Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS.
Thank you ObscureBookWyrm for being the best beta ever!
Awakening
Chapter Nine
Spike worked quickly, gathering up pine boughs and building a circle of them in a glade not far from the cave. He couldn't sense the beast, but that didn't mean it wasn't lurking in the shadows, watching, waiting, incensed at the flames preventing it from reaching Buffy.
In his duster pockets he'd stored two plastic bottles filled with fuel. He emptied one onto the boughs, and stuffed a rag torn from Buffy's destroyed shirt in the other.
To steady his nerves he let his mind wander to the fact that Buffy lay naked under the down sleeping bag. All pink and perfect and warm.
He was so caught up in his thoughts he almost missed the sound of a twig breaking. Spike whirled around, finding everything undisturbed. Instincts quivering, Spike studied the shadows. The breeze moved the branches, but beneath the high boughs of a Jeffery pine the shadows didn't sway quite in rhythm with the rest.
Spike took a step forward, and the shadow melted away. Cocking his head, he listened. He could hear the crackling of the flames he'd set to protect Buffy, the wind rustling through the trees, but no other sounds, no wildlife, not even insects, a sure sign the beast was near.
Faster than the wind, Spike sprinted towards the cave. The flames still towered high, but a few branches had been dragged away from the conflagration, small blazes sizzling in the wet undergrowth.
Standing protectively in front of the blaze, Spike whirled to search the tree tops. In the distance a bovine cough rang out, angry and thwarted. Spike ran and leapt, clearing the ground by fifteen feet to land on a wide branch. From beneath his duster, he slid a long-bladed Bowie from its sheath at the small of his back, slashing up, blade out.
The beast barked, startled into nearly slipping out of the tree he'd been hiding in. Spike missed his mark, but his grin was nasty and triumphant as he balanced on the branch, face to face with the beast.
"That's right, you nasty bugger. I'm more of a threat than you thought. You want her? You go through me," he hissed the last words, face transformed.
Instead of bolting, the beast lunged, roaring in its wet, guttural way. Spike dodged, boots slipping on the bark. Unbalanced, he slid a few feet before regaining his equilibrium in the tree. Spike leapt from the branch, feeling an empty swipe of claws slice the air where he'd stood only seconds before.
When he hit the ground, Spike whirled, expecting to be face-to-face with the beast; instead he was met with a massive thigh covered with stinking fur. Spike looked up and up and up. The beast towered over him on two legs, its beady red eyes glaring down at him from where its slashing horns met the pine boughs.
"Bloody hell," Spike gasped. He knew it was big, but not that big.
He slashed out, aiming for what he hoped was a tendon. The sharp edge of the blade only served to shear some of the thick fur from its hindquarters, the wool too dense and matted for the knife to get any real penetration.
The beast swayed forward, and Spike scrambled back. It fell to all fours, crouching belly down to the ground until it slunk no higher than Spike's chest. There was a crackling sound, the sound bubble wrap makes when crumpled, as the beast twisted its head, horns pointed to the ground, chin aimed at the sky.
It looked up at Spike, peeled back its black lips over yellow teeth, and sniggered.
"Sod this."
Spike turned on his heel and bolted.
He didn't need to turn around to know the beast chased him through the bracken. He could feel its fetid breath on his neck, smell its unholy stink.
Sheathing his knife, he reached into his duster pockets, fishing out the Molotov cocktail with one hand and his lighter with the other. He cleared the heap of pine boughs he'd used to form a barrier, and kept running until he reached the center of the arena he'd created.
He flipped open his Zippo, flicking the flint wheel. Sparks burst and died. Nothing. Again. Nothing.
"Fuck," Spike breathed, just as a large and fetid weight barreled over him. He lost the bottle. He lost the lighter. Pinned beneath the beast he struggled, screaming when it took his bicep between it large, square teeth and bit down.
It wrapped its paw around his shoulder from behind, thick black claws curling around to pierce him above the heart. Vamped, pinned and desperate, Spike did the only thing he could. He bit down on the creature's forearm, past wet wool and rubbery skin. It tasted of rot, death, and sulfur. Spike worried his fangs like a dog on a bone, yanking away as much flesh as he could. The creature coughed, the force of the bovine sound rattling through Spike's bones.
