Chapter 12

I open my eyes, vision slightly blurred but clearing quickly. The parallels of my current situation to that of Essie's are not lost on me. I look around at what appears to be the inside of a barn or stable of some kind. The floor is strewn with scattered hay and I sit on a lone chair in the middle of the room.

With slow, deliberately subtle movements I test the bonds I discover on my wrists and ankles. Déjà vu much?! I scowl at the predicament in which I find myself. Drusilla, in her wicked insanity, has gone to great lengths to replicate the surroundings in which she first found me – found Essie - over a hundred years ago; surroundings where she had torn Essie's throat out for trying to take Spike and Angel from her.

Essie had made her a promise as she bled out into Drusilla's mouth. It is a promise I intend to keep, now more than ever. Or, do I? I decide to push the thought from my mind. I couldn't delve into those memories at the moment; my soul jiggles and pulsates at the thought of those previous lives and the search for William that had ended in a stable very much like the building I am in now.

I look around again at my surroundings. The stables, the chair, my bindings, even, all part of Drusilla's mind games. Mind games meant to torment, confuse and unsettle her victim. This was a game at which Angelus had been adept. He taught Drusilla everything she knows, I thought, almost admiringly.

Well, I had stopped being a victim when Becky had died.

Drusilla decides, at this moment, to grace me with her presence. She saunters back into the room, a sublime smile on her lips. She is not alone.

Behind the waifish form of Drusilla stands a hulking, shaggy figure. I stare in disbelief. Is that a werewolf? My mind races, I know that there are vampires and demons, I've fought and killed both. Until now, though, I had thought little of werewolves. Without visual proof they were nothing more than myth. Well, here was proof, standing less than a few body-lengths away.

Drusilla trills gleefully, clapping her hands together rapidly at the fingertips, when she sees me staring agog at the massive, hairy dog-like creature that paces impatiently behind her.

"Do you like him?" Drusilla croons, reaching up to scratch the fur at his neck affectionately.

"Good doggy," she coos to him as she leans in, kissing him on the muzzle. He lets out a growl but it doesn't sound like a warning. I turn away, looking for the exits whilst tugging more seriously on my ropes. This is getting way too freaky, I decide. Time to bail on this déjà vu setting! And, ditch kooky Dru and her shaggy plaything.

"You can't leave, I haven't had any fun yet," Dru states, seeing my struggles. My wrists are starting to burn. "Naughty granddaughter, trying to ruin grand-mummy Dru's fun before it's started. Do your wrists burn? I soaked the ropes in holy water." She looks at me, her eyes big and innocent.

"Now, let's see if we can do something about this pesky soul," she smiles, picking up a flask from the floor. I hadn't noticed it before as it had been hidden in one of the drifts of hay. Drusilla opens it slowly, frowning slightly as she moves around my chair, looking me up and down. When she stands in front of me again her expression changes to that of a decision made.

Drusilla leans close to my ear, whispering, "And when you're free of it - all evil, like you're supposed to be - will you hurt me like this too? Spike won't hurt me anymore; he doesn't want me, now he has a soul. He won't want you either.

"They've all abandoned me. Angel burnt me; tried to kill me! Then he took my Darla away. Made her turn herself to dust, he did. Us girls have got to stick together. I can have a family again."

Slowly, she reaches out towards my left hand, making sure I am watching her closely, and tips the flask up enough to allow the liquid within to drip out onto the back of my hand.

The pain is immediate. I feel the demon writhe and scream inside me trying to draw itself away from the blessed liquid on my hand. Despite my best efforts to contain the hurt, a small moan escapes from between my clenched teeth.

A shocking thought strikes me through my discomfort. If I can feel the demon pulling away, trying to retract into my body, does this mean that it has not bonded with me completely? Do other vampires experience this feeling of separateness from the demon within them, or are they one entity once the transformation is complete? Could the presence of my soul be hindering the completion of my transformation: if somehow, the demon could be forced out?

