(no subject)
Pacing back and forth across the generous bedroom in agitation, Spike glanced at the bed again. He’d laid Herbert on it, watched the golden lashes flutter closed and had been wearing a track in the carpet since then.
Didn’t quite know what to think now, not at all.
For one thing, he’d fed on a human by choice and the boy was still alive, napping in another room. And didn’t seem to have minded it in the least. And it looked like Herbert had used him for the same thing before.
But Herbert liked to kill, had admitted as much when he said he’d been on the verge of eating the boy until he’d been too interesting. So the boy lived and was chewed on by Herbert whenever Herbert visited. And didn’t mind. And nor did Herbert.
Then there was the possibility of turning.
Yeah, he understood why Herbert wanted to do such a thing, but how the hell was he meant to react to that?
Soul was saying that murdering a boy and damning him to be a vampire fucktoy after years of brainwashing was bad. Demon was saying it was what being a vampire was all about. Soul argued that the little bugger didn’t have a clue what he was in for. Demon said that didn’t matter because it wasn’t his choice. Soul protested it should be. Demon gave the proverbial finger.
Pausing by the wall, staring at a faint crack in the plaster, Spike pressed his fingers against his temples.
No wonder vampires weren’t meant to have souls.
Loss of conscience and self-control were things that made being a vampire a lot of fun, but when you had that back and you thought about things, it wasn’t good.
Just when he thought he was on top of everything, working out what and who he was and where he was going with his unlife, along came a philosophical conundrum that was making his head ache.
Dropping his hands from his face, he let himself sway forward until his forehead met the wall and propped himself there. Probably looked bloody ridiculous, arms dangling and eyes closed, but didn’t care.
With a little shift of weight, he drew back then dropped back against the wall, head smacking with a dull thump.
Brains were for people who wanted to be bothered by the process of thinking. He didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to think about the boy downstairs who would be turned because it was that or plain old death. Didn’t want to think about the blood that had tasted like delicious electricity. Didn’t want to think about how easily he had given in and wanted more.
There was another dull thump as he swayed back, then forward again.
Probably not helping his headache either.
The wall really wasn’t getting any softer.
Stupid bloody Herbert and his stupid set up in his stupid club.
Probably going to have a bruise in the morning.
And the boy had just knelt there, neck all bared and bleeding and how the hell was he meant to do anything but bite him? Wasn’t like he was a bloody saint, was it? Not like he could have turned away.
A faint sigh from the bed indicated that Herbert was awake, but Spike didn’t look at him. His forehead pressing against the wall, he closed his eyes, a muscle in his cheek twitching, teeth grinding together.
“Cheri, what are you doing?”
“You’re a bastard.”
He heard the faint chuckle. “I think father might argue.”
“You know what I mean.” Bringing up his forearms to rest against the wall, his fists knotted above his head, he shuddered. “You bring me here, give me that kid to feed on, tell me what you did, what you’re planning for him... like this isn’t bloody hard enough already.”
On the far side of the room, the bed creaked softly and he heard the sound of Herbert’s feet touch the floor. “You think this is why I brought you here, cheri? To force pain upon you?”
With a noncommittal sound, Spike shrugged.
Sounded like Herbert was approaching, but he stubbornly didn’t turn or look around.
“Cheri...”
“Don’t,” Spike hissed through his teeth, his eyes pressed painfully shut. “No more games. No more messing me about.”
“No more games,” Herbert agreed softly. Spike almost flinched when smooth hands were laid upon his shoulders. “But I wanted you to understand, William. This is my world and always has been. When I hunger, I feed. When I wish to, I kill.” A fingertip drew his hair aside. Cool lips touched the nape of his neck. “And when I see you hunger and want, I wish to ease it.”
Drawing a quivering breath, Spike shivered. “It hurts,” he whispers. “It shouldn’t, I know it shouldn’t, but I can’t stop thinking...”
Hands slid from his shoulders, along his arms, to cover his white-knuckled fists. “I know, cheri,” the whisper was soft against his skin. “I can never understand, but all I have done tonight...” Herbert nuzzled his neck tenderly. “I want to take this pain from you. I want you healthy, happy and strong, my beautiful darling, by whatever means.”
Clinging to his anger, Spike shook his head. “You made me feed on a kid, Herbert. I don’t see how that makes things better...”
“There are many below who would fight for the privilege of your bite, cheri.” Herbert’s fingertips brushed against his knuckles, shaping them. “Did Matthias seem afraid? Did he shy from you? Scream?”
Reluctantly, Spike shook his head.
“And he is not alone, William.” Running his chin along Spike’s shoulders, Herbert nuzzled Spike’s cheek gently. “In this place, why not allow yourself this pleasure I can bring you?” The concern and gentleness in Herbert’s voice was making Spike’s eyes sting treacherously. “Cheri, I only wish to see you strong once more. I cannot make you kill nor feed, but here, they will come to you, willing and accepting.”
Turning to face Herbert, Spike stared at him. “That doesn’t make it right,” he said, though his voice trembled at the thought.
Herbert’s lips curled upwards and he brought up a hand to drag his knuckles against Spike’s cheek. “Name one thing in this world that is, my darling,” he said, the warmth in his grey eyes terrifying in its intensity. “There is so little I can do for you.” His brows drew together solemnly, his expression serious. “Please let me grant you this.”
“They’re human beings...”
