Author's Note: This fanfic was based on a roleplay between my former RP partner/co-author (VampChick4) and I (bekindplsrewind). Having concluded the first part of the series and mapped out the general outline of the ones to come, I'm currently re-editing this story due to inconsistencies and out-of-character behaviours. Once complete, it'll read much more cohesively (hopefully). The status of revised chapters will be updated through the story summary.
Hellfire and Church Bells (HfaCB) is the first arc of several, setting the basis of the characters as well as exploring their dynamics and interactions. You could say that this is a prequel to BtVS with the Fanged Four and a new addition (sans Darla 'cause I didn't mention her during these parts) that continues into the BtVS series. During the 'show's' arc, it (loosely) keeps to canon timeline but later diverges, given the OC and new and emerging plots.
This story is rated M due to mature themes: violence, explicit language, sex, and adult situations. Depending on the content of a chapter, a pre-warning will be given as it may be triggering.
If you've liked what you've read, please express it by commenting! Comments and feedback are appreciated and always welcome. They breathe life into all (fanfic) writers. (Spreading the word by sharing it would also be a major bonus. ;D)
Thank you for taking the time to read this.
—B.
Day One: For Whom the Bell Tolls
London - November 15, 1880
With the setting sun, the sky was painted with hues of purples and reds as church bells broke the evening silence, a call that ushered out the most devoted onto the emptying streets. Of the few amongst them was Elizabeth Victoria Lorn, a young woman of only eighteen years who had chosen a life dedicated to the church rather than one of wealth and marriage. She had slowly been giving up her luxuries to prepare herself for the convent, much to the dismay of her parents, but it was a decision she had made wholeheartedly, and there wasn't any convincing her otherwise.
She raised her doleful blue eyes up to the sky with a soft sigh. Like the mottled colours that swirled across it, she felt an amalgam of feelings inside her—hope, anxiety, fear, dread, and a lingering sadness. She looked at it like it was a metaphor for her present state: the brilliant colours were her optimism, the good that would come from her decision, and yet, despite how virtuous her path would be, there was also a bleakness she faced—the approaching sunset would bring darkness, boldly stating the end of her current life. Things would only be grim for a moment, she thought, trying to convince herself that she had made the right choice. Struggling with her inner turmoil, a sudden clattering pulled her out of her thoughts.
"Have you got a penny to spare, miss?" A beggar sat crouched on the cold pavement as he raised a dented and rusty tin mug towards her.
Elizabeth paused. Happy with the distraction, she reached into her sleeve for her coin purse, only to realise she hadn't brought it with her. Her brows drew together. "I-I'm sorry, I haven't any money on me," she stammered, her eyes apologetic.
"Then what good 'ave you got standin' around for? Piss off!" the beggar spat.
Elizabeth flinched as her heart drummed beneath her heaving chest. She was more alarmed than scared at the man's sudden outburst, but she remained where she stood. Light was fading fast; she felt an urgency to return home and thought it best to heed to the man's wishes, but she also didn't want to leave him empty handed. A few moments to spare wouldn't make a difference, she thought.
"Stupid spoilt bitch! Fink you can look down your nose at me?"
Elizabeth ignored the vulgar remarks as she blindly felt at the back of her head, wrestling to pluck the hairpins out from her nest of hair from beneath her bonnet. With a sharp sigh, she resorted to tugging the ribbons underneath her chin and removing it instead, along with the ornate comb that held her prim updo in place. With a decisive shift of her hand, her plaited hair was released as it tumbled past her shoulders down to her lower back.
┼†‡
Not far from the prospective nun crept a nondescript man. With the sun finally dipping below the horizon, he finally emerged from the shadows, changing course to the middle of the street like a red carpet had been unfurled for him. He strolled along unhurried and with a strut of self-importance, yet, however unbridled he may have seemed then, he was preoccupied with only one thought—he wanted blood. He scanned the scope of scampering city dwellers, deciding who would be the most appropriate for his kill.
The tinkering of jangling coins against tin had been ringing in his ears for a while, something that was commonplace with the string of beggars lining the street—though he did not expect the girl. He canted his head as he moved closer, observing her long, mousy brown hair as it unravelled. She moved towards the tattered tramp, almost bravely. He raised a brow.
"Here." Elizabeth bent forward as she offered the comb towards the homeless man.
He raised his eyes to her and the object in hand before scowling. "Is dat supposed to be an insult? What do you expect me to do wiff such a girly fing? Don't care much for the knots in me hair; haven't got much to spare, neithuh," he grumbled. Turning his head away, he held his coat tighter around his frame.
"It's adorned with gold and pearls," Elizabeth persisted. "Surely that's worth something…" she said a little quieter to herself.
The man slowly turned his head back round as he eyed the comb again.
"Please, take it. Exchange it for food and a warm bed."
Tentatively, the man reached out towards it.
Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. "May God be with you—" She shrieked as the man had not only reached for the comb but had also clamped a firm grip over her gloved hand.
"I'd much rathuh 'ave you than Him to warm me bed." He grinned, revealing the gaping holes between his checkered teeth.
With round eyes, Elizabeth gasped as she tried to remove herself from his clutches. "P-please…"
"But you've been so generous." He brought his other hand forward and rubbed it over the top of hers; Elizabeth squirmed with more fervor. "I'd be grateful for your charity," he said with a chuckle, his fingers creeping up to the cuff of her sleeve.
She could no longer ignore how her heart raged; it was like a caged animal begging to be released. With a shrill cry, she yanked her hand free, leaving her comb and glove behind in his hold, and her bonnet and pins to fall to the ground. She spun on her spot and dashed away quickly as the waves of her hair trailed behind her.
The killer had been watching their interaction closely and kept an eye on her in the distance.
He stepped up next to the beggar, not bothering to glance at him. "Glorious night, ain't it?"
With glove still clutched in hand, the beggar turned the comb over as he grinned at it. "It is," he said with another chuckle. He peered up at the man just as he took a step away from him.
"Things are about to get even better." The killer grinned and began to pick up speed.
┼†‡
Running half blind with hot tears streaming down her face, Elizabeth greedily gulped in the chilly air past spasms of sobs, each breath burning her throat and lungs. She finally slowed down to a languid pace when her legs were about to give, but her feet still throbbed, echoing the pounding of the hard pavement.
She wiped hard at her tear-stained cheeks with her gloveless hand, feeling foolish for crying like some helpless girl, and knowing full well she looked the part. A single ribbon had remained intact in her hair, keeping it from falling in her face. It was a style that was reserved for girls, something Elizabeth much preferred herself, but she had given up that youthful look two years before, along with her girlish notions for womanhood.
Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth shook her head and straightened her back. She wouldn't be seen in this way—she wouldn't let them see her in this way. It would only fuel her parents with reasons to reject her path to God and keep her coddled in her family's wealth. The man only acted out of hunger and his meager circumstances, she reasoned. It was all a test of faith, a test of her will power and resolute devotion.
"I will not let Him down," she whispered with an affirming nod. Sighing softly, she lifted her eyes to see the moon and stars shimmering in the blackening sky; a small smile made a reappearance on her lips.
