By Saj
NOTE: I'M HAVING A NIGHTMARE TRYING TO GET
CERTAIN PARAGRAPHS IN ITALICS. SOMETIMES IT
WORKS, SOMETIMES NOT. SORRY. EMAIL ME IF
YOU'RE DESPERATE TO SEE IT CORRECTLY FORMATTED
AND I WILL SEND IT AS AN ATTACHMENT.
Chapter 5
Trust
To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.
To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,
And find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,
And is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.
To Know the Dark
Wendell Berry
"When you look at me, I disappear," she whispered as his sapphirine eyes caressingly swallowed her. He replied in a quiet, measured voice, "I see you." He fondled her hair with one hand while the other roamed the land of her body, nestling into the wet warmth between her legs, as he murmured, "All of you." Buffy arched into his exploring fingers and closed her eyes. His soft lips nibbled on hers as he whispered, "Always." He stroked her wet folds until her hips were moving with the rhythm he set. She wrapped her hand lightly around his as she kissed him deeply, caressing his mouth with her tongue. He put his arm under her and pulled her to him as he slid one finger slowly into her, then a second, stroking her inner walls as she contracted against him. Buffy moaned uncontrollably as she clenched his fingers, her hips arching higher. She whispered his name with an urgent tenderness. He held her tightly as she surrendered, his fingers locked into her deeply, pushing right there, the place only he knew, while her thighs wrapped around his hand, holding him with all of her body as the electric waves of her orgasm flowed through her. His fingers moved with her, becoming lost in the hot, dark velvet of her cunt. Buffy let out a long, undulating cry as Spike rocked her back and forth, side to side, her hips melting against him, until their bodies were still, molded into one form, her warm breath the only thing between them. He gently kissed her forehead, her eyes, her lips, and began to softly rock her again. Buffy threaded her fingers through the silky curls of his hair and pressed her lips against his ear to whisper, "Forgive me."
With a groan, Buffy woke up. Her body felt as if all of her major bones had dissolved. "Ohhhh", she moaned. Spike. She wrapped her arms around her down pillow, and hugged it to her. Now she remembered. He was gone. She felt a hollowness in her chest and a moaning ache lower down. She may never feel the full length of his body entwined with hers again. The dead emptiness that had permeated the crypt came back to her.
She looked at the clock. 7:00 a.m. She had slept less than two hours.
She could hear Dawn rustling around in the kitchen. She would be leaving for school any minute. Damn.
Buffy jumped out of bed, grabbed her robe and flew downstairs, catching Dawn just as she was gathering up her backpack to head out the door.
"Oh, Dawn, I'm sorry. I wanted to have breakfast with you. Afraid I overslept." She went over to her sister and gave her a hug.
Dawn shrugged and smiled at her, "It's okay. No biggie. I got your note that you would be out late. You okay?" She had a concerned look on her face.
"Yeah, fine." Buffy yawned, then said, "I'm good."
"What happened?"
"Nothing. Just the usual." A look of frustration fell over Dawn's features. Buffy took a breath and added, "Well, actually, I did some patrolling and then I went to Spike's crypt. I was there most of the night."
Alarm flashed across Dawn's face. "He's not back is he? You weren't there with him?"
"No, no! Just me, with me. Just thinking about things. His crypt is good for that, you know, mulling and pondering. It has a quiet feel to it, kinda like a church…."
Dawn gave her a look that could peel paint. "Yeah. Sure. All meditatey and church-like. Just how I remember it." She slung her backpack over her shoulder and headed towards the door. Stopping and turning to look back at Buffy, she said, "You miss him."
Buffy went numb, unable to pull up a convenient mask to hide behind. She sighed and pushed onward, making an effort to be more open with Dawn. "Sometimes. I'm just trying to put things together in my mind. Trying to understand." She stepped closer to Dawn and tenderly nudged a strand of satiny hair away from her sister's face. "You need to get to school. You know, redeem the Summers' reputation. We can talk later if you want."
Dawn let out a sigh and then hugged her. "I know it's stupid and wrong, but…I think about him too." And she was out the door and bounding down the sidewalk with the gangly legs and graceful bounce of a gazelle.
Sagging against the doorframe, Buffy sighed worriedly. Dawn's feelings for Spike had retreated underground when she had learned of his hurting Buffy. They had never really talked about it. When he disappeared from Sunnydale, she and Dawn had silently conspired to act as if he hadn't ever meant anything to them, sharing an attitude of good riddance. Yet, Buffy knew that's not how they really felt. Yeah, good riddance to all that was irritating about him, which was at times a whole lot. Although she had to admit that sometimes she missed the way Spike had gotten her hackles up like no one else could, because no one else could see into her the way he had.
She and Dawn had had different relationships with him, each with its own idiosyncrasies, and she'd bet that Dawn missed those things that had been special between her and Spike. And that she probably felt guilty about it. Perhaps, in truth, Dawn had a love for Spike similar to hers, a love that just grew where it shouldn't have, like the morning glory poking through a crack in the concrete wall outside, blooming against all odds.
Sunlight shone through the open door, touching Buffy's bare shoulder. Stretching, she raised her arms as high above her as she could while letting the warmth of the sun flow over her face. After a minute, she sighed, closed the door and went into the kitchen to pour a glass of orange juice. She sat down at the table and lost herself in the early morning sun and shadows playing against the natural wood of the walls.
Being more honest and open with Dawn and Xander was hard, like trying to be someone else, the ideal Buffy that lived in her imagination. She had come to think that it wasn't just her personal neurotic baggage that made her feel a need to keep things inside, but that the strong impulse of holding things in was part and parcel of Slayer psychology. The more she watched her efforts at being open, or vulnerable, or asking for support, the more she felt that exposing her feelings was going against some basic program. Everything in her struggled to be self-contained and to speak cautiously, to handle things herself.
Buffy felt a spark of anger. They didn't understand. How could they possibly grasp the ultimate aloneness that is central to being a Slayer? Their constant manipulation to get her to be what they wanted, as well as her own efforts to act as if slaying was some kind of part-time job, had thoroughly exhausted her. The bottom line was that she was a Slayer and everything in her was about that. Even the way she loved. She didn't love softly, openly or easily. She loved the way she killed, with a toughness of heart and an unyielding strength of will. And through the very act of loving, she put herself, her friends, and her family in danger. The less they knew about her vulnerabilities and her inner world, the safer they were. A familiar pain stirred and settled into the center of her chest.
