This Wanton World by Eurydice

Chapters 1 & 2

Chapter 1: The Maiden With Wrought Iron Soul

Oddly enough, he didn't stand out from the crowd. With a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, elbows resting on the edge of the bar as he leaned back against it, he knew he was likely one of the oldest people in the room. Age, however, was not a definitive line to be drawn in this particular club. Patrons of La Muerte Pequeña were more concerned with mien than maturity. Attitude was all.

They hadn't called him Ripper for nothing.

Most of the room writhed around him. Bodies undulating to the noise they called music. Lovers coupling in corners, oblivious to eyes that didn't see anyway. The stink of sweat and perfume and alcohol thickened the atmosphere just as effectively as the pounding bass from the speakers, and he was of half a mind to hold his glass out and see if he could literally scoop the scents from the air.

That might've been an effect of the whiskey. It was his fourth since stepping into the club. Until she showed up, he had exactly three choices if he didn't want to be kicked out. Dance, drink, or fuck. Since this wasn't real music and the only other person he knew in the place was the last creature he'd want to stick his cock into, that left only a single option. Thankfully, it was a good one.

He was certain this was not what the Council had intended when they'd approved the mission. If Quentin Travers were to see him now, he was convinced the old man would have more than one vein burst from the sight. Rupert Giles in jeans? And...was that an earring in his left ear? Preposterous. Watchers didn't comport themselves in that manner. It wasn't dignified. It wasn't proper. It didn't matter that it was the only way to satisfactorily complete the job he'd been assigned. They would consider him an abomination, from head to toe.

It was a good thing they weren't here, then. They were having a difficult enough time accepting the magnitude of what they were trying to accomplish. Best to leave them back on the other side of the pond, away from the life that pulsed in this country, away from the risks and peril and half the things in this world that made the fight worthwhile. Giles had learned a lot from his Slayer before she'd been killed defeating the Mayor. Sometimes, the philosophy of want take have was what made life so bearable.

Just sometimes, though. It could kill one, as well.

She walked into the club as he was picking up his fifth drink from the bar. For a moment, Giles froze, the napkin stuck to the bottom of his tumbler as he stared at her sauntering across the floor as if she owned the place. The pictures he'd been given were nearly eight years old, taken by Merrick from when she was first called. While time and circumstance had chiseled away the baby fat that had rounded her cheeks, they had also carved out an amazingly beautiful young woman he would've recognized in a heartbeat.

Buffy Summers. The Slayer who came back from the dead.

She breathed power. Frenzied and fierce, captured and bound in golden skin and red leather. More than one head turned as she walked past, but she ignored all of them, weaving amongst the tables until she came to the end of the bar where Giles lounged. He immediately brought his drink to his lips, tearing his gaze away so she wouldn't catch him staring. He could still feel her, though. Hear her. It would take very little movement on his part to touch her. Just a few inches to the left...but no. That would be suicide. He was dauntless, not stupid.

"You're new."

The sound of her voice made him jump, and some of the whiskey splashed over the side of the tumbler as Giles glanced down to see her hovering at his elbow. She seemed smaller this close to him, her shoulders lithe and graceful. Even the tiny cross that rested in the hollow of her throat seemed tenuous, but he was well aware that it was all fallacy. One had only to look down at her hands to see the danger that she possessed.

"Just visiting," he replied, dismissing the immediate fear that she would sense his disquiet at her approach. She wasn't a vampire. She couldn't smell it on him, or hear his heart speeding up. That, at least, was something in his favor.

Her finely arched brows shot up at the sound of his voice. "I guess so, with that accent," she said. Then, she was leaning toward him, her slim fingers coming to rest on her forearm. It was barely a feather touch---the only weight he could feel was that of the single ring she wore---but its imagined strength made him flinch.

"Leave the guy alone, Buffy."

The bartender's chastising voice behind the counter surprised them both, but it succeeded in drawing Buffy away, a small pout on her lips. "I was just messing around," she said in protest. "It's not like I was actually going to jump the guy."

In spite of his earlier trepidation, Giles scowled. "Thank you ever so much," he muttered before downing the last of his drink.

Her kohl-lined gaze was back on him when he lowered the glass. "No offense, but you remind me way too much of someone else I know. But I give all the newbies a hard time, so I couldn't exactly leave you out of the fun, too, now could I?" The smile she offered was brilliant, meant to disarm, but Giles was too tense to fall prey to her tricks again.

