Angelus walked down the corridor towards his rooms.
Everything was ready for the ceremony, everything in place for his grand coming out, and for Buffy’s debut. Everything but Buffy and him. Acathla’s knowledge within, warned Angelus about having her there at the induction, warned him that Buffy’s presence would be, not disruptive, but something else, but he didn’t care. The demon’s knowledge lay deep within Angelus, lurking there, waiting to be reveled.
But the vampire didn’t have access to all of it yet, and wouldn’t until after the Acceptance Ritual, but he knew the (dead) demon was concerned.
Whether it was for his successor or that successor’s mate, Angelus didn’t know. But Acathla didn’t want Buffy there… (Afraid for her life, so many would want her) (Afraid of her influence on Angelus) Angelus didn’t care. (She’s mine, I protect her, I have her, no one is to take her, no one is to look at her. She’s mine.)
It was simple: Angelus was Acathla’s chosen. Buffy was Angelus’ chosen. Ergo Angelus gets and keeps what he wants. Angelus heard a laugh, buried deep within his mind, and knew it was Acathla; that something of the demon lived on within him, slowly dying a little more every day until Angelus came into his full powers. Acathla was fascinated by the irony and emotions of Buffy and Angelus and knew that whatever the next days (forever, my love, that’s the whole point) held, it wasn’t going to be dull.
Angelus wasn’t worried…too much; Buffy already possessed something of the demon; being so close to the source – the Hellmouth – wouldn’t harm her. He’d made sure of that, a dozen different ways, because nothing, absolutely nothing, was to ever harm Buffy; he wouldn’t allow it, he wouldn’t tolerate it.
Except him.
And there she was, just exiting their rooms, Drusilla behind her, looking breathtaking in her long gown, the white a perfect accent to her skin, eyes darkly outlined, making her look exotic. Then she looked up at him, as if sensing his presence, and the look in them made Angelus’ blood move faster than possible, coming alive at the mere sight of her. She was his, beauty and grace, innocence and darkness.
For the briefest of seconds, she looked at him. Looked at him with longing, love, want, and need. For the briefest of seconds…Buffy wanted him.
But not him, Angelus snarled; she wanted Angel the souled fucker. Sneering at that thought, Angelus cleared the remaining distance between them and grabbed her bare arms, noting how smooth her skin felt under his hands. He wanted to bruise that skin; he wanted his marks all over her body, clear for every damned demon from every damned dimension to see that she was his, and his alone.
Angelus’. Buffy the slayer belonged to him, master of this world, god of a thousand dimensions. He wanted to pound it into her as he fucked her, and he wanted to beat her bloody until she acknowledged it. And him. And them.
(There is no you, lover, there is only us. You and me, as one.) (You don’t really believe that – a mocking laugh) (I know it – quiet conviction.)
But he wouldn’t, no, not yet, not today. Today was special, and Buffy was going to look her best. She was going to show everyone what Angelus had, that he, the Scourge of Europe, the Successor to Acathla, the God of Hell, had a worthy Goddess.
(I wanted to look my best for you, Angelus remembers saying in that damned high school. He wanted to look his best because he wanted to seduce her to his side, he wanted her to see what she meant to him, what he, HE, ANGELUS, not that weakling Angel, felt for her. I wanted to look my best for you…. Because he was going to take her away that night, because he was going to make her disappear from Sunnydale; forever, they were going to leave California, maybe America all together, and be together – away from her mom’s influence, away from her friends misunderstanding, and her watcher’s lies. Because that was the night that he was going to take her with him, and they were going to leave the world to be together. That was the night he was going to disappear with his mate.)
It wasn’t because he was insecure about his position; no, it was more a matter of pride. Angelus had the slayer, he had her body, soul, and heart. He’d tasted her blood, felt her heat clench around him, knew her heart beat for him, and that her soul did as well. He’d soon break her of the delusion that was Angel and replace all that with him.
Angelus always won in the end.
“You look beautiful, Buffy,” he said instead, easing his grip and trailing his fingertips down her bare arms. Angelus felt her shiver and smirked, knowing exactly what it was that he did to her.
