The fabulous banner is by the awesomely talented Ben Rostock.

Chapter 7

“What are you?”

Anya spun. Rihar was leaning on the balustrade of the terrace. The...outside of the balustrade. Anya went and looked over the edge. There was a fifteen foot drop to the ground and no stairs in sight.

“How did you get up here?”

“Cats can jump.”

“Strong thighs,” Anya muttered appreciatively under her breath.

He heard her and grinned. “Yes. I like the way you move too. Like a deer, all slender and graceful.”

Anya blinked. Was he coming on to her? “You eat deer.”

He swung over the balustrade, all smooth flowing motion. Supple, golden muscle sleekly visible in that sleeveless, open vest, rippling on arms and chest and stomach. Wicked handsome face. Straight, black hair falling to his shoulders and gleaming like a raven’s wing in the sunlight. Whoo.

“I’d like to eat you too. Only differently.”

Ohh-kay. He was. And really pushing it. Anya suddenly had goosebumps. She had always had to make the running with Xander, chasing him right from the beginning. It was nice to be chased for once, to have someone looking at her as if she were absolutely delicious and he’d like to make a meal of her.

Meal.

“You were going to kill us.”

“No, I was not. I only wanted to test the strength of your males. You are not like those of the Diarchy.”

“We’re from another world.” She gave him a mocking grin. “Spike surely demonstrated the strength of our males convincingly.”

Rihar grinned back. “The white-haired one. His name is Spike? He did. That was a good fight. I will try him again as a human. Even other Quenya have never been able to mark me before.”

She suddenly noticed that there was no wound on his shoulder now. “There’s no mark.”

“We heal fast. And shifting between forms speeds the process.” He hooked a hip on the edge of the balustrade. “He is Other, that warrior. The female who leads you is also a kind of Other, very brave and strong. The young females are mages, therefore also Other and different. Then there is the black-haired male who is like those of the Diarchy, not Other, just human.”

Anya grinned involuntarily at the disparaging note in his voice. After being made to feel like a second-class citizen for so long for having been a demon, it warmed her heart to have humans referred to in that manner, even if it was Xander.

“And then there is you,” he said. “What are you?”

Anya let out a wry breath. “I was a vengeance demon, but my amulet, my power-focus, was destroyed and now I’m just human too.”

“That is horrible. That is like not being able to shift.” Rihar shuddered. “How can you bear it?”

“It’s hard.”

“You are very brave.”

“No, I’m not,” Anya sighed. “I’m scared all the time.”

“But not of us. Except for the one you call Spike, your companions are all afraid of us. Of this land. But not you. You like the wildness. It speaks to you.”

It did. Anya didn’t think human. She didn’t fear strangeness. She liked it, felt more comfortable with it really than with being human.

She realized that he had prowled around her and was now at her back, dropping his head to rub his cheekbone against her jaw. He took a deep breath.

She laughed involuntarily. “Hey! Are you smelling me?”

“Yes. You smell very good.”

So did he. Of sun and earth and musk. Very male.

“And you come on way too strong.” She pushed him away firmly.

He frowned for a second, then laughed. “I move too quickly, is that what you mean? But there is no time. You will leave all too soon.”

“Do you come on like this with all the women who enter your territory?”

“When they are as beautiful as you.”

This was fun. She hadn’t been pursued for such a long time and it was just talk anyway and she was enjoying herself.

“I, um, have a boyfriend.”

“You are Mated?”

She heard the capitalization he gave the word. “What does that mean?”

“Like the wolves sometimes do. One partner for life.”

“Oh! Like being married. No, we’re not.”

“Then I will fight him for you.”

Oooh. Now that was sexy and primitive and definitely made her feel wanted. A novel sensation for her these days.

“Xander’s human. It wouldn’t be a fair match.”

“I will fight him as human.”

“It still wouldn’t be fair. He’s not a warrior like you.”

“You deserve a warrior. Some softhanded townsman is not worthy of you. Why did you choose one such as that?”

“I...” Anya had to think about that, how it had been in the beginning when she had just lost her powers and had met Xander. “I was scared and lonely and failing math and he was just there.”

“Math?” Then his head turned. “Your friends are coming. The baby mages. Do you wish to join them or will you come speak with me some more?”

“I...”

“Come speak with me. I like being with you. You find me attractive too, do you not?”

“Yes,” said Anya, incurably truthful. “But...”

