Chapter One: A Whole New World
Her desperate cries and screams permeated the viscous silence that shrouded the desolate night air, sadly only to fall on deaf or uninterested ears. Battered and beaten, she continued to fight them off, but for all her effort, she just couldn’t manage to get free.
These things that looked human, that she would have sworn were normal people if she had seen them walking amongst a crowd, horrified her beyond belief; the shock leaving her completely incapable of simply putting together a coherent thought. Amongst the chaos, she noticed her captors consisted of both males and females, unimaginably strong males and females who all seemed to sport similar disfiguring forehead bumps, demonic yellow eyes, and razor sharp fangs. If she wasn’t afraid for her life, her inquisitive side would have been absolutely fascinated in studying these foreign creatures. But at the moment she was petrified, so freak-fang-people field studies weren’t anywhere on her up and coming to do list.
They roughly dragged her down the alley, her semi-conscious form paying little attention to landmarks or for any possible by-standers who could be of some assistance. She had put up as much of a fight as her knowledge in martial arts had allowed her, but not even a black belt in Tae Kwan Do could free her from these super human monsters.
She had a nagging inclination in the back of her mind as to what they actual were, but couldn’t believe she was actually rationalizing the existence of vampires. Sure, blatant evidence in the fact that she had witnessed throats being ripped out and that the silver cross necklace her grandmother had given her for her sixteenth birthday had singed one of them when they had tried to bite her,… but vampires? Weren’t they made up by some bored storytellers in the late nineteenth century? Imaginary people who turned into bats and did their shopping at Capes ‘R’ Us? Who were pushed into modern society by greedy movie executives and eccentric Anne Rice fans?
As they continued to drag her through the barely lit alley, all she could think about was how blind she must have been to have missed the fact that she had been living amongst the unliving. At a time like this, most would have their lives flashing before their eyes, pleading with God, Buddha and Allah combined to save them, but she just fixated on how she could have been so oblivious, so ignorant; that and the searing pain in her left side.
After what seemed like hours, but were more likely only ten minutes, of being towed, her knees felt as though all the skin on them had been scraped off and she could swear her arms were both dislocated. Everything before her was a mere shadow or glimmer; nothing seemed or felt real, like it was all one horrible nightmare she had to just wake up from. As they progressed further into the darkness it became beyond dreamlike quality, beyond nightmare; it was as though she was trapped in a perpetual abyss, everything looked bleak and hopeless.
Suddenly, she felt the floor. In all honesty, her face felt the floor when she had been unexpectedly dropped. She didn’t remember being brought indoors but the ceramic tile was cool against her hot bruised cheek, temporarily easing the pain of her swollen lip and making her forget the change in scenery. Her blond matted hair that had been gorgeously styled earlier that evening was now tangled all around, covering her eyes from those above her and shielding her from the hungry gazes that were being sent her way.
Slowly opening a swollen eye and seeing only darkness, she brought a hand to move the obstruction from her field of view, realizing that she was trembling. She could feel foot steps, the vibrations in the floor tickled her oversensitive skin, but the only thing she could see was stationary feet and various furnisher legs. She wanted to move, get up and run the hell away, but her body betrayed her, being stiff from her involuntary activities as a human trough. The room was quiet, but suddenly it seemed like they had all been sucked into a vacuum, devoid of any noise until a single voice rumbled from behind, like thunder through the silence.
“What is this?” the fierce voice asked.
“It’s your bounty from the raid. We were most successful. The streeters were amongst those eliminated,” a feminine voice explained, maintaining a respectful tone.
“And this one?” the unknown inquired. She could hear an accent in the deepness of his voice; sounded British. She was pretty good with accents. God did her knees ever hurt.
“The last of them, sir. She’s a spitfire. Took three of us to take her down. I had to pull Bronx off of her. He’s still a fledge, got a little carried away but I straightened him out,” a teenage male voice answered.
