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Spike looked through the papers that he had just recieved priority mail, frowning as he spoke with his Sire over the phone, "You have got to be kidding. This is completely nuts!"
Angel sighed patiently on the other side of the phone, "Spike, the Gateway of Lost Souls can only be entered through by someone with one. According to Doyle, this is the only other alternative..."
"I don't sweat..."
"You don't have to sweat!" Angel's patience was wearing thin, "If you want your answers, you have to go to the address Doyle sent you."
"Bloody priceless," Spike grumbled, hanging up on Angel without so much as a thanks.
He ran a hand through his hair as Erin came down the stairs, and she smiled at him wanly, "Are you okay? You look a little pale..."
Spike chuckled, "Really now? I wonder why that is?"
She rolled her eyes as she came towards him, frowning a bit, and he kissed her forehead, "Luv, I got to run off for a few days, all right? I got a tip on a little something concerning the prophecy..."
"Really? Shouldn't Giles...?"
"Naw, I got it," Spike kissed her again, and then strode towards the door, "I'll let you know how it goes, all right?"
"Spike..."
"Love you, Er," He threw her a reassuring smile over his shoulder as he disappeared out the door, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she watched him go, tears springing to her eyes. She glanced down at her feet before moving towards the kitchen to make some coffee.
Damn you, Spike...what are you hiding?
Spike's eyes were narrowed slightly as his DeSota bounced along the desert floor. The sun had set five hours before, and he had been driving non-stop since then.
Christ...he wished he didn't have to leave Erin home alone, but he didn't have much of a choice, the ceremony was going to raise too many questions in the redhead's mind, and he knew there were stuff he didn't really want her to know. Namely, about Satan and their fates throughout the history of the world.
Hopefully, the man he was too see would clarify all of that for him, and give him access to the Powers through a ceremony that didn't require a Gateway.
He glanced up at the sky through the blackened windshield, the stars glittering like hard diamonds in the cold sky, and his mind flashed back on a story Erin once told him about the first Slayer watching down on everyone from the heavens. Creepy...but then again, what isn't lately?
He shook his head as he uncapped a vodka bottle, taking a deep swig of it, considering turning around and going back home, even though he could already see the small village looming against the desert background ahead of him.
He pulled to a stop, his car kicking up a large plume of dust behind him.
He looked around the traditional village, set up deep in the desert to escape from modern life, however, there were still a few mobile homes looking out of place among the teepees.
Spike was surprised when a group of dark-haired children flocked out and around him and his car, looking up at him curiously. "Uh...hey," He greeted as he lit up a cigarrette, "I'm looking for..."
A hunched over man came out of a teepee, and sent a small glare at the kids, and they scattered away, going back to their respective homes, and Spike raised an eyebrow as he turned to face the newcomer.
The man had jet-black hair, despite his age, and his dark brown eyes twinkled in a face reminencesnt of dark leather. "Come," He gestured, returning to his teepee, and Spike butted out his cigarrette before following.
He ducked inside, glancing around curiously. He felt like he stepped back in time when the buffelos still roamed the American plains, everything in the old man's home simply breathing of a dying race and traditions, though, it appeared, these people were desperately trying to keep it alive.
Should have come over when everything was still wild, Spike thought regrettably, but Drusilla wouldn't have it. She wasn't one to want to go out into the untamed wild, more suited to parlours and parties then horses and wagons. He remembered when he was still a young Childe, reading up all he could on Wild Bill, The James Brothers, and stuff like that. Erin, on the other hand, would have jumped at the chance...bloody strange woman...
He sighed inwardly, bringing himself back around to the task at hand and to the man bending over a low campfire, muttering something in a language Spike didn't understand.
"Listen, mate, I appreciate all of this...but I got an agenda..."
"Before the white man came to our shores, we did not have a Wendigo. The ones that feed from the living." The old man ignored him as he stirred a pot over the fire, adding some foul smelling herbs, and Spike sighed, "Yeah, yeah, we came over with the bleeding small pox...spare me the white devil crap, and get on with it, please!"
"When the Creator first made man, he bestowed us all with power, but, because of human foolishness, he removed it from a select few. You and I are one, Wendigo."
