such a good idea.”

Some rational part of them had remembered that they were in a crowd. Out there alone in the darkness, they’d probably end up pulling each other down on somebody’s lawn.

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“I’ll be fine on my own. Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“This can’t happen again.”

“I know.”

TBC

Chapter 7

It was easy to say that it couldn’t happen again, easy to tell herself that it must not—but way hard to put into effect.

“I don’t want you to patrol with me anymore,” Buffy said abruptly when Spike turned up as usual in the graveyard the next night. “It’s too...”

“Yeah.”

They looked at each other and awareness ran through them like molten lava, a wildfire blazing along every nerve. He’s ten feet away from me, she thought blankly, and I can feel him. Feel his body against mine, his skin, the taste of his mouth...I want him too much.

“Can’t stay away, Slayer,” he said under his breath. “It’s like the Hunger. The blood hunger. You know? Hard to fight. Need to be close. Need the...proximity. Won’t touch you. Swear. Won’t do anything you don’t want me to. It’s just...Feel at peace when I’m close to you.”

It was like that for her too. That peacefulness that came from just being in his presence. Oh, she wanted more, but just the sight of him brought a certain amelioration of the need, and that allowed reason to surface and her brain to remember why she could not permit anything more to happen.

Then it hit her, the thing that she had forgotten about, maybe deliberately blocked from her mind the last few weeks.

“The Hunger,” she said sharply. “Spike...”

“Don’t have to say anything, pet. Haven’t been killing. Feeding, yeah, but not killing. Not since I came back to Sunnydale. Catch and release. Told the minions that’s all they could do too and they’ve been obeying.”

“You’re...not...”

He shrugged ruefully. “Didn’t want that getting in the way when a compromise was possible. Is it enough for you, Slayer?”

It was in fact a huge concession.

“You did that for me?” she breathed, utterly shocked.

“Yeah, well. Knew it would bother you. Kind of a conflict of interest for you, right, if I were killing?”

If he was willing to do something like that...She was starting to believe that he really...

“I-It’s enough for now,” she mumbled, trying to get her head together, then gave him a panicked look when he took a step towards her.

“Won’t jump your bones, Slayer,” he said wryly. “You’ll have to jump mine.”

She laughed involuntarily and he gave her a twisted smile. That was utterly unlikely to happen and he knew it.

Except she kept thinking about it. All that UST, and the problem being that it was unresolved. A certain traitorous portion of her mind kept whispering, ‘Maybe if you resolved it. Maybe then it wouldn’t be a problem anymore. It’s just curiosity, you know. Do it and you wouldn’t have to wonder any longer. It would be behind you then, you could forget about it, it wouldn’t matter...’

Except it would matter, and something like that couldn’t be forgotten. That portion of her mind was lying to her, trying to give her all the excuses she needed to fling caution to the winds. She couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t, however much she wanted to.

The school year wore on. It was autumn now, Halloween just around the corner. Snyder was stalking the halls, grabbing people at random in the corridors.

Willow gave him a dirty look behind his back. “Snyder must be in charge of the volunteer safety program for Halloween this year.”

“Note his interesting take on the volunteer concept,” growled Xander.

Buffy looked around, surprised. “What's the deal?”

“Oh, a bunch of little kids need people to take them trick-or-treating,” shrugged Xander. “Sign up and get your own pack of sugar-hyped little runts for the night.”

“Yikes. I'll stick to vampires,” muttered Buffy.

“Miss Summers!” said Snyder just behind her. “Just the juvenile delinquent I've been looking for.”

“Uh...”

“Halloween must be a big night for you. Tossing eggs, keying cars, toilet-papering respectable homes. One pathetic cry for help after another. Well, not this year, missy.” He held up a pen and a clipboard. “Sign. Now.”

Xander grinned as he watched Buffy sign; he thought it was funny. But Willow had a sick look on her face. Her expectations were confirmed when Snyder thrust the pen at them next, a menacing look in his eye. Xander’s face fell comically.

“I can't believe this,”muttered Xander as they slouched gloomily towards their next class. “We have to get dressed up and the whole deal?”

“Snyder said costumes are mandatory,” sighed Willow.

“Great,” groaned Buffy. “I was gonna stay in and veg. The one night a year things are supposed to be quiet for me.”

Xander looked surprised. “Halloween quiet? I figured it'd be a big old vamp scare-a-palooza.”

“Not according to Giles. He swears that tomorrow night is, like, dead for the undead. They stay in.”

“Guess looking at all the bad fakes offends them,” said Willow dryly. “I hear that there’s a new place opened up on Main Street that’s got some great costumes. How about we all go take a look after school’s over?”

“Sounds good.”

Ethan’s did have some good costumes and the place was packed. Buffy could see its proprietor, a thin dark man, smiling smugly as customers surged around him. She picked up a black and white Morticia wig, considered it dubiously, then put it back. Willow stopped beside her, a costume in her hands.

“What'd you get?” asked Buffy.

“A time-honored classic!” Willow held up a ghost costume.

Buffy sighed. “Okay, Will. Can I give you a little friendly advice?”

Willow looked at the ghost costume. “It's not spooky enough?”

“It's just... you're never gonna get noticed if you keep hiding. You're missing the whole point of Halloween.”

“Free candy?” grinned Willow.

“It's ‘come as you aren't’ night,” said Buffy. “The perfect chance for a girl to get sexy and wild with no repercussions.”

Willow shook her head firmly. “I don't get wild. Wild on me equals spaz.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I’ve got the perfect outfit for you at home. Boots, black leather mini, burgundy crop top...Xander would notice you then.”

“Hey, Xander!” gasped Willow, flushing, as Xander came up behind Buffy. “What'd you get?”

Xander held up a toy military rifle.

“That's not a costume,” Buffy objected.

“I got fatigues from an Army surplus at home,” explained Xander. “Call me the two-dollar costume king, baby!”

“Not a bad idea.” Buffy was studying a billowy 18th-century gown hanging on a mannequin. “Look at this.”

“It's amazing,” agreed Willow.

Ethan Rayne, the store’s proprietor, suddenly turned up beside them.

“Please. Let me.” He took the dress off the mannequin, held it up in front of her and turned her towards a mirror. “My. Meet the hidden princess.”

Buffy’s eyes glazed over at the suddenly ethereally feminine vision in the mirror. “Ohh, it's...”

“Magnificent,” said Ethan Rayne. “Yes, I know. I think we found a match, don't you?”

“I...”

“Come as you aren’t, right?” teased Willow and Buffy made a rueful face at her.

“No, no,” said Ethan. “You look exquisite!”

“I-I'm sorry,” said Buffy wistfully and with genuine regret. “There's no way I could ever afford this.”

“Oh, nonsense,” purred Ethan. “I feel quite moved to make you a deal you can't refuse.”

Buffy took the dress from Ethan and held it up to her chin, smiling dreamily at her reflection. Then she noticed another costume reflected behind her and turned, her eyes widening.

“Wait.”

“But it suits you so perfectly!” exclaimed Ethan in sharp disappointment. Then he saw what she was looking at. He started to smile widely. “Oh, that might be even better!”

***

A lover of chaos was Ethan Rayne and he was looking forward to that delicious chaos that he would cause to occur during Halloween tonight. No malice behind it really, no purpose, just the love of random, destructive disorder. How disastrous! How delightful! And to have the Slayer involved in it all was icing on top of the cake. He smiled down at the Janus mask, the candles and the other ingredients laid out carefully on the table, waiting for his words to activate the spell.

It was time. He stretched out his hands and began to evoke the spell.

“Janus, evoco vestram animam. Exaudi meam causam. Carpe noctem pro consilio vestro. Veni, appare et nobis monstra quod est infinita potestas.”

In his head, the translation ran silently. ‘Janus, I invoke your spirit. Hear my plea. Seize the night for your own purpose. Come, appear and show to us that which is infinite power.’

“Persona se corpum et sanguium commutandum est. Vestra sancta praesentia concrescet viscera. Janus! Sume noctem!”

‘The mask transforms itself into flesh and blood. Your holy presence curdles the bowels. Janus! Take the night!’

The mask flared and Ethan smiled.

“Showtime!”

***

Spike strolled through town, grinning widely, while chaos broke out all around him. Several monsters were chasing people down the street, things were being thrown and windows broken.

“Well! This is just...neat!”

He caught sight of Xander Harris, now the compleat military man with an honest-to-God rifle in his hands which he was aiming wildly at the riot and pandemonium around him. People seemed to be transforming into whatever their costumes had been, becoming the devils and demons and werewolves that they had dressed up as. Someone had clearly cast some kind of spell. He wondered whether anyone shot by Harris’ bullets would stay dead once the spell was over. It would be interesting to find out.

Slayer would probably be freaking right now, but Spike found it hilariously funny. Hey, evil here, and he couldn’t help enjoying the madness.

There was Buffy’s little friend, Red. He had passed her earlier on, all covered up in a sheet with eyeholes, so he wouldn’t have known who she was except for recognizing her scent under that ghost costume. Now the sheet was gone. What she had been wearing under it was a black mini that barely covered her arse and a clingy vee-necked top that stopped just under her breasts and showed off some truly great abs that Spike had never even suspected she was hiding. Wish she dressed like that all the time, Spike thought, looking her over appreciatively. Now that was hot!

She brushed past a tree as she ran towards Xander and, unknown to her, her shoulder passed right through it. Ghost, right. That was going to send the Slayer ballistic.

Slayer was probably gonna turn up any second and grab him by the throat, demanding to know why he hadn’t warned her this was going to happen. But how could he? He hadn’t had a clue. But he didn’t know whether she’d believe him, especially when he couldn’t stop snickering the way he was, relishing the bedlam all around him.

“Ooh, pretty,” purred a voice behind him.

He looked around. Then his jaw dropped.

“Whuh?”

Buffy smiled at him. His gaze ran down her incredulously, came back up lingering helplessly every inch of the way. Black boots with mile-high stiletto heels. Black leather pants that could have been painted on. Black leather strapless bustier that pushed up and revealed half her breasts and a hint of coral pink nipple areola, puckered and hard. His cock went rigid in an instant in his jeans.

A tease, that was what it had been intended to be, that whole outfit. Deliberately meant to turn him on, with the sultry eye makeup and the vivid red of her mouth and her golden hair tumbling on her bare shoulders. Then, to turn the whole thing into a joke, the plastic fangs.

Except those fangs weren’t plastic now. They were real—delicate, sexy, little points showing at the corners of her mouth.

“Seems that you like what you see,” she purred, smiling.

“God, yeah!” All his blood had gone south. He was on fire, burning. “But...but...”

“But what?” She ran her fingertips tantalizingly along his jaw, her eyes heavy-lidded, her parted lips a millimeter away from his.

Cool fingertips, cool breath against his mouth, fangs, no heartbeat...

“You’re a vamp!”

She made an amazing vamp. A dream come true. He’d never have turned her, but that hadn’t kept him from having fantasies about what it would be like if he did.

“Well, so are you.” Long fingernails—press-ons that had turned real—scored his cheek in light scratches that stimulatingly drew blood. He shuddered involuntarily. “And a ve-ry pretty one too.”

She took his lapels delicately between her fingertips and drew his duster wide. Her gaze ran over him appreciatively.

“Oh, yeah,” she purred. “I can’t allow that body to go to waste. It would be unfair to female kind.”

“Buffy...”

“Who’s Buffy? My name’s Elizabeth.” The tip of her tongue explored the corner of his mouth. He damn nearly grabbed her right then and there. “What’s your name, hot stuff?”

“Spike.”

“Ooh, I like that. Will you...spike me?”

God, he wanted to! But he knew it was wrong. She’d never forgive him. She’d come back to herself the minute the spell was off and hate him for taking advantage of her.

“I’d like you to. And you want to.” Her hand ran down his stomach, closed upon his rigid cock through the denim of his jeans, squeezed. His whole body bucked. “Oh, yeah, you want to. Quite a spike you got there, lover.”

Her mouth took his, avid and consuming, deliberately inciting, the way her hand was, rubbing and squeezing his cock and balls like that. The points of her fangs, that she hadn’t properly gotten control of yet, pricked his lower lip. His own fangs extended involuntarily with that stimulus and she made a growling, satisfied sound in her throat, flicked her tongue at them, intentionally cutting herself. Slayer blood spilled into his mouth. That remained the same, despite the change. An aphrodisiac. Overwhelming his senses, the way her body pressing and arcing against his did, and her tongue twining and thrusting about his.

Right or wrong went out of the window.

“Never get a chance like this again,” he muttered. She’d keep holding him off, holding him off, without the spell. Forever. No Slayer could get involved with a vamp.

“Got that right,” she growled into his mouth. “You don’t want me, I’ll find someone who does.”

She would too, the way she was. Vamps had no compunctions. But no one was gonna have her, only him.

“Christ, I want you!”

Just once.