She got up and took her glass to the sink and started washing the dishes that had collected, enjoying the feel of the hot water and sudsy slipperiness on her hands as she slid the mint-green sponge across the white china plates. Buffy thought about Spike and how she had been able to lose herself in him and not worry that he would be put in danger as a result.
The flow of her thoughts suddenly stopped and she stood still with the dripping sponge in her hand.
Worry or care?
Buffy felt a layer of hot shame fall across her shoulders and chest, like a scarlet shawl. She hadn't cared. She had told herself that she could use him because he didn't mean anything to her, he was a thing. A slimy film of nausea began curling around her stomach. Or was it because he shouldn't have meant anything to her? Had she screwed him with such angry desperation as an effort to kill her desire for him? Had she beaten him to a bloody pulp because of what truths about her would come to light if she admitted her feelings for him? Loving Spike, even just caring about him, had caused her world to spin out of control.
And Giles had laughed! In that moment, with just a turn of whimsy, her craziness had become laughable and had dropped apart into pieces as light as feathers, revealing that her feelings and desire for Spike made her human, not bad. As she had laughed with him she had been released from her inner dark prison of self-loathing and shame.
Thank God for Giles.
Allowing herself to love Giles, to need him, was hard for her and caused her to fear for his safety. But, Giles, of all people, knew the risks in choosing to place his life on the line next to hers. She had come to accept this and had surrendered to her need for his guidance and skills. In the past few months they had been working together trying to unravel the puzzle that was a Slayer. She told him about the changes in her body, the increase in Slayer strength and agility. The visions. The dreams. He shared with her what he had been finding out about Slayer cultures and the Slayer journals.
Oh! Buffy was jerked out of her pensive meanderings as she remembered what lay hidden in her dresser. She quickly wiped her hands dry and then dashed upstairs and carefully pulled open the third drawer. Her heart was pounding. There it was. Under a layer of cotton t-shirts lay a plain bound notebook that had arrived from Giles yesterday. She held it in trembling hands, staring at the label: "Shan-Ling Hu 1882 – 1900". She had tucked it away last night before going on patrol.
Giles had found out that the Council Watcher who had been in China at the time of the Boxer Revolution had approached Shan-Ling's last teacher, Wupshi. The old woman, knowing that all precious items in her care would soon be lost to the chaos ripping through the country, presented the Watcher with a scroll bearing the story of Shan-Ling, put together using Shan-Ling's writings along with her own. The original complete journal of Shan-Ling was lost to the din of revolution. Upon the Watcher's careful delivery of the scroll, the Council had indifferently forwarded it unexamined to their archives to be stored with the other Slayer journals.
After taking a quick shower, Buffy put on her gray sweatpants and a faded t-shirt. She pulled her hair back into a bun, left her face bare of makeup and took the notebook downstairs with her. Pouring a cup of coffee and grabbing a donut, she headed for the training room, locking the door behind her. She didn't want anyone knowing about the Slayer journals yet, or disturbing her as she pored over this one. Sitting cross-legged on a newly-purchased purple meditation pillow and her back resting against the sky-blue wall, she picked up the bound translation of the story of Shan-Ling Hu.
Out of nowhere, Spike thought about the Chinese Slayer. The very least he had deserved was a slow, torturous death at her hands. Now he had gone and done it for her, searched out the measured and continuous agony on his own. All that was left of him was spinning wildly about, caught and trapped as a moth in flame, and as willing to perish. Some bloody spell, that was. Every molecule of his burned to be near the Slayer, to serve her. If she would allow it, he would lay before her his body and soul, stripped of all but his absolute need to protect her. Wasn't complaining, mind you, just admiring the impressiveness of it all and harboring a strange gratitude.
As he walked away from Ralph down the dirt trail, each muscle tense and poised to fight or make a run for it, he took stock. He felt strong, no hint of the tremors that had been ever-present since his soul had crash-landed in the middle of his chest. It seemed that he had traded the shakes for a constant, pulsing burn in his heart, directly under the pearlescent, crescent-shaped scar. He winced as he remembered the excruciating pain of railroad spikes repeatedly piercing him, the last one plunging through his heart. His chest had burst into flames, causing him to momentarily black out, only to find his heart the center of a small wildfire when he re-entered the trance dream. There had been blinding pain and the sound of his own screams as his heart slowly burned down to a fist-sized ember. He was pretty sure that it hadn't been a literal occurrence, yet something had to have happened on this side of reality, or why else would he bear the strange scar that should have healed by now? Even the searing of his flesh caused by Lurky's not so tender touch had healed with little sign of scarring.
His thoughts turned to Ralph as he continued along the footpath. She was a strange old bird and scary as hell. And totally obsessed with him finding some long-gone spiritual purity or some such thing.
Did you not see and touch your innocence?
What had she been going on about? The witch had made it sound like he had misplaced it somewhere along the road, like a sodding hat or something, and it was just sitting there waiting for him to come across it again. She may as well have asked if he had, by some chance, tripped over his virginity while trancing about.
Innocence, right. Just might have misplaced it while out and about on a killing spree. Visceral memories from death-filled nights immediately jumped out at him. The heat of the hunt racing through his body, laced with desire and vicious delight as he had basked in his strength and cunning. He could call up each one, play out the seduction and crafty way he had sprung his trap and savored the slow sucking of life a drop at a time, watch the exquisite light of terror whip through their eyes, and recall the ecstatic shivers their screams had sent through him, wave after orgasmic wave.
Stopping in his tracks, Spike tilted his head so he could concentrate his attention more fully. He could recall all of it, every minute detail, each soft, warm corpse, and it didn't cause him either unbearable pain or intense guilty pleasure. It was as if he held the memories intact within each cell, but they didn't have the power to cause the reactive emotional bludgeoning he had experienced before the soul-binding ritual. It was as if the memories had been neutralized. He could examine all the passions and cruelties of his vampiric life under a microscope and not have to look away. Not that he didn't have feelings. But the sadness, remorse, grief and horror, all of it was above the water line, so to speak, giving him a freedom to examine his actions and make choices not influenced by the emotional hell his soul had come wrapped in.
