Authors note: My utmost thanks to Sigma1, Alicia, ShanniC and Rogue

MaCloud which I'd like to dedicate this re-written chapter too.

Please click on my author name here in ff.net to get the latest update on

this story.

Time-lines: Buffy - Between Seasons 6 & 7. Spikes search for a soul

while in Africa. Angel - Seasons 2 or 3. Gunn has just made contact with

Angel, and there's an uneasy friendship blossoming.

Summary: The hideously beautiful Sumerian Dahok Lohr, grants Spikes

quest for a soul - only the price of which is the newly arisen and ticked

off dead slayer; Kendra. Impossible to win, and unthinkable to loose,

the soulbonded Spike and Kendra escape whatever nefarious plans

that Dahok Lohr intends of them - intent on returning to Sunnydale - one

for love; the other for revenge.

That's if they survive each other.

Los Angeles, midnight.

"Cordelia! Get out of here! Cordelia!!"

Angel caught one glimpse of her, curled over on her side on the couch

gasping, fighting for breath, before the demon lunged for him, tackling

him down to the floor with a howling ferocity that left even Angel

breathless.

The larger vampire clawed at Angel's bruised face and arms, striking

with impossible force as they rolled over and crashed into the schedule

boards and demon chronicles that littered Cordelias apartment. Tomes

and CDs fell about them like sharp stars, taking their own barbarous toll

in the brawl. The demons large fist connected with Angel's side, driving

him back further than any vampire had ever managed. Briefly, Angels

face registered shock, then blatant anger.

Ever since this conflict began, the air felt tainted by something he

couldn't define. It had affected him as much as it had the demons he

had fought from her door a moment ago, a shock wave of power and

blood he had never experienced before. Angels control slipped, and

his demon materialized, briefly in his minds eye, and raked a well

manicured talon across his soul.

That's all it took. Blood boiled.

The scent of Cordelias fear and stuttering heartbeat assaulted his

frayed senses, making him falter in his defense, unhinging him at the

knees.

Always taken pride in his legendary ability to control the beast, he had

no answer in how easily the demon rose to meet him.

A primal growl of hunger ripped from another throat, given over to the

blood conquest.

For as the last vampire took the opportunity to strike the barely

conscious Cordelia, Angelus simmered to the fore - possessive and

greedy for blood and impending violence.

Suddenly the advancing demon was catapulted back by an invisible

force, limbs threshing and grasping at nothing, slamming into the

cursed Angel who was advancing in tandem. Both vampires where

thrown unceremoniously to the floor - bodies mangling violently.

The other vampire looked mildly surprised as the broken leg of the

table they'd managed to bust into pieces was now buried in his chest.

Dennis, you beautiful phantom. Angel sighed heavily in relief,

managing to take back a little of the lost control. A growl of satisfaction

erupted from him, before the other vampires weight was suddenly lifted

in a cloud of grey dust from Angels chest.

But danger remained, regardless. Angel felt the heat and the need

pulse beneath his skin - taunting the meager control he had over the

demon inside. In one fluid movement, he had lifted himself from the

cloud of dust and stared apprehensively down at the sprawled

goddess.

"Dennis!," Angel growled, fear making his voice louder than usual.

Desperate. "take her in the bedroom NOW. Don't let me back in -- "

The room chilled and even though a dark hunger began it's

consumption of him, he managed to bite out a reply. "Don't question -

just do.'

Frustration mounted as Cordelia lay tantalizing still, close enough for

him to reach out and.....

Fangs extended, contorting into a fierce growl. "NOW!"

Hesitation and then her body hovered and quickly disappeared down

the hall way. He waited, straining against base desire, till he heard the

door close behind them and then lock. Within the room, he knew that

Dennis would stop at nothing to protect his princess. Intangible or not,

this phantom was one heck of a protector when it came to her.

Pity that tonight, he could not say the same.

Turning, he jumped up onto the windowsill with the fluid grace of a cat.

The demon forced back with Cordelias absence. Guilt and anguish

briefly crossed his handsome human visage, before he jumped down

into the cannon of darkness and without a backward glance - he bolted.

He ran, till neither human eye or vampire could track him.

Something was happening within his city - something or someone that

was evoking a madness amongst those that were already unhinged as

hell. What was more frightening, he realized, as the city became a blur

beneath him, was that it hadn't been the first time.

But God willing, if he had anything to do with it - it would be the last.

Cairo Motel.

