Chapter 4

Spike disappeared. Went to ground, maybe, to lick his wounds and heal. Once Buffy recovered from the absolute, sheer terror of having him once again fling himself between her and harm, she went looking for him. But he was nowhere to be found. Not at Revello Drive, not at Willy’s or any of his usual haunts.

She needed to know that he was all right, that he was doing something about that broken collarbone. She had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. This was too much like that other time. The time when she had beaten him up and left him in pain in that alley beside the police station. Left him to bleed and maybe burn when the sun came up and hadn’t even thought to check. Hadn’t even thought of him until he had turned up at her birthday party, the welts on his face that remained even though a whole week had gone by proclaiming how badly she had hurt him. Hadn’t cared about him or that he might died—and all he had been trying to do was help.

Maybe he had left Sunnydale, she thought as the days went by with still no sign of him. He had definitely left Revello Drive. She discovered that on a return visit. His blood packages were gone from the fridge, the coverings taken down from the window of the guest room and everything left scrupulously neat, a note in the center of the bed. One curt word. ‘Thanks.’

Maybe it was better this way. Maybe he’d gone back to Dru. He could, now that he knew he could fight demons and had a way to earn the money he needed to buy pig’s blood on the way to Brazil. He’d be safe with Dru. Far safer than with her.

But, God! she needed to know that he was all right.

Oz sent to get his things from his dorm. That was an awful shock to Willow, walking into his room and finding it stripped and bare.

“Devon said that he sent for his stuff,” wept Willow. “I guess that means he’s planning on settling down somewhere...else. Not here.”

“I guess so,” said Buffy weakly.

“He could have sent me a note. He could have sent something, just to say he was all right.”

And thinking of her.

Buffy held Willow while she cried and thought how complicated things could become. She had no doubt that Oz was thinking of Willow and he had probably thought that a note would only bring up painful memories, hadn’t thought that the lack of a note would do the same. No way to win in that scenario, unless Oz actually came back.

“I feel like I’ve been split down the center and half of me is lost,” wept Willow.

“I know. It feels like that now. It gets better,” she said helplessly. “It really does, Will.”

“You’re thinking of Angel. The way he walked out on you. You’ve been there.”

“Yes.”

“The way you talked to him on Thanksgiving...You really are over him, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” But she wasn’t over Spike. Never would be. All one could hope for was: “It dulls. The pain dulls. You learn to live with it. You deal.”

“Why can’t I make it go away? Isn’t there some way I can make it go away? Just ‘cause I say so? Can’t I just make it go ‘poof’?”

Now why did that sound so familiar? Uh-oh! That ‘will-be-done’ spell! That’s what Willow was thinking about!

God, it was tempting to let Willow do it! ‘Why doesn’t she just go marry him?’ That’s what Willow had said the last time around. And there Buffy and Spike had been—all cuddly and cozy.

God, what it would be like to be in his arms again, to be kissing him and holding him and... Damn it, this time she’d yank him into bed right away. No waiting for that freaking wedding night, like they had the last time. Yank him out of Giles’ place and over to Revello Drive and into bed for the duration of the spell. It was a spell, after all, and Willow would reverse it in the end. But until then, she’d have him! She’d have him! His hands, and his mouth, and his body in her...

Oh, God, no! It was wrong! And so many other things could also go wrong. Maybe Giles would stay blind this time. Or Xander or Anya might get killed by the demons chasing after them because Xander had been made a demon magnet. Or Willow could decide to really become a vengeance demon this time around.

Couldn’t take the chance.

Buffy was awake when Willow crept out of bed that night. She heard the faint squeak of hinges as Willow opened the trunk that contained all her spell components. She lay still, wondering whether to break things up now or whether she should wait until Willow was actually trying to do the spell.

Break the spell in the middle, she decided. Stopping Willow before she started would only make Willow try again another night or any time she was left alone, and Buffy couldn’t stay with her forever to prevent that.

A few minutes later, she pushed the swing door of the communal bathroom open quietly. Willow was sitting inside a circle of lit red candles, with an incense censer, a bowl, a goblet and trays of herbs all neatly set up around her.

“Harken, all ye elements,” Willow was saying, “I summon thee now...”

Buffy came in fast as Willow reached to drop something into the bowl. Buffy kicked over an arc of candles with a sweep of her foot, then knocked the bowl flying.

“No!” cried Willow. Then Buffy was on her knees beside her, holding her tightly.