She continued homeward bound as before, her gait amicable as she enjoyed the gas lit lamps that dotted the streets; the steady rhythm of her clacking heels was also something she found agreeable. That was until another's footfall joined hers.
Unknowingly, her back stiffened; with tensing shoulders, she turned instinctively to glance behind her. A man trailed some safe distance away, but his face was cast with shadow just as he slipped out from beneath a halo of light.
Elizabeth turned back round, fighting the seed of paranoia that began to burrow its way into her gut. People need to hurry home as well, she thought. He might be a working man, anxious to arrive home to see his newborn daughter, to kiss her tiny forehead. She smiled at this, taking comfort in a made-up fantasy for the shadowed man. Though the sound of his footfall seemed to be much closer than before, causing her to inadvertently quicken her pace.
It would only have made sense for Elizabeth to run home without stopping—or any sensible woman for that matter—having a man at her heels, especially having suffered at the hands of the beggar not long before, yet surprisingly, she held her ground. It wasn't that she wasn't afraid, in fact, she was growing more afraid as the night progressed; she was just blinded by her faith that God would protect her. She turned around once more to glance at the man behind her. With his features half hidden, she still offered a timid yet apologetic smile, as if she had been the one who had wronged him for possibly thinking him bad.
As she turned back around, the stalker blinked; her unexpected smile thrown his way was admittedly odd. Disappointed with the little fear he had incited in her, he decided he would be less subtle about his ways and make himself more present. He made a supernatural maneuver, seeming to flicker in front of her path.
Elizabeth nearly tripped over her own feet as she halted, causing her to gasp. "Oh!" Seeing the familiar silhouette of the man appearing in front of her without warning, she also noticed the absence of tapping footsteps. She turned to glance behind her to find no one.
"Mummy and daddy expectin' you home, now?" he asked suddenly, his voice breaking through the silence. There was a glint in his eyes as he watched her.
Elizabeth faced him with bowed brows, confused that she hadn't noticed him run past her. "T-they are, sir." Her voice was quiet as it wavered. She swallowed.
"Would you help a poor soul?" He placed a flat palm across his midsection. With that, her anxiety and paranoia seemed to have vanished. Judging by his dishevelled appearance, it only made sense he wanted something warm in his belly. But there was an issue. "Your charity would be greatly appreciated, and I'm just so very, very hungry…"
"I… I don't have anything else of value on my person," she said with a frown.
He stepped forward into the light, his lips curling up into an ugly grin. "But you do, love."
Elizabeth's eyes widened as she gasped, witnessing the man's face morph into one of a demon's—yellow eyes; bony, protruding brows; and savagely sharp fangs. He lunged at her before she could scream, quickly sweeping her into an alley and causing her blue skirts to swirl and sway like they were dancing. He held her close as she struggled against him.
"No worries, love," he said, trying to stifle his laughter, "I'll light a candle for you when this is over." Baring his fangs, he sank them into her neck.
Elizabeth squealed and her vision grew dark. With only the sound of her breathing and drumming heartbeat to keep her company, she blindly pawed at the monster's coat before its form slowly seeped back in front of her. She groaned softly, her tears spilling over the sides of her face as she swallowed. Finding her bearings, Elizabeth grasped at the beast's shoulder, tugging at its coat in vain before beating her fists into its arms and chest—but this did little to faze it. She whimpered as she was held closer still, her face being pressed against the crook of its shoulder and neck as she felt her strength drain with the blood being sucked out of her. Elizabeth bit hard past its shirt into muscled flesh, hoping she would impart as much pain as it did to her that she would be released. Instead, a pleasurable moan rumbled out of her captor's throat, causing her to shiver and recoil. She suspected it had little to do with what she had just done, but it was a thought she didn't want to dwell on. There was nothing more she could do as her eyes drooped and her arms fell slack with her diminished strength.
Elizabeth blinked slowly, watching the small puffs of her breath leave her body and swirl up skyward. All she could think about were the other possible choices she could have made that day: she shouldn't have gone to church; she should have waited for Clara for the carriage; she should have stayed home with her mother. And that's all she really wanted at that moment, to be home in the safety of her parents' embraces. She made a barely audible whimper at the thought she would never see them again. As her welling tears plummeted down over her cheeks, she could no longer deny the question she had been dismissing throughout her attack. Where was her God in all of this? Why… had He abandoned her…?
Slowly, Elizabeth's eyes closed. Even those burdening thoughts didn't seem to matter anymore as her consciousness faded. She finally felt at peace.
The demon continued to suckle at her throat as her pulse waned with each draught he pulled from her veins; it grew fainter and slower, indicative that he had nearly bled her dry. Feeling satiated, his eyes flickered open as some semblance of normalcy returned to him. He pulled away from her ragged neck as his face dissolved back into the man from before.
"It was fun whilst it lasted, love," he said with whimsy, dropping her like a heavy sack. Spinning on his spot, he walked away, tasting blood he had missed as he licked his lips.
┼†‡
Things were still and silent.
Elizabeth had been left for dead, but something unexpected happened—she felt an awareness return to her from her empty void. With her perception of time distorted, and the event of her attack forgotten, she felt a warmth where she lay, being held and comforted like when she was a child. Had she fallen asleep reading in the garden again? Her father would be upset with her, she thought. She shivered as a sudden chill swept over her. She wanted to get up and move, but she felt so tired and weak.
Then there came a drumming, each pulse growing stronger and louder. But it was too loud to be her own heartbeat, she reasoned. It stopped abruptly. Had she died? No, that was silly… they were footsteps.
Papa? Elizabeth cried internally, only to hear a muffled voice flit in and out.
"…Something dead, something dead…"
It was a woman's voice, but she held a light, girlish charm to the quality of her tone.
Elizabeth felt the world spin around her as she was moved from her spot. The sudden shift had also reawakened a dull pain in her neck and a throbbing in her head. She moaned softly with closed eyes.
"Been thrown out of your cradle, have you? Poor baby."
Elizabeth mewled in an effort to speak.
"Shush, now," the woman said, pressing Elizabeth's head to her chest, "grandmother's got you; I'll take you to your daddy."
Had she called for her father out loud? Elizabeth was sure she had only thought it, but she was relieved that she would be brought home. She managed to glimpse at the woman through weighted lids, noting the dark curls that framed her pale face. She looked angelic, Elizabeth thought.
Having difficulty keeping her eyes open, she shut them and succumbed to a welcoming darkness.
┼†‡
"Angelus? Drusilla?" the killer called out from a dimly lit foyer, returning to the current home that he and his companions had 'inherited' from one of their wealthy casualties. With one quick jerk, he loosened his already slackened necktie and dropped it to the floor. He was greeted with the image of his adopted father figure hunching over a whimpering woman as he entered the next room.
Angelus snapped his head up and turned to glance at his junior. "Home so soon, William?" he asked, his facade likened with the same monstrosity as he gasped with bloodied fangs.
"'Spike'," he corrected with a little force, a name he found more suitable for his demon.
Angelus chuckled softly.