"I'd imagine you have a very selective definition of... fun ," he said, and bent closer so that only she could hear his next comment. "And I do hope the local demon population doesn't factor into that in some fashion. After all, if you're not going to slay them, it's hardly fair to just play with them so. That's just...tacky."

Walking away without looking back was the hardest thing he'd done all night.

*************

She couldn't help but stare at him as he disappeared among the crowd. There had been a moment when she'd first heard the accent that Buffy had thought he might be connected to the Watchers, but she'd dismissed the notion almost as quickly as it appeared. Watchers didn't look like that . The guy had don't fuck with me written all over him.

But then he'd mentioned slaying, and that was just too much of a coincidence. Old English guys didn't just show up in her life willy-nilly; they showed with purpose, usually of the kind that meant they wanted her to risk their life for them. Only one had ever treated her like a human being, but then again, he was just as much of an outcast as she was.

Distracted, Buffy twisted the ring on her finger, her eyes narrowed as she scanned the club for the mysterious Englishman. She wasn't a big fan of the cryptic. She needed to find him and see exactly what his deal was.

"Buffy..."

The sound of Javier's voice again made her turn to face the bar, her golden hair swinging lightly around her bare shoulders. Her glass of water was in his hand, ready for her to take it from him, but there was no amusement in his face.

"I thought you were here for business tonight," he said, his voice tight.

She took the water and drank it down before answering, knowing he was watching her throat as she did so. It didn't matter that Javier was part owner of La Muerte Pequeña, or that their business arrangement had been sealed in magics too strong for either of them to break. He was still a vampire, and she got a kick out of taunting him like this. A girl had to get her fun somehow.

But then...the Englishman's words came back to her--- it's hardly fair to just play with them so ---a barely contained murmur that had sent a frisson of worry down her spine. The reprimand was different than others she'd received, that tinge of disappointment almost hidden by his smugness. It carried with it an instinct, a faint memory of a more halcyon time, that made her hesitate.

Quickly, Buffy lowered the glass and handed it back. "I am," she said. She wasn't going to let that fraction of indecision splinter her control. "Where's it going down?"

He nodded toward a door at the side of the dance floor, nearly invisible among the heavy tapestries that lined the walls. "There's four of them," he said. "Two Fyarls, a vampire, and a human."

Her head whipped around at the last. "Human?" Her voice was brittle, her eyes like green shards of glass. "You know the deal, Javier. I don't kill humans."

"Well, you're out of luck, then, because he's the one with the little trinket Ethan's so hot for."

She froze at the mention of his name. "Why didn't he tell me that?"

Javier shrugged. "What goes on between you and your Watcher isn't any of my business," he said. "I'm just telling you what I know."

Buffy turned away from the bar with newfound tension in her shoulders. This wasn't what she'd had in mind for the night. A little fight, a little quipping, and her work was supposed to be over enough for her to party until the sun came up. She couldn't do that if she was worried about how to not kill the guy she was there to deal with.

All thoughts of the strange Englishman fled as she contemplated her dilemma. Maybe it was another of Ethan's tests. It had been awhile since he'd last put her into a situation where her morality went into direct conflict with her duty. Had she been slacking off lately? Did he suspect that she wasn't doing what she needed to? She always did as he asked, even when it felt wrong. How dare he start to think that she wasn't loyal to him?

She sighed, suddenly feeling decades older than her twenty-two years. She was thinking about this too hard. Ethan respected her abilities. There was an easy solution to this someplace. She just had to find it.

*************

The fight was a blur.

As soon as the door opened, both Fyarls turned away from the gaming table to see who had dared to interrupt, and Buffy leapt into action. The silver knife she kept hidden in her boot was in her hand, slitting the throat of the first Fyarl before the second could even react, and her heel lashed out to slam into the chest of the nearby man. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the vampire slink away into the darkness, swallowed quickly by the smoke and ebony. Didn't matter. He wasn't the reason she was here.

The second Fyarl was a little harder to dispatch, but after being knocked to the ground by one of his mighty hands, Buffy was on his back, driving the dagger into his gut and slicing upward. That left only the man she'd come to see.

