(no subject)
TITLE: In The Name Of.
RATING: R. Just for violence.
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SUMMARY: Several months after her arrival, Dawn is about to receive a rather memorable checking-in-on.
SERIES: Part of Carpe Noctem series. In order: Til The Moon Is Abed (Slash/Het), Unwritten Words, What Remains, The Gentler Sex, Visitation, After the Storm, the chapter immediately preceding this chapter.
PAIRINGS: Herbert/Spike, Dawn/von Krolock, Buffy/Vittorio plus some implied ones.
WORDS: 9708
NOTES: Longest and counting. Someone has to switch off my brain one of these days.
__________________________________
Stirring, Dawn smiled a little at the familiar weight of an arm around her waist. In a place where night and day no longer meant anything, it gave her a warm tingley feeling knowing that whenever she woke up, he would be right there beside her.
The coldness of his skin had taken some getting used to, but he made it easier for her not to notice, doing things with hands, lips and body that made her wonder why there wasn’t a queue of girls right around the manor, waiting their turn.
Even when he didn’t touch her, though, when they were just sitting in the library, when he was teaching her and talking with her, as a friend and guide, she knew she had never felt quite as content.
“Morning, you,” she murmured, arching her back against the chest behind her.
“Closer to afternoon, little one,” he replied, softly, amused. His palm was spread on her stomach, his nails moving in ticklish patterns that made her squirm against him. “You are well rested?”
“Oh, yeah. Totally.” She yawned pleasantly. “Don’t know how you do it, but you’ve made this the comfiest bed in the world, ever.”
A kiss was touched to her bare shoulder. “Only the best will ever suffice,” he replied, drawing from her. Leaving her draped by blankets, he rose, donning a heavy robe about him before he turned to gaze down at her.
Sprawled back against the pillows, her hair fanning out around her, Dawn blushed under his watchful eye. “What?”
“I cannot help but wonder how it is you become more beautiful with each day,” the Graf said softly, wonderingly. “Perhaps teaching you magic was a mistake, if you have bewitched me so easily.”
With a laugh, Dawn pulled the blanket over her head to hide her blushes. “You just like embarrassing me,” her voice was muffled by the blankets.
“Perhaps,” von Krolock replied, the warmth in his words unmistakeable. “But the truth is a precious commodity.” He moved around the end of the bed towards the broad desk that stood against the far wall. “I could grant you nothing less.”
Peeking over the edge of her the blanket just as he glanced over his shoulder at her, Dawn could see the simple happiness alight in eyes dark as night. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a smooth talker?”
As he turned to face her, her lover’s brows rose. “None,” he said. “Though I am flattered that you think so.” He returned to the side of the bed, sitting down in the grand chair he had installed in her rooms the night after their encounter in the library.
Rolling to her side and propping herself up on one arm, Dawn stretched out a hand to him. He clasped it at once, his long fingers curling beneath hers with a tenderness that seemed to belie his very nature.
“You sure you don’t mind Buffy visiting again?” she asked. It was a question that had been bugging her since she had eventually been handed a print-out of an e-mail by the grumbling Herbert.
Leaning close to kiss her fingertips, von Krolock shook his head. “If I refused her, it would only give her cause to fear for you,” he murmured. “Above all things, she is still your family.”
Dawn smiled. “You know, they won’t believe me when I tell them what a sweetie you are,” she said, squeezing his fingers.
“I have my moments,” he agreed mildly, the same half-smile playing about his severe lips. “Do you intend to tell your sister of what has transpired since her last visit?”
Sitting up, blanket draped around her, she drew her hand from his. She chewed on her lower lip pensively. “I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But it’s not like she can judge me, right? I mean, she’s dating Vittorio and he’s got some weird magic thing about him.” She propped her chin on her upraised knees. “And she had vampire boyfriends too.”
“Is that so?”
Glancing at him, Dawn nodded. “You knew Angelus, right?”
The unseen sweep of mirth that escaped the Graf was so potent, so strong that Dawn found herself grinning in response. “You are saying that your sister was intimately involved with Angelus?”
“He had a soul by then, but yeah,” Shaking back her hair, she laughed. “Mister broody-mystery-man with his sticky-out forehead and grouchiness.” Her expression sobered for a minute. “Then he lost his soul and tried to kill a whole bunch of us.” She glanced at him, expecting the question. “Screwing my sister lost him the soul.” Her eyes twinkled. “At least I don’t have that problem, right?”
“If that was a problem posed to us, I have no doubts it would be an unnecessary concern by this point,” he said gravely.
Dawn started to laugh, scooting towards the edge of the bed, swinging her legs out and pulling the blanket around her. “I can imagine the look on her face,” she said. “I know my boyfriend won’t go evil, because hello! No soul to lose. He’s as bad as he can go.”
“You, darling child, are a wonder,” von Krolock said with soft affection, offering her a hand and drawing her towards him. “Any other who had seen all that you have seen would have fled or fought, or hated out of habit.”
Perching on the arm of his chair, Dawn reached out with her free hand to smooth his long hair. “Yeah, but remember that I’m not just ‘any other’,” she said, leaning closer to kiss his brow. “And being looked after by Spike and witches for two years gives you a whole new and wacky perspective.”
His arm loose about her waist, he gazed at her thoughtfully. “I suppose that is true,” he murmured. “You know I could kill you in a heartbeat, but it does not concern you at all, does it?”
Blue eyes held his for a moment. Then she said, “Give me your hand.”
Unquestioningly, he crossed his other arm before his body and offered her his left hand, as the right idly stroked her hip through the fabric of her blanket.
Clasping his hand between hers for a moment, she thought for a moment, then - before he could second-guess what she was about to do, she moved her right hand. His thumbnail sank into the flesh, tore it open and his eyes widened, nostrils flaring at the sudden, pure scent of her blood.
“Dawn…” he half-growled the warning.
“Shush,” she replied, looking towards him. Her gashed wrist was held out to him, the gesture of trust breathtaking.
His eyes slid from her face as if magnetically drawn to the crimson trickle, the hunger in his eyes unlike anything she had seen before. It was enough to make her heart race, and as his hand reverently cradled her wrist, she realised she was holding her breath.
For what felt like eternity, he stared at the red spill, then lifted dark eyes towards her, his expression making her tremble with the intensity.
Unable to find any words in a mind swept blank, she nodded.
The moment his lips touched her flesh, it was like an electric charge had shot through her, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, her eyes squeezing shut. Suddenly, she could feel her pulse in every part of her body, every desperate, heady throb, dizzying, making her reach out, clutching at his shoulder for support.
After several moments of what felt like the mother of all sugar-highs, one of them pulled away, but Dawn could not be sure which it was. All she could tell was that both of them were panting as fiercely as one another.
When she managed to lift her eyes to his, he was staring at her, the hunger in his eyes replaced by something that looked like shock and confusion. Whatever it was, it was overlaid by a dazed gleam, which she felt pretty sure she was wearing herself.
Unable to hold herself upright, she slipped from the arm of the chair onto his lap, sagging against his chest. “Wh-what was that?”
Drawing her close against him, his other hand wrapping reverently around her still-bleeding wrist, he pressed his lips to her brow. “I could ask you the same thing,” he replied in an awed voice. “You felt what I felt, did you not?”
“That… wasn’t normal?” Her head dropping to rest on his shoulder, Dawn could feel the tingles right the way down to her toes. She was startled to realise he felt like he was shivering too, though he was trying to mask it.
Finally prying his hand from her wrist, he tilted her chin up with a curled finger. “Far from it,” he murmured, gazing down at her. Lifting her hand, Dawn carefully wiped some blood from the corner of his mouth. “What are you, child?”
If she’d had the energy left, she would have grimaced. “Ah…” she mumbled. “Well… y’know… it’s kind of a funny story… no big deal… really…”
“I would like to hear it, nonetheless,” von Krolock murmured. “If you please.”
Sighing, Dawn nodded. “Kay…” she mumbled. “Let’s start with the part where I’m not real and go from there, okay?”
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Sitting back and licking his lips, Herbert cocked his head as he regarded the young vampire manacled in front of him. “So, darling, I think now would be a fitting time for you to talk.”
Blinking, trying to shake of the daze of his fourth climax away, Spike squinted down at Herbert. “Wha?”
“You, cheri,” Leaning back on his hands, sitting at Spike’s feet, Herbert smiled up at him. “There are matters between you and that silly Slayer, and since she’s coming to visit shortly, I would like to know what they are.”
The comfortable dazedness that had been surrounding him seemed to ripped away in a blink, leaving Spike staring down warily at the other vampire. “So you drag me in here and shag me silly to catch me off-guard?”
Herbert sighed impatiently. “Obviously, darling,” he replied. He stretched out one leg and traced his toes up Spike’s calf. “Now, do not force me to ask father to step in, because I feel it would be better if he did not know my concerns.”
Looking away from the vampire at his feet, Spike shook his head. “S’long past,” he said quiet, tersely. “Dead and buried.”
“And resurrected,” Herbert noted. He rose from the bedding and stood in front of Spike, arms folded over his chest. “William, I hate to see you forced back into this shell because of some silly little girl.”
“There’s no shell!” Spike snapped, glowering at a chair on the far side of the room, trying desperately not to look at Herbert. “There’s nothing!” He exhaled a noisy breath, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
A surprisingly gentle hand turned his face back towards Herbert’s. “William, cheri, please,” he said softly.
Damn it to buggering hell.
If Herbert had been a decent vampire and tortured him, that would have been all fine and dandy. He could have managed that, could have kept his trap shut. Always managed it.
But not when he was so quiet, so gentle, so bloody patient.
“She doesn’t matter.” His voice was shaking again. Damn it. What resolution he had left crumbled and he dropped his eyes, dignity forgotten. “Not any more.”
Abruptly, his hands were loosed from the manacles and he sagged down onto his knees on the bed. Between his knees, he clenched his hands into fists, not looking up when Herbert knelt down in front of him.
“Told you to leave it.”
“And let it fester away at you from within?” Herbert’s fingertips brushed his cheek and he shied away, averting his gaze. “William,” the older vampire’s voice was quiet and calm, but there was an undercurrent of steel beneath the silk and Armani. “I can rip this from you if that’s what you would prefer, leave you broken, bleeding and useless to anyone but the dogs.” A vice-like grip caught his chin. “I would rather have you tell me.”
“Why?” Spike knew he should have been mortified by the muffled whisper that was his voice, but all he could think of was what a pitiful, wretched, pathetic creature he had been, remembering what he had been reduced to.
Leaning closer, Herbert kissed first his cheek, then his throat, then let his fangs cut slowly into Spike’s skin, drawing a shudder from him. “Because,” he whispered against the wounds. “You’re ours, William, and we don’t like to see anything that belongs to us hurting.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Spike tried to force down the bitterness, the grief, the misery and the hurt that still remained. As much as he had loved the bitch, she had been just that; a bitch with claws and teeth to rival any soulless demon.
Not that he had ever told her that, but every time she had pushed him away, lashed out at him, beaten him down, derided him and dismissed him, it had laid hurt on top of hurt. Especially when he’d given everything of himself to her, regardless.
Herbert’s kiss drew him back to the present, the elder vampire sliding closer and tangling arms and legs around him comfortably. “Tell me,” he murmured, drawing Spike against his chest.
“It’s... I... I don’t... it...”
“If you say it’s nothing again, William, I promise you I shall chain you up again and show you just how long I can hold off your climax,” Herbert interrupted sharply, tapping him firmly on the tip of the nose. “Now, we don’t want that, do we?”
Dropping his forehead to rest on Herbert’s collarbone, Spike made a faint sound of dissent, squeezing his hands together.
Cool fingers caressed the nape of his neck. “William, what happened to you?”
“Bad stuff,” his whisper was so faint he could barely hear it himself. “Bloody humans messing around...” He tried to shy back, but Herbert’s fingers bit into his scalp, holding him fast. “I... they put something in my head... stopped me biting...”
The quiet curse from Herbert was as reassuring as a slap on the back from Angelus.
“Didn’t have anyone I could go to...” he laughed, brittle and brokenly. “Couldn’t go to other vampires... would’ve laughed...” He felt Herbert’s sympathetic nod. “Went to her...” He laughed again, shrilly. “They kept me... kept me there... kept me fed...”
