Repossession 101

A short while before dawn preparations were being made for Spike to go home. The family had gathered and spent the night feeding and helping him as best they could, the final burst of healing energy from Patrick collapsing the man completely, and now he lay on the sofa, as deeply unconscious as the vampire.

“But if he doesn’t remember, this could happen again,” Moira argued. “Next time he may not be so lucky.”

As one they glanced over to where Jake sat with their debilitated friend clutched to his chest; this terrible situation counted as lucky. It was a chilling thought.

“I don’t think Pádraig will be making the choices anymore,” Jake said shakily, his accent English now, every trace of the American gone. “This kind of intervention…”

“Exceptional or not, it means that Spike’s…nature has been brought to the attention of…”

“No!” Beth warned him sharply, finger rising to her lips in a ‘shh’ gesture.

“If Pádraig still has any influence…” Moira began, waiting for an assurance from Beth that never came. “…he must convey that we accept Spike, and that we need him to understand what’s happening; his fears and suspicions are proving more dangerous than the truth.”

“It’s too soon for Spike. Besides, I’m sure that now this is dealt with – successfully dealt with – we’ll be left to ourselves again until it’s time. I believe Pádraig can…”

“You think Paddy can keep them safe? ‘Cause I don’t. Keep reminding yourself that this isn’t William we’re dealing with, it’s Spike, and no-one has any real control over Spike. If Pádraig had…” Jake sighed miserably. “Well, I don’t suppose we’d be here now.” Jake cuddled Spike closer to him, resting a cheek on the icy brow. “We all know it but no-one will say it. One more mistake like this and we’ll all be extinguished.”

“But, Beth… Don’t you ever get tired?” The young man’s voice shook, exposing his exhaustion, the wealth of suppressed emotion. “I’m so very tired.”

Moira was closest; she affectionately ran her fingers through Jake’s hair. Grey eyes closed and Jake fell silent.

“What happened in Seattle?” Moira asked Beth quietly. “Is Xander okay, do we know for sure?”

“There’s nothing wrong with Alex,” Beth promised her. “Pádraig thinks he was simply responding to the homing instinct.”

“We’re ready to move him,” Rafe told them, crossing to Jake and Spike, easily lifting the vampire from Jake’s arms as the young man reluctantly relinquished his charge.

“How long before he’ll wake?” Beth asked Max as Rafe and Moira took Spike out to the car.

“Varies from creature to creature, but with most vampires the healing coma’ll last however long it takes for the body to recover.”

“But this isn’t… Can’t believe I was going to say natural. These aren’t normal circumstances.”

“Xander will be very worried if he doesn’t wake up today,” Jake reminded them.

“I’m not so sure Spike uses coma,” Max frowned, thinking back on everything either Xander or Spike had told him. “Get the feeling if he did he’d be long gone b’now, his past doesn’t sit well with that kind of vulnerability. Right now…when he’s settled I’ll cast whatever I can to help him wake up.”

“He’s gonna be more’n sore for a few days, whatever,” Max told Beth grimly. “Still, least he’s alive. Bad business. Very bad business.”

Beth gave the older man a wan smile and squeezed his arm as she walked him to the front door.

“You can’t make me stay,” Jake insisted vehemently as he roughly snatched his hand away, proving Beth’s point about his emotional stability. “I want to be with them, I have to see…”

“John!” Beth shouted. He immediately froze in place. “You will stay here,” Beth continued pointedly. Then her voice softened as she moved to pull him into an embrace. “And let us help you. The little we can.”

“Give him an hour and he’ll be fine, you know that, you don’t have to be scared for him too.”

“Beth… I want to be with Xander,” Jake whispered, voice hitching under the strain. “He’ll need me if Spike…”

Jake let himself be led back into the living room and sat down close to Patrick’s sleeping form. He felt the warmth, the energy, returning to the older man and unconsciously drew on it. Beth watched and smiled.

