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Chapter 9:
Man, Look At Those Hills Roll!!!
by Quwinntessa Starber
The stable smelled musty, but not unkept, more like the way a stable would have smelt a hundred years ago. Willow’s eyes adjusted easily from the twilight outside to the candle lit interior. Around her she saw twelve stables, with another door directly across from her.
Spike held the candle out to her, and gingerly she took it. She followed him forward as he moved from the first few stalls—which Willow soon realized were empty—back towards the other door and a faint rustling sound.
A sudden whinny startled her, and she instinctively grabbed a hold of Spike’s arm. Blushing sheepishly, Willow made to move back, but Spike caught her and rested an arm about her shoulders.
"Don’t worry, Luv. She’s just saying hello."
"She?" Willow looked up to Spike for an answer, but he was already moving her closer to another one of the stalls. The rustling grew louder.
Excited, Willow stepped in front of Spike and stepped onto the footrest of the stable door. She wasn’t ready for the emergent face of one very large stallion.
"AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
"Willow!" Spike grabbed her about the waist and pulled her quickly from the door, shielding her with his own body. "I thought you said you rode horses?"
"When I was ten!" She drew in a shaky breath. Willow wasn’t frightened as much as she was startled. The twilight outside and the darkness of a candle lit stable were reeking havoc on her nervous system. Everything she’d been through the last three years told her to never walk outside at night, and to fear things that went bump. Red-eyed horses that jumped out of the dark were right up there on the "NO-WAY" list.
Squaring her shoulders, Willow peeked around Spike’s broad frame and looked into the darkened stall. "Is he friendly?"
"I should hope not! I trained the damn thing myself!" The indignation in Spike’s voice had Willow looking at him with a questioning look. His smile showed he was only partially kidding. "He’s safe enough for me to ride, but I think the mare will be more to you’re liking. Shall we have a look?"
She nodded, but held onto his hand as he led her directly across from the stallion to another box. Slowly Willow made out the shape of the beautiful auburn mare. Her coat shone and glistened in the candlelight, and Willow couldn’t help but carefully put her hand out to be examined.
With Spike’s hands at her hips, she felt confident as the mare took a step forward and sloppily nudged at her hand. Softly, Willow giggled; behind her, Spike smiled.
"What’s her name?"
"Mary, Bloody Mary."
Looking up at him, Willow gave Spike the most indignant look she could muster, before looking behind him towards the stallion's box. "I suppose that must be Jack, Jake Daniel's."
He blinked, before a wide grin encompassed his entire face, "Very good Luvy that's exactly right!"
"What!? You’re kidding right? Please tell me you didn’t name your horses after the happy hour drinks of choice!"
"I didn’t name them."
"Then who did?"
"Drusilla and Angelus."
"Oh."
Shifting nervously from foot to foot, Willow turned back around to lock eyes with the beautiful creature before her. Knowing Spike wouldn’t want to continue as the conversation had progressed—and not really wanting to ruin their night together, Willow stepped forward and held out the carrot she’d retrieved from her pocket. "Here Mary, it’s a carrot, you’ll like this. It’s very yummy."
She spoke softly and gently, doing her best not to startle the mare that now munched greedily on the offered vegetable; Willow smiled to herself. Slowly, she reached out her left hand and brought it up to caress the silken coat of its face. Her smile grew bigger, until she was giggling quietly, hand wet from an exploring snout.
Turning, Willow allowed her smile to be shared with the one man that was allowing her the pleasure. Bending down, Spike nuzzled her cheek before dropping a chase kiss. Willow looked at him from beneath her lashes.
"What say we take them out for a ride?"
Instantly, Willow was excited, scrambling from the door, she moved to the latch and undid it before stepping inside. Spike laughed the entire way.
Twenty minutes later, they crested the hill that separated the back lawn from the cliffs overlooking the crashing seashore. Willow inhaled a great gasp of air at the beauty of the place before her. As far as her eye could see stretched the expanse of the shore over a hundred feet below her. The cliffs stood like centuries, warding all that would ruin the magic of the place to stay away.
Turning Mary slightly, Willow looked to Spike and offered a smile.
Returning the gesture, Spike moved Jack closer, "Like the view, Luv?"
