Feedback: More than I want to breathe.



CHAPTER ONE


There’s a part of her that knows she’s dreaming. Always knows, no matter how she tries to shut it out. Recoils in horrified denial even as her deeper, slumbering self shivers in delicious yearning.

Her spine arches, head thrown back as she opens herself to the cool, thrusting tongue, her hands twisting hard in the sheets. Chest heaving, she thrashes and moans, legs longing to close themselves tight around his head. But she spreads them wide and lifts her hips, the better to wordlessly urge him on.

Strong fingers glide along her thighs, over a quivering belly, and across her chest. A hand settles on each breast, cupping and kneading, teasing nipples that are already achingly erect. His nose nuzzles her there and she thinks she’ll explode. But the fire inside continues to build. She’s helpless beneath the onslaught in a way she’d never sanction in the waking world. But here, dark fantasies play out and she’s free to lose control, free to give herself over. Free to act upon things she’d never condone.

It ends the way it always does. In a blinding burst of fire and ice, a sweet pleasure-pain that rushes through her with the force of a small tsunami, shattering the last of her inhibitions as she reaches down to haul him up, guiding his mouth to hers, devouring him, as she has just been devoured. Opening eyes wide to stare deep into his electric blue gaze…

And for an instant, her breathing stops.

Then she’s off the bed and reaching for a stake, heart thudding madly against her ribs. He rises from his seat at the edge of the mattress, hands lifted in a placating gesture as he backs off a few steps. But his eyes are laughing at her, and his posture is anything but conciliatory.

His white-blond hair gleams in the moonlight.

“Slayer.”

Her title rumbles out of him, all smooth and growling at the same time, as her fist tightens convulsively around the stake. He doesn’t miss the gesture and his eyes grow a little more wary, but he stops retreating and his steady gaze never leaves her face.

He smiles at her in such a way that it makes her wonder what she might have said, what she might have done as he sat on the bed watching her dream. The thought conjures up a sudden flush of arousal, a damning moisture between her legs, and she’s horrified at how easily her body can betray her.

His nostrils flare. His smile widens. Mortification turns to deadly anger.

“I don’t know how you got in here without an invite, Spike, and I don’t care. All I know is, it’s the last thing you’ll ever do!”

She spits out the words, channeling the smoldering heat inside into a different kind of fire. But it isn’t easy. She’s all too conscious of the skimpy satin camisole that strains across her chest and the matching tap pants that seemed such a wonderfully wicked idea when she imagined wearing them for Angel. Now, they leave the full length of her legs entirely too exposed and she’s all the more conscious of the gleam in his eyes. The way he continues to look, despite his imminent dusty ending.

As their gazes lock, something flickers in those blue depths, but she doesn’t have time to puzzle it out because she’s going to kill him. Then his hand is raised again in a “hang on” gesture, and that’s when she notices he isn’t wearing his leather coat. She spots it draped across a nearby chair. Like it’s welcome there. Like it belongs. The sight of it raises her ire that much more.

But he’s speaking, and against her better judgment she waits and listens.

“Never mind the how then. Want to know the why? Want to know what would cause a sane-minded vamp to beard the slayer in her den? Might be somethin’ in it for you. Somethin’…you care about.”

This time, the grin he flashes is of a different sort – one that means he knows something she doesn’t. Something she won’t like.

But she doesn’t give him the satisfaction of rising to the bait, even though there’s a sudden chill in the warm California night. “Right now? Can’t think of anything better than ridding the world of you. Unless it’s going postal on you and Drusilla, but she’s not here, so, darn…guess I’ll have to settle.”

He “tsks” at her, shaking his head in mock dismay. “Touched as I am to be such a high priority, Slayer, I think someone needs her horizons broadened.”

“And I think someone needs his ass dusted,” she counters. “And…hey! I volunteer you.”

But before she can follow through with that intent, he utters a name – one guaranteed to freeze her in her tracks. Angel.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Barely remembers to breathe.

Until, finally, she gets the words out. “What have you done?”

He’s still grinning, still laughing, but there’s a deadly edge to his tone that wasn’t there before. “Nothing…yet. Whether I do or not, Slayer, depends entirely on you.”

“Where is he?” Her voice is so hard she thinks he’ll smash to bits on it, but he only tilts his head and sticks his thumbs through black denim belt loops, fingers spread to frame the prominent bulge at his crotch. A whisper of the dream returns to haunt her. She doggedly tries to ignore it.

She repeats the question through clenched teeth. “I said, where is he?”

