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BRYN Buffy strolled through Sunnyrest drumming a stake against her palm. It was a quiet night. Definitely of the good. She needed one of those, needed to think. Everything that had happened over the past few days…. It was like her whole foundation had been rocked.
As the Slayer, she was in danger every day, but this time had been different. This time she'd been put in danger on purpose. By *Giles*. She didn't trust easily… particularly men. Her Dad had broken enough promises over the past few years to make her more than wary. But until Tuesday, she'd trusted Giles with her life - never even questioned it. And he'd betrayed that trust. He'd poisoned her, yeah… but what was worse was that he'd pretended not to know what had happened to her, why she was losing her strength. She and the others had done hours of research, she'd totally wigged… spent two nights in bed, crying, terrified of losing herself, losing Angel… afraid of dying. Suddenly powerless – and knowing what went bump in the night – she didn't know how Willow and the others dealt with it. Life was so… dangerous. As sucktastic as the lack of sleep and personal angst-fest had been, *that* she could forgive. But in the end, her mother had been put in danger. She knew, in theory, that her mother was in danger all the time just by being … her mother, the "Slayer's mother." It was one of the reasons she was glad her Mom knew about the slaying. But theory and reality were two very different things. In reality, Mom in danger equaled terror. If she lost her Mom… she didn't know what she'd do. In the end, Giles had come through…proved that his loyalty still lay with her. His decision had likely gone against everything he'd been raised to believe. The Council had always been the major force in his life. His grandmother and his father were both Watchers and she suspected his most recent trip to England was to see a female Watcher, for, um, non-Watcherly reasons. By warning Buffy, by letting her know the deal with her lack o' Slayerness, he'd broken a *major* Watcher rule… and essentially turned his back on everyone important to him. She knew it wasn't the first time, either. The year before, she'd been getting a book from his office at school and had seen a letter berating him for not acting on the "Angelus matter." She was deeply moved that he'd never so much as mentioned it to her and, even more so because, to this day, he'd never blamed her for Angelus' "arrival" nor her inability to kill him. He would never know how much his support on that had meant to her. She would love him forever for it. He was a good man and, even though he'd hurt her, he deserved her trust. He also deserved to not be alone. And the Council didn't deserve a Watcher as good as he was. Quentin Travers had been completely inflexible with the firing so, okay then, she quit. She and Giles were a team and the Council didn't get to have one without the other. The crisp snap of a breaking branch echoed behind her. She looked over her shoulder but there was nothing there. Not surprising, really. She could sense demonic activity somewhere in the cemetery but it was still a ways off. And whatever it was was pretty minor which was good. Her powers were back but she wasn't in top form quite yet. Angel would kill her if he knew she was on patrol. He'd made her promise she'd stay in that night and get some rest and then said that tomorrow they'd go on patrol together. And, well, she'd *tried* to stay home. Really. She'd watched TV, paced, gotten a soda, watched more TV, paced some more…. It was no use. She had the "itch", she needed to get out, do a quick sweep… needed to hit something. Her balance wasn't great and when training with Giles earlier that evening, she'd gotten dizzy a few times but other than that she felt pretty good. Not her best, but okay enough. And, anyway, she *needed* to patrol. She had no choice. Who'dda thunk that after years of wishing *not* to be the Slayer, that she'd be dying to slay? But she was. It was weird how much she'd missed it…that she'd missed it at all, even. It seemed that the Slayer was a part of her, for better or worse. Yet another thing to ponder as she strolled. Realizing she'd been out walking for over an hour, she stopped and looked around. It was strange that she hadn't encountered *anything*. She frowned and took a moment to stretch, leaning over to her side and loosening up her back. She wished she'd just find the vamp already. She was getting tired but she wasn't leaving the cemetery until he was dust. Maybe she'd be lucky and it would be a young, skinny, underfed vamp… maybe a vamp with some sort of health problem? Sort of get back into things slowly? Another branch snapped behind her. She frowned and glanced quickly around – being thorough and all – but then shrugged, knowing it wasn't anything to worry about. Her spidey sense was good that way. You could always tell when to be ready for a fight. Any noises at the moment were likely the job of furry rodent friends, not foe. But… ugh… thinking about it, she wasn't really interested in seeing any furry rodent friends either. Yeesh. "Well, lookie here, boys. We got the best meat there is: Slayer meat." Buffy gripped her stake more tightly and, turned, saying: "Okay. That line? Seriously–" Six vamps, armed with knives and crossbows, stood before her, smirking. Her eyes widened when it hit her: She hadn't sensed them at all. Even knowing they were there… oh, God, they'd been following