Authors Note: Sorry this has been so long in the making. Fact is, cos only had 2 people review, I only think 2 people have read this and like it enough for me to keep it up. If I don't end up with more reviews this story will have a stake put in it, and it will meet its own dusty demise. So if you are reading this, and haven't reviewed, do it, or the story gets it. I love my readers, more than Buffy loves cheese and ice skating, so even if it's only the two of you, i will put up a few more chapters cos I'm good like that. Thanks for the support and all that rot...

Vladimir, Kievan Rus, 1169

She came into their lives at the coronation.

His turning was an accident. He had a brother of similar likeness, Crown Prince Andriov of Suzdal who in 1169 took the city of Kiev and relocated the seat of regional power to his hometown Vladimir on the Volga River. She had meant to turn Andriov, having high powered men turned was useful to her, if not a fun game, but she accidentally sired the younger, drunker Prince Yaroslav. A mistake she would learn to regret.

Yaroslav was uncontrollable. Before she turned him, he was nothing more than a drunken lout, rauciously flailing through his short life expectancy. She hadn't wanted to stake him from hour one, which was strange for her. She enjoyed using him as a pawn for his brother which was still, in its own way, quite useful. She couldn't have thought he would love it as well.

Andriov had recently relocated his capital, and had planned a grand gala for the most important people around. There was food and spirits and dancing. He was also seeking a wife. At 23 he was getting a bit too old to be a bachelor. Yaroslav was 20, but was not expected to do anything with his life. He needed not a wife or children, but Andriov needed heirs, he knew it. Men from around Kievan Rus had sent their daughters to Vladimir in hopes the new king would take one of them as his bride. Daughters were toss aways anyways, good for nothing but marrying off for a high dowery. None of these girls, although young and beautiful, had caught his eye. They were average at best. That was until he saw her. She had entered the party with her long black hair flowing behind her, her skin as fair as the clouds, her entire being free of the hardship and turmoil which had decorated the faces of the other girls. He was smitten.

Yaroslav and Andriov looked almost as twins. Both were well built, with their heads covered in honey blonde hair, quite unusual in their region. The only real difference between them was one was usually intoxicated, and the other was not. Andriov had even used his brother as bait once to lure a raiding party into a trap. Andriov was a fierce warrior who earned his throne, Yaroslav was a leech who did nothing but suck time. It was a simple mistake for her to make, having them only pointed out to her, and the woman doing so not sure which one was which. She seduced the wrong man.

Andriov's heart sunk when he saw her approach Yaroslav, weaving her delicate arm through his, and walking him away from the party with a wicked smile on her face. He was tempted to send one of his warriors after them, to pull her off of him and arrested for indecency. He didn't, figuring that he was mistaken that she could have been his bride, convinced she was nothing but one of Yaroslav's whores, and he had many.

She walked him into the forest around the city, and let him push her up against a tree. Men were so brutal, she had been down this road so many times that she was used to being handled like a sow headed to slaughter. He stank of spirits and sweat, his skin glossy with oil, unwashed and fairly unkempt she could hardly believe this man was king. In the middle of their encounter she put her offer on the table.

"I can give you eternity, forever and a day. You could rule for all time and not just an age." It was the same line she had fed the leader of the Goths and the Huns, and several other conquering leaders. In earlier days it had been the Greeks and the Romans. "All you have to do is say yes to me right now, and I can give you this." They usually moaned out the yes in a moment of passion, she would then take them, turn them, rob them, and stake them.

He stopped manhandling her for a moment. "Are you a witch?"

She laughed at the idea. "No, would a witch hitch her skirts up so easily to a man such as yourself?"

"I don't know, maybe she would."

"I want your answer, I can give you everything, all I want from you is a yes."

She got her answer, and ripped his throat open. She then cut her wrist open using his knife and fed his corpse. His body was found the next morning by children looking for berries. Andriov had him placed on a funeral pyre, as they had done for both mother and father before him. It would not be until the following day the ceremonies would take place. That didn't matter, he rose at dusk, and disappeared.

