A dull thud echoed through the room, breaking the awe-filled silence. The body lay where it had fallen, blood still trickling sluggishly from the ripped puncture wounds in the neck and the crimson lips. Glazed green eyes stared into space, blank and unseeing, barren of any signs of life. The final, labouring heartbeat rang in the sensitive ears of the gathering before life totally faded from the young woman’s body. Long, shimmering honey-blonde hair was spread about her face like a halo, her tanned skin already beginning to become colder, the icy air of the abandoned warehouse working its chill into her bones. The man standing over her looked up, feral eyes glittering in savage triumph.

A grin split his thin lips, a deep, resonating growl of victory bursting forth to shatter the expectant stillness. In answer, the crowd of vampires roared, a blood-curdling howl of barbaric amusement. The slender figure of a raven-haired woman made its way to the side of the hulking figure of the killer, swaying in delight as childish giggles fluttered from her lips before swooping down and licking the ragged tear on his wrist. She clapped, leaning upwards to whisper in his ear. His eyes narrowed, the grin twisting into a smirk. A wave of his hand and a vicious snarl quieted the bellowing hoard. His voice rang out above the crowd, powerful and coldly amused.

“And that, kiddies, is how to turn a Slayer.”

At his feet, the lifeless eyes of Buffy Summers continued staring into eternity.

14 years later…

As the dust settled around him, William ‘Spike’ Calendar wiped his hands, grimacing as a splinter from the broken end of the ‘For Sale’ sign he had grabbed burrowed deeper into his flesh. Sucking at the small entry wound, he dropped the sign with a muffled sigh, bending to snatch up the stake he had dropped before spinning and stalking towards the cemetery he had originally planned to patrol.

“Bloody vampires, can’t wait for a bloke where its supposed to be, no. Has to bleedin’ well attack before he gets to the dark, evil graveyard.”

Still grumbling under his breath, his accent a mixture of Cockney and a more refined English class, the current Slayer prowled restlessly between headstones. He’d been only 15 years of age when he’d been Chosen, the first male Slayer ever known. The Council had fussed endlessly over that before deciding that it didn’t make a difference whether he had the manly bits or not, he was destined to kill, maim and otherwise slay evil. His Watcher had been informed that they would be moving to Sunnydale, California, a quick cover-up story had been fed to his parents, who were only too glad to be rid of a total wimp like him, and he’d started his work as the Vampire Slayer.

Now, coming up to the end of his fourth year as a Slayer, Spike was a far cry from the timid, bookish boy who had first been Chosen. Then, his mouse-brown hair had curled hopelessly in every direction, his clothes had been stuffy and old-fashioned, and wire-rimmed glasses had distorted his intense blue eyes so they seemed to bulge from his head.

Now, sleek platinum locks were gelled into submission and his piercing eyes were unchanged by contact lenses. His average height and lean build disguised muscles that were hard and wiry from years of training and fighting, though the black t-shirt he wore left little to the imagination. Coupled with the now-dirty, tight black jeans and the long leather duster, his appearance was all bad-boy.

When he’d first become the Slayer, it hadn’t taken long for him to realise that William wasn’t about to strike fear into the heart of a girl scout, let alone a demon. His transformation had been helped by the sudden confidence in himself he’d found, and so William was buried deep beneath the tougher, brasher Spike, who’d earned himself the nickname early on in his first year.

When he’d moved to California, his Watcher had been insistent that nobody learn of his ‘secret identity’ but before long, he’d met the group of friends affectionately named the Scooby Gang. Willow, Xander, Oz and Tara were the original Scoobies, led by Spike himself. However, Anya had soon become a firm friend, once her demonic tendencies had been stamped out. The last addition to the gang was his girlfriend, Cecily Adams. Formerly a popular member of teen society, she’d disgraced herself by dating Spike, too punk and don’t-mess-with-me to be ‘cool’.

He wasn’t an idiot. There was some tension between Cecily and the other Scoobs, but he’d never seen anything to worry about. He was never around to watch her riding roughshod over his other friends, flirting with Xander before cruelly putting him down and mocking sweet, shy Tara. She’d managed to achieve a fine balance between simpering over their every virtue when she and Spike were in private and flaunting his trust in her at every opportunity, knowing that they doubted he’d believe them over her if they spoke up.

Sauntering casually towards a crypt that seemed to be favoured by newly-risen fledglings, he tightened his grip on the stake. Approaching silently, he was gratified to see that his instincts had paid off; his senses tingled with a low hum that screamed ‘Vampire!’ Just as he prepared to kick the door open, his cell phone let out a piercing wail before launching into a sickeningly cheerful melody. The Slayer inside informed him that the young vampire had fled and he gritted his teeth before hitting the appropriate button.

“Yeah?”

“Spike, you have to come back to Robin’s house.” Willow’s soft voice was nervous and frightened.

“What’s up, Red?”

“The Order of Aurelius is coming to Sunnydale. They want to kill the new Slayer.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Not giving her time to warn him to look out for himself etc. he spun and began jogging towards his Watcher’s house. An inner eye followed his every movement, the raven-haired vampire giggling to herself as she tracked the image of the Slayer in her mind.

“Daddy’s coming to get you, Slayer. Naughty boys have no toys.”

It was about noon outside. She still wasn’t quite sure how she knew, but an innate vampiric sense told her that the sun was high overhead, its deadly rays brightening the streets of whatever town they’d come to. Buffy didn’t dare ask where they were, merely remained as still and as silent as possible, shifting only occasionally to ease the pain of the tight manacles chafing the tender skin of her wrists and ankles.

She’d been locked in this goddamned cage for weeks now, though they’d only been travelling for the last few. She wasn’t sure why the Order had suddenly decided to uproot their entire operation and relocate to Sunnydale, but she had a pretty good idea. The Hellmouth attracted all sorts of demony things, so it was safe to assume that was where they were headed.

Her full, lush mouth twisted into a grimace. Safe. That was something she hadn’t been for a long, long time. After Angelus (she’d stopped calling him ‘Angel’ after the first time she made that mistake and he’d tortured her for an entire week straight) had turned her, she’d woken chained to a wall in the same warehouse that had been the last thing she remembered, though in an old store-room now converted into a bedroom.

Buffy had expected to be overcome with bloodlust almost immediately, and had almost wept in shame when she felt her features shift as the demon inside her roared. For a moment she submitted to its mastery, bitterly regretting her night of passion with Angel. Then, she’d become aware of another force inside her, one that felt familiar and warm even as it merged with the darkness of her demon.

She couldn’t explain how she saw it, but see it she did. One minute there was only the blackness of her demon. Then, the gentle light of her soul bathed her in its loving radiance. For a moment the two struggled, her face shifting back and forth between the human mask and the ridged brow of the vampire. As the opposing forces began to bleed into one another, they merged into a dull grey glow that settled inside of her.

The euphoria at having retained her soul was soon destroyed. Angelus returned from his latest hunt just as the dawn began to streak the sky with pink, coming to her shortly afterwards. He was followed by Drusilla, now the equivalent of her sister, a thought which sickened her, and a small, delicate blonde.

A gasp of horrified shock had burst from her mouth, only to be cut off by a brutal slap from the aforementioned vampiress. Darla had merely laughed at her when she thrashed in her bonds, receiving another slap that made her see stars as it was explained to her how the law firm, Wolfram and Hart, had resurrected the Master’s favourite Childe. Then Angelus and Drusilla had left her alone with her grandsire.

What followed was three days of endless tortures, both physical and mental. After the first day, she’d given up on trying to hold in her screams, though her throat was soon raw. She could still remember the scent of her charred flesh as holy water trickled fiery pain across her flayed skin, could still feel the numerous flashes of agony as Darla decorated her tanned skin with a covering of cuts and bruises, though her face remained untouched; after all, how could she scream if she couldn’t move her mouth?

On the morning of the third day, weak from hunger and pain, she’d been revisited by Angelus. His cruel jibes still flickered in her nightmares, each razor-sharp word wrapping around her heart until it wept bitter, bloody tears. That had only been the beginning. She’d only been with a man once, tender and gentle Angel, but since then she was violated once every year, on the anniversary of that fourth day, when he’d first stripped away his clothing and her dignity, mindlessly fucking her until she bled and fainted from the pain.

Remembering that awful day, that first rape, she shuddered to herself. Since then, it had happened thirteen times. Every time she closed her eyes an imagined thirteen different methods she could use to make Angelus suffer just as she suffered. Pulled from that dark but pleasant thought by the sudden squeal of brakes, she winced as her emaciated body was slammed into the wire of her cage.

The coolness that suddenly enveloped the van in which they travelled told her that they’d driven into a building. Bracing herself against the corner of her prison furthest from the doors, she let her unique version of a game face ripple across her features. Her eyes glowed silvery grey, her delicate fangs dropping, though her brow remained smooth. As the doors were ripped open, she looked into the face of her sire and tormentor, flanked by the two female vampires. Her family.

“Hello, Buffy. Welcome to Sunnydale.”

****
Robin Wood opened his front door as soon as the familiar, impatient rap came. Spike strolled inside, his cocky smile unchanged by the grim faces that looked back at him. Leaning casually against the wall, he studied them, these friends of his who risked their lives to make his better.

Willow and Oz were cuddled together on the couch, the former looking pale and drawn, though collected, and the latter looking as impassive as every. Tara sat in an armchair, her frightened face tugging his heartstrings. Xander was looking at Anya in horror as she recounted the tales of the Order of Aurelius, and even the former demon appeared to be shocked and nervous. His gaze flicked to Cecily, who was fiddling with her ringlets as usual and looked totally unconcerned.

“Now that Spike is here, we can begin.” Robin Wood, Spike’s Watcher from the moment he was Chosen, stepped forward, the firelight darkening his chocolate-brown eyes to pools of endless black. “What do you know about the Order?”

Spike shrugged, straightening. Anya spoke up, staring blankly at her feet. “The Order of Aurelius is the Master’s line. They are notorious for their penchant for violence and pain, as well as for having killed more Slayers than other vampire lines combined. Faith, the Rogue Slayer, Kendra… The list goes on. And now they’re here. To kill Spike.”

Cutting off her anxious babbling, Wood jumped in. “They won’t succeed. Willow was the one who found out about this, she overheard it when searching for you last night, Cecily.” A scowl formed on the usually-still face.

“So, Red, tell us what you ‘eard before m’ bleedin’ heart explodes from the suspense.” Spike grinned at her in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, and she smiled hesitantly in return.

“Like Robin said, I was out looking for Cecily,” the girl sniffed scornfully at the mention of her name, “when I heard these two vamps talking. They said that Darla, Drusilla and some other guy whose name was Ang-something were to arrive tonight with the family baby and that the Slayer better watch his back.”

Willow abruptly shut up as she caught a look at Anya’s face. The girl who had before looked worried now looked as though she’d been frozen to her seat with terror.

“Anya? What’s wrong?” Wood’s deep, soothing voice seemed to bring her from her catatonic state.

“Darla, Drusilla and Angelus are the three vampires who were known as the Scourge of Europe. If those three want Spike dead, you’d better start planning his funeral.”

Tara whimpered quietly, Willow gasped, Xander paled and Wood fidgeted uncertainly. All eyes on him, Spike slowly shifted his weight so he was standing fully upright. His eyes cold and hard, he spoke softly into the tense silence.

“Well, we better give ‘em a good ole Sunnydale welcome, Slayer-style.”

Buffy stifled a groan as another sharp shard of metal pricked her palm. Ignoring the sting, knowing that the meagre supply of blood she was fed would allow such a tiny wound to heal quickly, she continued to file away at the distinctly thin-looking hinge of her cage door. The rasp had been a stroke of luck she’d lost hope in ever experiencing again after her turning.

When the minions left to carry her cage had lifted her over the rusted remains of a toolbox, the hard glitter of metal had caught her eye. Thanking the Powers That Be for the respite from her inhumane (and wasn’t that a joke?) lifestyle, she threw herself at the weakest minion, snarling savagely.

The cage had slammed to the floor and she’d grabbed the rasp, hiding it in the remains of the old sack she wore; Angelus had laughed when she’d defiantly told him that Angel had said she always looked beautiful, promptly ripping off the new clothes she’d been given and tossing her a dirty sack instead. The next time a comment like that had sprung to mind, she bit her tongue so hard it bled in order not to say it aloud.

As soon as dark had settled over the Hellmouth, Dru and Darla had vanished into the night to hunt. Angelus had stayed behind, obviously in a good mood judging by the amount of his ‘toys’ he had had carried to her dingy cell. That good mood had been his downfall.

She’d endured the first few minutes of his games, letting him slice through her dirty skin like butter without even flinching; she could take more pain than that, and he knew it. Her voice was hoarse from disuse, but she’d quickly given it a workout, taunting him as she hadn’t bothered to in years, little whispers of things she knew drove him crazy.

“Angel was a far better lover than you’ll ever be… I’ve never known a vamp to be such a screw-up as to stake his own sire over a Slayer before…”

Despite his previous delight in reaching the Hellmouth, his anger quickly overcame him. He was usually so in control of his emotions when he visited her, so scarily calm. This was the opening she’d been looking for for fourteen years, the moment of weakness. He’d lunged forward in a fit of wrath, the heated end of a poker sizzling as it struck the flesh on her lower back, his favourite spot. She hadn’t tried to stifle her yelp of pain as he wrenched open the manacles securing her to the back of the cage, though a cold, predatorial smile lit her face.

Grabbing the white-hot end of the poker, ignoring the searing pain in her hand as it burned her palm, she hauled it from his shock-numbed fingers. Swinging the weapon back as much as she could in the limited space, she had launched it with deadly accuracy to slam between his eyes. The smile twisted further up her lips at the dull, meaty thud of his skull fracturing.

Knowing he would be out for a while, she’d set to work finishing the job she’d started earlier. It was only a few hours from dawn when she finally kicked the door of her long-time prison open. Snatching the keys from Angelus’ waist, she hurriedly unlocked the door to her cell, not wasting any time in vamping out and letting her senses guide her to the exit.

Finding a minion there, she silently approached him, her eyes gleaming with feral intent. Grabbing both sides of his head with tiny hands, she twisted and let out a growl of satisfaction when she heard the pop of his spine snapping before he crumbled to dust. Weak but undaunted, Buffy stepped out into the cool air of the night of her own free will for the first time in fourteen years.

Feeling the vibrating beginnings of rage building in the ties that bonded her to her vampiric family, she ignored the demons urge to cower in deference, firmly shutting off the furiously pulsating links. Racing away from the dark building, she sprinted to the street, only pausing once to look behind her.

The few drops of borrowed blood suddenly felt heavy in her stomach. A short, petite figure stood at the gates of the old mansion, blonde hair floating about her head in the breeze.

“Darla!” The word was an angry whisper, remembered pain flicking dizzyingly in front of her eyes. Then the Slayer in her urged her to turn and run, to follow the first rule of Slaying. Don’t die.

On feet already bruised after years of minimal contact with rough surfaces, she turned and fled from that mocking, cruel figure. She could feel the golden eyes on her, knew the moment that her grandsire gave chase. The soles of her feet began to tear, at first only tiny cuts that were soon swallowed by larger rips.

Limping, frightened, angry and determined to be free, Buffy felt the first tingles at the back of her neck. Slayer! Cutting across a narrow street, she dived into an ally and skidded to a halt, staring at the back of the man walking away from her.

Even from a distance, he exuded a power and masculine sensuality that had both the vampire and the woman in her drooling. She knew the moment he sensed her, watched fascinated as the muscles in his back and neck tightened. Before she could check herself, a hoarse shout broke from her sore throat.

“Slayer! Help!”

****
Spike was bored. He’d visited to Bronze, only to see Cecily twined around another man, dancing provocatively. She’d caught his eye, smiling flirtatiously and beckoning him over with one slender finger. In a jealous fury, he’d turned and stormed back out the door, brushing aside Tara who’d come to comfort him.

It had happened before, Cecily flirting outrageously and obviously with other men just to make him jealous. Worked like a charm every fuckin’ time, too he thought angrily. Checking that the stake he lodged in his boot was still accessible, he stalked through the dark, twisting alleyways of Sunnydale’s demonic community.

It was the familiar tickle of his Slayer sense that first alerted him to the presence of a vampire. He stopped, hearing the muted pounding of feet on the stone that came to a sudden stop. The cry startled him and he swung around, suddenly feeling breathless.

He’d never thought angels existed before.

The vampire staring back at him was short, and despite the shapeless rag she wore he could tell she was thin to the point of looking starved. Her face was in its human guise, the dirt- and blood-streaked features combined in elegant harmony. Her cheeks were sunken in, making her green eyes seem huge and luminous in the murky darkness. Matted blonde hair hung lank and limp at her waist, her bare legs and arms caked in a sickening mixture of dried fluids he didn’t want to contemplate.

The hunger-bright eyes bored into his for a minute before suddenly she swayed on her feet. Without wondering why, he darted forward to catch her as she collapsed, the blood dripping from her torn feet. Her eyelids fluttered as she stared at him in wonder, croaking out a few words.

“Buffy Summers. Was the Slayer. Got my soul.”

And with that she fainted in his arms, looking for all the world like she’d just died. Again.

Robin Wood groaned as his dream pleasant dream, involving a brunette with a very talented tongue and, disturbingly, a redheaded vampire with equally talented hands, was suddenly torn away from him by a heavy pounding on his door. Throwing back the duvet, he slid his green, flannel robe over his black pyjamas and strode to the door, his scowl promising bad things for whoever had interrupted his rest.

Wrenching the door open, he gave a muttered ‘Holy shit!’ as his Slayer glared at him, his arms wrapped securely around the tiny, dirty woman in his arms. Wood felt his nostrils curl as the woman’s smell assaulted him, the reek of unwashed body, blood and other unknown bodily secretions seemingly not disturbing to the younger man. He stood back, motioning impatiently when Spike merely continued to wait. Then,

“You need to invite ‘er in.”

The Watcher spluttered. “What?! You want me to invite an unknown demon, unknown and potentially lethal vampire into my home? Are you insane?”

“Look, she said somethin’ ‘bout being a former Slayer, Buffy somethin’, still got a soul yadda yadda yadda. ‘m not gettin’ the dangerous tinglies from this one either. An’ it’s not like she can fight or anythin’. So, if you don’t mind…”

“Spike! Just because she says she’s a former Slayer, it doesn’t mean she is. And a soul? Please… Don’t you look at me like that, boy. Oh, for… Come in, vampire.” It was with a very obvious lack of grace that the tall man gave the invitation, but it worked nonetheless. Spike rushed through the door, noting that Wood discreetly locked it after him. A wise man, his Watcher.

Carrying his burden through to the spare bedroom he’d used before they rented his apartment, the Slayer gently settled the unconscious vampire on the hard desk chair, unwilling to dirty the sheets she’d be sleeping on. Rushing through to the bathroom, he slotted in the plug and started to water running, pouring a vanilla-scented bath oil into the water… Wait, vanilla-scented? Spike smirked. Got some explainin’ to do, Watcher.

Shaking his head, he darted back across the hall and settled himself on the end of the bed, examining the features of the woman slumped opposite him. It was obvious that she’d been starved, she weighed hardly anything even for someone her size, and she’d suffered terrible abuse, judging by the faint marks he could see covering her arms and legs. Strangely, her face was untouched, only grimy from what he assumed was days without washing.

His study was interrupted by the return of the dark-skinned man, who had a book clasped in his hand and frameless glasses perched on his wide nose. His eyes flicked from the blissfully unaware girl to the book, widening on about the third repetition.

“Good God…” he breathed, dropping the book negligently to the floor in a very un-Wood-like gesture. He dropped to his knees in front of the girl before, “I don’t believe it!” It was a reverent sigh, filled with awe and admiration.

“What?” Spike was getting irritated. He really didn’t like being left out of the loop for long. In answer, the tall Watcher motioned to the dropped book. Spike picked it up, scanning the paragraphs eagerly, before he too looked at the fainted vampire. His response was a lot louder and a lot more amused than Wood’s.

“Well bugger me. She was a Slayer after all.”

“Not just a Slayer, Spike. Arguably the best Slayer to ever live. She thwarted numerous apocalypses, she died twice before being turned and she disappeared fourteen years ago after her first lover reappeared in her life and they had a night of drunken passion together. Buffy Summers is a legend.”

They stared at the tiny slip of a woman in dawning horror as she shifted in her coma-like sleep, the tattered edge of her garment riding up to reveal bruising and barely-healed lacerations on her inner thighs, as well as a grossly swollen and infected, crude carving of the word ‘mine’ that decorated the top of her more intimate area. Spike fought down a wave of nausea as Wood rushed to the bathroom, turning off the running water before retching into the toilet, though he refused to throw up.

Gently lifting the fatigued body into his arms, Spike ferried her to the bathroom, passing her into Wood’s waiting embrace as he stripped the sack away from her body, making a mental promise to her to burn the cursed thing as soon as the chance arose. The thought was promptly forgotten under a wave of fury as he beheld her nude body.

Most of her torso, previously hidden by the scrap of rough material, was in worse shape than her feet. He heard Wood give a strangled curse, though his own tongue felt too clumsy with rage to move. Her ribs stood out in stark relief against her battered skin, so much so that he could see where one had healed badly after being broken. Her hipbones jutted out in a similar fashion, making what would have once been a lush, curved body into a study in angular hollows.

The worst came when he gently turned her around, his Watcher’s broad chest supporting her as he drew back the curtain of her greasy hair. Weeping lash-marks criss-crossed her flesh, probably torn open by her frantic flight; at the base of her spine, a long, thin stripe of blackened flesh told a tale of gory pain. Dropping her hair so it fell to cover the blue-black flesh of her shoulder blades, he scooped her back into his arms before lowering her into the water.

With gentle hands, he washed the tender flesh of her battered body, using the mildest soap he could find in Wood’s bathroom cabinet to wash her hollow, pain-ravaged face, noticing that she looked almost peaceful now, as though she knew she was safe. When they were done, he lathered shampoo in his hands before scrubbing it through her tangled hair. Rinsing her clean was a simple task after that, as she didn’t need to breathe and couldn’t drown, but when they finally removed her from the brown water, her injuries seemed even more severe against her clean skin.

Spike lifted her, bidding Wood a firm goodnight before closing the bedroom door with one foot. Settling her in the large bed, he stretched out on his side next to her, stroking her damp hair absently as he tried to put himself in her shoes, imagining fourteen years of never-ending agony. He knew, without a doubt, that it would’ve driven him mad. Whether she was psychologically well was something that was yet to be seen.

His breath caught when her eyelids suddenly flickered open, revealing glassy but still brilliant emerald irises to him, dilated with her hunger. He watched as her nostrils flared, the muscles that had tightened when she detected his presence only relaxing slightly when she realised who he was. Her voice was a harsh, weary croak.

“If you’re going to stake me, do it now before I have a chance to totally wig about it.”

He chuckled. “I’m not gonna stake you, luv. You’re the stuff Slayer legends ‘re made from.” Answering her unspoken question, he continued. “You’re at my Watcher’s house. ‘e can be a bit cold, but he’s a good bloke. ‘M Spike the Vampire Slayer. You’re Buffy. No need to talk, pet. You hungry?”

Suddenly aware that he was babbling, he abruptly shut up, cursing himself for the blush that rose in his pale cheeks. He dared a glance at her, only to find her eyes half-closed, her full lips turned up at the corners in an amused smile.

“Yeah, major pig-out required… Wait, you’re a guy?” She suddenly seemed to bite her lip, and he let a smirk slide onto his lips as she turned her head away from him in a mixture of shyness and embarrassment. Duh, Buffy, he’s only the hottest guy you’ve seen since… Ok, moving on. “I can wait; doubt you’ve got any of the red stuff at hand. Nice to… meet you, Spike.”

He smiled to himself as her voice trailed off, her eyes closing as she drifted into a healing sleep. Curling his body around hers, one arm snaking around her tiny waist, he gave a contented sigh and soon followed her.

Buffy slept for two days and halfway through a third before she began to show signs of waking. Spike, sat next to her on the bed, watched as her back arched away from the mattress with languid, unconscious sensuality, her lean muscles flexing as a soft purr rolled from her throat. A grin tugged at his lips; that was a part of vampiric nature the Council had never told him about, and he found it thoroughly adorable.

Her eyes slowly blinked open, the closed blinds making the residual glow of the hallway’s lamp the only source of light. It gleamed on her delicate skin, the marks that had before covered her entirety now fading after the first proper rest in years. She stared at him for a minute with a warm, satisfied smile on her face. Spike smiled back, reaching out a hand to brush away a lock of hair that had fallen across her face.

At the contact, she tensed and leaped backwards, only to fall to her knees, not noticing her nakedness. She hadn’t eaten for days, and her vision blurred as the demon focussed on the heady aroma filling the room: Slayer. Her mouth watered, her face automatically shifting as the purr changed to a menacing growl.

The tall youth stared at her version of a game face. The eerie, haunting silver of her eyes seemed softer than gold counterparts, and he marvelled at the smoothness of her brow. When she curled her pouting lips back on a snarl, he could see the dainty fangs. If it wasn’t for the dangerous grace that she seemed to radiate, he would’ve been reminded of an angry kitten.

Holding up his hands, he made an attempt at placating her. “Easy, pet. S’just me, remember? Spike.” Cautiously he extended the long, silk robe they’d bought her to wear for now.

A brief struggle that was displayed on her open face seemed to take place before her eyes faded to their normal green. She gave a wary but apologetic shrug as she slipped the cool material over her body, hiding it from his disappointed eyes. “Sorry. I’m hungry and you smell good. Um, in a ‘I want to eat you’ way. Or… or a ‘blood now’ way. I’m just going to shut up now.”

Spike grinned again. He bet that if she could blush, she would have been. “There’s blood in the fridge, luv. It’s human, from the hospital.”

