Kindred

By Sweetprincipale

Set in early Season Five. When Dracula called Buffy 'kindred'', he was doing a bit more than just saying they had a lot in common. Hungry for knowledge of herself and her power, Buffy didn't realize what kind of connection he had forged with her until he left town, and the damage was done. Hoping to break his hold over her, Buffy requests help from Spike. However, the way you break the hold of one vampire is to let another one possess you more fully. But, it'll only be temporary, right? Simple business, that's all…

Part XXX

She was used to seduction. It was empowering, fun, a way to satisfy the demon's desire to hunt and prey without any harm. She'd lost her taste for pain and fear when even her once-beloved Sire's whiles couldn't block out the worst of it from her cloudy mind. The desperation and helplessness of unwilling victims left her in a familiar, sickened haze.

Her partners were always willing. She was always good- and if they were lacking, she was a swift and motivating teacher. So many vampires "got off" on pain and fear. She got off on getting off. But while her passion was genuine, she had to admit that in some cases she was playing a part, insatiable demon lover, mysterious recluse with a dark secret, things that could be said to be true. It just wasn't the whole truth.

Damn that honesty toward him and his toward her. He stripped her and laid her bare without ever touching a stitch of her clothing.

Wesley didn't move once she landed in his arms. He could kiss her all night, that would be quite enough. If anyone said differently, then they could go hang, thank you very much. In truth, he felt more comfortable with this. He was kissing his beautiful friend, his Daniela, and there needn't be anything else.

It wasn't his fault that his bits were easily excited by such cool beauty pressed up against him, kissing him hungrily, little sighs and whimpers, needy, wanting, noises… "Bloody hell."

"Oui," she lapsed into French in a breathless exclamation between kisses, plundering and being plundered. "Assied toi avec moi?" She pulled him toward the bed, then paused for only a second, so briefly only a trained observer would catch it, and pushed them toward the chaise lounge. "Wesley," she whispered and resumed kissing him, perched across one of his knees as he fell to the plush seat.

His hands coasted up her back, hers slid down his chest. "C'est assez."

"This is enough? All you want?" She let her hand find its way beneath his robe. Bare chested. She rested over his pounding heart.

"I- I want you. Yourself. I don't need anything else to feel satisfied." She pulled back, face thoughtful, somber. Wesley worried for a second that he had offended her. "I-" He stopped his explanation or apology, whatever his kiss-drugged brain had been about to offer up as her fingers undid the belt of her robe and let it fall in a smooth onyx ripple down her back.

Such a vision. Slender waist, perfectly curving hips and bust encased in sheer black lace with the needlework covering strategic areas, revealing all, yet hiding some. Like her, a mystery in plain sight. "You are stunning." It was all capped by the smoothness of her skin, from head to toe, pure milk, alabaster, with crimson lips and hair that took on sheens of sapphire and ink depending on the light.

"I want you. Yourself." Her hands landed on either shoulder and when he nodded, she slid the robe off and kissed him again, pressing scantily covered skin to his own much warmer flesh. Waited until he grunted and groaned and let herself be lifted up in his surprisingly strong arms.

They didn't move. "Sorcerer?" she murmured against his mouth. "Do you intend to take me floating in mid-air? Or standing like this?"

"Take you? No. Share the gift." He grasped her more closely, feeling her leg wrap around his as he let her touch down. He had no idea why he'd hefted her up. Did it make him seem like some barbarian, off to throw his conquest down on the nearest flat surface and ravage her? He wanted her to stop nestling in his lap, half-straddling his painfully hard erection. No, not strictly true, he wanted her to continue that, but he knew soon he would be arching up against her helplessly.

"Then I think we should unwrap each other over there. More room." She took his hand and tugged him the few steps to the bed. He sat, swallowing hard, nodding. She sidled up slowly. This part she was good at. The slow undressing, a tantalizing striptease while never losing his gaze. Enthralling minus actual thrall. Her hands stopped on her hips. It would be more of a gift if he did it. More intimate. Her sleek, trimmed pussy throbbed suddenly. The thought of his hands pulling the lacy fabric down, his fingers finding how wet she'd become… She moved to him instead, planting herself in his arms, guiding his hands to her waist.

Am I doing this? Wesley nodded, one hand leaving her hip to go back up to stroke the nape of her neck. So many things in him screamed that this was wrong. He was being used, just another lover, another "satisfaction". This was wrong, he was about to make love with something not fully human. He was going to make love to something that had killed. Whole generations of his family had taught him the dangers of the beast he was caressing so reverently.

"I'm so glad you stayed." Her lips pressed his ear.

"I'm so glad you let me."

Deft fingers unhooking two little catches and such glorious breasts fell out. "Those are - amazing. There really is no other word to describe…" Well, his wordy brain went silent as she arched up and he left a line of kisses over cleavage and across tight plum-colored peaks. What the hell? He wasn't one to go for bold maneuvers, but then again, he wasn't one to feel himself falling headfirst in the literal embrace of the vampire. He kept trailing down, kissing his way south until she fell backward with a surprised, pleased gasp. His hands pulled down the lace over her thighs and decided kissing should absolutely continue, she would stop him if it was unwanted attention.

Apparently it was very much wanted from the glistening he could see, even in the dim light, from the breathy noises she made.

"Wesley… Oh, yes. Ohhhhh. Magical all over, aren't you?"

"I try."

"You- ohhh, plus fort- you succeed."

He loved that she suddenly would burst into French. Harder, indeed. He nuzzled into her. "Do you suddenly speak any other languages in a fit of passion?"

