Thanks to my wonderful beta, Tamakin, who filled in for me in a pinch here :) *hugs*


“I don’t care *how* tired you are, we can’t stop until this job is done!”

Buffy deliberately ignored the various expressions of resentment and anger and disappointment on the faces of the young Slayers surrounding her, determined to hold her ground. They couldn’t afford to waste a moment…not until Spike was safe. The girls did not understand her sense of urgency about this particular mission…but they didn’t have to understand, didn’t have to like it.

They just had to *do* it.

One of the Slayers in Melinda’s group protested with a typical teenage whine, “But Buffy…it’s almost sunrise! We won’t be able to operate under cover of darkness for much longer, and besides…we’re all exhausted…”

“I’m exhausted, too, but that doesn’t matter. When you’re a Slayer, sometimes you have to just suck it up and deal with it. This is one of those times. We can’t stop until Ethan Rayne has been stopped.”

“But some of us have been injured, Buffy. And we’ve already taken out all the security around the complex,” a younger Slayer pointed out hesitantly. “Don’t you think that’s enough for one night?”

“No, it’s absolutely not!” Buffy snapped. “That’s just more reason for us to finish this while we have the chance! We’ve taken out the guards, but we still haven’t found an entrance we can actually use. What do you think’s gonna happen when Rayne’s security guards fail to report to him? We have to find a way in and take him out before he has the chance to prepare for us…while we’re ready, and he’s not.”

“Buffy,” Melinda spoke up softly, and the older Slayer whirled around to face her, frustration evident on her face, though she seemed more inclined to listen to the one among the group of Slayers who had actually proven herself in battle. Melinda’s voice was quiet and apologetic, yet firm, as she pointed out, “We’re *not* ready.”

As she spoke, she gestured toward the group of girls, and Buffy grudgingly turned her eyes toward them again, giving them a closer look. As much as she hated to admit it with Spike’s life hanging in the balance, they were all visibly exhausted, many of them battered and bruised from the various fights in which they had engaged that night.

“If they’re too tired, they could end up doing more harm than good,” Melinda added, her voice low and confidential, intended only for Buffy’s ears.

Buffy hesitated only a moment longer before releasing a weary, impatient sigh and turning away from the girls with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Melinda was right.

If the girls were so tired that they slipped up, made mistakes, they could end up putting both their lives and Spike’s at risk. It would not do at all to rush in desperately to rescue him, only to end up losing because they were in too much of a hurry to take some time to rest and recuperate.

*It’s not wasting time,* Buffy reminded herself firmly. *It’s a necessary part of any battle plan…we have to take a little time…but…but Spike…*

She blinked back tears as she turned toward the swiftly brightening sunrise, staring into it bleakly. She swallowed back the sick sensation of fear in her throat, trying hard not to think about the horrible things that could be happening to Spike, while she and the others were resting here in the woods.

*I’ll get you out, Spike,* she vowed silently, closing her eyes against the rising sun. *I promise…I’ll get you out…*

**************************************

In a dim, sunless room deep within the compound, the focus of her fears was completely unaware of the all-out effort that was being made to rescue him from the terrible fate that was only moments away from becoming reality.

His first customer.

Spike waited in the empty room, furnished only with a large bed – equipped with strong restraints, of course – and a large wooden cabinet with mesh windows in its doors, revealing ominous partial glimpses of various sinister-looking “toys” for the pleasure of Rayne’s well-paying customers.

Spike was exhausted, but the idea of sitting on the bed that would soon become an instrument of his torment and degradation made him feel sick to his stomach. Despite his weariness, he chose to stand near the wall, his eyes cast down and staring hopelessly at the thick black leather cuffs that bound his wrists in front of him.

A matching piece of black leather was strapped tightly around his throat, just barely tight enough to restrict his speech and breathing, and plenty tight enough to make him constantly aware of the humiliation and shame of his current status. He could feel the cool metal of the thin chain attached to the collar as it hung down his bare back, swinging slightly when he moved, and sending chills of a far less physical kind through him with each reminder of his helpless position.

At least they had allowed him to wear pants – not that they were likely to stay on for long, Spike reminded himself grimly. They matched the collar and cuffs, made of black leather that was far too tight for comfort, designed more for the pleasure of the beholder than the comfort of the wearer.

The door to the room swung open, and Spike jumped despite himself, glancing fearfully upward as Ethan Rayne entered the room, followed by a man in a long, dark grey robe. At least – at first glance, he appeared to be a man. When the figure raised his head slowly to meet Spike’s eyes, the vampire felt a shudder of revulsion go through him at the depths of evil he saw in the visitor’s strange, glittering dark eyes.

“Spike,” Rayne began in an incongruously pleasant voice, giving Spike a smug smile, “This is Mordrin. Your first customer.”

Spike flinched slightly, taking an involuntary step backward toward the wall, his eyes moving swiftly, warily, between the sorcerer and the strange, robed man. Before he could move far, Rayne caught the chain in his hand, jerking him back toward them abruptly and holding him there, his falsely cheerful smile never faltering, though there was cruel warning in his steel grey eyes.

