(no subject)
TITLE: The Gentler Sex
RATING: Hedging towards R
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SERIES: Part of Carpe Noctem series. In order: Til The Moon Is Abed (Slash/Het), Unwritten Words and What Remains, then this chapter.
PAIRINGS: Herbert/Spike, Spike/von Krolock
WARNINGS: Bloodplay and domination. What can I say? Vampires!
WORDS: 7962
NOTES: Yes, it was going to be a smutty one-shot last week. Five days and about 20,000 words later, I think I have made myself a liar. Or just done as I always do when it comes to fic. Can't ever just do a short one-shot.
and just because I blame her every time, this one's for you, bwinter! Again!
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When she had heard the name was on Giles’s delivery list, she’d known it was a job she was going to do, even if she didn’t wait for her sister’s permission. School was out, she had already graduated, and if Buffy was going to tell her to get a job, she could say she already had one.
And the better car.
Tearing around a hairpin bend, she floored the accelerator, speeding onwards back into the shadow of the forests that seemed to go on forever in this neck of some weird country with ‘ania’ in the name.
Somewhere in the west, she knew the sun was starting to sink. Even now, she could tell by the faint shades of pink that were starting to appear across the clouds. With a laugh, she shook her head at that thought. She really had been hanging out with Slayers for way too long.
It certainly gave her an excuse for the speed she was racing through the landscape at, the roof of the convertible down, and the wind shrieking around her as she sped along roads that seemed way too narrow.
From what she’d heard about this area, it was a place of the big and ugly badness, most of them with teeth and fangs, but what worried her more was that if she didn’t get the delivery to the guy - blood-free and in one piece - then Giles would rip her a new one. And that was before Buffy found out her cool little convertible had been stolen and raced off to eastern Europe.
Demons could attack, for all she cared, as long as they didn’t get between her and the delivery she was trying to make.
Even if they did attack, she had an axe tossed in the passenger seat, several stakes on her, a modified pistol with silver bullets at her hip, the elaborate embossed knuckle-dusters Faith had sent her as a birthday present, not to mention the protection spells that Willow had woven around her as snugly as a sock on a foot.
And underneath it all, there was a nervous flutter in her belly as she remembered the letter she had hastily shoved in the glove-compartment to take as proof, in case she had to check that this... Graf-guy was who she suspected.
Asking Buffy had been a big no-no.
Saying anything about what happened in the Hellmouth that day was.
Sometimes, she had walked into the house and found Buffy just sitting, looking out the window, interlacing her fingers in a patch of sunlight, but she had never asked and Buffy had never said.
While it was their big triumph, leading to an army of Slayers and knocking Hell right on its ass, she knew neither of them were going to forget that it hadn’t been easy and that people had died.
If it was just some twisted vampire’s idea of a sick joke, then she was going to be pissed and she had her collection of vampire-whacking gadgets to show just how pissed off a Vampire Slayer’s non-Slaying baby sister could be. While she didn’t have the additional strength and healing that Slayers did, she had spent too many years on the sidelines watching and figuring out new tricks. She had helped designing new weapons, kinds that could be worn as part of every-day clothing until they weren’t, and she never went anywhere without them.
Her hair whipping against her cheeks, she pushed it back from her face and squinted through the trees. According to the map and some not-very-helpful locals, the house she was looking for was meant to be around here somewhere.
“Damn it,” she muttered, glancing towards the sky, which was growing darker by the instant, the first stars appearing.
Not that she was afraid of the dark, but getting stuck in a strange forest in the middle of nowhere with no signal on her cell phone was definitely not a good thing, even by normal-people standards.
And then, there it was, as if it had been hidden there all the time; lights shining through windows between the trees.
Anyone else would have been relieved, but Dawn felt an uneasy prickle run down her spine. She’d seen Willow’s masking spells before, seen the unmasking and the way it had just appeared was in no way a good thing.
Still, it wasn’t like she had any choice right now.
Following the winding road, she wasn’t entirely surprised when broad, metal gates swung open without so much as an inquiry about her identity. There wasn’t even any security around the walls. That usually meant either incredibly dumb home owners or people who used security that couldn’t be seen.
Under the tyres the gravel rattled and crackled as she neared the front doors of what looked like a pretty damn cool house. It was old, but looked like it had been looked after too.
Climbing out the car, she grabbed the parcel of Giles’s crazy-expensive books in their box. Tucking it under one arm, she adjusted the dagger in the sheath on her back, straightened her crucifix, checked her one-shot crossbow on her wrist wasn’t showing and smoothed her wind-swept hair.
Over her substantial and carefully-concealed weaponry, she had an overcoat that fell to her knees, but it wasn’t doing much to keep out the chill right now. Adjusting her lapel, she felt that the coil of wire hidden in the lining had slipped out of place and hastily tucked it out of sight. Sometimes, just sometimes, it would be nice to wear something that couldn’t kill you if you tripped over your own two feet.
Satisfied that she looked as professional as she could, she strode towards the front door, but before she even lifted her hand to ring the bell, the door swung open.
“Oh, great!” she groaned at the sight of the empty hall. Creepy front gates were one thing, but creepy front doors were not good. Knowing hesitant behaviour would only make her look like an extra in some tacky horror film, she exhaled a frustrated breath and strode into the building.
Coming to a halt in the middle of a grand hallway, she looked around, but couldn’t see anyone about.
“Okay, I’m going to bow to the pressure of the cliche here,” she called out loudly, turning in a circle. “Is there anyone there? No? Okay. Well, I’ll just take your crazily-priced books and leave then, okay?”
“That will not be necessary,” a quiet, deep voice spoke from somewhere on the upper landing at the top of the stairs. He had an accent, but it wasn’t all that strong compared to some of the people she had met earlier.
Looking up at the shadows, the Slayer’s sister grinned. “Good,” she said, though she shifted her weight slightly. Damned Slayers were a bad influence. “Giles would go all English on me if I told him I didn’t deliver them.”
“Ah, so, you are the agent from the Watcher’s Council?” Anyone else would have jumped when the speaker emerged from the darkness just to her left instead of the shadows above the stairs.
“That’s me,” Dawn turned as if she had expected him all along. “Dawn Summers, delivery girl and agent.”
With a hand on her hip, her stance casual, she looked him up and down. Older guy with long hair? Didn’t see that often. Looked like the rich guys in the old films Buffy used to watch, some kind of gentlemen. Most noticeably, he was taller than she was. That didn’t happen often enough anymore, since she’d hit five-nine.
The man inclined his head and his lips curled in a welcoming smile “I am the Graf von Krolock,” he murmured. “I expect you are fatigued after your journey, Miss. Are you hungry or in need of refreshment?”
Dawn’s brows rose. “Huh,” she said. It wasn’t often that she was offered anything in her role as the go-for girl. Withdrawing the parcel from under her arm, she held it out to him. “I’m good.” She hesitated, then added, “I could do with something to drink.”
Von Krolock took the bundle from her reverently and she felt his fingertips brush against hers. They were icy-cold, drawing her eyes for a moment, then she looked back up to find his dark eyes on her face.
“Would you accept accommodation also?” he murmured. “I fear it is too late to continue your journey tonight.”
Dawn eyed him suspiciously. “You do know that delivery comes with the guarantee that the delivery-girl doesn’t get eaten, sacrificed, barbecued, shish-kebobed, toasted, exsanguinated or anything gross or death-causing, right?”
He laughed softly, such a simple amused sound that Dawn only stared more. “Have no fear,” he said. “I have no desire to make an enemy of the Watchers Council.”
“In that case, sure,” she replied. “Could do with getting some sleep before I head, as long as I’m not kicking anyone out of their rooms or anything.”
“Not at all,” he murmured. “We have few guests.” He offered her his arm, which she took after a moment of hesitation. This time, his eyebrows rose slightly. “Such tools are impractical under long sleeves,” he observed.
“Yeah, figured that out too late,” Dawn muttered, blushing.
Von Krolock granted her a brief smile. “I have no doubt you would improvise with great skill, were it required,” he murmured. Dawn was torn between glaring at him and giggling. Giggling? The hell?
“Are you doing some weird vampire mojo on me?” she demanded.
The Graf - whatever the hell that was - gazed at her. “Do you think I am?”
Dawn gave him a look. “If I say yes, you could be making me say that and if I say no, same thing,” she said. “That’s why I asked.”
“And you are only a delivery girl?” As he directed her down a hallway with a nod, the Graf’s eyes never seemed to leave her face, which made her feel kind of squirmy but not in a totally bad way. “I find that difficult to believe.”
“Just a regular girl. Not a slayer or witch or superhero,” Dawn replied airily, looking around at the paintings lining the walls. “No biggie.”
“I remain unconvinced.” Von Krolock’s voice sounded like a purr, rolling over her senses and sending a tingle racing down her spine. No! Bad Dawnie! No messing about with the clients! Rule two! And undead clients at that! Rule one!
Deliberately eyeing the paintings to avoid looking back into those dark eyes, Dawn cleared her throat. “So... uh... you’re Mister von Krolock, right?”
“That is correct,” he agreed softly.
“The only one?” She looked around at him, and promptly lost the mental path she had been aiming for. “Uh... I... uh... I mean, you don’t have brothers or anything like that? Any other ones with that name?”
Von Krolock laughed softly. “Unless you speak of my son,” he murmured, “I am, indeed, the only one.”
“Huh.” Reaching into her coat pocket, Dawn pulled out the letter she had received, a little crumpled and bent, but still legible. “So, is this your notepaper, then?”
For a moment, the man - vampire, Dawn, vampire - went still, staring at the sheet, then looked at her, as if seeing her with new eyes. “It is,” he said, leading her onwards down the hall. “May I know where you found it?”
“Didn’t find it,” Dawn replied evenly, watching him now as intently as he had watched her. “It was sent to me. Not the Watchers Council. Me. From here.”
“Indeed,” von Krolock said quietly, pausing by a pair of double-doors. He loosed his arm from hers, his eyes on her face again, focussed, but not staring. Definitely not staring.
Unsettled but unwilling to show it, Dawn lifted her chin and gazed right back at him.
“Indeed,” he repeated thoughtfully. Turning away from her, he laid his hands against the broad handles, gazing down at them. “Who do you think might have sent a missive to you?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Dawn replied.