her the whole time. She swallowed, her throat tight, as she realized her powers weren't nearly as "back" as she'd thought. And these guys were big. At least two of them were old… probably even older than Angel. She was definitely not up to a fight of this magnitude. Distract and run – that was her only ticket out of there. Moving suddenly, she grabbed the closest vamp, gave him a hard right to the jaw and then hurled him into the other two closest to her and turned to run.... Only to find that she was surrounded. There were at least thirteen vamps circling her, all in fighting stance, all, for once, working as a team to take her down. Oh, shit, this is bad, she thought, taking a deep breath and mentally preparing herself for the fight. She heard someone clapping… she heard *applause* and whirled in astonishment. Her mouth dropped open as the reality of the situation hit her. This was a set up. “You thought you could just *quit* and we’d go away?” Quentin Travers menaced. “You thought that *you* were in charge of the Watcher’s Council?” Rubbing his hands together in a washing motion, he continued. “Foolish, *stupid* girl. You have no idea the greater forces at work here. You may feel powerful, you may believe that you are autonomous, that *you* are in charge of your own destiny…. I shouldn’t be surprised, really. How very *American* of you. “Make no mistake, Miss Summers...," he sneered. "*Buffy*. *We* own *you*. And we do not brook impertinence, independence. We need an obedient Slayer and we shall have one.” Buffy swayed slightly, nauseous, realizing that this was it. Angel, please, now would be a really great time for a surprise, drop in visit. A really good time! But, then again, Angel trusted her. Trusted her to be home like she’d promised. Trusted her not to be stupid and act invincible. When clearly she was anything but at the moment. “Boys?” she heard Quentin say. “Have fun.” The vamps rushed her at once. ***
Part 1 Her head throbbed. Her skull felt like it had been smashed into pieces and then slopped back together and held fast with twine. Her back hurt... no, everything hurt. She tried to move. She found that her wrists were bound in front of her with duct tape, her ankles held together with a narrow chain. She pulled hard on both and found them impossibly tight. Tape was always tricky but still…. She *should* have been able to break free. What the hell was going on? And, looking around, where was she? Lying on a hard, stone floor, her sundress torn from the fight – yes, that’s right, a fight... a dozen vamps had attacked her – why was she still alive? Was she? Okay, lying in a pool of sunlight... so, not vamped, which was good, but why couldn’t she break the tape or, even easier, the chain? It wasn’t that heavy. She could hear men speaking behind her... couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but they seemed to be unaware of her awakeness, so she took advantage and tried to use her feet to pull on the tape as well as her arm strength. Or maybe her teeth? Damn, her mouth was taped shut. She had to be woozy if she hadn’t even realized that. How long had she been there? “I should stop trying if I were you, Miss Summers. After all, I gave you the drugs.” Her heart fell as she confirmed, upon rolling over, that Quentin was one of the men speaking behind her. Or, the only man, as it appeared. The other two were clearly demons, beefy, tall demons with thick leathery skin who reminded her of that big guy on Star Trek - Rolf? Wolf? What was his name? Keeping her eyes on them, she continued to pull at her wrists, trying desperately to focus… to figure a way out …. “But then, of course, the drugs *could* have worn off. We’ll never know. After all, you aren’t the Slayer in this dimension…. Here in Bethara your strength is that of a normal human girl.” The taller demon looked pissed. “You tol' us -” “Fear not,” he said, holding up a hand in dismissal. “Her strength is human but her accelerated healing remains. When I make a bargain, gentleman, I keep it.” He reached for a knife which lay on a large wooden table around which they were standing – was this a business meeting? – and ran the blade across his palm, holding his hand above a waiting bowl… standing patiently as his blood drained into it. After a moment, he took a rag proffered by the shorter demon, saying a polite “thank you,” and sat in one of the chairs reviewing a document. Seeing it was to his liking, she supposed, he dipped a quill into the blood and signed it, a satisfied smile on his face. Standing again, Quentin turned to the taller demon and said, “Well, then. The Key, please.” Buffy heard the scrape of a thick door opening behind her, and a short, robed demon led a young girl past her. She guessed the girl wasn’t entirely human despite looking it. Her hands were held fast with something that looked like burlap and more fabric was stuffed in her mouth. Her long, light brown hair flowed down her back and her green eyes glittered with tears. Buffy’s heart broke when she saw how scared she was, saw the tears begin to stream down her face. “Director,” the taller demon addressed Quentin, “it has been long time since we haf a Slayer among our people. Dey are quite a delicacy here, as you know.” Buffy’s heart began to race as his eyes raked over her body and he slowly licked his lips. Why wouldn't the freaking tape budge? “We already booked through Quav!” The two demons snickered, exchanging pleased grimaces. “To t'ank you for choosing dis House over other, possibly more