“You needn’t fear, Spike,” Rayne assured him in a deceptively gentle voice. “This is only your first customer, and I’ve gone easy on you. He doesn’t desire to cause you pain.” He paused before adding with a shrug, “He’s usually satisfied simply by enjoying the pain that’s already there.”

Uncertainly, Spike glanced up at Rayne, and then back at Mordrin, whose strange eyes were, thankfully, averted. When Spike looked back to meet Rayne’s gaze with a hesitant question in his own, his heart sank at the sadistic amusement he saw there, as the sorcerer spoke in a soft voice, barely over a whisper.

“And there’s quite enough inside you already to keep him satisfied…don’t you agree?”

Spike lowered his gaze, swallowing hard, fighting back tears of humiliation.

Rayne went on casually, unmoved by his slave’s emotional pain. “Mordrin has special…talents. He is a very valued customer of mine, and often assists in the…the breaking of new slaves, in exchange for the privilege of having his pick among them. However, in this case, I don’t believe the breaking will be necessary. Do you, Spike?”

The warning in his voice made the expected response clear, and Spike felt his face flood with shame as he delivered it, shaking his head slowly, his eyes closed and downcast. “No,” he whispered.

“Nevertheless,” Mordrin spoke up, in a silken voice, disarmingly mild, yet still carrying a note of something dark and frightening, “Ethan, I find I’m quite interested in seeing what could reduce such a bold, powerful creature as the renowned William the Bloody to the trembling, shattered mess I’m looking at right now.”

As Spike winced at his words, Ethan smiled coldly, shrugging slightly, his eyes remaining focused on Spike as he pointed out, “I merely said it wasn’t necessary…not that it wasn’t an option. As always, my friend, you are free to do as you will with the slave. It’s of no matter to me, so long as my property is not destroyed.” His smile widened into a smirk as he added pointedly, “Physically.”

Without another word, he took the chain in his hand and placed it in Mordrin’s, and turned toward the door. Casting a smile over his shoulder, he remarked cheerfully, “Enjoy!” as the door closed firmly behind him.

Spike could feel the cold smirk of the strange man, his dark, piercing eyes focused on him, though he dared not look up to meet that frightening gaze. Finally, however, as the silence spread between them, he ventured a brief, hesitant glance upward – and felt the cold claws of terror clutching at his heart at the sight of the darkness in Mordrin’s gaze.

Spike took a stumbling step backward, vaguely surprised when Mordrin dropped the chain and let him go…before his vision suddenly faded away into a terrifying, heavy blackness.

***********************************

As an hour, then two, passed with agonizing slowness, Buffy paced anxiously back and forth in the middle of the clearing, glancing impatiently now and again at the sleeping girls surrounding her.

“I can’t take this,” she muttered. “This…just waiting. Doing nothing. We should be doing something.”

No one responded to her, and she realized with irritation that no one was really listening to her. Various tents had been set up throughout the clearing, and most of the girls had disappeared within them. In fact, the only one of the girls who appeared to be awake at all was Melinda. The pretty young Slayer was seated on a large boulder, her arms crossed over her knees as she calmly watched the Slayer’s frenetic motions.

“I mean, Ethan Rayne has to be stopped. I’ve allowed him to go on long enough, and now people are suffering because of him!” Buffy insisted, her voice trembling with anguish and anxiety. “I let him get away with the smaller stuff, and now it’s my fault that he’s getting away with this now! We have to stop him; there’ll be plenty of time to rest later, but *now*…”

“Hey!” a male voice protested irritably, just before a head poked out from one of the tents, positioned carefully in the shade of a large oak tree. One of the vampires the girls had taken prisoner glared at Buffy as he snarled, “Some of us are day sleepers, here! Can you have your little gripe-fest somewhere else?”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed in fury as she stalked toward the tent, grabbing the vampire up by the throat. “You don’t like it?” she snapped, meeting his eyes for a moment before flinging the bound creature roughly out into the sunlight beyond the tent. “Take a walk!”

The vampire let out a brief howl of pain that was instantaneously swallowed up in silence as his body disintegrated in the deadly sunlight. Buffy stared impassively at the spot where he had been for a moment, before resuming her pacing, deliberately ignoring Melinda’s speculative raised eyebrow in her direction.

“We can’t just sit here, anymore, while who knows what could be going on in there?” she insisted. “We have to take him down, now, while we have the chance! I don’t know what we’re waiting for, I’m not even tired, and we need to go in, while…”

“Buffy…we’re going to get him back.”

Buffy stopped momentarily, giving Melinda a startled look through wide, panicked eyes. The compassion in the younger girl’s dark eyes caught her off guard, and before she knew it, her own eyes were blurred with tears. She lowered her gaze, crossing her arms over her chest and vying for control of her emotions. Melinda rose from the boulder and came to stand in front of her, gently taking her arms in her hands.

