It vibrated in her hand. A lonely stick of wood with the sole purpose of ending the existence of the undead. Walking death that had surrendered his voyage through time to a risky end, lying with his vulnerable back to her after giving her intensity that she deserved. On a closer look, Buffy found it wasn’t the stick that moved in a buzzing beat in her hand, but her hand itself that shook. A loose grip on a tool of her trade, less than a metre from its destiny.
Spike’s back was smooth and pale, white skin shining through the blur of moisture in her eyes. She couldn’t reconcile it in her head—frenzied passion and kisses the like that almost stopped her heart, against the fear of being used, of being taken and ruined by the soft hands of a monster. Yet there had been no animal on the bed with her. The moment she’d woken thinking herself in Heaven, Buffy had been beside the body of someone who…maybe not cared, but not someone that hated.
God, confused much?
Buffy was tired, sore and cold. Her hands felt even looser around the cylinder of wood and she suddenly felt a rising anger. She couldn’t kill the one who had taken her virginity, whether it was through lack of consent or not. Her mouth had not conceded to his actions, had not given voice to the one word that would allow her head to be alright with the event. But her heart seemed to consult with no other part of her and influenced too many of her feelings and actions.
Buffy squeezed her eyes closed and threw the stake, shuddering as the impact of her decision settled. Opening them again slowly she spied the yucky looking lace coverlet and pulled it up over herself, shifting forward so that her naked body was pressed into the equally bare back of the vampire who had completely altered her world. Her arm curled around his ribs and as she held her breath, Buffy nearly jumped against him as he slowly touched her hand and finally held it, a thumb stroking the skin she just willingly gave him.
Pent up tears fell as both blondes lay spooned in the bed that had once belonged to someone else, trying hard to forget how the night had come about, while memorising the events that brought them to this moment.
And after awhile, they surrendered to their emotional fatigue and slept.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
It was a vision he’d refused to ever contemplate. The girl he loved snuggled up to a notorious killer, quite obviously enjoying the closeness that came in being with her maker. He remembered what it had been like, being the one under Darla’s expert tutelage and overwhelming lust had certainly made him rather happy, and he’d returned the favour when his darling Drusilla had joined the family. But he’d never consented to this. Would never have allowed Spike to take what was his. Would never allow his Buffy to be tainted by what he had been, what he still was.
She was dead.
They’d suspected it when he’d made it to the club checked out with her friends the previous day, finding Buffy’s old LA school friend dead—neck twisted thankfully. He’d not been fed on in front of her. But then Angel identified her blood at the top of the stairs and had felt himself die again with acknowledging the truth. If Spike had the Slayer, she wouldn’t remain alive.
He’d caught one of the less diligent minions outside the factory walls, holding him with just a snarl and a forearm as the less than loyal one told a horrifying tale. His Dru was gone, apparently dusted by her own madness and yet a casualty to the Slayer’s stake. As the haunted howl was seemingly ripped from his throat, he’d felt the tears and had to wait hours after hearing. He’d dusted the minion and gone to wail away from the factory, knowing if he stuck too close Spike would sense him.
He should have felt her pass. Should have known the very second she’d left his blood, but his neglect left him too much on the outside. The guilt was there. He’d failed them both. He should have taken Dru under his wing when he’d first seen her in the park, should have tried to change her and help her heal. He was her sire, and she loved him. Something could have been done.
And Buffy. He knew that under the circumstances it would be too late anyway. Far too late to storm the factory and save his beloved. And still the image replayed in his head—her stake, her threat. Dru might have impaled herself, but Buffy had given her the weapon. For a brief soulless moment, he was glad that Spike had her. And he’d hoped his grandchilde had made the girl hurt.
And so the night had passed—he oblivious to one childe’s passing, but ever aware of the other one’s pain. Angel had locked himself away in silence, his own crying the one sound in his apartment as he drank more and more yet became more sober by the minute. His bleak hatred for the one that caused it to happen finally turned into himself and showed him rationality.
It wasn’t Buffy’s fault. She’d probably done what she’d needed to do to get out of that place. He’d seen the door. Could tell if it closed there was no easy way out—especially if you were locked in with a room of ravenous vampires, two of those being of old. So, how could he hate her? How could he have left and condemned her to a sure and brutal death?
And his soul kicked back in painfully and he mourned for yet another loss, and this, one that he could have saved. He’d been brought to her by Whistler to offer direction, to fulfil a prophecy—who could possibly know with the cryptic Powers That Be? Whatever the reason, whatever purpose he’d been given, it certainly hadn’t been to offer her up as a ripened peach to a tormented, grieving vampire like Spike.