His shoulder released, Spike used the small freedom to swing back his elbow, hoping to make contact with anything. He connected with the side of the creature's face, the thick, angular bone of its skull nearly fracturing Spike's elbow.
It was worth the pain. The beast reared back, and Spike scrambled forward, his hand settling on the plastic water bottle filled with diesel. Behind him he could hear the beast charging forward. Still on his hands and knees, Spike flipped around, removed the rag from the bottle's mouth, and squeezed.
Yellowish liquid squirted out into the beast's face. It reared back, bawling loudly as the fuel burned its eyes. Spike summersaulted to the side, toward where he thought his lighter might be. The entire time he squeezed, spraying fuel all down the creature's shaggy side.
The lighter wasn't easy to find. It was dark, the rot of seasons-old pine needles thick on the forest floor. Spike skimmed his hands over the ground while the beast snorted and pawed at its face behind him.
"C'mon! C'mon!" he hissed.
Spike's hand closed over something small and cold. Kneeling on the forest floor, he flipped open the lighter, flicking the flint wheel frantically. Behind him the beast gave a great braying cough of anger, staggering towards him.
The flame ignited, washing Spike's leonine face in a cascade of orange light. Without a glance behind him, Spike tossed the lighter over his shoulder. There was a great whoosh and a howl. Spike rolled forward, away from the thrashing beast behind him.
The scent of wet wool became overpowered by acrid sulfur. Flames engulfed the beast as it rolled around on the ground, its huge body tossing dead bracken into the air.
Spike's face-splitting grin fell from his face as he realized the wet pine needles beneath the beast weren't catching fire. Instead they were extinguishing the beast, leaving behind only a bit of singed wool.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Spike darted as close to the flaming beast as he dared, hunting once again for the damned lighter. Nothing. It was gone.
Thinking quickly, Spike kipped to his feet and darted over to fuel-laced branches he'd set up beforehand. Grabbing a nice dry branch, he raced back to the flaming beast to catch it alight. As Spike backed away, the beast struggled to its feet, smoke wafting from its huge, wool-covered body.
The beast faced Spike, its barrel sides heaving, hot breath spewing cloudy streams in the cold air. One eye was blind from the diesel, its milky hue a Pepto-Bismol pink.
Makeshift torch in hand, Spike took another step back. The beast followed, a marked difference in its demeanor. Before it had been toying with Spike, taking pleasure in the hunt. Now every precise predatory movement, every curl of its black lips, told Spike that it was done fucking around.
Time to fight. Time to kill.
It was Spike's turn to smile with amusement as he flipped the torch into the pile of pine boughs. Flames leapt up towards the starry sky as they raced along the line, completely encircling the two opponents inside the arena.
"Just me and you now, you bastard. To the death, yeah?"
The beast snorted in what Spike took to be agreement.
Hands freed, Spike reached beneath his duster and grasped the hilts of the knives sheathed at his back. They slid free, the long, sharp blades glinting in the moonlight as Spike leaned his weight on his toes, ready to dance.
The beast reared back onto its hind feet, towering over Spike. Undaunted, Spike flipped the blades, having learned that quick, shallow slices weren't going to work, and darted forward. With a roar, he sunk the blades to the hilts in the creature's lower belly.
Hot blood spurted over his face, gagging him with its rank smell. The beast toppled forward, and Spike scrambled to unstick his knives and dodge to the side. One blade came free, but the other stuck, forcing Spike to abandon it lest he get crushed beneath the beast.
He expected the creature to be unsteady on its feet, or at the very least slow to turn, but as he pivoted to sink his knife near the creature's spine, he was met head on. Down on all fours, the creature angled the crown of its skull, aiming its sharp horns to the side, and swept its head.
Spike bowed his body, keeping his soft underbelly safe from being gored, but the other horn sliced across his upper thigh, opening a wide, deep gash.
Knocked off balance, Spike stumbled back, the beast following. He slashed out, visceral satisfaction unfurling in his gut as the blade sliced across the beast's face, dying the short, gray wool a bright crimson.