Herbert nodded, brushing his thumb against Spike’s lower lip. “They are also all consenting adults for the most part,” he murmured. “Why not indulge in them? It is, by no means, selfish. They desire the touch of beings such as we are and we...” He smiled and it was almost angelic. “We are loathe to decline.”
Thinking about it like that, it almost made sense to agree, to accept.
And the bloody bastard knew it too.
Grey eyes held his and that was when he realised the precarious position he had left himself in, pinned between the wall and Herbert. No where to run, no where to hide, no way to deny the hunger in him that would always be there.
“No killing?”
Herbert smiled. “Never here, cheri. Sanctuary.”
So that was it, was it? He’d been brought here under false pretences to get him somewhere he could feed, somewhere he could do it without the soul kicking up too much of a fuss, where Herbert knew he would feel...
Feel what?
Right? Safe? Guilt-free?
No.
There would always be a part of him that thought this was a bad move, but then, there was a part of him that thought falling in love with a wicked bugger like Herbert was the worst move in the world, if only because it meant that access to pretty birds was a bit of a no-no.
Not quite the same level, there, but that was it.
Conscience.
“Sometimes, this soul lark is a pain in the arse,” he mumbled.
“I know.” Herbert’s lips touched his softly.
“And so are you, you ponce.”
He felt rather than heard the throaty chuckle. “Literally, metaphorically and in all other ways, I am sure,” Herbert murmured, then kissed him, pressing him back against the wall, and Spike slipped his arms around Herbert’s waist and gave in.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Assault me.”
The Morsel eyed her dubiously, then look at the sword she was gripping in her pink, fleshy hands. “You sure about this?”
In the three days since Spike and the Sorcerer’s son had departed, the Morsel had been looking for further entertainments. She had sought Illyria’s presence and, with flattery and politeness, she had implored a lesson in combat from Illyria.
With little else to occupy her time, Illyria had agreed. It had stroked her ego to have one seek her counsel and guidance, which brought them to a sparring hall in the lower levels of the castle.
Spreading her hands, Illyria inclined her head, hair slipping on her shoulders. “You asked that you might train with me,” she said. “If you now begin to fear what may occur, then you may depart.”
“I’m not afraid!”
Brows rising, Illyria rolled her head on her neck. “You doubt your abilities.”
“No,” the Morsel said. Her voice was shrill. She looked aggravated by such words. “You don’t have a weapon. I kinda don’t think this is gonna be fair, if you don’t have a weapon.”
Illyria felt what she presumed was amusement. “It is my choice,” she stated. “Now, I will say again - assault me.”
The Morsel sighed, then lunged, swinging the sword. Pivoting on one foot, Illyria stepped out of her path. The flat of her palm brushed the blade harmlessly aside and the other hand caught the back of the Morsel’s head, pushing her off-balance.
As she turned to watch the human child stumble, Illyria’s fingers twitched by her sides.
The Morsel swung around. She recovered her balance quickly, Illyria noticed. That was good. If she had not recovered so swiftly, she would never prove anything more than adequate as a warrior.
“How...?”
“I stepped aside.”
The mortal stared at her with an awe and reverence she had not experienced for many centuries. “That was just stepping aside?” she said. “But you went all blurry, like you were being sped-up.”
Illyria felt her mouth curve upwards. Was this pleasure? Satisfaction? “While my greater powers are diminished on this plane,” she said. “I am not constrained by the dullness of mortal motion.”
She watched, curious, as the girl replicated her stance of moments earlier, then looked at her with expectation. “How did you do it? I mean, if you were gonna do it slowly, how would you do it?”
Illyria studied her. “You wish to learn to do battle as I would?”
“I wanna learn how to fight as well as I can,” the Morsel replied firmly. “Herbert’s teaching me to use swords, and Spike’s shown me the whole vampire-kick-boxer-thing, and...” The girl’s smile was broad and genuine. “I bet you fight in really cool ways.”
Illyria slanted her head. “I do not understand why temperature would affect my skills in combat.”
“Uh...” The Morsel rubbed the back of her neck with a hand. “I mean you probably fight really well.”
“This is unquestionable.” Illyria agreed. “In the days of my dominion, I would crush the fragile bodies of those who dared to oppose me until their vital fluids rained upon the ground and their bones were little more than dust. I tore their armies asunder and revelled in every scream until they were drowned in their own blood.”
The Morsel made a face. “Nice.”
“Satisfying.” Illyria replied. “What would you have me teach you?”
The girl’s shoulders lifted in what Illyria had come to understand as a gesture of uncertainty. “Anything,” she replied eagerly. “I mean, that moving thing... I can’t do it fast, but I bet it would be useful in a fight...”
Intriguing.
Very few creatures chose to learn skills that lay outwith their nature and species, but this little mortal could see how it might serve her better. This one was clearly no normal mortal. Few others had approached her, let alone demanded her tuition. Many of them had feared it and avoided her.
It appeared that something had forced this child’s fear away, and that was sufficient to grant Illyria something to occupy her time. It had been some time since she had done violence to another and her fingers were twitching with anticipation.
“If you are to move thus,” she began, resuming her stance. “Then you must watch your enemy with great awareness. If you are not aware of their movements and their weaknesses, then you will not surpass them.”
She gestured with one hand for the girl to attack once more. The Morsel attacked with greater care and used her other hand. So, she knew to vary. Also good.
“You must not let them anticipate your mode of attack,” she continued, one hand gripping the mortal’s wrist like steel. “Your hesitation reveals your indecision. If you are to triumph, you must not hesitate.”
