Thanks: To Melissa, my wonderful, extraordinary beta!!!

CHAPTER 6

Spike had run along the empty streets not daring to stop and sniff the air more carefully. His fear guided him. His overwhelming fear of losing her before he could make things right. Show her he wasn’t a quitter. That something weird and uncanny had made a mess of his brain, turning it into mashed potatoes. There were other scents mixed up with Buffy’s. Joyce’s and… Spike stopped as if the whiff had staked him. That fucking Watcher would die. If they were alive or not. He bloody deserved it.

A distant, stifled scream stabbed his skull. He whirled around; his yellow eyes brushing the street. An abandoned doss-house. The smell of wet cement spiralled up from the windows. Spike rushed into the musty building, crossing recklessly the corridors, directed by another shout and the shattering sound of broken glass.

He went into that cellar as if he were blindfolded with black gauze. Only a dark shape made of black leather was all he could see as he snatched the collar of a coat and threw Angelus into the hall. He followed him, not allowing that bastard to get to his feet, never turning around ‘cause if he did, if he agree to the pleading of his heart, he’d be nothing but a piece of dead flesh. Dead without the prefix un to keep him going.



Joyce was crying. Somewhere behind the haze in which she was wrapped, Buffy could hear her gagged sobs. The most infamous demon in the same room with her mother! The thought put springs in her shoes. Her hands touched the wet cheeks as if she were soothing a little kid. Enjoying the warmth of her mother’s skin. Feeling her alive. The empty bottle of Holy Water she’d kept in her pocket had been of no purpose. The few last drops had slightly burnt Angelus’ flesh. And yet, the few strings of smoke had had a sweet and rotten odour… Like fruits long forgotten under a summer sun. The smashed glass had opened a gash in Angel’s eyebrow. Buffy had really wanted to pierce his eyes with every shiver of glass that had strewn over her. Of course, she needed strength even for that. It had been so easy for him to send her to the ground, to press her tightly to the floor. To pin her wrists trying eagerly to taste her lips before he could taste her neck. The bulge that was pressed against her stomach had been the nastier and sicker thing. And then he had frozen for a bit, growling something about she being a slut. He had slapped her with such energy that she still heard little bells tinkling in her ears.

A crack behind her. Joyce didn’t look scared, though. Buffy turned round only to find Giles holding a crossbow. A powerful crash ricocheted in the basement.

“Take her out of here. Now.” She ordered before taking the weapon from his hands. “To my house.”

“Where… where are you going?” Giles couldn’t tell what astonished him the most. She speaking to him again, her command and consequent trust in helping her mother or the fact she had started to run through the corridor towards the fighting clamour.



Having regained his balance, Angelus jumped on Spike with blind fury. They stumbled and fell through the stairs pit. He kneed his grandchilde strong enough to send him to the next room. Spike leapt to his feet quickly. They both circled the room like boxers on a ring, staring at each other hatefully.

“You know you can’t beat me, Willie. Have taught you that long ago.” That superior tone…

“You’ve messed with my women, poncey. I’ll dust you for that.” And he had never meant it that much.

“Your women?” Angelus’ laughter was a shot in an empty field. Echoing and outrageous. “You’ve always liked picking up my crumbs, haven’t you, boy?”

Spike wanted to tear that cackle to shreds. Each tooth slowly falling to the floor like pearls from a ripped necklace. Instead he kicked Angel’s midriff with such force that he crashed against the lamps shattering them into pieces. Before Spike could reach him again, Angelus leapt to his feet and charged. So mad that he might have puffed along like a black, lethal train. They collided in the air like black meteors falling over the burning logs of the fireplace. The hot coals sprayed everywhere like a drizzle from hell in a red, burning twilight.

“Why do you think I’ve lasted this much, boy?” He straddled Spike with powerful thighs, marking his words with each blow. “’I’m not a puny maggot like you.”

“No…” He shoved him aside, rolling back up to a standing position. Blood squirted from the left corner of his mouth. “You’re nothing but a jammy bugger. But your luck is about to change.”

Those dark eyes that shimmered with hidden sniggers… Spike had proved, over and over, he wasn’t a failure. Had achieved important things. More important than those deeds this scumbag bragged of. Yes, he was older. But not greater. Only a worm feeding out of rat guts and wandering along filthy alleys just for a sign from… heaven or hell or whatever he could have found. Instead he had found a treasure. A golden warrior. And he had screwed up even that. That bloody soul he had boasted about was nothing but a piece of shit. Dry and so lost that it couldn’t have possibly know the difference between love and self-pity. His fist stroke Angel’s jaws and it didn’t feel like hitting iron anymore in spite of the howling of his blistered hands. Loosing the soul had brought nothing but a nightmare. Not some ‘let’s destroy the world’ nightmare but somebody who had so many birds in his noggin he’d have sprouted wings out of his sorry lugs. He couldn’t even achieve the ultimate goal. The Slayer. Or him for that matters. Bloody thanks for that.

Slithering on the hot coals, Angelus made a sweep kick before falling to the floor. That bastard had bitten her. BITTEN HER! He should have killed him the first time Dru’d towed him with her. He had known damned right there wasn’t enough room for two roosters in a hen house. Somehow, he’d forgotten about that. The boy was hilarious. Not because he was funny but because he was so gullible that made the bullying more amusing. But he had grown… Had learnt… Not all the lessons he’d have liked to teach him. That human side of him had always been right around the corner. But he had achieved… -he was in no way going to accept anything important related with that sad grandchilde of his – certain things. Angelus grabbed Spike’s head and crashed it against the floor. One of his knees was firmly placed on Spike’s crotch. He had grown enough to believe, to truly believe he could beat him. Take his things, his property. He had bitten her… His fist stopped in the middle of a blow. Had bitten her and hadn’t killed her. Hadn’t added a third Slayer to his body count. Why? Grabbing Spike by the lapels of the red shirt he pulled him to his feet. Their gazes locked like two gold, electric drills.

