[Reviews - 145]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 3383 times

- Text Size +




Chapter Three

There was no way he was returning from this trip unless it was as dust particles blown half-way across the continent on the breath of a furious slayer. Still, the inevitability of his imminent demise wasn’t enough to stop him throwing everything he owned into an old brown leather bag, sweeping his dirty, repugnant quarters with disillusioned eyes, and striding toward the Desoto with a renewed spring in his step.

There were many challenges he was about to hit nose-on, but if Spike was a good judge of character—and he prided himself on being bloody amazing at reading people—one Buffy Summers was going to have the very stuffing knocked out of her the second he rolled into town and announced he’d been privy to her every thought, complaint and fear for the past year. He’d be lucky if he escaped with only his balls served to him on a platter.

A smirk betraying his complete insanity stretched across his mouth and Spike felt like whistling. Bugger it; he’d sing for all that was holy. His departure from not-so-good old SunnyD had been nothing short of despaired. He’d been carried away like a baby, deprived of his ultimate kill by letting the adorable bitch break his back. Oh sure, if he’d been able back then he’d not have even hesitated ripping her heart out through her mouth, but now…now he was brimming with admiration for the girl. Things had changed for him on so many levels that he still had to shake himself every morning he awoke to truly believe it all was happening.

Not that being in his new situation was always good, but he could never say it was boring.

The engine gunned to uproarious life and Spike laughed with joy as he scattered a crowd of people milling in an area they should have known to avoid. It was almost like the stupid morsels wanted to have pieces bitten out of them. Wasn’t his problem. He had other fish to fry and Sunnydale seemed to be the perfect little hell-like pond. One little chit he’d like to string up and scale would be Red. He’d have to come up with a plan there and hope that his impatience wouldn’t bollocks the whole thing.

Twelve months ago he’d never have imagined how dazed he could become with anger at someone hurting the Slayer. Twelve months ago he’d banked on being the lucky son-of-a-bitch that bagged his third slayer before having a celebratory drink with his fellow demons somewhere reputable for his gloat. So much could happen in twelve months and as much as he’d cursed the talisman that had taught him about hearts and souls, he was also grateful that his existence had found meaning. Feeling worthwhile when you were being punished for being a soft, useless vampire went a long way to mending bridges.

There was nothing to inspire a backward glance and Spike roared out of the industrial district in which he’d found refuge. His journey was finally beginning and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was making a mistake heading to Buffy without preparing her first. Without warning her that when he showed, he had no intention of burying his fangs in her smooth, supple skin; rather, his mind had been obsessively focused on the promise of a kiss and the honey taste of her flesh.

Not for one second did Spike question he was losing his marbles. He was changing, and for the most part he didn’t believe it was for the better; it wasn’t fitting, a vicious killer becoming the Slayer’s shoulder to cry on when fighting his kind got too rough for her. It wasn’t right—but he wanted it anyway. Those days when the talisman burned in his pocket and he felt her pain were the days that he slept better. Not for knowing she hurt, but from knowing she lived. Over months of intensity, Spike had been able to forge a link direct to her. He didn’t need the talisman anymore to know if she’d been wounded, or if Willow had made yet another cutting remark. He didn’t need the talisman to know when she’d fallen asleep for the night or when she’d turned to thinking about that plonker none of them should rightly miss, even if the two women in his life still did.

Angel was a burden they were all best rid of and Spike refused to shed any tears at his decision to harness the power of Sire’s blood to bring back the strength to his own. That Dru wanted to punish him for destroying her precious Angel meant nothing to him anymore, and now that she’d completely turned her back on him, Spike wouldn’t allow himself to wallow at not being enough yet again. He’d gained much understanding this last year, and that he mattered far less to Dru than Angelus had been enough to cut the emotional ties he’d had to her for good. He’d always love her, but he refused to be her whipping boy again. He refused to let her kill him slowly for saving her life.

He was barely on the road for twenty minutes—only a few hours from crossing back into Hellmouth territory—when a great searing fire braced against his chest and then pushed with a mighty thrust to blast his ribcage wide open. Letting go of the wheel, Spike roared in agony as he gripped his chest, the old car swerving dramatically from lane to lane, furious car horns the symphonic backdrop to his destruction. With the little presence of mind he had left, Spike recognised the wheels were tearing up dirt and rock and he slammed his foot down hard on the brake, screaming as he felt disaster loom up and cloud him in black. The car spun around fully before it stopped, but Spike kept on screaming, knowing finally what it was that tore his existence to shreds.