“Just talk.” He looked around, then up at the platform of the flat roof. “Up there. There is no one sunning themselves there right now.”

“All right. Hey!” she exclaimed in shock as Rihar scooped her up. “What are you doing?”

His muscles flexed and he leaped.

“Oh, my God!” Anya fought for breath as they landed smoothly on the roof. “You’re strong! That was some jump!”

“There are certain advantages to being a cat.”

“That cat side makes me a little nervous. Um, you can put me down now,” she said when he made no move to do so.

“Do I have to? You feel good.”

So did he—that sleek skin under her arms about his neck, the strong body against her, his hair brushing her face. Stupid hormones!

“Down,” she said firmly.

He sighed and let her feet slide to the ground. But he kept his arms linked loosely about her waist. Anya found herself looking at his breastbone. He was a full head taller than she was; she tucked neatly under his chin. Oooo, look at that chest. And that sixpack. And those biceps. And...

She shoved her libido down determinedly and pushed at him. “You said just talk.”

He let her go reluctantly. “Will you hold me to being the fool that I was when I said that?”

She backed away and held up a hand as he started to move forward. “Down, boy. Stay.”

“Wrong species. Cat here, remember?” He grinned, then frowned a little at the wariness in her face. “Does that make you nervous?”

“Uh-huh. Some.”

“That I am a cat or that the cat could hurt you?”

“That the cat might hurt me. The other doesn’t bother me.”

“I would never hurt you.”

“The cat might. I don’t control that collar.” She pointed at the gold band around his neck.

“The cat is me and it would not. Does the collar bother you? I can take it off if you like.”

Anya blinked. “You can take it off? I thought it was a restraint.”

“No. A protection. It keeps me from responding reflexively when my father angers me. I do not dare challenge him. Not yet. He is in his prime and a shrewd and deadly fighter. If I strike him, it might trigger the attack reflex in both of us and I would end up dead. I must be in my prime before I move against him. If I ever do. I don’t want the pride that much.”

“That’s how lordship is determined? Kill the previous lord? That’s harsh.”

“It is the Way.” He sat down on the smooth, sunwarmed stone of the roof. “But I think my father is looking for other solutions. If it wasn’t that my mother worries and refuses to let me go as of yet, he would have released me before now to run free in the wildlands and perhaps take another pride.”

“The wildlands?” Anya sat down beside him.

“The Querid is vast. There is still plenty of space to run free and hunt and hone one’s skills.”

“Would you like to do that?”

“Only occasionally. It would be a lonely life without the pride around you. The human sides of all of us Quenya like society and the trappings of civilization.” He grinned at her. “Fire for warmth in winter, shelter, comfortable furnishings, good wine, books, gold ornaments...”

Anya laughed. “The animal side corrupted by the human.”

“But you fear the animal side.”

He flexed and suddenly there was the panther sitting on its haunches, staring at her, only a foot away. Anya gasped.

“Rihar, I...”

The panther lowered itself to lie on its stomach at right angles to her, then dropped its massive head onto her lap.

“Whoa! All right, now that’s weird.”

The panther huffed. Laughter, she thought. It was definitely looking amused. Its jaws were open and panting. It licked the inside of her wrist.

“Eww! If you’re tasting me for dinner...”

It huffed again. Never in the long span of her life had she had the opportunity to touch a big cat. The temptation was irresistible. She ran her hand tentatively over its head. Soft. She stroked it again and it closed its eyes and purred.

“Ooh, that’s nice.”

She petted its head some more, then daringly ran a fingertip up a huge fang.

“Good grief, you can do some damage with those.”

The panther just purred.

“Right. I get it. You’re not going to.”

She ran a hand over the powerful muscles of its shoulder. They felt like steel cables under her palm. She stroked it again, a long slide from its head down its spine as far as she could reach. Its ear brushed the side of her face as she bent. Soft. She couldn’t resist turning her head to feel that softness against her lips. The panther purred even harder. She petted it with more confidence, running her hands over its spine and shoulders.

The panther turned over suddenly, so that it was lying on its back, its belly up and all four paws in the air like some big kitten.

“Want a belly rub?” She was grinning widely now, uncaring of the fact that any one of those paws was bigger than her head.

She rubbed its stomach. Soft. It really felt wonderful, the softness of that fur and all the hard muscle beneath. She kept rubbing up and down, enjoying the feeling.