"We'll find out. You're well-read, a man of the world, a man of magic. Do you?" Her nails raked his arms softly, then dug into his scalp, bucking against his artful tongue.

"We'll find out. I have a feeling this is going to be different than anything else I've ever experienced."

She laughed and he could feel the vibrations of the silky skin pressing against him. He'd made love to a few women before, but never noticed so much, or felt so close. Heightened.

"I wasn't going to bite you. I'm not much colder than you, not once we're… active."

"I can feel that." Like an ice cream that wouldn't play by the rules. He licked soft, cool folds and felt them grow warm, gently kissed the soft nub and then wrapped his lips around it and felt it go taut. She didn't melt. She melted him. "I meant different because it's you. You're special." Damn. Did that sound cliche? Or trite?

"Mmm." She could only moan as he did things to her that she loved, that made her cum, but she didn't let him repeat the process, though he clearly wanted to. "My turn to show off my skills." She laughed that throaty, honeyed laugh that made him buzz inside and pushed him down gently, only to reverse their positions. She teased his erection with long licks and then deep, engulfing sucks that threatened to undo him instantly. "I'm glad you had that little nap," she teased as she took in the sight of him bucking upward, hips off the bed. Too delectable to resist. She pounced forward, loving the taste of him, loving the way he took pleasure in her actions.

This was not for her own enjoyment, for the end-game, for keeping up her reputation.

This was for Wesley. She slowed down, savoring him. Listening to him gasp and moan, little huffs of air until she could feel the rapid pulsing in him. She slowly removed her mouth, leaving him winded and throbbing.

Like her.

Wesley tried to get his eyes to uncross. His pristine goddess was now flushed and slightly mussed, regarding him steadily. "That was wonderful. You're wonderful."

"Come here, lover," she said softly, but she was the one who crawled up beside him and lay on her side, her hand on his chest, absorbing the sound of his racing heart. "You enter my home. You fill up too many hours of my thoughts."

"You're in mine. All of them these days," he confessed, turning on his side as well. His erection was pressing against her soft lower abdomen. She moved closer, her hips squirming, seeking pleasure. His hand trailed down to part her thighs, gently rub her nub, and then recalling what she said about harder, he pressed into her button more deeply, loving the sudden kisses it earned.

Daniela moved away, slowly breaking their kiss to roll on her back, knees falling apart. "Come in. Fill up the rest of me."

Here she was, this woman who professed to be fashionably evil, self-serving, getting what she wanted without harming others. A neutral force, perhaps. Wesley squinted and shifted. "You don't fool me," he whispered, hand stroking her face, across her throat and breast. Her lips parted in a gasp of pleasure and in questions. "You are incredibly generous. Loving."

"If it suits me," her voice was raspy and small. Don't say it. You wouldn't. Reserved man. Smart man.

"You give such a gift. Of course I'll accept it."

He slid into her carefully, even knowing she could kill him with a single twist of her hand. Because Daniela is fragile in one or two spots. Like all humans.

But she's not…

"Ohhhh," the groan that escaped him was one of pure ecstasy and it wiped out any finer, fancier words in his brain about how he had an epiphany about humanity in this demon's arms.

Daniela let out an answering moan. She was an artist with her mouth, her boudoir skills stemming from a love of pleasure and passion. She loved to talk to her gentlemen during sex, her conversation tempting and sultry, dirty without being filthy, she might say. It enhanced everything, revved them up, spurred her on, stimulated the sex organ so many men forgot, the brain. Bless him, her Wesley seemed keenly aware of that particular erogenous zone.

Wesley left her biting her lip and kissing his, silent except for moans of his name and calls to a deity who wasn't fond of her.

Don't say it. Don't say it, Daniela. It's not true. It couldn't be true.

"Masterpiece," Wesley kissed her shoulder and rocked with her, lost in his own gasps.

"Magician."

"Exquisite."

"Extraordinary," she laughed and locked her calves over his, bringing him in as deeply as he would go, milking him inside, watching his jaw clench and eyes roll back. "No answer, my learned friend?" she teased. This was more comfortable, compliments instead of contemplation.

"I … Daniela, I-"

"Shhh. It's an illusion."

"You're not 'muting' my emotions. You're unlocking them."

"Wesley, please." She shook her head, eyes wide.

"I would never harm you!"

"Please don't hurt yourself."

He understood. She doesn't feel the same stirrings. He nodded and they went back to silent, ecstatic lovemaking, working each other to a peak and screaming over it, hers shrill, his deep.

There was panting. Cuddling, kissing, slowly untangling afterglow. Then, he began to rise, regret on every line of him.

Daniela sat up, sheet over her nude body. "Where are you going?"

"I thought… I thought I was wrong about what you felt. I erm- I don't want to impose."

"You want to stay?"

"Yes." A single, firm nod.

"I want you to stay."

"Because you want to uh- go again?" he asked, sitting back down.

"No."

"Because you're lonely?"

"No."

"Because you-"

"Because I care for you already. Please don't make me-"

"Oh! Oh, Darling." He lunged closer, pulling her under his arm with a surprised squeak, laughter and relief washing over him. "I care for you, too. That's enough. That's plenty."

She shook her head. "I want you to have the best." Love. Sex with love and passion. The full volume.

Have I actually been free these years? Have I been chained up in ways I didn't know?

"I have the best. I have my Daniela."

My Daniela. My Daniela. The words were close to something that left scars. I am not ready for another master.

Could I be ready for a partner? Let us test it out. "I have my Wesley."

"Yes. And you may have me again, right now, if you stop looking like I expect more than your beautiful self and your honest friendship. That will be enough. Plenty."

