Midnight in the Garden of Evil by kat_n_debs

Chapter #1 - Once Upon a Midnight Dreary

Chapter 1 ~*~*~*~*~ Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary…    Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~  The unsteady clink of bottle against tumbler was appropriate background music to accompany Giles’ fragile mood.  How many years had passed since his Ripper days and the dark deeds of his youth; years spent burying memories so deep that he’d actually convinced himself that his recollection of that time was flawed.  He was Rupert Giles, upstanding member of society, librarian, moderate of habit and opinion; any similarity to the reckless young man with a penchant for summoning demons was entirely coincidental.  “Nice try, Giles,” he slurred as he knocked back another shot of Irish whiskey.  “Bloody Ripper, always lurking in there.  I’m sure you want a drink?” he questioned his alter ego.  “No?  Jolly good.  More for me then….”  More clinking, more gulping.  He grabbed at his notebook and tugged it across the desk, inadvertently knocking the now empty bottle clattering to the floor.  Glancing at the names written across the page, he drained the glass in his hand.  He ran his finger down along the lines, remembering the first time the group had got together in London all those years ago.    Ethan Rayne had introduced him to the band of misfits after spending a drunken night in a pub close to the university listening to his tale of woe; Giles was disillusioned with his life and had no intention of obeying his father and following him into the Watcher’s Council.  There’d been a huge row, they’d both said things they really shouldn’t have and Giles had stormed out, slamming the front door behind him.  He was sick and tired of the endless rules and regulations – don’t wear that, don’t say this.  He was a free spirit…he needed room to express himself.  Bloody aged git of a father didn’t like it…he could stuff it!  So, cradling his pint of lager to his chest, Giles had listened with interest as Ethan laid out his plan for fun and frolics, the summoning of a demon and the orgies of sex and booze an added bonus – exactly what he was looking for.    “Ok, mate.  Count me in.”    “Delighted to!  And your name is?”  A beat.  “Ripper.  Just…Ripper.”  And that had been that.  A maniacal demon-worshipper with kohl-rimmed eyes and a sideline in hot tunes was born.  From thereon, Ripper took over his persona completely.  He dropped out of university, cut himself off from his parents and long-standing friends and severed all ties with the Watchers Council.  Soon his days were passing in a blur of drugs, mind control, magic and demonology.  The greater the risk, the more intense the kick.  He became the main protagonist in the group, urging them on to darker magicks, even as some were starting to feel uneasy at the way things were going.  So when he’d suggested Eyghon as their next project, there’d been whisperings of discontent.    Eyghon was a demon of great power that could inhabit the bodies of sleeping or dead humans and thereby gain some measure of appearance in this world.  It was a mind-blowing experience for the recipient of the demon, the feeling of euphoria eclipsing any drug trip and then some.  There was a catch, as always; the demon was strong and difficult to handle.  There was a ritual involving a tattoo, the mark of Eyghon, then chanting, potions, a trance.  The sexual energy surrounding the group as they summoned the demon for the first time had been electrifying.  It was then that Ripper had truly come into his own.  Giles chuckled mirthlessly to himself as he went in search of a fresh bottle – scotch this time – unsteadily banging against furniture as he lurched around the room.  “Bloody good times … great shagging… that Dierdre…nice pair of tits on her…”  He dissolved into a fit of giggles, gripping the bottle and flopping down on the couch.  “Glass…no glass…sod it…” he muttered as he upended the bottle and took a healthy swig of the single malt.  The sudden rapping on his front door jolted him from his drowsy musings.  The door handle was tried to no effect; unusual for Giles, he’d actually locked it in an effort to isolate himself from the world outside. The knocking got louder, the female voice hollering in accompaniment.  “Oh, piss off.” he muttered, his eyes closing as the alcohol took hold.  The knocking became pounding, the door now shaking with the force applied to it from outside.  “For god’s sake…coming…I’m coming…stop that bloody racket…”  He got to his feet and staggered to the door.  Opening it slightly, he was faced with an obviously pissed off Slayer.  “Buffy. I…it's late. Uh, are you alright?”  “I was gonna ask you the same thing.”  “Don’t I look alright?  You look lovely, all pink and pretty…I'm, uh, I'm rather busy a…at the moment, so, uh, I'll see you on Monday at… at school.”  Buffy was looking at him incredulously; she leaned in closer trying to force the door open.  She recoiled as the smell of the drink hit her.    “Giles, did you forget?  The hospital, vampires, handy carryout packets of blood?”  He laughed, a low bitter sound that chilled her.  “No, I didn’t forget.  I had other things on my mind…like dead friends, poor dead friends…” He took another long pull from the bottle.  Buffy made to snatch it out of his hands.  “Now, now – you get your own.  This is mine – now piss off!”  “GILES!  What is wrong with you?  Give me that.”  She finally made it through the doorway, nearly falling as Giles crumpled in a heap on the floor, catching her feet with his tangled limbs.    “Wrong?  What could be wrong?  And hands off my scotch!”  Buffy knelt down beside him, concern written all over her face.  “Giles.  Please, give me the bottle.  This isn’t like you.  Tell me what’s wrong.  Let me help.”  “See, you don’t know me at all…not really, nobody knows me…poor Ripper.”  He swigged more scotch, ignoring Buffy’s sanctimonious look.  “Who’s Ripper?  What’s happened, Giles?”  There was no reply; Giles had slumped to the floor still clutching the bottle and was snoring gently.  Buffy shook him roughly.  “Giles – you are not getting away with it that easily…wake up.  WAKE UP!” she shouted in his ear.    The watcher sat upright and regretted it instantly.  His head was spinning, making the contents of his stomach swirl unpleasantly.  He lurched to his feet and made it to the couch, sinking into the cushions with a sigh.   Looking up, he was met by the Slayer standing disapprovingly in front of him.  Hands on hips, head tilted, she glared down at him.    “Have you always been such a bitch, Buffy?  Ha!  Bitch Buffy…funny.”  “Giles!  That’s enough.  You think you’ve got problems?  What about me, standing out in the hospital parking lot, waiting for you to show up and help me?  Do I have to do everything myself?  What were you thinking?  If Angel hadn’t showed up we might have had a vamp feast on our hands.  Do you even care?”  “Do I care?  No…not really, not anymore.”  He laughed again, dark and mirthless.  “That’s not good enough.  You’re my Watcher; ergo you should be watching me.  I haven’t got the time to deal with your imagined problems.  What happened – a book get torn or something?  Delivery of your stuffed shirts been delayed?  Quit feeling sorry for yourself and help me!”  “Buffy, Buffy… you do realize there are other people in the world apart from you? …forget I said that…of course you don’t…I need a drink…”  “The last thing you need is a drink, Giles.  You’re disgusting!  How could you let yourself get like this?  I thought you were different, all British and stuff.  You’re a mess.  And you stink of booze!”  She walked over to the door, stepping over the empty bottle, and turned back to face him all the while continuing her monologue.    “I don’t know what your problem is, and frankly I don’t care.  I can’t talk to you like this.  I don’t want to be in the same room as you because…ewww!  I’m going to where the clean people are.  Take my advice – lose the bottle, take a shower, and get a grip.  I’ll speak to you tomorrow.  You know -- if you can be bothered!”  With a flounce of blond hair she was out of the door, taking her moral high ground with her.  “That’s right…bugger off!” he shouted to her retreating back, wincing as the door slammed behind her.  “Oh, Giles – you naughty boy.  She’ll make sure you pay for that…” He collapsed in a fit of giggles.    “M’ book, need my book.”  He rose to his feet unsteadily and stumbled towards the table.  The notebook was lying open, the names stark against the white of the page. Thomas Sutcliff, Philip Henry, Dierdre Page, Ethan Rayne, Rupert Giles.  Sobering slightly as he read the names, he struck through the first two with a black pen stroke.  He needed to know.  Picking up the telephone he dialed England. “Yes, I'm… I'm sorry to disturb you. It's, uh... I…I realize it's, uh, five in the morning there, um... Uh, I-I'm trying to reach Dierdre Page. My name is Rupert Giles, uh, uh, she knows me. It's… it's very important.”  His face blanched as he listened to the clipped English tones on the other end of the line.  “I'm terribly sorry.  I... I-I didn't know. W-when did she, uh, pass away? Ohhhh -- that recently?”  His legs were suddenly unable to support him as he realized the impact of the news coming through over the line.  He sat down heavily on the hard chair besides the desk.  “Um, yes, yes, um, we were friends when we were young. My condolences.”  Giles managed to get the receiver back on the cradle at the third attempt; he was staring ahead but seeing nothing.  He removed his glasses, habits of a lifetime taking over as his mind raced.  Placing them on the desk, he reached for the scotch again and drank straight from the bottle – his throat muscles working vigorously.   He picked up the pen and notebook and struck through another name – Dierdre Page.  The remaining names leapt off the page, burning into his brain:  Ethan Rayne and Rupert Giles.  Despite the very real dread that coursed through his veins, other feelings simmered below.  In fact, there were a number of sensations racing through his body.  Excitement, anticipation, arousal, curiosity.  The dread was still there, well-anesthetized now and being beaten into complete submission by Ripper’s eagerness to revisit the place of his birth.  Eyghon.  As he drank, Ripper’s thoughts began to overcome the genteel and reserved Rupert Giles.  Why did he let the Slayer speak to him like that? A snotty-nosed kid not yet seventeen years old and so full of herself!  She needed to be taught a serious lesson -- the whole bloody lot of them did. The Slayer, her friends, hangers on – they thought they were so essential, indispensable.  They were fucking idiots, and he was sick to death of their whinging.  ‘Time to fix things, mate, you let them treat you like a door mat.’  Ripper wouldn’t have put up with it; he’d chew them up and spit them out.  The longing that flooded his being at the thought of such violence shocked him.  How could he have forgotten the euphoria to be experienced by doing what you want, when you want.  For too long he’d stifled his true nature beneath layers of tweed and etiquette, in a vain attempt to make amends for the death of Thomas Sutcliffe all those years ago.    He thought about that night, when Thomas had been taken over by the demon Eyghon and lost his life.  He should feel guilty.  He should feel remorse.  He should feel as though he’d never be able to make amends.    He didn’t.  Ripper felt exhilarated as he recalled the ecstasy that flowed through him when Eyghon had had responded to their call.  The sucking of the life-force from the prone form of Thomas Sutcliffe was unexpected, but you got what you paid for and Ripper wouldn’t have missed that buzz for anything: unlike Giles’ with his flagellation of anguished guilt.   Ripper and Rupert Giles battled for supremacy.  The figure of the watcher rose and staggered to the bathroom, feeling the need to wash away the thoughts clouded by all the alcohol he’d imbibed.  Standing in front of the mirror, he rolled up his shirtsleeves revealing the mark of Eyghon inscribed on his left arm.  Noting the tattoo, which he usually disregarded, he stroked it pensively, contemplating stark black ink against white skin.  Shaking his head, he leant over the sink and cupped his hands to splash his face with water.  His head began to clear some and he rested his hands on the edges of the basin and stared at his reflection.    It was Ripper looking back at him.  With an entirely evil smirk, he spoke.  “So.  You’re back.”