“Do you remember forgetting?” Jake asked her. “Did you ever have that luxury?”

“I was happy then. Good life, good friends, hopes for the future. This isn’t the future I planned,” Jake finished, voice breaking treacherously. He leant against Beth as she came and stroked his hair, offering inadequate comfort. “Paddy’s right. Let them forget, give them that respite. I wish I could forget.”

Cedar House. With a few muttered words, Max ensured that Xander would sleep through Spike’s return, then he wandered the grounds, checking on the strength of the property’s ward. While Rafe carefully put Spike to bed alongside his partner, Moira went to Xander’s side, reassuring herself that he was well, kneeling beside him and caressing his cheek as she whispered of her love and concern and, regardless of whether he could hear her or not, advising him to be gentle with Spike.

Content that the vampire was as comfortable as he could be for the time being, Rafe placed a kiss on the cold forehead, shuddering as he tasted ash on his lips.

Max was called in to cast over Spike, and the husband and wife stood at the foot of the bed, Hamish between them, all watching intently as the warlock used powerful magic to supplement the healing effects of Patrick’s energy, and tried his best to ensure Spike would wake sooner rather than later.

Last check that the house was light-proof, and the three left, Max turning back at the front door to lift the hex that had kept Xander asleep during their visit. They sat in Rafe’s Merc for a few minutes considering their options.

“We’ll get him something.” Moira turned in her seat. “Max, where can we find a dealer?”

“I don’t care, Jake’ll take anything. I just want some drugs to soften the edges of this whole business.”

“’Kay,” Max nodded grimly. “’Kay. You drive, I’ll show you where.”

Xander began to rouse as Spike woke late that afternoon, human incredibly well-rested, vampire beginning to experience the residual fatigue and discomfort of his recent, if unrecalled, experience. Xander rolled close and cuddled up to Spike’s unmoving form; Spike bit back a groan.

“Yeah,” Spike said gruffly. To Xander’s hopeful ears it sounded more sexy than vampire-in-trouble, and he nuzzled Spike’s chest, teasing the nearest nipple. “Don’t,” Spike said sharply, the sensitivity in his body about pain rather than pleasure.

Xander slowly withdrew, staring at the ceiling and feeling very sorry for himself.

“Had to happen. Your libido’s given up under the strain of looking after your asshole boyfriend.”

“Less of the name-calling,” Spike responded as he usually would, trying to be as usual, trying not to feel…like this.

“I wanted to see the waterfall, I saw the waterfall. Unfortunately I now want the waterfall, but… Define ruined.”

“I can have you right now and it’ll be as good as any fantasy. Better. Don’t need games.” Spike tried to turn to Xander but swiftly fell back, exhausted and hurting. “Lied. Can’t have you right now.”

“Spike?” Xander sat up, switched on a lamp, and anxiously looked over the vampire, longing to touch but restricting himself to a visual examination. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” Spike thought hard, to no avail. “I don’t remember coming to bed.”

“Maybe – shit, you look pale even for you – maybe you went out and got hurt. Oh…fuck.”

Xander was up in a second, pulling on his robe as he rushed down to the kitchen for blood. He was back in less than ten minutes, hurrying to Spike’s side with a tray of bags wrapped in a towel; mug, knife and spoon balanced precariously on top.

“Okay, trusting you on this. I’ll feed you up, then I’m gonna take a look at you. I’ll try not to hurt you but I have to check you out.”

Spike nodded, and grit his teeth as Xander gingerly helped him sit up slightly to take the blood, resorting to spooning it to him when he seemed too frail to manage the mug.

Hamish came and sat beside the bed, visibly concerned. Spike tried to reach out to pet him but even that was too much of an effort right now.

“All right,” came the terse reply, specifically designed, Xander recognised, to shut him up before he could launch into a list. Spike thought and shifted, flinched and thought. “My skin is sore, the bedclothes feel like broken glass against it. When I move there are stabbing pains in my joints. My muscles…just ache. Achingly ache. Ache achingly. Please understand the concept before one of us dies. Ah. Too late.”

