There, on her shoulder, along the muscle, and unable to be hidden by most of her spaghetti-strapped tops were two delicate punctures. The holes were neat, with absolutely no sign of tearing, and the flesh surrounding the bite was a pale purple, obviously from being sucked upon. To still be bruised now, it must have been very dark in the beginning.
She shuddered. It was the darkest hickey she’d ever had in her life…a vampire’s passionate love-bite.
Her mind flashed briefly to lips devouring hers, to cool hard flesh pressed against her breasts, her belly and hips, and the even harder flesh that had been buried in her body. She remembered growls and rumbling purrs, punctuated by soft cries that must have come from her own throat.
Buffy gasped as her body clenched in sudden hunger and she shuddered at the feeling of emptiness that resided between her thighs. Unable to resist, she reached up and traced the delicate holes, pressing against the wound cautiously. Her skin tingled and without knowing why, she pressed hard to the mark and bruise; her body spasmed in a sharp arc of pleasure.
The young Slayer sighed in distress. She had accounted her body’s aches as part and parcel to her flu; obviously it had not been. She had had a late night visitor during her stay in a public anybody-can-come-in-at-anytime building. She had been taken advantage of by some vampire…She had been taken advantage of by Angel.
The thought of her demon lover enjoying her flesh while she was delirious and helpless was not comforting.
“Buffy?” Willow knocked softly on the bathroom door. “You okay?”
Buffy flushed in embarrassment and snatched her hand from the wound on her shoulder. She stared into her reflection’s bright green gaze then at her pink cheeks.
“I’m fine,” she replied in a high-pitched voice. Was she? She felt as though she’d just been caught with her hand between her thighs. “I’ll be out in a minute, Will,” she said in a more steady voice.
“Okay.”
Moments ticked by and Buffy took a deep breath. It was the past. There was nothing she could do about it and it was in the past.
Hot skin against cool…the brush of silky hair against her cheeks…Firm lips against hers, bestowing sweet sharp kisses…and fingers against the pearl of flesh that was hidden between the folds of her sex. Buffy moaned.
She turned on the cold water and splashed her face, cooling her heated flush. She couldn’t go through this now. Not while Willow and Xander were here. Hell, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to piece through her flashes of memory and know the whole picture of what had gone on that night.
The young Slayer patted her face dry then pulled a strip of toilet paper free from the roll. She dabbed at her wound, making sure that she hadn’t reopened the punctures by fiddling with them; blood would too quickly soak through the white satin of her pajama top and then her secret would be out.
She paused. Why a secret? It wasn’t her fault that Angel had raped her while she’d been delirious.
Touch me…I want to feel you inside me…Want you…Love you…
Buffy trembled. That was why it had to be a secret: it hadn’t been rape. She didn’t remember everything but she knew he hadn’t raped her. He didn’t have to. Nobody could know that she had submitted to her demon lover, and nobody would know. She wouldn’t tell anybody and Angel was highly unlikely to be sharing stories in the library anytime soon.
She took a deep breath and resolutely left the private safety of the bathroom and returned to her sickbed.
Xander was still settled on the right side of her bed; Willow was still comfortably ensconced on a pile of pillows; and the Princess Bride was still rapidly unfolding.
Buffy slid beneath her covers for once glad of the modest yet comfortable satin pajamas her mother had gotten her. She pulled the duvet up to her chest and settled back to pretend that nothing was wrong.
Mr. Gordo peeked at her from across the room, his plush piggy form offering solace. She remembered Angel holding the stuffed toy and realized that she hadn’t actually picked up her childhood confidant since Angel had placed him down there on her dresser.
She blinked and looked determinedly at the movie, wanting very badly to lose herself in a story where true love indeed conquered all. She watched quietly as Wesley and Buttercup traversed the dangers of the Fire Swamp then glanced at her window and the darkening sky outside.
“Umm, guys, it’s getting kind of dark. Maybe you ought to head home since I can’t escort you safely to your doors tonight.”
Willow smiled beatifically. “Oz is going to pick me up. He and the band are doing a bit of rehearsal so the next time they play they’ll be more – rehearsed.”
“Yeah. And the lovebirds can give me a ride home,” Xander commented around a mouthful of cheesy chips.
“Oh,” Buffy muttered. Well when would that be? She tried to turn her attention back to the romantic farce but the window kept drawing her attention. Her curtains fluttered against the open portal and twilight melted rapidly into the inky shadows that vampires preferred.
She was extremely aware of Xander sitting next to her, on her bed, shoulder to shoulder. It was completely asexual. It was completely innocent but she felt uncomfortable, as though she’d done something wrong.
Xander was too close. His scent was wrong; his presence was wrong. She wanted to shove him off the bed. She remained still and pretended that nothing was wrong.
Buffy stared at the window, her throat dry. The UnInvitation spell was in full effect. He wouldn’t come; she was safe. Of course, after having her flesh invaded, four walls, a roof and home turf did not provide any measure of comfort. Spell or no spell, home no longer felt safe because she did not feel safe in her own skin.
What if she’d invited him over while she was out of her mind…did that count? If she said come to me did that give him access to wherever she was? Would they have to do another UnInvitation spell? How would she explain it if they did?
