Chasing Dru, part II
Title:Chasing Dru, Aug. 1969
Author:ladyaelfwynn
Episodes:Buffy, season 2, "School Hard"; Angel, season 5, "Destiny"
Pairing: Spike/Dru; Spike/OC
Warning:Violence, graphic sex
Word count:part II: 5295
Part II
The afternoon and evening felt as though it had been a complete wast of time. He hadn't found Drusilla nor any trace of her. The closest he'd gotten was an auburn, buxom lass from Toronto, whom someone had thought matched his description of Dru, but only if one was near-sighted.
Luckily, she'd been pleasant enough and sympathetic to his plight. He's ended up spending a thoroughly acceptable hour or so enjoying her charms and having a snack during a torrential down pour in the early evening.
When the rain let up, he let himself out of her tent. She should wake by the evening and hopefully think it'd been a strange dream or maybe a weird drug trip.
As he wandered about a bit more, the rain settled into a steady drizzle. It would have been fine if he was dashing from the car into a building but after an afternoon and evening of it, he was beginning to get damp and cranky. It made the ground a mess and hid his Drusilla from him.
He stood in the rain, in the last grey gloom of twilight, trying to decide what to do next. He'd thought it was going to be easy. Drive up here, follow the carnage, find Drusilla, leave. Maybe he even thought they'd been back home by now. But, as it was, it had all been for naught. Dru was gone, without a trace. No blood, no dust, no scent.
He'd never had a problem finding her in the past. Since she made him, he'd always been able to find her, even in pitch-dark, crowded rooms. He was drawn to her as a compass needle is drawn toward the North Pole. Without her, he was directionless.
As he stood, forlorn in the rain, a figure from a Waterhouse painting glided towards him, out of the mist. She had long, loose hair (don't they all) and a long flowing gown. She could have been “La Belle Dame Sans Merci”, “The Lady of Shallot”, or “Miranda”.
She held a pale hand out to him, “Still haven't found her?”
When he shook his head, “No,” she took his hand in hers, and led him away. “Come out of the rain then, before you catch your death.”
He chuckled ruefully, “Already caught it, love!”
She turned back to him and smiled playfully. “Are you saying that I'll be the death of you?”
“Not you, pet. Someone else.”
“The one you're searching for?” Spike nodded at her query. “You'll find her; don't loose hope. She'll turn up when you least expect it.”
He let her lead him through the maze of campsites. Perhaps she was right. Searching in earnest hadn't found him Drusilla. She might not even be there; she could be at the flat with Meredith. Maybe, if he let things be, she'd appear. Weirder things had happened.
His ethereal guide brought him to a stop, in front of a gate that looked like a partially raised stage curtain. In dry weather it must have looked like something from the faerie realm. It was made of huge swathes of a light, cotton fabric, draped over and around ropes stretched from the backs of a pair of buses. There were streamers and tinkling bells and flickering candle lanterns as well. In the rain, it all was a bit bedraggled but still somewhat impressive.
Through the gate, he could see a cheery camp fire that offered, if not a respite from the rain, at least some warmth and beyond it, another bus.
His companion tugged the end of a rope, hidden amongst the streamers and he heard a bell sound. She turned and gestured toward the gate, “Welcome to Duskhaven. Come inside and take your ease, fellow traveler.” A whisper of energy wafted past him, emanating from her, that made him wonder if she was a witch or part demon. His human self would've thought one of the fae.
A younger, blonde girl, wrapped in a dove grey cloak whispered up to his guide and curtsied, “You rang, Mistress?”
“Please, fetch our guest, William, some hot cider and a dry change of clothes. Bring some of Michael's things; they should fit him best.”
Spike's brow furrowed at the use of his given name. He'd not used it in decades. In fact, the only one who still used it was Dru. He grabbed his guide's arm and spun her towards him. “Where is she?” he ground out forcefully. “Have you see Drusilla?” How do know my name?”
She grabbed his hand and he felt an unsettling tingle go through him and her eyes seemed to spark an electric blue for the merest second. “We are a peaceful people here at Duskhaven. We lay hands on each other only in comfort or pleasure, never in violence. The lady whom you seek is safe and you will find her, just not tonight.” Spike tried to interrupt, but she placed two fingers on his lips and quieted him. She continued in a whisper, “Shhh, my brave knight. Your lady knows you search; she is in no danger. There is nothing you can do right now.” She caressed his brow and ran her fingers through his curls that had escaped in the rain. “You will find her, I assure you. Now, take your ease. Rest awhile with us.”
Just then, the blonde girl scurried back up with a bundle and a mug. His companion turned towards the girl, “Thank you, Raina.” She handed the mug to Spike and took him by the hand and led him inside the gate and to one of the buses. At the door, she handed him the bundle, “Here, change into these and come out to the fire when you're ready. Raina will take your wet things to dry.”
Before she could glide away again, Spike clasped her hand in his and peered at her intently, “Who are you?” he breathed, barely above a whisper.
Her laughter tinkled merrily, like wind chimes in a gentle summer breeze, “Forgive my rudeness. You may call me “Tanya”. Now, change. I'll be by the fire.” She caressed his cheek and drifted back to the fire.
Spike shook his head. This was all very strange. He wondered if one of the girls he'd snacked on earlier had been on something and if he was now tripping. As nothing bad had happened yet, he checked his forearm to make certain there were no bugs, and seeing none, decided to go with the flow. Dry things would be nice and Tanya seemed to be some sort of supernatural something, so he might be able to find out more about Dru.
The inside of the bus flickered in the warm glow of numerous votives. The windows were covered in heavy drapes, which had blocked the glow from outside.
Out of the bundle, he pulled a pair of woolen trousers, socks, a linen tunic, and a wool cloak. As he peeled out of his wet jeans, he idly wondered if this was some sort of weird cult or commune. Whatever it was, he doubted it could withstand the Big Bad, even though Tanya seemed to have some sort of power.
He hoped he could trust Tanya's words. Spike fervently hoped that Dru was safe and that he would find her. He knew that looking for her any longer in the current weather would be like searching for the proverbial needle. It was possible Dru would turn up but more probable that he'd just get wetter and crankier without actually accomplishing much of anything. When compared to spending some time in dry clothes, by a crackling fire, with beautiful women, it seemed like he'd be daft to choose anything else.