Von Krolock raised his head, but didn’t look around. “Perhaps,” he murmured, then pushed the doors open and stepped into the biggest living room Dawn had ever seen in her life.
Following him, unconsciously reaching down to touch the cross at her throat, she saw two other figures already in the room. One of them was sprawled on the floor in front of the fireplace, reading. The other was draped in a chair, also bearing a book, but his was not opened.
“Herbert, William.” Von Krolock’s murmur was unnecessary, she noticed. As soon as she had stepped into the room, both of them had shifted, a subtle indication that they were both aware of a mortal in the vicinity. “We have a guest.”
The vampire that was lying on the floor seemed to go rigid, and she saw its head turn sharply, silhouetted against the fire for a moment, shaggy hair falling around its face. A male, she decided. Not too big. She could take it down easily.
“Bloody hell!”
Or not.
On his feet, the vampire was staring at her as wildly as she was staring at him.
“Spike...?”
“Holy shit! Nibbles!”
In the thirty seconds that followed, she wasn’t sure which of them moved first or which of them moved fastest, only that they crashed into each other hard enough to knock the wind out of her and to tip them both onto the floor.
“You’re alive!” she squealed, clinging onto him, uncaring of the fact they were sprawled in an ungainly heap on the floor. “You’re all alive and fleshy and stuff! Not all toasty and sucked into hell!”
Hauling her back onto her feet and squeezing her tightly around the middle, his eyes roved her face. “Holy crap, Nibbles!” he exclaimed. “Look at you! You grew up into juicy young thing!”
“To hell with that!” Dawn exclaimed, grinning at the appalled look that crossed his face. “Let’s get back to the part where you aren’t dead!”
“Only if you mind your language, pet,” he cautioned, pointing at her.
Unable to help herself, she burst out laughing at the weirdness of a vampire lecturing her about swearing and threw her arms around him again, hugging him tightly. “God, I missed you!”
She could feel his cool cheek pressed against hers, his hand combing through her hair. “Missed you too, Niblet,” he murmured. “Didn’t have anyone else to blame when things went wrong.”
Drawing back and giving him a fond look, Dawn smiled. “You’re still a jerk,” she said. She turned, looking back at the boss-man. “So, perhaps, huh?”
Inclining his head, von Krolock’s smile was brief. “So it would seem.”
Returning her attention to Spike, she grabbed his hands. “You could have written to me!” she exclaimed. “You’ve been alive again how long now? You didn’t think about grabbing a pen?”
“In my defence,” Spike laughed, freeing one of his hands to touch her face. “I was a ghost for months, then kind of got roped into that mess with Angel...”
“Angel knew?” Dawn stared at him. “And didn’t tell us?”
With a sheepish look, Spike shrugged helplessly. “We were kind of busy what with the averting the apocalypse and what have you,” he mumbled. “I figured Andrew would have let something...”
“Andrew knew?” Dawn’s voice rose another level. “Oh, he is so getting his ass kicked when I get back!”
Spike stared at her. “Back? Already? You’re not staying?”
“Miss Summers will remain overnight,” von Krolock spoke suddenly, softly, from close to them, and Dawn glanced at him, blinking when she noticed that his eyes were lingering on her once more. “It is too late for her to travel tonight.”
“Too bloody right it is!” Spike exclaimed.
Forcing herself to look away from the Graf-guy, Dawn gave Spike’s cooler hand a squeeze. “Is there somewhere we can go and catch up?” she asked. “Because you’ve been dead and I’ve been studying and Bu... and... well, watcher council stuff! I wanna tell you about that.”
Spike glanced passed her at the chief vampire guy, then grinned at her. “Got a room near mine we can chuck you in,” he said, leading her towards the door. “And as long as I get details of the virgin sacrifices and whatnot, I’m happy.”
“Virgin sacrifices?” Dawn rolled her eyes. “Oh, please! I’m way past them now.”
Spike stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes round as saucers, and Dawn’s laughter echoed in the halls.
“Sucker!”
8.8.8.8.8.8
Leaving Dawn sleeping, Spike stepped out into the hall, unsurprised to find von Krolock standing there, gazing quietly into the open room and the figure tucked up in the large bed.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the younger vampire said, pulling the door closed behind him.
The Graf’s dark eyes drifted to his face. “That is doubtful, William,” he murmured, his expression as unfathomable as always. “She has great fortitude, if she travelled this far to find you.”
Crossing his arms defensively over his chest, Spike clenched his jaw. “Kid’s like a sister to me,” he said, looking down at his feet, then up at von Krolock. “Shouldn’t be dragged back into the dark with the likes of us.”
Von Krolock lifted a hand to tilt Spike’s chin up, his lips curving minutely. “Unless I am sorely mistaken,” he murmured. “She came here on your invitation. You ensured she would have indication enough to capture her interest and came, she did.”
The muscles in Spike’s cheek twitched “Didn’t realise she would work it out on her own.” he mumbled. “Just wanted her to know I wasn’t dead. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“You knew she would try to find you, William.”
Reluctantly, the younger vampire nodded in agreement. “Just wanted to see her,” he muttered, lowering his eyes. “Didn’t even think that she’d have grown up...” Blue eyes rose to von Krolock. “She’s my Bit. Don’t want to see her hurt.”
“And you believe we will harm her?”
Spike shrugged, trying to ignore the long-nailed thumb that was idly caressing his cheek. “Not deliberately, I s’pose,” he mumbled. “She’s been through a hell of a lot, that girl. Doesn’t need more.”
Von Krolock gazed down at him pensively. “I suspect she and Herbert could become friends,” he murmured, his eyes dark, deep, drawing Spike’s, holding them, searching him. “But it is not Herbert’s closeness to her that you fear, is it?”
Scowling, scuffing his toe against the floor like a petulant child, Spike looked away and grumbled, “I hate it when you do that.”
Von Krolock laughed softly, richly, tilting Spike’s chin up with one fingertip. “And we both know that such lies do not become you, William,” he said silkily.
In spite of himself, Spike felt a pleasant shiver run down his spine. Instinctively, his head tilted just slightly, baring his throat, his eyes closing. “Hate when you do that as well,” he mumbled.
As he traced his nails lightly down Spike’s neck, von Krolock’s chuckle was soft. “You really are quite the abysmal liar,” he observed, lowering his head to kiss the faint scar left by his own fangs only a few nights earlier.
Spike’s hands leapt to clutch the Graf’s broader shoulders. “Tell me you won’t hurt her,” he implored breathlessly. He felt von Krolock’s hand slip down to the base of his back, holding him. “Please.”
Softly, deliberately, kisses were touched over every inch of the healing scars, making Spike’s legs buckle and his hands tremble on von Krolock’s shoulders. His eyes were closed and he was half-panting, half-whimpering.
“William,” the whisper was as soft as silk against his skin. “You know I would never do anything to hurt you.” The very tips of the Graf’s fangs cut into his flesh and Spike bit hard on his lip to stifle a desperate moan. “You know this.”
“But the Niblet...”
“William,” The kiss that touched his lips was bloodied. “Do not doubt me.”
“But she...”
One hand at the base of Spike’s back, the Graf’s other hand rose to cup the opposite side of Spike’s jaw with mock-gentleness. “Trust me, William,” he murmured, the velvet softness masking steel.
Blue eyes, wide and filled with a dozen emotions, stared at him. “I do.”
His hand suddenly tangling in Spike’s hair, pulling his head back, von Krolock gazed at him. “Do not lie to me, William,” he said softly. “I understand your feelings and your fears. I can taste them.”
Shuddering, panting, Spike nodded tightly. “Yes, sir.”
Lowering his head once more, von Krolock brushed his lips across the bleeding wound on Spike’s throat. “Good,” the Graf murmured.
Long strands of hair caressed Spike’s skin, making him shiver, but the teasing softness was suddenly and sharply forgotten when - with a ferocity that seemed unlike him - von Krolock sank his fangs hard into Spike’s throat.
The startled, gasping breath Spike drew smothered the sharp cry of pain that rose in his throat, his eyes going wide as he clutched wildly at von Krolock’s shoulders. His eyes filled with tears of shocked agony as the bite sank deeper and, around them, the world faded and changed.
When the Graf’s mouth tore away, Spike sagged helplessly, limp, supported only by the arm that was still about his waist. Staring at von Krolock, he felt the first stirrings of fear at the look on von Krolock’s face.
“Never lie to me or doubt me again, William,” the Graf’s voice was soft, as it had been moments earlier, but there was a ferocity in his eyes that Spike had never seen before. “I do not appreciate it.”
“Y-yes, sir,” Spike whispered faintly, warily staring up at the Graf, his ice-cold hands still grasping von Krolock’s shoulders. He could feel his blood streaming from his throat, could feel it soaking into his shirt. “I... I didn’t mean to...”
It felt like his legs were going out from beneath him, but by degrees, he realised that von Krolock was lowering him to the floor, more gently now. Half-seated, half-flopped uselessly, he tried to sit, but too much blood was still spilling from his throat.
“You are under my protection, William,” the Graf’s voice was quiet, grave, his right arm slipping under Spike’s shoulders. Drawn against von Krolock’s chest, he was cradled as gently as a babe in arms. “Thus, I expect you trust me.”
Shivering from loss of blood and from lingering fear of his host’s wrath, Spike tried to wet his lips with his tongue, his hands dropping heavily to his chest. “Y-yes, sir.”
Von Krolock gazed at him. With his left hand, he gently stroked Spike’s cheek, his gaze penetrating. “Good boy,” he murmured, then lifted his hand.
With his vision blurring, Spike was sure he was seeing things. No way he was seeing what he was seeing. He squinted a moment before the Graf’s bitten wrist was placed to his lips, powerful, old blood splashing over his tongue.
He inhaled in shock, so sharply that he almost choked.
“Slowly,” von Krolock murmured. “Drink.”
His eyes fluttering shut, Spike’s mouth hungrily latched onto the bleeding wound, one hand weakly rising to clutch at von Krolock’s arm, strength returning with every urgent mouthful.
When the Graf slowly withdrew his wrist, Spike sagged, panting and quivering against his other arm.
