Disclaimer: I sadly do not own any of the characters. They are all the wonderful creations from the wacky mind of Joss Whedon, and I am only taking advantage of my love of the show to play with them for a little while.

Spoilers: All of the Buffy series.

Dedicated: To the BLO girls (Candice, Jo, Ali, Trina, Crystal, and Lainey) and Andrew (spikyboy) – thanks for all the support and encouragement guys! You’ve been my biggest fans and some of the best friends I’ve been lucky enough to find. I love you all!


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She sucked in a quick breath of the hot steamy air as the soft fabric of the terri-cloth towel moved down the bare skin of her legs. Her body tingled all over and she bit down gently on her lower lip as she watched the beads of water vanish with each slow caress. It was amazing how a little morning wake-up sex, followed by some hot shower sex could put your senses on edge. Her body seemed to buzz with the after effects, her skin feeling so alive she was almost convinced it could crawl right off of her. She smiled; it was such an incredible high.

Dropping the towel around her feet, she slipped on the short terri-cloth bathrobe that hung on the back of the bathroom door and tied it loosely about her hips. She took in another deep breath of the hot, wet air and moved forward through the swirls of steam. Reaching up, she wiped at the fogged up mirror with her sleeve, brushing away the beads of water and steam until her smiling face stared back at her. She gazed into her own eyes for a few moments, taking in the site of her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. Yes, she had that healthy post-coitus glow about her. She felt the soft fingers of embarrassment creeping up the sides of her neck as she stared at her reflection, her heart still pounding away in her chest. So this is what it was like to be married.

As she stared into the swirling mist of the fading shower steam that twisted back and forth before the mirror pane, she sighed softly, her mind drifting back to the last month and a half. Even now, she could still feel the uncontrollable joy she had felt that day he had found her standing at the end of the pier, the day he had returned to her, her Spike, her human Spike. Sometimes she still felt as if it were a dream, a wonderful swirling dream. After all the physical pain of the battle with the Avatar, the battle to save Willow and stop yet another in what seemed like a never ending line of apocalypses. After the coma, her recovering, and her mourning of Spike’s heroic act and death; after all that had been said and done he had returned to her, not only ensouled but reborn, the Shanshu Prophecy fulfilled. They had spent a full weekend celebrating, never leaving their hotel room, and it had been one of the happiest weeks of her life.

She stared deep into the reflection of her own eyes, her mind drifting back, replaying it all before her minds eye. She had stood, resting her naked body against the warm skin of his bare chest, a white sheet from their hotel bed wrapped about them both. They had stood like that in silence standing in the balcony doors watching the sun set across the San Francisco bay, his arms wrapped around her waist, her right hand clutching the sheets in a bunch at her breast to keep it from slipping to the floor. She had been so mesmerized by the fading light that she had jumped slightly when his fingers had slipped between hers and he lifted her left hand outstretched before them. The burning embers of the setting sun had been rekindled in the shimmering surface of the diamond ring that encircled her left ring-finger. She had turned slightly in his arms, her face looking up into the cool blue depths of his eyes. And then he had asked her, asked her to be his forever. Of course she had agreed, she had agreed the moment the clouds had broken from the sun and he had stood reborn before her on the pier, bathed in the mid-day sun. When life and fate give you a second chance you don't say ‘no thank you’.

She had called Willow the next morning, and then Dawn. A sudden sense of urgency had set in and the spontaneity of it was intoxicating. Two days later, she was dozing beside Spike in the back of Kennedy's cherry red SUV as the four of them headed down to LA. The hardest part had been telling Angel. Despite their recent strides forward in being "just friends" she couldn't help but fear his reaction. No amount of time would ever diminish the love she had shared with Angel but that had been a long time ago and she had been far different than she was now. She knew he knew that, knew he understood but still it was Angel. It had taken her a very long day full of dress shopping and airport runs with Willow, Faith, and Kennedy before she got up the courage to go see him. But then Spike had insisted on coming. She had felt her knees go weak again, but he was right. They should tell Angel together; they both owed him at least that.

It had been a bitter sweet reunion. She had sat perched on the corner of Angel's desk trying as best she could to appear cheerful but not over the top dancing on air ecstatic, which is how she really felt. She had watched Angel pace the room quietly, his eyes darting out the windows at the setting sun from time to time. After what had felt like an eternity of silence, Spike had stepped forward from his spot beside her and asked to speak with Angel alone. She had wanted to stay but something inside of her told her this was not her place to speak up and she had graciously left. Three long hours later Spike had returned to their hotel room, a bottle of wine in hand and a huge smile painted across his face. Life was good.

She reached over and picked up the long thin black comb she had left balancing precariously on the sloping surface of the vanity sink. Gently she began to run it through the tangled mess of hair that hung about the sides of her face like an over grown garden. She stifled a yelp as the comb caught a knot of blond-brown hair and held, but with a little patience she worked through it. She stared back at her reflection as she pushed the hair back from her face in long smooth, shining streaks.

The wedding was held three evenings later under the soft glow of a crescent moon. The only attendants had been their individual wedding parties and a few other friends. Giles had done the honors of giving Buffy away in a touching moment that left them both teary eyed. Dawn, Willow, Kennedy, and Faith had stood by Buffy's side, all wearing matching spaghetti strapped sundresses that fell mid-thigh. Angel, Xander, Andrew, and Clem flanked Spike wearing matching black and white suits. It was like a James Bond convention.

Buffy had chosen a simple white gown that hugged ever curve of her body before spreading out in a mermaid style train. She had forgone a veil, instead leaving her hair down long with only the top pulled up in a series of loose but elegant curls. A tiny silver tiara and small white and blue flowers poked out of the soft blond strands of her hair, hair that cascaded in long soft rivulets over her shoulders, bathed silver in the moonlight. There beneath a canopy of moonlight, ivy, and white roses they had said their 'I dos'. In the end he had taken her name, arguing that too much suffering had been caused by the name that he had once owned in life and death. As far as he was concerned it had died with his past self that night in the basement rubble of the warehouse in down town LA. And so they had become Mr. and Mrs. William Summers. It had been one of those nights that if she could have bottled it up and kept it hidden on some shelf somewhere to take out and bask in it years from now she would have.

