The fabulous banner is by the awesomely talented Ben Rostock.

Chapter 5

It was difficult not to start yelling at him the very next morning when she came out of the dining room after breakfast and saw him come strolling lazily out of the kitchens once again.

“Tell me you didn’t!” Buffy exclaimed.

His brows rose. “‘Course I did. Don’ know how long it’ll be till I’ll be able to get my fangs into one of the Quenya gits. It’s gonna be animal blood for a while, unless one of you sods volunteers to feed me.”

“You try...!” began Xander, then stopped when it was obvious that Spike wasn’t listening.

“Saskia again?” asked Anya brightly.

Spike grinned at her. “Nah, Geertje. Wouldn’t do Saskia so soon. Gotta give them a week to recover from the blood loss, y’know.”

“For God’s sake, Spike!” Buffy snarled. “The wizard said he didn’t want you drinking from his people!”

“Well, she’s not gonna complain. Really not,” he said and laughed. “So if you don’t want him to know, you lot just keep your gobs shut. Right then. All ready to go?”

“Yeah,” growled Buffy, defeated. Couldn’t change what had already been done. All they could do was hope Lioslath never found out about it. But she was going to keep a closer eye on Spike from now on.

They left the inn, heading for the livery stable where the wagon waited. Just outside the inn door, Tara stopped suddenly.

“Spike...”

“Oh, yeah,” said Spike, looking at the sad little dove in its cage. “Forgot. I’ll fix it, Glinda.”

“They’ll only get another one,” Xander muttered.

“They will. But this one’s probably suffered enough,” said Spike and went back into the inn.

Five minutes later, he came out, unhooked the cage from the sign and handed it to Tara.

“There you go, pet. It’s all yours. You can do whatever you like with it.”

Tara gave him a brilliant smile, then put the cage on a hitching post and opened the little door. The dove didn’t move for a moment, clearly disbelieving in its freedom. Tara put a finger through the wires of the cage and gently tapped its back just above its tail. Startled, it hopped forward out of the door, blinked once, then abruptly took wing.

They all watched it fly towards the forest. When they looked down again, they realized that the mage was standing behind them, thoughtfully watching the dove fly free.

“Indeed,” he said with no expression at all.

“I c-couldn’t...” stammered Tara. “P-please don’t let them get another one.”

“No.” He smiled gently at Tara.

Then the tiger mask of his face went frighteningly cold as he looked at Spike. Everybody held their breaths. Spike just looked blandly back.

“The nature of the beast,” said the mage. “I will overlook it this time, vampire. But not again.”

“Understood,” said Buffy quickly when Spike said nothing, just met the wizard’s hard stare with one equally hard and cold. No apologies from Spike. Oh, no. Just the flat statement: this is what I am; this is what I do.

“Intransigent,” said the mage and to Buffy’s surprise Spike jumped a little. “You are more alike than you know. Are you willing to bend, vampire?”

“Won’t do any good, will it?” Spike snapped back.

“Have you not seen already that it does?” Lioslath turned to the rest of them. “Take these.”

They reached hesitantly to the necklaces he was holding out to them—leather thongs on which iron pendants dangled, the same curious symbol that was painted in bright red on all sides of the wagon.

“Wear them always where they can be seen,” the mage said. “They are not charms. They have no magical properties. What they are is a request that you be allowed passage. And that is all they are. A request. The Quenya will choose whether to honor it or not. There is no appeal to their decision. You are not our people. Should you fail to reach your destination, there will not be even a formal diplomatic protest from the Diarchy. It will be as you have never been. Do you still insist upon the journey?”

“Yes,” said Buffy and slid the thong over her head and let the emblem fall onto her breast bone where it would show clearly. They all followed her example. “We must.”

“On your own heads be it. I cannot wish you luck. Your own must suffice you.” He nodded brusquely to all of them, then turned on his heel and went into the inn.

“Well, gee, thanks,” muttered Xander. “Would it have killed him to wish us luck?”

“He’s a mage,” said Willow sharply. “His wishes have weight and his power would automatically attempt to make any wish come true. He can’t even say ‘farewell’ or ‘goodbye’ because that would be a wish, can’t you see that? He’s been as kind to us as he could. The man’s been very, very helpful and he didn’t have to be.”

“He just wants us off his land as fast as possible,” muttered Xander, still angry at whatever it was the mage had done to Anya.

Buffy found herself sharing a rueful look with Spike. The journey hadn’t even started and the Scoobies were already squabbling. It wasn’t a very auspicious beginning. Xander sulking, Anya and Tara scared, Willow defiant. Responsibility for the Scoobies was weighing heavy upon her.

It would have been so much easier if Doc hadn’t sent them with her, if it had been only her and Spike trapped in this dimension. The two of them might have killed each other, but she never had to worry about Spike. He could take care of himself, was almost belligerent in his insistence on carrying his own weight. No fuss with Spike, no sulks or tantrums or angst. Either outright defiance or sensible cooperation. He might make her furious, but he wasn’t a burden.

“Right then. Let’s get a move on,” he said briskly and went on ahead swiftly to get the wagon.

Unlike the Scoobies, he was beginning to become a partner. And wasn’t that a weird thing to happen!

It took five days to reach to the end of the Diarchy’s land and cross into the Querid. For the most part, Spike drove, with Tara taking over when he needed a rare break. The two of them were the most familiar with horses. Buffy rode shotgun and the others sat in the wagon or walked beside it now and again to stretch their legs.

They started every day an hour after dawn and stopped an hour before sunset to give themselves time to set up camp for the night. Spike had showed them all how to do that now. Digging a fire pit, building a fire, cooking and setting out their bedrolls on the ground or in the wagon under canvas to protect them if it rained was becoming second nature. Spike would then go hunting and bring his catch back, drained of blood, to supplement the stores Lioslath had ensured they had. Often he didn’t need to do that because they had already caught something while they were traveling. Both he and Buffy were very good at bringing down rabbits and birds with a bow from the wagon seat, and everyone had become rather queasily accustomed to Spike happily draining the prey of blood right then and there while he drove, before the life in the blood dissipated. Spike had no qualms at all about being watched while he drank blood and it was only Xander now who complained that the sight turned his stomach.

