(no subject)
TITLE: In The Air.
RATING: 18-ish. Yay naughteh vampires!
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SUMMARY: There are some interesting reactions and revelations in the wake of Herbert and Buffy's battle.
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, In The Name Of, the chapter immediately preceding this chapter.
PAIRINGS: Herbert/Spike, Dawn/von Krolock, Buffy/Vittorio plus some implied ones.
WORDS: 10209
NOTES: Your remember that thing I said about the chapters getting longer? Apparently, it's true.
__________________________________
Conversation was buzzing in the dining hall.
Quite how Giles had acquired the large estate on the outskirts of Turin, it had never been made clear, and when asked, he never chose to answer. Most rumours among the girls pronounced that Buffy’s boyfriend was wealthy as well as uber-hot and must have provided it.
After all, a prime piece of land was attached and there was easily room for the fifty present residents. With a dozen classrooms included and training rooms, it looked like an exclusive boarding school, but in truth, it was far from it.
Slayers-in-training bustled around, vying for seats at the tables, exchanging stories and jokes. From a dozen nations, if not more, they had picked up languages from one another, their shared gift making them all the more determined to understand others like them.
At one of the tables on the edge of the hall, Giles was slowly stirring milk into his tea, watching as a fifteen-year-old Mexican Slayer showed an awed Australian girl how to do a complicated double-reverse blow, using her spoon in place of a sword.
“Aren’t they just the cutest things?” Willow was weaving between tables, carrying her own plate.
“They don’t know a word of each other’s language,” Kennedy said, following her lover. “But they’re the best of friends already.”
“Bonding over violence,” Sipping his tea, Giles shook his head with a minute smile, as the witch and the Slayer approached. “I hardly imagined I would ever see such a thing on such a grand scale.”
“Kinda gives you a warm fuzzy feeling, doesn’t it?” Willow grinned.
“And it’s all your fault,” Kennedy squeezed past a small Jamaican teen.
“Yeah...” The wistful smile that crossed Willow’s face seemed to drain away. In her hands, her plate trembled, then slipped from her fingers, crashing on the floor. Her face was white, green eyes stared blindly ahead.
“Will...?” Kennedy was by her side in a blink, pulling her towards a seat. “Baby, what is it?”
“Buffy!” Willow’s whisper rang through the suddenly silent hall. “I... I can’t feel her anymore.”
_________________________________
“Can’t believe you almost offed the Slayer.”
Herbert smiled angelically at his attendant, then grimaced as the gash on his cheek stretched painfully. “I told you my intent days ago, cheri,” he said. “Why did you doubt that I would carry it out?”
“Because I thought you have more sense than that, you arse,” Spike retorted, dipping a fresh cloth into a bowl of warm water. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he leaned closer to Herbert, wiping the blood from his cheek and jaw.
“Tut-tut, William,” Herbert winced. “I thought you knew me.”
Blue eyes gazed at him thoughtfully. “Yeah, Herbie, thought I did too,” he said, an strange expression crossing his face. It had been a shock to see Herbert fighting and, more than that, almost taking Buffy out as well.
The smile that tugged at the elder vampire’s pale lips was barely visible. “I suspect I may have surprised her,” he murmured.
“She’s not the only one,” Spike muttered, gently cleaning the blood from Herbert’s gashed throat, skirting the wound carefully. “Where’d all that fancy Errol-Flynn-ing come from?”
Herbert chuckled. “Always did have a passion for sword-play,” he said.
“Poncy poofter.” The insult lacked its usual venom. He rinsed and wrung out the cloth, wiping the blood from Herbert’s burst lower lip as gently as he could. “Bet you enjoyed making everyone stare and all.”
“What else is a good fight for?” Herbert smiled faintly as Spike tucked stray strands of hair back from his face. “And I was doing rather well, until that damned fool Immortal decided to blast me into the wall.”
“And you missed seeing your dad giving him a right pasting,” Spike added, a faint grin crossing his face. “Could have sold tickets to a show like that. Wish I’d thought to get popcorn.”
Placing aside the damp cloth, he reached for Herbert’s torn shirt, deftly undoing the buttons and parting the fabric. His eyes widened at the sight of a shallow wound over Herbert’s heart, marked by a dull, dry patch of blood.
He reached out, touched it, hissing between his teeth. “Herb...”
“She missed, William.” Herbert’s eyes were closed, one hand idly reaching out to caress Spike’s thigh. “Although she ruined a perfectly good shirt.”
“Is... is that all you care about, you stupid bugger?” Spike’s voice sounded shrill even to his ears. “You’ve got splinters in your sodding chest, and all you care about is your shirt?”
Grey eyes, fatigued, opened slowly. “William, I’m fine,” Herbert said softly.
Staring at him in disbelief, Spike shook his head. It felt like something had slowed time right down, as if he was moving in slow-motion. “She almost killed you,” he whispered, his features contorted with shocked pain. “She almost killed you...”
With effort, Herbert pushed himself upright, one hand wrapping around the back of Spike’s head, pulling him close. Grey eyes stared into blue, somehow reaching into his head, freezing him, stilling that instinct to panic, calming him.
“William,” his voice was low, shaking with underlying pain, but not without the edge of steel. “I know.” He grit his teeth, his other hand clutching one of Spike’s arms like a vice. “But she didn’t manage. I’m here, William. Still here.”
Spike felt himself shaking, knew he was staring wildly at Herbert, but couldn’t seem to look away. Herbert has fought the Slayer because of him. Herbert had almost been dust because he - Spike - had been hurt by her years ago.
With his free hand, he weakly punched Herbert’s chest. “You stupid son of a bitch,” he whispered. “Stupid, pig-headed son of a bitch.”
“That I am,” Herbert agreed softly, drawing Spike’s face closer and gently kissing his lips.
That was when, to his shock, Spike became aware that tears were streaming down his face. Not just little drippy corner-of-the-eye ones either. A sodding great big tidal wave. Atlantis had nothing on this.
“Oh for fuck’s sake...” he tried to laugh, his voice quivering almost as much as he was. He tried to pull back and mop at his face with his damp hand, but Herbert’s grip was like iron. “Herbie...”
Kisses lightly touched the tracks of his tears, then grey eyes found his again, and he was startled by the lack of amusement. For once in his life, Herbert looked as serious as his father usually did.
“I’m not going anywhere, William,” he said, the hand at the base of Spike’s skull sliding to caress the nape of his neck. “I’m here.”
“Can see that.” Spike’s voice cracked as he said it. “But she...” He shook his head in incomprehension. “Why’d’you do it?”
The curl of Herbert’s lips was so quiet, so subtle that it looked utterly out of place on his face. “Because.” he said.
“Because what?”
The fond gleam returned to grey eyes. “You tell me, William,” he said softly.
“Because you’re an arse.”
“That aside,” Herbert leaned in and gently kissed him again. “Why do you think I did it?”
Spike stared at him. He knew if he still had a heartbeat, it would be battering against his ribs at the tumult of emotions pouring through him. The thought of losing Herbie, the thought of being on his own again, the thought of Herbie fighting for him...
The impossible realisation was enough to leave him breathless
The hand that had so recently punched Herbert’s chest touched the blot of scarlet over his still heart.
“You almost died,” he whispered.
Herbert smiled at him. “I would say you were worth it,” he said.
Spike stared at him, unable to look away, unable to think about anything, unable to even move for several minutes. Then Herbert leaned forward and pecked him lightly on the lips.
“Now, if you don’t mind, cheri, I fear I need to lie down,” he said, drawing his hand from Spike’s wrist.
Automatically, Spike reached out. His arms slipped smoothly around Herbert, under his arms and around his ribs, palms splaying under his shoulders. Laying him down gently, so as not to aggravate his already-battered flesh, he withdrew his hands.
With a pained sigh and faint grimace, Herbert settled against the bedding, bending his arms to lightly stroke his fingertips against Spike’s arms as the younger vampire drew away.
Despite himself, Spike shivered at the contact, then hastily wiped his face with the back of his hands. Clearing his throat, he retrieved the cloth and started to gently sponge the blood-stains from Herbert’s bruised chest.
“I still think you’re an arse, you know,” he mumbled.
His eyes closed, Herbert smiled. “I know, darling,” he murmured. “And I love you too.”
______________________________
“I can’t believe they just did that!”
Watching his young lover storm back and forth across the hall, a veritable tempest of fury, von Krolock said nothing, inwardly revelling in the dark humours building around one so young.
“I mean, Buffy! What the hell did she think she was doing?” Savagely kicking aside a piece of broken trellis-work, she whirled around, stalking back across the rubble. “Yeah, Slayer! We get it, but she’s a goddamned guest!”
“I do not doubt Herbert’s guilt in this matter also,” von Krolock murmured, gently, quietly stoking this delightful rage. “It takes two to have a battle as apparent as the one that happened here.”
“Oh, don’t you think I’m going to let him get off so easy,” Dawn exhaled an angry breath. “One of them started this and trashed your house, and I don’t care which it was. I’m totally kicking both their asses.”
“Is that so?” Her anger was like incense in the air, thick, sweetly and suffocatingly wrapping around him. He drifted closer to her, inhaling the bouquet of her ire twisted around her normal flavour.
“Yuh-huh!”
He chuckled softly, richly. “You can try,” he purred and when she turned, sharply, fiercely, he was upon her. Forced back, her back pressed to the oak-panelling of the wall, gasped at the impact.
Her wrists snared in his hands, she glared up at him. “You think you can stop me?” she snarled it, so beautifully feral, her teeth bared and her eyes flashing.
Smiling slowly, his eyes dark and glittering and fixed on her face, he pinned her hands to the wall in a bastardisation of a crucifix, her arms spread, fingers hooking into the air as she struggled against his grip.
“I know I can, liebling,” he whispered, though in truth it was more of a hiss.
She uttered a Romanian word that he was sure Herbert must have taught her with savage vehemence, her arms tensed and tightened under his grip.
His face close to hers, until he could feel the angry heat radiating from her skin, so flushed with fury, he whispered, “Manners, little one.”
Tossing her hair, lips drawn back from her teeth, she growled something at him that he made a brief, amused note to chastise Herbert for. Oh, she was fiery when roused, and he had no doubt she would be true to her ire, if he unleashed her.
For that reason, among other more selfish ones, he could not allow it.
“Dear one,” he murmured, drawing his powers about him like a mantle. “Do not fight with me.”
He saw her expression change, her eyes going wide, her breath suddenly indrawn as she arched against the wall for a completely different reason.
Redirecting her own fire through the pulsing flutter beneath his palms, he watched her face as she arched that beautiful neck, uttering a panting moan. His lips parted in a breathless sigh, drawing upwards at the corners as she shivered.
With her fire thick in the air, it was no difficult task to tease fluttering bursts of energy through her body, feeling that delightful throb beneath his palms increase in speed and urgency.
Slowly, tantalisingly, he brought his body into contact with the seething, raging heat of hers, even those light touches enough to make them both shudder violently.
“You cheat!” she groaned out, as heat swelled through her in all-consuming waves.
His laugh was close to her ear, and her body twitched desperately when he touched his lips to the corner of her jaw. “Are you truly objecting?” he whispered, then softly kissed the smooth skin beneath her earlobe.
With a stifled whimper, Dawn squeezed her eyes shut.
“Hmm?” He purred it against her jaw, ghosting his lips against the silk circling her throat. With a flicker, power rippled through her, making her arch against him with a delightfully breathless sound.
Suddenly rigid, shivering with such intensity he could feel it at every brief point that their bodies were in contact, she whispered tightly, “Don’t want magic.” Her cheek pressed to his, like the scorching touch of holy water against his skin. “Want you.”
He drew back slightly at that, the pure flame in her eyes intoxicating him.
Wrenching her right hand free of his, she reached up and pulled his mouth down on hers with a ferocity that few mortals had ever matched. When she pulled back, she stared at him with that fierce, hungry intensity, so raw and primal it took his unneeded breath away.
“Bite me,” she panted out through swollen lips.
He felt his hunger rising by degrees. Surely he had misheard. “Dawn…”
Her hand slid from his hair, held up to him, level with his jaw. “Bite me,” she repeated, a low growl.
His fingers wrapped around her wrist, his black eyes locked on her face, a thousand emotions rushing through him. “You do not know what you are asking of me,” he said softly, his voice tense.
By his face, her fingers curled into a neat, tight fist. “Bite me,” she whispered again, the softness in her voice more dangerous, more deadly, than the savage snarl. Her sapphire-blue eyes found his, daring him to be afraid.
“Dawn, it is more than you know...” he whispered, his voice tight, pained with desperate hunger for the taste of her, for the possession of her, for things he could not even begin to comprehend.
“I know.” There was a steely resolution in her words. Her fingers slowly uncurled, brushing his cheek softly. How was it possible that such a gentle caress could make him tremble like a plucked string? “Johannes...”
No vampire could have resisted. It was impossible.
With the rapid beat fluttering so close to his ear, with her touch against his skin, with her voice, so close to pleading, he knew to even question her was an impossibility.
Holding her eyes, he tilted his head, saw her, felt her tremble as his lips touched her skin. Drawing his lips back from his fangs, he hesitated for a single, rapid throb of her heart, then bit, breaking through her flesh so easily, too easily, too simply.
