He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. Several things were painfully clear, the first of which was the fast approaching sunrise. He had to find a place where they could wait out the day, and he knew his chances of finding another abandoned apartment in the hours of darkness remaining were slim. Not that Spike couldn’t make an apartment abandoned, if he felt so inclined, but it was so much easier just to eat a hotel clerk.
The second painfully clear thing was the blood loss occurring in the back seat. The wounds that the girl had endured were deep and scarring—after all, Dru always worked to leave a mark. Spike stepped out of the car, striding toward the door as he tried to remember anything he might have learned about antiseptics. This was new territory for him, this healing of humans. Bleeding humans meant food—didn’t usually send a bloke running for the Mercurochrome. The only healing he’d ever done was that of his dark princess, and that generally involved waiting on her hand and foot and a substantial amount of licking.
Spike frowned, stopping outside the door and watching through the glass as a couple collected their room keys. He reclined against the brick wall of the building, deciding to wait for the lobby to clear out a bit before he went in for the kill. He ignored the accusatory voice in his head, refusing to believe that his reluctance to kill the couple had anything to do with the woman’s long, honey-gold hair, so sodding similar to the girl asleep in his car. Turning his attention back to his own healing experience, he wondered vaguely if the healing powers of his saliva still applied when it came to humans. It was worth a try, although he was a bit hesitant to put his mouth—and consequently his fangs—anywhere near the open tap that was his golden girl’s freely flowing body. He had never been one for self-restraint, and this girl’s blood affected him in ways that rivaled Slayer blood—a fact that was mind boggling in and of itself. The drive to the motel had been one long bout of torture, the girl’s blood assaulting his senses and taunting him, teasing him, begging him to taste…
Spike growled in frustration, pushing the enticing thoughts away as he fished in his duster pocket for his fags. He wouldn’t use the girl like a bloody milk cow. If he was going to drink her, he’d drain her dry. And since draining her was nearly physically painful to think about—it seemed to be getting worse with each moment he spent in her company, smelling her scent, feeling her warmth—it looked as though blood play was out.
Unless...
Spike’s treacherous mind flashed through a slew of wicked fantasies in which biting became less for nourishment and more for pleasure—both his and the girl’s. He couldn’t count the number of times he had bitten Dru during sex, and vice-versa. It was regular practice—logical, really. Logical that vampires, being naturally violent creatures, would get off on the blood and pain inflicted during such an intimate act. Dru had always been of the mind that sex wasn’t any fun without a good, hard bite or two, and Spike had been inclined to agree. Not at first, of course—William the Ponce hadn’t been successfully buried the first time, and Spike had wanted nothing more than to make love—sweet, gentle, adoring love—to the woman that had saved him from his dismal existence. Dru had set him straight that night—and many nights after that—showing him that he could never please her that way. That unless he changed, dropping all those poncey romantic notions along with his bloody awful poetry, he could never be hers.
He had never begrudged her that, eager as he was to be rid of William, the man no one could love, the man regularly scorned and taunted by his peers. William was weak. Dru had taught him to be strong. He would have done anything for her.
“Bloody bint,” he groused, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out with his boot. The motel lobby was empty now, empty but for a sleepy looking desk clerk entertaining himself with a game of solitaire on his computer. Spike took a deep, readying breath, shaking off all thoughts of Dru, biting, sex and the girl in the back of his car. Those three last things were bloody dangerous in the same sentence together. He may be a horny wanker, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew what could happen when bites were involved in sex—besides bloody powerful orgasms, that was. He knew what could happen if a person got caught up in the moment, in the rush of bliss as they came inside their girl.
Claims.
