Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ Cult - Printer Friendly Version
New Order - A Buffy the Vampire Slayer novella
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Chapter Two
Spike snarled, lips curling back from his fangs, and he furrowed his thickened brow as he glared into Drusilla's eyes at the new awareness in them, at the thing that had taken her over.
"Seems you've got me mixed up with some other chap enjoys havin' his chain yanked," he said. "I suggest you vacate the premises or things'll get more'n a little ugly."
Drusilla tossed her head back but the laugh that issue from her perfect lips was cold and unearthly. It belonged to the presence within her, this thing that had introduced itself as Laibach.
"Most excellent," the thing said. "Even in the face of superior might, you continue to posture. Yes, you will do nicely."
Spike clenched and unclenched his fists. He wanted to strike, to tear it apart with his bare hands and make it scream, but the only thing there to strike at was Drusilla's perfect alabaster skin.
"Right, then, stowaway. What is it you want with us?"
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Drusilla cocked her head oddly and Laibach stared at him with her shiny dark eyes. "She is in here with me. Your lover is fine - for now. Do as I tell you and she will continue to live. Act foolishly and I guarantee she will suffer horribly."
To his dismay and disgust, the first thing that crossed Spike's mind at these words was Sunnydale, the place he hated most in the world. Thing was, if this had happened back there, he could have tracked down the stuffy Watcher, Giles, or the cute little redheaded witch girl who spent so much time with the Slayer, and forced one of them to figure out who this Laibach was and how to get him out of Dru.
But they weren't in Sunnydale. It made him sick to think he might be better off if they were. With a slow nod, Spike reached into the inside pocket of his long leather coat and plucked out his cigarettes. He stuck one in his mouth, then leaned against the wall, eyeing Drusilla carefully, feeling the sinister gaze of the thing within her weighing heavily on him. He didn't know anyone in Paris who didn't want to kill him. No one to help. Time to parley. Talk was best.
For now.
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"First things first," he hissed, pulling out his lighter. "What's your story - and why me? Why us?"
Laibach blinked Drusilla's eyes slowly, sluggishly, reminding Spike of a crocodile he'd once fed a Montacqeua demon to in Africa. "I am the Laibach, vampire," the rumbling voice said. "That you do not recognize the name of one of the Old Ones, one of the Elder Gods of the Universe, reveals you as ignorant. I hope that you are not also stupid."
The ancient demonic deity spread Drusilla's arms in presentation. "Your mate is inhabited by greatness - you should be honoured."
Spike was silent as he lit the tip of his new cigarette and slid the lighter back into his pocket. He took a long drag and blew smoke from his nostrils before responding. "An Elder, eh? Always wanted to meet one of you blokes. Y'know, have a chat over a pint or two, find out what makes the universe go tick-tock. Don't suppose it's as simple as that, is it?"
Drusilla shook her head, a disturbing smile spreading across her pale features.
"Didn't think so," Spike said as he took another toke from his cigarette.
"If things were simple, my kind would have been returned to our rightful home three score ago," the thing inside Drusilla said.
"What's the old adage? Good things come to those who wait."
"Your arrogance offends me," Laibach said with a rumbling gurgle. "If I did not need you to assist me in gathering the surviving members of the Order of Aurelius, I would destroy you where you stand."
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Spike brought the cigarette down from his mouth and stared. "Order of Aurelius?" he asked. "Sorry sport, but I'm not a member o' the club. I'm sort of a third cousin, once removed. My great granny vamp, Darla, she was a lady of the club. Angelus, for about two seconds, maybe. But Dru and me, we never even played their golf course. Can't help you - now, can I have my girlfriend back?"
Laibach cocked Drusilla's head to the other side, confusion in her gaze. "You led the Order, yes?"
"Yeah," Spike said with a sigh. "You caught me. I thought you were talking about the old days. I led 'em, but only for a little bit. I was looking for a gang; they were looking for a leader. You know how it is. All a matter of convenience really. Fella you're looking for was called the Master. Afraid to say he's dead now. Killed by the Slayer."