Spike resumed with less hostility, "Went out to grab a quick bite." He leaned back against the wall by the doorframe. "Sorry, mate, didn't mean to interrupt your supper. Thought we could go out and 'paint the town red', seeing as the night's still young," he suggested as a wry grin touched his lips.
"It has been a while since we've had a family outing," Angelus said thoughtfully. "Have the carriage ready when Dru returns."
The woman on the bed moaned and rolled her head; her eyes sought to focus before settling on the other man in the room. "Help me…" she croaked almost inaudibly.
"Want to have a go at it?" Angelus offered.
"I'll pass. Saving my appetite for later."
"Suit yourself." Not caring whether he had an audience or not, Angelus turned back around and resumed his meal.
And just as she had been mentioned, Drusilla had returned. "I found a baby on our doorstep!" she called out.
"Drusilla…" Spike smiled warmly and jolted up from his spot, quick to follow her voice.
Drusilla brought the half-dead girl into the parlour and laid her on the sofa.
"Ready for a ravishing night out, pet?" Spike strode in to see his sire and lover as she rose from the sofa, blindly missing the girl that she had brought in with her. He clutched her close by the waist and peppered her with kisses.
Drusilla giggled and peered at him with affection.
"What's this about a baby?" he asked with an amused chuckle. He knew well that Drusilla wasn't known to speak lucidly, but it was an odd quirk he loved about her.
"Silly Willy," Drusilla slid to his side and pressed her cheek to his, "that baby," she said, directing his gaze towards the motionless figure.
His eyes widened at the sight of the girl he had drained not two hours before.
"It was all alone in the dark without a hand to hold or bite." Drusilla drifted from him and perched herself on the sofa's edge next to her head. "Poor thing hasn't even eaten yet." She pouted as she traced a finger over the girl's face; her eyes were transfixed on her, but she was more fascinated than concerned from what she was displaying.
"Love, we mustn't bring in the rubbish," he said gently. "It's not our job to clean up our messes," he settled on the cushion next to her and held her hand, "leave it to the slumdogs."
"It smells like… Morley and aether, and…" she turned to look at him, "you."
Spike blinked. It felt like she was testing him. "She was only leftovers you found from my evening dinner, pet, nothing more," he reasoned, giving the top of her hand a reassuring pat.
"Roughed up little dovey," Drusilla turned to the girl again and ran her fingers through her tangling locks, "put up a fight from the looks of it," she said as her fingers trailed down to her exposed and bruised hand. Drusilla flicked her gaze at Spike.
"Oh. That," Spike said after a brief pause. "Her hair was of her own volition," he explained, "but that was the lecherous tramp's doing." He nodded at the circular bruises the beggar had imprinted on her. Spike leaned in with a smirk and pressed Drusilla towards him. "Though, you know how I like to play rough," he added, almost growling the last word.
Drusilla giggled as she pressed her forehead to his. "Did you make a sport of it, William?" she asked innocently as she angled her head, her lips barely brushing his. Spike watched her speak with drunken eyes as his lips parted in an attempt to kiss her, but she held him in place. She slipped her hand from his grasp and slowly dragged it up his torso to his neck, grazing the side of his face before tracing her fingers down to his lips. Spike flicked his wet tongue out in reciprocation to her touch and sucked her thumb. "Would you show me how you did it?" she continued with her girlish innocence.
Spike jerked her by the waist towards him, causing her to yelp and smile with delight. "I'll do more than just show you." He smirked again, bringing himself closer now that his lover was more than willing. In his mounting lust, he'd all but devoured her hungry mouth when he heard a moan that hadn't come from his lover. They paused with their noses rubbing against each other when they heard it coming again from beside them. Slowly, they turned simultaneously to see the previous clump of a figure stir.
Elizabeth struggled to focus on the room as she blinked with half-mast eyes. She had heard a man and a woman speaking but couldn't follow their conversation. With barely a shift of her head, the room spun in front of her; she moaned and resigned to resting her eyes again with furrowed brows.
"Bloody hell…" Spike murmured, his wide eyes fixed on the girl as he slowly drew back from Drusilla's form. "But… she was dead…." He stood and took a couple of steps away as if he were in a daze.
Elizabeth managed to open her eyes to see him standing a short distance from where she lay. She hadn't quite registered that the dead person he was referring to was her, as she proved to be very much not dead at all.
He stopped abruptly to turn round and exclaim: "She was dead!" He gestured sharply at her, as if saying those words with as much conviction and passion would make them true again.
Elizabeth winced and whimpered as she pressed herself to the back of the cushions, the sudden movement causing his image to go black momentarily before it slowly reappeared. Only seeing him cast in a darkened silhouette reminded her of something vaguely familiar, then with a gasp, the memory of her attack flooded back to her. It was him, the man—the monster—who had tried to kill her! Her chest began to heave as she stared back into his glowering, sharp eyes. They were blue and almost bewitching, seeming to glitter in the dim lighting of the room, but she remembered them glowing yellow; his mouth was shaped cruelly like weights had permanently been stitched at the corners, tugging them downward, yet all she could see were the jagged teeth, peeking between those angry lips like shards of broken glass.
Spike growled, causing the girl to flinch and whimper. He turned and huffed a sigh as he took to pacing. "How is this even possible!" he said out loud, trying to rationalise his thoughts. "I drained her dry!"
"All it takes is a couple o' drops o' vampire blood," an Irish brogued voice interrupted.
Spike turned to see Angelus entering the room, now appearing more human than his usual pallor.
Elizabeth's eyes flickered to the other man.
"Impossible," Spike replied tartly. "I didn't give her any of my blood!"
"Maybe not willingly." Angelus slowly walked towards him and shifted Spike's open coat with a languid finger. "Ye sure that's a spill from dinner? Or is that yours?"
Spike blinked in confusion and blindly felt the area where Angelus had indicated before glancing down; his eyes widened at the sight of an all too familiar brownish-red colour. Shrugging his coat off his shoulder, he discovered a small ring of blood that had seeped and dried through his shirt. "Bloody hell…" Unfastening the top button, he yanked down the starched collar to reveal a dark bruise surrounding a ring of teeth marks puncturing his skin, much like the shape that stained his shirt. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed louder.
"Ye were too caught up with all the bloodlust to notice," said Angelus matter-of-factly.
"You little wench!" Spike's face morphed out of rage as he lunged at the girl.
Elizabeth let out a shrill cry and flinched as she snapped her eyes shut, expecting another torrent of pain—but that didn't come. Instead, she felt a gentle hand on her head.
"Shh, little dovey, William won't harm you."
It was that voice. Elizabeth trembled underneath her soothing touch as her head was petted. She slowly blinked and dared to steal a glance at her, finding that it was that angelic woman from before.
"Will you, William?" continued Drusilla, peering up at her lover, her voice almost hopeful and certain with her childish charm.
Spike broke from his glare to glance at her. Before he could grunt a response, he was preempted in more ways than one.
Angelus stood with his arm barred in front of his junior. "Like it or not, William, ye've sired her; she's your responsibility, now."