“So don’t look,” shrugged Spike. “Never asked what it did to my stomach to watch you stuffing your face with donuts and whatnot back in Sunnydale, did you?”

“That’s different,” muttered Xander.

“That’s what you think,” said Spike and the girls giggled. Xander glared.

Buffy had unrolled the map Lioslath had given them and was checking their position in the light of the campfire.

“Where are we?” Willow asked.

“We should be getting to the border tomorrow.” Buffy pointed to the little red dot on the map that indicated their party. That dot moved as they traveled, always indicating exactly where they were.

“Nice trick,” said Anya, admiring the neatness of Lioslath’s spell. “The man does have power. He reminds me of this demon I knew in Siberia. Tchernovog. Did you ever meet him, Spike? He had that ruler-of-all-he-surveys attitude.”

“Yeah. Territorial. Didn’t like him.”

“Cute though, in a Cujo kind of way.”

“We don’t want to hear, Anya,” said Xander edgily.

“Rabid dog is right,” Spike was nodding. “Was that because he was a Rurik demon, Anya, or was that because of his connection to the land?”

“Both, I think. Rurik demons are very tied to the land and Siberia being so harsh...”

“I said, we don’t want to hear about it, Anya,” Xander snapped.

Anya blinked, realizing that she was once again acting more demon than human. They all expected her to fall silent, the way she always did when Xander reminded her of her error. To their surprise, she cast him an irritable look.

“It’s nice to be able to compare notes every now and then.” She got up from beside him and moved over to sit beside Spike. “You don’t have to listen. I don’t complain when you all talk about things that bore me.”

Spike grinned at Xander’s stunned face, then he and Anya went off in a low-voiced discussion about Rurik demons. Willow, Tara and Buffy exchanged glances, then carefully went on with whatever they were doing. Xander glared.

“It’s all Spike’s fault,” he muttered angrily under his breath to Buffy. “If he didn’t encourage her, she wouldn’t...”

“She would,” said Tara quietly on his other side. “She likes being able to talk about her life as a demon. She was one for a thousand years.”

“Well, she’s human now. You’d think she’d want to forget about having been a demon!”

“Th-that being such a shameful thing,” said Tara.

“Well, yeah!” exclaimed Xander.

“She doesn’t think so.”

“She should!”

Tara said nothing, just leaned forward to stir the pheasant stew cooking in its pot over the fire.

Xander went to complain angrily under his breath to Willow who tried to soothe him. Buffy sat frowning into the fire. Anya didn’t think there was anything wrong with having been a demon. Xander was the one who freaked out about it. Anya didn’t really care. She was human now and presumably had a soul. But that soul didn’t seem to have any guilt over the thousands of people whose deaths she had been responsible for as a demon.

Unlike Angel with his hundred years of guilt and angst. There was a strange innocence about Anya. Angel wasn’t innocent. And without the soul, Angelus had been pure evil.

She looked at Spike. He wasn’t innocent. He was aware, knew right from wrong. Not always, but most of the time; it was the subtleties that confused him and led to the blind spots. Even when he knew though, he didn’t care. He acted as he chose and didn’t duck responsibility for those actions, was proud of them. Which in a weird sort of way was a kind of honor. No guilt though. No soul, of course.

No soul meant evil. And yet he wasn’t acting evil. He wasn’t pure evil, the way Angelus had been.

That was a startling thought.

It hadn’t struck her before and it wouldn’t have now if he weren’t being so helpful. She didn’t know how any of them would have made this journey without his knowledge and expertise. He was the one who showed them what to do, found quick solutions to any problems that arose, kept them all going with his teasing and his laughter. Even the ever present snark had lost its sting and his wide range of interests made conversation interesting around the fire at night, made him able to interact with everyone. None of them had spent time with him before and they were all finding him pleasant company. Except for Xander, they were all enjoying his presence.

He had promised to help with the girls and he was keeping his word. He had become the bulwark at her shoulder and that was weird.

He should be evil and yet he wasn’t, not completely. It was too confusing. She didn’t want to think about things like this. Being stuck here in this dimension was giving her too much time to think. Everything had been so simple back in Sunnydale, the roles self-evident and straightforward. Here, everything was blurring together into gray.

She didn’t like it.

She frowned at him as he dropped another load of wood beside the fire. What was the difference?

“What did I do now, Slayer?” he asked, amused, noticing her stare.

“Why aren’t you like Angelus?”

“Not all demons are the same,” he said dryly. “Haven’t you noticed? You know about the non-harmful community of demons in Sunnydale. You may not fraternize with them, but you don’t run them out either, so you must be aware of the difference.”

“I’m not talking about them.”

“Just us bad’uns.” He dropped down to sit beside her, smiling crookedly. “You finally admitting me and Angelus aren’t alike? Excuse the shock here, please. World must be coming to an end. Had an epiphany on the road to Damascus, have you? Philosophical meditations in the still of the night? Dangerous, Slayer. Might topple your worldview.”

“God, you can be such an asshole!”

He put out a hand to stop her as she started to scramble to her feet.

“Sorry. Brain just spun out. Never thought I’d hear you say something like that. Can’t get my lobes around it. What brought that on, Slayer?”

“Anya and her lack of guilt.”

He let out a long breath that was half a laugh. “The soul thing. Back to that, are we?”

“It’s important!”

“Is it?”

“Of course it is! Why are she and Angel so different?”

“Vengeance demons, they think it’s justified. They think their victims deserve whatever’s done to them. That provides a cushion between them and reality. No such thing for vamps. You get a soul, you get the whole load of shit dropped on you, every blood-splattered minute of it.” He gave her a scornful look. “But I wouldn’t spend a century beating my breast and eating rats.”

“The guilt wouldn’t bother you the way it does Angel? If it had been you or Dru, neither of you would have cared?”