Laibach stiffly raised Drusilla's arm to point at him. "Fool. You think there is no pattern to these events? The Order of Aurelius cannot be led by any soulless husk. You are of the bloodline of Heinrich Joseph Nest, him who you called the Master. He led the Order. At his destruction, they followed you because they sensed his blood in you. Now you shall help to re-establish the Order, then we shall revive your Master."
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Spike threw up his hands in protest, cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Let's just stop right there, shall we. He was never my master. And besides, the Slayer ground his bones to dust. Don't know of any black magic that can return a bloke from that journey."
Drusilla moved awkwardly toward him, a snarl on her lips. "You know nothing." She stopped and looked up into the starry night sky. "For my return - and the return of other Old Ones, the Order must be re-established." She lowered her head and gazed at him with eyes not her own. "And when this is done, you shall return to Sunnydale, there to be met by the necromancer Matereani - whom I have also called. He will aid you in returning Nest from beyond the pale."
"Like hell I will," Spike spat as he flicked the still smouldering butt of his cigarette to the ground. "I've had my fill of that burg, thank you very much. Find another member of the Aurelius fan club to burden 'cause this bloke is not going back to... "
Laibach presented Drusilla's body to him, gently touching her face and neck. "You love this one?" Laibach asked, interrupting the vampire's rant.
Spike remained silent as he watched Drusilla's hands move over the curves of her body.
"Your silence answers my question. You will do everything I ask or your lover will suffer."
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Spike bared his fangs to the ancient deity. "You'll leave her alone. This is between the two of us."
Drusilla grinned and raised her hand. Slowly she drew a sharp fingernail down her face, carving a slice in her skin, blood dripping down her cheek.
"Oh, the terrible things I could do to her. Let me count the ways." Laibach began to count on her fingers. "I could scar her. I could walk her into the sun. I could deprive her of sustenance, revelling in the pain as she withers away with starvation. Crushing her already fragile psyche to send her even deeper into the grip of madness could be entertaining. And then I could always... "
Spike held up a hand for Laibach to stop. "Right. Got it. Give you dusty old gits a mouth and you can't shut up," Spike said, resignation in his tone. "I'll do what you ask, as long as you release her unharmed."
Laibach grinned. "Wonderful," he hissed. "I knew you were a reasonable beast. Do as I ask and when the Master is reborn, Drusilla will be released."
The dark god outlined its plan. Spike nodded and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, seething with rage. How it ate at him not to be in control.
"Got a question for you, Laibach," he said when the demon had finished. He took another cigarette from the crumpled pack in his pocket. "Are you planning on giving me a hand or... "
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Drusilla suddenly stiffened, her head bending back on her delicate neck, eyes closed. "There are other tasks I must attend to. For the moment, you may have the female back," Laibach said. "Do not disappoint me, vampire. I have waited far too long for this plan not to bear fruit."
Spike took a drag from his latest cigarette and blew a plume of smoke into the air. "Don't you worry about me, mate. I'm all about pleasing the great Old Ones. What I live for, really," he said with a malicious sneer.
Drusilla's eyes fluttered and then closed and she swooned. Spike swore loudly and caught her as she began to fall. Then, slowly, as if rising from a deep sleep, she opened her eyes and performed a feline stretch in his arms.
"I went away for a little bit, didn't I?" she asked, as though the idea were pleasantly naughty.
"Just a bit," Spike agreed, caressing her face where the gash Laibach had made was already healing.
"It was the strangest place and so beautiful, " Dru said airily. "All the screaming and the floating things, like sea monsters in the air. Like a dream, and the world was built with queer geometry. "
"Well you're back now, poodle. And Spike is gonna keep you safe. Not to fret about it; not at all."
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Drusilla's right hand sketched the air as though she were brushing cobwebs away from her and then she touched her fingers to her forehead where the archaic symbol of Laibach still adorned her.
Whatever pleasure she had taken from the experience of being possessed, it fled now and her eyes glazed over slightly. Abruptly she leaned into him and Spike caught her, held her as she fell weakly into his arms.
