Flinch - Part 3

The room was silent. It had been silent for the past few hours. Buffy was too afraid to make any sounds herself, she was too afraid to open her eyes. In the comfort of her mind, she could imagine that things were different. In her head, Joyce wasn’t dangling in the doorframe, the stench of her now decomposing body reaching her nostrils and making her want to vomit.

Inside her head, the walls didn’t contain greasy, wet spots that had been formed by the impact of her mother’s eyes. She could even imagine that her arm wasn’t numb from pain, that she could no longer feel her hand and that was a blessing, because feeling meant torment. But she couldn’t ignore the clenching of her abdomen, the hand that grasped and twisted her bowels until she whimpered into the sheets.

She couldn’t ignore the crackle of the air as it whistled past her lips, stuck together with a thick, blanketing substance that coated her whole mouth. Most of all, Buffy couldn’t ignore the silence. With the absence of sounds came the absence of knowledge. When she could hear what was happening, she could at least know what to expect, even if she couldn’t fight it. Not knowing, that was the worst part.

The door knob twisted and Buffy strained to look, too eager for movement and a change in atmosphere to really think about what she was doing. She did not look away fast enough and her quick eyes took in the form hanging in the frame. It hung lower now, the body drooping limply. Angel shoved past it without a second glance.

He held a small box.

* * * *

The house was empty when they arrived. Empty, but not untelling. As if to mock them for the brief hope they’d entertained on the way over, there were little signs everywhere, undeniable pieces of proof that Joyce had been there and that she hadn’t left voluntarily. Most telling was her car in the driveway, her bags in the living room, her purse dropped and the contents scattered in the hall. More frightening, however, were the two tiny spots of blood, one soaking into the carper and the other glistening against the doorframe.

Faith grew more agitated with every moment she spent within the house, looking at all of these things, her right hand shook with an energy she found hard to control. An anger that rose higher than she’d felt in a long time, Joyce had been one person she had truly liked and needed.

Giles felt a despair that was hard to put into words. Even now, after all that had happened, he hadn’t shown the full volumes of the Watcher Diaries to the children, to Buffy. They’d never read of the full deeds, or misdeeds if you will, of Angelus at his worst. But he had. And thinking, now, of what he was capable of was not helping any. Images flashed through his head, black and white ink drawings that should never have been committed to paper, the pure horror that Angelus had left behind.

Willow wanted to run. It was a feeling unlike any she’d ever had before, something in the house was screaming at her. Maybe she was picking up, somehow reading, the vibrations that had been left by Joyce. Anger, fear, a helpless terror. And something else, a dark, violent place that hurt Willow to think about. This was not a good house anymore.

Oz was picking up on the same things, in a different way. He could smell it, it was so strong. The fear, the stench of death and blood. It emanated from the walls and the floors, it jumped down from the ceiling and stuck inside his nostrils. He wanted out and he wanted out now.

Xander stared at the little drops of blood. In his head were no images, he felt no strange buzzing badness, nor smelt it, but he could pick up on everybody else’s discomfiture and he had spent too long around each of them to ignore it.

"I want them and I want them now."

Faith didn’t look back at them as she strode out the door, didn’t listen to their desperate pleas for her to think. She walked, one foot in front of the other, not knowing where she was going, not really seeing the world around her.

* * * *

"I bought you a present. Had it shipped in all the way from LA, hope you like it."

Buffy shifted her eyes from the figure standing at the end of the bed, to the box he’d laid on the very corner, and then back again. Her eyes were a cold blue, a shining hatred that would have iced him over if he had paid attention, but he didn’t. Angel was looking deeper than that, trying to see what he knew should be there, trying to bring it to the fore. A smile teased the corner of his mouth as he saw it.

Deep, deep down, a flicker, a tremble in the bright blue eyes, trying so hard to be angry. Fear. A terror, even, if he allowed himself to hope. He was the cause of that, too, the little falter in her steady gaze, the little gasp she gave as he reached out his hand to lightly caress her ankle. It was all his.

"But first, well…" He nodded his head to the corner of the room. "You know the drill."

Buffy glanced over to the little bucket and her face was overcome with an onrush of color, she knew too well what he wanted. He wanted her to scurry over there and bathe like an animal, shame herself with the functions that were only human. She would not give him that.

