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Author's Chapter Notes:
I really appreciate all that take the time to review. This fic has been a review and hit black hole, LOL.
Chapter Five

She obviously belonged in the dark. Spike strutted alongside her, holding slightly back to watch her progress through the tunnel and finding himself apprehensive the closer they drew to the Master’s prison. Her stride was strong, purposeful, but he was a skilled vamp and could sense her fear—even if the scent hadn’t been as strong.

The waft of terror was strong all along this underground tunnel. Spike watched her but she didn’t sense everything that he did. Didn’t know that humans had been led down here, not so long ago, and had ended abruptly. As strong as she was, he hardly expected her to remain stoic in the face of death—in those that she’d failed to preserve. He could wait for her pain—not craving it nearly as much as he had even the previous day.

Their progress was steady but cautious, and for that Spike was grateful. Each step brought him closer to a lifestyle he’d been fully a part of until just days ago. He’d been thoughtless and accepting of the life he drained away alongside his princess and minions. It was what he was, and as much as this slayer intrigued him—for reasons other than the fight to the death—he couldn’t imagine being anything else. Didn’t mean he didn’t wonder at the possibility that he could.

And it didn’t mean he was in any rush to carry out the plan, though. Not now he’d felt the static of her presence. But agreeing to this—actually deciding to keep her safe and fight by her side—challenged a piece inside of him that he was loathe to admit still existed. Brought him to a place where he could confront the demons of his kin with a slayer by his side at a time when he’d not been thinking clearly. It was too dangerous and not part of the plan.

How would this look? He’d already allowed Darla to announce his supposed soulfulness to the vampire world. Had she passed the info on to Dru and the Master? More than likely. The little bitch always liked to be the instigator of trouble—especially if it got old Spike in deep. Bigger question was how did he feel about it?

They pulled up just outside the lair—hopefully far enough away that the vamps within couldn’t sense them. Couldn’t sense that a slayer and a master vampire were biding time just outside their door.

He didn’t want to go in there. He could hear Dru’s cackle and knew if he turned up with Buffy at his side, his sire would expose him for the fraud he was. And he didn’t want that. Didn’t want Buffy to hear how it had been his plan to knock her off as he rolled into town. Didn’t know why he wanted her to remain oblivious to his purpose, other than that he wanted her to keep the peaceful bliss between them.

Wanted her to believe he had a soul.

The thought should have made him nauseous, and in an attempt to reattach his balls, he conjured up the image of his latest victim, the redheaded lass, and suddenly the sickness intensified. He’d gone after a girl resembling Buffy’s friend, the one who’d looked at him with hopeful acceptance. Now he could see the exact shade of their hair and wondered if it had been a subconscious substitute—an attempt to kill what he really didn’t want to.

Buffy took a step—a hard determined step toward the hole in the wall. Spike felt himself flood with panic as he grabbed her arm, held her still and then yanked her back into his chest. His arm curled around her waist and he felt fire spring along his limbs, his body tingling inappropriately as she agreed to the contact. Agreed to it and sank further into his contours. A blast of her thumping heartbeat consumed his hearing and Spike could do nothing but hold still—very still so as not to make a decision he wasn’t ready to weather the consequences. Once he’d taken that defining step, he knew there wouldn’t be an easy escape, and killing the girl hadn’t completely escaped his game plan yet. Even if the thoughts did leave him queasy. The act in itself might be the balm required to sooth his itch.

The smell of her hair almost brought him to his knees and it was only the warmth of her hand hesitantly covering his at her waist that drove sense back into him. In a complete turn around, her heat was like a bucket of icy water and Spike mentally slapped himself up the side of the head. This was too dangerous, allowing himself to be lost in the sensual promise of her young flesh in evil’s backyard. It was like making out with the enemy’s daughter while he lingered at the front door. Romeo and Juliet they weren’t and the quicker he got his head together, the better they both would fare. Well, maybe not her. Not once he’d regained his focus and took her to the place he’d always wanted, ever since he was coerced into this deadbeat town.

Not enough steps away were his sire and the rest of his family—the ones that hadn’t bolted on him anyway. In his arms he harboured their enemy. Against all that power, Buffy didn’t stand a chance—and even though he wanted her dead, he would always be fair. And one little girl taking on plural master vampires in the name of saving the world was signing a death warrant. An’ it just wasn’t bloody cricket. Wasn’t fun. No, until he could take her out on his own terms, he couldn’t let her get herself slaughtered. Besides, knowing his luck she’d be just what the old bugger needed to escape his rather lovely underground prison.

Decision made, Spike squeezed his hand on her waist and pulled her with him as he took a step back. She resisted his physical message, but then the she turned and took in the silent force of his expression, and they retraced their steps out of the tunnel. Spike’s hand never left the contact on her body the whole way—their path silent yet trembly as they gave in to the strength of their mutual attraction.

Buffy grasped his cool fingers when they reached the gate, some blink of fate allowing her to link gently with his. Spike felt the rising lump in his throat, felt the prickle of something that was not tears at his eyes. Why her acceptance of him and her interest was having such a damning effect on him, he didn’t know. But he was failing to control it and he could see the worlds of disaster opening up right in front of him. Almost as clearly as he could see her glistening lips as she licked them almost nervously. She looked up and caught his gaze, Spike almost tripping in his mind at the naïve desire that was reflected there.

She wanted his kiss—and the knowledge stunned him.