The panther flexed abruptly and suddenly her hand was sliding over smooth skin, heading downwards over Rihar’s flat stomach towards his belt.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” She jerked back barely in time.

He was laughing helplessly. “You forgot what you were petting. Not one or the other. Both. And you were really pushing me to the edge.”

“Oh, you...!” But she was laughing too.

He pulled her head down and kissed her.

Oh, now that was a kiss, all heat and wildness and...“Mmm,” purred Anya and melted.

It was several minutes before she remembered herself and pulled back.

“Hey, hey, hey! This was just supposed to be talk! I didn’t mean for it to go this far!”

“I did,” he said and laughed when she whacked his shoulder with her clenched fist.

“Bad cat! Sneaky! Take me back down.”

“Really?”

“Right now!”

“Whatever you command.”

He scooped her up and stepped off the roof.

“Yii!” Anya closed her eyes and clutched him tight as they dropped. “Oh God, oh God!”

“We’re down,” he said mildly and she cracked one eye open to find they really were.

“I’m not,” she said severely and he let her slide down out of his arms to the ground.

“You are not really angry. Will you come run in the forest with me tomorrow? I can show you what the Querid is really like.”

“Okay,” said Anya before she could stop herself.

“I will bring you some of our clothes. You will find them more comfortable.”

“Okay.”

He kissed her. Her bones melted again.

“Tomorrow then?”

“Okay.” She couldn’t seem to stop saying that.

She stood staring blankly after him as he flowed over the balustrade and disappeared, then turned to find Willow and Tara staring at her, their mouths wide open.

Uh-oh.

“Hi, guys.” Anya wiggled her fingers weakly.

“Anya, you...you were kissing Rihar,” stuttered Willow.

“He was kissing me. And...and he started it,” said Anya defensively, blushing wildly. “And... and he’s a really, really good kisser.”

“Oh.”

“Uh, where is everybody?”

“Buffy’s around somewhere, Spike’s still asleep and Xander’s sick,” said Tara.

“Oh. That’s nice.” Anya suddenly came back to herself. “Wait. Xander’s sick?”

“He picked up some kind of fever from those scratches. He’s in bed.”

“I’d better...”

“We can’t see him,” said Willow. “The Quenya say he’s infectious.”

“Oh. Too bad.”

“Isn’t it?” Willow was grinning widely. “So. Rihar?”

“Well...”

“He seems really sexy,” murmured Tara.

“Oh, he is,” sighed Anya.

“Still...”

“It’s just...really nice to have someone else make the running for once,” said Anya and Tara’s face softened.

“I see.”

“I read somewhere that jaguars can mate over a hundred times a day,” remarked Willow to the air.

Tara blinked. “Uh, Willow...”

“Maybe not that much in human form, but still...”

Anya’s eyes had glazed over.

“I’m drooling again, aren’t I?” she said to Tara.

“Oh, yeah.”

***

Okay, what had gotten into her? Buffy slammed her fist against a tree trunk. She had definitely gone insane. How could she have said that to Spike?

It had just come out. I don’t want to lose you. The really horrifying thing was that she had meant it. And it wasn’t just that he had become her right hand, the bulwark she could lean on, the partner she could absolutely depend on. It was more than that.

That bite...But she couldn’t blame it on the bite.

Why wasn’t she seeing things the way she had back in Sunnydale? Everything had been so simple there, the lines reliably drawn. One glance was all it took to know who was white hat or black hat.

But in this world, it was all grays.

It was this place, the lawlessness of it and the strangeness of its people. Maybe they were demons, like Xander said. Maybe they didn’t have souls. It didn’t matter. That was just the way this world was.

‘Judge for yourself,” said Lioslath back in the fishing village. And when she did, she was coming up with a different perspective, one that would appal the Council of Watchers. ‘Do not rely upon rote.’

Lioslath was a mage, a wizard, a word which literally meant a wise man. And despite his abilities, he was still human. He had a soul. And Lioslath said: Adapt.

The Council said: No.

Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach. But even those who can’t still had an understanding of the process, because they felt it, shared it, even though that feeling might not be enough to make them satisfactory practitioners of whatever skill it was.

The Council could neither do nor feel. They did not share it at all. They had no real understanding of what it was to be a Slayer. They could not, since they just weren’t Slayers. All they could do was record, research, criticize. And lay down their absolute rules. Indoctrinate young Slayers in them.