Her head jerks suddenly, jolts awake as if coming out of a nightmare,

awakened by her own reverberating humiliation. Angered by it, driven.

And there he is.

Sleek.

Elegant.

Cold.

William the Bloody, better known as Spike leaned in the bathroom

doorway, arms folded over his chest, the light and wisps of vapor from

his recent shower, billowed behind him making him a glorious

silhouette.

Kendra glanced over his body, and quickly had to look away and bite

back a sharp moan that threatened to escape. For some insane reason

he looked quite sexy bruised and battered as he was. Their vicious and

exhilarating struggle so delicious now painted on him. With him standing

there wearing nothing but a white terrycloth towel hitched provocatively

at the side, she had never seen a man, or vampire, so undressed. Or

so intent on her.

"Fantasy gone awry, luv?" he asked softly, the timbre of his voice belied

the frenzy in his eyes.

The suspicion that he was enjoying her discomfort piqued Kendra's

anger and she bolted from the bed. Back bone snapping with

indignation.

In that moment he took in every inch of her that his beloved coat had

not covered. The smooth cocoa warm skin, the long limbed grace of

her. Briefly he became lost in the smell of her, of the core of her that he

sensed pulsed inside that skin - hypnotizing the demon, drawing him

away.

Over her shoulder, she glared at him. He lifted his lips in a silent snarl,

glaring right back, gaze running over her in a way that made her nervous

and a little sick inside. Possessive, almost.

The hell she was.

"Don't push it, vampyre." she seethed, garnering her defenses in an

attempt to block him out. With the hours of sleep she had eventually

found, her defiant nature had returned.

Spikes fingers clenched into fists. There was only so much negligent

attitude he could stomach.

"This isn't all about you, you dozy cow! I'm involved in this too."

She spun on her heel, facing him, finally. Her eyes flashed dangerously.

"Don' tink I don' remember."

Her eyes on him, sharp and unrelenting, she moves like a cat uncurling

from a satisfied slumber. Warm mocha limbs flex and torque, flashes of

skin tempt him from beneth his leather trench.

Spike swallows down hard, he won't let this naff chit do his head in with

the comely lass - whose hard exterior would probably bend back a

hyper dermic needle. He'd had enough with these Slayer shelias

handing him his butt, when he more than put it on the line for one of

them.

Damned if he was gonna let some defect slayer do the same.

He watched the lithe mocha temptress gracefully make her way across

the dappled shadowed room towards him. She moved gracefully. Her

head held high like royalty. A Nubian queen. Oblivious to him, or the

reaction his body struggled to contain. Peeling his muddy coat from her

frame she dropped it to the floor, regardless that she was naked

underneath. Or that his marks from the night before, adorned every

sensuous inch.

The sway of hips, long sinewy limbs bathed in cocoa warm skin, the flat

stomach, the generous hips and strong thighs. There was nothing

meager about her, she radiated the kind of sexuality of a softly

endowed goddess - with the powerhouse of a pissed off slayer.

Spike's mouth watered at the sight of her. Images of how those

wondrous curves came to be deliciously marked by him the night

before, stole his first line of attack.

Before he could retract the recollection from forming between them,

Kendra winced as if she'd been hit. The memory of that night was so

clear. Her heart, beset by a pain so real that she was forced to curl up

around her middle to just escape its icy grip.

Spikes hands shoot out, grasp her tightly about the arms, pulling her up,

pressing her to him - collapsing into the night before.

flashback

"Whot in bleeding hell are you doing here?!" Spike hissed without

wasting breath on an insignificant greeting. He didn't waste time with

trivialities. Politeness gave way to demand.

She wouldn't admit it, but despite her previous attack of conscience,

she was still powerfully intrigued by the British vampyre. Glimpses of

the man before the vile demon, the man who remained in spite of the

demon, Drusilla and Angelus had taken their turn to drive him out. His

love/obsession with Dru had both hardened him, but his love ?? for

Buffy had knocked him to his knees.

It had confused her. A vampire capable of more than blood thirsty

murder, a sense that none she had alotted - contained in this man.

Vampire.

Kendra reminded herself harshly. Concentrating on the circumstances

would be less dangerous.

It had taken a month of dodging the heavy military pressence in Iraq,

the many Watchers groups in Africa, the demons that were drawn by

their trial and error testing the bond as well as the hunters Garak Lohr

had sent after them.

They had cannibalized the truck of it's hidden goods. Weapons. Food. Fuel. Even the

passports in the glove compartment were sold to the underground for a pretty penny.

