67. Fighting for Love
WARNING: This
chapter is another one not for
the squeamish...very dark and violent...but toward the end something
very vital and actually quite hopeful happens...so you might not want
to skip it...just to let you know :)
"Funny – would have thought the source of the Slayer's mighty power
would like a bit more of a challenge than this."
Considering the perilous situation he was in, Spike's voice was
remarkably light and casual, though there was no mistaking the tremor
of pain in his voice, and the impossibly taut muscles of his arms and
shoulders that gave his fear away before he even spoke at all.
"Turns out the big bad Slayer demon gets off on torturing someone who
can't fight back at all, rather than a *real* fight – ironic little
switch there, considering the Slayer's being all chosen and righteous
and all."
"*She* may be 'all chosen and righteous' - *I'm* not," the Slayer demon
smirked, as she set aside the empty bottle and reached for one of the
various knives that she had assembled around her victim's exposed,
vulnerable body. "Those insolent, foolish men – millennia ago – they
forced me into a prison – used my power against me, placed it in a mere
mortal girl, to destroy my own kind..."
The disgust and bitterness in her voice gave way to a wicked triumph as
she added, "...but not anymore."
"Personally – all that virtue and honor and protecting of innocents –
makes me want to vomit. Sitting idly by – forced to just watch as girl
after pathetic human girl used *my* power in the most unnatural of
ways," she went on, shaking her head slowly, a far off look in her eyes.
Suddenly she shook her head again, more quickly, as if trying to clear
it of the distasteful images, before smiling down at him coldly.
"But that's all over now – or it's about to be," she informed him, her
eyes moving from his pain-filled, wary face to the blade in her hand,
and back again with a smirk. "I'm going to put you back in your
rightful place – at my feet," she sneered softly, lowering the blade to
trace along the chiseled planes of his chest, without quite breaking
the skin.
Spike tensed at the threatening contact, but his jaw set with
determination. He was not about to let this thing break him, though he
knew she meant to try.
"And then," she went on, her voice soft and almost hypnotic, as she
trailed the weapon, as yet harmlessly, across his stomach, smiling at
the slight quiver that went through the vampire's cool flesh at the
touch of the cooler metal, "you're going to kill the girl – and the
mother, too, for good measure," she shrugged carelessly. "No sense
leaving loose ends lying around."
"I'll never do it," Spike interrupted without hesitation, his voice
soft but certain. "Don't care what you bloody do to me – don't care if
the bloody bond kills me – I won't hurt them."
"Silly," she chided him with a chilling gentleness in her voice, and he
stiffened as she accompanied the soft word with an infinitely more
threatening gesture, sliding the blade across his stomach and down to
trace the line of his hip. "You'll do whatever I *tell* you to do –
once the dominance ritual is complete, and you're mine to command
again."
As much as he wanted to argue with her, Spike did not respond, turning
his head away and closing his eyes, trying not to think about the
vicious blade and its slow, terrifying exploration of his body.
He knew that thinking was as good as saying, due to the mating claim.
In time, he and Buffy would be able to learn to control their mental
connection – to build mutual, respected barriers between them, to
prevent their most private personal thoughts from the other's
indiscriminate knowledge.
But now, with the claim so new to them, there were no such boundaries
in place; had Buffy been in control at the moment, she would have been
able to hear and feel every thought and emotion of her mate, and he
would have been able to do the same.
As it was, the unwelcome visitor in Buffy's body could freely read his
mind as she chose.
He actually found it somewhat comforting that he could not read the
demon's mind – a proof to him that the mating claim was between him and
*Buffy* -- not him and the demon. It worried him, however, that he
could not sense Buffy in her own body, at all. Was she pushed so far
back at the moment that he simply could not reach her? He wondered if
he should try again to contact her, but was certain that doing so would
only further infuriate the Slayer above him.
And wasn't she hearing all of these thoughts, anyway? he wondered with
a sudden alarm, mingled with irritation, as he realized that even if
she was, there was precious little he could do about it.
*'S not like I can bloody well stop thinking!*
He glanced up at her sideways for a moment, attempting to gauge her
mood, her attention to his thoughts, from her expression. Apparently,
he decided, he was in the clear. She did not seem to be paying much
attention to him, really.
She was too focused on the beloved sound of her own bloody voice.
"You'll be mine," she was going on, in a voice of cruel contentment, a
satisfied smile on her face as she looked at the wall behind him,
thinking, "they'll be dead – and I'll...*rule*. And maybe – sometime
during all of that...you'll start..."
She surprised him by suddenly twisting around slightly to move the
blade behind her back, placing it in a lightning fast, terribly
frightening move, right at the base of his semi-hardened manhood,
jerking it up just a fraction of an inch – but more than enough to make
him jump with a little strangled cry of fear.
She smiled at his reaction as she leaned down close to him, meeting his
eyes, without moving the blade, to finish in a whisper, "...paying
attention. Are you, Baby? Paying attention?" she asked expectantly, a
wicked sparkle of amusement in her eyes at his obvious terror.