“Okay...” The Morsel nodded and Illyria experimentally tightened her grip. The girl made no sound of protest. Her expression was quietly defiant. Interesting. “What if you need to hesitate?”
“You should not.” Loosing her hand, Illyria stepped alongside the girl. She watched the mortal’s face over her shoulder, then swung her left arm towards the girl’s back. It was a slow blow, but still faster than a mortal blow. Had it struck, the girl would have been sent stumbling, bruised.
However, the girl’s eyes had caught the flicker of motion of Illyria’s arm and she dropped to the floor without hesitation, squatting on her toes. Illyria’s fist grazed over her skull, satisfaction turning to something akin to surprise when the mortal was immediately upright, sword against Illyria’s throat.
Tilting her head slightly, she could feel the blade against her skin. “Adequate.”
Beaming, the mortal stepped back and tried to twirl the sword. Had she succeeded, it would have been admirable. However, she failed. It fell heavily on her toes. With a yelp of pain, she hopped up and down on her uninjured foot, clutching the other.
Illyria curled and uncurled her fingers leisurely. “Such displays are foolish,” she noted. “If you are to slay your enemy, do not waste time with ornamental flourishes. It will only divert your attention from your wish to rend them apart.”
Dropping to sit, the Morsel pulled off her footwear and examined her bare foot closely. Apparently relieved by the lack of blood, she pulled the shoe back on and rose again, though she shifted her weight gingerly.
“Okay... no fancy sword-tricks. Got it.”
Illyria gazed at her impassively. “Assaulting yourself does not qualify as a fancy sword trick,” she said.
The Morsel stared at her. “Did... are you making a joke?”
Illyria cocked her head slowly. “Such mortal things are beneath my understanding.”
Again, the girl stared.
Making her knuckles crackle as she flexed her thin fingers, Illyria returned her stare blankly, though she could feel that strange sensation - amusement - again. So much time in the company of those such as Spike and the Sorcerer’s kin had been causing such emotion to emerge more frequently.
“Do you wish to continue?” she asked. “Or are you maimed?”
The face the mortal made was unflattering by the standards of a thousand races, and she picked up the sword. With limping steps, she crossed the room to replace it on the single table.
“I think hand-to-hand stuff would be better,” she said, returning across the floor.
Illyria noted the way the girl favoured her uninjured foot by degrees, each step more laboured and cautious. “You are familiar with combat of this manner?” she asked the mortal, assuming a formal stance.
“Kinda...” The defensive position she took up informed the demon that ‘kinda’ was something of an understatement. Her body was relaxed, but there was a wary tension in it too, her eyes focussed, the set of her chin determined. “You’re gonna have to go slow, so I can keep up, k?”
“Defend yourself as best you can.” Though her speed was greatly diminished, Illyria attacked without hesitation, the first blow glancing off the girl’s shoulder, making her stumble, the second aimed at the mortal’s stomach.
With a blocking stroke, the Morsel looked pleased when she diverted the blow, only to step into another. “Hey! Ow! OW!” Illyria desisted and canted her head in question. “I thought you were gonna go slow!”
“My speed was greatly reduced,” Illyria replied evenly. “If you feign the gravity of your injury to gain an advantage, then I have no cause to assault you fairly.”
The mortal’s face coloured to a deep shade of red. “You noticed...?”
Illyria nodded gravely. “I have crushed thousands of millions beneath my feet, little Morsel,” she said. “I do not overlook weaknesses, nor am I blind to those who feign such things.” She inclined her head again. “Such simple cunning is only fitting when you are embroiled in combat with a lesser being of little wit.”
“I’ll remember that,” the Morsel mumbled, rubbing her upper arm. “And also, ow.”
From the door, someone laughed softly. Both she and the Morsel looked around to see the Sorcerer standing there. His arms were folded upon his chest and his features were benevolent.
“How long have you been lurking there?” The mortal looked mortified.
“Mere moments, liebling,” he murmured. “There is a telephone call awaiting you.”
The Morsel looked at Illyria. “Another day, huh?”
“When you are less afraid,” Illyria said, her expression unreadable.
The mortal made a face and hurried across the room, her lame foot notably healed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“They require your presence?”
Pulling several shirts out of her drawer, Dawn tossed them into her bag, dropping to her knees to root out some pants. “Buffy’s gone to America,” she replied over her shoulder. “They’ve got big problems. I wanna be there to help.”
Standing several paces away, Johannes watched her silently.
“What could you do?” he asked finally, his arms folded over his chest.
Pushing some underwear into the bag, Dawn looked up, surprised. “I can be there,” she said. “I know I’m not super-powered or magical or anything, but I can still help them out in the good, old-fashioned mortal way.”
“You have said yourself they are an insular multitude,” he murmured.
Looking back down at her bag, Dawn sighed. “Yeah, they can be,” she agreed. “But I still have friends there. If people I know are getting hurt, I wanna at least be there to do something.” She watched her fingers buckling the bag. “I feel useless. I can’t do anything to even help...”
“You care,” Johannes murmured. “Surely that would suffice.”
She looked up at him, brows drawn together in thought. “You could help.”
He canted his head slightly, as if he had misheard. “Liebling?”
“You.” She got to her feet, bag dropped onto the couch. “You’ve got the uber-magic thing going on. Can’t you... I don’t know... come with me and help and do protection spells and things with Willow?”