"I don't want to kill you, you know," she said as she approached where he cowered against the wall.

He was young, younger than she expected, probably barely older than her. Lank blond hair fell across his brow, and he kept blowing upward to clear it away from his vision.

"That's good," he said. His voice was almost a squeak. "I don't want to die."

"I just said I didn't want to. I didn't say I wouldn't ."

She spotted the ring Ethan had sent her after. It was on the guy's left thumb, with some string wound around the band to keep it from sliding off. Idiot, she thought. He obviously didn't realize what he had.

"I have friends," he stammered. "Powerful friends. If you let me go, I can make sure they give you whatever you want."

"See, the problem is you already have what I want," she replied. She continued her lazy pace forward. "And unfortunately, the only way for me to get it is to take it from dead flesh. It's just the way it works. Sorry."

"But---."

She kicked at his feet, shutting him up. "Stand up and face the wall."

It was hard not to grow impatient with his clumsiness, but Buffy held back until he'd done as she said. Grabbing his left wrist, she slammed his hand flat against the plaster.

"What're you going to do?" he asked, watery blue eyes wide.

"Kill the flesh," came the taut response.

The knife cut through the bone in a clean swipe, severing the thumb from the hand in one slice. It fell to the floor, the metallic ring of the jewelry as it rolled to a stop nearly getting drowned out by the man's shrill scream of pain.

"Stop being a baby," Buffy scolded. "You're alive, aren't you?" Letting him go, she crouched to pick up the bloody appendage with a folded cloth she pulled from her boot. "I so deserve time off for this one," she muttered with a grimace.

Clutching his injured hand to his chest, the man scuttled back to a far corner, his eyes wide with fear. "What...what're you going to do with...my thumb?" he asked.

"Hopefully, throw it away," Buffy said. Turning on her heel, she blocked out his whimpers and pleas. The job was done, and she just wanted to unload this thing while there was enough left of the night to have fun.

It was time to go see Ethan.

*************

From across the street, he watched her leave the nightclub, the faint spattering of blood across her neck the only indication that she'd been in any kind of a fight. A plastic sack dangled from her fingers, swinging lightly against her leg as she walked determinedly down the street, and he couldn't help but stare at her ass until she disappeared from view. He'd been hard ever since she'd stepped into the back room, and more than a little disappointed that she'd allowed him to slide away from the ensuing fight so easily. He would've loved to take her on then and there.

"Well?" The Watcher emerged from the shadows, coming up to stand beside him as they both stared off into the direction the Slayer had vanished. "Have you seen enough? Do you think you can do it?"

He laughed. "Bloody stupid question, Ripper. 'Course, I can do it. Think the better thing to ask is...now that you've seen her, do you still want me to?"

He'd expected a quick assurance as to the execution of their arrangement, but when the Watcher hesitated just a moment too long, he turned away from the spectral memory of the golden Slayer in the moonlight and faced off with the man responsible for bringing him back to this godforsaken state.

"Don't be throwin' a spanner in the works at this point, mate," he said tightly. "Thought you said this one was dangerous."

"She is."

"So, what's the problem? Suddenly grow a conscience that's makin' you feel bad?"

His mocking tone served its purpose. The Watcher stiffened, throwing his shoulders back, his blue eyes going steel.

"Of course not," he bit out. "It must be done. I merely regret it wasn't possible to get to her sooner. If the Council had known she was still alive---."

"Save it. I'm not interested in your namby-pamby politics. So long as you're ready to stick to your half of this little deal, I'm ready to stick to mine. One dead Slayer, comin' up."

He began to saunter across the street, heading for the front of the nightclub.

"Wait!" the Watcher called out from behind him. "Where are you going?"

"Night's young," he tossed back. "And I'm feelin' a bit peckish. Run along, Ripper. The Slayer's left the building. No fun to be had tonight."

He ignored the continued protestations from the man across the street, and stepped back into the swelter of the club, pausing for a moment in the doorway as the rush of blood and sweat and pounding heartbeats flooded over him. He wasn't kidding about being hungry; ever since the scent of the Slayer had hit, his mouth had been watering, the anticipation of his fight with her bringing his body to an edge he'd not walked since Drusilla's death. He'd have a quick drink, and then find someone else to pound into the wall. Human, preferably.

And blonde.

