by
Lisa Y. Drexel
Chapter One   Chapter Two   Chapter Three   Chapter Four   Chapter Five  Chapter Six
Chapter Seven   Chapter Eight   Chapter Nine   Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven   Epilogue

~~~Chapter One~~~

"Here’s to longevity," Mike Evans mumbled under her breath as she downed the double shot of Jack Daniel’s. It was her fourth one in less than two hours and Immortal metabolism being what it was, she had yet to feel the blessed effects of drunkenness. Maybe a dozen of these, and I’ll forget how much of an asshole Methos is, she thought to herself as she held up the empty glass for the bartender to see.

The tall, pale-skinned red head nodded as he picked up another rocks glass and set it on the bar top. Without a glance, he reached under the bar and pulled out the half-empty Jack Daniel’s bottle and poured the amber liquid into the empty glass until it was a little over half full. He slid the drink over to her. "This is from the blond-haired gentleman over there," he said tipping his head to Mike’s right.

Mike leaned forward and got a glimpse of her benefactor who was sitting two stools down and smiled when their eyes met.

Although he appeared younger than her, his eyes seemed to reflect the same ageless quality Mike had seen in Immortals. But no buzz, she thought to herself. Great, now you’re seeing Immortals everywhere, she silently berated herself. Feeling his eyes still on her, she looked back over to him and grinned.

Thanks, she mouthed to him as she picked up her drink and brought it to her lips.

Turning back, she closed her eyes and tipped the glass, allowing a nice-sized gulp to slide down her tongue. She swallowed, reveling in the feel the liquid fire in her mouth as it made its way down to her stomach. If only that feeling of relaxation could remain, maybe should could handle this separation from Adam.

Yeah and maybe, if I could cut out my heart, I could win the Game. Either scenario was unlikely, she told herself as she thought back to the last 48 hours and how drastically her life had been altered.

Three days ago, she was walking hand in hand with Adam along the Seine, talking of history—ancient to modern, of art and artists and whether beer was better then or in the 20th century. And now, she was sitting in a neo-gothic club in the Central West End in her hometown of St. Louis—the US of A—by herself.

And desperately trying to drown in her sorrows. It was pitiful.

Hell, this had been the first time in her 33 years of life that she had gone out drinking by herself. And since becoming Immortal, this was the first time other than her two-week stay at that convent in Seacouver, that she had been more than a dozen miles from her three protectors: Adam, Mac and Richie.

Well, that sure did sober me up, she thought as she sighed.

But not near as sobering as the picture in her mind of Adam and that Raven woman locked in lusty embrace in front of her and Adam’s apartment building two days ago—before the sun had even fully risen. She had been up, and by that time, had already packed and called a cab, because he hadn’t come home the night before. After calling all over Paris, trying to find him and scared to death that he lost his head, she finally got out of Richie, that he and Mac’s old friend, Raven, had left together from Joe’s Le Blue’s Bar around 2 am.

Of course, neither Mac nor Joe offered her that tidbit of truth. She shook her head thinking of all the shit Richie was going to get into by ratting on the Old Man. As a way of thanks, Mike offered to buy Richie a ticket back to the States before Methos realized who snitched on him. Richie jumped on the chance and was now back in Seacouver. Of course, it was on Methos credit card, but as far as Mike was concerned, it was very apropos. Hell, the Old Man paid Mike’s way back to the States, as well as her car rental fee and her deposit and three months rent for the flat she got today not even a block from the bar she was at now. She also had to buy some furniture and clothes. The way Mike saw it, the Old Man’s indiscretion was going to cost him dearly—if not emotionally, then financially.

"Men," she whispered to herself. It doesn’t matter how fucking old they can get, they’re still assholes. You would think after 68 fucking wives, he would know when to commit and when not to, she thought as she felt her eyes water. "Damnit," she muttered, wiping the offending tear off her face. He doesn’t deserve my tears—at least not until he can decided whether or not he really wants to be in love with me. In every sense of the word.

Feeling a bit more resolved, she picked up her drink and downed the rest of it in one huge gulp, sighing out loud as the muscles in her shoulders relaxed.

"Now, that’s what I like in a woman!" a cocky male British voice said.

"Oh God, not another one," she said groaning as she glanced to her right and saw that the man who had bought her last drink, had slid over to sit next to her. Welcome to Hell, Mike, where you’ll be surrounded by gorgeous men with English accents and smart-ass’ senses of humor—all clamoring to break your heart! Yep, this has gotta be hell!

She shook her head at herself and sighed. Well, here goes nothing’! she thought with a grin on her face. "I aim to please." She watched his eyebrow go up as his brown eyes twinkled. Yep, a definite smart-ass on the make.

"Well then, luv, I’ll just have to buy you another one then," he said as he nodded to the bartender. He turned back to her and smiled. "The name’s Spike," he said still smiling at her.

Spike!? She bit her lip, desperately trying to squash the giggle that was threatening to erupt. "Spike?" she asked, knowing she was blowing this ‘pick-up’ totally and really didn’t give a rat’s ass if she did. "What in the hell did you do in your past life to get a name like that?" She asked as the smirk she had been desperately trying to control, let loose.

His eyes darkened even though his smile remained as he shrugged. "You wouldn’t believe me if I told you," he whispered as he sipped wine from his glass.

"Well, I gotta give you credit. It’s an interesting name," she said smiling, noting the mood change and deciding to ignore it. If he wanted a piece of ass, he was going to have to work for it, because I sure as hell ain’t, she thought to herself. She turned to face him and found him watching her with an intensity that sent an uneasy chill through her. Again, she decided to let it go, a part of her liking the danger his eyes flashed when she poked fun at him. What the hell? she thought. I’ve got forever to fuck up and he’s not an Immortal. So what if he turns out to be a psycho. I’ve survived one serial killer, I’ll survive this.

"Must be a wonderful conversation tool—especially in situations such as this. The visually imagery is a definite plus," she said, forcing her face to remain expressionless. Before she could gage his reaction, the bartender interrupted the pair by serving their drinks.

Mike picked up hers and noted that Spike had ordered another glass of wine. Not a beer or gin drinker that she had pegged him for. Interesting.

"I never quite thought of it that way, pet. But now that you mention it," he said, his voice low and dripping with sexual innuendo. The grin he gave her told her exactly what he wanted to do to her.

She shivered and took a hefty mouthful of her drink. Again, she felt that moment of total relaxation, but it was gone before she could really savor it.

"So, what do I call you, luv? Or is luv okay?" he asked, his eyes glued to hers.

At that moment she felt as if she was the most important person in his life. It felt as if all his attention was directed at her. And her response was a typical females: she blushed. And it wasn’t an ordinary blush of embarrassment—no, this was one of those that spread all the way from her face to her toes. The one of being sexually aroused.

God, three days, and I’m flirting with a Billy Idol look-a-like in a bar and ready to hop his bones right now! She took a deep breath as she tried to calm her beating heart.

"I like to be called Mike. And before you ask, no my parents weren’t expecting a son; Mike’s short for Michelle." She ran her fingers through her hair. "But if you want to call me luv, be my guest. I’ve been called worse."

He reached over and took her hand. She gasped as she felt how chilled his skin was. Gently, he lifted it to his lips, all the while, his eyes remained focused on hers. His kiss was cool and soft. Mike sighed as a wonderful shiver glided down her spine and centered on her sex. Oh boy, I’m in trouble she thought to herself.

"Pleased to meet you, Mike." He lowered their hands, but didn’t release hers. And, despite the little voice screaming at her to leave, Mike allowed it. At least I can’t get AIDS, she thought and quickly blushed as she realized she was actually considering having sex with a man she had just met. His thumb gently caressed her hand, adding to her arousal.

She finally just sighed and chuckled. "You’re pretty good at this, Spike. I think that you have Seduction 101 aced," she said, briefing flashing onto the last time she said that to another English gentleman. Not now, Mike! No Methos!

"Just 101? And here I thought I had at least a doctorate," he quipped as he stood up and pulled her out of her seat. "Come on, luv, let’s dance. It appears that both of us are in desperate need of diversion tonight," he said as he watched her stand. His eyes traveled the length of her body appreciatively and instantly Mike felt her nipples harden in response. And again, her skin reddened under his scrutiny.

"I’d love to see what that blush looks like underneath all those clothes," he whispered in her ear, as he pulled her to him. She bit back a moan. He flashed her a big smile and Mike found herself envious of his high cheekbones. He then turned back to towards the dance floor and began walking.

Of course, Mike followed, considering he was still in possession of her hand.

I’m in real big trouble, she thought as he stopped, tilted his head, listening to the loud drum of music. He suddenly smiled as a slow song started and pulled her possessively into his arms. His cool body pressed against her hot and sticky one. His hands rested in the small of her back and every time she attempted to put some distance between them, he easily pulled her back to him. She could feel his arousal through his black jeans and idly wondered how the hell she got in this position in the first place. As it stood now, she doubted if she could’ve said no, no matter how much her mind wanted her to remain chaste for Adam.

Spike had her lock, stock and barrel.

"Enjoying this, luv?" he whispered in her ear. His voice sent shivers down her spine. God, was he sexy, she thought to herself.

"Almost too much," Mike muttered, as her knees were beginning to weaken.

"Do you live around here?" He asked as he lifted a hand and gently cupped her face. She nodded yes.

"About a block away. I walked here."

His fingers lightly drifted down her face to the opening of her button down shirt. "Do you know that it’s been ages since I’ve seen someone with as beautiful of blond hair, as you?" His hand slipped to her back and played with her curls. "So soft and curly, begging to have my fingers run through it...

"All right! You win!" she groaned as her body shivered. "Let’s go," she whispered as he finally relaxed his hold on her, smiling as a victor would after winning a battle. God, I feel like a trophy, she thought to herself and found herself turned on even more by that thought. Biting her lip in frustration, she walked back to the bar, pulled out a twenty from her pants pocket and dropped it on the counter. She stepped up on the rail under the counter and leaned forward over the bar to the stool where her coat lay. "Thanks for keeping an eye on it for me," she called out to the bartender. He nodded, smiling at the couple.

"Have a good evening," the bartender said. Mike nodded and began walking towards the exit. Maybe, if she got lucky, he would lose her in the crowd. Then she wouldn’t have to feel guilty for not only having sex with a stranger, but for cheating on Adam. Unfortunately for her, the other part of her—the one dying to spend hours naked with Spike was just as vocal as her chaste part.

She had not a clue, which part of her she wanted to win.

~~~~~~~~~~

As Mike headed towards the door, the bartender turned towards Spike and with inhumane speed, grabbed the blonde’s arm. "Be careful," the man whispered so quietly that only another vampire could hear. "She’s not what she seems, man. And she’s under LaCroix’s protection. "

"What the hell does that mean, mate?" he snapped as he saw her scurrying out the door. She’s trying to get away, he thought to himself as he turned back to the other vampire.

The bartender smiled, his eyes flashing gold. "You’ll find out sure enough." He let go of Spike’s arm. "But watch out for big swords, my man."

Spike frowned and downed the last of his blood wine. "I’ll keep it in mind." He nodded briskly to the bartender and followed Mike out of the bar.

As Spike caught up with Mike, he thought of what the bartender told him. Who was this Mike to be under the protection of one of the Ancients? For the millionth time in the past two weeks, he silently cursed Dru for leaving him. Loneliness and hunger was what propelled him to the Wolf’s Bane in the first place. If he was totally honest with himself, it was what sent him to St. Louis.

Once Dru left him, all he had for company was his thoughts. And for the first time in over a hundred years, he actually found himself taking an inventory of his life.

He didn’t like what he found.

He was lonely. And it started way before Dru physically left him. Thinking about it, he couldn’t even pinpoint when it started or when he wasn’t. All those years with just his thoughts for company—all the while protecting and caring for his dark goddess. Pouring all that energy—all his demonic energy into caring for her and pleasing her, because if he didn’t, he might really think about where he was going with his ‘unlife’ and how, even for a demon, how empty this vampiric life really was. Somehow, even the demon knew that without the distraction of Dru, he might just give up.

For a vampire, that was sinful.

So what does a member of the undead do to find his place in the world? He searches for others like him.

And he found them. In St. Louis.

Vampires with a brain. And hopefully, with their sanity intact.

For over a century, he had spent the vast majority of his time with someone who was insane. And the rest of the idiots, those fledglings that were under him, hadn’t had a brain between the whole lot of them. He knew, through the vampire grapevine, that Toronto was now a shallow reflection of what it used to be four years ago, and that if he wanted to be around vampires with a brain, then he should go to St. Louis.

So, he did.

After a year at Sunnyhell, he wanted to be as far away from a mystical energy center as he could. Just plain vampires were just fine. No slayers. No demon hunters and no irritating slayerettes. Just Enforcers. Hell, he could live by the code. He’d done it before—before Dru. He could buy the bottled variety of human blood. He could hunt discreetly and not leave his leftovers for the local police to find. Hell, he could feed and not kill. And strangely enough, his demon didn’t seem bothered by this whole personality change. It was almost felt like it was his demon’s decision.

Sighing, he felt the Hunger gnaw his being as he watched the woman walk. She had long, curved legs that didn’t seem end. A behind that was attractive and round. Her waist was small, her hips were big and her breasts were not huge, but very attractive. Voluptuous was the word to describe her. His eyes drifted to her hair, watching it as it gently tapped her behind with each stride. He was telling the truth when he said he couldn’t remember seeing hair that beautiful before. Not only was it long, but it was wild, curly and wavy—almost whimsical—and soft to the touch. This woman was nothing like his Dru. She looked older, yet had almost a cynical innocence about her. A gentleness that he hadn’t seen in someone this old in a very long time. The Slayer’s friend Willow was much like this one. But Willow was only 16 years old.

How long had it been since he had mingled with older mortals?

Like vampires with brains, mature mortals had not been on his agenda for a very long time.

A bolt of loneliness struck him as he thought about the last time he had made love with a woman. It had been Dru, before his time in the wheelchair. No wonder he set about to seduce this beautiful woman standing in front of him. He was craving contact as well as blood.

Before the bartender’s warning, he was contemplating draining her after bedding her, but now he knew that would be impossible.

To cross the ancient was suicidal at best. The General was not one to mess around with. Even though he was not of the same brood as Spike, a 2000-year-old vampire still equaled a strength that Spike had yet to develop. Although the Brit may be a master vampire in his own circle, LaCroix, with his human face and above ground living, was far more a master than even Lothos was.

Spike shuddered at the thought. LaCroix and his kind had at one time irked the vampire almost as much as the souled-Angel. But since Hellmouth, he found he craved their company. Although he had no idea how much he had changed since working with the Slayer, he felt he had. Mindless driven demon-infested-vampires no longer held any appeal to him. They sickened him. As well as old spell books and rituals that would bring about evil for no purpose but bloodshed, seemed redundant and short-sighted. Here he could find other vampires, although souled, that enjoyed the power of the bloodlust as much as he did—but without the prophecies and senseless destruction that always seemed to follow.

He shook his head, thinking of how much the Slayer and Watcher didn’t know about vampires. They had no knowledge of the souled ones, as his kin called LaCroix’s kind. Where Spike and his kind were actual demons, LaCroix and his type were descendants of the god now known as Dionysus. When they were ‘embraced’ as they called it, they kept their souls. Because of this, the slayer and other demon hunters were not prone to hunt them as they were Spike’s kind.

That wasn’t to say that they didn’t have their own problems. Enforcers and Hunters were the first two that came into Spike’s mind. Enforcers were the equivalent of vampire KBG, who strictly enforced vampiric code and law among their kind. This enabled ongoing existence of vampires to continue. Enforcers rarely bothered Spike’s kind, leaving his brood to the Slayers’ mercy.

He finally caught up with Mike and grasped her hand. She jumped in surprise and turned to smile at him. "God, how did you do that? I didn’t even hear you."

He gave her an innocent smile. "I just walk quietly," he said as he slipped his arm around her waist. "So, were you trying to run away from me?"

She dipped her head and shrugged. "Maybe."

He stopped and pulled her into his arms. Her heart sped up, making Spike’s head spin in hunger and lust. So intertwined, yet a need so intense, that even after two hundred years, he had yet to totally master it. Willing his demon back, he lifted his hands and cupped her face. "Why?"

She closed her eyes and sighed. "Broken heart. And the thought that I might be jumping the gun here." She blushed. "I usually don’t allow my passions to override my sensibilities." She grinned. "But you’ve been very persuasive." By the time she finished talking, Spike had bent his head down so their lips were nearly touching.