“Takes people different ways, Slayer. Dru...” His lips compressed. “Dru wanted to be a nun, pet. If she got her soul back, she wouldn’t be able to handle the guilt. She’d walk into the sunlight right there and then.”

“Would she?”

“Oh, yeah. And of all of us, she’s not really responsible. Angelus drove her insane, turned her only after he’d broken her. She’s innocent. Me, I’m not. I said yes. Dru asked me. Didn’t force it on me. ‘Do you want it?’ she said. Didn’t really know what I was agreeing to, but I wanted it. Wanted something...effulgent. Something...more.”

There was a little silence.

“Are you sorry you said yes?” she asked curiously at last.

“No,” he said flatly. “I like being a vamp. I like the strength and the speed and the power.”

“And the drinking blood?” she mocked.

He gave her a hard, defiant stare. “That too. Everything has a price. That’s the price for the rest. Wouldn’t be hard to give up if I had another option. Wanna offer your blood, Slayer? That’s a trade I’d go for.”

He smirked at the look she gave him, then was silent for a moment.

“Recently the cost’s been pretty high,” he said. She thought he meant the chip, but the strange, unreadable glance he gave her made her wonder if he meant something else. “But I can handle it. Curse me with a soul and I’d handle that too.”

“How?”

“Deal with it, I guess. Accept it, come to terms, move on.”

“Adapt. Your specialty,” she said dryly.

“A very useful survival trait, luv. Because the world isn’t black and white, however much you want it to be. ”

She jumped a little and glared at him. “You think you have all the answers.”

“Slayer, I don’t even know the questions.” He sighed deeply and got up. “I just know what I want. And I know I’m never gonna get it.”

He walked off into the darkness. She frowned after him. She didn’t understand him and the more they talked, the less she understood. And why should she even try to understand him? She hadn’t needed to back in Sunnydale. It made her uneasy and irritable, everything being unstable like this. She liked solid ground under her feet and everything about Spike these days was like treading on quicksand.

They crossed into the Querid the next day. The guards at the border post took one look at them and waved them on. Lioslath must have sent word to let them pass.

There was an immediate difference. The dirt track they were traveling on didn’t change, but the woods were thicker, pressed more closely against the road. The Diarchy’s territory seemed more settled, more...tame. All the tidy little villages, the checkerboards of the fields, the signposts and neat drystone fences, the way the trees and underbrush were carefully cut back from the road to allow for safe passage, all spoke of law and careful husbandry.

The Querid was wild. There were no farms or houses visible from the road and the mage had warned them to make no forays into the woods, never to leave the road except to fetch firewood or water or to retrieve game that they managed to shoot within sight of their wagon. The forest on either side was thick and deep, trees left to grow as they would, untouched, untamed, no sign of husbandry or agriculture. They felt that nothing had changed in these woods since the dawn of time. There was a raw, wild, lawless feel to the air. Everybody found themselves glancing over their shoulders as if something might leap out at them at any moment.

There might be castles and cities and farms hidden in the wilderness, probably were; but none of them were visible from the road. One felt that this was a deliberate choice, that the inhabitants of these lands wanted any outsiders passing through to know nothing of them.

“Creepy,” muttered Xander and everybody nodded.

Except for Spike. He was grinning. He reveled in risk, thrived on danger and enjoyed the wildness that made everyone else uneasy. Buffy found herself envying his recklessness. If it wasn’t for the responsibility for the Scoobies weighing so heavily upon her, she might have shared that. The whole trip could have been a thrill ride.

But nothing really happened. Day after day passed with nothing to see but the road and the trees. They fetched water from the odd stream, collected firewood, shot the occasional rabbit to Anya’s shuddering distaste, spent their nights uneasily camped on the road. On Lioslath’s map, the little red dot that marked the wagon just crawled along.

“I keep feeling as if we’re being watched,” Willow said, rubbing the back of her neck.

Spike grinned at her. “Hair standing up, Red?”

“You know it. Freaky kind of feeling.”

“The horses are calm,” said Buffy. She was keeping an eye on them as they plodded along, using them as an extra early warning system, canaries in a mine. She had her Slayer senses stretched out as far as they would go. “I don’t feel anything. Spike?”

She knew that Spike was listening and watching too with his preternatural vamp abilities.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“I d-don’t think it’s physical,” Tara murmured. “Mages can watch from a distance and Lioslath said the Quenya have their own mages.”

“They can watch all they like as long as they don’t send a long distance thunderbolt to fry us.” Spike laughed as everybody winced. “Might, y’know.”

“That’ll make me sleep easier,” muttered Xander with a resentful look at Spike.

Buffy gave Spike a warning glance, but he just shrugged unrepentantly, grinning. A doe ran across the road in front of them and Buffy raised her bow. Spike put out a hand and pushed the bow down as the doe broke through undergrowth.

“You won’t get a clean shot, Slayer. You’ll just wound it and then we’ll have to follow it to put it out of its misery and that might take us too far from the road.”

Buffy sighed as the doe disappeared into the twilight. “You haven’t had any blood since that rabbit yesterday afternoon.”

“I’ll go hunting tonight.”

“Don’t get too far from the road.”

“Just along it.”

Something roared suddenly in the woods. “Ah-oom, ah-oom!”

It was a deep vibrating throb of sound that seemed to come from all directions at once, full of menace and hunger.

“Christ, what was that?” gasped Xander.

In the empty, darkening forest, the sound was terrifying. The girls shivered, clutching at each other. Buffy had an arrow ready and the string at full stretch as she swung the bow to cover every direction.

“Some kind of animal,” said Spike sharply. “Predator. Look sharp!”

“Where...?” Everyone was staring wildly around.

“Don’ know.” Spike was clucking to the horses to calm them. They showed every sign of bolting. “Hunting call to frighten and confuse the prey. Tigers or wolves do that. Resonance effect. Can’t tell which direction they’re coming from. Wind’s at our backs, dammit! Can’t smell anything.”

