Spike’s golden eyes attempted to focus under heavy lids as he began to awaken. It was nightfall, and the demon stirring inside told him so. Once the haze of sleep disappeared, the evening’s smells and sounds flooded his senses.
After fleeing the ring several days ago, Spike located a safe place to recover. Within the dark, dank recesses of an abandoned warehouse, located in one of the shadier parts of LA, his body had time to heal almost completely. Prior to entering into this self-made refuge, Spike gorged himself on blood until he’d temporarily sated the gluttonous demon inside him. The process of feeding until satisfied took longer than usual, since he had only fed, not killed.
”Gone soft I ‘ave. ’M finally free from this bleedin’ chip, and I don’t even feed properly! Before you know it, I’ll be setting up comfy accommodations for the Happy Meals on Legs, offering biscuits and juice to them after they’ve donated blood! ‘M such a piss poor excuse for a master vamp!” Spike said, with a growl under his breath, placing his hand over his rumbling stomach.
Throwing off the tattered excuse for a blanket, Spike stood and began to move his body, slowly working on loosening his stiffened joints and muscles. He rolled his neck and limbs, occasionally alternating directions, until they no longer popped or cracked under his ministrations. With a final stretch, Spike savored how fluidly his body moved. The pain that had resonated there, since he first awakened in that man-made hell, was now almost gone.
The combination of human blood and continuous sleep mended broken bones, healed deep wounds, and he gained weight he’d lost since the Initiative shoved the chip into his brain.
For the first time in months, he felt almost like his old self. Well, a much filthier, non-leather-coat-wearing-self, but the old Spike all the same.
“No, I’ll never be the same. I’ve tasted pure sunshine, raw power, and strength all wrapped up in a tiny, beautiful Buffy-shaped package. I’ll never want anyone else—even if she won’t have me,” Spike murmured, collecting mismatched boots and a shabby tee shirt lying on the floor by his makeshift bed. Prior to entering into hibernation, he had found these items discarded in an alley, along with the blanket he had used for the last several days. Spike slightly cringed while pulling on the worn, filthy articles, yearning for his own clothes, especially his beloved leather duster.
With determination fueling his strides, Spike traveled quickly through the dingy hallways of the building and climbed several flights of stairs until he reached the upper level. Shaking away his demon, he stepped out into the night.
After exiting the alleyway, littered with forgotten objects and people, Spike turned the corner and headed down the street, the jarring sights and sounds of LA surrounding him. As he moved among the living, his path remained clear. He was determined to get back a piece of himself that someone had stolen.
Continuing down the busy, filthy streets, Spike briefly noticed on the street corner closest to him, a scantily clad, petite blonde arguing with a man, most likely her pimp. Spike could hear his harsh and crass demands for his cut from the johns she’d serviced that evening.
Despite the throngs of people passing by, none acknowledged the heated interaction between them: the yelling, cursing, and how roughly the man held onto her arm as he dragged her away from the street into the shadow of a building. Spike was no different, until the man raised his hand and brutally struck the woman’s cheek. The force of the blow caused her to slam against the brick building behind her.
Without a moment of hesitation, Spike grabbed the man advancing toward the fallen woman by his arm and roughly twisted it behind his back. Instantly, Spike’s demon came to the forefront when the pimp’s throbbing jugular hovered just mere inches away from his mouth, and the intoxicating scent of his fear filled the air. With golden eyes remaining fixed on the pimp’s throat, Spike gave a menacing a threat through descended fangs.
“That’s no way to treat a lady—“Before the pimp could contradict, that she wasn’t a lady, Spike twisted his arm further, triggering the pimp to cry out in pain. ”Don’t say what I know you’re thinkin’. Listen carefully, you wanker— you’re not the only Big Bad that goes bump in the night. The way you’re shaking like a bloody leaf and the fact you’re about to piss yourself, you know this to be true, yeah? So tough guy, how much do you really know? I’ll give you a hint. I’ll take vampires for two hundred, Alex.”
