Chapter 5
The use of mercenaries always entailed a certain amount of risk-taking, but Somnambula had no choice. A race which fell asleep at the drop of a hat was hardly well-placed to defend itself from the threat of invasion, so the Somnambulan army relied almost entirely on the services of soldiers of fortune. Which, unfortunately meant that they didn’t have much of an army at all. Most of the hired muscle simply hung around long enough for their commanding officer to fall asleep then buggered smartly off with their credits leaving the planet in its usual, vulnerable state.
“We may have the chip,” Prince Sleepwalker’s father announced grandly, but what good will that do us without an adequate force to keep this planet safe? Vampiria turns its greedy eyes to this sector of the galaxy and we must protect ourselves. This alliance with Summeria must take place or we are doomed. They have the wealth and an army capable of at least some resistance against the Death Star.”
Riley covered his mouth politely to stifle the yawn and wished his father wouldn’t address him as if he were a committee; it always gave him a monumental headache. He couldn’t remember the last time his father had spoken normally to him, or indeed when anyone had looked at him with anything other than contempt. Except for when he’d met Princess Buffonia. He’d suddenly remembered what she looked like and the blonde-haired beauty had kept him awake for a whole hour as he’d fantasised about their life together. He held out his arm as the medic came forward to pump him full of stimulants and let the thought of marriage to Princess Buffonia spur him on.
“I will bring her back, father. Have no fear. You may inform King Hank his daughter is as good as found.”
“We’re counting on you, son. Failure is not an option.”
Riley watched his father settling himself for a nap and took a deep breath as the stimulant drugs started to take effect. He needed to be on the ball, all cylinders firing if he was going to find Buffonia and bring her home. Bounding on his toes he thought about the wonderful reception he’d receive when he returned with his bride to be in tow. He started running on the spot as the group of mercenaries who were to accompany him filed into the room to give the salute. His father was snoring lightly now, but as the drugs kick-started his system, Riley felt as if he could take on the whole world.
The medic hovered anxiously, obviously remembering the last time the Prince had been given stimulants, as Riley began to jump randomly into the air, like a child’s pogo-stick, then bounced away across the room. The effects were always unpredictable and it had taken twenty men to catch him that time, after which he’d slept for a week.
He started running in place as unfamiliar energy made him want to soar up into the sky like some winged creature. “Men,” he shouted to the astounded soldiers before him. “We are going to fetch her back and then there will be a wedding the like of which has never been seen. Are you with me?”
Various languages shouted back that they most certainly were, and the Sergeant in Chief stepped forward.
“Whenever you’re ready, highness. The sooner we give chase, the better.”
“Ready for what?” Riley said, still bouncing.
“The pursuit of your errant bride, remember?”
“Is she?”
“Is she what?”
“Errant?”
“She most certainly is, your Majesty.” The heavily-armed creature swept his hand towards the door. “May I escort you to the ship?”
“What ship?” Riley bounded away again and, at a discrete signal from the sergeant, two of the soldiers gave chase and pinned him down.
“Your spaceship,” the sergeant said patiently. “So we can go find your bride.”
Riley grinned up at him. “I’m getting married? Cool. Why doesn’t anyone ever tell me these things?”
The sergeant growled quietly under his breath and tried again. “Leave it to us, majesty. We will see to the necessary.”
“So,” Riley shook off his captors and started shadow-boxing with himself. “You catch her for me and I come in at the last moment and sweep her off her feet?”
“Something like that. Now, if you’d like to bounce this way?”
Riley went into a series of jumping jacks and turned to say goodbye to his father who was being roused from his slumber, a look of surprise on his face. He waited impatiently while they reminded his father who he was, and knelt down for the ritual blessing.
“Go do your duty, my son,” his father droned. “And while you’re out there, see if you can manage to capture us a Vampirian to test the chip on. We have no way of knowing if it works unless we have a laboratory specimen to conduct some tests on.”
“Fear not, your Excellency.” Riley turned sharply as the Sergeant belted out his commanding tones over his head. “You will have your princess and your Vampirian. I’ve never failed a mission yet.”
“Well,” the Chancellor said fending off Riley who was now almost knocking him down in an attempt at a filial hug. “You’ve never met my son before, but try your best anyway. And perhaps not such a strong dose next time?” he said turning to the medic.
“I won’t let you down father,” Riley assured him. “Princess Whatshername will be my bride. And now,” he turned to the waiting, and still slightly aghast, troops. “I feel a speech coming on.”
An earth-hour later the effects of the stimulant wore off and, mercifully, Riley stopped talking, fell asleep and was carried to the spaceship to go in search of his bride.