Her sound of pain was like a symphony, but even that was nothing compared to the wild heat of her blood.
If she had been intoxicating before, now she was overwhelming.
More than simply a tasting, more than just a sharing of blood, more than anything he had experienced in centuries, she was a tidal wave, crashing in on him, carrying him in her unpredictable wash, leaving him who knew where.
Wrenching his mouth from her wrist, barely a mouthful of her essence staining his tongue yet sating him more than a thousand others, giddy exhilaration rushed through him. With a soft growl, he pressed her back against the wall, kissing her fiercely.
Together, they seemed to fall into the oak, the walls disappearing around them.
Emerging out of nothing, they plummeted - entwined - onto her rumpled, unmade bed. How her deft hands dispatched his shirt and her own without him being aware of it, he knew he would never comprehend, but neither would he object.
With a sudden motion, he found himself pinned on his back, gazing in rapt, dazed captivation as Dawn straddled his hips, shaking her hair back over her shoulders. If her blood had not dazzled him once more, that sight - reckless, wild and everything he was coming to adore about her - would have been more than enough.
A part of him knew it should rise in anger, claim back his position, bend her to his will, but when she leaned forward and bit his throat, all thoughts that might have remained scattered to the four winds.
His hands wrapped around her upper arms, pulling her close. That was when her body shifted, hips rolling. One of them uttered a groan, and he was shocked to realise it was him.
Between kisses, bites and the wandering fire of her hands, he barely noticed when the rest of their clothing was tossed aside, only aware of it when her scorching body enveloped him, making him arch and hiss.
If this was burning and damnation, then let it last an eternity!
His eyes pressed closed as he let the pleasure take him, compounded when a finger brushed a fresh trickle of that electrifying blood across his lips, his tongue curling hungrily about her fingertip.
“Atta boy,” he heard her whisper, her voice so thick with desire and satisfaction that he forced his eyes open to find her watching his face, her eyes darkened to obsidian, her lips parted, stained with her own blood.
He shuddered violently when she leaned down, her silky hair trailing against his skin. Her nails raked his chest and he uttered an incoherent sound when she tilted his head back and bit him again, harder. Marking him.
Under her searing, mortal hands, von Krolock felt himself come apart.
_________________________
Adjusting the strip of dressing, Buffy carefully smoothed the tape into place across her lover’s chest. She was kneeling in front of him and he was seated on the edge of the bed, his tattered shirt in a heap on the floor beside her.
Her own wounds were partially healed already, cuts closing up and bruises already taking on yellowish hues. Still, she had allowed him to dress the deeper ones, to tend her with his large, gentle hands, though neither of them had been able to find much to say to one another.
When he had asked why they had been fighting, she had admitted to striking the first blow and admitted that the Graf’s son had a good reason for assaulting her. When she had asked what had happened to prevent Herbert from cutting her to ribbons, he had admitted to attacking the vampire himself with powers he rarely used, powers she didn’t even know he had.
And so, they had tended one another in silence.
“Is it all part of the Immortal thing?” she asked, finally laying aside the bandages.
“The magic?” Brown eyes gazed at her seriously. “In part, yes. Each Immortal has power of some manner.” He sighed, running his hands over his face. “The Graf taught me how to best use them.”
Looking down at her hands, rather than up at him, Buffy frowned. “You gonna tell me that’s why he’s such a big deal to you?” she asked quietly, uncertainly.
“Bella...” Vittorio reached down and took her hands. “Bella, listen to me. He taught me so much. It would be impossible for me to say that he was not important. He was and I hoped he would continue to be so.”
Hazel eyes, edged with confusion, rose to him. “Do you still love him?”
Vittorio closed his eyes, as if she had struck him. “Even if I did, I think now that I was no more than a game for him,” he murmured softly, sadly. “I came to him to learn and he drew me with all his charm and power. When he ended with me, I could not understand why, but now, I know he never felt for me as I did for him.”
“So do you still love him?” Buffy repeated, her voice shaking.
“Do you still love your Angel?” he asked quietly, slowly opening his eyes and gazing down at her. “Despite ourselves, even when we have found another to bear our hearts, we will always love those we have had and lost.”
For a moment, she said nothing, staring up at him, then surged up into his arms, clinging to him and pressing her cheek against his chest. His fingers wove through her hair and he pressed his cheek to her crown.
“I should have told you, bella,” he whispered, holding her close.
“Damn straight,” she replied, her voice still shaking. It was taking all her effort to hold back tears of... of what? Frustration? Sorrow? Anger? Confusion? Exhaustion? Every emotion and then some?
“No more dishonesty, then,” he said, caressing the back of her neck slowly, gently, the motion soothing her, though there was still a tension running through her as if wired into her blood.
“Everyone else I’ve been with lied to me or hid things from me,” she said quietly, one hand curled into the fabric of his shirt. She drew back to look up at his face, her own expression saddened. “I thought you were different.”
Brown eyes held hers and were full of such sincere grief that she felt a tear splash down her face. “I never meant to cause you pain, bella,” he whispered, touching her cheek softly, capturing the tear.
“Never lie to me again, Vittorio,” she said, reaching up to clasp his hand. “If you do, I promise you’ll regret it.”
“I understand, bella,” he agreed, slipping from the edge of the bed to sit on the floor, facing her. “Too much had been hidden for too long already. I should have trusted you to understand.”
Sitting on her heels, Buffy wiped her face with her hands hastily. “Yeah. You should have,” she mumbled, then forced herself to look up at him, to pretend things were back to normal. “Did... did you speak to Dawn earlier?”
Vittorio’s eyes dropped to his hands which were resting in his lap. “I did,” he said quietly. “Bella, she and the Graf are lovers.” Buffy’s head jerked up and she started to laugh incredulously. Brown eyes sought hers and he shook his head. “No, bella. No joke. She admitted it herself.”
“But he... even Giles is wigged by him...”
“I know,” Vittorio said softly. “But Dawn trusts him and he had done her no harm.”
She stared at him in disbelief, shaking her head. “But Dawnie... she’s way too smart to get involved with a vampire...” she mumbled. “She saw what happened with Angel and Spike...”
“The Graf... he is unlike any other vampire...”
“Yeah, you said,” Buffy pushed herself upright, pacing anxiously across the room, a frown on her face. “What if... what if he’s just playing with her?” She didn’t turn, but she knew he would finished the question; Like he did with you?
Vittorio was silent for so long that she turned to look at him.
“What is it?”
Brown eyes rose to her slowly. “He cares for her,” he said simply and there was an undeniable sadness in his words. “Truly.”
Part of her ached looking at him, knowing a lover he had lost so long ago could still make him hurt so much, but the greater part was watching him in disbelief and not without some small measure of bitter pleasure that her sister had claimed something that even Vittorio wasn’t able to get.
“He’s still a vampire,” she said quietly.
“She knows, bella,” he said just as softly. “She knows exactly who and what he is and in spite of it all, she trusts him.” He lowered his eyes. “He has never deceived nor lied to her.”
Leaning against the edge of the dresser, Buffy folded her arms over her chest, staring down at her feet. “And he’s the soulless monster, huh?” she murmured, watching her sock-covered toes curl against the carpet. “Gotta appreciate the irony.”
_______________________________
Consciousness was an unfriendly acquaintance. Herbert decided. At some point during William’s careful tending, he must have fallen asleep. Or passed out. Clearly, if that aspect was hazy enough, he had not been in a very good state.
Yet now, with his consciousness and awareness returning, he decided that being thrown against a wall did little to prevent pain.
Opening eyes that felt ridiculously heavy, he squinted by the faint light spilling in through the tall windows of William’s bedroom, the curtains only half-closed, gaping open in the middle. It was early morning, if he was any judge. Approximately an hour after dawn.
Assessing his position, he realised he had been stripped of his bloodied suit and tucked under the blankets with a deftness that surprised him. His ribs were bandaged and his cuts clean and patched.
He was also propped upright and when he made himself inhale, he felt the faint wheeze of... something in his lungs. Ah. Clearly young William knew what he was doing when he positioned his patient so.
Lifting a hand to rub his face, he winced as his fingertips dragged over healing flesh and he made a note to duck next time. The gash ran along his cheekbone, stretching with every expression. The wound on his throat stung as well, but they were clean and healing already.
William was quite a physician.
And on that train of thought, he looked around the room, seeing no sign of the younger vampire on the chair or even on the end of the bed, the blankets of which were heaped and folded in veritable fabric mountains.
A second, puzzled examination revealed a tousled head, resting on folded arms only a foot or so from his right hip.
Despite himself, a soft smile curled Herbert’s lips, his cheek aching. His dear little William was fast asleep, but had remained by his bedside through the night hours, kneeling on the hard floor until he had clearly dozed off on the edge of the bed.
Reaching out, his hand hovered an inch above William’s tawny hair for a moment, before drawing back. Let him rest. Once woken, he would worry and try and keep Herbert comfortable and exhaust himself all over again.
Laying his hand back in his lap, he smiled again, for another reason.
“Good morning, father,” he murmured, turning to look to the opposite side of the bed.
While he had expected to see his father there, almost always able to sense the unseen entrance, his brows did rise at the soft, almost lazy smile that was hovering around the Graf’s lips. The fact his father was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes half-closed, body much more relaxed than usual, looking like an utterly sated feline only added to his bemused amusement.
“Very good, I see...” he added with a chuckle.
“Restful,” von Krolock murmured, tilting his head back, his hair slipping against his shoulders. “And you?”
His shoulders shivering with quiet mirth, Herbert glanced down at William. “I have no complaints,” he said warmly.
Dark eyes slipped towards him, the contented warmth in them lapsing for less than a beat of a frightened virgin’s heart. “I should have tended your wounds myself,” his father said softly.
“And deprive William of the chance to bathe me?” Herbert’s eyes danced. “For shame, father.” The low ripple of laughter drew a smile from him. “And restful, you say? Are you sure you haven’t been sampling a certain delicacy again?”
Fleetingly, he saw his father’s hands flex against the bedding, a flicker in his eyes indicating this was indeed the case. “A remarkable vintage,” he murmured, tongue touching his lower lip.
With an eloquent roll of his eyes, Herbert shook his head slowly. “For this little strumpet, you forget your mortally wounded son?” he lamented, pressing a hand to his heart. “What shall become of me?”
Teasing dark eyes gazed at him fondly. “I’m sure you would have had someone to tend you,” he murmured, his eyes dropping briefly to Herbert’s bare throat. “A very dear someone.”
Herbert blinked, then lifted his hand, touching his throat. “Oh!” A grin lit his face at the texture of William’s tentative bite from days earlier. “The silly darling needed to be cheered up.”
“Is that so?”
Beaming, Herbert nodded. “He’s my silly darling, so I felt it was my duty.”
“Commendable,” his father murmured, but there was no mistaking the quiet pleasure and approval in his voice. “And what of you? Or am I to assume William merely decided you suited bandages?”
Making a face, Herbert looked down. “I think I cracked several ribs,” he said, “But it is mostly just cuts and bruising.” His grin returned, broad and bright. “And if that idiot had kept his nose out, I would have won!”
“Dawn was rather distressed about the situation,” his father observed, turning to face him fully. However, though his expression was stern, there was something in his posture that made Herbert press his lips together for fear of giggling.
“Distressed?”
“Mm.” His father shifted his position, leaning closer to smooth Herbert’s loose hair back from his face. “Quite so.” Dark eyes found and held grey. “Her temper was quite remarkable. She wanted blood.”
For a moment, Herbert stared at his father, then blinked. “She was...”
“Angered? Mildly.” Von Krolock lifted his head and softly kissed Herbert’s brow. “I believe you and her sister are both safe now. Her ire is spent.”
Herbert, however, was no longer listening.
He was staring at his father’s throat.
Von Krolock drew back, tilting his son’s chin up with his fingertips, but the grey eyes stayed rooted on what he could not believe he was seeing. His brows pulled together and he squinted. Surely not.
“Father, you’ve...” He could barely think it, let alone say it. “You’ve been bitten?”
Mirroring Herbert’s own gesture of moments earlier, von Krolock lifted his hand, touching the mark on his throat lightly with his fingertips. He didn’t look angry about it, or even a little concerned.
“I have,” he agreed, the smile lingering about his lips.
Golden brows rose towards Herbert’s hairline. He leaned forward, peering at the marks that didn’t look… quite like any bites he had ever seen, then sat back sharply, eyes wide, face a picture of shock.
“I…” He tried to find some other tangent, some matter that did not focus on the fact that his father, his dominant, powerful father, had been bitten by a slip of a mortal girl and was clearly quite happy about it.
His father’s lips twitched in silent amusement. “You look rather surprised,” he said with a soft chuckle.
“Dawn?” Herbert heard himself utter.
Von Krolock closed his eyes with that same, lazy smile. “Her fury was magnificent,” he murmured. “I only intended to distract her, that you and her sister would be spared her wrath.”
Only intended to distract her?
That opened up a new avenue of possibilities of the direction his father’s evening had gone in. Restraining one such as Dawn was a complicated enough matter when she was in a pleasant mood.
While a great part of him baulked at the idea of knowing precisely what, there was a morbidly curious aspect of his mind that was just dying to ask what precisely the fiery little mortal had done to make his father practically radiate satisfaction.
