The fabulous banner is by the awesomely talented Ben Rostock.

Chapter 6

Spike slept all the way to Kerikasek, Kiharn’s manor house. Buffy had expected something like a castle or, at the very least, a fortified stronghold. The building certainly was built out of stone, but it was simply a huge, rambling, two-storey structure covering more ground that she could see, a warren of uncountable rooms and passageways, busy with people and shouting children. When Serrai had said Kiharn had a large family, she hadn’t been kidding. There were hundreds of them, a whole clan all related to an nth degree of blood.

There was no formality, no state. When they arrived, the wagon and horses were taken off to an enclosed field that had been contrived for them, since the Quenya apparently kept no livestock. The humans and Spike were ushered into a wide room that seemed to be Kiharn’s study, airy and open, the walls pigeonholed with pockets filled with scrolls, the huge table cluttered with books and papers, but everything looking neat and organized. Sunset light was pouring through a large, unglassed, round window. Kiharn waved them in and gestured to them to take seats where they would.

“Summon Isayel,” he said to Serrai. “And when my son deigns to arrive, send him to me at once.”

“Lord.” Serrai bowed and went out.

“Ale, wine, spirits?” he said to the rest of them. “We trade with the Diarchy for them, so the quality is good.”

“Ale,” said Buffy, since that was the mildest, and everyone else nodded.

“They make a good brandy too,” Spike murmured to the ceiling and Kiharn grinned.

“They do.” He poured Spike one and took another for himself while the others passed around the ale jug, then threw himself down in a massive armchair that creaked under his weight. “You smell different from these others,” he said to Spike, then glanced at Anya. “And you too, though much less.”

“Lioslath called us Other,” said Spike.

“The Diarchy’s western mage. They call us Other too. They are all one piece, the Diarchy’s people. We are many kinds. Other is not a problem for us. Ah, Isayel. Come.” He waved in the woman standing at the door.

Unlike Lioslath, she had no tattoos on her ivory skin and her hair fell in thick, silken, pure white waves to her waist. The robes she wore were white also, the only color about her the blue of her eyes and the gold of the stud in her ear. She was not built like Kiharn’s people; she was leaner and slighter. Kiharn bulked over her. But that didn’t lessen her in the least. She had presence and that presence was familiar.

“Our mage,” said Kiharn unnecessarily. They had guessed that already. “Explain to her. She will explain to me.”

Buffy did so. Isayel comprehended their situation as quickly as Lioslath had and laid it out for Kiharn in terms he could understand.

“Different worlds,” he said, shaking his head. “As if we do not have problems enough with ours without having yours thrust upon us. Where is this Gate you speak of?”

Buffy unrolled the map and pointed out the gold star Lioslath had marked on it. Isayel’s brows went up.

“Dihurnin,” she said with a rueful look at Kiharn.

“Well and well. The Pyarren. Also, the Packlands lie between.” He looked at the Scoobies’ puzzled faces. “Pyar and her people are fiercely independent and brook no rivals. Your Gate lies at Dihurnin, which is a temple they hold dear.”

“It could not be worse,” murmured Isayel.

“No, no. There may be a solution. One I have been considering for some time. It may be possible to bring down two quarries with one charge.”

The black panther strolled through the open doors of the study.

Xander yelped. The girls squeaked. Buffy and Spike tensed. The panther looked at them and snarled. Kiharn got up, walked over to it and walloped it hard across the head.

It was a massive buffet, but still it was a shock to them that the blow knocked the panther right off its feet. It hit the ground, rolled, then came up with a scrabble of claws on the stone flags and crouched, spitting furiously.

“Kiharn!” exclaimed a woman standing at the door. She was raven-haired and strikingly beautiful.

“I have reached the end of my patience, Marissa! We have left him free too long. He is nearing the point of challenge. Should he do so, I will kill him.”

He hit the panther again. It snarled and one of its huge paws came up reflexively, but it didn’t slash.

The Scoobies were all on their feet and backed against the far wall, Xander looking as if he wished he could climb it. Buffy was in a fighting position in front of them. Only Spike hadn’t moved. He was looking amused and sipping at his brandy.

“Remember the collar,” he said over his shoulder to them and Buffy relaxed. The collar did give Kiharn control over the panther.

Kiharn glanced at them, then frowned at how scared they looked.

“And now you are frightening my guests,” he roared at the panther. “Have we not taught you manners?”

