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Buffy opened her eyes slowly, finding herself in yet another motel room. These cheap rooms all looked the same and had already begun to blur together in her mind, making it even harder for her to get a firm sense of where she was. She had thought the few trees she'd noticed in the little time she'd spent outside had indicated that they had gone north, but she didn't know if they had stayed in that direction or, if they had, how far they'd gotten. She knew there were possibly clues in the room to their location—perhaps a phone book—but she was too nervous to look. Spike had told her it wasn't important for her to know where they were, and what if he was really serious about her not knowing? If he caught her trying to find out, would he do what he'd warned her of the night before and take away her free will? Buffy shuddered at the thought. That was the one thing she knew would make this all even more unbearable.

Spike was sleeping beside her in the bed, but he had not moved close to her in the night like he normally did. He was almost to the other edge of the bed, his limbs kept in check instead of his usual sprawling. He'd taken off his boots and shirt, though his jeans were still on, and the sight made Buffy feel a momentary pang as she decided he had most likely done so to keep his distance from her. She missed the feeling of waking up with him curled around her, his body warmed by the heat he'd taken from her in the night.

No…she didn't miss that. Not at all. She had to remind herself of that, shaking away her first, traitorous thoughts that she knew must've been pushed into her mind by the claim. Spike keeping his distance as they slept was good, second only to him deciding he'd much rather sleep in the now-sunny parking lot.

Because he was a vampire, and for that she did want him dust. She did. It didn't matter if the claim told her otherwise.

Buffy's eyes trailed over Spike's still form, a lump in her throat. He was on his back, his hands clasped over his abdomen, and he looked like nothing more than a corpse. He made no movements, his chest still, and she shuddered. The demon was sleeping, leaving nothing for her to see but the dead body of the man it had taken over.

Her mother's Watcher, Harold, had always made one thing abundantly clear to her—vampires were not the people they had been before death. Those people were gone, killed the moment their souls left their bodies. Vampires retained the memories of the person, yes, but they were nothing but demons. It was a cruel treachery that allowed vampires to blend in with the humans they made their prey.

Buffy would not fall victim to the ruse. This creature she saw now was not a man at all, but a monster. He took the lives of others for his own pleasure. Whatever man the vampire's body had belonged to in life was long gone.

Her thoughts traveled unbidden to what sort of man he had been. Had he been cruel like the vampire, or had he been someone good, someone innocent, who had merely become a victim?

Buffy had never given much thought to such a topic before. There was no reason to think about the humans vampires had once been—the only thing that mattered was that their bodies would now become dust, doing away with the demon that inhabited them.

But what had he been like? She had found what information she could on Spike when she'd thought he was her mother's killer, but anything on the man that came before the vampire was sparse at best. She hadn't even been able to pinpoint an exact date of turning, since his age varied from text to text, as did the name of his sire. Some texts attributed his siring to Angelus, while others cited that Angelus was his grandsire and it was Drusilla who was in fact his actual sire. His age posed even more of a problem as almost every text gave a different date, ranging from the mid 1700's to the late 1800's. They did tend to agree on one thing, however—his name had been William.

William. He was a man whose body she had touched many times, though she would never get the chance to know him. The thought disturbed her slightly, reminding her as the sight of him so still now did, that her lover was essentially a dead man.

Buffy stopped her train of thought right there. Lover? No, he wasn't that. She wouldn't think of him as that—she would never think of him as that. What he'd done to her, this claim, had been done against her will. It had twisted her, made her want things she never would've wanted under normal circumstances.

Buffy wanted to forget what she'd felt when he'd fed the night before, but she wouldn't allow herself such an escape. She needed that reminder of what he really was. He wasn't a man. He wasn't William. He was Spike. A cold-blooded killer. A monster. He didn't have the capacity to be anything else. After all, a soul was what allowed you to care, what allowed you to feel, and he was without one.

She cast one last glance at the vampire before getting out of bed. She gathered some clothes together and headed to the bathroom to shower, hoping it would make her feel better.

