Brave New World

15.2 Betrayal of Blood
Darla held up the small vial and gazed at it. The dark red mixture glimmered under the harsh glare of the light from the bathroom's exposed bulb.
**Amazing,** she thought to herself. It was barely a mouthful of blood but it would create the 'Anointed'. **This and a few ritual spells,** she amended.
The blood was simply for turning him into an ordinary vampire, bound to the Master as his childe. It was the rituals that would do the trick of changing what would have been a simple ordinary fledgling into a powerful vampire. She was not certain exactly how powerful the 'Anointed' would be, but the Master had seemed excited about him. He had gone on and on about the Anointed leading the Slayer into Hell and the downfall of the Council of Watchers, blah, blah, blah. Darla had not cared. She had listened to the same tired, ritualistic sermons for decades. Only *now* she was finally hearing it for the crap that it was. The 'Golden Age of Vampires' had thus far been a bust as far as she was concerned. She had felt this way for some time, but the talk with Spike had given her the first impression that maybe she wasn't alone in feeling that the blood mobile had just passed by. Unfortunately, the loss of Drusilla appeared to have made him apathetic; resigned to accepting the Master's rule, accepting the Master's leftovers as rewards, and doing as he was told.
Well not *her*. She planned to take back control of her future. Opening the vial of the Master's blood, she turned it upside down, dumping the contents into the sink. **To hell with the Master,** she thought with bitter contempt. **And fuck Spike, I don't need him. It's past time that I took matters into my own hands and helped myself to some of the better things this world has to offer me.**
She rinsed the bottle out several times to make certain that all residue of the Master's blood was flushed from it. Then, with care, she set the vial on the counter, extended a claw and drew a small cut across her wrist. The blood slowly oozed out and began to drip into the vial as she watched with nervous excitement. She was betraying the Master, but in a way that he would never find out until it was too late. The Anointed One would be *her* childe, not the Master's. The Master would think him loyal and welcome him to his side. Publicly, the Anointed would request Darla as his 'assistant'; privately Darla would command him through the bonds of the Sire-Childe relationship. Eventually, should the right opportunity present itself, there was the possibility that she and the Anointed might even be able to engineer the removal of the Master and Willow and assume the throne.
Thoughts of power and domination filled her mind as Darla watched the vial slowly fill with her own blood. Slowly, her lips curved into a wicked smile.
*****
15.3 Slaughter of the Sisters
It had been a week since Spike had come home in a sour mood and found Giles already gone. His mood had quickly worsened when he learned of the Slayer's presence and the attack that had occurred. Soon, Spike had been yelling at Buffy, ripping into her about saving the Watcher in the first place. A little over a month ago, Spike's yelling would have had her backing down in meek submission. But, now Buffy was a different person. She refused to accept that she had done anything wrong, and had yelled back that she would always stand with a human against any monster that sought to destroy them. She had expected him to hit her. He had not.
Without a word, he had turned his back and stalked off to bed. After that, he had barely spoken to her. The daily training sessions had suddenly lost their... 'joy', for lack of a better word. Since that night, he had not set foot in her room. A dull ache rose up in her chest, which she quickly pushed back down. It was silly, she knew, but until he had stopped doing so, she had not realized just how much comfort it had given her to find him watching over her upon awakening.
Even more disturbing, Spike had left her alone at the house every night. Two nights ago he had returned with his clothing torn and shredded. She could smell blood on him, though whether it was human, demon or his own she could not tell as he had said not to to her, except to refuse her assistance.
Buffy had been angry and afraid. Angry that he had gone out to slaughter someone without a word to her. Afraid that the 'someone' might have been human. She wanted to say something, but had no idea how to put it to him. So she held her tongue, and counted the days until their showdown with the Master. She wanted to believe in Spike, but her doubts could not help but grow.
Left alone in the house, she had begun to rummage through his techno-toys, a few nights ago she had stumbled across his tracker. She had turned the device on and slowly moved through the house,following the signal that led to her room. To Mary. At first, Buffy had been pissed. However, by the time Spike had returned home, she had decided that turnabout was fair play. She'd removed the bug from Mary and made no mention to Spike about finding the tracker. Last night, after he had left the house, she had waited ten minutes before going out to the van they had obtained last week, and proceeding to follow the tracking bug which she had slipped into the lining of his jacket.
He had gone to an area of caves that lined the beach. She found him fighting a group of female demon-warriors with swords. Three of the warriors were already down. Unfortunately, there were eight more female demons pouring out of the caves to assist the two who were already fighting Spike. Without a second's hesitation, Buffy rushed forward to help Spike. Scooping up a sword from near one of the fallen warriors, she had leapt into the air and landed in the middle of the oncoming group, spinning and hacking like a berserk dervish devil.
Spike had been as startled as the rest of the warriors when Buffy had suddenly joined in the fight, but he did not allow her arrival to distract him from his battle with the two female demons. In truth, he was somewhat relieved at her surprise appearance. For the last two nights, he had managed to mount successful attacks on the Sister's of Jhe, catching two small groups of three warriors by surprise each night. Tot het he had followed the rumors he'd h of of a nest by the beach caves. He hadn't meant to get into a fight with the whole bleedin' clan, just check if they were there. Later he would have brought the heavily artillery with him and leveled the place. Having been in two scraps already he knew how tough the Sisters were. But rotten timing had left him discovered by a patrol and now he was in a fight for his un-life.
If there was one thing Spike hated to fight it was religious zealots. They never showed the proper concern for their own survival during a fight. He also found that he wasn't too thrilled with fighting in the sand whilst wearing boots. It felt as if there was a drag on his feet, like he was wearing lead weights.