esteemed Houses, we like to offer de Slayer to you for an eve or two. We haf several room, all unique and enhanced. We be honored if you partake.” Quentin smiled uncomfortably and slowly began to walk toward Buffy. Her stomach began to churn with nausea; she pulled harder on her wrists. They didn’t budge. “Stand please, Miss Summers,” he said, pleasantly. “Or shall I call you Bryn?” Okay, she needed to get out of there. Stat. Ignoring Quentin for a moment, she quickly glanced over her shoulder. It would be hard to run with the chain on her feet but since she couldn't break it…. Wait…. Where was the door? “Pava?” Quentin sighed, resigned. She quickly looked back at them, eyes widening as the taller demon retrieved a small cat-o'-nine-tails from the table and crossed quickly to her, his anger barely contained in his massive frame. “Slayer, when you are addressed, you will follow order.” He reconsidered. “Although, you can choose not to. It be good to see if you are all de Director claim before he is allowed to leave Bet'ara.” He lowered the whip into a pail of liquid and swirled it around. “Shall we see if you healing hold true, Slayer?” Buffy struggled to her feet and instinctively retreated back toward the wall, and then, remembering her goal, cheated a small step to her left and glanced quickly over her shoulder. Where was the door? Quentin licked his lips and began to walk toward her only to be stopped by the demon, Pava, who placed a hand on his arm. “Allow me,” he said to Quentin. “Slayer, come here.” Buffy considered blindly running but remembered the chains on her ankles... and that her strength seemed… Wait… did he say he'd taken her strength? She pulled desperately at her wrists… continued to move slowly – hopefully discretely - toward where the door *should* have been. Her wrists… her ankles…. She couldn’t loosen the restraints even a little. Wait… maybe her strength was fine. Unlike the cemetery, she could sense these demons clearly. Maybe the bonds were just magically enhanced. “Slayer. Come. Here. Now.” They were magically enhanced. They had to be. She just had to figure – Buffy screamed through the tape as the razor-sharp whip slashed across her right arm and neck. She fought not to whimper…. The pain was excruciating… like red-hot needles. And the burn that remained…. “Slayer, come here.” Instead of moving forward, she breathed through the pain as best she could and took another small step to her left, hesitating only when Pava lowered the whip back into the pail. Pava ignored her and turned to Quentin with a pleased expression on his face. She chanced another step to her left. “I do love her spirit. She be perfect... all dat we promise dem. De disobedience, de craftiness, de lack of strengt'. She be so hard to break. And so entertaining while we do.” He turned back to Buffy. “We try again?” he said pleasantly. “Slayer, come here.” She glanced behind herself. The door was nowhere to be seen and now another demon was approaching her from behind. She looked back at Pava who was swirling the whip slowly in the bucket. She felt hot breath on the back of her neck… wetness… the demon behind her was licking her neck! She jumped away from him, practically tripping on the chain but managing – barely – to catch herself. She gasped – his breath, his tongue was on her neck again. She jerked away, stepped forward, stomach clenching when she realized he was forcing her to walk toward the demon called Pava, to walk toward the whip. Losing her battle with panic, she looked at Quentin, pled with him with her eyes…please stop this, please…. He smirked at her. The second blow bit into her upper arm and neck again. She hissed, unable to stop tears from flowing down her face as brine in the water became fire to her previously abraded skin. “Stop,” Pava instructed her. Stunned and trying not to sob – in pain - in rapidly growing fear - she managed to halt her steps. “Mistah Travers?” Quentin walked forward... a look of distaste clearly evident on his face. Arriving less than a foot away from her, her breath caught as he smiled … a cold, feral, tight-lipped smile… and reached forward and began to stroke her right breast. She stumbled back, horrified, only to feel the rock-like body of the other demon behind her. The demon grabbed her arms and pinned her body still… he pressed his hard phallus into her back. She fought him … she *tried* but his grip held her tight – paralyzed. Her eyes flitted desperately to Pava. He was smiling. Quentin continued to massage and tug at her nipple, rubbing his thumb across it. She shook her head in disbelief… she lost her battle against tears. Quentin chuckled at her anguish. No, no, NO! Please STOP, PLEASE she moaned, she prayed behind her taped mouth, her breath catching further as she saw Pava, his whip raised, approaching the forgotten young girl - the "Key" they'd called her - who stood cowering against the wall, clearly terrified. Buffy fought harder … she needed to save the girl…. The demon's grip was like iron … where was her strength?! She *screamed* through the tape… Quentin crushed her breast… God, it hurts! She tried to break away but the demon held her fast, his hot breath, his tongue licking all over her neck…. Quentin was reaching under her dress, Oh God no!, he was pulling her underwear aside. He leered at her… he jammed his fingers inside of her, began to stroke her. He … It hurts, she sobbed, Please, God, PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!!! Pava laughed uproariously. “Lovely. Such