“Where you can’t find him, unless I want you to. And I don’t. Until we finish our business here. Don’t worry, though. Got some friends takin’ real good care of him.” He snorts softly. “Well, minions more like. But they’re very devoted. Real motivated, you might say.”

“If you hurt him—”

“Now, now…wouldn’t hurt a hair on the old man’s head. Not permanent-like, anyway. Know better than to sell you damaged goods.”

And finally they arrive at the heart of the matter.

“Sell?” Her arms cross, but his eyes follow the movement to her breasts and she quickly unfolds them.

He lifts his gaze and smirks. “See? That’s what I like about you, Slayer. You’re quick on the uptake. Never mind what those smarmy school-types think. You’re a hell of a lot smarter than you look.”

“Gee, thanks. Sorry I can’t say the same for you. So unless you’re trying to annoy me into staking you here and now, maybe you’d better stop wasting my time and tell me what the hell it is you want.”

He looks at her through lowered lashes, the kind any girl would kill to have. Deliberately licks his lips.

“Fair enough then,” he says, head tilting as his gaze takes her in. “Happens what I want…is you.”


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TBC in Part 2

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CHAPTER TWO


She can’t help it. For a moment, all she can do is blink at him stupidly. Then she realizes what he means.

“If you want to kill me, why didn’t you just do it when I was asleep?”

On some level it amuses her, how genuinely appalled he looks.

“Christ, Slayer! What the bloody hell kind of vamp do you take me for? I may be evil but I’ve got my standards. And they don’t include grabbing the glory without the guts!”

He glares at her, and she’s pleased to see she’s ruffled his cool. His outraged indignation almost tempts her into a smile.

“’Sides…killing you ’s not what I had in mind.”

Except, suddenly, it’s not remotely funny.

“So help me, if you’re suggesting what I think—”

“Here’s the thing. My Dru’s sick, yeah? A mere shadow of her former glorious self. Came here to find a way to make her well, and now I have. Only…” He pauses and the sly look reappears. “Turns out, you’re the cure.”

She stares at him. “You’re delusional.”

“Actually, no. That would be Dru. But I can see where you might be confused about it.”

“You seriously expect me to hand myself over to you for god knows what, all so you can cure your looney tunes girlfriend?”

“No, I expect you to hand yourself over to me to save your big hunk of burnin’ love. So he won’t…you know…actually be burnin’. ’Sides, I already explained. Not gonna kill you. Just gonna borrow you for a bit.”

He looks at her as if it’s all self-evident. Growls a little as he shifts impatiently on heavy booted feet.

“Look. It’s not a big deal, all right? We do the deed. I drink your blood. Not enough to kill you,” he adds, hand lifted to head off her expected protest. “Then I go back to Dru, give her the cure, and Angel-face is all yours again.”

She’s poised to send the stake on a one-way trip into his twisted excuse for a heart, but the bit about Angel stops her, reminding her she can’t kill him. Yet.

“Okay. You’ve got one minute to explain, or I swear, Angel or no Angel, I will dust your sorry ass and make Drusilla the next stop on the Buffy Express.”

Her threat hits home and his expression turns cold, though his eyes blaze with a fire she’s never seen before in the walking dead. His body tenses as he leans forward, muscles coiled in a pre-fight stance that makes her clutch the stake just a little tighter. He comes no closer, but he’s crowding her all the same.

Pins her with his razor-sharp gaze. “Found a book. Been gettin’ it translated. It has a cure for what ails her, only the git who wrote it failed to include one for a female vamp. So I’m aiming to improvise a mite. Says a dying vampire can be saved by the blood of a slayer if it’s offered willingly while his parts are joined to her parts or some such bloody nonsense. Not sure about that last bit, but Dalton’s certain it means your basic physical union. So…we do our bit, then I hotfoot it back to Dru with your freely given slayer blood all fresh and burnin’ in my veins, and before you know it she’s back to her beautiful deadly self. And, oh yeah. You get Angel back, and me and Dru are long gone. Never have to set eyes on us again.”

She stares, because it’s too insane for words.

His smirk reappears. “Never have to tell your love bucket what you did, either, do you? Can be our little secret.”

That snaps her out of it.

“You give new meaning to the word ‘revolting.’” Acid scorn drips off each syllable. “You’re also stupid if you think I’m buying this exercise in lameness, Spike. Did you spend all night thinking up that one?”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, right. You really think I’d make up somethin’ this daft?” Then stops. “Well, yeah…I suppose.” And shrugs. “But it happens I’m not. More to the point, why would I? Said, yourself, I could’ve killed you in your sleep. And if you think I’ve dreamed this up just to get inside your knickers, sorry, petal…while I’m sure you figure prominently in the wet dreams of any number of little Sunnydale school boys, truth is you’re no match for my dark princess.”