Dark eyes narrowed. “Why would I do such a thing?”
Despite herself, Dawn shivered at the coolness in his gaze. “Well... uh... you’re not really the kinda take-over-the-world-evil kind of guy,” she said hesitantly. “You’re not totally evil... you could kinda help us...”
“Help you and your friends to kill my kind.”
Putting it like that, it didn’t sound quite as nice and neat as she’d thought.
“I didn’t mean...”
Suddenly, he was right in front of her, staring down at her so dispassionately that she found herself stepping back. “You would have me stand alongside your sister and her army, would you?”
“I thought...” She exhaled a sharp breath. “Look, it was just an idea.”
“Would you venture forth with Herbert and kill, if I asked it of you?” He caught her chin in his hand, his grip vice-like.
“That’s different!” She winced as his grip tightened.
Von Krolock gazed down at her. “That is what you are asking of me.”
“I’m asking you to protect some kids! Is that such a big deal?”
He released her sharply. “You have no idea what you are asking, you foolish child,” he whispered, his eyes flashing. “Why should I grant my time, my skill, to them? What have they done but destroy those like me?”
“I had to ask...”
“Because you are feeling so useless in yourself, you feel you have the right to claim my gifts, to direct them as you would choose?” He laughed quietly. “I would never help those such as the Slayers. My existence is balanced upon a knife’s edge between salvation and damnation, and I would not risk that for them.”
“Salva...”
“Not of the kind you think.” His gaze was grave. “Would you have me upset the balance for your sister’s crusade?” His fingertips dragged from her cheek slowly. “I am treading a fine line, liebling, even restraining myself from the hunt. Would you have me leap from it with altruism that goes against my nature?”
A dozen questions lined up, one after the other.
“I want to do something.”
“Then go and do what you can.” He touched her lips with his fingertips. “For I cannot and will not. For three centuries, I have held myself away from petty power struggles and the politics of the damned. I will not ally myself with their common enemy, and thus become a target.”
“Their common enemy?” Dawn stared at him. “If that’s what they think, then what the hell am I? I’ve fought them! I’ve killed them too. And you don’t seem to have any problem with me.”
His smile was like Vittorio’s for a moment and she felt her worry and anger mixing together. “You are not one of them, liebling, as much as you wish to be.” His voice was charming, but his words were like a blow.
“So, I don’t count, huh?” She shied away from him, her expression tight. “I’m not ‘important’ enough for the uber-evils to give a damn about? Just because I’m not a Slayer by blood?”
“That is not what I meant.” He reached out to her, but she snatched up her bag.
“Meant enough,” she whispered, turning away sharply, before he could see the first glitter of tears that were starting to burn the corners of her eyes.
“Dawn.”
Ignoring him, her lips pressing together, hot tears streaking onto her cheeks, she ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
With one hand on the dozing William’s thigh, the other on the steering wheel, Herbert was humming along with the Requiem CD. It was a foolish favourite, but he loved it all the same. Requiems had always been one of his guilty pleasures, even before he was turned.
They had left the club barely half a dozen hours earlier after a pleasant day in the company of Fridi and the quiet presence of Matthias. While William had not openly objected to the boy, Herbert could tell he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the charming little mortal.
From first impressions, he no doubt thought Matthias quiet, timid and house-broken on every level. It would be intriguing to educate him about the child when they got back to the castle.
Tapping his fingers against the wheel, he took a sharp turn into a hairpin bend with a speed that knocked William’s head against the window, making him jolt awake with a curse.
“Good evening, cheri,” Herbert said cheerfully, palpating his hand against William’s thigh. “Slept well, have you?”
“Would have if you hadn’t been playing such crap music,” William grumbled, rubbing his face, then his offended temple. “And if you wanted me awake, you could have asked, instead of concussing me.”
Herbert laughed fondly. “Ah, you would ruin all my fun, my darling,” he said, his eyes dancing. He glanced at William, saw the rueful smile on his lips, the openness of his bright eyes then nodded ahead. “We are almost home.”
“Can’t wait to get back in my own bed.” William yawned widely, rubbing his eyes drowsily.
“Cannot wait to get back in your own bed too.” Herbert’s lips twitched impishly and he saw the flicker of William’s grin.
Ahead of them, the walls of the castle were nearing, the wrought iron gates gleaming as they started to open under the light of the grinning moon.
“Must know we’re coming,” William observed, stretching.
“Mm,” Herbert acknowledged, though a frown was creeping across his face. Father seldom acknowledged modern technology and would hardly debase his abilities to open the gates.
Still, as long as they were open…
Cursing aloud, Herbert jerked the wheel hard, the edge of his bumper scraping against the wall as a car sped out through the gates. It clipped the mirror of his car, knocking it inwards, but didn’t stop, tearing down the road and into the darkness.
“What the hell was that?” William exclaimed, twisting in his seat.
“That,” Herbert squinted at the rapidly disappearing reflection in the mirror, the lights dim between the dark trees. “Was your de Soto, cheri. And unless I am sorely mistaken, it was being driven by Dawn.”
Blue eyes darted wildly to grey. “Oh bollocks…”
“Mm.” Herbert reversed several feet, then slid the car between the gateposts without further comment, though his eyes were scouring the castle and, to his surprise, he saw his father standing at the open front doors.
Braking sharply, the car still moving as he scrambled out, he hurried across the gravel towards his father, who was watching the distant specks of headlamps fade into the blackness of night.
“Father?”
