Chapter 12



Spike didn’t pause to glance back over his shoulder as he left the mansion. He couldn’t take a car—too noisy—the Occasus Clan were bound to have minions positioned just outside the perimeter as back up. Tradition dictated that an entering clan was only allowed to bring a select number of minions into rivalling clan’s territory, unless waging a full out attack. The rule didn’t stop them from having back up close by—they would be stupid if theydidn’t. Still, it made his job harder. Angelus was going to skin him alive when he realised that Spike hadn’t just ‘stepped out’.

The tension that had lingered over the two clans throughout the formalities of the meeting had only increased as the two clans finally seated themselves around the symbolically circular table. Only the Occasus Clan hadn’t been there to discuss a peace treaty, nor a union between the clans. Buffy—they wanted her, they claimed she belonged to them. Spike’s demon was howling with rage.

He slipped down the mansion steps with all the stealth and speed that he possessed. Eyes and ears were everywhere tonight and not all of them friendly. He didn’t have time to deal with anyone who took the initiative and tried to follow him.

He stuck to the shadows and made his way around the side of the house, only stopping to avoid drawing the attention of a lazy minion. It was almost amusing, the way he effortlessly managed to slip by unnoticed. The minions that the other clan had posted around the perimeter were either grossly under-trained, or cocky enough to believe that they didn’t need to remain constantly vigilant.

Spike had already made his way halfway across the grounds when he spotted the large black limousine that had delivered their visitors. His hesitation barely lasted a second before he quickly changed course and was making his way across the gravel to the back of the car unseen. Nimble fingers slipped into his pockets and withdrew a small black gadget. Hazarding a quick glance around, he quickly secured the item to the underside of the car—far enough out of sight that it wouldn’t be discovered until it was too late.

Spike smirked and resisted the urge to chuckle as he stood once more and slunk back into the shadows out of sight. He didn’t stop again until he had cleared the mansion gates and its numerous sentries.

Spike effortlessly navigated himself down the familiar path to the car he kept outside the mansion’s gates. Running his hand lovingly over the hood of the old Desoto, Spike reached in through the driver’s side window and turned the key. A proud smirk stretched its way across his face as she roared to life under his touch. “That’s my girl.”

Quickly pulling open the door, Spike threw himself into the car and tore off into the night. “Now to find my other girl.”


*****


Angelus’ head was pounding with the implications of what the other clan was presenting to them. Buffy couldn’t belong to them—Penn wouldn’t have violated such magicks, even drunk he respected their power. If that was true though, Christian’s clan had no claim over her. He had said as much but it seemed that they had an answer for every argument that was thrown at them.

“Buffy may not have been physically marked, but her mother was,” Christian said with a smug smile as his gaze clashed with Angelus’. “I marked her myself. It is a familial claim that extends to all of Joyce’s kin and therefore to Buffy.”

“I’ve tasted Buffy’s blood—there was nothing of you in her blood. Your claim holds no power over her,” Angelus stated. And it was true. There were no traces of Christian in her blood, and no trace of the Occasian Line. She had tasted of Penn—she had even tasted like faint traces of Anna from the small part of his mate that that Penn had still held within him at the time—but nothing that linked her to their rivalling clan.

“A claim such as that only holds if Joyce was marked before Buffy’s birth.” The Aurelian Master said calmly.

“She was,” Christian said as he smiled at Angelus across the table, his challenging gaze never wavering as he refused to show the Aurelian Master the proper respect his title demanded.

Angelus’ eyes flashed dangerously. “All traces of you and whatever power you may have once held over her are gone. You will not take my childe from me. She is of Aurelian blood; would you accept such a childe into your midst? She belongs with her clan.”

“We ARE her clan!” The Ancient’s anger was an almost tangible force in the room, his power spreading outwards as his anger grew. “It has been done before! Who are you to say it cannot be done again? Does your clan not have a history of accepting a childer of tainted blood into your midst? One who you even deemed worthy enough to become Clan Leader at a later date?”

Silence rung throughout the room following the outburst.

“Surely you do not talk of Simone?” The Aurelian Master asked after a moment’s pause. No one answered.

“I will never let you take her, she is not yours to take,” Angelus growled, his demon bursting onto his features in his anger.

“You have no choice; the scars on her mother’s neck speak differently. The claim still stands and you are not only bound by ancient magicks but also by law to release her into our care. Buffy is ours,” the Ancient spat at him in annoyance. His eyes were glimmering with something more than just suppressed rage—there was a madness behind them that hadn’t shown itself until this moment. There was more to the clan wanting Buffy than just asserting their claim over her mother.

“She will always carry Aurelian blood. Her loyalties will always lie with our clan,” Darla spoke up from her position to the right of the Master. “What use do you have for a fledgling childe that is bound to betray you at every turn? She will never be an Occasian.”

The Ancient turned his cold stare onto her. To Darla’s credit, she didn’t flinch under his gaze as some lesser vampires would have. “A Second Turning should suffice in changing that,” he answered in a voice that matched his gaze.

The entire room froze in shock—both the Aurelian and Occasian vampires looking towards the Ancient in shock. It was common knowledge that the practice of the ritual known as a Second Turning had been banned from further practice for centuries. The Aurelian Master stood so quickly that his chair toppled over behind him. He pushed himself up to tower over the table in anger—the first sign of emotion that he had shown all night. The Ancient rose to meet him.

“That ritual has been dormant for centuries!” The Master snarled.

