Spike finally managed to drink enough alcohol to pass out drunk at his desk, and a collective sigh seemed to escape the staff when the sounds abruptly ceased in the lord’s study.

He’d ranted and raved for several hours after Doyle’s departure – his study was testament to his rage. If he’d not been so bloody pissed off, Spike might have reveled in the fear of his butler when the man had opened the door to his study to inquire about the first of many crashes that had sounded throughout the morning hours. Instead, he’d flown across the room and slammed to door in the man’s face with explicit instructions to leave him the hell alone.

No one had disturbed him since. And he’d been quite vocal and destructive in his displeasure, too.

The irony of a vampire being dependent on a vampire slayer, and vice versa, had not been lost on him.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike awoke at dusk, barely four hours later, bleary-eyed and nursing one hell of a hangover – the likes of which not even his being a vampire could prevent entirely. Cursing himself for sleeping in a stiff chair when he could have been stretched out in comfort on a nice bed, Spike rose carefully to his feet. Hands gripped the edge of his desk when he threatened to topple over.

Not for the first time, he mentally berated himself for drinking to such an excess. It had never solved anything in the past, usually he felt even worse than when he’d started to drink.

While waiting for the vertigo to pass, he happened to glance down at his slovenly attire – shirt untucked, torn jacket and breeches; he'd lost a shoe somewhere too. He began to chuckle at the fuss his valet would likely make over the state of his dress, before the action proved too much for his throbbing head – effectively killing his mirth.

Man, his head hurt. His body didn’t feel particularly good either.

Spike manage to cover the distance of his study and fiddled with the door; his coordination was still shot and it took a moment before he was able to open it. A hot bath, some blood and a fresh set of clothes were called for. Preferably in that order.

If he guessed correctly, he’d be receiving a visitor shortly. One Mrs. Rothworth, the matronly vampiress. And receiving her like he was some hung over fledge wasn’t what he had in mind.

Upon entering the master suite, Spike noticed a man standing next to a wardrobe.

“Travis?”

“Yes, m’lord,” the man answered as he turned around.

“Wait, you’re not Travis…”

Spike was confused. They looked the same; although, his vision wasn’t the best at the moment. He squinted, not that it really helped, and was able to discern slight differences between this man and the other one. This Travis was slightly older, a bit of grey present in his dark hair. Brothers, he deduced.

“Yes, I am.”

“Right. Sorry ‘bout that, had a little too much to drink, not quite right in the head at the moment.”

“Of course, m’lord. Your plans for this evening? Should I set out formal attire?”

He quirked a brow at the man's subservient tone, how not one whit of disapproval over his tantrum earlier was evident on his features. ‘I could get used to this,’ he thought as Travis stepped forward to help him remove his clothes. Human servants were much better than minions. Blind obedience. Humans had it, minions had to be made to realize it.

“Hmmm…” he began, waving off the servant. He could undress himself. And he did so as water was brought in by a handful of lesser servants and dumped into the tub situated near the fire. “No, I’m expecting a caller this evening. A Mrs. Rothworth. I’ll be leaving for Arundel Manor directly afterwards.”

“Very good, m’lord.”

Travis left to get his master some blood, ushering the other servants out of the room before him. He returned minutes later with a large decanter and goblet, pouring a generous helping before setting the leftovers on a short table within easy reach.

~*~*~*~*~

Dressed and feeling much like his former self, Spike stepped back inside his study, already dreading the mess he would encounter.

His jaw dropped before he quickly recovered himself and schooled his features into a line of bored indifference.

The room had been put to rights in his absence; everything that was broken had been removed, his papers neatly stacked. The post had come and sat in a huge stack to one side. With nothing better to do until Mrs. Rothworth showed, he seated himself behind his desk and played at being “lord.” The majority of letters turned out to be invitations. News of his return had apparently spread like wildfire amongst the Ton.

His lip curled in disgust. So much for hiding out in the country until the Powers fixed what they needed. Not with the title they’d chosen to thrust upon him.