"Little problem there, sweetie." She looked up to her wrists and wished she hadn’t. What she had long since failed to feel met her eyes and a screeching pain assaulted her conscious. Buffy bit her lip and tried to ignore it.

"Oh, now that’s the Buff I like to see. So much life, so much energy. So much inappropriate sarcasm. Really, I think you should talk to someone about your unresolved issues."

His fingers tightened around her ankle, making her eyes water a little, but she fought it, fought him. Kicking out, she tried to shake him off, planning on the element of surprise to give her some advantage. He held on, forcing her leg back down to the mattress.

"They’re gonna find you, you know, and they won’t hesitate in killing you now."

He moved his hand upwards, massaging her calf forcefully. A smile plagued his face and he looked down at her with wide eyes.

"You really do believe in them, don’t you? Your precious friends? Ask yourself this, where have they been? I mean, they’ve been looming over our heads for the past two days and I’ve yet to see them here."

Something about his words, something she couldn’t identify. Buffy forced herself to replay the taunting voice in her head. Yes, she believed in them. She knew they wouldn’t stop looking for her, wouldn’t stop unless they had no choice. Of course he had the threat of them looming… but he hadn’t said threat, had he? He’d just said them. Her eyes cased the room. Just as she’d thought. There were no windows.

"We’re underground, aren’t we?"

"Very good. Now, onto level two."

He’d bought his face close to hers, enjoying the ragged feel of her scared breath as it blew across his face, knowing that she was trying so hard to pretend it wasn’t there. She met his eyes, and for one brief second Angel thought she might cry for him, until she pursed her lips and spat at him.

Buffy clenched her eyes and tensed, waiting for the blow she knew must follow. It never came. When she ventured to open her eyes again, she saw him standing across from her, just standing, looking at her. It sent a shiver down her spine.

"You know, Buff, I think I left something here before. You haven’t seen it, have you?" He pantomimed looking about the room, bringing his attentions to the knife that hung from her wrist. "Oh look, there it is."

"Angel, no."

"No?"

Buffy began to plead in earnest. He’d walked up to her side, she’d twisted with him, so that she half knelt, half leant against the bed head, her arms twisted painfully.

"Please, damn you, Angel. I’ll be good. I swear. Just don’t… oh God, Angel please."

"Don’t what?" He reached out and flicked the end of the knife with his nail. It quivered and she breathed in sharply. "Don’t do this?"

In a quick motion Angel grasped the handle of the blade and pulled it free. Slayer healing is a blessing in most cases, unless the flesh knits and heals around a blade, the skin repairing itself, becoming whole again. Only to be ripped open as the metal is removed, slicing through the muscles and against the bone as if it were cutting for the first time, pulling rather than piercing. Buffy screamed loudly, her body twisting away, the curses sticking in her throat and choking her.

Angel kept his hands on hers. Watching the blood as it began to roll down her arm, feeling the spasms in her fingers as she tried to keep them still. This was such a bloody delicious woman, so fragile and yet so strong and willful. He leaned forward and let some of her blood pool on his tongue. His touch, once more, gentle and soothing as he unlocked the cuffs.

"Let’s try again, shall we?"

* * * *

Faith stumbled and fell to her knees, she didn’t feel the pain, or more accurately, it didn’t register. Getting back to her feet, she clumsily wiped away a tear with her fist, much as a child would do, and kept walking forward. The voice that called out behind her barely floated into her awareness.

"Faith!"

She was speeding so fast, so carelessly, that she fell again. This time she stayed down, clinging to the ground underneath her, clutching at the leaves, the dry blades of grass and digging at the cool, moist dirt beneath. Loud, thundering steps caught up with her and a figure hit the ground.

"It’s all my fault, Giles, all my fault." Her words became incoherent sobs as she felt herself being pulled into his arms. The warmth, the safety she’d always imagined would be there, enveloped her. Overwhelming her guilt with unendurable force. "All my fault."

"I won’t lie to you, Faith," His voice was soft and even, devoid of any blame and she was grateful for it. "You played a heavy hand in the circumstances, but you have a chance to redeem yourself. Prove to them, prove to them all, that you have what it takes. Don’t let the past win."

* * * *

Buffy held her arm tight against her chest as she moved around the room. She didn’t look up and refused to show him any form of pain or embarrassment. But she couldn’t stop herself from jumping when he made to touch her, couldn’t stop the tears as they fell. Angel stood and watched her, giving her no sense of relief, his arms crossed over his chest as he regarded her with satisfaction.

