Hot, steaming blood on his lips. Snarling his pleasure, Spike closed his fangs over the rim of the cup; it broke and he stared blankly at his chest as the red pool of life spread and cooled on his skin. His head rolled back and he smiled.

Oh, to bathe in blood again!

Poland, October 1943

Silent people filled the truck. Spike could hardly detect individual heartbeats. All followed the same rhythm, a funeral dirge for a doomed race. He studied each face searching for the forebear of his mate. One man from the farthest corner of the cattle truck locked his gaze and all other’s faded. The man was old with a scar on his forehead. Spike inclined his head and smiled a greeting.

The old man spoke with those nearest to him and the agitated talk spread through the truck until silence fell and all eyes turned to look at Spike. He smiled and lifted his index finger to his lips. The atmosphere had changed in the truck. The people in this truck had a protector.

"Spike? Do you want some more?" Willow asked, anxiously.

Spike blinked, he was alone with Willow in the kitchen. "Yes, please… I’m sorry I broke the cup. I’ve not had money to buy blood." She glanced nervously over her shoulder. He heard her heart rate increase and smiled. Would she offer?

"Spike, how long is it since you’ve had human blood?" Willow’s white teeth caught her lip with the boldness of her question.

Spike sighed. "A long time." He hung his head to disguise his grin; she’s going to offer… suddenly her wrist appeared under his chin.

He jerked his head away and snarled. "No!" She hadn’t shocked him by what she’d done. He had shouted to stop his fangs from puncturing her and blowing his cover.

Willow’s small hand cupped his chin and forced him to face her. "It’s alright Spike, I want you to do it. You won’t be hurting me."

He shook his head. "It will hurt you, Willow, I don’t think I can bite you without it hurting anymore. I’m out of practice. Thank you Willow…But no. Get me some butchers blood, that’s good enough for the likes of me."

She turned to leave then hesitated at the knife block. She grabbed a sharp knife and drew it over her wrist, wincing in pain as the drops of blood fell staining the floor. Spike flew to her side and caught her before she fell from blood loss. She lifted her hand weakly to his lips and he fought briefly before applying his mouth to her wound.

The strong coppery sweetness of her blood had not changed down the centuries. Willow’s practice of magic had enhanced its maturity. He tasted the ancient lineage and knew he’d chosen well. His arm closed around her shoulders, lifting Willow up to stand beside him. He opened his eyes and looked into her face. The delicate bloom to her cheek echoed the soft rose of her lips, parted in ecstasy to show her even teeth that Spike longed to feel clamped on his throat in blood driven madness.

Spike slid his cool fingers beneath her blouse at her collarbone and caressed his mark.

Willow sighed and moaned, moving her hand to the back of his head to force his mouth closer onto the wound.

Spike groaned and felt his fangs descend and he nibbled at her flesh. He licked the wound closed and raised his head. His human face showed no malice though his golden eyes glowed, as once more he knew the thrum of living Rosenberg blood in his veins.

Willow gasped as he captured her wrists behind her back, holding her close to him he bared the shoulder where his mark nestled and scraped his fangs over the raised pale skin.

Spike’s lips were silken against her shoulder, his fangs like silver needles raising the heat in her body to dangerous heights. He spoke and his voice was liquid honey. "Who gave you this mark, my lovely?"

"You did." Willow sighed.

"Who protects you?" Spike murmured.

"You do." Willow whispered. "You always have."

"I always will." He passed his palm over her eyes and released her hands. Willow stood still in his thrall while he cleaned the floor of blood.

Sobibor,October 14th 1943

The locks were drawn and as the truck doors flew open, the cool night air ruffled the refugees’ meagre clothing. Soldiers drew them out of the truck and marched them over the frostbitten ground to the low brick building in the distance. Someone broke from the crowd, despite Spike’s barked order to stay within the group. A rifle butt smashed down on the back of Spike’s head. Gunfire spat and found the fleeing man.

Spike woke to many anxious faces looking at him. He snarled and the crowd backed off. He leapt to his feet and took in the thick walls, and pipes at ceiling height.

The "showers" rained down invisible noxious death, and expunged the "ethnic." But not today…

The vampire prowled round the perimeter of their death cell, his amber eyes trained on the pipes’ poison path. At last, he had traced the line to the end and rerouted the gas pipe so it vented to the outside. They were safe.

Spike pounded out the stonework at the end of the building and made a hole large enough for their escape. For the first time, there was an edge of excitement in the gathering. Spike became immune to the whispered thanks, as the last of the Jews, his first saved, was the last to exit.

The prisoners joyfully clambered aboard the train. The rabbi, on the footplate felt sure the Lord would forgive this one violation of the Sabbath.

Spike stood like a dark sentinel against the brightening sky, he could not go with them on the rest of their journey, but was sure that he had saved the Rosenberg line from extinction.

Giles spoke to him. "Spike… You’re in the prophecy too." The awed Watcher continued. "You saved the Rosenberg family, countless times. How can I thank you? Willow is alive because of your deeds. I…I didn’t know how much she meant to me. But now-" He shook his head. "Thank you seems such a tiny word."

Spike studied his unexpected rival for Red’s affections. He decided to kill Giles and blame it on Angelus. His head tilted to one side as if listening to an internal voice. Drusilla wouldn’t stand for that. Well, kill her first, because she was going to kill the Slayer, but the Slayer wouldn’t like a dead Watcher so kill her as well. Kill them all and bathe in their blood. Like he did after the train left from Sobibor.

Spike remembered hot, steaming blood on and in his body, dripping from his lips and fangs.

"Thank you is enough, Watcher." And then he smiled.

End of part 2

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