He didn’t have much experience with them, having never met a pair of mated vamps in his life. Mating wasn’t something modern vampires did, as Angelus had been quick to teach him. There had been a phase, in the early years of his unlife, when Spike had tried on several occasions to claim his dark princess. He loved her, she loved him—this he was sure of, despite the many indiscretions with her beloved Daddy—and the idea of spending an eternity sharing such an intimate bond with the woman he loved had been too appealing for the romantic William in him to resist. Dru had set him straight on that point, as well, punishing him mercilessly for the mere suggestion. He had suffered doubly when word got to Angelus—the idea of anyone claiming his precious childe riling the wanker to a state of blind fury. Spike hadn’t been able to feel his limbs for days. And when Spike had insisted that Drusilla would come around, would realize how much she loved him and wanted to be with him, Angelus had laughed coldly.
“Don’t be a fool, William,” he had said. “Who would ever want to spend an eternity with you?”
It wasn’t the worst thing Angelus had ever said to him. It didn’t even come close. But it hit a part of him that he had buried when he had buried William, digging up every insecurity, every doubt he had of his own worthiness. Eventually, Spike had had to face facts. He loved with ever fiber of his being, but no one had ever loved him back.
No one ever would.
Spike kicked the door to the motel room open, careful as he carried the sleeping woman in his arms over to the bed, smiling slightly when she tightened her arms around his neck and nuzzled his shoulder with her nose. She had started that the moment he had lifted her out of the car, clinging to him with an iron grip as if she never wanted him to put her down. At first he’d been at a loss for what to do, so strange was the feeling of her warm, strong body clinging to his as though…
As though she needed him.
Killing the motel clerk had been almost unbearably easy, and Spike hadn’t even bothered to drain him, preferring instead to grab the keys to the first available room and hurry back for his precious cargo. The room he had chosen was the generic one-room, two-bed package, complete with mini-bar and telly. Carefully, he made his way to the far bed, stopping to pull back the comforter to reveal the starched sheets. He glanced at the girl in his arms, wondering if maybe he would clean her up a bit before letting her sleep.
He was quickly overruled by the tiny, contented sigh she gave as she attempted to burrow closer to him. She was so tired—rightfully so—and he was buggered if he was going to wake her up. Besides, he didn’t have any bandages or…anti-bacterials, or whatever the hell it was that he needed.
Right, he thought decisively,I’ll let her sleep, go get some band-aids, and be back before sunrise.
He leaned down and gently set the girl on the bed, untangling himself from her iron grip and laying her so she wasn’t putting pressure on any particularly nasty wounds. He chuckled when she whimpered slightly, her arms stretching toward him and her fingers curling greedily, as though she didn’t want to leave his arms. He had grown used to his demon’s blissful reaction when he touched her, and now that he was no longer holding her he felt bereft, his demon wailing for him to crawl into the bed beside her.
“Sorry, luv,” he said quietly, backing up slightly. “’Fraid I can’t join you.” Not tonight.
The girl’s face screwed up and she whimpered again, louder this time, flailing frantically now as she sought his embrace. Spike stepped forward again, intending to simply reassure her, but when one of her grappling hands connected with his arm he realized his mistake. She held onto him as though he were a lifeline, with remarkable strength for a girl of her size. It was still a grip he could break easily, and would have, too, if she hadn’t uttered one word that was his complete undoing.
“Please,” she said softly, hugging his arm tightly and snuggling into it. Spike couldn’t have been more surprised if she had sprouted antlers. Sure, she wasn’t exactly conscious, or in any way aware of what she was doing, but it was still affecting him in ways he couldn’t even begin to fathom. It wasn’t just the tightening in his jeans—although that was certainly there. It wasn’t just the protective roar his demon was giving, demanding that he stay with this girl. No, that tiny please, her tight, desperate grip on his arm, was touching his inner William, and bloody hell, the ponce refused to let him leave her like this.
Carefully—it felt like he was doing everything so sodding carefully now—he shifted the girl so that she was settled on the far side of the bed before climbing in beside her, making sure to stay on top of the covers. The moment he had settled against the headboard she snuggled against him, wrapping an arm around his middle and wiggling until her head came up onto his chest, forcing his arm to go around her shoulders. He hesitated before letting it rest there loosely, smirking when he saw the satisfied little smile on her face.
