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The woman looked around to get her bearings. She was flush with excitement, but carefully schooled her features into a Mona Lisa smile. Something momentous was happening tonight in this little town on the Hellmouth, she could feel it.

She fingered the pendant at her throat as she concentrated. There it was. A pull, calling to her. She answered.

***


Spike took a quick glance behind him. Satisfied that he'd lost her, he slipped into the crypt he'd taken up residence in the night before. He made his way across the room and gingerly eased himself back on the sarcophagus. He hissed in pain as every bruise and scrape made itself known. Bloody chit was going to be the death of him yet. He chuckled quietly. As irritating as it was to have her constantly kicking his ass, he had to admit that he enjoyed their dance. Got his blood singing, made him almost feel alive. Smiling, he recalled their encounter, the zinging commentary, watching her lithe body flying at him, the rush he always got when fighting a Slayer more intense with her than it had ever been with the others. God, what she did to him...

He frowned at where his thoughts were going. Nothing special about this one he told himself. Might enjoy the dance, but it wasn't going to stop him from ripping her throat out and drinking from that pretty little neck. He shifted, then winced as his gut reminded him of the last kick the Slayer had landed. Yeah, he was going to rip her throat out - later. Needed a day or so to recuperate first.

The sound of the door crashing open and slamming into the wall informed him that he wasn't going to get that day.

"Oh, Spike," the Slayer caroled his name in a singsong voice as she closed on him, stake in hand. "Why did you run away? I wasn't finished kicking your ass."

Oh, fuck.

"Decided you'd had enough is all, Slayer. Was givin' you a breather," he blustered as he sat up and slid off the tomb and assumed a fighting stance. Broken ribs grated on each other, and he couldn't suppress grunt of pain.

Buffy gave him a wicked smile. "Aww, what's the matter, Spike? A little sore? Come on, let me help. I'll make it all better - permanently."

He opened his mouth to toss out a witty rejoinder, but she rushed him before he could get the words out. Her stake slashed down at his chest, and he twisted, then stuck out his foot and gave her a shove, sending her sprawling in the dirt. He backed away, readying himself for her next attack, snickering at her furious look. Her eyes' glinted dangerously in the moonlight that spilled though the open crypt door.

"Tsk, tsk, Slayer. Getting a little cocky, aren't you?" he sneered. "M'not that easy to kill. Thought you would have learned that by now."

Her mouth set in a grim line and she came at him again, more controlled this time, and the battle was joined. There were no more smart-assed comments; just bodies whirling through space, grunts and exclamations as fists and feet flew through the air, sometimes missing, more often connecting. They both knew this was the final fight, and only one of them was going to walk away this time.

She was tiring, Spike could tell. She'd already been patrolling for a few hours when he'd run into her earlier that evening on the campus grounds, complaining bitterly about the vampire she was dusting not being a challenge. He'd been tempted to just lurk and watch, but the comment had stung and as usual, his impatience had won out over his caution. That, and the fact that he'd been standing on the edge of an embankment above her, and thought he'd heard something - he'd looked over his shoulder to check it out and somehow misstepped, sending him sliding down the hill to end up in an unceremonious heap just a few yards from where she stood.

After some snarking and a few tentative jabs, they'd gone at it full swing, pounding on each other as though the fate of the world depended on the outcome of the battle. Her final kick had been the one responsible for his now broken ribs, and he had decided that retreat was in order. Live to fight another day and all. He'd managed to stomp on her ankle hard enough to put her out of commission so he could run. He'd listened to her cursing all the way across the commons, and been somewhat impressed by her inventiveness at the time. He should have known she'd be too pissed off by that little maneuver to leave off for the night.

His ruminations distracted him enough that she managed to get through his guard and pop him one on the nose, bringing a fountain of blood gushing forth. "Fucking hell, Slayer!" He blocked her next blow, then sent her flying into the far wall before reeling away, bringing the back of his hand up to stem the tide. "What *is* it with you and my nose?" he snarled.

She pushed away from the wall, shook her head as if to clear it, and started for him again, stake upraised. He braced himself, ready for the next round. Then it happened. Fate threw a curve ball, and the Slayer missed it. In mid-stride, the heel of her boot snapped off, sending Buffy stumbling - right into his arms.

