Buffy woke up suddenly in the dim stillness of the quiet room, wondering momentarily in her groggy, sleep-addled state at the odd but comfortable form of a body, lying beside her – no, halfway under her – on the bed.
Wait – what bed?
Where was she? She opened her eyes, blinking a couple of times as her eyes adjusted to the faint remaining light from the few dying candles that still glowed around the room. They had been new when she had arrived here – for some strange reason she remembered that much.
She glanced sleepily around the room for a moment before she remembered the much more important fact of where she was. *Oh, yeah,* she recalled. *The mansion.*
She wondered how much time had passed since she had fallen asleep. She wore no watch, and there were no clocks – no electricity – in the old mansion. When she had arrived here with Spike, it had been just a few minutes before eight o’clock, and she knew that the fight had taken a long time.
Not to mention what came after the fight.
Buffy’s eyes widened as she turned her head and gradually focused on the strangely peaceful face of the breathtaking creature sleeping beside her. She wondered that she had never noticed before how absolutely gorgeous he was.
Oh, she had been attracted to him; there had been no denying that, no matter how hard she had tried. But the words that had always come to her mind to describe Spike had been more along the lines of “annoying” or “infuriating”, and it times when she was more honest with herself, “exciting” or “sexy”.
Now, the only word that kept reverberating through her mind was “beautiful”.
Her pensive musings came to an abrupt halt as her eyes fell on the dark, bruised spot surrounded the place where her teeth had broken the skin of Spike’s throat, standing out with glaring clarity on the background of his pale, flawless skin – the mark that she had left there. Unconsciously her fingers rose to touch the tiny puncture wounds, almost healed now, that he had left on her own throat.
Slayer healing had caused them to close up and almost disappear completely, though she knew from experience that she would probably always bear the scar. Still, she knew that the actual injury would be totally gone very soon. She wondered why the wound she had left on Spike’s neck was not healing as quickly, as it should have been due to his own accelerated healing.
Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she had won.
*I won!*
The thought hit her with startling clarity, in a rush of sudden exultation, as a slow smile spread across her face at the realization. It had been quite a challenge, and she had almost lost several times. Spike had managed to deceive her into believing that the challenge was won before it actually was, and she had nearly allowed him to defeat her – to claim her. But at the very last moment, just before it was too late, she had managed to regain control.
She had won.
And the gorgeous, flawless creature on the bed beside her, the one she found herself desperately wanting even now, was her prize.
Her mind raced – and her heart was not far behind – at the memories of all that had happened during the previous hours between her and the vampire she had taken as her own. She had done things that night that she had not even known were possible until that night – and that she would not have ever considered actually attempting, had she known.
*What came over me?* she wondered, her face coloring with an odd mixture of mild shame – and fresh arousal. *What ever possessed me to make me do – those things?*
A part of her was aghast at the daring, sexually aggressive manner in which she had behaved, taking control and taking what she wanted from Spike, who had fortunately turned out to be a very willing partner in the whole affair – aside from the whole “submission to Buffy” thing.
But the greater part of her felt a surge of pride at the revelation of the power she had not known she possessed – the primal instinct that seemed to have taken over and guided her actions of the night before. Buffy had been sure at the beginning of the night that she had no idea how to go about the whole “domination” thing.
Yet, on some deeper level, some basic part of her had known exactly what to do.
She had somehow managed to delve into the natural, inherent power that was a part of her as the Slayer, and she had used it to bring the dangerous, wild creature that she had never been able to tame or defeat, into her control. She had not consciously thought about the things she had done; they had just felt right at the time. She had just somehow *known* what she had to do to accomplish her goal. Her eyes widened, her expression sober.
She had bitten him.
She, the vampire Slayer, had bitten a vampire. How had she known to do that? How had she known that that was the action that would bring about his submission? And *why* had that act been what had finally overwhelmed him to the point of giving in?
And why did she want to do it again?
One little worry kept nagging at her, however, about the way that things had happened. Anya had told her that the sex between her and Spike was supposed to be symbolic, an act to signify that he had *already* submitted to her. And when she initiated it, she had believed that to be true.
But she had found in the middle of the act itself that he had never really submitted to her at all – not at that point – when he had attempted to claim her as his own. He had only submitted to her when she had forcefully overpowered him, delivering a claiming bite and demanding his acceptance of her claim, in the midst of their union, at the very last possible moment.
She wondered what sort of effect, if any, that might have on the results of the ritual.
She would have to talk to Anya about what had happened later. Anya was not exactly the revered scholar of the group, but she *was* an ex-demon with centuries of experience and knowledge in matters of this nature, and she would probably know more about it than Buffy did, that much was for sure.
Besides – there was no way in the world that she was going to talk to *Giles* about this!
The thought of her Watcher reminded her suddenly that her friends were probably in a state of panic by this point, worrying about her. They had know way of knowing – thankfully – just how everything had turned out. All they knew was that the ritual involved her fighting Spike, while his chip was out of operation, and he was able to hurt her. She had been alone with him, in this old mansion, for hours, with no one to help her should he manage to get the upper hand.
She had given them strict orders that they were not to come near the mansion, and Anya had sworn that she would make sure those orders were obeyed. Buffy did not want her friends coming to “rescue” her and being accidentally scarred for life by the revelation of the ritual’s true nature, and all that it entailed.
She had promised to call each and every one of them and let them know she was all right as soon as the ritual was complete, but she had not counted on the apparently mystically induced heavy sleep that had come upon both her and Spike upon the completion of the ritual.
Anya had forgotten to mention that part.
And now, she had no idea what time it was, how late it had gotten while she had been dead to the world. But however late it was – she was sure that her friends would still be awake.
It was a wonder to her that they had not turned up here anyway, regardless of her orders, if it was anywhere near as late as she thought it was.
