Title: The Penny Series

Author: Meghan

Email: meghanreviews@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: You are all strange people to think that I would; I do
not own.

Distribution: my site  yahoo!groups  babbleboard  hosts

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: BA but currently BAus

Ficlet 13: Penny Serenade

Summary: The headline reads... "Cupid's Couple Massacre"

AN: Thank you Rehatha, my beta, and Gia who gave me a heads up at one
point so I could see if the story was working like it was suppose to.

Wish to read earlier chapters? check out Angel's Bath Towel and my
site... http://www.geocities.com/hugablkisses

He followed in the shadows of the school, there but never seen. For
two weeks now Buffy had ignored him. Neither his poetry nor his gifts
had drawn her attention to him. Much to his distaste he'd had to save
his written works from the garbage so the collectors wouldn't take it
away with all the other refuse. A snarl curled his lips; the woman
had no idea of the time that he put into those simple couplets and
stanzas. She had no idea! And to throw them away… well when he had
the opportunity he'd show her just how foolish it was to snub him.

Things had escalated since that night in the cemetery.

He was there, but never seen. For two weeks she had been ignoring
him; of course he hadn't heeded her warnings to keep his distance,
instead he'd continued to come to her bed between her dreams and not
yet waking moments, leaving her always aching for him. She hadn't
written in her diary since her words to his soul the day of the night
that he had taken her virginity. After the third time she had tried
to throw out his poetry he had started writing it in the diary while
sitting in her room. He was generous always leaving the newest piece
book marked for her to find.

Every night though he always found the book in the same position that
he had left it, with no sign that she had even read his artistic and
amorous endeavors. It aggravated him that she could ignore him so
easily when he had trouble concentrating on anything but her. Soon
she wouldn't have the chance to push him aside. His courtship
wouldn't last; being with her every night but never finding his own
release was driving him to distraction. Buffy was his mate, and he
fully intended to stop indulging her resolution to keep him at bay.
Who was she to do that to him? Leave him sweating like a schoolboy on
his first date while she went off to school and chatted the days away
like nothing was truly wrong in her world.

Today for instance she was walking beside Xander talking about
Valentine's day.

Of course he had something for his beloved slayer. Something she
would love to receive, and he was known for how fabulously his gifts
were accepted by those who had the pleasure of being the recipient.
He had yet to make the wrong impression with the tokens of his
affections. He wasn't as stupid as the soul, he'd had this planned
for about a week now and nothing was going to go wrong.

Besides he always did know the way to a girl's heart - usually
straight through the ribcage, but, well, his Slayer was special.
There was nothing to worry about.

Shifting his weight from one foot to another, he hurried to keep up
with the two targets of his covert observation. Watching with
narrowed eyes he decided he really should cross Xander off of his
list of people Buffy was allowed to talk to. The boy was a pain in
the ass always going on and on about Cordeila, the chit's whose
knickers were in a bind for any willing guy, even as he sen't calf's
eyes to Buffy. What did Cordelia see in the pathetic runt? Either she
had run out of options or they had tired of her. Sounded the same to
him though he thought with a shrug.

Tonight Buffy would be in his arms and that was all that mattered so
could leave his mate talking to the irritating young fop. After all
the boy had his hands full with another woman that he didn't know
what to do with, so why should he worry about him being with his
mate? Nagging voices shouldn't speak.

There was too much happiness in the halls of this high school he
thought with distaste. Where were the women sniffling over their men?
The bathroom made the most sense so the girls could hide away in
shame because no man wanted them on this hyped up commercialized day.
He remembered back when the holiday truly meant something… not candy
and flowers and chocolates…

No, there was a time once when it meant devotion to the one you were
with.

And who was he not more devoted to than his wife?

It was time for her to come back to him, she would accept him
tonight.

Of course she probably didn't see it that way at all. It galled him
that he'd had to resort to such crude methods to see her. When he had
originally set out to meet with her tonight he'd had a letter
delivered into her hands on the finest white stationary, elegant with
pearl engraving. To that invitation she had said no. His effort of
lover-like niceties had been to waste.