“Ah-oom!”

Something crashed in the woods and everybody whipped around. The doe fled back across the road behind them, running flat out, the whites of her eyes showing. She disappeared into the woods on the other side and vanished into deepening twilight. They stared north in the direction she had come from, clutching at the sides of the wagon to keep from being knocked over as the wheels jarred on the ruts in the road. The horses were galloping now and Spike didn’t even try to check them.

A reverberating snarl came from the south, where the doe had run. They jerked around. There was a crash not too far from the road and the doe screamed pitiably. Then there was only a thrashing and a muffled worrying sound.

“Oh, God, that poor thing!” whispered Tara.

“Could have been our dinner, remember?” Spike said harshly. He slapped the reins on the horses’ backs. They needed no encouragement. They were running as fast as they could. “Let’s hope it makes a big enough meal to satisfy whatever was hunting it.”

“Don’t stop!” gasped Willow.

“Not stupid,” muttered Spike.

They kept going until it was too dark to see their way. The forest was unusually still, even the tree-frogs and peepers silent. Only the thud of their horses’ racing hooves and the creak of the wagon wheels and tack broke the silence. The normal tiny rustle of small animals going about their business in the night was non-existent, all of them huddling in their burrows or frozen into silence under some bush.

“Top of the food chain, whatever it was back there,” Spike muttered, finally bringing the horses to a halt. They shivered and stamped, exhausted but wanting to keep on running. “Okay, we’re a long way from it now. But let’s get a fire going. Best defense.”

The light bow Buffy was carrying would be useless against a large predator and the swords were only good for close fighting. Buffy might be a Slayer and Spike a vamp, but neither of them wanted to get up close and personal with some large, probably fanged and clawed animal. There was dry wood in the wagon. The group always collected some before leaving the previous stop and looked for more when they camped again. Tonight they wouldn’t be scavenging for wood, except on the edges of the firelight, not until morning.

“No hunting tonight,” Buffy said firmly to Spike and he gave her a wry glance.

“Not with that thing out there.”

The horses were sweating and shuddering, clearly unhappy. Spike and Tara spent a long time rubbing them down and soothing them. They calmed finally and dropped their heads with tired sighs to the oats Tara provided.

“It’s still too quiet,” Buffy muttered to Spike. The forest was dead silent.

“I know. But the horses aren’t freaking, so I think we’re good. Everybody sleep in the wagon though. I’ll take watch, keep the fire going. Tara can drive tomorrow while I sleep.”

Buffy nodded. “We’ll leave at first light.”

“Good call.”

Buffy slept only lightly, waking up every now and then at the quiet sounds of Spike collecting wood to keep the fire blazing high and chopping more to take with them tomorrow, his vamp ability to see in the dark telling him that it was safe. A stamp and snort from the horses much later brought her wide awake, sitting up sharply to see Spike on his feet, a sword in his left hand and a burning brand in the other. It was still dark, though a couple of sleepy chirps from some early bird told her it was nearly morning.

“What is it?”

“Something out there,” said Spike softly. “Wake Red. Let Tara sleep. She’ll have to drive tomorrow.”

Buffy shook Willow awake.

“Red,” Spike said quietly as she opened her mouth to protest. “Can you do a spell to keep the horses quiet? They run off, we’ll be up shit creek.”

“Yes,” said Willow, wide awake now and in full possession of her faculties. To Buffy’s relief, she didn’t even question, just obeyed. The horses went statue still.

Buffy climbed out of the wagon, her sword in her hand, and accepted the flaming brand Spike handed her. He bent to take another for himself out of the fire.

“Can you see anything?” she murmured. Everything outside the circle of firelight was black to her eyes, but his vampire sight should be able to pick up more.

“No.”

But they could both sense movement out there in the darkness.

“God, what is it?”

Silent, fluid motion in the dark. Something large, black against black so that they almost missed it. Then eyes caught the firelight, a scary flash of reflective green.

“Cat,” muttered Spike. “Big cat.”

There was a humming growl that seemed to come from all sides at once.

“Very big,” said Spike under his breath just as Xander came flailing out of his blankets.

The eyes vanished.

“What?” gasped Xander. “What?”

“Gone now.” Spike waved a hand impatiently at Xander. “Go back to sleep.”

“You have got to be kidding!”

“Pussycat came visiting is all.” He grinned at Buffy. “Suppose it wanted to see the queen.”

Willow gave a more than somewhat hysterical giggle. “Really prefer it wouldn’t climb into our laps to do that.”

“Too damn close,” Spike agreed. “Harris spooked it. Well, Harris spooks me, so I can’t fault the cat. Think it’s gone. You picking up anything, Slayer?”

She shook her head. “I think we’re okay. It’s almost morning. Everyone try to get some rest and we’ll head out the minute it gets light.”

Anya and Tara hadn’t woken. Willow climbed back into the wagon and laid herself down, yanking her blankets right over her head. So did Xander. But Buffy knew they were both still wide awake and quaking.

“Cats avoid people, don’t they?” Buffy muttered to Spike.

“Most do. Cougars and such like. The big four—tiger, lion, leopard, jaguar—they don’t. And this one...”

“Was big.” She let out a rueful breath. “No wonder travelers sometimes go missing.”

“They’re territorial. If we keep traveling nonstop tomorrow at the best pace the horses can make, we should be able to get out of its area.”

‘Yeah.” She gave him a worried glance. “It might follow us.”

“Shouldn’t. Plenty of food here. Deer and pig. Certainly didn’t have a hard time catching that doe. It’ll get its belly full and forget all about us.”

“Let’s hope.”

They got moving the minute there was any light to see by, not even waiting for breakfast, and kept going right throughout the day, eating bread and sausage in the wagon while Spike slept, stopping only to rest the horses. Tara drove and Buffy as usual rode shotgun.

Mid-afternoon, Spike woke up, stretched, then caught the flicker of Buffy’s eye, silently calling him to join her up front.

