Prologue
Moonlight spread across the horizon, letting shadows fall on the pair in a small clearing, then settling across the sculpted plains of muscled chest like silver. Sweat gleamed off the pale skin, giving the being an unearthly glow. His head hung not in defeat, but only in weariness, regrouping for the upcoming battle. Golden eyes rose to look at the only other figure in the wide spread meadow. She stood playing with the hilt of a golden dagger; her ruby hair falling perfectly down her back settling in sharp contrast against the white of robes. No emotion graced the hard plains of her face. Eyes as empty as the moonless night stared back at him
. . . waiting . . . watching . . . devouring.
The full moon had almost reached its peak when yet another women emerged from the forest. As of yet, that made eleven in the murky mist. Twelve women sat in the clearing meditating, chanting, and praying save one, who stood in the shadows watching the meadow in silence. Finally the last woman had emerged from the forest, signified by the standing of the other twelve.
"Now my brethren, our destiny can be fulfilled. Come let us begin."
The whisper came from the shadows and set the women in a flurry of motion. Four stone bowls were placed at each corner of the platform in the center of the meadow. The platform was made of midnight marble, carved into an X, standing about three to three and a half feet high.
"Now, my sisters, bring him, bring the demon."
The whisper hovered in the air. Eight of the twelve women walked over to the sagging form hanging from between two trees. They reached up four on each side grasping and wrenching his arms up and between his shoulder blades. A slight hiss of pain was all that was offered from the other wise silent being. With much pushing, pulling, and dragging, the eight women brought the struggling demon over to the marble alter. They quickly secured him to each limb of the cold stone. Once fastened, four of them backed away, leaving the other four to finish what they all had started. The remaining women each took a stone bowl and offered it to a fifth who had walked up to join them. The bowls each contained a different blend of herbs. The two at the demon's head stooped to the ground and came up with foot long strips of battered leather each.
They tossed one end to the remaining two on the other side of his head, and then they sprung quickly forcing the battered leather between the snarling lips and bared fangs. Once completed, they began pulling the clenched jaws in opposite directions forcing them to open. When they had his mouth open reveling the vulnerable red inside, the fifth reached for one of the stone bowls, mixing the herbs with the liquid from a pitcher placed at the altar's base. Once it had formed a runny paste, she began pouring it into the demon's mouth.
When she had filled his mouth to brimming, she gave the others the signal causing them to release their hold on the leather straps. As soon as they were removed, the fifth quickly placed her bowl on the ground and forced demon's lips to close. Next, she pinched his slightly aristocratic nose closed as she leaned down to his ear to whisper,
"Swallow, demon, You know that eventually you will swallow, the need for air will get the better of you . . . Yes, I know you don't need it, but the mind is a funny thing. It still wants it. Yes, you can already feel it, can't you: the pressure in your chest, the burning in your lungs, your throat tightening up. Ah yes. Now, Swallow!"
Finally it ended. As she said, the need for air was his downfall. When he had consumed the herbs and lay gasping for air, she turned to the one woman still hidden in the shadows.
"He shall be ready in a few moments, My Lady."
The women formed a semi-circle around the gasping demon, watching with eager anticipation as his member began to show the affects of the herbs. Slowly rising and flushing a deep purple; thick veins running over the swelling organ.
As the flesh stretched and throbbed, hisses and whimpers seeped from the top of the stone. When it seemed as though the flesh would never stop growing, it settled down, filled to the point of bursting. Two of the women walked up to the platform, each with a pitcher made of fine oak in her hand. As one, they tipped the contents slowly over the heaving chest muscles, starting over the nipples, causing a yelp to be ripped from clenched fangs. The oil that had been heated next to the fire, was poured in a constant stream, coating the skin in a fine layer.
Only one piece of flesh was spared. The mix instantly turned all that it touched a deep pink, not quite hot enough to burn red. The fine scent of elm and lavender drifted over the valley, burning the captive's sensitive nose, searing its way forever in his mind. Only when they had the clenching muscles coated, did they risk coming closer. Finally, a whisper was heard.
"Here, Mistress. He is ready for you now"
The figure slowly moved out of the trees. The wind picked up, blowing through the ruby strands that flowed out from behind the woman. She was no beauty, just a very ordinary looking girl. One would never pick her out among the others; they were all very plain looking women. In a way, that was worse than if they had been the most perfect of all creation. Lips peeled back, the demon snarled as she approached, continually pulling at the bindings. Sparkling emerald eyes met liquid gold and for almost the first time in a long while, bone chilling fear began to consume him.
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"Spike! Spike!"
The pure voice of a young woman filled the night sky; her worried gaze scanned the graveyard for any sign of the familiar form.