That had been over three weeks ago; three weeks of unabashed bliss that had sailed by in the flash of eye. She picked up the white hair dryer that sat clipped into a charger on the wall beside the sink. Flipping the ‘on’ switch she ran her hands haphazardly through her hair, the dryer sucking the water away in a hot wind. She smiled as strands of hair blew across her face. She shut off the dryer and ran a hand through her hair, shaking out any remaining beads of water. The steam had all but vanished, leaving the mirror rimmed in a fading fog. She threw her crumpled towel up over the side of the shower's glass door to dry before stepping out into the bedroom.

He stood in the late morning sunlight that shone through the open doors of their balcony, a white towel hitched precariously low on his hips. He held his arms outstretched in front of him, turning them slightly back and forth, side to side as the heat and the glow of the sun ran over his bare skin. He'd been human for over a month now but standing in direct sunlight still brought a child-like excitement to his face. A smile played with the corners of his lips and he moved a few inches further into the warmth of the sun. She watched him quietly, leaning against the wall beside their bed. He was beautiful to behold, the golden rays of the sun playing hide-and-seek with the well sculpted muscles of his chest and stomach, stopping only to cast teasing shadows along the lip of the towel. The shadows seemed to call out to her, whispering dark, wickedly delicious thoughts.

"I can't help myself." His voice pulled her attention upward, back to his face.

She blinked to find him staring back at her, completely enveloped in a cocoon of sunlight. The look on his face told her that her wandering eyes had not gone unnoticed. She felt a hot blush begin to creep up the sides of her neck, but she shook it off with a laugh and the shake of her head, moving slowly towards him until she too was being warmed by the full radiance of the sun.

She placed her hands flat on his chest, feeling the warmth of his body and the beating of his heart beneath her palms. She smiled at his heartbeat. His hands came up and cupped the sides of her face, the cool feel of the silver wedding band on his left ring finger pressing gently into the smooth skin at the back of her jaw. He pulled her gently to him as he leaned down, capturing her lips with his own. Their kiss was long and deep. She moved her small frame a step closer to him, her body pressed to the warmth of his bare chest. He dropped his right hand to her waist, pulling her further against him. She smiled against his kiss, her fingertips running small circles over the muscles in his chest. She felt his right hand move forward to her stomach, pulling gently at the loose tie that held her robe together. The ties fell silently to her sides, his hand parting the sides of her robe before coming to rest on the warm curve of her upper side. She gasped slightly against his lips. His hands were warm but felt much cooler compared to the skin of her stomach. He pulled back slightly; eyes still closed, and let out a happy sigh before pulling her tighter to him, body and lips. She shank forward into him, her body molding to his, her skin crawling with the heat of the sun and his body. She leaned her head into the palm of his left hand, the fingers of his right hand moving over the curve of her hip, his fingers dancing along her skin like fingers on a piano. She giggled. His fingers moved back upward and she laughed openly against his mouth, pulling backwards.

He smiled down at her, "Did I hit a nerve?" His fingers danced again.

"Stop that," she giggled, swatting his hand out from under her robe and stepping back. She looked him straight in the eyes as she tied the robe closed tightly. "We're supposed to going out today remember." He stepped towards her again, hands reaching out to capture her small frame again but she moved out of his reach. She raised a finger at him. "I don't think so mister," she teased wagging her finger at him.

A pout began to break out on his lower lip but his eyes were still dancing, teasing. She gave him one more smile before heading over to the small black backpack she'd been living out of. She pulled on a pair of underwear and began to pull on her jeans when she felt him move up behind her. His hands rubbed back and forth over her shoulders, his head bowing forward and running soft kisses hot down the curve of her neck. She closed her eyes and sighed with contentment. She finished pulling on her jeans before cradling the side of his face with her right hand. His hands began to move down the sides of her robe, and she opened an eye lazily, watching his fingertips glide over the white fabric. She turned around into him kissing him softly, chastely, before stepping back and pushing him gently away.

"Seriously, you, go get dressed." Her voice was steady and commanding, but playful. She didn't want him to think she was mad at all.

He stared down at her, his lips smiling slightly promising all kinds of good things. She blushed under his stare and turned back to her bag, pulling out a bra and sweater. It was after all the beginning of autumn. She heard him move off behind her and focused on getting dressed herself, tugging the soft fabric of the v-neck sweater over her head. She grabbed her brush from the inside pocket of her bag, sweeping her hair up into a pony tail. She dabbed on some lip gloss before securing a small silver cross around her neck, her wedding present from Dawn. Grabbing her sneakers she dropped down on the edge of their bed, and began pulling on her shoes.

“Ready, luv?" He called as he stepped out from the bathroom and moved towards her, hand outstretched to help pull her to her feet.

He wore his signature black jeans and boots. A blue sweater the same color as his eyes completed the look. She nodded, hopping to her feet. Suddenly a wave of dizziness washed over her, and she staggered slightly to her left, her body threatening to collapse back onto the bed. Immediately he was there, his hands gripping her shoulders, steadying her, his face inches from hers. Gently he eased her back until she was sitting beside him on the bed. His eyes searched her face, worry creasing his forehead.

"I'm fine," she smiled, her voice stronger than she actually felt. "I'm probably just hungry."

He studied her carefully, not fully buying her explanation.

"Seriously, Spike, I'm fine," she grinned, her voice stronger, so strong even she believed it. "Probably still a little weak from our morning work out," she raised her eyebrows at him, hoping the innuendo and teasing would assuage his concerns as well as her own.

He stared at her for a moment longer, his face hard, but her face was so reassuring. Slowly the concern melted from his face and he smiled back. "Didn't mean to work you that hard," he smiled shyly getting to his feet.

"Oh no complaints here," she stood up much more carefully this time. "Now let's go get some food. I'm starved!"

Disclaimer: I sadly do not own any of the characters. They are all the wonderful creations from the wacky mind of Joss Whedon, and I am only taking advantage of my love of the show to play with them for a little while.

Spoilers: All of the Buffy series.

Dedicated: To the BLO girls (Candice, Jo, Ali, Trina, Crystal, and Lainey) and Andrew (spikyboy) – thanks for all the support and encouragement guys! You’ve been my biggest fans and some of the best friends I’ve been lucky enough to find. I love you all!

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It was nearly noon by the time their food was served. Buffy devoured her plate of Belgium waffles with large hungry eyes, a thin line of syrup dripping from the corner of her mouth. Without a word, Spike reached across the small Formica-topped table and whipped it away with his thumb. She glanced up at him sheepishly flashing a wide grin, lips pressed tightly together mid-chew.