"My head's all fuzzy and crowded." Drusilla brought her hand away and gazed at her lover with troubled eyes. "Got something old and dusty inside my skull, Spike. Don't like it at all. It doesn't hear the calliope music, nor see the sparkly lights. It's all dirty, and not at all in the good way."
As he looked into her eyes, Spike felt nothing but rage. "Not to worry, love," he assured her, "your Spike'll make things right. Right as rain."
supporting her as gently as he could manage, he began to guide her away from the patch of shadow where the ancient evil had made its passage into the world.
"We're going on a trip, aren't we, Spike? The voice in my head tells me it's so."
He pulled her closer. "Yes we are, love," Spike replied, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. "Truth of it is, we're going home. The Big Bad has got some business to attend to in jolly old London town."
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Spike walked into the Fatted Calf Pub on London's East End with a limp Drusilla leaning against his shoulder as though she had one too many pints of bitters. She had been growing progressively weaker since leaving Paris, barely touching the conductor he had brought her on the train that passed beneath the English Channel.
He helped Dru to the back of the tavern where he sat her in one of the cosy wooden booths. It was strange, walking the streets of this old neighbourhood again. They'd been here together so many times, had spent time in this very pub more than a century earlier, when a human predator's bloodlust had outmatched that of every vampire in London and claimed the attention of both the papers and of Scotland Yard. He drew so many Bobbies into the streets, that careless lad, that Spike and Drusilla themselves had nearly been caught one night with their fangs in the neck of a Whitechapel whore. They'd left town after that, waiting for things to cool down. But before they left, they ate the young man who had nearly cost them everything. So much for the "Ripper. "
Now Spike watched as Drusilla's head lolled back against the white plaster wall. The rage had left him for the moment. All his thoughts had been consumed by concern for her well-being, and that meant that for now, he would do whatever Laibach instructed him to do.
Dru's eyes fluttered open to look at him. Something was missing from her gaze, the spark that made her what she was, held in check by an ancient power. His Drusilla had been taken from him and he would do anything to get her back.
"Rest a bit, love. Got to see a man about a spot of business. I'll be back to collect you shortly."
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Her eyes rolled upward and she smiled. "The nasty kitty has eaten up all the squeaky little mice, Spike," she said as she reached up to weakly caress his face. "Crushed their bitty mouse skulls in his teeth. Be careful he doesn't try to eat you up too."
Usually he would try to find the hidden meaning in her bizarre ramblings, but tonight he just didn't have it in him. His patience had grown incredibly thin over the past twelve hours.
"Cats and mice. Right. All very helpful," he muttered as he turned to gaze about the pub.
The establishment was nearly empty. The barkeep stood at his station drying the same glass mug over and over and a patron played a solitary game of darts. A guitar-screeching remake of the old Aretha Franklin tune Chain of Fools was on the sound system. Again his mind skipped back over the long years of his existence and he recalled an age of great composers and fine opera, an era before electricity changed music forever. Then rock, and then punk, and images skittered through his head of mop-top boys and screaming girls, and then boys and girls both with spiked hair and painted faces and an anger they could never put a label on.
London was always evolving. And no matter how far he strayed away from the city, Spike evolved right along with it.
Spike was on his way to ordering up a pint when he sensed that something was wrong. He had been so caught up with Drusilla that he hadn't noticed the pungent smell mixing freely with the fragrant aromas of the old watering hole. Despite the stench of cigarettes and urine and stale beer, that one smell, that coppery aroma, made his mouth water.
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Blood, lots of it. Spike stopped mid way to the bar and carefully glanced about his surroundings. There, stacked near the entrance to the restrooms, were the bodies of the patrons of the Fatted Calf. A quick glance at the few tables where living customers sat rigid, staring at him, drinks untouchedin front of him, and he smiled. This was interesting. Maybe this assignment wouldn't be so difficult after all.
He approached the bar where the bartender continued to dry his mug, a look of absolute terror carved into his red, spotty features.
"Give us a pint," he said slapping the bar top in an attempt to get the man's attention.
