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Spike stared at the tiny vial the Slayer had pressed into his hand, realizing with a sinking heart that he had little choice at this point.

If he refused to drink it, then she would know without a doubt that the whole ritual had been a fake, that he was not under her power – and he was not strong enough to fight her, not yet. She would kill him – and unwittingly, Buffy with him – and then proceed to kill Joyce and Dawn, and do whatever she wanted from that point.

Bloody hell, who knew what damage she could manage while in the disguise of Buffy’s body, before anyone found out the truth? And even if by some chance her Watcher or her friends *did* manage to find out that the Slayer demon had won – in the brief moments before she no doubt killed *them* as well – how would they be able to stop her?

That was if he did not drink the holy water in the vial.

But – if he *did* drink it….

*Spike…I can’t ask you to do this…*

*We have no choice, Buffy…*

*It’ll kill you! And then, she wins anyway, Spike! It’s not worth it; we have a better chance trying to fight her…*

*We have *no* chance trying to fight her,* he argued sharply. *Buffy in case you hadn’t noticed I’m a bit under the weather at the moment…can’t find the bloody strength to *stand*, let alone take on a Slayer…besides,* he added, his tone softening slightly, taking on a note of grim resignation, *won’t kill me – not enough in that little bottle. Just – just hurt like soddin’ hell.*

*Oh, Spike…*

He could hear the sorrow, the regret in her voice in his mind, could sense the thoughts and feelings she was experiencing, reminding her of how he would not be going through this, any of this, right now, if not for her terrible agreement, in the beginning, to Giles’ plan to bring Spike “under her control” – to take a creature already helpless and further violate his dignity and free will.

And the whole thing had been so utterly, completely unnecessary and destructive.

*…I’m so sorry…*

Spike did not respond, had no words to make her feel better, but didn’t have the heart to make her feel worse, even by speaking the truth.

It *was* her fault.

But it didn’t matter now. The whole mental conversation had taken place in a matter of moments, and he knew that he had to obey the Slayer’s command, *now*. Any further hesitation, and it would not matter if he obeyed her or not; she would know that he was obeying by choice, and not because he *had* no choice. And she had to believe that the dominance ritual had succeeded.

*Had* to – if she was going to allow him to feed from her, under the guise of getting his strength back up so that he could kill Buffy’s family for her.

If they were going to have any chance of defeating her.

Forcing the panic and dread to the back of his mind, Spike made himself *not* think about it, gripping the tiny bottle and tipping it to his lips, pouring it down his throat with no visible hesitation. He cringed in anticipation of the searing, burning pain that the fluid would cause, in his throat, his stomach, all through his body.

But it never came.

The Slayer’s wicked, mocking laugh next to him sent a chill down his spine – and shudders of relief all through him. He dropped the empty bottle to the floor, leaning forward to brace himself on his hands, as his knees no longer seemed steady enough to hold him up. Relief mingled with the terror he had made himself repress, and he gasped for breath, feeling as if he couldn’t stop shaking.

The bottle had been emptied and refilled -- with ordinary tap water.

*It’s okay…oh, God, it’s okay!* Buffy whispered in his head, her mental voice sounding breathless and relieved and nearly as overwhelmed as he felt. *It’s all right…you’re gonna be all right, Spike…it was just a test – and you passed it…now we just have to…*

“Now *that*,” the Slayer smirked, gasping herself as she managed to regain control from her insane giggles of amusement that had her doubled over with laughter, and bring herself back up to face him, crouching in front of where he knelt on the floor, “was funny!”

Spike raised his head slowly again to glare at her, murder in his gleaming golden eyes – not even realizing that he had changed. Her cruel, cavalier attitude, her pleasure in the fearful mind games she was playing with him – her vicious intentions toward him and all those he loved – it was all just too much.

He wanted her dead.

Spike might not have noticed his instinctive change to his game face – but the Slayer did.

Her laughter faded suddenly, her eyes narrowing in anger at his perceived challenge. Slowly, glittering feral green eyes focused on his face, she rose to her feet in front of him. A cruel smile slid over her usually pretty features, twisted into an ugly sneer of menace and vindictive hatred.