Buffy refuses to wonder why this stings. Glares hard instead and focuses on the sudden interest he’s taking in her room. Clenches her jaw and her fist as he saunters to the dresser to eye the scattered bits of her life, all too exposed to his questing hand.

Within a second he pounces. Scoops up the bottle of Passion’s Promise. Takes a sniff and quirks an eyebrow as he reads the name. Lifts his head and smiles, the unholy gleam in his eye giving her a little shiver inside.

“Tick tock, Slayer,” he reminds her. “Best be gettin’ on with it. Unless you want me to send dear old Angel out to play with Mr. Sunshine.”

She needs to kill him so bad but knows she can’t risk it. Settles for a poor trade-off and calls him a pig, instead.

He only grins harder as he forsakes the perfume in favor of something plush and pink. “Oink,” he smirks, tossing Mr. Gordo into the air and catching him as he falls.

Short strides and she snatches the pig from his hand, breathing fire as she hauls back to punch him full in the face. An oof escapes him as he stumbles back into the wall, slides halfway to the floor before he catches himself. Gives her a look full of anger and glee. Something more is there, too, but she doesn’t want to know.

He straightens slowly. “That a yes?” he drawls as he rubs his chin. Eyes all sultry, voice all satin and gravel.

It makes her uneasy, how readily she notices this. So she plasters on a bright smile. “You really are an idiot, aren’t you? Gotta say, I’m a little surprised, with your rep and all. But as mortal enemies go? You’re turning out to be a major disappointment.”

His glare is back, and her fake smile turns real. “C’mon, Spike…haven’t you spotted the one fatal flaw in your plan? It’s pretty hard to miss.”

“Yeah?” The scarred eyebrow lifts as a sneer curls his lips. “Enlighten me then, oh She of the Great C Average. Didn’t know I was dealing with the bloody head of the class. Or whatever passes for it in what you lot laughingly call an educational system.”

And now she’s the one glaring as the jibe hits its mark, but she’s got bigger demons to slay. Time to set aside issues of nagging insecurity and national pride. Slayer’s moving in for the kill.

“You want enlightenment? Try this. Where in that pea-sized brain of yours does blackmail equal ‘freely given,’ huh? I’d take a flying leap off a cliff, Spike, before I’d ever sleep with you.”

He looks at her, insufferably smug, and her fist itches to punch the smirk right off that beautiful face.

“Never said anything about sleepin’, Slayer. As for the rest, reckon it’s mostly a matter of semantics. Seems to me this Du Lac who wrote the book was a pretty literal sort of fella. As long as you’re givin’ yourself, doesn’t really matter why. It’s all in the technicalities. And if I’m wrong and it doesn’t work, haven’t really lost anything, have I? Not like you’d agree if I asked you flat out, all polite and such.”

He steps closer and she suddenly feels trapped, even as she stands her ground. “C’mon, Slayer.” His voice is husky, more intimate and cajoling than it has any right to be. “No one has to know. Your chums are all tucked up in their beds, your Watcher isn’t watching, and I know your mum’s away for the weekend…” He offers a lazy smile as he drops this last little bomb. “And just because I’m feelin’ extra generous tonight, I’m gonna make sure you enjoy it. Call it a bonus.”

His tongue curls behind his teeth in a way that’s meant to bait or beguile. But she stands there not answering, and it’s clear he’s losing patience. Casts his eyes heavenward, though she’s certain it’s not God he’s calling upon. Considers uttering her own prayer for space to breathe, room to think.

Before she can, he gives it to her, surging away in an explosion of kinetic energy.

“Bloody hell, can we just get on with it? You’re makin’ way too much of this, you know.” He swings about to face her down. “It’s just a bargain, alright? We do what we have to do, and we both get what we want. Not like it’s—”

And he stops. Looks. Smiles. In a way that chills her to the bone. He’s seen something in her face. And now she can’t breathe again.

“Well, well, well…I’d have pegged you as an early bloomer, but looks like Slayer’s been a less-than-naughty girl.” Stepping closer, he bites his lip. The gleam in his eyes speaks to something dark and deep inside her. “I meant what I said, pet. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Know how to treat a lady. Can take care of you real good. Make it nice. Make you scream for more. Make you shiver and shake and all kinds of nasty-good things. No reason we can’t enjoy ourselves, yeah?”