Chapter #2 - Many a Quaint and Curious Volume

Chapter 2 ~*~*~*~*~ Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore…    Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~  The needle scraped his skin over and over in a distinct pattern; he was delighted as he flinched at the stinging pain, egging him on to revel and glory in the mark being permanently etched on his arm.  An evil, maniacal light came into his eyes and he took another hit of the drugs that were free-flowing in the dank room, his body relaxing as it zinged swiftly through his system.  As he was marked with the sign of his master, those around him worshiped the demon, their hands rested on symbols marking the round table as they chanted words of praise and devotion.  Occasionally, he would join in, the words tumbling from his lips by rote –such an eager and studious pupil.   “Time to sleep,” the man taunted, the candle held before him flickered shadows to play about his face, casting a devilish glow to his features.  He had to suppress his urge to smirk in response.  He thought he looked sinister, but he had nothing on Ripper.  Ripper surpassed them all in his desire to be evil…  ~*~ He was pulled from sleep, his body sitting up in a trance-like state, lured from his bed by some unseen force.  Rising from his bed, clad in his blue striped pajamas, Giles made his way downstairs and slipped silently from the building, not bothering with shoes, or even to lock the door.  He walked onward, drawn by some force greater than his will.  As he made his way in the early morning hours, he was left untouched by the creatures of the night.  Some had been tempted to feast on a defenseless man who was crazy enough to walk alone at night – but the aura of evil radiating from him repelled even them.  He was clearly in the thrall of a being more powerful than they.  ~*~*~*~*~  Giles walked in the door and down the corridor leading to the open room of the morgue.  His bare feet made no sound on the linoleum flooring as he approached the refrigeration units that housed Sunnydale’s latest casualties.  His eyes focused on the closed doors, ignoring the sterile surroundings.  Walking around a metal autopsy table, he paused unerringly before the fourth unit from the left.  His hand lifted towards the lever, his eyes gazing vacantly ahead as he seized the handle and pulled the door open.  He allowed the door to open wide, revealing the contents.  Hands slid the bed out on its rollers, exposing the shrouded body.  He pulled the white cover from the corpse’s face and upper torso.  Neither noticing nor caring about the bruises that marred the form before him, Giles’ hand hovered over the dead man until it came to rest above his master’s mark.  His hand fisted around the black tattoo; his body jerked spasmodically as the demon leapt from the dead form of his former colleague and came to reside deep within him.  He looked around, the yellow, cat-like eyes taking in his surrounds before he one again sealed the man within his metal tomb and quietly slipped from the room.  ~*~*~*~*~  Bearing the black, tattooed sign of their master, the five young adults finally circled the round table.  High on the best acid, their bodies undulated to the music as the chanting increased in pitch and volume.  Cries for Eyghon burst forth as the chanting increased the lust in the participants.  Often, one would break off to grab another, groping their willing partner – be it male or female – as lust overtook them.  Gasps and moans filled the air, already heady with a mix of marijuana, incense, and candles that littered the room in random disarray.    “Eyghon!”  “EYGHON!!”  The frenetic shrieking of their master’s name grew louder and louder, until in a clap of thunder, he stood before them, his red stare taking in his loyal subjects.  ~*~  Ring.  Ring.  It was the third ring that finally woke Giles.  The phone continued its annoying sound as he sat up and glanced around his bedroom.    “Oh, bugger off,” he muttered towards the irritating contraption, its continuous jangling resounding in his ears.  Realizing that the noise wouldn’t stop until he answered it, Giles leaned over the table and snatched the receiver off the hook.  “What!” he practically hollered into the phone.  Buffy’s voice came over the connection. “Giles?”  “Yeah…Buffy…what do you want?”  If she thought his speech and manner towards her seemed strange, she didn’t say anything.    “It’s that guy…Ethan…I caught him snooping around the library here,” she replied.  “Ethan, you say?”  “Yeah, that guy from Halloween…the one responsible for the costume changes…”  “Hmmm…good work, Buffy.  I’ll get dressed and be right over.”  “Get dressed?  It’s almost noon…” she got out, but all she heard was the dial tone in her ear.  Apparently, Giles had hung up on her.  She pulled the receiver away from her ear and stared at it for a moment in confusion.  Her watcher was really acting weird.  ~*~  Ripper glanced down at the blue pinstriped cotton pajamas he wore.  His pulled the shirt away from his body, wondering why he was wearing his father’s clothes.    ‘Since when do I wear pajamas?’  He quickly unbuttoned the top, practically ripping the bloody thing apart in his haste to remove the offending garment.  The pajama bottoms soon joined the small heap on the floor.  Naked, he moved to the full-length mirror that hung on one wall.  He eyed his reflection in the mirror, taking note of the lack of definition his body bore.  Since when had he slacked off and got pudgy?  Rolling his eyes and mentally implementing an exercise plan, he pushed the closet door aside and inspected the contents.  “Bloody hell,” he muttered, “I’ve turned into an old git!”  Disgustedly, he eyed the tweed and twill articles that made up his wardrobe.  ‘Add clothes shopping to the list of things to do at once!’   Grabbing the least stodgy items, he quickly dressed.  He found his keys amidst the piles of books and papers cluttering the desk and made his way to the courtyard outside his condo, glancing at his keys as he tried to determine which car could possibly be his.  Ripper eyed the light blue two-seater monstrosity and groaned.  ~*~*~*~*~  Ripper stepped inside the library and took in the scene before him.  Ethan, his old partner in the dark arts, sat tied to a chair in the middle of the room.  The Scoobies were hovering at the counter.  His slayer stood near Ethan, attempting to gain information from the man.  His eyes swept to the other side of the room and lit on Jenny.  Now there was a fine piece of skirt.  His eyes flashed yellow, momentarily overcome as the demon within surged.  His gaze raked her body from head to toe; she’d make a fine addition to his “members only” club.  “Ripper,” Ethan snarked from his tied-up position on the chair.  “Ethan.  I seem to remember telling you to get out of town,” Ripper voiced, assuming the cultured British voice from long past.    He needed the others to believe he was still Giles.  Later, much later, he’d let Ethan in on his plans.  For now, he kept quiet.  For all his apparent evilness, Ethan had nothing on Ripper.  He crossed the room and fisted both hands in the front of the bound man’s shirt.  “Why are you here?” he questioned; he couldn’t quite keep the Ripper menace out of his voice, and Ethan’s head lifted sharply, his gaze locking on Giles.    Trying to distract Ethan, Ripper shoved him, the force knocking the other man backwards to crash on the floor.  The distinct sound of bones breaking sounded just a moment before Buffy’s protests and the Scoobies shocked exclamations rent the air.  The blow was just what Ethan needed to free himself.  While Buffy was busy hemming and hawing over Giles’ behavior, Ethan slipped free from his loose bindings and shoved Jenny out of his way – knocking her hard into a bookcase – as he hurtled out of the library through the double doors.    Concern for Jenny overruled chasing after the other man.  Ripper was the first by her side, playing up his part of the worried librarian for his audience.  Holding her body close to his, he murmured solicitous words to the slightly dazed woman.  She mumbled her assent that she was fine, just shaken.  Ripper offered to see her home and she agreed.  With a few words to his slayer and her friends to lock up and go home, he led Jenny out into the hallway.  “What’s with Giles?” Xander asked once they were alone in the library.  “I’ve never seen him act that way before.”  “I don’t know, but I’m damn sure gonna find out.  There’s something wrong with him. He’s been acting weird lately. First, he ditches me at the hospital.  Then the whole drunk Giles scene from last night.”  Determination in her stride, Buffy stalked from the library.

Chapter #3 - While I Nodded - Nearly Napping...

Chapter 3 ~*~*~*~*~ While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door- Only this, and nothing more."     Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~  Buffy heard a crash emanating from within Giles’ condo.  Hurrying across the courtyard, she listened intently to see if she could make out anything else.  For a moment, there was silence, and Buffy thought that the noise must have just been her imagination.  Then, she heard a slight groan followed by a high-pitched scream.    ‘Definitely something wrong inside.’   She pounded on the door, hollering Giles’ and Jenny’s name.  More crashing and more screams erupted from within, and not wasting a second, kicked the front door in.  When she stepped over the fallen barrier, Buffy’s froze wide-eyed.  She shook her head for a moment, uncomprehending of the scene she was witnessing.  Her watcher – Giles – had Jenny slammed up against a wall, his arm across her throat, causing her feet to dangle slightly in the air.  The evil look on his face was something she had never imagined to see coming from him.  “Let her go, Giles,” she commanded him.  “Ahhhh…Buffy.  So glad you could join us.”  Jenny’s eyes pleaded with the slayer to do something, and fast.    “I said let her go, Giles.  Now,” she repeated firmly.  Sighing, Ripper loosened his grip around Jenny’s throat just enough to let her feet touch the floor.  She didn’t get off completely unscathed; as she was slowly lowered to the ground, Ripper pressed his aroused body against her, forcing her parted thighs to rub against his straining erection. Delighting in the woman’s fear and abhorrence, he took his time releasing her, only removing his hand once he sensed his slayer about to interfere.  Jenny collapsed to the carpeted floor in front of him when he finally let go, curling into a fetal position and coughing spasmodically as her hands wrapped protectively around her throat.  “Now, move away from her and into the kitchen.  I don’t want to hurt you, Giles, but I will.  So don’t try anything,” Buffy told him.  He raised his arms in the air in an imitation of innocence, but his sadistic smirk belied his actions.  He backed away, mindful of keeping the slayer in his sights.  Her moral code would keep her from harming him because he was her watcher and because he was human; but he didn’t want to take any chances.  After she left, he’d set in motion his plan to get rid of her, but for now…now he would just play along and let her think that she was in charge.  Buffy rushed to Jenny’s side, knelt beside her and checked to see that she was okay, as Giles retreated into the kitchen.  “Come on, Jenny.  Let’s get out of here,” she told the older woman.  Jenny just nodded, her throat aching too much to speak.  Buffy slipped her hands beneath the older woman’s arms and helped her to her feet.  Keeping an eye on Giles – who hadn’t moved from his spot in the kitchen – she backed them out of the room and out over the broken down front door.  Once outside, she urged Jenny into a jog, eager to put as much distance between themselves and her watcher as possible.  Something must have taken possession of Giles for him to be acting this way.  She’d have to get back to her friends as soon as possible to get them researching…  ~*~  Ripper glared at his slayer, his anger over her interference causing his eyes to flash yellow.  His mind played over possible scenarios for getting rid of her.  He chuckled as it came to him - the perfect solution to his problem…and, it would gain him a useful ally.    Whistling, he picked up the fallen front door and leaned it against the doorjamb.  He’d see about fixing that later.  But right now he had a date with a certain peroxide-blond vampire.  ~*~*~*~*~  Ripper stepped inside the warehouse and looked around with disgust.  Apparently, Spike needed to work on his security measures…couldn’t have just anyone walking in unannounced, now could he?  He walked among the sleeping minions, resting so trustingly on the various pieces of furniture scattered about the place.  A quick jab and a majority would be dust before they knew what had hit them.  He made his way into the middle of the room and stopped.  He turned in a circle, his arms held wide as he surveyed his surroundings.  Then, in a loud voice he announced, “What kind of place are you running here, Spike, humans walking in unannounced?”  The click of a lighter broke the silence just moments before the groans of sleepy minions sounded in his ears.  He looked up and saw Spike step into the room and lean against a pillar, his cheekbones becoming more pronounced as he inhaled deeply on the cigarette dangling from his lips.  Spike raised a hand to pull the cigarette from his mouth.  “I was wondering the same thing,” he answered, blowing smoke out between his lips, his eyes flaring yellow in annoyance as the minions slowly came awake.  “You got a lot of balls showing up alone, here, in my lair, watcher.”  Ripper just smirked.  Spike liked to think he was the Big Bad, but he was an amateur.  Ripper could show the vampire things that would make his head spin.  He started towards his soon-to-be partner, for there was no doubt in his mind that Spike would agree to his plan.  As he moved through the throng of vampires that had surrounded him, Ripper paused to kick one that didn’t move out of his way fast enough.  Spike apparently thought it was funny, throwing back his head and laughing.  “So, watcher, what brings you to my humble abode,” he asked as he gestured around him.  “The name’s Ripper…and, I have a proposition for you.  A business deal, if you will,” he announced; his eyes gleamed yellow.  The maniacal grin had even Spike taking a moment’s pause.  “What makes you think I’d listen to anything you have to say?” he questioned, his human features sliding away as he looked eagerly upon his next meal – delivery was just fine with him.  Before he had a chance to lunge at the man, Drusilla’s words halted his actions.  “Wait, my Spike,” she murmured softly from her position in the shadows.  She had sensed the evil aura enveloping the man as he made his way across the room, and she wanted to hear what he had to say.  ~*~*~*~*~  Now that his alliance with Spike was set, it was time for him to make “amends” with his slayer by blaming his actions on some evil demon possession.  Sniggering at the irony of that statement, he let himself out of the warehouse and into the warm afternoon sun.  He was pleased with himself, how smoothly he’d set his plans in motion with the vampire and guessed he had the dark-haired vampiress to thank for that.    He slid behind the driver’s seat, his nose turning up in distaste over the two-seater relic he’d inherited.  He drove back to the school and parked in the faculty parking lot.  The slayer and her friends were so predictable; at the first sign of trouble they’d rally around the table and pore through volumes of ancient texts searching in vain for the answer to all evil.    Tilting the rear view mirror so that he could see his reflection, Ripper loosened his tie and pulled his button-down shirt halfway out of his pants.  He ruffled his hair to adopt a frazzled appearance then practiced a few facial expressions, shooting for a look between frantic, sorrowful, and contrite.  Smirking because he knew how easy it was going to be, he calmly stepped out of the car and made his way up the steps.  Mindful of the noise his shoes might make in the deserted hallway, he stealthily made his way to the library.  He wanted to see what theories the children had managed to come up regarding his recent behavior – little did they know that he was just reverting true to form.  “…should have seen him, Willow.  It was like he was possessed or something.  I couldn’t believe it was Giles,” Buffy told the small group.  Ripper paused to listen, just outside the double doors.   “Well, Giles keeps all of his books about demons and stuff locked in his office,” Willow replied.  “I won’t be able to figure out what it might be unless I can get in there.”  “Ok, I’ll just break the lock off…”  Buffy moved towards Giles’ office and was about to break in when there was a commotion at the library entrance.  She swung round just as her disheveled watcher lurched through the doors.  ~*~  Ripper didn’t want the slayer and her friends nosing around in his books before it was time to work on the potential witch, so he figured now was a good time to interrupt them.  Straightening away from the wall, he pushed his way through the doors, stopping just inside to lean his hands against his knees, appearing as if he was trying to catch his breath.  “Buffy,” he gasped as he raised one hand towards her, still breathing heavily.  “Giles!”  She started towards him, but then suddenly stopped, unsure if it was wise to get any closer.  “Are you okay?” he managed to choke out.  “I…I…is Miss Calendar okay?”  “Giles, what happened to you?”  Ripper lowered his hand back to his knee, still breathing heavily.  “I…just…sorry…need to catch my breath…”  “Sit down before you fall down, Giles,” Buffy told him.  “Thanks.  I’m sorry about before…some kind of demon…thing…felt it just…jump inside me as we went inside my apartment.  All I could do…” he began as he sat down heavily in a chair.  The gang came forward to hear his tale, apparently convinced he was now demon-free.  “…all I could do was watch helplessly as that thing manipulated my body, it was dreadful!” he told the group.  “So, it’s like you were there but you weren’t there…well, you were…you just had no control over anything…” Willow asked him, trailing off as she began repeating herself.  “Yes…yes, that’s it exactly, Willow, like a puppet.  Jenny, what have I done?  I’m so sorry…can you ever forgive me?” he asked as he turned towards the older woman, his eyes looking beseechingly towards hers.  At his sincere expression, Jenny melted, assuring him that she’d be fine and she knew he’d never have treated her like that willingly.  Inwardly, Ripper was gloating over how easy it was to fool the simpletons.  Idiot slayer.  She hadn’t a clue who he really was…what he’d done…and what he was capable of.  He was Ripper…he was evil.

