NINETEEN

* * *

Tight things, around her wrists and her ankles. A belt around her hips, another around her chest, pressed up against the flesh of her breasts. Tight, padded, unyielding. She would die now, as he took her.

She cried out and fought.

#

His tongue, hot and harsh, licked at her throat.

"You are easy prey, slayer."

Slayer.

Slayer.

Just there, she had knocked Angel from his feet.

Just there.

In each generation there is a chosen one.

She cried out. Her arm came up, then down, over the vampire's, snapping his hold on her, her elbow then slashing up. She felt the crunch of fangs and bone as it did, as he staggered back, spitting blood and teeth.

"What?" he demanded.

Her foot then, lashing out. The blow caught him, sent him back into the far wall. By the time he had risen to his feet again Mr. Pointy was in her hand, driving into his chest.

He screamed and then there was dust.

#

Dust.

Specks of it, in the air. Floating in a sunbeam.

Floating above her.

It was quiet in the room. She could hear her own breathing.

Her wrists were bound, her ankles also. Across her chest were two thick belts, padded. She was helpless.

It was good. She watched the dust as it floated in the sunbeam above her.

#

In time the door opened. A woman came in, heavy and with dark skin, dressed in a white shirt and white pants. She stepped to the side of the bed, looked down at her.

"How are you feeling today, Buffy?"

After a moment the word emerged.

"Better."

The woman smiled. "That's good. I'm going to take your pulse now, all right? Then, if you're still all right, we'll see about letting you up in a little while. Do you need anything?"

Buffy shook her head.

"No."

The woman smiled again, and Buffy felt her warm fingers against her neck.

"Much better," she said. "You gave us all quite a time, last night."

"I'm sorry."

The woman looked surprised. Then she reached over, gently touched at Buffy's cheek.

"That's all right, Buffy. You rest now."

The thick door closed and it was silent again.

Quiet good.