The dark figure of Angelus towering above him didn’t diminish the slow grin forming on Spike’s lips. Those eyes were so easy to read. The poor bastard was trying to twig it. Of course he’d smelt it. Probably not the whole thing. Only the biting. But for a selfish bastard like him, that was enough. He’d had the right to mess with Dru every day of their “happy family” existence. But, what would the almighty Angelus have done if his grandchilde had got nearer his precious slut Darla? Not a stake, that’s for sure. Artistry meant agonizing punishments, hideous tortures, painful reminders of ‘your place here, boy.” But if he thought he was going to quell his doubts or certainties or whatever he was thinking, he was more than crazy. “Hope it eats you, crunches you, rips your sodding brain out of your skull”, Spike would have shouted. For the first time in his unlife he changed tactics and jabbed Angelus’ right eye with an elbow without crowing about. He made a diving shoulder roll before Angelus could turn round. The berk was fast, in spite of his bulky shape. A full spinning wheel kick dispatched Angel to a wall.



Buffy entered into the room at full speed, without taking care of possible hazards. She had banned the thought of finding only a dark figure waiting for her. The room was a sinister black, tinged with a reddish glow. She felt as if she had entered into a huge, pounding heart. The beats came from the floor where two silhouettes struggled like hellish chrysalises inside a black cocoon. With her back sliding against the wall, she reached the furthest and blackest corner. There was a slight, fainted tick when she opened one of the bottles she had picked up from the bag she’d brought and left in one of the many rooms. The point of the bolt that she placed in the crossbow shed dark red tears.

Spike rolled over, jumping to his feet. He flinched from the blow that sought his jaw. A flurry of cold wind grazed his left cheek and stabbed Angelus’ right nipple. Angel looked down at the bolt completely flummoxed. A rush of malevolent smoke flung off from the wound while his face twisted in agony. His bleeding mouth expelled a shrilling yowl as he yanked the bolt out and hurled it down. Another arrow pierced his shoulder, followed by a little flask of water. The splash reached Spike’s face making him hiss. Holy Water… Swerving to his left, Angelus avoided the next approaching bolt and dashed out with a roar.

Spike swirled around still in his demon face. Buffy stood out in that corner as though she was standing under a spotlight. Her steady hand held the crossbow like a life belt from the Titanic. Spike lunged at her with a growl. His hand slapped the weapon from her fist. He pressed her against the wall, unfastening his jeans with a flick of his wrist, guiding her sweaty hand to his shaft. She smelt of daffodils, of fear and rage. Of sorrow and white heather. His kiss was avid, angry, bruising. He rubbed himself harder; his knee disappeared between her legs. On the dark, black corner of the silent boarding house only groans existed. As if a bizarre creature had been abandoned there. As if it couldn’t exist but in the shadows. Her fingers’ pace was as angry as his lips, as his tongue battling inside her mouth. Buffy knew she was hurting him but her need was stronger than her concern. She understood his rage ‘cause it matched hers. Helped hers to feed back as a massive machine absorbing loads of energy, sending it back in myriads of pulsating reddish novas.

His need was devastating. His desperate need of knowing her alive, of hearing the rumbling gallop of her heart. Of getting rid of the entire wrath and the fright of nearly losing her in spite everything he’d said to himself in those past lonely nights. His hands left the wall and pulled her nearer, tighter. His forehead pressed against hers as he came with an agonized grunt. Only for a second he kissed her brutally before tugging at her denim overalls, hard enough for the two hooks to clatter on the floor with a shocked little shriek. Crouching down he finished undressing her by tearing them apart.

Buffy arched against the wall as he pulled one of her legs over his shoulder. Her ordinary white cotton panties vanished from her body. His face dived between her thighs, making her jolt and grabbed his hair in a frantic grip. She was sliding, swirling on new ice skaters. Spinning on and on, her head dizzy and overwhelmed with powerful sensations as his tongue thrust deeper inside her, circled and tasted her with sharp, frenzy flicks. She pushed herself against his mouth; her knee buckled and her shoulder blades pressed the wall. Her breath came out in short, weeping moans. She’d like to watch down. Had never experienced that before. But she didn’t dare to open her eyes, scared that the whole place would collapse in a whirlpool of blurring contours. Afraid of falling to the floor into a puddle of rattling waves of blood. A sobbing orgasm ran through her body and she couldn’t help the sobs to become a silent, quivering, deep cry.

Standing up, Spike hugged her with such force that he could feel the buttons of her shirt digging into his flesh. She was wrapped around him. Her legs, her arms, her face sank in the crook of his neck.

“Shhhh, love. I got you, I got you.” He repeated in a low voice. “Never leave you alone again. Promise that. I’ll take you home now.”

“I can’t go home. I’m naked.” She tittered between receding sobs.

Gently, he pulled her down and put his coat around her before taking her up in his arms. “Won’t let peeping eyes on your curves, pet. Those are only for me. When we reach your comfy bed.” He promised with a roguish look, kissing her eyes.

tbc...