The Key to Connor II
The Angelus Chronicles
Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

Spoilers/Ships: This is AU. Angelus/Buffy. Cordy/Gru. Angelus/William.
Willow/Tara. Xander/Anya.

Distribution: Sure, just let me know.

Feedback: Is always nice. DarkRhiannon@aol.com

Rating: NC-17 to XXX for violence, rape, character death, blood play,
slash, sex and bad, bad words.
 
 

Spike was foggy and uncertain of anything other than agony. The Thirst
beat upon him, unceasing in its demand that he hunt, feed, kill again
and again until it was slaked. He pulled ineffectually at the chains
that held him to the solid bedposts.

Those posts were scarred and chipped from his efforts to break free,
to attack Angelus when first he'd been bound. Now, conscious thought
barely possible, his entire being pulsed with need.

Blood. He could smell it close by, but his aching, beaten eyes were
swollen shut and he couldn't lift his head more than an inch before it
dropped to hang limply on his neck. Angelus had starved him for well
over three weeks now, he knew. He was all too familiar with his sire's
little dominance games. This had been one of his favorites.

Angelus paced slowly around Spike, enjoying the view. His childe hung,
bloody and beaten, from the manacles, head lolling and eyes beaten
shut. His back had no skin remaining on it, nor did his ass or thighs.
Despite that, the damage wasn't permanent. Angelus had wielded his
crops and canes with precision and care. Wouldn't do to scar his
childe.

Spike was too spirited to give in to simple, or elaborate, beatings,
and Angelus valued his childe's beauty far too much to want him maimed
permanently. So instead - the Thirst. It always had capital letters
for a vampire. It was more powerful than honor, more basic than lust.
It was everything and they were nothing in its grasp.

Minions were completely ruled by the Thirst - past thinking on more
than a basic level unless they had been truly unusual humans. Childer,
though, childer could be taught to master it. It was one of the ways
in which sires bound them to the Orders and Lines of vampiric
succession.

Starve a minion and all you got was a monster. Starve a childe and
then feed it on sire's blood and the bond, already strong, became nigh
well unbreakable. At least, until the childe became a Master in its
own right. Some never did. Weak-willed as humans, they were destined
to be nothing but superior minions as vampires.

Strong childer, though, were both a boon and a curse. They could be
valuable allies in the constant warring that went on both inside the
vampiric community and with other demons, who regarded vampires as
tainted half-breed at best because of their human origins. They could
also turn on their sires and abandon them in a moment of need.

Darla left Nest for Angelus with nary a backward glance despite
holding his favor for over a hundred years. Angelus had sired William
the first time at least in part to provoke Darla's jealousy, a tactic
that had succeeded brilliantly. Siring Dru had been Angelus's
obsession, true, but more than that, it was a way of gaining strength.
His childer gave him power to oppose his sire more and more openly.

Tying a powerful seer to himself and ensuring that her visions would
be controlled by him since she was too damaged and fragile from his
torment of her to ever assert her own independence was a masterful
plan. It had been completely disrupted by Darla's gift of a gypsy girl
and Spike had stepped into his sire's place, holding Drusilla's
affections for 120 years before his sire had returned and destroyed
that love in less than six weeks.

Angelus knew that Spike hated him for his treatment of Dru. Spike had
never been one for the games that they liked so well. He actually
loved Dru, with all of his undying heart. It made Angelus sick.
(Reminded him far too much of himself with that foul soul in place, or
that time when the twice damned ghosts had used his body.)

He hadn't felt clean for a week after that, remembering the tenderness
with which he'd caressed Buffy. That kiss they had shared, had, if he
admitted it to himself, continued to share even after the ghosts had
relinquished their holds on the soulmates' bodies. For a moment, he
had thought she was kissing him, Angelus, and he'd kissed her back
with all of the frustrated passion and deep-seated obsession that he
held for her. Then, of course, he'd come to his senses. She was
kissing the soul - that was all. Searching for something that wasn't
even there. He'd shoved her away with such violence he was sure it
would have killed a normal human.