She had to find a phone.
She climbed carefully off the bed, feeling the oddly affectionate desire not to disturb Spike, smiling softly at him as she rose to her feet, staring down at him for a few moments longer.
*God, he’s gorgeous!* she thought again with a tenderness that was startling to her.
She was amazed at the strange new emotions she was feeling for him now, after the ritual. She had expected nothing more than a sense of power, at knowing that he was under her control, and satisfaction, at being able to finally stop his constant annoyances any time she felt like it.
What she had not expected was the powerful feeling of possessive affection – the thrill and joy of knowing that he was hers, and the need to protect – and the desire that was at an almost desperate level now, far greater than it had been before the ritual.
Just another thing that she would need to ask Anya about.
Silently, she made her way into the next room, where she had left her jacket, and her cell phone in the pocket. She pulled it out, fumbling a bit in the darkness, until she managed to push a button and get a bit of light. She was relieved to see that it was only a little after midnight.
She quickly dialed Giles’ number, and waited as it rang – only once.
“Buffy?” his urgent voice greeted her before she said a word.
“It’s me,” she whispered. “I’m okay.”
“Oh, thank heaven!” Giles breathed out the words, his relief obvious. “I’ve been worried sick, Buffy. So – everything went as planned? Spike is – no longer a problem?”
“Um…yeah,” she replied, glancing nervously toward the bedroom door. “No problems here. He’s all tame vamp now. Completely under control. I mean, I guess so,” she amended with a thoughtful little frown. She was really speaking on assumption, as Spike had not yet awakened. “He’s still asleep.”
“Good.” Giles paused for a moment before adding, in a slightly different tone, “Asleep?”
Buffy covered her mouth, her eyes widening in horror at her own slip. “Yeah, um…I knocked him out. Out cold. Like a light,” she explained quickly, cringing at her own weak, awkward wording, thankful that Giles could not see her face, and hoping that he did not notice how nervous she was.
“Oh. Very well then,” Giles replied, and she was relieved that he seemed to accept her words without hesitation. “So – what exactly are you planning on doing with him? Tonight?”
“*What*?” Buffy demanded in a tone of shock. Was her guilt that obvious? What, did she somehow *sound* like a slut now?
“Are you going to leave him there in the mansion? Or bring him back here?” Giles clarified, in a slow, careful tone that one might use with a not-particularly-bright child. “Because I think it’s probably wise not to leave him alone. Not until we’re completely sure that everything has worked out as we expected.”
“Oh,” Buffy breathed a sigh of relief as understanding dawned on her. So she wasn’t caught.
Yet.
“Oh, it’s cool. I brought chains,” she replied carelessly, suppressing a giggle at the knowledge of where those chains were and for what use she had intended them. If Giles only knew…
Thankfully – he didn’t. “Oh. Good, then. So you can chain him up there and come back for him in the morning? Because I really think we should meet Buffy. To discuss your experience and any possible ramifications. And I think you should bring Spike with you. So we can all see the results of your triumph.”
Buffy had absolutely no intention of “discussing her experience” with Giles or anyone else – except maybe Anya. And as for the results of her triumph – the naked, sleeping vampire in the next room with a big, glaring bite mark on his neck – she wasn’t so sure she wanted to share that with the others just yet either.
In fact – she was pretty sure she didn’t want to share at all.
Ever.
None of which thoughts she could express to Giles. “Okay,” she agreed half-heartedly. “I’m really tired, Giles. I’m just gonna go to bed. *Home*! And to bed,” she clarified quickly. “Would you mind calling the others so they don’t freak?”
“Of course, Buffy. Good night,” Giles said, in a voice of fatherly affection. “I’m – I’m quite glad you’re safe.”
Buffy smiled into the phone in spite of herself and her anxieties over Giles and his reactions, once any small part of the truth came out – which it inevitably would.
“Thanks,” she said softly, just before she clicked the phone shut, and put it back into her pocket.
If Giles only knew that she intended to spend the night right here, with Spike, in the very same bed – she knew that he would not be nearly so affectionate, or fatherly, or pleased. She envisioned loud British curse words and threats the likes of which she had only ever heard from Spike before – never Giles.
She shuddered as she walked back through the doorway into the bedroom. It was a good thing he did *not* know the truth – and hopefully never would. She would have to get with Anya and try to figure out just how much of the story to reveal to the guys, and how much to keep secret. And she would have to do it before the meeting tomorrow, because she would have to make sure Spike knew what story to stick to.
She glanced toward the bed with a small smile at the thought of him, wondering if he was awake yet.
And then the smile froze on her face, her eyes widening in surprise – at the sight of the empty bed. She glanced around the dimly lit bedroom – and saw no sign of him. Had he somehow managed to slip past her while she was occupied on the phone with Giles? The only light in the house at the moment was in the bedroom; the living room was dark. It would have been easy for him to slip by her in the darkness.
Had he? Had he left her here? Did he want to get away from her?
She was surprised at the hurt feeling that filled her at those thoughts – and then, by the primal, possessive anger that followed it. She looked around the room carefully for a moment, determining for sure that he was not there, before stepping back out into the living room.
She did not call for him; she knew that he would likely not answer. She slowly peered around the room into the darkness, but could see nothing at all. She did not have the enhanced senses of a vampire.
She did, however, have some other sense, that she had not heretofore possessed. Somehow, she just *knew* -- he was not here. He had left the mansion. She followed the urge that drove her to the front door, looking out into the cool stillness of the night with narrowed, calculating eyes.
Leave her, would he?
No. He would not.
Following the deepest instinct that she possessed, that drove her to find what was hers and bring him back, reclaim him as her own, the Slayer became a predator once more, as she slipped out the front door of the mansion and into the night.
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