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Chapter 7


Lukas sat in his big leather armchair and swirled the whiskey in his glass when a minion knocked on the door.


“Come in!” Lukas turned his chair and faced the nervous minion that had rushed in.


“Where's the fire?” Lukas lifted the corner of his mouth and sipped from the glass.


“We've got news, Master.”


“Oh? Well, what are you waiting for? Get on with it!”


The minion flinched.


“A new Slayer was called, Master. Somewhere in Jamaica.”


“That means our sunshine must be dead then. Hmm.” Lukas zoned out, then noticed the other vampire still standing there staring at him.


“Don't just stand there you moron, you're dismissed!” Lukas watched him scurry out the door and sighed in relief when the door slammed shut.


The Slayer was dead. He knew Leonard wouldn't keep her alive with his personal vendetta, but one never knew. Fate can be pretty unpredictable. However, it seemed to work in his favour this time. If the bitch had managed to survive, it would have made things very uncomfortable for him.


The drug. It had been modified by their lab team. For all Lukas knew, after time it could transform her into an uber slayer, or kill her. A slayer in their collection never lived long enough for anyone to find out. And he didn't care to find out. It wouldn't surprise him if it did something unexpected to her. The ingredients they'd added were more than a little volatile. They'd had to come up with something that would speed up the Slayer's healing capabilities, since the original serum had taken that away along with her power. The blood of a vampire at least a century old.


Lukas chuckled at that.


'Oh, but vengeance is sweet.'


There were very few older vampires that weren't aware of the business his family ran.


William the Bloody, the black sheep of the Aurelians, the rivals of his family as it happened. Spike, as he liked to call himself nowadays, obviously didn't care much for his family's history or he'd have known that. He'd been in Europe at the time, with that nutcase lover of his. Lukas hadn't been there, but he'd read the report. Reckless. Easily provoked. Took out half of his men. Lukas doubted Spike would notice one vampire among many that had attacked him, under the excuse of defending their territory, sneaking away a sample of his blood. Just a drop was all it took. It couldn't have been hard. After all, it had to be all over the place.


That was why Lucas had panicked when Spike suddenly showed up on his doorstep demanding to know where the Slayer was. Good thing she’d been dispatched by then. He didn't want to find out what would happen if the two of them met. If Spike somehow sensed his blood in her. The blood of a vampire was a powerful thing when given to a human.


'Good thing that's not a problem anymore.'


Lukas smiled in contentment and continued sipping his drink.


******


Spike got out of the car and slammed the door shut.


'The Slayer!'


Spike's fangs burst through his gums and a snarl tore out of his throat. The bloodlust was overwhelming, destroying his slippery hold on control, and propelling him forward.


'Mine!'


Spike's legs ate up the distance in a split second; his hands seized Buffy's shoulders and dragged her upwards from where she crouched before she had a chance to protest. He sank his teeth into the vulnerable skin of her neck, her blood slid down his throat, all honey and silk. Familiar taste of it made his mind reel.Then it hit Spike.


Fear.


It cut through the web imprisoning his humanity as effectively as a punch to his face. His stomach clenched uncomfortably and he drew out his fangs. The yellow eyes of a killer melted into those of a man.


The slayer looked up at him then, dark lashes wet, her eyes red and puffy, her hair was damp. A trickle of her blood slithered down her collarbone. She looked a mess, and she was beautiful.


Spike stood there, still clutching at her arms, the length of her body mashed against his. He stared at her, being pulled into her. His gaze went right through the pupils of her emerald eyes, straight into the very core of her being. Time stopped and only the mental connection that he could not explain seemed real.


For an endless minute they were one being. Spike could feel her; her heart a terrified throbbing in his chest, her pulse fluttering beneath his own skin, her blood a rushing torrent in his veins.


Spike could feel her pain, the burning ember of suffering scorching the edges of her light. The darkness, spreading slowly and trying to take over, enveloping her in its deadly grasp. It didn't belong, this alien presence within her, slowly but methodically devouring her resistance, her will, her life. It was a presence of a demon, other entity she didn't seem to be aware of.


The demon in Spike roared, ready to sink its fangs into the thing and tear it to shreds, to protect what his demon considered its equal, its mate.


Spike swayed on his feet and they both crashed to their knees. The world around him was nothing but an echo of the world he stumbled into by gazing into the eyes of his enemy. Being one with a slayer. The one Spike was supposed to kill, and knew now that he couldn't.


They were both sucked back into reality the next moment, eyes wide and confused.
The link between them was dampened by reality, but still there. Invisible. Throbbing beneath their skin. Pulling them together.


Spike tore his eyes away from hers and let go, scooting backwards. He was shivering, his hands shaking badly, so he stuck them in to the pockets of his duster after he staggered to his feet. He tried to sort out the mess that were his emotions. Confusion. Anger. Longing.


