“Funny – would have thought the source of the Slayer’s mighty power would like a bit more of a challenge than this.”
Considering the perilous situation he was in, Spike’s voice was remarkably light and casually, though there was no mistaking the tremor of pain in his voice, and the impossibly taut muscles of his arms and shoulders that gave his fear away, before he even spoke at all.
“Turns out the big bad Slayer demon gets off on torturing someone who can’t fight back at all, rather than a *real* fight – ironic little switch there, considering the Slayer’s being all chosen and righteous and all.”
“*She* may be ‘all chosen and righteous’ - *I’m* not,” the Slayer demon smirked, as she set aside the empty bottle and reached for one of the various knives that she had assembled around her victim’s exposed, vulnerable body. “Those insolent, foolish men – millennia ago – they forced me into a prison – used my power against me, placed it in a mere mortal girl, to destroy my own kind…”
The disgust and bitterness in her voice gave way to a wicked triumph as she added, “…but not anymore.”
“Personally – all that virtue and honor and protecting of innocents – makes me want to vomit. Sitting idly by – forced to just watch as girl after pathetic human girl used *my* power in the most unnatural of ways,” she went on, shaking her head slowly, a far off look in her eyes.
Suddenly she shook her head again, more quickly, as if trying to clear it of the distasteful images, before smiling down at him coldly.
“But that’s all over now – or it’s about to be,” she informed him, her eyes moving from his pain-filled, wary face to the blade in her hand, and back again with a smirk. “I’m going to put you back in your rightful place – at my feet,” she sneered softly, lowering the blade to trace along the chiseled planes of his chest, without quite breaking the skin.
Spike tensed at the threatening contact, but his jaw set with determination. He was not about to let this thing break him, though he knew she meant to try.
“And then,” she went on, her voice soft and almost hypnotic, as she trailed the weapon, as yet harmlessly, across his stomach, smiling at the slight quiver that went through the vampire’s cool flesh at the touch of the cooler metal, “you’re going to kill the girl – and the mother, too, for good measure,” she shrugged carelessly. “No sense leaving loose ends lying around.”
“I’ll never do it,” Spike interrupted without hesitation, his voice soft but certain. “Don’t care what you bloody do to me – don’t care if the bloody bond kills me – I won’t hurt them.”
“Silly,” she chided him with a chilling gentleness in her voice, and he stiffened as she accompanied the soft word with an infinitely more threatening gesture, sliding the blade across his stomach and down to trace the line of hi hip. “You’ll do whatever I *tell* you to do – once the dominance ritual is complete, and you’re mine to command again.”
As much as he wanted to argue with her, Spike did not respond, turning his head away and closing his eyes, trying not to think about the vicious blade and its slow, terrifying exploration of his body.
He knew that thinking was as good as saying, due to the mating claim. In time, he and Buffy would be able to learn to control their mental connection – to build mutual, respected barriers between them, to prevent their most private personal thoughts from the other’s indiscriminate knowledge.
But now, with the claim so new to them, there were no such boundaries in place; had Buffy been in control at the moment, she would have been able to hear and feel every thought and emotion of her mate, and he would have been able to do the same.
As it was, the unwelcome visitor in Buffy’s body could freely read his mind as she chose.
He actually found it somewhat comforting that he could not read the demon’s mind – a proof to him that the mating claim was between him and *Buffy* -- not him and the demon. It worried him, however, that he could not sense Buffy in her own body, at all. Was she pushed so far back at the moment that he simply could not reach her. He wondered if he should try again to contact her, but was certain that doing so would only further infuriate the Slayer above him.
And wasn’t she hearing all of these thoughts, anyway? he wondered with a sudden alarm, mingled with irritation, as he realized that even if she was, there was precious little he could do about it.
*’S not like I can bloody well stop thinking!*
He glanced up at her sideways for a moment, attempting to gauge her mood, her attention to his thoughts, from her expression. Apparently, he decided, he was in the clear. She did not seem to be paying much attention to him, really.
She was too focused on the beloved sound of her own bloody voice.
“You’ll be mine,” she was going on, in a voice of cruel contentment, a satisfied smile on her face as she looked at the wall behind him, thinking, “they’ll be dead – and I’ll…*rule*. And maybe – sometime during all of that…you’ll start…”
She surprised him by suddenly twisting around slightly to move the blade behind her back, placing it in a lightning fast, terribly frightening move, right at the base of his semi-hardened manhood, jerking it up just a fraction of an inch – but more than enough to make him jump with a little strangled cry of fear.
She smiled at his reaction as she leaned down close to him, meeting his eyes, without moving the blade, to finish in a whisper, “…paying attention. Are you, Baby? Paying attention?” she asked expectantly, a wicked sparkle of amusement in her eyes at his obvious terror.
Spike swallowed reflexively, drawing in a sharp breath as she jerked the knife upward just a fraction of an inch – not enough to do any actual damage, but enough to be extremely uncomfortable – not to mention bloody terrifying.