And clearly, his father could tell, judging by the knowing curl of his lips and the glitter of his eyes between his lashes.
Before he could find the right words to form a sentence, let alone a question, a faint sound from the opposite side of the bed made him look around to see William stirring drowsily, his rumpled hair getting tousled as Herbert reached out and ran a hand over his head.
Yawning, the youngest vampire peered blearily up at him, a pleasantly dopey smile crossing his lips a moment before he seemed to remember himself and cleared his throat, assuming a more cocky grin.
“Good morning, William.” Von Krolock sounded genuinely amused and Herbert had trouble hiding his grin when William jumped as if given an electric shock, tearing his eyes from Herbert to search out the speaker.
“Er...”
Herbert’s lips compressed into a line as he tried to stop himself from grinning, for fear of splitting his cheek open again. Apparently, his father’s smile was as unnerving to William as it had been to him.
Like an uncertain child, the younger vampire carefully climbed up onto the edge of the bed, kneeling close to Herbert’s side, one hand reaching out and brushing against Herbert’s as blue eyes flicked between grey and dark ones.
Catching William’s hand carelessly, Herbert yanked hard, pulling the young vampire - with an impressively girly squeak - closer to him, until he was practically draped against Herbert’s side. Draping an arm loosely over his shoulders, Herbert nuzzled William’s hair fondly.
Unconsciously, William shifted his weight, so he wasn’t pressing against the worst ribs, one hand lightly spreading on the bandages covering Herbert’s stomach.
Dark eyes slipped from one to the other and Herbert felt the approval wash over him like a warm wave. A glance told him William had sensed it as well, in some way or form, judging by the bashful grin playing about his lips.
“So... we’ve got a reason for being all grins,” William said happily after a moment, as Herbert smoothed his hair and kissed his temple. “Any reason you’re so chipper this morning, sir?”
Von Krolock looked towards the door with a warm look in his eyes. “We all have our reasons,” he murmured as Dawn stepped into the room, in the process of braiding her damp hair.
Herbert and William both looked towards her and Herbert felt William’s surprise, felt the younger vampire look up at him, seeking some kind of answer to a question he couldn’t quite put a finger on.
“Figured you’d be checking on the walking wounded,” the girl said with a grin, as she approached the bed. Blue eyes gleamed with amusement as she looked from Herbert to William and back again. “And look at you two, all snuggly!”
“Sod off, Nibs,” William muttered, but he was trying to hide a smile as he said it.
Circling the bed to approach von Krolock, Dawn met Herbert’s inquiring grey eyes with a small, knowing smile.
“Morning, cherie,” he murmured, his hand still on William’s shoulder, moving in pleasant circles on the young vampire’s smooth skin.
“So... you gonna tell me why you tried to kick my sister’s ass, Herbert?” she asked with mock-sweetness, even as she stepped behind his father and casually draped her arms over his shoulders.
That gesture made William start under his arm, but Herbert merely smiled.
“It was a personality clash, cherie,” he replied, though he could not help but stare as well as his father lifted his hands and threaded his fingers between Dawn’s as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Resting her chin on top of von Krolock’s head as he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips softly, Dawn’s gaze was fixed on Herbert. “If your personalities clash again,” she said pleasantly. “I’ll be cranky. You don’t want me cranky.”
Both of the younger vampires, however, were watching Herbert’s father, who seemed so at ease with the young mortal’s closeness and easy intimacy.
“Think I can see someone who wouldn’t mind it,” William volunteered, shying back a little when dark eyes flicked open and locked on his face. Herbert uttered a soft, comforting sound, nuzzling William’s temple.
“Probably not the best thing for you to notice, my silly darling,” he murmured, eyes fondly drinking in William’s expression.
Von Krolock’s upper lip curled slightly, baring a flash of a fang.
Dawn made a face at them both. “I’m gonna tell Buffy the same,” she said, one of her thumbs moving in a circle on von Krolock’s palm. “You guys start killing each other and sooner or later, I’ll have no one left and... well... that would suck.”
“I concur,” von Krolock murmured, tilting his head to kiss the inside of the girl’s slim wrist.
In Herbert’s loose embrace, William went rigid, concern pulling Herbert’s focus from the befuddling spectacle before him to the suddenly-tensed vampire in his arms.
Puzzled, Herbert followed his stare, then saw what William had seen. His own jaw dropped, his hand tensing on William’s shoulder, but whether in support or reassurance, he couldn’t be entirely sure. It might even have just been assurance that he was not lost in the meanderings of his imagination.
If he had been surprised by the mark on his father’s throat, it was doubled at the sight of the bite-mark adorning Dawn’s wrist.
“Nibs...” William’s voice was quaking and Herbert didn’t need to ask to know why, his own fingertips skirting William’s shoulder to brush across the long-placed traces of bites on William’s throat.
He felt William tremble, remembering the significance of the marks, even when they were given, months ago. Now, more than ever, the meaning was intensified and now, he wanted to add to them, re-affirm what he had said, what he had meant, wordless proof by the most binding of means.
Her eyes half-closed, Dawn’s cheek was resting against von Krolock’s hair, her expression as quietly blissful as his was. One side of her mouth pulled up and she forced an eye open. “Mm?”
“You... er... got something on your wrist...” Beneath Herbert’s hand, William was as tense as a wire, as if he could not believe what he was seeing, as if he had suspected that their... encounter would have been naught more than a brief dalliance.
Tilting her head to look down at her wrist, albeit reluctantly, Dawn’s smile was one of satisfaction. “Yup.”
And Herbert knew, from his own encounters with the girl, that she knew precisely what it meant and was entirely content with it. Whether William was aware of that or not, he did not know, but it meant Dawn was claimed, one of theirs now, in ways that went far deeper than they had before.
Slowly, he started to grin. That certainly explained his father’s mood.
“Er... Nibs, you do know... that is... er...”
Tilting his head to bring his lips close to William’s ear, Herbert murmured, “She knows precisely what it means, darling.” His grip on William tightened as he gave in to the desperate impulse and sank his fangs into William’s throat.
Clutching at him without care or thought for the presence of von Krolock or even Dawn, William’s low moan was like ambrosia, sweet, sinful perfection, every nuance carrying so much more meaning than it could have before.
Withdrawing his fangs, he kissed the wound, then brought his other hand across his body to bring William’s lips to his, kissing him softly, reverently. Blue eyes gazed at him with such captive wonder that he kissed the adorable darling once more.
“You’re mine now, darling,” he said, nuzzling William’s nose with the tip of his own. “No escape.”
“Bugger...” William feigned a grumble, smiling as he was soundly kissed again.
A faint, giddy sound reminded them abruptly that they were certainly not alone, and while William was quick to draw back, grinning and blushing a bit, Herbert was not entirely thrilled to do so.
Admittedly, it was worth looking up at her to see her clinging onto his father tightly and looking as if her face were about to crack from smiling.
“What?” he inquired, arching a brow.
“You two! You are so cute!” she exclaimed, then she smirked at Herbert. “And you, Herbert, are a big, fat liar!” Before he could protest, she turned to kiss his father warmly on the cheek. “Told you!”
Patting her hand indulgently, von Krolock could not mask his own smile. “Claimed, Herbert?” he murmured.
“Two in one night, father,” Herbert grinned with a pointed nod towards Dawn, who nodded and nuzzled his father’s silver hair happily.
Lowering her head, Dawn brushed a kiss and a whisper against his father’s cheek, something so quiet that, even straining to hear, it slipped by Herbert’s acute hearing, her flashing blue glance telling the golden-haired vampire that was precisely what she had intended.
Turning his head fractionally, von Krolock gazed up at her. The look on his father’s face made Herbert shiver, the slow curve of his lips utterly sensuous and he lifted her bitten wrist to kiss it once more.
Nudging Herbert’s ribs gently with his elbow, apparently unable to tear his eyes away from the pair, William mumbled, “I’m confused. Bit scared and all.”
“Agreed, cheri,” Herbert murmured, watching Dawn disentangle her fingers from his father’s and stroke his cheek with her knuckles.
Dawn’s face broke into a beatific smile, eyes dancing. “Then, I’ve done my job,” she said, kissing von Krolock’s temple fondly. “C’mon, sweetie. Spike can do his nurse-maid thing with his boyfriend.”
“Niblet!” William protested.
“What?” Dawn grinned widely at him.
He glanced at Herbert, who chuckled, then back at her. “Prefer something bit more manly,” he grumbled.
“Which part? The nursemaid or the boyfriend-having?”
Herbert’s lips pressed into a line and he was shaking silently. “Cherie, let him settle before you tease him?” he suggested when he forced his mirth under his control.
“You will rest?” Von Krolock’s gaze was penetratingly focussed on Herbert again.
“I’ll make sure he does, sir,” William said quickly, receiving a quick kiss for his promptness.
Rising from the bed, von Krolock nodded approvingly. “We have repairs to see to,” he said gravely. “And when next you encounter the Slayer in such a manner, do so within her property, Herbert.”
Sheepishly nodding, Herbert grimaced. “Yes, father,” he said apologetically.
Without another word, von Krolock offered his lover his arm and they seemed to just fade out of sight, leaving the two younger vampires sitting on the bed, staring at empty space.
“Um... so, he bit her, eh?”
“So it appeared,” Herbert agreed, then turned to look at his lover. “And she bit him also.” Grey eyes met blue and Herbert tilted William’s chin up. “As I see it, there is only one of our number who has not been bitten in the past evening.” Tilting his head slightly, he smiled. “I trust you remember what to do?”
Blue eyes tinting gold, William lifted a hand to cradle Herbert’s cheek. “I think so,” he said, leaning closer.
______________________
“Sure this is the place, G?”
“These were Willow’s exact co-ordinates,” Rupert Giles replied. After a flight from Turin to Sibiu, they had been met by an acquaintance of Vittorio’s, who had lead them straight to the helicopter they were presently descending in.
Below them, green land unrolled, tinted gold by late-afternoon sunlight, looking far too warm and friendly to be vampire-land.
While Giles didn’t doubt Willow as a powerful force, this time he had chosen to make the journey to seek out his wayward Slayer himself and, if need be, reclaim her body and avenge her.
Landing on an open meadow close to what looked like a manor house, he and Faith - the Slayer second only to Buffy in rank and experience - descended from the helicopter as the blades of the propeller slowed to a halt.
Strapping a crucifix to her thigh and a sword onto her back, Faith pulled a hefty crossbow out of the cabin. It was a monstrosity that could fire half-a-dozen arrows at once, which often proved useful when outnumbered by a faster foe, although it only usually served for one shot before hand-to-hand combat became necessary.
“Charming,” Giles said dryly. His own crossbow was lighter, efficient and deadly with a single bolt.
With a nod to the pilot, they made their way across the ankle-length grass, towards the house. Only when they were closer did it become apparent that this was no discreet manor in the middle of nowhere.
For one thing, the windows above the front door looked like they had been blown outwards by some kind of explosion and the gravel of the driveway was scorched and blackened by what looked like a firebomb.
“Call it a hunch, G,” Faith said from beside him, her voice dripping sarcasm. “But I think we’re in the right place.”
Glancing at the young woman, he could see the fire in her eyes, the energy already tensing her body, ready for the fight. Her finger was curled around the trigger, and she was grinning in an altogether wicked way.
Approaching the front door of the building, which was hanging ajar on its hinges, the Watcher motioned for her to be quiet, pushing the door open with one foot. Peering into the shadow, he could see nothing, but that wasn’t enough for the battle-ready woman beside him.
Uncaring of surprises, she pushed past him, into the building, crossbow held out in front of her.
“Faith!”
“S’clear!” Her voice rang back to him out of the darkness. “Jesus H Christ! Someone went to town here!”
With a roll of his eyes, Giles warily stepped into the shadowy doorway after her, his eyes taking a moment to adjust. His brows drew together at the carnage that Faith was standing in the midst of, the once-elegant lobby littered with shattered glass and broken woodwork.
There were scorches and cobwebbed splinters spreading on the polished wood of the walls, all marks of a battle with magic. Even the air was heavy with the scent of it, though it looked like hours had past.
“You know,” a voice spoke from the top of the staircase, “some would consider it good manners to knock at the door before entering.”
Faith whirled around, crossbow raised, her eyes on a shapeless figure in the shadows above her. “Door was open,” she replied. “Just here for the clean-up.”
Whoever he was, the speaker stepped out of the shadows. Tall and striking, he had long gold hair drawn back in a loose ponytail. Wearing a suit, he looked impeccable save for the cut that scored one cheek.
“Shipping in cleaners from America?” he inquired pleasantly. “My, my. Father really does spare no expense.” He inclined his head slightly. “We’ve been expecting you.”
“Indeed?” Giles moved closer to the Slayer.
The vampire smiled. “Of course,” he murmured, walking down the staircase with a slow, smooth tread. “Your charming young witch must have been quite beside herself when your Slayer vanished off her radar.”
Levelling her crossbow at his chest, Faith gazed at him. “You gonna tell us where B is, or do I gotta ruin that fine-lookin’ suit for you?”
With a casual gesture of one elegant, white hand, the vampire sighed. “Oh, I really would prefer it if you didn’t,” he said lightly. “Have you any idea how tiresome fittings are?”
