Track A in Track B  

“Darla never came home this morning.” 

William reported later to Angelus that day as the sun was beginning its final descent into the waiting sky. Personally, he didn’t care one way or the other, but as the four of them were considered family, it was probably something that Angelus – as head of that family though not the elder – would want to know. 

Surprisingly – or maybe not so considering where and with whom he had spent the night and most of the day – Angelus merely nodded, unfazed. He continued to read over his holding statements even as he asked if there had been any word of her.

“No, other than the rumors from last night that I already told you of, there’s nothing. My guess is that she’s planning her revenge before seeking help to do so.” 

Putting down one set of papers and picking up another, Angelus looked at his Childe. “You’re probably right, William. Still, not something to overly concern ourselves with at the moment. I want you and Drusilla to take Buffy shopping tonight; buy her whatever she’ll need for the coming months.” 

“She’s staying then?” William wasn’t really surprised; Angelus and the Slayer had seemed to hit it off extremely well the previous night. If the sounds, scents, and feelings coming from their room was any indication what so ever. William was a little jealous, Buffy was a beautiful woman, and a strong one at that; but he had his Drusilla and her undivided attention. He really didn’t need more. Not much, anyway. 

“Yes.” And the word was final, absolute. There was just no way, whatsoever that he was going to lose her. Until and unless he tired of her, Buffy was never getting away from him. 

He watched his Childe walk out of the room to do as he asked. He had known Buffy less than two days and he wanted to keep her with him for the foreseeable future. It was interesting, how a single meeting could change one’s life. Angelus hadn’t realized how discontented he had been these past months until she had stepped into his life – or, more accurately, had suddenly appeared. 

Her scent still clung to him, permeating every sense, ever pore. With ease, he could close his eyes and remember how she felt wrapped around him, her heat, her breath, her cries of passion. His name as she whispered it in need, cried it out as her orgasm overtook her. Angelus had always prided himself on his sexual appetites, variety was the key to his happiness and he had had human, demon and vampire lovers over the decades to see to that happiness. 

Yet with Buffy…the thought of finding another lover was anathema, the thought of her finding another lover boiled his stolen blood and threatened to send him into a rage. The thought that she obviously didn’t want one calmed him slightly, though he refused to think why. Nothing about this situation made any sense, why start analyzing things now? 

The object of his thoughts – and indeed, his new obsession – chose at that moment to walk through the door of the library. She was shorter than Drusilla, the dress she wore dragging along the floor; Buffy had flatly refused to wear anything remotely related to Darla.  The dress was ivory, simply cut yet tight in the bodice showing her assets to their full advantage; obviously, his Childe had altered the bodice at least. Drusilla’s feet were also larger than Buffy’s so she had on the shoes she had come with, making a strange look as she held her skirts high above the ground. 

“I feel like I’m playing dress up or something.” She told him, frowning as she did so. She was holding the dress off the floor with both hands filled with the voluminous material and continually adjusted her hold in an attempt not to drop the fabric. 

Angelus had to admit that she looked a little odd, but considering he had no intentions of letting her out of the house, for the moment it didn’t matter. Standing as she approached him, he took her hand, letting the material fall to the floor. Placing a kiss on the palm, he held onto her for a moment more before sitting back in the chair. Ingrained manners only went so far in his mind. 

“You look lovely, Buffy.” The words he spoke were honest and appreciative. 

Blushing slightly, unused to an Angelus who complimented her rather than belittled her, Buffy smiled. “Thank you.”

She walked to the fireplace, standing in front of the blazing warmth for a few moments before moving to the bookcase. Browsing the titles there, Buffy wasn’t surprised to notice several titles Giles had in his collection and many more he would most assuredly kill for. Not that she had ever read them, nor planned on reading them, but she wasn’t as dense as some occasionally believed. 

Restless, Buffy moved to the windows, careful to open the thick curtains only slightly, gauging the sun’s position in the sky. Her sense of time was all skewed, first with the time travel thing, then sleeping for so long and the night and day spent in the arms of her lover. 

