The fabulous banner is by the awesomely talented Ben Rostock.

Chapter 8

Of course she ran.

Leaped out of bed; grabbed at the clothes lying on the floor.

“Buffy...” he whispered behind her.

“No! N-need some space,” she stuttered. “Need to t-think...”

Her back to him, she yanked on the clothes she had bought just as a joke, a tease that had gone so horribly wrong. The vamp costume had been sexy and she had wanted him to see her as sexy, wanted to see the desire in his eyes. Had only wanted to play though, hadn’t expected to become the wet dream, certainly hadn’t expected to fulfill that desire.

Pants on, she yanked the bustier back about her, zipped it up, wincing now at the way it pushed her breasts up.

“Take my duster,” he said and she knew he had seen the shudder of distaste ripple through her body.

“No.” The duster would smell of him. Wearing it would be like having his arms around her.

She dragged on her boots, glanced nervously over her shoulder at him. He was lying flat on his back on the bed, one arm thrown over his eyes, a muscle ticking tensely over and over again at the corner of his jaw.

She had to work things out before she knew how to react to him, to what had happened. Her mind and all her memories were foggy. She had been a vamp, that much was clear, had somehow, God knows how, become what she had dressed up as. But it was all a blur of sensation and fragmented images. She had to piece those together, work out the sequence of events, work out what she felt.

He didn’t move when she fled.

She went straight home, which was probably an irresponsible thing for a Slayer to do, with all the craziness that the town had gone though. But she was too freaked out herself right now to worry about that. Giles was sure to call her if anything needed Slayer attention and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head.

“What happened?” asked Joyce. “Things were going mad out there! It certainly wasn’t just the usual Halloween fun and games.”

“It was some kind of spell. I don’t know what or who threw it or how it got broken and I don’t care. I-I just wanna go to sleep and not think about it tonight.”

“Whatever it was affected you as well,” said Joyce shrewdly, noticing the way Buffy’s hands were shaking. “You seem very on edge. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“C-couldn’t we talk about it tomorrow, Mom?”

“All right, honey,” said Joyce, backing off at the sight of the strain on Buffy’s face. “It’s a good thing Halloween happened on a Friday this year. You won’t have to go back to school for two days. You’ll have the whole weekend to recover.”

“I think I’m going to need it,” muttered Buffy and Joyce looked at her thoughtfully.

“I wouldn’t normally suggest this, but would you like a couple of sleeping pills tonight?”

“Oh, yes, please.” She didn’t want to think; she didn’t want to dream, afraid of what she might dream about. She wanted her brain to just stop.

It wasn’t only Buffy whose memory was a kaleidoscope of jagged images. The whole town was trying to work out what had happened on Halloween. The consensus of opinion seemed to be that the usual Halloween pranks had just gotten out of hand. Remarkable how people could always manage to rationalize things. Buffy only wished that she could too.

“I was a real ghost,” said Willow in wonder, curled up on the living room couch at noon Saturday. “I walked through walls and everything. Xander turned into G.I. Joe. It was the costumes. Cordy got hers from another store and she didn’t change. Pity. She was dressed up as a cat, which she so is, and I’d have loved to have seen the Hendersons’ dog chase her up a tree.”

They both laughed. Then Willow’s head jerked up.

“OhmiGod! Buffy!”

“What?” Buffy glanced at her nervously.

“You dressed up as a vamp! Did you...?”

“Yeah. I went all Bride of Dracula. That’s why I was MIA.”

“Fangs and all?” Willow’s eyes went wide in horror. “You didn’t bite anybody, did you?”

Just Spike. Buffy remembered the coppery taste of his blood in her mouth, the way she had tried to claim him. Her stomach turned over in horror. It had been such a narrow escape! If Spike hadn’t...

“No.”

“But then, what were you doing? We didn’t see you the whole evening! What happened?”

Buffy became aware of Joyce coming out of the kitchen, her brows raised. Her expression said clearly, ‘Yes, what did happen, Buffy?’

“I, uh, I just met this other vamp and we spent the evening together.”

Willow laughed. “Raising hell, like everyone else in Sunnydale?”

“Uh, yeah. Sort of.”

“Must have been liberating. How many chances do you have to raise hell as a Slayer?”

“It was, kinda.”