There was no help for it; he was going to have to return to London and open up the townhouse. He figured he had a week, two tops, before his absence was noted and he was sought out at Arundel Manor. Nobility did not miss the Season unless abroad. He scanned the pile of invitations, setting aside the ones he’d have his solicitor confirm attendance – mainly those from persons ranking higher in title than he. The others could wait – indefinitely for all he cared. That finished, he turned his attention to what was left on his desk.

An hour later, Spike lifted his head at the soft knock on the door.

“A Mrs. Rothworth to see you, m’lord,” the butler announced as he let himself in to the study. “I’ve had her placed in the drawing room.

“I’ll be there directly.”

Spike finished the detailed instructions for his solicitor of the things he wanted accomplished while he was away, not entirely confident the man would be able to see things done in his absence. He added a second note, informing of his return in two weeks time and for the solicitor to present himself at his earliest convenience. Everything was placed in an envelope and sealed with his stamp to be delivered tomorrow.

Spike wanted to take the man’s measure in person to see if he’d be able to fill the role. If not, he’d ask around, see who the other nobles used.

He wasn’t really sure why he bothered; it wasn’t like he really had to do anything while he was here. He put it down to boredom, and figured filling the shoes of a earl would be entertaining, if nothing else.

That settled, he stood and made his way towards the vampiress that would be his slayer’s new chaperone.

~*~*~*~*~

‘Young,’ was the first thought that came to mind as he stepped into the room. She couldn’t have been more than a few decades, though she looked matronly enough.

Sensing his presence, the older woman stood, dropping into a slight curtsy as he drew near.

“Lord Thornton,” the vampiress greeted.

“Mrs. Rothworth.”

“I understand you have need of a chaperone.”

“Yes. Lady Summers, my ward. She’s at Arundel Manor as yet, but we’ll be returning presently to London for the season. Obligations, and such.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

“I’m returning there this evening. You can follow at a more leisurely pace in my carriage. But, I’ll expect you no later than tomorrow evening. We’ve a lot to accomplish in the next fortnight. Will this be a problem?”

“No, m’lord,” she hurried to assure him. “I’ll make arrangements with my staff to be ready to leave at dusk tomorrow evening and should arrive at Arundel Manor later that night.”

“Very good. I’ll leave you to it then. I must be off.”

With another quick curtsy, Mrs. Rothworth left. Spike watched her exit the room and followed in her footsteps shortly thereafter, stopping along the way to find his butler. He needed to let the man know of his plans, that he was returning in two weeks for the season.

Before doing this, however, Spike went to his valet and quizzed him on which members of his London staff were aware that their master was a vampire.

“Just myself, m’lord. Usually, the cook and housekeeper follow where you go. But if you’re coming back to London for the season, Mrs. Cremshaw will probably leave beforehand to make sure everything is ready for your return.”

“And the butler?”

“Stevens, m’lord?”

“Yes, Stevens. He’s… he doesn’t know?”

“No, m’lord. Helps maintain the image? Most ‘family’ functions are conducted in the country. Safer that way, I s’pose.”

“Hmmm… very good. I’ll be returning in a fortnight for the Duke of Sevring’s ball. Make sure I’ve got something to wear, hmmm? Oh, and in black. None of those poncy colors that seem to be the rage of late.”

Spike left his valet and found Stevens, quickly explaining what he wanted done in his absence and letting the man know that his housekeeper would probably be descending on the townhouse in the next few days. The butler assured him all would be as he demanded, leaving Spike with nothing to do but return to Arundel Manor. And the Slayer. Though he buried that particular thought.

The city was beginning to come to life as he stepped out the front door into the darkened sky. He could feel the stares and practically hear their speculations he strode purposefully down his walk towards his waiting carriage. He smiled at seeing the roan stallion tied to the back, how he stomped his foot impatiently. It had been awhile since he’d ridden, before he’d been turned actually. He’d always enjoyed the freedom, the feeling of power he felt, racing headlong into the wind. The only thing keeping him upright, his particular skill with handling the horse beneath him. In that moment, he’d been someone other than William the Bloody Awful Poet.