The doorbell rang and Buffy flinched. What if her mother invited him in? No, she told herself sternly. After Angel’s stellar performance – or rather lack thereof – as a psycho ex-boyfriend there was absolutely no way that her mother would invite him in.
Home. Home was safe. Her bedroom was safe.
“Buffy, honey. Look what arrived for you.”
Buffy looked up as her mother entered the bedroom, cradled in her arms were two dozen roses whose petals were such a deep red that they looked like fresh blood.
Joyce carried the vase to Buffy’s dresser and eased it carefully down. “Aren’t they lovely?” she commented as she stood back to admire the bouquet.
“Wow!” Willow exclaimed, impressed by the number of expensive long-stemmed blooms and the heavy cut-crystal vase that they were contained in.
Buffy stared at the thorny floral offering: they were exquisite. Their perfume swiftly filled the air in her small bedroom, already weaving a spell of romance between the giver and the receiver.
“Did they come with a card?” the blond girl asked, her eyes never leaving the lush gift.
“Oh yes.” Her mother tugged a heavy cream envelope free from amidst the blossoms and handed it over to Buffy’s outstretched fingers. “Maybe it’s from your father,” Joyce commented. “I told him what had happened and he knows how much you hate hospitals.”
Buffy glanced at the note in her hand then back at the plethora of roses, some opened some still buds but all spilling their fragrance so generously in the air. She sincerely doubted that her father, if he even thought of her at all, would get her roses of such a passionate color. White, yeah. Pink, sure. Regular red, maybe. But not these deep bloody hues.
“Oh, maybe it’s a secret admirer,” Willow gushed eagerly, leaning forward to watch as Buffy read the note.
Admirer? Ummm…
She looked at her name written in bold calligraphic slashes then flipped the envelope over to stare at the red melted wax that held the missive shut; a stylized A was branded into the pool of tallow.
Nope, she almost burst out. It’s not dad and it’s not a secret admirer. It’s just my demon-lover dropping me a note to taunt me about bedding me in the hospital.
“Well, open it,” Willow encouraged.
Buffy glanced at her audience and gave up her brief hope for a moment of privacy to see what Angel had to say. She grit her teeth, unsure whether she could take another dissertation of just how bad she was in bed.
The wax popped free of one side of the paper without breaking the sigil; it left a red stain on the creamy vellum.
Buffy unfolded the thick paper and stared at the words written within, so neatly, so carefully. She didn’t notice the flash of silver metal as it slithered from its paper prison to her lap.
Buffy stared hard at the exquisitely scripted lines. Her breath caught. It was a love-letter. Her cradle-robbing-creature-of-the-night ex-boyfriend and demon lover had sent her a love letter and a soft worded reproach.
Was it true? Was real love pain with the pleasure, bad with the good? If she wasn’t true all the way to the end did that mean that there had been no truth to the beginning?
“What’s this?” Xander asked as he plucked up her present from her lap and held it up, suspended by a fine chain.
The pendant was about the same size as the cross he had given her when she’d first come to Sunnydale. It was shaped similarly too except at the top, which was shaped in a tear shaped loop. The metal had no flat edges but had been carefully rounded to give the piece a liquid and flowing look. The odd-shaped cross glittered in the light of her bedroom, the silver untarnished and pure.
Joyce smiled. “Oh, Buffy, how lovely.”
“Funny looking cross,” Willow commented uneasily.
“It’s not a cross,” Joyce corrected her. “It’s an ankh. An Egyptian symbol.”
Xander’s fingers tightened on the chain as he peered over Buffy’s shoulder to read the penned love note and to glower at the ‘A,’ which identified his hated enemy all-too-obviously.
“What does it mean?” Buffy asked softly, staring at the beautifully worked piece of jewelry.
“It’s the symbol for ever-lasting life.”
Ever-lasting life…It was an invitation…or a statement of his intentions.
Buffy reached up to take the suspended pendant just as Xander whipped it away.
“Xander,” Buffy objected.
He ignored her and wadded the delicate chain into his fist. “What? You’re going to accept his presents? His flowers?!” He turned and hurled the pendant out the window.
“Should I have given you the bouquet he brought you at the hospital?” Xander demanded contemptuously. “Or maybe I just should have let him into your room while you were helpless!”
Buffy grit her teeth, biting back the urge to screech that Xander hadn’t protected her from anything at the hospital.
“That will be enough, Xander,” Joyce quietly interrupted.
Xander ignored her. “Angel. Angel! ANGEL! You don’t care do you? You don’t care what he is or what he does as long as you get your rocks off! You just want to be that demon’s whore!”
Buffy flinched.
“I SAID THAT’S ENOUGH!” Joyce snapped furiously.
The three teens froze and looked at her in instinctive child-to-adult-authority wariness.
“How dare you say that to her?” Joyce snarled, advancing swiftly on the screaming boy and grabbing him firmly by the ear. “I think Buffy has enough anguish over the way her relationship with Angel turned out without your jealous, vicious and judgmental temper tantrum. She’s realized she made a mistake and she’s dealt with it as best she can. She doesn’t need you and your sanctimonious rant to make her feel worse.”
Buffy and Willow watched with huge eyes as Joyce hauled Xander out of the bedroom by his ear.
The cowed teen went docilely, too shocked at the intervention.