Buffy followed him through Wood’s house, absorbing the simple yet comfortable furniture. A lump formed in her throat when she thought of her own home, but she swallowed around it and pushed the memories away. She regained control of her thoughts when the sudden, mouth-watering tang of blood filled the room. Without waiting for him to heat it, she gestured at Spike. He threw the bag and she caught it effortlessly, turning away from him before tearing into it.

The first touch of the cold liquid on her tongue was like heaven itself. A low, guttural moan of absolute rapture burst from her throat; Spike had to stifle the urge to think of her groaning like that in other situations. She devoured three more packets of blood before finally feeling full, her shrunken stomach gurgling to warn her that she’d make herself ill by gorging.

Embarrassed by her voracious appetite and pretty darn gross eating habits, she wiped the tiny trail of blood from her chin and shifted back to her human face before turning back to Spike. He was watching in amazement as the remaining wounds on her visible body parts healed before his eyes. When his questioning stare turned to hers, she let a half-smile curl her lips.

“They only fed me on pig’s blood twice a week. Human blood would’ve meant I healed quickly, and they couldn’t have that.”

Her still slightly husky voice wasn’t bitter, though it verged on being so, merely resigned. Turning, she made her way to the couch, Spike watching the gentle, womanly sway of her hips beneath the shimmering green silk of the robe. Clearing his throat, he moved to sit in an armchair near her, subtly bringing his duster to cover the impressive bulge forming in his now too-tight jeans.

Buffy cocked her head in a strangely animalistic gesture, her eyes curious as they rested on him for a long moment. “So, England? My Watcher was English.”

Spike smiled at her encouragingly. “Yeah, London. Moved to Sunnydale when I was Chosen, ‘cause of the-”

“-Hellmouth.” Buffy finished for him. Seeing his puzzled look, she continued. “It’s a notorious one, here. That’s why the Order…” Her voice trailed off, and he could almost see the barriers forming around her again. Desperate not to let her hide from him, though he couldn’t figure out why, he cast about wildly in his mind until he found a totally random topic.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

Startled by the change in subject, she stared at him for a moment before relaxing into the squishy couch with a moaning sigh that really didn’t help Spike’s problem. Giving him a grateful smile, she thought for a moment before replying, absently twirling a long strand of hair around her finger.

“Green, I think. What about you?”

“Well, pet, never really thought ‘bout it before. Guess it’d be either black or red. ‘M not sure.” He gave a lopsided grin and a shrug.

“Black isn’t a colour! It’s a shade.” She rolled her eyes in a look that screamed ‘Duh!’ He couldn’t help but chuckle; she looked so cute with her nose all scrunched up and a mock-frown on her pretty face, her lips turned down in an irresistible pout. Yeah, her lips…

Buffy giggled at the glazed look on his face, before she spoke again. “What about family? Friends? Do you have any over here? Family, I mean, ‘cause I’m sure you’ve got tons of friends. Um, yeah.” She ducked her head and peeked at him from under her eyelashes and he laughed again.

“No family over here, but ‘ve got some close friends who’re like my family. They’re comin’ over later, actually. Haven’t seen ‘em for a while. What about you?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to bite his tongue, closing his eyes in mortification. Stupid git, ‘course she wants to talk ‘bout her bleedin’ family. They’ve only kept ‘er locked up ‘n’ tortured for the last decade. Opening his eyes, he saw the sudden sad wistfulness and the anguish on her face and felt ten times worse.

“My… my human family live in LA. Just my mom and my sister, Dawnie. The others, they don’t really have a home. Wherever the best hunting grounds are, they go.” She laughed bitterly. “And I don’t have any friends. Not anymore.”

Spike darted forwards, settling into the couch beside her and drawing her into his lap, cradling her against his strong chest as she shook with silent tears. He petted and stroked her hair, murmuring soothing nonsense under his breath as they rocked back and forth. Just as she began to calm, they both jumped as a shrill, angry squeal tore through the room.

“Just what do you think you’re doing with my boyfriend?”

Buffy jumped up, her eyes lightening to cold silver as she growled. With a burst of preternatural speed, Cecily was pinned against the wall, one tiny hand clamped around her throat. Looking down into the face of the vampire, she shrieked, the volume of her captor’s growl increasing as she winced. Spike leaped to the rescue, pulling the startled girl gently away from his whimpering girlfriend.

Cecily immediately flew into his arms, cooing praises and laying into him for taking so long by turns. The high-pitched tirade made a now human-looking Buffy clap her hands over sensitive ears, her eyes squeezing shut in an effort to block out the noises. When she reopened them, it was to find the Slayer with one pale hand clamped over his face, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Cecily stared down her nose at the thin, shorter woman, giving a derisive sniff. Seeing the anger flicker in the stranger’s green eyes, she smirked and wound a possessive hand around her boyfriend’s waist, pressing herself against him as she sneered triumphantly at the vampire, her pretty face twisted by malice.

“Spikey, why is that… thing in here? And why haven’t you staked it yet?”

Just as Spike started to explain, Buffy spoke up, her soft voice burning with menace. “I’m not a ‘thing’. I’m a vampire. Thought you would’ve known that by now, with a Slayer as a boyfriend and all. Or does all that bleach damage your brain cells, princess? And I’m in here because I was invited, which is more than I can say for you.”

Cecily flushed, one hand shooting up to stroke her blonde curls defensively. Her fine brows snapped down into a dark frown as she reached up and placed a loud kiss on Spike’s cheekbone. For a moment the vampire stared at the spot, a dreamy glaze over her eyes. Oh yeah, those cheekbones…

The Slayer, finally in control of his mirth, cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Buffy, this is Cecily Adams, my girlfriend. Cecily, this is Buffy Summers. She used to be a Slayer, but she was turned. Means she kept ‘er soul, pet, which is why she’s ‘ere.”

Remembering the scene when she first arrived for the planned Scooby meeting, Cecily wrinkled her nose in disgust before flouncing to the armchair furthest from the couch Buffy had reclaimed. She patted the armrest next to her, but Spike waved her offer away and slouched next to the former Slayer instead. When she was sure he wasn’t looking, the shorter woman sent a predatorial, toothy smile in the direction of the chair.

The uncomfortable silence was broken by the slamming of the front door. Spike and Cecily turned to look, but Buffy only inhaled the new scent: A musty, like old books, but darkly powerful. The Watcher, what was his name? Wood. Yeah, that was right. He greeted them with a nod, strolling into the kitchen to make hot chocolate.

As the silence fell again, more relaxed this time, Buffy found her eyes closing. The breathing that happened automatically when she was awake slowed, her body curling into a small ball. The background hum of her human companions’ blood combined with her full stomach lulling her into a drowsy state of contentment.

Five minutes later, Buffy was sleeping lightly, twitching as the beginnings of nightmares flickered across her face. Cecily was preening in the mirror above the fireplace. Wood was settled in a chair pilfered from the dining room, staring reflectively into the flames. Spike was watching the sleeping vampire, his eyes softening as he traced her features with a tender glance.

The loud knock on the door made them all jump, Wood cursing as he spilled cocoa over his hand. Cecily gave a sigh of disappointment; she’d hoped the Scoobs would’ve forgotten the meeting. Spike merely straightened as his Watcher went to open the door. Buffy was jerked in wakefulness by cheerful voices as the gang of teens filed into the room.

Her nostrils flared, her mouth watering as the sound and scent of their blood suddenly overwhelmed her. It had been a while since she had been near a crowd of humans, and the hunger that darted through her gave her a vague sense of shamed nausea. She tuned back into the conversation, only to shift nervously as she realised that all eyes were on her.

“This is Buffy Summers, the former Slayer. Buffy, this is Willow…”

A redheaded girl in the corner waved, grinning at her with friendly eyes. The residual, ozone-like aroma of magic hung over her, as well as the faint trace of a more masculine scent emanating from the silent boy at her side.

“…Oz…”

The stocky boy sitting beside Willow nodded at her, intelligence gleaming in his steady eyes. Buffy’s nostrils flared as the hairs on the nape of her neck rose, a nearly silent growl rumbling in her throat. The wild, heavy musk of a werewolf lay strongly on him, and she nodded to him in response, one predator to another.

“…Tara…”

Dark, mournful brown eyes met hers for a second before shyly darting away. A reassuring smile stretched her lips, and she was pleased to see an answering one on Tara’s lips. This one, too, smelled of magic, though hers was a softer, more subtle trace.

“…Xander…”

The dark-haired boy shifted nervously, looking both repulsed and fascinated. His unease made her restless, but she smiled to herself when his gaze dropped to her chest and he gawped before a whack on the arm diverted his attention to the girl at his side, who glared at him.

“…and Anya.” Spike finished, pointing at Xander’s attacker.

Buffy cocked her head, grinning when the bouncy blonde turned to her with a dazzlingly beatific smile. “Hi! Did you get paid to be a Slayer, ‘cause Spike bullied the Council into it and now he makes lots of money. I’d have sex with him, but humans get offended so easily and I have Xander to give me orgasms.”

The vampire blinked slowly, trying to process what she’d heard as Xander turned deep red, shaking his head sorrowfully. Buffy curled up slightly tighter, nervously chewing on her lip as the meeting continued, only half awake. The voices faded from her mind as she slipped back into slumber, not seeing the fond smiles bestowed on her by Spike and Tara.

When the door closed quietly on the last of the Scoobies she mewled in her sleep, snuggling back against the broad chest of the man carrying her. Spike froze as she purred in satisfaction, her angelic features glowing softly with her contentment. Laying her on the bed, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before exiting the room, casting a glance back at the sprawled figure of the sleeping vampiress.

In her dreams, she was alone again. Well, alone but for the blurred figures of her tormentors. She growled, baring her fangs in warning, struggling in her chains when they only laughed. Angelus stepped closer, and though she couldn’t see his face, she knew it was him.

Suddenly he was there, slamming her back into the wall so hard that her vision clouded and a dull roaring sounded in her ears. When she regained full awareness, it was a sharp stab of pure panic that made her thrash wildly. She could feel him, hard thighs crushing hers as he rammed into her with brutal force, his cock tearing her tender skin as his hands squeezed tighter and tighter on her wrists…

With a sharp gasp, she shot up in bed, frantically trying to free her hands. A loud rip shook the nightmare’s last hold on her away, and she looked down to see the torn sheets lying around her, tangled from where she’d obviously been squirming in her sleep. Closing her eyes, she took in a deep, unnecessary breath, trying to calm herself.

Feeling more in control, Buffy stretched, wincing as the muscles only now fully healed gave her a resentful twinge of pain. Grimacing at her lack of fitness, she hopped out of bed, rolling her shoulders experimentally as she rifled through the closet. It was early morning, the sky still dark, though it didn’t bother her as she wandered towards the door to the training room she’d seen briefly yesterday.

Pushing open the door, she stopped short at what she saw before grinning. Though other, much more fun, apparatus called to her, she headed for a punching bag; stripping down to the sport’s bra she’d been brought she began a series of gentle stretches to warm up her muscles.

When she felt suitably limber, she moved to stand facing the bag, falling into a fighting stance with a familiarity that made her smile wistfully. For a moment she was still, before one fist lashed out with deadly precision. The bag dutifully swung away, only to be pounded by her other fist on its return.

And so it went, her cold body warming as the work-out continued, though she didn’t sweat. She started out slowly, using only her arms to alternate between blocks and strikes. After a few minutes the remaining tension in her muscles began to drain as the familiar patterns came back to her, her body remembering even though her mind was unsure.

About half an hour after starting her training, she began to include kicks and more complicated footwork, the silence of the morning only broken by her grunts and the thud of her flesh on the bag. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice Wood slip quietly into the room, watching her with expert eyes.

Picking up the pace, she began to circle the bag, her movements so quick they seemed almost to blur into one fluid dance. Step, block, step, strike, kick, retreat… The rhythm came easily now, her weight shifting with perfect timing as she closed her eyes in preparation for the finale. As the bag swung towards her, she flipped backwards, her hands lightly touching the floor as her weakened muscles protested. Her legs struck outwards to propel her over, smacking into the bag and ripping it from its wire as she landed.

Applause drew her from her peaceful satisfaction and she spun, dropping into a practiced crouch before relaxing as she saw the Watcher. In silence their gazes met and he offered her the hilt of a light foil, a dull practice sword. Swinging it experimentally, she shrugged and retreated to the centre of the room, hesitating for a minute before holding the ‘en guarde’ position.

Wood smiled to himself. Spike rarely fenced, as he preferred hand-to-hand combat, getting up close and personal with his enemy. It was a chance for him to both test her skills and to give himself a workout too. Crossing blades with her in the cheesy, time-honoured movie tradition, he worked his sword against hers and spoke over the screech of angry metal.

“Begin.”

Instantly he lunged, half of him ready to pull back and the other half ready to sweep her head from her neck should she try to harm him. She parried, giving him a narrow-eyed smile that momentarily chilled his blood. Then he rallied himself, beginning the dance as silver flashed between them like live snakes seeking the perfect moment to bite.

Buffy didn’t let it show, but she was hard-pushed to keep up with him. Wood was obviously a master and she was tired from her earlier exertions. Only her superior strength and honed instincts were keeping her from losing. Feeling herself flagging, she skipped back, intending to give herself a moment’s rest.

Seeing his chance, Wood darted forwards just as Buffy lifted her foot to step back into the fray. His heavier body crashed into hers, the point of his sword scoring her ribs as she twisted with vampiric agility, turning hers away. They toppled to the floor, his tall frame crushing hers as she groaned, feeling the sting of the cut on her side.

Buffy looked up into glittering eyes, seeing the flash of white against brown as he grinned at her. Smiling weakly in response, she braced her palms against his chest and pushed, only to find that her arms had given up and she felt as weak as a kitten again. About to speak, she blinked in shock as Wood suddenly vanished from her sight, to be replaced with an angrily scowling Slayer as he took in her limp, exhausted state.

“Um, oops?”

Spike rolled his eyes, his hand gentle as he pulled her to her feet. She swayed, leaning against him for support. Their eyes met, and he felt his mouth grow dry as her eyes darkened to stormy jade. He almost groaned as her pink tongue swept out to moisten her lips, bending to do the job for her, his arms twining around her waist as her hands buried themselves in his soft hair, their lips getting closer and closer…

“Ahem.”

Wood’s subtle-as-a-sledgehammer cough made the couple jump. Spike flushed guiltily as he remembered Cecily, stepping quickly away from the blonde vampiress, who bit her lip to stop herself reaching for him again. The Watcher smirked, leaving the room with a last warning glance at his Slayer. Buffy spoke without looking away from the floor, which was suddenly fascinating.

“I’m gonna… shower… go. Yeah, bye!” She darted out the door, leaving the Slayer to adjust his aching erection, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. Oh yeah, he knew who he’d be dreaming about tonight.

As he settled into bed, Spike allowed his eyes to drift shut. An image swam into focus, a scantily clad, now miraculously curvy Buffy. Her eyes fluttered shut as he felt the cool tickle of her breath on his lips, remembering the way her hands felt as they ran through his hair. Sleep claimed him, and suddenly he was back in the training room…

****

Still weak from her workout, Buffy swayed into him, bracing her slender form against his chest. Their eyes met, and he felt his mouth grow dry as her eyes darkened to stormy jade. He groaned as her pink tongue swept out to moisten her lips, bending to do the job for her, his arms twining around her waist as her hands buried themselves in his soft hair, their lips getting closer and closer…

The first touch was electric, the tentative pressure she applied at first not nearly enough to satisfy him. With a deep moan, he pulled her flush against him, one hand sliding down her back and under her thigh, lifting it to hook around his hips. Then it slipped back up, caressing the smooth globe of her ass as he ground her against him.

She was whimpering quietly, and at the first touch of his tongue on her lips they parted for him. With languid strokes he explored the inside of her mouth, the passion that had been burning inside of him since he first set eyes on her roaring into life. Never letting his lips part from hers, he freed his other hand from her waist and hoisted her up.

Slender but strong legs wrapped around him in a crushing hold, the subtle rocking rhythm she’d established driving him insane with want. Still carrying her, he stumbled backwards, blindly tumbling them to the soft, welcoming surface of the thick training mats. The force of impact jolted her against his erection, and they both gasped in fevered delight at the contact.

She was laying on top of him now; her legs were splayed one on either side of his hips, her pelvis still writhing erotically on his. Groaning, he rolled them over and captured her tiny wrists in his hands, smirking at her as he pinned them firmly to the mat over her head. His free hand reached around, one finger trailing over the sensitive nape of her neck until she arched into him and his eyes narrowed in triumph.

With swift fingers he unclasped her bra, pulling it away from her body as he sat up. Buffy stared back at him, green eyes dark and pupils dilated with her desire, unashamed of her nudity. The sight took his breath away. Her small but firm breasts seemed made to fit his palms, and he revelled in her needy moan as he rolled one raspberry-pink nipple between his fingers.

Watching her face, her kiss-swollen lips parted on a sigh that could have been his name, he waited until her eyes flipped open to meet his. His voice was a deep, husky murmur that seemed to travel in a bolt of desire from her ears to her nipples to her clit.

“Watch me.”

With a hungry smile, he swooped down and captured one hard bud in his mouth, his tongue flicking it mercilessly as she cried out and squirmed in pleasure. His fingers caressed its twin, pinching firmly as he bit down on the nipple captured in his hot mouth, the edge of pain making her keen her desperation.

Pulling back, he blew over her damp skin, the borrowed warmth of his mouth suddenly icy-cold against her cool flesh. The temperature difference made her shudder, heady desire coursing through her veins. He traded off, holding the neglected peak in his mouth before repeating his actions.

By the time he was finished, she was gasping and writhing, and although his nose was only human, he could smell the sweet tang of her arousal. His erection surged against the zipper of his jeans, and he groaned as she suddenly sat up, reaching for the fastenings on his too-tight clothing with eager hands.

As soon as the zipper was halfway down, his cock leapt into her hand, the coolness of her skin against his fiery heat making his head spin. Suddenly they were roughly flipped over, and his hands were fastened to the legs of a nearby vaulting horse with the silk rags he used to clean his weaponry.

His eyes shot up to hers where she straddled him, his breath catching as she slowly, deliberately raised her arms and piled her golden hair atop her head, a feminine gesture that lifted her breasts invitingly. He struggled, some primal need driving him to feel her under his fingers, but she merely laughed and shook her head.

Then his jeans were ripped away, the momentary friction on his legs making him bite his lip against the flash of pain. It was mixed with absolute pleasure the next minute as she leaned down, her cool, wet mouth engulfing the raging heat of his cock. Closing his eyes, he tried to think of something, anything, to distract him, but he yelped in pain when her nails dug into his stomach, his eyes flying open. It was his undoing.

Seeing her there, eyes smouldering, pouting lips wrapped firmly around him, was too much. With a yell of wonderful release, he thrust his hips sharply upwards, almost whining with delight as he felt her throat convulse as she swallowed his spendings. She eased away, her tongue darting out to caress her lips.

He felt himself hardening again (thank God for dreams!), and then she was naked, sinking down onto him in one smooth stroke and holy fuck he’d never felt anything like it. It was cool and smooth and so fucking tight he thought he’d explode. Then she started to move, using him to get herself off without a thought as to his pleasure, which only made him hotter.

She shifted, leaning forwards and bracing her hands on his chest, her nails fiery little points of exquisite pain as they marked him as hers. Then he hit a spot inside of her that made her cry out, her hips rolling forwards and down as her eyes met his. He could feel her muscles begin to flutter around him, could feel the stretched entrance to her core gripping him.

Leaning his head to the side, he watched her eyes glow silver as her fangs dropped. As her orgasm rocked through her, making her clench so tightly around his cock it was almost painful, she bit into his flesh and began pulling shallow draughts of blood from his neck.

The combination of the hot pleasure of impending orgasm and the sharp pain of her bite raced through across his nerves, and then he was coming, coming so hard it felt like he she was draining his life and absorbing it into herself. Aftershocks still shuddered through him as she sat up, eyes still gleaming with feral pleasure, lips stained red. She wiped her finger across her lips, piercing it with her fang so her blood mixed with his before offering it to him. His eyes never leaving hers, he began to suck as she gave a hauntingly savage roar of triumph, a phrase buried in the primal claim. that made his tremble in ecstacy.

“I love you.”

****
The shriek of the alarm clock woke him the next morning, and he rolled over in bed. A grimace twisted his lips at the cold, slimy wetness over his groin and hips and he closed his eyes in defeat. He hadn’t lost control in his sleep since he was sixteen. A smile lifted his mouth as he rose to clean up. If reality was anything like the dreams, he was in for one hell of a ride.

It had been three weeks since Buffy’s rescue, and her once-emaciated body was lush and curved. Her toned muscles rippled with strength, and she’d managed to keep her mealtimes private, so much so that some of the Scoobs often forgot she was a vampire.

Halfway through her second week, Willow and Tara had come looking for her, finding her staring into an empty mirror longingly, fingering the messy strands of her waist-length hair. They’d spirited her away that evening, taking her to a specialist salon Anya had recommended from her demon days.

A very enthusiastic demon with purple skin and blue hair named Simeon (“Call me Sidders, cupcake, everybody does.”) had squawked angrily over her hair, tutting when he caught sight of her unplucked eyebrows and generally lamenting her appearance. In a whirlwind of frantic energy, she’d had her hair washed and then all she heard for over an hour was the metallic ‘snip’ of scissors.

When Sidders had finished, he’d dampened her hair again and began sectioning it out. Mixing a colour (“It’s a pale blonde, toots, you’ll adore it!”) was quick work, and he chatted busily to her as he began slathering the paste on select parts of her hair, almost seeing as though he wasn’t looking at her hair at all.

While the colour set, he’d brandished a pair of tweezers under her nose and proceeded to remove painful amounts of excess hair from her brow. Then he’d unwrapped her hair, washed it again and blow-dried it. Waving a Polaroid camera, he’d snapped a few shots and handed them to her with a flourish.

Her hair, previously dark blonde and not styled, merely clinging to her waist, was a thing of the past. Now waves of honey blonde tumbled to just below her shoulders, streaked with a paler gold that made her eyes seem vibrantly alive. Her brows were fine, arched lines in her shocked face; she looked so different from she ever had before, sexy and mature in a way she hadn’t felt for years.

Coming home just before dawn, she’d discovered where Anya had been all day. Her closet was stuffed with new clothes, from floral summer dresses to elegantly vixenish miniskirts. She almost wept when she found the pair of leather trousers, her favourite outfit during her time as the living Slayer.

That night they were to go to the Bronze, Sunnydale’s local club. Oz’s band, Dingoes Ate My Baby, were playing and the gang were going to have a fun-filled night together. Buffy had been invited to join them, and though she’d felt nervous before, the new clothes and look gave her a confidence she’d thought lost.

It was eight o’clock that evening, and the Scoobies with the exception of Cecily and Oz were gathered in Wood’s living room, waiting for the vampiress. Spike rose, heading for her door to urge her to hurry when it swung open. Hearing Xander’s choked gurgle of surprised lust from behind him, he swallowed noisily at the vision she presented.

The leather trousers clung to her full hips and slender legs, looking almost as though they were a second skin as she shifted shyly, her gentle movements strangely erotic. A soft, silky red top cut with a diagonal bottom showed the tiniest flash of tight skin, the halter neck emphasising the womanly curve of her breasts modestly. The back was low enough to almost be indecent, but a thin gold chain ran from the nape of her neck down her spine to connect the two halves of the top.

Strappy red shoes gave her an added inch of height, her hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. Spike wondered if she’d thought of him when she dressed in his favourite colours, trying not to whimper as her eyes met his. Make-up turned her dazzlingly green eyes smoky and darkly sultry, as well as making her full lips shiny and blood red.

All female heads swivelled in the direction of the front door when it banged open, Wood’s following a moment later. After Buffy’s unconscious display of subtle sexuality, Cecily’s outfit and manner was a disappointing and almost slutty contrast.

Her bright blonde hair was down and tightly curled, her body wrapped in a tight, shiny red mini-dress that barely brushed the tops of her thighs and dipped perilously low at the neck. Knee-high boots with dangerously high stiletto heels clicked as she strutted through the door, her ridiculously lavishly painted face set in an angry frown when she realised that she wasn’t the centre of attention her entrance was supposed to make her.

Chatting amongst themselves, Spike, Cecily and Buffy settled down in a dark corner of the Bronze, watching the band before Oz’s play, their raggedly sexy, street-urchin-like singer caressing the microphone as her hypnotic voice worked its magic on the dancers, Willow, Tara, Anya and Xander dancing with the rest. Cecily poked Spike hard in the thigh, his head shooting around, his eyes narrowed in irritation.

“Why are you staring at that? She’s not even pretty. Just because she dresses and acts like a slut.” Her whiny voice grated on his last nerve as Buffy’s head whipped around, her face tight with suppressed fury.

Remembering his dream about the petite blonde, he snarled angrily. “Don’t you talk about ‘er like that again! She’s not half the tart you are.”

Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes widened. What the bloody hell are you playin’ at, mate? That’s your sodding girlfriend. Buffy smiled to herself as she heard his words, watching in satisfaction as Cecily gasped before jumping up and flouncing onto the dance floor, intent on driving the Slayer mad with jealousy.

Nervously the vampiress sidled closer to the bleach-blonde, twisting her fingers and chiding herself silently. After all, the worst he could do was reject her, right? Spike noticed her agitated shifting, smiling and patting the seat beside him invitingly. Buffy returned his smile, slipping into the chair with a grateful sigh.

“She knows you didn’t mean it. She’ll be back soon enough, don’t worry. She won’t find anyone better look-” She abruptly cut off, looking down and biting her lip, cursing herself for a fool. Why was she defending Cecily, anyway? She was a bitch, unworthy of the love of a creature so sensual and fiercely loyal as the Slayer.

Spike grinned. She thought he was good-looking! Just as he leaned down to whisper in her ear, she turned her head. Their gazes met, hers startled before becoming clouded by confusion as his darkened. He watched her eyes blink slowly shut, the whisper of her silent pants on his lips reminding him suddenly of the dream.