He stared at her, eyebrows raised; a strange amused look playing over his face. "You've always had a healthy appetite, luv, but I promise you no one is going to be stealing your food."

She choked down the remainder of food stuffed in her mouth and raised her napkin to her lips. She couldn't look him in the eyes, suddenly embarrassed, but she offered a weak smile. He had a point. She had been scarfing down her meal like the waitress was going to come back any moment and pull the plate away. Usually she was only this hungry after a good fight, but then again she’d been busy with a lot of other physical activities lately. The thought made heat rise up the sides of her face and she smiled against her napkin. Finally she lifted her eyes to his.

"Guess you really have been giving me a work out," she offered, the corners of her lips trembling with the promise of laughter.

Spike just shook his head with a smile and turned his attention back to his own plate, stabbing his fork into the stack of chocolate chip pancakes cooling before him. Buffy watched him eat as she took a long drink from her cup of coffee. She loved watching him eat. He ate so slowly, carefully, rolling each bite around in his mouth savoring it. But then again who wouldn't be after a century of nothing but blood. Sunlight and food were just two of the new perks that Spike's renewed humanity had earned him and he still approached both with an tentative innocence, as if he was still afraid both would vanish the moment he took them for granted.

"What?" he blinked at her as he swallowed the last bite of pancake. She realized then that she had been staring at him.

"Oh it's nothing," she smiled softly at him before glancing back down at her plate. Lifting her fork she began to polish off the rest of her own meal.

They finished off their meal in a contented silence before joining the rest of humanity flittering back and forth through the crisp autumn air. They walked quietly along the waterfront for awhile, fingers entwined, watching the sunlight dance across the waves of the San Francisco Bay. It had only seemed appropriate to them both that they share their honeymoon and start their life in San Francisco. After all, it was along the shores of the bay that they had been reunited at last. That exact thought passed through Buffy’s mind as she glanced up at Spike, a pair of dark sunglasses hiding his blue eyes from her, a broad smile planted firmly on his lips. A moment of deep happiness washed over her and she paused, rising up on tiptoes to give him a soft kiss on the lips.

“Not that I’m complaining, luv, but what was that for?” his arms held her waist close to him, the sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose just enough so she could see the brilliant blue of his eyes; the same swirling blue as the water behind him.

“Does there always have to be a reason?” she raised an eyebrow coyly.

“No, no I suppose not,” he smiled, leaning down and kissing her deeply. She let out a small yelp against his lips as he leaned backwards, lifting her up off the ground.

“Ok, ok put me down already,” she laughed, trying to break away from his lips, playfully pounding his shoulders with her fists.

With a laugh he dropped her to her feet. “You know most women like that sort of thing.”

“Really? And where pray-tell oh Dali Llama of Femininity did you pick up that little tidbit of knowledge?” She grinned up at him, her arms crossed over her chest, her body language daring him to try and prove her wrong.

“Cosmo,” he grinned down at her victorious.

“Oh please,” she huffed, turning on her heels and marching a few paces ahead of him. But try as she might she couldn’t hide the smile smeared across her face. “I think, dear William, you need some male friends and fast!”

He let out a soft laugh so close to her she jumped. She hadn’t realized he had caught up behind her. “To be honest, luv, I’m enjoying the present company too much to consider sharing.” He kissed her lightly on the top of the head before slipping his left arm around her waist. She leaned into his shoulder and smiled as they continued to walk lazily along the pier.

The rest of the day passed too quickly for Buffy’s taste. After strolling along the waterfront they had done some window shopping and site seeing. They may have spent nearly a month in San Francisco but they hadn’t seen much of the city. With the sun setting they had enjoyed a nice romantic dinner at one of the numerous restaurants along the water, savoring delicious seafood to the melody of violins; followed by dessert at the Ghirardelli’s Chocolate Factory ice cream shop. It was nearly midnight by the time they headed back towards their hotel through a small park.

“Enjoy your evening out, pet?” Spike glanced down at her as they moved in out of the shadows along the tree lined street. The moon was full, a brilliant white light in the thick velvet of night sky.

“Very much so,” she smiled back at him, her eyes glowing softly in the moonlight. She gave his hand that she was holding a gentle squeeze. “We need to do this more often. I like seeing you out among other people in the daylight. The sunlight really suites you well.”

He stiffened slightly at her words, his eyes staring off into the darkness before them.

“Spike?”

“It’s nothing,” he shook his head, “Just this bloody mind of mine. Can’t help but feel this is all just some spell or nightmare, a wonderful nightmare mind you that I hope never ends, but one just the same. Still waiting for the part where the pain and the fighting start and everything falls apart around me.”

They had stopped walking and she stood before him holding his hands at his sides. He stared off to his left, watching the shadow of a nearby branch shift back and forth in the breeze that had started to blow. Reaching up she turned his face back down to her own.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” she whispered up at him.

“I know,” he sighed, “It’s just…I just can’t help it, Buffy.”

“I know,” she breathed, her hand cupping the side of his face, her thumb gently rubbing along his right cheekbone. “But believe me this is real.” She took his other hand in hers and pressed it first against her heart and then against his own. “Your heart is real and what we have is real. You just have to let yourself believe in it. Believe in us.”

“I do,” he whispered, his head leaning down towards hers. “More than anything I believe in you.” His lips captured hers before she could correct his ‘you’ to an ‘us’ but she didn’t protest. She released his hand, wrapping her arms around his neck, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist. Their kiss deepened and she could feel his heart beginning to race, reflecting the pace of her own heart.

Suddenly she sensed it. Like a prickle of electricity she realized what was happening a the very last second and with a burst of adrenaline, she dove forward, pushing Spike and her body on top of him to the ground. They hit the ground hard, rolling slightly to the left, the soft whirl of a bullet flying high above them right where they had been standing. Instinctively they both rolled to their knees, bodies tense, and eyes searching the shadows around them.

“Buffy…” Spike’s voice was soft but even.

“I don’t know,” she replied, her senses straining.

She had barely even sensed the bullet before it had been on top of them. Their little make-out session had nearly cost one or both of them their lives. Spike could definitely be categorized as a dangerous distraction, or rather Spike’s lips could or his body or… “Shit” she swore silently to herself. Here they were under attack and her mind was still all clouded with warm and dizzying lusty thoughts of Spike. She shook her head as if to shake the thoughts out through her ears. She needed to get her mind clear, open.