The panther flexed. Bones cracked and shifted, fur receded, muscles rearranged itself. The entire transformation took less than a few seconds. One moment a panther was crouching on the floor, the next a tall man was standing glaring at Kiharn. He was black-haired and around twenty and he had the panther’s forest-green eyes and he was wearing the Quenya’s usual uniform of black leather vest, pants and boots. The gold collar still banded his throat and there was a clotting wound on his bare shoulder.

“Werewolf!” gasped Xander. “I mean, werecat!”

“Oh...my!” Buffy heard Anya breathe behind her. She grinned involuntarily. She couldn’t blame Anya. The panther’s human shape was seriously gorgeous, all that rippling muscle and sleek skin, plus a breathtakingly handsome face.

“How do you manage the clothes?” Willow asked Isayel numbly.

Isayel touched the stud in her ear, smiling. “This is bespelled. Several centuries ago, we became tired of shifting back to human only to find our clothes left fifty miles behind us. So we found a solution.”

“We? Are you all...do you all change like that?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Demons! They’re all demons!” Xander was muttering.

“To have my son the cause of war with the Diarchy!” Kiharn was thundering. “What were you thinking of? Travelers on the road are sacrosanct! How dare you endanger the treaty, Rihar?”

“I never touched them on the road!” Rihar snarled. “Once they left the road, they were fair game!”

“Fool!” Kiharn clouted him across the ear again and Rihar bared his teeth. “Apologize!”

“For what?”

“Do it!”

Rihar glowered at them. “I am sorry, but you gave away your protection. I did not take it from you.”

“What kind of apology is that?” Kiharn snapped.

“The only one they’re going to get.” He looked at Spike and grinned. “Marked you.”

Spike grinned back and jerked his chin at Rihar’s shoulder. “Got you too.”

“It was a good fight. We should try it again in human form.”

“Happy to take you on, cat, once I’m healed.”

“Oh, get out of my sight!” Kiharn snarled.

Rihar gave them all a vivid smile of sudden, startling beauty and turned on his heel.

“Am I drooling?” Anya asked Tara under her breath.

“Yes,” said Tara simply.

Rihar’s step checked for a second and he gave Anya a narrow, inscrutable glance before striding out of the door.

“Sons!” muttered Kiharn. “Give me daughters any day. Daughters fight at your side. Sons you have at your throat. Serrai!”

“Lord.”

“Have chambers been prepared for our guests?”

“Yes, lord.”

“Show them the way. I may have a solution to your difficulties,” he said to Buffy. “But I must have time to think. Will you remain with us for a day or so?”

“Thank you. We would be honored.”

They had been given six rooms along one passageway.

“You will of course have your own sleeping arrangements,” said Serrai with a laughing, sideways glance. “But a certain amount of privacy is pleasant between bouts. We find it so anyway.”

“Um, yes,” said Buffy, while Spike tried not to laugh. Everyone else was looking embarrassed.

“Meals will be brought to you in your rooms tonight. Many of us prefer to do our own hunting, so you might hear activity during the night. We are nocturnal. Do not let it trouble you. Oh, and do not feel yourself constrained to remain in your rooms. Everyone has been warned about you, even the children, and you will in no way be harmed.”

“Thank you.”

“The cubs get everywhere though. If you find one in your room, feel free to smack it and kick it right out.”

“Uh, okay.”

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Xander hissed once Serrai had gone. “My God, they’re all werewolves. Cats. Whatever!”

Buffy hurriedly pushed him into the first room, the others coming in behind them. Spike shut the door and leaned against it.

“Keep your voice down, Xander! We don’t want to upset them and who knows how good their hearing is!”

“Damn good, I’d say,” Spike muttered. “But it’s okay. Don’t think anyone’s listening.”

“We’re not safe here!” Xander said. “These ‘were’ whatevers...”

“Not ‘were’,” corrected Spike. “‘Were’ are humans who partially change to mindless animals on the three or four nights the full moon forces it on them. These are Shifters. They shift body shape fully from human to animal, but retain human intelligence and can change at will.”

“That’s worse! They’re all demons! They’ll tear us to pieces! Buffy, we’ve got to get out of here!”

“And go where?”

“We’re safe on the road! Isn’t that what that damn panther said? He couldn’t touch us while we were on the road.”

“This Dihurnin place where the Gate is isn’t on the road. It’s a hell of a long way from it. And Kiharn said another clan guards it.”