Growling forcefully, he crushed his lips to hers. Her hand shot to his hair, tangling in the platinum locks as he tilted her head back, opening her lips with his own as he plundered her mouth. Buffy thought she was going to melt. His lips were at once soft and demanding against her own, his hot tongue stroking her into a frenzy.

His moan as the kiss deepened suddenly alerted her to the fact that she, a vampire, was not only kissing the Slayer in public, but that said Slayer also had a girlfriend. She was an annoying, unworthy cow, but she was still his girlfriend. Tearing her lips away, she closed her eyes as he panted for breath.

Spike stared as she jumped up. “I… We can’t. Cecily.”

Buffy fled into the crowd, too worked up from the kiss to recognise the predatory blonde following her every movement with golden eyes. It wasn’t until she crashed headlong into a broad chest that a familiar scent hit her, bringing with it a wave of loathing and mind-numbing terror. She looked up into Angelus’ smiling face.

“Hello, cutie. Come to Daddy.”

Before she could resist, his arms swept around her in a bruising hold; if she’d needed to breathe, she would have suffocated. As it was, she struggled wildly as his hands ran over her breasts and ass possessively, gripping her curves with a painful hold. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, idly blocking her knee as it rose aimed at his crotch.

“Now now Buffy. Look over my shoulder.”

Furious at her weakness, she did as he commanded and gave a low groan of despair. His hands and feet forced her to move against him in an openly sexual dance, the heat of his erection against her stomach making her gag silently. Suddenly he spun her around, pulling her hips back and grinding her ass against his cock as he spoke again.

“One wrong move, little Buffy, and she’s toast. Just think what the Slayer would say then. His girlfriend would be dead and it would be all your fault. So listen carefully…”

He proceeded to murmur instructions into her ear, nuzzling at her siring scar. Revulsion swept through her as her body automatically responded, a rush of wetness between her thighs making her grit her teeth against the pleasant sensations. She cast her eyes over Cecily once more, seeing Darla’s maliciously grinning face as the two blondes danced together. It was no use; by the time she reached them, Darla would have drained Cecily dry.

She stumbled as Angelus suddenly pushed her away, smirking as she spun to face him. “Don’t forget our meeting, Buff.” With lightning speed, he lunged forwards and elbowed her in the temple. Her vision blurred as she swayed, dropping to her knees. When she finally regained her senses, he’d vanished into the heaving mass of sweaty bodies around her, and Cecily and Darla were nowhere to be seen.

Buffy paused, looking back at the silent apartment building she’d left in the distance. The clocks had struck midnight a few minutes ago; it was prime time for vampire activity. After they’d come home from the Bronze last night, nobody had missed Cecily. It was mutually decided that she’d left for home in a strop, and was now ignoring them.

Of course, they couldn’t be further from the truth. Angelus had made it clear to her last night just what would happen if she were to reveal the girl’s true location. So, as she’d been told, she’d left Wood’s home alone, though she’d packed a stake and a few bottles of holy water as a precaution.

Somewhere in the darkest part of herself, Buffy knew there was no way she could pull this off. She couldn’t rescue Cecily and save herself as well, but everyone had to make sacrifices for the ones they lo- cared about. Spike obviously wanted the idiot, he was her boyfriend, and so she needed to be saved.

Gripping the stake more firmly, she slid a small hand into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around the glass bottle there. Looking up at the mansion towering over her, she gulped down a wave of nausea. Silent, she shifted into game face and scanned the doors for any sign of life, or unlife as the case was.

A single guard slouched in the shadows under the overhang; a little shudder of fear darted down her spine. Her family were planning something. She just hoped she could free Cecily before they brought her down. No She could do this. She would do this.

Stealthily creeping up behind the lazing guard, she plunged the stake with brutal accuracy into his back. He crumbled to dust without a sound, and she pushed the door open warily. Partially opening the ties that bonded her to her vampiric family, she was surprised to find that they hadn’t noticed her presence, until she realised just what they were doing to occupy themselves.

Quivering with revulsion, she slammed the bonds shut. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled the musty, damp scent of the old house. She almost gagged on the scent of fear combined with Cecily’s dry, bitter perfume. Following her nose, she prowled the hallways of the mansion, pushing down the sense of dread that was threatening to swallow her whole.

Finding the door marked strongly with the girl’s scent, she reached out a trembling hand and pushed lightly. The foreboding terror increased when it swung open, hinges creaking like some cheesy horror movie. Stepping inside, she relaxed when she saw Cecily, only to tense again. She was so still, and her heartbeat sounded so weak.

Rushing across the room, she wrenched the old chains away with her bare hands, deftly catching the teenager as she collapsed away from the wall. Buffy felt sick when she saw the twin puncture wounds in her neck, the stink of Drusilla’s bite making her shudder. Lowering the unconscious girl to the floor, she tapped her gently on the face.

Slowly Cecily’s eyes opened, drifting in and out of focus. Just as she was about to speak, Buffy’s head snapped up. Her ears strained, catching the faint sound of maniacal giggles approaching, as well as the deep murmur of a familiar male voice. Hoisting the weak girl to her feet, the vampiress did the only thing she could.

The crack of her palm on Cecily’s cheek echoed in the small room. The ringleted head swivelled, the eyes snapping with awareness as she squealed with fury. Buffy heard the footsteps suddenly pause before breaking into a sprint. Shutting her eyes against the dark wave of panic, she pushed the angry girl out the door and shoved the stake into her hand with a snarled ‘Run!’

As Cecily fled, sensing something was wrong and too afraid to stay and ask about it, Buffy darted towards the door. She raced through the hallways, hearing those footsteps behind her like the tolling of a bell. They seemed to say ‘Doomed… doomed!’ Biting back a sob of anguish, she spun to face her followers.

Angelus smiled at her silkily, stroked the long whip he held in one meaty fist. “Hello, Buff. Long time no see.” His voice was a cruel purr, husky with the anticipation of her pain.

“Not long enough.” Her reply was acid-sharp.

“But you’re part of the family, Buffy. We miss you. Don’t you want to come home?”

Buffy’s hand slid into her pocket, grasping the bottle of holy water. As her sire’s arm flew back to strike, she jumped sideways and threw the container, smiling coldly when it connected with his cheek. The acrid stench of burning flesh reached her as he howled in fury. Not waiting for him to recover, she spun and ran straight into a waiting Drusilla.

“Naughty girl, mustn’t run. Daddy wants to play with you.”

Buffy jumped back, cursing herself. She’d been so focussed on Angelus, she hadn’t noticed Dru approaching her. Her ‘sister’ clapped and hummed deliriously as he stepped menacingly towards her, his burned cheek turning his handsome face into the picture venom.

“Shouldn’t have done that, Buff.”

That was the last thing she heard before Drusilla’s elbow connected with the base of her skull, driving her to her knees. The whip lashed out, catching her cheek with a stinging blow before wrapping around her neck. She fought in vain as she was dragged towards the face that haunted her nightmares, smiling coldly down at her. Then another blow struck her temple and she fell into merciful darkness.

****

Cecily had started running as soon as she’d been pushed roughly out the door. Luckily for her, she encountered nobody on her way out of the mansion. She paused once, thinking she’d heard a faint laugh that sent chills cascading down her spine, but she put a finger on the red handprint on her cheek before her eyes narrowed and she carried on running.

Seething, she fled into the street and started for Wood’s house. That bitch, who does she think she is? She can’t slap me and get away with it. I’ll show her. Slowing to a leisurely walk, she took a moment to muss her curls and fiddle with the scabs on her neck until they began oozing blood again.

Then she staggered to the Watcher’s door, falling in a heap on the doorstep as she knocked feebly against the wood. The door opened almost immediately, a worried Spike peering out before catching sight of her. Gasping, he dragged her inside and slammed the door shut. She hugged him fiercely, smirking in triumph when he asked her who’d done it.

“It was Buffy, Spikey. Buffy tried to kill me.”

Buffy hung limply in her chains. It had been five days since she’d freed Cecily and sacrificed herself. After the third day, she’d given up any hope of rescue. Either the girl hadn’t told them, or they didn’t think she was worth the risk. Now, battered and beaten, she was close to breaking point.

After the last few weeks with Spike and the Scoobies, the sudden return of her pain was more than devastating. The tortures she’d been subjected to in her last years of captivity were milder and milder as they became bored of her; fresh means of making her pay had been contrived after her unexpected escape.

She lifted her head weakly at the sound of the door opening, suddenly feeling icily cold when she heard the rattle of Angelus’ toys against their tray. The door slammed behind him and he moved into her line of sight. Before, when she’d had the strength, she’d fought and taunted him. Now, she just wanted it to end.

“Hey Buff, you’re not looking so good. How about a drink of water?”

Her eyes widened, stinging as the air hit their dry surfaces. He’d only done this once before, but the remembered pain was enough to make her whimper quietly. She’d woken the first time to find herself naked and chained to the wall, barely able to touch the floor. When a cup of water had pressed against her lips, she’d automatically swallowed a trickle.

Instantly her throat was on fire with the most searing agony she’d ever felt. Her hands had fought frantically to clutch her stomach and chest to no avail as the holy water dribbled down. Her whole body shuddered with painful spasms, his roar of laughter going unheard as she screamed, making the pain of her raw throat increase tenfold.

As he approached with a cup held firmly in his hand, she tried to struggle, but she was too weak. Stilling, she watched him approach, squinting to keep him in focus. She had to get the timing perfect. As he raised the glass to her lips, she snapped her head forwards, slamming her shoulders into him.

She felt and heard the wrenching pop of her arm dislocating, but ignored the pain and watched him rise to his feet, his face suddenly contorted into a savage smile. He turned his back to her, sauntering over to his tray of toys as she groaned, feeling the sting of the spilled holy water as it sent fiery pain racing along her nerves.

A hand gripped her chin and she felt the bones of her jaw creak in protest. Looking up into coldly insane eyes, she whimpered again. In one hand her sire held a long-bladed knife with a wickedly serrated edge. In the other a cattle prod hissed and sparked in promise.

“Not thirsty then, Buff? Alright, let’s play.”

****

Five days. That was how long it had been since Buffy attacked Cecily and ran away. He was still in shock; some part of him refused to believe that she’d do such a thing. Even he, however, had to acknowledge the evidence. Buffy was missing, and Cecily bore all the marks of a vampire attack.

By mutual agreement, nobody had gone into the vampiress’ room to clean out her things. On the morning of the fifth day, though, the Slayer decided it was time to bite the bullet. Rising silently in the early morning, he stood outside her door for a long moment, remembering how she’d looked when she first came out, dressed to go to the Bronze.

It was shocking how much he missed her. He hadn’t realised how he looked forward to seeing her every morning, how her quietly affectionate smiles had brightened his day. He missed watching her sleep those nights when he had to sneak into her room to check she was still here, missed the adorable pout she used when she couldn’t get her way.

Taking a deep, steadying breath and ignoring the curious ache in his chest, he stepped into her room. Her special scent immediately assaulted him, vanilla, flowers and something uniquely Buffy. His eyes closed against the angry tears that stung his eyes at her betrayal; she’d played him for a fool.

Pushing his emotions down until he felt numb and cold, he began methodically packing away her possessions, surprised at the sheer volume of things she’d left behind. It wasn’t until he reached her desk that he had to stop and bite back his temper again. There was a picture Willow had taken a few nights before her escape on the desk. She was sitting next to him, both of them grinning at something he’d forgotten, one of his arms wrapped around her shoulders.

Slamming a fist down on the photograph, he felt one eyebrow quirk as he caught sight of the slip of paper underneath it. He lifted it, noting that it was written in Buffy’s messy scrawl, though the writing was shakier than normal, as if she’d been in a hurry and scared. As he started to read, he had to sit down on the bed, suddenly gasping for air.

Spike

If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone. I hope I managed to return Cecily safely to you. I wanted you to know that I’m not sorry I got taken again. I know her dying would hurt you, and I couldn’t bear to let that happen if I could stop it. Last night Darla kidnapped her and Angelus told me that if I wanted her back, I had to go and get her. I can’t say anything to anyone, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but he would’ve killed her. I’ve gone to the mansion, and as I’ve obviously not made it out, I wanted you to know I don’t regret it. I hope you are happy with her. Nobody deserves it more than you. Say goodbye to the Scoobs for me.

Love, Buffy

Wood was woken by Spike’s agonised roar. He leaped out of bed, rushing into the living room, followed by the rest of the gang, who’d taken to sleeping at his house since Buffy’s betrayal. He found his Slayer sitting slumped on the couch, his knuckles white as he clutched a piece of paper in his hand.

Blue eyes rose slowly, narrowed to dangerous slits and burning with rage. They locked on Cecily, and suddenly the Slayer was on his feet, slamming her into the wall. She screamed and thrashed as a shocked Wood tugged futilely on her captor’s arm, yelling at him furiously.

“What the hell are you doing? Have you lost it?”

In reply, Spike released Cecily suddenly. The girl slid to the floor, sobbing with self-pity and rubbing her sore arms where they’d bruised from the intensity of Spike’s grip. Turning, his face white with frenzied anger, the Slayer pushed the note into his Watcher’s hand. There was silence as he read, his dark face somehow paling as he collapsed onto the couch.

“Dear Lord.”

Spike turned, glaring at Cecily, his voice a venom-laden hiss. “You have some explaining to do. Now.”

Cecily looked up from where she’d been whimpering on the floor. Her eyes darted from a furious Spike to an equally vengeful Wood, though the Watcher appeared to be hanging onto his self-control far better than his Slayer. Suddenly angry herself, she rose to her feet and tossed her hair back.

“So I didn’t tell you she was there. Big deal! That bitch slapped me. We’re better off without her, Spikey.”

Hearing her decidedly pathetic excuse, the Slayer turned and stormed into the training room, slamming the door behind him so hard that the walls shook. The dark-skinned man turned on the prissy girl, his face tight with barely-controlled rage. Wordlessly he gripped her arm and yanked her to the front door, unceremoniously shoving her through into the daylight.

“Your petty actions could cost Spike something dear to him. I hope for your sake that it doesn’t. I’d suggest you avoid both him and me in the future.”

Shutting the door in her face, he turned to face the bewildered Scoobs. Wordlessly he handed Willow the note. She read it out loud, her hands shaking. Her eyes grew huge as she finished, realising what Cecily had done. Tara had a hand over her mouth; Anya was staring pensively at the floor; Xander looked both confused and angry; the only sign of Oz’s temper fraying was the slight narrowing of his eyes.

Just then, Spike pushed the door to the training room open. He was shirtless, dressed only in a pair of loose-fitting sweats, his well-sculpted chest glistening with sweat. Whereas before he’d been the picture of wild outrage, threatening in an out of control way, he was eerily calm. His eyes were burning chips of ice in his pale face, his every muscle rigid with tension. The Scoobies were in awe. Wood thought he’d never seen a more dangerous Slayer in his life.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen.”

He proceeded to outline his plan, pacing restlessly in front of them like a caged lion. When he was finished, there was a long moment of silence before Xander slowly nodded. The others followed suit. Wood hurried into the training room, returning with a chest of weapons. Letting it drop with a loud thud, he opened it and doled out the required equipment.

The plan was simple. The others would attack the mansion in the early hours of the morning. Their job, it was repeatedly stated, was to cause a diversion. Under no circumstances were they to engage in combat with a member of the Order. Spike himself would slip into the mansion, find Buffy and bring her out. Then they’d retreat to Wood’s apartment.

By the time midnight came, they were moving quietly over the vast lawn in front of the dark building. Hopefully, most of the minions and some of the Order would be out hunting, which would just make their job easier. When they were all in position, Spike nodded to Willow.

The redhead began chanting under her breath as Xander loaded his crossbow. He took aim and paused. The witch pointed at the bolt with a final, harsh command. It burst into flame and Xander fired. It flew straight and true, flying through the open window and lighting the ancient curtains.

Everybody gripped their weapons a little tighter, the silence stretching for what seemed like an unbearable few minutes. Then the first shout of alarm went up, a young vampire racing outside and looking around wildly. Wood’s crossbow dusted him almost immediately. As if this was a signal, the other vampires came pouring out of the house as all hell broke loose.

Willow and Tara clasped hands, speaking in harmony as tendrils of sickly green energy crackled around them. Seemingly moving as one, they pointed to a cluster of vampires blocking the door Spike would need to use. They were instantly enveloped in a cloud of green magic, screaming with agony as they started to burn. The Slayer took the momentary pause as the other vampires gaped in horror to silently race into the mansion.

The sounds of battle resumed outside as he slowed to a steady jog. It was gloomy and dank in the depths of the old house. It seemed fitting that such a prestigious evil as the Order should make their home here in the damp darkness. For what felt like hours but was only about twenty minutes he travelled the maze of hallways, searching for Buffy’s cell.

Finally, about to give up hope, he caught the faintest hint of a sound coming from a nearby place. Breaking into a run, he started calling her in a hoarse whisper. An answering whimper was so quiet he almost didn’t hear it. Skidding to a halt, he tried the handle of the door, growling to himself when he found it locked.

Standing back, he raised a booted foot and slammed it into the heavy door. It crashed open, the sudden stink from inside making him retch. Straightening as he held his nose, trying not to think about what he was breathing in through his mouth, he promptly forgot to breathe at all as he saw Buffy’s condition.

She was so still and pale, stripped completely naked. Numerous puncture wounds littered her body, concentrated mainly on her breasts, where Angelus had bitten her. Patches of her skin were blackened and dry where she’d been burnt. Bruises ranging in colour from dark purple to yellowy green stained her entire body. The weight she’d gained while with him had diminished once again, leaving her bones to press gently against her skin.

It wasn’t as bad as when she’d been starving, but he could tell she hadn’t eaten the entire time she’d been trapped here. Worst of all, he could see the sickening stiffness of her right arm, obviously dislocated judging by the swelling of her shoulder. One foot was twisted at a grotesque angle away from her body; he could see the ends of the bones where they’d broken.

Made strong by fury and quick by adrenaline, he crossed the room and gripped the chains. He pulled until his palms bled, every time he felt the chains loosening sending him a fresh wave of strength. Finally her bonds dropped away and she fell into his arms, a groan of agony sounding in her throat as the movement jolted her arm.

Carefully sweeping her into his arms, he jogged down the hallways, some instinct guiding him to the exit. As it turned out, Angelus and Darla had gone hunting, leaving the mansion to the care of Drusilla, who was too lost in her own world to help the minions. Their ranks had been decimated by the time Spike returned.

Seeing the pent-up rage in the Slayer’s every move, the minions still not dusted retreated to the safety of the mansion. Willow and Tara leaned on one another for support, drained and exhausted from the effort of using their magic. Anya fussed over a cut in Xander’s arm while Oz merely nodded to Spike in congratulation.

Tired but victorious, the group made their way home, Spike’s grip on Buffy tightening as she shifted restlessly, whimpering and sobbing quietly. Looking down at her face, tight with pain, he vowed silently that Angelus and his Order would feel every blow, every humiliation, a hundred times before he dusted them.

Spike was worried. It had been three and a half days since they rescued Buffy for the second time, and she still hadn’t woken up. Every time he’d tried feeding her, no matter what kind of blood it was, she merely choked and heaved until it all came up again, never once regaining consciousness.

If he’d thought her injuries were bad the first time, the newest bout of torture visited on her was enough to make his Watcher throw up. Once they’d examined her under the bright, hard light of the bathroom, the tall man had rushed to the toilet and proceeded to puke several times.

Spike himself had felt like doing the same. Her skin, where it wasn’t bruised, was streaked with dried blood and sweat. She looked too-thin again, and the obscene swelling around her shoulder had made it almost impossible to fix. As it was, the Slayer had had to do it himself with Wood guiding him. The Watcher wasn’t strong enough to move the stiff limb.

Her ankle had caused the most problems. Eventually, Wood had vanished into the night, returning with a demon surgeon following him. When Spike had cocked and eyebrow and smirked, the Watcher had merely given a wolfish grin and tapped the side of his nose. The surgeon reset her ankle, bandaging it and setting it in a temporary cast.

He’d also recommended that her other wounds be treated with some form of anti-bacterial disinfectant; they were dirty and rarely clean cuts, and though vampires couldn’t dust from illness, she could rot away if they became infected. Spike and Wood had carefully swabbed all her injuries with an alcoholic scrub.

Willow and Tara had taken on the task of caring for her after that, banishing the men from the room. As much as they knew about vampires not caring about nudity, they doubted Buffy would want to wake up to find two men hovering over her naked body. Spike could hear them when they thought everyone was too busy to hear, chanting healing spells over the unconscious vampiress.

Nothing seemed to work. The former Slayer had contracted some kind of infection despite all their care. She lay in a fevered delirium, often thrashing and mumbling in her sleep. Strangely, though she exhibited all the signs of a fever, she was icily cold, so much so that touching her burned the skin. They decided that was how vampires showed signs of illness, but it just increased their worry nonetheless.

Spike lowered himself to sit beside her, looking in despair at the full mug of blood standing untouched on the bedside table. Despite the tingling waves of pain it caused, he pressed a tender hand to her brow. Yanking it away when the pain became too much, he blinked in shock before grinning widely when her eyelids rose slowly.

“Buffy! C’mon pet, ‘s time to wake up now.”

Glassy, fever-bright eyes stared into his, unfocused and confused. “Angel, what’s wrong?” A smile tugged at her cracked, sore lips. “Don’t be silly, of course I don’t mind.” Her voice changed, becoming huskier, deeper. “Alright, yes. Just one last time.”

The Slayer gritted his teeth, his nails digging into his palms as his fists clenched. Of course she was thinking about her precious Angel. After all, he was only the one who had left her, come back, killed her and then tortured her. What wasn’t to like? He stood abruptly, about to storm out of the room when she started to shake.

Suddenly her body rippled in a spasm, arching away from the bed as she thrashed wildly. Dodging her flailing hands, he caught her shoulders and pressed her into the bed. He yelled for help before remembering that the others had gone out. As the fit subsided and she was still once more, he relaxed. His brows drew down in a scowl, his eyes desperate. Having fits probably wasn’t a good thing.

For the first time, the reality of the situation hit him. He scooped her up in his arms, cradling her limp body to his chest, tucking her head under his chin as he rocked her back and forth. His grip tightened, seemingly so strong that not even death could steal her away from him. Crooning under his breath, he stiffened when he felt her twitch.

At first he thought he was imagining it. Then he realised that her freezing cold lips were moving feebly against his throat, the barest hint of suction there making his mind finally catch up with what his body was feeling. Drawing back, he looked down into silver eyes as she wet her lips.

“Spike?” Her voice was a weak whisper.

“Yeah, kitten, I’m ‘ere.”

“I’m sorry I let them take Cecily. I know you care about her. Care… so… much…” Her words trailed off as her eyes closed wearily. Spike shook her gently, frantic for her to wake up again.

An idea began forming in his mind as he remembering those few minutes of gentle sucking on his neck. Looking at the full mug nearby, then down at his own wrists, he chewed his lip nervously. He knew, as all Slayers did, that his blood was a powerful thing to vampires. Would it be enough to cure her? And would he even be able to do it?

Looking down at the woman in his arms, he knew he would. He’d die for her. It was a price he was willing to pay. He shifted her against him, straightening her back and tilting his neck so she’d have better access to it. When she didn’t move, he frowned and thought for a minute. Then, taking a deep breath, he manipulated her head and pricked the side of his neck on her fang.

Almost in slow motion, he watched her tongue lift and collect the crimson liquid from her fang. Her eyes snapped open, a weak growl making her back vibrated against his arm. Tilting his head again, he closed his eyes against the pain that was sure to come, praying that he’d survive the experience.

When the sharp sting of her fangs sliding into his flesh came, he jerked, though it wasn’t with pain. As the initial throb of pain faded, a new sensation overcame him in a rush. His cock shot to attention, becoming achingly hard. His eyes shot open as he gasped for breath, pupils dilating with desire as one of her small hands coming up to frame his face.

She shifted on his lap as the scent of his arousal reached through the fog in her brain. Her eyes opened, focussing normally. As soon as she felt her body beginning to repair itself, she pulled her fangs from his throat, panting as a rush of fluid between her thighs made her shoot off his lap.

Spike gulped for air, suddenly feeling light headed. He collapsed back onto the bed, cool hands soothing him as they stroked his hair. He nuzzled into them, one arm reaching out blindly and pulling the deliciously cold body against his. Curling around her, he settled her face in the crook of his neck, moaning in contentment as she licked the marks she’d left gently. Soon he drifted into sleep, followed by the weary vampiress who was becoming his whole world.

In her sleep, Buffy twitched restlessly. The arm flung carelessly over her waist tightened, pulling her forwards so the few inches between their bodies closed. She purred in contentment, settling back into a remarkably pleasant dream that seemed to have sprung out of nowhere.

****

The comforting feel of the night was wrapped around her, her silver eyes easily penetrating the darkness; sundown no longer shielded the secrets of the night from her. She was in a cemetery, stalking proudly naked between the cold, unmoving headstones silently, her sleek muscles rippling as they tensed.

Her prey was somewhere nearby. She could smell him on the air, that mixture of leather, smoke, whiskey and something headily masculine that made her borrowed blood fizz in excitement as her pussy grew moist. Her nostrils flared, drawing in that delicious aroma once again.

It wasn’t something physical that made her turn and retrace her steps, it was a feeling, a sense of knowing something so absolutely that she didn’t question it. Stalking soundlessly into the small forest, she bared her fangs at a nearby fox, the animal snarling and darting away.

The vampire preened under this display of its ferocity, while the Slayer sniffed in disgust. The mixture of the two opposite forces made her lips pull up in a smirk as she continued on her way. She was getting close now, the wetness between her legs increasing. Her ears caught the faint thud of his heartbeat, and the fact that she couldn’t hear the rustle of his clothes as he shifted made her mouth water. He was waiting for her.