When wind of her swift rejection met him, he had called her up to
personally ask her to come. That way had lead to him threatening to
make the next day's headlines. He'd had tossed out several unrefined
versions of holiday puns including Valentine's Day Violence, Broken
Heart Murders, Death Potion Number Nine, Heart's Crimson Blood Bath,
Cupid Strikes with Death Bows, but his personal favorite was the
Cupid's Couple Massacre. At the end of his short conversation he had
successfully gained her compliance to join him for the evening.

"Roses are red, you come, or they're dead."

Not the most traditional of limericks, but who knew that wooing this
girl would be so damned difficult?

She would give in to him whether she liked it or not.

He hated the soul now more than ever for getting to her first. He
must break the bond that bound her to the weakling and bind her to
himself. They would be a together without the hindrance of her
affections for his soul to keep them apart.

Whipping out his cell, he called Makalo to confirm that everything
he'd planned was running smoothly. Her classes would end in an hour
and a limousine would be at the school ready to pick her up. From
there she'd be whisked off to the manor he had recently acquired from
the realtor. A bath would be drawn for her with bubbles cascading
over the sides of the black marble tub, and she would soak in its
elegant fragrance of peach blossoms.

From there she could pamper herself with an array of lotions and
cosmetics he had laid out for her. A soft white gown had been made to
grace her petite frame, to swirl outwards from her trim hips to flare
at her knees. It was a dancing dress fit for his mate, to grace her
curves and glide along her skin a reminder of his cool touch on her
heated core… the lingering taste of his cool lips. Three inch heels
satin pumps had been bought to wear with her delicate feet in mind.
Tonight there would be music and candlelight and dinner, as opposed
to yelling, lamplight and fighting.

As she left the master suite in the manor she would find a trail of
carefully placed pennies that would lead down to where he awaited
her. Each step on the grand staircase having one copper gift, each
tile on the ground holding three to leave rare spaces in the trail.
Through the great hall and living room she would walk, exploring her
house like she hadn't been able to explore when she was first brought
to it from the limousine.

White rose petals would join the pennies the closer she came to the
garden. It was small, cozy, and intimate. He had jasmine imported and
had made sure their night blooms had been tended with great care. Not
one flower drooped, or showed the spotted colors of death tingeing
its beauty. He had a violin player playing music from the trellis up
above the garden so that his songs could be heard and his presence
would remain unseen.

Dinner would commence in a fragrant corner, as the stars twinkled
overhead for an intimate setting. He had plans to make tonight
memorable and special for her and himself as well. She would come to
him because she wanted to, not because he threatened until she did.
She would take her place beside him as his mate.

Buffy would be his in every way.

Heart. Mind. Body. Soul.

Or demon… if he choose it.

Entering the mansion the time she was getting out of school he knew
he had to hurry to get ready for her arrival. Slipping upstairs, he
bounded over the railing in too big a hurry to wish to wait the few
steps it would take to avoid the railing and walk into the suite
across the hall from the master suite where Buffy would be placed. It
was smaller and without furniture.

However it had working showers and facilities so he didn't mind.

This room would be put to good use for something, and not a guest
room. He hadn't decided, and he couldn't very well have Buffy enter
into this gloomy pit. No the mood for her had to be slightly
intimidating and yet airy and light. A hard tone to get at all in the
best of circumstances.

Slipping into a cool shower, he adjusted the knobs until the spray
warmed and steadily hit the back of his neck. A sigh escaped from him
as the frustrations of the day were eased out of his firm toned
muscles by the hot water cascading down his back. The cool tile of
the shower pressed against his forehead and new worries crept into
his prone form.

The night's battle had yet to begin and already he was tired of the
endless sparring of wits and snide comments that he knew were to
come.

All he wanted was to toss her into his bed and ravish her senseless,
but she had to be willing. His slayer had a vicious little temper. To
keep her anger at bay he had played by her rules, done as she asked
to a certain extent. He apologized nightly by giving her pleasure and
refusing to seek his own in her succulent heat. Leaving her was
always difficult, especially now when all he wanted was to slip
inside her and take out his sexual frustration. It was costing him,
he was in a state of perpetual arousal and rarely did he take a warm
shower anymore as he made sure not to raise her ire. With a groan, he
turned the knobs back to cool, letting the ice cold water work its
magic.