“Got what you wanted, din’t you?” he asked huskily. “Bossy li’l chit.”
He couldn’t keep himself from grinning as she snuggled closer.
Buffy couldn’t remember ever feeling so comfortable. When she had been growing up, her bed had been a state-of-the-art therapeutic mattress, the kind that science has deemed best for your spine. Her sheets had been chiffon and her bed frame a priceless antique four-poster from the eighteen hundreds. Her room had been decorated in complementing pastels, and the one time she had tried to hang one of her posters on the walls her parents had ordered “that thing” removed and disposed of. She had been expected to keep it immaculately clean, and what she failed to keep spotless the live-in maid had scrubbed down with chemical cleaning sprays, so the room had always smelled of one perfume or another. Her parents had often given weekly tours of the house to their wealthy acquaintances, and when those happened she was expected to make herself—and any trace of herself—entirely scarce. At best, Buffy had felt like a guest in her own room, afraid to touch anything in case she messed it up somehow. Comfort hadn’t even been a factor.
Which, she supposed, was why the feeling was so alien now.
“Mmm,” she sighed softly, burrowing deeper into the pillows. Nice, big pillow she was pressed up against. Comfy. She might have muttered the word ‘comfy’, pulling herself closer to the big, firm pillow. She buried her nose in it, breathing deeply and sighing when she noticed how good it smelled. Like leather and cigarettes and man…
Her pillow smelled like a man? God, I must be more desperate than I realized, she thought, sighing into her nice, man-smelling pillow. Nice going, Buffy. Turned on by a pillow…
She shifted slightly, determined to get as close as possible to her new pheromone-inducing pillow. This was excellent—maybe she could market this. For the chronically single woman—wake up to your very own man-pillow! Or maybe she could just keep it all to herself. Yeah, this was way too good to share.
It was only when she attempted to swing her leg up and around her pillow that reality came crashing back. Pain when rocketing through her body from her hip, causing her to whimper and her pillow to move.
Pain, her brain computed, as a rush of images reminded her of how hellish her life was right now. The club. The windowless room. The torture. The escape. The exhaustion.
The vampires.
Buffy’s eyes flew open and she realized with a sinking feeling that the pillow she had been practically humping was most definitely not a pillow. She trailed her gaze up the T-shirt covered torso she was pressed so intimately against, over the well-shaped pectorals visible through it to the smooth, alabaster neck. She knew what she would see if she ventured further. First the full, utterly kissable lips, then the glass-cutting cheekbones, and finally the piercing blue eyes of a vampire that had saved her life now on more than one occasion. Slowly, she raised her gaze, gulping as her mouth suddenly became very dry.
“Spike,” she said quietly, cursing herself for the waver in her voice. The bleached vampire was regarding her with trepidation, as though unsure how she was going to react to him. Hell, she wasn’t sure how she was going to react to him.
“Hello, luv,” he replied warily, glancing down at the arm that she still had slung around his waist. She withdrew it hastily, pushing herself into a sitting position, wincing slightly as she did. He reached out to help her, positioning the pillows against the headboard so that she could rest comfortably. She flashed him a grateful smile, silently applauding herself for appearing so calm when inside she was reeling. Her mind kept replaying the moment he had swooped to her rescue, dusting his own kind to—very literally—save her neck. She remembered the feeling of safety she had had before completely losing consciousness. And now she was here—wherever here happened to be—waking up in his arms. It was a bit much to process.
“How’re you feelin’?” he asked quietly, and Buffy’s eyes shot up to lock with his. He sounded so sincere, as though he actually cared. Don’t be stupid, Buffy, she scolded herself, vampire here. Creatures of death and destruction. He doesn’t care how you feel.
Then why did he save your ass? A treacherous little voice asked her. Why did you wake up in his arms?