Spike ran a hand through his hair, biting back a smart-ass remark, "Mate..."
"You will be gone for four days," The old man changed topics smoothly, "You will not move, you will not feed or drink, you will be purified the first, the second I shall pray for the Great Spirit to come to you..." The old man smiled, "Due to necissity, I will not be joining you..."
"Good idea," Spike muttered, "Four days without blood, and I'll be about ready to knaw on myself."
"You will not move from your position, Wendigo," The old man smiled, knowing it would be almost next to impossible for the vampire, since he was already pacing the small teepee.
"The Great Spirit will send you visions...they may not make sense, Wendigo, but follow them, and your guide. They will lead you to your answers, even if they are not the questions you want asked."
Spike frowned in confusion as the old man lifted the pot from the fire and poured it's contents into a earthen ware bowl, then handed it too him.
Spike sniffed it, raising an eyebrow, "Human?"
The old man nodded, "My own...it will lend you strength..."
Spike was about to drink it, then frowned, "What's this then? Is that...peyote?" He asked, sniffing the bowl carefully, and the old man chuckled, "No...that would be illegal," he said, raising an eyebrow over a merrily twinkling eye, and Spike grinned before downing the heavily flavored blood.
"Come, Wendigo, I'll take you to the sacred place of my ancestors."
Spike's teeth were being jarred in his jaw as the old Shaman's battered truck shot over the desert, trying to beat the coming sunrise.
They had been driving for two hours, outside of all civilization, including the small village. There would be no one to disturb his 'Spirtual Journey', as the old man called it.
They finally stopped outside of a sloped hut, and Spike raised an eyebrow when he saw the roof had been recently repaired, and the old man smiled, "We couldn't have you burning away, Wendigo," He explained as he climbed out, gesturing at the lightening sky line.
"Remove all your clothes and jewelry," he instructed and Spike obeyed, up to the point he reached for his wedding ring, hesistating.
The old man smiled, gesturing for it, and Spike sighed, handing it to him, "Bloody hell..." he muttered, glancing at the spot where it had rested, his finger paler in that area then the rest of him.
The Shaman dropped it into a medicine bag, then hung it around Spike's neck, "She will be your protection," He told him, patting the vampire's bare chest, "A good woman always is."
"Now," The old man gestured towards the hut, "Remember, do not leave, or your purification must start over again. Eat nothing, drink nothing...smoke nothing," He grabbed the pack of cigarrettes Spike was trying to liberate from his duster. "There is, hopefully, enough wood to last you the four days, and enough water...for the fire, not you. Remember, also, that what you see is not truly real, so do not fear it. Keep the stones hot, and the fire high, but not so much as to smoke yourself out. I will come for you when the four days is up."
Spike nodded slowly and the old man placed a hand on his forearm, "Do not fear, Wendigo...for the dark ones sense it."
"The dark ones?" Spike frowned, and the old man dropped his hand without answering, "Good luck, Wendigo, I hope you will find your answers in your journey."
Spike turned towards the hut as the old man returned to his truck and drove off, leaving Spike naked, except for the small bag around his neck, containing his wedding ring and he wrapped his hand around it, sighing deeply, "The things I do for this woman..." he muttered before entering.
Goddamn it...it's so bloody hot...Spike glared at the fire, shifting a bit, then rolled his eyes, settling back down. He wanted to stretch his legs so badly, but the old man had said not to move. Should have made the old fuck clarify better...how am I supposed to sit bleeding crosslegged all day?
Four days...I'll never make it, he groaned, shaking his head as he reached over and dipped some more water over the hot stones and more steam rose into the air. He put it aside, then picked up the switch at his side, rolling his eyes again as he began to beat his own body with them, his eyes closing as he distanced himself from the pain and heat. Wonder if I'm pure yet...
By the end of the first day, bloody riveluts had dried along Spike's back from the switch, and his skin was covered in a sheen of percipatiation from the steam.
His eyes were closed as he semi-dozed, his chest raising and falling with deep, unnecessary breaths.
He heard a soft rustling sound, then something clambering up on his hand.
