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Author's Chapter Notes:
I stopped posting updates on this story quite some time ago because the updates were so few and far between. But now, after six years in the making, this story is finally done. Yay! Cue the Snoopy Dance! Heh.

I plan to post at least one chapter a week (more frequently, if possible). But my dad is having surgery next week and is expected to be in the hospital a while. So if I wind up missing a week, that’s why.

Many thanks to those of you who have patiently awaited extremely sporadic updates and graciously left much-appreciated comments. Thanks also to those who have only recently discovered the story and offered your encouragement. All of you are what kept me going.

If you need a recap of the story thus far to refresh your memory without having to re-read previous chapters, you can find it at the beginnin of Chapter 17.

As always, comments and constructive criticism are most welcome and greatly appreciated. I hope you find it worth the wait!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


Spike stared at Buffy, long seconds passing without either of them making a sound. He could tell she wanted to look away, but didn’t. Instead she held his gaze, laying it out there for him to see – her remorse, her guilt. All prompted by the thought that she’d taken something from him. Something he’d wanted, perhaps as much as he’d wanted her.

Sod it all. Angel had been right, at least in part. She had wanted the Shanshu for him. But how much of it was Buffy actually hoping for a life together, and how much was her conscience nipping at her, he didn’t know. He thought back to her earlier words.

“After everything you’ve been through. Knowing how much it means to you…”

She’d offered him her heart. But was it her version of some bloody consolation prize? His inner William couldn’t help but wonder.

He slowly exhaled. “The coma…that what gave you this idea? You’re thinking you kept me from turning human?”

She nodded.

He snorted. “Bollocks!”

“Spike, you don’t understand. Angel was—”

“Was in a coma just like mine, only they let it run its course and he woke up all livin’, breathin’ and chronologically challenged. Leave anything out?”

She stared at him. “Chrono-huh?”

“Getting older.”

Her gaze dropped. “You knew.”

“Charlie told me, yeah. ’Bout the big transformation. It’s got nothing to do with what happened to me.”

Her head shot up, giving him a clear view of her incredulous expression. “How can you say that? What about that person-thing you saw when you were unconscious? You said she talked about the prophecy!”

“She talked about a prophecy. Never said it was this one.”

“Right. Because there are just sooo many prophecies.”

“In point of fact…”

Buffy crossed her arms, her mouth set, her eyes narrowed. “You know what? You seem pretty sure of that. Is there something you forgot to tell us?”

A warning alarm went off in Spike’s brain. “Ah…about what?” he stalled.

“Don’t even, Spike.”

His mind flashed back to what the not-Fred had said. That Buffy was meddling in matters she didn’t understand. That she would “mess things up” and that she would try to call him back but he had to resist or the prophecy would be altered. He hadn’t much cared at the time to suss out whatever nonsense the entity was spouting. He’d just wanted to get out of that void and back to the people who mattered most.

But now it made sense. Now he had the answer he’d so desperately wanted back in LA. He was the one. He’d had a destiny, a prophecy that belonged to him and not Angel. For once in his life, he had possessed something that hadn’t belonged to Angel first, despite what everyone else thought.

He’d had it, and he’d lost it. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. But it was obvious how Buffy felt, and it wasn’t a burden he would let her carry.

“Spike!”

Running a distracted hand through his hair, he sighed. “Look, you really think if a prophecy comes knockin’ and you’re not home that it gives up and trots along to the next house, bangin’ on doors till somebody finally answers? Doesn’t work that way, love. If you’re the one it wants, it’ll find you, no matter what. You should know.”

Bloody hell. When he put it that way, maybe it hadn’t been his to lose. Maybe he was deluding himself again. How could he ever know for sure? He rubbed his temples, wondering if it was possible for a vampire to get a non-chip-induced headache.

Buffy glared at him. “Are you trying to let me off the hook, or are you really this dense? Because either way, it’s seriously annoying.”

Spike knew a lost cause when it smacked him in the face, metaphorically speaking. Once Buffy had her mind made up, there wasn’t much hope of changing it. He let out a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes as he shrugged one shoulder, and hoped she wouldn’t notice that his gaze didn’t quite meet hers.

“Does it even matter? Look…Buffy…prophecy or not, what’s done is done and it can’t be undone. No good fretting about it, pet.”

