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Willow awoke with a
start, sitting up on her bed. Her head swam and she blinked into the gloom of
her room. It was obviously night. The last thing she remembered was laying down
on her bed after picking through her dinner. Exhaustion must have won over the
emotional turmoil in her mind and she had fallen asleep.
Swinging her legs over
the side of the bed, she reached for the lamp, then stiffened. She wasn't alone.
Quickly she switched on
the lamp and saw Spike straddling her desk chair, his arms wrapped around the
back. He was watching her, his face a mask of calm.
"Get out," she
finally managed to say.
"Willow, we need to
talk," he replied in an even voice.
"Get out." Her
teeth clenched, her whole body clenched as wild emotions rocked her.
"No."
"Buffy will make you
leave," she said as she reached for the phone.
Violently, Spike knocked
it from her hand before she could dial the first number. As the phone flew
across the room, pain exploded in her fingers and she stared blankly at them,
then whimpered.
"Willow, luv, I'm
sorry. Please, we need to talk." He was on his feet, hovering over her.
Willow felt nausea churn
in her stomach and fear...real fear for the first time in so long. She scrambled
off the bed and headed for the door.
He cut her off and she
backed away, shaking her head. A tear leaked from her eye and she cradled her
sore hand. "Please leave," she whispered. "I don't want to talk
to you."
She hit the wall behind
her and looked up to see Spike approaching. Glancing wildly around her room, she
spied a wooden cross sticking out of her backpack on top of her dresser next to
her. Grabbing it, she thrust it in his face.
Concentrating on trying
not to frighten Willow further, Spike hadn't seen her reach for the cross. As it
touched his forehead, he hissed at the burning pain and lashed out, backhanding
her across the face as he stumbled backwards.
With a low moan of pain,
Willow crumpled to the floor, the cross falling from her hand. Disbelief flooded
her and she curled into a ball, covering her throbbing cheek with her trembling
hand.
"Willow," Spike
said, horrified. He fell to his knees, ignoring the burn on his forehead,
staring at her in shock. He had hit her.
He could have killed her.
A blow from him could have snapped her neck.
"Willow,
please...I'm so sorry," he stammered, not knowing how to make this right.
Her shoulders began to
tremble and he knew she was crying. "Go away," she sobbed. "Leave
me alone, please."
Spike reached for her,
his hand shaking. At his touch on her shoulder, she flinched, trying to press
herself tighter against the wall.
"Please don't hurt
me."
The words tore at him.
She was begging him not to hurt her.
Because he HAD hurt her.
He had hit her. The woman he loved.
In deep shock and horror,
Spike rose to his feet, looking down at her with dull, empty eyes. "I'll
leave, Willow. But, we will talk soon. I need to explain...I need to make you
understand."
"I understand,"
she replied bitterly, her voice muffled by her arm wrapped around her head.
"You lied to me."
"I never lied to
you."
She laughed, sharply,
hysterically, one barking sound of intense bitterness. "It's over. Whatever
the fuck we've had...I don't want you anymore. I don't want to see you ever
again." Her heart broke as she said the words, but her pride forced them
from her. His hitting her had been the last straw.
Willow denied the fact
that she had attacked him first. The cross had been for her protection only...
Fear crashed through
Spike at her words. It couldn't end like this. He wouldn't let it. They were
bound...they were bound...Snippets of ancient texts, of ancient rituals filtered
through his panicking mind. "We are bound by blood and lust, Willow
Rosenburg. You CAN'T get rid of me."
"What?" she
stammered.
"You belong to
me," Spike said in an icy voice through gritted teeth. "Until the
moment you die."
Even though the rational
and emotional sides of Willow violently denied his words, and the feminist in
her wanted to attack him for trying to own her, a tiny part of her remembered
something.
Blood and lust...She had
read that somewhere. She had been thinking about it the night before. Slowly,
Willow forced her shaking body to uncurl and she rose to her feet on unsteady
legs. Pressing herself against the wall behind her, she looked up at him,
blinking tears from her eyes.
"What are you
talking about?" she demanded, proud that she managed to keep her voice
even.
Spike stared at her, his
eyes focusing on the white marks of his fingers high on her cheekbone and the
slight trickle of blood from her nose. More pain washed through him. He didn't
know how to make this right.
But, he wouldn't lose
her.
"Old traditions, old
rituals, I don't know many of the details. All I know, is that you gave yourself
to me and I'm not letting you go."
