“Spike!”

Buffy cried out, taking an instinctive step toward the dazed vampire who was struggling to pick himself up off the floor across the room from her. She hesitated, repressing with an effort her instinct to rush to his side, her eyes warily turning toward the furious sorcerer standing in the doorway.

They had bigger things to worry about now than the blow Spike had just taken.

With a weary groan of pain, Spike gripped the edge of the dresser beside him and slowly struggled to his feet, his eyes turned toward Ethan Rayne as well, but the mage paid him no attention at all. Rayne’s steely, narrowed gaze was focused on the Slayer, a slight smirk twisting his features into a mask of malice.

“You’d better call off the teenybopper brigade,” he advised her with a warning look, a single brow raised. “Otherwise, I can guarantee that not one of them will make it out of this place alive.”

“If they die…so will you.”

Buffy stated the threat without hesitation, a protective anger rising up in her at the threat to the girls under her command. They were trained warriors and had entered the battle with no false conceptions as to the danger they were facing – but, in many ways, they were still children. The way the self-serving magician before her referred to them, with such contempt and dismissal in his voice, made her want to knock the smirk right off his face.

Of course…he’s already got that coming, and *so* much more…Nobody messes with *my* boyfriend…

She quickly scanned the room, not taking her eyes off Rayne for more than an instant at a time, as she searched for an escape route, and found none. The only exit from the room was the one Rayne was currently blocking, and he had already proven in the last few minutes to have more power than she had remembered. It seemed that the sorcerer had been honing his power, learning to use it more effectively, over the last few years.

And now, the full force of that power is focused on keeping me and Spike from leaving this room…

“Yes, well,” Rayne shrugged, clearly unconcerned by her threat, “if anything happens to me…if my heart stops, and I die…so will every slave in this compound, in that very moment. You see, they’re all connected to me, linked in to my bodily responses through the manacles they wear, and all it takes is the simple press of a button…”

At that moment, he seemed to notice that Spike had risen to his feet across the room, casting him a vicious glare for an instant before turning his eyes back to Buffy’s face, watching her expression closely as he pushed the tiny button on the wristband he wore. Immediately, Spike collapsed to his knees again with a gasp of anguish, his arms crossed over his torso as he doubled over in agony.

Rayne’s eyes took on a wicked gleam of cruel pleasure. “See how very easy it is?”

With a snarl of fury, Buffy snatched up the dagger she had set aside from the nightstand beside the bed, hurling it in a lightning fast blow that sent it through Ethan’s right arm and straight into the wall behind him, pinning his arm fast against it. Rayne let out a howl of anger and pain, struggling to pull his arm free from the weapon that fastened it to the wall.

Before he could free himself, Buffy was already crossing the room toward him, a deadly glare on her face as she drew a second dagger from the sheath she wore around her waist, clearly prepared to finish what she had started and destroy him with one last blow. Ethan extended his left hand, uttering a Latin phrase in a voice hoarse with pain.

A blast of magical power flew from his hand and slammed into the Slayer, sending her flying backward and crashing into the far wall across from him. She let out a soft moan, dazed by the impact, struggling weakly to rise before collapsing to the floor again.

With a grimace of pain, Rayne gripped the dagger in his left hand and yanked it from his arm, suppressing a groan as he ripped the right sleeve from his shirt and wound it awkwardly around the bleeding wound. He cast a vindictive glance in Buffy’s direction, his jaw setting with fury as he made his way purposefully toward the vampire still kneeling on the floor and struggling to recover from the agony of the punishment the manacle had delivered.

Aware of the advancing threat even through his pain, Spike staggered to his feet, his fist moving with unexpected speed and force to slam into Ethan’s face with enough strength to nearly knock the sorcerer out.

Nearly…but not nearly enough.

In the instant that his fist connected with Rayne, the metal bracelet on Spike’s wrist delivered a second shock of agony that made the first seem insignificant by comparison. Gasping for breath that would not seem to come, Spike collapsed to the floor once more on his knees, his face to the floor, his body wracked with waves of suffering as the bracelet continued to deal out the punishment for the ultimate offense of striking out at his master.

Ethan steadied himself, a dark, murderous look of rage in his eyes as he turned them toward the trembling, suffering vampire on the floor at his feet. He wiped a smear of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand as he closed the short distance between Spike and himself, then gripped Spike’s hair and jerked his head up, dragging him back up onto his knees.

Spike glared up at him, still gasping for breath and silent, but defiant even through the agony that wracked his body.

Rayne’s eyes narrowed as he remarked coldly, “Perhaps you’re not as broken as Rupert thought. Well, no matter. We can fix that easily enough…”

Despite his brave attempt at courage in the face of his own helplessness, Spike could not hide the brief flash of fear he felt as Rayne slowly, deliberately raised his wrist into the vampire’s line of vision, his smirk widening slowly as he released Spike’s hair and teasingly fingered the button, his cruel gaze focused on Spike’s face, watching with sadistic greed for the fear he knew he was inspiring.

