Kindred

By Sweetprincipale

Set in early Season Five. When Dracula called Buffy 'kindred'', he was doing a bit more than just saying they had a lot in common. Hungry for knowledge of herself and her power, Buffy didn't realize what kind of connection he had forged with her until he left town, and the damage was done. Hoping to break his hold over her, Buffy requests help from Spike. However, the way you break the hold of one vampire is to let another one possess you more fully. But, it'll only be temporary, right? Simple business, that's all…

Dedicated to: Dedicated to: artemisthestargazer, pgoodrichboggs, Dreaming Haven, Brokenblackrose89, GoldenHeartedAngel, goodgirl6934, Ardynn. I thank all of you so much for reading and reviewing! You make my day!

XXXVIII

"This is Daniela."

"Charmed, Monsieur Gunn." Daniela found herself falling back to deferential manners in the presence of the boldly scowling man. In days past, she would simply have used her sensuality to tame his frown, but now- now she had a body and heart for Wesley, to flaunt it and use it to beguile his friends would be unthinkable. She felt Wesley's arm tighten on her waist as Charles Gunn pumped her hand quickly and then backed away.

"Stop acting like that, you ninny." Codelia slapped his shoulder with a small, chic handbag. "Sorry. He hates vampires. They killed his sister."

"Mine, too." Daniela's face hardened for a moment.

Wesley gasped, but smothered it. Ari. Jeanette. Sisters in bond, not birth.

"Oh. Uh. Damn." Charles liked being the resident muscle and man of few words. In his opinion, he did it with more style than Angel could ever manage. Big lump of brooding superpower. With him, there was some "pizzazz" as Lorne had said- before throwing them out last night. Or was it early this morning?

"Thai food?" Wesley broke the awkward silence.

"She eats people food?"

Another slap of the handbag. "You were there for the French restaurant conversation, dummy!"

"I drank that conversation away!"

"Yes, I do. I am one-half person," Daniela answered with a laugh.

Charles pulled Wesley aside. "Is this place expensive? Boss man locked himself in his room today and didn't sign the checks."

"It is my treat," Daniela said, swishing past them, her head bent to Cordy's as they compared bags.

"Vampiric hearing," Wesley reminded him.

Charles pulled Wesley down the hall, yanking him into the Watcher's bedroom. "Charles, I-"

Gunn stopped. "I was gonna ask are you really doing it with that vampire chick, but I know you didn't put that big a dent in the mattress by yourself." He looked from the rumpled, oddly sagging bed, back to Wesley's scarlet face.

"We met you in the living room for a reason."

"Wes- why?"

"I love her. It's very easy to make love to the woman you're in love with, after all."

By the door, Daniela's head suddenly shot up, her smile glowing like the City of Lights itself.

"What? What, can you overhear them?" Cordelia asked in an eager whisper.

"Wesley said…" It was private. But he had told the man. She could tell the girl, the very sweet girl, Cordy, who loved Wesley, too. "He said he loves me," she whispered. The glow intensified. She had never gotten to tell anyone else such a secret. With Dracul, she was taken by him, her social circle made of his other wives. And they didn't giddily confess that he loved them. They knew. Assumed. Believed a lie.

"Are you okay?" Cordelia gently put her hand on the Countess' bare shoulder, trying not flinch at how cool it was to the touch. She'd gotten used to Angel after all, but they weren't big on the touching.

"I do not believe I have ever been loved before."

She put her arm completely around the other woman's shoulder. "Well, not like that guy can love, I'll give you that. He's all-heart. And brains. Brains and heart, and he's been working out, you know."

"Believe me, I know."

Wesley walked out to find his best friend giggling while embracing the woman he loved, also giggling, their heads bent low, swapping secrets. "We are lucky men, Charles Gunn, to escort such radiant women to dinner."

Gunn had witness Angel's grudging not-really an apology, more like an"I-apologize-because- you're-too- dumb-to-see-I'm-right apology. Now, frustrated, miserable girl was back to beautiful, sparkling girl. He caught her smile and returned it. "Can't argue with you there, Wes."

"Don't argue with me. Drink this."

"Joyce, it's a magically induced burn. It's healing fast. Soup isn't going to-" Anya didn't consider herself arguing. More like informing.

Spike gave up his refusal, his jaw working a little bit better. He thought he could sip without a straw, if he moved just so. "Ta, Joyce." He took the mug and slurped. "Mm. Good noodles. And are those little stars?"

"Riley did this?" Joyce didn't care about the contents of the canned soup. With a mother's ability to look at the most horrific wound and only see the child she loves underneath, her eyes kept lingering longer and longer upon the vampire who was still struggling to move on his own. Each time she looked his way, he seemed less badly burnt and contused. Was it some sort of spell or healing power?

Or were her eyes the things that were changing? "He came after her?"

Nods. Silent ones. How do you explain that the nice boy showed up to kidnap your daughter at gunpoint and the vampire was fighting against his own body to save her?

"You didn't let her get hurt?"