It didn't. She was physically cleaner, but that's where it ended. She was still trapped here, still at the mercy of a vampire. Buffy sat down in a sparsely-padded wooden chair, staring at the closed curtains. She missed the sun, missed being outside and letting the warmth wash over her. She wondered if she'd ever get to feel that again. Spike had been very clear when she'd left to call Giles that she wasn't to go outside in the day where he couldn't get to her, and with Spike around she couldn't as much as open the curtains to even see the daylight.

Buffy had made the dark her home in her quest to avenge her mother's death, but it wasn't at all she wanted, wasn't where she felt the happiest. Back when she was living with Howard, there had been a balcony connected to their apartment that he'd kept covered in potted flowers. It had become her haven, her own little garden where she'd spent long hours, just enjoying the peace and tranquility. Did being Spike's mate mean she had to give that up completely, living instead in dank motel rooms and dark alleys?

Longing welled up inside her at the very thought. She knew now exactly where she was—hell. She was suffering, stripped of her choices and her freedom, forced to hide in the dark with a monster who would make her live through his evil deeds over and over again until it broke her.

And it would break her. Buffy was certain of that. What she had experienced the night before when Spike had murdered the motel clerk still shook her, the memory of it screaming inside of her, her mind and soul still assaulted in its wake as they had been in the moment. The thought of it was something almost tangible, made more vivid from being experienced through his vampiric senses, bringing with them an intensity she had never known before.

The feelings rose inside of her like bile and broke the surface as sobs. Her breaths came in gulps between the tears, her body shaking.

Suddenly, Spike's arms were around her, lifting her from the chair and brining her to the edge of the bed where he could hold her in his lap, stroking her hair as he whispered gentle words against the golden strands. His comfort both calmed and repulsed her at once, her body reacting to the closeness of her mate, while her mind railed at the horror of his touch bringing her any amount of peace.

"I'm crying because of you," Buffy told him finally as her tears slowed.

"I know," Spike admitted, his voice holding a tone of regret that Buffy didn't want to hear.

"Then you should know I don't want any comfort from you. It doesn't help."

"You're not crying as hard," Spike pointed out. "Besides, I can't feel that sort of pain in you, kitten, and not do anything to try to make it better." He gave her a smile that would've tugged at her heart had Buffy let it. Instead, she turned her eyes away from him, not wanting to look at his face. It was too expressive, too human, too much.

Spike tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear before brushing his hand down her cheek, wiping away the tears he found there. "It'll get better, pet. You're just adjusting, is all."

Buffy got off his lap them, pushing on his chest hard enough to make him struggle for a moment to remain upright. "No, it will not get better. Why can't you understand that? I'm not like you. I have a soul. I have feelings."

"Hey now, wait a minute," Spike snapped. "I've got feelings, too, Buffy. Don't think just because I don't have a sodding soul I don't care about anything. I can feel, same as you."

"No. No you can't. You're a monster, Spike. You don't feel anything at all."

Spike jumped up, grabbing her by the arms. He opened himself to her completely through the claim, making her gasp. "Tell me, what's this, hmm?" When Buffy didn't answer, he shook her. "Tell me!"

"An…anger," Buffy said, her voice cracking.

"Yeah, anger. My anger. I feel things, Buffy. Don't try to fool yourself into thinking otherwise," Spike replied, his voice a snarl.

Buffy's eyes narrowed then, her head rising. "That doesn't mean anything. It's just anger. You're incapable of feeling anything good. You can't love, you can't care about anyone or anything."

Spike tisked. "Doesn't work that way, ducks. Hate, love—both sides of the same coin. Can't have one without the other."

"You're wrong."

"You so sure about that?" Spike threw her on to the bed, kissing her hard until she stopped struggling and gave in. When she began moving beneath him, moaning into his mouth, Spike pushed himself up on his arms. "Do you hate me, Buffy?"

Her mouth fell open for a moment as she realized how she had reacted to him, then her expression turned cold. "Yes. I've never hated anyone more than I hate you, Spike."

Her response only made him give her a cocky grin. "And yet here you are, kissing me."

"This isn't love," Buffy snapped.

"No, but I'd wager it's moved a little past hate, too, what with that flush on your face and that delicious wetness I can smell in your panties right now."

"Ugh!" Buffy exclaimed, pushing him off of her and getting to her feet. She wiped her mouth roughly with the back of her hand. "You're sick," she spat at him.