“I’ll take over now, Tara,” he said and Tara gave him the reins, then climbed back into the wagon bed to allow him to take the driver’s seat. He raised a brow at Buffy who flicked her gaze to one side meaningfully. He glanced that way. “Ah.”

Something moved, just barely visible as it slid through the trees, a black shape pacing them, fluid and sinuous and powerful. Downwind, where it wouldn’t be scented by the horses.

Spike jerked his head backwards and Buffy shook her head. No, she hadn’t told the others yet.

“It’s stalking us,” she said under her breath, quietly so that only her Slayer and his vampire hearing would pick it up. “Black panther. That’s a black leopard or jaguar, isn’t it? Are they normally man-eaters?”

“Can be. Guess it wants some variety in its diet. Or had a taste previously and liked it.”

“Great.” Maybe the thing really had eaten other travelers. “We’ll stop early. Get a lot of wood for fires. Circle ourselves with them.”

“Yeah.” His eyes widened suddenly. “Buffy! Look!”

A shaft of sunlight falling through the trees had caught the panther for a moment. Around its neck was a narrow yellow band inset with stones that flashed green in the sun, brilliant against the black pelt.

“It’s wearing a collar!” Spike exclaimed.

“It’s somebody’s pet?” Buffy said incredulously.

“Hunting leopards. Read about that somewhere. Roman emperors used to have them. Nobility.”

“Nobility! Lioslath said our safety depended on the whim of the lord through whose land we passed. The way it’s following us...It wouldn’t normally do that, would it?”

“Wouldn’t think so.”

“Somebody’s set it on us! Somebody’s playing games!”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Xander said sharply.

Buffy sighed. There was no point in trying to hide it any longer. The panther had run lightly ahead of them and was now clearly in view, rolling luxuriously on a grassy knoll some distance from the road.

“Pussycat’s back,” said Spike.

“Oh, God!”

Everyone stared at the panther, which was now sitting comfortably on its stomach. It stretched its front paws, revealing enormous claws, then yawned. They found themselves looking right down its gullet, past formidable, gleaming, white fangs and a wide, red ribbon of tongue curling at the edges. Then the jaws snapped shut with a clearly audible snick, like a beartrap shutting.

“Don’t let the horses run!” exclaimed Buffy.

“Are you nuts?” gasped Xander. “Let them run! Let them run! Let’s get out of here!”

Anya gave a squeak of agreement, unable to speak. Willow and Tara just gasped.

“And trigger its chase reflexes?” Buffy snapped. “No. Spike, keep them steady.”

“Yeah.” Spike had a firm grip on the uneasy horses. Even though they couldn’t scent the panther downwind, they knew that there was danger about.

“Willow, Tara! Any spells that might keep it away?”

“If we had our books! But we don’t, Buffy!”

They had passed the panther now. It just lay there at the edge of the forest, watching them lazily through its dark green, inscrutable eyes as the wagon moved away from it.

“Buffy’s a Slayer,” said Xander suddenly. “And Spike’s a vamp. They’ve fought things a lot worse than this.”

“What am I supposed to do? Stake it?” snarled Buffy. “No weapons except these stupid swords.”

“W-where did it go?” Tara exclaimed.

The panther was no longer in sight. The grassy knoll on which it had lain was empty.

“Back into the trees again,” muttered Spike.

“Maybe it’s gone,” said Xander. “Maybe it got bored and it’s gone away.”

“Maybe it’s playing cat and mouse,” said Anya under her breath.

Buffy and Spike glanced at each other. They were pretty sure that was exactly what it was doing.

“Ahn!” snapped Xander.

“Cats can be incredibly patient when they’re stalking something,” Anya insisted. “They can spend hours at a mouse hole.”

“Well, we’re out in the open. It would have made a move by now.”

“Maybe it’s waiting for us to stop. Maybe the wagon makes it nervous. It wouldn’t understand wagons and all the rattling and noise might be spooking it.”

“Anya’s got a point,” said Willow. “If the wagon kept moving, it might not attack. Could we keep moving right through the night, Spike?”

“Wouldn’t like to. Don’t know the road. Hard enough to avoid potholes, rocks and other obstacles in full daylight. We lose a wheel or get jammed or have something happen to the horses, we’re screwed.”

“Better to stop before nightfall,” said Buffy. “Circle ourselves with fires.”

“Rather have something at my back,” muttered Spike. He pointed forward. “Like that cliff. Too high for the thing to get up on and jump down on us. Stone at our backs, fire in front. Better odds.”

“It curves a bit too.” Buffy was studying the cliff face narrowly. “There. See, Spike? That would shield our flanks at least a little.”

“But it’s way off the road!” Willow objected. “Lioslath said never to leave the road.”

Tara nodded. “Maybe wh-what’s keeping us safe is not the wagon, but the road.”

Xander stared at them. “Why would the road keep us safe? Like an animal would know about roads! You think it signed some damn treaty?”

“Is the road magicked in some way?” Buffy asked, but both witches shook their heads.

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Willow admitted.

“It’s the wagon then,” said Spike. “Which means that when we stop and the wagon stops rattling the way it does, the cat might strike. We’ve still got three hours of daylight left, Slayer. We could keep traveling or we could make for that cliff. Your call.”

“Wish there was a cave in that cliff,” Buffy muttered. “Then we would only have to defend the entrance. But that cliff’s still the best chance we’ve got. I don’t think we’ll find anything better down the road. But how would we get the wagon through the trees? We don’t dare leave it and walk.”

“There’s a stream there. Can you see it? Goes pretty close to the cliff. We could drive the wagon up it. Hard on the horses and on the wagon, but it’s our best bet.”

They did that, Spike coaxing the horses along while Buffy and Xander cut away overhanging branches with the hand axes Lioslath had provided for cutting firewood. It took almost an hour to work their way as close to the cliff face as they could.

“We’ll leave the wagon where it is. Slayer, you get everyone to the cliff. Take the firewood we’ve got with you and start collecting more once you’re there. I’ll bring the horses.”