Losing one’s virginity, that was liberating, all right. Buffy blushed and turned her head away to hide it, then became aware that her mother’s eyes had narrowed.

“You didn’t hurt anybody, did you?” Willow asked worriedly.

“No, no. I didn’t.”

“Well, I guess you’d still have been the Slayer inside. I mean, it’s not like you were a real vamp.”

“Oh, I was a real vamp,” Buffy sighed. “Just like you were a real ghost walking through walls, Will. That spell was thorough. It was just chance I didn’t kill anyone. I had no conscience, no compunctions, no morality...”

“No inhibitions?” remarked Joyce and Buffy gave her a despairing look. “Willow, I wonder if you’d give us a few minutes alone.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, Mrs. Summers,” muttered Willow, rolling her eyes nervously towards Buffy. “I’ve got to see Giles anyway. How about I come back in a couple of hours?”

“That should work out nicely.”

“I think I’ve got you into trouble,” said Willow under her breath to Buffy as Buffy walked her to the front door. “I didn’t mean to, honest! I mean, it’s not like you could help tearing up the town, right? It was the spell.”

“Yeah.”

Joyce had taken a seat on one end of the couch when Buffy came back into the livingroom. “You didn’t say who the vampire was, Buffy.”

Buffy groaned and flopped down on the other end of the couch. “You know who it was.”

“Spike.”

“Yeah.”

“And the two of you spent hours, what? Talking?”

“I jumped his bones,” sighed Buffy.

Joyce gulped. “Okay, I thought I was braced for that, but I guess I wasn’t.”

“It happened. It really, really did. In spades, Technicolor, widescreen, TDX surround sound...”

“And way too graphic,” muttered Joyce. “I do not want those pictures in my head. It was that outfit, wasn’t it? I didn’t like you wearing it. It was far too revealing.”

“Turned me into a vamp. Literally.” Buffy giggled weakly. “You should have seen his reaction, Mom. Guy couldn’t even talk.”

“I can believe that. His very own wet dream come true.”

“Mom!”

“Oh, let’s call a spade a spade, dear. It’s too late to be coy.”

“It was the spell,” Buffy growled. “It wasn’t my fault! I was under that spell. But he wasn’t. He took advantage of it. Of me.”

“Well, of course. That boy’s in love with you. Even I wouldn’t expect him to keep his hands off and I’m your mother.”

“Well, if he’s in love, he should have...he should have...”

“What? Nobly refused to sully your lily-white purity?”

“Wow. I didn’t know you could be that sarcastic.”

“I’m in shock here. You have to make allowances. Really, Buffy! What did you expect him to do?”

“I don’t know! Knock me out, chain me up somewhere and wait for the spell to be over. If he really loved me...”

“I honestly don’t know if even a human would have been able to do that,” muttered Joyce. “And he’s a vampire.”

“Mom! Are you making excuses for him?”

“I am not happy with either of you.” Joyce glared at her. “To be quite fair, it seems to me that you’re both at fault here. You presented an irresistible temptation and he didn’t have the willpower to hold out against it.”

Buffy buried her face in the cushions of the couch. “Oh, God, it’s such a mess!”

“Mess?” Joyce suddenly sat bolt upright. “What kind of mess? You did use protection, didn’t you?”

Buffy waved that off. “He’s a vamp, Mom. Vamps can’t get anyone pregnant and they don’t have STDs. They don’t catch infections of any kind, not even the common cold.”

“Well, both those facts are good to know,” muttered Joyce. “The thing is...Honey, he is a vampire. And...”

“And I’m a Slayer. That’s why it’s such a mess. Giles will kill me. The Council will kill me. It’s just so wrong! It should never have happened.”

“Well, it has and now what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know!”

“Are you in love with him?”

“No! It’s just...I just...”

“I have to tell you, honey. I don’t like your being involved with a vampire. I want you to have boyfriends just like any other girl and get married and have kids and make me a grandmother. But you’re a Slayer, which complicates things right off the bat. And I do like Spike, which makes it even more difficult. I honestly don’t know what’s right here.”

“Neither do I,” sighed Buffy.

“Right now, you have a choice. You can blame it all on the spell and pretend it never happened...”

“Some hope with Spike,” muttered Buffy. “He’ll never let me forget it and he never gives up.”

“You tell him that it should never have happened and you’re never going to let it happen again. He would accept that, I think.”