Because young Slayers needed to have guidelines, needed to be able to kill swiftly and without hesitation. Hesitation could get them killed. They didn’t have the expertise or the experience yet to indulge doubts. They didn’t dare look at the world as anything but black and white. Things had to be kept simple. Soul good; no soul bad.

Very few Slayers lived past their teens. Most were killed way before that. Buffy had beaten the odds. She was starting to push the limits of what was the norm for Slayer age. Older meant wiser. Wiser meant leaving childhood behind, meant seeing and accepting the grays.

The Quenya might or might not have souls, but they weren’t evil. They might or might not be demons, but they were people.

Which meant that Spike...

And here we go round again.

She was glad when Serrai came and offered to show her around Kiharnen territory. Thinking about Spike was just too difficult. Like feeling her way through quicksand. Not knowing what was real and what was just what her hormones wanted it to be. No solid ground anywhere.

She changed into the vest and pants Serrai provided, liking the feel of the butter-soft leather much better than the rough linens and sailcloth of the Diarchy. She had been wearing her Sunnydale jeans and tee as much as she could, despite the rips and tears they had both picked up over the days of hard travel.

“Now you look like one of us,” said a young, blonde girl who had joined Serrai on the terrace.

Buffy noticed the collar around her neck, gold with red gems. “Are you...?”

“I am Tirr. The one you tried to fight.” Tirr grinned at her. “It was a fight between the males. You should not have tried to interfere. And anyway I could not let you hurt my brother.”

“You’re Rihar’s sister?”

“Yes. I will be captain of his guard when he takes a pride of his own.”

Buffy looked at her with interest. “You’ll go with him?”

“Of course. Here, with my mother and aunts and cousins, I have no standing. In Rihar’s pride, I will be first. Would you like to come watch a hunt? A couple of the younglings are hungry and they can use the exercise.”

Two gawky adolescent leopards fell into step with them as they went into the forest. Buffy could see various other cats sunning themselves, one or two with cubs tumbling about them. All of them had studs in their ears, but only the adolescents wore collars.

“The collars come with puberty?” Buffy guessed and Serrai laughed.

“Keeps them from challenging prematurely and getting themselves killed. Tirr and Rihar would not be wearing theirs if it wasn’t that Marissa cannot bear to let them go yet. She is afraid they are still too young to fend for themselves.”

“We are not!” growled Tirr. “Rihar could take a pride. You will see.”

“He will have his chance very soon.”

“Good. We grow tired of waiting.”

“Is that why Rihar attacked us?” Buffy asked shrewdly. “To create an incident?”

Tirr grinned at her. “Yes. We can be leashed only so long.”

“Past time,” muttered Serrai. “But mothers can be foolish. I am, with my cubs. Settle down, you two,” she snapped, smacking at the two adolescents rolling over and over, wrestling with each other. “Do you want to hunt or do you want to play?”

“Silly question,” said Tirr under her breath to Buffy. “Both, of course.”

Buffy laughed. She was enjoying herself. She could keep up with them when they were in human form, her Slayer speed matching theirs. But when they changed into cats, there was no way she could match their sixty mile an hour speed. And they weren’t just sprinters, capable of only a few minutes of that; they could keep it up steadily. They would have left her far behind them if it wasn’t that Serrai refused to change, forcing the other three to stay close.

Then suddenly all four of them stiffened.

“Gaiour,” said Serrai. “Watch from that tree, Buffy. You will have a good view. Tirr will drive it this way.”

Buffy swung up into the tree and watched with fascination as all four leopards vanished, abruptly not at all visible in the undergrowth. She could only tell where Serrai was because the leopard deliberately held her tail just high enough for the white spot on its end to be seen by Buffy, the way she would to let her cubs know where she was.

There was a snarl in the distance and then a pounding of hooves as the gaiour was driven directly to where Serrai was. Tirr behind and the adolescents on either side kept it on course. The gaiour burst through the trees, its eyes wild, foam flying from its muzzle. It was like a big elk, only more massive and with horns like a water buffalo rather than antlers. Serrai took it in one smooth rush, her jaws closing upon its throat and the impact of her weight sending it crashing to the ground in a flurry of legs. The other three arrived and fell upon it while Serrai just lay there gripping its throat.

