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Chapter Nine

“It’s been so cold, Spike. Princess was worried. Why have you been hiding in the sun?” Her voice tinkled inside the crypt he’d made home, sharp eyes assessing shrewdly the benefits of his seeming defection from both his family and his partner. Nothing of what she saw made sense and instead of instigating a petulant tantrum, Dru dissolved into insecure whimpers and fell seamlessly to the floor.

Looking up, insanity nudged a smile to her lips as the tears made her cheeks glisten in the muted moonlight. “You’ve seen the light, my love.” And she giggled, losing the sense of herself as she ghosted the sign of faith against the cross of her torso. “It’s just so funny. Daddy’s laughing at you. My Spike lies, but Daddy has the real prize. Naughty Slayer doesn’t believe. Her time will come.”

He’d spent a good decade thinking about why he’d been saddled with Dru. What bloody great crime against the world and creation he’d carried out to have met her in that dark alley so long ago. Surely it couldn’t be that he’d pissed off the Big Guy for being so pathetic a wanker as to strive to be a poet. Of course, he’d actually known he was pretty bad at it. Awful in fact. Didn’t make it a crime against humanity—just one against good taste. Those that chose to mock and drown him in cruelty were far more deserving of punishment—and that’s when he’d found he’d answered one question. Maybe becoming the undead was its own reward. He’d had to think so or become as mad as Dru.

When he’d first seen her, he hadn’t recognised her darkness for what it was. Even now, Dru didn’t look like the great evil he knew her to be. Didn’t appear to be the one who whispered truths as she tore with force at a bloke’s devotion and love. She’d suck a man dry, all while having him so oblivious to her true nature that when the shock of it came—when the great rising terror of a manipulating Angelus came and usurped his destiny—it left him seething and tired.

And ultimately, that’s what he was now. He saw her histrionics on his crypt floor, listened to her confused ramblings with so little care that it left him shocked and reeling. But so very very tired.

His time with Dru was long gone. He realised that now. With Angelus in town, it was an opportunity that he’d refused to consider—not while he’d thought the death of the Slayer was his next goal to achieve. How royally that plan fucked him over should really have come as no surprise. He was getting used to being fucked over by ideas far too grand for execution. And Buffy was a very pretty shaped spanner to throw into his mess of a works. He was beginning to think that if he couldn’t kill her, he had nothing left but to love her.

His eyes fell on Dru once more, panicking a little as her green eyes watered and settled upon him sadly.

“You promised me you’d kill her, Spike. Why can’t you kill her?”

Her expectations infuriated him. For over a hundred years she’d been forcing him to live for her, keeping him at her beck and bloody call, and one look at a blonde beauty had him scattering his devotions. He felt like he’d grown more than a measure since crossing over into Hellmouth territory. Like he’d grown beyond Dru and the life he’d led since his turning. Like he needed more and meeting Buffy showed him a way of having it.

Looking at Dru hurt now. She would always need something he didn’t have—something she’d found to limitless depths in the wanker that, no matter how many years went by, he could never thoroughly leave behind. Cruelty—something the trace of William within him couldn’t bear yet the one thing Angelus had in abundance. Thrived upon. And here, in this godforsaken mouth of Hell, she could have it to her heart’s content. He’d be relieved to never have them around him again.

That’s what he’d found in this most unlikely place—what he’d found in the acceptance in Buffy’s eyes, as much as he tried to reject and ignore it. A chance to start over. He just didn’t know if he had the courage to take it. Saying yes to Buffy might put him on a new path—but it was a real wrench to let go of everything he’d had. As lacking as he may suddenly find that to be.

“You should know why, pet. Always could read me better than I could myself.” He chanced a look and sure enough she was tearful, yet not choked with grief. Dru wasn’t one to rally behind the laws of being Sire. She was too barmy to even know there were any. So letting Spike go was relatively easy—losing him from the throb of evil seemed to cut much deeper.

Her eyes glittered with anger, the tears evaporating before he’d barely had time to register their existence.

“Princess doesn’t like when one of the party leaves before he’s been excused.”

And wasn’t that the rub. He hadn’t asked if he could leave her, had made the decision without her input after leaving her for a week at the mercy of Darla and The Great Ponce himself. Not that he guessed there’d been much mercy—not if the healing lashes on her neck and arms were a true indication. She didn’t seem resentful of his actions, though. More irritated that he hadn’t sought the ancient out alongside her. Well, too bloody bad. He’d brought her here on her demand. If she didn’t like that she’d lost him for good, it was her own bleeding fault.

