“There’s no answer,” Joyce informed Travers in a cold, even voice, flipping her phone closed and staring defiantly at the man who seemed so mild-mannered and unintimidating, and yet was creating a terrible threat to her and her entire family.
He did not looked pleased by her words – or convinced.
“May I see your telephone please, Mrs. Summers?” he asked politely, though his tone left no room for refusal. “I’d like to try the call again. Perhaps Miss Summers was – otherwise distracted…”
*You don’t know the half of it,* Joyce thought darkly, wishing fervently that these men could have had the opportunity to have met with her daughter’s dangerous, evil alter-ego. But by now, hopefully, Spike was in the midst of defeating her – which was the most likely reason why Buffy’s phone had gone unanswered.
“If she still does not answer the phone,” Travers said, scrolling down the list of numbers in the phone until he found Buffy’s, and dialing it quickly before holding the phone up to his ear, “I’ll simply leave her a message. We have time to wait.” He listened to the phone ring as he shrugged his shoulders lightly, a smug, disapproving sarcasm in his words.
“After all – she’s alone with the vampire, isn’t she? How busy could she possibly be?”
Joyce felt her temper rising at the insultingly pointed tone of his words. He was clearly making a veiled comment about her daughter’s seeming propensity for taking vampires as lovers. But that was completely not fair! she thought indignantly. There had only been the – two, after all – and anyway – now Buffy and Spike were mated, so it was not like there were going to be any more.
Her eyes narrowed in anger on the distasteful little man. How dare he insinuate that her daughter was some kind of – of vampire slut!
Travers was utterly unaware of her rising temper – and probably would not have given it a second thought, if he *had* been aware of it. Buffy’s voicemail had just picked up, and he frowned in disappointment as he listened impatiently to the pleasant message.
“Miss Summers,” he said calmly after a few moments, “This is Quentin Travers. I’m at the Roadside Inn where your mother and sister are staying – in their room, actually. They, and your Watcher, as well as myself and some – colleagues – would all very much like to speak with you at your *very* earliest convenience. If you would kindly return here as soon as possible, Miss Summers. There are some matters of great importance which we wish to discuss with you.”
Without saying goodbye, or giving out any further information, Travers closed the phone and tossed it casually onto the bed, beside Buffy’s nearly unconscious Watcher – who was just beginning to stir a bit.
Joyce frowned with concern as he wearily opened his eyes, letting out a low moan of disoriented pain. She glared back up at Travers with disgust and contempt, as she asked in a voice that was much softer than the expression on her face, “Would you allow me to help him?”
Travers shrugged carelessly, as he sat down in the chair beside the bed and visibly relaxed somewhat. Dawn rose from the bed across the room with a startled little cry, as one of the two men casually made his way toward her – but all he did was sit down on the side of the bed and pick of the remote control for the television.
Apparently – they were prepared to wait as long as they needed to for Buffy to return.
“Do as you like, Mrs. Summers,” Travers replied coolly. “We’ve some time to wait, it appears. Pass it as you will.”
Joyce glanced behind her at the man who was now sitting on the bed a few yards away from her nervous daughter, contenting herself that he did not pose a threat – for the moment – before moving slowly to sit down on the side of the bed where Giles lay. Her pretty, graceful features softened with compassion as she took in the terrible condition he was in.
Though she did her best to keep it from Buffy, she had always held a certain measure of affection for the thoughtful, intelligent man who attempted to appear much more stuffy and unemotional than he could ever really be – and who would gladly have given his own life to protect that of her daughter.
And apparently, he had come quite close to doing that. If what Travers said was true, based on the conversation Buffy had had with Giles earlier, he had attempted to play things cool with the Council while they were in town, but they had somehow gotten wise to the fact that they were being played. And when they had tried to coerce him into laying a trap for his Slayer, he had refused – and this was the result.
He had been severely beaten, his face badly bruised and his clothes torn and bloodied in places from the rough handling that had apparently been dealt him by the two henchmen accompanying the Council leader. And in Joyce’s opinion, no two strong, young, capable men such as these two should ever exert such unnecessary violence against someone so much older than them, and therefore not capable of defending himself against them.
Her eyes narrowed in anger as she looked back up at Travers, whose cool, remorseless eyes were focused on the television screen.
“How could you do this?” she demanded in a quiet, slightly trembling voice of intense accusation. “How can you call yourself a – a defender of what is good and right – when you are capable of – of allowing something like this to happen?”
“My dear lady,” Travers replied with exaggerated patience, giving her a smile that he probably thought passed as gracious – though she saw it as nothing more than wicked and deceptive. “We do what we must, to ensure the safety of the entire world, at times…and if that means sacrificing the – comfort, or well being of one individual – well, then – so be it.”
“Even if that one individual happens to be one of your own,” Joyce finished with clear disgust in her voice, looking away from the smug, self-righteous man – so sure of his own right to do just what he had done.
Travers surprised her with a quiet, controlled laugh of surprise, and she looked back up at him to see him looking at her with bemusement. “Mrs. Summers,” he corrected, shaking his head slightly, “Mr. Giles is hardly one of our own – not anymore.”
