__One Long Night__
By B'cat



He was running. Fast. The stolen blood roared a glorious technicolour song in his veins. Brilliant. Vital. His every fibre was exploding with life. It made him want to howl, made him want to roar and lay waste to the world, made him want to leap up and grab the moon. He spotted a large tombstone, crumbling and smothered in lichen and moss. In one perfectly calculated leap he flew to the top of it and launched himself into the sky.

For a moment he was flying. Lost in amongst the cold brilliance of starlight and vacuum; coat billowing out behind him like the wings of a dark angel. He flew, he soared, his hands reached for the pale disc of the moon. And he howled. Pure unadulterated joy filled and expelled from his lungs. It was ecstasy to use them. The howl turned into a rebel yell and he was descending. Falling fast. The moonlit grass was rushing up to meet him. His keen yellow eyes saw every blade of grass, every bug and crawling thing, every crumb of dirt. He could smell the rich scent of decay; hear every scrape of insect legs, and even, he fancied, the sound of each blade of grass as it grew. His senses grew drunk as he fell.

Then he hit. Messily. Limbs everywhere. Face in the dirt. He sprawled onto his back and laughed. Big belly laugh. Laughed and rolled around in the dirt. Ran his fingers through the soil, the beautiful death contaminated earth. How many had died here to make it so pretty? His clawed fingertips dug into it and it gave like flesh, it even sounded like the sweetness of flesh ripping open under his powerful hands. The grass roots, the decaying leaves, the seductive scent of decades of rot that perfumed it, tore and were exposed to the air. He inhaled. So sweet.

“I know this should surprise me, but somehow...”

He looked up with a growl, his claws still embedded in his prey. The scent of new blood exploded into his senses. Living blood. He could taste it, literally taste it in the air. Nostrils flared.

Prey.

Brilliant memories exploded through his mind and body. Prowling, hunting somewhere long ago when life was ecstasy. When life was blood. When he took it by force and it ran down his throat, hot and throbbing with terror. Scarlet and exquisite. He remembered. He remembered.

He charged.

Prey dodged at the last second and he tumbled back down to earth. His head connected with the dirt. Pain. He rolled and was on his feet in an instant. Tricky prey. He would have to hunt this one. Chase the scent. The glorious scent. Ecstasy blossomed in his chest and headed south.

Where did it go? He sniffed the air. Close. Close. Very close. Almost- Something hit him hard from behind and he was down again. Back down in the dirt. He sprang up, whirling to face his attacker.

“Spike, stop!” Prey was standing there. Waiting. Wanting to fight him for the life that it possessed. Better than the chase. Better. He inhaled again and eyed the bipedal banquet. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but unless you stop right now you’re going to feel the business end of Mr Pointy truce or no truce.”

Words, words, words. He remembered those too. Demanding words, pleading words, terrorized words, agonized words. Dying words. The pleasure was almost too much to bear. He was trembling with excitement and his head sang with the pain of it. He gathered to spring again. “I’m warning you Spike. I’m not playing.” Words. Words. Words. He chewed air, tasting the scent. Sink in the fangs. Rip and tear. Rich as earth and sweet as the moon. Prey watched him as he padded back and forth in indecision, looking for an opening past the giant splinter. The wooden stake smelt bad, like poison. He bared his teeth at it. Growled.

Then he feinted. Fast and deadly. The pleasure/pain arced like lightening as he scored a touch with his claws. Ducking and weaving. Prey was fast. Faster than it should be, but he wanted it. Want.

He danced. Prey danced too. Dancing fast and furious and deadly. Joy swelled up inside and threatened to burst his chest, his skull. Fast and fluid. Feint and strike. Searching for the opening he knew would come. Carnal anticipation thrilled through him and he growled rich and deep in his throat.

“STOP!”

And there it was. The throat was exposed. His vision sharpened and he focussed on the throbbing artery. Oh god, the ecstasy of the kill!

“SPIKE, NO!” He swooped with a triumphant howl and screamed. Agony tore through his head. A lightning strike of searing white gold ripping open his skull and killing him. He felt himself falling from a great height. Plummeting down into darkness until the light was just a speck in the distance. Then it was gone.

