Spike sat in the depth of the shadows, feeling the anxiety of the occupants of the trench. Smokes passed from man to man, each one looked the same and smelt the same. Grey on grey, feet sliding on liquid mud, and Hell knew what else!

It was important to remember whom he sought, a single man, who held the key to his destiny with a distant descendant.

Bombing and gunfire spat to a silence and the men in the trench readied at the flimsy ladders. Whistles blew and they launched over the top eager to be out of the mud and slime; to land on the mud and wire, as the enemy cut down the first ranks.

Spike jerked and shuddered, the hot blood on his face unfamiliar after the weeks of cold rain. His fingers gripped the stolen greatcoat round his slim frame and he ventured out into the cold twilight.

The stars hid in silent shame as the moon struggled to rise above the gloom of the battlefield. The mournful cries of the wounded assaulted Spike’s ears. He searched; his eagle eyes picking out the heat vapour from live bodies and the silver caste of the dead.

He saw his brethren gathering at the battles edge, scavengers all. He stood straight and tall, striding out over the field, over English and German shattered bone and blood; declaring to all that this carnage was his to pillage. The ragged band of vampires melted into the night and Spike resumed his search…

Willow’s hair fell over Spike’s head and he jumped, looking into her eyes and saw the gentle amusement there.

"Spike, you’ve been asleep. Everyone’s had drinks; I’ve made you some chocolate."

She handed him the steaming mug and he thanked her. Sleep? He shouldn’t have slept! They needed him…didn’t they? What were they researching?

Giles’ spectacles dangled from the corner of his mouth, as he followed the text of an ancient tome with his forefinger, tapping it every so often and nodding sagely. "Willow, this prophecy is to do with your family. Your ancestors were protected by a “guardian angel.” "Your great–grandfather survived a gunshot to the head in World War 1… and your grandfather escaped from a gas chamber in World War 2. Not only that, a great many other German Jews escaped with him, on a train." Giles sounded astonished. He looked up at Spike to see the vampire smiling in silent satisfaction.

Giles didn’t like that smile; something about the blond made his staking fist ache.

Spike’s eyes closed again in sleep and soon the sound of soft purring accompanied the research.

Someone crawled toward him from the English camp. He lifted the frail body from the slippery ground and filled his lungs with the scent of the man, the right man.

He shifted the body in an easy lift and set off for the German lines. The flash of the shot caught his eye and he moved his hand to protect his precious burden. The bullet glanced through his hand and lodged in the soldier’s skull.

Spike flew over the ground, hurdling the barbed wire and mines of the battlefield and slithered into the trench that bore a tattered Red Cross symbol. After hammering on the makeshift door, Spike left the man at the threshold when he heard footsteps from the other side. He whirled away from the door and leapt up to the field once more. The moon had risen in the night sky and Spike presented a perfect target. He was shot and fell head first into the cold grey mud.

He heard voices. Male and female. Giles and Willow? He roused himself and hoped his head wouldn’t fall from his shoulders. The needles of pain concentrated at the back of his head and he realised his fangs were drawn over his lips in hunger. They were too close…warm blood hummed a slice away from his canines and he salivated.

"Spike! When did you last feed?" Giles barked the question.

A question, that meant he had to think. Feed, he needed blood. Hot, rich and calming.

"Willow…" he whispered.

End of Part 1

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