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The image reflector allowed him to see much better than a mirror would, and Spike couldn’t stop staring at the creature looking back at him. It wasn’t Spike, and it certainly wasn’t William. The last time he’d gone into game-face he’d been too drunk to remember anything more than the fangs. He turned his head, this way and that, fascinated and a little revolted by the ridges and bumps covering his face. When he spoke his voice sounded thick and lisping and he’d already cut his lip on one of his needle-sharp vampire teeth.
But why now? Why should a woman he’d known barely a day make him want to do this when he’d never been inclined to before? He’d known plenty of women of all shapes and sizes and had quite probably broken some sort of record for the greatest number of female admirers at any one time. He’d performed every position in the Intergalactic Joy of Sex at least once. The one’s he was physiologically capable of, anyway. But never before had he felt such an urge to get in touch with his primitive side.
“Search engine,” he lisped at the computer. The screen flashed to life.
Subject?
“Vampires.”
Refine?
“Vampires and toothache.”
Limit?
“Yes, just to Vampirian culture.” Spike shook his head. “Make that vampires and toothache and attraction.” He shook his head again. Nothing happened. The ridges and bumps stayed resolutely in place, the fangs poking uncomfortably into his bottom lip.
Nine thousand, eight hundred and forty three hits.
Spike shook his head again, harder this time, a small ripple of panic tingling his spine. Why wasn’t he changing back?
“Prioritise,” he told the computer as his vampire face stared stubbornly back at him. The fangs alternately tingled and ached, leaving his whole body hovering over the thin line that separated pain and pleasure, and just as he managed to swallow down the instinct to go bite something it would well up again. He lifted his arm and tentatively closed his teeth around his wrist, imagining the sharp fangs sinking into someone’s flesh, their blood pouring into his mouth and down his throat. A wave of nausea washed over him and he dropped his arm.
“Give me a visual,” he said sitting himself at his desk and scanning the screen. The computer flashed and Spike’s mouth fell open in amazement as he scrolled down the list.
Vampirian Pride, Underground biting cults, Blood from the source, Open-all-hours bite-lines. Where the hell had all this come from? Spike rubbed the heel of his hand against his bumpy forehead and realised he’d definitely been away from his home planet too long.
“Hi, I’m Meera.” An attractive, green-skinned humanoid leaned suggestively towards the screen, at the same time pushing back her hair to reveal a long, slender neck. “I’m XV positive, based on Landeran 3 and just waiting for your call,” she purred. “Go on, you know you want to…” Calls cost twenty credits a minute, quality may not be as advertised, terms and conditions apply.
Spike found himself leaning too, his finger twitching as the number flashed up onto the screen, feeling both attracted and revolted by these strange new sensations overtaking him.
And biting cults seemed to be ten-a-penny. Up till now Spike, like most of his Vampirian compatriots, had breezed happily through life taking what he wanted, when he wanted it. Grabbing opportunities when they presented themselves, and generally thinking of no-one but himself and his latest love-interest. Blood was something that kept him alive, not what he was, and the old ways, as he kept seeing them referred to, were something that Fledglings read about in adventure stories. He’d played at Dracula like all Vampirian kids, but some it seemed, had never grown out of that.
He shook his head again, this time feeling the flesh smooth out as his vampire features receded and when he glanced over at the image reflector Spike looked back at him once more. William actually, he corrected himself. And no wonder it had been alarming. A curly-haired vampire in a shirt covered in parrots wouldn’t have scared his maiden aunt. And that was the point of game-face presumably – to terrorise the victim before draining them to death.
He scrolled further rubbing at his jaw which still ached where his fangs had cut through the gum. Some of the cults sounded benevolent enough. Biters and willing bitees. Mutual biting, biting for sexual pleasure – that made him look twice. Others had darker overtones and spoke of ancient rites and sacrifice, victims and the dark arts. And of times when vampires were shadowy figures who belonged to the night.
And none of this had ever given him more than a moment’s pause. Until now.
Buffonia was still asleep and Chewie was settling for the night. Spike went still and listened to the engines for a few moments until he’d satisfied himself all was well and the autopilot would keep them on track for the time being, then he turned his attention back to the computer.
Latent biting tendencies, claiming rituals and soul retrieval. He frowned, opened the link and read with eyes that became progressively wider as he realised what was happening to him. The claiming part, he could understand. Buffonia had been his from the moment he’d set eyes on her, or him, as she was then and he already didn’t want to let her go. But soul retrieval? What did that have to do with it? Spike didn’t believe in souls and even if he did, why the hell should he want his back?
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The Summerians embraced a peculiar kind of decadence and one which Buffonia had never truly understood. How could a people who took their vices so seriously, believe that sex with a machine could replace the real thing? Somewhere along the line things had gone seriously wrong in that respect as, en mass, people had turned to embrace their orgasminators rather than their partners.