The driver came down from his perch as he noticed his master making his way down the walk.

“Good evening, m’lord.”

Spike untied the stallion and gained his seat, ignoring his mount’s eagerness to be off. A few quick hand movements and a slight pressure of his knees quickly cooled the horse’s budding tantrum. Patting his neck reassuringly, he spoke to the driver.

“I won’t be needing the carriage tonight. Drive round to a Mrs. Rothworth’s residence. You’re to bring her to Arundel Manor when she is ready.”

“Yes, m’lord. Right away.” The driver affected a quick bow and returned to his seat, clicking the reins to get the horses moving.

Spike spun the stallion around and let him have his head, racing off into the night. He kept his eyes peeled on the road, using his preternatural senses to carefully guide the horse around the holes that occasionally dotted the surface. Riding was just like he’d remembered. The feeling of power, how he was master of his own fate. His laughter echoes in the darkness as the horse raced along.

It was awhile before his mount's restless energy subsided and he settled into a more sedate canter for the remainder of the journey.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike left the stallion with a bleary-eyed stable boy, who assured him would be well cared for. He watched a moment as the boy lead the horse almost twice his size away to cool him out. Whispered praise for the horse’s stamina and such drifted back to him and Spike finally turned away, eager to get off his feet. Relax in his study with a stiff drink and maybe a book for company.

The book was to keep him busy. To keep him from going to her. He needed to prove to himself that he didn’t have to touch her. That he could resist her. She was his, but that didn’t make her special. She was just a means to an end, or so he told himself. Repeatedly.

Now reclined in his chair, a book open and a glass of blood in his hand, Spike sipped idly as he leafed through the pages. He congratulated himself on his fortitude. At least he would have, if he’d actually been concentrating on the book, instead of her. No, it was the Slayer that was uppermost in his mind. Her blood, and the taste of it as it cascaded down his throat. Her body squeezing him tight as he thrust repeatedly into her warmth. The noises she made when she came.

At first, he thought the heartbeat resounding in his ear was his imagination, a lingering memory flashing in his consciousness. Then the door to his study cracked open, and she stood shyly before him. Her white nightgown covered her completely, but the thin gossamer left nothing to his imagination. Her fingers were playing over his mark as she eyed him uncertainly.

“Come in, pet. Shut the door,” he called out just loud enough for her to hear.

Elizabeth did as he requested, a relieved smile on her face at his invitation. Her bare feet hurried across the room as she made her way towards him.

Spike pushed back from the desk; the book fell from his lap with a soft thud, unnoticed. He held his arms wide, indicating she should sit in his lap. Refusing to bask in her spontaneous smile before she did just that. She was a wily one, however. Curling into his body, her cheek nuzzling his chest.

Spike was helpless but to wrap his arms around her and hold her close.

“I just woke up, and I could feel you,” she whispered. One of her hands continued to rub the scar permanently etched upon her skin, as if trying to ease the tingling it was causing.

“Sorry ‘bout that, love. Didn’t realize I was calling you until you were standing here.”

“Did you get all of your business taken care of? Is that why you’re back so soon?” She really didn’t care why he was back, just that he was. And that he was holding her tightly against him. It made her feel cherished. Special.

“Hmmm… what’s that, pet?”

“Your business in London…”

“Ahhh, yes. Well, I suppose so. Some of it anyway. I’ll be returning in a fortnight for the season; I can’t get away with rusticating in the country.”

Elizabeth ignored the feeling that his next absence would cause and bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out her distress. Instead, she sat quietly in his lap like a small child in need of comfort.

Only, she wasn’t a child and he was far from a father figure, even if he was her guardian.

“I’ll miss you.”

The whispered words shocked both of them but for different reasons.

