"Dru, stop!" Spike warned.

His lover ignored him and he began to run to catch up with her. But he was too late. She was lost within the shifting darkness, the shadows that now seemed to coil in that gap between buildings.

To all his senses she was gone. He could no longer see, hear or smell her presence in the cool Parisian air. Spike began to panic, his features taking on a more ferocious countenance. Something had happened to the creature he held most dear in his undead life; it didn't matter that most of the time she was completely insane or that her faithfulness to him was often in question, he belonged to Drusilla alone. She had made him what he was and there was nothing short of a final death that could ever sunder their bond.

Spike lunged at the undulating shadows - as Drusilla staggered out and into his arms. He wouldn't have imagined that he was still capable of experiencing the kind of overwhelming emotion that he felt as he gazed upon the China doll features of his lady love once more.

He gripped her shoulders and squeezed her, stared into her eyes. "There you are, pet. Gave the Big Bad a bit of a start with your disappearing act."

Drusilla was uncharacteristically silent, and that was when he noticed the strange black mark on her forehead.

"Got a bit of a smudge here." He moved to lovingly wipe the stain of dirt from her cool pale skin.