"You haven’t seen nothing yet, luv," he whispered as his lips touched hers.

~~~Chapter Two~~~

At first, his lips gently touched her bottom lip, softly nibbling at it—patiently coaxing her to open her mouth. Like everything else between the two that night, she relented as a longing sigh escaped her lips, giving the blond vampire the opening he desired. Once his tongue touched the inside of her mouth, the kiss suddenly evolved into a passionate embrace. Mike found herself pressing her body against the long length of his, feeling his hardness press against her jeans-covered mound—enjoying the knowledge that she was exciting him—doing that to him.

He started gently pushing her backwards until her back hit the brick wall and a sharp pain cut across her back.

She broke the kiss, cursing at her stupidity. "Shit!" she mumbled as she reached back under her coat and felt the cut in her shirt and her blood soaking into the material. "Another damn shirt ruined," she said as she pulled out her hand, squinting to get a better look at the blood. It was then she heard a harsh hiss as Spike grabbed her hand and pulled it to his lips.

"What the hell?" she snapped as she glared up at her companion, instinctively trying to yank her hand away from his. But she stopped mid-action, once she saw Spike’s face.

In her thirty-three years of life, nothing prepared her for what she saw. Instead of the handsome, high cheek-boned, brown-eyed, blond-haired man that had been seducing her for the past hour and a half, a red-faced, yellow eyed monster with over-sized brows and deep ridges was sensuously sucking her fingers, cleaning the blood off them.

She almost fell back against her sword again. "Holy fuck," she whispered. "What the hell are you?"

He looked up from her fingers and laughed as his face morphed back to the familiar human facade she had just been kissing. With her fingers still tightly clutched in his hands, he roughly pulled her back to him. "I could ask you the same thing, luv. The only time I’ve ever tested blood this powerful was when I sipped off a slayer right before I broke her neck. And I know, you’re no slayer."

Slayer? Neck? Sip? Blood?

Her heart sped up to an incredible pace—enough that she wondered if an Immortal could die from fright. "A vampire?" she squeaked, her voice taking on very unattractive high pitch. He nodded, seemingly enjoying her reaction. She shook her head in amazement. "I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch. I don’t know why I’m surprised—hell, how much stranger is it than Immortals running around beheading each other, just so they can win some stupid Game, that no one even knows how it began!" Spike released her hand. Immediately, she began to pace in front of him. "I wonder what else is out there? Fairies? Elves? Werewolves? Witches? Ghosts?"

He started laughing. Mike growled at him and he laughed even harder, suddenly bending at the waist, clutching his knees.

"What?" she snapped, feeling incredibly embarrassed that somehow she was left out of the supernatural loop—considering she was a member.

Spike’s laughter slowed down to an easy chuckle as he held out his hand for her. "How ‘bout we finish this at your place? Umm?"

For a moment she just stood there, weighing out her options. He still couldn’t kill her...and he was incredibly sexy. And imagine where her fantasies could take her, after sleeping with a vampire. She giggled at the thought. God, the Old Man would shit, she thought. Mike looked up and met his brown eyes. She nodded as she took his hand.

"So are you going to tell me what the hell is so funny?"

He chuckled again as he shook his head. "You had no idea that there were such things as vampires?" He watched her shake her head. "Do you know a Lucien LaCroix?"

She nodded yes. "Yeah, he’s a friend of my ‘mentors,’" she snapped. "He owns the Wolf’s Bane."

"He’s a vampire, luv."

"No way!"

Spike nodded. "And before we left, I was warned that you were under LaCroix ‘protection’," he told her as she led him up the stairs to a two-family flat. "I just think it’s ironic that you had no idea that we even existed, and yet you have one the oldest of our kind, watching out for you."

She stopped at the door with her hand right outside her jeans front pocket. "That son-of-bitch," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "I can’t even leave him, without one of his ‘contacts’ keeping an eye out for me." She lifted her head and met Spike’s eyes. "I guess the next time I run away, I shouldn’t be so predictable." She pulled out her house key. Opening the door, she stepped inside and over to the side, waving him in.

"Luv, you have to invite me in."

She frowned, remembering she had read about that somewhere. Oh goody, what else is true? "Come on in, Spike. As a friend says, ‘Mi casa es su casa.’"

Bowing his head, he stepped inside, instantly noticing the lack of furnishings. His eyebrow went up in question.

"I just moved in and haven’t had a chance to buy any furniture except the futon, TV and a kitchen table."

He nodded slowly, eyeing the three five-foot windows in the living room. "Do you have any dark, heavy blankets?"

She shook her head and shrugged. "Although I’m a night person, the light doesn’t bother me."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Well, unfortunately for me, I can’t say the same." He turned and watched her shrug off her coat and lay on the back of the couch. Afterwards, she headed for the back of the apartment.

"Can I get you anything?" She called out as he heard the water from the kitchen sink being turned on. He followed her voice and stopped at the doorframe, leaning against it casually. "Not unless you have a fresh, live body stashed somewhere around here."

She gasped and Spike watched her nearly drop the glass coffee carafe. Seconds later, he was by her side, gently taking the coffee pot out of her hands. She watched him, shaking her head. "I guess I’ll deal with non-breakable items. A lot less dangerous," she muttered to herself as she pulled out a coffee filter and stuck it in the container.

He laughed quietly as he placed the full coffee carafe on the counter next to the coffee maker. He turned and leaned against the sink, watching her. "So, you’re immortal?"

She nodded wordless as she scooped the coffee out and into the filter.

"Does your kind ever die?"

She nodded again. "But it’s hard. There’s only one way for us to die. And it’s best if one of our own does it."

He frowned, but decided to let that one bit of information go. His eyes fell onto the rip in the back of her shirt. He moved over and slid his finger inside, touching her skin. She jumped, whipping around to face him. "Not even a scar?"

Her face lit up in realization and giggled. "Nope. Like I said, we heal pretty quick. Especially if it’s not life threatening."

"Blood loss kill you?"

"Well sorta; we just don’t stay that way. That’s how I died my first death. Multiple stab wounds." She watched his eyes in confusion, when suddenly she smiled. "You’re hungry, aren’t you? That’s why all these questions."

He nodded, his eyes revealing a weariness that she herself felt. "Bloody hell, I’m starving. You were going to my dinner until that bloke from the bar told me about LaCroix," he said as he shrugged. "Sorry," he mumbled. "It’s been awhile since I’ve looked at humans as anything other than happy meals with legs."

She shook her head and started laughing. "Happy Meals with legs?" Her eyes began watering as her body shook. "What a crazy, fucked-up night! One little thing, and suddenly my whole view of the world around me has taken a skewed turn." She shook her head. "Happy meals with legs? If vampire lore has any truth to it, weren’t you once a ‘happy meal?’"

He shrugged. "That was nearly two hundred years ago, luv. Things change."

She chuckled. "Obviously," she commented, her voice laced with sarcasm. "So, you need to feed, right?"

He nodded, finding himself feeling both curious at her reaction and ashamed at his actions. "Where are you going with this?" He asked as he shucked a cigarette out of the pack. After hopping onto the counter top, he lit it, inhaling deeply.

She pursed her lips, her head bent upwards, and her eyes shut tight. She sighed and looked over to him. "I must be nuttier than a fruitcake for suggesting this," she said as she walked over to him, until her body was touching his legs. "But my curiosity is getting the better of me. And I’m Immortal, right? So, why don’t I start acting like it? I mean, if I play my cards right, I could live a long, long time—as long as the Gathering keeps up this pace—and more Immortals are born." He watched as she pulled away and began pacing in front of him.

Obviously, he wasn’t the only one that had issues. Figures, he’d find another fucked-up immortal.

"I mean, so what if he screwed around on me? I mean, I’ve got forever, figuratively speaking. It’s not as if I’m gonna die old and gray in sixty years. If I keep my head, I could live ten times longer than that. Even more. Even if he’s in love with me, obviously that doesn’t mean commitment to him. So, why not have a little fun? Why not learn about this other world that I always believed was a figment of everyone’s darkest fears?

"Am I making any sense?" She stopped, her hands on her hips as she watched him.

He grinned. "About as much sense as I’ve been making lately, luv. But, I think I know where you’re going with this. You’re trying to justify being with me, aren’t you?" And feeding me, he added silently.

Tears filled her eyes as she nodded. "I thought I was in love. Hell, I am in love. But he doesn’t know what to do with me. He’s been married 68-fucking-times! Sixty-eight! I can’t even fathom living that long to have that many mates." She shook her head. "Yet, I’m the first Immortal woman he’s allowed himself to fall in love with."

His mouth dropped as he flicked the cigarette butt into the sink. Sixty-eight wives? How old could this guy be? Even if it was a wife every 50 years, that’s nearly 5000 years. And I thought LaCroix was old, he thought to himself.

"And he doesn’t know what to do. I could live forever! Longer than any of his mortal wives or lovers. It scares the fuck out of him. And he ran right into the arms of the first easy lay he could find." She wiped her face angrily and stared off to the side. "So, it’s time for me to let go. At least, of the ‘lover’ part." Her eyes met his. "So, yeah, I guess you’re right. " As she walked back towards him, he slid off the counter. She stopped about three feet in front of him. "So, you wanna hang out for awhile? I’ll show you my world and you can show me yours?" She asked, grinning. "You get benefits," she said as she pulled her hair off her neck, baring it to him. "Unlimited supply of blood, just for the asking’—all I ask is that my head remains attached to my body and—"

Quicker than a blink of an eye, he reached over and yanked her body to his and slammed his lips onto hers, not knowing if he was trying to shut her up, if he was just horny or hungry. But the kiss took care of all three. He felt her body mold to his as she moaned. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he tried pulling her even closer to him. Finally she pulled away, her face flushed as she bent down gulping huge mouthfuls of air. "Unlike you, I have to breath," she said smirking as she straightened. "So, I guess that means you’re game, eh?"

He hooked his fingers through her belt loops on her jeans and slowly pulled her back to him. "One thing," he said, wondering why the hell he was going to ask this in the first place. But like everything else lately, the demon apparently didn’t mind acting out of character. "Why? Why do you trust me?"

Frowning, she dropped her eyes. "I don’t know. But my little voice, you know the one that tells you when to run and when to stay. Who to trust, who not to trust, has been uncharacteristically quiet. Which, to me, means, that despite who and what you are, that it's all right." She looked back up at him, grinning. "Besides, how many other people could say they were a vampire’s meal and live to tell about it?" She joked, but Spike noticed her eyes had no humor in them. They pierced his, bolting him to his spot. This woman, young by anyone’s standards, trusted him. She didn’t run away screaming when his demon emerged. How could this be?

"You’d do that for me?"

She nodded as she wiggled herself out of his grasp and went over to the coffee maker and poured herself a mug of hot coffee. Leaning against the counter on her hip, she faced him. "Spike, you can’t be that evil. I’d know. You have a sparkle of light in those brown eyes of yours. Believe me when I say, I’ve met worse, far older than you and far more responsible for innocent lives lost than you’ve been." She shuddered, nearly spilling her coffee onto her hand. Once she calmed, she sipped her coffee and watched as he pushed away from the counter angrily and began to pace in front of her.

"Worse than me? I find it hard to believe, luv. I’m a fucking demon. The epitome of evil! How could one of your kind be worse than that?"

She laughed quietly and made another left turn in the conversion. "Okay, so in the eternal battle of good and evil, you say you’re definitely on the dark side, right?"

He nodded slowly once he stopped pacing. "Your point?" he snapped, as he stood staring at her with his hands on hips defiantly. "Are you going anywhere with this, pet? If not, clue me in and I’ll just eat and run and forgo the sex, okay?"

Spike watched her face tighten and her jaw clench. Bingo, he said to himself. Finally pissing her off! Good! He was smart enough not to ask himself why this was so important to him. He ignored his gnawing fear that it might have something to do with his fears of his own inadequacies. So, in its stead, he blamed the demon.

"You can be a royal asshole, you know? But," she shook her head as she put her coffee mug back down on the counter, "I’m not gonna let you squirm your way out of this. So, am I right? That evil is predestined to be demons and whatnot and that you’re on the dark side of this ongoing battle?"

He pursed his lips and nodded his head once.

"Let me ask you something. Why does evil have to mean a demon? To me, Ted Bundy was evil. He didn’t have a fucking excuse. He didn’t need to feed on the living for his existence. He just wanted to kill. Period. Because it was fun. Because he hated women. Or maybe it was because his mother was a bitch. Hell, who knows? Maybe it was just because he could.

"I’ve been lucky so far. I’ve only met a couple of Immortals that were so dark, their Quickenings made me sick to my stomach. They screamed chaos and blood and death. I still have nightmares about one. And he’s still running around here, somewhere, because he disappeared before Adam or Mac could take his head. Or me even. Son-of-bitch murdered my father with a sweep of sword. My father was mortal. An old man who couldn’t defend himself." Tears ran down her face. "And you know what? You don’t have a Quickening, but whatever makes you you, isn’t nearly as dark as him.

"So, before you get on your high horse about how bad and evil you are, remember this. It wasn’t vampires that composed the legendary Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. It was Immortals. And, ironically, I love the only remaining member of that exclusive killing machine that’s still alive today: Death."

One word and he felt all that anger boiling inside of him, slip away. Death. How? He asked himself. How could she love someone, souled, that wreaked that much destruction? He always secretly believed them to be demons—not live, breathing men who chose to kill and spread chaos everywhere. Men with souls. I have no soul, yet I helped save the world. The same world they wanted to bring down under their tutelage.

Maybe she was right. Hell, wasn’t that what he was thinking when he decided to move here? That maybe his demon wasn’t all evil, for he seemed to have lost his stomach for bringing about death and destruction. As he watched his sire, Angelus, a demon who reveled in his power and pathos, Spike couldn’t help but compare himself to the newly-unsouled Angel, and gratefully found himself lacking in the evil department.

He shook his head, forcing himself to think about the present. When he lifted his eyes, he noticed that she had stepped away from the counter and was now standing in front of him, shifting back and forth on her feet. Impatience surrounded her.

"So are you going to drink or die of starvation?"

"What the hell," he said and with preternatural speed, grabbed her head and kissed her. She grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands dropped down to her waist, enjoying the softness of her body. After a minute or so, she started to pull away but he stopped her. His arms like steel, he crushed his mouth onto hers, forcing her mouth open. She moaned as she felt his fangs descend and when he nipped her bottom lip and began to gently suck her blood, her knees nearly buckled. He reached down and slid his hands to her bottom and easily picked her up. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around him, allowing him to carry her. He stopped at the table and gently laid her down, with him still sucking on her lip. Finally, his lips left hers and he began to kiss around her mouth and down under her chin, to her neck. All the while, his hands were busy touching other areas of her body. He sucked and nipped on her beautiful pale skin, reveling in her arousal as he felt her push her pelvis hard against his groin. Feeling the demon emerge, he finally relented and easily sunk his teeth into her neck, as one hand rubbed her pants-clad sex.

With a second taste, he realized her blood wasn’t really like a slayers. A slayer’s blood just was potent and fulfilling, almost like a vampires, whereas Mike’s blood was just more alive—almost as if he were sipping the Earth’s life-force itself. It energized him and immediately after his second swallow, he knew that if he could drink from her, he would never kill again.

The other surprise her blood gave him, was the exchange of selves. As he felt her essence, what made Mike special—or what was Mike’s soul—sing from her life’s blood, he experienced her life. And could feel him giving himself to her as well. While Mike was engrossed with the metamorphous of William Atkinson, bastard son of Sir Atkinson become William the Bloody and finally Spike, he had been doing the same with her. He saw her life, felt her pain and anguish, felt her First Death as if he was the one being raped and stabbed. He felt her lose her virginity, marveled with her when she saw her first Immortal Quickening. He felt her joy at realizing that not only was she in love with her mentor, Adam, but he was with her. Her confusion and then realization that her mild mannered friend and love, was once Death of the Four Horsemen—Methos.

And finally, he saw what propelled her to leave Paris and the home she had shared with Adam. A dark-haired man and a beautiful young blond, embracing in front of her apartment building, in the dawn’s early light.

He felt her body tense then shake as she yelled out his name. Her orgasm was his signal that he had taken enough and he gently disengaged himself from her neck, licking the wound clean. He stood up, watching her chest rise and fall and glanced at her neck wound. It was then he saw an Immortals healing process up close. A flicker of blue lightening surged through and about the wound and when it stopped, the holes closed. Within five minutes, there was no physical trace of his feeding from her.

She sighed heavily as her eyes flickered open. She blinked back the tears, and smiled crookedly. Her face was still flush and wet with excitement as she shook her head. "No wonder no one ever told me about vampires. They wanted to keep you guys to themselves," she joked as began to sit up. He grabbed both of her arms and pulled her to her feet.

"Are you alright?"

She nodded, but Spike could tell something was off. It was then he realized he could still feel her emotions. He dropped her hand and stepped back. "What the hell?" he whispered to himself. He ran his fingers through his hair. This had never happened to him before with a human. And very few times with other vampires. He turned back to her. "Do you feel it?"

She tilted her head, her brows furred in concentration. "You’re scared?" Her voice rose in question. "I take it, this wasn’t normal for you, was it?"

He shook his head. "Never before with someone who wasn’t a vampire. Damn," he shook his head, an ironic grin forming on his face. "if you didn’t taste so good, and it hadn’t felt so good, I’d be out of here faster than you could blink. Luv, demons aren’t into lovey-dovey bonding moments."

She grinned at him, wearing an ‘I told you so’ look on her face. He rolled his eyes and turned to leave the kitchen. She followed him to the doorway and watched him begin pacing again. "Is angst a prerequisite for immortality, Spike?"

He stopped mid-step and glared at her. "Let it go. It was enjoyable—for both of us."

Spike found himself once again shocked by her. He stood there, his eyes taking in how she leaned against the doorway, one hip extended. Her breasts pushing against the light blue shirt. Her nipples visible and erect. He could almost see what she would look like naked and spread out before him with that pale, ivory skin flushed with excitement. Once again felt the stirring in his groin. After all that, he still wanted to fuck her. And ironically enough, the demon wasn’t waging any protests.

He grabbed her hand, tugging her to him. "You’re right, luv. Let’s get out of here and go to my hotel room," he whispered. He felt her tremble in response. Grinning, he twirled her around so that her back was to him and pressing against his front. He lifted her hair and began nibbling on her neck. Her heartbeat increased as Spike could feel her body temperature rise. He slid one hand to her right breast and squeezed it gently. The other hand drifted downwards to her abdomen. He rubbed it lightly. "I still want to see what you look like under all these clothes..."

She giggled. "I take it I tasted alright, um?"

"Alright? Luv, I’ve never tasted anything as wonderful as you."

She fell back onto him. "Oh God, Spike, you sure know the way to get into a girl’s pants, don’t you?"

He chuckled. "After two hundred years of practice, I would hope so."

She turned around in his arms, wrapping her around his neck. As she stood on her tiptoes, she kissed him. "Okay, let’s get the hell out of dodge," she whispered on his lips.

Spike didn’t need to be asked twice.

Little did either of know how much their fates were now entwined.

Two weeks later

It took all of two weeks for Mike to begin to feel the first pangs of guilt for spending Methos’ money while setting up house with Spike. Maybe it was because, despite all her attempts to maintain an emotional distance from the vampire, she found herself very happy with him.

And, during those few times when she was alone, physically aching because he was gone, did she admit to herself that she may’ve, much to her dismay, fallen in love with him as well.

For someone who prior to her Immortality, had one semi-serious relationship when she was eighteen, in which she believed she was in love, this newest development completely and thoroughly messed with her mind. She never believed she could be in love with two men at the same time. When she had heard of it before, she would shake her head and think, "Bullshit. They’re just too chicken to choose."

She wished that were true.

The first time she sat back and mentally compared the two, she nearly ran out of the house screaming. Until then, she believed they were as different in personalities as they were in looks and species. But then, she thought about the characteristics she loved about each man and found the lists were very similar when all was said and done. The biggest difference was Spike’s ability to love compared to Methos’.

For a demon-possessed vampire, Spike had no problem committing himself. For nearly a hundred years he stayed with Drusilla and loved her throughout that whole time. Sure there were times he hated her as well. But never was he apathetic or emotionally shut off. Mike knew without a doubt, that if he had been given a choice, he would’ve still been there—by her side. Even after all the jealousy and anger and betrayal. Spike was not a leaver.

Mike couldn’t say the same about Methos. For him, being in a long-term relationship while in love meant maybe, if he was lucky, 40-50 years of being together. And going in, he always knew that it wasn’t forever. When mortals fell in love, they really believed that forever was forever. As an Immortal, Methos never could make that leap.

Which was why she was here, back in the same place that she ‘died’ three years ago, while he was in Paris with some 1000-year-old blond bimbo he didn’t love. Because, to love Mike, Methos would have to accept the responsibility that came with loving and being with an Immortal love. After 5000 years of maintaining some sort distance from the rest of humankind, she really doubted that he would be able to make the leap needed for her and him to remain together.

And it wasn’t like she was looking for this. Hell, when she first in love with ‘Adam’ she had never met the man in person, much less known that he was an Immortal. For three years, their relationship was solely based on email, chatrooms, and phone calls. She had no idea she was a pre-Immie or that ‘Adam’ was really Methos when he called her up and asked if he could visit that July night.

Who, in their right mind would want an Immortal as a life-long mate? Hell, people couldn’t stay married 10 years now days, much less five hundred years. But by then, she really didn’t have a choice. She was already in love with half of the man—Adam. All it took was a few months, and she was in love with the whole man—Methos.

She sighed silently. He didn’t have a choice either. Like her, he had already fallen half-way in love with her before he even stepped into her apartment that night to discover her blood-torn body dead on the mattress with only a small, Immortal buzz to warn him of what was to come.

But one of the many things Methos could do better than Mike was run. So, she left before he got his track shoes on, she forfeited the race by leaving him to his fun. Mac, Joe and of course Richie all knew where she was and if the Old Man wanted to get a hold of her, he knew where to look. But for some odd reason, Mike didn’t think she would be hearing from him anytime soon.

And here, in her bed and definitely in her life, was Spike. He had been burned much worse than Mike could ever imagine, yet somehow was able to explore possibilities with her. Granted, it was much easier for him and her to become emotionally intimate when every time he fed from her, their minds linked. It kinda gave them a hand up, so to speak.

In some ways, she was closer to Spike than she had ever been to anyone else. When he drank from here, not only did he feel all that was her, she had gotten to know the real William Atkinson. An instant intimacy that went beyond anything either of them had ever experienced. It was almost of if they were telepaths, meshing their minds to during the most passionate love sessions of her 33 years of life.

And when he fed from her without the sex, they discovered much to their surprise, the joining was nearly as explosive as it had been with the sex involved.

Then there was the link. Any other time, she would’ve believed it to be intrusive. But not with Spike. He used it to keep an eye out on her—to protect her. When they were apart and he wanted to let her know he was thinking of her, suddenly she would feel all this caring surround her whole being—almost as if it was an invisible bubble protecting her from negative emotions.

This bond they formed seemed to become something much larger than either one of them alone.

Mike silently sighed as she reached over and touched the sleeping vampire. Both of our lives are so convoluted, it’s enough to give a gal a migraine, she thought to herself.

She caressed the cool, marble skin and felt a wave of contentment flow into her. "Must be a good dream, Spike," she whispered into the dark room as she pulled her arm away. She rolled back over onto her back and studied the ceiling.

How can you not love someone who knows everything there is know about you—yet is still there, and loves you as well?

That question seemed to be the theme song for both of them as they struggled to deal with their relationship in the ashes of their other loves.

"Whatcha thinking about, luv?" Spike whispered as she heard the lamp switch on.

Mike blinked her eyes, adjusting to the sudden light and sighed. "Did I wake you?" she asked as she flipped back to her side and watched him light a cigarette.

He shook his head. "Nah luv, I just woke up."

"I think I’m going to get a job," she said quietly, watching his face. His eyebrow arched in question. She found herself smirking. "I think he’s paid enough for his transgression." She sat up and faced him, sitting cross-legged. "Besides, it would be one thing to let him support me if I was alone and miserable—"

"—and another thing, if you’re not," he finished for her as he stabbed out his smoke. He reached over and pulled her into his arms. She rested her cheek on his chest. His cool fingers traced her profile. "I’ve got money, luv. One of the benefits of being a vampire. Lots of wallets end up being ownerless."

She chuckled softly. "And of course, you just had to provide a home. Now I know where they got the term ‘blood money.’"

He poked his finger into her stomach as he groaned at her joke. "Not funny, my dear," he said, humor lacing his tone.

She laughed. "I thought it was," she said and sighed. "No, seriously. You can do your share, but I need to begin to build my nest egg. I don’t have the options of relieving funds from my food like you and I’m gonna be around for a while. I might as well start acting like it."

He shrugged. "Whatever you think’s best. So, what are you thinking of doing?"

"Two things," she said. "The first one’s easy—call Joe and see if I can get my old job back with the Watchers. I haven’t taken a head yet, so I’m officially—according to the Watchers—not an Immortal. That’s the reprieve Joe gave me. I just hadn’t taken him up on it yet. The other one, you’re gonna get a kick out of," she said, grinning.

"What?"

She smiled. "My present guardian angel—oh, he would love to hear me call him that—one Lucien LaCroix offered me a job at the Wolf’s Bane as a waitress. Since I know of vampires as well as being ‘marked,’" she spat out, hating its implications in the vampire community. As if she was Spike’s property or his Renfield. She shuddered and Spike’s hold tightened as she felt a wave of caring and protectiveness wash over her from their link. She lifted her head and smiled at him. "And Immortal, his clientele as well as Enforcers won’t consider me a threat."

He nodded as a grin slowly spread across his face. "So luv, how does it feel to be a marked woman?"

She growled, swatting him on top of his stomach. "Asshole! Fuck you!"

He rolled over, effectively pinning her down. "I’d love you to," he said softly, speaking against her lips. He then began to shower her chin and neck with small kisses, until he managed to move over to her ear. He blew in it and Mike shivered in response. "Up for it, luv?" he asked her, speaking gently in her ear.

"I thought that was my line," she murmured as she pulled her arms out and wrapped them around his cool body.

"It was? Oh well," he said as he mouth clamped down onto hers, effectively silencing her and enabling him to have the last word.

Her last coherent thought was the next time, she was going to get in the last word—if she had to gag him to do it.

~~~Chapter Four~~~

Three months later

It was the little things that Spike noticed at first. After over two hundred years of battling the demon for possession of his body, to not feel that demon took him by surprise. And when Mike commented one night while they were making love, that his face didn’t change, he knew something was up.

And then there was the whole reflection/no reflection thing.

He could now see himself in the mirror.

The last piece of the puzzle came to him when he went to Wolf’s Bane for a drink and to wait for Mike to get off work. It was there, surrounded by LaCroix’s vampires, that he realized that the feel of them were different. Before, when he first arrived in St. Louis, when he felt them, it was almost an uneasiness that seemed grab at his gut. With his type of vampires, it was more like he was psychically intuned with them. An awareness would seep into his mind, and he just knew.

Strangely enough, it seemed to reverse itself. As he walked up to Wolf’s Bane, he could hear almost a strong static fill his senses. Once he glanced at the bouncer, a vampire as well, a sense of rightness seemed to fill him. It was as if he felt a part of him. His senses were heightened, yet an easiness that never had been present before, filled his being. Through all that, he could feel Mike through their link and her happiness that he finally arrived, fill him.

Shaking his head at the strangeness of it all, he entered the club, spotted Mike, leaning against the bar, and walked over to her. Wrapping his arm around her, he lifted her up and kissed her hard on the lips, feeling her skin flush and hearing her heart rush in excitement.

"Miss me?" he asked as he slowly let her down.

"Terribly. It’s been a horrible night. " She frowned and met his eyes.

"Why?"

She shook her head as she filled her bar tray. "I don’t know. Everyone’s just on edge. Especially you-know-who," she added quietly. "I’ll be right back," she said as she picked up the tray and disappeared into the crowd.

Still smiling, Spike sat on a bar stool and nodded to Peter, the same bartender that served them three months before. Peter poured a glass of the house special for him and leaned over the bar.

"Better watch out for the General—he’s on the warpath tonight."

Spike arched his eyebrow in question. "Nicholas?" Spike mouthed.

The bartender smirked as he nodded. "What else?"

Spike sipped his drink, grinning. "What else, indeed?" He swung his stool over to face Mike, who he felt return and saw her frown, her eyebrows crinkled in concentration as her eyes locked onto the door. "What is it, luv? One of you?"

She nodded silently. Spike turned to face the door and saw a young kid, with short reddish-blond hair walk in. Although wearing a short, leather coat, he had a duffel bag swung over his shoulder, and Spike just knew that’s where the man kept his sword. The kid’s eyes searched the bar and finally landed on Mike. A big grin appeared on his face.

Spike turned back to Mike and saw her smiling as well. "It’s Richie. I know I told you about him. I’ll be right back and introduce you two," she said as she squeezed his arm and took off towards the other Immortal.

Spike watched as the other Immortal picked Mike up and swung her around in greeting. Almost instantly he felt that all-too-familiar tinges of jealously slice its way into his heart and he could feel the ‘beast’ (as they called it) rise. He downed his drink and called for another one, his eyes never leaving the two. Inwardly, he was reminding himself that Mike was not Dru and just because she cared for that kid, didn’t mean she was going to fuck him. He watched her pull on his arm and lead Richie towards Spike.

"Spike! I’d like you to meet the closest person I have as a brother or cousin, Richie Ryan. His mentor and my mentor are best friends. Richie helped me a lot during that first year," she said as grinned at the other kid. "And Richie, this is Spike. A very close and dear friend of mine. We met as two broken hearted souls and became fast friends...and then some, "she added quietly.

Richie stuck out his hand and Spike shook it. "Pleased, Mate," he said. "So what brings you here to the Gateway to the West?"

A shadow passed over Richie’s face. He turned back to Mike. "I’m not suppose to say anything. He made me promise."

"What? Is he okay? What happened?"

"It got out, Mike. Somehow it got out and now every headhunter on the face of the Earth is after his head."

Spike felt the shot of pain shoot through her heart as she heard the news through their link. Instinctively, he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her to him as she began to cry. "Shhh, luv. It’s okay. Everything you’ve told me about him—says he’s a survivor, eh?" He felt her nod. Spike turned to Peter. "She’s off, isn’t she?"

Peter nodded. "Is LaCroix in?"

"Yes, in his office. Are you sure?"

"Bloody hell, I don’t know. Can you call him and ask if we could see him? Tell him we have some news about Adam?" He glanced at Richie, who nodded. "Pierson. "

"He’ll want to know," Mike said quietly. "LaCroix’s known him most of his life." She wiped her face with a cocktail napkin.

Richie looked at Mike and back at Spike, confusion evident on his face. "What’s going on here?" He asked as he leaned in closer to Spike. "I’ll explain once we get back home." Spike stiffened as he felt the ancient’s presence. He turned to see the Roman standing just outside his office door. He inclined his head and disappeared back into his sanctuary. "We’ve been summoned," Spike muttered as he stood up. "Come on, Richie. Time to spread the good news."