Spike snarled and smacked his hand away. "My responsibility? Hardly when that harlot stole that sweet nectar right out of me!" He glared at her again.
As Drusilla pulled Elizabeth forward onto her lap, the trembling girl moaned and closed her eyes. "Come now, my sweet girl. Look how filthy you've gotten; that's unbecoming for a lady," she gently scolded. Drusilla shifted her upright to her knees, only to have her fall forward against her. "We'll have you cleaned up. How does a nice, warm bath sound?"
Elizabeth kept her head pressed to the woman's chest to keep the room from spinning. It was odd, but she trusted in her words, believing that she would protect her. Elizabeth kept still as her shivering lessened and her breathing slowed. A bath did sound lovely, but she feared a spoken reply would only enrage the beast in the room, and even a curt nod would keep her head reeling.
With a pleased smile, Drusilla hoisted her up on her feet and held her tightly round the waist. She draped Elizabeth's arm over her shoulder and beamed at Spike like she had received an early Christmas present.
Spike's mouth was set in a straight line. "Drusilla!" he hissed.
His disapproval went unnoticed as she turned away.
Elizabeth shuffled forward unsteadily like she was just learning to walk, but her feet barely touched the floor being that she was practically being carried out by her mysterious and dark haired saviour.
Spike's gaze followed them till they left the room. "And now Dru's playing house with her. Brilliant." He sighed.
The taller male remained composed and seemingly unaffected with everything that had just happened. "Calm down and put those fangs away, William. No point in grunting and whining about it, now." He took a step towards him and placed a hand on his shoulder from behind. "Seems like Dru's taken a liking to her. Should lessen the burden of taking on a progeny."
"How about," Spike turned on his heel to face Angelus, his features now human, "I kill her and be done with it?"
"You won't kill her, William," Angelus replied with nonchalance, but the sharp tug on Spike's open shirt may have indicated otherwise. He fixed the folds of his collar and even took care to button up the top.
"Says who?" the shorter male retorted, keeping his gaze locked on his face.
"Says I," Angelus replied, his eyes flicking up to meet Spike's, a subtle yet dangerous glint made apparent. "As your sire, I forbid you to kill her." As it was an unwritten rule to obey the commands of one's sire, Spike had no say against it, even if he wanted to. Angelus glanced back down at his handy work and made a small murmur of approval as he nodded.
Spike's mouth hung open for a brief moment, no words coming to mind as his entire being struggled to throw a tantrum. "Sod off!" he finally snarled, giving Angelus a quick shove.
Angelus gave a little chortle in response. "I amn't going to hold your hand with everything, William. She hasn't had enough of your blood; make sure that she's well fed," he instructed as he turned towards the door.
"Well, wait," there was a slight sound of desperation to Spike's voice as he took a couple of steps forward, "does this mean we're not going out tonight?"
"No, just you," Angelus said over his shoulder. "Good night, William." He gave a little wave with his hand.
"Bollocks!" Spike yelled, hoping that Angelus had heard him as the door closed behind him. "What happened to 'taking what we want'? I'm not a bloody manservant!"
Now alone, Spike did the only thing he could do. He left the room in a flurry and headed down the hallway.
┼†‡
"There, doesn't that feel better?"
Elizabeth lay pressed forward against the porcelain siding of the bathtub as she felt a trickle of water flow down her back. She let out a soft sigh, not even minding that the water wasn't the temperature she preferred; it was infinitely better than being in the same room as that monster. She hadn't even protested when she was being stripped out of her clothes, being entirely exposed and vulnerable in the presence of a complete stranger, but she attributed that to her grogginess. Surprisingly, it hadn't taken the woman much time at all; she was efficient with her hands and knew her way around these types of dresses. And she was incredibly strong… despite appearances. Elizabeth was bashful as she had wobbled on her feet, wearing only the ribbon to keep her hair from getting wet, but that feeling soon evaporated when she was gently lowered to the water.
Drusilla brought a washcloth to the girl's back as she leaned over the tub. "What's your name, love?" she asked softly.
Elizabeth lifted her cheek off her arms and opened her eyes. "…Elizabeth," she managed to croak, raising her gaze tentatively at the kind woman. Her lips were dry and she felt parched.
Drusilla's smile broadened. "Elizabeth… such a pretty name," she cooed. She drew gentle circles on her back with the washcloth and dipped it back into the cooling water every now and then.
Elizabeth sighed again and relaxed her head back down.
"William certainly did a number on you," Drusilla murmured, being gentle to clean the crusty blood off her neck. She held an amused smile on her lips.
So it has a name? Elizabeth thought, wincing slightly with closed eyes. Things had all seemed too surreal that night. Was she delirious? She felt like she was drunk. Surely she was dreaming. Though at that moment, she had to admit her bath felt good. She must have been heaven sent, she thought, relishing the feeling of the soothing washcloth return to her back.
"I'm Drusilla," the dark haired woman said as Elizabeth peered at her timidly, "but you may call me grandmother."
Elizabeth blinked. She had expected her to admit to being her guardian angel rather than asking her to call her… something that was beyond her years. But, if she were dreaming, things didn't need to make sense. "Grandmother…" she said slowly, testing the sound of it.
Drusilla sat up almost mechanically and brought a dripping hand to her chest. Her eyes appeared glossy as she beamed at the half-submerged girl.
Elizabeth blinked and straightened her back out of awkwardness after being stared at in lengthy silence. "Grandmother…?" she said with a bit of uncertainty, being hesitant at first.
Drusilla leaned forward and cupped Elizabeth's cheek. "Come, lovey," she clamped a hand around her arm, "let's get you out of that bathwater lest you get thrown out with it."
Elizabeth gripped the edge of the bathtub as Drusilla pulled her up. The warmth of the water helped her, easing the stiffness from her muscles and even seeming to give her strength, if not much. She slowly climbed out on unsteady feet.
Drusilla wrapped her in a towel and mopped the water off her skin. "There, much better," she said softly.
Elizabeth sighed in agreement.
Drusilla discarded the towel and picked up Elizabeth's chemise, helping to pull it over her head and carefully threaded her arms through the short sleeves.
What came next was akin to the sound of an infantryman storming base.
"Dru," Spike called out, "I'm comin' in!"
Elizabeth had barely pulled her skirt down when the door was thrown open. She shrieked at the sight of the monster's glare and buried her face into Drusilla's shoulder, whimpering and shivering as she wound her arms tightly around her neck.
Drusilla shushed her and ran a soothing palm over her back. Spike watched this tender moment with heated annoyance.
"Let's pick a bedroom for you. We can have it decorated with flowers and ribbons, if you like," Drusilla suggested as she guided her forward. When they neared Spike, Elizabeth flinched and balked. She peered up from Drusilla's chest and immediately nestled her face back into her shoulder when her eyes locked with his. Drusilla urged her onward. "Or perhaps fingers and viscera would be a more suitable choice?" Drusilla smiled as she looked off into the distance, then giggled.
She brought her into one of the rooms and sat her at the edge of the bed.