Chapter #4 - It was in the Bleak December

Chapter 4 ~*~*~*~*~ Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.   Edgar Allen Poe The Raven   ~*~*~*~*~  Ripper had taken time the previous night to assemble the items he would need to work on sapping the Buffy's strength.  A while back, he'd been issued the case by Quentin Travers in order to test the Slayer on her eighteenth birthday, but now there was no need to wait that long.   He would turn the Council's own weapons against itself.  The thought thrilled him.   Ripper was exultant as he strode over to the library to set his plan in motion.  Patience was never his forte, and the restraint of this past week had been a trial, acting the part of the apologetic librarian – laying it on thick even as it grated his nerves – trying to restore the trust of the slayer and her friends.  Their gullibility ensured it had been all too easy; they were pathetically eager to forgive and forget.  But now…now it was time.  He was ready.   The demon within gave him so much power and strength, he felt as if he was going to erupt through his skin.  He needed to hurt something, someone.  And the someone he especially wanted to hurt, well she’d be waiting for him – all perky and blonde, with that inane conversational equivalent of supermarket music.  It irked Giles; it drove Ripper to contemplate sweet and bloody torture.  Anybody who really knew Giles might have noticed how his walk was now more of a swagger, his usually downcast eyes glittered with malevolence and the sneer of his lips hardened his soft features.  In all, gone was the mask of the reserved librarian, stripped away to reveal the face of a sadistic killer.   As he reached the library door, he paused, glancing down at his tweed suit with distaste.  Poncey git; Spike was right. Sad old Giles must have thought dressing like his dad would keep the demons at bay – it was time to come out of the dark ages and into the era of denim.  Or at the very least get rid of those god-awful jackets with patches.  Taking a deep breath, he wreathed his face in his best “Giles-fluster-look” and pushed through the doors.   “Giles!  Finally!! I’ve been here for hours.  You said you had something important for me to do, but I do have a life, you know.  Not much of one it’s true, what with the slaying and school and the having to read stuff.  And I wanted to go see Angel but now I’m not gonna have time.”   Buffy pouted, her bottom lip quivering with indignation, her little foot stamping.  No doubt she thought she looked adorable.  Was she 6 or 16?  How he longed to slap her until her face bruised and her lips spewed forth blood and spit.  In time.   “Yes, well.  I rather got caught up with cleaning…you know, bottles and …and … glasses and…whatnot.”  He removed his spectacles for a quick polish, using the distraction to stop himself from laughing out loud as he tried to sound guilty and remorseful for his recent ‘lost weekending’ with the bottles of scotch.   “Giles, I don’t know what was going on with you.  But promise me you won’t do the drinking alone thing again.  It scared me.  I don’t want to lose you.  I don’t want to walk in one day and find you dead in a pool of vomit.  Okay?  I hate to see you hurting.”  He almost had to stick his knuckles in his mouth to stop Ripper from guffawing.  Her earnest face was just begging for a fist.  He composed himself as he replaced the glasses back on his nose.    “I promise you, Buffy.  It was just such a shock when the police got in touch with me.  I knew those people, for so long.  They were part of my youth and I felt responsible for them.  I’ve let them down.”  He allowed his eyes to moisten with tears.  God, he was good.  Maybe Hollywood beckoned!  Glancing at her, he assessed the effects.  Yes, she’d bought it.  That “poor Giles” look was a dead giveaway.   “Please don’t worry, Buffy.  I’ll be fine.  Come, sit.  We need to work on the mystical side of your slayer abilities.  Now don’t look at me like that; you know we need to do this.  I take it you’ve been reading up on the properties of crystals, as I asked you to?”   “Well…I meant to…it’s just I’m all avoidy when it comes to books and there was a sale on at the mall and it said they had Jimmy Choo’s with 75% off -- which they didn’t, even -- but while I was there I saw this leather skirt with only a tiny rip that they were selling off.”   Buffy could see that her – perceived – wardrobe crisis wasn’t having an impact on Giles, especially considering his annoyed look.  For a moment she thought… then she mentally rolled her eyes at the foolishness of her musings.    ‘Like Giles had a mean bone in his body.’   It was why he made such a good watcher – he never seemed to rile.  Although, the look he was now giving her...   She struggled to recall the last question he had asked, and then winced because she hadn’t been reading like she was supposed to.   “So the answer to your question would be no; I didn’t read the book.”   “I see.  Well, let’s start with the basics then.”   Giles pulled out a large crystal, not a uniform shape, tall and angular but with one flat face that that enabled it to be stood upright.   “I want you to gaze into the grounding crystal, Buffy.  Clear your mind and just focus on the small flaw at its centre.  This should enable you to concentrate and become receptive to the various stones I will place in front of you.”   “Jeez, creepy much?  I mean, do you honestly think that a crystal is going to zap me into new-age Buffy?  Shouldn’t there be drugs or something for that to work?  Not that I want drugs because ewww…but really Giles.  You’re so naïve!”   “Just focus, Buffy, please?”   She sighed and shifted in her seat, rolling her eyes before finally focusing on the crystal in front of her.  Eventually, her features went slack as the supernatural nature of the crystal did its job.  Ripper let his Giles mask slip and stretched out his hunched shoulders.  Waving his hand in front of her face he was satisfied that her mind was absent, locked into contact with the crystal.   “Can’t you ever just do as I say?  You stupid, sniveling, obstinate bitch.  And drugs?  They’re right here, Slayer.   You’ll get your wish…you’ll be normal.  Won’t that make you happy, Buffy dear?”   As he spoke, he withdrew a leather-covered box from his briefcase and opened it; nestling inside was an old-fashioned hypodermic needle and a vial of amber liquid.  Drawing off some of the fluid, he held the needle up and squirted a little out of the end to clear any air bubbles.  He didn’t want her dead…that wouldn’t do at all, not for the success of his plan.  He injected her quickly, rubbing over the needle mark with cotton wool.  It would take a while for the serum to work, but when it did, the fun would start.  Well, fun for him anyway – not so much for the Slayer.   Ripper checked that there was no telltale signs of his little Slayerectomy then clicked his fingers before her eyes to wake her.    “Oh!  Did I zone out?  Sorry, I’ve not been sleeping well.  See, told you it wouldn’t work.  I guess I’m just not open to new stuff.  Willow’s your girl for the whole stone thing.  But I can kill demons a treat.  Just let me do that, ‘k?”   Buffy smiled at him, eyes wide and innocent and completely trusting.  Fool.   Giles smiled in return.  “Okay, Buffy, maybe you’re right.  Well, I think that’s enough for today; you go and do your thing own for a change.  I daresay you can think of something?”   “Yes!  Well, catch you later, Giles.  And no more naughty boozehound for you!”   His self-deprecating smile vanished as the door swung to behind her.  If only he could be there when she realized her strength was diminishing.  Her hurt look would be manna to his demon, her suffering a side order of ambrosia.  Still, she’d seek him out soon enough and then the gloating would be sweet.   ~*~*~*~*~   After Buffy left the library, chock-full of de-Slayer juice, he’d ambled over to the factory and spent the night planning his next move with Spike.  Drusilla caused him some unease; her ability to see into his mind disturbed him.  He didn’t like to show his hand and certainly didn’t trust Spike in the slightest.  But teaming up with Spike meant he had to accept Drusilla.  For now.  He had other plans to keep Spike amused.   Now he was alert to sounds of breaking glass and teenage ranting coming from the library as he approached.  Ah…so it had started.  Wonderful.   “Good morning, Buffy.   Is there any reason why you chose to break my priceless statuette of the Goddess of Fertility?”  He gestured at the pieces on the floor.   “Giles!  There’s something wrong – watch…” She demonstrated the problem by throwing a dagger; the blade ricocheted off “The Collected Spells of Hecate”, narrowly missing her head on its return trajectory.  “What’s wrong with me?  I can’t aim, can’t throw, I couldn’t even carry my school bag this morning – it was so heavy.  BOOKS!  I couldn’t even carry books.  And I feel all icky, hot and achy.  Help me.  Look stuff up.”   Ripper was chuckling deep within his chest.  She was hurting, aaah... bliss.   “I’m sure it’s just a bug of some sort, Buffy; after all, you’re not immune to everything. Give it a couple of days and you’ll be right as rain.”   “What’s right about rain?  It’s cold and wet and ruins my hair.  Giles – what if I stay like this forever?  How can I slay if I throw like a girl?”   “I think you’re overreacting, Buffy.  I mean, your aim has never been that wonderful anyway.  Running, leaping, staking at close quarters – that you are adequate at.  Deduction and reasoning?  Well, you will no doubt accept you do have problems concentrating for long enough to research successfully.  I’m not sure your brain is fully in control of your limbs or other faculties, you are far too easily distracted – and let’s not mention your lack of coordination.”   “I was reporting back to the council the other day and they were asking if you’d made any progress.  There’s always been concern that you wouldn’t match your predecessors.  Naturally, I tell them you’re good at other things but they still think the Slayer should be able to walk and talk at the same time.”   Buffy looked as if she’d been slapped.  “Wha…Giles…do you think I’m a bad slayer?”  Her hurt little voice gave him such a kick.  “No, Buffy, not at all.  I think you do very well, considering. You’re really good at identifying demons, albeit somebody else has to, as you say, ‘look stuff up’ for you.  But you’ll always have that help.  Xander and Willow make up for any shortcomings you have.  He may be a little…on the slow side…in some things, but he’s certainly able to throw better than you, less like a girl.  And Willow, she thinks things through, doesn’t react impulsively.  It doesn’t matter that you are weak, just as long as you’ve got them.”   Buffy was obviously disturbed.  “You think I’m weak?”   “Well, you have to admit that you do rely on them a lot.  Actually, Buffy, since you brought it up, I understand from Xander and Willow that they both feel a little…resentful…that you take all the glory for yourself.   Willow told me that she wanted to do more things of her own rather than be your sidekick.”   Oh for a camera to capture that look, a mixture of kicked puppy dog and wronged friend, with a side order of vengeful woman. Tears were gathering in her eyes.    ‘Oh, look out, here come the waterworks… please!’   Ripper ached for her to cry.   “Oh, I’m sure it was just sounding off, Buffy.  I don’t think she was serious.  Nor Xander.”   “What did Xander say?”   “He hasn’t told you?  Oh, then I really don’t feel I should…best ask him yourself.  I wouldn’t want to break any confidences.”  Ripper had Giles look all morally superior.   Buffy was thrown by the entire conversation.  It was all going according to plan.  She was losing her powers, she was upset, off kilter, and now she thought her friends were stabbing her in the back.  It was exactly where he wanted her to be.  Time to step up the pace.   Making soothing noises, he ushered her out of the library telling her to take two aspirin and lie down for a while.  When he asked her if she wanted him to send for Xander and Willow, she replied with a small tight, “No.”  It made him smile.

