Velvet made her way stealthily down the hallway, away from the closed bedroom door of her mistress and her slave consort, a smug, self-satisfied smile crossing her face. The door had been firmly shut, but her keen vampire hearing had left her no doubt as to what had been taking place beyond that door. She had been able to clearly hear the soft moans and whimpers of pleasure coming from the lovers in their embrace.

She frowned in irritation as she continued on her way down the hall. That was what really infuriated her about the whole situation. The vampire and his mistress had truly sounded like lovers to her ears. She had faked pleasure enough times in her servitude to Finn to be able to tell the difference easily.

Against all her taunting words and efforts to scare Spike about what his new mistress would require of him – he had clearly been enjoying it. Much to her frustration, it appeared that Mistress Finn had not had to force her slave to comply with her desires at all! Spike had willingly, even eagerly, accepted the advances of his mistress!

The only thing about the whole event that had brought a smile to her face was the startling words of devotion that had escaped Spike’s lips when it was all over, in the wake of their passion. She could scarcely believe that the fool had just confessed his *love* for the woman who *owned* him – who held the power of life and death over him!

Could he possibly have made himself any *more* vulnerable? she sneered.

And the lack of response, the utter silence, that met his trembling admission – that had been even better. It was clear from that silence, that his mistress in no way returned his affections. He was no more to her than Velvet was to her master – a toy, a possession, to be used for the sake of her pleasure and then cast aside. The thought of the torment that painful realization must have cause Spike gave Velvet a vindictive sense of satisfaction.

So did the knowledge that it was only the beginning of his suffering.

She reached her destination, and knocked softly on the door to the room.

“Come in,” a sharp, impatient voice responded.

She opened the door, lowering her head and approaching her master in an appropriately submissive manner, aware immediately of his foul mood.

“Oh.” His tone was milder, and she knew that he was pleasantly surprised to see her. “Velvet. What is it?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, Master,” she said, keeping her voice soft and respectful, her eyes down. “I just – I’ve seen something…with your permission, it’s something I think you should know.”

There was a short pause, and Riley’s eyes narrowed in anger and suspicion, though not directed at his favored slave. She very seldom incurred his wrath, being very eager to please him most of the time. And besides, it was only due to her observation and coming to him before that he knew about Spike’s advances on his wife.

“Let me guess,” he said slowly, a sarcastic note in his voice. “Something about my wife. And that slave I never should have let her buy. Right?”

Velvet nodded, a bit hesitantly. She knew better than to appear too pleased with herself or proud in front of her temperamental master. He could go from calm to brutally violent in a matter of moments.

“Go ahead,” Riley instructed her, in a voice of steel, already furious, though he did not know exactly what she was going to tell him.

As she cautiously told him what she had heard, never making eye contact the whole time, she could feel the mounting tension as Riley’s anger built. When she reached the part about Spike’s tender admission of his affections for Buffy, she could almost swear that she heard her master actually growl in anger.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Riley muttered when she had finished, shaking his head and glaring at nothing in particular. “I am going to take that little piece of trash and tear him apart, I swear!” He paused for a moment before going on, frustrated, “Damn it! He’s always with Buffy…now I guess I know why…if I could just find a way…” His voice trailed off, but Velvet knew what he had been going to say.

“Master,” she said, tentatively. “If I may speak, Master…”

He said nothing, and she glanced up at him, to see him looking at her expectantly, eyebrows raised as he waited for her to go on.

“Mistress Finn has plans to go out tomorrow. All *day*.” Velvet carefully emphasized the last word, reminding her master of its implications.

A slow smile spread across Riley’s face. Buffy’s vampire slave would not be accompanying her outdoors in broad daylight. He was momentarily surprised that Buffy would plan to leave Spike there, knowing that Riley would likely be home, and the vampire would be at his mercy.

But then he remembered with a grimace – he had a business trip planned for this weekend. He was flying out early in the morning, and was not scheduled to return until the next night. He sighed in frustration. That was the trick with priorities; some things just had to come first.

Resolved, he took out his cell phone and quickly dialed the number of his chief assistant. “Hey,” he said shortly, knowing that he would immediately know who was calling. “Cancel the meetings tomorrow.” There was a short silence. “Well, they’ll just have to deal with it. Next weekend’s fine, yes. I have pressing business to attend to here.”

