Title: Breaking A Slayer 48

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

Spoilers/Ships: This is AU. Buffy/Spike/Angel. Xander/Anya. Willow/Tara.

Distribution: Sure, just let me know.

Feedback: Is always nice. DarkRhiannon@aol.com

Rating: NC-17.

*

Angel paced back and forth in the dark outside Wolfram and Hart. He desperately wanted to go in…needed to go in. Buffy wasn’t there, he and Spike had both determined that from the general sense of her presence that they shared. It wasn’t a homing instinct, it was more of a general awareness of her that prickled their spines and raised their…spirits whenever they were physically near to her. The blood they’d taken from her and the Marks that mated them together created a low buzz in the back of the mind…a constant sense of security…or in this case, loss.

Because of that sense, or rather its lack, Angel was increasingly out of control. Spike watched as his sire’s face shifted back and forth from ridged to smooth without Angel’s conscious knowledge or volition. This was a deadly situation, and Spike recognized it. If Angel lost his now-tenuous hold on himself, there was no telling what he was capable of, but Spike knew from past experience that it was sure to be very, very bad.

"Sire," he said urgently to the agitated vampire, "we should get goin’ back to the apartment. Maybe the Watcher has more info on the lawyers."

Angel growled at him and continued pacing.

Spike was equally agitated, but in better control of himself. Still, the loss of Buffy so soon after their reunion echoed in him like a missing limb. He needed her, wanted her, loved her with a desperation that frightened him. *They could be doing anything to her,* he thought frantically, *and we’re fucking useless.*

He growled back at Angel, an agreeing growl, rather than a challenging one and they both turned their now amber gazes to the lobby of the law firm. Though their mate was not inside, there were people, blood bags, just waiting to be encouraged to speak…

Wesley chose that moment to call Angel on his cell phone, which, for once, was charged and turned on. Both vampires startled at the sound.

Angel opened the phone and growled into it menacingly.

"Angel? Is that you?" Wesley’s voice sounded extremely hesitant.

Angel growled again, then realized that he needed to speak for the Watcher to understand him. "rrrrrryes, Wes, it is I," he said, forcing himself to morph back to human mask with extreme difficulty.

"Angel, I believe I’ve found the place they might be holding Buffy," the Watcher’s voice said.

Spike turned, hearing the words and morphing to human as he did so. A look of utter vulnerability swept across his young face.

"Where?" Angel growled, shifting back to game face at Wesley’s words and the thought of a location for his mate and a place to punish those who had taken her from him.

Wesley related the information and both vampires turned from the firm to sprint to the DeSoto.

It was difficult for them to concentrate on anything at all except Buffy. Shifting to human visage and even speaking had become well nigh on impossible. Spike wondered, with what little logic was left to him, why it was suddenly so difficult to reign in his demon.

*

Holland switched to the overhead camera to watch the security tape as the guard approached the fallen Slayer. The girl’s face was ashen, her naked body turning that hue as well, under the blood that was flowing from the wounds on her chest. They weren’t small, Holland noted, and shuddered to think what the exit wounds must look like on her back. The slugs had taken her in the chest, too high for a heart shot. One went through her right bicept, one had shattered her right collarbone. He could plainly see the shards of bone jutting from her injured flesh before blood obscured them. The third shot had caught the girl in the already bloody flesh of her hip. From the blood spattered behind her, that one hadn’t exited, just the top two.

Her eyes were closed as the guard leaned over her, calling frantically for back-up and a med team for the valuable prisoner he had stupidly wounded. Then, in an instant, the Slayer’s eyes were open. Glowing, even. That same eerie gold-green gaze looked directly into the security camera for a moment before focussing on the hapless guard. Holland had a perfect picture of the Slayer’s face as she reached forward with her left hand and grabbed the guard behind the neck, pulling him down to her.

Her mouth opened and those almost-fangs descended slightly. Holland watched as she ripped into the guard’s neck. He’d watched the tape dozens of times already, but remained horridly captivated by the sight of the petite blonde girl’s face as she tore into the neck of the guard.

It was feral…bestial. Completely and utterly without humanity -- even the demonic humanity of the vampires. Her face as she ripped out the throat of the guard who’d wounded her was the face of the Beast.