The three walked down the hallway to Lucien LaCroix’s office.

~~~~~~~~~~

Having never been summoned to the ancient vampire’s office, Spike couldn’t help but feel a bit tense. Especially when LaCroix handed him a glass of bloodwine and congratulated him on ‘evolvement.’ Spike took the glass and nodded a thanks, still puzzled about the whole thing.

"Will you explain this to me sometime?" he asked. "I never heard of such a thing."

"There are many mysteries in this world, William. One just has to discover them." Then the ancient turned to Mike and Richie. "Michelle, Methos called me yesterday and today, this was delivered," he said as he handed a small box to Spike. "He didn’t want to interfere with your life here. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted you to know about this latest development, but he had a feeling that young Mr. Ryan would show up."

Spike glanced at Ryan and caught him blushing. "Damn Old Man. Does he ever quit?"

LaCroix smirked. "No, he does not, my dear young man." His face darkened. "And let’s hope he remains the same for the next couple of years; it’s what kept him alive this long."

Mike reached for the box and Spike handed it to her. He glanced over at Ryan. "Will you take her home?"

"Sure thing," Richie said as he stood up. "Come on, Mike. Let’s get you home."

She nodded numbly and turned to Spike. "Are you all right?"

He felt her concern and smiled gently at her, all the while still amazed at how much one person could change his life. He leaned over and softly kissed her. "I’ll be fine, luv. I just have a few things I need to discuss with LaCroix."

She gave him a quick hug and stood up. "Thank you, LaCroix. And if you hear anything?"

"Of course, Michelle. You’ll be in tomorrow night?"

She nodded. She sent a quick smile to Spike and left, closing the door after her. "An amazing woman, don’t you think, William?"

Spike nodded, still concentrating on their link as he felt her leave the building. After a minute or so, once satisfied that she was all right, he turned back to the General. "Yeah, she sure is. So," he sipped his bloodwine, "is he going to disappear? I think Mike said that he usually did that."

"Most likely. Methos, I believe has had enough of killing. And no desire to be an active participant in their Game. "

Spike nodded, flashing on what he learned of her the first time he drank from her. "Well, at least I don’t have to worry about him coming back into the picture too soon," Spike added.

"You were worried?" Spike nodded. "As you should be. For most of my Immortal life, I have known Methos. And this is the first time I’ve known him to be in love with another Immortal."

Spike felt a surge of anger sweep through him. "He sure as hell as a funny way of showing it, mate! Why the hell did he do that to her? He broke her heart!" The younger vampire downed the last of his drink.

"And you were there to pick up the pieces. Do you regret that?"

Spike chuckled quietly. "Hell no!" He turned back to the ancient vampire. "What happened to me? What did Mike’s blood do to me?"

LaCroix reached over and picked up Spike’s glass and refilled it. As he set it on the desk he sighed. "Although it’s said that we, our type of vampires are descendants from the gods, that is not totally true. We are descendants of the demon-vampire. Someone, some time ago, sipped the blood of an Immortal, found it sustaining enough and fulfilling enough, that they didn’t need to feed nightly like animals on a blood scent. The Immortals, who are known in ancient legends as the First Ones, hold the magic of life in them. Their Quickening is life. When vampires fed off them, they evolved into a strange mixture of both darkness and light. No longer was the ‘demon’ resident in the vampire, being pushed out by the light of the Quickening. Their hunger no longer ruled their lives—and their souls remained housed in their bodies.

"Sure we suffer from the Beast—when angered and hungry and aroused. But even the Beast is nothing compared to the destructive nature of demons."

"So that’s what happened to me. I became like you? That’s why I have a reflection now? I have a soul? But where’s my guilt? I knew a re-souled vampire. He was bloody miserable and depressing company. Spent nearly 100 years killing his own kind to make up for his destructive stint as a demon."

"Ah, Angelus. I’ve heard of him." LaCroix moved over to sit on the corner of his desk. "Let me ask you something, William. Why did you help the Slayer?"

Spike flinched. How the hell did he know about that? He sighed, silently hoping the ancient wouldn’t suck him dry when he answered. "A couple of reasons. One, Angelus was prick with delusions of grandeur. He lived to make everyone around him miserable, soaking up their negative feelings as if it were virgin blood. He also stole my Dru—right in front of me, while I was incapacitated. Flaunting their sexual liaison in my face. Constantly belittling me." He felt his fangs drop in anger. "And finally, because I had no desire for this world to be sucked up into hell. What kind of fool would off the very thing that keeps us alive? And why get rid of music? Or movies? Or a good computer game? Bloody short-sighted, if you ask me."

LaCroix chuckled. "Indeed. Although I’m not as ‘humane’ as my son or daughter, I have to agree with you. You did the right thing, William."

Spike scowled. "Not likely. Only if I stay in places like here, where your—or my kind—resides. I’m sure by now, Dru has told the whole lot of them of my traitorous deeds." He stared at the carpet. "No more Sunnyhell for me—unless I like to spend eternity in a Dustbuster."

"You are a lot more powerful than you were before. It’s strange how the transformation works. Demon-vampires live much shorter lives than us—"

"That’s because they lose whatever constitutes a brain, once the demon emerges. A bunch of idiots."

"That too. You were a ‘master’, correct?"

Spike nodded.

"Two hundred years old?"

"About. I was born in 1799."

LaCroix finished the last of his drink. "You’re more powerful than my son now. He’s almost 800 years old. "

Spike’s eyes widened. "Shit," he whispered. "How old do I feel?"

LaCroix closed his eyes, silently concentrating. Nearly a minute later, he opened them and gave Spike a small smile. "About a 1000 years old."

Spike collapsed onto the couch. He couldn’t believe it. All because he wanted to feed on a beautiful blond after a long, passionate evening in his bed. A part of him was tempted to run to the Slayer’s Watcher and impart this last little tidbit. Hell, if they had an Immortal handy, Angelus wouldn’t have ever turned.

"Amazing."

"That it is, William." LaCroix stood up and gathered the empty glasses and placed them on the small bar behind him. Spike followed his lead and grabbed his coat and headed for the door. "LaCroix, can I come to you if I have any more questions?"

LaCroix nodded. "And then maybe you can do a small favor for me in return."

Spike shrugged, thinking that that was fair. "Sure. Just ask. Have a good night."

LaCroix smiled. "Take care of Michelle. A lot of dangerous people are concerned for her welfare."

Spike grinned as he opened the door. "Like I have any choice in the matter, eh? The woman’s gotten under my skin."

~~~Chapter Five~~~

Richie walked back into the living room to see Mike standing at the mantel holding a picture. Recognizing the frame, he knew it was the one of her, Adam and Joe taken at Joe's bar in Seacouver. Joe was behind the bar, laughing, while Adam had just finished goosing Mike. Her expression was priceless. Her eyes were as large as saucers--in shock--while a smirk was forming on her lips. Richie

was the one who had taken the picture and had his own copy of it at home. It was one of his favorite pictures of her and the Old Man because it was a prime example of how she always seemed to bring out the playfulness in Methos. It was also taken before Arhiman and her father's murder. It was during a time when Immortality and pain didn’t seem to be synonymous.

Sighing, he placed the two mugs of coffee on the table and walked over to her. Gently taking the picture from her, he placed it back on the mantle and took her hand. He then led her back to the futon. After they both were seated, he turned to face her, bringing one leg up onto the cushion "Talk to me, Mike."

It was her turn to sigh as she rearranged the pillows so she could lean against the arm of the futon comfortably. "What do you want to know?"

"How does LaCroix know Methos?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure how they met, but I think it was when LaCroix himself was mortal. In Pompeii, sometime."

"How?"

"You haven't figured that out yet?"

He frowned as he shook his head. "No--what should I have figured out? He's not an Immortal, right?"

She grinned. "Not really. Sorta. Just not our kind."

"There's others?"

"That's what I said, when I found out." She took a deep breath and appeared to be preparing herself for something. "He's a vampire, Richie. An honest-to-god vampire. Before he was brought across, he was a general for the Roman Empire."

He felt his mouth drop open.

"Really. So's Spike. A different kind, but still a vampire."

"You're shitting me, right?"

She chuckled as she looked over to the coffee table and picked up a remote control. Richie watched as she aimed at the front window and depressed a button. Suddenly, from behind the curtains on each side, came black metal shades that met in the middle with a long lip on one side that guaranteed that guaranteed complete closure. "Now, why would I, one who loves an airy, bright home have shades like these unless I needed it for someone who had a dangerous allergy to the sun?"

Richie stared at the blinds and then back at Mike, then back to the blinds. "You're serious, aren't you?" he finally asked her. Vampires? What else hasn’t Mac told me? First Arhiman and now vampires? he asked himself.

She nodded. "Yeah, totally. I wouldn't have believed it myself, if Spike hadn't vamped out on me the first night we met," she added, smirking.

"What happened?"

She blushed. "I don’t want to get into too many details. It’s kinda embarrassing. But let’s just say that I caught his eye and it’d been a while for him."

Richie frowned. "Been a while for what?"

She managed to blush even more. "Guess."

"Oh."

"Yeah," she said, giggling. "And during a most inopportune moment, while we were kissing, he pushed me against a wall and my sword dug into my back."

Richie laughed, picturing Mike cursing and blushing in equal parts when that happened. He could almost see it. He shook his head.

"It gets better." She took a deep breath. "I pulled away, reached behind me, felt the wound and then held out my hand, looking at the blood. Before I even could say boo, he grabs my hand and starts sucking my fingers. I try yanking my hand away and I find that his grip’s like steel. So, I’m ready to glare at him, getting all righteous and shit and I look up and see this thing—with these huge ridges and yellow eyes and fangs sucking on my fingers. I almost fainted.

"Once he was finished cleaning off my fingers, his face morphs back into the facade that you know. The same face he wore when he picked me up earlier that night and whisked me off my feet. It was incredible.

"And him. He had not a clue what the hell I was. He could tell by my blood that I wasn’t a normal human. Our (Immortal’s) blood’s special. So, once I got over the shock, I decided I wanted to know about vampires and at least he couldn’t kill me, so I decided not to run away screaming." She shrugged. "He’s the one that told me about LaCroix. I had not a clue that that man was a vampire as well. I should’ve known that something was off when I got the flier on my door that first night I had moved in here, advertising the Wolf’s Bane. Methos asked LaCroix to keep an eye out on me for him. And apparently LaCroix takes his responsibilities seriously. He had fliers made up and placed them on the doors of the whole block, just to entice me to go there."

"Jesus, Mike. All this just because you were pissed at the Old Man?"

She nodded.

"It’s pretty weird how life does this," he said thinking about what she told him. He picked up the remote and hit the open button. The blinds folded and disappeared under the curtains, leaving the window bare. "Remote controlled, even?"

She laughed outright. "And guess who paid for them? Spike picked them out—wanted to pay for them too, but I said no. I figured it was the least Methos could do for him, since Spike looking out for me."

"That's cruel, Mike. I didn't know you had it in you."

"I didn't. Not before I met Methos up close and personal."

It was then it hit him. She was calling him Methos, not Adam, like she had done before. "What happened to 'Adam?'" he asked.

She bit her lip and looked down at her lap. "He disappeared. Methos took over. It was Methos that cheated on me. They're different people-at least in my mind. Adam: he's funny, a smart-ass, intelligent, quick, caring and loving. Methos is all those too. Plus, add on fearful, devious, manipulative, evasive, high-handed and wise-but also foolish. I can handle all those, Richie. Hell, I'm in love with a fucking vampire whose literally a demon.

"But the irony of all this is that Spike has one thing on Methos-he's not afraid to care and commit." She stood up and began to pace. "I mean, who could've figured that something like this could happen?" She stopped at the coffee table, eyeing the box that Methos sent her. She picked it up and sat back down. She started ripping the packing tape off. "I sure as hell didn't. When I went to the Wolf's Bane that first time, all I wanted to do was get drunk. And I couldn't drink fast enough for it to work. And here's this blond-haired Billy Idol look-alike hitting on me. My first words to Spike were, 'Oh God, not another one!' because his English accent sent chills down my spine, just like Adam's," she smiled as she pulled the cardboard flap up. Suddenly she closed her eyes, not going any further.

"What do you think's in there?" Richie asked.

She bit her lip as she leaned back. "His last chronicle. Probably keys or directions to where he keeps all of his journals. A new identity for me. A couple of Swiss back account books. Maybe some credit cards." She sat up and handed him the box. "Tell me if I'm right."

Richie tilted his head in question. "Are you sure?"

She nodded and closed her eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mike wasn't sure what she was feeling as she leaned her head back against the couch, waiting for Richie to open that damn box. Fear? Anger? Love? Pain? Maybe, all of them combined into a weird whirlwind of emotions that threatened to drown out everything else. Although she may've appeared calm to her friend when she gave him the package, inwardly she was battling her own anxiety demons. In some ways, this gift from Adam might be the last she would ever hear from him—her last touchstone with the man who had changed both her mortal and immortal life.

She sighed softly as a ready curse came to mind. She had so many of them ready to fire at that impossible man who stole her heart nearly five years before with a simple email message. She wanted to scream at him for making her love him, and for him loving her and then leaving her. For being there for her after her father's murder.

For all of it.

And for herself for feeling.

She heard the flap being ripped open as a tinge of uneasiness slipped into her mind. She squirmed in her seat and opened her eyes, searching for something, but having not a clue as to what it was.

She stood and slowly turned full circle, visually inspecting every darkened knick and cranny in the apartment. A fleeting thought entered her mind...they can't come in unless they're invited...

Spike! She mentally called out as she tweaked their link. Relief, anger, love and fear flowed back into her. "Damn!" she whispered as she jogged to the table and grabbed her coat and Richie's duffel bag.

Richie was already standing and it took her a few seconds to realize he was speaking to her. "Mike, what the hell's wrong with you?" he yelled.

She shook her head and tossed him the duffel bag. "Spike's in trouble! Vamps-the bad kind!" she told him as she was already out the door. She heard the front door close and Richie right behind her as they ran down the street.

"Where are you going?"

She shrugged. "I'll know when I get there! It's not far though," she added as she turned down Boyle Ave. After nearly a block and a half, she stopped and glanced down the alley. "Down there," she whispered in between breaths. "Have to be real quiet. Vamps got super hearing. And Richie, don't fuck around. Just take their heads, okay?"

Richie nodded despite the confused look on his face. They crossed the street and started inching their way down the alley. Their link was strong now and Mike had to bite her lip from screaming in pain when she felt the stake go into Spike's stomach. "Shit!" she whispered as she doubled over. She took a deep breath, forcing her mind to focus away from his pain. After nearly a minute, the pain receded a bit and she stood up, still feeling shaky. Richie's face was etched in concern and worry. She tried to smile.

"It's the link," she said quietly. "He's been staked in the stomach. I can feel it."

He nodded slowly, the expression on his face rapidly changing from confusion to conviction. Mike had to smile, knowing exactly what was going through his mind. 'Nobody fucks with Mike' or something to that sort. Still grinning, she turned back and started jogging towards the empty parking lot where she now knew they were.

A half a block down, she skidded to a stop, feeling Spike's presence. Praying that he could feel her as well, she poked her head around the derelict garage to the parking lot and bit her lip again when she counted ten vampires circling her lover.

She reached back and grabbed Richie's hand and pulled him up so he could see. As far as she could tell, Spike was holding his own. Moving much faster than the other vampires, he could attack and dodge out of striking range before the vampires knew what hit them. In just the few minutes they spent watching him fight, he had already dusted two. She wondered how many were sent to kill him.

Taking a deep breath, she looked back at Richie and nodded. Seconds later they joined the fight. With the three of them, the remaining eight vampires were dusted within ten minutes.

"'Bout time you got here, luv," he said as his knees buckled. Mike caught his body and fell down with him, breaking his fall.

"Is it still in there?" she asked as she pulled open the coat.

"Nah pet, I got it. But I think there's splinters in there or shard. It's not healing right. "

She nodded and took a deep breath as she gently fingered the wound.

He hissed. "Bloody Dru! She knows I'm here and couldn't leave well enough alone." He sucked in a deep breath. "Damnit, Mike! That hurts!"

"Sorry," she whispered, blinking back the tears. Suddenly she stopped and held out her wrist. "Here, drink! It might help." She turned around and spotted Richie walking around the parking lot. "Richie! I need you!"

The young Immortal ran up and dropped down beside Spike. "What can I do?"

"Do you have a lighter or something that'll help me see?"

Richie nodded, pulling out silver Zippo lighter.

"Hun, can I have my wrist back. We don't want me to die of blood loss before we get those splinters out, do we?"

He managed to grin through the pain. "I suppose not, luv. But I've never seen you revive. It could be interesting. All helpless and dead-like."

She laughed. "Necrophilia now?" She nodded to Richie and he flicked the lighter on. He moved it down and to the side, avoiding making shadows with his hand. Immediately, she found two small shards of wood and pulled them out. "I never knew you had that hang-up, hon. Anything else you need to tell me about?" She asked grinning as she closed her eyes and felt around the wound. God, this is gross. He really is dead or undead, she thought to herself as the cold flesh and blood clung to her hand.

"Luv, I hate to break it to you, but what do you think a person who sleeps with a vampire is?"

"Uh guys, do you really think I want to hear about your sex life?" Richie interjected as Mike pulled out her hand and rubbed her jeans.

With her clean hand, she double-checked the other to make sure the splinter was no longer there. As she began poking into his wound, she noticed that it had gotten smaller. "You're healing a bit. There must be some still in there, because it hasn't closed yet."

"Ah come on, mate, how old are you?"

"Twenty-four," Richie said. "And don't start on me. I know I'm just a kid. I get told that all the time. Hey, I'm sorry that you're the first vampire I've met."

"Got it!" Mike yelled as she sat back on her heels and watched his wound close.

"About time!" Spike muttered as he sat up. "You Immortals live sheltered lives. You need to get out and live a little!"

"Spike," Mike said, purposely trying to sound as if she was scolding him. She stood up and held out her hand. He grasped it and pulled himself up and into her arms.

He kissed her hard. Once he pulled away, he lifted her hand up to his mouth and began sucking on her bloodied fingers. Mike rolled her eyes and glanced over at Richie. She had to giggle at the horrified look on his face.

"Richie, calm down. Hell, would you pass up licking off your girlfriend's chocolate covered fingers?"

"No, I guess not. But that's-he's-it's blood, Mike!"

She shrugged. "Well it's like chocolate to him."

"And a damn fine, rich chocolate at that, mate!" Spike said, totally unrepentedly. He glanced around the parking lot, eyeing all the dust piles. "She sent a bloody army after me!"

"It wasn't exactly an army as much as a platoon. Twenty-five dust piles," Richie said, watching the vampires face as it hit him how many he had defeated.

"Damn, LaCroix was right. I'm a lot more powerful now," he said glancing at Mike. "I've never taken on that many before."

"What did LaCroix tell you?" Mike asked as the three began to walk back home.

"Later, luv. It's too long of a story to get into right now."

Mike nodded. "So, she knows, huh?"

He nodded solemnly.

"That's not good, either, is it?"

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him. "No, luv. Unfortunately, it's not."

Mike sighed. Now, both of her men were in trouble. Could the gods be any crueler? she asked herself.

Yep, her little voice answered when she felt the buzz of another Immortal.

Richie and her stopped. "Shit! Could this night get any more convoluted?" Richie asked, glancing at Mike.

Spike turned and faced both of them. "One of yours?"

They both nodded.

"Bloody hell!"

"I second that!" Richie lifted his sword.

"I should've known they wouldn't waste any time!"

"How right you are, my pretty one," a strange accented male voice commented as he stepped out from behind a house. He was nearly six feet tall wearing the trademark trench coat of almost all the Immortals Mike knew. As he stepped out into the light, she saw he was dark-haired with dark eyes and skin. Arab, she thought to herself. "I've been looking all over for you, Michelle Evans."

Suddenly three mortals, all men, stepped out from various hiding spots in the alley. As Mike glanced at each one, she noticed they all had guns pointing at her, Richie and Spike.

"No, Michelle. I'm not cheating. You're bait. So, do you know where he is?"

"Who?"

His pleasant smile instantly disappeared leaving a cold, hard face in its place. "Don't play me the fool, woman! You know who I'm talking about! Your teacher, Adam Pierson! Or would you rather me call him by his real name: Methos."

She shook her head. "I don't know where he is. Honest."

He chuckled slightly as he shrugged. "Oh well, no matter." He glanced back at his men and nodded his head once.

Mike barely had time to feel the burning pain of the bullet enter her chest before she died.

~~~~~~~~~~

For the first time in three months, Spike was grateful that the ancient hadn't trusted him with Mike's life. When he felt another of his kind, seconds before all three of them were shot, he mentally cheered. They would get out of this alive. Although the guns were equipped with silencers, he felt the bullet go through him and at the same time smelled the rich, life-giving blood of Mike's as she fell dead at his feet. Without realizing it, he roared and lunged at the Immortal.

The Immortal had a sword, but Spike didn't let that bother him as he dodged the man's swings at him. Once he was within striking distance, he yanked the sword out of the man's hand and bared down on his throat. The Immortal was screaming, and fighting back, but he was no match for a tired and an emotionally strung-out vampire. Within minutes, the Immortal was drained and Spike dropped the body, readying himself to kill the mortals.

But there was no need. Only one being was standing where there had been three. And this one was one of his kind.

Willing his beast down, he glanced at the dark-haired vampire. "LaCroix sent you?"

He nodded as he walked over to Richie's body and picked him up. "Javier Vachon, at your service."

"Spike," the blond vampire said as he kneeled down at Mike's body. The link, which was such a living breathing thing for the last three months was eerily silent. "I was just kidding when I said I wanted to see her revive," he mumbled as he gently picked her body up. He glanced over to the other vampire. "Our apartment?"

Vachon shrugged. "Sounds good to me. Get your things. But I think you guys need to stay at the Wolf's Bane tonight. Between you and her, you've got a helluva mess on your hands."

Spike sighed as he took off into the air, not even having a chance to enjoy his second time flying. "You got that right, mate. A bloody mess."

~~~Chapter Six~~~

Within minutes, the two vampires set down in the backyard of the flat. Growling softly, Spike shifted his lover’s body as he dug into his jeans’ pocket for the house key. Managing to balance her and the key, he opened the back door and stepped inside.

Once they were inside, he motioned the other vampire to follow him into his and Mike’s bedroom. Both vampires gently deposited their loads on top of the bed.

As Spike threw open the closet door, he suddenly remembered the bodies they had left back in the alley. "Did you drain them?"

"No, I didn’t even kill them. Just knocked them out. I figured we didn’t have enough time for clean up," Vachon informed him as he caught a duffel bag that Spike had thrown to him.

Spike nodded. "Go to the bathroom and pack some essentials while I grab some clothes."

The Spaniard nodded and disappeared while Mike pulled open Mike’s underwear drawer. After nearly a moment of indecision, he finally just tossed a couple of matching bra and underwear sets, some socks and two pairs of jeans, and a couple shirts. He did the same for himself.

As he was zipping close the duffel bag, he heard a gasp coming from behind him. He turned around to see Richie suck in another mouthful of air as he sat up.

The immortal moaned. "I hate this," he muttered as his eyes scanned his surroundings and stopped once he saw Spike.

"What--?"

"Later," Spike said as he tossed Ryan’s duffel bag at him. "Did you unpack?"

Richie shook his head. "Didn’t get a chance."

"Good, because we have to get out of here, before that asshole revives."

Spike left the disorientated Immortal and headed towards the front of the flat. He stopped at the table where Mike’s laptop sat and quickly began packing the machine. After tucking the various electrical cords and drives into the backpack, he placed it on the floor by the futon. His eyes then scanned the living room, looking for that box her mentor sent her. He saw it halfway opened, sitting on the coffee table. After only a couple of seconds of inner debate, he ripped open the other flap and turned it upside down over the futon, emptying it of its contents.

Out fell two bank books, a passport, a California driver’s license, a MasterCard, visa and American Express, a stack of bank-wrapped hundred dollar bills, a key, a book of some sort and an envelope addressed to Mike. The Old Man didn’t disappoint him. He unzipped the duffel bag and crammed all the contents of the box into the bag.

Standing up, he took one more look-see around the room and stopped at the couple of pictures on the mantel. One was of Mike, Methos and a mortal that Spike didn’t know and the other was one of her father. Hesitating for only a second, he growled as he grabbed both pictures and packed them as well.

He felt the other vampire enter the room and turned to tell him that they were ready when he felt the link come alive. He released a sigh of relief as he jogged back to the bedroom. "She’s up," he muttered as he went passed the other vampire. He stopped at the bed, noticing that Richie was gone, and sat down next to her and waited. A minute later she gasped, her eyes wide open and in shock. After a few deep breaths, she sat up and fell into Spike’s lap.

"Dying sucks," she whispered as she wrapped her arms around his waist. He smiled as he twirled her hair through his fingers.

"I know, luv." He dropped his hands to her waist and pulled her up. She giggled as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He groaned as he felt himself go hard. "Ah, Mike," he stopped and kissed her. "Don’t get us started. We have to leave." He scooted over to the edge of the bed and stood up, still holding her to him. "Drop your legs, luv. You need change your clothes. We’re staying at Wolf’s Bane tonight."

She pouted, her bottom lip just begging to be nipped. He obliged, causing her to squeal, as he gently lapped her blood from her lip. "Now down love."

She frowned and dropped her legs, using her hold around his neck for support. Once her feet were safely touching the floor, she tiptoed and gave him a peck on the lips and pulled away. He sighed in relief as he readjusted himself and sat back down on the bed to watch her change clothes.

"I really wish I could take a shower," she said as she pulled another tee-shirt over her head. "Walking into the Wolf’s Bane smelling like blood isn’t one of the most sensible things to do."

"I know, luv. We’re just going to have to hope that between Vachon and I, as well as LaCroix’s warning, will be enough to keep the young ones off you two. "

She nodded in agreement as she sat down next to him and pulled her socks on. "So, I guess that asshole’s awake by now, hmm?"