"Not more than I…" He'd felt so bloody, utterly useless and helpless. "It was a group effort. I had sod all to do with sending him off, Joyce. Wish I could take credit."

"You told him to shoot you if that's what he wanted. You told her to run," Xander's voice was oddly thick. It was what he'd wanted to tell Anya. It was what no one could ever tell a Slayer. Not until this guy. Angel didn't count.

Spike looked - from what his marred face could reveal- embarrassed at the emotion in the other man's voice.

"I think that's true love." Anya laid her head on Xander's shoulder. They were both shaking, just a little. He'd put himself between Riley and her. "I love you," she murmured into his sleeve, also using it to wipe her eyes. "Can we go home now?"

"As soon as Buffy tells us we're off the hook as witnesses, yep."

Tara silently observed Spike fighting a losing battle with his mug and moved forward to assist him.

Joyce cut her off, gently stepping in front of her, sitting down beside a startled Spike, so startled in fact that his second eye opened a tiny slit to reveal a horribly bloodshot eye, more red than blue. It came easily, suddenly so easy, to wrap her hand around his and support him. Her arm rested under his and she could feel the effort he was making to keep it from falling. Her arm anchored him, tilting his head back just a tiny bit to rest on her shoulder. "Little sips, William."

"Why can't I stop crying? He was a horrible person. At the end."

"Because you remember that he seemed to be a good man, at the beginning."

"I'm crying because I would have killed him if he did this again. I'm not all the way human, anymore, am I?" Of course not. Humans die. Age. I'm immortal. Until proven otherwise, at which point- oh, well.

"Darling, my Plan B involved a sofa cushion over his face while you all cleared out and telling you he'd gone into cardiac arrest. Yes. I'm thoroughly human. I kill monsters. If the monster inhabits a human shell, the lines blur."

He said it so factually that Buffy had no doubt it was true. She started crying all over again.

"I shouldn't have said that."

"Yes, you could! Should. I just don't know if it makes me feel better or worse. I don't know what's wrong with me."

You almost died. You almost watched Spike die. You two are so connected now, the way these "claims" are probably supposed to be, living for one another. Hate to see her so wrapped up in such a web.

Yet, I do like to see her so happy, when she's not utterly miserable. "I know what's wrong with you. You need to go be with your other half. I'll never say better half," he attempted to joke. He found his arms full of snuffling Slayer and decided it had worked out well enough.

Buffy walked into a somewhat comical scene. Willow and Tara were curled up like a ying-yang, heads on one another's knees, dozing. Xander and Anya were cuddled tightly together in one chair, surprisingly not making out or engaging in heavy petting. As for Spike, her mother was feeding him tea out of one of the good cups, wedged awkwardly beside him and supporting his weakened arm while trying to help him keep his burns off the scratchy fabric of the couch.

"Buffy!" Spike tried to move and found that he could- sort of. He succeeded in spilling tea all over himself and Joyce's hand.

"I'm home, I'm here." She flew to him first, hugging him and her mother at the same time. Her mother helped snug his arms up around her more tightly. "Thanks, Mom."

Joyce nodded, eyes shining, lashes damp. She gingerly pried herself away. "Tea, Rupert?"

"Please."

Anya and Xander hugged, then fled, somehow subdued, eager to be alone together. Tara and Willow next, refusing to stay and eat, despite the fact that both of them looked as limp and wilted as crushed daisies.

"All the couples need to do their checks. Make sure all the parts still work," Spike said through a busted version of his roguish smile. Realizing he was now speaking to the two adults his wife considered her parents, he backtracked speedily. "Not that- we- I'm in no shape. Buffy can see my pieces are still attached, just mangled a bit."

"Riley was a terrible shot- or he really was struggling to stay upright," Buffy checked her arm and her waist, accidentally alerting her mother to the bloodstains and bullet holes. "I'm fine!" she lied with a bright smile.

The news of the boy's death was received somberly. Spike looked like he was holding back cheers, but the rest seemed genuinely grieved. 'Cause they're the good guys, Spike thought to himself and swallowed his smile. Joyce seemed genuinely in shock.

The shock was gone. "He shot you?" The whole "holding at gunpoint" thing became much clearer in her mind. She took Buffy's hand and after a second, took Spike's, too, trying to get her breathing under control. "He- oh- oh my. Oh. Well, I- I'm so glad… I'm so glad you're both okay."

"And this wasn't even the true threat. Dracula's still… ah. Yes. Joyce, why don't you let me help Spike up to bed and I'll come down and make you and Buffy a slap-up dinner? I'm sure I can pull something together from the tins in the pantry and whatever you have in the fridge."

"Actually, Giles, Mom, I want to go home. I want to take Spike home." Buffy stood and looked at Spike. "You can lean on me. If we could get a ride?"

"I'll do it," Joyce and Giles said at once.

"No, you're already home-" Giles protested.

"Rupert, she's my only child!" Joyce seemed shocked that he would even dream of depriving her.