"Drusilla!" Spike hissed from the other room, his voice low and urgent.
"I won't be long, love," said Drusilla. Elizabeth watched her with rounded eyes as Drusilla straightened up and stood. "I'll have a pretty dress picked out for you when I return," she added with a smile. She retreated back to her agitated lover.
"Took you long enough," Spike grumbled, looking dejected. He'd stood idle where they'd left him.
Drusilla nuzzled his cheek. "What's wrong, sweet William? You look upset," she said, peering up at him. Then, with a giggle, she beamed at him like a proud mother. "I did not know you had given birth."
Spike almost winced at that. "Not on purpose," he muttered. "It's not as though I wanted her," he sighed and his expression softened, "not like you did with me. It was all an accident," he spat the last word bitterly, "and now I have to live with it." Spike wrapped his arms around her waist and stooped low so he could rest his head against her shoulder.
"Her name is Elizabeth," Drusilla said as she pet his head.
Spike glanced up at her and made a noise that was between a scoff and a snort. "She's barely dead and you're already spoiling her. That's not helping, Dru." Spike sighed softly and lowered his gaze. "If only I could kill her and be done with it all," he said wistfully. With some reluctance, he finally pulled himself upright from Drusilla's form. "Time to feed 'the baby'," he mumbled.
He sauntered into the bedroom Drusilla had picked for her new pet and slipped in without a sound.
Elizabeth was nestled back in bed with the sheets pulled over her lap having felt cold waiting for her 'grandmother' to return. She bolted up and snatched the blanket to her chest when she realised her failed killer had joined her.
Spike stared at her with piercing eyes as he slowly walked towards her. "'Elizabeth', was it?" he said matter-of-factly, finally breaking the tense silence.
Elizabeth squirmed beneath the blanket as she tried to edge herself as far away from him as possible. There were only two thin layers from her skin, one being her modest chemise. Elizabeth felt a steadily growing heat on her face as she averted her eyes from his penetrating gaze. Her breathing slowed as she reminded herself that she was only dreaming; she wasn't going to make it out to be another nightmare. Finally, she answered his hanging question with a nod and glanced back at him timidly.
Spike stopped as he stood next to her bedside and let out an audible sigh. Pulling open the nightstand drawer, he prodded around its contents till he procured a letter opener from it. Elizabeth found herself swallowing as her gaze fixated on the object. The blade glinted in the candlelight.
"You must be famished," he said as he turned to look at her, though he didn't sound too concerned about her well-being.
Elizabeth licked her lips and nodded again. Her gaze flickered between his face and the sharp blade.
Spike peered at her and narrowed his eyes briefly as he scrutinised her. He understood the bond between a sire and a childe—it was something special and intimate, and for him, sacred. As much as he wanted to deny it, he felt that nagging bond with her. It was weak, comparatively so with the likes that he shared with Drusilla and Angelus—and even Darla, if he wanted to count her—but it was there, nevertheless. Undoubtedly, this revelation just reaffirmed that he had been the one who had sired her. He felt her presence first, not a physical one, but something he felt inside him. It was clear to anyone how scared she was of him, but he could feel her fear emanating from her. This was one thing about her that he rather liked.
Spike removed his coat and began to meticulously roll his sleeve up past his elbow; unable to tear her eyes away, Elizabeth watched him in silence as she held her breath. He continued and brought the blade to his wrist, and he grimaced and grunted as he sliced into his flesh.
Elizabeth's eyes grew wider as she watched the blood drip down his arm.
"Drink up," he grunted, lowering himself on the bed and extending his bleeding wrist to her like an offering.
Elizabeth was aghast. He was mad! Deranged! She whimpered and fought as he forced his weeping wound to her lips. Blood managed to dribble past into her pursed mouth and her eyes bulged when she tasted the salty and metallic notes sweep over her tongue. She turned her head to the side, but he pressed forward and held her in place. Tears welled in her eyes and she swallowed as she choked back a sob, then she grew still. Something had changed in her in that instant, something that terrified her. Her mind was abuzz like she'd sipped from her father's prized alcohol collection, except she felt more alive and alert than she'd ever felt. And she wanted more of it.
She languidly peered back at her bleeding host, her still facade hiding the inner battle beneath her surface. She revelled in its taste. It was like a part of her knew she was supposed to drink it, but she also knew that doing so wasn't right. It was disgusting and abhorrent! What did that make her? What was she becoming? Something inside her barked at her, silencing her principles and sense of reason. All that mattered was what she needed now.
Elizabeth breathed and closed her eyes as she opened her mouth, allowing him to flow into her. With each draught of blood she consumed, the link between them grew stronger, allowing Spike to feel her bloodlust enrapture her and sense her newfound love for the taste. Before long, she was drinking with a slight desperation as her hands clutched at him firmly.
"All right, that's enough," Spike said, watching as her bluish skin returned to a youthful glow. She didn't seem to hear him as her wiry fingers twined tighter around his forearm, keeping him tethered as she pulled him closer. "I said enough," Spike said a little louder, sounding slightly out of breath. He grew lightheaded as he felt his blood drain out of him; if she didn't stop now, he feared he would be the victim of death. With a growl, he smashed her back against the headboard with his free hand.
Elizabeth yelped and her eyes finally snapped open.
Spike unclasped himself from her loosened hold. "Are you bloody deaf? I told you to stop! And when I tell you to do something, you bloody well better listen!" he hissed.
Elizabeth whimpered as new tears sprang to her eyes. Even without him berating her, she'd wanted to stop, but the voice inside her had been so enticing.
Ignore him. Keep drinking, it had said.
Her tears finally slipped down her face as his look of disapproval persisted. But she wasn't crying for his sake. It was because of the realisation that she had drunk blood—his blood… demon blood. She felt even more disgusted with herself because it had excited her and made her feel elated. She hung her head in shame as her body wracked with sobs.
What was she becoming…? She needed answers.
Spike scowled at her before releasing his hold and examining the gash on his wrist. Ragged as it was, there was little to no bleeding. It would require some healing, but nothing that some blood couldn't cure. Now that he was nearly depleted of it himself, Spike's urge to feed was even more powerful.
"If you want more," he planted his feet on the floor and stood, "we go…" Spike trailed off as he wobbled and lost his balance, "hunt," he said as he plopped back down on the bed. Looking slightly miserable, he shut his eyes for a moment. "Come on, then!" he said, goading himself to stand properly. With a slap of both thighs, he shoved himself off the bed. For a moment, he stood upright, then he took a deep breath as the room spun around him. He blinked to let the motion pass as he took a step towards the bedpost and placed a hand against it for momentary support. Clearing his throat, he looked over his shoulder at Elizabeth.
She glanced back up at him as the last of her silent tears slipped down her cheeks.
"Are you hungry for more?" he asked.
Blood and Answers.
Elizabeth sat up attentively. She nodded.
┼†‡
The night air helped.
Spike looked around him, eager to find anything to replenish the vitality he had lost. With a sigh, he paused and darted a glance over his shoulder to see Elizabeth lingering behind with her gloved hands nervously clasped in front of her.