“Not this way, Will. I know this spell. It goes wrong. It backfires. Don’t do it!”

“Buffy...” Willow collapsed. Buffy rocked her back and forth.

“I know it hurts. I know, Will. But this is not the way.”

“I have to do something,” Willow wept.

“We’ll figure something out. My Mom’s back from Aunt Darlene’s. She’s good at things like this. We’ll talk to her, okay?”

Willow nodded feebly where she was crying into Buffy’s shoulder.

“Just don’t use magic. Promise me, Willow.”

“I promise,” whispered Willow.

But something more had to be done.

Buffy went around to see Giles first thing the next morning.

“We’ve got to get her someone who knows how to use magic and can show her what she can and can’t do,” she said once she had explained what had happened. “Willow’s got a lot of power and you know what can happen if someone with power doesn’t get the proper training. You’re a Watcher, Giles. You’ve got contacts. Can’t you find someone either here or in England who can teach her?”

“Yes,” said Giles. “Yes, I can and I will.”

“I knew I could count on you, Giles!”

Giles was frowning. He sipped at his breakfast cuppa slowly.

“Buffy,” he said at last. “How did you know what that spell would do? You’ve never been knowledgeable about magic.”

Buffy jumped. “I-I, well, I just, uh, heard about this one...”

“Don’t be ingenuous.”

“Uh, I won’t, if I knew what that meant.”

“I’ve been slow on the uptake,” Giles muttered. “But things have been bothering me. I’ve been dismissing them. I’m starting to realize I’ve become very good at that. But I’m not a fool, Buffy.”

“I never thought you were, Giles,” she mumbled.

“All that information about the Initiative. Riley might have given away some of it, but not to that extent. You knew too much, Buffy. About their plans and their operations and that Room 314 and Spike’s chip and even the physical layout of their facility.”

“Well, uh, the Firoud and Louth and Willow hacking in...”

Giles shook his head. “It won’t wash, Buffy. You’re acting like a different person. Older, more mature. Do you know you even move differently? More assured. Combat ready, if you see what I mean. I think if I saw you on patrol now, you would be far more skilled at fighting than you were even a fortnight ago.”

“Giles...”

“Can we say possession?” murmured Giles.

“No, dammit, we can’t! I knew you’d start thinking this way! I’m me, Giles! I’m Buffy! Only...”

“Ah yes. I knew there was an ‘only’.”

Buffy sighed. “I’m Buffy. But I’m Buffy from 2004.”

“Excuse me?”

She looked at his pole-axed expression.

“I know this sounds insane, Giles...”

“Oh, yes, quite.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his hands roughly over his face.

“I died, Giles. I ran into something I couldn’t handle and I died. And the Powers That Be gave me a choice. Heaven or something I wanted even more: the chance to come back and fix things. And...and I really wanted that. So...”

“I see,” said Giles blankly. He put down his tea, got up, and went and poured himself a large Scotch and downed it in one swallow.

“And then here I was in your flat and it was Thanksgiving and I had my arms full of a bowl of mashed potatoes and you all were talking about Hus and...”

“I think I have to sit down again,” said Giles and did so. “What about our Buffy?”

“See, that’s the whole thing! I don’t know! I’m Buffy. And I don’t have the sense of two minds or anything. But I’m the older Buffy with all the memories of the last few years that haven’t happened yet and I don’t know where the younger Buffy has gone, except that she might be somehow merged with me.”

“I feel a bit strange,” said Giles.

“So do I,” said Buffy.

They sat staring at each other blankly for a while.

“Um,” said Giles at last. “Do you have any proof...?”

“Not one iota. I can’t even tell you something that might happen tomorrow, because everything’s already changed. The last time around, we didn’t take out the Initiative so early. Adam got loose and went around killing things and there was this huge battle and we finally won. But there were a lot of casualties, so I wanted to do a preventive strike this time where nobody gets hurt and...”

“So that’s how you know about Willow,” Giles said slowly.

“Last night’s spell backfired, Giles, and went all squirrelly. That’s why I stopped it. Things could really have gone wrong. But the thing is, Willow gets to be really powerful. And because she has no one to keep her in check and teach her about consequences, she goes over to the dark side for a while a couple of years from now. So, whether you believe me or not, you’ve got to get a tutor for Willow. It’s imperative.”

“I will.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “Would you like to tell me about Spike?”