“I phone Willow and say, ‘Spike feels like this…’ and I explain, and she tells me what to do. But unless I can go into detail, she can’t do a damn thing.”

“Don’t have the details, do we? She’d have to know what started this. Don’t worry, love, I’ll be fine, just let me rest.”

Xander touched Spike’s face. Cold. Spike was never cold in bed anymore. Xander rose and walked around the bed to Spike’s side, shooing Hamish out of the way and easing back the bedclothes; he studied Spike, still shocked by how pale he was, scanning for signs of injury or damage but finding none. Using extreme care he rolled his partner, checking once again, and once again finding nothing untoward. Spike groaned as he was returned to his original position, and Xander regretfully let go of his lover’s body, suddenly becoming aware of the fine coating of ash on his hands from touching Spike. The concept of not telling Spike took a fleeting visit through Xander’s brain. Fleeting.

“Let me taste.” Xander allowed Spike to lick a finger. The vampire grimaced. “Ash. Whatever happened, I think it’s a miracle I’m still here.”

“Fuck,” Xander muttered under his breath, now feeling the right to be legitimately scared. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Xander leant in and kissed Spike, trying to find a balance between not hurting his lover and emphasising his need for contact. That was comforting, so when Spike didn’t object Xander did it again.

“I want something to…to make me feel alive. You inside me, I’m full of your heat, your life…”

Xander didn’t pause: he reached for the knife he’d brought to open the bags and cut into his inner forearm with the sharp tip. Spike drew breath to argue but the scent of Xander’s blood decided him against it, licking his lips as Xander brought the wound toward his mouth, morphing into his true face at the first taste. This time the moan was all about deep satisfaction, Spike closing his eyes in absolute bliss as the thick fluid filled his mouth and overwhelmed his senses.

Through his own haze of gratification Xander grinned to himself as Spike’s skin took on a healthier hue beneath the fine coating of ash, the vampire’s body responding to his consort’s fresh blood in a way that it wouldn’t with bagged.

“Better?” Spike nodded, refusing to part with Xander’s arm although he was barely drawing now, just relishing the flavour of skin and blood. “Think you could cope with a bath? It’ll help get you warm and I want to get this ash off you.” Spike nodded a second time. “Just not quite yet, huh?” Shake.

Nods and shakes and Xander thought of William, for a moment missing him quite acutely. But…

…and Spike responded immediately, losing the game face, eyes snapping open to focus on Xander, sharp and intensely blue in this light. Xander smiled; he had William.

“Love you, Spike. Love you, William.” With a contented growl Spike broke open the healing wound and took a little more blood, letting the action bring out his full demon features once again. Xander couldn’t prevent his attention from wandering to the vampire’s cock, rigid from the effects of Xander’s gift and so, so tempting. “Can I…?” and Xander was bending over Spike’s body, twisting awkwardly to prevent his arm being pulled away from where Spike was suckling, but not awkwardly enough to stop him sliding his lips over the swollen glans.

“Hmm-mmm,” Spike contributed, hips rising with none of their usual grace, and Xander let Spike jerkily fuck his mouth rather than press down on the vampire’s tender skin to stop the movement and let him work on the sensitive organ more intently.

It wasn’t long though before Spike fell still of his own accord, worn out by that small exertion, and Xander took over to bring him to a swift orgasm, grinding against the side of the mattress and coming when Spike’s fangs found a new area of flesh to sink into.

“Can’t resist you,” Xander spoke against Spike’s softening cock. “Even when I know I should be leaving you in peace.”

Xander felt a new rush of protectiveness at that address, along with recognition of how his actions still kept affirming the impression.

He withdrew his arm, staring at the two bite marks left by his lover, feeling a frisson of excitement at the sight.

Xander happily obliged, careful of the fangs until Spike’s human face showed once more.