Not that they'd really needed it - threats sufficed to get them from one place to another

and her honed skills at dodging airport security managed to get them aboard several

flights in the cargo hold without much ta-do. With the money, Spike had brought her

clothes - something completely inappropriate, which he swore blue blazes that was the

only thing in the store. A flimisy summer dress and knitted cardigan. Feminine.

Provocative. Candyfloss. Totally unlike her - well, the her she'd been before. Kendra

abandoned that line of thought quickly.

She was a girl - it seemed. And the thought both intrigued and belittled her.

Two weeks with Spike had been informative, without each giving the

other too much in verbal terms, their unusual bond had been

enlightening.

Secrets, thoughts and unguarded emotions slipping through wherther

they wanted or not. The image of the blond slayer filled her minds eye,

briefly superimposed over the memories Spike had inadvertently given

to her. Betrayal stung her heart. How could Buffy have let Drusilla go, let

alone taken up with Angel again, when his hand was behind it all?

Kendra pushed it aside.

Still, they had not; for all their trying, had been able to negate the

demands of their vorted bond. What ever solution there was; lay back in

Garak Lohrs cave - and they weren't going back. All this passed in her

minds eye, stolen by the ire in his voice. She mirrored it perfectly.

"I don't have to explain my actions to you," she replied without turning

around.

"Don' get bolshy with me," he growled out, his blood boiled, voice

cracking on the unknown. "What. are. you. doing. here?"

She didn't reply, instead her fingers skimmed the worn tomes and

yellowing ancient scripts littering the apartment, a lifetime ago swimming

back to her - stark in its beauty and condemnation. From the corner of

her eye, she focused on the glass top desk, Cordelias laptop stood

open, a program running a complete file backup on disk.

If Angel Investigation didn't have immediate contact with Drusilla, then

they'd know where she was at least. Either way, she wasn't leaving

without the key to Drusillas whereabouts.

"If ya don' want ta be here, insect, den ya know yer way out."

Spike steps up close to Kendra, invading her space looks her straight in

the eye. Kendra doesn't back away.

"I could simply go myself, drag you with me. You're not that tough,

kitten," Spike growled, annoyed. She wasn't up to the task, they both

knew that. Something in her had fundamentally changed in her powers.

But she was getting stronger every day, and her score card would be

his pale hide, if he ever tried to force her to do anything.

Kendra coolly raised a brow at him in reply, silently daring the English to

try.

Before she can answer, the programme running signals its completion

and ejects the CD. Without breaking their shared hard gaze, her hand

snakes out, lifts the round silver disk from the compartment, and places

it in an empty case beside them.

All one handed, cooler than Billy bloody Idol, mate. A muscle flicks at

his jaw, he's wondering what other talents she could accomplish with

that hand. Thoughts spiral - leading him to what his own hands had been

capable of when it came to this slayer.

A pulse pounded erratically at the base of her throat, and he knew that

his unwavering gaze affected her. The sweet thrill of victory was lost on

him, though. Caged inside a precarious bond to a dead Slayer, no less,

made the win a bitter pill.

Kendra looked up at him, with her brown eyes wet and alive with her

own excitement. Her heart trembled in the tight confines of her chest

and she moistened her bottom lip with her tongue. Everything in him

focused on that motion. The plum darkness of her lips, the tip of that

clever tongue that flickered over the plumpous flesh - inticing. He

closed his eyes briefly, burning with the memory of their affirmations.

Guilty pleasures.

She didn't need to look to know that his skin was warming hotly with the

bright incantation pulled from the shadows of Garaks domain. Didn't

need to know what that meant - what good it would do to fight it.

Still - it wasn't in her nature not to try.

This can't be happening now, her mind screamed at her, clenching her

jaw, fingers tight around the disk in order to stop from reaching for him,

and the bond that would not be denied. Ancient ink prickling against her

inner thigh, skimming over the sweet rise of her buttocks, licking up her

spine. Sumerian chronicle; fluent on pale skin as on dark.

His moist breath skimmed over her cheek, igniting turbulent fires within

her.

"No." she grounded out. A pitiful cry even to her own ears.

"You chose the venue, sweetheart. Give in." the implication clear, he

held her responsible.

She clenched her jaw, her breasts growing heavy under his unflinching

gaze. "No."

But even as she said it, she leaned into him, his touch easing the sting

of being in her own body.

You are mine.