“Oh Christ...” he moaned faintly, groping at von Krolock with one shaking hand, as if seeking proof that he wasn’t in the throes of some completely trippy dream. “Christ on a cupcake...”
With a chuckle, von Krolock shifted Spike’s weight against his chest. With a paternal tut, he withdrew his kerchief and dabbed the splatters of blood from Spike’s chin and lips. “You can be so foolish occasionally, William,” he murmured.
“Yeah... bad habit...” Spike panted, slightly-glazed eyes trying to focus on the face above him. “Oh god...” He blinked feverishly, then laughed giddily. “Shit... I can see the stars...”
Von Krolock looked up, then smiled down at him, so fondly and so benevolently that it seemed that the previous half hour could not have happened. “Those are candles, William,” he murmured. “I took the opportunity to bring you to my chambers, so your young woman wouldn’t witness your crass manners.”
“Oh... right,” Spike’s fingers twisted into his shirt, his body shivering as if a wave of pure pleasure had just surged through him. His other hand tugged at his shirt, his back arching against von Krolock’s arm. “Oh God... what...” He pulled the Graf closer to him, groping at the heavy fabric of the elder vampire’s shirt. “What the hell have you been taking?”
The smile was nowhere near as gentle close up, slow, deliberate and thoroughly wicked. “Nothing, William,” von Krolock purred, pressing his palm to Spike’s throat, the sharp nail of his thumb pushing the younger vampire’s chin up. “I let you have but a taste of my desires.”
Blue eyes went round. “Bloody hell...” he whimpered.
Von Krolock’s smile remained, quiet, calm, in control. “Mm?”
Panting, his body twisting and shuddering against the cool stone of the floor, Spike felt like invisible hands were caressing him from within, teasing like sexual fire along every nerve. The unbearable but incredible heat scorching through him, he pressed his forehead against the Graf’s ribs.
Dark eyes gazed down at him, a cool hand covering the one that was clutching so feverishly at the front of the Graf’s shirt. “You need only ask, William.”
His tongue stuttering along his lips, Spike inhaled rapid breaths. “S’okay...” he managed to say, then arched with a cry that was part heated pain and part unfettered desire. “Oh God...”
“I can wait for eternity, William,” von Krolock’s voice’s was like aural silk, low, deep and warm, as sensual and teasing as the invisible caress granted by his blood. “I can and I do and I will, if I must.”
“No...” the young vampire whimpered.
Von Krolock laughed softly. “I have played this game far longer than you can begin to imagine, William,” he murmured, drawing his hand down Spike’s arm and splaying it on his chest. “I could make this last forever.”
Biting his lip until blood came, Spike could feel himself teetering on the brink of climax. He was so damnably close, but that was as close as he was going to get. he could tell by the way the Graf’s fingers were teasing across his ribs, by the fire raging in his blood, by the shudders shaking him.
“Please...” he whispered, eyes squeezed closed against the thought of such desperation.
“Pardon, William?”
“I said please!” he exclaimed, unable to silence the ringing cry of satisfaction as von Krolock’s hand pressed flat to his chest and pleasure beyond anything he had ever felt crashed in on him in wave after dizzying wave.
It could have been five minutes later or it might have been five hours when he felt himself lifted, carried as if he weighed nothing more than a child. Laid upon a bed, he felt the sharp invasion of fangs at his throat once more, then the more gentle lap of a tongue against his skin.
“Mm...” he mumbled, trying to lift his hands, but his body felt completely and utterly sated and drained. He heard the soft chuckle and felt the brief brush of lips to his as he drifted into what he assumed was sleep without protest.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
When the rising sun had broken through her window, Dawn had sworn aloud, dragged a pillow over her head and pretended to sleep for another half an hour, but when the morning wouldn’t take the hint and go away, she forced herself to sit up.
Swearing vengeance at it and reminding herself that there were curtains around the bed and across the windows for a reason, she had grumpily surfaced, forcing herself out of the large and excessively snug bed.
Wearing nothing more than mismatched socks, an oversized t-shirt and shorts, she squeaked another expletive when the morning air hit her. Dragging the large duvet off her bed, she wrapped it around her body. It was become clear that vampires still hadn’t worked out that a heating system was a good thing.
Shuffling her way through to the connected bathroom, idly speculating what use vampires had for toilets, she tossed some water on her face, admiring the panda-eyes she had acquired.
“Make-up off before bed, remember that,” she chastised her reflection. Digging through her bag, she pulled out a brush and - gripping the corners of the blanket with her teeth - negotiated the mess of her hair into a more human look.
Shoving the brush back into her bag, she pulled the blanket around her more snugly and walked back out into the main room, only to stop dead. Apparently, in the high-backed chair by the table, someone had made themselves comfortable.
With slipper-clad feet resting on the table on the end of silk-pyjama-clad legs, the only other part of him that was visible was the hand that was extended casually over the broad arm, beckoning her closer.
“Most normal people would knock before walking into a girl’s room,” Dawn said.
The occupant of the seat shifted and fraction of a face became visible around the edge of the chair back. “Normal is such a relative term,” the man murmured, then swung his feet down off the table.
“I’ll say,” Dawn agreed dryly, approaching the chair with caution. “You do know the boss here says I’m not allowed to be eaten, don’t you?”
The vampire in the seat laughed. “What makes you think I would answer to him?” the wicked murmur rose, the visible hand making a casual gesture. “I am not usually up this early and I am a little hungry.”
Standing almost level with the chair, Dawn stopped moving. Her hand under the blanket shifted slightly. “Sorry, but I’m not really in the mood to get eaten,” she said casually. “I just found out my friend is alive and I kind of want to do the catch-up thing with him. There’s going to be ice cream.”
Rising out of the chair as swiftly and lightly as a cat, the vampire swung around to face her. With long, golden hair and a wicked little smile, he reminded her a little of Spike before he got crazy and sad.
“That is a shame,” he murmured. “I do so hate to disappoint William.”
“I could say the same,” she replied with a charming smile. “He’ll be pissed if I have to kill you.”
One golden brow rose. “You believe you could do such a thing?”
From within the folds of the blankets, the muzzle of her pistol emerged. “I could,” she replied sweetly. “Eventually.”
The vampire’s brows rose and he glanced at her. “Little girl,” he murmured. “You know shooting me will not kill me.”
“I know,” Dawn said meeting his gaze and smiling. “That’s why I said eventually. I figure I shoot you enough, you’ll fall down and then, I’ll just mosey on over, get my stake or my axe.”
“You think you would be fast enough?”
“You wanna try me?”
Reaching out, the vampire tweaked the fold of the blanket aside. “Impressive,” he observed. The gun was in a hand-holster which made it nearly impossible for it to be knocked out of her hand. Only if she chose to drop it, would it fall. “You came well-prepared.”
The Slayer’s sister grinned. “Lived on a Hellmouth for years,” she replied, lowering the gun into the recesses of the blanket. “Teaches you a few things.”
Abruptly, he was behind her, her arms pinned to her sides by the arm around her body. “Not enough,” he murmured close to her ear.
Dawn rolled her eyes. His hair tickled against her neck, then his lips touched the side of her throat. She grinned as he swore in a language she didn’t recognise and released her. “What?” she inquired innocently, turning to face him.
His fingertips touched lips that were blistered as if burned by contact with her skin and he stared at her, more especially her throat. “How...?”
“I’m special and beautiful snowflake,” she lisped in a little-girl voice, then burst out laughing at the incredulous look on his face. “Seriously? You really wanna know? You don’t just wanna try and eat me again?”
“I had no intention of eating you anyway, Miss Summers,” the vampire replied with a half-grin that turned into a wince. “I am genuinely curious. In four hundred years, I have never had such a thing happen before.”
“That’s because you ate really dumb people,” Dawn replied, stepping closer to him and into the light. She tilted her head up. “Take a closer look.”
The vampire eyed her, then bent to look at her neck. “What is it I am meant to be seeing?” he asked, then seemed to see it, judging by the whistle of a breath he blew out. “Istenem!”
“Isn’t it pretty?”
For her previous Christmas, she had persuaded Faith to take her to a tattoo parlour and together, they had got rings of crosses tattooed in barely visible, flesh-coloured ink around their throats, a permanent, indestructible barrier against the bite of all but the most masochistic of vampires.
“Very impressive,” the vampire murmured, shying back and eyeing her with a combination of interest and admiration. “When William said you were a friend of his, I wondered why. Now I can see it.”
Dawn grinned at him. “And you’re that Herbie guy, right?” She held out her empty hand for the vampire to shake. “He told me that you’d been looking after him.”
A brow arched. “Is it safe to touch any other part of you?” he inquired dryly, then motioned to his lips that were still swollen. “I would not wish to make the same mistake twice.”
“It’s safe,” she said, then pulled her hand back when he offered his. “You’re not gonna go crispy if you touch dried up holy water, right?”
Herbert gaped at her. “You wash with holy water?”
“Only when I’m hanging out at vampire-villa,” she replied with a half-grin. “I have to be suspicious or else Buffy’ll get pissed when I get eaten.” She adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. “So, did you come here to eat me or was that just for fun?”
“What better way to introduce myself?” Herbert said with a hint of a grin, leaning against the edge of the table. “I have heard so much about you that I had to see if it was true.”
“And?”
“Every word,” he said, then inclined his head towards the door. “I actually did have another purpose for invading your chambers. Will you join me for breakfast in the dining hall?”
“You have a dining hall?”
Herbert lifted his shoulders in an expressive shrug. “Just because we drink blood does not mean we are entirely uncivilised,” he said. “And since William arrived, we have had to start providing something called Weetabix.”
“So he’s still eating the gross stuff?” Dawn made a face. “You’d think coming back from the dead would make you change even just a little bit...” Shaking the blanket back, she glanced at her watch. “You wanna give me five minutes. I’ll get some clothes on and meet you outside.”
“I could wait in here,” Herbert offered innocently. “I won’t peek.”
“You could wait,” she agreed. “And I could totally kick your ass with the rest of my secret tricks.”
Pushing off from the table smoothly, Herbert laughed. “Promises, promises,” he chuckled, strolling towards the door. “I give you five minutes. If you are not waiting, I shall be coming in to find you.”
“I’ll be out there,” she said. “Promise.”