But not enough to stop Spike flinching when Xander unthinkingly ran a hand over his belly.

Spike groped along the side of the bed until he found where Xander had come, scraping up what little moisture hadn’t soaked into the sheet and rubbing it into his chest, letting the aroma assail him. Xander. Sire. Safe.

Xander took another week off work, which wasn’t questioned, and if he’d thought about it, he might have noticed that it almost seemed expected. But he didn’t think about it.

The bed-ridden days of Xander keeping Spike company as he gradually healed, talking, reading to him, learning three guitar chords and writing unambitious crap songs together, became bed-chosen days of love and passion as the vampire regained his full strength and more.

Spike might have wondered what Patrick had inadvertently bestowed upon him when the man poured all his energy into the vampire to save his life. If he could have remembered.

He didn’t wonder one particular afternoon when he woke to the sound of Xander’s voice in the distance, joking about home-sickness with Beth and, with that, what occurred in Seattle wasn’t so much as forgotten or dismissed, as relegated to a position of relative unimportance. Spike wouldn’t bother arguing, it had rapidly faded into the past, the other side of pain and debility.

It didn’t take the sound of breathing to let him realise he wasn’t alone, despite Xander’s obvious presence elsewhere. Patrick, he could recognise from the essence. Spike peeled open an eye and found the man laying in Xander’s usual spot, engrossed in the book Xander had been reading to Spike. No acknowledgement, but Patrick moved to accommodate the vampire, and Spike shuffled to his side, nestling in the warmth, and feeling an arm slide around his back, fingers stroking the nape of his neck.

As Patrick began to read aloud, Spike dozed, soaking up more of the indeterminate energy, unknowingly purring with the gentle attention. So they were found a short while later. Xander climbed onto the bed and snuggled up behind Spike, and Beth claimed her husband’s non-vampired side. The book was soon forgotten and they spoke quietly about plans for the future: long term and whether it involved a creaking house, short term and Xander’s birthday jaunt to Sunnydale…

…including ponderings over the proposed jaunt and the effects of home-sickness.

They talked; Spike healed. Later that night when he fully woke, this time alone with Xander, he assured his lover of his improved condition with a bout of passionate sex. Beyond that…he didn’t remember. And he didn’t wonder.

Another Friday night, another late call, and Xander was diverted from his journey home to the Broadman’s Creek site. He was greeted warmly by Samuel, the M’lura having been moved when a security firm took over at the completed Preston Hill development.

“So, what’s missing this time?” Xander asked as he scanned the massive area with its tons of equipment and materials.

Xander groaned as he remembered the file in his briefcase that should be living at the office so the details could be entered into the project database. He retrieved it from the car and waited as Samuel made a few copies, glancing over the smart new laptop computer that had replaced the dog-eared notebook.

“What is it?” Xander sat at the desk and began to scroll through the open file.

“A demon who can take on the appearance of any human. It uses it’s ability to kill an entire community by being the victims’ nearest and dearest. Not only is there plenty of mutilation and death, but also the emotional anguish of being killed by something wearing the face of the most trusted.”

“The title sucks,” Samuel admitted with disappointment, then perked up. “Perhaps if you read it you could think of something better?”

“The master is just great,” Xander replied with a wide, self-satisfied smile.

“I’ll run through this as quickly as possible. You could always….umm….”

“Yeah, go. I’ve always wanted to know how to…” Xander read down the paragraph and grimaced. “Or maybe not.”

Samuel gave his distinctive sniggering laugh and went off to check the debated quantities of materials. Xander made himself a coffee, gave Spike a quick call to let him know he was running later than usual, and turned back to the laptop, going from window to window, looking for something to read that caught his imagination.

Xander grinned to himself, recognizing the very site he was on and enjoying the fact that Samuel had lifted it for his work.