Everyone grabbed the firewood Spike had collected before they left their last campsite, then ran towards the cliff while Spike tossed his duster into the wagon and stepped into the stream to free the horses from their traces. By the time he led them along to the cliff face, the Scoobies had dug a shallow firepit and piled it with wood. Buffy was just bending to light it with Spike’s Zippo when a humming growl sounded, echoing off the cliff face so that it seemed to come from all directions.

“Christ! Back against the wall, everyone! Tara, Willow!” Spike flung them the reins of the horses. “Do that spell that keeps them still! Don’t lose them, whatever happens!”

“Right!”

They needed that fire. Spike grabbed a hand axe, not having time to catch up a sword, and stepped in front of Buffy to cover her as she lit it.

A streak of black flashed at them, coming from an unexpected tangent and heading straight for Buffy as she tried to light the fire. Spike caught sight of it out of the corner of his eye at the last second.

“No!”

He whirled and flung the hand axe at it. The panther squalled as the axe struck home, knocking it sideways as Buffy somersaulted backwards out of its path. She came up clutching a sword as the cat landed on the piled wood, its scrabbling hind legs scattering the split logs everywhere. No fire possible until they got that gathered again.

Willow was making that movement of her hand that meant she was throwing a spell, but she missed as the panther changed directions and flung itself at Spike. The axe had hit it at an angle, chopping away a slice of skin and muscle from its shoulder, but doing no other useful damage except to infuriate it. It was snarling continuously, its fangs bared.

Spike was snarling also, his own fangs bared, in full gameface. He ducked as the cat slashed at him. Then he had one of its powerful forearms in his grip. He threw himself backwards, one foot up into its belly, and tossed it over his head. They both tumbled over the grass, away from the cliff face and the Scoobies cowering there.

Spike got a glimpse of Buffy running towards them, then braking abruptly as a flash of yellow came from the side, knocking Xander over. It came to a snarling stop in front of Buffy. Oh, God, there were two of them! This one was a regular leopard, not a panther. He couldn’t do anything about it. Stopping the panther needed all his attention. He had to trust Buffy to take care of the newcomer.

The panther had regained its feet and was leaping towards him. He couldn’t meet it face to face. A clinch would mean either having his jugular torn out by its huge fangs or his guts disemboweled by those powerful hind legs. He had seen felines fight, back legs ripping and tearing. He threw himself sideways. Its claws raked his chest, then he was under that arm and against its side. His left arm was under its armpit and his hand and forearm gripped the back of its neck. He had a half-nelson on it.

It squalled, throwing itself about so violently that he could only cling desperately to the leaping, turning, twisting body while it battered him against the ground, trying to escape his hold. Then his feet got purchase and he heaved himself right across its back, his legs wound about it and his right arm struggling to get the same hold as his left. A twist and there it was, a full-nelson, both his arms under its armpits and his hands locked together on the back of its neck, wrists braced on its metal collar. Spike snarled in triumph and pushed down with both hands and all his strength.

There was no more lunging about now. The two lay perfectly still upon the ground, Spike on his back with his arms and legs locked about the cat on its back on top of him, its paws in the air so that it was unable to find leverage. He forced the cat’s huge head slowly lower and lower towards its chest, even those powerful, big cat muscles unable to overcome vamp strength. At some point, its neck would break.

Everyone’s attention was on that silent struggle—Spike putting on the pressure, the cat strongly resisting it. Buffy was trying desperately to get to Spike, had been right from the beginning of the fight. But the leopard wasn’t allowing it. Snarling and snapping, it got in the way whenever Buffy tried to get around it, and simply slid away whenever Buffy tried to rush it. It made no move to attack, just evaded every slash she made with the sword, then positioned itself once again between Buffy and the fight, keeping her from helping Spike. It too wore a collar of yellow metal that looked like gold, this one with red stones instead of green.

“Enough!”

Everybody whipped around, except for Spike and the panther, too focused on their deadly struggle to be aware of anything else.

Forms were sifting out of the forest, men and women in black leather pants, boots and sleeveless vests, the men’s vests hanging open, the women’s held together by thongs. Gold studs gleamed in their ears; jeweled gold bands hung from supple throats and circled smooth, powerful limbs. They were all big and tall, their skin color light beneath the tan, their hair color ranging all the way from blonde on one individual to black on another. Quenya.

“Call off your warrior.”

Buffy stared at the man who spoke. He seemed somewhere between thirty-five and forty, in the full strength of his prime, gold-brown hair, massive gold-tanned body, spectacularly handsome as all these people were. But the air of authority about him and the way the others circled about and guarded him suggested that he was their leader.

“Why should I?”

“I value that cat.”

“We were being harassed and attacked by that cat.”

“You should not have been. You are not of the Diarchy, but you carry the sigil.” He indicated the pendant hanging at Buffy’s breastbone. “I have a son on the edge of manhood who is a fool. He will be chastised for this.”

Adolescents a problem in any dimension? Buffy grinned involuntarily.

“Will we be able to pass unharmed?”

“My word upon it. And I am Kiharn, not least among the lords of the Querid.”

Buffy turned her head. “Spike!”

The tableau on the grass didn’t change. From the looks of things, the cat’s neck was nearing breaking point.

“Spike, let it go!”

No response.

“Battle madness,” said Kiharn mildly. “You will permit?”

“Go ahead,” said Buffy, wondering how many of his people would get sliced and diced by the cat while breaking the two of them apart.

Kiharn touched a medallion hanging from his neck. The cat squalled and Spike yelped. His hands jerked away from its neck. The cat jumped forward ten feet. Spike jumped back ten, shaking his hands as if they burned. The cat spun around and crouched, snarling.

“No!” thundered Kiharn and touched the medallion again.

The cat leaped straight up into the air, squalling, then came down and raced off into the forest, snarling and snapping and slashing at branches, in a perfect fury. The leopard ran after it.

“You control them by the collar.”

“It is necessary at that age before they have full control of their reflexes. A slightly painful burning sensation. It will not have harmed your warrior.”