Withdrawing backwards, taking both handles of the doors, Herbert gave her a smile that was anything but innocent. “Pity.”
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Seated by the bed, fingertips idly stroking his chin, von Krolock was watching over the vampire still slumbering in his seldom-used bed. Four centuries of nocturnal life meant he had not adjusted to sleeping at night as readily as William had.
Admittedly, he had snuffed out William’s energy as one would snuff out a candle the previous night so his on-going fatigue was no surprise.
With his other hand, he made a brief gesture with his fingertips.
Moments later, William’s pale eyes flickered open slowly, squinting drowsily at the unfamiliar canopy above him. He shifted slightly, blinking, then - as if drawn by an invisible cord - his face turned towards von Krolock.
Von Krolock said nothing, but inclined his head in acknowledgement.
Those pale blue eyes watched him for several minutes, rife with emotions, then William rolled onto his side and sat up. Traces of dry blood still clung to his bare shoulder and throat, one hand rising to touch the healed bite.
Lowering his eyes, the young vampire’s hand sank away from his neck. “Good morning, sir,” he said quietly.
Extending a hand, von Krolock curled his fingers in an unmistakable beckoning gesture. His eyes were half-closed as he watched the young vampire rise, crossing the half-dozen paces between the bed and the chair.
Returning his palm to rest on the arm, he continued to gaze impassively up at the young vampire.
Wrapping his thin arms across his torso, fingers sinking into the flesh above his hips, William’s eyes darted away, then back several times. He looked as if he wished to speak, but the words stilled in his throat.
Tapping the tip of his forefinger upon the arm of his chair, von Krolock arched a brow coolly.
Shuffling his feet, apparently choosing to ignore his current nudity, William took a faltering step closer, then sank down onto his knees in front of the Graf, bowing his head passively.
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” he mumbled towards von Krolock’s boots. “Should have known better by now.” His eyes flicked up, but von Krolock’s features remained impassive. “Shouldn’t have doubted you.”
Von Krolock continued to gaze at him for a moment, then rose. He was unsurprised to see the youngster flinch slightly, swaying back to sit on his heels. With the point of one nail, he lifted William’s chin, forcing the boy to look up at him. Raising his brows, he tilted his head in unspoken inquiry.
Immediately, William straightened his back, returning to his original posture.
With a subtle nod, von Krolock withdrew his hand.
Circling the kneeling vampire, von Krolock’s expression did not change. His hands folded behind his back, he passed before William’s face several times, and could see the boy had stopped watching or waiting for any mercy, meekly gazing at the floor.
With a measured tread, von Krolock came to a halt behind the youngster. Subtly, barely visible to the naked eye, William’s shoulders tensed, but he did not move, nor look around, even when von Krolock laid a hand upon his head. He did nothing more than briefly tremble.
Unseen, von Krolock allowed himself a small, affectionate smile.
Stooping, he placed a kiss atop William’s tousled hair, his hand slipping to rest on the boy’s shoulder. Underneath his palm, he felt William’s chest rise, heard the whisper of a longing sigh.
Oh, he needed affection, this one.
Withdrawal of what had been promised would break the boy if he held it away from him for much longer.
Sinking to his knees behind the youngster, his own knees straddling the boy’s calves, he drew his hand down. Nothing more than two fingertips. Shoulder to hip. And as he did so, he leaned closer, until his chest pressed to William’s back, his lips close to William’s ear, until he could feel the boy quiver against him.
Slipping his hand over William’s hip, he caressed the flat, trembling belly, inhaled the delightful ambrosia of the youngster’s fear, longing, desire, affection and hopeful confusion, allowed his lips to ghost along the tip of William’s earlobe.
“You are forgiven,” he murmured.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
“Really? A spoon?”
A female voice laughed. “You use what you got.”
“I... I am having trouble imagining the logistics of such a weapon...”
Again, the young woman laughed. “You can stab anything with anything if you use the right force,” she said. “That’s what Buffy told me. And I think it was a pretty big spoon as well.”
Even from the hall, the mood of the couple who were talking in the room was not quite enough to shake Spike out of the daze he found himself in. Wandering into the living room, he had crossed the floor, flopped into a seat and had a staring match with the ceiling before he realised that he had been spoken to.
Blinking, he looked towards the couch. Dawn was sprawled comfortably at one end, her besocked feet resting on Herbert’s lap, while he idly tweaked at her toes. Both of them, however, were notably staring at the new arrival.
“Wha?”
Herbert’s brows arched, his lips twitching. “You’ve been sitting watching that spot on the ceiling for ten minutes, cheri,” he said. “Either you’ve finally found father’s wine cellar, or you have been busy.”
To Spike’s mortal embarrassment, he felt colour flaring in his cheeks. “Had a bit of a tiff with your dad,” he mumbled, suddenly very intently interested in his knees.
“You... and my father...?” With a groan, Herbert let his head fall back, covering his face with his hands. “I thought he would be in a good mood since he has some new volumes for the library, but if he has argued...”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Bad?” Herbert tilted his head to look at the girl. “You remember that apocalypse your sister stopped?”
“Which one?”
Herbert rolled his eyes. “Pick one,” he said. “Any one of those has to be better than father when he’s in a foul mood.”
“You might assume to much, Herbert.”
In front of the fireplace, where there had been flickering shadows, there was abruptly a silhouette, sharpening and slowly turning, von Krolock’s dark eyes gazing down at his son.
“That was cool!”
Inclining his head to smile politely at the young woman sitting on the couch close to his son, von Krolock’s gaze lingered on her for a moment. “I trust you slept well, Miss Summers.”
Returning his smile with a broad grin, Dawn nodded. “Yeah, until creepy here,” She poked at Herbert’s shoulder with one foot, receiving a swat for her effort. “Decided to sneak in and try to eat me this morning.”
If the Graf wasn’t in a bad mood, he did a good impression of it as his gaze moved to his son, skewering the younger vampire.
“What is this, Herbert?” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.
“She’s joking, father!” Herbert hastily pushed the girl’s foot off his lap, looking from his father to Spike. The younger vampire grimaced and nodded. Wide-eyed, Herbert looked back at his father’s thunderous face. “Testing one another’s defences! That kind of thing.”
Clearly startled, Dawn looked from one face to another. “I... I was just kidding,” she said, starting to rise. “I threatened to shoot him and cut his head off if that makes it any better...”
Von Krolock tore his gaze from Herbert and looked towards her. Like a cloud that had passed in front of the sun, his ire faded. Lifting a hand to his breast, he bowed his head. “Forgive my temper, Miss Summers,” he murmured. “I would deplore to see anything untoward happen to you.”
Blinking, Dawn stared at him, apparently caught as off-guard by his anger as his good nature, then shrugged. “It’s okay,” she replied. “He knows I can kick his ass anyway.”
“I protest!”
“Protest away, goldielocks,” Dawn replied, throwing an amused look down at him. “You know it’s true.”
Spike, however, had been watching the Graf’s face from the moment he had first appeared, could see the brief softening about his eyes. Looking away, the youngest of the vampires twisted the end of his shirt.
He knew he should tell Dawn to go, to head home, back to Slayer-central or where ever it was they were living now. He should never have invited her. He should never have let her know he was still alive.
And yet...
And yet, he knew von Krolock was honourable.
A blood-sucking fiend with a penchant for young women, but still, honourable.
The Graf’s words, however, drew his eyes back to the Graf and the beautiful young woman that his little Niblet had grown into.
“Do you intend to depart today?” von Krolock was murmuring.
For a moment, she looked back at him, then down at Spike. “I should get back,” she said hesitantly. “Buffy’ll worry.” One side of her mouth tugged up weakly. “And I stole her favourite car.”
“All the more reason to stay away,” Herbert observed, leaning forward on his knees, looking up at them. “Let her temper cool a little.”
“You could hang around for a bit, Nibs,” Spike heard himself say, pushing himself onto his feet. He saw the Graf’s fingers twitch slightly, couldn’t be sure if the words were his or borrowed, but knew he meant them either way. “Been a while since I’ve seen you, innit?”
The smile that lit her face brought a smile to his lips too. “Yay!” she exclaimed, diving passed von Krolock to throw herself into his arms again. “Didn’t want to go back right away anyway. Italy sucks.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Herbert drawled. “It has its merits.”
Dawn, her arm still around Spike’s waist, looked at him in disbelief. “Like what?”
The golden-haired vampire grinned. “Well, when last I was there, a certain man who was quite a charmer.”
“Ah, yes,” his father agreed mildly. “And as I recall, to my advantage, he rejected your advances.” Ignoring the indignation on his son’s face, he gazed at Dawn. Around her shoulders, Spike’s arm tensed, but the young vampire smiled. If von Krolock noticed, he made no indication of it. “So you will remain, Miss Summers?”
“You don’t mind?”
Von Krolock offered her a hand. Giving him a bemused, amused look, she placed her fingers against his, grinning when he lifted it to his lips politely.
“We always welcome such captivating guests,” he murmured. “And after the company of William and Herbert, I would be grateful for the company of someone of the gentler sex.”
Herbert, who had been nibbling on the edge of one of the biscuits he had probably found for Dawn, inhaled sharply and started coughing.
“What are you? Twelve?” Dawn demanded around a laugh.
Thumping his chest, blinking watery eyes, Herbert cleared his throat. “Sorry.” he said. “But you? Gentle?”
“S’true, that,” Spike added ruefully, his chin resting on her shoulder. “Never met a woman yet who couldn’t rip your heart out, chuck it in a blender and serve it back to you as a smoothie.”
“Says you with your arms all around me, Spike,” Dawn observed, poking Spike in the belly. “You trying to insult me so I go or d’you want me to stay so I can threaten Herbie some more?”
Looking past the woman in his arms to the vampire standing by the fireplace, Spike chewed his lip. Von Krolock was gazing at the flames, his hands folded before him, but he glanced at Spike through his lashes without turning, without moving.
Slowly, the Graf’s chin lowered in a nod.
Trust me.
The words were burnt into his consciousness, inescapable, impossible to ignore.
“Stay,” he whispered, hugging her tightly against him.
Returning his embrace, she smiled at him. “You got it.” she said, dropping her head to rest on his shoulder. “I’m all yours.”
By the light of the flickering flames, it almost looked like von Krolock smiled.
