100 Miss Edith Tea
Parties To Go…
“You
better have been a good girl, my love.” he said as he tracked her scent to the
high school. “Or the dead will be your fault.”
The look on her
face was one thing Angelus didn’t want to miss, but if Dru was somehow
affected by the now obvious spell – Xander Harris the ultimate chick magnet?
Not in any lifetime – then Buffy might be, too. And his
slayer lusting after Harris just wouldn’t do; it went back to that not
sharing thing, after all.
She wasn’t in the
library, as expected, though listening to Giles berate, alternately, the
Calendar woman on the many and varied shortcomings of Harris and some student on
how he was going to fry her in oil – Angelus smiled at that imagery – for
doing such a stupid spell for such a stupid boy, improved his mood.
Whistling a jaunty
tune, he followed Buffy’s scent to the basement.
If it was a spell
that caused Buffy to think herself ‘in love’ with Harris, then Angelus
planned on spending as much time disabusing her of that thought as he could,
until the only thought in that pretty little head of hers, spell or not, was not
only solely of him, but solely on his pleasures. And adding to the list of
torture he planned on using on Harris.
It took Angelus, in
his murderous musings, a minute to realize that Buffy’s unique scent was
offset by something else, something distinctly…rat-like.
Frowning as he
rounded the corner, he caught another scent as well. The werewolf, Oz. “Well,
now, wee beastie,” Angelus murmured, allowing his Irish brogue to color his
voice. “How do you fit in?”
Growling as he
moved closer, the vampire listened as Oz asked, “Buffy?”
The rat-like scent
was gone, replaced by all Buffy but what the fuck just happened? Confused,
Angelus moved closer to the doorway, looking down the stairs to where the
werewolf and the slayer stood…WHAT THE FUCK? Growling again, anger sweeping
through him like a tidal wave, Angelus checked the urge to jump down the steps,
dismember the werewolf, and fuck his slayer against the wall…
“Hi, Oz!” Buffy’s overly bright voice echoed up to
Angelus, not helping his temper at all. But he didn’t move…it was her false
voice, the one that said she was only playing at being okay.
“Hi,” Oz responded with less enthusiasm and much more
discomfort.
“I seem to be having a slight case of nudity here.”
Buffy’s shy voice said, and Angelus moved halfway down the steps, lightening
quick, even as the werewolf said something.
“But you’re not a rat. So call it an upside.”
”Rat?” Angelus asked, halting his progress. Well, that certainly explained the rat-scent, but who the hell
turned his slayer into a rat? Harris? Not smart enough, but Angelus was sure the
boy had something to do with it, the little fuck. Angelus slipped back up the
stairs, and into the shadows, waiting to see what happened next.
“You think maybe you could get me some clothing?”
Definite pleading in her voice, and that was a plus. A small one, but a plus
nonetheless.
About time, Angelus thought as he waited for Oz to leave.
Now was the perfect opportunity, the vampire decided. Naked slayer, no one else
about, the werewolf was bound to take at least a few minutes, and that was all
Angelus needed.
“Yes, I can. Just, uh... don’t go anywhere.” Angelus
smirked wider, stifling a wicked chuckle at the awkwardness the wolf felt. Which
was, of course, nothing compared to what Oz was going
to feel when Angelus got through with him for even being in the same room as
Naked Buffy.
Buffy looked around as Oz disappeared back up the stairs, “Really not an issue,” she mumbled to herself.
She missed Oz scenting the air as he walked back into the
school proper, missed the looked that came over his face at the scent that was
so familiar and that was…not. Missed how Angelus walked out of the shadows,
the werewolf Oz not yet accustomed to the wolf’s instincts to have noticed the
vampire lurking there. Buffy still stood in the exact same place as Oz left her
when Angelus sauntered down the stairs.
Frozen, naked, disoriented, Buffy was also weaponless and,
though she hated to admit it, vulnerable to the man – demon – before her.
She ignored the shot of lust that streaked through her, ignored the way her body
responded to his mere presence. But couldn’t ignore the way he smiled at that
knowledge.
“Well, well, lover, it looks like you’ve got yourself
into quite the predicament here.” The smirk grew, and Angelus’ eyes darkened
further at the faint hint of arousal that met his nostrils. No matter what she
said, Buffy wasn’t as unaffected by the new and improved version of her
boyfriend as she pretended, and Angelus knew the truth.