“Kept you where?” Herbert’s voice was silken steel.
“Locked up safe... tame vampire, y’know... can’t bite...” He felt the snarl and tried to pull away again. Herbert yanked him back viciously, claiming his mouth in a hard kiss that made him yelp.
When they broke apart, Herbert’s forehead pressed to Spike’s. “She had no right,” he growled, his voice low and deadly.
“What was she meant to do?” Spike’s voice was faint. “I was a vampire. She should have done me in there and then.” His words shrank away to nothing as he added, “It would have been better.”
The slap made him start, his eyes widening.
“None of that!” Herbert snapped. “You know I deplore self-pity.”
“You wanted to hear, mate,” Spike felt his voice crack. “S’pose you wouldn’t want to know I tried to do myself in.”
Abruptly, he was pinned on his back, kisses and bites being liberally scattered over his face and torso. A final kiss was planted on his lips and Herbert braced himself, hands on either side of Spike’s head.
“Not particularly,” he said, the long strands of his golden hair tickling against Spike’s cheeks. He lowered his head and nibbled on the side of Spike’s throat. “What I do not understand is why you continue to defend her after she treated you like nothing more than a worthless stray.”
It appeared he felt Spike stiffen beneath him.
Lifting his head again, he gazed down at the younger vampire. “William?”
His face turned away, pressed against the bedding beneath him, as if it would let him hide from Herbert, Spike pressed his eyes closed. “I only went and fell in love with the stupid cow, didn’t I?” he whispered.
For several deafening and suffocating moments, there was complete silence.
Then, to his surprise, Herbert moved and lay beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Tell me everything, William,” he said softly.
Blue eyes stared into quietly accepting grey. “You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?” he whispered.
“Not at all,” Herbert said softly. “You will tell me everything - and I mean every thing - or I shall get very, very annoyed.” He leaned closer and kissed the tip of Spike’s nose. “And if you think my father is terrible, then you have seen nothing, I promise you that.”
Slowly, haltingly, each reluctant word stumbling over the previous one, Spike started to try to explain. His eyes fixed on Herbert’s collarbone, he picked at his nails, his voice a dull monotone. Herbert listened attentively, saying little, though he occasionally touched the younger vampire.
When he trailed into silence, Herbert continued to gaze at him thoughtfully.
Finally, he said firmly, “I’m going to kill her.”
“Herbie, no...”
“Hush!” A fingertip was pressed to his lips. “You have a soul, I understand, and you are all redeemed and so forth, but I certainly am not and I am going to rip that little harlot into so many pieces that no one will be able to find her.”
“Herbie...”
Kissing Spike hard on the lips, Herbert sighed. “Do shut up, darling. You’re ruining my vengeful thoughts.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, then smiled. “That aside, I feel I should cheer you up.”
One side of Spike’s mouth tweaked up reluctantly. “You’ve got the attention span of a concussed goldfish, Herbie,” he muttered.
“Mm,” Herbert acknowledged happily, then leaned down and bit Spike firmly, lapping at his throat. Then he sat back on his heels, tilting his head to one side. Spike stared at him. “Well...?”
“What?”
Herbert made a vague gesture to his throat. “I know you have this soul-nonsense to deal with, but surely you remember how to bite someone?”
Spike gaped at him. There had not been a single time, not a one when Herbert had ever let him do the biting. Even when he’d been offered Herbert’s blood, the bites were usually self-inflicted. “Eh?”
“Oh, for goodness sake,” Herbert sighed, reaching out and cupping the back of Spike’s head, hauling him forward. “Come on.” He raised his eyebrows, then sighed again, noisily. “Darling, my neck is getting stiff.”
Hesitantly, still trying to grasp when exactly it was that he had fallen into some warped parallel dimension of vampire therapy and willing necks, Spike lifted a hand to cup one side of Herbert’s throat, then leaned in and sank his fangs into the other.
He felt the arms wrap around him. “Bravo, darling!” Herbert purred. “Bravo!”
Abruptly, he was tumbled back among the blankets, blood spattering over them both, Herbert’s laughing eyes drawing a weak, bloody smile from him.
“You’re mad, aren’t you?”
Herbert kissed him warmly on the mouth. “Proudly so.”
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Two hours before sundown, the Slayer had arrived with Vittorio by her side. Polite, they had accepted the room offered to them, joining the occupants of the manor for an early evening gathering in the dining hall.
While the mortals ate, Herbert sat - at his father’s request - on the opposite side of the table in silence, hands folded on the wood. His gaze was neutral and calm, but he had ensured William was seated between him and his father’s seat at the head of the long table.
On the opposite side of the table, regaling her sister with many of the things she had learned, Dawn was either oblivious to or deliberately ignoring the quiet tension that seemed to fill the room.
He could feel his father’s gaze on him, mildly curious, but he continued to watch the Slayer with a polite attentiveness as she detailed the present situation at the Watchers Council, smiling when he felt it apt, nodding along.
Yet he was the first to rise when the meal was finished.
And he was the one to notice the unvoiced conversation on-going between the Slayer and her lover. Her hand on his arm, the Slayer’s darting eyes flitted to her sister, and Herbert saw the Immortal slowly nod in assent.
“Dawn, may I speak with you? Privately?” Vittorio’s murmur was like silk, utterly polite, with no indication of any duplicity, though Herbert saw the Slayer watching as her sister shrugged.
“Sure,” she said, then looked around at the Graf. “Is it okay if we go outside? It’s quiet out there.”
“Naturally,” Herbert could almost see the fire flashing between them. Clearly, this ploy of the Slayer’s had not been unexpected. Standing at the head of the table, von Krolock inclined his head. “We shall await your return.”
Herbert watched the Immortal and Dawn leave the room, watched the Slayer wander out as well and turned when his father touched his shoulder lightly. “Father?”
“Remember your manners, Herbert.” His father’s dark eyes held his for a moment, then von Krolock swept out of the room. Herbert did not need to ask to know where his father had gone.
Walking out into the halls, he saw Spike following the staircase the Slayer had used, hesitating before hurrying away in the direction of his own room. Perhaps, he had not taken Herbert’s promise seriously, but more fool him, then.
Sighing, he started up the stairs.
One day, dear, sweet, silly William would realise just how much he was valued and then, one day, would perhaps realise that when someone made a promise to kill someone for him, it would be done.
Making his way towards the lounge on the upper level, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him quietly.
“Slayer.”
Looking around from the paintings she had been looking at, she looked him up and down, a half-smile crossing her lips. “Hey.”
Herbert gazed at her quietly for a moment. “I sincerely hope you will not take this personally, but I would like you to leave at once,” he said calmly. “Your presence is... not welcome.”
Hazel eyes stared at him and she half-laughed. “I’m here to visit my sister, Herbert,” she said evenly. “If you think you can stop me doing that, you’re way wrong.”
“If you think I cannot, it is you who are mistaken,” Herbert replied civilly. He moved towards her, slowly, unthreatening, aware he looked every inch a dapper gentleman. “I may not be Master of this house, but my word carries some weight.”
The tiny blonde gazed at him, then she grinned. “Are you threatening me?”
“I am... advising you, in a friendly fashion,” Herbert replied, his hands folded behind his back. “But if you would prefer a threat, then very well. I want you out of my home, or else I will kill you.”
“Well, gee.” The Slayer rolled her eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”
“Oh, you wanted original?” Herbert was closer now, his eyes holding hers like bottomless pools of silver, calm, almost too calm. “Perhaps, then, I should express my distaste for treacherous power-crazed harlots who feel they can physically and emotionally abuse and use those who they believe cannot fight for themselves.” He leaned closer to her. “There is a word for someone who does such a thing, Miss Summers, and it is not a word I would use in civilised company.” His face was mere inches from hers. “But to you, I will say it. You are a vicious, psychopathic bitch.”
She gaped at him, as if she had never heard the word spoken with such venom before, and he saw her muscles moving for her before she even realised.
When the punch came, he was waiting, a hand leaping from behind him. Her fist connected with his palm, stopped dead, and his eyes flicked from it to her, his golden eyebrows arching in mild amusement.
“You should not have tried to strike me, Slayer,” he said with a small smile.
Wrenching her hand free, she glared at him. “Oh, yeah? And why’s that?”
“My father raised me never to hit a woman,” he said with a charming smile. His punch came without warning, throwing her hard against the low couch, knocking it on it’s back and sending her tumbling onto the floor. “Unless she hit me first.”
Scrambling onto her feet, the Slayer’s hair was in disarray and her clothing mussed, and he was pleased to see she looked angry. “You think it’s a good idea picking a fight with me, blondie?” she snapped.
“Oh, no, Slayer,” Herbert stepped around the couch with slow deliberation. “You’re the one who started this.”
He could see the confusion cross her face, but then she attacked.
With a series of blows taken from a dozen martial arts, she struck out and he had to admit he was surprised. It had been years since he had fought anyone, and the Slayer had a certain je ne sais quoi about her energy, her speed remarkable.
A sweeping strike of one of her legs took one of his out from beneath him. Altering his balance, he threw himself into a roll, rising smoothly into a kick that was aimed at his head. Catching her ankle, he twisted, bringing her down on a delicate, 19th century table, the fragile wood cracking like kindling.
Before the echoes of the table breaking had even faded, the Slayer was crouched on her feet, one hand reaching behind her. With deadly precision, she threw something, a whirling blade of metal slicing across his cheek, making him hiss.
He felt the cool tickle of blood on his skin and without taking his eyes from the mocking hazel ones, he lifted his fingers to touch his face. The Slayer straightened up with a cool look on her face.
“Interesting,” he said quietly, smearing his blood on his fingertips. Then, he smiled as, above them, there was a rattle.
The Slayer - unwilling to look away - risked a glance, then uttered a profanity and dived out of the way of the falling candelabra. The crystal and metal frame shattered on the tiled floor, shards scattered and bouncing. A candle sputtered out and rolled to bump against the toe of his boot.
Grey eyes found hazel again, staring at him wildly, and he deliberately stepped away from the wall and the severed support cable, turning his small dagger over and over in his hand.
“What’s this about?” she demanded, reaching for something at her belt. “Is this because I tried to take Dawnie?”
Herbert’s smile widened and he knew she could see his bared fangs by the flickering light of the remaining candles. “Oh, you really are quite the fool, Slayer,” he said, approaching her. She withdrew her hand from her belt and flexed her fingers, but he raised his hand with a small smile, holding her gaze. “Don’t.”
Blinking at him, as if unable to comprehend, she froze.
Reaching out, Herbert casually uncurled her fingers, as if he had all the time in the world. Several marble-sized glass pellets dropped, shattering on the floor, clear fluid spilling out of them.
“Holy water. Intriguing.” He circled her, her eyes following him, uncertain and not without the first hints of fear. Several more weapons were relieved from her belt and were tossed into the shadows. Placing his lips close to her ear, he murmured softly, “Just to make this even, Slayer. No tricks.”
Stepping away from her, he nodded as if something had been done to his satisfaction, and she staggered, whirling around to face him. The anger she had been nursing was growing, and he bowed mockingly to her.
He was unsurprised when she charged at him, channelling her anger in its purity. He was, however, surprised by the way she ripped the hefty door handle off the door and swung in a savage underhand that knocked him staggering.
As blood burst from his ruptured lip, he laughed with delighted exhilaration, catching her wrist as she reversed the blow and snatching her weapon, backhanding her with it.
Bending back to avoid the blow, she somehow managed to use his arm to flip herself over, taking him with her and brought him down on his back onto the floor with a force that momentarily stunned him.
From the corner of his eyes, he saw her hand move towards her ankle, saw the flash of a calf and a sheath there and caught her wrist a moment before the stake impacted with his chest.
That, he realised, was a little too close for his liking.
She was pushing against his grip, his hand shaking, and he could feel the tip of the wood, could see the savage delight in her eyes. The delight she no doubt showed when she took William, his William, and used him like he was nothing more than a possession, a toy.
Cold, ruthless rage flooded him, and he moved one hand to the stake, ripping it from her fingers savagely.
“Tricks...” he breathed with a tutting sound before jerking her arm with all his strength, all but throwing her over his body and against the wall. Rolling onto his feet, he tossed the stake towards the other end of her hall and straightened up.