Sinking down, sitting on his heels, rocking, Spike held his head in his hands. Tears collected around his fingers, cool rivulets traveled down his face, causing dirty streaks to form against his skin as salty streams washed through layers of collected dust.
Ralph had done this. The witch had manipulated his body and soul as if he were clay in her hands. Suppose he should feel grateful. She'd saved him from years of excruciating torment, probable insanity and possibly an early dusting. Instead he felt outrage and a desire to twist her wrinkled little head clean off her skinny neck. What right did she have to take his pain away? It was his history, his karma, his to find a way through. His heartfelt anguish was all he had to offer for the horrendous brutality and grief he had brought into the world.
What was in this for her? This wasn't an act of altruistic compassion on Ralph's part, that much he was sure of. He recalled Ralph's words, "There is an ancient and unimaginably destructive force building. She will need you by her side."
It was true, something dark and extremely powerful was coming. He had felt it even before leaving Sunnydale; the demons had been gathering and the rumors brewing. His own demon spirit had been restless, harder to control. He had been so blinded by his pain and the urgency to seek out the agonies of getting a soul that he hadn't thought about the danger he was leaving Buffy in.
Flute-like calls of night birds floated around him along with their soft rustling among the bushes. It was pitch black, the moon and stars lost. He began walking faster and with his vampiric sight looked ahead, tracing the footpath as far as his eyes would allow. The trail was narrow, strewn with rocks and overgrown with roots. Just as Spike picked up the scent of an animal on the prowl, a male lion silently crossed the path far ahead of him, every bit of his magnificent body alert for the kill. It came to him that he could hardly be any further from Sunnydale, or Buffy.
Shutting his eyes, he imagined her on patrol, a quirky smile on her face as she threw puns at the latest vamp before staking him with the speed and skill he knew so well. If he really focused he could recall her musky, vanilla scent, and if he focused harder, he could remember the particular taste and feel of his tongue against the sweet, softly textured, lushness of her moist, warm.…he was an ungrateful bastard. Buffy needed him and, thanks to Ralph, he could now return to Sunnydale undistracted by the tremors of a tormented soul.
With each touch of his electric fingers, his demon energy pulsed through her and she soaked it in as if it were the elixir of life itself, bringing her back to her body and spirit, the vitality of it whirling through her. His touch became tender and she shuddered, pulling away as if he had offered her a piece of rotten fruit. With an angry sneer Spike pinned her against the cold hardness of the crypt floor and with the skill of a whore, fucked her until she was satiated. Done with him, she quickly began dressing. She inadvertently caught the expression in his eyes as he silently watched her as he lay nude on the floor, his hands behind his head. In the flaming ice of his cool eyes she saw the angry look of a trapped and humiliated animal.
A quiver of shameful horror writhed its way through Buffy. The memory of that night with Spike had come upon her as she had been reading about the Slayer culture in China when Shan-Ling was Slayer.
An enclave of devotees of the Dark One, the creative force that burned at the core of all Slayers, had existed for centuries to serve and support the Slayer. Within the community both males and females were trained in the martial arts, sorcery, and religious ritual according to the talents of each individual.
Vampires were revered as sacred offspring of the Dark One, who fed off their powers. A number of spells had evolved over the centuries that worked to enthrall vampires and capture their preternatural energies for the Slayer and the Dark Mother. The most powerful of Slayers were known by the presence of a vampire warrior at her side as she hunted. Although vampires were perceived as holy, those that were undomesticated were dispatched of nightly in the traditional manner by the Slayer and her hunters, and those that had been tamed into service of the Slayer and her community were treated as prized slaves.
At the equinoxes, for as long as anyone could remember, the Slayer participated in tantric sexual rites using a vampire consort preened and cultivated for that purpose. These religious rituals worked to reinforce the primal bond between Slayer and vampire and to increase the Slayer's life energy and powers. The only other times the Slayer was allowed to enter into a sexual ritual with a vampire was if she was in need of psychic or physical healing.
The elders had understood the attraction between Slayer and vampire, had known the incredible power available when their energies were harnessed and synchronized, and had put into place strict laws of behavior to maintain the Slayer culture's purity and power. To sleep with a vampire outside of the prescribed holy rituals was punishable by public thrashing of the Slayer, and death for the vampire. To love a vampire was an unthinkable sacrilege, resulting in a ritualized flaying and burning of the Slayer's lover while she was forced to watch.
Buffy's breath had become a series of shallow gasps as she realized that these ancient laws were as embedded and as entwined within her psyche as the chip was in Spike. As she had slept with him, sucked his beautiful life into hers, and began to know her love for him, the inner network of Slayer cosmology ruled by ancient taboos had stormed through her screeching like an enraged siren.
Spike's swollen and bloody face looked up at her from the dirty pavement, his night-blue eyes sparking defiantly with his love for her and his willingness to take on her pain as she beat and pummeled him until he was unrecognizable. With each blow she shrieked like a mad woman, "You're a thing!" Her fist splitting his cheek open, "A soulless thing!" Her fist mashing shut his left eye, "I could NEVER love you!"
Head down, her hands in her lap, Buffy sobbed while sitting squarely on the meditation pillow. Forgive me, forgive me. She sat softly crying, letting her shame and pain wash through her until she felt a stone quiet come over her. Opening her eyes, she let them rest on her image looking back at her from the mirror on the opposite wall. Her face was pale and hollow, her eyes raw from crying, her legs crossed in a warrior's pose. She would not continue to be an unconscious tool of the primal forces that fueled her center. The Slayer power was moving within her again, changing her, and she swore that this time she would be the one to wield and mold these energies, she would choose who she would become.
With a fierce calm, Buffy picked up the journal and continued reading.