Oh, he knew it was wrong. Knew he was betraying everything that had grown between them so far. He had made a vow to himself, that he would protect her. He had so far, even from himself. But this!

Her hands upon him, her body writhing against his. He was so aroused his cock was like a steel rod in his jeans and his brain was frying. Didn’t care about anything anymore, not when she was offering herself like this. And, hey, he was a vamp. No soul. No conscience. Evil here, dammit.

“Got a place, Spike-alicious?”

He tried to think past the red haze of imperative desire that had taken over his brain. “Uh...”

“Or right here will do.”

Her thigh was wound around his hip, stiletto heel digging into one buttock. She was pulling him down onto the grass in the midst of all the screams and running figures. He suddenly remembered that people might be looking for her, that they’d want the Slayer to help them get rid of the spell. He might lose his whole chance if her Watcher or Willow stumbled across them.

“Oh, no,” he snarled. “Oh, no. No distractions. Nothing to get in the way.”

“Fine by me,” she laughed.

“Come on.” He caught her waist and yanked her forward.

Vamp speed got them to his flat in no time, even with her running her hands all over his arse and groin as they went so that he ended up stopping every block or so to crush her to him and damn near eat her alive. She ate him right back greedily. They stumbled through the door, falling over each other’s feet, ended up against the wall, kissing passionately.

Her hands were under his duster, running down his back, thrusting past the belt of his jeans. Cool fingers grabbed the cheeks of his ass, kneaded. She laughed as he groaned aloud.

He shoved her head back, sucked his way down the line of her throat, ran his lips over the creamy mounds of her breasts, inflaming above the edge of her bustier. She laughed and tiptoed to press them harder against his mouth. Her hands were shoving at his duster, pushing it off his shoulders. He let it fall to the ground behind him, his own hands busy trying to figure out how to get the bustier open. If it had had laces, he probably would have ripped them apart in exasperation; but it had a concealed zip, thank God. He yanked that downwards, then froze halfway when her breasts spilled out.

God! Beautiful breasts, small but perfectly shaped, candy-tipped with deep pink nipples puckered into hard points with desire. His mouth closed hungrily over one, sucking hard; his hands found their soft weight, rubbing and kneading. She arched against him, her head falling back against the wall, her body shuddering and melting into his.

“Oh, I like that,” she purred. “More!”

Like he was going to stop. He feasted on her breasts. This was Buffy, for all she was a vamp and called herself Elizabeth now. Her lips on his skin and her scent all around him and the taste of her flesh in his mouth. Even the coolness of that flesh and the lack of heartbeat did not get through the haze of his brain. It was what he was accustomed to, after a hundred and twenty years of making love to Dru; it was familiar and made it easy to surrender to the flow. Both the demon and the human sides of him had wanted this too long.

His fangs kept extending, even though he tried to keep them back, pricking and raking over her skin. But she only made a throaty sound of pleasure and writhed against him. When she yanked the neck of his T-shirt sideways, ripping it, and her own small fangs sank into his shoulder and he hissed involuntarily in helpless pleasure, he remembered just how stimulating bites could be to any vamp.

She was yanking at his tee now, pulling it upwards. He let her drag it over his head and fling it away.

“Oh, my,” she purred. “Even prettier than I expected.”

He couldn’t help grinning, pleased by the heat in the way she was looking at him. Then her hands and her mouth were running over his torso, fangs biting softly. He gasped, his breath shuddering in his mouth.

“Come on, vampire,” she growled against his stomach. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

He was beyond words. He just scooped her up, swept her into the bedroom and tossed her onto the bed. She bounced, giggling, and he caught her feet, one after the other, and yanked her boots off.

“All right!” she exclaimed as he unzipped her leather pants and peeled them off her.

He stepped back to toe off his Docs and tear his own jeans off. She lay there, laughing, her arms flung over her head, wanton and abandoned, with her breasts spilling out of the half-open bustier and her legs sprawled shamelessly wide in the minuscule scarlet thong left after he had ripped her pants off. Red and black, colors guaranteed to turn on a vamp. He wondered whether she had known that when she had dressed for tonight, whether she might possibly have intended it to go this far. He wanted so much to believe that she had.

He was so hard now, it was painful. Naked, he moved towards her and she came up like a striking snake, caught his fully aroused cock in her fisted hand.

“Velvet over steel,” she purred. “Yeah, you want me.”

She bent and her mouth closed over the head of his cock.

“Oh, Jesus!”

He nearly came right there and then like a teenager, his mind blanking out in total disbelief at the sight of her doing that, the exquisite feel of her sucking on him.

“Pet, stop!”

She looked up at him incredulously. “Why?”

“Wanna be in you the first time I come.”

“Oh, that’s sweet. I like that.” She smiled at him. “We can do that later then?”

“Oh, God, yes..!”

She frowned suddenly. “But maybe you didn’t like it.”

“Are you insane? I nearly shot my load right then!”

She smiled, but the frown remained. “Yeah, but you didn’t, so I can’t have been doing it right. I want to, but I don’t know how!”

Vamp desires, human inexperience. Turning vamp had given her the freedom to give in to her appetites, indulge her sexuality without any restraints. But this was still her first time.

“Never done it before, is why.”

“Then show me!”

“Oh, pet, I’d love to!” he muttered and fell upon her.

She laughed, her arms and legs closing on him demandingly. They twined around each other, hands and mouths raking each other’s bodies. Her nails clawed his back, drawing blood; her fangs bit him all over in the harsh, rough, frenzied, unbearably stimulating fury of vamp lovemaking.

“Buffy,” he muttered drunkenly, lost in that endless maelstrom of pleasure. “Buffy...”

“Elizabeth!” she snarled. “Oh, come on, damn you! Don’t make me wait! Come on!”

They had both reached the point where further restraint or stimulation was unendurable. He couldn’t wait either, yanked her thighs up around him, came into her as carefully as he could.

“God, you’re tight!” he gasped.

This being her first time, she would have been tight even if she had been an ordinary human, she was so small. But being a Slayer, with that Slayer sheath, those Slayer muscles, she would most likely always be tight. He heard her catch her breath as the broad head of his cock breached her entrance and stretched her.

“Oh, God, that feels...” She gulped. “Wonderful!”

“Oh, Christ...” He shut his eyes for a moment in ecstasy. It felt unbelievable, to be finally taking her.

He worked his way carefully into her, came up against the barrier and paused. If she had still been human, he could have made it easy for her, could have bitten her and let the rapture of his taking her blood blot out the pain. But she was a vamp right now and that only worked on humans.

She clenched upon him suddenly and even though he was only partially within her, it almost fried his brain. He hissed in helpless pleasure.

“Fuck gentle!” she snarled, grabbed his ass and surged against him, impaling herself.

His whole length slammed into her, balls-deep, and he gasped. She yowled, but it was in pleasure not pain.

“Yes! Just like that!” she exclaimed triumphantly.

And then she bit him. Right at the junction between neck and shoulder, that trigger point for a vamp. His brain shorted right out and he rammed into her helplessly, beyond thought, lost to everything but sensation.

“Harder,” she was muttering. “Harder!”

Vamp or Slayer, she could take it, he realized and simply let go, hammering into her, moving faster and faster, unable to stop, unable to hold back. She thrust right back at him demandingly, the two of them driving each other higher and higher, snarling and frenzied.

He felt her seize up, her sheath clenching and rippling upon him, fell over the edge himself, spurting into her in blind ecstasy.

“Oh, yeah,” she whispered against his ear when the world came floating back to him at last. “Oh, that was something else, lover. Want more. Go again?”

He grinned against her hair. “Sure. Won’t take but a minute.”

Her face nuzzled against his neck. “I like this. I like you. Do you like me?”

“You have no idea,” he breathed. “God!”

“That sounds like something more, lover.”

“Is. Love you. Vamp or Slayer, I love you.”

Her open mouth slid up and down his neck, sucking lightly. “What’s a Slayer?”

“Give it a few hours,” he sighed ruefully, “and you’ll remember.”

Her fangs slid into his neck teasingly and he shuddered in pleasure.

Then he felt the draw as she sipped at his blood.

“Mine,” she purred.

His head jerked up and he stared at her.

God, it was tempting! Accept the claim. Claim her back. Then she would be his. Forever. Once made, the binding could be broken only by death. No one could take her from him. Not her Watcher, not her friends, not the sodding Council. And the bond would not be affected by the spell she was under now, would hold unalterably. It would be so easy!

All he had to do was say yes.

“No!” he said violently. “No! Not like this! Not under a spell. Won’t take away your choices. Won’t cheat you like that. No!”

It was bad enough that he had done this, taking what she would not have given him if she hadn’t been under a spell. But at least he could tell himself that it was only for the duration of the spell.

For the length of the spell, yes. But not forever. He wasn’t that evil, couldn’t do that to her.

“Don’t you want it?” she asked, a little hurt.

He dropped his forehead against her shoulder, his eyes shut, shuddering. “Oh, God, I want it! So much. But I can’t.”

“Then I’ll bring it up again later,” she smiled. “I want you and you want me. I’ll wear you down, pretty demon. I can be persistent. Maybe you’ll change your mind tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Tomorrow.”

But tonight she was his. And wild. And willing. And even though she was a vamp and not really Buffy, she was still Buffy, so he couldn’t give up a moment of this. And it was becoming painfully obvious to him as that delirious night wore on and they turned and twisted and coiled about each other, taking each other again and again, that there was no form she could take, no creature she could become, that would ever keep him from loving her, wanting her. In whatever guise, she was Buffy.

‘I am so screwed,’ he thought, driving into that cool body while she laughed against his mouth and clawed welts down his thighs. ‘I’m a goner. Sodding, hopeless idiot.’

More of a fool now than he had been when he was that stupid, useless poet all those decades ago. Past praying for.

Heat exploded around his cock. That tight sheath he was forcing himself into again and again suddenly became a furnace.

“Oh, bloody hell!” he groaned into her warm neck. “And I thought it couldn’t get better!”

It was infinitely better now. He had never felt anything like this before, the heat of the human body wrapping around him, clenching upon him. It was a wondrous, excruciating rapture.

Then it hit him. The heat of the human body. His head jerked up in shock and he froze. It was Buffy looking back at him, her eyes huge.

Someone must have found a way to defuse the spell. Spike’s brain went appallingly blank. No justification possible for this.

Oh, my God! Buffy was thinking, horrified. What the hell happened? How the hell had she gotten where she was? With Spike on top of her, inside her...

And the way he felt! So enormous, that unfamiliar thickness of him felt within her unaccustomed body. So...wonderful. The heavy weight of him and that skin satin against hers and his gasping breath panting against her face. She was wound so tight, he had driven her so high, that her body screamed for release. She was teetering on the edge, arms and legs wound around him. One more thrust would send her over that edge and, oh, she wanted that thrust.

She saw the look of shame and guilt pass over his face, then a kind of despairing recklessness take its place.

“Show you,” he muttered. “Show you all of it. What it can be between us...”

His fangs sliced into her neck and he drank. And at that draw, a blaze of white fire shot through her every nerve. She came blindingly hard, her sheath clenching and gripping involuntarily upon his cock within her, heard him groan around the fangs still drawing her blood, came again helplessly when, unable to keep still, he powered into her.

Her brain blanked out in absolute ecstasy under the double penetration of his cock and his fangs.

TBC

Chapter 8

Of course she ran.

Leaped out of bed; grabbed at the clothes lying on the floor.

“Buffy...” he whispered behind her.

“No! N-need some space,” she stuttered. “Need to t-think...”

Her back to him, she yanked on the clothes she had bought just as a joke, a tease that had gone so horribly wrong. The vamp costume had been sexy and she had wanted him to see her as sexy, wanted to see the desire in his eyes. Had only wanted to play though, hadn’t expected to become the wet dream, certainly hadn’t expected to fulfill that desire.

Pants on, she yanked the bustier back about her, zipped it up, wincing now at the way it pushed her breasts up.

“Take my duster,” he said and she knew he had seen the shudder of distaste ripple through her body.

“No.” The duster would smell of him. Wearing it would be like having his arms around her.

She dragged on her boots, glanced nervously over her shoulder at him. He was lying flat on his back on the bed, one arm thrown over his eyes, a muscle ticking tensely over and over again at the corner of his jaw.

She had to work things out before she knew how to react to him, to what had happened. Her mind and all her memories were foggy. She had been a vamp, that much was clear, had somehow, God knows how, become what she had dressed up as. But it was all a blur of sensation and fragmented images. She had to piece those together, work out the sequence of events, work out what she felt.

He didn’t move when she fled.

She went straight home, which was probably an irresponsible thing for a Slayer to do, with all the craziness that the town had gone though. But she was too freaked out herself right now to worry about that. Giles was sure to call her if anything needed Slayer attention and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head.

“What happened?” asked Joyce. “Things were going mad out there! It certainly wasn’t just the usual Halloween fun and games.”