"He was older than you, right?"

Mike frowned as finished tying her tennis shoes. "Which means he’s probably on his way right now."

She stood up and walked into the living room, Spike right behind her. She saw her backpack, coat and two duffel bags sitting by the table. As she put her coat on, she realized that Richie and that other vampire were waiting for her as well. "I’m hurrying," she muttered as she slipped the backpack over both shoulders.

Spike grabbed the two duffel bags and her hand and led her to the backdoor. Once outside, he handed her the duffel bags and stood in front of her. "Luv, trust me?"

"Of course."

"Then wrap your arms around my neck and your legs around my body."

"What?" she sputtered. "We’re not alone," she whispered.

The other vampire laughed out loud. "We’re flying," he said.

"Flying?" Both Richie and Mike yelled.

Spike rolled his eyes and grabbed Mike around the waist, lifting her off the ground. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around him. "There luv. Just hang on," he whispered as he kissed her on the lips.

She swallowed hard and Spike could feel the racing of her heart. Shaking his head, he took off to the sky.

Below him, he heard Richie’s protest, Vachon’s impatient growl, and Spike chuckled softly. He glanced over at Mike and watched as her eyes widened in wonder.

"This is incredible, Spike. Is this part of the lack of demon shit?"

"Yeah baby. I’ll explain it later. Let’s just put it this way, I’m not like I used to be, thanks to you," he said as he spotted the Wolf’s Bane. Setting down in the alley behind the bar, Mike unwrapped her legs and stood up.

"That was fun!" She kissed him hard on the lips. "Can we do it again, sometime?"

Laughing, he nodded. "Sure thing, luv. Anything for you."

She blushed and shyly looked up into his face. "Thanks."

"Jesus H. Christ!" Richie yelled as the two touched down beside Mike and Spike. Richie was hanging onto the vampires shoulders, apparently balancing precariously on Vachon’s back. "Never again!"

"No problem for me," grumbled Vachon as he opened the back door. "He’s waiting for you in his quarters. Just follow me."

Spike nodded, thinking about how crazy this night had been. Wasn’t just hours ago, when we were in conference in LaCroix’s office? Somehow, it seemed like days ago.

As they were walking upstairs, both Mike and Richie stopped mid step. Mike glanced back at Richie, with her head to the side. "Is that a pre-mortal?"

He nodded slowly. "I don’t think this day is ever going to end."

Spike was about to agree with him when he felt something strange—almost reminiscent of the vampires he had encountered earlier. He turned to Vachon and the Spaniard nodded. "I have no idea, Spike. No one was here when I left."

"Bloody hell, this evening is turning out to be loads of fun. Kind of reminds me of my stay at Sunnyhell. Excitement daily. Just what I spent the whole summer avoiding. And, if I have my way, the rest of my bloody immortal life."

He felt Mike squeeze his shoulder and tweak their link, sending him feelings of love through it. He turned and smiled at her, grabbing her free hand. He leaned over and kissed her. "Thanks, luv."

Vachon knocked on the door and waited in front of it. LaCroix opened it, waving his hand inside, inviting the four inside.

When Spike entered LaCroix’s quarters, he spotted the back of a tall, dark-haired vampire pouring a drink. If Spike had a heart, it would’ve dropped into his stomach as he felt the familiar essence of his sire standing in the room. Next to the bar stood the second to last person he expected to see here, the Slayer’s friend, the redhead Willow.

"Bloody hell, Angelus, aren’t you supposed to be in Hell?" He growled, tossing the duffel bags onto the floor, feeling his eyes flash gold. Too bad I can’t show off my wrinklies anymore, he thought to himself. "Can’t I go anywhere without you dogging my ass!"

~~~~~~~~~~

Mike’s mouth dropped open as she stared at the tall, dark-haired vampire as he walked around the bar with two drinks in his hand. He handed the girl sitting on the couch a glass of what appeared to be orange juice, as he sipped his drink. He then walked over to Spike, stopping right in front of her lover.

Spike squeezed her hand once and then dropped it, reaching in his coat and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one out and lit it, never taking his eyes off of Angelus.

Mike pulled her eyes away from the sire and son and spotted LaCroix on the other side of the room, watching the whole incident with an arrogant and amused smile on his face. Nervously, she bit her lip as she rolled her shoulders and took off the backpack, placing it by the two duffel bags. She took her coat off and hung it on the rack standing by the door.

"Spike, I don’t know whether I should thank you or kill you, for beating me with that crowbar. But I must say, you fooled me. I had not a clue."

"Angel," the red head stood. "That wasn’t you—that was the demon."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Well, if we’re going to play that game, pet, we might as well say that that wasn’t me, that was my demon that wanted to bash my sire’s brains out."

Mike inched her way over to Vachon and leaned over to speak to him. "Are all sire-childe relationships this wrought with anger?" she asked, careful to keep her voice low.

She watched him shake his head, his eyes twinkling in amusement. "Not all," he whispered back. "But most of them are."

Mike nodded and glanced back at Richie, who looked as if he had just reached his limit. She smiled sympathetically at him and took a deep breath.

"LaCroix, don’t you think introductions are in order for those of us who haven’t met?" she asked, interrupting Spike and Angel’s rather anger-filled ‘discussion.’

LaCroix smirked. "Of course, my dear. My apologies. This beautiful young woman," he said pointing the redhead, "is Willow Rosenberg, who has come from Sunnydale, California, to speak to William. The gentleman that accompanied her here is Angelus O’Malley, or Angel as he likes to be called now, who’s also from Sunnydale.

"Angel, Willow, you both know William, um?" Angel scowled as he turned around and Willow nodded meekly. "And the lovely woman with William is Michelle Evans, the young man standing behind her is Richie Ryan and by the door is a friend of mine from Toronto, Javier Vachon. He’s been helping me keep an eye out on Michelle" LaCroix walked over to the bar and pulled out two more wine glasses. Once he refilled his, and filled the other two, he looked back at Mike and Richie. "Would either of you like a drink?"

"A beer," said Richie.

"Jack Daniel’s—straight. It’s been one of those nights," Mike commented as she walked towards the bar and grabbed the two wine glasses. She gave the first one to Vachon, and handed the second glass to Spike, accompanying it with a kiss. "You okay?"

He nodded briskly. "Better when I find out what the hell is going on."

She squeezed his arm. "Me too."

She walked back to the bar and picked up Richie and her drinks. Richie, standing behind her, took his Heineken and sat down on the couch. Mike glanced over at Spike and knew he wasn’t going to relax around Angel and sighed to herself. She sat down by Richie. Willow sat by her, nearly hugging the arm of the couch. Mike felt for her. She was obviously young and terrified, but whatever propelled her to come to St. Louis in search of Spike, it had to be very important. Mike was sure the last place she wanted to be was to share a room with four vampires and two unknown humans. Mike felt Spike’s eyes on her and lifted her head and smiled. He calming leaned against the door, watching everyone, waiting for the ancient to speak.

And LaCroix seemed to be enjoying himself just a bit too much for Mike’s comfort.

Must be the age thing, Mike thought to herself. Adam looks like that sometimes.

She watched the eldest vampire sip his bloodwine, his eyes studying everyone in the room until he finally stopped at Mike. "From the smell of you, my dear, it would appear that the headhunters are already on the move, um?"

Mike blushed as she was once again reminded that she hadn’t had the chance to take a shower before to wash off the blood. "My apologies, LaCroix. We didn’t have time for either," she pointed at Richie and back to herself, "us to take a shower." She took a nice sized gulp of her drink. "And yes, you’re correct. I didn’t even get his name, but he sure as hell knew mine as well as my whereabouts.

"I have to get out of here. I don’t want to end up being used as a way to get to Adam."

LaCroix nodded. "It’s unfortunate, but I must agree." His eyes fell on to Spike. "And you, William?"

Mike felt a flash of anger so intense, she gasped. She swung around and watched Spike as his eye’s once again turned gold and his fangs descend. With his jaws clenched, he glared at Angel. "Drusilla."

"Drusilla?" Willow piped out. "Why would she want to kill you?"

Spike scowled, staring at her pointedly.

She blushed. "Okay, so you betrayed her by helping Buffy—it’s—it just doesn’t make any sense—"

"What do you mean, Willow?" Mike asked, sensing that there was more to the young pre-Immie’s confusion than the obvious.

Angel sighed and faced Mike. "What Willow’s trying to say is that Dru is the one that sent us to look for Spike. She didn’t tell us where he was. Only that we had a week to find him."

Mike felt Spike’s anger and disbelief before he voiced it.

"Why in the hell would she do that?" he asked after he downed the last of his drink. "And more importantly, why would either of you agree to it?"

Willow shifted in her seat, staring intensely at her clasped hands. "She’s got Buffy," she whispered. "and wants to trade her for you."

"Like I’m a bloody piece of cattle at an auction?" Spike ran his fingers through his hair. "Shit." He looked back down at the seated Willow. "How did the Slayer get caught?"

Mike felt the young woman’s body tense up and once the immortal saw her face, she unconsciously backed away. Willow’s face had scrunched up in anger as she shot out of her seat. "Like you care! How many times did you try to kill her?" she yelled, seemingly unaware of her audience.

Spike stepped back in surprise and Mike felt a tingle of amusement tickle their bond. "So, you do have a spine," he commented, smirking. "Haven’t you figured it out yet, Willow? You’re supposed to be the smart one. What’s different about me? Ask him." Spike pointed to Angel.

Willow tilted her head and studied Spike. After nearly a minute passed, she turned back to her traveling companion. "What’s he talking about, Angel?"

Angel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "He has soul now. And he’s not like me anymore. He’s like them," he said as he glanced at both LaCroix and Vachon.

"Oh," she said as she covered her mouth. She turned at looked at Vachon and then back to Spike. "What do you mean different?

"Pet, you remember my demon face, right?" Spike asked.

Willow nodded. "Oh yeah, I remember. Boy do I remember. I remember Angelus’ too. And Drusilla and the Master. I remember."

Spike grinned. "I don’t have one anymore." He turned to Mike and held out his hand. She had no idea what he was planning, but she did trust him. She took it, enjoying its coolness in such a stuffy room. "Remember how I looked when I was angry or getting ready to feed or fight." Willow nodded again. "Well this, pet, is how I look now." He eyes turned yellow and felt his fangs descend as he lifted Mike’s wrist to his mouth. Mike turned and watched Willow’s eyes widen in shock as she felt his fangs gently break the skin. A sensual chill traveled down her spine and she shuddered in response. No sooner than he started to drink from her, he stopped, holding her wrist out for Willow to watch. "And this is why I changed. Watch the wound."

The Old Man is going to kill me, Mike thought to herself as she heard Willow gasp. She glanced down at her wrist to see the last of Quickening weave its magic and heal her.

"How—what? What are you?"

"Immortal. No one knows where we come from or how we came to be. But LaCroix here, and other older vampires call us the First Ones." Mike shrugged. "But, I’m far from the first. I’m actually 32 years old—I’ve been Immortal for 18 months. We live normal lives up until our First Death. Whether it’s karmic or what, Immortals or pre-Immortals tend to attract violence. Although I was never a fighter, or athletic, I attracted a serial rapist and killer. That’s how I ended my mortal existence. At the end of some prick’s knife while he was getting his rocks off." She took a deep breath. "Sorry. It’s only been eighteen months," she said with her head down. She took another calming breath and looked back up to Willow.

"Anyway, there’s a lot more to it than that. But we’re human—other than we can’t get sick, age or die by nearly method known to man. A long time ago, although it was kept secret—probably for some practical reasons—that our blood evened the score in a vampire’s existence. It melded the condition of vampires with their soul, leaving the vampire a predator, but without the demon."

"But Angel, he has soul, but he still has the demon?"

"I’m a true-bred," Angel said, chuckling. "When I didn’t have a soul, I couldn’t stand the Souled-Ones, as we called them. They were too human for us."

Vachon laughed out loud.

"What?" Angel asked.

The Spaniard shook his head and smiled. "It’s just that I can’t imagine anyone thinking that LaCroix was too human. Or me, for that matter."

Willow flopped back down on the couch and glanced at Richie. "Are you Immortal too?"

He nodded apologetically. "Sorry, kid. But don’t worry, I’m not that old either. My First Death was five years ago. I was nineteen."

"So, I’m the only one that’s normal here? But then I guess that wouldn’t be normal, because normal here would be immortal and immortal I’m not." She rubbed her eyes. "I’ve got a headache." She leaned against the back of the couch and shut her eyes. "A really bad headache."

Angel reached over and squeezed her hand, grinning. "Don’t worry Willow, you’re not normal. I don’t think anyone here can say that they’re a witch except for you."

"Oh," she said smiling. "You’re right, Angel. Thanks. ‘Cause I did get you your soul back and I got you out of Hell. Not normal. That’s good."

Mike got up and stretched, working the kinks out of her neck. Her stomach growled and she heard Richie’s answer in response. She grinned as she met his eyes. "Dying does that, doesn’t it?"

He nodded sheepishly. "Every time."

"We’re going to Sunnydale, aren’t we?" she asked Spike as she walked over to him.

He nodded slowly and Mike felt his indecision and fear for her through the link.

"It’s okay. I have to leave anyway. Might as well use the new ID and book us few red-eye flights to the good Ole Hellmouth for tomorrow night." She laughed to herself. "When I said I wanted to see your world, I don’t think I realized until tonight watching you fight Dru’s minions, how dangerous your world could get."

"I have to, luv. I know why she did this. It was one thing to leave me, stranded, in the middle of Oklahoma with nothing, but at least she could still feel her Spike. She can’t feel me anymore—not like she could. And with her Angel gone, she doing the only thing she knows how to do to get us back."

"Kidnap the one person she blames for both Angelus’ demise as well as Spike’s betrayal—Buffy," Angel said as he held out his hand for Willow. She gave it to him and he pulled her up.

Mike’s stomach growled again. "I have to eat." She looked over to the corner and saw LaCroix standing quietly, as he had for the last hour. "Can I cook up something for us poor humans that have to eat actual food?"

He nodded yes. "But Michelle, I would recommend that you clean up first. You, Spike and Richie can share Janette’s suite—down the hall. There’s a room on each side of the suite that are also available for Willow and Angel." He walked over to the French doors and opened one. He turned back to Vachon. "Vachon, watch over things while I’m gone. Ask Peter to help you settle in the young ones in the basement. I’ll be at home. If there’s a problem, you can call me on my cell phone."

"Sure thing, LaCroix."

"Thanks again," Mike said as she walked over to him. "I don’t know what you got out of all this, but I hope it was enough for the kindness that you’ve shown me for the last three months."

LaCroix reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips. "Methos is right, my dear. He said that in some ways, you were more a warrior than he ever could be. A warrior of the heart has a much more strenuous road to travel than the one of battle." His cool lips touched the back of her hand. "Au revoir, ma Michelle." He bowed slightly and stepped off onto the patio. Mike watched him take off in flight as he flew home.

~~~~~~~~~~

Forty-five minutes later, Mike yawned as she watched the three hamburgers cook on the grill. The old saying, ‘a watched pot never boils,’ flittered through her mind, but she easily shrugged it off. It was either study the cooking meat or think of what had just transpired not even an hour earlier upstairs. And as much as she wanted to think about everything, her mind had a hard time wrapping itself around it all on an empty stomach. The only coherent thought that stayed with her was Willow’s pre-Immie status and how the odds were against her experiencing her First Death before the age of twenty-five. Willow would have to be an incredibly lucky person living on the Hellmouth and fighting the bastions of evil to make it even to eighteen years old. So, what she should she do? Mike was hardly the person to take the young woman under her wing. Mike herself barely knew enough to stay alive. Would Richie do it? Was he old enough to take a prentice-witch Immortal under his wing and teach her how to fight and survive this close to the Gathering?

Should Mike call Amanda? She found herself shaking her head at that one. The last time she talked to the Immortal-thief, she had settled down in New York City, trying desperately to make a life for herself. Who else? Mac.

Mike sighed again. Good ole MacLeod. Would he do it? She made a mental note to ask Richie about that when she went upstairs. She glanced at the hamburgers and decided it was time to take a closer look. She was getting up when she felt a presence behind her.

She jumped and turned to see Angel leaning against the doorway watching her.

"I’m surprised that Spike let you go down here by yourself," he said as he walked over and jumped on top of the metal cooking counter.

Mike shrugged, unwilling to jump to the enticing bait of defending her lover. "Everyone knows better than to mess with me," she said as picked up the meat turner and flipped over the first hamburger. "I’m under LaCroix’s protection. Besides," she shrugged again, "it’s not as if anyone call kill me by draining me."

Angel frowned. "How did you manage to get one of the oldest vampires in existence to protect you?"

She flipped the second hamburger. "By being the student and former lover of the oldest of my kind," she said, glancing over at Angel. "Who’s also got a few thousand years on LaCroix."

Angel looked stunned and Mike found herself smiling as she nodded at him. She turned the third hamburger over and then walked over to the cooler and pulled out a bag of fries. She dumped three handfuls into the waiting basket and lowered it into the fryer.

"How did you meet Spike?"

Ah, another angle, thought Mike. She smiled to herself. He really doesn’t understand why I would willingly accept a demon into my life and heart.

"He picked me up here," she told him as she leaned against the table, next to him. "I was pissed off at Adam, my mentor, and had flown home from Paris to lick my wounds. That night I was trying to get drunk and wasn't succeeding very well.

"Spike thought I’d be an quick lay and meal—until we discovered one another’s secrets." She shrugged. "Once he tasted my blood, he was intrigued. Once I saw his demon face, I was more than a bit fascinated and once he fed off me, I was hooked."

She smiled to herself, thinking about that evening.

"How could you?" Angel’s question shook her out of reverie.

"Angel, he came to St. Louis to get away from demons, end-of-the world plans, and everything else that Sunnydale represented. I think," she paused and pulled out three plates and lined them out on the counter. "I think that your counterpart’s attempt to awaken that demon and suck Earth into Hell was the final straw. And then once he took Dru and ran, hoping to live a couple of decades in obscurity, only to be dumped, literally, by her once she was strong enough to do so, he had reached the end of his rope. His demon, was as tired of all that bullshit as he was. Coming here, living among the ‘souled-ones’ was just the type of existence he had been craving.

"In reality, other than the obvious physical differences, he’s not much different now than he was when I first met him."

She arranged the hamburger buns on the plates, placed the lettuce, tomato and onions on it and finally scooped up the three burgers and placed them on top of the bottom buns. The buzzer sounded, signaling that the fries were done. She reached over pulled the basket up, letting the grease drain. She turned back to the vampire.

"We have another problem—on top of all the others."

"What?"

"It’s Willow. She’s going to be one of us. Pre-Immies give out a muted buzz and some of us can recognize it. Both Richie and I caught it. And you know, as well as I do, that living on the Hellmouth in not conducive to a long life. She’s probably going to die her First Death soon. When that happens, I need you to call me or Richie and let us know. She’s gonna need a teacher and if her death is really public, she’s gonna have to start a life somewhere else."

Angel jumped down from the counter and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Why are you telling me this? Why don’t you just tell her?"

Mike grabbed the tongs and began divvying out the fries onto the three plates. "It’s not our way. She should have the opportunity to grow older before she becomes Immortal. Live a normal life. That won’t happen if she finds out. At least she knows about Immortals, so she won’t totally freak when she wakens from her First Death. And because of all the craziness she’s had to live, immortality shouldn’t be too much of leap for her to digest."

Mike picked up the three plates and settled them onto her left hand and arm. "Could you grab some ketchup and mustard? I’ll take these to our suite and she can eat there." She started heading out of the kitchen, but stopped. "Angel, this thing about Willow is important. I like her. She’s brave and gentle at the same time. She deserves the chance to be the one."

~~~Chapter Seven~~~

One night later
Sunnydale, CA

Mike growled as she watched the baggage carousal go around for the third time and had yet to see her sword case or Richie’s. Spike chuckled, wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her body close to his.

"Luv, you’re beginning to sound like me," he whispered huskily into her ear. "All that growling—it’s enough to make me want to drag you into the closest available closet and ravage you." He nibbled her neck.

"Mmmm, that feels good." She leaned against his hard body and sighed. "I wish we had time."

"So do I, pet." He stepped back and moved to her side. "But the week ends tonight and unfortunately, with this reinstated conscience and all, I can’t let the Slayer die for my mistakes."

She frowned, feeling her eyes water. "Hon, it wasn’t your fault. She left you."

He sighed, his eyes staring blankly at the carousal. He ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. "No, luv. I should’ve left the country like I promised. I just really didn’t think she would miss him that much once we put enough miles between us and Sunnyhell. I really believed she lo—" he stopped and reached down to pick up a long, hard carrying case. "Yours?"

She nodded. "Now we wait for Richie’s."

He looked up at her, and frowned. "Why did that boy come with us? Wasn’t it enough that LaCroix sent Vachon?"

"Jealous?" she asked, teasing him.

"Not bloody likely," he said scowling. "It’s just I don’t understand what good he’ll do here."

She nodded in agreement. "If it makes any difference, I don’t think it was his idea. I think Mac sent him."

He picked up another sword case and Mike nodded, recognizing it as Richie’s. "It’s his." She picked up her duffel bag and swung her backpack over her shoulder. "Let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough of airports tonight."

Spike nodded in agreement following her as he held his carry-on in one hand and the two sword cases in the other.

~~~~~~~~~~

Willow sighed as she leaned against the Jeep Cherokee. This week had been just too weird for words. Her mind was cluttered with all these new facts as she desperately tried fitting them into what she already knew.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t working too well.

Immortals, vampires, the souled-ones. The list seemed to go forever. And LaCroix. She shivered involuntarily at the ancient vampire’s memory.

So other-worldly.

She risked a glance at Vachon, and saw that he was leaning against the other side of the car, so still, that if she hadn’t known better she would’ve believed him to be dead. Really dead, not just undead dead. 500 years old. And he didn’t think of himself as old. He even played the guitar and sang in a rock band. A Lestat wanna-be, she joked to herself, smothering her giggles. Where’s Angel? she asked herself as she pushed off the car and walked to the other side.

She stopped about five feet from him and straightened her shoulders. Carpe diem, she thought to herself as Vachon turned and tilted his head, watching her. Is that a smirk I see? she asked herself. Closing her eyes, she willed her heart to slow and took a deep breath.

"Did Angel and Richie say where they were going?" she asked, grateful that her voice didn’t crackle in nervousness. "I mean, they’ve been gone a while and I was wondering if we should be worried that they’ve been gone this long or is it that whatever they’re was supposed to take this long?"

He blinked twice at her slowly and shrugged. "They didn’t say."

She opened her mouth to say something, only to close it. She tried to speak again.

"Oh."

He really smiled at her this time, and for a second, she felt her insides turn to mush. Why are so many vampires so good-looking? she asked herself. Bad girl. Xander. Think Xander, or even think Angel. Or even Oz. But not him. Bad Willow.

"I make you nervous, don’t I?"

She nodded without thinking. "It’s just that you’re a vampire and before yesterday, I thought all vampires were bad—except when Angel has his soul—and suddenly you’re not bad and I’m supposed to automatically not be afraid. But I can’t be just ‘not’ afraid. And Spike. He was really bad and even tried killing us a few times and now suddenly he’s good and has Mike—and Mike. Immortals? Why didn’t Giles tell us about Immortals? I mean, if we had known what an Immortal’s blood could do, we would’ve forced-fed Angel—when Angel was Angelus—and then he would’ve been Angel with all these neat extra powers and Ms. Calendar would still be alive and my fish would’ve been strung up on a string like that." She glanced up and saw his smile, if possible, grow. "I’ll shut up now. I’m babbling and babbling's not good." She turned on her heel and started to walk back to the other side.

"Willow," Vachon called out.

She turned around slowly. "Yes?"

"It’s okay to babble. I think I might’ve babbled too if I ever were in your shoes."

She smiled and shuffled her feet. "Thank you, Vachon." She saw Vachon stand up and stare passed her. She turned around to see Angel, Richie, Spike and Mike walk down the lane towards them.

Once they got close enough, she heard Mike and Richie talking. "I’m telling you, Mike. It was him. Not good. Something’s weird about him. Angel could feel him. He can’t feel me or you."

Mike shuddered. "It’s his Quickening, Richie. It’s so black and just so wrong."

"What happened?" Vachon asked as he opened the back of the Jeep.

