Waking up, the smell of leather and smoke surrounded and confused her. It wasn't the now-familiar, sweet-sterile smell of the cold air pumped into her cell. Curling tighter, she snuggled deep into the blanket that was holding her body heat close. Wait. That wasn't right either. They didn't give her blankets. Flexing her fingers, she explored the smooth material in her hand. Then she remembered. Hostile17. He'd been wearing a long heavy coat, and from the brief moment that she'd been in his arms, that he'd been at her neck, she remembered his smell. Opening her eyes, she found the dark, worn leather jacket tucked tightly around her.

Sitting up slowly, the coat fell from her shoulders and pooled around her hips. Her hand crept to the bite wound on her neck, noting with surprise that it was almost smoothly healed. Looking around, her eyes landed on the demon who'd left it there, sitting on the other side of the cell near the door, steadfastly not looking back at her. A shiver ran through her at the sight of him, but it was probably just the sudden change in temperature. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she slipped her arms into the sleeves of the duster and drew it closed around her, inhaling the strangely comforting smell that clung to it.

"Thank you."

Her Hostile didn't respond, only flicked his eyes over her before turning back to the hallway. If she hadn't been distracted by the flash of shadow in them, she might have seen the almost imperceptible tightening of his fingers where his wrists were locked together. She sat quietly for a few minutes, watching him in silence, before the question that was chewing at her insides finally broke out.

"What's a slayer?"

This time he looked over at her sharply, eyes narrowed in speculation. Shifting slightly to face her, he rumbled out a response.

"Vampire slayer," he said. "One girl in all the world. The Chosen One."

She didn't react. She knew nothing of what he spoke of, and neither did the voice. The words meant nothing, but they made her feel strange, put something in her fingers that tingled and hummed.

"It's a prophecy," her Hostile growled, apparently frustrated with her lack of reply. "Ever since there's been vampires, there's always been one girl to fight them. Kill the demons, keep the world in balance. One dies, the next one rises. You're the newest one."

"How do you know?"

He snorted. "Hello. Vampire? It's in your blood. Speakin' of…" he said rolling smoothly to his feet, "let's have us a chat about that."

Crossing over to her, he sat down directly next to her with his back pressed to the wall. Shoving up the sleeves of his duster and her own grimy scrub top, she immediately offered him her wrist. It was caught in a viselike grip only inches from his mouth, and she flinched back in horror, fearing she'd done something terribly offensive by not offering her neck. Her Hostile seemed to be caught in an inner battle, his eyes flickering between blue and amber. With a painful tightening of his fingers on her wrist, he placed it firmly in her lap.

"Not a chance in hell luv."

Spike's senses had flared when the girl woke up. Her heartbeat, her breathing, the electricity in the air all changed, and he felt a hot flush of fear in his gut. He shouldn't be this aware of her, shouldn't feel her from the other side of the room, and the only explanation he could think of was that the drugs they'd pumped her full of were taking already hold. Sitting loosely with his elbows on his knees, he had clasped one wrist in his hand, tightening his grip harshly in an attempt to keep control of himself.

It did something to him, to see her swallowed up in his duster, shrugging into it like it belonged to her, and when he had heard her sniffing it, scenting him, he went instantly hard. She was turning into an animal down here; he'd already seen flashes. A raw, primitive thing that acted on instincts dead to the human race, something more like him than any non-demon he'd ever met. Something about her, the way she moved, the way she tasted underneath the drugs and that faint Slayer sweetness; it screamed feral, and Spike's demon licked its lips.

He'd ignored her thanks, hadn't wanted it or cared for it. Explained the Slayer as well as Angelus had explained it to him so long ago. Hadn't mentioned Buffy; he was still quite bitter on that front. Then it was time for more important dealings.

When he'd crossed to her side, the last thing he'd expected was for her to thrust her wrist under his nose. His stomach immediately knotted, need tugging viciously at his insides. Slayer blood or not, it'd hardly been a few mouthfuls to a starving vampire, just enough to wake up the hunger and remind him of what he needed. Spike fought with his demon for what seemed like hours as the blood in the girl's wrist beat a tattoo against his fingers, until he was finally able to drill reality through his head and push her away from him.

"Not a chance in hell luv," he said, a small smile tipping the corners of his mouth. "I'm not takin' any more chances with you. Like myself just the way I am, all un addicted like. So there'll be no more of that, and I'll thank you to keep your pulse points to yourself."

He wasn't unaware of the hurt and confusion that crossed her face. He just didn't care. Her problems were her own. Sure, they'd been caused through weeks, months of torture and brain washing, something Spike knew more about than he cared to, but he couldn't afford to worry about her when he had to worry about himself.

"Now tell me pet," he continued, watching her carefully now for signs of a lie, "what else you know about this place?"