Spike had a sudden craving he wanted to satisfy.

 

Chapter 2: Pirate Prince at Her Side

WARNING: This chapter contains a scene of non-consensual sex between Buffy and another character. It is non-violent, but it is most definitely not consensual on Buffy's half. Read on at your own risk.

---

It was hard to tell where his limbs ended and hers began. Ethan hated that. For whatever reason, this particular conquest had an incredibly annoying need to drape herself all over him after he'd fucked her, entwining legs and fingers until he had this overwhelming desire to chop all of hers off. He wouldn't, of course. When she wasn't turning the pair of them into jigsaw puzzles, she used those delightful nails of hers to score his back, those long, elegant legs to wrap around his hips and tug him closer as he pumped in and out of her lovely quim. In his mind, it made for an even trade in the long run. At least, until he got bored with the predictability of fucking her. That was an unfortunate side effect to most of his so-called relationships.

The breeze that came in through the open balcony doors lifted a strand of her hair to tickle his nose, and Ethan shifted to be rid of the offending touch. Though he knew he should likely get up and send the girl home, the effort to move right then was too much for him. Drying sweat made his bare back stick to the wooden floor, and his muscles were liquid after their vigorous workout. All he wanted was to get a few hours sleep before---.

A door slammed from the front of the condo.

Too late. She was already here.

Briefly, he considered moving rather than getting caught so flagrante delicto. But then, the thought of Buffy seeing him like this---the blush that would stain her cheeks, the heat that would rise from those supple curves---made him dismiss the notion. Though he'd thought himself sated, his cock began to harden again at the pictures dancing through his head. It was her fault anyway, he rationalized. She wasn't supposed to be back for hours yet.

Feigning sleep, he listened to the steady rhythm of her footsteps as she moved about the outer rooms. The refrigerator opened and closed, and he could practically see her emptying the bottle of water she would've taken from the shelf she designated as hers. That long neck, the muscles working in her throat...

The girl above him stirred in her sleep, her thigh brushing against Ethan's cock. He bit back the groan that threatened to escape.

The footsteps grew nearer, louder, and then paused outside the bedroom door. He knew Buffy was debating entering; it was one of the few barriers he still had to fight with her. She insisted on hanging onto those last vestiges of social propriety which drove him mad half the time. Well. He'd just have to do something about it then.

Taking a deep breath, Ethan concentrated on the link between them that he'd spent the last eight years forging. These days, it mostly lay dormant, waiting for his will to guide it, but now...now, it flowed with an ebony indolence that still made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, the electrical charge from the contact rippling across his skin. If he hadn't been hard prior to initiating it, he would most certainly have been after. The power was intoxicating.

He almost smiled when he heard her turn the door knob. Sometimes it was just too easy.

Her tread was slower, more hesitant, as she stepped into his bedroom. Closer, and closer, and then around the wing-backed chair...

"Oh, god, get a room!" Buffy exclaimed.

Ethan opened his eyes to see his Slayer illuminated by the moonlight streaming in from the balcony. "I believe I'm already there," he said lazily. His mouth curved into a smile when he saw her staring down at him in horrified fascination, and deliberately stretched his leg, exposing just enough of his bare hip to make Buffy squeak and avert her eyes.

"You could at least try and make it to the bed once in a while," she complained. "I train on this floor, you know."

"I know. That just makes this all the more enjoyable." He chuckled at her sound of disgust. "Besides, you weren't supposed to be back until well after midnight. Don't tell me things went badly at the club."

There was a rush of plastic, and the carrier bag he only just noticed dangling from her hand landed on the floor next to him. "And thanks for letting me know it was a guy who had it," Buffy said, her voice brittle.

"Now, if I'd told you that, you wouldn't have killed him."

"I didn't."

Ethan frowned, reaching for the bag. "What did you bring me, then?"

"Oh, it's still the ring you wanted. I just got around that little clause about it not coming off living flesh by taking the whole thumb."

He immediately recoiled as he caught sight of the bloody appendage. "I suppose I should be grateful he wasn't wearing it elsewhere on his person, then," he muttered, pushing the bag delicately away. "Do be a good Slayer and clean it up for me, would you?"

The shake of her head was vehement. "My job is done here," she said, backing toward the door. "You wanted your little decoder ring, you got it. I'm going out to have some well-deserved fun and frolicking now."