With a bar of Ivory 2000 he soaped his hands as he pondered the
situation that he was in. The obsession part was not new to him, but
the wanting to please such an obsession was. The whole thing was
perplexing, even to win the affections from the object of his fancy
was not unusual, in fact it was familiar territory, but he never went
seeking for it. It just came to him, the wanting, craving, and not
having such affections disturbed his state of mind.

As he lathered his marble skin, he concluded that if tonight did not
work he'd have to do something more drastic. Something sure to gain
Buffy's attention, snatch it and hold it tight, giving her no chance
to escape from him. Giving her no reason to want to leave him. The
only current way he could think of that was to rid her of the
distractions of her everyday life. School, friends, family…
especially those closest to her. He sincerely hoped it would not come
to that because the hunting of anything but her right now
specifically was displeasing.

He was still evil; he'd still hunt.

Water rinsed the suds from his back as his fingers scrubbed his thick
long hair. It was in need of a good trimming, but seeing as how its
soft spiking was admired and enjoyed by his mate he had put off doing
so since its first cut when he had gotten ready for her when he first
came to Sunnydale bound by the soul. When he was cleaned, he slipped
out from the warm moisture residing in the shower to towel off. With
a cursory passing over the beading drops, he tied it around his waist
and stepped further into the room.

There was no mirror in the room, so the fog condensed on the cool
walls, making them appear to sweat. A small carpet lined the tile and
he gratefully stepped on it to keep his feet from going numb.
Vampires felt the cold too, but it was basically just numbness that
set off the fact that their body temperature got to low. Opening the
cabinet, he searched for the gel to apply to his hair. Just as his
hand curled around the expensive imported bottle of hair care
product, a low tingly feeling cramped his stomach muscles.

Buffy was here, he thought with a wicked grin.

Applying the gel, he set his soft freshly washed hair into spikes. He
hoped the affect appeared to be casual, but seeing as he didn't have
a reflection he couldn't tell for sure. He was in need of a shave, a
light bristling of whiskers coated his jaw. A quick lather from the
shaving cream, and he was haphazardly using the razor to quickly
whisk away the coarse stubble.

The door opened revealing Makalo in the frame in all his stoic glory.
As he rinsed the razor, he looked over at his second in command and
asked, "What is it Makalo?"

"She is here."

Nodding, he replied brusquely, "I know. I felt it when she stepped
through the threshold. How is she?"

"The slayer sir."

"Oh quit being a stubborn ass. Did she appear to be curious? upset?
annoyed? happy? daydreaming? anything at all?"

Makalo shifted, settling his gaze on the far wall. Someone needed to
teach him how to lie and perhaps be more friendly. It wasn't like he
was going to bite the poor fellow.

"Well? How was she?" He asked again, feeling the first stirrings of
anger.

It was so hard to find good help these days. Part of him wished for
his unruly childer to come back and give him companionship and to
entertain him. The other part scoffed and reminded him he had his
hands full as it was with his unruly mate.

"She appeared to be resigned Angelus. Her face showing neither
happiness nor anger, just acceptance."

He cursed under his breath. "Damn the woman."

"I don't understand how you put up with her. I think the best course
of action is to kill her."

Snarling, he faced his second and threw him into the wall. Digging
his fingers into Makalo's throat he said through a mouthful of
fangs, "Its a good thing then that what you think isn't what will
happen Makalo. She is my mate, and you will never think of hurting
her again do you hear me?"

The vampire nodded his eyes a little wide, showing the fear that he
felt. Grunting, he stepped back, releasing the smuck to finish up in
the bathroom. He kept his eyes level, as he picked up the toothpaste.
He spoke with a hint of hostility tingeing his voice, "Go and check
on the dinner arrangements."

Nothing more was said as Makalo left the room leaving the door wide
open. The remnants of his anger spoiled the mood he had been in.
Muttering to himself he started to brush his fangs since they had yet
to retreat back inside his human visage. But even as he was taking
care of his hygiene, the wretched mood lifted as anticipation settled
in his belly and loins.

His soft penis again quickened at the thought of his mate, drawing a
ragged groan. He would never free himself of her! He pictured her
innocent sleeping form from one of his nightly decadent visits into
her room as he sagged against the counter. The visual itself revealed
all her glorious curves as she writhed and moaned against his tongue
and hands. Those satin soft globes settling heavily into his palms
their nipples hardening against his touch as another moan left her
arched throat. He groaned, slamming his hands against the counter his
head lolling in the remember passion.

