by Lynx

Buffy walked slowly toward the library, trying to delay the inevitable. Her sneaker scuffed the floor, its loud squeak echoing in the silent hallway. The school was deserted, it being Saturday and who in their right mind would be in school on the weekend, anyway? Well, she would, for one. And Giles, of course, because he practically lived there.

She slowed her pace some more and thought about what she would say to him. Definitely not the truth. It just wouldn't fly, not with Giles. *I mean, what can I say- Angel and Drusilla are dead because Spike and I provoked them by having sex in the cemetery...oh yeah, and after they were dead we went back to my house and humped like insane bunnies until dawn?* No, the truth just wouldn't do. She ran her story through her head one last time and pushed open the library doors.

"Hey, Giles." Her greeting was quiet, lacking the usual exuberant wisecracks that she reserved just for him.

Giles was bent over the counter, his nose in a book, as usual. He looked up at the sound of her approach, eyes softening as soon as he saw who it was. She was dressed in baggy sweats- her comfort clothes, she called them. Her hair was loose around her face, which was freshly scrubbed and make-up free. Giles wondered what could have happened the night before, to make her leave the house looking that way. Even when she trained, she usually wore something trendy and form fitting. There had to be something dreadfully wrong.

"Buffy, you're here...good." He smiled at her tentatively, knowing that she would have to tell him about last night in her own good time. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. "I've been researching the curse again... trying to translate the text properly. Romany isn't really my forte- there are certain inflections in the pronunciation that are necessary for the spell to work. I- I know Jenny wanted Angel to get his soul back, but I just don't think I can pull it off."

"It doesn't matter anymore, Giles. Angel's not going to need his soul where he is." She looked up at him with eyes that were dark and sorrow-filled. *Dear God, she finally did it* He waited for her to continue, holding his breath, not daring to hope.

"Angel and Drusilla are both dead. I killed them." She looked away as she said it, her voice detached. She felt as though someone else were speaking the words...someone far away from her.

"How did it happen? How were you able to defeat them both?" He spoke gently, moving closer, but not touching her, not yet.

"I ran into Angel at the cemetery. He started in on me, saying such horrible things. Telling me that he and Drusilla...he went into details, disgusting details...and I-I just snapped. He wasn't Angel anymore, he didn't even resemble him. I didn't even think, I just sprayed him with the holy water and while he was blinded, I ...I staked him."

Giles looked at her in shock. He'd never thought that she'd be able to do it. Buffy almost believed that the story she told was true- preferred to believe it, that she killed him in a fit of jealous rage rather than plotted with her enemy to assassinate him.

"And Drusilla?" Giles blinked at her, his eyes wide as he thought about how difficult it must have been for her.

"I heard a scream as Angel exploded. I turned around and there was Drusilla, coming at me. I don't think she even knew what she was doing, she was just reacting. I threw up my hand and she ran right into the stake that I was holding. It all happened so fast, Giles. One minute they were there and the next...they were gone. I just didn't want to talk to anyone, so I went home and crawled into bed." The tears had started again, she didn't know if they were from grief, or from shame at having lied to Giles.

Giles pulled Buffy into his arms, his heart breaking for her. The Ripper was rejoicing inside him, ecstatic that Angel was dead. He was also a little pissed at not having been the one to do the deed. Giles told Ripper to go away and turned his attention back to Buffy.

She was clinging to his jacket, sobbing; he could feel her tears soaking his shirt. He rubbed his cheek against her hair in a comforting gesture, loving the clean smell of her. His love for her was the purest thing he had ever known- the closest to parental love that he would ever experience. Now that Jenny was gone, he couldn't see himself settling down and having a family. Buffy was all the family that he needed.

Buffy was in agony, crying for Angel, for Spike...for herself. It was killing her to lie to Giles; bad things always happened when she did that. What if a giant demon snake was mild compared to what would happen this time?

No, it was too late. She had been keeping secrets for over a month, she couldn't just spill everything now. And she could 'never' explain Spike. 'She' didn't understand it, how would Giles? She was the one who had actually killed Angel and Drusilla, that much was the truth, at least. The Spike situation was something too complicated to even contemplate.

Buffy burrowed into Giles' chest, feeling his arms tighten around her. It felt wonderful, like being a small child again. Like when things were simple- scraped knees and broken dolls. She used to cling to her father like this, but now he was too far away and wouldn't understand even if he was here. She missed her father, but the bond she shared with Giles was different. Sometimes it felt as though they were linked by an invisible thread, each one feeling a tug when the other was hurt or confused.

They both still had secrets from each other. She knew that there were things in his past that he hadn't revealed, and probably never would. It didn't matter, though. Emotionally, they were always on the same page. They were two halves of the same coin, Watcher and Slayer, Yin and Yang. A perfect balance.

Giles could sense that there was something more, something that she wasn't telling him. She had been cagey for over a month now, coming to him numerous times, only to walk away without saying a word. He knew that she felt guilty about Jenny, about not killing Angel in time to save her, but he suspected that there was another problem.

Her sexual experience with Angel had unnerved her, understandably so. Buffy had been embarrassed about losing her virginity, as though she thought he would think less of her for giving in to her desire. *Good God, if she only knew!* Her one little foray into the realm of carnal pleasure couldn't hold a candle to his sordid past. Eyghon had been the least of it. His obsession with Ethan and the black arts had lead him down a path that was best kept hidden. He shook off his dark memories and pressed his lips to Buffy's hair, so softly that she wouldn't even know he had done it.

Reluctantly, Buffy pulled out of Giles' embrace, brushing the last of her tears away. She gave him a small half-smile and ran her fingers through her hair. "Thanks, I needed that."

She moved away from him, running her hand over the books on the counter. They were all about Romany curses- useless now. She hoped that Jenny would be able to rest in peace now that her murderer was in hell. As much as she felt heartbroken over the way Angel had died, a part of her was glad to have destroyed him for Giles. She had owed him that.

"Buffy...if you need to talk about this, I know how hard this must have been for you. You loved him, a part of you always will." He wasn't sure what to say to her, how to help her.

"I'm okay, Giles, really. I killed Angelus, it wasn't the same person. Angel was already gone." She decided to hang on to her denial for a little longer. Some people did it for years, what were a few days? Besides, she had other stuff to deal with.

She had been neglecting her slaying duties for the past week; there must be tons of vampires, just waiting to be taken out. It would feel good to stake faceless, nameless vamps. Just another day at the office. She'd become a workaholic...that's what people usually did when they couldn't deal with personal issues, right? It sounded good to her.

"Buffy, why don't you take a few days off..."

"NO! No, I want to work, I need it. I'll be all right. I just need to deal and move on. Piece of cake."