“Oh, love, no need to miss me. You’ll be coming too, or did you think I’d let you wallow here all alone? I went to London to see about finding a suitable chaperone for you.”

‘Now where had that come from?’ Spike thought. He was ready to kick his own poncey-sounding ass. Reassuring the chit? He’d obviously lost his mind, if not his bollocks.

“Really?” she asked, lifting her head from where it lay nestled against his shoulder so that she could look up at him, see the truth of his words.

“Yes, really.”

In her excitement of being allowed to go with him back to London, Elizabeth laced her arms around his neck and gave him an exuberant hug. Then went one step further and pressed her lips to his.

Spike’s eyes darkened at the Slayer’s unexpected display of affection. His vow to go the day without seeking her out flew right out the window. He didn’t even bother to rationalize that she was the one that sought him out, knowing that he’d only be lying to himself – that was something he refused to do.

He had her turned and straddling his waist, her nightgown pooled up around her hips, before she knew what was happening. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss much less chaste than hers had been. His tongue demanded – and received – entrance to her mouth. Tasting her with bold strokes, coaxing a response out of her. She caught on quick enough, kissing him back with fervor until she was forced to draw back and catch a breath.

While she sat panting above him, Spike gripped her ass and drew her flush against his cock. His eyes glittered as he watched her head fall back, her long dark hair spilling over his arms.

“Like that, do you, pet?” He teased her clit with his thumb, slow measured circles to drive her insane. “Or do you want something more?” He shoved two fingers inside her pussy.

Her moan was music to his ears. The wetness of her pussy damn near singed his fingers. Her scent made his mouth water. He didn’t know whether to fuck her or suck her.

His dick answered that question for him, throbbing with need to be inside her. And now.

It was awkward, fumbling with the fastenings of his breeches with the Slayer sitting atop him, but somehow he managed it. Then he was guiding her down onto his cock.

Muscles stretched to accommodate him. Moist heat enveloped him, and Spike couldn’t prevent his own moan of pleasure. Her pussy was pure slayer, gripping him with all the strength she seemed to possess.

Elizabeth sighed happily as William slid in as far as he could go. She rested her head on his shoulder, content to just lay there and bask in the feeling of fullness. William, however, apparently had other ideas. She felt his hands on her hips, urging her to move.

She really should have been shocked, given their wanton position.

“Like riding a horse,” Spike murmured, showing her. Nice and slow, like he had all the time in the world.

Riding a horse had never felt like this, Elizabeth couldn't help but think, sure her face was now beet red with embarrassment. What they were doing was so much better. Still, she followed his lead. Up and down, over and over, until he’d apparently had enough with their leisurely pace and took matters into his own hands.

His grip tightened, then he was moving faster. Harder. Elizabeth’s eyes widened as her body was maneuvered and the angle of his thrusts changed. Her hands sought purchase where they could as she bounced in William’s lap.

Apparently that wasn’t enough either.

Things went flying off his desk when William stood abruptly and laid her back across the surface. She watched, transfixed, as ridges appeared on his brow and blue eyes were eclipsed by gold. He snarled as he continued to pound into her, revealing sharpened fangs.

She wasn’t worried though.

In actuality, she reveled in his demon, knowing that seeing it was proof of his need for her. His desire.

Elizabeth didn’t need his help to bare her throat to him. She wanted it. Wanted his bite. Knowing full well what it would do. How it would make her feel.

Spike saw the Slayer’s willing supplication and lost it.

Mine, mine, mine, his mind chanted as he sank his fangs into her neck. Nostrils flaring at her instant release. A noise, somewhere between a moan and a purr, was muffled against her flesh as he drank her blood and felt her muscles contract around him. The demon content now that he’d restated his claimed with cock and fangs. Stamping his ownership of the girl upon her body once again.

“Mine,” he declared in a low growl, having torn his mouth away from her throat. “Mine.”

He came to the sound of her easy agreement.

“Yes... yours. Always yours...”

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