He wanted her to come again so he could hear her soft husky screams
in the throes of her passion. He wanted to ease himself within her
tight passage and stroke all the sensitive spots he had found with
his fingers and tasted with his tongue. He wanted to bask in the firm
gentle touch of her hands holding onto his back as he moved within
her. Wanted to hear her call out his name in a tantalizing murmur as
he gazed deep into her eyes and tipped them over the edge.

He wanted her…

…needed her…

Had to have her beneath him, surrounding him, crying out for him.

It alarmed him how much he needed to be with her, as if she was his
sole reason for existing. Phantom fixations never had this effect on
him before and he feared it now. What was happening to him to make
him the lap dog of the slayer?

The willing, even eager, lap dog.

He mused that it was all the damned soul's fault. Not sure what kind
of hold the soul still had, he growled in frustration. It was no use,
whenever he thought about Liam he couldn't help but snarl, the boy
rubbed him all wrong, especially now that he was more of a wimp and
pussy chasing mongrel than before. Okay maybe the pussy was a little
over the top since the poor mutt only had one to indulge in for over
a three fourths a century. The other time was Liam trying to remain
in favor with Darla, which of course was asinine considering how
vengeful his sire was.

Nope, she would never forgive him for his soul, not that he'd have
her now if she came crawling on hands and knees. Not that she could,
since Liam had put her into the hands of some very cruel demons for
her to entertain. The poor vampiress shouldn't have crossed him by
sneaking into his bed when his relationship with the slayer was just
starting to burgeon with trust and love.

With a sigh, he rubbed his fingers over the bridge of his nose. He
knew how to handle vampiresses! Not slayers! Not his mate… not Buffy.

He needed to get dressed and finish getting ready. Quickly he
scrubbed his other set of teeth and ran his mouth with Listerine,
nothing like discomfort to keep his mind focused. Slapping on some
cologne, he left the bathroom. A flick of his wrist and the towel
fell to the floor as he stalked over to the closet to pull out the
outfit he had decided upon earlier to wear.

He stepped into the black dress pants, slipping them up over his hips
without a thought for the silk boxers he normally wore. These pants
just weren't made for lines from such garments. He slipped on the
morbid little silver stake, draping it across his chest. Next he took
out the scarlet silk shirt, and tucked it into the waist of his
pants. Deftly he button up the long column of black pearl buttons,
but left the top five undone to show off his pale chest and necklace.
Grabbing the black shoes and socks, he left the room to check on the
happenings downstairs and to place the footwear on his feet from a
more comfortable location than the wooden floor.

His heels hit the stairs, creating low thumps as he hurried down to
take care of the last minute arrangements. Not in the mood to parade
around in bare feet, he sat on the last step and hurriedly pulled the
socks on followed by the shoes. Then he stood and motioned for Makalo
to come over.

"How's the meal being prepared for tonight by the cook? Nothing too
dry or brunt? The meal is as expected yes?"

"Lucille has prepared the meal to your specifications."

"Good, good," he nodded, looking down at his shoes thoughtfully.
Focusing his attention once more on his second he asked, "And the
wine?"

"It is the 1867 Tintara Vineyards Claret that you requested."

"The blood?"

"A mixture of lamb and virgin just as you wanted as well."

He nodded, dismissing the vampire and headed off toward the study to
grab the small box of pennies that he had collected over the last two
weeks. Opening the antique dark cherry wood box, he mulled over the
collection wondering if it would be enough. With a shrug, he took the
pennies with him back to the top of the stairs to find out.

Dipping his fingers into the many copper disks and sprinkled them
onto the floor. As he walked down, he dribbled a few pennies onto the
stair and moved on. When he reached the ground, he had only missed
three steps and made a note to go back and fix that error later. Now
he stooped to add the sets of trios along the tile, hobbling every
few minutes to reach a new area.

He stood when he had finished, and decided never to stoop that low
again if you got his meaning. His back was sore and achy loudly
complaining as he stretched out the kinks, but at the end he felt
more relaxed. Lucille came from the kitchen then, with a tray in each
hand. She was a pretty French thing that had been turned at the
beginning of the century in 1901.