“A little achey,” she replied, ignoring the treacherous—yet annoyingly logical—voice. She winced again when she caught sight of the cuts that ran up her arms. “Maybe a lot achey.”
Spike nodded, looking—to Buffy’s continued shock—slightly ashamed. True, he had many, many reasons to be ashamed—he was the reason that she’d had to endure this hell, after all—but she hadn’t actually expected him to know it.
“Where are we?” she asked finally, glancing around at what looked to be some kind of hotel room.
“Super 8,” he muttered. Only when he said the words did it truly sink in.
“You took me to a motel?” she asked in disbelief. This was the man that had tied her to a bed in an abandoned apartment to tell her he wanted her, for Chrissake. A man who not all that long ago had had his fingers in a place that no man had ever touched. Well, not with their hands, at least. He wasn’t expecting her to…was he?
Spike caught the look of incredulity on the girl’s face and felt an indignant anger rise within him.
“Well, what the sodding hell would you have had me do?” he asked, pushing himself off of the bed and snatching his duster off of the floor, where he’d put it sometime in the early hours of dawn. “You bloody well fainted in him arms! I don’ know your name, I sure as hell don’ know where you live. Would you have preferred to spend the day in my car?”
“No,” Buffy answered truthfully, starting to see his point, though she was loath to admit it. She was trying to ignore the empty feeling she had gotten when he’s pulled away from her, and swearing to herself that she would rather gnaw off her own arms before she reached for him, she opted instead to cling to the comforter. “Still, a motel?” she retorted. “I mean, what are you…what do you…”
Spike smirked when he realized what she was thinking. “Relax, Goldilocks,” he said, giving a flourishing bow. “Your virtue is safe with me.”
“Oh,” Buffy said, blushing furiously. That was good, right? That was what she wanted to hear. Wasn’t it?
Yes, she told herself vehemently, determined to ignore the flash of disappointment that had flowed through her when he’d made it clear that he was not interested in her in that way. God she was screwed up. Hadn’t she made it just as clear to him only seconds before that she didn’t want him either? Well, not exactly, she thought, he was the one that had to come out and say it. Anyway, now that was cleared up—in exactly the way I was hoping, she insisted—there were other things that needed to be made clear too.
“Well then,” she said, clearing her throat and forcing herself to meet his gaze again. God, those eyes… “What are your…intentions?”
Spike, thoroughly enchanted by the blush spreading across her cheeks, now caught the glint of insecurity in her pretty green eyes. He sat gently on the edge of the bed and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
“Jus’ gonna get you fixed up, luv,” he said quietly. “Dru…she hurt you pretty bad.” He shuddered.
Buffy swallowed, dazzled by the kindness in the smile he had given her. This was all so foreign to her. First he’d been all Dominant Male Vampire, with the torture threats and the hands in naughty places. Then he’d been Rescue Vamp, first from her torture sessions and then from the vampire gang. Now…what? Now he was being kind, gentle, sensitive even. This was a side of him she hadn’t known existed, and it had her completely at a loss. Rather than dwell on it, she grasped at a part of what he’d said that she understood.
“Dru?” she asked. “That’s the…the vampire you’re with?”
“Yeah. Was with,” he muttered, and she caught the unmistakable bitterness in his voice. She flinched, remembering witnessing their ugly break-up and knowing that it had been primarily about her. He had saved her, and the female vampire had tossed him out.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, knowing that she should mean it. Knowing that if she was going to care at all, she should feel sorry that she had come between him and his girlfriend. But the thought of him with another woman…well, it was right up there with fingernails down the blackboard. It just didn’t sit right—gave her unpleasant shivers. Which was, of course, ridiculous. He was a vampire, she was a human. There was no way anything good could happen between them. She wouldn’t want it even if it could. “Do you…do you love her?” she waited with bated breath for his answer, trying to convince herself that she didn’t care one way or the other.