Spike flinched in anticipation of the pain he knew Rayne was about to inflict, steeling himself as the sorcerer’s finger tightened over the button.

A strong hand suddenly gripped Rayne’s arm, jerking it out of reach of his hand as he was spun around to face his attacker.

Buffy was back.

A brutal blow fell across Ethan’s face, sending him staggering backward toward the door. She advanced a couple of steps on the man as he caught his balance, glancing apprehensively toward the door behind him. A loud explosion from somewhere down the hall caught her off guard, and she jumped, raising an arm to shield her face from the blast, which sounded much closer than it actually was. She looked up again and frowned, wondering again about the safety of her girls and the success of their mission.

“Buffy…”

Spike’s raspy whisper behind her drew her attention, and she glanced over her shoulder at him, then forward again when he nodded, indicating the doorway.

Ethan was gone.

“No!” Buffy snarled in frustration, angry tears momentarily filling her eyes. “No, he is not going to get away with this!” Her voice was trembling with the power of the emotions that nearly overcame her in that moment.

“Buffy…the girls…”

Spike’s soft words reminded her once more of those in her charge, and she let out a heavy, shaky sigh, resigning herself to the fact that vengeance on Rayne for what he had done to Spike was going to have to wait. It was more important that she get Spike and her Slayers to safety before the girls were overwhelmed by their opponents in the battle. She turned to face Spike fully, her hands gripping his arms and steadying them as she searched his face with concerned eyes.

“You okay?” she asked gently. “What did he do to you?”

Spike shook his head, dismissing his pain, the remnants of which still made his breath heavy and labored. “ ‘S nothing, love…we’ve gotta move…”

Buffy frowned, troubled by his condition, but finally nodded in reluctant agreement as she took his hand and headed toward the door and the battle beyond it. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

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

Willow stood in the center of the library, anxiously surveying her surroundings.

Everything was ready.

At least…she thought everything was ready.

Sacred circle on the floor…herbs, candles…spell book…guards at the door…

“Are you quite sure you know what you’re doing?”

Oh, yeah…and annoying British librarian who only shuts up when he doesn’t want to answer my questions.

“I know what I’m doing, Giles,” Willow snapped. “And, you know, I wouldn’t have to do this at all if you’d just tell me what happened.” She looked up at the Watcher with those words, her gaze piercing as she studied his expression.

He immediately averted his eyes, swallowing hard, clearly still unwilling to provide the answers she sought.

That’s okay. If he doesn’t want to tell me, I’ll just turn to a more reliable source.

Willow turned solemn eyes on the still, prone figure in the center of the circle on the floor, his features slack, his eyes closed and his skin ashen. Despite his pallor, he still appeared quite natural, and she might have thought he was merely asleep, had she not known better.

“I’m sorry, Andrew,” she whispered as she knelt inside the circle beside him. “I don’t want to do this…and I know it’s disrespectful to do this without asking…not that I could ask, what with you being…d-dead and all…but…but I really need to know…so…I haven’t really got a choice. You’ll just…have to understand. I know you’ll understand…”

She closed her eyes as she placed her hands on Andrew’s head and began to focus on the random mental images that filled her mind – the last few images that had passed through Andrew’s mind before he had died. The ritual, a magical rite which was supposed to allow for communication with the recently deceased, was invasive enough to make it the type of magic she usually tried to avoid these days; but she felt that she had no choice, given the circumstances.

A vivid picture filled her mind…of Spike, dressed only in a tiny pair of leather shorts and bound in chains…

Blushing, Willow jerked her hands away from Andrew’s head, trying to block out the image.

Okay, Andrew, way more than I ever wanted to know, she thought impatiently. Really not looking for your strange, hero-worshipping fantasies right now…

After a moment, she took a deep breath and tried again, attempting to push past the initial memories that had filled her mind. To her surprise, Andrew’s last thoughts were still of Spike in various situations: among a group of young Slayers after he had just been rescued by them, resting in a bed Giles had provided for him in the new Watchers’ headquarters in England…

She frowned, wondering why Giles had said nothing about Spike’s return.

Her heart sank, a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach as her mind filled with Andrew’s final words on the roof…his brave, grand speech about Spike and his heroic deeds…and his accusations against Giles and his betrayal of the vampire who had twice saved the world from destruction.

Willow opened her eyes as she removed her hands from Andrew and broke the link. She gazed down at him sadly, blinking away tears as she mentally said goodbye to the boy who had started out as an enemy, and had become a dear friend.

“Thanks, Andrew,” she whispered, hesitating a moment before adding, “Goodbye.”

She stood up, stepping out of the circle and turning fierce green eyes on the Watcher, who had been watching the ritual closely, but now seemed far more interested in the fireplace than in making any sort of eye contact with Willow. She stared at him, her gaze piercing through his defenses, until finally, reluctantly, Giles returned her gaze.

The little redhead crossed her arms over her chest, inexplicably intimidating as she took a step back and gave the Watcher an appraising look.

“Giles…where’s Spike?”