Yeah…

Or…no. Big reason. Every reason.

Her chin lifts to hide the desperation nibbling at her facade. “Here’s a better idea. What say we skip all that, jump straight to the dusting, and I go rescue Angel?”

“Well, yeah. You could do that. Might even find him before it’s too late. Maybe. And if not, well…” He shrugs. “You’ll have your virtue to keep you warm. I’m sure Angel would understand.”

He would, too, and the bastard knows it. Would prefer it even, to the alternative. But this isn’t about what Angel wants. Never was.

His smirk reappears as his head tilts, one hand sliding suggestively across his chest. “So what’s it to be, Slayer? Feeling lucky?”

It’s a rhetorical question at best, since he already knows her answer.

“I hate you,” she says. It makes no difference, but she feels the need to say it.

He smiles again -- that slow, dangerous grin that chills her to the bone and makes her tingle in places she doesn’t want to think about.

“Don’t go sweet talkin’ me now. Already told you, I’m yours for the night.”

Then he looks to the bed, eyebrow arching, and she has to try, even though she’s sure it’s part of the appeal.

“Not here.”

His grin merely widens.

“I mean it. It has to be somewhere else.”

“Oh, right. Think I’m gonna give you the chance to put a sodding hitch in my well-laid plans? Not bloody likely. We do it here, now, and without anymore stalling, or your hunny bunny won’t be comin’ ’round for you to make googly eyes with anymore. Moment of truth, Slayer. Game on.”

And with that, snarky Spike is gone. He’s every inch the predator. She’s every bit his prey. He moves toward her, panther on the prowl and a hint of swagger as he stalks. Her last chance is slipping away, and it scares her that she’s not sorrier to see it go.

When he stops in front of her, pride keeps her still. Or that’s what she tells herself. Strives for unaffected even as satin-clad breasts betray the lie. Stands frozen, watching the distance close between his mouth and hers.

Forgets to breathe as his face brushes past...

Then contact is made with a jolt of shocking intimacy, velvet-soft caress on naked flesh, and it takes all the power she wields not to react.

It’s the opening salvo in a battle she’s already lost.

A flurry of feather-soft kisses dance along her shoulder, spaghetti strap nudged aside to lay it bare. His cool breath on her moist skin makes her tingle. Closes her eyes to shut it out, for no other reason, but that makes it all the more visceral. Tries to open them again. Can’t seem to manage it.

His mouth travels lower, lips trailing across the swell of her breast, dipping into the deep v of the camisole. She struggles against a traitorous head that threatens to tip back, all but begging him to explore her vulnerable neck. Suddenly, he’s there without her asking and she almost groans aloud.

Then an instant later, everything stops. Eyes fly open to find him staring. Cutting deep with his intensity. Drawing blood with what he knows.

“Like that, do you? No use denying it. Can smell it on you. Taste it, too.”

He’s up against her now, close and closer still. Barely enough space between them to fit a gnat. Brings his lips to her ear, whispers something low. Makes her freeze, makes her burn. Gazes lock and she stands her ground. Meets the silent challenge with one of her own.

Hates what’s happening, even as she thrills to it. It kills her, how much she wants this now.

He breaks the standoff, lashes lowering as lips curve upward in a sly smile. Then drops to his knees and all she can see is the top of his head. Her breath catches as cool lips brush across the soft flesh of her abdomen.

His tongue delves into her navel, and she jumps. Draws wet, lazy circles on her belly till she thinks she might scream. One hand settles on her hip, while the other rests large and firm against her back. Holding her in place as she wriggles.

Then his mouth moves on, teasing her nipples with satin-covered kisses, targeting her weakness with open-mouthed accuracy. She wants to be stone. Wants to float above her need. Thinks he can’t touch her if she doesn’t feel.

But passive is not her flavor of choice and hands-off has never been her style.

There’s a flash of panic in his eyes when she pins his arms, sweeter than chocolate and headier than wine. Holds him there for a moment, trapped in the folds of the red shirt shoved off his shoulders, air thick with wanting as it pulses between them.

Then his nostrils flare and she drops her gaze so she won’t have to see the knowledge in his face. Pushes the shirt the rest of the way. Tosses it aside and attacks the black tee. Gets it off a split second before her camisole tears in half. Doesn’t care as satin scraps flutter to the floor.

Thinks she must be dreaming again when her fingers find the buttons on his jeans.