Shan-Ling, flashing-spirit, had been brought from the city as a small child after she had been identified as gifted. She was raised and taught the skills of witchcraft The Slayer of the community had a young son, Ling-Fei, immortal spirit. Shan-Ling and Ling-Fei had been inseparable since they were small. The elders smiled at the two of them, recognizing the rare entwinement of their spirits. At the age of 14, Shan-Ling was recognized as a full sorceress. Ling-Fei was in training as a warlock. Shan-Ling and Ling-Fei became lovers when they were 15 and it was expected that they would marry. The next year Ling-Fei's mother was killed by her long-time mortal enemy, Wu, a master vampire. Ling-Fei had been with her, fighting at her side. Those that returned reported that they last saw him bound and tied, thrown over Wu's horse as he and his followers had retreated, riding off in the direction of the mountain caves.
My spells have taken flight in the four directions in search of my Love, but find nothing but the echoes of his heartbeat. How will I go on when my eyes see only his and all I hear is the night filled with the bittersweet whisper of his drifting soul?
Sure that her lover was no longer alive, Shan-Ling left the village to go into ritual mourning. While grieving alone in a sacred hut by the edge of the river, the elders visited her.
They tell me I will be called, that She will slip into my heart and I will awake to see the Demon Woman's power burning in my eyes. The stars have whispered this. The village now waits for me to emerge from the floating realm of the ancestors, changed into a warrior with the strength and vision of the Dark One. While I pray and surrender my being to Her, my dreams fly along rivers that flow ceaselessly across the night plains looking for Ling-Fei.
The next full moon, her heart hardened by grief, Shan-Ling returned to her village and took up her responsibilities as Slayer. One evening as she patrolled the perimeter of their village alone, she was grabbed from behind. As they wrestled, she glimpsed his pale face. It was Ling-Fei. He whispered in her ear, "You have made my mother proud, Slayer." They continued to fight, neither willing to kill the other, until Ling-Fei suddenly vanished into the night. Each night thereafter he would reappear in the shadows of the village wall. Shan-Ling would watch his dim form as he moved, their eyes often meeting, a cold knowing spreading between them. The fifth night she followed him as he wound his way back into the mountains.
It was then that Spike became aware of being followed. There were maybe four on either side of the path, shadowing him, their sentient heartbeats a chorus of little drums pulsing through the bush around him. Further on ahead was the other, not moving, waiting. It was the same energy, the same person that had tracked him those nights that he had been wandering about.
Bugger. So, the witch wasn't letting him fly away after all. Should have known. He weighed the odds. The only weapons he had were what were built-in, the basic vampire hardware with a slight but significant modification. Bloody hell.
That left him with just his speed, wit and charm.
She began to take form, as if being shaped by darkness itself. She stood ahead of him in the middle of the path, leaning on a tree, a spear resting casually in one hand, her other hanging loose at her side. She was as tall as he, and as muscular. She wore a white, cotton halter-top and loose turquoise pants that ballooned around her as the breeze shifted. A wide gold band was wrapped around her left bicep. On her forehead, between her eyes, was a white flash of paint. Her hair was a wild mass of black dreadlocks, pulled back like unruly snakes into a ponytail.
Walking towards her, Spike hoped that a plan would come to him soon. The others were still trailing him, keeping to the bushes. He did what he usually did in this kind of situation. He shifted into a cool, predatory stance and pulled out a cigarette. He stopped and lowered his head to light the fag, noting that the scouts had also stopped. When he looked up, he saw that she was now walking steadily towards him with the confidence and stealth of a wild cat.
As she got closer, he could see her more clearly. Her face was round, her skin the color of dark coffee, and her features as perfect as an African sculpture, her lips full, and her nose elegantly long. Her almond-shaped black eyes spoke of a touch of Asian blood. He could see what looked like snakes tattooed on each forearm, graceful black spirals twisting up from her wrists. Spike scanned her body, taking in the fullness of her breasts and the curve of her generous hips. He gasped involuntarily. She was magnificent. A shining, black warrior, an Amazon Medusa.
"Well what have we here?" His eyes took quick stock of her as she stood before him. "It's you I have to thank for the blood." He stood still and looked at her intently, wrapping his vampire senses around her. "Isn't that right, Slayer?"
There was a magnetic force drawing them towards each other. Maybe he could use that to his advantage. A plan was emerging. He flashed his most seductive bad-boy smile and narrowed his eyes, looking at her through the silky length of his dark lashes. He would use his unfailing charm and vampire-of-the Called-variety attraction to distract her, and then shift into vampiric speed and run like hell.
She moved easily with the grace and power of an animal confident of its place in the world and positioned herself just far enough from Spike as to be challenging, and near enough to tempt him to be careless. She smiled, her teeth flickering white in the blackness of the night. "Hello, there. You're Ralph's vampire." Her dark eyes slowly flitted over him. "Aren't you beautiful though?" She laughed and added, "Heard you gave Ralph a black eye. That's only cause she wasn't expecting it." She quickly leapt and somersaulted over Spike, giving him a quick knock on the head as she flew above him.
Spike bent low and turned to face her. "Playful, are you, love? And awful sure of yourself." He quickly moved towards her and without thinking planted a light blow to her right eye. "Looks like Ralph's not the only one who might benefit from being a little more alert, pet. Maybe she should be out here…." He stepped back, stunned, as it registered that the chip hadn't gone off. He also realized in that same moment that he had lost his chance to make a run for it.
Rolling his eyes, he let out a hiss, "Balls."
In the time it took him to utter the curse, he found himself pinned tight from behind in a head-hold. The Slayer looked sideways at him with a satisfied smile on her lips. "I'm a little disappointed. You're far more pretty than smart." She gave his head a slight twist, just enough to tell him she was in a position to break his neck.
"Aaarrgh! Bloody hell, woman!" He managed to flip her over him, dropping her onto the rocky ground. He quickly straddled her and securely pinned her wrists against the pebbled earth, the eyes of the tattooed serpents glaring up at him.
An amused smirk crossed her face as she said, "Ahh, you've got me now vampire. What ever shall I do?"
Her small group of warriors had emerged from the cover of the brush and had gathered around, laughing and taunting the Slayer.
"Hey, Sabrine, you better watch out or we'll be training a new Slayer." From the laughter Spike could tell they had no belief whatsoever that he would come out on top here.
"Sabrine, is it?" He looked, really looked into her dark brown eyes glinting with amusement. She was utterly and completely fearless. Beneath him, her warm, generous body was relaxed, waiting.