Witnessing the incident before her, an actual demon causing pain to her own personal demon, caused the woman’s eyes to widen with disbelief, before the shock passed quickly from her features. She used this as an opportunity to flee. Without a word, she ran off.
The pimp watched briefly as his whore fled before nodding his head quickly, acknowledging that he knew what the creature holding him was. With this silent response, Spike continued. “I wager that woman brings in plenty of dosh for you, so I’d advise you treat her right. If I find out you lay another hand on her, I’ll be back to drain you dry. Got me?” The pimp trembled, whispering, “Yes.” before Spike released his arm.
Slowly blowing out a shaky breath, the pimp massaged his injured arm before turning around. Scanning the sidewalk, he noticed he was alone. Neither his whore nor the demon was anywhere in sight. Looking both ways once more, the pimp tried to chalk up what had just happened to a vivid hallucination, brought on from the shit he’d smoked earlier. Try as he might, he couldn’t ignore the two blatant things confirming what just happened to be real: the throbbing pain radiating from his shoulder down to his fingertips and his jacket pocket that once held roughly two thousand dollars was now empty.
With a smirk held firmly in place, Spike fingered the wad of cash in the pocket of his tattered jeans. “First things first—clean kit, then a shower.” Just then, his stomach growled in protest again. “Damn, should’ve fed from that slimy bastard--need some blood too.”
Passing a vintage clothing store along the strip, Spike glanced in the window. With a resigned sigh, he shook his head, once he conceded what he had to do. He had to spend his money—on clothes. Normally, he would wait until the bloke behind the counter was alone, nick what he needed and tear into his neck for an added bonus. But he didn’t have the time or the will to do so. The latter part made his demon howl and scratch inside his mind at the mere thought of going soft. Shaking his head once more, Spike tamped down both this thoughts and his demon before walking inside.
When Spike walked in, he spotted a twenty-something year old sporting green hair and more piercings than he could count sitting behind the counter reading a Crimson comic. He completely ignored Spike and continued to ignore several equally punkish looking people milling about. With a loud scoff, Spike eyed the posers, knowing full well that the little boys and girls had no clue what punk was all about.
Looking quickly through the racks, Spike found some suitable clothes: black leather pants and a blood red button down shirt. Unable to find decent boots to replace his Docs, Spike approached the counter, clothes in hand.
Maybe his luck was changing after all. There, before him, was a pair of Docs that belonged to the gangly punk leaning back in his chair, with his legs stretched out, resting his feet on the glass counter top. Spike approached him, his gaze focused solely on his boots.
“How much for your Docs?”
The punk’s heavy kohl lined, brown eyes flickered from the comic to Spike. Raising a multi-pierced brow, he brashly eyed the filthy man in front of him.
“More than you have, mothafucker! So fuck off!”
Normally, Spike would have launched across the counter, grabbing him by his scrawny neck before violently snapping it. Instead, Spike growled while his eyes briefly flashed gold. Witnessing this, the punk scrambled from his chair, his feet falling off the counter with a thud. After several moments of jerky, uncoordinated movements, he finally found his footing. Spike inwardly chuckled, witnessing this once fouled mouth punk transform from a rebel wannabe to a frightened little boy right before his eyes.
“Um…actually they’re free, so is the handful of clothes you have there. You're our…our hundredth…yeah…hundredth customer tonight! Congrats!” He said, sputtering his words, and the punk quickly pulled off his boots and with trembling hands gave them to Spike.
Spike gave a nod and a muttered “Ta, mate.” grabbing the offered boots and sauntered out of the store. Now with a change of clothes tucked under his arm, his next stop was a shower.
A block down from the store, Spike found a shady rent-by-the-hour establishment. Entering, Spike approached the filthy counter surrounded by a rusty metal cage. Inside, was an equally filthy, overweight man with a greasy comb-over, chewing on the butt of a long extinguished cigar. Without looking away from the small black and white TV, in the middle of a re-run of Hawaii 5-0, the man gave a price.