Giles saw the grin cross Faith’s face and laid a hand on her shoulder. “If you would be so kind, could you tell me where she is?” he asked, his voice firm and quiet.
Fair eyebrows rose marginally. “What’s this? Someone from the Watchers Council with something akin to manners?” He laughed, halting halfway down the broad staircase. “This is, indeed, an occasion.”
Giles’ hand tensed on Faith’s shoulder. “Will you tell us where she is, please?” his voice was a little tenser, but the vampire was distracted from him by another voice, shouting from deeper within the building.
“… should have known… can’t trust you to do what you’re told…” Whoever it was, the voice sounded British and extremely put out. “I go for your sodding blood, so you won’t have to get up and what do you do? Leggit!”
“G…” Faith glanced up at him. “That sounds like…”
“If you’re not back in that bloody bed in five minutes, Herbie,” The voice was accompanied by stamping steps. “I swear I’ll drag you back by your hair and chain you to the sodding thing!”
The vehement exclamation was matched by the appearance of a second vampire at the top of the staircase. With rumpled tawny hair, oversized, expensive clothes and an utterly indignant expression it took Giles a moment to recognise him.
“So… again with the chains, huh?” Faith’s grin looked like it was trying to break off her face. “Died and resurrected, Fang the second, and you still got the kink.”
Abruptly, the newcomer’s attention was on them, without any sign that he had been unaware of theirpresence. Blue eyes stared down at her, then slid sideways to Giles and a wry, almost sheepish grin crossed the vampire’s lips.
“Spike.”
“Giles.” Hastily stepping down the stairs after the other vampire, Spike reached out and clasped one of the golden-haired creature’s elbows firmly. “What brings you all the way out here?” The other vampire chuckled wickedly. “Herbert?”
“Willow’s protection charm on Buffy was cut off,” Giles said. “We were…”
“Worried. Yeah…” Giving the other vampire a reprimanding look when his sounds of mirth only got worse, Spike sighed. “Slayer’s fine. The old Graf just had to shield her from a backdraught and that probably knocked it off.”
The tension that had been clenched around his innards relaxed and Giles let his hand drop from Faith’s shoulder. The Slayer glanced at him then nodded, lowering the hefty crossbow.
“So, B’s okay?” She reached back to adjust the sword on her back. “How ‘bout V and lil D?”
“More okay than this stupid arse,” Spike said, giving the grinning vampire a severe look.
“Cheri, I am fine,” the vampire said with a condescending pat to Spike’s gripping hand. “I told you that.” A finger jabbed his ribs abruptly and the golden-haired vampire hissed in pain. “You wicked little bastard.”
“And then some,” Spike replied evenly. “You, back to bed. Now.”
The vampire called Herbert gazed down at him for a moment, something akin to surprise on his face. Then, slowly, he smiled. He murmured something in Latin that Giles could just hear, the Watcher unable to hide a faint grin at the bashful, pleased look that crossed Spike’s face.
Making his way back up the stairs, his slowness now unmistakably caused by pain, Herbert glanced back down at Spike, who - despite his contented expression - folded his arms sternly and nodded down the hall.
For several moments, until a door closed in the distance, there was silence.
“Lookit you!” Faith said with a laugh. “Got the eye-candy whipped!”
“Nah,” Spike descended the staircase with an easy tread, looking far happier than Giles could ever remember seeing. “He’d probably like that, the daft poofter.”
“Takes one to know one, blondie,” Faith smirked at him.
Spike’s eyes glinted mischievously. “Jealous, Slayer? Saw the way you were looking at my boy.” He sighed mournfully. “Must be a hell of a loss, two prime pieces of meat taken off the market in one fell swoop.”
“Sorry, baby,” Faith laughed, her own expression wicked. “Stiffs just don’t do it for me.”
Spike snorted with mirth, his shoulders shaking as he turned his attention towards Giles. “Slayer and the pillock are upstairs somewhere,” he said. “Think Buffy wanted a word with the Niblet.”
“But all three are all right?”
The vampire nodded, grinning. “Pride might be a bit bruised on the prat,” he said, looking far too amused. “Slayer and Herbie had a bit of a tiff and his I’m-so-fabulous-ness decided to take a pot-shot at Herbie. His dad wasn’t too chuffed about it.”
“His Sire?” Giles inquired. While Willow had explained the unusual dynamic of the family, she had been unable to clarify several aspects, which - out of sheer force of habit - Giles felt he should know.
Spike shook his head, a lop-sided smile on his face. “Nah,” he replied. “Dad. Herbie’s old man is the Graf.” He gave Giles a knowing look, which implied he knew just how perplexing that was. “Never asked the wheres and whyfores, but yep. Father and son and both vampires.” He hopped down the last step, kicking aside some of the debris with one foot. “Should apologise for the mess, since he isn’t here to do it.”
“Lemme guess,” Faith looked around. “B and your boy?”
Spike snorted. “Slayer, when I said Herbie’s dad wasn’t chuffed about the pot-shot, I mean he took that poncy Italian apart.” He looked from one to the other. “Did wonder if you knew about him being a bit of a fan of the black magic.”
“Suspected,” Giles murmured, grimacing.
“Wish I’d taped it,” Spike looked around the destroyed lobby, a faint grin on his face. “Never saw anything like it... not even Red could have...” His words were cut off by an explosion outside.
A blossom of red light spread through the open doorway and Faith swore, racing back to peer out into the grounds. “Holy shit!”
“The helicopter?” Giles’ suspected his expression said everything, his entire body tensing all over again.
“It blew up!” Faith exclaimed, shock evident in her voice. “G, the goddamn chopper blew up!”
“You bought a...” Giles’ eyes snapped open and he glowered at Spike, who grimaced and nodded. “Yeah, bad time to ask, but the Graf... he wouldn’t just blow something up like... oh, bollocks...” He was staring past Faith and moved forward. “Back up, Slayer! Back it up, now!”
“Spike?”
“Long story! Slayer, move it!”
“Hell no!” Levelling her crossbow, the girl’s finger slid to the trigger. “That thing blew up my ride!”
“SLAYER!” Sticking his hand out into the sunlight, Spike caught Faith by the hair and pulled her forcefully back into the hall, his hand smouldering. Her bow wrenched upwards, finger tensing, and half-a-dozen bolts ripped through the leaves of nearby tree, stripping a dozen branches.
Without care, ignoring the obscenities she was hurling at him, he flung her behind him. She landed heavily, reaching for her sword as a blue-skinned figure continued to stalk towards the door.
Exhaling a breath and shaking his burnt hand, Spike stood on the edge of the shaft of dulling twilight, which seemed to be darkening all too quickly. He peered out of the door with a nod. “Evening, pet.”
Spotting him, the creature stopped, tilting its head slowly and looking him up and down, as if examining him. “You are unharmed,” it said, speaking with a woman’s voice, but layered over with deep, unsettling harmonics. “I bore witness to the arrival of the armed mortals. I felt...” Its brow creasing, the creature shifted its feet. “I would have ripped their bones from their flesh if they had left you dead.”
“You were worried, eh?” Spike’s grin and easy rapport with the leather-armour-clad creature gave Giles reassurance enough to move closer, helping Faith back to her feet and casting a wary eye over the demon.
Solid blue eyes gazed the vampire. “Your continued existence is not abhorrent to me.” Those eerie eyes focussed on Giles and Faith, the delicate feminine features hardening into an expression of distrust. “Their weapons?”
“Just precautions,” Spike replied, raising his hands soothingly. “Blue, these two are old mates of mine from years back. No harm-y, right?”
With a notably reluctant nod, the demon turned to look over a narrow shoulder. “I destroyed their sky carriage,” it observed, “If they had attempted to flee, I would have hunted them down like dogs.”
“No doubt,” Peering out at the sky, Spike stepped over the threshold. Overhead, the sky that had been blue moments before was black, thick clouds rolling over the face of the setting sun. “Bloody hell... look at the state of the lawn...”
“Least it wasn’t inside the house,” another voice said from further outside.
Spike looked sideways, grinning faintly. “Don’t think you could get a chopper through the front door, luv,” he observed, curiosity drawing both the Watcher and the Slayer closer to the open door.
Dawn had somehow managed to appear outside and was watching the remains of the helicopter burning. A cloaked figure was approaching the wreckage, moving like a vast, dark feline, one hand extended.
“Is that...”
“The Graf,” Spike supplied, cocking his head to one side to watch as a mist seemed to coalesce over the twisted metal, the lapping flames dulling and flickering out.
Turning, Dawn’s eyes widened in delight, then she launched herself at both Slayer and Watcher with an excited squeal “You guys! You should have called and told us you were coming!”
Given a rib-squeezing hug, Giles staggered slightly, his eyes still locked on the figure of the Graf, a vampire and sorcerer of legend. “Yes... well, if we had known...” he began to say as Dawn tackled Faith.
“Hey, no big! I like surprises!” The girl seemed to be positively bubbling over with energy and life, which was enough to tear Giles’ eyes from the Graf for a moment, his eyebrows rising. “And...” She paused, staring at the blue-skinned demon. “Uh... is this one of yours or one of ours?”
“Nibs, Illyria,” Spike said with a vague gesture. “Illyria, the Niblet.”
“Illyria?” Giles heard himself echo, looking with new eyes at the blue-skinned demon. The destroyer of worlds and scourge of lesser demons as he recalled. Some kind of demon from an ancient age, yet here it was standing before them.
It really did seem a day for legends to appear.
The blue-eyed demon regarded the girl, then slowly nodded. “The mortal who will not depart,” it said.
Dawn met the demon’s look with a defiance Giles remembered well from her sister, years earlier. “Damn straight,” she said. “You got a problem with that, Bluey?”
“Spike spoke well of his chosen morsel,” the demon replied flatly. “Until he wishes you dead, I will not cause any harm to you.”
“Even then,” A smooth, rich voice made Giles look up sharply from Dawn. Without even seeming to move, the silver-haired and black-cloaked vampire was standing before them, within touching distance of Dawn. His black eyes were fixed on Illyria with an electric intensity. “You will not harm her.”
Blue eyes stared baldly back at the vampire, then - to Giles’ surprise - it bowed its head in acknowledgement. “If that is your choosing,” it said.
A long-nailed hand was laid on Dawn’s shoulder. “It is,” he said quietly, sternly, his expression grave and calm. Those dark eyes moved from the demon’s face to Faith, then to Giles, who suspected he was staring rather more than was polite. “Rupert Giles, I presume?”
Habitual manners nudged his hand forward and he felt the cool touch of the vampire Lord’s fingers briefly grasping his. “Y-yes, I am Rupert Giles.”
The dark eyes seemed to be reading every line of his face, examining him inside and out, clear and steady, then the Graf inclined his head, withdrawing his hand. “The Master of the Watchers Council is, of course, welcome.”
“Master of...” From the doorway, a woman’s voice spoke. “Giles?”
Half-turning, Giles felt relief rush through him at the sight of his longest-standing Slayer. “Buffy! You are all right!” he exclaimed in spite of himself. She nodded, hurrying towards him.
“You thought...”
“Your wards went blank,” Giles hastened to explain, turning to face her fully. “I’m afraid Willow went into shock. She feared that you had been hurt.”
Buffy smiled but there was a brittleness about it that made him reach out, grasp her shoulder reassuringly. “I’m good,” she replied. “Just got in the way of the wrong kind of magic.”
“I told you that.” The striking young vampire from the staircase stepped out behind her, leaning gingerly against the edge of the doorframe. He glanced towards the ruined helicopter, his eyebrows arching. “William, have you been destroying property again? Because father does get ann...”
“Herbert,” Spike’s voice was more growl than speech. “What did I tell you?”
For a brief moment, there was absolute stillness, all eyes turning to the sandy-haired vampire. Spike’s eyes were flashing dangerously and his hands were clenching into fists by his sides.
The attention of the watchers automatically moved towards the blond vampire, who was looking a good deal more wary than he had been only moments earlier.
“I saw the fireball, Wil...”
“What did I tell you?” Spike pushed rudely past Giles and Buffy, reaching out to grab Herbert’s arm. He was glaring up at the slightly taller vampire, giving his arm a shake. “You weren’t bloody listening were you?”
Grey eyes stared back down at him, a strange emotion flickering in them.
Spike’s glare was more potent than a threat in keeping the fair-haired vampire silent and Spike turned to look over at the Graf. “Sir, no offence, but I’m taking your son upstairs and I’m going to tan his bloody hide.”
“William,” the Graf’s voice rippled through the air like heavy silk. “Surely he has injuries enough to contend with.”
Spike stared at him for a moment, and Giles could have sworn that some unspoken message seemed to pass between them, a faint smile playing lazily across the Graf’s pale lips.
Uncaring of the Watcher, Slayer or demons, Spike turned swiftly, reaching up to tangle a hand in Herbert’s hair, pulling his head aside and biting into his throat with a savagery that made Buffy exclaim and Faith swear aloud.
“This time,” Spike hissed, releasing Herbert’s hair. “You listen.”
And, without further ado, he dragged the gaping Herbert back into the house.
There was a heartbeat of silence.
“Go Spike,” Faith uttered with a whistle of awe.