Chapter #5 - Surcease of Sorrow

Chapter 5 ~*~*~*~*~ Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore- For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore- Nameless here for evermore.   Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~  Giles loitered in the corridor outside Willow’s chemistry class waiting for it to let out.  Eventually the door burst open allowing the crush of teenagers to infest the corridor with their shrieks and chatter.  Principal Snyder may have had it right about them, Ripper considered.   “Willow! Do you have a moment?  I have a project I think you’re able to help me with.”   “Sure, Giles!  Shall I go get Xander and Buffy?”  Willow walked alongside him to the library, her clear green eyes trusting and childlike.    “No, that won’t be necessary.  Buffy’s not feeling a hundred percent so I’ve sent her to lie down for a while.  And Xander…well, he won’t be of any use to me for this.  Research and magic, not really his idea of a fun time, I understand.”   “No,” she giggled. “He actually thinks it’s a form of torture.  He’s very strange.  OH!  You said magic?  But you said it was dangerous to mess with it?”   “Well, that’s correct, Willow, but I need some assistance with a spell, and you’ve shown a remarkable aptitude in so short a time. I think that as long as I ‘hold your hand’ as it were and we don’t delve too deep, we should be safe.  Trust me.”   His lips curved, a lazy Giles grin, all crinkled eyes, finger-combed hair and eminently trustworthy.  Willow responded with her wide, innocent smile.  He intended it to be her last.   Alone in the library, Ripper introduced Willow to the same grounding crystal he had used to distract Buffy.  She was so excited, doing everything he asked of her without question.  It was disappointingly easy.  At least with Buffy he got a little backchat to play with.  Once she was under the trance, he rolled up the sleeve of her fluffy purple sweater, noting her poor taste in clothes.  Well, Eyghon would soon put paid to that.  Purple and fluffy he wasn’t, his choice ranging from black to even blacker and almost entirely tight leather.    Ripper wiped his hands to rid himself of the feel of soft wool, pulling out a bottle of black ink, a needle, and a swab of cotton wool.  It would be easier to control her if she was marked as his before he seduced her to the dark side. She had potential – once the simpering little-girl act was gone, things would get interesting.  In fact, looking at her now, cheeks flushed and lips parted slightly, eyes wide and trusting, Ripper felt a tightening in his groin.  He allowed himself the small pleasure of brushing the back of his hand down her cheek along her jaw line and down to the slight swell of her breasts beneath the hideous top, his fingers just dipping below the neckline to feel the beat of her heart.   Reluctantly, he refrained from taking it any further.  There would be time enough for that later.  He became all business, opening the ink and getting on with tattooing her with the master’s mark.  He didn’t intend to carry out the same ritual that would bind her as he had been.  No, for his plans to be successful he needed an entirely different relationship with Willow.  She had the makings of a powerful witch, her aura fizzing around her, pulsing pure and white.  The only question was whether that aura would remain pure or succumb to the lure of dark and decadent pleasure.  To Ripper, there was no question; she would embrace his way entirely.   Finishing up his work, he swabbed it over with the alcohol soaked cotton wool, reveling in the fact that the liquid would burn her skin.  From such small frissons, ecstasy would come.  He replaced the ink and other instruments back in his briefcase, smoothed down her sleeve and broke her trance.   Willow blinked owlishly, and then gasped as she became aware of the stinging sensation on her left bicep.  Rolling up her sleeve she drew in a shuddering breath as she eyed the red and puckered tattoo, shooting a bewildered glance at Giles.   The question she was about to ask died on her lips as Eyghon spoke through Ripper, his voice menacing, eyes blazing yellow.   “Elcuso maia; fressa tu ecouta moi el Diabla.  Laite messa ton mavella.  De regalta, de regalta, de regalta!”   At his final intonation, his eyes flashed burning into hers, which flared an answering burst of color.  But her eyes were not yellow; they were black – entirely black, no pupil and iris, just blank black pools.    As he swept his gaze appraisingly over her altered features, Ripper spoke again, holding out his hand to her.   “Welcome, Willow, to your destiny.”   She slid to her feet, holding out her hand to clasp his fingers.  Unable to resist, Ripper pulled the nubile young woman flush against his chest.  Fixing her black and expressionless eyes with his demonic gaze, he lunged at her mouth and pressed a savage kiss against her lips, biting down on the tender flesh before letting go and laughing at the pure joy of it.  Willow soundlessly brought a hand up to feel the trickle of blood where his teeth had pierced her skin, gazing at the crimson fluid left on her fingers before sucking them into her mouth.   “Master.”   “You are a maiden of Eyghon, Willow.  You are to do my bidding in all things.  I wish you to bring more to our cause.  I want the Slayer, I want Angel, and I want Xander.  Do you understand?”   “Yes.  I will do your bidding.”   Willow’s voice was toneless, her face expressionless.  The ritual had entirely subdued her own will to that of Eyghon.  She was ready to receive the gift of dark magic.  She was already open to it; a little part of Willow Rosenberg usually kept locked deep inside her was eager to be lost in the hedonism of dark and dangerous necromancy.  All Ripper had to do was provide the means of absorbing it.   Walking to the back of the library, to his private room, he collected a large and heavy tome embossed with silver sigils on a black, leather-bound cover.  Stroking it reverently as he returned to the motionless form of the teenager, his heartbeat sped up in anticipation of the mayhem and slaughter to come.   “Willow, do you feel it -- the yearning for the power?  How it calls to you…”   She turned her coal black eyes towards him, eyes of a predator.  “Yes.  I want it.”   “Then do as I say.  Come here.”   He placed the book on the table, opening it at a page marked by a bejeweled dagger.  It was sleek and razor sharp, an assassin’s blade, and he cradled it lovingly before handing it to her hilt first.   She took the blade unhesitatingly in her right hand, gazing at him as she waited for his instructions.   “The book needs your blood.  As the text absorbs your essence, thus it will release its own and the link will be forged.  Give it what it craves, Willow, so that you can receive that which your heart desires.”   Willow kept her ebony eyes locked on his as she stabbed the knife through the palm of her left hand, the blade passing straight through and lodging in her flesh.  She didn’t flinch, made no sound.  Turning her hand so that the blood dripped onto the pages of the open book, the newly-awakened witch was soon wreathed in a mist of black and red tendrils that snaked about her body, passing in and out of orifices and lifting her flame-red hair with the power that crackled along her form.   Suddenly, the mist dispersed, her hair settled back down to hang long against her heated neck.  Her eyes were green again, her movements no longer stilted but graceful.  She looked on Ripper with the knowledge of ages in her eyes.  The witch was in complete harmony with the magic that wrapped her heart and soul in its dark and seductive embrace and was eager to test her powers.   “I am more than I was,” she purred, her voice full of wanton promise.   “Yes, you are.  You have the ancient power of witches and warlocks running through your veins.  You are the conduit to a bottomless well of powerful black magic.  You will bend that power to my will.  You will be my handmaiden.”   “No.  I will not.  I will be your consort, your equal.”   Ripper threw his head back and laughed, a deep throaty rumble so unlike Giles that it was a wonder his voice box could process the sound.   “Yes, Willow.  I rather suspect you will.”   ~*~*~*~*~   Spike and Drusilla were feeding lazily on a pizza delivery boy when Ripper and Willow entered the factory.  Both the librarian and the student were unconcerned when the lifeless body slumped to the floor, the dead eyes staring sightlessly at them.   “Ripper!  You’re back early, and you’ve brought a snack.  Well I would, but I’ve got to watch the waistline.  Being dead… ’s no excuse to let the body go.”  Spike curled his tongue behind his teeth as he grinned at the newcomers, stroking his hand down along his torso to rest on his hip.   “No, Spike.”  Drusilla coiled herself around him, placing a warning hand on his arm.  She shook her head wordlessly.   “Yeah?  You think I shouldn’t have a nibble, Princess?”   “I think what Drusilla is trying to get you to understand, Spike, is that Willow is exactly what we need for our plan work.”   Spike snorted.  “What?  Nerd-girl here is something more than an entrée?  Are you out of your bleedin’ tree?  You said you were getting some magical assistance, make it all easy; instead you bring me this little girl…”   Spike’s words were cut off as he found himself suddenly suspended in mid air, legs kicking as he tried to regain control of his body.  Willow’s arm was outstretched, her eyes once again ebony pools, as she muttered incantations under her breath.   “Oh.  Bugger.  Right you are then, Red.  I’ll play.  A regular Sabrina aren’t you?  Care to put me down, pet?”   Willow released him with a gesture, the blond vampire falling in a heap at her feet.  He remained on the floor, doubled up with laughter.  “Oh, man!  You are one evil bastard, Ripper.  Using the Slayer’s own pal against her?  I swear, your mind’s so twisted I bet you can see the back of your own head without a mirror.”   “And we’ve barely scratched the surface.  Everything ready?”   “Yeah, all set here.  When we doing the deed?”   “Well, we’re both invited for supper at a certain Slayer’s residence tonight. We can finalize the dates there.”   “An invite, huh?  That’s always handy for a vampire to know.  Specifically me?  How’d you swing that with Buffy?”   “Not Buffy.  I went to the tree…”   As realization dawned, Spike smirked.  Ripper was a useful ally to have.  He opened all the right doors…   ~*~*~*~*~   “Mrs. Summers.  Lovely to see you again and thank you for asking us.  This is Spike.”   “Nice to meet you.”  As she held out her hand she looked puzzled.  “Have we met?”   He decided to brazen it out.  “Er, yeah.  You hit me on the head with an axe.  ‘Get the hell away from my daughter’.  I think we got off on the wrong foot.”   Joyce was taken aback by his presence in her house, but he was with Mr. Giles and she trusted the librarian implicitly.  There must be a perfectly reasonable explanation.   “Mr. Giles?” she queried.   Silently cursing Spike for not inventing a cover story, he quickly invented a plausible reason for him being there.   “Ah, Mrs. Summers…yes.  Well, the reason I asked Spike to join me is to apologize for the misunderstanding.  He’s actually a colleague of mine who got caught up in the unpleasantness at the school.  Apparently, he thought that Buffy was attacking people and was only acting in self-defense.  I’m sure you can see how a stranger to this country might overreact, faced with the mayhem of that night.”   Joyce considered the intense stare of Rupert Giles, his clear eyes and slight smile.  Truth be told, she’d more than a little crush on him – if it could still be called a crush at her age.  He’d proven himself a very caring and loyal friend so far as Buffy was concerned; in the short time she’d known him.    “Of course.  Perfectly understandable.  I’m glad Mr. Giles brought you round to meet me…Spike?”   “Uh…a nickname I picked up from the last school I was at.  Something to do with the hair…you know?  Teenagers!”   Spike rolled his eyes to indicate a general puzzlement at the actions of the young, hoping to find common ground.  She was a bit of all right this lady, well turned out and fragrant.  Yeah, she’d make a lovely meal, all lush and tasty.  He’d come back for her once he’d dealt with her daughter…   Joyce Summers smiled at the young man standing in front of her.  He was very attractive, chiseled features and deep, deep blue eyes.  His accent only enhanced his mellow and rumbling voice further.    After spending time chatting about school with Mr. Giles and finding out that Spike was quite the expert on Latin and Greek culture, the trio shared a cup of hot chocolate in the kitchen of 1630 Revello Drive – granted it was laced with brandy, deliciously comforting and soothing.  Spike was very interested in her work in the gallery and demonstrated a remarkable understanding of ethnic art.   The evening flew by, Joyce delighting in the company of two such interesting men -- as opposed to her usual evening fare of snack foods and game shows.   “Mr. Giles, I’d like to beg a favor of you if I may.  I have to go out of town tomorrow and I’d appreciate it if you could look out for Buffy.  She’s at that boundary-pushing age, and I know she’s a sensible girl really but she just sometimes…well, I don’t really know how to describe what she does.  She has a little problem following the rules.  I’ll only be gone overnight but I’d feel so much better knowing you were looking over her shoulder.”   This was so easy.  The one protector of the Slayer who would stop at nothing to see that she was out of harm’s way was leaving town…it was serendipity, that’s what it was.  Ripper told Giles to piss off and stop using such poncey language…   “Of course, Mrs. Summers.  It’ll be a pleasure.  Though how kindly Buffy will take to being babysat is another matter.”   “Oh, I’m sure you can handle her, Mr. Giles.   She listens to you, looks up to you.  I’ll be able to relax knowing you are here for her.”   “Yes. Of course I’ll be here for her.  You can count on me.”   Joyce watched as they walked off towards Giles’s battered Citroen. As she waved them off at the doorway, she felt better about going away and leaving Buffy overnight.  She’d be safe with them, she was sure of it.  They’d take good care of her.   “Have to hand it to you, Ripper.  You play the bumbling librarian to a tee.  Almost puked at the sight of you playing up to the Slayer’s mum.  What’s that all about?”   “I like her.  She’s a nice lady.  Or rather, Giles likes her.  I just want to bend her over and fuck her ‘til she screams.”   Spike raised his scarred eyebrow in acknowledgement.  “Wouldn’t say no to a bit of that myself,” he smirked.