“We’re going to get him back,” she repeated softly. “We are. I promise.”

Buffy shook her head despairingly, raising a hand to swipe roughly at her tears. “You don’t understand,” she sniffled, her voice hoarse and thick with emotion. “This…this always happens!”

Melinda frowned in confusion. “This…?”

“*Something*,” Buffy amended with a sad little shrug, her eyes downcast. “Something always happens to…to mess things up with us. It’s like…we can never just be happy, and together, you know? Something always has to go wrong. And…and this time…”

She shook her head again, raising her eyes to meet Melinda’s searchingly, almost pleadingly.

“I’ve never been good at the…the emotional stuff, Melinda. The…the healing and comfort junk…you know?”

Melinda nodded sympathetically, quietly waiting for her to go on.

“I can get him out of there,” Buffy continued. “But…but what if that’s all I can do? And he…he needs so much right now...even when he got his soul…he’s never been…I’ve never seen him so…so *broken*…” Buffy broke down over the word, a hoarse sob torn from her throat as her shoulders began to shake. “What if I can’t help him, Melinda? What if it’s too late?”

***********************************

“You’re a perfect well-spring of torment and suffering and shame and degradation…it’s all through you…saturating your hard-earned, worthless *soul*…I can feel it all over you…can taste it…”

Mordrin’s soft voice hissed in Spike’s ear, though all he could see around him was darkness, so black, so thick he could nearly feel it. He flinched away from the voice, which seemed far too near, only to find it coming again, closer, from the other side, as the sadistic…whatever he was…whispered in a tone of cruel glee,

“It’s *delicious*…”

Spike shook his head, stumbling forward in a useless attempt to get away, as all around him was the same all-encompassing, consuming darkness. “No,” he choked out hoarsely, desperately, “No…”

“You’re pathetic,” Mordrin reminded him with a sneer. “From a deadly, powerful monster…to a cringing, pitiful worthless wreck…take a good look at yourself, Spike…look at what you’ve become…”

As the strange creature spoke, an image began to take shape before Spike’s eyes…an image of himself, huddled and trembling in a corner, staring up through wide, panicked eyes at some unseen threat approaching him. He was naked and chained, bruised and bleeding from various wounds…and pleading for mercy.

Overcome by an overwhelming sense of shame, Spike backed away from the image, finally turning away from it in disgust…to find Mordrin standing directly behind him, glaring at him with cold revulsion in his dark eyes, a vicious, derisive smirk on his face.

“What could possibly have reduced you to this, Spike?” he demanded. “What could have turned you into such a pathetic, loathsome, *worthless* little worm?”

As he spoke, he stepped slowly closer to the vampire, who was backing away, his eyes averted, shaking his head in denial.

“What broke you, Spike? What destroyed the powerful creature that you were? *Look at me*!” Mordrin snapped.

Spike’s conditioning would allow him to do nothing else.

Dread in his heart, he slowly raised his eyes to meet those of the monster before him, who was smiling at him with chilling pleasure. To his horror and dismay, once he had met that frightening gaze, he found that he could not look away, as by some dark magical power, Mordrin held his gaze with his own, locking it down and refusing to let go.

As Spike felt himself swallowed up once more in darkness, dozens of images crowded in before his eyes, memories of horrors he had experienced, pain and torment and shame that had marked his life and led him to this broken moment.

*“You’re beneath me, Spike…it would *never* be you…”*

*“Gotta learn to be a proper vampire if you’re gonna be seen with *me*, boy! I’ll teach you…”*

*“I see what he wants…something…glistening…*effulgent*…”*

*Buffy’s broken body, lying on the concrete beneath Glory’s tower, and his heart seeming to implode within him at the knowledge that she was gone…and it was his fault…*

*The dragon consuming his sire in a rush of agonizing flame, before he could reach him and save him…slaying the dragon…too late…*

*“I could never love you, Spike…I could never trust you enough for it to be love!”*

*“You felt it, Buffy…I’ll *make* you feel it!*

*Breaking her, destroying her, with his love…driving her deeper into her darkness merely by his very destructive presence…*

*Angel…Illyria…Gunn…all dead…all gone…all gone…*

In an instant the tumultuous cacophony of voices and images vanished, leaving him in pitch black and utter silence, consumed with the pain and shame of the past. Spike felt a sob rising up in his throat as his hands rose to cover his face, but the painfully tight collar around his throat choked it back. An instinctive feeling of panic began to close in on him, as he gasped desperately for breath that would not seem to come, staggering backward, clutching and clawing uselessly at the thick, coarse leather around his throat in an attempt to escape a far less physical torment.

Suddenly, abruptly, he felt a hand press down on his shoulder, and he froze, flinching in an instinctive reaction of fear, but knowing better than to try to pull away. A familiar, terrifying scent filled his nostrils, and a voice that haunted his nightmares hissed dark, vindictive words softly in his ear, reminding him of his place, the devastation to which he had been brought…and the one who had brought him there.

*Siron*.

“You should be on your knees, Spike.”