RATING: Hedging towards R
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SERIES: Part of Carpe Noctem series. In order: Til The Moon Is Abed (Slash/Het), Unwritten Words and What Remains, then this chapter.
PAIRINGS: Herbert/Spike, Spike/von Krolock
WARNINGS: Bloodplay and domination. What can I say? Vampires!
WORDS: 7962
NOTES: Yes, it was going to be a smutty one-shot last week. Five days and about 20,000 words later, I think I have made myself a liar. Or just done as I always do when it comes to fic. Can't ever just do a short one-shot.
and just because I blame her every time, this one's for you, bwinter! Again!
___________________________
When she had heard the name was on Giles’s delivery list, she’d known it was a job she was going to do, even if she didn’t wait for her sister’s permission. School was out, she had already graduated, and if Buffy was going to tell her to get a job, she could say she already had one.
And the better car.
Tearing around a hairpin bend, she floored the accelerator, speeding onwards back into the shadow of the forests that seemed to go on forever in this neck of some weird country with ‘ania’ in the name.
Somewhere in the west, she knew the sun was starting to sink. Even now, she could tell by the faint shades of pink that were starting to appear across the clouds. With a laugh, she shook her head at that thought. She really had been hanging out with Slayers for way too long.
It certainly gave her an excuse for the speed she was racing through the landscape at, the roof of the convertible down, and the wind shrieking around her as she sped along roads that seemed way too narrow.
From what she’d heard about this area, it was a place of the big and ugly badness, most of them with teeth and fangs, but what worried her more was that if she didn’t get the delivery to the guy - blood-free and in one piece - then Giles would rip her a new one. And that was before Buffy found out her cool little convertible had been stolen and raced off to eastern Europe.
Demons could attack, for all she cared, as long as they didn’t get between her and the delivery she was trying to make.
Even if they did attack, she had an axe tossed in the passenger seat, several stakes on her, a modified pistol with silver bullets at her hip, the elaborate embossed knuckle-dusters Faith had sent her as a birthday present, not to mention the protection spells that Willow had woven around her as snugly as a sock on a foot.
And underneath it all, there was a nervous flutter in her belly as she remembered the letter she had hastily shoved in the glove-compartment to take as proof, in case she had to check that this... Graf-guy was who she suspected.
Asking Buffy had been a big no-no.
Saying anything about what happened in the Hellmouth that day was.
Sometimes, she had walked into the house and found Buffy just sitting, looking out the window, interlacing her fingers in a patch of sunlight, but she had never asked and Buffy had never said.
While it was their big triumph, leading to an army of Slayers and knocking Hell right on its ass, she knew neither of them were going to forget that it hadn’t been easy and that people had died.
If it was just some twisted vampire’s idea of a sick joke, then she was going to be pissed and she had her collection of vampire-whacking gadgets to show just how pissed off a Vampire Slayer’s non-Slaying baby sister could be. While she didn’t have the additional strength and healing that Slayers did, she had spent too many years on the sidelines watching and figuring out new tricks. She had helped designing new weapons, kinds that could be worn as part of every-day clothing until they weren’t, and she never went anywhere without them.
Her hair whipping against her cheeks, she pushed it back from her face and squinted through the trees. According to the map and some not-very-helpful locals, the house she was looking for was meant to be around here somewhere.
“Damn it,” she muttered, glancing towards the sky, which was growing darker by the instant, the first stars appearing.
Not that she was afraid of the dark, but getting stuck in a strange forest in the middle of nowhere with no signal on her cell phone was definitely not a good thing, even by normal-people standards.
And then, there it was, as if it had been hidden there all the time; lights shining through windows between the trees.
Anyone else would have been relieved, but Dawn felt an uneasy prickle run down her spine. She’d seen Willow’s masking spells before, seen the unmasking and the way it had just appeared was in no way a good thing.
Still, it wasn’t like she had any choice right now.
Following the winding road, she wasn’t entirely surprised when broad, metal gates swung open without so much as an inquiry about her identity. There wasn’t even any security around the walls. That usually meant either incredibly dumb home owners or people who used security that couldn’t be seen.
Under the tyres the gravel rattled and crackled as she neared the front doors of what looked like a pretty damn cool house. It was old, but looked like it had been looked after too.
Climbing out the car, she grabbed the parcel of Giles’s crazy-expensive books in their box. Tucking it under one arm, she adjusted the dagger in the sheath on her back, straightened her crucifix, checked her one-shot crossbow on her wrist wasn’t showing and smoothed her wind-swept hair.
Over her substantial and carefully-concealed weaponry, she had an overcoat that fell to her knees, but it wasn’t doing much to keep out the chill right now. Adjusting her lapel, she felt that the coil of wire hidden in the lining had slipped out of place and hastily tucked it out of sight. Sometimes, just sometimes, it would be nice to wear something that couldn’t kill you if you tripped over your own two feet.
Satisfied that she looked as professional as she could, she strode towards the front door, but before she even lifted her hand to ring the bell, the door swung open.
“Oh, great!” she groaned at the sight of the empty hall. Creepy front gates were one thing, but creepy front doors were not good. Knowing hesitant behaviour would only make her look like an extra in some tacky horror film, she exhaled a frustrated breath and strode into the building.
Coming to a halt in the middle of a grand hallway, she looked around, but couldn’t see anyone about.
“Okay, I’m going to bow to the pressure of the cliche here,” she called out loudly, turning in a circle. “Is there anyone there? No? Okay. Well, I’ll just take your crazily-priced books and leave then, okay?”
“That will not be necessary,” a quiet, deep voice spoke from somewhere on the upper landing at the top of the stairs. He had an accent, but it wasn’t all that strong compared to some of the people she had met earlier.
Looking up at the shadows, the Slayer’s sister grinned. “Good,” she said, though she shifted her weight slightly. Damned Slayers were a bad influence. “Giles would go all English on me if I told him I didn’t deliver them.”
“Ah, so, you are the agent from the Watcher’s Council?” Anyone else would have jumped when the speaker emerged from the darkness just to her left instead of the shadows above the stairs.
“That’s me,” Dawn turned as if she had expected him all along. “Dawn Summers, delivery girl and agent.”
With a hand on her hip, her stance casual, she looked him up and down. Older guy with long hair? Didn’t see that often. Looked like the rich guys in the old films Buffy used to watch, some kind of gentlemen. Most noticeably, he was taller than she was. That didn’t happen often enough anymore, since she’d hit five-nine.
The man inclined his head and his lips curled in a welcoming smile “I am the Graf von Krolock,” he murmured. “I expect you are fatigued after your journey, Miss. Are you hungry or in need of refreshment?”
Dawn’s brows rose. “Huh,” she said. It wasn’t often that she was offered anything in her role as the go-for girl. Withdrawing the parcel from under her arm, she held it out to him. “I’m good.” She hesitated, then added, “I could do with something to drink.”
Von Krolock took the bundle from her reverently and she felt his fingertips brush against hers. They were icy-cold, drawing her eyes for a moment, then she looked back up to find his dark eyes on her face.
“Would you accept accommodation also?” he murmured. “I fear it is too late to continue your journey tonight.”
Dawn eyed him suspiciously. “You do know that delivery comes with the guarantee that the delivery-girl doesn’t get eaten, sacrificed, barbecued, shish-kebobed, toasted, exsanguinated or anything gross or death-causing, right?”
He laughed softly, such a simple amused sound that Dawn only stared more. “Have no fear,” he said. “I have no desire to make an enemy of the Watchers Council.”
“In that case, sure,” she replied. “Could do with getting some sleep before I head, as long as I’m not kicking anyone out of their rooms or anything.”
“Not at all,” he murmured. “We have few guests.” He offered her his arm, which she took after a moment of hesitation. This time, his eyebrows rose slightly. “Such tools are impractical under long sleeves,” he observed.
“Yeah, figured that out too late,” Dawn muttered, blushing.
Von Krolock granted her a brief smile. “I have no doubt you would improvise with great skill, were it required,” he murmured. Dawn was torn between glaring at him and giggling. Giggling? The hell?
“Are you doing some weird vampire mojo on me?” she demanded.
The Graf - whatever the hell that was - gazed at her. “Do you think I am?”
Dawn gave him a look. “If I say yes, you could be making me say that and if I say no, same thing,” she said. “That’s why I asked.”
“And you are only a delivery girl?” As he directed her down a hallway with a nod, the Graf’s eyes never seemed to leave her face, which made her feel kind of squirmy but not in a totally bad way. “I find that difficult to believe.”
“Just a regular girl. Not a slayer or witch or superhero,” Dawn replied airily, looking around at the paintings lining the walls. “No biggie.”
“I remain unconvinced.” Von Krolock’s voice sounded like a purr, rolling over her senses and sending a tingle racing down her spine. No! Bad Dawnie! No messing about with the clients! Rule two! And undead clients at that! Rule one!
Deliberately eyeing the paintings to avoid looking back into those dark eyes, Dawn cleared her throat. “So... uh... you’re Mister von Krolock, right?”
“That is correct,” he agreed softly.
“The only one?” She looked around at him, and promptly lost the mental path she had been aiming for. “Uh... I... uh... I mean, you don’t have brothers or anything like that? Any other ones with that name?”
Von Krolock laughed softly. “Unless you speak of my son,” he murmured, “I am, indeed, the only one.”
“Huh.” Reaching into her coat pocket, Dawn pulled out the letter she had received, a little crumpled and bent, but still legible. “So, is this your notepaper, then?”
For a moment, the man - vampire, Dawn, vampire - went still, staring at the sheet, then looked at her, as if seeing her with new eyes. “It is,” he said, leading her onwards down the hall. “May I know where you found it?”
“Didn’t find it,” Dawn replied evenly, watching him now as intently as he had watched her. “It was sent to me. Not the Watchers Council. Me. From here.”
“Indeed,” von Krolock said quietly, pausing by a pair of double-doors. He loosed his arm from hers, his eyes on her face again, focussed, but not staring. Definitely not staring.
Unsettled but unwilling to show it, Dawn lifted her chin and gazed right back at him.
“Indeed,” he repeated thoughtfully. Turning away from her, he laid his hands against the broad handles, gazing down at them. “Who do you think might have sent a missive to you?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Dawn replied.