What would usually drive her to launch at him with nails and teeth bared

sharply in ever being 'owned', especially by a vampire, she found

herself in bewildered concordance.

Her yielding gnaws at his reserve, and there's no way he's doing this

slowly. His hands move on their own, ripping her clothes from her body

with such force; the beast in him both man and monster in claiming what

is his, he's both impressed and horrified at the beauty of it all.

He pulls back. The man in him wanting her to admit this. He makes no

move to touch her, but his body hardens all the same.

She wrestles with desire. Spike trembles, must fight to remain standing.

He nearly dies when quickly her fingers dig into his rigid flesh, and he's

making a soft sound of pleasure in the back of his throat. Her hunger

rivaled his own primal urge, perhaps surpassed it, as her nails dig in

harder, drawing blood.

With her silent admission, he rammed himself against her, pushing her

along the desk edge, toppling off the desk contents, in order to find the

nearest hard vertical surface. Eventually the wall stopped their

progress, and he drove himself against her. Their mouths fuse, part

hunger part ire, their hands taking and giving in kind. He shudders as her

climax dawns, her throat exposed for his final kiss.

Only there's not a chance that could happen.

The fist that comes flying at speed, hits Spike square in the jaw, decks

him. He hits the floor. Only it isn't Kendras, but their unexpected

hostess with the mostess - Cordelia Chase.

Cordelia is suddenly ontop of his woman, fingers tangled in her long

hair trying to pull it from the roots. Her violent seduction met with tame

resistance, as Kendra struggled from a daze. Once he could have

enjoyed this scene, shared it with the poncy git Xander even, but the

hell burning in his skin was unimpressed with the brief girly action.

She belonged to him. And he wasn't in the mood for sharing.

Oh no, sister. One hell cat was enough.

He ripped the brunette from the Jamacian beauty, tossing her to the far

wall where she hit and slid down. He was too taken up with his mistress

to be worried on Cordys addlebrained state. Kendra seemed to come

to, her mouth demanding his without words. He complied, gratefully,

sinking down to strike lovingly at her throat and the blood that was

betrothed.

She filled him, dark sweet promises meant only for him. Arousal

brightening at his core, extended through them until there remained

nothing left of him or her.

Somewhere he had registered windows breaking; glass raining down on

them. Then the claustrophobic press of vampire bodies and a howling

scream of a predator somewhere off in the near distance. He had felt

the true slayer diminish in that humiliating moment, her fists, nails and

cries unerringly finding him.

He willingly took the sting. Till there was nothing left to give but blood.

Fangs extend, bite into the willing flesh; salted by her tears - or perhaps

his, and they fall together; alone. Clouds of dust rain upon them, the

consequence of those that dare touch, rent and seperate them - and fail

in the attempt.

Reality swims back, dissolving his world to her beneath him. Still as

death.

Her eyes are no longer on him, but held fast to the dark orbs of Miss

Chase, who watched them in their passions, staring blindly back.

Kendra actively severed the connection between who she was then;

and who she was now. To keep it, would entangle the true slayer into

action that would distract her from her duty. Her destiny. No slayer, living

or dead, as was she; should ever go through this. In secret, she could

do as she must to take revenge - in her mind, a just cause.

Discovery had made the truth a cross she could no longer ignore or lift

herself from. She knows, Engleesh. Kendra telepathically conveyed

to him through their connection. She knows.

A boot fall on the stair and a familiar voice calling out, severed his own

doubts on whether Angels receptionist would hold the memory of what

happened. Their union had not killed her like the others; more akin to

her being half demon and not a full blood, he supposed. Half-breeds

memories of the union, or those involved, were generally wiped clean..

or so they'd come to discover. Only the reoccurring scent of their joined

pheromones stayed with them. All that, erased, under the impending

doom.

Her impaling muteness stabbed at him with acute clarity. Without

another word, in one swift movement he swept her up into his arms,

wrapping her in his coat and carried her away from the building and their

appalling unveiling.

Unaware that a previously unconscious half-breed vampire rose with

their scent in his nostrils remained. Or in Cordelias clenched fist, a

scrap of cloth torn from the lining of Spikes coat.

End flashback

Spikes arms tightened prtoectivelly about the dark slayer, conflicted.

The bond grasping wildly. Her eyes stared up at him, damning with her

own emotional pull. Buffys face swam before their minds eye; accusing.

Reminding them both of what remained between each of them.

Guilt followed desire quickly, they each pushed back, breathing hard at

the enforced separation. He needed to get away from her, if for no

other reason than to ensure that some blood remained in his brain

stead of rushing south.

