***** "Willow! Dinner!"

Willow sighed, and signed off the IRC chat room. A friend of hers had stopped in to see Oz's performance the night before, and said that they'd closed with the song he'd written for her. She wouldn't see him until school tomorrow, and found she was just itching to tell him how much she'd missed him.

She spent most of dinner with a goofy smile on her face. Her father finally commented on it. "Are you feeling well?"

"Huh?"

Her mother chuckled. "She's daydreaming about Oz, dear," she said to her husband, smiling affectionately. Her smile faded as she caught sight of her daughter's left hand. The hand she'd kept buried in her lap most of the night. "Oh, dear," she said, glancing warily at Ira Rosenberg.

Willow snapped out of her reverie and looked at her hand, which was reaching for the rolls. Oh-oh. "Uh, so, Dad, how's work?" she asked brightly, jerking her hand back down into her lap, to hide under her napkin.

His face was hard. "Let me see your hand."

She held out her right hand, feigning innocence. "Dad, it's been quite a while since you had to ask me if I washed up before dinner," she scolded, half-heartedly.

He glared at her. "The other hand."

"Ira," Sheila began, and then closed her mouth, and simply shot her daughter a sympathetic gaze.

Who decided she wasn't going to hide anymore. Well, not now that there wasn't any point in it. She held out her hand. "Oz asked me to marry him."

His mouth fell open. "You are too young to marry!" he thundered.

She snatched her hand away, half afraid he'd take the ring away from her. "I'm perfectly aware of that, Daddy." She lifted her chin. "We both are. We're going to wait until after I've finished college, at the very least."

Ira Rosenberg's gaze narrowed at her phrasing. "Until *you* finish? He isn't planning to go to college?" He looked at his wife, appealing to her. "It's bad enough that he's repeating his senior year of high school, Sheila--"

"Daddy!"

"I just thank God that you're taking the Oxford scholarship. Perhaps some distance will help you come to your senses."

Willow's eyes went wide, and she exchanged a glance with her mother, who had the grace to look a little sheepish. "I was waiting for a good time to tell him," she admitted.

"Tell me what?!" 'Him' shouted.

Willow tried not to flinch. "Oz is going to England with me." There, that wasn't so bad. Her voice only quavered a little bit.

"WHAT!?"

"Ira Rosenberg," her mother began sternly, "you will listen to your daughter with respect. She is an adult, and deserves to be treated as such."

"Not when she makes childish decisions, and hides them from her father!"

"She didn't hide it from you, Ira, I did. She told me, and I told her that we should wait for the right time to tell you--"

"My own wife!"

"Daddy!" He whirled on his daughter, who swallowed hard but managed to hold his fiery gaze. She'd faced vampires, evil witches, her own Doppelganger from another dimension, and Hellmouth demons galore. She could handle her father. "Oz has received a job offer in England. It pays enough to support him, and set up a nest egg, for when we get married."

"A *job*? Playing his little guitar?"

Jeez. Now her father was doing snide. Things were bad when her father did snide. "No, Daddy. Remember last year, when I was offered that job with that software company? Well, Oz got the same offer--it's how I met him, actually, and--"

"They have a branch in England?" Okay, this was good. He was starting to calm down, just a little. Maybe it was the prospect of a real job, with a solid company.

Well, he didn't need to know everything. "Well, not exactly. It's a different company. They want Oz to be their computer guy. Er, IS Director."

"IS Director?"

Good! Titles impress, this was good. "It's a great job, Dad. And--and I might go to work for the same company, once I graduate."

He frowned, and steepled his fingers. "Tell me more about this company."

Oops. "Well, uh . . ."

*****

"Hi. Uh, do you have a bathroom here in the lobby?" Willow asked, chewing nervously on the inside of her cheek.

"Just to your left, miss," the bellhop informed her. He was all of fifteen years old, and gawked openly at her. She smiled to herself, and decided that perhaps the dress Buffy had talked her into hadn't been an error in judgement.

