Warning: Spuffy heat approaching...

Buffy insisted on training on her own the next evening. She could feel a rage that was too strong for a sparring opponent to handle. Her anxiety was running high and her anger produced powers of lethal energy with each strike of her fist. She pummelled her punching bag so hard it began to split down the seams. She stopped and held onto the bag. The pressure she was suddenly under was beginning to overwhelm her and she felt the tears coming. She was going to see Angel and her heart ached for him but she also knew she was not going to like what he would tell her. She also didn't know if she could look him in the eye after all the nasty stuff she had done with Spike. She was paranoid Angel would smell him on her. He would know instantly. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She pushed herself off the bag and walked to the back of the gym. She began removing the wraps from around her hands and placed them on the table beside her. She held her mouth to stifle a sob.

What's the matter, love?' she heard from the dark corner of the gym.

Spike took her by surprise and she straightened her shoulders. 'What do you think? And don't call me that.' She sniffed.

'Look, Buffy, if I had known...'

'Why didn't you?' she cut him off, 'You seemed to know everything else. Stop playing games with me, Spike. You tell me now or I'll put a stake to your heart and make you tell me.'

Spike licked his lips and jammed his hands into his coat pockets. 'I owe her my life. My human life, to be precise.'

'How? And ..why?'

London, 1878

William flung open the door to the carriage with excitement. He held onto the side hand rail and leant his body outside the carriage. The air had cooled considerably and light droplets of rain pattered down into his hair and outstretched hand. He had heard of a new arts venue which was accepting new performers. Story tellers, poets, writers, actors, singers. The Knightsbridge Theatre was seeking them all. He wanted so terribly to share his art with people but so far it had only earned him the nickname "William the Bloody". William despised that name. It sounded far too violent for someone who wrote poems of passion and unrequited romance. The only weapon he felt comfortable wielding was a pen.

He grabbed his bag and finally stepped out of the carriage into the street. He held his brief case over his head to shield the rain as he ran across the street to shelter. He was right outside the new venue. An old factory had been renovated and repurposed as a theatre. The outside exterior gave the venue an industrious feel but on the inside, well, William thought it was absolutely magnificent. There were audience booths 2 storeys up. The stage ran the entire length of the back wall and seating as far as the eye could see. William walked down the red carpeted isle, marvelling at his surroundings but not looking where he was going. He ran straight into the back of Lord Embrey. Embrey was well known for being the main instigator of the ridicule William and his poetry received.

'William! Oh ho ho , don't tell me you're going to audition this evening! People come to the theatre to be entertained, my friend, not to be put to sleep.'

Lord Embrey's companions let out a chorus or high societal cackling and William recoiled in embarrassment.

'A man can try. I have a right to speak my art.' William tried to raise his chin.

'Doesn't mean you should.' Lord Embrey guffawed. His friends joined him in laughing once more. William noticed one of the women standing with Lord Embrey did not join the torment. Her face was expressionless as she stared at William and glanced around at her companions. William noticed her skin was ever so slightly more pale than the rest of them and her hair was the perfect shade of grey, almost silver. She looked no older than 40. She had the strangest eyes, William thought she must be blind, however she held his gaze. He suddenly felt it hard to breath so he pushed past the group and hurried towards the area where hopeful performers lined up to audition. William didn't even have a script. It was locked away tight in his brain – a poem he could recite in his sleep. He waited, marching slowly as one by one, people were turned away or invited to the back of the stage for part two of the audition. William finally got to the front of the line and found himself standing in front of a panel of 3 gentlemen. His heart sank when he saw one of the panel was Lord Embrey. Suddenly the words from his poem faded out of his memory, like writing in the sand when the surf washed in. He couldn't string his words together.

'Um...gracious, sorry. I...um...' he patted his pockets in dear hope that he had somehow packed a written version of his poem. To no avail. The men on the panel stared at him blankly, Lord Embrey beaming with cruel amusement.

'Sorry.' William stated and turned on his heel. He power walked back up the isle. He had panicked and now he'd almost reached the front doors. He couldn't face Lord Embrey and his wretched face. The man had a serious problem and the behaviour was starting to interfere with William on a deeper, emotional level. He caught a glimpse of the strange woman who was with Embrey earlier. Her eyes followed him as he practically jogged out through the front doors of the theatre and out onto the street.

He walked for some time. The distance between the new theatre and home was not far but William didn't want to go home yet. He didn't want to arrive home early and watch his mother's face fall in disappointment again. It began to rain and William didn't bother raising his suitcase above his head.

An hour passed and then two. William thought that his mother would be in bed by the time he got home. He could sneak in and tell her the news in the morning. I'll tell her I'm waiting to hear back from them, he thought to himself. He could hear a horse drawn carriage coming and he moved to the edge of the road. By now the rain was coming down harder. The carriage slowed as it passed William. He could hear drunken laughter from inside. Then somebody shouted "Halt the coach!" the carriage came to a stop a little way up the road. William groaned when he saw who popped their head out the side window

'William! Dear boy, whatever are you doing out in this weather?' Lord Embrey called by out, his speech slurred. 'You'll catch your death. Come on, get in.'

William hesitated, but then walked to the carriage door. The door opened out and the occupants shuffled over. William had put one foot on the carriage platform when Embrey leant out the door and grabbed William by the lapels.

'On second thought, old chap, there's no room.' He said, in mock disappointment. Embrey laughed as he let go of the lapels and William fell backwards. He landed on the soggy, dirty ground. Mud and excrement splashed up onto his clothes, face and hands. His glasses, briefcase and shoes were ruined.

'You absolute bastard! Why do you insist on torturing me?' William finally snapped.