"You don't own
me," she yelled softly, wanting to make it the truth.
He stared at her with his
dark, fathomless eyes and she flinched, paling, very afraid that he did own her.
She could feel her body responding to his presence, a strange flutter growing in
the pit of her stomach.
He looked at her and she
wanted him, still, after all he had done. As her cheek throbbed and the blood
from her nose slid between her parted lips, intense bitterness welled in her.
Is this what Buffy felt
for Angel? That no matter what he did to her, no matter how many times he hit
her, she still wanted him, still loved him?
Willow raised her good
hand to her nose and brushed away the blood. Looking at her fingers, she saw the
red liquid staining her pale skin, and her mind flashed back to the night he had
fed on her.
A bond of blood and lust.
And love? Did it have any
part in their relationship?
With tear-filled eyes,
she looked up at him again, seeing him watching her, examining her, waiting for
her to make the next move. Was he playing with her? Was it all a game?
If he grabbed her and
ripped her clothes off and flung her on the bed, would she reach for him in
mindless hunger?
She was so afraid that
the answer was 'yes'.
Seeing that physically
she would be okay, a little bruised but not broken, Spike turned and walked
towards the French doors. When he reached them, he turned back to her. "I
will be back, Willow, and we will talk. You will listen to me explain about
Drusilla. We will discuss this rationally. Because, I'm not willing to let you
go."
Willow shook her head
slowly, making herself dizzy as the pain in her cheek grew. "If you come
back...I'll kill you."
Spike's eyes narrowed at
the promise in her shaking voice and he tamped down his natural anger at being
threatened. "Then we'll go to Hell together, luv." He opened the door
and stepped into the night.
Shaking from head to
foot, Willow ran to the door and closed it, locking it and pulling the curtains,
knowing as she did it that it wouldn't keep him out if he came back.
Backing up, she stumbled
against her bed and sat down hard, shock rolling through her, her mind playing
over his words, his veiled threats, his promises.
Fear vied with the shock
and she wrapped her arms around herself, rocking slightly. She was frightened,
more frightened then she had been since the night Angel had taken her. But, this
was a very different kind of fear.
Her analytical mind began
to break down the emotions slicing through her. She was afraid of him
physically. He had hit her and her face hurt. She was afraid that she was bound
to him in some way. That could be researched. She was afraid that when he
returned, and she knew he would, she'd end up surrendering to him. Her body was
not fully obeying her brain.
She was afraid that she
did love him.
Her mind went blank for a
moment and she stared across the room blindly.
Spike was a demon, the
logical side of her screamed. He was a murderer. He drank human blood to
survive. He cheated on her. He lied to her. He...killed.
And he threatened to kill
her, too.
Slowly, Willow found
herself curling up on her bed, her knees pressing against her heaving chest as
fresh tears flooded from her eyes and she gasped for breath.
What had she done? How
had she let herself become involved with a demon? She had given herself, her
body to a vicious killer. And, what about her soul? Had she damned it to Hell?
Was he right? If she tried to kill him, would he take her with him? Would God
forsake her? Had she forsaken Him in bedding a demon?
Willow had never been
very spiritual. Her religion was a comfort for her--the familiar rituals, the
soothing prayers-- but not something she thought about very much.
Bitter tears burned her
sore cheek as she prayed silently to a God she wasn't sure was listening
anymore.
*****
Spike stormed away from
Willow's, angry, frustrated, and very afraid. His mind kept picturing her on the
floor, cowering from him. He had hit her, hit her in anger. It had been vicious
and brutal, the abusive strength of a man over a woman.
The only human women he
had ever hit before had been slayers, in fights to the death. Slayers didn't
break.
He could have broken
Willow so easily. Did she realize that he could have killed her with that blow?
She was strong and powerful, but nothing compared to Buffy or a female vampire.
Willow was fragile and
delicate, both inside and out. Yet, she had continued to stand up to him, to
defy and deny him. That took courage. He had seen the fear in every inch of her,
in her eyes and her stance, in her trembling hands and pale face, but she had
threatened him.
And he had threatened her
back.
But...his threat had been
more than that.
As he cut through one of
Sunnydale's many cemeteries, Spike's brow furrowed and he racked his brain,
trying to remember. The bond between them was real. He had known that as soon as
he had drank from her and she had reached orgasm. But, why had he known that?
Old memories,
long-forgotten tales and rumors. Blood and lust between a vampire male and a
mortal female. He couldn't remember for certain, but he believed, he truly
believed that if he died, so would she.