* * * * *

“What the hell was that!” Xander said. He was staring at the unconscious vampire, tree branch still poised to strike. Buffy climbed to her feet, using a gravestone as leverage. Her heart was racing, adrenaline and Slayer senses still screaming through her body. To her sensitised ears Xander’s voice was as loud as Spike’s scream had been moments before he had almost made mortal contact with her neck. That had been close. As close as she had ever come. Closer than she had sworn she would ever let it come again.

She looked down at vampire where he lay sprawled in the dirt. Blood and soil had mixed over his face, his hair. His clothing was ripped up and it looked like he had not bothered to change or wash since they had last seen him over a week ago. But more disturbing than that, even unconscious his game face was still out. Fangs still bared.

“Don’t get too close!” Buffy jumped as Willow called out. Xander was edging around onto the other side of Spike. He gingerly prodded the vampire with his branch. Nothing, the demon was out for the count.

* * * * *

“He was just crazy!” Xander said, waving his arms around. “Like Chainsaw Massacre insane only without the chainsaw - for which I am profoundly grateful by the way - and I know he’s a vampire and all and down with the grrrr argh, but that was not Spike. That was a crazy animal Taz possessed vampire with appalling hygiene.”

“Mmm.” Willow nodded. “Spike is nothing if not hygienic. For a vampire anyway.” Xander didn’t know how she could stay still there on the couch. He was still tingling with adrenaline, pacing and shifting around the Watcher’s living room.

Giles was standing by his fireplace, dressed sloppily in flannel pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt with a Sherlock Holmes-inspired dressing gown, hanging undone, over his shoulders. He was cleaning his glasses, again. He had been doing that in a chain smoking kind of way since Xander, Willow and Buffy had tumbled through the door to his house in complete freak out mode. His brows were furrowed: Gilesean body language for AAAARGGHHHH! Xander supposed.

“And there was no warning? He didn’t say or do anything that might shed some light on his behaviour?”

“N-not unless you count the growling and the rolling around in the, uh, dirt type shedding of light.” Willow put in. “Hey, can vampires get rabies?”

“Where is he now?” The older man asked ignoring the question.

“We carried him back to his crypt and tied him up tight. Slayer tight.” Xander bounced on his toes, nodding, riding the fear high.

“He’s not going anywhere tonight.” Buffy confirmed from behind him. She sounded quiet and calm. Only a Slayer could sound that calm after what had happened.

“Good.” Giles nodded and put his sparkly clean glasses back on. “And, I take it that there is no need for me to point out the seriousness of this situation.” Neither of the three replied. Serious was very understated, Xander thought. Maybe it was British for ‘Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!’?

“Do you think he’s uh, gone like mad or something?” Willow asked. “I mean, a vampire that can’t make like a vampire and.... Maybe he snapped under the strain?”

“Possibly.” Giles was cleaning his glasses again. “Spike’s is a unique case. A vampire that is being forcefully prevented from indulging a vampire’s most base instinct must be extremely stressed, but it is not something that has been recorded in the historical literature unfortunately. Or, for that matter, handed down by word of mouth.”

“What about Angel?” Xander blurted out, waving an accusatory finger at Giles.

“Ah, no, different case again I am afraid. Angel is under a curse. He is refraining from preying upon human beings by choice. One soul bearer to another.

“Spike has no soul, and given the choice it is very likely that he would resume his vampiric activities.”

“So we kill him then?” Buffy asked. Xander turned to look at her. She was still standing where she had been after they had burst through the door. Arms folded, pale and dirty under the lamp light. She looked agitated. Xander felt he could safely second that feeling.

“No.” Giles said.

“NO?” Xander exploded. “He just tried to kill Buffy. He was warned about making unfriendly right from the start-” Giles held up a silencing hand.

“We need to know more about what is going on here. It could be a nervous breakdown but it might not.”

“Ooh, magic you mean?” Willow pricked up. Willow and magic - could anyone say ‘red cordial’?

“Possibly. I take it you didn’t feel anything Willow?”

“Uh, no.” She ducked her head a little, chagrined. “I was kinda preoccupied with... You know. Ooh, but I’m on it now. Radar at full alert.”

“So what do we do?” Buffy said. “Research?”

“Yes. We should get on it right away. Xander, you come down to the Magic Box with me.”

“Sure thing G-man.” He bounced on his toes, pleased. Action was always good. “I’ll call Anya.” Anya was always better.

