Also, thank you guys so much for your continued support in this story. I’m gaining steam again (also seeing the light at the end of the tunnel as far as this semester is concerned) and will hopefully have a lot more time to write here soon. I know updates have been sparse, but I really am going to try and improve that in the coming weeks. Here’s hoping this fic still has readers…
BIG THANKS to whoever nominated Beloved in Blood over at Solemn Grace Awards!!!
Lastly, voting has commenced at Spark and Burn Awards. Several of my fics—this one included—and a plethora of other stories by some of the fandom’s best authors are up for awards. Head over and vote if you get the chance. It’ll really make an author’s day.
Thank you guys again so much!
Spike was no novice to slayer blood. From the second he’d tasted it in China, he’d dedicated his life to chasing it down. Slayer’s blood was the ultimate trophy, and he was determined, in this contest, to always stand victor. To have this be one thing that he did better than anyone.
He’d tasted slayer blood before, but it had never tasted like this.
It had never tasted so…
Mine.
Her blood was his. She tasted thoroughly his. Beyond championing her death—beyond earning his chalice—the blood in his mouth belonged to him. His life had been a series of steps to reach this moment. To hold her in his arms and claim what was his. No matter that he didn’t remember how he’d gotten here, or whom he was holding; all he knew was it was right. His journey could end now because he’d tasted his purpose.
Mine, the demon purred. She’s mine.
Spike murmured contentedly around mouthfuls. The demon was right. There had never been a more perfect moment.
A name then. He remembered her name.
Buffy.
Buffy moaned and wiggled. Buffy tried to shove him off, but the demon wouldn’t be denied. Buffy couldn’t hold him from what was his.
“Spike!” someone sobbed, her voice tearing with pain and drenched in unshed tears. “Please! No, oh God, please!”
Please. Please. It was a word he’d come to know well over the last century.
“Please!”
Spike blinked wearily. The shapeless forms around him were beginning to realign. He was in a tub. He was immersed in icy water. His body was battered but not broken. He had Buffy in his arms, and his fangs in her throat.
He had Buffy’s blood in his mouth.
Spike’s eyes shot open and his fangs retracted immediately. Buffy’s blood. Her slayer’s blood. He was naked in the tub and she was in his arms. She was…
“Buffy!” he gasped, shaking his bumpies away, panic charging his veins. Buffy’s blood. He’d tasted Buffy’s blood. His tongue was bathed in Buffy’s blood. He pressed a shaking hand against her torn neck, his hazed mind racing to catch up with logic and reason. Buffy’s blood coated his throat. What in God’s name had happened here? “Buffy, oh God…I din’t mean to. I din’t—”
Thankfully, she hadn’t been weakened to the point of battling consciousness. Perhaps he hadn’t taken as much as he’d thought. He didn’t know, and he wasn’t about to fire off any questions. For the moment, he just needed to make sure she was all right. Explanations could come later.
What she said, though, had him trembling for completely different reasons.
“It’s all right,” she said, waving dismissively, her hand settling over his at her throat.
“Are you okay? Bloody hell, baby, I din’t mean—”
She blinked blearily. “It…you didn’t take too much. A few mouthfuls. Just…felt like…”
“My God—”
“It was my fault, really.”
He would have been knocked off his feet had he not already been sitting. “What?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Remember…”
His mind was racing, eager to fill in the gaps; in easy seconds, everything came rushing back. Dru. Dru had been here. Dru had cut his throat. Dru had run him through with a sword. Dru had nailed him to the wall and left him for dead. She’d raised the curtains in the room so the sun would finish the job come morning, if his body hadn’t drained of blood before then.
Now he was in the bath. Buffy was in his arms. Buffy was bleeding.
Buffy had saved his life.
Spike exhaled slowly, his bleary gaze taking her in. She might have been hell run over, but fuck if she wasn’t as beautiful as ever before. Sitting there in bath water, her hand over his. Her hair was tousled. Her eyes were tired. There was dirt on her skin. She shook beneath his fingers, and though she bled because of him, there was no condemnation in her eyes. She looked almost…relieved.
Relieved?
“You remember now, don’t you?” she asked weakly, her fingers slowly moving over his where he held her bleeding neck. “You remember what happened?”
“I don’t remember you, kitten,” Spike replied, cringing and reaching for his own throat with his free hand. He remembered being cut, but the damaged skin had already begun to heal. “Nothing after you got here.”
A small, near heartbreaking smile crossed her face. “I don’t imagine you would.”
