Angelus hadn’t made it to his room. Pausing just outside the door, he glared at it in hatred and loss. It was almost inconceivable that something so innocuous could be the focus of all his revulsion, his disgust. Buffy should be behind that door, waiting for him. She should be there with little to nothing on, beckoning him to enter and take comfort in her body, in her arms. She should be behind that stupid wooden door, safe and alive, and with him.

With him, damn it! No one else, nowhere else. 

Roaring in rage, he smashed his fist into the stonewall next to the door. Blind with grief, he repeated the action, again and again, but he never touched the door. If he didn’t open the door, if he didn’t break through the oak, then he wouldn’t have to be confronted, once more, with the absence of her. He howled Buffy’s name…his life, his mate…crying out for her. 

“Buffy!” 

Where was she? Who took her? Slumping to the floor, Angelus didn’t even notice his knuckles, bloody and shredded. His head banged against the still closed wooden door, eyes closed. All he could see was her. Her beautiful eyes, alternating alluring green and vicious golden; her long hair, bright as the sunlight. Her smile, soft and gentile, cunning and sadistic. 

The way her arms wrapped around him, the way her body held him close. The way they fit, perfectly. Angelus wasn’t sure he could live without her. And he was positive that those who had taken her wouldn’t live once he’d found them. They just better hope that she was alive and in perfect condition when he did. 

He stayed that way for a long while; his knuckles stopped bleeding, and his eyes faded from blood-red to their normal brown. Absently rubbing the caked blood off his hands, he stood. 

Angelus looked once more at the door, but he couldn’t bring himself to reenter the space he shared with Buffy, however briefly that had been. Not until he carried her through the door himself. 

Just then, Willow’s scream echoed from her rooms in the opposite wing, and Angelus winced. She missed her sire, and he could appreciate that pain, probably better than any of them. But damn, she was loud with her suffering…and useless. 

Angelus’ head jerked around to face the empty hallway. Willow was useless to them, sick and magickally unstable. Whoever had taken Buffy had done this to Willow on purpose. It only made sense; she was the most magickally powerful among them, and yet with her so unstable, she couldn’t find Buffy. Couldn’t bring her back from wherever they’d taken her. 

Without a word, he stalked down the empty corridor, intent on finding out just what, exactly, had happened to the woman. George suddenly stood in his way. “What do you want?” Angelus demanded impatiently, eyes flashing yellow. 

“It has been suggested,” George said in that even voice of his, not flinching at the anger Angelus radiated. “That those still alive in Africa may be feeling a little too much freedom lately.” 

Angelus paused and stared at the human. He didn’t care for the butler, George tended to look at Buffy a little fanatically. As if she was a goddess to be worshipped. It pissed him off. While he couldn’t fault George’s taste, only Angelus got to worship Buffy. She was his. But Buffy adored him, and George was more than willing to do whatever she said. 

“And I suppose the plane is ready?” Angelus asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Of course,” George replied as if to suggest otherwise was an affront to his heritage. His dark human eyes looked directly at Angelus. The vampire terrified him, but George knew that he’d never do anything about it, because Buffy liked him. It was his one saving grace, and George didn’t plan to mess it up. 

“It will be ready for you whenever you decide to leave, sir.” George told the master vampire, with a quick glance at Angelus’ bloody hands. 

So that was what the noise had been, the human thought. Angelus had a quick and vicious temper, and George wasn’t at all surprised to find him taking that anger out on inanimate objects. Still, discretion was always the better part of valor, and George backed away with a bow before Angelus decided to use that temper on him. 

“Within the hour,” Angelus nodded, and continued on his way down the hallway. “I have one more thing to check before I leave.” 

“Yes, sir,” George stayed bowed and backed off. Then added, “Bring her home.” 

Angelus paused but said nothing for a long moment. Instead, he just nodded and continued on his way. “I intent to,” he promised George. And himself. 

Opening the door more quietly than he’d planned, Angelus stood there for a moment and looked at the couple in the bed. Paul was sitting beside Willow, gently bathing her face with a cloth while he read the large tome before him. 

“What was she poisoned with?” Angelus demanded of Paul. But his voice was quiet in the dark room. Losing Buffy had given him a perspective he’d never wanted. 