Spike’s head shot up and his gaze locked with hers. Cor, what a question. Did he love Dru? Just hours ago, he would have answered yes, no hesitation. But spending the night—and a good portion of the morning—in this girl’s arms had forced him to look at things in a different light. There was no denying the reaction he had to her, both the physical reaction and his demon’s reaction. Neither of those, however, disturbed him as much as how she was beginning to affect William. Watching her sleep, admiring the peaceful planes of her beautiful face, he’d been hit with an overwhelming desire to write poetry—an urge he rarely felt lately, and one he hadn’t felt with Dru in a long, long time.
“I…” he paused. “She’s my sire,” he said finally, as though that should be enough of an answer.
“Okay…” Buffy said, raising an eyebrow. “What does that mean?” He shot her a disbelieving look and she held up her hands in surrender. “Hey, just because I hang with the vamps now doesn’t mean I speak the swinging lingo.” She smiled when let out a genuine laugh.
Spike smiled at her, surprised and pleased at her sudden sense of humor. At least she was making jokes now—she had to be somewhat comfortable with him.
“It means that she made me,” he explained. “Turned me. Drank my blood and gave me hers,” he sighed. “She was my salvation.”
Buffy chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. She got the sire concept, and as the ‘turning’ process wasn’t something she really wanted to go into, she focused on his final statement. She was his salvation, which meant that she had saved him from something. Saved him by turning him into a vampire.
“You love her for saving you,” she guessed, although what could possibly have been so terrible in his life that becoming a vampire had been the preferable alternative she had no idea.
“It was more than that,” he retorted, suddenly feeling the need to defend what he had with his dark princess. “We’ve been together for centuries! She’s my everything.”
Buffy heard the conviction in his voice and her heart sank. That certainly answered her question. He’d spent centuries—centuries with the woman. She was his “everything”. You didn’t say things like that about a person when you didn’t love them.
Which is fine with me, she thought petulantly. Perfectly fine. Good, even. Excellent.
“I should go,” she muttered, pushing the covers aside and scooting toward the edge of the bed. She winced as every inch of her body screamed in protest, but she refused to stop, pushing herself to her feet.
She paused when the vampire leapt up to stand in front of her, effectively blocking her escape. Dammit.
“Wait just a minute, luv,” he said, inching slightly closer until she had no choice but to obey. She glared up at him angrily and he arched a scarred brow in response. “Jus’ where is it you’re plannin’ on going?”
Buffy scowled at the unpleasant reminder of her homelessness. Still, anywhere was better then being stuck in a motel room with a vampire—especially this vampire—and besides, he didn’t know about her complete lack of home, friends or family, did he?
“Home,” she lied, meeting his skeptical gaze defiantly. “I have…people waiting for me. They’ll be worried.” That sounded convincing, didn’t it? Her confidence began to wane as the vampire’s smirk widened.
“Thought you said your parents din’t care ‘bout you, pet,” he said, sidling up so close that her breath caught in her throat. “What was it? ‘Send the ransom letter, just don’t wait around for a reply’?”
Buffy cursed inwardly, mentally kicking herself for that slip. He was right, she’d already nixed that possible escape route. Still, she held her ground.
“How do you know I’m talking about my parents?” she challenged, grasping at straws. “My boyfriend…”
Spike growled, his eyes narrowing. He did not like this turn of events—the thought of another man touching this girl made him want to rip the arms off the git’s body. If she had a boyfriend, it wouldn’t be for long.
Buffy jumped when she heard the possessive growl he emitted, shivers racing through her. What was that? she wondered, her eyes widening a she took him his rigid stance, the flash of amber in his eyes. If he’d been a dog, his hackles would have been on end. Was this a reaction to the boyfriend comment? Did the thought of her having a boyfriend—despite the fact that she didn’t, in a very large and glaring way—bug him as much as him and his nutty sire bugged her? The thought filled her with a strong sense of satisfaction.