Something like an electric shock, Buffy thought. Spike seemed to have gotten over it, was just rubbing his wrists as he turned to stare at them.

“You are not of the Diarchy,” Kiharn said.

“No.”

“This needs explanation.”

“Are you the authority here?”

“I am lord of this domain.”

“Do you understand about dimensions?”

Kiharn frowned. “What is that?”

“Um, we may have a problem.”

Willow raised a hand hesitantly. “Uh, sir? A mage might be able to explain things. That’s what happened back in the Diarchy.”

Kiharn’s face cleared. “I have a mage at my manor. Will you come there? Your journey might be extended by a couple of days, but it will prove easier in the end.”

Buffy nodded. It seemed only sensible to comply. Lioslath had been worried about the Quenya’s reaction to them, but Kiharn and his people seemed reasonable at the moment and she didn’t want to get their backs up. None of the Quenya carried any weapons, not even swords or daggers. But those cats they controlled made them lethal enough. She shuddered at the thought of a whole whack of big cats aimed at them.

“Thank you, sir. We would be glad to come.”

“Good. My people will guide you.”

He turned without another word and went off into the forest. Most of the Quenya went with him. Three stayed—two men and a woman. The woman seemed to be in charge. She was very lovely, with a heavy fall of copper hair, and a lean, lithe body that moved like that of a warrior. They all moved like warriors.

“I am Serrai,” she said. “Of my lord’s family.”

“You are his wife?”

“His mate? No. Only his sister. He has many relations. It is a large family. And you are?”

“Buffy.” It seemed simpler to stick with first names. She introduced the others, except for Spike who seemed to have disappeared.

Serrai nodded to them, but her attention was on the horses.

“How do you keep them so calm?” she asked.

Buffy wondered what she meant. The horses were sweating nervously, the whites of their eyes showing.

“Uh, Willow and Tara are controlling them.”

“You are mages?”

“Sort of,” mumbled Willow. “Getting there.”

“They will not be happy near us. The cat scent upon us disturbs them. You must calm them for the time you are with us.”

“We will.”

“What is wrong with that one?” she asked, looking down at Tara and Anya working on the cuts left on Xander’s calf when the leopard had knocked him over.

“He was clawed.”

Serrai’s brows rose. “That? It is nothing, only a scratch. My children harm each other more when they play.”

“Well, it hurts,” said Xander resentfully.

“A-and it will take a while to heal,” explained Tara, patting his shoulder comfortingly as she put the bottle of antiseptic back into the box of medical odds and ends that Lioslath had provided.

“Why do you not mend the other one? The one who fought for you. He was clawed too.”

“He’s a vampire,” growled Xander. “He’ll heal by tomorrow.”

“Does it not still hurt? If this small scratch hurts you, do not gashes to the bone hurt him?”

Tara’s head came up sharply. “What?”

“Did you not know? Rihar slashed him.” Serrai spread her fingers into a claw shape and drew them down from her right collarbone all the way to her left hip. “I saw.”

Tara snatched up the first aid box and leaped to her feet. “Where’s Spike?”

“By the stream,” said Serrai. “Beside your wagon.”

Tara ran.

Willow started to get to her feet too, but Buffy shook her head.

“You and Anya stay with Xander. We’ll take care of this.”

Then she ran after Tara.

Spike was sitting on a flat rock beside the stream. He had his T-shirt off and wadded up, and was bending weakly over to wet it. Tara skidded onto her knees beside him and snatched it from his hand.

“Spike! Why didn’t you tell us?”

He blinked at her in surprise. “Just a cut. Thanks for the concern, Glinda, but no need to panic.”

“It’s bad.”

It was bad, Buffy saw as she arrived on his other side. She sucked in a breath of concern. The panther’s claws had slashed from his shoulder diagonally across to his hip. At the top, the slashes were so deep that his collarbone showed white within them, but they trailed off as they went lower, going down to half-inch-deep tears in the muscle by the time they reached his stomach, then to only shallow scratches as they reached his hip.

“Damn nearly got yourself gutted, Spike,” she said, her tone more gentle than the words suggested.

He grinned ruefully, then winced as Tara carefully washed away the blood from his shoulder.

“Was careless. Not used to fighting cats.”

“Must hurt.”

“Bloody does.”

“Why did you do it? Slightly different angle and those claws could have ripped out your heart. You would have dusted.”

“Heat of the moment. Didn’t think.” He gave her a twisted grin. “Did you worry about me, Slayer?”

“Yes, I did.” She saw his eyes widen. He hadn’t expected that answer.

“Get that stuff away from me, Glinda!” He pushed away the bottle of antiseptic Tara had taken out of the first aid box. “That really will hurt and it’s not necessary. Vamps don’t get sepsis. Just wash away the blood and slap some tape on to hold the edges together. I’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

“It needs stitches,” said Tara worriedly.

“No, it doesn’t. Vamps heal fast and the stitches can get healed over. Then it bloody hurts to get them out. Tape’s all I need.”

But they could both see that his teeth were clenched tight and he was fighting not to pass out as Tara cleaned the gashes and taped the edges carefully together. Buffy put an arm around his back and felt him sag for a moment against her shoulder.

“Thanks, Slayer,” he muttered blurrily.

She could see the astonishment in his face. “You took that for us.”

“Cat pissed me off.”

“You fought well,” said Serrai, coming down the bank towards them.

Spike grinned woozily at her. “And who might you be, gorgeous?”

“Serrai of the lord’s personal guard.” She smiled back, her gaze moving over him appreciatively.

Buffy frowned. She didn’t like Serrai looking at Spike like that. Buffy looked at him herself, trying to see what Serrai was seeing. It wasn’t difficult. Whoa. Whoever thought that was what he looked like under that T-shirt? Totally ripped. Solid, hard muscle; lickable sixpack; clean, fine bone; sleek, silken, alabaster skin. Not overly pumped, a fighter’s supple, lithe body, completely in balance. The Quenya were like that, all supple power. No wonder Serrai looked like she could eat him up. He was perfect.

