Chapter 1

Cue loud music…

In every generation there is a chosen one and the force will be strong with her. In times of great need she will be called, to lead her people against the demons and the darkness. Some go willingly, sacrificing themselves gladly for the higher cause.

Others take a little more persuading…

The rather dashing, late-middle aged man finished polishing his eyeglasses, carefully perched them back onto his nose and pulled his cloak around his shoulders. Shrouded in shadow he watched as the young blonde wrapped her ruby-red lips around the lollipop. She closed her eyes and pulled it slowly from her mouth with a soft pop. Then a small pink tongue wrapped itself sensuously around the candy sweetness, and she sighed.

O B Gyn sighed too. Then coughed, remembering why he was there.

The girl looked up, her gaze flicking around the courtyard until it came to rest on the corner where he was hiding.

“You can come out,” she said, hands on hips. “I know you’re there.”

O B Gyn adjusted his eyeglasses and stepped from the shadows into the light.

“I knew it,” the girl said indignantly. “This is seriously starting to wigg me out. Just what is it with you?”

O B raised his hands, trying desperately to calm her temper and at least get her to listen this time. “B…Buffonia, you’ve got to hear me out,” he stammered. The future of the entire planet rests on what I’m about to do.”

“Guards!” the girl screamed and looked around. “Guards! Urghh.”

O B slapped his hand over her mouth then let out a scream of his own as her teeth sank into his palm.

“Take that, you pervert,” she threw back at him as she turned and ran for the building.

He managed to corner her before she got there, backing her against the wall and flinging open his cloak. The girl’s eyes grew very wide as he fumbled with the bulge in his robe.

“There’s something I need to show you,” he panted. “It’s urgent.”

“Guards!” She screamed again as he finally managed to whip out his reason for being there and hold it in front of her frightened eyes.

“This is for you, Buffonia.” From the corner of his eye he saw two guards exit the building and look around. “I have to give it to you now,” he said, desperately. “I can’t hold on to it any longer. Please let me do this. At least just look and tell me what you think of it?”

Her eyes scanned the ancient, leather-bound book. “Vampyre?”

“Yes, Vampyre,” he replied solemnly. “Buffonia, you must listen to me. In every generation there is a Chosen one. The force is strong with her. She alone will, Ouch…!”

O B doubled over as the large book crashed against his temple. He staggered backwards, straight into the arms of the palace guards who seized him and pulled him roughly to his feet again. “Princess,” he cried as they dragged him away. “You can’t escape your destiny. You are the Chosen one. The time has come, whether you like it or not.”

“And this time, they’re going to throw away the key,” he heard her shout after him. “Crazy stalker guy.”

“I’m not,” he protested as the guards pushed him through the door, into the royal palace. “I’m from the Ancient Jedi Order of Watchers. It’s my duty to Watch her.”

“Yeah?” the guard said with a snigger. “There’s a name for people like you, you dirty old man. What is it with you and young girls?”

“It’s one of the perks of the job,” O B replied. “One of the very few perks, I might add. But that’s entirely beside the point. I need to talk to her. Look at me. Look into my eyes. You don’t want to be doing this.”

The guards looked at him, then at each other. “We don’t want to be doing this,” they both said.

“You want to let me go,” O B said, his voice low and hypnotic.

“We want to let him go.” The guards repeated and loosened their hold, staring at each other as O B ran back through the doors to the courtyard.

Dammit, why did he always get the awkward ones? O B spotted his book lying on the ground, but Buffonia was long gone. Damn, he said again, stooping to pick it up. But he found himself smiling as he rubbed at the bump that was beginning to form on his forehead. The force was very strong with this one and she was going to make one heck of a slayer. If only he could keep her in place long enough to make her understand that.

It was her destiny. And it was his job to make her see that. And train her, and initiate her into the ancient ways. Another perk of the job, he remembered. And he didn’t have much time, either. The Vampirian forces were gathering and war was very likely. The Symbolic Power of the Slayer would be needed now, more than at any other time in history. Only the Chosen One had the power required to bring down the Dark Lady. It would probably be the death of her, but the sacrifice would not be in vain, and he was more than willing to make it with her. Or perhaps that should be, for her to make it? He’d decide that when he was saw just how Dark the Dark Lady was.

“You can’t escape it,” he whispered. “Neither of us can. I am your Watcher, and you are my Slayer. It is our destiny to stand side by side and fight the forces of evil.”

He turned and walked wearily away. Tomorrow was another day, and he’d just have to try again. But time was running out. And he needed to make her realise that.

-------------------------------------------

That made three times in the last week. Dammit, but security around here was getting lax. Princess Buffonia made her way down the endless corridors towards her suite hoping that she’d seen the last of the weird man in the brown cloak whose sole purpose in life lately, seemed to be jumping out at her from dark corners and talking gibberish .

And she hadn’t hit him that hard. Had she? It had only been a light tap, but he’d crumpled like a paper doll.

“Princess.”

“Oh, no.” Buffonia groaned, looking around for an escape, but the Royal dressmaker and her retinue was already advancing on her.

“There you are, Princess. We’ve been looking for you all morning.” She raised her hands dramatically and pointed. “The dress is finished.”

“Buffonia ignored the hideous garment, side-stepped, and continued walking. “And I should be happy about this?”

“Marriage to Riley Sleepwalker does not make you happy?”

“No, no it does not.” Buffonia kept walking. “I’m not going to marry him. I’ll throw myself into the hell mouth before I marry a Sleepwalker.”

“But Princess,” the dressmaker said appalled. “Do you realise…”

Buffonia rounded on her. “If you tell me one more time how many turtles had to die to make this wedding dress, I’ll scream.”

"But Princess, four thousand eight hundred and thirty three shells had to be..."

"Aghhhhhhh"

“Buffonia’s scream was drowned out by a loud blast from a musical instrument with an unpronounceable name and seconds later, Queen Armadillo appeared followed by her considerable retinue. Princess Buffonia fell to her knees before her imperial motherness, mainly from force of habit rather than out of any respect. Her royal motherly figure patted her on the head as if she were no more than one of her hounds, then floated to a conveniently placed throne.

"My dear, what is all this fuss? Do you not like the dress?"

Princess Buffonia rose and advanced on her mother.

"I don’t like the dress, and I don’t like this marriage." She folded her arms and stuck out her lip. "I won't do it. I won't marry Riley Sleepwalker, so there."

"Oh dear." Her mother shook her head and held out her hand. "Some one has been neglecting to use her orgasminator lately. Look how tense you are."

"Mother. I mean your Royal floating Benevolence. What the hell are you calling yourself today? I do not want to have sex with a machine. Do you realise that if I marry Riley that's all I'll get? I want to have sex with a real man. I know it's possible because I read it in a book."

Polite laughter rippled through the crowd, coupled with a cry of yuck from someone at the back. The queen raised her hand and silenced them.

"What kind of book, my dear?"

"A history book. "Buffonia looked down at her feet, her cheeks turning a rather strange shade of violet as they always did when she was this agitated.

The queen looked around her with a satisfied smile. "And why do you think you only read about such things in history books?"

Princess Buffonia shook her head miserably. "I don't know. Maybe because we're all so uptight and clinical these days that we've forgotten how it feels to really enjoy ourselves?"

"Where do you get these strange ideas?" The Queen beckoned her forward and took her hand. "We have evolved past all that Buffonia. Have you any idea how messy it can be? There are bodily fluids involved, and it requires you to sweat and make unseemly noises. And touch a man's bare flesh. Surely you do not want us to go back to all that?"

Buffonia's mouth went dry as she guiltily thought of the bare- chested cover model on the illicit novel she'd managed to get smuggled in on the last shipment from Borderstonia. She wasn't supposed to know about this stuff. None of them were. But now she'd read it she couldn't un- know it, could she? Of course, they'd told her the clinical facts in science class at the academy, but it had always been presented in such a way that no one in their right minds would even want to attempt it.

And as for Riley Sleepwalker? Well, she couldn't imagine him ever wanting to do anything like that. He'd fallen asleep no less than nine times during the royal ceremonial engagement dinner and had had to be carried out eventually. It had taken three blasts from the atomic nucleator to wake him up and by then, he'd forgotten who she was.

"Mother, please don't make me do this."

"Buffonia, the security of our entire planet rests on this alliance with the planet Somnambula. With our combined forces we will defeat the Vampirians, but we cannot stand alone against them. If they invade as they are threatening, then it will be the end for our entire culture."

"But mother, what use is an alliance with a people who are so boring, they spend most of their time asleep?"

"Buffonia, Buffonia." Her mother patted her on the head again as she rose from the throne. "These are nothing but pre- wedding nerves. I was just the same when I married your father.” She clapped to signify that the meeting was at an end. “Enough, the wedding will go on as planned, and be careful with the dress dear. Did you know that four thousand eight hundred and thirty three hairy turtles had to die to make it?"

Buffonia glared as her mother swept out of the room followed by her crowd of hangers- on.

“I won’t do it, and you can’t make me,” she shouted at the retreating crowd, but no one took the slightest bit of notice of her protests. As they never did.

“I rather think she can,” the dressmaker said tartly. “Now, about this fitting…”

“This is what I think of your wedding dress,” Buffonia declared snatching it from the horrified maids. The hairy turtle shells were delicate and rare and they didn’t stand a chance as Buffonia trampled them underfoot before anyone could stop her. All they could do was cry and wring their hands until she’d smashed all their hard work to dust.

The dressmaker fled, shouting for assistance while Buffonia surveyed the damage with considerable satisfaction, and feeling much better for the outburst.

“Stop wailing,” she ordered the maids. “I’ll take full responsibility. And tell the Queen I’m taking her advice and spending the afternoon on my orgasminator. I’m going for the record and don’t want to be disturbed, okay?”

The maids managed a nod then fell to their knees weeping and gathering up the remains of the dress as the princess walked briskly away. Turning the corner, Buffonia checked the corridor carefully, making sure no one was watching her and that she was out of sight of the snooping cameras, then she took a folded paper out of her pocket and scanned the page. Her ticket to a new life. Her heart started a dull thudding in her chest as she looked at the picture and she wondered just how she’d ever thought she could bring down such a creature when the best bounty hunters in the galaxy hadn’t succeeded yet.

The reward was substantial, though and would buy her a ticket off this god- forsaken place with their artificial sex and their food that didn't taste of anything. And their weird wedding practices. She looked at the picture again and her heart sank. Perhaps she should start this new career of hers with something a bit more manageable? There had to be small, wanted beings, right? Something purse- sized, maybe, that she could knock on the head and collect the reward on. And there were women bounty hunters because she'd read about those too, and she knew that they had assets that could capture a member of the opposite sex as well as any man with their blasters.

Perhaps she could persuade it/him to exchange bodily fluids with her? He looked as if he had all the required parts. She would of course, tranquillise him first, so that he would pass out just at the crucial moment. Then she'd pop him in a transporter pod and have him sent by espresso delivery to the requisite place, adopt an assumed name and they would send her the credits. Then she was out of here with a one-way –ticket to the other side of the galaxy.

By the time she'd got back to her room it was all falling into place. A hair-brained plan, yes, but the only plan she had. She looked in the mirror as she threw off her ceremonial robes and began searching for her plainest, oldest clothes. Never mind about bounty hunting. Maybe she should just steal the money. Rob a bank vault or something. Enough to buy her transport off the planet would be a start.

Whatever happened, she was determined to make her own destiny. And this marriage was definitely not going to take place.

-----------------------------------------------


Sometimes space was so beautiful. A vast infinity of stars. Dazzling suns. Planets teeming with exotic life and just waiting to be explored. Unfurling before him like a magic carpet. Promising him riches and rewards beyond his wildest dreams.

What a load of bollocks.

Spike glared out of the portside window at the big. black, empty blur that was space. At this speed you couldn’t even see the planets as they whizzed by. And as for the dazzling suns? Well, right now he was thinking that pointing the Millennium Bug (De-soto class) straight at the middle of one wouldn’t be such a bad idea. At least it would be a quick ending. Not like the horrible, lingering death from a broken heart.

He had just enough energy to raise his head as the co-pilot entered the recreation room. “You wanted me?” he asked unentusiastically.

Chewackybacky replied with a series of guttural growls and Spike spluttered indignantly.

“I’m not sulking Chewie. Have you any idea what she meant to me? Drusilla was the face of my salvation and I…” Spike paused for dramatic effect, sneaking a peek to see how he was doing. The eight foot tall Wookie shook his head, his lush, silky fur rippling as he contemplated his friend.

“She didn’t just take all the money Chewie, she took this.” Spike jammed his hand over his heart. “Have you any idea what it’s like to have your heart ripped out and shoved in your face?”

Chewie nodded slowly.

“Oh, right, I forgot.” Spike stepped away from the window, sighing as he flopped onto the bench. “You’ve got to understand, Chewie, what it’s like for me. I’m a Vampirian and when we love we do it with heart and soul. Metaphorically speaking, of course,” he added hastily at Chewie’s skeptically raised eyebrows. “Drusilla was everything to me and I’m not just going to get over it like that.” He snapped his fingers.

Chewie’s eyebrows rose even higher.

“This is different, Chewie. Yes, I know she hit me over the head before stealing all of our money and running off with a slime demon, but that’s just Dru.” Spike smiled fondly, then shook himself. “I’ve figured it out. All we have to do is go find her, catch her, tie her up, torture her a bit and then she’ll love me again. What is it?

Chewie thrust the hand-held monitor, that Spike had only just noticed he was carrying, into his hand. Spike glanced at the screen and his heart sank. “Bloody hell," he murmured under his breath. "Jasmine, she’s found us.”

At the flick of a button, the screen crackled into life. Jasmine, who was quite possibly the widest humanoid that Spike had ever seen, appeared, resplendent in her ceremonial robes. Reigning monarch of the planet Hutt, the dubious distinction of which was awarded to the being having the most given chins at any one time, Jasmine the Slut was aptly named.

“Spikey, darling,” she drawled in what Spike recognised as her bedroom voice. His insides lurched as he remembered.

Chewie looked at him, pulling a shocked face out of his considerable repertoire of expressions.

“Yes, I bloody well did,” Spike hissed, in response. “How do you think the last instalment of the loan got paid?”

“Can you hear me, my little blondie bear?”

Chewie snorted.

Spike paled. Which actually meant that he went so white he looked blue. “Yes,” he managed to squeak out. “Er, coming in loud and clear.”

“Good,” she replied, her face undulating towards the screen. “Now then, just calling in to make sure you haven’t forgotten our little bargain.”

“Spike swallowed hard and went for the little boy, head tilt. “Umm, what bargain was that?”

Jasmine tutted, and waggled a meaty finger at the screen. “Naughty boy,” she said scolding him. “Why, the little matter of the marriage proposal, which I’ve decided to accept, by the way.” Her voice hardened. “You weren’t thinking of going back on your promise were you?”

“Who me?” Spike tried his best to look insulted. “Why, it’s all I think about. My, umm, little Jasmine,” he added, getting a loud but surprisingly girlie giggle out of her. When she’d stopped wobbling he continued. “The reason why I’ve not been in touch is, umm, er, that it’s, umm, unlucky for a Vampirian to look at his bride before the wedding day.”

Jasmine giggled again. “I can’t stop thinking about you Spikey. Those things you did to me. That dance. Do it for me now.”

Chewie covered his eyes as Spike clutched dramatically at his back. “Sorry love. Pulled something, physician says no dancing, especially of the exotic kind for at least, six vectors.”

“Then call me by that special pet name you used only for me.”

Crap, could this get more embarrassing. Chewie was shaking with the effort not to laugh and Spike knew that if Jasmine heard them laughing, they were dead. He motioned him frantically to leave, but he wasn’t having any of it. Determined to milk Spike’s misfortune for all it was worth.

“Er, My widdle Jasminie, Wasminie? Was that it?”

“Yes,that’s the one.” Jasmine bounced in her seat, hardly noticing that she’d crushed one of her attendants, then she leaned towards the screen again, lips puckered and planted a large slobbery kiss on it. “Don’t keep me waiting much longer, my widdle blondie bear. I can’t wait to do it with you again, and again, and again…”

Spike tried not to look too appalled as she ran her hand suggestively down her considerable torso, lingering over each of her eight breasts, and licked her lips. “You won’t be able to walk for at least a vector when I’ve done with you.” She promised with a wink.

Spike swallowed hard, in his mind already five million light years away, and counting.

Jasmine clapped her hands, suddenly business like and Spike’s blood ran cold. Or rather, colder, since he was a Vampirian. “You have five vectors to get that very cute ass of yours to me for the wedding. You will be husband number…” she glanced at the tablet held up by one of her attendants. “Four hundred and sixty five. I intend to honour you with position of favourite husband, therefore you will be required for marital duties every night. You will be here for the wedding. You will wear a tuxedo. Or you will be dead. Now is there anything there that you didn’t understand?”

“What was the bit about the tux?”

“Spike!” Jasmine leaned back into her throne and lifted her chins regally. “Don’t be fooled by this soft, girlish exterior.” She swept her hand down the length of her body again. “In here beat four hearts of steel and one of argonite. You will be here for the wedding. Unless you’d like to pay me the five million credits you owe me?”

“I don’t have five million credits.” Spike lifted a weary face to the screen. “You know I don’t have that kind of money.”

Jasmine smiled. Spike counted twelve dimples. “That’s just what I hoped you’d say. You belong to me, Spikey, every last bit of you. I’ve got the dress. The cakes have been made. Be here.”

The screen fizzled and mercifully, Jasmine’s ugly face faded away. Spike threw the screen against the wall and watched as it shattered into a million pieces, then he kicked Chewacky, who was on the floor silently shaking with laughter and clutching at his sides. Chewie stopped laughing and sat up indignantly.

“Don’t give me that look, you stupid lump,” Spike shouted. “We are in the biggest load of trouble, since…since…the last time we were in this kind of trouble. Crap, can it get any worse? First Dru and now this. How the hell did she remember that I’d proposed? She was supposed to be drunk on Alterian brandy. It was just to get me out of there in one piece.” He started pacing while Chewie stood up. “Okay, this is what we do. Get out of here fast. Hyperdrive to the other side of the galaxy and bloody well stay there. Smuggling opportunities are played out in this sector anyway. And don’t give me that look. It was your idea to jettison the cargo when that Vampirian customs and excise cruiser appeared. Which is what got us into this mess in the first place.

Spike paused for breath, as Chewie interrupted him with an indignant protest.

“Okay, I’ll admit to some of the responsibility,” Spike conceded, “and hell, I thought having sex with her would shut her up and give us more time to find the money to pay back that loan. And you can bloody stop laughing, it’s a good job one of us is prepared to make sacrifices, or we’d both be dead by now. Have you the slightest idea what it was like having to do that?”

Chewie went a slightly darker shade of brown.

“You do?” Spike narrowed his eyes. “When?”

Chewie nodded, still grinning.

“Well, that’s bloody great,” Spike said when Chewie had finished his very lengthy explanation. “You couldn’t have told me this before I nearly got myself crushed to death?”

Chewie shrugged.

“Okay, I know that technically, being a Vampirian I can’t die that way, but hell, this isn’t helping us out of this mess. Fire up the hyper-drive before this day goes any further down the toilet. We’re out of here Chewie.”

Chewie made another series of guttural growls.

“Dru’s knackered the hyper-drive? Shit, why didn’t you tell me?”

Again with the growling.

“Okay, I admit that I’ve been distracted of late. I was upset, right? Not every day the love of my life leaves me for a big pile of slime.” He jammed his fingers in to his hair. “Right, this is obviously her way of telling me she doesn’t want me following her. Okay, I get that. Where’s the nearest planet we can get replacement parts?”

“Summeria?” Spike stared out of the window. “Hell, that’s a bit close to Vampiria for comfort. Weren’t the Vampirians threatening war on the Summerians last time we checked in?”

Chewie nodded enthusiastically.

“Well, the last thing I want is to be press- ganged into the army. Which is what I hear they’re resorting to. Can you sneak us past the sensors?”

Chewie made a piffling sound and waved an arm.

“Wish I was confident as you. Look Chewie, marriage to Jasmine is going to seem like being locked in a harem full of earth-women compared to being a soldier in the Vampirian army. This is my ass on the line, and I am talking literally here. Okay,” he said with another sigh, “here’s the plan, and I’m keeping it simple. Get us to Summeria, we knick us some hyper-drive spares then we’re out of here for good.”

Chewie grunted his approval and left the cabin. Spike turned back to the window and pressed his face against the glass, his arms wrapped around himself as he tried to stop the unbearable ache in his un-beating heart. Bloody Dru. Why did she have to go and leave him? And now, when he needed her more than ever? He wiped angrily at tears he couldn’t stop falling. He’d always cried for her. “Why Dru?” he shouted at the vast infinity of space. “You made me what I am. I’m nothing without you. Why did you have to leave me, baby?”

He heard Chewie calling him to go help plot the course, but he ignored him. Chewie had no idea how it felt to be a Vampirian who’d loved and lost. There was the brooding and the stalking and the sulking and the getting very very drunk. All time- honoured rituals.

Which would have to wait, he told himself sternly as a picture of Jasmine in the nude popped into his mind and his stomach flip-flopped again as he remembered just what that had been like. And how much he never wanted to have to do it again.

Hell, he hadn’t asked to be this fit and handsome, he thought catching his reflection in the glass. Sometimes he wished he was just Joe-normal and not the Adonis who stared back at him with the cut-glass cheekbones and white-blond hair to die for. Was it his fault that every female who set eyes on him, wanted him? All except the one who counted, of course.

Bloody women, they were so shallow. All the same. Show then ten inches of man-meat and it was Give it to me Spikey you great big Vampirian stallion, you. And so what if he could go on all night without missing a beat? There was more to life than phenomenal sex. He had a brain inside this gorgeous head of his, but were any women interested in his theory on relative dimensional hyperdrive? Or the fact that he had three university degrees? Heck no. All they wanted was a piece of him. And if one more woman shouted get your shirt off at him he wasn’t going to be responsible for his actions.

“I’m coming,” he shouted back at Chewie who was demanding he join him, because it wasn’t as if they had time to spare, and did he really want to end up as favourite husband to Jasmine the Slut?

Spike shuddered. The horrible thought jolting him into action. Even a super-stud had his limits. They needed to get those parts, and get away fast. Or get their hands on five million credits. Maybe rob a bank vault? The Summerians were rich, right? How difficult could that be? He entered the cockpit and sat himself down next to Chewie who was punching numbers into a keypad.

“Okay, what’ve we got?” he said leaning across and inspecting the figures with an approving nod. “Looks good, feed ‘em into the computer and let’s get on our way. Quicker we do this, the quicker we’re gone.”

Chewie busied himself while Spike returned to his brooding. He was a Vampirian, he couldn’t not brood. Hell, he should be sitting in his cabin stroking one of Dru’s sweaters and thinking sad thoughts right now, not contemplating grand larceny and risking getting drafted into the army from hell.

“Thinking of giving up on women,” he said morosely.

Chewie stopped what he was doing and flicked him a worried glance.

“Yeah,” Spike said, warming to his subject. “I’m fed up of just being a sex object. Is that how I come across? As just a pretty face and a mean set of rock-hard abs? Because sometimes it feels like it.”

Chewie thought about it for a moments then nodded.

“Hell, life really sucks sometimes. Why couldn’t I have been born with silly brown, curly hair that looked like a bad wig. And worn eye-glasses, they make you look intelligent, don’t they? And I could write really dreadful poetry so that women would laugh at me. And I could pretend to be a virgin.” He sat up, suddenly feeling cheerful for the first time since Dru had disappeared. “No female would want to do it with a virgin, would they? Then perhaps I’d get some peace and quiet?”

Chewie gave him a big, toothy grin, then reminded him about Jasmine, who was most certainly expecting Spike, or five million credits, not some curly-haired, intelligent, but sexually- clueless virgin.

“Damn,” Spike said. “I hate these plot holes. And just when I’d thought of something really clever too. Hell, I’m going with it. It’ll be a good disguise, anyway and we’ll just have to make sure she doesn’t catch us, because if she does, I might as well be dead anyway so it’s not going to make any difference.”

Spike rose and indicated Chewie to take the helm. “Take us to Summeria, Chewie. I’ve got a little make-over to do.” He wandered back to his cabin with a new spring in his step. Why the hell hadn’t he thought of this before? Geek, Spike was going to be such a turn-off. He stood looking in the mirror and ran his fingers through his short, platinum hair. It was a long time since he’d seen his curls, but maybe it was time to bring them back. A small dose of super hair-growth should see to that. And a quick dye job.

He flicked the screen on his computer and brought up an image of his face.

“Brown curly hair,” he ordered.

The image changed.

“No, too cool,” he told it. “Make it just a bit too long and sort of flopping over the eyes, with a ridiculous curl right on top.”

The image changed again.

Spike smiled. From super-stud to complete prat in one simple hairstyle change? It shouldn’t have been possible, but it was. “And now add eye-glasses,” he commanded. “Small, round ones.”

Even better. It was him, but not him. A shy, awkward, but very intelligent-looking young Vampirian looked back at him. No woman in their right mind was going to want to go anywhere within spitting distance of that, Spike thought, with considerable satisfaction. The hell with the lot of them.

The thought did strike him that this might be a good test of a woman’s sincerity. Anyone who could fall for someone who looked like that, had to be looking beyond the physical, right? He typed a request for brown hair-dye into the valet-unit and stripped off his shirt. Maybe he’d put on some weight too. But, then again, maybe not. As long as he kept the goodies covered up, there shouldn’t be a problem. A hideous shirt, and baggy pants should keep everything a secret.

“Goodbye, Spike,” he muttered dropping his pants and stepping into the shower. And hello…who?” A name, he needed a new name. Spike was way too cool for the nerd look. “Give me a name,” he asked the computer. “Something really boring, but nothing that stands out too much.”

Quentin, the computer replied in its monosyllabic voice.

“Naa, try again.”

Clement, Aristotle, William, David, James.

“Hold on, backtrack three.”

William, the computer repeated.

“William?” Hmm. Staid and solid. Just a hint of manliness but without the unfortunate phallic connotations that the name Spike conjured.

William it is then, he thought as he scrubbed his hair. The hair growth usually worked within a sunrise and the dye was instantaneous. Already he looked different.

Chewie buzzed him on the com-link to let him know their ETA to Summeria and Spike glanced at the chronometer on the wall as the water sluiced over him They’d be arriving soon. Just enough time for the obligatory wank and then he needed to find something nerdy to wear. The eyeglasses he’d have to steal when he got there.

He felt a lot better for the manual relief and as he watched his cold, dead seed washing away under the rain of water he contemplated the irony that was his life. A Vampirian as good-looking as him should have been able to find one woman who was prepared to actually see him. It was all he wanted really. A soul mate – metaphorically speaking, of course - to travel the stars with. Someone who understood relative hyper-drive theory and wasn’t afraid to challenge him on it.

He towelled off and opened the closet. The only garments that were the remotest bit nerdy were the gaudy shirt adorned with parrots and palm trees and the baggy shorts he’d had to borrow from a friend, following a laundry disaster the last time he was on earth. He’d never worn them since, but they were about to come in mighty handy.

Not exactly what he’d had in mind, he thought as he surveyed the effect. He didn’t look so much an intellectual as a complete lunatic. Still, nerd, or lunatic what did it matter? Just a long as the women left him alone, and Jasmine’s hench-beings didn’t recognise him.

That thought sobered him as he went forward to strap himself in for the landing, ignoring Chewie’s explosive laughter as he spotted his new look. They needed to get their hands on the money, and fast. As the craft bumped down into the docking park he was already punching in the co-ordinates of the top five banking vaults in the capital.

The loud crunch told him that Chewie had done it again. He could outrun imperial Vampirian cruisers. Execute handbrake turns in hyperspace. But could he park the bloody thing? Could he hell.

Spike walked down the gangplank and peered underneath the Millennium Bug. Yep, there it was. The large metal sign, now rather dented and mangled. He tilted his head and read.

Welcome to Sunnydale.

----------------------------

next, Buffonia and Spike meet….only she thinks he’s William, and gods does he need a make-over…..and boy does she need a lift off the planet….and then there’s that creepy man in the brown cloak again…

Chapter 2

The disguise was relatively convincing. Perhaps the black hair might have been a mistake, since it was so last-season, but with the newly shorn style she almost looked like a member of the opposite sex - if she half closed her eyes and peered at herself sideways in the window glass. A rather feminine one, but there wasn’t much she could do about that short of having herself surgically altered, and even she wasn’t prepared to go that far.

There had to be males with soft, pouty bottom lips she reasoned, sticking out her chin in what she hoped was a manly fashion. And with all the life-forms she was likely to encounter in Sunnydale it wasn’t as if anyone was going to notice anyway.

The speeder bumped along with its driver whistling a jaunty tune in time to the song on the sound system and Buffonia felt free for the first time in her entire life. She started singing too, tapping her hand on the armrest in time to the song and the driver gave her an appreciative smile and joined in.

This was wonderful, she thought. Why on earth hadn’t she done this before instead of letting herself be controlled by her destiny as a royal Princess? And it had been so easy. No one had given a second glance to the kitchen lad who’d left with the rest of them at the end of the day’s shift. And now that she’d completed phase one of her plan, surely it could only get easier?

“Haven’t seen you around the palace before,” the man said conversationally.

Buffonia had to refrain from smiling too widely. “I’m new,” she said in as deep a voice as she could manage.

“And you’re going to Sunnydale?”

“Sure am.”

“You’ll do well there.”

“I will?” Buffonia frowned.

“Yeah, pretty lad like you.”

“Excuse me?” It came out as a rather high-pitched squeak, but the man didn’t seem to have noticed. His grin turned a little more leery as he leaned towards her and the speeder slowed down.

“Prettiest lad I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Buffonia clutched at her cloak and slid back in her seat. “Thanks,” she said. “I think…”

“Just going to park here for a while. That okay with you?” The speeder lurched to a halt before she could answer causing Buffonia to clutch at the armrest to stop herself pitching through the windshield. The man killed the motor and turned.

“Thought maybe we could, you know, fool around?” His hand slid across the seat. “Me and you, what do you say?” He chuckled to himself as he reached for the fastenings on his pants. “You just turn over and lie still, I’ll do all the work. Might just teach you a thing or two.”

“But I’m a boy.” Buffonia cowered even further back into her seat only now noticing the sickly smell of the man’s perfume. “You had noticed that, right?”

“Bonus,” he replied and Buffonia could only stare in disbelief as a grubby hand lunged towards her. Her spirits, which had only a moment ago, been soaring with the elation that freedom brings, now plummeted into her boots with the realisation that she was an innocent in a world that obviously wasn’t populated with ruggedly handsome and chivalrous young males with rock hard chests that she’d read about in her romantic novels. She’d had as many guilty fantasies about being carried off and ravaged as the next woman, but this was something else entirely.

The hand groped for the fastening on her cloak and a loud scream ripped the air.

It was entirely instinctive and Buffonia had no idea where the surge of power had come from. All she knew was that she had to fight, and strangely enough that this pitiful creature sitting beside her wouldn’t be much of a challenge either.

The man fell back holding his now very broken hand and it was his turn to stare in disbelief. He gathered his wits and threw himself forward with a string of curses, all pretence that all he’d wanted to do was offer her a lift to Sunnydale now gone.

“Going to kill you for that,” he just about managed before his face was jammed against the window and his arm twisted behind his back.

“You were saying?” Buffonia whispered close to his ear. Feeling most unlike herself as the strength coursed through her. She twisted the arm higher making him grunt with pain and leaned even closer. “Get out of the speeder,” she ordered calmly.

“You, you can’t do this,” the man stammered as she opened the door and pushed him out.

“Stop me,” she challenged, her eyes darting over the flashing lights and dials on the display in front of her. She’d never driven a speeder before, but how hard could it be?

The man roared and charged at the door. A surge of panic flashed through her at the sight of his murderous face and, for a moment, she was just a weak, helpless girl again. Don’t think, a voice said in her head. Just do. The force, it said. Use the force.

Buffonia looked around almost ready to swear that the voice had spoken out loud, but it was just her and the psycho who really did mean to kill her. He was struggling with the door as she strained to close it. “Okay, may the force be with me,” she muttered bringing back her leg and kicking him squarely in mid-chest. He went down and she managed to slam the door.

There was no time for a long introspective on where this sudden burst of power had come from. Her main objective was getting away as fast as possible, but that voice in her head had sounded awfully like Mr Creepy Stalker-Guy who’d been following her around lately and harping on about Slayers and Chosen Ones. Great, now he was invading her thoughts. That was another reason to get as far away from this planet as possible.

“Okay, power button. Which one was it?” She hit one and a few lights flashed. She tried another. The speeder jolted backwards and there was a strangled shriek from the man who she thought might have been on the roof, but was now picking himself up from the ground.

“Sorry,” she said pressing every button as fast as she could. The Speeder executed a three – sixty degree turn and the man went down again with a dull thud. Buffonia didn’t have time to see if he was okay. The vehicle jolted forward, the engine whining as it picked up speed and all she could do was hang on to the joystick and hope that controlling it wouldn’t be too different from the computer games she’d played back home.

Which she’d been notoriously bad at. The tree came towards her so fast it was just a blur. All she remembered thinking was tree, crash, ouch. And then there was darkness.

----------------------------------------

It wasn’t just the hellmouth that gave Sunnydale its reputation. A bigger collection of scum you’d be hard pressed to find anywhere in the galaxy. It was a place where you watched your back, kept your valuables close and minded your own business. A place where you were likely to be killed just because some being objected to your face.

O B downed his drink, pressed a credit into the waitress’s hand and stood up. Time to re-think his strategy towards the Chosen One, he thought lifting his hood and making his way across the crowded bar to the exit. She was getting stronger by the day and the power needed channelling in the proper fashion. She would need to be trained and the gods only knew what would happen if he couldn’t get her to understand that. He’d seen rogue slayers before. The elusive ones that wouldn’t, or couldn’t be tamed. Not a pretty sight and definitely not happening on his watch.

He let himself out into the balmy night and thought that he might try again in the morning. For now, he needed to sleep off the six green brandies he’d just drunk and gather his thoughts. Maybe a little meditation would clear his head and show him the way forward? He was, after all, a Jedi even if all the mystical stuff was a little passé these days. If this Slayer didn’t come willingly he was going to have to resort to force and the stronger she became, the harder that was going to be.

His mind was so occupied with the Slayer problem that he didn’t notice the gaudily-dressed young man coming towards him until he’d been pushed roughly against the wall. Instinctively his hand came up to protect his wallet as the man grappled with him. His assailant was running away before O B could gather his wits, but he realised with relief that he hadn’t been after his money.

O B dusted himself down and groped around for his eyeglasses, which he presumed must have fallen from his face during the scuffle. He moved carefully because without them the world was a largely unfocussed blur and he didn’t want to step on them and break them. They were no where to be found.

Damnation, he thought as he felt his way along the wall. Who in the blazes would want to steal a pair of eyeglasses?

---------------------------------------

The eyeglasses were the perfect finishing touch to his disguise. Never mind that he couldn’t see a damned thing in them. Better to be half blind than married to Jasmine and he’d already spotted two burly Hutt’s leaning on the bar in the Bronze. Spike slid the frames down his nose and peered over the top of them as he inspected the figure in the rest-room mirror. If he screwed up his eyes, he could just about make out his very faint reflection. Jasmine wasn’t one to give up her prize, or large amounts of money, without a fight. When she was owed, she always collected.

It would have to do. The hyperdrive parts were the first priority because without them they were going nowhere. Nowhere far enough to be out of Jasmine’s clutches anyway. He turned and made his way back to the noisy bar, looking around for a likely contact and spotting one sitting in a corner. There were always Traders in places like this. Beings who’d sell you their mothers if you paid them enough. Spike buzzed Chewie on the com-link.

“Okay, I’ve found one,” he said. “You stay put, I’ll check in later.”

Spike cut short the protesting growl. Chewie was long overdue for some R and R but he couldn’t risk them being seen together. They were a well-known pair in these parts and it was going to be hard enough getting away with this as it was since not all creatures operated on the visual and inside he was still essentially Spike, without being seen with his familiar side-kick.

Looking neither left, nor right, but keeping every sense on high alert, he made his way across the bar. The Trader looked only mildly surprised at his appearance and with a discrete nod, invited him to sit.

“Hyperdrive parts,” Spike said wasting no time on idle chit-chat. “Millennium Bug, De-Soto class, auxilliary circuit board.”

The Trader made a lengthy appraisal of his fingernails while Spike assumed as calm an exterior as he could manage. Look too desperate and the price was likely to triple.

“Auxilliary circuit board, eh?” The Trader shook his head. Haven’t had one of those through in a long while.”

Spike shrugged and half stood up. “No worries. Guess I’ll just have to go elsewhere.”

The Trader let him take a few steps before calling him back. “And where exactly do you think you’re going to go?”

“Oh, you know me,” Spike said giving him his patented smirk then hastily wiping it from his face when he remembered he was supposed to be nerdy William. “There are other Traders here tonight, right?”

“Yes, I thought I did know you,” the Trader observed, frowning as he tried to remember. “There’s something very familiar about your face. Can’t quite decide what. Come.” He motioned Spike back to the table. “Don’t be too hasty. Sit down again and we might have something to discuss. You can pay, right?”

“Dead right,” Spike said, his voice mildly indignant. He could already see the way the Trader was looking at him. Appraising him and pegging him as some clueless loser. This was going to be expensive.

“Those kind of parts don’t come cheap, you must understand that,” the Trader said leaning forward. “But I like your face. For you, I’ll make a special price. Two million credits.” He sat back and waited.

“Go to hell,” Spike said getting up again. “Half a million tops or we don’t have a deal.”

The Trader shrugged and fished in his pocket, causing Spike to tense all over and wish he’d been packing his blaster rather than the palm sized weapon that fitted the pocket of his shorts. Not that size was anything to go by, it worked just as well, but in places like these power came from being able to flaunt your strength and that was something he couldn’t risk at the moment. He relaxed as the Trader pulled out what looked like a large cigar and jammed it into his mouth.

“A million.”

“Seven-fifty.” Spike gripped the back of the chair and favoured him with a cold stare. A light of recognition flared in the Trader’s eyes, then died again.

“Are you sure I don’t know you?”

“Never seen you before.” Spike held his gaze. “How fast can you get it?”

“Tomorrow, first thing.”

“Tonight.”

The Trader thought about it for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. “That’ll be extra.”

“Okay, a million then,” Spike said pushing the eyeglasses back down his nose. “But I get to test the parts first. I’m new here, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

“Millennium Bug, De Soto class?” The Trader shook his head. “Unusual Ship. Not many of those still around. I should know you.”

“No you shouldn’t,” Spike assured him. “Look the ship’s in docking bay five hundred and six. Be there before sunrise.”

“And you’ll have the money?”

Spike watched him light the end of his cigar, take a long suck and blow out a cloud of pungent yellow smoke. “Yeah, I’ll have the money,” he said. “Just be there.”

---------------------------------------------


Buffonia grappled with the large air-bag that had undoubtedly saved her life and pushed at the door of the wrecked vehicle. It was jammed, but opened eventually, and to her immense relief. She looked around for the man, but he was nowhere to be seen and she was surprised at how much ground she'd covered in the time since she'd stolen the speeder. Staggering to her feet she looked over the ridge and saw the lights of Sunnydale spread out before her.

Okay, so this wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d first thought, and she obviously had a lot to learn, but she wasn’t hurt and Sunnydale was within walking distance. Pulling her bag from the wreckage she steeled herself and took a deep breath.

The man had wanted to do something with her. Something she strongly suspected was the thing she’d read about in her romantic novels. But surely he’d heard her when she’d said she was a boy? Of the humanoid variety. So how had he ever imagined it would have been possible?

She certainly didn’t want to learn that the hard way. His weapon – a large metallic blaster - was still lodged between the seats and with a bit of heaving and pulling she managed to free it and note, with delight, that it didn’t look too damaged. It was heavy and felt unfamiliar in her hand. Another first, she thought as she slung it crosswise over her chest. The large weapon, more than anything, would give the clear message that she wasn’t to be messed with. At least she hoped it would. It had been a close call back there with Mr. Smelly, although the outcome had left her feeling stronger than she’d ever felt. But that was no good if it stayed on the inside. If she was to survive this then she was going to have to look tough on the outside too.

The compact came out from sheer force of habit, and she had to resist the urge to fix her hair and make-up. Perhaps the make-up had been a mistake, she thought squinting at her reflection and rubbing her lip-paint off with dirty fingers. Some of the males at the palace had worn make-up, but she was beginning to suspect that her mother’s hangers-on weren’t perhaps the best role-models for masculinity. Gods, there was so much she didn’t know.

Night was falling fast with all its strange shadows and noises so she wasted no more time. Hefting her bag onto one very sore shoulder, the blaster nestling reassuringly against her chest, she started walking towards the twinkling lights of Sunnydale.

---------------------------------------------------

O B made it back into the Bronze without mishap, using his Jedi reflexes to avoid bumping into any bad-tempered beings who might want to rip his head off just for accidentally touching them. There was a mild tingling at the base of his spine – his slayer sense he called it. Part of the Slayer - Watcher bond. But it shouldn’t be going off this far from the royal palace. He looked around, but all he could make out were shapes, some standing or sitting and some dancing to the pulsing beat in the middle of the bar.

Another drink would soothe his jangled nerves. Then maybe he’d check in with the Jedi High Council of Watchers. Yoga would know what to do, if he could catch him sober, which wasn’t something that happened very often these days. The wise and all-knowing Jedi master had certainly been a sad sight to behold the last time he’d seen him. He ordered another brandy, telling himself sternly it would be his last tonight and sipped at it slowly.

The Slayer wasn’t the only one trapped by her destiny, he thought as the fiery liquid went down. How did she think he felt when he’d been told he’d have to say goodbye to his dreams of opening a hardware store and made to go off and train as a Jedi instead? He drained his glass and called for another. They were all trapped by their destinies. Each and every one of them merely cogs in the great wheel of fate. There was no escape for those who were called to higher things, and the tingling in his spine was steadily increasing. Almost as if she was in the very room with him.

His Slayer, he already thought of her as that. Looking around at the fuzzy shapes he let go of his physical perceptions and concentrated all his Jedi mind-power into her image.

She was near. He could feel it.

---------------------------------------

Sunnydale was a strange mixture of affluent business, mainly trading in the precious minerals that the planet was famed for and which the Vampirians so desperately wanted to get their hands on, and seedy underbelly. Buffonia had heard that it attracted the best and the worst the galaxy had to offer, and it seemed that wasn’t far wrong. It wasn’t a large settlement, but it held her best chance of finding transport off the planet.