Suddenly, it was as if her world came strikingly into focus. Before her stood a man that reigned as the king of monsters, and yet treated her like a queen made from fragile china. Around her was the beauty of a storybook, and at the same time, a picture from a nightmare of universal proportions. A foreboding house atop a cliff that jutted out over the ocean, regal and kept, it spoke of old money, ghosts, and passion.
And it was her home, hers with Spike…with Spike. Was that true? He’d proven to her that she could trust him, that he would take care of her, that she could believe in him; but in the end, would it change anything? Could he make the voices inside of her head stop screaming?
"Willow?" She started at feeling his arm come around her waist, and even atop Mary, Willow leaned across the inches to rest her head against his chest. "You alright, Pet?"
For a moment she was silent, soaking in the strength of the man before her. She didn’t question if Spike was the one anymore; she knew it in her heart. He was the one that was going to change her--completely.
"Can we pick those berries now?"
And in that one statement, that one revelation, Willow had admitted to herself and him, that she was willing to let him try to heal her. She wasn't fooling herself, and as Spike pulled back slightly and raised her eyes to meet his, she knew it would be a long and difficult process. But his smile, the way it broke across his face and lit up his eyes, it seemed worth it, worth the pain this single action against the screaming in her head would cause her.
"Come on, Willow, I'll show you where they are."
The path they took was winding as they cut across the divide between two outcrops of forest near the back of the estate. Around them, large trees rose, blocking the moonlight with their density so that Willow had to stare directly at the blond of Spike's hair just to be able to see where she was going. But Mary seemed to know the way, and the mare followed her stallion unerringly into the dark woods.
They didn't speak; instead Spike listened to the sound of Willow breathing, the comforting sound of her heart beating rhythmically in her chest. He'd never cared for that sound before. As a human he hadn't been able to hear it, so it had been pointless to care about, and as a vampire, it was only the sound of a meal not yet eaten. But with Willow it was different, it was somewhat soothing, reassuring to him that she was still here with him, still trying. And she was trying; he recognized her admission of surrender to him as much as she did.
Days before--was it only days--when he'd first discovered her self-inflicted wounds across the delicate expanse of her stomach, he'd cleaned them while discussing the berries that grew along this path. At the time she'd refused his offer to taste them, insisting that she wouldn't be around long enough to do so, but he'd persisted as he'd bandaged her middle, insisted she'd have a taste. Today she'd admitted to both of them, that she was willing to fight the call of death that would not leave her, and he vowed on that part of him that was still decent, that he would help her ever step of the way.
The path bent sharply, and he raised a warning to Willow, before taking the path and stopping abruptly before the bushes of berries that continued down the path for a hundred yards or so. Carelessly he dismounted before going to Bloody Mary and lifting Willow down, conscious of sliding her body completely down his while their eyes remained locked.
He wanted her, wanted her more than he'd ever wanted Dru. That thought startled him for a moment, and to cover his thoughts up, he quickly set the precious woman down before him and turned her towards the bushes.
Leaning down, he spoke softly into her ear. "Here you go, a bush full of berries. Any idea what kind?" He smiled as she turned her head into the crook of his neck to look up at him. From this angle, with his night vision blocking the glare of all other forms of light, he could see her, as she'd look in but a few short years.
Thin, she'd always be thin, but this would be an ethereal kind of thin; a look of frailty that was so false it would be the downfall of all her future victims. Her eyes were wide and innocent now, but as time passed they'd grow less wide, more shuttered, more seductive. Her eyes would speak first, promising things her body would provide, if those poor fools would only follow her into the darkness. Her cheeks were full now, flushed from the heat of their bodies pressed together and his voice in her ear; but in time, the plumpness would thin out, elongating her features until she looked like a marble statue of Michaelangleo perfection. She'd never be a Venus, no; instead she'd be something so much darker, so much more inviting. Dark red hair against pale lifeless skin, green emerald eyes that would turn gold when angered…he could see where the ridges would form now, how beautiful she'd be then, to both him and his demon. Willow, would be more the Dark Goddess than any other before her; she's be a thousand times more amazing than Drusilla.
He didn't know he'd done it until the ambrosia of her blood passed slowly across his tongue. The thick liquid filled him with a heady glow of warmth, possessiveness, and desire, as he'd never known it. Beneath his mouth she moaned, the sound passed not though his ears, but through his lips. This wasn't a bit for food, or even one for claiming; it was pain for pleasure, hers as much as his.
