10. Reflection
Buffy woke up suddenly in the dim stillness of
the quiet room, wondering momentarily in her groggy, sleep-addled state
at the odd but comfortable form of a body, lying beside her – no,
halfway under her – on the bed.
Wait – what bed?
Where was she? She opened her eyes, blinking a couple of times as her
eyes adjusted to the faint remaining light from the few dying candles
that still glowed around the room. They had been new when she had
arrived here – for some strange reason she remembered that much.
She glanced sleepily around the room for a moment before she remembered
the much more important fact of where she was. *Oh, yeah,* she
recalled. *The mansion.*
She wondered how much time had passed since she had fallen asleep. She
wore no watch, and there were no clocks – no electricity – in the old
mansion. When she had arrived here with Spike, it had been just a few
minutes before eight o'clock, and she knew that the fight had taken a
long time.
Not to mention what came after the fight.
Buffy's eyes widened as she turned her head and gradually focused on
the strangely peaceful face of the breathtaking creature sleeping
beside her. She wondered that she had never noticed before how
absolutely gorgeous he was.
Oh, she had been attracted to him; there had been no denying that, no
matter how hard she had tried. But the words that had always come to
her mind to describe Spike had been more along the lines of "annoying"
or "infuriating", and it times when she was more honest with herself,
"exciting" or "sexy".
Now, the only word that kept reverberating through her mind was
"beautiful".
Her pensive musings came to an abrupt halt as her eyes fell on the
dark, bruised spot surrounded the place where her teeth had broken the
skin of Spike's throat, standing out with glaring clarity on the
background of his pale, flawless skin – the mark that she had left
there. Unconsciously her fingers rose to touch the tiny puncture
wounds, almost healed now, that he had left on her own throat.
Slayer healing had caused them to close up and almost disappear
completely, though she knew from experience that she would probably
always bear the scar. Still, she knew that the actual injury would be
totally gone very soon. She wondered why the wound she had left on
Spike's neck was not healing as quickly, as it should have been due to
his own accelerated healing.
Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she had won.
*I won!*
The thought hit her with startling clarity, in a rush of sudden
exultation, as a slow smile spread across her face at the realization.
It had been quite a challenge, and she had almost lost several times.
Spike had managed to deceive her into believing that the challenge was
won before it actually was, and she had nearly allowed him to defeat
her – to claim her. But at the very last moment, just before it was too
late, she had managed to regain control.
She had won.
And the gorgeous, flawless creature on the bed beside her, the one she
found herself desperately wanting even now, was her prize.
Her mind raced – and her heart was not far behind – at the memories of
all that had happened during the previous hours between her and the
vampire she had taken as her own. She had done things that night that
she had not even known were possible until that night – and that she
would not have ever considered actually attempting, had she known.
*What came over me?* she wondered, her face coloring with an odd
mixture of mild shame – and fresh arousal. *What ever possessed me to
make me do – those things?*
A part of her was aghast at the daring, sexually aggressive manner in
which she had behaved, taking control and taking what she wanted from
Spike, who had fortunately turned out to be a very willing partner in
the whole affair – aside from the whole "submission to Buffy" thing.
But the greater part of her felt a surge of pride at the revelation of
the power she had not known she possessed – the primal instinct that
seemed to have taken over and guided her actions of the night before.
Buffy had been sure at the beginning of the night that she had no idea
how to go about the whole "domination" thing.
Yet, on some deeper level, some basic part of her had known exactly
what to do.
She had somehow managed to delve into the natural, inherent power that
was a part of her as the Slayer, and she had used it to bring the
dangerous, wild creature that she had never been able to tame or
defeat, into her control. She had not consciously thought about the
things she had done; they had just felt right at the time. She had just
somehow *known* what she had to do to accomplish her goal. Her eyes
widened, her expression sober.
She had bitten him.
She, the vampire Slayer, had bitten a vampire. How had she known to do
that? How had she known that that was the action that would bring about
his submission? And *why* had that act been what had finally
overwhelmed him to the point of giving in?