Black eyes slipped to Herbert’s face sadly, then his father turned away and stepped into the shadows, vanishing from sight.
Didn’t quite know what to think now, not at all.
For one thing, he’d fed on a human by choice and the boy was still alive, napping in another room. And didn’t seem to have minded it in the least. And it looked like Herbert had used him for the same thing before.
But Herbert liked to kill, had admitted as much when he said he’d been on the verge of eating the boy until he’d been too interesting. So the boy lived and was chewed on by Herbert whenever Herbert visited. And didn’t mind. And nor did Herbert.
Then there was the possibility of turning.
Yeah, he understood why Herbert wanted to do such a thing, but how the hell was he meant to react to that?
Soul was saying that murdering a boy and damning him to be a vampire fucktoy after years of brainwashing was bad. Demon was saying it was what being a vampire was all about. Soul argued that the little bugger didn’t have a clue what he was in for. Demon said that didn’t matter because it wasn’t his choice. Soul protested it should be. Demon gave the proverbial finger.
Pausing by the wall, staring at a faint crack in the plaster, Spike pressed his fingers against his temples.
No wonder vampires weren’t meant to have souls.
Loss of conscience and self-control were things that made being a vampire a lot of fun, but when you had that back and you thought about things, it wasn’t good.
Just when he thought he was on top of everything, working out what and who he was and where he was going with his unlife, along came a philosophical conundrum that was making his head ache.
Dropping his hands from his face, he let himself sway forward until his forehead met the wall and propped himself there. Probably looked bloody ridiculous, arms dangling and eyes closed, but didn’t care.
With a little shift of weight, he drew back then dropped back against the wall, head smacking with a dull thump.
Brains were for people who wanted to be bothered by the process of thinking. He didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to think about the boy downstairs who would be turned because it was that or plain old death. Didn’t want to think about the blood that had tasted like delicious electricity. Didn’t want to think about how easily he had given in and wanted more.
There was another dull thump as he swayed back, then forward again.
Probably not helping his headache either.
The wall really wasn’t getting any softer.
Stupid bloody Herbert and his stupid set up in his stupid club.
Probably going to have a bruise in the morning.
And the boy had just knelt there, neck all bared and bleeding and how the hell was he meant to do anything but bite him? Wasn’t like he was a bloody saint, was it? Not like he could have turned away.
A faint sigh from the bed indicated that Herbert was awake, but Spike didn’t look at him. His forehead pressing against the wall, he closed his eyes, a muscle in his cheek twitching, teeth grinding together.
“Cheri, what are you doing?”
“You’re a bastard.”
He heard the faint chuckle. “I think father might argue.”
“You know what I mean.” Bringing up his forearms to rest against the wall, his fists knotted above his head, he shuddered. “You bring me here, give me that kid to feed on, tell me what you did, what you’re planning for him... like this isn’t bloody hard enough already.”
On the far side of the room, the bed creaked softly and he heard the sound of Herbert’s feet touch the floor. “You think this is why I brought you here, cheri? To force pain upon you?”
With a noncommittal sound, Spike shrugged.
Sounded like Herbert was approaching, but he stubbornly didn’t turn or look around.
“Cheri...”
“Don’t,” Spike hissed through his teeth, his eyes pressed painfully shut. “No more games. No more messing me about.”
“No more games,” Herbert agreed softly. Spike almost flinched when smooth hands were laid upon his shoulders. “But I wanted you to understand, William. This is my world and always has been. When I hunger, I feed. When I wish to, I kill.” A fingertip drew his hair aside. Cool lips touched the nape of his neck. “And when I see you hunger and want, I wish to ease it.”
Drawing a quivering breath, Spike shivered. “It hurts,” he whispers. “It shouldn’t, I know it shouldn’t, but I can’t stop thinking...”
Hands slid from his shoulders, along his arms, to cover his white-knuckled fists. “I know, cheri,” the whisper was soft against his skin. “I can never understand, but all I have done tonight...” Herbert nuzzled his neck tenderly. “I want to take this pain from you. I want you healthy, happy and strong, my beautiful darling, by whatever means.”
Clinging to his anger, Spike shook his head. “You made me feed on a kid, Herbert. I don’t see how that makes things better...”
“There are many below who would fight for the privilege of your bite, cheri.” Herbert’s fingertips brushed against his knuckles, shaping them. “Did Matthias seem afraid? Did he shy from you? Scream?”
Reluctantly, Spike shook his head.
“And he is not alone, William.” Running his chin along Spike’s shoulders, Herbert nuzzled Spike’s cheek gently. “In this place, why not allow yourself this pleasure I can bring you?” The concern and gentleness in Herbert’s voice was making Spike’s eyes sting treacherously. “Cheri, I only wish to see you strong once more. I cannot make you kill nor feed, but here, they will come to you, willing and accepting.”
Turning to face Herbert, Spike stared at him. “That doesn’t make it right,” he said, though his voice trembled at the thought.
Herbert’s lips curled upwards and he brought up a hand to drag his knuckles against Spike’s cheek. “Name one thing in this world that is, my darling,” he said, the warmth in his grey eyes terrifying in its intensity. “There is so little I can do for you.” His brows drew together solemnly, his expression serious. “Please let me grant you this.”
“They’re human beings...”
Herbert nodded, brushing his thumb against Spike’s lower lip. “They are also all consenting adults for the most part,” he murmured. “Why not indulge in them? It is, by no means, selfish. They desire the touch of beings such as we are and we...” He smiled and it was almost angelic. “We are loathe to decline.”