“Sorry, Dru. But just this once you forgot to serve the bloody tea. Now I think it’s time you got back to mum, pet. She’ll be wondering where you got off to.”

She hissed at him. Him, who’d been by her side since he’d been enslaved to her mystery. “You’ve lost yourself, William. Telling lies to the Slayer, making her believe in you. What will Daddy think when he finds out you’ve tampered with the Gypsy vengeance and started to wear his face?”

There was no doubt the first part of her speech had him cringing—he just knew claiming to have a soul would bugger things up good and proper. But he was on an out-of-control spin now, needing to cling to the excuse that kept him by Buffy’s side. The deprivation of her favour would hurt more than he’d ever thought possible in regards to a slayer—in regards to his food.

“Yeah, I lied. What of it?” His stubborn stance was blown all to hell as his door was kicked forcefully off its hinges and laid to rest halfway to the back wall.

A vision of slayer betrayal stood in the moonlit opening, tears coursing down her cheeks and deep breaths struggling to make it into her lungs. Spike registered the twist in his gut as pain, just as his whole world was thrown into chaos.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

She really didn’t want to think about what Angel had told them, but Buffy couldn’t tear the doubt from her mind. Not when it was her life that could be affected. The lives of her friends. But no matter which way she turned it around, Spike had given her no reason to have doubts. No reason to trust this Angel guy over him. There was no test that she could administer to measure the existence of a soul. All she had to judge was the word of a slimy guy and the deeds of both.

So far, Spike was so far in front he was lapping the other.

Thinking of Spike made her smile. Since that night she’d found him at the Bronze, they’d spent every night together patrolling. Being near him made her senses almost explode on overload and her craving for him was increasing with every glance he sent her way. She was more than a little attracted to him—it would surprise her to find someone who wasn’t—but if she were really truthful, she could admit that what she was feeling about him had an intensity that left her starry-eyed and breathless. She’d passed the crush stage, learned as much about him as she could while he was as tight-lipped about his past as he could be—not that it had bothered her at the time. She’d felt the gentleness of his embrace when he comforted her after nearly being taken down by a pack of vamps—the Master’s lackeys eager to take her to him. She’d felt the cool sensation against her buzzing palm, her skin so sensitised she was almost bouncing along at his side. And she’d felt his kisses—so molten with natural magic that Buffy wasn’t so with the remembering of her own name. So yes, she’d drifted through the stages of romantic interest until she’d stumbled awkwardly into love, and she was so blessed by it that she couldn’t tear the smile from her lips.

She had no clue if he felt the same, though the looks of longing when they pulled away from each other made her heart beat harder for the hope that he did. He never talked about his feelings, didn’t press her to share her own, but each time he brushed his fist against her arm in a move so tender it nearly made her drool, she knew. Knew herself if not him. Knew that if she lost Spike to the lies Angel insisted he was telling, it would surpass hurt. It wasn’t something she wanted to think about—even if it did compromise the life of her friends and family. Even if it endangered her own.

Giles had argued that the stupid prophecy book was such a great gift to them that she should believe Angel’s motives for wanting to help. Should accept he was ensouled and be willing to listen to his story. Only problem was, she already believed he had a soul. She’d looked up the history of Angelus—well, honestly, she’d only read a paragraph or two before her stomach objected to more. What the account had told her was that Angelus had not been the one giving her hints about badness around the Hellmouth. In his own mysterious way, he’d been trying to help. Not terribly efficiently, but she guessed it must be kind of hard to try and slip into a world of humans if you were feeling guilt for destroying so many of them.

That thought stopped Buffy cold, and a sudden chill of foreboding spread through her body right as she came to a stop at the door of Spike’s crypt. It was propped open slightly, a sliver of air existing between the door and its frame. Enough to warn her of another presence as she was about to enter and make out with her hot new boyfriend.

It was a woman’s voice—one that she’d never heard before. Belonging to someone she no doubt had never heard of before. And she knew Spike well, judging by the intimacy of her tone, the hurt as she accused him of something.

“Yeah, I lied. What of it?”