"You can both drive us. Might need a little help gettin' to the flat. All those stairs." Spike appeased both of them. A few weeks ago, they'd have been fighting to see who could throw him out the fastest. Now, who could ferry him about.

He had to put almost his entire weight on Buffy's slender frame, despite the fact that half of his body worked well and the other half was rapidly improving. He was still struggling to walk and balance. "Strongest girl in all the world, my wife," he murmured proudly in her ear.

"Strongest man." She wanted to rest on him, lie near him and feel him, not hear his heartbeat, but the soft, rhythmic sounds of his voice talking to her while she fell asleep. Wanted to twine their hands together and look at the place where wedding rings bloomed when bonds were tested. "Can't wait to get you home."

"It's kind of- like- traditional that you guys see it first. Don't the parents usually see the little newlywed place first?" Buffy babbled nervously, but the nerves were surface, flecks of dust on an otherwise granite-like calm. Home. Haven. Safe with him, his safe place. He's my safe place.

Joyce's lips tightened momentarily, then she looked around with a critical eye. "You need furniture."

"They'll get furniture." Giles found himself automatically trying to help Spike off with the duster he was halfway into, but it wouldn't work while he was clinging to Buffy like ivy on a garden wall. Earlier, they'd come into his flat, plastered against each other, high on love and shared blood. Now, mere hours later, they walk home, knit together more tightly than ever, wounded and scarred, battle-damaged. Still clinging. "I'll let you get that off once you're in place to recline. Buffy?"

"Thank you guys, Goodnight. Oh, Mom, the dress I picked out is the top one on the pile. I'm wearing it on Saturday."

"I'll be in my basic black," Spike quipped as Buffy steered him toward the bedroom. "Luv-"

"Can you guys see yourselves out? I'll come lock the door in a minute, I want to help Spike get comfortable before I get in the shower."

So easy. Simple. So domestic and honest. Joyce had missed her daughter being honest with her. She hadn't even realized how much until she realized there was nothing hiding and held back in her child's voice. "We should get some different curtains. Heavier. These blinds don't look entirely light-proof."

"We don't plan on staying past the end of the semester. With the money the Council is finally paying me- well, us- we can put downpayment on - a house." Buffy's voice stumbled, not from the effort of helping her lover into a reclining position, propped up on their pillows, but from another realization. The house I buy- might need to last a hundred years. More. Oh my God. Panic seized her and then ebbed away. We'll make sure his name is on the lease. We won't buy this year, not unless we find the best place, a place where he and I can be happy and safe for a long, long time.

"Don't cry, Pet. Jus' a little nick and a scrape now," Spike soothed. Buffy smiled back at him in a way that he couldn't quite read.

Her mother was talking now, on and on about waiting to buy, credit scores, decorating, anything to keep her mind from repeating the ostinato of "Someone shot my baby. Someone shot my baby."

Giles stood beside her, awkwardly, catching Buffy's eye. House-hunting for the immortal. Perhaps the Countess will have tips. In the meantime… "Joyce, Buffy's probably quite exhausted. Let's allow them to rest. We'll stop off somewhere and grab a bite to eat."

Joyce blinked, startled. "Right. Yes. Buffy, come hug me and lock the door. I'll feel better if I hear it click." Locking my baby in alone with an unchipped demon- who would die for her. Yes, I'll feel better. So many things click.

Her hand registered Giles' insistent squeeze, propelling her to Buffy's side, through a hug, and out the door. Down into the Jeep.

"Where are we going?" How was he driving her car? Why was she shaking? She felt like she'd been riding a rollercoaster for hours, woozy, exhausted, ready to crash.

"To get a nice quick meal or to get slightly drunk," Giles heard himself say, head briefly resting on her steering wheel as they waited to turn out of the apartment's car park.

"We could stop and get Chinese and get something at the liquor store?" Joyce suggested.

"That sounds absolutely brilliant." It did. Salty, starchy food, whiskey, an adult who had almost lost the same things he'd lost today.

"But you have to drive home."

"Ah. Well, we'll have them put the orders into two bags." So much for not being alone while he took his sorrows and stresses, his overall victories, for a little swim.

"I meant you could stay the night." Oh. Dammit. That was not entirely what she'd meant to mean. That sounded- flirty. Rupert wouldn't take it that way, but the innuendo existed behind the phrase.

"That's very kind of you. I couldn't impose." An image of them laughing over wine and stir fry. Tipsy. Staggering up to her guest room to sleep it off and sleep where no one would burst into his apartment with demands. Other images superimposed. Laughing. Tipsy. Falling into the same bed, to shag off the stress before sleeping off everything else. No. No, mustn't think that way or do those things.

"Having you in Buffy's life is no longer the imposition it once was," Joyce chuckled dryly.

"And I must say, the years have done our relationship wonders."

"No longer adversaries. Would you say- friends?" Joyce hadn't realized until she started spending time with Anya, until she was allowed a toe into Buffy's little circle, how much she'd neglected to build a circle of her own.

Giles turned his head sharply, daring to keep his eyes on hers for a stretch of empty road. "I would most definitely say friends, Joyce."