Under his breath he
cursed the fact that he had let Dalton be killed by the idiot Judge. He could
really use the bookworm right now. Research was never one of his favorite tasks.
But, he needed to
discover the truth about this bond. Angelus would probably know, but Spike
couldn't ask him without revealing too much.
He'd just have to find
the answer on his own.
Rounding a large
mausoleum, he saw the Slayer strolling down the path towards him, tossing a
stake in her hand. When she saw him, she froze and eyed him warily.
Of course, Willow would
have told her best friend.
Spike approached
cautiously and stopped a few feet away from her, out of staking range unless she
threw the damn thing. He crossed his arms over his chest, just in case.
"Nice burn."
One of his hands
automatically went to the mark and he hissed in pain. "Tripped and fell on
a cross," he quipped.
"Uh huh." She
clearly didn't believe him. "Have you been groveling?"
"Um...I tried."
"She must be more
pissed off than I thought to use a cross on you. I told her to knee you in the
balls." Buffy gave him a grim smile of satisfaction at his pain.
Spike didn't comment,
knowing he deserved worse, and wondering if Buffy would use that stake on him
once she found out that he had hit Willow. She had once promised to kill him if
he ever hurt her against her wishes.
"So, Drusilla must
be one tired puppy, fucking both you and Angel."
His eyes narrowed
slightly at that and he frowned. "You're looking a lot better than the last
time I saw you, Slayer. Angelus stop dicking you?"
She blushed and her eyes
dropped. One foot scuffed at the dirt in embarrassment. "Fuck you,
Spike," she muttered.
He laughed, harshly.
"Very clever, Slayer. Very witty. And here I thought that your snappy
comebacks were some of the things Angelus admired about you. And, I know he was
with you. I can smell him all over you. I'd say he fucked you right good and
proper and several times today."
Buffy's angry eyes
snapped up to him and she crossed her arms over her chest, defensively.
"Stop taking your frustration out on me. You're the one who fucked up,
Spike. You should have been honest with Willow from the beginning."
He had the grace to look
a tiny bit chagrined at the truth she barked at him. "I told her often
enough that vampires will stick it in anything."
Buffy snorted at his
defensive statement. "She's seventeen years old, barely, involved with her
first lover. She believed that you were faithful to her because that's what she
was raised to believe in. You shattered that belief. I don't know if you can
make it up to her."
"She doesn't have a
choice. She will listen to me and believe me."
Shaking her head, Buffy
had to laugh harshly at what she saw as self-delusion. "She doesn't have to
do anything, Spike."
Spike decided that
mentioning the bond probably wasn't a good idea. The Slayer was already clearly
pissed at him. Gathering his scattered thoughts, he tried to decide on the
quickest path out of her way.
"Shouldn't you be
getting home to spread your legs for your lover?"
Ice filled her eyes and
her stance became rigid. There was a hint of bitterness in her voice when she
spoke. "He told me in no uncertain terms that he'd be with Drusilla
tonight."
Spike smirked at her,
tamping down the anger he always felt at the thought of Angelus and Drusilla
together. "And you just let him get away with that."
A smidgen of real fear
crossed her face and for a split second she looked her age, then the cold mask
returned. "I'm not an idiot, Spike. He doesn't love me. If I complain about
Drusilla..."
He knew perfectly well
what Angelus was capable of doing to her if she tried to get in the way of his
pleasures. "But, it hurts, doesn't it?"
"As much as Willow
hurts," she said, turning it back around on him and making him frown.
"Only, I knew from the beginning that he was fucking the loon. Willow
believed in your fidelity. She believed you loved her."
"I do," Spike
replied through clenched teeth.
"Good way to prove
it."
He growled at her and she
held up the stake, continuing, "Go away Spike, go join Angel and Drusilla.
Oh, right, they still think you're helpless..."
"Don't think of
threatening me with that, luv. You won't like the consequences. You won't like
what Angelus would do to Willow." Ice flowed in his voice. He knew that if
the truth came out, Willow would be free game for his monster of a sire.
"I promised her I
wouldn't tell," Buffy replied in a hard voice. "And I can protect
Willow. She doesn't need YOU to look out for her."
"Oh, you've done
such a good job of putting Angelus down so far, Slayer," he snapped,
sarcastically, making her flush. "How many of your little school friends
has he killed because you can't put that stake through his heart."