But before she could even attempt to focus, eight long-haired biker-clad vampires raced yelling out of the trees. Without so much as a thought, the two met the oncoming vampires halfway. Buffy slammed into the first vampire with a roundhouse kick to the jaw, sending him spiraling backwards and into another vamp behind him. Two more attacked from her left and right, but she deftly avoided the punch from the tall black vampire to her left and used his own momentum to send him careening into the blond-haired David Lee Roth wannabee vampire to her right. The dark-haired vamp she had initially dealt with raced at her in a football stance preparing to take her out at the knees but instead her sneakers met his jaw yet again and he went flying back through the trees.

She pushed herself up to her feet quickly, pulling out the stake that had been sheathed in a thong tied along the inside leg of her jeans. Without turning she stabbed backwards and up, dusting the blond-haired vamp mid-leap, showering herself in a fine rain of dust. Two more vampires hit her from the right, rolling her head over feet and tearing the stake from her grasp. Her body slammed against the slender trunk of a tree and for a moment she wasn’t sure which side was up.

The foul breath of dark the haired vampire snapped her from her daze and her eyes focused on his scarred face only inches from her own. His nose was broken and blood ran freely down his face. He sneered a mouthful of yellow broken teeth, spraying her face with a mist of blood as he exhaled.

“Now you die Slayer,” he hissed, his voice thick with some accent too foreign and broken for her to place.

“No, I don’t think so,” she glared back, slamming her forehead forward into his broken nose.

He slid off her with a howl, his face completely covered in blood. She dove over the top of him, hitting the ground with her shoulder and rolling across the grass. She pushed herself up into a crouch, stake back in hand.

“What are you waiting for, hurt her!” the dark-haired vampire cried, his hands clutching the bloody mess that was his face. “Hurt her a lot!”

The other two vampires glanced from the bleeding vampire and then back to Buffy, hesitating, weighing their options as too who could cause them the most pain in the end.

“Now!” the vampire roared again, and the two other vamps charged forward. They grabbed and swung and roared but in a matter of minutes they were nothing more than a pile of dust on the ground.

“Just you and me now, Rudolph.”

He roared and launched himself forward, bloody and all. She took his weight full force, using his momentum to push him up and over her head, landing him square on his back. She swung her leg around and had him pinned beneath her in no time. The vampire lay beneath her wheezing and laughing, spraying blood everywhere.

“And what is so funny?” She held the stake steadily above his heart.

“Just that I may die but I get to watch you watch your lover over there die too,” he laughed again, his laughter fading into a deep bloody cough. “I cause you pain either way.”

Buffy jerked her head up from the vampire, her eyes scanning desperately for Spike. He was a few yards away from her having a nasty time with four other vampires. Two had his arms pinned, his back against the tree, while the other two took turns playing the scales on his kidneys.

“Spike,” she whispered, for the first time fear seeping into her voice. The vampire beneath her laughed again. “Will you die already,” she growled, slamming the stake home and watching him dust away beneath her.

Seconds later she was on her feet and racing towards Spike. She crashed into the side of one of the vampires hitting Spike, taking him to the ground with her on top. The vampire tried to throw her over his head but only got her partially up in the air before he dusted away, her stake stuck into the earth. She pushed off of the stake, flipping over her head and landed ready for the next attack. The vampires holding Spike had released him and with a growl and they rushed at her. She punched the first one several times in the face before getting hit herself, her body flying a few feet backwards. She got back to her feet to the sounds of fighting. Turning she was relieved to see Spike swinging away, holding his own against two vampires. But where was the other one?

Suddenly strong arms grabbed her from behind, and she felt herself being lifted off the ground. A thick Spanish accent hissed in her ear, “Squirm all you want, Slayer. Te quiero amor mio.” He laughed softly, his tongue flicking up and down the side of her neck as he squeezed tighter.

“Are you seriously getting off on this!” she cried, kicking her feet forward, desperately trying to find some footing to help give her lift.

“I hear Slayer blood is the greatest aphrodisiac out there,” his voice was low and husky now, his tongue still sliding along her neck.

“Ok that’s it!” With a deep growl of her own, Buffy slammed her head backwards into the vampire’s head causing him to stagger backwards. Momentarily stunned, he swung her wide in his arms bringing her close enough to the trunk of a tree for her to get her feet up against it. With one push, she flipped herself over his head, breaking his hold on her and regaining her footing. “Now let’s dance.”

The Hispanic vamp growled, baring his teeth white in the moonlight. He raced towards her with incredible speed but she was one step ahead of him, as her fingers wrapped around a branch by her foot. Slamming her right sneaker down on the branch while pulling up on the other end at the same time, she broke off a jagged sliver, and flung it forward right at the charging vamp. He dusted before he knew what hit him, the breeze catching up the falling cloud of dust and sending grains spinning across the park.

She rose slowly to her feet, panting, her hand wiping at the drying saliva still wet on her neck. Picking up the branch she’d used to kill the Spanish vamp she turned just in time to see Spike take down the last two vamps with duel strikes. Slowly she made her way over to his side.

He had slumped down to the ground, his back resting against a nearby tree, his eyes closed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His face was bloody. A nasty looking bruise had started to form just beneath his right eye, and there was long thin cut across his left cheek bone. His lower lip was split, and blood dripped down his chin, but he was alive and from what she could tell his injuries weren’t that bad.

She dropped to her knees and crawled towards him, stopping close enough to touch him but refrained from doing so. “Spike,” she whispered, her fingers longing to touch his face, to check his injuries. “Spike, are you alright?”

He tilted his head towards her, his eyes opening lazily, taking in her face, her unblemished face. He nodded slightly, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the tree. “I’m fine.” He felt her fingers ghosting over his face and he opened one eye. “I’m fine, Buffy,” he repeated, this time his voice hostile, angry. He pushed himself up wincing with the help of the tree. She reached out to him to help but he pulled back. “I just told you I’m fine, so stop acting like I’m going to bloody well break!”

She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. Spike had yelled at her before, hell they used to beat the crap out of each other on a regular basis but that had been before, before his soul, before his rebirth, before they had been married. She felt emotion starting to strangle to her throat and swallowed hard, pushing them back down. What was wrong with her? She never got this emotional over something as small as being snapped at before. Silently she chided herself as she picked up her other stake and followed Spike’s limping form back to the hotel.

Disclaimer: I sadly do not own any of the characters. They are all the wonderful creations from the wacky mind of Joss Whedon, and I am only taking advantage of my love of the show to play with them for a little while.

