--February 8, 1999, late evening

The mansion was dark with the exception of a low, glowing fire in the grate. Buffy stumbled through the French doors, propelled forward by an impatient Angel. She tripped and sprawled to the floor with a grunt of pain. Before she could turn around and give him a piece of her mind, Angel had dropped to his knees behind her.

Grasping her hips tightly, Angel jerked her back against his swelling erection, a steady growl rumbling from his chest. He ground his crotch into her ass, letting her feel every inch of his need. Buffy groaned in surrender and pushed back.

Angel was desperate, burning with an animal's lust for its mate. Grabbing her tanktop in his hands, he tore the thin material from her body and tossed the scraps aside. Buffy raised up on her knees, her fingers fumbling for the zipper on her pants. She managed to get them unfastened before Angel ripped them down her thighs. He pulled the pants down to her ankles and snarled in frustration when her heavy boots prevented him from removing them.

"Don't...don't care...Angel, just do it!" Buffy cried, her own desire raging out of control.

With one knee, Angel spread her legs apart, his hand frantically unfastening his jeans. He rubbed Buffy's smooth ass with his hand, then slid it between her thighs. Her honey was dripping freely, generously coating his fingers. Guiding his cock to that sweet, hot place, he placed his hand on the back of Buffy's neck, pushing her head down to the floor. The position raised her ass higher and Angel wasted no time thrusting into her slick core.

Buffy cried out as he pushed into her with little caution. Her tender flesh was forced to accept his thick cock, stretching to engulf him. As he slid deep into her belly, she could feel every throbbing inch and she shook violently from the sheer ecstasy of it. He pulled back, almost free of her, then slammed back inside. Buffy exploded in pleasure, her tight passage squeezing him rhythmically.

"Ahh, ahh, godohgodohgodohgod...Angel...Angel, yesyesyes...!" she screamed as her orgasm rocketed through her already-pleasured body.

Angel was sliding in her with long, rough strokes, one hand going around her hips to delve into her soaked pussy. His long fingers found the hard little bump of her clit and flicked it mercilessly. Buffy shrieked and clawed at the floor, every molecule of her being focused on the singular sensation of Angel's cock filling her, his cold hands playing her body like an instrument.

Taking a handful of her long hair, which she had worn loose, Angel hauled her upwards, forcing her back against his chest, her thighs splayed apart on either side of his. He bucked up into her, the head of his cock rubbing the upper wall of her vagina, sending Buffy once more over the edge.

Buffy was reaching exhaustion and she lay back against Angel's chest, her hips rotating smoothly atop his lap. Pushing her head into the side of his neck, she licked at his cool flesh, her teeth nipping the underside of his jaw. He was in gameface, his eyes glowing with unholy light as he concentrated on their pleasure. One hand still toyed with her hypersensitive clit, while the other tugged and pinched her nipples, one after the other.

He worked her towards another climax, even as Buffy whimpered piteously. "Angel...please, honey, I can't..."

He pressed his mouth to her ear, his tongue tracing the delicate curvature. "You will if I say you will."

Once more, he bore her to the floor, she on her stomach, while he crouched between her open thighs. Taking both of her wrists in his hands, he pinned her to the floor, his hips driving into the soft flesh of her ass. Nuzzling her damp, tangled hair away from her neck, Angel took a mouthful of her flesh, just where her throat met her shoulder. He bit down, but didn't break the skin. Instead, he held her captive that way as he speeded up, pushing so hard into Buffy that she gasped for breath.

Buffy wailed, trembling beneath him as he found his release. Angel thrust so deep into her that he bumped the mouth of her womb, his cock spilling its cold essence into her warm, receptive body. Gathering her close, Angel bit down on the flesh of her throat with surprising gentleness, her blood spilling across his lips, tasting of life and passion and love. He indulged in only a mouthful before pulling away, his body still trembling with the aftershock of his climax.

Buffy lay bonelessly on the floor, sure that she'd never be able to move again. She was sore and utterly worn out from their lovemaking and she could have happily fallen asleep right there on the cold stone floor. She moaned sleepily as Angel turned her over, scooping her into his arms. "Wanna sleep..."

