Spike’s first conscious thought upon waking several hours later was that his head hurt.
*Bad*.
But when he went to press a hand to his forehead, in an attempt to ease the dull throbbing ache echoing through his head – he immediately realized that his headache was the least of his problems. He couldn’t move his arms – or his legs, either for that matter.
At all.
Apparently, Buffy’s demon had made good on her promise to Dawn to make use of the chains – just not in the way that Dawn had intended.
Maybe the severe pounding behind his skull drowned out all other sound, or maybe the Slayer had actually left him here alone for some reason -- but he suddenly became aware that he could hear no sound in the room except for his own hoarse, reflexive breathing –unnecessary, nothing more than a reaction to the frightening situation he had found himself in.
He could not see her – but that was most likely because -- due to the severe pain in his head -- he had yet to open his eyes since waking.
*Maybe it’s about time you did, mate,* he told himself grimly, though he was almost afraid of what he would see. After the tenderness and intimacy of the night he had just shared with Buffy, the thought of facing the vicious, abusive creature that wore her face at will was more than terrifying.
It was heart-breaking.
Suddenly, a disturbing, painful thought occurred to him -- just when during the course of the evening had the Slayer taken over?
Was it possible that while he had been holding Buffy gently in his arms, while he had been whispering tender endearments and cherishing the new bond between them – that all the while the evil creature that had ambushed him in the bathroom had been in control already – silently mocking him as she led him into a false sense of security with her sweet words and tender caresses?
*No…it can’t be true…no…* his mind insisted, almost frantically.
He couldn’t bear it if it were true.
It took an extreme force of his will to make himself open his eyes and face – he had no idea what. But against the shooting pain in his head, against his own rising fears, he finally managed to do it. He raised his head as much as he could, glancing anxiously around at what he could see of the room.
There was no sign of Buffy – or the Slayer – or whoever she happened to be at the moment.
A look to the side revealed that her cell phone was still on the nightstand, tantalizingly near, almost within his reach – if only he could have reached for it. His only link to safety, to rescue – and he could not get to it.
Not that he could have used it anyway, even if it had been lying on the pillow beside his head with the number already dialed. The Slayer had apparently taken every precaution before leaving the room. From the feel of the fabric in his mouth and the leather on his face, he guessed that she had used a motel standard issue washcloth and a leather belt to create a very effective gag.
He tried the chains again, frantically; they did not give. His heart sank as he cursed his own insistence on high quality, that had caused him to purchase the strongest possible chains he could find for “emergency use”.
*Should have known it’d be just your bloody luck you’d end up the one *in* the chains!*
Just then, an unexpected sound took him by surprise. Spike looked up at the door as he heard the click of the lock releasing, in a mixture of hope and apprehension.
Dawn had a key to the room. Maybe…
“Well, look who’s awake!” The Slayer’s voice was frighteningly cheerful as she closed the door carefully behind her, tossing a plastic shopping bag down on the table as she sauntered toward the bed.
He wondered where she had gone, how she had managed to find a store that was open at this hour in the middle of nowhere like this. Then, he vaguely remembered the large, brightly lit store that he had hardly noticed when they were waiting to go to the rooms, what with all the bloody drama in the car.
*Soddin’ bloody Wal-mart,* he thought with no small resentment. *They’re bleedin’ everywhere.*
He noticed vaguely that she had taken the time to choose a cute little black halter top and a pair of black leather pants from the limited wardrobe Buffy had brought with her, before crossing the street to the store.
Spike suddenly realized with alarm that he had no such benefit of coverage. She had apparently moved him directly from the shower to the freshly made bed, where she had chained him to the four corners, on top of the bedspread – utterly exposed to whatever she was planning to do to him.
He steeled himself not to flinch away as she reached him, unfastening the belt she had wrapped around his mouth and pulling away the rag she had used to gag him.
“How you feeling, Baby?” she asked with false sympathy, running her hand lightly down his cheek and tipping his chin up toward her.
With an effort he forced himself to meet her eyes – and was left with no doubt as to the fact that he was no longer dealing with his mate. The cruel, triumphant smile on her face in no way resembled the tenderness in Buffy’s eyes the night before.
Which was comforting, in a way – indicating that the words and affection they had shared had been entirely real.
Maybe – just maybe – he could still reach *Buffy*…
“Buffy,” he said in a quiet, clear, urgent tone, “Buffy, love – you have to fight…”
“I’ve got a better idea,” she interrupted with a disarming smile, removing her hand from his face – just to lash out with a cruel backhand blow that took his breath with its unexpected strength. She leaned in close to finish, “Why don’t you shut up?”
The blow had knocked his head to the side, but he slowly turned back to face her, hatred in his eyes as he immediately defied her command in a voice low and full of challenge.