"How many of
Willow's friends have you killed?" she challenged right back.
Spike stared at her.
"I haven't killed..."
Buffy snorted in
disbelief. "Until last night? You expect me to believe that?"
"What are you
talking about?" He truly didn't know. How had she known he'd killed last
night?
"Go away, Spike. Go
try to figure out what to do to make Willow come back to you and good
luck." Turning nonchalantly, Buffy walked away from him, leaving him more
confused.
Settling on the theory
that she must have seen him killing the night before, Spike turned and headed
home, taking a shortcut over the cemetery wall.
When he reached the
mansion, he got his wheelchair out of the bushes and wheeled himself inside. The
main room was empty and he headed straight for his room. Closing the door behind
him, he hit the light switch, then rose to flop down on the bed.
Brooding, he stared at
the ceiling, wondering what the Hell he was going to do now.
A few minutes later, he
heard Drusilla scream in pleasure and physically flinched.
It didn't matter that he
loved Willow, he still loved Drusilla, too. He couldn't set her aside for
Willow. It didn't matter that she was in their sire's bed right now. She was his
eternal love.
That love was still deep
and real. And he knew that Drusilla still loved him, too. If her love wasn't as
deep or meaningful as his, well, he had lived with that fact for over a hundred
years. It didn't change the way he felt.
So, where did Willow fit
into the picture? He couldn't see her as a vampire. He didn't want her to become
a vampire. The essence of Willow, her true self, her spirit, would vanish, and
that was the part he loved the most. If she was turned, she wouldn't be the
same.
And, he knew that
Drusilla would never share him with another female vampire.
But, would she share him
with a mortal?
Above his head the
bedsprings began to creak and the iron bedstead banged against the wall.
Sighing, he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, waiting for the bastard to
come already.
*****
Thirty minutes later, as
Spike continued to stare blankly at the ceiling, his door was thrust open and
his sire strolled into the room. Angel wore only a pair of half-buttoned black
jeans and a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
"Spikey, my lad.
There you are. Go hunting earlier?"
"Yes."
"Nice burn. Maybe
you need an escort."
"She put up a fight.
It looks like some people are beginning to believe in the existence of
vampires," Spike replied coolly.
Angel made a scoffing
noise. "In this town? They're all bloody oblivious." He plopped down
in Spike's wheelchair. "Must be damn frustrating to be confined to this
thing." Glancing up at Spike, he gave him a sly grin. "Although I hear
that parts of you are working much better."
"What do you want,
Angelus?"
"Oh...to chat. We
don't chat very much anymore."
"Well, you are
pretty busy these days. Fucking the Slayer's brains out and all does take you
away from more important matters."
Angel's eyes narrowed and
he leaned forward in the chair. "Dru told me you fucked her last night. I
don't recall giving you permission to do that."
"I don't need your
fucking permission to bed my woman," Spike replied in a hard, strong voice.
"She was yours by
default, Spikey. I shared her with you. I'm still willing to share her. You can
keep her busy on the nights I'm...busy."
"Then you should be
happy I kept her 'busy' last night." Spike slowly clenched his hands into
the bedding on either side of his legs, trying to remember that jumping up and
strangling his sire wasn't a good idea.
"Ah, well, still
neither of you asked permission." Angel leaned back and crossed one leg
over the other. "I would have given it, but you should have asked."
"You weren't
here." You bloody prick...
"Technicality.
Anyway, you now have my permission. Of course, only when I don't want her
first."
Spike gave him a very
brief nod of acceptance, unable to speak for fear of screaming his fury at his
sire.
Angel continued, his eyes
narrowing with evil humor, "Of course, she probably won't be up to doing
much for the next few days. She'll need to...heal."
"What did you do to
her?" Spike demanded through clenched teeth.
Angel laughed and rose to
his feet. "Be glad I don't do the same to you. In your helpless
state...well, it would be really easy to punish you as I did her. If I remember
correctly, you always did like it up the ass. It always made you sooo
hard."
Spike knew his fury shown
on his face, but he managed to hold himself back until Angel left the room,
chuckling. As soon as the door closed behind him, Spike threw his clock radio
after him. It made a nice crash, but didn't relieve any of his fury.
*****
Somewhere near dawn, the
door to Spike's room opened again and he looked up from the book he had barely
been reading. Drusilla slipped into the room, her head down, her body trembling.
She wore a tattered nightgown that did little to cover her body or hide the
bruises and cuts that marred her pale skin.