Strangulation was the actual killing method, Buffy saw, Serrai’s jaws closing off the gaiour’s windpipe until it suffocated, rather than ripping its throat out. The gaiour finally stopped twitching and Buffy stayed prudently in the tree while the leopards fed. After a while, Serrai raised her head and sent a humming call through the forest. Three more adolescents came tumbling out of the woods and fell upon the carcass.

Serrai stood up and turned human. There was blood across her mouth and face and hands, and splattered down her throat into the vee of her vest.

“I will go wash,” she called to Buffy. “Wait for me.”

She disappeared into the undergrowth while Buffy idly wondered how Xander would take all of this. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to deal.

Serrai came strolling back, all the blood washed away, just as a couple more adolescents turned up.

“There will soon be little left,” she said. “Younglings are always hungry. There is a cliff not far from here that allows a good view of our land. Would you like to see?”

“Yes, please,” said Buffy, scrambling down from the tree.

“Tirr,” said Serrai over her shoulder and Tirr growled in response around a mouthful of meat. “She will oversee the children. Good practice for her. Try this.”

She tossed Buffy a fruit that looked like an apple, but turned out to taste like a peach when Buffy bit into it. Serrai was eating one too as she led the way towards the cliff. The human side liked the taste of fruit, the cat side bloody meat.

From the top of the cliff, they had an excellent view of the land rolling away into the blue distance, furred with trees and glittering here and there with the flash of lakes and streams in the sun. Serrai pointed out where the territories of other prides began.

“Beyond that is Packland. We are advising them of your presence. They should put no obstacles in the way of your passage since it is Isayel who asks for you and she is wolf.”

White wolf. Right.

“You are being very kind,” said Buffy.

“How not? You are no threat to us and you are interesting.”

It was almost sunset by the time they got back to the manor house. The great hall was full of people lounging around and talking. Music was being played on flat, stringed instruments and a kind of buffet had been set up on one side, human foods to which anyone could help themselves. Willow and Tara waved to her from the other side of the hall. Buffy loaded a plate, then went over to them.

A cub pounced on her foot and Tara scooped it up, laughing, hugged it, then handed it over to a girl-child who looked about eight.

“They don’t seem to be able to shift until they’re two or three. They’re so cute when they’re cubs. Where have you been, Buffy?”

“Serrai took me on a hunt, then showed me the area. How about you?”

“We spent the day with Isayel,” Willow said. “She really knows her stuff. We’re learning a lot.”

“How’s Xander?”

“Full of some weird medicine and mostly zonked out. But he seems to be doing fine. Except for freaking out thinking he’s going to turn into a wereleopard too.”

“It doesn’t work like that. It’s not like werewolves. Serrai said you have to be born a Shifter.” Buffy looked around. “Where’s Anya?”

To Buffy’s surprise, they both giggled.

“Having a spa day.” Tara laughed as Buffy blinked. “Not a real spa. She’s just pampering herself with lotions and oils and girly things. Quenya females do indulge themselves like that when in human form and Anya says she deserves it after all these days tramping through the forest.”

“But I think she might have an ulterior motive,” murmured Willow.

Buffy opened her mouth to ask what, then caught sight of a white-blond head on the other side of the hall. She put down her plate.

“I’ll be right back. I want to see how Spike is.”

He wasn’t wearing his T-shirt, which had been shredded in his fight with Rihar so that it was no good for anything more than rags. Someone had given him one of the Quenya’s open, leather vests which...gave a good view of chiseled abs and copper-tinged nipples. Buffy swallowed hard. The gauze and tape was gone. Only thin white lines ran across his stomach and chest now.

“You’ve healed.”

He looked around at her, smiling. “Slayer. Yeah, I have. Great stuff, your blood.”

She lifted the side of his vest to check his shoulder. The gashes that had gone so deep that his collarbone had been visible were now closed into pinkish-brown scars that were already fading to white. She touched them delicately with her fingertips.

“Do they hurt?”

“Not at all.” He flexed his shoulder to demonstrate. The muscles moved smoothly, seemingly without pain.

“Good. Do you need more blood?”

He grinned at her. “I’d like it, but I don’t need it.”

He reached out and took her hand. She felt his cool, strong fingers about her wrist, his thumb moving lightly and caressingly upon the puncture marks over the vein.

“Thank you,” he said.

The look in his eyes, all heat and tenderness, brought the color up hot into her face.

“Only sensible to get you into fighting shape again,” she muttered.