“It was some kind of spell. I don’t know what or who threw it or how it got broken and I don’t care. I-I just wanna go to sleep and not think about it tonight.”

“Whatever it was affected you as well,” said Joyce shrewdly, noticing the way Buffy’s hands were shaking. “You seem very on edge. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“C-couldn’t we talk about it tomorrow, Mom?”

“All right, honey,” said Joyce, backing off at the sight of the strain on Buffy’s face. “It’s a good thing Halloween happened on a Friday this year. You won’t have to go back to school for two days. You’ll have the whole weekend to recover.”

“I think I’m going to need it,” muttered Buffy and Joyce looked at her thoughtfully.

“I wouldn’t normally suggest this, but would you like a couple of sleeping pills tonight?”

“Oh, yes, please.” She didn’t want to think; she didn’t want to dream, afraid of what she might dream about. She wanted her brain to just stop.

It wasn’t only Buffy whose memory was a kaleidoscope of jagged images. The whole town was trying to work out what had happened on Halloween. The consensus of opinion seemed to be that the usual Halloween pranks had just gotten out of hand. Remarkable how people could always manage to rationalize things. Buffy only wished that she could too.

“I was a real ghost,” said Willow in wonder, curled up on the living room couch at noon Saturday. “I walked through walls and everything. Xander turned into G.I. Joe. It was the costumes. Cordy got hers from another store and she didn’t change. Pity. She was dressed up as a cat, which she so is, and I’d have loved to have seen the Hendersons’ dog chase her up a tree.”

They both laughed. Then Willow’s head jerked up.

“OhmiGod! Buffy!”

“What?” Buffy glanced at her nervously.

“You dressed up as a vamp! Did you...?”

“Yeah. I went all Bride of Dracula. That’s why I was MIA.”

“Fangs and all?” Willow’s eyes went wide in horror. “You didn’t bite anybody, did you?”

Just Spike. Buffy remembered the coppery taste of his blood in her mouth, the way she had tried to claim him. Her stomach turned over in horror. It had been such a narrow escape! If Spike hadn’t...

“No.”

“But then, what were you doing? We didn’t see you the whole evening! What happened?”

Buffy became aware of Joyce coming out of the kitchen, her brows raised. Her expression said clearly, ‘Yes, what did happen, Buffy?’

“I, uh, I just met this other vamp and we spent the evening together.”

Willow laughed. “Raising hell, like everyone else in Sunnydale?”

“Uh, yeah. Sort of.”

“Must have been liberating. How many chances do you have to raise hell as a Slayer?”

“It was, kinda.”

Losing one’s virginity, that was liberating, all right. Buffy blushed and turned her head away to hide it, then became aware that her mother’s eyes had narrowed.

“You didn’t hurt anybody, did you?” Willow asked worriedly.

“No, no. I didn’t.”

“Well, I guess you’d still have been the Slayer inside. I mean, it’s not like you were a real vamp.”

“Oh, I was a real vamp,” Buffy sighed. “Just like you were a real ghost walking through walls, Will. That spell was thorough. It was just chance I didn’t kill anyone. I had no conscience, no compunctions, no morality...”

“No inhibitions?” remarked Joyce and Buffy gave her a despairing look. “Willow, I wonder if you’d give us a few minutes alone.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, Mrs. Summers,” muttered Willow, rolling her eyes nervously towards Buffy. “I’ve got to see Giles anyway. How about I come back in a couple of hours?”

“That should work out nicely.”

“I think I’ve got you into trouble,” said Willow under her breath to Buffy as Buffy walked her to the front door. “I didn’t mean to, honest! I mean, it’s not like you could help tearing up the town, right? It was the spell.”

“Yeah.”

Joyce had taken a seat on one end of the couch when Buffy came back into the livingroom. “You didn’t say who the vampire was, Buffy.”

Buffy groaned and flopped down on the other end of the couch. “You know who it was.”

“Spike.”

“Yeah.”

“And the two of you spent hours, what? Talking?”

“I jumped his bones,” sighed Buffy.

Joyce gulped. “Okay, I thought I was braced for that, but I guess I wasn’t.”

“It happened. It really, really did. In spades, Technicolor, widescreen, TDX surround sound...”

“And way too graphic,” muttered Joyce. “I do not want those pictures in my head. It was that outfit, wasn’t it? I didn’t like you wearing it. It was far too revealing.”

“Turned me into a vamp. Literally.” Buffy giggled weakly. “You should have seen his reaction, Mom. Guy couldn’t even talk.”

“I can believe that. His very own wet dream come true.”

“Mom!”

“Oh, let’s call a spade a spade, dear. It’s too late to be coy.”

“It was the spell,” Buffy growled. “It wasn’t my fault! I was under that spell. But he wasn’t. He took advantage of it. Of me.”

“Well, of course. That boy’s in love with you. Even I wouldn’t expect him to keep his hands off and I’m your mother.”

“Well, if he’s in love, he should have...he should have...”

“What? Nobly refused to sully your lily-white purity?”

“Wow. I didn’t know you could be that sarcastic.”

“I’m in shock here. You have to make allowances. Really, Buffy! What did you expect him to do?”

“I don’t know! Knock me out, chain me up somewhere and wait for the spell to be over. If he really loved me...”

“I honestly don’t know if even a human would have been able to do that,” muttered Joyce. “And he’s a vampire.”

“Mom! Are you making excuses for him?”

“I am not happy with either of you.” Joyce glared at her. “To be quite fair, it seems to me that you’re both at fault here. You presented an irresistible temptation and he didn’t have the willpower to hold out against it.”

Buffy buried her face in the cushions of the couch. “Oh, God, it’s such a mess!”

“Mess?” Joyce suddenly sat bolt upright. “What kind of mess? You did use protection, didn’t you?”

Buffy waved that off. “He’s a vamp, Mom. Vamps can’t get anyone pregnant and they don’t have STDs. They don’t catch infections of any kind, not even the common cold.”

“Well, both those facts are good to know,” muttered Joyce. “The thing is...Honey, he is a vampire. And...”

“And I’m a Slayer. That’s why it’s such a mess. Giles will kill me. The Council will kill me. It’s just so wrong! It should never have happened.”

“Well, it has and now what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know!”

“Are you in love with him?”

“No! It’s just...I just...”

“I have to tell you, honey. I don’t like your being involved with a vampire. I want you to have boyfriends just like any other girl and get married and have kids and make me a grandmother. But you’re a Slayer, which complicates things right off the bat. And I do like Spike, which makes it even more difficult. I honestly don’t know what’s right here.”

“Neither do I,” sighed Buffy.

“Right now, you have a choice. You can blame it all on the spell and pretend it never happened...”

“Some hope with Spike,” muttered Buffy. “He’ll never let me forget it and he never gives up.”

“You tell him that it should never have happened and you’re never going to let it happen again. He would accept that, I think.”

Buffy chewed her lower lip. Joyce might be right. Faced with a flat statement like that, Spike might possibly accept it. Especially when he would be feeling guilty right now.

“Or you can continue the relationship and deal with the repercussions...”

“A whole lot of repercussions,” groaned Buffy.

“Exactly. It’s your choice. I’ll back you up whatever you decide. It’s your life, honey, and it’s your decision. What do you want, Buffy?”

There was a small silence. Then:

“More,” said Buffy in a tiny voice.

Joyce flung up her hands. “I am not discussing that with you!”

Suddenly they were both laughing.

Joyce had taken it amazingly well, thought Buffy after Joyce had left to allow her assistant at the gallery take her own lunch break. She had a feeling Joyce had been expecting something like this all along. ‘Am I the only one who lives in a constant state of denial?’ Buffy thought bitterly. ‘Don’t anyone dare answer that!’

She let her head fall onto the back of the couch and stared blindly at the ceiling.

All the events of last night had finally slotted themselves into place in her head. Everything that had happened—what she had said, what she had done.

God, the things that she had done! A burning blush flooded through her from her hairline all the way to the tips of her toes. Vamps had no inhibitions and she had been a vamp. They had gone through maybe every possible way of making lo...having sex and probably invented a few more.

And it had been wonderful. All those dreams she had had of him...well, they had been nothing to compare with the reality. She wanted more. Her whole body ached, wanting more. God, she was turning into such a ho!

Had she meant for this to happen when she had chosen the costume, dressed for Halloween? She didn’t know. She had meant it only to be a tease, but maybe, just maybe, somewhere in the back of her mind she had intended it to happen.

It was just passion. A mad craving of the body. Nothing more. And what did that say about her? She wasn’t in love with him. Absolutely not! She couldn’t allow herself to be. He was a vamp after all. A killer, evil, without a soul...

All of which didn’t seem to matter any longer. He was Spike, who had been her enemy and then had become her mentor, then her friend and her partner and now her lover and...so much more.

Both her mind and her body were in a turmoil and at odds with each other. She knew what was right, knew what she had to do...and yet it seemed so wrong!

She was majorly spazzing when she went on patrol that night, jumping at shadows and expecting to see Spike every moment. But he didn’t show. Only a couple of minor demons did and she took them out with ease, then whistled for the Firoud, who came happily out of the darkness to do the clean up. The Firoud had started to trail her on her patrols now that she was providing them with meals for their entire clan every night. They didn’t even mind taking care of the bodies they couldn’t eat. The one good thing about vamps was the way they dusted so neatly when staked. Demons weren’t so obliging and disposing of their bodies had always been exhausting.

“That’s it for the night, guys,” she said. “I’m going to go home now.”

The ones still remaining all bowed deeply, then ran off into the shadows, calling good night to her in their high, piping voices. She turned, smiling, then stopped abruptly as the moonlight glinted silver on white-blonde hair beside a vault some ten feet away.

“Spike.”

He said nothing, just lifted his chin a little in an edgy movement that tipped his face into the wash of moonlight. His eyes were very dark, their corners pulled tight with strain, and his lips were compressed into a tense, straight line. All the bones of his face were standing out in the wash of silver light and black shadow, the flat planes of his cheeks looking gaunt and hollow between the sharp scimitars of his cheekbones and the prominence of his set jaw. That black and white purity of form made him look oddly young and very beautiful.

She didn’t want to see that, didn’t want anything getting in the way of her righteous anger.

“I’m surprised you’d show your face after last night,” she said crossly, flinging the words at him like a blow. He flinched a little.

“Couldn’t stay away.” His voice was muted and a little rough. “Not even if you dusted me. Never could.”

“I should dust you,” she growled and saw the flicker of shame and pain and guilt pass over his face.

“Yeah.”

“Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“What else is there to say? I knew it was wrong even while it was happening.”

“That’s something..” She glared at him. “Well, I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“The excuses.”

She saw him swallow. “Got none.”

At least that was honest.

“You’re not even sorry, are you?”

“How can I say I’m sorry?” he said roughly. “I’m not sorry. I’m sorry it happened that way, but I’m not sorry it happened.”

“You’re really jonesing to get yourself staked,” she muttered under her breath.

He gave her a twisted smile. “Vamp here. No morality. If it happened again, I’d take you again. Exactly the same way. Wouldn’t be able to do different. Want you too much. So...no excuses.”

“Well, I’ve got a whopper of an excuse.”

His lips compressed. “Yeah. You do. Did you find out who cast the spell?”

“Man from that new costume shop. Ethan Rayne. Warlock. Caused the whole mess for laughs, it seems. Giles stopped it.”

Spike’s brows rose. “Watcher did?”

“Beat him up and forced him to reveal how to break the spell.”

“Watcher grew a pair? Didn’t think he bleeding had it in him.”

“Good thing he did, because I sure wasn’t any use, getting myself fucked silly by a vamp,” she said bitterly.

She heard the little harsh catch of his breath.

“Was it just that?” he asked roughly. “Was it only that to you?”

“What did you expect it to be?” she flung back angrily. “Love? I don’t love you, Spike! I can’t! I won’t!”

“Which is it? Can’t or won’t? There’s a difference.”

“Both!”

“Didn’t you like it? You seemed to like it.”

She turned away abruptly. “I was a vamp!”

“You weren’t a vamp at the end.”

“Kind of past the point of no return then, wasn’t it?”

“Didn’t you enjoy it even a little bit?”

There was a small silence. Somehow she couldn’t lie to him.

“Yeah,” she said on a lost breath at last. “I enjoyed it.”

“Buffy...” He was coming towards her, hesitantly but still covering ground very fast.

“Spike, it was just physical. Nothing more. And it wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for that spell. It’s wrong. You know it’s wrong.”

“I know I love you.”

She gritted her teeth. “That...can’t be allowed to matter.”

“Why did you try to claim me?”

She caught her breath. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. I was a vamp and I suppose it’s what vamps do.”

“Do you know what a claim is?”

She looked away from that burning gaze. He was right in front of her now. She tried to back away and his hand touched her elbow lightly, stopping her.

“Like a marriage. Spike, let me go.”

He raised his open palm to show that he was not restraining her in any way.