“And yet you practiced its sister ritual on the childe in question not two weeks ago!” The Ancient argued back.

“Its sister ritual was not banned from practice as this ritual was!” The Master growled in incredulous anger. “You ignorant fool! You have no idea of the lasting effects that it can cause! Have you not read any of the chronicles on it? You risk far more than just killing her.”

An almost predatory calm washed over the Occasian leader as he settled himself quietly back into his seat at the table. “I believe that detail will be rectified in a matter of days.”

The Master snarled in righteous anger. “Damn the laws and you ancient magicks! I will not let you take her, only to subject her to this archaic ritual.”

“It is too late for that, my friend. This meeting was merely a formality, nothing more. My minions are out there hunting her at this very moment.” The Ancient smirked at the look of outrage that flashed across the Aurelian’s face. “One fledgling against five of my most loyal minions? I don’t see her giving them much of a run for their money, do you?”


*****


Spike felt fear grip him as he pulled up at the crash site Buffy’s scent had lead him to. He could smell blood everywhere. He could smell her blood everywhere. He switched off the engine of the Desoto in a daze as he stared out at the mess before him. What had they been doing driving down this road anyway?

As he got out of his car, his eyes darted to the elderly man lying in the middle of the road. The pallor of his skin and the twin holes in his neck told him he was dead—though he had been dead before he was drained. Spike’s eyes gravitated to the skid marks that seemed burned into the road and suddenly he knew what had happened. His eyes traced the skid marks from the road down into the ditch where the car had wrapped itself around the base of a large tree.

His feet carried him half way over to it before he had even realised he was running. He knew Buffy wasn’t there before he got to it—he couldn’t sense her anywhere near the crash site—yet he still felt his heart drop when he reached the car and she wasn’t inside. Someone else had beaten him to it.

Spike’s eyes were drawn to the young girl in the driver’s seat. She smelt familiar, she smelt of Buffy. “Dawn?”

The girl didn’t stir as he called her name. Spike frowned and crawled into the car so he could reach her. “Dawn? Dawn, wake up!”

His fingers ghosted over the dark bruising on her forehead and the gash that ran almost the length of her face from where she had been thrown sideways and her head had connected with the driver’s side window. Lacerations littered her arms and torso—presumably caused from the windshield glass that was now strewn about the front seat and floor.

“Dawn? Nibblet!”

He fumbled to unclasp her seat belt—the only thing that most likely prevented her from flying through the windshield on impact—and pulled her gently from the car. She moaned in his arms as he gently laid her out on the road and checked her over for any further injuries.

He ran his hands over her body impersonally as he checked for broken bones and internal bleeding. Apart from the cuts and bruising she seemed to have escaped unharmed. Spike looked across at the angle at which the car had curled itself around the tree. How fast had they been driving? She was lucky to escape as unharmed as she had.

The indentation in the passenger side window told him Buffy may not have been so lucky.

Don’t think about that. Spike shook his head to clear his thoughts as he turned back to the girl stretched out in front of him. Buffy would never forgive him if he let anything happen to her sister. Not that he had any intentions of leaving her, but her continued unresponsiveness was worrying. He had no idea how to treat humans—everything about them was so fragile, so mortal.

“Dawn? Can you hear me?”

A small moan escaped her lips. That’s what he wanted, a response. Everything would be okay if he could just get her to wake up.

“Buffy?”

Her eyelids fluttered open to look up at him through bleary eyes. Spike let out sigh of relief. Dawn frowned at him in confusion for a split second before wincing at the pain it caused the cut that ran from her temple and down the side of her face.

Her hand instinctively came up to touch her head, panic washing away the confusion on her face as her fingers came away covered in blood. “Oh my god! I’m bleeding!”

“Shit!” Spike mumbled as he reached out to calm the panicking teen “Dawn! You’re going to be okay. You were in a car crash and you cut your head pretty badly,” he said as he gently took hold of her wrists and pulled her hands away from her face.

She struggled against him for a moment as panic gripped her. “I’m bleeding! I’m gonna die!”

“Dawn!” Her eyes snapped to his. “You’re not going to die, okay? Your head got pretty knocked up in the accident, but you’re fine. I promise you.”

She nodded numbly as she stared at him. Slowly he let go of her hands and let out a breath as she lowered them gently into her lap.

“Who the hell are you?” She said as it finally sunk in that she had no idea who the man hovering over her prone form was.

Spike looked at her for a moment unsure what to tell her. He gave her a weary smile as he helped her to sit up, “I’m your sister’s boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend? Buffy has a—Oh my God! Buffy! Where is she?” Dawn gripped Spike’s arm as she tried to spin around to look at what was left of the wreck that was once her car. “They got her! They were after us and they got her!”

“Shh, Dawn, I’ll get her back. I promise.” He watched as the teen burst into tears and started to struggle with her breathing. Her eyes were wide as she fought to draw air. She was wheezing with each intake of breath and clutching her chest as her breaths came in small shallow pulls. “Dawn?” Dawn you have to calm down. Take deep slow breaths of air—watch me.” He demonstrated taking a slow breath in through his nose before releasing it through his mouth. “Think you can do that?”

Dawn nodded erratically and started trying to imitate his breathing. Spike was rubbing slow circles on her back as she fought to get her breathing back under control.

“Good girl,” he murmured as her breathing began to even out again. “That better?”

Dawn nodded and slumped against him. “I don’t even know your name.”

“You can call me Spike.”


AN: Thanks to Andrea for the beta :D and to everyone who has reviewed *hugs*