"You know you'll never win this," Spike taunted the Slayer softly, his eyes closed against the silent menace of her toying iwth the weapon she held.
“You know,” the Slayer countered with a chilling smile, staring into the dancing blue flame at the end of the lighter in her hand, “You might just be turning out to be just a little bit more trouble than you’re worth, Spikey…” Her eyes darkened with malice as she brought the lighter close to his face, gripping his hair and holding his head in place when he tried to pull away from the heat of the flame.
“I am *really* gonna enjoy taking you apart,” she informed him in a soft voice full of vindictive hatred.
“Just got one question for you, pet,” Spike said quietly, the faint smirk on his lips widening slightly, in spite of the threat of the flame, less than an inch from his face and painful, searing, even without actually touching him. “If you plan on tearing me to literal bloody pieces before we do this ritual – since you know that’s the only soddin’ chance you’ve got of winning – then how do you figure on my being strong enough to do in *anybody* immediately following?”
The Slayer laughed softly in surprise. “It’s a little girl and a middle-aged woman! If a master vampire can’t take them out in *any* condition – that’s just sad, Sweetheart.”
Spike laughed as well, surprising her again, though the sound was weak and tired. “Obviously you’ve not been around long enough to see Bitty mad…*really* mad…or you’d know that she may be small, but she can be a force to be reckoned with…and as for Joyce – she’s the only thing that kept me from killing Buffy the first time we fought. And she may not have a bleedin' axe on hand at the moment -- though I wouldn't put it past her --but I still wouldn’t threaten her girls in front of her if I was in *perfect* health – let alone after you get done having your bit of fun.”
“Well, then – I guess you’d better take out the mother first, then. After that, little Dawnie should be too traumatized to put up much of a fight.”
The chilling, matter-of-fact tone with which she spoke set a sense of dread creeping through him, to hear such horrific words coming out of Buffy’s mouth, in Buffy’s voice – though he knew that it was not possibly Buffy who was saying them. He reminded himself of that, over and over, fighting back a sense of panic at what the Slayer was saying.
It wasn’t possible that she could actually force him to hurt Dawn and Joyce…was it?
*It’s all right, my love.*
Buffy’s soft, reassuring voice echoed in his mind, much nearer than it had been before, and just the sound of it, the feeling of her so close to him, was calming and comforting. He looked carefully at the Slayer still sitting on top of him, a cruel, satisfied smirk on her face, half-expecting her to have heard the words – though he knew that she could not have.
*It’s okay,* Buffy repeated softly. *She can’t make you do anything…remember that…you’re mine, my mate – and you always will be, no matter what ritual she tries to perform.*
Spike felt encouraged by her closeness, her soothing words, and remembered what it was that he had to do. Strengthened by his mate’s affections, he focused back on the face of his tormentor, shrugging as casually as possible considering the severe pain he was in already.
And she had barely even begun.
“I’m just saying, pet…after you get done ‘preparing’ me for this bloody battle we’re about to have – and then you get done mopping up the floor with my arse – which shouldn’t bloody well count anyway considering you’ve gotta spend a couple hours torturing and bleeding me first – I just don’t see how you expect me to be up to offing anyone.”
He paused. “Joyce and Dawn love me – but if they see that I mean to kill them – either one of them would dust me before they’d let me hurt the other,” he stated with absolute certainty.
“Well,” the Slayer shrugged, a look of slight annoyance on her face as she considered his words, recognizing that he *was* presenting her with a genuine flaw in her plan. “you’ll be under my control as soon as the dominance ritual is done. Slayer’s blood is very powerful. I could always – let you have a little drink to get your strength back up, *after* I win – before I send you to take care of them.”
“How could you be guaranteed I’d stop?” Spike countered defiantly. “I’d gladly accept your offer, just to have the chance to drain you dry!”
“And Buffy, with me?” she smirked, her eyebrows raised questioningly – but her eyes were blazing with anger at his threat. “You kill me – you kill *her*, Spike – and I know you don’t want that.”