“It’s rare, Buffy. It’s made only between vamps who love each other, which is rare in itself. It links them together so tightly that if one dies the other dies as well.”

She backed away. “Spike...”

“To want that, you must have cared. Even as a vamp. Just a little?”

“I...” She looked up, ready to deny it, then saw the pain in his eyes, the wistfulness that held not the slightest bit of hope. Her voice died in her throat.

“Guess not.” He shook his head, shrugging it away. “Always wanted to be claimed. To belong to someone, have someone belong to me. Always wanted to have someone want to be with me, choose to be with me. To be loved the way I loved. To be wanted. But...never good enough.”

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

“Doesn’t matter. Last night was a mistake for you. Wrong, yeah? The spell making things happen that you never wanted to happen. But for me...” His thumb brushed her lips delicately, helplessly. “It was a miracle. Everything I ever dreamed of.”

“My being a vamp?” she mocked. But the words came with difficulty.

“You wanting me. Didn’t matter whether it was as a vamp or as a human.” His hands cupped her face, fingers stroking her skin very gently. “You being a vamp was a turn on, oh, yeah. But you being human was so much better than the vamp. Was unbelievable. Beyond words. I’d never turn you. Wouldn’t ever want you turned, even if it meant I’d get to have you then. Want you as you are. What I want is you. Buffy. The Slayer. This incredible, glorious creature. Nothing like you in all the world.”

“Spike...”

“It was inevitable that I should love you.” His lips twisted. “I have, you see, a fatal attraction to the best. Know you don’t love me. Know you didn’t even really want me. That it was all the spell. A trick. But I couldn’t have turned it down. Couldn’t have passed it up, that much joy, not even if I died for it.”

He let her go and stepped back. She caught his wrist abruptly.

“So it meant something to you.”

He laughed suddenly, harshly. “Christ, Slayer! You can be bloody stupid! Haven’t you been listening? Or do you just selectively block out anything you don’t want to hear? No, it didn’t mean just something to me. It meant everything!”

Ever since she had left him last night, she had felt in disarray, everything unharmonious and jangling, her thoughts scattered and jarring against each other. Nothing had felt right. Now things were slowly straightening themselves out.

“Wasn’t just the spell, Spike.” Her hand tightened on his wrist. “I wanted you.”

“Wh...” His voice died in his throat, then he swallowed hard. “What?”

“I wanted you. Hell, you knew that, Spike. I’ve wanted you from the very first time you kissed me as a joke, back there behind the Bronze that second day.”

He shook his head. “Yeah, but that was just physical. Just wanting a good fuck. You said you wanted your first time to mean more.”

“And it did mean more, didn’t it? Wasn’t just physical, was it? Wasn’t just fucking for either of us. Even with my being a vamp. It was making love.”

“Buffy...” he whispered.

It was wrong and forbidden and Giles would keel over dead if he ever found out, but suddenly she didn’t care. It was that look on his face, the pain and the intensity behind his words, the roughness in his voice. She suddenly stopped fighting what was between them.

“Don’t really know what it means to love yet, Spike. Don’t know if I can love you. All confused about that. About all the shoulds and the shouldn’ts. It’s too complicated. But I do know that I want you. Will that be enough for you?”

He looked dazed. “What are you saying?”

“I want to find out where this can go. Maybe I’m cheating you. I know I’m not giving you all I should, all you’re giving me. Can’t promise you anything. I just...I just want to be with you. I just want you. You’re beautiful and I want you. Is that enough?”

“God, yeah! Anything you want to give me! Doesn’t matter what, Buffy! It’s more than enough!”

Last night had broken the deadlock. Couldn’t do anything worse than what had already happened. Which might be just a dumb excuse for indulging herself. But she wanted this, wanted him. She kissed him and felt his mouth respond helplessly to hers, and everything that had felt so dissonant and twisted and dissatisfactory since last night suddenly straightened itself out and fell gently and sweetly into place. It was all so wrong, but it just felt so right.

“Don’t want to hurt you,” she said suddenly, meaning that desperately. “Don’t want to use you.”

“You wouldn’t be using me. You care, don’t you? Just a little.”

“More than a little,” she whispered.

“It would be a gift. God, Buffy, what a gift! You’d hurt me more if you sent me away. Couldn’t bear that.”

“How long would it take to get to your place?” she said against his mouth.

He laughed breathlessly. “With our speed, maybe five minutes, if we ran.”

They ran. Tumbled into his flat the same way they had last night. Ended up against the wall just like before, kissing fiercely. Having been a vamp had skipped a lot of steps and destroyed a lot of inhibitions.

But she wasn’t a vamp anymore and the inhibitions were back. She felt embarrassed now, knowing how she had behaved. She wanted to touch him the way she had last night, but she was too shy, her hands moving over him hesitantly, just stroking the planes of his face, his neck. He still made a sound of pleasure in his throat and that gave her the confidence to push at his duster.

He shrugged hurriedly out of it, let it fall to the ground behind him. “You do know what you’re doing, right?”

“Yeah, I do. Just...a little shaky about it, not being a vamp.” She took a deep breath and pulled his T-shirt over his head.

“So we’ll go slow, yeah? Want me to stop, just say so. I’ll stop.”

She drifted her fingertips across his shoulders, over the solid musculature of his chest and stomach, down his sides to the trim hips within the denim of his jeans.

“I was right,” she murmured. “You are pretty.”

He laughed ruefully. “Really would prefer a different word.”

“Well, you are. How about hot or sexy or gorgeous?”

“Better.” He kissed her over and over again. “You’re beautiful. So beautiful. Buffy...”

She slid her lips down the long cord of his neck and felt him shiver against her. “Does it feel different now, with my being human?”

“So different.”

She slid her hands down into the back of his jeans and grabbed his ass, laughing. “Even that?”

His breath left him in a little rush. “Oh, yeah.”

“How?”

“Warm. Not just your skin. The way you touch me, the way you’re looking at me.”

He was heel-and-toeing out of his Docs. She kicked off her sneakers as well, then laughed as he scooped her up.

“What’s the hurry?”

“Don’t want you changing your mind.”

He dropped her on the bed, then lost his balance when she refused to let go her grip around his neck, fell onto his side beside her. They kissed slowly, lingeringly, mouths clinging. Last night had been all violence and frenzy. Tonight she wanted to learn things about herself, about him; explore their reactions and responses; map out what that beautiful, so dissimilar, male body was and could do.

She ran her lips along his collarbone from his shoulder to the hollow of his throat and heard his breath hiss through his parted lips; raked the small of his back lightly with her nails and felt his body shudder and flex against hers. His eyes had gone black, their lids heavy with passion, their pupils hugely enlarged, irises reduced to only thin rings of burning, intense blue.

But he was touching her too and it was shocking to her how that cool touch could leave such trails of fire across her body, cause such a heated, helpless havoc upon her every nerve; a revelation what those clever, sensitive fingers, that knowledgeable mouth could do. He had told her. A hundred and twenty years of experience, he had said. But she hadn’t really taken it in, in her innocence hadn’t really known what that meant. A deeply sexual being, Spike, enormously tactile, and all that experience made him a master at the art. She didn’t have a chance against him.

Her top was gone, her bra; his mouth closed upon her breast, sucking, strong pulls that went right down to her core. She arched to that demanding mouth, crying out helplessly.

“The way you feel,” he muttered unsteadily against her skin.

“H-how?”

“Silk and fire. Hot. So hot. Amazing.”

She smiled. “I love the way you feel too.”

She stroked his face, caressed him, her hands running delicately all over him. That savage, clawing, vamp ferocity that had drawn such a violent reaction from him last night was foreign to her now. All she had to give him now was human tenderness. She hoped it wouldn’t disappoint.

He gasped, braced on his forearms over her, his shoulders blocking out the world, all gold in the lamplight, even the thin rings of his irises gold now instead of blue.

“Buffy..!”

“You don’t like it. It’s not enough, not like last night...”

“I like it,” he breathed.

His eyes had gone strained and helpless. His forehead dropped against hers; his breath shuddered against her face. She saw with astonishment that her caresses had touched something deeper and more powerful in him than last night’s raw carnality had. Tenderness. Who’d have thought a vamp would respond to tenderness? She suddenly started to truly understand that he loved her.

She dragged his head down and kissed him hard. “Want more. Want you. Don’t stop.”

He was looking at her in wonder. He bent that platinum head and his tongue ran over her, raspy now like a cat’s, unbearably stimulating. She writhed and arched under it, sparks running through all her nerves, so that her whole body was filled with a breathtaking, bright urgency.

All her clothes were gone now and so were his. His skin was like cool satin against her and yet she was on fire. He kneaded and shaped and tongued her breathless, and she returned every touch, last night’s memories and tonight’s sweetness informing every caress. No single part of her did not know what it was like to be stroked by him—no nerve end, no muscle, no velvet dark place of intimacy, until she pulsed and throbbed and breathed his name over and over again in a purring, demanding growl. She could feel the tremors attacking him, shuddered as deeply and helplessly herself.

“Better,” he muttered. “God! So much better.”

She knew what he meant. It was better for her too, last night’s raw greed no match to tonight’s sweetness and passion.

“Come on,” she growled, dragging that lean, hard-muscled body down demandingly on her. “Come on! I can’t take this anymore! Dying here.”

He laughed involuntarily and then he made that first smooth, blinding thrust with his hips, coming into her all the way. Her body throbbed and stretched to accommodate him. Her breath caught, her fingers dug into his shoulders, her eyes shut over a fire-shot blackness. Nothing left but sensation, that pulsing length and thickness filling her to the utmost. She clenched upon him and felt him gasp against her face.

“God, yeah!”

“Spike...”

Her legs came up to lock about his waist. The action sent him even deeper. He shuddered and whispered something she didn’t catch through the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears. And then he was moving, feeding them both into a slow, searing, sensuous rhythm. They strained against each other, eyes closed, lost in rapturous sensation, wanting it to never end, but unable to keep that unendurable intensity of pleasure from reaching that bright, sizzling, accelerated rush.

Her cry broke his rhythm from deep and slow to short and fast. She shot on an explosion of fierce delight into wild, white, pulsating light, while he held her and watched her and orchestrated each wave as it battered into her, each gasp and cry and broken, convulsive tremor that just seemed to go on and on until, with a low, thick groan, he joined her.

“Again,” he muttered when she came staggering back to consciousness an eon later.

“God, no! Can’t! Not a vamp, remember?”

“Slayer. That’s more. Can go all night.”

“Spike...”

His fangs slid into her neck and that slow draw started and with it that rush of ecstatic dark fire and heat.

“Oh, God!”

She lost herself again.

TBC

Chapter 9

“Is she ever going to stop glaring at me?”

Buffy grinned involuntarily as Spike ducked his head to avoid Joyce’s icy stare.

“Well, you debauched her only child.” She laughed as Spike winced. “She’ll come around. Just give her time.”

“I miss the hot chocolate,” he muttered and she snickered.

“You could get it. All you’d have to do is let me come home right away after patrol.”

“Oh, no, no. Like having you in my bed.”

“When we’re this late coming home after patrol, Mom can’t help but be aware that that’s exactly where I’m spending my time.” She turned him so that his back was to the living room window where Joyce was standing with her arms folded, frowning at them. “It’s getting complicated, isn’t it?”

“Too complicated for you?”

She pulled his head down and kissed him. “No. Could be a lot worse.”

“If anybody else found out, you mean.”

“Yeah.”

“What will you do if they did?”

“I don’t know. Just have to make sure they don’t.”

“And if the worst happens, then what?”

“I told you! I don’t know.” She looked away from his sardonic gaze.

“Just trust your instincts, huh?” He smiled twistedly. “But what do those instincts tell you to do, Buffy?”

Too many conflicting things. She shook her head violently.

“I don’t want to think about it, Spike!”

He touched her face lightly. “Okay. Like I said. Whatever you want to give me, Buffy.”

She caught his wrist as he started to turn away. “See you tomorrow?”

He smiled at her. “Of course. Think I could stay away?”

She couldn’t either. He was becoming an addiction.

“You’re late again,” said Joyce sternly as Buffy let herself in.

“Not that late.” Buffy grinned at her. “He misses your hot chocolate.”

Joyce almost laughed, then caught it back. “It’s here if he wants it,” she shrugged.

“With all those freezing glares you keep giving him, he’s scared to come in. Just in case you dust him.”

“I should,” growled Joyce. But the corner of her mouth indented in amusement.

“You don’t really blame him. You said it yourself the day after Halloween. It’s both our faults.”

Joyce sighed. “Oh, I know. It’s just awkward.”

“You’ll have to accept it sooner or later.”

Joyce reached out and brushed Buffy’s hair back from her neck. “He bit you again. Did you think I wouldn’t notice the way you’ve been wearing a lot of chokers and scarves lately?”

