[Reviews - 23]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 1499 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
Spike deals with the aftermath of Dru's present and reflects. Please R&R and tell me whether I should be writing things differently. I'm still fairly open ended about where I am going with this fic. Sorry for the cliffhanger. A massive thankyou to everyone who reviewed.
//Spike's thoughts//
Spike stared at the slumped form of the slayer, a single thought running through his mind.


//I’m going to burn in hell.//


The entire crypt was lathed with the scent of blood, made all the more potent by its slayer origins. All the flames had been snuffed though no wind flew through the lower level.


All too dark an acknowledgement that something terrible had occurred.


Glancing about in anguish Spike could not make out his sire, Dru having decided to hide back and watch the fun. His whole body was wracked in a shaking fit, making it difficult for him to keep his eyes on Buffy. Despite this, he still tried, eyes burning with a liquid he’d rather not name.


She’d never forgive him.


He should have known that Dru wouldn’t be happy just standing in the background and letting him finally be accepted. That would have been far too beneficent; something completely outside his sire’s sphere of understanding. No, in Dru’s twisted way, turning Buffy was a far better option. She had observed Angelus’ teachings all too well: if you can’t beat it, kill it… if you want to control it, turn it.


Spike would rather dust himself than see Buffy go through the same tortures he’d been introduced to as a fledgling.


An internal shudder racked Spike’s body for a moment causing a roar of pain to sound from his mouth. It tore from him, blasting across the crypt where any candles still burning were quickly snuffed.


He’d never wanted this to happen.


Perhaps Spike should have paid closer attention to Drusilla. Maybe noticed that the glint of anticipation which had shone in her dark orbs upon seeing the Slayer was unusual. Yet Spike had always been guilty of missing her tricks. When young it was common for his sire to trap him in a room of the house for several days with Angelus. Back then he’d never had a clue to what she meant when singing about ‘Daddy’s spanks’ or ‘a naughty boy’s punishment’. It had taken several severe episodes before his demon took control and protected them. Despite this, they were both weak against Dru ultimately. As a sire she had a relationship so integral with his demon that to sever it could destroy him. If he had stayed with his nest and family consistently then the bond would have been just that much stronger.


Maybe Angelus’ soul was a benefit.


Spike tried vainly to lift himself, but found his legs unresponsive. Dru had done her work well. At this point he wouldn’t be able to get close enough to the slayer before she slipped into unconsciousness. Never again to wake as one of the living.


The tears which had been swimming in the blond vampire’s eyes began to pour, turning red as they washed away the blood. His azure eyes shone that much brighter, what little light there was in the crypt being reflected in their depths. Inwardly his demon howled.


They were both in mourning.


Drusilla had well and truly damned him.


There was a well known reason that slayers were never turned. Besides the difficulty in killing them, their souls were still painfully intact, constantly warring with the demon until one was subdued. Such an internal battle was never healthy and more often than not, the slayer had been driven battier than Drusilla’s little pixies.


Their madness was so consuming that any that did not dust themselves in a fit of shame were staked by their sires. It was expected protocol after the last slayer had wiped out the leading clan and over half of its members.


The Master had celebrated and moved up the food chain. The bat faced git had given Darla to Angelus as a present for the unexpected rise in power and then proclaimed the new law.


Slayers were never to be turned, on pain of ritual staking of any involved.


Angelus, like the poof he was had glowered about it from that moment onwards, searching for a slayer which he could seduce and turn. At first he had thought Drusilla would be the next slayer on account of her odd visions but the activation age passed and Dru remained pure, virginal but definitely not a slayer.


Angelus took her anyway.


Darla thought of the whole thing as a game, idly amusing herself with Dru whenever Angelus received the urge to go searching once more. Half of their destruction of Europe had been of young girls, odd in attributes and more often than not around the age of sixteen.


Spike was chosen as nothing more than a plaything for Drusilla whilst her sire hunted and as a result was completely oblivious when Angelus finally found his prize. He’d been a fledgling for less than a week when Angelus had entered their home, carrying a young girl. Her skin was dark and surrounded by thick black curls which hadn’t been washed in what smelled like months. They fell like a waterfall over Angelus’ arm as the demon swung her onto a bed.


“I’ve found her” he cried joyously, licking the slave girl’s neck with enthusiasm. “She was called on the slave ship and instead of hiding it, tried to fight her way to freedom. When I went to the docks they were dragging her ashore on accord of her ‘disturbance’. Only had three guards there to stop me” he chortled, flexing his muscles to a wide eyed Darla. “As if three guards could do anything against me.”


The demon’s eyes were a stained yellow, mixing with green as though every part of him was unclean. They consistently flickered over to the dead girl, a wave of possessiveness already established even before she awoke. At that time Angelus sported a beard, thinking it made him appear more gentile in the eyes of his victims. Superficial git.


Drusilla had come close to the bed, cooing in the dead girl’s ear before sweeping a hand down her body. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen and had obviously been beaten before coming off the ship. The galleys which held slaves bound for the Americas, often contained far more women and children then men, villages being far easier to raid than hunting groups of men. Her garb was a rough cloth, stained with food and dirt and stinking of human waste. Not uncommon of a slave during the 1800’s.


William nearly balked at the sight. Coming from the upper class had hidden him from the realities of plebian life or the practices that his country advocated. Faced as he was by a human example of colonialism, William was unprepared for it. Particularly when Dru began to kiss the fang marks where Angelus had drained the girl. The blood had long since dried on her skin, but where on pale cream, the blood remained a clotted bright red, on this girl it turned a deep shade of burgundy, mixed in with dirt. Dru’s face was coated with it.


