Chapter Two

There was blood everywhere - on the walls, in the streets. The air tasted of it, tangy and acrid. The smell of fear was overwhelming. God, he loved that smell! Pure, unbridled, animal fear. It made his borrowed blood sing.

Spike entered the temple with a spring in his step, and a song beating in his undead heart. "Here Slayer, Slayer, Slayer," he called.

He liked this game. He really did. Hunting Slayers. Usually, he found that violence was its own reward. But tonight, oh tonight, the spoils would be extra sweet. He could almost taste the Slayer blood on his lips.

"Where are you?" he asked, looking behind one pillar and then another. "Why not come out and play with dear old Spike?"

Before he knew what hit him, a girl came flying at him from out of nowhere. She surprised him with a quick kick to his midsection, and then punched him solidly in the face when he doubled over. He barely caught a glimpse of her, before she struck him with her fist a second time.

Something was wrong. He had come to China looking for the Slayer. The Slayer. From all accounts, she was a small, Oriental girl. Not a blonde. Spike called upon all his reserves and, with concerted effort, was able to catch her fist the next time it flew through the air.

"So, now, Goldilocks? Just who do you think you are?"

"Your worst nightmare," she spit back at him.

"Oh I see, I see. Is that what you really think? Well, let me tell you something, little girl. I don't have nightmares. I am one." He pulled her arm behind her back viciously and laughed in her ear when he heard her wince in pain. "That's right. Let's hear you cry pet."

He moved to take a bite out of her well-exposed neck, but before his fangs could make contact, she brought the heel of her boot down painfully on his toes. "Bloody hell!" he screamed as he let her go. Damn, she was strong! Not your ordinary little girl. Was that what Slayer strength was like? How could she be the Slayer? It wasn't possible.

Before he could fully recover, she came at him again, pure hatred burning behind her eyes. She took another swing at him, landing a crippling punch to his gut. Caught off balance, he fell to the floor, and she advanced on him.

"Go ahead Spike. You want to hurt me? Now's your chance."

A low, growling sound rumbled somewhere deep in his chest. He repositioned himself and then sprang for her, catching her at the knees and dragging her to the ground. She was pinned beneath him. He could feel her body writhing against his. "Is this what you want Slayer? You want me to take you?"

"You couldn't if you tried."

Instinct spurring him on, he grabbed for her wrists and brought them up beside her head. A rage was burning inside of him, unlike anything he had ever felt before. He couldn't control it. She struggled with him, and suddenly he found himself staring down into her eyes, a completely new sensation filling him. Something beyond mere bloodlust. He wanted her, and he was going to have her.

He let go of one of her arms, and lowered his hand to tear at her clothes. He had the vague sense that she was crying, pleading with him, but he couldn't hear anything, only the deafening sound of her heart pounding wildly, of the blood rushing through her veins.

"Slayer," he growled as his hand moved lower. "Buffy." He unzipped her pants and moved his hand inside, touching her at her very core. He felt her struggle even more, but he wouldn't let her go. He positioned himself to move inside her, and finally, her words began to penetrate his muddled brain.

"Please, Spike, don't. Please," she begged him.

But he wouldn't listen. He had to have her. He drove inside her.

She screamed. "Spike!"

Spike opened his eyes, pure terror coursing through his veins. "Oh God!" He was reliving it. He always relived it, every night, every day. But this time was different. This time it had been real.

He pushed himself up from his pallet on the floor, and stepped out into the night. He was breathing heavily, he didn't know why. Vampires didn't need to breathe. But right now, it was all his body could do to sustain him.

He had been in Africa for two months now. After getting his soul back, he had fallen into unspeakable despair. Once he'd managed to crawl out of that cave, the local shaman had found him and taken him back to the village, to be nursed. He knew the locals were only trying to help, but truth be told, all Spike wanted was to burn in the sun. It was all he deserved.

It had all come back to him, once he had gotten the soul. Everything he had ever done. But somehow, nothing in all the atrocities he had committed, could compare to his hurting Buffy. He loved her, and he had tried to violate her in the most unspeakable way. He had failed, of course. But it didn't matter. The intention had been there, and he knew now, for certain, that if she hadn't have stopped him, he would have gone through with it.

He didn't deserve to exist. He turned around and looked at the hut behind him, searching for something, anything that might end his torment. There were no torches lit tonight, no accessible weapons visible, not even a simple piece of wood to pierce his own heart with. Even so, there had to be a way. And he would find it.