The pain receded slowly, his facial ridges protruding and his fangs just dripping to sink into some nosy bastard that tried to muscle in past Spike’s tears. He wasn’t grateful cars had stopped to check on him; he wasn’t grateful for anything right now excepting his car’s failure to burst into gasoline-fuelled flames. The last thing he needed was an audience as he was ruthlessly severed from the link he shared with her.

Buffy Summers was gone, and he was going to make whoever was responsible pay with their life.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

She passed through running, not even taking time to watch her home close off behind her as the dimensional fold collapsed in on itself. The talisman throbbed in her pocket and despite not knowing this part of LA—as if she could tell one alleyway from the next!—she suddenly knew the force of direction as her body led her somewhere unknown. She ran for ten minutes at full slayer-speed, breath whooshing from her lungs in perfectly trained rhythm and Buffy gladly handed herself over to auto-pilot. She trusted in the power of something she didn’t know, directing her into who knew what kind of hell, and believed it was what she was sent here to do. She had to find them, help them in this poorly thought out fight and keep the balance of worlds, or perish.

She stopped in front of a gleaming silver building, an office block that was nondescript and meant absolutely nothing to her, but Buffy knew that inside there was something so important that she was going to die this night if she didn’t go in. A scalding pain had settled against her thigh, the amulet almost screaming in either joy or pain. It was so different to the inanimate state it had occupied from the moment it was placed in her hand and it momentarily stopped her cold to find it reacting so vibrantly now.

Making no effort to influence the direction of her feet, Buffy stepped through the large glass doors and quickly made her way to the elevator, raising a perfectly sculpted brow as her finger jabbed the button directing her to the top floor. She was rushed upward, almost losing her balance with the disruption to her equilibrium as it came to a startling stop, the doors whooshing open on the most horrifying scene she’d witnessed in a lifetime.

Spike gaped at her, and he clutched harder the babe in his arms.

“Buffy?”

He’d lost focus on the demons about to attack him, she could see. That note of yearning in his voice was strange and creepy, yet Buffy’s first duty wasn’t to understand the speech inflections of a murderous vampire. Her sacred duty was to protect those that couldn’t protect themselves, and the innocent didn’t come any more so than a vulnerable little baby.

The three saggy grey-skinned demons attacked, their limbs accustomed to fighting in robes but not used to a slayer in their ranks. She appropriated a sword from one of the demons as it hit the floor hard from the impact of the sole of her boot. She killed with militant precision, mere seconds disappearing before their bodies hit the ground with brutal finality. Her eyes had never left his, alert to his every possible attempt to harm the baby and ready for what needed to be done.

“Buffy,” he breathed again, awe stroking his eyes and lips until she was swimming in confusion. That switch to attempted understanding undid her and before she could slam back into fight mode, he was upon her, the baby cradled carefully between them as cool lips savaged her own.

Shock exploded inside her. Buffy reeled mentally but physically was struck useless on the spot. There was nothing in their previous association for her to have ever suspected this kind of disarming attack in his arsenal, and as much as she wanted to kick him where it hurt and disengage from his fervent touch, the kiss did not betray any intent to kill.

Heart thumping wildly, Buffy hesitantly parted her lips and was lost. His free hand wound into a fistful of her hair, her neck stretched almost painfully as his passion bent her head back. His mouth possessed hers, roughly sucking and biting her lips before he deepened the kiss further and ecstasy shot to life along her veins. A moan speared the quiet between them and Buffy felt herself crane closer, momentarily forgetting the baby he still held in his arms as she craved the connection she’d been denied with another human being since Angel had been taken from her.

By Spike.

Memory achieved what her treacherous body had been unable to do and Buffy tore herself away, panting hard as she treated him to a glare worthy of the true relationship between them.

Enemies.