Her face had closed down; she was shutting him out again. He cursed his male genes- maybe if she had a female Watcher, then she would open up more. Giles felt a stab of fear at the thought of giving her up to someone else. No, she was HIS Slayer; he'd stay with her until death parted them. Otherwise, it would be like cutting out his own heart. *Enough of this, Rupert, you bloody imbecile. Neither one of you is going anywhere, not today, anyway.*

"Are you up for some training, then? You're certainly dressed the part." Deal and move on. It was all they could do for the moment.

"Definitely up for some major trainage. You get the weapons, I'll get the music." She ran to get her bag that she kept in the library.

"None of that blasted, thumping racket. I have a Bay City Rollers CD in my desk."

"No way, Giles! Get with the twentieth century already."

Things were starting to feel normal again. For a little while, anyway. Come nightfall, she'd have to find Spike and tell him her edited version of last night's events. They had to keep their stories straight, after all. He couldn't afford to have the vampire community know the truth any more than she could afford to have the Scooby Gang know. They just had to compare notes. Nothing more. *Yeah right, Summers, tell me another one.* She shrugged her conscience off and went to work out her frustration the old fashioned way- with weapons.

***********

Spike tore through the mess in his room, looking for something to wear. He ran his hand through his still damp hair and cast desperate glances at every corner. *There!* He spotted the black t-shirt peaking out from beneath the overturned dresser. Spike quickly snatched the shirt off of the floor and threw it on, tucking it into his jeans.

It was time to inform the fledglings that there was a new sheriff in town. There were only a couple of older vamps in Sunnydale, they would probably be stopping by as well. They were younger than him, so he wasn't that concerned about being challenged. Even if they did have delusions of grandeur, he could take them.

He had slept well, six hours worth- a record for him. His pulse was jumping, he was hungry and he wanted to see the Slayer again. The Slayer. He understood now why Angel had refused to give her up. She was bloody fucking incredible- all heat and fire, soft and strong at the same time. What the fuck was he going to do?

If anyone found out that he'd conspired with the Slayer to assassinate Angelus, he'd be a dead man. For real, this time. The community would find someone strong enough to take him out. Killing your Sire was a big no-no; the only reason Angel had gotten away with Darla was because he was an outsider at the time. Spike didn't have the luxury of blaming it on a soul. He had to make sure the Slayer didn't tell anyone about what had really happened. *And you're hoping for a repeat of last night, you fucking wanker.*

Spike left his room and sauntered down the stairs, glad that he didn't have use that blasted elevator anymore. On the way down, he tried to banish the Slayer from his thoughts. It wouldn't do to face the minions with a raging hard-on. He concentrated on playing it cool, getting into his 'don't fuck with me' mode.

Reaching the first floor, he looked into the main room and saw about six vamps, hanging out and looking lost. *They couldn't scratch their asses without someone to show them how it's done. Do I really want to be in charge of these losers? Hell, yes- at least I can order them around, make them do stupid shit to keep myself amused.* Spike cleared his throat and they all looked up, shocked to see him standing there.

"Spike, you can walk!" One of the younger vamps blurted out.

"Really? Well, what do you know, yes I can." Spike rolled his eyes at the inane remark and walked over to the table, picking up the newspaper. He glanced at the headlines (as if he really cared), then looked up at the oldest of the group, Darius. Spike didn't trust him; he was the one most likely to cause trouble. Darius was staring at Spike, a hostile look on his face.

"Yes Darius, what is it? You're going to make me blush if you keep staring at me like that." Spike knew that Darius was homophobic, any reference to male affection irked the shit out of him.

"Quite a miraculous recovery, Spike. You surprise me." Darius was trying to be cool, but he just couldn't pull it off. Spike got a kick out of needling uptight people, vamps and humans alike.

"Yeah, well, I try to live right, you know. Eat three squares, exercise, say my prayers at bedtime. Healthy mind, healthy body and all that. You should try it." Oh, it was good to be back. He could feel the juices flowing. He couldn't wait to feed, to feel the thrill of the chase. It had been far too long.

"What do Angelus and Drusilla have to say about your...condition?"

*Okay, mate- here goes nothin'.* "They don't know yet... I haven't seen them. Angel said something about them heading out of town to hunt last night. I have no idea when they'll be back."

Darius looked at him suspiciously. Spike just stared back at him, poker faced. He had gambled his way across Europe a hundred years ago and no one could ever tell if he was bluffing. Darius was like a dog with a bone sometimes, though. He would have to be careful not to let his guard down.

"I'll be calling the shots as long as they're gone. If everyone stays out of my way, we'll get along fine. Now, I'm going hunting. It's been a long time since I've had a fresh kill." He looked over at Acathla, still sitting in the corner. "Someone cover up that hideous rock while I'm gone, would you?"

Spike turned and left the room, looking as though he didn't have a care in the world. Once outside, he relaxed somewhat. The Slayer invaded his mind again, her image implanting itself in his brain. He groaned softly, the reality of his dilemma striking him full force.

Just the thought of her started a craving similar to that of a junkie looking for a fix. He wanted to feel her soft skin, taste her juices, plunge into her moist heat. He didn't care who or what she was- he just knew that he couldn't give up the rush that he got when he was with her. He'd always been a sucker for danger- hell, he practically mainlined it. The fact that she was the Slayer *Okay, insane I know, but Christ! You just don't pass up a chance at pussy this sweet. Not if you have any balls at all.* Angel had fucked it up big time; he could have had the whole package. Too bad he'd been a raving nutter. Oh well, his loss was Spike's incredible gain.

Spike grinned into the dark. He'd find a way to have the Slayer 'and' control of Sunnydale. He didn't want to mess with the Hellmouth itself. People who tried to control 'that' little piece of real estate alway ended up blowing in the wind. *Bob Dylan, where the fuck has he been? All they show on MTV is that nancy boy of his, singing about one blasted headlight.* He couldn't stand that video. He had thrown the television out the window the last time it had come on. Then he had to go steal another one. He could have bought it, but he had been hungry anyway and the store had just been about to close. Why waste all that money on something he could get for free?

He was rambling all over the place, flying off into tangents. It happened, sometimes. He'd have trouble focusing, one idea leading to another, until he forgot exactly where he had started from. *Now, focus, Daniel-san. What was I thinking before I started going off on Dylan? Oh yeah, the Hellmouth.*

Everyone thought they could control its power, become something other than what they were. He had no such aspirations. They were fools, thinking they could harness power like that. Look where it got them. No, he was content just to have a good time- feed on the local yokels, shag the Slayer every chance he got, stir up a little trouble now and then. He could have a full and satisfying undead life. Starting with some dinner.