Her hand moved instinctively to the blaster, a finger poised over what she hoped was the firing trigger. So many life-forms, pushing past her, some staring blatantly, but most ignoring her. It was confusing and overwhelming. More people than she’d ever seen and the noisiest place she’d ever been to, but she could do this, she told herself sternly. She’d made one mistake and she vowed it would be her last. And there was the Bronze. The computer had told her that this was where she’d find cheap passage off the planet, but after her experience with the speeder driver she had to ask if she was doing the right thing even contemplating going in there.

A quick check of the cash situation told her that beggars couldn’t be choosers, so, pulling back her shoulders and keeping a tight hold of her bag and weapon, she made her way to the door. The burly looking bouncer nodded her through into the smoky and very noisy interior of the bar. The number of beings milling about, each seeming to know exactly where they were going and what they were doing, amazed her. For a moment all she could do was stand and take it all in as they swarmed around her. Music pulsed with a beat so heavy, the walls rattled and when someone stopped to speak to her she had no idea what the creature wanted, so she smiled and nodded and then put her hand back on the firing mechanism of the blaster for good measure. That did the trick and the creature backed away, shaking its head.

Buffonia pushed her way to the bar feeling very small around the crush of alien life-forms, some of which were easily twice her height and who could probably have picked her up with one digit if they had a mind to. If she was going to buy passage off the planet then it should at least be with someone of the humanoid variety, she thought looking around. Someone non-threatening looking who wasn’t going to demand her virtue as payment. And someone who wasn’t going to cheat her out of everything she had just because she looked like an innocent.

It seemed to take forever to catch the barman’s eye, but eventually she managed to order a drink by pointing at one of the bottles hung over the bar and, taking her cue from the rest of the clientele, she wriggled herself onto a stool and looked around.

She spotted him immediately sitting alone at a table on the far side of the room. His eyes were closed and his lips moving and, thankfully he didn’t seem to have seen her. Not that he’d recognize her, she thought turning around so that her back was facing him just in case. She didn’t look anything like the young girl he’d accosted only this morning. And what the hell was Crazy-Stalker-Guy doing in a place like this?

What the hell was she doing in a place like this? She had to have taken leave of what little sense she’d been born with to think she could trust anyone, or anything in this place. A voice interrupted her thoughts.

“How much do you charge?”

“I beg your pardon?” Buffonia looked up. A large, humanoid, but very scaly creature looked down at her.

“I said how much do you charge?”

“I don’t know what…” she began.

“This enough?” A scaly hand thrust a fistful of credits at her and she realized, with an inward groan just what he wanted. Gods, didn’t men have sex with women any more.?

“I’m not that kind of guy,” she said fingering her weapon. “Go away.”

“But you could be?” the creature persisted. “Look, I’ll double it if you’re good.”

“Go away.” She lifted the barrel of the weapon and pointed it, feeling a surge of power wash over her much as it had done in the speeder. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the man in the brown cloak open his eyes and raise his head. “Go,” she ordered in her best princess voice. The creature laughed and the man in the cloak rose from his chair.

Buffonia didn’t do panic very well. The creature had her arm now and no one seemed the slightest bit interested in coming to her aid. And the Watcher, as he’d called himself, was walking across the room, bumping into people as he went and he seemed to be coming straight for her.

Don’t panic, she thought as the creature twisted the blaster so that the barrel was pointing up into the air where it couldn’t do anyone any damage. Think.

“I’m with someone,” she said as she grappled for control of the weapon and hoped she wasn’t going to have to fight him for it, because she could already tell he was a lot stronger than the man in the speeder.

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Him,” she said pointing to the only other all-human looking creature at the bar. No matter that the man in question had just about the worst dress sense she’d ever seen and didn’t look as if he could punch his way out of a paper-bag, let alone defend her honour. He looked like the type who’d go for the young boy she was trying to pass herself off as. “He’s my boyfriend, and he’s going to shred you into little pieces when he’s sees what you’re doing.”

--------------------------------------------

Spike turned around, his hand cupped over his face as he spotted the old man he’d stolen the eyeglasses from. He ought to leave, but he was hungry and they served a mean snyth- blood at the Bronze. Almost as good as the real thing, which was something he could only vaguely remember the taste of. When was the last time he’d been able to afford that? It was a rare luxury these days and was always invariably of the bottled variety, since the biting instinct had been largely bred out of modern day Vampirians.

They’d been a proud race once. Terrorised half the galaxy with their creature of the night routine. Drank their blood straight from the source. Had the ability to make others in their image if the fancy took them and were terrified of daylight, various symbols and smelly herbs. Spike remembered the thrill he’d got when he’d read the histories that told him what he would have been if he’d lived thousands of years ago. Things that were now merely genetic memories. Vampirians had come into the modern world like everyone else and with selective turning had produced a race who could tolerate mild doses of sun, lived on synthetic blood and who quite happily had their fangs extracted so that they could apply for the better jobs in the galaxy.

Spike still had his, although he rarely saw them. One or twice he’d vamped out, mainly when he was drunk, just to see what it was like, but it had been a rather pointless exercise since the last thing he’d felt inclined to do was bite some poor creature on the neck and suck their life force out of them. Live and let live, that was his motto. And the super-strength he felt when in full vampire mode had come in handy for fights, but he prided himself at not having to resort to that.

And of course, the biggest advantage of being a modern Vampirian had to be that if you were vain enough you could actually see your own reflection in a looking-glass. It hurt the eyes somewhat, but that was a price worth paying. How his ancestors had ever attempted to be half-way groomed without mirrors escaped him.

But never mind the history of Vampirian evolution, he thought downing the blood and wiping his mouth with his hand. There was the small matter of finding a million credits from somewhere because he didn’t think the Trader was going to be stupid enough to let him fit the parts to the Millennium Bug then allow himself to be hit on the head while Spike swanned off without paying. That was plan B, but it was risky, and low-key was the order of the night. Much easier if he could just pay for the parts and have done with it.

His eyes swept over the room as he picked out a victim who looked as if he might be carrying a million credits on him. It was hard to tell, but he’d already spotted a few shady transactions going on in quiet corners with money changing hands. But a million credits? He sighed and reached for his whiskey chaser. Might have to be that bank vault after all.

The small, warm body that flung itself against him took him completely by surprise. So much so that he knocked his whiskey clean over.

“Soddit,” he cried as it splashed onto his shirt. “Can’t you…”

The prettiest creature he’d ever seen looked up at him. A pair of wide green eyes, a pert little nose and the most kissable lips all framed in a perfectly oval, but very grubby face, and topped with short, spiky black hair. He blinked, the eyeglasses slid further down his nose and he was completely rooted to the spot by the mesmerising vision before him.

“This boy says he’s with you,” a gruff voice said and Spike’s head whipped up as he heard the challenge. And the word boy.

His first reaction was to run for the hills. He looked down again, still perched on his bar-stool, at the boy who was holding on to him surprisingly strongly for one so small. Spike slid backwards, nearly falling off his seat in his haste to put distance between them, but the boy wasn’t having it.

“Tell him,” the boy urged. “Tell him I’m your boyfriend. Please?”

The last word the boy mouthed silently at him, his eyes imploring him to go along with whatever game he was playing. Only by the sound of panic in the boy’s voice, this was no game.

“Boyfriend?” Spike did fall off his stool at that one, mainly because the boy had dragged him off his perch and was now trying to wrap himself around him. And he felt like anything but a boy.

“Look, is he with you, or what?” the scaly creature demanded.

“What?” Spike looked up again, pushing the boy off and trying unsuccessfully to untangle his arms from around his neck. “No,” he managed. “Look, will you stop that,” he hissed to the boy, who only hung on even tighter. “Not gay,” he said to the scaly creature, with a forced laugh. “Me, a boyfriend?” He laughed again, a little too high pitched for his last statement to be convincing and the scaly man raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t be silly,” the boy said hooking his arm around Spike’s neck and plucking the eyeglasses off his nose. “Sure you are, remember?”

Remember? Spike couldn’t even think straight as the boy’s mouth plastered it self against his and he found himself in the strange situation of both trying to push him off and hang on to him at the same time. The part of him that definitely wasn’t gay and had in no way started fancying young boys pulled back in horror at what was happening. Unfortunately, it seemed there was a part of him that was quite happy to be gay when it felt like this.

Warm, wet lips sliding over his, inexperienced, he could tell that, but with so much promise. Sweet breath and a mouth that tasted of sugared almond flowers. And that damned sexy, and very hard blaster nestling between. Spike fought a battle he was rapidly losing as the boy’s other hand crept around his neck and small fingers threaded themselves into the sensitive hairs there. He couldn’t help shivering as they stroked him with a feather-light touch. And the deep sigh of satisfaction must have come from his mouth since no one else here was being kissed to within an inch of their lives by completely the wrong sex, and loving every moment of it.

Unless it was the young boy who’d groaned with such erotic abandon, when, for a moment, everyone and everything in the room faded away and it was just the two of them acting out the clinch of the century. Only neither of them was acting, that much was clear. The boy pulled back with a gasp and Spike saw the same shock in those green eyes that must have been reflected in his.

They stared at each other for a long moment, chests heaving, the boy panting, and Spike’s Vampirian senses were all over the place. The slightly dazed youth standing in front of him might look like a boy, and call himself one, but he sure as hell didn’t feel like one, or taste like one. The lad gently replaced the eyeglasses on the bridge of his nose for him and Spike shifted uncomfortably as his pants tightened even more. He was reaching for the lad again when the rational part of his brain finally kicked in.

“I’ll give you five thousand credits for him.” The scaly man, unimpressed by their display, brought out another fistful of notes.

Five thousand credits? It wasn’t enough, but heck, money was money and it was a start. Spike’s hand was reaching for it of its own accord when he caught the young lad’s eye.

Hell, he was a Vampirian. A rogue Vampirian even. A smuggler who didn’t care about anything now that Dru had left him. He didn’t do noble, or knight in shining armour. He did what was most profitable for Spike. The lad caught his jacket, forcing him to look down, his stunning eyes so wide now that they reminded him of an old earth film where a cat had pulled that stunt every time he’d wanted someone to feel sorry for him. And bugger, if it didn’t get to him every time.

“No deal, mate. Lad’s with me, as you can see,” he said pulling the boy in with an arm around his waist. The boy sank against him and he heard a murmured thank you.

Mr scaly doubled his offer and again Spike found his hand twitching. But he couldn’t do it. For whatever reason, this boy needed his help and there was a small part of Spike, though deny it he might, that was hero through and through.

“Bugger off,” he said staring up at the huge creature who seemed so intent on having this boy. “You’re starting to piss me off.”

“Yes, bugger off,” a deep, cultured voice cut in from behind him. “You don’t want that lad. He’s not for you.”

“I don’t want that lad,” the scaly creature said, a confused look in his eyes. “He’s not for me.”

“You run along now,” the old man in the brown cloak urged, and Spike watched, open-mouthed as Mr scaly gave up and walked calmly away.

The lad however, dropped him like a hot brick and sprang back, his finger on the firing mechanism of the blaster.

“You stay away from me, he shouted. “I know how to use this thing.”

For a moment Spike thought the boy was talking to him and he mentally berated himself for having got so carried away when it was obviously that the lad had just been using him. Then he realised the boy was talking to the old man. Who was, in turn, staring intently at Spike.

“Do I know you?” the old man said screwing up his eyes and reaching out a hand.

Spike ducked away, hastily removing the eyeglasses and shoving them in his pocket, his fingers curling around his weapon.

“No, you don’t, Spike assured him. “You too know each other though? He said deftly changing the subject.”

He heard the words yes and no, both spoken at the same time. The lad tugged on his sleeve.

“Don’t leave me with him.”

“I mean you no harm,” the old man said. “You must understand that.” He stepped forward, feeling his way, arms extended, and planted both palms onto the boy’s chest.

The boy gave an indignant yelp and swung back his fist. “I knew it,” he said. “Pervert much?”

The old man went down with a grunt, which surprised Spike because the lad was so slight he looked as if he could be picked up with one hand, yet he obviously packed a mighty wallop.

“I need passage off the planet,” the boy said, the words tumbling over themselves as he watched the old man struggle to his feet. “Where can I find a ship leaving tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Spike said eyeing the blaster.

“You must,” the boy said a little desperate now. He felt around for his bag, picked it up and took a step back. “Do you have a ship?”

“Yes, but…”

“I’ll pay.”

“No,” Spike answered hastily, remembering the kiss. “I don’t do passengers.”

The old man sat up, groaning and rubbing his head. “Buffonia?” he said weakly, his eyes full of confusion.

“I’m rich.”

That got Spike’s attention.

“Very rich.”

Spike swallowed as the lad did that thing with his eyes again.

“If you help me the rewards will be more than you could ever imagine.”

“I don’t know, I can imagine quite a bit,” Spike said trying not to stare too much at the lad’s kiss-swollen lips.

“Then you’ll help me?”

“Yes.” Spike nodded then shook his head. “I mean no. No way. How rich are you?”

“Trust me. The cash is in the bag.”

Spike never actually knew if it was the money or the eyes that did it in the end. Or the thought that somewhere deep inside he might want to repeat that kiss, no matter what that would make him. All he knew was that he was running for the exit with the boy beside him, the old man shouting them to stop and that, hopefully, his money problems were over. If the lad was as rich as he claimed then the hyperdrive was as good as paid for and Spike was out of there permanently. But before he got too carried away with things there were questions that needed answers.

They ran out into the night ducking into a side alley where Spike stopped, grabbed the lad by the arm and swung him against the wall.

“Okay,” he said, pinning him in place. “Just who are you, and what’s your game?”

“I’m just someone who needs to get away.”

“Worked that one out,” Spike said. “If you’re wanted for something I’ve got enough trouble of my own. Not inclined to take on any more right now.”

The boy shook him off, smoothing down his rumpled cloak. “You won’t get any trouble from me,” he said lifting his chin. “Look, I really need to get off the planet.”

The lad’s eyes were glazing over suspiciously and Spike closed his own because he’d always been a sucker for tears. “Show me the money,” he said hardening his voice and motioning to the boy’s bag.

The boy pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “I’ll get it for you,” he said pointing to where it had fallen.

Spike pushed it across with his foot. “No funny business,” he said. “I’m not as stupid as I look.”

The lad gave him a quick glance and bent towards the bag. The next moment the blaster was jammed against Spike’s chest.

Spike froze and raised his hands.

“Take me to your ship now,” the boy demanded. “Or, or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

“So you haven’t got any money?” Spike couldn’t help the note of disappointment, or desperation in his voice.

“Didn’t you hear me? I will shoot.”

Spike motioned towards the blaster with his head. “Energy cell’s damaged,” he said. “Fire that thing and you’ll kill the both of us, and take out half the block.”

“What?” The boy’s eyes dropped momentarily to the weapon and Spike struck, twisting it out of his hand and disabling it in one smooth stroke.

“Don’t ever point a weapon at me again,” he said in a low voice. “And don’t trust everything you hear, either. People are going to lie to you to get what they want, but you already know that, don’t you?”

The boy slumped against the wall, raising his stricken eyes and that was the moment Spike learned that weapons weren’t always made of cold, hard metal. And a blow to the heart could be made just as effectively with a look as the sharpest of stakes.

“Bloody hell,” he said kicking the bag gratuitously. “Look, Just go back where you came from. I got stuff to do that doesn’t include saving your ass.”

“Th...that man in there,” the boy began, swallowing hard, his voice breaking. “He’s going to sell me into slavery. You wouldn’t want that for me, would you?”

Spike jammed a hand in his hair. “Not my problem. Told you, already got enough of those.”

“What’s your name?” the lad said placing a soft hand on his arm.

Spike eyed it suspiciously. “William,” he said remembering he was in his new persona. “What made you think I’d want to kiss a boy back there?”

“You looked like…” the boy’s voice trailed away, then he brightened. “I could work my passage. You must have some use you could make of me. I’ll be very good.”

The visuals were cycling through Spike’s mind faster than he could process them. And all the innuendos implicit in what the boy was saying.

“No,” he said determinedly pushing them away. “You’re trouble with a capital T. Do you have any money at all?”

“Two hundred credits.”

“Not even worth mugging you for that,” Spike murmured. “Although someone will. Do you know how dangerous this galaxy is?”

The boy sighed. “Okay, not going to help me. Kind of got that picture now.”

Spike watched him wearily reach for the bag then extend his hand.

“Could I have my blaster back?”

“Do I look that stupid?”

“Umm, you do actually. But you’re not, are you?”

“Look, do what you want, it’s not my problem. But this,” Spike raised the weapon. “I think I’ll keep.”

“I won’t survive without that and you know it.”

“And if I return it to you, we’ll be back to square one.”

The blush on the lad’s face told him he wasn’t far wrong on that one.

“Look, who are you, really? Or rather, what are you?” Spike sniffed trying to lock down the confusing scent the boy was giving off. “Shape shifter? Wraith demon? What? And no more crap about slavers and stuff. Like you said, I might look stupid, but I’m not.”

The lad turned his head as a rowdy crowd crossed the end of the alleyway. “Okay, I’ll be straight with you he said lifting an elegant hand. “I’m in trouble and I need to get away fast. And I wasn’t lying about being rich. I just don’t have the money on me now.”

“And that old man,” Spike said. “Where does he fit in?”

“I think he’s trying to tell me something.”

“Something you don’t want to hear?”

“You guessed that much?”

“Was pretty obvious.”

“So, you’re going to help me?”

“Nope,” Spike said stepping away shaking his head. “You know that old man in there is a Jedi, right?”

The lad’s eyes widened.

“Bunch of nutters, the lot of them. And powerful as hell. I am definitely not getting involved.”

“Then you might as well kill me now,” the lad said quietly.

“What kind of talk is that? Can’t you just go home?”

The lad shook his head, misery etched into every feature. Every beautiful, feature.

Spike knew that he was probably going to regret this more than he’d ever regretted anything in his life. And he’d done some stuff. A slight flick of his head was all it took for the lad to grace him with the most engaging smile Spike had ever been subjected to. A smile that made his heart feel as if it had grown a large bulge in it and expanded to fill his whole chest.

“There’ll be no repeat of the, you know, what happened in there.”

The lad skipped beside him his mood having gone from despair to elation in a suspiciously short space of time.

“Absolutely not,” he assured Spike.

“Dead right,” Spike replied, just as emphatically.

“Never going to happen again.”

“Not in a million years.”

“Ten million years.”

Spike slung the blaster over his shoulder. “So, you don’t fancy me then?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“That’s good.” Spike said feeling slightly disappointed. But that was what he wanted, right? Why he’d turned himself into nerdy William? He deliberately set a brisk pace so that the lad had to trot to keep up with him. At least they had that sorted. There’d be no more thoughts of kissing young boys, no matter how delectable they looked, or how delicious they smelled or how small and helpless they appeared. Concentrate on Jasmine, he told himself sternly. And what was increasingly looking like it was going to have to be plan B, since there was no way he was going to be able to rob a bank vault with young pouty-lips in tow.

They stopped to cross the highway and he caught the lad gazing at him from under his considerable lashes.

“What?” he snapped irritably.

“Your hair,” the lad said tipping his head as he looked up at him. “I could swear it’s grown.”

Spike patted his head, remembering the hair growth he’d used. It definitely felt longer, and curlier.

“It’s kind of cute,” the lad observed with a smile.

“Really?” Spike said, before he could stop himself. “Bugger, but it’s not meant to be. Quit looking at me like that, will you?”

The lad recoiled a little, the hurt look creeping back into his eyes, but Spike resolutely ignored it. He had to be ten kinds of crazy to take on a passenger when his ass was so much on the line. And Chewie wasn’t going to like it one bit.

“Did you say you had two hundred credits?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, hand it over.” Spike stopped and stuck out his hand.

“You want it now?”

“You didn’t think I was taking you for free, did you? Passage off the planet will cost you two hundred credits.”

“You’ll get your money.” the lad said fumbling in his pocket, his voice brittle and tight.

Spike looked away. He didn’t do guilty either, but this lad was almost making him feel that. And damned if the boy didn’t go the most enchanting shade of pink when he was angry. He slapped the money into Spike’s outstretched hand.

“There,” the boy said favouring him with a glare. “It’s all I’ve got. Do you feel better now?”

It was a strangely perceptive thing to ask. Spike’s answering yes was automatic and he should have felt better that he was putting this whole transaction on a business footing, but he didn’t. Instead he felt like the biggest shit in the galaxy. And he’d inadvertently made the lad even more dependant on him than he was before, because now he had penniless to add to his list of woes.

“I know that’s not enough,” the lad continued. “I’m still willing to work for my passage. I’ll do anything you want me to. And I’m not afraid of you,” he said in a determined voice.

Spike gazed down at him. Wish I could say the same, he thought. Wish I could say the same.

Tbc…

Buffonia is a boy and Spike is William at the moment so that's how I've written them as seen from the respective pov's. All should become clear.......And thank you so much for the reviews:-))

Chapter 3

At the summons, the Dark Lord strode forward, humming under his breath and with the confidence of one who knows that every hair is in place. Black cloak swirling behind him, helmet under his arm, he entered the inner sanctum, approached the throne and knelt at the feet of the shadowy figure seated regally before him.

“Ooh, new shoes?” he said looking down.

“You like?” the Empress replied, lifting a foot.

“I do. How many pairs?”

“Nine. Not too many do you think?”

Darth Angel raised his eyebrows. “You have to keep up appearances, Empress. Your reputation as the Dark Lady stands and falls by your ability to keep the masses in your thrall.”

“I know,” the Empress said slumping back into her throne with a sigh. But really, nothing goes with this stupid cloak. Whoever invented these super-villain costumes, Darth? I’m nothing more than a walking cliché in this thing. And who was Imelda Marcos?”

“An earth woman, I do believe,” Darth Angel said standing up. “Famous for her love of shoes.”

“And being compared to her is a good thing?”

“Most certainly, my Lady.”

“Because apparently I’m becoming known as the Imelda Marcos of the galaxy, and the article? Not flattering.”

“Ignore them, my Lady. The tabloids have nothing better to do with their time. Would you like me to order all the editors horribly killed for daring to criticise you?”

“No,” the Empress said after a lengthy consideration. “Let them talk about shoes. At least that means they’re giving the Death Star a rest. Sometimes it’s so hard being evil.”

Tell me about it,” Darth Angel said. “So the fandango pink didn’t go down well?”

“They hate it. Look at this.” An elegant hand thrust a news-sheet at him and he read…

Empress in Death Star Disaster. The Summerians are liable to die lie laughing when the Empress finally reveals that the Death Star, which is capable of taking out whole planets with its awesome firepower, is to be painted fandango pink…”

The Empress rose and started pacing. “I was just trying to show my softer, feminine side. I mean, what’s the point of having the latest in Death Stars if no one’s going to notice it?

“Calm down, my Lady,” Darth said producing an array of colour charts from under his cloak. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, as the old saying goes. Perhaps rose-bloom would be a tad more subtle? Or earth tones? I hear they are very in this year.”

“Maybe,” the Empress said irritably waving away them away. “I’m tired of this. What news of the Slayer?”

“Ahh, the Slayer.” Darth Angel steepled his fingers and gave one of his evil grins. “The latest incarnation has been found.”

“And captured? The Empress said, hopefully.

“Not yet, my Lady, but it’s only a question of time.”

“So.” The Empress leaned forward. “Do tell.”

Darth smiled his wicked smile. “It’s Princess Buffonia.”

“I knew it,” the Empress said clapping her hands. “Didn’t I say it would be?”

“You’re never wrong, my Lady.”

“So, you haven’t got her yet, but her capture is imminent?”

“As good as done, O she-who-must- not-be-named.”

“It must be done, and soon. I’m vulnerable only to the Chosen One, you know that. And once the Jedi get hold of her they will send her to kill me.”

“Never going to happen.”

“But why isn’t she already caught? Send in a couple of agents undercover and bring her in. I must have her alive, for the ritual, you know that.”

“Ahh.” Darth Angel looked up. “Already thought of that one, but it seems our little bird has flown the nest.”

“What?” the Empress looked around, alarmed. “Do you realise she may already be here?”

“We will find her, O Beautifully-Groomed-One. I’ve offered a substantial reward for her capture. Every loyal Vampirian will deem it his duty to bring her in, have no fear.”

“But, her friends will be many, and the Jedi are not all drunken old men, despite what you hear. She’ll be well protected.”

“But there’s always someone who needs money more than they need their friends, right?”

“True. Whatever you’ve offered, double it. We must have her.”

“Consider it done, Most-Fashion-Conscious-One. She will be betrayed, and then nothing will stand between us and the riches of Summeria, or the threat from Somnambula.”

“And this heart of hers?” The Empress leaned forward, her face twisted with disgust. To which, can I say Euwww! Does it have to be the heart?”

“Yes my Lady, it does. But don’t worry they taste like chicken.”

“You’ve heard this?”

“Heard it?” Darth Angel indulged himself in a quick, but very evil laugh. “I know it, Empress.”

-----------------------------------

Her lips still tingled with the memory of the kiss. And she was more than a little giddy with the realisation that life was just like a romantic novel, after all.

There had been fireworks. And a hundred-piece orchestra had struck up out of nowhere. Her first kiss had been with a complete stranger who she’d been mysteriously attracted to, even though he wasn’t actually her type. And, now, as with all good bodice-ripping romances, he was being a complete bastard and leaving her vulnerable by taking all her money while glaring at her in a masterful way. Though how he was managing that in those ridiculous eyeglasses, she had no idea.

Only there were going to be no bodices ripped in this story, she thought, as they walked towards the docking bay. Not while he believed she was a boy, anyway. She hadn’t missed the panic in the kiss, passionate though it had undoubtedly been.

Get a grip, she told herself. When had life ever been like a romantic novel? They were a fantasy and anyway, she didn’t do eyelash-batting, or swooning. That was for air-headed heroines who had idealised and clichéd ideas about love.

Then where had the fireworks come from? And that music?

She sneaked another glance, and received a bad-tempered scowl in return which caused a ripple of excitement from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. He’d felt unexpectedly solid under those ridiculous clothes with more than a hint of rippling muscles in all the right places. And when he’d thrown her against the wall just now… All she’d wanted to do was grab him by the collar, drag him down to her and kiss him all over again until all the buildings fell down, and they’d still be kissing unaware of anything but what they were doing.

Now she knew why all this stuff had been done away with long ago in preference to sex with machines. She’d never had this reaction to her orgasminator, even though it had been her best friend for as long as she could remember.

Way too distracting. She coughed and shook her head to clear her mind. Get back to the plot, Buffonia. Leave the planet, the mad Jedi with his strange pronouncements and this marriage of convenience as far behind as she could, and channel some of this new-found strength into a career as a bounty hunter. Or should that be bounty huntress?

“So what do I call you?”

A boy’s name, she needed a boy’s name since she couldn’t be Buffonia any more.

“That Jedi back there called you Buffonia. Strange name for a boy,” William observed.

“Buff, my name is Buff,” she said hastily.

“Buff?” William cocked his head and scrutinised her with what looked suspiciously like cerulean blue eyes, but she’d need a colour chart to check that one. And he was frowning, because she was staring, she realised. And when had his voice started to sound like roughened silk?

When he’d said her name, that’s when.

Yes, her mother had been right. Sex with a machine need not take up more than a short space in the day, leaving ample time for fulfilling hobbies, charity works and the like. But this? This was liable to take up every waking minute of every day. It was likely to muddle your thoughts and fill your mind with pictures that were all the same. Being infatuated was quite probably a full-time job, and one she didn’t have time for right now.

“Buff.” He said it again and his expression softened. “Well, Buff. Welcome aboard the Millennium Bug.”

Buffonia stared in dismay at the battle-scarred spaceship parked haphazardly in docking bay five hundred and six. “It’s a pile of junk,” she said before she could stop herself.

It was small, to start with. Much smaller than she’d imagined, and old – that was obvious from the welded-on metal patches, to the antiquated design. She hadn’t seen many spaceships, but she’d certainly never seen one like this before.

William’s look of pride, that had been evident only moments before as he’d introduced her to what was obviously his beloved ship, faded at her disbelieving expression.

“You’re looking at the ship that made the Kessel run in less than twelve parsecs,” he said with more than a hint of defensiveness in his voice. “She’s outrun Imperial Vampirian cruisers. The big ones,” he said holding out his hands as if he was boasting about some aquatic animal that he’d caught. “I’m not talking about the local ships. And I’ve made a lot of special modifications myself. She’ll get you where you want to go. Now,” he swept his arm expansively. “If you’ll get your skinny ass inside, I’ll show m’lord to his suite.”

“A suite? Cool.” Buffonia gave him a bright smile and fairly skipped up the gangplank completely missing William’s rolling eyes and raised eyebrows. The ship was obviously bigger than it looked then, and perhaps this part of her journey to freedom wasn’t going to be as bad as she’d feared after all?

The large, hairy creature that sprang out at them, growling and baring its teeth took her completely by surprise. And when she saw that it was going straight for William, she couldn’t help reacting. “Look out William,” she cried, launching herself at him and knocking him into the wall. They both went down in a tangle of limbs and much cursing from William who was struggling to get up as soon as he hit the floor. Buffy grappled for the blaster as the hairy creature calmly bent down and grabbed her by the arm.

“Get away from him,” she shouted, twisting the weapon around and half strangling William in the process since he still had it slung over his shoulder. “I’m not afraid to use this.”

The creature tightened its grip and swung her clean from the floor by her forearm, raising her into the air so that she was dangling indecorously, her feet paddling frantically as she fought to free herself.

“Put him down, Chewie.”

She saw William stand up and dust himself off, totally unconcerned that the creature had apparently been about to rip his head off. The creature made another series of guttural growls.

“Yeah, I know,” William answered it. “Me too, but we can’t. We’ve got ourselves a passenger.”

More growling, and even though she didn’t speak the language she could tell the creature wasn’t happy with that notion.

“Don’t worry,” William told it as he fumbled in his pocket. “He’s paying his way. Here.”

The creature, who she now knew was called Chewie, held out his other hand as William counted out half of her credits into it. Chewie tucked the money into the gun-belt slung cross-wise over his chest. Without a backward glance he dropped her onto the floor, growled again, then ducked down and followed William through a bulkhead, into the interior of the ship.

Buffonia hit the metal deck with a thud, her heart still racing from the encounter, and wondering what on earth had got into her. Defending William? She’d done that without a second thought, but only because she needed him to drive this thing and get her off the planet. And that was the only reason, she told herself firmly. But taking on that big walking carpet? That was something else entirely and she could only think that these bursts of power she was feeling were something to do with being the Chosen One as the annoying Jedi kept trying to tell her. It was confusing, and more than a little frightening.

Rubbing at her strained shoulder she sat up, and all she wanted to do was have a good cry. It was all very well talking the talk and walking the walk, but there was only so much talking and walking she could do at one time and she found, as she struggled to her knees, that the energy that had got her this far was suddenly all used up and, perhaps, she did do swooning after all.

“You okay?”

Buffonia glanced up and saw William leaning against the bulkhead, arms folded, head tilted as he looked down at her.

“I think so,” she said feeling embarrassed now at her faux-pas. She gave him a rueful smile. “I take it you know walking carpet-guy?”

William extended his hand and helped her up. “That’s Chewie, my partner. A word of advice,” he said flicking a few spots of dirt from her cloak. “It’s not wise to upset a Wookie.”

“Well, how was I suppose to know,” she shot back. Swallowing the tears because what good would they do her? He was watching her intently as she rubbed her shoulder again.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No.” She turned away so he wouldn’t see the pained expression on her face. “Okay, yes, but I’ll be fine.” She turned back and squared her shoulders. “Just show me to my suite and a long, hot steam-bath should make everything better. And if you could let me have the menu, I’ll make my selection for dinner tonight.”

“Are you for real?” William asked her shaking his head. “I can see you’re hurting. Let me look.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated resolutely. “See?.” She managed to rotate her injured arm without pulling too much of a face and William shrugged.

“Suit yourself,” he said handing her the bag. “Follow me then, and I’ll show you were you can stow your stuff.”

Buffonia did as she was told, walking behind him through a short corridor and several doors that slid back as they approached until he ushered her into what looked like a very small lounge. A panoramic window wrapped around one end of the room which was simply furnished with several hard-looking bench seats, a low, central table and a computer console. The walls were mostly bare metal with exposed cables hanging in bundles and there was a faint smell of some oily substance. She looked around, bemused.

“Your suite,” William said, with a smirk. “Oh, and I’ll have the chef bring along the menus for your perusal and then perhaps you’d like to use the hot-tub?”

It was exactly the wrong time for tears, and it wasn’t even the crappiness of her situation, or William’s sarcasm that finally broke the dam that had been so steadfastly holding them back. It was the fact that, as she contemplated the hard bench where she was to sleep, she suddenly remembered that in her hurry to leave, she’d left Mr Gordo, her cuddly pig behind. And she couldn’t remember a night when she’d slept without him on her bed. He’d been with her from the day she was born and stuck with her through thick and thin. And now, when she was embarking on her greatest adventure of all, he wasn’t here.

Sometimes we just need an excuse to cry tears that need to be shed. Mr. Gordo was hers. Buffonia dropped her bag, covered her face with her hands and let them come.

------------------------------------------

Oh heck, not tears. Anything but tears.

Even though Spike knew they’d been threatening, the suddenness of them startled him. He took a step back and, for a moment, could do nothing but stand and stare stupidly as, in a melt-down of monumental proportions, the lad proceeded to bawl his eyes out.

“Hey,” Spike said eventually. “Can’t be that bad, surely?”

Buff nodded vigorously and continued with his noisy sobbing.

Spike reached out and tentatively patted him on the shoulder. Somewhere in Spike’s past there were tears. Not the everyday kind that are shed, and forgotten. These were serious tears. The kind that left scars. He couldn’t remember the why’s and the where-fore’s. He just knew that tears cut him deeper than any blade ever could.

And he hadn’t missed the hissing intake of breath when he’d touched Buff’s shoulder.

“You can have my cabin,” he said dipping his head and trying to catch Buff’s eye. “Since you’re paying, and all. Would that help?”

“N, No,” Buff choked out.”

“What would then?”

“M, Mr Gordo.”

“Who’s Mr. Gordo?”

“My pig.”

“You’re crying because you want a pig?”

Buff nodded and gulped. “He’s my best friend. My only friend,” he added.

Spike tried another shoulder pat. “Come on. You got me, haven’t you? And Chewie.”

Buff gave him a sideways look.

“Okay, maybe not Chewie, yet. But he’ll come round. He’s just one big softie under all that, you know, growling.”

Buff sniffed, rubbed at his nose and finally, wiped it on his sleeve. “I’ll sleep here,” he said, in a small voice. “You’re really my friend?”

“Look like you could use one. Mr. Gordo, a pet, was he?”

“Just a toy, really. A link to my past. It would have been nice…”

“Hey,” Spike said shepherding the boy towards the bench seat because his eyes were blurring again and Spike didn’t think he could cope with another round of tears. “Tell you what, I’ll buy you another one. A, real one. How about that?”

“I don’t want a real pig.”

There was a bit of a smile now, and Buff allowed himself to be seated. Spike’s arm almost went around him instinctively and he had to remind himself firmly that boy huggage was not of the good, no matter how natural it felt to want to do it. Or how manly he might try to pretend it was. They sat in silence for a few moments, staring at the walls, each of them lost somewhere in their own thoughts until Spike heard a soft groan.

“Are you going to let me look at that?” Spike moved a hand, Buff jerked away.

“No, I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.” Spike turned and contemplated the boy’s dirty, tear-stained face. “If he’s popped the joint it’ll just swell up and be harder to put back. Come on, stop being such a girl and let me fix it for you.”

Buff sighed and flicked him a curious glance. And, despite his protests, there was very little left in the way of defiance. The lad was wilting visibly, right in front of him.

“Take your…” Spike pointed to the boy’s shirt, his voice reduced to a low mumble at the guilty thrill his request fired through him. “You’ll have to…or I can’t…look just take it off.”

Buff muttered something which Spike didn’t catch, then undid the ties to his cloak. It fell quietly onto the bench behind him and Spike could have sworn he heard his own heart thump, once, very hard. Buff’s hands were trembling and Spike followed every graceful movement with eyes that were so hungry they could have eaten him right up there and then. Spike put his own hands together to stop them shaking and clamped them over his groin.

He didn’t get hard-ons watching boys undress. He didn’t. It was wrong, and it was perverse, and it was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. Slim fingers toying with the pearly buttons. Hesitant, lingering, while Spike mentally urged him on and felt himself grow even harder. The top one slipped open and Spike leaned forward, ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing when Buff glanced upwards as if he was asking him silently if that would be enough. There were two fascinating spots of violet colour slowly spreading across the boy’s cheeks and Spike wanted to reach out and touch them to see if they were as hot as they looked. And to find out if his skin really was the texture of wild silk. Because that’s exactly how it looked in the glow of the cabin lights.

“One more,” he heard himself say and swallowed hard as Buff’s hands slipped down to the second button. It was like having his own private dancer and for a moment Spike’s whole focus was on the movement of Buff’s fingers and the ache, low down in his own body, throbbing with the painful anticipation of seeing Buff’s naked chest. Buff slipped the second button out of its buttonhole and shook back his head, almost as if he’d had long hair at some time and had forgotten that he didn’t any more.

Spike filled in the visuals as Buff discreetly dropped the shirt over the shoulder, along with the strap of some underclothing, holding the rest firmly against himself. With long hair he’d be darned near irresistible, Spike thought lifting a hand and finding, to his dismay, that it was trembling too. Buff ducked away, but Spike caught him by his good shoulder and held him still.

“Not going to hurt you,” he said. “Can I…? He hovered a hand over Buff’s injured shoulder, and, at the boy’s nod he touched, it very lightly with one finger. Buff closed his eyes and wet his bottom lip with his tongue. Spike swallowed down his panic and the room began to spin slowly around somehow drawing him nearer and nearer to the boy’s mouth, where a bead of moisture glistened, just begging to be licked off.

“Does this hurt?” he asked flattening his hand then curving it around the joint.

Buff opened his eyes, his gaze flickering from Spike’s hand to his face. He raised his own hand, placing it on Spike’s fore-arm.

“S’okay, you can trust me,” Spike assured him, his voice low and soothing. “What colour was this pig then?”

“Pink..Ow!”

Buff stiffened all over as Spike deftly popped the joint back in place.

“Ow!” Buff cried again, his hand shooting up to cover Spike’s which was still wrapped around the shoulder. Spike couldn’t avoid the other one which came flying towards him in the form of a balled fist that caught him on the side of the jaw and snapped his head around into the hard back-rest of the seat.

“God’s blood, what was that for?” Spike grunted. He touched his jaw where it still felt the imprint of the blow and ducked sharply as the fist came at him again. This time he caught it in mid-air and slid his other hand around Buff’s neck, holding him firmly in place. Buff squirmed and wriggled, but Spike wasn’t about to let go. “Stop it,” he said. “What the hell’s got into you?”

“That hurt.”

Buff struggled again and Spike had to wonder at the determination of the lad who was fighting him despite the pain he must be in. “Keep still then,” he said capturing Buff’s hand and holding it firm against his side. “All over now, but if you don’t keep it still I’m going to have to do it again. Do you hear me?”

The tension drained out of the boy’s body slowly. Spike watched every muscle relax in turn as Buff calmed down and the trust returned. It had been the best way. The quickest and the least painful, even if it had to have hurt some, and Spike was strangely pleased to see such a show of spirit when the boy had looked so defeated moments before. Although he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be kissing, or fighting the boy just then. The kiss had made him tingle all over, but the struggle had caused a surge of feeling that had hit him like a tidal wave. And now all he wanted to do was throw himself at the lad, pin him to the seat and never let him go.

Even for Spike, who was especially prone to falling in love, it was an extreme reaction. The shirt was still tantalisingly hanging over one, white shoulder and just to prove to himself that he still did have control he forced himself to take the material carefully in his fingers and smooth it back into place. Buff watched him warily and he heard a quiet “sorry.”

“Me too,” Spike replied, equally as quietly, not sure if he was saying it because he’d had to hurt him, or because Buff was a boy and Spike wasn’t gay so he shouldn’t be sitting here having thoughts he couldn’t stop. “Painkillers,” he said. “Would you like some painkillers?”

Buff fumbled for his cloak and Spike breathed an inward sigh of relief as he pulled it on and wrapped it around himself, hiding the flash of skin that was visible where the shirt fell open at the front. Covering up the temptation that was rapidly becoming irresistible.

Spike was a falls fast and hard kind of guy, always had been. He knew that and usually took better care than this. He’d had his fingers burned before and the pain that Dru had left him with had been intense. Bad enough that he should have still been feeling it. And he had been, up till today.

Bloody hell, he thought standing up and putting much needed distance between him and the delightful package sitting on the bench. Love’s bitch one way or another. What the hell was wrong with him?

---------------------------------

O B finally managed to get through to Yoga, and luckily the small, wrinkly Jedi master seemed fairly with it, and not too inebriated.

“Not co-operating is she?” Yoga asked, in that strange backwards way he had of speaking. “Not now my dear,” he said turning to the dark haired beauty sitting beside him on the meditation mat. “Important this is. With you in a moment, I will be.”

The girl blew a kiss through pouty lips and ran her finger down Yoga’s arm.

“Don’t be long, baby,” she said in a husky drawl, sliding to the other side of the mat.

“You too,” Yoga said to the blonde on his other side. “Resume our training we will when I have spoken to O B Gyn.”

The second girl moved to join the first and Yoga straightened his cloak and turned his attention back to the screen. “So,” he said “The Chosen One does not come willingly?”

“She most certainly does not,” O B said rubbing his jaw at the memory of his previous encounter with Buffonia. And how does he do that? He thought jealously eyeing up Yoga’s latest trainees. “The force is strong with her, but she’s unpredictable. I fear I may not be up to the task of Watcher. Perhaps you would like to…?”

“Impossible,” Yoga snapped with a flick of his hand. “Forged at birth the Watcher – Slayer bond is, you know that. Undone it cannot be. Stuck with her, you are.”

O B bowed to Yoga’s superior wisdom. “Then I shall redouble my efforts,” he said steadfastly. She is our only hope against the Dark Lady. The only one who can deliver the killing blow. She will fulfil her destiny.”

“Stronger every day is the Vampirian Empire becoming. Almost complete the Death Star is.”

O B paled and a cold shiver ran down his spine. The Death Star. With it, the Vampirians would be invincible. “She was to have been married into the Sleepwalker clan,” he informed the Jedi master.

Yoga sighed. “Help them that will not. Find her, O B. Trained she must be, and instilled in her the destiny of her fate.”

“As you wish, master.” O B’s hand hovered over the monitor switch. “I may use any means to bring her in?”