She went into the bathroom and set her small overnight bag on the tile floor, and took a deep breath before turning to face her reflection. And smiled again. "Boy was *right* to gawk," she murmured, giving a sassy toss of her head.

The ride up in the elevator gave her stomach a couple of little flip-flops . . . or maybe it was just nerves. When she finally reached the fourth floor, and stepped out on shaky feet, she had nearly convinced herself to chicken out and leave. The only thing that stopped her was a mental image of Oz regarding her in the same manner the bellhop had. That had given her a few stomach flip-flops, too.

Closing her eyes, and taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door of the suite he'd rented for the night. They were only using it for the afternoon, of course, but this was a classy enough place that it didn't rent by the hour. It wasn't in Sunnydale, in other words.

Oz opened the door almost immediately, and just stared at her for a moment, not breathing. She finally let out a shaky laugh. "Are you going to let me come in?" she asked.

"Oh. Yeah." He stepped aside, and closed the door after her. After gazing at her for another moment, he opened the door again and put the little door hanger out, with the side proclaiming, "DO NOT DISTURB" facing out into the hallway.

Willow giggled nervously. His gawking was twenty times better than the bellhop's. "Uh, it's gorgeous. Can you afford this?" It was the honeymoon suite. The room was cozy and private and very intimate. The entrance way, where they were standing, led into a large room, which held a beautiful oak breakfast table with matching chairs. A bucket of ice held a bottle of champagne. Oz had a fake I.D.

Across the room was a huge bay window, which gave a wonderful, and private, view of the ocean The afternoon sunlight, not long past its zenith, spilled onto the carpet and led one's eye to the most prominent feature in the main room: the huge double bed, festooned with over a dozen pillows and a thick, fluffy duvet.

He smiled. "The band's doin' well. 'Specially since rumors about the break-up this summer are starting to circulate."

"Oh." Devon hadn't been happy when Oz had announced his intention to leave the country in the fall, but he'd also understood how important Willow was to him. "Hey, if a classy chick like that were gonna shack up with me, I'd go for it too, man. And you know all those stories about wild British chicks. Maybe it'll rub off, huh?" Oz had told her about the conversation with a bit of amusement in his normally deadpan face--in other words, he'd found the whole thing hilarious.

"So, uh, how was lunch with Buffy?" He shot her a half-hearted grin.

Oz had had a mysterious errand to run before he'd been free this afternoon, and Willow had suggested they just meet at the hotel. She'd borrowed the car from her mother under the pretext that she was taking Buffy to lunch in the city, and had gotten caught in her own lie. Luckily, she'd managed to score her mother's credit card, as well, and Buffy had been only too happy to be treated to a nice lunch on a guilty mother's (quality time had been lacking, as usual) dollar. The Slayer had then been content to stay for the shopping, and was planning to take a bus back. "It was great. We went to *Giardi's.*" He raised an eyebrow and she explained with a grin, "I got the credit card along with the car. Guilt is a wonderful thing."

He reached out to touch the side of her face. "You look beautiful."

Buffy had been right. The slinky, dark blue dress made her feel more adult, older and more confident, the kind of person who could be mature enough to have sex with her boyfriend for the first time in a nice hotel and not pee her panties in the elevator on the way up. But the underwear, a sexy black teddy with spaghetti straps that accented her collarbone and a heart- shaped bodice that showed her cleavage and narrow waist off to her best advantage, not mention the way the French-cut leg openings lengthened her legs and accented the curve of her hips, make her feel like a woman instead of a girl. The kind of woman who would have a man look at her the way Oz was looking at her right now.

He pulled his hand away, and dipped it into his pocket. "Almost forgot," he said, retrieving a sheet of paper and unfolding it.

She took it from him. "Blood tests?" she queried, recognizing most of the values listed.

Shrugging, Oz shifted from foot to foot. "This isn't my first time," he reminded her. "I just wanted . . . "

She felt tears come to her eyes. "You did this for me?" She leaned forward to kiss him. "This is so sweet, I--why did you go forty miles from Sunnydale?" she asked suddenly, taking in the address on the paper. "Were you embarrassed?"