The barkeep stared dumbly over at the only living customer who did not seem paralysed with fear, the man playing darts. Spike reached across the bar, grabbed a mug and helped himself to the tap. Then he approached the dart player.
"Service is bloody awful in this place," Spike said as he sipped the warm and frothy dark ale from his mug.
The man didn't respond but let a dart fly into the board very close to the bulls-eye. Spike studied him as he readied another shot. He was big, powerfully built with slicked jet-black hair and skin the colour of burnt copper. Indian or Pakistani, he guessed. The man moved with an unusual grace not common to humans and as he readied to throw another dart, Spike noticed the mark on the back of his hand, very similar to the one that currently adorned Drusilla's forehead. There was no doubt that this was the person he was supposed to be looking for.
Spike drank some more as the man pulled back and let another dart fly. "Not one for small talk. I can respect that," he said. "Let's move along then, shall we? You're Malik, yeah?"
Another dart flew, but this time the player faltered and the projectile thunked into the wall above the dartboard.
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"Thought so," Spike noted, though with little of the satisfaction he might have felt if circumstances were different. "I've got a job for you. You're to let your little Order of Aurelius mates know that they're to gather in Sunnydale for a reunion of sorts."
The vampire playing darts chuckled deep in his chest; the sound reminded Spike of the rumbling growl of some great jungle beast. "Oh, that's rich. William the Bloody has a job for me? Or do you prefer Spike these days?"
His accent sounded more American than British, but with the length of time some vampires walked the earth, it was often impossible to tell where they came from merely from the way they spoke.
Spike grinned evilly. "It appears my reputation precedes me," he said as he toasted the man with his mug and then took another sip.
The large vampire whirled to face him. "Your reputation is shite!" he bellowed. "Pretender and fool, that is your reputation amongst the Order. The Master is no longer with us and you cannot hope to replace him. Or did you think we would forget that you tried this once before, that you killed the one he himself had anointed to follow him?""
Spike sucked back the last of his pint in one long draught. "Yeah, sorry about that," he said as he placed his empty mug on the bar. "Really awful of me." He noisily licked his lips, savouring the residue of the alcohol. "As I was saying... "
Mailik snarled. "The Order has seen your idea of leadership," he spat, "your failures in defeating the Slayer. They will never be your lackeys again."
Spike sniffed, nostrils flaring in quiet fury. "Tell you the truth, mate, if I needed lackeys I might be better served lifting up the nearest rock. That lot are about as fearsome a bunch of vampires as you'd find in a bowl o' Count Chocula."
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"Blasphemy!" Mailik bellowed, eyes were wide with rage. He drew back his arm and let fly the three remaining darts in his hand.
The darts hit Spike's chest dead centre with a hollow thud, punched through clothing and skin, and stuck there. He stumbled backward and gazed down at the feathered protrusions.
"No thanks," he growled as he plucked the three darts from his flesh and tossed them to the floor with a clatter. "I don't care for the game meself. I fancy something with a bit more physical contact."
He launched himself across the pub and struck a blow that connected with the vampire's midsection. They hit the floor in a flurry of limbs and brutal assaults. Spike grabbed Mailik by his thick black hair and drove his head back viciously into the floor once, twice, three times.
"Yeah, that's more like it," he said with a toothy grin. "And what's your problem with breakfast cereal, anyway? It's the one damn thing the Americans do right."
Mailik bucked savagely and threw him off. Spike quickly got to his feet, a billiards table at his back. He snatched up a cue stick and brandished it like a spear. "Not quite sure how ol' Laibach'll feel about me turning you to dust, but right now I just can't seem to care."
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The other vamp stood across from Spike in a coiled crouch, his long black hair hanging in front of his dark, foreign features. His yellow eyes gleamed eerily from beneath the hanging tresses. "How dare you utter the name of the greatest of the Old Ones. This blasphemy cannot go unpunished."
Spike stalked closer, billiard cue at the ready. "Well then, don't keep me waiting."
"So be it," the vampire hissed, tearing at his clothing as he got down on all fours, his body beginning to tremble. "Witness the power bestowed upon me by the Elders."
