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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.”





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