When she had finished, Angel pushed her back onto the bed, forcing her to scoot back so that she was half sitting. She didn’t say anything, but cradled her useless arm and watched him with wide eyes. To her complete shame, she found that she could not move as he began to crawl towards her.

Everything in her was telling her to get up, to jump away, she was no longer chained and yet she couldn’t move. She was paralyzed. Her eyes took in every shift of muscle in his back as his arms and legs pushed forward like a leopard stalking its prey. It seemed a life time of heart crushing moments before he actually reached her.

Buffy barely even dared to breathe as he leveled his face in front of hers, his eyes greedily drinking in the minute movements she made. She did not know what she expected him to do, at any moment he could jump out at her, or take on the form of her Angel, soothing and gentle. He never gave any warning.

Light, cold, lips touched her forehead and she could not turn away. This wasn’t Angelus and yet it wasn’t her Angel either. This was a new being, something alien to her. He breathed her in, tasting her it seemed, inhaling her fear, her paralysis. Her trembling seemed to excite him, urging his eyes to glow with pleasure.

Angel took hold of her arm and twisted himself so that he was lying on her, his back pressed into her, her arm cradling him. He bought her wrist to his mouth and let it rest there, her blood staining his lips but not passing them.

"You need me, Buffy, tell me you need me."

She didn’t say anything, couldn’t take her eyes off his form. Her breath came in short little gasps as she tried to figure out what he was doing, what new game he was playing. It seemed that he was the one who trembled now, holding on to her as if she were his last hope.

"Do you need me? Do you?"

His fingers were clinging deeper, she couldn’t tell whether it was deliberate. The way he nestled into her made shudders crawl up and down her spine. It was more frightening than any of the blows or threats. He was like a greedy infant, clinging on to that which would feed it, with no thought to her at all. Fangs pressed through his lips and teased the skin.

"Buffy?" His voice was cold and indifferent and the contrast to his actions made it all the worse. It was a threat in itself and she could take it no longer.

"Yes." Knowing it was what he wanted to hear. She hated herself for speaking the words.

"You and I, Buffy, we’re a team, we’ll always be a team." And he sealed his mouth over the bleeding wound and began to draw more blood from her and she could do nothing to stop him and didn’t know whether she wanted to anymore. "We’re too much alike to ever be apart."

* * * *

"There’s nothing." He reached out to touch her shoulder.

"No!" Willow threw up her arms, pushing him off, and glared through her tears at Oz. "You’re just not trying! There’s something here. It has to be here. Try harder!"

"Will, their scents stop here. I can’t pick up anything to follow."

He shook his head slowly, never taking his eyes off of her. As he watched, her anger seemed to boil up inside of her, making her tremble, and then simmered down to a guilt so deep it hurt to see. She wrapped her arms around herself and hugged tight.

"We did it, you know. We left her alone with him."

"Don’t say that." This time when he reached for her, Willow let herself be taken into his arms, her tears felt hot against his face. In the largeness of the mansion, the two felt dwarfed as they clung to each other.

"Why not? It’s true. We knew she didn’t have Faith, we should have known what she’d do. Oz, we left her to die to get smoochies. We’re bad, bad people."

"She’s not going to die, Will, I promise."

"How? Oz? How are you going to do that?"

He didn’t have anything to say to that.

* * * *

"Open it."

Buffy stared at the box in her hands. It shook violently and she realized it was her own fingers that couldn’t stay still. What had he placed inside? What new terror would he gorge his desires in this time? She knew she couldn’t do it, knew she couldn’t open the lid and voluntarily look at the contents of the box.

"I said…"

"I know what you said." She spoke with an authority she did not feel. Somewhere down deep there was a pool of strength she was drawing from, but it was an effort to pull even that. Buffy did not think she could stand his voice.

He growled, suddenly, startling her, impatient for this new game. Reaching out he forced her fingers to clasp the lid of the box. He knew he was pressing too hard, could feel her skin pinched horribly beneath his and took surprising delight in the small details of her pain.

Buffy looked, with not a small amount of confusion, at the sharp wooden stake that lay couched in red velvet. Her head swam as she tried to understand his motives. There was more to this than met the eye, his eyes were too avaricious as they watched her for this to be so simple.

"You shipped a stake in from LA? You really want me to kill you in style, don’t you?"