Spike peeled off a few twenties from his money roll and slid it through the small opening. The man turned slightly, eyes still fixed on the TV, he pulled off a single key from several hanging on the wall, then slid it through the opening. Without a word, Spike removed the key and ascended the stairs toward his room.
The dimly lit hallway reeked of sex and death, in different forms, as he made his way to room #23. Placing the key in the lock, following several attempts, he opened the door and stepped inside.
A twin bed, dresser, and a sink were the only items in the sparsely furnished room. Wearily, Spike sat down on the creaky mattress briefly before he decided a shower was in order. Heading to the only bathroom on the floor, Spike entered into the room and locked the door behind him.
Pushing aside the moldy shower curtain, Spike eyed the black-ringed tub. With a twist of the hot faucet, the sound of the heated water splashing on the bottom of the stained porcelain echoed in the small room. Soon, the steam from the scalding water rose and accompanied the sound.
While the water ran, Spike quickly began to peel off his filthy, damaged clothes and dropped them in a pile on the grimy linoleum floor.
Stepping under the spray, Spike sighed as the scalding water hit him. Streams of dirty, bloody water ran down his newly healed body as he tried to remember the last time he bathed. Instantly, the last time slammed into his mind, along with all the other memories that accompanied the one recollection. The last time he was in a shower was in his room. No more specifically, their room, his and Buffy’s.
Spike’s jaw clenched as the memories of Buffy flowed forward: how stunningly fierce and beautiful she looked in her battle gear, her playful smile and teasing words while they played cards, her wearing his tee shirt, and her exquisite, soulful eyes searching his while they shared a tender embrace during her dream.
Then more memories, ones he wanted to forget, came forth: the hate and disgust set in her features and surrounding her words after he fed and how her tiny body clutched his grandsire when he carried her from their room.
Spike thought back to what transpired days before, once he was freed from his bracelet and ran from the arena.
***** *****
Days before
Pure adrenaline and the deep desire to find Buffy fueled Spike’s movements as he made his way through the maze-like hallways of the building. Only moments before, he had departed the arena, leaving the broodettes and his thrashed grandsire behind. Now he was trying to locate another way to get into the lower level of the building, or more specifically to the room where Buffy was.
Twisting and turning down corridors, when Spike came across any area that smelled of his grandsire, he immediately avoided them completely, knowing Angel would be close behind his lingering scent. Using only intuition as his guide, Spike made his way through the hallways and down a set of stairs. The feeling growing within his gut convinced him he was getting closer, spurring him to quicken his pace.
Spike continued his steady stride, determined to reach Buffy quickly, even though he didn’t know how he was going to get the door open, or when he did, how he would remove Buffy’s bracelet. However, these thoughts didn’t deter his pace. All that mattered now was getting to her.
Turning another corner, Spike heard a distinctive sound that halted his movements momentarily—flesh meeting metal. Cautiously heading toward the sound, Spike stopped once he reached the corner. Slowly, he peered around the bend, and what he saw made his demon roar with fury. Angel savagely pounding on a door—their door.
While Peaches continued his onslaught, busty Barbie screamed for him to stop as Percy picked a dead guard’s pockets, quickly finding a key card. With one swipe, the door opened. First Angel, then the broody bunch, went rushing in.
Several tense moments passed while Spike waited. He knew he couldn’t go any closer, knowing Angel would sense him, and even though he had the upper hand earlier, now with his two side kicks within striking distance, having this advantage again was next to nil.
Despite his heightened sense of hearing, the combination of distance and thick metal walls surrounding them only allowed Spike to hear their murmurs, but not make out their words. Then the silence came. Soon, Angel emerged from the room with Buffy cradled in his arms. Spike noticed instantly her head was upon his chest and tears of gratitude streamed down her face.
While the group moved in the opposite direction, Spike backtracked, rage now fueling his steps. Quickly, he arrived outside. The cool night air danced along his exposed and injured flesh. Moving silently to the end of the building, Spike watched as Angel drew Buffy closer to his bulky form as her tears continued to fall.