*Just let him be alright!* her heart begged. But deep in her soul, forbidding echoed.
"I'm sure he's fine, Dawn."
The blond witch said, hoping to reassure the girl that she had begun to think of as a sister.
"Yeah, Spike's probably just off sulking," came from the redhead witch.
The watcher was ominously silent. They had been searching for three days now. Dawn had gotten worried when the vampire had not come to visit her like he normally did. Willow, Giles, and Tara all assumed he had gone to beat up some demons after the last argument with Buffy, and were surprised when Dawn came to the shop without him.
Now, they were searching all over town hunting for their missing vamp. Tara stopped and looked around, the breeze lifting her hair in little puffs. Dawn reached out and touched the blonde's arm.
"What's wrong, Tara? What is it? Do you sense something?" The witch reached around, gently petting the girl's hand, and let out a soft sigh.
"Maybe…"
"Let's go! Tara, if you think you've found something, we should go." Dawn whispered. Turning, she yelled down to the other two. "Tara and I are going on ahead. Keep looking, we'll find you later!"
Giles looked around at the quiet tombs." Alright Dawn, but be careful!"
*Please, please be alright Spike!* Dawn thought.
But it was not meant to be. What she found would haunt the young woman for the rest of her life.
Flames crackled softly into the chilly night air. Slight wisps of steam rose from the stones that contained the fire. Shadows danced and flickered over the battered form resting at its edge. Dawn leaned on the wall at the fire's edge. Eyes closed, but hearing every shift and creak in the house as a threat, her nerves were strung tight and if not for the dire need of the situation, she would have broken down and fell apart.
Spike gave a quiet whimper and the sleeping bag that lay over him began to shake. Dawn quickly scurried over to him, reaching over to get a bowl of water. Dipping the washcloth, she laid it on his brow causing him to flinch slightly. The liquid stung the cuts on his face that matched his whole body. The bruising flowed from each cut, spreading from patch to patch until it looked like his skin was shades of blue, purple and black. Dawn reached up, lightly petting his hair.
When she had found him, she was sick several times before she was able to help him. She had no idea that someone could do some thing so incredibly evil and vile to another living being. His skin had small needle marks and slivers of wood had been weaved throughout his body along with burns. Dawn ran her hand gently through what was left of the white blond hair. It looked as if someone had taken a knife to his hair, just hacking chunks away until it was an uneven mess. Whip marks crossed the inside of his arms and legs. There were more wounds than she could count. Again, he shifted and whined in pain, tossing his head
"Please ...Please ...no more ...please no more."
The softly whimpered words caused fury to leap in her eyes and her hands to tremble as she turned to reach for the water bottle she had set aside. Taking a deep breath, she turned to the battered demon; carefully slipping a hand beneath his neck, she lifted his head.
"Here, Spike, try and drink this."
Placing the rim to his lips, she tilted the bottle slightly. As the warm liquid trickled in his mouth, he began to struggle weakly, to turn his head away
"No... Not again... please ...not again...no more. " The words broken and hoarse, with muffled sobs.
"Spi-Spike. It's alright now. It's Dawn, we found you. It's alright." She swiftly set the blood down and brushed her hands through his hair.
"Look, Spike. Look at me. Come on, it's okay. "
She whispered soothingly to the sobbing vamp. Slowly, as if afraid it was a dream or trick, he blinked up at her and with all the grace of a falling tree, buried his face into her lap, arms wrapping around her tiny waist. Hard wrenching sobs were shaking his shoulders and shuddering through his body. Dawn bent over her broken, tormented friend as if she would guard him from any perceived threat, rocking him gently while humming softly.
Lightly stroking his hair, she whispered, "Are you all right?"
A choking laugh of despair floated up from her lap. "Do I look bloody all right to you? My god!" the rasp was harsh and sad at the same time.
"OK, that was a dumb question, I get it. Here, try drink some blood, please.."
Spike shuddered, but was too weak and tired by this point to argue.
Dawn once again tipped the bottle to his lips, only this time he quietly drank, the fight gone with the first drop on his tongue. When she thought he might have had enough, she took the bottle away and gently laid him back down, pulling the sleeping bag back up to his chin. Almost as soon as she took the bottle away, he relaxed and was asleep.
Dawn stood, looking to the door where she knew Tara was watching. Tara walked over, sitting with her back to the flames alongside the wounded man, placing her hands on her lap.
"I'll watch him"
Dawn sighed, "Thank you, I'll be right back."
Dawn walked out of the crypt. Turning her back to crypt wall, she ran her hand through her hair, thinking of the first time she had met Spike and the fact that they were friends now. With a final shudder, she vowed to do whatever she could to help and protect her friend.