Is certain of it as his rough-tender-ravenous mouth suckles on her breast.

Stops thinking altogether when his hand plunges inside her pants.

Buries itself between her legs.

And ignites an irreversible firestorm of throbbing, aching need.



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TBC in Part 3

Feedback: Love it, love it, love it.



CHAPTER THREE


His mouth is there, between her legs. Like in her dream. Only so much better. And so much worse. And in between, the things he says…it shouldn’t make her feel this way. Shouldn’t make her moan and sigh. Shouldn’t make her reach for his head, tangle her fingers in his hair, pull him closer, urge him deeper.

Shouldn’t make her cry out when at last he pulls back.

He’s breathing hard, eyes darker than she thinks they ought to be. His lips are shiny, wet with her juices, her essence, and she surges up to reach his mouth. To taste herself on him. But stops just shy of his face.

She can’t. She won’t. She’s not that far gone.

The lips she won’t kiss curl into a knowing smirk that makes her long to smash his beautiful face. But that’s not all she wants to do and they both know it. The danger to Angel is only part of the reason she holds back.

He settles against her, all muscle and marble – stealing her breath as he tempts her fingers with rock-hard biceps and strong, sinewy back. Stealing rational thought with a twist of his hips and the slow, insistent nudging in that place he’s branded with his lips and tongue.

She’s needy and throbbing, and the slick, hot friction makes her ache for more. Spreads her legs wider. Runs greedy hands over the steel globes of his ass, digging in with her nails, lifting her hips in blatant invitation.

He hisses sharply then laughs, half undone but still triumphant. Won’t give her what she needs. Expects her to wait when impatient is all she’s ever been.

Then his finger slips inside. Taunts her with a taste of what’s to come. Works her hard, strokes her fast, fondles her into a glorious frenzy. Whispers something low and dirty in her ear.

Ohgodohgodohgod…

She clutches at his head, buries fingers in his hair, pulls him all the way down to her desperate, seeking, gasping mouth. Falls into the stormy blue of his eyes as the wall crumbles and tumbles and crashes down.

Hungry, raw, damn-it-all-to-hell and then some.

Of course he would kiss this way.

And finally he’s inside, last wall breached. Fast and sharp – filling, stretching, catching her scream in his throat. She clutches him hard. Feels the pain but doesn’t care. Can’t get him deep enough. Can never get him deep enough.

Knows, with a terrible sense of hopelessness, that she’s forever bound to him now. Willing or not, this part of her will always be his.

Her spine arches off the bed, head falling back, offering the last thing she has left to give. But not her heart. Never her heart. He’d have to steal that, and of course he never could. Not even if he wanted to, which is nothing but crazy.

He follows her mouth. Ignores the golden length of her throat, clearly intent on another prize. Power and passion clash in a breathless battle of lips, teeth, tongues. She tastes blood. Doesn’t know if it’s hers or his. Can’t take time to care. Too much, too fast. But she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Then she feels him there, licking the throbbing pulse point beneath her jaw, trailing his tongue along the chords of her neck. Teasing, tasting, seeking out the life that flows through her veins. And all the while he moves inside her, making her feel in ways she never knew she could.

Fangs scrape against the tender flesh of her neck and it only drives her harder. Yearning, reaching, straining for something she just half understands. Too much and never enough, building and building until she’s certain she’ll shatter apart with the sheer power of it, but she wants it anyway. Needs it with a blind hunger that has nothing to do with right or wrong.

He bites and she comes hard, gasping and sobbing with the force of the explosion. She feels him in her, above and below. Possessing, devouring – taking everything as she falls. Lips, tongue, throat working in tandem, her lifeblood flowing into him on a tide of sensation.

There’s a moment when she thinks he won’t stop. That he’ll keep drinking until he’s taken all of her. Nothing left but an empty shell and the power that burns in his veins. A part of her is glad. It feels right, like the way it’s supposed to end. But most of her is sad because she can’t imagine never feeling this again.

Her head starts to swim and a strange sense of weightlessness creeps into her limbs. Then, piercing fangs gently, almost reverently withdraw, leaving her achingly bereft and adrift. She barely stifles a protest, turning her head to meet his eyes. Stunned at what she sees there, at what she feels as she gazes back.

Some of it must show on her face. Impossibly, he grows even harder inside her.

She gasps – a tiny sound, a hitch so soft that only a vampire could have heard. He smirks and the moment is gone, replaced by brash bravado and ultimate control. When he starts to move again, he’s detached, remote, defiantly untouched. Each powerful thrust is calculated to prove something. Make her scream. Make her beg. Make her come again.