“Willow, I need you and Tara to go to Spike’s crypt and try to determine if we are facing a magical problem.”

“What about me?” Buffy asked.

“We need to know what the events were that lead up to this incident. If this phenomenon is peculiar to Spike that’s one thing, but if it isn’t.... I need you to interrogate Spike.”

She smiled briefly, coldly. “Not a problem.” Xander did not like the sound of her voice.

* * * * *

After swinging by the U and collecting Tara the trio of girls headed for the Graveyard. Buffy chafed at their slow mortal pace. She knew that there was no apparent need to hurry: Spike was secured and no one was kidnapped or in any danger, yet. Still, she itched to break out into a Slayer fast sprint and start beating answers out of Spike.

He had come so close to ending her life tonight. Only his chip had saved her, and then only once he had almost reached the gold at the end of the rainbow. Why hadn’t it gotten to him before that? Was it the protective numbing effect of insanity?

“He really went off like that? With no warning?” Tara was asking. Buffy realised she had a hand clasped protectively over her throat and dropped it hurriedly, angry with her reaction. “What about the chip?”

“I don’t think he was really feeling it.” Willow shivered. “Not until the... end anyway.” She glanced apprehensively at Buffy. Tara put a comforting arm around her lover. Willow reached up and threaded her fingers through her hand as it draped around her shoulder. Tara smiled the reassuring smile of someone who really had no concept of the horror of what had happened.

They walked at a brisk pace into the cemetery. The moon was out tonight and the grey and white stonework of the graves and tombs glinted under its cold light. There really were too many new stones here. Last week another new extension had been announced and another three grave digger positions had been created. Sunnydale, doing its bit for the national economy...

Spike’s crypt was deep in the heart of the graveyard. A large decaying unfrequented family tomb, covered in vines, lichen, moss and filth. Very classical vampire. In recent times, though, she had started not to think of Spike or his ‘home’ in vampiric terms. Sure, she knew he was a vampire, but he was not a practising vamp so to speak. They had started to talk too. Who knew soulless vampires were so human-like underneath all that bloodlust? Shell or no, the leftover parts of William were still there, colouring his demon and making him into an individual.

He was the first vampire, she realised, that she had ever known the way other vampires knew each other. As a kind of equal. He had likes, dislikes, faults and, she admitted reluctantly, not so faulty bits. Spike would never be ‘human’, not like Angel had been, but he had been becoming more than just another vamp to dust.

Well, she thought, not anymore. She had almost paid the ultimate price for forgetting just how powerful and dangerous Spike was. Under all that cigarette smoke and annoying one liners he was a vamp. Sworn enemy of the Slayer. If he ever managed to get that chip removed or deactivated they would once again revert to that honest and natural state of affairs.

She would not forget that again.

They passed under the boulevard of dying trees that lead to Spike’s crypt. The trees never grew leaves or flowered here in the cemetery. Too close to the Hellmouth Giles had theorized once. Too close to evil, stunting fumes and vibrational thingies. They hovered in a state somewhere in between living and dead, coma like and stagnant. They towered over the trio now, black skeletal arms reaching for the moon.

Somewhere an owl hooted.

They came to the crypt at last, without incident, and Buffy pulled her stake. Willow started, alarmed.

“Better to be safe than sorry.” Buffy said. “Stay here. I’ll call if it’s okay.” And she slipped inside.

The crypt was dark and silent, but her enhanced senses easily picked up Spike, chained to the wall, hanging by his wrists. She could see the silhouette of his head as it hung down on his chest and smell his unwashed vampiric stink. She padded silently and rapidly around the cavernous interior but there were no unwelcome visitors. Just a very messy bachelor-vampire pad, stinking of old blood. Dirty dishes no doubt. Finally she came to the ladder that led to the second level. She listened. Nothing.

Dropping lightly, making almost no noise, she landed in the lower part of the crypt. The stink of old blood was stronger down here. Her feet connected with something slick and squishy and she almost fell. Shit! What the hell was that? Fumbling, she found the ancient pull-cord light switch and yanked on it. Weak yellow light clacked into the room and she looked down.

Gross!

She was standing on a heap of used blood bags. Willy’s - was stencilled onto the plastic. God, he was just such a... such a... MAN. Couldn’t even put the garbage out. Carefully stepping off the bags she hunted through the underground, even dipping into the sewers. There was no odour of vampire or demon and her ‘whiskers’ did not tingle danger. In fact, it felt rather old and uninhabited down here. Abandoned.