Was this what Paul felt all the time? Oh, Angelus knew that Paul and Willow didn’t share the bond he and Buffy did, and wouldn’t ever take the steps necessary to do so. But Angelus knew Paul, and knew that the elder vampire cared for Willow more than even he was willing to admit. Loving someone who was so unstable in her magicks couldn’t have been easy; never knowing when she’d overdose, never knowing if she’d lose her temper and use uncontainable magicks to destroy something – or someone – she wouldn’t normally. 

Well, that was too bad, Angelus decided. They all had issues. All Angelus cared about now was using Willow – and those delicious if unstable magicks – to find his beloved. And if Willow died in returning Buffy to him, then Angelus was certain he could survive that. 

Buffy was all that mattered. 

“We don’t know,” Paul admitted, eyes on his lover. He’d heard Angelus enter the room, but hadn’t cared. He was ashamed to say that the only thing he did care for was Willow. When had their relationship changed so much? And where was he during this change? “But she’s dying.” 

“No,” Angelus responded with conviction as he walked closer to the bed. “She’s not.” 

“What?” Paul didn’t believe him. He knew his lover was dying. The poison was ravaging her body faster than he could imagine, weakening her magicks and her life force. Even after looking through book after book after book, he couldn’t find anything. Nothing, not one damn thing! “How do you know?” 

“Because I know what she’s been poisoned with.” 

Paul was stunned. “What? How? What? What is it?” The questions rambled off his tongue faster than he realized them. “You knew? Why didn’t you say something before?” 

“I didn’t know before,” Angelus said dismissively, uncaring for Willow’s life except that without her, they had a slimmer chance of finding Buffy. Not gone, for Angelus intended to get her back no matter what, but…slimmer. Moving back to the door, he bellowed for Faith. Within moments, she was at there, with Lilah and Drusilla. 

“Lilah?” Angelus asked stroking his fingers down her cheek, leaving a faint trail of blood on her pale skin. Those fingers were coiled with unreleased power, just waiting for the moment to snap bones. But she smiled shyly up at him, her eyes clear and innocent, too trusting. But then that was what he’d instilled in her day after day during those weeks with Buffy. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m sorry, Master, but I didn’t want to leave Faith,” she confessed in a quiet voice, eyes now downcast as she anticipated Angelus’ blow. 

“Don’t interrupt, then,” Angelus told her in a trivializing tone. 

Lilah nodded and moved off to the side as Angelus motioned to Dru and Faith. “You’re the cure, Faith,” he told the slayer. “The killer of the dead,” he laughed at the irony. Irony he couldn’t appreciate when it was him dying. 

“Daddy?” Dru questioned, staring at her sire with large dark eyes. “What happened?” 

They hadn’t been gone that long, Drusilla thought wildly. Two weeks at most had she, Dawn, Lilah, and Faith been away from their family. They were all together then, and nothing could touch them. They were the driving force in the world, nothing could harm them. What had happened? And when had it all happened? Too fast, that was what they told her, the stars wept from the fury of their spinning. 

Too fast. Buffy was gone, Willow was sick, and daddy…her daddy was so lost and alone, adrift without his mate. Dru vividly remembered the last time this had happened, only then she’d been more than willing to destroy the world with her sire. Now, however, she preferred to rule the world. 

“Willow’s been poisoned, Dru,” Angelus told her, his voice as soft and reassuring as he could make it. This was his favorite childe, and even though he wanted to rend her limb from limb in his anger, he tried to be as kind as he could. It didn’t entirely work, and some of his underlying anger leaked through. Drusilla tried to back away from it, from him, but didn’t. It’d only make him angrier. 

“The poison is called the Killer of the Dead. And the only cure…” he laughed again, a low, harsh sound, not at all his normal smoothly mocking tone. “Is the blood of a slayer. The only other true Killer of the Dead.” 

“Are you sure?” This was from Paul. He’d never heard of this poison, and he’d been around a lot longer than Angelus. “What if you’re wrong?” 

“Then she’ll have the blood of a slayer running through her veins, and there’s nothing wrong with that.” Angelus shrugged. “But I’m not wrong. In fact,” he took Faith by the arms, wrapping his hand around her throat from behind. Bringing his mouth close to her ear, Angelus’ face shifted and he purred, “Our Faith here once poisoned me with the same thing.” 