She nodded once, before heading out into the courtyard where he
followed to examine the garden and her nice derrière. The view was
nice, he thought absently. Nice round curves, enough to make more
than a handful… something he could sink his teeth into, but she
didn't have hazel eyes. Kind of ruined it for him.

He stopped by the first bush of jasmine, plucking a bloom off before
holding it to his nose. He took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet
scent before strolling over to the small table set up for their
dinner. The displayed dishes looked all alone on the black clothe so
he placed the jasmine bloom down in the center.

Scrutinizing the placement of the flower, he motioned for Lucille to
come over to him. He talked as he pointed at the flower, his other
hand fisting in her dark black curly hair and finding it coarse.
Letting the tresses go, he asked of the vampiress maid. "Lucille go
inside and fill a crystal bowl with water then bring it out here and
place the jasmine in it."

"Anything else Master Angelus?" she asked coyly, fluttering her
lashes up at him, having noticed his idle glances at her sex.

"No Lucille, that's everything. Just make sure to serve at nine
o'clock."

"Yes Master." Lucille curtsied, giving him a view of the top of her
full creamy breasts, and left wiping her hands on her short white
apron.

From the corner of his eye he saw the violinist setting up on the
balcony above him. There was a chair that the man was sitting on as
he worked on putting the stand together. At his feet was a stack of
songs that had been requested for tonight. Classical while they ate
dinner, contemporary for dancing, and elevator for in-between

"Denzel!" he called out to the man.

The musician looked up, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear as he
stood up. When the man reached the rail he raised a brow and
answered. "Yes Monsieur Angelus?"

"Could you plug in the cord up there for the lights? It's to your
right."

The man looked around, before nodding, "Yeah, sure. No problem. You
and your lady have a good time tonight."

"Thank you."

He turned away from the man in his late thirties, to survey the
courtyard. The man was fodder, a hostage to ensure Buffy's
corporation now that she was here. He was a man of means, but that
didn't mean he had to hire the violinist. Eternity for a night, if
you caught his drift.

Staring at the bubbling fountain next to him, he latched onto an idea
quickly returning to the open garden doors. He stepped back inside
long enough to grab the ornamental box. He threw the rest of the
pennies into the babbling fountain, leaving a few in the box for
Buffy to toss in later. Hearing a noise he turned away from the
waterfall to look out towards the entry way.

He held his breath as he watched her step to the edge of the garden.
The bedazzled look in her eyes made this whole setup worthwhile. Her
hand fell lightly on the French door, as she surveyed the twinkling
lights dancing in the jasmine bushes. She hadn't spotted him yet, her
gaze still taking everything in.

Clenching his teeth, he noted that she wasn't wearing the simple
white dress he had bought for her in mind. The blasted woman hadn't
worn the apparel he had picked out to accentuated her soft feminine
curves to glide over her thighs only to flare out when it hit her mid-
calves. Instead she was wearing a revealing little number that she
had to have worn to school.

The limo had been a surprise, awaiting her the minute she was free
from her seven hour cell. The thought that his mate had dressed like
that for a public appearance, much less an appearance at an American
high school filled with pubescent males infuriated him. Gritting his
teeth, he fought against his arousal at the little violet number. It
fitted tightly across her small perky breasts, the bra she donned
raising them up against the tight clothe. Embroidery stitched along
the bodice to her hips where the skirt clung to her ass and legs
stopping just short of mid thigh.

Matching sandals encased her petite feet, strapping at the ankles
with a low heel. Her toes matching the lavender nail polish on her
nails. Her face had glitter outlining her eyes, drifting up into her
hair which she had pulled up in a sloppy artless bun. Her lips were a
soft pale rose topped with clear gloss full and pouting. Buffy had
not been parading around in this all day or he would have seen it
earlier, but he had seen her early morning after practice with Giles.

His face twisted into a sneer, as he combated the desires to cover
her up so no other man could see his possession and whisk her up to
their room to rip that little bit of nothing off of her and immerse
himself within her sheath. She was gorgeous, irritating, and his.