I'd be dead. If the demon were to leave me now I would die. My mind reels at these thoughts. The pain in my wrists and the back of my hand seem insignificant in the light of these revelations. Everyone had been worried what would happen to my soul if I turned, when now I realise it is the demon that's important. Without my soul I can still live. Without my demon I am dead and my soul moves on regardless. I can always get my soul back. Spike did it. I can too.

Drusilla's face clouds over as she realises she has lost me and pours more holy water onto my already enflamed skin.

I stifle another moan, blinking through the vapours rising from my hand. I had asked for death but now I realise I didn't know what it was I was asking. I had died and now I am alive again. This life, this is my last life, with or without a soul. Spike had taken my death out of my hands, making the decision for me, giving me another chance. Despite his reasons being selfish ones; wanting me to be with him, not wanting to lose me, I would have to thank him – if I got the opportunity.

Even if undead, I am alive, I feel alive and I want to stay that way. There may be limitations to my condition, but a new world had been opened up to me.

My epiphany is quickly interrupted as Drusilla brings my attention back to her. She's pouting. "You're supposed to be paying attention when I torture you! It will make you free, the way Angelus freed me."

She takes my chin in her hand looking into my eyes, "Don't you want to be free of your soul, to let the vampire run free?

"I saw the stars falling, burning up around you." Her grip on my jaw tightens, tilting my head back and forcing my mouth open. She brings the flask of holy water up into my line of vision before slowly pouring it down my throat. All I can do is struggle.

The burn is excruciating, like acid and broken glass flowing down my throat to swirl in my stomach, tearing me apart from the inside.

I try to laugh, I can't help it. If it's my soul she wants to threaten she's going the wrong way about it. My soul is sitting pretty at the moment while my demon writhes within me, seeking a means of escape from the torturous blessed liquid Drusilla is administering.

The burning makes me gag and gurgle as my insides bubble. The laugh is cut short as I choke on my dissolving insides. Drusilla grabs my head between her hands forcing me to look into her eyes as she searches mine, looking for something. A calculating look settles over her face. "My dollies don't like the water, maybe your insides don't either. Should I have a look?"

I sneer at her, trying desperately not to show fear. I have no doubt when Drusilla says have a look, she means rip me open to peer inside. "Oh, no Drusilla, you're doing just fine." I try to clear my throat, my voice raspy from the holy water. I glance around, frantically seeking a distraction, "In fact, I think your werewolf might be feeling left out."

I look towards the beast pacing the edge of the room on all fours. He certainly seems interested in what is happening. Drusilla's focus now moves to her pet – if that's what he is. Could this be the distraction I need to facilitate my escape? The holy water has made me momentarily weaker, and I struggle futilely against my bonds.

The werewolf stalks towards Drusilla on all fours, rising as he reaches her. He nuzzles into her shoulder and I see the pink of his tongue on her neck. She giggles as if a teenager, giddy with the ministrations of her lover.

With a tilt of her head, Drusilla turns to me. "I gave him my blood, now he's such a good doggy!" The werewolf, more beast than man, grasps Drusilla roughly around the waist, pressing his muzzle against her neck. The long curved teeth rake across her pale skin.

"Rrrrrrooowwww," the high-pitched growling noise issues from Drusilla as her eyes close in obvious pleasure. The beast, encouraged by her noise, spins her around pushing her towards the wall, forcing her to bend forward. With her hands resting against the wall for support, the wolf claws at the materials of her skirt pushing them out of the way.

I force my eyes away, trying to tune out the noises. "The ultimate doggy style," I mutter grimly, trying to push the images from my head, despite my demon dancing in glee at the bestial display of carnal desire. I retreat into myself, closing out the world of sounds and smells around me, and the pain still burning sullenly within me, using meditation techniques I had learnt as a human.

A clicking noise, along with a familiar rumble brings me back to the surface of consciousness. "Wake up, love," the voice murmurs again, fingers clicking in front of my face. My eyes slowly focus on the white blonde hair, strands separated into its little waves, before moving my gaze to those beautiful eyes the colour of storm-tossed waves. My heart tightens at the sight of him.