“This can't be real,” Spike muttered under his breath.


Why was he letting her live, letting her shake his foundation, his very belief of how the world worked? Letting her see him stripped down to the flesh and bone?


“It’s not supposed to be this way! What the bloody hell just happened?” Spike rolled his head on his shoulders and clenched his jaw.


Was this some kind of cosmic joke at his expense? The Powers That Liked To Fuck Everything Up toying with him to get their rocks off?


“Are you having a good laugh?” Spike roared at the heavens, ignoring the slayer.


His mind reeled, trying to figure out how it was possible to be in her, to be one with her. To feel the strange kinship. The burning passion, the longing to possess her. He frowned, angry at himself, and angry at the slayer.
He could see the slayer move a second before her words reached his ears.


“I... I know you.”


Spike's body tensed in response. He had to fight off the urge to fully face her and drown in her eyes again.


'If you truly knew me, you'd be running away right now. I kill your kind.'


Buffy continued hesitantly, “I'm not sure... where from, o-or how. But I could feel you, and it's familiar. It's almost like…” Buffy blushed and looked down.


Like you're the mystery man from my hallucination.


Maybe she was insane for even thinking it. Maybe all she felt when she had lost herself in him was just a figment of her imagination. The familiarity nothing but her need to find something safe amidst the world where she had nobody. Her need to connect to someone. Anyone. Even to a vampire who bit her just a moment ago.


“Like what? Like I'm your saviour? Hardly. You know nothing about me, Slayer! If you did, you'd suss out that I came here to kill you.”


Spike's voice was loud and mocking in his own ears. He felt the sudden need to sink to his knees and beg for forgiveness.


Spike rubbed at his chest and furrowed his brow.


His words had startled Buffy.


“Then why didn't you kill me? What are you waiting for?” Buffy felt the anguish and rage sweeping over her in waves.


Spike's gaze fell on her feet. Bare. Dirty. Dried blood smears on her pale skin.


“Look at me when I talk to you!” she screamed at him, her fists clenching hard, making her nails dig painfully into the palm of her hands.


His eyes snapped towards hers, forcing a mask of indifference onto his face, not wanting her to see his inner turmoil. Only the ticking muscle on his cheek betrayed his nerves.


“Just biding my time. Keep this up and you'll be dead before the sun's up, little girl!” Spike forced the lie through his clenched teeth. The burning of guilt expanded in his chest.


Buffy tilted her head back and laughed. The hollow, painful sound reverberated through Spike, stunning him into silence.


“You might be too late for that. Can't you see that I'm already dead? Not just inside, no... I've been actually dead, and I'm still here. Talking and walking. Apparently I don't deserve the reprieve. Guess you'll have to choose something else. What's your pleasure?”


Buffy was hurt. She was so sure he had felt it too when they looked into each other's eyes-- that connection, but maybe she had really lost her mind. This couldn't be the man from her hallucination, even though his voice matched. That man was nothing but a figment of her imagination, wasn't he?


Spike just stood there, watching her self-mocking and bitter face.


“Answer me! What is it that you want from me?”


Buffy's eyes blurred with tears of anger. She was tired of everyone presuming she was theirs to play with, that she'd just stand there and take it all. She was still the slayer, and she'd always be alone. There was nobody that would fight her battles with her.


“Come on! Where do you want me? On my knees, or on my back? Why not on all fours, so you can take me like an animal from behind! I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? Seeing me broken before you dealt the final blow! Knowing that I couldn't escape! That I could do nothing but wait for it to end!” Buffy screamed at him, willing him to deny it. To tell her he was sorry and that everything would be okay. To lie to her.


“You're not exactly my type, Slayer.” Spike felt nauseated even as he said that. Buffy's words cut into his own flesh and it had made him angry. He couldn't bear the thought of her abused like that. She was his. The demon wanted to --no-- needed to claim her for a reason Spike couldn't puzzle out yet. Who was she to make him feel this way?


Spike watched as the dam holding her grief crumbled and the slayer, his enemy, broke down into harsh sobs, falling to the concrete and clutching her lilac sweater.


It didn't matter that he didn't want her to be his. The call of his blood was something he could never resist.


Spike stood there, hesitant to cross the boundaries. To overstep that ultimate line keeping him from giving in to her. Every cell in him screamed at him to move, but it was the human part of him, the part that refused to die even after he'd been turned, whose voice was the loudest in his head. He approached the sobbing girl, knelt down and touched her shoulder.


“D-don't touch me!” She told him through her sobs.