But tonight it is of more import: it is a theatre of death. Preparations have been made for the punishment of humans by a great Master, a magnificent vampire who will tolerate no interference. One who seeks a justified and bloody revenge.

The scene is set, friends and readers, and your narrator will share the honor of being permitted to document such a notable occasion. The area is magicked to prevent detection or interference and there will be no other record than this.

The Master is a proud and glorious creature, beguiling and sensual, capable of taking any being he desires, yet he indulges in strict exclusivity with his mate, a gracious and powerful Vuurda…

Xander didn’t recognize the term from any of Samuel’s other stories where he’d slipped in demonic terms. He’d try to remember to ask about it.

…without question his equal and a worthy choice of companion. It is to claim retribution for a slight to this Honored Consort that we meet tonight, and your narrator has humbly played his small part in this.

Three humans of past acquaintance, three discontented, vicious individuals who allowed their greed to supersede what little good sense or instinct they possessed. I knew their habits and they were easily found, ‘accidentally’ encountered when I visited the hostel they habitually frequented; I shared my own manufactured discontent: “I have been dismissed by my employers and wish to take my revenge,” I lied, convincingly if the result of my words was any gauge. I declared my intent to steal my late employers’ property and asked the three if they would join in my bid to defraud them.

Believing themselves badly treated by my, truthfully, benevolent employers, the answer was naturally, ‘Yes’. I was filled with excitement at what they had unknowingly agreed to, but quietly sat with them and secretively divulged my plans: plans constructed by the Master himself.

Xander rose abruptly and walked to the window of the site office, not sure that he wanted to read more despite feeling an urgent need to carry on. He’d known that Spike was in some way connected with the disappearance of the men who’d attacked him, but being confronted with the facts was, he now found, an entirely different matter. And so far there was no indication of the involvement of Angel, or the Fan Club, anyone other than Spike and Samuel, and that meant… Yes, this was definitely where Xander’s unease stemmed from. It meant Spike had been lying to him about having the chip removed. Why the fuck would Spike lie to him about something they both desperately wanted?

Returning to the laptop, Xander printed out the account, not wanting to finish reading it here, then he returned to the story he’d been perusing when Samuel left him, staring at the screen with unseeing eyes as his concentration remained fixed on the folded pages tucked into his jacket pocket. He kept a hold of his cell phone, and the moment he heard Samuel clumping up the steps and into the office, he pretended to be ending an urgent call, making his excuses about having to leave immediately and only stopping to take his copy of Samuel’s inventory notes.

Xander drove the long way home, deep in thought, and when he was a mile from Cedar House he parked by the side of the road. He sat for a while, hands on the wheel, considering whether or not to carry on reading the account, or throw it out and do his best to forget about it. But he knew that any attempt at denial would only last until the next time the chip was mentioned, and then his resentment at being lied to would emerge; he didn’t want to lose the sympathy he had for Spike over the wretched device, and feeling shut out and betrayed would do just that.

He took out Samuel’s account and read down to the point he’d previously arrived at. Paused again. Then read.

The theatre of death had a smattering of old structures and there were cellars deep within the foundations. It was to one of these rooms that I lured the Master’s victims, and it was less than an hour before the venerated demon arrived to do his work…

Samuel was waiting for Spike at the entrance to the basements, clutching notebook, pen and a bunch of keys. He looked ready to combust with excitement.

The young demon bowed slightly as he handed the keys over and, having reacquainted himself with Hamish – fuss and cooing and a pocketful of cookies – began to lead Spike further into the site, down sets of gloomy steps and along dank corridors.

“Yes, we have complete privacy. None of the security cameras will register a thing, and the sound is restricted to a radius of thirty feet.”

Samuel beamed with pleasure, hurrying ahead and stopping at a thick wooden door reinforced with metal bands. Spike selected and held up a key; Samuel nodded enthusiastically.