As he settled the cloak around his shoulders, he took a moment to collect his thoughts. Tanya had called him, “William.” This was the sort of thing of which his younger self had only ever dreamed. It's the sort of thing which would've inspired him to have written God-awful, hideous poetry about effulgent faerie queens, shimmering in tumescent mists. God, how he was glad to be past that.
His younger self had been a delicate fool, had his heart too easily broken. He was glad that Dru had put young William out of his misery and brought forth the vastly improved Spike.
But, tonight, he needed a touch of William. He needed the Victorian gentleman, who could recite poetry and make pleasant, if vapid, conversation, rather than the rough and tumble creature of the night he'd turned himself into over the years.
He grabbed his mug of mulled cider and took a sip, wishing it were blood. Keeping himself to snacks only was frustrating. He longed to sink his fangs into a pale, willowy neck or a creamy thigh and take deep draughts. Once he got back to the city, he'd have to take his women out for a night of fun.
He pulled up the cloak's hood and stepped out into the rain. He saw Tanya sitting in an ornately carved, high-back chair, near the fire. She looked through the dancing forms of the fire and beckoned him to the empty spot beside her. Definitely “La Belle Dame Sans Merci.” Luckily, as he was already dead, he couldn't be lured to his death, so he figured he was fine.
As he settled onto the wooden chair beside her, she leaned towards him, “I see the clothes fit you well. Are you hungry? Need anything more to drink?”
Spike thought that it was unlikely that they'd give him what he wanted, so he remember his manners and replied, “Some more cider would be nice, thank you. Thanks for the dry things, as well. I was beginning to get a bit sodden. It's nice to be dry.”
Raina came up and refilled his mug. Tanya reached over and took his hand in hers. She gently caressed his fingers. “Such long, delicate fingers. They are those of a poet or a musician.”
She turned over his hand and traced the lines on his palm. “Such a wealth of lines. They stop and start as if you died and were reborn. Or completely remade yourself or will, several times.”
Spike could only stare at her as she read his palm. She was spot on, more so than he'd ever tell her.
“Your true love is yet to come.”
“But, Drus-” Spike tried to interrupt but Tanya continued on.
“The one you love now, you love truly, with all your heart. But she is fickle and often untrue. You deserve someone as passionate about you as you are about her.”
Tanya ran her fingers over his palms, as if she were smoothing out creases from a tablecloth. She tilted his hands towards the fire light to get a better view.
“You will be tested by fires, plagues, water, and demons. Two who were lost are found.” She peered more closely at his hand and shuddered. She curled his fingers up to his palm and patted his closed hand. She gazed deep into his eyes, “The way before you is harder than you can imagine. The journey arduous and often alone. Have faith and persistence and you will survive.”
She slumped back into her chair and gestured for one of the servants. A girl brought her a mug of something steaming.
Spike was about to ask questions but Tanya shook her head “no”. He stared sullenly into the fire. The bit about Dru wasn't a surprise. Even though she had made him, he'd known from early on that “Daddy” had always come first. The only reason it hadn't been worse was because for much of the last seventy years “Daddy” had been gone. Spike hadn't seen him since the last Great War and would be quite happy if they never crossed paths again.
The rest, he wasn't certain of. It was vague enough to be able to apply to any to anyone but he knew firsthand with Dru and her visions that these things could well be truer than he could know. He tossed back the rest of the contents of his mug and looked at Tanya.
She looked smaller and more worn than she had before. He took her hand in his, “All right, love? You look peaked.”
Tanya sighed, “It's been a long few days. The journey and the weather are catching up with me.”
“You should rest.” Spike hated to see beautiful women ailing. They should be radiant and lively not wan and sighing. “Here, let's get you to bed.” He stood up and scooped Tanya up into his arms. “Raina, which way to your lady's bower?”
The mouse of a girl scurried out form the shadows, “P-p-put her down,” she stammered, brandishing a broom.
“I'm fine, Raina. Do as William asks. He means no harm.” Tanya's voice was quiet and soothing.
“Go on, girl! Your mistress is exhausted and needs her rest.” Spike nodded in the direction of one of the buses.
“But, Mistress,” Raina looked imploringly at Tanya.
“I'll be fine, dear. I've told William our rules. He'll take good care of me, won't you, William?”
“That I will.”
Raina led him over to the bus he changed in and opened the door. She glared at him but held her tongue. Tanya caressed her cheek, “I'll be fine, lass. Don't worry.”
“Not worried,” she murmured sullenly, “Was my turn.”
“Oh, darling! Don't be jealous of William!” Tanya whispered soothingly. “He's here for the night and so very lonely; his love has wandered off and he can't find her. We need to comfort those who are lost.”
“But he's a vam-” Raina continued.
“It doesn't matter.” Tanya cut her off. There was a sternness in her voice. “It's late and I'm weary. Goodnight, Raina.” Tanya kissed the girl on her forehead and smoothed her hair. “Don't be worried you'll be replaced, sweet. No one will ever replace you. Now, off with you.”
Raina clasped her mistress' hand and brought it to her lips, “Goodnight, mistress.” She glared pointedly at Spike and then disappeared into the shadows.
Spike smirked to himself. Seems the girl had a thing for the woman is his arms. It had been a while since he'd tempted one of Sappho's maids.
“I'd carry you all the way back, love, but the it's narrow and I don't want to bash you about.”
“Thank you.” Tanya murmured as she smoothed her skirts after Spike set her down. She walked to the back of the bus. When he didn't follow, she turned around and beckoned him, “Aren't you coming in? You don't need an invitation, it's a bus.”
He smiled at the comment. So, they knew, at least the mistress and her maid, that he was a vampire. “Just makin' sure I'm still welcome, is all.”
“I knew the moment I met you. I wouldn't have brought you here, if I'd thought you'd do harm. Please, come help me with my laces, I always have trouble.”
Always the gentleman, he was at her side in an instant. He pushed her long blonde tresses away from the delicate column of her neck and began to pluck at the knot.