Shivering just from the thought, Buffy turned to said lover and watched as he read the papers before him. ‘Oh, yeah, good enough to eat,’ Buffy thought as a spear of lust shot through her. 

It was nearing dusk and Buffy felt the intense desire to go out and kill something. It wasn’t as simple as that, or as easy. For one, she had no idea as to the lay out of the city. Secondly, she doubted very much Angelus’ willingness simply to let her continue her slaying duties; killing allies and potential associates just didn’t bode well for business. Especially when the assassin was the Slayer. 

And as he was currently her only means of protection in this time and place – though the thought rankled – she had to at least abide by his as yet unspoken wishes. She was sure it was only a matter of time before the ground rules were laid. 

Several long minutes past before he looked up again, “Something on your mind, Buffy?” 

“Want to fight?” She blurted out, as the tension got to her and her energy level peaked. 

Raising an eyebrow – why had her Angel’s face never been that expressive? – Angelus laughed. He actually laughed, one not tinged with sadness or sarcasm or malevolence or hatred, but one full of actual humor and if not joy, then something pretty close. Buffy didn’t know what to make of it, but something inside of her mended, just a little, at that. 

This Angelus was himself, trying to woo a Slayer, and an extremely powerful one at that, in the only way he knew how. What had her Angel – ah, Angelus, ah…whatever – what had the other Angelus, the one trapped beneath a burdened soul been thinking? Would Buffy have given into him had he not used the mind games he had? If he had simply wooed her, courted her – demonically, whatever – but if he had done what Angelus was doing, would it have been different? 

“Fight? You?” Angelus’ question interrupted her thoughts and she forced herself back to the conversation. “I thought we were beyond that stage of our relationship.” He smiled as he said this but stood, shedding his jacket, vest, and lace trimmed shirt as he did so. “Why do you wish to fight, Buffy?” 

“Too much energy,” she said and watched the smooth expanse of his body be slowly revealed to her. “I’d go out and slay something, but I doubt very much your willingness to allow me out. Not to mention the fact that I’d most likely be dusting colleagues and whatnot and then they’d come after you, and then…” Buffy trailed off, not willing to complete that thought. Because if anyone came after Angelus – her Angel/Angelus in any world it seemed – then she’d have to kill them.

“Besides, I’d probably get lost. Though if I happen across Darla…that’s an entirely different story.” 

“Impressive,” Angelus murmured, wondering how she could know him so very well in such a short amount of time. “I thought for sure that you’d put up a fight over that rule. Why so willing, so complacent?” 

Why indeed? Buffy didn’t know and had no real answer for him. “That’ll probably change in a day or so, so expect a fight then. I’m usually much more passionate about my freedom. Call it…disorientation or whatever, but accept it for now.” 

Angelus nodded, believing her absolutely. Still, there were rules that she had to abide and he intended to enforce them. She was his, he had claimed her, granted in some other life, but he had reinforced it several times during the night and ensuing day. Naturally, he intended to turn her, but for the moment, he was relishing her heat, her passion, the very humanness that made him want her as a vampire. 

There was just something about her that drew him to her, and Angelus wanted to experience that more. 

Without warning he attacked, jabbing his fist into her face before Buffy could anticipate and block. Staggering back a step or two before regaining her balance – damn skirts – Buffy, for the first time since defeating Adam, fought with her full strength. Riley had never come close to matching her, even when the drugs pumping through his body had been at full force. Angel had been gone for just over a year and the last time they met was before her bonding with the First Slayer and the extra power that that brought.

So as she and Angelus fought their way through the library and out into the larger and more open foyer, Buffy let go. The long and cumbersome skirts hampered her movement, but she compensated by using her whole body, not just her legs. Flipping over Angelus with a strength she had never before possessed, Buffy quickly straightened and knocked him flat. He was only down for a second before rolling to the side and spinning back to a standing position. 

Time ceased to exist for the two of them, and passed quickly before they called a stalemate, much like the night before. 