“Pride,” murmured Spike. “Not ‘clan,’ but ‘pride.’ They’re cats after all. And he said there were Packlands between. Pack. That suggests wolves or even hyenas.”

“Oh, God!” Xander moaned. “You mean there’s more than one kind?”

“Lions and tigers and bears, oh my,” grinned Spike. “Yeah, sounds like.”

“Let’s go back,” Xander begged. “We could go back to that fishing village and wait for that wizard guy to fix the Gate. At least the people in the Diarchy are human! No wonder they’re all scared of the Quenya!”

“The Quenya are Shifters, not demons,” said Spike. “And they’re peaceful. Not non-harmful, of course, but certainly showing no hostile intentions towards us. Kiharn’s even trying to figure out a way to get us to the Gate.”

“They’re demons! They could change their minds any second!”

“Turn back and they could take it as a slap in the face. An insult.” He shook his head at Buffy. “Not a good idea, Slayer.”

“And we’re days from the border,” said Buffy. “If we offend them, we might have them after us all the way. There are hundreds of them. We had a hard enough time holding off one cat. Rather not have hundreds coming at us.”

“You can’t trust them!” Xander yelled.

“Just because they’re different?” sighed Anya. “Come on, Xander. Don’t be so prejudiced.”

“You’re on their side, aren’t you? Just because you were a demon. Well, we’re human! We’re not gonna trust our lives to these soulless things!”

The temperature of the room suddenly dropped to way below freezing.

“You’re never going to forget that, are you?” said Anya. “I’m sick of apologizing for it and having you throw it right back in my face five minutes later! I don’t know why I put up with it so long! I don’t need you, Xander. I don’t know why I thought I did. That wizard showed me I can stand on my own feet!”

She whirled and stalked out of the room. Xander ran after her.

“Anya! No! I didn’t mean it that way!”

“You did! You say you don’t, but that’s the way you think. Hell with you.” She shoved him back into the room. “That’s your room. Stay there. I’m taking the one on the other end. I don’t want to see your face tonight!”

“Ahn!”

Willow and Tara grabbed at him.

“B-better give her some time to cool down, Xander,” Tara said. “You’ll just make thing w-worse if you go after her now.”

“I’ll take the room beside her,” said Buffy quickly. “That way I can keep an eye on her. She’ll be safe, Xander, I promise, and we can talk about all this in the morning.”

“But...”

“It’s almost night, Xander. We can’t leave here tonight. I don’t know the way back to the road and I’m not going to flounder around in the dark. We’ll talk all of this over tomorrow.”

She was watching Spike heading down the hallway. He was bracing himself with one straight arm against the wall as he went, which told her he was nearing the end of his strength. He went into the room two doors up from Anya, leaving the room next to her for Buffy, but still putting as much distance between him and Xander as he could. Xander hadn’t done himself much good tonight with either demon or ex-demon, and she shuddered to think how he might conduct himself with the Quenya in the days to come. Hysterics were so not of the good when dealing with the unknown.

Leaving Willow and Tara to look after Xander and decide on how they wanted to allocate the other rooms, she went and tapped on Spike’s door.

“Yeah, Slayer,” he called tiredly from inside, scenting who it was even through the thick wood of the door.

Buffy went in and found him sitting on the side of a wide, round bed, wearily toeing off his Docs.

“You okay?”

He grinned muzzily at her. “Will be once I get through the healing process. Body’s working on that right now. Just keep that pillock away from me. Might lose my temper and whack him a good one. God, he’s such a berk!”

“Has a problem with demons.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Are the Quenya demons, Spike?”

“If your definition is something other than human, well, yeah, they are. If you’re asking do they have souls or not, how the hell should I know, Slayer? That’s your bailiwick, innit, this soul thing?” He stood up, wobbling a little, to shove the coverlet back. “Question is, does it matter? You’re the only one who can answer that, Slayer.”

Buffy was looking around the room, at the big bed, comfortable armchairs, wardrobe, dresser with mirror. “They’ve got themselves pretty well set up, haven’t they?”

Spike laughed. “Now that you know they can turn into cats, you think all they need is a cave or the branch of a tree? That show-off, Dracula, is able to turn himself into a bat, but you don’t see him hanging upside down from the roof of some dank cave. One gets all the creature comforts one can for both sides of the equation. Why not?”

Why not indeed? She watched him climb painfully into bed, favoring his shoulder, and yank the coverlet over himself. He was still wearing his jeans.