Her hand found his as it came to rest on the divider between the seats. His fingers once again squeezed her, lingering, unwilling to let go. "Good."

"Oh, good! You sat up!" Buffy came back with a mug of blood to find him sitting unevenly on the bed.

"I don't need that right now." Spike looked at her hungrily, one eye a blood-red orb in a swollen pocket, one bright blue and tracking her every movement.

"Yes, you do! And you need more. I need more. I- As soon as I get clean." He'd touched her. Riley's hands, in her hair, on her arms and her skin- she shuddered suddenly. She hadn't even told Spike the biggest piece of news. Get him better first.

"I'll -" He wanted to join her. He couldn't stand for long.

"You want to get clean, too. You've got tea on your shirt, it's still damp. Hmm. The water on all that- stuff-" she vaguely gestured to her own face, "might irritate it?"

"Might. But bein' with you soothes everything." His hands, both of them, one swiftly and one slowly and clumsily, latched onto hers.

"I'm not going anywhere without you," Buffy whispered, voice evaporating. A shower suddenly seemed like the perfect way to hide her tears.

It was a team effort, getting his clothes off, impeded by loving pauses to run hands over each other, take comfort in things that were still there, predictable and unchanged. He leaned his naked body to hers, sitting halfway off their bed, head over her heart, letting her wrap her arms around his neck and cradle his wounded face, good side to the soft skin of her breasts. She looked down in time to watch him place a kiss over the bite he'd left on their wedding night. Her fingers slowly rubbed the skin over his bite, not sharp and punctuated on the ends like his, a half-moon, white on white. "I love you. Blood of my blood. Heart's blood," she said. That was as far as she got before she started sobbing.

"Easy, easy," he soothed.

"It was not easy! It was the fucking hardest thing I've ever-" she broke off with a gasp, sinking onto the knee he offered, held in the circle of his arms. "I thought with Angel, I thought I-" She'd thought she would die. And now she knew it was especially difficult to kill her and her heart would break and not give her the comfort of release. "Losing you- see him do that to you was worse than anything."

"And you. I can't…" The eloquence left him, fled in a hundred images of the last thing he'd seen as Red's spell froze and rearranged the gray matter and metal in his skull, the bastard dragging Buffy backward, her head jerked back, muzzle of the gun bruising into her skin. He'd passed out, fighting it all the way, worried that when he woke up his beautiful wife would be miles away, forced at gunpoint to do who knew what. Telling himself that Buffy had found her darkness and its purpose, that she would do the hard things, the hardest things, even take a human life if it meant saving their life together. It wasn't a good thought to have flashing before your eyes as you fell into artificial oblivion.

"You won't have to," Buffy whispered as she felt tears sinking into her skin. She leaned up and wiped his eyes first, then her own. "I'm- I am like you in so many ways."

"I don't want you to have to kill somethin' you cared for, even if it's changed. I had to- with my mum. An' it destroyed me for a long time. I'm glad his own damn foolishness took him out."

"That's not what I meant." Buffy teased her lips to his considered rising. She didn't. She clung tight and told him like it was a secret, just another secret meant to share. "Slayers are- I am- immortal like you. I'll die if I get killed. Not die through natural means. Age… I might not age very much once I'm at some certain point. Giles found out some stuff, we'll have to find out some more. You- you're not unkillable unless you take my life, 'sire' me. So. Um. We're going to be okay. Meant to stay together for a long, long time."

"For- forever?" This life, to a second life. We can both die. We're bound together, though, this life, the next one. This one stretched out suddenly, long beautiful corridors through time.

"Yeah." Forever could be a terrifying word. Or a perfect one.

They rocked each other in silence, absorbing everything. Buffy loved how he didn't even press for details or explanations, questioning her like some little girl or some dumb Valley Girl who couldn't comprehend. He implicitly knew she was telling the truth and that was all the information he needed.

It was his turn to impart some wisdom, more of a reminder. "We're still holdin' strong." A dream of them, underwater, breathing for one another hit him so powerfully that he couldn't recall if it was her vision or his, just the weightless sensation of floating bodies, saving one another. With an effort that made him feel physically sick, he pushed himself to his feet, every muscle protesting. Her arms were instantly saving him again, another fall they didn't have to take because they had each other. He clasped her cheek in his hand. "Wanna go get stronger?"

Buffy settled him in the tub and experimented with the showerhead's angle. "Is that too cold?" He'd said shower, not bath. She thought bath made more sense for a guy who couldn't stand for more than five seconds, but in true tribute to the evening from hell, she wasn't going to argue with Spike.

He gave her a glare, a mocking snort along with it. "After Red stuffed Antarctica into the middle of my soddin' brain? It's peachy, Slayer. Get in here."

She gingerly stepped in, toes dancing between the spread of his legs, trying not to block the warm water, trying to decide whether to shampoo her hair first or kneel down and scrub the hot hero first. She wasn't trying to be selfish, either. The faster she was done, the sooner this could turn into a naughty shower, which would totally be her hubby's preference. "Just give me five seconds to-"

"Oh no, you don't. Get up here." His good eye held an unmistakably wicked gleam as his finger crooked a come-hither.