Von Krolock raised his head, but didn’t look around. “Perhaps,” he murmured, then pushed the doors open and stepped into the biggest living room Dawn had ever seen in her life.
Following him, unconsciously reaching down to touch the cross at her throat, she saw two other figures already in the room. One of them was sprawled on the floor in front of the fireplace, reading. The other was draped in a chair, also bearing a book, but his was not opened.
“Herbert, William.” Von Krolock’s murmur was unnecessary, she noticed. As soon as she had stepped into the room, both of them had shifted, a subtle indication that they were both aware of a mortal in the vicinity. “We have a guest.”
The vampire that was lying on the floor seemed to go rigid, and she saw its head turn sharply, silhouetted against the fire for a moment, shaggy hair falling around its face. A male, she decided. Not too big. She could take it down easily.
“Bloody hell!”
Or not.
On his feet, the vampire was staring at her as wildly as she was staring at him.
“Spike...?”
“Holy shit! Nibbles!”
In the thirty seconds that followed, she wasn’t sure which of them moved first or which of them moved fastest, only that they crashed into each other hard enough to knock the wind out of her and to tip them both onto the floor.
“You’re alive!” she squealed, clinging onto him, uncaring of the fact they were sprawled in an ungainly heap on the floor. “You’re all alive and fleshy and stuff! Not all toasty and sucked into hell!”
Hauling her back onto her feet and squeezing her tightly around the middle, his eyes roved her face. “Holy crap, Nibbles!” he exclaimed. “Look at you! You grew up into juicy young thing!”
“To hell with that!” Dawn exclaimed, grinning at the appalled look that crossed his face. “Let’s get back to the part where you aren’t dead!”
“Only if you mind your language, pet,” he cautioned, pointing at her.
Unable to help herself, she burst out laughing at the weirdness of a vampire lecturing her about swearing and threw her arms around him again, hugging him tightly. “God, I missed you!”
She could feel his cool cheek pressed against hers, his hand combing through her hair. “Missed you too, Niblet,” he murmured. “Didn’t have anyone else to blame when things went wrong.”
Drawing back and giving him a fond look, Dawn smiled. “You’re still a jerk,” she said. She turned, looking back at the boss-man. “So, perhaps, huh?”
Inclining his head, von Krolock’s smile was brief. “So it would seem.”
Returning her attention to Spike, she grabbed his hands. “You could have written to me!” she exclaimed. “You’ve been alive again how long now? You didn’t think about grabbing a pen?”
“In my defence,” Spike laughed, freeing one of his hands to touch her face. “I was a ghost for months, then kind of got roped into that mess with Angel...”
“Angel knew?” Dawn stared at him. “And didn’t tell us?”
With a sheepish look, Spike shrugged helplessly. “We were kind of busy what with the averting the apocalypse and what have you,” he mumbled. “I figured Andrew would have let something...”
“Andrew knew?” Dawn’s voice rose another level. “Oh, he is so getting his ass kicked when I get back!”
Spike stared at her. “Back? Already? You’re not staying?”
“Miss Summers will remain overnight,” von Krolock spoke suddenly, softly, from close to them, and Dawn glanced at him, blinking when she noticed that his eyes were lingering on her once more. “It is too late for her to travel tonight.”
“Too bloody right it is!” Spike exclaimed.
Forcing herself to look away from the Graf-guy, Dawn gave Spike’s cooler hand a squeeze. “Is there somewhere we can go and catch up?” she asked. “Because you’ve been dead and I’ve been studying and Bu... and... well, watcher council stuff! I wanna tell you about that.”
Spike glanced passed her at the chief vampire guy, then grinned at her. “Got a room near mine we can chuck you in,” he said, leading her towards the door. “And as long as I get details of the virgin sacrifices and whatnot, I’m happy.”
“Virgin sacrifices?” Dawn rolled her eyes. “Oh, please! I’m way past them now.”
Spike stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes round as saucers, and Dawn’s laughter echoed in the halls.
“Sucker!”
8.8.8.8.8.8
Leaving Dawn sleeping, Spike stepped out into the hall, unsurprised to find von Krolock standing there, gazing quietly into the open room and the figure tucked up in the large bed.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the younger vampire said, pulling the door closed behind him.
The Graf’s dark eyes drifted to his face. “That is doubtful, William,” he murmured, his expression as unfathomable as always. “She has great fortitude, if she travelled this far to find you.”
Crossing his arms defensively over his chest, Spike clenched his jaw. “Kid’s like a sister to me,” he said, looking down at his feet, then up at von Krolock. “Shouldn’t be dragged back into the dark with the likes of us.”
Von Krolock lifted a hand to tilt Spike’s chin up, his lips curving minutely. “Unless I am sorely mistaken,” he murmured. “She came here on your invitation. You ensured she would have indication enough to capture her interest and came, she did.”
The muscles in Spike’s cheek twitched “Didn’t realise she would work it out on her own.” he mumbled. “Just wanted her to know I wasn’t dead. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“You knew she would try to find you, William.”
Reluctantly, the younger vampire nodded in agreement. “Just wanted to see her,” he muttered, lowering his eyes. “Didn’t even think that she’d have grown up...” Blue eyes rose to von Krolock. “She’s my Bit. Don’t want to see her hurt.”
“And you believe we will harm her?”
Spike shrugged, trying to ignore the long-nailed thumb that was idly caressing his cheek. “Not deliberately, I s’pose,” he mumbled. “She’s been through a hell of a lot, that girl. Doesn’t need more.”
Von Krolock gazed down at him pensively. “I suspect she and Herbert could become friends,” he murmured, his eyes dark, deep, drawing Spike’s, holding them, searching him. “But it is not Herbert’s closeness to her that you fear, is it?”
Scowling, scuffing his toe against the floor like a petulant child, Spike looked away and grumbled, “I hate it when you do that.”
Von Krolock laughed softly, richly, tilting Spike’s chin up with one fingertip. “And we both know that such lies do not become you, William,” he said silkily.
In spite of himself, Spike felt a pleasant shiver run down his spine. Instinctively, his head tilted just slightly, baring his throat, his eyes closing. “Hate when you do that as well,” he mumbled.
As he traced his nails lightly down Spike’s neck, von Krolock’s chuckle was soft. “You really are quite the abysmal liar,” he observed, lowering his head to kiss the faint scar left by his own fangs only a few nights earlier.
Spike’s hands leapt to clutch the Graf’s broader shoulders. “Tell me you won’t hurt her,” he implored breathlessly. He felt von Krolock’s hand slip down to the base of his back, holding him. “Please.”
Softly, deliberately, kisses were touched over every inch of the healing scars, making Spike’s legs buckle and his hands tremble on von Krolock’s shoulders. His eyes were closed and he was half-panting, half-whimpering.
“William,” the whisper was as soft as silk against his skin. “You know I would never do anything to hurt you.” The very tips of the Graf’s fangs cut into his flesh and Spike bit hard on his lip to stifle a desperate moan. “You know this.”
“But the Niblet...”
“William,” The kiss that touched his lips was bloodied. “Do not doubt me.”
“But she...”
One hand at the base of Spike’s back, the Graf’s other hand rose to cup the opposite side of Spike’s jaw with mock-gentleness. “Trust me, William,” he murmured, the velvet softness masking steel.
Blue eyes, wide and filled with a dozen emotions, stared at him. “I do.”
His hand suddenly tangling in Spike’s hair, pulling his head back, von Krolock gazed at him. “Do not lie to me, William,” he said softly. “I understand your feelings and your fears. I can taste them.”
Shuddering, panting, Spike nodded tightly. “Yes, sir.”
Lowering his head once more, von Krolock brushed his lips across the bleeding wound on Spike’s throat. “Good,” the Graf murmured.
Long strands of hair caressed Spike’s skin, making him shiver, but the teasing softness was suddenly and sharply forgotten when - with a ferocity that seemed unlike him - von Krolock sank his fangs hard into Spike’s throat.
The startled, gasping breath Spike drew smothered the sharp cry of pain that rose in his throat, his eyes going wide as he clutched wildly at von Krolock’s shoulders. His eyes filled with tears of shocked agony as the bite sank deeper and, around them, the world faded and changed.
When the Graf’s mouth tore away, Spike sagged helplessly, limp, supported only by the arm that was still about his waist. Staring at von Krolock, he felt the first stirrings of fear at the look on von Krolock’s face.
“Never lie to me or doubt me again, William,” the Graf’s voice was soft, as it had been moments earlier, but there was a ferocity in his eyes that Spike had never seen before. “I do not appreciate it.”
“Y-yes, sir,” Spike whispered faintly, warily staring up at the Graf, his ice-cold hands still grasping von Krolock’s shoulders. He could feel his blood streaming from his throat, could feel it soaking into his shirt. “I... I didn’t mean to...”
It felt like his legs were going out from beneath him, but by degrees, he realised that von Krolock was lowering him to the floor, more gently now. Half-seated, half-flopped uselessly, he tried to sit, but too much blood was still spilling from his throat.
“You are under my protection, William,” the Graf’s voice was quiet, grave, his right arm slipping under Spike’s shoulders. Drawn against von Krolock’s chest, he was cradled as gently as a babe in arms. “Thus, I expect you trust me.”
Shivering from loss of blood and from lingering fear of his host’s wrath, Spike tried to wet his lips with his tongue, his hands dropping heavily to his chest. “Y-yes, sir.”
Von Krolock gazed at him. With his left hand, he gently stroked Spike’s cheek, his gaze penetrating. “Good boy,” he murmured, then lifted his hand.
With his vision blurring, Spike was sure he was seeing things. No way he was seeing what he was seeing. He squinted a moment before the Graf’s bitten wrist was placed to his lips, powerful, old blood splashing over his tongue.
He inhaled in shock, so sharply that he almost choked.
“Slowly,” von Krolock murmured. “Drink.”
His eyes fluttering shut, Spike’s mouth hungrily latched onto the bleeding wound, one hand weakly rising to clutch at von Krolock’s arm, strength returning with every urgent mouthful.
When the Graf slowly withdrew his wrist, Spike sagged, panting and quivering against his other arm.
