He'd known that this was where he would find her. He may not love her like he loved Buffy, but he could feel her coursing through his veins. She was inside him. Drusilla.
He watched her from a distance. She was a vision, his dark goddess. Her long, ash brown hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall, and her large blue eyes framed with dark lashes and pale complexion made her look innocent and doll-like, which in many ways she was. The long skirt of her black dress swayed in the wind as she danced. Always dancing, his Drusilla. Dancing and laughing. Spike lit a cigarette, and watched a while longer.
He couldn't have been dead for long. There was still colour in his cheeks. His body probably still had warmth to it. She held him like a lover and gave him his final kiss. "Goodbye, my love," she said softly, then bit viciously into his neck and drank her fill.
"Spike?" she offered the body to him.
It had been a long time since he had been near human blood. The sight of it was tantalising, the smell almost irresistible. The chip in his head prevented him from harming human beings when they were alive, but dead? Well, they were fair game then. He looked from Drusilla, with her now ugly vampiric face to the body and back again, and made his choice.
It had been a struggle, getting Drusilla into his car. She may have been a woman, but she was almost as strong as he was, and she didn't like to go anywhere against her will. He had grabbed the body from her, and tossed it to the ground. She had started to object, but he put one hand over her mouth, and wrapped his other arm around her body and carried her across the graveyard. Drusilla, however, had other ideas and kicked him sharply in the stomach, flooring him. He recovered quickly and lunged at her, knocking her onto her back. She giggled like a little girl, but fear and confusion clouded her eyes.
"Spike?"
Holding her down with the weight of his body, he searched the ground around his hands until he found a small rock. He hit her hard on the head with it, knocking her unconscious. He slung her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing and carried her to his car.
He was half way back to Sunnydale by the time she came round.
"I didn't like that game Spike. You didn't play by the rules." she looked at him sadly, her wide eyes filled with hurt.
"I know, Dru. I just had to get you home."
"Home? We don't have a home, Spike. The slayer, she..." her voice shook with disdain and she struggled against the ropes Spike had used to secure her to the car seat.
"...She killed our friends like dollies. We had lots of friends, Spike. We used to play games," she giggled, and the sound that used to make his heart sing now made him shudder in annoyance. He looked once more at the woman that used to be everything and was now nothing, and felt something he had never felt for her before. Something he had never felt for anyone before. He pitied her, because she was a shadow. She wasn't complete and vital, she was a shell. Let's face it, she was off her head. And it was all Angel's doing. He seethed when he thought of the man who had in so many ways taken everything good in his life. He had ruined Dru, stealing her sanity before snatching her life from her, and he had stolen Buffy's heart before he had had a chance to conquer it. He would never be close to her in the way that Angel was, and this infuriated him. He was just as much a man as tall dark and broody, and without the bloody forehead overhang! He lit a cigarette, slammed his foot on the gas and turned the volume as high as it would go on his radio to drown out the sound of Drusilla's laughter.