“Won’t you be uncomfortable sleeping with your jeans on?”

“Yeah, but what the hell. ‘S only for one night. It hurts to bend,” he explained drowsily. “Be okay in the morning.”

“Um.” She walked forward to the foot of the bed, flipped the coverlet up to expose his feet and grabbed his jeans at the ankles. “Unzip and I’ll yank ‘em off.”

“Okay. Commando here, though.” He grinned at her. “No underwear. Guess I’d better not throw the coverlet back, huh?”

“Damn right you better not!”

She heard the hiss of the zip, then he twisted to work the jeans down off his hips. His shoulders flexed involuntarily as he pushed at them and he caught his breath.

“Don’t think this is going to work, luv. Can’t get them off. Unless I stand up for you to shove ‘em down and then you’d get an eyeful.” He was laughing helplessly.

He would have to wear tight jeans. Another problem was that he would have to raise his hips from the bed to allow her to yank the jeans out from under him, which meant that he would have to transfer his weight onto his elbows and shoulderblades, and that would hurt his wounded shoulder.

Buffy growled. She never liked to give up on something she started.

“Can you roll over onto your stomach without hurting yourself?”

His brows rose, then he did, slowly and carefully. “Now what?”

“Just lie still and try not to flex that wound.”

Buffy shoved her hands under the covers and grabbed the waistband of his jeans at the sides. He went absolutely still in surprise, then twisted his head to look at her over his shoulder. His one visible eye was alight with laughter. Her hands slid along the satin skin of his hips as she yanked his jeans down and she bit her lip. Despite her care, the covers fell back a little as she stepped back to pull his jeans off the rest of the way and she got a good view of his supple back and taut ass. A really biteable ass. And she so didn’t just think that!

She yanked the jeans off and the covers back fully over him.

“You’d better turn over again,” she muttered in a tightly controlled voice. “It’s not good to keep lying on that wound.”

“Uh, when you’re gone, Slayer.” The feel of her hands sliding down his naked hips had given Spike an instantaneous hard-on and he knew absolutely he was going to tent the covers if he rolled over.

Slayer had turned bright red, so he was pretty sure she knew too. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“Slayer ripping my pants off. They’re never going to believe this back in Sunnydale.”

“You tell anyone and I dust you, Spike! Don’t care if we’re friends or not.”

Then she realized what she had said and whipped out of the room, slamming the door behind her. He stared after her, his jaw hanging.

Friends?

***

Okay, she wasn’t going to think about the very sexy vamp in the room next door.

Friends! When had she started thinking of Spike as a friend?

Worse, when had she started thinking of him as sexy? Buffy groaned, then yanked the pillow over her face and screamed into it.

What the hell was wrong with her? Why the hell was she so freaking turned on by him, all of a sudden?

Ever since that moment he’d kissed her back on the beach. Something in her had responded, jumped to attention. She couldn’t stop being aware of him, couldn’t block him out the way she had so successfully back in Sunnydale.

It had to be something about this crazy dimension. The wildness, the lawlessness here. They were all acting strange. Anya turning all pissy about the way Xander was, which was the way he had always been and which she had never objected to before. Xander freaking out about the magics and the weirdness surrounding them, which admittedly he had never had a high tolerance for. Willow and Tara, on the other hand, clearly enjoying those magics and liking that people accepted them as mages, instead of thinking of them as weirdos. Spike turning all helpful and protective and getting himself badly hurt in their defense.

They had to get back to Sunnydale, that was all there was to it. Things would be back to normal then. She and Spike could get right back to trying to kill each other again, the way it should be. He’d stop acting as if he had a soul and things would all make sense once again.

This soul thing. Did the Quenya have souls? Does it matter? said Spike in her head.

It did matter. It should matter. Giles and the Council were insistent about that. Except...

Dammit, she was never going to get any sleep!

Her mind wouldn’t settle and the constant movement in the night didn’t help. Her conscious mind knew it was just the Quenya on the prowl, but her Slayer senses kept waking her up to alert her to it. Morning came to find her heavy-eyed and exhausted.

She could have screamed when Xander walked right into her room and started an argument before she had time to get her head together or could even have breakfast. Willow and Tara ended up being dragged into it too. Anya sensibly took one look as she passed the door Xander had left open, shrugged amusedly at Buffy and simply walked away. Through the bedroom window, Buffy could see her sitting on a ledge in the sunshine, eating slices of melon. Buffy wished she could join her.

