There were rumours spreading all along the demonic grapevine, the Slayer was dead.

A new Slayer had been called.

Somewhere on the West Coast of America, there was freshly minted Slayer blood ready for the taking. His fangs itched slightly at the memory of the Chinese Bint who had been his first Slayer kill - her blood had been rich and filled with power. His cock hardened at the memory of that first taste of Slayer blood, filled with the vigour of all her predecessors, ripe and lush, her flavour heavy on his taste buds as he gorged himself on the finest vintage of blood a vampire could ask for. And the fucking over her cooling corpse after the fight had been an added bonus. Spike sighed happily at the memory of Dru's cool slender legs wrapped around his hips as they hand screwed and frolicked in the Buddhist Shrine.

It had been a good night for him, finally rising to ascension as a Master vampire, on equal footing with his Grandsire, if not above him. As far as Spike knew, Angelus had never bagged a Slayer in his unlifetime, and now that he was all soul having, somehow the peroxide vampire couldn't see it happening anytime soon.

Spike slouched down on his seat, hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans and listened to the excited rumblings around him in the seedy demon bar he was currently patronising. All around him were demons of various shapes and sizes, all celebrating the death of the previous slayer. She had been killed by a seemingly random accident. A lorry had struck her whilst she had been out on patrol. 'Must've made a right mess of the bint, entrails flying all over the place.' The black clad vampire smirked at the thought, part of him wishing he had been there to give her a good fight and a decent death. Warrior to warrior, vampire to slayer, fists and fangs to the death.

Instead, her death would be a semi comedic footnote in the annals of history: 'death by truck'. Hardly how any slayer, no matter how worn down by their calling, should be remembered. How humiliating. But Spike knew better. He'd heard that she had stepped out in front of it, ending her life in seconds. He smirked, wondering if her death wish had finally bitten her on the arse or if it had been something to do with the fact that her entire family had been wiped out by some vamps. It had to have been a blood bath; there were several siblings as well as her parents.

From all accounts, all were artfully arranged around the dinner table with their meals untouched before them, almost as if they were waiting for her return before beginning. Spike had to give the cadre their due – their maliciousness had an Angeluslike edge to it. Though to be honest, they had just cause. The Slayer had dusted their leader and revenge was sweet. What were a few more dead mortals in the grand scheme of things? Spike shrugged and then turned his attention to the scene before him.

A rotund grey haired middle-aged man was tied to the pool table, spread eagled and naked. Rivulets of blood sluggishly anointed his pale body and adding to the rapidly expanding pool under his shaking form-- irrevocably staining the baize on the table for all eternity. The Watcher had been a pathetically easy catch. He had walked into the pub unaware of its more colourful clientele and now he was the entrée. But when he had started babbling within minutes of being tortured about the new Slayer and her location, Spike noticed a couple of vamps disappear into the night in search of their Master with the news of her being called.

He had recognised the scent of them. They belonged to the pompous arse Lothos, who as far as Spike knew, had a bigger yen for slayers than he did. Spike shrugged. It was fine with him if the old poseur wanted to have a pop at the newbie Slayer, he and Dru had plans for the summer.

He had settled down to watch his darling minx of a sire play with the flabby mortal. Ordering up another pint and settling in for the show, his Drusilla was nothing if not thorough. She had been taught by the best - or so he thought he was - a legend in his own pathetic Potcheen sozzeled mind.

Angelus.

Spike raised his pint in a silent toast to the clan of Gyppos that had finally gotten rid of the Irish pain in his arse. Which in turn had gotten rid of the Ice Queen Darla, the displaced whore scurrying off to her Master once the dust had settled in China. 'Good riddance to the ol'bag,' Spike sighed happily. With Darla's exit from their lives, he and Dru had blossomed. The two of them caused bloodshed and mayhem wherever their feet took them, and right now they were firmly planted here in a dingy pub in Dover, waiting for the ferry to take the two of them to France.