He slowly opened his eyes as he lifted it, cocking his head as he inspected the black scorpion resting on his palm, pincers opening and closing rhythemically with his breaths.
The stinger suddenly shot down, burying itself in Spike's flesh, but he only felt a mild amount of pain, which faded even as the scorpion continued to sting him.
Finally, he shook it off into the fire and closed his eyes once again.
Great Spirit...meet your warrior and guide him on his journey...let no harm come to the Wendigo...protect him from all. Let him find his path on the long trail...let him travel it safely...
Dies Irae...
Spike slowly opened his eyes, the dark blue orbs glazed as he stared straight forward.
Great Spirit, send your servants to guide him...let the Wendigo pass through the world of visions safely...let him seen what needs to be seen and hide what needs to be hidden...
Spike stood up, his eyes sweeping across the wide desert, the hot sun beating down on him. His bare feet slid through the scorching hot sand as he turned, pausing when he heard a small yip.
He turned towards the sound, pausing when he sawa blood-red fox staring up at him with green, gold-flecked eyes, her tail curled primely about her small paws. She yipped again, then stood, walking off towards the rising sun, her white tail wagging behind her.
Spike followed the fox for several miles till she disappeared over a large sand dune.
He crested the dune and watched as the fox approached a black wolf, it's fur flecked with silver hair that shone in the sun. He was lying on his side, a wide river of blood running from it's body.
The vixen paused to lap a little up before approaching it's mate and nuzzled his throat before settling on her haunches again.
The wolf forced itself to it's feet, it's deep-blue eyes, also flecked with gold seeking his out. With a snarl, the wolf shot at him, but Spike only watched impassively as it leapt, his eyes on the small fox as the wolf passed into his body.
His eyes slammed shot when pain coursed through him, then a wild, untamed wave of impulse ran through his body, nearly staggering in it's force as he dropped to his knees.
His body shuddered as he waited for it to pass, and then he felt something soft and fuzzy brush against his lips.
He opened his eyes, looking up as Erin held a peach in her hands. She smiled softly as she brushed her lips against it, then her tongue flicked out to lick along it's soft skin before she held it to his lips once more.
He took a large bite out of it, his eyes widening when a wave of sweetened, hot blood flowed into his mouth, and he jerked away in surprise, staring at the peach. It's soft, fleshy inside was filled with blood that dripped upon the sand.
Erin dropped it on the ground before leaning forward, her tongue licking along his jaw and chin, cleaning up the blood that had spilt before she straightened, pulling away from him.
She spun as a breeze picked up, blowing her wild, red hair about her head, kicking the long, filmy material of her white dress into the air, showing him a bit of slender leg and thigh.
The sky darkened as it filled with stars, and he looked up at the pale moon as it shone, and when he turned his eyes back to the earth, Erin was gone.
He looked about him in some confusion, then, off in the distance, he caught a flash of red and white, and saw an ancient city looming on the horizon. Despite the great distance, he saw Erin approach a great palace, and she turned, beckoning to him before slowly shrinking back down into fox form.
Her faint bark carried over to him as she trotted into the palace, not waiting for him to catch up.
He finally spoke as he started to cross the sand, "Eshe..."
He glanced up at the sky briefly, then felt sand give way to hardness beneath his feet. He looked down at the stone floor, his feet incased in sandals, and thin, black robes covering his body.
He didn't register this as strange as he crossed a great hallway, large columns of alabaster reaching up towards the ceiling, the sweet smell of incense curling in the air. Torches glimmered merrily in their stands, throwing light over the hieroglyphics along the wall.
He heard a soft rustling sound, and he paused, whispering again, "Eshe..." Life...my life... He prepared himself for the attack that was too come.
A flash of gold and red warned him, and he whirled just as he was tackled, pinned beneath the redhead. Her hair was straight, cut just above her breasts. Gold glimmered along her body from her many adornments, her armbands carved with protection glyphs. She was wearing a thin black material that clung to her body, barring nothing from his gaze, her breasts visible to all the world, tantilizing to look at.
She was gorgeous to behold, a tempation for any man, but none dared touch her, for she belonged to the most powerful of Pharohs...King Ramses. No man would touch her, under pain of death.