Abruptly, one of the demons threw herself at him, causing Spike to stumble backwards. He barely knocked the demon's sword aside as she fell on him, and he caught sight of the second closing on them to cut his head off while the first held him to the ground. Spike brought his left hand up to grasp the base of the demon's throat and tilted his wrist. The demon on top of him stiffened in surprise as the spring-loaded ice-pick shaft shot out from the tube hidden inside the sleeve of Spike's jacket and into her throat. She made no resistance as Spike lifted her body, barely in time, to use it to block the sword thrust at his own head from her companion.
Spike quickly rolled away from the new attacker as he scrambled to get to his feet. Unarmed, but not unscathed. A sudden flash of weakness hit him as he stood. Looking down, he realized that he had somehow received a slash on the right side of his abdomen and a numbing effect was spreading to his leg. **Shit! Some type of paralyzing poison on the blades,** he thought to himself as he remembered that these warriors liked to eat their defeated opponents. **Not enough poison to kill, just to incapacitate a vampire.** His opponent had just managed to pull her sword out of the armor of her ex-Sister-in-Arms and was now grimly advancing upon him when a head came flying at her from the side.
"Get away from him, you Bitch," Buffy said with a growl and a smile as she strode forward. She seemed to be practically bouncing across the sand with her energy. Spike noticed she had kicked off her shoes and it apparently helped her maintain her footing while fighting in the sand. He also noticed with shock that there were no other demons. In the short time since she had joined in the battle, in the time that it had taken him to kill one of the Sisters, Buffy had literally sliced through the eight other warriors like a hot knife through butter. Once again, Spike was amazed by the deadly blonde vampire whom he had trained and, maybe for the first time, a little concerned about what he had helped to create. As the numbness spread from his wound, he sank down and rested in the sand as Buffy crossed swords with the last Sister of Jhe. The warrior demon growled and slashed frantically at Buffy, who smoothly met and parried each slash. Without warning, Buffy was airborne as she leapt over the demon only to spin around and plunge her sword into its spine.
The last off the demons dispatched, Buffy turned to face Spike only to find him slumped over. Concern swiftly replaced her anger at him for placing the bug on her, and she rushed over to help him.
"Spike?" she asked tentatively as she reached out to ease him back. His eyes were shut; a gash ran along his side. "Oh god, Spike!" she called to him, the idea of being left alone suddenly filling her with panic. **Please don't leave me,** she prayed to herself.
"It's alright, luv," he said in a tired voice. "It's a paralyzing poison. Should wear off... in a few hours. Just get me home and I'll be right as rain tomorrow." As Buffy clutched him tightly to her chest, Spike drifted off to the sound of the crashing surf.
*****
15.4 In Evolution We Trust
Buffy awoke with a start from her nightmare. A glance to the side was all she needed to know that, once again, he had not come to her room. Abruptly, she remembered how Spike had been injured and she leapt from her bed to race down the hall to his room to check on him. Not seeing him in his bed gave her even more of a fright, and she ran in to check the sheets for the telltale dust of his passing. Not finding any she raced back down the hall to check the rest of the house.
"Spike?" she called in panic. She moved quickly through the den to the kitchen where she stopped. Spike was sitting at the table with an open bottle of Jack Daniel's and a short glass in which he was swirling the melting ice cubes around with his finger. He sat there in his jeans without a shirt on.
Hesitantly, Buffy moved into the kitchen and sat in the chair next to his. He did not look up. Instead, he continued to toy with the melting ice in his glass.
"It looks like I owe you some thanks for last night, pet," Spike said in a level tone.
Buffy smiled and started to say, "You're wel-."
"That wasn't a 'Thank You'," Spike unexpectedly interrupted.
After another minute of silence Buffy hesitantly spoke, "OK. So... apparently, my saving your ass has upset you somehow."
Spike stopped toying with the ice and raised his head to look at her. He stared at her wide luminous eyes for another minute. Finally, he licked his lips and asked, "How did you find me last night, pet?"
Buffy blinked and looked down at the table. "I...uhm...well...I found your tracking thingy the other night. And the bug you put in Mary," she added in a harsher tone as she looked back up again and met his gaze. "I sort of slipped the bug in the lining of your jacket, last night."
"I see," he said simply. He had not blinked at her statement of where she had found the bug. "Why?"
"Why did you follow me?" she flung back at him, on the defensive and not wanting to answer his question. She felt guilty about suspecting him of going out and slaughtering humans to spite her.
Spike pondered her question for a minute before he spoke. "You wanted to go alone. I wanted to make certain you were safe. Why didn't you ask me when you found it?"
Buffy's feeling of guilt started to increase. "Because you weren't talking to me. Because I wanted to know what you were doing, who you were getting into fights with."
Spike peered at her intently as he asked, "Was that because you were worried about me or about who I might have been hunting." Buffy lowered her eyes immediately. He didn't need to wait for her response. "You didn't trust me," he said in the quiet voice that cut her more than any of his yelling had last week.
"I... I..." Buffy paused. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't lie. Not to him, not right now. Taking a deep breath she started over, "You're right. I was... concerned about what you were doing. Especially after what you said last week and the 'Arctic Blast' we've been experiencing around here lately."
"You still don't fully trust me because I am a vampire, and yet you trusted those humans enough to allow them to waltz out of here," Spike countered softly.