The footsteps started to circle her, making her feel even more vulnerable. She could feel his eyes on her, boring holes into her. He stopped and said, “I wanna inspect her. Pick her up.”
All at once she could see every ridged face in the room; strong arms lifting her off the ground, limply suspending her so that she could be scrutinized. Her one good eye showed her a black clad, average height, platinum blonde male. Tough guy persona, definitely, but not exactly what you expect from a leader of bunch of vampires. She was anticipating a Dracula or maybe a Lestat, not freakin’ punk boy.
She mustered enough strength to sustain her gaze as he approached; his face devoid of any strange conformations. The sight of his piercing blue eyes made her hold her breath, like they could freeze you from the inside out. As he took her chin in one of his hands and looked over every inch of her face, she stared back at him in the same scrutinizing manner. The scar on his right eyebrow, a trait she would have probably considered sexy if she knew he wasn’t going to drain her of every drop of blood she had in her veins, was the second thing she noticed after his eyes. Pretty good looking, she surmised, but she felt his cool hand let go and suddenly she was staring down at the floor again.
The vampire, the man she assumed was a vampire, finished his examination, never once uttering a word of approval or dissatisfaction with his share of the raid and strolled to a large leather chair. Sitting down, he waved a hand at the group before him, “Let her down and leave us,” he instructed.
She fell once more when the strong hands let go, her sore knees smacking against the cold tiles, making her hoarsely whimper in pain. Once a few minutes had passed and the pain had subsided a little, she slowly raised her bowed head and looked up at him. Unsure of what to expect, she searched for his face, finding it hidden behind a bottle of Jack.
“So, pet, you’re at a club, you out last even vampire street fighter kids in the ambush and you take 'em all on knowin' you’re no match. 'm impressed, and that rarely happens, 'specially with humans,” he said as he placed the bottle of liquor on the table next to him. “Come here,” he ordered.
At first she didn’t know what to do. She was scared, if she wasn’t in so much pain she knew she’d be shaking uncontrollably. She gradually pulled herself off the floor, easing herself onto all fours, only to collapse as her arms gave out. She waited for him to help her or at least offer. But as she stared up at him as she laid there a mess; she found him smugly watching. When the realization came that he wouldn’t help her, she tried again only to fall on her face once more. She could feel the tears brimming, but she pushed them back. She wasn’t going to cry in front of this asshole.
“I said get up,” he patronized as she continued to struggle.
Blinding hatred coursed through her as she lifted her head up off the floor to glare at him. The rage was enough to give her a little momentum and she soon found herself on her butt, barely able to sit up right. Swaying, she never broke eye contact, giving him a look of utter loathing and disgust. Yet as she fought just to maintain an upright posture, he kept on smirking at her, amusement plastered on his face as his azure eyes laughed at her.
It was at that moment she knew. She was going to die. He was going to kill her. Strangely, it all became so clear, as if the smoke had been lifted. Why else had she been brought here? He was going to kill her, make her a meal, if she was lucky. Suddenly all the horrible things he might possibly do to her were emerging amongst her frantic thoughts and fear finally decided to rear its ugly head. She knew being brought back here instead of being killed at the club was a much worse fate. At least, if they had killed her then, it would have been relatively less painful. Less painful than what she was going to go through in the next few hours.
“Fuck you,” the words escaped her lips before she realized what she was saying.
Suddenly the man before her stopped smirking. He strode over to where she sat on the floor and with one hand clamped around her neck he lifted her up off the ground. She gasped frantically as his abnormally strong hand squeezed the life out of her. Her once weak hands flew to her throat, pointlessly trying to pull him off of her, only to feel his grip get tighter. He brought her face inches away from his, the coldness of his eyes made her shiver as she continued to gasp. He then smirked once more.
“Now, I know you didn’t mean what you just said, eh pet? ‘Snot very polite. Know what you’re trying to do by the way. Make me kill you in a fit of rage so that you don’t have to endure whatever it is I have planned for you,” he stated as he released his grip, letting her fall in a heap on the floor.