"Spike, what are you doing here? Where's Drusilla?" I gush, trying desperately to comprehend.

"Don't worry about Drusilla, love. I'm here because we need to talk." He sounds so clinical. My heart clenches at the calculating and sarcastic timbre of his voice.

"Aren't you going to save me?"

"Save you? Why would I want to save you?" he asks, his laughter, so sexy but so callous. All the warmth I had heard, all the love of the last few days, gone. "You're exactly where I want you."

I can't keep the hurt from my eyes. I don't want him to see me like this; weak and at his mercy.

Spike looks at me for a moment as a grin spreads across his lips, lips I had kissed only a day before. "Oh," he laughs coldly, "you didn't think I actually cared, did you?" He laughs again. "Did you believe me when I told you I loved you?" His hand caresses the side of my face, from which I try desperately to pull away.

His hand grasps my face, fingers digging cruelly into my cheeks, forcing me to look at him again. "It worked, didn't it? You wanted to believe, so bad, that I had feelings for you. It was almost too easy."

My heart, despite no longer beating, can still break. I feel the cracks widen, pain shooting through my chest, through my soul, at his words.

"Why?" I ask pathetically.

"To get into your pants, pet. When I saw you again, all grown up, I realised the opportunity I had missed with Becky. But you were so much riper." His hand not gripping my face, traces a line over the swell of my breast and down to my hip before changing direction to push between my thighs.

"And you certainly didn't disappoint," Spike continues callously, "All soft and giving; so trusting. So willing to give yourself to me, entirely." He licks his lips as if savouring the taste of my naivety and his betrayal.

"But….. your soul?" I rasp weakly.

"People with souls perform atrocities every day, pet. Using you to get a bit will hardly tip the balance of me being sent to hell. I'm already going."

My legs clamp together trying to expel the unwanted presence of his hand. I try to close my eyes, to block out the sight of his once resplendent face as my heart shatters into a thousand pieces. No. Not my heart, my soul. I feel like I'm dying, it is dying. The shards scatter within me, dissolving, slowly disappearing as the waves of his betrayal wash over me.

The demon roars in triumph. It fills the spaces now vacated by my soul. The shame and hurt of Spike's manipulations are gradually being replaced by cold, emotionless nothing as the demon blurs and melds within me.

A flutter: the tiniest of movements.

It takes me a second to even recognise it as such. The flutter is stronger this time. The minutest shard of soul still clings tenaciously to me. And it can sense him. The pull is directed beyond the visage of Spike in front of me.

I raise my eyes to look at him again. Just to be sure. He stares back, his eyes creasing slightly, narrowing, as he watches my face. A hiss explodes from his lips as he whirls towards the door. Damn! I've never been any good at hiding my emotions. I look back again to see Drusilla standing in a fighter's crouch, where Spike stood less than a second before, the illusion shattered.

It was a trick! One of Drusilla's dirty, rotten mind screws!

How could I have been so ready to believe the lies? How did I not realise? While trying so hard to keep the agony of my soul at bay I had nearly lost everything.

The demon roars in frustration and torment as the shards of my fractured soul creep inexorably back, pulling together like little pools of mercury, the tug and pulse of their twin flame making them stronger.

He's almost here! My heart burns, glowing like the sun at Spike's proximity. In one single thought my world explodes and reforms. He's here for me. He's come for me, and I love him for it! I want to be here for him. I want to live and love, for him – only him.

Within me my soul blazes like nothing I have felt before. Its white-hot presence explodes within me engulfing the demon in its light. The heat and light merge with the demon, fusing the two to my being.

My soul firmly in place, the demon no longer writhes at its presence, but is firmly settled within me. But not just settled. It has become me.

The two co-exist, polar opposites but no longer in conflict. I liken it, abstractly, to a magnet; two opposing forces housed within one object, one not able to exist without the other.

With his usual flourish, Spike enters the stable in a swirl of black leather and spiked blonde hair.