The key turned smoothly in the recently-oiled lock and, as the door opened, three men within the freezing, poorly lit room turned to Spike, anger on their faces. An aggressive babble of questions was silenced by a combination of Spike’s animalistic roar and Hamish’s snarling, bristling approach, and the men stepped back in shock, unconsciously moving closer together.

Once convinced the men were subdued, Spike clicked his fingers and Hamish returned to his side. The vampire took his time staring at each of the three, recognising them from the personnel files he’d stolen from the Partnership’s computer database.

The temptation was to just get stuck in and kill the three bastards, rip them to shreds for the immediate gratification, but the M’lura wanted a story to make his bloodthirsty readers squeal with delight, and Spike was about to ensure he’d get it.

“Who the fuck are you?” one of his prisoners finally demanded. Darren Severt.

“The name’s Spike,” Spike told them with faux amiability. “Or you can call me…” He morphed into game face. “William the Bloody.”

The satisfying stench of fear finally overwhelmed the alcohol fumes, filling the room as the men pushed themselves back against the far wall.

Another roar, a flash of razor-sharp fangs, and Severt was a little more convinced.

Samuel, still with that same gleeful smile, set out the three metal chairs that Spike had asked him to procure, laying ropes and chains at the base of each.

“Fuck you,” once again from Severt, but there was a distinct wobble in the voice now.

“Care to take a seat?” Spike made a sweeping gesture at the chairs; the sudden desperate rush of the men to the door was easily repelled by vampire and hound, and the humans landed heavily on the stone floor. “Sit!” Spike told them sharply, and this time they did as they were ordered, scrabbling across the floor to obey.

Once in their chairs, Samuel happily secured them, only losing his grin for a split-second when one of the men spat in his face. Spike was there in an instant, thumb on the man’s top-front teeth, pressing until they snapped back and jammed into the roof of his mouth. As Nelson Dreiling screamed in pain, Spike drew an arcane symbol in blood on Samuel’s forehead, muttering a few indistinguishable words.

“There you go, Blue. Blooded,” Spike smiled warmly, before swinging around to seize Dreiling by the throat. “It didn’t hurt. That. Much,” he spelt out. “Shut up and save something for later.”

“Hey, man, what’s this about?” Wiesner asked. “Why you doing this to us?”

“Yeah, fuck the hell off,” chimed in Severt. “Pick on your own kind, what did we ever…”

“You think it’s wrong for a demon to prey on the weak? See, I know you’re weak. Why else would it take three of you big, beefy heroes to beat up one defenceless man?” He watched as an insecure look twitched between the two men who weren’t whimpering over their broken teeth; there was a glimmer of understanding. “Finally figured it out, boys? Figured out that beating up my consort was a dodgy old move? Alexander Harris. Love him to death. And, it’s worth pointing out, aforementioned death will be yours.”

There was a momentary pause before the men started to struggle against their bonds. Severt’s struggles took on a new desperation as Spike approached, drawing a blade from his pocket and directing it to the man’s throat.

Severt tried his best, but the trembling made it difficult. At least that was Spike’s excuse as he continually nicked the human’s flesh as he cut the clothes from his body, then repeated the actions with the remaining men. He took the bundle of material to the corner and made a bed for Hamish.

“There you go, lad. Don’t see why you should have to sit on a cold floor.” An affectionate scratch behind the dog’s ears as he settled on the ruined clothes, and then Spike was turning back and in marked contrast his eyes gleamed gold, fiery with hatred.

“Tell me why,” he ordered, deceptively quiet. The men stared at him in frightened confusion. “Why my Xander?” There was a flurry of exchanged glances. “Someone tell me why you hurt him. It may earn you a faster, less painful death,” Spike encouraged.

Spike loomed over Weisner as he stuttered over his answer, blade in hand once again as he grabbed a handful of hair and tipped Weisner’s head back.

“He – that – he…” Spike growled…encouragingly. “That – Harris, Mr Harris – it wasn’t him, he was just there.”