Her scent was intoxicating. She smelled of summer flowers and exotic spices. And she was so warm. He felt as though he might combust, being as close as he was.
When he pulled the knot free, he leaned over her and whispered into her ear, seductively, “All done, love. Anything else I may do for you,” as he ran his hands down her arms.
Tanya turned around in his arms and placed her hands on his chest. She looked up at him and smiled playfully, “I'm hoping there's quite a lot you'll be able to help me with.” She fiddled with the clasp on his cloak until it came free and then pulled it from his shoulders and tossed it aside. She ran her hands appreciatively across his chest and upper arms.
At her returned touch, Spike pulled her closer to himself, to let her feel was she was doing to him. He had hoped he'd end up somewhere other than the back of the De Soto and with a warm and willing woman, but this was more than he had imagined.
Tanya didn't stop with his cloak. She ran her hands down his sides and when she reached the bottom hem, she slid her hands along his cool flesh.
Spike shivered. The girls from the other night had been young and inexperienced. With him now was a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. He knew that if she wanted to, Tanya could break him into little pieces and as long as she left him spent and promising more, he'd be fine with that. He knew it was daft but he'd always been that way. He'd always done what the lady wanted.
He was snapped out of his reverie with a sharp pinch to one of his nipples. Tanya whispered, “You were wandering off. I didn't want to loose you.”
He ran a hand through her golden locks, so unlike Dru's, “Sorry, love. I'm all yours.”
She tugged the shirt up over his head and tossed it aside. She ran her hands over his chest and down his abdomen, smiling at what she saw and scratching at the curls peeking over his waist band.
“Like what you see?” He couldn't help but smirk. It had been a long while since anyone had looked at him like dessert.
She stood on tiptoe and leaned in close and breathed into his ear, “Very much. Bodes well for other, as yet, unseen territory.”
Spike gasped as her hands found their way underneath his waist band. They were so warm against his shaft. He thrust against her and she let go. He groaned.
She pulled her hands away, “Ah, ah, ah! You're mine tonight, vampire! We go at my pace.” There was a sternness in her voice he hadn't heard since his public school days that made his cock twitch.
She took a step to the side and opened the heavy curtain that had concealed the bed, “Finish undressing,” she continued in the clipped manner that reminded him of a certain school mistress he'd had long ago. “And lie on the bed on your stomach with your knees on the rug, hands clasped behind you, at the small of your back.”
More blood rushed into his erection as he figured out exactly what she intended. Thinking about her little hands, landing in delicate little blows, all over his arse, trying to raise pink, made him smirk. Little chit thought he was going to punish the big, bad vampire, did she?
He jumped when he felt a sting on his left butt cheek. When he reached back to rub the spot there was another sting on his left shoulder blade. A quick glance showed him that Tanya was holding a long, slender, black riding crop and looking displeased.
Spike pulled off his boots and socks quickly, thinking furiously. He was curious to see what she would do. Dru absolutely loved it when he broke out the chains and horsewhip. Would he enjoy being on the receiving end? Did he even want to play the game?
If his dick got a vote, it would do whatever the lady with the crop wanted as long as it ended up sated. Did he want to submit? The last time he submitted to anyone was before Angel and Darla had left. Back then he'd regularly had to capitulate; he'd never been able to beat Angel in any sort of fight. But this wasn't then. She wasn't Angel and she wasn't screwing Dru just to make a point.
“Or was she?” whispered the little voice in the dark corner of his mind. He threw his boots down and whirled on Tanya, “Where is SHE?” he growled and tried to grab her.
Before he could touch her, she'd grabbed him by the throat, picked him up, and tossed him on the bed. In a flash of electric blue she was astride him, pinning him down.
Spike tried to squirm away but she was stronger, far stronger, than she looked. She gripped his chin and he felt her nails dig into his flesh. She wrenched his head around and her eyes bore into his, searching.
Spike kept trying to throw her off of him but the longer she held him, the weaker he got. He tried to call forth his demon but it felt as though that part of him was heavily drugged. He teeth itched where his fangs usually appeared but they wouldn't descend.
He tried to look away form her eyes but the swirly shades of summer blues, the blue of the morning sky, the purplish hue of periwinkle, and the white hot flash of lightening mesmerized him.
Tanya ran her hand soothingly up and down his flank as if he were a skittish stallion. “Shhhh. I'm not going to hurt you.” She tilted his head, so she could look into his eyes more deeply. “Show me what's upset you, my William. I can't help you unless I know.”
“Drusilla” escaped his lips as softly as petals from a flower in a light breeze.
Spike tried to turn his head away from the memory but Tanya held him firm. He saw the posh Knightsbridge residence they'd taken over, soon after he'd been Turned. It was the middle of the day and he was still learning to avoid the sun. He'd been asleep with Dru and woken up alone to sounds of skin slapping skin and breathy moans and deep grunts. The sounds of sex made him hard and he reached out for his Dru.
When he didn't find her, he pulled on a shirt and trousers and went to look for her. He found Angel buried balls deep in some likely lass and Angel kindly offered him a go when he was done. When Spike asked after Dru, Angel told him in that irritating, drawling Irish brogue of his, that Dru was busy and tied up and present. From under Angel came a girlish, slightly mad giggle, he recognized as Dru's.
“Dru?” Spike stared incredulously at his Sire. Indignation and outrage filled him, “Dru, what is the meaning of this?”
Angel interrupted, “The meaning of the this, boy,” the term was fairly spat out, “is that Drusilla is mine. I made her what she is. I own her. You'd do well to remember that.”
Dru giggled drunkenly, “Don't be angry, my William. You'll have a turn when Daddy's done.” She turned back to Angel, “Harder, my daddy, harder!” and let out a deep guttural moan.
He grit his teeth and pounded down the stairs. If he had been human, he'd have run out into the street and walked away and never come back. Damn them all, anyways! But it was midday and he'd no where else to go. He wished he had the balls to take Darla but he knew that was a short road to a pile of dust. Darla tolerated Dru because she was Angel's pet. Darla tolerated himself because he kept Dru occupied which gave her more time with her Angel.