Spike sniffed the air for prey, heading toward the mall with a bounce in his step. Lots of Happy Meals there- friendly service, no waiting. And after dinner, he'd look for the Slayer- see what popped up. Spike walked off into the night, whistling "Tangled up in Blue". Yeah, undead life was pretty good.

Buffy walked through the playground, kicking at the pea gravel under the swings. She had patrolled through most of the town already, staking three vamps that were hanging out at the Bronze. *You'd think that they'd learn not to hunt there.* It was like shooting fish in a barrell. Spike was right, they just got dumber and dumber.

Buffy supposed she should feel grateful that there weren't many of the older, more experienced vampires around, but actually, she longed for the challenge. It just wasn't any fun if they didn't fight back. She wanted to work up a sweat when she fought, needed to immerse herself in a really good battle. It would figure, that all she'd come across were fledglings that barely knew how to hunt, much less take on a Slayer.

Buffy missed the shot of adrenalin she used to get when fighting with Spike. He could go round after round without tiring, always drawing it out as if he didn't want their contact to end. The double entendre struck her suddenly and heat suffused her body. She wondered where Spike was; she hadn't run into him on any of her rounds. It was still early, though. Buffy had a feeling that he would show, sooner or later.

She grabbed the bar on the merry-go-round and pushed, sending it spinning. It used to be her favorite thing in the playground where she grew up. She would spend hours whirling in circles, almost to the point of nausea. Then she would ride out the dizziness, lying on the ground and letting the the world spin around her. She almost got that same feeling when she was with Spike- out of control and dizzy, but not wanting the ride to end.

Buffy passed the jungle gym and stiffened. Her spider sense was tingling and she wasn't alone anymore. She felt the presence behind her and swung around suddenly, catching the vampire in the face with a powerful punch. His head snapped back from the force, almost knocking him off of his feet. Buffy tossed her hair out of her eyes and stood in ready stance, waiting for the attack.

Spike stood there with his head down, rubbing his jaw. Buffy looked at him in surprise, wondering if she was going to get that fight that she had been looking for. He raised his head and gazed back at her with glittering eyes, not saying a word. She expected him to be angry at her for hitting him, but the expression on his face had nothing to do with anger. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were glassy- as if stoned, which meant that he had just fed. *Shit!* She didn't want to think about how that made her feel, to know that he had killed before coming to her.

He kept staring at her, his eyes burning with a different kind of hunger and her body responded with an answering heat low in her belly. Spike's hand shot out and grabbed her arm, jerking her toward him. Out of reflex, her other arm came up to strike, but he blocked it easily, pinning it down. She struggled for a moment, not wanting to give in just yet, needing to fight him a little.

The blood was rushing through her veins and she could feel his power washing over her, leaving little prickles all over her skin. The electricity that they generated every time that they were together crackled, the sparks almost visible. Spike snarled, gripping her tighter and pulling her up against his hard frame. Buffy's body arched toward his; she could feel her nipples harden as they met his chest.

Their mouths met in a bruising kiss and Buffy grabbed his t-shirt, clutching it like a lifeline. His tongue was licking the inside of her mouth, and her knees almost buckled from the sensation. He kissed his way to her ear, nipping and sucking, before trailing down her neck. Spike let go of her arms to slide one hand to her back, the other slipping up her shirt.

Buffy moaned and pressed herself closer to him. She had to feel him, all of him. His thumb was rubbing against her nipple as his hand cupped her breast. How could he do this to her so easily? What was it about him that made her body respond the way it did? At the moment, she didn't care. All she cared about was the blinding hunger, a hunger to taste and feel every inch of him. Spike's other hand was slipping down the back of her pants, his mouth still nuzzling at the pulse in her neck. Somehow, one rational thought pierced the fog in her brain.

"Spike?" she whispered breathlessly, trying to fight the pleasure coursing through her body.

"Hmmm?" He didn't stop, just kept on touching, kissing, driving her insane.

"What if someone sees us?"

The question penetrated his lust addled brain and he broke away from her, looking around desperately. *Gotta be somewhere we can go...* He spotted the treehouse at the edge of the playground, only a few feet off the ground.

"Come on, then." He dragged her by the hand, almost running. Buffy laughed at his eagerness, turned on by the fact that he couldn't wait to be with her.

He's bringing sweet salvation
let temptation take him in
He's every fear and every hope
and every single sin
He is the universe,
the love you've been imagining

Spike threw open the door and helped her inside. It was a small room, eight by eight feet, perfect for their needs. There were a couple of forgotten toys in the corner, but otherwise it was empty. Spike sat on the floor and pulled her toward him on her knees. His hand slid through her hair as he brought her head down to his for another kiss, holding her between his legs. She reached down and tugged his t-shirt out of his pants, then pulled it over his head.

Buffy sat back and looked at him, her fingertips caressing his chest. His body was lean, but muscular, the body of a fighter. Her fingers ran over the scars on his torso, the rippled muscles in his stomach. She loved the feel of him- rugged and hard, his power just barely kept in check. Angel's skin had been smooth, soft, like a young boy's. Spike felt like a man- dangerous and exciting. A man who was unbuttoning her shirt and sliding it off of her shoulders. She shivered as the cool air met her skin, her nipples puckering from the cold.

Spike's hands came up to cup her breasts, then slid down her stomach to undo her pants. He leaned forward and caught one of her nipples between his teeth. Buffy gasped at the sensation of pleasure/pain and twined her fingers in his hair. He licked his way down her stomach, and she arched backward, thrusting her groin toward his face.

Spike tugged her pants and underwear down, then buried his face in her crotch, his tongue darting out to taste her wetness. Buffy cried out as his cold tongue probed her, teasing her clitoris. She shifted position, kicking her pants the rest of the way off, then turned her attention to the snap on his jeans. She yanked hard, almost tearing the denim in her eagerness.

Divesting Spike of his clothing, Buffy moved over him, straddling his thighs. She started with his mouth, her tongue searching his while her hands moved restlessly- stroking, scratching, rubbing. She trailed kisses down his chest, sucking and biting at his skin, hard enough to leave marks. Spike lay back and watched her through heavy lidded eyes as she slowly worked her way toward his groin. He was as hard as a rock, her teasing driving him out of his mind. She let her hair brush against his cock, tickling him, and then he felt her tongue replacing the hair.

Buffy began stroking him with her hand, running her tongue around the head of his cock. He groaned as she licked at the vein in his shaft, his hand coming up to bury itself in her hair. Her mouth engulfed him, warm, wet, sucking- her hand still stroking him at the base. She scraped her teeth on his skin and he saw stars, on the verge of coming in her mouth.

Spike grabbed her arm and pulled her up to his chest, kissing her hungrily as Buffy swung her leg over him, grasping his cock and guiding it into her warmth. She moaned as he filled her, bracing herself on his chest with her hands. His hands slid up her thighs to her hips, holding on as she started moving above him.