Slightly winded, Buffy grinned up at him. “That was the best workout I’ve had in ages, thanks.” 

Angelus laughed and once again, Buffy was taken aback at the openness of the sound, mere moments before he again caught her off guard with a roundhouse kick that sent her flying into the wall. Grunting, not in pain but in embarrassment over being caught unawares, Buffy straightened and prepared to win back some of her pride.
~~~~~~~~~~
Darla was anything but happy. 

She had two choices, return to the house in disgrace and admit and accept the Slayer into her home, or plan her revenge from afar. She had no problem with Angelus taking another lover, that wasn’t the problem; the problem was that she knew, even from the first moment when she was sitting in that puddle of water and he picked the Slayer up and carried her away, that this was different. That this Buffy would tear she and Angelus apart and would replace Darla in her Family’s lives. 

Salvaging her pride, Darla chose the latter. 

It had been five days since finding the unconscious Slayer and the only rumor she had heard was that Angelus was staying in more than he was hunting. That little tidbit had sent her into a rage that had destroyed her new dwelling and killed several loyal – and newly formed – minions. 

Now, as she paced the confines of her rooms – not as luxurious as her old home, not as comfortable, not as neat, not as full – waiting for the sun to set, Darla mumbled to herself. “Staying in, no doubt spending time with that bitch Slayer. He’ll be more than sorry when she’s dead and I refuse to take him back.” 

A glint of madness sparked in her eyes as she planned her Childe’s downfall. Why couldn’t he have just fucked her? It’d happened before and Darla hadn’t ever cared; if her boy had just done that, then they could have gone back to the way they were, even if it was in a year or two. But no, this had to be different, Darla knew it was different, and she hated that. Hated that she’d lost her Childe. 

“Oh, yes, my dear boy will suffer six kinds of torment before I’m through with him,” Darla vowed to the empty room. “And that’s after I let him watch as his new lover dies as slowly and painfully as I can manage.” 

But first she needed a plan. And for that she needed a calm head; planning revenge in the heat of the moment never did anyone any good – unless you were on the receiving end of the botched plan. She was over three hundred years old, Darla knew how to plan, how to wait…how to call for reinforcements.

Her Sire, The Master of Aurelius himself, was on his way, or would be as soon as her letter reached him in New York.
~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy lay under Angelus, her too long dress bunched up around her waist, her breasts were pushed over the top of the bodice, and she was missing a shoe. Strangely enough, this last thought was what stuck out in her mind despite the fact that she made a thoroughly wanton picture to her lover. 

She really liked that shoe, not only because it was from home, but also because she liked the pair when she bought them. This thought made her wonder at her dress and if she could get her deposit back from the store...hmm, no, probably not. 

Angelus lifted himself up on an elbow to watch her as she shifted and sighed under him, her hands softly stroking his back, smooth and cool. He couldn’t have been more pleased with the picture she presented; well fucked, lips swollen from his, her Mark opened once again, a thin line of blood trailing over her breast. Her eyes were heavy lidded, her hair spread around her, a flash of sunshine in the dim room. 

If he could move, he’d draw her like that, The Well-Loved Slayer.

It wasn’t as if she were trying to buck him off, just the opposite; it was as if she were trying to keep him close. And odd as it seemed, he wanted that as well.

Maybe it was a spell? Making him want things from a human – and a Slayer at that – that he had never wanted, either as a human or before several days ago? And yet he found himself almost needing her and all she offered, now. He should be angry, certainly not accepting, of this sudden show of Fate, he should be railing against it and generally trying to make her life as miserable as he could in his house.

Strangely enough, though, he wasn’t as upset at the notion as he should have been; he accepted, well, mostly, kind of, in small stages maybe, Drusilla’s ramblings about he and the Slayer. He didn’t pretend to understand them, but he knew, deep inside where his dead heart no longer beat, that Buffy was, indeed, his. Whether it was his dreams of her or not, Angelus knew that she was his.

While the thought of a little discipline certainly appealed and would probably be needed, Buffy had thus far showed an incredible amount of passion and independence; the means with which he had turned Drusilla wouldn’t work in this situation. Plus he had no desire to spend eternity with a lunatic Mate…

Mate? Where had that come from? He didn’t want a Mate, Mate implied permanent, implied that they were almost married if one used such a quaint human term. 

Darla had often called him her Mate, but it wasn’t in the same context as he was thinking; for one, he felt himself consumed with raging jealously at the mere thought of Buffy with another lover. For another, he had never cared what Darla did in her life and resented the nearly overwhelming control – which never worked – she tried often to exert in his.

So, Mate…interesting. He felt twinges of anger and…was that fear? The fear made him angrier but he had no idea what he was angry about. As Buffy floated in that limbo state between waking and sleeping, her body still humming with what her lover did to her, Angelus had to wonder if it was the entire thought of her that angered him so. That one person could change his life so irrevocably, that one person could make him want things that he had never before desired, that one tiny, beautiful, passionate person could make him…believe.

He’d have to turn her, of course, he thought as he felt himself harden and begin to move with her heat. As his lips trailed across her lips to her mark, Angelus wondered if he’d every be ready to relinquish such warmth, such life.

A thought for another day.
~~~~~~~~~~
Track B in Track A  