That was how she controlled Andriov, together her and Yaroslav drove him mad, thinking his dead brother was somehow haunting him. Extorting money and gems and anything they could want out of him to quell the spirit of Yaroslav. Maruscia had found a partner equal in cruelty and creativity as herself, what began as a mistake, turned into a partnership. She had found it easier to travel alone, less cumbersome, and far easier to feast off of the humans and escape as an individual. She had taken lovers and partners before, but they barely lasted a few weeks. Yaroslav lasted decades. She could not tolerate his name though, and renamed him Aurelius, the name of a Roman she once ate, his name meant 'the golden one' which fit perfectly with her golden boy.

Ekaterinburg, November 1897

Spike was cold. This was becoming a trend for him. He wasn't sure what he had done, if he had done anything at all, to put himself in this awkward position. Angelus had tied him up in the cellar, taken his shirt, and then whipped him repeatedly. The blood on his chest was frozen, he imagined the blood on his back had met the same fate. It was a good thing vampires couldn't freeze to death, because if ever there was a time for it, it was now. Afterwards Angelus left, Spike heard him take the girls out of the house, most likely shopping. Russia was good for one thing, gloom. Because of the cold ad the snow they could venture out most days, they being everyone but Spike.

Angelus had recently taken to punishment without merit. He being Spike's Sire, he had permission to do what he damn near pleased with the boy, a fledgling as he was. The fun of beating Drusilla had long since lost its joy, if only because she enjoyed it too much. Angelus needed someone to take his frustrations and disappointments on. Who else was he to practice his torture techniques on? Every year technology moved forward, and every year Angelus had new things to incorporate into his game, he called it a game. Spike called it hell. Had Drusilla mentioned this before her offer, William most likely wouldn't have taken her up on it. If only Angelus hadn't stormed into that stable and ripped him from her breast, deciding it was he who would control both as children, as toys.

Things weren't as bad at first. Angelus was thrilled to have another man to go out whoring and drinking with. Darla had lost her taste for whores, and Drusilla had too much of a tendancy to play with her food. In William he had seen someone he could carouse with, someone to party with. But this soon wasn't enough, and the boy had demanded time with Drusilla, who for all intents and purpouses was for Angelus' pleasure only. Darla was sick of it, and so she encouraged the boy to pursue Drusilla, as well as inviting him into her bed more than once. That too had enraged Angelus, and soon William was no longer his pal, but his play thing.

At first William was punished or taunted for offences he could understand. Things like leaving bodies where people would find them, or forgetting to close the drapes before sun-up. These were punishable offenses and he understood that he had a lot to learn. As William he was quite the bright student, always with high marks, taking himself as a fast learner he did just that. Learned too quickly for Angelus' tastes. He had apparently hoped the boy was as daft as Drusilla were crazy, but hopes don't always fare as well as we would like. So then he was punished for learning too fast, and later Angelus' stopped needing a reason. He soon moved onto things so depraved William was sure even the Marquis de Sade hadn't thought of them, things that would have made his poor mother turn over in her grave if she weren't dust. Things that had his former self even thought were possible would have driven him to join the clergy. Somewhere in this he stopped being William, and took on being Spike. Spike's affection for torture did not match his own, and Angelus had begun to think that if he broke the boy he could rebuild him in his own image. Angelus wanted to be god. Spike intended to fight as much as he could to prevent that.

Only once did Darla step in to his benefit. Spike was a bloody mass of flesh, stripped and cowering, Drusilla was screaming like a banshee, and Darla had enough of her screams. She demanded Angelus stop before Drusilla burst her ear drums. She hadn't cared a bit for him, only for herself, but still she saved him as he was near breaking, near giving up. If there was one thing he never wanted to offer to Angelus it was what was left of his spirit. He looked up to Angelus, but after months and years of being beaten sensless, he had stopped wanting to be him. Instead he wanted to be free, he wanted to take his dark princess away with him, abandon their keeper, become their own. This was Spike taking over, this was when things began to change. Angelus eventually gave up on Drusilla, she had been becoming more and more mad lately. Her insanity going to new highs and lows that even Angelus couldn't fathom. She receeded more and more into her own world, Spike was the only one who could still reach her. He could control her, and even inspire moments of complete lucidity, Angelus gave up on her and pawned her off on Spike. This was the moment when for once Darla and Spike could celebrate the same thing. Darla got to take back her Childe and Spike got to take his princess.

He had nodded off reflecting on the past, and didn't hear someone join him. The rustling of skirts should have set him off, but he was so out of it he probably wrote the sound off to rats.

