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Author's Chapter Notes:
A/N: Spike and Drusilla make some dastardly plans, while the hunt for Buffy is on.
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Buffy deposited the car she had hotwired two blocks from the mansion and walked the rest of the way, ready for anything. She walked quietly inside, carefully seeing if she could sense anyone lurking. When nothing registered, the Slayer did a room-to-room sweep of the area.

Buffy saw a bed in a state of disarray. Going over to the nightstand by it, the Chosen One saw a single short strand of hair which was a dark brown color. It was a safe bet that Angel had more-than-likely been there. A further search saw Drusilla's quarters next. Although she had taken all of her dolls, the tattered remains of a dress made of muslin was what Buffy picked up.

The third room had nothing in it except the King sized bed with black satin sheets, but as Buffy grabbed them to see if there was even a hint of a trace of one of the master vampires' signatures, the Slayer felt the unmistakable vibe of Spike resonating there. She pulled the sheets to her face, running them along her cheek, imagining his long, graceful fingers caressing her jaw, drawing a map of sexual heat along her lips.

The Slayer stroked her clothed body with the sheets, picturing the platinum blond vamp doing the same before he removed the barrier of tank top and jeans. She moaned, ensnared in her fantasy world that was Spike, surrendering to his smoldering tongue as it blazed a trail across her nipples.

When she forced herself to return to reality, Buffy felt the loneliness settle all around her. The Slayer had been totally and thoroughly rejected by her friends. True, she had done something idiotic, but didn't people sometimes do dumb things, even Chosen Ones?

Righteous indignation welled up inside of her; then, anger that she should be treated so harshly. Didn't her friends and Watcher make mistakes, too? Hadn't she forgiven them in the past?

"Poor, suffering child…" she heard a hellish voice moan. "Poor, sad, suffering mortal."

Buffy turned to where the sound had issued. She saw what looked like a black pool of smoke.
Falling back on her only defense other than a weapon, Buffy uttered, "Oh, come on, now. If I were gonna go out in an outfit, I would find a better disguise than a puff of smoke!"

The "puff of smoke" blazed a crimson trail with indignation. "You mock me?" It retorted.

"I'm thinking, yeah, every chance I get if you go out like that everyday," Buffy told it.

The cloud chose to ignore that. "I am not here to harm you, or pass judgment on your killing of my kind," it said.

Buffy crossed her arms, saying, "Why are you here talking to me, then?"

"Because I represent someone who can help you," it responded, "someone who is taking your needs into account."

"Oh?" Buffy asked nonchalantly. "And, how would you know what I really need?"

"I have been in this business for over two thousand, five hundred years, little girl," it said.

"What business is that?" Buffy asked, curious.

"Revenge…" the cloud said.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Spike drove until he reached the other home he and Dru had made their own. It was a modestly sized house outside of Sunnydale that even Angel had not known about. True, the blond vampire had chased the previous owners—mere minions of the Annoying One—out after having killed the pesky child, but one took opportunities wherever and whenever they presented themselves.

The home had a great subterranean garage, and it wasn't on the road, so it was a popular haven for vamps clever enough to find it. Legend had it that the home had been built for a vampire around the turn of the century, and the creature of the night had used it many times in the past before he was staked while walking outside of it by a Slayer.

Spike had happened upon it when he had been scanning maps and images of places near the town of Sunnydale just in case the Slayer had cunny whipped him in a fair fight. Although he hadn't wanted to admit the possibility—he had his pride after having offed two Slayer-bints, after all, the vampire knew that it was only a matter of time before one of them got the drop on him.

He thought again about how Buffy had fought him in the gym and allowed a smile to tickle his lips. She was magnificent, no doubt about that. Her blood was probably better than any other Slayers he had tasted.

It was more than likely the finest AB that one could dine on, and his mind conjured up a tantalizing picture of him being high for several days after tasting it. Of course, his mind also supplied, one taste would never be enough for him. Maybe, he considered, there could be a way to drain her to the point of death, but then leave her to replenish her blood, and then drain her again.

**Drain, heal, repeat …drain, heal, repeat,…**he was thinking.

Angel moaned just then, cutting into the second Master Vampire's thoughts. Spike really wished he could off the wanker, but Dru's last command wouldn't allow that.

Drusilla had carried the still covered Angel out of the garage and into the connecting house. She had lain her injured Sire on a four poster bed in the master bedroom. The room was one that fitted Spike and Dru's tastes. It was done with bold, crimson colored walls.

The California King sized bed had black curtains, thick enough so that a vampire need not worry about any sunlight stroking the sheets and drapes. Although the room had windows, there were vertical blinds with thick, matching drapes in front of them.

Spike followed his Dark Princess as she cooed to her precious Daddy, trying to rouse him. Angel's eyes fluttered open, but then closed again.
Drusilla cut open her wrist with one of her long, blood red painted fingernails and held it up to Angel's mouth. He drank slowly, trying to ignore the pain.

"Baby…" her childe soothed, staring at the insane vampiress.

When Dru didn't respond, Spike said louder, "you need to keep up your strength. You only recovered recently. You need to hold onto the blood in your body more 'n he does, I reckon."