And then he was there, standing bathed in silver like a statue, the glittering moonlight making his cheekbones seem even sharper and the hollows beneath them darker. His eyes glinted at her as he gave a feral, commanding growl. She returned it with one of her own, her sharp eyes noticing the stirring of his body.

She couldn’t tell which of them moved first, but suddenly they were crushed together. Their tongues battled for dominance as her lips ravaged his, the kiss bruising in its unrestrained passion. Finally she tore away, leaving him panting for breath as she dropped to her knees, her nails raking down his chest and leaving little red trails to mark him as his.

The thought drummed in her mind like a mantra. Mine. Mineminemineminemine. She growled again, a low, husky sound that made his toes curl with desire. Her teeth latched onto his nipple, her nails scoring the other one before she petted them with tongue and fingers, soothing the sting away.

Nipping and licking, she made her way down his body until she was level with his cock. Suddenly her arm swept out, knocking his feet from under him. As he landed and the breath left him in a rush, she pounced. Her mouth cool engulfed him, her head dipping down as she took all of him in at the first plunge.

She heard him cry out somewhere above her, felt his hands as they tangled roughly in her hair and pulled her away. He tried to roll them over, but she used his momentum to roll them until she straddled him again. Her fangs glittered in the moonlight as she bared them in warning, snarling with a clear message: I’m in charge.

He stilled obediently, rewarded when she leaned down once again and swallowed him. He began thrusting his hips in time with her movements, keening high in the back of his throat. She growled an unintelligible order around him and he obeyed, coming in quick spurts as she swallowed his seed down.

The last of his come had trickled down her throat when her head snapped up, cocking to the side. He tried to rise, but she pressed a firm warning hand on his chest and he sank back down. The sound of footsteps drew ever closer, pausing at the last minute as though not able to decide which direction to go in. Buffy felt Spike twitch as he caught the sounds of another life form, grunting when he suddenly flipped them over.

Then his hot tongue was buried in her core, one of his hands clamped firmly over her mouth as she writhed in ecstasy. Then two fingers replaced his tongue as he began giving slow, languid licks up the length of her folds, starting a gentle thrusting rhythm, massaging that wonderful spot just inside her.

****

Spike woke to find Buffy squirming beside him. He carefully sat up, trying not to disturb her. At first he thought she was having a nightmare, then his eyebrows climbed as he realised that her face was screwed up not in pain, but in exquisite pleasure. ‘Alright, kitten,’ he thought with amusement, ‘who are you dreamin’ of?’

As if in answer to her question, she let out a sobbing moan. “Spike.”

The Slayer gave a wicked, delight grin, the next minute whimpering as his cock began to harden. Sighing, he cast one last look at her twisting around on the bed, burning the image into his eyes. Then he slipped out of her arms and into the bathroom, mournfully wishing he could wake her up instead of getting reacquainted with his hand.

****

The footsteps were moving again, skirting the edge of the clearing. Her nails dug into his head as the thrill of the illicit jumped through her. She could just imagine being caught like this, looking so wanton, so wanting. Whining and moaning pathetically, she gasped as orgasm washed through her.

Back in control again, she rolled them almost violently over, bracing herself on her hands and knees as he slid out from underneath her, knowing without asking what she wanted. Kneeling behind her, he thrust inside with one long, deliciously hard stroke. Almost immediately he gripped her hips, grunting with the effort as he slammed into her.

Buffy trembled with the searing pleasure, whimpering as she let her front end collapse, throwing her ass up higher so he could thrust deeper into her. She gasped in delight, groaning as the speed and power behind each thrust increased, making her rock back and forth in the age-old dance of lovers.

She felt him stiffen still more inside of her as he prepared to come. His hand slipped underneath her, the contrast of his finger delicately stroking her clit and his rough, brutal thrusts pushing her over the edge. She wailed incoherently as the pleasure turned her vision white and her eyes crossed.

Behind her Spike groaned, pulling out of her. Knowing what he wanted, she spun around on her knees, taking his cock in her hand and pumping it fiercely as he tilted his head to the side. She sank her fangs into his neck and drank deeply, savouring his guttural groan as he came onto her belly.

She felt his hand rubbing his creamy come across her breasts and down between her legs, marking her. Pulling away from his throat, looking into eyes suddenly soft and glowing with love, she looked down at her glistening body and growled with satisfaction.

“Mine.”

****

After cleaning himself off, Spike slipped back into the bedroom. Buffy was lying still now, thighs slightly spread, a contented smile on her face. Chuckling quietly, he gave a contented sigh and snuggled into her arms, resting his head over her still heart, the soft rumble of her purring lulling him back to sleep.

Buffy stretched languidly. In her short stay with her family, her body had fallen back into the routine of an uneasy sleep, her limbs stiff and sore as she hung from her chains against the wall. Now she found herself swimming towards consciousness feeling warm, comfortable and deliciously sated.

Her eyes blinked lazily open, a deep, unneeded breath sighing from her chest. Focussing, she was met with the exquisitely beautiful sight of a peacefully sleeping Spike. His hair had broken free of the usual gel, riotous curls softening the hard planes of his face. His full mouth was turned up in a soft, tender smile, his naked chest moving gently with every breath.

She heard his heartbeat pick up as he began to wake, pressing a kiss to her fingers before reaching to touch them to his lips. Her hand halted in mid-movement, frozen in time as she stared at the red puncture wound on his neck, overwhelmed by a sudden rush of guilt. Just as his brilliant eyes opened, she shut the bathroom

Hopping into the shower, she leaned back against the wall, the water pounding her skin and plastering her hair to her skull. Remembering the dream she’d had, she pressed her thighs together to prevent the familiar ache from taking over. Uncapping the shampoo bottle, she let her hands move in a practiced massage over her hair.

While she’d been out of it, she’d had something similar to a Slayer dream, but it had been familiar. The First Slayer prowled in the flickering shadows at the edge of the firelight, her hissing, breathy voice seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

“Death is your gift.”

It was in her delirium that the lines between reality and dreams blurred into one, and she couldn’t say whether she had indeed been dreaming or if a part of her had been sitting in front of that fire, watching her great ancestor’s endless pacing. She thought that the whole ‘death is your gift’ thing had been finished when she threw herself from Glory’s tower to save Dawn, all those years ago. Guess not.

She was shaken from her thoughts by a firm knock on the door. Quickly rinsing the suds from her hair, she turned the water off and stepped onto the bath mat. Grabbing a towel, she wrapped it around her body and tucked the end in under her arm. Reaching out, she opened the door, going still when a stake pressed into the skin above her heart.

“Buffy. I think we need to talk.”

****

Spike had finally hauled himself out of bed just as he heard the water in the bathroom start up. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he rolled his shoulders and winced when he felt the tug on his neck. Clapping a hand over the wound, which strangely hadn’t healed yet, he grimaced and stomped to the bedroom door.

Yanking it open, he sauntered into the kitchen, chest gloriously bare. He was a little surprised to see Xander was the only one there, eyes puffy with sleep. When he quirked an eyebrow questioningly, he received a grunt and a gesture at the half-eaten sandwich on the surface.

The Slayer had turned to reach up for a glass when Xander saw them. His eyes widened, the snack dropping back onto his plate with a squishy thump. Spike turned to look over his shoulder, that damned eyebrow rising again. (Just how did he do that anyway? It wasn’t fair that one guy should be so cool.)

He’d shrugged it off, mumbling a half-hearted apology as he picked up the sandwich and took a thoughtful bite. He’d heard the sound of movement in Buffy’s room this morning and he’d figured she’d done some miracle vampire thing and healed overnight. Seething, he recalled the sore punctures on Spike’s neck. Guess not.

Waiting until his friend vanished into the training room for his morning workout, Xander tiptoed into his own room, careful not to wake a sleeping Anya. Retrieving the stake from under his pillow, he paused on his way back to reassure himself that the Slayer was still engrossed in his ‘me Slayer, hear me roar’ exercise routine, he crept into the vampiress’ room.

Taking a steadying breath, he remembered the crusty blood still sticking to Spike’s neck and his wavering resolve firmed. Had she put him under some kind of thrall so he wouldn’t notice her drinking his blood? Well, that’s what friends were for. Steeling himself, he reached out and knocked.

****

Buffy just stared at Xander. The boyish goofiness he seemed to usually emanate was gone, replaced with icy anger. Looking down at the point of the stake that had just broken the skin directly over her still heart, she watched a single drop of blood well up and ooze down the wood. Meeting his eyes, she nodded in agreement.

She could turn the tables on him whenever she wanted. She knew it and he knew it. Something told her, however, that she wouldn’t have an easy time of it, and she didn’t want to risk hurting him. Despite his somewhat dubious acceptance of her, she liked the kid.

“What did I do?”

Her words were simple, meant to soothe him into talking about it and taking his focus away from the stake he held in a white-knuckled hand. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect. His face became colder, the burning rage in his eyes glittering at her accusingly. His voice was a soft, controlled hiss.

“You fed from Spike. That’s how you repay us for taking you in? You try to drain our friend in his sleep? Christ, Buffy, how dumb do you think I am? Did you think we wouldn’t notice?”

She could hear his voice rising with indignation towards the end of his speech, and she waited for him to be silent before answering. “Yes, I fed from him. There’s no point in denying it. But I didn’t have a choice. He…” she paused for a minute, her face creasing with guilt, “I was out of it, there was a Slayer holding my mouth against his neck and I’m a vampire. You do the math.”

Xander absorbed this bit of information, his face shocked. Spike had let her drink from him? Spike, the Slayer, had offered his blood to a vampire just because she was sick? Buffy waited in tense silence until his hold relaxed, the stake dropping away from her skin as she winced, pressing a finger to the small wound to stop the bleeding.

She watched as he took a slow step back. His voice was still tight with confusion and a warning she would take seriously. “I’ll believe you, this time. But Spike, he’s one of my best friends. And if I thought someone was planning to hurt him…” His voice trailed off as he gripped the stake threateningly.

Buffy nodded her understanding, her eyes narrowed with the stirring of her own temper at the thought of anyone, let alone her, hurting the Slayer. She was falling, too fast, too hard and way too soon, but it felt so good she’d do anything to keep it safe. Anything. As Xander gently shut the door behind him, she gave a grim smile. It was good to know how much she was trusted.

Buffy could sense the tension in the group around her. It was thick in the air, leaving her feeling short-tempered and irritable. Finally she hauled Spike over to the corner of the room by an arm, demanding to know what was happening. His face was impassive, but she could see the strained look in his eyes.

“’s the full moon tonight, pet. Willow wants to try out a new binding spell on Oz. She wants to bind the wolf part of him inside so he can go without transforming. She reckons it should work fine, and Tara agrees, but it’s a big magic.”

Buffy felt nervous anticipation uncurl inside her. She’d only ever been around the results of a magical working that went wrong once. Jenny, her former Watcher Giles’ gypsy girlfriend, had barely got away with her life the first time Angelus had been freed. The lucky escape, however, had made her overconfident.

She still felt guilty for the inadvertent part she’d played in Jenny’s death. The woman had secretly stolen to Buffy’s grave after her sacrifice for Dawn, calling forth black magic more terrible than she’d imagined. It had consumed her as soon as she finished the spell, leaving a newly resurrected Buffy to dig herself out of her grave and come across her remains. She shuddered at the memory.

Jerking herself back to reality to find Spike’s probing gaze on her, she smiled weakly and retreated to the training room, lifting a heavy axe and running through a complex series of exercise designed to make her faster on her feet when carrying a heavier weapon; it had been Giles’ favourite routine.

After tiring herself out sufficiently to leech away some of the tension in her muscles, she went back to her room and napped. It was unusual for a vampire to be awake during the day, and her body was protesting so much daytime activity.

The muffled voices that travelled through the wall woke her. In the strange manner she’d perfected while imprisoned by her demon relatives, she went from a light sleep to instant alertness with barely a second’s interval. Rising from the nest she’d made of her bed, she padded to the closet. Dressing quickly in loose sweats and a strappy top, she slipped into the living room, absorbing the sights.

Oz, clad only in a pair of white boxer shorts, stood in the heart of a curious, almost-but-not-quite circular diagram. Strange, wiggly lines seemed to curve around it, as though they were thin arms reaching out and drawing everything around them in. White candles lay at the ends of the arms that pointed North, East, South and West.

The innate vampiric sense told her that sundown had just come, and she could feel the Slayer part of her stirring restlessly. The demon, for once agreeing with its opposite, shifted nervously inside of her. The hair on the back of her neck rose as Oz began to twitch. When he looked up again, his jaw was wider and fangs protruded from beneath his lips, his eyes totally black.

Almost without realising it, Buffy let her game face slide into place. Spike heard the low growl rumbling in her throat as Willow began to chant; he turned to look at her, bathed in candlelight, silver eyes glittering with feral warning. They were fixed on Oz as his body began to change, his muscles shifting as his bones realigned, a savage snarl causing drops of yellow spittle to hang from his fangs.

Willow’s chanting increased, and suddenly the white chalk around the werewolf began to glow. When the witch opened her eyes, they were glimmering with her power, her voice suddenly echoing powerfully as her hands rose. Buffy growled again, the crackle of magic on the air making her shiver.

Then, with a commanding shout, Willow pointed at Oz. The wolf howled, curling in on itself. For a moment it flickered, the lines of reality distorting as a human form came into view. The next moment the werewolf was back, quivering with unleashed fury. It flung itself straight at Willow, who was swaying from the effort of using so much magic.

Just before it reached the terrified witch, Xander caught one brutally strong hind leg. In midair, the wolf twisted, lashing out at his hand with sharp claws. He dropped it, flinging himself back. Xander backed away, suddenly stopping as he hit the corner of the room, his frightened face draining of its colour.

Spike stepped forwards, shoving the others back with a warning shout as the beast lunged for its cornered prey. Before the Slayer could move, Buffy shot across them room with preternatural speed, flinging herself onto its back. Her eyes glittered and she let out a fierce growl, relinquishing control to her demon half.

Oz howled in agony as she sank her fangs into the back of his neck. He spun around, frantically clawing at her as it tried to dislodge her smaller body. Hanging on with grim determination, she lifted her blood-stained lips long enough to shout at the unmoving Xander.

“Move!”

The werewolf took advantage of her distraction to slam her into the wall. Hard. Grunting at the impact, she buried the last part of the Slayer still clinging stubbornly to control deep in her subconscious. Given free reign, the demon her body housed grinned manically, a blood-curdling roar making its way from her throat.

With gusto, she threw herself back into the fray, ignoring the sting as sharp claws scored her sides. Latching her teeth into the furry chest beneath her, she shook her head like a dog, tearing long rips in the vulnerable flesh. Oz snarled in pain, batting her away as though she was nothing more than an irritation.

Preparing to launch herself back onto the wolf, she jumped sideways as it jerked twice. Peering over its head as it staggered, she caught sight of a grim-looking Wood holding a tranquilizer gun. The beast gave a last final slap at her, which she dodged easily, before crumpling to the floor and laying in a twitching heap.

Buffy stepped cautiously over it, not wasting any time in retreating to the other side of the room. For a moment she struggled to regain control, the adrenaline and blood-lust pumping in her veins making the demon wild and frenzied. Then the part of her that was still Slayer reasserted its dominance, and her features melted back into their human mask.

Looking around the room at the furniture she hadn’t realised they’d damaged, and then at the exhausted and pale-faced Willow and Xander, she gave a wry grin. Popping her neck, she winced and rubbed her lower back. When she spoke, it was into a nervous silence.

“Not that that wasn’t fun or anything, but next time you want me to fight a werewolf, can we do it in a room with padded walls?”

Spike was the only one who laughed as Xander collapsed in a dead faint.

After the disaster on the first night, Oz remained locked safely in his cage during the remaining time of the full moon. Willow was sobbingly apologetic; a puzzled Tara spent hours pouring over the spell with her in an attempt to figure out what had gone so wrong.

Meanwhile, life was as normal as possible for the Slayer and his sidekicks. Xander and Anya still shared their sex life with everyone nightly; Buffy was glad he’d decided she was ‘alright, but still creepy undead gal’ after the life-savage episode. Wood was helping Buffy improve her fencing skills and reading up on the Order in his spare time.

Spike usually trained in the evenings, where Buffy preferred the mornings. It was about a week after Oz’s wild rampage that Spike sauntered into Buffy’s room. She’d been surprised when he’d asked her to postpone her training ‘til the evening, but she’d melted as soon as he flashed a pleading grin at her.

“So, vampire, you busy?”

“Um, no. What did you have in mind?”

“Was wonderin’ if you felt like sparrin’ with yours truly.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow at him, his lips turning up in a sexy smile as he curled his tongue behind her teeth. She remembered the very agile manoeuvres that particular organ had pulled in her dream, turning away to hide the sudden desire swimming in her eyes.

“Sure. Be there in a minute.”

Spike winked at her, strolling out of her room with the same casual, king-of-the-world stride he seemed to have perfected when wandering around her. As soon as he was out of sight, he grinned. Bingo! She fell for it.

He hurried into the training room, clearing a large space in the middle for them to use. He stripped off his duster and t-shirt, leaving him bare-chested. It was quick work to change into some loose slacks that allowed him freedom. He finished just as she came through the door, turning and smirking when she stopped to ogle his naked upper half. Oh yeah, I’ve still got it.

To his surprise, she didn’t bite her lip and turn away. Swinging her hips, she walked up to him, pressing her gentle curves into his chest as she leaned up. Standing on her toes, she purred right into his ear, her cool breath making him shiver. “Alright, Slayer. Let’s get sweaty.”

Buffy grinned when she heard his heart rate increase, taking up a practiced defensive stance in the middle of the room. She clucked her tongue and shook her head mockingly when he failed to move. He seemed to snap out of the dazed stupor, giving her a sexy grin and waggling his eyebrows.

As they faced off, there was a moment’s pause, their eyes locking. Then they were in motion, neither sure who struck first. They traded blows fluidly, effortlessly ducking and weaving. Spike swept a leg out, tumbling her to the floor. He jumped to follow her, only to find one slender ankle wrapped around his.

Down he went, landing with his hands braced either side of her head. Her legs were splayed, his own resting between them. Grabbing her wrists, he pinned them down with a triumphant smirk. It vanished the next minute as her eyes changed, becoming heavy-lidded with desire as she ground her hips against his.

Forgetting the spar, he groaned and swept in to kiss her, only to find that he was lying on his back staring into space, Buffy retreating laughingly to the other side of the room. He leaped to his feet, the muscles in his chest rippling and drawing her attention before she went to meet him.

A firm punch caught him on the shoulder and he spun, narrowly avoiding her follow-up kick as he backed out of reach. Thinking she had the advantage, she pressed forwards. Spike stepped at the same time she did, a foot again darting out to knock her off her feet, though this time his arm caught her so she was bent back over it in a traditional movie kiss pose.

Grinning, he bent and proceeded to do just that. His lips were demanding against hers as he devoured her mouth, his tongue caressing hers. Hot sweetness raced from his lips to hers, making her moan low in the back of her throat. Realising what they were doing, or more accurately what they weren’t doing, Spike let her go with a smug smile.

When she glared at him, he just shrugged. “Haven’t broken a sweat yet, kitten.”

Buffy growled, regaining her feet with an elegant rush; the effect was ruined somewhat when she shot the Slayer a sultry look, licking her lips suggestively as her hands trailed across her stomach and over her hips. Her voice was sweetly innocent.

“Oh look, no sweat here either. Guess it’s just not much of a workout, huh?”

Spike scowled, shooting across the room intent on giving her lips another ‘workout’. His headlong dash was met with Buffy’s cool precision as she landed a punch to his chin that sent him sprawling on the floor. By the time he’d jumped up again, she was already waiting a few strides away.

It went on like that for a while. Spike would pursue Buffy across the room, both their faces glowing with identical grins, and she’d flatten him just as he reached her, running off again. Eventually she giggled, taunting him by blowing a kiss in his direction, skipping out of his reach.

“C’mon Slayer, you can do better than that.”

“Yeah yeah, other blokes don’t have to put up with you bein’ all sexy ‘n’ distractin’.” He grumbled.

Buffy giggled again. “What’s to say I don’t do this with all the boys, Spike?”

In a flash he was across the room, the teasing air banished completely. He gripped her by the waist, his eyes boring into hers before he swooped in and planted a savage kiss on her that left her senses reeling. His hold tightened.

“You do this with anyone else, I’ll kill ‘im. You’re mine, Buffy. Mine!”

She stared into his eyes, a little thrill coursing through her at his sudden possessiveness. Then her eyes darkened and she kicked his feet out from underneath him, landing straddling his chest. She leaned over, her hair tickling his sweaty, bare skin as she breathed in his ear.

“Oh no, Spike. You’re mine.” She sat up, her nails tapping a quiet melody on his chest as it heaved after their exertions. Then she grinned, the atmosphere lightening. Twining her hair around one finger, she looked at him with big, innocent eyes as she said in her best little girl voice. “So Spikey, you wanna be my boyfwend?”

He chuckled, the vibration between her thighs making her shiver. His voice was deep and husky as he replied, “’Course pet. I’m yours, aren’t I?” She bent down, and they sealed the pact with a tender kiss that left him flushed and panting.

“Always mine.”

Although he gave no outer sign of it, Buffy could tell that Spike was nervous. She could smell it on him, mixed with the usual sultry blend of leather, smoke and power. Her mouth watered, and she closed her eyes against the tide of desire rapidly rising in her. Now was not the time.

She rested a gentle hand on his arm; he jumped, turning to look at her with a startled expression. A soft smile curved her lips. Her ploy worked, and he relaxed under her hand. Lifting her knuckles to his mouth, he kissed them before returning her smile. Looking back at his friend, sitting patiently across from them, he grinned suddenly.

Willow watched the interaction between them curiously, with a hint of a blush rising on her cheeks as she noticed the heat smouldering lazily between them. Oz, who had already guessed the reason for their request to ‘chat’ with him and Willow, merely nodded his head knowingly, rubbing a hand against the itchy scab on the back of his neck.

Buffy had the grace to look guilty, mouthing “Sorry!” at him before Spike cleared his throat. “We wanted you to be the first to know, Red. We’re… Buffy ‘n’ me… Well, we… Oh Hell!”

As the Slayer ruefully scrubbed a hand over his face, his partner giggled and came to his rescue. “We wanted to tell you that we’re together now. As a couple.”

Spike froze; the vampiress could hear his heartbeat beginning to accelerate, his face tight with nerves. He let out a big sigh of relief when the witch suddenly shrugged and grinned. Casting a look at the werewolf, Buffy had her suspicions confirmed: he didn’t look surprised in the least. Then again, his face rarely seemed to show anything but his usual impassive acceptance.

“Just remember to keep the noise down, ok?” And with that, Willow gave a cheeky grin and a wink, sweeping from the room followed by a silent Oz, leaving a suitably sheepish Slayer to contemplate how smoothly things had gone.

****

Tara watched the couple opposite her with a gentle smile. She could see Spike fidgeting nervously, while Buffy just looked contented and a little smug. Their auras were breathtaking together. The Slayer’s was a rich mixture of wine-red, oranges and golden yellows, like a sunset. Buffy’s was the same eerie, silver-grey of her vampire eyes at the heart, but one edge was blindingly white and the other dark, shifting blacks and blues.

She could read their love in every move, every little touch they thought she didn’t see, and every look they exchanged. Even if they hadn’t yet named it for what it was, she could see that somewhere inside they recognised what they had. It came as no surprise when they made the announcement, and she merely smiled wider and wished them a happy relationship. As they exited the room, she flicked her fingers after them to send good luck on their tail.

“So mote it be.”

****

They cornered Anya when Xander disappeared into the bathroom. Sitting her down firmly, Spike remained quiet as Buffy took the lead, seemingly undaunted by the task of telling one of his best friends that she, a vampire, was now officially his girlfriend. Christ, the world was a fuckin’ weird place.

“Anya,” Buffy began, “We wanted to tell you that we’re-”

“Fucking like bunnies!” the former demon cut in with a bright smile, though her nose wrinkled at the turn of phrase, “Yes, I can tell. The unresolved sexual tension between you two was driving me crazy. I wish you many orgasms!”

Spike blushed and looked down, uncharacteristically shy. The petite vampiress merely smirked. “Yeah yeah, just don’t complain when we drown out you and Xander in the night.”

Pulling a thoroughly mortified Spike by the hand, Buffy departed, leaving a chuckling Anya behind.

****

He couldn’t look at them. He couldn’t bear to see them sitting there like normal people, couldn’t bear to see them acting as if one of them didn’t have a capacity for evil that was beyond imagining. Although he was grateful to Buffy for saving his life and he’d reached a sort of truce with her, something about a human being willingly being with a vampire just struck him as fundamentally wrong.

Xander wasn’t stupid. He knew what they’d come to tell him. Hell, what with Tara’s quiet satisfaction and Willow’s bubbly enthusiasm as she rambled on about how great it was that they had finally got it together, he couldn’t help but know.

Some part of him was hurt that Spike hadn’t told him first; he thought they’d had the whole male bonding thing down. Another, more rational, part of him knew why they’d done it. As the one who was most likely to put up resistance, it was logical for them to confront him after they’d gained the support of the other Scoobs.

He waited patiently until Spike finished his somewhat jumbled explanation, a wry smile tugging at his lips. For a long, long moment there was silence, the announcement hanging heavily in the air. Xander studied his friend intently. Despite the anxiety on the expressive face, he could still see that the Slayer was happier than he’d ever been before. It was there in the way he moved, the unconscious rub of his thumb over the back of her hand.

The tension was weighing heavily on Spike, he could tell. Finally he sat back, shooting a warning glance at Buffy as he spoke with a slow, tightly controlled tone. “I’m not going to stand in your way if this makes you happy. I can’t say that I’m delighted about this, but… It’s your life.”