Thinking about it like that, it almost made sense to agree, to accept.
And the bloody bastard knew it too.
Grey eyes held his and that was when he realised the precarious position he had left himself in, pinned between the wall and Herbert. No where to run, no where to hide, no way to deny the hunger in him that would always be there.
“No killing?”
Herbert smiled. “Never here, cheri. Sanctuary.”
So that was it, was it? He’d been brought here under false pretences to get him somewhere he could feed, somewhere he could do it without the soul kicking up too much of a fuss, where Herbert knew he would feel...
Feel what?
Right? Safe? Guilt-free?
No.
There would always be a part of him that thought this was a bad move, but then, there was a part of him that thought falling in love with a wicked bugger like Herbert was the worst move in the world, if only because it meant that access to pretty birds was a bit of a no-no.
Not quite the same level, there, but that was it.
Conscience.
“Sometimes, this soul lark is a pain in the arse,” he mumbled.
“I know.” Herbert’s lips touched his softly.
“And so are you, you ponce.”
He felt rather than heard the throaty chuckle. “Literally, metaphorically and in all other ways, I am sure,” Herbert murmured, then kissed him, pressing him back against the wall, and Spike slipped his arms around Herbert’s waist and gave in.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Assault me.”
The Morsel eyed her dubiously, then look at the sword she was gripping in her pink, fleshy hands. “You sure about this?”
In the three days since Spike and the Sorcerer’s son had departed, the Morsel had been looking for further entertainments. She had sought Illyria’s presence and, with flattery and politeness, she had implored a lesson in combat from Illyria.
With little else to occupy her time, Illyria had agreed. It had stroked her ego to have one seek her counsel and guidance, which brought them to a sparring hall in the lower levels of the castle.
Spreading her hands, Illyria inclined her head, hair slipping on her shoulders. “You asked that you might train with me,” she said. “If you now begin to fear what may occur, then you may depart.”
“I’m not afraid!”
Brows rising, Illyria rolled her head on her neck. “You doubt your abilities.”
“No,” the Morsel said. Her voice was shrill. She looked aggravated by such words. “You don’t have a weapon. I kinda don’t think this is gonna be fair, if you don’t have a weapon.”
Illyria felt what she presumed was amusement. “It is my choice,” she stated. “Now, I will say again - assault me.”
The Morsel sighed, then lunged, swinging the sword. Pivoting on one foot, Illyria stepped out of her path. The flat of her palm brushed the blade harmlessly aside and the other hand caught the back of the Morsel’s head, pushing her off-balance.
As she turned to watch the human child stumble, Illyria’s fingers twitched by her sides.
The Morsel swung around. She recovered her balance quickly, Illyria noticed. That was good. If she had not recovered so swiftly, she would never prove anything more than adequate as a warrior.
“How...?”
“I stepped aside.”
The mortal stared at her with an awe and reverence she had not experienced for many centuries. “That was just stepping aside?” she said. “But you went all blurry, like you were being sped-up.”
Illyria felt her mouth curve upwards. Was this pleasure? Satisfaction? “While my greater powers are diminished on this plane,” she said. “I am not constrained by the dullness of mortal motion.”
She watched, curious, as the girl replicated her stance of moments earlier, then looked at her with expectation. “How did you do it? I mean, if you were gonna do it slowly, how would you do it?”
Illyria studied her. “You wish to learn to do battle as I would?”
“I wanna learn how to fight as well as I can,” the Morsel replied firmly. “Herbert’s teaching me to use swords, and Spike’s shown me the whole vampire-kick-boxer-thing, and...” The girl’s smile was broad and genuine. “I bet you fight in really cool ways.”
Illyria slanted her head. “I do not understand why temperature would affect my skills in combat.”
“Uh...” The Morsel rubbed the back of her neck with a hand. “I mean you probably fight really well.”
“This is unquestionable.” Illyria agreed. “In the days of my dominion, I would crush the fragile bodies of those who dared to oppose me until their vital fluids rained upon the ground and their bones were little more than dust. I tore their armies asunder and revelled in every scream until they were drowned in their own blood.”
The Morsel made a face. “Nice.”
“Satisfying.” Illyria replied. “What would you have me teach you?”
The girl’s shoulders lifted in what Illyria had come to understand as a gesture of uncertainty. “Anything,” she replied eagerly. “I mean, that moving thing... I can’t do it fast, but I bet it would be useful in a fight...”
Intriguing.
Very few creatures chose to learn skills that lay outwith their nature and species, but this little mortal could see how it might serve her better. This one was clearly no normal mortal. Few others had approached her, let alone demanded her tuition. Many of them had feared it and avoided her.
It appeared that something had forced this child’s fear away, and that was sufficient to grant Illyria something to occupy her time. It had been some time since she had done violence to another and her fingers were twitching with anticipation.
“If you are to move thus,” she began, resuming her stance. “Then you must watch your enemy with great awareness. If you are not aware of their movements and their weaknesses, then you will not surpass them.”
She gestured with one hand for the girl to attack once more. The Morsel attacked with greater care and used her other hand. So, she knew to vary. Also good.
“You must not let them anticipate your mode of attack,” she continued, one hand gripping the mortal’s wrist like steel. “Your hesitation reveals your indecision. If you are to triumph, you must not hesitate.”