Buffonia woke up hot and sticky. Her last dream had been particularly lurid, involving virtually every variation on the sex act she’d ever read about. Which didn’t amount to many, actually, but they were enough to make her throw off her cloak and start on the buttons of her shirt in an attempt to cool herself down. Pulling the shirt over her head she threw it onto the bench. And when she touched her hand to the black wig she’d used for her boy disguise it felt completely flat where she’d slept on it and he head itched terribly from wearing it for too long.
She longed for a shower, and, more importantly, some relief from the pent-up frustrations the dream had left her with. Her skin was suddenly too tight for her body and prickled all over. Buffonia lay back in the semi-darkness, wishing she’d packed her portable orgasminator and thinking about the mini-orgasm she’d experienced when William had touched her earlier. How did he do that so effortlessly? She’d tried on many an occasion to do it manually, but she’d never really managed more than a ripple of sensation. The trouble with mechanical sex was that it made you dependant, and lazy. But she’d known there was more to it than strapping yourself to a machine, and she’d been right.
Motivation, that was the key. She’d fantasised until she was blue in the face, just like the iilicit sex-manual had told her to, bringing to mind the bare-chested cover models she was so fond of, and imagined them doing every imaginable thing to her. But still release stayed tantalisingly out of reach until she’d resorted to the little vibrating machine that claimed to give you the ultimate satisfaction – or your money back.
Buffonia wriggled, pressed her legs together and ran her hands over her thighs. How hard was this really? Perhaps she simply hadn’t been thinking about the right person? Opening her pants she slipped a hand inside, closed her eyes, and thought about William.
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Soul removal was an integral part of the turning ritual, but Spike had never believed in them anyway. To him it was all so much mumbo-jumbo, a nod to the old days and something his grandsires used to talk about. He remembered their shocked expressions at his turning ceremony when he’d giggled uncontrollably as his sire solemnly read the ancient text that was supposed to make his soul literally fly out of his body. Everyone had averted their eyes, but he’d looked up and wondered why he couldn’t see it, complete with wings, soaring away from him.
And this was possibly even dafter, he thought as he read about those who believed the lost soul found another host and that a vampire would subconsciously spend the rest of his life seeking it. And when he took the quiz and read the results he was left in no doubt as to what was happening. Only he didn’t believe a word of it, because how did having some invisible soul make you a better person? His moral parameters were set, by himself, in his head and his heart, not by some invisible regulator that turned on the guilt-o-meter every time he did something wrong.
It was all threatening to add up to a monumental headache so he flicked off the monitor and rubbed at his tired eyes. Between Jasmine and Buffonia he hadn’t had any rest and he was sorely in need of some. And he ought to return the bag before she discovered it missing. And what did he do about this boy business? Did he tell her he knew or go along with it and let her tell him? Too many questions, he thought jamming her things back into the hold-all. The books intrigued him and he sniffed at the paper covering appreciatively. Everything was so computerised these days and few people read the old-fashioned way, but it didn’t surprise him somehow, that Buffonia did. He tossed one of them onto his bunk for some bedtime reading, figuring she’d think it had been lost somewhere on her travels. The thong went the same way and brought a wicked grin to his face as he closed the fastenings on the bag and quietly let himself out of his cabin.
He heard it immediately he stepped into the corridor, and would have been aware of it before that if he’d been concentrating hard enough. Soft gasps and low moans. A quickened heartbeat and short, shallow breaths. And they weren’t coming from Chewie’s cabin, that was for certain.
When he sniffed he could smell the unmistakeable scent of arousal. Of course, he’d smelt it before on her, but not like this. This was thick and heady. It filled the air with ripe promises and his mind with images of a golden-skinned goddess lying on a bed of crushed winter-rose petals and overflowing with desire. His imagination raced away and his feet walked him far too quickly towards the rec room where Buffonia was obviously enjoying a little middle-of-the-night-delight. When he got to the door, he stopped and gave himself a stern talking to. Buffonia was still under the impression he thought her a boy, so how was it going to look if he walked in on her now? And how would she react to the fact that he’d obviously been going through her things?
The smothered panting grew slightly more desperate as he stood debating what to do. What he mostly wanted was to open the door, slip quietly inside and help her find what she was looking for. Give them both a bit of well-deserved relief from all this UST that had been clouding the air from the moment he’d set eyes on her. Still, a part of him held back. For all her bravado it was painfully obvious that in this she was still an amateur. Spike knew the Summerians didn’t make a big thing of sex in the raw, but the few Summerian women he’d had had been responsive enough. They’d just needed a little motivation. And someone who could show them how much better naked flesh was than cold, hard metal, or even worse, those dreadful plasticoid contraptions that seemed to be all the rage on Buffonia’s home planet these days.