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "Seriously?" There was no room to get "up there" unless she was pretty much standing on top of him. Oh. Duh. Spike would like certain parts of me hovering in face range at all times.

"You know your body holds treasures for me. Rubies, Kitten. Spilling. Pumping. Runnin' down your thighs. You're my bloody cure-all an' all you have to do is step up here to me."

Her cheeks flushed faintly. Rubies running down her thighs. Well, when he put it that way… "Let me just get the feel of him off of me first," she said quietly.

He growled softly, nodding with an uneven jerk of his chin. "Want to scrub you down myself. Gonna kiss all the places he put his hands. Make you all better."

Buffy smiled as she raked her pink bath puff down her arms and quickly over her chest and legs. Spike, seemingly always hard when clothes came off, stiffened further. She briefly considered eroticizing her motions, then decided against it. She'd do that on the second cycle, the post-messy-bite-y-no-holds-barred-sex clean up. She vigorously washed her hair, eyes closed under the water.

"You're mine? I can't believe that," Spike was murmuring in an almost sleepy voice. "Look how beautiful you are. Look how fast you're healed, Pet. Already closed over. So strong, aren't you… "

Closed over. I was closed over. Thought it was just me being all "Supergirl." Riley never even got to meet the real me. I was always careful around him, not to screw up, seem too strong, or share too much. Be the perfect girlfriend. Then, the Faith thing. The Initiative thing. Hide the anger. Work through things I didn't think I should have to get past. Pretend.

He was pretending, too, all along, that he loved me for me. He loved me for him, for the parts he wanted.

Now he's dead and I feel sad and relieved. All I associate with that name is fear and regret.

Her eyes opened, studying Spike's rapt face, luminous eyes, multi-colored watching her like he was seeing some goddess come to earth or some masterpiece come to life. Funny how things flip. "I'm not."

"Hm?" He ran his fingers slowly up her calf, a light, longing touch.

She tilted her head back, letting the shampoo rinse out. Spike's hum turned into a whimper. He's checking out the throat. Naughty vamp. "I'm not closed up around you. Funny thing." She had very few steps to go, but she swayed as she walked those inches to reach him, hands cupping her breasts, sliding sensuously over her wet skin. Tracing her bites, from throat to the swell of her bust, seeing his eyes widen, one much more than the other. "I always had walls up, even around the safe guy. Turns out the dangerous one… the one with fangs," she paused, bent to caress his chin, "is the one I'm meant to be totally free with."

"That's right. That's right, Beautiful." She was the very definition of beautiful, her slender hips even with his shoulders, one leg coming up slowly, resting against his arm as she let him into a guarded paradise, pink and red, a rose with variegated petals. He rested his weak hand in hers, letting her grip it while his good arm snaked around her waist and pulled her near, fitting her mound down perfectly onto his hungry mouth.

"Oh, God." Buffy dropped his hand and held onto the back of his head instead. At once, her frayed nerves were connected to one little knot, a pink nub that he flicked with his tongue before he sucked and tongued her greedily. "Oh, fuck, Spike…" Nope, hand had to go to the metal bar of the shower, gripping it for dear life as he moaned while lapping her.

"Reserved for the good guys," he mumbled between sips, making her laugh between moans.

"That was- ohhhh- my line."

"I'm a good-ish sort now. Gonna get my prezzie. Cock's not damaged." His hand gripped the inside of her thigh, slithering his tongue up and into her center, listening to an artery in her leg thumping away, a sweet bass line alongside his ear. Feeling her start to shake the more insistently he probed. Feeling himself get stronger after only a few moments of lapping at this sacred chalice, his "weak" hand strong enough to start working his cock.

"You're- not- damaged. Not so bad we can't fix it." The idea that her blood was healing him and empowering him made her feel somehow more confident with the act that she already regarded as natural between them. "Do you- feel any different?"

Like he could go for a few weeks without a break, burnt up facial tissues and wonky brain bits or no… Not what she meant. "Feel stronger already." If she could hush a minute or two more he could really make her cum, all over his tongue, dripping juices into his mouth, the tang of powerful blood with salty-sweet sex… He burrowed in hard, shifting to game face with a wince. His hands dug into her cheeks, one thumb circling on her unopened little hole, making her jump and buck her pussy down deeper on his tongue. Gonna take her there one day, one say when she's ready for it, begs for it. And then she'll turn around and roger me senseless, because she's the best wife in the world and she's mine, forever.

One shouldn't feel so deliciously depraved and so deeply blessed all at once. If he were the questioning sort, he'd give himself a headache. His beloved was apparently also suffering with incoherent thoughts, judging by the way her eyes were rolling back and soundless lips were spasming.

Buffy hadn't gotten the answer she wanted and she was going to rectify it. Once her brain stopped short-circuiting because- Spike- finger- THERE, Spike's tongue inside- oh fuck, oh fuck- "Ohhhhh!" She shook while he greedily gulped, finally finishing in a cascade of squeals.

