Lost in Time

Chapter 1

Spike slowly advanced on Buffy – the “pre-Victorian era” Elizabeth that had no earthly idea that she was the Slayer – as she backed away from him, frightened, her body trembling.

“Look at you. Shaking. Terrified. Alone. Lost little lamb,” Spike taunted.

The Slayer stumbled against a wooden crate, her means of escape abruptly cut off. Spike moved in for the kill, feeding on her fear. Wanting to feel more, he suddenly backhanded her. Tears quickly sprang to her eyes, wider still as she looked at the demon before her.

“I love it!” he announced to the room at large.

In the corner, Angel struggled in vain against the two small demons holding him captive.

“Buffy!” Angel cried out, helpless to come to her aid.

Spike slipped his hand around the Slayer’s throat, bending her backwards over the crate. She just gazed up at him, her hazel eyes shiny with unshed tears. He removed his hand from her throat, knowing instinctively that the girl was too frightened to do anything but accept her fate and trailed one finger down her face before gripping a fistful of her hair and yanking her head to the side. Lowering his head towards her frightened and pliable form, he slowly sunk his fangs into her neck.

The first taste of her blood as it slid down his throat caused his cock to harden within the confines of his tight jeans. ‘Ah… Slayer’s blood…the best aphrodisiac around.’ He took one long pull of her blood and then his world shifted beneath his feet and darkness overcame him.

~*~*~*~*~

Elizabeth watched, unable to move, as the demon removed his hand from her neck to trail it softly down her face. She was too frightened to dare reproach him for being so familiar with her person. She sensed her death at this demon’s hands and was helpless to do anything to stop him. Resigned to her fate, she felt her head yanked to the side and watched transfixed as his sharpened teeth lowered towards her neck. Closing her eyes and whispering a fervent prayer that her end would be quick, she waited – paralyzed – for his mouth to settle on her neck and end her mortal existence.

She was surprised at the gentleness of the bite, as if the act was an event to be cherished. As if she, this monster’s victim, was being honored in her last moments of life. Her fear gave way as the first stirrings of… something… she wasn’t quite sure what, exactly, made themselves known deep within her body. She could practically hear the blood pounding in her veins, and she was aghast to feel a sudden throbbing begin at her woman’s core. ‘I’m going to hell,’ she thought as her eyes fluttered closed and the blackness enveloped her.

~*~*~*~*~

Giles kicked the sprawled figure of Ethan again in the ribs.

“Now tell me how to stop the spell.”

“Janus. Break its statue,” the warlock croaked out.

Giles turned away from him and hurried over towards the statue perched on the table. So engrossed in his task, he didn’t hear Ethan’s muttered words before he lifted the figurine high over his head and threw it to the ground. Giles paid no mind to the chaos worshiper who had a slight grin playing about his lips, and with an uncharacteristic burst of speed, rushed from the man’s house to see how his slayer was faring.

~*~*~*~*~

Angel looked towards the spot where, moments before, both Spike and Buffy stood leaning against the crate – Spike’s fangs embedded in Buffy’s neck deep enough that the scent of her blood permeated the air. Now the space was vacant, no hint of either of the two could be found. He pushed himself away from the now-frightened children, the little demons that were holding him captive having reverted back to their true nature; Giles must have found Ethan and managed to break the spell. The only problem remaining was the whereabouts of Buffy, and for that matter, Spike.

“Buffy?” Angel called out into the warehouse. The sound of his voice echoed in the near empty building.

Xander shook away the cobwebs clouding his mind as he heard Angel frantically calling Buffy’s name. The children standing around him were looking at him in confusion. He glanced over to where Buffy last stood, held prisoner by Spike. His soldier’s mind registered her being there just a moment ago, but in a blinding flash, both she and Spike had disappeared.

The children were desperately trying to get his attention, their whispered cries for “Mommy” and “Daddy” joining in with their ever-increasing sobs. Some were even trying to get his attention by pulling on his pants leg. Turning away from where Angel stood, he glanced down at the children surrounding him.