By the time he got back to his own cabin he was so hard there was only one thing to do. If you can’t beat them, join them. A philosophy that had always stood him in good stead and he’d gone a long way by being able to shrug his shoulders and bend with the wind. Buffonia’s bag fell to the floor as the door closed behind him and he reached for the fastenings of his pants. Gods, but he wanted her, he thought as his painfully stiff erection sprang free into his hand. He felt his face changing as he lay back on his bunk, groping for the thong, and he went with the flow and let it happen.
It wasn’t long before he was thrusting blindly into his hand, Buffonia’s name on his lips, the thong on his face and half way to the Promised Land. Buffonia, on the other hand wasn’t being nearly so successful. Spike squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he rode out the waves of ecstasy, the sound of Buffonia’s frustrated passion making his fangs hurt like the blazes as she struggled to bring herself off. Biting her would bring them both relief, he knew that now, but it would also mean something else. Something deadly serious that would bind them together forever.
It was all very well imagining her his, in his own head, but what if she didn’t feel the same way? What if all she was feeling was the lust and desire part of the equation? What if it was just curiosity? What if she didn’t know what she wanted? That would make her vulnerable, and Spike knew it would be the perfect time to take advantage. It was what he did, stepped in when he saw a weakness or an opportunity and took what he wanted, when he needed it. But, for the first time in his life it just didn’t seem fair.
Spike stuffed the thong under his pillow and sat up. Thank goodness for fast vampire recovery time. He was already hardening again and Buffonia was still at it. Might as well take a shower, he thought, and clean up. Pulling off his clothes he stepped into the cubicle and as the cool steam relaxed him, he closed his eyes, leaned his forehead against the shower door and let his imagination run riot.
Buffonia, lying all hot and glistening on the bench in the rec-room. One hand rubbing at her sensitive, swollen flesh the other lingering over her undoubtedly pert little nipples. Her eyes would be like dark pools, deep and hazy with desire, her pouty little lips forming a perfect circle as she breathed out his name. Some day, he promised, they were going to do this together. He was going to do this to her and she was going to do this to him, and he was going to make such sweet love to her that she wouldn’t come down for three vectors.
He stepped out of the shower and looked down at himself, already hardening again and hoped it would be soon, otherwise he was going to be the first vampire to die of sexual frustration.
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In the gap between sleep and waking Buffonia imagined herself back at the palace, in her huge, silk-covered bed with Mr. Gordo lying comfortingly beside her. The clinking of china, the smell of her early-morning beverage and the swishing sound of water as the servants filled the bath reminded her that a new day was starting. A day filled with ceremonial obligations and boring people to listen to. Her mother lecturing her about the marriage and, quite probably, a cameo appearance from creepy stalker-guy.
Buffonia stretched out her stiff limbs and made a mental note to look up Slayers on the intergalactic net when she had a moment. Find out what it really was all about. She relaxed again and opened her eyes, but there were no servants bustling and fussing around and her bedroom seemed to have mysteriously shrunk. She blinked and propped herself up on an elbow, taking in the functional surroundings and when she took a deep breath, instead of fresh pastries and fragrant flowers, the air stank of oil and something she couldn’t define.
Maybe it was her? she thought sniffing at her armpits and wondering where the washing facilities were on board the Millenium Bug. It was all coming back to her now. Running away from home, meeting William and Chewie. Jasmine and the broken hyperdrive. And she was cold, so she reached for the shirt which she’d tossed carelessly aside and slipped it over her head, a faint blush staining her cheeks as she remembered what she’d spent most of the night doing, or rather, failing to do. Her pants were still unfastened so she hastily closed them again and then just sat, disconsolately on the bench, not knowing what to do next.
For all her independence of spirit she’d never had to actually fend for herself and she knew she shouldn’t expect Chewie and William to wait on her hand and foot as she was used to back home. With such a small crew everyone would have to pull their weight, and she’d said she would – only she had no idea where to even start. Her chronometer and rumbling stomach told her it was morning, but outside it was dark, and the ship was quiet apart from the background hum of the engines. It was disorientating and suddenly Buffonia felt very alone. She hadn’t really known what to expect when she’d set out on her great adventure. Freedom was what she was after, but with freedom came great responsibility, she was learning that. If she was going to truly determine her own destiny she needed to be able to make decisions, and plans. And most importantly she needed the courage of her convictions to carry them out.