And why did she want to do it again?
One little worry kept nagging at her, however, about the way that
things had happened. Anya had told her that the sex between her and
Spike was supposed to be symbolic, an act to signify that he had
*already* submitted to her. And when she initiated it, she had believed
that to be true.
But she had found in the middle of the act itself that he had never
really submitted to her at all – not at that point – when he had
attempted to claim her as his own. He had only submitted to her when
she had forcefully overpowered him, delivering a claiming bite and
demanding his acceptance of her claim, in the midst of their union, at
the very last possible moment.
She wondered what sort of effect, if any, that might have on the
results of the ritual.
She would have to talk to Anya about what had happened later. Anya was
not exactly the revered scholar of the group, but she *was* an ex-demon
with centuries of experience and knowledge in matters of this nature,
and she would probably know more about it than Buffy did, that much was
for sure.
Besides – there was no way in the world that she was going to talk to
*Giles* about this!
The thought of her Watcher reminded her suddenly that her friends were
probably in a state of panic by this point, worrying about her. They
had know way of knowing – thankfully – just how everything had turned
out. All they knew was that the ritual involved her fighting Spike,
while his chip was out of operation, and he was able to hurt her. She
had been alone with him, in this old mansion, for hours, with no one to
help her should he manage to get the upper hand.
She had given them strict orders that they were not to come near the
mansion, and Anya had sworn that she would make sure those orders were
obeyed. Buffy did not want her friends coming to "rescue" her and being
accidentally scarred for life by the revelation of the ritual's true
nature, and all that it entailed.
She had promised to call each and every one of them and let them know
she was all right as soon as the ritual was complete, but she had not
counted on the apparently mystically induced heavy sleep that had come
upon both her and Spike upon the completion of the ritual.
Anya had forgotten to mention that part.
And now, she had no idea what time it was, how late it had gotten while
she had been dead to the world. But however late it was – she was sure
that her friends would still be awake.
It was a wonder to her that they had not turned up here anyway,
regardless of her orders, if it was anywhere near as late as she
thought it was.
She had to find a phone.
She climbed carefully off the bed, feeling the oddly affectionate
desire not to disturb Spike, smiling softly at him as she rose to her
feet, staring down at him for a few moments longer.
*God, he's gorgeous!* she thought again with a tenderness that was
startling to her.
She was amazed at the strange new emotions she was feeling for him now,
after the ritual. She had expected nothing more than a sense of power,
at knowing that he was under her control, and satisfaction, at being
able to finally stop his constant annoyances any time she felt like it.
What she had not expected was the powerful feeling of possessive
affection – the thrill and joy of knowing that he was hers, and the
need to protect – and the desire that was at an almost desperate level
now, far greater than it had been before the ritual.
Just another thing that she would need to ask Anya about.
Silently, she made her way into the next room, where she had left her
jacket, and her cell phone in the pocket. She pulled it out, fumbling a
bit in the darkness, until she managed to push a button and get a bit
of light. She was relieved to see that it was only a little after
midnight.
She quickly dialed Giles' number, and waited as it rang – only once.
"Buffy?" his urgent voice greeted her before she said a word.
"It's me," she whispered. "I'm okay."
"Oh, thank heaven!" Giles breathed out the words, his relief obvious.
"I've been worried sick, Buffy. So – everything went as planned? Spike
is – no longer a problem?"
"Um...yeah," she replied, glancing nervously toward the bedroom door. "No
problems here. He's all tame vamp now. Completely under control. I
mean, I guess so," she amended with a thoughtful little frown. She was
really speaking on assumption, as Spike had not yet awakened. "He's
still asleep."
"Good." Giles paused for a moment before adding, in a slightly
different tone, "Asleep?"
Buffy covered her mouth, her eyes widening in horror at her own slip.
"Yeah, um...I knocked him out. Out cold. Like a light," she explained
quickly, cringing at her own weak, awkward wording, thankful that Giles
could not see her face, and hoping that he did not notice how nervous
she was.