Spike swallowed reflexively, drawing in a sharp breath as she jerked
the knife upward just a fraction of an inch – not enough to do any
actual damage, but enough to be extremely uncomfortable – not to
mention bloody terrifying.
Knowing it would not be to his benefit to provoke her further – not at
this moment, with her vicious weapon poised so perilously near to his
most vital and sensitive organ – he nodded quickly, replying in a low,
slightly shaking voice that he still managed to keep somewhat calm,
"Yes – definitely paying attention, love..."
She eased the pressure she was exerting just slightly, but did not move
the knife. "That's good, Sweetheart," she said softly, running her
unoccupied hand slowly up his side, bringing it up to cup his cheek for
a moment before moving it behind his head to grip his hair and pull his
head back firmly.
He could not possibly have felt more vulnerable than he did in that
moment, as she lowered her lips to the mark on his throat for just a
moment, toying with the idea of the bond she was about to initiate,
without really pursuing it – yet.
"...because I'd hate to have to do something drastic in order to *get*
your attention," she finished softly.
After a moment's silence, the blonde vampire responded in a quiet,
impressively controlled voice, "Don't think you'd really want to do
anything *that* drastic, love. 'D be like cutting off your soddin' nose
to spite your pretty little face, wouldn't it?" He grimaced slightly at
the comparison, adding, "...in a manner of speaking."
The almost child-like curiosity in her voice sent an involuntary
shudder down his spine as she asked with no small interest, "Would it
grow back?"
He met her eyes in alarm at the question, not answering her.
"*What*?" she asked, a bit defensively – but her eyes glittered with
malicious amusement. "I just want to know!"
"Can't say as I'd know, pet," Spike replied in a dry voice of faint
derision. "Don't know any vamps what's ever had the bloody bad luck to
test that question. But even with vamp healing – can't imagine it would
grow back fast enough."
She arched an eyebrow questioningly, and he knew that she was wondering
what he thought he knew of her plans.
"It's not like you've kept it a big bloody secret, love," he informed
her, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Way I see it – you're a bit
pressed for time. You're needing to do this ritual right away – and I
can't see how you're going to seal it with a proper shag, like you need
to do, if you've lopped off my shagging bits by then!"
Her eyes narrowed in anger at his careless, unconcerned tone, even with
the knife still held dangerously against the base of his member. He
could see it in her eyes – her frustration and confusion. He wasn't
*supposed* to think her plan through better than she did! He wasn't
supposed to inform her why she couldn't carry out her threat.
He was supposed to be terrified beyond all reason – and yet, he still
seemed quite capable of reason.
*Why?*
She tried to recover the upper hand she felt like she was losing,
drawing a cruel smirk to her face. "Oh, I don't think it'd take so very
long -- *little* repair job like that," she sneered pointedly, glancing
over her shoulder with derision at his exposed body. "A couple hours,
tops, to grow that itty bitty thing back."
Although he knew that she was *trying* to make him angry, he couldn't
help but be – well -- *angry*.
"Bitch," he muttered under his breath, looking away from her, not
wanting her to see the hatred blazing from his eyes.
Her eyes widened in disbelief for a moment, before narrowing again in
anger. She suddenly began to increase the pressure of the knife,
slowly, for a few seconds, and he winced, suddenly wondering with alarm
if perhaps he had pushed her just a bit too far.
"Maybe you're right," she said finally, her angry expression shifting
into a cool, calculating smile. "We *haven't* got a lot of time to work
with. Enough talk."
She lowered the knife, allowing the blade to shift so that it rested
against the inside of his thigh again – and then suddenly slashed it
cruelly down his leg, leaving a deep, vicious gash about six inches
long.
He fought back a cry of pain, as he felt the lukewarm wetness of the
blood – blood taken from Buffy's own veins, hours earlier – soak his
leg, running down to fall onto the sheets beneath his body – and he
could almost feel the strength of it flowing from him as well.
The Slayer brought the blood-stained knife back around in front of her,
smiling down at him cruelly as she pressed it to his side, poised for
another cut.
"Time to get down to business, Baby," she said softly, a suddenly
serious sound to her voice, though the laughter only slightly faded
from her eyes. "Get you all ready for your big fight."
He bit down hard on his lower lip to keep from screaming – he was
determined not to give her the pleasure – as she drew the blade
viciously down his side, leaving another deep, bloody gash to pour out
onto the bed.
A low chuckle rose in her throat, and she shook her head slightly. "So
brave," she murmured, partially genuine admiration mingling with the
mockery in her tone, as she leaned down over him, trailing the blade
down his cheek in a teasing sort of threat.
Against his instinct, he did not flinch – though his entire body was
taut with fear and pain.
Her smile faded at the lack of the response she had expected, as she
put the knife down beside his head, and ran her hand through his hair
in a mockery of affection. Her right hand slid down his side, to rest
over the bleeding wound, the searing heat of her hot skin against his
cool flesh, an ominous warning of what was to come.
He tried to shift away from her touch, but her knee on the other side
of him kept him from moving far.
Her dark, penetrating gaze drew his eyes to hers, and the smile on her
face made him want to look away – but he refused to allow himself to do
it.