Buffy flinched. “What about Spike?”

“Let me see. The last time we encountered Spike a few months ago, he was trying to find the Gem of Amara in order to kill you and the two of you were at each other’s throats. But that was the younger Buffy. You, the older Buffy, seem peculiarly protective about him.”

“He...well, he helps us in four apocalypses.”

“Four!”

“And he dies in the last one. Sacrifices himself for us. That was the big one, Giles, and if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have a world anymore.”

“Good Lord!”

“Whatever you do, don’t dust him, Giles. I don’t know if he’ll do it this time, but we can’t take the chance. Gonna try to get him out of here, try to get him far away from Sunnydale. I’ll wear that freaking amulet myself, if it comes to that,” she muttered. “But I’m not gonna have him burn up again. Maybe he’s already left Sunnydale. I haven’t seen him around for a while. I hope so. He’d be safe then.”

Giles was staring at her. “You sound as if you...care about him.”

Buffy jerked to her feet and spun away. “I do, okay? And he’s earned that. Several times over. We’ve got history. Oh, I can’t explain, Giles! It’s too complicated! Just don’t do anything to him. Or let anyone else like Angel or Xander do anything to him. With that chip in his head, he can’t hurt anyone now.”

“All right.” Giles drew a deep breath. “Can you tell me what’s going to happen?”

“In the future, you mean?” Buffy bit her lip. “I don’t know if I should. If you knew, maybe it would change things. I don’t know. Things are already changing. I just have to stay on top of it, keep the bad things from happening. But I’ve written things down. If something happens to me, if I get myself killed this time around, just look in my diary. Willow will show you where it is. It’s all there.”

“All right.” Giles had a peculiar look on his face. “I have to think about all this. It’s a lot to digest all in one go.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I was hoping never to have to tell you.”

She didn’t know how Giles was going to take this. Maybe it would turn him into her enemy. Maybe he would try to find some way of getting rid of her and bringing his own Buffy back. She didn’t know. But even if he did get rid of her, he would still end up looking in her diary. He wouldn’t be able to keep from doing that. And if he did, he would make the corrections that she had listed. He would have to. Those corrections were necessary and he would see that. She could trust him to take care of things, whatever happened to her.

She just had to find some way to keep Spike safe before Giles did anything to her.

The best way was sending him out of town. But she had to find him to do that. She was filled with a helpless, inchoate rage—at him for ducking out on her like this, at herself for yelling at him, at the whole situation for being as complicated as it was. She had never been good at emotional issues and being older didn’t make her any better at it. She much preferred things she could stake.

It was irrational to be this frustrated and furious. She spent the day calming herself down, went to her classes, did her patrol, took a long, soothing bath, all the normal things. Which were all just putting off matters and she knew that. When she finally ran out of excuses that evening, she went down to see Willy who always knew everything that was going on in Sunnydale.

Bur Willy wouldn’t say anything about Spike, not even whether he was still in town.

“Ask Louth,” he mumbled.

“I’m asking you,” Buffy said dangerously.

“Slayer, I know you can hurt me. But you won’t kill me. Louth will, if I start talking about his business.”

“All right,” she growled. “I’ll ask Louth. Where is he?”

“I don’t know.” He backed away hurriedly, flinging up his hands at the look on her face. “I really don’t, Slayer!”

Buffy reached out and grabbed Kibble before he could duck away.

“Where’s Louth, Kibble?” She held up a twenty as incentive.

Kibble spluttered something.

“Oasis,” Willy translated.

Haute cuisine on the best side of town. Figured. Why didn’t anyone take her to places like that? Maybe Spike would have, if she’d ever let him.

“Thanks.” She handed Kibble the twenty and a big smile. Kibble nearly folded up with relief.

Louth was with an extremely lovely brunette whose pupils reflected green in the subdued lighting of the Oasis. He looked up, amused, as Buffy stopped beside his table.

“42 Landry,” he said before she could open her mouth. “Basement flat.”

Buffy glared at him, then growled, “Thanks,” and left. God! Was she that obvious?

42 Landry turned out to be a one-storey, modern house on the good side of town. The main floor was all glass and windows, certainly no place a vamp would choose, and if she hadn’t been told about the basement flat, she wouldn’t have noticed the concealed stairs on the left side of the house, leading downwards to a door tucked within a deep overhang.

No bell. She banged on the door with her fist.