With a twist of a smile and cheerful affect, Sabrine said, "Hey, just call me Slayer. All the vamps around here do." She cocked her head, studying him, and added in a low taunting voice, "Hear you've got a thing for Slayers."
The Slayer vibration was buzzing through him. Different than Buffy, but Slayer all the same. His body was responding with the predictable combination of alarm and arousal. The sweet sticky smell of her sweat along with the promise of the coppery taste of blood caused his hunger to swell. He slipped into game face, slow and graceful, like the smooth glide of a crocodile surfacing.
She took in every detail of his transformed features as if examining an esoteric work of art, all traces of amusement gone. "Aren't you a gorgeous beast," she whispered at last, with a hint of awe in her voice and a glimmering of strange passion flashing through her dark eyes.
Spike could feel her getting ready to make her move, though he wasn't clear what that would be. Her companions had moved in and formed a circle around them, their attention hyper-alert within their silence. He could sense her sending them signals to hold off, and could feel their tension as they readied to intervene at her cue. A fury rippled through him. He wanted to be done with this. Fucking tired of Slayers jerking him around.
"Struck a chord, did I?" She said softly.
"You could say that. Might want to be more careful who you play with, love."
She looked into the golden fire of his monster eyes as if they could foretell the future, and then softly said, "I am nothing if not careful." With that, she slowly turned her head exposing the full length of her neck, the muscles pulled taut, her face as calm as if she were asking for a neck rub.
Closing his eyes, Spike sank into the pulsing sensations of ravenous desire that were coursing through him, a bloodlust as intense as he could remember. Simultaneously he was aware of the relaxed strength of her body beneath him, centered and ready. What was she playing at? He forced his demon down, letting his game face drop away like a dissolving wax mask. With a steely tone of impatience, he hissed, "Don't fancy Slayer blood, pet." He turned her head to face him. Her expression was of a puzzled seriousness, her mouth sensuously full, her eyes diving deeply, exploring him.
Time seemed to freeze as they looked at one another, each trying to penetrate the other's will.
Without averting her gaze, Sabrine said, "I've come to talk with you." She said it so quietly that only he could hear. Then she smiled, a grin really, the kind that was clean and clear, that would later flash in his memory like a cloudless day. "But, I got sidetracked."
Warm, golden light washed through his chest, caressing the spot where pain had been pulsing steadily. He took in the honest play of her smile, and for a moment felt innocent and young, a man delighting in the simple pleasure of a woman's beauty. Keeping her pinned with a half-hearted hold, he let himself rest in her unyielding gaze. The faraway sounds of the shuffling of feet brought his attention back to the present. He noted with some relief the relaxing tension within the circle of her warriors. With a slight nod in their direction, he asked sarcastically, "And did your friends come along for a little chat as well? "
Pulling him in further, deeper with her eyes, she slowly said, "If I had wanted to hurt you, or kill you, or drag you back to Ralph, I would have done so by now."
Shan-Ling hid outside the mountain cave where she had followed Ling-Fei until she was sure she was not detected. Then she quietly moved closer to the opening and looked inside. Many candles were lit and she could see clearly Ling-Fei in the embrace of his lover, Wu.
Their luminescent pale forms writhed in the candlelight, their male groans of pleasure taunting me as I watched through a web of tears. I remained unable to move, until Ling-Fei's cry of ecstatic release brought my attention to the moment. I moved silently into a hidden crevice outside the cave and spread out my spell ingredients, my heart beating wildly, my fingers glistening with tears as they deftly worked my will as I called for the Dark Mother to enter me.
The spell took shape just as dawn broke and the screams of Wu could be heard throughout the mountains as the magic wove through him, slowly draining him of all life. Shan-Ling entered the cave and without emotion watched Wu twist in agony as his form slowly dissolved. Still nude, Ling Fei stood waiting for her. He bowed briefly, then looked into her eyes, retaining his human face. "You have honored the death of my mother." He stepped closer to her, offering himself.
How could I, Shan-Ling, the servant of all that is good, not kill him, a soulless creature of the underworld, an instrument of evil? Betrayer of his own mother! In my hand the stake stood firm against his breathless chest, ready to pierce his heart, and he stood perfectly still so that I would not fail. "Shan-Ling", he whispered, "You must do this. Do it now." But, I could not.
Instead, Shan-Ling returned to the village with Ling-Fei as her prisoner, his stripped body covered with blood-encrusted wounds and swollen bruises where she had whipped and beat him. She declared that he was to be domesticated so that he could serve her. She, with the other sorceresses, worked a calling spell on him and spun other magics to tame his wildness. He became "her" vampire, her warrior, and fought at her side.
Spike had been her warrior, Buffy thought. He had fought beside her, ready to give his life for hers without a second thought. He'd probably get in a sarcastic remark or two and throw her a complaining look before crumbling into dust, but he would die for her without hesitation. She had used him for the strength and formidability he brought to their battles. She had insisted that he be part of the Scooby team, and yet never acknowledged him. He had seemed content to just be near her. He was an amazing fighter, an invaluable comrade, and yet she had taken his alliance for granted, as her clear due. He obsequiously thanked her, saying she treated him like a man. She hadn't replied, just said that she was counting on him. She hadn't treated him like a man. She was from of a long line of Slayers with their own domesticated vampire warriors, and that was how she treated him. Buffy felt hollow inside as the pieces connected one after another, forming a picture of her participation in a Slayer lineage that disgusted her.
With a hard, dead feeling in her chest, Buffy went back to the journal.
Shan-Ling, as other Slayers before her, gave her body over to the Dark Mother at the equinox rituals. Ling-Fei, as her vampire, was used as the instrument for the sexual transmission of power.