He ended up in the basement, as far away from the sounds as he could get.
By the time upstairs had quieted, the basement was covered in a fine layer of dust and shards. Every bit of crockery, china, and crystal he'd gotten his hands on was shattered on the ground around him.
He'd put a sizable dent in the alcohol stores, as well. He'd lost track of how many bottles of port he'd gone through trying to blot out the image of Angel with Drusilla. He'd been a bit of a teetotaler before, one glass of wine usually made him giddy or sleepy. He chuckled ruefully at the evidence of how that had changed.
He couldn't believe what Dru had done to him. He thought she loved him. And with Angel, no less.
God, how he hated Angel! He wanted to kill Angel, rip him limb from limb and leave the bits outside for dawn to tidy up.
He gave a sarcastic, self-loathing sort of laugh. As if that would work. Angel had him by well over 100 years and a good 50 pounds. He knew that if he tried to take on Angel, it would end with him meeting a dusty end, either by Angel's or by Darla's hand.
God, he hated this! He banged his head on the wall behind him and took a few more gulps of wine, no longer trying to stop the tears streaming down his face.
Being a vampire was supposed to make things better. He was the monster, now. He was supposed to take what he wanted, kill whom he pleased, and whistle a jaunty tune, all the while. Instead, he was hiding away from another woman, who'd told him he wouldn't do, feeling as bereft and lost and hopeless as before he'd been turned. Nothing had changed.
At some point, he noticed that dusk had fallen. Now, whilst the sun was gone, he'd take his leave. Go far away, never to see this set of thrice damned individuals again.
He tried to pick his way carefully through his mess of shattered glass but his inebriation made that all but impossible. By the time he made it to the stairs, his feet were a slashed and bloody mess.
If he'd shown up at home like this, his mother and the servants would have cosseted him. He'd've been bundled off to bed, the physician called, and a hearty soup brought up to him.
Only, he'd bollixed that up as well. He'd tried to save his dear mother from the consumption that was slowly draining her life away but that turned out as well as any other endeavor he tried. She'd come back wrong, not his mother at all. And those things she said, they couldn't be true, could they?
He gripped the stair railing hard and heard it creak. He steadied himself for a moment and pulled himself up the rest of the stairs. He paused at the door for a moment. He'd not heard anything in a while but wanted to be certain. He wanted to avoid Angel at all costs. He just wanted to slink away into the night like the dark creature he was and be gone from his torment.
That wasn't to be. As he neared the door of the room he shared with Drusilla, he heard soft, gasping moans and the bead creaking.
Whatever resolve he'd built up snapped in an instant. His demon roared in challenge and he slammed into the room with his yellow eyes blazing.
“Bloody hell! Can you leave the woman in peace, ever?” He yelled to a non-existent Angel.
Drusilla, her fingers glistening with her own arousal, waved to him from where she was sprawled on the bed. “Ooooo! My sweet William! You've come back all handsome. I've been waiting for you since Daddy left. I got lonely.” She held her hand out to him and stuck her lip out in a pout.
A day ago that would have been enough to send him to her side in an instant. Now, though, it only fueled his rage. He grabbed the hand she held out and pulled her to him harshly.
Dru giggled hysterically and whispered seductively, “I've been naughty, haven't I?” The purr of her voice went straight to his cock.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard, “No, Drusilla! No! You'll not use me like this. I'll not be second ever again!”
“But, Daddy wanted me. He hadn't wanted me in such a long time.” she sounded elated that Angel had taken time out of his busy schedule of murder for her.
Before he could register what exactly he was doing, the back of his hand hit her cheek, so hard her head snapped to the side. “You bitch! You like it when he touches you, don't you?”
Drusilla looked puzzled, “Of course I like it when Daddy touches me. Why wouldn't I?”
“Because, you're mine, damn it all! You're mine!” Each time he said the word “mine” he slapped her again. Her head whipped from side to side with the force of his blows.
Drusilla gathered herself together and huddled by the head board, cradling her cheek. She started to whimper in confusion, “Why are you yelling? Daddy wants me to like it when he wants me.”
“Well, Dru, I don't!” he spat, as he crawled on the bed after her. She cringed trying to get further away from him. “I don't like it when he uses you! You chose me! You're mine, now!” He gripped her upper arms hard enough to leave bruises.
“I'm his. He made me what I am,” she replied in a small, frightened voice.
“How many times do I have to say it, before you get it through your thick skull, you're mine! Mine! Mine!” He shook her hard and slammed her up against the headboard to emphasize his point. After the third one, she went limp and crumpled on the bed.
William's eye grew wide. He reached out to gently shake her, his voice cracking, “Dru, Drusilla, darling?” His hands shook as he felt her neck and chest. She was cold, had no pulse, and wasn't breathing. He shook her harder, “Dru, come on, now! Stop playing!” She didn't stir. She lay there cold and lifeless.
He scrambled off the the bed backwards and collapsed in a heap on the floor. He started banging his head into the wall behind him, sobbing. “Oh, dear God! What have I done? Dru, darling, I didn't mean it. I'm a bad, rude man! Oh, Dru!”
He sat crumpled like that, staring at an unmoving Drusilla, sobbing, until a delicate boot kicked him in the ribs. Darla was standing over him, in her evening finery. She still had on her dark blue velvet cape. “What's all the racket? What sort of game are you and the girl playing?”
There was a hitch in his voice, “I got angry. I hit her. She's dead.” He hung his head waiting to die. Darla was Drusilla's grandsire, of course, she'd take her wrath out on the one that killed her.
Malicious laughter filled the air. “You stupid boy! Of course she'd dead! She's a vampire, you idiot! We always sleep like that.”
“Not asleep. I bashed her head into the headboard and now she's dead.” he replied despairingly.
“Fine. Have it your way.” Darla countered, her words dripping with disdain, “You've killed her. Don't let Angelus find out or he'll end your pathetic excuse for an unlife for killing his pet. .You might want to keep your whimpering as quiet as possible as you figure out your story. Lucky for you, he's had a busy night and has gone straight to bed.” She turned on her heel and left him to his mess.