He laughed a deep, throaty laugh.

"You won’t kill me with that."

Angel walked to the door. His whole body tingled with anticipation, he could feel it crawl like a swarm of locusts over his flesh. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the ecstasy of the pain and loss he was about to cause her, and clicked the bone in his neck. Opening the door, he turned around.

"You’re going to need it for the rest of your present."

Buffy heard a piteous moan and never knew it was her own as she watched the fledgling vampire enter the room. She didn’t even look at Angel as he left the room, her eyes were fixed upon the figure who looked at her like she was the feast of all feasts.

* * * *

No matter how many times they came to beat him up, Willy was always surprised to find his spine threatening to snap as a Slayer bent him over the bar, hands closed tightly around his neck. This time was no different.

"You tell me where he is."

He coughed tightly, looking frantically from Faith to Giles. Usually the older man was more than ready to keep the girls in line. This time, however, he seemed more than eager to stand and watch. The stray thought came to him that a burst lung was grounds for worker’s comp.

"I told you, I don’t know."

"Wrong answer."

Faith growled. Willy screamed. Giles watched.

* * * *

She didn’t want to do it. She didn’t want to do it. She really didn’t want to do it. She had no choice. It was kill or be killed. As the vampire lunged at her, no longer possessing the skill to stop its own actions, Buffy spun the stake in her hand, letting its familiar feel guide her. The point flew up.

The fledgling vamp, controlled by a hunger that overrode everything that he had ever felt, could not see the human in front of him clearly. All he could see were the pumping veins, all he could smell was the salty tang of the blood. It drove him forward. He did know, however, that he had once, at one time, known this person.

The scream that tore itself from Buffy’s lungs was one that sounded entirely made of anger. It was a roar of fury, frustration and pain that came from every fiber of her being. It was not directed at the vamp, nor was it directed at Angel. Strangely enough, in the last moments before her brain totally shut down, Buffy recognized it as a futile cry against her life, against everything that had forced her to where she was now.

Her father turned to dust in front of her, taking the stake with him.

* * * *

Angel smiled as he filed the fingernails of his left hand with a brand new emery board.

* * * *

They met at Giles’ house later that night. All of them silent, each marking the second day of Buffy’s disappearance. It was tense, misdirected hostilities making for an atmosphere so thick it was practically oozing off the walls.

Faith turned to Wesley and glared, she idly rubbed the red raw knuckles of her right hand.

"Why are you here?"

"I… uh…" He couldn’t look up as he began to stutter.

"Faith." Giles’ weary voice, thinly disguising the hell he was going through, berated her softly. "He was only doing his job. Wesley’s heart is in the right place." Only Willow, Faith and Oz were close enough to hear him when he mumbled under his breath. "The heartless prick."

"Thank you, Mr. Giles." Wesley went on, oblivious to the smug little smiles that they tried to smother at Giles’ comment. "What we need to do now…"

"Is exactly what we have been doing." Bloody hell, tolerance only went so far. Giles snapped. "There’s nothing we haven’t done! If you can help us, then help. But for goodness sake don’t just snip orders at us like you know what you’re doing. Because, god help me, Wesley, if you say one more stupid useless thing, I will snap your pretentious head off of your neck!"

Wesley paled, his mouth gaped open once, then twice, before he stepped back and sat on the sofa.

"How do you know Willy was telling the truth?" Xander broke the silence that had followed Giles’ outburst.

"We don’t." Faith breathed, glad she had never had pushed Giles too far before. "And we’ll never know for sure now, the paramedics don’t know when he’ll recover."

"You put him in hospital?" Before now, Willow would not have believed that Giles would let her get that far, but after seeing the fury seething beneath Giles’ exterior, she wasn’t so sure.

"Only in the literal sense." Faith shrugged. "No luck on the trail?"

Oz shook his head.

"Nope. Strange. Usually I can follow the scent. But it stopped at the mansion."

The oddest look was coming over Willow’s face.

"Maybe they did too." She looked around the room and saw all the confused looks, her eyes stopped on Giles’ which had a growing gleam of understanding in them. "Maybe the scent stopped because they never left."

"That’s ridiculous, Will." Xander frowned at her, worried at the excitement and hope he saw building on her face. "We searched that mansion head to toe. It was empty."

"What if it had a basement, a whole level we never knew about?"