"Let's do it in comfort, then," Angel murmured, his eyes full of love as he gazed down at his drowsy Slayer.

Xander stalked the night with little purpose other than to find something alive and make it less alive. He roundly cursed the townspeople of Sunnydale, for being savvy enough to stay in their warm, cozy homes, and Willow, for being right. Again. In death, as in life, she was the smart one, the genius. In death, she had lost her girlish hesitancy, only to have it replaced with selfish impatience. Still a trait that Willow Rosenberg the human had had in abundance, only now, it was her driving motivation. What she wanted, what she needed. Her hungry belly, her sexual need.

With never a spare thought for anyone, any demon, beside herself.

Xander was beginning to hate her with a vengeance.

He paused on the corner of Crawford and 10th, the fog dissipating to a thin mist. This was well past the center of civilization for Sunnydale; very few people lived out this far. As a matter of fact, every house on Crawford was dark, abandoned, overgrown with weeds and discarded trash.

Except for the last house on the street.

Nestled into a dead-end, the old mansion loomed atop a small bluff, the limestone monolith a dim mass against a darker sky. Vines, heavy and abundant, twined over the façade. An iron gate, broken in several places from years and years of neglect, encircled the property like spectral arms.

Xander turned to leave this empty place when the distant sound of a scream echoed through the night. He paused, the fine hairs on the back of his neck raising in anticipation. He was about to dismiss it as a figment of his imagination, when he heard another.

Surprised, he realized that the sounds were not coming from the direction of town but, rather, from the mansion. Curiosity flared and drove Xander forward. The prospect of a meal, even if he had to take it from one of his brethren, enticed and called him. He was starving, always starving, and he had yet to develop a taste for the weak and tasteless animal blood that the others were forced to consume. Nor was he interested in cannibalizing his own minions in search of sustenance.

Like any other demon, he wanted his food alive and screaming in terror.

Not bothering to keep to the shadows, Xander strode down Crawford Street.

He circled the house three times before he found the hidden entrance into the sunken garden. Creeping on silent feet, Xander moved down the stone steps, carved right out of the side of the house. Although still uncultivated, the garden was obviously lived in. A wrought-iron table and two chairs were placed in one corner, well away from the edges of the high walls, a forgotten coffee mug sitting on the surface. Picking it up, Xander sniffed it. Not fresh, but not as old as he would've believed.

The stone patio was swept clean of dead leaves and other debris, yet more evidence that someone lived here. Looking up with feral speculation at the French doors leading into the house, he noticed the low fire burning in the fireplace, barely illuminating a spare, though tastefully decorated room.

When the third cry came to his ears, Xander realized that it wasn't screams of pain or even terror.

They were cries of rapture.

The primal sound stabbed right into Xander's gut, heat and a hunger that had nothing to do with blood spreading through his belly. His face vamped in response and he stalked towards the door.

To his shock, he passed through the doorway and into the house. No barrier impeded his progress and he tensed in caution. Vampires couldn't enter the home of a human without being invited first, which meant that this was the lair of something other than human. He moved deeper into the room, his eyes falling on the shredded remnants of something black and silky.

Reaching down, he picked it up. Unbidden, but not wholly unwelcome, the scent of feminine arousal assaulted his sensitive nose. A soft growl of lust rumbled from his chest as the deliciously heated smell triggered his baser instincts. It seemed familiar somehow, but he was unable to place the delicate bouquet of vanilla and woman.

"...ooohhh...yesss...there, right there, oh GOD!"

A woman, caught in the throes of helpless passion, her voice husky and full of yearning. Other, fainter, sounds reached his straining ears. The creak of wood, the rustle of silk, the moist sound of skin on skin.

Xander, the last of his self-preservation diminishing, stepped closer to the darkened hallway from where the soft sounds were emanating. An open doorway beckoned him, the teasing flicker of candlelight showing him the way. As silent as a mouse, he peered around the corner.

And nearly combusted from the scene before him.

The large bedroom was cast into shadow with the exception of the huge four-poster dominating the spacious chamber. A vermilion velvet quilt had slid into a puddle on the floor, joined by trailing black silk sheets. Xander slowly lifted his eyes, stunned beyond anything he had ever experienced.