TBC... Chasing Dru, part III
Author:ladyaelfwynn
Episodes:Buffy, season 2, "School Hard"; Angel, season 5, "Destiny"
Pairing: Spike/Dru; Spike/OC
Warning:Violence, graphic sex
Word count:part II: 5295
Part II
The afternoon and evening felt as though it had been a complete wast of time. He hadn't found Drusilla nor any trace of her. The closest he'd gotten was an auburn, buxom lass from Toronto, whom someone had thought matched his description of Dru, but only if one was near-sighted.
Luckily, she'd been pleasant enough and sympathetic to his plight. He's ended up spending a thoroughly acceptable hour or so enjoying her charms and having a snack during a torrential down pour in the early evening.
When the rain let up, he let himself out of her tent. She should wake by the evening and hopefully think it'd been a strange dream or maybe a weird drug trip.
As he wandered about a bit more, the rain settled into a steady drizzle. It would have been fine if he was dashing from the car into a building but after an afternoon and evening of it, he was beginning to get damp and cranky. It made the ground a mess and hid his Drusilla from him.
He stood in the rain, in the last grey gloom of twilight, trying to decide what to do next. He'd thought it was going to be easy. Drive up here, follow the carnage, find Drusilla, leave. Maybe he even thought they'd been back home by now. But, as it was, it had all been for naught. Dru was gone, without a trace. No blood, no dust, no scent.
He'd never had a problem finding her in the past. Since she made him, he'd always been able to find her, even in pitch-dark, crowded rooms. He was drawn to her as a compass needle is drawn toward the North Pole. Without her, he was directionless.
As he stood, forlorn in the rain, a figure from a Waterhouse painting glided towards him, out of the mist. She had long, loose hair (don't they all) and a long flowing gown. She could have been “La Belle Dame Sans Merci”, “The Lady of Shallot”, or “Miranda”.
She held a pale hand out to him, “Still haven't found her?”
When he shook his head, “No,” she took his hand in hers, and led him away. “Come out of the rain then, before you catch your death.”
He chuckled ruefully, “Already caught it, love!”
She turned back to him and smiled playfully. “Are you saying that I'll be the death of you?”
“Not you, pet. Someone else.”
“The one you're searching for?” Spike nodded at her query. “You'll find her; don't loose hope. She'll turn up when you least expect it.”
He let her lead him through the maze of campsites. Perhaps she was right. Searching in earnest hadn't found him Drusilla. She might not even be there; she could be at the flat with Meredith. Maybe, if he let things be, she'd appear. Weirder things had happened.
His ethereal guide brought him to a stop, in front of a gate that looked like a partially raised stage curtain. In dry weather it must have looked like something from the faerie realm. It was made of huge swathes of a light, cotton fabric, draped over and around ropes stretched from the backs of a pair of buses. There were streamers and tinkling bells and flickering candle lanterns as well. In the rain, it all was a bit bedraggled but still somewhat impressive.
Through the gate, he could see a cheery camp fire that offered, if not a respite from the rain, at least some warmth and beyond it, another bus.
His companion tugged the end of a rope, hidden amongst the streamers and he heard a bell sound. She turned and gestured toward the gate, “Welcome to Duskhaven. Come inside and take your ease, fellow traveler.” A whisper of energy wafted past him, emanating from her, that made him wonder if she was a witch or part demon. His human self would've thought one of the fae.
A younger, blonde girl, wrapped in a dove grey cloak whispered up to his guide and curtsied, “You rang, Mistress?”
“Please, fetch our guest, William, some hot cider and a dry change of clothes. Bring some of Michael's things; they should fit him best.”
Spike's brow furrowed at the use of his given name. He'd not used it in decades. In fact, the only one who still used it was Dru. He grabbed his guide's arm and spun her towards him. “Where is she?” he ground out forcefully. “Have you see Drusilla?” How do know my name?”
She grabbed his hand and he felt an unsettling tingle go through him and her eyes seemed to spark an electric blue for the merest second. “We are a peaceful people here at Duskhaven. We lay hands on each other only in comfort or pleasure, never in violence. The lady whom you seek is safe and you will find her, just not tonight.” Spike tried to interrupt, but she placed two fingers on his lips and quieted him. She continued in a whisper, “Shhh, my brave knight. Your lady knows you search; she is in no danger. There is nothing you can do right now.” She caressed his brow and ran her fingers through his curls that had escaped in the rain. “You will find her, I assure you. Now, take your ease. Rest awhile with us.”
Just then, the blonde girl scurried back up with a bundle and a mug. His companion turned towards the girl, “Thank you, Raina.” She handed the mug to Spike and took him by the hand and led him inside the gate and to one of the buses. At the door, she handed him the bundle, “Here, change into these and come out to the fire when you're ready. Raina will take your wet things to dry.”
Before she could glide away again, Spike clasped her hand in his and peered at her intently, “Who are you?” he breathed, barely above a whisper.
Her laughter tinkled merrily, like wind chimes in a gentle summer breeze, “Forgive my rudeness. You may call me “Tanya”. Now, change. I'll be by the fire.” She caressed his cheek and drifted back to the fire.
Spike shook his head. This was all very strange. He wondered if one of the girls he'd snacked on earlier had been on something and if he was now tripping. As nothing bad had happened yet, he checked his forearm to make certain there were no bugs, and seeing none, decided to go with the flow. Dry things would be nice and Tanya seemed to be some sort of supernatural something, so he might be able to find out more about Dru.
The inside of the bus flickered in the warm glow of numerous votives. The windows were covered in heavy drapes, which had blocked the glow from outside.
Out of the bundle, he pulled a pair of woolen trousers, socks, a linen tunic, and a wool cloak. As he peeled out of his wet jeans, he idly wondered if this was some sort of weird cult or commune. Whatever it was, he doubted it could withstand the Big Bad, even though Tanya seemed to have some sort of power.
He hoped he could trust Tanya's words. Spike fervently hoped that Dru was safe and that he would find her. He knew that looking for her any longer in the current weather would be like searching for the proverbial needle. It was possible Dru would turn up but more probable that he'd just get wetter and crankier without actually accomplishing much of anything. When compared to spending some time in dry clothes, by a crackling fire, with beautiful women, it seemed like he'd be daft to choose anything else.
