So this was it, the end of the war between Humans and Aurelians. Spike gazed at the battlefield in disgust. Soldiers from several worlds lay haphazardly on the ground, embracing the cold black mud and each other, countless miles from home, now all dead and beyond caring.

Such a tricky race these humans, in their own way they were just as deadly as his own people. What they lacked in physical strength they more than made up for in determination and sneakiness. And, whereas the Aurelians prided themselves on using their fists and fangs, as well as fine hand weapons forged from unbreakable metals, these humans had something called technology. They had devices that could shatter limbs at 500 paces and bombs that could wipe out a whole battalion, a whole planet even, without them having to show their cowardly faces. There could be no glory in that, no respect due to a worthy opponent, no looking your enemy in the eyes and having that connection - sharing a passion to stay alive or else to die well.

These humans were the scum of the Earth.

For millennia the Aurelians had waged war on the demon planets in their own solar system and beyond. They had conquered them all and made lasting peace treaties with their leaders. Bound them with blood to a great empire that stretched from their home planet, Aurelia, to the dustiest corner of their known universe.

And then they came. Fragile creatures who needed oxygen rich planets to survive, who only thrived at certain temperatures. A people who knew nothing of honour.

This arrogant species had arrived in their ships 18 years ago as bold as you please, thinking that they had a divine right to the most bountiful planets in the system, to breed on and plunder for wealth. One lone planet in particular had caught their eye and it was right in the heart of the Aurelian territories. Although there were small peaceful settlements already established there the humans regarded the settlers as savages to be bought off with cheap minerals, synthetic drugs and promises of ‘working partnerships’ - whatever those were. The first Ambassador from Earth to set foot on Aurelia to discuss 'arrangements' had high-handedly demanded to speak to whoever was in charge. The great Aurelian leader Feyyda had just laughed uproariously after hearing his terms before tearing out his throat. He allowed the other earthlings to return to their ships.

No deal was the message, and all out war was the reply.

And so Spike, the warrior, was now brought to this point. A witness to the stalemate of magics versus science. Where humans crowded into ships that could flicker around the stars, jumping through space over incredible distances, the Aurelians could open portals from one world to the next. If his leaders hadn’t been so complacent and had recognised them as the deadly threat that they were, then all this might have been avoided. An all out offensive right at the beginning might have worked but the Aurelians had underestimated the worth of this lone, fertile planet to the invaders. So more ships came, and then more still, and all the mages of Aurelia had had to work together to put barriers in place, shielding their home planet from the bombs that rained down on their heads. Tens of thousands were killed before they were protected enough to retaliate.

The planet Earth was shrouded in mystery. The old histories spoke of a portal that had been opened to reach the distant planet many years ago, long before humankind had lost their fur and tails and walked upright. A great casting out had taken place from Spike’s homeworld and the most dangerous, the most murderous demons - and even some Aurelians - had been banished there for all eternity, their crimes now long forgotten. A curse had been sent with them, that they should forever seek the dark places, away from the sun that ruled the day. A small gift to the animals whose home it was to give them a fighting chance should they ever evolve into intelligent beings. The portal had been sealed and bound with spells, and had never been reopened.

That the primitive humans had managed to survive despite the influx of demons was actually quite impressive, but Spike refused to see this return visit as the cosmic payback that it undoubtedly was.

Spike trudged his way back to the general’s tent to await further orders. The red and black banners affixed to each corner of the structure were listing badly and the white hide of the tent was decorated with the same mud that now caked his black leather boots. The row of buckles that ran up each side of them would be the very devil to polish up again and the rest of Spike’s outfit wasn’t in much better shape. His leather trousers were ripped and his precious military jacket had lost a good deal of the red piping from around the metal buttons. His loose shirt was now fit for nothing and the wound in his side throbbed mightily, turning the white fabric crimson as it continued to sluggishly seep.

Rubbing a filthy hand through his white hair, Spike sighed and tried to adjust his clothing before entering the tent.

He needn’t have bothered. Anjell lay on a pallet inside looking even paler than usual. Most of his own black uniform had been cut away to allow for the poultices and bandages that swaddled his chest and right thigh. His black hair glistened with sweat but his eyes were clear and sharp.

“Come in, Spike, and take some wine. You look as though you need it.”

Nodding in gratitude, Spike made his way to the low table and poured himself a generous measure of the fortifying drink. Gulping it down he went to stand in front of his commander.

“Spike, Feyyda is dead. I want you to deliver a message to the humans. Tell them that we are prepared to talk."

***

Buffy Anne Summers took a last glance in the mirror to make sure that she looked presentable for the Ambassador. As bodyguard to the small party of diplomats on Watcher 9 it was her job to keep everybody safe. And if she could look pretty at the same time then that was just a bonus. At twenty she knew that she had seen too much to ever look like one of the carefree women that played over the holoflics onboard but hey, a girl could dream. Right? It had absolutely nothing to do with one Riley Finn who, as the latest arrival from Earth, had already caught her eye with his refreshingly shy nature and appealingly muscular body. She didn’t feel quite so much the freak under his appraising gaze, although perhaps that would change when the others clued him in to her strangeness. She was a nobody, but a nobody with unusual power running through her veins.

She’d been just fifteen when her life had changed. She’d been practicing with the others in the gym on Watcher 5, the station which had been her home almost since birth. As a member of the cheer team and staunch supporter of the Sunnyhell Demons - the only basketball team to win the New Galaxy trophy three times in a row - she and her friends had been working on a new routine. The smallest girl in the group, Buffy had been chosen to be at the apex of a human triangle. Most of the station was set at nearly normal gravity so she couldn’t just float to where she wanted to be. Instead she had to run and jump onto the clasped hands of the bigger team members then flip herself up to the top of the formation. Although pretty limber by anyone’s standards, she was finding it hard to a) launch herself high enough, and b) not fall off the shoulders of the two topmost girls.

On this day, that wasn’t a problem.

Buffy had taken a run up to the waiting arms, jumped as instructed and ended up sailing over the heads of her astonished team mates to land gracefully on the floor twenty feet behind them. On the second attempt she had landed on target perfectly. And that would have been the end of it, a slight glitch in the gravity drive, but later they’d assembled for self defence classes and her world had changed forever.

All the students had to learn to fight in the event that the Aurelians ever found a way to open a portal in space - which was just stupid as everyone knew that portals could only work on planets. Not that anyone really knew how they worked but there hadn’t been a single instance of the alien monsters attacking them on one of the thirty space stations dotted above New Earth. Instead, all the battles had been fought on the planet’s surface where they had established heavily protected communities. Many soldiers guarded the brave souls whose task it was to grow crops and mine the ores needed to build further structures in the skies.

As she stood on the mat awaiting the signal to try and best her partner in unarmed combat, Buffy could feel a low buzz enter her bones, a surge of something powerful, something big. And the next thing she knew her opponent was staring at her in horror, clutching a broken wrist. The poor girl had been taken away crying and the instructor had assumed that it had been a careless accident. However, when he had later singled Buffy out to demonstrate a series of attack moves - and to perhaps punish her a little for not being more careful - he had ended up flat on his stomach in an unbreakable hold. Thoroughly embarrassed, he had ended the session and walked out, leaving the group of young people eyeing Buffy with a mixture of fear and suspicion.

The next day the tests had begun.

After a week it was determined that she had strength that surpassed that of the toughest soldier on board. She could lift weights that would make a grown man cry just to look at them, and do a thousand push-ups without breaking a sweat. After much painful prodding and probing, that lasted far longer than a week, it was also determined that she was human and not a demon in disguise. Only then had she been allowed out of quarantine. A normal girl in every other respect, Buffy had gone back to her lessons and to the few people who still wanted to be her friend.

Pretty soon Buffy was attending new classes; she was to become one of the select group of guards who would protect and serve the Ambassador and his entourage.
Now, five years later, she was getting ready to join the shuttle down to New Earth, in the company of the delegation who would be negotiating a truce with the Aurelians.

***

Spike did as he was told; there was no point in arguing with Anjell. Now that Feyyda was dead the general was next in line to assume military leadership and, as one of his lieutenants, Spike had seen enough violence now to be thoroughly heartsick. Yes, it was time to talk.

In the end it had been surprisingly easy to give the message to the commander at the Earth camp. Spike gave a wry smile as he walked through the sentry lines without being challenged; the enemy was in complete disarray, pulling the dead bodies of their comrades aside to make room for the wounded. The great gates of the compound hung loosely against the broken fences that had once protected the huge enclosure. A group of non-combatants were huddled under a makeshift shelter and he couldn’t resist a snarl as he passed, baring his fangs a little to make them whimper.

Striding to the figure that he instinctively knew was their commander he stopped and gave a small salute. A man of perhaps 50 human years paused from the orders he was issuing to the group of men standing before him. He was bleeding from a cut on his temple but his blue eyes regarded Spike steadily.

“I have a message from General Anjell for the commander of this place.”

“I am Commander Giles, you can give it to me.”

Spike gave a small bow and presented a roll of parchment to the man, who accepted it and stepped to one side to examine the contents for a long few minutes.

“Tell General Anjell that we are prepared to enter discussions.”

***

Buffy stood just inside the doorway of the ornate tent. There was just enough of a breeze coming through the covered entrance for her to feel little puffs of air running up and down her body. It felt strange. The air was also making her a little light headed, heavy with the smell of sap from the woodland surrounding the clearing where this camp had been set up. Instead of the faint thrum of Watcher 9 she could hear water constantly gurgling around the rocks in a little stream outside and the incessant calling of birds.

The high ceiling of the structure where the meeting was taking place was covered in broad panels of purple, red and gold silk running from a central point in the middle, down the sides and to the ground, transferring the light outside into glowing stripes of colour. For someone who had grown up with neutral shades the effect was almost overwhelming.

Ambassador Rayne caught her eye from his position next to Commander Giles and he gave her a friendly wink. Buffy smiled then caught herself, standing a little straighter at her post.

A row of tables had been positioned along the far side of the tent and dishes filled with pastries and fresh fruit were being brought in from the furthest entrance. They were making her mouth water. Not so the platters of roasted flesh that the Aurelians had provided, Buffy knew that the animals on this planet provided valuable protein but the very thought of chewing on real meat made her queasy.

An Aurelian guard was standing nearby; he was clearly bored and barely managing to restrain himself from moving. Instead, he drummed his clawed fingers to a tune that only he could hear, leaving tiny tears in the fabric at his back. As Buffy regarded him in curiosity he slowly turned his head towards her. His golden eyes flicked insolently up and down her body then he looked back at the occupants of the room, dismissing her. Buffy felt a hot burst of anger flow through her - this was the enemy and every cell she possessed was itching to rip him apart.

Someone clapped their hands then and declared a short break to enjoy the refreshments and she tensed slightly as the twenty or so people and Aurelians surged as one towards the food. The alien next to her did not move, but his attention did not waver from the black clad figure of his general who was now speaking with Giles and the Ambassador. There were other human guards both within and without the tent, each paired up with an Aurelian counterpart. She patted the holstered ultratase at her side for reassurance and noticed that the figure next to her was stroking the hilt of his sword in a similarly possessive manner. It was going to be a long day.

Ambassador Rayne was heading towards her bearing a plate containing her favourite choklat cookies and a glass of juice, giving her a conspiratorial grin as he thrust them into her hands.

“Can’t have my prettiest guard wasting away, can I? Come on, Buffy, eat and keep your strength up, this is going to take a while.”

With a grateful smile she accepted the food and bit into the crumbly goodness, all the while keeping alert for any movement from the guard next to her. It wouldn’t do at all for her to be munching on a cookie while her silent companion ran his sword through the most important man in the solar system. Ethan Rayne was a slim, wiry man of indeterminate age; he had quite a reputation with the ladies but had always regarded Buffy as a delightful child. Rather than be repulsed by her strength he revelled in the fact that this little girl could hold her own among the burly men that usually surrounded him. The diplomats on his council team were far more wary of her, but she could live with that.

She stiffened as General Anjell also made his way to where they stood. To her surprise he handed a goblet of liquid to the guard.

“Here, Spike, you must be getting hungry by now.”

Spike took the proffered drink and took a long draught with a groan of satisfaction. A small drop of red bobbled on his lip and he licked it away through smiling fangs.

“Thanks, I needed that.”

‘Oh god, it's true what they say.’ The strong aroma of warm blood caught in Buffy’s nostrils and she nearly threw up the cookie she’d just eaten.

***

It took just one week to end the war. The initial excitement at being present for such a momentous event soon gave way to mind numbing boredom. Indeed the only way she could get through the endless discussions and carefully polite protocol was to imagine ever more creative ways to dispose of the creature next to her. The officer General Anjell had called Spike was a permanent presence and his barely contained irritation with the slowness of the proceedings was rivalling her own. He spent most of the time tugging at the high collar on his formal military jacket as if it were strangling him or playing with his sword (phallic much), or rocking on one foot and then the other as if ready to launch himself forwards. The only time that there was any change in his behaviour was when there was a mood-shift in the talks. Whenever voices were raised Spike became as still as a statue, all senses on alert, and a low growl would reach her ears. She in turn would react to him and her body would tighten in anticipation, only able to relax when he did. Boredom or nerve shredding tension, there wasn't much to be said for either one.

***

On the seventh day there was an air of excitement, almost of celebration. A treaty was being drawn up and, barring unforeseen glitches, the two sides would declare peace. The planet would be shared. 100,000 immigrants from Earth would be allowed to settle on the planet over a three year period, starting with the three thousand inhabitants of the Watcher Space stations. Conservation measures would be agreed whereby forests would be managed and aggressive strip mining forbidden. Any sign of the development of weapons and hostilities would recommence immediately. A percentage tithe of raw materials would be paid to the Aurelians annually; gold, seasoned wood, cane sugar and cereals were all high on the list of desirable commodities. Surprisingly there was little interest in acquiring the scientific know-how that the humans possessed. 25,000 Aurelians would also make the world their home and they would assist in the building of communal meeting houses where laws could be made and grievances aired. Documents were drawn up in readiness and they would be signed the following day.

General Anjell got to his feet and went over to Ambassador Rayne.

"Well, Ambassador, it seems as though we have an agreement. Tomorrow our greatest seer will be arriving here to make the final decision. She will know if this will succeed or fail. If she approves then we will sign. "

Rayne blanched. No-one had mentioned a seer. The thought of everything unravelling on the word of some mystic was ridiculous. Keeping his thoughts to himself he hastily plastered on a smile and shook the General's hand.

"I'm sure it will be delightful to meet this esteemed lady. May I ask her name?"

"Droosilla"

***

At dawn the next day the delegates made their way back to the meeting place. In the little clearing outside the tent a number of tall screens had been linked together to form a circle, measuring about 40ft in diameter. The screens, made of wood and fabric, were a deep velvety black, patterned all over with clusters of silver thread with the occasional ball of bright gold. Overlaying the rich embroidery was a stitched network of fine blue lines that shimmered like butterfly wings. Even the untrained eye could tell that they represented a map of the stars, but just where these constellations were was anybody’s guess. Aurelian guards were dotted around the barrier facing outwards, politely but firmly keeping the curious at a distance. Buffy could hear chanting from within and could make out tendrils of pale smoke drifting lazily upwards before dissolving into the early morning mist. Commander Giles was slowly making his way around the perimeter as if enjoying a pleasant stroll in the fresh air, but she knew better; the wily old soldier was taking in every last detail, even though there wasn’t a single gap to reveal what was going on inside.

After a while a curious tingling sensation heralded a change in the atmosphere, and the air felt oppressively heavy and kind of itchy. Just as Buffy’s skin felt as though it was crawling off her body a bright blue light blazed inside the circle before disappearing just as quickly. The guards efficiently dismantled the dark shields and she joined the others to get a good look.

A single female wearing a long white dress stood at the centre of the clearing and, as one, the Aurelian males slowly made their way towards her. They knelt at her feet in the meadow, heads bowed.

“Are my darling boys pleased to see their mistress again?”

After all the build-up Buffy had expected rather more than this. The thin woman, no scratch that, monster that appeared to be so delighted with her reception was busy running her long fingers over the ridged brows of several of the males before her before pulling two of them up to their feet. Anjell and Spike. With a burst of girlish laughter she flung her arms around Anjell and kissed him thoroughly, seemingly unaware that she had a rather large audience. Twisting slightly she included Spike in her embrace. Her long dark hair was gathered in twin grips as she nuzzled at the throat of first one, and then the other soldier, that leaned against her body. Finally, she broke away and without any hesitation walked towards Ambassador Rayne. She stared intently at the man for several seconds.

“Ooh, I see much mischief in this one, but has he learned that even in chaos there must also be a natural order for everything? Tell me, Ambassador, will you meddle and muddle with the future or will you let fate decide what’s best?”

“We are apparently in your hands, dear lady, and in need of your guidance.”

“Such honey on your tongue, you would make an entertaining companion, Ambassador. It’s such a shame that humans are so breakable.” Droosilla fluttered her eyelashes at the bemused man and then cast her gaze at the other humans around her. Seeing Commander Giles she paused.

“Ah, the cold grey wolf looks at the fire, he longs for warmth but experience has taught him to distrust and fear the flames. If he turns away he freezes, if he gets too close he risks the sparks catching in his fur. Tell me, wolf, have you decided to lead your pack closer to the fire or take them far away?”

“This wolf is too old and experienced to make any snap decisions, madam, but you’re right, my pack comes first, and it’s not as though I haven’t had my fur singed once or twice before.”

“Then the old pack must be bound to the fire and to the new pack by blood and promises…and that is why I am here.”

Droosilla took a few steps back and seemed to withdraw into herself. Nobody came near as she half raised her arms, palms upwards and tilted her head up towards the sky. Closing her eyes she started to speak in a dreamy voice.

“Twists and turns - blood lost and found
Warrior kin dance to an old tune
Tears and tantrums – fragile threads
Yet young hearts remake the tapestry
New patterns for old – tempered in flames
As dark seeks to unravel the light
Wisdom is carried over to mend the rending
A cloth of gold to wrap the new world in.”

Opening her eyes at last, Droosilla swayed a little, whatever she’d seen had left her a little confused. Anjell stepped to her side and put his arm around her waist as she rested her head against his broad chest.

When she spoke again she sounded tired.

“There must be a marriage to link our people, the two youngest here must be bound in ceremony. Their joining will decide our future, if they fail then darkness will consume us all.”

“No pressure then” muttered Buffy under her breath.

As if she heard her, Droosilla turned her gaze on the now squirming girl, and gave a delighted laugh. Making her way over to Buffy she tilted her head as if listening to an unseen voice.

“The sunshine tries to hide her light yet she blinds those that see. She banishes the shadows yet only they can cool her. The little sun will be our bride and be soothed by the pale moon’s touch,” the seeress crooned.

As Buffy stood horrified, aware of dozens of eyeballs boring into her, Drusilla’s smile gradually disappeared and she gave a low moan.

“My white warrior is her moon. But I thought he was mine! It isn’t fair Anjell, why must I give him up?”

With tears in her eyes she looked at Spike who was standing frozen to the spot.

“My Spike must leave his dark princess for the sunshine, you will be husband to the chosen one.”

“No!” Buffy and Spike cried out at the same time.

Swiftly the two were engulfed by the others and led to opposite sides of the meadow. Even as Buffy made her tearful protestations to the ambassador she could hear Spike’s angry roaring. Anjell had a firm grip on his arm and was shouting and growling at the distraught blond. Droosilla was trying to pat and pet the young Aurelian to calm him down.

“But Droo, I love you, don’t let this happen, please. I’ll do anything, just don’t give me to this… human!” he shouted.

Despite the grave insult, Buffy was in complete agreement. She turned to Commander Giles; surely he would agree that this was a terrible idea?

“Commander, I’ve always tried to be good soldier, you know that. Now, just because I’m a female, you think you can sell me like …like a chattel to seal a deal with these creatures? I thought the human race had got past selling their women!”

Giles sighed, it was true he’d admired the strength and loyalty shown by this remarkable girl and he would have been happy to make her one of his trusted officers, despite her inexperience. If Rayne hadn’t been so taken with her she would have been pulling planet-side duty months ago.

“My dear, I don’t like this any more than you do but we are at a point where we must make deals with the devil himself if it brings an end to this bloodshed. We have been brought to our knees by this war.” Giles lowered his voice. “You are still ours, Buffy, and if this arrangement allows you to gain valuable knowledge about the Aurelians, knowledge that can be used against them at the first signs of betrayal, then you will have succeeded where a whole army has failed.”

“So, I’ll be like an undercover agent?” Buffy wiped at her eyes and tried to put on a brave face.

“Yes, Buffy. By marrying this Spike you could save us all.”

***

Human marriages were usually civil affairs. The bride and groom would pledge their loyalty and love for one another in carefully prepared speeches that were read out loud, and the ceremony was recorded and entered into the archives. The presence of God at the wedding was optional, but the ancient traditions of the Reception and Disco lived on. As Ambassador Rayne went off to make arrangements for the celebrations, Buffy slumped down into a corner of the tent, unnoticed.

Not for long.

“Silly girl, you don’t know how lucky you are.”

Droosilla, stood in front of her, half annoyed, half amused. She carried a bundle of bright cloth that she placed on the floor before gracefully sinking down by the girl’s side.

“Well, if he’s that great a catch then why don’t you have him, if you haven’t already?” said Buffy waspishly.

“My Spike makes such a pretty lover,” she agreed without taking offence at Buffy’s tone. “So eager to give and receive pleasure, he holds nothing back. If not for Anjell then I would have marked him as mine and no-one, not you or anyone else, could take him from me.”

“Doesn’t Anjell object to you having Spike as a lover?”

“Oh, he likes it well enough; they are like brothers, and both of them know that my wishes come first. Besides it is common for Aurelian females to take several males into their household. The males of our species are fierce in battle but back on our planet it is the females who rule.”

“So, how does that work exactly?” Buffy was intrigued despite herself.

“They’re brought up to accept it, all Aurelians are capable of great violence, but the males are physically stronger. To prevent an imbalance the males are taught to respect and obey their mother’s and mistresses from an early age. We govern our planet knowing that they would lay down their lives for us. In return we offer security, pleasure and home.”

“So does that mean that Spike will have to do as I say?”

“Only if he thinks you are a worthy female. Being human he may have some difficulty with that,” Droosilla admitted, “but you are not all you seem, are you? That will be in your favour.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are special, little cousin, I can hear your blood pounding with power. An ancient spirit lives inside you, one that has waited patiently to be understood. One that would pierce the hearts of your enemies to protect those you love. You must trust your spirit’s instincts and find your real family.”

Buffy was deeply curious to know more, but knew that if she admitted to being ‘different’ then she would lose any small advantage that she had. No, for now she would be clueless Buffy, until she could find out more about the enemy.

“So, um …how does this marriage thingy work?”

***

Three hours later Buffy was ready. The bundle of cloth that Droosilla had brought with her had been unwrapped to reveal a wedding dress. Shimmering gold fabric that hugged her breasts and small waist before drifting silkily down to her feet, which were clad in soft white leather ankle boots. They were flat soled. A selection of gold and silver bangles decorated with symbols ran up her arms and a simple red ribbon was tied around her wrist, hidden by all the jewellery. The seer had carefully decorated her hands with red and white dyes using a tiny brush, murmuring softly as she worked.

Finally she allowed herself to be blindfolded and was led into the tent.

With her sight gone Buffy could hear rustling and the occasional cough as the crowd settled around her in anticipation. When there was complete silence the ceremony began. A firm masculine hand grasped hers and she found herself trembling as Droosilla began to chant. Strange words that meant nothing and everything flowed round her and Buffy’s whole world narrowed down to the fingers that covered hers.

After a while the chanting stopped and she was turned slightly to face her husband before the blindfold was removed. He was blinking in the light as she was and his features had changed. The white hair remained, but the ridges had disappeared. Dark brows with a scar running through one of them, vivid blue eyes and a strong nose. Firm mouth with a full lower lip and sharp cheekbones revealed the face of a man. How was that possible?

As she’d been instructed, Buffy took off her bangles one by one and dropped them to the ground. Spike followed each of hers with a bangle from his own wrist until they all rested in a gleaming heap together. Not a word was spoken. Droosilla knelt down to examine the pattern they made before standing up again with a satisfied expression. She undid the ribbons that they both wore and tied them together.

Anjell and Ambassador Rayne stepped up to the small group. Anjell held a small dagger that he gave to Spike and the ambassador gave Buffy a man’s bracelet. It was of polished grey metal and inlaid with dark red stones. With a grim expression Spike gripped her wrist and brought the knife swiftly across it, drawing a thin line of blood. As Buffy gasped at the sharp pain he ran the knife over his own wrist. Droosilla reached for their hands and placed them together before binding them swiftly with the red ribbon. She started chanting again.

Buffy knew it had only been a shallow cut but she felt dizzy and disorientated. Her hand felt as if it was both on fire and encased in ice at the same time. As their blood combined she felt herself drifting away.

Images swamped her. She was hunting and her prey was getting away. Keeping to the shadows she stalked the creature in the moonlight. He was cunning and knew how to evade her, but she was stronger and faster. She couldn’t see him clearly for the trees that stood between them, but she could hear him. He was laughing. Making a sharp turn to the left she took a short cut that only she knew, doubling back quietly. Hidden by low leafy branches she could hear ragged breathing and a pounding heartbeat. Good. With a blur of motion she leapt and they rolled together, snarling and spitting, disturbing the flakes of bark and burrowing creatures on the ground. Like an eel he twisted underneath her but she kept him in her grip and he couldn’t get away. So he changed tactics and brought one thigh up between hers and roughly rubbed it against her sex. Distracted by the pleasurable feelings that this caused she loosened her hold, allowing him to throw her off. He got up and ran again into the night and she ran too.

Buffy came back. She was lying on the floor next to Spike. Her hand gripped his wrist, which now wore the metal bracelet and the ribbon was gone. He was staring into her eyes with an expression of pure shock.

***

Spike leaned back and glowered at his wedding guests. Partly hidden by the colourful swathes of fabric decorating the tent, he was indulging in a massive sulk at the position he was in. In one hand he clutched a cup of heavily spiced wine, while the other went reflexively to the ornamental dagger strapped to his thigh. Surrounded by inebriated humans, he was imagining their shrieks of mirth turning into something infinitely more bloody as he pictured himself striding among their dancing bodies. A graceful slash here, a well placed jab there and it would be over in minutes. Destroy the head of the Hydra and the body would follow. Unfortunately, the word of an Aurelian was set in stone and he could no more kill these ‘guests’ than he could hope to lie again between Droosilla’s bewitching thighs. No, from now on all he had to look forward to was a dutiful rut with the fragile little earthling. He’d have to hold himself back from hurting the girl ...too much. He smiled nastily.

A ball covered in tiny mirrors revolved slowly in the ceiling, sending fragments of reflected light across the assembled group and a crackly, incomprehensible voice interrupted each song. He wouldn’t admit it but some of the music was pretty good. A few bars played of the next song and a collective squeal had the sweating humans back up on the dance floor.

“Oooh, I love this one,” gushed a rather well made blonde as she raced past, clutching the hand of one of his bewildered men. “Hey, little sister, what have you done?” ....“It’s a nice day to start again, it’s a nice day for a white wedding.” Sounded a bit sinister for a wedding song but still, not bad. Sweeping his eyes around the room he eventually spotted her. Huddled in a far corner she was a picture of misery, absently scratching at the back of her hand. She had no idea.

A large sandy haired man was making his way towards her; he looked hesitant as he towered over the seated girl. His wife. Without pausing to think about it Spike made his way through the throng of bodies until he was by her side.

“Would you honour me with a dance ...wife.” Reaching down he grabbed the glaring girl by the hand and carefully pulled her to her feet. Giving the interloper a glare - which was returned in full - he gave a gentle tug on her hand. For a split second she was completely immovable. Spike had the strange sensation of pulling at a boulder, but before he could test the feeling she moved towards him.

“It’s okay, Riley.” She gave the dim creature a shy smile and turned to Spike. Her eyes said everything. They were burning, and not with affection. Spike just prevented himself from taking a step back, choosing instead to lean forward and growl in her ear.

“I don’t like this any more than you do, but it seems that we’re stuck with each other. So let’s just get this damned farce over with, then we can hate each other as much as you like.”

A pause and a nod from her, and the two saviours of this particular universe made their way to the centre of the dance floor.

***

As the last drunken stragglers made their way to their respective shelters, Buffy and Spike grew increasingly nervous. Until this moment they had been able to put on a united front before their well-wishers. Spike had even managed not to break down when Droo had said her goodbyes. Stroking his cheek, she had given him a peck on the nose. Her eyes were sad as they met his.

“Be kind to her, Spike. She’ll make you a worthy mate someday, and you’ll thank me for what I’ve done.”

Spike couldn’t imagine any scenario where he would ever be grateful for finding himself in this position, but years of obedience to his dark lady stilled his tongue. Instead, he just nodded abruptly.

“I’m sure you did what you thought was right. I guess my gratitude will have to wait a little while longer.”

Anjell stepped forward to give his miserable surrogate brother a firm hug.

“Droosilla’s never wrong, Spike. Trust her in this.”

“Want to swap?”

“You could do worse, Spike,” he said, glancing over to the little blonde standing with her head down before Giles and Ethan Rayne. They didn’t need their enhanced hearing to know that she was getting advice about doing her duty. They also knew that her loyalties would always lie with her human kin and, despite Droo’s reassurances, this would always make her dangerous.

Aware of being studied, Buffy straightened up and looked towards the two males. With a look of determination, she approached her husband.

Spike gave a stiff little bow and held out his crooked arm. She rested her hand on it and, without so much as a backward glance, they stepped out into the night together.

***

Their new accommodation had been erected in another small clearing not far away. Softly illuminated by the twin full moons that seemed to fill the sky, it would have taken Buffy’s breath away under any other circumstances. A smallish structure of hides and silk was lit from within by a small silent Earth generator next to it. Leading the way to the entrance was a line of glowing torches embedded along a pathway of springy cropped grass. Trees rustled in the warm night breeze, revealing silver flashes of water beyond them. An Eden already stained with blood. Still, there was a freshness and life to this little planet that made Buffy instinctively want to call it home.

She knew that some humans became so dependant on life in space that they could not leave their ship for any length of time, becoming desperate to return to the safety of its cramped metal skin. Not her. She felt as though she was breathing for the first time, the heady rich oxygen expanded her lungs and she felt the curious sensation of something slowly unfurling inside her - sleepy still, but slowly wakening to the call of the wild. She wanted to run and run, wanted to understand the night and the creatures hidden in the undergrowth, wanted to dive into the water, soar above the tips of the trees, feel the dew on her bare legs from the lush grasses. Feel the warm, bloody kill slide wetly down her throat.

“Jesus.”

Staggering a little from the sudden vision she bumped into her silent companion before regaining her balance.

“You all right?”

“Yes, perfectly all right, thank you,” she snapped. She was anything but, but he was the last person she was going to talk to about these increasingly strange visions. She had a feeling that Droosilla would have been able to explain what was happening to her. A cold thought swept down her spine. Maybe the wedding ceremony had caused all this, maybe it was turning her into a monster…just like her new husband.

***

Bending his neck slightly to enter through the flap of the doorway, Spike looked around. He had to admit that a lot of effort had gone into preparing their new dwelling. About twenty paces from corner to corner, there was plenty of room for the two of them. To the left was an area for food preparation, carved wooden cupboards and a smooth surfaced table. Chopping boards and knives were neatly arranged, glass-stoppered jars filled with spices he recognised and a large metal-doored box that looked like storage of some sort. The smell of freshly cut wood coming from a door at the rear of the kitchen made him guess that someone had built a ground stove just outside.

In the main area where he was standing the floor was carpeted in rugs, mainly in deep crimson, dark greens and rich blues…lucky, fertile colours chosen specially for newlyweds. Large feather cushions were scattered in a rough semi-circle to define the sitting area with a low round table in front of them. A large shallow glass bowl rested on top of it containing bright pink flower heads floating in clear water, another blessing for a happy union. The generator outside was powering soft lighting to fill the space and he had to admit it was nice to be able to see without the ever present smell of burning torches. Hearing a sharp intake of breath he noticed that his new bride was staring anxiously at the area to the far right of their living quarters. He didn’t have to look behind the cloth partition to know that there would be a comfortable bed beyond it.

“Well, wife of mine, shall we get to it?”

“What?” the girl squeaked.

Spike suppressed a smile; this was almost going to be fun.

“Our sworn duty to unite our two races. I believe you call it shagging.”

“I certainly don’t call it that, besides I’m too tired tonight to ‘shag’. I’m going to sleep.” With that Buffy marched to the screen and hid behind it. Spike could hear her trying to control her breathing, her heart pounding as she took in the sleeping arrangements. At her gasp he knew that she’s spotted the ceremonial wrist cuffs attached to the headboard. The poor thing wouldn’t have a clue that they were traditionally worn by the husband on the wedding night.

Deciding to bide his time before confronting her further, Spike moved into the kitchen. As he suspected, the metal box contained fresh vegetables and packages of unnamed produce. Ignoring the delicious cold air on his skin, he correctly identified some containers of alcohol and settled himself onto one of the large cushions. This was going to be a long night.

***

Just as Buffy finally began to relax into the warm cocoon of bedding - after an hour of anxiously listening to Spike drinking and muttering to himself - the lights went out. Shortly after there was a faint swish as the curtain to the bedroom was disturbed, and she peeped through her lashes at his shadowy form. She was pretty sure that he was naked. Already at the far edge of the bed, she held her breath as the mattress dipped and he settled underneath the covers.

After a few moments she felt his body shift as he moved to lean over her.

“I know you’re awake.”

“Yes, and I’m still tired.”

“Are you a virgin?”

“What? No! That’s none of your business.”

“Then why the coy behaviour?”

“If it hasn’t escaped your notice, I don’t much like you.”

“Mutual, pet. But I know something you don’t. See those markings on your hands?” He gripped one of hers and pulled it out from under the covers. “They match mine, and they will continue to itch and then burn until it becomes unbearable. Do you want the whole world to know that you rejected your chosen mate?”

Sure enough she could clearly see the patterns on her hand. They glowed a faint red in the dark. “Then I’ll wash them off.”

“That won’t work, only a full consummation of our marriage will get rid of the binding marks, so you’d better get used to the idea.”

“Well, I’m not used to the idea yet, so get back to your side of the bed and go to sleep.”

With a dark chuckle, Spike moved away and turned his back on her. The bitch was going to pay for that. He carefully adjusted himself. One part of the ritual he’d failed to mention. The patterned markings tingled along his aroused cock; an extra magical incentive to thoroughly satisfy his new mistress.

Damn.

***

It was dark. She was lying on a bed of soft furs but the surface beneath them was unyielding stone. Her wrists and ankles were bound with creepers, stretching her limbs in four directions on the raised altar, with her as a pulsing fleshy offering to whichever god or monster inhabited this place. She knew she could free herself at any time but she was...curious.

Moving her head to the left she could make out the entrance to the cave and see tiny pinpricks of distant stars beyond. A chilly breeze signalling the first bite of autumn gusted in, lightly touching her nakedness, the night silent save for the faint murmur of rushing water and the stifled shrieks of captured prey.