“I could have Dawn here in two bloody seconds.”
“No you couldn’t. Or you already would,” the Slayer countered his bluff without hesitation, her smile never fading as she sat down on the side of the bed, leaning comfortably against his side as she met his gaze, her blazing eyes the only indication of her anger at his defiance.
He tried to pull away from the light pressure of her body, pressed casually against him, but really could not move at all. She smiled at his useless efforts, deliberately increasing his discomfort by leaning across him, bracing her hand on the bed on the other side of his body – calmly closing him in.
Fighting off panic, he shot back in an angry, trembling voice, “I could have *someone* here! They’d…”
“Be dead,” she finished for him with a smug smirk, her voice chillingly soft. “Two *very* ‘bloody seconds’ later.”
The cold certainty in her voice sent a sense of dread through him. This conscienceless creature did not care who she hurt – and she had all the power of the Slayer at her hand.
She *was* the Slayer’s bloody power.
He tensed reflexively, drawn from his thoughts, as her hand beside him shifted, her arm raised to rest across his chest, as she just leaned on him comfortably, as if she actually *was* the woman she appeared to be – his mate – her free hand trailing teasingly up his side.
“And then,” she went on in a deceptively gentle tone that was all the more terrifying, as her hand slid from his side across his chest to cup his cheek.
He jerked away, but she caught his chin and yanked his head around, forcing him to face her. Her expression was suddenly harder, her eyes narrowed in anger as she finished, “I’d make sure you never open that mouth of yours again.”
She leaned in closer, a cruel smile on her face at his wince of pain as her elbow dug into his ribcage. She brought her mouth a mere inch from his ear to whisper suggestively, “Unless I *want* you to…”
In an instinctive reaction to her words, Spike tried again to pull away, though her grip would not allow it. The thought of touching her made him physically ill. It may have been Buffy’s body, but the thing that was threatening him, touching him so intimately and invasively, was definitely *not* his mate.
His resistance angered the Slayer, and her expression darkened as her hand suddenly gripped his throat, cutting off his breath completely. He gasped uselessly in a reflexive reaction of panic, as she dug her thumb into his windpipe with a vicious smirk at the expression of pain on his face.
But he could not make a sound.
Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered softly, “You can’t scream if you can’t breathe – can you, Baby?”
Spike heard the underlying threat clearly in her eyes, felt it in her hard touch, just short of crushing his windpipe completely – and stopped struggling, going still under her hand.
He wanted to at least hold on to the *option* of crying out later, when it might actually do him some good.
When he stopped struggling, Buffy’s hand eased its grip, allowing him to draw a much-desired, if not needed, breath.
“You gonna chill out now, Sweetie?” she asked him in a patronizingly gentle voice, nodding leadingly as she met his panicked gaze with eyes that were wide and falsely sympathetic, but glittering with cruel amusement.
He nodded, knowing that he had no other choice, really, breathing deeply in an attempt to steady himself after her frightening assault.
“There we go,” she said soothingly, running the backs of her fingers gently down his cheek.
It took every ounce of willpower he had – but he did not pull away.
The Slayer was pleased. “That’s it,” she nodded her approval with a smile. “Calm donw, Baby. After all,” she smirked with a little shrug, “you’d better get used to it. I’ll be touching you when and where I want to for the rest of your miserable existence.”
“You don’t think Buffy’s gonna just bloody give up, do you?” he asked incredulously, deliberately avoiding thinking about the sickening implications of her words. “You know at best you’re gonna spend the rest of your mortal life fighting her back. And she fights hard – I should know.”
The dark, secretive little laugh that rose in her throat was a bit disconcerting, to say the least.
“She doesn’t seem to be fighting very hard right *now*,” she informed him with a taunting smirk, as she slowly turned, climbing onto the bed, until she was on her knees, straddling his waist. “Hmm…maybe she’s just not got that much to fight for – now that she’s seen all you have to offer...you think?”
He could not suppress a slight flinch at the cruel words, but he steeled himself to endure whatever she was going to do, his entire body taut and trembling with apprehension as she slowly, sensuously ran her hands over his chest and stomach with obvious appreciation.
“I don’t have to worry about *Buffy*,” she sneered, idly raking her nails up his sides a bit harder than would have been pleasurable -- *would* have been…had she been *Buffy*. “You see,” she went on calmly, “that’s where you’re all confused. I don’t have to do anything to Buffy. Keep Buffy away from the little girl, and she’ll lose all on her own. Just – fade away.”
As if that thought wasn’t ghastly enough for Spike, she went on in a chillingly calm, matter-of-fact voice.
“So you see, it’s simple really – what I need to do. I have to kill the little girl.”