Spike began thrusting up into her tight sheath, the friction almost more than he could bear. He looked up at her, at the light sheen of sweat covering her body, amazed by the fact that they were together again. She looked like a goddess- her head thrown back, body arching as she strained above him. She had a look of intense pleasure on her face as she rode him, meeting his thrusts and digging her nails into his chest.

Spike felt her heat surrounding him, searing his cold, hard cock. He couldn't imagine living without this; didn't want to think about anything but the ecstasy of being inside her. He lifted his head and took one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking hard, his fangs just breaking the skin. Buffy tumbled over the edge, screaming his name as the waves of her orgasm crashed over her. As her inner walls clamped down on him, Spike roared, his cock pumping jets of cold semen deep inside her.

Buffy tried to catch her breath, her legs shaking from the force of her climax. She looked down at Spike, breathing hard, hair covering her face. He looked relaxed for once, the restlessness having eased somewhat. She marveled at the beauty of his face, those pale blue eyes that seemed to see clear into her soul.

Buffy smiled as she felt his hands moving over her skin, as though he wanted to feel every tremor running through her body. His hand reached up and gently tucked her hair behind her ear, pulling back quickly as if he'd been burned. *Christ, what is she doing to me?* He was Spike, William the fucking Bloody, not some pathetic, pussywhipped sap like Angel had been.

He is the very breath
you feel inside your lungs at night
He is the bitter wind
who's drying up your appetite
He is the darkness
that seeps into your fading light

Spike saw the hurt in her eyes and his expression softened. Pulling her down, he kissed her again, trying to avoid all rational thought. He piled their clothing into a pillow and lay back, settling her against his chest.

Buffy thought about resisting, but her heart wasn't in it. She just wanted him to hold her, to keep reality from intruding into their bizarre little world. Her hand moved lazily over his chest and stomach. She couldn't seem to stop touching him. Under her ear she could hear a faint heartbeat and she looked up at him in surprise.

"It beats for a while after you feed. The blood reanimates it, I guess."

Buffy didn't want to be reminded of his kill, it made her feel guilty for allowing it. She lay her head back down and closed her eyes, thinking about what had just happened. Again.

"Spike, what's happening to us? Why is it like this?"

Spike sighed, tightening his hold on her, afraid of something that he couldn't name. "I don't know, luv. I'm not even sure we should try to figure it out." He hesitated, not wanting to say it, but unable to help himself. "It's never been like this for me. I don't normally have sex with humans." *I'm a fucking idiot, why did I tell her that?*

Buffy looked up again, trying to read his face. Her eyes were huge- luminous, as they stared into his. He was so complex, she didn't know what to do with him. He had too many faces- vicious killer, hyperactive cocky teenager, intense lover, insecure boy- how could she manage him? Did she even want to try? Maybe he was right. They should just go with it, not try to analyze anything. Except that going with it meant giving up control and that was something she didn't like to do. It was her turn to sigh as she struggled with the problem of having a demon for a lover. She decided to concentrate on getting their stories straight.

"I told Giles that I killed Angel in the cemetery. That he provoked me into a jealous rage and I snapped. Drusilla ran into a stake when she came after me for killing Angel. Giles didn't question it. I never mentioned you." The guilt swept over her again as she thought about deceiving Giles.

"Thanks, pet. I'd probably be executed for helping a Slayer to kill my Sire. That sort of thing is not tolerated in the vampire community. Was it hard, lying to your Watcher?" He knew that it had been, she and the Watcher were close. He remembered them together at the Factory, after Angel had killed that teacher. She would have taken Angel out then, if the fire hadn't prevented it.

"It was hard, almost harder than killing Angel. It's one thing to keep something from him, sometimes it's necessary, like now. He wouldn't understand about you and me any more than we understand it ourselves. But to lie right to his face...I felt like pond scum. Next to my mom, he's the most important person in my life."

Spike felt a pang- of what, he didn't know. Maybe because he had never been anyone's most important person. Sure, Drusilla had depended on him, but Angel had mattered more when it got right down to it. *Forget about her, it's fucking over. You've got the Slayer for as long as it lasts. She's warm, she's willing- now don't fuck it up.*

She was so soft, so sweet smelling. He could hear the blood rushing through her veins, feel the beat of her heart against his skin. At that moment, he didn't care that she was the Slayer. If the others found out about them and killed him right then, he could honestly say he'd die happy. He'd move heaven and earth to keep feeling this way, to be able to hold her warm, naked body next to his. They could do this, they could keep it a secret. And it wasn't lying if no one came out and asked directly. Not really. No one would ever suspect that they were involved, why would they? Spike and the Slayer were mortal enemies, everyone knew that.

Buffy's thoughts mirrored his as they lay there in the cool night air. They would keep their secret for as long as they could. She didn't think she could live without this, without his touch. She craved it like a drug. *God, why is this happening to us? Wasn't my life complicated enough? I just killed my last boyfriend, I don't need another demon in my life.* But she did. She needed him in a way that scared her.

And I am ashes, I am Jesus, I am precious,
Could I be your girl

Buffy buried her face in Spike's neck and breathed in his scent. Her pulse quickened, desire returning as she licked at his throat. He moaned and rolled over her, pinning her on top of the clothes. Everything else faded away in the face of their passion. Neither one cared that they couldn't put a name to their feelings. It didn't need to be explained...not yet, anyway. What did explanations matter, when it felt this good, this right? A song lyric floated through Buffy's head as she lost herself in his arms again- *There's only us, there's only this...* Only this, only him. And damn the consequences.

Wash the angels from your head,
won't need them anymore
Hide your heart under the bed
and lock your secret drawer
Love is a demon
and you're the one he's coming for

The duffel bag flew through the window and landed on the floor with a thud. Buffy pulled herself over the windowsill, wincing at the soreness in her thigh muscles. She was tired, so utterly exhausted, that she almost couldn't think straight. Two nights of practically no sleep and muscle-straining contortions were enough to do in even the toughest of Slayers.

All she wanted was a shower and her warm bed. And a night of dreamless sleep. Above all, she wanted the dreamless sleep. She was almost afraid to close her eyes for fear that she'd see Angel. Buffy wasn't sure what would be worse- to dream about the Angel she had loved, or Angelus when she killed him.

The phone rang, causing her to moan dejectedly. She really didn't feel up to talking. But it could be Giles and he always worried if she didn't check in. She flopped onto the bed and picked up the handset

"Lo?" It was an effort just to speak.

"Buffy? Are you okay? I tried to reach you earlier but there was no answer." Willow. She worried almost as much as Giles did.

"Hey, Will. I'm okay. I just got in a little while ago." Buffy hoped that Willow wasn't in a talkative mood. She really needed that shower and some sleep.