Spike’s unmade bed dominated the far corner of the room. It looked very unused. That was odd. Spike was not too keen on his coffin of late, and she had lost count of the number of times he had tried to trick her into walking in on him sleeping in the nude. Even the violently red silk sheets had been stolen for her benefit apparently. She pushed aside the mesh drapes that hung from the ceiling and put a hand out onto the sheets. Cold. No vibrations. Not a hint they had been laid upon since they had all seen the vampire last. That was over a week ago.

Thinking once again of Spike she headed back upstairs and crossed to the crypt door.

“Its safe.” She told the two Wicca. The three of them entered crypt and Buffy flipped the light switch. Bright white light flooded the room and all three blinked and squinted.

“Woah!” Willow breathed. The place had been trashed. Whirlwind, going ballistic, smashed beyond restoration destroyed. Spike’s precious T.V. was in splinters and chunks of unidentifiable plastic, and strewn all over the floor. The meagre furniture had been pulped into splinters and the coffin lid was lying in two pieces against the opposite wall. Dawn’s wall hangings were in shreds upon their support poles. And there was blood. A lot of blood. The floor and walls were red with it. There was even a giant splotch on the ceiling.

“How did we not see this?” Willow asked in the silence. “Guess we were too, you know, get Spike chained to the wall and run away....” She answered herself and trailed off, staring around the room. “What happened?”

“Woah!” Tara had seen Spike. He was still vamped out and the mess he was in was made stark in the light. Buffy took a step closer. She hadn’t seen the full extent of the damage before, despite her Slayer senses. Well, he certainly had not been looking after himself with characteristic Spike pride that was for sure. In fact, he had not been looking after himself with characteristic pig in a sty pride either. She had never seen him like this.

His hair was standing out at all angles, tangled and showing its natural wave as it tumbled over his forehead. It was streaked with gunk and blood. Buffy frowned, it looked like the case for insanity was gaining merit. There was no way Spike would let anything mess up his hair like that. She could even see the dark brown roots showing.

The rest of him was ragged, filthy, bloody and thin. This was not Spike. Not the Spike they knew and... tolerated.

“Right.” Buffy shifted her weight from foot to foot, psyching herself. “You two get started with the magic detection mojo and I’ll deal with Spike.”

* * * * *

The Wicca were doing their chanty thing behind her as Buffy considered the limp vampire. If he didn’t get over this primal vampire deal in a hurry she was going to have to dust him. Not that that was an entirely unpleasant prospect, but Giles was right. Spike was not acting like Spike, even non-chipped Spike, and she shuddered to think what would have happened if it had been an un-chipped vampire that had succumbed to what ever was affecting El Neutero here. He had fought like a hurricane, unconcerned with his own safety, and in the end it was his unrestrained brute force that had tipped the balance. It was very unsettling, but she had to admit it - he had simply physically overwhelmed her.

Imagine if he hadn’t been chipped, imagine if other vampires and unnatural things had attacked her. Imagine if there had been more than one.

“Spike!” She called sharply. “Wake up Flatline!” Nothing. Well then - and she slapped him. Hard. With Slayer strength. His head snapped back and then flopped forward again. Nothing. She raised her fist and he growled. A full on, vampire mean, unnatural sounding rumble.

“That’s better.” She stepped back waiting for him to go ballistic. Instead he lifted his head and sniffed the air. Great, still in the land of the wacked out. She met his yellow eyed stare and bore down on the bloodlust with all of her Slayer strength. “What’s going on Spike? What’s with the make over? Is this the new 21st century vampire chic, because let me tell you: it sucks.”

He grimaced in reply and showed her his fangs in a droopy doing it for effect kind of way. “Is that the best you can do dead boy?” She considered him. Maybe he had brain damage? More than he already had anyway.... Stupid, annoying yappy-dog vampire. He blinked heavily and bared his fangs again. Old, very old. “Still not impressed.”

“Oh sod it! Can’t you take a hint? Piss off and let me disintegrate.” His voice was slurred and gravelly. He let his head flop forward again.

“Yes, well, I’d love to but as they say: business before pleasure. What’s up with you?” He did not reply. “Don’t make me hit you again.”

“Fuck off!”