As I entered the shrine room, hundreds of lit candles lined the walls. The sweet scent of plum blossom incense floated in the air and the low sing-song of chanting soothed my fears and softened my heart. I walked to the altar and took the waiting gold cup into my hands. First I drank half of the potion, then I walked to the cushions where Ling-Fei sat, and handed him the cup, from which he drank the remainder. A slow drumbeat filled the room and set off a throbbing within my body. The world became soft and beautiful, stirred only by the quickening of my desire. I saw that Ling-Fei was now nude and laid out on a black silk futon, his wrists and ankles bound by thick leather strips. This vampire belonged to me. I let the green brocade robe fall from my shoulders and lay my bare skin against his. The drums and chanting seemed to fill every pore until we were both shaking with the Dark One's demanding need. As I mounted Ling-Fei the ecstatic power of our combined energies moved through me like fire, traveling up through my spine, bursting into a white flame just above the center of my head. As the hot clarity of my eyes met the darkness of Ling-Fei's, I knew that our desire for each other would not be contained within the boundaries of sanctioned rituals. As we swam the currents of passion, I understood that I would hungrily search out Ling-Fei's body again.
.
Shan-Ling knew she must leave the enclave before they were found out. She announced that she was going to the city to study with Wupshi, a famous but not altogether respectable witch. She and Ling-Fei, with a small group of her warriors traveled to the city, where Shan-Ling returned to her mother's house, residing there as she studied with Wupshi and met with Ling-Fei at night.
I am as nothing, a breeze of longing willing to dissolve at his feet. And the moon teases me, shining upon his black hair so it appears as water reflecting the heavens, each star pulling me closer to him. I am lost, my heart flying from my chest like a small bird to be near him. What am I to do? I love what cannot be loved. May the Dark Mother forgive me.
It was through Wupshi that she learned of the soul-casting spell, a practice nearly forgotten, regarded as an act of blasphemous perversion against the Dark One. Wupshi said it was forbidden because vampires with souls became too human-like, and even more powerful, containing the forces of both heaven and hell within them. It was a dangerous spell to cast, often more than a vampire could handle. It had, in fact, been used for a time as punishment for domesticated vampires and a form of torture for others. Without the follow-up magics, a vampire with a soul would likely go mad. If it were to be found out that they were planning to apply the spell to Ling-Fei, they would be killed, even Shan-Ling.
Ling-Fei did not desire the return of his soul. But because of his love for me, he agreed. He came to Wupshi's hut at midnight and we began the ritual. By daybreak his heart was broken, his mind a knot of anguish twisted with grief and remorse. He would not let me touch him, but insisted that he must go off alone. Wupshi gave him some herbs to help him with his pain. At dusk I watched him walk across the plains until I could see him no longer, my heart twisted with guilt. I went in search of him, finding him near daybreak. He sat in meditation on the edge of a rocky bluff, the morning sun gradually creeping across the rocky sands. I called to him as I ran up the path. As I reached the top of the bluff he turned to me and held up his hand that I would come no further. "Forgive me Shan-Ling." He lowered his eyes and softly said, "My Slayer." As he looked again at me, I could see that his eyes were calm yet there was a wildness in the dark aura around him and his anguish tore through me like a red-hot blade. I fell to my knees several feet from him, my forehead dropping to the ground. "Forgive me," I whispered, "My warrior, my Love." We held each other with our eyes as sunlight slowly embraced the body of my Beloved. I could not bear for him to die a slow death. Calling on my inner powers, I raised my hand and sent out a stream of fire that took my lover as quickly as if he had never been. The ashes of Ling-Fei are well hidden, buried under a willow tree where we used to meet and make love when we were 15.
It was a few days later that Shan-Ling saw her fate in the sea-blue sparkle of Spike's eyes. She saw more than her death there. She saw a lover, a tender poet whose heart ruled his actions, a kind, vulnerable boy whose soul was lost in a moment of rage and despair. She saw also a warrior who would serve a Slayer well. She entered the temple that night alone, telling her warriors to return to the community, that she would follow shortly. She wove her most powerful calling spell and prayed that this one, with his youthful beauty and arrogance, would live to know the fullness of his powers and his heart, as she had wished for Ling-Fei.
Buffy set the journal aside on the floor next to her and stretched forward, lightly holding her bare feet as she rested her head on her knees, tears rolling over her warm skin onto the cold, gray concrete. She had been caught off guard by the intimacy and odd familiarity of the strange, poetic tale. A deep sadness pooled in her heart and now coursed through her as if she was again within the form of Shan-Ling, who in the end had been shattered and had placed herself before Spike, knowing he would free her.
Buffy had never let herself think that there might be a way that Spike could get his soul back. She wondered why. Clearly there had been the curse that was put upon Angel, and that Willow had been able to duplicate. It made sense that others with those particular powers would have come up with similar spells. Buffy realized that she had been furious with herself for loving Spike because he did not have a soul. And she had been in a rage that she could love any vampire other than Angel. She had not wanted to let go of that last tendril of connection and hope. She had constantly said to Spike in so many ways, sometimes blatantly, that she could not love him because he was not Angel.
The truth was like a torchlight with its huge brightness. Buffy flinched, expecting to feel a flood of gut-twisting grief about Angel. But it wasn't there. In fact, it suddenly seemed ludicrous to her that she had been holding on to him all this time. She still loved him, but she had stopped being in love with him not long after he went to L.A. He had changed, or she had come to know him better. Whatever. She'd take Spike's soulless, smart-ass, arrogant gorgeousness any day over the soulful, dark broodiness that was Angel. Buffy suddenly laughed, picturing Spike with a soul and all sensitive and moody, like he'd ever go along with such a thing. He'd probably rather be dusted.
She and Shan-Ling had loved soulless demons, and had not been able to accept the truth of it. Shan-Ling knew what torment a soul would bring to Ling-Fei, and Buffy had seen Angel suffer terribly even after a century of adaptation. How much Ling-Fei must have loved Shan-Ling to defy his demon nature and agree to the ritual, and how tragic. Shan-Ling had soon realized the selfishness of her act and the mistaken awfulness of the ritual, but by then she had lost Ling-Fei.
The light had faded in the training room and the air had a chill to it. Buffy lay back, resting her head on a rolled up blanket. She tried to imagine how powerful Shan-Ling had been, having been a sorceress and a Slayer with her lover and vampire warrior at her side. Looking up at the water-stained ceiling and the labyrinth of copper pipes above her, her eyes became heavy.