She suddenly gripped his hair and yanked his head back, hard, exposing his ravaged throat in a forced submissive posture, as she said softly, warningly, “You think you can take me on, Sweetheart?” There was a deceptive calm, almost affectionate, in her voice – but it nevertheless sent a chill down his spine. “You wanna try?”

*Bloody soddin' hell, you have no idea how much!* he thought, not daring to say the words out loud -- not yet.

The Slayer still had the gun -- and could change her mind and decide that he wasn’t worth the trouble at any moment, if he made her angry enough; it was still possible that she could simply opt to kill Dawn and Joyce herself. And as things were, there would be little that Spike could do to stop her.

True, he had figured out during the past few days that this particular demon was cowardly, preferring her victims bound, helpless, and utterly incapable of presenting any actual threat to her -- an enigma to him, that such a creature should be the source of the Slayer's power. She saw it as a risk, to think of going after Dawn, even with the gun, lest the girl should catch her off guard and push her back down again before she could stop her.

But that did not mean she would not lose her temper, kill him now, and then be forced to take that miniscule risk -- if Spike pushed her too far.

He closed his eyes, swallowing back the sharp, hateful retort he desperately wanted to give her, steeling himself to force himself to reply as he knew he had to -- for now.

"No," he whispered, shaking his head as much as her grip would allow. "No -- I'm sorry..."

His submission seemed to appease her, for the moment, because after a few tense seconds, she released her grip on his hair, relenting as she walked slowly away from him, across the room.

"Good," she said softly. "Because this whole torturing you thing -- fun at first...but it gets old fast."

Spike wanted to kill her -- not quickly. A violent, bloody, horrific death to rival any he had ever dealt out before -- except...

The fact remained that she was in *Buffy's* body.

He sighed inwardly. In spite of his anger, his rage at the abuses and indignities he had suffered, when the moment of his vindication came, he was going to have to keep himself under control. After all, this was Buffy’s body he was dealing with; he was going to have to do his best to get her to submit, with as little damage as he could manage – and all this while his demon was screaming, raging, for aw *much* damage as possible.

The whole thing just had to be handled *very* carefully.

He just stayed there on his knees for the moment, waiting for her to make her next move, not turning to look at her as she paced slowly toward the door, an odd smile that he didn’t see creeping across her face.

An instant later, he was caught off guard as the Slayer was suddenly crouched behind him again, one arm wrapping around his shoulders to pull him back against her. He forced himself not to pull away from her, though her close, intimate touch made him feel sick to his stomach, and he wanted nothing more than to jerk himself out of her hated embrace.

He knew that he was not strong enough to break her grip, anyway, and provoking her at this point would accomplish nothing.

Her hushed, taunting voice near his ear sent a shudder down his spine. “We’ve got company, Baby. Little sis is trying to get in.”

Spike’s eyes widened in surprise, and he felt a moment’s alarm. Of course, he had already known that Dawn was approaching, because Buffy had sensed it, and told him. But how did the Slayer know, without the benefit of Buffy’s thoughts and feelings to inform her? Was it possible that she was somehow clued into the connection between them?

He glanced over his shoulder at her in apprehensive question, and she smiled wickedly. “Weren’t gonna tell me, were ya, Sweetie?” she whispered, shaking her head slightly in mock reproof. “I know you knew before I did – vampire senses and all…”

Spike felt a tremendous sense of relief as he realized that she was still oblivious to Buffy’s absence in her own head, and the connection that he shared with her. But, if that was the case…

“Well, how’d *you* figure it out, then?” he asked, keeping his voice low so as to keep Dawn from hearing, if she was right outside the door, as the Slayer had indicated.

Really, at this point, it would be best if Dawn just thought he and Buffy were asleep, and went back to her own room for the rest of the night. At this point, she was nothing more than the helpless girl she appeared to be, and her entering this scene right now could only result in disaster.

“She tried the door,” the Slayer smirked. “Then she tried her key. Good thing you told me to deadbolt the door, huh, Baby?” There was just a hint of dark anger in her voice, but Spike felt his heart flip over in fear as she grabbed his hair with her free hand, and turned his head to the side so that his wounded throat was exposed to her as she added, “And that helpful little suggestion is the only reason I’m not ripping your throat out as we speak.”

