Defeat

What was he waiting for?

When he'd pinned her, hands vise-like at her elbows, his body pressing her down and his coat settling around them like wings, she'd known this was it. Known she'd had it, despite her best efforts. That the Slayer of Slayers had claimed his third Chosen One.

It hadn't stopped her struggling and attempting to free herself, because she had no intention of making it easy on him, but she'd been living on borrowed time since the Master. At least she'd made sure her mom would be safe for tonight, and she couldn't worry about the rest of it. Another slayer would be called and sent to Sunnydale. Giles would watch out for her friends. They'd be okay. She had to believe that. Maybe Giles could even convince Mom to move away, somewhere safer, since she would no longer have a troubled teen in need of a high school that didn't ask too many questions.

She'd been ready.

Spike apparently wasn't in such a rush to finish her off. He hadn't let up, hadn't loosened his grip, but he hadn't bitten her either, and he had his mouth pressed against her like a lover. He took a breath (why did he breathe so much? Didn't he realise vampires didn't need oxygen?) and let it out in a happy sigh, then nuzzled a gentle brush of lips against her neck in a way she might, in different circumstances, have called a kiss.

She gulped. This was not what she'd expected. At all.

Another deep pull of air, and he shuddered, nestling in closer with a low moan that made her scalp tingle in a way she really didn't want to think about.

She wriggled beneath him, bucked her hips again, tried very hard to ignore the evidence of his enjoyment where it was wedged between her thighs. He was getting off on this, and it shouldn't surprise her, really, given what they'd finally managed to unearth of his reputation, but most vampires she met were only interested in trying to kill her, or at least in trying to escape before she killed them. Spike seemed to be enjoying her, relishing her, which was seriously weirding her out.

She'd had the fleeting, horrifying thought that maybe he wanted to do... things to her before he killed her, but despite being clearly (oh God, so clearly) aroused, he hadn't tried to get inside her clothing, hadn't made anything even resembling a threat since the leering question as she'd choked for air. (And why hadn't he just continued until she passed out? This was not normal vampire behaviour.)

Wait... was he... sniffing her?

He buried his nose in the hollow at the base of her throat and took a long breath in, groaned happily.

Well, that was one question answered, though it only left Buffy with a bunch more unanswered ones. She was repulsed by how the vibration against her skin wasn't repellent. What was wrong with her? Her cheeks were burning with her heightened emotions from the fight and her fear and an unwelcome flutter of... of something she didn't dare try and explain, even to herself.

"Bloody hell, pet, you're delicious," he murmured, a deep, seductive rumble she hadn't heard since the Bronze. Quite different from the voice he'd been using to tease and taunt her.

His cold tongue flickered against her pulse point and she bit her lip; she wasn't sure if she wanted to swear or to whimper, but either way, she was certain it would be a bad idea to let the sound escape.

What was wrong with him? Wasn't he supposed to be tearing into her neck and feasting on her blood right about now? Not making happy noises against her throat. Almost a... purr. Like he'd found the one place he most wanted to be and intended to curl up there and sleep.

The tension was unbearable.

She twisted her body, tried once more to throw him off, and he laughed low and husky. This time there was no tease - he outright licked her skin, slowly, deliberately, with every sign of enjoyment. She made a squeaky noise, and she honestly didn't know how much was fear and disgust and how much was related to the shimmer of guilty almost-pleasure rippling down her spine.

Spike looked up, blinked at her slowly; his demon had dropped away and his expression was strangely soft.

It was disconcerting to see his handsome face and know he'd come here to kill her, that even now he could smell her blood and was savouring her fear. She struggled again, but he was strong - God, was he strong.

She was used to fledglings and idiots, who had strength but were clumsy and stupid. Lothos and the Master had relied on tricks and thralls, and most demons who got in her way didn't have two brain cells to rub together. The smart ones did their best to avoid her. She almost never got to fight anything with both intelligence and skill to go with the brute force, and part of her had enjoyed it, but now... now she was terrified.

He chuckled as he studied her. The sound was rich and warm, almost friendly, like they were playing a fun game, not fighting to the death. Then he leaned down again, and this was it, she was going to die. She'd survived all kinds of monsters and nightmares, and here she was about to have the life sucked out of her by a man who looked like a fallen angel.

(And not even a fallen Angel. At least that would be romantic, all Romeo and Juliet and star-crossed lovers-y. She'd never get to find out if he really loved her.)

There was a moment of eerie stillness, of hesitation, and she should probably take advantage but she'd lost the will to fight anymore. It was as if he'd changed his mind for some unfathomable reason, but she was still pinned down. Waiting for the end was agony. If he was going to kill her, couldn't he just get on and do it already? This whole thing was screwing with her head.

She heard the crunch of bone as his features shifted, felt his breath on her neck again as he prepared to bite her. The lightest scrape of fang on flesh was almost a relief, something she actually understood. She braced herself for the inevitable-

"You get the hell away from my daughter!"

There was a moment full of action, of teeth failing to rip her throat open, of a lack of vampire pinning her to the floor, of loud and inventive cursing.

Buffy cautiously sat up, blinking, both relieved and surprised at how not-dead she was. Spike was sprawled in an inelegant heap on the floor a few feet away, an extremely pissed expression on his face made all the more ominous (and a bit comic) by the yellow eyes and jagged fangs. He glared at her as if she'd ruined his life - as if he wasn't the one who'd wrecked Parent-Teacher Night and gotten her in trouble! - and she had to fight back the urge to poke her tongue out at him as if she was six instead of sixteen.

She looked around, almost afraid to find out what the heck had taken him out when she'd failed to - had she imagined that so familiar voice? - then choked back a laugh of relief when she saw her mom wielding the fire axe from earlier.

"Women!" Spike snarled, before leaping to his feet and disappearing in a swirl of black leather.

Buffy could breathe again. She gazed up at her mom in surprise and wonder. "Wow."

"Nobody lays a hand on my little girl."

Buffy blinked, This time she did laugh as she scrambled up and flung herself in for a mom-hug. "Oh God, Mom." She shook her head, still catching up with events, having a little trouble actually believing what had just happened. It shouldn't have been so easy to scare Spike off - even if her mom did look pretty intimidating with a fire axe - but she wasn't about to complain that it had worked. "You were supposed to be escaping."

Joyce stroked a hand over Buffy's hair and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "You needed me," she said simply, as if that explained everything. And maybe it did.

Buffy grinned and buried herself in her mom's comforting embrace. Tonight had sort of been a disaster (okay, not sort of, it'd been a complete and total disaster on an epic scale), but... she was alive.