“Oh, right. So…you were there to rob the site?” Weisner nodded. “And Xander got in the way?” More nods. “A purely opportunistic crime. After all, he’d cost you your jobs, he deserved it. That right?”

“Wrong answer,” Spike said reasonably, before slicing the man’s nose from bridge to septum. “You don’t accidentally savage a man. I should know.”

Spike held the head in place until Weisner was on the verge of choking on the blood pouring back down his throat, then released him.

Spike rounded on Severt; all indications suggested ‘ringleader’ about this man. Severt pushed himself back into his chair at Spike’s glowering approach.

“Fuck off, faggot, you fucking disgust me, you fucking – fucking…faggot.”

“Think we’ve established the range of your vocabulary.” Severt attempted to spit on Spike, but the vampire’s reactions were too fast, fingers pinching the man’s lips together before he could project any phlegm. Spike fished around in his pockets until he found what he was looking for and, with the human squealing wordlessly, proceeded to fasten his mouth shut with a row of safety pins. “There. Who says punk is dead?” Satisfied with his work he went on to carve the word QUEER into Severt’s forehead. “Tell him what it says,” Spike told Samuel.

“Shall I tell you something?” Spike addressed Severt again. “In the true definition of the word, the queerest people I’ve ever met were entirely straight.”

“What’s your impression?” he asked Samuel. “Who’s the biggest piece of shit here?”

“Although they were never careless enough to mention Alex, Severt and Drieling were bragging about their exploits in a general sense. Weisner’s more the pet idiot.”

“No point in getting pissed off at Sammy. Courage of your convictions and all that. If you’re proud enough to brag about what you’ve done, you should be up for taking your just rewards.” Spike strolled back to Drieling. “How are the teeth? Bloody painful, I’d imagine. Let’s have a look.”

Spike yanked up the man’s top lip a couple of times, losing his grip in the blood from the damaged mouth.

“I had the same thought myself.” And, in a precise action, Spike sliced through the flesh and removed the inconvenient top lip, tossing it in Hamish’s direction. Fresh meat: Hamish gulped it down. Drieling went back to screaming and had Spike’s fist around his throat in seconds. Despite the scary demon face, Spike just said, “Shh,” and miraculously the man attempted to be quiet.

“Nothing? Right. How about if I rephrase that? Tell me about Xander or I’ll peel your face off your skull.”

Spike stepped hastily back as Weisner involuntarily emptied his bladder. Severt started cursing through the safety pins, words squashed and distorted but Spike could certainly catch the drift. To Severt and removing the pins without unfastening a single one, leaving the man’s lips in shreds.

With a disappointed sigh, Spike set about extracting the offending tongue, tossing the organ in the wolfhound’s direction and grinning as he swallowed it down. Severt’s protestations had been reduced to incomprehensible gurgles as he gagged on the blood.

“Know one of the things I enjoy about humans?” Spike said conversationally as he circuited the room. “The amount of extremities that just beg to be rearranged or severed. Ears, nose, lips. Ten tiny fingers…” Behind Weisner and casually, unhurriedly snapping every finger, humming tunefully as he went. “Ten tiny toes…” To the front of Drieling and breaking each toe, leaving every one pointing to the ceiling. Spike stood back and surveyed the men. “Three extremely tiny penises. And they look like testicles, only smaller. Anyone would think you were a tad scared. Surely not. Tough guys like you. And it is three against one, because Sammy’s only an observer, and Hame’s just here for a snack. Three against one: you can’t be scared.”

“Excuse me, Master, but what’s the tune you were humming? For my article’s complete accuracy?”

“Something Xander was singing earlier. Stuck in my head.” And Spike sang as he quickly and methodically scalped the men:

“‘What the world needs now, is love sweet love.
It’s the only thing, that there’s just too little of.
What the world needs now is love, sweet love,
No, not just for some but for everyone.’”

“‘Lord, we don't need another mountain,” Spike sang.
“‘There are mountains and hillsides enough to climb.
There are oceans and rivers enough to cross,
Enough to last till the end of time.’”