Spike laughed. "What, pretending to be a pup, are we? I want to shove this stick through yer bleedin' heart, not have you fetch it."
His enemy responded with a guttural moan, face contorting in pain as his skull began to change. Spike winced at the sound of popping joints and stretching ligaments. Mailik 's limbs grew thicker and longer; reddish brown hair sprouted from his pores to cover the exposed flesh of his body.
Spike watched in awe as his vampire opponent changed into a massive, demonic thing like some nightmarish Bengal tiger. "Bloody hell," he muttered.
Mailik let loose with a deafening roar and bound toward him. Spike tensed, preparing to skewer the monstrous cat on the end of his cue. But the bestial Mailik skidded to a stop before him. One of its enormous paws lashed out like lightning, swiping the stick from his grasp. Spike gazed down in horror to see that deep furrows had been torn in his right hand.
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The giant cat purred as it licked Spike's blood from its paw with an enormous pink tongue.
Spike backed up and away from the beast until his back hit the bar. The barkeep was still working on the glass - hollow-eyed and drooling - as the tiger slowly padded closer. He watched for any telltale sign of attack, the blink of an eye, the twitch of a claw.
The muscles in its flanks suddenly tensed and Spike knew that the great cat would be upon him in an instant. As it leapt, Spike spun around grabbed the man by the shirtfront and hauled him into the path of the tiger. The monstrous beast dragged the man down to the floor and begun ripping him apart before realizing it was not his intended prey. Mailik, his white muzzle stained with the blood of the bartender, looked up as Spike came at him with a broken bottle.
"It's not much," he said thrusting the jagged edge into the throat of the tiger with all his vampiric strength, "but it should do the trick."
The demon-cat shrieked with pain and leaped back as blood squirted from the wound and spattered the tavern floor.
"There's a pretty kitty," Spike hissed, bloody bottle still in hand.
The bleeding from the tiger's throat slowed to a trickle as it positioned itself low to the ground, preparing to pounce again. Their eyes locked, each predator searching for a weakness in the other. Spike thought he had won when the tiger's eyes suddenly shifted away.
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Drusilla.
All through the melee he had tried to keep Mailik 's attention away from her. She was too weak even to defend herself, too...
Spike's thoughts faltered as he saw that Dru had left the relative safety of the booth and was walking toward them.
"Drusilla, get back!" he barked at her.
Mailik purred. Then he lunged for her. The demonic beast landed in front of Drusilla and pulled back one its front paws, preparing to swipe at her.
Spike scrambled to reach her.
The monstrous tiger reared back its great head and roared. Drusilla clapped happily, then tossed back her head and roared as well, her long black tresses trailing down her back.
The tiger did not complete its strike. Slowly it brought its paw down and leaned closer to study its prey. It sniffed Drusilla's face and she began to giggle.
"That'll be enough of that, puss," Spike heard his lady love say as she placed her hand on its muzzle and pushed the large face away, as though playing with a simple house cat.
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Spike finally reached her, knocking her to the floor out of the path of the savage cat.
"That wasn't at all nice, you nasty man," she spat angrily, raking her nails down his face and drawing blood.
He recoiled. "I was only gettin' you out of harm's way," he said and turned to face the tiger. "Maybe I should've just let him eat you whole."
Mailik had returned to human form and was on his knees, head bowed in reverence.
"What in Hell?" Spike sputtered.
The creature that was a vampire but also much more raised his head to look at Drusilla who now stood unsteadily beside Spike.
"She bears the mark of Laibach," he said and placed his fingers to his forehead briefly. "It is true, you do speak for the highest powers and I have no choice but to listen." He again bowed his head.
"I told you he'd try to eat you," Drusilla whispered into Spike's ear. She began to lick the wounds she had just inflicted on his cheek. "But you're not a little mousey, are you? Not my Spike. He's a big dog."
Spike took one of her hands in his, brought it to his mouth and kissed it. "That you did, my love, that you did. You'd think by now I'd have the common sense to pay attention."
They moved toward Mailik, who still knelt in obeisance.