Pain. It woke in pain. Confusion. Fear. Danger. Pain meant all of those things to the Beast, and it knew the pain was a bad thing. It rested its aching head against the wall in the unfamiliar place in which it had awoken and knew fear.

But fear in the Beast always led to rage--instant and powerful--despite its captivity. The Beast scented the air and knew that danger was coming. It opened its eyes and gazed around the place it was held. Something kept its paws stretched back against the wall. The Beast pulled at the things holding its paws and they rattled.

It startled as a female entered its place accompanied by males. They were beta, she scented that on them immediately and lost interest in them. They weren’t right, weren’t the Beast’s males. But the Bitch was alpha…was challenging it---her.

The Beast realized it was female, it was She. Thinking hurt inside her head even more than her body ached. Trying to think was impossible…the pounding pressure pushed the Beast’s thoughts away with flares of pain each time she tried.

Help. She needed…needed her Mates. She closed her eyes and could feel them through the haze of pain that oppressed her. The link to them was on such a primal level that she could sense them easily, but they were not near to her. She cried out through the bond, reaching for them uselessly, whimpering softly as she did so. She must find them. Must get free from this bad smelling cold place.

The Bitch was making noises at her. She heard the sounds but they didn’t mean anything…a jumble of nonsense sounds cascading like water over her ears without leaving meaning behind. The Bitch postured and the Beast sensed her attempt to assert dominance. She smelled the challenge emanating from the Bitch. The Beast glared into the female’s eyes for a moment, staring her down until the Bitch dropped her gaze. Only then did the Beast pull against the bonds that held her so tightly to the wall.

The Beast worried at the bonds, ripping gashes into her own wrists in the process, but felt one of the things start to give. Then pain exploded across her thighs when the Bitch attacked.

The Bitch struck again and again with a stinging thing that hurt more with each blow, until the Beast’s skin broke open and bled. The Beast raged and tore at the bonds holding her, pulling and snarling at the Bitch while she did so.

She pulled harder and blood poured from her wounded arms to mingle on the floor with the pool from her thighs and abdomen. Finally the bonds gave and she fell from the wall to crouch before the attacking Bitch.

The things…*chains?* she thought, and pain flared at the word as if her thinking triggered it. *Chains can be used,* the Beast thought, fighting against the pain. *A tool, yes.* She rolled the word around in her mind, moaning at the pain that accompanied the thought, but stubbornly refusing to submit to it, despite the flaring agony that accompanied the attempt to think in words instead of feelings.

The Bitch stepped back as the Beast rose to her full, if diminutive, height and growled menacingly. The Beast pulled one paw back and whipped the *chain* across the Bitch’s face as hard as she could. The Bitch screamed and fell to the floor as the Beast turned and leaped upon the beta males who hadn’t even had time to react to her attack. They were weak and easily killed.

The Beast ran, limpingly, for the hole through which the others had come. Her head spun from the loss of blood from her wounds and she shook it, trying to dispel the haze that fogged her mind. A long cave stretched away from her and she began loping down it toward the last remaining male.

Suddenly pain exploded in the Beast’s hip, arm and shoulder, throwing her backwards to land painfully hard on her back. Black swallowed her up--taking away the searing agony for a moment.

Danger. Pain. Fear. Rage. She struggled from the soft black clinging to her, trying to open her eyes and face the new threat. Pain radiated through her slight body and she tensed, trying frantically to respond.

She sensed the last male getting closer, smelled his rancid sweat and heard the too-fast flutter of his racing heart. He leaned threateningly over her prone body and she tensed further, pushing her wounded body to its limit in anticipation of more pain. He was finally within her reach.

She stretched the less-wounded paw up, though it felt like trying to lift stone, and wrapped it around the neck of her prey. She wrenched him down and sank sharp fangs into his neck, ripping out his throat with one savage bit. His blood was warm and salty in her mouth.

The taste was not repellant, but failed to satisfy her. She pushed the male off of her and rolled toward her unhurt leg, groaning and snapping at the wound in her arm. She couldn’t chase away the pain…it continued, and she knew that she must find a den in which to hide. This place was bad. Cold and dangerous.

The Beast tried to rise, pushing on the ground with her good paw and whimpering uncontrollably. The pain was almost more than she could bear, though the blood on her thighs and belly had dried. She stumbled to her feet, then fell again when she tried to put weight on the bad side. Crawling to the side of the cave, she pushed herself up against it, leaning heavily upon it and moving forward one painful step at a time.