* * * *

By the time he reentered the room, the sobbing had stopped. Angel looked at her still and silent form on the bed. She lay face down, flat out, her eyes staring dully at the wall. It was like she was dead. But she wasn’t, he could smell it, her pain, her agony, the rich aroma of her grief.

Better than anything, he could smell her acceptance. He had thought that it might take longer, but watching her now, he knew she was ready. Placing one hand on either side of her legs, he watched closely for every little flicker as he crawled up her body.

Buffy did not even blink. She could feel him, feel every inch of his body as it covered hers, feel his weight when he lay down, smothering her. He’d always been larger and now his body enveloped hers like a thick blanket.

There was no urge within her to escape, no deep instinctual reaction to hit and run. She simply felt a gratefulness ooze throughout her at the knowledge that it would all be over soon. Closing her eyes, Buffy hoped that it would be quick, whatever he would do.

Angel’s tongue scraped up the back of her neck. Her hands closed into little fists above her head.

He forced one hand underneath her belly and smiled when he felt her breathe in to escape his touch. Maybe she wasn’t quite gone altogether, she just thought she was. It would certainly put a little fire into what he was about to do.

Flipping her over, underneath him, so that she was now face to face, Angel leaned his forehead on hers. Her head hung sideways, her eyes still dull, no real movement in her limbs.

"Do you know how long I’ve waited? Do you even understand how much I dreamed of this moment? Even when I had a soul, Buffy, I wanted this." His voice played with tones of gentleness and terror as he brought his mouth to her throat. "You’ll make a beautiful vampire, your strength, your beauty, your power."

His teeth pierced her skin just above the healing scar and once again came that familiar screech of agony as she felt her blood being sucked out of her. Angel didn’t see the little flicker that flashed in her eyes, she no longer stared dully at the wall. Buffy’s eyes were staring beyond them, beyond the wall, beyond the room, to the people she had once loved, to the people who had tried to love her.

Angel used his now filed nails to slash a hole in his own neck, without even pausing in his own gluttony, he pressed her mouth to the wound. Buffy felt it like a jolt of electricity, her body starved and aching, the one thing that would heal her pressing at her lips and begging for entry.

The blood was like a living entity in itself, scratching at her parched lips, crying out at her to let it in, promising her blessed relief if only she would drink. Without her permission, Buffy felt her arms close in around Angel’s neck, clasping him to her. She could hear his mumbled encouragement through his deep gulps.

Buffy opened her mouth and felt the blood fill it wantonly.

* * * *

Giles threw the last crossbow into the second bag. He hoisted it onto the table and zipped it tightly. Nodding to Faith, they both carried one bag and headed to the door. Willow and Xander both glared at him, betrayed, but he would not cede. Not this time.

He depended on Wesley and Oz to keep them there, safe against their will. He and Faith would win or lose, but they would not put the others in danger, he had demanded upon it. In Faith’s eyes he saw mirrored the same desperate willingness to die. It scared him that someone so young could risk so much.

Wesley caught his arm and stared him in the eye.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Giles was the first to look away. Neither of them were kidding themselves about the possibilities that awaited them. "No matter what, are you prepared to do what must be done?"

For the first real time he could remember, Giles felt the seeds of respect for this man grow within him. It was not Wesley’s fault that things had gone the way they did, it was just too easy to blame him. He gently extracted his arm.

"Yes."

* * * *

Buffy felt the liquid swell over her tongue, tease the roof of her mouth with tiny shocks of electricity. She could almost hear the humming, she could certainly feel it. Behind her lids she saw the faces that she loved, Giles, Willow, Xander, Oz and even Cordelia, they taunted her. Joyce and Hank refused to be forgotten and their faces flashed brighter and louder than any others.

She threw her arm from around his neck and reached out, as far she could. Stretching farther than she thought possible, her muscles screaming with the effort. Her fingers closed around the velvet lined box and it shattered in her hand.

Angel never really knew what happened, as he felt the sharp point of the wood enter his back. His eyes flew open and he stared down at shock at the bright brown eyes that glistened with hatred at him. Blood ran like spilled water down her chin as she sneered up at him.

In her lifetime, Buffy had staked many vamps, watched as their lifeless bodies turned to dust and disintegrated before her eyes. Never before had she felt the pain. Never before had she so felt dirtied and stained by the explosion.