His demon face crinkles in anger as he looks from me, quickly scanning my bloodied, burnt and bruised appearance, to Drusilla poised near the door ready to strike.

"Get away from her, you bitch!" he growls.

"Now, Spike. We were just having a little fun." She turns back to me.

"You've been playing a little game with your grand-mummy, haven't you, dear?"

My eyes flick to a movement in a dark corner behind Spike. He's too busy focusing on Drusilla to notice.

"Spike!" I yell, trying to point at the unseen danger. My hand movements are limited to raising a finger and waggling it in the general direction I want to indicate. Spike takes a step towards me, searching wildly for the source of my distress.

No, you idiot! I berate him silently, "Behind you!"

He spins towards his furry attacker as the beast swipes a huge clawed hand at his head. With practiced skill and speed, Spike ducks below the claws and rains blows into the werewolf's abdomen. The two dance and sway, trading blows in a fatal waltz that leaves me humming with pride at my beautiful man's skills.

Not one to miss an opportunity at a jibe, Spike gives Drusilla a quick sideways glance, "Your new pet, Dru?" The dog stumbles backwards from a well-placed blow.

Before Drusilla can answer I chime in, "Yeh! He's a real lap dog." I point towards the intersection at the top of my thighs, opening my legs suggestively. Spike glances enquiringly at me as the werewolf regains its footing. He pulls a face as understanding dawns.

"Oh, Ohhh….Eww! Dru, that chaos demon was bad enough, but this has to be an all-time low," Spike admonishes in disgust. The beast growls, throwing itself back into the fight with renewed vigour. It has obviously taken offence at Spike's words.

Drusilla crouches, coiling for a strike as soon as an opening appears. I watch in horror, knowing that Spike will be in trouble if she finds that opening.

Think, damn you! Remember your hunter training, goddamn it! I reprimand myself at my inaction. I'm a vampire, I remind myself, blessed with vampire strength and speed. How hard is it to get out of a wooden chair?

At that moment, Spike reaches into his coat and produces a shiny, wicked looking dagger, draws his arm back quickly and buries it to the hilt in the wolf's heart. An unearthly howl issues from the beast as it sinks to the floor at Spike's feet. A high pitched keening wail resonates from Drusilla before she turns her murderous gaze on Spike.

She doesn't attack. I watch her, wondering what is going on. She growls, a low predatory sound as she stalks towards Spike in a wide arc, forcing him to turn and step away from her in order to keep her in his line of sight.

Panic grips me. There's something not right with this picture. "Was that knife silver?" I question Spike, almost yelling at him in my unease.

"Silver?" He looks at me quickly before turning his attention back to the stalking vampire in front of him. He's now placed strategically between Drusilla, in front of him, and the werewolf, at his back: Drusilla's plan all along. The shaggy beast rises from the ground, surprisingly graceful in its movements, slipping the knife from its chest.

"Silver. Werewolf, right!" Spike kicks himself at his oversight. He wasn't to know there'd be a werewolf here, but he should have realised the knife wouldn't kill it. The beast launches at his back trying to grab him, drawing his neck towards those gnashing teeth. Drusilla rushes his exposed front.

Using the beast's hold to his advantage, Spike picks up both feet kicking Drusilla squarely in the chest, throwing her backwards into the solid slab wall of the stable. She crumples to the floor but quickly shakes if off, rising to her feet.

Using the momentum of his kick, Spike smashes his head back against the beast's snarling snout. There's a satisfying crunch as bones break, and the werewolf drops Spike as it stumbles backwards. Its momentary distraction is all Spike needs. He dives for the blade lying on the ground, rolling as he picks it up. His momentum brings him to his feet just behind and to the left of the growling beast. Spike spins on his heel, bringing the blade of the knife hard against the wolf's throat. With one slashing motion the dagger parts flesh and sinew. The wolf's lifeblood spills out over its hand as its groping fingers try to stem the blood loss. Spike releases the body, letting it crumple at his feet, as a wail issues from Drusilla, its murderous intent unmistakeable.