Joyce held his gaze for a moment longer – and what she read there was intensely troubling. She knew very well, though she had forgotten for the moment, that Mr. Giles had been fired by the Council, and therefore was probably no longer deemed deserving of any loyalty or protection from them.
But that line of thought led her to a much more disturbing idea – one that she had already thought of, but that was made much more real and frightening by Travers’ words.
If they were willing to viciously beat a former Watcher – who was only no longer working for them by their own decision – for the “good of the world”…
…what would they be willing to do with a defiant, uncontrollable Slayer, who had willingly quit their service?
Joyce was reminded with a chill of grim certainty – even if the ritual was successfully completed, and Buffy was saved from the invader within her own body – that would by no means mean that she was safe.
“Guess this is it, huh, Baby?” the Slayer smirked down at the blonde vampire, pinned helplessly beneath her, one hand trapped under his own body, and the other pinned tightly above his head with her free hand. “This is the part where you either submit to me – or you die.”
She shrugged carelessly, pressing the tip of the stake in her hand just a bit harder against his already broken skin, adding, “And to tell you the truth – at this point I really don’t care which. It’s up to you, Baby.”
“See – that’s the thing, pet,” Spike returned her smirk without fear, though his mind was racing, trying to come up with a way out of this perilous situation. “There really *isn’t* any bloody option, love. You may have forgotten – but I *can’t* lose this to you! Not really…I can make *you* submit to me, but you can never make me submit to you – remember?”
“Hmmm,” she mused thoughtfully, apparently untroubled by his words. She was obviously feeling much more confident now that she had regained the upper hand, and he was making no real attempt to fight her at the moment, his restrained wrist above his head ceasing its struggles to free itself. “Yes – I *do* remember.” She paused for a moment, before shrugging again, carelessly. “Pity. Oh, well. Guess it’s time for you to die, then.”
The hard, flippant tone of her voice sent a shudder down his spine as he was reminded again of just how easily this creature could take his life, with absolutely no second thought at all.
*Spike,* Buffy spoke urgently in his mind. *Remember how I beat you? The first time? You were about to kill me, in the mansion – and…*
Spike suddenly felt very sick at the thought of what his mate was suggesting. After the night he had spent at this creature’s mercy, enduring her torturous whims and degrading sexual attentions – the last thing he wanted to do was feign attraction to her.
He wasn’t even sure that he could.
*Think about it, Spike!* Buffy pressed him, gently but unrelentingly. *If she reacts so much more strongly to pain – because she’s not used to feeling it – maybe it works the same way – with pleasure…if you can just get her distracted enough…maybe…*
*All right, love…I’ll try,* he conceded reluctantly, closing his eyes for a moment and trying to gather his strength. *Not gonna be easy though…*
He opened his eyes to see the Slayer, smiling expectantly down at him, a puzzled look in her eyes. Only a few brief moments had passed, but still, he wondered why she had not yet made any move to kill him.
“What are you waiting for, pet?” he asked, lowering his voice to a soft, sultry tone, meeting her eyes and smiling slowly, as he slowly raised his leg between hers, then moved it down again, and then back up, edging nearer to the sensitive spot between her legs. “For me to beg for mercy? Plead for my soddin’ unlife?”
The Slayer drew in a sharp breath, closing her eyes as her head fell back slightly for a moment, before she deliberately lowered her head to meet his eyes again, a slow, seductive smile to match his own on her face.
“Well, actually,” she admitted with a little shrug, “yeah.”
Spike let a low, rumbling chuckle escape his throat, as he slowly rotated his hips, pressing his body up against hers, raising his leg again slightly – and was rewarded by the tell-tale scent of her arousal, betraying the effect he was beginning to have on her.
“Sorry, pet – not gonna happen. I don’t beg. Least – not for my life,” he amended with a wicked little grin.
“What’s with this little change of heart?” the Slayer demanded suddenly, her smile fading a bit as she suddenly lifted herself up off of him, her grip on his wrist tightening slightly. “I thought you hated me, Baby…why are you suddenly all about getting with me?”
Spike shrugged slightly, still holding her gaze with an unapologetic little smile, as he admitted, “Maybe I’m just stalling for time – putting off the moment when you take me out. Because let’s face it, pet – we both know you’ve won.” He paused, before adding in a low, seductive voice, his expression becoming serious, “Or maybe – maybe if I’ve got to bloody go out – I’d like to go out in the throes of the sweetest pleasure a man can know, instead of pain…”
As he spoke, he lifted his hips up off the ground, with an effort bringing his body back into contact with hers, rotating slowly against her until he felt her respond, moving slightly with him, relaxing her body back down against him and allowing the touch.
“ ‘Less of course – you’d rather not extend – that particular mercy,” he went on, his voice sounding slightly breathless with feigned pleasure, as he closed his eyes for a moment, letting his head fall back in the semblance of losing himself to the pleasure that he knew she was feeling – even if in reality, he was not.
He knew that that particular moment was likely the most dangerous one of this little plan – as she could choose not to accept his offer, to stake him right then and there, and he would not even see it coming.
But the Slayer did not seem inclined to stake him – not yet.