She was now fully clothed in a pretty violet dress that Drusilla had picked. Drusilla had also styled her hair to match hers, with ringlets framing the sides of her face and thick curls draping her back. Elizabeth's listless gaze slowly trailed up to Spike's having noticed his motionless legs; she stopped in her tracks and her back straightened before she quickly averted her eyes.
Spike let out a sigh and turned back around as he kept vigilant to his surroundings. There was a scarcity of nightlife with shops now closed, save for the drunkards, whores, and homeless. The more privileged were ferried across the cobblestones within the safety of their carriages, oblivious to what lurked in the night. Spike trekked onward, scanning the streets for an easy target.
"The one and only lesson you need: you see what you like," he eyed a maid rushing past, "you take it." With a snarl, he transformed and sprinted after her. Similar to Elizabeth's attack, he dragged her into the shadows of the closest alley and sank his teeth in as soon as they were out of view.
Elizabeth stood idly behind, being witness to his crime. Her eyes were hardened and her soft lips appeared thinner as she drew them taut. What did he mean that that was the only lesson she would need to know? She was simmering. The sound of the woman's long and shrill cry only added to her burning flames, but it was quickly drowned out by the sound of hooves and a carriage clattering by. She forced herself to move forward, quickening her pace as she turned into the alley to see him snapping the woman's neck.
It was better to be safe than accidentally siring another, Spike reasoned. He had made it a quick kill this time, the thirst driving him to ravenous appetite. Dropping the body without much thought, he straightened out his coat and noted that his wound had shrunk, the once gaping slash now resembling a shallow scratch. He gave a small nod of satisfaction before turning to face his new student and adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. "See how easy it was? Now, pick one," he instructed. He was curious to see who would be her first choice.
Elizabeth kept her focus on the woman, merely nodding to indicate she had heard his words. That was her just hours before, and now she was about to do the same to someone else.
Spike walked past her, back onto the welcoming main street. Slowly, Elizabeth turned and followed in his footsteps.
She kept up with his pace as they passed some vagrants, feeling like she was drifting in a world that wasn't tangible. Shutting her eyes, she took in a deep breath and reminded herself that she was only dreaming; whatever outcome she would face, she would be the one in control of it. With that in mind, the tension in her shoulders lifted and a clarity shone in her eyes when she opened them. Her smile had also returned as she offered it generously to the destitute souls that hovered by the wayside.
Then she saw him.
He stood hunched over as he peered intently into a dark shop window, only to be reanimated when a young prostitute ambled by. He turned to her with a toothy leer and followed her with a bit of skirt chasing and verbose catcalling. His pursuit immediately ended after she entered a whorehouse, leaving him sour faced and bleating like a drunk.
Elizabeth's eyes were locked on him. Everything about him made her want to turn her nose up in disgust, and without realising it, she had drawn herself closer, watching as he grumbled away from the whorehouse to pick up a large stone that had turned up loose from the street. It was clear to her what he was planning to do when he began to head back to the shop window. She furrowed her brows and lifted her skirts as she quickened her pace, colliding into him from behind as a seeming incident.
The stone was throttled from his hand and skittered across the dark ground. "You bloody git! I'll 'ave you skinned alive!" he growled as he turned to her.
Elizabeth let out a startled whimper as she shrank away, her eyes large and glassy as she peered up into his snarling face.
"Oh," the man's expression immediately transformed into a sly sneer at the sight of her cowering, "did I scare you, li'l miss?"
Elizabeth shuffled backwards, only to have him clutch her by the arm. She whimpered again.
"Now, now, no need to be hasty 'ere. We haven't yet had a proper exchange of formalities. What kind of gentleman would I be wit'out at least kissin' a lady's hand?" He grinned.
She was scared. She had reacted in the heat of the moment, but all that anger and disgust that had propelled her forward had now shrivelled up inside of her as her fear overwhelmed her senses.
Stay.
The man snatched her hand and jerked it up towards him. Elizabeth did nothing else as she watched him bend forward, keeping his eyes locked to her face as he slowly planted his puckered lips to the top of her gloved hand. He remained like that for a moment as Elizabeth felt the pressure of his lips moving like they were fondling her, and she gasped when she realised he had been probing her with his tongue.
Stay.
She wrenched her hand away and practically shook with revulsion. Even though her entire being begged for her to flee, that one voice kept her from moving, keeping her feet planted in her spot.
This only seemed to excite the man even more. "Ah, a coy one, are we?" He grinned and loomed in closer.
With a gasp, she took a step back but kept her foot out to anchor herself in place. Her eyes darted in front of her as she fought with the idea of her next actions, though it didn't take her long to decide as she bit down on her lip. Raising her eyes to his, she drew a tentative hand to his cheek as she trembled.
The man's face split wide into an open mouthed grin as he chuckled. "I know exactly what you want," he said, turning to kiss the palm of her quivering hand.
Elizabeth grimaced, but she held her ground.
Stay.
She kept her gaze steady with his and nodded.
The man tugged her forward by the wrist with an eagerness that was anything but romantic, obviously forgetting his plans with the cobblestone and shop window. In his excitement, he panted as he led her around the bend of a nearby building into a deserted back alley. It was dark and dank, and the stench of rot clung with persistence in the air.
Elizabeth felt the brick wall behind her as he pushed her up against it. She watched him quietly as he fumbled with the front of his trousers, wondering why she had agreed to put herself in danger a second time that night, and fearing what would happen next. She bowed her head and mumbled a prayer under her breath, hoping that He would hear her this time. When the man finally shuffled forward, she felt her terror transform into something physical, like she had swallowed a blade of ice. It ran the length of her spine, settling into her gut and sat there, and then the voice consumed her thoughts as he gripped her shoulders.
BLOOD.
It was a voice so loud and clear, she'd believed someone had spoken it outloud next to her ear.
Things became unclear after that. Time moved forward, sounds were muffled; she felt herself moving and acting on instinct and impulsive that was beyond reason. The one thing that did remain clear was that feeling of ecstacy.
She heard a familiar moan, but realisation struck as she recognised it to be coming from herself. Elizabeth's eyes snapped open as she found herself attached feasting on the man's neck, causing her to bolt back as she shoved him away. A loud and audible crack followed when his skull collided with the brick wall, and he slid down to the ground as he gurgled and choked on his own blood. Elizabeth took a step towards him as she watched his eyelids flutter, witnessing him dying in front of her. Her gaze swept over him to see that his trousers were lowered, allowing her to reign in the guilt and regret by allowing her anger and spite to simmer again.
"Oh, God… what have I done…?" she whispered. Elizabeth put her hands to her face and flinched, feeling a foreign and malformed ridge at her brow as she explored her new visage with trembling fingers. Tears fell from her eyes as the vision of the now dead man blurred in front of her, and she let out an incongruent laugh at her own expense.
Deserved it. Better off dead.
Elizabeth breathed and lowered her hands, feeling a calmness settle over her being; this moment of peace also seemed to reclaim her old face. It made sense, she reasoned, acting as the Hand of God. That was her calling in her life, and even though things… had taken an entirely different turn for her, her path would remain the same. It had to.