“You wouldn’t have said that back in Sunnydale.”

Absolutely true. And she didn’t want to think about that. She flushed even hotter.

“This isn’t Sunnydale.” Obviously. But her brain wasn’t functioning under that intense blue stare and she couldn’t seem to think of anything else to say.

“No.”

She cast about desperately to find another subject. Then she realized that his hair was damp and tumbling in strands over his forehead. Bed hair, wet hair, they both looked good on him.

Dammit, she had to stop thinking that way!

“How come your hair’s wet? You had a bath? Where?” She really wanted one. “Did you go down to the stream?”

“There’s a shower, Slayer.” He grinned at her. “You really gotta start opening doors. Second door at the end of the passageway. Gravity-fed from these big tanks on the roof. It’s even warm from the sun. They don’t allow you much water, what with all these people wanting it, but there’s enough to be able to wet down, soap and then rinse off if you’re quick about it.”

“I gotta get me some of that.” Even a quick shower would be a luxury after days of taking baths in cold water from a stream. “See you later.”

She ran back to Willow and Tara, leaving him laughing. Willow and Tara both blinked as she grabbed her plate.

“What’s up?”

“Gonna eat in my room,” explained Buffy. “Once I’ve had a shower.”

“Shower?” Their eyes lit up.

Buffy grinned at them. “You really gotta start opening doors. And I called it first.”

“Wait for us!”

Tara and Willow loaded plates too, then they all ran up to their rooms.

“Bring your plate into our room, Buffy,” Willow called. “We can all eat there after.”

“Okay.” Buffy handed Tara her plate, then dived into her room to grab her towel out of the small pile of personal belongings they had each brought up from the wagon.

As Spike had said, the water flow was regulated, cutting off thirty seconds after one pulled the chain that drew back a metal plate holding back the water. After wetting herself down, she took her time soaping, then rinsed off fast before the water cut off, once for her hair and once for her body, allowing herself no more than that as others would want it too.

Tara went next and then Willow.

“Look what Serrai gave us,” said Tara. “Nightshirts.”

“Ooh!” The shirts were like the Quenya vests, sleeveless and held together by thongs, but they were loose and fell to mid-thigh and were made of some silky material totally unlike the rough linen of the Diarchy. They all pulled them on and groaned with relief.

“Nice to sleep in something that doesn’t rasp your skin,” sighed Willow. “That leather vest that Lioslath was wearing, I bet that was made by the Quenya too. I guess we know what the Quenya trade for the wine.”

“What do you think of the Quenya?” Buffy asked suddenly. “Are they demons like Xander says?”

“I don’t know.” Willow frowned over that too. “They don’t mean us any harm.”

“They’re not human. Do you think they have souls?”

“Does it matter?” asked Tara, as Spike had. Buffy looked at her thoughtfully. Tara had the right instincts. Lioslath had said that and he had been right.

“Does it?” she said softly and Tara looked back at her gravely.

“Isayel, sh-she’s a really powerful mage. Just as powerful as Lioslath. And she doesn’t use her power to harm, just to protect. She’s good, Buffy.”

“And she’s a Shifter,” said Buffy. “She’s a wolf in her other form. What Xander would call a demon.”

“Humans and...nonhumans co-exist here,” Willow said slowly, purposely rejecting the term ‘demon’. “They’re not at war. They might avoid each other but, when they interact, they do it peacefully. They influence each other. Those tattoos on Lioslath’s face, those tiger markings? That’s sympathetic magic. He’s tapping in to the Quenya’s power. And the lack of gender differentiation in the Diarchy? That too comes from the Quenya, where the females fight beside and as ferociously as the males. I’ll bet once we spend more time here, we’ll find that the Quenya have picked up things from the Diarchy as well. When Isayel was showing us some magic today, the sense of it, the smell of it, if you know what I mean, was very like the way Lioslath felt when he was using his.”

“I almost wish we could stay in this dimension for a while,” said Tara. “There’s so much that Willow and I could learn from either Isayel or Lioslath.”

“So you wouldn’t call them evil. The Quenya, I mean.”

“No,” said Tara firmly and Willow nodded her agreement. “Absolutely not.”

“Would you call Spike evil?”

Tara’s gaze met hers, fully aware of what Buffy was really asking. “No.”

“Not here,” said Willow, missing the subtext. “He’s changed. He’s helping. He might revert once we get back to our dimension, but in this dimension, he’s not acting evil at all.”