“Had to be you, Slayer,” said Spike dryly when he opened the door. “Surprised you didn’t just kick it in.”

She glared at him, somewhere between fury at his casual attitude and relief that he was all right. He was wearing only black jeans slung low across his hips and a black, silky shirt hanging open at his sides, baring his chest and stomach. Her brain hung itself up on all that taut, tempting muscle and sleek skin. She bit her lip. Big mistake to have come here. She should have sent a message instead, arranging a meeting. Why hadn’t she?

“Are you okay?”

“What?”

“Collarbone.”

“Oh! It’s mended.” He pushed the right side of his shirt back to bare his collarbone and flexed his shoulder. Muscle and bone moved smoothly, no trace of the break left. “Louth’s people fixed it up and vamp healing took care of the rest. Was only cracked anyway. What do you want, Slayer?”

“May I come in?”

He shrugged and stepped back grudgingly. “If you have to.”

She blinked at the sight of the flat. It was all open concept and very modern, Eames and Breuer chairs in groupings on the wide expanses of polished wood, state of the art entertainment center, state of the art kitchen on one side, large archway without doors leading to a bedroom with a kingsized bed, probably a state of the art bathroom beyond, the expected door at the far end of the living room providing the necessary second exit all demons insisted upon. All leather, steel and glass, spare and functional. Anything more different from his crypt with its rich rugs, candles and hangings, clutter and cosiness, couldn’t possibly be imagined.

“Uh, unexpected.”

He followed her gaze and shrugged again. “Not my taste. Louth’s. Only temporary. Gonna have my own place soon.”

“Why’d you move out of Revello Drive then?”

“Didn’t need you any more, did I?” His gaze was mocking. “Got a place in Louth’s organization. Money and a job I like. Beating up on demons. Can’t hassle me on that, Slayer.”

She sighed. “I didn’t come to give you a hard time.”

“Why are you here then?”

“Wanted to say thanks for shoving me out of the way of that lamp post. I should have said that before. I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

His brows rose. “Well, there’s a change. Never thought I’d hear the words ‘Thanks’ or ‘Sorry’ from you, Slayer.”

She bit her lip. Years later, he could still have said the same. Neither word ever came easily to her.

He seemed determined to quarrel, his eyes narrow and dangerous beneath frowning brows.

“Look...”

“Want a drink?” He headed towards the kitchen, silent in his bare feet. “Haven’t got much except blood and booze, but I might have a soft drink somewhere.”

“No, thanks.” She drew a deep breath. “Why are you still in Sunnydale, Spike?”

“Ah, now we’re getting to the heart of the matter.” He gave her a mocking grin. “Come to run me out of town, have you?”

“I would have thought you’d want to leave. Sunnydale hasn’t turned out to be that good a place for you, has it?”

“Still haven’t got this chip out of my head.”

“And you won’t. An ordinary surgeon couldn’t do it and the Initiative people who could, like Engelman, are being pulled out. Give it up, Spike.”

He said nothing, just glowered at her.

“That’s not why you’re staying, is it?” she said, realizing it.

“Got a place here,” he said brusquely. “Got money enough for blood and smokes. Got backing. Why should I leave?”

“It’s not safe for you here.”

“And why should you care about my safety?”

She spun away, hands clenched so tightly at her sides that her nails bit into her palms. “I would have thought you’d go back to Dru.”

“What, and have to deal with more chaos and fungus demons? Had it with that. She kicked me out, Slayer. Right. Not gonna go back for more. I’m done.”

“She’d get you human blood.”

He laughed suddenly. “Now there’s a change! The Slayer tempting me with human blood! You should be staking me at the very thought. Why aren’t you?”

“Spike...”

He flashed towards her in a sudden burst of vampire speed. She found herself slammed against the wall, his hand around her throat.

“Maybe I want more. Maybe I want Slayer blood. Haven’t thought about that, have you? Can’t hurt humans. But I can hurt you. We found that out, didn’t we?”

His eyes were furious, the pupils dilated within a thin ring of blazing, intense blue.

“Is that what you want?” she purred. Her own anger and uncertainty had vanished on seeing that anger and uncertainty in him. Her hand lay on his chest, feeling that cool, silken skin, that nipple hardening under her palm. Oh, she had power over him, even now. Not love, but lust—and wasn’t that the way she wanted it? She could have him, wanted to, felt drunk and reckless, reason flying out of the window in this rush of heat. “Slayer blood?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Another notch on your Slayer-killing belt.”