She waited.

Finally it came, a grey shape coalescing at the cave’s mouth. Sleek, powerful, hungry. A low growl echoed as the beast entered on soft padded feet, displacing the dry leaves and making them crisp and whisper at its passage. She could see long muscles rippling under fur, and wide shoulders tapering down to narrow flanks where a long tail twitched and swished as it silently stalked her. Three white stripes ran at an angle across its back. The creature regarded her with golden eyes and sharp gleaming teeth, and a constant purring forced in and out through a great barrel chest sent vibrations through her gut. Advancing slowly, the animal locked gazes with the girl, promising violent death or unspeakable pleasure…or perhaps both.

With a lazy spring he mounted the slab of rock, wide paws landing on either side of her head - two more poised between open thighs. Heavy jaws lowered to snuffle at her hair, inhaling the warmth of her breath. He, for she could now see that it was most definitely a male, grazed her cheek with soft fur and whiskers, his eyes half closing, taking in her essence. A pause, then a long, scratchy tongue emerged past razored fangs tasting her throat, her lips, and her now closed eyelids. She in turn was dizzied by the scent of exotic spices, of bones and blood…and longing.

The tongue now took a downwards path, rasping against her skin till it reached her breasts and wildly beating heart. A curling lick to tight nipples filled with want, back arching up for more, her musky, salty skin proving a fine feast.

More.

The beast was at her belly now, her weakest point for a swift slash of jaws or claws and, as if to point out her foolishness, he opened his mouth wide then lightly pressed a toothy circle on her flesh, encompassing her in tiny prickles. Message made he returned to the journey, now nuzzling against the firm flesh protecting her womb, sensing the fertile rush of blood, the tremor of wet juices and clenching muscle. Backing further down the slab, he reached his final destination and took a deep breath. A cold nose nudged once at her entrance, encouraging her to spread her legs further, and with no more foreplay the tongue was pressing against her most secret places.

She gave a sharp cry, lifting her body to reach the grinning monster as he licked her swollen lips, soft and hard, sandpaper and silk - a merciless attack on her aching cunt - tapping against her clit, withdrawing as she reached crisis point, exploring her folds, savouring her wetness, greedy for her surrender. And just as her mind started to stutter, her sinews to creak against the restraints, he plunged his tongue inside her, up, up, thrusting and rubbing. So deep. With an inhuman cry in counterpoint to his lusty growl, she came.

***

Buffy woke with a start. In the grainy half-light she lay not on furs but on cotton sheets; on a mattress, not marble. Her wrists and ankles ached and her thighs felt slippery. As her pounding heart gradually slowed, she looked into yellow eyes which slowly transformed back to blue.

Spike didn’t say a word, he just stared back. Realising that her hand was firmly clasped in his she tugged it free and retreated to her side of the bed, turning her back on him. With a short laugh, Spike turned too. There was a loud silence until, gradually, they both fell asleep again.

***

Eventually the annoyingly chirpy birds outside, and the pink tendrils of light invading the tent, pulled Buffy from her sleep. Pushing her nocturnal adventures right out of her mind, she stretched and yawned before deciding that the dawn chorus was more effective than any alarm clock. She was alone, and that suited her just fine - although after so many years spent sleeping, eating and working in cramped spaces, the size of her new living quarters was a bit unnerving. All this room just for her…well, them.

Buffy’s lip pulled into a pout as she contemplated married life with a demon for a husband, a demon who she was pretty sure hated her as much as she hated him. Still, there was always a bright side, the truce could be broken for any number of reasons that didn’t involve her, and then she could kill him with a clear conscience. Or, even better, he could meet with an unfortunate accident. After all, this was an untamed planet with many indigenous beasties, and there was bound to be something filled to the brim with poison or big teeth - preferably both. No-one could blame Buffy, the grieving widow, and they’d still have to respect the peace agreement.

Determined to find out all she could about the local flora and fauna, Buffy quickly dressed, grabbed a towel, and went out to greet the morning.

The sight that met her as she rounded the corner was unexpected. A small fire, sunk into the ground and surrounded by a neat rectangle of stones, was blazing merrily. Over it, suspended on a metal tripod, was a large iron pot filled with gently steaming water. On a wooden bench nearby several gleaming fish lay neatly in a row, cleaned and gutted, their blue scales iridescent in the sunlight. However, it wasn’t this that drew her attention, but the sight of the man with his back to her under a nearby tree.

He was standing over a small table containing a big silver bowl, pouring water from a cup over his hair with one hand while the other supported him as he leaned forward. Naked to the waist, the strong, corded muscles of his torso and arms flexed as he moved. There wasn’t an ounce of unwanted flesh on him. His skin was pale, smooth, and running diagonally across the width of his back were three parallel raised scars. The water trickled down his neck and shoulders in little beads, following his spine before disappearing underneath leather trousers stretched across firm buttocks. A flick of his head to disperse the water and he reached out for a sharp blade and a shaving brush which he scraped across a bar of soap.

Sensing a presence behind him, Spike looked into the mirror tacked to the tree in front of him and slowly turned his head. Shaking off his human features, he regarded the young woman with a fangy smile.

“Morning, Buffy.”

Speechless, and ruthlessly pushing down the bad thoughts invading her mind, she watched as he picked up a towel and rubbed at his hair until it stood up in spikes. With a good view of his front, she couldn’t help noticing the glint of a nipple ring, or the way the bands of flesh flowed and dipped along the hard contours of his chest and stomach - or the top of the V that pointed to another fine muscle hidden further down. Nope, not going there.

“You’ll be wanting to wash up.”

A few steps to the fire and he lifted the pot as if it weighed nothing, carrying it off to the trees beyond.

“I’ve fixed you up a little private place where you can clean up. There’s soap and suchlike there. Oh, and there’s an earth closet a few yards down that little slope.”

“A what closet?”

“A toilet, luv.” He smiled. “Welcome to life on a primitive planet.”

***

Spike returned to the fireside shaking his head in amusement. The expression on Buffy’s face when she’d seen the outdoor toilet had been a picture. The small wooden structure, containing a bench with a wooden lid at the centre, was luxurious by battleground standards. There was a glass bowl containing glow rocks to one side, for when it was dark, and a dish of sweet smelling water moss on the other. A bucket of earth and a wooden scoop rested on the floor. At her puzzled expression he’d raised the centre lid to reveal the round hole in the bench.

“Um, er, well, you do what you have to do here and clean yourself with some moss and drop it in. Then you add a bit of this earth last of all, and close the lid. There are tiny creatures in the soil that activate in the dark. They’ll eat up all your bodily waste and live there, quite happily, until the next time they get fed. Add a bit more each time until it’s all gone, then one of us can put it all back in the bucket and reuse it all over again. No germs, no mess, no smell.”

Buffy stared hard at the bucket.

“As long as there is a trace of light it’s all perfectly inactive.” He paused and tried not to smirk. “And no, it won’t leap up and bite you on the bottom.”

Buffy gulped before narrowing her eyes at him. “That’s what you say,” she muttered.

***

Leaving her to get ready for the morning, Spike returned to finish shaving and make breakfast. He knew that Buffy was confused by his apparent helpfulness and, if it kept her off balance, then so much the better. He was quite used to juggling the two sides of his life; he could indulge his overpowering bloodlust in the company of other males, yet still accept the conditioning placed on him when back in female society. As long as Buffy didn’t realise that she controlled the relationship then he would be able to subtly alter the balance of power. If he was clever, and he was, when they finally completed the mating ritual he would gain all the control.

Permanently.

Returning to his task and remembering better days at his mother’s side, he skilfully stuffed the fish with handfuls of herbs, a little salt and squeezes of sharp juice from a greenfruit, before wrapping each one in a large leaf to form a parcel. This done, he placed the fish on a heavy skillet resting on the coolest part of the fire. With a sigh, he proceeded to scrub down the bench before making the flat bread.

His mum had meant the world to him; he’d been devastated by her death. The war had been raging for several years before the humans unleashed their weapons, and he’d been stationed on another planet altogether when it happened. He and Anjell had rushed back to help, but there had been nothing they could do. The magical barriers had been put up to prevent more missiles from penetrating the sky, and the sickness in the air had been removed, but those who had not died immediately spent long weeks before passing over to the Beyond. His mother had survived…for a while.

To see her clever eyes grow so dim, her beautiful long silver hair fall out in great clumps as he’d held her, had torn his heart. He had wanted to die too from the pain of it. Yet, even as she’d coughed up the last traces of blood in her lungs - too sick to take nourishment even from his veins - she’d pleaded with him not to let hate for the enemy blind him to the possibility of love and forgiveness.

“Oh, my darling, everything will be all right, you’ll see.” She’d raised a frail hand to brush away his tears, and closed her eyes for the last time.

She was gone.

Even the comfort offered by Droo and Anjell, his grieving sister, hadn’t been enough to calm the rage and anguish. He’d returned to the fighting in a haze of vengeance, taking unbelievable risks in his thirst to kill, to pay them back tenfold. It was a long time before the memory of his mother’s last moments had been replaced with thoughts of the happier times they’d shared; preparing fish for breakfast, studying the old chronicles together, reading out his stupid poems just to hear her uncritical praise.

As he grew older she’d quietly encouraged his hesitant efforts to find a mate, one he could give himself to without reservation. Even after declaring his undying love for Droo she’d been supportive, although it was clear that she didn’t really approve.

“You are destined for someone special, William, someone who will not share you with anyone else and be a true mate. I can feel it. Just be patient.”

Spike shook his head to clear it. There was no point in dwelling in the past. As he kneaded the dough on the wooden surface he idly wondered what his mother would have to say to him now.

***

Buffy returned. She had fixed her hair up with a couple of straight twigs until only a few locks could escape. She’d braved the outdoors and survived - now she was famished. Without a word, Spike handed her a plate of food and went to sit on a rock close by. He had lost his monster face but his expression was distant.

Deciding that she wouldn’t be rude and refuse - just this once - she banished thoughts of getting herself a proper breakfast and sat down on the grass, plate in lap. She was a bit surprised to be waited on like this but decided that he was just trying to help her fit in to this new world. Certainly she didn’t have a clue about making breakfast on a real fire, or understand even the basics of outdoor plumbing. Still didn’t mean she had to like him though.

The bread was easy enough; it was warm and crumbly in her mouth, and tasted savoury and a bit sweet, and was unbelievably good. As she chewed she glanced over to Spike to see how to tackle the rest of the meal. He deftly unwrapped his baked fish, slid the flesh away from the scales and backbone with a small dagger before raising chunks of the white meat on the blade to his lips. Screwing up her courage, she copied his actions with her own knife. She would have to show him what a fork was for - and soon - before she injured herself.

This was an actual creature and she was about to eat it. She knew perfectly well that the beef stew, chicken curry and other dishes she was used to were simply old fashioned names given to vegi protein with synthetic flavouring. This wasn’t pretend fish in front of her; this one had accusing milky eyeballs. After carefully draping a piece of leaf over its head, she continued her meal.

***

Buffy spent the rest of the morning exploring the woods around her new home, leaving Spike to do whatever it was that Aurelians did on their honeymoon. Ignoring the fact that those activities would probably involve two people, she wandered aimlessly along the animal tracks intersecting the trees.

Here, everything was quiet, apart from the low hum and rub of insects. The leafy canopy provided a welcome shield from the rising sun, and soft moss underfoot masked her presence to a number of timid creatures that hopped, trotted and slithered across the path ahead.

A monkey, with dappled fur and startled eyes, chattered at her from the safety of a tree branch before leaping out of sight. A mother and baby deer paused on long elegant legs to drink their fill at a stream before merging once more with the trees. Some looked familiar, but others were quite unique. A small solitary rodent with long red spines bristling along its back nearly ran over her feet, making her yelp in surprise. And two green and yellow birds, covered in both scales and soft floating plumage, crashed together in an angry flurry, each too intent on dominating the other to notice her pass by.

She loved it here.

A little further and the trees came to an abrupt stop. In front of her was an expanse of crystal clear water. It was an exquisite shade of turquoise that she’d never seen before. Reflecting the sun like a mirror, the only movement on its surface was of clouds passing overhead. It looked cool and wet and wonderful.

A low flat rock, with horizontal stripes of pink, jutted out a few inches above the surface. With a quick look around, Buffy peeled off her uniform jump suit and placed it neatly with her boots at the water’s edge. She couldn’t swim but she knew all about sunbathing, and this beat the sun room she was used to hands down. A couple of steps up and she was sitting on the rock in her underwear, legs dangling down into the water, watching curious little fish drift up to nibble at her toes before darting off again.

Gradually the warmth and the lapping water proved too much, and Buffy lay back to stare at the sky until she finally succumbed to sleep.

***

Spike silently emerged from the trees at a point about fifty yards from where she lay. He’d been watching her progress through the woods half an hour earlier, until satisfied she was not meeting anyone to ‘report back’ to her soldier friends, Now she was lying on his fishing rock…and he wasn’t pleased.

‘I’ll just let her fry in the sun a bit longer,’ he thought meanly. ‘See how fond she is of falling asleep in the middle of the day then.’

Quietly finding another rock to perch on, he waited for something nice and juicy to swim by.

***

It happened so suddenly that even he was startled. A scream of pain had him glancing up to see Buffy in the coils of a massive lacuna. It had entwined itself around her legs, open mouth embedded in her thigh. With a great tug the black serpent yanked the girl from the rock, dragging her under the water in a churning froth of blood and bubbles.

Running at breakneck speed, Spike rapidly covered the distance between them and launched into a shallow dive. The ground shelved steeply down into the water where he could just see the thrashing movement of one, no, two giant snakes as they proceeded to drown their victim. Gripping his knife, fangs bared, he latched on to a mass of undulating loops, biting and ripping through the scales as he prised them away from Buffy.

She, in turn, had a grip on the head of the lacuna biting her and was wrenching its jaws open. Forced to let go, it tried to get another grip as she grabbed each side of its gaping mouth and pulled. The snake was practically torn in two. Spike didn’t have time to wonder at this, he was now wrapped in the death squeezes of the other monster, busy systematically shredding open its belly until finally, letting go, the serpent sank loosely out of sight.

He looked up to see if she was alright and saw the panic in Buffy’s eyes as she moved weakly about under the water, her mouth open, sucking it in. As he reached to grab her she became very still, her hair floating around her pale face.

‘NO!’

With a surge, Spike grabbed the girl and pulled her with him to the surface. She was limp in his arms. Gripping his rock, he hauled her on top, following closely. Quickly rolling her onto her stomach, he pushed and pressed on her back to force the water out. She still wasn’t breathing. Turning her over, he tilted her head back and sealed his mouth over hers, forcing air into her lungs. Again, and again.

Nothing.

Then, with a splutter, she was twisting under him to expel the contents of the lake onto the hard stone.

“Spike?”

With a flutter of her eyelids she whispered her thanks before passing out.

***

Seeing her lying there, unconscious and bleeding, a desperate instinct took over. Spike placed a firm hand on Buffy’s chest in case she came to, positioned her injured leg and sank his fangs into the torn flesh. Carefully sucking where the serpent’s teeth had done the most damage, he spat each mouthful of blood away from them both. Thankfully, she didn’t wake up.

He repeated the process on her damaged hands, only more gently. The markings on the back of them were still intact and almost glowing a fiery red; his were the same. Rather than impelling him to join with Buffy sexually, the tingles on his skin simply signalled that his mate was deeply hurt and needed to be touched and soothed.

Spike didn’t know how he managed to reach their home. After binding Buffy’s still bleeding injuries with strips torn from his sodden shirt he’d stumbled back through the woods with her clutched to his chest, ribs burning from the strain of carrying even such a small weight. Most likely the serpent had broken something. Now, looking down at the little girl lying so still on their bed, he wondered how long she had left and why he’d bothered trying to save her.

After stripping off her wet clothes he removed the makeshift bandages, cleaned and stitched the worst of the wounds from supplies in his army field pack and applied fresh dressings. All business, he barely saw her soft curves and firm muscles or the way her blonde hair spilled down to the tips of her breasts. She was a wounded soldier in need. Bruises painted her skin with livid colour and her hands, lacerated from pulling at the creature’s jaws, were completely bound in white now. And just how had she managed to do that?

A faint blueness about the mouth betrayed the hidden battle continuing inside her body; the lacuna bite contained deadly poison and there was no cure. With growing dread Spike sensed something else. The strange weakness stealing through his limbs was more than could be blamed on exhaustion and a few cracked ribs. Far more. He’d been an avid reader of epic tales in his youth, immersed in poems and histories describing battles from ‘before’ when cunning and carnage went claw in claw. But it was the passionate union of warrior lovers that really appealed, especially when the heroic couple formed a ‘life-blood-bond’, a mystical joining of spirits that even death couldn’t break. These stories rarely ended well but had always appealed to his romantic and wistful heart.

Ancient myths. Not real. And yet, with a cold certainty Spike could feel his strength ebbing as the girl before him grew sicker. It wasn’t fair. They hadn’t even mated properly and this was his reward? Hell, he didn’t even like her! ‘In sickness and in health.’ Bloody humans were right about that.

Funny really, he’d imagined his wife conveniently dropping into the jaws of a ravening beastie and now he had his wish she was drawing him with her into death and the Beyond. He ruefully hoped their relationship would improve once they got there.

Drawing the soft blankets up to her chin for warmth, he found a towel and carefully dried her long hair as best he could before stripping off his own wet clothes and lying down too.

Stroking her pale cheek, he leaned over and gave her a barely there kiss on her lips.

“It’s okay, love, you’re not alone. I’m here.”

Moving cautiously until he was nestled against her, Spike watched as her breathing grew shallow. Waiting patiently for the end as his own body began to fail.

His last thoughts were all sad ones.

***

The Beyond wasn’t what he expected. In fact, it felt a lot like being slapped across the face. Blinking slowly he woke and focussed on his tormentor.

“Niblet?”

“Don’t you dare die!”

Wide eyes stared back into his, full of fear and tears. A curtain of brown hair fell over him. She buried her face in his neck and wept.

“He won’t if I can help it. Dornie, please help me here.”

He knew that endlessly patient voice. Released for the moment, Spike turned his head to see the motherly form of Tarah. The healer was applying poultices to his wife while being hampered by the girl’s violently shaking form.

Buffy wasn’t dead. And neither was he.

Not yet anyway.

He felt as weak as a day old tribble but somehow managed to raise himself on one elbow. Leaning over, he rested his other arm over his mate to hold her as Tarah deftly attended to the wound. Dorn had recovered enough to move to Buffy’s side of the bed, placing a wet cloth on her forehead. Cold spring water blended with beading sweat.

Completely unaware of what was happening, Buffy was burning up with fever.

Spike marvelled at his bride’s strength as she fought the venom in her veins. Ever calm and practical, Tarah instructed her helper to take one of the sheets and soak it in the stream outside. She returned scant minutes later with a dripping wet bundle in her arms and between them they swaddled the girl from neck to toes. Tarah was crooning softly to her patient, weaving her healing spells, pausing now and again to chant over him too, stroking his head, over his heart, his hands. Too tired to keep his eyes open, Spike welcomed the dark.

***

This time, when he came to, it was to discover his fangs embedded in Dorn’s wrist. She looked exhausted but happy and he could feel her energy bonding with his, giving much needed strength. Family blood was always best and she was the only family he had left. He withdrew with care and smiled up at his precious girl. Taking in his surroundings he could see Tarah curled up on the floor, asleep on a bed of cushions. Her own wrist bore puncture marks and Spike knew that she’d been feeding him too. Beside him was Buffy, sleeping and flushed but her breathing was even and heartbeat stronger.

“H... how did you know we were in trouble?”

“Droo, stupid, who else? She might be a crazy person but she does have useful visions and we got the message loud and clear. Every Seer on Aurelia must have a headache from it. I could hear you as well... you were hardly there, but I heard you. Tarah came running and told me to help her gather her things and I brought us straight here... we were almost too late,” she whispered. Dorn looked stricken for a moment then, mercurial as always, her expression changed and she slapped his arm. “And what were you doing getting married to a human! That’s just eww! And, more to the point, why wasn’t I invited?”

Spike laughed weakly, grabbing her arm. “Stop hitting me, Bit, wasn’t my doing. It’s you bloody women that are to blame, so don’t take it out on me!”

“Hey, dominant female here!”

“You’re also my baby sister and that won’t ever change.”

***

When Buffy finally woke up she saw the golden gaze of her husband regarding her. He looked almost beautiful in the soft light. The ridges along his brow, the thickening at the bridge of his nose and the planes of his face reminded her of pictures of lions she’d seen. Hair a white riot, spiking in all directions, mouth curled into a little sharp-toothed grin. Forgetting that she was supposed to hate him, she smiled back.

Strangers were present too. Dressed in the familiar Aurelian style, the youngest girl was all in green, the flowing fabric decorated with tiny red flowers at the wrists and hem of her dress. She was hovering at Spike’s side looking at her with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. The older of the two, a woman with voluptuous curves, barely restrained in a dress of muted browns and yellows, gave her a kind smile and came forward to place a palm on her brow.

“Greetings bride of Spike, you’re going to live.”


***

They made terrible patients. Buffy insisted that she could feed herself, but with her hands so thoroughly wrapped there was more soup on the sheets than in her mouth so she finally gave in to Tarah’s raised eyebrow. Spike hid a smirk until Dorn insisted on spoon-feeding him as well. He scowled and wriggled his fingers to prove his hands were perfectly fine, but all he got was a mischievous smile and a rap on the nose with the spoon. It was another day of blood, broth and bedpans before Buffy was allowed to get up, Spike going outside whenever Tarah discreetly assisted her. He always made his shaky and very grumpy way back to bed afterwards. Between feedings the pair slept. There were no dreams but at each waking they were holding hands.

***

It was glorious daylight again when Buffy was finally allowed up. With Tarah’s support they made their way outside to a shady tree, a small mountain of cushions piled up against the bark for her to sink into gingerly. Satisfied that she was comfortable, Tarah went off to do whatever healers did when they weren’t fussing over invalids.

Spike and Dorn were laughing, exchanging insults as they prepared food by the fire; in human guise they looked like any loving brother and sister, and the clear affection they shared made her jealous. Life had been tough on Buffy, after her mother’s death she’d withdrawn inside herself for a long time, no longer a perky, popular girl with lots of equally shallow friends. Her super strength, when it arrived, had only set her further apart. Nobody had excluded her, and she’d joined in all the usual activities of people her age with a proper degree of enthusiasm, but the sidelong glances, quickly changed conversations and nervous laughter remained at the edges of her awareness.

At night she’d sometimes lain awake imagining what it would be to have someone to share her hopes and fears with, someone to care for. In her head she’d created a little sister; annoying, challenging, endlessly seeking attention. Someone who loved her unconditionally, who she would love back, protect with her life if necessary.

Her mother’s death was just another reason to hate the creatures sharing a domestic scene in front of her. No, don’t think about that. Not now. Lowering her head she pressed her bandaged hands against her eyelids. Blocking out the view.

Becoming aware of a muttered argument going on between Dorn and Spike, Buffy pulled herself together and sat straight. Spike was striding towards her carrying a plate of food. Sinking fluidly next to her, legs crossed, he stabbed the thick stew with a spoon and raised it full of meat and vegetables, his expression clearly daring her to object. She clamped her lips into a thin line, but he merely kept his hand still and waited. When her belly gave a traitorous gurgle, she reluctantly gave in. Spike smothered a smile and posted food into the open mouth of the sulky baby bird before him.

The stew was wonderful and eventually Spike’s expression grew more playful, it was getting harder to stay indifferent to his presence and pretty soon he was only inches away, dabbing a bit of cloth to her lips and chin, catching up imaginary gravy with mock seriousness, a new teasing light in his eyes.

When she could eat no more Buffy raised a hand in protest and without a word he laid down the remains. When he began to rise she quickly placed a hand on his knee to keep him there and looked up intently.

“Thank you, Spike, for saving me. I don’t know why you did but thanks.”

“You’re my wife, Buffy… till death do us part.”

She thought she caught a flicker of something else in that response but couldn’t work out what, so she let it go.

Now it was his turn to say something.

“What are you, Buffy? You can’t be human, so what are you?”

***

Previously…

“What are you, Buffy? You can't be human, so what are you?”

***

Panic. He’d cornered enough prey to recognise the look on her face, even without the corresponding struggle to rise.

"No!" Swiftly gripping her shoulders he held her in place. “No,” he said more quietly, knowing that if it weren’t for her weakened state she’d be off and running by now. While the thought of this appealed to him on a base level he also doubted that he was in any condition to give chase.

She’d gone very white and then in a blink a deep flush flowed up past her throat making her green eyes almost glow in contrast. Shock. Fear. Anger.

“I’m human, how dare you say I’m not! Why... why do you say that?” She was fighting tears.

Spike knew he should back off but this was too important.

“Well, let’s see.” Spike glanced up at the sky as if asking some heavenly body for patience before returning his penetrating gaze to the girl before him. “You’re selected to guard your ambassador despite being half the size of anyone else in your team. I’ll accept that you could be a crack shot with those weapons of yours, so that isn’t proof of anything much, but in the water you ripped that lacuna apart with your bare hands! Then you survive a bite that is not just harmful but fatal to any living creature. With no exceptions! Couple this with the dreams you’ve been having and yeah, I’d say that you have a bit of explaining to do.”

But Buffy had only focused on one part of his speech.

“You saw my dreams?” Buffy stared at him, horrified.

“Not in detail, just images.” He smiled at her expression, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “Enough to recognise the yearnings of a fellow predator.”

She didn’t like that at all and turned her head away sharply, but he was determined to get to the truth. Being hostile wouldn’t work so he’d try something else. Edging forward he straddled her legs with his thighs. One arm snaked around her shoulders, his right hand drifted up, a thumb stroking rhythmically along the bone just behind her ear.

He could feel her quivering at his touch, the material of her loose gown not disguising her warmth or the rising of her tight breasts. ‘Would be so easy to snap her neck, if I wouldn’t be effectively snapping my own,’ he mused, squashing down a little voice in his head that was giving a horrified yelp at the thought.

The accusatory tone was gone and he spoke quietly. “So I’m asking you again, what are you?”

Buffy stiffened again. She’d been asked that question before, many times, and in some very hostile circumstances. She could deny everything and refuse to admit that she was different but really, what was the point?

His fingertips were now sliding under her hair, while his thumb continued to sketch little circles on her skin. Strange sensations travelled down her spine, confusing her, her heart stopped pounding and she began to feel drowsy. She should slug him for saying such things, really she should but his touch felt really good and it had been so long since anyone had been this close. Breathing him in she was assaulted by the scent of sun heated skin, clean soap and well worn leather, of polished buttons and buckles and wood spitting on a campfire in the dead of night.

‘Get a grip, Buffy, you’re becoming delirious. Those herbs of Tarah’s must really pack a punch.’ But she could clearly picture him now, silhouetted against the flames, sitting, legs splayed, the sword blade he was cleaning, reflecting red. He was laughing at something one of his men was saying before returning his attention to the fire. With a snap the image was gone.

Buffy wasn’t stupid, she knew that Spike was soothing her for his own purposes, but she also knew, deep down, that these strange people might hold the answers to the very question he was asking. The dreams and hallucinations were trying to tell her something. She just wished she knew what.

Slumping a little against his chest, Buffy decided to be honest. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I am.” Her voice so soft he could barely make out the words.

Tilting her head so that she had to look at him, he gave a genuine smile. “Then I reckon we’ll find out together.”

***

Instead of an interrogation, Spike had moved away and changed the subject, although it literally pained him to do so. Buffy looked a little dazed and didn’t even notice the now vivid red markings on his hands; he’d bet his second best sword that her hidden hands matched his right now. Not to mention another part of his anatomy, now dancing on the border between exquisite pain and the far less pleasurable kind.

He’d had some blessed relief while he’d been so pathetically weak - apparently even grooms got a break when they were at death’s door - but feeling better came at a price, and touching her had rekindled the lustful urges which had plagued him since the wedding. The girl was a mystery he intended to solve, but she needed to trust him first and pouncing wouldn’t help matters.

Spike was conflicted. He hadn’t asked to be put in this position, severed from Droosilla then tied up with a bow of mystical chains and dropped into the enemy’s lap like an unwanted present; but, while well aware that he’d been manipulating Buffy through their imperfect bond, he also felt a sneaking fondness for this brave scrap of a human. He also believed her - she didn’t know what she was and he’d touched a raw nerve by asking.

To provide distraction Spike shared stories about his upbringing, how beautiful his world was and some of the favourite places he had played in as a child. When describing some of the unbelievable creatures that populated it she had finally protested.

“Come on, there’s no such thing as dragons. They’re just fairy stories.” She was trying to stay cynical but her eyes were bright.

“Well, all right, what we have now are pale imitations of how they once were, just reptiles really, with wings that span about ten feet across. Still breathe fire, a little. Not very good eating though. Taste of smoke.” Spike pulled a face at the memory.

“Eww. Okay, then explain to me why we have legends about dragons on Earth,” Buffy challenged with a grin.

“Who knows, pet?” Actually, Spike had a pretty good idea that a few must have entered her world during the ‘banishment’ but he wasn’t going to mention that.

“Oh, come on, Spike, you’ll be telling me next that trolls and witches, werewolves and goblins are real!”

Spike merely looked at her. “How do you explain us then, Buffy? I eat food but I also drink blood to survive. Injuries permitting, I can live for several hundred years before showing any sign of ageing, and I am a demon.”

“Well, that’s just some weird alien thing, right? Otherwise I’d have to believe you were some kind of vampire that doesn’t get toasty in the sunlight.”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I’m just a weird, alien thing.”

Realising that she’s hurt his feelings Buffy reached out to touch his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Spike.”

“Don’t be. I’m not ashamed of what I am.”

She could find nothing to say to that.

***

Surprisingly, they managed to resume a more or less friendly conversation, although they quickly learned to stop digging when the other became guarded. Topics to avoid included anything that might reveal military strengths or weaknesses, which was understandable. Previous relationships and parents also made it to the forbidden zone, making them secretly wonder what the other was hiding. Instead, Buffy told him ordinary but revealing stuff about her life on board the Watcher station, and Spike spoke more about his world and some of its strange inhabitants.

Tarah and Dorn, who had until now given the couple privacy, quietly joined them. The young girl chattered away to Spike, occasionally sneaking the odd look in Buffy's direction. She had excellent hearing and had caught Spike’s earlier question. Dorn was itching to pick up where he’d left off but managed to restrain herself at Tarah’s warning glance.

The healer unwrapped Buffy’s bandages and carefully examined her wounds, pleased at their healthy colour. Already the jagged edges made by the serpent’s teeth on her palms and fingers were knitting together and, although there would always be some scar tissue, she hoped that Buffy would eventually gain full use of her hands again.

The backs of her hands were brightly marked with calligraphy and Spike pointedly folded his arms to hide his when Dorn gave a muffled snigger. Tarah returned her attentions to Buffy and applied fresh poultices to her skin with spidersweb before binding them with new strips of cloth.

When Tarah asked Buffy to pull up her dress so she could check her wounded thigh, she caught the flicker of masculine interest in Spike’s eyes followed by a wince of pain.

“You feeling all right, Spike?”

“Um yes, just a touch of cramp.”

As Buffy awkwardly pulled the fabric up over her knees, Spike gave an indrawn breath. Tarah couldn’t resist. “How's that cramp, Spike? Still bothering you?”

“What? Oh. Yeah.”

She hid a smirk in her hair.

With a murmured word Tarah performed a simple spell, revealing a few clear, frozen lumps in the palm of her hand. “Maybe you should put some ice on it.”

Glowering, Spike got to his feet and hobbled away with as much dignity as he could manage.

Puzzled at his hasty exit and by the odd feeling of loss at his leaving, Buffy looked at the two openly giggling females who were now crunching on the refreshing treat. She accepted an offered piece and sucked on it.

“Okay, what was that about?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Buffy. Really. He’s just hoping that you make a full recovery and soon.”

Buffy eventually caught on. She stared at her hands.

“Not just his hands, dear.”

Buffy stared at the healer in shock, before biting her lip to keep from laughing out loud. She could see Spike’s back briefly stiffen in the distance before he resumed walking.

Tarah finished treating her leg and covered her with a light blanket. “Now just lay back and rest. We won’t be far if you need us.”

Dorn paused before leaving, her earlier amusement gone. “He’s a good person, Buffy, and you’re lucky to have him. If you hurt him in any way you’ll have me to answer to.”

Satisfied that she’d said her piece, Dorn left Buffy alone with her thoughts.


***


Buffy awoke from a light doze. Spike had returned and was sitting close by, whittling a piece of wood with his knife. Although still pretty worn out, she was keen to do more than sleep the day away.

“Could we go for a little walk?”

“I don’t know, perhaps you should just rest.”

“Please, Spike.”

With a shrug Spike got to his feet and leaned down to pull her up, careful of her injuries. Dorn and Tarah were nearby, sorting herbs for the next batch of medicine but neither made a move to stop them.

They didn’t go far. Buffy had to grip onto Spike’s arm almost immediately, her leg was stiff and sore and she was afraid it might give way. Spike measured his steps to hers and didn’t comment. After walking twenty yards or so into the wood they found a pretty circular clearing. Even the insects had made themselves scarce, though Spike could sense a few shy creatures regarding them from a safe distance. Buffy looked exhausted from their little stroll although she was smiling.

“Can we rest for a bit?”

Instead of replying he shrugged off his jacket and laid it on the springy moss, carefully following it downwards. Now lying on his back with his arms underneath his head and one knee raised, boot flat on the ground, he gave her an innocent smile but his eyes were wicked.

“S’pect you need a little lie down, Buffy, get your strength back in no time.”

To his surprise she smothered a grin and sank down next to him, mirroring his pose.

Looking up she could see where the surrounding trees touched, leaf tips overlapping, shifting together, a canopy of green with glittering sparks of sunshine. She turned her head towards him, dappled light illuminated his face and form like a moving blanket.

“Tell me another story, Spike.”

With a half hearted mutter about bossy women, he closed his eyes. For some reason the choice was easy, and his deep voice began to weave one of the oldest tales he knew.

“Once, when male and female were truly equals in war and love, there were two fierce warriors. He had hair as white as autumn grasses and eyes that rivalled the sky. She had long curls that matched the rich, damp earth after a broken drought and eyes the colour of the sea before a good storm. They were enemies by tribe, and by nature, and met during many a battle.

"She wielded an axe that was like no other and it burned with a righteous fire, just as she did. He used any weapons that came to him, plus he was fearless, clever and as unpredictable as a clawed striper. He would boast that she would soon be impaled lifeless on his fangs after an impaling of a different kind, and she would laugh and reply that long before there was any chance of that happening his head would be winnowed from his neck and ground beneath her dainty feet. Each was as a clinging shroud made from the spiny thornbush to the other, yet when it came to dealing the killing blow they would let themselves be distracted long enough for the loser to flee till the next time they met.

"Saya was the name given to the woman, and Wyll was the name of the man. They engaged in frequent bloody dances on the bones of friends and foes alike.