He could feel it, sense it…smell it. Her eyes darkened and her inner power called to him, sparking within him as much as it did her. Sparks of silver beckoned him from her usually green eyes, and for an instant that was all too brief, she relaxed her guard around him. Immediately those walls were back up, shielding her from his persuasive invasion, and blocking any advances he tried to make.
But he was persistent, Angelus wasn’t worried.
“You’ll do me proud this day,” he continued, his dark, dark eyes looking into her, seeing the ember of resistance stamped down under her burden of knowledge. He wanted that resistance, craved it as a part of her, and Angelus wanted all of her. That light was what drew him to her, the fire, the passion, and the beauty. And yet he couldn’t help the flash of pleasure at her burying it, at her succumbing to his demands, because that meant she knew the stakes; knew what she had to do in order to see her miserable friends live.
Ah, those worthless friends. They would never know how helpful they were to him in his mission, never truly understand how their mere lives contributed to this new world. His world. His world for her.
Lowering his head to hers, Angelus caressed her lips, slowly drawing the longed for response from her all too willing body. Her fingers tightened around his, the heels Buffy wore making her taller than normal, but still she rose on tiptoes to bring her body flush with his. She was open to him, letting herself go in the passion, open for his caress, his desire, open and willing and it’d only been days.
Her responses were heated, were his. She craved just as he did.
Growling, Angelus pulled her flush against him, lifting her by her waist to grind his hardness into her heated softness. It was as if their clothes weren’t in the way, as if they were the only two in the world – and they were the only two that mattered. Slowly walking towards their bedroom, carrying her easily the few steps to their door, Angelus ignored everything else around him. He intended only to seek Buffy’s responses, only to indulge in her, only to sate his craving.
To explore, to taste, to touch. To teach and learn and linger. He wanted to learn all of her, things Angel didn’t know – would never know – things only Angelus would; only he ever would. He wanted to show her all the ways to pleasure him, wanted her to enjoy it, and she would, he knew she would. Angelus wanted to teach his desirable slayer so many things. He wanted to mark her, he wanted to taste her blood – so sweet, so powerful, so Buffy – marking her to ensure none ever trespassed on his claim.
The kiss heated further, spiraling further and further out of control, and Angelus cursed the dress Buffy wore…wanting her slim legs wrapped around his waist, wanting her bare flesh hot and sweaty against his. Buffy’s hands drew him closer, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her breasts pressed against his hard chest. She kissed him back with an abandoned that he loved, so alive now; alive in her ardor, free from the constraints they placed upon her.
“Daddy,” Dru said, not for the first time, hating to break into their kiss, but knowing it had to be done. This was his big day, and he had to go now or Miss Edith would be so disappointed! “Daddy, we’re going to be late.”
Angelus drew away from his lover and stared into her swirling silver and green eyes for a moment more, wondering what she saw in his when she looked into him as she did now. Tearing his gaze away from Buffy, Angelus looked at his childe. Dru looked fearful, terrified of his response for she knew better, but at the same time, there was a pout on her face as if she couldn’t wait to get on with the festivities.
“Dru, dear. What have I always told you about interrupting
me?” Angelus asked in a deceptively smooth voice. It belied his anger, and all
three knew it, knew he was much more dangerous this way.
“I’m sorry, daddy,” Dru whispered, shrinking back. “But I don’t want you to be late for your big day.”
His eyes flashing at her, Angelus went to take a step towards his chide; she might be right, but it wasn’t her place to say so. He was stopped by Buffy. Looking down at her with a raised eyebrow, Angelus waited.
“She’s right,” Buffy said, her eyes betraying only her passion. Her hand lay gentle on his arm, the only thing stopping him from beating Drusilla.
It was difficult, she was far from the best actress and sucked big time at undercover work. But when Angelus looked at Drusilla, Buffy knew in that instant what he planned to do to her. She knew as if she was looking into his mind, knew that he tolerated no interruptions, no weakness, and that Drusilla’s words – no matter how true or accurate – were going to be punished.
It wasn’t pretty what he had planned for his childe – his favored at that. The slayer had no idea how she knew, only that she did, and she had to do something to stop Angelus.
Again, why, she had no idea.