"No! Well. Not quite. I mean..." Buffy fumbled as she tried to explain her actions. "You're confusing me. That's not what it was. I... I-," she paused. He was right, she had trusted Giles immediately. Why else would she have confessed all that had happened to him. She had shared with Giles stuff she hadn't even told Spike about. **No wonder he doesn't think I trust him. I've got control over my inner-demon but not my inner-Slayer.**
"Shit," she said to herself under her breath. "I'm sorry Spike. You're right. I don't fully trust you simply because you are a vampire. I thought I did." Buffy paused as she looked into Spike's eyes. "Please believe me that I want to trust you."
Spike gazed back at Buffy, his face still unreadable to her. **Is he angry?** she wondered.
Spike's next statement was completely unexpected. "I've been sitting here for the last few hours, thinking about evolution."
Buffy was now wholly bewildered, "Evolution?
"'S right," Spike nodded. "You see the thing about living creatures is they have this little quirk called an ability to evolve, to change and to adapt when their environment changes. A whole lot might die during a change, but if a few make the right adaptation, then the species survives. Change or die. Demons, on the other hand, we're not supposed to change. We can live forever, but we're supposed emaiemain the same as from the day we came into being. Never changing, never dying."
"Then something happened, and, suddenly, we have found ourselves in the middle of a vampire population boom. Happy days are here to stay, some would say. But they're wrong. The party's got to end sometime. If things keep on going the way they're heading, pretty soon there won't be a bite to eat for any of us. A little demon pointed that out to me not too long ago. Everyone dead. Humans. Demons. Everyone." Buffy was silent as Spike finally took a long drink from the bottle. "At the time, I thought it sounded like a good idea."
*****
15.5 The Sickness
"...I'm telling you, it is some sort of curse. All of my Slayer abilities are gone!" Kendra yelled at Wesley. She was in a near panic. Ever since Sunnydale, she had had a disquieting, unsettling feeling that *something* was going to go terribly wrong and now something *had*. Two nights ago she had been in a fight with a vampire when suddenly a wave of weakness had hit her. She had been so shocked by it that she had stumbled and fallen. Sensing victory, the vampire had leapt upon her. Fortunately, she had not dropped her stake and as she rolled onto her back the vampire had impaled himself upon Mr. Pointy. Yesterday morning, Wesley had brushed off her fears of some type of curse as irrational since it had only happened briefly, and while he suggested that maybe she was coming down with a flu virus of some sort, she did not have a fever.
Last night, he had told her not to patrol but rather stay inside her hotel room and rest. He told her that perhaps she was pushing herself too hard and that he felt she needed to give her body an opportunity to heal. Kendra was certain that she would never get any sleep without going out and fighting a few vamps. To her surprise, when Wesley brought in the large blue crystal on which he had been having her meditate for the last few days, getting her to focus in order to 'find the flaw', she discovered that she was more tired than she had suspected. Nearly 30 minutes after she began staring into the crystal, Wesley had to shake her awake and gently told her to go to bed.

Then this morning, she had gone out early in order to practice, she was horrified to find that her weapons handling ability had plummeted to such a degree that she was now only one-in-ten with a crossbow at fifteen feet.
"I assure you everything will be fine," Wesley said in a confident tone of voice that he thought would be calming but was, instead, having the opposite effect upon her. "I've been in touch with the Watchers council members and they assure me that in a few days you will be fine."
"They know what this is? Why did you not tell me?" she demanded.
Wesley held up his hands, "I just got off the phone with them before you came in. Now they are having a doctor phone in a prescription that has, in the past, helped alleviate some of the problems, but I will need to be off to the pharmacy to collect it. You should try to rest, and I will be right back."
An hour later, he was back. Kendra had been too agitated to even lay down. Wesley had her roll up her sleeve.
"This will make you sleepy," Wesley told Kendra as he injected her arm. "I am going to let you rest here, all day. I will call you in the late afternoon to check in and to see if you are feeling up to joining us. Don't worry, they aren't here to judge your strength and will perfectly understand your trouble. I've left some money on the dresser so you can take a taxi."
As Wesley continued to talk to her, Kendra sat on the bed for about ten minutes before her head began to nod. Carefully, Wesley helped ease her back onto the bed. He then got up and went into his own room where he removed a small flat box from his suitcase. Opening it, he removed the syringe and vial of amber solution that lay within. Carefully he measured out a dosage from the vial. He then returned to Kendra's room and sat next to her on the bed. As he lined up the shot he hesitated briefly, then sighing in resignation, Wesley plunged the needle into her arm and injected the mixture that would further weaken her.
**It is the Council's orders,** he thought without much conviction as he gathered up his stuff and placed two twenty dollar bills on the dresser.
**It is tradition,** he continued bleakly in his mind as he walked to the door separating their rooms.
"So why does it feel so much like a betrayal?" he whispered to himself as he took one more look at the sleeping Slayer before closing the door.
Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the door for a moment. Finally, he took a deep breath, pushed off of the door and moved to get his suit from the closet.
After all, he had a meeting to get to.
*****
15.6 Loyalty & Love
"You know," he said with a tired sigh, "I never used to think about what I did, I just did it. I'm not sure what's been happening to me. I never wanted to be anything more than a vampire. I enjoyed being a vampire. And then Drusilla..."
Spike drifted away for a moment with a far off look in his eyes. Buffy was startled when Spike reached out and grasped her hand. He pulled her gently but insistently over towards him and into his lap. Not that she resisted.
"Do you remember what you described me as, when we first met? 'A demon whose heart is aching for his lost love'."
Buffy nodded, "I remember being shocked that I had said it." She also remembered it the the first and only time he had ever held her like this. **And we were both wearing more clothes,** she thought to herself at the feel of his bare chest against her.
.