"It is the nature of hate that it can cloak burning feelings of another kind and, when it came to pass that a new evil came to the land, the two combatants were forced to lay their differences aside long enough to face it together. It was during this time that passion overcame anger and they came together as lightning and thunder do, explosive forces tied as one, their lusty cries enough to make the heavens shake. But as they revelled in their new found love, this evil, which possessed no name, stole over the world until darkness threatened to consume everything.

"Finally, there came a day when Wyll and his Saya stood side by side for the last battle. Their combined armies were flanked by mages and witches, lending their strength to oppose the seemingly endless horde of demons which surged towards them. After endless hours of bloody slaughter, Wyll was separated from Saya in the fighting and was overwhelmed. She felt the cold moment of his death and it was as if he’d torn out her heart with his passing. Sinking to her knees, she keened at the loss of her mate and would gladly have followed him into the earth but for the frightened pleas of the soldiers around her. A calm then descended and she turned to the magic users.

“'My reason for living is gone,' she told them. 'I have just one purpose now and I choose it willingly. Bind me to this evil and place our essences in a secure place. Send us far from here and I will wreak vengeance upon it for all eternity, for the death of my love and for all the unspeakable things it has done to my people. My soul will twist around this foul thing as sharp bright blades and it will not know freedom but will learn fear.'

“And so it was done. A rough wooden box was brought to Saya and she carried it to the place where Wyll’s torn body lay. As powerful magicks filled her senses she reached into his wounds and annointed herself with lines of scarlet and tears. And the earth shook with rage that both brave children would be no more and it lent its strength to the spell being performed.

"The evil that had briefly tasted such sweet victory was plucked from its form and dragged across the plains, its will not strong enough to resist the summoning, screaming as it descended into the box. Saya took up her axe, broke off the blade and plunged the splintered shaft into her own breast. As the final words were chanted her blood rained down in sacrifice and her gleaming spirit pursued it into their dark prison.

"With the loss of their master the invaders were filled with confusion, while the armies of Aurelia were filled with resolve and new purpose. Without mercy, they slew the enemy until every last creature lay dead or dying.

"And, to this day, the soul of Wyll mourns for the soul of his mate, waiting patiently in the Beyond for Saya to finally win her battle with evil and return to him."


***

Silence.

No, not quite.

Spike opened his eyes to find his audience of one openly sobbing. In a smooth motion he rolled and drew Buffy towards him, laughing gently as she covered her face in embarrassment.

“It’s only a story, pet. Next time I’ll choose something with a happy ending. Yes?”

“It was a g..good story, S..spike,” she hiccupped. "But it can’t end like that. It just can’t.”

“Well, there is an extra bit to this tale, which some people believe is true.”

Buffy looked up with pleading eyes.

“Okay, then.” Spike adjusted her now pliant body until her head rested on his chest. He played with her hair as he thought of his next words.

“It is said that a mage with the gift of clear sight performed a second spell over the sealed box before spiriting it away from where it had lain hidden for centuries. Before he died, many, many years later, he told his apprentice that he had removed it from the world and sent it to where it could one day be opened by those who needed her most. Part of Saya’s warrior spirit would be freed and live on through others like her until she could finally return to her one true love.”

Buffy sighed.

“I like that ending much better.” She closed her eyes at that and promptly fell asleep in his arms, dreaming of blue skies and stormy seas and of dancing with an axe in one hand and a splinter of wood in the other.

***

When Buffy woke it was mid afternoon. The sun had dipped enough for the leaves above to glow emerald rather than pale green, though it was still deliciously warm. Her pillow remained fast asleep.

Looking the picture of innocence, Spike lay sprawled underneath her, dark lashes obscuring his knowing gaze for once. Giving in to temptation, she ghosted her hand over his face, following the sharp contours of his cheekbones and aquiline nose, the sensuous mouth that spoke of pleasure and teasing…and a small boy’s petulance. The combination was devastating.

One arm pressed her body to his; the other was buried in the fabric of her dress. A small twitch of his fingers and she realised just where his other hand rested, instantly explaining why she’d woken up feeling so languid and aroused. ‘Oh God’.

As if in answer, a blunt finger eased a little inside her, rubbing with tiny movements as his hand cupped her sex in a proprietary fashion. With a furious jolt and rush of fluid, she contracted around the invasive digit.

A little breathless, terrified he’d wake up; Buffy gently gripped his wrist and eased the exploring hand away, watching intently for signs of wakefulness. Incredibly thankful that Spike remained asleep, Buffy wriggled free and shakily got to her feet. Another long look at her companion and she was gone.

A few seconds ticked by. Gradually a smile crept over a previously impassive face. Raising a hand, sparkling juices found the tip of a long tongue. With a sigh, the fingers slid between pouting lips to suck on her. Spike’s eyes opened, full of mischief, then drifted shut in rapture.

‘Soon, little Buffy… soon… then there’ll be no more running away from me… ever.’

***

Another day passed.

Buffy was healing nicely but Tarah insisted on renewing her dressings at frequent intervals to prevent infection. She wasn’t used to such friendliness from others and found herself craving the affection so freely given. As if sensing her inner turmoil, the healer would quietly fuss over her human patient more than was strictly necessary.

Emotions long buried were threatening to overwhelm Buffy and there were moments when she wanted nothing more than to rest her head in Tarah’s lap and cry; for a mother gone, friends lost or never made, for a life spent hiding her otherness from others. Even Dorn had let go of some of her suspicions and sought her company, revealing a rather lonely young girl hiding behind a waspish tongue.

Buffy suspected that it wouldn’t be long before they would leave, no longer needed. Trouble was, she badly wanted them to stay; as long as they were around Buffy could push the dilemma that was Spike to the back of her mind. Their presence meant that the newly weds remained polite, friendly even, and, if not a courtship, they were at least comfortable in each other’s presence. And if she couldn’t look him in the eye after their little encounter in the woods, well, he didn’t seem to notice.

It wasn't like Buffy was a virgin, but she wasn’t very experienced either; a smooth talking officer named Parker had coaxed her to give him her trust, and then her body. Her unguarded enthusiasm for the act had led to bruised ribs and a fractured pelvis - his - earning her the nickname ‘Nutcracker’.

A humiliated Parker had countered the sniggers directed his way by claiming that she was an inhuman slut, with tastes too dark for an upstanding, normal male like himself. Indeed, he seemed more than willing to let a succession of girls try to restore his faith in the love of a good woman... over and over again. And, if the occasional man did try his luck with Buffy after that mortifying episode, there was no way she could risk a repeat performance. Closing herself off seemed the only solution.

Trouble was, Spike had lit a fire in her womb, and she suspected that sex with him would be a very different experience. And that terrified her. The tingles that raced along her body whenever he was near were getting harder and harder to ignore.



***

Buffy wanted to be alone.

The domestic scene was too cosy; if she didn’t get used to it she wouldn’t miss it so much when it was gone. Staying only long enough to help wash up after breakfast, Buffy quietly slipped away, grateful her healing had progressed to the point where she could walk unaided.

She wandered with no destination in mind yet was not surprised when she found herself back at the lake.

Staring at the quiet expanse of water, jumbled images of black undulating forms, of ripping pain and an unlikely saviour, crowded in on the peaceful scene. Contemplating how swiftly her familiar life had turned upside down, Buffy asked herself if she really wanted to go back to her previous Iife, to lose what she’d tasted; the rich air, the pulsing life, the exquisite beauty of a world oblivious to its own natural wonders.

A breath of movement and two strong arms stole about her. With an effort of will, Buffy allowed herself to be enclosed. Spike dipped his head down to nibble gently on her neck before pulling away to share the scene.

“It’s safe to go in, you know. Lacuna, they’re very territorial, only one pair at a time live in a place like this and their dying will be remembered by the water, passed on. Will be many years before another like it will venture this far.”

“I’d love to go in. I’m all sticky from... from the heat and stuff. Just a little scared right now, okay?”

“Scared of monsters?”

“I can’t swim,” Buffy admitted.

“Then I’ll make sure you stay safe till you can. Stay here.”

Spike turned and vanished into the trees.

Buffy eased off her soft leather slippers - a gift from Tarah - and edged towards the barely lapping water, her feet sinking into the coarse wet sand. It was a fascinating sensation, the almost rough feel as it trickled between her wriggling toes.

A rustle and she looked up to find him returned. Wearing a seductive grin, nothing else, Spike was walking towards her.

With an involuntary ‘eep’ Buffy backed into the water, suddenly aware of the vulnerable position she was in.

Astonished by the very naked male regarding her from lowered eyes, she drank him in. Golden skin, perfect muscle definition, sleek, spare…and very, very dangerous. He was amazing.

Faint scars from old battles showed as pale scratches here and there, not marring but emphasising his wild beauty. Sliding her eyes up from his high arched feet, along his sinewy calves to strong thighs, Buffy finally took in how very male he was. A pattern of curling vines and leaves, painted in rusty red, encircled his proud cock. It was apparent that Aurelian’s really did have an advantage over humans in one respect.

“Spike, what’re you doing!”

“Out for a swim, pet.” Spike, looking as demure as he could manage, thrust some spongy weeds into her hands before veering off and diving headfirst into the water. She just stood there until he resurfaced, a dumbfounded expression on her face. Standing up, waist high in the refreshing lake, he shook his hair. A rainbow of droplets scattered.

“Its soapweed, just get it wet and rub it over your body. Soon have you all lathered up.” Laughing he flipped onto his back, pulling away into deeper waters with slow strokes.

***

The dry, springy plants were pale yellow, fine filaments forming a hollow mesh. A bit scratchy, they gave off a pleasing scent as she clutched them to her chest. As her thin dress billowed around her knees in the lake, Buffy realised she had a slight problem.

As if summoned, Spike returned. Finding his feet, he re-emerged a few yards away, regarding her carefully.

Buffy averted her eyes.

“Um... I can’t... what with the bandages and everything.”

“Want me to help?”

“No, it’s all right, really.”

“Would be no trouble at all... to help you, wouldn’t go anywhere you didn’t want me to go.”

As she bit her lip in indecision Spike slinked nearer, barely making a ripple. Gently tugging a ball of soapweed from her grasp, he moved behind her.

“Such a pretty thing,” he murmured in her ear before tilting her head forward. An arm now around her waist to keep her balanced, he dipped the soapweed and applied it to her bared neck.

“Such a sweet bundle of lush you are, all smudged and sticky. Let Spike make you feel better.”

Silky bubbles crept down to meet between her breasts as Spike inched around her throat, soapy fingers barely dipping under the edge of her now transparent covering.

Buffy had read all about ladies swooning and, until now, had wondered how supposedly sensible women could collapse for no reason. Now she knew.

Spike was doing a real number on her. Having thoroughly invaded the top half of her dress with seemingly impersonal strokes of the sponge, accidentally touching her with sly fingers till her skin shivered in delight, he was now crouched down, sliding foam up each leg. Higher and higher, carefully avoiding the dressing on her thigh.

Completely wet now, except for her hands raised at each side, Buffy looked down as he looked up. The picture of innocence, Spike smoothly pushed his hand further up to cup her bottom.

“Spread your legs, sweet thing. Let me get you really clean.”

Wordlessly, Buffy gripped his shoulders and moved her feet apart. She closed her eyes.

If she couldn’t see, it wasn’t happening, right?

Spike gathered another sponge and swirled it on the inside of her thighs, making them quiver before moving around to the dip of her spine with circular sweeps that encompassed her buttocks. Then it was back to her tummy, the soft spots in her groin. In fact, he went everywhere but the place she needed it most, where she was now throbbing with anticipation.

“Need to wash your hair now, Buffy.”

Ignoring her small whine of protest as he stopped caressing her, Spike lowered her onto her back in the now deeper water, soaping the strands that spread out around her like a sea anemone with one hand, as the other gave support.

Buffy floated in bliss, bandages long forgotten.

Hair now rinsed, he placed a soft kiss on her nose before reaching for the buttons at the front of her dress. Puffed up with air it looked a bit silly. She felt silly for wearing it.

Nodding in permission, she allowed him to remove the garment, uncaring when it drifted away.

Buffy looked coquettishly at her husband.

“You missed a bit.”

With a chuckle, Spike bent down slightly to nuzzle her cheek.

“Was saving the best till last.”

With a now openly possessive and lustful gaze, Spike ran a fingertip from the hollow of her throat, down, down, to detour around her breasts then back to her sternum. Travelling to take in the light bumps of her ribs, firm abdomen, narrow waist and the curve of her hips he eventually reached his goal.

At the first brush against her pubic hair, Buffy’s nerve endings woke up screaming. 'More! Now!'

As if he'd heard, Spike stopped his teasing tickles and pressed down, sliding knowing fingers around her scalding, swollen flesh, her clit jumping under the palm of his hand.

“Such a pretty quim you have, opening like a shy sea creature for the tide. Let me penetrate your defences, sweet Buffy, discover your treasures."

No longer passive, Buffy grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him. Hard.

As they joined lips, Spike carefully pushed a finger inside her, moving it in and out, caressing her inner walls. Finding her most sensitive place, Spike concentrated on rubbing there, till, thrashing about in his grasp, the girl came undone with a cry.

Buffy lay limp, mildly wondering where she was, when she found herself lifted out of the water. Spike strode to shore, his prize pressed to his chest.

‘Okay, done the swooning, this must be the ravaging part’.

***

A few strides and they were in a small clearing. Spike’s shirt was spread out over a patch of springy moss, his jacket neatly folded on top, buttons hidden, forming a pillow.

“You planned this.”

“Planned, hoped, wanted.” Spike tightened his hold a little.

Buffy looked up, torn, but really wanting reassurance. She found it. Honest lust, affection and sexual confidence glowed in his eyes but he was also prepared for rejection. The choice was hers.

She made it.

“Okay.”

Not the most romantic response, but heartfelt.

Spike sank to his knees, his bundle of Buffy lowered onto the ground. Not giving her the chance to go all shy, he nudged his thighs between hers and gently gripped her wrists, placing them flat at either side of her head. Her eyes were like saucers. Without warning his lips latched onto her succulent mouth.

It was like descending into an inferno, his entire body crackled with the heat of her, ached to have her. Buffy tensed for a moment before she began to kiss him back, tasting his wildness. A shock ran through them both, a line of pleasure leading from mouth to nipples to painfully sensitized sex.

This was it. Foreplay could wait for another time.

Spike snaked a hand between her thighs. She was slippery with want and writhed against his fingers. As gentle as could be, Spike gripped his cock and pressed it against her opening. Buffy was mewling now, kissing and mock biting his throat, his chest, instinctively driving him crazy. Her legs wrapped around him pulling him towards her; he countered by holding still, resisting her strength. Chuckling in her ear, he nipped it gently before moving down her neck with whisper soft kisses. The more she tried to force him to enter her, the more he evaded her grip until she finally stilled underneath him.

“Want something, sweetness?”

Buffy glared back.

“Have to be sure, Buffy. Will you belong to me? Are you mine?”

Everything rested on her answer but the girl was too aroused to resist him now. Moving her hands to rest together above her head he unravelled the wet bandage from one of her wrists and swiftly looped it around the other. Not as formal as the ceremonial cuffs but it would serve its purpose. To distract her he brought one hand down to stroke her where they were joined.

“I can protect you and cherish you, make your body and your heart sing for me. No one else will ever give you this, make you feel like this.” He matched each word with a tiny push before pulling away again.

“Tell me you’re mine!”

“Yes, I’m yours, dammit.”

Satisfied with her response, Spike moved forward. Resting on his forearms he began to move more insistently inside her, hissing in a delicious agony at her tightness. Aided by the slippery juices that bathed his cock he gave little thrusts, pausing between each till she relaxed and took more of him into her.

Gods, she felt wonderful. Constricted as he was, Spike could feel her pulsing muscles both protesting and welcoming, they both grimaced then smiled at each other.

God, he felt wonderful. Buffy was amazed at the sensations running through her body. Taking up an easy rhythm now, he moved inexorably in and out. She might burst and scatter into a million pieces, but she couldn’t think of a better way to go. With legs bent, feet flat to the ground, she eagerly raised her pelvis to meet his.

Spike dipped and arched above her, brushing her aching nipples with his chest on each sweep, deeper and deeper until he was fully buried within her. Their eyes held as he picked up speed. All she could hear was their ragged breathing. All she could see were his blue eyes. She was drowning again, and it felt like heaven.

With complete abandon she unknowingly tore apart the bindings on her hands and brought them up around his back, legs wrapped around his muscular buttocks as he flexed and jerked in a sinuous slide against her body. Able to squeeze and grab, demand more without fearing the consequences, Buffy lost herself in an animal rhythm, until a star burst of ecstasy filled her veins and she screamed his name at the sky. As she came she clamped down hard around him until he too howled and thrust and shuddered in completion.

As Buffy lay dazed, he reached down and tilted her head to one side, burying his face in her neck. The bite, when it came, sent a wave of pleasure and pain rocketing through her body, and she could only hang on for dear life.

They both stilled. Raising his head, Spike regarded her with golden eyes, a trickle of her blood glistening on his lip. He looked proud, immensely satisfied, and perhaps a little guilty too. For the first time, Buffy saw the monster…and was unafraid.

Swish. Thud. The eyes she'd been looking into fluttered shut as Spike fell limp against her.

Registering another presence for the first time, Buffy saw a female soldier in full regulation uniform looking down in disgust, her rifle held like a club.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. This scum won’t be hurting you again.”

“What did you do?” Buffy’s voice cracked with shock. She instinctively cradled his head, finding the back warm and wet. She felt dizzy.

“What I had to.” The sympathetic look was replaced by a sneer as Buffy held her lover protectively. “A Watcher Station has been attacked, status unknown, two more have been destroyed. Anjell and his men have disappeared." Grinning viciously, she tore Buffy's new life apart. "The truce is off.”

***

Her brain reeling from the information given by the soldier, Buffy tried to get out from under Spike’s slumped form. He became aware of her struggles just enough to pull away and roll to one side, groaning. Buffy scrambled to her feet, snatching up the stained shirt to cover herself before grabbing Spike’s pants, boots and jacket, thrusting them at the still woozy male. He made no move to get dressed so she helped him, all the while keeping a close eye on the girl staring insolently at them. The soldier said nothing more, just raised her rifle meaningfully. With Buffy’s arm wrapped around Spike’s waist to keep him steady, the grim faced trio began to make their way back to the tent.

A short time later they emerged from the woods to a chilling scene. The trivet and heavy cooking pot lay half buried, smoking in the fire, its contents bubbling and spitting on the remaining embers. The wooden bench was upended, clumps of healing herbs trampled into the earth. A second soldier whipped his head round as they approached, weapon ready, smirking at the sight of Buffy wearing only a shirt. From the ripped doorway of the tent came sounds of fabric tearing, metal objects crashing to the ground and fragile things being smashed. Buffy stared around her in hurt wonder as her new home was needlessly destroyed.

A shrill scream, followed by a high-pitched growl, pierced the clearing. Spike, who until now had been silent, staring at the ground, jerked his head up. In a blink he was tearing towards the sounds, jabbing a bemused male in the gut as he passed by, disappearing into the trees with inhuman speed. The female soldier belatedly swung her gun at his retreating back, only to have her arm shattered by a blow from Buffy as she screamed, “No!”

The shot went wide.

Half a dozen men, led by Finn, came swarming out of the tent. Briefly taking in her dishevelled appearance, and that of his groaning comrades, he barked out orders. “Holden, Watts, keep her here and call a medic for Kennedy and Bright. The rest of you, follow me. Spread out, men.”

Feeling fleetingly insulted that he had only allocated her two guards, Buffy waited till Finn and his men had disappeared before swiftly disabling them, then she too ran after Spike.

A wave of pain sent her crashing to her knees. Spike’s hurting. Without questioning how she knew this, Buffy scrambled back up. Adrenalin fuelled her steps till the pain blanked out. Moving in a wide arc to avoid the others, she reached the scene first.

Spike was crouching, golden-eyed, in front of a distressed Tarah and Dorn, his body shaking violently as, one by one, the semicircle of men around him fired their tasers. Blue electric current flickered along the wires embedded in his skin, but Spike refused to be subdued. So many shocks, but with each new jolt he simply bared blood flecked fangs and roared back in challenge.

Dorn and Tarah were standing with their backs against a large tree, snarling. Dorn's dress was ripped down the front and she clutched the remaining pieces tightly against her chest. Both girls had tears streaking down their savage Aurelian faces, faces thick with bruises. A man writhed on the ground, white-faced and screaming, clutching his genitals as ruby red poured through his fingers. Bloody pieces of flesh and gristle lay in the grass beside him.

Another man lay dead.

“Stop it!” screamed Buffy. “Stop this NOW!” She leaped over the stretched wires to stand before Spike, daring them to fire at her. She didn't have time to care that her shirt gaped open, leaving her a half naked target, or that the stitches on her thigh had re-opened.

The men hesitated. Two even released the button on their ultratasers. Before the others could decide what to do, Finn arrived. “Don’t kill it. Secure the hostiles for questioning and get more medics. We’re returning to base camp.” He looked hard at Buffy with something like disappointment in his eyes. “Bring her too.”

Fully alert now, the ring of soldiers converged on the little group. Spike growled warningly but Buffy turned to him with a desperate look.

“Please, Spike, no. You can’t fight bullets.”

Holding her gaze as if to say, ‘That’s what you think!’ Spike instead reverted back to his human features. The men roughly dragged him upright, twisting his arms behind his back before securing his wrists tightly. They did the same to Buffy. The two other women, perceived as a lesser threat, were cuffed with their hands in front, allowing a tearstained Dorn to hide her exposed breasts. Buffy didn’t have that luxury.

Glancing at her companions, the women pale and upset, Spike snarling at every unnecessary push and shove, she had to wonder who the enemy was here.

Buffy managed to reach Dorn’s side. “Dorn, those soldiers, did… Did they?”

Dorn bit her lip and shook her head, looking down.

“No, thank the goddess” Tarah spoke for her in a low voice. “But they came close. If Spike hadn’t got there in time… Please, you mustn’t blame Spike for attacking them like that. He had to protect us - that’s all that mattered to him.”

Strangely, Buffy couldn’t find it in her to be disgusted by Spike’s idea of retribution; no, her disgust was reserved for her own kind.


***

Half an hour later they were at HQ, the perimeter fencing and gate repaired after the recent battle damage. Patrols were in evidence and no civilians in view. The group were led inside the main control block, a grey utilitarian building of reinforced concrete, now bristling with activity.

Commander Giles was leaning over the shoulder of a small red haired woman who was keying in data at a furious pace. The large screen in front of them showed grey fuzz which could have represented anything. Several holocubes, dotted around the room, were more revealing, each on a repeat loop. Two perfect Watcher stations hung suspended in an inky, starlit background; one minute intact shelters housing a thousand human souls, the next a silent yellow fireball exploding into space, winking out as the oxygen was consumed, leaving behind dead shells and jagged debris.

Giles straightened up as he heard the newcomers arrive, eyes closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked tired. When he opened them they widened briefly then narrowed on Finn.

“What the hell is this?”

“We captured the hostile as instructed, sir, and found two more at their camp.”

“And can you explain why Ensign Summers is also a prisoner?”

“Summers has been compromised by the enemy. She broke Private Kennedy’s arm and was protective of the male. She can’t be trusted, sir."

“And did you take the trouble to explain what was going on?”

“There wasn’t time, sir. The male escaped and killed one of my men. He also ripped off Private Warren’s... privates, with his teeth, before we captured him.”

Giles took in the state of the two Aurelian women.

“Did your orders include attacking defenceless women?”

“Warren and Smith may have got a bit carried away, sir." Finn looked more defiant than apologetic, finishing, "They aren’t human.”

Giles became very still. His voice, when it came, was sub-zero.

“You are not barbarians. I distinctly ordered you to bring Spike in for questioning. Unharmed. This order would also apply the two females under his protection. Human or otherwise, your men did not have the right to behave like animals.”

He turned to Dorn and Tarah, his expression grave. “Ladies, I must apologise for your treatment at the hands of these… men, but these are desperate times, and I’m afraid that I must detain you until further notice.”

“Finn, take the Aurelians to Containment Cell One…and get out of my sight. I’ll deal with you later.”

Finn glanced at Buffy, not daring to ask why she hadn’t been included with the others.”

“You still here, Finn?”

Finn knew better than to argue.


As Spike and his women were led away, he called out softly. “Buffy, you can’t think we had a hand in this?”

She exchanged a long look before answering. “I’m sorry, Spike. You, Dorn and Tarah have been nothing but kind. But this… I just don’t know what to think.”

A few days, all it had taken to overturn her world-view of the enemy, find family, feel real hope for the first time. Had she been completely naïve to let her guard down? Spike could see the conflict in her eyes and gave her a brief, sympathetic smile, before leaving.

Turning she moved to stand in front of one of the holocubes, watching the metal ship bursting apart then reforming, over and over again.

Mesmerised, it took a while to register that Giles had given her permission to get herself cleaned up and ‘dressed more appropriately’. After a long shower, and with her wound fixed by medical rather than mystical means, Buffy returned wearing regulation uniform and boots. They felt strange and drab, perfectly matching the way she felt.


“I’m sorry, Buffy. This is all my fault.”

“Sir?”

Giles gave a deep sigh before continuing. “I said I’m sorry. I encouraged you to enter into marriage with an Aurelian. I know I asked you to spy for me, but, deep down, I wanted the truce to be real. I had hoped you’d be, if not happy, then at least content to be such a vital part of the peace process. It was stupid and wrong of me.”

“Are you sure it was the Aurelians she asked in a small voice, one that drifted away as she searched for any sign of doubt on Giles' solemn face.

“General Anjell and his troops disappeared from their camp right before the attack. An amazing co-incidence, don’t you think?”

A large part of Buffy wanted it all to be some horrible mistake, but who else could have caused such devastation? Her head was full of questions. Why did Spike bother to save her life if he saw her as the enemy? And even if willing to play the innocent husband while Anjell made his move, why allow Dorn and Tarah to stay and face retribution too?

“Private Kennedy did mention that, but I thought they couldn’t reach us in space. That we were safe.”

“So did I, Buffy, so did I.”

Just then the girl with red hair came into the room balancing a tray, her sweet elfin face lit up when she saw Buffy.

“I thought it was you. Hi, I’m Willow. Do you remember me? I was sent to join the nerd squad just as you got all chosen to be a protector. Here.” She juggled her arms about, removing a cup with one hand to give to her. “It’s called Kush but it tastes like real chocolate, plus, bonus, there are cookies too. The others say it’s poisoned as it’s grown in Aurelia, but, pfft, anything that tastes this good can’t be bad, right?”

Buffy couldn’t help but smile at Willow’s enthusiasm and took a sip. It was true, this was pleasure in a cup and she knew she would be sampling it again at every opportunity. She greedily took two cookies, reminded that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“Of course I remember you, Willow.” And she did. The shy blushing girl with a fearsome intellect had tentatively tried to be friends years ago, but Buffy had been too insecure to let her near. Before she could change her mind they’d been assigned to different stations.

Giles took a cup from Willow too, and a cookie that he proceeded to dunk in the rich brown liquid.

“Now, back to business.”

At his words, Willow settled back in front of the puter to continue her task. Buffy gravitated towards the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m trying to get a service feed to work on Watcher 10. We know the station is intact but no-one is responding, and we can’t get pictures from inside.”

“What about the main cams?”

“Nope, not working. They’ve been destroyed or disabled. But here, see? There’s another system that most people don’t think about; the service bots scan each part of the ship so they can deal with problems - spillages, worn seals on doors, that sort of thing - then they go and sort it out, or report it to the main puter if they can’t. I’m trying to tap into their codes, then I can translate the codes into visuals."

As if by magic, the streams of numbers racing up the edge of the blank screen froze. Three numbers had changed to green words, repeated; decoded, decoded, decoded.

“Ooh, look!” Willow gave a delighted squeal before touching each word.

Abruptly, the grey vanished, revealing three small rectangles, each showing a different scene. The light was different, infrared; the view distorted by the fisheye lens of whatever machine was scanning the room. Reaching forward again, Willow touched the screen and the first picture enlarged to fill it.

They were looking at the galley. Long smears of gravy, or something else entirely, stretched across a room littered with trays, cutlery, bodies.

Wait.

Several bots were skimming the floor, determined to remove the mess. The one they had tapped into moved forward, thin telescopic arms outstretched. Transfixed, they saw its progress towards one of the still figures. It was a woman, lying on her back, her throat torn open. What looked like sausages lay on her stomach till Buffy recognised them for what they were. She tasted lemons as she tried not to gag.

As if puzzled, the bot paused before squirting cleaning fluid on the poor woman’s face, dabbing at it with a cloth. A man lay beyond her, his head cracked open like an Easter egg. In the red light his blood appeared almost black. There was so much of it.

Willow lurched from her chair and, without a word, ran from the room. Checking that Buffy was okay, Giles closed the first picture and touched the next one.

They were facing an open doorway marked AGRIPOD. To the left a sign hung loosely by one corner. 'NOW RIPE AND READY: Tomatoes 5 credits each. Strawberries 3 credits. Cherries 1 credit. Coming soon... Genuine pippin apples - first harvest in space!'

The door itself had been wrenched open. What looked like wide claw marks left gleaming metal shavings curling up from the paintwork. Again, the floor was filthy, this time from muddy footprints - some humanoid, others definitely not. The bot was diligently removing the evidence.

Satisfied the images were on record, Giles moved onto the last one. Willow returned just as the final scene came into view.

They were in the recreation room, the only place onboard where an effort had been made to provide a homely atmosphere. Games, both old fashioned and virtual, lay scattered about; visors and touch pads vying with chess pieces and playing cards for attention. A retro jukebox, glowing in the corner, indicated that music was playing. The place was in a shambles.

Instead of utter stillness, here there was movement. A small blonde woman was sitting in a large swivel chair, dainty booted feet propped up on a table. She wore tight leather pants and was idly dipping a finger into her cleavage to retrieve a trickle of liquid before popping it into her mouth with a grin.

A young man lay face down in front of her. A male in a dark shiny uniform strutted over to her and placed gnarled hands on her shoulders before dipping down to kiss her brow. He was bald with shrivelled features, a small puckered mouth widened in an approximation of a smile. The woman looked up coyly before shifting her features into those of an Aurelian.

A second male came into view, arms outstretched, hands gripping the long hair of two severed heads. Gaunt features alight with glee; he lifted the heads to his face in turn and firmly planted a kiss on the mouth of each, sliding his tongue past their slack lips before flinging them aside.

Spying a female crewmember of middle years trying to crawl towards the door, he leapt into her path. She tried to put up a fight, injured as she was, but he played with her like a cat with a mouse. Ending the fun, he spun her round and gripped her from behind. Giving a long lick up the side of her neck he paused to whisper something in her ear, laughing as her face twisted in revulsion. He sank his fangs in deep; she was dead before she hit the floor.

As the bot scanned the human remains littering the room, noting its tasks ahead, two more figures - no, creatures - ducked down in the doorway before unfolding to their true height of seven or eight feet. These weren’t Aurelians. They wore their thickened bones like armour; barrel-chested, long arms, cloven feet, powerful claws. They had massive heads - all brow and jaw and teeth. Strands of saliva broke away as they turned their faces in tandem to look for prey. Their small, deep-set eyes radiated cunning, not reason. As they picked over the fallen, crouching to dispatch the wounded, one filled the vision of the camera. A massive hoof filled the screen and the picture was gone.

Silence.

A visibly grey Giles turned to Buffy with anger - and something like sympathy - in his eyes.

”Get some men, Buffy. Bring me Spike. It’s time we had some answers,” he ordered, finishing under his breath, “by whatever means necessary.”

***

Flanked by two hulking men, it was a hardened Buffy who retrieved Spike from the cell. She found him sitting on a low bed, arms wrapped around his girls. The hope on their faces faded when Buffy made it clear only Spike was to be removed.

“Love, whatever you're thinking it isn't true.”

She cut him off. “Can it, Spike. After what I've just seen I'm ashamed I ever bought into that happy ever after crap. You're Anjell's right-hand man, aren't you? Well, perhaps you can explain his absence to Giles, and while you're at it you can explain to him why thousands of innocent people had to be murdered by Aurelians.”

She didn’t look him in the eye as she spat out her condemnation. Not knowing what to say, Spike held his tongue but Dorn was less restrained.

“I knew it was a mistake to accept you as one of us. You’ll always be loyal to your own. We should have let you die.”

Tarah held the now crying girl. “Hush now Dornie, don’t say things you don’t mean. We had to save them both together, you know that, and Buffy is hurting too. It’ll be all right, I promise.”

Biting her lip, Buffy looked down. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Dorn’s reply was muffled against the healer’s shoulder. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

***

As they neared the room where Giles waited, Spike paused. “Buffy, I want to know what’s going on as much as you. I know Anjell, he can be a right bastard but this just isn’t his way. There has to be another explanation.”

Buffy wanted so much to believe him it hurt. Life had taught her that wishing things were different couldn’t change what was, but the steady gaze holding hers showed no deceit, just brutal honesty. The easy fondness of the morning had been replaced by resigned sadness. Wavering a little, Buffy resisted the urge to reach up and stroke those sharp cheekbones, smooth away the tension in his jaw, change the raw light in his eyes to something softer.

“Just talk to Giles, okay? Maybe this can all be straightened out. I’ll tell him how you saved me from the snaky things, not really the actions of a mortal enemy, huh?”

Spike somehow doubted that Giles would take much notice of this naive young woman, not in the great scheme of things. He recognised in the commander a man who would do whatever was necessary to get results, so this little talk was likely to be peppered with a great deal of pain. Spike’s.

Not wanting her to witness the confrontation, he reached out, touched her arm. Buffy stilled. “Let me talk to Giles first, yes? Please go and talk to Dorn and Tarah, tell them not to worry so,” he paused, “and keep those damned soldiers away from them!”

Buffy wanted more than anything to make things better with her ‘sisters’. Spike was right; she should go back to them. Giving a barely there brush of her fingers against his, she left.

Spike gathered his big bad and swaggered into the room. A heavy steel chair had been moved to the middle of the floor and Spike was grabbed roughly from behind and pushed into it. Thin plasti-bands were twined from his wrists to elbows along the chair arms and pulled tight, his boots removed and ankles secured the same way. He didn’t struggle.

Giles wore a coldly cynical expression. “I see that Buffy hasn’t joined us to argue in your defence.”

Spike smirked. “I thought you’d want to keep this just between the two of us.”

Giles looked puzzled then shook it off. ‘Spike was protecting Buffy?’ He couldn’t say he wasn’t relieved; he hadn’t really considered how she might react to this ‘conversation’.

“Um, quite. Now, Lieutenant, I have some questions, and you are going to provide truthful answers.”

“I’ll tell you everything I know, which is nothing, but I’m guessing that won’t be enough, will it?"

“No, Spike, it won’t be, not nearly enough.”

Spike deliberately kept his human face and gave a slow, insolent smile to his captor.

***

Having made her way back through the passages to the containment cells, Buffy was surprised to see Willow sitting cross-legged by the bars, a tray by her feet. All three girls were sipping kush. Dorn had changed out of her torn dress and was wearing a light blue jumpsuit emphasising her long, slim legs. She gave Buffy a hesitant smile, which was returned. The other two were also sharing smiles, each fascinated by the other.