Spoilers: All of the Buffy series.

Dedicated: To the BLO girls (Candice, Jo, Ali, Trina, Crystal, and Lainey) and Andrew (spikyboy) – thanks for all the support and encouragement guys! You’ve been my biggest fans and some of the best friends I’ve been lucky enough to find. I love you all!


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Tentatively he touched the bruise slowly forming just under his right eye, the skin fading from red to a deep painful purple. He sucked in a tight breath as a shock of pain spread out from beneath his fingertips. At least the swelling had gone down. Reaching down, he picked up the remnants of the melting ice cubes dripping into the thick red terry-cloth face cloth that lay crumpled in the skin before him. With numbing fingers he re-adjusted the cloth and pressed its wet, icy material against his eye once more. He winced again as pain spread out across his face but slowly it became nothing more than a dull ache beneath the chilling cloth. He sighed heavily, leaning forward, elbows resting on the smooth surface of the skin, his eyes staring at his haunting reflection in the mirror before him.

The shower had done him some good, his face no longer bloodied and raw. The cut on his left cheekbone was not nearly has deep as he had feared and his split lower lip, though still tender, had already clotted closed. He had been lucky. No broken bones, at most a bruised rib or two that would be sensitive for a few days, but he had gotten away in one piece unbroken. His free hand clenched tightly outstretched across the gaping mouth of the sink. He had been lucky. Damn, he’d been lucky.

He let out a deep breath through his nose, anger and frustration rising up inside of him again. It had been so long since he had nearly lost a fight, at least a fight against a vampire. Buffy had beaten the hell out of him many times but she was a slayer, which was to be expected, but not this, not now. Was this the cost of his humanity?

Of course she had tried to put his mind at ease, reminding him of the numerous times a random vamp had nearly gotten the best of her. He had only been back less than a month now. He was just rusty. The fight meant nothing and in the end he had finished them off, with her help yes, but still he had taken care of the last two on his own. So he’d got a few bruises, nothing was broken and he was still in one piece. Just shrug it off, she had said. It meant nothing. But it wasn’t that simple and he knew she was concerned too, could see the questions, the fear floating in the recesses of her luminous eyes. She was wondering the same things he was; had his humanity taken away every last part of his vampire self? Had the Shanshu Prophecy carried with it a consequence neither of them had been prepared for? Without his strength he was no use to her in a fight; no more effective than Xander had been. Was he nothing more than a liability, a weakness to be exploited by every new Big Bad that wanted to take the Slayer down?

The thought made his blood run hot, and he tore his eyes away from his own reflection too angry with himself to think straight. She could have been killed because of him. Hell, if it turned out that this wasn’t just one isolated incident of him being “rusty” then every moment together could put her in danger. In a rush of anger, he slammed the face cloth down into the sink with a growl. One brief moment and all the happiness he had been basking in for the last month had been torn from him. Their once bright, promising future was now overcast in a fog of doubt and uncertainty. Damn it! Why did everything always have to be so complicated for them! Hadn’t they both earned a break after everything?

He took in a deep long breath through his nose and let it out slowly, forcing his body to relax, his shoulders to loosen. Gently he shook out the remaining ice shards into the sink and hung the soaked face cloth over the shower head. With a parting glance at his bruised eye, he shut off the bathroom light and headed back into the bedroom.

She lay on her back in the middle of the bed, her hair spidering out like spun gold across the white of the pillow case. His black t-shirt hugged the curves of her body, the bed sheet pulled up to just below her breasts. Her breath was easy, even, the soft whisper of sleep. Her right hand lay across his pillow, fingers slightly spread as if reaching out for him. She moaned slightly in her sleep, a wave of sadness washing over her features as she whispered his name before curling onto her right side, her arm and hand sliding forward, reaching. But he didn’t come to her; instead he dropped down heavily into the plush desk chair that sat across from the bed, his eyes watching her sleep. He really was a jerk sometimes.

It had been the first night since he had returned that they had not made love. Not that either of them had been particularly in the mood after the fight they had had upon their return to the room. She had only been trying to ease his mind, to be supportive and he had bitten her head off. He had taken out all his own fears, frustrations, and self-loathing out on her, and for the most part she had born it with little resistance. Only when he accused her of secretly enjoying the fact that he was weak while she remained strong did her patience break, and she had railed into him full force. Not that he blamed her; even when he was yelling back at her he knew he was wrong but he couldn’t help himself. Ruled by his passions, his blood, for good and bad that was him, and not even regaining his humanity was going to change that. In the end he had stalked off to the bathroom, slamming the door in her face. She had tried to apologize an hour or so later, knocking softly at the door asking him to come to bed, her voice so quiet, defeated, tired, but he had ignored her and eventually she had stopped trying. He had hated himself for not going out to her, for letting her go to bed thinking he was still angry with her when he was not. He had never been. It was himself he was furious with, but then again you always hurt the ones you love most. And damn did he love her!

As he watched her sleep he absentmindedly reached over and began to withdraw a cigarette from the pack stuffed deep in the pocket of his duster which hung over the back of the chair. Lifting it to his lips he was just about to light it when he stopped, the flame of the lighter flickering before him. For so long he had been dependent on his smokes, an easy and convenient release, a warm comfort. But he was human now, complete with beating heart and fragility of life. Maybe he should quit; maybe he would quit tomorrow. He took in a long slow drag and letting the smoke fill him up, before letting out.

He sat quietly, watching her sleep until the cigarette had burned down to the filter. Snuffing it out in the ashtray that sat on the desk top he got to his feet and moved towards the bed. Quietly he removed his shirt and jeans, dropping them unceremoniously in a pile at the foot of the bed. Reaching over he turned out the light and climbed into bed, pulling the blanket up around his chest. He lay on his back staring up at the darkness above him. Beside him he could feel her stir, her small hands clenching and unclenching as she dreamed. Leaning over he kissed her softly on the forehead.

“Sorry, luv,” he whispered to the silent darkness around them.

He slid and arm under her small frame, rolling her to him. She nestled against him, her small head leaning against his chest, her hair resting against his chin and cheek. She let out a deep sigh, her breath tickling his chest until he reluctantly smiled against her hair. Tomorrow he would make it right with her again. Yes, tomorrow things would look a brighter.