But death did not concern him, even with her stake pressed against his chest.
Her brilliant green eyes stared down at him. "Ammon," She murmured softly as he growled, ripping the stake from her hands and tossing it aside.
He yanked her head down by the back of her neck, eagerly devouring her mouth as her body pressed against his.
He lifted them both up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he slammed her against a cold column.
He pulled at the material covering her body, then removed the wide, gold choker around her neck. It dropped to the ground with a loud clang as he buried his face against her throat, already thrusting into her hot depths, murmuring her name over and over again, "Eshe...my Eshe...my beloved..."
She keened as he pounded into her, her nails raking down her demon lover's back as he pleasured her in ways her Master never could.
Ammon's desire burned for her, brighter then Ra himself, his love was in every touch of his fingers to her fevered body, with every flick of his tongue against her throat.
They both climaxed together as he sank his fangs into her throat, and she screamed his name, her head smacking against the pillar as her arms pulled him closer into her embrace.
He slowly lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers, reading the sadness in them. They both knew that this was their last night. It could only last so long.
"Ammon," She whispered in his ear, "It is yours...my child..."
He blinked in surprise, but he didn't doubt her words as he slowly began to thrust into her, making love to her tenderly, in direct contridiction of the violence of their last coupling.
"My Eshe," He kissed her deeply as the doors burst open, admitting Ramses' personal guards, and they ripped the two lovers apart.
His cries were of agony as they slit her throat for her betrayal, and a guard picked up the dropped stake, handing it to a regal man, his bald, shaved head gleaming in the torch light.
Ramses...he thought before the pharoh shoved the piece of wood home in his chest.
"They existed...?"
Joseph Black fidgeted on Giles' couch before nodding.
"Airlia was a Slayer, as you said...but there is little information on her, since Watchers were not common back then," He removed a sheath of papers from his briefcase, "I found what I could from sources at the Council, who offer the utmost of discretion, and from other...unreputable sources that will guard this."
Giles' hands were fairly shaking as he took them, "And the vampire?"
"Dymas was very well known," Joseph removed a book, "His name meant Son of Hecate, but it seems he earned it after his turning, although, his original name is unknown."
Giles opened the book, and flipped through it rapidly, pausing on a woodcarving off a woman burning at the stake, her face obscured by smoke, "Who's this?"
"That's Airlia," Joseph muttered, "His wife."
"What?!"
"They were wed in a hellish ceremony," Joseph continued, "The priestesses of Hecate watched over the...ravaging."
"He raped her..."
"Sources differ, as you will read. Some claim that the vampire loved her, others that she was only a conquest for him. At any rate, they were both burned when the Romans began their take over of Greece. Dymas was a huge Master vampire...the ancestor of Heinrich Nest..."
"The Master," Giles muttered, remembering vividly the night Buffy died, and Joseph nodded, "Exactly. They say he was feared above all and had a reputation for killing at least eight Slayers, which is suprising, since he took one too mate. He was a favorite of Hecate's, as the legend goes, and was chosen to bring her son into the world by way of the Slayer."
"How's that?"
"There was a phophecy at the time, loosely translated, it meant the corruption of the purest being by a demon. The rape, as I mentioned, to prepare the way for her defilement with a demon child. The child was supposed to be the son of Hecate herself, and would merge our two worlds, bringing hell to earth, or something of the sort..."
Giles paled a bit, but he nodded for him to go on, "Anyway, Dymas and Airlia were killed before the phopecy could come to pass..."
Giles looked back down at the book, brushing his fingers across the face of the girl in the flames, then flipped farther in the book.
He suddenly gasped, dropping it as if it were burning hot, his eyes widening.
In another woodcarving, there was a perfect rendering of Spike, face contorted in rage as he looked on as Airlia, the dead-on twin of Erin, was being fastened to the stake.
He immediately arose and headed to the phone to call an emergency Scooby meeting. He hesistated before dialing Wesley's number as well, finally grudgingly deciding that he was, after all, Erin's real Watcher, and that they would probably need all the help they could get.
Bloody hell...
Spike was back in the desert, the fox staring at him, her head cocked to the side.