Buffy blushed. “It’s not what you think, Mom. Yeah, he drinks a little, but it’s not like he’s taking a lot. He’s not going to drain me. It’s just a sip. A Slayer’s blood is powerful. We both enjoy it. Plus, it keeps him from feeding on the populace.”

“You know, I never thought about that,” said Joyce in shock. “That he ate people.”

“He doesn’t anymore.”

“It’s astonishing what the mind can do. I like him, so I think I blocked it out. With him eating anything I put in front of him, hot chocolate or wings or pizza, it never really sank in.”

“Oh, he likes taste sensations. But he’s a vamp. He has to have blood to exist. Luckily, that little sip of mine is all he needs.”

“It’s going to be really hard to adjust to all this,” muttered Joyce.

“Tell me about it. He just asked me what I’d do if anybody else found out about us and I didn’t have an answer.”

“Buffy...”

“I know.” She looked helplessly at Joyce. “Giles would say that he’s a vamp and he’s a killer and he doesn’t have a soul and he’s evil. But he’s not acting evil anymore and, Mom, you know he’s not a typical vamp. It’s not the hot chocolate he misses. It’s being part of the family. And what does that say about him?”

“That even though he doesn’t have a soul, he’s got a heart?” Joyce laughed wryly as Buffy buried her face in the cushions of the couch. “But you knew that already, dear. He loves you. Do you love him?”

“I don’t know,” groaned Buffy.

“I can’t help you with that, honey. You’ll have to work that out yourself. But you can tell him he can come for dinner if he likes.”

Buffy looked up and smiled. “I think he’d like.”

When Spike came edgily in the next evening, Joyce walked over to him and hit him in the chest with an emphatic fingertip.

“If you hurt my daughter in any way, William the Bloody or whatever, I will dust you personally.”

“Joyce, if I hurt her, I’ll dust myself,” Spike said simply.

“Just so you know,” said Joyce, but she was smiling.

“She did mention scooping your nuts out with a grapefruit spoon,” murmured Buffy and giggled.

“You Summers women are really scary,” said Spike on a whoosh of breath. “And it’s a vampire telling you that.”

Joyce laughed. “Hot chocolate?”

“With those little marshmallows?”

“Well, of course,” said Joyce and it was all right after that, with all three of them comfortable and relaxed and talking happily again.

Which was what Giles walked in on a week later.

It was her own fault, Buffy thought later wryly. Jenny had picked up some strange vibes last week about something Giles called ‘shifts in the dimensional planes.’ Giles feared it might mean that the Hellmouth portal would be opening again and he was all worked up about it. But Buffy had expected him to call when he got some information, not come racing over to Revello Drive.

She had completely forgotten to lock the front door after she and Spike had come back from patrol that night and, with just a brusque knock to announce himself, Giles came barging in, talking all the way.

“It’s worse than I thought! Jenny thinks it’s something to do with the Powers That Be! If it is, it heralds some major change in the present status q...”

His voice broke off as he saw who was sprawled in the armchair opposite Buffy and Joyce, and he staggered backwards in shock.

“That’s...that’s Spike!” said Giles in a voice so high it was almost a squeak.

“Got some ’splaining to do,” muttered Spike wryly under his breath as Buffy leaped to her feet. He had always been so careful not to let Giles or the others see him with Buffy even at a distance in a cemetery, and now here Giles had caught him being all cosy and cuddly in Buffy’s own home.

“Uh, Giles...” Buffy shot a desperate glance at Joyce and Spike who both just looked back with wide eyes, totally at a loss what to do.

“William the Bloody! Vampire! Killer! Scourge of...Scourge of...” Giles strangled, losing his voice in horror. Then he gasped and coughed. “...Europe! What is he doing in your house?”

“Having some hot chocolate?” murmured Joyce and Spike grinned at her.

“Are you out of your mind?”

Buffy patted the air in a calming gesture. “Giles, chill...”

“Stop!” Giles yelped as Spike got to his feet. He whipped a cross out of his jacket pocket and held it up in Spike’s face, at the full stretch of his arm. “Back! Get back! Don’t come near any of us!”

“Giles, don’t!” Buffy grabbed Giles as he advanced on Spike, the cross held before him.

“Next, he’ll be saying, ‘Back, Spawn of Satan!’” remarked Spike, amused.

“You think this is funny, you pillock?” yelled Giles.

“Kind of like a bad movie, innit, mate?”

“Giles, he’s not going to hurt any of us,” Buffy shouted. “He’s helping me! He’s been helping me since I first came to Sunnydale.”

“What are you talking about? He’s a vampire! He’s evil!”

“Not anymore.”

“Hey! I’m still evil, pet,” protested Spike, aggrieved.

“But you don’t do evil nowadays,” objected Joyce. “You’re actually doing good, helping Buffy the way you are.”

“That’s different.”

“Actions speak louder than words,” murmured Joyce and he gave her a reproachful look.

“You’re mad!” said Giles numbly. “You’re all quite mad!”

“It’s kind of complicated, Giles,” sighed Buffy.

“Complicated? It’s appalling!” Giles’ eyes widened as Spike leaned forward to put his mug down on the coffee table. The cross shot up again. “Get back!”

“Uh, Spike, maybe you’d better step back a little,” Buffy suggested.

Spike held his hands up, palms out, and stepped back, sighing pointedly. Giles glared at him.

“Don’t even try to tell me that he isn’t William the Bloody and a vampire!”

“Yes, he is William the Bloody and he is a vampire, but...”

“He’s killed two Slayers already!”

‘Yeah, those were good fights,” said Spike, happily nostalgic. “But...”

“See? See?” Giles waved a finger at him. “Good Lord, Buffy! Can you really think he’s not planning to kill you too?”

“Then why hasn’t he killed me already? He’s had plenty of opportunity these last several months. He was here when I got to Sunnydale and, believe me, Giles, he was a lot better at fighting than I was at the time. I don’t deny he meant to kill me in the beginning, but then things changed. He taught me how to fight, Giles. He helped me with the Master and with Darla and the Anointed One. He’s helping me on my patrols right now...”

“He eats people!”

“Given that up recently,” murmured Spike

“Don’t give me that!”

“No, he really has, Giles,” said Buffy and Giles gaped at both of them.

“Even if I believed that, what about his minions? Didn’t you say that he’s the Master of Sunnydale now? He’s morally responsible for every death they cause!”

“Well, actually, they don’t kill anymore either,” said Spike. “Told them they could feed, but not kill. So they take a drink, but whoever they drink from recovers in a week and doesn’t remember squat.”

Giles looked as if a ton weight had landed on his head. “Why would they do that?”

“They’re minions, Watcher. They have to do what I say. They’re my vamps. Any other vamps come into town, Buffy and I take care of them.”

“Demons too,” said Buffy.

Giles was slackjawed. “But why..?”

Buffy and Spike glanced sideways at each other, then hurriedly looked away.

“Oh, no!” groaned Giles, seeing that. “No! You can’t have a relationship!”

“Well, we do,” growled Spike.

“Joyce!” exclaimed Giles desperately. “How can you condone this?”

“Well, I can’t say I’m happy about it.” Joyce shrugged ruefully at Spike. “It’s not that I don’t like you, dear. I like you very much. It’s just that I would have preferred you be human.”

“Quite understandable,” grinned Spike.

“But it’s up to Buffy, Rupert. It’s her choice.”

“She’s a Slayer! And he’s a vampire! He doesn’t have a soul! This cannot be allowed!” He glared at the way Buffy and Spike were standing so close to each other. “How could this have happened?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you what I can.” Buffy looked at Spike. “Spike, maybe you should leave. If you’re around, he’ll be so upset, he won’t really hear what I say.”

“Right. See you at Restfield tomorrow evening for patrol?”

“Okay.”

He wanted to kiss her, but he knew that would send Watcher ballistic. Which would be fun, but not such a good idea right now. So he just smiled at Joyce and left. He didn’t go far though, just across the street and up into a tree in which he could sit and watch the house.

It was past midnight before Watcher left. He still looked extremely upset. He got into his car and drove off. Spike followed at his own pace. By the time he got to Giles’ place, Watcher was on the phone. To his bird, Jenny, Spike gathered. Spike leaned against the wall beside the window and watched Giles pace and wave his arms about and shout into the phone.

Wasn’t getting much joy from Jenny either, it seemed. Good to know that Watcher’s bird was openminded. Came from being a techno-pagan, Spike supposed. Mightn’t count for much, the way Watcher was freaking, but every little bit helped. Then Giles slammed the phone down, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and started killing it. Spike grinned.

Well, the bender and its subsequent hangover might calm him down some.

Spike went home in a very good mood. Buffy hadn’t caved. He had really wondered what would happen if Giles and the others found out. Whether Buffy would fold under the pressure they would bring to bear on her. But she was resisting. He didn’t know whether she could continue to hold out, but at least she cared enough for him to try. That was more than he had hoped.

He was completely unsurprised to find Giles sneaking around Restfield with a crossbow the next night. Giles was a Watcher, with all the indoctrination and the rigid thinking that came with it. A few hours talk with Buffy and Joyce wasn’t going to change his mindset. As far as he was concerned, Spike was a danger to all of them and he was going to save Buffy from a disastrous liaison.

“Gonna present Buffy with a done deal, Watcher?” he asked over his shoulder, then smiled at the startled silence that followed. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know you were there? Vamp here.”

“Which is why I cannot permit your relationship with Buffy to continue.”

Spike turned and smiled at Giles, who was standing twenty feet away with the crossbow aimed directly at Spike’s heart.

“She’ll never forgive you for dusting me.”

“Perhaps not. But, in the end, she will come to see that it was necessary. Both she and Joyce were very eloquent in their defense of you last night. But nothing beats a fait accompli. Once you’re dust, they’ll have no choice but to come to terms with it.”

“And you call yourself a white hat,” said Spike, amused.

“What do you call yourself? A ‘good’ vampire. Good Lord! What a contradiction in terms! I just can’t buy into that. A creature of darkness on the side of light? It just doesn’t happen.”

“I love her, Watcher.”

“Vampires can’t love.”

“That’s what the Council tells you. But you’re an intelligent man, Rupert. You’ve read the books. If vampires can’t love, what are all those references to claims doing in those books?”

“You’ve been a vampire for a hundred and twenty years. Can you honestly tell me you’ve met or even heard of a claimed couple?”

Spike sighed. “No. It’s rare.”

“It’s a myth! Just because vampires may envy a desirable human emotion doesn’t make it real. One cannot love without a soul.”

“Ah, this soul thing. What is a soul, Rupert? What does it do? Does it tell you what’s right or wrong?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Does it ensure that you act the right way? Does it forcibly prevent you from doing evil?” He laughed softly under his breath at Giles’ silence. “No, it doesn’t, or why are there murderers and rapists and serial killers? Choice, Watcher. I choose not to do evil, for Buffy’s sake.”

“You argue well and I see how you managed to charm your way into Joyce and Buffy’s good graces. The benefits of a classical education,” said Giles dryly. “Yes, I have looked you up, Spike. You’re not the yob you seem. An educated man, not just a ruffian. But there’s a fallacy to your argument.”

“What’s that then?”

“For Buffy’s sake, you said. Not because it’s right. Just because you presently desire Buffy.”

“Does the reason matter? The results are what count.”

“What happens when the desire wears off, which it often does? Even sooner perhaps if one is a vampire. You’ll kill her and Joyce and the rest of us.”

“You’re asking for guarantees. There aren’t any. There never are.”

“Your being dust makes an excellent guarantee.” Giles sighted down the crossbow.

“Can’t let you do that, Watcher,” said Spike mildly. “Selfish that way. Prefer to survive.”

“You don’t have a choice,” said Giles. His finger tightened on the trigger.

In a flash of vampire speed, Spike had covered the twenty feet of ground between them and knocked the crossbow upward. The released bolt shot skyward, then spiraled back down to the ground and embedded itself in the turf. Giles gasped, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

“You’re human, Watcher,” said Spike softly. One hand held the crossbow pointed immovably skyward. The other had closed on Giles’ shirt, jerking him forward. “You’re not a Slayer. Slayer could have dusted me. But there is no way you can move faster than a vamp.”

“Xander!” croaked Giles.

“Did you really believe I wasn’t aware of that tosser lurking there?” Spike turned his head to the right. “How you doing, Amber?”

“Oh, I’ve got him, Spike,” a husky voice purred. “And that silly toy of his is kinda busted.”

Giles twisted his head around to see Xander bent back in the grip of a very pretty, copper-haired, vamp female. She was behind him, one arm around his shoulders and one around his chest in what looked like a light hold. But Xander couldn’t break free, was completely helpless, the crossbow that he had been carrying in two pieces at his feet.

“Meet Amber. One of my minions.” Spike grinned. “Did you think I wouldn’t guess what you might do after the way you acted last night? Thought you’d drag that loser in. Didn’t really need backup. Not with a git like that, human and a wimp to boot. But Amber wanted to play.”