“That hold you used is strange to us,” Serrai was saying. “We must remember that.”

“Hadn’t used it before myself. Unarmed combat against a cat.” He grinned. “That’s new. Had to improvise.”

“Most impressive.”

Spike caught his breath involuntarily as Tara ran gauze across the length of the wound to keep the crosshatches of tape clean. “Easy, Glinda. Thought you were less hamhanded than that.”

“You need some painkillers.” Tara climbed into the wagon and dug around in her purse, then came up triumphantly with a little bottle. “I knew I had some.”

Spike swallowed the tablets Tara shook into his hand, then scooped up a palmful of water from the stream to wash them down.

“You’re awfully pale,” said Tara worriedly.

“Vamps are always pale.”

“You need blood.”

Buffy gasped, realizing: “He hasn’t had any blood for two days!”

“And he’s lost a lot today.”

“What is this?” Serrai asked.

“He’s a vampire and they need blood to survive,” Buffy explained. “He hasn’t been able to hunt for two days because of the cat.”

“No difficulty. We can hunt for him. Will a piglet do? There is a litter not far from here.”

Both Buffy and Spike nodded. But Tara was still looking worried.

“He’ll be a long time healing with just animal blood, Buffy.”

“Well, we can’t give him human blood, Tara!”

Serrai was looking confused. “Pig’s blood is not enough?”

Buffy explained the nature of a vamp, watching Serrai anxiously for signs of alarm or horror. But Serrai just looked interested.

“So the death of the prey is not necessary. You do not have to take all.”

“More powerful with the death,” said Spike. “But can do without as long as it’s live blood. Fresh blood,” he explained when Serrai’s brows rose in question. “Not bagged or stored.”

“Oh, yes.” She shuddered delicately. “Long dead blood or meat is carrion. Filthy stuff.”

“That’s what I keep saying.” Spike grinned triumphantly at Buffy. “See, she understands.”

“No, I do not,” said Serrai and Buffy smirked at Spike. “If it’s only a little and recovery is assured for the one who gives it, why do you people not give him yours?”

Buffy’s grin vanished. Spike gave an involuntary crack of laughter, then clutched at the bandages over his stomach.

“Oh, God, it hurts to laugh! You don’t get it, Serrai. Slayer exists to protect humans from vamps. Can’t let me feed on one.”

“But he took the wound in your defense,” said Serrai, frowning at Buffy. “It is only right to feed him if he needs it.”

“Gotta love this!” said Spike in helpless amusement as Buffy and Tara exchanged stunned and desperate glances, trying to think of a way to explain.

“First causes,” said Serrai thoughtfully. “Rihar did this. And Rihar is ours. We are therefore responsible. Can you drink Quenya blood, vampire?”

Spike stared at her. “Don’ know. Most likely. Are you offering?”

She sat down on the rock beside him. “Yes. How is it done?”

Spike shot Buffy and Tara a wild glance. They stared back at him, their mouths open, completely beyond words.

“I drink from a vein. Usually, uh, here.” He brushed the side of her neck, pushing back the heavy fall of her copper hair.

“It will be a new experience. Drink then. I enjoy new experiences.”

“Well, you’re gonna enjoy this one,” said Spike and bit.

Buffy started to jerk forward, then stopped, confused as to what she should be doing about this. It wasn’t even by force, the way he had taken blood from those two girls back at the inn. Serrai had volunteered. And he wasn’t hurting her. Serrai looked as if she really was enjoying it. Her eyes were sensuously half-closed and her hand had come up to hold Spike’s mouth to her neck. It didn’t even look bad, Spike was being so delicate and precise about it. No gushing gouts of blood, no mess. But then, why would a vamp waste blood like that? It even looked more like a kiss than feeding.

So why was she so angry?

After a while, Spike raised his head. The puncture marks on Serrai’s neck were closed. There was not even a trickle of blood.

“Vamp saliva seals the wound,” he explained at Buffy’s astounded look.

“You took so long! Did you take too much?” she demanded accusingly.

“Longer the better. Stretches out the high.”

“That was extremely pleasurable,” murmured Serrai, unintentionally confirming that. “Is it always like that for your prey?”

“If we wish it.” Spike smiled down at her. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” purred Serrai and they both laughed.

“Not for a week though. You need to make up the blood loss. That was strange blood. Different.” Spike was looking at her with interest. “Something unusual there.”

“Oh, we are an unusual people. I am glad the experience was good for you too.”

“It was.” They grinned at each other.

“Wh-why don’t you rest in the wagon while we bring the horses down and get them h-hitched, Spike?” Tara stammered, freaked out not by the bite, but by the frozen look on Buffy’s face.

“Yeah, think I will,” muttered Spike, which meant that he was feeling worse than he admitted.

Tara helped Spike into the wagon, tucked his duster around him, then affectionately patted his uninjured shoulder.

“Now you just stay there. We can take care of anything that needs to be done. Sleep if you can. It’ll help you heal.”

“Thanks, luv.” His eyes were already closing, unable to stay open, his body shutting down as it went into healing mode.

“I’ll go check on Xander,” said Tara with a nervous glance at Buffy and shot up the bank.

Serrai stretched luxuriously, then got up and fell into step with Buffy as she headed back to the cliff face.

“Perhaps you should rest for a while,” said Buffy stiffly. “The blood loss, you know.”

“No. I am more than well. A very pretty male, that one. And, even better, an excellent warrior.” She glanced sideways at Buffy. “Did I step upon your tail?”

“What?”

“You are angered.”

“I’m not angry!” But she was. Worse than that, she was jeal...No, she was not! Not at all! Not over Spike!

“Do you mate with him?”

“What? No!”

“I didn’t think so when you would not give him your blood. But it is always best to make sure. Feuds have started over less. Good. I will attempt him once he is healed.”

“You do that,” said Buffy through clenched teeth and glared at Serrai’s back as the Quenya strode happily up the bank.


TBC