Instead of retreating, the beast charged, too quick this time for Spike to dodge. Fire burned down his arm and spread across his chest as one of the beast's horns impaled him through the shoulder. Fingers numb, he lost the knife to the wet bracken on the forest floor.
Spike screamed, guttural and agony ridden, but laced with anger and fierce determination. No way in soddin' hell was some four-legged, foul hell-beast going to defeat him.
"Spike!"
The beast reared up, lifting Spike off his feet until he dangled from the creature's horn twenty feet in the air.
He angled his head, squinting his eyes to see past the roaring flames that encircled him. Outside the arena he could see two shadows. Dismissing them, he returned his attention to the beast. Meeting the creature's eyes, he grinned, blood staining his fangs.
"Think you got me? I'm William the fuckin' Bloody. You're nothin' but a rank beast past its prime."
He wrapped his hands around the wide base of the beast's horn. It was so thick that his fingers didn't touch. To give himself added traction, he planted one boot between the creature's eyes, using the stability to straighten his body and pull himself off the horn.
The creature bawled, and Spike hung onto the horn, swinging around so he could wrap his thighs around its neck.
The beast shuddered hard, trying to shake him off. The blood on Spike's hands made his grip slippery on the smooth horns, but he held on, vision wavy from the sound shaking and blood loss.
"Let's see how far this ugly mug of yours can go."
Spike squirmed up, wedging most of his torso between the backswept horns. He leaned his full weight to one side while snaking his arm around the opposite side of the beast's neck to wrap his fingers around its long snout. He found purchase in its jawbone, digging his claws deep into the soft tissue of its cheek.
The creature tried to shake him off, but he was well and truly engaged. Using the strength in his thighs, Spike leaned his weight forward on the horn, while pulling back on the creature's jaw. The neck twisted easily at first, and Spike could fell the clicks and pops of its spinal cord beneath his taut stomach as it shifted.
Spike was hanging nearly upside down, only the formidable strength of his abdominal muscles keeping pressure on the beast's neck. The creature fell forward, the impact nearly shaking Spike off and jiggling his insides. On the ground, Spike was able to dig his heels into the dirt, straightening out of a squat to put more pressure on the creature's neck.
They were face to face now, and Spike readjusted his slippery grip, staring into its eyes. He grinned. It wasn't a victorious grin. It was a nasty, wicked stretching of his lips that flashed his fangs.
"It's a myth that an owl can turn its head 360," he panted. "I'm betting you can't either."
The beast bared its square teeth and tried to take a chunk of Spike's forearm. His grip slipped, trying to keep out of its mouth. The beast took advantage of the lessened pressure and flipped onto its back, nearly untwisting its neck entirely.
"Fucker!" Spike roared.
He spun, throwing his leg out to straddle the beast's shaggy neck. Its flailing claws caught him in the thighs and back, but Spike gritted his teeth and ignored it. He reapplied his grip and twisted for all his worth.
More than halfway through, the bones in the neck caught, no longer twisting smoothly.
The beast brayed, coughed, and struggled.
"Soddin' die already," Spike screamed through gritted teeth.
Spike forced his body forward with the last bit of his strength. There was a snap and crack, and the catch in the creature's neck gave way.
The beast's cries strangled and died. Its struggling body gave one last shudder, digging its claws even deeper into Spike's back. Spike held the neck tight until the last shudder faded away. Only when the beast lay still, no breath, no heartbeat pounding in his ears, did Spike let go of the creature's horns.
He fell forward off the beast, its claws ripping from his flesh. His arms were jelly after his intense exertion, and he couldn't find the strength to break his fall. He fell face first into the damp, blood-spattered pine needles.
"Good lord."
Spike turned his head to see Angelus and Giles standing over him. The flames he'd ignited had died down just enough for them to pull some branches away to clear a narrow path into the arena.
The murderous look on Angelus's face told Spike that his survival of the beast may have been all for naught.
At least Buffy was safe. Angelus and her watcher would see to the rest.
Angelus knelt beside him, running one hand up Spike's back, briefly prodding his wounds, before threading his fingers through Spike's hair.