“It’s okay, we’ll find your parents real soon, alright?” he told the kids, ruffling the hair on the heads of a few to get them to calm down.

“Xander?” Cordelia called to him hesitantly.

“I guess whatever spell we were under was suddenly broken…” his voice trailed off.

“But what about Buffy? Where is she? I saw her standing over there just a moment ago, and now she’s gone.”

Xander sighed; he didn’t know what to tell her. “I don’t know, Cordelia.” Turning to Angel, he called out, “Anything?”

Angel looked up from where he was trying to catch Buffy’s scent. It was like she had just disappeared. Buffy and Spike. One minute they were there, the next... nothing. Like they had just vanished.

“Look, I need to get these kids back to their parents. Cordy, why don’t you come with… then we’ll all meet back up at Giles’?”

Angel nodded distractedly then turned back to try and find a trace of either Spike’s or Buffy’s scent. Xander and Cordelia, along with a handful of children wearing Halloween costumes, left the warehouse to return to the high school to be reunited with their parents.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike woke to what sounded suspiciously like a carriage resounding in his ears. In his groggy state, he realized that he was sprawled out on his back on the ground, in an alley, from the smells assaulting his sensitive nose. Curled against his side, an arm draped possessively across his chest, lay a woman… human at that. ‘What the bloody hell?’ Lifting his head off the ground, he tried to make out her features. The sharp pain that reverberated through his head had him muttering a curse and flopping back against the stone floor. ‘Stone? Since when did the Hellmouth have stone-covered streets?’

He pushed aside that thought for now and tried to concentrate on the female lying so trustingly in his arms. He could smell his scent on her; yet, she was still human – and alive at that. He tried to remember the last thing that had happened before he apparently passed out. The gray of his mind slowly cleared as fuzzy images sprung up before him.

The Slayer, only not the Slayer, running from him.

Children made demon, the smell of magic in the air.

His hand wrapped around the Slayer’s throat. One finger trailing down her face. His hand fisting in her hair, yanking her head to the side to expose her virgin neck.

The taste of her blood. Sweet ambrosia coursing down his throat.

Darkness.

Obviously someone must have interrupted his feeding. But that made no sense. Why would he still be alive?

A soft moan from his would-be new companion brought him out of his silent musings.

“Ohhhh… my head,” she groaned softly. She attempted to sit up, but like Spike, the pain obviously caused her to change her mind.

As the throbbing in his head started to recede, Spike was able to concentrate more on the smells around him – specifically the woman currently cuddled close to his side. Soft tendrils of some flowery scent drifted to him through the overpowering stench of urine and stale food.

He tried once again to lift his head, his demon features sliding to the fore to be better able to see in the dark, and he made out a red gown. Her face was buried against his chest but he noticed she had long, brown hair.

Surprising himself with his gentleness, he put his hand under her chin to lift her head slightly to meet his gaze. Her eyes were still closed as she attempted to block out the pain in her head, but Spike would recognize those features anywhere. Slayer! What the bloody hell was going on?

Allowing her head to slip back down to his chest, he stretched his senses outward, trying to make out the sounds and smells slowly drifting back to him.

Sea air.

Women calling out with… invitations? Male words drunkenly slurred. Sailors?

English-accented voices.

Food. Ale. Arousal.

From the sounds and smells, it sounded like they were in England. Probably near the docks. But how? He pushed that thought aside for now, once more concentrating.

Animals… horses? Wheels… wooden… turning over cobblestone. Carriages?

Now he was really confused. He refused to believe what his mind told him the familiar noises reverberating through his head might mean. Easing out of the Slayer’s arms – at which she groaned unhappily – he slowly pushed his way to his feet. Half stumbling to the end of the alley, he peered around the corner.

His jaw dropped in astonishment.

“No bloody fuckin’ way,” he whispered softly.

Yet, he couldn’t deny what was before his eyes.

Somehow, he and the Slayer had managed to slip back in time.

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