Chapter 4: Awakening
It was hunger that woke her. She had the taste in her mouth. Coppery. Sweet. She could smell it, on the table, even through the plastic of the bag. She could feel it, close, very close, just behind the pale skin against which her head was resting. Slowly, she moved, until her mouth was pressed to his neck. A part of her told her she was ready, the game face already out. So she did what her instinct commanded, and bit.
He moved under her, and her hand shot to his head, holding him in place, making sure he couldn’t pull away. But it was not his intention. He merely adjusted their bodies to a more comfortable position, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other hand playing in her hair.
She drank until the hunger was gone. It took a while, as she hadn’t pierced a major blood vessel, but every mouthful of the thick liquid was like a symphony of colors exploding behind her closed eyelids. Finally, she pulled away from his neck, after giving a last lap at the punctures she had created.
“I hate you,” she muttered, resting her cheek on his chest.
“And I was all you had, pet.”
He kept stroking her hair, and half of her wanted to scream at him to stop it. The other half would scream if he did stop.
“How do I get rid of them?” she asked after a moment.
“Get rid of what?”
“The fangs and bumps.”
“Matter of concentration, luv. Picture yourself putting on a mask. That’s your human face. It is always easier to shift to game face, but if you concentrate the human mask will come.”
It took her a few tries before she felt the fangs retract. Gingerly, she touched her forehead, satisfied to find it smooth.
“How could you do that to me?” she mumbled against his skin. “I was the Slayer. Not a killer.”
His fingers paused in her hair for a brief instant before resuming the gentle stroking. “You’re still the Slayer, luv. And not a killer. Do you feel like going out and killing to feed?”
She frowned at his words. “No, I don’t want to kill. But I just bit you. If you were not already dead, I could have killed you.”
“Pet, don’t you see it? Why do you think you worry about killing? You have your soul, luv. Your shiny and pretty Slayer soul.”
She raised her head from him and tried to see his face. It was dark, but she realized she could see pretty well, even if she wasn’t in game face.
“How?” she asked simply.
“Red. I asked her to do that gypsy spell for you. Except that the clever girl improved it so you don’t have to worry about getting too happy.”
His hand slid out of her hair and came to cup her face. Why did he look so sad suddenly?
“And before you ask, yes, she’s going to give the big poof an upgraded version of his bloody soul.”
She rested her cheek on his chest again, and his fingers returned to her hair.
Angel. She was just like him, now. A vampire with a soul. Except she didn’t have countless murders to feel guilty for, thank God for that.
“I couldn’t lose you again,” Spike said almost too low for her to hear.
First it had been Xander, reanimating her minutes after she had drowned. Then Willow, bringing her back months after her passing. And now Spike. What was it with the people who loved her? Why couldn’t they just let her go? She had fought enough, longer than most Slayers. Didn’t she deserve to rest at last?
And yet. she felt no anger toward him. She wasn’t happy to be a vampire, but she wasn’t mad at him for changing her. Her eyes settled on the stake on the table, and she remembered his words. ‘For after’.
“Spike. What did you do to me?”
His voice was slightly amused when he answered, and she would have sworn he was smirking. “I thought it was obvious by now, luv. I turned you.”
“I mean, why don’t I want to stake you?”
“You don’t? Good. I don’t want to be staked.”
He was just avoiding replying.
“Answer me.”
“What do you know about vampires’ turning, luv?”
Damn. Where was that Slayer handbook now that she needed it?
“Uh. you drain me, I drink your blood, I die, I wake up and I’m a vampire?”
He laughed a little, very softly, barely enough to make his chest tremble.
“In a nutshell, that’s it. But there’s a variable in there. Two, actually. The first is how old the vampire who turns you is. How strong. The other is how much of his blood he gives you to drink. It makes all the difference between having nothing but the urge to feed, or being able to control the mask and the demon. The difference between a minion and a Childe.”
He finished his explanation in a whisper, as if not wanting to say the last words out loud.
“You made me your Childe?” she asked, hesitating on the unfamiliar word.
“Yes luv.”
“So that’s why I don’t feel like killing you?”
“I guess.”
He shifted under her, and she almost would have said he was fidgeting.
“Luv, I gave you enough blood to make you strong, so you won’t be torn between the bloodlust and the soul. You not wanting to stake me wasn’t part of the equation, you have to believe me.”
Weirdly, she did believe him.
Out of the blue, tears came to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, slow but steady trickle. Spike’s arms moved around her, pulling her body up until her face was next to his on the pillow.
“Everything will be ok, luv,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.”
Comforted by his words, mentally and nervously exhausted, she fell asleep against her Sire.
It wasn’t the first time she had gone to sleep in his arms, but it was different this time around. It took him a little while to realize why.
No sounds.
The usual rhythms of her breathing and heart, so comforting to him, were gone forever. But she was there. And it was all that counted.
He was surprised not to be dust already. In truth, he hadn’t thought that the bond between them would be so strong so soon. He could feel it in all his being, the need to touch her, feel her skin, look at her, just be with her. He craved all of this before, and now it was just so much more powerful. He wondered whether it was the same for her.
Still, that wasn’t what he had turned her for, and he wouldn’t take advantage of it. She was Buffy, his Slayer, not a toy created for his enjoyment.
And something else was not to be forgotten. The bloody poof and his bloody soul were waiting in Sunnyhell. Waiting for her.
The day passed too fast.
Without waking her, he managed to grab and drain a couple more blood bags on the table. He had brought them for her, but he was the one who needed them right now after she had fed from him. That had been unexpected. He wondered if, no, he hoped that she’d do it again.
When dusk came, he felt her stir a little in his arms. She was awake, he was sure of it, but still silent and immobile, her face nuzzled against his shoulder. It took her a long moment to decide herself, but at last he felt her fangs slowly sink into his flesh. Better aim this time, he thought absently. Larger vein.
Again, he let her take as much as she wanted. As much as she needed. She would have time later to discover the joys of bagged blood.
“You know luv,” he said absently when she stopped sucking, “some vampires would dust you for what you just did.”
Angelus would have. Or he would have taught her a lesson she would never have forgotten. Like he hadn’t.
“What did I do?” she asked, confused.
“You drank from an older vampire without an invitation.”
He felt her body get tense against his and stroke her back lightly.
“That’s ok, luv. You have a permanent invitation as far as I’m concerned. Just letting you know it’s customary to ask for permission. The poof used to be pretty stuck on customs.”
Just thinking about her lips on his Sire made him want to dust himself. But he had no illusions about what would happen when they returned to Sunnyhell.
“Ready to go home pet?”
She sighed, and for just a second he forgot she didn’t need to breath.
“I’m not ready, but I don’t think I’ll ever be.”