Chapter #6 - Fill Me With Fantastic Terrors

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- This it is, and nothing more." Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~ Buffy couldn’t wait for the day to end. It’d started off badly when she’d wrenched her shoulder trying to move the dresser. Usually it would have been a one-finger deal to retrieve the earring from behind it, but today she hadn’t been able to move it at all. Then there was the drudgery of book carrying. How did normal people cope with lugging the weight of books around with them? It was impossible! All in all, by the time she dragged her weary carcass into class she was severely drained and wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep. It was only the fact that Xander kept nudging her that allowed her to listen to any words of wisdom at all. What the hell was a xylem anyway? And why did she have to draw one? Things got worse when she did the usual library visit-age after school; Giles was beyond weird, Willow was withdrawn and Xander was annoyingly perky. There hadn’t been any monster infestation for an age and she was aching for a good slay. Except, she didn’t think she’d have the strength to wield a stake. This stupid flu bug really had a hold of her. Still, once her Slayer healing kicked in, she’d be back at full strength. Watch out Sunnydale when that happened… Also, there was something a little ‘off’ about Willow. She’d reacted to a taunt from Cordelia with unusual venom and Buffy was almost sure she’d seen a flash in her eyes. As long as it wasn’t hyena possession…because that just made her skin crawl. Maybe it was just that time of the month. When she’d asked her was she okay, Willow had almost snarled at her in reply. Feeling hurt that her best friend seemed to be angry with her for no reason, Buffy had spoken to Giles to see if he’d noticed anything odd. “Well, other than the fact that – as usual – you assumed Willow will help you, without bothering to check first, no – not really. Don’t worry Buffy, she’s just feeling taken for granted. She’ll come round. I mean really – what else does Willow have to do?” Buffy had smiled weakly in response. Although she was upset that Willow didn’t feel comfortable talking to her about her feelings, part of her was annoyed with the redhead. It’s not as if she’d asked her to keep helping, in fact at first had said that she absolutely shouldn’t – nor Xander. The choice had been hers, so if she was changing her mind now…well, let her. She didn’t need her. She was the Slayer, one girl in all the world blah, blah, blah. Except that right now, sitting on the steps to gather her strength before she headed home, she really didn’t feel particularly Slayer-like. Hot and cold at the same time, aching bones and no energy, this flu bug had better shift soon or Sunnydale’s demons would be throwing a party. Still, time to slay. Better make the effort. She hadn’t asked Willow to come with this evening; of course it was the usual thing that she’d go home and then meet up with Willow and Xander somewhere along the way before heading out to slaughter the demon population, probably taking in the Bronze before or after…sometimes even during. But she’d deliberately not mentioned anything to Willow when they parted and her friend didn’t seem interested anyway. Xander was absent, having skipped the rest of school after Biology class to go to some stupid comic book convention. Well she didn’t need them, easier without really. The slayer was supposed to be alone. Except, why did it hurt her so much? Heaving her aching body to her feet she trudged home to get ready to slay. ~*~*~*~*~ “Evenin’, Red. Good day at school with all those deadbeats? Brought me a snack at all?” “No, Spike. I couldn’t care less about your diet. I’m here for Drusilla. And shouldn’t you be meeting Ripper now? You know, for the plan?” “I’m just off – keep your knickers on! And it’s my plan remember, I know what I’m doin’. Bloody women, you always think you know best.” “That’s because we do. Where is she?” “Dru? She’s giving Miss Edith her tea and whatnot, or talking to the buggerin’ stars. Your guess is as good as mine. She’s in the bedroom.” Willow swept past him, causing the vampire to assess her afresh. Gone was the shy and meek student, who jumped at her own shadow. In her place was a strong and assured woman, certain of her own power and daring anybody to mess with her; daring him. “Not bloody likely,” he muttered under his breath “I like my head just where it is, on my neck, thank you very much.” He grabbed his duster, shrugging it on as he swept out the door to disappear into the night and his meeting with Ripper. Willow ignored the muttering and carried on towards the basement of the factory to find her accomplice. “Drusilla? Drusilla?” “Oooh -- have you come to join the party? Miss Edith’s been whispering naughty words and now she will have no cake. Would you like her cake?” Willow stared at the deranged vampire who was sitting cross-legged on the bed surrounded by china dolls in various stages of dismemberment. Miss Edith, she presumed, was the one whose head had been ripped completely from its body. Interesting. “Drusilla, we’re going out, remember? We have tasks to complete, mayhem to create. You do remember?” “Oh! The Slayer! We’re going to hurt her…oh, yes please. I like that game. I remember. Do you hear that, Miss Edith? Mummy’s going out to play.” The gleeful look on Drusilla’s face was disturbing. She had the wide, trusting eyes of a child and the ivory pale features of a noble lady. But behind that visage was a deranged and vicious killer. Willow found the entire package strangely alluring and had a sudden urge to touch the vampire, kiss her, bite her. Drusilla turned to her, eyes closed as she swayed from side to side. “I can feel you, inside my head…but you want to be inside my body…don’t you?” Her eyes opened suddenly, fixing Willow with her intense gaze, before dropping her lashes to peep coyly from beneath them. She held out a pale hand, Willow grasped it before she could think further and helped her to her feet. Drusilla kept hold of her hand as she smoothed her long, white dress with the other. “Shall we go and play now? Then we can tell Miss Edith all about it later.” She bit her bottom lip between her white, even teeth and her face creased up into a beaming smile. Releasing Willow’s hand she turned to walk away then stopped and walked back to press a brief, cool kiss on her lips. The contact shot through Willow’s body like an electric shock, her eyes darkening as Drusilla danced away from her. The feeling was intoxicating and she would have more. But later, after the Slayer had been dealt with. It was time to pay a visit to Xander. Giggling and girlish, the vampire skipped after the witch, out of the factory and towards their pre-arranged meeting with Xander Harris. ~*~*~*~*~ “Ripper? You in here?” “In the back, Spike, and keep it down a bit -- it’s Mr. Giles while we’re in the school. And what are you doing here, we’re supposed to meet at the top of Revello Drive?” “Got bored. You want one?” Spike offered, sitting on the counter and lighting up a cigarette. “No, thanks. And mind the books. These occult references are vital, don’t need them getting singed.” “You ready or what? I’m itching for some action -- can’t wait to get my hands and… other bits…on her goodies.” Ripper fixed him with a steely glare. “Spike, cool it – for fuck’s sake. We’re doing this professionally. I’ll sort something else if you can’t handle it.” Spike snorted. “Oh, please! Like your bloody Slayer’s a match for me. I’ve drained two of ‘em, mate, or did you forget. It’s just she’s so…juicy and ripe. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Never crossed your unsullied mind, eh?” “Not my type. Too bloody pure of mind and spirit; wouldn’t want to be OD’ing on that anytime soon. No. But later maybe, once she’s seen the light... or should that be the dark? The vampire smirked, not if he had anything to do with it. Once Buffy Summers was messing with the dark side, he’d kill anybody else who laid a finger on her. Her torture was his to administer and he wouldn’t be needing help from anyone. The librarian settled his spectacles back on his nose and gathered up his awful tweed jacket. Noting Spike’s smirk, he spoke darkly, “Shut up, Spike. This may be the worst suit you’ve ever seen, but it’s got long pockets, plenty of room to hide the necessities to wipe the smile off your face. Just watch it!” Spike shrugged, he had better things to do than taunt the former Watcher. Like killing a Slayer…He slid off the counter and followed Ripper out of the library and into the night. When they reached Revello Drive, Ripper let himself in with the key that Joyce had given him earlier, in case of emergencies whilst she was out of town. Both of them swept through the door, Spike having confirmed to Ripper that the place was empty. Buffy would be out on her nightly slay, but the homecoming would be something out of the ordinary. Spike stifled a laugh of pure delight as he strolled through the home of the Slayer, picking up her scent everywhere he walked. He amused himself by fingering the panties in her drawers and kicking stuffed toys around the bedroom, sneering at the boy band posters adorning the walls. Such innocence prickled at his skin and made him itch. He couldn’t wait to put paid to all that purity and turn the Slayer to the dark side. The ringing of the phone jerked him back to reality and he hurtled down the stairs to listen in on the conversation. He caught Willow’s voice on the other end and smiled as he heard Drusilla cooing and singing in the background. Ripper replaced the receiver. “They’ve got Xander.”