Angel, Willow's escaped vampire pet, was crouched over a woman, his hard, pale body gleaming like alabaster in the glow of the candles. His hands were filled with golden female flesh, his palms cupping plump breasts, the rosy nipples peeking out from between his long fingers. His head was dipped between the woman's slender thighs, bobbing with the motion of her pleasuring. One leg, long and tanned, lifted up and over Angel's shoulder, to rest against his back. A tiny foot flexed against his bunched muscles while both of her hands were tangled in his midnight-dark hair. Soft whimpers issued from her throat.

Xander pressed himself against the wall, his eyes fastened with rapt attention on the vampire and his obviously human lover. His own erection strained against the front of his jeans, tormented by the scent of sex rippling in the air.

The woman shifted, her face tipping his direction and Xander felt his world fall from beneath him. A mass of tumbled sunshine waves fell over the black satin and her face was revealed to him, flushed and gleaming with sensuality.

The Slayer.

The Slayer!

Buffy Summers, the mousy little slut who was decimating his vampire family, was the passionate, beautiful woman screaming in Angel's arms, her hips arching against his face in wanton need.

Even as Xander was frozen in shock, Buffy was shrieking her pleasure to the room, her hands tugging at Angel's hair until the vampire took pity on her. He pulled away from her sweetness, drawing her leg down from his shoulder and pulling the other up to his waist. Sliding his hands under her ass, he plunged into her. He pushed until he was completely entrapped, sending her over the abyss yet again.

"Ohhhhangelangelangel...please...I can't take it..." she wailed, as he thrust deeper into her, pushing her higher on the bed and sending the rest of the bedclothes tumbling to the floor.

Gameface on, Angel only smiled at her piteous pleas, his hips pistoning between her thighs, his hands pulling her down onto his cock.

Xander's fingers clenched on the torn garment in his hands, all thoughts of feeding vanished from his mind. All that existed for him, was the sight of the Slayer being thoroughly ravished by the vampire Angel.

And when Angel cried out Buffy's name and pulled her into his arms as his own orgasm spilled forth, Xander slumped against the wall, unable to tear his eyes from the erotic picture.

The couple, still intimately entwined, whispered to each other in breathless, loving voices. Xander pushed himself back upright, his thoughts whirling madly. Wait until Willow hears this! She'll fucking go insane!

With a last look at Angel and the Slayer, Xander stuffed the torn shirt into his pocket and fled into the night, bound for his lair and the comfort of a vampire bitch, missing the figure that stepped out from the shadow of a nearby tree. Richard Merrick watched the vampire run off into the fog, then turned back to the partially-open window of what he had discovered was a bedroom. Even now, his whoring cunt of a Slayer was screaming her unholy pleasure to the world, as her lover took her yet again with demonic endurance.

Fury transformed his face into a psychotic mask. He had been following Buffy for several days, attempting to get her alone, but she was rarely, if ever, by herself. If that British twit of a Watcher wasn't hanging around her, one of those two young bastards from the school were.

Only tonight had he been able to find her patrolling solo and as he had prepared to confront her and hopefully force her to see things from his point of view, she had been approached by a tall, handsome man. Merrick had known almost immediately that the creature was undead and he waited impatiently for Buffy to destroy it and continue on her way.

Except, it hadn't happened quite like he thought it would. To his shock and distaste, she had fallen willingly into its arms and he watched as they stumbled into a darkened doorway. The vampire had dropped worshipfully to its knees before the little Slayer and proceeded to jerk her pants down to her combat-booted ankles and eat her out. The treacherous slut had pushed her crotch right against its face and dug her hands into its dark hair, her muffled cries echoing in the fog.

It was all Merrick could do to keep from rushing across the street, destroy the beast who dared to touch what was his, and reclaim the panting girl as his own again. Instead, he had watched with sickened fascination, recalling her taste, how she felt against his fingers, his tongue, his cock. He remembered the music of her screams of pain as he forced the teenager into obscene positions and acts that left her a quivering mess of tears and bruises.

He hated Buffy Summers, yet he was enslaved by his hunger for her and he'd be damned if some fucking undead monster was going to take what was his.

He'd kill her himself before he let that happen.