RATING: 18-ish. Yay naughteh vampires!
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series & Tanz der Vampire
SPOILERS: Buffy S1-7, Angel S1-5.
SUMMARY: There are some interesting reactions and revelations in the wake of Herbert and Buffy's battle.
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, In The Name Of, the chapter immediately preceding this chapter.
PAIRINGS: Herbert/Spike, Dawn/von Krolock, Buffy/Vittorio plus some implied ones.
WORDS: 10209
NOTES: Your remember that thing I said about the chapters getting longer? Apparently, it's true.
__________________________________
Conversation was buzzing in the dining hall.
Quite how Giles had acquired the large estate on the outskirts of Turin, it had never been made clear, and when asked, he never chose to answer. Most rumours among the girls pronounced that Buffy’s boyfriend was wealthy as well as uber-hot and must have provided it.
After all, a prime piece of land was attached and there was easily room for the fifty present residents. With a dozen classrooms included and training rooms, it looked like an exclusive boarding school, but in truth, it was far from it.
Slayers-in-training bustled around, vying for seats at the tables, exchanging stories and jokes. From a dozen nations, if not more, they had picked up languages from one another, their shared gift making them all the more determined to understand others like them.
At one of the tables on the edge of the hall, Giles was slowly stirring milk into his tea, watching as a fifteen-year-old Mexican Slayer showed an awed Australian girl how to do a complicated double-reverse blow, using her spoon in place of a sword.
“Aren’t they just the cutest things?” Willow was weaving between tables, carrying her own plate.
“They don’t know a word of each other’s language,” Kennedy said, following her lover. “But they’re the best of friends already.”
“Bonding over violence,” Sipping his tea, Giles shook his head with a minute smile, as the witch and the Slayer approached. “I hardly imagined I would ever see such a thing on such a grand scale.”
“Kinda gives you a warm fuzzy feeling, doesn’t it?” Willow grinned.
“And it’s all your fault,” Kennedy squeezed past a small Jamaican teen.
“Yeah...” The wistful smile that crossed Willow’s face seemed to drain away. In her hands, her plate trembled, then slipped from her fingers, crashing on the floor. Her face was white, green eyes stared blindly ahead.
“Will...?” Kennedy was by her side in a blink, pulling her towards a seat. “Baby, what is it?”
“Buffy!” Willow’s whisper rang through the suddenly silent hall. “I... I can’t feel her anymore.”
_________________________________
“Can’t believe you almost offed the Slayer.”
Herbert smiled angelically at his attendant, then grimaced as the gash on his cheek stretched painfully. “I told you my intent days ago, cheri,” he said. “Why did you doubt that I would carry it out?”
“Because I thought you have more sense than that, you arse,” Spike retorted, dipping a fresh cloth into a bowl of warm water. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he leaned closer to Herbert, wiping the blood from his cheek and jaw.
“Tut-tut, William,” Herbert winced. “I thought you knew me.”
Blue eyes gazed at him thoughtfully. “Yeah, Herbie, thought I did too,” he said, an strange expression crossing his face. It had been a shock to see Herbert fighting and, more than that, almost taking Buffy out as well.
The smile that tugged at the elder vampire’s pale lips was barely visible. “I suspect I may have surprised her,” he murmured.
“She’s not the only one,” Spike muttered, gently cleaning the blood from Herbert’s gashed throat, skirting the wound carefully. “Where’d all that fancy Errol-Flynn-ing come from?”
Herbert chuckled. “Always did have a passion for sword-play,” he said.
“Poncy poofter.” The insult lacked its usual venom. He rinsed and wrung out the cloth, wiping the blood from Herbert’s burst lower lip as gently as he could. “Bet you enjoyed making everyone stare and all.”
“What else is a good fight for?” Herbert smiled faintly as Spike tucked stray strands of hair back from his face. “And I was doing rather well, until that damned fool Immortal decided to blast me into the wall.”
“And you missed seeing your dad giving him a right pasting,” Spike added, a faint grin crossing his face. “Could have sold tickets to a show like that. Wish I’d thought to get popcorn.”
Placing aside the damp cloth, he reached for Herbert’s torn shirt, deftly undoing the buttons and parting the fabric. His eyes widened at the sight of a shallow wound over Herbert’s heart, marked by a dull, dry patch of blood.
He reached out, touched it, hissing between his teeth. “Herb...”
“She missed, William.” Herbert’s eyes were closed, one hand idly reaching out to caress Spike’s thigh. “Although she ruined a perfectly good shirt.”
“Is... is that all you care about, you stupid bugger?” Spike’s voice sounded shrill even to his ears. “You’ve got splinters in your sodding chest, and all you care about is your shirt?”
Grey eyes, fatigued, opened slowly. “William, I’m fine,” Herbert said softly.
Staring at him in disbelief, Spike shook his head. It felt like something had slowed time right down, as if he was moving in slow-motion. “She almost killed you,” he whispered, his features contorted with shocked pain. “She almost killed you...”
With effort, Herbert pushed himself upright, one hand wrapping around the back of Spike’s head, pulling him close. Grey eyes stared into blue, somehow reaching into his head, freezing him, stilling that instinct to panic, calming him.
“William,” his voice was low, shaking with underlying pain, but not without the edge of steel. “I know.” He grit his teeth, his other hand clutching one of Spike’s arms like a vice. “But she didn’t manage. I’m here, William. Still here.”
Spike felt himself shaking, knew he was staring wildly at Herbert, but couldn’t seem to look away. Herbert has fought the Slayer because of him. Herbert had almost been dust because he - Spike - had been hurt by her years ago.
With his free hand, he weakly punched Herbert’s chest. “You stupid son of a bitch,” he whispered. “Stupid, pig-headed son of a bitch.”
“That I am,” Herbert agreed softly, drawing Spike’s face closer and gently kissing his lips.
That was when, to his shock, Spike became aware that tears were streaming down his face. Not just little drippy corner-of-the-eye ones either. A sodding great big tidal wave. Atlantis had nothing on this.
“Oh for fuck’s sake...” he tried to laugh, his voice quivering almost as much as he was. He tried to pull back and mop at his face with his damp hand, but Herbert’s grip was like iron. “Herbie...”
Kisses lightly touched the tracks of his tears, then grey eyes found his again, and he was startled by the lack of amusement. For once in his life, Herbert looked as serious as his father usually did.
“I’m not going anywhere, William,” he said, the hand at the base of Spike’s skull sliding to caress the nape of his neck. “I’m here.”
“Can see that.” Spike’s voice cracked as he said it. “But she...” He shook his head in incomprehension. “Why’d’you do it?”
The curl of Herbert’s lips was so quiet, so subtle that it looked utterly out of place on his face. “Because.” he said.
“Because what?”
The fond gleam returned to grey eyes. “You tell me, William,” he said softly.
“Because you’re an arse.”
“That aside,” Herbert leaned in and gently kissed him again. “Why do you think I did it?”
Spike stared at him. He knew if he still had a heartbeat, it would be battering against his ribs at the tumult of emotions pouring through him. The thought of losing Herbie, the thought of being on his own again, the thought of Herbie fighting for him...
The impossible realisation was enough to leave him breathless
The hand that had so recently punched Herbert’s chest touched the blot of scarlet over his still heart.
“You almost died,” he whispered.
Herbert smiled at him. “I would say you were worth it,” he said.
Spike stared at him, unable to look away, unable to think about anything, unable to even move for several minutes. Then Herbert leaned forward and pecked him lightly on the lips.
“Now, if you don’t mind, cheri, I fear I need to lie down,” he said, drawing his hand from Spike’s wrist.
Automatically, Spike reached out. His arms slipped smoothly around Herbert, under his arms and around his ribs, palms splaying under his shoulders. Laying him down gently, so as not to aggravate his already-battered flesh, he withdrew his hands.
With a pained sigh and faint grimace, Herbert settled against the bedding, bending his arms to lightly stroke his fingertips against Spike’s arms as the younger vampire drew away.
Despite himself, Spike shivered at the contact, then hastily wiped his face with the back of his hands. Clearing his throat, he retrieved the cloth and started to gently sponge the blood-stains from Herbert’s bruised chest.
“I still think you’re an arse, you know,” he mumbled.
His eyes closed, Herbert smiled. “I know, darling,” he murmured. “And I love you too.”
______________________________
“I can’t believe they just did that!”
Watching his young lover storm back and forth across the hall, a veritable tempest of fury, von Krolock said nothing, inwardly revelling in the dark humours building around one so young.
“I mean, Buffy! What the hell did she think she was doing?” Savagely kicking aside a piece of broken trellis-work, she whirled around, stalking back across the rubble. “Yeah, Slayer! We get it, but she’s a goddamned guest!”
“I do not doubt Herbert’s guilt in this matter also,” von Krolock murmured, gently, quietly stoking this delightful rage. “It takes two to have a battle as apparent as the one that happened here.”
“Oh, don’t you think I’m going to let him get off so easy,” Dawn exhaled an angry breath. “One of them started this and trashed your house, and I don’t care which it was. I’m totally kicking both their asses.”
“Is that so?” Her anger was like incense in the air, thick, sweetly and suffocatingly wrapping around him. He drifted closer to her, inhaling the bouquet of her ire twisted around her normal flavour.
“Yuh-huh!”
He chuckled softly, richly. “You can try,” he purred and when she turned, sharply, fiercely, he was upon her. Forced back, her back pressed to the oak-panelling of the wall, gasped at the impact.
Her wrists snared in his hands, she glared up at him. “You think you can stop me?” she snarled it, so beautifully feral, her teeth bared and her eyes flashing.
Smiling slowly, his eyes dark and glittering and fixed on her face, he pinned her hands to the wall in a bastardisation of a crucifix, her arms spread, fingers hooking into the air as she struggled against his grip.
“I know I can, liebling,” he whispered, though in truth it was more of a hiss.
She uttered a Romanian word that he was sure Herbert must have taught her with savage vehemence, her arms tensed and tightened under his grip.
His face close to hers, until he could feel the angry heat radiating from her skin, so flushed with fury, he whispered, “Manners, little one.”
Tossing her hair, lips drawn back from her teeth, she growled something at him that he made a brief, amused note to chastise Herbert for. Oh, she was fiery when roused, and he had no doubt she would be true to her ire, if he unleashed her.
For that reason, among other more selfish ones, he could not allow it.
“Dear one,” he murmured, drawing his powers about him like a mantle. “Do not fight with me.”
He saw her expression change, her eyes going wide, her breath suddenly indrawn as she arched against the wall for a completely different reason.
Redirecting her own fire through the pulsing flutter beneath his palms, he watched her face as she arched that beautiful neck, uttering a panting moan. His lips parted in a breathless sigh, drawing upwards at the corners as she shivered.
With her fire thick in the air, it was no difficult task to tease fluttering bursts of energy through her body, feeling that delightful throb beneath his palms increase in speed and urgency.
Slowly, tantalisingly, he brought his body into contact with the seething, raging heat of hers, even those light touches enough to make them both shudder violently.
“You cheat!” she groaned out, as heat swelled through her in all-consuming waves.
His laugh was close to her ear, and her body twitched desperately when he touched his lips to the corner of her jaw. “Are you truly objecting?” he whispered, then softly kissed the smooth skin beneath her earlobe.
With a stifled whimper, Dawn squeezed her eyes shut.
“Hmm?” He purred it against her jaw, ghosting his lips against the silk circling her throat. With a flicker, power rippled through her, making her arch against him with a delightfully breathless sound.
Suddenly rigid, shivering with such intensity he could feel it at every brief point that their bodies were in contact, she whispered tightly, “Don’t want magic.” Her cheek pressed to his, like the scorching touch of holy water against his skin. “Want you.”
He drew back slightly at that, the pure flame in her eyes intoxicating him.
Wrenching her right hand free of his, she reached up and pulled his mouth down on hers with a ferocity that few mortals had ever matched. When she pulled back, she stared at him with that fierce, hungry intensity, so raw and primal it took his unneeded breath away.
“Bite me,” she panted out through swollen lips.
He felt his hunger rising by degrees. Surely he had misheard. “Dawn…”
Her hand slid from his hair, held up to him, level with his jaw. “Bite me,” she repeated, a low growl.
His fingers wrapped around her wrist, his black eyes locked on her face, a thousand emotions rushing through him. “You do not know what you are asking of me,” he said softly, his voice tense.
By his face, her fingers curled into a neat, tight fist. “Bite me,” she whispered again, the softness in her voice more dangerous, more deadly, than the savage snarl. Her sapphire-blue eyes found his, daring him to be afraid.
“Dawn, it is more than you know...” he whispered, his voice tight, pained with desperate hunger for the taste of her, for the possession of her, for things he could not even begin to comprehend.
“I know.” There was a steely resolution in her words. Her fingers slowly uncurled, brushing his cheek softly. How was it possible that such a gentle caress could make him tremble like a plucked string? “Johannes...”
No vampire could have resisted. It was impossible.
With the rapid beat fluttering so close to his ear, with her touch against his skin, with her voice, so close to pleading, he knew to even question her was an impossibility.
Holding her eyes, he tilted his head, saw her, felt her tremble as his lips touched her skin. Drawing his lips back from his fangs, he hesitated for a single, rapid throb of her heart, then bit, breaking through her flesh so easily, too easily, too simply.