He disconnected the call and snapped the phone shut, a cruel smile spreading across his face. He turned to Velvet. “Thank you,” he said with genuine appreciation. “You’ve been very helpful.”

Her eyes were downcast again, as she replied softly, “Anything to serve you, Master.”

Feeling in an uncharacteristically generous mood with the knowledge that he would soon be able to punish Spike for…well, just generally for being Spike…Riley graced the girl with a warm smile. “Anything I can do to thank you, Velvet?”

A small smile began on the girl’s full, pretty lips, and she finally dared to look up into her master’s eyes, her own dark and glittering with cruel glee. “Let me watch?” she suggested softly.

Riley stared at her for a moment, his eyes widening in surprise. He did not respond. Then, a slow smirk spread across his face as he nodded, impressed with her nerve and amused by her request.

“Why not?”


Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny, but as usual, the curtains in Buffy’s bedroom were drawn tightly shut. She awakened, still held in the embrace of her lover of the night before, a bit disoriented at first, not remembering…and then her eyes widened in dismay as it came back to her.

She had been so utterly shocked by Spike’s unexpected words. He *loved* her? How could he…? She had had no idea how to respond, as an overwhelming sense of guilt came over her. Because the depth of his feelings was obvious in every inflection of every word…and for her, it had not meant anything near that level.

Yes, she was attracted to him. She could deny that. And when Riley had hurt her as badly as he had, flaunting and excusing his cheating as acceptable, as “no big deal”, she had felt so…rejected, and hurt, and unlovable – as if she was so disgusting and repulsive that her husband had to turn to others rather than to be with her.

Spike, on the other hand, worshipped the ground she walked on. He had proven over and over, during the past few weeks, that he would do absolutely anything to please her. And the fleeting moment of the single kiss they had shared before last night was the first time in as long as she could remember that she had felt beautiful, and desirable.

And he was hers.

So…she had used him. She knew from the start that she did not love him. She wanted him…but it was nothing more than comfort…solace.

And when he had made his heart-felt confession, she had been utterly speechless. Having no idea what to say, she had not responded at all. And after a few moments, the tense emotions in the room became an almost tangible thing. He was not stupid; he had to know what her silence meant.

Finally, knowing that she had to say *something*, she had raised up to look at him, her eyes full of mingled affection and doubt, and said softly, “Thank you,” giving him another long, soft kiss – to ease the blow.

After that, he had given her a long, searching look, staring into her eyes, his pain obvious in his own. But he had not said a word, simply returned her smile with a warmth and tenderness that smote her heart again. She had laid her head back down, feeling ashamed to face him, and he had simply stayed there under her, holding her close to him, his trembing fingers stroking slowly, tenderly, through her disheveled hair. His continued affection, in the face of her rejection, had only intensified her guilt.

She had been terribly relieved when he finally returned to his own room, and she went to bed – only to face a restless, troubled night without much sleep.

As Buffy hurried around the next morning, trying to get ready for her day out with her friends, she tried to put the troublesome thoughts out of her head. Spike’s careful efforts to help her, to be sure she had everything she could possibly need, made that very difficult.

She avoided his eyes, avoided speaking to him any more than she absolutely had to, unsure how to act or respond after all that had happened between them.

“I put your keys in your handbag,” he told her, his voice quiet and heavy with worry and emotion, and she could tell that her distance was hurting him, and he longed to find a way to breach it. “You should have everything you need.”

She wanted to hurry and leave, before he had the chance.

She thought that she had escaped when she walked out her bedroom door, and was irrationally irritated when he followed her down the stairs. In the hall, he spoke, hesitantly, and she knew from his tone that he had barely worked up his courage for whatever it was he was going to say.

“Buffy…”

She could not let him say it.

“Spike,” she said impatiently, with a sigh. “I need to go.”

“Buffy, please…please talk to me!” he implored her, stepping quickly around her and into her path, his wide, troubled blue eyes searching hers.

She looked away, condemned by the pain in those expressive eyes. “Spike,” she said, her voice trembling with her own guilt…and a rising anger, that she knew was unreasonable, even as she allowed it to build – because it was easier to feel than her shame. “I said I need to go. Get out of my way.”