“Most certainly,” Yoga replied. Pursing his lips he closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment. Then he opened them and leaned towards the screen. “A friend she will find, and unexpected it will be. Get to her you must before the bond is irreversible, or lose her you will.”

O B Frowned. “Yes, I’ve felt it too. The Dark Side?”

“Perhaps. Strong is the Dark Side. Tempted she will be.”

“Then I will find her.” O B bowed and flicked off the screen as Yoga turned his attention back to his trainees. Slayers in waiting. Ready to pick up the sword and fight, despite the terrible odds. If Buffonia failed to kill the Empress another would step up to take her place, and another and they wouldn’t stop until the figure-head of the Vampirian Empire was dead. Only then would order return to the galaxy.

O B removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. All these prophetic pronouncements were giving him a headache so he called for his droid who was always, inevitably hovering outside the door.

“You wanted me?” C-I-Told-You-So shuffled through and bustled around enthusiastically. “How can I serve you master?”

“A back rub would be nice,” O B said leaning into his chair.

“And that other thing you like so much?”

“Yes, that would be nice too.”

C I’s clever hands went to work, and O B relaxed as he contemplated the best way to bring Buffonia to heel. Drugging them was rarely successful, but in this case it might be necessary. It didn’t seem right, though and he hated having to do it because he’d at least have liked to give her a sporting chance of getting out of this alive. Drugged, she’d go willingly, but to her inevitable death. They couldn’t have it both ways.

He closed his eyes and concentrated as the droid worked. Buffonia was still on the planet, he could feel that, but for how long, he didn’t know. “Tell R U to keep an eye on all ships leaving the planet,” he said sleepily. The headache was slowly ebbing away, but the effect of the brandies was quietly taking over. “Millennium, it’s all I have at the moment. Do a sweep and see if there’s a ship of that name in dry dock at the moment. If there is, watch it carefully.”

“Of course, master. Now, if you’d just lift your cloak?”

O B sighed, and relaxed some more.

-----------------------------------------------

It was dark outside. The kind of dark you could lose yourself in. Buffonia leaned her cheek against the glass and gazed out at the black shapes of the other ships in dry dock. Dim outlines against a grey skyline, lit only by the smallest moon. It hung low in the sky and looked so near that if she reached out her hand she felt as if she could almost touch it. She rubbed absently at the tingle on the back of her neck and sat up.

The pain in her shoulder had dulled somewhat, but the painkillers would be welcome and William had disappeared what seemed like an age ago, and she’d been loath to go and look for him in case she met the big walking carpet.

The sliding door made her jump, but she was pleased to see that it was William, and he was carrying what looked like a water bottle. The tingle increased as he walked towards her, something she’d noticed earlier, but had dismissed as the after effects of the kiss they’d shared.

“There you go,” he said, handing her the bottle and a small, red pill. “That’ll sort you out. Got some business to attend to, then we’ll be on our way. Other side of the galaxy far enough for you?”

“As far away as possible,” she said grimacing as the pill went down. William watched her benevolently as she swigged from the bottle and wiped her mouth. “Your hair’s wet,” she observed.

“Is it?” He looked surprised, patting at his head and then shrugged. “Took a quick shower, that’s all. Feeling any better?”

Buffonia moved her shoulder up and down, surprised to find the pain almost gone. “That’s amazing,” she said smiling up at him. “Feeling better already.”

William returned her a smile of her own and her heart did a back-flip. He looked so different with his curls flattened down and slicked back. More handsome? She couldn’t decide which style suited him best. “What can I do?” she said. “Give me something to do. I said I’d work my passage, and I will.”

“Naa.” William pushed her back down. “Rest up. That shoulders going to be stiff for a day or two. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

Buffonia wriggled back into the corner of the seat and brought her knees up. “I’ve never been into hyperspace before. What’s it like?”

“You’re going to love it.” William perched himself beside her, his face positively shining with enthusiasm. “Think of the best fairground ride you’ve ever been on, and multiply it by a couple of thousand. Gets you right here.”

His palm flattened over her stomach before she could move away and everything between her waist and her knees seemed to clench at once as her breath caught in her throat. William immediately pulled back his hand as if she’d burned him, clamping it over his jaw as liquid heat flooded through her and pooled in her most sensitive places. She knew what was happening and couldn’t stop the small gasp that escaped her. Closing her eyes, she fought for control and slowly the feeling ebbed away, leaving her flushed and horribly embarrassed. Only her orgasminator and Mr Gordo had witnessed this before, but as she opened them she realised that William wasn’t looking at her because he had his eyes closed too. And he was still holding his jaw.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, grateful that he didn’t seem to have noticed her reaction to his rather intimate touch.

“Toothache,” he said in a muffled voice. He dropped his hand and made a few faces. Poked at his jaw again and pronounced himself better. “It’s gone. That’s weird, I never get toothache. What were we talking about?”

“Hyperdrive.”

William didn’t seem to be listening. Looking a little dazed, he extended his hand experimentally towards her, at the same time wriggling and touching his jaw, almost as if she wasn’t there. Then, as she moved back, he pulled it away and ran it through his hair instead. “Got a man coming to fix the hyperdrive,” he said pulling the spectacles out of his pocket and putting them on. Go get yourself something to eat if you’re hungry, galley’s that way. Shouldn’t take long to fit the part, then we’re off.”

And with that he walked across the cabin and straight into the wall.

--------------------------------------------------------


The Trader turned up, eventually. Spike willed himself calm and tried not to stare too much at the huge creature the Trader had in tow. He knew the man would have protection, he didn’t look that much of a fool, but he hadn’t reckoned on a slime demon. Chewie was going to have his hands full with that one.

“You’ve got the part?” Spike asked, squinting over the top of the eyeglasses.

“You have the money?”

“Yeah, I’ve got the money.” Spike stuck his hands in his pockets, feeling the comfort of the small weapon he had concealed there.

“Show me then.” The Trader assumed the kind of nonchalance you can only achieve when you have a slime demon standing at your back holding an enormous energy blaster. “I show you the part, you show me the money. Simple, right?”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t,” the Trader replied. He looked Spike up and down. “Oh, and the price just doubled.”

“Doubled?” Spike’s hand tightened on the weapon. The slime demon’s fingers twitched.

“Yeah, you have a problem with that?”

“Bloody right I have a problem…”

“William…?”

Spike turned to see Buff’s head poking around the exit door to the Millennium Bug.
“I couldn’t find the…” he looked around. “Oops! I can see you’re busy,” he said raising his arms and backing up. “Catch you later.”

“Who’s this?” the Trader demanded.

“My co-pilot,” Spike replied. He turned to Buff who was still standing in the doorway doing a very good impression of a startled doe-eyed deer. “Why don’t you run along and do that thing I asked you to?”

Buff’s eyes widened. “What thing?”

Spike pasted a smile on his face, praying that Buff would take the hint and go back into the ship. Negotiations like this were delicate at the best of times, without having a loose cannon around. “Go check the navi-computer, you know like I told you…” the last part he said through gritted teeth.

Buff looked around and took another step back as he noticed what the slime demon was holding. “Oh, that thing,” he said and saluted. “You’ve got it captain. Consider it done.”

Mercifully Buff disappeared and Spike turned back to the Trader. “Sorry about that. Where were we?”

“You were about to give me two and a half million credits for these hyperdrive parts.”

“Two and a half million?” Spike took a deep breath and balled his fists. “That wasn’t the agreement.”

“Well.” The Trader grinned broadly, showing a mouthful of blackened teeth. “If you want it badly enough, you’ll pay.” He looked at the slime demon, then back to Spike. “How much do you want this?”

“About this much,” Spike replied, bringing out his weapon. There was a low growl from behind the Trader and the slime demon slid slowly to the floor. The Trader spun around and jumped when he saw the enormous Wookie.

“What in hell is this?”

“This,” Spike told him, “is you giving me the hyperdrive parts for free.” He looked up at Chewackybacky. “Took your time, mate.”

Chewie growled back.

“No, don’t kill him. Just make sure he can’t follow in a hurry.” Spike relaxed for the first time since the Trader had appeared. That was a close one, and Buff had nearly ruined everything with his inopportune appearance. How the lad was contemplating surviving alone in this galaxy was beyond Spike. Then he remembered how the lad had thrown himself between him and Chewie, earlier. He certainly has balls, he thought to himself as he went back into the spaceship to get some rope to tie up the Trader. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Chewie dragging the slime demon’s body towards the garbage disposal unit, and he thought, not for the first time what a good team the two of them made. And they should leave it at that. There’d be new opportunities on the other side of the galaxy, or however far they got, and they needed to take them. Buff wasn’t his responsibility, just a fare paying passenger and as soon as they found a suitable port they were going to dump him and go get on with their lives.

Spike trussed up the Trader and dragged him under a nearby, and very conveniently located shrub, then slung the discarded duffel-bag containing the hyperdrive parts over his shoulder. Fitting the parts wouldn’t take long so he called to Chewie to start filing a flight plan so they could be away as soon as the ship was ready. They’d forgo taking on supplies, he decided. Just in case Jasmine had tracked him here. There was enough to see them through for a while, even with an extra passenger and Buff didn’t look as if he ate much anyway.

Spike found him leaning on the doorframe to the rec room delicately nibbling on a Belgarian chocolate bar. Damn, if he didn’t make eating sexy too.

Buff licked his lips and sighed. “Isn’t this stuff divine? Best thing I’ve had in my mouth for a long time. ”

“You’ve got expensive taste then,” Spike said walking through to the engine room. Buff followed him.

“You managed to get your parts?”

“Yeah. Got him to see reason – in a manner of speaking. Here, hold this.” Spike thrust the bag at Buff and climbed up the ladder to the upper deck. Leaning over the edge, he reached down. “Pass it up to me, will you? Won’t take long to fit the circuit board, then we’re on our way.”

Buff half climbed the ladder, handed over the bag then poked his head up through the small opening and leaned his elbows on the edge. “Hey, this is cool. Which bit is the hyperdrive?”

Spike lay on his back and slid under a control panel housing the unit that gave the Millenium Bug its light-speed capabilities. “It’s all in here. Pass me that spanner will you?”

“Can I come up?” Buff handed over the spanner then slid into the small space beside Spike. “I thought it would be bigger.”

“Don’t touch anything,” Spike cautioned. “It’s just a computer really, but watch out for the energy feed. Runs off, just over there, cause I re-routed it through the main board. Gives an extra boost that way. And see this bit. Three-core instead of two? I used crypton wire because it’s lighter and carries the charge better. ‘Cos, I’ve got this theory that…” Spike bit his tongue at that point, cutting off the lecture on light-speed modifications, Spike-style that was about to spill forth big-time, and reminded himself that Buff probably wouldn’t want to be bored silly by his overenthusiastic love of hyperdrive theory.

“Theory that what?”

“Naa, it’s okay. I’m really boring when I get talking about this stuff.” The panel clicked off and he handed it to Buff. “Put that over there and then look in the bag and see if there’s something that looks like a circuit board. You do know what a circuit board looks like, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Buff said, taking the panel, then starting on the straps of the bag. “It looks like…this?”

“You got some brains in that head of yours then?” Spike tried not to show too much relief that the parts he so desperately wanted actually were in the bag after all. Fitting it was just a matter of sliding out the old one and replacing it with the new one. Bloody Dru, she’d known exactly where to strike. First his heart, then his beloved hyperdrive. It gave him pause when he realised that a day that had started with him thinking he was going to die of a broken heart was ending with him not having given Dru more than a second thought.

And Buff was wriggling in beside him, squashing his small body into the confined space so that they were both lying side by side gazing up at the flashing lights and cables.

“So, what’s that theory then?”

“You really want to hear it?”

Buff wriggled again so that they were shoulder to shoulder. “Tell me how it works. This is all so new to me, I want to learn something real for a change. What’s this?”

Spike blinked a couple of times before gazing at the spot to which Buff was pointing. In the confined space Buff’s scent was playing havoc with his vampire senses and he could feel his cold skin burning where the lad’s shoulder pressed against his. He swallowed and tried to focus on the spot that Buff was talking about, but all he could see was a dainty hand and a slim finger adorned with a slivery looking ring. He moved away so that they weren’t touching any more, but Buff took that as a cue to get even more comfortable.

“It’s the link to the main computer,” he managed at last in a voice that didn’t sound like his own at all.

“And this?” Buff’s hand moved towards the router cable, but Spike caught it before it made contact.

“Don’ touch that,” he said slowly bring both their hands down. “It’s very…sensitive.”

“Sensitive?”

Buff’s voice was no more than a whisper and Spike told himself that he could let go any time now, but his hand had other ideas. “Yes, sensitive,” he echoed in a low voice. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Much better.”

“Good.”

“It’s like I’ve got some miracle healing capability, or something.”

“Useful.”

“I hope so.”

The whole cabin was heating up, the air between them crackling with the things they weren’t saying. They could have been talking about the latest fashions and the message would have been the same. The spaces in between the words screamed out that something was happening here, and he had a choice. Spike had to catch himself, because it felt as if he was on a conveyor belt fuelled by desire that was moving him inevitably and very insistently towards something he’d never felt before.

And he’d felt some things in his strange life. The heights of passion, the depths of despair. He’d seen things too. Things that could make you think you’d never see anything as strange again, if you lived till the end of time. But he’d never seen anything as beautiful in its simplicity as the person lying next to him. Suddenly it didn’t matter if Buff was a boy, or a girl, or any of the things in between. All that mattered was that Spike wanted to do nothing more than lie beside him and bask in his glow.

“You’re effulgent,” he said and then looked around because it didn’t sound as if that had come from his own mouth.

“I am not,” Buff said, a little indignantly, but still with a faint smile. The lad frowned and bit his lip as he thought about it. “At least, I don’t think I am What’s effulgent?”

“Means you’re all shiny and glowing, like the light of a million stars.”

Buff’s cheeks turned a beguiling shade of violet. “And when did you become a poet?”

“When I met you.”

Spike was glad he didn’t have to breathe, because he didn’t think he would have been able to anyway. And it looked as if Buff was having trouble with that too. Spike could feel the boy’s hot breath fanning over his face every time he exhaled, warming him up and it was making him dizzy and light-headed. Vampirians were cold-blooded, their circulation and heartbeats so slow, it almost felt as if they didn’t have one. When they heated up, the blood moved faster, with all the inevitable consequences.

That was all this was, Spike told himself, frantically. He was overheating and needed to cool down. Needed to go stand in the icy blast of the out-take valves. That would blow some sense into him and stop him staring like an idiot at the vein pulsing with blood on the boy’s slender neck. Effulgent? Where the bloody hell had that come from?

“William?”

Spike coughed loudly and dropped Buff’s hand. “So,” he said with as much forced jollity he could get into his tone. “What are you going to do when you get where you want to go?”

Buff let out a long breath and rolled his head towards him. “”Going to become a bounty hunter.”

It was exactly what Spike needed to release the built-up tension. He gave a long explosive laugh which tailed away when he noticed that Buff wasn’t laughing along with him.

“You don’t think I’m capable?”

“You’re going to get yourself killed on the first day.”

Buff’s face fell and Spike wanted to kick himself for the expression his words had put there. “Buff,” he said, a little more gently. “Most of the galaxy looks like Chewie, and behaves a hell of a lot worse. And I’m not going to be there to save you.”

“You needn’t worry about me,” Buff said wriggling out from under the panel. Spike watched the boy slide towards the ladder, throwing him a reproachful look as he went. “Just leave me at a convenient port and I’ll be out of your way.”

Spike lifted a hand, then let it drop. “I was just saying…”

“I know William. Everyone’s always just saying. You can’t do this, you have to do that. Well, do you know? I’m going to do exactly what I want to do, and if it gets me killed, well, that’s my choice. I don’t need a knight in shining armour. I’ll make my own destiny.”

Spike didn’t doubt that for one moment. If it could be done on determination alone the most fearsome creatures in the galaxy would fall at her feet. But it didn’t work like that. Nobody got anywhere on good intentions alone.

Spike slapped the panel back in place and followed as Buff disappeared down the ladder.

“Buff,” he called after him. “I didn’t mean…”

“Going to my room,” Buff shot back without turning and almost bumping into Chewie who was standing on the other side of the sliding door. “And will someone get this big walking carpet out of my way.”

--------------------------------------

To be a Sleepwalker was to be part of a long, proud heritage. At every crucial moment in the evolution of the galaxy there had been a Sleepwalker, snoring peacefully somewhere in the corner. Known as the clan that had slept its way through history they quite possibly would have slipped quietly into obscurity had it not been for one notable Sleepwalker known as professor Walsh who, during a rare bout of insomnia, had invented what had become known as the chip. Forged from metals found only on the Sleepwalker planet, the chip was alleged to render Vampirians completely harmless to humanoids. Only they couldn’t be sure it worked, because they’d never managed to find any Vampirians stupid enough to get themselves caught so they could test it.

In theory it was a possibility though and for this reason, every planet loyal to the Old Republic wanted to ally themselves to the Sleepwalker clan.

And for this reason, the Death Star had been born.

Riley yawned and shook his head, looking around the receiving chamber to see who was still awake and wondering how much longer his father was going to keep droning on. He’d been talking for all of five minutes, and already half of the delegation were in the land of nod, with most of the rest about to follow. His father didn’t have the honour of being the most boring man on the planet just because he was chancellor. No, he’d earned that title, one which Riley hoped to inherit one day. But, like his father, he wanted to do it the hard way. By actually being the most boring man on the planet. Not just accepting it because of his position so that it was no more than a ceremonial role.

In fact Riley had ambitions. Secret ones that he kept close to his heart. If he worked hard enough he might make the interplanetary finals and even one day be named the most boring and non-descript man in the whole galaxy.

Princess Buffonia had called him Captain Cardboard and his heart had swelled with pride. She must love him so much. He’d never heard the word boring used so much in one conversation since that day he’d first met her. Such a sexy word and proof that this marriage was going to be a match made in the heavens. His eyelids drooped as he tried to remember what she looked like. And his father droned on – something about Princess Buffonia disappearing? Oh no! he thought, as he slipped quietly into dreamland.

Tbc…

Chapter 4

Vampirians were not, on the whole, nice people. After eons of regarding their Galaxy compatriots as little more than happy meals on legs, they’d now evolved past all that, but they were still regarded with distrust by most of the beings they rubbed shoulders with. They were the opportunists. They saw and they took. The spaceship that cut you up in hyperspace was inevitably piloted by a Vampirian. That group talking noisily in the poetry stacks at the local library would have once happily eaten you for lunch. The person holding up the check-out at the grocery store – you’ve guessed it.!

It had almost become a generic insult. To call someone Vampirian was to call them stubborn, insensitive, opportunistic and sometimes, downright evil. You could put money on your bastard of a boss being a Vampirian. By fair means or foul they’d managed to grab most of the best jobs in the galaxy and now, under the leadership of the Empress, they’d turned their greedy faces to loftier ambitions. The time was fast coming where a choice would have to be made. Join them, in all their formidable might, or stand with the old Republic against them.

As the Death Star neared completion the old order was beginning to shift and crumble. It was a time of change and uncertainty. A time when the Galaxy teetered on the brink of chaos.

But did Spike give a damn? The hell he did. To every rule there were exceptions and Spike was exceptional in more ways than one. He didn’t feel the pull of family, for one thing. Clan loyalty meant nothing to him. He’d never run with the herd, even as a fledgling preferring to sit quietly with his mother and study, than get into mischief with the other youngsters.

The call to arms didn’t have him rushing home to become part of the glory that was soon to be the Vampirian empire. Quite the opposite, in fact. There was money to be made out of chaos and Spike intended to milk this one for all it was worth. One Vampirian trait he did have in abundance was the opportunistic streak that made his race so ruthless. Only with Spike it had translated into a lucrative smuggling career which he’d started with an Enterprise Grant and a backpack, transporting anything for anyone across borders and through restricted airspace. Throw in a natural ability to look so innocent it would put an angel to shame, and it hadn’t been long before he’d earned himself enough money to buy the Millennium Bug.

Then he’d met Chewie. And the rest, as they say, is history. Or rather, Spike thought flicking through the final lift-off checks while Chewie started the primary ignition sequence, he was going to be history if he didn’t get his ass to the other side of the Galaxy, and pronto. It wasn’t so much raining on his parade at the moment, as blowing a hurricane through it. A few bad calls and everything he’d worked so hard for was in danger of disappearing into thin air and the sooner they were gone, the better.

Spike felt a familiar knot of excitement building low in his belly as the engines started to hum. She may be the spaceship equivalent of a broken-down old tart, lipstick all smudged, battle-scarred and way past her prime, but the Millenium Bug was his old tart, and he loved her as much as he’d ever loved anything. She wasn’t just a metal shell with an engine, she was the concrete manifestation of all his endeavours. The sum total of his life so far. Almost like a second skin.

He patted the console lovingly. “Don’t listen to him,” he said remembering Buff’s words. Pile of junk indeed. Didn’t the lad have eyes?

“Get us clear, Chewie, I’ll go fetch Buff, then we’re out of here.”

Chewie growled his agreement.

“Oh,” Spike paused. “And be careful with him, you know, fragile humanoid and all that.”

Chewie pulled his indignant face.

“You bloody well did,” Spike said good-naturedly, well used to Chewie’s defensiveness. “Darned-near pulled his arm off. Just go easy, yeah? He is paying, after all.”

Chewie raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, okay, I know it wasn’t much, but it was all he had and well…” Spike shrugged. “He’s willing to work so maybe we could get him to clean up the place a bit?” Spike ran a finger over the thick dust coating a nearby shelf. Place could do with a …” He nearly said woman’s touch, but caught himself in time. Dru certainly hadn’t been big with the domesticity and Buff, was, of course, and very unfortunately, a boy. “Look, just be nice, okay? We drop him off at the first place that’s half-way decent, then the Galaxy is our oyster, my friend.”

Chewie seemed to cheer up at that thought and turned back to his much more interesting task of starting the ship. Spike made his way to the rec room knowing that his co-pilot would at least tolerate Buff for his sake, if nothing else. And it would only be for a short while. Spike stopped and wondered why that thought was so disturbing. So Buff was very probably going to get more than his arm ripped off during his undoubtedly-brief career as a bounty hunter. So what? Wasn’t something he needed to be worrying about. Was it?

He strode on, purposefully. Not his problem if the lad wanted to get himself killed, it was still a free universe in that respect. Buff, he suspected, had a tenacity to match his own, and for a moment Spike almost felt sorry for any creature that dared to get in the lad’s way. Until he remembered what a Pth,Rai, looked like.

“Ow!” Spike clutched at his nose and stared accusingly at the door to the rec room that had remained in place when he’d tried to pass through instead of sliding back as it was supposed to when someone approached. He raised a hand and waved it across the sensor. Nothing happened. Frowning, he slid his fingers into the handle and gave it a yank.

“Go away.” Buff’s voice, muffled by the metal shield came through.

“Open the door, Buff. Seems to be stuck”, he shouted. “And I can’t get the manual over- ride to work. Try from your side.”

“I said go away. Something wrong with your hearing?”

Spike flattened his hand against the stubbornly-closed door and listened. There wasn’t anything wrong with his hearing, or any of his other senses. On the contrary. He could hear everything that was going on. His vampire awareness told him that Buff was on the other side of the metal barrier and mad as hell with him if the boy’s heartbeat was anything to go by.

“Buff,” he said flattening his hand against the cool metal and remembering their parting words in the engine room. “You need to come strap yourself in for the jump to light-speed. Packs quite a wallop and I don’t want you injured.”

There was a long silence then Spike heard a gasp and a curse as the ship rotated, and tilted sharply for lift-off. Spike grabbed the handle to stop himself falling over and braced his legs. “Come on, Buff,” he said, “lift-off’s the best bit. Open the door, huh?”

“Why should you care?”

The voice carried a hint of petulance and a hidden question within the question. Spike frowned and wondered what exactly Buff meant by that. It was almost a woman’s question. The kind of question that said one thing, but meant something else entirely. And the kind of question that a man always invariably gave the wrong answer to.

“Because you’re paying, and as captain I have to take responsibility for you.”

“So it’s just the money?”

“No, not just the money. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“But why, you’ve only just met me, you can’t care about me that much already. Go make the jump, don’t bother worrying about me.”

“Look,” Spike answered. Even if you were a Marvelian mud-rat I’d be making you come and get strapped in.”

“So it’s nothing personal then?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Spike paused for breath, his mind starting to feel like a contortionist as it grappled for the right stance. Buff went quiet, but Spike could still feel the boy’s presence, radiating an emotion he couldn’t quite work out. At first he’d thought it was anger, but now he wasn’t so sure. Buff was very close to the door, almost touching it and Spike extended his hands again and concentrated.

Acutely heightened senses were one of the many advantages of being a Vampirian and accounted in no small way for his success as a smuggler, as well as contributing towards his reputation as lover extraordinaire. There was a saying that once you’d had a Vampirian then anything else paled into comparison, and it was largely true. To be able to tune into and respond to minute changes in a woman’s body, almost before they’d felt them themselves, definitely put him ahead of the game in more ways than one, and he needed to use it now as he tried to coax Buff to come out so they could get the hell out of there.

If he wasn’t mistaken he’d have said it was mostly anxiety, rather than anger that was pouring through the door in waves. Spike sniffed and closed his eyes, feeling the fear that underlay the boy’s apparent bravado. And the more-than-slight hint of something else.

He’d known the boy was attracted to him, the lad hadn’t been able to mask that, but he hadn’t realised quite how much until now when he could feel it, like this, concentrated and distilled and without the distraction of the boy’s considerable visual charms. Hostility and defensiveness are often a mask for attraction and as Spike said Buff’s name, softly now, more persuasively since he knew he wasn’t going to succeed in ordering the boy out, he felt the boy’s heartbeat accelerate a little more and his breathing hitch in his throat.

“Come on, Buff,” he said moving closer to the door and pressing his cheek against it. “Chewie’ll be waiting for us.”

“Don’t let me keep you.”

Heat from the body on the other side of the door seeped through the metal barrier making Spike’s skin prickle and twitch, his nerve endings tingling as he bathed in his recalcitrant passenger’s aura. He imagined Buff on the other side, the boy’s slight body mirroring his own, his face pressed to the metal, hanging, with bated breath, onto his every word. Powerless to resist the pull of Spike’s silky, yet commanding tones.

“Come on,” Spike said, his voice low. “You know you want to.”

“I, I don’t.”

Spike knew a yes when he heard one. And he’d definitely heard one then. The slight hesitancy in the reply told him that Buff was willing to be caught, Spike only had to run a little faster. And he wouldn’t put up too much of a struggle, either. Spike felt a sudden rush of excitement at the thought, and the toothache he’d felt earlier caught him with a short, sharp needle-prick in his upper jaw and a sensation hovering between pain and pleasure that seemed to connect directly to his lower body and a part of his anatomy that he was rapidly losing control of.

“Yes, you do.” Spike bit his lip.

He heard Buff swallow. “No, I really don’t…”

“It’s a heck of a rush.” Spike moved his hands over the door’s smooth surface and Buff’s blood seemed to move with him. “You wouldn’t want to miss that, would you?”

“I suppose not.”

“Come on then.” Spike swallowed hard, himself and knew he should move away from the door, through which Buff would be appearing any moment now. And, he thought looking down in panic, catching him with a monumental hard-on.

“I like you, William.” Buff’s voice drifted through the door.

Spike spun around leaned back against the door and pulled down the gaudy shirt, which didn’t quite cover his predicament.

“You’re a good listener, you know.”

Spike closed his eyes again, trying desperately to will the feeling away and glad that the shorts were reasonably baggy. Unfortunately, the part of his anatomy in question had always had a mind of its own and had never really listened to him.

“ ‘Cos, at home, no-one ever seems to care what I think.”

Another, sharper pain lanced through Spike’s jaw making him double over clutching at his face. What the hell was he doing? He thought frantically. Making love to a door? That was a new one and a sure indication that from the moment he’d set eyes on Buff he’d started to lose what little good sense he’d been born with.

“But you’re different, William. You treat me like an adult, and I like that.”

The alphabet. Spike knew ten different versions, but he was already thinking that wouldn’t be enough.

“I think I will come out. Sorry for being such a pain, this is all so new to me. Do you forgive me, William?”

The door slid back as Buff released the locking mechanism.

“And there’s something I need to tell you. I shouldn’t really keep this a secret any more. Not since you’ve been so kind.” Buff poked a tousled head around the doorframe.

“William.?”

------------------------------------

Buffonia stared up and down the empty corridor. Where did he go? she thought, puzzled at his sudden disappearance. “William?” she said, a little louder into the empty space which she was sure he’d been occupying just moments before. There was no sign of him so she left the room and made her way towards the front of the ship hoping that she hadn’t annoyed him too much with her childish behaviour and bumped into him just as he was coming out of his cabin.

They both jumped back abruptly. William drew a hand through his hair, folded his arms, unfolded them and jammed them into his pockets. “Sorry, I didn’t see you coming,” he said with what sounded very much like a nervous laugh.

Buffonia, put her hand on her heart as it raced away from the shock of suddenly seeing him appear and as she recovered herself she cocked her head and regarded him thoughtfully. She ought to tell him she was a girl. It didn’t seem fair to deceive him like this. Not when he’d been so kind. And he had been kind, despite taking all her money. He’d given her refuge, and gone along with her silly little charade back at the Bronze. And when he’d told her she was going to get herself killed, he’d only been stating the truth.

It was hard to take, that’s why she’d gone all defensive on him. Spike tilted his head too, watching her watching him and she couldn’t help smiling and turning away self-consciously. He was one heck of a kisser, she had to admit it. Romantic novel-worthy if anyone ever was. And he seemed to have enjoyed it. And that probably meant that he was…no, he couldn’t be. He’d said it, hadn’t he? That he wasn’t gay, to the scaly guy in the club. Buffonia looked back at him. Then why had he kissed her with such abandon when he’d thought she was a boy?

There was only one way to clear up the confusion. Come clean and ask him straight. She rolled her shoulders working out the strange knot of tension that seemed to develop whenever she was within touching distance of him, but before the half-formed question in her mind converted itself into speech, she noticed that he wasn’t wearing the shorts any more. “You’ve changed,” she said, instead.

“Oh,” he looked down as if he’d only just noticed that he was wearing a pair of figure hugging, black pants instead of the hideous, baggy shorts. “Umm, not exactly the weather for shorts.”

“No,” Buffonia said, her eyes glued to his lower body. “I suppose not.” The pants clung in all the right places, accentuating his thighs, moulding themselves to his hips and wrapping themselves around a trim waist into which he’d tucked the hideous shirt. She had to stop herself from leaning over for a peek at the back view, which she imagined would look equally as yummy. Her imagination took a trip. He wasn’t wearing the eye-glasses any more so all he had to do was lose the shirt for something more sophisticated, flatten the hair and suddenly she’d be looking at someone else entirely. Her mouth went dry.

William took his hands out of his pockets and waved her forward to the flight deck.

“So,” he said with a grin. “Shall we?”

“Shall we what?” Buffonia shook her head, wondering what he was talking about.

“Light speed, as in jump to? Remember?”

“Oh, light speed. Yes, we shall, I mean, we should.”

“Righty, ho then,” William said slapping her heartily on the back. “What are we waiting for?”

“Er, nothing,” she said, hastily moving towards the cabin. “Light speed it is then.”

The cabin was cramped, but looked much like she’d imagined it would. Flashing lights and dials, a computer console between the two front seats, one of which was occupied by Chewie who turned and growled something at William before going back to his task of flying the ship. Buffonia stood for a moment, entranced by the sight of her home planet rapidly becoming smaller as they moved away from it. The ship didn’t feel as if it was going very fast now that they’d cleared the atmosphere, and there was more the sensation of having been cast adrift, rather than speeding away.

She wanted to leave, more than anything, and the pang of homesickness that hit her as Chewie turned the ship once more, blocking the planet from her view was unexpected. Her heart contracted and seemed to fly to her throat and lodge there and she found herself pushing past William to rush to the window and lean on it with both hands. Pressing her nose to the glass and craning her neck for a last glimpse of the place she’d called home and would probably never see again.

It was the first time she’d given thought to those she’d left behind. The whole crazy bunch of them. Her mother would be hysterical, Buffonia could well imagine the scenes back at the palace when they’d discovered she was missing. And her father? Buffonia couldn’t even remember what he looked like, it was so long since she’d seen him. He’d never bothered himself with trivial details such as his children. She felt William’s hand on her shoulder.

“Want one last look?”

She nodded gratefully. Regardless of the strange life into which she’d been born, the planet would always be dear to her heart. The palace grounds had been extensive, a veritable oasis of lush greenery, secret coves and brilliant blue-water lakes and rivers. Quite possibly the most beautiful place in the Universe.

“I need to say goodbye, would you mind?” she said feeling tears threatening again. This growing up was hard. Much harder than she’d imagined it would be. She turned her head to the other side at the feel of a large, hairy paw patting her very gently on the back. Chewie almost looked embarrassed as he withdrew his hand and she flashed him a tentative smile to show she’d forgiven him for hurting her. His eyes went very wide when she did that and he quickly dropped his gaze and busied himself with turning the ship around again so that she could look at Summeria for one last time. Buffonia resolutely blinked back the tears and said her goodbyes with a small wave of the hand, only vaguely aware that William had closed the gap between them and was standing at her back, both hands on her shoulders now. As if he knew how she felt.

She leaned back, resting her head on his chest, feeling safely anchored by the firm grip of his cool fingers. The planet grew smaller as they drifted away from it and she thought that maybe this should be what she was looking for. Someone who’d simply hold her when she needed it. Who’d move instinctively in time with her. A man who wouldn’t stifle her, but who would provide a refuge when she needed to take shelter. Perhaps those romantic novel heroines knew something after all? Buffonia had always been an independent person, someone who knew what she wanted and went after it. Someone who refused to be bullied and had the courage to break free of what fate had decreed for her. She’d stood proud and she’d stood firm, but that had invariably meant that she’d stood alone.

This was something new. Something she’d dreamed of, but had never experienced first hand. The way William had touched her when he’d fixed her shoulder, and the way he was touching her now made her realise that no-one had ever really cared for her in her short life. No-one had ever bothered to find out how she really felt, until now.

Yes, she thought moving her shoulder in time with his gently stroking hand. With someone like him by her side she’d gladly travel the length of the universe itself.

----------------------------------

Darth Angel was quite probably the only super-villain who co-ordinated his clothes with his heart. Details like that were important to him, because he cared. And his victims appreciated it, he could see that in their faces. With the all-black ensemble they knew where they stood. He was evil and when people looked at him the message came through loud and clear. Here was a villain who knew how to accessorise and who missed nothing. From his menacing, yet stylish, helmet to the swirl of his cloak and right down to his highly polished boots he was black through and through. You didn’t mess with Darth Angel, and he made sure you knew that.

The Death Star should have been painted black. But would the Empress listen? The fandango pink had been a terrible call and almost lost them all the ground they’d so painstakingly built up. There were still Vampirians who thought the idea of Empire was a bad one, but Darth knew they had most of the planet behind them now in their evil plan to take over this sector of the galaxy and the few remaining rebels factions would soon be taken care of. Loyal Vampirians would be well rewarded, but those who stood against the Empire would be crushed to dust.

Darth coughed to clear his throat and switched his voice-changer to mega-menacing mode. It wasn’t one he used very often, finding that his appearance alone was enough to make most beings incontinent with fright, but today he needed that extra edge, he thought as he surveyed the line-up before him with a distasteful curl of his lip. Bounty Hunters. The scum of the galaxy. All races, all shapes and sizes, but the one thing they had in common was greed and an amoral ruthlessness that allowed them to do anything to anyone without even breaking a sweat. Darth swept his eyes along the line and smiled his most evil smile.

They were going to eat Princess Buffonia for breakfast.

-----------------------------------------

O B watched the small flashing light move across the screen then closed his eyes and concentrated. R U had successfully infiltrated the Millennium Bug’s flight plan, but that didn’t really help them. Once they were in hyperspace it would be virtually impossible to track them using the rudimentary equipment aboard the Watcher-Class ship. The Jedi still clung to the old ways and the power of the Force. New technology was almost a dirty word and little more than something to fall back onto. First and foremost, it was the Force. The Force pervaded everything. It gave life and order to the universe. It gave power of unimaginable proportions to anyone blessed enough to be able to harness it. It was everywhere and everything.

But you try telling that to the younger generation, O B thought with a sigh. If it wasn’t at least nuclear powered then they just laughed in your face. The idea of an all pervading Force that guided everyone’s destiny was for old codgers like him. And everyone knows that if you stop believing in something, then it ceases to exist. There were few people who used the old ways these days, and without the input, the Force was weakening. He could feel it, and it saddened him. O B concentrated and listened. R U 1 2, his navigator droid beeped anxiously beside him.

“It’s alright, R U, I have a lock on them. I can still feel her. Follow at a discrete distance, but don’t lose them whatever you do. If I read that character in the appalling shirt correctly, he’ll be in the fast lane all the way. But they didn’t take on supplies, so at some point they will have to make planet-fall - and then we’ll have her.

R U beeped again and C I tilted his head. “Do I need to prepare the formula, master?” he said.

“I’m afraid so,” O B told them. “She’s not going to come willingly, that’s very clear now. But she will come, I have a sacred duty and so does she. When destiny is involved there can be no escape.”

Both droids looked suitably impressed at his speech and O B nodded his acknowledgment. They were his only audience these days. Everything was passing away. All the old traditions and rituals, in favour of fast food, gadgetry and joy-rides with strangers you’d only just met. O B tried to remember a time when his heart had ruled his head, but it was so far back that he couldn’t. Buffonia was young and the character she’d absconded with was a handsome rogue, and obviously an adventurer. Just the type an impressionable young girl would lose her head to.

He couldn’t blame her really. For wanting to enjoy being young and carefree. For wanting to be swept off her feet and romanced amongst the stars. O B shook his head sadly. “That’s not for you, Buffonia,” he whispered. “You’ll never be just a normal girl. Can’t you see that? You destiny lies with me, not with him.”

The small standard-issue Jedi Master 111 lifted slowly from its docking bay, rotated and, from a safe distance, followed the Millennium Bug through the planet’s atmosphere.

----------------------------------------------------

Destiny. Perhaps this was his destiny? Spike tried not to touch Buff as he tightened the seatbelt harness around the boy’s shoulders. Making sure they were secure with a proprietary concern he shouldn’t really be feeling this soon after meeting him. Buff was a funny mixture of grim determination and total innocence and Spike was finding himself more and more concerned for the lad’s welfare. He needed to talk him out of this stupid idea of becoming a bounty hunter, for one. Spike had things to do, mad brides-to-be to run away from and worrying about Buff was diverting his attention from other more important things, like saving his own ass.

Summerian men tended towards the effete and effeminate, but Buff was feminine looking even for a Summerian. Traces of make-up clung to the boy’s eyelids, which were outlined with black, giving him a slightly exotic air. There was little left of the lip-paint he’d been wearing, but Spike had tasted it when they’d kissed back at the Bronze.

The memory of the kiss made him stir again and he adjusted his pants discretely and pronounced himself satisfied with the seat belt. Chewie growled at him. “Don’t worry, I’ve checked it,” he told the Wookie who seemed to have gone, in a heartbeat, from total indifference to worrying over every move Buff made. Chewie was especially loyal as a partner and if Spike wanted him to be nice to Buff, then you could bet your life the giant hairy creature would smother her with kindness. Buff was starting to look a little overwhelmed at all the attention so Spike backed off, guessing he needed a few moments alone to deal with his feelings over leaving his home planet for the first time.

“It’s fine, Chewie. Strap yourself in, I’m going to make the jump to light-speed.” He paused to pat the rather nervous looking Buff on the head before strapping himself into the front seat next Chewie. Jumping to light-speed was almost as good as sex, perhaps even better sometimes. Get the trajectory just right and it was an adrenaline rush like nothing else, and that was saying something for someone with vampire constitution.

Chewie pushed a few buttons and the ship seemed to slow to halt, hovering for a moment before smoothly pulling away again.

“Got to position her just right,” he explained to Buff over the increasing roar of the engines. “Smooth acceleration curve, that’s the secret, then she just slides in. Easy as you like.”

“Won’t we hit something going at that speed?” Buff asked, his voice wavering a little.

“Computer sorts all that out, don’t worry. You ready?”

Buff gave a very small nod and gripped the armrests, his knuckles whitening. Chewie roared.

“Okay then, brace yourselves,” Spike shouted, unable to keep the glee out of his voice. His head whipped back against the seat as the ship picked up speed and he couldn’t help letting out a jubilant yell. “Goodbye, Jasmine,” he shouted. “If I ever see you again in my lifetime, it’ll be too soon.”

The Millennium Bug lurched, hiccupped and then, with a series of petulant whines, proceeded to do an excellent impression of a kangaroo.

Chewie roared again, grappling to control the ship as Spike swore and looked at the read-out. “What do you mean there’s no light-speed?” he said incredulously. “I fitted the part myself.”

Chewie growled again, taking one hand off the controls to wave a hairy paw at Spike.

“Try it again,” Spike said frantically re-submitting the co-ordinates to the navi-computer. “There’s got to be a mistake.”

Chewie shook his head and re-aligned the ship. Spike frowned at the read-out, which indicated that everything was in order. Then why the hell wasn’t the hyperdrive hurtling them through space at speeds that men had only dreamed of? He scanned the figures, mentally ticking off each one until he spotted it. The small, but infinitely crucial variant that told him the ship was going nowhere, not at light-speed anyway. And without the hyperdrive the Bug was no better than a foot-propelled vehicle pedalling aimlessly in the slow lane for all the good it was going to do him.

“The low-down, dirty scum,” he said through gritted teeth. “Bloody ripped me off good and proper.” He turned to Chewie. “How can people do this? I was going to pay him. Eventually. The low-down cheating bastard. You can’t trust anyone these days.” He leaned back in his seat, let out a frustrated scream, then unclipped his belt, pushed past Buff, who was looking up at him with startled eyes, and stomped off the flight deck.

--------------------------------------------

Buffonia looked at Chewie who was slumped dejectedly over the controls, head in hands.

“Should I go and…” she began, pointing to the cabin door. “He seemed pretty upset.”

Chewie shook his head and made a series of low growls. Buffonia nodded, showing him that she’d understood what he was trying to tell her, even if she had no idea what he was actually saying. Perhaps it would be better to leave William alone for a while, and she was tired so she might as well try and get some sleep since it didn’t look as if they were going to get very far tonight. Stifling a yawn she fumbled without success with the harness William had strapped her so securely into. Tugging on it only seemed to make it tighter, and she started a little when Chewie’s large, hairy hand stilled hers, then pressed the release mechanism.