Buffy chewed her lower lip. Joyce might be right. Faced with a flat statement like that, Spike might possibly accept it. Especially when he would be feeling guilty right now.

“Or you can continue the relationship and deal with the repercussions...”

“A whole lot of repercussions,” groaned Buffy.

“Exactly. It’s your choice. I’ll back you up whatever you decide. It’s your life, honey, and it’s your decision. What do you want, Buffy?”

There was a small silence. Then:

“More,” said Buffy in a tiny voice.

Joyce flung up her hands. “I am not discussing that with you!”

Suddenly they were both laughing.

Joyce had taken it amazingly well, thought Buffy after Joyce had left to allow her assistant at the gallery take her own lunch break. She had a feeling Joyce had been expecting something like this all along. ‘Am I the only one who lives in a constant state of denial?’ Buffy thought bitterly. ‘Don’t anyone dare answer that!’

She let her head fall onto the back of the couch and stared blindly at the ceiling.

All the events of last night had finally slotted themselves into place in her head. Everything that had happened—what she had said, what she had done.

God, the things that she had done! A burning blush flooded through her from her hairline all the way to the tips of her toes. Vamps had no inhibitions and she had been a vamp. They had gone through maybe every possible way of making lo...having sex and probably invented a few more.

And it had been wonderful. All those dreams she had had of him...well, they had been nothing to compare with the reality. She wanted more. Her whole body ached, wanting more. God, she was turning into such a ho!

Had she meant for this to happen when she had chosen the costume, dressed for Halloween? She didn’t know. She had meant it only to be a tease, but maybe, just maybe, somewhere in the back of her mind she had intended it to happen.

It was just passion. A mad craving of the body. Nothing more. And what did that say about her? She wasn’t in love with him. Absolutely not! She couldn’t allow herself to be. He was a vamp after all. A killer, evil, without a soul...

All of which didn’t seem to matter any longer. He was Spike, who had been her enemy and then had become her mentor, then her friend and her partner and now her lover and...so much more.

Both her mind and her body were in a turmoil and at odds with each other. She knew what was right, knew what she had to do...and yet it seemed so wrong!

She was majorly spazzing when she went on patrol that night, jumping at shadows and expecting to see Spike every moment. But he didn’t show. Only a couple of minor demons did and she took them out with ease, then whistled for the Firoud, who came happily out of the darkness to do the clean up. The Firoud had started to trail her on her patrols now that she was providing them with meals for their entire clan every night. They didn’t even mind taking care of the bodies they couldn’t eat. The one good thing about vamps was the way they dusted so neatly when staked. Demons weren’t so obliging and disposing of their bodies had always been exhausting.

“That’s it for the night, guys,” she said. “I’m going to go home now.”

The ones still remaining all bowed deeply, then ran off into the shadows, calling good night to her in their high, piping voices. She turned, smiling, then stopped abruptly as the moonlight glinted silver on white-blonde hair beside a vault some ten feet away.

“Spike.”

He said nothing, just lifted his chin a little in an edgy movement that tipped his face into the wash of moonlight. His eyes were very dark, their corners pulled tight with strain, and his lips were compressed into a tense, straight line. All the bones of his face were standing out in the wash of silver light and black shadow, the flat planes of his cheeks looking gaunt and hollow between the sharp scimitars of his cheekbones and the prominence of his set jaw. That black and white purity of form made him look oddly young and very beautiful.

She didn’t want to see that, didn’t want anything getting in the way of her righteous anger.

“I’m surprised you’d show your face after last night,” she said crossly, flinging the words at him like a blow. He flinched a little.

“Couldn’t stay away.” His voice was muted and a little rough. “Not even if you dusted me. Never could.”

“I should dust you,” she growled and saw the flicker of shame and pain and guilt pass over his face.

“Yeah.”

“Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“What else is there to say? I knew it was wrong even while it was happening.”

“That’s something..” She glared at him. “Well, I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“The excuses.”

She saw him swallow. “Got none.”

At least that was honest.

“You’re not even sorry, are you?”

“How can I say I’m sorry?” he said roughly. “I’m not sorry. I’m sorry it happened that way, but I’m not sorry it happened.”

“You’re really jonesing to get yourself staked,” she muttered under her breath.