Seeing how she sought comfort from Angel caused Spike to make a painful realization. Buffy never truly was his. As always, he was just a substitute for Angel, first with Drusilla and now with Buffy. Spike hated it, but he had to admit to himself that he was only a bookmark. His sole purpose to hold Angel’s place while he was gone and be a stand in until he came back to claim what was rightfully his.
Spike intently watched as Angel carefully entered the car with Buffy still firmly in his grasp. Spike’s intent gaze remained fixed on the car as it passed him and drove away. Defeated, Spike turned and headed into the night.
Across Town
An endless amount of time had passed since she first became encased within this soft, warm place. Despite knowing she should feel safe. Buffy’s legs remained curled into her chest, arms wrapped around them attempting to guard her from the outside world.
She didn’t know how long she had been there, nor did she know exactly where therewas. All she knew was that she wanted to remain in the reality that existed behind her closed eyes.
In this reality, hope still existed. Hope, the gut wrenching words ringing in her ears and stilling tearing into her heart --- “Spike’s gone” was never uttered. In this reality, she would wake feeling her vampire’s mesmerizing blue eyes drinking her in and his soothing baritone voice greeting her with a “morning, luv.”
With each breath, the overwhelming, familiar scents of old books and cologne surrounded her. Despite how these smells should be comforting, they weren’t. They were all wrong. They weren’t the truly comforting scents of leather, cigarettes, and whiskey she craved.
Knowing she could no longer avoid the world, Buffy finally opened her eyes. Wearily, she took in her surroundings. Instantly, she knew where she was: Angel’s apartment. Even though she had never been there before, everything from the décor to the smell screamed of her ex.
Feeling suddenly confined, Buffy flailed her arms and legs trying to push away the heavy, oppressing confinement of the duvet wrapped around her. Once released, Buffy gasped, the cool air rushing into her lungs.
Seeking the only comfort she knew that remained, Buffy reached down to the worn, cotton tee still covering her body. Bringing the fabric to her nose, she inhaled deeply. The small comfort she sought filled her lungs, causing her eyes to well with hot tears before they began streaming down her cheeks.
Despite the desire to remain where she was, nose embedded in Spike’s essence, her body more specifically her stomach, screamed for attention. Reluctantly pulling herself from Angel’s bed, Buffy began to explore.
The refrigerator located in the small kitchen was empty, except for several packets of blood. Still hunting for food, Buffy opened each of his cabinets finding them all bare.
Realizing there was no food in his apartment, Buffy approached the stairs, still in food-searching mode. Standing at the bottom, Buffy stilled her movement when she heard murmurs of several voices above. Cautiously, trying not to make a sound, Buffy ascended the stairs. Before she was half way up, the murmurs transformed into words.
“Angel, you have to call Giles. I bet everyone is worrying about her, and it’s not right, since we have her here, not to tell them.” Cordelia’s voice was firm and determined. As she spoke, she ignored Wesley’s incredulous glare.
“Cordelia, she needs to rest. She’s been through a lot, and I don’t think right at this moment everyone crowding her is what she needs. In the morning, after she has had some rest, we can discuss it then.” Angel’s voice was weary, but equally determined as Cordelia’s.
“Angel, I think we should call them now, not wait till morning,” Cordelia continued to press.
“Cordelia, my answer is final. We will discuss this tomorrow when—”
Angel’s words ended instantly when he noticed Buffy standing in the doorway, her red-rimmed eyes fixed on him. Slowly pulling himself from his seat on his desktop, he started to walk toward her. Angel longed to have Buffy back in his arms, offering her comfort and support while he helped her return to his bed.
“Buffy? You shouldn’t be out of bed. Let me help you—“
Before Angel could finish, Buffy held up her hand to stop his advancement, and with an authoritative tone spoke,
“No Angel, I don’t want to go back downstairs, and I don’t want to wait until morning. I want to call home, right now.”