She was taking in as much air as her lungs allowed, hyperventilating face down in dirty ceramic. He sat down on his haunches in front of her, abruptly pulling her face off the tile, making sure she gazed into his now demonic yellow eyes. “But you know what, luv? That wasn’t what you really wanted, now was it? You reek of fear. You don’t want to die. And that’s fine with me. Not planning on killing you. So be a good human, and get the sodding hell off this floor!”
Without so much as a word, she wrenched away from his hold. Slowly she picked up her battered and trembling body, until she found herself standing before him, trying to get her bearings, but never breaking the deadly gaze she was sending him. At last, she straightened herself out, straight back, squared shoulders and defiantly high chin.
The smirk grew into a sinister grin as he watched her. “That’s better. Why don’t you…”
She hadn’t heard the rest. She was falling into oblivion as the darkness took her over. As quickly as she had gotten up, her body had once again betrayed her, passing out and falling into the arms of her capture.
*******
“Come on Buffy, just one night of fun won’t kill you,” a well dressed short haired brunette stated as the two of them walked into the local convenience store.
“Hey, I’m fun. I’m bursting with funness,” Buffy retorted as her friend rolled her eyes.
“I didn’t say you weren’t. But ever since we got to this town, you’ve been all edgy and non-social. It’s not healthy,” her friend said as she made her way to the munchies aisle.
“I know. I’m sorry but there’s just something unsettling about this place. My gut keeps telling me something bad is gonna happen,” she said as she skimmed over the candy bar selection.
The irritated brunette grabbed a bag of chips as she turned back to her worried friend. “Look, we’ve been on this road trip for like what, a month? And nothing has happened. Sure, a few nights with the porcelain goddess after too many drinks or even the rarely occasional yet never forgettable coyote ugly, but other than that, zippo, nil, nada has happened,” she remarked as they made their way to pay for their high sugar and saturated fat concentrated dinner.
“I know. And I’m sorry if I’ve been all Gloomy Gladice these past few days, but I just can’t shake it,” Buffy said as she pulled a five from her wallet.
“It’s okay. You can make it up to me tonight. I heard there’s this really hot club on the other side of town. It’s like the place to be; live bands, decently priced drinks and total hotties waiting to be macked on. So, tonight, you and me are gonna get are groove on, alright? And no sulking. Tonight is a sulk free night.”
“Fine, we’ll go. But if you get on stage with the band and make an ass out of yourself again, I swear Cordy, I’ll full out deny I know you,” Buffy giggled as the made their way back to their motel room.
*******
Something acrid tickled her nose as she stirred back to consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open, one of them more painfully than the other, as she awakened from her sleep. Panic took over when she couldn’t move her body until the searing pain kicked in seconds later. She had forgotten everything about the night before, until the pain had pulled her back out of her dreams. The smell returned and she realized it was her that stank, having spit up during the night while she had been out cold. ‘Good thing I didn’t choke to death,’ she thought as she rolled over to find him sitting in a chair staring at her. ‘Or maybe not.’
He remained seated, looking at her in the dimly candlelit room, observing something with some masked fascination. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and without any trace of emotion inquired about her sleep.
Feeling like she had been hit by five buses, she replied accordingly, although her throat was dry and her mouth was numb, so her words came out scratchy and barely audible. “Oh, wonderfully! I can’t move without setting off every nerve ending in my body, I’m lying in my own blood and filth, and I think I may have had a concussion. But the sleep was great, thanks for asking!” Her words oozed with sarcasm and she realized it was the most she had ever said to him. She noticed how easily she forgot what he was and how he could kill her with a flick of the wrist. She didn’t care.
Unfazed by her tongue lashing, the blond vampire calmly continued his interrogation.
“What’s your name?”
“Buffy.”