Drusilla pulled her wrist away from Angelus, who slumbered peacefully. She looked at Spike, half-disappointed; half-wishing that the younger vampire could get along with her supernatural father.

"You'll only kill yourself, giving him the blood he needs," Spike argued.

Dru's eyes strayed to the blond. "Daddy's nearer to his Hellish life in the after world," she pronounced. "But we can fix it."

Spike tilted his head, and decided he wouldn't like what Dru was going to propose if it was going to save Angel.

**Pompous arse!** Spike thought.

Drusilla spoke with perfect clarity, not talking about kings or queens or moons or stars like she usually did.

"Only a Slayer's and a Witch's blood will wash the metal shard away," she said. Spike's ears perked up at that.

"What's that?" he asked.

"We need the blood of a Slayer and a Witch's combined, ooohhh…" Dru was saying as she swayed back and forth.

Spike thought about Buffy just then. Assuming she couldn't have cast the love spell because of its being too powerful, the Slayer had to have had help: major magic help.

The wheels in his mind were turning. If he could somehow get the Slayer and the Witch who had made his life a living Hell there and finish them off with one stroke, then he and Dru could have Sunnydale for the picking, or wherever else they ended up.

It would cost him the healing of Angelus, but who knew? Maybe Spike could do a threefer and kill all of them. Dru was bound to get over her Sire at some point once he was destroyed, particularly if Spike tortured her until she saw his side of things. Without the competition, he could make Dru fall back under his spell, and it wouldn't take any magic.

"It's done, baby," he promised. "I'll get you your Slayer an' a Witch. Your Daddy will be all righ' again."

Drusilla came over to him and he took her hand. Together, they removed their clothes when they parted. Spike kissed her hungrily, snatching her lovely, pink tongue from inside of her mouth. When he drew blood, his true visage appeared. Dru's issued forth as, together, both Sire and Childe came together in a sex filled blood bath of shagging and sucking.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The men in white combed the high school for over an hour, but their search proved fruitless. It was more than apparent to them and the policemen joining the search that Buffy Summers had gone. Deputy Chief Harrison took the communicator out of his pocket and signaled his men.

"Let the other students inside," he said. "It's clear that she's not here."

When the men complied, one of the Sunnydale Rest Home guys said, "looks like we've got a search on our hands."

Harrison nodded, going to break the news to Joyce and Snyder. When he got back to the Principal's office and reported what had happened and what the other men would do, Joyce felt her insides grow cold.

"Search?" she repeated. "They won't harm her, will they?"

"They will take special care with your daughter," Harrison told her. "I'll make sure that they stick to the letter of the law so that no harm comes to her."

Joyce smiled, content that Deputy Chief Harrison would make certain that nothing bad happened. Buffy's mother hoped that, wherever her daughter was, she would be okay until she got help.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Giles witnessed the men in white as they walked outside in the hallways when he glanced out of the square window of the door he stood in front of. Knowing what that meant for Buffy, the Watcher asked Oz for his cell phone.

The werewolf handed it to the older man. Hurriedly, he punched in some numbers.

"Hello?" a deep English voice sounded.

"Inform Travers that I wish to speak with him," Giles responded curtly. "We have a situation."

XXXXXXXXXXX

When the American division head of the Watcher's council heard what was going on, he promised Giles that he would be in touch and he hung up. Placing a call to England, the man asked for Travers.

"Yes?" Travers voice came on the line.

"Buffy Summers may be out of the equasion, sir," the man said, explaining what was going on.

Travers considered. "Get the next Slayer on the next plane to Sunnydale, just as a precaution. Inform Giles about what is happening. And, get the van ready for a pick up."

The other man assured the head Watcher that the instructions he left would be carried out immediately.
The older man's eyes fell on a map of the world in front of him, and the town of Boston. He had hoped he wouldn't have to call in another Slayer prematurely, but sometimes, it was inevitable that these situations happened, and that the Watcher's council wasn't always able to wrest control of them.

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy thought about what the…whatever-it-actually-was was saying to her. She knew that it was wrong to think about revenge, since she knew that things would eventually blow over. But it seemed that the dark part of her wanted, just for once, to put her friends in their place. But, what she was thinking was very, very wrong, she decided.

"Sorry, so not interested," she said.

"You need all the facts," the cloud said, materializing a picture of the men who were looking for her. As Buffy saw them, and the entity they represented, her ire rose up again. After one slip, Giles and everyone were ready to send her away to the loony bin?

Before she responded, the picture changed to an image of Spike, his body touching hers; his mouth saying such sexy, sinful things, and all about his devotion to her and her alone.

The Slayer knew she should turn away; shouldn't even consider being with the vampire any more. He was a growing addiction; a narcotic she could well do without. But as he put his staff inside her, she remembered how he had felt the one time he had put his fingers into her waiting folds.

"Just think about you, and your vampire, together…" the voice said.

This time, the Slayer found that she was listening as dream-Spike touched her image over and over again in delicious ways.

"Take me to your leader," she said at last.





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