Buffy got out of bed and trailed her mother to the staircase, watching her enraged parent escort Xander roughly to the door.
“You go home and think about your behavior,” Joyce instructed furiously. “Don’t come back until you have a suitable apology to offer my daughter regarding your behavior and your language!”
She opened the door and shoved Xander out.
Oz, fist raised to knock, dodged the human missile as if it were an every day occurrence. He glanced from Joyce, to Xander than back to Joyce and gave her a very slight Oz smile. “Mrs. Summers, I’m Oz. I’m here to pick Willow up.”
Joyce smiled graciously. “Of course. Why don’t you come in and wait while she gets her things together.”
Oz obeyed the summons with alacrity, wiping his feet on the front door mat to stay on the good side of the parental virago.
Joyce looked out to the front door at the boy standing uncertainly on her lawn. “Go home, Xander, I’m sure a walk will do you good.” She slammed the door and turned to Oz who had been watching the proceedings with interest. “I’m sorry about that.”
Oz shook his head. “No, it’s all good,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“Willow mentioned that you’re in a band…about six times.”
~
The glittering silver pendant flew through the air, the chain trailing behind like a kite’s whipping tail. Angelus snatched his gift mid-flight, his cold dark gaze never wavering from Buffy’s bedroom window where Xander Harris stood.
So close, yet so far away. The window was open, not that glass could stop him, but the house barrier was in full effect, protecting the boy from his wrath. The interfering mongrel had hurled his present, his invitation, out the window before his lady had been able to touch it, much less accept it. The boy had flung the silver pendant as if it were so much trash.
Angelus growled; the rage that had been steadily building since he’d arrived and seen the pup sitting next to Buffy on her bed had reached its zenith.
“Should I have given you the bouquet he brought you in the hospital?” the boy demanded. “Or maybe I should have let him into your room while you were helpless!”
Angelus watched his girl flinch and grit her teeth, a very faint flush tinting her cheeks. Yes, she remembered at least some of that night.
Xander advanced, obviously with the intention of taking hold of the note and ripping it to shreds; Buffy held the note protectively to her chest.
“Angel, Angel! ANGEL!” the boy screeched. “You don’t care do you? You don’t care what he is or what he does as long as you get your rocks off! You just want to be that demon’s whore!”
Angelus snarled as the boy yelled at his woman. Now was not the time for her to have challenges regarding their relationship; she was only just beginning to realize that soul or no they still had one. There were tears in her eyes; if she were going to weep, it would damn well be from either the pleasure or the pain that her demon lover brought her, not the words of a worthless puling infant like Xander Harris.
Oh yes, Xander’s time had come; he would not survive the night.
The master vampire watched in satisfaction as Joyce brought the boy’s screaming tirade to an end. He tucked the pendant into his pocket as Buffy’s mother grasped Xander by the ear, intent on ejecting him from her house.
Good.
He dropped from the tree branches and silently edged around to the front of the house.
Angelus rumbled in anticipation. With no Slayer to escort him safely home, Xander would be easy pickings. The boy needed to be taught a brutal lesson in the respect that Buffy was due. No man, no boy was allowed to make his baby cry; that was a privilege reserved solely for him.
The vampire watched with cold eyes as Xander was thrown ignobly out of the Summers residence even as the werewolf was allowed in.
One final rebuke from Joyce and the front door was slammed.
Angelus grinned: all alone. He eased out of the shadows, allowing the boy to see him.
Xander’s attention shifted from the closed door to Angelus with an alacrity that was flattering. His nostrils flared and his pupils shrank even as a fear scent began to exude from him in gentle tantalizing waves.
The tall vampire inhaled but knew that he could make that fear all the sharper with the little additions of a hunt and a chaser of pain.
“Dead Boy – “
“I wouldn’t say any more right now, Harris,” Angelus growled. “No Slayer here to protect you. My girl is tucked up all nice and tight in her sick bed. And unlike the hospital, there are no witnesses here to bother us. I can focus all of my attention on you.”
Xander flinched and started to shake. He opened his mouth to scream.
“Call out for help and I’ll rip your intestines out before anyone arrives,” Angelus promised.
Xander snapped his mouth with an audible click.
The vampire laughed softly and stepped between Xander and the retreat of the front door and the safety of the house. “I was thinking that we needed to have a little discussion on the etiquette of behavior around another man’s woman.”
Xander took a step back and Angelus took a step forward.
“That, and the proper respect due my woman.” Angelus cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. “I can see that you don’t want to have this conversation. Not that I blame you. It’s going to be a knock down drag out of our innermost selves and I don’t think you’re going to find it pleasant. Now, I don’t have an invitation to your house, Harris. Why don’t you run for it? I’ll even give you a head start.”
Xander took another hesitant step back his gaze shifting beyond the vampire to the home of the only person who could match the evil predator in a battle.
Angelus shifted to game face. “Run,” he snarled.
Xander ran.
Angelus laughed softly and set off in pursuit.
~
Willow looked uncomfortably at Buffy. “I’m sure he didn’t mean – “
“He meant it,” Buffy stated flatly.
“Well on Monday he’ll apologize – “
“And I should just pretend he didn’t say it?” Buffy demanded, tears in her eyes as she clutched Angel’s note tightly to her chest. “You should remember this, Will. Remember that when Xander doesn’t get his way he’s intentionally cruel.”