“Wrong answer.” She hit him.

“Hey!” He spat out blood, right in her face and the cold liquid prickled her skin. Eew! “What’s that for? Not that I didn’t like it, but can’t a bloke suffer in peace when he’s got a hangover.” He tried to snarl again but it came out in a grimace. “Bloody hell. I’m never mixing drinks again.”

“Tell me what’s going on! What’s with the violence and the treaty breaking... And the... the chip resisting?”

“Huh?” He looked up again. This time his eyes were blue and blood shot and the vamp out was less pronounced. He tried to shrug and suddenly jerked his head up with a hiss, seeing the chains. His gaze darted around his den. “FUCK! What’s all this then?”

“You tell me.” She folded her arms. “I am not letting you down from there anytime soon so you might as well talk.”

“What happened to my clothes!?”

Suddenly there was a very loud, deeply offensive expletive from behind her.

“WILLOW!” Tara said, shocked.

“Sorry.” The two Wicca were sitting, cross-legged on some bloodless rubble, either side of a small green fire. There were white powder runes decorating the floor around them. Willow was holding a large amber crystal suspended on a string. The rock was glowing with a hot intense light. It was also defying the laws of gravity and straining on its lead, pointing toward the ladder. The string looked ready to snap. Both girls were sweating nervously.

“Magic.” Buffy said.

“Ooh yeah. Big mojo. Waaay big mojo. Down there.” She nodded at the ladder. “Cease!” The witch said and the rock was once again a slave to Newton; the light extinguished.

“Its really powerful.” Tara looked up at Buffy. “I don’t think we’ll need another spell to find it down there.”

“What is it?” Buffy asked. She heard Spike rattling his chains. Heard his frustrated growl.

“I don’t know.” Tara said and Willow shrugged. “It’s strong, but it’s also strange. Unnatural. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

“Why don’t I find that surprising.” Buffy said flatly. “Come on then let’s go find it, stake it and go home.”

“Uh, no offence, but I think we’re going to need back up.” Tara looked to Willow for confirmation and received a nod. Then several more. Whiplash fast.

“What the bloody hell is going on?!” Spike suddenly yelled. “What bloody magic and who wrecked my place?!”

“What about him?” Buffy thumbed at the fuming vampire. Tara stood and approached him. Stopping a few metres away she flinched.

“Definitely him too. It’s all around him. He’s smothered in it.”

“Great.” Buffy pursed her lips, making death-ray eyes at the chained vamp. “You are just the biggest pain in the ass Spike!” She nodded at Tara. “You two had better go back to the Magic Box. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on things.” Buffy stepped away from Spike, giving the vampire a steely glare. The two wicca started packing up, ritualistically smearing and then collecting the rune dust; extinguishing the little fire and collecting its tinder. “Bring back whatever we need to clean this mess up.”

“Hey!” Spike yelled again. “Hello? What about me? Friendly vamp needing unchaining here?”

“Friendly!” Buffy retorted. “So that was a friendly little love tap before was it?”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about you daft bint?” He glared. Buffy raised her eye brows and turned away. “No, wait! Listen, I was drunk. Really drunk. Can’t bloody remember much after I left the poker night.”

“That was over a week ago Spike.” She turned back, arms crossed.

“Bollocks!” His eyes were actually bugging in what looked like disbelief. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe not. Either way that didn’t tell them much. He could still be a threat if he was as soaked in an unnatural magic as Tara said he was. “Not possible.” Spike was saying. His game face was melting back into its human guise. “Vampires can’t get that drunk. Doesn’t work that way. Not even when we mix drinks like I am really regretting right now.”

“Can you do a little truth spell on him?” She asked the Wicca.

“Uh, not while he’s all magicked up. Don’t know how it would react.” Willow said. “Besides, we haven’t gotten all the kinks out of that particular spell just yet.” She shared a secret, furtive look with Tara. Tara glanced away guiltily. There was a story in that look. Maybe more than one. Deeply disturbing too no doubt.

“See you later Spike.” And the two wicca were walking out the door ignoring the outraged swearing that followed them out.

* * * * *

Spike watched the girls leave. He let them have it too. Good and proper. Bet he’d taught them a few new useful phrases there. Bitches. What the fuck was going on? First he had had the most incredible award winning sex and snuff dream, looking like it had the potential to surpass even most base shinannigans that he and Dru had gotten down to, and then he had woken up with the hangover to end all hangovers and found himself chained to his own sodding wall. By his ally the Slayer no less.