“Angelus,” Buffy said as she tugged on the hand she still held. Her heart still pounded, her legs nearly unable to hold her under the onslaught of what he did to her. But she knew that the only way to get him to leave Dru alone was to remind him of his ritual thingy. Her thumb absently caressed his hand and she wasn’t aware of the step she moved closer to her lover.
One hand moved up from his arm to cup his cheek, and for the briefest of moments, Buffy thought how natural it felt. But that wouldn’t do. Not with this version of her lover before her. “We should go. Don’t want to keep those demon dignitaries waiting, do we?”
Narrowing his eyes at her, Angelus asked in that sinfully
silky voice, “Why the rush, lover?”
Buffy let her confusion show through, knowing that it was genuine enough to
convince him. It was the only emotion she didn’t have under tight wraps,
and an honest one at that. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully enough. “But I do
know if you’re late, we’re both dead.”
Again, her confusion at her words was clear on her face, more importantly, in her eyes. Angelus studied her for a moment longer before accepting her answer and agreeing. Capturing the hand that still cupped his cheek, he turned his head and kissed the palm. “You’re absolutely right, my love. It’s time to meet the world.”
Tucking her hand into his arm, not bothering to look at Drusilla, Angelus turned and walked down the massive hallway. Doors lined the way, each tightly closed against intruders…or to prevent those inside from escaping. Torches lighted their way, and Buffy wondered why the hallway was so empty. Was it only them in this palace? It was big enough to house her entire high school, where was everyone else?
Swallowing what little pride she had left in order to survive the next hours, Buffy asked, “What’s going to happen now? I know,” she continued, looking at him from the corner of her eyes, “That you inherited Acathla’s powers. Hell came to Earth, swallowing everything up in its path. What does that mean for you?”
“Ah, my darling, darling Buffy. You really have no idea? All that posturing about how to stop me, what you had to do, and dear Rupert never told you?” Angelus snorted in amusement, not surprised. “I get everything,” he said.
They stopped just short of the massive double doors at the end of the hallway, carved with the most beautiful dragons Buffy had ever seen, red and gold jewels for eyes, black onyx carved into talons, their wings made from silver and gold, jade scales…they were magnificent. But…dragons weren’t a part of their dimension…
“I am God here; I rule everything, I own everyone.
Acathla’s inhabitants will spew forth from the Hellmouth once his nobility
accept me, and overrun this land with true demons.”
“And…now you’re a true demon?” Buffy had no idea what he was talking about, true
demons? What had she been fighting all these years? Clowns?
“Yes,” He said, the doors still closed. “Nearly all demons who walk the earth are tainted. There are few pureblooded demons out there, and even fewer ‘true’ demons. Ancient ones, the Old Ones that the Master wanted to bring back when he tried to open the Hellmouth last year.” He watched her shiver in remembrance of her death, and tightened his hold on her hand, comforting her without the words he was unable to express. She was never leaving him again.
“Now I’m a true demon; pure with Acathla’s blood within me, his successor. And the only being, ever, in the history of history, to have a slayer as my Goddess.”
With that, the doors opened onto a large balcony; green and silver drapes hung across the baluster and down the front of the gallery, probably several feet down. There were two thrones; ornate, dark wood, lavishly decorated in greens, reds, golds.
A thick cushion, also in a burgundy red, to sit on, with padded arms; an elevated footstool, also lavishly cushioned, completed the chair. The back of the thrones extended to the top of the balcony, at least eight feet, with three steps leading up to them. There were guards on either side, swords on their hips, long wooden staffs held in their arms.
They were unfamiliar to the slayer, but then with so many species around that was hardly surprising. They looked fierce, their reptilian eyes staring straight ahead out of a face that looked more lizard-like than anything. They lacked tails, or at least Buffy couldn’t see any, and walked upright, their uniforms also made of green and silver. Angelus’ new color scheme? Seemed a tad…bright for the guy who wore nothing but black and red.
Buffy didn’t feel at all safe with them there (show no weakness) and tightened her grip on Angelus. It wasn’t because she was afraid of them, though her place in this whole grand new world was tenuous at best. No, it was because they served Acathla. And now Angelus.
And possibly her.
That part Buffy wasn’t too clear on, but didn’t have time to dwell on it.