Buffy, who had remained unnervingly close since sharing her big revelation, now abruptly pushed away, spinning around as she headed for the door. Spike waited, half expecting her to yank it open and storm out of the room. Instead, she stopped just short of it, stood motionless for a moment, then spun back around to face him, giving him a clear view of her expression, equal parts irritated and bewildered.

“How can you say that? How can you be so calm? You should be angry! You could have been human and I took it away from you because I wanted to be the one to help you. I wanted to bring you back! Giles thinks the higher powers are pulling our strings, but it’s my fault things turned out this way. Why aren’t you yelling at me…or…or walking out? Why don’t you ever get angry with me?”

Her outburst surprised Spike, though maybe it shouldn’t have, since he had a feeling it was about more than missing out on the Shanshu Prophecy. He took a careful step forward, his hand held out. “Buffy…” He needed to tread easy. Her emotions seemed to be all over the place and the last thing he wanted was for her to get spooked and rabbit off. The Slayer was all but fearless, except, as he’d learned, when it came to dealing with matters of the heart. Specifically, anything that had ever delved too deeply into their tumultuous relationship.

He tried again. “Buffy, I don’t—”

A woman’s shrill scream froze them where they stood as Spike’s head swiveled to follow the sound. Out the window that overlooked the kitchen yard he spotted the struggling forms of Nareetha and Meesa. There was another flash of movement and their mother appeared, instantly grabbed and held tightly by...

“Raiders! Bloody hell!”

Spike and Buffy passed each other mid-room – he, rushing for the door, she moving just as quickly toward the window. Then he was barreling down the stairs, without a sword but already shifting into game face. By the time he hit the bottom step he could hear Buffy following, rapidly closing the gap between them.

Spike reached the door first, flung it open and slammed hard into a bright wall of sunlight. Swearing, he recoiled, arm jerking upwards to shield his face. Buffy flew past him without breaking stride, charging into the open yard. Spike, sidelined by the sun, could only stand and watch as she slowed to scoop up an abandoned pitchfork then dove tine-first into the crowd of raiders surrounding the three women.

Any other time, Spike would have settled back and enjoyed the show, content to admire Buffy while she made short work of the raiders. But there were at least a dozen of them out there, and no matter how good his slayer was, she couldn’t defend all directions at once.

Frustrated, he did what he could to help, shouting out warnings whenever a raider attacked from her blind side. One by one they were going down. But it wasn’t fast enough. No sooner had one dropped than another two or three appeared from nowhere to join the fray. Finally, just as Buffy took out a hairy Maglugg demon that had dropped its guard when she faked a stumble, it happened.

The demon holding Meesa viciously twisted her arm, eliciting a strangled cry of fear and pain. Spike tensed, watching as Buffy’s attention wavered between the oncoming raiders and the women she battled to save. Only for a split second, but that was all it took.

With an unearthly shriek a massive Ghounash K’har bore down on Buffy, greasy dreadlocks writhing around its head, each one alive and hissing, though Spike couldn’t hear them over the din of clanging weapons and loud cries. The demon’s fierce eyes glowed red with bloodlust as it blocked the last-minute jab of Buffy’s pitchfork with a rock-hard forearm then grabbed the tines, yanking it from her hands. Instantly, the remaining raiders swarmed over her, burying her beneath them with the sheer weight of their numbers. After the dust settled, Buffy was on her knees, arms immobilized by a trio of hulking raiders. A gleaming sword tip rested against her throat, sunlight glinting off the smooth blade.

The raider holding the sword glanced toward another demon, one that Spike didn’t recognize, standing off to one side. From the way the others followed suit, it was obvious he was their leader. Unlike most of the raiders, who were various heights but universally stocky, this demon was tall and unusually slender. His long red hair framed an eerily pale face dominated by large, slanted black eyes that showed not a hint of white and a subtle snout that took the place of a nose. The overall effect was an appearance far more alien than that of the other demons around him.

Everyone in the yard fell silent as he moved forward, clearly favoring an injured leg. A few limping steps brought him face to face with Buffy.

“What we have here?” he hissed. “Be it a slayer?” His voice was sibilant but rasping, reminding Spike of a cross between a serpent and a rusty saw scraping against metal. “Not rare as they be once, but still…a prize. Never had slayer before to play with.”