She gasped and snapped at the pain coming from so many different places in her body, unable to make the agony go away. She reached the hole to the cave but it was blocked by a wall with a cold shiny bar. Grasping the bar, she pulled and pulled, but could not get through the hole. Her strength gave out and she leaned upon the bar. With her weight pressing down, the bar moved and she fell forward through the wall in the hole, falling to the ground halfway out of the cave. She was free.

The Beast crawled to her feet again, whimpering and whining as the agony from her wounds beat at her with every move. She stumbled forward, leaning against the cold, hard walls on the outside of the cave. A den. She must find a den to lair in and lick her wounds. The Beast struggled onward, one painful step at a time, panting for breath around the horrible pain. Must get away from the cold place. Must keep moving. One paw hung limply at her side, too badly hurt to even move. Still she kept on, slowly creeping from the place of pain…trying to find a good place to go to ground.

*

Angel and Spike roared up to the warehouse in the DeSoto. They jumped, snarling, from the car in full game face, ready to fight whomever tried to stand in their way.

Angel growled menacingly as they reached the door to the building. Buffy’s dried blood was spattered everywhere. The smell called his demon ever more to the surface as he stalked. He opened the door and smelled/saw the dead security guard on the floor.

Spike pushed past him and crouched at the man’s side as Angel stood guard, even though his preternatural hearing confirmed that there was no one left alive in the building. The guard was cold, and rigor had set in. Spike looked at his neck. It had been ripped out by very small fangs. Spike smelled Buffy on the man…smelled the gunpowder and knew that he’d shot her and spattered her blood across the floor. He hissed angrily. He rose to his feet and growled urgently at Angel, who gestured him to his flank as Angel took point going through the door at the end of the hall.

Spike gasped at the sight before them. Dead security guards were strewn about the floor like so much offal. Two had an arm completely ripped from their torsos. Three others had their faces and throats ripped to shreds.

Angel had moved to a rack of torture implements, and as Spike watched, his sire leaned over and picked up a cane from the floor, scenting it and growling with rage. Buffy’s blood coated it, Spike could smell the powerful aroma from all the way across the room. He moved to join Angel.

"Lilah," Angel growled. "I smell Lilah on this. She hurt Buffy." His voice was so low, the words were barely discernable, but the tone of the growls conveyed its own message to his childe.

"Looks like Buffy got away, though, Sire. And smells like Lilah got what was comin’ to her," Spike added, glancing at the blood that dripped an unsteady path to a different door than the one they’d come through.

"Buffy’s not here," Angel growled. "We have to track her."

Spike nodded assent. "Shouldn’t be hard, she’s left a trail of blood behind her."

Angel growled at that and sped toward the door, leaping over the bodies of the dead guards with ease. Spike followed, succumbing to his demon and moving instinctually into the Now of the Hunt without conscious thought.

*

Tired. The Beast was so tired. The pain ate at her strength, tearing at her until she collapsed to the ground and lay, whimpering, for long moments before she could rise again. Lair. She must find a lair…must go to ground, hide, and lick her wounds. She struggled back to her feet yet again with difficulty, leaning heavily against the rough wall next to her.

Suddenly her senses flared. Danger. That feeling, it meant danger. It meant kill. She half turned and saw three males approaching. Their smell was not right, was…dead. That was it. They were prey.

The vampires had already fed well that evening, but the smell of blood from the dark alley called to them with promises of bounty they’d never yet experienced. At first, they thought the naked, bloody woman leaning heavily against the alley wall would be easy pickings, as she’d clearly been beaten and shot.

They were sadly mistaken.

Garth, the biggest and oldest minion, at the ripe age of three-years-dead, attacked first. The tiny woman growled at him and braced her back against the wall. As he reached for her neck, she brutally punched her left hand all the way through his skin and muscle into his gut and ripped upward with deadly force. Spreading her hand, she seized his heart from under his rib cage and ripped it from his body with one fatal pull. Garth looked surprised for a moment and swore, "Shit!" before exploding into a cloud of dust.

The other two minions were taken aback for a moment, but leapt to pin the woman to the wall. She screamed as one grabbed her right arm and slammed her shattered collarbone against the bricks with his other hand. The bone grated under the vampire’s hand and he squeezed, enjoying her agonized screaming. The other leaned in to sink fangs into her delicate neck.