"You killed my doggy!" she keens as she stalks Spike. Again, she forces him to circle to keep visual contact. I look at Drusilla who stands directly opposite me, Spike placed in between us. His eyes never leave hers. "Now I take what's yours!" she screeches, as she bolts past Spike, making a beeline for my prone figure, still strapped to the wooden chair.

At the first sign of her approach my hunter instincts kick in. Finally! I muse. With a leaping push backwards the chair and I rise off the ground, flying and falling. The back legs of the chair strike the ground first, the force of the fall splintering them in a cacophony of loud cracks. The arms break away from the back of the chair as the frame splits apart. Using the backwards momentum of my fall I continue to roll, pushing out and away from the constraints of the chair. Timber and rope fall from my limbs as I come to my feet, spinning to defend against the onslaught of womanly vampiric rage.

I sidestep her headlong rush, moving into a diving roll next to the debris of the broken chair. Drusilla's next charge I take head on. Her arms swipe, nails angling for my throat with deadly grace. As I move to block her swings, her legs strike out at me, one foot grazing my knee.

Too close, I chastise. I'll have to do better than that. Each of my attacks seems to be pre-empted. Is she using precognitive sight to win this? No, her sight doesn't work like that, she's just a wily fighter, I decide. Time to try something new.

From the corner of my eye, I see Spike prancing from one foot to another looking for an opening into the fight. Please don't, I plead silently. This is my fight. I made a promise.

My pre-occupation with Spike and his eagerness to get involved has left me vulnerable. Drusilla grabs me, spinning me around until my back is pressed against her front, her hand poised over my throat, ready to rip it out, remove my head, and turn me to dust.

I reach up to her arm, placing my hand firmly around her wrist as if trying to stay her hand. I feel the smile creep onto her lips at my weak, defensive reaction. My other hand flashes over my shoulder grabbing the collar of her clothing. With a flick of my hips I use my centre of gravity to dislodge her from her feet, hauling her over my shoulder.

With lightning-fast vampire reflexes she manages to land on her feet but she is right where I want her. With a slight flick of my wrist the sliver of chair leg slides from the sleeve of my jacket. Grabbing Drusilla around the throat while her back is still to me, I press the shard of timber against her spine and push.

"I'm sorry, my love," I whisper softly to Spike. His mouth is open in a look of shock.

"Spike?" Drusilla's little girl voice calls to him in frightened incomprehension. The timber shard I hold presses cruelly against her heart, having pierced her spine, rendering her paralysed.

"I made a promise," I continue, my voice soft. My words, heavy with the regret and elation of the impending conclusion to the promise made over a century ago. "Forgive me."

"Spike," Drusilla pleads as Spike's face hardens to her plight, "I love you."

I thrust the wooden sliver hard through her chest. Her body powders, falling in waves of dust to coat the straw on the floor of the stable. Spike's face returns to human as his eyes turn away.

I crumple. My reserves of strength have been depleted; used in the fight for my life, the fight to fulfil a promise to make Spike mine. In keeping that promise I may have destroyed the only possibility I had of being with him. I had just destroyed his sire. Would Spike be able to forgive me?

Slowly, with great effort, I push myself up onto my feet. I turn towards the door and start walking. Each step is like moving lead boots, my soul screaming for me to go back the other way. Hard arms grab me roughly around the middle, spinning me about wildly. I look up into sea-grey eyes, welling with tears.

"Where do you think you're going?" his voice is thick and gruff will emotion.

"I…" honestly, I'm not sure where I was going. "…I wanted to give you space," is all I can come up with on short notice.

He grips me tighter, pulling me to his chest. "Drusilla may have been my sire, but she was evil. She didn't have a soul. We have fought across centuries to be in this moment, to be together. Do you think I would let you walk out on me, now?"