“What…” His hand dropped without ceremony to his gut, his fingers grazing the sore patch of skin which had already formed over what would have been a nasty scar. He had slayer’s blood to thank for that. Slayer’s blood had strength charging his body. Had him itching with a need to pay his maker back for what she’d done to him, and take Angelus down in the process. Buffy’s blood had saved his life, and he couldn’t remember a lick of it.
Buffy’s eyes followed his hand, widening in shock. “Holy hell!”
“Yeah—”
“That’s impossible! That sword ran you all the way through! There’s no way…” She broke off with an abrupt jerk of her head, the hand at her neck dropping to his stomach and batting his away. “There’s no way this—”
“Slayer—”
“It takes me at least a day to heal a cut that’s maybe two inches deep. How in God’s name—”
“Your blood, love.” He hated the look on her face—the look those words inspired. “It’s your blood. Your…slayer’s blood…it’s the sodding holy grail for us. For vampires. Tasting you…just a drop could bring any vamp back from the edge of death. I got good a chunk of you.”
And amazingly, the knowledge didn’t come with pleasure. It didn’t come with a grin and a snappy remark. It didn’t come with pride. Hell, it didn’t even come with the urge to sink his fangs into her throat and finish what he started. He’d tasted his third slayer—the most powerful slayer he’d ever known—and he couldn’t gloat. Couldn’t even work up a grin that he knew what she tasted like. He couldn’t summon anything but remorse.
Because he’d hurt her. He’d hurt her, and that bothered him. He was too far beyond caring why it bothered him. He knew he was hopeless for her and was exhausted from fighting it. And Christ, with her blood in his body, fighting his feelings for her was nothing short of a disgrace. She’d given him a gift, willing or not. She was in his gut, in his throat, and he was drowning in her.
That particular acknowledgment made his life a whole lot easier and a hell of a lot more complicated in one bloody blink. At least now he could stop fighting his feelings.
All he had to do now was live with the knowledge that he was falling in love with another woman who could never love him back.
“My blood…did that?” she whispered, her fingers grazing his tender skin. “I…how—”
Of course, his feelings for her coupled with the fact that he was feeling much better than Buffy realized had his body reacting in a very inappropriate way. The Slayer was sitting in a tub with him, her hands on his belly, and he was naked. He was naked, revved with the most powerful aphrodisiac on the planet’s face, and the hands of the woman his cock wanted like no other were on his body.
His cock was not in the mood to ignore that. And his demon was no longer hungry for blood. His demon wanted Buffy. All of Buffy. Right now.
Buffy knew that he wanted her, of course. She’d felt his erection against her before. She’d torn his lips off with her own. The only sense that came in hiding himself now was wrapped in self-preservation. There was softness in her eyes right now unlike anything he’d seen before, and he wanted to keep it that way.
“Bring any vamp back from the point of death,” he said again, praying she wouldn’t glance down or inadvertently nudge his erection. “Though I don’ think I was—”
The shadow that crossed her face promptly silenced him. She looked, for all the world, as though she was reliving a horrid memory. It awed him to feel her trembling. “No,” Buffy whispered, her voice haunted. “No, you really…I…I thought you were dead, Spike. I thought you’d bled to death or…well, that’s stupid, I guess. I guess vampires can’t bleed to death.”
“Wouldn’t know, pet. Though I’m more of a believer now than I was yesterday.”
“I pulled the sword out and you made a noise, so I dragged you in here. I was about to go get the blood in the other room when you…made with the lungy.”
He winced inwardly. “I din’t mean—”
Buffy shook her head abruptly and rose to her feet before he could blink. “Doesn’t matter,” she said dismissively. “You’re okay. That’s what matters.” A pause. “Kendra’s dead.”
Spike would have liked to think, for Buffy’s sake, that he would have been more inclined to care had the bint not kicked him unconscious the night before, but it was a lie. Kendra was a slayer and he was still a vampire—dead slayers were good news, as far as he was concerned.
As long as Buffy wasn’t the dead slayer in question.
He didn’t offer condolences he didn’t feel. Instead, he nodded somberly and asked, “How?”
“Drusilla.”
Something hard crashed in his chest, and at once, he was both filled with pride and hatred. And hatred was something he’d never thought to feel for Dru, regardless how their story played out.
Thankfully, the Slayer didn’t let him stew for long. She gracefully stepped out of the tub, ignoring the water that dripped from her soaking clothes even if she couldn’t ignore how hard the cold made her tremble. For his part, Spike was having a time trying to avoid staring at her nipples. Bloody hard task when they insisted on saluting him through her ridiculously thin excuse for a top.