“Boyfriend, is it?” he all but spat, and it only served to please Buffy more. She nodded firmly, delighting in the gleam of jealousy in his cerulean eyes. Gently, Spike reached out to finger a strand of golden hair by her cheek, smirking when he heard her heartbeat race. He’d see just how long this boyfriend lasted.
“Tell me, pet,” he said, leaning close enough that Buffy could feel his cool breath on her ear. She shivered and her breath hitched. He spoke in a husky tone, barely above a whisper. “Was it him you were thinking of when you cozied up to me this morning? Was it his face you saw when I touched you? When I sunk my fingers into your hot li’l quim?”
Buffy was visibly trembling, her panties wet again with his proximity and the reminder of that first, earth-shattering almost-orgasm. Alarm bells were going off in her mind, screaming for her to get out now while she still had an ounce of willpower left. Before he moved his hand to stroke her cheek and…oh God.
Spike caressed her cheek gently, feeling his already semi-hard cock stiffen as the scent of her arousal surrounded him. The same need to possess that had overtaken him in the apartment came flooding back, and he longed to throw her down on the bed and bury himself in her. Her green eyes were hooded and her breath came out in short, uneven gaps. Fuck, she was gorgeous. He wanted her, he’d wanted her from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, and bloody hell, he was buggered if he was waiting any longer to have her. The girl wanted him, that much her body had already revealed. He ran a hand from her cheek down the column of her neck, so lost in her captivating scent and the gentle pounding of her heart that he nearly missed the whispered word that the girl spoke.
“What was that?’ he asked huskily, closing his eyes and reveling in her intoxicating smell. God, he couldn’t wait to feel her surrounding him, consuming him. Drowning him.
“Y-yes,” Buffy said again, hoping she didn’t sound quite as breathless as she was feeling. His hand on her skin made her feel as though she were on fire, and she was rapidly forgetting the many extremely important reasons why this couldn’t happen. Why she needed to push him away. He’s a vampire, she reminded herself, although that excuse was starting to feel flimsy, the voice that used to yell it getting quieter with overuse. There was always the good possibility that he wanted her dead, but that was effectively shot down by the numerous occasions on which he’s saved her life. Oh God, now she was talking herself into it! Bad Buffy! Bad!
She wasn’t going to jump into bed with him, she just wasn’t. Never mind how sexy he was, how completely drool-worthy. Never mind that he smelled fantastic and he wanted her and was staring at her with the sort of smoldering gaze she’d only read about in smutty romance novels. Never mind that his touch was sending shocks to her very core.
She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
She let out a quiet whimper as his hand slid lower to stroke her collar bone. God she was so wet, so hot…
“Yes what, luv?”
Spike’s low, gentle words pulled her out of her lust-induced stupor long enough for her to remember herself and what she had been about to do. Oh God, had she seriously been considering throwing herself at him just then? Just jumping on him and wrapping her legs around his waist and grinding her wet heat against his hard length as he kissed her into oblivion with those utterly sinful lips of his…
“M-my boyfriend,” she managed to stutter, almost crying out in protest when his fingers ceased their gentle ministrations on her skin. Oh God, why did this have to be so confusing? She couldn’t be the kind of the girl that just jumped into bed with the first guy who showed an interest—despite the fact that he was the first guy to show an interest in a long time—especially when the guy was one who had kidnapped her, a vampire she knew next to nothing about.
But God did she want to.
Spike dropped his hand, his eyes narrowing. She was still thinking about that git? About some pathetic human male? A surge of jealousy overtook him as he thought of another man touching his girl, another man breathing her scent as he buried himself between her legs…
Spike’s jaw ticked and he growled again, the urge to kill almost overwhelming. The curtains were tightly drawn, but Spike could feel the sun blazing outside, and it frustrated him even more. He needed the darkness, needed to snap the neck of some red-blooded American male and pretend it was the ponce occupying his girl’s thoughts. Clenching his fists, he tore his eyes away from the golden girl who was staring at him with wide-eyed apprehension bordering on fear. His demon whimpered when he saw it, demanding that he reach out and hold her, stroke the fear away. To tell her that he would never hurt her, could never hurt her. After one night of holding her, he was a man entirely lost.