I notice with some curiosity that he no longer feels cold to me, he just feels normal. As normal as a bleach blonde, marble Adonis sculpture of a vampire gets, anyway. My fingers idly trace his skin through the rents in his t-shirt. His skin has already started to heal from the slicing ferocity of the werewolf's claws. I pause at the sharp intake of breath my touch has caused. I look up, searching for those deep sea pools, not sure what I'll find, still doubting our connection. I had spent so long looking for it and not finding it, or having it ripped from me, that now I have it firmly within my grasp, it all seems too surreal.

As I look into those seething pools of emotion I am sucked into them. In the frantic need to turn the surreal into the real I clamp my hands around Spike's neck dragging his mouth to mine. I crush my lips against his, demanding a response.

His response is breathtaking. His mouth opens to mine, tongue exploring and challenging. In an instant he has me backed up against the wall of the stable, his body pressing deliciously into mine. There's no fear of breaking me this time. "No holding back," I whisper.

"Not this time, love," he murmurs into my neck, his teeth and tongue sending shivers to the depths of my body. With a fluid shrug his leather coat falls from his shoulders to pool on the floor behind his feet. He presses the hardness of his body against mine, making me gasp.

Without thought I reach up to his shoulders, shredding the already torn t-shirt from his body. His laugh rumbles through his chest as I stare at my handiwork, and his rippled, muscular body, in mild surprise.

"Still not used to your own strength?" Spike chuckles as he negligently reaches for my jacket, pushing it from my shoulders, before tearing my shirt open, buttons pinging in all directions. The excitement and passion I feel, exposed to this man, threaten to overwhelm me. His hands cup my breasts in a gentle caress as I reach for his hips, pulling him hard against me. My mouth finds his with a sigh of pleasure, as I wrap my leg around his hips, pulling him closer, wanting more of him, all of him.

"Oh, Damn! Vampire porn! No thanks!" Gunn's outburst makes both Spike and I jump. So caught up in our passion, we had not heard their approach.

"Oh, good, the cavalry's arrived! Just in time to save the day," Spike jibes in return.

"Not a moment too soon, I'd say," rumbles Angel's rejoinder.

"Touché!" Spike retorts, making comical swordplay actions, his pale, naked chest rippling and gleaming in the muted light of the stables, "Just 'cos you can't get any, mate."

Always the exhibitionist, I sigh.

"Hello! I have a son to a vampire! I got some!"

"Okay boys. Put away the ruler and magnifying glass!" I interrupt the circus. Both men frown indignantly at the obvious slight to their manhood.

"Yes, quite," says Wesley, his cheeks aflame, eyes darting everywhere but the open front of my blouse. I retrieve my coat from the floor and put it on, buttoning it. Wesley, can at least look at me now. "What happened here?" he questions, looking quickly from me to the werewolf lying partially decapitated at the back of stables. As we watch the beast starts to twitch, writhing on the ground. I take an involuntary step back before I realise there is no threat. With sickening, wet, popping and crunching noises the beast shrinks and morphs back into his human form.

He's so young, I think, somewhat shocked: barely out of his teens, by his patchy, baby fluff beard. I feel sickened, for what Drusilla was doing to the poor boy, and for the crappy hand fate had dealt him. I knew firsthand what sort of a dealer fate was. Sometimes, right when it matters most, your luck can change. I hope that next time for the kid will be better.

"Drusilla's toy boy," Spike explains, pointing towards the boy's naked form. Wesley's eyebrow rises at the sexual connotation of Spike's comment.

"Everything that brings to mind and more," I clarify, shuddering at the imagery and sounds still seared into my memory.

"How?" asks Wesley, his interest piqued.

"Seriously, dude?" Gunn's face crinkles in disgust at Wesley's question. "That's messed up!"

Wesley humphs at Gunn's reaction to the misconstrued question, "How did she control the werewolf?" he clarifies, scowling briefly at Gunn. "They are considered base creatures, unable to be controlled, and driven purely by instincts."

"She fed him her blood. It seemed to her allow her some control over him," I explain.

"Very interesting," Wesley mutters, an air of excitement building around him at this new information.

"Wesley!" Angel clicks his fingers in Wesley's face. "Later."