Angel sighed. "Richie felt one of his kind and decided to see if he could find out who it was. I went because he didn’t have his sword. Backup." He shook his head. "But this guy, he felt wrong. Just something was just not right."

Willow frowned, glaring at Richie. She found herself liking him and Mike. And she didn’t want to lose any more friends. "Why would you do that? Don’t your kind go," she made a sword motion in the air, "swoosh-swoosh when you meet?" she asked Richie.

Richie sighed in frustration. "Yes, it was stupid. Mike has already yelled at me. I just—"

"He was looking out for me, Willow," Mike said interrupting. She tossed her bags into the jeep. "Although normally, I would’ve been a bit miffed that he did this, I have to say this time, I’m glad he did."

"Why?"

"Because it was the bloody asshole that murdered her father," Spike said as he tossed his baggage into the Jeep.

Willow’s mouth dropped open as she reached for Mike’s arm. "I’m sorry," she said automatically.

Mike squeezed her hand. "It’s okay Willow. We’ll get him one of these days. One of us will."

~~~~~~~~~~

Sunnydale High School

Library

"Well, I see we’re all here," Giles said, nervously cleaning his glasses. A sigh escaped when his eyes landed on Spike. "Oh dear," he murmured softly. "Now will someone please tell me what is exactly going on?" he asked, shifting his focus onto both Angel and Willow.

"Yeah, Will. It’s one thing to have Dead-boy here, but former Roller-boy?"

Spike growled, ready to shoot out of his chair if Mike hadn’t grabbed his arm. Oh great, another comedian, she thought to herself. Scowling, he sat back down and pulled out his cigarettes, lighting one.

"Do you mean we have to go through all this bloody again! No wonder Dru’s got the Slayer, you people spend all your time yapping instead of fighting!"

"Spike!" Mike whispered, taking a deep breath and looked over at Willow. "How ‘bout I start since this whole mess could actually be blamed on me,"

"Luv, that’s bullshit and you know it!"

Mike shook her head. "No, if I hadn’t been so willing to test out my immortality and to forget about the asshole in Paris, I wouldn’t had let you drink from me. And if you hadn’t drunk from me, Dru would still be wandering around, looking for her Angel, clueless that you now have changed. You were changing on your own, that night when we met. But she wouldn’t have known, because physiologically you were the same."

Tears flooded her eyes as she bit on her bottom lip to keep the sob inside. God, I love him, she thought to herself. He reached over and caught one, bringing it to his mouth.

"Luv, I wouldn’t have changed a thing," he said, wiping her face.

She nodded. "Neither would I," she said. Taking another big breath, she pulled away from Spike and glanced around the table, relieved that everyone had began their own conversations, giving Spike and her a moment of privacy. She stood up and began.

"I’m an Immortal. I cannot die unless someone takes my head. We are human, no different from mortals until our first death, then from that point on, we don’t age or die permanently."

"I’ve read fables and tales of your kind, but there’s not much mention of you at all," Giles said as he leaned forward. "So you’re real. Interesting."

Mike shook her head at him. She pulled out her Swiss pocket knife and extended the blade. "Now, I’m going to show you what happens if we’re injured or die." She held out her arm and cut on it lengthwise, biting her lip so hard she could taste blood. "Shit!"

"Jesus Christ!" Xander shot out of his chair and ran over to Mike. Right behind him was Giles and Cordelia.

Mike turned, with her arm held out in front of Giles. "Watch! Don’t touch it!"

The three mortals watched as flickers of blue lightening shot out and around her wound, effectively healing it. Within five minutes all that remained was the blood; the wound was gone, as if it had never been there.

Spike handed her a towel and she nodded her thanks as she wiped off her arm. She glanced at the three vampires and shrugged. "Sorry guys, it’s the best way."

Vachon lifted an eyebrow. "You’re lucky we ate earlier, Mike," he said with a smirk.

She nodded in acknowledgement, waiting for everyone to sit back down. "I did that little display for two reasons: you needed to see me heal like that. No matter what I would’ve said, you wouldn’t have believed it if you hadn’t seen it. The other reason, was I wanted you to see that blue lightening. That’s what Immortals call our Quickening. Each one of us has one, and if we fight—which we do, with swords—to the death—the victor receives the loser’s Quickening and all the Quickenings that the looser had obtained prior to the his final encounter. This Quickening—this life-force is powerful. It can change a person. Although rare, I do know someone who suffered from a Dark Quickening, which is not too much different than if a human is made into a vampire. A Dark Quickening is a Quickening that, through time, became evil. That good had been overpowered by the evil. The reverse is also possible. A former warrior received a Light Quickening and became priest, never to lift a sword again.

"The Quickening also changes vampires. It changed Spike."

She stopped, waiting for the uproar that was sure to follow. From what Willow had told her, Giles and his Watchers worked exclusively on defeating demon-vampires and other types of real hell type evil that the Hellmouth attracted. Spike and Vachon’s type of vampires didn’t fit into his equation at all.

"Changed?" Giles asked, standing up. "How did he change?" He stared at Spike.

Mike felt her lover’s amusement and had to smile. "Well, honey. You’re on," she whispered in his ear as she sat down.

Chuckling out loud, he nodded. "You remember what I used to look like as a demon, hmmm?"

Everyone nodded.

Spike’s fangs dropped and his eyes yellowed. "This is it, now. No more ridges to prove my manliness. We can do other things too. Fly. My mind is stronger. Dru’s not the only one who can make people forget or remember," he said, his eyes never leaving Giles. The librarian shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

Mike swatted him on the arm. Spike rolled his eyes, his face changing back to normal. "The biggest difference is that I have a soul and the demon is gone. Instead of the demon, we have a bloodlust that’s incredible powerful, but not nearly as ‘evil’ as the demon."

Giles turned his attention to Angel. "Is this true?"

Angel nodded.

"Why didn’t you ever say anything?"

"Because they aren’t demons, Giles," Willow spoke out. "They’re souled beings that happen to be vampires."

"Oh come on, Willow, you don’t buy this crap, do you?" Xander asked as he stood up.

She nodded yes.

"Are you sure they didn’t do any of their mind tricks on you?" Cordelia asked, looking up from filing her nails.

Willow clenched her jaw. "I’m sure, Cordy." She turned back to the watcher. "Giles, I met a vampire that was a Roman general. Roman. Two thousand years old. And he was normal looking. Not like the Master. Two thousand years old and he looked exactly like Angel looks right now. There was no human facade. He just was himself."

She glanced at Vachon. "Look at Vachon. He’s 500 years old. He was a constiquador from the 15th century! Came over with Spanish to conquer the New World!

"I’ve spent two days with these people. I’ve talked to Vachon, Richie, who didn’t even know vampires existed until this weekend, and even managed to work up the courage to say hello to Spike. They’re telling the truth. How else did Drusilla know about Spike? Why else would she have kidnapped Buffy unless she blamed Buffy for Spike’s and Angel’s desertion?" She ran out of breath and leaned back in her seat. "I’ll be quiet now. I just think this is important enough for you to understand," she finished, her voice barely above a whisper.

Seated once again, Giles closed his eyes and nodded slowly, obviously contemplating Willow’s statement. After nearly a minute, he opened his eyes and met Spike’s eyes. "All right, I will accept your offer for assistance. But I withhold my judgement until proven otherwise. But Willow is right about one thing," he said nodding to Xander to sit back down. The teenager sunk back into his chair with what seemed to be a permanent scowl on his face. "Buffy. So what do we do?" he asked glancing up over the door to the clock. "It’s midnight now, we have two hours before Drusilla kills Buffy. She’s moved back to the mansion and managed to gather quite a crowd of vampires to follow her."

Spike lit another cigarette. "I say, I go in there and turn myself over and try to reason with her. While I’m doing that, Vachon, Richie, Mike and Angel can sneak in, find Buffy and get her out." He shrugged his shoulders and flicked the ashes on the floor. "Easy. Piece of cake."

"What about us?" Xander asked. "We’ve slayed before. What do you think we’ve been doing all this summer? Playing backgammon?"

"Boy, you can die. Mike and Richie can’t. At least not by draining or a broken neck. I don’t want any more innocent lives at stake because of my fuck-up!" He shook his head. "I should’ve taken her out of the country like I promised. This soul business sucks sometimes."

He stood up and held out his hand for Mike. She grabbed it, standing up. She picked up her coat and flung it over her shoulder, feeling her sword hit her back.

"We’re going for a walk. We’ll meet you in front of the Bronze at 1:30."

Mike shrugged an apology and turned back, leaving the library with her lover.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Where are they going?" Xander snapped in disgust.

Willow giggled. "If last night was any indication," her face reddened as she shot a glance at Angel. "They’re going to find some place private—to—you know."

Angel smirked. "Kept me up half of the night." He shook his head. "He never could choose quiet women."

"Just draw us a picture, Dead-Boy! Thanks to you, I’m going to have nightmares for a week."

"Xander, quit calling me that." Angel warned, his good-humor all but disappearing.

"Well, that was interesting," Giles said, standing up. He glanced back down at Richie and Vachon as if to say something, but just shook his head instead and walked back to his office.

"That went well," Cordelia murmured, opening her purse and dropping her nail file in it. She suddenly looked over at Willow. "Where’s Oz?"

Willow bent her head, picking at her fingernails. "We broke up," she whispered.

Richie stood up and walked over to the book cases. He began to read the spines. "Jeez, I’m surprised the school board let’s him keep these books here," he said as he pulled a rather large, black book. He blew on it causing dust to fly everywhere. "’Demons and the Hellmouth,’" he read out loud. He slid the book back into the shelf. He leaned against the shelf and yawned. "Man, I’m bushed."

"Broke up?" Xander reached over and pulled Willow’s hand up. He squeezed it. "When?"

She looked up and sighed. "Before we left. He said I didn’t have enough time for him."

"Willow," Angel leaned forward. "Why didn’t you say something?" He stopped, and guilt flashed across his features. "It’s my fault, isn’t it?"

"That’s why I didn’t say anything, Angel. I don’t blame you and I don’t want you to blame yourself. I was the one that gave you your soul and because of that, you spent the equivalent of a couple of hundred years in Hell with a soul. Of course I was going to do everything in my power to get you out of there," she said, determined to show her ‘resolve face.’

"Oz understood, but he decided that I must not love him as much as he loved me. I haven’t talked to him yet, but I think we’ll still be friends." She stood up, signaling the end of the conversation and walked over to Richie. "Tired?"

He nodded. "Anywhere I can crash for an hour?"

"Bring your coat, I’ll take you upstairs, towards the back, away from everyone. I’ll make sure to wake you before they leave."

"Thanks, Willow," he said as he followed her up the staircase.

~~~~~~~~~~

Still holding hands, Mike allowed Spike to lead her through the streets of Sunnydale. Neither of them had said a word since leaving the library, both afraid of jinxing the next few hours.

I wonder what you’re thinking about? Mike asked him silently.

"You, luv."

She stopped, yanking on his hand. "How did you know I asked that?" Her heart was speeding a mile a minute. The link? Was this possible?

He dipped his head. "You asked me what I was thinking about and I told you. What’s the deal?"

She found herself grinning. "Spike, I wasn’t talking out loud. I thought that. In my mind."

"What?"

"Here," she closed her eyes. "What am I saying to you now?" Spike, you have the most luscious behind.

He laughed, swinging her into his arms. "And here I thought you loved me for my mind." He bent his head down, their lips barely touching. "And all this time, it was just because of my ‘luscious’ ass." His lips smashed down on hers, causing her to squeal in delight.

Then she heard it: I love you, Mike. You are my light—my white Goddess.

As she opened her mouth, oblivious of her tears and sought his tongue, she responded. I love you, William.

He pulled back enough to whisper, "Will. If it’s not Spike, it’s Will, luv."

"Okay Will." She gave him another kiss and backed away. "Is there anywhere we can go. God, I want to make love to you."

"Anything for milady," he said as his eyes scanned the street and once he was satisfied, he wrapped his arms around her. "Hold on, luv," he whispered in her ear as they took off into the air.

Mike rested her chin on his shoulder, watching the trees and cars slowly shrink the higher they rose. She turned her head, and studied his profile, smiling. She never felt as safe as she did in his arms. Even when she had been with the Old Man. All too soon, she felt them begin to descend back towards Earth. Looking round, she noticed he set them down in a park, near a gazebo. He grabbed her hand and led her up the stairs.

"I’ve always wanted to make love here," he whispered to her as he flung his duster down on the wooden floor. "Wouldn’t want milady to suffer from splinters, now would I?"

She pulled her coat off and set it by his coat. "Who said anything about me being on the bottom? Huh?"

He growled, scooping her up into his arms. "You forget, my dear. Me vampire—you Immortal," he murmured seconds before he attacked her lips with his.

Before she realized it, they were both laying down on his coat, Spike nestled in between her legs, as he rained kisses on her face, down her chin and towards her breasts. As he pulled off her T-shirt, her last coherent thought was he was right, she was on the bottom.

~~~Chapter Eight~~~

Sunnydale, CA
2:00 am – The Mansion

Mike bit her lip as she watched Spike walk up the stairs to his former lover. Her body ached from the loving making session that ended just a half an hour before. At first he was gentle, raining kisses all over her face, down her neck to her breasts, but one of his fangs cut into her areola, and suddenly what had started as a slow and gentle roll in the hay, became a passionate and desperate need to somehow join their two bodies together—almost as if it was to be their last time.

Her chest constricted as tears rolled down her cheeks. Not if I can help it, she thought to herself. He’s not going to die on me!

But unfortunately, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to leave her, either.

Up until that night, she had believed that his love for her was strong enough to endure anything—even the unlikely return of Methos. But then, when he drank from her, she saw the last piece of his heart that he had locked away—not only from her, but from himself as well.

And suddenly everything made sense. Why he came here, to confront Dru. Why he was willing to trade his life for the Slayer’s. Why he had been so angry with himself since he had found out that Dru had taken Buffy Summers.

All these things made perfect sense, when she found out all the facts.

He loved the Slayer.

For the six months prior to him leaving Sunnydale, while forced to spend his time in that wheelchair, he had slowly fallen in love with the seventeen year old young woman who bore the weight of the world on her shoulders. He began to admire her strength, even as he taunted Angelus to kill her, every time the vampire came home defeated, his admiration grew. He marveled at her ability to keep Angelus from cutting into her soul—to somehow keep it all together with a fire and breath of life that he had only seen a few times in his two hundred years of life. She was the pick that wore down Spike’s demon—not Angelus’ barbs or Drusilla’s betrayal, but the Slayer’s ability to take whatever life had thrown her, and manage to still stay alive.

But soulless, demon vampires did not know how to love—especially to be able to love the Slayer. So he buried those feelings underneath the hatred he had for Angelus and the jealousy he held for Dru and the nearly unbearable need to be once again in control of his life—and when he allied himself with her, he honestly believed it for the reasons he told her, not for love or for a chance for her to see him as something other than her mortal enemy, Spike.

And now, circumstances brought him back to Sunnydale and gave him a chance to redeem himself. A chance to set things right. Once again, he believed it wasn’t for love, but to make up for a broken promise—a way for him to keep his word, which he highly valued.

Mike bit her bottom lip and sighed. Even as she stood there, watching him walk into his own personal Hell, she knew that if they all managed to escape with their lives, she was going to let him go. Buffy was slated for a short life—as all slayers were, and Mike had an eternity—anything else she chose would’ve been criminal.

Immortality wasn’t supposed to be like this, she thought to herself. From what she could tell, if her first eighteen months were any indication, she was going to have a miserable forever existence. She falls in love—real honest soul-gut-wrenching love—not just once, but twice, only to have both of them taken from her nearly as soon as their love began.

She sighed again and tentatively reached out over their link. Spike?

I’m here, luv. I’m chained—actually from the ceiling. I guess she plans to have some fun this evening...

Chained? Are you okay? Are you hurt?

She could feel him chuckle lightly. I’m fine, Mike. Just a little vampire S&M, that’s all. Dru always loved her ga--

He stopped and Mike felt him struggling to shut down the link. As she stood there, wavering on whether to shut down her side, she felt the first tentacles of darkness threaten to squirm into her mind. A dark and beautiful evil essence circled her soul. A cloying innocence, deceiving in its appearance and horrific in its reality...

Spike’s last thoughts to Mike before the link was closed were: Dru!

Mike stumbled back as he mentally shoved Mike out of his mind, and would’ve fallen onto the ground if Vachon hadn’t been there to catch her.

"Are you all right?" the Spaniard asked, his voice quiet and concerned.

She nodded, as her body shook. She took a few deep breaths, calming her racing heart—attempting to clamp down on her rising fear. How many times would she have to touch evil and still remain untainted? She lifted her head and turned to look at the house. "I just met Drusilla up close and personal," she said, glancing back at the vampire. "Let’s just say that I finally understand what kind of evil these kids are fighting." She shuddered uncontrollably. "It’s horrifying."

He nodded solemnly. "I know. Remind me to tell you about my last staking and burial. Up until then, I always thought that there really couldn’t be anything too much worse than a vampire." He grinned. "In some ways, it’s nice to find out how wrong I was."

"I guess in your shoes, I’d think that too."

He looked up to the top of the house and back down at her. "Ready? It’s been over five minutes."

"As ready as I’ll ever be," she said as she reached back and checked for her sword. Still there, she thought to herself as she wrapped her arms around the vampire’s neck. His cool arm slid underneath her coat and grabbed her waist. Seconds later, they were in the air, going up to the roof.

~~~~~~~~~~

If it had just been Dru’s mental assault, Spike knew he could’ve handled it. But no, his dark princess never did things half way. She had already sent in a few of his former minions to beat him. And some of them, he had sired himself. He fought back, but allowed himself to be overpowered. Wincing from a couple of broken ribs, he was dragged into the former ballroom, stripped of his shirt and shoes and strung up like a piece of meat (there’s that cattle reference again, he joked to himself), with his bare feet just touching the floor.

Fortunately, he was already healing. He sighed silently, hoping that he had managed to protect Mike from Dru. It was bad enough the insane vampiress had the Slayer and him, but if she managed to get her claws into Mike, Spike would’ve blown whatever plan he had formed and killed her outright.

Although she was aware of his change, Spike didn’t think she realized its significance. The chains, enchanted by Dru were supposed to hold a vampire. Unfortunately for her, the enchantment didn’t affect him anymore. He could’ve broken free anytime, but was reluctant to do so. He could feel over thirty minions running about the mansion and even he knew he wasn’t strong enough to take all of them on. There was also the additional problem of another being that was lurking in shadows. He had yet to show himself, but his presence sent off waves of evil—nearly suffocating Spike in its darkness. Whoever Dru had hooked up with, he reveled in his black existence almost as much as she.

That couldn’t be good.

Oh well, he thought to himself. I’ll find out soon enough. Dru always to show off her latest toys—especially to me.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the pulling of his arms and concentrated on sensing human life signs. Where is she? he asked himself. If I were Dru, where would I put the Slayer?

The garden where Acathla was still standing, he answered himself.

He could see it in his mind and knew instinctively that was where Dru would put Buffy—if only to torment the young woman. From what Angel had told him, Buffy had left Sunnydale and was captured by Dru some place else. The Slayer didn’t even know Angel was free from Hell.

And Dru would enjoy turning that knife into the young woman’s guilty heart.

Mentally hoping that Dru’s mind wasn’t hovering over his, he gently tugged on the link to Mike. Instantly he felt a wave of relief and love sent back to him.

Unfortunately, that was all he could manage because at that moment, Dru decided to return. Instantly slamming shut the link, he turned his attention to Dru—and found himself feeling sadder than anything else.

Sad at the life they had led together—brightened only by her innocent madness and his nearly obsessive need to protect her from everyone and everything that could harm her—especially from ones like Angelus. All for naught, because in the end, Angelus meant more to her than Spike ever could. Spike’s love was never enough for Drusilla. Only Angelus’ sick and abusive self could fill the hole their sire had dug into Dru’s mind and whatever the vampire equivalent to a heart was, right before and immediately following her conversion to a creature of the night.

For whatever fault’s Spike’s demon had, madness and cruelty to those he loved, wasn’t one of them. And so Spike failed Drusilla’s test and now, she and he were forever lost to each other.

Oh bloody hell, I’m brooding, he thought to himself. Satan-be-damned, does that trait come automatically with a soul, or is it because Mike tends to brood and I’ve got enough of her blood flowing in me, that it’s rubbing off on me? He growled at himself, momentarily forgetting that Dru had just entered the room.

He lifted his eyes and was surprised to see that while he was off in his mind sulking, she had entered the room and was now standing in front of him. Her head was tilted to the side, and her dark eyes almost blank—as if she was having a vision.

Finally she spoke.

"My Spike is really gone, isn’t he?" she asked as her eyes met his.

His dead heart nearly broke at the sight of the blood tears threatening to spill down her pale, porcelain face. He could feel her loneliness and confusion almost as if it were something of substance and matter instead of her just her heart aching for something she hadn’t a clue was missing until now. The maddening innocence that for over a hundred years had touched his cold, demon heart—was just a whisper of its former strength. And that’s what seemed to hurt him the most. Instead of the blinding loyalty that had propelled him across the world, through mobs of hateful mortals and lords of demons, was all but gone—leaving in its stead, an emptiness that was had nearly been filled by Mike’s light and love.

Up until that moment, he actually believed that he hadn’t changed much since she had left him. Now that he was confronted with Hellmouth’s insidious evil mixed in with Dru’s palatable insanity, he realized that he was wrong. Dead wrong. For the past three months that he had spent in Mike’s life, he was certain that Immortal was only seeing what she wanted to see—a reformed vampire that didn’t kill humans any longer. Every time Mike had told him that he wasn’t evil, he thought, yeah sure, luv, whatever you say, with a cynical smirk, not quite laughing at her naivete, but certainly not believing in what she saw.

Now, he realized she was right.

He felt it—here in the mansion where just months before he had dreamed of bathing in the blood of innocents, now all he wanted to do was put as much distance between him and the Hellmouth and if he ever saw a demon again, it would be too soon for him.

He knew now that something so fundamental, so intricately entwined in his being before, was no longer present. And ironically, its absence hadn’t been missed until he was confronted with Dru’s own evil.

As he lifted his face, unashamed of the blood tears rolling freely down his face, he nodded solemnly, feeling nearly overwhelmed by the sadness of it all—of Dru’s life and undead life and the tragedy of it all. If only she could’ve loved him, he might’ve been able to heal her.

She stepped up to him, and cupped his face gently. "Why did you leave me all alone?"

He sighed as he turned his face to wipe the wetness off on his bare arm. "If it makes any difference, I didn’t mean to Dru. I was sad, lonely and hungry and thought I hit the jackpot—the dream to end all dreams for vampires—a human whose blood tasted as rich as a Slayer’s, as alive as a virgin’s and more sustaining and fulfilling than anything a demon could ever believe possible. And the best part? The well would never run dry.

"Pet, I would’ve been a fool to walk away. And now," he tipped his head, leaving the rest unsaid but implied: he wouldn’t change a thing.

Dru jerked her hand away from his face, as if his touched burned her. She hissed, her face changing into the demon he once worshipped and loved above all else, and backhanded him across his face. The force of the blow caused his precarious hold to the floor slip and he found himself swinging backwards until his body slammed into the wall behind him. Stunned, he swung back and nearly collided with Dru, but stopped himself by lifting himself up in the air enough that the chains weren’t swinging by his weight, and dropped down quick enough that he doubted Dru caught what he did.

His body stopped where he had just been before she had hit him.

"I’m truly sorry, Princess."

She said nothing as she began to walk around him, her finger trailing across his stomach, around his side to his back. Then she stopped behind him and pulled away her finger. His hair stood on end as he felt her stand behind him.

Minutes ticked by as the two vampires, one bound, the other free, said and did nothing. Spike knew she was waiting for him to say more. Maybe beg for his life or the Slayer’s.

She finally moved, placing her chin on his shoulder, so her mouth was just inches from his ear. "Do you know what Miss Edith told me?" she asked, her voice soft and child like.

"No, Pet. What did she tell you?"

Her tongue tickled the back of his ear. She then moved downward, tugging on his lobe. "She said that you love the Slayer. Is that true, my Spike?"

His mouth dropped open in shock as a laugh escaped his throat. "Bloody hell, Dru. Miss Edith needs to get her blasted head examined." He shook his head at the thought. "Like her? Not really. Attracted to her? Maybe—any male—vampire or human, would’ve to be blind not to see that she’s a tasteful morsel. Feel obligated. Yes. But love? No. Miss Edith must’ve gotten her lines crossed."