“No!” Faith shouted, struggling to break free. She wasn’t entirely sure what Angelus was talking about, but she felt trapped. Exposed, and vulnerable. And the slayer didn’t like that feeling at all. 

“Oh, yes,” Angelus replied, his grip tightening on Faith, his fingers leaving bruises and some of his blood on her pale throat. His other arm banded around her chest, just under her lush breasts, and another smear of blood. “Our little slayer wannabe decided that if she couldn’t have me, then no one would.” His fingers tightened again, digging cruelly into Faith’s throat. “Especially not Buffy.” 

Faith’s struggles continued; all her strength focused on breaking free from Angelus’ grip, from the arms that were holding her. That were going to bring death. 

“I almost lost Buffy that time; she was just as determined that dear little Faith here wouldn’t succeed.” His voice turned sultry, reliving the memories of that time. He hated that she almost died, that she was thisclose to leaving him, but the rush of lust was too great to ignore. Her sweet blood sliding down his throat, the way her hips rocked against his as her orgasm exploded around her, it was pure heaven…perfect happiness. 

It was a shame that annoying soul had been so sick that he couldn’t appreciate the perfection granted him. Angelus would have had his beloved that much sooner. 

“You know,” he went on as his fingers traced Faith’s bruised throat, nails scratching the skin, his knuckles leaving traces of blood. “There’s nothing quite like Slayer blood. Unless it’s Slayer blood offered freely, laced with love and passion, desperation and steely determination.” 

Faith’s struggles continued unabated. She wasn’t sure, not really, what he was talking about, but some small part of her recognized this scene. Recognized the setting and the plan. And she wasn’t at all happy with it. 

“Don’t move, Faith dear,” he warned, voice hardening with purpose. Danger. He was pure danger. So close to the edge; too close to falling apart and killing all of them in his quest to return Buffy to his side. 

And Drusilla thought that maybe Spike was right, maybe Saffir was onto something with her idea of getting Angelus away from here. He needed to get out, to kill something before he destroyed their entire family. 

“Trust me,” Angelus snarled, eyes flashing blood red then black. He was losing it and fast. And he didn’t care. All he cared about was Buffy. “Slayer blood is the only cure for the poison. As for the instability of her magicks,” Angelus shrugged, his mouth moving down to Faith’s delicate neck, fangs drawing a thin line of her precious blood. His tongue traced the wound, lapping it up slowly, carefully. Delicious. “I don’t know. But we need Willow.” 

She was the way they could retrieve Buffy from wherever his beloved was trapped. And while Angelus was confident that he could break into heaven or hell to get Buffy back, it was faster and simpler this way. For now. 

“Now Faith,” Angelus continued in that soft and menacing voice of his. “Be still.” He all but carried her to the bed where Willow lay. Faith struggled and thrashed, growls escaping her throat as she tried to break Angelus’ grip. It was no use. 

Presented with the best means to recover Buffy from whoever had dared touch her, Angelus was going to do whatever he had to, to get her back. Even if it meant sacrificing one of their own. 

“Angelus!” Drusilla screamed as Paul lifted Willow up, settling her weakened form against his chest. Her eyes were open to bare slits, and yet she seemed to realize that there was a cure before her. 

“You’ll kill her!” Dru didn’t care all that much whether Faith lived or died, but she did care what Faith’s death would do to the rest of their family. Lilah, sobbing in the corner where Angelus had dismissed her, truly adored Faith. And Dawn looked up to her as sister and protector. A role previously held by Buffy, and now executed, with pleasure and possessiveness, by Faith. 

Plus, Drusilla had formed her own little family, those who needed her, those who looked up to her, who relied on her. She liked that, it made her feel needed, and…loved. 

“That’s the idea, Dru,” Angelus told her, clamping a hand around Faith’s flailing arms, the other hand tangling viciously in her hair. Tilting her head to the side, Angelus bared Faith’s throat to Willow’s seeking mouth. 

“You can’t kill her, daddy,” Dru pleaded, “It’ll tear the family apart.” 

“Wrong, Dru,” Angelus snarled over his shoulder, listening with a small twist of his mouth as Willow began to feed. “I’ll be getting our family back. I need Willow to find Buffy. If you want the bitch so badly, then when Willow is done, Faith is all yours.” 

“If you kill Faith,” Dru began but then subsided with a whimper as Angelus snarled at her.  