Every inch of her was covered with the fine ash, it blasted into her hair, clung to her skin, embedded itself into the very curves of her earlobes. She felt it enter her nostrils, felt it attach itself to her legs and clump between her breasts. It invaded every part of her, even her eyeballs.

Buffy turned her head and spat the blood out.

* * * *

"Damn it!"

Giles cursed breathlessly as they met in the mansion entrance for the second time. There had been nothing to even hint at a lower level. Their last hope was slowly diminishing before his eyes. He wanted to cry, to fall down on his knees and bawl like a baby.

"Giles! Listen."

Faith held his shoulder as she cautioned him to be quiet. Very softly, came the low sounds of an argument, shouting and yelling and accusations. It came, not from within the mansion, but from within the grounds.

The two of them crept into the gardens towards the noise until they stood right over the voices. They both began to scour the ground looking for a way down. Their big break came when Faith tripped over a tree root. She landed face to face with a hidden trap door.

* * * *

Buffy huddled on the bed, cradling her knees to her chest. She listened to the voices argue and knew they were fighting about her. Somehow they must have found out what she’d done. Her eyes kept returning to the door, knowing it was her only way out.

She stood up and stepped towards it, reaching her hand out to grasp the handle, but found herself frozen to the spot. With every last ounce of her reserve, she pressed forward and strained to get there, but something in her refused to allow her to touch the door, to open it and pass through.

Her whole body arched in pain as she cried useless sobs. There was no way she could do it, no way she could voluntarily step through that doorway. She couldn’t even walk towards it. Instead, she curled up in a little ball on top of the bed and cried.

When she next looked up, a vampire was standing just inside the doorway, she could see past him and knew that Joyce’s body had gone. It didn’t matter, she knew she could still not use it. Her eyes returned to the vamp.

"You’ve been a very bad meal."

* * * *

Giles and Faith stood head to head with ten vampires. None of which looked particularly pleased to see them in their lair under the ground. Nobody said anything. Some of them blinked. Faith gulped. She leaned her head slightly towards Giles and whispered.

"When I move, forget about me, find Buffy and get out of here. Got it?"

Giles made the slightest nod of his head.

Across the room behind the vamps, Giles could see three doors, the middle had blood spattered on it. On an unspoken signal three of them stepped forward and began to approach. Faith had reached her limit. She raised her super soaker filled with holy water and pumped it hard.

"Yippee Aye Oh Kai Aye, Mother Fuckers!"

With a loud roar she forged onwards through the group of vamps who screamed as the water hit them. Several covered their steaming faces with their arms and rushed towards her. Faith tossed the now empty gun out of her hands and shuffled the stakes out of her sleeves so that she held one in each hand.

Giles ducked sideways and ran towards the doors. He silently wished Faith luck.

She felt her head snap back when a hand caught her hair. Faith thrashed one leg behind her and tripped a vamp, she was dragged to the ground with it. As her body hit the earth, she breathed in the dust and it burned her lungs. Hitting out, she heard a gasp when her fist connected with flesh. She blindly thrust the stake forward as her back was being pelted with violent kicks. Dust blew over her and she counted one down, nine to go.

* * * *

Giles burst through the door and two things burst into his conscious at once. That Buffy was alive and that she was being attacked by yet another vamp. His instincts took over and he staked the vamp without even thinking.

She curled herself into a fetal ball and rocked back and forth. There were no sobs, though her body was wracked with the effort to produce them. Fragile and about to break, she seemed, like a little baby bird thrown from the nest.

He reached out to her and she jumped back, shaking her head frantically and whispering into her chest.

"Don’t touch me! Please don’t touch me!"

"It’s me, Buffy, it’s Giles. You’re okay now."

"Please don’t touch me."

The whimper continued and he realized that she knew who it was. Her words cut him to the bone and the way she flinched when he reached out once more flayed his flesh from them. Worse still, now that he was looking straight at her, he could see the blood on her mouth.

"Please don’t touch me."

Screw that, he couldn’t leave her here. He tore the shirt from his back and threw it over her prone form, throwing his arms around her and lifting her to him. She struggled and thrashed away, whimpering louder, but she was no match for his determination.

As they reached the door Buffy dug her head deep into his neck and blacked out.

* * * *

Faith’s head hit the ground with a loud thump, the hot salty taste of her blood filled her mouth. She kicked backwards and thrust upwards with her last remaining stake. Another one turned to dust and she counted four to go.

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