His darling Drusilla wanted to go on a ‘Grand Tour’, just like she had when she had been mortal, and who was he to deny her anything? So he had plotted out their tour of Europe, carefully picking out towns and cities were he knew Dru would be happy. The one place she had insisted on visiting was Prague. For a brief moment she had stared intently at him and then wrapped her long pale hands around his wrists. Spike had recognised the look in her eyes; she was having one of her 'turns'. He had waited for the babble to begin, wondering what nonsense he would have to decipher. Instead, she had smiled and breathed one word into his receptive ears.

Prague.

So he had added it to the top of his list, knowing that if they didn't go there then he might wake up one morning with one of his precious nuts missing. His Dark Princess was unpredictable and dangerous, a mix that he adored with a blinding passion. Since that fateful night in the alley, he had loved her and watched over with a deeply abiding adoration that surprised the hell out of any demon they encountered. But he irrevocably belonged to her; she was his to worship and guard with his unlife.

He kept one careful eye on Dru, who was sampling the goods off the captured Watcher. He had finally broken down and revealed the new location of the baby Slayer. ‘Pity Lothos’s minions missed that…oh well…’

His heavy brows knitted together as he watched his Dark Plum slowly and lasciviously lick her way down the stomach of the catatonic man and lap delicately at the grey hairs surrounding the man's flaccid cock.

"Dru," he rumbled warningly. There was only so much he would put up with and watching his sire giving a wrinkly old fart a blowjob was not one of those things. It had been bad enough back in the day when Darla had dragged them off to see her 'Daddy' and The Master had insisted on the girls seeing to him, whilst he and the Poof had watched. Spike grimaced and took a long pull on the pint of Guinness that he was cradling in his hands.

His darling knelt up and looked coyly over her shoulder towards him. Her hands resting absently on the quivering inner thighs of the soon to be dead Watcher, her white tipped scarlet talons flexing into the soft flesh like a kitten kneading it's mother's belly. Her citrine coloured eyes glittered maliciously over at her childe and her lips of crimson slightly opened as her tongue lapped at them, capturing each drop of blood with relish.

"But his blood calls to me." She cooed and pouted over at her stern faced childe.

"M'sure it does, but from where I'm sitting, doesn't look like there's much blood in the git's floppy bits, so no need to go searching down there. I think most of it's either in your belly or on the felt, now come're and give us a cuddle." Spike gestured with his hand, hope glittering in his pale blue eyes that she would not put up too much of a fight in front of the other patrons.

Drusilla pouted over her shoulder at him, and then with a toss of her brunette hair, looked back at the glassy eyed captive who laid spread eagled in front of her. She swayed like a cobra and then struck, draining the still form of all the blood that pumped lethargically in his veins. Slithering elegantly to the floor, the older vampire straightened her long skirt and dusted her hands dramatically before whirling around and around in circles with her arms raised above her head. Her sinuous hips twisting and turning in a hypnotic dance that entranced Spike within seconds, his pupils dilated as the lust within him rose even more. His cock pressed against the seam of his jeans, the zipper biting into him, making him sigh in pleasure of the slight pain that shot through him.

"He tasted of books, dust and the wisdom of ages, my Spike," Drusilla trilled out as she stepped towards her entranced boy. Cocking her head to one side, a small smile curled the corners of her lips. "Will I be all clever now?" Drusilla whispered as she straddled his lap.

Spike's hands automatically shot out and curled around her slender waist, steadying her. He leant in and lapped at the corner of her mouth, capturing a stray drop of Watcher blood. To him it tasted the same as any other mortals. "Already the smartest girl I know, m'love," he purred as she let him kiss and nibble his way down her thin blue veined neck.

She squealed happily and wrapped her thin arms around his neck. "Feels so good, do it again, do it again," she chanted in his receptive ear. One hand slithering between their bodies, Drusilla petted the hardness of his cock with a happy purr.

Spike complied and nibbled contentedly on her pale throat, unaware of one of his minions waiting to speak to him.

Minutes passed as the entwined couple moved against each other, both of them lost in the sensations and sounds of their partner. The remaining patrons were used to their public displays of affection and ignored them. The pub landlord moved quickly to dispose of the corpse that adorned his pool table, as two of the Chirago demons wanted to play a round.

"Erm," the bespectacled vampire coughed delicately, trying to get his Master's attention.

Spike pulled away reluctantly from his darling girl’s lips and glared over at Dalton. "Wot?"