"Uh, no. But I also wasn't sure if the whole werewolf thing would show up on a blood test, especially during the full moon."

Her lips twitched. "Looks like we're okay on that score, too," she said, and kissed him again, knowing he wouldn't miss the fact that she'd said "we" instead of "you."

He started to pull her into his arms then, and she went willingly, until a sudden thought occurred to her. "Oh! Uh, on that subject, we should be clear about something. Well, uhm, as you probably already figured out," she began, recalling his heightened sensitivity to pheromones, "I'm, uh, kinda . . . fertile."

"But you're on the Pill," he reminded her.

"Oh, I know, but, well, there's still a chance . . . like, two or three percent . . ."

He kissed her nose. "We'll be okay, whatever happens, and whatever *we* decide. We're a team, remember?" Then, as she started to kiss him, *he* pulled away this time. "I have one more thing to tell you." She groaned a little in frustration, and he smiled, stroking her hair. "I haven't really done this before."

Willow pulled away to look into his eyes. "Yes, you have," she corrected him. He'd *told* her that . . . and the blood tests, and well, *she* was the virgin--"Oh. You mean, with a virgin. Well, don't worry. I mean, I've been reading up, and I talked with Buffy, and--"

He shushed her gently with a finger over her lips. "That isn't what I mean, though that's true enough, too. I mean . . . " He cupped her face in his hands, and met her eyes, his expression soft and tender. She held her breathe. "I've never made love before."

She melted, her heart swelling so painfully that she had to shut her eyes against the sensation for a moment. "Oz," she whispered. She opened her eyes again to look into his, and was amazed to see a hint of moisture lurking there. "I love you," she murmured, and pressed her mouth to his. This time, they let the urgency overtake them without interruption.

*****

The couple arrived at the library a full hour before sunset; just in time. Buffy and Giles were waiting for them. The Slayer immediately dragged her friend aside, under the pretext of helping her set up the table for the spell. "Well?" she asked, in a low voice, keeping an eye on the boys, neither of whom were fooled. They were taking it well, however, and pretending to exchange pleasantries.

Willow, keeping her eyes firmly on her tasks, was unable to quell a soft smile. "It was . . . nice."

"Nice!? God, why don't you just shoot him with a silver bullet and be done with it!"

Willow flushed, and hushed Buffy. Then she realized she'd been teased. "Maybe I'm understating a little," she murmured, blushing prettily.

Buffy snickered. "You. Me. Details. Later."

"Buffy!" The witch flushed crimson.

The men approached. Buffy shot the redhead an evil smirk, and then turned to look at Oz frankly. "Wow. I didn't know you had it in you, Oz. I'm impressed." She looked him up and down, admiringly. He raised an eyebrow, and Giles' eyes widened. They both looked at Willow. Whose jaw was busy flapping in the breeze. Buffy continued. "I didn't think it was physically possible . . . " She turned to Giles. "He's managed to quell Willow's inborn instinct to dish."

Willow deflated. Oz caught her eye, and gave her a small, gentle smile. Giles cleared his throat. "Yes. Quite. Uh, shall we proceed? Unless you'd like to wait until next month?" he added pointedly.

Oz straightened. "Where do you need me?"

Willow nodded to the end of the table. "We need to face each other," she explained, climbing up and sitting tailor fashion on the surface of the table, a circle of candles directly in front of her. Oz eyed the table for a moment before following. Buffy handed her a small, but sharp knife, the blade of which gleamed silver in the candlelight. Willow nodded at Oz, who obligingly held out his right hand, palm up. Willow quickly drew the edge of the blade across his hand, drawing a thin line of blood, and then did the same to her left hand. She pressed her bleeding palm to his, and laced their fingers together; she passed the blade through the flame of the largest candle in the center of the circle, heating their co-mingled blood, and murmured, "Llamu yn awr mewn dwy llwybr."

Giles obligingly translated the ancient Gaelic, sealing the four firmly into the moment, and the into the spell itself. "Bound now in two ways."

