Title: The Final Link in the Chain (1/?)
Author: Northlight
email: uzenet@videotron.ca
Disclaimer: Joss owns all.
Written: June 16, 1999

She was sprawled out across his bed, her red hair fanning out around her pale face. It was thinner, harder than he recalled, but still recognizable as that of the chit who'd been helping the Slayer. Her slim black leather jacket had fallen open, and her hand rested over her stomach against the sky blue blouse. Her nails were short and blunt, and covered with a shimmering coat of nail polish. The only jewelry that graced her fingers was a simple gold wedding ring.

His cool blue eyes moved past her form, lighting on the handcuffs hanging from the post of his bed. Strong, well made things. He was distantly pleased that he hadn't had to break them when removing them from around her thin wrists. The base of his thumb ran across the edge of the key he had taken from the officer's body -- the key that had freed the young woman's wrists from their bondage.

The sight of the vaguely familiar face had caught his attention earlier that night as he was preparing for the hunt. Mild interest had bloomed into full fledged curiosity as he had witnessed the wildly protesting young woman, her hands awkwardly held behind her back, being herded towards a waiting police car.

The flashing lights had played across her features, and from the shadows in which he watched, Spike had seen something flash across her face. There had been terror seeping into her expression -- a fear beyond the law, a fear that tapped into the expression that covered the faces of his victims as they realized that their lives had been slipping away from them.

There had been determination in that white face as well, a sight that had gradually nudged his memory back to a long ago night in Sunnydale as he had stared into a terrified face, broken bottle in hand. The recognition of the girl, coupled with her inglorious situation had sent a harsh smile to the vampire's lips.

It had been his desire to know what had brought the high and mighty little white hat to such an end, along with the boredom that had been nagging at him for the past months, which had sent him surging out of the shadows. The cops had been disappointingly easy to dispense with, weapons and training offering little aid against a creature born of death over a hundred years before they had been formed within their mother's bellies.

Bound and obviously in shock, the red head had managed to be more spirited than any of her would be captors. She would have probably still been attempting to dodge him had his casual blow to the side of her head not sent her tumbling into unconsciousness.

His eyes moved back to her, taking in the bloody stains, finger length apart, that marred the flesh of her neck. The soft shirt was torn in places, and it too was streaked with drying blood. It was her hands that held his interest the longest once more, coated with blood. Some of it hers, most of it not, Spike's senses informed him.

Bloodstained fingers twitched against her stomach, and Spike's eyes flew back to her face. He was standing at the side of the bed, looming over her, dominating, when her eyes slowly peeled open. He smirked down at her, a hint of fang peeking out from behind his lips.

She pressed herself deeper into the mattress, wide green eyes staring at him with an expression of disbelieving horror. Her lips fell open, and she sucked in a deep, wavering breath. She didn't move, her eyes glued to his. Her voice was nearly expressionless when her words finally formed. "Oh fuck."

'Real witty, Wills,' she thought as the mild curse escaped her. She didn't wait for a response within her own mind or from Spike. Willow rolled, the need to run, to _escape_ the horror awaiting her far outweighing her fear of the vampire towering over her. She knew that Spike was as much a monster as what she faced... but the memories of his cruelties seemed far away from the threat which had brought her to that moment. Spike had faded in her mind, the other was still as sharp and real as the blood that itched against her skin.

Her ankle twisted as her feet slammed into the ground, and Willow silently cursed her husband's fondness for the sight of trim feet snugly encased by high-heeled shoes. She scrambled forward gracelessly, stopped only by the feel of her hair being yanked back savagely.

The cry that hadn't burst past her when she feel escaped then, as Spike yanked her back towards the bed by her hair. He pulled her upwards, throwing her onto the bed as easily as if she had been nothing more than a rag doll. She felt little more substantial than such, incapable of resisting the brusque movement.

Her eyes snapped open as one of Spike strong legs swung over her body, straddling her. She was pinned in place by the weight of his body. 'Why was it that he didn't seem as threatening, again?' her mind yelped as his demonic golden eyes glared down at her.

His hand reached out, glacial against the heat of her skin. His fingers bit into the tender flesh of her chin, but his voice was amused as he spoke. "If you don't feel like playing..." Spike said, one eyebrow arching upwards as his demon's face melted back into human visage.

Willow stopped squirming beneath him, laying perfectly still. "What do you want, Spike?" Willow asked, her voice cracking. She frowned at the weakness in it, trying to reel her raging emotions back into some kind of control. Somehow, equilibrium seemed so much easier to maintain when it wasn't her own life going to hell...

"Nothing at all, pet," Spike said. "Just catching up on old times."

Willow nearly snarled at him. He was holding her captive, threatening her, risking her _life_ just because he felt like _playing_! Had her hands not been trapped beneath him, Willow would have struck out with every ounce of rage that his mild pronouncement ignited within her.

"Sorry, I'm rather busy at the moment," Willow said with forced calm. 'And your killing those cops isn't going to help matters at all!' her mind shrieked, more angry with the added difficulty that his actions had created for her than she was with the needless loss of life. Shame bloomed in her briefly before Willow crushed it ruthlessly.

"And I doubt that you want to get drawn into what's going on, Spike. So could you... _please_," she choked on the plea, "let me go?"

"That eager to run back into the arms of the cops, pet?"

Willow ignored the mocking question. "You don't want to do this," she warned.

Spike ignored the cautioning words as easily as Willow had ignored his question. "They seemed eager to bring you in," he mused. "Who'd you off, pet? Your hubby?" he continued, remembering the glint of her wedding band.

She hissed at him. "Go to hell, you stupid --" she paused, her mind scrambling for an appropriately vile name. Finding none, she settled for a scowl.

"That's more of the wanker's thing than mine," Spike replied, sounding vastly amused by Willow's spluttered insults.

His annoyingly smug smile froze at the sound of footsteps outside the closed door. New to the area, Spike had yet to gather minions, and the previous occupants of the house were safely dead. The playful glint in his eyes faded as he slid off of Willow. His back towards her, Spike didn't see the look of dread that passed across Willow's face as her hands protectively clamped over her stomach.