Knowing it would not be to his benefit to provoke her further – not at this moment, with her vicious weapon poised so perilously near to his most vital and sensitive organ – he nodded quickly, replying in a low, slightly shaking voice that he still managed to keep somewhat calm, “Yes – definitely paying attention, love…”
She eased the pressure she was exerting just slightly, but did not move the knife. “That’s good, Sweetheart,” she said softly, running her unoccupied hand slowly up his side, bringing it up to cup his cheek for a moment before moving it behind his head to grip his hair and pull his head back firmly.
He could not possibly have felt more vulnerable than he did in that moment, as she lowered her lips to the mark on his throat for just a moment, toying with the idea of the bond she was about to initiate, without really pursuing it – yet.
“…because I’d hate to have to do something drastic in order to *get* your attention,” she finished softly.
After a moment’s silence, the blonde vampire responded in a quiet, impressively controlled voice, “Don’t think you’d really want to do anything *that* drastic, love. ‘D be like cutting off your soddin’ nose to spite your pretty little face, wouldn’t it?” He grimaced slightly at the comparison, adding, “…in a manner of speaking.”
The almost child-like curiosity in her voice sent an involuntary shudder down his spine as she asked with no small interest, “Would it grow back?”
He met her eyes in alarm at the question, not answering her.
“*What*?” she asked, a bit defensively – but her eyes glittered with malicious amusement. “I just want to know!”
“Can’t say as I’d know, pet,” Spike replied in a dry voice of faint derision. “Don’t know any vamps what’s ever had the bloody bad luck to test that question. But even with vamp healing – can’t imagine it would grow back fast enough.”
She arched an eyebrow questioningly, and he knew that she was wondering what he thought he knew of her plans.
“It’s not like you’ve kept it a big bloody secret, love,” he informed her, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Way I see it – you’re a bit pressed for time. You’re needing to do this ritual right away – and I can’t see how you’re going to seal it with a proper shag, like you need to do, if you’ve lopped off my shagging bits by then!”
Her eyes narrowed in anger at his careless, unconcerned tone, even with the knife still held dangerously against the base of his member. He could see it in her eyes – her frustration and confusion. He wasn’t *supposed* to think her plan through better than she did! He wasn’t supposed to inform her why she couldn’t carry out her threat.
He was supposed to be terrified beyond all reason – and yet, he still seemed quite capable of reason.
*Why?*
She tried to recover the upper hand she felt like she was losing, drawing a cruel smirk to her face. “Oh, I don’t think it’d take so very long -- *little* repair job like that,” she sneered pointedly, glancing over her shoulder with derision at his exposed body. “A couple hours, tops, to grow that itty bitty thing back.”
Although he knew that she was *trying* to make him angry, he couldn’t help but be – well -- *angry*.
“Bitch,” he muttered under his breath, looking away from her, not wanting her to see the hatred blazing from his eyes.
Her eyes widened in disbelief for a moment, before narrowing again in anger. She suddenly began to increase the pressure of the knife, slowly, for a few seconds, and he winced, suddenly wondering with alarm if perhaps he had pushed her just a bit too far.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said finally, her angry expression shifting into a cool, calculating smile. “We *haven’t* got a lot of time to work with. Enough talk.”
She lowered the knife, allowing the blade to shift so that it rested against the inside of his thigh again – and then suddenly slashed it cruelly down his leg, leaving a deep, vicious gash about six inches long.
He fought back a cry of pain, as he felt the lukewarm wetness of the blood – blood taken from Buffy’s own veins, hours earlier – soak his leg, running down to fall onto the sheets beneath his body – and he could almost feel the strength of it flowing from him as well.
The Slayer brought the blood-stained knife back around in front of her, smiling down at him cruelly as she pressed it to his side, poised for another cut.
“Time to get down to business, Baby,” she said softly, a suddenly serious sound to her voice, though the laughter only slightly faded from her eyes. “Get you all ready for your big fight.”
He bit down hard on his lower lip to keep from screaming – he was determined not to give her the pleasure – as she drew the blade viciously down his side, leaving another deep, bloody gash to pour out onto the bed.
A low chuckle rose in her throat, and she shook her head slightly. “So brave,” she murmured, partially genuine admiration mingling with the mockery in her tone, as she leaned down over him, trailing the blade down his cheek in a teasing sort of threat.
Against his instinct, he did not flinch – though his entire body was taut with fear and pain.
Her smile faded at the lack of the response she had expected, as she put the knife down beside his head, and ran her hand through his hair in a mockery of affection. Her right hand slid down his side, to rest over the bleeding wound, the searing heat of her hot skin against his cool flesh, an ominous warning of what was to come.
He tried to shift away from her touch, but her knee on the other side of him kept him from moving far.
Her dark, penetrating gaze drew his eyes to hers, and the smile on her face made him want to look away – but he refused to allow himself to do it.