She was halfway out the door when she paused. Ethan could feel the indecision darkening her senses, and tugged enough at the connection to draw her a few feet back into the room. The moonlight glinted off the obsidian stone in her ring as she twisted it around her finger, but the shadows effectively hid her face from his scrutiny.

"What is it?" he asked.

"There was this guy at the club..." For a moment, she sounded fifteen again. "An English guy. He knew I was the Slayer."

Though his gut immediately clenched, Ethan maintained an outward appearance of disinterest. "What makes you say that?"

"He talked to me. He... said things."

"Did he look like a Watcher?"

"Well, no---."

"Did he prattle on about fulfilling your destiny or some such nonsense like that?"

"Not exactly, but---."

"So, if it doesn't look like a duck, or quack like a duck, why on earth do you think this prat's a duck?"

Silence filled the room. She was considering his question far too seriously.

"He's probably just someone who's seen you in action," Ethan pressed. "And it is a demon club, remember. You've been clearing out their riff-raff for a week now in payment for letting you get to our young friend tonight. Someone was bound to see you."

"I...guess."

"Look." Pulling away from the girl still draped over him, Ethan reached for his robe pooled on the floor nearby and slipped it on as he rose to his feet. "Our business with La Muerte Pequeña is over now. If this man disturbed you so greatly, don't go back. In fact..." He cinched the robe around his waist. "...I'm putting my foot down. Go out and have some fun. I'm sure you can find some nice demons to rip apart, or a nice young man to---."

"Enough." Buffy held up her hand to cut him off. "I get the idea."

He took a step closer and placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him directly. "Don't worry," he said evenly, relishing the surge through his veins touching her created. This was one side effect of the connection he absolutely loved. "History does not always repeat itself. I wouldn't have brought you back to Los Angeles if I thought there was any danger for you. Well, any more than normal, at least. And besides, I saved you the first time, didn't I?" His smile was sly. "If something happens, I'll just save you again. I do so love making a grand entrance."

His small joke wiped the frown lines from between her eyes, though Ethan knew it was just as much from the power of his will as it was anything else. "Gotta watch out for that armor, though," Buffy said. Her voice was softening, the effect of the connection lowering her defenses to him even further. "I hear it chafes."

He couldn't resist. The assault touching her created in his flesh was too delectable not to prolong.

Slowly, Ethan let his right hand slide from Buffy's shoulder, gliding across her bare arm until his fingers curled around the back of hers, nestling the tiny hand in his larger one. The possessive hold made her lift her chin, hazel eyes luminous in the silvery light filtering from the balcony, but other than the hastening rise and fall of her chest, she made no movement to pull away.

"But if I am a knight," he murmured, "that would make you a damsel in distress." The corner of his mouth lifted as he pulled their hands closer to his body, slipping them between the silken folds of his robe. "And you're far too strong to ever be considered so weak, aren't you, my dear?"

"Yes." A breath. Barely heard. But accompanied by such a powerful squeeze around his hard cock that Ethan hissed between his teeth.

"Yessss," he repeated. He took his hand away, the pleasure almost excruciating as she began pumping up and down his shaft of her own volition. Well, mostly her own volition. "You know I only want the best for you, don't you?" he said. He trailed a single finger between her breasts, noticing how her nipples hardened beneath the fabric of her tiny top. "Everything I've done, I've done just so that you can be happy."

Her stroking continued. She had the most magnificent technique, just the right amount of pressure at the base and then sliding all the way up, around the head, running the pad of her thumb across the slit before pumping back down again. He had taught her well.

The words of encouragement tumbled from his mouth, pretty little lies that his Slayer was so desperate for, so well practiced over their years together. Sometimes, Ethan almost believed them. Sometimes, the need in her eyes was so haunting that he could almost convince himself that he meant every syllable. She had a vulnerability beneath her smooth Slayer exterior that had proved dangerous on more than one occasion; it often gave the deceit a veneer of sincerity that was frighteningly tantalizing. Tonight was no exception.

Her rhythm never changed. She knew he liked it hard; she knew she could get him to come. But as the pressure started to build inside him, Ethan's words faded, and he made the mistake of glancing down into her face.

He saw the one thing that could spoil such moments for him.

Complete and utter surrender.