Music began to drift around them, echoing in the corners of the
secluded garden, filling the air in a soft enchanting melody. Gliding
out from the shadows, he waited for her to notice him. For the first
time in two week they were meeting face to face. He basked in the
feeling that engulfed him by her very presence. The weeks seemed to
slide away as he stood there being assessed by her hazel eyes. The
soft glaze of desire within them did not prepare him for her words.

"I violently dislike you," she seethed, leaning against the white
frame.

Shock swiftly bled into barely checked anger as his voice came
mockingly, "Yes that may be the case, but surely being here with me
is better than patrolling alone on a night like this."

Buffy huffed, glaring at him as she shook her head to deny his
words, "I'm not sure about that."

"Come now you're hurting my feelings." He sneered, then continued
with a wave of his arm. "You and I are here, under the stars in a
secluded garden with no one around. Tonight is Valentine's and you
look ravishing."

"I'd prefer not to be ravished thank you." She replied sweetly
through clenched teeth.

Bringing his outstretched hand to his chest he gave her compelling
look as he counted her words. "You wound me. Telling me not to ravish
you and then ignoring my efforts to look nice tonight. Do I not look
pleasing to you?"

"You look like the devil in need of a soul."

"As oppose to had I been Angel, I'd be what? The devil with a soul?"
He glowered, his eyes narrowing as he shot his frustration and
resentfulness towards her. He practically vibrated with his jealous
wrath.

"No, of course not. He's not a devil at all, but rather..." she
demurred hastily, raising up her hands to hold him at bay.

Ignoring her protest, he sauntered up to where she stood poised for
flight; brushing his fingers through her hair he asked
menacingly, "Rather what?"

Buffy yanked her head back from his touch as she spat, "He's the man
that I love."

"He's gone." He stated, pointing out the obvious, "and yet you don't
kill me for I wear his face..." seeing that she was about to rebuke
his statement, he placed his fingers firmly over her parted lips to
stop her words. "No don't speak, we both know you still hold out for
a miracle that he'll come back to you."

"Fuck you," she hissed, jerking away to stalk down the steps.

"My pleasure Buffy," he whispered ominously in her ear, as he placed
his palm on the small of her back to guide her to the dinner setting.
She said nothing as he pulled out her chair and settling her in, and
remained quiet even when he sat down before her on the other side. He
popped the champagne under her silent stare and poured them both a
glass. Setting the bottle back in the ice, he raised the glass
tipping it slightly in the direction of her own and said a silent
toast.

After two full swallows, he set it back down on the table with a
force to make her jump. "You going to sit there all night like some
silent statue? Or are you going to be companionable."

"Are you?" she shot back, her hazel eyes flaring green in anger.

"Its impolite not to toast before your first sip of wine Buffy."

"Well then by all means I must toast you on a job well done," she
taunted sarcastically, raising her glass before tipping it over onto
the pebbled walkway.

Parting but a glance at the fermented liquid on the ground, he took a
sip of his before raising to her taunt. "I should make you lick that
off the ground. That was an old wine and very expensive."

"Older than you?" she quipped, tossing her head arrogantly.

"I'm older."

"Than Judas."

"Bite your tongue before I do it for you," he said with soft
provocation, watching her tongue dart across her parted lips.

"More threats I see," Buffy scoffed, looking away from him.

"I like to see them as genteel persuasions. Now would you like
another glass of wine before it goes flat?" he suggested as a peace
offering.

Snubbing his olive branch, she refuted him. "I would like something
else to drink."

"Now you're being difficult."

"Really?" She asked bitingingly, "Here I thought that was just you.
Let me go."

"Never. I'll ring Lucille to acquire you some ginger ale."

Hers eyes widened, fixating on his her words coming out
breathlessly, "Who's Lucille?"

"Our maid."

Frowning, Buffy tilted her head, "Did I hear you right? Our maid?"

"That's what I said."

"I somehow am getting the impression that you're delusional. We
aren't anything to be thought of as an 'us', 'we', 'our', or any
other togetherness word."

Quirking a brow, he smirked engagingly. "Ah but of course. We have
yet to consummate our developing relationship."

"No consummation!" Buffy jerked back from the table, her chair
tipping over as she hurried away from him.