As he settled the cloak around his shoulders, he took a moment to collect his thoughts. Tanya had called him, “William.” This was the sort of thing of which his younger self had only ever dreamed. It's the sort of thing which would've inspired him to have written God-awful, hideous poetry about effulgent faerie queens, shimmering in tumescent mists. God, how he was glad to be past that.
His younger self had been a delicate fool, had his heart too easily broken. He was glad that Dru had put young William out of his misery and brought forth the vastly improved Spike.
But, tonight, he needed a touch of William. He needed the Victorian gentleman, who could recite poetry and make pleasant, if vapid, conversation, rather than the rough and tumble creature of the night he'd turned himself into over the years.
He grabbed his mug of mulled cider and took a sip, wishing it were blood. Keeping himself to snacks only was frustrating. He longed to sink his fangs into a pale, willowy neck or a creamy thigh and take deep draughts. Once he got back to the city, he'd have to take his women out for a night of fun.
He pulled up the cloak's hood and stepped out into the rain. He saw Tanya sitting in an ornately carved, high-back chair, near the fire. She looked through the dancing forms of the fire and beckoned him to the empty spot beside her. Definitely “La Belle Dame Sans Merci.” Luckily, as he was already dead, he couldn't be lured to his death, so he figured he was fine.
As he settled onto the wooden chair beside her, she leaned towards him, “I see the clothes fit you well. Are you hungry? Need anything more to drink?”
Spike thought that it was unlikely that they'd give him what he wanted, so he remember his manners and replied, “Some more cider would be nice, thank you. Thanks for the dry things, as well. I was beginning to get a bit sodden. It's nice to be dry.”
Raina came up and refilled his mug. Tanya reached over and took his hand in hers. She gently caressed his fingers. “Such long, delicate fingers. They are those of a poet or a musician.”
She turned over his hand and traced the lines on his palm. “Such a wealth of lines. They stop and start as if you died and were reborn. Or completely remade yourself or will, several times.”
Spike could only stare at her as she read his palm. She was spot on, more so than he'd ever tell her.
“Your true love is yet to come.”
“But, Drus-” Spike tried to interrupt but Tanya continued on.
“The one you love now, you love truly, with all your heart. But she is fickle and often untrue. You deserve someone as passionate about you as you are about her.”
Tanya ran her fingers over his palms, as if she were smoothing out creases from a tablecloth. She tilted his hands towards the fire light to get a better view.
“You will be tested by fires, plagues, water, and demons. Two who were lost are found.” She peered more closely at his hand and shuddered. She curled his fingers up to his palm and patted his closed hand. She gazed deep into his eyes, “The way before you is harder than you can imagine. The journey arduous and often alone. Have faith and persistence and you will survive.”
She slumped back into her chair and gestured for one of the servants. A girl brought her a mug of something steaming.
Spike was about to ask questions but Tanya shook her head “no”. He stared sullenly into the fire. The bit about Dru wasn't a surprise. Even though she had made him, he'd known from early on that “Daddy” had always come first. The only reason it hadn't been worse was because for much of the last seventy years “Daddy” had been gone. Spike hadn't seen him since the last Great War and would be quite happy if they never crossed paths again.
The rest, he wasn't certain of. It was vague enough to be able to apply to any to anyone but he knew firsthand with Dru and her visions that these things could well be truer than he could know. He tossed back the rest of the contents of his mug and looked at Tanya.
She looked smaller and more worn than she had before. He took her hand in his, “All right, love? You look peaked.”
Tanya sighed, “It's been a long few days. The journey and the weather are catching up with me.”
“You should rest.” Spike hated to see beautiful women ailing. They should be radiant and lively not wan and sighing. “Here, let's get you to bed.” He stood up and scooped Tanya up into his arms. “Raina, which way to your lady's bower?”
The mouse of a girl scurried out form the shadows, “P-p-put her down,” she stammered, brandishing a broom.
“I'm fine, Raina. Do as William asks. He means no harm.” Tanya's voice was quiet and soothing.
“Go on, girl! Your mistress is exhausted and needs her rest.” Spike nodded in the direction of one of the buses.
“But, Mistress,” Raina looked imploringly at Tanya.
“I'll be fine, dear. I've told William our rules. He'll take good care of me, won't you, William?”
“That I will.”
Raina led him over to the bus he changed in and opened the door. She glared at him but held her tongue. Tanya caressed her cheek, “I'll be fine, lass. Don't worry.”
“Not worried,” she murmured sullenly, “Was my turn.”
“Oh, darling! Don't be jealous of William!” Tanya whispered soothingly. “He's here for the night and so very lonely; his love has wandered off and he can't find her. We need to comfort those who are lost.”
“But he's a vam-” Raina continued.
“It doesn't matter.” Tanya cut her off. There was a sternness in her voice. “It's late and I'm weary. Goodnight, Raina.” Tanya kissed the girl on her forehead and smoothed her hair. “Don't be worried you'll be replaced, sweet. No one will ever replace you. Now, off with you.”
Raina clasped her mistress' hand and brought it to her lips, “Goodnight, mistress.” She glared pointedly at Spike and then disappeared into the shadows.
Spike smirked to himself. Seems the girl had a thing for the woman is his arms. It had been a while since he'd tempted one of Sappho's maids.
“I'd carry you all the way back, love, but the it's narrow and I don't want to bash you about.”
“Thank you.” Tanya murmured as she smoothed her skirts after Spike set her down. She walked to the back of the bus. When he didn't follow, she turned around and beckoned him, “Aren't you coming in? You don't need an invitation, it's a bus.”
He smiled at the comment. So, they knew, at least the mistress and her maid, that he was a vampire. “Just makin' sure I'm still welcome, is all.”
“I knew the moment I met you. I wouldn't have brought you here, if I'd thought you'd do harm. Please, come help me with my laces, I always have trouble.”
Always the gentleman, he was at her side in an instant. He pushed her long blonde tresses away from the delicate column of her neck and began to pluck at the knot.