“I’ll find a way to dust you if it’s the last thing I do!” snarled Xander.

“You thought jealousy would give him a real incentive, didn’t you, Watcher? He hates me because I’m fucking the Slayer and he’s not. Would have been a good choice if he wasn’t such a nothing. You’ve made a big mistake.”

“I’m thirsty, Spike,” Amber said. She licked the side of Xander’s neck and laughed when he tried to struggle. “Can I take a drink?”

“Go ahead.”

“No!” blurted Giles.

Amber’s fangs sliced into Xander’s neck

“They’re vulnerable, Watcher. Both that wanker and the little redhaired bird. Do you see where I’m going with this? Are you starting to get the picture?”

Xander was sagging in Amber’s arms.

“Make her stop!” Giles gasped.

“Come after me, they pay the penalty. My minions would make sure of that, even if I were dust, since I command it so. Do you understand?”

“Yes! Tell her to stop!”

“Amber.”

Amber withdrew her fangs. “You never let me have any fun.”

“I’ll get you, I’ll get you,” Xander was muttering.

“Nasty piece of work, isn’t he?” Spike remarked.

“You shouldn’t have stopped me, boss.”

“Do him.”

“What? No!” gasped Giles and Amber looked up at him and smiled. Her eyes suddenly flashed red and Giles’ voice died in his throat.

“Be in me,” purred Amber.

Xander’s eyes glazed over and even Giles felt dizzy.

“Just one command,” said Amber softly. “A nice simple one for a nice simple brain. You don’t ever hurt Spike. You got that? Never.”

“Never,” mumbled Xander blurrily.

“Good boy, Renfield.” She looked up at Spike and grinned. “Sure you don’t want him to do the eating flies bit? That would be a gas.”

“It would. But Slayer might not like that.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.” She let Xander thump onto the ground where he lay struggling feebly. “Watcher man. Did you get the message?”

Giles recoiled from the red eyes staring at him. “Yes! Will he be all right?”

“In a few minutes. He’ll be a little shaky on his feet till then.”

Spike let Giles go. “Take him home.”

Giles gave him a resentful look, but stepped forward without another word to help Xander onto his feet. He hooked Xander’s arm across his shoulders, then began to urge him towards the cemetery gates. Spike and Amber watched them go.

“Did you get the Watcher too like we planned?” Spike murmured and Amber giggled.

“Yup. Nice, solid, deepseated command. And he wasn’t even aware of it. When he finds himself unwilling to come after you, he’ll think it’s only because he’s worried about those two children. Can’t break a command you don’t even suspect exists. Defense in depth, because both of them are going to forget ever being thralled.”

“Good job, pet. Sorry about having to make you drink from that wanker.”

“Blood’s blood. Tasted fine and made it easy to take his mind. And the shock of seeing the boy being drained frayed the Watcher’s defenses. I was able to slide right in before he could even think of guarding his own mind.”

“Looks like we’re over the hump. But now to tell the Slayer,” sighed Spike.

“Better you than me, boss.”

“You did what?” Buffy yelled.

“Got one of my minions to thrall Watcher and the geek.” Spike hooked a hip on the back of an armchair and watched her warily as she stood glaring at him, her hands on her hips. “Didn’t mess with their heads or anything. They’re still the same narrowminded pricks they always were and they still hate my guts. But they won’t be able to harm me in any way.”

“Spike...”

“Think a couple of hours of talking at Giles is enough to remove forty-five years of conditioning? All it did was make him go get blind drunk. Part of that was wanting to forget whatever you might have told him about us sleeping together and part of it was knowing you might never forgive him for dusting me. So he got blotto. But once he got over the hangover this morning, he went straight to Xander Harris. He knew Harris has the hots for you. Easy to get him breathing fire. The two of them would have stalked me forever. Don’t like getting shot in the back, pet.”

Buffy winced.

“I’m no saint. Temptation to rip their throats out might have got too strong. The thrall was the only solution.”

“How did you word it?”

“We kept it simple. ‘Don’t hurt Spike.’ Simple has power. No complications to it. Doesn’t change their attitudes, doesn’t stop them from wanting me dead. But that command has a hold on their psyches. They won’t dust or even harm me. Could you have done better?”

“No,” sighed Buffy. “Mom and I both tried. But I could see I wasn’t getting through to him. I just didn’t think he’d go right after you like that. I thought he’d argue and I’d have a chance to change his mind.”

“Watcher’s more than he seems,” remarked Spike. “That business at Halloween showed that. Maybe Watcher needs to get researched himself.”

Buffy laughed, but Spike thought that might be worth looking into. Watcher was demonstrating an interesting ruthlessness and Spike had always believed it was useful to know one’s enemy. There was a vamp called Dalton who was good at worming things out and it might be worthwhile getting him to check Giles out.

At least Watcher was checkmated now. Both he and Xander might still hate his guts, but they’d have to deal. The best thing that had happened though was...

“You fought for me, pet.”

Buffy blushed.

“I asked you what would happen if anybody found out and you said you didn’t know. That your instincts would take over. Well, your instincts didn’t kick me out the door like I thought they would.”

Her instinct had been to defend him, Buffy thought. She had expected to be horribly shamed and embarrassed if anyone found out. But when Giles had walked in, she hadn’t even thought of herself, of what Giles might be thinking of her. All she had been thinking about was keeping Spike safe, of trying to find some way to change Giles’ attitude towards him and keep him from staking Spike.

“Don’t make more of it than it is,” she muttered irritably. “It just didn’t seem right, the things that Giles was saying, that’s all. I mean, even Mom felt that.”

He reached out and pulled her to lean against him, his arms loosely linked in the small of her back.

“You gonna let me stick around a little longer? Not gonna run me out of town now everyone knows?”

Buffy glowered at him. “Maybe I will. You never know.”

“So when Giles and the others start up on you tomorrow—and they will, depend on it—you’re gonna say, ‘Yeah, I made a big mistake taking up with that evil, disgusting thing. Mea culpa. Just give me a minute to stake him, then I’ll do penance.’”

Her hands tightened on his shoulders. “You’re not an evil, disgusting thing.”

“That’s not what your friends would say.”

“Not if they want to remain my friends.”

He tilted his head a little to one side. “Watcher’s your mentor and Red and Harris are your best friends. You saying you’re not gonna listen to what they say?”

She would have, maybe, Buffy thought in surprise, if she hadn’t met Spike. Giles was the father figure her real father had never been, Willow was the only one she could happily share girl talk with and Xander almost a brother. But they didn’t know her the way Spike did. They were comfortable with Buffy the girl and they accepted Buffy the Slayer. The trouble was that they wanted Buffy the Slayer to be perfect, up on a pedestal, the angel with the flaming sword saving the world.

Spike knew her the way Joyce did, not wanting her to be perfect, just wanting her to be her. Both he and Joyce saw and accepted both her strengths and her weaknesses, supported her, helped her. Joyce didn’t really know or understand the Slayer part of her; Spike didn’t really understand the human part, his vamp lack of soul making morality a riddle that he could puzzle out only through her example. But they both tried, and they both saw her, not just their vision of her.

“You’re my mentor,” she said quietly, “and you are my best friend.”

His eyes widened.

“Don’t know how it happened, but there it is. And I could never stake you.” She grinned at him. “Run you out of town maybe.”

He kissed her sweetly. “You’d miss this.”

She kissed him back, her arms tight about his neck. “Yeah, I would. You’re addictive, vampire.”

“Yeah?” His eyes were smiling and soft.

“Don’t look so pleased. It’s just...”

“Just sex?”

“No. It’s more,” she confessed and watched his eyes light up.

“Buffy...”

“Not love,” she said hesitantly. “I’m not there yet. Maybe I never will be. But...”

“It’s enough,” he said fiercely and caught her tight.

The charm offensive of Giles and Xander started the very next day. They kept at her and at her, while Willow sat to one side, her eyes huge, just listening.

“He had a vamp bite me,” Xander yelled at Buffy. “I was bitten! I could have died!”

“Well, why were you sneaking around with a crossbow? Of course you could have died. You’re not a Slayer. You’re just human.”

“You’re missing the point,” said Giles sternly. “Spike could have killed him.”

“If Spike had wanted to kill the two of you, you’d be dead right now. He was just teaching you a lesson.”

“Just listen to yourself!” snarled Xander. “Why are you defending a vamp?”

“I’ve told you over and over. He may be a vamp, but he’s helping me. He fights my demons right at my side, and he’s a damn good fighter. I’m not going to throw away an asset like that just because of your prejudices.”

“It’s a spell, isn’t it?” Xander growled. “He’s put a spell on you.”

“It’s not a spell.” She gave him a nasty grin, suddenly losing patience. “At least not the way you think. I just like fucking him.”

Xander and Giles gasped, shocked into silence at last.

“Coming, Will?” Buffy spun on her heel and stalked out of the library.

“I can’t believe you said that!” muttered Willow, running after her.

“Got mad.” Buffy glanced sideways at her and saw that Willow was grinning. “What about you? You gonna start up with the Spike-hate?”

“Nuh-uh. I’ve actually been listening to what you’ve been saying. That he’s been helping you, even trained you. I remember that Thai thing last year. You kept hammering out those moves on the punching bag and the thing I noticed even then was that they weren’t exactly the ones on those tapes Dwayne gave you. Someone was showing you stuff.”

“Whoa! You’ve actually been thinking!”

“They’ll start thinking too in a while. It’ll just take them a little time. The thing that got me is that you let him into your house.”

“Well, sure...”

“You’d never risk your Mom, Buff. Not unless you were absolutely sure you trust him.”

“You know, I hadn’t even thought about that,” said Buffy, wide-eyed. “I just did it.”

“And he’s never hurt her. Or us. And he could have.”

“Yes, he could. Easily.”

“He’s been here since you came to Sunnydale last year and he’s had plenty of chances. Only fair to give him one too.”

“I like the way you think.”

Willow grinned at her. “Computer nerd here. We think weird. Our brains are completely 404.”

“You know what’s scary? I actually understood that.”

They both laughed.

“One down, two to go,” said Spike to Buffy after meeting a very nervous Willow and going all out to charm her. By the end of the evening, Willow had relaxed and was enjoying herself.

“The other two will be a lot harder,” sighed Buffy.

“We’ll wear ’em down,” said Willow and made an exaggeratedly determined face. “See? Resolve face.”

Spike laughed at her. “Think that’ll work?”

“Uh-huh. Xander’s seen it ever since we were rugrats and he’s terrified of it.”

“Looks cute on you, Red.” He leaned back and surveyed her wistfully. “Now if only you’d dress the way you did on Halloween.”

“Huh?”

“You looked hot. Great abs.”

Willow blushed as red as her hair.

“Sorry about that,” muttered Buffy, yanking Willow over to the other side of the room. “The man has no shame.”

“Oh, I think I’m in love,” said Willow, grinning.

Buffy laughed and poked her shoulder lightly. “Hands off. Mine!”

“That’s obvious,” said Willow, watching Spike watch Buffy.

This time Buffy blushed.

Spike was happy. Buffy clearly felt at least something for him and Willow was coming round. Joyce was already there, for which he was truly grateful. Joyce and Willow’s opinions meant a lot to Buffy. Giles and Xander would take longer to accept him, but they would in the end when they saw they had no choice and he kept proving that he would do nothing to hurt or upset Buffy. Things were going really well.

He ran lightly up the street to Shady Rest, where Buffy had said she would meet him for patrol.

The moment he stepped through the cemetery’s gates, he felt uneasy. There was an odd vibration in the air. It was as if the Hellmouth had opened. But he was sure it had not and, besides, the Hellmouth was nowhere near Shady Rest. Still the emanations he felt were like those of a portal when something had passed through it.

He remembered Buffy telling him that Giles had been worried about ‘dimensional shifts.’ Maybe something really had come through. He moved warily forward, scanning the area intently for any creature that might possibly harm Buffy.

Something moved in the shadows, then stepped into the moonlight. Spike stopped short abruptly, his eyes widening.

“Angelus?”

The last creature he wanted to see, the great poof with his stupid hair and smug smile.

“But I saw you dusted!”

Angelus smirked. “The Powers That Be didn’t think that was right. Yeah, I went to hell, but they pulled me out of it. It’s taken me this long to recover.”

“So what the hell are you doing here in Sunnydale? Looking to be dusted again? Should have stayed wherever they dumped you. I’m not gonna let you hurt my Slayer!”

“Your Slayer?” Angelus scowled. “She’s not your Slayer. She’s mine! That’s the way it should have been!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“He’s right.” Someone stepped into the moonlight and stopped beside Angel. A small man wearing ugly clothes and a battered fedora.

“Who the hell are you?” Spike growled.

“Whistler. Demon. More importantly, a representative of the Powers That Be.”

“Yeah?” Spike frowned at him. “So what do the PTB want?”

“To fix things. You see, you’re not the one who’s supposed to be here, Spike. He is.”