He stared right back at her, as if he didn't just fuck someone in another lifetime against a pillar, "Erin."
"Eshe, Airlia, Filan, Corna, Sike..." The fox rattled off a long list of names as her body contorted into that of his infinite mate. She was on her hands and knees, and her eyes were predatory as she circled him gracefully like that.
She then slowly stood up, "Ask a question," She ordered him, and he met her eyes. "Why?"
"Why...?" She shook her head, looking frustrated as she gestured at the night sky, "Why not ask why the stars shine, or why the rivers flow, or why the oceans never end? Because they willed it! You have this past because they willed it!"
Spike wrapped his hand around the medicine bag, "Show me."
Thick stone walls surrounded him as he looked out a window in Rouen, France.
His feet were encased in knee-length, kid-skin boots, set against black trousers and a shirt that hung loosely on his frame.
He watched the square from the safety of his perch at the window, thick, black curtains masking him from the sun as a woman lifted her head upwards as flames encircled her body. She did not cry out.
He was watching the matryr Jeanne D'Arc burn at the stake, but his eyes were not on that Slayer, the one who had used her visions from whatever diety guarded her kind to save her country, only to be betrayed by the very king she sat upon the throne.
His eyes sought out the one to be called as soon as Jeanne's last breath gave out. He found her at the far corner, her hand clenching her Watcher's forearm as she watched her sister-in-arms burn. Tears were glistening on her face.
Guillaume's obsession, though she did not know it yet. She had never laid eyes on his face, still living in the safety of limbo, not called, still safe from the darkness of night.
That ended as the fires were doused and a charred, burned body was removed from the square. They were the last to leave and as she passed the fire, she plucked a half-charred piece of wood from where Jeanne had died, choking on smoke and secreted it in her dress.
The stake she had fashioned from the wood was pressed against his chest right now, his back up against a tree as he stared down into her narrowed eyes, reading the deadly intent behind him.
He knew he was insane...when other vamps were lusting after Jeanne's blood, he only eagerly waited for this one to be called.
He wanted to kill her himself. To end the tormenting visions of her in his head, to end the annoying, constant stalking of her, the pain of watching her hunt his kind, kill his Childer while he watched her obsessively, wanting to touch her warm, soft skin...
However, they were at a stalement. His hands were on either side of her head, ready to snap her neck if the pressure of the stake increased a minor fraction, and her ready to stake him if she felt his hands tighten even a little. They had been like that for three hours, and she was probably hoping that the sun would come up and fry him, but he would kill her as he burned.
She belonged to him.
Salina...his little solemn one...
He changed the rules of the game.
One moment, they were glaring at each other, the next, his lips were against hers, attacking them with barely repressed passion.
She jerked away in surprise, her eyes widening and his hand fastened on the hand wrapped around the stake, trapping it there.
Then his lips were devouring hers as he tripped her to the ground, panting needlessly as his lips fumbled down her throat.
He ignored her protests as he lifted her skirt over her hips, divesting her of her underthings before plunging a finger into her virginal depths, groaning as she clamped down on him automatically.
And then he was inside her, plunging into her with reckless abandon, his eyes shut as he growled spasmically. She was struggling beneath him even as her body reacted to his, her hips raising off of the ground to meet his hard, punishing thrusts.
She was scratching the back of his neck, his face, his chest, anywhere she could reach, but it only fueled the vampire on.
He finally opened his eyes when he felt her passage squeeze him almost painfully, but she didn't cry out her climax, and neither did he as he spilled deep inside of her, staring down at her.
Her face was turned to the side, and he could see the tracks of tears that had run down her cheeks, her eyes squeezed shut as her entire body shuddered with repressed sobs.
"Salina..." He touched her face, but she jerked it away from him, still crying. He gathered her up in his arms, and she lay limply against him, and he nuzzled her throat, crooning to her affectionatly.
She turned her head away from him once more, and he cast his eyes down as he carried her away.
The ocean swells swept over his head as he struggled through the water, racing against time as he plunged beneath the waves, his dark eyes searching the black depths.
He caught a glimpse of red and dived, seeing his lover drifting towards the bottom of the deep ocean. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back above the water. She gasped for breath, her eyes fluttering open.