Okay. She stood and looked around for her bag. It was on the floor beside the bench and she rooted around inside until she found her compact and comb and set about making the wig look like real hair again, rather than something that had crawled onto her head in the night and died. There were dark circles under her eyes, but there wasn’t much she could do about that without her full make-up kit. Anyway, she thought, it added character. She’d had some life-experiences now and it was bound to show in her face. It was a good thing, she decided snapping closed the compact. And her first decision would be to go have breakfast, after which she’d find a shower and clean up. Then she’d make herself useful in whatever way William saw fit. She could be a cabin boy, whatever that was. They had to have some useful function since every pirate romance she read seemed to have one.
The galley was just about big enough for one person or two at a squeeze. The stained metallic counter-top and small sink were dented and faded with use and a food heater was set in the wall. One cupboard held eating utensils, cups and plates and another a strange assortment of what she supposed was food. There was very little of it and none of it looked fresh. When she looked into the chiller it was almost empty too, except for several bottles containing a thick, red liquid. She pulled one out because she was thirsty and it looked like some sort of fruit juice, but when she opened the bottle it smelled so disgusting she wrinkled up her face and promptly capped it again, hastily shoving it back. It was probably Chewie’s and reminded her that new experiences were going to come at her with alarming speed now she was out in the galaxy. And her pampered life of luxury was over.
This could be part of the adventure too. She pulled down a canister and shook it experimentally, then scanned over the instructions. Normal rules didn’t apply any more. If she wanted to eat reconstituted Karsh-Weed for breakfast then who was going to stop her? And to follow she’d have another bar of the Belgarian chocolate which either William or Chewie must be mighty fond of judging by the quantities stored in the cupboard.
The canister was disappointingly empty when she opened it and looked inside, but she remembered seeing more in one of the high cupboards. It was on the top shelf, too high for her vertically-challenged state so she place both hands on the edge of the counter intending to hop up and grab one. But before she could someone entered the galley and squeezed themselves into the small space behind her. Or rather, William entered. There was no mistaking the familiar shiver that washed over her every time he approached. She’d even felt it in her dream when he’d come into the rec room during the night and there was a vague recollection of waking up and talking to him, although what she’d said she couldn’t remember now.
He didn’t speak, but simply closed the gap between them so she was pressed against the edge of the counter-top, reached up, and pulled down the can for her. When she tried to turn and thank him he muttered, “no, don’t turn around,” and his hands dropped to either side of hers, where they gripped the edge of the counter. For a long, heart-stopping moment he just held her there. Not exactly using force because she knew that if she’d wanted to struggle and run away, he wouldn’t stop her, but rather holding her in place with the sheer force of his presence. A delightful shiver ran through her as he closed the remaining gap between their bodies with a slight hitch of his hips and her eyes, that had begun to drift lazily closed, flew open as she realised what he was trying to tell her.
Or rather, what he was trying to tell Buff, the boy, surely? Not Buffonia the woman who was about to slide to the floor because her legs were quivering, melting away and soon they wouldn’t be there to hold her up any more. He’d have to do that.
“William,” she said, over the thundering of her heart. “I need to tell you something.”
Both of his hands moved to cover hers. They felt cool against her too-hot skin, and now she was trapped. “Shh,” he said so close to her ear that she almost felt his lips brushing the skin. “It can wait.”
If he hadn’t been holding her so securely, she would have fallen. His arms tightened a little more snugly around her, and Buffonia leaned back her head and listened to the wordless message coming through loud and clear.
Whether she was a boy or a girl didn’t matter any more, and she very much doubted that he’d run screaming when he found out the truth. What was important was the liquid desire igniting between them. The undoubted attraction. Whether it was just primal lust ceased to matter either. They were two people who seemed to catch fire whenever they were within touching distance, and that was all she cared about as she focused on the feel of the hand sliding up her arm, the fingers lightly tracing the line of her neck. Instinctively she tilted her head and was rewarded with a low growl that sent a current of pure need fluttering through her entire body.
It was lust, she thought in panic. Lust, pure and simple. Hadn’t she run away from home for this very reason? So she could experience something real for a change? No matter that he was an arachnoid and she was the damsel-fly caught in his web, she wanted this, and she could no more stop what was happening than fly to the third moon of Alderan. When he moved away slightly, with a soft sigh she found herself moving with him, silently begging him to stay and feeling a satisfying stab of triumph when his hand tightened over hers and he pressed himself even closer.
Kiss me. Why isn’t he kissing me? She’d have said it out loud if her brain had still been connected to her voice. In the event it was entirely focused on the places where his body touched hers. The line of her back pressed against his chest. That thing she’d read about so often and had sneaked pictures of on her computer pressing insistently against her lower spine. There were many names for it and she found herself blushing as she recalled them. The cheeks of her bottom nestled into the tops of his thighs, the length of their legs entwined and his arms formed both a cradle and a cage around her. He was as close as he could be, yet she could feel him hovering too, as if he was fighting some sort of battle within himself, alternately dipping towards her neck and then pulling away. All she could do was wait, on quivering tenterhooks, and hope he did it before she died of frustration, or exploded with need.