The taller man slumped back in his seat, relief making him feel momentarily dizzy. He roused himself when Buffy pulled firmly on his hand, reminding him that the most difficult task was yet to come. As they stood to leave, Buffy turned a smirk on Xander.

“It’s ok, Xander. By the time next weekend comes, you’ll know more about our relationship than you even wanted to. I intend to make sure of it.”

She laughed at his disgusted grimace, sweeping from the room with her Slayer boyfriend close behind. He tugged her hand until she stopped. “What was all that about, luv?”

“Payback.” She replied cryptically, one hand pressed to the skin over her heart.

Spike looked back at Xander’s still form, only partially obscured by the doorframe. He turned to the vampiress with a suspicious scowl, but she only grinned at him and walked away, hips swinging distractingly. The Slayer remained frozen for a minute before following after her, shaking his head. He must be losing it. Not even Xander was that stupid.

****

Wood sat perfectly motionless for a few minutes after Spike made the announcement. Buffy had wanted to go with him, but he’d insisted that he do this alone. The Slayer paced restlessly in front of his oldest friend and advisor, disturbed by the closed-off face that was presented to him.

He’d known Wood longer than he’d known the rest of the Scooby Gang. The man had been his father-figure, his saviour, his teacher, his advisor. His friend. Spike knew that the dark-skinned Watcher wouldn’t take to the idea of his Slayer dating a vampire with eagerness. So it came as no great surprise when the man stood, looming over him, his face hidden by the shadows in the ill-lit room.

His voice was so soft that Spike had to strain to hear it. “You know that I was trained by the council to believe that all vampires are inherently evil. Spending time with Buffy has proved them wrong, but you cannot deny the flashes of the demon that seem to occur in her. She will always be a vampire, Spike, just as you will be the Slayer as long as you live.”

“If the Council were to find out about your… relationship with her, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. They might even come after you. I cannot approve of this, this unnatural mating of darkness and light, but.” His voice rose slightly to cover Spike’s protests, “I know that she is, in a way, different.”

“Slayers rarely live much longer than you. You know it and I know it. Buffy knows it too. So, if this is what makes you happy, then so be it. You do this without my consent, and as far as the Council is concerned I have no idea that you and her are together. But you deserve whatever measure of joy you can find in this life, as does she. I won’t say any more on the matter.”

And with that, the tall Watcher strode from the room, leaving a reflective Spike to think over everything he had said, unable to help the sheer pleasure coursing through his body like wildfire.

Buffy didn’t think she’d ever been so happy before. The dull ache that seemed to constantly remind her of her old friends and family had lessened slightly; Spike’s knowing touches seemed to have lifted the strain from her soul. The throbbing pain was still there when she thought about Dawnie, her mom and Giles, but whenever it surfaced she remembered her Slayer’s lo- affectionate manner and the choking agony eased.

Some days, however, she couldn’t help but brood, though she shuddered to remember the face she’d previously attached to that particular pastime. Today was one of those days. Spike had joined her in her bed, and though she’d dropped into sleep easily enough, it was restless and disturbed.

She’d known she was having a Slayer dream as soon as the images began to surface. No normal dream, no matter how vivid, could ever make her feel as though it were real the way she did when she was seeing the future. This particular dream was a blurred collection of images that didn’t make sense to her or her Slayer half, but the demon stirred in recognition.

Flames flashed in her eyes, a circle of burning oil. Inside she could see figures moving, circling, the firelight flickering over their naked bodies. A sense of dread washed over her, mixed with a rush of fear; she knew she didn’t fear for herself, but for whatever it was that had driven her here.

For a moment the smoky air cleared and she could see a familiar, pale body illuminated by the eerie orange light, eyes glowing gold as her dark hair caressed her back. The fairy-like, maniacal laughter rang out over the hungry groan of the flames and she saw wide, piercingly blue eyes staring at her from across the ring of fire before everything went black and all she could hear was that high, cruel laughter.

She’d woken with a gasp, her hair tangled around her face, her fangs bared as her silver eyes probed the shadows. If she’d been alive, she was sure that her heart would’ve been pounding so hard against her ribs that it would’ve jumped from her chest. As it was, she pinched the bridge of her nose with trembling hands, the demon still agitated after her prophetic dream.

Unable to sleep, she’d slipped soundlessly from the bed, turning to look at her partner, splayed in glorious nudity across her mattress. His usually sleek hair was a tousled mass of curls, the strands that flopped over his brow softening his features, the barest hint of a smile lifting his full lips. One long arm suddenly flailed out, as though he were reaching for her, but it clutched at the duvet instead.

Feeling the foreboding chill creep over her again, she pulled on some sweats and trod quietly into the training room. It took over and hour for her to work off the restless tension in her body; every time she began to tire, the demon would shiver with a new wash of anxiety and she’d go back to slamming her fists into the punching bag.

Finally exhausted physically, she dragged herself into the kitchen. Here, at this ungodly hour of the morning, she was alone to feed however she wanted. There were no Scoobs she could disgust, no squicked-out faces staring back at her. Impatiently she waited for the blood in the microwave to heat before she lifted it out.

Glancing furtively around a final time, she morphed back into game face and sank her fangs into the bag with a hungry growl. She drained great gulps of the coppery liquid at a time, grunting in ecstasy as rivulets of blood trickled down her chin. When she was finished, she licked her lips with a satisfied purr. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she froze when there came a soft knock at the door.

She waited, silent and still, but the heartbeats in the house remained steady; neither Wood nor Spike had heard the quiet tap. Breathing a deep sigh to steady her nerves, she let her eyes fade to green as her fangs shortened again. Padding to the door, she paused before reaching for the handle and throwing it open, jumping back out of the path of the pale dawn sunlight that was suddenly splashed across the floor.

Looking up, she gave a gasp of shock as she saw the familiar face, creased in a sheepish smile. “Giles?” Her voice was an incredulous squeak as she beckoned him in. As the door shut behind him, she was swept into a warm hug. From somewhere above her, she heard something that sounded suspiciously like a sniff.

The arms banded tightly around her relaxed, and suddenly his warm, fatherly face was beaming down at her. “My, you don’t look any older than you did when I last saw you, all those years ago…” He trailed off, removing his glasses and cleaning them nervously as he sidled back, as though only just remembering what she was. “Of course, how foolish of me.”

There was an awkward silence as Buffy stared at him, feeling tears sting her eyes at his sudden hesitation. Seeing them, her former Watcher gave a muffled curse and swept her back into a hug. Feeling him relax as he held her, she finally let free to sob that had been making her throat ache since she’d seen him outlined in the doorway.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she squeezed him tighter, until he wheezed, “Buffy, ribs…” Instantly contrite, she let him go and gave him a watery, apologetic smile. Gingerly wrapping her arms back around him, she gave a sigh of relief, breathing in his familiar scent. About to pull back and speak, she was interrupted by a hoarse demand.

“What the bloody Hell is going on here?”

Spike had emerged from their bedroom after waking and finding Buffy gone. He’d heard the soft sound of sobbing outside and had rushed to comfort her, only to find her wrapped in the arms of a stranger, a male stranger no less. Outraged, he spoke before thinking, only to have them both swing around to face him.

Seeing Buffy’s tear-streaked face, he rushed to her side and pulled her rudely from the stranger’s embrace, ignoring the pained glare that was sent his way, murmuring soothing nonsense into her ear until her sobs quieted and she had calmed. Her gentle tugging made him release her from his arms, and he watched with astonishment as the elderly gentleman immediately pulled her back in for a brief, fierce hug.

Sensing the confused rage from behind her, she swung around to face the Slayer’s icy gaze. Smiling softly, she stepped between the two men and introduced them. “Spike, this is Rupert Giles, my former Watcher. Giles, this is Spike the Vampire Slayer.”

Giles watched as the hostility in the young man’s manner drained away, replaced by a polite curiosity. A slender hand was shoved near his own as his fellow countryman gave a lopsided grin, a possessive arm snaking around his Slayer’s waist and pulling her against the current Slayer’s side, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Ah, yes. Pleased to meet you… Spike was it? I don’t suppose you have any tea, do you?”

And they were off, chatting about the home country like old friends. Buffy, sandwiched between her father-figure and her lover, gave a contented smile and let their voices wash over her.

Giles watched the blonde Slayer wrap and arm around Buffy’s shoulders, the delighted smile that lit her face leaving no doubt in his mind as to just what kind of relationship they shared. He heaved a sigh. What was it about the newer generations of Slayers that demanded they fall in love with the very creatures they were destined to destroy?

When Buffy and Angel had first started their relationship, he’d been mistrustful and suspicious even at the best of times. After they discovered the happiness clause and Angelus lost his soul; well, to say that he wasn’t surprised wouldn’t be accurate, but his fury knew no bounds. That his Slayer had given herself wholly to a man, even a vampire, and then to have it thrown back in her face… He’d had a few choice words in mind for destiny or fate or the Powers for that little stunt.

Now though, seeing her snuggled contently against the current Slayer, he couldn’t help but wonder if the Chosen One could love anything else. Certainly no human partner could hope to withstand the force of their unleashed passion; a lesson Buffy had learned well when she made the mistake of dating Riley. But a vampire? The demon could both match and surpass a Slayer in strength of body and mind, if they so desired. Perhaps they were made for one another.

Drawn from his thoughts by the arrival of a tall, dark-skinned man, he rose with a polite smile. As Wood introduced himself, Giles realised that this was the voice that had so calmly asked for his aide against an old foe. Looking at the well-hidden tension in the other man’s body, he realised that the Watcher was far more desperate than he appeared. He didn’t want his Slayer to die. Was that why he had accepted Spike and Buffy’s relationship? A vampiress was a fierce protector for the young man.

Clearing his throat when the small group settled, he leaned forwards and addressed directly the subject that had first drawn him here. “As you know, Buffy and I have had dealings with Angelus before. I have discovered something that may be of use.” He paused, studying Buffy carefully as he continued. “I have discovered the means of restoring Angel’s soul.”

Wood remained impassive, though his eyes closed in relief. Buffy’s face brightened in expectation. Spike, however, jumped up angrily, rounding on the elder Watcher. “You think I’m gonna let you restore the Poof to his former glory an’ then set him free to destroy whole populations when he next gets a happy? Think again, Watcher.”

Leaving a confused Giles, a bewildered Wood and a stressed Buffy behind, he stormed out into the night.

****

Fear and jealousy churned inside of him like a great tidal wave of emotion, ready to suddenly rear up and drown him in darkness. He’d seen how Buffy had reacted to the news that her first love might be soon back in control. What would happen then? Did their new relationship mean so little to her that she would throw it away just for the chance of being with the man who’d hurt and abandoned her?

He was so wrapped up in his insecurities, he didn’t notice the tingling warning that danced on the back of his neck. A split second after he noticed the Slayer-senses going haywire in his body, pain exploded in the back of his skull and everything went black, the sting of fangs in his throat going unnoticed in the sudden embrace of oblivion.

****

She wasn’t sure what, exactly, made her do it. Her face shifted effortlessly, her fangs elongating as her eyes hardened to eerie silver. Sitting cross-legged on her bed, she closed her eyes and opened the ties to her vampiric family, the sudden rush of memories not enough to overwhelm the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Darla was out hunting; nothing new or bothersome there. She saw for a moment through her Grandsire’s eyes, felt the snarl rumbling in her throat as she growled at herself. It was a surreal moment, if nothing else. Shutting off that link firmly, she took an unneeded breath and cautiously reached out for her Sire. He was pacing restlessly in his room at the mansion; the minute he detected her presence in his mind, he stopped and sneered, pulling forth memories of the many tortures he’d inflicted on her. Buffy shied away from him violently, severing the communication between them.

Frowning, she sought the tie to Dru. Settling herself in the crazed vampiress’ mind, she shuddered. The ecstasy of Slayer’s blood fizzed through her system, igniting her veins as she slipped her fangs from his neck, his heartbeat still strong though the blood oozed from his wounds. Buffy/Dru giggled, leaning down to run a possessive tongue over the crimson trails.

Dru! Buffy barked angrily in her sibling’s mind, Get your filthy hands off my Slayer.

No no no, sunshine. The naughty Slayer belongs to Mummy now. Miss Edith says the sunshine will burn and burn until there’s nothing left, but I want the puppet. As the human part of Dru’s unhinged consciousness was overtaken by the demon, Buffy relaxed the hold on her own darkness.

He is marked as mine the Buffy-demon snarled.

He is ours now; we’ve had a taste of his blood. Unless you are prepared to fight for him?

A wary growl rumbled in her throat as demon and Slayer answered as one. We would die for him.

Good. Come to… An image flashed in Dru’s broken mind, the dank basement of the burnt-out Sunnydale morgue. …We will duel as our ancestors did. The Ritual will determine who is to keep him. Now get out!

Buffy regained her senses, her pale face drawn tight with grief and anxiety. The foreboding sense of doom from her Slayer dream dowsed her in cold realisation. The demon snarled as the remembered images of the previous night’s dream again drifted to the forefront of her mind, the knowledge that had previously eluded her now nudged clear by the reminder from Dru’s demon.

The Ritual her sibling had spoken of was the oldest of vampiric traditions. The opponents resolved an argument over rank or property in combat that only ended when one conceded or was defeated. They were encircled by a wall of flame to stop them from fleeing, which sprang to life when the Ritual of Krethin was invoked and only faded when the battle was ended. Armed with nothing but fists, fangs and wits, they duelled for the right to dominance.

The last time a member of the Order had been involved in a Ritual had been the Master himself, when a younger vampire had challenged him for leadership of the Clan. That had been years before Buffy was even born, and since then nobody had had reason to call on the god Krethin and summon his power for the Ritual. Buffy gulped down sudden nausea.

Then she remembered Spike’s tender smile as he held her in the haven of his arms; she remembered his care when she’d been sick; she remembered what he’d sacrificed for her to carry on existing. Her resolve hardened and she pressed two fingers to her lips, then to the skin over her heart, before lying down and willing herself into sleep.

If she was to participate in the Ritual the following night, she would need all the help she could get.

Her eyes flickered with soft silver light as she warily passed through the crumbling husk of what used to be the Sunnydale morgue. The demon stirred, and she could feel it almost quivering with tension, a taste of what was to come shivering in the air around her. Like a ghost, she drifted towards the dangerously unstable stairway, pausing at the top to take a deep breath.

Falling into herself, she freed the restraints that held the demon in check. A rush of swaggering confidence made her lips curl into a sneering snarl. With hands trembling with eagerness, she hurriedly stripped. The cold night air went unnoticed against her cool skin as she gracefully descended the creaking stairs.

Arriving at the bottom, she again took a moment to study her surroundings. A large, empty space formed a rough circle at the centre of the room; she could see the careless way objects had been thrown against the walls to clear the arena. A groan from her right caused her head to snap around.

Spike was manacled to the wall, one wrist chained to the other. He was standing, but he was leaning against the stone for support. Having heard someone coming down the stairs, he’d hauled his bruised and drained body upright, though he was far too weak to fight. Then he pried his eyes open, finding glittering silver staring back at him.

“Buffy?”

He watched the shadow-cloaked figure twitch in recognition, but otherwise she only gave a soft, intrigued purr. His scent was so familiar; she didn’t know who he was, but she knew what he was. Her mate. Mine. Smelling another’s mark on him made her purr change to an angry growl.

And answering snarl directed her attention to the corner of the room. Her eyes picked out Dru’s naked form as it rose from the darkness. Fangs still bared, she stalked to the centre of the circle, her gaze never wavering from that of her foe as they tested the will of the other.

They met and stood silently studying one another before the Buffy-demon growled a challenge. Dru snarled again. Almost simultaneously, they raised a wrist to their lips. Cutting a neat slice in the tender flesh, Buffy took a moment to let the blood well up before extending her arm. Their wrists touched as her sibling mirrored her actions, their combined blood hanging in the air for a moment before it dropped to the floor.

A wall of fire roared up around them, crackling hungrily. Instantly their limbs dropped to their sides as they skipped back, feeling the heat from the flames against their skin. Spike, made fully alert by the furious exchange of growls, stared at the spectacle before him in a mixture of fear and awe.

The fire glowed against their skin, warming it and making it seem flawless in the eerie half-light. They were both naked, their muscles rippling under their skin as they suddenly darted forwards with a combined snarl, fangs flashing as they snapped at one another, their delicate hands locked together as they fought to overpower the foe.

Buffy’s golden hair seemed turned to dark honey as she jumped back, taking her raven-haired opponent by surprise. The taller vampiress stumbled, helped by a savage wrench as the former Slayer tore her hands abruptly away. Drusilla, or that was who he assumed the unknown vampire was, lurched forwards.

In a display of inhuman agility, she twisted her lithe body and landed, cat-like, on all fours. Immediately she was up again, amber eyes glowing furiously as she launched herself back at Buffy. The blonde landed hard, one hand scrabbling for purchase to stop her slide as the other held Dru’s fangs away from her eyes.

Baring her own sharp teeth, she suddenly relaxed her body and slithered further down underneath the dark-haired vampiress. Her fangs were buried swiftly into her sister’s ribcage, slicing back and forth as the former Slayer shook her head like a terrier with a rat, tearing the delicate skin.

Dru gave a hoarse shriek of pained rage, leaping upright. Buffy followed, and the two circled each other, trading taunts and mocking snarls that Spike couldn’t quite hear. Then, in a move he couldn’t quite understand, his gorgeous girl stilled, looked her foe straight in the eye, and spat out a mouthful of the vampiress’ blood. Just before the smoke came down and blocked his view, he saw the raven-haired demoness’ eyes widen in comical fury.

Inside the circle, Buffy circled slowly, wary eyes on Drusilla. She’d seen Spike watching them, his face a terrible mask of fear for her. His confused, pain-fogged eyes had given her new strength. As her sister again jumped forwards, she flattened herself against the floor, raising a slender leg and jamming it into her attacker’s stomach.

For a moment Dru stilled, pain evidently coursing through her body. Then she began struggling, Buffy’s leg muscles trembling with the effort of supporting the other’s body. She turned her head to avoid a swipe at her eyes, and in that split second her sister took action.

Using her greater weight as leverage, she rolled off the blonde’s foot, landing heavily on the floor, the rush of pain from the gashes on her ribs going ignored. Buffy, taken by surprise, was rolled over once again until Dru straddled her, a slender hand gripping her wrist as she bucked and writhed desperately.

Her sister merely laughed, the same cold, cruel laughter of her dream. It sent a chill of awareness washing over her, and her demon faltered uncertainly. A stab of pain brought her back to the present as the insane vampiress dug a sharp nail into her cheek. Gasping at the agony, Buffy snarled and shook her head, dislodging the finger but tearing the skin of her face in one instant.

As though out of nowhere, an idea floated into her mind. She went limp and still, her eyes lowering submissively as she bared her throat. Dru’s amber gaze glistened with adrenaline and triumph as she bent, fangs extended, ready to slice open her sister’s neck and drain her, leaving only dust on the floor like so much trash.

The vampiress above her bent, and for a moment she was off-balance. With a desperate lunge, Buffy sank her own fangs into Dru’s stretched-out neck. Shocked, the raven-haired demoness paused. Buffy, still gripping the flesh in her mouth painfully tight, raised a foot. Jerking it upwards, she planted it firmly in Drusilla’s abdomen.

Summoning the waning strength in her exhausted muscles, she gave a great heave. The flesh of her sister’s throat gaped open as she flew up and outwards, the smaller vampiress’ fangs tearing the pale skin. Dru gave an agonised wail before she landed, as Buffy had intended, half lying in the ring of flames.

Before her sister could rise, the former Slayer was across the arena. Reaching into the fire, growling at the blistering heat the scorched her arms, she gripped Dru by the hair and gave a deafening roar of victory as she twisted. A last whimper from the insane vampiress and she crumbled into dust.

****

Angelus froze for a moment that seemed as long as an eternity as blinding pain raced through his awareness. A hollow ache suddenly throbbed into life in his head, and he clutched at it in vain. Seeking the source of his agony, he straightened, eerily still, when he realised that his connection to his darling childe had been brutally severed.

Opening the link to Buffy, he was shocked to feel the glittering, feral triumph roaring through her veins. Pumped up and obviously high on power, her demon unceremoniously threw him from her mind, shutting off the connection hard. As fresh agony burst through him, he bellowed his fury and balled his hands into fists. His former lover would pay for this. Pay dearly.

****

At first she’d been afraid that the demon, made strong by its victory, wouldn’t relinquish its hold on her body. Then Angelus had probed her mind, and it had gone snarling to kick him out. Taking advantage of the distraction, the Slayer part of her seized control and held it firmly. Surprisingly, the demon merely rumbled in irritation before submissively settling down to heal.

Her eyes faded from silver to green as her body slumped wearily. Her muscles suddenly ached, the numerous bruises and cuts that littered her naked skin stinging. When she looked up, however, the wall of flames still burned as fiercely as ever. Cocking her head, she studied it with weary eyes before realising what she had to do.

****

Spike was frantic with worry. The smoke had obscured his view of the fight totally, only the occasional snatches of sound reaching him, though he couldn’t make sense of the primal growls. However, all sounds had suddenly cut off, and he was terrified that Buffy was hurt or, the darkest part of his mind whispered, dusted, all because of his insecurity.

His head slumped forward in defeat for a moment, a wave of pain threatening to swamp him before something made him look up. His eyes widened in awe as the smoke cleared, giving him an unobstructed view of the arena.

****

Buffy took a deep, though unneeded, breath before stepping shakily forward. Even when she closed her eyes, she could still see the flames towering over her. Their heat was making her skin feel tight and itchy. The final test she’d been set suddenly seemed impossible.

Then a rush of despair from behind the curtain of flames made her head snap up. Her eyes opened and narrowed, her chin rising in defiance. With a growl of dominance, she stepped forwards and through the fire.

Pure, unadulterated agony ripped through her body and seared across her every nerve as she howled in pain. Her skin felt like it was going to melt from her body, her every movement making the torture started afresh. And, as suddenly as they had appeared, the flames flared once around her and vanished.

Buffy slumped to her knees, whimpering as her temperature rapidly fell. Then a hoarse word from above her made her raise stinging, exhausted eyes. “Buffy?”

She gave a weak smile and a little wave. Gathering the reserves of energy she rarely had to touch, she rose on trembling legs. A brutal tug snapped his chains, and then she was in his arms, and he was holding her with fierce tenderness, murmuring soothing words into her hair as she wavered on the edge of consciousness.

He supported her as she staggered to the stair, effortlessly lifting her tiny body as they ascended. He helped her dress, his firm grip stopping her from falling as fabric rasped against her bleeding wounds. Then, leaning heavily on the Slayer at her side, the vampiress stumbled into the night.

Wood opened the door cautiously, a stake dwarfed in his large hand. When he saw who it was, he merely gaped in shock. When he’d asked Buffy where Spike was earlier that day, she’d just shrugged and gestured at her bedroom, giving a wicked smile before vanishing through the door.

Now, he just stepped wordlessly to one side. Spike and Buffy staggered through the doorway, each giving a weak nod of thanks before the disappeared into his bathroom. Soon afterwards he heard the shower running, and though he was itching to know just what had happened to them, he resolved to let them rest and recuperate before questioning them.

Meanwhile, Buffy and Spike just stood against opposite walls, the hiss of the water sounding dim to their dazed ears. The Slayer had been disconcerted for the first few moments; he could see the mirror out of the corner of his eye, and seeing only his own reflection and not Buffy’s was a little weird.

The couple stared at one another, eyes connecting with a sudden rush of realisation as the events of the night hit them. Spike was across the room in an instant, pulling back as his girlfriend flinched when his body crushed hers to the wall, only to be yanked flush against her by tired but strong hands.

Then her lips were on his, savage and demanding, the intensity of his emotions leaving him breathless when she finally pulled away. She made the mistake of looking at him, eyes dark and shining with arousal, lips swollen and red from her kiss, and then she had to do it again before he could speak.

“I’m so sorry, kitten. So sorry, so sorry...” His voice dwindled into a choked sob as his hands ran frantically over her body, assessing her assorted injuries as he winced for her every time he brushed a still-bleeding scrape. With neat efficiency, he stripped them both, vowing to burn the blood-stained and ripped clothing she’d worn.

Wordless, they slipped into the shower together. The edge of desperation was gone, leaving in its place a burning, languid arousal. The heat between them was almost palpable as they quickly washed, the Slayer gentle as he washed her injuries. He finished his thorough wash, the atmosphere between them becoming thicker as his hands began lingering on her smooth flesh.

She stepped back into his embrace, leaning against his broad chest as his fingers danced up her ribcage, sweeping across the outside of her breasts maddeningly lightly. They reached her shoulders, beginning a slow massage that made the heat between her legs intensify as her body throbbed with each circle of his fingertips.

Those tortuous, teasing digits moved down over her collarbone, her throaty moan of protest as the kneading stopped drawing a chuckle from him, the vibrations against her back sending a delicious shiver through her.

His agile hands palmed her breasts, lifting their weight as he avoided touching her hardening nipples. She whimpered, the tiny complaint going unnoticed or ignored as he bent his head, settling his lips near her ear. Then his fingers brushed swiftly over her nipples before jumping away again. She moaned and ground her ass against him, giving a sigh of satisfaction as he shifted uncomfortably.

In revenge, he tweaked her nipples, growling in triumph when she keened her desire, her hands scrabbling for purchase at his hard thighs. He began pinching and rolling the responsive buds, her every twist of pleasure making a new rush of desire head straight for his cock. Just when she thought she’d explode from desire, she was given a delightful shock. The Slayer, it seemed, liked to talk during sex.

His mouth moved, brushing the delicate outer shell of her ear, his warm breath caressing her skin and making her shudder with anticipation. “You like that, don’t you? Like the Big Bad rubbin’ your sweet lil titties… Such gorgeous tits you have, pet… Look at those rosy nipples, jus’ beggin’ to be sucked… You let Spike take care of you, kitten. I got what you need.”