Pushing herself upright against the wall, shaking her bruised wrist, the Slayer stared at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded.
Herbert gazed at her coldly. “I could ask you the same thing, Slayer,” he said softly, deadly. “You are wrong.”
Clearly, that word triggered some memory and she launched herself at him with the savage snarl of a maddened feline. With a move that seemed effortless, he shifted his weight, redirecting her with a blow to the back of her skull that sent her reeling further down the hall.
When she straightened, a punch caught her in the midriff, knocking her off her feet and skittering along the tiled floor. Even so, that was not enough to keep her down as she scrambled upright again.
He smiled when she seemed to notice the room he had deliberately left open and darted in.
Oh, poor, ignorant little cretin.
As soon as he stepped into the room behind her, he swayed back to avoid the slash of a blade, his foot pinning it to the floor with a rattle as an upwards backhand caught the Slayer under the jaw.
She swung around with the impact, grabbing a second rapier off the wall, assuming a defensive stance that seemed to have been taught by an amateur.
Smiling slightly, Herbert slipped his toe under the sword at his feet, flipping it up and catching it casually, the blade slicing the air with a pleasant hiss. Inclining his head, he smiled.
Close to the wall, the Slayer was panting with anger, with fire, with loathing. When she attacked, her skills were rudimentary, but her resolution and rage granted her a fervour that came close to matching Herbert’s, but her motivation was directionless; an unanswerable puzzle, a self-fuelling confused anger.
With quick strokes, twin gashes marked her upper arms, blood staining her clothing, and only a quick leap prevented him from slicing her from navel to sternum, the pain only adding to her boiling, disorientated ire.
Parrying and deflecting her every blow, Herbert steered her deftly, collecting a second blade, heavier and stronger from another rack on the wall, bringing it around with a ringing force that cracked the blade she was using.
Spinning to avoid a thrusting blow, turning his sword aside with the pommel of her own, she managed to snag another sword, the broken one dropped, forgotten, as she met his assault.
A scent, a sound, something caught Herbert’s attention, unexpected, unforeseen.
His eyes flicked beyond the Slayer for less than a blink, at a figure in the doorway, but it was enough. The blade lashed across throat and collar, slicing deeply, blood welling suddenly, soaking his shirt.
“Buffy!”
Stumbling back a step, the Slayer didn’t make the same mistake of looking, her eyes fixed on Herbert, who dropped one of his blades to press a palm to his throat. “Stay out of this, Spike.”
“Herbert...”
His eyes flashing savagely, Herbert grinned widely, ferally. “I told you, William,” he said, lifting his hand and licking his blood from his palm. Wiping his mouth the back of his hand, smearing blood across his cheek, he shifted his weight. “I’m going to kill her.”
“I thought you were joking, you pillock!” Spike’s voice was fraught. “Look, you don’t need to...”
“No, I don’t,” Herbert agreed. Strands of his hair had broken loose from his ponytail and were clinging to his bloody cheeks. He smiled broadly, the cut on his cheek bleeding more heavily. “But I really want to.”
Taking advantage of the fact that the Slayer seemed as distracted by William as he was, he attacked with the lightning swiftness that had earned him a reputation in Vienna in his mortal youth, now backed by his supernatural speed.
Driving her back towards the door, he could see the culmination of disbelief, shock and dismay on William’s face, the younger vampire shying back as the Slayer was forced into the hall, stumbling against a bust.
“Herbie...”
“Not your battle, William,” Herbert said coolly, flicking the Slayer’s sword from her hand with a twitch of one hand. Backing away, she stared at him, as he continued to speak to William. “Now, run along. I have a Slayer to kill.”
“Herb...”
“William, do shut up.”
Apparently, the look on his face was enough to convince William that was the correct move, and he turned on tail, racing away along the corridor, leaving nothing but the scent of his untamed emotions and the shadow of his memories.
“So you’re gonna really kill me, huh?” For the first time, the Slayer was beginning to look as if she might believe him. Back to the wall, she was edging sideways, away from him.
“That is my intent,” Herbert said agreeably, gazing at her. He circled her to kick her fallen sword away from her, then motioned for her to move with his blade.
“Dawn’ll be pissed.”
He smiled slightly. “I’m sure I can explain,” he murmured walking slowly after her, lamp-light reflected along the edge of the blade. “After all, you’re a Slayer. I’m a vampire. We all have those little, uncontrollable impulses.”
“Why?” she asked.
His smile was pleasant, but his eyes were ice. “William.”
“Spike?” She stared at him incredulously. “What? He can’t pick his own fights now?”
“From what I hear, even when he couldn’t, you picked them with him,” The tip of the blade lifted her chin, grey eyes gazing at her steadily. “You used him, Slayer, like he was worth nothing, like he was nothing.”
“He was!”
With a step and a backhand aided by the decorative pommel of the sword, Herbert sent the petite blonde rolling along the floor, her cheek burst open. “No one deserves to be used as you used him,” he said quietly, coldly. “The word, Slayer, is abuse.”
“He came to me!” Scrambling upright, she backed down the hall. “If he told you anything different...”
Herbert’s laugh was soft and utterly without humour. “He loved you,” he said, moving towards her with predatorial grace. “And you did nothing but reject him and hurt him in ways even we would find deplorable.”
“I’m a Slayer!” On the edge of the top of the flight of stairs, she stared at him.
“Slayer?” he murmured. “Does that give you some mystical right to harm those who are weaker than you?”
Hazel eyes met his and she frowned, then slowly shook her head. “No... no, I know,” she said softly. “I... hated what I had become... took it out on him.” She shifted her weight. “But why does this mean so much to you?”
“Because,” Herbert said quietly. “You hurt what is mine.” He stepped closer to her, gazing down at her and she made the mistake of meeting his gaze once more. “And for that,” He splayed a hand against her chest. “I cannot forgive you.”
With a casual push, he sent her toppling down the stairs, watching her roll to a halt on the landing. Twitching his brief charm aside, he descended the staircase slowly.
As she started to struggle upright, managing to rise on one knee, he nodded. He lifted his arm to bring down the sword in an over-arm stroke and to end the life of the one who caused his William so much pain.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Under the starlight, the Immortal and the Key walked side by side.
Another secretly followed, unseen, an invisible shadow on the night-silvered grass of the gardens.
Several hundred yards from the house, Dawn had lead the way to the old oak. It had become one of her favourite places in the grounds, outwith the house. Beneath it there was a low bench arranged on the gnarled roots, and she sat down, waiting for her sister’s lover to do the same.
“So, you wanted to talk?”
Settling himself, Vittorio leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and gazing out at the land before him. “I cannot help but wonder why you would choose to remain here,” he murmured seriously.
“Do I ask why you stay with my sister?” Dawn challenged, looking at him. She had her arms folded across her chest, perhaps from the cold, perhaps defensively. “Maybe I just like it here.”
“Surrounded by death?”
She looked so quietly dignified, gazing at him. “And watching Slayers come and go, fight and die, is any different?” she asked quietly. “Buffy wanted you to talk to me, didn’t she? Because you’re older?”
“She worries for you,” Vittorio did not deny or confirm what she had asked. “The Graf, he is - above all things - a demon.”
Blue eyes were cool as ice by the moonlight. “And what are you?” she asked.
Vittorio looked momentarily startled. “I... I am Immortal, Dawn,” he said. “This is not the same thing.”
“You’re not human, though,” she said softly.
“No,” Vittorio agreed quietly. “But I do not kill to sustain my existence.”
She shivered as the night’s breeze swirled around her, lifting strands of her hair against her cheeks. Creeping from the knotted wood, indigo shadows caressed her spine, warming her, drawing a faint smile to her lips.
“I haven’t seen him kill a single person in the three months since I got here,” she noted, leaning back against the ancient tree. “Nor have Spike or Herbert.” She closed her eyes as the unseen presence wrapped around her. “I haven’t seen anyone die for three months.” She sighed, though not for any reason the Immortal would be aware of. “For the first time in four years, I’ve gone three months without seeing a body.”
For a moment, the Immortal looked taken aback. “Truly?”
Blue eyes opened and gazed gravely at the sky. “Not all Slayers are good enough to be heroes,” she said quietly. Sitting up straighter, she looked at him. “I like it here, Vittorio. It’s peaceful.” She laughed faintly. “And I enjoy the company.”
Vittorio looked away from her. “He has damned hundreds,” he said softly.
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Dawn was staring ahead. Against the silk collar at her throat, there was a brief caress. “I’m not a total idiot, Vittorio. I lived on the Hellmouth. I almost got killed more times than I can count. I’m not dumb.”
From the shadows there was the whisper of a sigh.
If only she knew how close she had come to death within these very lands, in the embrace of one who professed to care for her. Had her blood not scorched him so much that he had been forced to draw back, he would have drained her in the thrall of animal appetite and found her dead in his arms.
“But you stay in the manor of a vampire known for his love of young women,” Deep brown eyes were suddenly and intently on her face. “He does not keep you here simply to please you.”
The slow, wicked smile that crossed her face would not have looked out of place on the lips of a fallen angel. “Oh, I know that,” she replied. “He does it to please him. Just because it pleases me too... well, that’s great.”
Vittorio stared at her. “You...”
“Yup.”
He reached for her hand, then sighed. “He has not yet drunk from you.” He seemed to be speaking more for his own reassurance.
“Huh?”
Brown eyes gazed at her. “If you succumb, if he drinks from you, you will be either dead or damned,” he said seriously. “Or both.”
Dawn gazed at him impassively, clearly aware of the presence surrounding her, wrapping around her. If she could not feel his anger towards the Immortal, so full of words, yet so empty of knowledge, then he would be greatly surprised.
Without speaking, she extended her right arm and drew back the sleeve. On her slim wrist, there was a deep, oddly-angled, crescent-shaped cut, healing now, but clearly still recently-inflicted.
“What...?”
“See, here’s the thing,” Dawn said, gazing at him. “He did drink from me. I let him and he did.” Smoothing her sleeve back down, she flicked off a speck of dust. “Since I’m kinda not dead or vampy, I think your argument doesn’t work.”
“But sooner or later...”
“Do you think I’m a complete moron?” For the first time, there was a layer of steely anger beneath her words. “I’m marked, Vittorio. Even if he bites me, even if I wanted it, I would... could never be turned.” Lifting her hands, she undid the collar around her throat. “Here.” She lifted her chin. “I’m marked with holy symbols. You bite and try to turn me, my body dies instantly, dust to dust. No turning, no vamping, no nothing. I just die.”
Around her, silent wonder and awareness were thick on the air and she shivered, as if feeling every tumultuous emotion. Vittorio was staring at her once more, but even the shock on his face could not come close to reflecting the sensations sweeping around her.
Rising, she walked from the bench and folded her arms over her chest.
“And your sister... she does not know?”
Staring ahead, she shook her head. “No one knew,” she said quietly, wordless apology lingering on every syllable.
Ignoring the presence of the Immortal, von Krolock drew close to her, shadow taking shape, and laid his arms about her. She swayed back against him and he tenderly touched his lips to her cheek.
Behind them, he heard Vittorio arise, with a sound of indignation but ignored him.
“You aren’t mad?” Dawn asked softly.
“Never,” von Krolock whispered with a small smile against her cheek. “How could I be angry with the only person who can still surprise me?”
Dawn laughed softly, looking up at him. “Gimme time,” she said, the affection in her eyes warming him. “I’m sure I’ll find a way.”
“So it is true?” Vittorio’s voice seemed calm, yet von Krolock could detect traces of ire, sorrow and, inexplicably, deep, deep hurt.
Turning smoothly, his cloak sweeping about his lover, shielding her from the breeze, von Krolock inclined his head. “You doubt Dawn’s words?” he murmured, his hand hovering bare inches from the base of her back. A flex of his fingers made her shiver.
Vittorio was staring at them both of them, as if unable to comprehend a word they were saying, his hands pushed into the pockets of his suit, the expression in his dark brown eyes unfathomable.
“If her heart is broken...” he finally said.
Dawn made a sound unbecoming of a lady, and von Krolock felt the smile touch his lips once more as her hand pointedly claimed his and squeezed his fingers. “I’m right here, Vittorio,” she said. “And hey! Who said this was long-term, huh? I got me a vampire-snuggle-bunny. No one said it had to last forever.”