Guilliuame was floating on his back, with her lying on top of him as they watched the ship that was supposed to have been taking them to the English shore sink beneath the waves.
She turned her wide, fearful eyes up to him, and he held her tighter, barely touching his lips to hers. She couldn't swim, and the sky heralded a bright, cheery dawn that would bring them both their deaths.
He couldn't stand to think of his beautiful Salina being drowned in the cold ocean, her beautiful face turning blue and black as she fought for breath beneath the water. He reached into his boot, removing a long dagger, giving her a choice.
She slowly nodded, closing her eyes as his lips sought hers desperately. He kissed her deeply and tenderly, holding her tightly against him as her body tensed when the cold metal slid into her chest, and her hands clenched the wet fabric of his shirt.
Her body went limp against his, her lips sliding away from him as her head fell to rest against his chest. He dropped the dagger in the water, watching as her blood spread out in a scarlet circle around him, and closed his eyes as the sun crested the horizon.
"It'll never end."
Spike stood up, his eyes on the dark blue ocean, nearly the color of his own eyes. He turned his gaze to Erin, who was walking up the beach towards him, her bare feet sinking into the sand, her hair whipping around in the breeze.
"You're not her," He observed, and she nodded.
"A form you trust, nothing more."
Spike nodded as the seascape disappeared, "This wasn't what I wanted."
"No one wants death, Wendigo." He was once again in the desert, and he was staring down at the old Shaman who was sitting in the sand. "The Great Spirit favors you."
"Hate to see the people he doesn't like."
"You do not trust what you see."
"I want to know why," Spike ignored his cryptic words, "I want to know why us....why do we keep dying?"
An amused smile crossed the old man's face, "You're asking the wrong questions, Wendigo."
"What are the right ones?" Spike asked, frowning in impatience.
"Everything." The old man faded away, leaving Spike by himself to echo, "Everything...everything?!"
"Patience, love," Erin smiled at him, the background flickering behind her to that of the mansion as her dress pooled around her ankles, "With every beginning there is an ending. You've seen the endings, but what of the beginning?"
"The beginning isn't important. It already happened. I more worried about the end."
She smiled, her eyes flashing black, "Why? You failed, you've always failed, and you will fail again."
"You always failed her, m'boy."
Erin disappeared to be replaced by the Angelus that had turned him, his eyes gleaming with love for his Childe, although, his lips were curved in a feral sneer, a white canine flashing in the desert night.
"You were her beginning," Spike told him, "Her corruption."
"Yes, but so were you, many times over."
"Why does he want me?" Spike suddenly asked, thinking about the way Satan had propostioned him.
"He doesn't want you. Satan cares nothing for you or her..."
"Then why...?"
"Because, you're going to be the one to finally end it. End the cycle of rape, love, death..."
Spike's eyes narrowed as he meet his 'Sire's' eyes. "Show me."
Erin brushed her fingers across the pictures in the old book, pictures of her and Spike in another life as the others listened to Giles drone on about what he had found out. She only lifted her eyes when he mentioned Spike's dreams.
Xander glanced towards her, sympathy apparent in his warm, brown eyes as he took her hand, "Erin..."
She shook him off, "He...didn't..." She shook her head as all her friends looked towards her, "He said they were nothing..."
"Erin," Giles looked uncomfortable under her gaze, "Maybe we shouldn't discuss this without his input...but...in the light of your...attack...we didn't want to upset you farther..."
"BULLSHIT!" She stood abrubtly, and Giles flinched at her uncharastic language, "He's been having these nightmares since I married him..."
"Before that," Giles murmured, and her eyes narrowed. "And you both kept them from me. This could very well affect my life and you were keeping it from me!"
"Erin..."
"Goddamn it, Giles! You were lying to me! You both were! Do you have any idea what the fuck that feels like?!"
Buffy looked towards her former Watcher with a little sympathy, but not much. "Giles...this is really big...you guys should have told her."
"Spike..."
"Forget Spike, Uncle," Erin's voice went flat and cold, "He'll have to deal with me whenever he gets back from wherever the hell he is. Right now, you have your own problems. And I want to know everything! Every word, every dream, every theory you have! And if I find out you are keeping anything else from me, I'll kill you both! Got that?!"