His voice was a silky purr as it slid over her like warm honey. The questing fingers of one hand skimmed down her body, pausing to caress the swell of her hips before sneaking around. As his sure fingers dipped past her coarse, dark blonde curls, she bucked her hips forward, her head lolling onto his shoulder as she moaned.

“So tight, so wet for me... Your snug lil pussy just askin’ for me to touch… You want me, don’t you pet? Want the Slayer to make you come… Relax, kitten… There, my fingers just stretchin’ you open nice ‘n’ easy… Cor, so fuckin’ tight…” He groaned in her ear. “’ll feel so good on my cock… You want more, Buffy?”

Unable to speak, she merely nodded frantically. His constant litany, a combination of sweet praises and sultry promises, was driving her to the brink of madness. Two hot fingers slipped easily into her, beginning an agonisingly slow rhythm as his thumb circled her clit lazily. She could feel the tightening in her belly, the heat burning there. Just a bit more, a bit more…

As though reading her thoughts, he slid another finger into her and jerked them in a short, sharp few thrusts, his thumb pressing hard onto her clit. With a moan that seemed to come right up from the soles of her feet, she rose on tiptoe as orgasm washed over her, blinding pleasure making her head spin as her vision went blurred.

Excited beyond belief at seeing her so submissive, so obedient to his body’s commands, Spike placed strong hands at her waist. He raised her over his cock, his eyes seeking hers as she came down from her high. Seeing his question, she took a moment that was seemingly out of time to reach up a hand and tenderly stroke his face.

Without warning, he took her lips and swallowed her sharp gasp as he dropped her onto his raging erection. He felt her muscles momentarily tighten in protest, before she slid the rest of the way onto him. He panted, whimpering in his throat as she immediately started to work on him.

Her first few strokes were experimental, her pelvis rocking against his in a deliberate pace designed to drive him wild with lust; it was succeeding admirably. Then she started to swirl those full, womanly hips he was gripping tight enough to leave bruises, and the snug fit of her muscles over his cock made his head spin.

When she started to move in earnest, he dimly thought he might faint from pleasure. Excruciatingly slowly, she drew herself up and off him. She paused at the tip of her erection, shooting him a wicked grin before plunging back onto him. He groaned, leaning against the shower wall for support as she repeated the motion, moving faster and faster.

He was almost there, but there was something… Casting about frantically in his dazed mind, he realised that he wanted her to come with him. Reaching between them, he began to knead her clit, his murmured words becoming more uninhibited, more darkly erotic, by the second. The little vampiress whimpered, her muscles clenching spasmodically around his length, gripping so tight he thought he’d pop.

As though in retaliation, she arched her back away from him, her breasts thrust forward towards his mouth to distract him as her petite hand vanished behind her. Then he felt her first sure touch on his sac, and he tensed as his climax smashed into him. His balls tightened, his head flew back as he gritted his teeth, hilting himself with a wordless roar of release.

Her own orgasm was quieter, but no less monumental. Somehow, in a feat of incredible agility, she twisted on his cock to face him, the new sensations prolonging his climax as he shot burst after burst of warm fluid into her. Silver eyes met his once as he bared his throat eagerly, knowing what was coming.

She buried her fangs into the tender flesh, giving a muffled howl as his rich blood, spiced with his release, flowed into her mouth. Her muscles clamped down on his cock, wringing out a last few drops of his seed as she took shallow, gentle pulls from his neck. They stayed locked like that long after she’d drawn away and licked his wounds closed.

Finally he lifted her away from him, the still-warm water of the shower washing away the evidence of their joining, though their bodies were warm and sated, made tired by their exertions. In silence, they stepped out of the shower and dried one another, Spike noting with pleasure that her wounds were all but vanished.

By the time he finished drying his chest, she was slumped against the wall, asleep. With a loving smile, he lifted her into his arms, cradling her against him as she snuggled closer. He carried her into her bedroom, their bedroom now, and lay her gently on the bed. He joined her, wrapping his body around her cooler one as he drifted into sleep, safe in the knowledge that her body and her heart were healing.

Cecily, after being so rudely thrown from Wood’s apartment, had slunk home to lick her wounds, offended and furious. Determining that the most appealing option was to make Spike as jealous as possible and to push his vampire bitch right out of his mind, she gave herself a few days to recover before putting her plan into action.

She returned to the salon she’d used since arriving in Sunnydale, smiling to herself with sinister delight as her light-brown roots were dyed to match the rest of her straw-blonde hair. The ringlets were redefined by the deft hands of the stylist before she was swept off to visit the nail department. A manicure later, she paid for her treatments and sauntered out into the evening air.

Being joined by the hip to the Slayer for so long hadn’t left her totally oblivious to the dangers of walking alone on the Hellmouth, especially after dark fell. Checking that the stake lodged in her handbag was accessible, she began to walk quickly home, her wide eyes scanning her surroundings for any hint of trouble.

Once or twice she got the distinct impression that someone or something was following her, but every time she turned to look there were just empty streets behind her. Nervous, she sped up, reaching for her weapon. The click of her heels on the road echoed eerily as she shivered, the hairs on the nape of her neck rising.

****

Golden eyes followed her progress, the shadowy figure flicking from rooftop to rooftop with effortless grace. Blonde hair flashed in the light as she passed a street lamp, the ridges on her brow made deeper by the shadows dancing warily across her beautiful, cold face.

Seeing her target stop, rifling through her handbag as her cell phone trilled, Darla breathed in a last breath through her nostrils to make sure. While this certainly looked like the Slayer’s girlfriend, she had to double check. Sure enough, that fascinatingly elusive hint of the distinctive Slayer stink still lingered on her. A malicious grin lifted her fanged mouth. Time to party.

****

The girl in question, still fumbling for her cell, never knew what hit her. One moment she was alone in the darkness of a Sunnydale street, the next she was being held around the waist by a strong, slender arm as her head was wrenched to one side. Her throat was bared as she realised what was happening, struggling wildly before the sharp sting of fangs in her neck heralded the arrival of blissful darkness.

****

Spike woke to find himself holding a deathly still Buffy to his chest. For a moment he panicked, her chest so unnaturally immobile that he gripped her tighter in his arms. Then reality reasserted itself, and he relaxed, smiling softly as she sighed in her sleep, the sudden movement pushing her breasts out from under the duvet and into his line of sight.

He gulped, his morning erection suddenly throbbing as desire coursed through him. His lips curled in a wry smile as her nostrils twitched; maybe there were some upsides to having a vampire girlfriend that he hadn’t thought about before. His smile faded as his face became serious, studying her peaceful countenance.

Her wide, expressive eyes were closed, the faint lines around their edges destined to never grow any deeper. Her nose was slightly turned-up at the tip, and he remembered how it had wrinkled when she asked that first question. ‘Wait, you’re a guy?’ The memory made him grin again. He watched as her lips curled into a delectable pout, and couldn’t resist any longer.

Buffy woke to the strange but thoroughly delicious feeling of Slayer lips on hers. Mmm, Spike lips. Lips of Spike. Yum. Her eyes lazily blinked open as he drew back, the infamous Summers pout again forming on her now kiss-swollen mouth. Spike chuckled, the sound turning to a resigned groan when Buffy heaved back the duvet and jumped out of bed with restless energy.

As soon as they made an appearance in the kitchen, they found a scowling Wood awaiting them. Buffy gulped, looking down and kicking her feet like a naughty child. Spike just cocked his head, one eyebrow rising as his mouth thinned into a tight line, beginning to pace as though he were a caged animal.

“Explain.” The one, soft word was like a bell tolling the last stroke of midnight.

The Slayer sighed, slumping suddenly into a chair. Wood lowered himself more gracefully into his own, Buffy remaining standing as she backed away slowly. A glare from the tall Watcher was all it took to make her still, biting her lip as her eyes widened innocently.

Spike explained what he could, quiet comments from Buffy filling in the blanks. When he was finished, the room was held in tense silence. Slowly, the dark eyes turned on the blonde vampiress, burning with fury. He rose, towering over her, his voice booming from the area above her head.

“You knew my Slayer was in danger, and you didn’t tell me? Is there some last loyalty to your family that we should know about?”

His voice had dropped to a threatening hiss, but at the subtle accusation her eyes flashed silver, her lips curling back in a snarl. “That’s not fair! You don’t know half of what I went through with them. The Ritual would have killed you! Your body couldn’t have withstood Krethin’s magic. Spike was safe, but only because he was the object of our fight. God, men are so useless!”

She stomped to the door, intending to storm out despite the fact that it was full daylight. She reached for the handle, throwing the door open only to come face-to-face with a smiling Cecily. Buffy gaped, Spike coming up behind her only to stop and stare too.

“Hi. Can I come in?”

Wood, recognizing her voice from his perch on the couch, called an invitation. As Cecily swept past her, Buffy froze. The tingling at the nape of her neck screamed ‘vampire!’ but the girl had been outside in the sunlight. Focusing on the sounds around her, she tuned in to the ringleted young woman’s body noises.

Spike was surprised to find himself tackled away from Cecily by a fully vamped-out and snarling Buffy. He looked at her where she was straddling his chest, delicate fangs bared, then up at his smirking ex. Shoving the vampiress rudely away, he rose and shot her a scowl.

“What in the bloody ‘ell was that for?”

Buffy shot up, placing herself firmly in front of him, arms folded. “She,” the venomous emphasis on the word made him cringe, “Is a vampire.” Suddenly the former Slayer frowned. “She’s family?”

Wood snorted. “Buffy, I think you need to go and rest. Cecily was outside. In the sunlight. She can’t possibly…”

Buffy, furious, whirled to face Spike. When he merely shrugged in agreement and offered his ex an apologetic smile, she grunted in disgust. Striding forward, she cocked back a fist and slammed it into Cecily’s nose. The girl’s head snapped back as Spike leaped forward, throwing Buffy into the wall as he frantically tried to find out if Cecily’s neck was broken; while he didn’t like the girl, that was no reason for Buffy to kill her.

To his shock, Cecily merely giggled. Her head slowly tipped forwards. Glowing amber eyes locked onto his as she gave a toothy grin, and he backed away in horror just as she snapped at his neck. Then Buffy was there, a small knee smashing into her opponent’s stomach. When the fledgling doubled over, a fist cracked into her jaw, sending her reeling.

In a moment Buffy was there, gripping the taller vampiress by the arms as she let her demon growl furiously. Her voice was a tight snarl. “You need to respect your elders. The Aurelius clan does not tolerate impudent upstarts like you. Who is your Sire?”

The men looked on, the fact that Buffy considered herself to be a member of the infamous family shocking and sickening them. Cecily cowered under the force of Buffy’s regal glare; she may have had a snooty, superior attitude as a human, but she was still a babe in the vampire world, unable to remain silent in the face of such a demanding question.

“Darla.”

Buffy grinned, eyes glinting with feral delight at the thought of hurting her grandsire. Reading the intent in her elder sister’s eyes, Cecily shrieked and began pleading. Ignoring the babbling, the former Slayer gripped the ringlets the girl had prided herself on, twisting until she heard the tell-tale ‘pop!’ The younger vampire crumbled to dust, the silence broken by a metallic tinkling as something dropped to the floor.

Buffy bent, picking it up and examining it. Her eyes widened as she slowly turned. Giles, sleep-tousled and polishing his glasses absentmindedly, wandered barefoot into the room.

“Some of us are jet-lagged and are trying to sleep. Could you keep the-” Seeing what Buffy held, he promptly paled and dropped his glasses. “Oh good Lord.”

“Oh good Lord.”

Giles’ shocked expletive echoed in the silence of the room. Wood, curious and a little unhinged after seeing Buffy so calmly despatch a former ally of the Scooby Gang, stepped forward. Spike, his expression suddenly apologetic as he realised that he’d just, essentially, chosen his bitch ex over his current girlfriend, took a step forward, stopped when Buffy held up a hand.

“Just don’t, Spike.” Her voice was a bitter, pained whisper.

Sliding the ring she’d been clutching onto her finger, she walked slowly towards the door. Pulling it open, she turned and met the piercing blue eyes, watching them widen with anguish as he realised her intent. An inhuman roar of agony welled in his throat as Buffy stepped out into the bright sunlight.

He catapulted forward, sprinting for the door and praying to every god he knew that he could reach her in time. However, once he arrived at the doorframe he was hit with the shocking knowledge that his former Slayer wasn’t igniting into a not-so-human torch. His jaw dropped as he absorbed the sight of her in the sun for the first time.

She stood with her head thrown back, her eyes closed in bittersweet rhapsody as the warmth drizzled over her like warm honey. Her golden hair gleamed in the light, her pale skin suddenly seeming alive in a way it never usually did. Her arms rose at her sides as she began to spin slowly, her hair flying around her face.

Spike, in shock, just looked on. A flash of light drew his attention to the ugly, green stone set in silver that adorned her finger. She came to an abrupt halt, her face suffused with an inner light to rival the sun as an ear-to-ear smile curled her lips in a devastatingly dazzling expression.

Slowly, feeling like he was in a dream, the Slayer stepped into the sunlight. Her eyes opened, wet with tears and glistening with joy, and locked onto his. For a moment they flickered into the hauntingly beautiful silver before her smile widened, and he knew that he was forgiven for the moment.

Dazed, he took her small hand in his and they turned, walking through the sunlight streets. His Buffy, his golden girl, seemed gilded by the daytime, the hollow ache he’d seen in her eyes and longed to chase away banished by the simple pleasure of walking in something other than darkness.

“She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.”

His voice was a low murmur and she turned to him, surprised. “You write poetry?”

He shot her a look that was part shy, part affronted and part incredulous. “Kitten, if I wrote like that I’d be bloody rich. The poem’s called ‘She Walks In Beauty’ by Lord Byron.”

Buffy grinned sheepishly, shrugging and squeezing his hand. The movement made the angular stone of her ring dig into his hand, and he winced. Lifting their intertwined fingers, he studied the tacky-looking artifact for a long minute before kissing her knuckles gently. His voice was a whisper-soft caress.

“Tell me about this.”

****

Giles snapped the book shut, facing Robin Wood, unable to keep the fond smile from his face. It had tugged at his heartstrings to see her so blissfully happy, able to enjoy something so simple and yet so powerful for the first time in over a decade. His head swivelled as the dark-skinned man spoke, his voice thoughtful as he tried to figure things out.

“So Buffy sent this… Gem of Amara to Angel in Los Angeles before he lost his soul. He must have kept the thing, and Darla used it after turning Cecily so that she could come here and attack us when we were off-guard.” Realisation dawned and he sucked in a sharp breath. “Buffy saved our lives! If she hadn’t warned us, Cecily could have stayed the night and killed us all in our sleep.”

Giles’ face hardened. “And look at the thanks she gets! That girl means more than me to anyone else. I love her as a daughter. If you plan to harm her, you have to go through me first.”

Something flashed in his eyes that caused Wood to pause and reconsider the tales he’d dismissed as fantasies regarding this particular Watcher’s eventful past. Nodding to show his understanding, he began gathering mugs and filling the kettle. Glancing up at the older man, he offered his truce.

“Tea?”

****

Spike stared. “So while you’re holdin’ this little thing, nothing can hurt you?”

“Nothing can dust me.” Buffy corrected. “I can still be hurt.”

The Slayer took a moment to process this little nugget of information before a wide smile wreathed his handsome face. His girlfriend’s beaming response left him momentarily breathless, and he grabbed her right there in the crowded street and kissed her thoroughly, only drawing away when his lungs began to protest. A dazed Buffy looked at him admiringly.

“Wow.”

There was a brief pause. “So kitten, wanna go to the beach?”

“Race you!”

She was off, her words carrying back to him on a breeze. He set off in pursuit, weaving gracefully through the throngs of people, her tiny form barely visible ahead of him as she ducked and twisted effortlessly through the mob. When he finally reached the beachside boardwalk, panting and sweating, Buffy was already waiting.

A grin lit her face as she cocked an eyebrow archly. “What took you so long?”

He growled in response, deciding to even the score. Pulling his shirt off over his head, he sauntered onto the warm sand, tossing a wink back over his shoulder. “Sorry, pet, got a bit hot. Better now though.”

Buffy vaguely wondered if she was drooling before following him gingerly onto the beach. They spent the day doing nothing, the former Slayer working on her tan for the first time in years while Spike relaxed, content to watch her, fascinated by the unconscious grace of her every move. It was the fluid elegance of the predator.

When the air finally began to cool, they rose with identical sighs of disappointment. They strolled lazily back to Wood’s apartment, hand in hand, only to be confronted by an anxious Giles, rubbing a sizeable bruise on his temple. Buffy, recognising the face from her time as the Slayer, groaned.

“What’s up now, Giles?” Her tone spoke volumes.

“I’m afraid Wood has gone.”

Giles handed them the book he’d found on Wood’s desk, as well as the few bits of paper that he littered the younger man’s floor. Spike was too deeply shocked to do anything, let alone read Wood’s neat, small handwriting. Buffy took the paper, reading aloud for the whole group to hear.

Spike, Giles and Buffy

If I’m not back by sunrise, Darla will have claimed the next generation of my family. Giles, guide Spike on his path for me. Buffy, if you ever hurt him I’ll haunt you for an eternity, but make sure he looks after himself. And Spike, my Slayer. It has been an honour to work with so courageous and determined a soul. Never give up hope; work on that damned right high kick until it hurts, or I swear to every god I know that I’ll follow you for as long as it takes!

Yours faithfully,

Robin Wood.

Buffy looked up, one eyebrow cocked in confusion. Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily, handing her one of the scraps of paper. It held an image of Darla, fangs bared, as she stood in the shadow of a sneering Angelus, Drusilla portrayed kneeling at her Daddy’s feet, hands clasped piously as she snarled.

Still confused, Buffy again raised questioning eyes to her former Watcher’s. He handed her the final piece of paper, yellowed with age and countless stains, wrinkled as though it had been screwed up and reopened time after time. Examining it, she began to read aloud again, Spike’s already pale face gone sickly white.

Darla, favourite Childe of the Master of the Aurelian line, descended from the great prophet Aurelius, is considered to be one of the most dangerous vampires of the time. She has survived attempts on her life, such as it is, by our Council and by ambitious members of her own species.

None of these attempts have succeeded hitherto. Darla continues to run rampant over the world, bringing terror to its people. She has fought and killed four Slayers that we know of in the last century, the latest addition to the list being Nikki Wood, who lost her life rescuing a child from the monster’s claws. May she rest in peace.

The page was torn there, as if the rest of the document was of no interest to the reader. Spike seemed to have collected himself, and though his hands shook as he folded the papers into neat squares and slipped them into his pocket, he was calm. It was only the muscle jumping in his jaw and the way his blue eyes burned in his pale face that told Buffy he was planning something rash.

Brushing past Giles, the Slayer strode into the training room, returning a few minutes later with a heavy axe in one hand and a stake in the other. He made for the door, only to find a bruised but determined Watcher blocking the way. Buffy slid past him and into the training room.

“Move.”

Giles shook his head slowly, the menace in the younger man’s soft voice making him momentarily shudder. “I’m sorry, Spike, but I can’t let you go alone.” The Slayer’s nostrils flared as he inhaled furiously, only to find the Watcher stepping aside. “However, I can let you go with company.”

Spike swung around, his eyes softening as they settled on Buffy, wielding a sword he’d never seen before. He traced its delicate, deadly outline, thoroughly impressed by both its beauty and the strength that shimmered with every twitch of the blade. This was a weapon designed not to maim, but to kill. Seeing the direction of his stare, the blonde vampiress shrugged.

“I sent Angel to Hell with this sword. There’s no reason I can’t do it again.”

He saw the flash of pain in her eyes at the memory, but he pushed his sensitivities aside for later. Spinning, he stalked outside, leaving Buffy to smile reassuringly at Giles before she followed suit, the muffled thud of the door closing sending an ominous shiver through her. Without a word, they began to run.

****

Darla looked down at the crumpled figure of the dark-skinned Watcher, shaking her head and tutting with disappointment. Lifting his unconscious weight effortlessly, she smiled and ran her tongue possessively up the scratch that marked one side of his neck, his blood spiced with anger on her tongue.

About to sink her teeth in, she paused and looked up. Angelus stared back at her, the beginnings of a smirk twisting his lips as a plan developed in his agile mind. He could feel his wayward Childe drawing closer, drawn by her ties to the Slayer, coming to rescue his friend and guide.

Darla, reading her mate’s intent with practiced ease, sighed and dropped the body, the meaty thump as it landed making her purr her satisfaction. Grabbing him by the wrists, she dragged Wood over to the wall and clasped the same manacles they’d used so many times on Buffy around his thick wrists. Ripping his shirt away, she grinned and lifted the sword he’d brought with him.

****

Buffy and Spike had reached the mansion. The Slayer paused, preparing to kick the door open, when his girlfriend’s arm shot out in front of him. He turned to look at her, only to find her eyes closed as she sniffed. When she turned to face him and opened her eyes, they glowed hard silver in the darkness.

“This way.”

Her voice was so quiet he barely heard it, and it was unnerving to find that when she hugged the shadows at the side of the house, he couldn’t see her. Only the faint light of her eyes stared unblinkingly at him whenever she turned, a shiver coursing through him at this stark reminder of what she was.

Finally she came to an abrupt halt, neatly sidestepping him just before he walked into her. She vanished from view completely for a moment, only to reappear pacing noiselessly under a dim light. The back door she’d found swung open at the slightest push, and once inside she turned to face him.

“Go that way. Once you’re out into the hallway, find the flight of stairs. Go up to the next floor, turn right, then he should be in the fourth door on your left. Be careful. Darla’s waiting for you there.”

Spike nodded, before his brow crinkled in puzzlement. “What’ll you be doing, pet?”

He could almost see her lips turning up in a cold smile as her silver eyes flashed at him from the shadows. Her disembodied voice carried back to him as she slid away into the shadows. “I’m going to find Angelus.”

Spike lingered for a moment before the full impact of her words hit him, bringing tears to his eyes. His Buffy, his beautiful vampire, was going back into the darkness, facing the monster of her past, for him. He closed his eyes, images of her thin, bleeding body when they’d first met swimming before his eyes, bringing a rising sense of panic.

Then he remembered her as she fought naked in the firelight, her muscles rippling as she reached into the flames and defeated her sibling. Firmly pushing down his fear and doubt, he started off in the direction Buffy had told him to go, focussing on the confrontation ahead, which promised to be the most difficult of his career.

****

She could feel him. He was lurking in the shadows, taunting her as she sought him, just waiting for the right moment to pounce. Her demon, uneasy at the idea of fighting its Sire but furious at the gross tortures it had suffered, growled quietly and her eyes, which had faded to green a few moment ago, flashed silver.

The Slayer part of her, too, was restless. She had fought Angelus before, but then he had only hated her for making a part of him love. Now, remembering the triumph she felt as Drusilla crumbled to dust beneath her, she let the euphoria wash over their bond; a wave of satisfaction swept through her when she felt his rage. Her fangs elongated as his presence drew closer, both demon and Slayer ready for what promised to be her most difficult challenge in over a decade.

****

Spike stood outside the door, taking a deep breath. His grip on the axe tightened, the handle creaking under the strain of his power. Lifting a booted foot, he slammed it into the heavy oak. The door crashed off its hinges, rusted with age as they were, making a booming thud as it landed.

Stepping through into the dreary room, he caught sight of Wood and felt suddenly sick. The brave, intense man he’d come to love as a father was gone, in his place a shell of a human being, unconscious, beaten and bruised. Looking closer, his eyes caught on the flowing letter ‘D’ carved neatly into his Watcher’s shoulder. His fury roared in his ears, his Slayer sense exploding with warning, only just leaving him time to duck the blow aimed at his skull.

Darla grinned at him, her golden eyes dancing. Her voice was a low, silky purr. “Well well well, the little boy turned up after all. Want to play with me, little Slayer boy?”

***

Buffy grimaced as she stepped through the open door and into the total darkness of the room. She let her demon ease forward, the predator’s superb night vision making the shadows an easily dismissed obstacle. She walked deeper into the room, her eyes picking out the murky form of her tormentor.

Old terror welled in her for a fleeting moment as he rose, giving her a view of his seat. The cage door had been reattached, but the bloodstains and dirt from her years of imprisonment were still there. It took her only a few seconds to gather her courage, but Angelus had already struck.

A meaty hand gripped her by the throat, lifting her effortlessly into the air. He threw her into the wall, a grunt forced from her lips as her spine crackled in protest. She looked up, only to find her Sire advancing on her, his eyes flat and cold with rage. His voice was soft, caressing. Deadly.

“So, Childe, you came back. I’m glad. Now we can have some fun.”

****

Darla launched herself at him, her fangs bared in a venomous smile. Spike swung the axe, the flat of the blade catching the full weight of her body. He pulled back ready to strike, but she had slipped around behind him before he could blink. A small foot landed firmly in his back, propelling him forwards.

He thudded into the wall, using the momentum to flip over backwards. Darla, already in mid-charge, twisted and struck snake-like at his arm with her fangs. The flesh tore, making him hiss in pain. Dancing out of reach, he watched as her tongue licked over her bloodied fangs in an obscenely sensual touch.

She giggled, a girlish sound at odds with the cruel smile lighting her beautiful face. “Is that all you’ve got, Slayer? Really, Buffy fought better than that the first few times. Well, until Angelus managed to get it in and started to fuck her. Then she just screamed. What about you? You going to scream for me?”

Spike saw red. The image of Buffy, pinned and helpless underneath Angelus’ heavy body, made a rage like none other spring to life in him. Suddenly his movements became cool and quick, clearing the foggy uncertainty from him mind as he kicked her feet out from under her.

“Sorry, pet. I’m not a screamer.”

****

Buffy was desperate. Angelus was a master of torture, physical and psychological, as she knew well. She was distracted by her worry over Spike and Wood, a fact he wasn’t hesitating to exploit. As she landed heavily on her back, she kicked out and rolled away, coming to her feet only to find him chuckling.