"The ferry -- it's time to go--I have everything onboard, Sire." Dalton cringed slightly, waiting for the blow to his head.

Drusilla stood and turned to the cringing vampire, reached over and petted him on the cheek. "Good boy. Daddy is very happy with you, now off you go and play with the moonbeams we will follow," she cooed.

Spike stood fluidly, casually adjusting his cock into a more comfortable position and offered his arm to his Dark Queen. "Ready, luv?" He was eager to get on board and chain her up, and have his way with the bewitching minx that had saved his pathetic existence and showed him the way toward a better, more fulfilling life all those years ago in a dank stable.

Drusilla clapped her hands together. "Oh yes...we will have such a summer...one that you will never forget. Let us be off...I want to play with the water nymphs and sea horses." She took his proffered arm and the formidable Aurelian vampires disappeared into the night. Leaving behind them a trail of mayhem and destruction as per usual, neither of them knowing that their idyllic existence would be torn apart by an angry mob by the end of their journey

Fate had a funny way of biting you in the backside when you least expected it.

A/N I know a very different Spike - but at this point in canon he is not a nice vampy and was very much The Big Bad - hope everyone enjoyed the fic - there are another two to come hence the triptych in the title. Comments would put a happy smile on my face

Grand Tours - these were something the Upper classes did during both Spike/William's and Dru's lifetimes. Where the nobility and Upper Classes would travel across Europe and visit the sights and bring loads back with them for example The Elgin Marbles.

The reference to the Slayer before Buffy - was my addled mind - I often wonder who she was and why no reference was made about her

Gone were the lazy hazy days of last summer.

When they had both set off on their tour of Europe , filled with excitement and blissfully happy in each other’s arms. With their fangs ready to tear a crimson path throughout France and the rest of the Continent. It had been an unparalleled experience; the two of them and assorted minions had travelled the length and breadth of the Continent.

Stopping in all the cities that called to them. Revisiting old friends and experiencing the delights of the European cities in all their modern appeal, bright lights and all. Drinking deep from the necks of whoever caught their fancy.

Madrid -- where they had broken in one breathless night into the Prado, his darling Dru insisting that the paintings were calling to her. She needed to see them in all their savage beauty. When she had dragged him into the room containing Bosch's triptych of The Garden of Earthly delights, he remembered laughing his head off. Of course she would want to see these paintings, the artist had created something that his darling would understand through her madness. She had spent hours staring, mesmerised by the images of Hell in one of the panels. A cruel smile was painted across her doll-like features as she scanned every inch of the masterpiece. Her long pale fingers hovering over the panels over images of twisted and contorted bodies of sinners her scarlet lips parted with childish glee at the sight of suffering.

The famed El Grecos hadn't been his cuppa, but the Velasquez panels had been a bit of all right. A solitary guard -- who Dru had delighting in crucifying next to the Triptych and leaving him to be found by a group of young school children the following day-- had disturbed their idyll. Somehow he doubted that the little buggers would ever appreciate his girl's artistry and savagery in murder.

Paris and the bloodbath at the Moulin Rouge --now that had been fun!

Seeing his Drusilla all kitted out in one of the dancers’ outfits, bejewelled and decked out in feathers, had turned him into a frenzy of lust and they had screwed each other cross-eyed on the famous stage of the dance hall. Slipping and slithering through the entrails and blood they had left in their wake as they had fed and dismembered the chorus of Cancan dancers. He really did enjoy the private party they had put on and the taste of the oversexed dancers had been intoxicating.

Venice and the unfortunate Scuola of monks that had offered them a place to sleep for the night. Their pious blood had given him indigestion, much too catholic for his tastes. All that piety gave him gas. So he had snuck out, leaving Dru and the others to sleep off their excesses and chatted up a nice German girl who had been out and about in the middle of the night. He had offered to take her on a gondola ride and left her drained corpse curled up on the red cushion. Eating the gondolier before getting close to shore had been a bugger, as he had to swim back to the nearest Piazza. He’d had to burn his clothes and soak in disinfectant to get rid of the stink.

And so it had continued. They had travelled everywhere they wanted, leaving corpses in their wake.