Spike’s lips tingled in need, though. Wanted with some life of their own to feel the soft promise of slayer lips—even as Spike himself reeled from realising the incongruous behaviour of the pair of them. This was wrong—though if he had a soul then maybe it wasn’t so bad. If he had a soul—which he didn’t. And he wasn’t likely to get one anytime soon. Yet, her lips beckoned and the pull was strong. She still held his hand and Spike felt his other move to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking whisper soft against her skin.

The time for totally fucking up his life was at hand and Spike started to close in, his face falling closer as Buffy’s eyes drifted shut. He could feel the warmth of the air barely between them, his own need to breathe suspended as the desired touch of their mouths became inevitable—and then the throat clearing that ruined the moment and alerted Spike to what he should have been able to sense immediately. Company in the guise of family, and suddenly he was willing to fight to the dust for this petite girl who was stealing the breath he didn’t need, but felt a compulsion to cling to.

“Bloody hell, way to ruin the moment, Peaches.”

The brunette startled, his eyes narrowing on what he hadn’t even suspected. Living low and in hiding had made him rusty and with the overwhelming presence of his own sire, he was finding it difficult to use his vampire gifts the way demon nature intended.

“Spike?” His tone was disbelieving and Angel took a step closer to look at the girl who’d inadvertently redirected his path and taken over his heart.

The younger vampire had strategically positioned himself in front of the slayer—for what reason Angel could only guess. Spike had a reputation—had earned it on the eve of his own leaving, and Angel felt the twist in his gut that he might lose this girl before he’d even made much of an impression.

“Let her go, Spike.” Voice hard, body tense, Angel waited for the younger to do as he was instructed, the authority of his familial position being automatic and in no need of relearning like his other senses.


“Not bloody likely. Not lettin’ you step in to tear her to bits.”

All three stood still, tense as the wait stretched. Then Buffy decided she’d had enough.

“Hey, down with the testosterone.” The other words she’d planned died in her throat as Angel vamped out in front of her and growled around his fangs.

“Buffy, get away from him. He’s a vampire and he’ll kill you.”

“Oh what a load of bollocks. I’ve got no bloody intention of killing her, you pillock.” Spike was just getting started, finding a wealth of anger and hatred at being abandoned by the one who—maybe not cared exactly, but who held a duty toward him and Dru yet felt no hesitation in taking himself off and away to whatever draws a single unlife held for him. He wanted to twist that head off, see what colour his lumpy dust would be as it was sprung suddenly upon the air.

“Spike has a soul. He’s not going to hurt me.” Her green eyes and happy smile were proof enough that the option of souled Spike sat pretty with her. She watched Spike and simply thrummed with confidence in him.

If two thirds of the crypt’s occupants hadn’t already been dead, then the solid morbid silence might have been more overwhelming. As it was, the sudden quiet of the two males as they both reeled in shock would have been more entertaining if Buffy had been aware of the joke.

Angel recovered first. “W-what?” He was incapable of speech, the revelation too much for his lazy brain to cope with. It was pure luck that held him that way until Spike could get his head around the revelation and realise that all hell would break loose if he allowed the truth to come out now. Besides, it wasn’t as if Peaches could refute his story. He hadn’t been around for a hundred years so what would he know? And the existence of a souled vampire was just so fairytalish that Spike was banking on the fact that Angelus would be too stunned to argue.

“That’s right. Yours truly’s all souled up,” Spike smirked, practically daring the Great Almighty Angelus to come up with a plan even half as creative. He was finding a bit of an upside to the declaration too. The light that shone from Buffy’s smile almost singed his eyebrows. It caused an excitement to shoot through Spike’s body that had been missing in his days for a very long time. This girl liked him, enjoyed being in his presence simply because . Sure, his strength might have been a tasty bonus, but he could tell she wanted more from the arrangement than just his muscle. Though he wouldn’t be impartial to extending that little invitation a little further. Particular body parts had been a mite neglected of late. Dru had been practising abstinence in preparation to her big reunion. He’d thought it was for the Master, but now Spike could picture it easily. Dru, laid out on her back and legs in the air while Angelus pounded the living shit out of her.

The obscenity of those thoughts threw him and Spike was suddenly reminded whose presence he was in. Angelus, the greedy plonker that could never keep his mitts to himself. Well, not this time. Dru may have been his destiny, but Buffy was—well, did a bloke have to know these things in advance? She was something and he’d be dust before he let the evil greasy paws of his grandsire anywhere near the girl.

“Oi, what are you doing here anyway? Dru’s been expecting you and I’d rather we just said our piece and act like ships passing in the night—all nice and quiet like.” Spike very subtly began nudging Buffy to the open door of the crypt, ready to defend her if he needed to but knowing that she wouldn’t exactly be all damselly—which he really liked in a woman. Especially this woman. Even Dru still expected to be protected and act all weak and kittenish—though Spike knew she was far from it.

They were almost there when the dazed confusion began to dissipate and Angel took a step to stop them. Not thinking, just reacting, Spike sent him flying against the wall of the crypt with a thundering punch to the jaw. The heavier vampire lay slumped on the floor, stunned, and Spike took his chance. Grabbing Buffy’s arm, he tugged her forward and led her out of one brand of dark into the lighter pitch of open air.

Spike ran, only mildly surprised when slayer speed proved just short of a match for his own pace. Eventually he stopped, pulling her into an alley and watching around the corner to make sure they weren’t followed. And then the memory of what Angelus had interrupted started to ache with the deprivation.

“You know that was creepy stalker guy, don’t you? I don’t think he would have, oomph—”

With one feather soft kiss, Spike slammed another door shut. He couldn’t possibly kill a slayer he’d saved from his granpappy.

Not when her lips tasted of sunshine.





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