“Really, Buff, you should work out more. Then again, I guess you’ll have nobody to train with soon enough. When Darla stops playing with her food, you’ll be all alone. What was it I said to you?”

He began to advance, backing her into a corner as he spoke. Her back hit the wall as her eyes closed, the sword dropping from her numb fingers as she felt the faint sense of delight coursing through her Grandsire’s veins. Only one thing gave Darla that much pleasure: Slayer blood. Moaning in denial, she slid down the wall and sank to the floor.

Angelus sneered, his voice becoming a silky whisper as he loomed over her. “Take it all away again. No hope, no friends, nothing. And what do you have left?”

The memory surged inside her. The sword glittered in promise as he bent to lift it; her eyes snapped open, tears shining there to mask the hatred that suddenly swallowed her. As he swung the blade down, her hands snapped up. The familiarity of the scene made her cringe inside, but she yanked the weapon from his grip with savage strength.

“My answer hasn’t changed. Me.”

****

Darla snarled as the axe bit into her thigh. She’d jumped to avoid the Slayer’s powerful but expertly controlled swing, only to find he’d already changed its course. Blood poured down her leg in a crimson waterfall. She dropped to the floor, her damaged limb giving out as she crumpled to the floor.

Spike bent over her, heaving the axe back in preparation for the final blow. Darla, seeing her opportunity, lashed out. Gripping him around the throat, she yanked him down to her level, fangs bared. For a moment the Slayer lost his balance, instinct bringing the axe down to compensate for the sudden lurch.

Darla’s eyes widened in shock and blinding pain a moment before the sharp edge of the blade hit the floor with a resounding ring. She crumbled to dust underneath him. Slowly, aware of numerous cuts and bruises that were protesting the movement, Spike rose. Wrenching the chains apart, he lifted Wood’s body, the faint moan of awareness from the Watcher music to his ears.

Looking back at the pile of dust on the floor, he thought for a moment before spitting on it. “That was for Buffy.”

****

For the second time in as many weeks, Angelus felt searing pain blasting his system. However, this time his demon keened its loss at an unbearable level; he hadn’t just lost his Sire, he’d lost his mate. He slumped to his knees, ignoring his Childe as he wallowed in black despair.

Buffy stared for a moment as her tormentor suddenly collapsed, writhing in pain on the floor. It took her a moment to realise what was happening, and she slammed the vague connection she’d felt with Darla off before the pain could reach her. Rising, she kicked him once in the chest, snarling in satisfaction when she heard his ribs snap.

She wiped a hand across her eyes, drying the tears that had fallen. Casting a last look back at the figure on the floor, she walked calmly from the room, slamming the door shut behind her and leaving Angelus consumed by his pain. Finding Spike waiting for her outside the manor, she wordlessly grabbed one of Wood’s arms and hefted his weight. Exchanging a look of heated promise with her lover, she turned them to face home.

It took Wood a week to feel fully recovered. Willow and Tara had obligingly performed small healing charms on Darla’s mark, and though the scar would be there to remind him of his foolishness, it was painless. If people noticed that the redheaded witch seemed a little more withdrawn than usual, nobody commented.

However, during the course of the week, when the Scoobies in general were cheerful and relieved that their mentor was still alive, Buffy began to realise that both Willow and Oz seemed withdrawn from the general feeling of contented happiness blanketing their friends.

She wondered if anybody else had noticed, and watched quietly from a distance as the other Scoobs lived in blissful ignorance of the dread that seemed to hang over two of their members. Only Tara seemed to have noticed something, and Buffy often found the other witch’s eyes lingering on the two.

By the time Wood was fully recovered, Giles had approached Buffy with his concerns. “Have you noticed anything… strange about Willow and Oz lately?”

The vampiress shot him a brief smile. “I’ve been watching them for a while. It’s odd; Oz seems fine, just a little thoughtful. But Willow… She smells different.”

Giles had to pause a minute as the strangeness of her comment sank in. Buffy noticed his hesitation and smiled sadly. After that, her former Watcher kept his moments of confusion to himself, though she took care to edit her words around him and all the Scoobs except Spike.

“Different in a bad way?”

“Not really. Just… different. It kinda made me wig the first time I noticed it. I thought she was sick.”

The older man nodded thoughtfully, but Oz came into the room and they switched the topic to less personal matters. Buffy took a surreptitious sniff, but he still smelled like that strange mixture of human and beast. His eyes met hers, predator to predator, and he nodded slightly to acknowledge the fact that he could see her concern.

Things seemed to come to a head the night Wood ventured out of his bedroom. Willow and Oz had requested a full Scooby meeting. Xander and Anya settled in one corner, wrapping their arms around one another. Tara perched gracefully on the edge of an armchair. Giles and Wood took the couch, while Spike grabbed the other armchair.

Buffy, entering the room last, paused and looked around for a place to sit. That was when she heard it. Her head snapped around at exactly the same moment as the werewolf’s. At first she thought she’d imagined it, but then it came again: A low, muffled thump. A faint heartbeat.

And it all clicked into place. The way Willow smelled different, but not unhealthy, their slight withdrawal from the group. They were afraid, not for themselves, but for someone else. Understanding flickered in her eyes as her lips curled up in a grin. Glancing around, she let her eyes settle on Spike.

He patted his knee invitingly, and she crossed the room and settled onto his lap. One strong arm locked around her waist, pulling her until her back was pressed firmly against his chest. He lowered his head, nuzzling at her neck and nibbling her ear, making her giggle and slap at him half-heartedly.

When everybody had settled down and a hush fell over the odd assortment of humans and demons, Willow turned to Oz. For the first time since Buffy had known him, the werewolf let his emotions show on his usually indifferent face. A smile lit his features, a mixture of smugness and affection.

The witch gripped his hand nervously, facing her curious audience. “Um, I don’t know how to say this in a we-still-love-you way and not sound like an überbitch so I’m just gonna spit it all out in one.” She paused, taking a deep breath before blurting it out. “We’re leaving.”

A murmur of protest swept the Scoobs as they leaned forward, but Oz held up a hand for quiet. When it again fell, Willow continued. “Not right now, but soon. I wanted you to be the first to know.” She again lapsed into silence. Oz squeezed her hand and suddenly her chin came up and a delighted but dazed smile swept across her face. “I’m gonna be a mommy.”

There was a long moment of absolute silence as what she’d just said soaked through to everyone. Then the room exploded with noise. Buffy was gently lifted to her feet before Spike rose, dropping a heated kiss on her cheek and patting her on the bottom before he swooped down on his redheaded friend and crushed her in a tight hug.

When she squirmed, he seemed to realise that suffocating Willow probably wasn’t conductive to her health, or the baby’s. Releasing her, he turned to Oz, clapping him on the back with a broad grin. Then everyone but Tara and Buffy crowded to the centre of the room, enveloping the soon-to-be parents in a writhing mass of Scoobies.

When Spike finally fought his way to the open air again, he noticed Buffy looking on with a wistful smile. The realisation that she would never have this had hit her hard. As the Slayer, she’d only ever been able to think for the moment. She had entertained vague ideas of a husband and children, but knew they were unlikely.

Now, seeing Willow’s proud smile and Oz’s protective watchfulness, she felt a dull ache inside. Her eyes found Spike as he watched her and another blow struck her. She’d never be able to give him this. His future with her was a lonely one, without the many joys of parenthood.

Agony, crippling in its intensity, swept through her as she realised what she had to do. Smiling sadly, she lifted a hand and waved goodbye. Turning towards the door, she began to walk. Every step made her heart break a little bit more, and her legs felt like lead as she forced them to keep moving.

She reached for the door handle, only to find her ribs protesting as a hard body slammed her into the door. Spike’s scent filled her nostrils as he rubbed against her provocatively, his voice a low, sexy growl that couldn’t mask the hurt he was feeling.

“I knew what I was gettin’ into when I took up with you, love. ‘m not about to let you walk out of my life.”

She turned in his arms, seeing the fierce protectiveness in his eyes. “Am I?”

His brow wrinkled in confusion. “What?”

“Am I your love?”

Spike inhaled sharply, fear rising rapidly in him. Could he make that commitment, knowing what the implications of a relationship with a vampire were? He thought for a long minute before looking down into her eyes. Yes. He crushed his mouth to hers in a hard, passionate kiss, only tearing his mouth away to speak roughly in her ear.

“You’re my world, Buffy. My friend, my equal, my love. I’m drownin’ in you, Summers, and God help me I don’t wanna be saved. You’re mine.”

The air rushed from his lungs as her eyes flashed silver and she reversed their positions, slamming him back against the door. As she sucked and nibbled teasingly on his neck, her husky purr drifted to his ears.

“No, Slayer. You’re mine.”

Buffy crushed her lips to his, a fiercely intense kiss that was bruising in its passion. His hands slid around her waist, tugging her against him. A slender leg rose, wrapping around his hips as he moaned into her mouth, pressing his impressive erection into her. Whimpering, she eased her lips away, her eyes fogged with desire as he panted against her neck.

“Wha…?” His voice husky and adorably dazed.

“Someone’s at the door.” She answered with a pout, pulling her boyfriend away from the aforementioned entrance. About to pull it open, she was stopped when Spike grabbed her wrist. Quirking a brow at him, she watched as his eyes dropped to her hand, where the ugly Gem still glittered merrily. He grinned sheepishly, stepping back as she cautiously opened the door.

For a moment the sunlight dazzled her as it splashed over her skin. Then she was tackled inside by a long, slender body, propelling her into the shadows inside the house. Landing with a thud, she scowled in irritation before her eyes widened, mirroring those of the woman sitting atop her.

Her voice was a high-pitched squeak. “Dawnie?”

Her sister began to babble. “Oh my God, Buffy! You weren’t burning. Why weren’t you burning? Not that I want you too, ‘cause you’re my sister and stuff, but hey, vampire. Um, yeah.” She paused for breath before ducking her head meekly. “Hi?”

The next moment she rose gracefully to her feet, extending a long-fingered hand to her shorter sibling. Buffy grasped it, fluidly regaining her own feet before sweeping her younger sister into a fierce hug. Dawn winced, prying the vampiress’ arms from her waist with a giggle.

“Ouch. Note to self, wear protective clothing next time you spring a surprise visit on your vampiric sister.”

Buffy grinned, holding Dawn at arms length and taking a good look at her, tears threatening to stain her cheeks as pride swelled inside. Where she’d been a pretty teenager, Dawn was an exquisitely beautiful woman. And at 29 years of age, there was no doubt that she was a full-grown woman.

Her hair, previously a pleasant shade of light brown, had darkened to a glossy chocolate colour, streaked with caramel shades tan. It curled in loose ringlets down to her mid-back, accentuating her slender waist. She was taller than Buffy now, her skin a delicate ivory, her eyes a deep blue-grey as they narrowed on a smile.

Her long limbs, gangly-looking and awkward when she was a teenager, fitted her new height, giving her a lithe grace that was not dissimilar to her sister’s. She wore a creamy top patterned with silver lines hanging just above her waist, little tassels half covering the strip of taut skin it exposed. Light blue jeans were slung low on her hips, a cute suede belt and green-blue earrings matching the outfit to her personality.

Buffy was the first to break the silence again. “Look at you! All grown up.”

Dawn rolled her eyes, punching the vampiress lightly on the shoulder. “We’re not all immortal, doofus.”

The Slayer cleared his throat, making both women turn to face him. Their faces were like mirror images as they each raised an eyebrow, the eerie similarity making Spike back off slightly. Finally Buffy grinned, turning to Dawn.

“Dawnie, this is Spike the Vampire Slayer. Spike, this is my sister and the infamous Key, Dawn.” A pause. “You are still the Key, right?”

The woman smirked, raising a hand. For a moment she frowned before beautifully deep green energy gathered around her outstretched fingers. Flicking the slender digits in Buffy’s direction, she gave a girlish giggle when the vampiress was suddenly clothed in a gorgeous crimson dress, the light fabric fluttering around her in a wind they couldn’t feel.

Dawn dropped her hand and the dress vanished, leaving a pouting Buffy attired in her more casual clothing. Spike’s eyes glazed over as she tossed her hair back over her shoulder. Look at that lip… Gonna get that lip. he silently promised himself. Buffy obviously smelt the increase in his arousal, as her head snapped around to him and her eyes darkened.

“Not wanting to kill the sexual tension just radiating from you two, but isn’t there a small problem involving an ex-boyfriend of yours?”

Dawn’s dry voice snapped the lovers back to reality, though Spike nearly moaned aloud at the heated look she sent his way. When the other Summers woman shot him a sly grin, he blushed and led the way into the living room, where the jubilant Scoobs were still gathered around Willow.

Oz was the first to notice the stranger in their midst; his imminent fatherhood seemed to have sharpened the wolf senses his condition lent him. His head whipped around, his teeth bared in a snarl that was surprisingly threatening. Seeing the way Buffy clung closely to the tall woman, he relaxed slightly, but the crackle of her power made him uneasy.

Willow, noticing her partner’s distress, turned to the doorway. She put a protective hand on her belly, stopped when Tara’s gentle hand rested on her arm. Turning questioning eyes on her oldest companion, the redheaded woman frowned when the shy blonde stepped forwards, lowering herself to kneel at the mystery woman’s feet.

Dawn smiled gently as awed eyes met hers, resting her hand softly on the witch’s head. For a moment her power was palpable in the air around her as she closed her eyes, swaying slowly from side to side. Tara seemed caught in a similar state, her eyes half-closed in contentment. Dawn’s voice was deeper than it normally was, caressing and motherly.

“Your time will come. Do not give up hope, daughter.”

The Key seemed to shimmer with the breathtaking emerald light once again before she returned to normal, lifting Tara to her feet with a sheepish smile. The witch merely bowed her head in thanks, returning to the corner of the room. Dawn faced the gathered Scoobs with a little wave.

“Hi there! I’m Dawn Summers, Buffy’s sister. And the Key, but that’s way less fun.” She giggled, breaking the stunned silence that seemed to have invaded the room.

Giles was the first to move, striding forwards and enveloping the smiling woman in a warm hug. She returned the favour, rolling her eyes at his muffled ‘Good Lord’s against her hair. Gently disengaging, she shot him a last devastating smile before turning the group, smiling at them each in turn as they introduced themselves.

Finally there was only one name she didn’t know. Turning to the tall, dark-skinned man who hadn’t yet greeted her, she raised an eyebrow and turned on the time-honoured Summers pout. Wood, finally rising from his daze, walked forward.

Taking the delicate hand she offered him, he turned it over and lifted it to his lips, brushing a lingering kiss across her knuckles. He felt like he was drowning in the clear blue of her eyes, the tingling pleasure racing across his every nerve as he touched her making him gasp with surprise.

She gave him a knowing smile, gently withdrawing her hand, trying to ignore the girlish urge to swoon. Then he spoke, and she knew he was lost. Wood’s voice, normally deep and commanding, was rich and smooth, caressing her name like it was the most valuable of treasures.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dawn. My name is Robin Wood. May I ask what brings you to Sunnydale?”

At the reminder of her quest, the last traces of foggy desire faded from her mind. Clapping her hands, the sudden noise making everyone jump, she looked at Willow with a soft smile. Only Tara could see the soft cloud of energy that fell over the witch and her werewolf lover, but the two exchanged tender smiles and shifted closer together.

Drawing herself up to her full height, the young woman gave a beaming smile. “Since Willow and Oz will be leaving soon, you won’t be able to restore Angel’s soul unless you have another powerful witch stand in. Well, since I haven’t seen Buffy in ages,” here she shot her sister a look that promised they’d be talking about that later, before continuing, “I thought I’d mosey on up to old SunnyD and see if I could lend a hand or three.”

For a moment a ghostly extra arm seemed to hover around her, then it vanished. Everybody except Buffy stared in shock, but the petite blonde just grumbled a low, “Show-off.”

Giggling, her sister nodded in agreement before taking Wood’s hand in hers and tugging him to sit beside her on the couch. The Watcher grinned smugly as everybody settled down. Waiting for a moment’s quiet, Dawn cleared her throat. Her voice was surprisingly commanding.

“Alright people, let’s go to work!”

It was midnight by the time Buffy managed to get everyone to shut up long enough to get a word in. When she pointed out what time it was, the Key merely blinked at her as if to say ‘So?’ While she, as a vampire, and Dawn, as one of the most powerful forces in the universe, were feeling as sprightly as ever, the other Scoobies seemed to be flagging.

As she herded the yawning Scoobies out the door, Buffy’s demon stirred when her fingers touched the heavy wood. We don’t just want them to go because they’re tired, do we? For a moment she got the oddest feeling that it was licking nonexistent lips. There’s also the matter of a certain Slayer we need to mark.

She gave a hungry growl at the thought. Wood and Giles gave her strange sidelong glances as Spike’s eyes darkened with desire. Dawn grinned to herself; part of her ability as the Key was to catch glimpses of the future. Judging by her visions, Spike was in for a ride and a half. For a moment the part of her that was still a teenage girl pouted. She may have Robin for now, but damn! Spike was a hottie.

As though sensing Dawn’s thoughts Buffy growled again possessively. Laughing, her sister pulled the two men from the room, the startled Watchers calling quick goodnights to hide their blushes. Buffy turned to Spike, leaning back against the door and giving a lazy smile.

Spike gave his own impatient growl, darting across the room and pinning her to the door with his body. Crushing his lips to hers, he moaned in delight as her nails ran down his back feverishly. Shuddering, he eased back to give her room, only to find her plastering her body against his.

Her hips moved in a slow, seductive rhythm as she began licking and nibbling his neck teasingly. When he tensed, she went to pull away; she was shocked and thrilled when his hand shot up, holding her against him. His husky, purring voice above her made her freeze, however, with a shiver of fear for him when the demon struggled for control.

“Buffy, I want you to claim me.”

She stepped back, meeting his eyes. “You understand what it means? If we do that… There won’t be anyone else for you or me, Slayer. Just us. I’ll kill anyone who comes near you.”

Spike growled at her territorial statement. “And I’ll rip anyone who looks at you wrong into pieces. I know what I’m doing, love.”

When she realised that he had been thinking about this for a while, she gave a low groan and kissed him savagely. Her eyes flashed silver fire at him as she backed away, leaving him whimpering his desire for her. Shaking her head, she dodged past him and stopped in the doorway to their bedroom, looking back over her shoulder.

“You coming then?”

By the time the Slayer had recovered enough from her calm acceptance of his wish, she’d pushed the door shut. He was across the room in a few seconds, barging into their private sanctum only to screech to a halt at the sight that greeted him, his mouth going dry as his cock leaped to sudden, painful attention.

Buffy was lying on the bed, dressed only in a matching set of frilly black lingerie. She leaned back onto her elbows, thrusting her breasts enticingly towards him. Slamming the door shut, he began to fumble with his clothes, made clumsy by his eagerness to join her. When she became too impatient, she rose and came to stand in front of him.

Her gaze crawled up to meet his before she took the two halves of his shirt in her strong little hands. The rip of the fabric made an erotic accompaniment to his moan of desire as she tore the clothing away. Delicate fingers ran along the bulge in his jeans before unbuckling his belt and opening his fly.

When his cock jumped into her hand, she shot him a sultry smile. “No underwear? Oh you bad boy, you.”

Her throaty purr made him quiver with desire. Pushing her back onto the bed, he nestled himself between her spread thighs with a cocky smile. “You know you love it, baby.”

Buffy nodded in agreement before his soft lips eased over her own, stoking the fire raging inside of her. She moaned and he took advantage of it, slipping his tongue into her mouth. Her hands buried themselves in his silky hair, her lips moving ravenously against his. Sliding down slightly, he began to kiss her neck.

On impulse, he moved his mouth to the area that a vampire usually bit its victim. Catching a bit of flesh between his teeth, he bit down on it. Buffy snarled, her response instantaneous. Her eyes flashed silver as her fangs dropped, and Spike found himself being bodily heaved onto the bed.

Moments later a now-naked Buffy landed atop him, sinking down onto his cock with no further foreplay. Spike groaned; it was cool and wet and tight and God it had been too long since he was last inside her. Her hips immediately rose away from his, drawing out the slide up to excruciating lengths.

Her demon face was contorted with pleasure as she paused, the tip of his length just stretching her opening. Their eyes met as his hands rose to pinch and knead her nipples. Then she slammed back down onto him in a brutally hard stroke that left him gasping for breath.

She began to whine as she picked up a punishing rhythm, her pelvis twirling with each downward plunge. His fingers rolled her receptive bud furiously as his other hand slid down her body, one long finger delving into the sticky wetness around where they were joined.

He rubbed her clit gently, increasing his pace as she began to growl and whimper in pleasure. Her nails scored his chest, the flares of pain making his head snap back as he gasped and panted in mind-numbing ecstasy. Then her voice was in his ear, a low, husky snarl that made every nerve tingle.

“Come on, lover. Harder, faster. Yeah, Slayer, fuck it’s good. Your hard cock so deep inside me… You love it, don’t you? Love my cool little pussy on you…”

Spike moaned his agreement, his hips pumping frantically in time with her thrusts. Her hand gripped his hair and gently turned his head to the side, her cool tongue bathing the skin of his throat, her rhythm not once faltering. Her fangs grazed his skin lightly, a fresh bolt of arousal jumping through him at the contact.

Powerful muscles suddenly contracted around his cock, squeezing him in a grip that was exquisitely painful. Then the sharp sting of her fangs sliding into his neck made his eyes close in release, his warm seed spurting into her as she began to come, writhing over him as she pulled long swallows of blood from him.

His orgasm seemed to last forever, making him only dimly aware of her actions as she roared her claim. “Mine!”

He opened his eyes, feeling the last of his come draining into her as he latched his teeth onto her neck and bit down, feeling her cool blood spill onto his tongue, the feeling of finally belonging making him want to weep. “Yours.”

An electric tingle shot through them both, the room rocking as though in a silent explosion. Silver light burst over and around them as the echo of the other’s pleasure stormed through their bodies. The soft, loving slide of her tongue over his mystically-sealed marks brought him down from his blissful high.

Her voice in his head was the last thing he heard before slumber claimed him. Sleep, my love.

****

In the next room, the Key smiled to herself. Emerald light gathered around her, travelling through the wall to settle softly over the sleeping vampire and her Slayer. Rolling onto her side, the age-old being gave a soft sigh of contentment and fell into sleep, images of things to come dancing in her mind.

The following evening seemed to creep by slowly. Oz and Willow were leaving in the morning, once the sun had risen. For now, however, the witch was locked in Wood’s study with the man himself, as well as Giles, Tara and Dawn. Occasional bursts of triumphant words came through the door, but otherwise they were quiet.

Xander and Anya had decided to stay at home that evening. Buffy could tell that Dawn unnerved the young man slightly, though Anya seemed pleased not to be the only former non-human now in mortal form. Buffy, technically, was still a demon, despite the soul.

She thought she knew why Xander was so jumpy around her sister, too. Dawnie was no longer the immature teenager she had been. She had a serenity about her that seemed to radiate control and power, and although she laughed and smiled with the others, she always seemed to be apart from them, often lapsing into thoughtful silences.

Buffy, for the most part, accepted this as a change in her sister that growing up had caused. After all, she was hardly the same as a vampire as she had been as a human. A lot of her inhibitions had dropped away after her turning, and she knew something she’d never known before. She knew that she had the capacity to hate.

The slightly creepier thing about Dawn’s new Key godliness was the ease with which she used the tremendous power at her disposal. She’d barged into Buffy and Spike’s room not long after daybreak, the content that the couple seemed to radiate making her smile even as she ushered them into the living room.

When a highly irritated Buffy asked her what in the frilly heck was going on, she dropped the bombshell. She was, she informed them calmly, going to put a very, very powerful protection spell on them. When her sister merely raised a brow and waited, she rolled her eyes and pouted at Wood, who commanded that they all follow her orders.

Sighing reluctantly, they had sat still while Dawn and, surprisingly, Tara circled them with smelly herbs and candles and other witchy things. They’d refused Willow’s offer of help, Dawn turning her down with a gentle smile and a rational explanation. They didn’t want the baby to be addicted to magic, so Willow should limit her casting to only minor spells while she was pregnant.

Once they’d all been anointed with a vile-looking paste, Tara chanted the final words and Dawn began to glow softly. For a moment Buffy’s skin felt tight, then her ears popped silently and everything was back to normal. Apparently, however, Dawn’s glowing had wigged out Xander, as he refused to come too near her now.

Spike, meanwhile, was doing his best to distract Buffy from her thoughts. Trying out the claim for the first time, he concentrated hard.

//Well, whaddya know. It works.\

He heard something like a snort over the link, her wry amusement flooding through to him. /Of course it works, Blondie. Sheesh, I do know what I’m doing.

Spike’s reply was a low growl, suddenly serious. //Been practicing, have we?\

Hearing the jealousy and the insecurity in his voice, she sent back a wave of soothing warmth. /Don’t be silly. But I’m a vampire. It’s like… instinct or something.

Relieved and suddenly wanting to take her mind off his insecurities, he grinned. She felt the imminent mischief, her head snapping around to face him as her eyes narrowed. When the image of her tied to the bed, his head between her thighs as she screamed his name, finally reached her, she gasped. Oz looked at her from his seat outside the study, nostrils flared. She saw his lips twitch slightly before he nodded sombrely, turning back to his waiting.

Spike, noticing the interaction, grinned to himself. Until she replied with an image of him tied to the bed, blindfolded, as a leather-clad, stiletto-wearing Buffy sucked voraciously on his cock. He groaned, said appendage swelled to almost painful hardness. Her smug voice sounded in his head.

/Gotcha.

Leaping up, he dragged her into their room. Oz watched them go with a shake of his head, pressing his hands firmly over his sensitive ears. As he threw her onto the bed and leaped on top of her, the Slayer looked down into her eyes with a smile that was both savage and tender.

“No, Buffy. I’ve got you.”

