Chapter 25. Playtime

“I can’t believe you gave this up for mere cash,” Anton taunted. “Such power, such a rush. A Slayer to command…you’re a fool Spike, and I hope you know it. But if you don’t, you’re going to find out while you watch me with her. Such an interesting condition of sale, don’t you think? More common on revenge sales – wouldn’t you say?”

Spike narrowed his eyes and wondered just what Anton was implying. He intended to dust the bastard one way or another for presuming to touch his Buffy, but some ways to die were worse than others. There were some things humans didn’t need to know. Ever. He’d make the bastard suffer if he said anything more. It was almost with relief that Spike listened to the rest of Anton’s prattle.

“But then Angelus always did go in for watching, didn’t he? Perhaps you inherited the trait from him. Anyway, since this is the last opportunity you’ll ever get to be close to this particular piece of flesh again, I didn’t want to disappoint.”

He intended to teach the so-called master a thing or two before he became dust. Let the Aurelian pup know how really weak and ignorant he was compared to a real master.

Anton pulled aside the curtain that Spike had presumed was hiding a window, revealing a door into an adjoining room. A curt knock brought another human slave into the room pushing a little cart.

Spike couldn’t believe their good fortune when he realized that it was Tara.

Perhaps Buffy had been pretending, or biding her time until Tara was near. Now would be the perfect time for the Slayer to make her stand. He tensed and waited, but nothing happened. The Slayer remained impassive, chained nude against the wall, her eyes following Anton’s every move, as if waiting for another command.

Intent on watching the Slayer and waiting for her signal, Spike hadn’t been paying attention to Anton and the witch until the scent of something burning assaulted his nostrils. A glance at the table Tara had wheeled in set him cold. On it was a small brazier of hot coals; various implements with wooden handles sticking out at odd angles like fondue forks. Cursing, he realized that he should have noticed the distinctive scent immediately.

Trying and failing to suppress another growl, Spike recalled the last time he had seen such an arrangement. He knew what the little tableau was. Those little tines were branding irons and hot pokers. Anton meant to mark his property the old fashioned way – with scars that would never completely heal. No wonder Anton had had water handy.

Anton continued his prattle as he fiddled around with the little sticks, checking to make sure that each end was glowing a nice firey red. “The other wonderful thing about Slayers is their healing powers. No matter what I do to her today, I’m sure she’ll be right as rain in another day or two – and ready for another go.”

Spike knew that many vampires enjoyed a bit of torture mixed with their pleasure. He just hadn’t known that Anton was one of them. Anton didn’t have a reputation for much of anything except his skill at acquiring money.

Spike had seen more than enough. The time was perfect. What was Buffy waiting for? Why didn’t she break the thrall? Chained as she was, she couldn’t attack him directly herself, but the distraction, the pain and disorientation created when the bond was snapped, that was all the advantage Spike would need to take out the centuries older master.

“Of course, I would never harm so valuable an asset,” Anton continued. “At least not permanently. Except of course for those healing powers. Such a handy thing in a paramour. And if I ever get tired of her, I’ll simply re-sell her! Must be an after market for a slightly used Slayer. Probably make a profit, too.” He laughed.

“So, Spike. I thought we’d make a party of it,” he jeered. Even in his agitated state, Spike could tell that the older vampire didn’t really mean the offer as a friendly gesture. “Maybe another female to round out the group.”

At Anton’s wave, Tara sidled up to Spike and began running her hand up his inner thigh. Clenching his lips to stop the dry heaves that threatened to ruin his cover, Spike tried to extricate himself from the witch’s grasp.

Finally, pushing Red’s bird away from him, he tried again to reach the Slayer’s mind.

‘NOW,’ he thought, ‘it has to be now.’

Spike was ready to pounce on Anton as soon as Buffy showed the slightest flicker of resistance. But he got no response at all. There was nothing.

They had discussed this possibility. If Spike moved too soon, before Buffy challenged Anton, unless he killed Anton outright, it was possible that Anton could use the Slayer against him. Force Buffy to stake the vampire who was trying to rescue her.

Spike could only hope that if Anton was controlling both Buffy and Tara, it must be putting quite a strain on his capabilities. Either that, or he must be incredibly confident of his ability to hold both girls at once.

Eventually Anton noticed that Spike had spurned Tara’s advances. “You know, William, I think you’re right,” he agreed conversationally. “Rumor has it that this plump one prefers other girls – shall we see?”

For the first time Buffy and Tara seemed to see one another. Hope flared and Spike wondered if the Slayer hadn’t noticed Tara until now. Maybe that was why she was waiting to fight against the thrall. But there was no spark of recognition in either of their eyes; both were completely filled with the false lust Anton had commanded.

Tara smiled as she approached the chained and naked form of the Slayer, glancing aside only briefly to pick up an iron from the brazier.

Tweedy called out in startlement and hid his face in Buffy’s cast off garment. Spike surged forward, unable to contain himself at this threat to his beloved. He was not about to allow this sick bastard to continue this horrible game.

But before he made it even a step, Anton turned and blocked Spike’s advance with one hand, brandishing a gleaming poker of his own in the other.

“Contract said you could watch,” Anton growled. “Not interfere. You gave up any claim you had on her the minute you contracted the sale.”

He waved imperiously to the cowering fledgling in the corner. He’d have to recommend that the auction house have this minion destroyed as soon as he had fulfilled his current assignment. He’d never seen such a pansy useless fledgling.

Holding the younger master at bay, he called out to the auctioneer’s assistant. “Put him in the cuffs on the other wall, so he can’t interfere,” he ordered the hireling.

Watching impatiently while the flunky attempted to carry out his orders, Anton was annoyed when he had to push the incompetent fool away and finish the task himself. The geekish minion had nearly left the cuffs too loose, which would have made them virtually useless. Good help was so hard to find these days, but really, this was ridiculous.

Turning his eyes back to the girl who had frozen mid step, Anton smiled as he listened to the sounds of Spike struggling fruitlessly against the chains. He had had this room specially modified: both the walls and the floor had been reinforced so that not even the strongest creature could break the magically reinforced chains permanently affixed to them. There was even a little drain in the travertine marble floor to make hosing down the blood easier.

Knowing that his only rival was now completely helpless was a terrific relief. Now Anton could focus his entire attention on his own pleasure. Everything was going so perfectly; he could barely contain his delight.

Spike’s volatile nature had played right into his hands, and he felt completely justified in ordering him restrained. Not only that, but the little minion would back up his assessment. Really, it was too precious. Now the scrumptious little Slayer and her former owner were both at his complete mercy.

Leaving the girls for a moment, he focused his attention back on to the now helpless master. He was useful as an alibi, but in some ways it was a pity the cowering minion was here. If he didn’t need a witness, he could do whatever he liked, and with Spike as dust, Anton knew he could make up any story he pleased and there would be no one to gainsay him.

And he would have done just that if he didn’t know that the rest of the Aurelians were just as hot headed as their get. If he didn’t have a watertight alibi, one of them was liable to come storming into his house with some crazy idea that William’s death needed to be avenged. That was just more bother than it was worth. But having the BOTH the vampire and his former slave chained and helpless in his playroom? As the commercial said, “Priceless.”