Her scent was intoxicating. She smelled of summer flowers and exotic spices. And she was so warm. He felt as though he might combust, being as close as he was.
When he pulled the knot free, he leaned over her and whispered into her ear, seductively, “All done, love. Anything else I may do for you,” as he ran his hands down her arms.
Tanya turned around in his arms and placed her hands on his chest. She looked up at him and smiled playfully, “I'm hoping there's quite a lot you'll be able to help me with.” She fiddled with the clasp on his cloak until it came free and then pulled it from his shoulders and tossed it aside. She ran her hands appreciatively across his chest and upper arms.
At her returned touch, Spike pulled her closer to himself, to let her feel was she was doing to him. He had hoped he'd end up somewhere other than the back of the De Soto and with a warm and willing woman, but this was more than he had imagined.
Tanya didn't stop with his cloak. She ran her hands down his sides and when she reached the bottom hem, she slid her hands along his cool flesh.
Spike shivered. The girls from the other night had been young and inexperienced. With him now was a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. He knew that if she wanted to, Tanya could break him into little pieces and as long as she left him spent and promising more, he'd be fine with that. He knew it was daft but he'd always been that way. He'd always done what the lady wanted.
He was snapped out of his reverie with a sharp pinch to one of his nipples. Tanya whispered, “You were wandering off. I didn't want to loose you.”
He ran a hand through her golden locks, so unlike Dru's, “Sorry, love. I'm all yours.”
She tugged the shirt up over his head and tossed it aside. She ran her hands over his chest and down his abdomen, smiling at what she saw and scratching at the curls peeking over his waist band.
“Like what you see?” He couldn't help but smirk. It had been a long while since anyone had looked at him like dessert.
She stood on tiptoe and leaned in close and breathed into his ear, “Very much. Bodes well for other, as yet, unseen territory.”
Spike gasped as her hands found their way underneath his waist band. They were so warm against his shaft. He thrust against her and she let go. He groaned.
She pulled her hands away, “Ah, ah, ah! You're mine tonight, vampire! We go at my pace.” There was a sternness in her voice he hadn't heard since his public school days that made his cock twitch.
She took a step to the side and opened the heavy curtain that had concealed the bed, “Finish undressing,” she continued in the clipped manner that reminded him of a certain school mistress he'd had long ago. “And lie on the bed on your stomach with your knees on the rug, hands clasped behind you, at the small of your back.”
More blood rushed into his erection as he figured out exactly what she intended. Thinking about her little hands, landing in delicate little blows, all over his arse, trying to raise pink, made him smirk. Little chit thought he was going to punish the big, bad vampire, did she?
He jumped when he felt a sting on his left butt cheek. When he reached back to rub the spot there was another sting on his left shoulder blade. A quick glance showed him that Tanya was holding a long, slender, black riding crop and looking displeased.
Spike pulled off his boots and socks quickly, thinking furiously. He was curious to see what she would do. Dru absolutely loved it when he broke out the chains and horsewhip. Would he enjoy being on the receiving end? Did he even want to play the game?
If his dick got a vote, it would do whatever the lady with the crop wanted as long as it ended up sated. Did he want to submit? The last time he submitted to anyone was before Angel and Darla had left. Back then he'd regularly had to capitulate; he'd never been able to beat Angel in any sort of fight. But this wasn't then. She wasn't Angel and she wasn't screwing Dru just to make a point.
“Or was she?” whispered the little voice in the dark corner of his mind. He threw his boots down and whirled on Tanya, “Where is SHE?” he growled and tried to grab her.
Before he could touch her, she'd grabbed him by the throat, picked him up, and tossed him on the bed. In a flash of electric blue she was astride him, pinning him down.
Spike tried to squirm away but she was stronger, far stronger, than she looked. She gripped his chin and he felt her nails dig into his flesh. She wrenched his head around and her eyes bore into his, searching.
Spike kept trying to throw her off of him but the longer she held him, the weaker he got. He tried to call forth his demon but it felt as though that part of him was heavily drugged. He teeth itched where his fangs usually appeared but they wouldn't descend.
He tried to look away form her eyes but the swirly shades of summer blues, the blue of the morning sky, the purplish hue of periwinkle, and the white hot flash of lightening mesmerized him.
Tanya ran her hand soothingly up and down his flank as if he were a skittish stallion. “Shhhh. I'm not going to hurt you.” She tilted his head, so she could look into his eyes more deeply. “Show me what's upset you, my William. I can't help you unless I know.”
“Drusilla” escaped his lips as softly as petals from a flower in a light breeze.
Spike tried to turn his head away from the memory but Tanya held him firm. He saw the posh Knightsbridge residence they'd taken over, soon after he'd been Turned. It was the middle of the day and he was still learning to avoid the sun. He'd been asleep with Dru and woken up alone to sounds of skin slapping skin and breathy moans and deep grunts. The sounds of sex made him hard and he reached out for his Dru.
When he didn't find her, he pulled on a shirt and trousers and went to look for her. He found Angel buried balls deep in some likely lass and Angel kindly offered him a go when he was done. When Spike asked after Dru, Angel told him in that irritating, drawling Irish brogue of his, that Dru was busy and tied up and present. From under Angel came a girlish, slightly mad giggle, he recognized as Dru's.
“Dru?” Spike stared incredulously at his Sire. Indignation and outrage filled him, “Dru, what is the meaning of this?”
Angel interrupted, “The meaning of the this, boy,” the term was fairly spat out, “is that Drusilla is mine. I made her what she is. I own her. You'd do well to remember that.”
Dru giggled drunkenly, “Don't be angry, my William. You'll have a turn when Daddy's done.” She turned back to Angel, “Harder, my daddy, harder!” and let out a deep guttural moan.
He grit his teeth and pounded down the stairs. If he had been human, he'd have run out into the street and walked away and never come back. Damn them all, anyways! But it was midday and he'd no where else to go. He wished he had the balls to take Darla but he knew that was a short road to a pile of dust. Darla tolerated Dru because she was Angel's pet. Darla tolerated himself because he kept Dru occupied which gave her more time with her Angel.