“This is just amazing. Look, Buffy, I know they say that magic is just science that hasn’t been explained yet, but this is just...wow!”

A tiny blue flame was dancing along the floor between them, running from Tarah’s outstretched palm, hopping up over the cement base of the cage to pause at Willow’s knee, before bobbing back the way it came.

“It’s called heart-light, Willow,” Tarah said quietly, ducking her head a little as she glanced shyly at the redhead. “It’s special.”

“Special how?”

Tarah just laughed. “If the goddess is willing, I’ll tell you one day.”

Incredibly relieved at the change in atmosphere, Buffy sank down beside Willow. After a few minutes Dorn came closer too and the four of them started chatting, pretending that the universe wasn’t going belly up around them.

***

It started as a feeling of mild heartburn, but as soon as one twinge started it disappeared, only to come back in a different place. Buffy eyed the kush suspiciously, but it wasn’t that. Seeing her discomfort Tarah asked what was wrong.

“I don’t know. I’m getting little stabby pains, oh!” Another one, this time on her ribs made her yelp in surprise.

“It must be Spike,” Tarah said worriedly. “He’s hurting so you are too.”

Remembering the wave of pain in the woods when Spike was under attack, she hastily got up. There was no time to ask why this was even possible. With an apologetic look at their horrified faces, she ran.

***

Buffy was in hell. Curled up in a ball in the bare corridor just outside the control room, she could hear Giles's voice; dispassionate, calm, matter-of-fact. Spike was laughing, taunting, in between bouts of gasps and heavy breathing. Knowing she could shut out the pain but unwilling to break their link and let him suffer alone, she waited and prayed that Giles would get tired of this very soon.

The soldiers from earlier had barred her from entering and hadn’t been at all polite about it. She wished she knew what to do; Giles was her commander, Spike her husband. This was war, she was on one side, he on the other and they needed answers. ‘But Spike wasn’t involved…was he?’

She couldn’t allow this to continue much longer, but took some comfort from the strength in Spike’s voice. He seemed to have picked up an impressive amount of recognisable human swear words which he was mixing with his own and using to full effect. Each time Giles replayed the images from the ship and asked him who the Aurelians were, he gave a variation of the same answer: “I don’t fucking know.”

Spike seemed so sincere about not knowing the identity of the killers onboard the station. Her gut feeling was that he was telling the truth, but then she’d spent days in his company, got to know him in ways that had surprised her, and while she still harboured some distrust she also knew when he was being bluntly honest, like now. If Giles didn’t stop whatever he was doing to Spike soon she’d be the one singing like a canary, admitting to anything just to have this end – either that or going in there and smacking Giles across the room which was her preferred option.

Buffy closed her eyes.

Moments, or hours, later she opened them.

A pair of dirty black boots swam into view. On full alert she leapt up just as a large hand wrapped around her throat, pushing her back against the wall with a soft thud. A dagger was pressed gently to her stomach.

“What kind of a sorry bride is this, whimpering in a corner while her mate is being tortured. Care to explain?” Anjell glowered down at her.

A mix of conflicting emotions flooded Buffy. Alarm that the enemy was right inside the compound, anger at herself for letting it happen, shame at Anjell's disdainful description of her behaviour. Relief, that Spike would now be safe.

Thirty or so Aurelians moved stealthily into view. Armed to the teeth, which were also pretty lethal looking, they poured like shadows into the room ahead. Anjell withdrew his hand and dagger, steering her - none too gently - through the door.

Giles was lying on his front, head squashed to one side. A small impassive soldier had a foot resting on his neck, the point of his sword just touching the corner of the downed Commander's eyelid. Several other human officers were disarmed, kneeling on the floor with their hands linked behind their heads, eyeing the drawn swords directed their way with impotent fury.

Anjell went straight to Spike, deftly releasing him with flicks of the small blade. As the flustered male got out of the chair he chuckled.

“So, Spike, still getting into scrapes, I see. Droo would have my hide if she knew I'd allowed you to get all tied up without her permission.”

A prick of something dark jabbed at Buffy, even as she anxiously assessed Spike for damage. Apart from a bruise under one eye, and a slightly swollen lower lip, he looked unhurt. That is, until his unbuttoned jacket shifted, revealing circular marks on his bare chest. Delivered by a prodder, a more localised version of a taser, they explained his gasps and her pains.

Spike snickered back at Anjell. “Ah, good times. No-one ties a knot quite like Droo.” They shared a grin before Spike strode over to Giles. Crouching low, one hand dangling over a bent knee, he gently drew a fingertip down the prostrate man's cheek.

“Ah, Commander, I do hate to find myself in the hands of an amateur - however gifted. Would you like me to show you how it's really done?”

Giles, impressively unimpressed, merely bit out, “Well, get on with it. I haven't got all day.”

Anjell smiled in admiration. “No. Fun as that sounds, and while Spike is certainly owed his revenge, we have more urgent matters at hand. I suggest that we get comfortable and discuss this situation like civilised beings.”

True to his word Anjell signalled Spike to back off, which he did, allowing the flustered Giles to gather his tattered dignity and get up. Buffy found some courage and turned to the impassive General.

“Sir, Dorn and Tarah are being held in the containment cells, can I let them out?”

“They’re here?” His expressionless face cracked to reveal genuine surprise, for once. He flicked a glance to Spike who merely shrugged.

“Droo’s doing. Big snakes, stubborn women, long story, tell you later…”

Anjell snapped his open mouth shut and turned back to Buffy, his hard gaze softening a little. “Yes, Buffy, please go and get them. Spike, will you go too, my men may not understand why there’s a human running around uncontained.”

Spike was at the door in a flash. He opened it and waved Buffy through with a mocking little flourish. “After you, my lady.” With a small scowl she walked through.

Now that they were alone neither knew what to say, so both stayed silent. Buffy broke first.

“I’m sorry Spike.” ‘Sorry for leaving you in Giles’s hands, sorry for the way I spoke to you earlier, sorry that everything is so awkward now,’ she wanted to tell him.

“S’all right, knew what to expect. I’d have reacted the same way.”

Deep down she knew that wasn’t true, but she took a little comfort from his words and nodded. They carried on walking, casting little glances towards the other then looking away.

The whole compound had by now been thoroughly overwhelmed, without too much bloodshed it must be said. Aurelians stood around in small groups at strategic points, relaxed but ready for trouble. One soldier grinned broadly at Spike as they approached.

“Spoils of war, Spike? Maybe you can give us a little taste after you’re done?”

Striding forward without pause, Spike punched the soldier in the solar plexus. He dropped like a stone. Gripping the man’s hair he wrenched the gasping soldier’s head up sharply and gave a nasty grin.

“Now, I know you didn’t mean to disrespect my wife like that, so how’s about an apology?”

“I…I’m sorry, sir.”

“Not to me, you idiot.”

The purple-faced unfortunate cast wide eyes in Buffy’s direction. Trying desperately to get his breath back he clasped his hands as if in prayer.

“Please, mistress, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know… was only a very bad jest. Please forgive me. Pleease?” The last word was uttered with a shriek as Spike tightened his grip.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at Spike’s macho behaviour she folded her arms and looked down coldly at the squirming male. “Apology accepted, but if I find out that you or your ‘friends’ have been forcing yourselves on any women here then Spike will be the least of your worries.”

Gulping hard he nodded as best he could until Spike relented and let go. He scuttled back crablike to the safety of his comrades who all looked as though they’d rather be anywhere else right now.

“Could have handled them,” she muttered. Spike smothered a smile. They brushed past the group who were roughly hauling their injured colleague to one side, giving him a further tongue lashing for his stupidity.

Tarah and Dorn had just been released when they arrived. They were laughing with the Aurelians who had freed them while standing either side of Willow in an unmistakable gesture of ownership. Dorn spotted Spike and broke away to fling her arms round his neck. He wrapped his arms around her, barely flinching as she pressed against his sore chest. Murmuring words of comfort he made sure that they were all okay. Buffy hovered awkwardly to one side until Tarah reached her side to gently clasp her hand and draw her in. She gave a gentle squeeze back in gratitude.

***

A large round table had been brought into the control room and now everyone was seated at it. Carafes of water, jugs of coffee and kush were placed on a smaller table nearby. Despite the seriousness of the situation Buffy felt as though she were attending a boardroom meeting.

The group that now faced each other consisted of Anjell, Spike, Oss - the diminutive but capable soldier who'd had Giles at his mercy - and two other unknown Aurelians. Dorn and Tarah weren't present. Giles sat opposite Anjell, along with his number two, a man called Pryce, with a bald, tough looking guy called Gunn and a rather battered looking Finn next to him. Buffy was beside a scared looking Willow, completing the circle.

Anjell looked pointedly at Giles. “Perhaps you can start, Commander, and tell us just what you were playing at by ending the truce?

If Giles was startled he didn't show it. Dispassionately, he outlined the situation, the holocubes behind him illustrating the truth of what he said. Willow approached the large screen and pressed replay, repeating the scenes from earlier; first in the galley, then the AGRIPOD and, finally, the twisted fun had by the trio of Aurelians in the rec room and the creatures that joined them there. The gory pictures ended as before with the demise of the bot.

“Now you see,” finished Giles.

Anjell had stiffened visibly as the images played out. Staring at nothing for a few seconds, he idly fingered the collar of his leather tunic, seemingly lost in thought.

Finally he spoke.

“Commander, these Aurelians are criminals. They are enemies to us and to humans both. The older male is called Nesst… he killed my father. The younger one is his insane son Krallyk. The woman...” he paused, “the woman is Dalla. She is my mother.” As all present gasped, he continued. “The creatures with them are the Terr-Khan - a race of monsters that I thought we'd defeated long ago. They are also the reason that I took my men back to Aurelia.”

***

The resounding silence that followed Anjell’s declaration was ended when everyone began speaking at once, but it was Giles’ voice that finally cut through the din.

With a snort of disbelief, his words acid, he rounded on the General. “How very dramatic…except for one small detail; that ‘female’ couldn’t possibly be old enough to be your mother. Just how stupid do you think we are?”

“If you’d bothered to learn the first thing about our society,” Anjell retorted, “you’d know that we live a great deal longer than you do. Dalla is around 300 in human years. Krallyk my ‘younger’ step-brother is nearer 200, although his twisted appetites have aged him prematurely, and Nesst? No-one really knows his age, he was thought long dead before he reappeared to creep between my mother’s thighs. My father had no idea until it was too late - Dalla always did have dark tastes and was drawn to anyone with power.”

As everyone took in this new information Buffy just stared at Anjell, who looked as grim as she’d ever seen him, and at Spike. He must have known about these ‘creatures’ so he must have been lying earlier - and wasn’t that a bitter pill to swallow? - but he seemed as genuinely bewildered as the rest of them at these revelations.

Turning to Spike, and trying to keep the accusing note out of her voice, Buffy asked the question that was burning her up. “Spike, did you know about these ‘people’ when Giles was questioning you?”

Sincerely, and with a note of anger, he looked her straight in the eye. “No, Buffy. I didn’t.”

Anjell chuckled.

“Spike is the baby here, barely 120, he’s the youngest Aurelian in this room. That’s why Droo selected him to be your husband. Dalla was condemned to death for her part in my father’s death before he was born. The three of them escaped before the sentence could be carried out. They disappeared through a portal in the Northern Ashlands, the same area where the Terr-Khan were recently spotted.”

Spike gave Buffy a triumphant glare then pointedly looked away.

“But why turn up after all this time? And how did they get aboard one of our stations?” Giles still sounded distrustful but in the absence of a better explanation was willing to believe for now.

Anjell gazed down at the table, surprised to see deep gouges there under his clawed fingers, yellow eyes revealing all too human emotions. Anger. Shame. Confusion.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “but if the Terr-Khan are working for them then we are all in great danger.”

***

The meeting broke up for an hour when Anjell quietly rose and headed for the door. Spike made as if to follow but a small headshake from the General let him know that he wanted time alone.

A quiet resolve settled over the remaining occupants of the room. Having discovered a common goal, the group, while still wary, were less inclined to go for each other’s throats. There was an air of determination, almost optimism; the enemy had been identified and now they had to work together to beat it down. Riley was a glaring exception - deeply unhappy with the détente, he stood with teeth clenched and hand twitching over an empty holster. Catching Spike’s eye, he tried not to flinch as the white haired warrior grinned and touched his tongue to a bared fang meaningfully. ‘I’ve got my weapon here.’

Spike hadn’t forgotten - or forgiven - the Captain’s indifference to the fate of his girls and silently vowed that there would be a bloody reckoning before long.

Turning his back on the soldier, he scanned the room. Buffy was seated next to Willow by the large screen, the redhead flicking deft fingers over the control panel, calling up fleeting images on-screen, twirling diagrams showing the damaged stations, black patched where space had come crawling in. Whispering in a conspiratorial way - the young women clearly didn’t want to be overheard - Buffy giggled, and Spike narrowed his eyes. When she glanced up and found herself being watched she blushed sharply, ducking her head. Willow looked too and smothered a squeak. Both hid their faces.

Amused, Spike crept up on the duo before placing his hands on the blonde’s shoulders, making her jump.

“Talking about me?”

Trying to calm her racing heart, Buffy tried to sound indifferent.

“As if.” Then more forcefully, “And don’t sneak up like that!”

“Not sneaking,” he leaned down to nuzzle her hair, “stalking... different thing entirely.”

“That’s even worse,” she huffed, but held still as his hands drifted up to either side of her neck, letting her locks flow through his fingers.

Pleased when her eyes lost focus, he whispered in her ear, “Maybe you could take a little time to take care of my injuries. Rub a little lotion where it hurts the most. And then maybe I could attend to you too? I bet you have aching places that could do with a bit of rubbing and soothing.”

With a strangled gasp, Buffy leapt up out of his clutches. Not looking back, legs unsteady, she weaved her way to the coffee.

It was Willow who drew his eyes away from Buffy’s retreating and very biteable bottom.

“That was mean, Spike.”

Not bothering to hide his smirk, he replied, “I know.”

***

When Buffy dared to look again, she caught an eyeful of Spike. He was leaning back against the wall, stripped to the waist, battered military jacket trailing from a hooked finger as Tarah patiently smoothed one of her home-made concoctions over the angry marks on his chest.

She felt a pang of guilt at the sight of his injuries, cursing herself for not having the courage to snatch the ointment from Tarah and apply it herself. Spike had one knee bent, boot against the wall, the other foot forward on the floor, bracing him. His black leather trousers stretched and creased intriguingly along hard thighs. God, what a poser! Oh, but such gorgeous defined muscles, such round strong arms ‘the better to crush you with, my dear’.

Surprisingly, his nipple ring was still intact, glinting with lotion. She winced at the thought that Giles could have ripped it away under interrogation. His bracelet too, a loose manacle in grey and garnet, decorated him like some exotic prince…or perhaps a well-oiled slave. Vivid blue eyes blinked as slowly as a pampered cat, languorously receiving a stroking. Tarah gave him a swat on his chest making him start, bringing him back from his daydream.

He looked straight at Buffy and winked.

‘Cocky bastard.’

***

Giles felt a small tug on his arm as Willow tried to get his attention. Stooping down a little to catch her hesitant words, his eyes widened a little before he stood up straight. With a casual hand on her shoulder he led her out of the room, the small Captain - Oss? - followed at a respectful distance; trust only extended so far then, but he made no attempt to follow them into Giles’ private quarters.

Swiftly opening his encrypted comnet link to Rayne, he was relieved when the Ambassador’s image flickered onto his private screen. Ethan looked immensely tired, his usual dapper outfit rumpled as if he’d slept in it. A row of coffee cups obscured his slim wrists, but not enough to hide a slight palsy.

“At last,” the Ambassador sighed and gave Giles a rueful smile,
“Well, Obi-wan, looks like you’re our only hope.”

Snorting at the reference Giles mirrored his expression, “Well, if that’s the case then we really are screwed.”

As the two veterans exchanged information, Giles learned what he could. Apart from the station decimated by Anjell’s relatives, and the two that had simply exploded, a fourth station had also sent out a weak distress signal before contact ceased. Even the service bots’ cameras were inaccessible, hinting at sabotage. This was serious news; the Aurelians were not known to be capable of much technical know-how, but then they’d never appeared on board a ship before either.

Rayne had sent out cruisers to the troubled Watcher 22 but, as it was orbiting a small moon above Aurelia, it was going to take a couple of days to reach. The defence shields thrown up by the planet were known to affect their moons too, so space jumping would still leave them some distance away.

At this point Giles coaxed his young companion to stand where Rayne could see her. “Tell the Ambassador what you told me, Willow.”

The girl blushed, thrilled to be talking to Earth’s highest emissary, she hesitated but, before long, was launching into her theory. “Um, well I tried to find common factors between the three stations, something that could explain why they were selected in particular. After all”, she gave a nervous laugh, “if I had to choose I would have put your own ship on the top of my list.” Rayne gave a little chuckle at this but looked uneasy. Willow continued, “They’re not in the same sector, or all planet adjacent or of the same age, but they do have one thing in common,” she paused, waiting for the Ambassador's encouraging nod before carrying on, “they all had a large Agripod attached. I believe that we have inadvertently created a doorway for the enemy to enter.”

At the blank look she received from the man on-screen she tried to explain. “Just as we discovered that we could travel incredible distances by entering wormholes or tunnels through the fabric of space, I think that the Aurelians travel between worlds, or from place to place on a planet’s surface, using the same network; one that connects living planets to each other. Back on Earth a few crackpots used to claim that the Earth was covered in so-called energy or Ley lines, and that prehistoric cultures had known about them, placing stones at points where their influence was strongest. Perhaps they had knowledge of this network.”

Rayne leaned forward, eyes gleaming with interest. “Go on, Willow, but can you explain why we haven’t gone crashing into planets while travelling along this energy superhighway?”

“I’m not sure,” the girl admitted, "but what if the universe is webbed by invisible arteries, some old and empty of lifeblood, yet functioning well enough for a ship to enter and leave for part of the way, and others, the ones the Aurelians use, alive and pulsing still. What if a connection with the life of a planet is required? And I do mean that literally. Ambassador, does Watcher 22 have an Agripod?”

“Why, yes, it does.”

“An Agripod contains tons of living soil, rocks and minerals transported from the planet’s surface. Thousands of plants, dozens of trees, a breathable, self-sustaining climate in microform - perhaps just large enough to be admitted into the body of the Universe.”

Both men looked stunned as the implications of this hit them. However bizarre, Willow’s explanation had the ring of truth about it.

Rayne rubbed his eyes tiredly, “What can we do?”

“Sir, I suggest you contact every remaining station with an Agripod and have them guard that area at all times, or be prepared to destroy them ourselves and be safe from attack.”

“But if we do that we’ll soon starve.”

Giles cut in. “Rayne, I’m taking a leap of faith here, but I believe that Anjell has had no part in this - perhaps he will let us ferry extra provisions from here or allow the proposed immigration process to be stepped up.”

“Do that, Giles, but don’t tell him the real reason. If he hasn’t worked out why we’re vulnerable then there’s no need to put ideas into his head.”

“Agreed.”

“By the way, we have a long-lost friend back in our neck of the woods, offering assistance.”

“Who?”

“The very Reverend Caleb has reappeared on the good ship Resurrection. Apparently he’s bringing us salvation.”

“But that’s impossible! He and his followers vanished years ago.”

“Well, now they’re back.”

“And how did he know we’d be needing help?”

“That’s a very good question.”

***

Buffy woke up from her nap in the sleeping quarters. Anjell and Giles had gone off to talk in private and the others - including Willow, Tarah and Dorn - had all drifted off to get some proper food. Forgoing nourishment for some quality time with a pillow and blankets, the rather confused girl had found an empty bed in the women’s block and flopped down onto it. A small part of her had hoped that Spike would seek her out and that she’d find him nestled next to her, but she was definitely alone now. Funny, she’d dreamt that he’d been right by her side, stroking her hand, murmuring sweet, sad things in her ear. Saying goodbye.

With a sudden panicky feeling, Buffy jolted out of bed and headed for a quick shower and change of clothes. She had a husband to find, and why didn’t that thought bother her more?

Still twisting her hair into an untidy bun as she walked into the Mess Hall, she spotted him straight away. Spike sat alone, shovelling a pile of scrambled eggs and pancakes into his mouth. Wearing a crisp white shirt, jacket clean and mended, sword and scabbard hanging from the back of his chair, the soldier looked ready for action. He saw her and smiled. The bruised lip had healed. Wiping his mouth on a napkin, Spike stood up and pulled out a chair for her.

“Hello, Buffy. Ready for some food yet?”

“That’s okay I can...” But he was already gone, returning in a trice with a plateful of just about everything on the counter, plus a tall glass of juice.

He resumed eating and didn’t look up. He was hiding something.

“What’s wrong, Spike?”

“We have to leave and return to Aurelia. Close the gate somehow so that the Terr-Khan can’t get through.”

“Well, that’s good, right? Gives me a chance to see your home, maybe meet those dragons you were going on about.”

“Not a social visit, Buffy, more like averting an Apocalypse.”

“Excitement, danger, alien monsters, sounds great. When do we leave?”

Spike finally met her eye.

“You don’t,” he said bluntly. “You’ll be safer here with your own people. If all goes well I’ll be back in a few weeks and then we’ll see…” He trailed off.

“Oh.” Buffy took a few seconds to digest this. “Wait, are you trying to get rid of me?” A surge of hurt swept up and threatened to drown the poor girl and some of it must have shown on her face.

He grabbed her hands in his. “No, Buffy, you’re still mine, er, my wife, but it’s too dangerous.”

The penny dropped.

“Wait, this is a woman thing, isn’t it? The Aurelian menfolk are off to battle while the wives stay at home and knit cunning sweaters for the troops, is that it?”

Spike seemed puzzled at her turn of phrase but shook it off. “Well, there are females in any army, is only natural to have a few around, males have certain... needs,” he looked really uncomfortable now, “plus there are one or two who can fight alongside us, but it isn’t easy for them. We aren’t ‘polite’, Buffy, our camp isn’t the place for you... Anjell says...”

“Anjell says what, exactly?”

“That you should stay out of the way. That I’d be distracted with you around. That you’re weak and can’t fight and if anything happened to you we’d have Giles, and the rest of his blasted army, on our backs, and we have enough enemies as it is.”

Buffy blinked. She stared at the congealing contents of her plate for a moment then stood up. Lifting the juice from the table and downing it in one, she gave Spike a look. A really pissed off look. Then she smiled - almost perkily.

“Be right back.”

Marching out of the hall and ignoring Spike as he hastily scrambled up to follow, she headed to where she’d last seen the General. He was still talking to Giles and was completely oblivious to the approaching danger.

“General Anjell!”

Anjell turned, a little surprised at Buffy’s sharp tone of voice.

The next he knew was the sensation of flying through the air before smacking hard into the wall twenty feet away.

Buffy slowly walked to where the dazed leader lay on the floor.

“I’m going too.” She said sweetly. “Sir!”

***

For a group of people who had spent the day reeling from one shock to the next, this latest event was still pretty special. As everyone stared open-mouthed, Giles gave a deep groan and pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for all hell to break loose. Spike, arriving on the scene a split second too late, took in the vision of Anjell lying crumpled against the wall and snorted with laughter before common sense kicked in. The telltale hiss of swords being unsheathed made him draw closer to Buffy and he glared around the room at the Aurelians in question, daring them to make a move.

Buffy seemed rooted to the spot, smile fading as the enormity of what she’d done hit home.

Anjell rose to his feet and lightly brushed himself down, eyes trained on his tiny assailant. Slowly crossing the room towards her, and well aware of Spike’s narrowing eyes, he barked, “Keep out of this, boy!”

“Sorry, but no!”

Without bothering to reply to Spike he towered over Buffy, scowling. “See, this is what happens with marrieds, this is why wives do not go on campaigns. I am not having one of my best men lose what little sense he has defending his mate’s honour. Your claim on him ensures obedience at home, in battle that’s a liability! I’ll accept that you are strong,” he paused, “unnaturally so... but you have no idea of what you’re getting into. You’ll be whining and pouting within two days on the road, and I am not having Spike compelled to run around fetching you extra blankets or rubbing your sore little feet, or pandering to your... other needs."

Affronted, Buffy folded her arms ready to lay into General Dinosaur when she caught Spike’s frozen rabbit expression.

“What claim?”

Now it was Anjell’s turn to look astonished. “The binding claim all females perform on their wedding night.”

Buffy’s voice was dangerously soft. “Remind me how that goes?”

Anjell actually blushed. “Well... er, you cuff or bind the wrists of your husband and just before the point of, um, sexual fulfilment, claim your ownership of him which he has to agree to. You then bite to draw and consume his blood. Finally you release him, leaving spiritual rather than physical ties to you.”

Buffy began to understand a few things. The painted tattoos, the red ribbon wrapped around their wrists and the letting and mingling of blood created a bond, but the marriage bed completed it. Those dangerous looking cuffs that had both intrigued and terrified her were intended for Spike! Droo had said that Aurelian males were brought up to obey their women at home but hadn’t said anything useful after that. Had that been on purpose? Buffy had rejected him though, leaving them both tingling and most definitely, wanting. Spike told her that sex was the cure, which was sort of true, while deliberately not revealing more. Had he and Droo conspired against her?

Eventually, he’d seduced her at the lake - which had been beyond incredible. She remembered being carried to the clearing, Spike coaxing and taking control, making her burn with firm strokes and soft lips. He’d held her wrists in his hand, binding them with the loosened bandage while teasing her body till she couldn’t think straight, insistently asking, demanding, “Tell me you’re mine!” And she’d agreed, but had broken free so that she could pull him closer. Buffy had rocketed to heaven by way of a spectacular orgasm with Spike wrapped firmly in her arms. Before he’d bitten her.

Two things struck her. One; the bastard had tried to get the upper hand and almost succeeded, and two; any lustful thoughts she’d been having since then were entirely down to her.

Buffy swivelled round to look at Spike who was almost trembling with the need to run.

“And if the husband were to perform the same ceremony on his wife then the effect would be the same?”

“Yes, but its never done, outlawed centuries ago... wait... you mean?” Anjell was horrified.

Buffy stepped in front of Spike and raised her wrists, holding them together. Then slowly, and pointedly, pulled them apart.

“I freed myself before you bit me!”

Spike’s eyes widened. In a flash she pulled a fist back and punched him on the nose. Stumbling, he clutched at his bleeding nostrils with a pained, “Ow!”

Turning to the general with a slight smile she continued as if nothing had happened.
“So, if the claiming thingy isn’t completed then both parties stay themselves, not controlled by the other?”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Then I’d like to, no, I need to go with you.”

Anjell knew defeat when he saw it; he could also sense a powerful connection between the bothersome pair, which now made no sense at all. But Droo had told him that Buffy would be very important to them in the future and, odd as that was, he knew better than to defy her visions. He really didn’t want to confront Spike about his attempt to claim the girl just yet, but he could understand his need not to be controlled by a human. Anjell would probably have done the same thing.

“Okay,” he ground out, “you can go…but keep away from Spike.”

“Not a problem!”

Anjell continued, “You’ll stay with the campfire women, earn your keep and obey orders.”

“Yes, sir!”

“And if I have any trouble from either of you,” he encompassed Spike with his glare, “you’ll both be very sorry indeed.”

***

Feeling curiously protective, Giles watched as Buffy zipped up her protective thermal outerwear, making ready for the experience of a lifetime; the first human to travel in this fashion, and one of very few to set foot on Aurelia. The mission would take them through some pretty inhospitable territory but, with a feeling of pride, he knew that this unusual young woman would survive whatever was thrown at her.

Earlier, he’d offered Anjell both men and equipment, but the general had politely turned him down, pointing out that with the protective magics still in place across Aurelia, the sophisticated technology present in hovasleds, coms and weapons would be rendered useless. Ruefully, Giles realised that a good old Smith and Wesson would be worth its weight in gold in such a society. A pity they were all in collections and museums back on earth.

Meanwhile, Buffy had pulled on her snow boots and was currently snapping on her faux fur lined hood, finishing off with gloves. Encased all in white, he could see her wide green eyes drinking in the preparations of her new companions. Largely ignoring the intruder in their midst they were buckling up sword belts, adjusting straps on ankle daggers and checking wicked axe blades for a keen edge. Finally, the soldiers fastened cloaks around their shoulders with heavy jewelled clasps, soft grey and white animal furs rippling to their ankles. Laughing and joking, with rough humour and ready grins, they looked like any group of men looking for trouble.

Walking over, Buffy looked up at Giles from the depths of her hood, biting her lip but looking determined for all that. In an uncharacteristic move he enfolded the girl in a warm hug before taking a step back with a gruff, “You’ll do us proud, Buffy.”

With a brave smile she nodded, before moving off to join the others.

As Buffy stood within the circle of screens erected outside she could still hear Tarah’s words of reassurance. “Don’t worry, the first time is always the worst - just don’t fight it.”

She and Dorn had said good-bye earlier, having decided to stay and help establish a camp for the Watcher immigrants and act as go-between if Droo, or another seer, had more warnings to add to the ever growing list of threats. Even Willow had been a bit tearful as Buffy made ready to leave, worried for her new friend.

The dishes of incense were now giving off a heady scent and a low masculine chanting started up from the travellers as they prepared to journey home. Despite the warnings, nothing could prepare Buffy for the terrible darkness. A fierce dragging sensation propelled her forward into an inky void and bone deep cold leeched her warmth away in an instant. Deprived of sight and senses, she began to lose herself and panic.

Just as she thought she’d start screaming, as if it would do any good, thin streams of light appeared, rushing past at a furious rate. She became aware of a cluster of glowing lights around her, moving with her. One of the glowy balls detached itself from the rest and came closer. Invisible hands drew her in and she felt herself pressed against a hard chest, warm tickles grazed her cheek as she was wrapped up in a cocoon of fur. Snaking herself around Spike’s comforting body she plummeted through space.

***

With a rough jolt the endless ride ceased and Buffy fell to her knees, fingers scrabbling in the earth as she gasped for breath. Then she threw up. With watery eyes she met a mixture of sniggering yet sympathetic faces. Spike had withdrawn to a safe distance and was trying to look unconcerned; it was Oss who helped her up. Handing her a flask she shakily opened it and took a deep swallow, choking as the fiery liquor burned her throat. Oss ignored her look of outrage and shrugged. “Here.” Handing her a twist of waxy paper she unwrapped it cautiously and sniffed at the sticky gum inside; it smelled of mint and aniseed. Popping the moist tablet in her mouth, the lurching sensation in her stomach eased after only a few chews. She smiled in gratitude.

They were standing on a hillside within a rough circle of stones, half buried under moss and tiny leafed plants. Below them a group of dwellings lay at the bottom of a steep valley, blending into a landscape of weathered rocks, grasses and gorse. To the west and north rose more hills, mottled by shadows from rapidly scudding clouds, and beyond them were the faint outlines of white laced mountains. A dull steel sky promised snow, and the sun, lying low on the horizon, painted swirls of orange, lemon and purple over the topmost crags. The sheer vastness of the landscape made her dizzy.

The soldiers set off quickly and quietly down the hill, alert for anything unusual. Strange sheep-like creatures, making much of grazing the prickly yellow flowers, completely ignored the visitors as they descended, but when a small child, wrapped heavily in furs, bobbed up from behind a rock, waving cheerfully, the group relaxed.

As they neared the buildings, Buffy could see thin wisps of smoke trailing from chimneys, and narrow pens containing more livestock. People were emerging now, dressed warmly in the muted colours of their surroundings. They bowed and called out greetings in an accent too heavy for Buffy to decipher, but she recognised relief on their faces. There was curiosity for her too, and a couple of raised eyebrows at her unusual outfit, now covered in grass stains.

Anjell strode ahead, his normally grim countenance softening a little. They walked through the narrow paved streets until they came to a building, larger than the rest, where Buffy could hear the sounds of laughter and loud conversation. The heavily studded door was pushed open and a blast of warmth hit them as they entered the inn. In contrast to its austere outer shell, the inside of the large room was a revelation.

A mass of people, mostly soldiers, were seated on benches and chairs at heavy wooden tables, eating and drinking. Nicked with small gouges and patterned with overlapping dark circles, all the furniture was nonetheless lovingly polished to a deep amber. The floor was of slate slabs but the walls were alive with colour from thick tapestries, depicting the view outside in rich greens and blues, a vibrant sun picked out in gold thread gleamed over fields of flowing grass dotted with white fleeced animals and their young. A summer scene. An enormous fire, filled with logs and what looked like pinecones, blazed in a great hearth at the far end of the hall, and Buffy could smell wood smoke, ale and roasting meat.

As the newcomers were spotted there was a scramble as soldiers tried to rise, but Anjell signalled for them to remain seated and made his way to an empty table. A large woman bustled out of a side door flanked by two youths and a young girl, all with the same wild red hair as their formidable mother. Barking out orders, her offspring leapt to help the group remove their cloaks and sword belts before scurrying off, buried under their weight. They sat down, and the children returned with trays laden with pottery jugs and mugs which they set on the table before disappearing again.

Buffy found herself sandwiched between two of Anjell’s men who had, up till now, ignored her; a tall dark haired Aurelian named Scarr, who said little, and a wiry little figure called Brack. The deep grooves on Brack’s face and criss-crossing lines from past injuries running over his close shaved scalp, revealed an old, experienced fighter, as did his sharp brown eyes that missed nothing. He was currently looking at her with something like amusement and slid a cup full of liquid along the table. “Here, Earthgirl, get your innards around that.”

Sensing a challenge, Buffy raised the cup in a mock toast and took a deep swig, praying that she’d survive it. It was delicious. Warmth ran down to her toes as the spiced ale, sweetened with honey, danced on her tongue. She moaned with pleasure and Brack chuckled. When the children returned with an enormous tureen, a stack of bowls and - thank god - spoons, she happily accepted ladles full of the heavy stew and a chunk of warm bread. Quite frankly, if this was primitive food then she was eager to adapt to it.

Spike, who was sitting at the other end of the table, and well aware of Anjell next to him, said little, only gazing over once to give Brack a warning look as he made to refill Buffy’s cup. Smirking, the old soldier nodded and added a large measure of hot water to her drink to make it less potent.

As the evening wore on, and the ale and her full belly added to her drowsy state, Buffy found herself leaning heavily on her new companion, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. A conversation followed with the woman in charge and Buffy was led, unresisting, to a set of narrow wooden stairs. At the top, was a long landing with half a dozen doors leading off. The innkeeper guided her into a room and, with exaggerated miming actions, indicated the clean bed and thick coverlets, a basin and earthcloset hidden in a wooden box. Thanking her, Buffy put the latch on the door as the woman left, stumbled through her bedtime preparations before removing her outer clothes and boots and sinking deep into the covers. She fell asleep instantly, her arm and one knee unconsciously stretching out across the sheets, seeking something, someone, in the empty space.

***

Watching a drowsy Buffy being led away by the mistress of the inn, Spike frowned a little - should be me doing that - but Anjell was still very much present and besides, he really didn’t know where he stood with her right now. The punch on the nose had smarted, yes, but seeing Buffy angry and hurt after discovering his trickery left him twisting in guilt.