Chapter #7 - It Was In the Bleak December

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~ Willow hung up the phone and turned to where Drusilla was swaying and dancing round the bound form of her friend. Head slumped, mouth gagged, Xander’s hands were lashed around the pillar behind him. His left eye was swollen and closed shut; his mouth bloodied from the beating the vampire had given him before dragging him to the factory. Once he’d realized that Willow had set him up to be taken down by Drusilla, he’d struggled and kicked with all his might, desperate to escape. He’d caught Willow across the cheek leaving a bright red weeping welt on the pale skin. He’d pay for that. Gliding to stand in front of her friend, she grabbed his hair and yanked him up to look at her. “So, Xander. How are you enjoying your little adventure so far? Still want to be part of Buffy’s gang? Or do you want to be part of mine?” “Will…what’s got into you?” he slurred through his damaged mouth. “Why are you doing this?” “Why? You need to ask? Tell me, Xander, do you see me now? Look at me…” Reluctantly, Xander swept his gaze over her form, one eye closed completely, the other cold and filled with loathing and hurt. Willow was clad head to foot in black leather, her slim body encased in a tight boned corset that dipped low between her breasts to show creamy white flesh spilling over the top. The red hair was sleek and glossy, eyes outlined in black kohl and blood red lips. Her legs were encased in the tightest of tight pants, flared to drape over stiletto-heeled boots. Her usually natural nails were red with white tips to match those of the mad vampire cavorting around the two of them. He had to admit it; the usual Willow garb it was not, but it was hot. His cock twitched despite himself. Hell, he was still a guy and she was leaning over towards him, all quivering breasts and girlie-smells. ‘CRACK!’ Drusilla’s slap drew his attention away from his friend’s hitherto undiscovered charms. “Naughty! Not yours to have…the pretty girl wants to play with the dollies, don’t you, Willow?” Willow curved her lips in a smile as she moved to Drusilla and pressed up against her, ensuring that Xander had clear view as she slid her tongue up the vampire’s neck then captured her moist lips in a deep kiss. She released her then turned back to face her friend, her black eyes startling him to such an extent that he tried to back away from her. “Aw, poor little Xander, feeling left out? You want some? Drusilla…why don’t you give him a special welcome.” The ethereal figure of the giggling vampire waltzed towards him before sinking to her knees and unzipping his trousers. Xander struggled, kicking out at her then stilled suddenly when Willow muttered an incantation and with a gesture he was paralyzed in a blaze of blue light. “Your choice.” she spat at him. “Drusilla, he’s all yours. It’s time I went for Angel.” She left the vampire crawling on hands and knees towards her rigid friend. ~*~*~*~*~ Buffy had had a really bad night. A newly risen vamp had jumped her in the playground and it had taken all her strength to dust him. Her breath was coming in short gasps as she limped along the sidewalk, holding her side to cradle ribs she was sure had broken in the fight. She was done. Time to head home. The vamps would still be rising tomorrow night, she’d still be the vampire slayer, and Sunnydale would still be Monster Central. She deserved a rest in bed with a little chicken soup and some hot toddy. If she knew what that was. Dammit! She remembered that her mom was out of town tonight, just when she needed some comfort and cuddles. There was nothing like a mommy cuddle when you felt ill. Oh well, Mr. Gordo would have to do. The lights were on in her house as she reached the front door. Her mom must have left them on for her before she left. It lifted her spirits a little to think that her mom had thought to do that for her. Maybe she’d left her some dinner too… Buffy fitted her key into the lock, since her usual entry via her bedroom window was a no-go in her current condition. Entering the haven of her home, she closed the door and leant back against it wearily. Maybe she’d forget about dinner and head straight to bed. She felt like she could sleep for weeks. “Buffy! You’re back! I’ve taken the liberty of laying out some supper for you.” “Giles! What are you doing…and here?” “Well, your mother asked me to keep an eye out for you while she was away and as you’ve been feeling unwell I thought I’d make sure you were eating something hearty.” “You talking to me, Ripper?” Buffy spun round to seek out the owner of the gravelly voice. She paled as she took in the peroxide hair, the leather duster, the sardonic grin, chiseled cheekbones. Spike. The way she was feeling, she doubted she could take him. “Giles! Run…go; get Willow and Xander. Go now!” She had her back to the watcher, her eyes locked on the swaggering form of the vampire in front of her. “Now, why would I do that, Buffy? And miss the show? When I’ve paid for front seat tickets?” “What did you say?” She turned to face him, her face a picture of puzzlement, her brain failing to process the words her ears heard. “I think what the watcher is sayin’, luv, is …scream…” As Spike grabbed her from behind and his fangs pierced her neck, she did exactly that. Ripper looked on with undisguised glee as Spike started to drain the Slayer, gripping her round her waist and pulling her snug against him with one arm, the other gripping her shoulders to keep her upper body flush against him. Raising his head, Spike spoke, his fangs dripping with the blood of his victim. “Off you go, Ripper. Get Angel. This is for me alone.” Ripper nodded once and left. The vampire was right. He had plans afoot and Spike could handle the Slayer on his own. As the door closed behind Ripper, Spike gathered the almost unconscious Slayer in his arms, her head lolling back helplessly and exposing her bleeding neck. He licked the twin puncture holes, reveling in the taste of her slayer blood, the slight tang of the herbal drug administered by Ripper causing his head to spin. “Gonna get us all nice and comfy, luv. No point in wasting this opportunity…” He took the stairs two at a time, kicked open the door to her bedroom and tossed her onto the bed. She looked so helpless, weak. It made his demon sing to see her stretched out and silent. It was only now that he realized she would be the first Childe he had sired. He had been content with Drusilla, bowing to her will in all things. He hadn’t known any better; but now, things would change. His demonic nature gloried in the fact that being reborn as a vampire would be the thing Buffy dreaded most, while his poetic side hoped that she would embrace the change and cling to him. He couldn’t forget the first time he’d seen her at the Bronze; halter top clinging to every curve as she gyrated to the music, hands in the air as she shimmied her hips. His cock had hardened even as he’d plotted her downfall. Even then he’d wanted her. And now he would have her. The duster flew across the room as he kicked off his boots. The shirt next, ripped off in haste, and all that remained was his jeans, the crotch under so much pressure from his rock hard erection that it would pop any second. His main mission was to turn her, his secondary, to turn her on. Never looking away from her barely breathing body, he popped the top button of his jeans and unzipped the fly. Her eyes fluttered as she registered the noise, her head turning slightly in an attempt to locate the origin of the sound. As she managed to open her eyes, she mouthed “No” as he shoved the pants down and stepped out of them. Naked and outlined by the moonlight coming through the window, his cock erect and jutting, he slowly came closer. Buffy tried to raise herself but collapsed back, her strength failing. She sobbed, the sound caught in her throat as he reached the bed and knelt at her side. “Well, well…looks like you’re in a bit of a pickle, Slayer, in your bedroom with a strange naked man. What would Mum say?” “You’re not…a…man… you…you monster,” she managed between gritted teeth, the effort of fighting blood loss and the serum causing her forehead to glisten with sweat. “That right, pet? Wanna test that theory?” He ripped open her vest, revealing her naked breasts. So, the Slayer went commando, huh? This girl had hidden depths and he was going to plunder them. She fought him, her fists flailing at his chest as he lowered his head and sucked a rosy nipple into his cool mouth. The defensive blows slowed and stopped as he licked round the hardening nub, nipping at it gently then harder as he sensed her arousal building despite her protests. He grabbed her other breast roughly in his large hand, squeezing till she cried out in pain. It made his demon howl and he bit down on the nipple, drawing her sweet blood into his waiting mouth. She wept as he suckled at her, too weak to do anything else. The helpless keening was like an aphrodisiac to him and he tore at her trousers to get at her pussy, the smell of her driving him crazy. Her body yearned for his touch, even as her mind vehemently denied it…he knew that, and that made it all the more intoxicating. He was in charge. As her mind rebelled at his actions, Buffy struggled in an attempt to escape his grabbing hands, but to no avail as she felt the trousers slide down her legs and reveal her lace-clad mound to his golden gaze. He licked his lips in anticipation before wrenching her legs apart and settling between them, his fingers bruising imprints on her thighs as he gripped her tightly. She was too weak to buck away from his tongue as it made its way up her thigh and inside the flimsy fabric, licking along her curls to find her cleft and dipping inside her heated pussy. He flicked it along her cleft, catching her clit with the pointed end and causing her luscious juices to flood his mouth despite her reluctance to participate. He could hear the blood he’d left undrained thrumming through her body as she responded to his touch, and he just had to taste her again; he turned his head away from her mound and bit down hard on her inner thigh, the blood still flowing freely and coating his teeth and tongue with its delicious tang. His cock was painfully hard now, the tip rubbing against the fabric of her bedspread as he bucked his hips seeking release. He needed more. Prowling up the bed, he took in her sweat soaked body with his golden eyes, noting with pleasure the bite marks on thigh and breast, the earlier one on her neck, the blood still slowly trickling from the wounds. He seized his cock in his left hand as he thrust two, then three, fingers deep inside her wet heat, pumping his hand in time to the rhythm he set at her groin. She was moaning deep in her throat, whether from pain or pleasure, he didn’t know or care. Either would do. He penetrated her roughly, gripping her hips to keep her in place as he fucked her hard, her head hitting the headboard with a resounding thud. She continued to cry softly, her hands fluttering around his shoulders as the pain in her virgin passage consumed her, the puncture wounds paling into insignificance as he continued to pound her into the mattress. “No, no…” she moaned. “What’s up, Slayer? You can’t tell me you don’t like this….” he thrust deep within her to demonstrate and she coiled her legs round his back despite herself. “See? Knew there was a bad girl inside those virgin knickers. You love it. I know you feel it.” He continued to buck against her, fighting down his orgasm to prolong the moment. When he felt himself peak, he stilled, wanting to see her face as he came, willing her to fall over the edge with him. With one final thrust his balls tightened depositing cool semen deep inside her as he continued to buck against her. He was thrilled when she ground against his groin, arching her back to get more contact before crying out, a guttural sound of need, as her pussy clamped down around him milking the rest of his come from his softening cock. It was time. He returned his fangs to her neck, finding the wound he’d made earlier, and sucked hungrily. The pull at her neck zinged to his cock and he hardened again, still buried deep within her passage, as he felt her heartbeat slow, slow and………falter. He bit into his wrist and pressed the jagged wound against her blue lips, trickling the blood along her mouth to encourage her to feed. There was no movement. The Slayer’s body was still beneath him, no breath inflated her chest, her heartbeat was…gone. Oh god; he’d fucked it up – he’d taken so much pleasure in the fucking and the draining that he’d taken too much. Well, fuck it! He’d bloody enjoyed it and he’d do it again. The Slayer’s pussy was so tight and hot he’d willingly lose himself in it. Ripper would have to get his vengeance another way. He jumped as his arm was suddenly clasped in the iron grip of the Slayer’s hands as she clasped his wrist against her greedily sucking mouth, dragging his blood deep inside to flow down her throat. Her eyes were fierce and glittering as she gulped the crimson fluid down, refusing to stop even as he tried to claw her hands off him. He backhanded her to stop her draining him too much, her face recoiling from the force of the blow, his blood spinning from her mouth to spatter the white bedspread. He panted needlessly, dizzy from loss of blood and amazing sex. Her body was now inert, sprawled lifeless across bed. She would need time to rise, time for her body to make the alterations so she could be reborn as a vampire. “Bugger me,” he gasped. She was a wild one, no mistake. He vaguely remembered weakly lapping at the gash Drusilla had made on her chest on the night of his salvation. But Buffy was gulping at his blood, avid for it. She’d make a worthy Childe, no bloody minion. He looked at her still form, the moonlight bathing her in silver, save for the dark marks where he’d taken her blood. And he was lost. She was a creature of the darkness, like him. She was feral and vicious and cocky. Her snarky one-liners when slaying should have told him that. If he’d had a soul, hers would be its mate. They would lay waste to populations and make love on the bodies of the innocent. Drusilla would understand. Or he would make her. Buffy was his now, his alone. He gathered his Childe to him, wrapped in the bedspread and nuzzled her hair. Laying her reverently to rest back on the bed, he settled back to keep vigil until she awoke to her new existence.

Chapter #8 - Dying Embers

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~ Willow had met up with Ripper at the library as arranged, reporting back on the situation with Xander and Buffy respectively. “I think that by now, Buffy’s no longer the vampire Slayer, but Buffy the vampire. Here’s hoping it cheers the miserable bitch up a bit.” He smiled at Willow. “Well, I’d think Xander the virgin is much happier now he’s Xander the deflowered.” At Ripper’s puzzlement, she continued. “Drusilla was a little bored so I told her to play with him. He was my friend after all; I know he’d thank me.” She looked a little hurt that Ripper would think otherwise. “Bloody right – it’s about time he had a shag, at his age! So, we go and see Angel now, yes?” “Yes. We’ll wring our hands and look all worried that Spike and Drusilla have our friend. He won’t even question us, just be the eager puppy wanting to impress Buffy. Can you imagine his face when he actually sees her?” Ripper laughed. “Fantastic! And won’t it mean that Buffy’s his great-granddaughter? It just gets better.” “Right, let’s get to it then. I’ll lead, all right? It’ll be more convincing coming from me, and you need to keep your distance in case he can sense Eyghon. No point taking unnecessary risks.” Ripper looked at Willow with adoration. She was everything and more he’d hoped for once he’d laid his plans. She’d not only accepted her new role, but reveled in it. Moving swiftly he grabbed her shoulders and locked her lips with his in a ravenous kiss. She responded by thrusting her tongue inside his mouth, wrapping it round his own as she ground her hips against him. The power flowing between the two of them caused her hair to float around her face as the link was strengthened by the sexual contact. They broke apart reluctantly, having more pressing things to deal with. The journey to Angel’s apartment was spent in silence. Willow composed herself; eyeing the clothes she’d changed back into in order to lure Angel to the factory. It was imperative that he wasn’t on the loose while Spike and Buffy got through the initial stages of the Slayer’s turning. He wouldn’t hesitate to dust the two of them and that would be a great waste and a setback to Eyghon’s plans. Reaching the door, she smoothed down the lurid purple skirt and fluffy purple and lilac sweater and knocked frenziedly, as though in a panic. Ripper, or rather Giles, hung back in the shadows. “Yes! I’m here…what is it?” Angel came to the door, bare torso gleaming in the light from the alleyway. “Willow! What’s wrong, where’s Buffy?” He was already grabbing a shirt and buttoning it quickly. “Buffy’s fine, Angel, she’s out on patrol -- but Xander…I don’t know where to look for her and Xander’s been taken by Spike and Drusilla. Please – you have to help me…please, Angel. I don’t know what to do.” She squeezed tears from her eyes, but they were tears of laughter as she looked at his heavy brow and soulful brown eyes, completely falling for her act. “Giles! Do you know where Buffy is tonight? Can we go get her?” He spotted the Watcher outside the apartment. “Sorry, Angel…there’s no time. We’ve no idea what Spike and Drusilla have planned for Xander. If anything happened to him, Buffy….” He flashed stricken eyes at the vampire before removing his glasses and bending his head to clean them. “You’re right, come on – let’s move.” The vampire grabbed his jacket and shut the door behind him, leading the way to his own doom. Ripper stifled a snigger at the look Willow shot his way, following back to the factory. As they reached the building, Willow whispered at Giles, “Hey! Do you think we should try to find Buffy, tell her what’s up?” “Good idea, Willow. You should do that, Giles. I can handle this. Really, she needs to know.” “You’re sure? Right then, I’ll be as quick as I can.” Angel and Willow slipped into the factory and made their way along the upper gallery to check out the interior. Willow knew exactly where Drusilla had Xander, but Angel would figure it out. He’d lead the way and then the trap would be sprung. She couldn’t wait. Drusilla, as if on cue, danced into their line of vision, cooing and swaying whilst communing with the stars. She retrieved a glass of water and ostentatiously held it aloft as she danced back towards the back of the factory, obviously showing the location of the hostage. Angel warned Willow to stay put as he stealthily stalked after his insane Childe. Willow stretched out from the cowed stance she’d affected as the meek and timid student. She skipped down the stairs to find her new clothes, donning her new persona as she slipped them on. Drusilla would take care of Angel now. He rounded the corner and watched, hidden by the wall, as Drusilla allowed the beaten form of Xander Harris to sip at the water. She patted him on his head and muttered some babble at him before kissing his forehead and turning around. She stiffened as she sensed the vampire, grinning to herself as she realized that the ploy had worked. “Daddy!” she shouted out. “Daddy, where are you? I’ve been a very, very bad girl and I need to be spanked.” Angel rushed her and gripped her throat in a meaty hand. “Dru -- where’s Spike?” “Spike’s gone to get a present, a lovely present all wrapped up in a girlie skin. He’ll be back soon, Daddy. Do you want to play with my new pet?” “No, Drusilla. Let him go and I won’t kill you. You get out of Sunnydale and take Spike with you. You hear me?” Drusilla laughed and twisted out of his grasp. She skittered out of reach and round the corner. Angel wasted no time in entering the room where Xander was bound and barely conscious. He didn’t notice Willow tiptoeing up behind him, muttering under her breath, her eyes black and expressionless and her hand pointing at him. As she cast the spell, he fell to the floor, limp and motionless. “Oh, that was fun, Willow! Can we do it again? Wake him up and do it again!” “No. Bind him, tightly. We don’t have time for games, Drusilla. Tie him to Xander and make sure he can’t escape. And give him this.” She handed Drusilla a syringe filled with blue liquid. Drusilla rushed to comply, her eagerness for play incongruous with her vamped out features. After the serum was administered, Willow remained hidden and removed the restraining spell. She didn’t want Angel to know of her involvement just yet; it gave her more room to toy with him. She watched from her vantage point as the vampire writhed against his bonds and realized he was now a captive also. “Drusilla…let me free!” “Bad Daddy, shhh! You have to wait for Spike; he made me promise. He’ll be cross if I let you out to play. And Miss Edith so wants to play with you….” Angel screamed in pain as the drug started to take effect. It would essentially drain him of any nutrients in his blood, making him ravenous and thirsty. It wouldn’t take long before he’d crack, need to feed. His eyes flashed blue as it continued its job and Drusilla clapped her hands with glee. She twirled off around the corner and into the arms of Willow who’d watched the process, her mouth open, eyes wide. It was working; it was very satisfying to have that power. Drusilla danced around with her, singing to herself about lambs in the blackberry patch. Willow was caught up in the moment with the joyful vampire and clasped her close, holding her raven hair in her hands and crushing her lips with her own. Cool tongue met hot as the two women rejoiced in their success. Angel’s howl of agony broke them apart, laughing. “Let’s go and watch, Drusilla. See the demon waging with the soul.” Willow led her back towards the barred cell, watching from the corner. Angel was hunched over in agony, clawing at the chains holding him to the boy. He was desperate to put some distance between himself and the tantalizing pumping of blood beneath the boy’s skin, but his mouth was watering of its own accord, his demon features already to the fore. His hands were bloodied with his efforts to escape as he waged his internal battle, soul against demon. The soul was losing. The drug he’d been given was too strong for him; he had to have blood. He shuddered as bloodlust overcame him, then reached roughly for the warm and unconscious body of Xander Harris. Sinking his fangs deep into the teenager’s neck, he drank down great gulps of blood, the liquid soothing his throat and his pain with every draught. As the hunger was sated, he raised his head and stared in horror at the very still form of the youth he’d previously sworn to help. There was only one way to help him now; his mind still clouded by the drug he rubbed a bloody wrist across Xander’s mouth smearing it with red wetness. “Well, that’s an unexpected bonus,” Willow whispered to Drusilla who was watching the scene with awe. “Yes! Yes! I’m going to have a new baby brother…all shiny, all glowin’.” Drusilla clapped her hands in glee causing her anguished sire to turn in an attempt to locate the sound. His vampire visage faded as he noticed for the first time exactly what he was doing. He’d acted instinctively, just wanting to save the boy. Instead he’d damned him forever. Angel’s eyes were spilling over with tears, the blood he’d taken from the young man in his arms still smearing his lips, the pain and guilt smearing his soul. “Drusilla!” he screamed. “Why? Why did you do this?” Willow nodded at the female vampire, urging her on from her hidden vantage point to go and taunt the tortured and broken Angel. Drusilla skipped forwards, shushing her sire with a finger on her lips. “Bad Daddy! You’ll wake the baby…shhhhh!” Angel looked again at Xander’s pale and lifeless body, the mouth slack now and red with sire’s blood. The transformation to vampire would happen soon enough, then the innocent young face would be twisted and evil, the soul gone and replaced by a demon. “What have I done to you?” he whispered softly, cradling the curly brown head in his lap and stroking the cooling features gently. Angel made his mind up that he wouldn’t subject Xander to the hell of life as a vampire, would dust him before he arose. Angel was a Master vampire, strong enough to decapitate his soon-to-be fledgling with his bare hands. It was all that he could do to make amends. He placed a reverent kiss on Xander’s smooth brow then began to throttle him with two meaty hands, crushing flesh and bone in an attempt to remove his head. “Ah, ah, ah Daddy – you’ll break him. He’s a new dolly, got to be gentle.” Angel continued to squeeze, ignoring the screeches from Drusilla, her ineffectual clawing at his hands. Suddenly, he was ripped forcibly from Xander’s body and flung against the far wall by an unseen force, the collision enough to knock him out. Willow’s leather-clad form rounded the corner. She kicked at the still figure of Angel as he was slumped against the wall, finishing her prodding to see if he was conscious with a vicious kick to his head, splitting his temple and spattering her boots with his blood. Her ebony eyes were cold and mirthless as she stepped over Angel to squat at the side of her oldest and best friend. Willow took in every inch of his dead body, the bite mark on his neck, the blood on his lips, the slightly open eyes. She leaned towards him, snaking out her tongue to lap at the drying blood. “Mmm, salty,” she murmured as she got to her feet. She held out her hand to the keening vampiress who was crouched over Angel’s crumpled carcass, stroking his high forehead with her pale hands. “Drusilla…. come, we have plans to make. Ripper needs to be told that instead of a corpse we have a convert.” Reluctantly, Drusilla left her Sire in the cell with the boy. ~*~*~*~*~ Angel awoke to the feel of a rough tongue lapping at his hand. He struggled to focus, the drug he’d been given still lying in his redundant bloodstream. What was licking him? He opened his eyes and sat up, freezing as he noted Xander’s kneeling figure and drawing back in horror as the fledgling gazed lovingly at his Sire. Oh god, what had he done? Buffy would never understand this; never forgive him. He’d never forgive himself. He had to get out of here, find Giles, and see if he could do anything about this disaster. He stilled as Xander continued placing kisses along his forearm, his biceps and up to his neck. The rough, cool tongue of his newest descendant affected him despite his revulsion. He felt his cock twitch as the demon inside him basked in the adoration and worship offered by the newly arisen vampire who owed him his very existence. He didn’t have time for this. Spike and Drusilla had obviously planned something major. He had to protect Buffy, warn her. And Giles and Willow. None of them were safe. He had to get free. But as he locked his piercing gaze with Xander’s, he wanted to dominate him and teach him what it meant to be a vampire. His Childe had risen; he’d failed to save him the pain of losing his soul and he wouldn’t abandon him now. Feeling the brow ridges slide into place and his fangs descend, he gave into his primal urges and bent his head to bite down hard on the making mark he’d left earlier.