With care, he grazed the wound with his fangs again, listening to her moan as her body fell against his, giving him all the control. His arms went around her, his hands meeting at her stomach, one anchored there for stability while the other moved just slightly higher to caress the underside of one breast.
Vampires learned quickly the ways of seduction; they had to if they wanted to survive their own masters. But Spike had been a willing learner, understanding early that seduction was a much easier way to both gather food and placate his sire. Now, all of his lessons took on a new meaning. This wasn't about food or dominance, it was about pleasure, Willow's and that thought sent a rush through him that rivaled the innocence of her blood. It didn't help that her blood told all her secrets, and he moaned as well, as he allowed his mind to realize she was still untouched.
Lovingly, he removed his fangs, lapping delicately at the open sore on her neck. Vampire saliva was a powerful antibacterial agent, and their blood even more amazing. With one quick moment, he sliced his tongue against one fang and then again licked at Willow's wounds. He felt the power in his blood transfer to her immediately as the open wounds began to heal on contact. They were long healed before Spike forced himself to pull away.
With even that small amount of his blood coursing through her, she swayed on her feet, intoxicated by the power and the barest hint of the demon that now resided in her. In the old days they'd healed the wounds to prevent being caught, sending their servants to bed in what the others considered a drunken stupor. Over time and without care, the small doses of blood could cause insanity, but Spike had known Willow would be in more jeopardy from infection if he left them open while they spent the night outdoors. She'd be a little drowsy, a little more open, and suddenly, he didn’t think that was such a bad idea for her.
He kissed up her neck, nibbling teasingly at her ear before spinning her a half turn and scooping her into his arms. Her head rolled perfectly into his shoulder, and when he looked down, into her eyes, he saw her lazy smile, and a peace that seemed to encompass her into a languid easiness.
"That was nice. I liked that." Her small hand gripped the hem of his jacket and she snuggled more deeply into his warmth, warmth provided soly by her blood. Human blood kicked a vampire's metabolism into high gear. He'd pay for it later since he'd taken less than a half a cup from her, and his body was burning all of his reserves, but if it kept her warm, that was all he cared about.
"I'm glad, Willow. I liked it too. You taste…like a sunset." She didn’t know how powerful a complement that was. To a vampire the sunset was freedom, was beauty in a way that no artist could ever capture. It was promise and pleasure, and so much more than words could portray. She was swiftly becoming his sunset, and he knew suddenly, as if a revelation had been delivered to him by the gods, she was his, all his, and he was never going to let her go.
With a kiss to her forehead, he moved them towards the bushes and let her examine the black berries at her leisure. She stared at them for a long time, as if not seeing them, before her delicate hand reached out and picked one from the branch. In a stray moonbeam, she examined it, turning it over and over in her hand before finally brining it slowly to her lips. Spike fought back a moan of his own as she pressed the fruit past her waiting lips.
In the euphoria of taste, she closed her eyes, savoring the flavor that exploded across her senses. And then, when there was nothing more to taste but the linger of something sweet and forgotten, Willow turned her face towards his and smiled.
"They're Blackberries. I made a pie out of them once, but I burned the bottom. I was going to throw it out when Jessie and Xander came over." She suddenly laughed. "Those two. They just dug right in, eating the sides and the middle without touching the bottom." Then she paused for a long time, reliving the memory. Spike held his breath. "That night, they even cleaned the pan for me. Jessie did it, but Xander had been the one to feed me bits of the pie. Sure he and Jessie ate most of it, but every now and then Xander would lean over with is fork and make me take a bit. That was a really nice night."
His blood was making her tongue loose, he could see that right away. But she wasn't so out of control that she didn't know what she was saying, or who she was saying it too. She'd feel no guilt in the morning, and that was all that mattered. He nuzzled her temple. "Thank you, Willow. Thank you for sharing that with me." He took a risk. "I'm glad he cleaned the pie pan for you."
She looked up at him then, and like he thought it had been, it was the real reason why the night had been so special. She'd tried to tell herself over the years that it had been Xander feeding her, but in reality, it had been the simple act of her friend Jessie taking care of her for a moment by cleaning the pan.
"Spike?" He looked down at her to continue. "How did you know?"
