“The Tiger in Red is sort of a nickname for a Rakshasa named Ravyadha,” Angel told him. “As for why Sunnydale, I can only guess. The presence of the Hellmouth, even closed, gives him access to power from both planes. Rakshasas thrive on human misery and discord, and simply by allowing a few nether creatures out at a time, he can keep a steady stream of human misery, pain and death energy flowing – not that Sunnydale needs much help in that arena,” Angel added wryly. “My guess is that he’s building a power base.”

“What, to open the frigging Hellmouth again?” Spike said, sighing.

“No, I don’t think so.” Angel shook his head. “If it opens he loses control of it. It suddenly becomes a open tunnel from the nether planes to here. No, I think he merely wants to tap its energy. Using the power of the Hellmouth, plus all the negative energy he can harvest from Sunnydale, he can establish a power base sufficient to control both regions – the nether planes and, in time, even this one. It’s not about some huge apocalyptic event. Rakshasas don’t work that way. It’s about patience and stealth and cunning.”

“Okay, that gives us who and what and why,” Xander said slowly. “But where does this Tooth of Ryla come in?”

Angel sighed.

“That I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve never heard of it, and I know I’ve never seen a reference to it in the books I have here, even the reference to Andreas the Black that Giles dug up. My inclination is to put Wesley on it. Between his arcane resources and Gunn’s . . . hmmm . . . hacking expertise, I think they’re our best chance to come up with something.”

“Ummmm . . . are we going to have a problem with them?” Xander said hesitantly. “I mean Spike and me.”

“Frankly I’d just as soon not have to confront that problem,” Angel said wryly. “So I’ll call Wesley and get him started on research, and if they come here, I’ll meet them upstairs in the office. Which means you two stay down here. Is that clear, Will?”

Spike grimaced. The last thing in the world he wanted was to be confined to Angel’s basement.

“How long?” he protested.

“However long it takes.” Angel’s voice was unyielding. “Come on, Will. You can put up with taking over my home for a few days if necessary.”

“Uh, a few days?” Xander said doubtfully. “I’ve got to be back to work on Monday, or at least call in sick or something.”

“Yeah, I’ve had about enough of being locked up, too,” Spike growled.

“Hey, at least Angel doesn’t keep you chained in the bathtub,” Xander chuckled.

Angel’s head whipped around.

“What?” he asked sharply.

Spike shrugged.

“The fact that I couldn’t so much as pinch a human on the bum wasn’t good enough for your precious Slayer and her Watcher,” he said bitterly. “They decided I wasn’t fit to run loose. So the Watcher kept me at his house, tied to a chair half the time, but when I got too much underfoot, it was bathtub bondage time.”

He was deeply satisfied by the flash of outrage in Angel’s eyes, closely followed by – ey, right on schedule! – guilt. Neither Angelus nor Angel would have tolerated such a thing. When displeased, Angelus would have simply beaten the skin off Spike, indulged in a few other humiliating torments, and then the matter would be over. Angel would have either staked Spike, if the matter was serious enough, or overlooked it. But neither of them would have stood for seeing Spike kept bound and confined by a mortal.

Of course, Spike would be the first to admit that he wasn’t entirely blameless in every one of those bathtub incidents. He had, after all, plotted aplenty against the Slayer and her gang. He’d allied with whomever he thought might help him get the bleeding chip out of his head, or kill the Slayer, or both. Still, there was many a day he’d rather have been staked than live only at the mercy of Her Buffyness and the Slayerettes, with only whatever degree of freedom they chose to grant him. The humiliation had gone beyond anything Angelus had ever inflicted upon him or Angel ever could.

“I’m sorry, Will,” Angel said quietly. “I didn’t know.”

“Well . . . didn’t want you to,” Spike admitted grudgingly. “Don’t fret about it.” Of course Angel would, which Spike found deeply satisfying.

Angel hesitated just a moment longer, then turned away.

“I’m calling Wesley,” he said in a low voice. “Talk to Xander. On the roof would be good.”

“Right.” Spike grabbed Xander’s hand and pulled the youth to the staircase. Xander kept his silence until they reached the roof; then he glanced uneasily around.

“Talk to me about what?” Xander panted – he had, after all, just been dragged up several flights of stairs.

“This.” Spike spun Xander around and pushed him up against the wall – coincidentally, not far from where he’d stood to talk to Angel – and claimed the mortal’s lips in a bruising kiss. Bloody hell it felt good, to kiss and touch Xander as he wanted, not needing to hold back for fear of causing the mortal the least twinge of discomfort. Now he could kiss that mouth hard and deep; he could hold Xander by fingers twined tightly in the dark hair without worrying if he was pulling; he could use his free hand to hold the mortal’s hip hard enough to leave finger-sized bruises.

Not that Xander was protesting the harsh treatment. Those lush lips yielded beautifully, opening to let Spike plumb the depths of his mouth, and the moan Xander gave as Spike ground his erection against the heat of Xander’s groin could not possibly be interpreted as anything but pleasure. At last, however, Spike reluctantly acknowledged that his mortal was in need of oxygen, and pulled back far enough to let Xander catch a few wheezy breaths.