Words, Spike. Those things that come out of your mouth. Say

something, instead of staring at her like a bleedin' fool.

He stared at her defiantly, arms crossed over his chest awaiting for

Kendra to acknowledge what had taken place. Seeing her refuse to

meet his eyes, told him much. This was going to be a struggle from the

get go.

"Dis isn' gonna be a permanent ting," she hurried to correct him. "Once

I'm done, you're outta here."

"Not before you, luv." he shot back, insolently.

Kendra had Spike by the throat, pinned up against the wall before he

could blink. "So many of dose who double cross me, don' live ta tell

abou' it. 'cause if ya tink dis is any differen'--"

"Don't get up yourself, girly." he growled, shoving her off in order to

place much needed space between them. "You're a bloody reject too.

Too faulty for the Slayer heaven."

His barbs struck the sensitive part of her rubbed raw by fear. She was

not gonna give in to it though. "As much as you wish odder wise,

engleesh," she simmered hautily, "De plan not changed. Dat disk is still

our goal. We gonna get it - we find 'er, stick 'er, den we continue dis lill'

chat about defective slayin' "

"Look," Spike growled, exasperated, "I'll get the flippin' disk - You...

just go and get cleaned up. We should move out soon, don't like the

look of the locals.

The Jamacian ex-Slayer huffed. More like the other way around, but she

gave no voice to it. Something in her lessened, a knot melted from

between her shoulders in hot liquid, down her spine, over her generous

hips and down her thighs dragging the fight away. Let him go - what

could be the worst that could happen?

It was enough between them, that she needed not say a word. Their

eyes meet; a flow of electrical charges burning an understanding as

intimate and as hellish as any slap and tickle. He met her eyes evenly,

defiantly, surprised by their brilliance and fervour. Her eye colour

changed from khol rimmed black to a dark cabernet.

His clean skin feels suddenly sticky and hot - a shimmering of black

coils at the base of his spine like a wisp of smoke.

Not again! His voice or hers - it doesn't matter. Her heartbeat strikes at

him, at her. His body ached and the hard beat of her pulse flashed

before his eyes.

Mercifully Kendra pulled away, slipping over the threshold and Spike

exhaled the breath he did not know he'd held. She retreated to the

bathroom, closing the door behind her. She pressed her temple against

the door. A moments hesitation, and Spike heard the click of the lock

sliding across.

He had to move now, while he was still willing.

He watched the bleach blond vamp make a surprising and hasty retreat,

heading further downtown on foot... retracing his footsteps back to

where he had picked up their scent. The dude couldn't be that stupid.

Could he?

The dark figure took a cellular from his coat and dialed out. After a few

rings the line was picked up.

"Yeh, it's me. What?! When?" There's a pause, and the man

expression darkens. "Is she all right– Yeh. I'll keep some guys on the

lay low, she'll be protected."

He listened carefully, observing what the man didn't say, before he

continued. "Right. That's why I'm callin'. You need to see something.

Same place? Right."

He hung up, returning the phone to his breast pocket. Nimble fingers

popped the cheap motel lock moments later, allowing him entrance into

the vampires room. His expert gaze took in the dank room, the hints of

a struggle, the bed in disarray, sheets shredded and yanked away from

the mattress. The mockery of a cross pinned to the wall, and the empty

blood vile beneath it. A vampire nest; if it were not for the very living

human presence. Empty food containers and soda cans scattered on

70s carpet, clothes still warm by their owner. Human Vampire wannabes

were nothing new, especially in this part of the city, but then he was ill at

ease with the few well worn tomes of demon anthology set neatly on

the dresser, the maps of extinguished demon habits and the several

well crafted wooden stakes on every conceivable surface. He took it all

in, brow furrowing in confusion. Who was she? What was this hellish

deal with the monster? Was she – she wasn't Alonna, he reminded

himself harshly. Unsure now, he pushed memories of Alonna aside, as

the dark girl exited the bathroom, backwards, dragging Spikes heavy

coat. The white towel hid most of her from his disquieted gaze,

observing the bruises, wounds and strange tattoos on her lower back...

as the towel came loose, the cool air making her warm skin blush. She

was mortal.

She was exquisted.

Not given to hesitation, he found himself lost on what to do. When she

turned to face him, shock paralysing her, he noted the most important

thing of all – he would not be persuaded otherwise.

And Charles Gunn attacked.