A shuffling joined her in her moment of revelation, but she hadn't even bothered to glance up. She didn't have to.
Spike stood in front of the crumpled body as he slid a couple of fingers along the large spot of blood splattered on the bricks. "A little sloppy, but," he sucked the red off one of his fingers, making a smacking sound with his lips as he withdrew it, "bravo." He did the same with his other finger. Spike had strayed a healthy distance away as he'd watched her fish the man from the streets, his wary observations having turned into something that resembled mild satisfaction. He paused, and with a tilt of his head, he squinted his eyes at her as he leaned in closer to peer at her face. "What? Are you… crying?" He scowled, his partial approval being wiped clean from his features.
Elizabeth raised her head and merely looked at him as a swollen tear trickled down her cheek.
"I will not have you weeping after every single kill," he said, bordering on scolding. "You've really put a damper on what started out as a fine night, you know that? Bloody selfish little wench you are." He walked away from her briskly. "Must have been a bloody delight to your mother and father, too," he added with a sarcastic snort.
Her brows drew together as she yanked out a handkerchief from her sleeve and hastily wiped the tears and blood off her face. With another deep breath, Elizabeth straightened her back and righted her skirts, leaving the soiled sheet to fall over the corpse as she joined her new keeper.
They walked in silence as Elizabeth trailed a step behind, afraid of offending him any further. She moved to the side to allow a carriage to pass by, but it only slowed and stopped next to them. Not realising that her sire had stopped to face it, she happened to notice before colliding into him, and abruptly halted.
Spike didn't recognise the vehicle, but he kept a look of wariness about it like he was expecting something. As soon as the door swung open, he was met with the sight of his sires.
"How was your first hunt, little dove?" Drusilla asked as she extended a hand to Elizabeth.
Clasping it, Elizabeth allowed herself to be helped inside but only offered a sullen glance and a small shake of her head in return. She seated herself next to the Irishman and turned her attention out the window as she waited for her sire to enter.
"Not sure if this one's cut out for being evil and taking lives." Spike heaved himself in and plopped down next to Drusilla as he shut the door behind him. Angelus gave a knock on the wall of the caravan and it mounted forward. "If I hadn't heard her blubbering from before, I swear she was mute," he commented offhandedly, snuggling closer into his lover.
Elizabeth sat rigid in her silence.
"I recall meeting a meek, unassertive individual—wet behind the ears with an unhealthy fixation with mummy dearest. Ain't that right, William the Bloody?" Angelus smirked, his words striking a nerve with Spike.
"Clearly things have changed for the better, thanks to a certain special someone," Spike said, his strained undertone changing to doting and affection as he turned to Drusilla. "And you know to never mention my mother," he added with some resignation.
"Still a softy, even now." Angelus chuckled.
"Never mind that. Where are we heading?" Spike shifted the conversation as he peered out the window.
Angelus turned to Elizabeth with a small smile. "Have ye ever been to a ball?"
Elizabeth glanced at him from the corner of her eye before realising he was speaking to her. She turned to him clumsily and fluttered her eyelids out of embarrassment. "No, I haven't," she responded softly with her gaze lowered.
"You're sure to forget God there when the opportunity of sin feels so right, Elizabeth."
She flushed at this and felt knots in her stomach.
Spike blinked at his sire; it seemed as though he had missed something.
Angelus immediately took notice of the look of speculation on his face. "Don't you know, William? You've sired an aspiring nun." He cracked up as Spike's eyes widened in dumbfound surprise.
"I—what?"
"Ah, we're here." Angelus threw open the door and stepped out, leaving a befuddled Spike in mid-sentence.
The three pursued him into a grandiose mansion where they were greeted and escorted inside by a manservant. A soft orchestra of strings played, accompanied by the steady rustle of dresses moving around in slow dance, glasses clinking and filling with drink, and the persistent hum of chatter.
"I'll leave you to your devices," Angelus said, eyeing a group of giggling women with quivering fans hiding their lower faces. He slipped away, blending easily in the guise of a socialite.
Spike watched him briefly before turning to Drusilla as she offered her hand to him. He took it without hesitation and followed her to the dance floor.
This left Elizabeth to fend for herself. She glanced around the grand ballroom in awe, but she felt out of place, even though she was among people of her own class. Taking a glass of wine that was offered to her from one of the servants, she found an area that was more secluded and seated herself on a settee.
┼†‡
Spike and Drusilla paraded around the dance floor like a storm, their steps too swift for the music, and their movements deemed too intimate and salacious. Patrons looked to them with disapproval, gasping in horror as they scattered from their trajectory, and muttering things of disbelief. The pair only laughed all the merrier at their reactions, and Spike finally felt like he had a moment of peace alone with his love.
"I know you've taken a liking to having a pet around, Dru, but don't get too used to her," Spike said as he pulled her closer to him. He paused as an idea suddenly occurred to him. "Oh, my love, my dark queen, my sweet and succulent plum," he flashed a charming smile and fluttered his lashes flirtatiously, "do you love me? Would you… kill her for me?" Spike asked innocently as he canted his head towards Elizabeth's direction. Angelus may have commanded Spike not to kill her, but Drusilla remained unaffected by it.
Drusilla looked across the room to see Elizabeth sipping wine and watching the people around her. "Mousy little thing, isn't she?" She turned back to Spike and furrowed her brows. "I would like to keep her, William; I haven't had a new toy to play with for days. And she seems more willing to be dressed by my hand than Darla does," she said with a pout.
"Then I take that it's a no?" Spike's expression mirrored his lover's, his lower lip jutting out sullenly. "All right, for you, then. We can keep her," he paused briefly, "for now," he added for clarity.
"Soon little dovey will learn to fly on her own. Give her time," she continued. Drusilla pressed herself against him and smoothed a hand over the back of his neck. "I know something you don't know," she sang in a whisper by his ear, "little birdy enjoyed her kill. She may have wept, but her eyes twinkled. Shh…"
"So the shy nun's been hiding her true feelings?" Spike laughed with amusement.
"Even the prettiest of Easter eggs has to crack some time." Drusilla clutched the back of his neck with both hands as she peered at him with mirth. "Watching it will be such a delight!" She let out a roll of laughter and spun in his arms.
"Let's just pray the little bird hatches from her egg a little sooner," Spike replied a little dryly.
┼†‡
Spike had actually enjoyed his time at the ball—having the pleasure to pick from the buffet of upper class society and sharing memorable moments with Drusilla. He'd also caught glimpses of Angelus making flashy little scenes as he often did, but Elizabeth was thankfully out of his sights. As the night drew to a close, he was reminded of the thorn in his side when his sire had the carriage readied.
The four assumed their former spots, though this time, Elizabeth kept her gaze out the window for an entirely different reason. Throughout the ride, the caravan was filled with Spike's giggling as he necked Drusilla, causing his progeny to chew on her lip as her cheeks reddened.
"We're making a detour," Angelus commented, peering up at Spike with an all-knowing look.