He leaned down until he was almost snout to nose with Buffy. His words were intended for her ears, but Spike could hear every chilling syllable.

“How long to scream for mercy? Before you beg for dying? Hour? Two?” He gave a gravelly chuckle. “Let be at least two. Longer, better. Not like, if time be wasted. Take you back to camp, yes? Play with you good. Make it last.”

Though Buffy remained silent her glare spoke volumes. Throwing back his head, the demon roared with gloating laughter.

Spike’s mind worked frantically, formulating and discarding a hundred different plans in the space of a few seconds. The raiders would take Buffy away and there was nothing he could do to stop it unless he figured out how to keep them there. There was only one way he could think of to do that.

Spike roared his frustration, kicking the heavy wooden door and sending it slamming back against the wall. As intended, the commotion caught the leader’s attention. His head jerked around and his unearthly gaze locked onto the doorway just as Spike shifted back into human face.

He froze, snarling in recognition. “Be it William the Bloody…filthy traitor half-breed! ” he shouted. Then breaking off, he looked from Spike to Buffy and back to Spike, releasing a breathy hiss of laughter. “Know who be here, boys? Head slayer and her vampire dog.”

Drawing a dagger from his belt, he moved to stand behind Buffy and signaled the raiders holding her to force her to her feet. A brief scuffle later, one of the demons staggered away with at least a broken rib or two, but Buffy was once again secured, this time facing Spike.

With a chilling grin that exposed a mouthful of jagged, rotting teeth, the head raider stepped forward, pressing his dagger across her throat so firmly it was clear she couldn’t speak without risking serious injury.

He looked at Spike. “Big man in alley, be you?” he sneered loudly. His expression darkened. “Killed Krannuk, brother of me! Make worse with insult by not take his head. No respect for enemy! Show you how feels it. Kill something you be loving. Other vampire gone. Village men gone. So time I take. Do it right. Make…interesting.”

Reaching out a pale hand he stroked Buffy’s hair, baring his decaying teeth again as he leered into her upturned face.

“Get your bloody hands off her, you rotting piece of filth! You so much as breathe on her and I’ll pull your innards out through your eyeballs!” But even as he roared the words, Spike knew it was an empty threat. A seemingly endless expanse of sun-bathed yard lay between them, with not even a blanket at hand. He would most likely burn up before he ever reached them.

The smirking demon had obviously drawn the same conclusion, laughing even harder than he had before. He leaned his face in close to Buffy’s, but as Spike would’ve expected, the slayer remained motionless. Struggling was useless at this point, and he knew she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

“How feel it, vampire? Because of what you be, knowing you could save her.”

The dagger flicked and a single drop of blood ran down Buffy’s throat.

“But because of what you be, knowing you can not.”

Another flick, and another drop of blood.

“All can you do is watch.”

A third flick, only this cut was longer, a thin red line appearing as several drops chased each other down Buffy’s neck. Meanwhile, the other demons laughed uproariously.

“Slitting throat easy. Better take apart, piece at a time. More fun. Where we start now…ear?” The dagger slid upward, pushing the hair away from the side of her head. “Nose?” It moved to the front of her face, forming an obscene metal moustache. “No…wait.” He grinned triumphantly, ignoring the heated string of profanities Spike shouted at him and the frantic, muffled protests coming from the captive Reema and her daughters. “Make it…eye! Two she have. Still be one left to watch…everything.”

Shifting the dagger in his hand, the leader let the sharp point rest beneath Buffy’s right eye. Even from a distance, Spike could see his muscles tense for action. Could spot the veiled fear on Buffy’s face, even though she hid it well. Could smell the rancid odor of sweat as the harsh sun beat down on the demons’ leather jerkins.

Spike extended his senses, hoping desperately to detect the sound of Angel and Gunn returning with the others. All he could hear was the terrified sobbing of Tondor’s youngest daughter and the eager grunting of demon raiders waiting for their promised show.

The dagger-wielding leader gave Spike a final, vicious grin.

“No worry. Last thing she see be your pretty face.”

The dagger rose, and with a primal roar Spike balled his fists and charged through the door into the full light of day.

Buffy’s agonized yell was the last thing he heard as he started to burn.


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TBC in Chapter Nineteen





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