Willow blanched at the cold look in Buffy’s eyes. Xander had stepped over an invisible line. He trod upon it several times when Buffy and Angel had been together but tonight, whether the vampire and Slayer were still a couple or not, Xander had invaded a private moment and tried to turn it dirty, Willow didn’t think there would be any forgiveness forthcoming on this already festering wound.
“Are you…Do you want to talk…”
“No.” At Willow’s fallen expression the young Slayer reluctantly amended, “Not right now.”
Willow nodded and trailed down the stairs to her boyfriend. “I’ll see you in school on Monday.”
Buffy nodded and watched as Willow and Oz left. She didn’t see Xander, but he was probably lurking by Oz’s van hoping for a ride home. At the moment she just didn’t care.
The blond girl turned and walked back to her bedroom. She hesitated by the controversial roses and inhaled their scent deeply before she went over to stand by her window, searching. Whether she was searching for a glimmer to show where her necklace had landed or some sign of her demon lover, she was uncertain.
Joyce walked into her daughter’s room and stared at her thoughtfully. “Get back in bed sweetie. I don’t want you to have a relapse. It scares me when you get so sick you not only have to go to the hospital but also want to stay there for an extra night.”
Buffy smiled a little sadly but obeyed her mother without protest. She kept Angel’s missive tightly clasped in her fingers.
Joyce sat down on the edge of her daughter’s bed and looked down into Buffy’s sad eyes. The older woman smiled and tenderly stroked her daughter’s hair. “It’s from Angel, then?”
Buffy nodded, blinking rapidly in an attempt to dispel the tears that stung her eyes.
“What did he say?” Joyce asked softly. She had scolded Buffy already regarding Angel and had realized belatedly that it had been the wrong tact. Buffy had perhaps jumped into a sexual relationship too quickly, but there was no way she could have known that the young man would turn on her. And lacking her mother’s support, Buffy hadn’t dealt with the pain of her shattered relationship and moved on. Instead, she had bottled up her sorrow until it seemed to radiate from her pores.
Buffy surrendered the note and Joyce scanned the penned lines with pursed lips.
“Talk to me honey,” Joyce pleaded. “I can’t stand to see you hurting like this. Please talk to me.”
“He’s sick,” Buffy whispered. “It’s like some sort of multiple-personality thing,” she said, giving her mother an explanation that if not completely accurate in terms of souls and demons, was at least accurate in regards to the personalities inhabiting her lover’s body. “I keep hoping that the man I fell in love with is in there some where…but he’s not.”
Joyce rocked her daughter comfortingly. Seventeen was a painful age as it was without the added burden of having your heart broken and by such a handsome young man.
“I love him still,” Buffy whimpered, pressing her face into her mother’s shoulder. “He used to listen to me. Really listen to me like I was more than just a vapid little girl. He walked me home at night to make sure I was safe. I used to feel so safe with him. I felt like the whole world wasn’t really real, only him. I love him. I miss him. And he’s different now. He’s cruel and sarcastic and cold and I – I – “
“Keep seeing echoes of the man you loved,” Joyce finished softly.
Buffy sniffled and nodded; her tears sliding down her cheeks unchecked.
Joyce rocked her and sniffled herself. “Oh, baby, this is why I wanted you to stay my little girl forever. So you’d never have your heart broken.”
Buffy took a shuddering breath and tried to stop her tears.
“No, sweetie,” Joyce crooned. “Cry. It’s okay to cry when you get your heart broken. It’s okay to be sad for what you’ve lost. And it’s okay to take as much time as you need to grieve. Men often hide their darker selves during the dating period and only later show all the ugly things you didn’t know were there. It’s not your fault you didn’t see the dark parts of him that he was hiding. I didn’t see it either with Ted – of course he was a robot. And when I was your age I had a couple of boyfriends who turned out to be real toads despite their prince getups.”
Buffy sniffled and wiped her hand ineffectually at her eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.
Joyce sighed. No easy answers there. “Breathe, baby. Breathe in and out all day long. Do that again tomorrow. And the day after until it gets easier. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel ashamed of how you feel. There’s nothing wrong with being in love.” Joyce hesitated and then continued, knowing that this next part was very important to her daughter’s burgeoning confidence as a young woman. “Making love with somebody that you’re in love with can be the most profound and beautiful experience and there’s absolutely no way to do it wrong so long as your desire to please and love each other is sincere. Do you understand? You did nothing wrong. It’s just tragic that Angel is sick.”
Buffy nodded, enjoying the comfort that her mother’s warm embrace brought her. For this moment, with her ear pressed to her mother’s breast, with the sound of her voice reverberating inside her chest, and her hands softly stroking Buffy’s hair, Buffy felt safe again. And even though it was illusory at best and the next night Buffy would be back in the cemeteries killing the vampires again, for now, she felt as though her mother could protect her from the whole world.
“But honey,” Joyce continued firmly, “he is sick. Don’t talk to him. Don’t see him. He’s obsessed and dangerous.”
“Ignore him and he’ll go away?” Buffy asked dryly, repeating the advice that Giles had given her so recently on how to deal with Angel.