His fangs flashed and his eyes bled an ominous red, leaving everyone in the room aware of just how close he was to loosing control. “Silence! Once I have what I want, Dru, you, as my favored childe, may have her. Until then, you will obey me, or,” if possible his eyes grew redder, his fangs lengthened even more, his voice lowered to a deeper growl. “Or you will taste my displeasure before her body even cools.” 

The stars had stopped screaming, and were now dripping red with blood. Dru whimpered again, covering her head with her arms. 

Faith was dead. 

A loud wail echoed from the corner where Lilah curled in a tight ball, her thin dress barely covering her body. Raising a tearstained face to the vampires on the bed, she tried to quiet, lest the same fate happen to her. Faith. Her friend, her lover. Dead. She was dead. 

And then the stars disappeared. 

In their place, a swirl of light and energy exploded, leaving Drusilla blinded by the brightness. 

It was Willow, newly revived from Faith’s blood. Willow, who had indeed, been poisoned by the Killer of the Dead. Willow, whose magicks were so unstable, first from the lack of energy she normally drained from magickally inclined people, and then from her illness, that once she fully regained consciousness, unwittingly let loose a burst of energy that flattened the room. 

Angelus slowly sat up from where he was…pushed onto the floor. “Well,” he said as he looked at his mate’s childe. “That wasn’t a side effect I was expecting.” With a grimace, he toed Faith’s dead body off his left leg, and stood. 

Paul grinned, too relieved by Willow’s recovery to care that he cared too much. “They never tell you all the side effects, anyway.” 

Nodding, Angelus turned and left the room. He’d cured Willow, that was enough for him. He had some old friends to see now. 

“Faith,” Dru sighed, looking at the fallen slayer for a long moment. She’d miss her, but then there was little that could be done now. Unless…Daddy did say she could have her. And wouldn’t that be a lovely surprise for Mummy when she returned home. 