**** ****
Present Day
The relentless pounding on the door broke Spike from his thoughts. Blinking quickly to clear his mind, Spike was taken back how easily he’d lost track of time. With no clock to glance at or window to look out of, the only way he gathered that a considerable amount of time had passed were the icy droplets striking his skin, replacing the once scalding heat of the water. With a sharp twist of the faucet, Spike ended the flow, bringing instant silence to the room.
Stepping from the tub, Spike mimicked a dog, shaking his entire body causing water to spray onto the walls and surfaces of the dingy room. While running his hands through his soaked locks, he displaced more water causing it to trickle down his back and onto the floor.
Once more, someone on the other side of the door demanded entrance. Without covering up his nakedness, Spike slid his demon to the forefront while he opened the door. In the hallway stood a burly man, who was at least 6’ 3” and weighed approximately 350 lbs, with his fist at the ready to knock again. Under his breath, he murmured curses about the “Fucking asshole who’s hoggin’ the fucking bathroom”.
Instantly, the man’s complaints lodged in his throat, his eyes bulging from the sight before him. With an unmanly squeak of “take as long as you want,” the man bolted from the doorway, rushed down the hallway, and entered into his room at the end of the hall without a single glance back toward Spike. With a brief chuckle, Spike closed the door and started to get dressed.
After he donned each article of clothing, including his newly acquired Docs that fit rather nicely, Spike headed down the stairs. Shoving the key under the small space in the wire, and following a sarcastic remark about the accommodations, Spike headed into the night.
Once exiting the building, Spike walked toward the curb and attempted to hail a taxi. Normally, he would have hot-wired a car and driven it until he drained the tank, but tonight he needed the services that a taxi driver could provide— the fastest route to where he needed to go.
Several taxis blew past him and his extended arm, refusing to stop in this section of LA or for the bleached, leather-clad man standing on the curb. After several minutes, the minimal patience Spike had was gone, and he decided that the direct approach was the only way to get one to stop. Stepping off the curb, Spike stood in the path of an on-coming taxi. The driver stomped on his brakes, once he realized the crazy man standing in the middle of the road was not going to move. With a screech of the tires, the taxi stopped only a few feet from Spike.
With a rise of his scarred brow and a casual saunter toward the now stopped taxi, Spike slid into the backseat, ignoring the muted swears uttered under the driver’s breath, he gave him his desired destination.
Following a completely silent, twenty-minute trip, the driver pulled in front of the address Spike had given. Before the driver could total the fare, Spike threw a wad of cash, equaling a hundred dollars, over the seat and quickly exited the taxi.
Shifting into his vamp visage and using his honed predatory skill of moving undetected, Spike quickly merged into the shadows before he rounded the building looking for a way in. Locating a small gap in the building’s exterior, Spike entered.
Raising his nose into the air, Spike breathed deeply trying to locate the one he sought. Instantly, her unforgettable scent washed over him. Knowing he needed to remain hidden until she showed herself, Spike located an alcove, not far from where he thought she would be going. He stepped into the small opening, letting the darkness envelope him and waited.
Fortunately, the test on his lack of patience didn’t last long, since the woman he sought emerged soon after he had settled into the small space. Hearing the quick tattoo of her steps, he knew even though she put on a brave front, she still feared what lingered in the dark.
Once she passed him, Spike sprung into action. With several quick, soundless steps he was behind her. With a flurry of lighting fast motions, Spike used one hand to draw her arms behind her back, immobilizing them by pinning them between her back and his chest. His other hand clasped over her mouth tightly, not allowing even a muffled scream to pass. Instantly confirming Spike’s crushing hold, the warm breath of her screams filled his palm, but not a sound was heard.
Spike gave a low, warning growl from deep within his throat, immediately silenced her screams and stilled her struggling.
“With being a lawyer and all, I figure you’re a smart bird, yeah? So I recommend you use some of those wits now. I’m going to try this in a way to let you live, but you only get one chance, pet, not twenty-one.”