There was relief too.

So determined not to be controlled himself, Spike hadn’t considered how she would feel if their positions were reversed. Deep down he was glad he’d failed. She’d handled it well too, had to give her that, plus, it hadn’t prevented her from joining the expedition.

Anjell might think she was there as an interfering wife, but Spike had learned quite a bit from his conversations with Buffy, enough to recognise a soldier in search of a mission, one with an eagerness for adventure. A bit like himself.

Fully expecting an extended lecture, he was relieved when other officers began to gather round to discuss the campaign ahead. A local tracker named Fell, had information and his report was grim. A tall angular figure with weather-beaten features, he looked uncomfortable under so much scrutiny. A large shaggy creature hopped up on the bench with him, fixing them with intelligent yellow eyes. Seemingly satisfied, it lowered its head onto massive paws and promptly fell asleep.

“Was in the north-most territories, hunting down a pair of Polggarus. Stupid needle fisted critters they was, but dangerous with it, taking down wool-backs and stray villagers alike. My wulf pup, Jak, caught up with their scent and we headed up Twisted Pass to find their lair. Found more than that when we got there. Never seen such a mess, both were dead…no, not dead, ripped to pieces. Them bone skewers they have, broke off and stuck in their eyes. Ribs snapped open, all scooped out and eaten up. Even Jak wouldn’t touch what was left. We got curious as to what could do such a thing, so we carried on and kept it cautious, just in case.”

The tracker stopped for a moment as if summoning up the right words, gazing into the middle distance as he recalled the scene.

“We went further than was comfortable really, bein’ so close to the Ashlands, but Jak had gone red-eye on me and I knew that he would go it alone if he had to. Besides, knew whatever could do such harm would be even worse for us than Polggarus in the long run. Was another day before the trail ended and we saw them... Monsters, three of them, straight out of a feary-tale.

"I knew what they was, from shivering at my Naa’s knee when just a scrap, listening to her tell how the goddess herself had sacrificed all to destroy the nameless one and how the wicked army of Terr-Khan had been struck down, killing the land with their remains.

"They were arguing amongst themselves, all grunt and growl as they knocked each other about. Would have left then, no point in getting killed, but then we heard a crying and whimpering. Jak and me settled in to watch and eventually the Terr-Khan left camp, heading east. It didn’t look like they were coming back.

"We climbed down, but by then the cries had stopped. We found him lying in the bushes. They’d captured a Gemhunter, could tell that by his pigtail and those stupid ear-rings they always wear and, normally, I wouldn’t give spit to help one of those grave-robbing pricks if they was on fire, but this was harsh even for them.”

The wulf, responding to his master’s indrawn breath, raised his great head and stretched out a little so that he could rest it on Fell’s lap, gazing up until the tracker absently began to scratch him behind one ear.

“They’d pulled out his guts and stretched them out in all directions. Weighted the ends down with stones, as if he was going anywhere after that. Thought the poor soul had gone to the great Beyond, but no, his eyes fluttered open and he just looked grateful to see me. A healer might have been able to stuff him back together, but we both knew we’d not get to one in time. All I could offer was a quick death.

"Before I gave him peace, he told me that the Terr-Khan had questioned him - seems they do have a rough idea of our language. Wanted to know where to find Saya’s Axe, which is ridiculous I know, and of course the Gemhunter had no answers. Was very important to them though.

"Look, I’m sorry not to have more, but we both need our sleep; been a long few days it has. Be pleased to take you back there if you want, soon as I’m rested.”

Anjell rose and shook the Aurelian’s hand firmly.

“Of course, Fell, and thank you for this information. It’s extremely valuable. I’ll have troops ready tomorrow; you and your wulf can guide them. They’ll capture, or, if not, kill these creatures before they take any more lives.”

Once the tracker and his furry companion had loped off in search of a good night’s sleep, Anjell brought the group up-to-date with other events. He spread out a large map of the region along the table, punctuating his words with jabs of his finger along the detailed parchment. The others gathered round, eager to take in the unfamiliar place names written in florid calligraphy.

“Until now we’ve had five known sightings of Terr-Khan in the south, west and east. If Nesst is behind this then why risk discovery before making an all out attack? No, he’s searching for something important, something he needs. Thanks to Fell we now have an idea of what that is.

"Three sacred places have been destroyed, along with the seers and wise-women who tended to them. Saya’s Axe may be a myth, but where else would such an artefact be kept? Nesst was known to be an expert in ancient history and the dark arts, so what we need now are magicians and scholars of our own. I’ll consult with Droo and the University elders, then some of you are going on a treasure hunt.”

The ample innkeeper had returned with a large silver flagon of fresh blood and some delicate glasses. She poured, and they all paused briefly to give thanks for the life of the animal that fed them. She winked at Spike and gestured upstairs. Anjell, not missing a thing, resumed talking.

“Captain Zander and his men are heading north across the Ashlands to find the old city ruins. They’ll try to establish how the portal there was breached and whether we have an army to contend with. Cordella the Seer is with them to hide their presence and will close the way in to Aurelia if she can.”

Spike snickered. “Terr-Khan and Cordella? Poor Zander!”

Ignoring him, the general rose up from the table. “Well, I for one am going to make the most of an actual bed. Spike, you can share my room. I insist.”

Recognising defeat when he saw it, Spike huffed and followed his infuriating leader, and sometimes, best friend, up the stairs.

***

Morning arrived on the shrill rattle of curtain rings. Buffy blinked at the sudden light as a figure bustled over to where she was lying, an untidy halo of wispy red hair revealing the innkeeper of the night before. A large folded towel made a soft whoomph as it hit the bedspread and the grinning woman gestured for her to get dressed, clucking disapprovingly at the grass stained state of her weather protection suit as Buffy struggled into it.

They tiptoed quietly downstairs; the room of the night before was deserted, all evidence of the hall’s previous occupants swept and scrubbed away. Following the woman through a small door, Buffy found herself in a large courtyard. A narrow building studded with doors lay on the right and at the centre of the space was a circular structure about twenty feet across, the roof covered in dense thatch held down by large stones tied within a net of thick rope. The only entrance was at the end of a short tunnel attached to the dome. Retrieving the towel from Buffy’s arms, the innkeeper, who finally introduced herself as Flo, delved into a pocket of her skirts before producing a small hand-carved toothbrush and a twisted leaf. She then pushed her firmly towards the outbuildings.

Unsurprisingly, Buffy found another earth-closet, a stone sink, a jug of fresh water, and a highly polished metal mirror, which gave her reflection a soft ethereal quality. Strangely, the room was quite warm. The unwrapped leaf held a fine powder which, when wetted, made a passable toothpaste. Feeling fresher, she rejoined Flo and entered what turned out to be a bath-house. Throaty female singing filtered through an inner door, something about a soldier with a wondrous big sword? Buffy was used to having little privacy but she drew the line at communal bathing so crossed her fingers. Stripping quickly, she was mildly alarmed when Flo snatched up her dirty clothing, leaving her wearing only the towel. Bracing herself, she pushed open the inner door, hesitating when a wave of heat hit her.

“Eww, shut the door, you’re letting all the cold in.”

Hastening to obey, Buffy peered through the foggy air, trying to see the owner of the voice. At the centre of the space stood a column of black and white flecked granite, steaming water bubbling down from its top. Three shallow dishes encircled the fountain, each larger than the last as it overflowed. Finally, a collection of scaled creatures carved from serpentine lay open-mouthed at its base, endlessly spitting water into narrow channels. These in turn radiated out like the spokes of a wheel to feed a dozen small oval pools.

The floor was beautiful. Lapis and turquoise tiles formed a circular geometric design, its formal lines interwoven with representations of leaping fish, eels and other finned things, picked out in pearly white marble. This was a special place, lovingly cared for and very old. As her eyes adjusted Buffy could make out several forms reclining in the water – one to each bath, all were female. Moving forwards she slipped and nearly fell. The owner of the husky singing voice spoke.

“Walk on the diamonds, shellhead, unless you want to mash that pretty face on the floor - though it might be fun watching you go tit over twat.”

Sure enough, Buffy felt little raised bobbles under her toes where the diamond patterns ran. A high-pitched giggle came from further away.

“Faythee, stop with the mean. She’s only human, not clever like us,” pausing she addressed Buffy slowly and loudly. “Welcome, earthling, this is where we wash to get clean…um… do you know what a bath is?”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy now stood between two women; both were splashing languidly and eying her with naked curiosity. An empty pool lay between them.

“Ignore the daft cudder, her brain has slipped between her legs and she’s had all sense banged out of her. Name’s Faythe, not Faythee, and she’s Harmonee,” she said, stressing the last syllable with a deliberate whine.

“Oh, you!” Harmonee huffed and pouted, folding her arms under generous breasts only to disappear under the surface with a gurgle. Coming up spluttering, she cast an irate look at her cackling companion, patting at her now sodden hair. Harmonee was blonde with rounded cheekbones and pretty blue eyes. Faythe was also curvy, but she had thick dark hair that crinkled in the moist heat; sloe eyes appraised Buffy under thick black lashes, full lips widening into a big smirk.

“So this is the lucky creature who gets a Spike for life. Nice going girly.”

“Oh yes,” chimed in Harmonee, “congratulations! You know if you need any tips about what makes Spikey really growl then you only have to ask.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Buffy ground out, not wanting to dwell on the implications of that statement.

Purposefully dropping the towel, she lowered herself onto the lip of the pool. Harmonee was contorting her head trying to see around her.

“What!” Buffy snapped.

“Oh nothing.” Harmonee tried for innocence but failed. “It’s just that I thought humans had tails and furry feet.” She looked disappointed. Buffy closed her eyes, counting to ten as she sank into the blissfully hot water, fully prepared to ignore her irritating companions and bathe her cares away. A dish containing soaps and glass-stoppered bottles was within easy reach… perfect.

Despite her reservations, Buffy found herself quite liking these women as the peaceful warmth seeped into her bones. Both liked to chat and each had a very different outlook on life. Harmonee was with the army to give pleasure to the soldiers, and, most definitely, to get some back for herself. She helped out around camp when she wasn’t picking and choosing her company for the night - usually an officer or an unusually fine specimen from the ranks. She was the acknowledged queen among the ‘comforters’ and, though expressing a wish to settle down one day, Harmonee was in no rush.

Faythe also enjoyed her sexual liaisons, but she was also one of the rare Aurelian women who also enjoyed ‘a bit of violence’. An able fighter - even Harmonee confirmed this - she led a group of six doting males on small missions devised by Anjell to keep her out of his hair.

Both women shared a sense of adventure that Buffy guessed was a world away from the civilized life enjoyed by most of their society. Women in the army could also be healers, cooks or menders, while others kept the armoury oiled and sharpened, fletched arrows, dispensed beer and spirits and sang sad songs for the dead and dying. Males had to look after their personal weapons, and uniforms, hunt for food and set up the tents and go to war.

As if reading her mind Faythe leaned across to face Buffy.

“So,” she drawled, “have you chosen yet?”

“Chosen?”

“Do you want to keep the campfires burning and make sure your honey and his mates are fed and watered, or do you want to fight demons?”

The answering gleam in Buffy’s eyes was all the answer she needed.

***

Back in the changing room, Buffy found her clothing had been replaced by a worn but spotlessly clean outfit of snug suede pants in dove, a heavy cream woollen shirt that came to mid thigh, and a long grey coat lined with a thin layer of incredibly soft fur. The coat had been carefully mended and the shirt sleeves were too long, but with the cuffs turned over Buffy almost felt like a native. She suspected that she was wearing clothes that Flo’s son had outgrown. Thankfully her boots were still there, now with a pair of long fluffy red socks poking out from their tops.

Harmonee and Faythe got dressed alongside her. Harmonee squeezed into a pink gown with a low, tight bodice, before fastening a heavy cloak about herself. It was bright red with black fur trim, the silver clasp shaped like a unicorn. Faythe’s outfit was all business with a side order of sex. In black from head to toe, she wore skin tight yet flexible leather pants, a short fitted jacket and sturdy boots, the only hint of colour was red laces that were doing a poor job of securing the shirt across her bosom. Buffy wondered if they were both prone to chest colds.

Slinging a black cloak across her arm, Faythe opened the outer door, gesturing for the others to go through.

“Don’t know about you but I could eat a scabby werewolf. Breakfast awaits.”

As they entered the hall a group of males were waiting for them impatiently. “About time,” someone muttered as they trooped past into the freezing morning air.

“Nice outfit.” Spike’s amused eyes met Buffy’s as he slipped by with the others. She blushed before remembering that she was still mad and pointedly ignored him. With a little sigh, Spike hesitated then left.

***

Her stomach filled with sweetened porridge, biscuits peppered with raisins and dried fruit, and cinnamon flavoured kush, Buffy felt pretty good. Once Harmonee had left to prettify herself and rescue her hair, Faythe recounted the news of the night before, including Fell’s encounter with the Terr-Khan and the hunt for Saya’s Axe. A strange feeling ran through Buffy at this, and she knew somehow that this was important news. It was odd how the legendary warrior kept cropping up.

Faythe clicked her fingers, bringing Buffy out of her musings.

“You still with me?”

“Um, yes, sorry, what were you saying?”

“Just that if you want some action while Anjell is examining his toenails and waiting for his spies to report back, then I have a little mission planned for today. Are you up for it?”

Grinning at her sister-in-arms, Buffy readily answered.

“Count me in.”

***

A short while later, Buffy met up with Faythe outside the inn. A small group of males she didn’t recognise hovered in the shadows, staring with no little fascination at the newcomer. All were exceptionally handsome specimens, and each one was regarding Buffy like a cat presented with a juicy mouse swimming in a dish of cream.

“Alright, boys, put your eyes back in and let’s get out of here.”

Obediently, the soldiers followed, treading softly as they moved through narrow lanes and back alleys, no one more so than Buffy who suspected that Anjell hadn’t intended to let her out of his sight. What Spike would think of her slipping away with Faythe - who was obviously trouble with a capital 'T' - was anyone’s guess. Still, she couldn’t care less what he thought, she told herself firmly. With barely suppressed excitement, they passed a few sleepy villagers, greeting them casually before quickening their step a little.

Following a hunch, Buffy turned to her nearest companion, an angelic looking young man with a mop of dark curls and puppy dog eyes whose name was Ennico.

“Why do I think that this ‘mission’ isn’t entirely on the up and up?”

He grinned, teeth white against olive skin. “Don’t know what this ‘up and up’ is Buffee, but if you mean what I think then all I can say is that our mistress is good at guessing what the general would have us do, before he actually thinks of it.”

“Hmm, that’s what I thought.”

***

About an hour later they had left the little valley behind and were in the dip of a new landscape. Now at the edge of a dense forest, and well away from civilization, Faythe raised her fist to halt the party.

“Listen up, lads, here’s the situation; there’s a hive of skeelers somewhere in this area, they’ve got the thirst and are killing livestock. The villagers will be next. Our mission is to seek and destroy.” Waiting for the murmurs of surprise and anticipation to die down, Faythe continued, “Aim for their belly for a kill, or slash their wings to bring them down, but be careful where you tread as their jabbers can go right through your boots. Don’t waste your energy, don’t panic, work back to back, and be alert at all times. There could be a handful or a hundred, and every damn one will be out for your blood.”

Grinning, Faythe gave her men a lewd wink. “With luck we’ll all be licking something sweet and sticky by lunchtime.”

Turning from her rather flushed men she addressed Buffy, “Bit late to ask, but do you know how to use these?” Handing over a sword and long dagger, she raised a challenging eyebrow. Buffy examined the fine blades and smiled in return.

“I’m a fast learner.”

Faythe snorted. “I just bet you are.”

Buffy buckled the belt and tucked the sword in its scabbard within easy reach, then strapped the dagger to her left thigh, Aurelian style. These skeelers were in for a big surprise.

***

One minute they were cursing and stumbling through the thick undergrowth, no sign of anything except trees and more trees, and the next they were in a clearing and under attack.

It turned out that skeelers were a lot like monstrous bees, with a wingspan of about four feet from tip to tip - which somehow kept their impossibly fat bodies aloft - the black and yellow striped insects came right for them. Vicious looking black stingers, maybe ten inches long, protruded from the base of their abdomens, repeatedly thrusting at the head, throat and shoulders of the group. There were already a couple of dozen and, by the low angry buzz getting ever louder, more were on their way.

When one almost managed to skewer her face, Buffy automatically twisted away, jerking her sword up to pierce its furry body. Dying, it dropped like a rock to land in a burst of innards.

“Oh, Buffy, one other thing,” Faythe paused at her back, now occupied with several of the things, lopping off jabbers with every sweep of her blade, “don’t get stung, venom’s deadly.”

“Great,” muttered Buffy, “attack of the killer bees!”

Getting into a rhythm of ducking and lashing up at any skeeler within range, the sword in her right hand, dagger in her left, their attackers were soon piling up on the ground. Everyone else was similarly occupied and the grass was becoming decidedly stripy.

***

An age later, and liberally spattered with gore, Buffy allowed herself a weak “Yay!” as the last of the enemy hit the ground with a wet splat.

With a yell of triumph, Faythe punched the air in victory, yelling, “Yesss!” before hugging the nearest soldier in an entirely unleaderlike way. Turning her grin on Buffy she said. “Come on admit it; that was fun!”

Wiping at some gloop sliding down her cheek, only managing to smear it further, Buffy laughed. “Yes, that was fun. Don’t know why we bothered bathing first though.”

Placing her arm companionably about Buffy’s shoulders, Faythe called out to the others. “Come on, let’s go collect our real prize.”

***

Heading in the direction the attack had come from, the party eventually found their nest. Several enormous trees rose up before them, dwarfing their leafy cousins. Easily twelve feet in girth, they were covered in flaky red bark and wound tightly with thick creepers, shiny with frost. Buffy was reminded of a picture in one of her cherished childhood vid books; ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’.

“Watch out for stragglers,” Faythe called out, rubbing her hands together briskly and reaching for a sturdy vine. The creepers easily bore her weight and she was soon scaling her leafy ladder. “Last one up is a human... oops, sorry.” She looked down and snickered unapologetically.

Smiling back insincerely, Buffy selected her own tree and began to climb. The cold bit into her fingers and she focussed instead on beating Faythe to the top.

At fifteen feet, Buffy realised that she didn’t like heights. At twenty-five she was sweating, despite the cold, and trying not to whimper like a baby. A faint rustle below her nearly caused her to lose her grip but in the next moment the fresh faced features of Ennico swam into view, his slender arm gripping her waist and pushing her back into the tree’s embrace.

“Don’t look down, mistress. We’re nearly there now.”

Sure enough, the next cloud of leafy branches parted to reveal a dense platform made of organic matter; it looked like chewed bark held together with gluey spit to form an unsavoury crust…which is probably what it was. Swarming past her, the soldier rolled over the edge and got to his feet, bouncing a little. “See, safe and sound,” he said, reaching down to grab her hand and haul her up.

Clinging to the trunk were two massive beehives, both about ten feet high and covered in golden ridges. There was a large hole in the tree next to them, its edges worn smooth with use. With a flourish Ennico drew his sword and slashed at the first hive.

A hundred or so enormous, red, wriggling larvae spilled out.

“Aaagh!” Buffy nearly tipped over the edge as she reeled back in disgust, the squirming contents of the hive now flowing around her feet. Laughing delightedly, Ennico plucked one up with the point of his blade and held it in his fingers. Then he bit into it with relish, almost swooning with pleasure at the blood-filled feast.

“I crawled all the way up here for, for this!” Buffy shrieked. “It may have escaped your notice, but I do. Not. Eat. These!”

Licking his lips, he whipped up his sword again and broke open the second hive. “No, but you’ll like this, mistress.”

Rich, golden, honeycomb, completely maggot free, began oozing through the wall of the hive. It smelled of heather and wild herbs, and filled her senses. Tentatively, she broke off a little piece and touched it with her tongue.

“Oh, my, God.”

It was almost indescribably wonderful. It tasted of hot summer days, and nature, and was unbearably sweet. There was something else in it too, something that went straight to her head.

As Ennico feasted on honey-dipped larvae, Buffy forgot her previous hysteria, concentrating now on pulling chunks of the waxy treasure free from the hive. She moved to a safe distance with her banquet, sitting down contentedly with her feet dangling over the edge of the shelf.

This was indeed a prize.

Buffy watched as Ennico began carefully parcelling chunks of comb in broad leaves and then placed each in a light, tight meshed net he’d pulled from his backpack. His task complete, he secured the net to a spiderfine rope and carefully lowered the bundle over the platform, guiding it slowly to the ground below.

Filled with wellbeing, her senses heightened, and just a little dizzy, Buffy looked properly at her surroundings. When had leaves become so fascinating? They were dancing now like jewels, shifting in and out of the light. Tiny insects with iridescent wings were singing her tiny insect songs and the tree’s branches began to slowly crack and stretch, straining for the sun. Even the savage skeelers had their place here. She was at one with the world and everything was as it should be.

Glancing towards her companion, Buffy could see by his beatific expression that he felt the same way. Smiling, he moved closer to sit beside her. Lightly clasping her wrist, he brought her hand up to his mouth and began to lick the sticky honey from her fingers.

This felt wrong. Pulling her hand back she tried to glare at this fellow creature whose smouldering gaze was filled with undisguised lust.

“Stop that, what are you doing?”

“Oh, Buffee, you are so beautiful and tasty to me. We should be together just like this. I can worship you like a true Aurelian, I will bring you offerings to lay at your feet, and let you trample me under your pretty heels, if you will just let me wrap you in my arms and lick you all over.”

“No! There will be no licking of me, or anything else.” She gulped, her brain suddenly filled with images of being licked all over by Spike. “Besides, I have a husband.” she added shakily.

“Ah, Spike, he is a fine Aurelian, is he not? But he is not enough to satisfy a goddess such as you. You were made to rule over many men, Buffee. Let me prove it.”

Slapping at his now grabby hands, Buffy got to her feet unsteadily.

“I’m flattered, Ennico, truly, but I’m really not into that. Don’t make me hurt you.”

“Ah, to be hurt by you would be so good. But I see that I have gone too far with you. I will behave from now on.”

Buffy looked at him sceptically, his face was trying for remorse but his mouth twitched slightly.

“Just help me get back down. Okay?”

“Yes, my mistress.”

“And you can stop calling me that anytime.”

***

Buffy decided that coming down was even harder than going up, but with a strange feeling of euphoria flooding her veins she simply didn’t care. Ennico was assisting her descent by placing a hand on her bottom at every opportunity, only removing it when she protested, with a cheeky “Sorry, mistress,” before sneaking it back again.

They were about halfway down when a loud growl split the air. Ennico froze and went quite pale before hastily muttering, “I go now.” In an instant he was running along a thick branch and disappearing into the next tree, leaving Buffy clinging to the bark.

“Wait, where are you going?”

Peering down she could just see the foliage below part to reveal the furious features of... Spike.

***

Part of Buffy’s brain, the part where something like common sense reigned, was urging her to make like a monkey and scamper in the general direction of anywhere else. Unfortunately, the highly intoxicated rest of her was blinking in surprise at the swiftly moving figure below. In her haze she lost her footing and slid several feet down the vines. Now, with one leg wedged firmly inside a creeper, she lost her handhold too, finding herself upside down with one knee bent against the tree, arms flailing in slow motion.

“Ooh it’s Spikey, and you’re all the wrong way up. Hellooo, Shpikey! Are you after my honey? ‘Cos it’s all mine you know. No licking without permish, permiss, without my say so.” Getting into the surreal moment she warmed to her subject.

“I fought the bad bumple bees – snicker-snack, stripy bees, in the trees, Spike’s a tease,” she started singing.

Even in this unusual position Buffy could see Spike’s eyes change from blue to gold.

“Spiiike,” she started to wail, “I’m all stuck. Get me down!”

Spike was now muttering something under his breath; she couldn’t make out all the words but it didn’t sound very nice. When he was about six feet away she could see his face clearly and gulped. He was livid.

Suddenly his expression changed. In a flash a dagger appeared in his hand, and he threw it straight at her. With a yelp, Buffy closed her eyes, only to open them again when an enormous skeeler - twice the size of the others - went hurtling past her, the blade firmly embedded in its thorax. Angling himself out of its way, Spike continued up until he finally reached her, gripping her body with one arm until she was upright again. Twisting herself to grab him around the neck, she started to giggle as he worked to free her leg.

“You’re my white knight, come to rescue his damson in distress.” Now clinging to him fully and intent on biting his ear, she nuzzled up, ignoring the tic in his cheek and the strange grinding sounds his fangs were making.

A group had gathered at the base of the tree by the time they reached the bottom, gathering up the honey to take back to the village. A sheepish Ennico was trying to hide behind Faythe, who was laughing uproariously. Instead of putting Buffy down Spike held her in an iron grip, and strode further into the forest. He said not a word.

Coming to a stream, well away from the others, he finally lowered her to the ground. Taking a good look at her rescuer, Buffy decided to run; she didn’t get far. Gripped by the back of her collar, she was dragged to the water’s edge and pushed to her knees, her head dunked into the freezing water.

“Aah!” She came up spluttering. “Cold.”

“Soon have you warmed up, love.”

Before the indignant, wet girl could react, she found herself upside down again, her belly pressed to a hard thigh, legs trapped under his and a forearm pinning her shoulders.

The smack, when it came, was such a surprise that Buffy almost didn’t notice it. She wasn’t so lucky with the next, or the one after. As heat bloomed across her vulnerable bottom, and she squirmed to get free, she could make out odd, disjointed sentences.

“Stupid. Stupid girl!" Pause. " … know better than to go off… Tan your arse… Could have been killed!”

When her frequent yelps, threats of violence, and pleas for mercy got her nowhere Buffy finally gave up struggling and went limp, sobbing quietly over his lap.

Spike stopped.

Almost gently brushing the hair away from the back of her neck, he leaned down to grip it carefully in his fangs, not breaking the skin. The very hard hand that had caused so much discomfort now stroked her through the thin fabric of her pants, calming and caressing, till the burning eased and a fire of a different kind began to spread along her nerve endings.

Shifting his body, he eased his fingers between her thighs until she opened them voluntarily. His left arm supporting her head, he withdrew his fangs, giving her the freedom to move if she wished, while continuing to tease, each stroke of her sensitised flesh now making her jump in anticipation of the next. Pleased when her breathing became rapid and uneven, and her little fingers started rhythmically kneading his leg, he placed two fingers against her clit and rubbed quickly until she arched up and froze, crying out in release.

Sighing, Spike lifted her up and moved her until she straddled him. Buffy gazed into his eyes, flushed and a little tearful.

“I’m sorry, Buffy. I was worried sick. I lost control. I punished you." Leaning back he reached into his jacket and withdrew a fine woollen scarf.

“And now your pretty hair is all wet and you’ll likely catch a fever. Here.” Gathering her hair away from her face Spike squeezed out the last drops of water from it before wrapping the scarf, turban style, around her head.

Buffy blinked at him solemnly. “You were worried about me?”

Whatever his reply, it was lost to her ears as she succumbed to the after effects of too much adrenaline, the drugging honey, the lassitude that comes after a good weep and the brain melting high of an amazing orgasm. Pitching forward onto his chest, Buffy was out like a light.

Spike remained perfectly still, wondering when he’d ever learn.

After discovering that Buffy and Faythe had scampered off together, he’d not been unduly worried, seeing it as a perfect opportunity to find her and talk without Anjell breathing down his neck. On his way through the village he’d met a woman selling woollen goods and purchased the scarf on impulse, a gift to sweeten a girl. Following the trail had been easy, finding the right words to say when they met up, a lot less so. However, all the speeches in his head had vanished upon reaching the scattered remains of the skeelers. Cursing Faythe, and dimly aware that if Buffy was hurt, he’d know it, Spike began to run, fear lending him extra speed.

***

He eventually found her.

To say he was astonished to see Buffy being groped halfway up a tree didn’t really do the word justice. When she added years to his life by almost falling and then had the audacity to find it funny, it made him want to both kiss and kill her at the same time. The sudden appearance of the hive queen, inches away from his oblivious wife, made his heart stop.

Once they’d made it safely to the ground, fright had slipped seamlessly into anger and a primitive part of him, the part that was determined she accept him fully before he’d dance to all of her tunes, had leapt at the chance to exact a little punishment. Spike suspected that Buffy would want his own hide seriously bruised for this once she recovered.

So much for apologizing.

As Droo’s second most favoured lover, Spike had willingly given her everything, ever hopeful of more in return. Army life brought him the affections of other women too, and he’d occasionally pass time between soft thighs till daybreak, enjoying pleasure without commitment. Regretful that Droo didn’t mind a bit.

Deep in his marrow Spike craved more. Somehow Buffy had become that ‘more’ and at that moment, Spike vowed to make things better between them.

Provided she ever spoke to him again.

With a soft laugh, that sounded only a little like crying, Spike cuddled his girl close, while he still could.

***

It was fully dark by the time Spike returned with a gently snoozing Buffy pressed to his chest. At this time of year daylight hours were precious, and only his keen eyesight had prevented him from pitching them both into a stream or gully on the way back.

Still oblivious, Buffy murmured a low “Mmm," as he carefully shifted her weight to push open the door. A wave of warm air laced with wood smoke enveloped them, and the girl bundled up in his cloak scrunched up her face as the changes intruded on her dreams.

It was still early, with only a few villagers present - no doubt hopeful of snagging the choicest meat before the soldiers arrived for supper. Scarr and Brack were in the corner playing dice and looked up just long enough to grin before resuming their game without comment. Relieved that Anjell wasn’t around to give him yet another extended lecture, Spike mounted the narrow staircase leading to Buffy's room.

Once he’d settled her on the bed, Spike tried to part her from his cloak but, with a surprisingly strong grip, Buffy wound it back over her shoulders and snuffled her face into the soft fur. Giving up, he smiled and went to pour her a large glass of water, placing it within reach on her night table before carefully unwinding the scarf wrapped around her head. Spike couldn't stop himself from spending a good few minutes running his fingers through the tangled mess of her hair until it lay in a mass of gold-flecked waves across her pillow. Leaning down, he rubbed his thumb along her soft, plump, lower lip then gave her a light kiss.

“Night, love.”

Mission over, he stood up, unconsciously rubbing his arms as they recovered from carrying Buffy for so long. Now, a few choice words with Faythe and that pond-life Ennico, a good feed and a few ales, and he’d be ready for bed too.

***

Spike was having a glorious time; Buffy was underneath him, writhing in pleasure, her eyes wide as he pushed and withdrew inside her eager body, her little hands grabbing and stroking, along his back and tensing buttocks in encouragement. With a feral smile she bared her teeth, huffing at each energetic thrust. Her delicious crinkle tipped breasts jutted and jolted against his chest with their combined movements, and a bead of sweat trickled down her flushed neck. He licked it off. Buffy responded by arching her head back, offering up her pulsing throat.

“Please, Spike, please.”

Delighted, Spike bent down to nuzzle there with little sucks and nips, getting her ready. His heart sang.

“Wakey, wakey, Spike!”

Spike’s dream was doused, literally, in a deluge of cold water...very cold water. He leapt up from his bed, snarling and disorientated, throwing tiny chips of ice around the room as he shook his head like a dog.

Buffy stood a safe distance away, feet apart, holding an empty jug loosely by the handle. She looked both annoyed and smug.

Spike’s eyes homed in on his attacker; they were golden, narrow slits, his entire body tense with the need to pounce and punish. Buffy watched in fascination as small rivulets of water continued to descend his completely naked form. An odd sense of deja-vu hit just as her eyes were drawn to his rather impressive erection. Buffy fought the urge to move closer and examine it more thoroughly. See if it was as silky and as hard as she remembered.

Before she could allow herself to be completely distracted, and who wouldn’t be, Buffy rounded on her soggy victim.

"You despicable man...thing! Don’t think I don’t remember. You dragged me out of a tree, you half drowned me, and then you smacked me on my..." Buffy gulped at the next sequence in her foggy memories.

Spike stopped scowling. Folding his arms, not caring a bit that he was cold, soaked and naked, he brazenly looked her over. Even her fetchingly flushed face couldn’t disguise a drug-induced hangover. ‘No wonder she’s grumpy.’

“First,” he drawled. “You went sneaking off without telling anybody. Mistake. For all you knew those woods could have been teeming with Terr-Khan. So I follow your trail and find scores of dead skeelers - any one of which could have killed you...” He paused, swallowing before continuing. “When I did find you, you were completely intoxicated and groping that little rat Ennico, so I rescued you from the tree that you almost fell out of after I killed the queen skeeler about to skewer you, then I sobered you up a little - I admit I enjoyed that bit - then I put you over my knee, and yes, I enjoyed that a lot, but you…” He moved close and tapped a forefinger against her chest. “You scared the marrow out of me, so I think I was entitled to be cross.” He couldn’t resist. “Besides, I made it good for you there at the end.” He leaned even closer and whispered in her ear, “So now you’ve got me all wet, don’t you want to spank me too?”

Flustered, incredibly aroused, and not a little put out that he could get the upper hand so easily, she pushed him away.

“That won’t be necessary... you’d...you’d just enjoy it!”

Turning, Buffy scrabbled with the heavy catch until she finally managed to get out of the door, slamming it behind her.

Spike started laughing. “That I would, sweet Buffy. That I would.”

A scant minute later, Anjell barged into the room.

“Good, you’re up. Get some clothes on - you’re going on a mission. Oh, and Buffy is going with you.”

Spike blinked in surprise then quickly pulled on his leather pants, pausing only to grab the rest of his clothes and a towel for the bath house before disappearing in a blur.

Anjell sighed and sank down on the bed only to jump up quickly, away from the soaking mattress.

“What the…?”

***

Buffy entered the small parlour that Flo had vacated to let Anjell hold his meeting in private. A large black and white feline of some sort dropped gracefully from the only unoccupied chair and brushed past her, seeking a quieter place to sleep.

The general looked bulky and out of place in the cheerful, feminine room. A row of pink potted plants filled the windowsill and, to the left, a sturdy dresser displayed Flo’s best china service. Set into a small hearth was a black stove with a gleaming red metal kettle perched on top. Buffy was drawn to the cosy feel of the place.

The five others in the room were seated with Anjell around a delicately carved table covered with a white, lacy cloth. Of course, Spike had to be there, together with Scarr, Brack, Faythe and Ennico. The latter two had a black eye apiece. The soldier in Buffy noted that their opponent was left-handed and she was curious as to who could’ve got through Faythe’s defences. Ennico whimpered and looked away, his one good eye darting around the room as if looking for an escape route. Faythe merely grinned, then winced, touching her lip gingerly.

“Hi, B, how’re you feeling?”

Before she could answer, Anjell cut in. “Good, you’re here. Sit down, please.”

His tone was chilling. With a sense of foreboding, Buffy took her place at the table. Was this it? Was she going to be sent back to Giles in disgrace for her part in yesterday’s adventures?

As if reading her mind, the general continued. “I don’t want to hear about yesterday; I know all I need to. I believe that certain people have already been disciplined for their utter stupidity, and if these were normal circumstances then I’d take it further, but they’re not…and the locals are grateful, which will be useful the longer we have to stay here.”