Breathing deeply, Elizabeth let the calm flow through her, let the air caress her skin, let the sun beat down on her face, let the stillness permeate her soul. 

Angel watched from the shadows of the back courtyard where they set up training for the Slayer. It was past noon, and the sun was shinning brightly on Elizabeth as she slowed her breathing, as she calmed her heart, as she stilled everything within her. He was extremely proud of her, how she had such control over her body, inside and out. Toned, lean, strong, and fast, Elizabeth was everything a Slayer should be and more.

The Slayer, actually and Angel felt himself harden at the sight. 

He wanted her, wanted her with every fiber in his being. Elizabeth was and was not Buffy and he was caring less and less about that fact. Buffy was his Love, his Reason, his Life. Elizabeth was all that…and more, if that were possible. His eye’s suddenly popped open as Elizabeth floated inches above the ground, totally unaware of it, completely immersed in her own body, in her own mind.

”Elizabeth,” he whispered, the word floating across the distance between them, uncaring of the sunlight that separated them, but it was enough to break her concentration. Landing on the ground with a thud, Elizabeth opened her eyes and looked at the vampire hidden in the shadows. 

“What just happened?” Angel asked as he stood, edging near the sunlight line that separated he from the beautiful woman before him. His voice was quiet, awed, and he couldn’t tear his eyes from her, couldn’t stop the need within her that wanted to worship her; her body, her soul, her life. 

“Power of the Slayer,” Elizabeth said as if it were obvious. “When you tap into the Primal Slayer, you can do things no one else ever imagined.” 

“How…” Angel shook his head and resisted taking another step forward. That’d be into the sunlight, and as much as he wanted to touch her, as imperative as the need was to do jus that, he didn’t take that last and fatal step. “How can you tap into that?” 

Cocking her head to the side, Elizabeth chuckled. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just do. Giles and Richter taught me.” 

“Who’s Richter?” Angel relaxed slightly when Elizabeth took a step towards him, so close, so much closer. He needed her in his arms, needed to touch her again. 

“The High General of my Army, he’d the oldest vampire there and the only one I trust with my life. He’s been with Giles for years, though neither will tell me where they met and why he helps. But he taught me everything I know about vampires and their rituals, lives, and histories.” 

“He knows…” Angel shook his head, amazed. “He knows how to tap into the Inner Slayer, the Primal that all Slayers are created from?” 

Elizabeth nodded but said nothing more, taking another step forwards, just on the edge of the sunlight. As much as she wanted to continue this conversation with him, as much as she wanted to find out how Angel knew of the Primal, of the Inner Slayer, she wanted him, more.

What was it between them, the pulling, the drawing between them? Elizabeth had never felt this way before, the needy, blood boiling, heart pounding fire that ignited at the mere thought of being in Angel’s company. He was a vampire, and despite the fact that Elizabeth had worked with many vampires in her time, she had never, never felt this way around one. 