*

Angel and Spike raced along the alley near the warehouse, tracking Buffy by scent in the dark. Her blood trail was drying up, as if her wounds had started to close. Angel knew, in the part of himself that could still think at all, that it was a good sign that less blood was being left, even as he growled at the loss of an easy trail.

Suddenly a pain-wracked scream split the night and both vampires tensed before racing forward. It was Buffy, Spike knew, and his lover was in dreadful anguish. He’d never heard her scream like that in all the fights he’d had with her and with all the wounds he’d seen inflicted upon her tiny body.

Angel had lost all ability to think at the sound of his Mate in such hopeless pain and terror. He raced into a noxious alley and saw two minions pinning Buffy to the wall. She was naked and covered in dried blood, with tears of pain streaming from her eyes. Her bones grated audibly in the grasp of the large vampire torturing her. Angel grabbed him and ripped his head from his body with one powerful movement.

Spike grabbed the one on Buffy’s left and dispatched him similarly. At the loss of her support, however malign it had been, Buffy collapsed to the ground, whimpering and panting as pain rippled through her helpless body. Her Slayer instincts told her more danger/prey was near, and she must stand or die. She straightened with a lightning fast movement and struck out blindly at the new menace to her left, aiming for the heart as she’d done with the first minion.

At the last moment, she looked up and gazed into the amber eyes of the male prey before her and something clicked home in her head. *Mate!* She pulled the blow, overbalancing herself as she did so and falling to the ground in agony.

Spike had seen his unlife flash before his eyes when the feral gaze of the Slayer met his own as she thrust for his heart. Now he crouched next to her, and whispered, "Buffy -- Pet -- please, we're here, Baby. Luv, tell me you're all right. Please, Baby," he crooned in a low voice, "say something."

The Beast whimpered, confused at the soft tones of the fair one she'd recognized as Mate barely in time to keep from harming him. The other, larger male bent over them both and she gazed into his eyes. This one…this one was Mate indeed. His dark hair and soulful eyes promised safety, lust, love…soul…all tied up in one. She was, oddly, warm in their cool embraces, and the cold fingers of the light one soothed the pain from her tired body as he stroked her oh-so gently.

The Beast growled a bit at him, a treble rumble of recognition and acceptance of his touch, then gazed into the dark amber eyes of the Alpha Mate and released her tenuous hold on consciousness. She collapsed between them, knowing deep in her soul that she was finally…somehow…safe.

To be continued in Chapter One of a new series…Taming the Beasts.

Well, my darlings, you made it through fifty chapters of my first-ever fanfic. Congratulations. It's been a bumpy ride, I know. A few thank yous are in order. First and foremost, to Laure Alexander, Ducks, Mayaan, Susan and always Tango, for showing me how it's done. You are first-rate writers, and I worship at your feet. I only hope that my fiction in some small way, can touch my readers as much as yours has touched me.

Second and utmost, many, many thanks to every one of my fans and not-fans for posting comments, reviews, sharp or silky, approving or disapproving. I mean it when I say that I read what you write to me and listen to it. You make me a better writer, through your careful readings of what I write only for enjoyment. Your suggestions have, more than once, made me go back and rewrite and repost a chapter that is undoubtedly better for your commentary.

Third and finally, I must thank Joss Whedon, without whom none of this would be remotely possible. I saw Buffy the Vampire Slayer in the movies when it came out (yes, I know this dates me. Tough.) I knew then, and am doubly sure now that I've seen what he could really do with it, that Joss is a genius. A dark genius, to be sure, but a genius nonetheless. The archetypal characters with which he worked, the painful and frightening juxtaposition of the dark and light--ever warring with each other for precedence, and intercut constantly with the absurd, are the reason, whether we are conscious of it or not, that we return again and again to the font of painful pleasure that is Buffy and Angel (and Spike).

I will continued this story, but 50+ chapters would become too unwieldy, so I will start, anew, like the Phoenix, with a fresh (well, sort of anyway) slate and a new foe for Buffy and her lovers to vanquish…the Beasts within her and within them…

Blessings, my dears, and thank you,

--Rhiannon McLaughlin

September 4, 2002

 

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