His grip on her shoulder tensed. The delight in power was getting it; once in hand, it had a way of turning sour on Ethan, stealing the joy of what he'd done to achieve it. He wanted Buffy to capitulate; he wanted her to succumb to his lead. But he wanted her to fight it every step of the way. He wanted the ferocious young teenager he'd killed and brought back to life without her precious Council's knowledge, the one angry at the world, at destiny, at everything that wasn't him. This, while a victory, was hollow.

And not what he wanted.

Reluctantly, he reached down and pried her hand away from his cock, wincing at the absence of her strength and heat. "Go," he ordered, pushing Buffy away. He put on his best smile for her. "Have fun. The night's still young, and there's no reason you shouldn't enjoy it."

For a moment, she looked as if she was going to argue with him, and hope flared again inside Ethan's gut. "OK," she finally said, and began to retreat for the door. "I'll go be happy-go-lucky girl. Heavy on the happy."

And with that, she was gone.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Ethan's smile vanished, his mood darkening as he struggled to take command back of his traitorous body. There were other matters to be concerned with, and as much as he loved his cock, it currently wasn't one of them.

He didn't believe a word of the tale he'd spun for her, but if she genuinely suspected that the Council was in town, he wasn't entirely sure how she would react. The last time they'd been threatened by the hint of the Council was in Cleveland, a godforsaken hole that had been an unfortunately necessary stop. She'd disappeared for two days after they'd had the run-in with the unknown Watcher, and it had taken nearly all of Ethan's resources to find her again.

He'd kept the connection active for six months after that. He couldn't risk losing her again.

But Los Angeles was a bigger city than Cleveland. There was a possibility that his version of the events was right. Perhaps Buffy wasn't in any danger after all.

Even as he thought it, though, he knew it wasn't true. It was genuine anxiety he'd picked up from Buffy. And if Buffy was worried...he must be, too. If he wanted to get out of this town with his skin and Slayer intact. His skin took precedence, of course, but he fervently hoped it wouldn't come down to a choice between the two.

"Right, then," he said out loud, and his voice seemed to echo in the room. Turning to look down at the woman who'd somehow slept through the entire exchange, Ethan nudged her shoulder with his bare foot. "Rise and shine---." He stopped. Bugger. He could never remember this one's name. Ah, well, best to go with the classics, then. "---lover. All good things must come to an end. Though, I certainly thought that was better than good ."

She groaned, rolling onto her back as her eyes fluttered open. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"You're not moving fast enough," he replied. Crossing to the bed, he picked up the clothes she'd left there and tossed them toward her. "I have business I need to attend to which requires you not being here."

With a pout, she stood up and slipped her tiny dress over her head. For a moment, Ethan hesitated, captivated by the sight of her long legs gleaming in the moonlight. The urge to sink his aching cock into her pussy, or better yet, lay back while she rode him into oblivion, was seductive. It would certainly take the edge off.

He actually took a step toward her before he stopped himself. Not only didn't he have time to indulge---as much as he might want to---but there was another factor involved that would tarnish the encounter.

She wasn't Buffy.

Turning his back to her, Ethan crossed to the balcony doors. He glanced down to the street and saw the small form of his Slayer hurrying down the sidewalk, off to whatever adventure she would seek to distract herself, and his fingers automatically went to the heavy ring on his left hand. At least one of them would have a pleasant night.

"When will I see you again?" she asked.

"That depends on my business. If all goes well, tomorrow night. If not---."

"I'll hope for well, then."

There was a scurry of feet padding across the wooden floor and then the door closing behind her as she left the room. That was one other thing he liked about this girl. She knew better than to try and drag out goodbyes.

*************

It was like a whisper, echoing somewhere in the furthest recesses of her mind, but no matter how much it taunted, how tenaciously it begged her attention, the whole of it eluded Buffy's grasp. Something wasn't quite right; she knew that. She knew. But Ethan said not to worry, so she wouldn't. Ethan said go have fun, so she'd go and do so. Ethan said their business at La Muerte Pequeña was over, but in that...

Ethan was wrong.

She arrived at the club much as she had the first time, hungry eyes on her every step of the way. This time, though, her nonchalance was as phony as the human countenances the vampires wore. She wasn't blind to their presence; she knew that it was likely more than half of the clientele was demon. But while it kept her on edge being surrounded by so many of them, it was an edge Buffy relished.