Honest friendship is enough? His heart challenged him.

Liar.


It was dawn. They hadn't slept. He would have to. He'd never physically exerted himself like that, not in his life. She truly was a master of lovemaking, taking his tired mortal body to new heights, teaching him without making him feel inexperienced, selfless and tender with what she offered, every piece of her lovely body and her clever mind. That mouth alone was worth several fortunes, in his opinion.

"Sleep," she said. "I will, too."

He agreed with a mumble and a last kiss.


Wesley was swimming in something warm and soft. It got cooler, but he tugged it closer and it draped across him, sweet-smelling and purring softly, a kitten against his chest. He petted its sleek little ears back from its head and it mewled, showing huge teeth for someone so small. The purr turned louder, into a rumble that reverberated pleasantly against his skin and he sighed in contentment as the tiger, shades of black and blue, this tiger, draped itself luxuriously against him. What a good girl. He knew it was a girl.

The rumbling and floating hardened and sharpened into sounds. Soft melody that made him smile and start to waken, brain translating. A love song? A lullaby? A mixture that he could listen to forever because… he knew the voice it belonged to. "My lovely Daniela," he sighed and blinked.

Daniela jumped, slightly guilty to be caught snuggling and singing snatches of an old ballad. "Go back to sleep."

"But then I can't see you. Well, I can, but in my dream you're a tiger. Lovely blue and black tiger to match your mane of hair," Wesley confessed in a sleep-drunk haze.

"I prefer tigress," she laughed and wiggled down to look at his muzzy eyes. "We've slept quite a while."

"We wore each other out." He felt the tingling of presumptuousness that made him second-guess. Perhaps she wore him out. Maybe he only amused her and her sleeping patterns were normal for the vampirically-inclined.

"Indeed you did." Daniela felt tensions escape that she hadn't even known she'd been carrying. She sat up slightly, breasts brushing his cheek as she felt for the daybreak. Correction, the mid-day sun. "You must be hungry."

"You must be as well."

"Peckish." She nuzzled back into him, sighing. "Mia and Stefan will be puttering away downstairs and in the garden. She'll be waiting to pounce on the Hoover the second she hears me moving about. She never vacuums until I'm awake."

"Very good staff."

"Family. And when they retire, I'm fairly certain their youngest son and his wife will carry on. Very sweet children, Pierre, Henri, Marc, and Elise. Oh, that's their daughter, not Marc's wife. She's a very nice girl, Swiss, I think. The wife, not their daughter."

He chuckled. "Yes, I see. You know all of them?"

"Oh, yes. Since they were small. Well, not the wife."

"No, of course not." Wesley blinked, also sitting up. "They know?"

Daniela hesitated. "I never told them. I am sure they know. I do not know if the young ones believe it, but the parents, they must know. For one thing, they've seen every room in this house and I…" Daniela hesitated. "It's not the way I'd like to greet a lover in the morning, but would you like to see my winery?"

"You have a winery?"

She smiled and reached for her robe. "I like to play with words."


The room was immaculate. There was a reclining chair in leather, a television across from it, a stack of magazines nearby, books as well, on every subject. Then there was the metal IV pole, the neat, white, clinical cart with needles, bags, gloves, and tubes. "Oh. Winery."

"When they go out of town. I- One of the men I saw for several years was a doctor. He taught me. It's very simple."

"I'd like to make a donation while I'm here."

"I didn't bring you here for that!"

He took her hand and squeezed the angry, alarmed tone away. "I know that. I am being sincere. I want to leave some each day I'm here. Each time I'm here. I will be back, won't I?"

"Yes. Yes, if you want." You don't have to leave right away, she found herself thinking. You don't have to leave at all.

Her body had been well-fed all of these years. Her heart suddenly seemed so terribly hungry.

"After breakfast? Or lunch? And meeting the family?"

"Yes. After that. And this…" She slid her hand into his robe and stroked his cock, which sprang to life. "Appetizer?"

"God, yes, please!"


Mia eyed him up as she put food in front of him. Stefan looked at him quizzically. There was a hurried conversation in low voices, a blend of Italian, French, and Spanish. They spoke with their backs turned, but their low voices audible. They kept up the pretense of sorting things out on the long, wood-paneled sideboard. Daniela was having a hasty drink from upstairs between soup and the main course, or else her servants probably wouldn't have engaged in such discussions. Wesley didn't know if it would be ruder to carry on as if he didn't know all those languages or interrupt and warn them.

I don't like this one.

I like him. He makes madam happy.

I know! He will skip off, back to his own country and she'll be miserable.

How do you know?

They all do!

How do you know she's happy?

She was singing in the kitchen. I never hear her sing.

She used to sing with her sister. The one in the painting in the hall?

I know. I don't like this one.

Wesley interrupted with a soft cough. "If I do leave, I've been asked to return. I have every intention of doing so."

Mia let out a startled gasp. Stefan grinned, deeply tanned, seamed face and gray hair suddenly obscured by boyish delight. "Ah! Got you, Mia!"

"Wesley, what have you done?" Daniela returned, fairly trotting into the dining room. She never trotted. She moved with grace. Permanently a predator, she knew how and when to run, and one must do it purposefully or not at all. Never in one's own home unless there was a threat. Or she couldn't stand to be away from him for another second.

"I broke the English stereotype that we only knew one or two languages." He smiled. Mia gave him a grudging smile in return. "Your dear friends are worried I'll leave and make you sad." He rose and moved over to her side. She had a trace of dark red under her lower lip, proof of her haste. Wesley took the linen napkin from her place and startled her by wiping it away. "But I have no intention of such unspeakable crimes."