And then she’d hit him. Twice. And he wasn’t even feeling well enough to enjoy it properly.

“Hey Slayer! Let me down, there’s a friendly little demon killer.” She was ignoring him. Bitch. “Oh come on! My arms are comin’ outa the sockets here. Cut a hungover guy some slack can’t you?” He gritted his teeth and rattled the chains again. His feet kicked out. “Oh come on! Bloody hell, I thought we were friends...”

“Friends! One does not try to kill one’s friends Spike. Besides you are a vampire, which you more than reminded me tonight, and I am the Slayer. See the picture I’m painting here?”

“Listen to me you bloody fool. I’ve already told you I don’t know what you’re talking about. Last thing I remember I was making up some mixers and getting nicely sauced and the next I am chained to my own bloody wall. And my head is trying to explode!” He wriggled in frustration, his human face contorted in pain.

“Well, I think I can help you with the cranium detonation thing. That would be from you rolling around in the dirt and then deciding to try to rip my throat out earlier this evening. Ring any bells?”

Bloody hell! That was the dream. That was in his sodding dream. He remembered the thrill, the ecstasy of it and shivered. Ooh baby..... Oops, the Slayer was looking at him with a severely pissed off statement.

“Did you say something about being surprised?” He asked.

“Oh, its all coming back now is it?”

“Fuck you! That was my dream. You want to crash other peoples dreams with all that Wicca fun an’ games and see what you get!”

“It wasn’t a dream Spike.”

“Says you!” He glared. “Bloody little Wicca. I’ll bloody eat the pair of them chip or not!”

“Is this a dream?” The Slayer was stalking toward him now with murderous anger in her eyes. She pulled up the side of her sweater and he could clearly see the claw marks in her flank, already healing. The smell of Slayer blood tingled erotically in his nostrils - a delicious promise of sex and death. And not necessarily in that order. He thought better of licking his lips only at the last second.

“Fuck!” He breathed. “I remember that. What’s going on?”

“That’s what we are going to find out. As soon as the others get here.”

“Oh sod them! They could be hours. We don’t need them anyway. Let’s just go get this thing and kick the living, or unliving, shit out of it right now!”

“I can’t sense it moron. It’s some new magic. And you obviously aren’t much better since you’re bloody contaminated with it!”

“You said ‘bloody’!” He couldn’t help the grin. “I’m rubbing off on you Slayer.”

“Shut up!”

“Make me.”

“In your dreams!”

“Every day Slayer. Every day.”

“Ugh!” She looked extremely and pleasingly disgusted. “I’m going out for some air.”

Spike watched her go. “You’ll be missing me in two minutes! Two minutes you’ll be needing some more Spikey goodness-” And she was gone. Bought bloody time too, his arms really were going to come out of their bloody sockets. He kicked up from the wall and grabbed the chains above the cuffs. One flex of his lower half and he flipped, ramming a boot into the bolt above his head. Bloody stupid bint thinking he did not know his own lair, every last bit and bob of it. The bolt gave immediately and he dropped to the ground catching the chain as it fell.

Oh shit. Look at that.

He staggered miserably to his wrecked telly. Ah shit. He’d spent hours putting the damn thing together. And his coffin. His lovely stone coffin. And Dawn’s wall hangings! Oh damn, he’d liked those, what with the scenes of blood and death and all. Bloody sensational. She was an artist was what she was no matter what that wanker art teacher said. She didn’t need any counselling, she needed an agent. Damn, he’d really liked those hangings and now they were shredded into ragged strings.

Oh, someone was going to pay for this. Magic or no, they were going to feel the wrath of William the Bloody. He hooked his fingers into the cuff around his right wrist and ripped it open with a single savage tug. Invade a man’s private thoughts and expose them to the world would they! He tore open the other cuff. Trash all a man’s worldly belongings would they! Well, they weren’t going to be able to sit down for the rest of existence once he got hold of them - that was if he was sufficiently calmed down to let them live by the time he caught up with them.

All he needed now was a spot of blood to help his poor head and a change of clothes and then the world better get ready to give up his quarry. Spike sprinted over to the ladder, and with one hop was gone.

* * *