“Okay...” The Morsel nodded and Illyria experimentally tightened her grip. The girl made no sound of protest. Her expression was quietly defiant. Interesting. “What if you need to hesitate?”
“You should not.” Loosing her hand, Illyria stepped alongside the girl. She watched the mortal’s face over her shoulder, then swung her left arm towards the girl’s back. It was a slow blow, but still faster than a mortal blow. Had it struck, the girl would have been sent stumbling, bruised.
However, the girl’s eyes had caught the flicker of motion of Illyria’s arm and she dropped to the floor without hesitation, squatting on her toes. Illyria’s fist grazed over her skull, satisfaction turning to something akin to surprise when the mortal was immediately upright, sword against Illyria’s throat.
Tilting her head slightly, she could feel the blade against her skin. “Adequate.”
Beaming, the mortal stepped back and tried to twirl the sword. Had she succeeded, it would have been admirable. However, she failed. It fell heavily on her toes. With a yelp of pain, she hopped up and down on her uninjured foot, clutching the other.
Illyria curled and uncurled her fingers leisurely. “Such displays are foolish,” she noted. “If you are to slay your enemy, do not waste time with ornamental flourishes. It will only divert your attention from your wish to rend them apart.”
Dropping to sit, the Morsel pulled off her footwear and examined her bare foot closely. Apparently relieved by the lack of blood, she pulled the shoe back on and rose again, though she shifted her weight gingerly.
“Okay... no fancy sword-tricks. Got it.”
Illyria gazed at her impassively. “Assaulting yourself does not qualify as a fancy sword trick,” she said.
The Morsel stared at her. “Did... are you making a joke?”
Illyria cocked her head slowly. “Such mortal things are beneath my understanding.”
Again, the girl stared.
Making her knuckles crackle as she flexed her thin fingers, Illyria returned her stare blankly, though she could feel that strange sensation - amusement - again. So much time in the company of those such as Spike and the Sorcerer’s kin had been causing such emotion to emerge more frequently.
“Do you wish to continue?” she asked. “Or are you maimed?”
The face the mortal made was unflattering by the standards of a thousand races, and she picked up the sword. With limping steps, she crossed the room to replace it on the single table.
“I think hand-to-hand stuff would be better,” she said, returning across the floor.
Illyria noted the way the girl favoured her uninjured foot by degrees, each step more laboured and cautious. “You are familiar with combat of this manner?” she asked the mortal, assuming a formal stance.
“Kinda...” The defensive position she took up informed the demon that ‘kinda’ was something of an understatement. Her body was relaxed, but there was a wary tension in it too, her eyes focussed, the set of her chin determined. “You’re gonna have to go slow, so I can keep up, k?”
“Defend yourself as best you can.” Though her speed was greatly diminished, Illyria attacked without hesitation, the first blow glancing off the girl’s shoulder, making her stumble, the second aimed at the mortal’s stomach.
With a blocking stroke, the Morsel looked pleased when she diverted the blow, only to step into another. “Hey! Ow! OW!” Illyria desisted and canted her head in question. “I thought you were gonna go slow!”
“My speed was greatly reduced,” Illyria replied evenly. “If you feign the gravity of your injury to gain an advantage, then I have no cause to assault you fairly.”
The mortal’s face coloured to a deep shade of red. “You noticed...?”
Illyria nodded gravely. “I have crushed thousands of millions beneath my feet, little Morsel,” she said. “I do not overlook weaknesses, nor am I blind to those who feign such things.” She inclined her head again. “Such simple cunning is only fitting when you are embroiled in combat with a lesser being of little wit.”
“I’ll remember that,” the Morsel mumbled, rubbing her upper arm. “And also, ow.”
From the door, someone laughed softly. Both she and the Morsel looked around to see the Sorcerer standing there. His arms were folded upon his chest and his features were benevolent.
“How long have you been lurking there?” The mortal looked mortified.
“Mere moments, liebling,” he murmured. “There is a telephone call awaiting you.”
The Morsel looked at Illyria. “Another day, huh?”
“When you are less afraid,” Illyria said, her expression unreadable.
The mortal made a face and hurried across the room, her lame foot notably healed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“They require your presence?”
Pulling several shirts out of her drawer, Dawn tossed them into her bag, dropping to her knees to root out some pants. “Buffy’s gone to America,” she replied over her shoulder. “They’ve got big problems. I wanna be there to help.”
Standing several paces away, Johannes watched her silently.
“What could you do?” he asked finally, his arms folded over his chest.
Pushing some underwear into the bag, Dawn looked up, surprised. “I can be there,” she said. “I know I’m not super-powered or magical or anything, but I can still help them out in the good, old-fashioned mortal way.”
“You have said yourself they are an insular multitude,” he murmured.
Looking back down at her bag, Dawn sighed. “Yeah, they can be,” she agreed. “But I still have friends there. If people I know are getting hurt, I wanna at least be there to do something.” She watched her fingers buckling the bag. “I feel useless. I can’t do anything to even help...”
“You care,” Johannes murmured. “Surely that would suffice.”
She looked up at him, brows drawn together in thought. “You could help.”
He canted his head slightly, as if he had misheard. “Liebling?”
“You.” She got to her feet, bag dropped onto the couch. “You’ve got the uber-magic thing going on. Can’t you... I don’t know... come with me and help and do protection spells and things with Willow?”
Dark eyes narrowed. “Why would I do such a thing?”
