24. Plans in Motion

Leering over at the other so-called master, Anton reveled in the idea that impudent young William had no idea that this evening’s entertainment would conclude with his own dusting.

The Auctioneer’s nerdy assistant should prove no impediment to the night’s enjoyment. He’d be surprised if the little fledge didn’t jump at the first decent excuse to return to his warm burrow, job accomplished despite the regrettable ‘accident’ that had ended with one of the two masters dust. And if he didn’t, Anton was certain that the merest hint at the possibility of another such ‘accident’ would have the auction assistant scuttling back to his masters faster than a frat boy losing his virginity.

Insouciantly, Anton splashed a glass of cold water on the Slayer’s face, bringing her instantly sputteringly awake, but his eyes were on Spike the entire time.

Yes, Anton thought. He had been correct. It was twice as much fun to play with the Slayer with her former owner present. Buffy was just confused, but the younger vampire was livid. Spike couldn’t bear to watch someone else playing with what he still thought of as his possession. Anton had heard that William was the possessive type. Really, he hadn’t changed much over the intervening years. It was too bad that the time the three of them had to share together was going to be so limited.

Unfortunately, this time Anton had no excuse to keep Spike as his captive. And if young William were still alive, doubtless the rest of the Aurelians would know it, and at least one of them would come to his rescue, as they had before. There was no telling what could happen then.

No, his plan was best.

He would have the Slayer take care of the uppity fledgling for him. That would completely absolve him of any culpability or responsibility, should the surviving Aurelians take exception to Spike’s dusting. And he’d even have the auction house’s own vampire as a witness. No one would question the Auctioneer’s assistant when he backed Anton’s story of a Slayer momentarily breaking thrall and turning against her former tormentor.

Of course he had no intention of actually letting the Slayer slip his grasp at all. He fully intended to be the mind that drove the Slayer’s hand when she dusted her former owner. But of course he wouldn’t let the hireling know that. So he would be a perfect witness for Anton’s cause – his lie would be believed because the myopic fool would believe it was the truth.

Unfortunately he’d have to give up his immortal plaything, but at least he would be compensated with the lovely little Slayer whom every one seemed to value so highly. Perhaps he’d resell her once he’d had his fill of her. Recoup some of his investment that way.

But the future would take care of itself. It was past time to get this show on the road.

Anton had already discarded the auction representative from his thoughts so much as to turn his back on him. Spike didn’t dare hope that Anton would be so careless of him.

Glancing over at the mild mannered fledge crouched in the corner, it crossed Spike’s mind that perhaps it would be best to join the worthless creature a bit further from the action; give Buffy a few moments to pull herself together before they attacked. He knew Buffy would want to dust Anton herself; he’d take care of the hall monitor.

But if Buffy waited much longer, Spike would have to risk her ire and take a chance on defeating Anton on his own. He wasn’t about to let this beast molest his Slayer. Even if he knew that he wouldn’t survive the attempt. It would be much better for both of them to go down fighting rather than having to live knowing that Buffy was Anton’s slave.

All he needed was to wait for one moment of inattention when he could surprise the ancient master, and Anton would be dust. But Spike knew that he needed to be very sure of his moment. So long as he could do it quickly, catch the other by surprise, so long as it was over before the older vampire could even think, they’d both be safe. But if it took just a moment too long, then Anton could force the enthralled Slayer to defend him. If that happened, Spike could be dusted, but the Slayer still held prisoner. Spike didn’t mind the thought of dying here. But he wanted it to be for something. If it didn’t help Buffy to get away, then he would be throwing his life away for nothing.

Truly indifferent to the third vampire in the room, Spike shrugged his agreement, “Vampette here can stay or go as he likes. It’s no concern of mine.”

Pretending to ignore them both now, Anton turned his attention to the Slayer. Of course, he was hardly unaware of his audience. Savoring these few moments he had to taunt the vampire that had eluded him so many years ago, Anton let the moments stretch out.

Refilling the glass from the pitcher on a small table by his side, Anton offered it to Buffy.

“Poor Slayer,” he cooed insincerely, stroking her matted hair and taking her head into his hands. Her eyes were glazed with the fog created by the thrall – not truly aware of her surroundings at all.

With a grin over at Spike he false sympathized, “Poor girl, you’ve been forced to eat something nasty. Before you get a taste of your new life, you’d best wash away the old.”

Cradling her head gently, he offered the girl the glass. “Take a sip of water. Good girl. Now rinse. That’s good. Now spit.” Anton grinned as the dirty water projected all the way across the room and just barely missed the jittery vamp’s shoes. “Sorry,” he smiled delightedly. “Perhaps it’s best if I test the controls first. Little Slayer doesn’t know her own strength.”

Spike watched in increasing frustration as he waited for any sign that Buffy was fighting Anton’s thrall. Anton leered as he forced his prize to stand up, sit down, then stand again, while he cut the straps to her costume so she could remove the remains of the soggy red leather dress.

Naked, he forced the Slayer to run her hands suggestively over her own body. He giggled as he commanded her to pinch her nipples until they gleamed a red as bright as the dress on the floor. With an unspoken command, Buffy placed her own chained arms over the hook waiting in the wall above her head.

Glancing back at the rest of his audience Anton snorted in disgust. The pencil pusher had his glasses off and was trying to clean them with his shirt tails, as if for some reason he didn’t want to watch the Slayer’s humiliation, while Spike looked like he was ready to kill something.

The assistant’s discomfort was amusing, but Spike’s anger was intoxicating. Really, what could William do? This was, after all, what he had asked for. He couldn’t very well attack Anton in his own home, in front of the auction official no less, and expect to get away with it.

Even if William challenged him over the lovely little Slayer and somehow won, Spike would still have the Slayer to contend with, as well as the loyal minions that were just beyond the door in the rest of the suite. And the auction masters would not be pleased either.

But even so, Anton knew that Spike was famous for taking irrational chances. It wouldn’t do to let down his guard until he was sure he had complete control of the pretty Slayer, and William well in hand.