The one thing he’d never suspected, though, was an addition to his family. He’d not felt it. Not felt the line swell in number. He’d blocked out each addition over the years, finding it less than productive to torture himself over and over to wonder which of his family had added another death to their ranks.
A turned slayer.
It was wrong, and it ripped out his heart without the benefit of dusting. It killed him that he’d have to take care of her, dust her before she could kill. Oh God, if she hadn’t killed already. It didn’t seem that way, instead looking like other vampire carnalities had taken place. He could see the chains hanging free, could see the splashes of blood on the floor where he imagined she hung waiting for Spike to kill her. Her clothes were flung torn to the side, and the image of her naked body being abused and tortured for the sake of Dru made him want to begin howling all over again.
But that would take away the surprise, would make it too difficult for him to take her against the force of them both.
She moaned from deep in her throat and seemed to snuggle closer to Spike, her bare back so close a target for Angel’s stake. Tears clouded his view but still his path was chosen. Only then did the pain erupt and he roared as he lunged, even the sudden surprised movement of the lovers before him not enough to prevent the stake from penetrating and her blood seeping forth—splashing over his hands.
Screams rent the air, snarls and fury dripping from fangs as Buffy lay whimpering on the bed, pain filled cries echoing all around him. Spike attacked, taking Angel down with a solid kick to the side of his head and another to his crotch. He ripped the wood from his grandsire’s hands, flung it so hard it lodged almost the full length into the wall.
“What the bleeding fuck do you think you’re doing?”
It was the pause that was needed, time enough for Angel to wonder at the urgent thumping heartbeat that slowed as he stood fascinated, watching blood pool down Buffy’s back.
“Sp-ike,” she called out, her voice weakening even as her eyes closed. Spike caught her as she collapsed, his eyes flashing amber as he looked at the intruder that had tried to rip away his hope.
He kissed her brow, his hands urgently tracing around the wound and growling in his chest when copious slippery liquid slid under his fingers.
“H-how bad is it?” Angel asked numbly, seemingly totally disassociated, seeing not his would-be girlfriend but a human that he might accidentally have killed. Yet the shocking pain he’d expected was slow to reveal, the crippling agony of all his past misdeeds as Angelus having far more impact than this attempt at righteousness.
His answer was a feral snarl, and he flinched at the unaccustomed hatred on Spike’s face. They’d always had their clashes, but they’d never breached the bond of care that came with being family, with being tied to each other through the incestuous twist of sire and childe.
More than he could ever suspect, it was this possible loss of his last close family member that broke him, made his soul cry for his mistake. Not the attack on Buffy. Not being the one to almost kill the Slayer. That she hadn’t been vamped by a grieving Spike hadn’t even entered his mind yet. He was blocked to all but this infringement on vampiric law—attacking a favourite of his family in front of her paramour. Dru was dismissed from the situation momentarily, and instead he thought of what punishment would be befitting of his crime. What he would have forced upon Spike had he done something similar to him.
The expectation of what was to come wasn’t pretty, but rather than even focus on what had occurred in clan lore, Spike was keening painfully over the wound in Buffy’s back, gentle lips and tongue removing the mess obscuring the damage so they could know what she would need.
Angel could hear her heartbeat now, slow but loud and he sighed in relief. How did he miss it when he first entered? How could he ignore the steady beat of something so heavily in existence in a silent room? Stunned recriminations were diverted by feral yellow eyes, warning that his presence was not welcomed—nor would be borne any longer.
Like the epitome of what he was, Angel slunk out of the room and blended morosely into the night. News for the Scoobies would be patchy at best. He’d almost killed Buffy—because she wasn’t dead like he’d assumed.
She’d been bedded, though. That much he’d smelt and the thought now made him nauseous yet strangely calm. He’d not yet managed the switch from wanting her dead for the dusting of Dru, and recognising it wasn’t her fault and that she didn’t deserve to be drained. Except she hadn’t been—hadn’t even appeared to be tortured. Instead, loved? He had no clue what to tell Giles, if he could even open his mouth to speak.
His childe had acted out of character, abandoning the eternity he had bestowed upon her and robbing them of another fourth of their group. The women were gone and behind they’d left two broken men. What Spike had chosen to do in that state was yet to be made clear to Angel, and in his confusion, he completely bypassed the Watcher’s home. Locating a bottle of alcohol instead, he sunk into a depression that had been spared him when he’d taken Darla from his world by his own pointy and handy arrow.
He had nothing to tell, so for now he would be silent.