Dru nipped at his neck, growling. She pulled away and suddenly was standing once again in front of him. "I don’t like when you say bad things about Miss Edith. She also said that you love that other woman. The one who changed you. Took you away from me. Is that true?"" she asked, her head tilted to the side.

This time he nodded yes. "I do love her. How could I not? She sees and knows everything that I am, and she didn’t run away."

She pouted. "I didn’t run away."

He couldn’t stop the rolling of his eyes as his eyes flashed yellow in anger. "What do you call boinking Angel while I was in the wheelchair for six months, Pet? A vacation? Funny, I didn’t get a vacation after Prague, now did I love? And we can’t forget Oklahoma, can we? You left me at a bloody motel with the bill and no money or car! All because your precious Angel needed you. Well bloody hell, Dru, I needed you! I needed you in Sunnyhell and I needed you afterwards and you didn’t care. You left."

Spike growled loudly and Dru found herself stepping back. "And guess what, love? Angelus is gone. Forever. The curse is permanent. The bloody wanker has a soul for the rest of eternity and there’s not a damn thing you or I can do about it!" Too angry to give a shit, Spike yanked his arms free from the chains and walked up to the startled vampiress.

"Where the hell is the Slayer, Dru. I hate Sunnyhell and I want to go back home!"

She hissed, her human face melting into the demons. "Now!" she called out and suddenly all those missing minions came running into the room and surrounded him and Dru. "You may be stronger, Spike. But can you take all of them on?"

He growled in frustration. "No I can’t. I couldn’t before and I can’t now." He walked over to the chair, pushing the youngsters aside and picked up his shirt. After slipping it on, he sat down and started putting his shoes and socks on. "Can we stop playing this bloody game and get it over with, Dru? Tell me what you want."

She started twirling around, moving closer to him. "Revenge," she sang out. "Revenge for my Angel and for you." She stopped in front of him. "Don’t you think the Slayer is a wonderful gift for me?"

"I do, Dru," a quiet spoken male voice said.

Spike’s head jerked up and realized that this was that other presence he had felt earlier. He was dressed all in black, casually propping a broadsword over his shoulder, studying Spike.

As Spike met his eyes, suddenly he felt the room disappear and saw the man taunting Mike as she laid on a cot, tied up and gagged, as he began describing in great detail how he killed her father. His cold laughter filled the room as his sword slashed at her exposed stomach. Mike grimaced in pain, cursing him and his Immortal soul...

He laughed outright, saying he had no soul and hadn’t one for longer than she could imagine...

Suddenly Spike was back in the ballroom, sitting casually in the chair, staring at the stranger. "Morden," he whispered, mostly to himself.

"Ah, William. We finally meet. Although we’ve met before, but you wouldn’t know about that. You’re going to die tonight. And so is Mike and the Slayer." He stepped closer, pulling his sword down and before Spike could jump away, had it at the vampire’s throat. "If you’re so anxious to see the girl, I don’t see why we can’t accommodate you. Stand up!"

Spike slowly stood, feeling the bloodsweat wet his brow, all the while berating himself for his loss of temper as well as allowing this asshole sneak up on him. Oh Mike, he thought to himself as he was pushed towards the doorway. I’m sorry.

~~~~~~~~~~

For nearly forty-five minutes, Mike and Vachon stayed hidden in the attic waiting for some mental signal from Spike. Only once had he contacted her, but before he could tell her where the Slayer was, he shut down the link again.

Mike, in a nervous fit of temper, had forced herself to sit down and hug her knees, rocking silently back and forth. All this energy and nowhere to go with it, she thought to herself as she watched the vampire do the same.

Both of them were doers, not sitters and this waiting was driving them crazy. It wasn’t safe to talk, for vampires, even demon-vampires, had extraordinary senses and they couldn’t risk one of them hearing even the faintest of whispers.

So they communicated in silence. A turn of the head, a smile, a roll of the eyes and heavy sighs seem to permeate the room. For forty-five minutes they did nothing.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore.

"We have to do something," she whispered to her companion. "I think he’s in trouble."

"Is that your link speaking or your heart?"

She frowned, closing her eyes and concentrating on Spike. Although for the most part, he had shut down the link, residual feelings couldn’t all be blocked out.

Trepidation. Anger—at Dru, at himself—and someone else...

And then one word came through loud and clear.

Morden.

Mike shut her eyes against the pain that name brought. That was who Richie and Angel felt earlier, she thought to herself. Shit! Suddenly, it all made sense.

Methos identity revealed.

Mike’s whereabouts let out.

The attack on Spike the night before...

Morden. The undocumented, unknown Immortal that murdered her father, kidnapped and tortured her and then disappeared into thin air before Methos, Mac or Conner could take his head...

Morden.

The perpetual thorn in her side.

She opened her eyes to see Vachon squatting in front of her. "What’s wrong?" he asked gently, brushing the errant tears from her face. "Is he okay?"

She bit her bottom lip and nodded. "Morden’s here," she whispered.

He tipped his head in question.

Afraid to speak, she decided to show him the only way she knew how. Digging into her jeans pocket, she pulled out her Swiss army knife and unfolded it.

He looked at her questioningly as she slit her wrist crossways. Holding her hand out to him, she mouthed, drink. It finally hit him what she was trying to do and he nodded and quickly brought her wrist to his mouth and sensuously sucked on her wound.

Concentrating on Morden and her father’s murder, she tried telling him through her blood all that had occurred with the strange Immortal that was now downstairs. Within a few minutes, he lifted his head, sporting a sexy grin and watched in fascination as her wound quickly healed.

"Was it as good for you?" she whispered, grinning.

He rolled his eyes as he smiled in response. His humor was soon replaced with a serious look. "I understand," he whispered as he released her hand and stood up. "Let’s go." He held out his hand and she grabbed it, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

~~~~~~~~~~

As Vachon walked to the door, he stopped and closed his eyes, and concentrated on the life and unlife in the building. This way, he could get a feel as to where their enemies were in contrast to those they came to save. Almost immediately, he could pick out the four humans. Two of the heart beats were faint and distant and he concluded they had to be in the basement. One was not as distant, maybe the first floor, hiding somewhere. Richie. Because he was familiar with Angel, he could discern his presence over the demon-vampires and concluded that the souled vampire was with the young Immortal. Spike’s signature, like Vachon’s was different than the rest of the vampires and he could easily zoom in on his presence. He was in the basement as well.

Of the thirty plus vampires that were present in the house, only a dozen or so were on the first floor. None were on the second floor or on the third. The rest were down in the basement as well.

Vachon turned back to Mike. "Almost everyone’s in the basement. The Slayer, Spike, Morden—and nearly 20 vampires. Richie and Angel are hiding somewhere on the first floor and about a dozen vampires are on the first floor, guarding the entrances."

Mike nodded. "Basement, then?"

He shrugged. "Sounds like a plan to me."

"Good, then let’s hit it. I’m beat and I wanna go home before dawn gets here."

He smiled in agreement and opened the door, and stepped out into the hallway.

As they silently walked towards the stairs, Vachon felt apprehensive for the first time since his encounter with Divia. At first, when he was asked to stay with the blond Immortal, it was because of his debt to LaCroix. The ancient vampire had not only had someone keep an eye out for Vachon, but when he discovered that the Spaniard had survived his encounter with Divia, had flew him down to St. Louis, gave him a job and roof over his head.

LaCroix believed it was his fault that the Spaniard’s life had been turned upside down and this was his way for making it up to him. The way Vachon saw it—it was just his luck, and LaCroix had nothing to do with it. So, now the two vampires almost seemed to trip over one another, trying to make up for the past. In some ways, it was almost funny to see the General so ingratiating as well as Vachon.

But now, after spending nearly two full days with Mike Evans, he found himself wanting to protect her instead of doing it out of some perceived obligation. He liked her. She was honest and open. Non judgmental and accepting. And funny. He hadn’t laughed this much since Tracy and found that he missed it. He knew without a doubt, if she hadn’t been so head over heels in love with Spike, he would’ve jumped on her in a heartbeat.

And because of that, he knew he would do whatever it took, to keep her away from that other Immortal. She was not going to lose her head on his watch. He liked it just where it was and was determined to keep it that way. Rules, be damned.

As far as he was concerned, rules were meant to be broken, and no challenge was going to be fulfilled that night, if he had any say at all.

For that he was sure.

~~~Chapter Nine~~~

It wasn’t until they reached the first floor, did Mike feel Morden’s presence. It’s evil reeked and seemed to cloud the whole floor in shades of darkness, so thick it made her gag. It was as if every time she felt him, he became more—elusive or shadowy, but at the same time, his Quickening became heavier and increasingly more distinct.

It must be the Hellmouth, she thought to herself. But even as she thought that, she knew that wasn’t so. It was something else—something more tangible and in the here and now that made that man so dark.

As she was trying to push his Quickening to the side of her mind, to concentrate, she felt her nose beginning to tickle. Glancing around her, she noticed a layer of dust seemed to cover everything and just walking through it, seemed to stir it up.

She held the first sneeze, grateful that she was Immortal and wouldn’t lose any brain cells from the act, but the second sneeze snuck up on her so quickly, she couldn’t even tone it down.

It rang throughout the whole first floor.

"Shit!" said Mike as she pulled out her sword from behind her coat. "Sorry." She shrugged at Vachon.

He managed to grin before six vampires, all sporting their demon faces descended upon them.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy Summers leaned against the wall and sighed. She yanked on the chains holding her to the wall for the thousandth time that day and wasn’t surprised to see that they were as strong as ever. If I can say one thing about the crazy ‘ho, she doesn’t take any chances, she thought to herself as stood up from the dirty cot that had been her only furniture for the week she had been locked up in this room.

She began tugging on the leg chain.

Unfortunately, that one refused to give as well.

She sighed, fighting her growing impatience and frustration, by thinking about what she was going to do once she got out of this god-forsaken cell. Number one on the list was stake Drusilla. The ‘ho had to go. The second thing was to kill that 'whatever’ that was with her. What was his name? Oh yeah, Morden. Kill him. He gave her the creeps. He made her think of slimy snakes slithering through the water, closing in on its prey.

She did not like being anyone’s prey.

God, how did Dru find her when Giles, Willow and Xander couldn’t? Why did Dru want her? When she asked the crazy vampiress that, the woman mumbled something about Buffy taking away the two men that Dru loved away: Angel and Spike.

Buffy snorted. Spike. Yeah right. The vamp that teamed up with her only to leave when Angelus had the sword to her neck. Yeah, Dru, I took Spike away. My only consistent mortal enemy and I are actually deeply and totally in love with one another.

It works.

Except for one thing.

If she were in love with Spike, it was so deeply that even Buffy hadn’t a clue. And this summer had been spent running as far as she could away from thoughts of Angel and Angelus and Hell, that she hadn’t even given Spike much thought.

All right, she silently conceded to herself, that wasn’t entirely true.

She had dreamt about him. Both before leaving Sunnydale and afterwards. But she could account for those. They weren’t because she was secretly lusting after him or harboring feelings of love for him, it was because it was safer. Fantasizing about Angelus when he was so fixated on her was dangerous. And besides, other than his leather pants, she didn’t like Angelus. For five months she hoped she could find something redeeming about the demon, but there was nothing that tweaked her heart except for him wearing her lover’s face.

But with Spike, despite him being her mortal enemy and one of the only vampires (other than Angelus and Gorch and Gorch kept leaving), that she hadn’t defeated, she couldn’t say the same thing. She loved his quick wit, his need for action, almost hyper-activeness, his intelligence, and his looks—she had to admit. And there was also that small little thing called feelings—he could love. Angelus couldn’t and was disgusted at his counter-parts feelings for Buffy, as well as the rest of the Scooby gang.

That in itself was enough to turn her off.

So, she allowed Spike to come into her fantasies.

Unfortunately, for her, she was sure that a normal human relationship was not in her future. It would’ve to be with another supernatural being. That’s why Angel had been so perfect for her. She didn’t have to worry about her duty endangering him anymore than it did her, she didn’t have to explain patrols or why the cemetery was one of her favorite spots to hang out at. And she didn’t have to explain the killer in her. Only another killer could understand.

She knew that Xander, Will, Cordelia and Oz were the exceptions...and Oz was like her—different. And Willow was a fledging witch—again, different. With Xander and Cordelia, they just had the unfortunate luck to be the focus of some very bad things, which propelled both of them into her world. And who did that leave? Giles. And there was no freaking way she was interested in Giles that way. Definite yuck factor. Can you say incest much? She silently joked to herself.

So, where did that leave her?

Alone, miserable and stuck in a cell, she snapped at herself. Get over yourself, girl and quit brooding! Or I’ll begin to think Angelus really did drive you nuts.

Buffy laid back in the bunk and began to count the cracks in the ceiling. If her calculations were right, tonight was the night.

For what, she didn’t know. But the ‘ho did tell her a week, and a week ended tonight. So, either she would be free from the crazy vamp, dead or turned.

The way she was feeling, she might welcome any of the three—if only to break the monotony.

~~~~~~~~~~

Spike felt the Slayer before they even entered the garden/patio where Acathla stood. He searched with his eyes the area around the statue and saw nothing, and realized the Dru must’ve put in her in the same room where Angelus had held Giles all those months before.

Morden poked his back with his sword, forcing Spike to begin walking again as they headed towards the room. Dru pulled out two keys and used them both to unlock the door. Swinging it open, she stepped inside the room and began speaking.

"Hello, Slayer. I’ve brought you some company. So you won’t be lonely. We can’t have that, can we? You can’t be lonely like Princess, can you?" Her voice was soft and angry.

Spike leaned over to peak through the door. He saw the Slayer laying down on a cot, chained to the wall, snickering at Dru.

"How kind of you, Dru, considering I didn’t even give you a thought when I sent Angel to Hell or when your wonderful Spike helped me defeat Angelus." She sat up and stared at the vampiress. "How noble for you to be so considerate."

Oh shit, thought Spike. Slayer, it’s not smart to goad a crazy Drusilla, he said to himself.

Confirming Spike’s fears, he watched helplessly as Dru hissed, sprinting to the blond and picking her up by the throat and shoving her against the wall. "I'll enjoy watching you bleed—like a pretty spring after a summer shower. All red and beautiful—just like my favorite color. You will be the best present I ever have had."

She released Buffy, and watched as the Slayer’s body hit the cot, gasping for air. "Oh, I’m so sorry. Did I hurt the poor Slayer?" she asked, her voice sounding anything but sorrowful.

She turned on her heel and stopped at the doorway, glaring at Spike. "Double chain him and make sure the door is sufficiently sealed and that only three of you can open it. We don’t want him breaking out before the party can begin, do we?"

"No mistress," one of Spike’s former minions answered. He didn’t even know if he should be offended by the betrayal. The tall, lanky vampire who had been a college basketball player before Spike had sired him, was now just a dumb vampire instead of a dumb jock. Back then, Spike found himself siring the stupid ones because they never had delusions of grandeur. Hell, most of the time, they couldn’t even remember how to add once the demon took over.

Now, he regretted it. Even if Dalton had been here, he might have someone on the inside to help him out. But as it was, they feared Drusilla more than they respected the former master vampire.

Morden’s sword dug into his back and Spike felt it cut into his flesh. Son-of-a-bitch, he silently cursed him. He’s a sadistic asshole, isn’t he?

He turned around and glared at Morden, daring him to kill him now. "Go ahead, mate, I’m all yours," he said opening his arms wide. "I’m sure you’d love to stake me, now wouldn’t you, mate?"

Morden smiled and shook his head. "Sorry, no can do. I’m keeping you for Mike’s punishment."

Spike rolled his eyes, showing his disgust at the Immortal. "Another ‘I want to make her suffer because ______--just fill in the blank, I suppose?"

Morden shrugged and pushed Spike inside towards the cot. Buffy stared at him wide-eyed, but said nothing as he felt her watch the other vampires chain him down as they had done her.

"You two can share the cot. Toodle do!" Dru called out as she signaled for Morden to leave the room.

The door closed, leaving the once mortal enemies to themselves.

~~~~~~~~~~

Before Mike could even decapitate one of the vamps, Vachon had drained one and staked another.

Two vamps jumped her, judging her to be the weak link and before she knew it, she had been subdued enough that her sword had been ripped from her hands. Using all the martial arts training she remembered, she managed to get a few swipes in before someone stabbed her in the heart.

She was dead before she hit the ground.

~~~~~~~~~~

With six vamps on their tails, Richie and Angel ran to Vachon, and they began fighting, back to back. Richie with a sword, hacking at any vamp unlucky enough to show his fangs to him, while Angel and Vachon both spent equal times, draining and staking the remainder of the vampires.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t until every one of the twelve vampires were dust, did they realize that Mike was no longer with them.

"Where’s Mike?" Richie yelled, with his sword up and angled towards Vachon. "What the fuck happened to her?"

Vachon’s eyes flashed yellow as he searched the area. "There!" he pointed to a puddle of blood and her sword laying beside it. Vachon walked over and sniffed the air, and closed his eyes. "Damnit, she must’ve been hurt and dragged away while we were all fighting. Shit!"

"Shit’s right," Richie mumbled. "Can you sense where she is?"

Vachon nodded. "Downstairs. Where everyone else is."

"So, are we just going to go down there, with no plan, no Spike, no Mike and get ourselves killed?" Angel asked quietly as he gazed at his two comrades.

"Morden’s here. We can’t leave her. He’ll take her head," Vachon said. "What time is it?" He asked Richie, glancing at the young Immortal’s watch.

"Three thirty."

"That’s two and half hours until dawn."

Angel sighed as he glanced towards the doorway that led to the downstairs. "I could go down there, and try to get Dru to honor the agreement. It’ll give us time."

Richie nodded slowly. "And I can stick around here and bother Morden. If he doesn’t feel me yet, then he will. I can torment him. Distract him," he paused for a moment, as if he was debating something in his mind. "And you can go back to Giles and bring help. I hate to say it, but we need it. Obviously, Dru surprised Spike enough that his plan failed miserably."

Vachon nodded slowly. "Sounds like a plan. Be careful you two," he said as he disappeared down the hallway.

Angel straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath he didn’t need to prepare himself for the coming confrontation. The last time Dru got a hold of him with a soul, she tortured him for nearly a day, before the ceremony. Whatever he was going to face, it wasn’t going to be fun. Of that he was sure.

~~~~~~~~~~

For nearly ten minutes neither Buffy nor Spike said a word. He could feel her eyes on him, studying him the dark—trying to figure out what changed with him—why he was different than the last time she had seen him.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

"Fancy meeting you here, Slayer," he drawled as he leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette.

She smirked, brushing her dirty hair off her face. "Yeah right, Spike. So, what did you do to make the little woman mad?"

He took a deep drag off his cigarette and stared at the opposite wall. "I helped you send Angel to Hell. Collaborated with the enemy. Fell in love with someone that wasn’t her. And last but not least, got myself a soul." He nodded his head, flicking the cigarette across the room. He turned to her. "Let’s just say Dru is pretty P.O.’ed right now."

"A soul? What happened?" she turned to face him. "Tell me. I’ve been cooped up here for a week with only dumb minions to talk to. What the hell happened?"

Spike grinned at her eagerness. I guess I’d be happy to talk finally talk to someone if I’d been stuck in here that long as well, he thought to himself. "Where should I start?"

Buffy growled. "How ‘bout when you left me while Angelus was holding the sword to my throat? Doesn’t that sound like a good spot?"

"Hey Pet, I helped you subdue Angel and I saved your watcher’s ass. You saw how Dru was. I had to get her out of there or she would’ve killed you."

Buffy nodded knowingly. "All right, I’ll let that slide. So talk to me."

"We left Sunnydale and Dru stayed sedated for a day or so. I gave her drugged blood, hoping to keep her in a daze long enough for us to get the hell away from the Hellmouth. Once she woke, she whined for two more days. And if she wasn’t whining, she was attacking me and trying to escape, all the while yelling about her Angel was in Hell.

"Like the whipped vampire I was, I stuck with her. Then one night, while we were staying in this dingy motel in the middle of Oklahoma, she snuck out before I woke up. I had been keeping long hours, between driving, acquiring dinner and watching her, I finally passed out. She left me, no money, no car and the motel bill—with only a note to tell me that she was leaving me and not to follow her."

"Jesus, Spike. I told you she was a ‘ho!"

Spike rolled his eyes and nodded.

"So, then what? How about the soul? I could tell something was different with you, but Angel never felt like this when he had a soul. So, what’s the sitch?"

He then went on to give her the abbreviated version of his last three months with Mike Evans.

"So, pet, what happened with you?" he asked, lighting another cigarette.

Buffy shrugged and began picking at the sheet underneath her. "Sent Angel to Hell. Not Angelus, but Angel. They somehow managed to give him a soul—"

"Pet, he’s out. Willow got him out. Matter of fact, he’s with us trying to get you out of here."

Her eyes widened and filled with tears. "Really?" she asked, her voice suddenly sounding very childlike.

He nodded again. "Really."

Spike could see the moment she really believed him. Her face, once the picture of toughness and false bravado, crumbled leaving a scared, guilt-ridden seventeen-year-old girl in its wake.

He watched her as she fell forward, sobbing on her legs, and rocking mildly. It was then he felt the last of the old Spike—Slayer of Slayers, finally melt to almost nothing but a fine mist in his heart. And where the last piece was, he felt something slide in where that demon had been and he could finally look at the young woman beside him and see her for what she really was: a frightened, but determined, strong-willed and brave human whose sole duty was to save the world—no matter what the costs were to herself and her heart.

He reached over and slid his arms around her petite body and pulled her onto his lap. She buried her face into his chest, clinching his shirt with her small, dirty hands, and cried as if someone had finally taken the world off her shoulders and she could finally feel. He whispered comforting worlds to her, patting her head and rocking them as an adult would a child.

After a while, her sobs became sniffles and soon those began to die off as well only to be replaces by the smooth effortless breathing of a human sleeping.

As his fingers twirled her dingy blond hair, he thought about the past year and how much both he and Buffy had changed since he first spied on her dancing at the Bronze over a year ago. Even then with her heart still pure, he could feel her strength flood his senses. He could almost taste her sexual naivete, and drink in the darkness that she had battled and won when she defeated the Master.

Now, only a year later, Spike could see the years that had been added to her soul. Maybe that’s why Slayer’s died so young—because their souls age so quickly.

She may only be seventeen in physical years, yet there was very little of that young high school girl he had meant on Parent’s night only twelve months before.

No, this woman had battled much more than her own demons; she fought the world’s demons and so far had won.

But, at what price?

~~~~~~~~~~

Air.

She needed air.

With all she was, she sucked in as much as her lungs could hold.

Then she drifted away.

Only to find herself needing more air.

Another loud gasp.

Then she realized she was alive.

Mike blinked her eyes, trying to force them to focus. How many times does this make it, she asked herself. Three? Four times that she has died and revived.

And she still hated it.

They finally focused. She realized she was staring at a dark ceiling and that she was actually staring at a huge spider web that seemed to take up most of the corner of the ceiling.

God, I would hate to meet that spider, she thought to herself.

She instantly knew she wasn’t alone. She turned her head to see Morden sitting back in a wooden chair, watching her, with that small, half-smile gracing his face.

Her stomach turned.

She turned her attention back to the spider. At least if it decided to attack her, she may get the upper hand. With Morden, that was doubtful.

His Quickening was even more sickening close up. It was, dark and heavy, yet titillating—calling at the deepest, most primitive side of her—seducing her to join and revel in the madness as it did.

How many heads had this man taken in the past year, she asked herself. How many more evil Immortals died from his sword to make him this horribly strong?

She felt a cold chill dance down her spine.

And will I be the next?

And other than the standard, there-can-only-be-one, she still didn’t know why.

She sighed to herself and suddenly thought of Spike. God, I die and suddenly all my priorities get screwed up, she thought to herself. Closing her eyes, she gently tugged on their link and was surprised to find that his side was open.

Hello luv. Are you all right?

A wave of love and concern filled her. She smiled and returned the favor.

For now. She yawned. I died again.

She felt a surge of fear flow through her. Spike! I’m okay. Or at least, not hurt. I’m chained to a cot in some awful room with this huge spider web (she shuddered) and Morden glaring over me. Fortunately, his sword’s over by the door. I don’t think he’s planning to kill me anytime soon.

Bloody hell, that Spaniard can’t do anything right!

Calm down, hon. He was kinda busy—fighting off about a half dozen vamps. Now, where are you?

Probably in the room next to yours. I’m with the Slayer. She’s asleep.