But it’s more than a life hanging in the balance, and she won’t let it go. Can’t let him walk away knowing he’s won.

As he rolls his shoulders and lowers his head, she makes her move – surges upward, latches on, small teeth sinking into the muscled column of his neck. She bites down, squeezes him hard.

The response is electric.

His body jerks and a deep roar escapes his lips, head snapping back, hips pumping wildly, slapping against her in a wild staccato of unbridled passion. She hears each labored breath, feels every taut muscle in his body. He pounds into her with a single-minded ferocity that takes her over the edge once more.

As it does, she bites down harder.

For the space of a heartbeat, his body seizes up. Then he’s spilling into her, groaning her name, filling her with heated passion and cold triumph. She releases her hold on his neck, her mouth seeking his. Opens wide beneath his demanding lips as he meets her halfway. Tongue plunging inside, eager to accept this unexpected concession, possessing her as thoroughly as she possesses him.

She’s never kissed like this before. Deeper, harder, so intimate it makes her quiver all over.

Their lips finally part as his arms relax and his body sinks into hers, covering but not smothering. She welcomes the weight. It holds her down, gives her an excuse to lie quiescent beneath him. In this moment, she doesn’t have to think, doesn’t have to do. Only has to be.

But too soon, he stirs, pulls away, leaves her empty and sore. He won’t look at her, and she’s glad, relieved now to have it over. Ashamed of what she’s let herself feel.

She reaches for the sheet, covering herself as he dresses, refusing that last glimpse of what has once again become forbidden territory. Cold calm descends, and when she looks again it’s with all the scorn and anger in the world.

“I’m going with you. I don’t trust you to keep your word. And he’d better be okay, or I’ll make sure you won’t have anyone to cure.”

He shrugs into his coat before he finally looks at her. “Don’t have to go.”

She grits her teeth. “Really do.” Makes herself look him in the eye.

His head tilts, and she sees quite clearly the mark she’s left on his neck. Her own twin pricks throb in recognition.

“Don’t,” he repeats and smiles. “Don’t have him. Never did.”

The revelation strikes with cold precision. It takes her a minute to know what to say.

“You lied.”

“Shocking. But, yeah.”

The chill spreads. “Oh god.”

Wicked triumph dances in his eyes. “Now don’t be like that, pet. Could give a bloke an inferiority complex. Make him think you didn’t really want it.”

And just like that, ice-cold shock gives way to red-hot fury. “I didn’t! You fucking bastard!”

He grins, tongue tucked behind his teeth in unholy glee. “So I am. But tell me something, Slayer. Why didn’t you ask for proof? Afraid I wouldn’t have any for you?”

Her glare is fierce. Her voice stabs. “Angel was the only reason I let you touch me. The only reason for any of this! Everything about you disgusts me.”

Blood loss has left her sluggish. He’s in her face before she can blink.

“That’s right. Go on and tell yourself you did it for him…that you didn’t like it, not even a little. Lie to yourself, if that’s what makes you feel better. But the truth is there, Slayer, deep in your gut and twixt those lovely, wet thighs. It’s a part of you now, as much a part as I am, and you’ll never be free of it, no matter how hard you try.”

He straightens again, black-leather back mocking her as he turns to leave. He knows she won’t stake him, not tonight. And damn it, she knows it, too.

But she’s not the only one pretending.

“I guess you should know.”

The truth strikes him smack between the shoulder blades, his body halting in mid-stride, head lifting as he stares through the open window. Refuses to turn. She gets a perverse thrill of satisfaction as his left hand curls into a fist then slowly relaxes.

Vampire, 1; Slayer, 1. Tie game.

“Give Drusilla my regards. Be sure to tell her it didn’t mean anything. If it makes you feel better.”

This time, he gives her the last word. She’s not convinced that’s a good thing. The silence he leaves behind as he slips out the window is all too damning. For them both.

She slides off the bed and crosses the room, not bothering to retrieve her clothing from the floor. In the second or two it takes to reach the window, he’s had plenty of time to vanish. But he’s still there, and for some reason she’s not surprised. Standing beneath the large oak tree outside her room. Not moving. Staring up at her.

Tomorrow, she’ll rage. Tomorrow, she’ll lie. Tomorrow, she’ll pretend it never happened. It’s easier that way.

But tonight, she returns his gaze as something unspoken passes between them.

And there’s a part of her that knows she isn’t dreaming.



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FINIS