Her sound of pain was like a symphony, but even that was nothing compared to the wild heat of her blood.
If she had been intoxicating before, now she was overwhelming.
More than simply a tasting, more than just a sharing of blood, more than anything he had experienced in centuries, she was a tidal wave, crashing in on him, carrying him in her unpredictable wash, leaving him who knew where.
Wrenching his mouth from her wrist, barely a mouthful of her essence staining his tongue yet sating him more than a thousand others, giddy exhilaration rushed through him. With a soft growl, he pressed her back against the wall, kissing her fiercely.
Together, they seemed to fall into the oak, the walls disappearing around them.
Emerging out of nothing, they plummeted - entwined - onto her rumpled, unmade bed. How her deft hands dispatched his shirt and her own without him being aware of it, he knew he would never comprehend, but neither would he object.
With a sudden motion, he found himself pinned on his back, gazing in rapt, dazed captivation as Dawn straddled his hips, shaking her hair back over her shoulders. If her blood had not dazzled him once more, that sight - reckless, wild and everything he was coming to adore about her - would have been more than enough.
A part of him knew it should rise in anger, claim back his position, bend her to his will, but when she leaned forward and bit his throat, all thoughts that might have remained scattered to the four winds.
His hands wrapped around her upper arms, pulling her close. That was when her body shifted, hips rolling. One of them uttered a groan, and he was shocked to realise it was him.
Between kisses, bites and the wandering fire of her hands, he barely noticed when the rest of their clothing was tossed aside, only aware of it when her scorching body enveloped him, making him arch and hiss.
If this was burning and damnation, then let it last an eternity!
His eyes pressed closed as he let the pleasure take him, compounded when a finger brushed a fresh trickle of that electrifying blood across his lips, his tongue curling hungrily about her fingertip.
“Atta boy,” he heard her whisper, her voice so thick with desire and satisfaction that he forced his eyes open to find her watching his face, her eyes darkened to obsidian, her lips parted, stained with her own blood.
He shuddered violently when she leaned down, her silky hair trailing against his skin. Her nails raked his chest and he uttered an incoherent sound when she tilted his head back and bit him again, harder. Marking him.
Under her searing, mortal hands, von Krolock felt himself come apart.
_________________________
Adjusting the strip of dressing, Buffy carefully smoothed the tape into place across her lover’s chest. She was kneeling in front of him and he was seated on the edge of the bed, his tattered shirt in a heap on the floor beside her.
Her own wounds were partially healed already, cuts closing up and bruises already taking on yellowish hues. Still, she had allowed him to dress the deeper ones, to tend her with his large, gentle hands, though neither of them had been able to find much to say to one another.
When he had asked why they had been fighting, she had admitted to striking the first blow and admitted that the Graf’s son had a good reason for assaulting her. When she had asked what had happened to prevent Herbert from cutting her to ribbons, he had admitted to attacking the vampire himself with powers he rarely used, powers she didn’t even know he had.
And so, they had tended one another in silence.
“Is it all part of the Immortal thing?” she asked, finally laying aside the bandages.
“The magic?” Brown eyes gazed at her seriously. “In part, yes. Each Immortal has power of some manner.” He sighed, running his hands over his face. “The Graf taught me how to best use them.”
Looking down at her hands, rather than up at him, Buffy frowned. “You gonna tell me that’s why he’s such a big deal to you?” she asked quietly, uncertainly.
“Bella...” Vittorio reached down and took her hands. “Bella, listen to me. He taught me so much. It would be impossible for me to say that he was not important. He was and I hoped he would continue to be so.”
Hazel eyes, edged with confusion, rose to him. “Do you still love him?”
Vittorio closed his eyes, as if she had struck him. “Even if I did, I think now that I was no more than a game for him,” he murmured softly, sadly. “I came to him to learn and he drew me with all his charm and power. When he ended with me, I could not understand why, but now, I know he never felt for me as I did for him.”
“So do you still love him?” Buffy repeated, her voice shaking.
“Do you still love your Angel?” he asked quietly, slowly opening his eyes and gazing down at her. “Despite ourselves, even when we have found another to bear our hearts, we will always love those we have had and lost.”
For a moment, she said nothing, staring up at him, then surged up into his arms, clinging to him and pressing her cheek against his chest. His fingers wove through her hair and he pressed his cheek to her crown.
“I should have told you, bella,” he whispered, holding her close.
“Damn straight,” she replied, her voice still shaking. It was taking all her effort to hold back tears of... of what? Frustration? Sorrow? Anger? Confusion? Exhaustion? Every emotion and then some?
“No more dishonesty, then,” he said, caressing the back of her neck slowly, gently, the motion soothing her, though there was still a tension running through her as if wired into her blood.
“Everyone else I’ve been with lied to me or hid things from me,” she said quietly, one hand curled into the fabric of his shirt. She drew back to look up at his face, her own expression saddened. “I thought you were different.”
Brown eyes held hers and were full of such sincere grief that she felt a tear splash down her face. “I never meant to cause you pain, bella,” he whispered, touching her cheek softly, capturing the tear.
“Never lie to me again, Vittorio,” she said, reaching up to clasp his hand. “If you do, I promise you’ll regret it.”
“I understand, bella,” he agreed, slipping from the edge of the bed to sit on the floor, facing her. “Too much had been hidden for too long already. I should have trusted you to understand.”
Sitting on her heels, Buffy wiped her face with her hands hastily. “Yeah. You should have,” she mumbled, then forced herself to look up at him, to pretend things were back to normal. “Did... did you speak to Dawn earlier?”
Vittorio’s eyes dropped to his hands which were resting in his lap. “I did,” he said quietly. “Bella, she and the Graf are lovers.” Buffy’s head jerked up and she started to laugh incredulously. Brown eyes sought hers and he shook his head. “No, bella. No joke. She admitted it herself.”
“But he... even Giles is wigged by him...”
“I know,” Vittorio said softly. “But Dawn trusts him and he had done her no harm.”
She stared at him in disbelief, shaking her head. “But Dawnie... she’s way too smart to get involved with a vampire...” she mumbled. “She saw what happened with Angel and Spike...”
“The Graf... he is unlike any other vampire...”
“Yeah, you said,” Buffy pushed herself upright, pacing anxiously across the room, a frown on her face. “What if... what if he’s just playing with her?” She didn’t turn, but she knew he would finished the question; Like he did with you?
Vittorio was silent for so long that she turned to look at him.
“What is it?”
Brown eyes rose to her slowly. “He cares for her,” he said simply and there was an undeniable sadness in his words. “Truly.”
Part of her ached looking at him, knowing a lover he had lost so long ago could still make him hurt so much, but the greater part was watching him in disbelief and not without some small measure of bitter pleasure that her sister had claimed something that even Vittorio wasn’t able to get.
“He’s still a vampire,” she said quietly.
“She knows, bella,” he said just as softly. “She knows exactly who and what he is and in spite of it all, she trusts him.” He lowered his eyes. “He has never deceived nor lied to her.”
Leaning against the edge of the dresser, Buffy folded her arms over her chest, staring down at her feet. “And he’s the soulless monster, huh?” she murmured, watching her sock-covered toes curl against the carpet. “Gotta appreciate the irony.”
_______________________________
Consciousness was an unfriendly acquaintance. Herbert decided. At some point during William’s careful tending, he must have fallen asleep. Or passed out. Clearly, if that aspect was hazy enough, he had not been in a very good state.
Yet now, with his consciousness and awareness returning, he decided that being thrown against a wall did little to prevent pain.
Opening eyes that felt ridiculously heavy, he squinted by the faint light spilling in through the tall windows of William’s bedroom, the curtains only half-closed, gaping open in the middle. It was early morning, if he was any judge. Approximately an hour after dawn.
Assessing his position, he realised he had been stripped of his bloodied suit and tucked under the blankets with a deftness that surprised him. His ribs were bandaged and his cuts clean and patched.
He was also propped upright and when he made himself inhale, he felt the faint wheeze of... something in his lungs. Ah. Clearly young William knew what he was doing when he positioned his patient so.
Lifting a hand to rub his face, he winced as his fingertips dragged over healing flesh and he made a note to duck next time. The gash ran along his cheekbone, stretching with every expression. The wound on his throat stung as well, but they were clean and healing already.
William was quite a physician.
And on that train of thought, he looked around the room, seeing no sign of the younger vampire on the chair or even on the end of the bed, the blankets of which were heaped and folded in veritable fabric mountains.
A second, puzzled examination revealed a tousled head, resting on folded arms only a foot or so from his right hip.
Despite himself, a soft smile curled Herbert’s lips, his cheek aching. His dear little William was fast asleep, but had remained by his bedside through the night hours, kneeling on the hard floor until he had clearly dozed off on the edge of the bed.
Reaching out, his hand hovered an inch above William’s tawny hair for a moment, before drawing back. Let him rest. Once woken, he would worry and try and keep Herbert comfortable and exhaust himself all over again.
Laying his hand back in his lap, he smiled again, for another reason.
“Good morning, father,” he murmured, turning to look to the opposite side of the bed.
While he had expected to see his father there, almost always able to sense the unseen entrance, his brows did rise at the soft, almost lazy smile that was hovering around the Graf’s lips. The fact his father was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes half-closed, body much more relaxed than usual, looking like an utterly sated feline only added to his bemused amusement.
“Very good, I see...” he added with a chuckle.
“Restful,” von Krolock murmured, tilting his head back, his hair slipping against his shoulders. “And you?”
His shoulders shivering with quiet mirth, Herbert glanced down at William. “I have no complaints,” he said warmly.
Dark eyes slipped towards him, the contented warmth in them lapsing for less than a beat of a frightened virgin’s heart. “I should have tended your wounds myself,” his father said softly.
“And deprive William of the chance to bathe me?” Herbert’s eyes danced. “For shame, father.” The low ripple of laughter drew a smile from him. “And restful, you say? Are you sure you haven’t been sampling a certain delicacy again?”
Fleetingly, he saw his father’s hands flex against the bedding, a flicker in his eyes indicating this was indeed the case. “A remarkable vintage,” he murmured, tongue touching his lower lip.
With an eloquent roll of his eyes, Herbert shook his head slowly. “For this little strumpet, you forget your mortally wounded son?” he lamented, pressing a hand to his heart. “What shall become of me?”
Teasing dark eyes gazed at him fondly. “I’m sure you would have had someone to tend you,” he murmured, his eyes dropping briefly to Herbert’s bare throat. “A very dear someone.”
Herbert blinked, then lifted his hand, touching his throat. “Oh!” A grin lit his face at the texture of William’s tentative bite from days earlier. “The silly darling needed to be cheered up.”
“Is that so?”
Beaming, Herbert nodded. “He’s my silly darling, so I felt it was my duty.”
“Commendable,” his father murmured, but there was no mistaking the quiet pleasure and approval in his voice. “And what of you? Or am I to assume William merely decided you suited bandages?”
Making a face, Herbert looked down. “I think I cracked several ribs,” he said, “But it is mostly just cuts and bruising.” His grin returned, broad and bright. “And if that idiot had kept his nose out, I would have won!”
“Dawn was rather distressed about the situation,” his father observed, turning to face him fully. However, though his expression was stern, there was something in his posture that made Herbert press his lips together for fear of giggling.
“Distressed?”
“Mm.” His father shifted his position, leaning closer to smooth Herbert’s loose hair back from his face. “Quite so.” Dark eyes found and held grey. “Her temper was quite remarkable. She wanted blood.”
For a moment, Herbert stared at his father, then blinked. “She was...”
“Angered? Mildly.” Von Krolock lifted his head and softly kissed Herbert’s brow. “I believe you and her sister are both safe now. Her ire is spent.”
Herbert, however, was no longer listening.
He was staring at his father’s throat.
Von Krolock drew back, tilting his son’s chin up with his fingertips, but the grey eyes stayed rooted on what he could not believe he was seeing. His brows pulled together and he squinted. Surely not.
“Father, you’ve...” He could barely think it, let alone say it. “You’ve been bitten?”
Mirroring Herbert’s own gesture of moments earlier, von Krolock lifted his hand, touching the mark on his throat lightly with his fingertips. He didn’t look angry about it, or even a little concerned.
“I have,” he agreed, the smile lingering about his lips.
Golden brows rose towards Herbert’s hairline. He leaned forward, peering at the marks that didn’t look… quite like any bites he had ever seen, then sat back sharply, eyes wide, face a picture of shock.
“I…” He tried to find some other tangent, some matter that did not focus on the fact that his father, his dominant, powerful father, had been bitten by a slip of a mortal girl and was clearly quite happy about it.
His father’s lips twitched in silent amusement. “You look rather surprised,” he said with a soft chuckle.
“Dawn?” Herbert heard himself utter.
Von Krolock closed his eyes with that same, lazy smile. “Her fury was magnificent,” he murmured. “I only intended to distract her, that you and her sister would be spared her wrath.”
Only intended to distract her?
That opened up a new avenue of possibilities of the direction his father’s evening had gone in. Restraining one such as Dawn was a complicated enough matter when she was in a pleasant mood.
While a great part of him baulked at the idea of knowing precisely what, there was a morbidly curious aspect of his mind that was just dying to ask what precisely the fiery little mortal had done to make his father practically radiate satisfaction.