He ended up in the basement, as far away from the sounds as he could get.
By the time upstairs had quieted, the basement was covered in a fine layer of dust and shards. Every bit of crockery, china, and crystal he'd gotten his hands on was shattered on the ground around him.
He'd put a sizable dent in the alcohol stores, as well. He'd lost track of how many bottles of port he'd gone through trying to blot out the image of Angel with Drusilla. He'd been a bit of a teetotaler before, one glass of wine usually made him giddy or sleepy. He chuckled ruefully at the evidence of how that had changed.
He couldn't believe what Dru had done to him. He thought she loved him. And with Angel, no less.
God, how he hated Angel! He wanted to kill Angel, rip him limb from limb and leave the bits outside for dawn to tidy up.
He gave a sarcastic, self-loathing sort of laugh. As if that would work. Angel had him by well over 100 years and a good 50 pounds. He knew that if he tried to take on Angel, it would end with him meeting a dusty end, either by Angel's or by Darla's hand.
God, he hated this! He banged his head on the wall behind him and took a few more gulps of wine, no longer trying to stop the tears streaming down his face.
Being a vampire was supposed to make things better. He was the monster, now. He was supposed to take what he wanted, kill whom he pleased, and whistle a jaunty tune, all the while. Instead, he was hiding away from another woman, who'd told him he wouldn't do, feeling as bereft and lost and hopeless as before he'd been turned. Nothing had changed.
At some point, he noticed that dusk had fallen. Now, whilst the sun was gone, he'd take his leave. Go far away, never to see this set of thrice damned individuals again.
He tried to pick his way carefully through his mess of shattered glass but his inebriation made that all but impossible. By the time he made it to the stairs, his feet were a slashed and bloody mess.
If he'd shown up at home like this, his mother and the servants would have cosseted him. He'd've been bundled off to bed, the physician called, and a hearty soup brought up to him.
Only, he'd bollixed that up as well. He'd tried to save his dear mother from the consumption that was slowly draining her life away but that turned out as well as any other endeavor he tried. She'd come back wrong, not his mother at all. And those things she said, they couldn't be true, could they?
He gripped the stair railing hard and heard it creak. He steadied himself for a moment and pulled himself up the rest of the stairs. He paused at the door for a moment. He'd not heard anything in a while but wanted to be certain. He wanted to avoid Angel at all costs. He just wanted to slink away into the night like the dark creature he was and be gone from his torment.
That wasn't to be. As he neared the door of the room he shared with Drusilla, he heard soft, gasping moans and the bead creaking.
Whatever resolve he'd built up snapped in an instant. His demon roared in challenge and he slammed into the room with his yellow eyes blazing.
“Bloody hell! Can you leave the woman in peace, ever?” He yelled to a non-existent Angel.
Drusilla, her fingers glistening with her own arousal, waved to him from where she was sprawled on the bed. “Ooooo! My sweet William! You've come back all handsome. I've been waiting for you since Daddy left. I got lonely.” She held her hand out to him and stuck her lip out in a pout.
A day ago that would have been enough to send him to her side in an instant. Now, though, it only fueled his rage. He grabbed the hand she held out and pulled her to him harshly.
Dru giggled hysterically and whispered seductively, “I've been naughty, haven't I?” The purr of her voice went straight to his cock.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard, “No, Drusilla! No! You'll not use me like this. I'll not be second ever again!”
“But, Daddy wanted me. He hadn't wanted me in such a long time.” she sounded elated that Angel had taken time out of his busy schedule of murder for her.
Before he could register what exactly he was doing, the back of his hand hit her cheek, so hard her head snapped to the side. “You bitch! You like it when he touches you, don't you?”
Drusilla looked puzzled, “Of course I like it when Daddy touches me. Why wouldn't I?”
“Because, you're mine, damn it all! You're mine!” Each time he said the word “mine” he slapped her again. Her head whipped from side to side with the force of his blows.
Drusilla gathered herself together and huddled by the head board, cradling her cheek. She started to whimper in confusion, “Why are you yelling? Daddy wants me to like it when he wants me.”
“Well, Dru, I don't!” he spat, as he crawled on the bed after her. She cringed trying to get further away from him. “I don't like it when he uses you! You chose me! You're mine, now!” He gripped her upper arms hard enough to leave bruises.
“I'm his. He made me what I am,” she replied in a small, frightened voice.
“How many times do I have to say it, before you get it through your thick skull, you're mine! Mine! Mine!” He shook her hard and slammed her up against the headboard to emphasize his point. After the third one, she went limp and crumpled on the bed.
William's eye grew wide. He reached out to gently shake her, his voice cracking, “Dru, Drusilla, darling?” His hands shook as he felt her neck and chest. She was cold, had no pulse, and wasn't breathing. He shook her harder, “Dru, come on, now! Stop playing!” She didn't stir. She lay there cold and lifeless.
He scrambled off the the bed backwards and collapsed in a heap on the floor. He started banging his head into the wall behind him, sobbing. “Oh, dear God! What have I done? Dru, darling, I didn't mean it. I'm a bad, rude man! Oh, Dru!”
He sat crumpled like that, staring at an unmoving Drusilla, sobbing, until a delicate boot kicked him in the ribs. Darla was standing over him, in her evening finery. She still had on her dark blue velvet cape. “What's all the racket? What sort of game are you and the girl playing?”
There was a hitch in his voice, “I got angry. I hit her. She's dead.” He hung his head waiting to die. Darla was Drusilla's grandsire, of course, she'd take her wrath out on the one that killed her.
Malicious laughter filled the air. “You stupid boy! Of course she'd dead! She's a vampire, you idiot! We always sleep like that.”
“Not asleep. I bashed her head into the headboard and now she's dead.” he replied despairingly.
“Fine. Have it your way.” Darla countered, her words dripping with disdain, “You've killed her. Don't let Angelus find out or he'll end your pathetic excuse for an unlife for killing his pet. .You might want to keep your whimpering as quiet as possible as you figure out your story. Lucky for you, he's had a busy night and has gone straight to bed.” She turned on her heel and left him to his mess.
TBC... Chasing Dru, part III