He gave her a twisted smile. “Vamp here. No morality. If it happened again, I’d take you again. Exactly the same way. Wouldn’t be able to do different. Want you too much. So...no excuses.”

“Well, I’ve got a whopper of an excuse.”

His lips compressed. “Yeah. You do. Did you find out who cast the spell?”

“Man from that new costume shop. Ethan Rayne. Warlock. Caused the whole mess for laughs, it seems. Giles stopped it.”

Spike’s brows rose. “Watcher did?”

“Beat him up and forced him to reveal how to break the spell.”

“Watcher grew a pair? Didn’t think he bleeding had it in him.”

“Good thing he did, because I sure wasn’t any use, getting myself fucked silly by a vamp,” she said bitterly.

She heard the little harsh catch of his breath.

“Was it just that?” he asked roughly. “Was it only that to you?”

“What did you expect it to be?” she flung back angrily. “Love? I don’t love you, Spike! I can’t! I won’t!”

“Which is it? Can’t or won’t? There’s a difference.”

“Both!”

“Didn’t you like it? You seemed to like it.”

She turned away abruptly. “I was a vamp!”

“You weren’t a vamp at the end.”

“Kind of past the point of no return then, wasn’t it?”

“Didn’t you enjoy it even a little bit?”

There was a small silence. Somehow she couldn’t lie to him.

“Yeah,” she said on a lost breath at last. “I enjoyed it.”

“Buffy...” He was coming towards her, hesitantly but still covering ground very fast.

“Spike, it was just physical. Nothing more. And it wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for that spell. It’s wrong. You know it’s wrong.”

“I know I love you.”

She gritted her teeth. “That...can’t be allowed to matter.”

“Why did you try to claim me?”

She caught her breath. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. I was a vamp and I suppose it’s what vamps do.”

“Do you know what a claim is?”

She looked away from that burning gaze. He was right in front of her now. She tried to back away and his hand touched her elbow lightly, stopping her.

“Like a marriage. Spike, let me go.”

He raised his open palm to show that he was not restraining her in any way.

“It’s rare, Buffy. It’s made only between vamps who love each other, which is rare in itself. It links them together so tightly that if one dies the other dies as well.”

She backed away. “Spike...”

“To want that, you must have cared. Even as a vamp. Just a little?”

“I...” She looked up, ready to deny it, then saw the pain in his eyes, the wistfulness that held not the slightest bit of hope. Her voice died in her throat.

“Guess not.” He shook his head, shrugging it away. “Always wanted to be claimed. To belong to someone, have someone belong to me. Always wanted to have someone want to be with me, choose to be with me. To be loved the way I loved. To be wanted. But...never good enough.”

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

“Doesn’t matter. Last night was a mistake for you. Wrong, yeah? The spell making things happen that you never wanted to happen. But for me...” His thumb brushed her lips delicately, helplessly. “It was a miracle. Everything I ever dreamed of.”

“My being a vamp?” she mocked. But the words came with difficulty.

“You wanting me. Didn’t matter whether it was as a vamp or as a human.” His hands cupped her face, fingers stroking her skin very gently. “You being a vamp was a turn on, oh, yeah. But you being human was so much better than the vamp. Was unbelievable. Beyond words. I’d never turn you. Wouldn’t ever want you turned, even if it meant I’d get to have you then. Want you as you are. What I want is you. Buffy. The Slayer. This incredible, glorious creature. Nothing like you in all the world.”

“Spike...”

“It was inevitable that I should love you.” His lips twisted. “I have, you see, a fatal attraction to the best. Know you don’t love me. Know you didn’t even really want me. That it was all the spell. A trick. But I couldn’t have turned it down. Couldn’t have passed it up, that much joy, not even if I died for it.”

He let her go and stepped back. She caught his wrist abruptly.

“So it meant something to you.”

He laughed suddenly, harshly. “Christ, Slayer! You can be bloody stupid! Haven’t you been listening? Or do you just selectively block out anything you don’t want to hear? No, it didn’t mean just something to me. It meant everything!”

Ever since she had left him last night, she had felt in disarray, everything unharmonious and jangling, her thoughts scattered and jarring against each other. Nothing had felt right. Now things were slowly straightening themselves out.

“Wasn’t just the spell, Spike.” Her hand tightened on his wrist. “I wanted you.”