Mike felt her heart speed up. Ignoring it, she asked him how she was.

She felt amusement. Shocked. Taken aback and definitely relieved that Angel’s no longer in Hell. The poor girl cried herself to sleep not even 15 minutes ago.

Another tinge of jealously. She squashed it violently. She didn’t want Spike to know how he felt about the Slayer. Not now. Maybe not ever. She shook her head at her own selfishness. It wasn’t true. She would tell him. Just not now.

Can you get out of there?

Yeah, with her help. I’m going to let her sleep a little while longer.

I still feel Richie’s Quickening. How ‘bout Angel?

Still alive.

Then let’s wait until they do something.

Sounds like a plan.

Will?

Yeah, luv?

I love you.

I love you too, Mike.

She gently closed the link and looked over at Morden.

It’s now or never, old girl, she told herself as she sat up and faced him. "Why in God’s name did you go to all this trouble to get me here, Morden?"

His head tipped to the side and he smiled. "So, you finally finished talking to your blood-sucking lover, Spike?"

Her eyes widened in shock.

He laughed at her expression and stood up. He leaned against the wall. "You’re shocked, aren’t you? Didn’t think anyone knew about the link, did you?"

She closed her mouth and shook her head. "We haven’t even told anyone yet. We just found out about it tonight. So, tell me, how in the hell did you find out about it?"

He shook his head in mock dismay. "Tsk, tsk," he said, waiving his index finger in the air. "I don’t believe you’re in any position to demand anything from me, now do you?" Not waiting for an answer, he walked over to the chair, turned it around and straddled it. Once sitting, he reached down into a plastic shopping bag and pulled out a container of bottled water and tossed it to her. It landed on the cot and Mike grabbed it. She quickly tugged on the safety packaging and opened it. Once she took a huge sip, she placed it in front of her and watched as he did the same with another one.

"But, because I’m feeling so agnimous, I’ll give you a few hints. But I warn you, it’s a complicated story—full of paradoxes and chaotic, wondrous events..." he drifted off, his eyes suddenly seemed to focus on something distant and unreachable. He sighed and turned his attention back to her. "I can’t tell you much—can’t have you messing with things any more than you have—in case this doesn’t work—but although you’re nothing now, that won’t always be true. Believe it or not, Mike, you have an impact on a future that my associates have spent thousands upon thousands of years fighting. So, to stop you now means you won’t be around later."

Mike fell back against the wall, stunned. "So, let me get this straight. All this—all this fucking around my life and my friends and family’s lives has been you doing a Terminator on me?"

He frowned. "A ‘terminator’ on you? What are you talking about?"

She scowled, feeling a rush of anger surge through her blood. "Oh come on, Morden. You mean to tell me you never the movie, THE TERMINATOR, starring Arnold Schwartznegger, as a 21st century cyborg sent back into the past to murder the mother of the leader of the human resistance movement in the cyborg’s time?"

His eyes widened in surprise and suddenly he laughed.

"You’re fucking nuts! You’ve been hanging around Dru too much," she yelled as she punched the cot in frustration. "Why not just fucking fight me. With swords in a fair fight. Why all," she stopped and waved her hands in the air as much as she could with the chains still attached to her wrists. "’this?’ Why stick every headhunter still alive on Methos’ tail? Why team up with Dru? Why did you kill my father? All this bullshit, and you could’ve had my fucking head a year ago!"

"Because, we aren’t totally sure who we’re after," he admitted, shrugging helplessly. "You just seem to be the common denominator. You and the two other babies that Smith scurried away from that orphanage where you were found." He smirked at her. "But I have my money on you. You’ve seemed to have gravitated to some powerful beings for one so young. You know the saying, where there’s smoke, there’s fire."

Mike jumped up and was about to yank foolishly on her bindings when she finally felt Richie’s Quickening. The calvary, she thought to herself as she watched Morden hop out of his chair, grab his sword and leave the room, making sure to lock it behind him.

As she strained her ears, she could hear the telltale signs of a raging battle on the other side of her cell. Keeping her fingers crossed, she sank back down on her cot and waited.

And prayed.

~~~Chapter Ten~~~

At first he didn’t feel the Slayer shaking his body, trying to get his attention. He was so busy eavesdropping on Mike’s conversation with Morden. Mental eavesdropping. Who would’ve thought? Certainly not him. And he didn’t even realize what he was doing. He was just following his instincts—that primal need to protect his mate.

When he felt Mike’s pain—it was almost as if his heart had been broken as well. Stunned in shock, he felt the proverbial knife cut through her heart as the guilt and remorse for all those who had suffered in her name—hit her. He did the only thing he could do—he dived head first inward to their link and followed it to her.

And then suddenly, it was as if he was there—watching that wanker gloat in front of Mike as he explained why he was so intent on taking Mike’s head. The future. Spike could feel her fury as she struggled to keep it under tabs. Her tightening chest and watering eyes were his. As he felt his blood lust surge through his veins, he wondered if she was experiencing it as well.

As his fangs dug into his lips, he growled—suddenly wanting nothing more than to be free this prison and take that bloody asshole’s head himself.

Then Buffy punched him.

"Spike! What the hell’s wrong with you? You’re squeezing me to death!"

He blinked his eyes and glanced down to see one red faced, brassed off Slayer glaring at him.

"Let me go!"

For a moment, he just stared at her in confusion, but finally he felt his mind settling back into his body, and realized that literally, he had been crushing the Slayer to his chest.

"Shit." He released her.

"What the hell was that? How the hell did you get so strong?" She asked him as she scooted over to the far end of the cot—away from him.

"Sorry, Slayer." He shut his eyes and leaned against the wall, trying to will the bloodlust away. He felt his fangs retract and he sighed. "Bloody link’ going to kill me."

"What do you mean? What happened?"

He growled as he stood up. Something tickled his mind. He concentrated on it and discovered that Angel was closer. And another human. He zeroed in on the heartbeat and smiled when he realized it was Richie was also downstairs.

He walked over to Buffy and grabbed her chains. "I’m sorry, Slayer. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m not used to this link and listening to that Morden fuck with Mike," he yanked at the chain, breaking it, "is making me want to take that fucker’s head myself."

He glanced down and saw that her mouth had dropped open in shock. "Jesus—how did you do that? I’ve been trying to pull that out all week!"

"Pet, it’s the change, okay?" He lifted her hand and inspected the cuff. He slipped his fingers under the metal and looked back into Buffy’s eyes. "Do you want me to take this off?" She nodded. "Okay, brace yourself, pet, this is going to hurt."

"Go for it."

With both hands, he began to pull the cuff apart, breaking the lock. As the sharp edges cut into her skin, he felt his bloodlust rise again. The scent of vanilla and spring flowers attacked his sensed. He growled as he bit down on his lip, trying to use the bloodlust instead of it using him.

It worked. Within a minute the first cuff broke.

Two minutes later, she was free and sucking on her wound. Spike was waiting for her at his side of the cot. "Now, it’s going to take both of us to break this one. Dru doubled the chain after she saw how easily I broke loose upstairs."

Buffy nodded and grasped it, waiting for Spike. "On three?" she asked.

He nodded.

Within five minutes, he was free as well.

As they both stood in front of the door, Spike turned to her. "Buffy," he said quietly. "Angel’s out there. You can’t lose it yet. We need you to dust as many vampires you—" he stopped as he felt a familiar presence. "I’ll be son-of-a-bitch." He chuckled out loud. "He couldn’t stay away." He shook his head. "We’re going to win this, pet. The reinforcements just arrived."

"You’re going to have to explain all this new mumbo jumbo to me later, deal? Because I sure as hell don’t know what is going on!"

He grinned. "Deal. You ready?"

She nodded as she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. "Yep. Let’s go dust some vamps."

With their combined strength, master vampire and vampire slayer, easily kicked the door down.

~~~~~~~~~~

The last person Mike expected to rush through the door was Lucien LaCroix. Okay, maybe not the last person—Methos would’ve been the last one—but LaCroix was pretty much on the top of the list. As he glided over to Mike, she watched him wide eyed as he snapped the chain, not a hair out of place, no dirt or blood marking the ancient vampire’s black silk shirt, black pants and long black coat, and she found herself giggling at the picture.

Morden was right. Who was she to have so many rescuers that were so powerful and old. It boggled it her mind.

"Michelle, I fail to see what is so funny."

She giggled again. "It’s just the irony, LaCroix." She told him as she stood up and rubbed her sore wrists. "Why are you here—not that I’m not glad—‘cause I am—but I don’t understand."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her beside him, leaning against the wall out of sight. "Did you think I would allow my responsibility to be entrusted in another’s hand?"

She shook her head, realizing he was right. It did feel funny that he turned her over to Vachon for protection, but at the time, she was too tired and hungry to care.

He reached back under his coat and pulled out her sword. Holding it out for her, he gave her a smirk. "I think you misplaced this?"

She grinned as she wrapped her hand around the handle, enjoying the feeling of being whole once again. "Thanks."

He nodded. "Ready, my dear?"

"Ready." She grasped his arm. "Lucien, thank you."

"You’re quite welcome," he whispered as he stepped out behind the door. Mike followed him out into the garden, ignoring the racing of her heart and the fear as it crept up her spine.

~~~~~~~~~~

Angel closed his eyes, mentally preparing himself for Dru’s wrath as he waited for Richie’s presence. The young Immortal stepped up behind him and sighed.

"Ready Angel?"

The vampire nodded absently, desperately trying to maintain some sort of control of his demon. Fear, confusion, hate, guilt and despair all seemed to egg on that preternatural being inside of him on—goading him into losing control—forsaking his soul.

He shuddered.

Halfway down the steps he felt his childe’s presence and knew she was waiting for him at the bottom. He glanced back at Richie and nodded. Angel then ran down the rest of the stairs, alone, knowing that Richie was waiting for some sort of sign to finish his descent.

He hadn’t even reached the bottom when Drusilla stepped out into his view. She was swaying on her feet, clasping her hands together, and humming softly.

"Angel," she sang as she stopped moving. "But not my Angel." She pouted as her eyes filled with blood tears. "My Angel is gone."

Angel nodded slowly.

Her face suddenly lit up as if she had just found a hidden Christmas present under the tree. "But not forever! My Angel will be back..."

"No Dru," Angel told her quietly as he stepped up to her. "He’s gone for good."

She reached up and caressed his cheek, smiling madly. "Miss Edith told me just to be patient and that my Angel will come back. And I believe her." Her human face melted into the demon’s. Her fingernails, now claws, cut into his face.

Angel hissed.

Dru giggled, lifting a bloodied finger to her mouth. "Miss Edith doesn’t lie, bad Angel." She stopped, her brows furred in concentration. "Miss Edith also tells me that someone else is holding your heart. The witch who cursed my Angel and brought you back from Hell!" She lifted her hand up to slap him, but Angel caught it before she touched him.

She hissed. "Get him!"

Suddenly, nearly a dozen vampires poured into the room.

Richie ran downstairs.

Before Dru could pull away, Angel tightened his hold on her and whipping out a stake from his back pocket. "Dru, we need to talk." Angel said, whipping her around and pulling her back into his chest. With one arm her neck, Angel began to drag the vampiress up the stairs, ignoring her struggles. As he passed Richie, he shrugged an apology and disappeared upstairs.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Damn vampires," muttered Richie as he thought of Angel deserted him. He held his sword out in front of him. "Come on you fools, come on get it!"

One male vampire, sporting his demon face hissed knowingly at Richie. "Ryan!" he spat.

Richie glared at the middle aged looking vampire and noticed his attire. Non-descript.

The vampire laughed, holding up his arm, showing his wrist.

A watcher. Or a former watcher.

Great, he thought, as his eyes searched the area for any sharp objects. This asshole could take his head.

Suddenly Morden’s Quickening felt stronger. He turned towards the disturbance and saw one of the doors on the side of the garden open and Morden step out. Richie nodded his head in the Immortal’s direction while keeping one eye on the vampires as they circled him.

"So, are we fighting or what?" Richie asked as he swung out and decapitated a vampire that had gotten too close to him. Too bad it wasn’t the ex-watcher. Somehow the thought of a watcher turned vampire unsettled him.

He watched as Morden stepped closer and desperately tried to hide his distaste for the man. For some odd reason, Richie felt that if revealed anything about himself to the Immortal, it would somehow be used against him. He hated that son-of-a-bitch. For what he did to Duncan, Amanda, Connor and especially to Mike. If he could take this asshole’s head, he would be able to breathe a lot better at night.

Morden smirked and nodded to the door. "Let’s take this outside. We wouldn’t want to bring down the house, would we? Not so close to dawn."

Richie felt something twist in his gut. The threat was there—fight me now, on my terms, or your friends will die. Just then, the ex-watcher ducked under his defenses and was reaching for his sword. Richie kneed him in the groin and kicked the vampire in the gut, pushing the vampire out far enough that he could kill him.

"Get these creeps off me, and I’ll do it!" Richie glanced longingly at the door where Mike was being kept. Suddenly he saw someone drop from air in front of the door. LaCroix. Not questioning why the ancient vampire was here, and not in St. Louis, Richie inched towards Morden, his sword swinging around him—creating a temporary barrier between the vampires and him.

Morden frowned and stepped back as Ryan began to slowly advance on him. The Immortal glanced behind himself to see he was walking backwards to the door.

Richie shrugged. "You said to take outside..."

And just for a second, Richie felt an unknown presence in his mind, and once it left, he just knew that LaCroix was safely hidden in Mike’s cell.

Morden laughed as he clapped. "You do enjoy keeping your enemies off balance, don’t you Ryan. Learn that from Methos? Or just on the streets?"

Richie felt the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. Asshole, he thought. "Come on, Morden. Let’s get this over with. I’d like to be home in time to catch DS9. It’s on Saturday afternoons, 1pm, Channel 13—in Seacouver. What’s that—eight hours? Think you can shut up in enough time for me to take your head, catch a plane back home, take a nap, eat and watch the Federation wipe out the Dominion once and for all?"

Morden flinched and Richie chuckled. "What?" Richie asked as he beheaded another vampire. "Does that bother you? Good overcoming evil?"

Morden growled as he finally took a swing at Richie.

Richie blocked it and pushed Morden out through the door.

The fight began in earnest.

~~~~~~~~~~

The metal door flung open, hitting the wall and was stopped by Spike’s hand before slamming back into them. Buffy ran out from behind him and instantly jumped into the middle of a group of vampires and began fighting. He followed and within minutes, the two, who once fought against each other in what some believed was almost an erotic dance of adversaries, were now dancing together. Without speaking, they seemed to synchronize their movements—knowing each other's acts intimately as only those who fought against one another would.

It was that scene that Mike and LaCroix stepped into. Her heart sunk as she watched her lover and the young woman she knew to be Buffy Summers, the Slayer, fight together as if they were the ones in love. Shaking her head in attempt to push that thought straight out of her head, she pulled out her sword and began the work of dusting vampires.

This time she was determined not to allow herself to fall victim to their brute strength and started off fighting, using every dirty trick that Richie and Adam taught her. Right before she beheaded her first vampire, she saw, out of the corner of her eye, Vachon and Giles run down the stairs. Behind them, she heard Xander quip something and Willow and Cordelia laugh nervously.

Then the vampire struck her, nearly knocking the sword out of her grasp, so she turned her attention back to her opponent and slammed him in his nose with her elbow.

~~~~~~~~~~

"After a summer of slaying, you’d think I’d be able to do this in my sleep," muttered Willow as she held her cross tightly in one hand, keeping both her and Cordelia ‘covered.’

"No doubt," the cheerleader agreed as she lifted the super-soaker filled with holy water. "How does Buffy do it? She hardly even breaks a nail?" She pulled the trigger, dousing the vampire in front of them.

Willow then quickly pulled out her stake and managed to hit the vampires heart on her first try.

The vampire disintegrated.

Willow glanced about and noticed the remaining vampires were otherwise occupied and released a sigh she hadn’t realized she’d holding. Another battle survived, she thought to herself as she watched Buffy stake a vampire that Spike had tossed her way. She shook her head at the sight and wondered what other strange things were going to happen with Spike now souled.

Buffy looked good for the most part. Not counting the dirty clothes and body, she at least looked well fed and rested. Good, the summer wasn’t that hard on her, the redhead thought as she turned to see Xander dust a vampire.

He then walked over towards Cordelia and herself and wrapped an arm around his girlfriend. She shifted restlessly on her feet, feeling somehow alone or empty. It was then it hit her: Angel. For the last week, he had been by her side and now, he was nowhere to be found.

"Where’s Angel?" she whispered as she turned around, studying the room, silently praying one of the numerous dust piles weren’t the last of her friend.

The vampire Mike had been fighting, exploded in dust and behind it appeared Spike. Mike flung herself into the vampire’s open arms and lifted her up, kissing her passionately on the lips. Willow grinned at the sight. He really loves her, she thought to herself. Buffy then ran out from behind the vampire and towards Willow. She then threw herself into the hacker’s arm, crying. Giles turned from talking to LaCroix and headed towards the group.

Willow pulled back from Buffy enough to catch Giles. "Have you seen Angel?"

The watcher frowned, shaking his head.

"Where’s Richie?"

"And Dru?" Spike asked, as he led Mike over to the group. "Has anyone seen her since this started?"

LaCroix walked over and stood behind Mike. "He distracted that other Immortal—Morden? For me. Gave me enough time to get into Michelle's room. I believe he challenged him. As—"

Willow watched Mike bite her lip, her eyes instantly filling with tears. She turned and ran out the door. Spike followed.

~~~Chapter Eleven~~~  

Mike’s heart dropped to her stomach as her hands began to shake. Her legs pumped quicklyas she stumbled through the trees and shrubbery behind the mansion following the sounds of clanging swords--letting the horrible noise lead the way. She made small prayers, hoping beyond hope that she would get there in time to stop the fight. Anything to save his life.

Pleasedontlethimdie....please...please....

Because if he did, she could never live with herself.

So she ran as fast as she could, silently thanking Mac for insisting on her running five miles daily....

Then she caught her foot on a root.

Falling hard on her stomach, Mike tried gasping for air, but quickly realized she had knocked the wind out of her. She then curled up in a ball, rocking, as she tried to get her breath back.

Suddenly there was silence.

No swords meeting in macabre dance to the death.

That could mean only one thing.

Holding her breath, she braced herself for the worse, glaring at the sky, searching for the tell-tale signs of a Quickening.

A minute passed.

Nothing happened.

Finally able to breathe, she staggered to her feet and was about to start running again, when she felt Spike’s cool hand as he grasped her elbow.

"All right, luv?"

She nodded.

"Good," he said as he swept her up into his arms. "Let’s do this my way—a lot quicker, don’t you think?"

Before she could agree, they were already making their way upward.

Not even a minute later, Mike felt Richie's signature and tugged on Spike’s sleeve. "I feel him. He’s down there."

"With Angel," he said. "And no Dru."

She sighed, dropping her head onto his shoulder as she felt the tears fill her eyes. Her friends were okay. Morden was gone as well.

She told him as much.

They touched down onto the ground in time to see Richie gasping for breath. He was lying next to Angel, who, in turn, was cradling his left arm. It appeared broken. The dark-haired vampire sighed as he leaned against a tree for support.

"She got away," Angel snarled, his demon face on. "And took that Immortal with her."

"Man, this sucks. Twice in as many days," Richie groaned as he ran his bloodied fingers through his hair. "Why do I feel like I’m getting too old for this shit?"

Mike laughed as she slipped out of Spike’s arms and ran to Richie. She held out her hand and once he grabbed it, she helped him up and proceeded to give him a huge hug. Once finished, she hung her arm around his shoulders, grinning. "That’s because no matter what anyone says, I contend the human body was made specifically for one death only. And this multiple death shit is just too much for the psyche to handle.

"I think it’s just the body’s way of reminding us that dying shouldn’t be an option."

"Remind me of that the next time some creep shoots me in the heart."

Mike chuckled and dropped her arm, turning to Angel. As she held out her hand, she smiled at him. "You’ve got two very worried young women back at the mansion, just praying that you aren’t one of those dust piles scattered about."

"So they’re both okay? How’s Buffy doing?"

"She’s fine, mate. A bit tired, hungry and dirty. But fine," Spike said as he lit a cigarette.

"Yeah, and Willow and Cordelia even staked a couple of vampires," Mike added.

Angel let out a sigh as he winced. "Thanks," he said. "I’m heading back."

He then dropped into a slow run towards the mansion.

~~~~~~~~~~

As Angel jogged back to the mansion, his mind scurried around seeing both Willow and Buffy at the same time.

He just couldn’t fathom it, yet it was going to happen in less than five minutes.

For the last two months, Willow had been his world. Not only did she return his soul to him, but managed to get him out of Hell as well. Once free, she was the one who held him when the pain was too intense, admonished him when his guilt became all-consuming and forgave him when he felt as if he was the last being on Earth who deserved it.

In other words, she had been his light.

Also, if he was really honest with himself, she still was. And with her impending immortality, the red-haired hacker may even be his future.

A future, that less than a week ago, seemed hopeless and empty.

He couldn’t imagine how the last two months would’ve been if she hadn’t been a part of his recovery. The thought of Buffy doing all those things, instead of Willow, just didn’t make sense. For all her good traits, the Slayer wasn’t the caregiver that he had needed. Not to mention all the pain Angelus had inflicted on the Slayer. His demon was merciless when it came to torturing Buffy. How could that not affect her feelings towards him?

As the saying goes, she’s only human.

He stopped right outside the door and leaned against the outside wall.

God, but he loved her. Even after two hundred years in Hell, his body and soul called out to her—yearning for her hot touch and yet...

Something stopped him.

What was it about her that pulled at him?

He groaned silently as he slid down the wall and leaned his head against the cool brick. Was it her humanity? Her light? Strength? Or was it because she was the Slayer and not because she was Buffy?

While he was in Hell, he gave her a lot of thought. In between torturing sessions, there wasn’t much else to do, not to mention the fact that their love nearly sucked the world into Hell. Once he got over the betrayal of her impaling him with the sword and sending him to Hell, he found himself able to look at the relationship objectively.

Ironically, it was probably for the first time since he had spied on her that fateful day she learned of her destiny.

If he hadn’t fallen in love with Buffy, he wouldn’t have lost his soul and in turn, Angelus wouldn’t have had the free reign to awaken Acathla like he did.

What kind of love destroys the world? he asked himself. The kind that’s not meant to be, he mentally responded.

But something drew him—still draws him—to her. That he couldn’t deny. After a couple hundred years, he believed he finally figured out what it was: her acceptance.

The Slayer, in demon circles, is considered the embodiment of humanity. Or better put, the humanization of God and his Angels.

If Angel could receive forgiveness and acceptance, and even love, from her, then maybe God would forgive him as well.

At the very least, it was the next best thing.

Or so he thought.

But then came Willow. After two hundred years of suffering, she was like a cool balm on his hot, aching body. Her intelligence, quick and quirky wit, her simplistic beauty—on the inside as well as outside—only added to his attraction towards her. Not to mention, she was much more like the type of woman whom he would’ve fallen for when he had been human. She complimented him. She forgave him, accepted him and scolded him when she thought it was necessary.

Although Buffy had done all three of those things herself before he lost his soul, he doubted it would be the same now.

A relationship with Buffy now, would be wrought with pain. Her mother, Giles and Xander, all would be against it—fearful that their Buffy would once again lose herself in the quagmire of loving Angel. Objectively, it would be almost like punishing them. And neither him nor Buffy deserved to be penalized any more for their love.

Sighing, Angel O’Mallory stood up and readied himself to face the two women of his life. One he had to let go and the other he planned to hold onto for a long, long time—if she would have him.

~~~~~~~~~~

"So, now what?" Richie asked once Angel disappeared into the trees. "The asshole’s gone. Drusilla’s gone and you’re safe," he said as he glanced over at Spike. "And the Slayer’s okay. Does this mean I can go home?"

Mike smiled at the almost pleading look on his face. As she leaned against Spike’s chest, she felt him wrap his arms around her waist and pull her closer. "As far as I’m concerned, yeah."

"Why the hell not, mate?"

The Immortal sighed, obviously relieved. "Good. Maybe I really can catch DS9 then," he said as he picked up his sword. "One thing, Mike, then I’m outta here. Your life is never boring. Do you think maybe you can do something about that?" He began walking towards the mansion, mumbling, "I mean boring is good. I miss boring. There’s something to be said about your average head hunter. At least..."

His voice drifted off as he disappeared through the trees, leaving the couple laughing.