He did not. “Please, Buffy!” he begged her, and she could hear the beginnings of tears in his voice. “Last night…”

“Get out of my way,” she repeated sharply, a warning beginning in her voice.

He moved forward and put his hands lightly on her arms, seeking her eyes. “Just wait a second…”

Frustrated and confused, and angry at herself for feeling both, Buffy lashed out. His pleading words were cut off when she jerked away from his touch and slapped him, hard, in the face.

He stumbled back a bit, and something in her heart caught at the little gasp of hurt surprise that he let out. She knew the instant after she had done it that she had had no right to do it, and remorse flooded her.

But to let him see that would have been to open the door to a conversation she just could not have right then. So she kept her voice hard as she said, “I told you to get out of my way.”

He was silent for a long moment, still not moving out of her path, breathing hard in what she soon saw was an effort to hold back his tears. His jaw was working with repressed emotion, as he struggled for control.

Suddenly, he looked up at her, and while she was not surprised by the hurt and betrayal she saw there, which she rightly deserved, she was stunned by the fiery anger that flashed from his eyes.

His voice was low and controlled as he spoke softly, “So that’s the way it is, is it?”

“Yes, Spike,” she snapped, her defensive anger coming into play again. “That’s *exactly* the way it is, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I thought *you* had,” he shot back, in an angry, trembling voice, and her heart was struck with pain at the way he immediately braced himself for another blow. He had thought she would hit him again for saying those words.

But he had still said them.

She forced herself to walk past him on trembling legs, and out the front door, slamming it hard behind her.

He stood there in the hallway, finally allowing his tears to fall down his face, one hand absently raised to the cheek she had slapped.

“Aww….looks like you two saw things a little differently last night, didn’t you?”

He whirled around in surprise at the mockingly sympathetic voice, frighteningly close behind him.

Riley.

“You – I thought you…” Spike began, cursing his voice, which was trembling more from the pain of Buffy’s betrayal than with fear of Riley, but brought a smug satisfaction to the wanker’s face, none the less.

“Yeah. Plans change,” Riley shrugged. “Had some stuff to take care of around here today.” There was a subtle menace in his voice, and the cold smile on his face as he advanced on him.

Spike instinctively took a step back down the hallway, away from him, but Riley’s hand darted out behind him and grabbed him by the hair, yanking him back toward him. “I don’t think so,” he said softly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Spike could see from the cold, calculating fury in Riley’s eyes that this was not going to be a simple beating like the last time. Riley had actually *planned* this encounter, and that realization chilled him through.

“Buffy…” he began quietly, his voice low to disguise the rising tremor in it.

“Doesn’t seem to care much, does she?” Riley interrupted with a smirk. His smile faded quickly as he jerked Spike’s head back and snarled, “You wanna know who runs this house, Spike? Huh? It’s not *Buffy*, okay?” There was clear derision in his voice as he spoke his wife’s name. “It’s *me*!” he sneered, leaning in close to the vampire threateningly. “I’ll do what I want, and she’s gonna like it! And if she doesn’t…” the smirk was back as he shrugged, “I’ll smack her back in line!”

Blind fury came over Spike at those words, and before he could think to stop himself, he had drawn back his fist and struck Riley in the face, hard enough to make him release his grip on his hair and stagger backward with a shocked cry of pain and rage.

And then the chip fired.

White-hot agony lanced through his brain, and Spike moaned in pain as he sank to his knees on the floor, holding his head, reeling with the intense force of the shock.

Riley recovered long before he did, and waited patiently with a grim, vindictive smile on his face for the pain to fade away. When Spike finally looked up at him, breathing hard and trying to struggle to his feet, the larger, and somehow stronger, man aimed a savage kick at the ribs he had damaged the day before, slamming him into the wall, hard, with the force of the blow.

With a cruel smirk, Riley leaned down and gripped his hair again, yanking him to his feet and shoving him against the wall again, his voice low and full of sadistic triumph.

“You’re gonna regret that, Spike. Among other things.”

Spike did not respond, still gasping for breath against the pain in his newly cracked ribs. His silence did not matter to Riley. He intended to make him break it soon enough, he thought as he dragged his injured slave down the hallway toward the basement stairs.