“Thanks,” she said stretching out her arms. The Wookie stood back, almost bashfully, allowing her to stand up and he returned her a small growl when she told him she was going to turn in for the night. By the cockpit door she stopped, suddenly remembering something William had said.

“Chewie, who’s Jasmine?”

Chewie waved his arms and from the sounds he was making, he was obviously trying to tell her. It was some while before she made him understand that she didn’t speak Wookie.

He scratched his head for a moment, then pointed to the computer.

“Jasmine is the computer’s name?”

Chewie shook his head vigorously, sending his fur rippling and beckoned her forward. The screen flickered to life as he pressed a few buttons and brought up the video-mailbox. He pointed to the image frozen on the screen and Buffonia’s eyes went very wide as she took in the leathery, barely-humanoid being that filled most of it.

“That’s Jasmine?”

Chewie nodded, sagely.

“And she’s what? Please don’t tell me she’s William’s mother.”

Chewie made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, then shook his head and played the clip.

You will be here for the wedding. Unless you'd like to pay me the five million credits you owe me?"

“William’s been invited to a wedding?” Buffonia thought about it for a moment. “And he doesn’t want to go?”

Chewie waved his arms frantically and rewound the clip. Jasmine in all her glory leaned towards the screen and placed a wet, slobbery kiss on it. Buffonia’s heart did a small tap-dance in her chest and she turned to Chewie. “William owes this, er, thing, money and he can’t pay. So she’s forcing him to marry her?”

Chewie froze the image and very excitedly agreed with her. Buffonia glanced at the screen once more, understanding now why William had been so desperate to get away, and almost laughing at the irony of them both being in the same predicament.

“But he can get the money, right?”

Chewie flopped back into the pilot’s seat and shook his head again. He pointed at Jasmine’s hideously frozen image and shrugged as if to tell her that William was going to have no choice but to yield and marry the creature.

Buffonia sat down again too as she thought over this latest development. The first, and silliest, thought that popped into her head was that William should marry her, then he couldn’t marry Jasmine because he’d already be married. She dismissed it just as quickly. The idea of monogamous marriage was rare these days and Jasmine didn’t look like the kind of creature that would let a small thing like another wife stop her.

William needed money, and fast, but all she had left in reserve was her jewellery which was mostly of symbolic and ceremonial value, and she had no idea if it would be worth anything outside of Summeria. “I have some jewellery,” she told Chewie. “Would that help?”

Chewie shrugged again, growled and pointed back to the screen. Buffonia leaned over and rewound the image once more.

”My widdle blondie, bear…” And again. "I can't stop thinking about you Spikey.”

“Who’s Spikey?”

Chewie pointed to the door. Buffonia followed the line of his finger wondering if there was anyone else on board, then she realized who he was talking about.

“Oh, William is also called Spikey.” She rose from the seat. “This is terrible, and I know just how it feels. I must go see how he is.” Chewie’s hand on her shoulder told her that perhaps that wouldn’t be a good idea right now. “You’re right,” she said stopping in her tracks. “But we must help him. She slipped a hand into her pocket as she spoke, fingering the neatly folded wanted poster she’d brought with her from Summeria. The reward wasn’t five million credits, but it would be a start.

Chewie was looking at her most curiously as she stated again that William was no way marrying Jasmine while she was around to stop it. He tilted his head and crinkled up his eyes, as if to ask her why she should care. And that bit she did understand.

“I told you, Chewie. I know exactly what he’s going through. The poor thing. Okay, I’m with you. We’re going to get that money, Jasmine’s going to get paid, and, and…everyone’s going to be happy, yes?”

Chewie bounced in his chair, and Buffonia, hit by a sudden surge of optimism now that she had a real purpose in life, raised her hand for a high-five. Chewie stared at it, puzzled so Buffonia lifted his hand and patted it against hers all the while nodding encouragement to him. He bared his teeth in a grin and slapped her hand so hard that she fell back into the chair. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” she said fending him off as he tried, with a mortified expression, to pull her upright again. Help the helpless, that’s what she was going to do. Use some of this new found strength to be a champion and make a difference somewhere. And William would be first on her list, because she owed him big-time.

Making her way back to the rec room she thought about him married to that hideous creature. And she thought about herself married to that Buffoon of a Sleepwalker. And her mother married to a man she never saw. Why didn’t anyone marry for love any more? Had they ever? The path to true love was a rocky one, Buffonia knew that from the novels she’d read, but despite all the obstacles, in the old days true love had always prevailed. Nowadays that notion seemed to be nothing more than a fantasy.

Perhaps there was hope? she thought to herself as pushed open door after door until she found a tiny bathroom. After using the facilities she went back to the rec room and surveyed the hard bench that was to be her bed. This time it didn’t look so bad, in fact she felt grateful to have it. At least she was off the planet now, with people who cared something for her welfare. She could have so easily been lying in the wreckage of the speeder, or worse, been attacked by any number of creatures. Or creepy stalker-guy might have caught up with her again.

She popped a tooth cleaner into her mouth and chewed on it, pulled off her cloak and spread it onto the seat. Opening her bag she rummaged through the few items of clothing she’d brought with her and wondered if she ought to change her underwear. Deciding she didn’t, she took out one of the novels she’d brought with her and lay down. Without a pillow it was uncomfortable and she couldn’t concentrate because she kept visualizing William in the clutches of Jasmine. William, who’d looked surprisingly good in those black pants. And who, she suspected, was probably going to surprise her a lot more before this trip was over.

The words blurred and melded into one and her eyelids drooped. As the book slid from her fingers Buffonia slipped into sleep and dreamed about young boys who turned into blushing maidens, handsome, curly-haired scoundrels and heroic destinies. In a land where everyone lived happily ever after.

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Spike lay back on his bunk, jaw clenched, his mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts. Jasmine. Even with the hyperdrive working there was a chance she’d find him. The Hutts were nothing more than gangsters and they’d want their pound of flesh one way or another. He thumped the wall, grimacing as his knuckles contacted with the metal, closed his eyes and let out a frustrated growl. Things looked grim and right now there seemed to be no way out. And then there was Buff. He didn’t have time to worry about the lad right now, or lust after him, yet it was all he seemed to have been doing in the short time since they’d met.

Buff liked him, he wanted Buff so what was the problem? It had always been that simple before. If Buff had been a girl Spike knew that even in his William disguise he would have had her upside down and half-way to happy land by now. Undoubtedly to their mutual satisfaction. And there was his problem. If he was a girl. If only he was a girl. Why the bloody hell wasn’t Buff a girl?

He sure as hell looked like one.

Spike sat up and pushed back his hair. Perhaps it was time to find out exactly who, or what Buff really was? Or perhaps it was just time to give in to this insane urge that wouldn’t leave him alone? He went very still and listened carefully. The ship was on auto-pilot, he could tell that much from the low level humming of the engines. Chewie was in his cabin and Buff was in the rec room. With the engines barely making any sound he could hear that the boy’s heartbeat was slower than it had been earlier and his breathing deep and steady. Spike hopped from his bunk and silently left his cabin.

The sliding doors usually made a satisfying swishing noise as they slid back, but Spike ducked down, avoiding the sensor and pushed it back carefully by hand instead so that it made no noise at all. Buff was half curled up in his cloak, one arm hanging loose. A book lay discarded on the floor next to the bag the boy had brought with him, and he seemed peacefully asleep.

Spike turned the cabin lights down so Buff’s form was outlined only by a dim glow, but he didn’t need that to see him by. Even in human face his night vision was excellent. Buff stirred as Spike moved, ghost-like, across the room, freezing momentarily in place as he waited for the lad to settle again. Buff turned over, brought his feet up and curled an arm around his knees and, as Spike gazed down on him, he felt something welling up from deep inside of him. Something primitive, and unfamiliar.

When had Buff become his responsibility? Because that’s exactly how he felt about him. Spike had only known him a matter of hours, yet he already knew that he wasn’t going to let the lad go gallivanting off to his horrible death. And neither was he going to let the crazy guy in the brown cloak have him either.

Spike dropped to his knees beside the bench and propped his chin on his folded arms. Buff had green eyes, with little flecks of gold in them, like the kind of emeralds that littered the beaches of Vampiria. Not precious at all, but every now and then you’d find one that was so beautiful you’d want to keep it forever. The boy’s nose had a curious little tilt at the end of it and below that his dewy lips were slightly parted and just begging to be kissed again.

Vampirians, for all their violent history, had a totally irrational love of poetry and Spike was feeling it now. A terrible urge to find a writing tablet and start penning odes to ethereal beauty and forbidden fruit, and the inevitability of his capitulation in the face of irresistible odds.. He sighed happily as a few lines flitted through his mind, for a brief moment forgetting all about Jasmine and his impending doom and losing himself instead in sparkling eyes that made him want to jump in and drown in them.

Eyes that were looking at him now.

“William?” Buff’s voice, thick and sleepy cut through his pleasant thoughts. “Is that you?”

He could see Buff crinkling up his face, trying to make him out in the darkness, perhaps only half aware that he was there. “Yes, it’s me,” Spike said, his mind racing to find an excuse for being in such a strange position. “I, er, umm, left something under the seat. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Buff rubbed a hand over his eyes and propped himself up on an elbow. Watching him as he groped theatrically under the seat.

“Nope, it not here.” Spike stood up feeling a sudden urge to run away as fast as he could. This was quicksand, and he was sinking fast. If he stayed he was going to go under and there’d be no saving him. Walk away, he ordered is feet. Right now, out that door… His feet ignored him and instead he found himself turning around and searching out Buff’s face again.

The boy gazed at him calmly. “Don’t worry,” Buff said quietly. “I know about Jasmine.”


“How…who…?”

Buff interrupted him, wriggling himself comfortable once more as he settled back to sleep. “Chewie. Don’t be cross with him. We’re going to save you from her.”

“Oh yeah, and how are you going to do that?” Spike couldn’t keep the cynicism out of his voice as the brief calm he’d felt when he was watching Buff sleep evaporated at the mention of Jasmine’s name.

Buff sighed and went very quiet. Spike stood, rooted to the spot, unable to work out whether it was because the lad didn’t have an answer to back up his elaborate declaration or whether he’d simply fallen asleep again. He resisted the urge to reach out and stroke the boy’s black, spiky hair and instead waited until he was sure it was the latter, all the while reminding himself of the real reason he’d come. The lad had to have an I D card somewhere about him or some clue as to why that man in the brown cloak was following him with such dedication.

The Jedi did nothing without a good reason and if they thought Buff was important then Spike needed to know exactly what he was getting himself into by harbouring him. With the impending war, this could get dangerous in a way that would make Jasmine and her threats look like afternoon tea with a maiden aunt.

The bag wasn’t very heavy, possibly reflecting the hurry with which Buff had left and Spike found himself making a mental note to look out for pink cuddly pigs next time they landed anywhere near a Super-Mall. To be able to fit a whole life into one bag was either very brave, or very sad. He’d done it himself and still couldn’t decide which it was.

As he carefully slid back the door Buff’s voice drifted across the dark space.

“You could always marry me…then she couldn’t have you…”

It trailed away into a sigh and, despite his turmoil, Spike had to smile at the ludicrousness of it all. If only it could that simple?

Back in his cabin he locked the door, dumped the bag onto his bunk and started to rummage through. Three paperbound books, all with a slightly different variant of what looked like the same half-naked humanoid male on the front. A fleecy top and a pair of brown pants. A pouch containing a small assortment of toiletries and make-up, but that was no surprise since the lad obviously went in for that sort of thing. Several photographs, neatly wrapped with a cord and…Spike held up the item in amazement, his mouth half open as everything that had happened in the last few hours suddenly clicked into place. The realisation dropped on him so hard that he almost fell over.

It was relief mainly. That he wasn’t going mad, that he hadn’t started fancying boys and that Buff was actually Buffonia, after all. Unless men wore red, lacy thongs on Summeria. Which they might well do, he thought with a panic that sent him rummaging desperately through the bag again for more evidence that he’d been monumentally blind, in a way that he couldn’t believe. When he found the brassiere he held it aloft like some great prize and almost shouted yes, at the top of his voice. It was red, to match the thong, and incontrovertible proof that Buff had breasts. And, even better, only two of them. Which, when he thought about it, of course Buff had breasts. She wasn’t some weird cross-dresser, but a woman through and through.

Bringing the underwear to his nose he took a deep, grateful sniff. It was still there, despite the garments smelling cleanly laundered. The same scent he’d picked up on Buff just now. And this changed everything. There was no way he was letting her go be a bounty hunter. Was she crazy?. No way that stalker guy, or the Jedi were going anywhere near her. Spike twisted the lacy material in his hand. No way she was going anywhere without him.

He sucked in a breath and clutched at his face as the toothache caught him once more, over-riding the tide of emotion that had swept over him. For some reason Buff made his teeth ache, there was definitely a connection between her and the pain he’d been experiencing. It caught him again, this time with a subtle shifting and a soft crunching as, to his surprise, his features smoothly rearranged themselves.

And when he looked, with trepidation into the image-reflector, he was astounded to see his vampire face looking back at him, and even more horrified to feel a desperate and almost uncontrollable urge to go bite something – or someone…

Tbc…

Chapter 5

The use of mercenaries always entailed a certain amount of risk-taking, but Somnambula had no choice. A race which fell asleep at the drop of a hat was hardly well-placed to defend itself from the threat of invasion, so the Somnambulan army relied almost entirely on the services of soldiers of fortune. Which, unfortunately meant that they didn’t have much of an army at all. Most of the hired muscle simply hung around long enough for their commanding officer to fall asleep then buggered smartly off with their credits leaving the planet in its usual, vulnerable state.

“We may have the chip,” Prince Sleepwalker’s father announced grandly, but what good will that do us without an adequate force to keep this planet safe? Vampiria turns its greedy eyes to this sector of the galaxy and we must protect ourselves. This alliance with Summeria must take place or we are doomed. They have the wealth and an army capable of at least some resistance against the Death Star.”

Riley covered his mouth politely to stifle the yawn and wished his father wouldn’t address him as if he were a committee; it always gave him a monumental headache. He couldn’t remember the last time his father had spoken normally to him, or indeed when anyone had looked at him with anything other than contempt. Except for when he’d met Princess Buffonia. He’d suddenly remembered what she looked like and the blonde-haired beauty had kept him awake for a whole hour as he’d fantasised about their life together. He held out his arm as the medic came forward to pump him full of stimulants and let the thought of marriage to Princess Buffonia spur him on.

“I will bring her back, father. Have no fear. You may inform King Hank his daughter is as good as found.”

“We’re counting on you, son. Failure is not an option.”

Riley watched his father settling himself for a nap and took a deep breath as the stimulant drugs started to take effect. He needed to be on the ball, all cylinders firing if he was going to find Buffonia and bring her home. Bounding on his toes he thought about the wonderful reception he’d receive when he returned with his bride to be in tow. He started running on the spot as the group of mercenaries who were to accompany him filed into the room to give the salute. His father was snoring lightly now, but as the drugs kick-started his system, Riley felt as if he could take on the whole world.

The medic hovered anxiously, obviously remembering the last time the Prince had been given stimulants, as Riley began to jump randomly into the air, like a child’s pogo-stick, then bounced away across the room. The effects were always unpredictable and it had taken twenty men to catch him that time, after which he’d slept for a week.

He started running in place as unfamiliar energy made him want to soar up into the sky like some winged creature. “Men,” he shouted to the astounded soldiers before him. “We are going to fetch her back and then there will be a wedding the like of which has never been seen. Are you with me?”

Various languages shouted back that they most certainly were, and the Sergeant in Chief stepped forward.

“Whenever you’re ready, highness. The sooner we give chase, the better.”

“Ready for what?” Riley said, still bouncing.

“The pursuit of your errant bride, remember?”

“Is she?”

“Is she what?”

“Errant?”

“She most certainly is, your Majesty.” The heavily-armed creature swept his hand towards the door. “May I escort you to the ship?”

“What ship?” Riley bounded away again and, at a discrete signal from the sergeant, two of the soldiers gave chase and pinned him down.

“Your spaceship,” the sergeant said patiently. “So we can go find your bride.”

Riley grinned up at him. “I’m getting married? Cool. Why doesn’t anyone ever tell me these things?”

The sergeant growled quietly under his breath and tried again. “Leave it to us, majesty. We will see to the necessary.”

“So,” Riley shook off his captors and started shadow-boxing with himself. “You catch her for me and I come in at the last moment and sweep her off her feet?”

“Something like that. Now, if you’d like to bounce this way?”

Riley went into a series of jumping jacks and turned to say goodbye to his father who was being roused from his slumber, a look of surprise on his face. He waited impatiently while they reminded his father who he was, and knelt down for the ritual blessing.

“Go do your duty, my son,” his father droned. “And while you’re out there, see if you can manage to capture us a Vampirian to test the chip on. We have no way of knowing if it works unless we have a laboratory specimen to conduct some tests on.”

“Fear not, your Excellency.” Riley turned sharply as the Sergeant belted out his commanding tones over his head. “You will have your princess and your Vampirian. I’ve never failed a mission yet.”

“Well,” the Chancellor said fending off Riley who was now almost knocking him down in an attempt at a filial hug. “You’ve never met my son before, but try your best anyway. And perhaps not such a strong dose next time?” he said turning to the medic.

“I won’t let you down father,” Riley assured him. “Princess Whatshername will be my bride. And now,” he turned to the waiting, and still slightly aghast, troops. “I feel a speech coming on.”

An earth-hour later the effects of the stimulant wore off and, mercifully, Riley stopped talking, fell asleep and was carried to the spaceship to go in search of his bride.

-------------------------------------

The image reflector allowed him to see much better than a mirror would, and Spike couldn’t stop staring at the creature looking back at him. It wasn’t Spike, and it certainly wasn’t William. The last time he’d gone into game-face he’d been too drunk to remember anything more than the fangs. He turned his head, this way and that, fascinated and a little revolted by the ridges and bumps covering his face. When he spoke his voice sounded thick and lisping and he’d already cut his lip on one of his needle-sharp vampire teeth.

But why now? Why should a woman he’d known barely a day make him want to do this when he’d never been inclined to before? He’d known plenty of women of all shapes and sizes and had quite probably broken some sort of record for the greatest number of female admirers at any one time. He’d performed every position in the Intergalactic Joy of Sex at least once. The one’s he was physiologically capable of, anyway. But never before had he felt such an urge to get in touch with his primitive side.

“Search engine,” he lisped at the computer. The screen flashed to life.

Subject?

“Vampires.”

Refine?

“Vampires and toothache.”

Limit?

“Yes, just to Vampirian culture.” Spike shook his head. “Make that vampires and toothache and attraction.” He shook his head again. Nothing happened. The ridges and bumps stayed resolutely in place, the fangs poking uncomfortably into his bottom lip.

Nine thousand, eight hundred and forty three hits.

Spike shook his head again, harder this time, a small ripple of panic tingling his spine. Why wasn’t he changing back?

“Prioritise,” he told the computer as his vampire face stared stubbornly back at him. The fangs alternately tingled and ached, leaving his whole body hovering over the thin line that separated pain and pleasure, and just as he managed to swallow down the instinct to go bite something it would well up again. He lifted his arm and tentatively closed his teeth around his wrist, imagining the sharp fangs sinking into someone’s flesh, their blood pouring into his mouth and down his throat. A wave of nausea washed over him and he dropped his arm.

“Give me a visual,” he said sitting himself at his desk and scanning the screen. The computer flashed and Spike’s mouth fell open in amazement as he scrolled down the list.

Vampirian Pride, Underground biting cults, Blood from the source, Open-all-hours bite-lines. Where the hell had all this come from? Spike rubbed the heel of his hand against his bumpy forehead and realised he’d definitely been away from his home planet too long.

“Hi, I’m Meera.” An attractive, green-skinned humanoid leaned suggestively towards the screen, at the same time pushing back her hair to reveal a long, slender neck. “I’m XV positive, based on Landeran 3 and just waiting for your call,” she purred. “Go on, you know you want to…” Calls cost twenty credits a minute, quality may not be as advertised, terms and conditions apply.

Spike found himself leaning too, his finger twitching as the number flashed up onto the screen, feeling both attracted and revolted by these strange new sensations overtaking him.

And biting cults seemed to be ten-a-penny. Up till now Spike, like most of his Vampirian compatriots, had breezed happily through life taking what he wanted, when he wanted it. Grabbing opportunities when they presented themselves, and generally thinking of no-one but himself and his latest love-interest. Blood was something that kept him alive, not what he was, and the old ways, as he kept seeing them referred to, were something that Fledglings read about in adventure stories. He’d played at Dracula like all Vampirian kids, but some it seemed, had never grown out of that.

He shook his head again, this time feeling the flesh smooth out as his vampire features receded and when he glanced over at the image reflector Spike looked back at him once more. William actually, he corrected himself. And no wonder it had been alarming. A curly-haired vampire in a shirt covered in parrots wouldn’t have scared his maiden aunt. And that was the point of game-face presumably – to terrorise the victim before draining them to death.

He scrolled further rubbing at his jaw which still ached where his fangs had cut through the gum. Some of the cults sounded benevolent enough. Biters and willing bitees. Mutual biting, biting for sexual pleasure – that made him look twice. Others had darker overtones and spoke of ancient rites and sacrifice, victims and the dark arts. And of times when vampires were shadowy figures who belonged to the night.

And none of this had ever given him more than a moment’s pause. Until now.

Buffonia was still asleep and Chewie was settling for the night. Spike went still and listened to the engines for a few moments until he’d satisfied himself all was well and the autopilot would keep them on track for the time being, then he turned his attention back to the computer.

Latent biting tendencies, claiming rituals and soul retrieval. He frowned, opened the link and read with eyes that became progressively wider as he realised what was happening to him. The claiming part, he could understand. Buffonia had been his from the moment he’d set eyes on her, or him, as she was then and he already didn’t want to let her go. But soul retrieval? What did that have to do with it? Spike didn’t believe in souls and even if he did, why the hell should he want his back?

-------------------------

The Summerians embraced a peculiar kind of decadence and one which Buffonia had never truly understood. How could a people who took their vices so seriously, believe that sex with a machine could replace the real thing? Somewhere along the line things had gone seriously wrong in that respect as, en mass, people had turned to embrace their orgasminators rather than their partners.

Buffonia woke up hot and sticky. Her last dream had been particularly lurid, involving virtually every variation on the sex act she’d ever read about. Which didn’t amount to many, actually, but they were enough to make her throw off her cloak and start on the buttons of her shirt in an attempt to cool herself down. Pulling the shirt over her head she threw it onto the bench. And when she touched her hand to the black wig she’d used for her boy disguise it felt completely flat where she’d slept on it and he head itched terribly from wearing it for too long.

She longed for a shower, and, more importantly, some relief from the pent-up frustrations the dream had left her with. Her skin was suddenly too tight for her body and prickled all over. Buffonia lay back in the semi-darkness, wishing she’d packed her portable orgasminator and thinking about the mini-orgasm she’d experienced when William had touched her earlier. How did he do that so effortlessly? She’d tried on many an occasion to do it manually, but she’d never really managed more than a ripple of sensation. The trouble with mechanical sex was that it made you dependant, and lazy. But she’d known there was more to it than strapping yourself to a machine, and she’d been right.

Motivation, that was the key. She’d fantasised until she was blue in the face, just like the iilicit sex-manual had told her to, bringing to mind the bare-chested cover models she was so fond of, and imagined them doing every imaginable thing to her. But still release stayed tantalisingly out of reach until she’d resorted to the little vibrating machine that claimed to give you the ultimate satisfaction – or your money back.

Buffonia wriggled, pressed her legs together and ran her hands over her thighs. How hard was this really? Perhaps she simply hadn’t been thinking about the right person? Opening her pants she slipped a hand inside, closed her eyes, and thought about William.

------------------------------


Soul removal was an integral part of the turning ritual, but Spike had never believed in them anyway. To him it was all so much mumbo-jumbo, a nod to the old days and something his grandsires used to talk about. He remembered their shocked expressions at his turning ceremony when he’d giggled uncontrollably as his sire solemnly read the ancient text that was supposed to make his soul literally fly out of his body. Everyone had averted their eyes, but he’d looked up and wondered why he couldn’t see it, complete with wings, soaring away from him.

And this was possibly even dafter, he thought as he read about those who believed the lost soul found another host and that a vampire would subconsciously spend the rest of his life seeking it. And when he took the quiz and read the results he was left in no doubt as to what was happening. Only he didn’t believe a word of it, because how did having some invisible soul make you a better person? His moral parameters were set, by himself, in his head and his heart, not by some invisible regulator that turned on the guilt-o-meter every time he did something wrong.

It was all threatening to add up to a monumental headache so he flicked off the monitor and rubbed at his tired eyes. Between Jasmine and Buffonia he hadn’t had any rest and he was sorely in need of some. And he ought to return the bag before she discovered it missing. And what did he do about this boy business? Did he tell her he knew or go along with it and let her tell him? Too many questions, he thought jamming her things back into the hold-all. The books intrigued him and he sniffed at the paper covering appreciatively. Everything was so computerised these days and few people read the old-fashioned way, but it didn’t surprise him somehow, that Buffonia did. He tossed one of them onto his bunk for some bedtime reading, figuring she’d think it had been lost somewhere on her travels. The thong went the same way and brought a wicked grin to his face as he closed the fastenings on the bag and quietly let himself out of his cabin.

He heard it immediately he stepped into the corridor, and would have been aware of it before that if he’d been concentrating hard enough. Soft gasps and low moans. A quickened heartbeat and short, shallow breaths. And they weren’t coming from Chewie’s cabin, that was for certain.

When he sniffed he could smell the unmistakeable scent of arousal. Of course, he’d smelt it before on her, but not like this. This was thick and heady. It filled the air with ripe promises and his mind with images of a golden-skinned goddess lying on a bed of crushed winter-rose petals and overflowing with desire. His imagination raced away and his feet walked him far too quickly towards the rec room where Buffonia was obviously enjoying a little middle-of-the-night-delight. When he got to the door, he stopped and gave himself a stern talking to. Buffonia was still under the impression he thought her a boy, so how was it going to look if he walked in on her now? And how would she react to the fact that he’d obviously been going through her things?

The smothered panting grew slightly more desperate as he stood debating what to do. What he mostly wanted was to open the door, slip quietly inside and help her find what she was looking for. Give them both a bit of well-deserved relief from all this UST that had been clouding the air from the moment he’d set eyes on her. Still, a part of him held back. For all her bravado it was painfully obvious that in this she was still an amateur. Spike knew the Summerians didn’t make a big thing of sex in the raw, but the few Summerian women he’d had had been responsive enough. They’d just needed a little motivation. And someone who could show them how much better naked flesh was than cold, hard metal, or even worse, those dreadful plasticoid contraptions that seemed to be all the rage on Buffonia’s home planet these days.

By the time he got back to his own cabin he was so hard there was only one thing to do. If you can’t beat them, join them. A philosophy that had always stood him in good stead and he’d gone a long way by being able to shrug his shoulders and bend with the wind. Buffonia’s bag fell to the floor as the door closed behind him and he reached for the fastenings of his pants. Gods, but he wanted her, he thought as his painfully stiff erection sprang free into his hand. He felt his face changing as he lay back on his bunk, groping for the thong, and he went with the flow and let it happen.

It wasn’t long before he was thrusting blindly into his hand, Buffonia’s name on his lips, the thong on his face and half way to the Promised Land. Buffonia, on the other hand wasn’t being nearly so successful. Spike squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he rode out the waves of ecstasy, the sound of Buffonia’s frustrated passion making his fangs hurt like the blazes as she struggled to bring herself off. Biting her would bring them both relief, he knew that now, but it would also mean something else. Something deadly serious that would bind them together forever.

It was all very well imagining her his, in his own head, but what if she didn’t feel the same way? What if all she was feeling was the lust and desire part of the equation? What if it was just curiosity? What if she didn’t know what she wanted? That would make her vulnerable, and Spike knew it would be the perfect time to take advantage. It was what he did, stepped in when he saw a weakness or an opportunity and took what he wanted, when he needed it. But, for the first time in his life it just didn’t seem fair.

Spike stuffed the thong under his pillow and sat up. Thank goodness for fast vampire recovery time. He was already hardening again and Buffonia was still at it. Might as well take a shower, he thought, and clean up. Pulling off his clothes he stepped into the cubicle and as the cool steam relaxed him, he closed his eyes, leaned his forehead against the shower door and let his imagination run riot.

Buffonia, lying all hot and glistening on the bench in the rec-room. One hand rubbing at her sensitive, swollen flesh the other lingering over her undoubtedly pert little nipples. Her eyes would be like dark pools, deep and hazy with desire, her pouty little lips forming a perfect circle as she breathed out his name. Some day, he promised, they were going to do this together. He was going to do this to her and she was going to do this to him, and he was going to make such sweet love to her that she wouldn’t come down for three vectors.

He stepped out of the shower and looked down at himself, already hardening again and hoped it would be soon, otherwise he was going to be the first vampire to die of sexual frustration.

-----------------------------

In the gap between sleep and waking Buffonia imagined herself back at the palace, in her huge, silk-covered bed with Mr. Gordo lying comfortingly beside her. The clinking of china, the smell of her early-morning beverage and the swishing sound of water as the servants filled the bath reminded her that a new day was starting. A day filled with ceremonial obligations and boring people to listen to. Her mother lecturing her about the marriage and, quite probably, a cameo appearance from creepy stalker-guy.

Buffonia stretched out her stiff limbs and made a mental note to look up Slayers on the intergalactic net when she had a moment. Find out what it really was all about. She relaxed again and opened her eyes, but there were no servants bustling and fussing around and her bedroom seemed to have mysteriously shrunk. She blinked and propped herself up on an elbow, taking in the functional surroundings and when she took a deep breath, instead of fresh pastries and fragrant flowers, the air stank of oil and something she couldn’t define.

Maybe it was her? she thought sniffing at her armpits and wondering where the washing facilities were on board the Millenium Bug. It was all coming back to her now. Running away from home, meeting William and Chewie. Jasmine and the broken hyperdrive. And she was cold, so she reached for the shirt which she’d tossed carelessly aside and slipped it over her head, a faint blush staining her cheeks as she remembered what she’d spent most of the night doing, or rather, failing to do. Her pants were still unfastened so she hastily closed them again and then just sat, disconsolately on the bench, not knowing what to do next.

For all her independence of spirit she’d never had to actually fend for herself and she knew she shouldn’t expect Chewie and William to wait on her hand and foot as she was used to back home. With such a small crew everyone would have to pull their weight, and she’d said she would – only she had no idea where to even start. Her chronometer and rumbling stomach told her it was morning, but outside it was dark, and the ship was quiet apart from the background hum of the engines. It was disorientating and suddenly Buffonia felt very alone. She hadn’t really known what to expect when she’d set out on her great adventure. Freedom was what she was after, but with freedom came great responsibility, she was learning that. If she was going to truly determine her own destiny she needed to be able to make decisions, and plans. And most importantly she needed the courage of her convictions to carry them out.

Okay. She stood and looked around for her bag. It was on the floor beside the bench and she rooted around inside until she found her compact and comb and set about making the wig look like real hair again, rather than something that had crawled onto her head in the night and died. There were dark circles under her eyes, but there wasn’t much she could do about that without her full make-up kit. Anyway, she thought, it added character. She’d had some life-experiences now and it was bound to show in her face. It was a good thing, she decided snapping closed the compact. And her first decision would be to go have breakfast, after which she’d find a shower and clean up. Then she’d make herself useful in whatever way William saw fit. She could be a cabin boy, whatever that was. They had to have some useful function since every pirate romance she read seemed to have one.

The galley was just about big enough for one person or two at a squeeze. The stained metallic counter-top and small sink were dented and faded with use and a food heater was set in the wall. One cupboard held eating utensils, cups and plates and another a strange assortment of what she supposed was food. There was very little of it and none of it looked fresh. When she looked into the chiller it was almost empty too, except for several bottles containing a thick, red liquid. She pulled one out because she was thirsty and it looked like some sort of fruit juice, but when she opened the bottle it smelled so disgusting she wrinkled up her face and promptly capped it again, hastily shoving it back. It was probably Chewie’s and reminded her that new experiences were going to come at her with alarming speed now she was out in the galaxy. And her pampered life of luxury was over.

This could be part of the adventure too. She pulled down a canister and shook it experimentally, then scanned over the instructions. Normal rules didn’t apply any more. If she wanted to eat reconstituted Karsh-Weed for breakfast then who was going to stop her? And to follow she’d have another bar of the Belgarian chocolate which either William or Chewie must be mighty fond of judging by the quantities stored in the cupboard.

The canister was disappointingly empty when she opened it and looked inside, but she remembered seeing more in one of the high cupboards. It was on the top shelf, too high for her vertically-challenged state so she place both hands on the edge of the counter intending to hop up and grab one. But before she could someone entered the galley and squeezed themselves into the small space behind her. Or rather, William entered. There was no mistaking the familiar shiver that washed over her every time he approached. She’d even felt it in her dream when he’d come into the rec room during the night and there was a vague recollection of waking up and talking to him, although what she’d said she couldn’t remember now.

He didn’t speak, but simply closed the gap between them so she was pressed against the edge of the counter-top, reached up, and pulled down the can for her. When she tried to turn and thank him he muttered, “no, don’t turn around,” and his hands dropped to either side of hers, where they gripped the edge of the counter. For a long, heart-stopping moment he just held her there. Not exactly using force because she knew that if she’d wanted to struggle and run away, he wouldn’t stop her, but rather holding her in place with the sheer force of his presence. A delightful shiver ran through her as he closed the remaining gap between their bodies with a slight hitch of his hips and her eyes, that had begun to drift lazily closed, flew open as she realised what he was trying to tell her.

Or rather, what he was trying to tell Buff, the boy, surely? Not Buffonia the woman who was about to slide to the floor because her legs were quivering, melting away and soon they wouldn’t be there to hold her up any more. He’d have to do that.

“William,” she said, over the thundering of her heart. “I need to tell you something.”

Both of his hands moved to cover hers. They felt cool against her too-hot skin, and now she was trapped. “Shh,” he said so close to her ear that she almost felt his lips brushing the skin. “It can wait.”

If he hadn’t been holding her so securely, she would have fallen. His arms tightened a little more snugly around her, and Buffonia leaned back her head and listened to the wordless message coming through loud and clear.

Whether she was a boy or a girl didn’t matter any more, and she very much doubted that he’d run screaming when he found out the truth. What was important was the liquid desire igniting between them. The undoubted attraction. Whether it was just primal lust ceased to matter either. They were two people who seemed to catch fire whenever they were within touching distance, and that was all she cared about as she focused on the feel of the hand sliding up her arm, the fingers lightly tracing the line of her neck. Instinctively she tilted her head and was rewarded with a low growl that sent a current of pure need fluttering through her entire body.

It was lust, she thought in panic. Lust, pure and simple. Hadn’t she run away from home for this very reason? So she could experience something real for a change? No matter that he was an arachnoid and she was the damsel-fly caught in his web, she wanted this, and she could no more stop what was happening than fly to the third moon of Alderan. When he moved away slightly, with a soft sigh she found herself moving with him, silently begging him to stay and feeling a satisfying stab of triumph when his hand tightened over hers and he pressed himself even closer.

Kiss me. Why isn’t he kissing me? She’d have said it out loud if her brain had still been connected to her voice. In the event it was entirely focused on the places where his body touched hers. The line of her back pressed against his chest. That thing she’d read about so often and had sneaked pictures of on her computer pressing insistently against her lower spine. There were many names for it and she found herself blushing as she recalled them. The cheeks of her bottom nestled into the tops of his thighs, the length of their legs entwined and his arms formed both a cradle and a cage around her. He was as close as he could be, yet she could feel him hovering too, as if he was fighting some sort of battle within himself, alternately dipping towards her neck and then pulling away. All she could do was wait, on quivering tenterhooks, and hope he did it before she died of frustration, or exploded with need.

The humanoid equation, that’s what had been missing all these years. A machine might be capable of giving mind-blowing orgasms, but it couldn’t touch you. Not like this. It might make you dependant, but this was a different kind of need. Two people joining together in life’s greatest adventure. Touching each other in places they didn’t even know existed, as if instinctively only they knew where to look. Her vision turned hazy and unfocussed and she could feel herself floating off to a land where there was nothing but this. A Slayer reduced to a pile of mush in the arms of a man she’d only just met. At that moment William could have done anything to her and she wouldn’t have lifted a finger to stop him.

In the event he picked up the chocolate bar, snapped off a piece and, still growling softly, stroked it against her mouth. Buffonia hesitated for a moment, then parted her lips and sucked on it gently. The candy-sweetness melted over her tongue and when William’s fingers brushed her lips she closed her mouth and sucked one inside, just like her favourite romantic heroine in one of her books. And, just as the hero had, William stiffened all over when she did that and squeezed her so tightly she thought she was going to suffocate. But she was only allowed a small triumphant smile at the fact that she’d taken control, because he immediately turned the tables on her and started sliding the finger in and out using the sticky chocolate as a lubricant. Picking up the rhythm with shallow thrusts of his hips.

Buffonia took in a shaky breath and gripped harder at the edge of the counter. Her head fell forward as she silently offered herself to him and the small, sharp pain of teeth breaking through skin was lost in the overwhelming sensation of the hungriest kiss she was ever likely to experience.

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Spike couldn’t take his eyes from the thin trickle of blood making its way down the line of Buffonia’s neck. And he couldn’t believe he’d done that. The change had happened the minute he’d walked into the galley and seen her reaching up towards the cupboard – an action which had caused her shirt collar to fall away from the back of her neck, and his vampire alter ego to come thundering out, unbidden and totally unstoppable. He’d kissed her so hard a purple bruise was forming around the small cut, but what did he do now? Once he’d tasted her she’d be with him forever.

Her blood was singing with it. Calling to him. Rushing around her body in a mad frenzy and he knew, at that moment, she was his for the taking. She was urging him on with small encouraging gasps and sighs, wriggling her hips against his, her head falling forward in surrender. Asking him to see to the aching need, fill the empty void. It wasn’t the first time he’d had a woman demand that he put her out of her misery and make love to her, now, but it was the first time he’d thought twice about it. And definitely the first time he’d pulled back and thought about whether it was the right thing to do.

“No,” he said when she tried to turn around because he wasn’t kissing her any more. “Don’t turn around. I, I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Her voice held more than a hint of desperation and she flinched at the feel of his finger wiping away the blood.

“I’ve cut you, didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” she said shaking her head. “It’s alright….”

But was it? What right did he have to claim this woman as his own? He hadn’t even wanted to do this with Dru, and that was saying a lot. Why did Buffonia speak to him in this way? Without even saying a word.

“Can I kiss it better?”

Gods that was lame. What next? Poetry in the moonlight?

The blue-moons of Aldis three. When they were full-blown and hung so low in the sky they washed everything with their electric-sapphire glow. Those were moons to read poetry by and that’s where he wanted to take her. And make love to her. In the ruins of the old city, on a bed of flowers that would release their sharp fragrance under the crushing onslaught of their passion.

“Please.” She was trembling in front of him as if she was forcing herself to keep still.

Just a taste. How could that hurt? He’d had human blood before so it wouldn’t be the first time. But not in game-face, that would be too tempting. He breathed. Totally unnecessary, but calming none-the-less, and quietly his face changed back. And with his normal features returned his reason. He dropped a quick peck onto the tiny wound, tasting only the slightest tang of her life force before turning and striding resolutely away. Control was what he needed, and he didn’t have it yet. She'd glanced around, disappointment clearly written on her face, but this was all too new, and he couldn’t trust himself around her when he felt like this. And, besides, how the hell was she going to react if he suddenly sprung his vampire face on her with no warning? It had scared him to death, and there was no reason to believe that she’d react any differently.

Back in his cabin he ran himself a basin of precious water to dunk his head in and cool down and remembered that they’d hadn’t taken any supplies on Summeria. It was something they needed to do soon if they were going to undertake a long-haul voyage and for a shipment of substantial supplies he was going to need more money than Buffonia’s two hundred credits.

“Code five-seven-nine-zero-three-five.” He scrubbed at his hair with a towel while he waited for the computer to obey his command.

Encryption?

“Password protect.”

Supply.

“Try Password Sex Pistols for me.”

Spike hovered anxiously as the computer screen flashed. He needed a job, something that paid well, and that invariably involved taking risks. Although smuggling was by default a risky profession, and Spike had to wonder whether he might not be better off just stealing some cash. No, he couldn’t risk getting himself caught and incarcerated. Not now that he had Buffonia to think about. Better to stick to what he knew. Him and Chewie, they were good at this and as long as they steered clear of any of Jasmine’s hench-beings they would be okay.

Negative.

Damn. Spike rubbed at the front of his trousers, trying to ignore the mother of all hard-ons which was distracting him from the very real business in hand. And the thought of Buffonia, who must be wondering what the hell had happened to her just now.

“Okay, what about Password The Clash?”

“Possible.”

Spike straightened his hair with his fingers and sat at the desk. Not his preferred option, but they were good payers. “Make contact,” he said, carefully neutralising his expression. Delicate wasn’t too strong a word for these kinds of negotiations. One foot wrong and gangsters of this magnitude wouldn’t fail to vaporise you. Leaning his elbows on the desk, he waited, because they always made you wait, it was the principle of the thing. A game of one-upmanship. The rules were set and you played by them, or suffered the consequences. As seen by Jasmine.

What the hell had he been thinking? He wanted to beat his head against the desk for his stupidity sometimes. How could someone so intelligent get things so spectacularly wrong?

“Confirm status,” he said impatiently.

Waiting for response, the computer replied. Switching to hold.

So he waited. And he tried not to think about Buffonia because distractions like that were the last thing he needed right now. He didn’t want to bite her, or claim her, and he certainly didn’t believe that she’d somehow managed to get hold of his soul. The soul he didn’t believe in and he definitely didn’t want back. The computer played its irritatingly bland music while Spike drummed his fingers on the desk and waited for one of the Klum-Fei’s ugly mugs to appear on the screen. The mail icon appeared with a jolly ping in the corner of the screen and he saw with a sinking heart that it was from Jasmine.

“Ignore,” he told the computer.

Caller requires a response. the computer insisted.

“Bloody hell, tell her I’m dead,” Spike snapped.

Confirm death-status.

“Alright, I’ll talk to her, but over-ride with standard interference if the Klum-Fei come through.

“Spikey!” The screen filled with Jasmine’s considerable presence.

“Jasmine.”

“What have you done to your hair?”

“Oh this?” Spike patted his head and shrugged. “Felt like a change.”

“I don’t like it,” she said, pouting her lips. “Change it back.”

Spike bit back any show of defiance. Now was not the time to rock the boat, or make Jasmine suspicious. “Anything you say, sweetcakes. Is there a reason for this call, or did you just miss me?”