He stood, replacing his napkin on his chair with deliberate care as
he eyed her from under long lashes. He said nothing as he crossed
over to her and gathered her protesting form against his body. She
struggled in his arms, landing blows that deflected off his chest and
arms as he fought to still her fisted hands. He kissed her then, her
hands caught against his cool chest, her lips under his as he suckled
on her lower protruding lip.

With amorous persuasion he traced the full curve of those petal soft
lips, seeking permission to gain access to the rest of her mouth. She
granted it to him with an audible sigh, her head arched painfully
back against the hand that gripped her head. Silken tresses fell
around his delving fingers, entwining around the long digits as he
deepened the kiss.

It never occurred to him to be wary of her as he shifted his legs
between hers, pressing a hard thigh against her moist heat. She was
submissive to his kiss, he thought smugly grinning against her lips
before he plundered them once more. Her skirt bunched up around her
hips, as he rocked her against him, settling his rigid length against
her thigh.

Buffy sighed in his arms, returning the kiss, stroke for stroke…

A hoarse yell burst from him, as he shoved the spiteful temptress
away. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he drew them back to see
that they were coated in blood. His blood. She bit him, he thought
his nostrils flaring. Eyeing her warily, he noted the harsh ragged
breaths she took to calm the beating of her heart. Her eyes gleamed
bright green from her temper, her lips parted and wet from his kiss.

"How dare you!" she cried out, her face purpling.

"How dare I? How dare you!" he cursed then spitting out the pooled
blood in his mouth. wiping the back of his hand against his lips to
remove lingering traces of the copper mixture.

"You kissed me! You pig! You jerk! You thing!" She hissed,
rearranging her mused clothing.

"As I recall," he remarked dryly, "you kissed me right back."

"This evening is over! I came to your bidding and I'm calling it a
night."

As she turned to leave through the opening in the garden that lead to
the yard he bade her goodnight with a simple warning. "The night is
still young, but you will be missed. Good night Buffy."

Buffy shot him a look that made him glad looks couldn't kill or he'd
be dust right now. But damn her! Dragging a hand through his hair, he
cursed the lingering coils of seduction flowing through his veins and
tromped after her with malicious intent.

She wouldn't like it when he bit her back.

Buffy never should have played with fire, not tonight and not with
him.

He followed her out into the quiet recesses of Sunnydale, not hiding
the fact that he was following her. A dark frown marred his brow as
he trailed along behind her. She seemed in a hurry to get someplace
which meant she wasn't running away from him… them… had Buffy only
come to appease his blood thirst? Growling softly he vowed to rip the
boy apart who had garnered her favor this St. Valentine's eve. Then
he teach her about monogamy.

Pictures of bloody scenes danced in his head, his heart began to sing
oh so sweetly about death and greater evil things. Buffy was leading
the devil to her lair and he wouldn't shout a warning. He eased into
his vampire visage, testing the sharpness of his fangs imagining
scalding hot life's blood coating his tongue and throat in deep
swallows. He hadn't had dinner this even, his appetite was whet for
the nourishing nectar as he himself was ready for a hunt.

A figure dotted the furthest edge of his vision and he looked up
sharply to encompass the moving figure. It was a boy to whom Buffy
was running to. Snarling, he put on a burst of speed in an attempt to
grab her before she reached the unwelcome soon-to-be dead boy. Pun
very much intended, he thought noxiously when he noticed it was
Xander. He saw her fling herself into the boy's arms and swallowed a
roar of fury. Over the pounding in his ears, he barely made out their
conversation of hushed whispers.

"Are you alone?" Buffy asked, cradling her head on Xander's shoulder.

"Its Valentine's of course I'm alone. Cordeila broke up with me, and
Buffy I must go…" Xander barked out, sending a searching glance
behind him.

"No don't go!" his mate cried out to her flimsy lousy protector as he
approached them from the side.

"You're trembling! What's wrong? Did said limo not take you to a
mysterious beau?"

"No," she choked, clutching Xander to her, pressing her lithe body
flush against the warm male body holding her. "It took me to An-"

"Deadboy got you the limo?" Xander sneered, shifting to hold Buffy
more protectively. The look on his face daring anyone to come and
take her from him, which he supposed was what was going to happen in
a very short while.