“Buffy? Got your name raffled out of a hat, pet?” he asked her ignoring the shocked expression on her face. What was it with this guy? Let’s see, beating her and scaring her didn’t work, so lets make fun of her name?
“Oh, and what’s yours? Billy? Sid?” she asked gradually sitting up, jaw clenched as the pain in her side returned and intensified with a vengeance.
He got up from his chair and sat himself next to her. She noticed the black leather duster he had been sporting was gone, leaving him in black jeans and black t-shirt. He gave her what seemed to be his trademark smirk and leaned in a little closer until his lips were millimeters away from her ear. “It’s Spike.”
The utterance of his name gave her goose bumps. His tone and close proximity made her uncomfortable and she knew this tepid display of emotion was just the calm before the storm. He wasn’t going to be so cool and collected for much longer.
Spike reached out and gently brushed a piece of blond hair behind her ear, making her turn her gaze to him. “I could have killed you, ya know, but what would be the fun in that?” he told her casually, again ignoring the confused look he was getting. “’m sick of bloody bein’ in the company of retarded vampires. Minions are good for some things, but conversationalists their not. Plus, food’s easy enough to come by. What’s the human population nowadays, six billion? A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be wasted on a meal.” He reached out his hand once more, and her breath hitched from the coolness of his touch against her overly heated cheek.
He continued to stroke her face, watching as she closed her eyes as he soothed her skin. “From now on, you will be referred to as Slave and nothing else. You are mine and no one may touch you other than me.”
Buffy’s eyes flew open at his words, their relevance sinking in. She knew she didn’t have much of a choice. She was pretty messed up, with no idea where she was and with a house full of vampires ready to hunt her down if she decided to run. At that moment her survival instincts kicked in, willing to do what was necessary to live. Though the anger and disgust still remained, she bowed her head, hiding the tears that she was desperately trying not to shed.
“That’s a girl. I’m also known as William the Bloody by the way, but to you it’s Master,” he said as he lifted her chin; her already puffy face was streaked with tears, blackened by her smudged eye makeup. “Now, these are my quarters of the house. There’s a bathroom, hardly used, and a bed. This will be your new home.”
Suddenly he scooped her up into his arms, which made her to nearly jump out of her skin. Instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck, she closed her eyes and placed her head on his cold still chest. Exhausted, she didn’t care where he was taking her.
The air suddenly became warmer and she could swear she smelled lilies. Opening her eyes, she found the large bathroom lined with a few scattered candles, the sparse lighting revealing a large tub, nearly filled to the brim with hot water and florally scented bubbles. She felt him lower her onto the toilet seat and noticed she was slowly becoming undressed. Having pulled off her boots, he moved up to take off her white tank, never letting hands or eyes fall where they shouldn’t. Buffy just sat there, utterly confused and unbelievably afraid. He gently unbuttoned and pulled off her black pants, being careful when he neared her knees. Most her clothing had been discarded to a messy pile on the floor as he reached out again for her undergarments, when she naturally covered her chest, stopping him from going any further.
“Come on, pet. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he coaxed as he softly pulled away her hands.
Lacking the strength to fight back, Buffy hands fell to her lap as Spike unclasped her bra and slipped off her thong. Naked as the day she was born, Buffy blushed and turned her eyes away from him. Spike said nothing. She had expected a cocky remark or put down, but all she got were two strong arms picking her up again and slowly easing her into the warm bathtub.
The water was hot, and it stung when it came into contact with her superficially wounded skin. She leaned back and enjoyed the soak, letting her mind forget about the horrible night she had just had. The ignorant bliss was short lived when she felt Spike place a hand in the water. She instantly tensed and flinched away from him.
“Just making sure it’s not scalding. Don’t have to get all shirty,” he said as he sat down on the toilet seat, his eyes never leaving her.