They were face-to-face for one instant, a second that stretched on for a year. He saw her face register surprise, consternation, shock, and then he was spinning her around, twisting her arms up behind her. She struggled to regain her balance, to get free, but he had the advantage. He forced her over to the sarcophagus, pushed her up against it, held her there with the weight of his body. With one hand, he grasped her wrists, making sure they remained trapped between their bodies, then reached up with the other one to grab her ponytail and yank her head to the side. He could feel her tremble beneath him as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck.

"Mmmmmm, Slayer," he murmured against her smooth skin, his tongue tracing along the vein throbbing there. She wriggled desperately, trying to free herself, but he had her well and truly pinned. She tried kicking him, but he just laughed, entangling her legs with his own.

"Let me go," she ground out and he laughed again.

"I don't think so," he replied, shifting into game face. "Been waiting for this for a long time, Slayer. Finally got my one good day." He dragged his fangs down her neck, scoring twin trails of red on the pale flesh, bringing a renewed frenzy of struggling from the Slayer. He hardly noticed, the heady ambrosia of her blood exploding on his tongue, singing in his mouth, making him hard. Buffy froze beneath him, and he grinned against her neck, lapping at the scratches.

"S'matter, pet?" he taunted silkily, grinding against her. Her scent changed, now laced with fear as she realized she was in for more than just being drained dry.

"Spike…" Her voice was shaking. "Don’t you dare…" she trailed off.

"Don't dare what?" He licked the scratches again, this time letting his tongue wander up to her jaw line, then brought his mouth to her ear, nibbling on the lobe. She gasped.

"Don’t touch me!" it was a harsh whisper. "You’re gonna pay for that…"

He drew his fangs down her neck again, the furrows deeper this time, blood welling up and spilling across her skin in meandering little patterns. He carefully lapped it, his arousal building with every drop, when another scent hit him. It couldn't be... but it was. Under the fear she was trying to hide, and the bravado she was clinging to like a shield, there was the merest hint of her own arousal, growing stronger with every lick of his tongue. He chuckled. Oh, this was rich. He moved his mouth down to the healed scar that smelled of the Poof. Yeah, looked like the Slayer'd had a taste of blood play sometime in the past. This was going to make her defeat all the more sweet.

"Turning you on am I, pet?"

He almost lost her then. She turned into a screaming wildcat, thrashing and hissing, struggling with all her might. She threw her head back, head butting him, bringing waves of pain to his already abused nose. He growled and twisted her arms cruelly, then smashed her head into the stone sarcophagus, stunning her. Bloody chit was going to pay for that.

"Right then," he snarled, yanking her head back to expose her throat once more. "Was going to do this the easy way, pet, but hard works for me just as well."

She cried out as he sank his fangs in deep, drinking her in hard, fast pulls. He listened to her heartbeat as it accelerated, trying to keep up with the demand, to supply and ever-dwindling supply of blood to her
battered body. He could smell her arousal growing in spite of herself. As her struggles abated, he slowed down, stopping only when she was too weak to fight him anymore.

Spike was flying high. He felt 20 feet tall, strong as a hundred vampires, giddy with the power that came from Slayer blood. It was thrumming through him, making his head spin, making his cock so hard he was sure it was going to burst right through his jeans. Being pressed up against the Slayer's hot little peach of an ass was just making things that much worse. It was time to take care of that little problem.

He released her arms, and they fell bonelessly at her sides. She would have slipped to the floor if he had not been holding her in place. He reached around her to undo her jeans, then slipped his thumbs in the waistband, pulling them down to her knees. She struggled weakly.

"Spike, no, please..."

He stopped for a moment when he realized she was crying, reached out with a finger to wipe the tears from her cheek, brought them to his mouth. They tasted of fear and salt and sadness. Doing this used to be so sweet, but something was off this time.

*She's all around you.*

Dru's voice echoed in his head, haunting him. He snarled and yanked his own jeans down. "Gonna be all around me, all right!" he declared as he grabbed her hips and rubbed his swollen cock down the crevice of her ass and brought it to rest at her damp quim. Damp, but not entirely ready, he realized. Would hurt her a fair amount if she wasn't ready. He took a step back, brought one hand down and slid a finger into her. As he used another to tease her clit, he wondered why the hell he cared.

"Just trying to make a point here, luv," he said, speaking more for his own benefit then hers. "Yeah, that's it. Gonna make the Slayer come for a demon. I know you want it."