The humanoid equation, that’s what had been missing all these years. A machine might be capable of giving mind-blowing orgasms, but it couldn’t touch you. Not like this. It might make you dependant, but this was a different kind of need. Two people joining together in life’s greatest adventure. Touching each other in places they didn’t even know existed, as if instinctively only they knew where to look. Her vision turned hazy and unfocussed and she could feel herself floating off to a land where there was nothing but this. A Slayer reduced to a pile of mush in the arms of a man she’d only just met. At that moment William could have done anything to her and she wouldn’t have lifted a finger to stop him.
In the event he picked up the chocolate bar, snapped off a piece and, still growling softly, stroked it against her mouth. Buffonia hesitated for a moment, then parted her lips and sucked on it gently. The candy-sweetness melted over her tongue and when William’s fingers brushed her lips she closed her mouth and sucked one inside, just like her favourite romantic heroine in one of her books. And, just as the hero had, William stiffened all over when she did that and squeezed her so tightly she thought she was going to suffocate. But she was only allowed a small triumphant smile at the fact that she’d taken control, because he immediately turned the tables on her and started sliding the finger in and out using the sticky chocolate as a lubricant. Picking up the rhythm with shallow thrusts of his hips.
Buffonia took in a shaky breath and gripped harder at the edge of the counter. Her head fell forward as she silently offered herself to him and the small, sharp pain of teeth breaking through skin was lost in the overwhelming sensation of the hungriest kiss she was ever likely to experience.
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Spike couldn’t take his eyes from the thin trickle of blood making its way down the line of Buffonia’s neck. And he couldn’t believe he’d done that. The change had happened the minute he’d walked into the galley and seen her reaching up towards the cupboard – an action which had caused her shirt collar to fall away from the back of her neck, and his vampire alter ego to come thundering out, unbidden and totally unstoppable. He’d kissed her so hard a purple bruise was forming around the small cut, but what did he do now? Once he’d tasted her she’d be with him forever.
Her blood was singing with it. Calling to him. Rushing around her body in a mad frenzy and he knew, at that moment, she was his for the taking. She was urging him on with small encouraging gasps and sighs, wriggling her hips against his, her head falling forward in surrender. Asking him to see to the aching need, fill the empty void. It wasn’t the first time he’d had a woman demand that he put her out of her misery and make love to her, now, but it was the first time he’d thought twice about it. And definitely the first time he’d pulled back and thought about whether it was the right thing to do.
“No,” he said when she tried to turn around because he wasn’t kissing her any more. “Don’t turn around. I, I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Her voice held more than a hint of desperation and she flinched at the feel of his finger wiping away the blood.
“I’ve cut you, didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
“No, no,” she said shaking her head. “It’s alright….”
But was it? What right did he have to claim this woman as his own? He hadn’t even wanted to do this with Dru, and that was saying a lot. Why did Buffonia speak to him in this way? Without even saying a word.
“Can I kiss it better?”
Gods that was lame. What next? Poetry in the moonlight?
The blue-moons of Aldis three. When they were full-blown and hung so low in the sky they washed everything with their electric-sapphire glow. Those were moons to read poetry by and that’s where he wanted to take her. And make love to her. In the ruins of the old city, on a bed of flowers that would release their sharp fragrance under the crushing onslaught of their passion.
“Please.” She was trembling in front of him as if she was forcing herself to keep still.
Just a taste. How could that hurt? He’d had human blood before so it wouldn’t be the first time. But not in game-face, that would be too tempting. He breathed. Totally unnecessary, but calming none-the-less, and quietly his face changed back. And with his normal features returned his reason. He dropped a quick peck onto the tiny wound, tasting only the slightest tang of her life force before turning and striding resolutely away. Control was what he needed, and he didn’t have it yet. She'd glanced around, disappointment clearly written on her face, but this was all too new, and he couldn’t trust himself around her when he felt like this. And, besides, how the hell was she going to react if he suddenly sprung his vampire face on her with no warning? It had scared him to death, and there was no reason to believe that she’d react any differently.
Back in his cabin he ran himself a basin of precious water to dunk his head in and cool down and remembered that they’d hadn’t taken any supplies on Summeria. It was something they needed to do soon if they were going to undertake a long-haul voyage and for a shipment of substantial supplies he was going to need more money than Buffonia’s two hundred credits.
“Code five-seven-nine-zero-three-five.” He scrubbed at his hair with a towel while he waited for the computer to obey his command.
Encryption?
“Password protect.”
Supply.
“Try Password Sex Pistols for me.”