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"As I was saying before you used me as a bloody dart board," Spike said with disgust. "You're to gather up the members of the Order still in England and head to Egypt. We'll meet in Cairo."
Rashas raised his head and looked at them. "It will be done."
Spike led Drusilla to the door where he stopped and turned back to the shape shifter. "Just a friendly reminder, Tigger," he said as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket and placed one in his mouth. "I'm calling the shots in the Hundred Acre Wood. Understand?" He lit the cigarette and waited for the other vampire to reply.
Mailik said nothing but nodded his head.
"Right then," Spike said, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. He pointed the smouldering cigarette at Mailik. He smiled devilishly and escorted Drusilla out into the night.
"Are we going to Egypt now, Spike?" Drusilla asked wearily as the door slowly closed behind them. "To see the tombs?"
It had started to rain.
"That we are, pet," Spike answered.
"Fantastic," she responded. "I wonder if the desert will remember me?"
Spike held her close, steering her down the street. "How could it forget you?"
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In the darkness of the ship's hold Spike gazed at his lover, fast asleep. There was a fine line of drying blood at the corner of her mouth and he resisted the urge to reach out and gently wipe it away.
The young prostitute they had recently fed upon moaned in the grip of a nightmare. They had found her trawling the docks for business as they searched for a ship with the appropriate destination. The girl proved quite knowledgeable of the vessels in port and pointed out the steel transport, Eye of Ishtar, bound for Egypt that very morning. They had thanked the young whore by biting into her throat and dragging her into the dark hold as sustenance for their long journey. There should be enough juice in her to last until we dock in Egypt, he thought, as long as we don't get greedy.
He turned his gaze back to his sleeping lover - to the pale curve of her throat and the gentle sloping rise of her breasts - but he had things to do.
Spike reached into the pockets of his leather coat and removed the items he had acquired from an occult bookstore after his conflict at the Fatted Calf. Pennywhistle's Ancient Arcanum was a store he had frequented often in his early days and he was glad to find that it was still in business.
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He placed a copper bowl before him and filled it with dried herbs that the knowledgeable shopkeeper had said would be necessary to complete the spell he wanted to perform. Then he removed the rare text on spirit banishments from his other pocket and found the sections that had been marked.
The shopkeeper had been closing up when he and Dru had arrived. It only took a small bit of persuading on Spike's part to convince the man to stay open a little longer. And it wasn't long before the old bloke and he were chatting about spiritual possession and how to evict an unwanted entity. After all, Pennywhistle remembered him from his last visit, when the now old man had been barely thirty, and the time before that when he'd been just a lad. Spike had known his father, and his father's father. The current Mr. Pennywhistle had a solid respect for his heritage that would have warmed Spike's heart if such a thing were possible.
Now Spike used his lighter to ignite the herbs just as the shopkeeper had instructed. He fanned the cloying smoke toward the resting Drusilla and began to read from the ancient tome. He wasn't sure exactly which forgotten language he was reading, but if it drove Laibach from his lover's body, it was certainly destined to become one of his favourites.
As he read the words from the yellowed pages, the flames within the bowl burned a variety of vibrant colours, just as the shopkeeper had told him they would. He removed a gnarled root, wrapped in plastic, from his pocket. The old man had called it the Limb of Impetus, a rare growth that resembled the malformed arm and hand of some tiny elven creature, the final ingredient.
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Still reading from the text, Spike stuck the root into the flame and allowed it to catch fire. He brought the burning tuber to his face and blew upon it, extinguishing the flame. Gazing at the smouldering growth, he was amused to find that the heat of the flame had contracted the finger-like offshoots into a tiny fist.
Spike moved closer to the sleeping Drusilla. As he read the last page of the banishment spell he brought the Limb of Impetus closer to her face and touched it to Laibach's mark on the smooth pale skin of her forehead. Then he read the final words and waited.
Drusilla's lids flickered open and her eyes rolled back in her head. Her body convulsed as if some great battle were being fought within her. Spike took her thrashing form into his arms and held her. As quickly as the convulsions had begun they now ceased and Drusilla relaxed, eyes closed once again.