As his body moved against hers, he heard her let out a soft little moan, before she lowered her head, opening her eyes with an effort to meet his, as he raised his head as well.
“What the heck,” she muttered breathlessly, her forehead resting against his as she slowly moved up and down with him. “One last dance, eh, Baby?”
Spike smiled at her ironic choice of words – precisely the ones he would have chosen, given the chance. “Yeah,” he whispered. “One last dance…”
He closed his eyes, centering his thoughts on his mate, as he tried to ready himself more fully for the act that was to come. He knew that timing was crucial; everything would have to happen at the perfect time, if he and Buffy were going to pull this off properly.
But first – he had to get the Slayer to lose her control.
At the moment – it did not appear that that would be a problem.
Buffy’s cell phone rang for the second time, in the car – but neither of them even heard it. The Slayer was lost to a physical pleasure that was foreign to her, and thus utterly enthralling; and Spike was focusing in on Buffy herself, bringing thoughts of his beautiful mate to his mind to allow him to complete the physical act he knew he would have to.
He felt the Slayer’s body above him begin to tremble with her need, and he slowly slid his hand out from under him, resting it lightly at her side. She did not seem to notice that he was partially free, just continued moving with him as he reached a hand between them to unfasten her jeans, and then his.
It was strangely quiet, the desert still and silent around them, neither of them uttering any words of desire or endearment. She was simply lost in the physical passion – and Spike could not have formed such words if he had tried. It was all that he could do to muster up the physical reaction necessary – the emotional reaction was out of the question.
Once the clothes that separated them had been pushed away – but not removed – Spike pushed up gently against her restraining hand, not surprised when she allowed him to move it to her waist, his hands, gentle for the moment, guiding her toward the correct position.
By this point, she was beyond reasoning out the dangers of what she was doing.
After a few moments, Spike took a chance – and swiftly reversed their positions, so that the Slayer was under him. She stilled for a moment, as if in sudden alarm – but before she could react, he had suddenly slid downward, into her – and her entire body was enveloped in a shock of pleasure that consumed her thoughts.
Spike moved over her, in her, for a few moments, allowing the sensations to engulf her more fully – before he made his move.
Suddenly, he stilled his movements over her, shifting into game face and lowering his fangs to her throat, tearing viciously through her flesh.
The Slayer let out a cry of pain, her eyes opening wide in shock and agony, as her hands suddenly scrabbled against him, trying to push him off of her – but he was too strong for her, and would not be pushed away. He caught her hands, pinning them tightly in one of his own, over her head, despite her useless struggles.
Her wide, panicked green eyes looked up, seeking his – and she was chilled by the cold look of menace in his golden eyes as they met her gaze.
“Guess it wasn’t quite it, after all, was it, pet?” he mocked her softly, leaning down to whisper in her ear – before allowing his fangs to tear into her neck, just above the bite marks he had just left, eliciting a strangled, terrified scream of pain that was lost in the empty, lonely desert that surrounded them.
“But now it is,” he informed her in a low, hushed voice of deadly certainty, raising a hand to fist in her hair and draw her head back sharply, before leaning in close to her again to whisper a menacing growl of command near her ear.
“Say it – you’re mine, pet…you submit…you accept the authority of my claim over you…”
“No,” she gasped out weakly, but the word was almost a sob, and he knew that it was all but empty.
“Say it!” he snarled, shaking her hard by the grip he had on her hair, the movement jarring and tearing at her wounded throat.
“No, no!” she cried desperately, her terror clear in her voice. “I won’t! You can’t make me!”
“You can’t take the pain, love!” Spike reminded her in a vicious, pitiless sneer near her ear. “You couldn’t even take the pleasure…it overwhelms you…it’s too much…these human feelings…these human thoughts…you weren’t made to have them, love…I’d kill you before I’d let you hurt the ones I love, pet…” He paused before delivering his point in a chilling, deadly whisper.
“Do you really think you could stand the feeling of *death*? I did…and I can tell you…not much fun, love,” Spike informed her. “And I *will* kill you – if I have to. For the last time, love – before I tear your bloody throat out and watch you die – gasping for air that won’t come – drowning in your own blood as it pours down what’s left of your throat – with no comfort, nothing but pain in the last moments of your existence…”
His last words were barely audible as he demanded, “Will…you…*submit*?”
After a long silence in which he scarcely dared to draw the habitual, unnecessary breath that he usually did – she finally responded, in a desolate, broken whisper, barely audible to anyone but a vampire.
“*Yes*.”
“Yes?” he echoed, hardly daring to believe it, inwardly elated, but outwardly cautious. “Yes, you submit? Say it!”
“Yes – I submit,” she whispered, her eyes closed, her head turned away, as she waited for the end to come.
*Yes!* Buffy cheered in his head, thrilled with the outcome. *Finish it, Spike – finish it so we can go home…*
The Slayer lay still beneath the master vampire, in the silent, cool desert sand, as he completed the act of dominance, verbally claiming his authority over her as he exerted it, until his physical need was spent, and he uttered a growled, emphatic, “*Mine*!” that he was not sure if she had even heard.
And then, in the moonlit darkness, in the anti-climactic aftermath of the momentous victory – all was still.
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