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Buffy frowned as she heard the front door close, where could Dawn be going at this time of night? She made to get up but was stopped by the gentle resistance of Richard’s arm around her shoulder.

“Where you going?” he mumbled affectionately pulling her into her chest and nuzzling her silky hair

“I just thought I heard dawn go outside, I better go check on her.” She pulled out of his embrace and stood, straightening her skirt.

“Buffy” His voice was louder than he had intended, calming himself with a deep breath he continued gently. “Baby, she’s not a child anymore. Pretty soon you’re not even going to be living in the same house, you can’t watch her every move.”

Even as he spoke he knew he’d made a mistake, Buffy bristled visibly. “What, I can’t be concerned about my sister now? About my only family?”

“That’s not what I’m saying sweetie” he tried to placate her with his gentle tone. 99%
of the time she was so easy to live with, so easy going and eager to please, but disagree with her when it came to the safety of her closest friends and family and she was impossible. “I’m just saying she’s a big girl, she wants some fresh air at 11 o’clock at night, well then that’s her prerogative”

“Well she could just let me know, she knows how much I worry” Buffy grumbled, but slipped back into his arms, her body tense and rigid against his.

He took a deep breath, before venturing, “Why does it bother you so much? I mean it’s not just Dawn it’s everyone. It’s like you need to know where everyone is all the time. Why do you feel like you have to protect everyone all the time”

She was out of his arms faster then a scalded cat, hackles raised, eyes blazing. Richard could’ve kicked himself, why did he keep doing this recently, keep pushing her to open up, knowing that she would either get angry or block him out. He looked at her flushed face and despite the sense of trepidation he felt, decided he liked angry much better, at least she was beautiful this way.

Inside Buffy was screaming at him, yelling that she did have to protect, literally everyone all the time. She wanted to tell him to open his eyes and stop pretending that the world was warm and safe, that nothing really goes bump in the night, wanted to let him know that she was the force that stood between the world and the powers of darkness and chaos. It was on the tip of her tongue to say it ‘Because I am the Slayer’.

She took a deep breath, if she told him now, came clean about her true nature he would believe she was delusional. Sensible, pragmatic Richard would never believe such a tale, he you think she was a lunatic and he would leave her.

And if he did believe her, then he would leave her anyway. Richard was a good man, and in no way a chauvinist, but inside Buffy knew his ego would not be able to handle a wife who wielded that kind of power.

Swallowing her retort, she fixed a half smile on her face and titled her head to the side, wondering idly if she had always been this good an actor. She moved to the couch and slid in beside him, “I know, I guess I’m just a natural worrier. Sorry.” She kissed him gently and snuggled down again, turning her attention to the screen.

She felt him sigh his acceptance of her answer and felt a strange dissatisfaction, a sense of having been cheated. Had he really been fooled? If so he couldn’t read her well at all. The right amount of poking, combined with a generous helping of sarcasm, would have had her riled up enough to spill all her secrets. She was almost ready to, to come clean, off load all this pretence, she was almost ready, but Richard didn’t push and she didn’t tell.

Only one person had ever been able to read her that easily, play her that well. She couldn’t suppress a sigh at the thought and she knew her whole body shook with it. Mercifully Richard didn’t call her on it, just answered with a soft sigh of his own.

………..

“Are you sure it was him?” Dawn asked. She had let Willow tell her tail uninterrupted, now she had questions.

“Yeah, I mean his hair was way different, all brown and curly, but it was definitely him” She nodded for emphasis “He even said it himself”

“Anyone could say that, an look a like or a shape shifter. Maybe the plan is to make us think he’s Spike to gain an advantage” Dawn grimaced. she hadn’t come up with anything quite that lame in long time.

Willow gave her suggestion the sceptical look it deserved. “Then you think they’d have got the hair right. Plus he knew about the whole burning to death thing, and you know Buffy only told us about that”

“I know, I’m just finding this kinda hard to get my head round ya know?” She gave the redhead a self-depreciating smile.

Willows answering smile was tender “I know sweetie. I’m struggling with it too, and I was there.”

Both girls fell silent while they considered the situation. It was Dawn who finally broke “So, what are we going to do? Buffy is so going to wig”

“Do you think we should tell her?” Willow held up her hand before the younger woman’s objection could be heard “I know, she has a right to know and everything. And she’d be majorly pissed if we lie. But he’s all evil and killing again, and remember what it did to her before, with Angel”

Dawn studied the redhead’s concerned face. Worry was carved in deep lines on her forehead and her sea green eyes bled with compassion for her friend. Was she right? Should they keep this from Buffy? She remembered well, despite not having really been there, how spectacularly Buffy had failed to cope with killing her first love. Was it fair to put her through that again, would she even do it?

Then she thought of Spike, soulless and snarky, real memories this time, of friendship and protection, of unconditional affection, maybe even love. The Angelus affair had been hard on Buffy, but at least it had been simple, Angel good, Angelus very, very bad. Spike redefined the saying ‘shades of grey’.

Willow was talking again, Dawn tried to catch what she was saying, something about dealing with it themselves.

“Dealing with it?!” she questioned angrily. “You want to kill him? After everything he’s done, you want to ‘deal with it’? Like he’s some kind of rabid animal”

“Dawn.” Willows voice was gentle but firm. “He doesn’t have a soul, I could tell that much. And he’s killing. He is a rabid animal”

Dawn felt the anger surge through her like a tsunami “An animal” she hissed, rage resonating through the quite words “The same animal that gave himself a headache proving Tara was human, the animal that let a hell god torture him to keep me safe, that animal?”