Jasmine giggled and wiggled her shoulders. A little-girl gesture that totally belied her status as head of one of the worst gangster clans in this sector of the galaxy.

“Who’s your passenger, Spike?” The little girl fell away as she cut straight to the chase. “Word has it you took on a passenger on Summeria.”

“No one,” Spike said as nonchalantly as he could manage. “Just some chap who needed passage to Alderan. Wanted to raise some money for a real swanky tux. Nothing but the best for you, my little sugar plum.”

Spike never really knew what Jasmine was thinking. One minute she’d be giggling, the next spitting venom. And if she even suspected Buffonia was a girl they were in more trouble than they’d know what to do with. Jasmine’s jealous rages had passed into legend.

Jasmine took on a misty eyed demeanour at the mention of the tux. “You’re going to look so handsome in it,” she crooned.

Spike managed a bit of a smile hoping against hope that she’d drop the subject of his passenger in favour of a visual of him in a tux. “Aren’t I just?” he said with a swagger. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I have business to attend to.”

“With the Klum-Fei? What are you thinking Spikey? Not trying to wriggle out of our deal, are you?”

Shit, they’d been hacked. Spike kept his face carefully bland, while inside he was seething with rage that his carefully constructed security had been compromised.

“What was that?” he said cupping his hand behind his ear as if he was having trouble hearing her. “Sorry Jas, baby, you’re breaking up, I’m losing you.” He gave the off button a satisfying slap and Jasmine disappeared in mid sentence. The mail icon immediately re-appeared, but he ignored it and instead typed in the access code for the Millenium Bug’s security system which he needed to sort immediately since he didn’t want Jasmine listening in on his deals with the Klum-Fei. It wasn’t hard to find the cookie. The Hutt’s status came mainly from their ability to buy the best muscle in this sector rather than their brains and it took him all of four earth seconds to disable the spy-ware they’d planted on the Bug’s computer. He typed in a temporary patch and hastily re-coded the password, hoping it would be sufficient until he had more time to design something sophisticated enough to keep them out. Then he sent Chewie, who was in the cockpit, a heads-up. The Wookie would monitor things while he talked to the Klum-Fei and, hopefully, Buffonia would stay out of sight.

He squashed down the urge to go find her and see if she was okay. If their encounter in the galley had left him shaken, then he couldn’t imagine how she must be feeling. So much for his disguise, he thought ruefully, they’d obviously spotted him on Summeria, but Buffonia’s seemed to have held. Jasmine thought her a boy and she needed to remain under that impression. It was the only way Buffonia was going to survive this.

God’s but he wanted to see her as a girl, but that would have to wait. Time to start thinking with his head rather than his trousers, which was always a disaster. Forget all this vampire nonsense. Forget the sounds she’d made and the intoxicating smell of her arousal. Forget how responsive she’d been and the way she’d wrapped her pretty little mouth around his chocolaty finger.

His pants tightened and he groaned. Forget that he wanted her so much his body was screaming out for her? Not a sodding chance in hell.

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The history of the Universe was written on The Force. It resonated with every event, every life and every moment that had ever been, carrying them forever upon the mists of time. A skilled Jedi who could read the force had access to the greatest resource man had ever known and for O B, this was his special skill. His ability to be at one with the Force was why they’d picked him out as a child and trained him in the mystical arts. And this was why he’d been chosen as Watcher to The Slayer.

It hadn’t been a particularly useful skill, more ceremonial than practical and other than allowing him to cheat outrageously in pub-quizzes and write a few histories of obscure, long-forgotten wars it was a skill he’d had very little use for, up till now. Buffonia was bonding at an alarming rate with this rogue Vampirian and that needed remedying before she was so besotted with him that she’d never want to embrace her destiny. No doubt she was already fantasising about white picket fences and bearing his offspring, but that wasn’t going to be. Not while O B had breath in his body. It was his sacred duty to bring her to heel, and that’s what he would to do. By fair means, or foul.

The Vampirian was the clue. O B assumed the position and opened his mind. The force swirled around him and he invited the energy in, balancing himself until his whole being was pulsing in harmony with it. Once aligned, his mind soared away in a swirl of vivid colour and for a few moments O B was totally at one with the source of all life. Gradually, like autumn leaves drifting to the ground, the images began to settle and the focus sharpened until he could see pictures in his mind.

Spike. O B homed in on the emotions surrounding the young, blond-haired baby and fast-forwarded Spike’s life like a movie, stopping periodically and expanding scenes, rewinding, looking for anything that might be used to tear him away from Buffonia. He saw a studious, sensitive lad who’d lost his mother in an accident which he’d survived – a memory he’d all but repressed. Resilience and resourcefulness. A terrible tenaciousness and loyalty when it came to matters of the heart. A quick mind, the expected love of poetry, more studying and a career in smuggling. O B zoomed in on the last one and thought perhaps he should just report Spike to the relevant authorities and let him pay the penalty for his illegal activities. He dismissed it as too risky. Buffonia might become implicated if she was caught with him and that needed avoiding at all costs.

Jasmine. Yes, another possibility there. But at this stage of the game no more than an opportunity for a little mischief making. And the Millenium Bug? O B kept coming back to the Bug. Somehow it was the key, but he couldn’t work out why. There was a name – Wood. Someone who was connected to the spaceship through tears and anger.

But where did Spike fit into all this? O B hadn’t needed the Force to find out that the Bug had been purchased by Spike less than five years ago, a simple computer search had provided that information. The Force filled in the gaps and told him that was Spike’s first encounter with the ship, but the history of the Bug went back much further than that. As did bounty-hunter Wood’s connection with it. O B redirected his energy to the metal hull of the Bug and, as he reached out, the ship began slowly to reveal its secrets.

O B watched it all in his mind, his mouth a grim line that slowly tilted up into a humourless smile as the story unfolded. Now he had him, and it was perfect. Wood, fuelled by anger and revenge, would be totally oblivious to the fact that Spike was an innocent in all this. He needed closure and O B would give it to him. In return, the bounty hunter would neatly sort out O B’s little problem leaving Buffonia free to fulfil her destiny. He snapped open his eyes.

“Wood,” he said to RU who was standing by. “Get me a lock on a bounty hunter called Wood. Human, origin Earth, operates in this sector. There can’t be many of them.”

R U extended his tubular metal arm and connected to the computer. Within a few seconds pictures started to flash up onto the screen.

“That one,” O B said without hesitation. “That’s him. His ship’s called the Principal. Find the id and send him this message.

“Message?” C I tilted his head and opened the mailbox while R U beeped and chirped.

“Yes,” O B continued. “Tell him I’ve found the last piece of his puzzle. The most important one. Tell him I know who killed his mother.”

Tbc…

This is unbetaed for now,

Chapter 6


The small scratch on her neck stung a little when she touched it, reminding her of how his lips had felt against her skin. He’d scattered her wits to the nine winds with that kiss, leaving her dizzy and gasping for air and it would have been the perfect time to tell him she was a girl. He’d left so abruptly because he still thought she was a boy, but if she had found her voice and told him the truth, what then? Would he have swung her into his arms, taken her back to his cabin and made love to her? Despite her gut-reaction to the kiss, was she really ready for that?

Her answer to the question would have been a resounding yes, had he asked her at the time. Her mind had been so full of the feel of him and the new sensations hitting her one after the other she’d have been his for the taking. If he’d asked she’d have followed him to the end of the universe and back because, in the cradle of his arms, her will had completely abandoned her.

She should be grateful, she thought making her way back to the safety of the rec room. He could so easily have taken advantage of her, yet he hadn’t and for that, she thanked him. Whether it was merely the gender issue, or some more gentlemanly motive she didn’t know. What she did know was that she was an innocent with no frame of reference other than what she’d read in her romantic novels. She wasn’t so naïve as to think they reflected real life, but even in those stories the heroines didn’t usually fall into bed with the first desirable man they met. And neither should she, no matter how attracted to him she was.

Chewie was in the rec room when she entered. Buffonia managed a somewhat absent smile for him, glad of the distraction as he growled a greeting.

“I wish I could speak Wookie,” she told him, with genuine regret that she couldn’t communicate properly with him.

Chewie growled then pointed to the bottle he’d been drinking from. He growled again and repeated the action.

“Is that the name of the drink in Wookie?”

More growling and this time he pushed the bottle at her.

“You want to share?” she said eyeing it dubiously. The sludgy, brown liquid didn’t look very appetising, but since it would have been rude to refuse the offer Buffonia accepted it from him, wiped off the neck with her sleeve and took a small sip. It was sweet and sticky and not at all as unpleasant as she’d imagined. Chewie made a sound suspiciously like a laugh and encouraged her to drink some more. She took another deep draught, then sat down on the bench.

“Have you known William a long time?”

Chewie took the bottle from her and nodded.

“And you own the Millennium Bug together?”

Chewie shook his head and made a sound approximating the word Spike.

“So Spike owns the ship?”

The Wookie nodded vigorously and passed across the bottle. Buffonia took a few more sips, feeling herself relaxing as the warm liquid slid down her throat. A sudden mellow feeling flooded over her and she sighed and leaned back against the seat. Heat spread throughout her body right to the tips of her fingers and toes and she looked at the bottle in amazement.

Chewie had a definite grin on his face now, and also a multi-coloured halo starting to form around his head. Buffonia squinted and the halo twinkled and sparkled.

“How do you do that?” She patted the top of her head, then burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. “You’ve got a rainbow on your head.”

Chewie slapped his sides and did the Wookie laughing again. Then he split into two and floated in and out of her vision. Buffonia shook her head. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, rather more disorientating than anything. She screwed up her eyes until the images merged once more and reached her arm out to the bottle. After several attempts she made contact with it then proceeded to pour it over her face and shirt because for some reason she couldn’t seem to co ordinate her hand and mouth. Eventually she managed another drink and felt Chewie’s large, hairy paw carefully taking the bottle back.

By this time he was in near-hysterics at her reaction to the drink and she could see him out of the corner of her eye, chortling with glee as he got her ridiculously drunk. Or whatever was happening to her. She’d been slightly tipsy a few times before, but never had anything hit her so hard, so fast.

“What’s in that?” she said wiping herself down and gesturing wildly at the bottle. When Chewie told her she repeated his growls back to him and this sent him off into more hysterical, Wookie laughter. Lifting a finger she started to count the stars that were popping up in front of her eyes, but she lost count after twenty and gave up. And the memory of the kiss came back to her as she started to feel herself float away. “What’s his real name, Chewie?” she asked. “Spike or William?”

The answer sounded more like Spike than William. Buffonia grabbed the edge of the seat as the ceiling suddenly swooped towards her. “So he’s pretending to be William to fool Jamsin? Oops, I mean Jamsine.”

Obviously he was. Chewie agreed with his usual vigorous nodding then leaned over to the computer monitor and growled at the console. The screen flickered to life and Buffonia pushed herself up onto one elbow. Someone who looked very much like William, only with shorter, fairer hair appeared on the screen. She managed to get herself upright taking hold of Chewie’s arm to steady herself and stared at the picture on the monitor.

From what she could make out it was Spike’s flight permit. The picture was a typical mug-shot across which were written a few details which, try as she might, she couldn’t get into focus. The hair suited him though. Gods did it suit him, she thought tracing her finger around his image. But would she be around long enough to see it grow back like this? When she looked up Chewie was gazing at her thoughtfully so she moved her hand away from the screen and replaced the wistful look with a jolly smile. Chewie continued to frown, helping her back to the bench and when she pointed to the bottle, he held up his paw as if to indicate that she’d had enough.

“You’re right, Chewie.” She covered her eyes with her forearm and thought she perhaps ought to get herself back to the galley and have something to eat, which had been her original intention, rather than lying there half-drunk and fantasising about Spike with hair the colour of a blinding sun. It was just as well she’d met him as William and with her disguised as a boy. That had been bad enough, but if he’d been Spike she knew she’d probably be a lost cause by now. Or merely a statistic in a long line of his conquests. A guy like that had to have a track record, didn’t he? She couldn’t be alone in this reaction to him?

The com-link crackled and she listened to Chewie’s animated growling punctuated by Spike’s gravely tones. He had a deep, rich voice, just a little rough around the edges and laced with an accent she’d never heard before. A sexy voice, undoubtedly and one he’d used to devastating effect in the galley. She’d all but dissolved in his arms when he’d whispered in her ear and it struck her that he had to know the effect he was having on her. Or him, Buff the boy.

Heck, this was confusing, and not just because she was drunk. She heard Spike asking Chewie to go up front and keep an eye on things from the flight – deck and she tried to untangle the threads of what had happened to her so far. In her innocence she’d already imagined the happily ever after. Infatuation had a way of doing that to you. And Spike was undoubtedly a loveable rogue, which was why she’d been so drawn to him. Didn’t he fulfil all her expectations? Weren’t all the best heroes just that little bit bad, ridiculously good-looking, sexy and persuasive? Didn’t they dazzle poor, inexperienced creatures like her with their very presence, so that all they could see was the man of their dreams?

Somewhere along the line she’d lost the plot and it seemed she’d run away from one soap opera straight into another. But what did she do about it?

Remember that she wanted to be in charge of her own destiny and that choices were still hers to make. She should be acting upon, rather than simply reacting to what fate decided to toss her. A soft, silky paw patted her head and Buffonia moved her arm and gave Chewie a tremulous smile. The effects of the drink were wearing off somewhat and he didn’t have the halo any more, but the room was still gently swinging from side to side. Chewie looked a little sheepish now, as if he realised he shouldn’t have encouraged her to get drunk so she patted his arm in return to show there were no hard feelings.

“I’m fine Chewie.” She sighed and waved him away. “Think I’ll just lie here until I get my legs back – that stuff packs quite a wallop.”

Chewie’s paw touched her shoulder, pointing to it and growling, as if he was asking her if it was better now.

“You were just looking out for Spike. And he fixed it, see?” Buffonia waved her arm, still amazed at the speed with which it had healed and Chewie made a softer sound that may, or may not have been an apology.

Something else for her list – learn to speak Wookie. She watched him move towards the door, surprisingly gracefully for one so large and thought that Spike was lucky indeed to have such a loyal partner. And how lucky she was that Chewie had taking a liking to her since he made a much better friend than enemy. It made her feel safe to know that both he and Spike would fight for her if the need arose, and it brought home to her how alone she was going to be when they parted company.

The thought made her shiver.

It was in her hands. If she really was going to be mistress of her own destiny, then what happened next depended on her. Buffonia didn’t stop to think that plans made when very drunk on Wookie home-brew weren’t possibly the best of plans. All she knew was that the time had come for her to decide whether she was going to run from life, or rush towards it, arms outstretched and embrace everything it had to offer.

She started on the buttons of her shirt, her drunken state making her actions seem completely reasonable. Spike needed to know she was a girl, not some boy who melted into a puddle of hot wax every time Spike looked at him with those amazingly penetrating blue eyes of his. Buffonia stopped for a couple of deep breaths. Eyes that held her prisoner with their unspoken demands and made her want to cry when they softened with concern. And when they smouldered with desire? What would she do then?

Buffonia shook herself, gathered her wits then tentatively stood. The room spun a couple of times then came to rest with everything in its rightful place. Spike’s face still looked at her from the computer monitor and she took a moment to sigh and allow her heart a little flutter. As long as she kept control, where was the harm in that?

There was a strange mixture of devil and angel in him. Something that drew her irresistibly to him, yet cautioned her to run away as fast as she could. The angel was in his hair and in his eyes, but his smile was pure wolf-man. Yes, she thought feeling the familiar tingling low in her belly, if the devil could smile he’d do it just like Spike.

The last button of her shirt fell open and she pulled it off, dropped it onto the floor and rummaged in her bag for a fresh one. The events of the last day had left her feeling lost and helpless, but it was time to remember who she really was and who she wanted to be. And what she wanted. Sauntering unsteadily over to the image reflector, she stared intently.

The wig. It flew onto the bench and her own blonde locks tumbled over her shoulders. Now she looked like a crazy-woman, but at least the gender was correct. A quick combing didn’t do much to tame the mad tangle and her cheeks glowed both in anticipation of her plan and the drink, the effects of which were starting to wear off in earnest now, and taking her courage with it.

So she slipped into the shirt, leaving the buttons undone, but pulling it loosely together with her hands, took a deep breath and marched towards the door. Time for the big reveal, because if she didn’t do this now, she never would.

-------------------------------

Decisions, decisions. Darth Angel stood on the balcony watching the new recruits filing into the great hall to take the oath. Vampirians were an exceptionally fine-looking race, and after twenty vectors of training school the young soldiers now parading before him were at the peak of their condition. Honed to perfect fitness, lean and toned, but without the cynicism and battle scars of experience. Fit and young and just that little bit innocent – exactly how Darth liked them.

First row, third from the right. Darth made a mental note. Not too tall, and with beautifully coiffed blond hair, the young Vampirian stood to perfect attention, eyes forward, blaster in hand. And Darth couldn’t decide whether he liked them in, or out of uniform. Well, out of uniform ultimately, of course, but there was something about Imperial armour that sent shivers down his spine.

“May I suggest number 5927, Empress? He has Praetorian Guard written all over him.”

The Empress moved to the window. “First row, third from the right?”

“That’s the one. What do you think?”

“A bit young, maybe, but I trust your judgement, Darth.” She looked up at his towering, black-clad form. “I must have the prettiest personal bodyguard in the whole galaxy.”

“Without a doubt, oh Dark one.” Darth turned back to his contemplation of the troops.

“Some say too pretty.” The Empress ran a finger along Darth’s sleeve. “I swear they’ve been stealing my hair products. Does my butt look big in this cloak?”

Darth smiled to himself and took a step to the right. “They’ll get the job done, don’t worry. And I swear you’ve lost weight.”

“Do you think so?” the Empress turned around and inspected her rear end. “I must be protected at all costs, they know that, don’t they?”

Darth lifted a gloved hand and stroked the Dark Lady’s cheek. “Stop worrying about it, oh Deliciously Evil One.” He chuckled. “Let’s just say they’re well motivated.”

The Empress smiled wistfully and closed her eyes. “Oh Darth,” she said, leaning into his hand. “Isn’t the Death Star wonderful?”

“It is that, your worshipfulness.” Darth removed his hand, leaving her hovering in mid-air. “May I say the grey was inspired. They’ll never see us coming.”

The Empress snapped open her eyes, hastily patting at her hair. She gave a small laugh. “I rather think most people know about it. It is the size of a small moon, after all.”

“I was speaking figuratively,” Darth said returning his attention to the troops.

“And the Slayer,” the Empress continued. “What news of the Slayer?”

“Ahh, now there I do have good news for you,” Darth turned to the computer screen. A picture of a very similar young blond man to the one he’d just been eyeing flickered onto it.

The Empress stared moodily. “And that is?”

“Spike,” Darth said with a flourish. “And this is his ship, the Millennium Bug.”

“And you’re showing me this, because?” she turned, inspected her nails then tapped them sharply against the polished ledge.

“Runs with a side-kick. A Wookie who goes by the name of Chewackybacky. Buffonia’s hitched herself a ride with them.”

“A Wookie?” The Empress clutched at Darth’s cloak, scanning the room with desperate eyes. “You know I can’t stand Wookies. Nasty, smelly, hairy things. Are they here?”

Darth carefully extracted her hands and smoothed out his cloak. “Never fear, oh Distinguished One. He won’t come anywhere near you. Straight to the mines with that one.”

“When you catch them? I’m assuming they’re still at large.”

“Well yes.” Darth moved away from the window and flicked a switch. Spike’s face appeared on the much larger, wall monitor. “When we catch them. Which, given the size of the reward and the speed at which they're travelling, will be soon,” he added.

“Be sure it is,” the Empress snapped. Time is running out.”

Darth Angel turned to her. “Do you now what a sitting duck is?”

The Empress shrugged.

“It’s the Millennium Bug, with no light speed.”

“No light speed?”

“No.”

“That’s worthy of evil laughter, if anything ever was.”

“Thought you’d never ask, Empress.”

Evil laughter isn’t just the sound it makes. Darth watched with satisfaction the startled faces of the new recruits as the laughter reverberated around the chamber. An evil laugh was the trademark of a super-villain, and he and the Empress were masters at it. Finally they wiped their eyes and settled back to the matter in hand.

“So, this Chewacky will go to the mines. The Slayer will give me her heart. And what of this Spike? What will we do with him?”

Darth raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you leave Spike to me, Highness.” He turned back to the screen, a small smile on his lips. “I’m sure I’ll find an opening for him.”

----------------------------------------------

The Klum-Fei weren’t playing ball. Spike desperately wanted to go see if Buffonia was alright, but didn’t dare move away from the computer screen in case the Klum-Fei big-wigs decided to make an appearance. And he still couldn’t believe he’d nearly bitten her. What the hell was he thinking? Two short sunrises and between Jasmine and Buffonia his life had well and truly turned upside-down. And he’d only just got it upright again after Dru. The screen crackled and there was a short blast of music. Spike quickly smoothed back his hair and sat up straight. He was doing this for all of them. Then he’d go see Buffonia and tell her he knew her secret.

Three large, horned creatures appeared on the screen.

“I give you greeting.” Spike touched his head in the formal salute and the Klum Fei did the same.

“As we do to you,” they chorused back to him. The middle of the trio leaned forward. “So, you’re available?”

“At the right price.” Spike’s voice held a carefully balanced edge – part deference, part arrogance. The Klum Fei demanded the first, but greatly respected the latter.

“What are you looking for?”

Spike tried not to appear too hopeful. “Something small, something fast. I can only spare two sunrises.”

The delegation bent their heads together and Spike heard muttering. Finally the spokesman looked up. “Security level?”

Spike shrugged. “No problem. You know me, the higher the better.”

“Sending now. Confirm receipt.” The Klum Fei punched a button and the screen split in two. Spike just about managed to stop his jaw dropping at their offer. Extremely valuable, highly illegal, but guaranteeing him a good return if he could carry it off. For a moment he hesitated, mindful of his young passenger and of what would happen to all of them if they were caught with Blue Ortega in the hold. The train of thought was quickly followed by a picture of Jasmine in a wedding dress.

“Received,” he said confirming the deal. “Transmit pick-up point and destination.”

They duly did, and he swallowed again. Too near to Vampiria and its tendency for slapping young men like him into the army, for his liking, but needs must. Risky as it was, him and Chewie had done worse. His mind ran through the logistics. A quick in and out. Supply the ship at the pick-up point, get Chewie to deliver the cargo, since they weren’t likely to want a Wookie in the Vampirian army, then see about picking up another hyperdrive board.

A knock at his door distracted him momentarily. The Klum Fei frowned collectively.

“It’s nothing,” Spike told them fervently hoping it wasn’t Buffonia. But then, who else could it be? Chewie certainly wasn’t stupid enough to interrupt a meeting with the three monsters now staring coldly at him from the computer screen.
“Remuneration?” Spike asked trying to ignore it.

The third member of the trio opened his mouth, but whatever he said was drowned out by more knocking. Spike turned his head, knowing it was terribly insulting to the Klum Fei to do so, but not wanting them to think he was shouting at them. “Not now,” he said as the knocking got louder. “Really, not now.”

“Then I’m coming in.”

It was Buffonia. His door sensor was on manual over-ride, which was why it hadn’t opened automatically, but he hadn’t remembered to lock it.

“No, don’t do that.” Spike shouted at the door, then turned back to the three grim faces staring at him out of the computer. Blue Ortega was so rare as to be almost non-existent and Spike had spent five long years building a reputation as a smuggler who could be trusted to get the job done. The Klum Fei didn’t look happy at all at this deviation from standard procedure. He stood, but had only taken two steps towards the door before it opened.

“Spike, I need to tell you something.” Buffonia marched across the room, and it really was Buffonia this time, because now, instead of the black, spiky hair a cascade of blonde tresses tumbled and danced over her shoulders and back. Her eye-lids were smudged with a shimmering blue and her lips were moist and red. Almost as red as her cheeks.

Spike stood rooted to the spot as she advanced towards him. She’d called him by his real name and although he guessed what she was about to say, and desperately wanted to hear it, it was the worst possible time to be having this conversation. His mouth opened twice, but no sound came out and behind him he could hear the Klum Fei huffing and grunting with indignation and gathering themselves to leave.

“I,” he started, but that was all he managed before her hand slapped unceremoniously over his mouth and stopped him.

“No, Spike. I have something to tell you, and it won’t wait.” She pushed him once, catching him off-balance and causing him to trip backwards against his desk. Then his eyes nearly popped out of his head when he realised what she was about to do.

“I am a woman,” she declared grandly and whipped aside her top. “See?”

Everyone froze. Except the Klum Fei, who were now hastily seating themselves again.

Spike’s mouth fell open and stayed open, and Buffonia’s hands went determinedly to the front clasp of her lacy bra. Before he could stop her she’d flicked it open.

“And I’m proud of it, Spike.”

She had beautiful breasts. Exactly how he’d imagined them and to his horror, his gums started to tingle.

“Did you hear me Spike? I’m proud of it.” He voice was a little slurred as she emphasised her words then her eyes fell onto the computer screen and the very appreciative audience plastered across it. Still holding open her top her gaze flicked from them to him while he continued his desperate struggle to stay in human face. She looked at the screen again and her eyes grew wider than man-in-the-moon- marigolds. The Klum Fei burst into a round of spontaneous humming and started drumming their hands on the table.

“And you’re obviously…er…very busy.” She snapped her shirt closed and turned back to him, her voice tailing off. “Umm,” she said, the colour draining from her cheeks. “Catch you later, yeah?”

With one hand holding her top and the other clamped over her mouth, Buffonia ran from the room, her exit punctuated by a rowdy round of applause from the Klum Fei and a cross between a growl and a squeak from Spike. It was the only sound he was capable of and for a few agonising moments all he could do was listen to the appreciative whoops of the Klum Fei and thank the Gods he’d managed to avoid going into game-face.

The Klum Fei spokesman was smiling broadly now. “Excellent, Spike. Excellent. The entertainment was most appreciated.” He turned to his companions who nodded their vigorous agreement.

“Glad you liked it.” Spike gathered his scattered wits and faced the screen.

“Yes, yes we did. You never fail to surprise. And we like her. Is she for sale?”

Spike lifted his hand. “No, she’s a paying passenger, not cargo.”

The Klum Fei grunted and his face fell. “Hmm, pity. Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.” Spike spoke as firmly as he could get away with, not liking the turn the conversation was taking.

“We could be most generous.”

As with most of the gangster mobs, the Klum Fei traded in exotic species amongst which were counted beautiful women. Spike almost wanted to laugh at the irony of his situation. Yet again someone offering money, which he desperately needed, for the last thing in the galaxy he was willing to sell. Buffonia would easily command the price of a new hyperdrive board, and if he pushed it, probably pay off his debt with Jasmine too. Ironic indeed.

“I’d like to help you.” Spike shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Fetch her back, we will ask her ourselves.”

It was a strange thing that women sometimes sold themselves into slavery. A well-negotiated deal, and they were set up for life. Some found it a good exchange for the small thing called freedom.

“Perhaps we could conclude our business first?” Spike couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice and the Klum Fei, thankfully applied himself to the matter in hand. Spike knew full well why the remuneration figure was so generous.

“I’ll talk to her,” he told them and waited for the greeting that would conclude the meeting.

“You do that.” It was a command not a request. The Klum Fei touched his head and Spike returned the gesture. Shit, he thought as the screen went blank. Just what Buffonia needed. A bunch of horny Klum Fei lusting after her. He snapped open the intercom.

“Did you get all that, Chewie?”

“Good, what’s our ETA?”

“Right, let’s turn this round as fast as we can.”

The last bit? Get us on course and I’ll tell you later. Think I need go talk to her.”

-----------------------------------------------------

Physically Buffonia felt a lot better after throwing up in the galley sink. Mentally she was as horribly embarrassed as she’d ever been. How this had ever been a good idea was beyond her. And how was she ever going to look Spike in the eye again without dying of shame?

When she returned to the rec room the empty bottle of whatever Chewie had plied her with was still on the floor. Buffonia kicked it under the seat because just looking at it was making her stomach do back flips. She sat at the computer, rested her chin on her hands and gazed at Spike’s face, scanning the information on what was indeed his flight permit.

Buffonia ran her finger across the screen. He was a natural blond, the blue eyes she already knew. Height? Just right as far as she was concerned. Age? She frowned at the figures, but knew enough that they were all relative. A quick check of his metabolic age made him not a lot older than she was. And place of birth? Vampiria.

Vampiria?

She sat up. Spike was a Vampirian? She looked again. Yes, even though she was still having trouble focusing, it definitely said Vampiria. He was a member of the race who were threatening civilisation as they knew it? The mortal enemy of her people? The reason she was being married off to that prat, Sleepwalker?

No, he couldn’t be. But then, yes, of course he was. Cool skin, ridiculously attractive. Adventurer, opportunist. What else could he be? She’d bet her last credit he hardly had a heartbeat. And when had she seen him breathe?

Slayers. The one thing she’d found out about Slayers was they were supposed to kill Vampirians. In the old days, anyway. She wasn’t at all sure what the role of a modern Slayer was, but maybe it accounted for the tingling feeling she now realised was the result of the two of them coming into close proximity. Some sort of residual instinct from the days when Slayers were chosen to specifically hunt down and rid the galaxy of Vampirians.

That was a long while ago, back in times considered pre-historic. Vampirians were now fully integrated and accepted into society. At least they had been until they’d got delusions of grandeur and decided they wanted to be in charge.

Vampirians could also move silently as ghosts and it was the tingle that alerted her to Spike’s presence, followed by the sound of his voice whispering her real name, which he’d heard the Jedi use back at the Bronze. So long ago. Or was it just yesterday?

“Oh.” She shuddered and he slid onto the bench beside her nodding at the screen.

“So you know then?”

“You’re a Vampirian?”

“Yeah. Does it matter?”

Buffonia lifted her knees and circled then with her arms. “I don’t think so. You can’t all be bad, right?”

“Oh, I’m bad alright.” Spike winked and stuck his tongue between his teeth, making it hard to tell if he was joking, or not.

“But you don’t want to take over the galaxy, or invade Summeria?”

“Nope. United States of Spike, that’s me. Don’t have a lot in common with the home planet these days.”

“Me neither.” Buffonia found herself staring at the centre of his chest and noticing that he didn’t appear to breathe. She, on the other hand was having trouble getting air into her lungs as she remembered the kiss in the galley, and what she’d just done. Spike reached over and took her hand, and for a moment she stopped breathing altogether. He flattened it over his heart.

“Does beat,” he explained, “but really really slowly. And I can hear yours from here.”

Buffonia swallowed hard. No good trying to get it to slow down, it never was going to around him. He dropped her hand and tilted his head.

“So, you’re a girl, eh?”

His grin told her he hadn’t forgotten her little exhibition and she hid her face in her knees. “Oh no, I’m so embarrassed,” she mumbled.

“And more than a little bit drunk?” he enquired. When she peeked through her fingers she saw him holding up Chewie’s bottle. “I’ll murder him,” he said cheerfully. Thinks it’s so funny to do this. Are you okay?”

Buffonia twisted so her cheek was resting on her knees, only too aware of the heat in her face. “Coming back to normal, I think. Spike, I never would have otherwise, you know, in there…”

“ ‘S’okay, Sweetheart.” She felt his hand sifting through a lock of her hair, which he lifted and gazed at in fascination as it fell through his fingers. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Thought I’d be safer out in the Galaxy as a boy.” She gave a small laugh at that. “Fine time to discover half the Galaxy’s suddenly decided to turn gay.”

Spike coughed and dropped his voice a few notches. “Of course, I knew.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Okay, I suspected something was up, because…”

“It’s alright, Spike. I’m sure on some level you must have known, otherwise you wouldn’t have…”

“Right, I must have, because I don’t normally, you know…”

“Spike, I think we need to talk.”

“Yeah, I think we do.”

---------------------------------

We lay our plans and set our course, but how are we ever to know what fate has in store for us until we can see the whole picture?

Gallantly, the Millennium Bug cut a path through space completely unaware of the attention it was attracting. And none of it good. Bounty hunter Wood traced his finger over the screen, watching the blip that was the Bug flashing its way across in a determined, straight line. His Millennium Bug. For a moment he closed his fists so tightly his knuckles appeared white against his rich chocolate-coloured skin.

Designed by his Amazon mother, the craft had been their life-line and Wood remembered with perfect clarity the happy days of his youth when they’d plied her back and forth across the trade lanes offering luxury transport to paying customers. Life had been good, and Wood had been fully prepared to follow in his mother’s footsteps and continue with his nomadic, but relatively uncomplicated life. Until that day five earth-years ago.

A whole life can sometimes turn on something as small as half a credit. Look away for a few, short moments and when you look back, everything has changed.

He still saw it to this day, in his nightmares and in his waking dreams. The horrified crowd falling silently back as he approached, revealing the grim spectacle of his mother, lying cold and stiff, her chest a blackened, mess of charred tissue. The birthday present he’d bought for her dropping from his lifeless fingers. The crushed-silk scarf had hovered for a moment then fluttered away in the breeze, and with it had gone his life.

Every night she called to him from beyond the grave for revenge, and he hadn’t let her down. They told him five Vampirians had stolen the ship. Youngsters, probably intent on a joy-ride, or just in it for a quick credit. Four of them were now dead and there remained just one more task before Wood considered his duty done.

The last of the five had been particularly elusive, but now, with the help of the Jedi, Wood knew exactly where he was. And this was going to be particularly sweet. The ID had been changed such that Wood would never have found the Bug without the help of the Watcher and now that he had, all he wanted to do was send it and its accursed occupants straight to hell. But there was another on board, an innocent who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and who’d done nothing to deserve Spike’s fate. The Watcher had been adamant she was to be spared and, in return, had supplied details of how Wood could exact the maximum revenge, and make a handsome profit into the bargain.

A creature called Jasmine was shortly about to offer a substantial reward for Mr Spike, and, with the help of the force, Wood was the only bounty hunter in a position to make a pre-emptive strike. A move which, if the Jedi was correct, would condemn Spike to a living hell, right here on the mortal plane. And finally end Wood’s relentless search for the man who’d robbed him of his mother.

Tbc…

Chapter 7

The cabin was spinning.

“Why’s it doing that? Riley asked weakly.

“Doing what, sir?”

“Spinning. The cabin is spinning.” Riley clutched his cuddly Wookie to his chest, as if the toy could anchor him down in a world that was visibly revolving.

“It’s not spinning, sir.” The guard looked around, frowning. “No, not at all.”

Riley nodded and pushed himself into a sitting position. His face, when he caught sight of it in the mirror, was a delicate shade of ash-grey indicating that he was going to be violently sick any moment now.

“The bowl,” he said opening his knees and flopping his head forward. “I’m going to…”

The guard scrabbled to do his bidding, only just making it before Riley very indelicately threw up.

“Think I’ll just lie here and have a little nap,” Riley told him. “Space travel, you see. Doesn’t agree with me. I just wasn’t made to travel at this speed. Delicate constitution and all that.”

“Sorry to hear that, sir.” The guard held the bowl at arms length, a look of disgust twisting his features. “Why don’t you just go to sleep and let us deal with the Princess?”

Riley groped for his Wookie and closed his eyes. “What a good idea,” he said drowsily. “You’ll be sure to wake me so I can do the sweeping off the feet part?”

“Of course, sir. Don’t you worry about that. We’ll have her all lined up and ready for you in no time. You just lie there and get some rest, your Highness. Lift off won’t be for some time yet.


-----------------------------------

“Vampirians do that face-thing, don’t they?”

Spike handed Buffonia a mug of very strong coffee-syrup and sat next to her on the bench. “Here,” he said. Get that down you. It’ll make you feel better.” The colour was returning, but she still looked a little too pale for the Buffonia he knew.

“Thanks.” She took the cup and stared into it. “Can you do it, Spike?”

“Yeah, I can do it. Bit hit and miss though.”

“Could you show me?”

“If you want me to. Don’t want to scare you.”

She smiled at that and took a sip of her drink, wrinkling up her face at the bitter taste. “Guess I’m going to see worse than your vampire-face before I’m done finding myself.”

“Guess you are. Tell you what, I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours. How does that sound?”

“Think I already showed you mine.”

“I was talking about Slayers,” Spike said trying not to remember how she’d looked when she’d flashed him in his cabin. It was impossible, of course. Now, every time he looked at her he saw pretty little breasts which he already knew would fit his hands perfectly. “Aren’t Slayers supposed to have super-powers, or something?”

“They were supposed to kill Vampirians.” She looked up, her gaze frank and open. “Whenever you come near me I get this tingling feeling all across my shoulders and back.”

“And I can hear you from the other side of the ship, and smell you.” Spike gazed back at her.

“Then I guess we’ll never be able to sneak up on each other.”

“True. So, what are they?”

“My super-powers? I’ve no idea, strength maybe.”

“But the Jedi is pretty keen to get his hands on you. Must be a reason why.”

Buffonia looked away. “I’m not going with him, Spike.” She laughed. “Feels strange calling you that. I’d kind of got used to William.”

Spike’s arm was around her before he’d even given it a thought. A spontaneously possessive gesture. “Not letting him have you. Don’t worry, Jedi Watcher-class ships really are piles of junk. Once we get the hyperdrive fixed he’ll never catch us.”

“But he’s a Jedi, Spike. He’ll use the Force to track us.”

“It’s a load of mumbo-jumbo, Buffonia. I’ve seen a lot of strange things, but I don’t believe there’s some all-knowing Force controlling my destiny. I make my own luck, and so can you.”

“Do you really think so?”

Buffonia wriggled so that her ear was over his heart. With one hand flat against his chest she listened and he kept very still and enjoyed simply holding her. Even though he was hotly fantasising what the rest of her body looked like, the big reveal had gone some way to diffusing the UST that had built up between them and he felt in better control now.

“Is it strange not being able to feel your heart beat?”

“Stranger when I can.”

“Spike, who’s Jasmine?”

Buffonia seemed content to lie in his arms, so he leaned back and settled them both into the corner of the seat. It was peaceful, sitting there with her soft weight against his side and the smell of her hair in his nostrils. He’d despaired of ever being able to be normal around her and it was nice to know he could sit with her like this and not want to shag her silly. He still did want to do that, of course, but not to the exclusion of everything else like he had with most women. Most women being every woman other than Dru up till now.

“Jasmine.”

“You don’t mind me asking?”

“You’ve got a right to know what you’re getting yourself in for. If you’re planning on sticking around, that is. Wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to jump ship after you hear this.”

“Do you mind if I stay? Just for a little while. I’ll work, like I said I would.”

“Stay as long as you like.” Spike tightened his grip at the thought of her leaving. “Only promise me you’re not going to go be a bounty hunter. Not letting you go until you promise that.”

He didn’t know what to make of her silence so he continued with the Jasmine thread. “Jasmine wasn’t one of my better plans, put it that way.”

“But why do you have to marry her?”

“Because sometimes I’m too full of bullshit for my own good. Long and short of it, I knew she fancied me so I talked her into loaning me a huge amount of cash. Which I’ve spent on a major up-grade for the ship. I can’t pay it back, so she’s demanding payment in kind.”

A small hand reached up and touched his cheek. “You save me from that creepy watcher guy, I’ll save you from Jasmine, deal?”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“I’ll use my Slayer super-powers. As soon as I find out what they are.”

“You going to go ten rounds with Jasmine?”

“If I have to, yes.”

Looking down at her at that moment, all softly draped across his lap, Spike found his resolve not to shag her silly slipping rapidly. Instead he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

“Thanks, love. Appreciate the offer, but I’d rather have you in one piece.”

A giggle escaped her when his lips touched her hand. “The hero does that in one of my novels.”

“You read a lot of those books do you?” He did it again, causing more giggles, then a small gasp when he turned her hand over and ran his tongue over her palm. “Does he do this too?”

Buffonia nodded mutely, her eyes never leaving his face. “We’re not supposed to know about stuff like that. Bodice-Rippers aren’t exactly politically correct.”

“And now you do?”

“It’s one of the reasons I left.”

“Apart from wanting to get away from the Watcher?”

“They were marrying me off.”

“Ahh.” It should have been funny that they were both fighting the same dilemma, but things were a little too desperate for laughter.

“To Prince Riley Sleepwalker.”

Now he did laugh. “That git?” And then he made the connection. “Bloody hell, you’re Princess Buffonia.”

“Was Princess Buffonia. That’s not me any more.”

“Right pair we make, eh?”

“Why did you kiss me, Spike?”

“Because I wanted to. Didn’t mean to hurt you. The vampire thing just sort of happens when you’re around.” His hand moved to the back of her neck, then he thought the better of it. The last thing he needed now was to be gazing at the lovely, tempting line of her neck.

“You didn’t. Spike, show it to me.”

“You’re sure?”

Buffonia sat up and touched his face again. “I’ve seen films and stuff, but I’d like you to show me. You won’t scare me, don’t worry.”

Spike breathed, because sometimes it just felt right to do so. Nothing like a good deep breath for relieving tension. “Okay,” he said, hoping he could control it. “Gotta warn you, it’s not pretty.”

“Let me be the judge of that. How do you do it?”

“Like this.” Spike shook his head and Buffonia jumped back in the seat.”

“Like what?”

Spike rubbed a hand over his face, already aware that nothing had happened. Which was very odd given Buffonia’s proximity. He tried again and still, no game face.

“Don’t understand it,” he said feeling a prickle of ironic anxiety. “Never had this problem around you.”

“Don’t do it if you’re not comfortable, William, I mean Spike.” Buffonia laid a hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“You haven’t. I want to show you.” He felt his gums which were decidedly un-achey. “Are you sure nothing’s happening?”

“Sorry.” Buffonia shook her head and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Perhaps you need to relax a bit?”

Spike’s laugh was more than a little hysterical. “Performance anxiety? That’s got to be a first.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

Spike squinted down at her hand, which was now rubbing light circles around his shoulder. “You could keep doing that.”

Buffonia twisted her self so she was facing him and brought her other hand up to his neglected shoulder. “Like this?” she asked sweeping them down and across his chest with every stroke. Spike felt a familiar stirring down below, but his vampire face was as far away as it had ever been.

“May I?” he said holding up a hand towards her own shoulder. She nodded her agreement her fingers still moving in increasingly sensuous circles. Spike sucked on his bottom lip and watched fascinated as she became completely absorbed in what she was doing. His own hand slipped lower, tracing a line across the front of her shirt to the top curve of her breasts, his gaze flicking to her face to see if she minded. Not that he needed to see her to feel her unspoken consent. Her breath may have caught, and her heartbeat climbed up a gear when he’d started touching her, but he could feel her silently urging him on.

“Is anything happening,” she said in wispy voice.