Dead men told no tales.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
She felt too cold in his arms; too much like Dru after they’d spent the night feeding and fucking. She felt dead, despite the weakened pounding from her chest. His mouth had bathed her wound, taken in the ambrosia of her blood as it leaked purity from her body. The bleeding had slowed once he’d pressed balled fabric against it, putting too much pressure on it but still she remained oblivious in a comatose state.
“Slayer. The wanker’s gone now, pet. Come on. Time to open those gorgeous eyes of yours.”
Her soft moan brought air past his lips and for the first time he realised it had hurt not to breathe. Actually pained him to not do what he’d been reborn to leave behind. She shuffled a little in his arms and he almost wept his relief. She’d be okay. She’d be once again warm and be the sun of his heart.
He had to kill Angel. No two bloody ways about it but the fucking nancy dipshit had to go. He’d broken code, interfered in lore that he’d had no right to. The Slayer had been beside him, still human but for all the git knew, chosen to be more than a bed partner. Selected to join their diminished family in one form or another. The loss of her heat told Spike he would never sacrifice her life just so he could have her for eternity. Dru had warned him to not hurt the girl and killing her would do more than that.
As far as he knew—and he’d done his fair share of studying the Slayer line—no Slayer had ever been successfully turned. No vamp would have wanted to. No matter how much irony might be in the act, in the achievement, no vamp would want to bring over one who had devoted her breath to extinguishing their kind.
As much as a trendsetter Spike considered himself to be, he wasn’t going to be the first one to do it. Not when he’d felt what it was like to bathe in the sun. When the heat of confused green burned into him for answers, he almost folded. Almost forgot who he was and crumbled over her, holding her safe against him forever.
This metamorphosis was too much, too soon. He’d barely realised the loss of his sire, let alone the partner of his eternity being gone from him forever. And now the last of the four was breaking code, pushing boundaries that the two-faced wanker had pounded into him for the first year of his unlife.
It was wrong for one vampire to interfere with the kill of another. Wrong to attack a mate, a possible mate, or even a special one chosen by a familial member. Sharing was allowed, relished even, but only once consideration and permission had been granted. Angelus had no right to trespass in his bedroom without an invitation, whether he’d thought the Slayer in danger or not. For making such a gross mistake against their code, the brooding hair gel obsessed poof would cop it, and Spike was going to enjoy pounding the living fuck out of something. His grief was obscene, rising up righteous and furious once again, and a whimpering Buffy wouldn’t be the one he took it out on this time.
She didn’t speak a word, silently watching as his face went from concern to hate in almost a split second. Fear rose and made her blood pound through her body, gushing back into the balled cloth at her back. Buffy jumped as his growl tore from his throat, the fabric pressed harder and he looked at her with not so gentle rapprochement.
“Spike?” Buffy watched as his demon took over and fangs descended, yellow eyes clashed with her pain filled green. Weakness clung to her limbs and no matter what she was in for now, she had no hope of escape. No possibility of even retrieving the stake he’d handed her earlier in the night. The one she’d tossed in decision as she’d curled into his back.
Despite the amount of blood she’d already lost, Spike dived at her mouth, fangs ripping harshly into her lips. Buffy’s pained cries didn’t stop him at first, too intent on letting the demon vent and retrieving his battered ego. It had all gone wrong, from the moment he’d allowed that oily haired teen to enter his lair and offer a trade. The Slayer. How could he not have known it was too easy? And now his lover had gone and he’d initiated a replacement within hours—apparently with Dru’s own approval.
He was a vampire. He’d been made immortal, raised within the truth of evil and rules. Too many had been broken, too many lines crossed and the only control he could regain was to make Angel pay.
With a not so gentle thrust, the Slayer was away from him, huddled fearfully on the quilt that his Dru had lovingly placed upon their bed. He suddenly felt sick, felt unfaithful and disgusted. He’d been controlled, been ignored in the order of decision. Dru had no right to make those plans—even if she had seen something foretold over a century ago. Angelus had had no right—not to bound into his room and attempt to eradicate his replacement mate. It was time to wreak havoc on this town, kill indiscriminately until the ache in his chest eased.
He was dressed and standing at the foot of the stairs in minutes, ignoring the crying form of broken Slayer on his bed.
He left her there—refusing to deal with why he’d wanted to even have her as his mate, and no replacement at that.
Events shifted around him and he was powerless to stop it.
Powerless to do anything. But kill Angelus.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This is the continuation that people begged for...well okay, Holly and Vampkiss. This is a lot darker than my usual fic so I hope you all still like it.