Spike closed his eyes, his demon reveling in the touch of his grandsire. That was another thing all those Hollywood movies got wrong. Vampires weren't solitary creatures. They were pack animals, happiest when they were with family.
Spike was a demon without family. Thrown over by his sire, reviled by his grandsire, rejected by his blood, there was a deep hole inside Spike that yearned to be filled by family…by acceptance.
Angelus fisted his hand, pulling Spike's head back so his neck was exposed. Both thrilled and terrified, Spike was too weak to move to protect himself. Angelus levered himself down, until his face was close to Spike's.
"You dared to take what's mine, boy?"
Spike closed his eyes in defeat. No family reunion then, but swift vengeance.
Angelus raised his other hand, stake ready to thrust through Spike's back and into his heart.
Spike choked; he thought it was blood, then he realized it was predestination. The ionized air became thick, crackling with energy. Angelus stumbled back, dropping to both his knees as his demon forced its way forward in a crunch of cartilage. Angelus' yellow eyes were impossibly wide as all three men watched as the uberbitch wearing Buffy's skin passed unharmed through the crackling fire.
"Buffy?" Giles stumbled back.
The only one not to physically react was Spike, who only fell back to the soft forest floor when Angelus released his hold.
Spike's weakness didn't stop him from watching her ethereal glide towards him. Nor did it stop him from appreciating her beautiful naked body, even washed in a pale, glowing light.
She strode up to him, her feet practically under his nose. Inanely he noted that even the shell pink of her toe polish glowed.
With one hand, she reached down to grab him under the arm, lifting Spike effortlessly until he dangled from her grasp. He tried to wrap his hand around her wrist, but it proved to be too much effort and his arm flopped back to his side.
"You have proven yourself worthy to us and this vessel, William the Bloody." Her voice crashed over the men. Angelus cringed with a small whimper of pain, and Giles fell to his knees beside him. "Mind and body are recognized, together we see, and she agrees."
"Lower the volume, luv." When Spike smiled cockily, blood streamed from the corners of his mouth.
Her face remained impassive, but when she spoke again her tone was modulated, earning a gasp of relief from Giles and Angelus.
"Kneel before us and swear the oath of vassalage we have taught you."
She released her grip on him, and Spike fell to both his knees. He swayed, only sheer force of will keeping him upright.
Frowning down at him, she prodded one of his knees with her toe. "Kneel as the Warrior you are, not as a slave."
At her prodding, he lifted one knee, genuflecting before her.
"Now swear," she demanded.
Behind him, Angelus struggled, trying to overcome the sheer power the uberbitch emanated. Almost impervious, Spike barely reacted to the overwhelming awesomeness that nearly crushed Angelus.
She lifted her foot as if to prod him again. "No," Spike spat out before she could touch him. "I won't swear fealty to you."
"You would leave this vessel after all you have endured for her?" She lifted one elegant brow.
Spike struggled to answer. He didn't know what he felt for Buffy, especially after all they'd shared, all he'd done to ensure her safety, but he knew he wanted nothing to do with the being in front of him. Seeing Angelus forced to his knees just solidified the knowledge that this being had power over the demon residing inside vampires, and that made Spike afraid. Afraid for himself, for his free will.
"I'd leave you. I won't be leashed like a soddin' dog to the Slayer line for all eternity."
A small, secretive smile tipped up the corners of her mouth, hinting at both pride and disappointment at his cleverness.
"Will you swear fealty to our vessel? Her vassal for the entirety of her life and her life only?"
Spike hesitated, dropping his chin so he wasn't caught in her ethereal gaze. "I won't be leashed to anyone's side," he declared with less heat.
"If you do not, she will die in little more than a year's time."
Pain spread through Spike's chest, an uncomfortably tight, agonizing feeling, like the air was being pressed from his lungs. Breathless as he was, he still panicked at the sensation. At the idea of loss Buffy's death would evoke in him.
"N-no." Angelus struggled to say more, but the words were lost in the waves of power crashing against him.
The uberbitch cocked her head, looking past his bloody face and into his eyes, scrying his very being of all its secrets.
"You would be free to come and go as you please, vampire. But should our vessel call, you would hear and respond. After all, you would be her Champion. We would have thought you would desire such, after the care you rendered to this vessel's wellbeing."