“Plenty, love.” Spike looked down, pointedly. “Unfortunately not in the vampire-features department.”

Blushing suited her. And she’d obviously been reading way too many of her bodice-rippers, as she’d called them, since she seemed to immediately know what he was referring too. Bodice-rippers. He liked that expression. It conjured up at least some of the things he wanted to do to her. Or rather with her, since he’d never force himself on her.

“Prince Boring kiss you, did he?”

Prince Boring? She mouthed the words back to him, silently, a small grin spreading across her features. “No, the Prince of Boring never did kiss me.”

“So.” He said it casually, conversationally. “I was the first, was I?”

“I kissed you, as I remember.”

“And I kissed you back. I definitely remember that.”

She didn’t answer because he’d filled his hand with her breast at which point she’d closed her eyes and exhaled softly.

Okay, he thought, at least there was nothing wrong in the below-the-belt department. He still couldn’t understand why no game-face, but the hell he was going to complain about that when she made him feel like this.

“Would you like me to do it again?”

“Huh?” she half opened her sleepy eyes.

“Kiss you. May I kiss you again?”

“Oh. Yes.” Buffonia tipped back her head and offered herself. “Yes, please, kiss me.”

“Oh, Buffonia.” Spike growled and attacked the buttons of her shirt with clumsy fingers. “You’re so bloody irresistible. Do you know that? You get me so hard.”

“Spike.”

The buttons fell open and his desperate fingers sought out her beautiful curves sweeping the lacy cups of her bra to circle each breast. His mouth frantically seeking out hers.

“Spike, you’re changing.”

“Shit, not now.” He pulled back and ran a hand across his forehead, but the fangs were already cutting through his tender gums. And there was Buffonia, spread out on the bench, all flushed and ready, her clothing awry. A look of mild alarm on her face. It took all his willpower not to continue with what they’d been doing. Only now he really did want to rip her clothes off so it was that much harder to stop.

“No, don’t turn away.” She followed him as he scooted to the far end of the bench and caught hold of his shirt.

“I knew it would scare you.”

“What this?” Again, her touch was light and gentle. She mapped out the bumps and ridges, that were just as unfamiliar to him as to her, with gently caressing fingertips, running them carefully over his fangs. While he trembled with the effort it took to keep still and let her find out what he really was. “It’s not this that scares me, Spike.”

“Oh?” He breathed a relaxing breath and his vampire features melted away.

Buffonia was staring towards the window into the blackness of space. “Out there. That scares me. The Vampirian invasion threat. Him, that creepy watcher-guy, he scares me. And this.” She looked down and her disarrayed clothing. This scares the hell out of me.”

“That?” Spike looked to the window too. “Best thing we can do is run away.” But this.” Leaning towards her he straightened her shirt and started on the buttons. “I can do something about. You’re never to feel scared around me, Buffonia. Tell me you never will.”

“I’m sorry Spike.” She looked down, watching his fingers as he worked on closing the buttons. “You were expecting to have sex with me, but it’s all happening too fast. I don’t know what to do, or what to feel about it. Are you very cross with me?”

“Say it.”

“You don’t frighten me, Spike. It’s me I’m scared of, not you.”

Patience wasn’t a virtue he’d wasted time cultivating. Spike liked to go in hard and fast, take and then leave. It was why he went for the high security smuggling jobs – waiting around for days playing mind games wasn’t his idea of fun. Taking risks? Out-running an Imperial star-ship? Now that got the juices flowing.

And until Dru, if a woman wasn’t immediately interested, then he’d just move on. There were plenty of fish in the universal sea and he’d had his share. Falling in love with Dru had been a painful experience. While she’d been content to saunter along in the slow lane, he’d been racing away with plans for their future together. Once you’d established that you loved someone, what was the point in waiting? You told them, you got married, you raised little ones. It was the first time he’d ever felt that way and continually having to brake so she could catch up with his train of thought had almost driven him mad.

But patience was what he needed now. In his mind he saw himself as a small boy on St. Vigius Day ripping open all his presents in a frenzy of anticipation. Toys already broken at the end of the night. Books already read. So that for the rest of the festival there was nothing else to look forward to. Firing all his guns at once was exciting, for a very sort time, which was fine until he remembered the ominous silence that inevitably followed.

Buffonia was a gift he needed to unwrap slowly. Layer by layer, bit by bit revealing who she was, what she wanted and where she wanted to go. The boy turning into a girl with a crown of golden hair, who’d turned into a princess. Who was really a Slayer and would one day be a woman.

And what did she want? Possibly a mixture of a poet and a pirate, he guessed. A scoundrel who would carry her off, then dazzle her with his eloquence.

“I have to admit to a little frustration.” He said it in a light-hearted tone, touching the front of his pants so she’d get the reference. “Well, more than a little, actually, but I’m not cross with you. Why should I be?”

“Because you need to have sex.” She looked pointedly down at his crotch then back up at him. “And I think I’ve led you to believe I’d give it to you. And now I’m too nervous to do it, and…”

At that point he put her out of her misery with a quick kiss. When he sat back she was still gazing at him, a little dazed now by the twists and turns. “Buffonia. Of course I want to have sex with you, what man wouldn’t? And I know I’m an impetuous kind of guy, but hey, some things are too good to rush, yeah?”

“I think I have a lot to learn.”

“You’re going to be a natural. Buffonia, when did you lose your virginity?”

He knew why she looked so startled at the question, but again he stopped her giving the answer she had on the tip of her tongue. “No, tell me, it’s a serious question,” he said. “You know what I’m asking?”

She frowned, then a light of realisation dawned and she pulled up her knees to her characteristic pose and looked away. “Well, it was swift and sudden, the initial attraction, that was. But the trouble was that all I had to compare him with was a fantasy. And I was so desperate for it, I didn’t stop and think about what I was doing. But he was kind and sweet, under his very manly exterior, of course, and he gave me all the time I needed to learn everything I wanted to know. And yeah, there were candles, and music, and poetry and an impossibly starry night. And it was perfect.”

By the end of her speech, her voice had almost disappeared to nothing, but vampire hearing caught it all. “When?” he asked, just as quietly.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Soon, maybe?” Then she brightened and turned back to him. “What about you?”

“In the janitor’s closet with my physics teacher.”

Buffonia let out a nervous laugh and shook her head. “Why doesn’t that surprise me, Spike?”

------------------------------------------

“I’ll have them soon, old man. Do you want me to bring them in?”

“Old man?” the Watcher snorted. “I’ll have you know I’m still young enough to get carded.”

Wood continued configuring the tractor beam. Weight, mass, he already knew the pulling force needed to bring in the Millennium Bug. And once he had her in his clutches, she was going nowhere, ever again. The Principal had the standard Bounty Hunter upgrades; Super-torsion, which gave it some of the best pulling power in its class, photon torpedoes, secure cells and a state-of-the-art carbon-freeze facility for easy transport of the wanted to the delivery point.

“So what do you want me to do?” Wood leaned back into his chair and inspected his nails, his demeanour deceptively calm.

“It’s too soon.” The Jedi’s image shimmered on the view-screen. “I need them nearer to Vampiria. Don’t do anything impulsive, Wood.”

I see no reason to wait. What if they get away? I’m going in, and don’t worry, you’ll get your girl safe and sound, I’m only interested in him.”

“Listen to me, you fool.” The Jedi pulled him self upright. “You don’t want to go in, you want to do as I tell you.”

Wood laughed. “Your mind-games don’t work on me, old man, what kind of simpleton do you take me for?”

“There’s more at stake here than your petty revenge, Wood. If you move too soon, you’ll ruin everything.”

Wood leaned towards the console and flicked a switch. The Jedi’s image shimmered and faded away. The bounty hunter turned and stared into the blackness of space. “Nothing is more important than revenge,” he said in quiet, measured tones. “Nothing.”

--------------------------------------------

O B turned to C I. The robot’s eyes lit up in greeting.

“What can I do for you, master?”

“Wood, he’ll serve his purpose, but he’s impetuous. Can you talk to his ship? Jam his transmissions?”

C I tilted his head. “I am fluent in six million forms of fornication. Of course I can talk to his ship.”

O B sighed. Along with the crappy ships, came the crappy, reconditioned droids. “Don’t you mean communication?

“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry, master.” C I put on his contrite expression. “I thought I’d fixed the innuendo malfunction. I’ll put it right immediately.”

“You do that.” O B leaned his elbows on the console and thought. “Tell Wood to follow us at a safe distance, and jam all transmissions from the Bug to the Principal. Damned fool is going to ruin everything if he jumps the gun on this.”

“As you wish, master.” C I turned importantly towards the computer. “Fornicating now.”

----------------------------------------------

It was good to be off the ship. And even better to be on Moss Iseley, the home of what was most certainly the largest mall in the galaxy. Buffonia loosened her cloak and stared, wide-eyed at the seemingly endless row of shops. Spike undid his long leather coat and pulled off his gloves. The wide-brimmed hat he’d worn to shade himself from the light hung between his shoulders and he looked almost as excited as she did.

“Want to go shopping then?” he asked.

“I thought we had shops on Summeria,” she replied. “But I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“And” Spike tilted his head, as if he’d sensed the hesitation in her tone.

Buffonia patted her pockets. “No money, remember?”

“Oh.” Spike watched her for a moment, then reached into his coat. “Here,” he said extending a handful of credits. “Buy yourself something nice.”

Buffonia raised her hands, palms forward. “No, Spike. You need that to supply the ship and I’m fine with window shopping.”

Spike re-pocketed the money without question and scanned the crowd. “You should be fairly safe here, want to go look around? There’s something I need to do.”

“And I can talk to you on this?” She held up the com-link he’d strapped to her wrist.

“Yeah, just tap the button once for me, three times for Chewie. You sure you’re alright by yourself?”

“Spike,” she said, her eyes already on a designer label boutique. “You’re looking at an expert here. Go do what you need to do and buzz me when you’re ready. I’ll meet you here, yes?”

“Keep your eyes open, yeah?”

“For him?” Buffonia glanced around. “Heck, I’d forgotten all about Mr Creepy. You don’t think he’s here, do you?”

“Chewie did a quick scan back at the landing bays and there weren’t any Watcher- Class ships in. And security’s pretty tight here. As long as you stay visible, you should be okay. Look, I’ve got to do this, but I’ll be really quick.”

“Spike, stop worrying about me. Shoo.” Buffonia flapped her arms at him and he took the hint. She waited until he’d disappeared into the crowd then she applied herself to the serious task of checking out the next season’s fashions. Summerians were renowned for their fashion sense, but if it was in, it would be here first. Moss-Iseley was the centre of it all. It was just a pity she couldn’t use her Palladium credit-card without drawing attention to her whereabouts.

There was a refreshing lack of hairy-turtle-shell wedding dresses, which didn’t surprise her given how rare the raw materials were. And it really did seem as if another person had trampled on a small fortune’s worth of them not so long ago. Summeria had been going all out to impress the Somnambulans and Buffonia had destroyed more than three million credits-worth of wedding dress without giving it a second thought. And now, here she was reduced to window-shopping, safe in the knowledge that she couldn’t even afford to buy a faux-diamond clip to put in her hair.

It didn’t matter. She repeated it as her eyes fell on the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen. Freedom was worth a hundred dresses, and this was her new life. Anything she bought from now on would be bought with the fruits of her own labour. The smell of burnt-orange tea at one of the refreshment stands reminded her that she didn’t even have any money for a drink, nor could she afford anything to eat, which her stomach was telling her to do in earnest now. The beauty salon had her staring with wide-eyed longing at the thought of clean hair and a manicure, and she nearly cried when she saw a Galactic Volcano in the flesh. The ice-cream sundae was legendary, and if Spike had been anywhere about she knew she’d be begging him to buy her one by now.

Yes, it was tough being poor. But it was also a fact of life. She took one last, wistful glance at the ice-cream and walked determinedly away.

---------------------------------------------

The first thing Spike did was to stop at his favourite barbers and get himself a haircut. The dye was washing out fast, so he didn’t bother with a bleach job to turn it back to its usual platinum. Then he applied himself to the most important task of the day. Chewie was picking up the goods for transportation because Spike hadn’t wanted to leave Buffonia by herself for too long so Spike hurried through his list so he could get back to her. She’d been right in her assumption that the Watcher would use the Force to track them, and Spike knew he wouldn’t be very far behind if he was still determined to grab himself a Slayer.

It wasn’t pink, but it was a pig, of sorts. Spike had no idea what species of pig Mr. Gordo had been, but this would have to do. It was the thought that counted, right? Hopefully, the blue, fluffy toy would go some way towards alleviating Buffonia’s homesickness and encourage her to stay a while. He handed over the credits and slung the bag containing the toy over his shoulder, then he turned his attention to women’s fashions.

Something slinky and sheer, and short. No, long. He couldn’t decide which she’d look best in, but he went for the short because the long dresses looked as if they’d been made for someone the size of a female Wookie and he didn’t have time to shop around. It was a metallic, shimmering green, that would match her eyes perfectly, with thin straps and a scalloped hem. And she was going to look stunning in it. Then he remembered what she’d told him about her fantasy virginity-losing scenario, so he bought a single luminous rose, outrageous cliché be damned.

The first hint he had of trouble was a garbled sound coming from his com-link. But it wasn’t Buffonia who was crying out in pain. Spike slung the bag containing his purchases cross-wise over his chest, wishing he still had his blaster, which he’d had to check in at the security desk when they’d entered.

“Buffonia?” He shouted at his wrist, but there was no answer other than another series of grunting and then Buffonia’s voice using a word he’d never thought to have heard from the lips of one who looked like an angel. It made him smile momentarily, but not for long. She was in trouble, probably with creepy, stalker guy and she needed back-up, fast.

“Chewie?”

The Wookie checked in and swore colourfully at Spike for letting Buffonia go off on her own.

“I know, I know,” he said trying to calm the outraged Wookie. “I shouldn’t have let her go off by herself. I had something important to do, okay. Look, you go east, I’ll go west. Sounds like she’s outside judging by the interference, and that she’s holding her own, for now. Just try and find her quick.”

At that point Spike cut Chewie off and pushed through the crowd in the direction of the west door fully prepared to fight the Watcher to the death for her, if he had to. But fervently hoping it wouldn’t come to that, since the death of a Jedi wouldn’t go un-avenged. The few moments it took him to find her were agonising and full of self recrimination and brought home to him exactly how he’d feel if she wasn’t there any more. True, he hadn’t really got to know her beyond the heavy-duty lusting, but dammit, they’d started something here and he, for one, wanted to see it through. His gut was telling him that she might be finally be the one. And that was something worth fighting for.

When he saw her she wasn’t doing so well. Her assailant, far from being her Watcher, was a full blown Tarrakan. From the Order of Tarraka, no-less. And their motto was, we always get our man. He had her pinned to the ground and was struggling to fix manacles to her wrists.

Spike glanced quickly at the sky, from which shone possibly the brightest sun in the galaxy, and knew he couldn’t go out in that for long without sustaining serious burns. “Chewie,” he snapped into the com-link. Get your ass over to the west door, it’s a bloody Tarrakan and they’re outside. And bring some security with you.”

Chewie signed out and without a second thought Spike jammed his hat onto his head and ran towards the struggling pair, shouting at the top of his voice.

“Oi, you slimy bastard, wanna fight something your own size?”

The Tarrakan looked only mildly annoyed at the intrusion. He stood up, dragging Buffonia with him and faced Spike. “Get lost,” he said with a guttural snarl. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Spike tipped back his head, looking up at the monstrous creature and poor Buffonia, who was clamped firmly to the Tarrakan’s side. “I do believe you have my woman there,” he said and pusheded forward the hat since looking up meant looking into the sunlight. “Give her back, would you?”

The Tarrakan opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a grunt of pain as Buffonia lashed out with her elbow. She fell to the ground and he turned to her, hand flat, arm raised. Spike jumped up and caught the backhander in mid-air, shouting to Buffonia to run away while he hung on to the Tarrakan’s arm for grim death. He didn’t catch what she shouted back and instead of running she spun herself around, and landed the Tarrakan another blow, with her foot this time, squarely in his stomach. It didn’t make much of an impression, but it distracted him enough to allow Spike to attach himself to the creature’s legs and bring him down.

By which time, Spike was feeling seriously warm.

“Get inside.” Buffy shouted to him and through his stinging, watery eyes he could see her squaring up for another round.

“No, you run,” he countered and threw himself on top of the creature. His hat had already fallen off and the back of his neck was smarting as the sun’s rays hit it, but he knew that if the Tarrakan got up, they were done for.

And dammit, Buffonia wasn’t about to do as she was told, either. Her cry of ”may the force be with me, made them both look up and then he spotted Chewie hot-footing it across the landing bay with several burly security guards in tow. Buffonia got another kick in before the Tarrakan thought the better of continuing the fight. Pushing Spike roughly onto the ground he rolled, grabbed his weapon and legged it. Chewie and the security guards chased after him as he weaved in and out of the parked vehicles and Buffonia scrabbled for Spike’s hat.

“Put it on,” she said jamming the crown onto his head. “And get yourself out of the sun. Come on.”

Spike needed no more telling. He took her hand and let her half-drag him into the shade where they stood together and processed what had just happened. Buffonia was breathing hard, but her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright with excitement.

“Did you see that, Spike? The way I kicked him? And that noise he made. How cool was that?”

Spike flexed his hands, working out the tightness the sun’s rays had caused. Sliding an arm around her waist, he flopped back against the wall. “Do you know what that thing was?”

“Big and smelly?”

Spike dropped his forehead to her shoulder and waited for his equilibrium to return. “I swear you’re going to give me a heart-beat, Princess Buffonia. “You just took on a Tarrakan, that’s all.”

Her hand slid to the back of his neck, lightly caressing. “So, is this Slayer power impressive, or what?”

“Very love.” Spike rubbed his cheek against her shoulder, enjoying the soothing feel of her fingers on him. “What I want to know is why a member of the Order of Tarraka should be interested in you?”

Gently she lifted his face and surveyed it for sun damage. “You’ll live,” she reported with a cheerful smile. “So what’s this order of Tarraka?”

“Only the most dedicated bounty hunters and assassins in the galaxy. Is there something you’re not telling me? He watched her face carefully as she frowned.

“Then why are bounty-hunters after you?”

“You don’t think the Jedi sent him?”

Spike shook his head. “Naa, don’t think so. Tarrakans only play with the big boys – the Watcher wouldn’t be able to afford the kind of reward they would demand.”

“The ratbags!”

“I already said, I don’t think it was the Watcher.” Spike looked up to see Chewie loping towards them.

“Not talking about the Watcher, I’m talking about the Somnambulans, or my parents. I bet they’ve offered a huge reward to get me back.”

“Maybe.” Spike raised his eyebrows enquiringly at Chewie who growled back. It still didn’t fit. The Order of Tarraka were the seediest part of the galaxy’s underbelly and there was no way Buffonia’s family would want them anywhere near her.

“I did well, though?” It was a question, not a statement and she was looking at him intently now, some of the elation fading from her face.

“Yeah, you did well love. Can’t wait to see what you do when you really get the hang of this Force, business.”

They turned for the mall once more since the Millennium Bug was docked in the east parking lot. When they’d collected their weapons. Spike handed his blaster to Buffonia.

“Here” he said helping her to sling it across her chest. “You carry this, and get used to it. Don’t want you going anywhere public without a weapon, from now on. First convenient place, I’m going to show you how to use if properly.” It made him feel better to see her armed, although he needed to get her a custom-built one, when they could afford it.

“It’s sweet of you, Spike.”

She accepted it without protest but he could tell she thought he was over-reacting. And he didn’t want to worry her yet, so he kept the seriousness of the situation to himself. “Giving someone a weapon isn’t exactly sweet, love.” He slipped his hand into hers and lengthened his stride because he needed to get her inside, and himself out of the sun. “Want you to be able to use that if you have to.”

“But the Force, Spike.” She was having to trot to keep up.” I’ve never felt such power. I could have taken him, I know I could have.”

When they got to the Bug he pressed the remote commander to extend the steps from the side of the ship. Chewie went straight to the hold to stabilise the extremely small, but wickedly valuable cargo and Spike hoped desperately it hadn’t been damaged in the fight since the Klum-Fei weren’t exactly the most forgiving of creatures. When Buffonia moved towards the rec room he stopped her.

“Have my cabin,” he said and steered her towards it before she could protest. “No string attached. You could probably use a good’s night’s sleep.”

“But what about you, Spike?”

He nearly suggested it, the thing he really wanted to do, but sharing a bed with her would crumble all his resolve to go as slow, to dust. Especially in the light of what had happened in the galley. Just the thought of her in his bed was making him twitch.

“I’ll be fine in the rec room.” She looked a little disappointed, at least that’s what he told himself the droop of her mouth indicated. Or it might just have been delayed shock from what had happened back at the mall. Despite her bravado, and her increasing strength, she wouldn’t have won that one if he and Chewie hadn’t appeared when they did. “Buff,” he said caressing her soft cheek with his palm. “You never made me that promise.”

“What promise?”

“That you wouldn’t go off and do something reckless.”

“I can’t promise you that, Spike.” Her eyes narrowed as she rested her head in his hand. It was both a surrender and a challenge. “I’m sure I’m going to do many reckless things now that I’m my own boss.”

“I don’t want you going around thinking you can take creatures like that Tarrakan back there, because you can’t.” It was worry for her safety that made his voice come out just that little sharper than he’d intended. And the certain knowledge that whatever he said would make no difference to this stubborn young lady, who’d managed, in what seemed like a blink of an eye, to make him care for her more than he cared for himself. If she wanted to go how was he going to stop her? The thought further increased his panic.

She was trying to make light of it, but he could sense her confusion. Freedom, after years of being a caged bird must be intoxicating for her. Add to that the power of the Force and right now he understood how she might want to go out and take on the whole galaxy. But she lacked the most important ingredient of all – experience, and that failing was going to get her killed.

“I’m not letting you go be a bounty hunter, so don’t even think about it. It ain’t going to happen.” Spike stared directly into her eyes, challenging her back and making sure she saw he that he meant it.

She laughed again. “I love your hair like that. Can I use your shower? I’m so smelly it’s untrue.”

“Buffonia.” Spike gritted his teeth. “I will stop you. I’ll tie you up if I have to.”

There was an embarrassed silence during which Spike guessed they were both probably thinking the same thing.

“Didn’t figure you for the cave-man type, Spike,” she said, at last. “Thought you’d be all about equal opportunities for women.”

“You want equal rights to get yourself killed?”

“If it’s what I want to do, yes.”

“Even if it hurts me too?”

It was a low blow and she recoiled from it with a panicked glance. So, naturally, he pressed home his advantage. “You get the freedom, but it comes with a bucket-load of responsibility, love. You can’t just swan around thinking of no-one but yourself.”

“Why not?” She looked genuinely surprised at his statement. “You do.”

“Did, Buffonia. As in not any more.” He raised his eyebrows.

“Oh.”

“Got you to worry about now, love. And even more so after what happened at the mall. And the thought of you out there, all alone bloody scares me to death.”

“I’m not going anywhere, but to the shower, how’s that?” she said, her tone still lightly teasing. “And I promise not to do anything stupid while I’m in there, okay?”

Every experience changes a person and she was growing up right in front of his eyes. And she’d carry on increasing in confidence and strength until one day, she’d be his equal, he had no doubt about that. There was one area though where he way ahead of her, and it was the only way he could think of to knock the smug little smile off her face and make her understand that she ought to listen to him because he knew what he was talking about.

So he kissed her. It wasn’t restrained, or polite, and it forgot all about going slow and good old fashioned courting. Sheer stubbornness kept him in human face as he crushed his mouth against hers and the battle of wills dissolved into an age-old dance. He found himself smiling against her mouth when she rose to his challenge and gave back in kind. It made him kiss her even more passionately, staying one step ahead of her so that she was breathless with trying to keep up with him. She tried though and he almost conceded defeat at one point, wanting nothing more than to bow at the feet of his brave warrior-princess and worship her. But he didn’t. This wasn’t a battle for dominance, but he did need her to hear what he had to say.

When he finally let her go she looked so dazed he thought she was going to fall down. He stepped back, with difficulty, wishing desperately that he could just hold her now, and watching her touch two fingers lightly to her lips. He wasn’t playing fair and the accusation was there, in her eyes as she gazed reproachfully up at him. She had a lot to learn, and she knew it, but he felt like the worst kind of cad for rubbing her face in it, even though he was doing it for her own good.

And he’d more than made his point so he gave in to the temptation and gathered her close. She felt lost as she clung to him and he wanted to kick himself for his heavy-handed tactlessness. He was supposed to be helping her, not acting out some Lord of the Manor fantasy.

“Sorry love, got a bit carried away there. Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Sure?”

She answered his last question with a nod against his chest and it was then that he remembered the gifts he’d bought her.

“Got you a present,” he said and picked up the bag which he’d dumped at his feet. Pressing the bag into her hands, he said, “go get your shower while I fix us something to eat, yeah? You must be starving.”

She still looked disorientated, like someone who was at the lowest point of an adrenaline crash and he had to wonder what the effects of channelling the Force were on her. That much power going through a body had to take a toll. He closed her fingers around the parcel and gently spun her around. “Go,” he said. “You’ll find a clean towel in the closet, and there’s shampoo and stuff in the shower. Go on,” he urged when she still hadn’t moved. “It’ll make you feel a whole lot better, believe me. Nothing like clean hair to cheer a body up.”

Spike waited outside his cabin door until he heard the shower powering up and then he swiftly made his way to the flight deck. Chewie was already there staring at the computer screen.

“What did you find?”

Chewie hit hard-copy and there she was, smiling back at them from the printout. Spike picked up the sheet and scanned it, the bad feeling he’d had earlier only increasing as he read. DNA coding, full description, photograph, they were all there along with the thing that would have every bounty-hunting scum this side of the universe after her.

“Shit, two-hundred and fifty million credits!”

They were both thinking the same thing, neither of them could help the brief, but tempting thought that here was the answer to their money worries for now, and for a long time into the future. The two of them shook their heads as they simultaneously rejected the idea.

And there was worse to come. Chewie pointed to the name at the bottom of the sheet.

Vampirian High Council.

Spike shook his head in disbelief. “Why do the Vampirians want her?”

Chewie suggested that they do some research.

“It’s got to do with her being a Slayer, but how? Why does the Big Poofter want Buffonia so badly that he’d pay a small fortune for her?

Chewie had already turned back to the computer.

“Find out everything you can about Slayers and Vampirians, Chewie. And let’s get the hell out of here and do that drop as quickly as we can. A reward like this is going to have every asshole this side of the galaxy after us. And the bloody Klum-Fei didn’t set up my credit line, so I couldn’t put the supply order in. Sorted us some water, and a couple of air filters, but we’ll just have to hope they pay up front when we deliver the goods.

Without lifting his head, Chewie gave a soft growl.

“Yeah, I know. Bit too near Vampiria for two reasons now, but Blue Ortega isn’t a cargo we can dump, you know that.”

Chewie didn’t answer. No use in wasting time re-stating the obvious. Spike made his way to the galley, the reward sheet in his hand and a sinking feeling in his heart. He hated it when he could feel his heart. It was the worst reminder that things were wrong. Badly wrong. Darth Angel made Jasmine look like a microbe in comparison. And if he was involved, then things were serious. Deadly serious.

Tbc…

Chapter 8

It was a pig. At least she thought it was. Buffonia stroked the soft fur amazed at how so small a thing could make her feel so much. The magnitude of the gesture was pretty overwhelming in itself. Regardless of Spike’s motives, this was the first time in her life that the thought outweighed the value of the gift itself. The first time anyone had gone out to buy a gift for her, rather than for a princess.

Mrs Gordo sat on the bed and watched Buffonia slide into the dress.

“What do you think?” Buffonia asked, treating the pig a twirl. The dress fell to the middle of her thighs and the stretchy foil-like material glittered in the glow of the cabin light. Buffonia thought she’d known luxury, but never before had she appreciated that it was simply the absence of discomfort. Never mind the king sized beds and swimming-pool sized whirlpool baths, true luxury was feeling clean after two days without a shower. It was being able to get a comb through your hair without pulling half of it out, and it was feeling like a million credits in an off-the-peg dress.

Unfortunately, the perfect pair of shoes to wear with the dress were in her closet back at the palace so it would have to be barefoot for dinner. Luckily she had enough make-up to look reasonably groomed, but even make-up was already starting to feel unnecessary. Instead of fantasising about the latest in rainbow eye-paint she was more concerned about buying herself a blaster she could handle. And maybe a leather coat like the one Spike had been wearing because he’d looked so cool in it and cloaks really were getting passé.

An image, that’s what she needed. Something that would show the galaxy she meant business, but still kept some of her softer, feminine side. Helping the helpless didn’t necessarily mean having to compromise in the fashion stakes, did it?

The last thing in the bag was a lesson in the power of simplicity. Riley had arrived with a truck-load of luminous roses. So many that they’d hurt her eyes and she’d completely missed their beauty. This one made her smile fondly and melt a little. It fitted perfectly into her hair, and, if she was honest with herself, into her heart also.

------------------------------------------

There wasn’t much in the way of human food on the ship. Spike managed to scrape together some reconstituted vegetable protein and meat-substitute, and of course there was the chocolate. Which reminded him of the last time she’d eaten chocolate, which in turn made his pants tighten uncomfortably. He dutifully started to recite the garbage- disposal procedure to himself and reached up for a packet of blood. It worked, a little, although he was almost trembling with the anticipation of seeing Buffonia in the dress.

It wasn’t the swankiest dinner-date he’d ever had, but it was the one which he suspected would stay in his mind for a long time to come. When he walked into the rec room she was waiting for him and when he saw her sitting there demurely the sight of her bare legs and dainty little feet sent such a jolt of desire through him that he nearly dropped the tray.

“You like it then?” he asked feeling surprised at the nervousness in his voice.

Her soft, dreamy smile of approval made his knees tremble.

“I love it,” she said jumping up and giving him a twirl too. Then she skipped over to him and leaned against his arm, looking up at him with the puppy dog expression she did so well. “And the pig, she’s perfect. Thank you.”

“She?”

“Mrs Gordo,” she explained. “And one day she and Mr. Gordo are gonna get together and…”

Spike put down the tray and reached out for her, sensing how adrift she was feeling. If nothing else he could be an anchor. A point of stillness for her to cling to, which made it doubly important that Jasmine didn’t get hold of him. Slipping his hand around hers, he gave it a squeeze and watched her wiping her eyes with her fingers.

“You’ll see him again,” he said softly.

“I’ll take you there, one day. To Summeria, it’s the most beautiful place.”

A slightly trembling lip was the only indication of the turmoil inside. One thing he already loved about her was her ability to set her course and keep on sailing right into whichever sunset she’d decided on. Anyone else would have bolted by now, back to the life of pampered luxury, but not Buffonia.

“Don’t think I’d be right welcome somehow,” he said with a wink. “Come on.” He put down the tray and led her to the seat, holding her hand high like a knight of old leading his lady, or someone who was leading his partner out to dance. The sudden whimsy caught him and with a flick of his wrist he pushed her away, then pulled her back in, twisting her against him so she landed with her back flat against his chest.

The breathless smile when she tipped back her head was far too inviting, so he lowered his lips and kissed her. Being upside-down it was a little awkward and when she giggled, he did it again and finished with a deep, appreciative smell of the rose. She laughed. “Eat,” he ordered, depositing her onto the bench. “What’s your pleasure, madam?”

The secret smile flitting across her lips, followed by the slight blush almost brought his demon out. It was getting easier to control, but the urge to bite her hadn’t gone away, that was only getting worse.

“Truffles and passion-flowers,” she said. “Followed by ice-cream – one of those Galactic volcanoes. Would you buy me one, one day?”

Spike slid in beside her, a cup of blood in one hand, the protein drink in the other. She wrinkled her nose, took it reluctantly from him and sniffed at the cup.

“Yuk.” She tried to give it back, but he closed her fingers around the cup and urged her to drink.

“All of it,” he said. “You’ve had hardly anything all day, I don’t want you fading away on me.”

And there was his resolute Buffonia again. Tipping back the cup and drinking down every drop while he looked on with a goofy lop-sided smile, because that’s just how she made him feel sometimes.

“Euww,” she said shaking her head and wrinkling up her features in the cutest of faces. One of her straps had slipped to expose the smooth curve of her shoulder and he couldn’t resist bending his head and pressing his lips there. Her shiver made him give in to temptation and kiss his way into the crook of her neck. She tipped her head to give him better access and her trust in him was disarming. He was, after all a Vampirian, perfectly capable, if he chose of draining her dry, something his ancestors would have done in a heartbeat. Yet, here she sat, trembling beneath him yes, but not with fear.

Her arousal was overwhelming, and when he pulled back the streak of synth blood that stained her flesh taunted him wickedly. He wiped it away with his fingers while she twisted her head to see what he’d done. “Sorry about that,” he said, almost sheepishly. Forgot I had blood on my mouth.”

Their eyes locked for a moment, both of them reading the symbolism of it. His fangs tingled and her bottom lip quivered. The vampire inside, whispered to him and the woman in front of him tilted her head and softened her gaze, almost as if she was listening. With a gentle finger he traced a line up the side of her neck, bending low to whisper in her ear. “Can’t help it, love. I really want to bite you. Never felt like this before.”

Her breathing hitched up a notch and her blood, which was already pounding a frenzied path around her body accelerated even more when she heard what he’d said. A word was forming on her lips. “No,” he said, stopping her from saying it. “Not yet, but when you’re ready, you’ll tell me?”

“I’ll ask you, Spike. One day, I will…when we…”

It was going to happen. It had always been going to happen, from the moment she’d kissed him back at the Bronze. He’d wanted her when she was the wrong sex and how he was controlling himself right now, he had no idea. Her heat was making him spin and all she was doing was sitting there, albeit with the promise of heaven in her eyes. His brain frantically scrabbled with the logistics of a detour to Aldis Three. She deserved no less than the full blown fantasy for her first time and it was worth the risk. She was worth it. But there were a few things for her to learn before they got that far.

“Turn around,” he murmured in a voice of barely controlled passion. “I think it’s time we made our way to second base.”

--------------------------------


The Empress sat idly filing her nails and sending small glances towards Darth Angel. Her fallen angel. Or so she’d thought. But then, she might have known – perfectly groomed, loved shopping, a whiz at interior design – the signs were all there, she just hadn’t cared to see them before now. And there he was, signing autographs, or giving out his private number judging by some of the looks on the bodyguards’ faces. Really, the man needed to get his priorities straight. World domination had been the simple part. Taking over the galaxy was going to require a little more concentration than was happening right now.

“Wanna go ride the Death Star?” she said standing up abruptly. “I’m bored, let’s go kill something.”

Darth looked up, but took his time obeying her command. Just a moment longer than protocol demanded. To let her know, no doubt that she couldn’t do this without him. He raised a finger, then turned back to the pretty young soldier he’d been ogling. The Empress folded her arms and counted to ten. Darth always appeared on nine. Boy did he know how to push her buttons.

But he always knew what she needed too. With a deliciously sinister smile he swept across the room towards her.

“Why the glum face, sweetie? Let Darth make it better, yeah?”

The Empress couldn’t help pouting and Darth slipped an arm around her shoulder.

“Restless, are we?”

“Oh Darth,” she said, in an anguished voice. “What if we can’t do this? What if Buffonia gets to me first?”

“There there,” he said, pulling her in close and engulfing her in his strong embrace. Powerful arms held her carefully against a wonderfully hard chest, and for a moment the Empress pretended it was all hers. Her predictable response to his nearness made him chuckle and she nearly pulled away, but it was too good to pass up, so she buried her face in his cloak and let him stroke her back.

“Shall I fetch you something to play with?” he asked.

“Would you?”

“Consider it done,” he said. “What do you fancy? Wraith demon, Saturnalian? Earthling?

“You have an earthling?” The Empress lifted her head. “Male?” She asked hopefully.”

“He is.” Darth lifted her head, tilting her chin so he could look down into her eyes. She felt a sweet, sharp rush when he did that. Dark eyes always did it for her, and his were the darkest she’d ever seen.

“Darth,” she ventured, but he stepped back, clapping his hands together, suddenly business-like.

“I’ll have him fetched,” he said with a wink. “And you can work out some of that frustration, eh? You’ll like him,” he said swaggering over to the com-link. “Just your type.”

“Oh, bring him then.” She gave a loud, resigned sigh and pulled at the ties of her cloak. “What blood group is he? Because you know I can’t stand…”

“Relax.” Darth moved across the room with liquid ease and slipped the cloak from her shoulders. “O sensitive,” he whispered close to her ear. “Your favourite.”

“What would I do without you Darth?” She leaned back. Looking up at him with genuine gratitude she rested her cheek against his glove and inhaled the fresh leather smell. She couldn’t help groaning when his fingers started digging deep into her tense shoulder muscles in a slow, sensuous massage. Being the most evil being in the galaxy was taking its toll and for a moment she wondered if mere world domination ought not be enough?

Darth read her mind. “Never,” he said in low, sultry tones. “The galaxy’s ours Most Frightening One. Now go on. Let’s practise that ritual.”

The terrified human fell to his knees, his hands clasped together, a litany of pleas for his life falling from his lips. Such a pathetic sight. The Empress glanced disdainfully down at him then pointed a finger, causing the human to shoot back across the room in a flash of bright sparks.

“Bravo, your highness.” Darth gave her an encouraging nod and stepped back. “The heart,” he said. Placing his own hand over his breast. “Have a little taste. You’ll see, it’s not that bad.

This was much more fun, she thought warming to her task. With another shower of sparks she sent the broken man careening into the wall and with a flick of her head, she changed into her vampire face, and advanced.

Darth Angel’s laughter almost drowned out the terrified man’s screams. Almost, but not quite.

-------------------------------------------

“You knew what I was doing? The other night?” Buffonia turned her face away, trying to cover her embarrassment by hiding behind her hand, but Spike wasn’t having that. He took it in his and held on, forcing her to look at him.

“Told you love, vampire senses. Can feel it all, smell it too.” Leaning forward he whispered close to her ear. “It’s driving me crazy.”

“It is?” Buffonia’s eyes widened a fraction more, a delicious shiver running through her when he took her hand to the hard evidence of exactly how crazy she was making him.

Her shaking fingers traced the hard line of him. “See what you do to me?” he said, his voice pitched low. And when nervousness got the better of her and she made to pull back, he pressed her hand down insistently again. “No, touch me,” he ordered. “Feels good. And let me do the same for you.”

Every one of her senses screamed at once when his cool fingertips walked themselves over her shoulder and slipped under the strap of the dress. Like an erratic drum beating in her chest, her heart took off and all her blood seemed to rush to one spot in her body. The strap slipped down and his hand traced a path along her collar-bones to the other one. When that slid down too, exposing fully the top-curves of her breasts, the look in his eyes caused her fingers to clench over him and a rough moan fell from his lips.

“Yes,” he hissed never losing his focus. “Just like that. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

Buffonia swallowed. What did she want? Just then she wanted it all, but her mouth was suddenly so dry that when she tried to speak all that came out was a wanton, breathy sigh.

“That’s my girl.” His laugh was low and deep. “Do you like this?”

All she could do was nod, because talking was too distracting and she was enjoying the maddeningly slow journey of his hand over her flesh far too much. When he finally released one of her breasts from the dress and covered it with his palm she found her own hand mimicking his. Softly stroking, circling and squeezing gently.

“Undo me,” he said coaxing her onwards. “And tell me what you want me to do next. Shall I kiss you?”

Yes and yes. She nodded twice and reached for the fastening of his pants with trembling hands. He leaned back to make it easier for her and released a long, deep shudder when she accidentally brushed the tip of him with her nails, growling with delight when she slipped a hesitant hand inside and raised her questioning eyes to his. This was something she should know well. Something she’d read elaborate descriptions of in her novels, yet she wasn’t at all prepared for the reality of it. She knew it would be hard, but she hadn’t realised how much that reflected the strength of his desire for her. His jaw was clenched tight, twisting in what looked like agony as her fingers travelled the length of him. And his eyes flashed yellow then returned to a rich dark blue, signifying how thin the thread of his control was right then.

“Can I see?” she asked, more turned on than she’d ever been, but genuinely curious too. Despite his rampant arousal, the soft skin felt exquisitely delicate and the anticipation of finally finding out if all the purple prose she’d read was true, was killing her.

“Help yourself, love.” Spike wriggled his pants over his hips and lay back across the bench seat, allowing her to see him in all his proud beauty.

She looked.

He smirked.

“And come here, so I can kiss you,” he said, slipping an arm around her waist.

The action brought her breasts tantalisingly close to his mouth which he took full advantage of. The brush of his lips over her nipple, followed by a feather-light sweep of his tongue caused her to jolt upright, but he bunched the material of her dress in his hand, twisted it and brought her back down to him again.

“Keep still,” he said softly, but firmly.

The gentle persuasion wasn’t necessary because she was already urging his mouth back by arching against him, and she hadn’t even realised he’d manoeuvred her onto his lap so she was now sitting astride him, a knee on each side of his hips.

“Wish you could see yourself, love,” he said in a desperate voice. “Wish we could…right now, want to…need to…”

The buzzing of the com-link startled them both, making then turn their heads and stare at it dumbly.

“Ignore it,” Spike sat up, bringing his hard length into contact with an extremely sensitive part of her and started slowly rocking against her.

Buffonia bit her lip and picked up the rhythm. Sliding her arm around his neck to bring him even closer, she tried to look at him, but he was going blurry around the edges so she leaned her head onto his chest and concentrated on her impending climax instead. Way better than her orgasminator, she thought hazily, and they hadn’t even reached the main event yet. Her breathing hitched and she threw back her head. “Together,” she whispered. “Let’s…”

The com-link buzzed again, and kept on buzzing.

Spike dropped his forehead to her shoulder, and groaned.

“Sorry sweetheart,” he said thickly. “Think I need to get that.” With a swift kiss to her mouth he reversed their positions and lowered her to the bench, taking a moment to appreciate her dishevelled state with burning eyes before hitching up his pants and raking a hand through is hair. “Don’t move from that spot, okay?”

How could she? When she didn’t have a bone left in her body? Wild banthas couldn’t have dragged her away.

“Don’t be long,” she replied, bending a knee and draping an arm over the top of her head. With her breasts still exposed and the green metallic skirt bunched high over her thighs she presented the very picture of wanton abandon. At least she hoped she did. Boy, had the Summerians got it wrong when they’d gone wholesale over to technology for their kicks. Spike wasn’t warm, but he was hot in every other way, and right now he was setting her on fire. Languidly her knees fell apart and Buffonia caught and locked Spike’s famished gaze with hers as she brought a finger to her mouth and formed a ring around it with her lips. In and out it went, while his head bobbed up and down as he followed the movement and when she removed it with a sound like a kiss and slowly slid it over the front of her hip towards the very damp patch on her panties she thought he was going to devour her there and then.