Spike had a half mind to snipe back at her, but one look at her face and the jibe died in his throat.
He put his arms around her loosely, not knowing what to do. He half expected the slayer to punch him in the face. Hoping that she would, so that he could stop this madness and retaliate, put things into perspective. Anything to stop her from being so vulnerable and making him feel compassion.


Buffy buried her face into the crook of his neck, her arms encircled his waist. She was crying so hard, Spike was worried she'd make herself sick.


“Hush, luv. It'll be alright.” He knew the words were false, but false comfort was better than none at all. He couldn't quite bring himself to shove her away either, not when holding her in his arms felt so right.


Spike hugged her tighter, enclosing her in his embrace. Buffy's warmth seeped through his duster warming him. He breathed in her scent and his eyes widened. Flowers and... something else, something unique. So familiar. He tried to remember, but it was like wading through a deep river that was flowing against him.


“No, it won't... but thanks for saying it,” she whispered, hiccupping slightly as her sobs died down.


Nothing would ever be okay again; Buffy knew not to fool herself. The memories would always stay with her, be them fresh and raw or faded as time passed by. She would hear her own cries every time she tried to sleep. Buffy knew it as surely as she knew this was the man from her illusion. It was undeniably him, the scent, the way his body fit against hers in complete symphony. The sound of his voice. It had to be him. She was too tired to ponder the implications. The tears stopped flowing after a while.


They sat there, neither willing to be the first one to break the silence, both feeling awkward. Buffy spoke up first.


“Ehm... I think my butt has fallen asleep.”


Spike chuckled nervously and rose, bringing her with him. Buffy looked at him then, serious, as she took a step away from him.


“Do you... do you still want to kill me?”


“Don't think that I could. Besides, kinda buggered that one up, didn't I? Never was good at planning.” He shrugged uncomfortably, and lifted the corner of his mouth tentatively.


He saw her wince and quirked an eyebrow questioningly.


“My feet... they hurt.” Buffy shuffled in place and looked down, her long hair hiding her expression.


He furrowed his brow, and then suddenly swooped her up into his arms, one hand encircling her waist and the other holding her behind her knees. Buffy yelped in surprise and clung to his neck with both arms. She knew it was stupid to trust him, but she couldn't find it in herself to care.


Buffy closed her eyes and breathed him in. He smelled like forbidden fruit, so sweet in its temptation, dangerous in its implications. Hints of tobacco and leather spiced his purely masculine scent.


Spike was very much aware that the slayer was sniffing his hair, but strangely, he didn't mind. Not when he had been inconspicuously doing the same to her.


'Hmm... smells so nice.'


The fact that she let him hold her, after he had threatened to kill her, baffled him. Even Dru wouldn't let him that close for that long, unless it was sexual, and even then, they were hardly ever close. Dru would always dance away, twirling and giggling, teasing him with promise of something she was unable to give. He could see that now. Funny how distance could give people clarity, the perspective needed to understand their mistakes.


Spike reached his car and set Buffy down. He opened the door for her and waited for her to climb in.

She looked at him, puzzled.


“What... I mean why... ehm, you want me to come with you?”


Spike didn't know what he was doing. The only thing that mattered was this inexplicable raw need to have her in his vicinity, where he could see her, touch her, make sure she was all right. Maybe the last thing the slayer wanted was to be near him.


'Can't really blame her.'


“Err... I wasn't thinking. You probably wouldn't even want to, and well, I don't fancy forcing you—”


Buffy interrupted him, “I do want to!” She blushed at her eagerness and continued, much more subdued now. “The decision is up to you.” She looked at Spike from beneath her lashes. He was momentarily struck with how innocent and adorable she looked.


“Of course, luv.” He smiled at her then, smitten and at the same time berating himself. This was The Slayer. He'd wanted to bathe in her blood, to make her his third.


'Bloody hell! She's already got you wrapped around her little finger. There goes another one of your marvelous plans, Spike.'


He shook his head, opened the door for her, helped her in and closed it. He then got inside himself, sat behind the wheel, started the ignition and stepped on the accelerator, proceeding to get the car back on the road.


“What's your name?” Buffy asked him out of blue, busying herself with the seatbelt.


“It's Spike.”


She raised her eyebrows in question. “My aunt had a dog named Spike. I think a car ran him over when I was six.” She glanced up at him then, her eyes still hollow and sad, but there was a glint of amusement shining there.


“Oi! It's a bloody good name. Besides, those who live in the glass houses shouldn't throw stones, Buffy. At least mine's a nickname. What's your excuse?” Spike smirked at her.


“Hey, I happen to like my name... it's quirky, and original. And wait... how do you know it anyway?” Buffy looked at him with interest, trying to keep him talking. It kept her mind from wandering into places where her cries painted the world red.