"He's awful Xander, he's not like you. I'm such a fool! Forgive me?"
Buffy asked, tears rimming her eyes as she looked up at him with a
soft seductive look that had Xander swallowing harshly and him
swallowing down a jealous lump of bile.

"It's not your fault-" Xander began, enjoying far to much in his
opinion what was going on. Did he mention blood letting parties?

"Oh yes it is! If only I had recognized my true feelings sooner. I
don't love anybody but you Xander."

"What?" Xander stammered shocked… as shocked as he was, he felt
himself bristle and slip into his sharp set of canines.

"I love you," Buffy replied quickly, leaning up on tiptoe to catch
Xander's open mouth for a kiss.

That's it, he thought harshly ripping Xander from Buffy's grip. His
fingers fisted in the collar of the pup's shirt as he growled his
fangs pressed into the boy's face. A yelp escaped from Xander's open
parted mouth, and he laughed loudly sensing the fear he was causing
the boy. Though his victory was short lived, when a tiny hand grabbed
him, turning him around and slamming the twin into his face.

He dropped the worthless git, and rounded on Buffy growling as he
shouted at her. "You love this boy? If you say yes you are sadly
mistaken, you do not love him and your game is not funny. In fact
it's going to cost you his life."

He leaned down to pick the boy up by the scruff of his neck, intent
on draining his rapidly beating heart's blood and leave his lifeless
body in his mate's hands. He didn't have the chance to when Buffy
slammed her little body into him fighting him viciously with a flurry
of punches to his solar plexus and he grunted beneath her, trying to
force her off of him so he could gain the upper hand. When two
warriors were equally skilled the stronger and taller one won the
match, but her advantage was helping her hold her own.

"You vermin! Don't you lay a fang on him! He's mine! My Valentine! My
love! If you think you're going to harm him you better think again!"
Buffy yelled, slamming her fist into his unprotected face due to his
hands guarding lower regions near his solar plexus.

"Hear that Deadboy! Give it up! You're not her type!" Xander taunted,
wiping his lip on his sleeve as he stood watching in awe as Buffy
defended his mangy ass.

"I think I know who her type is more than you!" he grunted through
fang, pushing her off of him finally to stand. He eyed her guardedly
as she worked on sitting upright. Not amused by her display of
temper, he slammed a boot into her stomach pleased to hear her breath
leave her lungs in a rush.

"XANDER!" a dozen high pitched voices shrieked deafeningly.

He watched the boy in question's eyes round in fear. Glancing upwards
he saw more then a dozen females chasing after the guy, watching with
a sneer as Xander took off in the direction he had been running in
before Buffy had collided with him. There wasn't a snowball's chance
in hell all these various ages of females were after him because he
was a stud with animal magnetism that exuded sexual charm in buckets…
oh no… this was the making of a spell.

"Xander wait! I LOVE YOU!"

"She doesn't love you! I do!"

"Don't listen to them! I'm your heart's desire!"

"You don't know what Xander desires!"

"I could make you happy!"

"I want to have sex with you! That'd make you happier!"

When the chorus had died and the parade of females dashed away from
him in hot pursuit of the loathsome bother, he faced his mate. Still
angered, he now understood the true reason behind her words wasn't
true feeling but induced affections caused by a wayward or
intentional spell of that lack wit.

"Until the spell wears off everything you say about love is false my
little slayer. I will seek retribution for your transgressions mark
my words on that. Tonight you were suppose to come into my arms as my
willing captive, but alas I see that will not be the case this
evening. However, I tire of your self righteousness and will have you
as my wife sleeping in our bed once more."

"You conceited, arrogant, asshole," she muttered struggling to her
feet her violet dress strained dark from the grass.

"I'll take that as a compliment, because from you those are the
nicest things you've ever said to me."

"I hate you!"

"Oh I love you too Buff. You missed my violinist serenade to us
tonight seeing as how we never got to dancing. There was this song
about Pennies, and I thought it would have been fitting for the
occasion, but we never danced."

"It'd burst my eardrums no doubt," she said cattily, "And you
probably have two left feet!"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he murmured, casting out the lure as he
started to sink into the shadows.

Her fists clenched at her sides as she stood up fully to face him. "I
can't stand you!"

To her dismay he had already slipped away.

-The End.-