“Yes!”

“Nothing else?”

“What else?”

Her thumb moved over his nipple, pressing lightly. He looked down in surprise and she felt him shiver.

“You tell me,” she murmured.

She saw his lips part, heard the catch of his breath.

“What the hell are you playing at, Slayer?” he asked violently.

“Why did you keep that lamp post from killing me? So you could kill me yourself?”

His lips tightened and a diagonal muscle in his cheek jumped as his jaw set hard. “Yeah.”

“Liar.”

“Dammit! Fight me, Slayer!”

“No.”

“I’ll drink your blood!” he snarled. “I’ll drain you dry!”

“Is that what you really want? Take it then.”

His weight came hard upon her. She shuddered and her arms clenched around him, hands siding under his shirt and across his back, clutching at him. Her brain was fuzzy with conflicting emotions —desire, anger, frustration, recklessness. She could see the same conflict flashing through his eyes.

This was all wrong and she knew it and she didn’t care, not with the feel of him against her and his breath on her face and his face filling her vision. Unwise. Mad, crazy, stupid. All those words. But she had never ever had what she wanted without guilt, fighting it all the way, never able to just enjoy. She wanted it. Just once. Wanted something to hoard, to remember.

She could feel him vibrating with intensity against her. He went into gameface, one hand shoving her head back, the other yanking the collar of her leather jacket aside, exposing her neck.

“Well, I will then,” he growled and his fangs flashed, then sank into her neck.

He had never drunk from her. Not once. Not ever. The Master had, Angel had, Dracula...but not Spike. She couldn’t remember Dracula’s bite, but the Master’s and Angel’s had hurt. Spike taking her blood didn’t hurt. The draw of his fangs brought unexpected rapturous, voluptuous pleasure. He had told her it would. She knew people paid for it. But she had never experienced it before, hadn’t really realized what it would feel like. She gasped, her knees turning to water, her whole body melting and clinging to his.

Maybe he would drain her. She didn’t care. If she weren’t here, he’d be safe. He wouldn’t burn, wouldn’t get caught up in the battle at the Hellmouth. Giles and whatever Slayer was called after her would take care of that. She’d gone through too much, lost too much, reached a point beyond thought and reason, a point at which only one imperative remained.

“Won’t fight you, won’t hurt you,” she muttered. “Won’t. Whatever you want. Don’t care.”

“Bloody hell! What is this? What the hell is this?”

He hadn’t taken much, just a sip. It had been anger and threat, no more. Her neck stung, but even that slight pain vanished as her Slayer healing rapidly sealed the wound.

“What is this thing between us, Slayer?” he yelled at her.

His eyes were all heat and confusion. She smiled, holding him to her, feeling him shuddering hard and urgent against her.

“What do you want, Spike?”

“I want you out of me! You’re in my throat, in my gut! I want you out!”

He kissed her bruisingly hard, their mouths twisting together, helplessly, demandingly. There was no taste of her blood in his mouth; his fangs had taken it directly into his veins, bloodstream to bloodstream. But it wouldn’t have bothered her even if there had been. She kissed him back fiercely, greedily. And, God, the taste of him, the feel of him! Even if it was just for a moment.

He tore his head back and they gasped against each other’s mouths. He was as breathless as she, and he didn’t need to breathe. She knew him, knew how passion worked in him, forcing him to struggle for air, that one hardwired reflex alone betraying what he was feeling.

“Getting to you, Spike?” she purred in triumph, unable to keep from feeling that, even though she knew she should push him away.

“Doesn’t make sense. Any of it.” His mouth raked her throat and her bones went liquid, her whole body fusing to his. “Came back to kill you. Meant to. Meant to. Except. Keep wanting you. And that’s just wrong. Wanting the Slayer. That’s sick.”

“Yes.” She tried to get her head together again, tried to concentrate on what was really important. “You’ve got to leave Sunnydale.”

“Yeah.”

But their bodies moved and ground demandingly against each other.

“Gotta burn you out,” he muttered. “Have you and it’s over. That would do it. Yeah. Get enough of you. No more craving. Burn you out of me.”

Maybe that would work. Satisfy the craving and maybe it would be over. Hadn’t worked before, but then he had loved her before. He didn’t love her now. Or was she just rationalizing because she wanted him so badly? She didn’t care.