Her body hummed. Her skin vibrated in oscillations so swift and so minute as to be invisible to anyone but her. She was ravenous, and bowstring tight, ready to take on and take down any who might cross her path. At the moment, the vampires were safe from her. It was an Englishman for whom she was currently on the prowl.

The look Javier shot her as she circled his bar was a curious one, but he stayed behind the counter, seemingly content to just watch her progress. Buffy felt a pang of disappointment when the Englishman was nowhere to be seen, but the night was still young and she had all the time in the world. She was under orders to have fun. She could satisfy both of her goals on the dance floor.

*************

The fuck wasn't nearly as satisfying as Spike wanted. In the end, he had to shove the girl face first into the wall and take her from behind, sinking his fangs deep into her neck as he slammed his cock into her pussy one last time. Discarding her drained body with the dead Fyarls, he returned to the main room of the club with a thirst only half-slaked and a body buzzing for something more. Satisfaction was yet to be his.

He saw her almost immediately. The DJ had switched to something with a beat that made the air pulse more strongly than the dozens of hearts between the club walls, and the Slayer had returned to take full advantage of it. Surrounded by a group of salivating young men, she writhed and twisted to the music, oblivious to their avarice, immersed in each swing and undulation of her own flesh.

Lost, lost little girl.

The thought popped from nowhere, and while his gaze was just as keen as any other male in the room, Spike knew there was at least an ounce of truth in it. The details the Watcher had shared were sketchy; the Council had thought this one dead until just recently when reports about the rogue Slayer had trickled back to their stuffy offices. But they'd learned more since, about her current conquests, about her rather haphazard morality in going to work for demons. That was one reason why they wanted her dead.

Spike was just interested in the money he was getting paid to do it for them. That, and adding another Slayer notch to his belt.

The way she danced, though...

There was a wild abandon to her movements, like a flame caught in a powerful wind but too strong to be extinguished. It was as if she was trying to prove something, but whether that was to herself or someone unknown in the room, he didn't know.

He did know he wasn't the only one so interested in the Slayer's presence. Behind the bar, one of the two vampire owners watched her with a guarded calculation that didn't completely mesh with the information Spike had on their relationship. Supposedly, they'd had a business partnership, culminating in her attack on the young bloke who had Jutta's Ring. The idiot didn't even know what he had with the ring; it had taken all of Spike's willpower not to laugh at what he knew was coming for the kid. Nobody could've been more shocked than he when he'd seen the kid stumbling from the back room with his bloody stump tucked close to his chest. The girl was resourceful.

It made the prospect of fighting her all that much more delicious.

Every once in awhile, a reprieve in the music sent the Slayer up to the bar, where she joked and teased with the vampire bartender. She was slamming back drink after drink, but not once did Spike see her stumble or falter. Curious, he moved around to the end of the bar, nicking one of her empty glasses before the bartender could take it back and giving it a surreptitious sniff. Not alcohol. Water. But with something else. He had no idea what the something else actually was, though.

The night crept on. One by one, the Slayer outdanced each of her would-be admirers, smiling and teasing even as she pushed them away. By the time they rang out for last call, there was only a handful left, but they scattered when the bartender came around to place a possessive hand on her elbow. She tittered and laughed as she waved goodbye to the dissipating crowd, but followed him willingly when he led her to the back of the club.

From the shadows of the corner, Spike frowned. Their business was supposed to be over. What was she doing sneaking away?

He left the club with the others, but slunk around the alley to make his way to the nightclub's rear entrance. Research, he told himself. Studying the Slayer. Wouldn't do to not be aware of all of her little tricks. Especially if she had allies that might come to her aid at the last minute. If that's what these vampires were---.

A loud crash made the alley resonate. Spike's senses went on alert, his head jerking up as he crept the remaining distance to the club's back, peering around the corner to survey just what was going on.

He immediately stiffened.

A crowd of vampires circled the Slayer, whose arms were being held behind her back by the bartender. Though she was struggling in his hold, she wasn't breaking free, and the panic was starting to register in the sweat on her skin. The scent was divine, but its full effect was lost on Spike as the awareness of what was going on sank in.

These gits were about to steal his bounty by killing the Slayer first.

Fuck.

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