"You were right, though. I lost my will to exist when Dru died. There was nothing anymore that gave me any sort of a thrill. I stopped killing, and I started to watch humans at night. I watched them go about their short lives and be 'happy'. I don't know what I was looking for. I was just running on automatic. Truth is, I was close to greeting the sun or wandering off and sealing myself in some cave. In all my time as a vampire, I had never felt as empty as I did then."
Buffy reached up to touch his face. He looked down at her and for the first time in a week smiled at her. Almost hesitantly, she smiled back, and then leaned her head on his shoulder.
"Then I met you," Spike continued, "and for the first time in my existence I find myself wishing I wasn't a vampire just so you would... trust me. But that isn't gonna happen. I am a soulless demon who doesn't know how to become anything else. So that leaves me with only one option. Make you something else, something other than my underling."
"Now, I want to do whatever it takes to please you. If that means giving up killing humans and being labeled a traitor for standing against all the legions of hell, I will do so. In order to be with you. My Queen."
She knew he meant it to be comforting, but for some reason that word terrified her. Willow wanted to be a Queen. It had been enough of a strain of credulity for Giles to accept her as a vampire, but as a Queen? "Spike I-I'm not... I-I don't want to be..."
"That doesn't matter," Spike interrupted and gently placed a finger on her lips. "The decision is no longer yours to make. You only have to accept it."
Buffy was annoyed. "Why? I don't understand what's going on here, Spike. First, you want me tmit mit that I have problems with trusting you, then you turn around and want me to be the Queen of the Damned. What gives?"
"As things stand right now, I have certain rights over you," he replied. "Even with your soul, I know that you can feel my claim on you even though I am not your Sire. The Master still holds the bond of Sire over you. Nothing I can do about that except kill him. But I hopet I t I can change the way you feel towards me if we reverse the bonds between us."
"Again, the same question come to mind. Why?" Buffy asked intently.
Spike slid his hand though his hair. "This can't work as a partnership. One of us has to take command, luv. You're probably the most dangerous thing in the world to me, and I'm drawn to you. As a demon, you are a source of so much power. There is a part of me which has attached itself to you and wants you to take me as your servant. Dominate me. Then, there is another part which is screaming for me to dominate you. Experience the thrill of having so much power under my command."
"That seems... a little... twisted," Buffy commented.
"No, Luv," Spike replied, "it's a lot twisted, but then, *I* am a demon, and so are you. We function on certain primal emotions; hate, fear, lust, greed."
"And what of love?" Buffy murmured.
"Why not?" Spike asked. "Because we're evil? Love is a primal emotion. Maybe not the way human's think of Love. I don't know. I never experienced love as a human. But I will tell you I loved my Sire, I loved Drusilla and now... I think that I'm in love with you."
Gently he took her hand and pulled it to his lips. The first kisses were so soft that she hardly felt them on the tips of her fingers, but the tenderness and affection with which he did so, brought a pang of joy to her heart. He turned her hand over and kissed her palm more forcefully. Before he lifted his head to again look at her, he slipped his tongue out slightly to lap the center of her palm, just once. The touch of his tongue sent shivers of lust cascading through her body and she gasped ever so slightly. She was disappointed when he released her hand, but she extended it to tenderly stoke the side of his face as he looked at her.
Buffy stared into his clear, icy blue eyes. She could see the sincerity of his words, and the desperate need to know whether she felt the same. She knew how horribly alone he had felt since Drucilla's death, but even that did not seem to be explanation enough for his declaration of devotion and willingness to submit to her. In her mind she ran though the numerous times over the past weeks that she had thought she had sensed his desire for her, only to be disappointed when he had not ravaged her, as was his right as her master. Now she realized he had been waiting for her permission to take her. Practically, an unheard of thing in a vampire relationship. About as unheard of as not punishing a subordinate for displaying open defiance the way she had to him last week. Slowly and with a growing appreciation, she realized how difficult, as a demon, everything he had done for her had been, and why he needed her to become *his* Queen.
He loved her. Really. Truly. Loved her.
When she answered him back, she let her heart speak. "When I was the Master's Toy, I never dared dream that there could ever be anyone that I could feel love for. No human because of what I was. No demon because of what they were. Then you come along and turn my world upside-down. With all that I have ever known about vampires, I never knew that someone like you could exist. A vampire who could actually *care* about me. And one whom I could care about, in turn." Spike's eyes seemed to sparkle at this, but before he could speak, Buffy gently placed her finger on his lips in a repeat of his own earlier actions.
"I gotta admit," Buffy continued as she stroked the side of his face, "this past week, while we... fought... I felt pretty empty. Last night, when I thought for a while that you might die, confirmed it to me. You may think you are in love, but I know that I am in love with you. So if you really want me to, I'll be your Queen, but you're gonna have to show me how."
"With pleasure, my love," Spike said just before he pressed his mouth to hers. A wave of desire enveloped Buffy as she eagerly responded to his kiss. His arms pulled her tighter against his body. She let out a soft moan and slid her fingers into his hair.
Spike finally broke off their kiss only to begin kissing and nipping his way softly along the side of her jaw. "One more thing," he whispered. "Thank you."
"Thank you?" Buffy asked, somewhat dazed by the kiss.
"For saving my life," Spike told her before he leaned in to suck on her earlobe.
"Oooh that!" Buffy moaned. "It was... my pleasure."
"No, not yet, my Queen," Spike whispered in her ear. "But it soon will be." Abruptly, he stood up, lifting her from his lap into his arms and eliciting a small shriek of surprise from Buffy who wrapped her arms about his neck.