“Dear one, I would ask that you refrain from calling me such things,” von Krolock murmured, though he could not help but notice the tension radiating from Vittorio’s lean form at his lover’s words.
Could it be that the beautiful Immortal before them still longed for a relationship that had lasted but a handful of months almost two centuries before? It almost made him laugh softly at the thought. The Immortal, so quietly dignified and able to claim any he chose, jealous of his lover’s sister? Was it possible?
Whatever it was, the thought was cast aside in the face of a wave of emotional distress from the house. His head snapped round to see William racing towards them, his face drained of colour.
“Spike?” Dawn moved away from him. “What...?”
“They... they’re gonna kill each other!” he panted out. “The Slayer and Herbie...”
“Oh God...” Dawn looked horrified. “She’ll kill him.”
Von Krolock felt a brief wash of amusement. So often, his son was underestimated. But still, it would not do for them to destroy the house. Striding past vampire and mortal, he drew them into his wake as he walked swiftly towards the house.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Three voices cried out as one at the chaos in the hall. On the landing, Buffy was on one knee, clothing torn, face bloodied, and Herbert’s blade was swinging in a slashing arc towards her.
From behind Dawn, a ball of light hurtled through the air and she screamed as it hit Herbert, tossing him into the air and away from Buffy. Crashing against the wall, the fair-haired vampire plummeted and tumbled down the stairs like a ragdoll.
Whirling around, she staggered back a step, colour draining from her face.
“You dare to touch my son!” Dangling from von Krolock’s hand by his throat, Vittorio’s face was dark with blood, his eyes flashing with fury. A sharp gesture with one hand blasted the vampire backwards across the hall, but he dissipated into mist before he hit the wall.
“No!”
Vittorio pushed her aside with a roughness she didn’t know he possessed, running up the stairs towards Buffy.
“Oh, this is not good…”
“Getting worse!” She heard Spike’s voice a moment before his arm wrapped around her waist and he hauled her back into the shelter of the doorway. From there, she saw the boiling shadows building. “Keep your head down!”
“But Buffy…”
Wrapping his arms around her waist, Spike pulled her tightly against him. “Trust me,” he hissed. “S’their fight now!”
Both of them flinched at the roar of rage that shook the dust from the rafters. A huge shapeless shadow lashed out, deflected by another glowing orb hurled by Vittorio, who rose. Around him, a nimbus of air seemed to be picking up speed.
“Oh fuck!” Spike dived out of the doorway, head down.
“SPIKE!”
Scrambling wildly across the floor, Spike caught the arms of the unconscious Herbert at the foot of the stairs. Hauling him, he skidded and half-crawled backwards across the floor, pulling the older vampire’s body into the doorway with them.
Somehow, von Krolock had managed to break through Vittorio’s shield, the blast of power shaking the very walls of the building. A flick of the vampire’s hand threw the Immortal across the hall, shattering one of the delicate carvings at the top of the banister.
“What about Buffy?” Dawn’s voice was shrill as she tried to break past Spike.
“Don’t think they’re bothering with her now, Nibs,” Spike sounded dazed, Herbert clutched in one arm, Dawn in the other.
Leaping from the upper level with the lightness of a cat, Vittorio rose, apparently oblivious to the blood streaming from a ragged gash across his temple. His shirt was hanging in strips and his torso was covered in bruises that were ignored.
Pressing his hands together, his expression ugly, he splayed both palms sharply in the direction of von Krolock’s shadowy form. Though nothing seemed to leave them, Dawn felt the air rip, as if something had torn through it.
There was a hissing crackle and von Krolock materialised out of the darkness, his own hands shaking with the force of containing whatever it was that had been cast at him. It looked like black lightning, tendrils and sparks crawling over his arms, his fangs bared and his eyes black with rage.
“He dared to harm her!” Vittorio’s voice was pure poison, vicious and savage.
Despite herself, somewhere in the back of her mind, Dawn mentally chalked up a possibly-evil point against Vittorio’s name.
Still grappling with the flaring ball of black lightning, von Krolock looked like he was gathering his physical power behind his magical strength, and Dawn winced at the agonised focus on his face.
There was a rush of sound, and the flaring blast was hurled upwards and sidelong, deflected through the window high above the door. Outside, there was the distant cracking boom of an explosion.
His head whipping back around in Vittorio’s direction, von Krolock batted aside smaller blasts of energy as if they were nothing more than feathers in the air. Striding forwards, he seemed somehow larger, stronger.
With a curse, Vittorio waved a hand, a glowing gold globe surrounding him.
“Oh shit on a stick...” Spike mumbled. “Controlled sunlight!”
Von Krolock’s upper lip curled in a sneer. He thrust one hand through the surface of the globe, physically striking the Immortal with all the power in his arm.
Thrown back against the wall, Vittorio staggered, buckling onto one knee, eyes that looked as if they had gone solidly black staring dangerously up at the vampire. Blood was oozing from both nostrils, but he seemed unaware of his physical pains.
“What happened?” she whispered to Spike. “Buffy and Herbert...”
“Long story, Nibs,” Spike was watching anxiously.
Standing over his prey, von Krolock flexed his burnt hand, the tissue knitting and healing almost instantly. “You are in my house, Immortal.” His voice was so cold and hard that Vittorio seemed to flinch from it. “You insult my hospitality.”
Forcing himself to his feet, Vittorio seemed to sway for a moment. “Your son hurt her,” he said quietly, his voice as softly fatal as poison.
“Their argument is their own.” Von Krolock’s fingers were idly twisting by his sides, a magnanimous smile curling his lips, but belied by the ice in his eyes. “You should not have interfered.”
Half-hidden by one of the columns, Dawn felt her heart racing as shadows seemed to crawl from between the polished stone beneath Vittorio’s feet, creeping up, twining around his limbs, completely unnoticed by the Immortal.
He seemed to be gathering his strength, focussing himself, his black stare fixed on von Krolock’s face. By his sides, his hands slowly started to contract, so tight Dawn could see every taut sinew, his jaw clenched.
Neither vampire nor Immortal, however, seemed to notice the figure stirring halfway up the stairs. Dazed by one of blasts, Buffy had been sprawled out on the landing, but now, she was pulling herself upright against the banister.
She looked in Dawn’s direction, then her gaze was pulled to her lover, her eyes widening in shock.
As one, everything seemed to happen: Vittorio’s hands leapt up, an savage invisible force launched at von Krolock, who deflected it towards the hall, which had been empty until Buffy had run down the stairs.
The blast picked her up halfway towards them, tossing her in the air, all the power and savagery behind Vittorio’s attack throwing her against the upper wall, shattering panels of glass. Dropping like a stone, she fell in a crumpled heap on the floor.
“Buffy!” Dawn heard herself shriek a moment before she broke free of Spike’s grip, launching herself out into the hall. It was echoed by a cry of horrified distress from Vittorio.
Pulling Buffy onto her back, Dawn almost laughed with relief when she felt the throb of her sister’s pulse. Hazel eyes squinted open, staring up at her, looking more perplexed than hurt.
“Are you okay? I mean... bleeding and stuff not included...” Dawn whispered, hastily smoothing back Buffy’s hair from her cheek. Buffy’s chin jerked tightly, as if she was having trouble moving it, her brows pulling together. “What?”
Hazel eyes flicked towards the vampire and the Immortal still at the other end of the hall, trying to express something, but Dawn couldn’t work it out.
Looking around, she started to speak, then fell silent, staring.
The shadows that had been weaving so subtly around Vittorio had snared him to his neck, his arms bound by his sides, and von Krolock was slowly tilting his chin up with one fingertip.
“Let me go to her!” Vittorio’s voice was breaking. “Please, Eccellenza!”
“Why would I do that, my dear Vittorio?” von Krolock asked mildly, brushing the pad of his thumb along Vittorio’s chin. “I fear you have already done more than enough damage.” He smiled slightly. “As I said, this is my home. Here, I expect my rules to be followed.”
“You would do the same, if someone hurt...”
His hand suddenly gripping Vittorio’s throat, von Krolock squeezed slowly and deliberately. “Someone did,” he said softly. Without turning or looking away from the snared man, he called over his shoulder, “William?”
“He’s all right.” The voice emerged from the shadows by the doorway. “Still a bit woozy, but he’s coming around.”
“He attacked her...” Vittorio’s voice was choked.
“How can you be sure it was not the other way around?” von Krolock murmured. A look at Vittorio’s rapidly paling face suggested this was not an option he had even considered. “Your woman is a vampire Slayer. My son is a vampire. Surely, you can see why she would consider it a moral obligation, while we were not present.”
“I am afraid we... had words, father,” Herbert’s faint voice emerged from the doorway a moment before he did. He was leaning on Spike’s shoulder, looking bloodied and bruised with an impressive gash across his throat. “Rather angry words.”
Turning his back on Vittorio, von Krolock crossed the hall in three swift paces, lifting his son’s face in one hand and examining his wounds with the tender care of a devoted father, pointedly ignoring the shaking pleas still falling from Vittorio’s lips.
“I trust you have not allowed yourself to be permanently damaged,” he said.
Herbert’s smile was weaker than it would have otherwise been. “I think I shall be fine, father.”
From where she was seated, Buffy draped over her lap, Dawn could see the way Herbert was leaning on Spike. She wanted to demand an answer about what they had seen on arrival, but the words had failed her.
Looking over at Vittorio, she could see him struggling uselessly against the magical bonds that held him. It looked like there were tears shining on his cheeks and his voice was weak with emotion, but von Krolock was paying him no more attention than an item of furniture.
She knew she could call out and tell him Buffy seemed to be all right, but there was a bitter little part of her that wanted him to pay for hurting Herbert, and for even trying to hurt her lover.
“Johannes,” she murmured, looking up at her lover.
Dark eyes drifted down to her and, if she hadn’t known him better, she would have sworn she saw a brief smile whisper across his lips.
At once a sense of reassurance wound around her mind, about the situation, about Buffy’s well-being, about Vittorio’s present state, and she knew things were going to be all right after all.
Turning with an elegant swirl of black, von Krolock crossed the floor once more to gaze at Vittorio, who was still futilely wresting against his bonds. Folding his arms sternly upon his chest, von Krolock lifted his chin with the quiet imperiousness that made mortals buckle and bow in his presence.
“Please,” Vittorio whispered brokenly, staring wildly beyond von Krolock’s shoulder as if it might allow him to somehow see his lover, standing and whole.
A cool fingertip touched his cheek, turning his face back towards von Krolock’s, the vampire’s brows rising. Sagging against the darkness holding him, Vittorio stared up at him, eyes wide and desperate.
“Johannes, please,” he begged.
Turning away with a flick of his fingers, von Krolock barely even glanced down as the Immortal was dropped to the floor, the shadows slithering away and disappearing between the cracks in the floor.
Scrambling his way across the floor to his lover, Vittorio stared down at her, then went rigid, dark brown eyes rising to von Krolock, shock etched on his face.
Slowly, quietly, von Krolock smiled, making an elegant gesture with one hand. In Dawn’s lap, Buffy gasped and jerked upright, taking great gulping breaths of air, staring wildly up at the vampire.
“What the hell...”
“I am afraid your lover was terribly clumsy with his elementals,” von Krolock said with grave politeness. “I felt it necessary to shield you for a time, to ensure you would come to no harm.”
Buffy stared at him. “Huh?”
“It does not matter, bella,” Vittorio reached out to touch her cheek, the relief on his face and his stance palpable. “I allowed my temper to get the better of me.” He pulled her into his arms suddenly, embracing her tightly. “I feared I had killed you.”
Returning his embrace, Buffy’s eyes flicked to Herbert, who was still leaning heavily on Spike’s shoulder. Dawn followed the look and saw Herbert incline his head, some hidden meaning shared between Slayer and vampire, which she made a note to torture out of Herbert later.
“We done here?” Spike broke the sudden, tense silence. “Frilly-pants here looks like he’s going to go swoony again and I’d prefer to have a bed to chuck him onto.”
“We’re finished here,” Herbert said with a curt, pained nod.
Buffy, getting to her feet with the help of her lover, nodded as well. “Yeah, we’re done.”