He looked up, licking his lips as she shakily sank to her knees, kneeling between his. "I meant, does your head feel different?" Buffy clarified, collapsing against his chest.

"I won't know until I try to punch a human."

"Maybe we can spar a little soon. No punches pulled."

He looked at her as she leaned her head wearily into his chest. She was less blurry on the edges before. Must be healing happening in his damaged eye. "Maybe. Maybe we can stay in. Have your mates over?" The words came easily, but the demon was dragging its heels. Have her pals over? Those useless little humans?

Who saved your life, chum. Also, who'll make it a damn sight easier to be who you wanna be without the shock collar in your noggin.

"Spike, that's so sweet. I think I'd like to wait for a little while, at least until we have a place for people to sit down."

"I've seen your lot sit on the floor plenty of times! Too many of 'em not to," he mumbled, lips to her hair.

"They're not just my lot. Not just my 'mates.' They're your friends, too. They like you, too. Care about you." She kissed the cool white skin of his chest, shifting as his hardness hit the curve of her cheeks.

"No. Not that. Not exactly." He could feel the disappointment hunch her shoulders into him in a way that had nothing to do with snuggling or sex. Must really be feelin' off. Not even gonna argue with me? He smiled crookedly where she couldn't see it. "I think they're more like family. You know, they tolerate me. Gotta put up with me 'cause of you an' your mad desire for my hot, tight little body."

"Little?" Buffy wiggled her hips purposefully, looking up at him with a grin.

"Said it to make you smile."

"Oh, it definitely makes me smile. And so does what you said. I agree- almost."

"Must be feelin' better." He'd miss that sparkle and smartmouth if she became a brainless dolt, someone to say yes to everything he said, like Dru had become to her darling Daddy, like Dracula wanted, a mindless drone to show off and pander to his ego.

"They don't just like you because I like you. Not just that. They like you because they see that you're pretty awesome. In a semi-evil, largely-good-when-it-suits-you sorta way." She sat up straight and faced him head on, arms lacing around his neck, feeling two good hands pointedly pulling her astride his hips. It was her turn for a half-smile, for her eyes to go wide. "Wow. What'd you call this "Monthly Special" again?"

"Mana." He pronounced it with a drawn out ah sound on each syllable. "It just means lifeblood. Lots of vamps say that's any sort of blood from a living human, but uh- yeah." He ran a hand over his rapidly smoothing skin. "Looks like it's a bit more, or maybe because you're my girl, my Kindred, or 'cause you're the Slayer. Whatever it is, it does a body good. Like you for me. You do me good, Baby."

She sank onto him slowly, watching his face go slack, then tighten, eyes closed and cheekbones heighted as he sucked in a lustful waft of steam and her scent. "You do me good- ha- in so many ways," she smothered a giggle under a groan as she took him to the hilt, so deep in this position that she felt an edge of pain before her walls fluttered and spasmed, taking him home. "You saved me. Again. Set me free…"

"Shhh. You saved me. Set me free. With a little help from Red," he sighed, head roving into her palm as she slid it through his hair. "But free from so much else. From things I never was really happy bein'." A fighter without the lover bit. Lonely. A slave to my heart, love's bitch instead of its champion. God, he loved her so much more every day. With a growl of urgency, he grabbed her by the back of the head and forced her head down to his, kissing her long and deep. His mouth went on a tour, flashing between fangs and regular incisors, suckling her neck, her bite, her nipples as she arched back.

I could go rougher now. Chip's out. Could push those limits. Could bite down hard.

Maybe she'd like it.

He'd ask later. Right now… "Say it to me, Slayer."

"Mine."

"Yours."

"Kindred. Husband. Blood of my blood." Old magic was starting to feel like normal words. Maybe whatever the hell is in me, that piece of demon strength from long ago, is finally fed and settling down, not dragging me down, hollowing me out. Fitting in. Even after the night from hell, her shoulders relaxed.

"Blood of my blood. Heart's blood. Life's blood." He waited. Here was where she'd broken down in tears a half hour before.

This time her voice rang out, confident and at ease. They spoke as one, moved as one "My blood. Yours, ever and always, past life and death, to a second life and beyond."

It was going to be a good night after all.

"That was a really nice night. I'm- shocked as hell." Gunn took Cordy's arm. She was a little tipsy. He didn't like her being a little tipsy, not 'cause he had some messed up rules in his mind, but because he knew why his partner-sister was hitting the ginger and Sangsom cocktails a little hard.

Angel could send a cloud over that big-ass smile with one little text. One text no one else was supposed to see, but that he and Wes had both not-so-discreetly read over her shoulder.

While you're out living it up with the undead Lady Di, I'm going to take out a nest. I won't wait up.

"He's passive aggressive," Cordy mumbled, stuffing her phone back in her purse. No more texts. What if he was dead and dusted? He might do that out of spite- if he weren't going to go into deep self-torture mode trying to help save Buffy from Dracula and not being able to do it in the physical sense of the word.