Her hand lingered at her mouth, body shuddering at an unwinnable conflict—one side of her wanted to cling to that kiss with everything she had, but then the saner side wanted her to purge the revulsion from her lips and spit out her hatred. As usual, though, it was the wrong time to indulge in personal issues. She had a war to win, starting with the infant cradled against a notoriously evil vampire’s chest.

“Give me the baby.” A stake in one hand, she held out the other, hoping he wouldn’t decide to fight her and risk the baby’s life.

“No time, Goldilocks. Have to get the little one back to his mum. Bloody good to see you, though. Thought you were all caught up in the Immortal Wanker’s nightlife in Rome. Should have known not to underestimate you,” he said proudly and Buffy wondered what on earth she’d stepped into the middle of. Returning a baby to its family would imply Spike to be a good guy, and no matter how hard she tried to wrap her head around that, it was impossible. Before she had time to think, he’d stolen another light kiss and taken her hand with his free one and she was running again.

“What, um…I have to find Angelus,” Buffy finished strongly, purpose reverberating around the elevator cage.

“Oh, yeah. You lot still think he’s turned bad, huh? Completely off-base this time, luv. Had us fooled for a while too. Not to worry. We’ll be meeting up with Peaches soon as the bit is in his mother’s arms safe and sound. You’ll get your fight in.”

And he smirked at her. That same infuriating smirk she’d witnessed one too many times back in Sunnydale when he’d taken Angel from her; before she’d learned what the souled vampire could mean to her.

“I know Angel,” she spat, thoroughly sick at this messed up reality. “He would never set something like this into play. It’s totally suicidal.”

Spike stopped short and Buffy became aware with a burning, frightening need that she was holding his hand and how much she wanted to banish the nudge of sense that told her she needed to let it go.

“Far be it for me to question your unbelievably juvenile loyalty to that berk, but Angel is not evil and right now he’s exactly that suicidal. Only thing the bastard has going for him is that we’ll make an impact on our way out. Now stop yammering, princess. We’ve got a rendezvous to keep.” Spike turned sharply on his heel, his body a coiled spring of controlled rage that she didn’t understand as he tugged her along.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, other than what Willow told me—”

“Ah, the witch. Is that how you found out I was back from the land of perpetual torture? Or did the boy finally spill the beans?”

Buffy shook her head, confusion making her head ache. “Who the hell is The Boy? And…were you dead? When were you dead? And why would I care? Probably that loopy bitch that hauled you off did you in, and if that’s the case, colour me impressed you managed to drag your dusty ass back into the world.”

Spike stopped dead, again, the baby wriggling impatiently in his arms. “That’s cruel, Buffy. Even for you.” And he turned back to the path, deciding to ignore her as intently as he was ignoring the shard of hurt that tore through his heart.

“Okay, whoa up there, slick. I don’t know what’s going on here but there’s something that really needs to be said to clear the air, so, whatever Buffy turned your world upside down, I am so not her.” Feet braced against the pavement and arms crossed against her chest, Buffy wasn’t going anywhere until she could gain a better grip on this world.

“You got that right. My Buffy wasn’t such a raving, heartless bitch in the end. Knew you didn’t mean all that ‘I love you’ claptrap. Make it easier to run out of there and leave poor Spike burning to death from the inside out, did it?”

Eyes impossibly wide, Buffy felt her heart stop. There was something very wrong when a notoriously evil master vampire said she’d told him she loved him. Leaving him helpless in the arms of his embittered sire was probably the exact thing that could unsettle his mind—and the only explanation for the sheer lunacy that was flowing from his mouth like acid.

Buffy took a slow step backwards, needing distance from his distracting touch so she could figure out a way to get the baby off him. Although, he did kind of imply he was going to do the right thing there. Taking a deep breath, she studied him and for the first time she noticed the softness and vulnerability in his eyes.

“I’m not the Buffy from this dimension,” she confided quietly. “I was sent here because Angelus…or Angel,” she trembled, overwhelmed by the possibility of seeing him again and wondering what it was she truly felt. “I was told he was setting an apocalypse to end all apocalypses in motion and if he failed the fight, all the dimensions might come to a sudden and disastrous end.”

“You’re not my Buffy?” He nodded, accepting her claim as he tipped his head to the side and smiled indulgently.

“No,” she admitted, breath tight in her chest, and for just a second, she kind of wished she was.





You must login (register) to review.