Stefan prodded his wife's arm with his elbow, catching the calm way Wesley had removed what was so obviously blood. There was a hurried conversation with their eyes.

Daniela seemed temporarily at a loss. She'd never announced it to them and she had no intention of doing so. They wouldn't remark upon it, because they wouldn't risk such an indiscretion. "Let's sit?"

"Let's sit."

"Mia, the soup was wonderful. Could we have the rest now, please?"

"Yes, madam," Mia moved back into the kitchen. Stefan followed her. "He knows!" Mia gasped, leaning on the immaculate kitchen island for support.

"I think they all do, Love."

"But… he knows. Differently," Mia couldn't explain it and shrugged in frustration. She started carving roast beef with sudden ferocity. "If he breaks madam's heart…"


"Mia and Stefan say I make you happy. And that if I go, you'll be miserable." Wesley enjoyed the weight of her arm through his as they walked under the shady oaks and found a bench under a thickly-vined arbor.

"Mm. Do they?" She looked amused, eyes lazily lidded, allowing herself to lean on him.

"So, I assured them I would like to return. If you'll have me?"

She nodded, not at all demure as she'd like. "Please. But your work schedule…"

"Is demanding and flexible. I have to help if they need me."

"Of course."

Wesley swallowed suddenly, hot jealousy flaring up in him. It could be weeks. She has to eat. She has no compulsions about monogamy, look at how she lived her entire life! It would be wrong to deprive her of her pleasure and her food source. He winced. The thought of her with someone else made him hurt in a variety of places.

"Was it the pot au creme? Too rich? Too much? Mia likes to show off if I give her the chance." Daniela misread his sudden wince and the hand that flexed and clenched on his knee.

"It was rich and far too much, and I can't wait until dinner," Wesley laughed. He smiled at her and the silence and the gnawing pain magnified as she laughed with him, dark lashes over beaming eyes, hidden treasures that he'd uncovered.

She'll laugh with others. Yes. She's laughed with many others, bedded many others. It didn't bother you last night.

I don't know how to do this. It wasn't a commitment, it was barely a first date, it's… "Not something I'm good at," Wesley ended the silence with a tight, apologetic smile. "Sorry. Jealousy. All that."

Daniela blinked. She was far from naive, but for a moment she was a bit confused. "Mia's cooking skills are flawless, it's nothing to be jealous of. I suppose I could ask her to give you the recipe."

"While any man with taste buds would envy Mia's abilities, that's not what I was erm- thinking about. I am thinking about after I go."

"You'll return. You said so," Daniela spoke far too quickly for someone who could take or leave his company.

"I will! Yes, as often as you'd like and I can get away." His own voice was schoolboy earnest and eager, his hand squeezing around hers. "And you can come and see me, yes, any time."

"Then… what's the Sorcerer to be jealous of?" Her head cocked. "I have already told you, I'm no fool, Darling. I don't let go of good things. And you… you are a classic. A rarity." A kind human. With a good heart. They are not rare in and of themselves, perhaps, but to treat me as he treats me, that is rare indeed.

Wesley felt as though he'd swallowed a whole tumbler full of brandy, warmth spreading in him, fiery tinges along the sweet burn. But, realism was there. "You still need to eat."

"Well, of course I-" Daniela frowned and paused. "Oh. I see."

"I assume you have a very busy social calendar. With your friends and lovers. The ones who leave you gifts for the larder?" He tried to smile, but it was broken on one side.

"Yes. A few nights a week." Why hadn't this come up before? Well, it had, but it was dismissed, because it was with others. If they got clingy or demanding, or even controlling, the ill-bred oafs, she was done with them. They never dared trouble her after she told them in no uncertain terms to leave. What would they do against a demon, after all? They should be lucky to live to tell the tale.

Daniela bit her lip. "Wesley, I-"

"Is that a Rodin? Good Lord, it is!" And he was off, across the garden, trying to calm down, crossing a sudden patch of light to isolate himself, just for a moment, by a large statue of an embracing couple.

He heard the sizzle over his thudding heart and his deep breathing.

His heart, so loud a second ago, was suddenly still as he turned. She walked slowly, edging around the gap in the shade, a hiss of smoke against her skin that might as well have seared him, too.

"Don't move! For God's sake, it's not that important, it's a bit of metal!" Wesley raced back to her and all but tackled her to the grass.

"Hmmm. I prefer our outdoor revels in the moonlight. I'll show you the lover's temple by the pond," she laughed as they fell. He didn't laugh, just pressed her burnt hand to his lips, pain in every line of his youthful face. "Oh dear," Daniela sighed and touched his cheek regretfully.

"I know. I'm sorry. It was childish to go where you couldn't. And childish to feel… to feel like a few days with me would change decades of habit. I'm sorry."

Daniela held onto him until he gave in and lay against her side, head on her breast, her hands weaving through his hair. "You are a clever one. I knew that. You're quite right. Knowing you for a few days wouldn't change my habits. Not all of them."

He nodded, soundless. Are you willing to take what little crumbs you can have?

Yes.

Will it hurt?"

Yes.

Love isn't supposed to hurt so damn much, or else people wouldn't keep doing it. I guess it hurts if it won't work in the long run. I should ask Buffy if she and Spike… I should ask if they're happy. I shouldn't have to ask that. They shouldn't be in love.

I'm not supposed to be, either.

Vampires aren't supposed to be capable of love. Love is an unselfish emotion and the demon wants what the demon wants.