Spike’s eyes widened in shock and horror at her words, though he had already known that Dawn’s death was on the Slayer’s agenda.
She smiled at his reaction as she leaned back slightly, her hands continuing their casual violation of his body, as she explained her terrifying plan.
“See – the thing is – I *should* be free already. The stupid little witch had no idea what she was messing with when she did that spell that loosed me – with her own little twist,” she smirked.
Spike was startled by those words, but before he could ask her about them, she had gone on already.
“The spell the way she did it should have set me free completely into this body, and strong enough that there’s *no way* she could defeat me. She should have been immediately – well – destroyed, basically. Wiped out. But – somehow it didn’t work that way. She’s – stronger than she should be…”
“She’s stronger than you thought, that’s for sure,” Spike replied in a voice that trembled with powerful emotions. “She…”
“She’s strong *because* of me, you fool!” the Slayer spat out the words viciously, furiously digging her nails into his side in a punishing grip that drew a soft, agonized moan from his lips.
Immediately, pitilessly, she struck him in the face with her fist, before grabbing his hair and leaning down into his face to hiss with a cold, cruel smile, “I thought we covered this, Baby…*you* keep your mouth *shut*…is that too hard for you, Sweetie, ‘cause I can go over it again if you like? Or I could *help* you keep it shut? Want me to do that?”
The menace in her voice made him flinch in spite of himself, and he shook his head, his eyes closed, as he swallowed hard and tried to regain control from the searing pain that had stolen it from him. Momentarily appeased by his submission, the Slayer was calmer when she released his hair and sat back again.
“It’s the girl…”
Spike struggled to make himself focus, aware that what she was saying was vitally important to their situation.
“…she wasn’t supposed to exist…she *doesn’t*, you know. Well,” she amended with a frown, “she *didn’t*…she wasn’t supposed to be here…”
Spike frowned, confused; she wasn’t making any sense.
“…she’s only here because of magic,” she clarified in an overly patient voice, rolling her eyes as if he was a very slow child. “Someone else had already done magics that messed with the witch’s spell. Magics – to *create* her…”
Spike’s eyes widened in disbelief, and he shook his head slightly. It couldn’t be true – she was out of her mind, had to be – didn’t she?
“*Yes*, stupid,” the Slayer snapped, contradicting his silent denial of her words. “It’s true. She’s not really even – a person. Well, not like other people are. She wasn’t – born, didn’t grow up, she was just -- *created* as she is – it’s weird…she’s like…an *extension* of Buffy.”
She looked down at him, her expression speculative, as she went on, as if just figuring it out herself, “That’s why when they get together, they can beat me – because it’s like – like Dawn and Buffy are the same person almost, only – doubly strong…” She shook her head slowly for a moment, before suddenly shaking it quickly as if to clear it, concluding in a lighter tone.
“Like two against one -- *totally* unfair…but anyway – it’s not gonna matter soon…” Her smile was smug and certain as she leaned down over him, staring into his eyes with a cruel challenge in her own, as if daring him to contradict her.
Spike never had been able to resist a dare.
He stared into her eyes, his own narrowed and blazing with defiant anger, his voice soft but certain as he replied
“If you think for one bloody second that I would let you hurt her, while I’m still living to *try* to stop you, you’re out of your soddin’ mind, you insane, psychotic bitch!” he declared. “I’ll never let you hurt her…” He paused, his own challenging smile coming over his face as he went on, “…and I don’t know if you know much about mating claims, pet, but that body you’re in might not hold up too well if you tried to kill me...”
The fury was obvious in her fierce emerald eyes as she glared down at him. “Oh, I don’t know,” she smirked. “I’ve been doing a lot of damage…” As she spoke, she grabbed his hair and viciously slammed his head back hard against the headboard, deliberately reawakening the pain from his earlier head wound.
He bit back a moan, remembering her reaction last time, just closing his eyes and fighting to stay conscious.
“…and I feel fine,” she informed him with a falsely sweet smile and a little shrug. “And besides,” she continued, leaning down over him and pushing his head back with one hand.
He tensed, knowing what she intended and hating it, but powerless to stop her as she slowly lowered her lips to his throat, just above her mark, to press a deceptively tender kiss to his cool skin, kissing a soft line along his throat, edging her lips just to the edge of the mark before drawing back to finish her words, with a cruel, secretive glint in her eyes that sent a shudder down his spine.
“…who said anything about killing you?”
At precisely that moment, they were both startled out of the intensity of the confrontation – by the ringing of Buffy’s cell phone on the night stand. Before she snatched it up, Spike’s keen eyes noted with mingled fear and hope who the caller was.
The screen read “Mom’s Cell”.
It was Dawn.
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