From someplace not near her, Buffy heard trumpets blaring, much like in those movies of medieval kings and courts, with knights riding off in shining armor to protect the land, and fair maidens waiting for their return. Angelus led her to the banister, hand still firmly tucked in his.
He stopped, those beautiful (cold, mysterious) eyes silently looking out over the crowds. Buffy looked below her and stifled a gasp (show no weakness). There were literally thousands of them, crammed into the courtyard before her, surrounding the high wall that circled something in the center of the square.
The Hellmouth.
Which was opening.
Eyes riveted on what was once her school library…where she spent so much time, where Giles helped her and her friends supported her, and where she and Angel talked and held onto each other and stole kisses when no one was looking, and caresses that burned her with their intensity. The library that Angelus violated with his dead bodies and messages written in blood, and his promises, and his threats. But most of all, his promises.
(Had we but world enough, and time, then this coyness, lady were no crime.) (Soon, my love, we’ll be together.)
And where now stood a big sprawling hole, its edges gaping outward and upward, just waiting for someone to fall into its jaws. There was a temptation – there and gone in moments – to see inside the mouth of hell. To know what lay on the other side, and to find that knowledge. But Buffy already knew. She now lived it.
Out of that hole, rose eight demons…not climbed, not crawled, just sort of levitated out of it as if they were on platforms that hovered like the Star Trek shows Xander made her watch that weekend she was sick with the flu. (Calla Lilies. They symbolize delicacy, yours, and modesty. And Feminine beauty, baby, all your feminine beauty, my love.) (Sleep, my love, and I promise to wait until you’re better.) (Ah! my love! Leif me not! Leif me not! Leif me not! Ah! my love, leif me not, Thus mine alone!)
They steadily advanced to the balcony where Angelus awaited them, the demons parting like the sea had for that Biblical guy, Charlton Heston. She and Angel had watched it late one night after a particularly boring patrol when her mom was out of town. She’d fallen asleep in his arms, safe in the knowledge that he’d watch over her and never let anything happen to her.
Buffy wished she could’ve done the same for him. Wished that she could have protected him as he had her, but she wasn’t that good, that strong.
Buffy didn’t look at Angelus now, didn’t want to risk it (show no weakness). But she knew that he wasn’t worried, that these were who he awaited, and that once they finished whatever it was they were going to do, that was when things got really bad.
Inside her head, how Buffy didn’t know, but his voice was there nonetheless. Or maybe it was just an echo of it, what she knew he was thinking, because she was as well.
‘Remember our deal, Buffy?’ Angelus didn’t know why he asked again, or even how he could, he only knew that he could this way.
Maybe it was something to do with her defense of Drusilla.
Buffy hated the vampiress, Angelus knew this. And yet she prevented him from
disciplining her as he ought to. Was it because his slayer was anxious for this
ritual? Nervous, yes, excited, no. But then why? To that, Angelus had no answer,
but wanted to discover it.
Was she lonely, with all her friends and family in his dungeons? Was Buffy
simply lonely and sought companionship with Drusilla? That was allowed, but
Angelus didn’t intend to share Buffy’s affections, time, or thoughts with
anyone. Not even his favorite childe. Maybe, after disciplining Drusilla, he’d
ask his seer what the slayer meant to her. What she saw in Buffy’s future, where
she, Dru, saw herself in Buffy’s life.
‘Yeah,’ she thought, though if Angelus heard her or not she didn’t know. ‘I remember. And I accept. All of it. Willingly.’
Angelus smirked, his eyes never leaving the advancing demons, each one elaborately dressed in a different style and color, signifying their ranks and age. Acathla’s knowledge told him this, and yet warned him, once more, of Buffy’s place in this new world. Angelus ignored it as he had the dozen times before when Acathla urged caution.
This time, when she said it, when she agreed to the terms of their deal, he truly believed it. Because this time, when she agreed, Angelus could tell that she’d given up on escape.
The world outside his walls was barren for miles in every direction, overtaken by his castle on his order. The remaining world still existed, still thrived, such as it was. It wouldn’t for long, not once the humans started to truly die out, not once the demons spread with a cry of vengeance over being subjugated in the first place.
There was nothing left of the world she knew.
This new one was all for her.
World Enough and Time index Christine's Page Home