Until one sultry June evening in Rome . Dru had turned to him with a sad smile as they explored the catacombs, whispering that it was nearly time before heading off down a dark tunnel. He should’ve known better than to come to Rome ; the place was cursed for him.

First the mess with The Immortal, shagging Dru and Darla while he hung in chains next to the Irish bog-trotting nit, and then in the Fifties when the same bastard had him slung in jail for tax evasion, just so he could take Dru off for a nice orgy at the Forum. And here he was again, waiting for the next axe to drop.

Only reason they were here was because Dru had insisted, so he had given in with barely concealed anger and had spent the last five days trudging in the sewers and catacombs of the Vatican City .

He'd heard tales of how Darla had rescued the nit from some order of pissed off Catholic monks and a demon hunter. So they had been searching for the exact place where Angelus had been tortured and maimed by the Inquestore. Dru was hoping there was some trace of his scent on the place and she was sniffing around like mad, eventually leading Spike through the sewers and into a series of rooms that had a few skeletons here and there and piles of vamp dust dotted around. She had turned her deceptively innocent eyes towards him and clapped her hands, chanting that her Daddy had been here for a party. Then her excitement had dampened and she had turned that sad little smile towards him and said it was time. The pixies and imps had told her they had to go to Prague . She added quietly that was meant to be would be.

They had begun with such high expectations of the tour, but had ended here in a blood bath of a very different nature.

********

Sire's blood was coating the air around him. Thick and cloying and calling to him -her distress sounded out through their bond of sire and childe. She needed him and he was too far away to get to her.

Calling to him as he ran as fast as he could.

Trying to get to her…to save her...his darling wicked Princess.

"Christ on a pogo stick, get out the bloody way," he roared. Elbowing his way frantically past bemused tourists as he ran towards his poor girl. She was weakening under the attack and he could sense her fear of dusting, as vividly as if it were his own panic. Which in a sense it was; if she died then so would he, seconds later by his own hand.

Behind him he could hear Dalton running as fast as he could to keep up with his Master. Dru's call to the bloodlines had resonated through them all. His earnest bespectacled face was a mass of concern and determination. Behind Dalton trailed a few other lesser minions that Spike and Dru had turned to help with their baggage and travel plans.

All of them were now running to save their dark deadly mistress. They had been resting in the flat they had liberated from its owner in the Old Town , some returning from their hunts and others just leaving. Spike had been sleeping, unaware that Dru had slipped out and gone off on her own to play.

She had been stalking and playing with a young man whose family were hoping would soon enter the priesthood. There had been an innocence to the man that had drawn his raven-haired vixen to him. Spike had indulgently left her to her own devices; he was not one for playing with his food, unlike the other members of his family. In the past few weeks since they had arrived in Prague , Dru had fixated on the dark haired man and had slowly begun to shadow him.

Spike prayed to whatever deity/demon looking out for vampires that Dru would survive until he got to her. When he found the animals that had done this to his plum, they would pay for it in kind.

********

He was always up for a good fight and a nice juicy throat to drain, but this was more blood than he’d ever seen. If he hadn’t been frantic to get to Dru, then Spike would’ve smiled at the irony of his thoughts. One quarter of the Scourge of Europe sickened by the sight of blood. But this wasn’t some victim. This was his girl’s and they were all going to die for touching her.

Biting and clawing his way through the mob of zealots that had hurt his Sire, Spike howled at the top of his lungs. He ripped heart after heart out of the mortals who dared to spill his Dru’s blood. Dimly he was aware of his minions fighting at his side, scattered loyally across the cobbled square. He tried to avoid looking at her tortured body, but failed, his eyes drawn to her almost cadaverous features. She was almost drained dry.

She was crucified upside down on a roughly assembled cross that stood in the centre of the square. Bales of straw were smouldering all around it, the rain smothering the fires set by the family of the murdered boy. Her blood was pouring from the slash across her throat, between her breasts, across her stomach and also from the slashes up her thin arms. Her call through the bloodline faltered and faded as she lost consciousness.

“Master Spike, we can’t get to her,” was lisped around the fangs of one of the females he’d turned to help Dru with her hair and make-up. She gestured with a blood soaked hand at the bales of straw that were slowly beginning to catch fire. “It’s too hot,” she explained, fear building up in her voice.