“I trust him,” said Tara.

“You trust everyone, sweetie,” said Willow affectionately. “Giles and the Council would have a cow if they heard you say that.”

Somehow Buffy didn’t care about the Council anymore.

He wants me and I want him, she thought as she left Willow and Tara’s room later and headed back to her own. Who would it hurt if...?

She wanted to know what lovemaking would be like with someone who was her match. Spike was right, as usual. She had always held back, with Riley, with Parker, afraid to let go in case she might hurt them with her Slayer strength. When she had made love to Angel, she had been virgin, unsure and hesitant, and Angel had stayed human. She hadn’t really let go there either.

She neared her door and slowed. In the room beyond hers, her Slayer hearing could pick up Anya humming to herself as she moved around. There was no sound from Spike’s room. Maybe he was still downstairs. She stared at the rough, unpolished wood of his closed door.

This was wrong. Everything she wanted. It was all so wrong.

She realized that she had raised her hand to knock, caught it back with a gasp.

The door whipped open. He had sensed her. Of course he had sensed her hesitating outside. He was in his jeans and that open, Quenya vest, but his feet were bare and he was holding one of the scrolls from Kiharn’s study in his hand. A map of the Querid, which he had clearly been studying.

They stared at each other in shock. The scroll dropped from his hand, rolled itself up on the floor.

“Buffy!” he whispered, almost without sound.

“I...”

She almost ran. But she couldn’t move. Her knees had turned to water under the heat of his gaze, her bones turned liquid. His pupils were dilating over an intense darkness. She was falling into that blackness, losing herself in that heat and hunger.

His glance slid lower, moving over her body in the thin, clinging, silky material of the nightshirt that was all she was wearing. She could feel her nipples hardening all by themselves under his stare, heard the sharp catch of his breath in his throat before his gaze came up again and locked to hers.

He held out his hand without speaking and she found herself putting hers into it, felt his cool fingers close lightly upon hers. He stepped back slowly, drawing her into his room. The lightest of pressures, no compulsion at all, ready to let her go if she panicked, letting her decide.

He was making it so easy. She found herself moving unthinkingly with the flow. The door closed. With his free hand, he shoved down the bar that locked them in, locked the world outside. She should have felt trapped, but she didn’t. She moved back though, still hesitant, retreating to the middle of the room.

He came with her. He had let her fingers go and his hands were now sliding up her bare arms. Her skin tingled where his skin slid over it. His hands reached her head, cupped it gently, fingers sifting through her hair. He bent, that beautiful face filling her vision. She felt his breath shudder against her mouth. Then he paused, that intense gaze questioning, disbelieving.

“Buffy?”

“Yes,” she whispered, not really aware of speaking, and saw his eyes shudder shut, shut her own at the brush of his lips against hers, a delicate, experimental touch. His tongue slid the line of her lips and her mouth opened to him instinctively. Then she was lost in the taste of him, the feel of him, his tongue twining and sliding against hers.

Their eyes opened, staring at each other in wonder, fell half-closed again in heavy sensuality. She was still drifting away from him and he followed. It was becoming a dance, a slow circling, like the gravitational pull of two planetary bodies locked in orbit, unable to keep away from each other. Still moving, they kissed and kissed again, soft, sweet, delicate exploration.

Her hands slid over his chest and she felt it heave on a deep breath under her touch. She pushed at his vest and he let it fall to the ground behind him. Her hands moved over him, sliding over his shoulders, his throat, down his back, enjoying the feel of supple muscle and hard bone under her palms. She could feel him vibrating with tension now, he was holding himself back so tightly.

“Why?” he breathed.

“Had to happen...”

“Bloody hell, yes!”

“Wanted you a long time.”

She felt him shudder.

“You did?”

“Not allowed. Forbidden. But...Oh, don’t ask why! I don’t know why! Because of this place, because I’m curious, because my hormones are running wild. I don’t know! I don’t want to know. I just want you.”

“God!”

His hands were sliding over her too, down her back, across her breasts and stomach, leaving trails of fire through the thin, silky material of her shirt.

“Naked under that, aren’t you?” he muttered.

“Yes,” she sighed.

“Dream come true...”

His mouth burned down her throat, raked back and forth over her collarbones, slid down into the vee of her shirt. His face pressed between her breasts, then he was bending her back across his arm. His head turned, jaw pushing aside the edge of her shirt, then his mouth closed over her nipple. He sucked, strong pulls that went right down to her core.