Then why did she ask Dracula to send her with Ari? Why did she tell him to go ahead and finish her after Jeannette? If not for love, if not for a broken heart…

"This silence I can read. Unselfish silence. You are going to hurt yourself so that I do not suffer. Yes?"

"I suppose." He shrugged.

"You think it is suffering for a woman to find one good companion instead of scores of mediocre or even talented but casual lovers?"

"I- uh- no? Well, not so much the lover bit of it, but the food… I would never deprive you of your- your drink of choice, especially because you get it in such a humane, enjoyable way." Which I find myself growing more curious about, except when I'm being eaten alive by jealousy. I'd rather simply be nibbled on in a whole new way.

Daniela marveled. And then grew indignant, even if the indignation was affectionate. It transformed again, fear, worry, need, so many things all bludgeoning the fortress of her heart and her carefully kept secrets until she sat up slowly and looked away while she told him. "I can do more, you know. Some- in fact, I believe nearly all humans think demons are things of pure evil, incapable of love. Some are, I suppose. I've met humans incapable of the emotion, too. I- I am not telling you this for any specific reason," she coughed over her lie, "but I thought you should know. That I am. Capable of it. If I should choose to."

"I know that! I believe it, wholeheartedly, I do." Wesley turned her face to look at his. "I wasn't- I wasn't doubting your ability."

"Good." Her voice became brisk. "I simply wanted you to know that I am capable of such an emotion."

"I understand."

No, I don't.

No, he doesn't. Not fully. "You are the only gentleman I've ever cared to make aware of that fact."

That damn thudding was back, much faster. "Well, I'm sure the others know. It's so obvious."

"Perhaps. If you have the keen eyes. If you listen. Regardless, I didn't care if they knew or not." Her cool fingers were suddenly icy, numb, words were coming out at normal speed, but her brain was skipping like a badly scratched record. "But you…"

"Yes?"

"You, I care about. You, you must be made certain."

She winced away from him, every syllable having a cost. Daniela couldn't feel the old bond any longer, but the words were a betrayal, weren't they?

"Thank you for telling me. I don't know if the same concerns apply, but I… I'm capable. As well. Sometimes I probably seem too stiff and er- bookish. But it's there."

"I know. That's why I bothered to tell you."

Wesley felt her convulsive shudder against him. "Please don't be upset. I wasn't trying to - to rush, or to pressure you to-"

"He said he loved us. We were his immortal brides, his- his sacred ones, his Kindred. How could he kill us and trade us away?" she hissed, lips quivering.

"I don't know. I know I could never- even after a day… I can't imagine letting you go."

Daniela let out a wet-sounding laugh. "I'll wake up. It'll have been a dream, you know? This feeling and the absurd notion that I haven't felt this way before…"

"Haven't you?"

A single shake of her head.

"I could… I could wake up with you? Or I could show you this isn't a dream."

It was a struggle, but composure was regained, the slippery ingrate. "Yes. Let's go do something real. And then, perhaps before we go out and see Paris at night, you'll excuse me? I have phone calls to make."

"Yes, yes. Me, too."

Jealousy flickered. "Cordy?"

"I might check in. But no, my other friend. She is a girl, a young lady. But she's taken. I knew her when she was in school," Wesley answered truthfully. "And- you? Postponing appointments?" With other lovers?

"Making one for the day after you leave."

"Ah. Right."

"I suppose you could go with me."

His chest was a hot, angry ball this time, no warm brandy and cozy tingles. "No, I think I'd-"

"Eitan is probably the best butcher in the city. He'll give you anything you want at a discount."

"Butcher?" A paramour or - "Daniela, I hate sounding stupid."

"As if you could."

"Are you sleeping with the butcher or picking up dinner?"

She laughed. "When he was in his forties, about twenty years ago and newly widowed- both. Now? Dinner and talking. He knows the secret of eternal youth. Good bloodlines." She winked. "He'll sell me whatever I need."

His heart flared happily, but he felt obliged to say something. "I know you're not going to - to give up your way of life for someone you just met. I have no right to ask for that."

Daniela pulled him to his feet, trying to explain herself without giving away too much. Then, she gave up. "I never cared before if my lovers had a dozen others besides myself, as long as they were attentive to me when we were together and discreet when we were apart. I'm a good hunter, my dear. I know how to choose my marks wisely." Her voice purred and her hand caressed his chest as they walked back to the house.

"Mhmm."A thrill of danger danced up his spine. Danger should not feel so erotic.

"Typically, I would not ask about your habits, who called you, who she was, that girl in your phone…" Daniela's voice became a sudden hiss and her arm seemed to dig into his more tightly- or was she just pulling him along more rapidly? "This time, I care. I have no right to ask you to change your habits, either. Normally, I would not."

He stopped, halting her in a dim, cool spot where two trees made a roof with their branches. "I don't want to see anyone else- er- romantically, I mean. I'm very loyal." Loyal to Buffy, too. Surely Daniela would understand. I have to talk to Buffy first. "But, then again," he said hastily, "your purpose in taking a lover is two-fold."

"No longer," she admitted with a tight shrug. It was frustrating to suddenly feel shackled again, her heart full of deeper, confusing emotions, caring about this one's happiness in the long-run not simply in the heated moments when they were together. Although, when she was done fighting the feeling of fear and resentment, she acknowledged this time felt different. "I would prefer to dine alone than dine with someone other than you," she said simply.

He instigated the kiss, surprised at all the hot, lustful feelings that overcame him, and the words whispering in the curve of her white neck and midnight hair. "After the evening out, would you show me? What you do?"