“Pansy,” Spike roared as he tossed her body onto the nearest bale, and then used it as a springboard to get to Dru. Turning to Dalton before his leap into almost certain dusting, Spike ordered him to find water and then sailed through the flames and landed in a crouch at his darling side.

“Fuck me,” he whispered at the horrific sight of her face. Her lips were cracked and seeping blood. Drusilla’s usually fine porcelain skin was now riddled with patches of black flaking scabs and deep grooves as she had bled all her sustenance into the straw around her. Her throat was covered in livid bruises, where someone had foolishly tried to strangle her in an attempt to subdue the demented vampiress.

Spike eyed the rusty nails that were driven into the tender palms and hammered through the delicate arches of her feet; there was no way he was getting her off without hurting her some more. Something died inside of him at the thought. His demon railed against the ironclad control Spike was exerting over it as he catalogued the damage to her slender body. Spike tried to ignore the smoke that was billowing from where her form made contact on the inverted cross, that was the least of his worries.

She looked like an unwrapped mummy. Her full lips-- the same ones he spent hours kissing and nibbling-- were now drawn back from her teeth and showing the worst of the damage. Her fangs were gone, yanked out and leaving gaping holes. The rest of her teeth were chipped and broken, by god knows what. Spike tried not to imagine the bastards strangling her and holding her down as they used pliers on her fangs and then smashing her in the mouth afterwards. Bile rose into the back of his throat and Spike retched.

The master vampire whirled and threw up onto the straw. Wiping the back of his hand shakily over his mouth, he composed himself. “Right then, lets get you down from there and home.” Spike’s hands shook as he reached for her beaten and blood soaked form. Shutting his eyes and whispering an apology, he braced himself and then yanked her off the instrument of her torture. He savagely kicked away several bales that were burning to closely, his booted feet covered in a shower of sparks as he roared angrily.

“Master Spike, over this way,” Dalton called. Spike gently lifted his battered sire into his arms and turned in the direction of the minions’ voice. He sighed in relief; the minions had managed to kill the rest of their suffering sire’s tormentors and had used the bodied as a bridge.

Hoisting her limp form again his shoulder Spike stepped onto the back of one of the clerics he’d spotted and clambered to safety. He sank to his knees and rocked Drucilla back and forth in his arms, vaguely catching the gasps of horror from his minions at the sight of their mistress. He crooned and whispered to her lovingly as he tried desperately to compose himself.

“Sire, we need to get her home and then we can tend to her.” Dalton hesitantly stepped forward. “I’ve sent the others ahead to get everything ready-- blood and medical supplies. We need to get indoors soon…the sun—” He gestured to the pinkening sky worriedly. Spike ignored him as he stroked the back of his hand over her cracked and burned cheek, whispering promises of vengeance on any of her tormentors that had survived the massacre.

”Oh luv…what have they done to your hair?” Spike stared in dismay at the mess of her crowning glory. Her brunette curls were a haphazard mess, chunks at different lengths; shears had been used to hack her soft hair off. So absorbed in cataloguing the damage inflicted, he didn’t hear Dalton’s gasp of fear as the bespectacled vampire saw the mob that was beginning to pour into the square.

“Sire, we need to go now, or we will die!”

The scent was all over the hacienda that he had liberated from its previous owners and moved Dru and himself into.

Sultry and sweet, it played on his honed senses. His sire had been fucking yet another one or ones in their bed –again. Spike grimaced and stalked straight into the living area, searching for something to mute the ever-present pain in the pit of his stomach and heart. He wondered if vamps could get ulcers as he pushed his way past the throngs of gits that Dru had invited for another party.

He ignored the stares and muttered comments; his Spanish was good enough to understand the whispers. He wanted to leap onto the long marble bar and yell at them all, ‘Yes, I know I’m a frigging cuckold. Yes, I get that she’s upstairs letting god knows what fuck her. Yes, I grasp I should do something about it’. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it; he was worn down and heartsore.