"So pretty, so sad. What a mess they have made." The thick Slavic accent he recognized immediately.

"Maruscia?" he whispered, barely able to lift his head, unable to open his swollen eyes. He would need at least a day and three fresh meals to heal from this round.

"He tries so hard to be like him, you know. But she didn't teach him well did she? Of course not, as much as she wants, she isn't me! Letting her Childe run about and make such a pretty, pretty mess." She walked over to him, running a finger down his chest, into a gash. He cringed, "But if he had not been so intent, we would not have you now would we? Something, a creature so beautiful, golden, I could have mistaken you for one of my own." She ran her hands up to his restraints and undid them, letting him fall upon her.

"No." Was all he could say.

"No?"

"He'll be back, he'll be even more upset." The words barely made it off of his tounge.

"Well it's a good thing that I am here then isn't it?" She let him lean against her as she took him upstairs. She dropped his body in front of the fireplace. " He will not be torturing you any more."

Spike snorted, "Sure, whatever you say, you don't live here." The blood was beginning to thaw on his body. Maruscia called over the servents telling them to clean him up, and to retrieve fresh clothes for him, as well as a meal.

"You do keep humans around here somewhere don't you?"

"No, Drusilla doesn't like it, makes her scream all night."

"Figures! I can't believe the mockery the lot of you have become." She sent the butler out to retrive one of her 'boys' from the carriage.

She sat on the couch. Spike looked up at her while he was being taken care. She was radiant, ephemeral, effulgent. His eyes got lost in the layers of black silk on her dress. She wasn't dressed fancy, nor was her outfit ordinary, it was just as if he couldn't take his eyes off of her, he felt tied to her.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because, when it all comes own to it, the lot of you are my responsibility. Aurelius has left you to your own volition for too long."

"Aurelius?"

"The Master? Mr. New World? Conquerer of the Colonies, taker of revolutionaries? Turner of whores?" The last statement was was marked by distaste.

Spike didn't understand, he hadn't been told this before. Perhaps he had, after a while all the lore had started to run together and he hadn't paid attention to any of it.

"But I thought..."

"You think too much. What did they tell you? That we were at war? That the Aurelians were a line as old as my own? I swear the propeganda that man sends down his ranks is ridiculous. Have you even met the man?"

"Once, right after I was turned, he was leaving to go back to America."

"Hideous creature he has become, he used to be so strong, so powerful, so beautiful. Now the only fear he stikes is with his face." She looked off, above the fireplace, "He is one of mine. I made him."

Spike was near speechless when the butler returned with a young man. A man not much younger than he had been, and this one was strong.

"Put him down there." She pointed next to Spike, then turned to the boy weaving back and forth as he had seen Dru do so many times, "Shhh... remember my promise, we will be together always, do not move or the spell will be broken." When the boy was enthralled she looked at Spike, "What are you waiting for? Eat."

Spike sank his fangs in, the power in this blood was incredible. "He's been dosed, he is imparted with more strength than the average human. Sometimes it is handy to keep around a witch. If only to improve your meals." She sat back, satisfied that he was eating. "Where was I? Oh yes, Aurelius. When you are as old as I am now, you will have made many, but few Childer. Still, when we make a companion they become our own, a part of us. He was mine. But as you can tell, he no longer is. I don't recall when things turned for us, but it was a while back when he first left, when he first became disfigured. I could barely stand to look at his face, but I never intended for him to leave. He abandoned me, went to the Colonies, turned himself a whore, made himself his first Childe, his mate, Darla. He never returned to me, not once. Brought her back to England, England! Can you believe that? A man of the Balkans returning to such a young place, uncivilized, abandoning his roots. He let her roam freely. I know because I have eyes everywhere. He did not take care of her, he did not nurture her as I had him. Instead he let her loose, and she made herself a mate. The biggest bastard she could find, someone who, like herself, was capable of near anything, even with a soul. She found a creature as wicked as herself. Her Angelus. He mocked his Master, he was insufferable. So much so that he returned to the colonies to get away from him. I am sure you know the rest."

Spike nodded as he threw the corpse aside. She called for the butler to dispose of it, and then motioned for Spike to join her on the sofa.

"You know what really was the last straw?" She ran her hand through his hair, "The bastard killed my son."