A cold, sick sense of fear washed over him at the thought. At this point, he honestly was not sure if he could take any more abuse – and the knowledge that Dawn was now in danger, just outside the door, made him feel even more helpless and frustrated. What if the Slayer decided not to wait? To just take her chances and do away with the girl herself?

*Stay calm,* Buffy urged him gently. *Hang on, Sweetheart…almost there…*

“Well,” the Slayer said softly, releasing his hair to place her palm on his forehead, pushing his head back to rest on her shoulder. “I suppose we’d better get this done…she might think we’re asleep at first – but she’ll be suspicious now, finding the door bolted.

She paused, leaning in closer to whisper with a cruel smile, “It’s time for Dawnie to die, Baby.”

There was a cruel, taunting sound to her voice, telling Spike that she enjoyed reminding him of the fact that she was about to force him to kill the girl he loved like a sister, ,the woman who was like a second mother to him.

The only thing that made it bearable was knowing that whatever she believed to be true – she could *not* force him to do anything.

“Change,” she ordered in a cool, hard voice, believing that he had no choice but to obey her.

He *did* obey, allowing his human features to give way to his vampiric face, his fangs itching to pierce the Slayer’s soft flesh and drain her of the hot, life-giving fluid now pumping through her veins. After all she had done to him, his demon cried out for vengeance against her, to sate himself on her blood and leave her nothing but a torn, bloodied carcass.

Except – the body he was imagining tearing into with such ferocious vengeance was the body of his mate.

His conflicting emotions warred within him, as she arched the bronze pillar of her neck toward him, pushing his head nearer to her exposed skin, but tangling her fist in his hair, easily holding the weakened vampire back from the bite she knew he craved.

“You want it?” she asked in a low, enticing voice. “You want to bite me, Spike?”

He did not respond, aware that she was mocking him, baiting him, wanted to make him beg for it – but he would not. Oh, if he had to, to get her to allow it at all, he would – but he knew that he would *not* have to.

The Slayer needed him to bite her as badly as he needed it – and she was quickly running out of time.

“Oh, come on,” she sneered softly, “you know you do – and you will,” she added, her voice becoming serious, her darkened jade gaze focusing on his feral golden eyes. “But you *will* stop the *moment* I tell you to. You will not seek to harm me – only to gain the nourishment you need. You will be careful not to cause me any pain or weaken me too severely. Is that clear?”

By her tone, Spike knew that she thought she was giving him an undeniable command, and he nodded slowly, not willing to make her think otherwise.

The Slayer nodded, satisfied, releasing her grip on his hair and ordering softly, “Drink.”

Spike didn’t need to be told twice.

But he *did* need to be cautious.

He had to do his best to make the bite painless, to appear not to be as incredibly eager as he was to sink his fangs into her flesh – at least until she was too weak to do anything about it.

As she gently pushed his head nearer to her throat – her gentleness more for her own sake than for his – he opened his mouth, poising his fangs over the marks he had left on her throat earlier. The claim he had made had a powerful physical effect on his mate’s body, as well as her heart and mind. He knew that if he bit Buffy on his mark, the sensation of physical pleasure could be intense, if he intended for her to feel pleasure from his bite.

He only hoped that the effect on Buffy’s body would be the same without Buffy in it.


If he could manage to keep the Slayer “distracted”, without breaking her command about not hurting her, long enough to weaken her through blood loss – allowing himself a bit of precious recovery time to allow her potent blood to kick in – then he and Buffy, *his* Buffy, just might have a chance.

But there was no time to consider, no time to plan and debate. The Slayer had issued a command, and to keep up the ruse, he had to obey – and quickly.

Pushing his fears from his mind, he focused on what he had to do – and his true mate, whose body this was before him.

*I love you, Buffy,* he whispered to her in his mind.

*I love you, Spike,* she replied in a calm voice without hesitation. *Do it.*

Without another instant’s hesitation, Spike lowered his fangs to the Slayer’s throat for the crucial bite.





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