He carried her to his bedroom before setting her down. With a growl, Spike enveloped her in his arms once more, and smashed his lips to hers. She met his kiss with an equally fierce growl. Their tongues began to duel in a battle for dominance. After several minutes, she broke the kiss and backed away. She ran her hands up and down her body as she began to sway sensually from side to side. Turning her back to him she cast a smoldering look over her right shoulder.
In a part of her mind, Buffy was thinking how ridiculous and un-sexy she must look: just out of bed, hair a mess, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt. About the only thing she thought she had going for her was that at least she had taken a shower last night after returning home and getting Spike in bed and bandaged up so she didn't smell of demon blood and guts. Although upon reflection, she realized that Spike would have probably enjoyed that. Quickly stifling that thought, she slipped her hands under the T-shirt's bottom and slowly began to lift it, trying to be as sensual as she could, while feeling self-conscious and clumsy. **Which is silly, considering the number of vamps I've fucked,** she thought to herself as she lifted her arms and freed her head from the shirt.
She had just tossed the shirt when she felt Spike move up behind her and clasp her wrists for a second to extend her arms above her head, as far as they could go. Following an unspoken request to remain still, Buffy continued to stand with her arms raised, as Spike began to delicately stroke his fingers in circles first upon the tender inside of her wrists and then gradually down her arms with an almost feather-like touch. When he reached her shoulders, he leaned in to gently lick her at the back of her neck, pleased at her gasp of pleasure. As his hand continued their leisurely, downward journey along her sides, Spike continued to use his tongue along her spine, moving downward into the mesh of rings that covered her back. Carefully using his tongue, he teased and toyed with the rings as he went. Buffy could not repress the shudders of sensual delight that were overwhelming her as she felt his tongue slip between the rings along her back while his fingers continued to work their magic along her sides, teasing the edge of the rings that covered her. Never before had she even contemplated the thought that she could feel anything but pain from the accursed rings that Willow had embedded in her back. However, as Spike finally reached the waist band of her sweatpants and began to ease them off of her hips and down her legs, she admitted to herself that she was definitely feeling a heightened sense of pleasure right now.
As he dropped Buffy's sweatpants around her feet, Spike continued his caresses down the outsides of her legs. When he reached the base of her spine with his kisses he began to nip along the upper swells of her buttocks.
Buffy began to clench her teeth when she felt his fingers reach her ankles, slip around the front and begin to journey upwards along the insides of her legs. By the time he reached her thighs, she had begun to pant; however, to her intense disappointment, Spike slid his hands from the inside of her thighs back to the front. Rising up he pressed himself against her back as he slid his hands up across her stomach to cup her breasts. Buffy let her head fall back and sighed as Spike began to massage her breasts, circle her erect nipples with his fingers and toy with the rings that pierced them.
"Spike," Buffy moaned as she dropped her hands to her sides.
"Yes, luv," Spike murmured as he began to slip his right hand down to her sex.
"You're... torturing... I need... more," Buffy was panting heavily as his fingers began to slide tgh tgh the slick folds of her sex.
"Am I, pet?" asked Spike innocently as he tugged gently at one of the rings on her labia and slipped his fingers inside her for a moment before returning to stroke just the outside of her sex. Smirking, he moved his mouth back to her ear, "Perhaps you need to take charge."
Buffy's head snapped about and Spike grinned as he saw the flash in her eyes. "Is that a challenge?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "I thougou'ou'd want to please your Queen."
"A Queen should take what she desires, luv," Spike countered as his hands continued to tease her. "What are you going to do?"
Before he knew it, Buffy had grabbed his arm and thrown him over her shoulder and onto the bed. With a quick little leap, she was standing on the bed with her feet on either side of his chest. Locking gazes with her, Spike continued to smirk, "Something you wanted, Buffy?"
With a low growl, Buffy reached down to grasp his head and pulled his face up between her thighs. Her scent was overwhelming to him and Spike began to lose some of his control. Crushing his mouth against her sex, he began to work his tongue into her core. As he stabbed his tongue deep within her, his nose battered against her clit. Buffy arched her head back with a grunt, sucking air in though her teeth. For several minutes she held his face to her as she twitched and shook. Suddenly, she let out a shriek of pleasure as an orgasm washed over her without warning.
Although she would have loved to remain in that position all day, she pushed Spike's head away, wanting something larger than his tongue inside of her. When Spike reached up to pull her back, she lightly swattes has hands away then wagged a finger at him. "Stay there," Buffy commanded with a lusty panting, "I need you 'inside' of me."
Moving down his body she became momentarily annoyed as she encountered his jeans that he still was wearing. A growl, a swipe of a clawed hand, a shredding sound and the last obstacle to her goal was removed. Spike was thrilled beyond belief at the primal desire for him that she was displaying.
Squatting over his waist, Buffy grasped Spike's manhood and gave it a few strokes before leaning forward to position herself over the blood-engorged head. With a gasp of pleasure she fell forward onto her knees, forcing several inches inside of her. Spike gave a thrust with his hips and another inch worked its way into Buf Buf Buffy began to slowly work her hips in order to get more of his wonderful maleness inside of her. Gradually, the speed of her thrusting picked up as he became embedded deeper. Buffy grabbed onto his shoulders and began to thrust herself onto him in an almost violent fashion.
Within minutes of mounting him she had begun once again to orgasm. In her experiences, this was unprecedented. She was really getting off on the sense of being in control. Every other time she'd had sex as a vampire, someone else had been in control. Forcing themselves on her. Telling her what to do. Dominating her. She had become proficient in being a submissive to the desires of others. But not this time. Spike had given her dominion over him, and it was driving her wild. She was feeling a sense of exhilaration the likes of which she had never before experienced in all of her many sexual encounters.