Buffy lowered her head guiltily, not knowing what to say. The general continued.

“The Terr-Khan are scouring this region looking for an ancient artefact, one that shouldn’t exist. I’ve been making my own enquiries, sending word to elders, mystics, scholars, hell, even wandering tale-tellers, and all I’ve got is a collection of jumbled stories that, while entertaining, fail to reveal its possible whereabouts.”

Anjell stopped long enough to raise a cup of steaming liquid to his lips and took a long gulp. He looked tired.

“I’ve had just one promising lead. From Lossangel in the mountains.”

Spike looked up sharply. “The stronghold of the Gemhunters?”

“Yes. There’s a trader there who is willing to sell us information. They won’t tell us their name so you’ll have to make your presence known and wait to be contacted.”

Faythe grumbled. “Thieving bastards. Why don’t we just march in there and shake them by the balls until they tell us what they know?”

There was a general rumble of agreement at this.

“Because they’d just flee through the tunnels under the city the second we arrive in force, and we haven’t time to flush them out. No, we’ll do this their way, quietly. I want you to find this person and decide if they have information worth knowing and worth paying for.”

“But why send us, sir?” Faythe asked hesitantly.

“Because you are the most troublesome members of my outfit and therefore the best qualified to recognise trouble when you see it. Because you don’t stick to the rules, can think on your feet, and because if I send you far enough away I can get a bit of peace for a while.” Anjell allowed himself a little smile at this.

Faythe grinned. “Neat.”

Brack raised his hand. “Sir, I wasn’t aware that I’d annoyed you recently.”

“No, Brack, you haven’t, but you and Scarr are old soldiers and you know what’s what. I’m sending Spike to negotiate - he’s intelligent enough to recognise lies from truth - and Faythe and Ennico can dig for the information they’re not telling us.”

“Sir, am I included in this mission?” Buffy asked. She could hardly believe her luck, but why else had she been called to the meeting?

“Our contact expressly asked that you go, too. It seems that they know about the human bride of an Aurelian and want to meet you. They refuse to talk if you’re not there.”

“What?” Spike was incredulous. “We’re taking a human to meet a bunch of rogues who live to collect beautiful and rare objects - she’ll end up stuffed in a glass case over someone’s mantelpiece.”

Much as Spike’s word picture made her shudder, Buffy prickled.

“You’re so not the boss of me, Spike. If I’m needed then I’m going.”

“Be quiet, both of you!” Anjell gave the couple a withering glare until they both looked down at the tablecloth. “There isn’t another way and we’re running out of time. If you all dress the part then Buffy can pass as Aurelian. The trader won’t be keen to alert any rivals to her presence and, if it’s a trap, just kill who you have to and come back. I propose that you enter the city as a merchant with a wife and comforter." He nodded first to Faythe then Buffy. "Ennico can be a personal servant with Scarr and Brack your mercenary bodyguards.”

“Hey!” Buffy realised that she’d just been demoted. “Shouldn’t I be the wife? Why isn’t Faythe the comforter? I’m sure she could do slutty much better than me.”

Anjell cleared his throat before replying. “Wives have a certain way of behaving which I don’t think you’ve mastered...yet. If you stay in the background, and don’t say anything, it will arouse less suspicion. You’ll be safer that way.”

“Yes, sir.” Buffy folded her arms, indicating that she was far from happy with the situation.

“Good. You leave in two hours.”

***

As Harmonee tweaked and tugged at her outfit, getting it ‘just so,’ Buffy squirmed in embarrassment. Harmonee had eagerly donated some of her own clothing and that of her counterpart in the village, who was closer to the smaller girl’s size, to fashion a basic travelling wardrobe for Buffy’s mission. A seamstress was also present, concentrating on expertly threading the new creations together.

As Buffy looked down at her new and improved cleavage in dismay, wondering how soon it would pop out of her dress, Harmonee finished hooking up her tight bodice and sighed. Pulling the girl down to sit next to her on the bed, she looked at her shrewdly.

“Look, I know you don’t approve of this but there’s no need to look like you’ve just swallowed a geenfruit. There’s no shame in our profession; we like to be free from family and home, we choose who we want to sleep with and are paid generously. If you don’t look and act the part then this just won’t work.”

“You’re right.” Buffy sat up straighter. “Tell me what to do.”

“Good girl. Now, as a companion to a married couple you have entered a contract to add a bit of spice to their relationship, or to meet the needs of the husband, or wife, that they can’t, or won’t, meet for each other.” Harmonee looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing. “Without Droo around to make him a weak pup, Spike is quite a forceful male, and Faythe is definitely a female who needs to be in control, soooo... I’m afraid it’s likely that you would be employed to be meek and obedient, giving them both the pleasure of power. You are also a symbol of enormous wealth. As a submissive, and a beauty, you won’t be cheap and the Gemhunters will think that Spike and Faythe are extremely prosperous."

“This sucks!”

“It doesn’t have to. Besides I’m sure you can get your own back later.” Harmonee winked.

***

The two hours were up and Buffy finally came downstairs. Spike was immediately torn between lust and outrage. He wanted to leap forward and nuzzle those delectable tits - he also wanted to cover her up so that his companions weren’t also enjoying the view.

She looked stunning. Hair a mass of swept up curls, leaving neck and shoulders bare, enormous eyes enhanced with soft grey eyeliner, glistening carmine lips. A faint blush, both real and artificial, touched her cheeks. Buffy’s dress was fashioned in heavy velvet for warmth, lilac, with fringes of black beading at the neckline, tight waist and cuffs. A ruby drop was sewn over the point where each nipple pressed against the velvet, designed to both stimulate the wearer as they moved, and to draw the eye. The long skirt was slashed into four strips, revealing sheer black pantaloons, swirling with embroidery; Buffy’s shapely legs were obscured then revealed as she walked towards them, her ankles and feet protected by dainty white fur boots.

Buffy exchanged a sly smile with Harmonee as she fastened a white hooded cloak around her. Judging by the stunned silence at her arrival, this could actually be fun.

Speaking of Spike, he looked pretty amazing too. Part pirate, part dandy, he wore form hugging royal blue trousers and a long matching jacket whose thick gold-cuffed sleeves revealed a red, satin shirt underneath. A row of gleaming gold buttons ran down his chest. Only his knee length black leather boots were plain, but they looked expensive. He wore one large hooped earring, diamond and gold, and his hair was pulled into artful tufts. Spike’s vivid blue eyes were now enhanced with black kohl, and a sleek black fur cloak, draped over one arm, finished the look.

Faythe looked almost dowdy in contrast; she was wrapped in a deep grey cloak covering a mulberry satin dress that buttoned up to her neck. Clever makeup completely hid her earlier brush with Spike’s fist.

Ennico wore black, with a curious silver choker round his throat. Scarr and Brack, both armed to the teeth, looked like the mean bastards they were meant to be.

Together, the group made their way to the crossing place.

***

This time the journey through the portal - or crossing place - was a lot less unpleasant. When Spike reached out to take her hand in his Buffy felt a small pang of guilt that he would still offer reassurance after his dousing earlier. A moment’s panic at the familiar blackness and a minute later they arrived at their destination; the lingering sensation was of misjudging the last step on some stairs, a jolt and nothing more.

They were standing on a plain of frostbitten grass, the landscape bare save for narrow scars of shale and a few stunted, skeletal trees. Ahead of them was a formidable walled city, a fortress fashioned from the mountains that dipped and rose in a craggy line behind it.

“No wonder you want to take over other planets.” Buffy muttered. Shivering, she pulling her cloak more tightly around her.

Faythe bristled at that. “We’re in the north, what do you expect?”

Spike interjected before they started arguing in earnest. “Actually, we have all weathers and climates. This place is extreme even for us, but that makes it a good stronghold for the Gemhunters. Plus, this territory is rich in ore, precious stones and ancient treasures. Collectors and traders with an appetite for exceptional things make the effort to come here even in mid-winter. Now, if you don’t mind, I suggest we get a move on and leave the bickering till we find somewhere warmer.”

Casting identical twin glares at his back, the girls hurried towards their destination.

***

The single entrance to the fortress lay under a massive stone arch. Two thickly studded metal doors, maybe fifteen feet high, were partially open. A couple of slouching figures could be seen huddled around a small brazier, trying to keep warm. When the group were finally noticed one of the guards gave a shrill whistle inside the gate, and took a sharp step back as six massive wulfs came bounding past him towards the newcomers.

Now surrounded, but not feeling immediately threatened, the group continued to approach with their shaggy escorts, soft padding paws and rasping pants the only sounds made by the black beasts.

Stepping into their roles, Brack and Scarr added a little extra swagger to their step and Faythe raised her chin haughtily, shortening her soldier’s stride. Spike replaced his predatory slide with the gait of a rather slight man trying to look important, eyes darting anxiously whenever one of the hounds got too close. Buffy for her part kept her eyes down and tried to look demure. She allowed herself an extra swish of her hips, just as Harmonee had taught her.

As they arrived a short, round-bellied man rushed out to greet them. He was wearing a green coat, buttoned up wrongly, and puffs of air trailed in his wake as he gasped for breath.

“Welcome to our fair city. My name is Teller. I am the fortunate owner of The Sleepy Dragon, providing the finest food and accommodation in all Lossangel, no prior booking required.”

“Is that so?” Faythe stepped forward, looking at him disdainfully. “If your establishment is the finest in Lossangel then why isn’t it fully booked?”

“Ah.” He shrugged with a ‘what can you do’ gesture. “At this time of year, and with rumours of monsters roaming abroad, only the most intrepid souls are venturing this far.” His expression became sly. “Of course, that means that those who do come here are able to secure the very best goods. It’s a buyer’s market.”

Faythe gave Teller a calculating smile. “Good, then we can expect a suitable discount at The Sleepy Dragon.”

Boxed into a corner, but content that he would still be able to make a tidy profit, Teller pressed a palm over his heart in admiration. “You are a wise and prudent mistress and I promise, by Roth’s claws, that you won’t be disappointed. Come, let’s get out of the cold and discuss the matter over a cup of warming honeywine – complimentary, of course.”

***

Apart from a couple of miserable looking traders perched on carts laden with barrels and root vegetables, they encountered no other traffic as they followed their host through the narrow streets. Finally they stopped before an ornate gate and Teller waved them through with a flourish.

“Welcome to The Sleepy Dragon.”

To Buffy’s surprise the air was pleasantly warm, despite the grey sky above. Potted ferns and ornamental ivy flourished along an arched cloister that ran at right angles from either side of the stately building before them. They were in a large courtyard, an imposing fountain at its centre. Curved around a continuously bubbling column, a stone dragon lay as if sleeping. It was green, threaded through with red veins, the last remains of golden scales winked brightly under the passing water. Again, Buffy wondered at this so-called barbarian world, where beauty lay hidden in every corner.

The place was well kept and, despite the time of year, not entirely empty. An odd assortment of characters, mostly respectable seeming, regarded the group with interest…and not a little disapproval where Buffy was concerned. After a cup of the promised honeywine and a passable lunch, they promenaded a little, engaging the other guests with small talk and casual questions, Buffy remaining silent during their walk, keeping in character as much as she could. Satisfied that they had aroused curiosity but no suspicion they retired to their guest suite.

Their accommodation was spacious and spotless. Two large double bedrooms linked by a central sitting room. To one side was a further room, furnished more simply with cots for Scarr, Brack and Ennico.

Faythe flopped down onto the nearest settee, staring at the ceiling in disgust.

“This is getting us nowhere. Trust us to find the only respectable place in this dump. I’m going crazy being polite to sour faced biddies; no-one has contacted us and no-one is likely to while we stay here.”

Spike had to agree. Far from fitting in, Buffy’s obvious status as sexual companion had attracted more than a few unkind comments, which he hoped she hadn’t heard.

Buffy had heard. “At least if I’m dressed like a tart I should be somewhere where I’m appreciated.”

“You may wish you hadn’t said that,” muttered Spike. Having spent the last two hours wanting to rip out the livers of some of the ‘respectable’ guests for their whispers and dirty looks, he wasn’t looking forward to pretending indifference when they met some real slime.

It was Brack who rescued them from an evening of boredom. He’d gone out earlier to explore the seedier parts of town and had news.

“There are a dozen houses up on the hill that cater to clients of all tastes. That’s where business is done. I’ve put the word about that we’re here to spend money and indulge in a little harmless vice, and two places seem to specialise in procuring mystical and magical items. If we make ourselves known tonight then our contact may approach us there.

“Yess.” Faythe bounced back up, all sulkiness forgotten. “It’s time to party.”

***

A change of clothing later and the companions formed two groups. It was decided that Faythe, Ennico and Scarr would go to the Blue Rooms and Spike, Buffy and Brack would try The Silken Rope. Faythe still wore a modestly buttoned dress but now it was black, shimmering with electric blue. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun and a thinly braided black leather belt wound several times about her waist. Ennico looked both delicate and sensual in skin-tight black velvet pants and waistcoat, arms bare save for silver bangles on each wrist. His silver choker was now attached to a long narrow chain that ended in Faythe’s fist.

For himself, Spike had chosen soft black leather pants to go with his boots and a long red jacket that flared out from the waist to his knees, A fine white lawn shirt fell in ruffles at throat and wrist. His fingers sported heavy gold rings studded with gems. Good for barter and for serious fighting.

Buffy was struggling with the urge to hide; the heavy velvet of her first dress replaced by a gauzy confection of white in a similar style. Pleated horizontal bands ran from waist to breast, while vertical stripes formed the skirt. Slashed into thin strips, it gave the impression of ribbons falling to her ankles. The sheer pantaloons were also white. Silver embroidery across her nipples, at her crotch, and running down her back, was the only barrier to prying eyes.

Taking a final horrified look at herself in the mirror, she wondered when her missions had taken such a bizarre turn. “I look like an x-rated fairy on a Christmas tree. If Spike makes one crack, I swear I’ll knock him into next week.”

To give him his due, Spike was careful not to reveal his thoughts when she emerged - largely because he wanted to shout at her to go and put some clothes on, or else carry her back into the bedroom where he could peel them off at leisure. He was quick to grab her cloak and pull it round her.

***

After an unnerving journey through the tavern area, and a rather brutal skirmish between Brack and a pair of would-be muggers - which Brack won hands down - the trio arrived at The Silken Rope. A tall building set apart from the rest, it was clad in polished black basalt, a reflecting mirror against the indigo evening. Gargoyles clung randomly to the gutters and window ledges, each one bathed in tiny red flames, which gave the illusion that they were moving.

“Oh, this is just great, now I’m a virgin sacrifice entering Satan’s den. Could my night get any more creepy?”

Spike put his arms around her and spoke softly in her ear; his gesture comforting, his words serious. “Correction, you are a submissive and you belong only to me. You don’t speak unless ordered to, which I won’t because your accent; sarcasm and daft questions will give the game away. Virgins are ten a penny but human sacrifices are probably at a premium here.”

Buffy kept her mouth shut as they went in.

***

Inside The Silken Rope a tall lizard, wearing fine clothes, stepped forward, bowing low before Buffy and Spike. Asking for names in a sibilant hiss, it took their cloaks and waved them into a long marble hallway. Buffy knew a little of Aurelia’s bloody past - conquering, controlling and finally trading peacefully with other planets, other life forms - but this was her first encounter with something so completely 'other.' And when had Aurelians become normal to her? Trying not to stare at the elegant reptile, she followed Spike.

There were at least fifty people - some richly dressed, some not - standing in secretive groups or reclining on the plush couches that lined the walls. A number of pretty young men, wearing thongs of coloured silk and nothing else, padded barefoot between the guests, proffering heavy goblets filled with wine or blood. Snacks on silver trays were arranged on tables and candles were everywhere, giving off a spicy, warm scent.

The newcomers found an empty seat, Brack remained standing, back to the wall, but when Buffy made as if to sit next to Spike, he growled, throwing a cushion to the floor by his feet and pointing to it. She sank onto it gracefully and kept her head lowered. Unexpectedly, Buffy felt tears pricking at her eyes. A hand snaked under her hair, stroking the back of her neck reassuringly as they waited. Spike leaned forward, giving instructions in a low voice. “Was hoping for a more respectable place, Buffy, but we’re here now and must make the best of it. Whatever happens, keep your eyes down and don’t look up. Whatever you hear, don’t react and don’t speak. Whatever I tell you to do, do. I promise I won’t let anything bad happen. Will you trust me in this?” Strangely, she didn’t even hesitate before giving a tiny nod in reply.

A series of heavy wooden doors lined the corridor. At intervals a youth would take someone inside or assist as guests, some a little unsteady on their feet, left the building.

Just as Buffy was beginning to relax, a high male voice startled her.

“Oh, how precious.” A thin, long-haired male of indeterminate age was standing before them clasping his hands in apparent delight. He regarded them avidly, eyes moist. “How exquisite you both are.”

Spike set aside the wine he’d been sipping and looked up slowly.

“You the owner of this establishment?”

“Alas, no, but it is my pleasure to be Sylvestre, the manager, and you are strangers to The Silken Rope…” It wasn’t a question. “…but soon we will be good friends, I’m sure.”

“I’m always looking for new friends,” drawled Spike. “New experiences, new treasures for my collection,” he added with a raised eyebrow.

“Ah.” Sylvestre closed his eyes, lids fluttering. “An Aurelian with breeding and taste…and such a beauty, too.”

Buffy wasn’t sure who he was referring to.

“Come, we must choose just the right room for you. Now, if you would like to tell me what you desire to collect?”

“Well, I’m thinking an ancient sword, a finely crafted dagger…perhaps an axe?”

Sylvestre gave a small moue of disappointment. “You need weapons?”

“What can I say? They make me feel all manly.”

Sylvestre cleared his throat slightly, eyes glazing, before motioning them to rise. “Come, you will join us in the red room, you and your angelic little footmaiden. Your guard will wait outside. I shall introduce you to the clients and dealers who share your passion, although,” he lowered his voice, regarding Buffy perceptively, “they are a bit of a mixed lot I’m afraid. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Spike stood and reached down to pull Buffy to her feet. Pressing up to her back he reached an arm around her, resting his fingers lightly against her throat. Brushing his cheek against hers he spoke softly but loud enough to be heard. “What say you, my lovely, shall we go with our new friend?” Immediately pressing a finger to her lips he shook his head. “Sorry, I forgot that your opinions don’t matter.” He shrugged. “Oh well.”

Buffy breathed a little too heavily through her nose, but otherwise didn’t respond.

Sylvestre ushered them through a door at the far end of the corridor; it was stained a deep red. The room inside was a similar colour, curtained, and poorly lit. Spike glanced around, making a swift assessment of the other occupants. A dozen customers and traders, all male, were sitting in comfortable leather armchairs, forming a loose circle around a long, low table. Some appeared anxious at having a female among them; others were just gaping at her flimsily clad body. They looked unpleasant, but none were a physical threat. Another youth - this one completely naked - was standing, hands bound with red silk anchored above his head, against the wall. His eyes were dreamy. No names were exchanged and the manager simply introduced Spike as a visitor to Lossangel who was looking for something a little special. He didn’t acknowledge Buffy’s presence at all.

Leading Spike to a high-backed chair, Sylvestre motioned for one of the ever-present servants to get a soft, padded footstool. Spike sprawled into the chair, tugging Buffy down onto the stool before him. Placing a boot on either side of her he drew it close till she was kneeling sideways between his thighs, forehead resting on his leg. Accepting more wine he beamed around the room with an easy grin, waiting for someone to make a move.

One of the merchants drew closer; he had the appearance of a toad that had boiled its head then glued raisins all over it. He licked his puffy lips and stared at Buffy. Reaching out to touch her hair he croaked, “How much?”

Spike gripped toadman’s wrist in a flash, exerting enough force to make him squeal before finally letting go and wiping his fingers down his coat as if he had something slimy on them. The merchant scuttled backwards with a glare.

“My property’s not for sale, at any price. I’m after buying not selling. And, as you can see…” Spike gripped Buffy’s hair and pulled her head back so that he could give her a hard kiss on the mouth before pressing her down again and looking up slyly. “I only want the best.”

“I’ve heard of them but never seen one,” a rather flushed merchant breathed in awe. “Well don’t get any ideas,” snorted another, a hatchet faced man with a pronounced squint. “Your wife would have your nadds roasting over an open fire.”

“What can I say?” said Spike, sneering. “If you can afford it, even an Aurelian bitch will willingly place her neck under your heel.” The rest of the room joined in with laughter and the mood changed. Spike and his passive little strumpet were accepted into the group.

Spike dared a glance down, he was still smirking for his audience but his eyes were apologetic. Buffy was peeking up at him, one eye just visible through the curtain of her hair. ‘It’s okay, I’ll kill you later,’ she appeared to be saying.

***

One by one the traders pulled forth items for perusal, presented in lavish boxes or wrapped in ancient desiccated cloth. Each object was placed on the table and their provenance explained in ever more fanciful terms. The reactions of the collectors ranged from undisguised lust to downright scepticism.

“Hah! I was offered Dagon’s spear just last week and it at least looked halfway genuine. This one is clearly from the Molbovite wars, and of inferior quality at that!”

“The sword of Errik the Beast, you say? Tell me, does it really carve a body into seven pieces at a single stroke?”

Spike glanced around looking bored, his offhand comments proving that he knew at least as much as his companions. The only person not paying attention was a small, roughly dressed trader snoring quietly in the shadows, a cup of wine tipped over in his lap. Pretty soon the genuine articles were winnowed from the showy stuff and haggling began in earnest.

Spike brought his goblet to Buffy’s lips from time to time, allowing only small sips and when fresh pastries arrived he broke off little pieces and handfed her titbits. More at ease and getting a little bored now, Buffy nibbled at his retreating fingers. Spike edged his other hand down the front of her dress and tweaked a nipple in warning. Apart from a little gasp, Buffy didn’t move, but her breast hardened under his warm palm before he reluctantly removed it.

After an hour a short break was declared and more refreshments arrived. Coin and jewels were doled out in return for goods and receipts. One trader signalled a doe-eyed youth to kneel at his feet. The youth quickly slipped the offered silver piece under his thong and reached for the man's flies, the air filling with sucking noises until the man spasmed and went limp.

Toadman, who’d been feverishly staring at Buffy from a safe distance, got up, adjusted himself and strode over to the young man bound at the wall. Producing a fat purse he shook out several uncut stones into his sweaty paw and, selecting the smallest, pushed it roughly into the boy’s mouth. Grabbing a large burning pillar candle he returned and promptly tilted it against the boy’s chest. The boy arched up, fighting not to make a sound. Again and again the wax fell, forming bobbled white streaks - the pretty victim soon resembling a candle himself - while Toadman, his other hand frantically rubbing his own cock, sought release. Finally, without warning, he brought the candle down to the boy’s groin and poured the searing liquid over his genitals. As the boy screamed, and promptly passed out, Toadman gave a blissful yell and came all over him.

Buffy, smelling hot wax and hearing the boy’s whimpers and final cry, her imagination filling in the gaps, nudged even closer to Spike, heart pounding. He in turn draped his arms around her shoulders casually, but protectively. Thankfully the floor show seemed to have reached an end, and when Sylvestre returned, furious that Toadman had gone too far, the unfortunate lad was roused enough to be released and helped, stumbling, from the room, his payment swallowed and lost for the time being. The manager grudgingly accepted a second gem for ‘damages’ and left.

Finally, the room settled again for the last items of the evening. So far Spike had spent nothing and was aware that he should really purchase something with Anjell’s funds. A collection of knives came up next; plain, with worn etching along the blade and hilt, and the telltale blue sheen of weremetal. Spike held each carefully before choosing one. The secret of making weremetal had died out centuries ago and even the best forgers couldn’t reproduce the weird energy that they gave off.

A cadaverous trader, who had remained silent until now, carefully removed several items from a plain wooden box; a silver bottle containing ratbane, a cruel set of manacles, a foot long corkscrew for the removal of eyes and a small branding iron, its symbol conferring eternal pain onto the person branded. The central object was a huge silver phallus. The width of a wrist, it was covered in tiny carved faces, mouths open in silent agony. With a deft click the trader released a button and a ring of inch long points fanned out around the ridged tip.

Spike quietly prayed that Buffy wouldn’t choose this moment to disobey and look round.

Toadman, fairly fainting with ecstasy, began to stroke the object with trembling fingers. “Where did you get this?”

“I see you have a discerning eye.” The trader gave an oily smile. “This once belonged to Vlujdd the Impaler, who used it on man, woman and beast alike. I found it inside the pelvis of a female skeleton. He must have thought a lot of her to bury her with it,” he added.

Unsurprisingly, Toadman agreed to the exorbitant price for both the phallus and the iron, almost emptying his purse in the process. He sat fondling it, no doubt plotting who he could try it out on. Another buyer quietly pocketed the ratbane.

“Enough of this shit. I thought we were here to buy treasures, not trinkets,” Spike snapped. “I want to do business with real Gemhunters, for real weapons, not to haggle with peddlers over a collection of scrap.”

“And what do you consider to be treasure?” a rather rotund trader in a purple embroidered waistcoat asked Spike carefully.

“Oh, I don’t know, how about the sword of Dramaclis, a harness worn by one of the grey steeds at the battle of Lost Hope... Saya’s Axe, perhaps?”

“Well, you know your legends but sadly I have nothing like that today…although if you would like to visit me in private?” The man leaned forward conspiratorially. Just then the drunk in the corner turned in his sleep and promptly fell on the floor, breaking the chilly atmosphere.

Laughing, the portly man went to shake him awake. “Come on, Snidda, time to wake up, or you’ll sell nothing and your wife and daughters will leave you out in the yard again.” Snidda blinked owlishly then stumbled to his feet clutching a large sackcloth bag, which he unceremoniously emptied onto the table. Swaying a bit, he took one step back, idly scratching at the few remaining hairs on his head. A tiny fellow with large ears sticking out at right-angles, he looked like a bleary eyed rodent.

“I reckon there’s a few items that you’ll be needing here.”

Several massive swords, one crusted with age, a mace and a wooden spike lay there.

There was silence, and then a general snort went round the room at such paltry finds. Buffy, felt a curious tingle run down her spine and Spike, sensing something, reached down to pick one of the items up - bringing it to his lap so that she could see. It was the spike. Fifteen inches long from base to wickedly pointed tip, it was made from a substance so black that it seemed almost to disappear. It was also surprisingly heavy. “What’s this?”

“Carved from ebbon, sir, a tree so hard that a hundred blades will shatter before it will yield a single splinter. Of course, such trees are long gone. This weapon is so ancient that it may have been used to defeat the first enemies of Aurelia.”

Aware that Buffy’s pulse rate had shot up, although her expression was puzzled, Spike grinned and patted her head indulgently. “We’ll take it.”

***

As they readjusted to the biting night air, keen to forget their recent experiences in The Silken Rope, Spike fretted about Buffy. She was entirely too quiet. Brack trailed a couple of paces behind them, sensing that the couple needed space to talk and crushing the urge to bang both their heads together. In all his years he’d never met a couple so suited to each other, yet so unable to communicate; rolling his eyes up at the heavens he contemplated his own single status and wondered if Flo would welcome the advances of a certain old soldier on a more permanent basis. Contemplating a pleasant retirement, in a cosy inn with a good strong woman by his side, he turned his thoughts away from the miserable pair ahead.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” Buffy glanced up at Spike’s words, wanting to break the awkward silence herself but unable to get the conflicting emotions running around in her head in order.

“I’m sorry that you had to experience all that. I’m sorry that I treated you as if you were a nothing, a whore. I’m sorry that it was all a waste of time.”

Unbearably grateful to Spike for understanding some of what she was feeling, Buffy turned and tugged on Spike’s sleeve till he lifted his gaze from the pavement and focused on her. He looked so sad.

“Hey, it’s no big deal, just so long as you hated every second of ordering me about.” She smiled. “Besides, I’m sure that you would have done the same for me if the mission had demanded it.”

Immensely relieved, Spike recovered enough to flash her a mischievous grin.

“I’ll be your willing slave anytime you like, Buffy.”

“Yeah, right, like that’ll ever happen.”

The silence this time was an easy one.

***

They’d barely reached the respectable part of town when trouble found them. High walls on either side prevented the trio’s escape as a group of ten mercenaries emerged from the shadows ahead. Turning, Buffy saw a similar group behind them. Each of their would-be attackers was armed with a long knife, gnarled cudgel or short sword. They converged on the three soldiers, effectively trapping them. At some signal they halted, allowing Toadman to stride to the front. Puffed up like the loathsome amphibian he resembled, the creature eyed Buffy with pure malice.

“I want the girl.” Turning to Spike he bared his teeth. “Did you think you could bring a human into my presence undetected? On my world we can tell the scent of ten thousand different species and that,” he pointed at Buffy, “is not Aurelian. As an animal she has no protection from your ridiculous laws.” He gestured to Spike and Brack. “So leave now and let me have her, or watch your lifeblood fill the gutter. You choose.”

As white-hot rage descended, Spike welcomed the burn flowing through his veins. Part of him clinically assessed the enemy, noting the left handed from the right, the sharp weapons and the blunt, the experience or lack of it revealed in their faces. Another part took in Brack at his back, changed, calm, ready, and Buffy, his wife, who he would protect till the end. He tried to express his regret for what should have been, in one long look.

A Buffy he had never met before, gazed back.

***

To a casual passer-by, the scene before them in the wide alleyway would have spelt just one thing. Murder.

Three foolish tourists trapped between some of the most unpleasant citizens the city had to offer, and shrugging, they would likely avert their eyes and scurry silently away, eager for home. A braver observer would perhaps have stayed long enough to witness the arrogant, almost jovial faces of the mob, grinning expectantly as they converged on their prey. Of the three soon to be victims, only the old soldier looked like a fighter. Drawing his sword, he reached into the bundle he carried to pull out a shiny black stake. This he handed to the tiny female in his charge, no doubt expecting her to use it to take her own life. Death before dishonour.

A second male, an effete figure seemingly transfixed by the same female, reached forward to brush a few loose strands of hair from her face. She looked at him solemnly, her eyes compelling, reflecting his in bright, burnished gold. As if only now aware of the danger they were in, he reluctantly took a step back, slowly unbuttoning his fine red coat. His stance subtly altered to present a sideways view to his assailants; feet apart for better balance, arms by his sides, hands making fists before unfurling, flexing as gold rings caught what light there was. Head bowed, he looked up at the approaching group to his right almost flirtatiously, a black rimmed amber gaze, blazing with devilish fire. Prey now predator. Crossing his hands he slipped them inside his coat, withdrawing them smoothly to reveal a deadly short sword held in each. Blades down. Waiting.

A few faltered at the change but, bolstered by sheer numbers and alcohol, they closed in. Easy pay for an easy job. No-one gave the female a second glance - except to perhaps admire her lack of fear as she shrugged off her cloak, laying it carefully by the wall before returning to her two protectors. Like an exotic dancer, she spread her thighs and crouched down, fingertips of one hand skimming the pavement, her other arm raised across her face, gripping the stake. With hair tumbling like spun sugar, and lips curving in a ghost of a smile, she became perfectly still. Those closest to her laughed in admiration at her bravery, while licking their lips at the erotic picture she presented.

Toadman’s shrieks broke the still scene and, as one, the attackers surged forward.

Brack was all efficiency of movement, conserving his energy, making each strike count. Sword and boot employed to disable then skewer each opponent. Experience borne of many years fighting gave the soldier a deadly edge and he pressed it home, again and again, despite being hopelessly outnumbered.

Spike had a more showy style, part street brawler, part gymnast; a heel in one man’s balls, an elbow in another’s throat, a deadly double arc as the two swords swept together then out again, neatly beheading the man before him. If a lucky jab or blow caught him, he didn’t register it, merely narrowing his eyes before disabling the new threat with a sweeping kick or fierce slash. His expression was gleeful, fangs gleaming, tongue tasting death in the air. Soon only the experienced fighters were ringed around him as the common thugs lay choking on their own blood or had backed away.

Those who had targeted Buffy made the biggest mistake. Capture, not kill, this one. Overconfident, they kept their weapons sheathed and approached her with leering grins and meaty fists, determined to get in a rough grope before handing her over to their boss.

In one powerful spring, she jumped up in the air, kicking outwards, her little furry boots contacting with the jaws of the two men on either side of her. They both flew back, knocking several others down. After witnessing a third man smashing head first into the wall with a hard crunch, they hastily reassessed their opinion of the not-so-harmless human.

Buffy danced before them, her skirt swirling around her like deadly white petals. Hair flying, she leapt up to plant a dainty foot into a barrel chest, or darted forward, her stake sliding in, then out, leaving a blossom of red growing in its wake. She was grinning. One particularly corpulent attacker spat out bloody teeth from his new position on the ground. “Witch!” he shouted and, maddened by her trickery, they drew their weapons and advanced upon her, thoughts of capture gone.

It was over all too quickly. Toadman, frothing and incoherent, was screaming out instructions, even as his men were falling. Spike calmly whipped his right arm outwards, his sword blinking across the thirty yards between them, finding its mark. The disgusting beast toppled backwards, an almost comical expression on its face, impaled through the chest.

Disheartened by the sight of their fallen paymaster, the remaining attackers faltered. Before long, they too fell and were still.

The unearthly light fading from her vision, Buffy took an uncertain few steps towards Spike before sinking gracefully towards the ground. Catching her before she hit the cobbles, Spike frantically checked her for damage, but apart from little cuts and bruises she was unhurt. Brack stood nearby, breathing heavily, his right arm dangling uselessly, drops of blood falling from his sleeve. He looked tired but relieved.

“I’m getting too old for this.”

“Nonsense.” Spike grinned, trying not to show worry for his friend. “A few days back at the village with the women fussing over you and you’ll be fit as a butcher’s cur.” Seeing the thoughtful smile creeping over his compatriot’s face, he added slyly, “Perhaps Flo might set you down to a pot of tea and some extra comforts when you get back.”

Startled at his friend’s perceptiveness, Brack shrugged a little before grinning back. “Maybe she will, maybe she won’t. Would be nice though.”

Buffy was returning to herself, blinking up at Spike, her eyes having returned to their familiar green.

Unable to resist, Spike lowered his head to where he cradled hers and touched her lips once with his, before returning them for a deeper kiss as she drifted an arm up to hold him to her.

“My beautiful girl,” he murmured. “A warrior queen is what you are, pulsing with light. You blind me, Buffy.” A little astonished at his words, Buffy just stared at him until he looked away, blushing slightly.

“Well, then, we’d best be off before more miscreants stumble on us, don’t you think?” Without waiting for an answer Spike got to his feet, bringing Buffy up with him. He turned and retrieved her cloak - which had somehow escaped being trampled on - and clasped it round her throat. “Seems a shame to cover those pretties,” he glanced down at her torn bodice, “but I haven’t the energy to fight off any more of your admirers tonight.” Smiling at her little scowl, he offered her his arm. Pausing, she then relented, snaking her hand into the crook of his elbow. The three survivors made their way back to The Sleepy Dragon.

Just as they came within sight of the inn’s finely wrought gates Spike withdrew his arm with a low curse, patting his side.