RATING: R. Just for violence.
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SUMMARY: Several months after her arrival, Dawn is about to receive a rather memorable checking-in-on.
SERIES: Part of Carpe Noctem series. In order: Til The Moon Is Abed (Slash/Het), Unwritten Words, What Remains, The Gentler Sex, Visitation, After the Storm, the chapter immediately preceding this chapter.
PAIRINGS: Herbert/Spike, Dawn/von Krolock, Buffy/Vittorio plus some implied ones.
WORDS: 9708
NOTES: Longest and counting. Someone has to switch off my brain one of these days.
__________________________________
Stirring, Dawn smiled a little at the familiar weight of an arm around her waist. In a place where night and day no longer meant anything, it gave her a warm tingley feeling knowing that whenever she woke up, he would be right there beside her.
The coldness of his skin had taken some getting used to, but he made it easier for her not to notice, doing things with hands, lips and body that made her wonder why there wasn’t a queue of girls right around the manor, waiting their turn.
Even when he didn’t touch her, though, when they were just sitting in the library, when he was teaching her and talking with her, as a friend and guide, she knew she had never felt quite as content.
“Morning, you,” she murmured, arching her back against the chest behind her.
“Closer to afternoon, little one,” he replied, softly, amused. His palm was spread on her stomach, his nails moving in ticklish patterns that made her squirm against him. “You are well rested?”
“Oh, yeah. Totally.” She yawned pleasantly. “Don’t know how you do it, but you’ve made this the comfiest bed in the world, ever.”
A kiss was touched to her bare shoulder. “Only the best will ever suffice,” he replied, drawing from her. Leaving her draped by blankets, he rose, donning a heavy robe about him before he turned to gaze down at her.
Sprawled back against the pillows, her hair fanning out around her, Dawn blushed under his watchful eye. “What?”
“I cannot help but wonder how it is you become more beautiful with each day,” the Graf said softly, wonderingly. “Perhaps teaching you magic was a mistake, if you have bewitched me so easily.”
With a laugh, Dawn pulled the blanket over her head to hide her blushes. “You just like embarrassing me,” her voice was muffled by the blankets.
“Perhaps,” von Krolock replied, the warmth in his words unmistakeable. “But the truth is a precious commodity.” He moved around the end of the bed towards the broad desk that stood against the far wall. “I could grant you nothing less.”
Peeking over the edge of her the blanket just as he glanced over his shoulder at her, Dawn could see the simple happiness alight in eyes dark as night. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a smooth talker?”
As he turned to face her, her lover’s brows rose. “None,” he said. “Though I am flattered that you think so.” He returned to the side of the bed, sitting down in the grand chair he had installed in her rooms the night after their encounter in the library.
Rolling to her side and propping herself up on one arm, Dawn stretched out a hand to him. He clasped it at once, his long fingers curling beneath hers with a tenderness that seemed to belie his very nature.
“You sure you don’t mind Buffy visiting again?” she asked. It was a question that had been bugging her since she had eventually been handed a print-out of an e-mail by the grumbling Herbert.
Leaning close to kiss her fingertips, von Krolock shook his head. “If I refused her, it would only give her cause to fear for you,” he murmured. “Above all things, she is still your family.”
Dawn smiled. “You know, they won’t believe me when I tell them what a sweetie you are,” she said, squeezing his fingers.
“I have my moments,” he agreed mildly, the same half-smile playing about his severe lips. “Do you intend to tell your sister of what has transpired since her last visit?”
Sitting up, blanket draped around her, she drew her hand from his. She chewed on her lower lip pensively. “I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But it’s not like she can judge me, right? I mean, she’s dating Vittorio and he’s got some weird magic thing about him.” She propped her chin on her upraised knees. “And she had vampire boyfriends too.”
“Is that so?”
Glancing at him, Dawn nodded. “You knew Angelus, right?”
The unseen sweep of mirth that escaped the Graf was so potent, so strong that Dawn found herself grinning in response. “You are saying that your sister was intimately involved with Angelus?”
“He had a soul by then, but yeah,” Shaking back her hair, she laughed. “Mister broody-mystery-man with his sticky-out forehead and grouchiness.” Her expression sobered for a minute. “Then he lost his soul and tried to kill a whole bunch of us.” She glanced at him, expecting the question. “Screwing my sister lost him the soul.” Her eyes twinkled. “At least I don’t have that problem, right?”
“If that was a problem posed to us, I have no doubts it would be an unnecessary concern by this point,” he said gravely.
Dawn started to laugh, scooting towards the edge of the bed, swinging her legs out and pulling the blanket around her. “I can imagine the look on her face,” she said. “I know my boyfriend won’t go evil, because hello! No soul to lose. He’s as bad as he can go.”
“You, darling child, are a wonder,” von Krolock said with soft affection, offering her a hand and drawing her towards him. “Any other who had seen all that you have seen would have fled or fought, or hated out of habit.”
Perching on the arm of his chair, Dawn reached out with her free hand to smooth his long hair. “Yeah, but remember that I’m not just ‘any other’,” she said, leaning closer to kiss his brow. “And being looked after by Spike and witches for two years gives you a whole new and wacky perspective.”
His arm loose about her waist, he gazed at her thoughtfully. “I suppose that is true,” he murmured. “You know I could kill you in a heartbeat, but it does not concern you at all, does it?”
Blue eyes held his for a moment. Then she said, “Give me your hand.”
Unquestioningly, he crossed his other arm before his body and offered her his left hand, as the right idly stroked her hip through the fabric of her blanket.
Clasping his hand between hers for a moment, she thought for a moment, then - before he could second-guess what she was about to do, she moved her right hand. His thumbnail sank into the flesh, tore it open and his eyes widened, nostrils flaring at the sudden, pure scent of her blood.
“Dawn…” he half-growled the warning.
“Shush,” she replied, looking towards him. Her gashed wrist was held out to him, the gesture of trust breathtaking.
His eyes slid from her face as if magnetically drawn to the crimson trickle, the hunger in his eyes unlike anything she had seen before. It was enough to make her heart race, and as his hand reverently cradled her wrist, she realised she was holding her breath.
For what felt like eternity, he stared at the red spill, then lifted dark eyes towards her, his expression making her tremble with the intensity.
Unable to find any words in a mind swept blank, she nodded.
The moment his lips touched her flesh, it was like an electric charge had shot through her, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, her eyes squeezing shut. Suddenly, she could feel her pulse in every part of her body, every desperate, heady throb, dizzying, making her reach out, clutching at his shoulder for support.
After several moments of what felt like the mother of all sugar-highs, one of them pulled away, but Dawn could not be sure which it was. All she could tell was that both of them were panting as fiercely as one another.
When she managed to lift her eyes to his, he was staring at her, the hunger in his eyes replaced by something that looked like shock and confusion. Whatever it was, it was overlaid by a dazed gleam, which she felt pretty sure she was wearing herself.
Unable to hold herself upright, she slipped from the arm of the chair onto his lap, sagging against his chest. “Wh-what was that?”
Drawing her close against him, his other hand wrapping reverently around her still-bleeding wrist, he pressed his lips to her brow. “I could ask you the same thing,” he replied in an awed voice. “You felt what I felt, did you not?”
“That… wasn’t normal?” Her head dropping to rest on his shoulder, Dawn could feel the tingles right the way down to her toes. She was startled to realise he felt like he was shivering too, though he was trying to mask it.
Finally prying his hand from her wrist, he tilted her chin up with a curled finger. “Far from it,” he murmured, gazing down at her. Lifting her hand, Dawn carefully wiped some blood from the corner of his mouth. “What are you, child?”
If she’d had the energy left, she would have grimaced. “Ah…” she mumbled. “Well… y’know… it’s kind of a funny story… no big deal… really…”
“I would like to hear it, nonetheless,” von Krolock murmured. “If you please.”
Sighing, Dawn nodded. “Kay…” she mumbled. “Let’s start with the part where I’m not real and go from there, okay?”
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Sitting back and licking his lips, Herbert cocked his head as he regarded the young vampire manacled in front of him. “So, darling, I think now would be a fitting time for you to talk.”
Blinking, trying to shake of the daze of his fourth climax away, Spike squinted down at Herbert. “Wha?”
“You, cheri,” Leaning back on his hands, sitting at Spike’s feet, Herbert smiled up at him. “There are matters between you and that silly Slayer, and since she’s coming to visit shortly, I would like to know what they are.”
The comfortable dazedness that had been surrounding him seemed to ripped away in a blink, leaving Spike staring down warily at the other vampire. “So you drag me in here and shag me silly to catch me off-guard?”
Herbert sighed impatiently. “Obviously, darling,” he replied. He stretched out one leg and traced his toes up Spike’s calf. “Now, do not force me to ask father to step in, because I feel it would be better if he did not know my concerns.”
Looking away from the vampire at his feet, Spike shook his head. “S’long past,” he said quiet, tersely. “Dead and buried.”
“And resurrected,” Herbert noted. He rose from the bedding and stood in front of Spike, arms folded over his chest. “William, I hate to see you forced back into this shell because of some silly little girl.”
“There’s no shell!” Spike snapped, glowering at a chair on the far side of the room, trying desperately not to look at Herbert. “There’s nothing!” He exhaled a noisy breath, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
A surprisingly gentle hand turned his face back towards Herbert’s. “William, cheri, please,” he said softly.
Damn it to buggering hell.
If Herbert had been a decent vampire and tortured him, that would have been all fine and dandy. He could have managed that, could have kept his trap shut. Always managed it.
But not when he was so quiet, so gentle, so bloody patient.
“She doesn’t matter.” His voice was shaking again. Damn it. What resolution he had left crumbled and he dropped his eyes, dignity forgotten. “Not any more.”
Abruptly, his hands were loosed from the manacles and he sagged down onto his knees on the bed. Between his knees, he clenched his hands into fists, not looking up when Herbert knelt down in front of him.
“Told you to leave it.”
“And let it fester away at you from within?” Herbert’s fingertips brushed his cheek and he shied away, averting his gaze. “William,” the older vampire’s voice was quiet and calm, but there was an undercurrent of steel beneath the silk and Armani. “I can rip this from you if that’s what you would prefer, leave you broken, bleeding and useless to anyone but the dogs.” A vice-like grip caught his chin. “I would rather have you tell me.”
“Why?” Spike knew he should have been mortified by the muffled whisper that was his voice, but all he could think of was what a pitiful, wretched, pathetic creature he had been, remembering what he had been reduced to.
Leaning closer, Herbert kissed first his cheek, then his throat, then let his fangs cut slowly into Spike’s skin, drawing a shudder from him. “Because,” he whispered against the wounds. “You’re ours, William, and we don’t like to see anything that belongs to us hurting.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Spike tried to force down the bitterness, the grief, the misery and the hurt that still remained. As much as he had loved the bitch, she had been just that; a bitch with claws and teeth to rival any soulless demon.
Not that he had ever told her that, but every time she had pushed him away, lashed out at him, beaten him down, derided him and dismissed him, it had laid hurt on top of hurt. Especially when he’d given everything of himself to her, regardless.
Herbert’s kiss drew him back to the present, the elder vampire sliding closer and tangling arms and legs around him comfortably. “Tell me,” he murmured, drawing Spike against his chest.
“It’s... I... I don’t... it...”
“If you say it’s nothing again, William, I promise you I shall chain you up again and show you just how long I can hold off your climax,” Herbert interrupted sharply, tapping him firmly on the tip of the nose. “Now, we don’t want that, do we?”
Dropping his forehead to rest on Herbert’s collarbone, Spike made a faint sound of dissent, squeezing his hands together.
Cool fingers caressed the nape of his neck. “William, what happened to you?”
“Bad stuff,” his whisper was so faint he could barely hear it himself. “Bloody humans messing around...” He tried to shy back, but Herbert’s fingers bit into his scalp, holding him fast. “I... they put something in my head... stopped me biting...”
The quiet curse from Herbert was as reassuring as a slap on the back from Angelus.
“Didn’t have anyone I could go to...” he laughed, brittle and brokenly. “Couldn’t go to other vampires... would’ve laughed...” He felt Herbert’s sympathetic nod. “Went to her...” He laughed again, shrilly. “They kept me... kept me there... kept me fed...”