Then door to the carriage opened again and this time Embrey stepped out onto the street. He grabbed William, hoisted him up to his feet and pushed him. Three other men stepped out in quick succession.

'Do you want to settle this, do you? Put those fits up, lad. Let's see how tough you really are.' Embrey swayed and put up his fists. The rest of the men did the same.

'Oh fuck it, let's just beat the dog.' One of the men standing behind pushed through and drunkenly punched William hard enough in the face for William to see stars. He heard the other men shouting. Suddenly a white flash streaked across his vision and the yelling turned into screams of terror. William felt something else spatter onto him. A sleek, warm liquid. William cried out in shock and squeezed his eyes shut. He heard people running away and then quiet, aside from a sucking noise. When he opened his eyes he saw a creature hunched over Lord Embrey. The creature had long silver hair and an elegant white dress, now drenched in blood. It had its jaws latched to Embrey's neck and was drinking deeply. William whimpered as he surveyed his surroundings. Embrey and another man were dead. The other men had managed to escape on foot. The horse had taken off leaving hoof prints and wheel trails streaked in the blood.

The blood. The smell. It was horrific beyond anything William could imagine. Suddenly the creature looked up at William and stood up from her kill. It was the woman from the theatre except her face was distorted into something demonic. William got another shock as her face morphed back into her human features before his eyes. She wiped the blood savagely from around her mouth with the back of her hand.

'Are you alright, William?' her voice rang out sweetly.

'You...you were at the theatre. Who on earth are you?' he stuttered.

'Sabbat.' She replied taking a graceful step forward. The blood on her teeth and around her mouth glistened and when she smiled. William shivered.

'Why...why did you? I could have tried and fought them off. Why did you have to kill them?' he spluttered in shock.

'They were going to kill you.'

William was mortified. 'You can't possibly know that!'

Sabbat glided over to Embrey's corpse and pushed up his jacket. A small pistol was holstered to his belt. She picked up his sleeve (his arm still inside) and shook it in a hard, downward motion. A small dagger slipped from the arm hole. William exhaled deeply.

'I suppose then I owe you my life.' He rose wearily to his feet, 'May I ask, why did you save me?'

Sabbat's features softened. 'You have a pure soul, William. I feel like you have a lot of love to give and fuckers like him are what's standing in your way.' William winced at the word "fucker" but it felt satisfying at the same time. Embrey was a fucker and now the fucker was dead. William let out a sob and a chuckle.

'You also remind me of my progeny.' She added, softly.

'So there you go. The story of how was sad little William learnt about vampires and lived to tell the tale. Of course since then I've been searching for bloody Typhon. I'm not obligated, but a debt needs to be repaid.'

'Wow...' was all Buffy could manage. Spike shrugged and rolls his eyes.

''So Typhon was missing before you even met Drusilla?'

'Correct.'

'Ugh, you see, this is what I'm freaking out over. The amount of time this vampire has been missing and I'm expected to, what, pull him out of thin air?'

Spike tilted his head slightly took a step closer to her. 'You could probably do with a little help.' He grinned, taking another step. Buffy raised her chin an inch and braced the table top behind her with one hand.

'I could go to the big smoke for you, perhaps. You won't have to see that poof ex of yours.' He said softly, with a hint of danger.

He was getting closer. Buffy's heart began to pick up speed again. He was intuitive and strangely sensitive and that fascinated her. She had tried to not look too bothered when Giles read out the name of Typhon's betrayer. She had remained stoic, and said 'I guess we're going to LA.'

She tried not to make it obvious that she was getting nervous but she knew he could more than likely smell that on her. Soon he was staring down into her eyes. He bit his bottom lip and said, 'I'll make him talk.' He lightly brushed back Buffy's hair from her face, 'You know how persuasive I can be.' When he placed a hand on Buffy's cheek, she closed her eyes. She leaned into his hand. Then he stroked her face and traced her bottom lip with his thumb. Buffy kissed it softly.

He grabbed her wrist with his other hand and made her touch him. He was already aroused. He placed his forehead against hers. Buffy was bursting at the seams with temptation. How is she letting him do this to her? She couldn't find an answer other than she wanted it bad. She launched herself at his lips and held his face while he hungrily reciprocated.

She reached down again and lightly grasped him over his jeans. She rubbed her hand up and down with an ounce of pressure and he moaned into her mouth. He picked her up with ease and sat her on the table top. He pushed her legs apart with his knee and embraced her, nibbling at her neck. Her pulse and warmth stimulated something primal within. Her hair, her eyes, her resilience. He didn't just want her, he needed her.

Buffy became breathless and let out a little squeak as he slid his hand under her top. The chill of a vampire's skin always took her by surprise. Spike chuckled, 'You know what they say, "Icy hands, Warm heart.'

'Shut up.' She breathed before pulling him to her lips again.

The door to the Magic Box opened. The bell sounded and Buffy panicked.

'Buffy? Are you still here?' they heard a call from the front room.

'Oh no, it's Willow" she whispered.'...In the gym!', She shouted. 'Get off.' Buffy whispered harshly when Spike didn't move away instantly. With one fluid motion he stepped away from her.

'There you are.' Willow appeared in the doorway. 'Hey Spike.' Willow greeted him with a small wave. Spike forced a smile in response as he lit a cigarette.

'So I bring news. Rather biggish news actually. You have to come back to Xander's.'

'What is it, Will? Everyone okay? What did we find?'

'You don't have to go to LA anymore. Angel saved you a trip.' Willow smiled wide but it faded as she noticed the blood drain from Buffy's face. 'Are you okay?''

'I have to shower... I've just been working out and woo I smell.' Buffy chuckled nervously.

'and not just of your smell, pet.' Spike muttered loud enough for only Buffy to hear.