Buffy couldn’t take her eyes off him either, unsure what this gesture meant. One minute he was almost chaining her to the wall and the next minute he’s being all respectful and bathing her. She sighed and with what little strength she had, dunked her head under the water, washing away all the grime and blood out of her blond hair. Coming back up, she scrubbed her face, trying to get rid of the raccoon eyes she had developed over the last night. She was startled when Spike handed her a washcloth.
“Thank you,” she said as she took it and started to wash her arms.
Every few second she would glance over to where he was sitting, finding him staring back at her, his face emotionless as he observed her. She needed to say something, the silence was just too deafening.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Spike leaned forward, his palms firmly planted on his knees. “Makin' sure you taken cared of. ’m investin' more than just time in you, so it wouldn’t do me any good you rottin' away. Plus, you were startin' to smell,” he said nonchalantly, smirking at her.
Frustrated at the fact that she actually considered he was doing it as an act of kindness, she scowled at him and returned to her scrubbing. “Sorry, but when you get the shit kicked out of you, hygiene isn’t exactly top priority,” she sarcastically stated as she washed herself beneath the concealment of bubbles.
Spike continued to smirk. He hadn’t expected anything from the previous night’s raid, considering it was mostly minions he had sent out at dusk. A few dead streeters was what he was hoping for. He hadn’t ever expected them to significantly diminish the demon hunters' numbers and especially hadn't expected them to bring one back. Spike knew she wasn’t a streeter, just an innocent who got in the way.
The chit they had brought in was tough; she had to be if she took on a group of vamps alone. He never asked why Natasha and Damon had brought her back to him, but he knew his seconds in command saw what he saw. This girl had a fire within her, something so strong, so pure that it would be fun just to try and break her. He knew that’s why they had brought her to him, but it was not the reason why he had kept her. The moment he had laid eyes on her, even through the blood, dirt and bruises, he had wanted her. She was beautiful, with a small yet strong body that could mold easily to his own and with eyes that shone with the hidden passion that dwelled within. Watching her bathe was a struggle for him, his jeans not doing anything for his growing hardness. It didn’t help either that she verbally threw everything back at him, uncaring of the fact that he was a vampire who could kill her at any instant, which only turned him on even more.
When she finished with the washcloth Buffy leaned back in the tub, enjoying the soothing effect the water was having on her battered body. She was about to fall asleep when Spike called out to her.
“Come on, pet. Time to get out before you catch one of your human diseases,” he said picking up a large cotton towel as he made his way to the edge of the tub. Opening it up, he held it as she slowly and weakly stood up and allowed him to wrap her up in its soft downiness.
Before she could step out, she was back in his arms, where he swiftly brought her over to the bed. Once lowering her onto the newly changed black satin sheets, he grabbed a black t-shirt from the end of the bed and slipped it over her. She wondered when he had time to clean up the bed. When she couldn't come up with an answer, she assumed it must have been when was in the tub and almost falling asleep. He remained silent as he administered to her, fetching an obviously unused first aid kit and tended to her more serious injuries.
Her eyes wandered as Spike applied ointment to her bruised and scraped knees. The room itself was large but seemingly stark except for the desk, couch, mini-fridge, dresser, bookshelf and bed. The bed frame was gothic fashioned wrought iron and the desks and other furnishings were made of varnished wood and black leather. ‘He likes black,’ Buffy thought as she lay there, idly fidgeting with the cross around her neck. The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from variously scattered white candles. Turning her head she noticed a fireplace, unused, and realized she was cold and shivering.
Finishing with the last bandage, Spike lifted her up so that she was sitting in front of him. He pulled out a different ointment, smearing some onto his finger and spreading it along the cuts of her neck, arms and face. It stung at first, causing her to hiss, but gradually his caresses felt soothing, almost pleasant. His fingers massaged her bath flushed flesh as he applied the medicated cream, stopping eventually when finished; Buffy had to suppress a groan when he ceased his touches.
“Your eye and lip are gonna swell more if you don’t ice ‘em,” he said wiping his greasy hands on her towel as he brought an ice pack to her face and laid her back down onto the soft bed.