“Angelus? The worst fucking vampire on the planet? Pull the other one, you git! No way the PTB would want him anywhere near the Slayer!”

“He’s got a soul.”

“Angelus with a soul? You gotta be shitting me! What, he pick one up off the floor when he was in hell?”

“I was cursed with it a hundred years ago,” Angelus said. “The name’s Angel now and I’m on the side of light.”

Spike’s eyes widened. He thought back over the last hundred years and every encounter he had had with Angelus during that time. Yeah, it could have happened. The strange way Angelus had acted made sense once he factored in a soul.

“He was the one who was supposed to help Buffy Summers,” Whistler was saying. “A vampire with a soul. But things went wrong. Buffy dusted him before he could explain. You should never have come here, Spike. You belong with Drusilla. I’m here to put things back to the way they should be, with Angel at Buffy’s side.”

Spike laughed suddenly, an ugly, bitter sound.

“Should have known,” he said. “Always lose, don’t I? Should have known I’d get fucked over before the game was done.”

TBC

Chapter 10

Something was wrong. Buffy knew it the moment she stepped through the cemetery gates. She could pick up vamp and demon vibes. One signature was Spike’s. The other two were unknown. The odd thing was that there were no sounds of battle. If there were demons around, Spike would normally be fighting them.

She turned the corner of a crypt and saw three figures standing in the moonlight. A demon and two vampires. One of the vampires was Spike and he looked as if the world had fallen in on him.

“Spike? What’s wrong?”

She ran forward and grabbed him, glaring at the two strangers, her arms tight about his waist.

“Get away from him!” the strange vamp snarled and caught at her arm, intending to pull her away from Spike.

Buffy struck his hand away. “Touch me again and you’re dust, vampire!”

Spike was snarling viciously, his fangs out and pure death in his eye. Buffy could see that he was in a killing mood.

“Let me handle this,” the short demon in the fedora said hurriedly to the vamp, pulling him back.

Buffy ignored them. She was holding Spike tight and looking at the pain that showed even through his gameface. He drew a sharp breath and forced the gameface to fade away to his regular human features.

“Spike! What’s happened?”

He caught her to him, his arms fierce around her and his face in her hair. She heard the strange vamp growl behind her and the murmur of the demon speaking to him. But all her attention was on Spike.

“They’re gonna change everything, pet. Make it like it didn’t happen. Take you away from me.”

“No one can take me away from you, Spike!”

“The Powers That Be can.” His arms slackened around her and he leaned back and jerked his chin at the demon. “That one can. Whistler. He’s an agent of the PTB.”

She let him go and turned to scowl at Whistler who made a patting motion with his hands at the air to try to calm her.

“I can explain,” he said nervously.

“You better.” She glared angrily at the two strangers, her hands on her hips. “What’s this about changing things and who the hell are you and what the fuck is going on?”

“It’s a long story,” said Whistler.

“Then start talking.” She frowned as she finally got a clear look at the vamp beside him. “Hey, I know you. Didn’t I dust you last year?”

“The cat came back,” growled Spike behind her. He was vibrating dangerously behind her and she was aware that he was only a hair’s breadth away from a killing frenzy. “Seems the PTB have plans for him, so they yanked him out of hell. That’s Angelus.”

“Angel!” said Angel sharply.

“Like that makes a diff.”

“Your grandpapa?” Buffy asked and Angel winced.

Spike made a face too. “Rather not be reminded he’s part of the family, but technically yes, pet. My sire’s sire.”

“I’ve read about you in my Watcher’s books,” said Buffy coldly to Angel. Her hand was on the stake in the small of her back. “You’re one of the worst vampires around. Why did the PTB bring something like you back?”

“He has a soul,” said Whistler quickly. “He’s the only vampire in the world with a soul.”

“I’m a good vampire,” said Angel earnestly. “I was the one destined to help you, but you dusted me before I had a chance to explain.”

“You had plenty of time to explain, but you just kept burbling on about how you expected me to be taller and have bigger muscles and how I wanted to kill things—which I so didn’t at the time. You couldn’t just have said, ‘Hey, I’ve got a soul and the PTB sent me to help you’?”

Whistler rolled his eyes and sighed.

“You really blew that one, didn’t you?” he said to Angel who was looking deeply embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have left you to do things on your own. That was my mistake. That was why everything went wrong.”

“I didn’t want to scare her by admitting I was a vamp.”

Spike made a scornful sound. “Like a Slayer wouldn’t have known that right off.”

“The thing is,” said Whistler hurriedly before things got away from him, “Angel was the one who was supposed to help you with your Slaying and with the Master and Acathla and...”

“What’s Acathla?” Buffy asked, puzzled.

“Oh, sorry. That hasn’t happened yet.” Whistler frowned suddenly. “And won’t in this timeline,” he said in a surprised voice, then shrugged. “But it will when we get things back the way they should be.”

“Oh, joy,” said Buffy. “Something to look forward to.” She scowled at Angel. “So why are you so willing to help me? Because of this soul thing?”

“Not just because of the soul.” Angel looked down and shuffled his feet a little, embarrassed. “Because of you. Whistler took me to see you in ’96. You were sitting on the steps in front of Hemery High, talking to your girlfriends and sucking on a lollipop and I just...well, I just kinda... fell for you.”

“When I was barely fifteen? Eww, perv!”

Angel looked thunderstruck and Spike looked like he was desperately trying not to laugh. Whistler rubbed both hands across his face.

“This is not going the way I expected,” he muttered to the air and Buffy gave him a scornful look.

“You thought you’d just pop in and turn our lives upside down and we’d be grateful? In what universe? Why’d the PTB pick him anyway?”

“I told you. Because he has a soul. And I’m the one who picked him,” said Whistler proudly.

“Ri-ight. And you’ve done so good so far.” Buffy rolled her eyes. “This whole thing is your idea, isn’t it? And the way it’s gone is your responsibility.”

“In a way...”

“You screwed up and you’re trying to fix it.”

Whistler flinched and looked nervously upwards. “That’s beside the point. What matters is...”

“And now we’ve got two ways for things to go. The soul’s the big deal, is it?”

“Well, that was the deciding factor. But there’s also Angel’s vamp strength and abilities. And his willingness to do good, to redeem himself. I knew he’d help, become your partner, keep you safe...”

“Well, Spike may not have a soul, but he’s helped me and he’s kept me safe. He helped me fight the Master. He revived me when I died. He dusted Darla and the Anointed One...”

“You dusted Darla?” Angel said sharply to Spike.

Spike gave him a flatly unrepentant look back. “She was going to kill Buffy.”

“And he got rid of all the Order of Aurelius and made himself Master in Sunnydale now, which means...”

“You’re the Master now?” Angel frowned heavily at Spike.

“Oh, yeah.” Spike grinned nastily back, his fangs extending. “Care to challenge? Love to take you on, Peaches. I’ve come a long way from the fledgling you used to kick around. Won’t take but a minute now to send you right back to that hell my girl sent you to. Wonder if the PTB will bother to bring you back this time around.”

“She’s not your girl!”

“More his than yours,” said Buffy sharply. “I don’t even know you, Angelus, Angel, whatever the hell you’re calling yourself these days. You’re a stranger to me.”

“But...”

Buffy made an irritable slash of her hand, cutting Angel off. “Getting back to what I was trying to say. Spike being Master means that I don’t have a horde of vamps attacking me en masse. Plus, Spike helps me take out other vamps and demons. Partner? I’ve already got a partner and that’s Spike!”

“But that’s not the way it’s supposed to be!” exclaimed Whistler.

“But that’s the way it is! And I like it.”

“He doesn’t have a soul!” Angel snapped.

“He doesn’t need one!” She smiled at Spike. “He has a heart.”

His eyes lit up. “Which is all yours, pet.”

“Don’t believe that!” Angel yelled. “He can’t love without a soul!”

“Oh, don’t give me that crap. I get enough of that from my Watcher. He loved Dru for a hundred and twenty years, didn’t he? You sired her, but where were you when she needed you?”

Angel looked abruptly down at the ground, shamefaced. “I couldn’t help her,” he mumbled.

“You didn’t even try,” said Buffy scornfully. “You just left. Spike stood by her. He was her knight, Darla said. Now he’s mine. My partner, my dearest friend, my lover...”

Angel snarled and jerked forward, then stopped abruptly when the point of Buffy’s stake pricked his chest.

“That’s what he is. Deal. I dusted you once. I’ll have no trouble dusting you again if you try to hurt him.”

“Don’t be a fool, Angel,” Whistler said sharply. “It doesn’t matter what they are to each other right now. When I turn back time, none of this will have happened. You’ll all go back to the moment she entered Sunnydale. You’ll all be just as you were then and none of you will remember anything different. You’ll be back to square one with a clean slate.”

Buffy caught her breath. Back to square one, with not even the memory of Spike. All that love and devotion gone. Not even the memory of that look in his eyes, his arms around her, his scent, the taste of his mouth, the way he made love to her...

“I’ll remember,” Spike said, almost under his breath. “You can take away every memory, but there’ll always be that emptiness, that gaping hole in the middle of me where she should be. You won’t be able to take that away. She’s the only one who can fill it. I’ll feel that emptiness every day of my life.”

She knew exactly what he meant. She would feel that too, the emptiness that wasn’t him.

Angel was scoffing. He didn’t understand. But anyone who had ever really loved would understand. She saw that the man that he was would never fill the place Spike had in her heart. He couldn’t, even if they started, as Whistler promised, from square one. There would always be something missing.

Whistler himself was frowning, deeply troubled. Some comprehension of that had reached him.

“So you’ll take away all my choices,” she said to him. “You’ll allow me no power over my own life. Even Spike didn’t do that to me and he’s doesn’t have a soul.”

“But this is not the way things are supposed to go!”

“But this is the way it has! And I like it! I want it to stay this way! I don’t want to go back! You may take away my memory, but something in me will always remember and resent what you are forcing on me. I wish you joy of the Slayer you’re going to have once you turn things back.”

“It’s for the best,” said Angel. “It’s for your own good. It’ll be the way things are supposed to be.”

She glared at him, thinking that it could be very easy to hate the man. It was her life. She should be the one to decide what was for her own good. Her eyes widened on a sudden thought.

“I’d have to go through all that with the Master again! He killed me! And it was Spike who brought me back! How do I know you’ll do the same? You’re not Spike! You don’t think the way he does!”

“It’s all right,” Whistler soothed. “You’ll be brought back.”

“And Darla! And the Anointed One! Spike’s the Master in Sunnydale now. From the sounds of things, I don’t think Angel is planning on becoming that. It’s all going to be screwed up!”

“I could send you back to this moment in the other reality,” said Whistler dubiously. “With the Master gone and...Nah, that won’t work. Too complicated.”

“You’re just winging it, aren’t you?” Spike snarled. “You don’t really know what you’re doing!”

Buffy put a hand on his arm, holding him back.

“Whistler, that Acathla thing. You said it didn’t happen in this timeline. That means you looked into the future.”

“The PTB let me do that sometimes.”

“I want you to look into my future in that other reality.”

“But...”

“You don’t have to tell me anything. And I’d forget, wouldn’t I, even if you did. We all would. You say this isn’t the way things are supposed to be. But are things better there? Am I healthier, happier, safer? What if you’re wrong about all of this, Whistler? You’ve already messed things up pretty bad.”

Whistler winced, then said hesitantly, “I don’t know if I can.”

“Try!”

Whistler’s gaze unfocused itself and fixed on nothing. There was a long silence while they all stared at him. Angel was frowning. Buffy was holding her breath. She was aware that Spike wasn’t breathing either beside her.

Whistler’s brows suddenly flicked together.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the sting to your curse?” he exclaimed, turning to look at Angel.

“What?” said Angel blankly.

“You don’t even know, do you? You could lose your soul!”

“Lose my soul?” Angel was appalled.

“We’ll have to discuss this later,” said Whistler sternly.

“Didn’t check back far enough when you looked at his credentials, did you, you pillock?” said Spike dryly. “May not like Angel, but gotta say: that’s your fault, not his.”

“It is. It is. And there’s a sting to the redemption drive as well. He leaves Buffy because of it. Because of both really. I should have looked into the future,” muttered Whistler to himself. “I should have been more careful.”

“Leaves her, huh?” Spike was scowling. “Just like with Dru. It’s a thing he does. For her own good, I suppose. He just won’t be able to help it, right? It’ll be all for the best.”

“I’m guessing I don’t take that well,” muttered Buffy.

“No,” Whistler admitted.

“And I’m also guessing I’ll meet up with Spike. We won’t remember, but I’m betting what we’ve got right now won’t die. There’ll be a pull. We will come together somehow.”

Whistler bit his lip and said nothing.

“And does it go well?”

“Uh...”

“I’m betting not. I’m betting it all gets screwed up, because the memories will all be screwed up.”

Whistler sighed. “It goes very badly.”