Spike paused to pry his lips off of Drusilla's neck. "Oh?" He observed Angelus' expression before fully turning to face him in realisation. "Ohhh, riiight," he said, stretching out his vowels; he looked at Elizabeth as a trickle of a smile formed at the corners of his lips.
Elizabeth turned to glance between them, feeling unsettled. Before she could muster the courage to ask what they meant by their small exchange, the carriage slowed to a stop and Angelus had the door swinging open once more.
Spike hopped out and looked back inside at Elizabeth expectantly. "Well, come on then, time's a wastin'!"
She stood slowly and hesitated when she was shoved from behind without warning. Elizabeth let out a startled cry as Spike caught her before she could hit the ground.
"A little more warning next time, will you, mate?" Spike hissed at a laughing Angelus.
"Time is precious, William," Angelus replied, glancing up at the sky. "I suspect it'll be dawn in a couple o' hours or so." He looked to Spike and grinned. "Think ye'll be able to dig a grave that fast?"
Elizabeth looked back at him with panic-filled eyes as he shut the door.
"Angelus, you sodding pouf!" Spike growled.
"Better start diggin' now, William," Angelus gave a couple of raps against the side of the door and the carriage slowly began to move forward, "before the sun catches up to ye." The sound of his laughter grew distant as the carriage clattered away.
"Leave me to do all the dirty work, will you? I'll have her in her grave and your head on a post before sunrise, you bleeding tosser!" With a heavy sigh, Spike continued to heft Elizabeth in his arms as she struggled in his firm embrace.
They were abandoned on the side of a dirt road, next to what appeared to be an open field. Spike moved towards it, the view eerie and blanketed with a low-draping mist; the sound of gravel crunched loudly beneath the soles of his boots. "No worries, love," he explained, making sure to handle the situation delicately, "we're just going to bury you."
Elizabeth eyes bulged and she gasped, desperate to break loose from his hold even more as she struggled with fervor. This time he would finish the job, she thought. The monster would finally kill her. As much as she tried, she could not change her dream to her will; she was now a spectacle to an unfolding nightmare.
Venturing farther in, it was made apparent that they were in a graveyard as the mist rolled away to reveal headstones that popped out like randomly skewed teeth.
Spike shifted her weight within his arms, feeling her slip a bit with all of her struggling. "Best to find a fresh one," he began, looking around for a mound of dirt, "makes it easier having the earth loosened up and all. Oh," he spotted a patch a few metres away and shuffled over, "here we go." He set her down but kept his arms wrapped around her as he made her face the headstone. "You'll be sharing a bed with 'Margaret'," he said from behind her ear. "Aren't you excited to be at your own funeral?" He laughed.
Elizabeth trembled in his hold as her shallow breathing added to the swirling mist around her.
"The demon's already inside of you, but now the body needs to die. We've all been there, love," he looked down at the grave, "and then we live forever."
Elizabeth swallowed hard before attempting to speak: "I… I've already died… so how does my body die when you've already… killed me?" she asked quietly, trying to make sense of everything.
Spike was slightly taken aback at her unexpected inquiry. "So she speaks!" he said in a mocking tone. "Well, bloody hell if I know how it works," he said with indifference. "The heart's already stopped, but the rest of the body needs to catch up—veins, flesh, and guts—you know, all the warm and wobbly bits stuffed inside," he had his chin pressed against her shoulder as his hand slid over to rest on her abdomen; Elizabeth tensed at this and she gasped softly, "those need to die, too."
Regardless of the circumstances, Elizabeth felt her face flush.
"I suppose when it gets to the point when the body knows when to start rotting, the vampire blood works its magic so that you don't."
"'Vampire…'?" Elizabeth echoed softly.
"Maybe it's possession from the demon inside of you or the bloody hand of God," he shrugged, "I'm not the one to ask; I'm not the prat who wrote the blooming handbook. All I know is," he grinned and howled up at the night sky, "it feels bloody brilliant!"
Sensing that she had calmed down, Spike decided to put a little faith in her. "So, when I let go, promise you won't flee."
Elizabeth nodded.
He paused, as it occurred to him that her doing so would probably work in his favour. "Hmm, or you could…" he said more to himself but loud enough for her to hear.
Once she was released, Elizabeth took a step away from him and let out a sigh, scared of the idea of fleeing, and scared that she stood in place. Either choice would not be an outcome she would embrace, so she chose the one that would cause her sire less hostility towards her.
Spike looked around him and found a groundskeeper's shed in the near distance. He knocked the door down easily with his boot and returned with a couple of shovels. Tossing one at her feet, he took to digging at the still loose dirt.
"Surely you've got a pair of working hands." He paused to look at her before peering up at the dark sapphire sky; he could feel it getting lighter with each passing second. "Dawn will be here within another hour so chop, chop!"
Elizabeth picked up the shovel and clumsily pitched it into the dark mound, finding it difficult digging with her draping gown and slippery gloves. She resorted to peeling her gloves off and managed a much firmer grip on the handle, but there was little she could do but manage to work around her rustling skirts.
The pair dug side by side with the sound of the spades scraping against earth and raining soil as it was tossed into the air. After several minutes had passed, both had struck something hard at approximately the same time. They stopped to glance at each other.
Spike drove the shovel back down for good measure and a loud hollow thud resounded back. He looked up to see that they had managed to carve themselves into a six foot deep pit. "Well, looks like my work here is done," he said with a sniff, scraping aside some of the dirt with his boot to reveal the top of the wooden casket. He then tossed the shovel up and out of the pit, soon to clamber after it.
Elizabeth watched him with wide eyes before he disappeared from view.
He reappeared with the shovel in his clutches as he gazed down into the grave at her. "Rest in peace, love," he tossed a patch of dirt at her, causing her to gasp, "we'll see you again at nightfall," he said with a grin.
Panic began to rise in her with each shovelful of dirt that was tossed down at her. Elizabeth heaved and braced herself against the farthest corner, away from the raining earth. "A dream… it is only a dream…" she reminded herself. With a shaky breath, she slowly crept to her knees and crawled to the centre of the grave before lying down on top of the coffin. She shut her eyes tightly and clenched her teeth as she felt the cool dirt pile on top of her. Trying to reassure herself that she was only having a nightmare, she would find herself the next morning in the comforts of her bed. This helped to lessen her fears and she managed to coax herself into sleep.
┼†‡
Spike had filled the hole up much more quickly than when he had dug it, despite having only himself to rely on. He had kicked in clumps of moist earth as the surrounding pile around the ditch grew smaller. Then when the casket, girl, and hole were completely covered, he gave an affirming pat with the spade on the domed dirt, and dropped the tool.
"Bloody Angelus didn't even bother to give me a lift," Spike grumbled, glancing anxiously at the brightening sky. He flipped the collar of his coat up to protect the nape of his neck and quickened his pace home, racing against the sun's rays as he stumbled through the doorway with steam billowing behind him.
A/N: Please stop reading here to wait for the next revised and updated chapter of this story (trust me, it'll be a lot better). If you don't want to wait for the next post and don't mind all the errors and bits of non-continuity, read on. You've been warned.