(Because she’ll
leave; she’d never stay for me.)
But she hadn’t left; she’d stayed and she played, and Angelus loved every
minute of it.
This was what his life had been missing all those years
with Darla. Oh, he and Daral were kindred spirits, twas too true, but they
weren’t committed to each other – it was more a for the moment deal. She was
a great fuck, and had one of the most cunning minds he’d ever encountered, but
that was all.
Darla's shared tendency with Angel to cut and run when the going got rough, pretty much decided any future encounters between them even had he managed to loose the annoying soul. Bitch. What kind of sire would leave their childer wallowing with a filthy soul for a hundred years without even attempting to set him free? No, he wanted the girl who loved soul or demon regardless. Who, no matter how bad it got, refused to give up on her man. Who didn’t know the meaning of leaving him behind, whatever the state of his soul.
Buffy was all that and more. So much more. And she hadn’t
left. Darla looked out for herself. Buffy didn’t. Oh, true she was a bleeding
heart, always trying to say the world, protect the innocent, but with him…with
him, Angelus felt as if she’d…well, stay. He hated repeating himself so
much, but that was what it was. That was the hard core truth, all the excuses
and justifications aside.
Buffy stayed where everyone, from his family, to his sire and childer left him.
Buffy's heart once given remained steadfast and secure, moving him to
unspeakable heights of emotion, and untenable actions for a demon with a
reputation such as his.
“I’m going to kill you,” Buffy snarled, but stopped
herself before she moved. Naked, weaponless, think for a minute, Summers she
berated herself. A small part of her realized that those were just excuses; she
was the slayer, and if she wanted to kill the vampire before her, she could.
“Just as soon as I get some clothes,” she muttered. She
couldn’t kill him, and they both knew that.
(You
can’t kill me.) Was as true now as it was then. (Give
me time…) Was a lie that hung between them like a clinging vine, wrapping
around them in an ever tightening circle of lies and lust.
“Now, now, lover,” Angelus crooned, “I’m not here
to fight, I’m here to give you a Valentine’s gift.” At her skeptical look
he laughed.
“I got the flowers, thanks.” Sarcasm dripped off her
every word, and Angelus moved closer.
In a lightening quick move, he reached out and grabbed
Buffy’s wrist, yanking her half over the crates blocking her from his heated
gaze. Sensitive, naked flesh scraped along the wood, and Buffy cried out in
pain. Lifting her off the rough wood, he soothed the red marks on her belly with
his cool hands, gently caressing the welts as his lips hovered so near hers.
“Tut, tut, my love, no need to get snippy,” his
seductive voice whispered to her. Buffy couldn’t help the shiver that raced
along her nerve endings.
Twisting her around, he braced her with one arm so her
tender bottom didn’t scratch from the wooden crate. Clasping the necklace on
Buffy’s neck, licking the top of her spine as he did so, his smile widened as
she shivered in unwelcome need. Setting her back on the floor, his hands still
caressing her hips, Angelus turned her to face him again. Tracing a finger
across her collarbone and over the tops of her breasts, he pressed his mouth to
hers
Never taking his eyes off her, Angelus fingered the
necklace, “Wear it, lover,” he commanded, “If I ever think you aren’t,
I’ll leave you alive…” he met her confused look with a lustful and
predatory gleam. “And I’ll pick one of your little friends to die in your
place.” With a look over his shoulder at a returning Oz, he added with a
jealous growl, “And you better hope that werewolf doesn’t get so much as a
scent of what’s mine.”
Crushing his lips to hers, tasting her fear and hatred, her
passion; the helpless longing as well as her self-loathing for what she
perceived as her weakness, Angelus released her as abruptly as he pulled her to
him.
“Remember what I said, lover,” turning his back on her,
hearing the wolf in the distance, Angelus added, “And don’t think I’ll
forget this little…indiscretion with Harris.”
As Buffy watched him walk away, as the majority of her
brain berated her for not doing anything to him, a tiny voice demanded to be
heard, no matter what the circumstances.
“Hey,” it said aloud and Buffy knew he heard it even if
the damned vampire didn’t acknowledge her, “You can’t blame me for some
stupid spell!”
~~~~~~~~~~
90 Miss Edith Tea Parties To Go…
There were
decisions to make and plans to fulfill. People to see, eat, and kill, hell,
fuck, too.
Roses, a dozen
each, every day for the two weeks following his gift of the ruby and diamond
necklace on Valentine’s Day.