"Kinda late for patrolling, isn't it? You're usually home way before now."

Buffy closed her eyes and tried to think quick. Her mind was a blank- big surprise. "Mom's away and I didn't feel like coming home, so I just kept walking. I knew you and Oz had a date, so I didn't bother calling you." There, that was plausible enough.

"Buffy- Giles filled us in about Angel and Drusilla. I'm really sorry. Do you want to come over here? My parents won't mind. I...could listen, if you want to talk."

Willow was such a good friend. Better than she deserved. Buffy could feel the tears getting ready to start again. She'd better end the conversation quick, or Willow would insist on getting together. And it was much easier to lie over the phone than in person.

"No, Willow...thanks anyway. I'm so tired, I just need to get some sleep. And I'm sure your parents 'would' mind a visit this late. We can talk tomorrow, I promise."

"Okay, if you're really sure. I just- I know how hard it must have been for you, that's all. I know how much you loved him." Willow sounded as if she was going to cry, as well. It didn't take much to get her started, she was always so sensitive to everyone's feelings.

"Loved, Will- past tense. I loved Angel. I killed Angelus. I can't stand to think of it any other way. He was just...Angelus." Buffy took a deep breath. "Listen, I really have to go...it's so late. Thanks for caring about me. You're the best friend I've ever had." She had to hang up, she really did.

"I'll always care, Buffy...you know that. Try to get some sleep and call me tomorrow, okay?" Willow still sounded a little worried, but she was relieved that Buffy was all right.

"I will. Goodnight." Buffy hung up the phone and rolled over, forcing herself not to cry. She was so sick of crying and it only ended up giving her a headache, anyway.

Pushing herself to her feet, she crossed the room to stand in front of the mirror. The person staring back was almost a stranger- hair a tangled mess, purple shadows under her eyes. Her lips were swollen from kissing, her cheeks reddened from rubbing against Spike's body hair. She pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it on the floor.

There were hickeys on her neck, a bite mark on her right breast, and bruises up and down her body. She offered a prayer of thanks for her Slayer healing powers- by tomorrow, hopefully, all evidence of her rendezvous with Spike would be gone. Until the next time, at least. She knew now that there 'would' be a next time.

Buffy gazed at the bruises, thinking about the marks that Spike would also have, and about the way that she had inflicted them. *God, if he'd been human, I'd have really hurt him. What could have possessed me to act that way?* But she knew. He had killed tonight and she had welcomed him with open arms. Buffy had suddenly felt so helpless that she had to strike out at him, to punish him for who he was.

She didn't know how she was going to resolve this issue. She couldn't kill him and apparently she couldn't stay away from him either. The eyes in the mirror stared back at her, pleading for solutions to the problems that plagued her. But there were no answers, only questions. Buffy sighed, and headed for the shower, determined to wash away the mess that was now her life.

**********

Spike opened the door to his room and groaned in frustration. He had forgotten about the mess he'd left. *I guess it'll give me something to do when I can't sleep later on. Nothing on the telly during the day anyway, except that wanker, Jerry Springer.* He used to love that show, with all of the hair pulling and chair throwing. Now there was something...off...about it. Too choreographed, not enough spontaneity. They had taken a perfectly good show and mucked it up completely. There was nothing else on in the afternoon that didn't make him feel like poking out his own eyeballs.

Spike pulled off his t-shirt, wincing as the material rubbed against his skin. He looked down at his chest, fingering the scratches and hickeys. He didn't need a mirror to tell him that his back looked the same way. Spike recalled that the Slayer had been marked up as well. It appeared that neither of them knew their own strength, or cared much about it, for that matter. It was fortunate that they were so evenly matched.

Their last go-round had been more fighting than fucking, with the Slayer thrashing against him like some wild thing. She had nearly flayed him alive, all teeth and fingernails, as if she had been trying to exorcise some demon. Well, perhaps she had been. He knew that she wasn't happy about him not having a soul, like poor, pitiful Angel. *Who gives a rat's ass? I'm me, she can take me as I am, or leave me.* He snorted. *Brave words, eh mate? You know you'd get down on your hands and knees and beg, if she ever took her gorgeous snatch and walked. You're just as fucking whipped as Angel was.*

He had been surprised at first, when she had turned into a raging, spitting wildcat, but his surprise had quickly turned to immense enjoyment. This was what he had been searching for- someone who would fight with him, someone with fire. Someone who had a brain in her head, who wasn't a deranged freak. Someone who wouldn't abandon him if something better came along.

The Slayer had a strong sense of loyalty, a sense of honor. She appeared to be frivolous, with her teenager's passion for clothes and total lack of regard for following the rules. He knew that wasn't the case. He'd seen her willing to die for humanity on a number of occasions, willing to sacrifice herself for a greater 'good'. He didn't think she would toss him aside on a whim, not unless he really hurt her. If she could see past his demon, see beyond the killer in him, they might actually have a chance. *A chance for what, exactly?* Damned if he knew, the whole thing was so bloody incomprehensible in the first place.

That was the rub. He was a killer and he refused to exist on packaged blood. Fresh was always better; he craved it, as much as he craved her. Maybe even more. It was what sustained him, after all. Spike ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "Bugger it!"

If he thought about it much longer, he'd get a bleedin' headache. Time to concentrate on something else for a change. Now that he was in charge of that motley crew downstairs, he supposed he ought to teach them a few things. Like how to survive for more than a few days. *Yeah, time to play surrogate father to Angel's 'children'.*

When Angelus had returned, he had gone about creating vampires with all the restraint of a strung out, hungry Mama Cass, looking for a fix and a ham sandwich. Once he turned them, Angel left them on their own, not even supplying them with the most basic instructions. It was a wonder any of them had lasted this long.

Spike was much more circumspect about who he brought over. There had to be something about them, some special quality that sparked his interest. The Slayer had it, but of course she was out of the question. Besides, her warmth was part of the attraction, part of what made the sex so great. That, and the fact that she was alive, really alive, with blood coursing through her veins and a heart that beat so fiercely against his skin that he could feel every vibration. It was almost like the kick he got from feeding. Like the rush you got from really good drugs. If she were undead, the spark would be gone.

Spike could feel his hyperactivity returning. It only seemed to ease when he was with her. He was going to have to keep busy, find something to occupy his time when the Slayer wasn't around. Hunting lessons for the fledglings perhaps, although he really didn't have the patience to teach anyone anything. Maybe a road trip tomorrow night. Take the boys and go to L.A., see what kind of trouble they could get into.

He was up for a concert, something loud and thrashy. The pickings would be easy, all those kids strung out on god-knows-what. They could feed and watch the concert at the same time, no one would even notice. They'd leave at sunset, be back in plenty of time before the dawn. He needed a little distance, anyway. He didn't want to be the Slayer's lapdog, begging at her window every night. He did have his pride.