Did it work? Seemed a bit too simple, dinnit? he wondered, fixing his eyes on the thick smudge of ash on her forehead. Gently he brushed it away and saw that Laibach's mark still prevailed beneath. Spike gritted his teeth and tried not to show the fear and rage he felt. Dru had been growing worse with time and he suspected that if he did not get Laibach out of her soon, she would die the true death, an eternal death. He wanted to be patient, to trust that Laibach would know how much she could endure-but Laibach was a demon, one of the first of them. And demons could not be trusted.
Drusilla's eyes fluttered open.
"There's my girl," he said, looking deep into her beautiful dark eyes. "How are we feeling?"
"Betrayed," said the voice of Laibach from Drusilla's mouth. Her hand clamped around his throat in a vice like grip before he had a chance to react.
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"Vampires. Your kind has always been selfish," the Old One said as he brought Drusilla to her feet, still clutching Spike's throat with her hands. "It's a miracle the Master of the Order was capable of looking beyond his singular, petty needs."
She threw him across the hold of the ship. His body landed against a stack of steel girders and he slid to the floor in a heap, the taste of his own blood in his mouth.
"I don't suppose you're willing to give me a chance to explain myself?" he asked as he hauled himself up.
"I have no time for your lies, vampire." Laibach said, striding toward him in Dru's body, violence in her gaze.
Spike spat blood from his mouth as he prepared for further thrashing. "Yeah, guess you're right, well, let's get on with it, then."
He straightened just as she struck him a blow hard enough to snap his head around and drive him back against the wall of the hold again. His skull struck metal with a clang. The pain was excruciating and Spike wanted to lash out, to rend his attacker limb from limb, but he couldn't. Not that it was beyond him to bruise his delicate flower now and again, but that was the slap-and-tickle they always played at, knocking each other about. If he got into this bout in earnest, one of them would be dead, and Spike could not abide either possible outcome.
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"All right, your ancientness, what next?" He offered his arm to Drusilla. "You want to break it? Make you feel all-powerful and full of fury to cripple me a bit? P'raps you'd like to scoop out an eye?"
Laibach shook Drusilla's head. "No, violence against you appears to be futile."
Spike brought his arm down and leaned back against the girders. "Wore you out, have I? Always the way. Haven't the patience to deal with William the Bloody?" Tenderly he touched his bruised jaw. "Don't feel bad, you're not the first."
Drusilla looked about the hold as if seeing it for the first time. Her gaze fell upon a large wooden crate labelled "machine parts." Spike watched with curiosity as she approached the box. She tore a section from the corner of the crate and turned back to him, brandishing a nasty looking dagger of wood.
This is it, Spike thought. "Gonna put me down for the big sleep? Who'll gather your Dirty Dozen then?"
She stopped before him and smiled. "You misunderstand my actions, vampire. This is not for you."
Spike was silent, cold fingers of dread racing up and down his spine. Laibach tore open the front of Drusilla's dress, exposing her slight breasts. Spike pushed away from the girders, hands up in front of him.
"Here, here, there's no need of that," he said, nervousness creeping into his voice.
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"Oh but there is." The Elder god placed the sharp piece of wood against her chest, over her heart, and pressed the tip of the stake into her skin. A small bead of blood blossomed to run down her bosom.
Drusilla, not Laibach, gasped aloud.
"You've made your soddin' point," Spike said inching closer. "Leave her alone and I'll do what you say. I give you my word."
Laibach laughed, the stake still held against Drusilla's heart. "Your word. You say that as though it meant something."
"Give me another chance." Spike bowed his head. It galled him to have to do it, but for now he had no choice. He vowed that he would find a way to save Drusilla but at the moment Laibach still had the upper hand. At length, at last, he said, "Please."
Laibach let the makeshift stake fall to Drusilla's side. "I am feeling merciful today. But understand this, vampire, the next time I even suspect treachery on your part, the pretty thing I now inhabit shall be reduced to cinder and ash. Have I made myself clear?"
Spike bit down on the inside of his cheek trying to control his rage, the taste of blood again filled his mouth. "Crystal," he answered.