"It happens when you have a split personality," Gunn consoled. "Hey. Lorne didn't actually ban us. We could go there? We can go back to the hotel and get your sneakers and some jeans and we can go take out a nest. We could follow up some leads. Maybe Wes and Daniela can stop making out long enough to-"

"I can hear you, Charles," Daniela reminded him, her throaty laugh ringing in the night air, Wesley's besotted grin shining like one of the stars visible through the remnants of smog. "We have stopped 'making out' for the moment."

"Daniela is a guest. If there's not an urgent need to patrol, I say we spend our time in more leisurely pursuits." Leisurely making love. The way she moved in his arms, the effortless way her hips rolled to swallow him deep and completely…

"Mmm. My favorite cologne," Daniela dropped a kiss and a whisper just above his collar. She watched him flush and felt him harden as her hand deftly brushed past his thigh as she feigned an adjustment to her dress. Arousal. Pheromones. Hormones. Testosterone. Lovely how in English, those words rhyme with moan and groan, things she couldn't wait to pull from his lips, things she couldn't wait to give him freely, wholly enjoying their pleasure without any mental fog or shadows to confuse her.

"They gone," Charles huffed as the two seemed to fall into a non-verbal state of locked eyes and heavy breathing.

"Lucky," the other brunette muttered sulkily.

"He does not have a split personality, you realize? Not truly." Daniela tried to focus on the others before she gave into the demon's urging that public sexual exploits might be frowned on, but that was silly human rule. She would gladly take Wesley on the nearest waist-height surface if it weren't for those pesky American policemen.

Cordy and Wesley began a joint protest."Well, no, he's not like other vampires."

"He has a soul. Angelus, the demon, is-"

"Is not gone with a soul. A soul doesn't displace his demon, or else he would not exist as a vampire, would not," she suddenly smiled, brow lifting in arches of bone, "be able to do this. This is the demon's countenance inside the human flesh."

"Oh damn, don't say things like 'flesh.'" Gunn shuddered irritably. "Sounds like some kinda cannibal from a horror movie!"

Her aquiline features returning, she shrugged delicately. "He may feel very different with a soul, I am sure. It's just that the demon is not gone. It must be made to behave, but it's not gone. With or without a soul, vampires are capable of conscious thought. We are not all mad-dog killers, screaming through the night and tearing out throats. We would be a thing of fact, not of myth if that were the case!"

"But- but when Angelus is in control-"

"He makes a choice, mon enfant," Daniela said with a dismissive wave that she instantly regretted. She ignored the hurt on Cordelia's face, the stubbornness on Wesley's, and the look of rapt attention on Gunn's. "The older a demon, the more control he has, the more he has exercised restraint, or else he would not have lived so long. Angelus is indeed a nasty piece of work and I'm glad 'Angel' has him in control. That is to say, he has himself under control. He can still kill with a soul. Thousands of humans do it every day He spared lives without a soul- passing up dozens of victims to torture one for longer. Virgins. So many virgins, poor little things."

"Stop," Cordelia's voice was hard, shaking.

"Daniela, that's-" Wesley ached to silence her and say "that's enough." But he didn't not. "That's very painful for us to hear. We are his friends. We love him, despite his past sins."

"I'm delighted. It means perhaps there is -" her normal eloquence fled. She shook her head mutely and took his arm, walking forward in silence.

"There's a chance for you, too?" Cordelia didn't leave things alone, she rarely could.

"I- it would be nice." What a multitude of gifts could be covered in one little word, bless the simple Americans.

"So- wait. He could still be a good guy- without a soul?" Cordelia frowned and stumbled in her stilettos, crashing into Wesley and Daniela.

"Him? As I knew of him? I highly doubt it. What keeps him 'good' now?"

"Guilt. Misery. Not wantin' to have more guilt and misery," Charles said complacently.

"Hmm. I imagine it is wiser not to find out. Many demons kill the things they love most to sever connections to the human world. Many, many vampires. You should perhaps find out-"

"He did. He killed his whole family." Wesley admitted tersely. So much for leisure and lovemaking.

"What about you?" Gunn asked, not caring if it was rude.

"Me? Oh no. My family wouldn't have let me become Dracula's wife if the price was their lives. No, they attended the ceremony- the human one, that is. I saw them once or twice after. It was- different. I embraced them, I was shown off, presented, you might say. "Oh, look at our Daniela, now blessed and favored with everlasting life. I remember I could scarcely converse. I clung to him so." She shook herself suddenly. Her parents, her brothers, her aunties and uncles, she supposed they must have lived on, many more years after that? Why had she never gone to see them again? Why had her life become an endless fest of debauchery and finery, her only thoughts of him? "He consumes you so completely. You feel there is very little left of yourself after a while," she whispered, shivering though she didn't feel anything but the dull heat of Los Angeles in September.

As she walked on, leaning on Wesley, Cordelia's arm somehow through hers, she realized they had descended into silence. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to derail us so. I would love to meet this Lorne. He owns a cabaret? How thrilling!"

