Prologue
Spike had no intention of following Harris, he really hadn’t. But, there’d been that promise. And yes, while her entreaty was specifically meant for Dawn, something told him that the Slayer had intended all of her friends to be included, so he couldn’t not, in good conscience – and wasn’t that a laugh, unsouled demon that he was – keep them safe. Not with his word to her, hanging over his head.
So, he watched over them all in the aftermath of the Slayer’s swan song.
The Niblet was quiet and withdrawn, even in the witches’ company; she’d only taken to coming out of her self-imposed shell when he was around. Hence, him being around the house on Revello Drive more and more, often taking to sleeping in the basement because he’d pushed the envelope too far and ignored his internal alarm clock that told him that sunrise was imminent, thus missing his chance to return to his crypt.
Tara was still recovering from the mind wipe by Glorificus and the subsequent spell cast by Red that had freed her; Red, who was becoming almost annoying in her clinging desperation to keep the other within sight at all times.
Giles had taken to his bottle, even going through the good stuff in a drunken haze. Often not surfacing for days at time, and those times he’d presented himself he’d been unlike the Giles the others had known – face unshaven, clothes wrinkled as if he’d slept in them and not bothered to change, hair sticking up on end… alcohol seeping out of his pores and assaulting Spike’s delicate sense of smell. He was envious of the watcher, his slip into oblivion.
If not for that damn promise, he would have done the same.
Which was why he was here now, skulking about in the shadows, watching as Harris walked, shoulders slumped, head down, towards…
Bloody hell!
There was no way the boy was going there.
Spike eyed the building and the hidden triskele that proclaimed to all that knew where and how to look, what went on behind the non-descript metal door. Watched as Harris walked right up to it, knocked twice, and was immediately granted entrance… straight into the bowels of hell.
Xander Bloody Harris had just entered the realm of the best kept secret on the Hellmouth – a demon club that catered to BDSM clientele, those not overly concerned with things like safe words and human limitations. Anything short of death was allowed, and that one concession only because the exclusive club’s healers weren’t powerful enough to bring someone back.
Shaking his head, cursing the Slayer once more under his breath, Spike left his hiding place and jogged over to the club. He brought his demon to the fore and banged his fist on the door, leaving the Krit Ick demon assigned sentry duty in no doubt of his admittance.
“The boy that was just let in… where was he taken?” Spike growled as the door was closed behind him. Sheer menace made him appear taller than the two feet the other demon had on him.
The Krit Ick thumbed behind him, and Spike tilted his head to the side to see a narrow hallway shrouded in darkness, a second entrance to the festivities being had below. He straightened and looked the Krit Ick in the eye.
“I want him.”
The Krit Ick grunted but nodded. He snapped his meaty fingers and Spike smelt the servant before he actually saw him, a human garbed in nothing but leather scraps that covered his loins and a collar that proclaimed that he belonged to another. But it was nothing compared to the bodily fluid that had been rubbed into his skin.
“Jeff will take you below and see to your needs while you wait. Need I remind you of our rule?”
“No killing,” Spike replied, like he didn’t have a chip in his head to keep him from doing just that and was conceding the point almost begrudgingly. “I got it. Anything else goes.”
The Krit Ick just smiled.