-----



He moved deep within her, his body pressing against hers as he pushed forward. She moaned beneath him, her back arching as he pressed forward. He felt his pulse racing, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. His finger tips gripped her shoulders, gently but tightly, her fingers running over the bare muscles of his back. Opening his eyes he stared down at her beneath him, her eyes half closed as a wave of pleasure washed over her. She breathed his name, her legs hugging the sides of his hips tighter as her need grew. He leaned forward, capturing her lips in his own, his tongue licking the salt from her lower lip. Beads of sweat began to break out across his chest and back as his own pleasure grew. He dropped his head forward, breathing heavily into her hair, breathing in her scent, her breasts soft and bare pressed against his chest. Buffy let out a cry, sounds truly carnal falling from her lips as his movements became faster, harder, deeper.

“I love you,” she whispered against his neck, and he pushed himself back up so he could look down into her face. A wave of pleasure washed over him and he closed his eyes in an attempt to hold out a bit longer. Slowly he opened them again preparing to kiss her once last time before letting himself go, but instead she was gone! Drusilla’s smiling face beamed up at him, “Hello my sweet Willie.”

“Dru!” he stammered, staring down at her naked body beneath him, her long black hair falling in a curtain over her naked breasts. “You’re not here. You can’t be here.” He tried to pull out of her, but she wrapped her legs around his waist, her feet pressing hard against his naked backside. She was like a steel trap, and then she began to move beneath him.

“Does my sweet Willie not want to play?” Dru cooed, her eyes dancing with treacherous promises. Pleasure deep and dangerous began to build within him.

“Dru, stop,” he growled, pushing against her, silently begging his body to stop, but he was only a man and the pleasure began to swell.

“Has that dirty whore taken everything from my sweet Willie. Tsk tsk. After all we taught him, after all we let him play with, he does not want his old toys anymore. She is a very bad shiny new doll and I think we must teach her a lesson.”

“No,” Spike hissed, pushing against Dru with all his might, but instead she just rolled him onto his back, her naked body straddling him.

“Now we will show you a real ride,” she grinned, her face transforming as she unleashed the demon within her. Her fanged mouth smiled cruelly down at him, as she began to ride him, hard and fast. He could feel his resolve melting away, his body giving in. Desperation broke out in a cold sweat across his forehead. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t Dru’s play thing anymore; he hadn’t been for years, and now, now the only woman he wanted touching him so intimately was Buffy.

“She will never understand you as we have, my silly boy,” Dru whispered, leaning down towards him. “Remember it was we that found you, the sad, sorry excuse for a man. It was we who saved you, who gave you a purpose and power, and yet you threw it all away for that whore. She can never love you. Only we know how to love you the way you deserve to be loved. You are of no use to her anymore; can’t even handle a few vampires. So very sad; I do believe the flowers weep for my Willie, my weak and helpless Willie. But we will give you your true self back. Yes once she is dead you will live again.”

“No!” Spike cried, slamming his hands in to Dru’s naked shoulders and rolling her roughly onto her back. “You won’t harm her,” he spat down at her.

She lay there quietly for a moment before the deep fluttering laugh of hers that he knew too well began to well up out of her throat. “My poor poor William. We do not need to harm her…”

Suddenly Drusilla morphed before his eyes into that of Cecily, the first woman he had ever loved. She looked up him with her big eyes, full of mocking laughter. “…it is you who will destroy her for us,” she finished, her voice full of laughter and disgust.

Spike woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed, his body covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Thank god it had only been a dream. He lay back down, his breath still coming in ragged gasps, his lower body hot and hard to the point of pain from the dream. He needed a release. For a brief moment he glanced over at Buffy’s sleeping form beside him. He knew she would oblige him; all he had to was wake her and she would happily fulfill his need, but he couldn’t, not after his dream. Drusilla and Cecily’s mocking faces still floated before his waking eyes. He suddenly felt dirty, cheap, and quickly he rose from the bed and made his way into the bathroom.

Moments later he emerged, his pain gone, his body cooling. Still the dream haunted him. He hadn’t dreamt of Dru since he had returned at last to Sunnydale all those years ago. And Cecily, he hadn’t thought of her since he had killed her just after Dru had turned him. Why now, why like this? A shiver ran up his spine and he climbed back into the bed, rolling onto his side and drawing Buffy’s slumbering body to him. Holding her close, he breathed in the scent of her hair and felt his mind relax a little. Yet still he felt guilty holding her so close, so intimately after his dream.

With a kiss, he moved back from her, rolling onto his stomach, his face inches from her own. He could feel the warm softness of her breath against his face. She was beautiful when she slept. Hell, she was beautiful whatever she was doing. How could he have ever earned the love of someone like her? Maybe Dru was right; maybe he didn’t deserve that kind of love, the kind of love Buffy gave to him. After all he had done… He let that last thought die where it was.

He had done enough second guessing and questioning for one night, and he was surprised to find his eyelids suddenly very heavy with sleep. Still feeling too guilty to touch her, he slid his right hand into one of Buffy’s open palms, holding it gently against the pillow for a few moments. Finally with a parting squeeze he released it and closed his eyes. His last conscious thought was a silent prayer that he would not dream for the rest of the night.

Disclaimer: I sadly do not own any of the characters. They are all the wonderful creations from the wacky mind of Joss Whedon, and I am only taking advantage of my love of the show to play with them for a little while.

Spoilers: All of the Buffy series.

Dedicated: To the BLO girls (Candice, Jo, Ali, Trina, Crystal, and Lainey) and Andrew (spikyboy) – thanks for all the support and encouragement guys! You’ve been my biggest fans and some of the best friends I’ve been lucky enough to find. I love you all!


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He awoke slowly, lazily several hours later. The sunlight poured in through the curtains, bathing his face and chest in a warm golden light. He stirred, rolling away from the light, his left arm thrown across his eyes. He wasn’t ready for the day. He dozed in and out of consciousness for a bit, strange shadows and patterns dancing across his closed eyelids as he shifted his arm in his sleep. Finally, unable to hold onto sleep any longer he rolled onto his back and stared up at the bright white of the ceiling. Morpheus could be so cruel sometimes, pulling the world of his dreams away without even a parting hint of what he had seen. He sighed and turned his head to the right, squinting at the alarm clock. It was nearly 9:30 a.m. That’s when he was acutely aware that he was alone.

Rolling over onto his left side he propped himself up and stared at her pillow. The indent of her head had all but vanished. Reaching out he touched it with his fingertips but it was cold. She’d been gone for awhile. But where?