"Yes, you're quite right." His focus shifts back to me. Spike sidles in, slipping an arm casually around my waist. My soul sings in unison with Spike's, both glowing with an air of contentment. The demon is peaceful, resting. I am complete.

I move closer to Spike, drawing his energy to me. The electricity between us begins to build again, my hand moving down to cup his firm butt, giving it a playful squeeze. Spike turns towards me, a playful smile tugging at his lips. I just want to devour those lips. His eyes smoulder, telling me he wants to do the same to me.

Angel clears his throat as he scrutinises the two of us. "Glad the two of you have things sorted. What happened?"

I shrug. "I just had to want it."

Angel raises an eyebrow, "Want what exactly?"

I sigh, "I had to want to be alive and to want Spike, no exceptions. Once I made that decision the soul did the rest." I realise my simple answer may not be enough. It raised too many other questions. I am going to have to start at the beginning.

"When I woke up in my grave, my soul and the demon were at war; neither had control. I realised, after a while, that if the demon lost the fight I was a goner. Without the demon I was dead. I could live without a soul but I couldn't live without my demon. Not anymore. If I died that was it, my soul would float off and it would have to wait, wherever the hell souls go, for Spike to get dusted so his soul could join mine.

"Drusilla did her best to convince me to ditch my soul. She nearly succeeded too." I squeeze Spike's hand. Sadness washes over me at how close I had come to giving in. His reassuring squeeze in response makes my heart glow. "In the end, once I decided that I was going to live with my soul, it seemed to take over and, somehow, bound my demon and my soul to my body. So now I can't even feel the seams."

"And, Drusilla?" Angel queried. Ah, the question I had been dreading. My eyes trail slowly to the pile of dust at their feet, then back to Angel. A myriad of emotions flickers behind his eyes but his face gives nothing away. He nods, saying nothing.

Drusilla had been his creation, his greatest triumph and worst nightmare, depending on which side of his soul he woke up on. He had to feel something for her passing.

"Let's go home," Angel announces, spinning his sword in the palm of his hand. "I need a drink."

Epilogue.

What is it about the garage? I wonder. Spike's hand trails up my body, moving under my shirt to cup my breast. At his touch sparks of delight flood my body. I move backwards, pressing my curved backside into his groin. I wiggle provocatively against his arousal feeling his growing response. He groans into my neck with a little muffled chuckle against my skin. His teeth nip gently as he pinches my already hard nipple. I let out a gasp at the twin sensations.

I've been missing out, this vampire thing rocks! Senses and emotions are heightened, stamina is off the charts. I can't get enough. I can't get enough of him.

We've only just made it out of the car, having been for a drive, before the wanton need created by being so close yet unable to act upon it, became too much to bear. I feel like a hormone addled teenager. And I love it.

Flipping me around to face him, Spike's tongue penetrates my mouth, exploring, demanding, craving response. Slowly his hands slide down my hips, cupping my buttocks. He gives them a squeeze. His hands sink lower, moving down between my thighs, gently, yet insistently forcing my legs apart and up.

I put my arms around his neck for support and raise my legs, clamping them around his waist. He groans, smiling as his hands meet soft warm flesh. The short denim skirt I put on this morning rides up my thighs flashing my nakedness to the world.

"No knickers, huh?"

"I was hoping you'd notice in the car," I shrug impishly, fluttering my eyelids at him as a wicked grin spreads across my face at his look of missed opportunity.

"Right, now you're for it," he threatens. I stifle a squeal as he rushes me towards the bonnet of a car.

"Not the Maserati!" I beg, seeing the gleam in his eye. I felt bad enough after the broken door and joyride incident, without adding to the damage bill.

"Alright," Spike relents. Well that was a little too easy, I think, wondering what that calculating mind is up to. Before I can worry about it further my body slams into the boot of a car with enough force the boot lid is caved in.