Joyce stroked through her golden girl’s golden hair. “Don’t feed his obsession. Your emotions, your pain, your distress could only encourage him.”
Buffy nodded but she still reached for his note; Joyce reluctantly surrendered the missive, but stood and walked over to the flowers.
“Mom,” Buffy hesitated then continued softly. “Can I keep them? – Just for tonight?”
Joyce looked down at the innocent blooms, their brilliant hue giving her an inkling of just how passionately, for good or for ill, the young man felt about her daughter.
She sincerely hoped that his obsession faded. She would hate for her daughter’s first love to go so badly that it was necessary to call the police on the young man, but she wouldn’t tolerate him harassing or frightening her daughter. “I don’t think it’s a good idea – “
“Just for tonight.”
Joyce hesitated then withdrew from the bouquet. “Just for tonight. You should go to sleep soon. You need your rest. Tomorrow’s Sunday and my girl gets breakfast in bed. Sleep until you wake up, baby. You need the rest.”
Buffy nodded and watched as her mother left the room and closed the door behind her.
~
Angelus stalked quietly through the cemetery, scenting the air for his frightened prey.
Thus far the hunt had been hugely entertaining. He had given the boy his head start, but it had made no difference since he had cut off Xander’s seeming progress and forced him back down different roads, across and around the apparatus of the park and finally right where Angelus was certain they could be assured of some meaningful, private quality-time: the cemetery.
He jumped silently and landed on top of one of the mausoleums. He paced its length, scanning the headstones for the furtive movements of the terrified boy.
There. Right next to a headstone where Angel had once pinned a very aroused Slayer and ravished her delicious mouth.
Oh yes, that was a perfect place to beat the boy senseless at.
Angelus hopped down from his perch and moved in to end the hunt.
“Going some where?” the vampire demanded abruptly.
Xander wailed in fear and sprang to his feet, a broken tree branch clenched in his fist.
Angelus laughed in derision. “You think you’re actually going to manage to stick me with that, pup?”
Xander lurched forward, bringing the makeshift stake down in an arc towards Angelus’ chest.
Mildly amused at the boy’s temerity Angelus caught hold of Xander’s wrist and squeezed; the branch fell to the ground forgotten. The crunching noise was audible and Xander screamed at the pain of it.
“Don’t scream yet,” Angelus hissed. “We’re just barely getting started here. And this,” he shook Xander’s fractured wrist brutally, wrenching a whimper from the boy, “this is nothing. Buffy gets this and worse on a regular basis. You don’t hear her whimpering like a little…boy do you?”
Xander clutched his arm and trembled in shock. He’d been hurt. Nobody had ever intentionally hurt him before. Sure, there had been the bullies at school pushing him around, but nothing serious. And sure, there had been the preying mantis lady who had been going to kill him and he’d of course been properly frightened, but Buffy had rescued him in time and the incident had never coalesced from theoretically horrifying to horrifyingly physically real. And of course he’d been knocked out a couple of times, but hey, knocked out meant unconscious: no fear and no pain.
Angel had just broken his arm. Angel who had never been a legitimate physical threat before had just transformed from hypothetical boogeyman into an all too painfully and physically real threat.
He was really here, in the dark, in the cemetery, completely alone with Angel, and there was truly no mercy to be found in those cold soulless eyes.
And if he didn’t save himself, he was really going to die on the cold moist earth of a Sunnydale graveyard.
Xander struck at the vampire with his other hand, landing a clumsy open-handed blow against Angelus’ cheek.
The vampire laughed wildly. “What are you? A Victorian maiden?” He picked Xander up by his shirt and shook him like a rag doll. “I’ve had housemaids that could fight back better than you.” He flicked his wrists and sent the dark-haired teen flying into an unforgiving headstone.
Xander landed against the stone painfully, his hip screaming with the agony of impact. He staggered to his feet and backed clumsily away from the advancing predator. “Buffy will kill you if you hurt me,” the boy threatened desperately, hoping against hope that the threat of the absent Slayer’s future vengeance would give the fiend pause.
Angelus did not hesitate; he stalked forward and slammed a fist brutally into Xander’s stomach. The boy collapsed to the ground and wheezed loudly for the air that had just been driven forcefully out of his body. He wheezed even more against the dread that was slowly seizing up his lungs, constricting his chest painfully.
Xander scrabbled weakly in the dirt, trying to crawl away, but the vampire grasped a fistful of his unkempt hair and lifted the boy’s face from the cemetery soil. “Do you really think after your remarks tonight that she has any degree of fondness for you?” Angelus asked conversationally.
Xander moaned in distress, wondering whether the vampire was right. In his attempts to shatter her link with Angel had he gone too far and alienated her? No. NO. Buffy was the Chosen One, the Vampire Slayer. He twisted his face to spit defiantly into Angel’s frighteningly ridged and predatory face.
Angelus calmly wiped the spittle away then smiling, in an almost friendly manner, backhanded the boy.
Xander’s head flew back and struck a nearby headstone, cracking in an onslaught of nauseating pain. He gasped and choked on something for a moment before managing to spit out a back molar that had been knocked loose by the force of the blow. Blood from the tooth socket and from his split lip dribbled down his chin.
The pain was terrible. It consumed him, grinding in his bones and pouring through his body in powerful waves.