“Oh, God! Spike..!”

She arced against him, her hands raking his stomach, fingers pushing down under the belt of his jeans. They both shuddered and jolted against each other. His hands yanked the thongs of her shirt apart, shoved the shirt aside, sliding across her naked stomach and her pelvis, kneading her ass, dragging her thigh up over his hip. Through the denim of his jeans, she could feel him urgent against her, rubbed herself against his hard shaft deliberately and heard him moan, that fierce control he had managed to retain so far fraying.

Hers was gone.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Oh, yes. Oh, Lord, come on, Spike!”

He scooped her up, settling her thighs around him and mating their groins together. She locked her ankles in the small of his back and pushed hard against him. They both groaned. He carried her over to the bed and tumbled her into it, the two of them still locked together. She purred in satisfaction at his weight. Her shirt went flying, leaving her naked.

“God, you’re beautiful!” he muttered.

“So are you.”

Her hands were pushing at his jeans. He shoved at them too, his mouth working upon her breasts. His tongue had gone raspy like a cat’s and the sensation was incredible. She cried out and arced to him, her hands gripping his head to hold his mouth to her.

His jeans were gone. He settled down upon her, as naked as she was, their bodies rubbing and straining together.

“The way you feel,” he muttered.

“Mutual,” she gasped, thrusting against him. Her thighs gripped his waist; her heel slid down the small of his back, sole sliding across his ass, pressing him to her.

“You’re so wet for me. For me!” he said in wonder.

“Dammit! Can’t wait.” Her whole body was shuddering and arcing, incredibly turned on. She grabbed his taut ass in both her hands, yanked him against her. “Come on, Spike, come on!”

“Christ, yes!” Spike gritted through his clenched teeth, still trying to keep control, trying not to just hammer her into the bed. “Oh, Jesus, those Slayer muscles!”

He had to wedge himself into her, she was so tight. He groaned in shuddering delight and felt her moan and arc against him, her arms clenching fiercely about him.

“God,” she muttered. “Almost too much. So perfect!”

He was as deep into her as he could go and it was Heaven. Her sheath surrounding him, her body gripping him so tightly, arms and legs wound around him, mouth gasping against his. Buffy’s mouth. Buffy’s body. Buffy’s eyes looking at him, glazed with desire. If someone staked him right now, he’d dust happy.

He forced himself to wait, to let her get used to him. He wanted it as good for her as he could make it. His one chance to show her what it could be like, the two of them together. When he started to withdraw for another stroke, her sheath clenched hard upon him, trying to hold him where he was. His eyes nearly crossed.

“Sodding hell, Slayer!”

“You like that.” She laughed triumphantly. Her arms and legs and sheath gripped him fiercely. Her nails dug into his back, an additional stimulus. “You can take it.”

“Hell, yeah! Let go, Slayer. I want it all!”

“Finally,” she sighed. “Someone I can’t hurt.”

She bit him hard, right at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Anywhere on the neck was a trigger point for a vamp. His brain shorted right out and he slammed into her, forgetting all about being gentle, forgetting his strength, his control totally gone.

“Oh, yes!” she gasped. “Hard like that! Harder!”

“Oh, thank God!” he muttered.

He couldn’t have held back any longer. Couldn’t stop, couldn’t think, could only feel, ramming helplessly into her, gasping against her face. And she thrust back as hard, clenching and gripping upon him.

All wildness. Thrusting and straining. Way beyond thought, way beyond the point of gentleness or care. Madness. Taking each other violently, savagely, only urgent, desperate, exigent need left. Faster and faster, unable to stop. Teeth and nails and fangs. Driving each other higher and higher. Driving each other insane.

His mouth closed upon her neck before, with the one brain cell that he had left, he remembered that he shouldn’t.

“Do it!”

Buffy caught the back of his head, pulled his fangs hard against her skin. She wanted it, wanted the whole experience, couldn’t think about consequences, didn’t care about anything but the thickness of him ramming into her and the way he made her feel.

“Ah, Buffy!”

His fangs sank into the vein and that incredible rapture started. She felt his body seize up, felt him throb and pulse within her again and again, that jerk of his hips sending her over the edge herself, convulsing over and over again, her brain frying right out under the absolute, unbearable ecstasy of it.


TBC