She moaned, not a sound of pleasure so much as it was of grief, and he grimaced. This would not do at all, ruining the bloody mood it was. He slipped his other arm around her waist, pulling her against him, and slid a hand under her shirt to cup one pert breast, tweaking the nipple while he kept up his assault on her clit. He felt her growing wetter, her breathing more rapid, his hands bringing her to full arousal in spite of her protestations.

"There's a good Slayer," he murmured into her neck before nipping at her earlobe again. "You're gonna like this." He leaned her back over the sarcophagus, grabbed her hips and angled her just right - then plunged fully into her in one swift thrust.

Buffy screamed, and Spike's eyes nearly crossed at the sensation. He could have come on the spot, but he grit his teeth and held back. He was going to make this last. The Slayer was sobbing now, trying to scrabble away from him, but he held her fast.

"You're not goin' anywhere, pet," he advised her as he pulled back, then slammed forward once more. "Oh, fuck, Slayer! You're so tight!" he groaned, reveling in the feel of her.

"Ghhhnn," was all she managed in response.

He reached around to flick the small nerve bundle once more, eliciting a shudder. He leaned in close to whisper in her ear.

"Oh, yeah, that's good, eh baby?" he taunted her, starting a slow and steady rhythm. He slid out of game face then nipped at her neck, sucking and licking in time with his thrusts. He could feel the pressure building – he wasn't going to last much longer in her wet heat, and he was bound and determined to make her come before he did.

He pulled away and then flipped her on her back. She lay before him, pale, shaking, sweaty - utterly delicious. He pushed her knees back, realized the jeans were in the way, and stripped them off her. Once again she tried to scramble free, but he just crawled on top of her, grinning at her struggles.

"M'not done with you." He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head and used his free hand to rip her shirt open, buttons popping everywhere. Another yank had her bra off, exposing her fully to him. She squirmed and thrashed, tears of anger and humiliation rolling down her cheeks. He leaned in and captured one nipple in his mouth, flicking over it with his tongue, sucking hard as he slid his other hand back between her legs, fingers delving into her slick center.

"No!" she sobbed out, even as her body responded to his ministrations. He kept it up, and soon he felt her hips begin to rise to meet his thrusting fingers. He brought his fingers up to his mouth, made sure she was watching as he licked them clean, then positioned himself between her legs and pushed into her slowly. After taking a moment to steady himself, he picked up the rhythm, driving into her at a furious pace. He was on the brink, could tell she was too, and he vamped out, sliding his fangs into her neck. She let out a low wail, internal muscles clenching around him, the double sensation of being seated in her hot core and drinking her in sending him over the edge as well. He came hard, the blood flowing down his throat drawing out the orgasm, expanding it to mind-bending proportions.

As Spike came down, he realized two things. The first was that he was ruined for life - or unlife as the case may be. After being in the Slayer's hot little quim, he really couldn't imagine being anywhere else. The second thing was that the except for his ragged, unnecessary breathing, the crypt was totally silent. He pulled back in shock, and looked down on the still form beneath him.

The Slayer was dead.

He scrambled to his knees, pulled her limp body forward, and slapped her face lightly. "C'mon Slayer, you're stronger than this!" Her head lolled to one side. Anxious, he eased her back down, it his wrist, placed it over her mouth.

"Have a sip then, luv. Come across, stay with me..." Her lips were remained still, unresponsive to his entreaty.

He shook his head, disbelieving. "You can't be dead!" he yelled. "I've been trying to kill you for years! You're like a bloody weed that keeps popping up between the cracks of the sidewalk! You're not like the others!"

Her pale, silent form mocked him. He stumbled back off the sarcophagus, across the crypt, away from her. Warm Slayer blood still sang through him, and part of him, the base demon instincts, delighted in the surge of power it imparted. But all he could do was stare at her.

He slid down the wall and leaned his head back against the hard stone. "Fucking hell!”

Spike let out a humorless chuckle. He’d always been too impetuous. Angelus had almost staked him on more than one occasion for having no self-control." He slammed his head back against the wall, once twice, a third time.

He leaned forward, elbows to knees, and settled his forehead in his hand. "One bloody lesson I could have stood to learn from the arrogant prick." He looked up for a moment to gaze at the Slayer’s body one more. “If I had it to do over again, it would be different, pet. Wish I could. Things'd be different."

****

Standing at the doorway, the dark-haired woman who had been silently observing smiled. The smooth skin of her face suddenly morphed into a mass of streaks and veins.

"Granted."





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