She gasped as his lips latched on and he pressed her into the trunk of the tree in a way that made her want to lie down under it. "In- my winery?" she gasped out as her fingers started in on his shirt buttons.

"No. In your bedroom."

"Wesley…"

"I'm not afraid of you. I trust you. And- and you can trust me, Daniela. Even though I haven't told you everything, I would never harm you or act in a way that I thought would hurt you." Losing her sire will hurt her. Until she lets herself feel the relief. I want to kill him. I want to kill him myself, for her, for Ari, for Jeannette, and I never even met them, these murdering demons- but demons she loved. Oh, God, what am I doing?

"After dinner and our night out, then. If you're certain."

"I am certain of you."

She was always a bit cooler than her human companions, but right now she was sure he would feel the heat radiating off of her. "Aperitif? Inside?" Her fingers moved pointedly to his belt.

"But- Stefan and Mia are-"

"Not going to disturb us." She pulled away and looked at him with bewitching eyes. She let go of his hand and playfully began to walk away, an arch smile on her face.

He found himself thinking he would follow her just about anywhere as he ran to catch her, to hear that laugh that felt like a waterfall on his skin.


She was washing her hair and dressing to go out. He had made good use of his own shower and found Mia or Stefan had already pressed his suit. He didn't know, although he could calculate if he made an effort, what the time was in Sunnydale. It wouldn't matter, he had to call immediately, when she wouldn't overhear.


"Buffy."

Buffy had been trying to look at her course schedule - how could classes start on Monday?- and talk to Spike about the list of people they wanted to invite to the "engagement" party at the gallery- how could that be next Friday and why did her mom have to insist on an actual list and actual invitations?- and she was trying to figure out which tops and scarves would make acceptable bite-mark concealers while still looking cute and collegiate. Spike was currently festooned with scarves and had been playfully explaining something about blindfolds and silk on pulse points, things that made her wet and blush-y and giggly like there was nothing else looming in the world.

One word and all the laughter was gone. "Wesley?" Buffy dropped her pink day-planner (a gift from Willow) and motioned for Spike to listen.

"Yes."

"Are you- okay?" He sounded all tight and tense, not quite the voice she remembered.

"I'm wonderful. I have some information for you. Daniela no longer has any sort of link with Dracula, but she is sure he could penetrate her thoughts if he were near enough and tried hard enough, even though they no longer are bonded. I don't know if the same issue would befall you, as you were barely together and they lived together for hundreds of years. She also is willing to come as my guest to my home, and I've invited her to come to that party you mentioned."

"Oh, wow. Okay. Could you find out if she can tell where he is? Now? Like, I don't know where he is physically and I want to know, even though he can poof himself to the other side of the planet."

"I'll try. Another thing… you intend to kill him. You and Spike, you are the two who must move together?" his voice a whisper, his eyes fixed on the door of his room, ears straining for the sounds of steps in the hall.

"That's the plan."

"I want to help."

"This recon is totally helpful," Buffy reassured, biting her lip.

"No. I want my hands round his throat. Want his head. You've no idea." His voice had become something dark and growling, the noises of beasts in the wild protecting their dens.

"Wesley, you're … You sound different. What's wrong?"

"I don't know. I never felt … like this."

"Did she hurt you? Did she find out?"

He swallowed convulsively, "No. And if I lose her over it, I lose her in good cause. He needs to die."

Buffy's voice was quiet and grave. "Lose her?"

Silence. "Yes. I said that."

"What did she tell you?"

"The story of a very handsome, powerful, charismatic man. A very cruel man who does things that are truly evil. Treats humans like dinner, but all vampires do that. Treats the women he swears to protect, to claim to love, as pawns. If you want to hurt someone, hurt them. Don't kill… don't kill the ones they love most. Buffy, watch out. He will come at you, but how will he come? Who do you love most? Joyce, Giles? Your father? Willow and Xander?"

She didn't answer. Yes. All of those. And above all, just a tiny, little bit, one he hadn't named. Her husband. Her literal salvation, her life and death. "Would she help us fight him?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think so. At this point."

"We don't have a lot of time. There are all kinds of cars on a collision course around here, Wesley."

"I realize. It's a timebomb. She's going to come back with me. I had asked her to come next week, but she and I… she fancies a trip abroad for a few weeks. I invited her to your party."

"You said that." Buffy found all sort of jumbled thoughts colliding. Good! Bad! No, she'll know his weaknesses. She'll help. She'll stop us. She'll stop him. "Whose side is she on, exactly? I know she doesn't kill, but that doesn't mean she's a friend. I guess it means she could be."

"She's loyal to him as her sire, to an extent. But, I don't know how long that loyalty will last if certain comparisons are made." Wesley felt himself leaking cold sweat without warning. The angry, soundless working of her face when he asked if Daniela ever wished Dracula harm. She couldn't say it. But she did.

The beautiful ethereal face of a lost sister. Of two. Of dozens, used as trades and trinkets, as assuagement to an overblown ego. The way she couldn't meet his eyes when she talked about waiting to- to service him, scantily clad and deposited somewhere, for his pleasure alone.

She couldn't even fully enjoy it, he realized, numbed as she was. No wonder she seeks it so much now, something tangible, provides relief, comfort, meets a need when it's for feeding.

Am I enough?

"Wesley? Wesley?"

"I'm here."

"I want to meet her and everything but if there's any chance, any chance at all that she'll turn on us, you can't let her come to the w-party. Or even to Sunnydale. I'm trusting you with my life, okay? Do you get that?"

He was touched. He was honored. "I won't let you down," he said, sniffing in suddenly.