"Buffy doesn't need a soddin' Champion. She's the champion."
The uberbitch's look of amusement disappeared as Angelus forced himself to his feet, swaying, but strong.
"No. There's no way that Spike," he spat his childer's name with such hateful venom that spittle flew from his curled lips. "Is worthy of vassalage." He pulled himself straighter, throwing his shoulders back. "I will take the oath."
Power pulsed through the clearing, knocking Angelus back to his knees. Spike swayed where he knelt. Giles, who had sat back on his heels, had to fist his hands in the pine needles to ground himself.
"He has proven his worth. You have not, regardless of the numerous opportunities to do so. We saw you as a Warrior when you fought at our vessel's side, but we could not scry your true intentions through the camouflage of your soul. It wasn't until you were stripped of its falsehood that we could see your true self. Thus your guardianship proved null when you abandoned her to revel in your nature.
"This vampire," she flared her hand towards Spike. "Has proven he is both Warrior and Guardian. He is our choice."
Angelus's mouth worked, but the swamping power clutched at his throat. The uberbitch turned her attention back to Spike, whose strength faltered from blood loss and the battering of her power.
"William the Bloody, will you walk away from this vessel as did her last champion, thus remaining forever unbound as he will remain forever unbound, or will you grasp your destiny and speak the words I have taught you?"
Spike looked up. He didn't see her ethereal eyes or the exuded power that made her glow. Or even the faint shimmer of something indefinable fluttering about her shoulders. All he saw was Buffy. Her strength, her determination, how hard she tried. The thought of her dead in a year's time because no one, despite all their best intentions, stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her in a fight, accepting her for everything she was, not just the bits they liked.
She made promise after promise, but had anyone ever made a promise to her and kept it? Could he be that man? The one to keep his promises?
The answer was no, because simply stated, he wasn't a man.
He opened his mouth to refuse, but instead other words–right and true words–fell from his mouth. The words that the Slayer had taught him over the course of the last several days.
"I, Spike, William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers, give my bonded oath to serve you, Buffy Anne Summers, Vampire Slayer. I hereby swear to protect and obey you. I shall be loyal and faithful. Nor will I ever with will or action, through word or deed, do anything to harm you or yours on the condition that you will hold to me as I shall deserve it. I submit myself to your will and will keep faith with you against all creatures, living or dead."
"We hear your words Spike, William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers, and we accept. Take of my blood and be ours."
She held out her wrist, and still kneeling as her knight, he leaned forward reverently. Her blood, so much more powerful than when he'd lapped it off the fuselage floor, flowed through his veins, healing him in a rush of effervescent, almost electric charge.
Magic snapped in the air, lighting bolts flinging from their bodies, catching nearby trees afire. The earth rolled beneath their feet, knocking Angelus and Giles off their knees. A red glow, pulsing from the epicenter of Spike's mouth on Buffy's wrist, expanded until its warmth encased them. For a moment the bubble went solid, shielding them from curious eyes, before it cracked in a jagged arc of twisting white and black lighting that shattered it like glass.
When the debris cleared, Spike was kneeling before Buffy, his head bent, her hand lying atop his hair.
"It has been witnessed by both the living and unliving. From this day forth, Spike, William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers shall be the faithful vassal of Buffy Anne Summers, Vampire Slayer." After her decree, she glanced down at Spike, who lifted his head to gaze up at her. "We have every confidence in you, Champion."
Her hand fell away from his head at the same time the ethereal light fled her wide eyes. Her lashes feathered over her cheeks, and Buffy collapsed forward. Spike lunged, gathering her up in his arms.
The power dispersed, Giles could finally breathe, but he still couldn't draw breath as he watched how gently the dangerous master vampire cradled Buffy to his chest. Angelus scrambled to his feet, meaty hands fisted at his sides.
Buffy's lashes fluttered, her clear eyes meeting Spike's. At the sight, Spike dropped his head, pressing his brow to hers so he could peer deeply into her eyes. In that one look, he knew she was forever changed. Her eyes had reverted to their normal color, but banded around the beautiful spring green was a white ring. A reminder of what lurked just beneath her skin.