*Don't back down – don't look away – don't scream....* he ordered himself
fiercely. *...don't give her the bloody satisfaction.*
She smiled into his eyes, with a peculiar understanding, and he
remembered too late that she could still hear his desperate thoughts –
just before she gripped the gushing wound, digging vicious nails into
already torn flesh and causing him to jerk against the bonds that held
him, instinctively – though he kept his mouth stubbornly shut.
"Oh, I *can* *make* you scream, Baby – make you beg – make you break
and bleed until there's nothing left that even resembles the master you
once were. You're mine, Spike. *Mine* -- and..."
Suddenly, her voice broke off and the painful pressure on his side
eased; he looked up to see that her eyes were closed, and a little
grimace of discomfort and uncertainty had stolen over her face. He
stared at her for a moment, puzzled, not sure what was happening – and
then a wild hope of realization began to build within him.
*Buffy?*
The Slayer let out a savage growl of frustration and fear, as she put
her hands to her head and pressed at her temples, as if trying to
physically hold herself together. He could hear Buffy's heart pounding
quicker as the battle within her intensified – and then he felt it – a
slight fluttering of a presence not belonging to the brutal demon he
had been facing only moments before.
A slow smirk came across his face, in spite of the pain and the danger
he was still in.
"Looks like somebody found her fight after all," he remarked, though
his voice was hoarse and shaky from pain and exhaustion. "Seems she
don't much care for you messing with her mate."
"*Shut up*!" she nearly screamed, and the powerful wave of rage he
could feel rolling off of her made him flinch in spite of his resolve.
"Shut up, *now*!"
The Slayer was on the verge of losing control; he could feel it – and
so could she.
She had inadvertently managed to awaken something in Buffy's repressed
spirit that just might prove to be stronger than her Slayer strength –
her love for the vampire on the bed beneath her.
But Buffy *was* tired.
Spike could feel *that*, too.
She had been fighting hard to resurface, though unsuccessfully, this
whole time – she had simply been too weakened to do it. The mating
claim had taken a lot of emotional energy out of her, that the demon
still had to work with. He could feel Buffy's desperation, her need to
come to his aid, in spite of the fact that she was quickly wearing out.
Even if she managed to gain control now – she would not be able to hold
onto it for long.
As if Buffy had just realized that fact as well, Spike suddenly felt a
surge in her effort, as she seemed to push with everything she had to
overwhelm the Slayer's power and come to the surface – if only for a
moment.
And in the next instant – he saw her there, the look in her eyes
unmistakable.
*Buffy.*
Their eyes locked together, and for that brief instant, everything else
fell away. Spike felt a sense of awe as he saw the flash of
determination in her emerald gaze – just before the demon was shoved
violently far back within her; and though he knew that she would
quickly rise back up with a vengeance, it was still impressive. He knew
that, if only briefly, Buffy had managed to lock her out of this
intense, private moment.
This was for her and her mate alone to share.
The sorrowful look in her eyes, however, told him what he really
already knew – they wouldn't have more than a few seconds. There was
only one gesture she had time for in the moments allowed to them, that
would be of any help to him – but it would be more than he needed.
She stretched out her hand in an instantaneous movement, placing it
firmly over the torn mark on his throat – and the sensation of warmth,
connection, comfort and safety that washed over him in that moment was
desperately needed. And with the flood of strengthening emotions that
coursed through him, came a sudden understanding that he had lacked – a
knowledge of a serious flaw in the Slayer's plan.
And a plan that Buffy had been developing of her own.
His eyes widened on hers, and he nodded slightly in agreement to what
she was silently, instantly telling him, as it all flooded into him in
a single moment – all the support, knowledge, and strength he needed to
carry through what had to be done – and so much more.
*I love you.*
He heard her tender words in his head, strong and clear – just before
he felt the Slayer surging back to the forefront – and regaining
control of the body above him.
Wide-eyed with panic and a mad fury, not quite aware yet that Buffy was
no longer fighting for control, she snatched up a knife from the bed in
trembling hands – randomly, not caring which one, her grip alarmingly
unsteady, as she brought the blade to his throat.
"I'll kill him!" she snarled in a voice that was full of menace and
terror all at once. "I'll kill him, I will, if you don't *back off*!"
The silence that followed her ragged, high-pitched emotional outburst
stood out in a sharp contrast to it, as she caught her breath, slowly
coming to realize that the battle had ended – for the moment – and she
was back in control.
Her almost feral jade eyes came to focus on Spike's face again, as a
cool smile came over her face. She laughed, triumphantly, yet still
with a note of giddy disbelief at her own success. She had come awfully
close to losing that time.
Far closer than she realized.
"Guess she doesn't care all that much after all – does she?" she
smirked, her invasive hand once again finding the tender, seeping wound
on his side.
Spike did not respond, his face contorting slightly with pain – a look
of resignation sliding across his face as she reached for a weapon to
resume her brutal breaking of his body.
As she picked up the lighter in her hand, holding it up in front of her
face to press the button, smiling cruelly into the blue flame that it
emitted – she completely missed the faint, barely there smile of hope
and victory that crossed the vampire's lips.
Because now – he knew how to beat her – and there was no way that she
could win.