"You better not," Spike's voice was abruptly on the line, hard, slow, careless and relaxed in the threats it made, "because if you bring death to my girl, I'll bring it right back to you."

"Spike, stop. He's trying to help."

"But, Luv, I-"

"I understand, Buffy. I'll return the gesture. If you harm Daniela, even if she fails to act, bound by centuries of loyalty to a truly devastating master, I'll kill you, Spike."

"Hey!" Buffy and Spike chorused in angry shock.

"I am perfectly serious. She may not be able to raise a hand to him. You have no idea what he did to her, and because of her information, you won't have to relive it. Do you understand?"

"Listen, mate, I-"

"We understand. Spike, we understand. Keep in touch, and um- let me know about the loyalty situation. Thanks." Buffy hung up without warning and turned to a seething Spike, waves of unsettled anger rolling off of him. "Stop."

"Slayer, if she goes in on his side, she's a threat we can't let stand."

"Stop," she repeated gently. "He wants to protect her. He wants to help us, but not at the cost of her. Don't you see?"

"The fatheaded prig in my way?"

"Fatheaded prig in love." Buffy smiled.

Spike drew up short in his angry pacing. "You think?"

She nodded. He didn't look convinced. "Come on, you could have an immortal pal."

"I don't want an immortal pal," he said stubbornly.

"Wesley and I can go to 'My Lover is Allergic to Sunlight Anonymous'."

"Not a real thing."

"Angel will puke if his ex and his best buddy fall for hot vamps?" Buffy suggested, stooping to his level.

"Ooh, now there's a thought." He brightened marginally. "Might be nice… having someone in the same boat. If they end up that way."

"I never heard him sound like that, ever. I've heard very few people sound like that, and I'm starting to pick up on the 'I'm in love' tone. I don't know what's going on, but I've been in the hyped-up mind-controlled state and it sucked. I had it for a week or so. She had it for centuries. I can't imagine… She gets cut a huge amount of slack. I mean, Xander ate bugs. He hates vampires and bugs. Really hates bugs. He was almost eaten by a horny praying mantis once."

"That'll make thrillin' tales for the stag night," Spike chortled. "Your point?"

"A day or two. A day or two in Mr. Transylvania's control made Xander do three things that he hates most- betray friends, play nice with vampires, and not only deal with but eat bugs. Wesley wants that monster dead and wants to protect someone who got that treatment for years. That's okay by me, since said ex-wife is no longer chowing down on people in the harmful way. But I am concerned about some other stuff." Buffy's face lost its determined look and turned worried, big eyes melting into his. "He comes after the people around you. I didn't… I didn't think he would do that. I thought he'd just come after me."

"Pretty sure he will if he gets the chance, if he gets wind of what we're doing."

"That's just the start. You heard Wesley. Dracula used his women as pawns. Like we're things to him, possessions. He'll kill the ones they love most. He didn't seem to need to do that to control them. He wanted to bond with them, have some deep connection, remember? 'Only when you burn for it', he told me."

Spike hesitated. "Yeah, well, don't that fit the pattern of a lot of awful husbands?"

"Huh?"

"Wine you an' dine you, treat you like a queen and get you to come along down to the church, wedding bells, begging to be his little wife- and then in a few months, he drops the act. He's got you now. You're his plaything. He can do what he likes with you." Spike looked ill. "You know I'm… I'm not like that? I never even got to bloody wine you or dine you, 'cept our one night away."

"I know you're not like that. I can feel you're not like that. And I guess you're right. If Dracula keeps his exes loyal, dead, or passes them into new 'ownership', there would be few left to talk. Maybe only this one. Whatever she told Wesley got under his skin. He's been a pompous ass and a world class jerk, but I can tell when he's blustering and blowing smoke. This was real. Real fear. Real love. Damn."

"Watchers are lonely blokes, too, you know. Gotta find someone you can let in your world, so it's someone in your circle or someone you can let in."

"I've tried letting people in. It's uber tricky." She leaned back against him suddenly. "I love you. I'm glad you're in."

"I'm not just in your circle, Luv. We are our own circle. Unbreakable." Something twinged inside his head, like something he was missing poked him in the brain and then ran off laughing before he could get a proper look.

"To this life and the next," Buffy repeated a half-vow, one that seemed so beautiful… and so laden with hidden meanings. "I think I'm missing something. I think there's something we said…"

"That is very significant? Yeah, me, too. Think we oughta tell Giles?"

Buffy smiled. She liked the way Spike was beginning to call her friends by their given names. Like they were people, not former enemies or current conveniences. She liked the way her friends were doing the same for him. "I think we should, but at the same time," she blushed and recalled the private wedding ceremony that Kindred exchanged, two bodies joining, becoming one flesh, the feverish need to bite and be bitten, the feel of his explosion in her deepest, softest parts, her heart thundering so hard she thought she might explode, and the safety of giving herself to him, the one able to cool the blaze. "I don't want him to know about the vows we made. The marriage we already had. Not yet. I mean, I think Giles knows we're sleeping together, or at least doing something beyond friendly kissage. I can't explain how special that night was and I don't want to share it. Yet. But after our fake wedding, and then our actual wedding-"

"-and second actual wedding night with a proper honeymoon," Spike interjected. He briefly wondered if the Countess lady had any connections on this side of the Atlantic that might be tailored for vampires who wanted posh accommodations for a week or two of vacation.