Liliah shivered from the rumbled warning in her ear. She cursed her own stupidity for not having one of the guards walk her to her car as they did every other night.
She was in a rush to get home. Well, more specifically, to the man she paid for, waiting for her arrival to a four-star hotel room downtown. It wasn’t like she couldn’t get a man without paying him. On the contrary, she has had many offers for male companionship, but this meant a relationship of some sort, even if it were on a merely physical level. Being in a relationship, no matter how “no strings attached” one tries to be, there is always tons of bullshit that accompanied the sex. This was not what she wanted. All she wanted was to be ridden hard and put away wet, nothing more and surely nothing less.
Her demand for a man to satisfy her primal needs became even greater after she came into close, but not close enough, contact with a certain bleached vampire. Liliah wanted to ask the Senior Partners if they could give her this delectable specimen as a reward for all her hard work at the firm. But alas, she knew that was never going to happen, and she had to follow orders, ship off the hunky vamp to the McNamaras’ modern day Coliseum.
The instant Liliah felt powerful arms restraining her, she knew immediately by the speed and strength of the person that grabbed her, that it wasn’t a person at all, but a vampire. Once he spoke, she knew who specifically said vampire was, the same one that had been starring in her nightly erotic dreams--Spike.
Spike felt the woman he held tightly, shiver, and smelled the bloom of a new scent filling the air, the heady musk of her arousal.
“Mmm, lovely fragrance you're wearing, what do you call it—Bitch in Heat? Don’t get me wrong, ‘m quite flattered, pet, but not interested. That conibear you call a cunt would probably trap my cock permanently. Would ‘ave to leave it behind to break free. Don’t particularly fancy being a eunuch like my grandsire, thanks, but no thanks. I’m here for one reason and one reason only—“
The minimal movement of Liliah’s lips against Spike’s palm alerted him that she attempted to speak. Mildly interested in what she had to say, he gave a growled warning about behaving and not to scream before he slowly removed his hand. Liliah gasped for air several times, before licking her lips in preparation to speak.
“She’s not in LA anymore. The night of everyone’s great escape, Angel brought her to his place, but she left soon after.”
Spike’s brow furrowed with confusion briefly, before the realization of who she was referring to began dawn on him, Buffy. His temporarily repressed feelings of fury and frustration resurfaced. Tightening his grip on Liliah’s arms, Spike plunged his hand into her hair, yanking her head to the side, exposing her throat.
At the beginning, once Liliah realized it was Spike who held her, she trembled with a mixture of lust and desire. Now following his brutal actions, fear was the only reason causing her body to shake. The heavy scent of Liliah’s fear, which replaced the scent of her arousal, rolled off her in waves, filling Spike’s nostrils with its intoxicating perfume.
“You should be scared, you sadistic bitch. Death would be too good for the likes of you, but I don’t have the desire to torture you, plus that’s not really my bag. That’s yours and your pet project, Angel’s gig. Even though I originally came here for only one thing, I am feeling rather greedy. There’s something else I need, for you to answer this question. Do you know where she went after leaving my grandsire’s flat and who was she with?”
Boldly, and before she could censor her words, Liliah blurted out, “That’s two questions.”
A brief smirk filled Spike’s lips before he countered, “Very witty, pet, that it was. Like I said before, a greedy bloke here, and even though your snide remark was a marginally amusing distraction, it still doesn’t change what I want to know…now.” Stressing his angry words, Spike wrapped her hair tighter around his fist and yanked.
Tears formed in Liliah’s eyes from the instant, stinging pain. Trying to push past the throbbing resonating throughout her scalp, Liliah hoped her quick response would loosen his punishing grip.
“My men followed her back to Sunnydale, that’s where the Initiative captured her. And as for whom she was with, from their descriptions, it sounded like her Watcher, Rupert Giles and her mother, Joyce Summers.”