“Wh...” His voice died in his throat, then he swallowed hard. “What?”

“I wanted you. Hell, you knew that, Spike. I’ve wanted you from the very first time you kissed me as a joke, back there behind the Bronze that second day.”

He shook his head. “Yeah, but that was just physical. Just wanting a good fuck. You said you wanted your first time to mean more.”

“And it did mean more, didn’t it? Wasn’t just physical, was it? Wasn’t just fucking for either of us. Even with my being a vamp. It was making love.”

“Buffy...” he whispered.

It was wrong and forbidden and Giles would keel over dead if he ever found out, but suddenly she didn’t care. It was that look on his face, the pain and the intensity behind his words, the roughness in his voice. She suddenly stopped fighting what was between them.

“Don’t really know what it means to love yet, Spike. Don’t know if I can love you. All confused about that. About all the shoulds and the shouldn’ts. It’s too complicated. But I do know that I want you. Will that be enough for you?”

He looked dazed. “What are you saying?”

“I want to find out where this can go. Maybe I’m cheating you. I know I’m not giving you all I should, all you’re giving me. Can’t promise you anything. I just...I just want to be with you. I just want you. You’re beautiful and I want you. Is that enough?”

“God, yeah! Anything you want to give me! Doesn’t matter what, Buffy! It’s more than enough!”

Last night had broken the deadlock. Couldn’t do anything worse than what had already happened. Which might be just a dumb excuse for indulging herself. But she wanted this, wanted him. She kissed him and felt his mouth respond helplessly to hers, and everything that had felt so dissonant and twisted and dissatisfactory since last night suddenly straightened itself out and fell gently and sweetly into place. It was all so wrong, but it just felt so right.

“Don’t want to hurt you,” she said suddenly, meaning that desperately. “Don’t want to use you.”

“You wouldn’t be using me. You care, don’t you? Just a little.”

“More than a little,” she whispered.

“It would be a gift. God, Buffy, what a gift! You’d hurt me more if you sent me away. Couldn’t bear that.”

“How long would it take to get to your place?” she said against his mouth.

He laughed breathlessly. “With our speed, maybe five minutes, if we ran.”

They ran. Tumbled into his flat the same way they had last night. Ended up against the wall just like before, kissing fiercely. Having been a vamp had skipped a lot of steps and destroyed a lot of inhibitions.

But she wasn’t a vamp anymore and the inhibitions were back. She felt embarrassed now, knowing how she had behaved. She wanted to touch him the way she had last night, but she was too shy, her hands moving over him hesitantly, just stroking the planes of his face, his neck. He still made a sound of pleasure in his throat and that gave her the confidence to push at his duster.

He shrugged hurriedly out of it, let it fall to the ground behind him. “You do know what you’re doing, right?”

“Yeah, I do. Just...a little shaky about it, not being a vamp.” She took a deep breath and pulled his T-shirt over his head.

“So we’ll go slow, yeah? Want me to stop, just say so. I’ll stop.”

She drifted her fingertips across his shoulders, over the solid musculature of his chest and stomach, down his sides to the trim hips within the denim of his jeans.

“I was right,” she murmured. “You are pretty.”

He laughed ruefully. “Really would prefer a different word.”

“Well, you are. How about hot or sexy or gorgeous?”

“Better.” He kissed her over and over again. “You’re beautiful. So beautiful. Buffy...”

She slid her lips down the long cord of his neck and felt him shiver against her. “Does it feel different now, with my being human?”

“So different.”

She slid her hands down into the back of his jeans and grabbed his ass, laughing. “Even that?”

His breath left him in a little rush. “Oh, yeah.”

“How?”

“Warm. Not just your skin. The way you touch me, the way you’re looking at me.”

He was heel-and-toeing out of his Docs. She kicked off her sneakers as well, then laughed as he scooped her up.

“What’s the hurry?”

“Don’t want you changing your mind.”

He dropped her on the bed, then lost his balance when she refused to let go her grip around his neck, fell onto his side beside her. They kissed slowly, lingeringly, mouths clinging. Last night had been all violence and frenzy. Tonight she wanted to learn things about herself, about him; explore their reactions and responses; map out what that beautiful, so dissimilar, male body was and could do.