"Then it'll be like- expected." Buffy nodded. She blushed as she remembered all the intimate words and actions, things that felt natural but would sound strange to the outsider's ear. "It's hard to tell him certain stuff. Watcher or not, he's also my dad-guy. He already had to hear about when I- with Angel. That first time? Since it was what turned him evil." Buffy shuddered.

Spike growled low and pulled her closer. "He was already evil, Pet. no, shh. Don't put that on yourself."

"He lost his soul and he went from- from someone good to someone so horrible and-" Buffy found her wrist suddenly squeezed tight enough to make her gasp. Spike winced in sympathy, feeling her pain and feeling his chip warn him not to get carried away.

"Your lot has a real big problem that I want clearin' up," Spike's growl didn't leave, it deepened, darkened, prowled around and menaced, making her listen. She nodded, taking him seriously. "You have this effed up belief, this little mantra you trot out and it's gonna get one of you killed."

"What? What is it?" Buffy looked startled.

"'He has a soul. He's good.' A soul doesn't make you good, Buffy."

"But Angel's soul-"

"Was his human soul. I know lots of humans. Lots of demons. Souls. No souls. Guess what?" He shook her arm lightly, the same fierce note of warning in his tone as when he'd told her about Slayers and their inevitable wish for death, for peace. "A soul don't make you good, Slayer. Makes it harder for you to be bad, maybe, but don't make you good. Serial killers who kidnap little kiddies and slice 'em up? Jealous husbands who shoot wives for lookin' at another bloke? Wives who bump off their sweet old hubbies when they get rich enough and old enough to trade up for something with bigger muscles and a tan? Blokes who sell girls into slavery? Hitler? Stalin? Humans! Soul in residence, no demon in there, like to wish there was, but there isn't. A soul. Doesn't. Make. You. Good. A person decides to be good or take the road to hell. You cost Angel his soul in one sweet act, one beautiful gift that he didn't deserve, Luv. And he had a choice. He could repay you with love and holdin' onto you, because you don't need a soul to feel loyalty, to care, to love. He chose evil." Spike's eyes were bright, his shoulders shaking as he finished his speech. "I'm not 'good.' But, I can choose to be. Every time I heard him start in on that bloody curse as an excuse, I wanted to murder him. Every time I hear you blame yourself, I want to murder him, bring him back, and repeat the process. All the fuckin' guilt you're carrying around belongs on his back!" Spike flung his hands up. "An' I'll never be good enough for some of the people in your life, because I don't have a soul…"

Buffy was breathing hard, her thoughts pelting her. Wait. Wait. Wait. He can't be right. Angel would have told me if he was right. He would have said, "It's not your fault, Buffy. Don't blame yourself, Buffy." He never said that. I've… I've been feeling ashamed, blaming myself for every single thing that happened after that night and it wasn't my fault? Buffy burst into tears, soft, gasping sobs.

Spike burst into curses, all aimed at himself. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Buffy, sweetheart. I'm sorry, I shouldn't bring all that up now. I have my reasons but-"

Buffy shook her head, gulping down salt and smiling. "Spike! No, not unhappy tears. R-relief." She let out a shaking breath. "I didn't do it? I didn't get Jenny Calendar killed? I didn't get Giles tortured or anything like that? It really w-was him?"

"Of course you didn't!" Spike looked stunned. Had she been carrying around that much guilt for her old flame's actions? It was Buffy. Biggest heart in the universe. Yes, of course she was.

"Angel said without his soul, he was evil."

"Yep. Reckon that's right. And with it, he's good. Bully for him. That proves he hates what he does when he's got a demon. Newsflash, he's always got a demon. You always have choices, too. Not to bring up the worst bit of the mess, Pet, but if he claims his demon wanted you dead and without his soul he was powerless to stop it, then why did he drag it out for weeks?"

"To hurt me as much as possible," Buffy whispered.

"Right. That's a choice. Demon wanted you dead, let's go with that. If it's in charge, you'd be snuffed in an hour. Angel or Angelus, he makes choices. He could see you and let you live. He fooled you at first, didn't he?"

"For a little bit," Buffy admitted softly.

"Because he can act on his own, soul or no soul. Make choices, soul or no soul. A soul doesn't make you good," Spike concluded heavily, collapsing back onto the bed, looking suddenly very tired for someone in such supernaturally good health.

Buffy slowly perched next to him. All the words he'd said spun around and landed like snowflakes in a blizzard's wind, finally covering her.

It wasn't my fault. I was part of it, but what happened after, that wasn't really on me.

Angel is so getting a broken nose when I see him next.

My husband is a good man. A philosopher, a genius, and a good man. She took his hand, slipping her warm fingers through his cooler ones with a broad but tremulous smile. "My husband is a good man," she informed him.

He straightened up. The way she said it… it didn't mean he was out there polishing his shiny armor and his self-important heroics. It meant he was good to her, and for her, and in general, because of what he chose to do now. "Yeah?" he asked softly.

"Yeah."

"I was bad for ages. Chose it."

"I know."

"I made bad choices and I liked 'em. The fighting. The power. I liked that."

"It's cool. I like that, too. At least when I have some excellent backup." Buffy nodded. "You're still a good man. My husband is a good man and I'm proud to be his wife."

Spike felt pride blotting out so many other emotions, including common sense. "I'm good. What does that make Angel?"

"A total idiot who I'm going to punch out the next time I see his broody face."

He laughed in surprised delight. "I love my wife. My very wonderful wife."

To be continued…

Author's Note: CrossRealms Encounters: Wicked Woods comes out on March 1st, 2021! All of my original S.C. Principale fiction is available for free on Kindle Unlimited and I would love it if anyone who enjoys paranormal erotica or romance would check it out.