 And she would return home, because the alternative was too frightening for even the stars to see.
~~~~~~~~~~
Dawn’s wail, when Lilah told her of Faith’s demise, pierced the quiet of the study. 

“Bloody hell,” Giles snarled, looking up from his books for the first time in hours. “Spike, shut her the hell up.” 

“She doesn’t listen to me,” Spike snarled back, but stood nevertheless to try something. His head pounded from Angelus’ beating – the one Spike still couldn’t believe he’d survived – and Dawn’s piercing voice wasn’t helping matters. 

“Lilah,” Spike crouched down before the two scared humans. “What did you tell her?” 

“Faith,” Lilah sobbed, holding Dawn closer to her breast like a mother. Spike suppressed a laugh at the image. Lilah as a mother. It was too much. “Faith’s dead.” 

Spike blinked. So that was what all the commotion upstairs was about. But then where was Drusilla? “How? Who killed Faith?” He demanded. 

“She did,” Lilah told him, eyes wide with terror. “Master gave Faith to Willow, and she killed her.” 

Why was Angelus giving Faith to Willow? Did he think that slayer blood would help with whatever had poisoned Willow? Confused, he turned to Giles. “Giles, do we know what poisoned Willow?” 

“No,” he shook his head. He’d been so distraught and concerned over Buffy that Willow, and what had happened to her, had barely crossed his mind. “Why?” 

“What does slayer blood cure?” 

“A great many things, actually,” Giles began, but then stopped. “Of course,” he growled, “Why didn’t I see that before?” Shaking his head, he rose and started towards the stairs and Willow. Spike, having no idea what was going on, raced after the determined vampire. 

Giles had changed a lot since Spike had first met him, and even more since becoming a vampire. One thing remained the same; his absolute devotion to Buffy. With Buffy missing, he’d fallen apart and hadn’t noticed what was wrong with Willow. Now that hope was in sight, so to speak, the old Giles was back. 

Anya and Saffir ignored them, and continued to research a way to locate and return Buffy. Connor rose and went to find his father. 

“Ages ago,” Giles said, “Faith shot Angel – Angelus – with a poison no one had ever seen before. It turned out to be one specifically designed to kill vampires. Killer of the Dead.” He could still see Buffy’s desperation as she tried to find a cure for her lover. Fear of his death, of living without him. Some things just don’t change. 

“The only cure was slayer’s blood.” Giles turned down the hallway, Spike on his heels, listening. 

He knew nothing about this, but then maybe he should have. The mark on Buffy’s neck was there a long time before she was turned. He’d just never asked where it came from…or rather, when Angelus had put it there. He always knew who had. And that it was a mark. At the time he was with Buffy, however, Spike hadn’t cared. 

Bursting through the partly closed door, Giles stopped. Spike, curious, peeked over the former watcher’s shoulder. He couldn’t say he was surprised by the sight before him, but something about it did shock him. 

Paul lay curled around Willow, who was still shaking but wasn’t nearly as bad off as she had been just hours before. They were both sleeping. Willow had an odd glow around her, and Giles was afraid that her magicks were still unstable; something had to be done about that before she blew them all up.

“Dru,” Spike said quietly, so as not to jolt her. “What happened?” 

Drusilla was on the floor, Faith’s body held gently in her arms. Blood caked to the slayer’s neck and chest, her own, the puncture marks ragged and torn; obviously Willow hadn’t been careful when she fed. 

“Daddy gave her to me, my Spike,” Drusilla told him, her eyes glazed in rapture. “He said I could have her. And won’t she be such a nice present for mummy?” 

For a moment, Spike could do nothing but stare. Present? “You turned her?” Spike demanded, already knowing that Giles knew this by the grayish color his face had taken on. “You turned Faith?” 

“The stars wept with joy,” Dru sighed as Spike moved into the room. With disbelief clear in his eyes, Spike took Faith out of her arms and hauled Drusilla up, flush against him. 

“I’m sure they did,” Spike muttered, leading Dru out of the room. Calling for a minion, he instructed Faith’s body to be taken to another, private, room, and for him to lock the door. “And if you so much as think about doing anything else, you’ll only wish I killed you straight off.” 

The minion nodded, and backed away. “Give the key to no one but me, understand?” Again the minion nodded. “And tell no one of this.” The last was simply a precaution. Wouldn’t do to have too many know of Faith’s new, ah, status, until they assessed her mental state. 

Giles waited until the minion had taken Faith away before asking, “Do you think she’ll be insane?” 

“She already was,” Spike sighed. 

“Well, yes,” Giles conceded with a laugh. “But what I meant was: do you think she’ll be uncontrollable?” 

“Who knows,” Spike said as Dru leaned against him. “But she won’t be the first one.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Connor stood next to the plane, awaiting his father. He wasn’t letting Angelus leave him here; leave him with crazy humans and useless books. 

“What are you doing here?” Angelus demanded as he walked up to the steps, the engines already warming up. 

“I’m going with you,” Connor stated, eyes defiant. He reminded Angelus of the days before this, before Buffy, before he and Connor had learned to tolerate each other, to work together, to live together. 

“Why?” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it was the word that came out. 

“I can’t stay here,” Connor admitted. “I can’t stay here and research useless books. I have to find her, dad,” the last was a whispered plea. It was as if Connor was finished being strong, and needed his father’s support and reassurance now. 

Angelus said nothing for a long moment. Finally, he nodded, clasped Connor on the shoulder, and steered the distraught man into the plane. 

“We’ll find her,” Angelus said, conviction clear in his voice. “But first, we’re going to take care of some old business.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Something was in the room with her. 

It stalked and circled, and yet Buffy couldn’t see it. But it wanted her. It wanted her fear and her terror. It wanted her blood and bone and insides. It wanted to take her away from Angelus; it wanted to eat her whole, split her wide-open, and tear her to pieces. 

She wouldn’t let it. 

But she couldn’t find it. 

Standing on shaky legs, limbs trembling with weakness and need, Buffy rose to face the challenge. It was outside her vision; just on the edge of reason, and it was coming closer. Circling round and round until it had her. But she couldn’t let it. 

There, there it was, all drool and fang, crouched low in a corner, waiting, waiting. Waiting for her to give in, waiting for her to fail. She wasn’t going to. It leapt, attacking her in one smooth move that crossed the space faster than Buffy could have anticipated. 

It was on her then, and they rolled along the white, white floor, its growls mixing with Buffy’s. Fangs, hers and its, sinking into flesh, ripping skin and muscle. Claws, four to two, assaulted the bone underneath.

Blood stained the floors red, rivers of it ran and pooled. 
~~~~~~~~~~
“What is she doing?” The Ram asked as the three of them continued to watch their new project. It’d been a long time since they took such an interest in something outside of themselves, but this one was worth it. She was fascinating in her dichotomy; fierce braveness in the face of their plan, and yet so lost and afraid alone in the White Room. 