“You two go on, I left one of my blades back there. Part of me, they are, can’t sleep without knowing my baby’s safe. Brack will see you safely in.” Ignoring Brack’s raised eyebrow and Buffy’s puzzled expression, Spike turned and swiftly raced off into the shadows.

***

Treading lightly among the bodies, Spike listened for heartbeats. Wherever he encountered one he reached down and snapped the unconscious creature’s neck. If just one of these bastards recovered enough to tell tales, Buffy would have a price on her head to rival the most sought after treasure in all Lossangel…and that wouldn’t do. Not while they still had business here. Satisfied that he had dispatched everyone to a far worse place, he looked around.

Only one last thing to do.

Scanning the area, he spied what he was looking for, a bloodied blade pointing towards a gap in the wall. Stealthily he moved towards it. Reaching in through the crumbling brickwork he found what he was seeking and pulled. Hard. A diseased looking ankle became a leg then a bloodied bundle of clothing, and pretty soon a gasping, squirming merchant was wrenched out of the garden shrubs where he had crawled to hide. He looked terrible, chest wound gaping, but Spike knew that his race had the ability to regenerate from all but the gravest injuries. Toadman glared up at him, looking death in the face.

“Now the way I see it,” said Spike casually, “you went to great trouble to see me dead, and had some pretty nasty plans for my woman. Now you’re hurting and helpless, and wishing you’d stayed back on your own stinking swamp of a planet. Buffy’s a kind hearted girl, perhaps she’d spare your life and that of your men. Me, I’ve been around a bit longer and know when animals need putting down.” Spike, grimacing, reached into Toadman’s cloak till he found what he was looking for. Holding the silver phallus up in front of the creature’s now terrified face he turned it, examining the horrific carvings. “I know you had plans for this thing and it would be a shame for them to go to waste. I’d stuff it up your arse where it really belongs but I really, really can’t bring myself to do that. So,” he said, wrenching Toadman’s jaw open, “I’ll do the next best thing… Open wide.”

***

Entering the inn’s tranquil garden, Buffy and Brack saw immediately that they weren’t alone and simultaneously reached for their weapons. The trader who’d sold Spike the ebbon stake earlier was perched on the shallow ledge of the dragon fountain. He rose and held his hands up to show that he wasn’t armed. “Steady, mistress, I mean to talk not fight.” He smiled at Buffy, no trace of drink in his manner.

“Wonderful, just wonderful,” he whispered. “One girl in all the world destined to fight the darkness. I’d hoped but I’d not believed it to be true, not really. Till tonight.”

“What are you babbling about, old man?” Brack moved forward menacingly, aware that he was reaching the end of his strength and hoping that there was no-one else hiding in the grounds.

Ignoring Brack, Snidda stood beaming at Buffy before remembering himself. “Was told to look out for strangers at The Silken Rope. Knew straight away that you was special; live as many years as I have and you get a nose for people. Couldn’t believe your boldness, you and your heart-mate, stringing the others along so nicely, and the way your pulse raced when you saw the stake…no-one else would have recognized it, been drawn to it.”

Buffy withdrew the ebbon weapon and held it up to the light. Looking closely she could see a slightly flattened plane running down one side, rubbed smooth to be hardly noticeable along its perfectly tapered surface. “This? What is it?”

“I believe it to be yours, mistress.”

***

Satisfied that Snidda wasn’t a threat, and curious to know more, the trio quietly entered their rooms. Scarr was alone on the couch, arranging lines of playing cards on a small table in front of him. Taking one look at his injured friend he hurried to get their medical supplies. Buffy helped Brack out of his jacket and shirt, revealing the damage underneath. His arm looked pretty bad; a jagged stab wound with a glimpse of white bone at the shoulder. The bleeding had slowed but Brack looked pale. Not used to actual field dressing - having only practiced it in First Aid training - Buffy gratefully let Scarr take over and do what was necessary.

Snidda had retreated out of the way to a chair in the corner of the room; with the faint glow of a wall-light directly behind him, his large ears glowed red like exotic butterflies. Hands clasped in his lap like a small child, he didn’t take his eyes off Buffy once.

Getting a little exasperated at being stared at, Buffy snapped at him.

“Okay, you’re here, we’re here, what do you want? Sensible answers only, please.”

Ignoring her sharp tone, Snidda replied, “Watched you fighting back there and didn’t fancy a sword in my gut. Came here to deliver a message.”

“You saw us? Why didn’t you get help?”

“Saw your eyes glowin’ so bright with that pointy stake in your fist, and that man of yours, a regular striper that one, all fearless and clever, and your soldier friend, knowing what was what. Trusted that you’d be fine and, if you weren’t then I’d know I’d made a mistake and guessed wrong about you.”

“Wait. You saw my eyes glow?”

“Like sunshine down a well, mistress. 'Course, it could be from bonding with an Aurelian, who knows with humankind, but your strength and power, that’s all you, isn’t it?”

Buffy looked a bit embarrassed, softly replying, “Yes, that was all me, but it felt different tonight. I was...different.” She trailed off, not knowing how to describe the strange feeling of detachment, the intoxicating power dancing through her sinews as she’d faced real flesh and blood enemies.

Nodding as if he could hear her thoughts, Snidda became grave.

“My boss would like to meet you. There’s portents, secrets to share and hidden things that only you can find…and time is running out.”

“But I’m not part of this world. Why me?”

“Ah, but you are Buffy, part of this world, and soon your choices will decide our fate and that of your own people.”

“What claptrap is this? Leave off scaring the girl, will you?” Spike, who’d returned unnoticed and had been listening with growing alarm to the conversation, strode to Buffy’s side. She looked upset and, unthinkingly, he put an arm around her and drew her close.

“We’re here for one thing only, Saya’s axe. Do you have it or not?”

Snidda cast his eyes down. “No, sir, but we do have a puzzle. The right person, they might just see all the pieces and put it together, find the prize.”

“Where’s this puzzle, then? I, for one, am getting heartily sick of this city and can’t wait to leave.”

“We’re not all ruffians here, this can be a good place, but you’re right, it’ll soon be time for you to begin another journey. Come tomorrow - or rather tonight - to Ahnja’s curiosity shop. It’s in the old city, just ask around. Dinner is at eight of the clock, please don’t be late. You’re all invited.”

Knowing that he’d outstayed his welcome, and would be leaving the group with heads whirring with unanswered questions, Snidda excused himself and departed.

***

After a few cups of blood pilfered from the inn’s kitchen, Brack looked much better. He and Scarr disappeared into their room for some rest, leaving Spike and Buffy alone. An uneasy silence fell.

Nodding towards his bedroom door, Spike cleared his throat.

“Well, I’m ready for some sleep, don’t know about you. Nite, Buffy.” Not quite knowing what to do, he gave Buffy a swift peck on the cheek and disappeared into his room. Buffy reached up to touch where his lips had been before walking to her own door and peeking inside. Faythe was sprawled out on the bed, dead to the world, and tucked in with her was an equally spent Ennico, his head resting on her breast. He was still wearing his collar, the end of the leash knotted firmly to the bedstead and wore a blissful smile on his face.

Realising that she’d lost her bed, Buffy slipped in quietly to retrieve her nightwear and retreated to the bathroom.

Buffy eyed Spike’s closed door with suspicion. Had he known where Ennico was all along? And, if he did, then why didn’t he warn her, offer her his own bed? Eyeing the couch with distaste, she grabbed her cloak and lay down on it, grumbling to herself.

It was no good; it was like lying on a precipice waiting to fall over the edge. Lumps kept appearing where lumps shouldn’t be and her cloak, although toasty warm, kept tickling her nose and feet. After half an hour of writhing about, seeking a comfortable position and failing, she reluctantly got up and crept towards Spike’s room. He was fast asleep, facing inwards on his side but leaving plenty of space for her. Dropping the cloak, Buffy tiptoed to the bed and very, very, slowly, edged her way beneath the covers. Willing her heart to slow down, she lay still, all senses alert for signs of wakefulness from her partner. Nothing. Just as she was prepared to relax properly into the soft feather mattress, an arm slid around her waist. Spike turned her to face him and hooked an ankle over hers, arm securely around her back, bringing her head to rest on his shoulder.

“Come here. Switch off that spinning brain of yours and relax. You can go back to being all contradictory in the morning.” Spike growled drowsily. “Sleep now, that’s all. Just sleep.”

Buffy tensed. But truthfully, deep down, this was what she wanted, so without a word she decided not to fight this time and settled down by his side. Sensing that for now she wasn’t going to run away, Spike extricated his limbs from hers and drifted off. Content. Recognizing the change in his breathing as genuine, Buffy snuggled a little closer, allowing one hand to come to rest over his naked heart. Another few moments and she joined him in slumber.

***

Buffy woke up, grasping at the edges of her dreams, but they dissolved, leaving an ache, a sadness...for something, someone, long gone. It was just before dawn; soft, granular light blunted the angles of the room, making objects indistinct, unreal. Spike had wrapped himself around her in the night, his knees tucked into the back of hers, a hand shielding her breast. Slow, even, huffs of air on the nape of her neck revealed that he was fast asleep.

Closing her eyes, Buffy enjoyed his embrace. It felt right. At some point in the night her night-dress had crept up and she became aware of his manhood brushing against her thighs. Unconsciously knowing, it tickled and stroked her skin with small, involuntary movements. The seconds ticked by and Buffy’s own desire grew, fed partly by her unremembered dreams, but mostly by the presence of the male at her back, the same one who had kept her in an almost permanent state of confusion. When she looked at him through a soldier’s eyes she could admire his strength, his decisiveness, his ‘fuck you’ attitude towards the enemy. As a woman, all she could see was a sinfully beautiful man whose motives were unclear, but who made her melt under his hot gaze. Buffy wanted Spike, not just physically but emotionally too…but what did he want?

His blindly intimate probing couldn’t be ignored, and a primitive part of her brain, one that didn’t care about safety and feelings or the future, took control. Tingles of lust swept across her labia and her womb twitched in anticipation. Buffy tried to suppress it but a flood of wild images made her breath hitch and her toes curl. Too much of a coward to wake him - and what kind of man could stay asleep when she felt like this anyway? - yet unwilling to move away, Buffy slowly edged her free arm downwards until she could touch herself. Remaining as still as possible, she began to stroke and rub till sweet need overcame caution. Raising her outer leg, she entwined it gently, carefully, with Spike’s, before dipping her fingertips and painting her own puffy flesh with bright juices. Better, but not enough. The sharp twinge of fear that he would catch her in such an intimate act prevented her release yet she couldn’t stop.

A few moments later, Spike’s whole body jolted. A harsh gasp revealed that he was fully awake. Awake and aware.

Buffy froze, mortified. There was a long pause before Spike slowly reached down to cover her hand with his own, encouraging her to continue. He threaded his fingers down between hers so that they could create the perfect touch and slide together, sending sparkles of pleasure along her pussy. He didn’t speak, didn’t ruin things, just adjusted his body so that he could lean over her shoulder and watch. Cool lips caressed her shoulder then inched up her throat, a tiny lick at her jugular then gentle teeth found her earlobe and began to nibble. Ragged breathing in her ear left Buffy in no doubt that Spike was enjoying this just as much as she was. Instinctively, Buffy pushed her bottom fully against his groin, feeling the round tip of his cock kissing her entrance as he increased the pressure on her clit.

“Do you want me here, inside you, love?” Spike whispered. It was agony, but this was her decision.

She knew they were moving too fast, knew she wanted reassurance that this meant something more to him than just sex, but right this minute she didn’t care.

“Please, Spike, yes, now.”

“Thank the Goddess!”

With a groan of pleasure, Spike pushed in a little way, her wetness aiding his journey to her centre. Little increments of push and retreat until Buffy, opened fully, fluttered in welcome around him.

***

Spike gazed fondly at his wife, this girl, woman, warrior, with eyes the colour of fireflies and forest ferns, eyes that now stared back at him with dreamy lust and just a hint of uncertainty. He knew that before long she’d wonder about the wisdom of what they’d just done, remember her grievances against him and pull away. But for now she was his. Not ready to reveal his true feelings in words he spoke through touch, brushing his thumbs against each of her erect nipples until her gaze grew unfocused. As she arched her back before him like the figurehead on a ship’s prow, he bowed down his head to drive the waves against her once more.

***

It was close to 11 o’clock when they emerged into the communal sitting room. The aroma of fresh baking finally speeding up their attempts to get ready for the day, attempts hampered by an almost insurmountable need for Spike to keep Buffy pinned to the bed, and for Buffy to let him. Neither wanted to discuss this latest stage in their relationship, but each touch, each steady grip of thigh and hip, left them breathless and disorientated. Spike was determined to smash the shell that Buffy was so fond of retreating into. And Buffy? Well, she could sense something in his manner, something powerful and a bit desperate and she wanted more.

Only a quick feint and twist at the last second kept Buffy from being ensnared again. They were now bathed and dressed but he was determined to have one last tumble before they faced the outside world. Shrieking with laughter she reached for the door knob and twisted it open, spilling out into the room beyond. A sea of avid faces greeted her. With a little meep she eyed each amused person in turn before settling on a table covered in foodstuffs.

“Ooh, breakfast, um, good morning.”

Diving on the food, she grabbed a large flaky pastry oozing with nuts and honey, and stuffed it in her mouth so that she wouldn’t have to answer any questions. Spike strolled in next, looking entirely too full of himself and sat beside her. With a lazy smile he stared at her flushed cheeks, the little pink tongue that darted out to lick honey smeared lips, the way her faintly damp hair turned to ringlets at her throat. Following her curves downwards his eyes widened.

Puzzled by this new expression Buffy cast her eyes down too. A scattering of pastry crumbs clung to her latest low-cut bodice, but what caught her full attention was a ragged line of strawberry love bites decorating her breasts. Exasperated, she shot up off the sofa, hands fisted on hips.

“Great, why don’t you sign my rump with a cattle-brand while you’re at it?”

Annoyed that she was reacting so badly towards his marks of affection, Spike retorted, “Well, since you’re being a complete cudder, you only have to ask!”

And, just like that, they were back to square one.

***

In the end the others decided not to tease…too much. They could see that the flustered young couple were hell-bent on misunderstanding one another instead of being honest about their feelings, and it was a potentially explosive mix. Faythe was chewing her lip in her efforts not to laugh at the pair; a much restored but still injured Brack leaned against the wall, arms folded so that he couldn’t push them back into their bedroom and lock the door, and Scarr just looked peeved that he’d missed the previous night’s fighting. Ennico, emboldened by the heady traces of arousal still clinging to ‘Buffee’, unwisely tried to encourage her to go for a walk in the gardens, but a ferocious glare from Spike, when Buffy wasn’t looking, made him quickly change the subject.

Having been brought up to date earlier by Brack, the team decided to kill time until dinner at Ahnja’s by exploring the town. Before heading out Spike disappeared into the bedroom. Returning, he stepped in front of Buffy and snaked a delicately woven red shawl around her shoulders to cover the fading marks. It was the same one he’d wrapped around her head after he’d dunked her in the stream not that long ago. Remembering his actions he was overwhelmed with guilt.

Not able to look at her, he mumbled “I’m sorry, Buffy,” turning away before she could respond.

Faythe broke the silence. “Come on, you two, I’ve got some serious shopping to do and you boneheads are holding us up.” With a strong grip she grabbed them and headed for the door.

***

Undeterred by the weak sun, a chill mist swirled around every corner, but even in the pearly half light Buffy could see that Lossangel was an impressive place. Rising steeply from its outermost walls, the city led them ever upwards through shiny cobbled streets and dozens of shallow stone steps. Buildings at either side stood tall and impenetrable, high shuttered windows protecting its inhabitants from inquisitive eyes. Only the frequent courtyards, half hidden behind frozen iron gates, revealed signs of life. Like The Sleepy Dragon, these sheltered places seemed immune to winter’s bite, and ornamental shrubs and plants flourished. A simple warming spell, explained Brack. Not difficult, but expensive to maintain. Only the wealthy could afford it. In contrast, some abandoned properties lay unprotected, frozen and still, their gardens shrivelled, blackened, their statues and fountains crouching under a weight of sparkling ice.

Just as her thighs were beginning to burn from the latest flight of steps, Buffy rounded a corner and found herself at the entrance of a large market square. Here was a proper welcome, shop fronts festooned with gaily coloured flags and eager shopkeepers declaring the fineness of their wares to a throng of passers-by. Row upon row of covered stalls crowded together at the centre. Faythe grabbed Buffy’s hand and tugged her towards them without a backward glance.

The Aurelians left behind just chuckled, watching them disappear into the crowd. Looking around, they too spotted something of interest and, as one, headed for the Spit and Sawdust Tavern for some much needed refreshment.

***

Buffy hadn’t had so much fun in ages. Used to the austere rationing aboard her Watcher station, with only the occasional little luxury procured by her indulgent boss, Ethan, she was unprepared for the limitless quantities of clothing, food and trinkets available to anyone with money in their pockets. Faythe had thrust a handful of currency at her, declaring it to be part of Anjell’s funds for the expedition and their duty to spend on whatever they liked. She didn’t bother acting in character anymore and neither did Buffy as, arms linked, they flitted eagerly from stall to stall. Buffy suspected that in another life she’d been a natural born shopper and was soon examining everything like a seasoned pro. Faythe had to tug her away from a stand selling delicate handmade shoes and fur lined boots, all twirling around her on strings, aiming them both to the next wonder and the next until she was giddy. Trays of warm biscuits and fluffy muffins, sugar dusted sweets, silver dragon pendants, bolts of shimmering fabrics and heavy woollen cloaks, cages packed with mournful songbirds wearing bright plumage and slender pets with soft tails and bright eyes, a man grinding knives for tuppence and farmer’s wives plying them with slivers of strong hard cheese and salted nuts. After an hour they settled on a bench next to a food stand, enjoying the warmth of its fire pit and indulged in the local specialty; skewers of red glazed meat and caramelised apple slices, washed down with hot spiced punch. Both had an assortment of bags by their aching feet and satisfied smiles on their faces.

“So,” Faythe drawled, wearing her best innocent expression. “When are you going to forgive Spike and tell him how you really feel?”

“I, er, that’s so none of your business, Faythe.”

“Look,” said the dark haired girl reasonably. “I know Spike. As a soldier, what you see is what you get. As a male, he’s remarkably complicated and a lot more sensitive than you’d think. I’ve never seen him so out of his depth before, and you, girl, are the cause.”

“Well, I didn’t ask to be, I didn’t ask for any of this. Besides, he just keeps pressing all my buttons. He makes me crazy,” she whispered.

“Honey, a few crumbs from you and he’ll be worshipping at your feet.”

“I don’t want him at my feet! Anyway, he’s running rings around me already. If I give in he’ll be insufferable.”

“He’s just tugging your hair to get your attention. Not the best plan, I admit, but I know there’s something strong between you.” Faythe sighed. “Perhaps you have it too easy, maybe you’ll have to be tested before you realise just what you could lose.”

Not liking the sound of that, Buffy shivered. The idea that Spike might suddenly disappear from her life filled her with something she didn’t want to analyse.

“We’ll see,” she muttered. “But if he drowns me, spanks me or bites me, then we’ll be having words.”

Buffy unconsciously left out the word ‘seduces’ from her list of grievances; somehow that wasn’t quite true any longer.

***

As if drawn by an unspoken signal, the two women emerged from the crowd at the same time as Spike and his companions took their leave of The Spit and Sawdust. They fell into step together. All were in good spirits, from bargains bought and from a pint or two of good ale and a hot pie, respectively. Pleased that Buffy was no longer intent on giving him the cold shoulder, Spike offered to carry some of her purchases. Smiling inwardly at his old fashioned good manners, Buffy handed them over. They walked together, a little behind the others, until the familiar gates of the inn came into view. Everyone separated for some leisure time, Spike taking on Brack at a complicated board game and Buffy retiring for a nap. She’d wondered if Spike would make an appearance in ‘their’ room as she rested but he left her alone.

As the time of their appointment drew near their anticipation grew. The travellers prepared for the evening with a change of clothes, weapons cunningly concealed, and a little light banter. There was a sense of mission, of purpose, about the evening, as if they knew things were going to change rapidly over the next few hours and that they had to be ready for it.

Their journey through the still night didn’t take long; if evil was afoot then it was treading on the other side of town. Ahnja’s Curiosity Shop was impossible to miss; a large emporium, the wide mullioned picture window at the front displayed a thousand items, all jostling for attention. Rows of glass jars containing roots, pickled eggs, tiny amphibians suspended in amber liquid, mummified claws, candles, daggers, stone globes swirling with moving colours, nets glinting with jewels, and row upon row of bangles, beads and necklaces. The centrepiece was a dummy dressed from head to toe in grey armour, the breastplate and shoulders bristling with metal spikes, legs braced apart as if the beast it had ridden on had faded away to nothing along with its owner. They’d barely reached for the shop’s bell when the door opened. A slim yellow-haired youth appeared in the doorway. Eyes darting past them to the street beyond, he seemed satisfied and ushered them in with a bow.

“Come in, come in, fearless warriors, welcome to the house of my mistress, the loveliest, most perspicacious and thrifty person in our fair city.” Seeing Buffy, he almost whimpered. “Welcome, divine flower from another universe.” He turned to Spike. “And to you, her chosen consort, who would protect her with every inch of his muscular yet perfectly compact body.”

“Oi!”

“Andii, what did I tell you about bothering my guests? Bring them to me at once!” The disembodied voice of a woman filtered through from another room.

***

The other room, unlike the shop, was almost bare in comparison; a wide, carpeted space with cream walls and display cases containing real treasures rather than gaudy knickknacks. Half a dozen low couches, upholstered in red with gold braid, were dotted along the walls, and at the centre stood a long, cloth-covered table surrounded by high backed chairs. It was prepared in readiness for a meal, each setting perfectly arranged with crystal glasses, gleaming cutlery, napkins and thin place mats woven from silver wire. Lit candles ran down its centre in shallow glass holders and pink flower buds were scattered with precision over the cream cloth. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble. That someone was a slim, attractive female who was approaching them with a slightly forced smile and an outstretched hand. Ahnja stumbled slightly; she was wearing a form hugging, sharply tailored grey suit jacket and pencil skirt, two rows of pearls around her neck and impossibly high heels. Her shrewd eyes landed on Buffy.

“I was expecting you to be taller, also I have dressed like a human and you are dressed like an Aurelian tramp. Have I got this all wrong?”

Spike slid forward smoothly before Buffy could react. “We are delighted to meet you, mistress, and Buffy is in disguise while we are staying here, I’m sure you understand.”

“Oh yes, I can see how this would be necessary. I will overlook her clothing and ignore her glowering expression and continue to be a gracious hostess to you all. Please sit down.”

Bewildered that Ahnja could possibly think that she would wear such an ancient outfit anyway, Buffy sat down without a word.

“Right,” Ahnja beamed at her guests. “While my faithful servant Andii prepares our first course I shall engage you in ‘small talk’ until it is time to discuss the real reason for our meeting.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather we skipped to the important stuff now,” snipped Buffy, still stung by the woman’s earlier comments.

“Well, that won’t do. I have gone to a lot of trouble and Andii will sulk and stop fawning over me if we miss any of his food ritual.”

Unexpectedly, it was Brack who smoothed things over. “Mistress Ahnja, we appreciate your efforts and your attention to detail and custom. We will enjoy your fine meal and admire your treasures. As uncultured soldiers we are unused to polite society. No offence is intended.”

Ahnja was pleased and beamed at the sincere sounding older man.

“You’re welcome. I shall overlook your lack of manners and we shall begin again. You know you are remarkably wise for a common person. Would you consider working for me?”

Brack smothered a smile. “The offer is tempting but my duty wouldn’t allow it, I’m sure you understand.”

Their host thought that over then shrugged a little. “Very well, your duty to stop the apocalypse must take precedence over my desire to be appreciated by an experienced male. I will withdraw my offer until you have saved the planet.”

“Apocalypse?”

“Of course. Did you think I would go to such trouble if my livelihood and personal safety wasn’t under serious threat?”

Andii chose this moment to wheel in a trolley covered in steaming dishes, leaving the guests to ponder the almost casual announcement of the apocalypse. Careful to always serve Ahnja first, he made his way around the table placing random foodstuffs on their plates. As the items piled up, Buffy could only gaze in horror.

Ahnja explained. “Andii is – what’s the word? - a ‘fan’ of Earth culture, and he’s spent the last few years accessing your ship’s transmissions using magic.” The group looked up, startled. “I told him there was profit to be made from reporting your communications to our military but he was very stubborn. Instead, he would spend hours in his room watching your entertainment broadcasts, and while the rest of us suffered under the aggression of the human invaders, he insisted that there was something worthy and noble buried in your culture. I hadn’t the heart to destroy his dreams and now it seems that his obsession has proved useful. Although this outfit looks strangely out of place under the circumstances.” She looked down at herself in dismay.

“You’re just perfect,” breathed Andii. “I chose it to represent the feminine, sexual, yet businesslike women of the late 20th century whose credo was ‘greed is good.’ I thought it suited you.”

“You’re right, it does suit me...although I am glad that I ignored your suggestion of not wearing any undergarments, and crossing and uncrossing my legs in front of our guests.”

***

After the strangest meal any of them had ever eaten - consisting of Earth dishes translated Aurelian style into random blobs of foodstuffs on their plates - Andii reluctantly cleared away the mountain of uneaten food and wheeled it away, grumbling.

They sipped their – thankfully, pleasant - wine and settled down to business.

As politely as possible, Spike addressed their host. “Mistress, thank you for such a splendid meal. I’m sure that the memories of pot roast with marshmallows will live on in all of us. Now that we have feasted, can you tell us what you know about Saya’s axe, and why you insisted that Buffy came here to meet you?”

“Didn’t I mention why? Oh dear, that was silly of me.” Ahnja looked annoyed with herself. “Andii!” she bellowed. “Tell them about the prophesy, and bring the book!”

***

When Andii returned everyone fell silent, waiting as he took his seat. He carefully placed a small battered book on the tablecloth before him. Its mottled brown cover caught the candlelight, revealing flashes of scarlet under the dirt. Inside, rough cut pages foxed with age were covered edge to edge in inky scrawl.

Andii looked up a little self-conciously before speaking. For the first time, Buffy could see the bright mind lying just underneath the childlike surface of Ahnja’s companion. He hadn’t Spike’s sensual voice but soon settled into a storytelling rhythm that seemed intrinsic to all Aurelians.

“There was a time, when mages and mystics often had to escape the clutches of certain warrior lords, those who would use the powers they possessed for their own ends. Lossangel has always been a good place for fugitives and outcasts to ‘disappear’ for the price of a few jewels, or a favour or two.

"It was Snidda who found this book, nearly twenty years ago, in the tunnels under our city. There is no-one still alive with the same nose for finding things that want to stay hidden and, while exploring the oldest passages to the north, he came across fresh rock fall. When he cleared it he found the entrance to a concealed cave. On one of its walls was a painted figure, surrounded by arcane symbols, and in the corner was a bed. On this lay the crumbling remains of a robed man, the book before you by his side.”

“Forgive me for being sceptical,” Spike interrupted, a raised eyebrow aimed at Andii. “But how do we know that this isn’t all just some fanciful dragon-shit, designed to make us part with our money? And what has an old book got to do with Saya’s axe?”

Andii didn’t look surprised at Spike’s rudeness. “Because we don’t want your money. We want you to stop the coming darkness before it consumes every habitable world you’ve ever heard of, including this one. This book may hold the only clues as to how it can be defeated.”

For anyone who knew gemhunters, the very idea of them not asking for money was unheard of, and the visitors were speechless.

Ahnja alone muttered under her breath, “Stupid idea, I know. I mean, why can’t we be compensated for helping to save the world?”

Andii cast fond eyes on his squirming mistress. “Because it's the right thing to do.”

“I know, I know. I don’t have to like it though.”

Pleased that he still had his audience’s complete attention, he went on. “This journal belonged to Jontan the Apprentice. I like to think that if we’d met, we could have been friends,” Andii said a little wistfully. “In it he grumbles about his living conditions and how miserable he is, but underneath that he had a purpose; to leave us a true record of one of the most powerful magicians who ever lived, and to carry out his final request. I’ll read what he says.”

“It is with a sad heart that I finally put these words to paper. I regret that I have no apprentice of my own to tell this to face-to-face, but my master always warned me that I should trust my own instincts and that people may mean well, but secrets are like hot embers in the breast, burning holes until they have burrowed out and released their knowledge in a fiery conflagration. I miss my master, and, as this cough of mine worsens, I sense him standing at the edges of my vision, waiting for me in the great Beyond. After all this time, he is a welcome visitor.

"I have finished the painting on the wall and added the magicks to keep it in place. I’m no artist, but there is something in her form that makes me smile and wish that we could meet, just once. When she was completed I could see a second faint shape outlining hers; it wasn’t my doing but it looks right. Like he belongs there.

"I still wonder, even now, how my master could see so far and still care so much about things that will happen when the world has long forgotten his old, dusty bones, and mine. He was only a young man when he stole Saya’s casket from its protected resting place and sent it through the forbidden portal. That he had the power to do so, even then, astonishes me. Whenever I asked him about this one act, the one that tarnished his name and reputation in the eyes of the world, he would get a faraway look and merely say that it was necessary. That Saya needed help before she could return to defeat her worst foe and find the peace she deserved. “When it is time, make a door to what is lost,” he told me, “for a reluctant warrior-bride given by an enemy will need it to find her weapons and her purpose here. She must let the comfort, strength and love of three hearts protect her from the eyes of hell. For to reject what is offered will make her weak. Tell her that even the oldest of threads can be unravelled and be made anew in the fabric of space.”

“I swear that some of what he told me made no sense at all, but I am writing it down anyway. I am trusting that these words, and the splinter of ebbon that I have carried for so long, sewn into my cloak, will one day find their way into the hands of those that need them. I pray that they do, for evil is cunning and its shadow has long fingers. Whoever you are, Saya or stranger, may the Goddess be with you in your final battle.”

Andii closed the book with reverence. “That was his last entry. There are some symbols written at the end, but I don’t know what they mean.”

As the guests digested this information, Andii glanced shyly at Buffy. “I...we believe that you are the one chosen to carry Saya’s spirit and strength back to us.”

“No!” Buffy stood up abruptly, knocking her chair over in the process. “I’m me, not...not some vessel for a demon ghost with issues. Sure I want to help, but I’m just a human. Don’t wrap me up in all this prophecy crap or you’re going to lose. Badly.”

Spike stood up too. He looked stonily at Andii and Ahnja. “I don’t know what you two are trying to do, but upsetting Buffy will bring you nothing but grief. Grief, and possibly an early grave.”

Andii gulped audibly.

“Oh, please,” Ahnja retorted, unimpressed. “Can you deny that she has strength far beyond that of a normal earthling? As soon as news of your marriage reached us we started to make enquiries and when Ennico told us...”

“What!” Everyone looked in amazement at the young man who was now wilting under their scrutiny. His hand crept out of sight but Brack grabbed his wrist and thumped it back on the table.

“Don’t be stupid, lad,” the old soldier hissed in his ear.

Faythe leaned back in her chair, arms folded. “I might have known. Last night in The Blue Rooms, you were far too familiar with the place. You’re one of them, aren’t you? A gemhunter!”

Ennico sat up straight, his dark curls framing a now defiant face. “Yess, I am a gemhunter, one who is despised outside my city. But I am also a soldier, am one of you. Have I not proved myself to be worthy? It is not my fault that you don’t trust my kind.” He looked at each of them, expressive brown eyes filled with hurt.

“That’s enough.” Buffy, appalled by the hostility now aimed squarely at the forlorn young man, forgot her own anger and moved to protect him if necessary.

Ennico gave her a weak smile, grateful for the support. “Mistress, when I saw you kill the skeelers I knew. And you were also very reluctant to be Spike’s bride, yes?”

Buffy blushed. Spike growled.

“I got word to Ahnja and she sent a message to General Anjell about the axe, requesting that you come here too. I kept my secrets until Snidda could see for himself that you were the one.”

“Snidda?”

“Yes, mistress. He is my uncle. My mother raised me in the south before returning home and bringing me with her. It is why my speech is not of here and why you could not guess my heritage. I talked with Uncle Snidda this morning while you were, er, enjoying your lying down time with Spike. He will take you to Jontan’s cave tomorrow.”

“So, just how many of you know about Buffy and why did we bother to keep her presence a secret?” Spike was mildly annoyed with Buffy for hovering so close to the little traitor.

“We have kept all knowledge of the cave and journal to ourselves for twenty years,” Ahnja stated. “They were found when humankind first made war with Aurelia and so we kept quiet, wondering if these events were connected. As prophecies will only make sense as they are unfolding, we waited for the warrior-bride, hoping that she would not appear in our lifetime and so signal the final confrontation with evil. Buffy’s part in this is, hopefully, still a secret, but if Nesst is searching for Saya’s axe then he also knows that there is one chosen to use it against him. That is why he wants it.”

Andii spoke up then, quietly, but everyone heard him. “The prophecies in the journal are deliberately vague, but I believe that Nesst is only part of the coming darkness. The real face of our enemy hasn’t yet been revealed.”

***

It was a very subdued Buffy who finally crawled into their bed that night. Spike was lying on his back under the covers. Turning his head towards her he looked at her questioningly but said nothing.

Shaking her head a little she answered him anyway. “I, I’m not ready to talk about what happened tonight. I’m not ready for any of this really.” She inched closer, tugging the heavy quilt up over her shoulder. She looked lost.

“Will you hold me?”

Spike smiled and lifted his arm so that she could get close, before bringing it down around her. She laid her head in the crook of his neck, fingers cupped on his chest. Reaching across with his other hand he brushed the hair away from her forehead, making her scalp tingle. As her eyelids fluttered, his thumb came to rest at her temple, making tiny strokes that continued long after she’d fallen sleep.

***

It was still dark when they were roused by a frantic banging on the door to their suite. Someone, probably Brack, went to open it and the slightly hysterical voice of Teller the Innkeeper could be heard, his words urgent but muffled. Buffy and Spike both rolled out of bed in a state of readiness just as Brack entered.

“Terr-Khan,” he said. “They’ve entered the city. Teller is rounding up the guests to hide in the tunnels.”

“How many?”

“Too many.”

Spike grabbed the most practical clothes from his wardrobe and slipped them on. Black leather pants, boots and a thick black shirt. Strapping on his weapons, he grabbed his cloak. Buffy was faring less well, struggling into the least tarty dress she owned. Her tight leggings were of navy suede, so at least her bottom half would be warmer than usual. Without speaking, Spike withdrew a knife and knelt down as she was buttoning up her black velvet bodice. Heavily embroidered with fine silver wire, it resembled an exotic breastplate. Grabbing the floor length ribbons of her skirt he proceeded to slash them away till they ended mid thigh.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Fastening a dagger to her thigh and sliding the ebbon stake into a dark sable boot - one of a new pair bought on her shopping trip with Faythe - Buffy grabbed her own cloak and they joined the others.

Everyone was ready.

“What do we know?”

“Terr-Khan appeared from nowhere and decimated the guards at the gate. Killed the wulfs too. They’re systematically breaking into houses and slaughtering the people inside. Something is going on in the marketplace. That’s all Teller knows.”