Giles eyes widened slightly, and he sighed before nodding, glancing towards Wesley. The younger Watcher was staring at Erin in shock, as if surprised she had issued such a threat.
Damn it all to hell...Giles sat down again, and began to tell everything he knew.
"He fears you, Spike," Angelus laid a hand on his shoulder as they walked in the desert night. To either side of them, images of his past and present lives flickered, and he watched them out of the corner of his eyes.
He watched himself and Erin die several times over, as well as her rapes and his anguish at watching her die before him. The moments between were interspaced with all too brief moments of love and happiness soon to melt into tears.
"He fears what you know, he fears what you can do. 'Cause, you see, Spike...he's taken a huge chance this go. The...Powers, we'll call them, they are the ones that allowed Erin to be brought back as she was. They upset the cycle by having her not born, but created.
He held his arm out in front of Spike, forcing the younger vampire to pause. Spike followed his gaze, cocking his head as he watched Beatrice Giles throw an arm over her face as a bright light exploded outward from a circle of white sand.
The light subsided, and the nude form of Erin was left floating in the air, her eyes closed peacefully in sleep. Her hair drifted around her face, as if she was in zero gravity, the curled strands like the sea anemone tendrils.
Angelus gestured for him to carry on, and they resumed their walk. "The cycle has been disrubted, and they cheated by corrupting her blood with that of a vampire. However, they made a mistake. They still left her half-pure, pure enough for his purposes. If his child..."
"His child...?" Spike paused again and Angelus looked towards him, obviously amused, "You did not seriously believe it was yours, did you? Hell, it's not even hers. She's just carrying it."
"The Anti-Christ?" Spike asked, but Angelus shook his head, "In essence, perhaps...but the Anti-Christ is human invention, not fact. However, he is much, much worse then the fantasy. The darkling, the unholy prince of hell...although, you almost held that title, but you refused it. Why?"
"Hate politics," Spike replied vaguely, "Go on."
"If his child is born, hell will be earth, the Gates of Heaven will fall under his unholy general. Your...son, William Rupert Giles, jr., will be the scourge, the plaque, the pestilance of all that survive the final days. His evil will touch everything, corrupting with his mere gaze. His smile will make your heart stop beating in your chest, and his laugh will make your eyedrums burst..."
"I get the picture, mate."
"Her adulterated blood runs through his veins, Spike, making him infinitly stronger, feeding the evil that is inside him. If he is born, everything ends. Your cycle, her cycle...eveyone's cycle. The Karma wheel will stop turning. But, you can end it all, m'boy. Your cycles will continue. You will always be vampire, she will always be Slayer. But you will be enemies once more. You'll both fight, you'll both die, and the cycle will continue."
Spike glanced towards the side, watching as he slide Erin's wedding dress down her shoulders, raining soft kisses along her throat and collar bone. Her face was flushed, her eyes half closed as she watched her husband at play.
"You can end it all, Spike. With one act of pure love. And betrayal."
Spike's face hardened as she moaned against his mouth as he cupped a heavy breast, whispering his name softly. He turned back towards Angelus, nodding curtly, finally asking the right question. "Show me how."
Spike's eyes slowly opened as he stared straight forward in the pitch black hut. The fire had gone out two days before, with no one to feed it.
He stood on steady feet as he removed his wedding band from the medicine bag and pressed it to his lips before slipping the cold metal back around his finger.
He crossed the threshold into the desert night.
"Did you find your answers, Wendigo?" The old man asked as he returned Spike's clothes, and teh vampire's still somewhat dazed gaze met his, "Yeah...you could say that," He murmured as he looked in the direction that Sunnydale was in, sighing deeply.
The shaman watched as blood tears left scarlet tracks down his pale face as he dressed, and the old man felt deep stirrings of pity.
"I will pray to the Great Spirit and Creator for you."
Spike looked about ready to say something snide, but he apparently changed his mind as he looked back at him, "Thanks, mate...I have a feeling I'm going to need it," He murmured softly, casting his eyes up to the heavens.
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