“Oh Christ...” he moaned faintly, groping at von Krolock with one shaking hand, as if seeking proof that he wasn’t in the throes of some completely trippy dream. “Christ on a cupcake...”
With a chuckle, von Krolock shifted Spike’s weight against his chest. With a paternal tut, he withdrew his kerchief and dabbed the splatters of blood from Spike’s chin and lips. “You can be so foolish occasionally, William,” he murmured.
“Yeah... bad habit...” Spike panted, slightly-glazed eyes trying to focus on the face above him. “Oh god...” He blinked feverishly, then laughed giddily. “Shit... I can see the stars...”
Von Krolock looked up, then smiled down at him, so fondly and so benevolently that it seemed that the previous half hour could not have happened. “Those are candles, William,” he murmured. “I took the opportunity to bring you to my chambers, so your young woman wouldn’t witness your crass manners.”
“Oh... right,” Spike’s fingers twisted into his shirt, his body shivering as if a wave of pure pleasure had just surged through him. His other hand tugged at his shirt, his back arching against von Krolock’s arm. “Oh God... what...” He pulled the Graf closer to him, groping at the heavy fabric of the elder vampire’s shirt. “What the hell have you been taking?”
The smile was nowhere near as gentle close up, slow, deliberate and thoroughly wicked. “Nothing, William,” von Krolock purred, pressing his palm to Spike’s throat, the sharp nail of his thumb pushing the younger vampire’s chin up. “I let you have but a taste of my desires.”
Blue eyes went round. “Bloody hell...” he whimpered.
Von Krolock’s smile remained, quiet, calm, in control. “Mm?”
Panting, his body twisting and shuddering against the cool stone of the floor, Spike felt like invisible hands were caressing him from within, teasing like sexual fire along every nerve. The unbearable but incredible heat scorching through him, he pressed his forehead against the Graf’s ribs.
Dark eyes gazed down at him, a cool hand covering the one that was clutching so feverishly at the front of the Graf’s shirt. “You need only ask, William.”
His tongue stuttering along his lips, Spike inhaled rapid breaths. “S’okay...” he managed to say, then arched with a cry that was part heated pain and part unfettered desire. “Oh God...”
“I can wait for eternity, William,” von Krolock’s voice’s was like aural silk, low, deep and warm, as sensual and teasing as the invisible caress granted by his blood. “I can and I do and I will, if I must.”
“No...” the young vampire whimpered.
Von Krolock laughed softly. “I have played this game far longer than you can begin to imagine, William,” he murmured, drawing his hand down Spike’s arm and splaying it on his chest. “I could make this last forever.”
Biting his lip until blood came, Spike could feel himself teetering on the brink of climax. He was so damnably close, but that was as close as he was going to get. he could tell by the way the Graf’s fingers were teasing across his ribs, by the fire raging in his blood, by the shudders shaking him.
“Please...” he whispered, eyes squeezed closed against the thought of such desperation.
“Pardon, William?”
“I said please!” he exclaimed, unable to silence the ringing cry of satisfaction as von Krolock’s hand pressed flat to his chest and pleasure beyond anything he had ever felt crashed in on him in wave after dizzying wave.
It could have been five minutes later or it might have been five hours when he felt himself lifted, carried as if he weighed nothing more than a child. Laid upon a bed, he felt the sharp invasion of fangs at his throat once more, then the more gentle lap of a tongue against his skin.
“Mm...” he mumbled, trying to lift his hands, but his body felt completely and utterly sated and drained. He heard the soft chuckle and felt the brief brush of lips to his as he drifted into what he assumed was sleep without protest.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
When the rising sun had broken through her window, Dawn had sworn aloud, dragged a pillow over her head and pretended to sleep for another half an hour, but when the morning wouldn’t take the hint and go away, she forced herself to sit up.
Swearing vengeance at it and reminding herself that there were curtains around the bed and across the windows for a reason, she had grumpily surfaced, forcing herself out of the large and excessively snug bed.
Wearing nothing more than mismatched socks, an oversized t-shirt and shorts, she squeaked another expletive when the morning air hit her. Dragging the large duvet off her bed, she wrapped it around her body. It was become clear that vampires still hadn’t worked out that a heating system was a good thing.
Shuffling her way through to the connected bathroom, idly speculating what use vampires had for toilets, she tossed some water on her face, admiring the panda-eyes she had acquired.
“Make-up off before bed, remember that,” she chastised her reflection. Digging through her bag, she pulled out a brush and - gripping the corners of the blanket with her teeth - negotiated the mess of her hair into a more human look.
Shoving the brush back into her bag, she pulled the blanket around her more snugly and walked back out into the main room, only to stop dead. Apparently, in the high-backed chair by the table, someone had made themselves comfortable.
With slipper-clad feet resting on the table on the end of silk-pyjama-clad legs, the only other part of him that was visible was the hand that was extended casually over the broad arm, beckoning her closer.
“Most normal people would knock before walking into a girl’s room,” Dawn said.
The occupant of the seat shifted and fraction of a face became visible around the edge of the chair back. “Normal is such a relative term,” the man murmured, then swung his feet down off the table.
“I’ll say,” Dawn agreed dryly, approaching the chair with caution. “You do know the boss here says I’m not allowed to be eaten, don’t you?”
The vampire in the seat laughed. “What makes you think I would answer to him?” the wicked murmur rose, the visible hand making a casual gesture. “I am not usually up this early and I am a little hungry.”
Standing almost level with the chair, Dawn stopped moving. Her hand under the blanket shifted slightly. “Sorry, but I’m not really in the mood to get eaten,” she said casually. “I just found out my friend is alive and I kind of want to do the catch-up thing with him. There’s going to be ice cream.”
Rising out of the chair as swiftly and lightly as a cat, the vampire swung around to face her. With long, golden hair and a wicked little smile, he reminded her a little of Spike before he got crazy and sad.
“That is a shame,” he murmured. “I do so hate to disappoint William.”
“I could say the same,” she replied with a charming smile. “He’ll be pissed if I have to kill you.”
One golden brow rose. “You believe you could do such a thing?”
From within the folds of the blankets, the muzzle of her pistol emerged. “I could,” she replied sweetly. “Eventually.”
The vampire’s brows rose and he glanced at her. “Little girl,” he murmured. “You know shooting me will not kill me.”
“I know,” Dawn said meeting his gaze and smiling. “That’s why I said eventually. I figure I shoot you enough, you’ll fall down and then, I’ll just mosey on over, get my stake or my axe.”
“You think you would be fast enough?”
“You wanna try me?”
Reaching out, the vampire tweaked the fold of the blanket aside. “Impressive,” he observed. The gun was in a hand-holster which made it nearly impossible for it to be knocked out of her hand. Only if she chose to drop it, would it fall. “You came well-prepared.”
The Slayer’s sister grinned. “Lived on a Hellmouth for years,” she replied, lowering the gun into the recesses of the blanket. “Teaches you a few things.”
Abruptly, he was behind her, her arms pinned to her sides by the arm around her body. “Not enough,” he murmured close to her ear.
Dawn rolled her eyes. His hair tickled against her neck, then his lips touched the side of her throat. She grinned as he swore in a language she didn’t recognise and released her. “What?” she inquired innocently, turning to face him.
His fingertips touched lips that were blistered as if burned by contact with her skin and he stared at her, more especially her throat. “How...?”
“I’m special and beautiful snowflake,” she lisped in a little-girl voice, then burst out laughing at the incredulous look on his face. “Seriously? You really wanna know? You don’t just wanna try and eat me again?”
“I had no intention of eating you anyway, Miss Summers,” the vampire replied with a half-grin that turned into a wince. “I am genuinely curious. In four hundred years, I have never had such a thing happen before.”
“That’s because you ate really dumb people,” Dawn replied, stepping closer to him and into the light. She tilted her head up. “Take a closer look.”
The vampire eyed her, then bent to look at her neck. “What is it I am meant to be seeing?” he asked, then seemed to see it, judging by the whistle of a breath he blew out. “Istenem!”
“Isn’t it pretty?”
For her previous Christmas, she had persuaded Faith to take her to a tattoo parlour and together, they had got rings of crosses tattooed in barely visible, flesh-coloured ink around their throats, a permanent, indestructible barrier against the bite of all but the most masochistic of vampires.
“Very impressive,” the vampire murmured, shying back and eyeing her with a combination of interest and admiration. “When William said you were a friend of his, I wondered why. Now I can see it.”
Dawn grinned at him. “And you’re that Herbie guy, right?” She held out her empty hand for the vampire to shake. “He told me that you’d been looking after him.”
A brow arched. “Is it safe to touch any other part of you?” he inquired dryly, then motioned to his lips that were still swollen. “I would not wish to make the same mistake twice.”
“It’s safe,” she said, then pulled her hand back when he offered his. “You’re not gonna go crispy if you touch dried up holy water, right?”
Herbert gaped at her. “You wash with holy water?”
“Only when I’m hanging out at vampire-villa,” she replied with a half-grin. “I have to be suspicious or else Buffy’ll get pissed when I get eaten.” She adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. “So, did you come here to eat me or was that just for fun?”
“What better way to introduce myself?” Herbert said with a hint of a grin, leaning against the edge of the table. “I have heard so much about you that I had to see if it was true.”
“And?”
“Every word,” he said, then inclined his head towards the door. “I actually did have another purpose for invading your chambers. Will you join me for breakfast in the dining hall?”
“You have a dining hall?”
Herbert lifted his shoulders in an expressive shrug. “Just because we drink blood does not mean we are entirely uncivilised,” he said. “And since William arrived, we have had to start providing something called Weetabix.”
“So he’s still eating the gross stuff?” Dawn made a face. “You’d think coming back from the dead would make you change even just a little bit...” Shaking the blanket back, she glanced at her watch. “You wanna give me five minutes. I’ll get some clothes on and meet you outside.”
“I could wait in here,” Herbert offered innocently. “I won’t peek.”
“You could wait,” she agreed. “And I could totally kick your ass with the rest of my secret tricks.”
Pushing off from the table smoothly, Herbert laughed. “Promises, promises,” he chuckled, strolling towards the door. “I give you five minutes. If you are not waiting, I shall be coming in to find you.”
“I’ll be out there,” she said. “Promise.”