“Well, we’d better move then,” said Spike. “Brack, your shoulder is still a mess so you’re no use in a real fight. Sneak out and get to the portal. Get Anjell. Scarr, it’s too much to hope that the way will be clear, so you help him. Faythe, Ennico, go with Teller and round up any useful citizens who can help defend the tunnels. Buffy, you and I are going to check out the marketplace then go to Ahnja’s to get that book.”

Orders given, the soldiers moved out.

***

Spike and Buffy moved like ghosts through the city, quickly backtracking whenever the dull crack of splintering wood sounded too close. The Terr-Khan were making no effort to be stealthy and the pair caught glimpses of citizens fleeing their homes, many still in their nightshirts, cloaks or blankets their only defence against the bitter cold.

The unlucky ones, those trapped and caught by the Terr-Khan, gave a sickening wail of despair that cut off mid-note. The deep silence that followed filled Buffy with sorrow and cold loathing. Spike’s expression showed that he, too, wanted to tear the predators apart limb by limb, but he hadn’t survived this long by being stupid.

Suddenly, something lurched out of a doorway on their right. A massive clawed arm whipped towards them and only a quicksilver jerk back saved Spike from having his face slashed to ribbons. Quick as a snake, Spike retaliated, his sword driving into its chest. The thrust should have pierced the creature through but it barely went in an inch.

Cursing, Spike dropped the sword and grabbed his weremetal dagger instead. The seven foot tall monster regarded him with gleaming red eyes; it appeared to be grinning. Dismissing Buffy, it leapt forward, heavy jaws open wide. Ignoring the creature’s rank breath, Spike swerved neatly to one side, sliding the blade under its armpit as it turned. At the same time, Buffy struck with her stake from behind. Instinctively, they pierced both the creature’s hearts simultaneously.

***

Reaching the buildings overlooking the marketplace, Spike guided Buffy towards one that was being renovated, the wooden scaffolding at the rear making a convenient ladder up to the gutter. The slate roof was slippery with ice but the lead pins that held the tiles in place gave just enough purchase to allow them to toe their way up to the crest of the roof.

Spike reached it first and hooked an elbow and one knee over the ridge. Buffy didn’t have the same reach and found herself slipping back down. With a muffled “Crap!” she grabbed onto his other leg and swarmed up his body. When she was in position they lay side by side, cocooned under his cloak and taking in the scene below.

What they saw sickened them.

Two hundred or so townspeople were gathered in a terrified huddle below, surrounded by perhaps ninety Terr-Khan. The metal framework of the market stalls, stripped of canvas awnings and wares for the night had been turned into makeshift gibbets. A dozen or so unfortunates, hands tied behind them, ropes wound tight around their throats, were suspended, strangling by degrees. They’d been secured so that they could just touch the ground on tiptoe, the effort to relieve the pressure and breathe left them wild eyed as they choked. A few had lost their fight for life, twirling gently by the side of their struggling companions.

Within this hellish scene was a small female, pacing on top of a small raised circle of steps. Back on Earth an ancient stone cross would have stood at its centre, but here a worn marble statue, depicting a stern, pale warrior, took its place.

Buffy recognised the fur swathed figure immediately from the recorded bloodbath on Watcher 10. Dalla. As if on cue, Krallik - her son and Anjell’s half brother - almost danced up the steps to her side. He grabbed her by the upper arms and, in a very unfilial move, thrust his tongue down her throat. After a few seconds of heated writhing, Dalla roughly pushed him away.

“We haven’t time for that, you idiot. Nesst will have both our hides if we delay. Now get back to what you do best and get some more of these brainless woolbacks strung up. THEN MAYBE SOMEONE WILL ACTUALLY TELL US WHAT WE WANT TO KNOW!” she screamed, aiming her anger at the people below.

Calming down, Dalla scowled and addressed the crowd. “Tell us where Saya’s axe is and we’ll stop. Keep silent and we’ll hang every last one of you, and let our pets warm their claws in your innards.”

One citizen, a portly man wearing the remains of a well made jacket over his nightshirt, dared to step forward. Bowing, he addressed Dalla, his voice quavering. “Mistress, I am the magister of this city and I can assure you that no-one here knows of this axe. I beg you, don’t destroy us for a myth, a folktale. We have many other treasures, please take what you want, but leave us be.”

“Wrong answer, bloodbag. Krallik, I think our mayor here has just volunteered to join his precious subjects on a rope’s end. It’s a pity all those civic dinners will weigh him down and make it a quick dance.”

“No, no, wait!” gasped the magister. “What if one of us has the axe, not knowing its true importance? We are all collectors here, let us go home and bring you our weapons. You can examine them yourself.”

“Hmm...” Dalla considered his words, her eyes calculating. Sweeping her long blonde hair back she looked around at the assembled townsfolk; they huddled, waiting, a few whimpers broke the silence.

“Very well. The city is ours and we really haven’t time to search every home thoroughly. Half of you may go back to your hovels and bring back what you have. The women and children will stay here. You have one hour, after that we’ll start killing them, two for every minute you waste." Dalla, warmly wrapped as she was, shivered. “Gods, it’s colder than a witch's tit here. How can you stand it? I think we’ll build a nice little bonfire. Maybe your worthless bodies will heat us up a bit.”

“What of them?” asked the magister, staring at the victims suspended from the market stalls.

"They’re not part of the deal. After all, it would be cruel to deprive my son of his bit of fun, wouldn’t it?” she said, smiling sweetly.

***

“Oh God, oh God,” Buffy murmured her distress against Spike’s throat as they clung together on the rooftop. “We have to do something.”

“We can’t fight so many of them, it would be suicide.” Spike said. His voice sounded harsh, betraying his own fear and revulsion for the plight of those left below. “Anjell will come soon and we must get to Ahnja’s. I promise we’ll make them pay, Buffy. I promise.” Spike squeezed her shoulders once before they retreated back down the roof, not making a sound as they descended.

***

They were too late.

The door of the curiosity shop hung loosely on one hinge, the ancient armour flung halfway across the street in a puddle of glass. Everything that could be broken had been. Inside, the shelves and all their contents lay tossed and twisted. Carefully stepping around the wreckage, the pair moved into the private rooms beyond with a sense of dread. In the middle of the large space, surrounded by smashed and plundered display cases was Andii. He was kneeling on the floor, his arms clasped around Ahnja.

Rocking and weeping quietly, completely oblivious to their presence, he stroked her face, crooning soft words while supporting her neck in the crook of his arm. Her body was stiff, bent at an unnatural angle, her eyes open, staring. Across Ahnja’s chest ran a deep diagonal line of red, her lifeblood soaking the carpet around them.

“Silly mistress,” Andii scolded gently. “I wasn’t worth it. I shouldn’t have listened to you, shouldn’t have hidden like you said. And now you’ve left me. You had no right to, you know. No right to be doing that, not when I love you. Your beautiful body is all torn and you won’t look at me again, or scold me, or let me brush your pretty hair and fetch your slippers when your feet get cold. Oh, Ahnja, please don’t do this, I... I don’t know what to do now.”

Sobbing harder, Andii’s tears fell into the eyes of his beloved. They gathered for a moment then trickled gently down her cheeks, giving the illusion that she shared his sorrow.

Careful not to startle the boy, Buffy stepped forward and knelt down next to him. Andii's grief for his beloved mistress brought back memories of another senseless death, that of her own mother, and, for the first time, she didn't regret not being allowed to see the body. This wasn't Ahnja, not any more.

Buffy gently pulled him towards her, away from the dead and back to the living. Spike stood over them both and watched, a wereblade in each hand, offering his protection for as long as they needed it.

Just then, a rustle in the shadows broke the silence. They were not alone.

***

A hastily cleared throat was all that saved the intruder from certain death. Spike re-sheathed the wereblade that was within a hairsbreadth of flying at its target and Snidda stepped into view, palms upraised to show he wasn’t a threat. Taking in the scene before him he sighed deeply, eyes screwed shut for a moment, before moving to crouch next to the boy. Placing a comforting arm around his shoulder, he spoke quietly.

“Ah, Andii lad, ‘tis a cruel world right now, but we must save our sorrow for a better time. We have to leave and quickly.”

Andii shuddered, his slight body bent like an old man’s, before Snidda’s words registered. Straightening up he smeared away tears with a sleeve. His eyes glowed red.

For the first time Buffy noticed that all three males were wearing their demon faces.

Andii took a few moments to adjust Ahnja’s limbs and clothing. He crossed her hands at her chest and carefully brushed the blood-matted hair from her face, smoothing a palm down over her eyes to close them. Taking a step back he bowed his head to murmur a short prayer before turning to the others. His human face regained, Andii’s boyish features looked older, indelibly marked by the experience of losing the one he loved.

“I have the book.”

Reaching inside his death spattered shirt, Andii withdrew Jontan’s journal and placed it in Buffy’s hands. As soon as the soft leather touched her fingers she became very still. The room she was in faded away and another image appeared with crystal clarity. Moments later she refocused on her companions, looking pale.

“Snidda, Jontan’s cave, can you take us to it?”

“Aye, warrior lady, I can.”

***

Knowing that only their ebbon and weremetal blades had successfully pierced the Terr-Khan’s hide earlier, Spike spoke briefly with Snidda and together they picked over the broken display cases for more of the same. Gathering weapons from Ahnja’s collection, they divided them into bundles that could reasonably be carried by four people, and then moved to the outer shop to keep a watch on the street. Meanwhile, Buffy helped Andii to pack emergency rations for a stay in the caves. Everyone was on edge, aware that the enemy could come crashing in at any time. If Spike had questions about Buffy’s request to find Jontan’s cave he kept them to himself. Instinct told him to follow her lead on this. Besides, any hope of finding others willing to fight now lay within the tunnels.

Andii, still shaky from recent events, nonetheless had the presence of mind to fetch Buffy a short fur lined jacket that had belonged to Ahnja. Giving him a grateful smile she quickly put it on over her dress, refastening her cloak. Now ready, the four stole quietly into the night.

***

Only Snidda’s intimate knowledge of the convoluted city prevented confrontation with large groups of Terr-Khan. As it was, they only avoided discovery by a whisker, ducking into ancient ginnels running between properties, too narrow for the barrel-chested monsters to squeeze into. Hearts pounded each time a pitch black passageway ended at the next street, but they steadily made their way uphill, eventually entering a large overgrown garden, tucked behind a very old house. Rising up immediately behind it were the sheer cliffs that had protected Lossangel for so many centuries.

Negotiating the cracked pavement and fallen statuary, they came to a high wall nestled against the rock. By now, the light flurries of snow had quickened to a steady fall.

“Good,” muttered Snidda to himself, “fresh snow will cover our tracks.”

Andii helped him to pull aside a heavy curtain of knotted ivy from the stonework. Behind it was a hole, about five feet in diameter, leading into the mountain.

If it had seemed cold outside, this was something else again! A musty, still, chill crept into Buffy’s bones almost instantly. With the ivy carefully pulled back into place Andii lit two torches, which held a soft yellow glow but gave no warmth. Snidda led the way with one and Andii came after Buffy with the other. Spike brought up the rear, constantly alert for signs that they were being followed.

After about twenty yards the passage became easier underfoot, a long diverted stream had once flowed this way leaving the ground smooth. They could hear swiftly rushing water somewhere deep beneath them. Several angled shafts, leading both up and down on either side, indicated that this area had once been mined, with wide pegs of rock deliberately left untouched at intervals to prevent the mountain from collapsing and closing the gaps. Here the torches picked out streaks of discolouration amongst the grey, the dull glitter of ore in seams too small or too inaccessible to bother with. The place smelled of old air, determination and faded hopes.

Now the path narrowed and the ceiling lowered sharply, so the group had to crouch down for the next part of the journey. Only Snidda’s soft warnings prevented Buffy from knocking herself out on its jagged edges. Heaven knew how Spike was managing behind her with his extra height and broad shoulders. She had to fight the sensation that the mountain was pressing down on her. Eventually the torture stopped and Buffy could unfurl her body. The others did the same. Spike grinned at her, then grimaced, raising a hand to the back of his head. His fingers came away smudged with blood. She stepped towards him with an anxious “Oh” but he waved her off.

“Thick skull, heal fast, let’s move on shall we?” She turned to continue and missed the small smile of pleasure at her concern.

The tunnel branched off several times along the way and without Snidda’s guidance they would have been hopelessly lost. Lacking daylight and the familiar sounds they were used to, a curious sense of unreality crept over them. They could have been walking for hours or days. Only the constant noise of water, their own breathing and the scrape of boots over loose stones, kept them grounded.

Reaching another junction on their path Snidda halted the group. “Mistress Buffy, a short way from here is a cave where I believe some of our citizens will be hiding. We can go round them if you wish.”

Catching Spike’s eye, Buffy shook her head. “No, we’ll check if these civilians need any help. Besides, I could use a breather.”

Snidda merely nodded. Picking up a rock he tapped out a short pattern of clicks at the entrance to the passage. A moment’s pause and an echoing response came back.

A few zigzags and they were in a large cavern. Perhaps three hundred people were gathered there, mostly women and children but some males as well. Here it was warmer and the source of the heat, a central pool bubbling with hot water, was a balm to Buffy’s frozen face and fingertips. A giant of a man detached himself from a group of children and came forward to greet them.

“Welcome, strangers, Snidda, Andii. We have food and a place to rest if you need it. Tell us, do you have any news?”

Snidda quickly described what they’d seen and Spike added to the tale. It was pointless keeping up the appearance of a merchant so he explained that he was a scout for General Anjell, sent to gather intelligence on sightings of Terr-Khan. Under the circumstances it was believable enough, these people had no real love for outsiders, especially soldiers, and a disguise might be considered prudent. He also revealed that messengers had been sent to bring the general’s help. This good news spread through the cavern like wildfire. There was no mention of Buffy, and she, for her part, deliberately retreated a short distance away to evade questions - just another stray female caught up in events.

Spike and Snidda unwrapped the weapons that they’d brought and Ogdin, the big man who’d first welcomed them, studied the collection closely. Bald as an egg, save for a single pigtail, and wearing a thick leather jerkin, he had a right arm even thicker and more muscled than his left, which was impressive enough. Turned out he was a blacksmith. He was also a natural leader. He considered Spike’s ‘discovery’ that only weapons like these could seriously damage the enemy.

“Makes sense, I suppose. These monsters reek of ancient magick, why else would enchanted blades defeat them? I know where some of our garrison will be, if they’ve survived. I’ll get the word out and we’ll send volunteers to search the houses. With luck, stuff like this will be overlooked. We’ll get ourselves an armoury to defeat the bastards, pick them off one by one ‘til your general gets here. Maybe cause a diversion in the market, halt the killings.” He paused, looking at Spike closely. “Will you help us?”

Spike had dreaded this request, but Snidda came smoothly to his rescue, saying that he’d agreed to guide Spike to his remaining officers, the easier route to the southern caves proving impassable due to ‘enemy activity’. There was an unspoken hint that Spike was on a secret mission that couldn’t be divulged, which was actually true. Andii was also travelling with them as he’d sworn to escort Ahnja’s cousin, Buffy, to the same place, hoping to find her relatives safe and well.

If Ogdin found Snidda’s explanation fishy, he wisely kept his thoughts to himself. Glancing over at Buffy speculatively, he nodded. “Well, if anyone can find a safe route through these tunnels it’ll be you. We’ll not interfere with your business. For now, take your rest and eat.”

Food turned out to be a tasty pottage of mushrooms, boiled over the fierce hot springs. The thick fleshy fungi were widely cultivated within the caves, to sell in Lossangel and beyond. Reassured that there was plenty more where that came from, Buffy and the others ate until they were full.

The four of them sat against the cave wall in silence watching as the other survivors adapted to their new circumstances. Pretty soon the soft sounds of distress died down as one by one the refugees resumed their violently interrupted sleep. A few dozen men, mostly gemhunters by their appearance, quietly comforted loved ones before slipping off into the tunnels.

***

After an hour’s dozing, Buffy was gently shaken awake by Andii, and the four of them continued on their way after a brief farewell. They gave all Ahnja’s weapons to Ogdin to use as he saw fit.

The journey was worse than before, for now they were heading up, not down. The air grew progressively more stale and Buffy felt that if she were a canary she’d be chirping a last lament before expiring. As if in answer to her prayers, they came to a turning where a blessedly fresh puff of wind ruffled her hair from above.

“We’re in the old system now, nearer to the surface in places. This is where the hidden ones used to live. Quite a community here once.”

Looking round they could see definite signs of habitation. Small alcoves, lovingly sculpted, housed tiny marble figures, possibly gods. They glowed in the torchlight as if eager to be noticed. A trickle of water poured into a carved bowl at one wall and Spike cupped his hands to drink. “It’s fresh, and... ow!”

“What’s wrong?”

“S’nothing, the cold’s giving me ‘fang freeze’.”

This struck Buffy as being very funny until she too took a draught of the icy water.

Everyone started laughing then, even Andii managed a small chuckle, their aching bodies and grim thoughts briefly forgotten.

Soon, doorways appeared. Most were roughly chipped out but a few had carved lintels and patterned mosaics on the ground below, like stone welcome mats. The rooms inside were bare, save for inset shelves and the odd candle stub. It was hard to imagine them as anyone’s home.

The labyrinthine dwellings became older, cruder and more dangerous. Shifting planes in the mountain revealed sudden gaps in the floor. They skirted these carefully, unconsciously counting the seconds between the stones they dislodged and the faint splashes below. Pretty soon there were more gaps than places to tread and Buffy let out a small whimper. A strong arm guided her to the wall, a steady presence at her back.

“I won’t let you fall.” Spike breathed in her ear. “I’ll never let you fall.”

Reassured, and feeling just a little bit tingly, Buffy pressed on.

***

“Here we are.” Snidda said at last. The ‘here’ in question was a seemingly impenetrable wall of rubble just ahead of them.

“Just as I left it. Now, we have to do this carefully. Andii, lad, fix the torches.”

As Andii wedged both torches into cracks in the wall, Snidda climbed agilely to the top of the sloping mound. Handing the topmost rock down to Andii he then carefully selected another. Pretty soon they were all helping to remove the barrier until a hole was revealed. When it was wide enough he assisted the others through it in turn. Buffy noted that for a small man he had a grip of iron.

Scrambling down the other side, having rescued the torches, they found themselves in yet another passage, although this one looked solid underfoot.

“Nearly there, my lady.”

Indeed he was right. At the end of the path was a single entrance to a dwelling. Nothing special, but Buffy instantly knew this was the place she’d needed to see. Instinctively, reaching behind her, she grasped Spike’s hand before going inside. Jontan’s cave was exactly as she’d pictured it, untouched save for a couple of neatly trimmed lanterns and fresh kindling left ready in a small fireplace, a narrow, flue rising above it. On the main wall was the image of a woman, her back to the viewer. About Buffy’s height, her hair fell in a tumble of rich earthy browns. She wore grey animal skin leggings, a tunic and knee length boots criss-crossed with leather. Both arms were bare save for a few thick bangles. In one hand was a double-edged axe, held aloft as if issuing a challenge, while the other was raised, palm forward, in mid-air. A figure seemed to be holding her, a shadowy outline, taller, male. Looking closely, it seemed to Buffy that the woman was tilting her neck slightly as if in invitation.

Dragging her eyes away at last, Buffy noticed a narrow shape lying against the far wall; it was wrapped in deep blue cloth.

“He wanted so much to meet you,” said Andii without being asked, “so we left him here. When all this is over I think he’d like to be taken outside. Buried in the warm soil under a bright sky.”

Without knowing why, Buffy went to crouch down next to Jontan’s remains. She rested her hand very lightly over the cloth, careful not to disturb anything.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Having reached their destination, it was a bit disappointing when nothing special happened. No previously hidden clues to find the axe revealed themselves. The runes surrounding the picture on the rock remained indecipherable. The earth didn’t rumble and there was no booming voice to offer supernatural advice.

Oddly, no-one minded much, or perhaps they were too exhausted to care. Snidda lit the fire while Andii produced ingredients to make a simple meal and they ate together, staring at the flames. None of them spoke much. Their meal over, each found a space and lay down to rest. Without needing to be asked, Spike joined Buffy and drew his own thick cloak over them both.

Perhaps sleep would bring some answers.

***

Something was wrong. The warm body that fitted so neatly against his was no longer there. Spike’s eyes snapped open. The whole room was bathed in an eerie blue light, pale flames flickering along the walls as if searching for something. Flinging off his cloak he approached Buffy. She was standing motionless, facing Saya’s image. Snidda and Andii were still fast asleep.

“Buffy, love, come here.” No response. “Buffy?” Oblivious to his words, Buffy raised her arm and reached out, resting her hand over the splayed fingers of the painted woman. The blue fire jumped eagerly to meet her.

“No!”

Spike grabbed her, but she resisted him, taking a step closer to the picture. He wrapped his arms around her waist and chest, pulling hard, but her strength was greater. The wall was becoming soft, like pudding, the rock dissolving, and, as it tugged her closer, an equal force began to repel Spike, pushing him back.

“Snidda! Andii! Help me!” Legs braced, he tried to stay anchored, but the same flames that embraced Buffy bit at his flesh, stabbing him brutally as he hung on with every desperate fibre of his being. He was going to fail.

Just as Buffy made full contact with the wall, she slowly tilted her head, baring her neck. Without thinking, Spike roughly sank his fangs into her, eyes rolling back as her essence poured through his veins, dark and sweet and for him alone. The fierce pressure ceased and instead became accepting, welcoming. As the entwined couple sank into the swirling portal, Spike dimly heard shouting from their companions. Something hit his back and Snidda’s voice travelled faintly over the rushing in his ears.

“Keep her safe, Spike. May the goddess help you both.”

Another step and he knew no more.

Spike woke up face down to find the ground wriggling beneath him. The annoying hiss in his ear began to translate into words.

“Get off, Spike, you’re squashing me!”

Oh. No wonder he felt so comfortable. Except he still had his fangs embedded in her succulent flesh and there was no way this scenario could end well.

Carefully extracting them, horrified that he might have accidentally torn her throat out, Spike rolled to one side before reaching to check the damage he’d done.

Buffy slapped his hand away. “You bit me!”

Satisfied that she wasn’t badly hurt, Spike let out a whoosh of relief and replied in a tone that matched hers. “I had no choice.”

“Of course you did, or are you incapable of lying next to me without giving in to your sneaky, bitey perversions? To think I was beginning to trust you.”

Now that rankled. “Tell me, Buffy, just what do you remember last... and, by the way, you don’t know a damn thing about my perversions.”

“I don’t remember anything. I was asleep, dummy.”

“Well, then, can you explain how we got... here?” Spike waved his arm expansively over their new surroundings.

Breaking off glaring for a second, Buffy looked around and her eyes widened in astonishment. Spike took advantage of her distraction and moved quickly to hold her hands.

“You were in a trance, pet. I woke up an’ you were walking into a portal, made just for you. It was pushing me out and I couldn’t have that. You offered me your neck and I took some blood. I reckon it joined us just enough to let me go with you... and I won’t say I’m sorry, because I’m not; wouldn’t have been any fun to be left behind. Look,” he gestured to the bundled up cloaks and bag of provisions that lay nearby. “Snidda and Andii even managed to throw these after us before it closed.” The twin fires of steel and cool, black ebbon, glinted from the folds of one of the cloaks.

Buffy, looked down, biting her lip; her fingers felt cold. When she looked up again she tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “I suppose it would be pointless to deny that I’m part of your stupid prophecy now.” Tears began to well up. “Am I even real?”

“Hush.” Spike pulled her close to his chest. “You are completely and utterly Buffy, I’d know if you weren’t. This world would be very boring without you in it, love, so whatever happens, I’ll be around to keep you safe.” Buffy snorted a little at that. “Or you can keep me safe, I really don’t mind.”

That earned him a little giggle. Good.

It wasn’t what he really wanted to say, but as he stroked and petted her dejected frame, it was enough.

They were in a circular cave, the domed roof above, smooth and unmarked. On the floor lay dozens of little rough clay saucers containing oil and in each one a tiny flame danced, providing subtle lighting. At the cave’s centre rested a large spherical stone. Taller than Spike, it was half buried under a covering of dried mountain flowers. At its base there were much more ornate dishes, delicately carved from chunks of semi-precious stone; stripy agates, red jasper, translucent rose quartz and gold flecked lapis lazuli. Each contained nuts or seeds, a piece of unleavened bread, or fat ripe brambleberries.

Pulling herself together, Buffy went over to investigate.

“Oooh, snacks.”

Scooping up a dish of shelled nuts, Buffy tentatively tried one. “Delicious.”

Spike looked uneasy. “Um, Buffy, this is a shrine of some sort. You really shouldn’t be eating the offerings.”

“Nonsense, if I’m the Chosen One then they must be for me, right? Here, have a nut.”

As if in response to her actions they heard a pattering noise. Before they knew it, the cave began filling with pale creatures, each one armed to the teeth … very sharp teeth. About three feet in height, they had large heads, narrow tufted ears and spindly limbs, all covered with thick white fur. Their expressive eyes were enormous, made even wider by fear and outrage. In their small, clawed fingers, polished stone daggers caught the light, making them beautiful and deadly. They surged as one towards the couple.

“Don’t hurt them,” shouted Buffy as she batted one away, its blade almost shredding her sleeve.

Spike kicked one of his attackers across the cave into some of its friends, arms flailing in flight. “What do you mean don’t hurt the... ouch, you little bastard.” Backhanding his new assailant, Spike licked the injury on his wrist; another fraction and he would have been in trouble.

“I mean, we’re the invaders here, they’re only protecting their holy cave or whatever.”

“You’re bothered about that now!” Spike yelled, trying to dislodge another assailant from his back.

“But they look so cute.”

“I can’t believe this, would you rather be a stone orkupine?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t, whatever one of those is. Hey, that hurt!” Her palm now covered in her own blood, Buffy frowned at the cave dweller who had managed to strike her. It lay in a heap where she’d shoved it away … and were those tears? As Buffy began to rethink her policy of non-fatal violence the crowd parted to allow a single figure to the front. A full six inches taller than the others, he glowered up at her. Obviously their leader, his luxuriant sable tipped fur was threaded with tiny gems, making him sparkle like a fluffy Christmas tree. Clearly angry, he spoke rapidly in a high chittering language that made no sense at all, then raised his dagger with unmistakable intent.

“Look,” said Buffy, beginning to get cross herself, “we’re really sorry to have invaded your cave, and believe me I’d like nothing better than to be anywhere else, preferably somewhere warm and with actual sky above my head, so be a good furry thing and let us pass." Sensing the large boulder at her back she placed her bloodied hand on it. “We don’t want your stupid rock, okay?”

A deafening crack sounded behind her and she leapt forward just in time with an apologetic “oops,” taking the startled leader down with her.

A loud grinding roll of stone on stone made the ground tremor beneath them. Extricating herself from her rather snuggly enemy, and keeping a firm grip on his wrist, Buffy waved a warning finger at him, daring him to make a move, but he just stared beyond her, transfixed. She turned her head. Still gently rocking were two perfect bowl shaped halves where the single boulder had rested.

Nobody moved, even Spike stood openmouthed staring at Buffy. “It wasn’t me,” she squeaked.

Silence.

“Okay, since you’re all being judgmental and with the non-moving thing, I’ll just take a peek.” Spike darted forward to intercept her but she was too quick. Reaching the lip of the first stone at the same time, they both peered inside.

“Wow!”

Thousands of deep purple amethyst crystals glittered up at them, some tiny and densely packed, others thick and wide, jutting out at random angles. White calcite punctured the vivid internal light of the geode and the effect was dazzling. Heart in mouth, Buffy ran to the other piece. There, nestled inside, as if on display in a jewelled case, was Saya’s axe. She gave a little jump and leaned over the edge, almost falling in. A quick tug and it came free.

“Yesss.”

As Buffy raised the beautiful, shiny, double-headed axe aloft to admire it, the entire room was blanketed with white fur as their former attackers prostrated themselves. An astonished Spike looked undecided as to whether to join them. Buffy grinned. Regaining his composure, Spike raised one eyebrow. “There’s going to be no living with you now, is there?”

“Nope.”

Shimmying forward on his belly, arms outstretched, the brave little leader offered Buffy his knife, trilling in a tone that sounded a lot like ‘sorry’. When she took it he shuffled up to his knees and tilted his head back, offering his throat. When she realised what he wanted her to do she threw both the axe and knife to Spike and gently tugged him upright. Then she shook his hand in what she hoped was a queenly manner. Finally realising that he’d been spared he gave her a fangy smile, eyes moist and adoring. His followers, sensing the change in atmosphere, peeped out through their shaggy fringes.

“I think you have some new admirers.”

***

Buffy was in heaven. Seated on a rather low but fabulously carved chair, its unyielding surface padded with animal furs, she had finally relented and let the creatures pamper her. The Ettii, who according to Spike were a storybook myth and not real, were plying her with food and trinkets and goblets of crisp berrywine. Spike, who was being similarly treated, raised a delicacy into the air.

“Care for a baby mouse stewed in honey?”

“If you eat that I’m never kissing those lips again.”

Spike grinned devilishly and tilted his head back to swallow it whole, sucking up its long tail with relish.

“Never is a long time, pet.”

“Oh, gross, Spike.”

Visiting the Watcher hair salon ‘Curl Up and Dye’ was nothing to having a clever-fingered female Ettii carefully comb your hair before twisting and threading the ends with dainty beads. Buffy was no expert but they looked like sapphires, rubies and emeralds. Several full strings of the gems also swathed her neck. She was feeling full with all the little morsels of food she’d accepted and the cavern they’d been taken into, some kind of great hall, was made warm and cosy by hot springs.

The leader, or rather, the King of the Ettii, sat next to her. Having fully recovered he was now beaming from ear to ear. Spike, his legs too long for a royal chair, reclined on a pile of rugs a few feet away like an indolent pasha. Having somehow lost his shirt, he was allowing several eager females to slide gold bangles up his arms. Ever the flirt, he gave each of them a lazy smile which sent them fluttering to find more.

As Buffy watched these now gentle creatures casting shy looks her way, she felt a great sense of responsibility for their wellbeing. Not because they’d known about the axe and treated its resting place with such reverence, but because even thinking about the harm a single Terr-khan could do to their community filled her with dread. Even if they remained hidden there were countless other kind souls in this world that didn’t deserve to be slaughtered at the whim of Nesst and his deranged little family.

Without warning, the events of the past twenty-four hours flashed through her brain; the short, brutal fight with the lone Terr-Khan, the terrible spectacle of people twisting and jerking as they strangled to death in the marketplace, Ahnja's sightless eyes and Andii's grief, the exhausting trek through the mountainside. Determined not to let those memories overwhelm her, she concentrated instead on the peaceful comings and goings of their hosts, the blessings of shelter and a full belly, knowing it for what it was, a respite from the trials ahead.

Looking down at the axe propped against her chair, its twin blades fanning out on either side like bright slices of a crescent moon, its long haft, black as midnight in a strange land, she wondered why this single weapon was so important. It certainly looked deadly, but how could it destroy a whole army?

Well, if she had to don war paint and pretend to be the long gone Saya, then so be it. Now Buffy knew she had an important part to play and just prayed that she wouldn’t make a huge mess of it.

Eventually, all her thoughts drifted away and she fell into a deep slumber.

In a silent, graceful move, Spike left his furs and padded to where she lay, curled awkwardly on the throne. Mindful not to wake her, Spike gathered up his prize and returned to the comfier bed. Settling down behind her, he traced the faint scar on her neck with his lips, before he too succumbed to sleep.

***

Although daylight never reached this place, Spike knew that it was early morning. Buffy, waking at the same time, blinked owlishly.

“Hi,” she said, softly.

“Good morning.”

With a wicked little grin, Buffy nuzzled even closer, her pointed little tongue running a hot line up his throat till it met the fine stubble under his chin. In an unusually bold move she slipped her hand down to rub his very interested manhood, imprisoned beneath snug black leather. With a pained chuckle, Spike grabbed her hand just as it found buttons to undo.

“Love, not that I care, but I’m thinking that you’re not quite ready for an audience for what you have in mind.”

Scowling to have her seduction thwarted, Buffy looked around and met the eyes of a dozen fascinated Ettii. Blushing furiously, she buried her head in his chest.

“Damn.”

Spike tugged her back up, fingers threading through beaded locks to keep her in place, his mouth fastened on hers before she could protest. Firm sensual lips captured hers, tongue insolent, mimicking a much larger organ. It was a kiss of dark promise, igniting a bright flash of lust between her thighs.

He broke off, laughing wickedly. “Now we’re even.”

“I’ll get you back for that!”

“I look forward to it.”

After visits to the bathroom - in reality a very deep hole in the ground and some damp moss - they were led to two separate bathing pools fed by the hot springs. Buffy couldn’t believe how much dirt and dust she’d managed to accumulate on her skin and hair as she scrubbed and rinsed. When her beads presented a problem, two of her ever present attendants came to the rescue. Deftly removing each gem from her hair, they dropped them into a little animal skin bag for her to keep. Redressing in her one and only outfit, fervently wishing it was cleaner, she rejoined Spike for a breakfast of porridge sprinkled with nuts and honey, washed down with herb tea. Refreshed and eager to return to Lossangel, they gathered their belongings and thanked their hosts with all sincerity.

The next two hours were spent searching every shadow, every crevice and blemish in Saya’s cave, looking for the portal that would take them back to the city.

Nothing.

“I don’t understand,” muttered Spike, I’ve never heard of a one-way door.”

Buffy, who had even attempted to draw an outline of a woman on the wall in the hope that she could return the same way that she'd arrived, sighed in exasperation, accidentally smearing white vegetable matter across her forehead. The paint, combined with traces of her own blood where she'd cut her palm, hoping to re-create her trick with the geode, made her look like an enchanting savage.

At least, Spike thought so... except he doubted that real savages would pout so much.

“We should have known it would be too easy to just walk through a wall and go ‘poof’ back to the others.”

The Ettii King and a few of his favourite wives, who’d been watching intently from the sidelines, conferred before approaching the pair. With firm tugs and much pointing they coaxed them back into the main hall. One of the females padded off down a tunnel to return a few minutes later with a youthful male in tow. Spike couldn’t be sure but it looked like his attacker from the night before, the one who’d nearly slit his wrist open with a stone knife.

The King proudly presented the now harmless looking Ettii to them, the arm around the boy’s slender shoulders made his strange language clear. “Son.”

After accepting a beautiful new dagger, a gruff manly hug from his father, and squirming under the embrace of half a dozen motherly females, the young princeling returned to stand before Spike and Buffy. Seeing Buffy’s face clearly in the torchlight his composure broke and he swallowed a giggle.

Buffy turned to Spike. “What?”

“It’s nothing pet, but you might want to wash your face before we set off.”

The journey out of the mountain wasn’t nearly as long as they’d feared and the passages, though narrow, were high enough to accommodate a human and an Aurelian in comfort, and their little guide knew exactly where he was going. Eventually, sharp gusts of clean air heralded the outside world and the path up ahead ended in a bright circle. Daylight.

Buffy raced towards it. Clinging to the exit, eyes watering, she was blinded by sunshine and white. Brilliant, endless white.