Spike rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Err...I think you already know the answer to that question, pet.” He’d already told her he had come here to kill her, complete with almost biting her. Everything had changed when he gazed upon her face and felt her within him. When he had had her in his arms, bringing so many emotions to the surface.


“Oh.” She leaned against the window and closed her eyes. After a while she asked, “Spike?”


“Yeah?”


“Why are you letting me come with you?” Buffy asked, turned her head towards him, wary.


“Dunno. Just doing what feels right, following my instincts and all that. We need to suss out the whole connection thing. Bloody unnatural is what it is.” Spike peered at the road ahead through a hole he had scraped off on the black painted wind-shield.


“So you admit it then? It wasn't just me that felt it? 'Cause for a moment you'd convinced me it was all in my head.” Buffy turned towards him fully, her legs folded beneath her butt, one arm resting in her lap, the other hanging at her side, near the break lever.


“Of course I could bloody feel it, still do on a smaller scale, and it scares the shit outta me.” Spike ran his left hand through his loosened curls, messing them up even further, and sighed.


“Why?” she asked.


“Why, what? Why does it scare me?” He looked at her and she nodded.


“I'm a vampire. You're the slayer. It's not right to feel connected to you, least of all to want to finalize the connection by claiming you. And believe me, the demon inside me wants nothing more than that, for some reason.”


“Claiming me?” Buffy furrowed her brow.


“Making you mine.” He looked at her, his irises blazing with inner fire. Buffy averted her eyes.


“In what way?” She asked hesitantly.


“In every way.” Spike was clutching the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were turning white. All this conversation was making him want to taste her right now. And not just her blood.


“Oh.” Buffy looked away, not knowing what to say. She didn't think she'd ever be able to let someone touch her like that without feeling the hands of the clients pawing at her flesh instead. But this was Spike, and for some reason, he was breaking all the rules.


Silence fell over them, heavy and suffocating.


“Look, pet, maybe you should just go. I'm a vampire. I can't always control myself. I don't want to. And being near you... It's like I can't keep my hands off you. Feeling you, touching you... God, I'm such a ponce! It makes me feel all...” Spike rolled his eyes at himself, “It drives me around the bend, alright? It makes me feel complete, and at the same time I need to have you in every possible way. I want you so much it scares me.” Spike looked at her from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge her reaction.


“No you don't. You don't want me!” Buffy's throat tightened in grief. What he was feeling couldn't be real.


'God, what was I thinking? How can he even look at me? I'm disgusting. Nothing but damaged goods. And one day, he'll see it too.'


“Hey! I bloody well know better than you do! I do want you and if that scares you, fine, but don't you dare tell me what to feel!” Spike gnashed his teeth together as he gripped the steering wheel.


“But you don't know what you're talking about! Don't you get it? There's nothing for you to have! Look at me, I'm disgusting! Do you have any idea what kind of things I was forced to do? Well, do you?” she screamed and then turned away from him, not wanting to see his disgust.


Spike's cheek ticked.


“I don't care. I still want you.” he said hoarsely.


Buffy's head snapped towards him at the sound of his voice.
“You don't really mean that,” she said quietly, her eyes wide as she looked into his blazing eyes.


He wanted to shake some sense into her and then show her how worthy she was. She was so beautiful, even dirty and unkempt.


“You're the one that doesn't get it! I felt you inside of me. I could see you for what you really are! Do you really think that anything you say or do can change that? Change the fact that I can't ever let you go?” Spike looked at her fleetingly, tears of frustration blurred his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again when he was sure he had his emotions under control.


Buffy was stunned.


She tried to regain her composure and not let one drop of tear spill over. She couldn't remember crying this much in weeks. What was it about this vampire that tore her barriers down and brought all of her emotions to the surface? All those feelings Buffy had tried so hard to repress. It was like she didn't have the control over her grief anymore. It was terrifying. This knowledge of letting him see her so vulnerable, so open to hurt.


Spike scented the salty odour of tears and jerked his head in Buffy's direction. She was turned away from him, staring at the black painted window, so he couldn't see her face. He touched her hand -- clammy and just a tad warmer than his own-- that was resting lifelessly next to her knees. Spike squeezed it with his own, quickly letting go of her in case she didn't want to be touched.


Buffy gazed at him then, looking so lost, her eyes wide and glazed, her bottom lip trembling.


“I'm dirtying your seat with mud!” Buffy's chin wobbled. She looked down at herself and felt gross. Dirty. Not exclusively with mud or dried blood. No matter how hard she'd scrub at her flesh, it'd always be there, inside.


“It's alright, luv. We'll get you squeaky clean in no time, yeah?” Spike smiled at her, his eyes as sad as hers.


Buffy nodded and leaned against the window.


Spike looked straight ahead.


'Sunnydale Inn, here we come.'


TBC