a decent creature. Oh, how we missed having a Slayer in dese parts. We be much more careful wit' dis one. Won' let dis one pass…." The demon behind her squeezed, her arms were painfully bruising… he thrust his phallus into her back…he rubbed his teeth on her neck until he drew blood… she was screaming… she was sobbing…. Quentin chuckled… his fingers pushing deeper. Stop it, Stop it! ANGEL! Pava was stroking the whip slowly along the sobbing Key's neck. "So, Slayer, you will do what I ask or de Key takes de whip. And den, perhaps, me. I do like a young one, even if solely mortal.” Quentin yanked his fingers out of her… Buffy fell forward - held upright only by the demon's punishing grip. Quentin casually cleaned his hands on her hair, and dropped both arms to his side… sighing, resigned. “It’s no use. I do not mean any disrespect, Pava, it is just that my leanings are more...,” he trailed off, licking his lips as he studied the Key. “In human years, how old is she?” “In your human years, she is twelve.” “Excellent. And my specifications?” “Yes. She not age, not die. She haf no human intelligence, only human fear and shame.” The demon looked uncomfortable. “Director, if de Shoeck found out what we are doing....” “You are getting a Slayer out of it," Quentin snapped. "It is a fair bargain.” “True, it is.” The Key yelped as a demon grabbed her arm and dragged her over to Quentin. “It was pleasure doing business wit' you, Mistah Travers. We mus' do it again sometime.” He snickered. “Oh, by de way, de Key haf been treated. She is...” he searched for the word, “pure and will remain so. Will heal each time.” “Excellent,” Quentin said, smiling, turning to the Key. “I think I will call you Dawn. Yes.” The girl’s eyes widened, filled with fear. “Dawn, you will... well, maybe not *enjoy* where we’re going but you shall be entertained. As shall you, Miss Summers,” he continued, sneering back at her. “Enjoy your stay on Bethara. Maybe if you’re lucky, the myth that Slayers are immortal here *won’t* be true. Maybe they *won’t* be able to restore your virginity. Maybe they *won’t* torture you daily.” Oh, God, he was leaving her there! His tone became acid. “I warned you, *Buffy*,” he spat, “Not to cross me. I warned you not to cross the Council. As head of the Council, it is my right to claim a Slayer who will obey my orders. It was within my right to have you terminated – it’s what the others on the Board voted for. And it is what the others will believe has happened. So be thankful for your life. Be thankful I needed something of “value” to entice the Pava to sell me the Key. Your life has value, as it turned out. And for that, I thank you.” He smirked. “Come along, Dawn, we have a long night ahead of us." He chuckled and turned away, heading to a door now in plain view. Buffy's muffled screams followed him out of the room. *** Buffy swayed on her feet, trembling, silent… her heart racing. Quentin had left her. He'd left her … in some foreign place, in a room full of demons. Had left her weak and vulnerable. This wasn't happening, it wasn't. Please, God, make it stop! Wincing as the demon behind her tightened his grip further, she stiffened as Pava approached her and studied her. His eyes raked hungrily over her body – he seemed to be enjoying her terror. He grabbed her elbow and wrenched her away from the other demon, shoving her… forcing her, stumbling, into an adjacent room. She fell to the floor, landing on her elbows and knees with a hard slap only to be yanked back to her feet by the shorter demon, who'd followed them in. A creaking door slammed shut behind them. The room was dark and windowless and seemed to contain no one but the three of them. She shivered as the shorter demon moved in front of her, terrified of what was coming next, but then he knelt at her feet, stunning her when he removed the chain from her ankles. They were letting her go? “De Director choose not to enjoy you," Pava began, as the other demon stood and began stripping the duct tape from her wrists. "Pity. One suppose you are considered old in your dimension…. "He is stupid man. Slayers not immortal, not invulnerable, in our land. You can be finally killed whenever we wish.… De final killing of a Slayer - a Celebration - is always a delicacy beyond comparison. Indescribable…. "Just because our last Slayer live for hundreds of years, de Director assume some sort of almost-immortality, yet it couldn' be far-der from de trut'. De reason Slayers live such long lives here is because dey seem to age as dey would haf on Eart'. Bet'aran time move much more quickly den Eart'… each Eart' day equal close to one of our years… but while years can pass here, for de Slayer's body, it is as if only days haf passed. You can see why you haf such value to us. Our last Slayer live for almost 350 years before her Celebration and she seem to age almost nothing at all. I would regret your loss, for business’ and for pleasure’s sake also, but I sure, as before, it only be but short time before de Watchers need some other service only we can provide." Her wrists free now, she rubbed them absently as tears coursed down her face. Hundreds of *years*? They wanted to keep her there for…. “As I tol' your Director, we haf many orders. If you are good girl, your time pass less painfully - for you - den if you are not. Let’s see den, where we stand on dat.” He barked, ripping the tape off her mouth and pressing his hand hard to her shoulder. “On your knees.”
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