They kissed and kissed again, their mouths devouring each other, bodies moving and twisting insistently together, hands sliding and clenching over each other, yanking at clothes. Her leather jacket fell to the ground. They had both forgotten sense. This was blind, instinctive, imperative desire, unleashed and beyond check.

She had wanted him too long. A year, a whole year. Longer. Since that one short month when they had been lovers. Now with his mouth on hers and his hands moving over her body and all her senses filled with him, her brain shorted right out. Nothing left in the world but having him.

She knew him intimately, knew all his buttons, set them off deliberately, her nails clawing over his body, her teeth raking his neck, that trigger point for a vamp.

She felt him jerk and shudder against her, saw his eyes go blind.

“Christ, Slayer!”

She had shoved his shirt off. He gasped as she bit his nipple.

“Come on,” she growled. “Come on!”

She was whirled off her feet, spun through space, thrown down through empty air to crash onto her back on the bed. Then his weight fell on top of her. They were both beyond the point of gentleness. This was all heat and violence. Raw, clamoring hunger. Her sneakers had gone, fallen off at some mad point. Her tank top and then her bra went too, torn off now by his hands. His mouth took her breast.

“Oh, God, yes!”

She keened, arching to him, thrusting her breast into his mouth. His tongue had gone raspy, like a cat’s, and oh God! the way it felt, raking over her nipple, pressing it to the roof of his mouth. His eyes would be golden, she knew; he’d be halfway in gameface. No one but Spike had ever used that ability on her and it felt incredible.

It called to the Slayer in her. He matched both sides of her, Buffy and the Slayer. The one time Angel and she had made love, he had stayed human in deference to her virginity and her shyness, had been careful, gentle. The humans she had slept with, Riley, Parker, had been, well, human, hadn’t had the strength; she had always had to be careful with them. She didn’t have to be careful with Spike; she could do anything, be anything. He set her free. To do all those little nasties that weren’t nasties. Nothing anyone did consenting in lovemaking was nasty, was just natural and right. She understood that now in a way she hadn’t understood then, screwed up in her own head as she had been.

They were ripping off each other’s jeans. His length sprang into her hands and she felt him jolt and gasp.

“Want you in me, Spike!” They were both past the point of foreplay. “Come on! Come on!”

He snarled against her face. Then he was between her thighs, hands on the bed on either side of her, coming into her hard. She arched to him, clenched upon him.

“Oh, God, the way you feel!” she gasped. “No one else ever...”

He filled her to the point she thought she would break in half, and yet it was exactly right, exactly enough, no one had ever been as right for her as Spike. No one else ever moved the way he did, ever did that little twist of the hips that hit every right spot in her body. She moaned with delight into his mouth.

They surged against each other, thrusting and straining with a force that would have harmed anyone else. They were matched, the two of them. She didn’t have to worry about hurting him, could let herself go, claw at him, clench upon him, and he only groaned in rapture. And she was the Slayer; hard as he pistoned into her, it was only unbearable pleasure.

All heat and violence, like leopards coupling in the spring. Teeth and nails and fangs.

His eyes were blind and yellow as their bodies strained and fought, thrusting each other higher and higher, mindless, lost in sensation.

“Mine,” he growled, fangs sliding suddenly into her neck. “Mine.”

She felt the draw as he drank. He had never done that before, any time that they had made love. She had never realized what an unbearably exquisite sensation that would be during lovemaking, an excruciating rapture, her whole body flaming and flaring to a point higher than she had ever been before. That double penetration: the hard drives of his cock and the draw of his fangs. Pure ecstasy.

“Oh, God, yes! I am!”

She clawed at his back, bit at him, felt him starting to seize up. There was the taste of blood in her mouth. She must have bit him harder than she thought, but he only gasped in pleasure. She felt him jolt and pulse within her again and again.

“You’re mine too,” she snarled as that jerk of his hips took her too right over the edge.

“Oh, yeah, Slayer, oh yeah,” he gasped as her sheath rippled and clenched upon him. “God, don’t stop doing that! Christ, Slayer...!”

Her brain whited right out.

“Bloody amazing,” he was muttering, heavy upon her as her brain started stumbling back from that place of agonizing delight. “Bloody unbelievable! Never felt anything like that! Again, Slayer!”

He was still partially erect within her and rapidly hardening. She grinned involuntarily.

“Guess Slayer blood really is an aphrodisiac,” she purred and pulled him deeper into her as he laughed.


TBC