“This,” Spike said again, sliding his hand down Xander’s body. For a moment he boldly stroked Xander’s erection through his jeans, then pulled away again, prompting another moan, although this one was definitely a moan of protest at the abandonment.

“We’ve played at you being my Consort,” Spike said hoarsely. “Time to choose, yes or no. If we do this, there’s no turning back after, see? You’ve got to be sure.” He was cheating and he knew it, making his mortal hot, making him horny, making him want him. But he couldn’t bear it if Xander changed his mind. Didn’t know if he could actually let him go now. He didn’t really think Xander would back out, but he couldn’t convince himself completely.

“Spike – “ Xander was panting hard. “If I wasn’t sure, do you really think I’d have fried your chip?”

Spike grinned.

“Well, there is that,” he acknowledge. “Right, then. Still want to go for it?”

“Yeah.” Xander groaned and tried to rub against Spike again. “Oh, yeah.” He pawed at his shirt collar. “Now?”

“Just a bit.” Spike nuzzled Xander’s throat, shivering at the scent of blood flowing hot and fast beneath the skin. “Need to talk to you about something first.”

“Talk? You drag me up here and get me so hot I’m about to spontaneously self-combust, and now you want to talk?” Xander whimpered.

“Just for a moment, Pet,” Spike soothed. He guided Xander over to the low wall around the edge of the roof, slid them both down so they were sitting back against it. “Listen, all right? There’s a bit to this marking business.”

“Like what?” Xander said impatiently. “You bite me, we go screw our brains out. Isn’t that about the size of it?”

Spike smirked; Xander’s plan sounded good to him.

“Basically,” Spike agreed. “But it’s special, see, marking a Consort. See, I’d like to do this kind of traditional – “

“Huh? As in one of us wears white or something?” Xander said confusedly.

“Not hardly,” Spike chuckled. He hesitated. “What I mean, Pet, is I, er, want Angel in on it.”

Xander froze.

“’In on it’ how?” he said, swallowing hard. “Um, listen, Spike, this is starting to sound not so good here.”

“Not like that,” Spike said quickly. He shook his head. “All right, here it is, Pet. Tradition is that when a vampire takes a Consort, he’s bringing that Consort into the family, so to speak. So his Sire acknowledges the bond and extends his protection to the Consort too, right? And the tradition is that the Childe gives his Sire, er, a taste of his Consort when he marks him. Not fucking, all right? Although sometimes that’s been done too,” he admitted. “But not you and Angel, I know that. All it is, is when I bite you, he gets a taste too, and he gives you a taste of his blood when I give you mine. That way anyone who senses my mark on you will sense him too. Kind of gives you . . . hmmmm. Backing, I guess.”

Xander took a deep breath.

“So . . . he bites me too?”

“Not exactly. He just takes a drink from the bite I make,” Spike told him. “We won’t take much, Pet, no worry there.”

Xander was silent for a moment, chewing his lip endearingly. Then he glanced over at Spike.

“This is important to you, isn’t it?” he asked softly.

Spike shrugged uncomfortably.

“Okay, then,” Xander said, his voice firmer now. “Yeah, I’m okay with it. However it’s done.”

Spike let out a relieved sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.

“Thanks, Pet,” he said, resting his forehead against Xander’s. “I appreciate it.” There were plenty of reasons why having Angel acknowledge the bond was a good idea – better protection for Xander, Angel’s tacit backing against Buffy if need be, the added benefits of Angel’s older and stronger blood – but they weren’t the reasons foremost in Spike’s heart. He wanted to close, or at least lessen, the breach between him and his Sire; but more, he wanted the simple acknowledgement that he was a master vampire, that he had the right to take a Consort, that the bond between him and Xander was a true one. His pride and dignity had taken too many blows in the past couple of years. He needed this badly, and he needed it done right.

“Okay, so how do we do this?” Xander said awkwardly.

“We go downstairs and hope the pouf is off the phone,” Spike said, sighing. “Then we get it over with, and I take you back in the back room and shag you senseless.”

Xander perked up.

“I’m with that,” he said quickly. “Come on, let’s go.”

This time it was Xander dragging Spike, but Spike didn’t mind. Fortunately, Angel had apparently finished his phone call; he was sitting on the couch, looking characteristically broody.

“Wesley thinks he’s seen a reference to the Tooth of Ryla more recent than Andreas the Black,” Angel said. “He’s going to see if he can track it down. In the meantime – “ He gave Spike and Xander a measuring glance. “Have you decided?”

“He still wants to go through with it,” Spike said, his mouth suddenly dry.

Angel turned to Xander, gazing at him seriously.

“Do you?”

Xander flushed.

“Yeah. I do.”

“Sit down.” Angel waited until they’d sat down before he fixed Xander with another of those intense looks. “And Spike’s explained it all to you? All the implications of being his Consort?”

“What, you mean like the effects his blood has on me?” Xander said, blushing. “Yeah, we’ve talked about it. Some of it I’ve seen for myself.” Spike bit his lip. He’d told Xander most of it, not all. He hoped Angel wasn’t going to quiz him item by item.