She shuffled across the
floor, obviously in pain, and Spike smelled the blood leaking from her various
wounds. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he held out his arms
helplessly.
With a muffled sob,
Drusilla collapsed across his lap, moaning in pain and burying her face in his
chest.
Carefully, Spike tried to
determine the extent of her wounds. Finally, he got the gown off of her and laid
her on her back on the bed. She covered her eyes in humiliation and pain.
Sorrow flooded him as he
ran his eyes over her body. Alligator clamps were attached to her nipples and he
carefully removed them, then winced even more. They had been way too tight and
had cut deeply into her tender flesh.
Whip marks criss-crossed
her torso from shoulders to thighs. Much of her pubic hair had been sliced off
along with some of the flesh. Gently Spreading her trembling thighs, Spike found
another clamp attached to the hood of her clitoris.
As he removed it, a
shudder of pleasure ran through her and she arched against his fingers. He
quickly tossed the clamp aside and examined her wounded flesh. The entrance to
her vagina was torn and abraded.
Something much larger
than Angel's cock had been forced up there. From the wounds, it looked like
something with spikes on it. Blood leaked slowly from inside her. Rolling her
hips slightly and flinching as she whimpered in pain from the whip marks on her
ass, he saw that her anus was also torn.
Why had Angel punished
her so viciously?
Spike was stunned. He
wasn't even angry yet, although he knew that would come. This wasn't the typical
punishment Angel inflicted on Drusilla. Not even one hundred and forty years ago
had he been this brutal to her all in one night.
"Dru," he said
softly, lowering her hips and reaching for the blanket to cover her. Her wounds
would heal. He needed to see if she would recover mentally and emotionally.
She whimpered again and
rolled against him, curling into him, instinctively knowing that he wouldn't
hurt her. "Spike...I hurt."
"I know, luv."
Carefully he lay down beside her and wrapped his arms around her shaking
shoulders. "What did he do to you, Dru?"
"Daddy hurt me. He
said I was naughty." Her voice was that of a confused child. "He...he
tied me up and started whipping me and when he let me go I thought...I thought
it was over. But, it wasn't...it wasn't...he kept hurting me...hurting poor Dru.
Making me bleed. Only at the end...at the end, he gave me pleasure. I couldn't
help it; you know I couldn't. The pain makes me go all tingly. He stuck his man
thingy inside me and I was all torn up, but I couldn't help it. He laughed and
called me names, nasty names, and then...I exploded." Her voice died away
after her stammering statement.
Silently Spike cursed his
sire, sincerely wanting him dead. Drusilla was right. Usually, the beating was
enough to punish her, or the clips and bondage, but never all this together.
This was way past his usual sadism.
"What did he put
inside you, Dru?" he asked carefully, needing to know.
Drusilla sobbed for a
moment, her tears soaking through his t-shirt, then tried to describe the
instrument. "It was a stick, a metal stick, and it had spikes on it, little
dull spikes, but they still hurt. They tore and I bled and I nearly...I nearly
felt the pleasure," she whispered in humiliation. "And then...and
then...daddy put it in the other place, and I screamed and screamed."
Spike cradled her closer,
knowing he was hurting her, but needing to try to comfort her. "Why did
Angelus punish you, Dru?"
"He said it was
because of last night. Because I hadn't asked permission to be with you.
But...but, he hurt me too much."
She was right. Angelus
had hurt her too much. He had used Drusilla for some other reason, to take out
his aggression on someone who wouldn't die, who would heal, who would even enjoy
it.
Spike bet it had
something to do with the Slayer. Buffy had looked much better earlier, much more
lively and on her game. If Angelus wasn't using her as a punching bag...
Fucking bastard.
Drusilla wouldn't,
couldn't kill herself, unlike Angel's human fucktoy. She'd just accept whatever
abuse he decided to mete out and would believe she deserved it.
Spike wanted to rise from
the bed and go throw Angel into the sun. Unfortunately, he was very afraid that
he still wasn't strong enough to face his sire and win.
And he had every reason
to stay alive.
After a good day's sleep,
he would start researching the blood/lust bond. If his death could possibly mean
that Willow would die as well, he needed to prove that.
Glancing down, Spike saw
that Drusilla had fallen asleep and was whimpering softly. Closing his own eyes,
he sank down on the pillows, trying not to think of anything for fear that his
anger would get the better of him.
*****
End Bitter Suite: Furies
& Fates