The world went grey and indistinct, then grey darkened to black and for a blessed moment, Xander disappeared beneath the blanket of unconsciousness. He awoke seconds later, the impatient vampire shaking him like a rag doll.
“Do you know what you smell like boy?” Angelus hissed, leaning close to the trembling youth’s battered face. “You smell like fear.”
Xander sneered through his blood, trying to maintain his bravado before the man he hated more than anything in the world. “Why should I be afraid of you? Who do you think pulled your coat over your head and kicked you in the face three nights ago?”
Angelus scowled, remembering that that particular interruption had come right when he’d had his golden girl pinned beneath him and helpless, then he shrugged it aside. The night had culminated with Buffy being pinned against him and helpless anyway, and the hunger slaked had been for more than just blood.
But, in keeping things fair, one blow to the head deserved another. He jerked Xander’s face down to his knee.
The moist crunching sound of the boy’s nose breaking was almost abnormally loud in the abandoned silence of the graveyard.
Xander’s eyes teared at the pain. He felt as if he were going to throw up. His body felt cold and clammy and he knew that his endurance for the shocking sensation of being hurt for someone else’s entertainment was nearly done, while Angel’s was obviously just getting started.
He blinked rapidly and from the corner of his eye saw his dropped stake. He scrabbled his hand through the dirt, searching blindly for the sharp broken branch, knowing that tonight no one was going to save him. And wondering, in the back of his mind, whether Angelus was right.
“That bother you Dead Boy?” Xander snapped, trying to shake his doubts away. “That I protected Buffy from you? Two times in one night.”
The vampire’s golden-green eyes glowered down at the fragile mortal. “Do you actually think that you’re in competition with me for my girl? Do you actually believe that she could ever turn from my arms to yours?”
“She doesn’t seem to be in your arms much of late,” Xander sneered.
Angelus smirked, his eyes holding some secret delight.
“When you’re dust who knows what could happen,” the boy roared, grasping the roughened wood in his left hand and striking outward, needing to strike the vampire dead as much to save his own life as to restore his dwindling faith in Buffy’s worthiness to carry the mantel of Chosen One. If Angel were dead, her faltering in her duty would be over. She would never hesitate to dust another vamp; she would never be the cause of another’s death again.
Angelus negligently slapped the wood from the pup’s hand, sending the branch spinning away into the night’s gloom. He grasped Xander’s left hand, shifting his own for the primary angle and twisted sharply, dislocating one of the fragile filangees.
Xander screamed, his body shaking in shock. The agony ripping up his hand was more intense than anything he’d ever felt in his life.
“Yes,” the demon crooned. “Now you smell of blood, pain, and fear. I bet we can sharpen that tang just a little.”
“Fuck you,” Xander groaned despairingly. Angelus smiled and snapped another finger so that two were now pointing perpendicular to the knuckles. Xander wailed at the fresh onslaught of agony, sobs tore at his throat even as pain ripped at his nerve endings. “More?” Angelus asked softly.
Xander gasped and glared impotently at his tormentor. “You’re not going to kill me. You’re afraid to.”
“Now why would I be afraid to kill a mongrel like you?”
“Even if Buffy’s mad at me, she’s the Slayer. She’ll kill you for it.”
“Who are you trying to convince? Yourself or me? Her duty is to kill me anyway,” Angelus whispered against the boy’s ear. “Whether you live or die is immaterial to that duty. Of course we both know that she was actually glad I killed that bitch, Jenny. Oh yes, you smell of rage now. You know that Buffy wanted that bitch dead for failing her precious soul-boy. You blame her for Jenny’s death as much as me. Not that you cared about precious Ms. Calender. It’s just another weapon to stab into Buffy’s bleeding heart, isn’t it? Another way to punish her for loving me and not you.” He snapped another finger.
Xander shrieked raggedly, his voice breaking at the onslaught of pain. His eyes rolled up into his skull.
“Xander? Xander,” Angelus purred softly.
The youth did not respond.
“Shit. Lost him.”
The demon pressed his fingers gently to the boy’s carotid artery, monitoring his pulse rate; a little shocky, but nothing life threatening…yet. He stroked Xander’s hair idly, waiting for the pup to wake back up Minutes ticked by and the vampire waited..
Xander opened his eyes. He felt so cold. He looked at the man leaning over him and his mind provided a name for the face.
“Angel?”
Angelus grinned. “Nope. Still me. It’s going to be hard to continue our conversation if you keep passing out on me Harris. With your mouth, I would think that you would’ve had plenty of experience getting beaten up.”
Xander panted. “She should’ve staked your ass the night she killed the Judge. Ms. Calender would be alive – “
“And what? You’d be the consoling shoulder she turned to, to mourn her lover’s loss.” Angelus laughed. “And you call yourself her friend. Do you have any idea how much stronger she’d be without you pathetic lot to be used as leverage against her? I could get her to do anything I wanted just by holding one of you worthless brats hostage.”
That wasn’t true, Xander thought. She needed them. They weren’t liabilities. They weren’t just hostages that could be used against her. They fought the good fight too. They were just as worthy as the Chosen One. More so. At least they didn’t fuck the enemy.