Pure white ones for
her innocence, for the secrets she kept from her friends, for her charm
as she ever so carefully took them off her windowsill. As she sniffed them with
her eyes closed and a soft, wistful smile playing around the corners of her
mouth, her eyes would open then, wistful and longing, as she gazed out into the
night, searching for her stalker. And, reluctantly, as she spotted him across
the street, hidden in the shadows from everything but her, she placed them in
the vase he sent her.
His little slayer learned fast.
Then again, after she threw the first roses away she’d
found on her ledge, Angelus killed her neighbor’s dog, the one Buffy sometimes
played with, leaving the mangled carcass directly under Buffy’s window. As she
cried for the dog, Angelus wanted to pull her into his arms and taste her tears
of grief. He didn’t, watching instead the effects of his little lesson.
Coral roses for
desire, her much denied but irrefutable desire for him. Orange roses for desire
and fascination, his irrefutable attraction and need for her. Burgundy roses for
beauty. Yellow roses for the freedom he’d secure for her, from her clingy
friends and oblivious mother, from her destiny, from her pent up desires
repressed by her strange human straitlaced ideals. Red roses, of course,
for love, passion and the respect he had for the strength, passion, and beauty
she held.
And red and white, mixed together, to signify unity.
Against the world, against fate, against everyone who dared stand in their
way…
The red ones were sent in bundles of fifty to signify
unconditional love, or, in Angelus’ case, unending obsession and passion.
There were notes that accompanied the flowers; some were
drawings of Buffy, either on patrol or with her friends or watcher, just to show
her he always knew where she was and whom she was with. Others were of him and
her, in wanton positions that made Buffy blush, her heart beat a wild tattoo,
and her blood pump furiously through her body. Angelus knew she didn’t want to
want him, but he didn’t care.
She did want him (You
can’t kill me), and the more she fought, the more he wanted her in return.
The more he realized that she was perfect for him.
A ruby bracelet
with the note:
Wear it always, I’ll know otherwise…
A
Reluctantly Buffy
placed the bracelet on her wrist, looking out her window into the night as she
searched for the eyes that watched her so intently. Angelus was there, and she
knew it, waiting to see if she wore his gift. Always waiting; what was he
waiting for? She didn’t want to believe his threats, but, in a show of
weakness, gave in. She couldn’t let anything happen to her mother, watcher,
friends.
She laughed at her
rational even as she knew that she’d most likely wear the jewelry anyway. Angel,
she’d mentally sigh as she looked at his demon’s gifts. Why
did you have to leave? She knew the answer to that one, it was because of
her. She deserved the tormenting his demon caused, because Buffy was the one to
unleash that (raging, beautiful, twisted,
attentive) demon.
But she missed her
Angel, oh, how she missed her souled vampire lover. Only his demon was there
now, only the demon to watch her, to give her gifts, to stalk her through the
night. How sick was she, Buffy wondered, to want even that tiny – evil –
piece of him? To want to give in, to want to let his arms embrace her, his hands
caress her, his mouth taste her? What was wrong with her that she wanted these
things from the very being Angel hated most of all?
Smirking as she
closed the clasp, one which, though she did not know it, magickally sealed
itself until only the sender removed it, Angelus watched a few more minutes as
she finished getting ready for bed before walking away. (I love you! Love you too, babe.) She was weakening, he knew. Her
love of her friends would be her undoing, and Angelus intended on exploiting
that frailty as much as he possibly could.
“Soon, my
love,” he told the night. Soon, indeed.
~~~~~~~~~~
80 Miss Edith Tea Parties To Go…
Passion.
It lies in all of us.
Sleeping...waiting…and though unwanted…unbidden…it will stir…open its
jaws, and howl.
Angelus’ eyes followed Buffy (his girl) as she danced with Xander (dead, touching what’s mine), laughed with the boy, talked with
him, paid attention to him. Attention that Angelus wanted for himself, attention
that should be given to no one but
himself. That would be given to none
other…soon. Oh, yes, that boy would die. Slowly, painfully, by every torture
known to man and beast, that boy would not live to see his next birthday.
Angelus didn’t care what Drusilla said about the boy, he
didn’t care what his own plans were for all of Buffy’s friends, Xander
Harris was going to be the first casualty on his list.