"He’s got a point, luv. Sunnyhell is never boring."

She closed her eyes and sighed, enjoying the feel of his body so close to hers. "You want to stay, don’t you?" She turned her head to watch his face.

He frowned, glancing towards the woods where Dru and Morden had disappeared into less than a half hour before. "I’d feel better if I did, luv. Just in case Dru’s not finished stirring up trouble. Is that all right with you?" he asked as his eyes met hers.

Mike yawned as her mind raced. This is it, Mike. What are you going to do? As her mind weighed the options and ramifications, he pulled her even harder against him as his breath caressed her skin.

Then his cool lips began nibbling on her neck, sending chills through out her body. He moved upwards to her ear, and gently began to run his tongue inside. Her knees weakened as she whimpered. The Slayer momentarily forgotten, she nodded yes, and moaned.

After a few minutes, she took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts. "You never play fair," she whispered against his face.

He pulled back and laughed loudly. "You always forget, luv. I’m a vampire. We don’t know how to play fair!"

His mouth then swooped down on hers, effectively ending the discussion. After a few minutes, he pulled her up into his arms and lifted into the air and headed back to the mansion.

Almost dawn, luv. Time for all good vampires and their loves to go to bed.

Mike snuggled her face into the crook of his neck and sighed contently.

She was lost. But then, she had been since the first time he spoke to her.

She was staying.

At least for now.

~~~Epilogue~~~

Six months later
Sunnydale, CA

Mike’s Journal

It’s funny how life is. It’s early afternoon and after almost no sleep, I still can’t believe that I’m actually going to do it. I’m laying here, next to my Will, watching him as he sleeps. So dead—so still, and yet he is more alive than most mortals or immortals that I know. It’s so hard to believe that nine months ago, I was feeling the weight of my immortality. How fucking melodramatic. I’m 33 fucking years old—been an Immortal for a little over a year and a half, and I was angsting like Mac does on the anniversary of Tessa’s death and Richie’s first death.

Man, that man is not good to be around when he’s in that ‘I’m-400-plus-years-old-and-my life-is-empty and-full-of-death-and-why-couldn’t-have-I-died-with-Tessa’ mood. Adam and I, having suffered through two of those anniversaries, would get rip roaring drunk—hiding from the Scot who was oozing with self-blame. That picture I have, that Richie took, of Joe, Adam and I, was taken during the first Tessa mourning day I suffered through. I was actually shocked that Richie was with us, and not doing his own angsting over the deal. Tessa had been like a mother to him and he loved with all his heart. But, somehow it came up—before we all four got too drunk to communicate properly—and he just shrugged and said after spending a couple of those of anniversaries with Mac, he said he just couldn’t do it anymore. He would get so depressed afterwards, that it would take Mac and Joe nearly a week to drag him out of his misery. Joe nodded, obviously remembering the incidences. Then Richie said that Tessa wouldn’t want him or Mac to be that sad—that she would want them to be happy. So, starting the year before, he would go out of his way to do something fun or something that he really, really wanted to do—as way to celebrate and remember her life, as well as doing some cheering for his own life. He said that he called the day, his ‘other birthday.’

Richie’s pretty amazing.

Back to me. I’m avoiding writing this. It’s almost as if I write or speak it—I make it real. Yet, I can’t not make it real. Avoiding, denying and hiding from it is no longer an option—not if I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror anytime soon.

Buffy almost died last night.

And suddenly, once everyone was okay and safe, and Spike and I had finished tearing each others clothes off, and he had fallen sleep—the guilt hit me.

I couldn’t do this anymore.

That girl—eighteen years old—with the weight of the world, literally, on her shoulders—deserves to have some happiness. I know, through Willow (she’s the only one who even has an inkling of what I’ve been hiding for the past six months), that Buffy has fallen in love with Spike. Apparently, she’s quite gun shy about love—especially with a vampire—and also she respects me, so she’s kept her feelings to herself (and Willow). Willow told me, because by then, I had already asked her to keep an ear out for such a thing.

That first night we spent in Sunnydale, when Spike basically made the decision to stay for me, I had decided that I wasn’t going to do anything unless I knew she had feelings for him as well. What good would come out of me leaving, if she didn’t want anything to do with him? Well, for three months, my conscience was safe.

Then, around Christmas, Willow told me that Buffy confessed to her that she had fallen in love with him.

So, instead of doing the right thing, I pushed it back, all the while thinking that I deserved to have him. That Methos left me—and I didn’t want to let Spike go as well.

My self-justifications lasted three months. Until last night. Or this morning, as it really was. And now, I have to tell him.

And then I have to leave my house that we bought together, my life, my new friends, my love and once again, go back to St. Louis with my fucking tail between my legs.

God, I hate life.

It’s not fair. I don’t want to leave him.

I wish I could just ignore this. But I can’t anymore.

I don’t know what will happen with our link. Is it permanent? Will it interfere with their life together? Will it interfere with mine? What about my blood? Hell, other than an occasional drink from those special LaCroix preserves, the only sustenance he gets now is from me. Will he have to start killing again? Will his blood lust be so strong that he’ll no longer be able to have a sexual relationship with a mortal? And if that happens, what the hell good is it for me to leave? Maybe I can work something out with LaCroix. Once or twice a week I allow myself to be drained enough so that LaCroix can have my blood to make Spike’s stash.

Fuck.

And what about me? What am I going to do?

Mike closed her journal and turned off her reading light and tossed them onto the floor. Once purged of all that emotional baggage, exhaustion finally set in. She scooted over and wrapped one arm around Spike’s bare waist, resting her head on his chest, and closed her swollen eyes—drifting off to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Consciousness came slowly to Spike that evening. The previous night’s events had left him both emotionally and physically drained. For some odd reason, seeing the Slayer that close to death, nearly drained of her all her blood, chilled his already cold body to the bone.

He didn’t want her to die.

And when that realization hit him, he didn’t want to examine why he cared so much. Too bloody complicated for his liking.

So, once he and Mike left the hospital, just a half an hour before dawn, he resolutely shoved that thought down and concentrated on Mike. She had just finished closing the front door, when he pounced on her, pinning her soft and full body against the door, raining kissed down her throat. It was almost like he was possessed or frantic to show this woman, who had given her soul to him, that he loved and desired her above all else.

As she squirmed against him, moaning passionately, he ripped her shirt off, and began licking her breasts as he held them reverently. Grounding his pelvis into hers, smelling her arousal and mentally hearing her whisper his name over and over again, nearly sent him over the edge.

Mike tugged on his jeans, popping the top button and almost ripping the zipper as she yanked it down. All it took was her sensual touch as she held him in her hands and without thinking, he dropped to his knees, and fell backwards taking her with him.

Not even a minute afterwards, he was inside her hot, tight body, needing to get as close to her as possible. He rolled over so now he was on top—feeling her impending orgasm in his mind as well as in her body, he dropped his head down to her breasts and sunk his fangs into her flushed skin, tightening the circle of them even more.

Spike smiled gently at the memory as he looked down at Mike’s sleeping face. Once sated and somewhat calmer, he picked her up and carried her to their bedroom and proceeding to make slow, passionate love to her.

It was nearly ten in the morning before he finally succumbed to his body’s need for sleep.

Now, as he studied Mike’s face, he realized that she hadn’t followed him into that slumber land.

Her tear-stained face was a testament to her own sleeplessness. Whatever it was that had been bothering her, she had kept it hidden from him in the link. He could feel her pain, guilt and hopelessness, but he had no clue as to why she was feeling those things.

He knew she was hiding something from him. He could feel the skittishness in her mind whenever he came close to it. However she did it, she managed to bury it deep inside of her and locked it up so he couldn’t see it.

And the irony of it all, was that a part of him didn’t want to know because he had a feeling, it was going to hurt both of them.

He gently kissed her on the forehead and slipped out of their bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was nearly dark when Mike finally woke up. She glanced at the clock, shocked to see 5:45 PM stare back at her. Groaning softly, she sat up and stretched, still feeling sore and out of sorts. Her stomach was fluttering nervously and a part of her wanted nothing more than to crawl back under the covers and hide from life and from what she had to do.

But she couldn’t. She knew that she couldn’t keep this from him very much longer—it was tearing her up inside. Silently cursing, she crawled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Once she finished taking care of her needs, she walked back into the bedroom and stopped at the threshold.

Spike was lying there, waiting for her.

"Mornin’ luv," he drawled as he took a drag off his cigarette.

She smiled gently back at him. "Hi."

He put the cigarette out and turned onto his side. She could feel his eyes watching her every move as she began to get dressed.

"So, are you going to tell me what’s going on here or am I going to have to watch you practicing your angsting skills for the next hundred years? Anymore of this shit, and you’ll be giving Angelus a bloody run for his money."

She zipped up her jeans and slipped a Minnie Mouse tee-shirt on. She grabbed a pair of socks and sat down next to him. She frowned. "You figured it out, eh?"

"Not totally. I don’t know why you’re feeling so guilty, and sad and hopeless, but I can feel those feelings almost as much as I feel my own."

She bit her lip and looked down, studying the mandala-like patterns on the bedspread. She sighed, feeling those same tears that flowed so freely from her eyes the night before, glide slowly down her face. "You’re in love with Buffy and I have to go."

She felt his shock through the link. She peeked over at him and saw him beginning to speak. Suddenly she realized, she had to tell him all of it. She placed her finger on his lip. "Shhh, hear me out then you can mount your defense and give it your best shot at talking me out of this, okay?" He nodded slowly, not bothering to hide the pain he was feeling from his features.

She took a deep breath and faced him. Picking up his hand, she held it in both of hers, gently caressing his palm. "You’ve been in love with her longer than you’ve known me. That first night we were in Sunnydale, when we made love at the pavilion. Remember?"

He smiled at the memory and nodded. "When we ‘joined’ for lack of a better word, I stumbled upon some feelings of yours that you had buried underneath your denial, anger and hatred, all feelings that revolved around your time in Sunnydale. I might not have ever stumbled upon it if we hadn’t come back to Sunnydale. You unconsciously put her out of your mind. She was untouchable. She was and still is, the Slayer. She could never fall in love with a soulless demon such as yourself—especially the vampire known as the Slayer’s Slayer. Probably at first, you consciously realized that you were beginning to admire her strength and determination, and began to see her not as the Slayer—but as a beautiful young woman. But once those thoughts formed, you realized it was futile and you resolutely buried those feelings underneath your hatred of Angelus, your despised dependence on others because of your paralysis, and lastly, your anger at Dru for openly betraying you two’s commitment. Using those feelings as motivators, you focused solely on getting your butt out of that wheelchair and rebuilding your strength so that you could get Dru back—no matter the consequences."

Confusion, anger, denial all flooded the link between them. She sighed as she pulled her hair back, exposing her neck. "Will, drink from me and see what I saw in your soul that night."

Hesitating for only a moment, he finally nodded as he pulled her onto his lap, her back against his chest. Gently grasping her hair, he flung it over her other shoulder and kissed her neck. "Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like what I see?"

Mike’s chest tightened as she sobbed softly. "Because, you know that I wouldn’t do this unless I felt like I didn’t have a choice." She closed her eyes against the pain in her soul as she waited for the inevitable sting of his fangs sinking into her neck.

After six months of his feeding from her, she had stopped flinching long ago. But this time felt different. Almost like the first time. Drink Spike. Drink.

Bloody hell, Mike he cursed in her mind as she felt the prick of his teeth. Mentally pushing her emotions aside, she concentrated on that evening six months before and all that she had gleaned from that sharing. Everything that she had already told him was being replayed in her mind. And the pain—all that pain she had buried so long ago, finally came to surface.

She sobbed loudly, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but in his arms. She felt ashamed and embarrassed that it hurt so much. For the first time since they realized there was link between them, she actually felt exposed and raw.

God, why me? she silently asked as his fangs retracted.

She fell forward, punching the bed with her fists crying uncontrollably.

Then she felt him gathering her into his arms, holding her tightly, rocking her, sending her his love and warmth through their link, all the while kissing her tear-stained face.

Mike had no idea how long they stayed like that, but eventually she felt cried out. Once the tears stopped, he wiped the wetness off her face and kissed her softly on the top of her head.

Now that her emotions had dulled, she could feel his swirling about in his heart in a manic madness. Each one clamoring for attention: guilt, hate, love, respect, anger, fear, hope and a hot fury that nearly burned her as felt it slice through him.

He was furious at himself. At her. At Buffy. And fate.

Join the club, Mike thought. So am I.

He growled as he pushed her not too gently away from him and scrambled off the bed. He nearly ran to the door, but stopped and turned back to her.

"I’ve gotta get out of here, luv."

She felt his bloodlust as she watched his eyes turn yellow and his fangs drop. She bit her lip and nodded. "Okay. I understand." He hates me.

He shook his head, obviously hearing her. "Never Mike. I could never hate you."

He disappeared out the door and a couple of minutes later, she heard the front door close.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once Spike left his house, he took off into the air, and just flew. He had no real destination in mind. He just had to get away. Away from her and her pain. Maybe somehow get away from himself, and even if for a little while, act as if nothing had changed.

Gods, she was right. I do love the Slayer.

He started chuckling, shaking his head at the pure idiocy of his life, when he realized he was right above the park. Once he spotted the pavilion, he found himself circling the structure, almost as if he was buzzard waiting for its prey to die, until he mentally kicked himself for his stupidity.

"It’s just a bloody building. It’s not as if it’s a—a slayer." He cackled as he sank down to the ground in front of it. Once he was on his feet, he pulled out a bottle of LaCroix’s special reserves and sunk his teeth into the cork, yanking it out. After spitting the offending object out of his mouth, he took a deep drink as he walked up the stairs to the platform.

"Well, this is where it all fuckin’ began. I knew it was mistake—this bloody link." But even as he said it, he knew that it was lie. That was the demon-Spike speaking. Not him. "Shit!" he yelled into the night as he plopped down on the floor. He leaned against the side, his legs stretched out in front of him and took another drink. "This fallin’ in love shit is a bloody pain in the ass." It had been only a year ago when he was still with Dru—if only in appearances—and now, he had two other women in his heart.

"How the fuck could that’ve happened?" He asked himself outloud. He then shook his head, suddenly wishing that Vachon was there with him. They had gotten drunk together before the Spaniard left to go back to St. Louis. Spike liked him. The bloke was easy going and smart as a whip. As far as Spike was concerned, that was a good combination—especially for their kind. Now, as a demon-vamp, the boy would’ve been dust within a hundred years. "He’s just lucky," he muttered, taking another sip.

It was then he heard it—a familiar heartbeat. Concentrating on it, he realized it was Willow. "What the hell is she doing out here?" he asked himself as he stood up, leaving the bottle behind as walked over to the entranceway. He saw her walking down the path that went in front of the pavilion. With his preternatural sight, he noticed her eyes were constantly searching for any sign of ‘unpleasantness.’ He was just about to tell her she was okay for now, when he felt the presence of two demon vamps quickly closing in on her.

Cursing, he flew over to her and dropped down in front of her.

"Oh! Spike!"

"Hello, pet." He grinned at her nervousness as he took her arm. "Let’s talk a bit over there," he paused, nodding in the direction of the pavilion, "until those two blokes on your tail decide to go find their dinner somewhere else."

Her eyes widened as her mouth dropped open. She glanced back and stiffened at the sight of two big, male vampires walking towards them. "Talks good," she said, nodding nervously. "I like to talk. Let’s go."

"Why don’t you go on up there and I’ll take care of these two, okay?"

"All right. I’ll just be right over here." She turned and jogged over to the structure and up the stairs.

Satisfied she was safe, he checked his coat for stakes and realized that he had forgotten them in his rush to get out of the house earlier. "I guess I’ll just scare them away. Let the Slayer kill ‘em. Not my bloody job," he mumbled. "Hey you two! Why don’t you go find someone else to eat. This one’s taken."

"Who the hell are you?"

Spike chuckled to himself as he studied the vampire that had spoken. He was a big guy, probably one of those college football players that Dru liked to turn. She had turned so many of them, he hadn’t even met all of them. He was young as well—maybe only six months of the undead life. What a fool, thought Spike. "Bloody hell, leave for three months and everyone forgets you. Just no respect nowadays."

The other vampire, younger in age, but older in appearance, held his hands out in surrender. "Hey Spike, we didn’t mean anything. If you want one of Slayer’s friends, you can have her." He grabbed the other vampire and tugged on his arm. "Come on Charlie, we’ll go find someone else."

Spike was about turn back to Willow when he saw a dark marking on the second vampire’s wrist. That looks like a Watcher tattoo, he thought to himself, flashing back to the one on Mike’s wrist.

Quicker than either of the vampires were prepared for, Spike flew over and grabbed his arm. "What is this?" he growled, feeling his fangs extend and knowing his eyes were flashing the golden glow of the Beast.

"Uh, uh, I wasn’t always a vampire, ya know? A guys gotta make a living," the demon-vamp stuttered, as his eyes widened in fear.

"Well boys, you picked the wrong park to feed in. I can’t let you go." His other hand flew over to the watcher’s head and snapped his neck. Just as he was releasing its body, he felt a kick to his chest, causing him to stumble backwards. Instead of falling, he shot up in the air to regain his balance and kicked the stunned vampire in the face hard enough to snap it’s neck as well. His eyes quickly searched for anything that could serve as a stake, and found a sharp wooden branch laying haphazardly across the greenery. He ran over and picked it up. As he was turning around, he heard a soft rustling and guessed that the Watcher-vamp was reviving. Not in the mood to play, he flew back over to him and staked the startled vampire as it had just opened its eyes. Spike then did the same to the first vampire.

"Well, that should make Richie happy," he whispered remember Richie’s outrage over a watcher vampire. Suddenly, it all came back to him. "Shit—violence just doesn’t do it anymore."

He brushed the dust off his clothes and headed back to the pavilion to walk a very stupid, red-head slayerette home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was nearly four a.m. when Spike finally returned home. As he approached the door, he could feel her presence in the living room. With the key out, and his hand on the doorknob, he stopped and rested his head on the door.

She’s leaving me...

He never thought she would leave him. She was a stayer—just like he was. Yet, her leaving made so much sense—for her. If there was thing that he admired and hated at times about Mike, was her sense of fairness. It was infuriating and admirable. It caused her more grief—and by proxy, him—than he ever wanted to suffer, yet that, plus a myriad of other characteristics that made him fall in love with her.

If she stayed, despite what she knew about his feelings as well as Buffy’s ( don’t even want to go there, yet, he thought, at least not for a bit ), then it wouldn’t be fair to the Slayer. For she was right—they were immortal. They had forever and the Slayer had maybe, if she was real lucky, a decade.

And him? How did he feel? Like he wanted his cake and to eat to. Hell, what male wouldn’t? But with two strong women, that wasn’t a possibility. He would end up with a stake in his heart, Mike without a head and Buffy dead; he could just see it—all it would take was one fuck up by him and all three of them would be pushing up the daisies—in a matter of speaking.

Shit!

Did he really want to see if there was a possibility between him and the Slayer?

A small, but strangely strong voice inside of him yelled, YES!

She was funny, exciting. She fought like him. She could match his punches as well as his scathing comments—each time, without fail. In that damnable wheelchair, he finally saw in her what the souled Angel had seen. He never wanted to admit it, and for awhile he pushed it far enough back, that he forgot it; but once Mike showed him through her blood, what she had seen in him, the memories came crashing down on him. All those times when he silently urged her on in her battle against his sire. In a way, he lived vicariously through her. He couldn’t fight Angelus, but everytime she did, he imagined that it was him that threw that punch or kicked him in the balls.

And because she never broke—unlike Dru, and a half dozen other women that Angelus had fixated on in the nearly two hundred years Spike had known him—it gave him the strength to pull his sorry ass out of that wheelchair and to walk and to be able to fight again.

If only to kill the asshole.

He sighed as he lifted his head up and unlocked the door. As he stepped inside, he saw Mike on the couch, with only a candle to light the room.

His undead heart nearly broke at the sight.

It wasn’t until he saw her right then, did he realize that she didn’t want this anymore than him. And, for whatever warped reason, that made it a lot easier to deal with.

"’Allo luv."

He walked over to the couch and sat down, lifting her long legs and setting them on his lap. As he ran his cool fingers along her bare feet, she tried jerking them out of his grasp, giggling.

"Damn you, Spike," she groaned in a strange mixture of laughter and tears. Mike was the only woman he knew that could laugh and cry at the same time and not look like a blubbering idiot. "Why did I have to love you so much? Why can’t you be an asshole?"

He chuckled quietly. "I don’t know, luv. I’m sure they’re quite a lot of women out there that would disagree with you."

She turned her head and smiled at him. "Not me. Not ever me."

He pulled on her legs, causing her to squeal loudly as he dragged her body over to him. Once seated on his lap facing him, he cupped her face. "I can’t say that I like this. And the only reason that I’m letting you out of my fucking sight is that I know this—us—isn’t over. It’ll never be over. I’ll go to you or you’ll come to me."

"You can bet on it." Fresh tears ran down her reddened cheeks as smiled. "And I’ll only be a phone call away. St. Louis isn’t that far."

"You’re going back there?"

She nodded. "I called LaCroix. I’ve made some arrangements with him about my blood. And he said that he’ll make a special stock for you that’ll come from me. Keep you from having to hunt and also enable you to have a mortal lover," her voice broke as she felt him flinch. "You know this needs to be done. From what I’ve gathered from them, mortal lovers aren’t possible in the long run. My blood keeps your bloodlust down. You don’t want to wake up from post-passionate—"

"Mike, I get the picture."

She began playing with the buttons on his shirt. "Sorry." She bit her lip and took a deep breath, obviously fighting the tears. "I also asked him if he could help me practice my sword skills. I need to—especially if I’m on the ‘bait’ list for Methos. I don’t plan on dying anytime soon. And I think I’m gonna go back to school. Get a degree."

He tipped his head in question. "In what?"

She giggled again. "Psychology. I want to be a psychologist. With my ability to read Quickenings, plus the fact the only head shrinker in the Immortal community fell victim to Mac’s Dark Quickening, there’s a need. Immortals need shrinks too." She glanced up and met his eyes. "So, what do you think?"

He thought about it and had to admit that she would make a good head shrinker. She helped heal him. And from what he gathered, helped the Old Man as well. He nodded his approval and felt her relief flood back to him.

"Mike, you don’t need my approval."

"I know, but I wanted it," she said, shrugging. "That’s all part of why I need to do this. I’ve learned a lot in the past year, but the one thing that sticks out, is that since I became an Immortal, I’ve taken almost a passive role in my life. I revive on my bloodied bed one night with my best friend, Adam, whom I never met in person, watching me. In the next two hours I find out that one: I’m Immortal. Two, I’m no longer sick. Three, I’m adopted. Four, that Adam, whom I’d known through the computer, chat rooms, email and on the phone—who had become best friend and confident in that miserable existence I had, was none other than the myth Methos—the oldest living Immortal.

"So, feeling freaked, already half-way in love with Adam, unsure, I allowed him to make a lot of decisions for me. It made sense. Hell, I’d never been Immortal—he had 5000 years of practice.

"Then, we both fell in love. And by then, I’d follow him anywhere. He was my life. He was my best friend, my teacher and mentor, my lover and my world. So, when I found out he was cheating, it shouldn’t have been as big of a deal as I made it. But I had made him my world. And to find out that I didn’t get that same spot in his life—threw me. Nearly broke me.

"Then we meet. And you’re two hundred years older than me and in the same spot. Your world was Dru. And when she left you, you found that you needed to—God help me, I’m going to use a 70s term—find yourself. Well, you did. Alone, neither of us had anything, but together, we had a life.

"Now, I’m leaving, and I have nothing again. See a pattern?"

He nodded. "I know, I’ve been thinking about that too. But what does a once-demon-vamp-turned-Souled-One do?" He pulled her closer, resting her head against his shoulder.

She shrugged. "Beats me, hon. You get to do some soul searching on that one. Me, I’m going to school and I’m going to build a life that will be mine—no matter who comes in and shares it with me."

She kissed him gently on the cheek and wrapped her arms his neck. "God, I’m gonna miss you."

Feeling his eyes water, he sighed. "Me too, luv. Me too."

He turned his head and their lips met in a gentle, loving act caring. He stood up and turned placing her long ways on the couch and covered her body with his. As the clothes began to fly, the thought that kept running through his head, was no matter where he or she was or whom they may be with, she would always be home to him.

The End

Want to read the sequel, Love's Serendipitous Path?

If you have any comments or like what you've read, drop me a line!

©1999 Lisa Y. Drexel