It is still a thing of wonder to me, these vampire traits. An impact of that magnitude would have left my human body breathless, bruised, and possibly even sporting a cracked rib or two. As it is I feel little from the impact. There was a small amount of discomfort that passed almost before I had time to register its existence. Our bodies' ability to assimilate pain and emotions, largely due to the strengths of the demon, I surmise, is a constant source of fascination.

Spike's tongue, his hands and his body soon whip any semblance of thought, beyond the immediate, from my mind, and I give myself over to him willingly.

Using my vampire strength to its fullest advantage, I brace my feet on the boot of the car, grab Spike's coat collar and pull with all my might, twisting as I go. Spike's body hits the vehicle a lot harder than I am expecting. The rear windshield cracks in several places as the entire rear structure of the car is bent out of shape. I stare, horrified, at my handiwork. Spike begins to laugh. It's a rumble, so sexy, from deep in chest. He looks up at me from where I now kneel next to him. He reaches up, pulling me down onto his body in a tight bearhug. "You're stronger than you look, you little minx. Have I told you recently how much I love you?"

His words and the feel of his body beneath mine instantly reignite the feelings forgotten only a few seconds before. Quickly, I move my leg over his hips, straddling him, pinning him to the car. Now I have you where I want you, for a change, I think, mischievously.

With slow deliberate movements, I feed the fire of passion, left simmering until now. With kisses and caresses I mould his body to my will, until he shudders and bucks under me, driven to the brink but not allowed release. With trembling hands I undo his fly, freeing him from the confines of his jeans. Joined at last, we ride the waves of passion and love, feeling our souls rock and sway and blaze together.

"Yes, baby," Spike whispers. Together, we thunder over the precipice, our worlds exploding into lights and sounds and the glorious rush in our ears as our bodies convulse in ecstasy.

As the waves subside, Spike looks into my eyes, my head resting on his shoulder, "That look on your face, love," he croons softly, "I could watch it for hours." His voice reverberates through his chest, vibrating in my head as I move my ear over his heart.

"Ditto," I murmur my voice a contented slur.

"Oi! You two!" The shout has us sitting bolt upright, sliding off the mangled vehicle and quickly pulling our clothing straight. Two security guards run towards us, electrified bludgeons in hand.

"Time to go," warns Spike as he grabs my hand and we make a dash for the exit stairs. "Nice of them to let us finish." He adds as an afterthought.

I spot the domed black bauble of a security camera on the ceiling nearby and nod towards it, "Do you think they enjoyed the show?"

Spike grins in answer. "I know I did. Come on." We rush up the stairs faster than the human guards in our wake and quickly lose them in the labyrinth of hallways and wings that make up the Wolfram & Hart complex. It won't take them long to track us down, not with their state of the art security and surveillance system.

Spike and I wait at the end of a long corridor. He pops his head around the corner to check if the coast is clear. His body is pressed against mine, pinning me to the wall. The feel of him is distracting to say the least and I can't resist planting a string of kisses from the hollow of his throat to his ear. He rumbles softly deep in his chest, "You're going to get me into serious trouble, little minx."

The air within the hallway vibrates as a very loud and incredibly incensed bellow echoes off the walls. "Spiiike!"

"Oh, Shit!" I squeak, looking at Spike.

His forehead drops to mine as he places a finger against my lips. A barely stifled laugh comes out as a "ssshhh, sshh, ssshhhhh," sound from lips pressed hard against the finger held to mine.

"Spike! What have you done to my Jag?" the raging bellow resounds through the hallway. Angel is ropable.

"Time for us to go, little minx," Spike whispers as he leads me hurriedly in the opposite direction to the one Angel's voice is coming from.

"Go where?" I query.

"Anywhere you want to go, pet."

"What will we do?" The idea of making my way in the world, especially as a fledgling vampire is incredibly daunting. I have no clue where to start, or what it even means to be a vampire with a soul.

"What all vampires with a soul do: We're going to save the world.

"There's never been anything like us before; vampire twin flames. The world won't know what hit it!" Spike laughs.

We run. Run together into the night. Together we can face anything. We can stop the world from ending, together.