She ran her lips along his collarbone from his shoulder to the hollow of his throat and heard his breath hiss through his parted lips; raked the small of his back lightly with her nails and felt his body shudder and flex against hers. His eyes had gone black, their lids heavy with passion, their pupils hugely enlarged, irises reduced to only thin rings of burning, intense blue.

But he was touching her too and it was shocking to her how that cool touch could leave such trails of fire across her body, cause such a heated, helpless havoc upon her every nerve; a revelation what those clever, sensitive fingers, that knowledgeable mouth could do. He had told her. A hundred and twenty years of experience, he had said. But she hadn’t really taken it in, in her innocence hadn’t really known what that meant. A deeply sexual being, Spike, enormously tactile, and all that experience made him a master at the art. She didn’t have a chance against him.

Her top was gone, her bra; his mouth closed upon her breast, sucking, strong pulls that went right down to her core. She arched to that demanding mouth, crying out helplessly.

“The way you feel,” he muttered unsteadily against her skin.

“H-how?”

“Silk and fire. Hot. So hot. Amazing.”

She smiled. “I love the way you feel too.”

She stroked his face, caressed him, her hands running delicately all over him. That savage, clawing, vamp ferocity that had drawn such a violent reaction from him last night was foreign to her now. All she had to give him now was human tenderness. She hoped it wouldn’t disappoint.

He gasped, braced on his forearms over her, his shoulders blocking out the world, all gold in the lamplight, even the thin rings of his irises gold now instead of blue.

“Buffy..!”

“You don’t like it. It’s not enough, not like last night...”

“I like it,” he breathed.

His eyes had gone strained and helpless. His forehead dropped against hers; his breath shuddered against her face. She saw with astonishment that her caresses had touched something deeper and more powerful in him than last night’s raw carnality had. Tenderness. Who’d have thought a vamp would respond to tenderness? She suddenly started to truly understand that he loved her.

She dragged his head down and kissed him hard. “Want more. Want you. Don’t stop.”

He was looking at her in wonder. He bent that platinum head and his tongue ran over her, raspy now like a cat’s, unbearably stimulating. She writhed and arched under it, sparks running through all her nerves, so that her whole body was filled with a breathtaking, bright urgency.

All her clothes were gone now and so were his. His skin was like cool satin against her and yet she was on fire. He kneaded and shaped and tongued her breathless, and she returned every touch, last night’s memories and tonight’s sweetness informing every caress. No single part of her did not know what it was like to be stroked by him—no nerve end, no muscle, no velvet dark place of intimacy, until she pulsed and throbbed and breathed his name over and over again in a purring, demanding growl. She could feel the tremors attacking him, shuddered as deeply and helplessly herself.

“Better,” he muttered. “God! So much better.”

She knew what he meant. It was better for her too, last night’s raw greed no match to tonight’s sweetness and passion.

“Come on,” she growled, dragging that lean, hard-muscled body down demandingly on her. “Come on! I can’t take this anymore! Dying here.”

He laughed involuntarily and then he made that first smooth, blinding thrust with his hips, coming into her all the way. Her body throbbed and stretched to accommodate him. Her breath caught, her fingers dug into his shoulders, her eyes shut over a fire-shot blackness. Nothing left but sensation, that pulsing length and thickness filling her to the utmost. She clenched upon him and felt him gasp against her face.

“God, yeah!”

“Spike...”

Her legs came up to lock about his waist. The action sent him even deeper. He shuddered and whispered something she didn’t catch through the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears. And then he was moving, feeding them both into a slow, searing, sensuous rhythm. They strained against each other, eyes closed, lost in rapturous sensation, wanting it to never end, but unable to keep that unendurable intensity of pleasure from reaching that bright, sizzling, accelerated rush.

Her cry broke his rhythm from deep and slow to short and fast. She shot on an explosion of fierce delight into wild, white, pulsating light, while he held her and watched her and orchestrated each wave as it battered into her, each gasp and cry and broken, convulsive tremor that just seemed to go on and on until, with a low, thick groan, he joined her.

“Again,” he muttered when she came staggering back to consciousness an eon later.

“God, no! Can’t! Not a vamp, remember?”

“Slayer. That’s more. Can go all night.”

“Spike...”

His fangs slid into her neck and that slow draw started and with it that rush of ecstatic dark fire and heat.

“Oh, God!”

She lost herself again.

TBC