“You should be kissing her feet that she deigns to protect you,” Angelus hissed, “but instead you call her a whore.” The vampire snarled in rage and slammed his fists into Xander’s gut and ribs. There was another audible crack and at the sound Angelus stopped his assault, mollified slightly by the sound of cracking bones. He took in a deep breath and continued his casual conversation with his victim. “How often do you taunt her boy? How often do you rub her nose in her boyfriend’s demise?”
“I don’t – “
“No?” Angelus queried softly. “You, a worthless nothing don’t presume to lecture the Chosen One on her duty? You don’t console her for her loss but encourage her that it was all for the best? All her fault? You don’t sneer at her pain and tell her to just murder her lover? Yes,” the vampire crooned. “There’s that jealousy. You stink of it. What would you do to make my golden Slayer love you and forget me?”
No. He wasn’t like that. He wasn’t vicious like that. He would never intentionally hurt Buffy. He just told her like it was. He just told her the truth. And he wouldn’t capitalize on her pain just to satisfy his own wants…would he? Had he? Is that what he’d been doing?
Xander bared his blunt unthreatening teeth. “Maybe she loved you when you had a soul, but no way is she going to want a beast like you. She’ll want a man not a soulless creature like you.”
Angelus growled softly in displeasure “I have wanted to do this for months. Even as soul-boy I hated you and all your derisive comments to make Buffy feel like a pervert for preferring me to you.”
A pervert, he thought hazily, the bitter taste of vomit rising in the back of his throat. Had he really been doing that? Had he really been trying to make Buffy feel like a necrophiliac or something? Had he really been so cruel in his taunts that a soulless fiend had taken exception to his remarks?
“Oh yes, Harris. I think we have issues to work out between us. And I’ve got hours until the dawn to bare your insides.”
Xander stared into the brilliant gold-green eyes and knew that he wasn’t going to live to see the dawn.
His heart stuttered a beat. He was really going to die. Buffy was at home. Kendra, the other Vampire Slayer, was long gone from town. Giles was probably at home having a cup of tea. No one was going to save him. No cavalry was going to arrive in the nick of time.
“I’m a little out of practice,” Angelus confided, slipping a knife free from his boot, “but I’m reasonably sure that I can slit you open, pull out your entrails and still keep you alive while I skin you. Shock might be a problem, but I’m willing to chance it if you are.”
Xander trembled, unable to turn away from those soulless eyes. His fear rose higher and his heart thundered as he grimly thought of what the coming hours held in store for him. Hours where no one would hear him scream and the Slayer that should have been out to rescue him was probably at home dreaming of her demon-lover.
An acrid smell suddenly overwhelmed the smell of blood and fear and Angelus glanced down at Xander’s urine soaked pants in surprise. Unable to help himself the vampire laughed.
“I take it you’re not looking forward to our time together,” the demon chortled. He stared down into Xander’s pale face, cocking his head as he read the emotions that flashed over his face and over his scent. Fear, yes, but humiliation and despair as well.
How entertaining, the vampire mused. His ridged and predatory face morphed back into his angelically handsome countenance.
“You’ve lost your bluff boy. Your game of chicken is over and you blinked. However,” Angelus continued, “I’m suddenly feeling magnanimous. Besides, you threw my gift out the window. How can my courtship proceed unless I leave my love a little token of my regard? And I don’t think she’s ready to appreciate the time and effort I would have to put into eviscerating a victim. Not quite yet anyways. Maybe later.”
He picked Xander up by the scruff of his neck and dragged him from the cemetery.
The beaten boy slipped in and out of consciousness as his body desperately tried to cushion his mind from the damage.
“Where are you taking me?” the boy demanded woozily. “Are you going to leave me dead on Buffy’s doorstep? Are you going to snap my neck like you did Ms. Calender’s?”
“I’m going to give you a chance to live,” Angelus commented, traveling along until he came to an intersection. He glanced contemptuously down at Xander’s wet crotch. “After all, we could always pick up this little discussion another time and when you’re in more control of your…faculties.”
Xander blinked, trying desperately to concentrate on the vampire’s words but the only thing he could concentrate one was the ribs that seemed to poke inside him as they never had before. “You don’t actually think that leaving me on her doorstep is going to advance your cause, do you?” he panted weakly.
The vampire grinned light-heartedly. “By leaving you broken and bleeding on her doorstep, she’ll know that my interest is very sincere. You’re an important token Xander. One mustn’t leave just any old dead thing at a lady’s door. It has to be something that she’ll realize was just for her. And after tonight’s explosion, she’ll know that this, that you,” he shook his futilely struggling prey, “are my response to how seriously I take our relationship. She’s already my consort, my wife. Soon, she’ll be my queen.”
“Wife?” Xander parroted in weary confusion.
“Oh yes. We’re…separated at the moment, but it’s not…forever,” the handsome demon purred ironically. “Your body lets my girl know that I take exception to anyone treating her badly. It lets her know that I take my husbandly duty as protector very seriously. Wife and consort or kill, she’s mine.”
“Body,” Xander repeated. If he had more strength, he would be aghast at the almost indifferent tone. “I thought you said you weren’t going to kill me.”
“I said I’d give you a chance to survive. And I am.” Angelus smiled charmingly. “All you have to do is survive the car.”