She wanted Angel. Wanted him inside her, wanted to feel him. She couldn’t, however, couldn’t feel this way. It wasn’t done…but then she was never one to do what was expected of her. It wasn’t right…but then she was never one to do what was right, either. Still, it wasn’t something she had any experience with and wasn’t sure she wanted to experience.

Vampires had certain needs – which Elizabeth understood on an intellectual level but had never and wasn’t sure she wanted to, experience on a physical and real level. They had Rituals and Ceremonies that Elizabeth found both fascinating and fearful; and she wasn’t sure she wanted the practical knowledge of them. 

But, God, she wanted Angel. Didn’t understand it, but wanted him. Elizabeth was sure he was the only one able to quench this fire in her veins, the need in her womb, the burning in every part of her.

Last step and she was within the shadows with Angel, her hand raising to touch his face. “I told you I was more powerful than any Slayer before me,” she whispered as her hand caressed him, tracing the broad planes of his face. 

“So you did,” Angel answered, equally quiet a moment before his lips crushed down on hers. 

Elizabeth gasped and he swallowed the sound, unwilling to let even that escape him. His hands tangled in her long hair, trapping her to him as his mouth devoured hers, as his body screamed for release with her wet warmth, as his soul/demon/being/all wanted to lose himself with her. 

“Elizabeth,” he murmured, mouth tracing her jaw, down to her neck, sucking briefly on the…smooth skin at the base there.

Jerking away, hands flexing on her shoulders, clutching in her hair, Angel looked into the moss green eyes of…his beloved. 

‘Take her,’ Angelus taunted, ‘Take her, fuck her, turn her.’ 

Angel’s hands dropped away and he took a step back, away from the enticing woman before him. He wanted her, wanted to lose himself in her, and wanted to do it now, right there in the shadows of Giles’ building, in plain sight of any who felt like looking out right then. 

“I can’t…” he whispered and took another step back. 

Elizabeth’s hand shot out and stopped him. “Don’t leave,” she murmured, holding him where he was, eyes imploring him to stay. She had no idea what was going on, no idea why Angel wasn’t taking all she offered, no idea the reluctance with which he held his passions in check. 

“Elizabeth,” he murmured again and hadn’t moved one way or another. 

“Don’t leave me,” she said again and waited, waited…minutes passed and neither moved. The sun continued to shine down behind, then, the shadows lengthening, concealing them more and more in their hidden crevices, veiling them within their own world. 

Wordlessly, Angel nodded and pulled Elizabeth into his arms, holding her tightly to him. Breathing deeply of her scent, all Elizabeth, Angel buried his face in the crock of her neck, where his Mark should be – would be again – and kissed the velvety skin there. 