Despite herself, Dawn shivered at the coolness in his gaze. “Well... uh... you’re not really the kinda take-over-the-world-evil kind of guy,” she said hesitantly. “You’re not totally evil... you could kinda help us...”
“Help you and your friends to kill my kind.”
Putting it like that, it didn’t sound quite as nice and neat as she’d thought.
“I didn’t mean...”
Suddenly, he was right in front of her, staring down at her so dispassionately that she found herself stepping back. “You would have me stand alongside your sister and her army, would you?”
“I thought...” She exhaled a sharp breath. “Look, it was just an idea.”
“Would you venture forth with Herbert and kill, if I asked it of you?” He caught her chin in his hand, his grip vice-like.
“That’s different!” She winced as his grip tightened.
Von Krolock gazed down at her. “That is what you are asking of me.”
“I’m asking you to protect some kids! Is that such a big deal?”
He released her sharply. “You have no idea what you are asking, you foolish child,” he whispered, his eyes flashing. “Why should I grant my time, my skill, to them? What have they done but destroy those like me?”
“I had to ask...”
“Because you are feeling so useless in yourself, you feel you have the right to claim my gifts, to direct them as you would choose?” He laughed quietly. “I would never help those such as the Slayers. My existence is balanced upon a knife’s edge between salvation and damnation, and I would not risk that for them.”
“Salva...”
“Not of the kind you think.” His gaze was grave. “Would you have me upset the balance for your sister’s crusade?” His fingertips dragged from her cheek slowly. “I am treading a fine line, liebling, even restraining myself from the hunt. Would you have me leap from it with altruism that goes against my nature?”
A dozen questions lined up, one after the other.
“I want to do something.”
“Then go and do what you can.” He touched her lips with his fingertips. “For I cannot and will not. For three centuries, I have held myself away from petty power struggles and the politics of the damned. I will not ally myself with their common enemy, and thus become a target.”
“Their common enemy?” Dawn stared at him. “If that’s what they think, then what the hell am I? I’ve fought them! I’ve killed them too. And you don’t seem to have any problem with me.”
His smile was like Vittorio’s for a moment and she felt her worry and anger mixing together. “You are not one of them, liebling, as much as you wish to be.” His voice was charming, but his words were like a blow.
“So, I don’t count, huh?” She shied away from him, her expression tight. “I’m not ‘important’ enough for the uber-evils to give a damn about? Just because I’m not a Slayer by blood?”
“That is not what I meant.” He reached out to her, but she snatched up her bag.
“Meant enough,” she whispered, turning away sharply, before he could see the first glitter of tears that were starting to burn the corners of her eyes.
“Dawn.”
Ignoring him, her lips pressing together, hot tears streaking onto her cheeks, she ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
With one hand on the dozing William’s thigh, the other on the steering wheel, Herbert was humming along with the Requiem CD. It was a foolish favourite, but he loved it all the same. Requiems had always been one of his guilty pleasures, even before he was turned.
They had left the club barely half a dozen hours earlier after a pleasant day in the company of Fridi and the quiet presence of Matthias. While William had not openly objected to the boy, Herbert could tell he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the charming little mortal.
From first impressions, he no doubt thought Matthias quiet, timid and house-broken on every level. It would be intriguing to educate him about the child when they got back to the castle.
Tapping his fingers against the wheel, he took a sharp turn into a hairpin bend with a speed that knocked William’s head against the window, making him jolt awake with a curse.
“Good evening, cheri,” Herbert said cheerfully, palpating his hand against William’s thigh. “Slept well, have you?”
“Would have if you hadn’t been playing such crap music,” William grumbled, rubbing his face, then his offended temple. “And if you wanted me awake, you could have asked, instead of concussing me.”
Herbert laughed fondly. “Ah, you would ruin all my fun, my darling,” he said, his eyes dancing. He glanced at William, saw the rueful smile on his lips, the openness of his bright eyes then nodded ahead. “We are almost home.”
“Can’t wait to get back in my own bed.” William yawned widely, rubbing his eyes drowsily.
“Cannot wait to get back in your own bed too.” Herbert’s lips twitched impishly and he saw the flicker of William’s grin.
Ahead of them, the walls of the castle were nearing, the wrought iron gates gleaming as they started to open under the light of the grinning moon.
“Must know we’re coming,” William observed, stretching.
“Mm,” Herbert acknowledged, though a frown was creeping across his face. Father seldom acknowledged modern technology and would hardly debase his abilities to open the gates.
Still, as long as they were open…
Cursing aloud, Herbert jerked the wheel hard, the edge of his bumper scraping against the wall as a car sped out through the gates. It clipped the mirror of his car, knocking it inwards, but didn’t stop, tearing down the road and into the darkness.
“What the hell was that?” William exclaimed, twisting in his seat.
“That,” Herbert squinted at the rapidly disappearing reflection in the mirror, the lights dim between the dark trees. “Was your de Soto, cheri. And unless I am sorely mistaken, it was being driven by Dawn.”
Blue eyes darted wildly to grey. “Oh bollocks…”
“Mm.” Herbert reversed several feet, then slid the car between the gateposts without further comment, though his eyes were scouring the castle and, to his surprise, he saw his father standing at the open front doors.
Braking sharply, the car still moving as he scrambled out, he hurried across the gravel towards his father, who was watching the distant specks of headlamps fade into the blackness of night.
“Father?”
Black eyes slipped to Herbert’s face sadly, then his father turned away and stepped into the shadows, vanishing from sight.