Spike’s reluctant admission slammed into her with all the force of a building collapse and Buffy felt the horror sink down to her toes. What did he mean he lied? Had he been sneaking around with her behind someone else’s back? Was Buffy suddenly cast in the role of ‘other woman’ when she was only sixteen? Oh God, what was he lying about and why was he doing it? Without knowing what lay behind the claim she was falling apart, the pain driving into her heart like a lethally sharpened stake

She’d put so much trust in him—hadn’t even considered he might be lying about any part of himself. It never even occurred to her to wonder how such a specimen of salty goodness was available in the first place. She’d just gone with it, decided she wanted him and went about showing him that he wanted her back. Learning you may have made a monumental mistake was a little hard to take. Learning it in the presence of another woman? Intolerable.

Buffy felt sick at the rushing swell of anger and disappointment that swept away all commonsense as she planted her boot flat against the door and sent it crashing inward. Spike’s surprise and dread filtered through her already quaking sense of supposed understanding, yet it was the malicious glee she caught in the woman’s eyes before she attacked that Buffy deemed more important. Without thinking, by trusting her heart before her head, she’d barged into the lair of two vampires. Ordinarily that wouldn’t have been a problem, her usual confidence in her abilities allowing that most double-act vamps she came across would be dusty remains before they could share an ounce of their stupidity. This time, she could sense the power from both of them, Spike’s almost heightened by his company, and Buffy at last realised her mistake.

Hands were around her throat and strangling her before Buffy could even call his name. Darkness beckoned as she tried to kick, tried to claw her way free. All the while the bitch was cackling like she thought Buffy’s imminent death was funny and Spike stood shocked to the spot. Buffy saw it and didn’t adjust her beliefs to the look of horror on his face, the fear that that reached out and met her own.

Not until Buffy was gasping did the pressure cease, only to leave her screaming as fangs sunk through tissue and sucked greedily at her blood. Buffy cried as her foolishness slammed into her and her mistakes flashed behind her eyes. Then it was over, blood leaking from her neck and weakness threatening to keep her collapsed on her knees. Partially in shock, she met furious midnight eyes feeding on terror and shrunk as he poured all his fear and anger into damaging punches that hit a too responsive Dru.

The woman Buffy didn’t know—the one she hated and now feared with a very healthy does of reality—collapsed into a sobbing bundle of olden styled velvet. Everything about her was blood red—the out of fashion gothic styled dress, the murder in her eyes, Buffy’s plasma that dripped from her fangs. And now she acted helpless against Spike’s anger, remaining on the floor as she rubbed her face and whimpered about duty.

It was too much, Buffy cringing as Spike dragged the woman into the air, throwing her across his crypt and rushing back as she slid down the stone. The evil laughter was back, her eyes stripped of artifice as she maliciously entered the fight. Fists and fangs slashed through flesh and air, leaving Buffy scared and confused. She stood slowly, pushing her spirit and determination to support her legs, forcing one final look to confirm the preoccupation of both vampires as she painfully sidled out the door.

Spike had not stopped the movement of his kicks and fists until Dru lay bloodied and whimpering on the floor. He’d never felt such fear, such gut-clenching terror that he was going to lose the very thing he needed to keep him alive. Buffy. The image of his former’s fangs hidden within the Slayer’s throat had been enough to budge him from his catatonia, desperation to save Buffy—to really watch her back—spurring him to finally force Dru from her. Dru had taken him over completely during his past, but this encroaching on his territory—whether to kill or love a slayer was still the debate—it fuelled an intolerance he wasn’t aware he had. No one could beat him, take away his purpose and so he had saved the girl. Didn’t want her hurt anymore than he wanted to come to this hellhole in the first place.

Whatever had Dru worried about the situation now was not his problem. He’d beaten her into submission for the first time ever and amidst it all wondered if this was what he should have done if he’d really wanted her to be his all those long years past. Whatever he could have done, should have done, was long ago and he had his future now to protect.

It was time he surrender his stranglehold on his evil persona, allow himself to recognise there was so much more than killing and feeding. No matter how evil he was, how consumed he was by the demon within, there was always love. He’d never had it in Dru, but he knew he could with Buffy. Knew that he half did already.

He would not let her die, and especially not on the end of Dru’s viciousness.

By the time the violence had stopped, Buffy had long disappeared into the night.





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