As she approached the final pinnacle of ecstasy, she realized that only one thing was missing. One thing, which, despite all the sexual partners she'd ever had, she had never been allowed to do before, but which had been done to her many, many times.
Panting and dripping with sweat, she stared down at the vampire below her as he met the grinding of her hips with his own hard upward thrusts. He met her eyes and saw the desperate longing in them for what she wanted to do, but was afraid to ask.
Suddenly, he arched his head exposing his neck to her, grasped her hips firmly and in a strained voice said, "Take it."
She didn't need to be told twice. Her demon face emerged as she swooped in to bury her fangs in his neck and feed.
When the first taste of Spike's blood hit her tongue, she began to cum.
Hard.
Her body clenched and shook, while colors flashed behind her eyelids. It was beyond anything she had ever experienced, and it seemed like it would never stop. She withdrew her fangs from Spike's neck because she wanted to scream out her pleasure, but when she opened her mouth all that emerged were unintelligible grunts and gasps. Finally, the pleasure seemed to ease up and she collapsed on top of Spike, her body exhausted. She realized that some time during her own incredible orgasm, Spike had reached his own and was now limp with exhaustion beneath her.
As she lay across Spike, her mind began to slowly drift off. A low rumbling purring from beneath her roused her slightly. She struggled to raise her head and looked in wonder at Spike.
She had made him purr. She had never made any other vampire purr.
She dragged herself off of the top of his body in order to snuggled into his side. **It's good to be the Queen,** she thought with a happy grin.
Closing her eyes she drifted off to sleep.
And began to purr.
*****
15.7 The Watchers
They watched the building with increasing curiosity every day. The men had covered and sealed every doorway except for the front. Windows had been bricked up. The three men had been staying there the last few nights, and Darla was worried that they might not be able to enter. Luke, however, was not concerned. The Master had told him that the prophecy had foretold that there would be one inside who would invite them in, when the time came, and Luke would never doubt the Master. So while Darla fretted and worried, Luke patiently watched the building in anticipation of the coming of the one who would be the Anointed and the bloodshed which would follow.
Thus far they had definitely ruled out two of the three men inside. Actually Darla had ruled them out. Luke had said nothing more than a few syllables the past few days, and that, for him, was quite a lot. Only the Master ever was able to engage him in a full conversation anymore. He would know the Anointed when he saw him. Darla on the other hand peered intently through a set of binoculars, inspecting each new arrival to see which one would meet her own personal requirements.
Three more men had arrived this morning. The first Darla had discounted immediately. Old and out of shape, he was in no way suitable for what she wanted. Fortunately, Luke seemed to agree. For when the two younger men arrived at the same time, Luke finally stood up, nodded at them, and intoned in a deep rumble, "He's here."
"That makes six," said Darla speculatively. "I thought the prophecy said 'from the ashes of Five'."
"It did," Luke said sourly. "We just have to keep one alive. A gift for the Master and Mistress."
******
15.8 Disturbing News
The Maybury was a quaint three-story hotel t int in 1911. For 88 years, it had survived earthquakes, fires and urban decay. However, in 1989, the newest corporate owners decided it would be best to close the doors and recoup the loss of business as a tax write-off. Plans were made to eventually level the building and build a modern office structure. However, due to difficulties in obtaining permits, the plans eventually were dropped by the wayside and the building became a liability. The property was put up for s but but not one offer had been made in over six years. When an offer had been made two months ago, it was for less than five percent of what the corporation had originally paid for it. However, the corporation was eager to be finally rid of the property. So they accepted the offer, and, within two weeks, had handed the title and keys to the property over to an English gentleman who claimed to have a use for the place.
That gentleman was now sitting with two other men in what had once been the Maybury's formal dining room. Although the original furniture was now long gone, a sideboard table had been set up near the wall by the kitchen door, and upon it sat a pot of tea on a warming plate along with a few trays of hors d'oeuvres and assorted finger sandwiches.
Quentin Travers calmly sat and listened while Wesley described the events, which had occurred in Sunnydale. He shook his head at Rupert Giles' defense of the Slayer-Vampire. She would have to be dealt with, insane or not, possibly with a strike force accompanying the Slayer. Thank you for your report, Wesley. We will of course, have to take action. A turned Slayer is a terrible force to reckon with. The last reported Slayer-Vampire was in London in 1666. The Great Fire was set to destroy her."
Wesley was stunned, "But, hundreds of people were killed."
"Thousands," corrected Quentin. "It may have gotten out of control, but it succeeded. Besides, it also helped eliminate the plague, although at the time they didn't realize it would. Just remember, in this job, the ends always justify the means. Isn't that right Sam?" he asked turning to the tall black man sitting on his right.
Sam Zabuto gave a half nod in agreement. He was not as comfortable with such certainties but then, Quentin had served as a Watcher for twenty years longer than he had. "Yes, but I am most concerned about what I am hearing about Rupert. The situation in Sunnydale must be very grave indeed if he is now having to choose sides in an impending vampire civil war."
Quentin scoffed, "Yes well, according to the reports Rupert has sent in over the past few years, the situation is always 'grave'."
"With respect, sir," Wesley injected. "The people did seem to exhibit somewhat more of an 'under siege' mentality than anywhere I have ever been.
"You only mnd snd spoke with people with whom he was living?" asked Quentin.
"Yes," said Wesley.
"Well then, of course they would be influenced by his extreme reactions to the situation," Quentin said as he leaned back to sip his tea.
"Yes, but-" Wesley started to object.