Chapter #9 - Vainly I had Sought to Borrow

Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~ Spike had every intention of staying in the slayer’s room until she had risen, but Joyce’s words about only being gone for the one night came back to him. Not knowing how long it would be before the slayer woke; he decided to take her someplace private. And although he was evil to the core, he didn’t fancy his girl’s first meal being her own mother. Back when he’d been newly risen, he’d turned his mum – but that had been in an attempt to heal her, keep her by his side. It hadn’t turned out well and he’d ended up staking her. Once Buffy was awake, if she wanted to come back and off her mum, he surely wouldn’t stop her. He dressed quickly and bundled the pliant body of his Childe into the bedspread, easily lifting her over his shoulder as he made his way down the steps and out into the night. If Ripper’s plan had gone smoothly, he wouldn’t have to worry about chance meetings with Angel or the slayer’s pals as he searched for a place for the two of them to rest. ~*~*~*~*~ Reluctantly, Angel pulled away from his newest creation – one made in haste and guilt – and struggled to rise. “Sire,” Xander whined plaintively, his fangs adding a decided lisp to his voice. Angel ignored him and crossed to the door of the cell, desperate to get it open and escape the nightmare that his life had suddenly become. He had to warn Buffy and the others ... if it wasn’t already too late… He struggled with the door in vain. There were no visible locks, yet vampiric strength was no match for it. He was well and truly trapped until Drusilla returned. Resting his forehead against the door, he sighed uselessly, helpless to do anything to save the others. So caught up in his misery and self-loathing, it took Angel a moment to realize that his Childe had stood and was attempting to press himself against him. “Sire,” he whispered. This time, the husky timbre of Xander’s voice left no doubt as to the meaning behind that simple word. Angel turned, gazing down at the young man standing so close to him – too close. Xander licked his lips; ravenous with a new craving; all he wanted was a taste, something to tide him over. The brief sips of Sire’s blood that he’d received earlier had helped to quench the overwhelming hunger he’d felt upon waking, but even now he could feel it gnawing at his insides. His demon screamed for blood. “Please,” he whined, not above begging and groveling. Xander licked his lips in anticipation when he heard the elder vampire sigh again and reluctantly offer his wrist. He grasped the proffered limb reverently; if he were good enough, bit him just so, maybe he’d get more than blood. That thought caused his cock to strain against the gaudy pants he currently sported. His eyes never left his Sire’s as he brought the wrist to his mouth. He felt a slight thrill when the other vampire didn’t look away, just watched as he oh so gently sank his fangs into the flesh. Angel winced at the initial piercing, then groaned as a wave of lust rushed through his body. God, how he missed this! Then, Xander was pressing his body into his own, their erections grinding against each other, and Angel wanted to cry in frustration. ‘No! Not anymore. I’m better than this!’ Abruptly, he shoved the newly risen vamp away, the force of which sent him crashing against the far wall. God, he had to get out of there fast! He returned to his fruitless attempts of opening the door to his prison. He needed to get away…warn Buffy and the others. He had to get away from the temptations of his newly turned Childe. Xander lay where he fell, not wanting to anger his Sire even more. He didn’t understand why the elder vampire wouldn’t take him…hell, he was practically begging him for it and he could sense Angel’s arousal. Yet, there he stood, banging on the door as if his unlife depended on it. He got warily to his feet and moved towards the door as he attempted to get back into his Sire’s good graces. Apparently, the elder vamp wanted out of the room. Maybe he could help. Angel heard Xander approach and backed away. If he were to touch him again, Angel didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from showing the fledgling just what it meant to be a vampire. With narrowed eyes, he watched as Xander walked towards the door and easily opened the portal. Magic. It had to be. Whoever had sealed the door had prevented him from opening it – but not Xander. Xander watched the excitement light the elder’s features as he glanced at the open doorway. He didn’t move as Angel walked towards him, just watched with amber-tinged eyes and pressed back against the wall, apprehensive. Before he had time to register it, Xander found himself shoved hard against the wall, his head yanked to one side by hands fisted in his hair. “Me thanks, boy,” Angel murmured, his voice heavily accented with Irish brogue, before his sank his fangs deep in the younger vampire’s neck. He angled his body so that their engorged cocks crushed together as he took a few long pulls from his Childe. Xander whimpered in pain-pleasured arousal and tried to deepen the contact, his arm slipping around the taller man’s neck to hold him closer still. Then lips were removed from his neck and he thrilled as his sire’s tongue gently lapped at the fresh wound he had made. “Stay,” Angel whispered against his neck. “Dru’ll look after ye. Don’t make me hafta kill ye if I happen to come across ye.” Then Angel pushed himself away from the boy and quickly left. Xander for his part was too weak – from both arousal and the loss of blood – and could do nothing more than sink to floor inside the cell. ~*~*~*~*~ She awoke to feel a raging hunger gnawing at her insides. She wanted to get up and ease the ache tearing at her, but realized that her hands were shackled. Looking around for the source of her torment, her amber gaze locked on the lean shadow slowly moving towards her. She sniffed the air as her keen hearing took in the sounds of the darkened room. “Evenin', pet,” the shadow murmured. Her gaze turned away from the slight mewling coming from the far corner and locked on the shadow again. She moistened her lips in anticipation. Sire. “Hungry?” Buffy couldn’t speak, could only nod as his naked body gleamed in the patch of moonlight shining down through the ceiling windows. Her eyes locked on his jutting cock, and widened in expectation. “Something you want, luv,” he taunted, his hand fisting around the base of his erection before slowly sliding out towards the tip. His thumb brushed over the head and collected the few drops of precum leaking from the slit. The growl came out of nowhere, and Buffy was surprised that it was from her. Her head lifted from the bed as she strained to taste the outstretched digit – her prize…the wetness of her Sire’s essence held suspended on his thumb. “Yeah…don’t you just,” Spike smirked as he sat down on the side of the bed and extended his hand towards her mouth. “No biting now,” he warned. Buffy nodded, her tongue darted out to lap at his finger, the taste of him flooding her mouth and causing her to crave more. Her lips closed over his thumb, her tongue swirling around over and over again as she continued to suck – the pearly drop soon consumed, but she still held that precious digit in her mouth – unwilling to let go. “Oh yeah…you definitely do, baby,” he growled encouragingly as he slipped his thumb from between her lips and trailed it down along her naked torso. His amber gaze glittered in the moonlight as he watched her nipples harden at the gesture. She was a prize – his golden Childe – and he knew just how to…appreciate her. Ignoring the whimpering coming from the corner of the room, Spike climbed onto the bed and situated himself between the slayer’s parted thighs. The brief taste he’d had of her before the turning had just barely whetted his appetite. Now…now she would welcome the pain he’d delivered before, crave it as much as he did. No holds barred. As if sensing what was about to come – avid for it – she spread her legs wider, exposing the hidden nubbin within. Spike thought about flicking his tongue over it, tasting her…but right now, his cock was screaming to be buried so deep within her pussy that he could touch her womb. From the writhing she was doing on the bed beneath him, she didn’t seem to want the foreplay either. As he positioned his cock at her opening, her legs came up to encircle his body, locking him in place. Then he thrust…hard, sparing her no time for her body to adjust. Just slammed into her quim with the force of his pent-up desire. She didn’t object. In fact, the harder he pounded her body, the wetter she became. Snarls and hisses emanated from her throat as he thrust in and out of her slick passage. The steel manacles cut into her wrists as she struggled against their bonds. She wanted to hold him close, dig her claws into his back hard enough to draw blood…she had to touch him. But, right now she was being denied. It frustrated her as much as it excited her. Spike had the right of it. She did like this. Gloried in this…this freeness that only happened at her death by his hands. The grip about his back tightened, increasing the angle of his thrusts. This wild mating was driving her crazy…she could feel her body tightening up like it had before and knew she was about to… God, she just needed him to touch her clit and she’d soar… The thought produced the action. Spike gazed down at the slayer…only no longer a slayer, his…only his. She was glorious. Her head thrown back on the brink of ecstasy, her hands reaching for him, heedless of the wrists clamped in steel handcuffs so hard that her skin had broken and blood was starting to ooze from the wounds. It was the smell of it that got to him. His hands gripped her hips as he pounded into her, finesse would have to wait. With a growl he came, his cock spurting his release into her channel. The name of his Childe escaped his lips as he continued to move in her welcoming body, and as an afterthought, he removed one hand from her hip to give her clit a vicious twist and nearly came again as her inner muscles clamped down on his cock as orgasm overtook her. “Spiiiiiiiiiiiike,” she shrieked as she came. She wanted to hold him to her as her body shuddered, and the handcuffs finally gave way, the metal rings dangling from her wrist like so much jewelry, and Spike just had to chuckle. Oh, she pleased him mightily. Finally, someone who could match him in his passion. For so long he’d catered to his own Sire, her weakness and sometimes almost childlike innocence. Now he had someone more like him. A warrior, a natural predator of the night. He allowed himself to be pulled down into her embrace; she’d earned it after all. If she hadn’t broken free, he wouldn’t have let her feed from him just yet, would have made her do with second best. But, since she’d managed to show her superior strength…and her desire to use it, he allowed her to have him. His blood. Tilting his head to the side, he exposed his neck to her, encouraging her to take her first bite. When her fangs pierced his neck, his cock hardened again. Slowly he began to move within her as she drank from him. She didn’t take much – as the sensation of him sliding in and out of her overcame her desire to feed. Releasing his neck with a moan, she slowly licked the fresh wounds closed. This was what life was really about. No worries, no cares, no destiny of dying young. Just her and her Sire…together like this for all eternity.