(Is it 'cause I
danced with him? 'Danced with' is a pretty loose term. 'Mated with' might be a
little closer. Don't you think you're being a little unfair? It was one little
dance, which I only did to make you crazy, by the way. Behold my success.)
The vampire watched as Buffy’s eyes scanned the interior of the Bronze every so often, looking, Angelus knew, for him. It was a slight balm to his ever growing rage, the knowledge that she looked for him nightly, knowing that he was somewhere, waiting for her. Knowing that she needed to see him as much as he needed to see her. That his little slayer as was addicted to him, his presence, as he was to her. Her narrowed eyes would stop in the shadows, searching for the vampire that lurked there but never really finding him.
At the moment, Angelus didn’t want to be found, not even
by Buffy. At the moment, Angelus wanted to hunt, kill, to tear apart the boy his
lover was dancing with, and then forcefully remind said lover just whose she
was, showing her in the blood that oozed from her dead friend. Show her, remind
her that she was his.
His.
He watched her as she exited the small club, arm in arm
with the redhead, watched her as she barely paused while walking past him, he
who was drinking some whore who thought to capture his attentions. The hapless
woman came onto him, alcohol swirling in her blood, excitement calling out from
her to finally be noticed by the dark mysterious man who always before was with
the tiny blonde.
It didn’t look like they were together any longer. That
girl was with some boy, and this man, this gorgeous man, was all alone. She
intended to see he wasn’t for the rest of the night.
Angelus led her outside, almost blindly, eyes still glued
to Buffy’s lithe figure. The woman chattered nonstop, and the vampire was hard
pressed not to kill her immediately just to shut her up. No use killing the
decoy until necessary. Her downfall was when she mentioned how it didn’t look
like he was seeing the little blonde any longer. Now it was necessary.
“Buffy is mine,” he’d told her, (mine to watch, mine to hunt, mine to taste, touch, feel,
fuck-love-hate-kill) “She always will be.” Lifting his head from the
dead woman’s throat, where he’d glutted himself on her blood in a fit of
rage over her words, he turned to watch the retreating back of his slayer and
smiled.
“Soon, my darling,” he whispered into the night, where
he knew Buffy heard him. “Soon you’ll be mine once more.”
Following her back to her house, watching from the shadows
across the street, Angelus smirked as Buffy looked for his nightly present.
Nothing.
There were no flowers, no jewelry, no notes, or drawings,
nothing to indicate that he was there at all. Buffy wandered to the window,
looking out the thin curtains and searched. The bracelet was still fastened to
her wrist, the necklace hung just above her breasts, teasing the tops of them,
as he wanted to…as he would, soon. There was nothing on the roof, either.
Frowning, her eyes automatically going across the street to
where Angelus normally stood, Buffy scowled when she couldn’t find him, much
to the vampire’s delight, and went to bed. Waiting until her breath evened out
and her heartbeat slowed, Angelus climbed the tree directly outside her window
and entered her room. Gently, almost reverently, his hand moved to stroke her
cheek, the softness of it, the heat, he leaned down to press his cold lips to
hers.
“Mine,” he sighed against her mouth.
Moving to the end of the bed, Angelus pulled out the ruby
and diamond ankle bracelet and secured it around her slim leg. In a flash, he
envisioned her chained to his bed, silver and gold chains framing her petit body
as that body awaited only his pleasure. Stroking a cool hand up her leg, he
leaned down and pressed a kiss where her pulse beat the strongest.
Angelus smiled as Buffy shivered and moved closer to him in unconscious
need. Perfect.
Bracelet, anklet, necklace, his jewelry proclaiming her
his, that showed everyone, including her, stubborn though she was, that Buffy
Summers, Slayer, belonged to Angelus, Scourge of Europe and the Hellmouth.
Suppressing the rage that worked to overwhelm him, (hunt,
fuck, kill, fuck, killkillkill) Angelus focused instead on the beautiful
woman before him. His slayer with her strength and grace, his Buffy with her wit
and passion; he inhaled deeply, her unique scent, her passions, her life, her
sorrow and smiled. His and only his no matter what that boy Harris thought (hunt,
kill), what the Watcher wanted otherwise.
For a moment, Angelus wondered why Ripper hadn’t worked
harder to warn Buffy away from him. Or had he?