Spike growled at a large Chitanous demon that reeked of his sire. It clicked its mandibles at him mockingly and then chattered to its companion. Spike stared at the demon that looked like a massive cockroach walking on its hind legs and his eyes flashed amber. He bared his fangs at the bastard and then ripped its head off in a fluid move that even surprised him.

Ignoring the gasps and shocked murmurs from the other party goers, he punted the head out of the open French windows, and tossed the carcass after it. Not wanting any of its pale lilac blood to stain the marble floor of his latest home.

It was a right smart place, all the mod cons a vamp could ask for with the added extra of a massive wine cellar. Just perfect for Dru and her obsession with torturing the local beauties and innocents. She was a dab hand at being the bestower of pain, something the nancy boy bastard son of a potato farmer had instilled in her. Personally, he never liked to play with his food, nanny had taught him better than that.

Shouldering his way past a cadre of vamps, he headed for the veranda and the comparative peace of the night. Spike took a long pull on the bottle of tequila hanging from his fingers. He grimaced at the memory of the bog-trotting ninny that his sire was still pining for. And punishing him for attacking and leaving Daddy to the dubious fate in store for him from the Slayer’s capable and steady hands. So she made sure he could smell her latest fuck toy, every night a different one. Male, female, young and old – demonic or mortal, Dru was not discriminating. She just opened her legs to all and sundry, to punish him for siding with the Slayer. Despite himself, Spike smiled at the memory of the blonde firecracker that had kicked his granddad’s arse so soundly.

He sank down on the swing that Dru had insisted he gift her with, along with jewels, pretty girls in dresses and countless other things that she had tossed back in his face with a cold sneer. Sometimes he loathed Dru as much as he loved her, but her weird fascination with nesting really pissed him off.

Spike laid back and deliberately rubbed his boots on the cushions. He dropped one foot down onto the terracotta-tiled veranda and swung himself back and forth. Spike grinned at the mess of the cushions, knowing that she would throw a fit over the dirt on her chintzy bits. Fumbling around in his duster for his cigarettes, he lit one and inhaled deeply. He needed a moment of peace before he could face the inevitable tossing out of the gits inside and the oh so delightful confrontation with his sire in their bedroom. He did hope it wasn’t another mucus demon, or even worse, a Chaos demon. He was tired of the slime and grime that Dru was wearing like a second skin these days.

It had been bad enough watching and listening to her shagging the poof in Sunnyhell, but some of the berks she was dangling in front of his resigned face these days took the biscuit. And yet, he still loved her and wanted her. She was his Dark Princess and no matter what she did, he would stay faithful and follow her to the ends of the earth. Her willing slave. Spike sighed quietly, puffed on his fag and then took a long drink from the bottle. He wished he’d had time to find something with a bit more kick to help numb the pain that was welling up within him.

“Did you see what he did to Diego?” a camp male voice hissed.

Spike opened one eye and listened to the two fledglings gossiping by the open doors.

“I know. Such a disgrace, ripping the poor boy’s head off…it’s not like he was the first between her legs,” his companion replied with an equally fey voice. “Also, you know his hive will not be happy. They’d picked him out for the next stud for their Queen. What will happen now, I wonder? Ohhhh, do you think there might be a vendetta?”

“I doubt it. Come on, there aren’t enough of the Aurelian clan left. The Master’s whore is long since dusted, and I heard she had quite a reputation too. Could make a vampire’s toes curl with a flick of her tongue. My sire told me that the Master kept her around because she was the finest cocksucker in the Western Hemisphere .”

“Really? I hear she was quite a looker too, if you liked women, that is.” The second voice was now filled with disgust at the thought of a female being anywhere near him.

“What a horrific thought. I mean, who would want a woman in your bed when a nice firm bodied young male tied face down is more than enough for a man?” There were some sighs and giggles that made Spike want to throw up.

“What about the other one Angelus sired…Ink or something like that, he had a very silly name.”

“Penn, you silly boy.” There was another giggle. “Well, last I heard he was rehashing the same kill over and over in Boston . I doubt he would even lift a finger to defend that one’s honour. As for that Navy boy, Lawson…well, less said the better. There is something very odd about him and I know he wouldn’t bother to defend Drusilla’s honour at all… such that it is,” he added slyly.