It was a moonless night. The blackness of it blinded her as she ran along the rough terrain as sure-footed as if she had been born of the warm earth under her bare feet. She had to warn him. The dusty air danced around her nostrils, carrying the smell of hunter and prey along with the pungent odor of her own terror. The sound of brush breaking close by sent a flood of adrenalin through her, pushing her to break into a faster sprint, the rapid in and out of her breath like the delicate beat of birds' wings cutting through the silence. Faster, faster, run faster. She could feel the speed and power of her pursuer as the steady, pounding rhythm of its gait traveled along the earth's surface and up through the soles of her feet. Keep running, don't slow down, hurry, hurry. She must get to him! Her toe hit a protruding root and she flew into the air and tumbled to the ground, rolling over rock after rock, their hard reality imprinting upon her Slayer skin. Just as she managed to get to her feet, the thing was upon her, reeking of blood and death. Its thick, wiry fur scraped against her bare skin as she fell backwards, her head hitting the ground so hard her vision blurred. She caught a glimpse of golden-red eyes before knife-like claws cut into her shoulders, nailing her down while razor-sharp teeth tore into her neck. She struggled to bring her stake up into the beast's chest. Screaming, her body burning with pain, she drove the stake upward a second time. It made its way through greasy fur and tough hide, finally sinking into something soft and muscled deep within its chest.
It lay upon her breast, gasping, and looked into her eyes. For a second it shimmered into Faith, her face a portrait of shock and disbelief, before breaking into a low laugh and dissolving with a glimmer back into the demon, its foul breath coming to an abrupt halt.
The coppery scent and hot slickness of blood was soaking into her clothes, seeping into her hair, pooling on to her face. She pushed with all her remaining strength against the carcass, and as it began to roll off her, she felt it change. Suddenly, cool skin brushed against the slick hotness of her own as a limp body sank to the earth next to her. She reached over and felt silky-smooth sinewy muscle. As her hand flowed over the lifeless form, she froze. She knew every inch of this body. Oh my God. Spike.
She pulled herself closer to him, and went to wrap her arms around his chest and shoulders when she noticed that her arms had become wiry and threaded with tough muscle sheathed in leathery skin. She leaned in close to Spike and placed her lips on his. As she spoke, her voice was ancient and raspy, the words coming from deep within her chest in a soft, crackling rumble, "You are mine."
She could feel the blood draining out of the ancient body from the deep neck wound. The roughness of the hard ground beneath her began to soften and the sound of a faraway voice, young and tender, was carried through the hot thick air, "Ni shr wo de, ni shr wo de."
Oh God. Her heart was pounding, the adrenaline pumping. Buffy sat up and tried to catch her breath. Her t-shirt was soaked and clinging to her. With a start she looked down, half expecting her chest to be covered in blood. She took a deep breath as she realized she had awaken from a nightmare. The sleek feel of Spike's unmoving body lingered on her fingers and lips, the scent of dust and blood still registered in her nostrils. She held her arms and hands out in front of her, turning them, examining the soft, tanned skin. She looked around the training room, taking in the bone-colored concrete and noting the half-opened translation of Shan-Ling's journal next to her. The afternoon light filtered in through the side windows, illuminating the pages.
This was no mere dream, not even a run-of-the-mill Slayer nightmare. The fast, hard beat of her heart knocked against her chest. Her body zinged with a surety that Spike was in danger. She shook her head, trying to loosen her thoughts. Spike was always in danger. He courted it like a lover. But, this was different. This was more than physical danger and the threat lie in the heart of a Slayer, and it wasn't her.
Where was he? She felt a terror creep up within her screaming. She touched her fingertips to her cheek, trying to catch the last of the sensation of Spike's smooth skin before it dissolved into the sun pouring upon her face. She wrapped her bare arms around herself, while waves of aching, howling space crashed upon her.
Raw energy flowed through her and he knew without a doubt that she was the one with the ultimate power in this situation. She had been playing him so she could observe his strength, his moves, his mind. Spike became very still inside, trying to sense out her mystery. She had more than the standard arsenal of a skilled fighter. He looked at her questioningly. Maybe he should see a little more of what she's got. He increased the pressure of his hold, securing his control of her. He threw her a carefully fashioned arrogant smile and said, "You might be a little overconfident there, Sabrine. As I see it, it's me that's got the upper hand here." He waited to see what she would do, not doubting that he would pay for his curiosity.
Electric and alive, the air between them shimmered with a metaphysical heat. The vampire/Slayer energy was arcing between them, gathering power. Sabrine acknowledged him with her eyes and then with an imperceptible act on her part, she cut the connection flowing between them. Spike felt as if he had been dropped into a frozen bardo of dead space, never more aware of being an animated corpse.
Soft smile and seductive gaze put aside, she now looked at him with a hard firmness that announced that the game had changed. In a commanding voice, she said, "I'm getting a little impatient. I suggest you release your hold voluntarily while you are still able to make that decision."
Her body began to tighten, preparing for a move. Spike began a serious consideration of his options. He could overpower her, but he wasn't sure for how long. He could grab her head and give it a good twist, but hell, he didn't want to kill her.
Before he could finish his analysis of the predicament he had brought upon himself, he felt a magnetic pull directing his eyes toward hers. As they made eye contact the world began to swirl around him. Sabrine began to transform, her body becoming that of a furred beast reeking of decay, with eyes that glowed greenish-gold with the unmistakable power of a hell demon. In a reflexive reaction Spike moved to break the creature's neck, but he was flying through the air before the command ever made it from his brain to his hands. He was on his feet almost immediately after he had landed. Before him stood Sabrine, as casual and calm as when he first laid eyes on her.
"Grrrrr." She said softly. She flashed a wide child-like grin at him, obviously pleased with herself. "Did I pass?"
Rubbing his head, causing his brownish-blond curls to fall into further disarray, he replied, "Yeah, I'd say you passed, pet. Haven't run across a shape-shifter in a long time. Impressive job." He looked around, assessing the situation again. There was no sign of her warriors. He gave a quick throw of his vampire sense around the area, but didn't detect any heartbeat other than hers. Raising an eyebrow, he looked at her questioningly.
She walked up to him until she stood right in front of him, the heat of her body flowing on to his in soft waves, carrying the scent of musk and papaya. She said softly, "You must return to the village."