He smiled. "Oh, Luv, vampires have their ways. Now how about we do a little berry picking, we can eat them with lunch." Her smile brightened at that and his along with hers.
"Can we get a lot? If we can gather enough, I'll make another pie, and this time I'll try not to burn the bottom."
He kissed her noes. "Pet, you can burn the bottom all you want, I'll still feed you all the good parts and clean the pan myself."
They picked Blackberries for over an hour before they'd gathered enough. Instead of allowing Willow to ride Mary back, Spike set her firmly in front of him on Jack, having already tethered Mary to the saddle.
They left the forest with Willow leaning against him, her weight slight but comforting. He took them into the gardens, leaving the horses by the gate. "Wouldn't want them to eat the good plants."
Walking slowly for Willow's benefit, Spike settled them on a grassy knoll close enough to the fountain that they could just make out the flash of fish scales in the moonlight as the Koi rose to the surface to snatch some insect or other.
Closer to the house now, they could see into the ballroom that, while not lit up, did have a few of the gas lamps ablaze. That light diffused into the garden, casting faint shadows across the flowers and stone benches.
When the blanket was laid, and Willow gathered securely in the circle of his arms, he began to pull out bits of foodstuffs, feeding her bit by bit some fruit before passing her a sandwich. She ate disinterestingly, chewing the food before swallowing it mechanically, gazing about the garden and soaking in its beauty.
When she'd finished she suddenly moved away from him, shifting to the other side of the blanket and lying across it so that on her side, she looked up at him from the pillow of her arms.
"Tell me a secret, something no one else knows." It was a request, not a demand. She wanted to know something about him, and he understood the need for it to be a secret. She'd been allowing herself to be controlled completely by him, and while most of her needed that, a large part of her also needed to feel in control of herself. Having something over your controller was always an easy way to feel secure.
He made a show of thinking up something, until his constant "ums" and "ahs" coaxed a giggle out of her. Leaning back against his forearms he let out a sigh.
"All right, a secret. It's a secret no one living knows, will that work?" She seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding her head for him to continue. "Right then, ok, here's my secret: two hundred years ago, I was a poet. Not a writer, those blokes did books and novels and all that longwinded stuff. Nope, I wrote the good stuff, the twenty-liners that made chits weep their hearts out." He noted her open-mouthed expression. "What? Surprised ol' Spike used to write poetry?" He acted indignant. "Well, it's not like I do that stuff anymore. No, I've learned that actions speak a whole lot louder than words." The evil glint in his eye spoke of exactly what he meant.
For a moment Willow was too stunned to talk, just gazed at the vampire known as William the Bloody and tried to imagine him as a poet, slaving over paper and quill to create something beautiful. "W-were you any good?"
He laughed a self-depreciating laugh that struck Willow deeply making her want to cringe. "Well, I certainly thought so. Course, back then I was a whiner to the word. I probably wasn't too bad, but definitely not great, learned that the hard way." He trailed off for a moment, and Willow worried that she's pushed him into a very bad memory. Then suddenly, he seemed to shake it off before smiling at her. "I had a piece published once, in a collected bit of works from all over Britain. It wasn't much and to be honest I hated that piece most of all, but it's kind of a love hate relationship now. It was that stupid bit of paper and ink that caught Drusilla's eye. She read it and decided I was the one, so she made Angelus and Darla travel all the way to backwater London so she could turn me. I was in a sorry state that night. But by nights end, after my first kill, I was in much better mood."
Her eyes were huge, she could feel them. "D-do you mean, Drusilla was the one that turned you?"
Spike cocked an eyebrow at her. "Who did you think turned me? Angelus? That pillock would never even think about bringing another male into his little harem! Oh, my princess got a sure whipping for my induction into the family, but she didn't seem to mind. Nope, Dru changed me and taught me to kill, and by that I do mean just that, kill. Angelus, when the bastard finally realized I wasn't going to off myself by falling on a stake, was the one who finally taught me the rest." He purposefully trailed off then, not wanting to tell Willow about the nights of blood and screaming death he'd inflicted upon the world at the side of Angelus. His Grandsire had been like a god to him back then, and Spike wasn't willing to admit that to anyone after being betrayed as he'd been.
Deciding a change in subject was warranted, he returned her question. "What about you, Willow, how about a secret?"
When she was done, he wished he'd never asked.
chapter 8