The girl had lain on that bed for several hours, Angelus not once moving from his vantage point in the corner. He’d crowed about her power and the honour which he’d receive for successfully turning a slayer. Never mind the fact that he’d be instantly staked if any of the major families discovered his transgression. William kept away from the entire situation, unconsciously knowing that only trouble could come of this encounter. The word ‘slayer’ was tossed around randomly, no one but Dru bothering to give him an explanation. His dark princess had described the slayer as a ‘girl which loved to bash and kill vampires even though she was really one of them.’ This had only perplexed him more, as he couldn’t understand any vampire killing one of their own. It was Darla who finally had made sense of Dru’s twisted words.


“A slayer, dear William” said Darla in her usual cold tone “is a human girl with a very short life span, destined to kill our kind. She may share a demon like us yet it is primal, uneducated.” She grinned calculatingly towards William who really was a child in all this. If Dru didn’t need minding so often, they would have dusted him. So far his personality had been shown itself to generally be introverted…definitely not a trait Darla could identify with.


The girl stayed cold as a corpse for several hours before reawakening in her demonic face. Her eyes were a green colour, deep as emerald and unlike any other vampire that Spike had ever seen. At first Angelus had stood back, watching like a gloating father as his creation shifted back and forth between her two masks. No bonds covered her whatsoever and as the fledgling became more agitated, Angelus began to grow worried. A girl of fourteen had enough trouble dealing with a strange environment but now her demon and the essence of the slayer were also in conflict. Ripples coursed across her frame, causing the slave girl to jolt unnaturally as they warred for dominance.


After a few minutes in such a state the girl had fallen back to the bed, convulsing into what looked like an epileptic fit. It took three days before she could even speak. Angelus’ blood was the only thing that she chose to feed off and in true Darla like fashion, the two women became quickly bored with ‘Daddy’s prize’.


Spike shuddered remembering the ruined hunting parties which they had dragged ‘Cathy’ on, as they called her. Most of the time she spoke an African dialect but did pick up their names and words for basic items during the three weeks she lived. She did not enjoy Angelus’ idea of hunting but when she did fight, Cathy was a masterpiece in motion, ripping apart throats with barely a breath. Every kick, thrust or bite was natural and she soon out grew Angelus’ capabilities.


The old sod never got over it.


A controlled Slayer is difficult enough for a watcher to manage but when the bonds of childe and sire are strained, there is real reason for concern. Cathy quickly became irate at Angelus and came close to killing him numerous times, something Spike was certain the old poof deserved. During that time, the conflict had continued to rage between Cathy’s demons, her human side unable to meld with one or the other. As a result it would randomly gain control, conversing with Spike and dancing to odd rhythms that she taught him to play. The three managed to survive with varying rates of success. It was when she took the life of another slave girl that her human side gave up.


The last Spike had seen of Cathy, before running away from the sun’s rays was the slayer sitting along a dock in London, gazing out to sea, with the dead girl in her arms. Spike had called out to her for several minutes but Cathy had only waved him off, singing a tribal death song.


Angelus never spoke of the incident again.


The tears which Spike had continued to shed only ran quicker down his face. If Buffy was stuck in such conflict as Cathy had been, maybe it would be better if he did stake her. In his heart though he knew couldn’t… //rather die than be forced to live without her.//


Shuddering from the intense pain, Spike again tried to drag himself closer to the slayer. He had more success this time, a sharp shiver running along his back legs. Spike smiled bitterly. Keeping his chest close to the ground he slowly crawled his way across the floor, leaving a bloody trail behind. He didn’t dare look at his waist, feeling half his insides scrap the ground. //Bloody fucking sire.//


He finally reached the slayer several minutes later, and had to bite his tongue as sobs wracked him. He was too late. Two deep puncture marks stood out against Buffy’s cream neck, dribbles of blood leaking out. Her mouth was open in mimicry of Cathy, however was roughly stained with Dru’s offering. There had obviously been a great deal given, assuring Spike that Dru had turned Buffy into a childe rather than a minion.


A cold comfort in light of recent events.


Spike forced his back against the wall, ripping and biting at the chains until they finally gave. He held out his arms stiffly, as the slayer collapsed into them, biting back the cry of pain which rose unbidden from him. Chipped nails caressed her face, as Spike clutched the Slayer closer to him, not daring to move as he nursed her body like a babe. As sightless eyes stared back at him, Spike’s wall of resolve finally broke, the vampire crying out his loss in purely animal howls.


Dru struggled not to smile as she watched the pair. Her poor William was crying for now but soon, oh so much sooner than that other nasty Slayer, the sunshine would awaken. She’d need a sire but Drusilla had left that open for Spike to take if he wanted. When biting she’d whispered those special words Miss. Edith had taught her for just this particular moment. The bad dog would now have the chance to give his love to someone effulgent. Dru had known long before he did that their family would never be enough. She had tried though, even killing his food for the naughty puppy. Yes this was a far better idea. Spike could start his own little family and in the end Mummy could still visit with her Daddy and daughter.


The promise of bloodshed and mayhem that would come from her new present only made the vampire break into a grin. Not taking her eyes off her errant childe and the first slayer turned vampire in a hundred years, Dru walked out of the crypt.


In just a few hours, all her dreams would come to life.





You must login (register) to review.