"Perhaps tomorrow night? I'm suddenly feeling rather tired." Wesley lied, but very convincingly. His eyes and limbs felt weary. His heart was exhausted. How many centuries of pain and loneliness had she endured, always masking it, or blind to it? Did that mean it didn't exist?

"Non! Mon chere, j'suis-" Daniela's rapid, apologetic French didn't need a translation.

They read each other so well already. I wish I… I wish Angel… Cordelia steered them abruptly in a circle, rerouting them back toward the direction of the city where Wesley's car was parked next to hers in a fairly safe-looking garage. "We're tired, too. Lorne is incredibly generous- but he also does have a limit of how much Charles Gunn he can take in one week."

"Hey! You're the one who- Mm!" He caught one of Cordy's lethal weapon heels in his shin. That's the way they were gonna play this, huh? "That's right. He said you're flat."

Cordelia looked down at her plunging neckline indignantly. "No one has ever said-"

"Your voice. You were flat. And pitchy."

"Bitchy!?" she screeched.

"That, too."

Wesley left them arguing by Cordelia's vehicle, only pausing long enough to exchange goodbyes. "They're very wonderful people. Do you think they will choose the path of brother and sister? Or lovers?" Daniela asked speculatively as she sank into the passenger seat.

"I very much fear Cordelia's heart is lost to a tall, dark mysterious savior of the innocent," he sighed.

"She cannot have you. You are mine, I've laid my clai-" He meant Angel.

"I meant Angel, though I do not know exactly how that will go." Wesley drove in silence for a minute. "You were simply using an old expression, weren't you? Laid your claim?"

"One does not like to use the word 'staked'."

"No, naturally." Another turn, a dense wall of traffic, and her hands pressed the selection buttons on his radio. "The other night-"

"It was impetuous and it was not said with any sort of permanence!" Daniela hastily reassured. She'd been so caught up in their conversation, his passionate, steady argument, refusing to let her talk him out of his feelings, risky as they were. "If you possess me, then I am your host. You consume me, I feed you. Without me- you'd waste away. Without you, I'd be empty… Let me be yours. I'll fill you up, and neither of us will be empty again."

She recalled agreeing, she recalled hasty plundering of mouths and bodies, her fangs plunging firmly into the hollow between neck and shoulder. "Mine."

"I wasn't implying that you'd done something without my knowledge. Without my approval. Only, was that… Does that bind us in some way?"

"No, my darling. You need to consume my blood, too. Even then, you are a human. The bond would be fairly weak." Weak? Or merely impermanent? Unequal doesn't mean weak, not necessarily. A lion and a bear are not equal, but only fools would call either creature weak. Still. He's a human. Although, he is a man of magical abilities. He is beyond a "mere mortal", at least to me.

"I understand, utterly, why you wouldn't like to be in that position again. Absolutely." Maybe if he said it often enough, he could get rid of the urge to put himself in that position, of belonging to her, of her belonging to him. He was not about ownership. He was about partnership. Still, any such connotation would bring up painful reminders… "I love you."

She blinked, startled at the suddenness of his words and at their absolute conviction. "Wesley, even if I - even though I do love you, I-"

"No, no! Dammit, that wasn't what I was trying to say, my love. I simply wanted to reassure you. That I love you. We may never use words in a permanent way, but I hope to only love you more. Not less. Drat, that was our turn, wasn't it?"

His love and his reassurance filled her with warmth. Then heat. Urges that she normally satisfied voraciously, many lovers in a month, satisfying her own needs while creating memorable moments for them as well, moments that would keep them coming back.

Wesley simply came back for her. Her fingers slid over his wrist, over his knee, walking in sensuous circles. "Do you wish…" her voice was a husky purr, a tempter's caress that sprang straight to his cock, "to possess me more fully?"

He swallowed hard. Lies were not allowed, not after the horrors of keeping secrets in the beginning. The truth would reflect rather poorly on him, too. "Yes. I confess it, I do, not without a return. I wish it were possible, possible and simple, for us to have those sorts of bonds and connections. It's-"

"-not quite what you want, but I have ideas." The deft fingers turned into massaging ones, kneading his leg, then his firm, semi-stiff member, making him breathe short and shallow as he sailed onto the highway. "I want you to possess me more fully than you have already. I want you to take me in ways others have not, I want to be with you, having you as well."

"I will, yes, whatever you want us to do together," he agreed at once, mind racing. As others have not? What in the world could she mean?

To be continued…

I HAD to. I'm sorry. Wes and Daniela need their own scene and it's already way detailed and smutty. I alternate my plot and smut (sometimes).

Speaking of smutty goodness, I'm about to put out another CrossRealms book in December, 2021 (hopefully!), based on my old Finding Faith piece (sequel to Offers You Can't Refuse). I would love to pick up some new readers of paranormal romance/erotica. If you're a fan of my work, I hope you'll try it out! My pieces are always free with Kindle Unlimited under the name of S.C. Principale.