Spike hovered anxiously as the computer screen flashed. He needed a job, something that paid well, and that invariably involved taking risks. Although smuggling was by default a risky profession, and Spike had to wonder whether he might not be better off just stealing some cash. No, he couldn’t risk getting himself caught and incarcerated. Not now that he had Buffonia to think about. Better to stick to what he knew. Him and Chewie, they were good at this and as long as they steered clear of any of Jasmine’s hench-beings they would be okay.
Negative.
Damn. Spike rubbed at the front of his trousers, trying to ignore the mother of all hard-ons which was distracting him from the very real business in hand. And the thought of Buffonia, who must be wondering what the hell had happened to her just now.
“Okay, what about Password The Clash?”
“Possible.”
Spike straightened his hair with his fingers and sat at the desk. Not his preferred option, but they were good payers. “Make contact,” he said, carefully neutralising his expression. Delicate wasn’t too strong a word for these kinds of negotiations. One foot wrong and gangsters of this magnitude wouldn’t fail to vaporise you. Leaning his elbows on the desk, he waited, because they always made you wait, it was the principle of the thing. A game of one-upmanship. The rules were set and you played by them, or suffered the consequences. As seen by Jasmine.
What the hell had he been thinking? He wanted to beat his head against the desk for his stupidity sometimes. How could someone so intelligent get things so spectacularly wrong?
“Confirm status,” he said impatiently.
Waiting for response, the computer replied. Switching to hold.
So he waited. And he tried not to think about Buffonia because distractions like that were the last thing he needed right now. He didn’t want to bite her, or claim her, and he certainly didn’t believe that she’d somehow managed to get hold of his soul. The soul he didn’t believe in and he definitely didn’t want back. The computer played its irritatingly bland music while Spike drummed his fingers on the desk and waited for one of the Klum-Fei’s ugly mugs to appear on the screen. The mail icon appeared with a jolly ping in the corner of the screen and he saw with a sinking heart that it was from Jasmine.
“Ignore,” he told the computer.
Caller requires a response. the computer insisted.
“Bloody hell, tell her I’m dead,” Spike snapped.
Confirm death-status.
“Alright, I’ll talk to her, but over-ride with standard interference if the Klum-Fei come through.
“Spikey!” The screen filled with Jasmine’s considerable presence.
“Jasmine.”
“What have you done to your hair?”
“Oh this?” Spike patted his head and shrugged. “Felt like a change.”
“I don’t like it,” she said, pouting her lips. “Change it back.”
Spike bit back any show of defiance. Now was not the time to rock the boat, or make Jasmine suspicious. “Anything you say, sweetcakes. Is there a reason for this call, or did you just miss me?”
Jasmine giggled and wiggled her shoulders. A little-girl gesture that totally belied her status as head of one of the worst gangster clans in this sector of the galaxy.
“Who’s your passenger, Spike?” The little girl fell away as she cut straight to the chase. “Word has it you took on a passenger on Summeria.”
“No one,” Spike said as nonchalantly as he could manage. “Just some chap who needed passage to Alderan. Wanted to raise some money for a real swanky tux. Nothing but the best for you, my little sugar plum.”
Spike never really knew what Jasmine was thinking. One minute she’d be giggling, the next spitting venom. And if she even suspected Buffonia was a girl they were in more trouble than they’d know what to do with. Jasmine’s jealous rages had passed into legend.
Jasmine took on a misty eyed demeanour at the mention of the tux. “You’re going to look so handsome in it,” she crooned.
Spike managed a bit of a smile hoping against hope that she’d drop the subject of his passenger in favour of a visual of him in a tux. “Aren’t I just?” he said with a swagger. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I have business to attend to.”
“With the Klum-Fei? What are you thinking Spikey? Not trying to wriggle out of our deal, are you?”
Shit, they’d been hacked. Spike kept his face carefully bland, while inside he was seething with rage that his carefully constructed security had been compromised.
“What was that?” he said cupping his hand behind his ear as if he was having trouble hearing her. “Sorry Jas, baby, you’re breaking up, I’m losing you.” He gave the off button a satisfying slap and Jasmine disappeared in mid sentence. The mail icon immediately re-appeared, but he ignored it and instead typed in the access code for the Millenium Bug’s security system which he needed to sort immediately since he didn’t want Jasmine listening in on his deals with the Klum-Fei. It wasn’t hard to find the cookie. The Hutt’s status came mainly from their ability to buy the best muscle in this sector rather than their brains and it took him all of four earth seconds to disable the spy-ware they’d planted on the Bug’s computer. He typed in a temporary patch and hastily re-coded the password, hoping it would be sufficient until he had more time to design something sophisticated enough to keep them out. Then he sent Chewie, who was in the cockpit, a heads-up. The Wookie would monitor things while he talked to the Klum-Fei and, hopefully, Buffonia would stay out of sight.