And clearly, his father could tell, judging by the knowing curl of his lips and the glitter of his eyes between his lashes.
Before he could find the right words to form a sentence, let alone a question, a faint sound from the opposite side of the bed made him look around to see William stirring drowsily, his rumpled hair getting tousled as Herbert reached out and ran a hand over his head.
Yawning, the youngest vampire peered blearily up at him, a pleasantly dopey smile crossing his lips a moment before he seemed to remember himself and cleared his throat, assuming a more cocky grin.
“Good morning, William.” Von Krolock sounded genuinely amused and Herbert had trouble hiding his grin when William jumped as if given an electric shock, tearing his eyes from Herbert to search out the speaker.
“Er...”
Herbert’s lips compressed into a line as he tried to stop himself from grinning, for fear of splitting his cheek open again. Apparently, his father’s smile was as unnerving to William as it had been to him.
Like an uncertain child, the younger vampire carefully climbed up onto the edge of the bed, kneeling close to Herbert’s side, one hand reaching out and brushing against Herbert’s as blue eyes flicked between grey and dark ones.
Catching William’s hand carelessly, Herbert yanked hard, pulling the young vampire - with an impressively girly squeak - closer to him, until he was practically draped against Herbert’s side. Draping an arm loosely over his shoulders, Herbert nuzzled William’s hair fondly.
Unconsciously, William shifted his weight, so he wasn’t pressing against the worst ribs, one hand lightly spreading on the bandages covering Herbert’s stomach.
Dark eyes slipped from one to the other and Herbert felt the approval wash over him like a warm wave. A glance told him William had sensed it as well, in some way or form, judging by the bashful grin playing about his lips.
“So... we’ve got a reason for being all grins,” William said happily after a moment, as Herbert smoothed his hair and kissed his temple. “Any reason you’re so chipper this morning, sir?”
Von Krolock looked towards the door with a warm look in his eyes. “We all have our reasons,” he murmured as Dawn stepped into the room, in the process of braiding her damp hair.
Herbert and William both looked towards her and Herbert felt William’s surprise, felt the younger vampire look up at him, seeking some kind of answer to a question he couldn’t quite put a finger on.
“Figured you’d be checking on the walking wounded,” the girl said with a grin, as she approached the bed. Blue eyes gleamed with amusement as she looked from Herbert to William and back again. “And look at you two, all snuggly!”
“Sod off, Nibs,” William muttered, but he was trying to hide a smile as he said it.
Circling the bed to approach von Krolock, Dawn met Herbert’s inquiring grey eyes with a small, knowing smile.
“Morning, cherie,” he murmured, his hand still on William’s shoulder, moving in pleasant circles on the young vampire’s smooth skin.
“So... you gonna tell me why you tried to kick my sister’s ass, Herbert?” she asked with mock-sweetness, even as she stepped behind his father and casually draped her arms over his shoulders.
That gesture made William start under his arm, but Herbert merely smiled.
“It was a personality clash, cherie,” he replied, though he could not help but stare as well as his father lifted his hands and threaded his fingers between Dawn’s as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Resting her chin on top of von Krolock’s head as he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips softly, Dawn’s gaze was fixed on Herbert. “If your personalities clash again,” she said pleasantly. “I’ll be cranky. You don’t want me cranky.”
Both of the younger vampires, however, were watching Herbert’s father, who seemed so at ease with the young mortal’s closeness and easy intimacy.
“Think I can see someone who wouldn’t mind it,” William volunteered, shying back a little when dark eyes flicked open and locked on his face. Herbert uttered a soft, comforting sound, nuzzling William’s temple.
“Probably not the best thing for you to notice, my silly darling,” he murmured, eyes fondly drinking in William’s expression.
Von Krolock’s upper lip curled slightly, baring a flash of a fang.
Dawn made a face at them both. “I’m gonna tell Buffy the same,” she said, one of her thumbs moving in a circle on von Krolock’s palm. “You guys start killing each other and sooner or later, I’ll have no one left and... well... that would suck.”
“I concur,” von Krolock murmured, tilting his head to kiss the inside of the girl’s slim wrist.
In Herbert’s loose embrace, William went rigid, concern pulling Herbert’s focus from the befuddling spectacle before him to the suddenly-tensed vampire in his arms.
Puzzled, Herbert followed his stare, then saw what William had seen. His own jaw dropped, his hand tensing on William’s shoulder, but whether in support or reassurance, he couldn’t be entirely sure. It might even have just been assurance that he was not lost in the meanderings of his imagination.
If he had been surprised by the mark on his father’s throat, it was doubled at the sight of the bite-mark adorning Dawn’s wrist.
“Nibs...” William’s voice was quaking and Herbert didn’t need to ask to know why, his own fingertips skirting William’s shoulder to brush across the long-placed traces of bites on William’s throat.
He felt William tremble, remembering the significance of the marks, even when they were given, months ago. Now, more than ever, the meaning was intensified and now, he wanted to add to them, re-affirm what he had said, what he had meant, wordless proof by the most binding of means.
Her eyes half-closed, Dawn’s cheek was resting against von Krolock’s hair, her expression as quietly blissful as his was. One side of her mouth pulled up and she forced an eye open. “Mm?”
“You... er... got something on your wrist...” Beneath Herbert’s hand, William was as tense as a wire, as if he could not believe what he was seeing, as if he had suspected that their... encounter would have been naught more than a brief dalliance.
Tilting her head to look down at her wrist, albeit reluctantly, Dawn’s smile was one of satisfaction. “Yup.”
And Herbert knew, from his own encounters with the girl, that she knew precisely what it meant and was entirely content with it. Whether William was aware of that or not, he did not know, but it meant Dawn was claimed, one of theirs now, in ways that went far deeper than they had before.
Slowly, he started to grin. That certainly explained his father’s mood.
“Er... Nibs, you do know... that is... er...”
Tilting his head to bring his lips close to William’s ear, Herbert murmured, “She knows precisely what it means, darling.” His grip on William tightened as he gave in to the desperate impulse and sank his fangs into William’s throat.
Clutching at him without care or thought for the presence of von Krolock or even Dawn, William’s low moan was like ambrosia, sweet, sinful perfection, every nuance carrying so much more meaning than it could have before.
Withdrawing his fangs, he kissed the wound, then brought his other hand across his body to bring William’s lips to his, kissing him softly, reverently. Blue eyes gazed at him with such captive wonder that he kissed the adorable darling once more.
“You’re mine now, darling,” he said, nuzzling William’s nose with the tip of his own. “No escape.”
“Bugger...” William feigned a grumble, smiling as he was soundly kissed again.
A faint, giddy sound reminded them abruptly that they were certainly not alone, and while William was quick to draw back, grinning and blushing a bit, Herbert was not entirely thrilled to do so.
Admittedly, it was worth looking up at her to see her clinging onto his father tightly and looking as if her face were about to crack from smiling.
“What?” he inquired, arching a brow.
“You two! You are so cute!” she exclaimed, then she smirked at Herbert. “And you, Herbert, are a big, fat liar!” Before he could protest, she turned to kiss his father warmly on the cheek. “Told you!”
Patting her hand indulgently, von Krolock could not mask his own smile. “Claimed, Herbert?” he murmured.
“Two in one night, father,” Herbert grinned with a pointed nod towards Dawn, who nodded and nuzzled his father’s silver hair happily.
Lowering her head, Dawn brushed a kiss and a whisper against his father’s cheek, something so quiet that, even straining to hear, it slipped by Herbert’s acute hearing, her flashing blue glance telling the golden-haired vampire that was precisely what she had intended.
Turning his head fractionally, von Krolock gazed up at her. The look on his father’s face made Herbert shiver, the slow curve of his lips utterly sensuous and he lifted her bitten wrist to kiss it once more.
Nudging Herbert’s ribs gently with his elbow, apparently unable to tear his eyes away from the pair, William mumbled, “I’m confused. Bit scared and all.”
“Agreed, cheri,” Herbert murmured, watching Dawn disentangle her fingers from his father’s and stroke his cheek with her knuckles.
Dawn’s face broke into a beatific smile, eyes dancing. “Then, I’ve done my job,” she said, kissing von Krolock’s temple fondly. “C’mon, sweetie. Spike can do his nurse-maid thing with his boyfriend.”
“Niblet!” William protested.
“What?” Dawn grinned widely at him.
He glanced at Herbert, who chuckled, then back at her. “Prefer something bit more manly,” he grumbled.
“Which part? The nursemaid or the boyfriend-having?”
Herbert’s lips pressed into a line and he was shaking silently. “Cherie, let him settle before you tease him?” he suggested when he forced his mirth under his control.
“You will rest?” Von Krolock’s gaze was penetratingly focussed on Herbert again.
“I’ll make sure he does, sir,” William said quickly, receiving a quick kiss for his promptness.
Rising from the bed, von Krolock nodded approvingly. “We have repairs to see to,” he said gravely. “And when next you encounter the Slayer in such a manner, do so within her property, Herbert.”
Sheepishly nodding, Herbert grimaced. “Yes, father,” he said apologetically.
Without another word, von Krolock offered his lover his arm and they seemed to just fade out of sight, leaving the two younger vampires sitting on the bed, staring at empty space.
“Um... so, he bit her, eh?”
“So it appeared,” Herbert agreed, then turned to look at his lover. “And she bit him also.” Grey eyes met blue and Herbert tilted William’s chin up. “As I see it, there is only one of our number who has not been bitten in the past evening.” Tilting his head slightly, he smiled. “I trust you remember what to do?”
Blue eyes tinting gold, William lifted a hand to cradle Herbert’s cheek. “I think so,” he said, leaning closer.
______________________
“Sure this is the place, G?”
“These were Willow’s exact co-ordinates,” Rupert Giles replied. After a flight from Turin to Sibiu, they had been met by an acquaintance of Vittorio’s, who had lead them straight to the helicopter they were presently descending in.
Below them, green land unrolled, tinted gold by late-afternoon sunlight, looking far too warm and friendly to be vampire-land.
While Giles didn’t doubt Willow as a powerful force, this time he had chosen to make the journey to seek out his wayward Slayer himself and, if need be, reclaim her body and avenge her.
Landing on an open meadow close to what looked like a manor house, he and Faith - the Slayer second only to Buffy in rank and experience - descended from the helicopter as the blades of the propeller slowed to a halt.
Strapping a crucifix to her thigh and a sword onto her back, Faith pulled a hefty crossbow out of the cabin. It was a monstrosity that could fire half-a-dozen arrows at once, which often proved useful when outnumbered by a faster foe, although it only usually served for one shot before hand-to-hand combat became necessary.
“Charming,” Giles said dryly. His own crossbow was lighter, efficient and deadly with a single bolt.
With a nod to the pilot, they made their way across the ankle-length grass, towards the house. Only when they were closer did it become apparent that this was no discreet manor in the middle of nowhere.
For one thing, the windows above the front door looked like they had been blown outwards by some kind of explosion and the gravel of the driveway was scorched and blackened by what looked like a firebomb.
“Call it a hunch, G,” Faith said from beside him, her voice dripping sarcasm. “But I think we’re in the right place.”
Glancing at the young woman, he could see the fire in her eyes, the energy already tensing her body, ready for the fight. Her finger was curled around the trigger, and she was grinning in an altogether wicked way.
Approaching the front door of the building, which was hanging ajar on its hinges, the Watcher motioned for her to be quiet, pushing the door open with one foot. Peering into the shadow, he could see nothing, but that wasn’t enough for the battle-ready woman beside him.
Uncaring of surprises, she pushed past him, into the building, crossbow held out in front of her.
“Faith!”
“S’clear!” Her voice rang back to him out of the darkness. “Jesus H Christ! Someone went to town here!”
With a roll of his eyes, Giles warily stepped into the shadowy doorway after her, his eyes taking a moment to adjust. His brows drew together at the carnage that Faith was standing in the midst of, the once-elegant lobby littered with shattered glass and broken woodwork.
There were scorches and cobwebbed splinters spreading on the polished wood of the walls, all marks of a battle with magic. Even the air was heavy with the scent of it, though it looked like hours had past.
“You know,” a voice spoke from the top of the staircase, “some would consider it good manners to knock at the door before entering.”
Faith whirled around, crossbow raised, her eyes on a shapeless figure in the shadows above her. “Door was open,” she replied. “Just here for the clean-up.”
Whoever he was, the speaker stepped out of the shadows. Tall and striking, he had long gold hair drawn back in a loose ponytail. Wearing a suit, he looked impeccable save for the cut that scored one cheek.
“Shipping in cleaners from America?” he inquired pleasantly. “My, my. Father really does spare no expense.” He inclined his head slightly. “We’ve been expecting you.”
“Indeed?” Giles moved closer to the Slayer.
The vampire smiled. “Of course,” he murmured, walking down the staircase with a slow, smooth tread. “Your charming young witch must have been quite beside herself when your Slayer vanished off her radar.”
Levelling her crossbow at his chest, Faith gazed at him. “You gonna tell us where B is, or do I gotta ruin that fine-lookin’ suit for you?”
With a casual gesture of one elegant, white hand, the vampire sighed. “Oh, I really would prefer it if you didn’t,” he said lightly. “Have you any idea how tiresome fittings are?”