Willow felt the brunettes pain, felt her aura darken with anger, anger at Willow, for threatening her erstwhile friend, anger at the world for doing this to them, but most of all anger at herself, for all she had failed to do for Spike in that last year in Sunnydale. For the forgiveness she had refused to grant him even as his soulful eyes begged her for it. For the understanding she had withheld even as she understood more than she had wanted to.

“Dawnie” she spoke softly, letting gentle calming magic, flow like camomile through her words. “I don’t want to, but he’s chosen this. Maybe the chip was affecting him more than we knew back then, making him do good things. I saw him tonight, really saw him and he’s…” She sighed trying to explain. “You remember how he was when he came to Sunnydale the first time?”

Dawn nodded, implanted memories of cowering in a cramped storage closest with Cordelia on parent teacher night, of Buffy sneaking out stone faced and armed to the hilt, forming in her mind. Then unbidden and image came to her, a memory she had all but forgotten, the view was from above, through an upstairs window. Her mother worried and angry demanding an explanation from a flustered Buffy and uncomfortable Spike. Her lips quirked as she recalled their bumbling attempt at a cover story, she could almost hear his north London baritone, ‘Well I sing’. Their first joint slay, the dusted vampire that would never be able to ‘tattle’ on their alliance.

“We have to tell Buffy” Her voice brooked no argument, but Willow felt compelled to question

“Are you sure?” Funny now, how she deferred to the younger girl, how this was now most certainly Dawns call.

“Yes. We’ll do it tomorrow, before everyone arrives”

…………….

Marcus smiled, not his usual cold, sardonic smile, but a real genuine, perhaps even happy smile. In as much as a demon can feel, happiness, perhaps it was more satisfaction. It didn’t matter, what mattered was the reason behind the smile.

“You’re sure?” he asked Solomon “The Apeathans are on their way?”

“Certain master.” Solomon gave a slow deliberate nod of his horned head. “They make there way here as we speak. It seems the King’s son staged a coup. Renon leads them now, and he brings his army under your banner”

“Excellent, excellent, the old fools resistance had troubled me” he gave a dismissive wave of his hand, turning away from the Vaith “See that all is prepared for their arrival”

“Sire, there is another issue” Solomon ventured hesitantly

Marcus turned slowly back to face his lieutenant “What?”

“There is unrest among those already gathered here. Tension grows between the vampire families and the Vahrall. I fear other’s will be drawn in, many Fryal clans are loyal to the Vahrall.”

Marcus gave and irritated huff “Very well, give word that I will be addressing the entire force. Go now, and see that I am not disturbed, I must prepare.” With that he turned his back on the Vaith and headed towards his private chambers.

“Out! All of you out now” he commanded his vampire harem as he entered. He waited for the room to clear, his handsome latin features set in an expression of grim determination. “Leave that.” He barked, pointing to the terrified human girl bound and shivering against the far wall.

He moved quickly across the now empty room, removing his shirt as he did so, he pulled the girl to her feet and ran his eyes over her shaking body. She was young enough, perhaps 13, maybe 14, her body beginning to take on womanhood, but her soul still very much a child’s. He looked into her terrified innocent eyes, she would do.

Sweeping the bound girl up into his arms he crossed the room, and punched a sting of numbers into the electronic lock of a heavy metal door. Taking a deep unneeded breath he entered the sealed room.

Where his quarters where modern and comfortable, this room embodied the texture of the old ways, a torch lit shrine to an ancient power. Before him was a low stone alter, and beyond that an ebony statue, a grotesque effigy of a demon deity. He placed the girl gently on the alter, and retrieved a sharp ceremonial knife from it’s hanging on the wall to his left.

She tried to scream as he approached her, blade flashing in the flickering torchlight, but gagged and bound as she was, her cries came out as muffled whimpers. She tried to move, to flea but the ropes cut her flesh. Hot tears poured over the soft skin of her rounded cheeks as he used the razor sharp blade to strip her clothes.

Marcus looked at his offering, naked and weeping before him. She was exactly as he like them; untouched and innocent, her breasts small and pert, not yet those of a woman and the hair between her legs soft and fair. He would have liked to have his fun with this one. He would remove the bonds of course so that she would scream and struggle as he took her. He shivered in perverted delight at the thought of tasting lost innocence in her sweet blood, but he would have to wait, find another for his personal amusement, this one had a far higher purpose.
……….

She no longer cried. She no longer flinched at the touch of the knife. Her body was numb, and cold, so very cold. Shallow cuts adorned every inch of her flesh, in the intricate patterns of ancient symbols. The monster kneeling beside her still chanted, strange rhythmic words in a foreign tongue, but she no longer heard him. Her body no longer stung in the chilled air of the temple, but she was cold, so very cold. She wondered if her mother was worried about her, if her annoying elder brother would miss her at all. But she was too cold to worry about anything for long. Her thoughts slowed in time with her heartbeat until both ground to an irrevocable halt.

Marcus ceased chanting as he felt the girl’s life slip away, and stood, arms outstretched. Around his neck a jewelled pendent glowed and resonated with power, the matching pendant adorning the statue’s neck glowed in response. He smiled and then all there was, was pain, searing hot agony as light poured between the two jewels, power filled him but it gave him no joy, all there was, was pain.

Finally it was over, Marcus struggled to his feet, his chest still burning, but now he felt it, the thrill of power coursing through him. He glanced at the dead girl indifferently, time to clean up after, now he must address his troops.

Reaching the stage he was delayed by Solomon, relaying fears of further unrest and of irreparable damage to the alliance. Marcus brushed him aside and bounded onto the stage, nothing was irreparable, not when Marcus could feel the power rushing through him like a drug.

The crowds hushed as he appeared and he felt them, already, bending to his will. “Brothers” he began raising his arms and calling them to order. He spoke but the words where of little consequence, window dressing for the control he exercised over each of them.





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