Angelus smiled down at his sleeping slayer and chuckled
quietly to himself. Had Ripper warned Buffy about Angelus’ affections? Most
likely; the watcher cared deeply for her, and it was only the fact that Buffy
needed someone other than her pathetic friends that Angelus allowed Ripper to
live. That and Angelus knew that should his slayer require real help when he
wasn’t there to do so, the only person that had a hope in giving that help was
the Watcher. So Angelus let the watcher live, and Ripper, in his thanklessness,
warned Buffy, or tired to…and his little beauty ignored those warnings.
Perfect, absolutely perfect. He stroked her beautiful face,
relaxed in sleep, and leaned down to kiss her once more and smirked with she
sighed into his mouth. Then he began. All the tension she carried with her
during her waking hours slowly drained from her now, as she slept. Angelus knew
that wasn’t always the case, knew that she often tossed and turned long into
the night, plagued by dreams, nightmares, things she could never change and
dreams she had yet to release into the aether
with Angel’s useless soul.
Was it he, the vampire wondered, was it his presence who
caused her to relax into sleep?
It pleased him to think so, and he couldn’t resist
stroking her hair back from her face in a gentle touch, whispering soft words of
comfort and affection he’d never admit to, when she stirred slightly. Settling
back, with one final look at his ornaments on her body, he got to work.
It speaks to us…guides us…. Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have?
What choice, indeed?
Angelus was still in a fine rage as he left Buffy’s room
that night, with one last tender kiss to her soft lips. It wasn’t that her
attention was waning, oh not at all; in fact, she was so focused on him that
even the ever-clueless Cordelia noticed. It was that her friends were interfering. That Harris kid, something needed to be
done about him, possibly outside Angelus’ original plans. Dancing with
Angelus’ lover, touching her in places the boy shouldn’t even be thinking of, smiling at her, lusting after her, it had to stop and
now.
(Mine, mine, mine,
killkillkill…)
(Only did to make you
jealous.)
Hunting through the parks and back streets in an effort to
plan something in a coherent and logical manner rather than the hot-temper he
currently found himself in, the perfect opportunity literally ran into the angry
vampire. It came just as Angelus decided that killing one of her friends
wouldn’t really make that big a difference to his ultimate plan.
The man was tall and lanky, still several inches shorter
than Angelus, shoddily dressed in clothes that were too big and several years
out of style, though the clothes were clean, well cared for. The man, who was
now walking around the staring vampire in fear, had an earring in one ear and
wore some kind of cheap thin leather necklace. His hair was dark and unruly, his
eyes a dull brown.
All in all, a very unremarkable man…who looked remarkably
like Xander Harris; the hair, the clothing, the general height and weight.
How perfect.
Spinning on his heel, Angelus moved quickly to where the
ill-fated human who looked much too much like Harris for his own good, walked
down the street. Smirking at the clothing ensemble, an ugly loud Hawaiian shirt
over a dark t-shirt, baggy jeans and a pea coat that was at least a size too
large, Angelus walked quickly and quietly behind the man, tapping him on the
shoulder.
“Yeah?”
Angelus, in full vampire face, smiled. “I need you for a
little job…”
Slashing the struggling man’s throat, and quickly
draining him, he so loved it when they struggled, Angelus slung him over his
broad shoulders and turned in the direction of Harris’ house.
“To turn or not to turn, that is the question,” Angelus
contemplated as he carefully arranged the dead man along the walkway leading to
the screen-enclosed porch. Eh, why waste his potent blood on a Xander Harris
look-alike?
A light clicked on in the kitchen, catching Angelus’
attention. Dismissing his first plan, he quickly moved to the front door and
pressed the doorbell. Even before the door opened, the stench of alcohol and
misery wafted to him, making the vampire smile as the door swung open.
“Hello, ma’am,” Angelus smiled, “Is Xander home?”
The boy wasn’t, of course, but that was the point.
Angelus knew the boy and his loudmouth whore were off in the woods together,
doing things Angelus doubted Xander knew much about.
“No.” Looking him up and down, Anita Harris eyed the
stranger before her, only the screen door separating them. “Who are you?”
“I’m…a friend of his and he asked me to come by to
help him with some homework he’s been struggling with.”
The transformation was unbelievable and instantaneous, “Friend?” Anita opened the door wide, “Come in, please, I didn’t realize Xander had any other friends than Willow! Oh, it’s so nice to see him broadening his horizons, that girl is nice enough, for a Jew you know, but I swear that boy needs male companionship, I worry about him, you know...”