*Don’t back down – don’t look away – don’t scream….* he ordered himself fiercely. *…don’t give her the bloody satisfaction.*
She smiled into his eyes, with a peculiar understanding, and he remembered too late that she could still hear his desperate thoughts – just before she gripped the gushing wound, digging vicious nails into already torn flesh and causing him to jerk against the bonds that held him, instinctively – though he kept his mouth stubbornly shut.
“Oh, I *can* *make* you scream, Baby – make you beg – make you break and bleed until there’s nothing left that even resembles the master you once were. You’re mine, Spike. *Mine* -- and…”
Suddenly, her voice broke off and the painful pressure on his side eased; he looked up to see that her eyes were closed, and a little grimace of discomfort and uncertainty had stolen over her face. He stared at her for a moment, puzzled, not sure what was happening – and then a wild hope of realization began to build within him.
*Buffy?*
The Slayer let out a savage growl of frustration and fear, as she put her hands to her head and pressed at her temples, as if trying to physically hold herself together. He could hear Buffy’s heart pounding quicker as the battle within her intensified – and then he felt it – a slight fluttering of a presence not belonging to the brutal demon he had been facing only moments before.
A slow smirk came across his face, in spite of the pain and the danger he was still in.
“Looks like somebody found her fight after all,” he remarked, though his voice was hoarse and shaky from pain and exhaustion. “Seems she don’t much care for you messing with her mate.”
“*Shut up*!” she nearly screamed, and the powerful wave of rage he could feel rolling off of her made him flinch in spite of his resolve. “Shut up, *now*!”
The Slayer was on the verge of losing control; he could feel it – and so could she.
She had inadvertently managed to awaken something in Buffy’s repressed spirit that just might prove to be stronger than her Slayer strength – her love for the vampire on the bed beneath her.
But Buffy *was* tired.
Spike could feel *that*, too.
She had been fighting hard to resurface, though unsuccessfully, this whole time – she had simply been too weakened to do it. The mating claim had taken a lot of emotional energy out of her, that the demon still had to work with. He could feel Buffy’s desperation, her need to come to his aid, in spite of the fact that she was quickly wearing out.
Even if she managed to gain control now – she would not be able to hold onto it for long.
As if Buffy had just realized that fact as well, Spike suddenly felt a surge in her effort, as she seemed to push with everything she had to overwhelm the Slayer’s power and come to the surface – if only for a moment.
And in the next instant – he saw her there, the look in her eyes unmistakable.
*Buffy.*
Their eyes locked together, and for that brief instant, everything else fell away. Spike felt a sense of awe as he saw the flash of determination in her emerald gaze – just before the demon was shoved violently far back within her; and though he knew that she would quickly rise back up with a vengeance, it was still impressive. He knew that, if only briefly, Buffy had managed to lock her out of this intense, private moment.
This was for her and her mate alone to share.
The sorrowful look in her eyes, however, told him what he really already knew – they wouldn’t have more than a few seconds. There was only one gesture she had time for in the moments allowed to them, that would be of any help to him – but it would be more than he needed.
She stretched out her hand in an instantaneous movement, placing it firmly over the torn mark on his throat – and the sensation of warmth, connection, comfort and safety that washed over him in that moment was desperately needed. And with the flood of strengthening emotions that coursed through him, came a sudden understanding that he had lacked – a knowledge of a serious flaw in the Slayer’s plan.
And a plan that Buffy had been developing of her own.
His eyes widened on hers, and he nodded slightly in agreement to what she was silently, instantly telling him, as it all flooded into him in a single moment – all the support, knowledge, and strength he needed to carry through what had to be done – and so much more.
*I love you.*
He heard her tender words in his head, strong and clear – just before he felt the Slayer surging back to the forefront – and regaining control of the body above him.
Wide-eyed with panic and a mad fury, not quite aware yet that Buffy was no longer fighting for control, she snatched up a knife from the bed in trembling hands – randomly, not caring which one, her grip alarmingly unsteady, as she brought the blade to his throat.
“I’ll kill him!” she snarled in a voice that was full of menace and terror all at once. “I’ll kill him, I will, if you don’t *back off*!”
The silence that followed her ragged, high-pitched emotional outburst stood out in a sharp contrast to it, as she caught her breath, slowly coming to realize that the battle had ended – for the moment – and she was back in control.
Her almost feral jade eyes came to focus on Spike’s face again, as a cool smile came over her face. She laughed, triumphantly, yet still with a note of giddy disbelief at her own success. She had come awfully close to losing that time.
Far closer than she realized.
“Guess she doesn’t care all that much after all – does she?” she smirked, her invasive hand once again finding the tender, seeping wound on his side.
Spike did not respond, his face contorting slightly with pain – a look of resignation sliding across his face as she reached for a weapon to resume her brutal breaking of his body.
As she picked up the lighter in her hand, holding it up in front of her face to press the button, smiling cruelly into the blue flame that it emitted – she completely missed the faint, barely there smile of hope and victory that crossed the vampire’s lips.
Because now – he knew how to beat her – and there was no way that she could win.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
WARNING: this chapter is still very dark and violent, but you probably don't want to miss it, because something very important happens near the end... :)