“Kept you where?” Herbert’s voice was silken steel.
“Locked up safe... tame vampire, y’know... can’t bite...” He felt the snarl and tried to pull away again. Herbert yanked him back viciously, claiming his mouth in a hard kiss that made him yelp.
When they broke apart, Herbert’s forehead pressed to Spike’s. “She had no right,” he growled, his voice low and deadly.
“What was she meant to do?” Spike’s voice was faint. “I was a vampire. She should have done me in there and then.” His words shrank away to nothing as he added, “It would have been better.”
The slap made him start, his eyes widening.
“None of that!” Herbert snapped. “You know I deplore self-pity.”
“You wanted to hear, mate,” Spike felt his voice crack. “S’pose you wouldn’t want to know I tried to do myself in.”
Abruptly, he was pinned on his back, kisses and bites being liberally scattered over his face and torso. A final kiss was planted on his lips and Herbert braced himself, hands on either side of Spike’s head.
“Not particularly,” he said, the long strands of his golden hair tickling against Spike’s cheeks. He lowered his head and nibbled on the side of Spike’s throat. “What I do not understand is why you continue to defend her after she treated you like nothing more than a worthless stray.”
It appeared he felt Spike stiffen beneath him.
Lifting his head again, he gazed down at the younger vampire. “William?”
His face turned away, pressed against the bedding beneath him, as if it would let him hide from Herbert, Spike pressed his eyes closed. “I only went and fell in love with the stupid cow, didn’t I?” he whispered.
For several deafening and suffocating moments, there was complete silence.
Then, to his surprise, Herbert moved and lay beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Tell me everything, William,” he said softly.
Blue eyes stared into quietly accepting grey. “You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?” he whispered.
“Not at all,” Herbert said softly. “You will tell me everything - and I mean every thing - or I shall get very, very annoyed.” He leaned closer and kissed the tip of Spike’s nose. “And if you think my father is terrible, then you have seen nothing, I promise you that.”
Slowly, haltingly, each reluctant word stumbling over the previous one, Spike started to try to explain. His eyes fixed on Herbert’s collarbone, he picked at his nails, his voice a dull monotone. Herbert listened attentively, saying little, though he occasionally touched the younger vampire.
When he trailed into silence, Herbert continued to gaze at him thoughtfully.
Finally, he said firmly, “I’m going to kill her.”
“Herbie, no...”
“Hush!” A fingertip was pressed to his lips. “You have a soul, I understand, and you are all redeemed and so forth, but I certainly am not and I am going to rip that little harlot into so many pieces that no one will be able to find her.”
“Herbie...”
Kissing Spike hard on the lips, Herbert sighed. “Do shut up, darling. You’re ruining my vengeful thoughts.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, then smiled. “That aside, I feel I should cheer you up.”
One side of Spike’s mouth tweaked up reluctantly. “You’ve got the attention span of a concussed goldfish, Herbie,” he muttered.
“Mm,” Herbert acknowledged happily, then leaned down and bit Spike firmly, lapping at his throat. Then he sat back on his heels, tilting his head to one side. Spike stared at him. “Well...?”
“What?”
Herbert made a vague gesture to his throat. “I know you have this soul-nonsense to deal with, but surely you remember how to bite someone?”
Spike gaped at him. There had not been a single time, not a one when Herbert had ever let him do the biting. Even when he’d been offered Herbert’s blood, the bites were usually self-inflicted. “Eh?”
“Oh, for goodness sake,” Herbert sighed, reaching out and cupping the back of Spike’s head, hauling him forward. “Come on.” He raised his eyebrows, then sighed again, noisily. “Darling, my neck is getting stiff.”
Hesitantly, still trying to grasp when exactly it was that he had fallen into some warped parallel dimension of vampire therapy and willing necks, Spike lifted a hand to cup one side of Herbert’s throat, then leaned in and sank his fangs into the other.
He felt the arms wrap around him. “Bravo, darling!” Herbert purred. “Bravo!”
Abruptly, he was tumbled back among the blankets, blood spattering over them both, Herbert’s laughing eyes drawing a weak, bloody smile from him.
“You’re mad, aren’t you?”
Herbert kissed him warmly on the mouth. “Proudly so.”
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Two hours before sundown, the Slayer had arrived with Vittorio by her side. Polite, they had accepted the room offered to them, joining the occupants of the manor for an early evening gathering in the dining hall.
While the mortals ate, Herbert sat - at his father’s request - on the opposite side of the table in silence, hands folded on the wood. His gaze was neutral and calm, but he had ensured William was seated between him and his father’s seat at the head of the long table.
On the opposite side of the table, regaling her sister with many of the things she had learned, Dawn was either oblivious to or deliberately ignoring the quiet tension that seemed to fill the room.
He could feel his father’s gaze on him, mildly curious, but he continued to watch the Slayer with a polite attentiveness as she detailed the present situation at the Watchers Council, smiling when he felt it apt, nodding along.
Yet he was the first to rise when the meal was finished.
And he was the one to notice the unvoiced conversation on-going between the Slayer and her lover. Her hand on his arm, the Slayer’s darting eyes flitted to her sister, and Herbert saw the Immortal slowly nod in assent.
“Dawn, may I speak with you? Privately?” Vittorio’s murmur was like silk, utterly polite, with no indication of any duplicity, though Herbert saw the Slayer watching as her sister shrugged.
“Sure,” she said, then looked around at the Graf. “Is it okay if we go outside? It’s quiet out there.”
“Naturally,” Herbert could almost see the fire flashing between them. Clearly, this ploy of the Slayer’s had not been unexpected. Standing at the head of the table, von Krolock inclined his head. “We shall await your return.”
Herbert watched the Immortal and Dawn leave the room, watched the Slayer wander out as well and turned when his father touched his shoulder lightly. “Father?”
“Remember your manners, Herbert.” His father’s dark eyes held his for a moment, then von Krolock swept out of the room. Herbert did not need to ask to know where his father had gone.
Walking out into the halls, he saw Spike following the staircase the Slayer had used, hesitating before hurrying away in the direction of his own room. Perhaps, he had not taken Herbert’s promise seriously, but more fool him, then.
Sighing, he started up the stairs.
One day, dear, sweet, silly William would realise just how much he was valued and then, one day, would perhaps realise that when someone made a promise to kill someone for him, it would be done.
Making his way towards the lounge on the upper level, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him quietly.
“Slayer.”
Looking around from the paintings she had been looking at, she looked him up and down, a half-smile crossing her lips. “Hey.”
Herbert gazed at her quietly for a moment. “I sincerely hope you will not take this personally, but I would like you to leave at once,” he said calmly. “Your presence is... not welcome.”
Hazel eyes stared at him and she half-laughed. “I’m here to visit my sister, Herbert,” she said evenly. “If you think you can stop me doing that, you’re way wrong.”
“If you think I cannot, it is you who are mistaken,” Herbert replied civilly. He moved towards her, slowly, unthreatening, aware he looked every inch a dapper gentleman. “I may not be Master of this house, but my word carries some weight.”
The tiny blonde gazed at him, then she grinned. “Are you threatening me?”
“I am... advising you, in a friendly fashion,” Herbert replied, his hands folded behind his back. “But if you would prefer a threat, then very well. I want you out of my home, or else I will kill you.”
“Well, gee.” The Slayer rolled her eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that before.”
“Oh, you wanted original?” Herbert was closer now, his eyes holding hers like bottomless pools of silver, calm, almost too calm. “Perhaps, then, I should express my distaste for treacherous power-crazed harlots who feel they can physically and emotionally abuse and use those who they believe cannot fight for themselves.” He leaned closer to her. “There is a word for someone who does such a thing, Miss Summers, and it is not a word I would use in civilised company.” His face was mere inches from hers. “But to you, I will say it. You are a vicious, psychopathic bitch.”
She gaped at him, as if she had never heard the word spoken with such venom before, and he saw her muscles moving for her before she even realised.
When the punch came, he was waiting, a hand leaping from behind him. Her fist connected with his palm, stopped dead, and his eyes flicked from it to her, his golden eyebrows arching in mild amusement.
“You should not have tried to strike me, Slayer,” he said with a small smile.
Wrenching her hand free, she glared at him. “Oh, yeah? And why’s that?”
“My father raised me never to hit a woman,” he said with a charming smile. His punch came without warning, throwing her hard against the low couch, knocking it on it’s back and sending her tumbling onto the floor. “Unless she hit me first.”
Scrambling onto her feet, the Slayer’s hair was in disarray and her clothing mussed, and he was pleased to see she looked angry. “You think it’s a good idea picking a fight with me, blondie?” she snapped.
“Oh, no, Slayer,” Herbert stepped around the couch with slow deliberation. “You’re the one who started this.”
He could see the confusion cross her face, but then she attacked.
With a series of blows taken from a dozen martial arts, she struck out and he had to admit he was surprised. It had been years since he had fought anyone, and the Slayer had a certain je ne sais quoi about her energy, her speed remarkable.
A sweeping strike of one of her legs took one of his out from beneath him. Altering his balance, he threw himself into a roll, rising smoothly into a kick that was aimed at his head. Catching her ankle, he twisted, bringing her down on a delicate, 19th century table, the fragile wood cracking like kindling.
Before the echoes of the table breaking had even faded, the Slayer was crouched on her feet, one hand reaching behind her. With deadly precision, she threw something, a whirling blade of metal slicing across his cheek, making him hiss.
He felt the cool tickle of blood on his skin and without taking his eyes from the mocking hazel ones, he lifted his fingers to touch his face. The Slayer straightened up with a cool look on her face.
“Interesting,” he said quietly, smearing his blood on his fingertips. Then, he smiled as, above them, there was a rattle.
The Slayer - unwilling to look away - risked a glance, then uttered a profanity and dived out of the way of the falling candelabra. The crystal and metal frame shattered on the tiled floor, shards scattered and bouncing. A candle sputtered out and rolled to bump against the toe of his boot.
Grey eyes found hazel again, staring at him wildly, and he deliberately stepped away from the wall and the severed support cable, turning his small dagger over and over in his hand.
“What’s this about?” she demanded, reaching for something at her belt. “Is this because I tried to take Dawnie?”
Herbert’s smile widened and he knew she could see his bared fangs by the flickering light of the remaining candles. “Oh, you really are quite the fool, Slayer,” he said, approaching her. She withdrew her hand from her belt and flexed her fingers, but he raised his hand with a small smile, holding her gaze. “Don’t.”
Blinking at him, as if unable to comprehend, she froze.
Reaching out, Herbert casually uncurled her fingers, as if he had all the time in the world. Several marble-sized glass pellets dropped, shattering on the floor, clear fluid spilling out of them.
“Holy water. Intriguing.” He circled her, her eyes following him, uncertain and not without the first hints of fear. Several more weapons were relieved from her belt and were tossed into the shadows. Placing his lips close to her ear, he murmured softly, “Just to make this even, Slayer. No tricks.”
Stepping away from her, he nodded as if something had been done to his satisfaction, and she staggered, whirling around to face him. The anger she had been nursing was growing, and he bowed mockingly to her.
He was unsurprised when she charged at him, channelling her anger in its purity. He was, however, surprised by the way she ripped the hefty door handle off the door and swung in a savage underhand that knocked him staggering.
As blood burst from his ruptured lip, he laughed with delighted exhilaration, catching her wrist as she reversed the blow and snatching her weapon, backhanding her with it.
Bending back to avoid the blow, she somehow managed to use his arm to flip herself over, taking him with her and brought him down on his back onto the floor with a force that momentarily stunned him.
From the corner of his eyes, he saw her hand move towards her ankle, saw the flash of a calf and a sheath there and caught her wrist a moment before the stake impacted with his chest.
That, he realised, was a little too close for his liking.
She was pushing against his grip, his hand shaking, and he could feel the tip of the wood, could see the savage delight in her eyes. The delight she no doubt showed when she took William, his William, and used him like he was nothing more than a possession, a toy.
Cold, ruthless rage flooded him, and he moved one hand to the stake, ripping it from her fingers savagely.
“Tricks...” he breathed with a tutting sound before jerking her arm with all his strength, all but throwing her over his body and against the wall. Rolling onto his feet, he tossed the stake towards the other end of her hall and straightened up.