"Oh. Very well then," Giles replied, and she was relieved that he
seemed to accept her words without hesitation. "So – what exactly are
you planning on doing with him? Tonight?"
"*What*?" Buffy demanded in a tone of shock. Was her guilt that
obvious? What, did she somehow *sound* like a slut now?
"Are you going to leave him there in the mansion? Or bring him back
here?" Giles clarified, in a slow, careful tone that one might use with
a not-particularly-bright child. "Because I think it's probably wise
not to leave him alone. Not until we're completely sure that everything
has worked out as we expected."
"Oh," Buffy breathed a sigh of relief as understanding dawned on her.
So she wasn't caught.
Yet.
"Oh, it's cool. I brought chains," she replied carelessly, suppressing
a giggle at the knowledge of where those chains were and for what use
she had intended them. If Giles only knew...
Thankfully – he didn't. "Oh. Good, then. So you can chain him up there
and come back for him in the morning? Because I really think we should
meet Buffy. To discuss your experience and any possible ramifications.
And I think you should bring Spike with you. So we can all see the
results of your triumph."
Buffy had absolutely no intention of "discussing her experience" with
Giles or anyone else – except maybe Anya. And as for the results of her
triumph – the naked, sleeping vampire in the next room with a big,
glaring bite mark on his neck – she wasn't so sure she wanted to share
that with the others just yet either.
In fact – she was pretty sure she didn't want to share at all.
Ever.
None of which thoughts she could express to Giles. "Okay," she agreed
half-heartedly. "I'm really tired, Giles. I'm just gonna go to bed.
*Home*! And to bed," she clarified quickly. "Would you mind calling the
others so they don't freak?"
"Of course, Buffy. Good night," Giles said, in a voice of fatherly
affection. "I'm – I'm quite glad you're safe."
Buffy smiled into the phone in spite of herself and her anxieties over
Giles and his reactions, once any small part of the truth came out –
which it inevitably would.
"Thanks," she said softly, just before she clicked the phone shut, and
put it back into her pocket.
If Giles only knew that she intended to spend the night right here,
with Spike, in the very same bed – she knew that he would not be nearly
so affectionate, or fatherly, or pleased. She envisioned loud British
curse words and threats the likes of which she had only ever heard from
Spike before – never Giles.
She shuddered as she walked back through the doorway into the bedroom.
It was a good thing he did *not* know the truth – and hopefully never
would. She would have to get with Anya and try to figure out just how
much of the story to reveal to the guys, and how much to keep secret.
And she would have to do it before the meeting tomorrow, because she
would have to make sure Spike knew what story to stick to.
She glanced toward the bed with a small smile at the thought of him,
wondering if he was awake yet.
And then the smile froze on her face, her eyes widening in surprise –
at the sight of the empty bed. She glanced around the dimly lit bedroom
– and saw no sign of him. Had he somehow managed to slip past her while
she was occupied on the phone with Giles? The only light in the house
at the moment was in the bedroom; the living room was dark. It would
have been easy for him to slip by her in the darkness.
Had he? Had he left her here? Did he want to get away from her?
She was surprised at the hurt feeling that filled her at those thoughts
– and then, by the primal, possessive anger that followed it. She
looked around the room carefully for a moment, determining for sure
that he was not there, before stepping back out into the living room.
She did not call for him; she knew that he would likely not answer. She
slowly peered around the room into the darkness, but could see nothing
at all. She did not have the enhanced senses of a vampire.
She did, however, have some other sense, that she had not heretofore
possessed. Somehow, she just *knew* -- he was not here. He had left the
mansion. She followed the urge that drove her to the front door,
looking out into the cool stillness of the night with narrowed,
calculating eyes.
Leave her, would he?
No. He would not.
Following the deepest instinct that she possessed, that drove her to
find what was hers and bring him back, reclaim him as her own, the
Slayer became a predator once more, as she slipped out the front door
of the mansion and into the night.