“Honour? She’s an utter slut. I heard that she is not even letting her childe touch her in punishment for letting Angelus get sucked into hell,” he whispered knowingly.

“Hell? Really? Ohhh, how exciting! And the blond one just let his grandsire go without raising a finger to help?”

“Oh, from what I hear, he did raise a poker to help--on the back of his grandsire’s head. And he sided with a Slayer of all things. All because of his sire.”

“Well I never…helping a Slayer, how utterly repugnant. I would be so ashamed to be an Aureilan.”

“I know. Me too.”

“So, are the Mad One’s sexual games punishment? For him?”

“I think so…what better way to punish your lover of a century by betraying him night and day with anyone and anything.”

“Ahhh, are you talking about the delightful Drusilla? She really does taste of plums and sin. An intoxicating mix – sinful.” There was a smacking sound as a newcomer licked his lips in memory. “She is really quite magnificent. Have you sampled her delights yet? She will sleep with anyone so don’t be shy to approach her,” a third voice chimed in. There was a clink of glasses as the three gossips toasted Spike’s sire and her prowess in the bedroom. A small part of him died in that moment.

“Well, no. We are monogamous,” the first voice replied huffily. He was greeted with a deep booming laugh in response to his reply.

“Honestly, if she offers, take her up on it. Even if you are into boys, she rather likes to watch,” the third demon added. “There were four of us in her bed earlier and her stamina is really something to marvel at!” he exclaimed.

There was another clink of glasses and the muttered toast from the third demon, “To Drusilla, the queen of the boudoir-- a slut after my own heart.”

Spike gritted his teeth as the trio giggled-- and took a long drink form his bottle of tequila.

“What of her childe? Why has he allowed her to disgrace their union so?”

“Not mated,” the third voice said dismissively. “Also, I heard…” he trailed off dramatically. Spike could almost see the other two gossips lean forward in anticipation. They reminded him of the venomous bastards that had tortured William before Dru had saved him.

“Ohhh… do tell, what did you hear,” tittered one of the vamps, his voice rising in excitement. “We won’t tell anyone… you know we are as discrete as a Sphinx.” There was a malicious edge to the gay vamp’s voice that set Spike’s nerves on end. He stood up and stalked off to the end of the gardens, unwilling to hear a list of his girl’s transgressions. He knew she was punishing him for all his imagined and real wrongdoings with the Slayer.

Spike growled at the sound of her cackle and the over dramatic moans as she was pounded into the mattress by her latest conquest. The open windows above his head, where offering him no protection from witnessing yet again, her predatory sexual nature.

Which were all good and well when they were directed at him. But now…now he was close to breaking point and ready to jack it all in.

She was a whore and he was a cuckhold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike sank to his knees on the sand; he’d made his way down the path at the bottom of the gardens to the private beach that overlooked the Gulf of Mexico . He needed to be alone, away from all the nasty whispers and gossip. It made him feel weak – made him feel like the ponce he had once been. The tormented vampire took a long pull on his ever present bottle of tequila and knelt there as still as a statue.

Spike stared straight ahead over the water and glared at the peaceful scene. He wanted it to bash and crash, much like his own emotions. He hated his unlife. Where had it all gone wrong? One minute he and Dru were skipping around Europe , draining it dry, and now he was sitting on a beach in Mexico clutching a half empty bottle of Tequila while his sire – the light of his unlife-- had her skirts up around her ears and was being rodgered six ways to Sunday by all and sundry. ‘And to think I thought the Poof was cursed when he got a shiny soul shoved up his jacksy…’

He took another drink. Thoughts of his grandsire lead to much more confusing memories – of the Slayer. Ones that seemed to always be teasing the edges of his mind. Her golden hair hidden under a black knit hat, eyes enormous in her solemn face and the truce that he had brokered to save Dru. Despite himself, Spike sighed at the memory of her face and the scent of her perfume.