“But I kill *Dawn* – I kill Buffy, too – right?” he pointed out grimly. “So the way I see it – my choice is between killing the person I love the most – or killing her and another person I love dearly as well. Not that bloody difficult a decision, pet.”
*Good – that’s it,* Buffy’s gentle, affectionate encouragement in his mind made him feel stronger, more certain, as he waited for the demon’s response. *Doing so good, Sweetheart…*
The Slayer’s smile faded completely with her anger at his daring to argue with her, to threaten her, when she was so clearly in complete control of the situation. She moved the lighter quickly, too quickly for him to prepare himself, holding the flame to his stomach with vindictive anger in her eyes.
The vampire let out a cry of pain that was almost a roar, vamping out in his agony and anger at the torture she was inflicting. The Slayer glanced toward the door, concerned by the level of noise he was making, but not daring to attempt to stifle his cry by covering his mouth -- not while his mouth was currently his most lethal weapon.
She reached up and grabbed his hair, pulling his head back and holding it, as she raised the flame to hold it next to his ridged – and highly flammable – cheek. He tried to pull away, but was too weakened by the pain he was in to manage it.
“Why don’t you put those away, Baby?” she suggested softly, in a menacing tone that made it clear that it was *not* a suggestion. “Shut your mouth – and put away those fangs, they look dangerous.”
The soft mockery mingled with dangerous menace in her voice, in combination with the merciless pain of the open flame at his face, sent Spike swiftly toward the edge of panic.
*Buffy – Buffy, I don’t know if I can…*
*Spike…I’m right here…I love you, and it’s gonna be all right…calm down…you know what you have to do…you can do this, Honey, I know you can…*
With an extreme effort, through the pain and fury that filled him at the Slayer’s abuse, he managed to push back his demon visage and let his human face resurface, biting back the cries of pain that rose in his throat, forcing himself to be still and quiet and submissive – for the moment.
Satisfied, the Slayer removed the flame from his face before addressing his last words. “You don’t *have* a choice, Spike. Once the dominance ritual is done, *if* I choose to let you drink from me, in order to make you strong enough to kill Dawn and Joyce – you will stop when I *tell* you to stop…because you won’t have the option not to. Is that clear, Sweetheart?” she asked, leaning in close to him, her fingertips brushing in a cruel, light touch across the seared flesh on his cheek.
Though he longed to declare that she could *never* bring him under dominance to her – that he would never hurt those dearest to him – though he wanted nothing more than to curse her and tell her just how little he thought of her – he knew that he couldn’t do that, though it was terribly tempting.
*Wait – wait,* Buffy quietly urged him in his mind, and he could feel the warmth of her love, the soft, bittersweet sensation of her sorrow and compassion at his pain that she felt as her own. *I know it’s hard – I want to kill her myself for what she’s doing to you – but we have to wait…”
Accepting that his mate’s words were true, Spike simply nodded in acceptance of the Slayer’s words – which he knew were not -- his jaw set in determination not to give up the one very vital advantage he and Buffy had.
“Good,” the Slayer murmured softly, setting the lighter aside for the moment and picking up another weapon – the hunting knife she had chosen from the sporting goods section at Wal-Mart. “Now – where were we?”
Two doors down the hall, two hours later, Dawn was still awake, and trying desperately to repress her mounting fears for her sister and her friend.
Something was terribly wrong – she could feel it. It *had* to be more than her imagination – didn’t it?
But then – she had seen so many dark, frightening things over the past couple of days – things her mind had not yet had time to deal with – it was definitely possible that she was just over-paranoid and worried for no reason – right?
She sat up in the bed in the darkened room, glancing over at the next bed where her mother slept fitfully, tossing every now and then and talking softly in her sleep, obviously troubled even in unconsciousness. She glanced toward the table beside the bed, where the key to Spike’s and Buffy’s room lay, and then toward the motel room door.
*Should I go?* she wondered anxiously, her heart pounding with apprehension and uncertainty. *If it’s nothing…*
*But – if it’s *not* nothing…*
She glanced at the phone on the nightstand, picking it up and pressing a button to make the screen light up. No missed calls.