He squashed down the urge to go find her and see if she was okay. If their encounter in the galley had left him shaken, then he couldn’t imagine how she must be feeling. So much for his disguise, he thought ruefully, they’d obviously spotted him on Summeria, but Buffonia’s seemed to have held. Jasmine thought her a boy and she needed to remain under that impression. It was the only way Buffonia was going to survive this.
God’s but he wanted to see her as a girl, but that would have to wait. Time to start thinking with his head rather than his trousers, which was always a disaster. Forget all this vampire nonsense. Forget the sounds she’d made and the intoxicating smell of her arousal. Forget how responsive she’d been and the way she’d wrapped her pretty little mouth around his chocolaty finger.
His pants tightened and he groaned. Forget that he wanted her so much his body was screaming out for her? Not a sodding chance in hell.
----------------------------------------
The history of the Universe was written on The Force. It resonated with every event, every life and every moment that had ever been, carrying them forever upon the mists of time. A skilled Jedi who could read the force had access to the greatest resource man had ever known and for O B, this was his special skill. His ability to be at one with the Force was why they’d picked him out as a child and trained him in the mystical arts. And this was why he’d been chosen as Watcher to The Slayer.
It hadn’t been a particularly useful skill, more ceremonial than practical and other than allowing him to cheat outrageously in pub-quizzes and write a few histories of obscure, long-forgotten wars it was a skill he’d had very little use for, up till now. Buffonia was bonding at an alarming rate with this rogue Vampirian and that needed remedying before she was so besotted with him that she’d never want to embrace her destiny. No doubt she was already fantasising about white picket fences and bearing his offspring, but that wasn’t going to be. Not while O B had breath in his body. It was his sacred duty to bring her to heel, and that’s what he would to do. By fair means, or foul.
The Vampirian was the clue. O B assumed the position and opened his mind. The force swirled around him and he invited the energy in, balancing himself until his whole being was pulsing in harmony with it. Once aligned, his mind soared away in a swirl of vivid colour and for a few moments O B was totally at one with the source of all life. Gradually, like autumn leaves drifting to the ground, the images began to settle and the focus sharpened until he could see pictures in his mind.
Spike. O B homed in on the emotions surrounding the young, blond-haired baby and fast-forwarded Spike’s life like a movie, stopping periodically and expanding scenes, rewinding, looking for anything that might be used to tear him away from Buffonia. He saw a studious, sensitive lad who’d lost his mother in an accident which he’d survived – a memory he’d all but repressed. Resilience and resourcefulness. A terrible tenaciousness and loyalty when it came to matters of the heart. A quick mind, the expected love of poetry, more studying and a career in smuggling. O B zoomed in on the last one and thought perhaps he should just report Spike to the relevant authorities and let him pay the penalty for his illegal activities. He dismissed it as too risky. Buffonia might become implicated if she was caught with him and that needed avoiding at all costs.
Jasmine. Yes, another possibility there. But at this stage of the game no more than an opportunity for a little mischief making. And the Millenium Bug? O B kept coming back to the Bug. Somehow it was the key, but he couldn’t work out why. There was a name – Wood. Someone who was connected to the spaceship through tears and anger.
But where did Spike fit into all this? O B hadn’t needed the Force to find out that the Bug had been purchased by Spike less than five years ago, a simple computer search had provided that information. The Force filled in the gaps and told him that was Spike’s first encounter with the ship, but the history of the Bug went back much further than that. As did bounty-hunter Wood’s connection with it. O B redirected his energy to the metal hull of the Bug and, as he reached out, the ship began slowly to reveal its secrets.
O B watched it all in his mind, his mouth a grim line that slowly tilted up into a humourless smile as the story unfolded. Now he had him, and it was perfect. Wood, fuelled by anger and revenge, would be totally oblivious to the fact that Spike was an innocent in all this. He needed closure and O B would give it to him. In return, the bounty hunter would neatly sort out O B’s little problem leaving Buffonia free to fulfil her destiny. He snapped open his eyes.
“Wood,” he said to RU who was standing by. “Get me a lock on a bounty hunter called Wood. Human, origin Earth, operates in this sector. There can’t be many of them.”
R U extended his tubular metal arm and connected to the computer. Within a few seconds pictures started to flash up onto the screen.
“That one,” O B said without hesitation. “That’s him. His ship’s called the Principal. Find the id and send him this message.
“Message?” C I tilted his head and opened the mailbox while R U beeped and chirped.
“Yes,” O B continued. “Tell him I’ve found the last piece of his puzzle. The most important one. Tell him I know who killed his mother.”
Tbc…
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