Next, Willow reached into a jar by her side and drizzled the colored sand into the flame, which leapt and grew. Letting her eyes fall shut, she began to chant, softly at first, and then with growing confidence, in Latin. Calling upon the Goddess of the Hunt, to help her quell the wild instincts in Oz; the Goddess of the Night, to preserve him against his nocturnal enemies; and of course the Goddess Hecetae, to help her cause him to obey her. As she felt the power begin to build beyond her control, Willow nodded to Oz, who dropped a handkerchief onto the flame, which flared. Face bathed in the sudden flash of warmth as the white cloth disappeared in a sudden burst, Willow called out, "Gwaed gan morqyn, hedyn gan blaidd!"

If she'd been herself at the moment, she would have been terribly embarrassed as Giles translated, "Blood of a virgin, seed of a wolf." But her eyes were going opaque, and the magick was swirling through herself and her lover. Augmented now by her modification to Helygen's original spell, Willow called upon her fourth goddess: the Goddess Blaidd, Mother of the Wolf.

Now fully anchored, she began to weave the spell. Delicately, she bound her life-force with that of her lover. With a final cry in Gaelic, "Llamu! Llamu!" she released Oz's hand and fell backward limply, completely drained.

She was dimly aware of Giles catching her by the shoulders before her head could hit the hardwood table, and then of Oz calling her name. But what brought her out of her daze was when Oz touched her shoulder. Gasping, she sat upright abruptly, her eyes flying open.

They stared at each other and Oz, who had leapt back, partly in shock from the touch and partly because she'd been so startled, moved his mouth without sound for a moment. "What!" Buffy cried, clearly worried.

Willow found her voice first, and held out her hand to her fiancée. "Did you feel that?" she murmured, ignoring the confused observants.

Oz nodded, and placed his hand in her cautiously; this time, it wasn't so much of a shock. She felt nervous, suddenly, and calm at the same time; the love she was experiencing threatened to overwhelm her after only a moment, and she tightened her grip on him. "I can . . . *feel* you," he said, softly, and she felt a rush of wonder.

Giles broke the tender moment. "You've developed an empathic link?"

Willow managed to tear her eyes from her lover's. "Uh, yeah."

Buffy raised a tentative hand. "Empathic? Anybody have a dictionary handy?"

Willow's voice was soft, almost reverent. "I can feel what Oz feels. Like I'm feeling it myself."

"And vice versa," Oz said, his eyes tender and shining. A slow grin came across his face, and his fiancée chose that moment to flush mightily.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Okay, other people in the room?" She glanced at the clock and sobered quickly. "Oops. Oz?"

He reluctantly turned from Willow to raise an eyebrow at her. "What?"

"Uh, time? Sunset? The whole furry thing?"

"Oh!" He straightened quickly and moved obligingly toward the center of the room. Now with a clear shot, Buffy cocked the rifle expertly. Willow jumped, and banged her elbow against the table. Oz rubbed his own arm, and then stared at her in shock. She didn't notice, lost in her own little world, considering the ramifications of what was happening. And the possibilities.

Shooting a glance at the window, Oz judged how much time he had. "Uh, Will?"

She shook herself. "Sorry. I kinda . . ."

"Fazed," he finished, softly. "I know." She flushed again. "But I need to tell you something."

She met his gaze again, and then looked at his hand holding his elbow, and down at her own doing the same thing. And caught on rather quickly. "Does it hurt?" She recalled how he'd groaned and clutched at his belly, the first time she'd seen him change, more than a year ago. But since then, she'd seen him change, and . . .

"No," he assured her quickly, and she felt the truth of his words. "But it . . . it doesn't feel *right*. Bones shift . . . it *should* hurt, and . . . you *think* it should hurt . . ." He shook his head, unable to articulate the sensation.

"Like . . . like when you bang into something, and you say 'ow' before you realize it doesn't actually hurt?"

He nodded, smiling at her Willowness. "Yeah. Like that."

She nodded, and straightened her shoulders. "Got it. I'm ready."