But that did *not* mean that everything was all right.
She hesitated, before suddenly making up her mind – getting out of the bed and moving purposefully to her suitcase to throw on some clothes.
She didn’t feel think it would be terribly intimidating to go into battle with a scary demon clad in her Hello Kitty pajamas.
“Well – I think I’ve just about exhausted my imagination – for the moment,” the Slayer remarked calmly, glancing down at the badly weakened vampire lying on the bed beneath her – covered in blood and badly burned, his unnecessary but instinctive breath coming ragged and uneven in the face of the agony he was trying very hard not to give in to.
The Slayer climbed off of him, taking no care about jarring his brutalized body, and he bit back a cry of pain, his eyes closing for a moment as he fought against the bright flashes of color before his eyes that sought to steal his consciousness.
She stood beside him, leaning over him with a cruel smile, vicious fingers like claws yanking his blood-matted hair back and whispering close to his ear, “I’m sure I can think of some other things later – once you’re mine to play with…”
He cringed at the very thought, fighting off a sense of despair at her words. He knew what was going to happen – knew how it was going to turn out, in the end – but the agony, the persistent fear birthed by her cruel words over the past few hours, seemed to say otherwise.
*I love you, Spike,* Buffy reassured him softly. *Almost through, Honey…it’s almost over…you are so amazing, do you know that? You’re gonna be fine, Sweetheart, okay?*
He almost nodded, but then realized that the motion would be inconsistent with what the Slayer had just said, and he did not want to give away the truth that she had not yet discovered.
*Okay…love you, Buffy…*
The harsh clattering of the chains as they fell away, allowing his battered, weakened limbs to collapse to the bed, drew him from the intimate communication he was sharing with his mate. Roughly, the powerful Slayer grabbed him and yanked him off of the bed, throwing him to the floor beside the bed.
As he struggled to pull himself up to a sitting position, he heard her voice, hollow and distant through the fog of pain that surrounded him, but full of unmistakable evil menace.
“I challenge you, Spike, William the Bloody, master of the line of Aurelius, to defend your liberty – to claim your own right over your own will – which I now claim to be mine,” she declared the words as if from memory, much more precise and particular than the somewhat shoddy translation Buffy had used.
*This is it…you can do this, Spike…you know what to do,* Buffy told him, her voice encouraging and strengthening in his mind – as the battered blonde vampire braced his arm on the bed beside him and dragged himself to stand on shaking legs – trembling with sheer weakness and pain – but not with fear.
He was not afraid – not anymore.
“I – I accept your challenge,” he declared in a quiet, weakened voice, barely over a whisper, meeting her eyes boldly, defiantly – though it was a struggle just to stay on his feet for the moment.
It didn’t matter.
He knew that this evil creature before him, wearing his lover’s face, could never make him hers.
He already belonged to another, as her eternal mate – and that was a claim that stood stronger than any other.
“You’re all alone, Spike,” the Slayer taunted him softly, circling slowly around him, not allowing him out of the corner he was in, watching him carefully – though physically, he posed no threat. “No one to help you – completely alone – and soon, you’ll belong to *me*.”
*Mine, Spike…you’re mine…and I’m yours…no one else’s, no matter what…remember that whatever happens now, *nothing* can change that…*
*Yours, Buffy,* he reiterated in his mind, drawing strength from the simple words that passed between them. *Only yours…and you’re mine…*
He drew encouragement from the fact that the Slayer was absolutely unaware of the words that passed between them in his mind. She had felt Spike’s emotions, his fear and uncertainty, varying with courage and determination – but due to what Buffy had done earlier, she could not make out his distinct thoughts – did not know of the conversation taking place in his mind.
She heard nothing from Buffy, had not for some time, but she assumed that she had simply pushed the girl back so far within her own mind that she had not been able to resurface yet – and would not be able to, until it was too late.
She never would have guessed at the truth.
She could not sense the presence of the girl who was made a Slayer by her power – because Buffy was not *there*.
And Spike was definitely *not* alone.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Continuing squickiness, though not as much as preceding chapters....