Spike, thank the Lord, was still asleep. If he’d been up, he wouldn’t have been able to resist needling Xander, driving Xander to further excesses of rhetoric. Buffy would probably have ended slaying them both.

As it was, Xander was going squirrelly. He kept bringing up the same arguments over and over, as if he weren’t listening to anything anybody else said, and there was a hectic flush of color over his cheekbones. He was sweating heavily and looked feverish.

Buffy managed to get Tara into a corner while Xander was occupied arguing with Willow.

“Something’s wrong with Xander,” she said and Tara’s eyes widened. “He looks sick.”

Tara went over and laid the back of her hand against Xander’s forehead. “Xander, are you feeling all right?”

“No. I feel lousy. I have a headache and I’m burning up and my throat hurts.”

“I’ve got some aspirin in my bag. I wish I had a thermometer. You feel awfully hot to me. Why don’t you come lie down in your room?”

All three of them helped him there, because he was wobbling now as he walked. They got him to lie down on his bed, then Tara, struck by a sudden thought, pulled up the leg of his pants to check the claw marks on his calf. They looked red and angry.

“Buffy, maybe you should get Isayel.”

Isayel came and looked him over.

“Mm,” she said thoughtfully, studying the scratches, then checked the lymph nodes in his armpits. “Swollen. We have seen this before. Usually only the cubs get it when they scratch each other playing.”

“Not adults?”

“No, but adults of the Diarchy can come down with a severe case if they happen to be scratched. That seems to be what has chanced here.”

“Is it dangerous? Will he die?”

“What?” said Xander, struggling to follow what was being said, but blanking out. “Die?”

“Oh, no, no,” said Isayel reassuringly and pushed him down as he tried to sit up. “We have a draft for it. But you have an unpleasant eight to ten days ahead, and you must not travel until you are recovered.”

“Wonderful,” sighed Buffy and sank down into an armchair. “What else can go wrong?”

“I have summoned a healer for him. You three should go and break your fast on the terrace. There is nothing you can do here.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Tara said, but Isayel shook her head immediately.

“No, you must not. It can be infectious among those of the Diarchy and we cannot risk any others of you catching it. I will stay until the healer comes”

Informed of what had happened, Kiharn just shrugged.

“It is unfortunate for your companion,” he said. “But you would have had to stay in any case. I believe I may be able to convince the Pyarren to allow you into their territory, but the negotiations will take some time.”

“I’m sorry we’re proving such a burden,” mumbled Buffy, but Kiharn gave her a surprisingly smug smile.

“You are more like a gift. This has convinced my mate that it is time we put my son out to stud.”

Buffy blinked. “Excuse me?”

“The Pyarren are a matriarchy, always have been. But they need new blood. They have recently been making advances to several prides for studs on a two month contract. Our pride has status and we are proven breeders. They will not get a better offer. I will also make it a condition of the contract that you be allowed access to Dihurnin.”

“Breeders...?” said Buffy blankly.

“Inbreeding is always a danger among the prides, so we take steps to avoid it. Rihar should please them. He is young and strong and virile. Once he has covered as many of the Pyarren females that wish it, he can either return or take a pride of his own. I do not think he will choose to return. He is nearing challenge and I would really prefer not to kill him. He has much potential.”

“I...see.”

Kiharn beamed smugly at her. “If Rihar takes another pride, that will extend our territory and our bloodline. He will not take Pyarren pride, of course. The contracts will see to that and, besides, Pyar and her sisters are admirably fierce. Rihar is young, but not so much a fool as to antagonize the mothers of his cubs. But there is a pride not far from them whose lord begins to show signs of losing his edge. I think Rihar will most likely attempt him, since he will wish to remain near his cubs in the Pyarren pride.”

“Um, you’re so sure he will have cubs,” said Willow, exchanging somewhat stunned looks with Buffy and Tara.

“Oh, yes. Our pride males can impregnate a tree stump,” said Kiharn happily. “Time for the boy to have his own sons. That will teach him.”

Buffy, Tara and Willow barely made it out of the door before they started giggling.

“I’m going to have to write this culture up for Giles,” said Willow. “He’ll slaughter me if I don’t.”

“I wonder how Rihar will take to being put out to stud like this,” Tara murmured.

“Somehow I can’t see him objecting,” said Buffy and they all snickered. “You both go ahead to breakfast. I’m going to check how Spike is doing. He should have been down by now.”