"Look. He's feeling under pressure being in a small town with what seems to him to be an inordinately large vampire presence. However, what he does not see because he *is* in a small town is that vampire populations have increased all over the place. He can\ee tee the big picture because he is so focused on this one town. And since this lead vampire... this 'Master' is terrorizing this town, Rupert has worked himself into believing that this 'Master' is...well, some sort of Hitler to vampires. I mean, from a logical standpoint, if the town had as many vampires as he has claimed no one would be living there anymore. Vampires are like locusts, they move in, devour everything and then move on."
Wesley was about to mention how the vampires were shipping people like cattle into Sunnydale, when Sam interjected, "And yet, the Slayer Summers was killed and turned by this same Master when she arrived. Not to mention her Watcher disappearing at the same time."
"I'm not saying that the threat he poses should not be taken seriously and dealt with. However, and this is strictly off the record, it believed that Miss Summers was burning out. She was two weeks away from her Cruciamentum, and I am personally doubtful that she would have survived. As for Merrik, well, Wesley was sent to this country to first work as his assistant and then, provided she did survive, he would have taken over as her Watcher. Merrik had developed, how shall I say... an overprotective attitude towards her. Looking back, we have come across evidence that has led us to believe that Merrik was keeping Summers from coming to Sunnydale because he was worried about some supposed prophecy regarding her and this 'Master'. Because of this, concerns have been raised within the council over the relationships between long term watchers and potential slayers. It was for this reason that you were temporarily removed as Kendra's watcher, Sam."
15.9 Awaiting Entry
"Now what?" asked Darla as she and Luke pressed against the door of the building avoiding the deadly sunlight that fell a scant five feet away. The door was unlocked, but the lack of an invitation was more effective in preventing their entry than steel bars.

"Be silent," Luke rumbled as he closed his eyes. He could sense the presence of one who would invite them inside. While Darla kept watch Luke began to concentrate.
*****
15.10 Bad Medicine
In the hotel's damp basement, bound in a reinforced straight jacket and chained inside a crate, the vampire Zackary Kralik opened his eyes and screamed as his damaged mind flared with pain. "Where are my pills! Argh!" he shouted, the pain blotting out all else. Hate. Rage. Hunger. Only receiving his medicine was important. He heard the rattle as the lock on the outside of his crate was removed. He blinked his eyes to adjust them to the brightness of the light as his crate was opened.
Two of the wretched humans who held him captive stood there nervously. One with a pole by which they fed him, too frightened to come closer and do it by hand. Of course they had good reason to be afraid after what he had done to the last handler who had gotten careless.
Gingerly, the one with the pole edged the cup close to his mouth. Kralik opened his mouth and the pill was dropped in. As he used his tongue to move the pill to the back of his throat, the second man placed a cup of water on the pole and it was lifted to his lips. Kralik drank and swallowed the pill, and the men quickly shut the crate and locked it back up again. Kralik let out a frustrated growl in the darkness as he waited for the soothing relief of the medication to ease his brain's seizures. Gradually, he relaxed as he began to feel the pounding ache in his head start to ease.
Then he heard it. Faintly calling to him, a voice on the edge of his consciousness asking to be invited in, promising freedom and death to his captors. Although he knew he had been considered insane before being turned, Kralik had never before heard voices in his head. He considered that only another vampire would require an invitation to enter and, with a crooked grin, whispered aloud, "Come in, everyone. There's plenty of food for all."
*****
15.11 Meeting Adjourned
Wesley looked blank as Quentin's words began to sink in. "Am I to understand that I am being removed as Kendra's Watcher?"
"Yes," replied Quentin, "That is why Sam is here. I believe when you were first given the position, you were told it would be only temporary. Is there any problem?"
"No. No sir. It's simply a bit of a surprise, that's all," Wesley managed to mumble before having to clear his throat and take a sip of water. In truth he was stunned. He knew he had never been told that his appointment was temporary, but to debate it would be pointless. The decision had already been made. He struggled to hide his disappointment. For the last eight months he had worked hard to earn Kendra's trust, something she had been quite reticent about giving when he had first met her. He had been dreading the aftermath of this test. When she would be told that he had purposely weakened her and he would have to apologize and explain. Now it appeared he would not have that chance. The council had made him the 'Judas goat'. With a carefully controlled voice he looked at Sam Zabuto and said, "I'm certain that Kendra will be quite pleased to see you again. Sort of a 'reward' for passing the test, eh?"
Sam simply sat in his chair with his fingers crossed, looking back at Wesley and saying nothing.
"Quite right." said Quentin. "And your work with the Slayer will not be forgotten either. Were you aware that the Head Records Keeper was retiring in three weeks?"
"Oh really?" asked Wesley without any enthusiasm. He stood up and walked over to the sideboard partly to fix himself some more tea and a plate of finger sandwiches but mainly to keep his face turned from away from the two other men.
"Yes, after sixty years of service. Quite a record, one might say," Quentin chuckled softly at his own pun, oblivious to the fact that no one else had joined in. He took another sip of tea before continuing. "Anyway. With his leaving, there will, of course, be some shuffling about of positions in the Archives, and with your skills, I'm quite certain that you will be offered one of the Junior Assistant positions."
Wesley was crushed as he waited for the punch line to be delivered to the sick joke that his career had suddenly become. **From temporary Watcher to Junior assistant,** he thought in dismay and disgust. **Father would have been so proud.** Allowed, he said, "I see. Yes, that is good news. Uhm, if I may ask, who will be replacing Mr. McKinney?" He closed his eyes and gripped the edge of the table in front of him, his back still turned towards the room.
"I believe Osmond Shaw is to be his replacement," Quentin said as he took another sip of his tea. "Desmond Tilburn was considered, but he is only five years from retirement himself."