Spike stripped the last scalp away with a flourish. “The end of time. For you three that’ll be just after dawn.” Spike offered the scalps to Sammy with a smile. “There you go. You’ll get a good price for them in the right market.”

“Souvenirs, right.” He pulled his camera from one of the duster’s voluminous pockets. “Smile, boys. Say…death will be a blessed relief.”

A few photographs later, Spike was putting the camera away and turning to Samuel.

With a flourish, Samuel handed over the trademark of William the Bloody: a railroad spike. The non-metallic Spike accepted it with a certain reverence, wishing this was the gift he could present to Xander after it had fulfilled it’s gory obligation. He shared the sentiment with Samuel, who sighed at the sheer romanticism of it. Severt didn’t share the same enthusiasm and began to wail.

“What now? We’ve established that you can’t be scared so this must be about…” Spike paused before shaking his head. “Nah. Can’t figure it out, you’ll have to tell me.” And then he theatrically remembered. “Damn, you’d need a tongue for that. See, maiming I’m good at, organisation is not my strong point. But I’ve learnt some patience. That’s why this is going to take so long and be so excruciatingly painful. You’re going to give this sadistic fag hours of pleasure. You guys are just…adorable.”

Master will not drink their blood, refusing to elevate them to the position of food. But his hound is appeased by offerings, and, deprived of words, DS shrieks frenziedly as he watches his own testes being extracted and thrown into the great maw. The babbling horror of CW and ND brings a smile to Master’s face, and to my own, as these miscreants discover the malicious beauty of the demon’s revenge.

The Master’s work with his blade is breathtaking in its skill, and the leg of ND is peeled from knee to ankle. Luckily a hex prevents ND from the luxury of unconsciousness as he twists and turns in pain. An affectionate word from the vampire and his hound comes to his side, encouraged to rip and gnaw the fresh meat from the bone. He complies. He is a good, steadfast beast, unaffected by the piteous noise emerging from his meal.

It was almost impossible for Xander to get away from that fast enough. He went to the end of the article.

The Master, showing admirable finesse with the railroad spike, is able to sever the humans’ spines at precisely the correct place to render them crippled, but able to survive the short time until this edifice is consumed. They will see their final fate creep upon them and they will be engulfed. The foundations of this fine new building will swallow up the worthless bodies of these traitors, and justice will be set, to the word, in concrete.

Outside, in the subdued light of false dawn, Master throws himself open to the forces and cries to the sky, roaring in elation. Remembering your narrator, he sprints to me, takes my head roughly in his hands and presses his lips to my brow in a brusque acknowledgement of my involvement and sharing. I have been blooded by his hand but this gesture is greater and he has all but branded me; I am his.

We walk through the magician’s ward and it sucks the blood from our clothes and hair, and from the hound’s fur. The Master is eager now to return to his Consort and has few words but, as he leaves, the smile on his deceptively beatific face reflects his satisfaction with his night’s work and, dear friends and readers, my unworthy self.

Xander set the pages aside with trembling hands. Spike. His Spike. The Spike. He thought… He didn’t know what to think. He felt… Nope, couldn’t go there either.

He had to go home, be home, be with Spike, his kind, adorable, sadistic fag boyfriend. All at once he was appalled and scared and impressed and awed and grateful and madly in love and so, so desperate to fuck Spike, to be fucked by his avenging monster.

Xander parked up and walked to the front door as opposed to using the access from garage to hall. Slow steps that gave him a few more seconds to figure out how to handle this. A few more seconds to admit he didn’t have a clue.

Once inside, Xander leant back against the door, waiting for Spike to appear. Within seconds the vampire was racing down the stairs.

Xander’s expression stole Spike’s intended words; the vampire hesitated before approaching warily. Xander handed over Samuel’s story in grim-faced silence, waiting for Spike to skim-read the first page.