Spike could feel the moist warmth of her breath drift across his face as she spoke. "Look, love. I can't stay. I can feel the forces rising up from beneath us, just as you do. I've a Slayer a world away that I've got to get to. She's where I need to be. If I have to, I'll take you on, but I'm not going with you."
She moved closer still and spoke, for the first time using his name, "Spike, listen to me. You have unknowingly garnered mystical abilities that you know nothing of, let alone how to use. You want your Slayer to live? Then come with me while you can. There is much we need to teach you before you will be ready to meet what is coming."
Oh, Christ. Her words were as seductive as Ralph's had been. Trust me, poet. Right. He did a quick scan but didn't pick up any signs of thrall nosing about. He looked directly into her dark eyes and asked, "What undeveloped mysterious powers do I have that are so important as to keep me from where I belong?"
Sabrine dropped her head a minute and then looked back into his face. "You have the potential to be far more powerful than Ralph and me combined. You are central to the continued dominance of the human race over the demon populations. As a result, you are in great danger even as we speak. The evilest of forces is aware of your existence. You will never make it back to your Slayer in one piece if you continue your journey in your present state of ignorance. I speak the truth."
A shudder snaked through his spine. There was truth in her words, although just what was true and what wasn't was anyone's guess. You are central to the continued dominance of the human race over the demon populations. Right. That was bit was a little over the top. Okay, first he's "called," and then he's imbued with mystical powers. Was this a ploy to keep him from being at Buffy's side when all hell broke loose? Shit. He needed to find out more of what was going on here. Looking at Sabrine, he asked, "How do I know she'll be safe till I get there?"
Sabrine shook her head slowly. "There are no guarantees or promises in a Slayer's world. I can tell you that Buffy Summers is alive and well as we speak, that the forces gathering in Sunnydale are not yet ready to strike, and that we are doing all we can to help her."
Spike opened his mouth to ask more, but Sabrine spoke first, glancing around them. "Listen, we have to get out of here. We are not safe. I promise that all questions will be answered. But let us leave now."
Sabrine had taken on the stance of preparing for battle, a look of uneasiness having come over her face. Just then he felt it. It was as if a dark force was pushing into his mind, clouding out his ability to think. He put his hands to his head and started to fall forward when Sabrine grabbed him. He heard her speak a series of words he didn't understand, and then the bludgeoning darkness lifted. He looked up at her, shaken.
"What the hell?"
An urgency was written all over her face. "Are you coming? I can protect you until we get back to the village, as long as you stay near me. But we must hurry. My warriors are making sure the way is clear before us." She hesitated, then added. "I could make you come, but I won't. This is your decision."
He looked at the trail that led to back to the village and to Ralph, and then glanced at Sabrine. She stood regally tall and as still as a statue, as if she had been frozen in time. Then Spike realized that she was in a state of deep concentration, her eyes closed, tears gathering at their corners. Her lips barely moved as she chanted silent incantations, protecting the space around them.
Spike sighed, lowered his head for a second, then looked up and rolled his eyes. Bugger. A shudder of dread passed through him as he accepted the inevitable. He supposed Ralph would be waiting for him. Christ, for all he knew it could have been her dicking around in his head just now. Wouldn't have been the first time.
Ralph glanced about at the small group sitting at the round oak table. "There's no reason at all that you should trust me. In fact, you should not. Are you under the delusion that I trust you?" The strange, crinkly brown witch looked at them with piercing black eyes that reminded Willow of the little shiny beetles that scampered under her feet in Sunnydale. "What I am suggesting is that it is perhaps to our mutual advantage to forge a partnership of sorts, based on self-interest. Trust will come or not. That remains to be seen."
They were gathered in the home of Blythe, the most powerful witch in England and the head of the London coven. A fire burned in the hearth, giving off much needed warmth against the gray drizzle that seemed to seep indoors. Willow took a sip of her tea, Earl Grey swimming in cream. Giles sat next to her, and next to him was Blythe, then two other witches and a warlock. Lastly, there was Rose, the renegade Council librarian.
Giles nodded to Ralph and then spoke. "Indeed, Ralph, you have mystified and fascinated us with the extent of your information, and, of course, your magical powers. You seem to know all about the Council, the histories of Slayers, of vampires, even of Watchers. You describe a hidden culture that seems unbelievable if for no reason other than your assertion that it has existed since the appearance of the First Slayer. You seem to offer us a great deal to think about." He looked intently at Ralph as he quietly asked, "And just what might you be seeking from us, then?"
Spike's bare body lay spread out on a bedroll of coarse blankets, his bluish-white form dappled with the soft pinkish-purple light of dawn as it filtered in through the dark mesh-covered opening above him. With her eyes Sabrine sensuously traced each line and plane of his sleeping body. The soft hollow of his neck, the defined muscular curves of his arms, and the baby-soft curly line of hair that traveled from just below his navel to the nest of brown silkiness at his groin. She could imagine her fingers and tongue exploring and tasting the snowy plains and valleys of this one. A flush of impatient heat and possessiveness ran up her spine as she continued to study him, understanding completely that she had not known one as exquisitely beautiful or as unbelievably dangerous as this rare and foolish vampire.
Buffy hit the black leather punching bag as fast and hard as she could, trying to release the feelings of fear and powerlessness her dream had left her with. She let loose with a series of blows leaving her fists burning and her right hand bleeding, but still the feeling of Spike's limp body in her dream lingered on her fingertips and the certain knowledge that he was in grave danger lay chillingly rooted in her chest. As she kicked, punched, and screamed, images of the leathery ancient crone and the Chinese Slayer kept circling around her. She could still hear that crusty voice whispering in her ear, "He is mine". Breathing hard, Buffy stood in the center of the training room and began to unwrap the tape from her hands. As she flexed her bleeding fingers, she looked around the room and heard herself say slowly and softly, "No, he is not yours. He is mine." There was silence in the darkened room, and then Buffy screamed, "Do you hear? Mine! He is mine!" As she headed for the door, she added quietly, "And I will find him."
To be continued…
Thanks to Chase and Marianne for such generous and helpful beta'ing.
Feedback is so very much appreciated: sajuno@earthlink.net
Sorry these chapters are so slow in the coming. Thanks for staying with me.