Covered in her, he thought, smirking ironically. So Dru had known what she was talking about after all.
Buffy watched the slow smirk spread across Spike’s face and raised her eyebrows. She’s spent the last thirty seconds watching the vampire’s face as his emotions ran the gamut from shock to fury to annoyance and now…amusement?
“What’s so funny?” she demanded angrily, pulling self-consciously at the hem of her skirt. She grimaced, swearing to herself and on every dead relative that came to mind that she could eat her own hair before ever going near another dress again. If possible, she felt more grimy and sore than she had yesterday; although she didn’t feel half as exhausted. Who know spending the night with a vampire would be so relaxing?
The vampire in question was smirking at her still, and she was filled with an overwhelming desire to stick her tongue out at him. She held back at the last moment, realizing that, him being the sort of man he was, it was bound to give him ideas.
“Nothin’, luv,” he said, trailing his gaze over her body. She shivered when his eyes met hers again. There was something new there, some new emotion that had her heart racing. It wasn’t the lust that he normally projected—although that sure as hell affected her in shiver-inducing ways—but something else. Something deeper.
No! Buffy thought, feeling the panic rise in her. God, she needed to get a grip. Vampire equals evil. Sexy, yes, but evil. No deeper emotions. He was probably keeping her here for some evil plot, or…or…
“Why are you keeping me here?” she asked, hoping that this time, maybe, she would get a straight answer.
Spike regarded her quietly for a moment, contemplating an answer that she would accept. He considered sitting her down and explaining everything, telling her about how Dru’s visions had led to her capture, how he hadn’t wanted anything to do with her and now he couldn’t bear the idea of letting her go. No, that would probably only frighten her—he was coming to find that very little frightened this golden beauty more than something she didn’t understand, or couldn’t explain. Best keep it simple.
“Jus’ want to get you cleaned up, luv, like I said,” he answered gently. He wanted more than anything to put her at ease. “Keep you safe. You can have a bath, rest a bit, and when the sun goes down I’ll get some bandages and fix you up right proper.” Show you all that I can give you. Wipe your mind of whatever git is waiting for you back home.
Buffy had to work to keep her jaw from dropping. He wanted her to take a bath? He wanted to heal her? This had gong beyond weird, this had entered Twilight Zone territory.
“Why?” she asked finally.
There it was, the million dollar question, and Spike had no answer. Well, that was a lie—he had a thousand answers, none of which made sense to him and none which he was willing to share. He knew they would not be welcomed.
“I…” he paused. “I don’ know.”
Buffy watched him for a moment, chewing her lip as she tried to assess how serious he was.
“So let me get this straight,” she said. “You have me kidnapped, threaten me with torture, rescue me from torture, abandon me with the torturer, save me from certain death, and now you’re holding me hostage in a motel room so that you can heal the wounds that, in the long run, you inflicted?”
Spike raised one eyebrow. “Well, actually, I wasn’ the one who had you kidnapped. That was Dru—” he stopped when the girl held up a hand.
“Not the point,” she said, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. “Everything else is…about right?”
Spike nodded slowly, bracing himself for anything. He’d seen this girl put up a fight—he would have been able to overpower her easily, had it come to that, but if she thought he meant her harm, he had no doubt that she could cause damage.
Buffy was tired. Tired of trying to second-guess every move that everyone made, tired of searching for hidden motives where they may or may not have been. Nothing that had happened so far made any sense to her, but she was getting used to it. And as odd as it sounded, she wanted to trust Spike.
Right now, a bath sounded perfect.
With a small nod, she turned and strode toward the bathroom.