“They have Giles,” she said, her voice firm even if he knew her will was not. “Angel and Dru. We have to go.”
Spike blinked. It was one thing if a slayer had been killed; now his girl’s mentor had been watcher-napped? What the sodding hell had he missed?
“Slayer—”
“It was an ambush. It started today—this afternoon. Angel wanted me cut off completely.” She shivered and reached for the towel-rack, tossing one to him before giving thought to herself. “No friends. No watcher. No…you. He sent a lackey to one of my classes today and I was stupid enough to fall for it.”
“What the hell are you—”
“Angel lured me out so I wouldn’t be there to…Willow was doing the curse. Kendra was with them, so I thought they’d be okay.” Buffy’s eyes fell shut, toweling her hair dry without once turning to the mirror. She didn’t even bother to check the wound he’d left on her throat. “They weren’t. Angel had me out there and in the meantime, Dru was raiding the library. Now Giles is gone and I don’t know if…and Willow’s in the hospital.”
“You went out to face Angel without coming to me first?” Spike demanded. “Are you outta your mind?”
“I’m not exactly used to tag-teaming my saving of the world, Spike. I just wanted it to be over.” She held up a hand, effectively silencing the waiting retort on his lips. “I know. I know, I know. A thousand times over. I’m a moron. Okay? And because of that, I’ve lost…I’ve lost my friend, my watcher, and when I came here, I was terrified I’d lost you, too.” She paused. “Can we just save the world now and reflect on how very stupid I am when we’re back to being mortal enemies?”
Spike couldn’t help but grin. Lovely sentiment as it was, he didn’t reckon now was the time to tell Buffy they would never be mortal enemies again. He didn’t have warm feelings for enemies. He didn’t want to make love to enemies. Fuck silly, maybe, but not make love. And while he wouldn’t mind fucking Buffy blind a time or two, the dominant urge was for the former.
For the moment, though, she could think what she liked.
“You bloody well nearly did,” he said the next second. “Lose me, I mean.” And God help him, but the knowledge that losing him had her terrified made him feel as good as a bloke could after his insane ex had run him through with a very pointy sword. “Dru visited me here earlier.”
Buffy froze. “The sword?”
“Her handiwork.”
“Oh my God.”
Spike shrugged with nonchalance he didn’t feel. No matter how things had ended between them, Dru’s dust was never something he would have sought. He was through with her, yes, but killing her would have meant killing a part of himself. The part of him she’d saved from mediocrity and helped shape into the man he was today. And while coming to terms with the heartbreaking knowledge that she’d never loved him at all had promised to cripple him, he knew he could move on.
Now he wasn’t sure he didn’t want her dust. His doubt had him thoroughly shaken.
“Spike,” Buffy said softly, stepping forward. “I’m so sorry. I—”
He held up a hand. “Don’t bother,” he said shortly, wrapping the towel around his waist. “Let’s get you some dry clothes. If we’re gonna save this watcher of yours, we better—”
“You really are going to help me?” she whispered, her eyes bright.
Spike’s eyes narrowed. Aside from the fact he was more or less Buffy’s bitch, he bloody well wasn’t going to sit back and let Angelus destroy the world. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let Dru think she could get away with trying to off him. And if saving the Slayer’s Watcher would make her smile at him, he’d do it over and over again.
As it was, Spike was in her debt. She’d given him her blood. Perhaps not willingly, but she’d given it.
“Of course I’m gonna bloody help you,” he said shortly. “That was the deal from the beginnin’, right?”
“I didn’t think—”
“Buffy, you jus’ pried me from a sodding wall an’ brought me back from what you swore was the brink of nothing. If that doesn’ make me yours, I don’t know what does.” Spike cleared his throat and tightened the towel around his waist, doing his best to ignore the eager bob of his cock at the hint of how very much hers he’d become. “You want to save your watcher? Stop arguin’ with me an’ go get your biteable arse into something warm.”
“I don’t—”
“Top drawer.”
Spike swore softly when she finally crossed into the other room, leaving him alone with a tub-full of water and blood that belonged to them both.
This was going to kill him. He wasn’t sure it hadn’t already.
Dru had tried to end him. Buffy had saved his life. It was Buffy he wanted in his bed; Dru whose life he no longer cared about.
This stupid town had turned his life upside down.
And something told him it was only the beginning.
TBC