Buffy folded her arms and glared at him. “And you want us to go back to that?”

“But that’s the way it’s supp...”

“I want a second opinion!” Buffy yelled at the heavens.

Whistler gasped. “Miss Summers!”

“Shut up, Whistler! I have a right to an impartial judgment from the PTB. You’re too involved. This whole thing with Angel was your bright little idea. You’re the one who chose him. And it all gets screwed up! But I’ll be the one who has to live it, not you! Force me into that reality and you’ll have one very angry and resentful Slayer on your hands, even if I don’t remember anything.”

“But...”

“You’re the one who’s put us in this position with two realities. You don’t get to choose! I do! It’s my life! And I choose Spike! I’m not going to lose him!”

Spike, who had been watching Whistler and Angel with a feral and coldly lethal gaze, whipped around to stare at her. His eyes blazed.

“You can’t...” Angel began and she swung on him furiously.

“Don’t you say one word, you...you...self-satisfied, egocentric...prick!”

Spike made a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and a snarl of satisfaction.

“How dare you think it’s right to force me to do what you want?” Buffy spat. “Fuck you both!”

Whistler started to speak. Then he went abruptly rigid and voiceless, as if something had seized him.

“Think the PTB are putting their two cents in,” remarked Spike dryly.

A minute later, Whistler was released. He staggered, but managed to keep his feet. His face was bright red and he refused to meet anybody’s eye.

“Looks like he got his arse kicked,” murmured Spike to Buffy.

“What did they say?” Angel demanded, grabbing Whistler.

Whistler pulled away. “Come on, Angel. We’re going to L.A.”

“But...”

“She gets anything she wants. They’re not going to mess with her. She wants to stay here, she stays here. And that means your destiny isn’t here. It’s in L.A., helping the hopeless, which it would have been in three years in the other timeline anyway.”

“But I want to stay here!”

“You’ve got no place here. Everything’s changed. Those two have changed it. I should have looked. They were right. It was sloppy,” Whistler mumbled, wincing at the memory of what the PTB had just said to him. “No resurrections here, no Firsts, no burning up in Hellmouths. You’re not her champion, Angel.”

“You mean he...” Angel glared at Buffy and Spike hugging each other triumphantly.

“That’s the way it’s supposed to be!” Spike shouted after him on a yell of laughter as Whistler dragged him away.

“Had to rub it in, didn’t you?” grinned Buffy.

“Oh, yeah. Wanker!” He looked down at her, his eyes very blue, full of awe and wonder. “Buffy. You chose to stay with me.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

“Why?” he breathed.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her cheek pressed hard against his jaw, breathing in the scent of his skin and feeling the reassuring solidity of him against her, the tenderness in the way he held her so tightly to him.

“Couldn’t lose you, Spike. Couldn’t bear that you wouldn’t be with me.”

“Oh, I’d have been with you, pet. Whistler said so.”

“But you wouldn’t have been mine.”

“I’d have been yours, luv,” he said wryly. “That wouldn’t have changed. Memory or not, I’d still have been yours.”

“Not the way we are now—partners, lovers, the dearest of friends.” Her breath caught in horror. “God, Spike! I can’t even visualize that. It would have been terrible—the kind of hole that would have made in my life!”

His hand caught the back of her head, pressed her temple against his parted lips. She felt his breath shake against her skin.

“You wouldn’t have known it, luv.”

“I’d have known it. It’s like what you said. An emptiness in the middle of me. A gaping void only you can fill. No one but you. You’re part of me, Spike. Losing you would be like tearing away half of myself.”

“Yes,” he whispered. “For me too. Like having my guts ripped out.”

“Let’s go home to your place,” she muttered. She was trembling. Feeling violently ill. Reaction. “We can skip patrol for one night. We need to talk.”

“Okay.”

His flat was not that far from Shady Rest. They made it there in no time at all, leaning against each other as they walked, arms about each other’s waists. His gaze never moved from her face, as if he couldn’t stop looking at her.

Once there she shrugged out of her leather jacket and sneakers, then looked around to see that he had discarded his duster and Docs. Then he just simply pulled her into his arms and held her, his face in her hair.

“What?” she said, her own arms fierce around him.

He leaned his forehead against hers, his breath shuddering against her lips and his eyes closed.

“Can’t believe you’re still with me.”

“Did you really think I’d choose otherwise?”

“Yes. I thought...there’s nothing to hold you here. After all, you don’t love me.”

“I love you, Spike,” she said quietly. She knew that now.

His body jolted against hers.

“What?” It was a breath of a sound, incredulous and disbelieving.

“I love you.”

He was totally beyond words. She drew his head down and kissed him. Even then his eyes didn’t close, stayed halfway open, staring at her in wonder.

“I’m sorry it took so long for me to realize it. I was scared to love. It wasn’t that you were a vamp or had no soul or any of that other stuff Giles keeps freaking about. That stopped mattering to me a long time ago. But I was a coward, just too scared to risk myself after both Pike and my Dad left me. Didn’t know it. It was all unconscious. Didn’t even admit it to myself. Scared that you too would leave me.”

“I could never leave you. Dust first.”

“I was selfish,” she confessed. “Wanted to be loved, but thought I could get away with not returning it. Then Whistler said he would take you from me. That we’d be back at square one with a clean slate. That I wouldn’t have even the memory of you. It hurt so badly I finally realized the truth. Love you, Spike.”

“Buffy!” he whispered. “God! I love you so much!”

“Always wanted to be loved the way you loved, never was. Wasn’t that what you said? Well, you are loved, Spike. So much. So much.”

He didn’t say anything, just held her; but she could feel the fierce tremors shuddering through his body. He was wound tight, had been ever since that moment when Angel had tried to pull her away from him in Shady Rest and he had gone into gameface. He was only just starting to come out of it.

“You were going to kill someone, weren’t you?” she said.

“Whistler.”

“Not Angel?”

“Take Whistler out, Angel wouldn’t matter. Couldn’t have done anything. Could dust him later. Dead, Whistler couldn’t have turned back time.”

“You really meant to do it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Would have torn down worlds to keep you anyway. But they were gonna force you into something you didn’t want. Couldn’t allow that.”

“The PTB would have...”

“Didn’t care. Didn’t care what they did to me. Was just so angry.”

“So was I. The PTB knew. They felt the rage. They knew that, memory or no memory, I’d hate them if they took you from me.”

“Buffy...”

She laughed as he scooped her up. He dropped her onto the bed, stretched out on his side beside her. She turned to face him, gathering him to her. They held each other, content just to feel the reality of each other in their arms. His lips were sliding all over her face. She purred.

“Couldn’t have given this up,” she murmured.

“He has a soul,” he said under his breath. “I don’t.”

“You don’t need one.”

“Will make a lot of mistakes.”

“Who doesn’t?” She grinned at him. “What’s the big deal? It’s simple. Don’t kill anyone but demons, fight at my side, drink only from me, ask if you’re not sure. Nothing complicated about that.”

He laughed involuntarily. “I can do that.”

“Good.” She pulled his T-shirt over his head and threw it away, then pushed him onto his back, leaning over him, smiling. “I own you, right?”

“I think you owned me from the first time I saw you,” he sighed. “Why else wouldn’t I have ripped your throat out right there and then?”

“Such a sweet talker.” They both laughed.

She was unbuckling his belt. He twisted to unzip his jeans and shove them off, then reached to pull off her clothes. She let him, but resisted when he tried to roll her over, moved with a long, snaking stretch of her body to lie upon him instead, holding him down with her thighs on either side of his hips and her forearms on either side of his head.

His eyelids shuddered closed for a moment at the feel of her sliding upon him, then opened again, his gaze smiling but puzzled as he looked up at her in the golden cage made by the curtains of her hair falling on either side of his face.

“Not that I don’t like it when you drive, pet,” he murmured, his hands stroking up and down her back, pressing her to him. “But what’s going on?”

“You’re not mine,” she said, watching him intently, her forehead almost brushing his. “Not really.”

“’Course I’m...” His eyes widened. She smiled as she saw his pupils suddenly enlarge. The blue rings of his irises abruptly went gold. “Buffy!”

“You gonna say no this time?”

“God! How can I? It’s everything I ever wanted,” he groaned. “But, Buffy, are you sure? There’s no going back!”

“I’m sure.” She kissed him softly. “That’s when I knew you really loved me. When you said no. When you refused to take away my choices, whatever it cost you.”

“Couldn’t do anything else.”

“You couldn’t.” But Angel and Whistler, even Giles and Xander, had been prepared to, couldn’t see that she had the right to make her own decisions, run her own life. “Evil vampire, huh? You’re doing better than the ‘good’ guys.”

He was looking at her in wonder, his face helpless.

“Wish I still had those fangs,” she muttered and he laughed a little.

“Oh, pet, just bite. Hard. I want the mark. Your mark, like a brand on me.”

“Will I have a mark?”

“When I bite you, yeah. A claim mark doesn’t fade. Neither Slayer nor vamp healing will take it away. You’re gonna freak out your friends.”

“Don’t care. They’ll just have to deal.” She slid her lips down the strong cord of his neck to the junction of his neck and shoulder. “Here, right?”

“Yeah,” he said on a lost breath.

She bit, as hard as she could. A little blood welled up and she lapped at it.

“Mine.”

“Yes, yours,” he whispered. “Forever.”

“Now you.”

He rolled her onto her back and leaned over her, stroking her hair back from her face. His eyes were awed.

“We could stop right here, you know,” he said quietly. “I’m bound, but then I always was. You don’t have to bind yourself to me. You could still be free.”

“You’d let me do that?”

“Sure.”

He would let her get away with that. But she wouldn’t cheat him like that, wouldn’t use him even when he offered himself up to be used.

“I love you, Spike. I’m already bound. I’m yours, just as much as you’re mine. We belong to each other. Even the PTB knew that. So complete it.” She wrapped her arms around his head, drawing his mouth to her neck, felt the shuddering exhalation of his breath against her skin. “I want it all.”

She heard the little catch of his breath. Then his fangs slid painlessly into the vein and that rapturous draw started.

“Mine, “ he whispered. Then with intense possessiveness: “Buffy, you’re mine.”

“Yes,” Buffy agreed, smiling. “I am.”

Something locked, clicked into place between them. An absolute rightness, absolute perfection. They both gasped.

“I can feel your heart beating,” Spike breathed. “As if it’s in my chest.”

“It is,” she murmured. “It’s yours, just like I’m yours.”

She could feel him too, the essence of him, not just his body, but his mind and his spirit, like the soul he didn’t have. They were inextricably linked—one being.

She felt a sudden wave of rage from somewhere, someone snarling and furious. And then a surge of grief and sorrow, a woman’s voice whispering, “Lost. My Spike’s lost. My deadly boy’s gone. The sunshine’s taken him.”

“What?” Buffy exclaimed.

“You’re picking up the link,” said Spike. “The Aurelian link. You shut it off like this.”

He showed her. She followed the path he mapped in her head and her awareness of Angel and Dru snapped and vanished.

“Can they harm you?” she asked worriedly.

“No. We don’t have to worry about them. Angel can’t harm me without harming you and that soul will keep him from doing that. And Dru knew ages ago. That’s why she dumped me. She must have known this would happen, accepted it even then.”

She laughed suddenly. “She’s wrong on one thing though, Spike. You’re still deadly. Still that mad, bad dog.”

“But leashed. And the leash is in your hand. Your dog, Slayer.”

“Leash has two ends,” she murmured. “I’m yours just as much as you’re mine, Spike.”

“Mine,” he said intensely and kissed her demandingly.

She shuddered under that suddenly overwhelming flood of sensation. Not only his mouth and his hands and his body moving upon her, but also the sensations that he was feeling, reflected back over the link. Sensation doubled and redoubled. And wound through it all, woven over and under and through it all, his love and his now certain knowledge that she loved him, his joy at that.

Making love was unbelievable now, every touch reverberating across the claim, endearments whispered into each other’s skin going deeper than the body to catch at the heart.

She caught her breath as he came into her. He gasped too. The muscles of her Slayer sheath were just that little bit too tight; he was just that little bit too big. That first thrust was always an excruciating rapture. Then the link caught them up, wove them inextricably together in that most shattering and joyous of dances.

Not the partner that Whistler had intended her to have in this dance. Chance had given her a better one, the right one, the one fated to be the other half of herself.

“I love you,” she said and heard him say it back to her across the link as his fangs slid into her neck and that blaze of white fire splintered her brain. “This is the way it was meant to be.”


The End


Must you dance every dance with the same fortunate man?
You have danced with him since the music began.
Won't you change partners and dance with me?

Must you dance quite so close with your lips touching his face?
Can't you see I'm longing to be in his place?
Won't you change partners and dance with me?

You've been locked in his arms ever since heaven knows when.
Oh, won't you change partners, and then...
You may never want to change partners again.

Irving Berlin - Change Partners