She purred, her lips meeting his in the sweetest kiss of his life. “Always.”

The morning found them wrapped in each other’s arms, a comfortable tangle of limbs. The rising sun woke Buffy, whose body had adjusted to human time, though it felt strangely unnatural to be waking in the day and sleeping at night. Groaning, she rolled away from her lover, a satisfied smirk on her lips at the sated feeling inside.

She shook Spike awake gently, realising the Oz and Willow would be leaving in just under an hour. In silence, they showered together, their thorough wash of each others’ bodies an act of intimacy and love rather than heated desire. Once dry and fully-dressed, they stepped out into the living room.

Just half an hour later, everyone was ready to say their goodbyes. Tara went first, giving Willow a tearful hug. She hesitated before giving Oz the same treatment. The two Wicca friends promised to stay in touch, their parting both sad and joyful at the knowledge that while they would be separated, they would see each other again soon.

Spike, Giles, Wood and Xander embraced Willow, extracting promises to stay in touch, before giving Oz a manly clap on the shoulder. The men exchanged looks, their silent messages clear enough. Take care of her. We’ll miss you. Good luck.

Anya grinned cheerfully, wishing the couple many happy and well-deserved orgasms after the baby arrived. The witch laughed and hugged her friend, and the group could have sworn that Oz blushed.

Dawn and Buffy watched from the sidelines, both smiling. When Willow turned to them, she gave a half-bow to Dawn before smiling tremulously at the vampiress. They embraced on another, the fast but steady heartbeat in Willow’s body making Buffy smile through her tears. She exchanged a final glance with Oz, their silent friendship and their respect for one another clear.

The witch turned to Wood, carefully drawing out a sheet of paper, on which were written strange characters in Willow’s neat, precise handwriting. Handing the spell to the Watcher, she gave him one last hug and a sad smile. Stepping back, she gripped her partner’s hand tightly before they turned.

“Good luck with the spell. Let me-” Her voice broke for a moment. “Let me know how it goes.”

Then they were down the steps and in Oz’s old van, driving into the distance. They didn’t look back, but everybody understood. Sometimes, looking back was too painful to even try. The silent Scoobs filed into Wood’s apartment, each remembering a special moment with the bizarre couple. The rest of the day was quiet, contemplative. Things seemed strangely empty without Willow there.

Night had fallen earlier than they expected. For a moment she felt the barest hint of nervousness creep into her mind, but she pushed it away. She rose, looking silently down at Spike. His brilliant blue eyes met hers, knowing and understanding. It was time.

They moved almost as one, passing Wood and Giles who were setting things up in the heart of the room, making ready for the spell to be cast. Striding to the weapon’s chest, she grabbed the sword she’d taken from Angelus the night they’d rescued Wood. How long ago had that been? Days, weeks, months? She only knew that it hadn’t been long enough.

Spike, beside her, picked up a few stakes, a bottle of holy water and the heavy axe he’d used to dust Darla. She tried not to let the chilling knowledge that the holy water and the stakes would be useless against a Master Vampire like Angelus wash through their link. Instead she caressed the blade in her hands, fascinated by the play of light over its deadly surface.

They didn’t say goodbye. Nobody wanted to acknowledge the fact that they might not be coming back again. Only Dawn stopped them, a long-fingered hand resting on Buffy’s arm. The two exchanged knowing glances, embracing quickly, the tension in the air thickening.

“Come back to me.”

Then the door was opened for them by an invisible hand, and as they walked into the darkness and it shut gently behind them, her voice whispered to them, words that were painfully familiar to Buffy, though Spike was confused. Be brave. Live. For me.

Seeing the tear that coursed down his love’s cheek, the Slayer paused. //Pet?\

In response, he felt a flood of memory wash over him, all her emotions and thoughts bared to his gaze. If he hadn’t known before that she loved him, he knew it now.

She turned, looking at the edge of the platform, then up into the sky beyond. A beautiful stairway opened before her eyes, bathing her in a soft orange glow. And it all became clear. She turned back to Dawn, lips curled slightly in a loving smile.

Teenage Dawn shook her head. “Buffy, no!”

His darling girl smiled, grabbing her sister by the arms. “Dawnie I have to. Listen, there’s not much time. Listen. Tell Giles… Tell Giles that I figured it out. And- and that I’m okay. Give my love to my friends. You have to take care of them now. You have to be strong. Dawn, the hardest thing in this world is to live in it. Be brave. Live. For me.”

Then she turned, eyes rising to that brilliant pathway, lighting up before her as Hell began to descend on Earth. She ran, a tear stricken Dawn calling her name. And then she jumped, into the glowing portal of crackling energy. Agony blasted her body and she screamed-

The memory abruptly cut off, leaving the echo of that searing pain crackling through him. He gasped for breath, then relaxed as a wave of tenderness and apology rolled over him. /Sorry. Didn’t mean to let it get that far along. Kinda got stuck reliving the moment, you know?

Wordless, he swept her into a hug. When he put her down, there were tears in his eyes. //You won’t have to do that again, Buffy. I promise.\ His only reply was a resigned smile.

They continued towards the mansion, looming over them now like a ruin from an old horror-movie. Except here, the actors didn’t get to carry on living if their character died. They stopped at the front entrance, easily dusting the few minions who hadn’t deserted their semi-crazed master.

Turning to face her, Spike saw Buffy’s eyes harden as they began to glow softly, their silver light warming him and infusing him with fresh determination. She stepped back, raising a slender leg and slamming her booted foot into the old door. It crashed open. When Spike looked at her in astonishment, she shrugged.

“Might as well tell Daddy that I’m home.”

At her reference to Angelus as part of her family, he snarled possessively and grabbed her hips in a fierce hold. //Mine\

/Always, my love.

When he released her, she smiled at him, her dainty fangs gleaming coldly in the faint moonlight. Suddenly she froze, eyes closing. Opening their bond, she let him feel the faint tugging she could feel from her Sire. Her eyes met his. /Looks like Daddy heard me.

Without waiting for him, she stalked into the darkness of the hallways. He’d lost track of where they were by the time they made the fifth turn off the main hall. When they made their tenth, he admitted to himself that he was hopelessly lost. As soon as they reached their destination, the door to the dingy room swung open.

Spike stared. Inside, it was pitch black and totally silent. Without Buffy’s advanced sight, there was no way he’d be able to fight in there. He raged silently. Trust Angelus to pick a place he could pick them off one at a time. No. They would win this. They had to win this.

Buffy turned to him and just as their eyes met, exchanging a silent promise, a long arm shot out of the darkness. It gripped her by the neck, and the Slayer just caught a glimpse of cold yellow eyes before she was yanked into the darkness. For the next few seconds, the longest of his life, there was utter silence.

****

Inside, Buffy reacted immediately. The doubt she’d felt last time she’d faced Angelus was gone. She felt strong, confident, and powerful in a way she hadn’t felt since she’d dived into Glory’s portal. Whipping her sword up, she sent the blade to bite into her captor’s arm.

Angelus released her with a feral snarl, one she answered gladly. They circled one another warily, the darkness no obstacle to her demon’s eyes. He lashed out, hoping to catch her off guard, but she caught his fist with her own and backhanded him across the face.

One of his legs swept up, his foot landing heavily in her stomach. She flew backwards, bracing herself for the inevitable crash. The next moment she contacted the wall, her head cracking into the stone with a sickening thud. Stars burst behind her eyes as something popped loose in one of her vertebrae. Snarling, she shook off the dizziness and leaped back into the fray.

****

Spike had never been so scared in his life. One minute there was silence, the next there are savage snarls and Buffy comes flying out of the darkness and into the wall beside him. He winced as he heard the resounding crack of her head as it made contact, followed by the snap in her spine. Then she vanished back into the shadows.

Frantic with worry, he tried to see what was going on, squinting in vain. As though she’d sensed his desperation, a surge of knowledge hit him. He knew where everything in the room was, and it took him a long moment to figure out that he was actually seeing through her eyes.

Angelus’ deep, growling voice caught his attention as he taunted Buffy. “So, Buff, not only are you the greatest siring mistake of the century, now you’re the worst excuse for a vampire, too. You shack up with a human. But no, not just any human. The Slayer. It’s priceless.”

****

Inside the chamber, Buffy felt Spike growl with rage and she laughed. Angelus lunged, aiming a punch at her chest. She jumped sideways, landing a solid kick to his hip that made her demon purr its satisfaction when the bone shattered. He howled his rage, leaping out of range again.

“Did you forget, Angelus, that you ‘shacked up’ with a Slayer, too? Angel loved me like he never loved anyone. You killed Darla for me. So I’d say you were the greatest siring mistake of the century, at least from her point of view.”

Spike’s amusement was plain from his seat inside her mind, but she could feel the demon raging below the surface. Then her Sire was darting forwards again, managing to spin her around with a powerful punch to the jaw. She winced, her fangs slitting her lower lip as her jaws snapped together painfully. Growling, she used the momentum of the turn to roll away from his follow-up kick, shifting quickly and slapping him across the face hard enough to knock him into the wall.

He grinned, feeling the slide as her control on her darker side loosened. He probed a loose tooth with his tongue, circling her again as he carried on taunting her, his dark eyes seeking an opening she was determined not to give him. His voice was low, seductive. Believable.

“You can’t live with him, Childe. He’s human. He will die, and then you’ll be left alone again. You see, you can’t live with humans, but that pesky soul won’t let you live with vampires either. Not a human, not a vampire. You’re nothing. You’re living on the edge between darkness and light, and either way you turn it’s going to burn you until there’s nothing left.”

The last word was a roar as he sprang forwards, his hands gripping either side of her head. Their eyes met, his alight with triumph. She felt his fingers tighten in her hair, felt Spike’s anguish as he realised what was happening. And then he twisted, and the world went black.

“…You’re living on the edge between darkness and light, and either way you turn it’s going to burn you until there’s nothing left.”

The last word was a roar as he sprang forwards, his hands gripping either side of her head. Their eyes met, his alight with triumph. She felt his fingers tighten in her hair, felt Spike’s anguish as he realised what was happening. And then he twisted, and the world went black.

Then white light burst behind her eyelids, followed by agony that made her scream as it ripped through her every nerve. A distant cracking registered as her spine twisted, the bones realigning even as she realised she should be dust in the wind. Angelus had jumped back, his cold eyes suddenly wide with shock and confusion.

The blinding pain began to ebb, though she felt sick and dizzy. Her vision finally cleared to find Spike had rushed to her side, his face tight with the echoes of her pain, coming to him through their bond. He looked confused and terrified, gripping her shoulders hard enough to bruise as she absently shook the kinks from her neck.

Rising, she gently pushed her lover and mate aside; this was her fight. Angelus snarled incredulously, something akin to fear flashing in his golden eyes. “What the fuck happened have you done?”

Smiling, her eyes glittering despite the pitch black, she slowly raised a hand. The Gem of Amara stood out even in the darkness, a bulky, sharply angular mass against the gentle contours of her delicate hand. His eyes fixed on it, understanding dawning. It was followed shortly by a growl of confused fury.

“The Slayer’s bitch was wearing that when we sent her to you. How?”

Buffy smiled coldly. “Here’s the interesting thing, Angelus. I wondered that myself for a while, but I asked Giles about it and he gave me the answer. I died. Buffy Summers died that night on top of the tower, and the world effectively cancelled out its knowledge of my existence. When I was pulled back by Jenny, something went wrong. According to the world, and everything in it, I still don’t exist. I can negate the Gem’s power.”

His eyes glinted at her as he shifted closer, stalking her in a circle, though she refused to turn and watch him like a frightened victim, merely opening her senses to him. “It still has an effect on you, and anyone else who wants a piece, but I can reach through its power.” She grinned savagely. “Neat, huh?”

“So,” she continued as he lunged for her, meeting him with a stunning kick to the jaw that sent him flying back to crash into the wall, “I hope your bitches saved you a seat in Hell.”

****

Back at Wood’s apartment, everything was ready. Dawn, Tara and Giles sat in a circle, hands linked. The Key gave the nervous witch a reassuring smile, all their eyes falling momentarily to the crystal at the heart of their spell. The colours shifted over its surface as though it were oil, making anyone who stared too long nauseous. Tara remembered Giles explaining its power to them.

“Ordinarily, if we were to use the original curse, I would have found an Orb of Thesulah. However, time and the circumstances have changed since the original attempt to restore Angel’s soul. This,” he paused, holding up the dark crystal, “Is Tsugasawodv Ulsiga.”

Dawn, whose eyes were locked on the slick-looking stone, shuddered. She could feel the tendrils of its magic sweeping across her skin, recognising something that seemed older even than her own power. Eventually the cool caresses stopped, and she tuned back in to what the Watcher was saying.

“The Tear of Darkness, as it is called in English, is a stone that is neither good nor evil, though it has a power all its own. If, when its magic is invoked, it deems Angel worthy, his soul will be restored. If not,” his face hardened and became bleak, “He will be consumed by the darkness and sucked inside the stone for an eternity.”

After his cold, blunt announcement, there was a long silence. Then Dawn clapped her hands, a delicate brow lifting. “Well, no pressure there, Angel. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Dawn nudged Tara gently with a slender shoulder to get her attention. “It’s time.”

Nodding, the usually timid Wicca took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, her chin rising. Everybody tightened their grips, raising their arms slightly in supplication while keeping their hands firmly joined. Tara closed her eyes, exhaled anxiously, and began to chant in Latin, not understandable to those watching silently, though the three spell-casters each knew the meaning of the words.

“Hades, audite meus placitum.”

Hades, hear my plea.

“Permissum ut quod eram lost exsisto reverto.”

Let that which was lost be returned.

“Permissum ut quod exsisto recidivus.”

Let that which belongs be restored.

“Per meus mos ego accersitus vos, per meus vox ego ordo vos”

By my will I have called thee, by my power I command thee.

“Solvo quod reverto!”

Release and return!

The Tear of Darkness began to shudder, at first only a tiny vibration but rapidly becoming a violent shaking. Dawn and Giles gasped, their concentration wavering, as they felt the influence of the stone fill their minds. The Key battled for dominance before submitting to the will of the stone. Dawn, used to the power, merely shivered with the eerie sensation.

Giles, however, had not experienced such powerful magic since his rebellious ‘Ripper’ days. The blackness of the stone filled him, bringing with it a wild euphoria he had all but forgotten. Its power bathed him in coolness, making his muscles tremble as he fought not to rip his hands away and wreak havoc on the world.

As though she sensed his turmoil, Dawn gripped his hand tighter. She’d been afraid of this, his reaction to the inexorable strength of the artefact. Separating the part of her that was the Key, she soothed his wild impulses. Giles, suddenly recalling the need for concentration, closed his eyes against the rush of adrenaline flooding his body.

Tara, feeling their silent support, let the magic flow through her body. Her head fell back as the powerful forced swirled within her, her eyes widening as they glowed a beautiful silver, much like Buffy’s, only softer somehow. Her body was suddenly covered in a gentle, white light and she smiled, her voice strong in the sudden silence.

“Is est perfectus.”

It is done.

As the energy left her in a rush, the young witch slumped back, exhausted. Giles steadied himself, feeling dizzy and fatigued. Dawn, while tired and a little off-balance after experiencing the awe-inspiring might of the stone, closed her eyes and concentrated hard. Slowly the image swam into focus in her mind, a cold smile forming on her lips. In the mansion, Angelus screamed.

Buffy had just raised her leg to slam a powerful kick into Angelus’ chest when he suddenly screamed, dropping to his knees. One fist rose and clawed at the skin over his still heart, leaving bloody furrows in the flesh as his head rocked back and he gasped in agony.

Buffy opened her connection with Spike, letting him see through her eyes, her knowledge of what was happening making her weak with relief. Angelus’ eyes suddenly glowed with silver light before they faded to chocolate brown, his demon’s mask dropping away. As he slumped to the floor, Buffy stepped slowly forwards.

“Angel?” Her voice was hesitant, her muscles still tensed despite the evidence that the spell had been cast.

The vampire shuddered and twitched on the floor; the pain still radiating from him made her pause, confused. This hadn’t happened the first time around, but she knew they weren’t using the same spell. Gritting her teeth, she crossed her fingers and stepped back. This was an ordeal her sire had to go through without help.

Finally he gave a groan of protest as a strange black mist seeped from his eyes, his nose and even his mouth. It rose in a spiral above him, forming a hovering cloud. The colours shifting across its surface made her nauseous for a moment, before the gas vanished with a sound like a knife tearing wet silk. It made her shiver with disgust even as her demon melted into her human face.

The vampire at her feet stirred. Slowly, painfully so, he struggled to his knees. His eyes, haunted, guilty, confused, rose to meet her own. His mouth trembled in dazed bewilderment, his hands rising. His gaze dropped to the bloody tears in her skin where Angelus had managed to get a blow in, then to the bruise forming on her cheek where a punch had landed on-target.

“Buffy? Wh- what’s happened? Everything’s so mixed-up… What have I done?”

Hardly daring to hope, she ignored Spike’s furious warnings in her head, gently but firmly shutting him out. This was something she had to do alone. Trembling, she took a cautious step forwards.

“Angel?”

She could see the confusion beginning to dissipate in his eyes even as he nodded slowly. Her eyes closed, the sting of tears and the lump in her throat making it hard to think. When she had her emotions firmly under control, she looked down at her former lover. She waited as his memories began filtering back, the trickle soon turning to a roar.

He clutched his head, his beautiful face contorted with pain as the rush of guilt and revulsion slammed into him. His face glowed with heartbreak as he cried, great wracking sobs that made his whole body shake. The despairing eyes, eyes she had once thought held the world, met hers. She saw the pleading in his gaze, the pitiful slump of his body as black misery consumed him. And she understood.

The beautiful, deadly gracefulness of the Spirit Guide walked before her, the silence around her total as she followed trustingly. Settling down on the log, she waited for hours before her eyes drifted closed. Then there was a crackling and her eyes flew open.

The fire hissed and spat as she tensed, afraid but feeling drawn to the primal power of the creature prowling in the shadows beyond the flames. The First Slayer cocked her head, the muddy strips streaking her dark skin glinting in the soft glow of the fire. She heard that eerie, melodic voice as though she were back in the desert.

“Death is your gift.”

“Death…?”

“Is your gift.”

Her own flat denial rang in her ears, the naïveté of her statement making her present self smile wistfully. “I should know, my mother just died. Death is not a gift.”

The First Slayer faded from view, leaving her feeling cold and suddenly, inexplicably, alone. The words hung in her brain, tumbling through her mind over and over again as her refusal to believe them tried to shut them out.

Her eyes opened with newfound clarity as she slowly stepped away from the broken, tortured eyes still boring into her. Her demon face remained hidden away as she smiled softly, all the love she’d felt for Angel once upon a time flooding back to her. Looking down, she met his intense stare with a level one of her own.

“Close your eyes.” Her voice was a gentle, tender whisper.

Relieved, her one-time love did as she asked. Tears of regret and love slipped down her cheeks in a silent tribute to her dream even as she finally let it go. Placing one hand on either side of his head, she bent a left a gentle kiss on his forehead. Her mouth drifted to settle beside his ear.

“Never forget that I loved you.” Her last, tender words seemed loud in the silence that followed as she straightened.

Her grip tightened as she summoned the depleted reserves of her strength. With a strong twist that was as smooth as she could make it, Buffy Summers watched her first love and the last threads of a childhood crumble to dust.

****

Spike waited outside for as long as he could stand. When only silence greeted him, he warily stepped into the doorway, fighting in vain to see through the darkness. “Buffy?” His voice echoed in the small room, the aching worry and fear in his tone just short of panic.

For a long moment there was silence, and then she was there, stepping into the dim light of the hallway. Seeing the tears streaking her face and the tremulous smile on her lips, he felt his heart breaking. Angel was back, and his Buffy would be leaving him. Gritting his teeth as his fists clenched, he turned his back to her and started to stride away.

A tiny hand grabbed him and swung him around. Seeing the hurt in his face, her anger melted away. She shook her head, giving him a smile so full of love it made his chest tighten. “Angel’s gone, Spike. The spell worked, but…” Her saw a moment of understanding flash through her eyes, “Death is my last gift to him. He doesn’t deserve to live a life full of pain and guilt.”

He was silent for a long moment before suddenly he crushed his lips to hers in a fierce, consuming kiss. “I thought I’d lost you.”

She laughed, smacking him gently on the arm. “It takes more than that to keep me from you. Come on, the others are waiting.”

Turning her back on the past, her soul mate clutching her hand desperately as though he would never let her go, the strongest Champion the world had ever known faced the future, finally free of the darkness.

Two months later…

Spike arrived home after patrol, fully expecting everyone to be asleep, with the possible exception of his girlfriend. Hell, she was a vampire. Although her schedule had been suitably adjusted to overlap with his, she slept more easily during the daylight hours now that the threat from her family had been nullified.

After they’d made their way out of the mansion, the vampire and her Slayer had walked in silence. However, when they’d pushed open the door and stepped into Wood’s crowded apartment, Buffy had given a gasp of shocked amazement. The woman had looked strained with worry before their return, but her face transformed into a surprisingly youthful one when she smiled.

“Mom?” Buffy’s voice was a high-pitched squeak as she swayed on her feet, the after-effects of her battle with her former lover suddenly taking their toll.

Joyce Summers had rushed to embrace her daughter, careful not to press on the scrapes and bruises that littered her body. At first Spike had been a little put out; surely he wouldn’t have to share his Buffy with everyone from her past? Not that he minded her mother being here, but in that moment all he wanted was to carry her to his bed, lecture her about foolish vampires who got their necks broken, then bury himself inside her and hold on and never let go.

However, Joyce had then turned to him with a watery but bright smile. Embracing him with almost as much warmth as she had her daughter, she held his stunned, rigid body with motherly affection. When she drew back, her lined face was wet with tears and she was beaming at him gratefully. Taking her hands in his, she gave them a squeeze.

“You rescued my daughter from those monsters. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

Now, two months on, Spike and Joyce shared ‘Cocoa Wednesdays’. Buffy’s mother was an expert at making thick, home-made hot chocolate. She always added mini marshmallows to his, too, and the pair were often found happily ensconced in the kitchen, gossiping like a pair of old ladies.

Dawn and Buffy had been unsurprised when their mother had announced that she was finally going to start dating Giles, despite the fact that they were advancing rapidly towards being the wrong side of middle-aged. Dawn seemed to accept it perfectly fine, but while his girl was supportive of their relationship, any displays of intimacy in public garnered an adorable scrunched-up nose and a loud ‘Ewww!’

Wood and Dawn, too, had moved into a steady and loving relationship. It was obvious that the beautiful young woman had the besotted Watcher wrapped firmly around her little finger, the tall man following her everywhere and hovering over her protectively every time she ventured outside at night.

Oz and Willow had returned two weeks after Angel’s dusting, still as in love as ever. While they’d been away, the now black-haired werewolf had obviously proposed, and his redheaded lover never seemed to stop smiling. Buffy privately thought that that had something to do with the huge diamond her finger was now proudly sporting.

Anya and Xander had vanished completely, leaving everyone to worry until Spike’s keen eyes caught sight of the note left on the young man’s rumpled bed. In typical Anya fashion, the former demon had dragged Xander off to Las Vegas in a shock elopement. They had returned the previous day, happily married and unafraid to display the more physical aspects of their relationship to anyone who had the misfortune of catching them.

Tara had recently met a slightly older woman at her Wicca gatherings. She was only two years the girl’s senior, and a gentle and wise woman, but she was firm and enthusiastic, with none of the crippling shyness the witch displayed. Though her somewhat flirtatious behaviour ha concerned the Scoobies at first, it soon became clear that Ama was head-over-heels in love with Tara; they made a striking couple.

Finally Spike’s thoughts turned to his own relationship with Buffy. Although he only admitted it privately, his mate had him completely whipped. Their bond had only become stronger as each day passed, their few arguments only serving to heighten their passion. In the last few days, however, she’d been acting suspiciously closed-off, even blocking his attempts at feeling out her emotions through their mental link.

So it was with some trepidation that he pushed open the door after a successful night’s slaying to find Buffy and Dawn in the middle of a heated discussion. He took a moment to absorb the enchanting beauty that was his angry mate; her eyes flashed green fire, flecked with silver as her temper got the better of her. Her lips were turned down in a tempting pout, her hair sparkling with honeyed light as she tossed her head angrily.

Coming up behind her, he wrapped strong arms around her waist, momentarily distracting her by nuzzling at his claiming marks on her neck. Her body melted back against him, a purr vibrating through her back and to his chest. He felt himself hardening in response, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling her vanilla scent, striving to control the waves of lust swamping his senses.

Sensing his arousal through their bond, she shot him a wicked smile before her brows drew together in a scowl. She rounded on a grinning Dawn, who was looking disturbingly unconcerned by her sister’s tantrum.

“It’s your fault! I know you did this.”

Dawn shrugged elegantly. “I’m not saying I didn’t.”

“When?!”

“The night before you went charging off to fight Angelus.”

“And you only thought to tell me after I discovered it for myself?”

Dawn laughed, patting her pouting sibling on the head gently. “You’re welcome, Buffy. Now tell the big lug what you’re talking about before he bursts.”

Buffy turned to the Slayer as her sister quietly left the room, shutting the door behind her. For a moment her expression remained set in a darkly irritated scowl, before it melted into a smile so soft and tender it made the breath catch in his throat. Taking an increasingly nervous Spike by the hand, she led him to the sofa. Once she was settled on her knee, she turned to face him, that beautiful smile widening.

She took a deep breath. “Spike… I’m pregnant.”

“What?!”

****

A/N: So that's it folks, my first fic is done. Tell me what you all thought. As you can see, I've left enough room for a sequel there. I'd be grateful if you'd tell me if you thought it was worth writing one. Many thanks to everyone who has reviewed, with special mention to CordyKitten, DaniD and gaillee. Hope you all enjoyed it!

~DaG