Spike felt the tension inside him slightly melt away from this knowledge. Even though the Watcher could be a right bastard, he mainly did have Buffy’s interest at heart and many times over, had placed his own life on the line for her. More importantly, Joyce came. She would ensure that Buffy, the woman, received all she needed to feel safe, loved, and cared for.
Liliah’s slight moan of discomfort pulled Spike from his thoughts of Buffy, bringing him back to the matter at hand. Releasing some of the pressure he held on her hair, Spike continued his demands.
“Well, that earned you a little reprieve. Now, let’s see if you’ll be three for three. I recall during our littl’ introductory meeting, I asked you where my leather was. Besides the fuck-me leers you gave me, I never did get a response. Now’s the time for it.”
Several moments of silence passed, causing Spike’s annoyance to renew. A low growl conveying his displeasure was all he needed to do before her words rushed out quickly, running together sounding like one big, long word.
“In my briefcase that I dropped when you grabbed me. It’s in there.”
Spike’s eyes moved from her throbbing jugular as he glanced to the left. There on the ground lay a black, leather briefcase lying next to her purse and keys.
“Now, we are going for a little walk, you and me.” With his words, Spike started to side-step to the left, dragging Liliah with him. Within ten paces, the briefcase lay at their feet.
“Last order of the evening--get on the ground. Face into the pavement and splay your arms out, palms down. This is your only warning, if you move a muscle, I will snap your neck faster than a scream can leave your throat; got me?”
Liliah nodded slowly. Spike kicked away her purse and keys before he released her arms, so she could lower herself to the ground. He retained the tight hold on her hair, until he would have had to crouch to follow her down, then he released his hold. Placing one heavy Doc between her shoulder blades, without a word he told her that he wasn’t going far.
Gracefully, with one foot on her back and the other on the ground, Spike leaned over and picked up her briefcase. Quickly releasing the zipper, Spike’s eyes sparkled when he saw his beloved leather inside. Grabbing his coat by the collar, he let the bag fall away. Admiring his second skin briefly, Spike slid his arm into the sleeve, then the other, relishing the welcoming weight and heady scent of the leather.
Without a further word, Spike removed his foot from her back. Liliah remained completely still on the ground, waiting for his next move or demand. After several beats, she heard his voice, but this time it was in the distance.
“Now listen good, bitch, if you ever come after me or mine again, I won’t be so kind. And for clarification, Angel is not included in that, go after him all you want. Ta.”
With his words still hanging thickly in the air, he exited the way he came and vanished into the night. Liliah remained in the same position, waiting some time before pulling herself from the ground.
By the time Liliah stood on shaky legs, Spike had already hot-wired a car and was pulling onto the freeway. While driving on that brightly lit stretch of road, his thoughts returned to the one person who meant the world to him—Buffy. When he heard Liliah say that Buffy had left Peaches’ Fortress of Broodatude almost as soon as she arrived, it gave him a small sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she did care that he was gone. There was only way to find out. With anticipation surging through his body, Spike’s smile grew tenfold when he passed the sign: Sunnydale 80 miles.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Alright everyone! I hope you're ready for the next chapter! If not, too bad, here it is! Originally, I planned on this to be kinda short. Yeah, that so didn't happen. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, as much as I did writing it. Beta'd by Sanityfair and Diebirchen. Love ya ladies!!! *big hugs*
Chapter End Notes:
*Ok, who remembered Liliah still having Spike's coat, raise your hand. Come on...how could you forget about that! Spike without his leather is like peanutbutter without jelly, just plain wrong. Well, unless he's naked, then all bets are off. Little info: Crimson is a comic http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crimson_(Wildstorm) about a guy who was attacked by some vampires. Someone saves him and claims he is the "Chosen One" to put an end to all the vampires. Mmmm...sounds familiar? Also, a conibear, in case you were wondering, is a trap that is considered the best out there. Once something gets stuck in there, it's not going to get out. That's why I thought it was fitting for Liliah's... Reviews are loved and cherished!