Spike looked down at the marks on his chest, already starting to heal. The thought that they would be gone by morning left him feeling a little dejected. He rather liked them- the Slayer's own brand etched into his skin. Spike traced one deep scratch with his finger, willing it to stay a little longer. He cursed his foolishness and pulled his shirt back on, before heading back downstairs to tell the boys about tomorrow's trip. *Time to act like a Master Vampire, not moon over the Slayer like a bloody teenager.*

He tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his head, the one that was laughing hysterically at him and his self deception. *Everything's cool, I've got it all under control. Tomorrow night, I'll tear a path through the City of Angels- little irony, there? Maybe trip out like I did at Woodstock. Yeah, sounds like a plan.* He didn't need the Slayer- not every night, anyway. He'd go to her when he felt like it, not before.

The voice in his head mocked him as he went off in search of his new little 'family.'

Spike started the car and spun out of the driveway. There were six of them on this trip- Darius, Jason, Mark, Evan, Kyle and him. Darius and Evan sat in front while the three younger ones were crammed in the back. Jason, Mark, and Kyle were barely out of their teens- Beavis and Butthead personified. Darius and Evan were in their mid-twenties when they were changed; they were quieter, kept to themselves.

Spike rolled down the window and lit a cigarette. He loved the freedom of driving at night, feeling the wind in his hair. He drove fast everywhere he went- radio blasting, hands tapping out the beat on the steering wheel. The only thing keeping him from total enjoyment this time around was the presence of his 'charges'. He hoped they wouldn't ruin the whole trip with their pissing and moaning. His tolerance level was already low, stretched to the breaking point by Darius' insolence.

The drive started out well, music blasting on the radio, Darius mercifully silent. Gradually, though, the conversation from the back seat began trickling forward, annoying Spike to no end. Jason and Kyle were discussing which Spice Girl was the hottest. *That's easy, you fucking twits- they're all a bunch of cows.* Any mention of the Spice Girls sent a stabbing pain through his temple, as if his brain were rejecting even the mere thought of those tacky, overhyped bimbos. Spike turned up the radio, trying to drown them out with Nine Inch Nails.

He wondered what the Slayer was up to this evening. Normal teenage stuff? Patrolling, probably. Was she looking for him? Would she be pissed when he didn't come around? *Bloody hell, I can go out of town if I want to. I never said I'd see her tonight.*

She hadn't said anything, either. He didn't want to admit that it bothered him...that she hadn't asked if she could see him. He should have known that she wouldn't beg for anything. It wasn't in her nature. He liked her that way, liked that she was fiesty. Of course, it would be nice to know that she wanted to be with him.

'Closer' started playing on the radio, one of Spike's favorite songs. The lyrics brought him back to the treehouse, back to the Slayer's embrace.

You let me violate you,
you let me desecrate you
you let me penetrate you,
you let me complicate you

Spike rocked back and forth to the beat as he drove, remembering her incredible heat...the taste and feel of her.

I want to fuck you like an animal,
I want to feel you from the inside
I want to fuck you like an animal,
my whole existence is flawed

The song pounded its rythm in his head, vibrating on his skin. He could almost feel her nails digging into him, and the faint scratches on his chest throbbed in response to his thoughts.

Help me, tear down my reason,
help me it's your sex I can smell
Help me, you make me perfect,
help me become somebody else

He was hard now. He pulled his coat over his lap as discreetly as possible. *I can't keep getting stiff every time I think about her, how the bloody hell am I supposed function this way?* Spike gritted his teeth and thought about Manchester United losing, Margaret Thatcher naked, Kathie Lee Gifford...there, that was better. He glanced over at Evan and Darius to see if they had noticed anything. They were talking quietly under cover of the music.

Darius looked over at him with a defiant glare. Spike wondered where all the hostility came from. He didn't treat Darius any different from the rest. No better, but no worse.

"Still no word from Angelus and Drusilla? I would have thought they'd be back by now," Darius said, fishing for information. He didn't trust Spike any more than Spike trusted him.

"Well, you know, Angelus does what he wants. I gave up trying to figure him out over a hundred years ago. They'll be back when they feel like it."

Spike had decided not to tell them that the Slayer had killed their Sire, not yet anyway. A few more days, then he'd make sure they heard about Angel and Dru getting dusted in the cemetery. He just didn't feel like listening to Darius plot revenge against the Slayer at the moment. And they would all expect Spike to be rabid with anger, demanding retribution. *Yeah, right. I'm fucking her to death as part of my revenge.* He wasn't looking forward to the ordeal ahead.

Behind him, the discussion about the Spice Girls had progressed to an argument over who would kick whose ass- Jackie Chan or Xena. Spike could feel his jaw clench as the sound of their fighting began to drown out the radio. He tried counting to ten and got to three before he exploded.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP OR I'LL THROW THE BOTH OF YOU OUT OF THE FUCKING CAR AND LEAVE YOU THERE!" There was stunned silence from the back seat as he gripped the steering wheel and tried to calm down.

"Sorry, Spike. We'll be quiet now." Kyle was always quick to try to make amends. He was the newest and most easily cowed of the five. Jason folded his arms and tried to look contrite.

Spike rolled his eyes and turned up the radio, trying to pretend that he was the only one in the car. *Another hour of this, Christ, I'll lose my bloody, fucking mind.* He sped up, trying to get there faster before he lost control and snapped all of their necks.

******

Buffy walked through town, pretending to be an innocent victim. The usual hot spots were dead, Sunday night- no action. She thought about her afternoon with Willow, a much needed angst session.

They had gorged themselves on Ben & Jerry's ice cream and diet soda, gossiped about nothing special, talked about Oz. Buffy had been afraid to open the floodgates at first, but Willow's serene presence made her feel safe enough to vent. Willow had just listened while Buffy had rambled on, incoherently at times, about Angel. Not Angelus.

She didn't want to taint her memories by thinking about how he was at the end. She wanted to remember him as the man who loved her, not as the one who wanted to kill her. The niggling voice in the back of her head kept reminding her that they were one and the same. Angel, Angelus- two halves of a whole. She couldn't seperate them just because it was convenient.

Fortunately, Xander had spent the day with Cordelia. Buffy wasn't looking forward to seeing him. He had never made his feelings about Angel a secret and his gloating was something she really didn't need to witness. Tomorrow at school would be soon enough for dealing with Xander's happy dance. If she saw him now, she might do something she would regret later, like punch his lights out.