The sun started to set at the moment, and he met her eyes, and felt his worry. "No, you're not." And then the change was upon them.

Upon them both, or so it seemed. Willow fell to her knees, crying out. Giles was at her side instantly, grabbing hold of her shoulders, trying to ground her. "Willow! Look at me! You must control him!"

She moaned, and then surged to her feet suddenly. Giles fell backward, staring up at the young woman whom he'd first known as a painfully shy girl, now possessed with so much power. She faced the wolf and stared into his eyes. Giles was immediately reminded of something his father had told him, long ago, about dogs: To stare one in the eye was to challenge it's dominance. He got to his feet cautiously, and felt a jolt of fear go through him. The two were at a close enough range that if Oz decided to charge Willow, a tranq might not work quickly enough to save her.

Making his way carefully to the side of his Slayer, Giles said in a low voice, "If he so much as twitches, shoot him."

Buffy nodded, not taking her eyes off the large wolf, balanced on the balls of his hind feet and growling in a low, menacing tone. "What're they doing?"

"I think they're staring each other down."

At that moment, the werewolf bowed his head, and then fell to all fours. Buffy tightened her finger on the trigger, but Giles shook his head. "No. Not yet."

He was right. Oz rolled over onto his back in a reluctant motion, and Willow smiled tenderly, moving toward him to kneel next to him and scratch at his belly gently. Buffy lowered the rifle cautiously, and then cleared her throat. "I really hate to interrupt this tender moment, but . . . huh?"

Giles spoke in a low voice, careful not to startle the currently quiescent beast. "He's willingly exposed the most vulnerable part of himself to her--his belly," he clarified, catching the smirk on his Slayer's face. "He's accepted her leadership and dominance over his own power." Smiling softly in wonder, he removed his glasses, able at last to relax. "She's become the alpha female."

Willow chuckled, and leaned forward to kiss Oz's snout. "And don't you ever forget it," she murmured.

"But . . . don't dogs usually fight for that?"

Willow nodded, and straightened. "But the spell tricks him into thinking that I'm stronger."

"A six-foot werewolf thinks you can kick his ass?" Buffy whistled appreciatively. "Not bad, Will."

"I'll say," came a soft voice from the entrance of the library.

All three whirled, and the wolf surged to his feet, but calmed partially as Willow lay a quieting hand on his shoulder (*Wither?* she wondered absently, feeling the difference in bone structure as he crouched next to her, growling menacingly). "Quiet, Oz. It's just Xander."

Giles shot the two of them a look. "Willow, perhaps you'd best sit with him for a moment." He glanced significantly at Buffy.

Who jumped into action. "Xand, this is gonna be a long night. Let's get some munchies." She dragged him forcefully from the room.

He turned on her as soon as they reached the student lounge. "What the hell was that?" he demanded.

Buffy sighed. "Come on, Xander. You had to know this was a bad idea. Oz sees you as a threat to his mate."

Xander didn't get it. "So how come Giles is safe? How come *he's* not a threat?"

Buffy scowled at him. "'Cause *Giles* isn't in love with her," she reminded him bluntly, and softened at his stricken look. "Look, Xander, you and I both know that you're not gonna screw up anything, and I'm sure Oz knows it, too . . . but the wolf doesn't. He judges everything by scent, from what Giles says."

Xander took a deep breath. "So I can't even be with my best friend on one of the most important nights of her life?"

Buffy touched his arm sympathetically. "I'm surprised you even showed. I didn't think you would . . ."

He shrugged. "I figured that if it didn't work, she'd need a little emotional support."

Buffy nodded. It didn't matter that he was uncomfortable as hell being in the same room with his best friend and her now-lover. If Willow might need him, he was there, no questions asked. "You know what? This is ridiculous. We're both gonna go back in there. This is a perfect test of Will's control over him, anyway." Xander started to protest, and she silenced him by shoving a handful of quarters into his fist. "Munchies," she reminded him, and shoved him toward the soda machine while she marched toward the snack machine.

---

Continues