She went back up and tapped on Spike’s door. There was no answer, so she opened the door and put her head in. He was fast asleep, flat on his back with the coverlets pulled tight around him as if he felt cold.

“Spike?”

He shifted uneasily, then opened one eye.

“Slayer.” Both eyes opened, then he started to push himself up on his elbows, winced and lay back down again, one knee bent. “Time to hit the road?”

“No. We’ll be staying for a while. How are you feeling?”

“I can travel.” He rubbed his hands over his face, then across his head, sending strands of white hair tumbling over his forehead.

Bed hair looks really cute on him, thought Buffy involuntarily, then mentally kicked herself.

“You don’t look so good,” she said, realizing as she neared the bed that he was still very pale.

“Even vamps don’t heal overnight. What do you mean we’ll be staying for a while?”

“Xander’s sick. Had some sort of reaction to those cuts he got from that leopard last night.”

“Cat scratch fever?” Spike snickered helplessly.

“It’s not funny!” But Buffy’s lips twitched despite herself. “But it is some sort of fever. Isayel says he’ll recover from it, but not for a week or ten days.”

“A week without his whining? And they say there’s no God.”

“Spi-ike.”

He shrugged, grinning, as she sat down in the armchair beside the bed. “How are the Quenya taking it?”

“Kiharn doesn’t mind. Seems more pleased than anything. It gives him time to negotiate with the Pyarren.”

“To get safe passage for us? Well, good.”

“We’re just a side issue. What he’s really concentrating on is getting Rihar accepted as stud by the Pyarren females.”

Spike gave a yell of laughter. “Are you serious?”

Buffy giggled. “Kiharn is.”

“Oh, I like the way that feline thinks! Everybody wins. Kiharn gets Rihar out of his mane, we get safe passage in a wedding procession, the Pyarren get offspring and Rihar gets to fuck his brains out with God knows how many willing and adoring females, which is gonna make him one really happy tomcat. Brilliant!”

“Plus, there’s a pride near the Pyarren that Kiharn thinks Rihar will be able to appropriate once he manages to stagger out of bed.”

“Bonus! And, on top of it all, a land grab that will set Rihar up for life.” Spike shook his head in admiration and they both grinned. “That Kiharn’s one smart cat.”

“I like him. He’s nice.”

“For a demon?” Spike tilted a mocking eyebrow at her. “Please tell me Harris is going to be stuck in bed and away from Kiharn until we leave. Don’t want him getting that cat’s back up with his bigotry. That might fly in Sunnydale, but here it could get us killed. Kiharn may be ‘nice’, but I’ll tell you right now, Slayer, he’d make a very bad enemy.”

“I know,” said Buffy soberly. “I’ll make sure Xander stays in bed till we leave, if I have to tie him to it.”

Spike eased onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. “You coming around to my way of thinking? Council of Watchers might get mad at you.”

“I don’t know whether it was the fever talking a while ago, but Xander’s really got it into his head that they’re all demons.”

He was watching her intently. “Aren’t they?”

“I don’t know. Maybe in Sunnydale they would be, but here they just seem natural. Just the race of this dimension. I don’t know whether it’s right to force Sunnydale’s criteria on these people.” She hesitated. “Even in Sunnydale though...I don’t think they’re evil, Spike.”

“Why?”

“They don’t act evil.” She looked at the hard, handsome face watching her, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t acting evil either. “Can a demon change, Spike?”

“Without a soul?” he said dryly. She bit her lip and didn’t say anything. “You tell me, Slayer.”

They looked at each other for a moment.

Then Buffy looked closer at him and frowned. The crease between his brows was deeply indented and the blue eyes were still faintly glazed with pain, their corners strained.

“Why are you still so pale, Spike? You’re still in pain and you don’t seem to be healing. You drank from Serrai yesterday. You should be better, but you’re not.”

“Shifter blood. Thought it tasted strange yesterday. Well, it is strange. Not fully human.” He sighed. “It’s half animal blood. They might take one shape or the other, but the blood remains the same. A mix of both. Sorry, pet. Gonna take a little longer to heal than I expected.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Half human is better than none. So, not complaining here. And we’ve got the time, haven’t we, if Harris is down as well. I’ll have plenty of time to heal.”

“You took that for us. First causes, Serrai said. You took that for me. It’s my responsibility.”

“No. I chose,” he said flatly.

Buffy took a deep breath and held out her wrist suddenly. He looked at it, then looked up at her in amazement and disbelief, his eyes wide.