As if on cue he heard the card key click in the lock and gently, quietly the door to the hotel room eased open. She tiptoed in before turning, and closing the door silently into place. Her shoulders hunched forward in a wince as the lock clicked into place. For a brief moment she stood with her back to him and the bed and he watched her quietly. She was dressed in gray zip-up hooded sweatshirt and black spandex running pants that accentuated the curves and muscles of her legs.

“Couldn’t sleep?” his voice made her jump slightly and she whirled to face him.

“Yeah,” she smiled, moving towards the bed. “I didn’t wake you did I?”

“No,” he replied sliding up in the bed watching her.

She dropped down on the edge of the bed and began to untie her shoes. “Needed some fresh air,” she added, her back to him. “Needed to do some thinking.”

“Buffy,” he started, but turning she crawled toward him across the sheets, silencing him with a shake of her head.

“I wasn’t thinking about last night’s little argument,” she replied reading the thoughts and concerns swirling in the blue eddies of his eyes. “I’m not worried and I know it’s just a matter of time before you realize that too.” He made to protest but she put up a hand and he decided it wasn’t worth it. “I was thinking about the attack itself. I think it might have something to do with the warning Whistler gave me after the Avatar.”

Spike frowned, pushing himself up into a sitting position, the sheets resting in a loose pile around his naked waist. “You think it might have been a set up?”

“Perhaps,” she shrugged, her teeth working over her lower lip. “I called Giles while I was out, and he agrees with me.”

“Care to let me in on your little pow-wow?” Spike raised an eyebrow.

“I think we need to do like Whistler suggested. We need to go to Salem and find this mystic or psychic or whatever she is, Sylviara.” She noticed the frown starting to work its way across his features. “It certainly couldn’t hurt.”

She had him there. “When do we leave?”

“Tonight at 5 pm,” she pulled two plane tickets out of the front pocket of her sweatshirt.

“You have had a busy morning.”

She smiled slightly. “Didn’t get much sleep last night,” she glanced away from him. “Woke up early feeling antsy.”

“Hey,” he whispered softly, reaching out a drawing her body to him. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she whispered back, resting her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes. “I’m sorry too.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes before she stirred suddenly. Her face looked funny. “You alright, luv?”

She swallowed slowly, forcefully, deliberately, before glancing up at his concerned face. “Yeah,” she nodded. “Stomach is just not very happy with me right now. Bet I over did it on the run this morning.” Impulsively she kissed him on the cheek. “I just need to take a nice hot shower.” And before he could protest she had bounced off the bed and had the shower running.

Leaning back down into the folds of their downy mattress, Spike folded his arms behind his head and stared back up at the ceiling. So much for their honeymoon; within a few hours they would stepping off a plane into the crisp autumn air of New England. He just hoped the trip would prove fruitful.



-----



It was well after midnight when they landed in Boston’s Logan airport and hailed a cab for the long drive to Salem. The night was crisp and clear, the frosty smell of autumn in full bloom accentuating the stars and golden crescent moon. In the back of the cab, Buffy snuggled closer against Spike for warmth, the sleeves of her leather coat pulled forward over her fingers. They rode in silence, listening to the soft chatter of the sports radio station that the driver had tuned into.

The abrupt stopping of the cab shook Spike from the doze he had begun to slip into. Reaching down he gently shook his sleeping wife’s shoulders until her eyes blinked and she smiled up at him. “We there yet?”

He nodded, reaching down and undoing his seat belt before joining the driver out on the curb. The sky was a blanket of stars shining so brightly Spike swore if he reached up he could touch them. Tearing his eyes away from the heavens above he settled the cab fair and helped the driver unload their two small carry on bags from the trunk. By the time he had finished Buffy had dragged herself from the warm refuge of the back seat and out into the brisk early morning air.

“After you,” Spike made a dramatic little bow and offered Buffy his hand.

“You can be so odd sometimes,” she teased, taking his hand and trotting toward the front doors of the Hawthorne Hotel. Halfway to the door she paused staring up at the statute of a large gilded eagle that stood, wings spread wide, over the top of the door. A dark shadow fell across its head, elongating its neck and twisting its eyes in long dark slits. She shivered her eyes holding the stone gaze of the bird.

“You’re shivering, pet,” Spike’s voice warm and deep beside her broke the bird’s haunting spell on her and obediently she allowed him to lead her into the warmth of the lobby.

The lobby of the hotel was in one word breathtaking. A thick evergreen carpet covered the floor, on top of which elegant red oriental carpets had been laid to soften the deep chocolates of the wooden furniture, large ferns, and plush armchairs that decorated the room. Large vases of freshly cut flowers all in soft oranges, reds, and yellows paid homage to the beauty of the New England autumn, setting the lobby ablaze in a fire of color. A slim man with a thick graying mustached greeted them from behind the large, thick mahogany concierge desk, “A room for two?”

As Spike handled the details of their stay, Buffy began to wander around the lobby. Old books with gilded bindings filled two large bookshelves in the corners and she paused for a moment running her eyes over the titles along the bindings.

“Many of those books are originals brought over hundreds of years ago from England,” an elderly gentleman called out to her. He sat in one of the large plush armchairs, a newspaper in his lap, a cane resting against the side of his chair.

“They’re beautiful,” she whispered, more to please the old man than out of any real love of the books. Books and Buffy had never been close friends.

“Where are you two from?” the old man leaned forward, his hand gesturing towards Spike. “You and your beau I mean.”

“California,” she smiled back. They must stick out so badly with Spike bleached blonde hair and her deep tan.

“Well let me tell you, you are in for a real treat. Came out to Salem at the right time, let me tell you, what with Halloween only 3 days away. You’ve never seen anything more beautiful than autumn in New England but you’ve never experienced Halloween until you’ve spent it in Salem Massachusetts. Ever hear of the Salem Witch Trials?”

She nodded. She could see Spike finishing up with the bill. “It was nice talking with you,” she smiled down at the old man as she prepared to leave but suddenly she felt his hand tight on her forearm. She spun around and was startled to find him leaning very close to her, his eyes shining with a feverish light.

“Be careful lass. Salem is a special place with a deep and dark history. There are secrets here that never sleep.” He glanced around quickly then leaned in so close his nose was nearly touching the side of her cheek. “Whatever you do, be sure to steer clear of the elevator after midnight. It’s haunted.” He hissed the last words out in an icy, spine tingling rush of air. For a moment Buffy stared back at him, her eyes huge, her body unable to move. Was he serious?