It had all gone wrong when he had made the deal to escape Sunnyhell with his demented bitch of a sire. The same truce that had lead to the hell he was living in - still loving his Ripe Wicked Plum to distraction and having his heart broken by the object of his affections nightly with her infidelity. The Slayer had loved Angelus despite everything he’d done. Killing friends and innocents, fucking Dru and trying to end the world and yet she had loved him. Why couldn’t Dru have loved him no matter what? It wasn’t fair. He had only done it to save them, and she was punishing him over and over. Despite himself, Spike’s mind filled with images of the small blonde, and he sighed.

“It’s not what you wished it be, is it?” A soft voice pierced Spike’s self-imposed sulk. It was papery thin and filled with the wisdom of ages.

“Piss off,” Spike snarled. He was down to his last nerve and a gossipy granny from the party was not what he wanted. He wanted Dru back in his arms minus the entourage of shag buddies she was building up at the rate of knots.

“Poor William. All you have ached for is love, a pure and abiding one that will sustain your poet’s heart and soul,” the whispery voice cooed. “I have seen it.”

“Oh, well aren’t you just spot on, oh wise one. Silly bint. I don’t have a sodding soul to love!” Spike growled and picked up a handful of sand and threw is clumsily in the direction of the latest torment of his unlife. “Now run off and go play in the traffic,” he shouted over one shoulder, determinedly facing the expanse of water that mocked him with its calmness.

There was a cackle of laughter and the old woman who had been hidden in the shadows of the trees surrounding the private cove stepped into the moonlight and Spike’s line of vision. She was a wrinkled crone with long, thick white hair that hung over her shoulders and down to her waist. She reeked of magicks and a power unlike any he had ever experienced. Spike eyed her cautiously over his shoulder. She looked and smelled like a gypsy and he knew from personal experience that Aurelian males and gypsies meeting up lead to hair gel and rat breath.

“You just keep your distance, Grandma.” Spike stood and turned to face her completely. He bounced on the balls of his toes, feeling more than a little feisty and ready to take on whatever the old crone threw at him.

“One day she will tell you.”

‘Well, ready to take on anything but that...’ Spike’s mind blanked and then he swallowed hard, tears appearing in the corners of his eyes.

“She will?”

The old woman gilded across the sand. Spike watched her, a sense of doom rapidly replacing the elation of moments ago. The old bag was not what she seemed to be. She cast no shadow and it didn’t look like she had feet. The hair on the back of his neck rose and he vamped out, golden eyes glinting in the moonlight as he growled a warning at the supernatural being that was approaching him.

“That’s close enough, Grandma,” he hissed and took a defensive stance. She raised her head in his direction and Spike recoiled at the horrific sight of her empty black eye sockets. “Christ…” He shivered as goose bumps prickled all over his skin.

She raised her hands and ghosted them over Spike’s face and chest. “Your Senorita is a pretty little thing, all sunshine and hope…” The Seer smiled slyly at Spike, reached over and tapped him on the end of the nose. “I see it, in your mind and heart…you have walked through worlds others have never imagined…your heart is glowing…glistening…effulgent.”

Spike jumped a foot in the air and then stepped back from her waving hands. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. She had repeated the same words that his darling plum had done all those years ago when she had liberated him from societies strictures and rules, showing him her world in all it’s blood red glory. “How did you—?”

“I see it all. Your love is very great, but misspent on the object of your affection. There is another.” The old woman smiled serenely at him, ignoring the agitation that was pouring off his black clad body as Spike paced back and forth.

He stopped and whirled, jabbing an angry finger at her. Her final declaration was one too many; there would be no one else for him except Dru. “Have you been at the wacky backy, Grandma? You’re stark raving bonkers. Now why don’t you toddle off and get your meds sorted for the night like a good girl.” Spike waved his hands at her and managed to soak the old woman’s tattered robes with Tequila. “Oh…sorry luv,” he whispered sheepishly.

“No matter, sweet William. Still a proper boy under your leather and rebellion, are you not?” She smiled again and clasped her wrinkled hands in front of her.

“God, shut it granny and piss off. God, why do you women torment me?” Spike howled and threw the now empty bottle onto the sand in irritation.

“She will tell you what you desire most to hear, William, but it will not be who you expect.” With that, the white haired seer vanished before his startled eyes. Leaving him with unanswered questions teeming in his mind and heart.

In her wake, she left a vampire teetering on the edge of a path no other soulless demon had ever trodden.