“There’s more than that,” Angel said seriously. “Other vampires will perceive that you belong to Spike – and, by extension, me. In time, with enough exchange of blood, Buffy’s going to start sensing the change in you too. It’s inevitable.”

Xander took a deep breath and glanced at Spike.

“I guess we’ll have to deal with that when the time comes,” he said. “I mean, I can’t live my life by Buffy’s opinion.” He flushed, and Spike knew what he was thinking – that Buffy had never seemed to have too high an opinion of him anyway. “I’ve got to make my own choices.”

“And Will’s told you what’s involved in your marking?” Angel pressed. “What he wants?”

Xander blushed deeply.

“Yeah. He told me. I’m okay with it if you are.”

Angel nodded solemnly.

“All right, then,” he said. “If you’re sure.”

Xander grimaced.

“I’m sure already,” he said. “So can we do this? I mean, I’m nervous enough as it is without having to play Twenty Questions on top of everything else.”

Angel barely smiled.

 “All right,” he said softly. “Stand up and take off your shirt.”

 Xander stood, his fingers hesitating over the buttons on his shirt.

 “Just the shirt, right?” he mumbled, his face crimson.

 “Yes,” Angel said, chuckling slightly. “Just the shirt, Xander.”

 Spike stood, almost trembling in his eagerness. He’d never taken a Consort. It was a huge step, but at the same time it felt like a mere formality – a simple acknowledgement of something that had started some time before. He stepped in front of Xander, sliding the shirt down over the mortal’s arms. Xander jumped, startled, when he felt Angel move in close behind him.

“Angel’s going to hold you,” Spike said softly, stroking Xander’s cheek. “It’ll hurt at first when I bite, but only for a moment, all right? Trust me, all right, Pet?”

Xander nodded, swallowing hard.

Spike touched the lower part of the firm muscle that ran between Xander’s neck and his shoulder.

“I’ll bite here,” he said, meeting Xander’s nervous gaze. “That way your shirt’ll hide it. There’ll be a small scar, not easy to see – don’t know why marking bites leave one, but there you are. No major arteries here, so you’re safe, all right?”

Xander looked a little paler, but he nodded again.

“Ready?” Spike said quietly.

Xander took a deep breath.

“Uh-huh,” he said faintly, his eyes widening as Spike let his game face emerge.

“Alexander Lavelle Harris, I claim you as my Consort,” Spike said softly, gazing into Xander’s eyes. “Bound in body, bound in blood.” He leaned forward and kissed Xander’s lips softly, twining the fingers of one hand firmly into Xander’s hair, peripherally aware of Angel’s hands tightening around Xander’s upper arms. Quickly, his free hand gripping Xander’s shoulder tightly, he bent down and bit hard.

And oh, God, he’d tasted blood before, he’d tasted Xander’s blood before, but never like this, never flowing smoothly into his mouth as he drank, as he worshipped, as he claimed. He felt the exact moment that the pain of his bite flipped over into pleasure – ah, how well he remembered that moment in a dark London alley when Drusilla had stolen his mortality! But could even that have been this intense? He didn’t think so. At this moment he could feel Xander as never before, all the doubt and strength and darkness and brightness of him, the strange unfamiliar power that coiled beneath his surface, and Spike saw it and understood it and would have laughed if he hadn’t had something much better to do with his mouth at that moment, and that was to claim the bright beautiful soul that beckoned Spike like a fire by which he could warm himself forever, a light that lit all his dark corners, a vibrant music that filled all the empty places inside him.

And he withdrew, not tempted in the least to take too much – hell, the little taste he’d taken all but overwhelmed him already. And he looked up and saw the sad understanding in Angel’s eyes, and knew the older vampire had felt this wonder, this closeness, to Buffy once, and that silent understanding passed between them in that single instant.

And Angel bent his head and fastened his mouth over the two bleeding puncture wounds, and now Spike could see the glaze in Xander’s eyes – the mortal was moaning, shuddering in their grasp, and Spike could feel the aching hardness of Xander’s erection against his leg, and Spike couldn’t wait for Angel to finish, couldn’t wait another instant. He bit savagely into his own wrist and pressed the torn flesh against Xander’s mouth.

“Bound in body, bound in blood,” he whispered, and closed his eyes as blindly, instinctively Xander drank.

Angel raised his head, pushing Spike’s wrist away from Xander’s mouth, ignoring Xander’s whimper of protest. Angel released Xander’s arms and bit into his own wrist, pressing it against Xander’s mouth, although his eyes were locked on Spike’s.

“Yours, as you are mine,” he grated out. Then, reaching over Xander, he pulled Spike forward, bloody lips meeting bloody lips, sharing the taste of Xander’s blood between them for a brief instant before Angel pulled back again, releasing them both.

“It’s done,” Angel said hoarsely, turning away. “I’ll . . . leave the two of you alone.”

Once again, Spike felt that pang of unwanted sympathy for his Sire, but he pushed it aside. Right now Xander needed him, and he needed Xander, and the waiting was over at last.

Mine, Spike thought with satisfaction and trepidation as he led the dazed mortal to their room. Mine.

And then, ruefully:

And I wonder who really belongs to who here . . .

Email: Shadow