Returning home to wash and scrub the feeling from his undead skin,
flirting with Dru, taunting Spike and then killing vilely for the rest
of the evening had barely removed the feeling from him. He still felt
it, despite the soul's desertion of the Slayer, despite its fall with
Darla, it was still there, deep in his bones where Angelus couldn't
erase it. He couldn't drive it out, couldn't ignore it, couldn't even
distract himself with his delectable favorite childe for more than a
day or so before the call throbbed within him once again.

Buffy. He needed, desired, lusted for her. That was all. It certainly
couldn't be anything more. Demons just shouldn't feel the softer
emotions. Even Spike and Dru, who he sadly admitted, were tainted with
jealous love for each other despite his efforts to destroy that, had
demonstrated that love through twisted ways. At least Dru had. She
was, after all, Daddy's girl. He smiled to himself. She was somewhere
in the city. Perhaps he could look her up and rid himself of this
damned desire to see Buffy again.

Yes, that was it. Spike was marvelous, true, in his pain, and perfect
to look at as he suffered there, but Angelus needed -- wanted a woman
right now. Not a petite blonde powerhouse who could kick his ass
halfway to Friday. No, he wanted a dark goddess of pain to lose
himself and his passion in for days. And if he brought her back here,
she could help him break Spike. Yes. It was a plan.

*

Buffy was bouncing. Samuel was wincing, hands cupped over his ears and
outrage written across his face. He'd thought the Slayer compliant
when actually, he was now forced to admit, she had simply been hurt
nearly past bearing. Now that she was, thanks to his careful tending
and her healing powers, back at full strength and in fine form, she
was completely uncontrollable.

This music, for instance. Samuel adored reggae, jazz, classical and
modern with equal fervor. But this, loa help him, what the hell was
that fool girl listening to now? He had learned to his chagrin, that
repeated remonstrances actually increased the volume with which she
played the damnable stuff. Far better to allow her to play the radio
during her aerobic workout at the original decibel and get it over
with.

Finally, she was done. He sighed in relief as the pounding in his head
subsided to a dull throb. Buffy sank gracefully into full lotus and
began rolling her head slowly around to loosen tense muscles there.
After a few audible cracks, she stretched her legs out, stretching
down to the floor and holding the position for a few minutes as she
flexed and relaxed her hands and feet.

She had stretched and tended the damaged tendons carefully over the
past three weeks, and they'd responded. Her hands and feet were fully
recovered, though she'd carry those scars for the rest of her life.
Stigmata of the price she'd paid to bring Angel his son back. She
sighed, looking at them. How could something that had seemed like the
right thing to do have gone so horribly wrong. Instead of Angel being
with Connor and everyone being happy to have them back, she had
brought back AngelusÖagain.

It seemed that no matter how they tried, she and Angel were doomed to
hurt each other past bearing whenever they were together. Well, enough
was enough.

Willow had the curse, had brought it from Sunnydale with the, it
turned out, flawed Orb from the Magic Box. Even though the witch
couldn't perform the curse herself anymore, Buffy was certain that
they could find someone who would. Wesley, perhaps. He had enough
power, he insisted. They only needed a perfect Orb of Thesula to
complete the spell. Unfortunately, Angelus seemed to know exactly what
they were planning. Every occult shop in the city and all those in the
surrounding environs had been struck by a string of robberies and
destruction. Oddly enough, the only things destroyed had been useless
crystal paperweights. Useless to everyone except them.

Buffy had resorted to using Samuel's Watcher contacts to track down an
Orb. It was being fed-exed to his apartment from Jamaica. *It should
be here by tomorrow,* she thought. *Plenty of time to turn that
murdering son-of-a-bitch back into the broody vampire we all love. God
help me though. Angel will never, ever forgive me for unleashing
Angelus again.*

Next

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