Giles saw the grin cross Faith’s face and laid a hand on her shoulder. “If you would be so kind, could you tell me where she is?” he asked, his voice firm and quiet.
Fair eyebrows rose marginally. “What’s this? Someone from the Watchers Council with something akin to manners?” He laughed, halting halfway down the broad staircase. “This is, indeed, an occasion.”
Giles’ hand tensed on Faith’s shoulder. “Will you tell us where she is, please?” his voice was a little tenser, but the vampire was distracted from him by another voice, shouting from deeper within the building.
“… should have known… can’t trust you to do what you’re told…” Whoever it was, the voice sounded British and extremely put out. “I go for your sodding blood, so you won’t have to get up and what do you do? Leggit!”
“G…” Faith glanced up at him. “That sounds like…”
“If you’re not back in that bloody bed in five minutes, Herbie,” The voice was accompanied by stamping steps. “I swear I’ll drag you back by your hair and chain you to the sodding thing!”
The vehement exclamation was matched by the appearance of a second vampire at the top of the staircase. With rumpled tawny hair, oversized, expensive clothes and an utterly indignant expression it took Giles a moment to recognise him.
“So… again with the chains, huh?” Faith’s grin looked like it was trying to break off her face. “Died and resurrected, Fang the second, and you still got the kink.”
Abruptly, the newcomer’s attention was on them, without any sign that he had been unaware of theirpresence. Blue eyes stared down at her, then slid sideways to Giles and a wry, almost sheepish grin crossed the vampire’s lips.
“Spike.”
“Giles.” Hastily stepping down the stairs after the other vampire, Spike reached out and clasped one of the golden-haired creature’s elbows firmly. “What brings you all the way out here?” The other vampire chuckled wickedly. “Herbert?”
“Willow’s protection charm on Buffy was cut off,” Giles said. “We were…”
“Worried. Yeah…” Giving the other vampire a reprimanding look when his sounds of mirth only got worse, Spike sighed. “Slayer’s fine. The old Graf just had to shield her from a backdraught and that probably knocked it off.”
The tension that had been clenched around his innards relaxed and Giles let his hand drop from Faith’s shoulder. The Slayer glanced at him then nodded, lowering the hefty crossbow.
“So, B’s okay?” She reached back to adjust the sword on her back. “How ‘bout V and lil D?”
“More okay than this stupid arse,” Spike said, giving the grinning vampire a severe look.
“Cheri, I am fine,” the vampire said with a condescending pat to Spike’s gripping hand. “I told you that.” A finger jabbed his ribs abruptly and the golden-haired vampire hissed in pain. “You wicked little bastard.”
“And then some,” Spike replied evenly. “You, back to bed. Now.”
The vampire called Herbert gazed down at him for a moment, something akin to surprise on his face. Then, slowly, he smiled. He murmured something in Latin that Giles could just hear, the Watcher unable to hide a faint grin at the bashful, pleased look that crossed Spike’s face.
Making his way back up the stairs, his slowness now unmistakably caused by pain, Herbert glanced back down at Spike, who - despite his contented expression - folded his arms sternly and nodded down the hall.
For several moments, until a door closed in the distance, there was silence.
“Lookit you!” Faith said with a laugh. “Got the eye-candy whipped!”
“Nah,” Spike descended the staircase with an easy tread, looking far happier than Giles could ever remember seeing. “He’d probably like that, the daft poofter.”
“Takes one to know one, blondie,” Faith smirked at him.
Spike’s eyes glinted mischievously. “Jealous, Slayer? Saw the way you were looking at my boy.” He sighed mournfully. “Must be a hell of a loss, two prime pieces of meat taken off the market in one fell swoop.”
“Sorry, baby,” Faith laughed, her own expression wicked. “Stiffs just don’t do it for me.”
Spike snorted with mirth, his shoulders shaking as he turned his attention towards Giles. “Slayer and the pillock are upstairs somewhere,” he said. “Think Buffy wanted a word with the Niblet.”
“But all three are all right?”
The vampire nodded, grinning. “Pride might be a bit bruised on the prat,” he said, looking far too amused. “Slayer and Herbie had a bit of a tiff and his I’m-so-fabulous-ness decided to take a pot-shot at Herbie. His dad wasn’t too chuffed about it.”
“His Sire?” Giles inquired. While Willow had explained the unusual dynamic of the family, she had been unable to clarify several aspects, which - out of sheer force of habit - Giles felt he should know.
Spike shook his head, a lop-sided smile on his face. “Nah,” he replied. “Dad. Herbie’s old man is the Graf.” He gave Giles a knowing look, which implied he knew just how perplexing that was. “Never asked the wheres and whyfores, but yep. Father and son and both vampires.” He hopped down the last step, kicking aside some of the debris with one foot. “Should apologise for the mess, since he isn’t here to do it.”
“Lemme guess,” Faith looked around. “B and your boy?”
Spike snorted. “Slayer, when I said Herbie’s dad wasn’t chuffed about the pot-shot, I mean he took that poncy Italian apart.” He looked from one to the other. “Did wonder if you knew about him being a bit of a fan of the black magic.”
“Suspected,” Giles murmured, grimacing.
“Wish I’d taped it,” Spike looked around the destroyed lobby, a faint grin on his face. “Never saw anything like it... not even Red could have...” His words were cut off by an explosion outside.
A blossom of red light spread through the open doorway and Faith swore, racing back to peer out into the grounds. “Holy shit!”
“The helicopter?” Giles’ suspected his expression said everything, his entire body tensing all over again.
“It blew up!” Faith exclaimed, shock evident in her voice. “G, the goddamn chopper blew up!”
“You bought a...” Giles’ eyes snapped open and he glowered at Spike, who grimaced and nodded. “Yeah, bad time to ask, but the Graf... he wouldn’t just blow something up like... oh, bollocks...” He was staring past Faith and moved forward. “Back up, Slayer! Back it up, now!”
“Spike?”
“Long story! Slayer, move it!”
“Hell no!” Levelling her crossbow, the girl’s finger slid to the trigger. “That thing blew up my ride!”
“SLAYER!” Sticking his hand out into the sunlight, Spike caught Faith by the hair and pulled her forcefully back into the hall, his hand smouldering. Her bow wrenched upwards, finger tensing, and half-a-dozen bolts ripped through the leaves of nearby tree, stripping a dozen branches.
Without care, ignoring the obscenities she was hurling at him, he flung her behind him. She landed heavily, reaching for her sword as a blue-skinned figure continued to stalk towards the door.
Exhaling a breath and shaking his burnt hand, Spike stood on the edge of the shaft of dulling twilight, which seemed to be darkening all too quickly. He peered out of the door with a nod. “Evening, pet.”
Spotting him, the creature stopped, tilting its head slowly and looking him up and down, as if examining him. “You are unharmed,” it said, speaking with a woman’s voice, but layered over with deep, unsettling harmonics. “I bore witness to the arrival of the armed mortals. I felt...” Its brow creasing, the creature shifted its feet. “I would have ripped their bones from their flesh if they had left you dead.”
“You were worried, eh?” Spike’s grin and easy rapport with the leather-armour-clad creature gave Giles reassurance enough to move closer, helping Faith back to her feet and casting a wary eye over the demon.
Solid blue eyes gazed the vampire. “Your continued existence is not abhorrent to me.” Those eerie eyes focussed on Giles and Faith, the delicate feminine features hardening into an expression of distrust. “Their weapons?”
“Just precautions,” Spike replied, raising his hands soothingly. “Blue, these two are old mates of mine from years back. No harm-y, right?”
With a notably reluctant nod, the demon turned to look over a narrow shoulder. “I destroyed their sky carriage,” it observed, “If they had attempted to flee, I would have hunted them down like dogs.”
“No doubt,” Peering out at the sky, Spike stepped over the threshold. Overhead, the sky that had been blue moments before was black, thick clouds rolling over the face of the setting sun. “Bloody hell... look at the state of the lawn...”
“Least it wasn’t inside the house,” another voice said from further outside.
Spike looked sideways, grinning faintly. “Don’t think you could get a chopper through the front door, luv,” he observed, curiosity drawing both the Watcher and the Slayer closer to the open door.
Dawn had somehow managed to appear outside and was watching the remains of the helicopter burning. A cloaked figure was approaching the wreckage, moving like a vast, dark feline, one hand extended.
“Is that...”
“The Graf,” Spike supplied, cocking his head to one side to watch as a mist seemed to coalesce over the twisted metal, the lapping flames dulling and flickering out.
Turning, Dawn’s eyes widened in delight, then she launched herself at both Slayer and Watcher with an excited squeal “You guys! You should have called and told us you were coming!”
Given a rib-squeezing hug, Giles staggered slightly, his eyes still locked on the figure of the Graf, a vampire and sorcerer of legend. “Yes... well, if we had known...” he began to say as Dawn tackled Faith.
“Hey, no big! I like surprises!” The girl seemed to be positively bubbling over with energy and life, which was enough to tear Giles’ eyes from the Graf for a moment, his eyebrows rising. “And...” She paused, staring at the blue-skinned demon. “Uh... is this one of yours or one of ours?”
“Nibs, Illyria,” Spike said with a vague gesture. “Illyria, the Niblet.”
“Illyria?” Giles heard himself echo, looking with new eyes at the blue-skinned demon. The destroyer of worlds and scourge of lesser demons as he recalled. Some kind of demon from an ancient age, yet here it was standing before them.
It really did seem a day for legends to appear.
The blue-eyed demon regarded the girl, then slowly nodded. “The mortal who will not depart,” it said.
Dawn met the demon’s look with a defiance Giles remembered well from her sister, years earlier. “Damn straight,” she said. “You got a problem with that, Bluey?”
“Spike spoke well of his chosen morsel,” the demon replied flatly. “Until he wishes you dead, I will not cause any harm to you.”
“Even then,” A smooth, rich voice made Giles look up sharply from Dawn. Without even seeming to move, the silver-haired and black-cloaked vampire was standing before them, within touching distance of Dawn. His black eyes were fixed on Illyria with an electric intensity. “You will not harm her.”
Blue eyes stared baldly back at the vampire, then - to Giles’ surprise - it bowed its head in acknowledgement. “If that is your choosing,” it said.
A long-nailed hand was laid on Dawn’s shoulder. “It is,” he said quietly, sternly, his expression grave and calm. Those dark eyes moved from the demon’s face to Faith, then to Giles, who suspected he was staring rather more than was polite. “Rupert Giles, I presume?”
Habitual manners nudged his hand forward and he felt the cool touch of the vampire Lord’s fingers briefly grasping his. “Y-yes, I am Rupert Giles.”
The dark eyes seemed to be reading every line of his face, examining him inside and out, clear and steady, then the Graf inclined his head, withdrawing his hand. “The Master of the Watchers Council is, of course, welcome.”
“Master of...” From the doorway, a woman’s voice spoke. “Giles?”
Half-turning, Giles felt relief rush through him at the sight of his longest-standing Slayer. “Buffy! You are all right!” he exclaimed in spite of himself. She nodded, hurrying towards him.
“You thought...”
“Your wards went blank,” Giles hastened to explain, turning to face her fully. “I’m afraid Willow went into shock. She feared that you had been hurt.”
Buffy smiled but there was a brittleness about it that made him reach out, grasp her shoulder reassuringly. “I’m good,” she replied. “Just got in the way of the wrong kind of magic.”
“I told you that.” The striking young vampire from the staircase stepped out behind her, leaning gingerly against the edge of the doorframe. He glanced towards the ruined helicopter, his eyebrows arching. “William, have you been destroying property again? Because father does get ann...”
“Herbert,” Spike’s voice was more growl than speech. “What did I tell you?”
For a brief moment, there was absolute stillness, all eyes turning to the sandy-haired vampire. Spike’s eyes were flashing dangerously and his hands were clenching into fists by his sides.
The attention of the watchers automatically moved towards the blond vampire, who was looking a good deal more wary than he had been only moments earlier.
“I saw the fireball, Wil...”
“What did I tell you?” Spike pushed rudely past Giles and Buffy, reaching out to grab Herbert’s arm. He was glaring up at the slightly taller vampire, giving his arm a shake. “You weren’t bloody listening were you?”
Grey eyes stared back down at him, a strange emotion flickering in them.
Spike’s glare was more potent than a threat in keeping the fair-haired vampire silent and Spike turned to look over at the Graf. “Sir, no offence, but I’m taking your son upstairs and I’m going to tan his bloody hide.”
“William,” the Graf’s voice rippled through the air like heavy silk. “Surely he has injuries enough to contend with.”
Spike stared at him for a moment, and Giles could have sworn that some unspoken message seemed to pass between them, a faint smile playing lazily across the Graf’s pale lips.
Uncaring of the Watcher, Slayer or demons, Spike turned swiftly, reaching up to tangle a hand in Herbert’s hair, pulling his head aside and biting into his throat with a savagery that made Buffy exclaim and Faith swear aloud.
“This time,” Spike hissed, releasing Herbert’s hair. “You listen.”
And, without further ado, he dragged the gaping Herbert back into the house.
There was a heartbeat of silence.
“Go Spike,” Faith uttered with a whistle of awe.