Withdrawing backwards, taking both handles of the doors, Herbert gave her a smile that was anything but innocent. “Pity.”
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Seated by the bed, fingertips idly stroking his chin, von Krolock was watching over the vampire still slumbering in his seldom-used bed. Four centuries of nocturnal life meant he had not adjusted to sleeping at night as readily as William had.
Admittedly, he had snuffed out William’s energy as one would snuff out a candle the previous night so his on-going fatigue was no surprise.
With his other hand, he made a brief gesture with his fingertips.
Moments later, William’s pale eyes flickered open slowly, squinting drowsily at the unfamiliar canopy above him. He shifted slightly, blinking, then - as if drawn by an invisible cord - his face turned towards von Krolock.
Von Krolock said nothing, but inclined his head in acknowledgement.
Those pale blue eyes watched him for several minutes, rife with emotions, then William rolled onto his side and sat up. Traces of dry blood still clung to his bare shoulder and throat, one hand rising to touch the healed bite.
Lowering his eyes, the young vampire’s hand sank away from his neck. “Good morning, sir,” he said quietly.
Extending a hand, von Krolock curled his fingers in an unmistakable beckoning gesture. His eyes were half-closed as he watched the young vampire rise, crossing the half-dozen paces between the bed and the chair.
Returning his palm to rest on the arm, he continued to gaze impassively up at the young vampire.
Wrapping his thin arms across his torso, fingers sinking into the flesh above his hips, William’s eyes darted away, then back several times. He looked as if he wished to speak, but the words stilled in his throat.
Tapping the tip of his forefinger upon the arm of his chair, von Krolock arched a brow coolly.
Shuffling his feet, apparently choosing to ignore his current nudity, William took a faltering step closer, then sank down onto his knees in front of the Graf, bowing his head passively.
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” he mumbled towards von Krolock’s boots. “Should have known better by now.” His eyes flicked up, but von Krolock’s features remained impassive. “Shouldn’t have doubted you.”
Von Krolock continued to gaze at him for a moment, then rose. He was unsurprised to see the youngster flinch slightly, swaying back to sit on his heels. With the point of one nail, he lifted William’s chin, forcing the boy to look up at him. Raising his brows, he tilted his head in unspoken inquiry.
Immediately, William straightened his back, returning to his original posture.
With a subtle nod, von Krolock withdrew his hand.
Circling the kneeling vampire, von Krolock’s expression did not change. His hands folded behind his back, he passed before William’s face several times, and could see the boy had stopped watching or waiting for any mercy, meekly gazing at the floor.
With a measured tread, von Krolock came to a halt behind the youngster. Subtly, barely visible to the naked eye, William’s shoulders tensed, but he did not move, nor look around, even when von Krolock laid a hand upon his head. He did nothing more than briefly tremble.
Unseen, von Krolock allowed himself a small, affectionate smile.
Stooping, he placed a kiss atop William’s tousled hair, his hand slipping to rest on the boy’s shoulder. Underneath his palm, he felt William’s chest rise, heard the whisper of a longing sigh.
Oh, he needed affection, this one.
Withdrawal of what had been promised would break the boy if he held it away from him for much longer.
Sinking to his knees behind the youngster, his own knees straddling the boy’s calves, he drew his hand down. Nothing more than two fingertips. Shoulder to hip. And as he did so, he leaned closer, until his chest pressed to William’s back, his lips close to William’s ear, until he could feel the boy quiver against him.
Slipping his hand over William’s hip, he caressed the flat, trembling belly, inhaled the delightful ambrosia of the youngster’s fear, longing, desire, affection and hopeful confusion, allowed his lips to ghost along the tip of William’s earlobe.
“You are forgiven,” he murmured.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
“Really? A spoon?”
A female voice laughed. “You use what you got.”
“I... I am having trouble imagining the logistics of such a weapon...”
Again, the young woman laughed. “You can stab anything with anything if you use the right force,” she said. “That’s what Buffy told me. And I think it was a pretty big spoon as well.”
Even from the hall, the mood of the couple who were talking in the room was not quite enough to shake Spike out of the daze he found himself in. Wandering into the living room, he had crossed the floor, flopped into a seat and had a staring match with the ceiling before he realised that he had been spoken to.
Blinking, he looked towards the couch. Dawn was sprawled comfortably at one end, her besocked feet resting on Herbert’s lap, while he idly tweaked at her toes. Both of them, however, were notably staring at the new arrival.
“Wha?”
Herbert’s brows arched, his lips twitching. “You’ve been sitting watching that spot on the ceiling for ten minutes, cheri,” he said. “Either you’ve finally found father’s wine cellar, or you have been busy.”
To Spike’s mortal embarrassment, he felt colour flaring in his cheeks. “Had a bit of a tiff with your dad,” he mumbled, suddenly very intently interested in his knees.
“You... and my father...?” With a groan, Herbert let his head fall back, covering his face with his hands. “I thought he would be in a good mood since he has some new volumes for the library, but if he has argued...”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Bad?” Herbert tilted his head to look at the girl. “You remember that apocalypse your sister stopped?”
“Which one?”
Herbert rolled his eyes. “Pick one,” he said. “Any one of those has to be better than father when he’s in a foul mood.”
“You might assume to much, Herbert.”
In front of the fireplace, where there had been flickering shadows, there was abruptly a silhouette, sharpening and slowly turning, von Krolock’s dark eyes gazing down at his son.
“That was cool!”
Inclining his head to smile politely at the young woman sitting on the couch close to his son, von Krolock’s gaze lingered on her for a moment. “I trust you slept well, Miss Summers.”
Returning his smile with a broad grin, Dawn nodded. “Yeah, until creepy here,” She poked at Herbert’s shoulder with one foot, receiving a swat for her effort. “Decided to sneak in and try to eat me this morning.”
If the Graf wasn’t in a bad mood, he did a good impression of it as his gaze moved to his son, skewering the younger vampire.
“What is this, Herbert?” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.
“She’s joking, father!” Herbert hastily pushed the girl’s foot off his lap, looking from his father to Spike. The younger vampire grimaced and nodded. Wide-eyed, Herbert looked back at his father’s thunderous face. “Testing one another’s defences! That kind of thing.”
Clearly startled, Dawn looked from one face to another. “I... I was just kidding,” she said, starting to rise. “I threatened to shoot him and cut his head off if that makes it any better...”
Von Krolock tore his gaze from Herbert and looked towards her. Like a cloud that had passed in front of the sun, his ire faded. Lifting a hand to his breast, he bowed his head. “Forgive my temper, Miss Summers,” he murmured. “I would deplore to see anything untoward happen to you.”
Blinking, Dawn stared at him, apparently caught as off-guard by his anger as his good nature, then shrugged. “It’s okay,” she replied. “He knows I can kick his ass anyway.”
“I protest!”
“Protest away, goldielocks,” Dawn replied, throwing an amused look down at him. “You know it’s true.”
Spike, however, had been watching the Graf’s face from the moment he had first appeared, could see the brief softening about his eyes. Looking away, the youngest of the vampires twisted the end of his shirt.
He knew he should tell Dawn to go, to head home, back to Slayer-central or where ever it was they were living now. He should never have invited her. He should never have let her know he was still alive.
And yet...
And yet, he knew von Krolock was honourable.
A blood-sucking fiend with a penchant for young women, but still, honourable.
The Graf’s words, however, drew his eyes back to the Graf and the beautiful young woman that his little Niblet had grown into.
“Do you intend to depart today?” von Krolock was murmuring.
For a moment, she looked back at him, then down at Spike. “I should get back,” she said hesitantly. “Buffy’ll worry.” One side of her mouth tugged up weakly. “And I stole her favourite car.”
“All the more reason to stay away,” Herbert observed, leaning forward on his knees, looking up at them. “Let her temper cool a little.”
“You could hang around for a bit, Nibs,” Spike heard himself say, pushing himself onto his feet. He saw the Graf’s fingers twitch slightly, couldn’t be sure if the words were his or borrowed, but knew he meant them either way. “Been a while since I’ve seen you, innit?”
The smile that lit her face brought a smile to his lips too. “Yay!” she exclaimed, diving passed von Krolock to throw herself into his arms again. “Didn’t want to go back right away anyway. Italy sucks.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Herbert drawled. “It has its merits.”
Dawn, her arm still around Spike’s waist, looked at him in disbelief. “Like what?”
The golden-haired vampire grinned. “Well, when last I was there, a certain man who was quite a charmer.”
“Ah, yes,” his father agreed mildly. “And as I recall, to my advantage, he rejected your advances.” Ignoring the indignation on his son’s face, he gazed at Dawn. Around her shoulders, Spike’s arm tensed, but the young vampire smiled. If von Krolock noticed, he made no indication of it. “So you will remain, Miss Summers?”
“You don’t mind?”
Von Krolock offered her a hand. Giving him a bemused, amused look, she placed her fingers against his, grinning when he lifted it to his lips politely.
“We always welcome such captivating guests,” he murmured. “And after the company of William and Herbert, I would be grateful for the company of someone of the gentler sex.”
Herbert, who had been nibbling on the edge of one of the biscuits he had probably found for Dawn, inhaled sharply and started coughing.
“What are you? Twelve?” Dawn demanded around a laugh.
Thumping his chest, blinking watery eyes, Herbert cleared his throat. “Sorry.” he said. “But you? Gentle?”
“S’true, that,” Spike added ruefully, his chin resting on her shoulder. “Never met a woman yet who couldn’t rip your heart out, chuck it in a blender and serve it back to you as a smoothie.”
“Says you with your arms all around me, Spike,” Dawn observed, poking Spike in the belly. “You trying to insult me so I go or d’you want me to stay so I can threaten Herbie some more?”
Looking past the woman in his arms to the vampire standing by the fireplace, Spike chewed his lip. Von Krolock was gazing at the flames, his hands folded before him, but he glanced at Spike through his lashes without turning, without moving.
Slowly, the Graf’s chin lowered in a nod.
Trust me.
The words were burnt into his consciousness, inescapable, impossible to ignore.
“Stay,” he whispered, hugging her tightly against him.
Returning his embrace, she smiled at him. “You got it.” she said, dropping her head to rest on his shoulder. “I’m all yours.”
By the light of the flickering flames, it almost looked like von Krolock smiled.