Angelus just nodded politely as he crossed the threshold,
doing his best to hide the smirk that wanted to break free. Obviously, Harris’
mother knew nothing of what Sunnydale was really like and her son never bothered
to warn her. Point to the vampire.
Now, several fun filled hours later, he stood directly in
front of Xander’s room, hidden by a small tree in the neighbor’s yard. A
room his mother was kind enough to show him with further gushing about how
Xander needed more friends – like Angelus didn’t know that – the vampire
laughed loudly as the bumbling boy entered his room.
The scream pierced the night sky and, as Xander’s
clueless parents rushed into the room, as lights in neighboring houses flicked
on and dogs began to bark, Angelus whistled happily, and walked away. Now for
the aftermath of his perfectly arranged gift.
Xander stared at the…thing on his bed. Blood, what little
there was left of it, pooled under the body, the eyeless head sat on its lap
staring directly at him from his position still by the door. The man’s
genitals were removed as well, gripped in a stiffening hand.
The note pinned to the chest sent Xander into another fit
of hysteria.
Don’t
look at my baby, boy. Don’t think about her, don’t touch her. She’s not
yours and never will be.
It didn’t need a signature; Xander already knew whom it
was from.
Stuffing the note absently into his pocket, it took a numb
Xander a moment to realize that the police were already there, questioning his
mother. His mother, in her perpetually sloshed state, was going on and on about
the nice young man, a friend of Xander’s, who stopped by today, but that was
hours ago and he left, claiming that he didn’t want to wait for Xander to
return.
“Did he leave a name?” The officer asked as he
scribbled something in his notebook.
“No, but he was very good looking, taller than him,”
Anita jerked a thumb in Xander’s direction, “And a much better dresser, too,
nice leather coat, expensive shirt, I think it was Italian. Such a handsome
boy,” Anita continued with something approaching a dreamy look and Xander
thought he was going to be sick. “Those dark eyes, and so polite; that’s
missing these days,” she lamented with another glance at the general area of
her son. “Young people these days aren’t polite.”
The officer dutifully wrote down the vague description
while Xander stared at his mother. Who could possibly have come by to see him?
His circle of friends was limited and he didn’t have any male friends except
Oz. Could Oz be considered a friend? Probably more so than Giles, but that
wasn’t the current point. Who on Earth had stopped by? Tall, good dresser,
good looking…?
No, it couldn’t be, Xander thought with a sick feeling in
his stomach, that sick fuck in his house? And his idiotic mother invited the
bloodthirsty vampire in?
“You let him inside?” Xander shouted without thinking,
the evening too much for him to deal with in anything remotely approaching a
calm and rational manner. “You invited
him inside?”
“Now calm down, son,” the officer’s partner said in a
condescending voice, already working his report to his chief. The Chief didn’t
like things such as this and preferred to keep them quiet whenever possible.
This might not be such a case, however, if this boy kept shouting like this.
“I’m sure your mother thought she was only helping you out, not that she
allowed a crazy man into the house.”
“Crazy, he’s worse than that!” Xander shouted and
then realized everyone was looking at him. Backpedaling as quickly as he could,
the boy threw a frantic arm at the scene behind the now closed door. “I mean
look what he did,” Xander shuddered, “What he…left!”
It took the police another hour to gather evidence and
leave – Xander wondered if they were going to actually do anything with the
evidence they had other than lose it – and Xander had moved, by that time,
into the basement. No way in hell was he staying in that room ever, ever
again. It was long after midnight by the time he finally fell asleep, and before
dawn when he awoke once more, visions of decapitated men dancing in his head.
He was not, however, the first at school that sunny
morning.
“Angel,” Buffy was telling Giles as Cordelia sat at the
library table with Willow. “He was in my room last night.” Why she was
telling them this, now, when all her ex-vampire lover had left was an anklet –
which she dutifully wore, too scared of the consequences to do otherwise – and
a drawing of her, Buffy didn’t know.
He’d given her more drawings, sent her flowers and
jewelry, but this, this was different and she didn’t know why. Maybe because
he’d personally delivered the anklet, putting it on her while she’d been
sleeping? Or because the drawing was of her and her alone, sleeping and
vulnerable, not some sexual pose Buffy knew they’d never experience?
“Oh, I so have you beat,” Xander said as he stumbled through the library doors, wearing the same clothes he had yesterday and looking much the worse for wear. “He was in my house last night. And he left me a gift as well,” Xander added with a dismissive look at the rendering of Buffy.
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