Buffy tuned into her spider sense, trying to pick up any vamps in the area. Nothing. Where was everybody? She drifted through the playground, passing by the treehouse. Buffy tried to tell herself that she wasn't hoping to run into Spike but she knew that was just a big fat lie. The marks from the night before were mostly gone, with just the bite mark lingering, branding her skin.

Twice now he'd marked her, although he hadn't fed much, not really. It was more out of sexual release, than out of hunger that he'd bitten her. The fact that she'd enjoyed it just confused her all the more. *No sense in staying out here when there's no one around. Might as well get some sleep for a change.* She took one last look around the deserted park and headed toward home, telling herself that she didn't miss him, not one single bit.

Spike headed for Sunset Boulevard, anxious to reach his destination. He was figuring on dinner and a show- someplace loud, smoky and filled with delectable little stoners, just waiting to be drained. He racked his brain, trying to remember the name of that place that he'd heard about, some little club in East Hollywood. The Garage, that was it.

He pulled over to a phone booth and told Darius to go look up the address. Darius gave him a "go fuck yourself" look but did as he was told. He handed the phonebook page to Spike, who looked at the address and grinned. He knew exactly where it was.

The street where The Garage was located was dark, several of the streetlights having been broken long ago. Music drifted out into the street through the open door as a crowd milled about in front of the club, waiting to get in. Spike and the boys walked through the large group of people, ignoring the protests as they barged ahead of everyone else.

They paid the cover charge and entered the bar area, taking in the garage/punk decor. The lighting was dim; a red-tinged glow set off the flames painted on the walls and ceiling. Spike sighed happily- it felt like home. He motioned the boys over to a corner and prepared to give them last minute instructions.

"All right, we'll split up and work the crowd. Choose carefully, don't hit on some girl whose boyfriend is in the john. If you feed inside the club, don't kill them. Just leave 'em in a booth looking like they've had too much to drink. And if any of you draws attention to us, I'll bloody well chain you to the hood of the car and leave you to get fried...do I make myself clear? I don't care if you kill someone, just take them somewhere else first. We'll meet up at one o'clock right here. Any questions?"

They all shook their heads, and Spike waved them off, glad to finally be alone. He walked past the bar, scanning the crowd for a tender little morsel. His eye was drawn to a motley group taking up several booths along the dance floor.

A tall man with a shaven head sat surrounded by buxom women, all of them appearing to be debating quite heatedly. He blinked and took a second look as one girl who seemed to be gold and sparkly raised her glass and winked at him. Spike shook his head as he realized that she was covered in gold glitter. The girl next to her looked eerily familiar, but he couldn't figure out who she reminded him of. She managed to look gothically evil and wholesome all at the same time. For some reason, cartoon characters were floating through his head. *Why in the bloody hell am I thinking about Scooby Doo?* He caught snippets of their conversation as he walked past, something about hair gel, cows and mystical monkeys. *Too bloody weird.*

He kept going, heading toward the stage to check out the band. In another booth, a striking couple caught his attention. The immensely pregnant young girl was waving her hands excitedly at the handsome, well built man next to her. They were both tall, with lovely brown skin, the girl's black hair falling in a cascade to her waist. Another young couple sat across from them, the woman holding a can of Surge in a deathgrip as her boyfriend tried to take it from her.

The two men looked at their women with similar puppy dog expressions on their faces. Spike snorted. *Might as well wear a collar and a leash, stupid gits* Better them than him. Now that Drusilla was gone, he was done with rolling over and begging. No woman was going to tie him up in knots again. Not unless she tied him to the bedposts.

Spike could finally see the band, three girls and a guy. He squinted to make out the name on the drum set. Pussywhip. Spike groaned. *What is this, theme night?* They sounded all right, loud and thrashy, just like he wanted. They were doing a cover of an L7 song that he'd heard before- The Masses are Asses. The song pretty much mirrored his outlook on life. Spike sang along to some of the words, checking out the band members.

I still get angry, I still get sad
And the losers still drive me mad

The lead guitarist was just another tall skinny guy in retro clothing, *Christ, they're everywhere!* He had talent, though. Spike turned his attention to the women in the group. *Now this is more like it!* The girl on keyboards was quite a dish, all curves and auburn hair. Her full breasts swayed as she moved to the music, having an almost hypnotic effect on him.

Things still piss me off
And things still make me cry

The female drummer looked tall and thin, with a devilish smirk on her face and tattoos on her upper body. Spike couldn't see much of her because of the drums. His gaze fell on the bass player who was singing lead and for a moment he was captivated; her coloring and bone structure were just like his. The night was becoming more surrealistic with each passing moment, making Spike wonder what would happen if he actually got some drugs in his system.

He stared at the vision in front of him, a pierced waif in PVC. Tall, thin and tattooed, with spiky, white blond hair, she was an imposing figure on stage, growling out the lyrics in a sexy, raspy voice.

Poetic justice will come in time
And I just have to laugh
I just have to laugh

Spike could feel that spark- that feeling that here was someone special, someone worthy of being a vampire. He looked longingly at the bass player, knowing that she was too high profile for him to consider turning her. *She'd be a perfect addition to the family, and she'd be mine, not Angel's.*

Spike recalled seeing a poster outside the club saying that the band was from New Zealand. Too complicated, trying to turn someone who had traveled that far with a group of people. He argued with himself a while longer, trying to find some way to get close to her, but it was no use. With a pang of regret, Spike turned to search the crowd for other prospects. There were always other possibilities, although probably none as good as this one could have been.

Because the masses are asses
We're all asses
Masses are asses everyday
Masses are asses in every way

Spike continued walking through the club, scouting for dinner. A young girl was coming out of the restroom, glassy-eyed and reeling slightly on her high heels. He walked over and smoothly took her arm, gently guiding her toward the private booths in the back.

"Buy you a drink, luv?" He didn't wait for an answer, just kept leading her across the dance floor, arm around her waist. Once they were settled, Spike turned on the charm, staring into her unfocused eyes with what he hoped passed for desire. She was completely out of it; he could have been anybody.

He ran his finger down the length of her neck and leaned in for a kiss. She offered no resistance as his mouth followed his finger to the pulse beating in her throat. He bit her easily, careful not to tear the skin, and let the blood flow over his tongue.

Little explosions of light danced in his head as the narcotic-filled liquid entered his system. The rush hit him hard; it had been a long time since he'd caught a buzz from anything except straight blood. He drank for a minute before stopping himself, then propped the girl up gently against the seat, arranging her hair over the bite marks.

"Thanks for the drink, pet. It was fun." He left the booth and headed back toward the stage, perked up by the blood and the instant high that it had given him.

Jason was dancing with a girl over in the corner and he thought he spotted Kyle and Mark sitting at the bar. He didn't give a fuck where Darius was. His blond pixie was singing again, only this time, she seemed to be singing directly to him. Spike was mesmerized by her pale skin and large green eyes, eyes that were locked on his as she crooned her bizarre love song.