“You’re the Slayer. A Slayer doesn’t give her blood to vamps.”

“It’ll help you heal faster. Human blood’s more potent than animal. But Slayer blood’s the most powerful of all. I owe you, Spike.”

“You owe me nothing, Slayer! I didn’t do it for you. I did it for me.”

She frowned and he saw that she didn’t understand. He was glad of it. He could still see the horror and disgust on her face that time in the alley behind the Bronze when she had realized that he wanted her. He didn’t know how she would react if she realized he loved her.

She seemed to think he had made some sort of sacrifice for her when he had fought the panther. But the way he saw it, it hadn’t been a sacrifice. It had been pure selfishness. One fought for one’s values. One preserved them. That was all. And she was his highest value.

“You just want to find out what it’s like,” he said, deliberately mocking, to make her take back the offer. “You want to find out what Cardboard felt.”

“I won’t deny I’m curious,” she said calmly, when he had expected her to be angry and stung by the reminder of Finn, expected her to hate him again the way she had before. “But that’s not the reason, Spike.”

“What is, then?”

“I could say that you’ve earned it. Or I could say that it’s a gift. Either way, you’re going to take it.”

His heart hurt him. It was a gift. And the way she was giving it made it impossible to refuse. So he gave her back the only gift she would accept in return, making it as good for her as he possibly could.

He took her wrist gently and lifted it to his mouth, held it there for a moment, memorizing the feel of her skin against his lips and her scent.

Buffy felt the tiny sting as his fangs first slid into the vein at her wrist. She had been bitten before, by the Master, by Angel. It had hurt agonizingly both times; but now, knowing about Riley and after watching Serrai yesterday, she understood that it didn’t have to be so. She hadn’t realized though what it would really feel like.

It started with the first draw his fangs made upon her blood—a silken, voluptuous rapture singing through her veins. She gasped.

It was slow as honey. He was stretching the moment out, making it last, and the longer it lasted, the more intense it became. Sweeter than honey, more intoxicating than wine, more powerful than any drug, a current of tingling electricity rushing through her veins, setting every nerve on fire. Her bones melted; her whole body turned liquid. And it went on and on.

Oh, she understood Riley now, but she also understood that Riley had never felt what she was feeling. Riley had bought his pleasure and would have been given only the bare bones, his blood taken quickly and greedily, and the sensation just enough to make sure he came back for more. What Spike was giving her was something that could not be bought, this delirium, this drowning ecstasy.

She lost all sense of time. When his fangs retracted and his tongue licked her wrist to seal the bite marks, raspy like a cat’s, she didn’t know whether it was minutes or hours later.

“How...?” she sighed almost voicelessly, lying dazedly limp against his shoulder.

“We can will it so,” he said, his voice rough. “Almost took too much. Had a hard time stopping. Man could get drunk on you, Slayer.”

She grinned involuntarily. “Mutual.”

She could feel him shuddering against her, feel his whole body vibrating. She looked up, drowsy and languorous, to see his face strained, his eyes ablaze with heat and intensity, their pupils dilated wide and black behind eyelids heavy with passion.

“Buffy...”

Her mouth opened to his without a thought. They kissed and kissed again, slowly, deeply, mouths twisting together, tongues sliding and exploring, finding every corner and crevice, heat rising, at once languid and demanding, devouring each other.

One of his hands still held her wrist; the other sifted through her hair, cupping her head, holding her mouth to his. Her hands slid across his chest, met silken skin on one side, gauze and tape on the other.

“No,” she mumbled against his lips and he drew back, gasping harshly for breath, then rested his forehead against hers.

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered. “Slayer blood...aphrodisiac...”

“Your taking it,” she breathed. “Also an aphrodisiac.”

They both laughed a little breathlessly against each other’s faces.

“Buffy...”

“Spike, don’t. That was...that was just a reaction to the bite, that’s all.”

“Yeah.”

She was too aware that he was naked under the covers, aware of his breath on her face, the way his hand was holding the back of her head, delicate and caressing. She stumbled to her feet, retreating. His hand tightened unthinkingly for a moment upon her wrist, then he let her go.

“Get some more sleep. You need to heal.”

“I’ll heal. I’ll be fine by tomorrow. Slayer blood’s powerful.”

“Good. Need you with me. Don’t want to lose you.”

His head jerked up, eyes widening, and she realized what she had said. Buffy fled.


TBC