“Dreaming,” The Hart said. “It’s part of the withdrawal. Her nightmares,” he continued in a clinical voice, “Will only get worse. She’s most likely dreaming that Angelus is rescuing her, that’s the way this pair thinks. That whatever happened to one, the other will take care of.” 

“And you don’t believe this?” The Wolf asked, licking her lips. 

“I believe that she does. As for this mystical bond?” He shrugged. “In all we’ve seen of this world, in all we’ve engineered and controlled, and in all we’ve learned of the creatures that populate it, have you ever seen something like that?”

“No,” the Ram admitted. “But it’s all part of the magick, is it not?” 

“How so?” The Wolf asked, supremely bored with this topic of discussion. Buffy this, and Angelus that. All she wanted was the Key. Then she could play, and the real fun could begin. 

“They believe,” he told his companions. “They believe strongly enough to make it happen. They believe they can feel the other, therefore they can. They believe they can always find the other, no matter the danger, so they are always able to.” 

“You may be right,” the Hart conceded as he watched Buffy writhe on the floor, her growls echoing around the room, hands flaying as if fending off some huge beast. He wished he could stop her pain, but there was no way; no way other than to feed her Angelus’ blood. 

Not entirely sure where this new need to see to her comfort came from, he decided to ignore it. It’d go away eventually. 

“How else,” the Hart continued, “Could Angelus have found her so soon after she was turned by Belinda? It’d been mere days, Buffy had just risen, and yet Angelus was there.” 

“He’s always there,” the Wolf huffed. “But I see your point. The question now is; why hasn’t he found her yet?” 

“Maybe he doesn’t believe anymore,” the Ram suggested, a wicked smile on his face. “If he doesn’t believe, then the magick doesn’t work.” 

“Angelus’ worst fear is Buffy dying,” the Hart needlessly reminded them. “If this is his worst fear, and he thinks it’s come true, then we’ve won.” 

Only undo you as much as you allow yourself to be undone. 

“Only partly,” the Wolf reminded them. “We still don’t have the Key.” 

“We will,” the Hart said confidently. “Without a body, Angelus will never give up, even if vampires do turn to dust as their final death. Until and unless he sees either Buffy’s body, or her ashes, he’ll never give up.” 

“Then it’s only a matter of time.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“Angelus,” Buffy whispered into the darkness. Her own darkness. “I need you.” 

He was coming for her, she knew he was. He’d come for her, he’d kill these Senior Partners, and he’d make these horrible shakes go away. He’d take her somewhere nice and warm, pamper her, spoil her, and feed her, and never leave her. 

They’d eventually get to Ireland, but not yet. But they’d get there, Buffy swore they would. They’d see his home island, explore whatever remained of Ireland’s past, and maybe then he would finally talk about his own past. Maybe then, Angelus would admit that his human life still held some sway over him. 

With all that behind them, with her firmly in his arms, forever, then they’d see just what else was out there. 

“Ahh!” 

She writhed on the floor, her stomach on fire, an ache that went clear through her burning her up. Her skin hurt, and yet she scratched at it, peeling layer after layer away. She didn’t notice the pillows her three captors had given her, or the soft, soft wool blanket that covered her naked body. Her clothes were long gone; Buffy had removed them in her frenzy to ease the feverish need of her body. 

Blood red tears leaked from her eyes, and her body sweated that blood as well. Her hair was matted around her, eyes a wild black. But she wasn’t going to give up. There was noting she could do to escape wherever the Partners held her, but she wasn’t going to give up.
Angelus was going to find her. He was, and then Buffy would be safe. Until then, however, she couldn’t give up.

”Angelus,” she whispered, or thought she did. Her mouth was swollen from lack of nourishment, despite the fresh blood the Senior Partners constantly fed her. It wasn’t enough, rather it wasn’t the right kind. No matter how much she drank, Buffy couldn’t get enough nourishment to sustain her body. 

“Angelus,” she said again, willing his comforting presence to hold her. 

Falling once more into a fitful rest, she dreamed of her beloved mate. It was the only thing that kept her sane.

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