**Shaw the Craw,** thought Wesley bitterly as he contemplated the coming years of service under that gargantuan windbag. **How wonderful. What next?** he asked himself in disgust.
The door to the kitchen opened next to him and he looked up in shock as two vampires, one male and one female, walked into the room. His plate and cup dropped from his suddenly nerveless fingers, and Wesley backed up in horror whilst Sam and Quentin leapt from their chairs.
"Hobbs! Jacobs! Simmons! Alert!" Quentin shouted as he drew a crucifix from his pocket. Sam and Wesley had both drawn stakes, and held them up against the two vampires who stood calmly just inside the room.
"I don't think they can hear you," said a voice from behind them. Quentin spun and let out a slight gasp of surprise as he saw Kralik standing in the room's other doorway. "But perhaps I can lend a hand," Kralik continued as he tossed and arm towards the group.
Suddenly, the three vampires were in motion. Faster then he could hope to follow, Darla easily swatted the stake from Wesley's hand and flipped him over her shoulder to land painfully on his back. Sam tried to use his stake, but Luke simply grabbed his hand and began to squeeze. Sam gasped in agony as Luke continued to crush his hand until he heard the bones begin the crack. Abruptly, Luke yanked on Sam's hand and threw him headfirst into the wall, knocking him unconscious. Kralik stepped in front of Quentin and grabbed his throat. Quentin thrust the crucifix against Kralik's chest, but he just smiled and continued to squeeze until Quentin passed out.
Wesley heard the thump as Quentin's body hit the floor, and then, Darla was crouching on his chest. "And now for you, dear!" Darla leaned in close to Wesley's terrified face. "I'm going to make a new man of you," she whispered to him just before she sank her fangs into his neck
*****
15.12 Anointed in Darkness
Sam Zabuto slowly awoke, his head throbbing with pain, his hands and feet bound tightly with some type of wire. He eased open his eyes to see the male vampire that had attacked him and the female kneeling next to Wesley's body performing some sort of ritual upon him. Wesley's clothes had been torn off and the female was applying some type of oil to his body while the male was reading from a book what sounded like Latin. Sam tried to make out the words: **...we summon you... become flesh again... to bring destruction... the Slayer and her council... this vessel that... bringing chaos, discord, and destruction upon our enemies... come forth Anointed to serve your Sire.**
It may have been his imagination, but Sam could swear he saw dark shadows moving towards and seeping into Wesley's body.
*****
15.13 Good-bye Travers
When the Anointed awoke, he stayed perfectly still for several minutes as he extended his senses to perceive his surroundings. He could hear the rustling of insects and rodents in the floors and walls. He could feel the grit in the carpet upon which he lay naked and still. He could smell the fear from humans who were still alive nearby. He could taste the remnants of his sire's blood in his mouth. Finally, as he opened his eyes, he could see the three vampire's hovering over him and anticipation of his coming.
He stood without a word and looked about. He looked at the vampires and found that he could perceive things about them that told him all he needed to know about them. Zackary Kralik with his damaged brain, a monster even before he was turned. The Master's vessel, Luke, whose absolute devotion to *His* will ruled each thought and action. Then, there was Darla. Stymied in her desires she had lashed out at those she felt were holding her back, and in doing so became the one thing he would not hurt for them.
His Sire.
Somehow, he knew that the Master was supposed to have been his Sire. Darla had betrayed the Master and deceived Luke by substituting her own blood.
He did not care.
He knew what it was that Darla desired, and now Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, former Watcher to the Council for the Slayers, wanted it as well.
Power.
Absolute and total domination over all who crawled upon this wretched world.
And he would begin by destroying its protectors.
The Slayer and her Council.
He smiled as he recalled how weakened Kendra was. The Council had already done half his work for him with their silly test.
"Hungry," he growled out as he rose to his feet.
"We saved you some leftovers," Darla said with a smile as she stepped aside to indicate where Quentin Travers and Sam Zabuto were tied up on the floor.
Wesley walked over to Quentin and easily hefted him up. He could smell the terror rolling off of him like waves. It sickened him to think that a short while ago this pathetic little man had any sort of a hold over him.
Travers gasped in pain as Wesley roughly lifted him up by his shoulders and squeezed until it felt like they would shatter. He had already resigned himself to the fact that he would die tonight. He briefly had entertained the hope that the vampires would leave before the Slayer showed up, but then he saw Wesley being turned and his hope died. Even if she didn't show up, Wesley could lead them to her at the hotel. Kendra was as good as dead. He could only hope that the next Slayer would be more fortunate.
"Quentin! You *old* windbag!" Wesley practically giggled with the feeling of power over this man who only a short while had seemed to dominate his life. "After a careful consideration, I have decided *not* to accept the position of 'Junior Research Assistant', because I think there will be several higher positions soon open on the Council." Wesley paused to inhale sharply and smell the fear emanating from Quentin. "Yours to begin with," he added before quickly leaning forward to rip out Quentin's throat.
On the floor, Sam Zabuto could only lay there and listen to the gasping, gurgling noises coming from Quentin as Wesley fed. It seemed to go on for a horribly long time. **Please, Lord,** he prayed, **keep Kendra away from here,** but he knew it was far too late for prayers.
Wesley dropped Quentin's body and brushed his hands with a satisfied smirk. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from his mouth. Turning to the other vampires he smiled. "Gentlemen..." he began before taking Darla's hand and bowing to kiss it, "and my Lady. I thank you. We have work to do. There is a Slayer on her way. I think we need to make certain her Watcher is properly presentable, don't you?"
*****