“Spikey Wikey, it’s me.”

A familiar, and extremely unwelcome voice whined at them from the com-link and in one swift movement the finger that had been on its way to heaven was being crushed in Spike’s hand. With a quick jerk that nearly popped her shoulder again he slid her from the bench and dumped her without ceremony on the floor. Then as the folds of her cloak settled over her, everything went dark.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hell, but Jasmine’s timing was immaculate. As always. Spike let go a string of curses in his mind while he scrabbled with the fastenings of his pants. There was no way he could check if the small cry Buffonia had given was because he’d hurt her or merely surprise and he hoped against hope that she wasn’t going to choose this moment to have a fit of girl power.Please stay put, he prayed. Otherwise we’re all dead.

Jasmine gave a giggle when she saw what he was doing, and from somewhere he found a smile for her.

“Did I catch you pleasuring yourself, Spike?” she crooned.

“Uhh, yeah.”

“Were you thinking of me?”

“Dead right sweetcakes.” He sat at the console, deceptively nonchalant with one arm draped over the back of the chair and stuck his tongue between his teeth. “So, my little honey-bun. What can I do for you?”

“You really think you’re the god’s gift to all womankind, don’t you Spike?”

Her tone was suddenly cooler and Spike sat up, thrown by the statement, but not missing the dangerous change in her demeanour. Hell, she knew, and all hell was about to break loose.

“Where is she, Spike?”

“I can explain…”

Jasmine’s voice climbed a few octaves. “I said where is she!” Her face loomed at him, filling the whole screen as she leaned forward, almost as if she was trying to see past him. “You were seen on Moss Iseley with a woman. An attractive woman. And don’t you dare tell me she was your mother.”

It had been on the tip of his tongue, but wisely he managed to choke the words off.

“She’s nothing sweetie, just a fare-paying passenger, no more. You know I need the money.” Spike could feel his heart starting a slow, heavy thudding, and in response, his blood started to move around his body. Get a grip,” he thought desperately trying to fend off the light-headed feeling that always caused. This is not the time for panic.

“Don’t you sweetie me, you filthy Araldusian rat-faced dog. You’re dead,” Jasmine jabbed a finger at him and screamed, her voice so high now, it was almost a sonic whisper. “She’s dead. I’m going to put a bounty on you so high that even your mother will want to turn you in. You…”

Spike could see that it was actually the perfect time to panic. With a quick flick of the wrist he closed down the screen. Jasmine was cut off in mid-rant and a thick, heavy silence descended on the rec room. Spike sat, frozen to the spot, Jasmine’s final words rolling over and over in his mind and it was Buffonia who moved first. Peeking out from under her cloak with eyes that were initially frightened, then clouding over with concern when she saw his almost catatonic state.

He could do nothing more than stare at her bare breasts as she moved towards him and he had an insane urge to cry loudly and wildly when she circled her arms around his neck and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“We need to go steal a hyperdrive board,” she said matter-of-factly.

All the tension he’d been holding was released in the short bark of laughter that split through the tension in the room. Bloody fate, he thought, pulling her round and onto his lap. The familiar smell of his shower gel clung to her skin and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face between her breasts and stay there forever. They were going to die, both of them. Horribly. So he might just as well die here.

Bloody hell, every time he found something, every time it got good, it was snatched away from him. He wanted to save her, but all he was doing was putting her in more danger. She’d have done better going off and taking her chances out there in the big, bad universe after all. He’d thought going after monsters in the dark was what was going to get her killed, but it wasn’t. It was going after him.

“Shh,” she said, threading her fingers into his hair, her green eyes gently understanding. “We’ll get through this. Look at what a good team we made back in the mall? The Tarrakan couldn’t take us, and Jasmine won’t either.”

When he wouldn’t look at her, because he didn’t want to shatter her illusions with the truth of the matter, she took his chin and tilted his head up, forcing him to face her.

“Where were we?” she said with a wriggle of her shoulders that caused her breasts to bounce lightly. Placing his hand on the curve of one of them she said, “We were just getting to the best part, I think?”

They were, he thought miserably. And he wasn’t talking sex then. This was so much more than that. This was about, he hesitated to use the word, but it was no use denying that he’d already fallen in love with her.

“Yes pet.” The words sounded heavy and weary because that’s how he felt. When he touched her, all he could think about was that every time he did it from now on, it could be the last time. Part of him wanted to take her there and then. Get as deep inside her as he could, bite her and claim her. Bind her so tightly she’d never get away from him, ever. The other part of him, the more rational part knew that the best thing he could do was let her go. There was a good chance Jasmine didn’t know who she was and Buffonia could probably do a good job of disappearing. That left him with the job of luring Jasmine and the bounty hunters off her trail. Leading them a merry dance while Buffonia got away. Or he could just turn her over to the Watcher-guy. The Jedi would look after her, keep her safe from the gangster’s clutches.

“Make love to me,” she whispered, her breath hot and moist against his ear. “Come inside me, I want you to be the first.”

He wanted to be too. The first and the last. The always and forever. He’d never wanted anything so much before, but he couldn’t have made love to her that moment if his life had depended on it. All his raging physical desire for her had been replaced by the simple need to hold on to her while he struggled with the torment of what he had to do to keep her safe.

--------------------------------------------

He could taste it. Sharp and bitter, his lust for revenge almost choked him now that he was nearing his ultimate goal. The man who’d killed his mother was in his sights. All he had to do was reach out and take him.

Wood looked at his clenched fist in fascination, imagining it around Spike’s neck while he squeezed and the Vampirian spluttered and choked. He’d no doubt claim there’d been some terrible case of mistaken identity. It was a well-worn tune, and one Wood had heard many times before. A quick glance at the console told him the Millenium Bug was still within his radar so he flicked the ship to auto and went to check out the weapons systems. Taking a ship in space without blowing it up was a risky manoeuvre, but disabling it enough so that it had to make land-fall would be no problem. Wood already knew all the vulnerable spots. A sonic charge to the air-filter outlets would do it. Loss of pressure would be slow, but significant enough to panic them into landing. And he’d be waiting for them.

Back in his cabin Wood flopped down on his bunk and reached over for the hand-held screen. With a flick he brought up the very interesting item that had been all over the intergalactic net like a rash the moment it had been released. Someone had hacked the bounty hunter code and posted a picture of one Princess Buffonia, wanted by the Imperial Vampirian High Council no less. No wonder the Jedi was after her. Probably wanted to get his greedy mitts on the vast reward they were offering for her.

Damn, he thought irritably. He’d paid good money for access to the special code only bounty hunters used, but it had been worth it because that’s where the best remuneration was. It was where all the big players were and now every jerk this side of the two suns were going to be after her. Getting in the way of those who’d earned the right to those big rewards. Bounty hunters who respected each other and understood that a fait accompli was just that. Once the prey was in hand no-one messed with you and you could expect a clear run to pick up your reward. But with these amateurs about it was going to turn into a free-for-all. Buffonia would probably got through four, maybe five hands before they got her back to Vampiria, either by theft, or by trade.

Pretty little thing she was too. He cocked his head and took in the long, blonde hair and liquid green eyes, but squashed down the instant reaction he’d had to her. Years of practiced detachment made him able to look at her lusciously pouting lips and see only a huge pile of credits. And at that price, Darth Angel would want her intact. Spike, on the other hand was a different matter. Jasmine wouldn’t care what state he arrived in, as long as he arrived alive. Which he would. Barely.

Wood thought that maybe he’d take them both to Jasmine, use her as an intermediary for half the bounty on Buffonia. Would save a trip to Vampiria and kill two birds with one stone.

He flicked the screen back to check on the progress of the Millenium Bug. It had been on a trajectory that would bring it dangerously close to Vampiria, which puzzled him somewhat, but now he could see they’d changed course and seemed to be heading for the Aldis cluster . A cold smile raised the corners of his mouth. Even better, he hadn’t relished the thought of going too near Vampiria himself.

And there was the Jedi Watcher-class ship, plodding along behind them. Wood’s smile grew broader as he swung his legs over the side of the bunk and indulged in a satisfying stretch. He walked into the cockpit scratching his stomach and looking forward to the long overdue vacation he’d promised himself when this was all over. With this kind of money under his belt it was going to be nothing but wine, women and song for the foreseeable future.

With a crack of his knuckles, he slid into the pilot’s seat and concentrated. The navi- computer had been plotting all the ships following the same course, filtering out one by one those which deviated. That left him a readout of three – the Principal, the Jedi Ship, and….what the fu….?

The Bug had gone. Disappeared clear from the radar. Wood’s hands flew over the controls, his face twisting into an angry mask.

Access denied. Please try later.

God’s blood, someone was blocking his tracking device. He tried again, cursing out loud for underestimating Spike. He was a Vampirian, after all even if he showed little allegiance to his home planet. A quick re-route of the scanners brought up a crackle of interference, but when it cleared, still there was nothing.

With a howl of rage he grabbed the controls and put the ship into overdrive, knowing that if he didn’t catch up with them before they’d changed their course then they might disappear for good.

“Lock in on all possibly deviations from last know course,” he barked at the computer. Then he strapped himself in feeling the familiar rush starting. Good motivation and a bucket-load of adrenaline were exactly the right combination to get the job done. He’d come too far to let them get away now.

-------------------------------------------------


O B wasn’t one for smugness. Not normally anyway, it was a trait considered most un-jedi-like, but just this once he indulged himself. With a satisfied smile, he leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers and closed his eyes. It had been a close call with Wood, but the disaster had been averted. Oh, he could have Spike, but not yet. O B concentrated.

Wood had been successfully diverted onto a wild goose chase and The Bug was on its way to the Aldis cluster, possibly to pick up supplies. Then the Blue Ortega needed delivering to its destination, and there was only one place that was going. O B tutted to himself. Blue Ortega, of all things. The risk Spike was taking in carrying that spoke of his desperation more eloquently than his mad-cap chase across space with a runaway princess in tow.

And that brought his thoughts to Princess Buffonia. If her behaviour to date was anything to go by she was going to be a phenomenal Slayer, once he got her to truly understand that her calling wasn’t a request from the Powers-that-Be, it was a command. One she couldn’t ignore.

“Buffonia,” he murmured, bringing a picture of her to his mind. “Listen to me.”

The Slayer-Watcher bond stretched like a thread through the Force and across space. “You have a job to do, it can’t be ignored. Your planet needs you, Buffonia. The Galaxy needs you. There is no self any more, only duty.”

Waves of panic hit him, telling him his message had been received. And that it was being rejected in the strongest way possible, just as he’d predicted. The drugs would subdue her once he had her, but getting her was the trick. And what better way than to use her own emotional weakness and inexperience against her? She was confused and misguided and Spike was planning something, O B couldn’t quite get a handle on what the Vampirian was up to, but either way it spelled disaster for the galaxy.

“Buffonia,” he whispered. “He’s not what he seems. The evidence is there, you just need to look for it. And then you need to join me in fulfilling your destiny.”


----------------------------------------

Buffonia jolted out of her daze and looked round to see who’d spoken. She stared in confusion when she saw that except for her, the rec room was empty.

“Spike?” He should be up front with Chewie checking on a ship that seemed to be tailing them and he hadn’t returned. The voice came again and she clamped her hands over her ears.

“Go away,” she said in a shaky voice. “Who are you?”

It was creepy. The voice seemed to exist both inside and outside her head. A blinding pain streaked through her eyes and a terrible sense of panic welled up deep in her chest. She made it to the door and into the corridor, but before she got to the flight deck it came again, stopping her in her tracks outside Spike’s cabin.

Whatever it was the voice wanted her to see, was in there and when she closed her eyes again and tried to deny it, a hologram of her Watcher appeared in her mind. “No,” she said determinedly to the stern looking face. “Leave me alone. I won’t.”

“You need to see, Buffonia. What he really is. What he’s really after. Go in.”

It was impossible not to, of course. Once the seed of doubt had been planted it was inevitably going to grow. She justified going in by telling herself that she needed to change because Jasmine’s last communication had put them on battle alert and the last thing Jasmine needed to see was her within touching distance of Spike, looking like this. Buffonia walked into the cabin, swiftly taking in the fact that it was empty and contemplated cutting off her hair, and anything else she could do to make herself look ugly and plain. Then perhaps Jasmine would see that she wasn’t a threat after all, and go easy on Spike?

It was a small hope. Sliding down the straps of the dress, she wriggled out of it and let it pool into a heap on the floor, while her eyes scanned the room. She was supposed to be looking for something, and all her instincts screamed that she wasn’t going to like it and to leave well alone. But the voice in her head urged her on with cryptic messages which she couldn’t ignore.

“I’ll prove you wrong,” she said out loud. “Just watch me”

Grabbing her pants she yanked them on, then reached for her undershirt. The drawer. Something she needed to see was in the drawer under the bunk. The voice told her, all her instincts screamed it at her and, before she could stop herself, she was across the room, yanking it open. It was stuffed full of clothes which she pulled out in a frenzy now, in her efforts to prove the Watcher wrong. She knew what he was up to, and it wasn’t going to work. Was it?

At the bottom of the pile, neatly folded, she found the print-out.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she said, her eyes blurring with tears. “It’s not what you think.”

“Isn’t it?” The Watcher answered, silkily persuasive. “The answer to all his problems, Buffonia. It’s there in your hands.”

Two hundred and fifty million credits. She stared at it again, only now realising that this was what the Tarrakan had been after. But was Spike after it too?

“I don’t believe, it,” she said, louder this time. “He wouldn’t do this.”

“Because you know him so well after, what, two days?” The Watcher’s voice, heavily laced with sarcasm filtered confidently through her jumbled thoughts. Thoughts which couldn’t help running on to their logical conclusion. She was the answer to Spike’s prayers, but not in the way she’d imagined. If the Watcher was right.

“Why do the Vampirians want me so badly?” She couldn’t help asking that question, much as she didn’t want to hear the answer. “Is it to do with me being the Slayer?”

“Meet me,” the Watcher said. ”I’m a sunrise behind you, but wait for me on Aldis Three, and I’ll explain everything.”

Lesson the first. Beware of handsome blue-eyed strangers with silver tongues? Or go with her heart and use this damned curse of a Force to see the truth of the matter?

“I’ll get back to you,” she told the disembodied voice. And with that resolution came another leap forward in her journey to who she really was. The panic and doubt disappeared to be replaced with a strength of purpose that surprised even her.

“May the Force be with me.” she chanted, and left the cabin to go look for Spike.”

-------------------------------------------


“Are we there yet?”

Riley blinked up at the soldier standing by his bunk.”

“We’ll let you know when we catch up with them,” the soldier replied patiently. “I was just bringing you something to eat.”

“Thank you.” Riley yawned and threw back the bed-coverings. Space travel wasn’t proving to be so bad after all, once he’d got over his initial nerves. Nice and boring actually, which suited him fine. He reached for a slice of fruit.

“Did I ask you if we were there yet?”

“You did, your majesty and we’ll be sure to tell you when we are.”

“So,” Riley said chewing vigorously. “Where exactly is there?”

“We don’t know yet,” the soldier replied. “But we’re following up all leads, all reported sightings. Don’t worry, we will catch her for you.”

“Good.” Riley attacked his breakfast with relish happy in the knowledge that soon Princess Buffonia would be back where she belonged. And this time he was going to make sure she stayed there. Possibly in a locked tower with an armed guard around it since he was beginning to suspect that she was a determined sort of girl.

He yawned and pushed back the tray. “So, are we there yet?” he said, lying down again and drifting back off to sleep.

----------------------------------------------

The Bug swung effortlessly around, pivoting on its front end as they brought it into landing position. Buffonia stood behind Spike, hands resting lightly on his shoulders, noticing how well he and Chewie worked together. Spike acknowledged the request to await co-ordinates for the landing sequence, then leaned back into her embrace.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered nodding towards the looming shape of Aldis Three. “Are the moons always that colour?”

“Mostly,” Spike replied tipping his head to rub his cheek on her hand. “Except during a particle storm, when you really can’t see them. But that’s rare.”

Chewie chipped into the conversation at that point and Spike laughed at his comment.

“What did he say?” Buffonia asked looking from one to the other.

Spike didn’t actually blush, but she felt the slight change in his skin texture as he explained it to her.

“It’s the honeymoon capital of the galaxy. Kind of got this whole romantic thing going. Very cheesy. You know, hotels with heart-shaped beds and all that.”

An edge of regret shone through the flippancy of the words and Buffonia cleared her mind and listened carefully. The Force was giving her small glimpses of a man struggling with a decision, but she was having trouble holding it for long enough to work out what that decision was. Although it was to do with her, she had no doubt about that.

“Strap yourself in,” he said giving her hand a squeeze. “Those are the landing co-ordinates coming through. It’s a quick in and out though, don’t want that ship to pick up our tail again. God-damn bounty hunters coming at us from every which way at the moment. And the last thing we want is to lose our cargo.”

Then why are we here? she thought, moving to her seat and thinking how disturbing this Force business was. Having her mind invaded was bad enough, but picking up such strong emotions from others was equally as upsetting. It was coming off him in waves now, panic, regret, longing, anger, all tangled together in a knot of inner turmoil. Two hundred and fifty million dollars dangling in front of someone’s eyes would do that to them.

She should really be begging him not to land. Telling him to deliver the Blue Ortega and get them away from here. Crying would do it, she’d seen how strong his reaction to tears was. The Watcher said he’d be waiting, on Aldis Three, and the Gods, knew who else.

Buffonia flicked Spike another covert glance. This trust thing was hard too. In the blink of an eye she’d gone from naïvely placing herself in Spike’s hands without a second thought, to realising that the Watcher had been right. She didn’t really know Spike at all, nor what his motives truly were. This trip to Aldis three, when they should be concentrating on supplying the ship and high-tailing it out of there, was folly in itself. Not a logical course of action at all. Unless he had a very good reason for taking her there. One which she fervently hoped didn’t involve handing her over to a contingent of Imperial Vampirian Stormtroopers.

“So.” Her tone was deliberately light and teasing. “Apart from it being the love capital of the galaxy, what’s so special about this place? Are you going to pick up a hyperdrive board here?”

“Just wanted you to see it, is all,” Spike mumbled, not meeting her eye. “Gonna be a long time before we come this way again.”

Someone needed a hug, she didn’t have to use the Force to tell her that. Chewie looked up too, tilted his head and gazed thoughtfully at Spike who was now absorbed in programming the computer for the landing. Chewie hadn’t questioned this rather eccentric detour and seemed quite happy that Spike would have a very good reason for wanting to be here.

Her hand strayed to the printout which she’d shoved into her pocket. She still hadn’t worked out why he’d hidden it, or the true reason they were here. All she could do was go with her gut instinct and trust that he’d never do anything to hurt her. And hope she was right.

Tbc…

Chapter 9

“It’s magical.”

“Knew you’d like it.”

“I do, Spike. Thanks for bringing me here.” Buffonia twirled slowly around. “Is this light on the stones reflected from the moons?”

“Yeah, means it’s a bit safer for me too. Chemical structure makes them absorb the moon-glow and when the conditions are right you get this sort of trans-functional particle exchange that…oh heck, don’t get me started on that. We’ll be here all night.”

Spike sat himself down beside her on the weathered stones of the old city and pulled her close. Her head dropped spontaneously onto his chest and for a while neither of them spoke. The inner turmoil was still there, but Spike thought he’d probably managed to mask it well. At his feet was his back-pack which he’d filled with Buffonia’s things and now all he had to do was make that decision. Only now they were here and the time had come, it wasn’t nearly so cut and dried.

The more he thought about it, the more he realised the best option would be to hand her over to the Jedi-Watcher. Weird guy, he undoubtedly was, but Watchers were supposed to look after their Slayers. Buffonia would have the whole of the Jedi order to keep her safe from the Vampirians and as long as Jasmine didn’t find out who she was she’d be as safe as she ever could be.

Of course, if he did that Buffonia would never speak to him again.

“Are you thinking about Jasmine?”

“Yeah.” He shifted her closer and she slid an arm around his back and grabbed a handful of his coat, almost as if she knew what he was thinking. Bloody hell, he’d known it was going to be hard, but this was tearing him in two. What the hell should he do? The right thing? Or the going out together in the poetic blaze of glory thing?

“We can beat her, Spike. I’m getting stronger every day, I can feel it. Told you, she’s not coming anywhere near you.”

Legendary lovers who’d face death rather than be parted. Standing proudly together against whatever hideous end Jasmine had in store for them. The poem was already half-formed in his mind. Buffonia would be magnificent, of course. He could already see her, chin tilted defiantly, her hand in his.

Spike’s mind backtracked a little. Lovers? Damn, now they wouldn’t even be that. He could hardly make love to her, then leave her, could he? How would that look? His com-link buzzed.

“Chewie?” The Wookie’s familiar growls sounded with the news he’d been waiting for. The Watcher was less than a sunrise away, dead on course for Aldis three. Spike listened with an uncomfortably sinking heart, ignoring Chewie’s concern, and made his decision.

“So,” Buffonia said running a fingernail down his chest. “D’you want to carry on from where we left off?”

“Huh?”

Buffonia hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him down so she that her lips tickled his ear. “Make love to me,” she said in a breathy whisper. “Here. Now.”
To back up her words her hand travelled slowly down to the front of his jeans and began to stroke and squeeze him lightly. After a few moments she stopped. “Oh,” she said sitting up and looking at him with a frown. “You don’t want to make love to me?”

“Yeah, I want to make love to you.”

“Good,” she purred and reached for his pants once more. They both stared down at her hand, Buffonia in puzzlement and Spike with something akin to desperation. This was a hell of a time to suddenly be unable to perform, although it was probably for the best he thought, with a growing sense of resignation.

“You want to make love to me, but what?” Her hand moved to his face and carefully turned it towards her. “It’s not just Jasmine, is it?”

Not the eyes, please, not the eyes, he thought frantically. Those eyes would melt the ice-caps of Caragon if she looked at them like that. He closed his so he wouldn’t have to gaze into them, but Buffonia wasn’t about to give up on him. Her warm breath on his face told him how close her lips were and when she started to kiss him he found himself obeying her unspoken command and kissing her back.

And this time it was a command. She wasn’t asking, or pleading as she had been that first time at the Bronze. And she wasn’t merely following his lead either. This was Buffonia kissing him and telling him in no uncertain terms she wanted to be kissed back. Coaxing him on with small butterfly kisses at first, both hands holding his face now. Gradually deepening them until she had him clinging to her as if his very life depended on it, He’d always known she’d be someone who wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted. And he’d have given her anything, willingly, no question about that, only he wasn’t going to be there.

The pads of her thumbs rested lightly on his cheeks, rubbing small circles over the bones, and he kissed her goodbye with all the love he could pour into it. The moment where he suddenly took control startled her, but after only a moment’s hesitation she opened her mouth and let him in, as if she knew that this was the closest he could manage just now. It was awkward as well as frantic, because they were both trying to say different things and when they finally broke away from each other she kept on holding his face.

“You really are worried, aren’t you?” She said it as if she was only just seeing the truth of the matter. As if up to this point he’d been invincible and she was only just realising that he was as vulnerable as she was. Real fear clouded her features for the briefest of moments. Fear for herself, or for him he couldn’t tell. Probably a combination of both, he thought wiping a hand across his eyes and feeling ashamed that he couldn’t be superman for her after all.

“You don’t want to be around me right now, love. Jasmine wasn’t joking.”

“I’m not scared of her Spike.”

“Well, you bloody well should be. I am.” He couldn’t look at her because just then everything was on show and it made him feel pathetic.

“Then it’s a good job you met me.” Her lips touched his again, this time more for comfort than anything. They moved across his face in small, light steps, ending one on each downcast eyelid.

“You should go with your Watcher. He’ll keep you safer than I can.”

“No I shouldn’t. I want to go with you, Spike.”

There was an edge of panic in her voice now, and hell, this was cruel. Love her or leave her, he told himself. You can’t have it both ways. Can’t, maybe, but he wanted it. Desperately. Wanted to see her safe. Wanted to keep her close. Wanted her to still think fondly of him after he’d promised her the galaxy, then dumped her with the very person she was running away from.

“You really want me to go with him?”

Hell, there was only one way this was going to work. Somehow he managed to get the patented smirk onto his face. His hand lifted to caress her cheek. And somehow he managed a voice. “It’s been fun,” he said with a wink. “But you know how it is; all good things must come to an end.”

“I thought…” Her eyes did a quick scan of his face and he saw shock, quickly dissolve into disbelief. “No,” she said shaking her head. “I know what you’re doing, Spike, and it isn’t going to work.” Pointing to her chest she said, “you’re looking at the most stubborn person in the galaxy here. And you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“He’s not more than a sunrise away. You should be safe here, just stay put and he’ll know where to find you.” Spike was going to get up at that point, and stride manfully away, but she had hold of his coat again, and he couldn’t move. So he wriggled out of it and left her sitting there with the soft leather draped across herself where it had landed. “I can’t protect you. Buffonia. And you have no idea what Jasmine will do to you if she gets her hands on you.”

Buffonia hadn’t moved, neither did she give any indication that she’d heard him. Instead she stared at the coat, which she was still clutching in a death-grip, as if it held all the answers to her problems. Then he heard her mutter something and throw it down onto the stones beside her.

“I know about the reward, Spike. Is that what this is all about?” She stood and faced him, one hand on her hip, the other waving toward the entrance to the ruins. “So what? I’m supposed to sit here like a sacrificial lamb and wait for the storm-troopers to come get me? Is that how it goes? Can’t say I blame you. Cash is going to solve your problems a heck of a lot better than I can.”

He stared in shock at the printout she’d produced from her pocket and was now waving in his face. With a flourish she dropped it at his feet and folded her arms. “You had me going for a while there, Spike. But I’m learning fast, thanks for the lesson. I’ll be sure to remember it.”

His first reaction was one of confusion. That she should even entertain the thought of him turning her over to the Vampirians. After all they’d been through? But then again, why the hell shouldn’t she think he was selling her out? The damning evidence was lying between them and he had to admit, it didn’t look good.

It quickly gave way to anger and indignation and even though his best instincts were still telling him to walk away and stick to his original plan there was no way he could leave her like this. It was beyond him, he knew, but he did want it all. Wanted her to remember him. Wanted her to pine for him after he’d gone. Wanted her to realise he was doing this for her own good, and that alone. Because he sure as hell wasn’t doing what was best for him.

“Is that what you think?” He mirrored her stance, trying to look as stern as she did standing there with her fists clenched and her green eyes blazing. “You really believe I’d cash you in for that huge reward?”

Her only response was an arch of her eyebrows and a slight nod towards the paper at his feet. “Okay,” he admitted, palms forward, “doesn’t look good. But.” He took a step towards her, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I would never, ever sell you out to the Vampirians. No matter what they offered.”

There was relief in her eyes, even though she hardly moved a muscle in response. Vampire senses picked up the carefully exhaled breath and the slight hitch in her heartbeat. The way her muscles tensed, then let go. “Do you really think I would have?” he continued, because he never did know when to shut up. “All I want is for you to be safe.”

“You’re a Vampirian, Spike.”

“Yeah, but a poor excuse for one. Always have been.”

That got a bit of a smile. The corners of her mouth twitched momentarily before she mentally re-grouped.

“You won’t leave me.”

“I will if I have to.”

“Then you’ll always be left wondering.”

He frowned. “Wondering what?”

“Oh, you know,” she said breezily. “What it would have been like to make love to me.” She tilted her head and ran her finger along the exposed line of her neck. “What my blood tastes like.”

“Stop,” he growled lifting his hands and backing away. “I’m not going to stand and watch Jasmine rip you limb from limb just because I can’t control…” Bugger, the tingling in his gums signalled the start of a major vamp-out, and there she was humming to herself now while her finger continued to caress her neck and throat. The other hand was starting on the buttons of her shirt and his resolve was slipping fast, so he did the only thing he could do to save the situation. He turned on his heels and ran away.

----------------------------------

Damnation, she was supposed to be the most stubborn person in the galaxy, but heck, Spike was giving her a run for her money here. And a clean pair of heels. It had been a long walk out to the ruins, but at this rate he was going to be back at the Bug and away before she could catch him. Without thinking, her mantra was on her lips.

“May the Force be with me,” she said, as determinedly as she could. Using her gift to catch errant boyfriends possibly wasn’t what the Powers-that-be had in mind when they’d bestowed it on her and her Watcher would probably had a whole litter of Kitty-Kats if he saw her now. But the hell she was going to watch Spike just run away from her. One thing she had learned from her romantic novels was that true love was something worth fighting for, and running after, and holding on to. And how was she ever going to know if this was true love is she just stood here and watched him disappear from her life?

A club would have been handy right now, she thought, taking off after him. To knock some sense into that stubborn, platinum blond and obviously very intelligent, but at the same time, rather dumb head of his. A flash of the way his eyes had darkened when they’d been fooling around in the rec room made her falter momentarily before she steeled herself once more. No, not fooling around, it had definitely been more than that. And it could be more than that, if only he’d stop with all this noble crap.

There was a mild look of alarm on his face when he turned and saw how much she was gaining on him. And she was nothing short of amazed at the way her feet were flying over the ground. This force really was something else. When he ducked behind an outcrop of rocks she stood very still, and listened, turning her head this way and that until she picked up the tell-tale tingle on the back of her neck. He’d vamped out, she could tell that much, probably to help him run faster, but Slayers were designed to catch vampires. At one time it had been their reason for being and she could feel it now. The ancient legacy of her calling vibrating through every cell in her body. She knew exactly where he was, when he moved and even felt the accelerated heartbeat that betrayed his distress better than anything. Slowly she moved towards the rocks and flattened herself against them.

The big problem was, of course, that if she was super-aware of him, he was exactly the same with her. They were both hunting machines, designed to skilfully track down their prey and he could move as silently as a ghost when he wanted to. She hadn’t quite mastered that skill yet. The crunch of a twig beneath her feet made them both jump, so she held her breath and waited for him to make the next move. A terribly inappropriate urge to giggle mixed with a small thread of hysteria caught her off guard and she stopped for a moment to gather herself.

If she wasn’t mistaken, he was on the other side of the rock and they were circling in an endless loop right now. She reined in her hysteria and changed direction.

They both screamed when she ran smack-bang into his chest and before he could react she had by him fast by his shirt.

“Take me with you,” she said abandoning any attempts to be calm and rational about this, as he’d tried to be. Why couldn’t he see that the thought of going anywhere with crazy stalker guy was infinitely more frightening than any threats Jasmine made? Spike backed up, in human face again, startled eyes fixed on her hands where they were clutching his shirt and she pushed him against the rock and hung on.

“Buff,” he started.

The word was cut off by her mouth planted firmly over his. Using his shirt as leverage she pushed him further into the ruined wall and kissed him with all the ferocity she’d used back in the Bronze. By fair means or foul, he was taking her with him and she was going to use every trick in the book to make sure that happened. Unfortunately her book of tricks had a very short list in it. Fortunately though, this one seemed to be working just fine. Spike’s arms went up, first in a gesture of surrender as she continued to grind her lips against his, then finally, one snaked around her waist and pulled her in hard against him lifting her clear from the ground.

She realised that at some point he must have turned her around, but it didn’t matter that the rock was scraping at her back, because he was still kissing her and she never wanted him to stop. Together they lost their balance and tumbled onto a bed of sweet scented moss, the air leaving her lungs in a rush as he landed on top of her. She broke the kiss long enough to inhale a long shuddering breath, then once again found his now-desperate mouth.

The whole galaxy faded away under the onslaught of their passion until all that was left was him. His lips crushing hers. His body blocking out the moonlight. The welcome weight of him and the tangy taste of him. Before she’d been aware of the rush of water tumbling over the stones, of birdsong and of the breeze rustling the leaves on the trees, but now the only sounds were his low throaty growls and the soft sigh of her surrender.

-----------------------------------------

Okay, decision made. Not the one they should be making, but the hell with that. Doing the right thing was for boring, old people. True, that if they did this they were never going to get to grow old, but they’d never be boring either. Wasn’t a short life full of poetry, and this, better than a long monotone of an existence? Heck, he’d gladly die tomorrow if he could have just one day doing this with her.

Her hands were everywhere, giving him all the encouragement he needed. Not that he could have stopped himself now without great difficulty. This was like a dam bursting with a torrent of UST pounding over the breach. The fastenings of his shirt scattered as she ripped it open and without leaving her mouth he pulled it off and threw it down. His hands got to work on her pants, tangling with hers when she tried to help him. With a shockingly loud sound that split the air between them they tore open and hepushed them down her legs.

“Spike,” she gasped, and for a moment sanity returned and they both stopped and stared at each other. The moment frozen, the two of them hovering on the brink of the inevitable. If they did this now, there would be going back. This was it, forever.

Spike jerked his head, brought down his fangs, and waited.

Another small hesitation while her anxious eyes scanned his yellow ones, telling him how serious this was. Her gaze dropped to his fingers, which were slowly and methodically opening his pants, and back to his face. A very small hint of a smile hovered over her lips and, with a delicate arch of her neck and a shifting of her hips, she offered herself to him.

Spike was caught between weeping with relief and screaming with happiness, either of which would match the sweet irony of the moment. He did neither because somewhere from deep inside him instinct was taking over. Yes, he’d read about claiming rituals on the cult websites, but it hadn’t meant anything until now. Now it was all falling into place with startling clarity, chasing away any lingering threads of doubt and he felt himself slip easily into autopilot.

A Vampirian and a Slayer? This had to be a first. Probably went against every cosmic law there was. But it couldn’t be wrong when she felt so wonderfully right lying beneath him, could it?

The fangs ached in a way they never had before, almost as if her blood was calling to him and even if she said no he knew he still was going to bite her and make her his. This was out of both of their hands now.

“Say you’ll be mine,” he whispered urgently. Say it.”

“I will Spike,” she replied, just as urgently, all the while pushing up against his hard length in an attempt to get him insider her.

“No,” he said, stilling her with all the strength of will he could muster, “you have to say the words. Say, I’ll be yours.”

“You’ll be mine, Spike, you’ll be mine.”

“No,” he growled in frustration. “Say, I’ll be yours. The actual words.”

“Oh, sorry.” Buffonia’s eyes widened in apology. Then will you make love to me?”

“Gonna make love to you till you can’t see straight. Say it.”

“I’m yours, Spike, all yours.”

The moment she started speaking he sank his hard length into her and promptly exploded with his release. How he’d managed to hold off this long without coming in his pants, he had no idea, but then a lot of things had surprised him in the last few days. Buffonia gave a sharp cry and he was vaguely aware of her screwing up her eyes as she rode out the pain and adjusted to him.

“Say it again,” he commanded her, lisping the words through his fully extended fangs. Making love fully vamped out was something he’d never done before and it was hard to control the impulse to sink his fangs into her flesh and slake a thirst such as he’d never known before while emptying himself inside her. Instead he let himself be guided by her hand, which was hooked around his own neck and looked deep into her trusting eyes. Trust she placed in him not to suck her dry as his ancestors might have.

“Buffonia?” This was her last chance to back out. The look in her eyes had calmed the blood-lust a little and returned him some control. Now if she said no he’d just have to die of disappointment, but she’d be safe from him. She’d always be safe with him.

“I’m going to, going to…”

“I know,” she whispered against his cheek. “Should I say the words when you do it?”

Just hearing her acceptance made him hard again. He thrust gently and felt her shudder around him. “Yes, please, I want you to.”

“Okay.” With a little nod she pulled him down, but again he lifted his head, unable to do this until he was sure.

“You want this too?”

“I’ll. Be. Yours.” She punctuated each one of his thrusts with a word and he wasted no more time. Even though he was as gentle as he could be, given that he was biting her, she jerked sharply and seemed to be both fighting him off and pulling him to her at the same time when he pierced her skin with his teeth. But still she kept saying the words, and they went straight to his head and made him dizzy with delight? Ecstasy? He didn’t have a word for how he was feeling just then.

She was fighting for breath because he was holding her too hard, his arms locked tight about her, but he couldn’t have let go if he’d wanted to and each mouthful of blood he took was accompanied by a groan as his thrusts fell in time with his mouth.

His. The word rolled over and over in his mind along with primitive, dark thoughts of possession and surrender. And a strange, wonderful and totally unexpected sensation of freedom and knowing. As if he’d found something he’d been searching for all his life, and, although he’d bound himself to her, he felt more free than he’d ever done.

Everything was new. Fresh, warm blood straight from the source, covering his lips and coursing through his own veins was something he’d never experienced before. Her wide, startled eyes told him what a sight he must look when he let go, and it made him wipe it away with the back of his hand, self conscious for a moment at the way he’d so blatantly revelled in it.

“Your turn now,” he mumbled, remembering that she would have to drink from him too, because this was a bonding, not an enslavement.

“I don’t think I can…” She shook her head, obviously horrified at the thought of having to bite him.

“Oh.” Disappointment brought him crashing back to earth after the great emotional flight he’d just been on. She couldn’t. Wouldn’t? He found himself reaching for her in panic. If she didn’t then this wasn’t going to work. He wanted to be her equal, not her master.

“It’s alright,” she said wriggling her head free. Her hand stilled his. “I want to. I just don’t think I can bite you. Is there another way?”

“I don’t know, it has to be my blood. What if I?” Raising his arm he rested his fangs against the inside of his arm. Maybe the biting part was optional? Without a second thought he bit down hard and thrust his bleeding wrist against her mouth. The feel her lips latching onto his slick flesh propelled him straight into another orgasm. He’d almost forgotten they were making love, and he’d completely forgotten that only a few moments ago she’d still been a virgin. With another roar he emptied himself inside her, almost losing his balance as he propped himself up on one elbow while she continued to suck diligently on his wrist.

“I’ll be yours, Buffonia. Always.” Someone said the words. It sounded like him, but they seemed to be coming from somewhere far away. They repeated over and over as if the person saying them wanted it left in no doubt that he meant every one of them. Spike felt his human face slip back and he realised it was him talking after all. His voice trailed away when she let go of him and dropped her head back into their mossy bed, her expression a mixture of satisfaction and exhaustion. Her mouth smeared with his blood, her neck stained with her own.

A breathtaking beautiful vampire’s dream. That’s what she looked like. His arm trembled until it did give way and she caught his full weight and held him while he struggled to come back from the crazy journey he seemed to have made in no more than a blink of an eye.

“Are you okay, Spike?”

It was way too comfortable lying there in her arms, feeling her fingers stroking through his hair. A nice place to spend eternity, he thought. “Yeah, more than okay,” he whispered rolling onto his side and shifting her against him. “You?”

“I think so. It was, it was…”

“Intense?”

“Overwhelming.”

“I know. Guess this means we’re kind of stuck with each other now?”

“Guess it does.”

“Can’t believe I just did this.” His fingers grazed the still-bleeding puncture marks on her neck making her suck in a quick breath. “Did I hurt you?”

“Little bit. Don’t think I could get used to the taste of blood though.” She raised her head, her eyes anxious. “I won’t have to do it again, will I?”

“No, no, it’s alright. Once it’s done, it’s done.”

She let her head drop to his chest and for a moment they lay quietly contemplating the aftermath of this huge commitment.

Once it was done, it was done. He hoped so, because he was never letting her go. With a deep sniff he nuzzled his head into the crook of her neck and felt her warm breath in his hair as she giggled. Buffonia, blood, and sex. Perfume to die for. The thought sobered him, making him glance at the chronometer on his wrist and realise that they didn’t have time to linger here feeling satisfied and relaxed. The Watcher was hot on their heels, and he was the very least of their problems.

“Buff, don’t go to sleep,” he said. “We need to go.”

“Do we have to?” She moved closer, fitting herself against him. “Want to stay here.”

“Me too pet. But we can’t.”

“But we have time to make love again? Yes? Say we do.”

Something stirred down below at her invitation. Hell, he only had to look at her and something was stirring down below. She flopped like a rag doll when he rolled her onto her back, hands beside her head, eyes a little glassy now, making him think he might have taken too much blood. “Yes,” he said tracing the line of her cheek with his fingertips. “We’ll always have time to make love. Think I was a bit selfish just now, but you drive me so crazy. Let me make it up to you, nice and slow. Then we’ll get the hell out of here.”

-------------------------------------------

Nice and slow sounded good. “Mmmm,” she murmured, too tired even to form a coherent sentence. As long as it didn’t involve her having to move, or think or anything right now, she was happy. He was still inside her, still hard and her foggy brain clocked up another advantage of having a Vampirian lover. Or whatever he was to her now. After what they’d just done, lover couldn’t begin to cover it.

He gave a rich, dark chuckle at her languid tone. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he said, his face hovering above hers, “are you still in there?”

Maybe she was, maybe she wasn’t. Her body was still here, although it seemed to have taken on the consistency of soft jelly and when she tried to move none of her limbs seemed to want to obey her. The dull metal taste of his blood was still in her mouth, his urgent, lust-filled words of want and need and desire still echoed in her ears. The sweet smell of crushed flowers and moss engulfed her, and beneath her hands his beautifully smooth skin rippled and flowed. Her vision was a little blurry, but she could still see him, head tilted, watching her with an indulgent, goofy smile on his face.

“Yeah,” she managed. “Still here. It’s just…I thought…I’m…” It was no good, her body was still there, but her will was well and truly deserting her, making it impossible to think of anything but how gorgeously sinful he looked braced over her all bare-chested and hard-muscled. Suddenly a vision of him spread out for her pleasure on a heart-shaped bed popped into her mind and she giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” From somewhere she found the energy to move her hips and a long sigh escaped her when he responded with a deep thrust of his own. “What did you do to me?” she asked. I feel as if I’m floating. Am I, Spike?”

“Nope, not floating,” he said very close to her ear. “And don’t ask me what we’ve done, because I don’t know yet. How do you feel?”

“Same as before, but with less bones. You?”

“Like I could take on the galaxy single-handed. What about this?”

She made a small sound of loss when he pulled out of her, and sighed with contentment when he sank down again with a careful measured thrust.

“You like this?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“And this?” The kiss was slow and deep and she formed the answer in her mind because her mouth was too busy learning everything he was teaching her. This new language that didn’t need words. It just needed the right two people flowing over and around each other. Into each other and through each other, like moonbeams through glass.

His love-making was just like him. Courageous and daring, confident and demanding, and now, quietly poetic. And when he made her come her cheeks were wet with tears she didn’t know she’d shed. Spike licked them carefully away and did the same for the drying blood on her neck. With a sigh he moved off her and pulled her up with him.