Spike chuckled as he sat up. "Am I, luv? You're the one who gets off from the touch of a 'monster.' What does that say about you, hmm? You said last night that you could never get used to me feeding, yet there you were, writing under me like a bitch in heat. You like getting fucked by a killer—so who here's the one who's really sick?"

Buffy gasped, looking as if she'd been slapped. "No. No. You…you make me react like that. I don't want you!"

"You can say that as many times as you want—it's never gonna make it true."

Buffy couldn't take this anymore. She couldn't stand here and listen to what he was saying to her, couldn't look at that knowing smirk on his face. So she did the only thing she could do—she ran. Towards the door, towards the sunlight where she'd be safe from him.

She didn't make it. Buffy had barely gotten three feet away when the sharp bark of his voice stopped her in her tracks, the pull in the command too much for her to ignore. "Stop!"

Panic washed over as felt him come up behind her, pushing his body against her back. He caressed her through her clothes, and Buffy trembled, her knees threatening to buckle. Her mind rebelled, but her body… She felt like she was on fire, her skin itching in desperation.

This was it… Realization hit her hard and she wanted to scream, though her own body wouldn't allow it. He'd done what he'd warned her he would do—he'd taken her free will.

Spike leaned in, his mouth against her ear. "Take off your clothes for me, pet. Show me your gorgeous tits and that ripe, wet little cunt."

His words made her shiver, and not in the revulsion she wanted it to be. Her hands moved without her thoughts, quickly complying with his request. Soon, Spike was pulling her nude body against him, letting her feel his denim-clad erection. He nibbled at the marks he'd left on her neck, making the tingling she felt in them in them increase. "Lie down on the bed and spread your legs for me," he murmured against her skin. "Let me see it all."

Buffy walked shakily to the bed, complying with his request without hesitation. Spike stood and watched her, smirking as he did. She trembled as she looked at him through hooded eyelids. The fire between her legs was more than she could handle, her desperation overriding the last of her thoughts. Why wasn't he here, why wasn't he making her feel better?

"Touch yourself."

Buffy moaned in fevered desire as her hand went between her legs, her fingers glazing over her dripping pussy. She bucked her hips, her body screaming for release.

"More than that. Rub you clit, Buffy. Make yourself come."

She responded immediately to his command, finding the swollen nubbin and massaging it roughly. She arched against her own hand, vocalizing her pleasure as she did.

"Pinch your nipples with the other hand."

Buffy did, going between the right and the left. Spike watched, never moving towards her, his arms crossed over his chest. "Pinch them harder. I want to hear you scream."

She tweaked her left nipple cruelly, letting out a hoarse cry as she did. Her hips were moving frantically now, the only thought in her mind just how badly she needed to…

"Come."

Buffy wailed as pleasure crashed over her, her mind shutting down completely as she rode the waves of her orgasm. Finally, she slumped, her hands falling to her sides as she panted heavily.

Then, Spike pulled himself back from the claim again, letting her thoughts clear. She gasped in horror as she sat up, scrambling to pull the blankets around her. Spike chuckled, watching her with a smug expression.

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "How dare you do that to me?"

"Oh, don't act so bloody self-righteous," Spike replied. "I know you liked it."

"I…I…you made me do that!" Buffy yelled.

Spike moved then, coming to the bedside and grabbing her hard around the arm. "You tried to run outside. I already told you not to do that, Buffy—and I told you what will happen if you continue to disobey me. From you behavior, I thought perhaps you didn't believe me when I told you I could take away your free will. Now you do."

Buffy trembled. Yes, she did believe him, and it terrified her. She looked down.

"Lesson learned then," Spike said. "I'm going to take a shower. If you're not still in that spot when I get back, you'll be very sorry."

Spike left Buffy alone then, the bathroom door shutting between them. She stared forward, her eyes going wide as she caught her own reflection in the mirror across from the bed. What she saw there disgusted her, but she kept her eyes ahead, unable to turn away.

*** *** ***

There's a few pretty dark chapters ahead, but I did warn you in the beginning, so don't be too surprised. It will get better eventually though, I promise.

Please remember to review. I'd love to hear your thoughts on how the fic's progressing.





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