Pushing herself upright against the wall, shaking her bruised wrist, the Slayer stared at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded.
Herbert gazed at her coldly. “I could ask you the same thing, Slayer,” he said softly, deadly. “You are wrong.”
Clearly, that word triggered some memory and she launched herself at him with the savage snarl of a maddened feline. With a move that seemed effortless, he shifted his weight, redirecting her with a blow to the back of her skull that sent her reeling further down the hall.
When she straightened, a punch caught her in the midriff, knocking her off her feet and skittering along the tiled floor. Even so, that was not enough to keep her down as she scrambled upright again.
He smiled when she seemed to notice the room he had deliberately left open and darted in.
Oh, poor, ignorant little cretin.
As soon as he stepped into the room behind her, he swayed back to avoid the slash of a blade, his foot pinning it to the floor with a rattle as an upwards backhand caught the Slayer under the jaw.
She swung around with the impact, grabbing a second rapier off the wall, assuming a defensive stance that seemed to have been taught by an amateur.
Smiling slightly, Herbert slipped his toe under the sword at his feet, flipping it up and catching it casually, the blade slicing the air with a pleasant hiss. Inclining his head, he smiled.
Close to the wall, the Slayer was panting with anger, with fire, with loathing. When she attacked, her skills were rudimentary, but her resolution and rage granted her a fervour that came close to matching Herbert’s, but her motivation was directionless; an unanswerable puzzle, a self-fuelling confused anger.
With quick strokes, twin gashes marked her upper arms, blood staining her clothing, and only a quick leap prevented him from slicing her from navel to sternum, the pain only adding to her boiling, disorientated ire.
Parrying and deflecting her every blow, Herbert steered her deftly, collecting a second blade, heavier and stronger from another rack on the wall, bringing it around with a ringing force that cracked the blade she was using.
Spinning to avoid a thrusting blow, turning his sword aside with the pommel of her own, she managed to snag another sword, the broken one dropped, forgotten, as she met his assault.
A scent, a sound, something caught Herbert’s attention, unexpected, unforeseen.
His eyes flicked beyond the Slayer for less than a blink, at a figure in the doorway, but it was enough. The blade lashed across throat and collar, slicing deeply, blood welling suddenly, soaking his shirt.
“Buffy!”
Stumbling back a step, the Slayer didn’t make the same mistake of looking, her eyes fixed on Herbert, who dropped one of his blades to press a palm to his throat. “Stay out of this, Spike.”
“Herbert...”
His eyes flashing savagely, Herbert grinned widely, ferally. “I told you, William,” he said, lifting his hand and licking his blood from his palm. Wiping his mouth the back of his hand, smearing blood across his cheek, he shifted his weight. “I’m going to kill her.”
“I thought you were joking, you pillock!” Spike’s voice was fraught. “Look, you don’t need to...”
“No, I don’t,” Herbert agreed. Strands of his hair had broken loose from his ponytail and were clinging to his bloody cheeks. He smiled broadly, the cut on his cheek bleeding more heavily. “But I really want to.”
Taking advantage of the fact that the Slayer seemed as distracted by William as he was, he attacked with the lightning swiftness that had earned him a reputation in Vienna in his mortal youth, now backed by his supernatural speed.
Driving her back towards the door, he could see the culmination of disbelief, shock and dismay on William’s face, the younger vampire shying back as the Slayer was forced into the hall, stumbling against a bust.
“Herbie...”
“Not your battle, William,” Herbert said coolly, flicking the Slayer’s sword from her hand with a twitch of one hand. Backing away, she stared at him, as he continued to speak to William. “Now, run along. I have a Slayer to kill.”
“Herb...”
“William, do shut up.”
Apparently, the look on his face was enough to convince William that was the correct move, and he turned on tail, racing away along the corridor, leaving nothing but the scent of his untamed emotions and the shadow of his memories.
“So you’re gonna really kill me, huh?” For the first time, the Slayer was beginning to look as if she might believe him. Back to the wall, she was edging sideways, away from him.
“That is my intent,” Herbert said agreeably, gazing at her. He circled her to kick her fallen sword away from her, then motioned for her to move with his blade.
“Dawn’ll be pissed.”
He smiled slightly. “I’m sure I can explain,” he murmured walking slowly after her, lamp-light reflected along the edge of the blade. “After all, you’re a Slayer. I’m a vampire. We all have those little, uncontrollable impulses.”
“Why?” she asked.
His smile was pleasant, but his eyes were ice. “William.”
“Spike?” She stared at him incredulously. “What? He can’t pick his own fights now?”
“From what I hear, even when he couldn’t, you picked them with him,” The tip of the blade lifted her chin, grey eyes gazing at her steadily. “You used him, Slayer, like he was worth nothing, like he was nothing.”
“He was!”
With a step and a backhand aided by the decorative pommel of the sword, Herbert sent the petite blonde rolling along the floor, her cheek burst open. “No one deserves to be used as you used him,” he said quietly, coldly. “The word, Slayer, is abuse.”
“He came to me!” Scrambling upright, she backed down the hall. “If he told you anything different...”
Herbert’s laugh was soft and utterly without humour. “He loved you,” he said, moving towards her with predatorial grace. “And you did nothing but reject him and hurt him in ways even we would find deplorable.”
“I’m a Slayer!” On the edge of the top of the flight of stairs, she stared at him.
“Slayer?” he murmured. “Does that give you some mystical right to harm those who are weaker than you?”
Hazel eyes met his and she frowned, then slowly shook her head. “No... no, I know,” she said softly. “I... hated what I had become... took it out on him.” She shifted her weight. “But why does this mean so much to you?”
“Because,” Herbert said quietly. “You hurt what is mine.” He stepped closer to her, gazing down at her and she made the mistake of meeting his gaze once more. “And for that,” He splayed a hand against her chest. “I cannot forgive you.”
With a casual push, he sent her toppling down the stairs, watching her roll to a halt on the landing. Twitching his brief charm aside, he descended the staircase slowly.
As she started to struggle upright, managing to rise on one knee, he nodded. He lifted his arm to bring down the sword in an over-arm stroke and to end the life of the one who caused his William so much pain.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Under the starlight, the Immortal and the Key walked side by side.
Another secretly followed, unseen, an invisible shadow on the night-silvered grass of the gardens.
Several hundred yards from the house, Dawn had lead the way to the old oak. It had become one of her favourite places in the grounds, outwith the house. Beneath it there was a low bench arranged on the gnarled roots, and she sat down, waiting for her sister’s lover to do the same.
“So, you wanted to talk?”
Settling himself, Vittorio leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and gazing out at the land before him. “I cannot help but wonder why you would choose to remain here,” he murmured seriously.
“Do I ask why you stay with my sister?” Dawn challenged, looking at him. She had her arms folded across her chest, perhaps from the cold, perhaps defensively. “Maybe I just like it here.”
“Surrounded by death?”
She looked so quietly dignified, gazing at him. “And watching Slayers come and go, fight and die, is any different?” she asked quietly. “Buffy wanted you to talk to me, didn’t she? Because you’re older?”
“She worries for you,” Vittorio did not deny or confirm what she had asked. “The Graf, he is - above all things - a demon.”
Blue eyes were cool as ice by the moonlight. “And what are you?” she asked.
Vittorio looked momentarily startled. “I... I am Immortal, Dawn,” he said. “This is not the same thing.”
“You’re not human, though,” she said softly.
“No,” Vittorio agreed quietly. “But I do not kill to sustain my existence.”
She shivered as the night’s breeze swirled around her, lifting strands of her hair against her cheeks. Creeping from the knotted wood, indigo shadows caressed her spine, warming her, drawing a faint smile to her lips.
“I haven’t seen him kill a single person in the three months since I got here,” she noted, leaning back against the ancient tree. “Nor have Spike or Herbert.” She closed her eyes as the unseen presence wrapped around her. “I haven’t seen anyone die for three months.” She sighed, though not for any reason the Immortal would be aware of. “For the first time in four years, I’ve gone three months without seeing a body.”
For a moment, the Immortal looked taken aback. “Truly?”
Blue eyes opened and gazed gravely at the sky. “Not all Slayers are good enough to be heroes,” she said quietly. Sitting up straighter, she looked at him. “I like it here, Vittorio. It’s peaceful.” She laughed faintly. “And I enjoy the company.”
Vittorio looked away from her. “He has damned hundreds,” he said softly.
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Dawn was staring ahead. Against the silk collar at her throat, there was a brief caress. “I’m not a total idiot, Vittorio. I lived on the Hellmouth. I almost got killed more times than I can count. I’m not dumb.”
From the shadows there was the whisper of a sigh.
If only she knew how close she had come to death within these very lands, in the embrace of one who professed to care for her. Had her blood not scorched him so much that he had been forced to draw back, he would have drained her in the thrall of animal appetite and found her dead in his arms.
“But you stay in the manor of a vampire known for his love of young women,” Deep brown eyes were suddenly and intently on her face. “He does not keep you here simply to please you.”
The slow, wicked smile that crossed her face would not have looked out of place on the lips of a fallen angel. “Oh, I know that,” she replied. “He does it to please him. Just because it pleases me too... well, that’s great.”
Vittorio stared at her. “You...”
“Yup.”
He reached for her hand, then sighed. “He has not yet drunk from you.” He seemed to be speaking more for his own reassurance.
“Huh?”
Brown eyes gazed at her. “If you succumb, if he drinks from you, you will be either dead or damned,” he said seriously. “Or both.”
Dawn gazed at him impassively, clearly aware of the presence surrounding her, wrapping around her. If she could not feel his anger towards the Immortal, so full of words, yet so empty of knowledge, then he would be greatly surprised.
Without speaking, she extended her right arm and drew back the sleeve. On her slim wrist, there was a deep, oddly-angled, crescent-shaped cut, healing now, but clearly still recently-inflicted.
“What...?”
“See, here’s the thing,” Dawn said, gazing at him. “He did drink from me. I let him and he did.” Smoothing her sleeve back down, she flicked off a speck of dust. “Since I’m kinda not dead or vampy, I think your argument doesn’t work.”
“But sooner or later...”
“Do you think I’m a complete moron?” For the first time, there was a layer of steely anger beneath her words. “I’m marked, Vittorio. Even if he bites me, even if I wanted it, I would... could never be turned.” Lifting her hands, she undid the collar around her throat. “Here.” She lifted her chin. “I’m marked with holy symbols. You bite and try to turn me, my body dies instantly, dust to dust. No turning, no vamping, no nothing. I just die.”
Around her, silent wonder and awareness were thick on the air and she shivered, as if feeling every tumultuous emotion. Vittorio was staring at her once more, but even the shock on his face could not come close to reflecting the sensations sweeping around her.
Rising, she walked from the bench and folded her arms over her chest.
“And your sister... she does not know?”
Staring ahead, she shook her head. “No one knew,” she said quietly, wordless apology lingering on every syllable.
Ignoring the presence of the Immortal, von Krolock drew close to her, shadow taking shape, and laid his arms about her. She swayed back against him and he tenderly touched his lips to her cheek.
Behind them, he heard Vittorio arise, with a sound of indignation but ignored him.
“You aren’t mad?” Dawn asked softly.
“Never,” von Krolock whispered with a small smile against her cheek. “How could I be angry with the only person who can still surprise me?”
Dawn laughed softly, looking up at him. “Gimme time,” she said, the affection in her eyes warming him. “I’m sure I’ll find a way.”
“So it is true?” Vittorio’s voice seemed calm, yet von Krolock could detect traces of ire, sorrow and, inexplicably, deep, deep hurt.
Turning smoothly, his cloak sweeping about his lover, shielding her from the breeze, von Krolock inclined his head. “You doubt Dawn’s words?” he murmured, his hand hovering bare inches from the base of her back. A flex of his fingers made her shiver.
Vittorio was staring at them both of them, as if unable to comprehend a word they were saying, his hands pushed into the pockets of his suit, the expression in his dark brown eyes unfathomable.
“If her heart is broken...” he finally said.
Dawn made a sound unbecoming of a lady, and von Krolock felt the smile touch his lips once more as her hand pointedly claimed his and squeezed his fingers. “I’m right here, Vittorio,” she said. “And hey! Who said this was long-term, huh? I got me a vampire-snuggle-bunny. No one said it had to last forever.”