Her face was a mask of confusion, and she had yet to notice her watcher and ex-lover hovering near, her entire attention riveted on Spike. She lifted her hand, hovering over his bloodstained face.
"You're hurt. What happened?" she whispered, her voice broken with strain.
"Killed the beast, luv," he told her solemnly. "Proved myself your champion."
Her hoarse chuckle resonated from her chest. "I don't need a champion. I'm the slayer!"
Spike widened his eyes playfully. "That's what I told the dozy bint!"
"What bint?" Buffy cocked her head curiously, and all Spike could do was laugh, his entire body shaking, and her along with him. Of course she didn't know. A being of immeasurable power dwelled inside her, and she had no idea.
"Tell you later."
"Buffy," Angel growled, stepping forward.
Buffy jolted in Spike's arms. When she tried to climb out of Spike's lap, she noticed something very troubling.
"Spike! I'm naked!" Instead of climbing out of his lap, she tried to bury herself in his chest. She turned her accusing eyes on him, to which Spike merely licked his teeth and leered.
"How else would I have my wicked way with you?"
"Spike!" she choked back a laugh, exasperated and more than a little embarrassed. Angel hadn't even seen her fully naked that on that fateful night two years ago, and, oh, God, there was her watcher…watching.
All those thoughts were being processed even as Spike was gently setting her down, angling his body between hers and the two bystanders as he shrugged off his duster to wrap around her shoulders. She grasped the lapels and pulled it tight across her front.
Still woozy from her injuries and fever, she swayed. Bloody, but fully healed after the infusion of super-powered blood, Spike bent down and swept her up in his arms.
"No!" Angelus took another threatening step. "Give her to me."
"Angel." The softly spoken word could easily be mistaken for longing if it wasn't for the way Buffy leaned her weight into Spike, resting her head in the hollow of his shoulder.
"Not how it works now, mate." Spike shook his head, frowning.
"And, pray tell, how does it work now?" Giles asked. He had no reference for what had just happened. It was unprecedented. He had never seen anything remotely like it in all his books. Nor did he imagine he would. Thankfully, he had renewed his acquaintance with the Council; certainly he would need their expertise in the coming months.
"Angelus knows. That's why he offered himself up. The Oath of Vassalage means one thing."
Buffy's hand found its way to the back of his neck, her fingers curling into his hair. He looked down at her. He expected her to be gazing lovelorn at her ex, maybe glaring at Spike angrily for taking the place of her great brooding champion. Instead, her eyes dropped sleepily, almost disguising the look of complete trust in them.
Paralyzed by emotion he couldn't name, he didn't look away from the vision she made as Angelus spoke.
"It's just something that's passed down from sire to childer like all the other archaic vampire laws and rituals that aren't used anymore. No one believes it to be true. It's a goddamn fairy tale. King Arthur shite." Angelus slashed a frustrated hand through the air. His features were paler than normal, his eyes a little wild at what he'd just witnessed.
"Yes," Giles pressed. "But what is it? What does it mean for Buffy?"
"She belongs to him now," Angelus hissed, impotent rage boiling off the older vampire. Normally it would have made Spike's hackles stand on end, but the sire power Angelus emanated crashed up against Spike's defenses, sizzling and evaporating like droplets of water on a hot plate.
Still staring down at Buffy, Spike replied almost tonelessly. "No, you stupid git. It means I belong to her. I'm her champion. I stand up for her, and only her."
Smiling, Buffy closed her eyes, her breathing evening out.
"No. I refuse to accept this. Give her over." Angelus reached out for Buffy, meaning to tear her forcibly from Spike's arms if he had to.
Spike's gameface slid forward with a crack of cartilage, and suddenly the clearing charged with irrepressible power.
Power so great it stole Giles' breath and froze Angelus where he stood.
When Spike lifted his gaze, his yellow eyes had disappeared. Instead, glowing white eyes stared back at the two astonished men. From his glowing gaze tiny tempests of black lightning danced, sparking at the corners.
"That's not going to happen, mate," Spike's voice, deep and unearthly, resounded around them. "You haven't a ticket to this ride," he told them, a slow, fierce grin revealing his fangs.