“Buffy,” Spike called. He was waving to her from the bottom of the staircase. Hurriedly she moved away from the old man and followed after Spike.

Their room was a vibrant mix of deep royal blues and golden yellows. A single high-posted queen-sized bed took up much of the room, with a deep red-brown carved bureau sitting along the opposite wall. Thick pale yellow curtains ran from ceiling to floor along the large picture window that took up most of the far wall, and a small electrically lit chandelier hung above the bed. Spike dropped their bags down on the foot of the bed before collapsing face down against the thick bedcovering. Buffy quickly busied herself unpacking and organizing things in their small bathroom. Within a half hour she was snuggling down under the thick flannel of the bed sheets, the lights off, and Spike’s warm body beside her.

“Buffy,” his voice called out to her through the darkness, low and husky. She could feel his arms wrapping around her small frame, pulling her against him.

“Hmm,” she replied softly, her eyes heavy with sleep. She could feel his lips moving along her neck down towards her shoulders, his hands kneading the skin along her sides causing her t-shirt to inch up over her hips. She knew what he was after, could taste it in the air, feel it in the quick pace of his heartbeat against her back. Gently she rolled onto her back, her head lolling against his side. The new position made him pause for a few moments, but soon enough his lips and hands were exploring.

“Not now,” she whispered back, her voice coming out harsher then she had intended.

She was tired. It had been a long flight and she still had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something in Salem didn’t sit right with her. She felt so far from desirable in that moment that sex was the furthest thing from her mind. She felt his body stiffen behind her, his hands dropping like leaden weights against the mattress in front of her stomach. A part of her wanted to assure him that everything was fine, that she was legitimately tired but her body was too exhausted to explain, to think, to form the words, so instead she remained silent as she drifted off into sleep.

He let his arms fall limply around her as he felt her body grow heavy as she faded into sleep. He wasn’t mad at her. He would never force her into doing anything she wasn’t up for. Beg her perhaps, bait her into it, but never push her. Yet still he laid there, desire warming his lower body and no release to be found. It wasn’t just the physical release he was after. After the other night he still felt guilty, felt like he owed her some physical form of an apology, some small measure of physical pleasure to show her just how much he loved her. At least she hadn’t given him the “I have a headache” line. That was a plus at least. So instead he lay there, holding her slumbering body, his eyes staring off into the blackness, until finally Morpheus came for him too and he drifted off into sleep.



-----



He stood in a large stone room deep under ground. A long thick wooden table stood before him, surrounded by figures in black hooded shrouds. Candles flickered along the walls and the thick smell of mildew and incense filled the air, an acrid gray cloud hovering like a fog along the stones above. He felt damp, a bone chilling dampness and he shivered despite the heavy weight of his duster on his shoulders.

The figures were bent over the table, their voices soft, hushed, chanting. A tall black haired woman dressed in a long gothic purple gown moved among the figures, a fine trail of black lace whispering across the stones. She was the only one who glanced at him; her steely eyes the color of a gathering storm. She smiled at him with crimson lips, her hair piled high on her head. She reminded him of someone, someone from his past and he watched her move slowly, gracefully, erotically across the room. Suddenly it hit him! The girl was a spitting image of Dru, much younger, but Dru just the same.

He moved forward as if his feet had a mind of their own. He moved around the figures towards the young woman in purple, her eyes never leaving his, her lips parted in an inviting smile. Her gaze held him in a tight grip, dark shadows dancing in their corners, whispering things to him, promising dark dirty secrets. Finally he stopped a few feet from her, at the head of the table.

The figures in black began to move away then, as the young women’s arms moved upward into the air, almost as if she were parting their bodies like a sea. Electric shocks began to permeate the air as the young woman began to unleash her powers, unfurling them like a warm blanket. As the figures moved backwards the body of a young woman could be seen tied to the surface of the table.

“Buffy”, he caught himself whispering as he took in the soft sleeping figure of his wife, her arms bound at her side, her legs stretched out straight and tied together. She didn’t move, her eyes closed tight, her chest rising and falling in slow gentle waves.

He moved towards her, his body once again moving on its own. Reaching the side of the table he leaned forward to kiss her but the young woman, the other Dru was there beside him, her hand ever so gently touching his forearm stopping him. Without a word she placed a long curved knife in his hand and with a smile stepped back.

Suddenly his hands were clutching the knife above Buffy’s head, the air around him crackling with electricity and power. He felt his arms shaking as he fought the urge inside of him, the urge to plunge the knife down into her chest. The electricity pumped through him, burning his muscles, making his arms shake even more and his body to cry out in agony.

In a rush of fury he spun, flinging the knife at the feet of the young girl, his body shaking as he gasped for air. “I won’t do it!” he growled, his voice strong and steady.

She smiled back at him, that same dangerous sexual smirk. She moved towards him, her hand reaching out and resting against his chest. He stood still as stone as she moved her hands up and down his chest, her eyes never leaving his face. He stared back into her storm-gray eyes as her hands moved lower, pressing, testing, feeling. She began to bite her lower lip in a playful sensual way as her hands began to move in slow soft circles between his legs. He glanced sidelong at Buffy, his heart starting to race with fear. Turning back he found the girl’s smiling face inches from his own. With a slight smile she leaned forward and kissed him, chastely at first then harder her lips pressing so hard against his own he thought his teeth would shatter.

Finally she moved her lips away, instead stepping forward so her body pressed against his from legs to chest, pinning him between her and the table behind him. Her lips began to nibble at his ear and her voice whispered, “Just one little kiss is all it takes.”

He pushed her back staring into her eyes, and suddenly he was straddling Buffy’s sleeping form, his heart racing in his chest. He could feel the power of the young girl beating at his body like a scalding hurricane wind. His head moved forward toward Buffy’s neck, his lips gently nipping at her soft skin. Slowly the nips turned to sucking, deep purple bruises dusting her skin as he moved his lips up along the curve of her neck, stopping finally at the large pulsing vein hidden just beneath her skin. He sucked on it, feeling the electricity of her pulse in his mouth, rolling it around on his tongue.

Suddenly he reared his head upward, fangs growing forward long and curved from his lips. He hissed at the young woman whose eyes egged him on, her body arched in a curve of pleasure, her eyelids heavy with sex, and her knuckles white from gripping the edge of the table so tightly. With a roar Spike slammed his head forward sinking his teeth into the neck of the woman he loved.