He took the ice pack from her and wrapped it in the extra towel he brought and placed it on her cheek, near her mouth and her left eye. She eased into the pillow and relaxed as the cold packs relieved the swelling. She nearly jumped out of bed when Spike slipped off his boots and shed his shirt before he slipped in next to her.
Her eyes immediately were glued onto him. She had registered his good looks when she first saw him, but being distracted with survival, Buffy didn’t really notice how unbelievably gorgeous he was. His cerulean eyes and chiseled cheekbones she had appreciated when he had first evaluated her, but her heart raced and her breathing became erratic as his well muscled chest, washboard abs and strong arms made their way toward her. He was a pale Adonis and Buffy was just too overwhelmed. He lifted the comforter and eased in next to her, lying on his back.
She remained stiff as a corpse, on her back, staring up at the ceiling, trying hard not to think about the body that was right beside her. She couldn’t believe how turned on she had been by the sight of him. It was as if she had completely forgotten he was a vampire who was holding her prisoner and just turned into a giant wanton bitch in heat. Scolding herself mentally, she rolled onto her side, praying sleep would soon take her.
At that thought she felt a now familiar cool hand stroke her shoulder, making her heart jump into her throat as it thumped a thousand beats per second. She slowly turned her head, finding those piercing blues gazing into her hazel eyes.
“Stop it,” she said, inching away from him.
“What’s wrong, pet? I was getting the impression you wanted me to touch you,” Spike huskily whispered in her ear.
“I did nothing that would prompt a free-for-all fondle fest,” Buffy stated angrily.
“Really? My nose tells me otherwise,” he said grinning.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I can smell your arousal, pet. All vamps can.”
At his words, Buffy turned beet red, utterly humiliated at the fact that he knew she had been ogling him. “You’re such a pig,” she said as she turned her back to him.
Spike chuckled. “Whatever you say, luv. But you’re the one who has the hots for this pig.”
Buffy closed her eyes tightly, praying she would fall asleep. She didn’t want to be there, she wanted to be anywhere but next to a blood thirsty killer. Buffy had an idea why Spike had kept her around, and she was just waiting for him to take it. She suddenly felt his hand creep down her side, falling on her hip.
Buffy didn’t like his touch, it was gentle but possessive. “How old are you, Slave?” he asked still stroking her, slowly drawing her closer so that her back was pressed to his chest.
“Twenty,” she answered, taking notice it was the first time he called her by her new title.
“You go to school?”
She nodded. “I do. Was suppose to start my junior year at UCLA this September,” she replied bitterly.
“So, there’s a brain that goes with this lovely body,” he said as he stroked her upper arm. She gulped, feeling something hard up against her back. “Where’d you learn to fight, pet? Minions said you put up a good front,” he asked, his cool breath against her neck sent shivers down her spine.
She managed to stammer out, “Tae Kwan Do. Black belt.”
“Black belt, that’s impressive Slave. Good to know if any one here gets out of line when I’m not around you can mind yourself,” he spoke calmly.
Buffy was so confused. From his hard-on she knew what he wanted but he wasn’t acting on it. Why? She wasn’t stupid. She knew the only reason he didn’t kill her was because he wanted a slave, most probably just a warm body to fuck. She just hoped he’d be as gentle or at least quick.
He raised his head back to her ear and hoarsely whispered, “You’re not chaste are you, luv?” She shook her head, slightly ashamed and slightly turned on, which only furthered her embarrassment. “Didn’t think so. But you still hurtin’?”
Buffy nodded, “My face and my knees,” she said meekly.
“You’ll be fine in the morning. Go to sleep, Slave,” he ordered as he held onto her.
Once he threw off the ice pack from her face to the floor, she eased the back of her head against his bare chest. Buffy let out a sigh and soon fell asleep in the arms of her new Master, a vampire named Spike.
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