The moon-glow only added to the strangeness of the moment. Neither of them seemed to know how to cope with the aftermath of what they’d just done. Spike searched for his shirt and slipped it on and Buffonia noted with relief that exposure to the planet’s strange light didn’t seem to have harmed him. Her pants were beyond repair so she pulled them up and held them in place while Spike finger combed his hair back into place.

“Need to find our stuff,” he said looking around to get his bearings. “Come on.”

She took his offered hand and together they made their way back to the clearing, neither of them speaking. When he found his discarded coat he slipped it over her shoulders, smoothed it into place and buttoned it through. He did it slowly and methodically, fussing over the collar and turning back the cuffs for her until he was satisfied.

She guessed it was his way of anchoring himself back down after the tumultuous ride they’d been on so she stood still and let him fuss over her. The wild passion seemed to have drained them both and much as she wanted to talk about what they’d done, and more importantly, what it would mean to them, this quiet acceptance seemed to say it more eloquently than words ever could. When he held out his hand, she took it. When he kissed her, she kissed him back, and when he swung her up into his arms and started back towards the landing bay she laid her head against his shoulder and let him take her.

Whether it was part of the bonding process, she didn’t know. All she knew was that speeches and long explanations didn’t seem necessary any more and suddenly life seemed terribly simple. There was her, and there was Spike. He would look out for her, and she would look out for him. They’d live together, and quite possibly die together. But she’d never be alone again.

Chewie’s first reaction to her being carried back, hair all askew and wearing Spike’s coat, was a concerned growl. Spike barked out an order and Chewie narrowed his eyes briefly before spinning on his heels to prepare for take-off. Then she was in Spike’s cabin sitting on the edge of his bunk and he was leaving her, walking the few strides across the small room to the computer console. Immediately she hopped off and followed him.

“Get some rest,” he said nodding to the bunk. “Got to organise this Blue Ortega drop or we’ll have the Klum Fei after us too. I’ll be just here.”

“But you’re too far away.”

He didn’t seem too surprised at her statement. Instead he pushed out the chair, sat down and patted his lap. “Okay, come here then,” he said pulling her down. She wriggled her self comfortable and lazily watched his clever fingers fly over the keyboard. Numbers and words she didn’t understand flashed across the screen. When he finished he hit enter with a flourish and turned to her.

“Sorry Buff, if this shipment’s late, we’re dead.”

“More dead than if Jasmine gets us?”

Spike touched a finger to his lips, making a show of thinking about it and smiled. “Too close to call,” he said looping his arms loosely around her neck. “I want to make love to you again.”

“But I’m guessing this is more important?” Buffonia nodded towards the read-out.

“Heck, I’m so sorry, this isn’t how I wanted it to be.” Spike tipped his head forward, leaning his cheek against hers. “You should be lying all sleepy and satisfied on silk sheets, with me drinking champagne out of your shoe, after what we just did.”

“On a heart-shaped bed?”

“A vibrating one at the very least.”

“And I could peel you blue grapes and feed them to you.”

“And we could take a deep, bubble-bath together. Wash each other all over with big, soapy sponges.”

“And we could make love in the bath?” Buffonia didn’t need her romantic novels to reference that one. Pictures were flowing into her mind spontaneously.

“Oh yes.” Spike’s arms tightened around her, pulling her astride him. “I want to make love to you everywhere.”

“She’d read about bedroom voices and Spike was doing it now. With each desire-laden word his voice dropped another notch until it was no more than a low growl. Hers however, came out as a high pitched squeak “Everywhere?”

“Yes, everywhere.”

“Tell me,” she said getting her voice under control. “Need details.”

“Well, there’s the bath-tub, but we already covered that. The bed, of course. The floor. Up against the wall. In the back of a Speeder. Outside.”

Buffonia nodded, enraptured by the sound of his voice and the pictures he was conjuring. “We’ve already covered that one too,” she said with a smile.

“We sure did.” He sobered for a moment. Pushed back her hair while he searched her face. “Buff, if there’s anything I did…”

“Spike, I loved what we did.”

“I love you.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I do. Heck, Buff, I’ve messed this up. Should have said that first.”

“No, you haven’t. It was perfect.”

“I was like some horrible monster, Buff. I hurt you.”

“Spike, I’m a Slayer. We don’t break that easily.” Leaning forward she playfully nibbled the end of his nose. “And who says I don’t like a bit of monster in my man?”

“Am I?”

“Are you what?”

His hands fell to her ribs, digging in and holding on. “Quit teasing,” he said squeezing ever so slightly. “Tell me I’m your man.”

“You’re my man,” she said her voice rising to a shriek. “Don’t, I’m ticklish.”

“And?”

She knew what he wanted to hear. Words that would give form to something she hadn’t really worked out yet. She’d bonded herself to him without giving any serious thought to whether she loved him, or not. After all, she’d only known him a few days.

It was the look in his eyes as he waited for her to put him out of his misery that told her exactly how she felt about him. Something about the way her insides melted when he tilted his head just so. The way his fingers flexed convulsively, no longer with any thought of tickling her. The way she saw her own feelings reflected in his eyes.

Whether love crept up quietly or descended from the heavens in a thunderbolt there was always that one moment of revelation. And this was it. Spike was a rogue, undoubtedly. Someone who thumbed his nose at authority and used his charm and strength to get what he wanted from life. But he was her rogue, that much she knew. Hadn’t she gone for him all guns blazing? Even after he’d made it more than clear that it would probably be the death of her.

The com-link buzzed, Chewie’s growls indicated imminent take-off, then the Millennium Bug executed its familiar pivot and tilt as it slowly lifted from the docking bay. Spike’s hands closed around her back and Buffonia gripped his lap tightly with her knees to steady herself. Popping the remaining fastening of his shirt, she slid it down over his shoulders and leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on each one.

“I think,” she said working a line of kisses along his delicate collarbone. “That I could very easily fall in love with you, Spike.”

“Going to make sure you do.” The Bug tilted sharply and she slid further into his lap. One of his arms was still around her, the other already opening his pants. “Gonna make you into my love slave,” he warned with a growl.

She giggled at that and he arched an eyebrow. “Are you laughing at me?”

“No, master,” she said holding back the second giggle that was threatening to escape.

“Good,” he said lifting her and shifting her onto him. “Because if you were, you’d have to be punished.”

“Oh.” It was part response to the feel of him inside her, enhanced by the G-force effect of the speeding spacecraft, and part picture of something very wicked that had just popped into her mind. “Punished?” she gasped.

“Yes, punished,” he said his voice sounding breathless, even though breathing wasn’t really an issue for him when he was doing this.

“How?” she said experimentally clenching her inner muscles and watching in amazement as his eyes nearly rolled out of his head.

“Gonna tie you naked to the bed, cover you in honey blossom and lick it all off, every drop.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Lover be Mine?”

“Yeah, nicked it from your bag the other night.” Leaning towards her, his voice low, he said. “I especially enjoyed pages fifty-nine, seventy-four and one hundred and thirty two.”

Buffonia swallowed. She didn’t have to remember the page numbers to know what he was talking about. It was her favourite book, after all. And Spike, sitting there in all his bare-chested glory looked, to her love-dazed eyes the very epitome of the perfect cover model. In fact, at this moment he was her every fantasy come true. Who wouldn’t love this, and want to hang on to it with both hands?

“Let go, sweetheart.” His thrusts were becoming frantic now. “Not going to last, come with me. Want to see you come.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” They always seemed to say that in her novels, and now she knew why. His hand had slipped between them to help her on her way and she had no option but to go with him and fulfil yet another long-cherished fantasy. It was good to know that these things could actually happen, and they weren’t just the preserve of purple-prose romantica.

“No, don’t close your eyes,” he demanded. “Look at me.”

So she did, trusting him to catch her when she spiralled out of control, then fell back to earth vowing that she was never going to touch her orgasminator again. He continued to spend inside her while she lay with her head on his shoulder, every nerve ending still tingling, her head full of pictures. Every one of him.

“Spike,” she said, when he’d stopped moving. “Page two hundred and sixty seven.”

Two hundred and…? Spike mouthed the words silently, frowning slightly until a slow evil grin spread across his mouth. The coat slipped from her shoulders, quickly followed by her shirt. She undid her bra herself, sliding from his lap while he threw off his own clothes. A small flash of embarrassment ran through her as she stood naked before him for the first time, then he was tugging her towards the shower, shaking his head and telling her she was never to hide from him.

She’d always wondered where heaven was. And now she knew. It was in the safe, strong arms of her vampire lover. And it was a wonderful place to be.

--------------------------------------------

The great disturbance in the force that nearly floored O B had only a little to do with the green-lychee curry he’d eaten for dinner the night before. Rubbing at his stomach he reminded himself to go easy on the spicy food, it never did agree with him, and instead he applied himself to the startling revelation that had come to him half-way through his shower.

He’d been so sure Buffonia would be waiting for him on Aldis three. Hadn’t he given her all the evidence she needed to ditch that liability of a space pirate? Something had gone terribly wrong and if it was what he thought it was then they were going to have to re-write history. A Vampirian and a Slayer? It was unprecedented.

O B clutched at his stomach and waved away the hovering C I. “It’s alright,” he told the anxious droid. “Just a touch of indigestion.” C I nodded in sympathy and O B made his way to the bathroom, shut the door behind him and let out a deep breath. “It wasn’t alright, at all, and he had no idea how he was going to correct this. Spike’s claim had completely blocked out the Watcher, Slayer bond and right now Buffonia was out of his reach.

O B sat down with a grateful sigh and thanked the Force that the Bug was now heading back in the general direction of Vampiria. Probably to drop the Blue Ortega. That alone showed how desperate their situation was and was the one thing that gave him hope of salvaging this disaster.

“Master, Master.”

“Not now, C I.” O B groaned again. At the very least this Fiasco with Buffonia was going to result in an ulcer. “Go away,” he said. “Can’t I enjoy a bathroom break in peace?”

“It’s urgent, master.”

“It can wait.”

“No master, it can’t. Look out of your window.”

O B glanced irritably out of the window, and what he saw made his heart slither right down into his sandals. “Get us out of here,” he shouted standing up abruptly. He looked again, wondering why he hadn’t felt this one coming, and cursed the day Buffonia had ever laid eyes on Spike. Nothing had been right since then.

“They’ve got us fast master. Long range tractor beam.”

The vast, dark shape of the Imperial Vampirian Star Cruiser slid by with malevolent grace. Dwarfing the tiny Jedi Master 111 and O B hastily made his way back to the cockpit.

Think, think. Buffonia wasn’t listening telepathically any more because her head was full of Spike, but why use the force when technology would do just as well? “General distress signal,” he barked at C I who was standing beside him wringing his hands. O B sat down in the pilot’s seat, steepled his fingers and closed his eyes. When life threw lemon flowers at you, what did you do? He opened his eyes and grinned. You made lemonade, of course. With a quick prayer of thanks to the Force, he turned to C I.

“Amend that order.”

“You don’t want to send a distress signal? But master…” the droid began.

“Oh, we’re sending that signal,” O B told him. “Specific frequency only.”

C I cocked his head. “Co ordinates?” he asked, puzzled.

“Five seven eight zero zero nine seven – factor three.”

C I repeated them to R U who beeped and programmed them in.

“Code word?”

“Now, what would he choose?” O B glanced again at the advancing Star-ship and thought hard. “Try Sex Pistols.”

R U beeped twice.

“Password rejected, master.”

“Damn, what about, Clash?”

Again, two beeps.

“Rejected.”

O B covered his eyes with his hands. “Neither of them?”

C I shook his head. “Not with these co ordinates, master. Who are we trying to reach?”

“Ahh, I have it.” O B snapped opened his eyes. “Try Hair Gel for me.”

R U beeped once.

“Why, it’s the Millennium Bug, master.” C I looked up, switching on his impressed expression.

“Are they picking up?”

“They’ve locked on, master.”

“Then let them know we’re in trouble.”

“But Buffonia won’t come master. Why should she come now when she never did before?”

“Because she helps the helpless, C I. It’s what she does. And we are, at this moment, nothing if not helpless.” This time when he looked out of the window it was with considerable satisfaction at this intervention of fate. What better way to get himself and Buffonia into the inner sanctum than to let the Vampirians take them there themselves?

“Shall we work on disabling the tractor beam, master?”

“No, C I, let them take us.”

“Take us, master? But won’t Darth Angel know who you are?”

O B took off his glasses and inspected the lenses. “Yes, he said, I can imagine that’s why they’ve picked us up.”

“But?”

Rising from the seat he turned for the door. “Trust me on this, it’s the best thing that could possibly have happened. Just let me know when the cavalry turns up.”

“The Cavalry?” C I hurried after him. “But I thought…?”

“The Bug, C I. The Millenium Bug.”

Tbc …

Chapter 10

“Oh Spike.”

“Buffonia.”

“Spike”

“The things you do, I’m…”

A loud, guttural cough interrupted the passionate moment. Spike looked up to find Chewie holding the Blue Ortega.

“Oh, sorry mate,” he said, peeling Buffonia off him. She made a small protest and tried to climb back into his lap, so he kissed her again, because since he’d bitten her he didn’t seem to be able to stop. Her hand crept around his neck and pulled him determinedly towards her so he could feel her soft breasts pressing against his chest and her surprisingly strong thighs clamped around his waist. He wanted nothing more than to scoop her up and take her back to his cabin, where they’d spent the last couple of hours making love in every position he could remember, but another loud cough from Chewie reminded him that, for now, they should be concentrating on more urgent things. Like staying alive.

“Sorry, baby,” he said, in a deep, lusty voice. “Make it up to you, promise.” When he stood up she slithered down his body and looked up at him with wide eyes.

“You don’t love me any more?”

“Sure I do, princess. Promise this won’t take long.”

Spike stood up and adjusted his pants while he tried to get his mind onto the Blue Ortega drop. Damned difficult when Buffonia was standing there in front of him hair all dishevelled, well kissed lips formed into the cutest pout, and her green eyes melting with half-shed tears.

“No, you don’t.” she said pitifully. “You prefer Chewie to me.”

Chewie stepped smartly away and Spike was back across the cabin in two strides, holding Buffonia’s face in his hands. Just one more kiss, he thought lowering his mouth to hers. The Klum Fei would just damned well have to wait because nothing was more important than this. Her leg wound around his thigh, and she was almost climbing his body when Chewie gave another impatient growl.

“Okay, okay.” Spike turned, with Buffonia still holding on. “Yeah, I know how important that is Chewie. I’m on it.”

She was like the finest brandy and he was so drunk on her he couldn’t think straight. And her smell - so innocent and passionate at the same time. It was going to drive him crazy. But what a way to go he thought with a lop-sided grin. With a deep, appreciative sniff, Spike nuzzled into Buffonia’s neck and gave the softly-scabbing bite a gentle lick. Buffonia growled and the sound went straight to his groin, almost flooring him. He was already hard enough to burst and he’d come so many times he’d never have thought it possible, even for him. And if she did that again he was about to break some sort of record.

Chewie rolled his eyes in a complete circle and thrust the small container holding the Blue Ortega at him. Spike took it with one hand while his other arm continued to hold Buffonia against his hip, her legs wrapped around him almost like a child. Since she wasn’t about to let go, and he didn’t particularly want her to, he walked them together over to the computer and checked the read-out data on the Blue Ortega container.

“Seems to be stable enough. What’s our ETA?”

Chewie growled and Spike nodded. At the flick of a switch the readout changed to a space-map. Chewie jabbed a finger at the flashing light in the corner of the screen.

Spike narrowed his eyes while Buffonia started licking a path across the exposed skin of his throat. “Uhh, which ship is that then?” he asked Chewie and tilted back his head to give Buffonia better access.

Chewie went off into another series of growls and Spike’s eyes widened. “Really?” he said with a deep chuckle in his voice. “Hey, Buff, look at this. It’s bloody hilarious. Your Watcher-guy’s gone and got himself caught by a Vampirian cruiser. Guess it takes care of that little problem.”

Buffonia looked up, her eyes hazy with desire. She too peered at the screen then she shrugged and turned her attention back to Spike’s neck. Spike put down the Blue Ortega and groaned loudly, swivelling Buffonia so her legs were hooked around his waist and they were practically making love through their clothes.

It had to be the bonding. There was no other explanation for the sudden up-surge in lustful jealousy that had overtaken them both, and seemed to getting worse by the minute. The websites he’d been on had described the claiming as an almost spiritual experience. A joining of minds and spirits. He’d expected to feel protective towards her, perhaps a feeling of one-ness. There had even been mention of chanting and other unaccountable urges, but this possessive frenzy that was overpowering them both was a side-effect neither of them had bargained for. Chewie’s hand tapped him smartly on the shoulder and Buffonia lifted her head.

“He’s mine, Chewie, back off.” She grabbed a handful of fur and dislodged the Wookie’s wrist. Chewie raised his eyebrows and put it back again.

“I don’t think you’re hearing me straight, mister,” she declared, knocking the paw off again with the back of her hand. Chewie’s eyes were quite possibly the widest they’d ever been and Spike had to grab Buffonia around the waist because she was squirming herself free with a look on her face that said she had every intention of doing something monumentally stupid.

“Uhh, Buff,” Spike said tightening his grip. “Not wise to upset a Wookie.” Dipping his head, he tried desperately to catch her eyes, which were pointedly fixed on Chewie. Before he could stop her she’d wriggled out of his grip and was stalking across the room, backing the very alarmed Wookie against the wall.

Spike didn’t know whether to laugh or throw her over his shoulder and run back to his cabin with her for a quickie. Chewie stood on tiptoe, pressed as far back as he could into the wall, his arms in the air, palms forward, looking every bit as if he was being mugged. Buffonia, with her wild hair and blazing cheeks looked like some warrior-woman from a super-hero comic. She jabbed her finger into Chewie’s middle and he jumped, whimpering for Spike to pull her off.

“Come on, Buff,” Spike said, hands on her shoulders. “Give the big guy a break, eh? Says he doesn’t want to hurt you again.”

Buffonia shook him off. “He was looking at you, Spike, I know what he’s after.”

Chewie backed even further up the wall shaking his head vigorously and growling his denial emphatically at Spike.

“Spike’s mine,” she declared, hands on hips. “You don’t speak to him, you don’t touch him. Am I making myself clear? And you are certainly not having his babies. Tell him, Spike. No Wookie babies. I’m having your babies and, and…”

“Okay. Now this is getting weird,” Spike said watching her face crumble. Chewie took advantage of the lull and sidled away, bolting for the other side of the room as soon as he was clear and protesting indignantly at the thought that he might have ever fancied Spike. Other than that time they’d fallen into an alternate-reality zero-gravity hole and that didn’t count because they weren’t themselves then. It was just a single episode and hadn’t they agreed never to mention it again?

Spike was glad Buffonia didn’t speak Wookie. She was sobbing in earnest now and looked every bit as confused as he and Chewie were by her behaviour. “C’mon sweetheart,” he said and scooped her up. “Let’s get you sorted, shall we?” As he left the room with her he shouted instructions to Chewie, telling him to prepare the Blue Ortega for the drop and assuring him that he’d be back soon. Chewie waved him away enthusiastically, looking mighty relieved that he wouldn’t have to watch any more of the eccentric behaviour he’d been witnessing for the last hour.

Back in his cabin, Spike sat Buffonia on the edge of the bunk and knelt down in front of her.

“I’ve made your shoulder wet,” she said pointing to the damp stain on his shirt.

“You sure have.” Spike twisted to look at the wet-patch then sat back on his heels. “Heck, I’m sorry, love. Didn’t think it would feel like this.”

“You regret it?” Buffonia’s voice held a hint of panic. Spike took her hand and propped his chin on her knees.

“No way do I regret this, even if it’s driven us both a little crazy. You, this, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I am? It is?”

“I’m on my knees in front of you, aren’t I? Worshipping you like the goddess you are.” Spike winked.

That got a watery smile from her, and it made him feel a little better. Inside he was starting to calm down, and he could see that she was too. Leaning his cheek on her lap he let himself have a moment where being there with her was the only thing that mattered. Buffonia sniffed, her hands crept into his hair to cradle his head, and he let out a long sigh.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said nodding in agreement. “I can feel it.”

Her grip tightened at his words. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Spike. Jasmine so much as looks at you again, she’s history.”

Strength was coursing through her even as she spoke. Spike lifted his head and gazed up into her determined face. The dazed look was fast being replaced by the don’t mess with me glare and he looked on in wonder as she squared back her shoulders and shook out her hair. “That’s my girl,” he said lifting a hand to caress her cheek. “Do you realise how magnificent you are when you’re like this? Aren’t many who’d take on a full-grown Wookie.”

A look of horror crossed her face as she remembered and her hands flew up to cover her eyes. “Oh, no. Poor Chewie. Spike, will you tell him I didn’t mean…” She peeked through her fingers. “Oh no, did I mention babies? I’m so embarrassed.”

“He’s cool, love. Don’t fret. And, talking of Chewie, I’d better get back to help him with the Blue Ortega.”

They both stood together. Spike only a fraction before Buffonia, who slid from the bunk and clutched at his sleeve the minute he moved away from her.

“I can’t help it,” she said, apologetically. “There’s this feeling, here.” She placed a flat palm against her heart. “A terrible feeling of panic every time you’re out of my sight. Is it always going to be like this?”

“I’ve no idea.” Spike dropped a quick kiss onto the back of each of her hands and pointed to the computer. “You go log on for bit, find out what other amusing side-effects we can expect from this. If I’m suddenly going to go bald, or turn green, then I think I’d like some prior warning.”

“I’d still love you if you were bald,” she said in a voice that told him she wasn’t quite sure if he was joking, or not. Then her hands went to her own hair. “Oh, Spike, you don’t think I’m going to…”

“Joking, love. No-one’s going to lose their hair over this. Unless we’re speaking metaphorically, of course. Let’s get this Blue Ortega dropped, then find ourselves a hyperdrive part and get our asses as far away as possible. Hey, maybe we’ll have time to go laugh at your Watcher as they tow him to Vampiria? Boy, is Darth Poofter going to have a field day when he realises he’s got himself a real-live Jedi to play with.”

“Watcher?” Buffonia pushed back her hair, a look of confusion on her face. “Oh yes, I remember. You said the Vampirians have him?”

“Yep. Daft bugger. Won’t be hearing from him again. Sure you’ll be okay if I go back up front?”

“Yes, go Spike. It’s important.” Buffonia sat herself down at the desk and flapped her hand at the computer. “I’ll find out, you know, what you said about going bald.”

The door slid open and Spike stepped through, stopping momentarily to watch his true love staring vacantly at the blank screen in front of her. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned the Watcher? The last thing he needed now was for Buffonia to start feeling a displaced sense of loyalty to him just because he was in desperate trouble and likely to lose his life if they didn’t go save him.

“What’s going to happen to him, Spike?” Her voice was barely there. As if she was afraid to ask, and as if she was already resigned to what she had to do.

“Don’t ask,” Spike replied and turned determinedly for the flight-deck. Ignoring Buffonia, her mouth half-open, about to utter words he didn’t want to hear. With a frustrated growl, he flopped down into one of the pilot’s seats and kicked the console in front of him. He kept his eyes closed long enough to hear the inevitable sound of the door swishing open and to feel a soft hand on his shoulder.

When he opened them there she was, standing beside him, her head slightly tilted in question. All the confusion and frenzy of the last few hours gone now, to be replaced by a clear, calm determination. She didn’t have to say anything, and neither did he. With a sigh of his own he covered her hand with his, gave it a quick squeeze, then pulled her down into his lap and simply held on to her. Of course she’d want to go help the daft, old buffoon, it was what she did.

Spike took her face in his hands and placed a simple, undemanding kiss on her lips. Buffonia responded with a fierce hug, and he heard the ghost of a thank-you in the warm breath fanning his cheek.

“Only for you, Buffonia.” he replied. “Only for you.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Wasn’t life just full of irony? Tense though it had been, the Blue Ortega drop went like clockwork and Spike was now solvent again. In fact there was more than enough cash to buy the new hyperdrive part for the Bug, and to get her well-supplied for a trip to the other side of the galaxy. Probably enough left over for a weekend in the best honeymoon suite on Aldis three too.

Spike counted the last of the credits into the wall-safe and tapped in the access code. The door slid shut and he replaced the panel that hid it from view.

“I’m sorry,” was all she could think of to say. He’d agreed to go help her Watcher, but apart from the few words earlier, it hadn’t been mentioned again.

“Nothing to be sorry about, Pet.” His voice was brittle and flat. Spike turned his attention to the computer screen, fingers hovering momentarily over the keyboard before he sighed and started to type.

“Yes there is.” Buffonia crossed the cabin and stared at the screen with him. “Is that his ship?”

“No,” Spike replied. “That’s him. Big blip is the Vampirian cruiser.”

“Oh.” Buffonia folded her arms in an effort not to fling herself at him. The urge was just as strong, but she was a little more in control now. The bonding still called to her, no, not called, it almost screamed at times. But she couldn’t only feel the way he wanted her in return, she could now feel how much he didn’t want to do this. And it was breaking her heart.

“I’ll do it, Spike. You don’t have to come. Get me onto his ship. There must be an escape pod I can use?”

“What kind of talk is that?” Spike didn’t look up. The screen changed to show the Bug in relation to the trapped Watcher-class ship. He frowned. “Bloody weird frequency that signal is going out on. Something’s not right here.”

“What?” Buffonia crouched down, her hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Spike sat back and cocked his head at the screen. “Can’t put my finger on it. Just got a bad feeling about all this. I mean, cruiser that size, guy can channel the Force. How could he have not noticed it?”

“Maybe he was busy? Spike, I meant it, it’s my responsibility, I’ll do it alone.”

“The hell you will.” Spike pulled her down onto his lap, a hand behind her neck to hold her still. “Wasn’t going to let you go before, certainly not going to now.”

It wasn’t a gentle grip and she knew exactly what he was thinking as she met his steady gaze. For better or worse, weren’t they the words bonding couples had said, or at least implied to each other since time began? So, this wasn’t a conventional marriage, but it was a marriage, there was no mistaking that. The thought hit her, suddenly. Up till then they’d been lost in the sensations of it all without stopping to think about what it actually meant. And that’s what Spike was trying to tell her.

“Thank you.” She told him again how much all this meant to her, and she wasn’t just talking about helping her Watcher. She showed him too with a kiss that made him soften and melt into a puddle of liquid want, right there in her arms.

“Hell,” he said. “I’d do anything for you. Got yourself a loyal slave here.”

Buffonia giggled at that. “I’ve always wanted one,” she said. “We’ll grab Watcher-guy and leave him somewhere safe. Then we’ll get far away from here as we can, and start a new life. How does that sound?”

“You said he was busy, what did you mean by that?

“Oh, nothing.” Buffonia gazed at the strip of smooth, white flesh showing where the fastenings gaped on his shirt. Her fingers went there automatically and his stomach muscles clenched in response. So did his hand, where he was still holding her neck.

“Answer my question,” he said, breathing the words close to her ear.

The rumble of his voice made her squirm, and for a moment she completely forgot what he was talking about, but he wasn’t going to let the subject drop.

“You know why your Watcher was so distracted, don’t you?”

“He’s been sending me messages,” she replied and tapped her head. “In here.”

“Is that how you knew about the reward the Vampirians put out for you?”

Freedom wasn’t turning out anything like she’d thought it would be. She nodded sheepishly, her shoulders slumping even more when it dawned on her that her Watcher’s plight was in some way her fault.

“No, it isn’t,” Spike said turning her face to his. “You didn’t ask to be a Slayer, none of this is your fault.”

At that moment she felt so close to Spike she could almost have had a conversation with him without words. They weren’t exactly reading each other’s minds, but Spike’s feelings about her, about going after the trapped Jedi, were coming through loud and clear. She closed her eyes, and the love and desire were still there. A tangible thing. Along with the anger and frustration.

“Did you hear me?” he said again.

“I did Spike.” She took a breath. “Okay, we won’t go. Let’s just get that hyperdrive part and disappear. You’re right, I didn’t ask for this, why should I feel responsible? Not my problem, right?”

Saying it out loud should have helped her believe it. There was a clear choice here, Spike or the Watcher. It should have been simple. She loved Spike, she owed the Watcher nothing. Therefore standing by and letting the Vampirians have their evil way with him should pose her no problems at all.

Should it? Buffonia clenched her fists and closed her eyes again. When she opened them she looked, pleading at Spike.

“Tell me it isn’t my problem.” Her voice was small and unconvincing, but Spike managed a smile for her, and a small kiss for the end of her nose.

“It isn’t your problem.” He was fussing over the read-out again, one arm hooked about her waist, It tightened instinctively as The Bug banked sharply, and landed with a bump.

Buffonia felt a shiver run over her shoulders. The tight set of Spike’s jaw, the way his fingers pounded the keyboard, just a little harder than necessary told her how serious the situation had become. She frowned. “What did you just say?”

“I said it’s not your problem.”

“Why did you say that?”

“You asked me to.”

“But, you were supposed to argue with me. Convince me it’s my duty.” Buffonia glanced out of the large, port-side window at the pink, overcast atmosphere of the planet they’d just landed on. Beyond that was the vastness of space, and somewhere out there, someone needed her. How could she even think of abandoning them?

“Stop worrying about it. We’ll get him out.”

“But I thought you said we weren’t going?”

“Didn’t say that, pet. Said you weren’t going. Didn’t say anything about me and Chewie. We’ll get him out for you, don’t worry. Gonna drop you off with a nice bloke who owes me a favour. He’ll keep you safe until I can come back for you. Shouldn’t take long. Then we’re out of here.”

“No way, he’s my Watcher, I’m coming too.”

Spike sighed and pushed back his chair. “Buff,” he said, in the weary tone parents use when they’re explaining something to a child for the tenth time. “There’s something not right here. That Watcher’s put himself into a lot of danger to get to you. Don’t you think that says something? Like you’re maybe more valuable than you thought? Like you shouldn’t go anywhere near him?”

“You’re not going without me, Spike. You’re…hey, put me down.”

The world tilted and suddenly the rec-room was upside-down and she was dangling over Spike’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he said. “Can’t do that. You’re going to stay with my good friend Clem, I’m going to go sort your problem. End of story.”

“Put me down, oh hi Chewie.” She waved at the Wookie who seemed totally un-fazed at the sight of Spike carting her, under protest, out of the rec-room. “I’m sorry about earlier, you know with the babies…Spike put me down, I need to talk to Chewie.”

Spike stopped for a moment. “Only if you promise to go stay with Clem while I get your Watcher out.”

“No way. Where are you taking me?”

“I told you, to Clem’s lair. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, your choice.”

“I can’t believe this. Chewie, tell him to put me down.”

Chewie pretended not to hear.

“Okay, we’ll do it the easy way. Put me down, I’ll go stay with Clem.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Well, of course I don’t mean it. You’re a barbarian, Spike.”

“And you love it,” he countered without breaking his stride. The exit door opened at their approach and the walkway extended. Spike stepped out, obviously confident that the air was breathable and the shadowy light wasn’t going to hurt him, and looked around to get his bearings.

“I do not, well, okay, yes I do, but there’s a time and a place.” Lifting her head she looked around and would have jumped back if Spike hadn’t been holding her upside-down. Standing before them, staring curiously were a small group of vaguely humanoid life-forms with perhaps the most wrinkly skin she’d ever seen. Boy did they need to moisturise. “Spike…” she began.

“No need to panic,” he assured her. “Possibly the friendliest creatures in the galaxy. Anyone know where Clem lays his head these days?” he shouted to the assembled crowd.

They broke into a round of chatter, then one of them stepped forward. “Reckon you’ll find him at the family home.” The creature pointed to Buffonia. “Have you brought him a present?”

“Naa, need some babysitting doing. He still at the old Crypt?”

“He is.” The creature’s hand came out to stroke Buffonia’s cheek with a surprisingly gentle touch. “Is she yours?” it asked.

Buffonia jumped more out of surprise than anything. Spike chuckled and tightened his grip. “It’s your skin.,” he told her. “They don’t understand how it can be so tight without hurting. Yeah, she’s mine.” Buffonia gave another shriek as Spike gave her bottom a sharp tap. “Just need somewhere safe to leave her for a while.”

“Oh, Clem will do that,” the creature said scurrying on ahead and beckoning them to follow. “He’s very good with pets.”

“Just need him to watch her for a while. Got some business to take care of. And it’s man’s work.”

That did it. He might have got away with it if he hadn’t smirked, but she’d seen it. Buffonia twisted sharply, catching Spike off-guard. He cursed, but she wriggled right out of his grasp and hit the ground with a bump. Spike lunged, but he wasn’t catching her a second time. She looked around for an escape and spotted an opening in the crowd, which parted when she charged towards them.

“Still having woman-trouble, I see.” The voice came from somewhere above her just before she bumped into something soft and springy. It delayed her enough for Spike to be able to grab her again.

“No,” Spike said, tightening his grip on her arm. He spoke through gritted teeth. “All under control. Need a favour Clem. Some babysitting.”

“No worries.” Clem flashed her a grin. “Passions is on tonight. I could order some spicy wings in.”

“Is he for real?” Buffonia gazed up at the strangely benevolent-looking creature who was Clem, and who never in a million years would she have put in the same sentence as spicy wings.

“You’ll like Clem,” Spike said, and he looked as if he was going to throw her over his shoulder again, but she raised her hands and bowed her head, thinking that there was more than one way to skin a felis-cat.

“It’s okay, Spike. You’re right. I am just a woman and what you’re doing is far too dangerous for a little thing like me to be involved with. Even though I’m a Slayer. I’ll go with Clem and let him look after me while you go do your manly thing and rescue my Watcher. Then you can come back and sweep me off my feet and…” she moved closer and rubbed herself against his side. Her hip was against his thigh as she shimmied up and down. “You can make love to me.”

“Sounds like you’ve found the perfect woman,” Clem said breezily.

For a moment Spike’s eyes had darkened with so much desire that Buffonia really thought he’d fallen for it. But it was clear that the bonding had ended any hopes she might ever have of hiding anything from him.

“Bullshit. Lead the way, Clem.”

“Spike, how can you even think you’d get away with this kind of behaviour in this day and age?” Buffonia would have stamped her foot, but Spike was dragging her too fast for that. “It’s star-date 36 47.54, if you haven’t noticed. Anyone would think Queen Valeria was still on the throne.”

“Well, at least women did what they were told back then.”

“That’s sexist, Spike.”

“Yep, you got me there.”

Clem chuckled at the exchange and produced a large key from somewhere in his ragged coat. The house was a rocky, cave-like affair with a heavy wooden door. Clem swung it open and preceded them inside, apologising profusely for the untidy state of the interior. “Maybe she can do a little housework while she’s here?” Clem asked hopefully.

Both Spike and Buffonia looked pointedly at him. “Okay, maybe not,” Clem said cheerfully. “What do you want me to do with her, Spike?”

“Just keep her here. Be back as soon as I can.”

“And how do I do that?”

Spike looked around. “Where’s the cage gone?”

“You have got to be joking.” Buffonia yanked her arm free. “Look, I’ve said I’ll stay. There’s no need for this.”

She backed across the room, aware that Clem was rooting in a drawer. And that Spike was listening hard, and not just with his ears. She could feel him all around her, even though he wasn’t touching her. So she filled her mind with puppies and kittens and flowers instead of thoughts of foolhardy heroism, almost laughing out loud at Spike’s sudden confused look. He tilted his head and studied her, his sincerity-meter on high alert. Finally he pressed his lips together and nodded.

“Don’t be cross with me, love. Couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you. Just want to keep you safe.”

That part she did understand, and she ached to go to him and hold him. Put him out of the misery so plainly written on his face. But if she did that he’d know that she had no intention of staying behind. From now on they were in this together, only, of course, he was far too stubborn to see that.

“Go,” she said softly, all the while reciting in her head the story of a dog who’d spent five earth years sitting on its master’s grave. Spike gave her an even more confused look and raised his hand toward her face. Using willpower she didn’t know she possessed, Buffonia stepped back and waved him away. “The sooner you go, the sooner you can come back for me.”

Spike dropped his hand. “You’ll be safe here. Clem’s okay, and nobody will think to look for you here.”

“I’m sure he is.” Her hands were firmly clasped together now, to stop herself grabbing him by the shirt and kissing the life out of him. With a small flick of her fingers, she motioned him away and he turned resolutely and strode out of the door. Just at that moment Clem finished his noisy search of the drawer and triumphantly held up the thing he’d been looking for.

“There you go,” he announced. “Handcuffs. Just pop these on, Buffonia, and then I’ll open us a bag of corn chips. Do you like soaps, by the way? Oh, and so long, Spike.” He gave Spike’s retreating figure a cheery wave. “Have fun, and don’t you…”

Clem hadn’t seen her coming, or heard her muttering her invocation of the Force. Buffonia almost felt sorry for him since he seemed such a nice guy, but all was fair in love and war. She heard Clem say something that sounded suspiciously like bugger before she muttered an apology and disappeared out the back entrance. Leaving him standing there in his own front-room, handcuffed to the leg of the dining table.

----------------------------------------------------------

What else could he do? Spike strode determinedly back to the Bug hating what he’d just done, but knowing it was the right thing.

Laughing about this whole foolhardy mission wasn’t a very appropriate reaction either, particularly since every time he ventured into space these days he seemed to be tempting fate big-time, but he couldn’t help smiling at her anger. All red-faced and righteous indignation. Eyes ablaze with passion. Rubbing absently at the front of his pants he wondered if either of them were going to survive being away from the other for any length of time, and he chuckled again as the same thought filtered through from her.

Won’t be long, he muttered. And he thought he heard her say, hurry back, but how could he, when she was at Clem’s and he was now standing outside the best spicy wings take-out in the galaxy? The smell was irresistible so he searched his pockets for some of the small manufactured diamonds that Clem’s people used as currency, and pushed open the door. He sniffed again, wondering, not for the first time just exactly which animal the wings came from. Not that he was squeamish about that sort of thing what with being a Vampirian, but they were pretty odd-looking wings.

He ordered two extra-large family buckets, since Chewie’s appetite constituted a family in itself, and made his way back to the Bug. Torsion, force, speed, velocity, his brain was already churning over the options and doing the math. For a brief moment, he forgot all about Buffonia and turned his mind instead to the huge problem of disengaging the Watcher’s ship from the clutches of the Vampirian cruiser. With the hyperdrive properly in place it would have been a piece of cake, but this, with the Bug in the state that it was, would require more than a bit of creativity and nerve to pull it off.

Then he was going to marry her properly. His thoughts inevitably turned back to Buffonia. And not just because it would have been impossible not to think of her. Mainly it was because as he’d approached the Bug, she’d hit him full-force. Not physically, although she was quite probably going to do that when she decided to appear from where she was hiding.

Spike stepped cautiously onto the ramp and cocked his head. Her scent was still strong, even above the compelling smell of the spicy wings. Chewie stuck his head out of his cabin door, a look of glee crossing his face when he spotted the buckets tucked under each of Spike’s arms. Spike handed them over absently, and followed the Buffonia’s trail.

She wasn’t in the rec room, or the cockpit and his cabin would have been far too obvious a place for her to hide. And she was hiding, if her racing heart was anything to go by. He stopped again and closed his eyes only to be met with what sounded suspiciously like a hysterical giggle. Okay, now he had her. They may be connected on a higher level now, but he was still a Vampirian, and would always have that advantage over her. Like a wraith-spirit, he moved silently to the false wall-panel, behind which he usually hid smuggled goods, but which was, right now, hiding one on-the-verge-of-hysteria, Slayer.

He couldn’t resist. And it was evil, and totally inappropriate to the seriousness of the moment since they were probably both about to go kill themselves rescuing her stupid Watcher, but hey, Vampirian here. With a flourish, he pulled back the panel and shouted boo, rather more loudly than he intended. But nowhere near as loud as Buffonia’s ear-splitting scream as she jumped, nearly out of her skin.

--------------------------------------------------

“I don’t believe she’s coming.” C I fussed with the controls, because it made him look important, and he liked that. Turning to R U, he cocked his head. “Mark my words, we’re doomed,” he said gravely.

R U beeped.

“No,” C I said, with more than a hint of impatience in his voice. “It is not cool, not in the slightest. Do you know what the Vampirians do to droids? They don’t care about them, you know. They’ll probably use you as a drinks trolley.”

R U appeared to consider the possibility and flashed the small lights that looked like ears, if a droid could be considered to have ears.

C I sighed dramatically. “You’re so naïve,” he said wearily. “Believe me, we’ll be scrap metal before the fifth sunrise if the Vampirians get hold of us.”

R U reminded him, in that cheerful, yet insistent way he had, that the Vampirians already had a tight enough hold on them, thank you very much. And what was the fuss all about anyway?

“Really, R U,” C I chided. “Where have you been for the last nine chapters? Princess Buffonia is the Slayer, and our beloved master, for some strange reason, needs her co-operation. But she’s allied herself to that loveable rogue, Spike who’s wanted by Jasmine.”

R U raised what could have been his eyebrows, C I hadn’t worked that one out yet.

“No, it’s not that simple. Do you realise just how many beings are after the two of them?

R U obviously didn’t because he was just a simple computer-buddy droid. C I, on the other hand was the elite of droids. Why, he even looked like a humanoid, in very bad light. “I’ve been fornicating with them since the Vampirians caught us,” he said, pompously. “Confusing them, putting them off the scent. Our beloved Master wants nothing to interfere with his plan, hair-brained though it undoubtedly is.

“Well, of course I’m going to give you an update,” he said at R U’s questioning whistle. “Look, there they all are. And, what a lot of fun that’s going to be when they all end up in the same room.” He pointed to the flashing screen.

“That’s the Bounty Hunter, Wood. He’s waiting on Parasis for the Watcher to deliver Spike to him, only, of course, our Master has no intention of doing that. This is Prince Sleepwalker’s ship. We have that in a holding pattern around Setti 4. The Master has managed to convince him that Buffonia is down there somewhere, so we won’t be hearing from them for while. And those twenty or so ships heading for the other side of the galaxy are bounty hunters too, all after the rewards on Buffonia and Spike.

“Yes, I know they’re chasing the wrong ship, that was precisely the plan. And,” he peered closely at the screen, more for effect than anything. “By the looks of things they’re not going to be in this part of the story either.”

R U whistled again, indicating a rather important-looking blue light that was gliding serenely amongst the frenzy of spaceships.

“That, my dear boy, is our arch-nemesis. If I’m not mistaken, and I never am, that’s The Royal Yacht with none other than The Empress, aka The Dark Lady on board. With no doubt, the real power behind the throne, Darth Angel, at her side.” He shook his head. “We’re doomed, I tell you. Doomed.”

Leaning forward, he whispered. “Between you and me, R U, I believe the Master has gone totally barmy.”

R U beeped again.

“No,” C I said with barely controlled impatience. “It is most certainly not cool.”

Tbc…