My blonde god, I love him so
wish he were here, we'd go down low
Adore the hair upon his head
I eat him up when he's in my bed
My blonde god yeah, my blonde god yeah

He was tormented by the fact that he couldn't have her. Spike could just imagine how vicious she would be, a sleek jungle cat that he could mold in his own image. *Fuckin' figures, first time in years that I feel like bringing someone over and I can't even get to her. Instead I get to play nursemaid to Angel's fuck-ups.*

Not wanting to come down just yet, he zoomed in on another obviously wasted young thing. This time, he took his meal outside to the adjacent alley and sucked her dry. Spike stuffed her body behind the dumpster and threw some cardboard boxes on top. Hunger sated and mood lifted, he sauntered back into the club, intent on having a good time.

Pussywhip began winding up their set with their signature song, Pussywhipped. Spike thought about the Slayer, wondering again if she had missed him. *Fuck! Can't I go ten bloody minutes without thinking about her?* No matter where he was, or what he was doing, he still couldn't forget the lure of her velvety softness, the way she screamed his name when he made her come. *Pussywhipped, huh? I guess there are worse things to be.*

He gave up trying to deny it. Anyway, it wasn't as if he was all sappy and in love like Angel had been. *God forbid! Never happen, mate, especially after Drusilla.* He just wanted her, wanted to bury himself inside her until he couldn't see straight. It wasn't hearts and flowers, it was sex...mindblowing sex. There was nothing emotional about it.

Now you'll never sleep with no other bitch
never get another chance to scratch that itch
don't ever try to get away from me again

Just because he didn't feel like fucking anyone else right now, that didn't mean he couldn't if the occasion arose. He still called the shots. She'd never completely control him, or even get him to change, but she did hold a power over him that few could lay claim to. All she had to do was look at him and he felt a raging lust; her kiss, her touch, her smell, all drove him insane with desire. He knew that he must have a similar effect on her, for her to even consider spending time with him. *The Slayer's miles away, concentrate on what's right in front of you, you stupid sod.*

I only do it cos I love you, you know
And you'll never get away, you'll never get away
Don't try to get away, I won't let you get away...

Spike sauntered over to the bar and ordered a beer. He'd always liked the taste, liked almost anything alcoholic. Turning, he scanned the crowd again, watching as the weirdos went by.

A tall dark haired man stood at the end of the bar near the restrooms, his eyes darting nervously as he fingered the large cross hanging around his neck. He was watching the goth kids like a hawk, a look of fear mixed with false bravado evident on his face. *Not too obvious, are you? Might as well hang a sign around your neck saying amateur vampire hunter.*

He wore a dark blue suit, the coat large enough to conceal all sorts of slaying paraphernalia. Spike almost laughed out loud at the sight of him. Every once in a while he ran across one of these types-average citizens who thought that they were comic book heroes, ready to rid the world of evil. They always ended up dead or wishing that they were. Spike decided to give him a wide berth. He wasn't in the mood to tangle with a nutcase tonight. He just wanted to enjoy the music, the lights, and the pleasant buzzing in his head.

The evening passed fairly quickly, an Austrailian band called The Living End replacing Pussywhip at around midnight. A bunch of guys in the usual skater cutoffs and ripped tees doing 'golden age punk'. Spike was less impressed with them than he'd been with the New Zealand band. The glittery girl floated by in a gold cloud, snuggled up next to Kyle, her hand firmly on his ass.

Starting to get bored now, he felt like grabbing another bite and maybe rounding up the boys. They could hit another club or even head home before sunup. He could feel the restlessness starting again- probably not helped by the various drugs he had ingested, and he was pissed that fate had denied him a shot at the bass player. He was glancing down toward the end of the bar, ready to pack it in for the night, when he spotted her out of the corner of his eye.

She was perched on a barstool, holding a glass of wine and watching the freak show on the dance floor. Red highlights shimmered in her wavy hair, framing lovely pale skin and a heart shaped face. A low cut black dress hugged her generous curves, flowing over her legs to her ankles. She was older- thirtyish, and appeared to be alone.

Spike was spellbound; she brought to mind Hecate, the Moon Goddess, with her luminous skin and lush body. He began moving in her direction, feeling her power reach out to him. As he drew closer, she turned her head and looked him in the eye, something unreadable in her expression. He was already imagining the feel of her tender throat in his teeth, the taste of her blood in his mouth.

Spike went into his charming routine, planning to sweep her off her feet. "Hello luv, here all by your lonesome? Of course not, what could I be thinking, a beautiful woman like you?" He thought that she'd be easy, a few flattering comments and off they'd go.

The intelligence sparkled in her blue eyes as she gazed back at him, an amused smile touching her lips. "Is that the best you can do? I expected something more original from someone of your age and experience."

Spike looked at her in surprise, wondering if her comment meant what he thought it did.

"Someone of my age and experience? How old do I look to you?" She had his complete attention now, his curiosity piqued by the gleam of mischief in her eye.

"We both know that appearances can be deceiving." She reached down and took his hand in hers. One well manicured fingernail traced the lines in his palm, sending shivers running through him. Her eyes held his in a penetrating stare, as if she could see inside him, as if she knew exactly who he was.

"I've been watching you all evening. I want you to come home with me." Spike swallowed hard, his bloodlust rising in full force. He couldn't believe his luck, finding another human that was as interesting as the blonde singer had been.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that it's dangerous to invite strange men into your home? I could be Jack the Ripper." She laughed, a low full-throated sound that almost brought him to his knees.

"You're not a stranger, I knew who you were the moment I saw you. I've been waiting for you for a long time. You're going to give me everything that I've always wanted." There was no need to say anything else.

He excused himself to find the boys and tell them that he was leaving. He found Mark down near the stage, putting the moves on a girl wearing a little too much hair gel that smelled like a fruit salad. Spike grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the edge of the dance floor.

"Tell the others to find a place to crash for tomorrow. I'll meet you back here one half hour after sunset. I'm not waiting around. If you're late, you're out of luck." Spike didn't wait for an answer, just spun around and headed back to the goddess waiting for him. She was still there where he had left her. Spike took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Ready to go, luv?"

She nodded, smiling as they left the club.

Outside, near the entrance to the alley, they could see a tiny whirlwind of a woman fighting with three young men. She was using a combination of martial arts and streetfighting, crunching bones with lightning kicks and punches. For a moment Spike thought she was a Slayer, but quickly realized that she was just someone who liked to kick ass.

If he'd been alone, he would have joined her in the fun, but the goddess was beckoning to him, promising a night of dark pleasure. As he helped her into the car he asked what her name was.

"Lara," she replied as the car sped off toward her apartment.

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