“I’ll stay,” he promised.
~~~~~~~~~~
Elizabeth snapped to wakefulness in an instant, years of training and fighting had honed her to that point. 

In the three seconds she took to survey her surroundings, the displaced Slayer never moved from her entirely too comfortable position. She was in the bed in Giles bedroom, she was sure of that; how she arrived there was another story entirely. Tightly drawn curtains and the smell of freshly fried bacon assaulted her senses next. The fact was, not only was she in bed with someone, but that she had slept better than she had since before she could remember. 

Knowing who it was that cushioned her head, that held her tightly to his smooth chest, whose hands spanned the width of her back and cupped her bottom, Elizabeth tilted her head to look into the face of the handsome vampire from the previous night. In the seconds it took her eyes to raise to his face, Elizabeth wondered if he knew it was she in his arms. 

Over the day’s she’d been in this world, Elizabeth had heard about Buffy, more about her than she ever wanted to know in relation to Angel. Her source was Spike, who seemed to tell her an abbreviated version of the story with a calculating gleam in his eye and for reasons of his own. In the end, all Elizabeth really knew was that Angel and Buffy had a thing and it hadn’t worked out. 

So now, as she lay in his arms, Elizabeth wondered if he knew she was awake, if he knew it was she, and not this Buffy whom she shared so much and so little with. 

He was awake but she had already known that. 

A predator like herself, he was trained to automatically know when the situation in which one found themselves had changed. He probably knew an instant before she had awoken that she was. Not finding that as disturbing as she would have thought – she chalked it up to the strange circumstances – Elizabeth smiled. 

What possessed her to do so she couldn’t have said, but she smiled at the man looking down at her, idly running his long fingers through her tangled hair and caressing the back of her neck. She still wasn’t sure how they ended up in bed, all Elizabeth remembered was that she was unwilling to let him go, even for the night, even on the floor ten feet away. 

It was too far from her, and Elizabeth didn’t want the distance between them. She didn’t understand it, but didn’t want to. This was the first time she’d felt this way and she intended to run with it, break down Angel’s barriers, whatever they were, and have him. Whatever that made her, Elizabeth didn’t care; it was about time to take what she wanted, she was good at it, it was who and what she was. And she wanted Angel. 

When he smiled back, Elizabeth couldn’t help herself and began to laugh. 

Quirking an eyebrow, Angel asked quietly, “What’s so funny?” 

“You, me, us, this whole…thing,” Elizabeth whispered back, unsure why they were whispering in the first place. But she was unsure of a lot of things here. Her hand drifted to his face as she admitted to the stranger, well, under her, “I mean there I was, watching the night sky and the next thing I know I woke up here which is not the here I know.” 

She neglected to mention that she had been foolishly wishing on a shooting star, that was entirely too personal, and despite their positions, she didn’t really know this vampire, and certainly wasn’t ready to admit that. Maybe someday, but not yet. Not now. “I was raised from such an early age, to fight vampires, to hunt and destroy them. Occasionally I’ve had vampire allies, but those are usually short termed and out for revenge against a certain faction.” 

She shifted atop him, unconsciously draping more of herself over his naked chest and realizing, only then, that she was half naked but strangely not caring. Okay, attraction to vampires, not on the Slayer list of things to do; oh, bad wording there. No doing, there would be no doing of the undead, no caressing…stop doing that, bad hand, bad. No kissing, do NOT lean in closer, Summers! No shortness of breath, no…oh, my, God, definitely no arousal. 

Where had that come from? Where had that uncontrollable lust, the need to take, to be, to give come from? 

Right, so she knew exactly from where that had come; it didn’t make it right. She was…and he was…and his erection was growing larger against her pelvis because she was slowly grinding herself into him. Abruptly she stopped, and, looking horrified, met his hooded eyes. His face was a mask, closing down as she franticly, and with little to no grace, scrambled off the bed. 

“I, uh, pants, yes, pants would be good.” She had yet to break eye contact with Angel, wanting with a fierceness that surprised her to crawl back up that bed and straddle those lean, pale hips, kiss his lips, tasted his chest, feel the way he moved within her…bad thoughts, bad, bad thoughts.

“So,” Elizabeth tried again, focusing on her breathing, trying desperately to remember every meditation technique Giles had ever taught her, “I’m just going to go…and I’m sure Giles will be happy to see me, and breakfast, yes breakfast…” Trailing off, sure she had made no sense whatsoever, Elizabeth raced down the stairs, barefooted, and buttoning the fly of her jeans as she went. 

Luckily, Giles was a master of not noticing and didn’t say a word. He wanted to, thought he should, but knew the reaction he’d receive from Elizabeth. Wisely, he kept his mouth shut. 

Angel let out the unnecessary breath he had been holding and tried to will away the throbbing ache in his groin. It wasn’t working, Elizabeth’s scent, so like Buffy’s yet different in some small way that made it all hers, clung to the sheets, his skin, permeated the very air he didn’t need to breathe. Swallowing at it all, Angel pulled his pants from where he had thrown them over the chair the night before and headed downstairs himself, bare-chested. 

Maybe Giles had some blood in the fridge that he could have; Angel was suddenly starving.

Part 9        Part 11

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