“What car?” Xander asked nervously.
“That one,” Angelus jerked his chin at an oncoming car. He remained in the bushes by the side of the road, keeping the two of them out of the driver’s sight.
“You mean you’re not going to bite me?” Xander squeaked.
“Oh, I’d never pollute myself with your blood. Now don’t tense up. Vehicle impacts hurt worse when you tense up.”
If he hadn’t already lost control of his bladder, Xander knew he would have lost it right then. I’m so fucked, he thought despairingly.
The master vampire threw Xander into the road just as the car started to pass. The boy struck the grill, bounced into the windshield and then completely over the car to land on the asphalt.
The car screeched to a halt.
Angelus sighed. Good. Dinner. He needed a little repast before he dropped Xander off back at the Summers’ home.
The driver, a delightfully squirming young woman was a feast of horror and terror. She also donated a pen and scrap of paper to his courting cause.
Angelus left her and her car in the middle of the road as he dragged Xander back to Buffy’s porch.
“Treat my girl more respectfully,” Angelus ordered as Xander finally passed out from the pain and terror.
For Buffy, to ensure that she understood his night’s activities fully, he left a note curled in Xander’s broken fingers.
~
Buffy sat in front of the mirror at her vanity and slowly drew a brush through the length of her hair. Bristles parted the golden tresses, pulling the thick waves into a smooth silky waterfall. Her movements were automatic, her attention focused on the bouquet of roses that took up a third of her vanity’s surface.
The roses bobbed their heads, their petals and leaves rustling an amiable conversation
Buffy listened to the flowery discourse, vaguely aware of the familiarity of their dialogue.
“You’re not like other girls,” a rosebud observed in a soft masculine tone as a crimson dewdrop slid slowly down its lip, trickling down the long stem, past wicked looking thorns, to settle in the crimson stained water that filled the lower eighth of the cut-crystal vase.
“You do everything wrong,” a second flower reproached her in the exasperated voice of her first Watcher. A second crimson droplet welled up from the depths of the brilliantly hued open bloom, slipping down the petals to gather on the point of a sharp thorn.
“Sorry,” Buffy murmured, her eyes stinging.
“No,” the flower sighed in amusement. “Do it wrong.”
The droplet slipped from the thorn and plopped into the crimson hued water, setting off ripples that were visible despite the numerous stems that rested in the liquid.
Buffy sighed softly.
“You are destined to die,” a third flower hissed, its petals drooping on its stem. The wilting bloom bled a single tear of moisture into the vase reservoir.
“This isn’t a fairytale. When I kiss you, you don’t wake up from a deep sleep and live happily ever after.”
“Your fault,” the other flowers whispered in a mournful chorus.
The young Slayer turned away from the bouquet, determined not to let their whispers disturb her.
She inhaled deeply, enjoying the heady perfume and pretended that she didn’t notice the metallic tang in the air. In the reflection behind her she could see Mr. Gordo sitting on one of her pillows, waiting for her to come to bed and snuggle his piggy plush body against her.
Done brushing the shining waves of her hair, the young Slayer plucked a red ribbon from the surface of her vanity and carefully tied her hair back.
“Your fault,” the flowers continued to rebuke her.
She ignored them and brushed the light switch and enclosed her bedroom within the veil of nighttime.
She walked around the edge of her bed and sat down; she paid no attention to the angelically beautiful man who reclined against her headboard, one booted foot on the floor, the other tucked up on her mattress. Instead she contentedly leaned back against his silk covered chest and shifted slightly until her head rested above where his heart should have beat.
He brought his arm around her shoulder and settled Mr. Gordo into her arms and Buffy smiled as she accepted the plush pig.
“Your fault,” the flowers scolded over and over.
She rolled to her side, tucking her legs into a fetal position and rested her cheek above his silent heart. Tears escaped and trickled over her cheeks to fall on his chest.
He cuddled her to him, tenderly stroking her hair. “Don’t listen to them.”
“Angel,” she whispered painfully, glad that he and not the memory of Lothos had invaded the sanctity of her dreams.
“Your fault,” the flowers wailed their remonstrations in soft repetitive tones.
On the nightstand beside her bed she could see a penny spinning slowly, so slowly it should have toppled yet it didn’t. The copper coin had two faces: one on each side.
Buffy looked tiredly up at her lover. His dark eyes glittered down at her, their depths aglow alternately with an aching tenderness that made her heart hurt and with a passion that was at once both exhilarating and frightening. “I love you,” she whispered.
“Kill me,” he instructed. She looked back at the spinning coin and away from the sorrow that lit his dark eyes.
“Kill me.” She bit back a sob and pressed closer to him. “I can’t. I love you,” she whispered.
He cradled her against his cool body and she drifted contentedly, comforted by his presence. He stroked her shoulders and back, running his fingers through her shining hair in long languorous possessive strokes.
“Kill me before I claim you, my love.” She didn’t reply.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Kill me.”
“I can’t,” she sobbed brokenly.
She dropped Mr. Gordo to the side and turned more fully into her vanquished lover’s chest.
“If you don’t kill me,” he warned, lacing his long fingers in the heavy silk of her hair, “I will make you mine for eternity.”
She gripped him to her in silent desperation and in desperate denial. “I can’t.”