“Dear one, I would ask that you refrain from calling me such things,” von Krolock murmured, though he could not help but notice the tension radiating from Vittorio’s lean form at his lover’s words.
Could it be that the beautiful Immortal before them still longed for a relationship that had lasted but a handful of months almost two centuries before? It almost made him laugh softly at the thought. The Immortal, so quietly dignified and able to claim any he chose, jealous of his lover’s sister? Was it possible?
Whatever it was, the thought was cast aside in the face of a wave of emotional distress from the house. His head snapped round to see William racing towards them, his face drained of colour.
“Spike?” Dawn moved away from him. “What...?”
“They... they’re gonna kill each other!” he panted out. “The Slayer and Herbie...”
“Oh God...” Dawn looked horrified. “She’ll kill him.”
Von Krolock felt a brief wash of amusement. So often, his son was underestimated. But still, it would not do for them to destroy the house. Striding past vampire and mortal, he drew them into his wake as he walked swiftly towards the house.
8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8.8
Three voices cried out as one at the chaos in the hall. On the landing, Buffy was on one knee, clothing torn, face bloodied, and Herbert’s blade was swinging in a slashing arc towards her.
From behind Dawn, a ball of light hurtled through the air and she screamed as it hit Herbert, tossing him into the air and away from Buffy. Crashing against the wall, the fair-haired vampire plummeted and tumbled down the stairs like a ragdoll.
Whirling around, she staggered back a step, colour draining from her face.
“You dare to touch my son!” Dangling from von Krolock’s hand by his throat, Vittorio’s face was dark with blood, his eyes flashing with fury. A sharp gesture with one hand blasted the vampire backwards across the hall, but he dissipated into mist before he hit the wall.
“No!”
Vittorio pushed her aside with a roughness she didn’t know he possessed, running up the stairs towards Buffy.
“Oh, this is not good…”
“Getting worse!” She heard Spike’s voice a moment before his arm wrapped around her waist and he hauled her back into the shelter of the doorway. From there, she saw the boiling shadows building. “Keep your head down!”
“But Buffy…”
Wrapping his arms around her waist, Spike pulled her tightly against him. “Trust me,” he hissed. “S’their fight now!”
Both of them flinched at the roar of rage that shook the dust from the rafters. A huge shapeless shadow lashed out, deflected by another glowing orb hurled by Vittorio, who rose. Around him, a nimbus of air seemed to be picking up speed.
“Oh fuck!” Spike dived out of the doorway, head down.
“SPIKE!”
Scrambling wildly across the floor, Spike caught the arms of the unconscious Herbert at the foot of the stairs. Hauling him, he skidded and half-crawled backwards across the floor, pulling the older vampire’s body into the doorway with them.
Somehow, von Krolock had managed to break through Vittorio’s shield, the blast of power shaking the very walls of the building. A flick of the vampire’s hand threw the Immortal across the hall, shattering one of the delicate carvings at the top of the banister.
“What about Buffy?” Dawn’s voice was shrill as she tried to break past Spike.
“Don’t think they’re bothering with her now, Nibs,” Spike sounded dazed, Herbert clutched in one arm, Dawn in the other.
Leaping from the upper level with the lightness of a cat, Vittorio rose, apparently oblivious to the blood streaming from a ragged gash across his temple. His shirt was hanging in strips and his torso was covered in bruises that were ignored.
Pressing his hands together, his expression ugly, he splayed both palms sharply in the direction of von Krolock’s shadowy form. Though nothing seemed to leave them, Dawn felt the air rip, as if something had torn through it.
There was a hissing crackle and von Krolock materialised out of the darkness, his own hands shaking with the force of containing whatever it was that had been cast at him. It looked like black lightning, tendrils and sparks crawling over his arms, his fangs bared and his eyes black with rage.
“He dared to harm her!” Vittorio’s voice was pure poison, vicious and savage.
Despite herself, somewhere in the back of her mind, Dawn mentally chalked up a possibly-evil point against Vittorio’s name.
Still grappling with the flaring ball of black lightning, von Krolock looked like he was gathering his physical power behind his magical strength, and Dawn winced at the agonised focus on his face.
There was a rush of sound, and the flaring blast was hurled upwards and sidelong, deflected through the window high above the door. Outside, there was the distant cracking boom of an explosion.
His head whipping back around in Vittorio’s direction, von Krolock batted aside smaller blasts of energy as if they were nothing more than feathers in the air. Striding forwards, he seemed somehow larger, stronger.
With a curse, Vittorio waved a hand, a glowing gold globe surrounding him.
“Oh shit on a stick...” Spike mumbled. “Controlled sunlight!”
Von Krolock’s upper lip curled in a sneer. He thrust one hand through the surface of the globe, physically striking the Immortal with all the power in his arm.
Thrown back against the wall, Vittorio staggered, buckling onto one knee, eyes that looked as if they had gone solidly black staring dangerously up at the vampire. Blood was oozing from both nostrils, but he seemed unaware of his physical pains.
“What happened?” she whispered to Spike. “Buffy and Herbert...”
“Long story, Nibs,” Spike was watching anxiously.
Standing over his prey, von Krolock flexed his burnt hand, the tissue knitting and healing almost instantly. “You are in my house, Immortal.” His voice was so cold and hard that Vittorio seemed to flinch from it. “You insult my hospitality.”
Forcing himself to his feet, Vittorio seemed to sway for a moment. “Your son hurt her,” he said quietly, his voice as softly fatal as poison.
“Their argument is their own.” Von Krolock’s fingers were idly twisting by his sides, a magnanimous smile curling his lips, but belied by the ice in his eyes. “You should not have interfered.”
Half-hidden by one of the columns, Dawn felt her heart racing as shadows seemed to crawl from between the polished stone beneath Vittorio’s feet, creeping up, twining around his limbs, completely unnoticed by the Immortal.
He seemed to be gathering his strength, focussing himself, his black stare fixed on von Krolock’s face. By his sides, his hands slowly started to contract, so tight Dawn could see every taut sinew, his jaw clenched.
Neither vampire nor Immortal, however, seemed to notice the figure stirring halfway up the stairs. Dazed by one of blasts, Buffy had been sprawled out on the landing, but now, she was pulling herself upright against the banister.
She looked in Dawn’s direction, then her gaze was pulled to her lover, her eyes widening in shock.
As one, everything seemed to happen: Vittorio’s hands leapt up, an savage invisible force launched at von Krolock, who deflected it towards the hall, which had been empty until Buffy had run down the stairs.
The blast picked her up halfway towards them, tossing her in the air, all the power and savagery behind Vittorio’s attack throwing her against the upper wall, shattering panels of glass. Dropping like a stone, she fell in a crumpled heap on the floor.
“Buffy!” Dawn heard herself shriek a moment before she broke free of Spike’s grip, launching herself out into the hall. It was echoed by a cry of horrified distress from Vittorio.
Pulling Buffy onto her back, Dawn almost laughed with relief when she felt the throb of her sister’s pulse. Hazel eyes squinted open, staring up at her, looking more perplexed than hurt.
“Are you okay? I mean... bleeding and stuff not included...” Dawn whispered, hastily smoothing back Buffy’s hair from her cheek. Buffy’s chin jerked tightly, as if she was having trouble moving it, her brows pulling together. “What?”
Hazel eyes flicked towards the vampire and the Immortal still at the other end of the hall, trying to express something, but Dawn couldn’t work it out.
Looking around, she started to speak, then fell silent, staring.
The shadows that had been weaving so subtly around Vittorio had snared him to his neck, his arms bound by his sides, and von Krolock was slowly tilting his chin up with one fingertip.
“Let me go to her!” Vittorio’s voice was breaking. “Please, Eccellenza!”
“Why would I do that, my dear Vittorio?” von Krolock asked mildly, brushing the pad of his thumb along Vittorio’s chin. “I fear you have already done more than enough damage.” He smiled slightly. “As I said, this is my home. Here, I expect my rules to be followed.”
“You would do the same, if someone hurt...”
His hand suddenly gripping Vittorio’s throat, von Krolock squeezed slowly and deliberately. “Someone did,” he said softly. Without turning or looking away from the snared man, he called over his shoulder, “William?”
“He’s all right.” The voice emerged from the shadows by the doorway. “Still a bit woozy, but he’s coming around.”
“He attacked her...” Vittorio’s voice was choked.
“How can you be sure it was not the other way around?” von Krolock murmured. A look at Vittorio’s rapidly paling face suggested this was not an option he had even considered. “Your woman is a vampire Slayer. My son is a vampire. Surely, you can see why she would consider it a moral obligation, while we were not present.”
“I am afraid we... had words, father,” Herbert’s faint voice emerged from the doorway a moment before he did. He was leaning on Spike’s shoulder, looking bloodied and bruised with an impressive gash across his throat. “Rather angry words.”
Turning his back on Vittorio, von Krolock crossed the hall in three swift paces, lifting his son’s face in one hand and examining his wounds with the tender care of a devoted father, pointedly ignoring the shaking pleas still falling from Vittorio’s lips.
“I trust you have not allowed yourself to be permanently damaged,” he said.
Herbert’s smile was weaker than it would have otherwise been. “I think I shall be fine, father.”
From where she was seated, Buffy draped over her lap, Dawn could see the way Herbert was leaning on Spike. She wanted to demand an answer about what they had seen on arrival, but the words had failed her.
Looking over at Vittorio, she could see him struggling uselessly against the magical bonds that held him. It looked like there were tears shining on his cheeks and his voice was weak with emotion, but von Krolock was paying him no more attention than an item of furniture.
She knew she could call out and tell him Buffy seemed to be all right, but there was a bitter little part of her that wanted him to pay for hurting Herbert, and for even trying to hurt her lover.
“Johannes,” she murmured, looking up at her lover.
Dark eyes drifted down to her and, if she hadn’t known him better, she would have sworn she saw a brief smile whisper across his lips.
At once a sense of reassurance wound around her mind, about the situation, about Buffy’s well-being, about Vittorio’s present state, and she knew things were going to be all right after all.
Turning with an elegant swirl of black, von Krolock crossed the floor once more to gaze at Vittorio, who was still futilely wresting against his bonds. Folding his arms sternly upon his chest, von Krolock lifted his chin with the quiet imperiousness that made mortals buckle and bow in his presence.
“Please,” Vittorio whispered brokenly, staring wildly beyond von Krolock’s shoulder as if it might allow him to somehow see his lover, standing and whole.
A cool fingertip touched his cheek, turning his face back towards von Krolock’s, the vampire’s brows rising. Sagging against the darkness holding him, Vittorio stared up at him, eyes wide and desperate.
“Johannes, please,” he begged.
Turning away with a flick of his fingers, von Krolock barely even glanced down as the Immortal was dropped to the floor, the shadows slithering away and disappearing between the cracks in the floor.
Scrambling his way across the floor to his lover, Vittorio stared down at her, then went rigid, dark brown eyes rising to von Krolock, shock etched on his face.
Slowly, quietly, von Krolock smiled, making an elegant gesture with one hand. In Dawn’s lap, Buffy gasped and jerked upright, taking great gulping breaths of air, staring wildly up at the vampire.
“What the hell...”
“I am afraid your lover was terribly clumsy with his elementals,” von Krolock said with grave politeness. “I felt it necessary to shield you for a time, to ensure you would come to no harm.”
Buffy stared at him. “Huh?”
“It does not matter, bella,” Vittorio reached out to touch her cheek, the relief on his face and his stance palpable. “I allowed my temper to get the better of me.” He pulled her into his arms suddenly, embracing her tightly. “I feared I had killed you.”
Returning his embrace, Buffy’s eyes flicked to Herbert, who was still leaning heavily on Spike’s shoulder. Dawn followed the look and saw Herbert incline his head, some hidden meaning shared between Slayer and vampire, which she made a note to torture out of Herbert later.
“We done here?” Spike broke the sudden, tense silence. “Frilly-pants here looks like he’s going to go swoony again and I’d prefer to have a bed to chuck him onto.”
“We’re finished here,” Herbert said with a curt, pained nod.
Buffy, getting to her feet with the help of her lover, nodded as well. “Yeah, we’re done.”