Chapter #10 - Nameless Here For Evermore

From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore- For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore- Nameless here for evermore. Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~ Bodily desires satisfied, the two stole out into the night: Spike was eager for her to get her first kill under her belt – they’d left the whimpering girl chained to the wall for later. With her residual slayer skills, she quickly adapted to the hunt, and she’d been thrilling in her kill – taking to being a predator with a swiftness that surprised even him. When her head rose from her victim and he’d seen the drops of blood coating her lips, he almost came on the spot. Then, her tongue darted out to lick at the stray smear as she dropped the man she had just drained. He couldn’t help himself; he rushed towards her, slamming her body hard up against the nearest tree as he ground against her. The kill had enflamed her senses and she quickly unfastened his jeans, letting his hardened cock spring free. She hadn’t bothered with underwear, and her short skirt made it easy for him to position himself and push inside. He took her against the tree, uncaring of anybody that may happen by and notice them. Buffy hadn’t cared either; she grunted and groaned, reveling in his possession, her legs locked about his waist as she held him close. Her tongue played about his neck, steadily driving him crazy as he had continued to pump his cock into her slick channel. Without warning, she struck, her fangs plunging deep into his neck, drawing Sire’s blood into her eager mouth. He hadn’t even cared that she’d taken without asking; the sweet pain of her bite had been heaven. He pinned her to the tree as he plunged deep one last time, spending himself within her pussy. He growled at her, his face shifting so that he could return the favor. Her head tilted as she continued to sip from him, drawing out his orgasm, as his own fangs sank deep into her neck to bring her off. He felt her inner walls quiver around his cock and he almost came again at the sensation. After the last shudder racked her body, she removed her mouth from his neck and lovingly licked the wounds closed. They stayed that way for a bit, each nuzzling the other’s neck as they leaned against the tree trunk. After a while, Spike pulled out of her, urging her to unwrap her legs from around his back so she could once more stand on her own feet. “Up for a bit more fun, pet?” he asked, watching as she smoothed her short skirt back into place. “Oh, yeah…baby!” ~*~*~*~*~ Buffy lay on her stomach in the late afternoon hours, feelings of contentment washed over her as she felt her Sire start towards her. She felt a slight dip in the bed and groaned in anticipation as her legs were nudged apart and Spike entered her from behind. Her back arched into him, exposing the marks that had made her his forever, and she nearly came right then as his mouth descended and latched on to it, his fangs deep as he pulled her blood into his mouth. She’d come to crave this over the past few days, this intense connection she felt whenever he drank from her, the sense of belonging was unlike anything she’d ever felt. Before, she was just a slayer, destined to die young – now the possibilities were limitless. If she had known that unlife was like this…well, unlife with Spike, she would have offered herself up to him the minute they met. Spike tore his mouth from her neck, trickles of her blood dripped down his chin. He rose to his knees behind her, his hands on her waist lifting her ass as he went so that he could plunge himself deeper into her body. She eagerly complied, rising on all fours in front of him. His grip about her hips tightened, until the scent of blood reached their nostrils. Both moaned as the heady copper smell wafted over them. The pace of his thrust increased until the bed started to creak. Beneath him, Buffy moaned and keened her pleasure; she was a wildcat, his golden goddess. He didn’t know why he had never considered turning her before. Until Ripper had approached him, his only thought had been to kill her and drain her dry. Now, he had eternity to spend with her. He pulled out of her slick pussy, and before she had time to protest, he flipped her to her back, and surged back into her. She wrapped her legs around his back, increasing the angle of his thrusts. He lifted one hand to trail along the ridges of her brow – an extremely erogenous zone now that she was a vampire. “Sire…Spike,” she whispered on a sigh. She loved the violence of his mating, reveled in it – in fact – but, when his tenderness peeked out from beneath his “Big Bad” exterior, she was undone. Her body convulsed around his girth, urging him to join her in release. A few hard thrusts and he surged back into her depths one last time, coming in rapid bursts. Spike finally collapsed on top of her, nuzzling her neck…and the thought that drifted through Buffy’s mind before sleep over came her was that she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. ~*~*~*~*~ The two had traveled beyond the boundaries of Sunnydale those first few days, not wanting anyone to realize that Buffy was now a vampire – and they damn sure didn’t need Angel finding out and ruining their fun. Spike had left it to Ripper to explain her absence; not really caring one way what he decided to tell the wanker. They’d reveled in the hunt as soon as night beckoned, only retreating once the sun’s deadly rays threatened to overtake them. Once ensconced inside their “borrowed” digs, the two had filled the hours discovering how best to pleasure each other. She was a natural, his golden goddess, and he would never tire of her body – could barely stand to be away from it, if the truth were known. After they had been gone for nearly a week, Spike decided it was time to return to Sunnydale. He and Ripper had plans that needed to be put into motion, and he felt that Buffy would be able to handle herself among the other vampires – not that anyone would dare touch her. She was his, and his alone. It surprised him, the fierce protectiveness he experienced at the thought of anyone harming his Childe. As the sunlight bowed to the coming night, Spike loaded up his Desoto, and together, the two returned to the Hellmouth. ~*~*~*~*~ Spike swaggered into the factory, Buffy’s hand held securely in his. The look on his face dared anyone to comment about the new addition to the family. Most of the minions were smart – they stared in awe that he was able to turn a slayer, rather than outright killing one. Drusilla watched the pair as they walked in, but she kept her distance, realizing that the bond between the two was strong, and she didn’t want her Spike to have to worry about his divided attention. She could wait…for now, even though she did miss her sweet boy. The news she had to impart could wait until they had returned from getting a bite to eat. Looking at him, she could tell that he was famished. Siring a new Childe took a lot – literally, a lot of blood – out of you. Spike’s eyes locked with his Dru’s and he breathed an unnecessary sigh of relieve that she wasn’t going to force a confrontation. Buffy needed him right now; Dru was a master vampire in her own right, and with her thrall – along with her seeming psychic abilities – she could keep the other minions in line for him. He passed by his Sire, placing a chaste kiss to her cheek – at which Buffy had to struggle to control her possessive growl – before leading his Childe off to his room. They quickly deposited their things before stealing out into the night for a late night dinner. Buffy led him away from the known slayer routes, instead choosing an out-of-the-way place for the two to dine. Once sated, they wasted no time in returning to the factory and falling into an exhausted slumber. ~*~*~*~*~ A week earlier… Angel stole out of the factory and into the night. His inner demon was practically clawing at his insides at the impending dawn, and raced the rising sun back to his apartment. Speaking with Giles would have to wait until nightfall. ~*~ It was luck that Ripper was actually at the library in his office when the announcement came over the speakerphone that he had a telephone call. He’d decided until all the pieces were in play, he’d maintain his “Giles” persona. He still had hopes of bring Miss Calendar into the fold, but while she had stated that she’d forgiven him his “temporary possession,” she’d given the librarian and the others a wide berth. Oh well…she could wait. She was secondary to his plans of mayhem and destruction. Maybe after he’d taken over the Council…maybe not. He’d just have to see if an opportunity presented itself. Well, he was getting a little ahead of himself. He had some tasks to finish up in Sunnydale first. “Hullo,” he answered in his best imitation of a stuttering-Giles voice. “Mr. Giles?” “Yes, this is Mr. Giles. How may I help you?” “Mr. Giles, it’s me… Joyce - Buffy’s mother.” ‘Of course it is, you daft woman!’ “Yes, Joyce. And, please, it’s Rupert. What can I do for you?” “Well…I hate to bother you…but well, my trip has been extended for a few days…and, well…I was hoping that you could keep an eye out on Buffy for a little while longer. Oh…never mind. I’ll just tell them that I’ve got to come home.” “Oh, no, Joyce. I’d be happy to. You take care of what you need to do. I’ll look out for Buffy while you’re gone. No trouble a'tall.” “Oh, thank you, Mr. Giles… I mean…Rupert. I’ll see you in a few days.” Ripper hung up the office phone and leaned back in his chair. This bit of news may actually work to his benefit. At least with Joyce out of the way, he didn’t have to worry about having the slayer’s mom wondering where her daughter was. He smiled, a dark sinister smile that revealed the demon housed within as he templed his fingers in front of his mouth. ‘This could really work to our advantage…’ ~*~*~*~*~ As soon as it was nightfall, Angel was out of his apartment and on his way to the Watcher’s house. He had to tell him about Spike and Drusilla’s plans…and his fears for Buffy and the others. He wrestled with telling Giles about Xander, but decided to hold back that information for now. As long as his Childe stayed away from Buffy and her friends, he would be safe. Guilt over his actions weighed heavily on his soul, and he didn’t want to add another checkmark in the column of “the bad things Angel has done.” So, explain Spike’s evil plans, leave out Xander’s turning…yeah, he had everything under control. Angel arrived at Giles’ place in no time and set to pounding on the door. “Alright, alright…I'm coming... don't get your fucking knickers in a twi--" His snarky comment was cut off as he got a look at his visitor. “Angel!” The vampire raised a quizzical brow at the Watcher over his snappy choice of phrasing, but didn't say anything...too caught up in his worry about Buffy to bother paying much notice to the misstep of Ripper. “Giles…have you seen Buffy? Something’s happened.” Ripper made a sound, somewhere between a grunt and a noise of encouragement. “Buffy? Aaah… yes, Buffy. Actually, I got a call from Joyce at the library today. Apparently, she had to go out of town for a week and decided to take Buffy with her - last minute thing - and she wanted me to get her daughter’s assignments. I was hoping you’d stop by so I could let you know that I’d need you to patrol for a few days,” he improvised. God! He really needed to get to Hollywood. “Oh, thank God! After I was attacked…I just wasn’t sure. I had to make sure she…you…were all okay. And, maybe it would be best if I patrolled alone for a few days…at least until this latest scheme of Spike and Drusilla’s blows over.” “Yes…yes, of course. I’ll be sure to mention it to Willow and Xander.” Angel cringed at the boy’s name, but just nodded at the watcher. Maybe with him patrolling alone, he could assure himself that Xander had minded his warning. And if not… Well, it wouldn’t be the first time that he had killed one of his own. ~*~*~*~*~ Present day… Angel woke from a sound sleep and knew instinctively that the sun was about to set. Buffy was due home today and he was anxious to warn her about Spike and Dru’s evil plans…and…somehow break it to her that Xander was no longer among the living. He’d not seen the watcher or Buffy’s friends all week; they’d apparently taken his warning to heart and not ventured out after dark. Vaguely he wondered if the others had noted Xander’s absence and what…if anything, they thought of it. There was no help for it; he’d have to tell the others. He was halfway to Buffy’s place – having taken the shortcut through the cemetery – when he caught a whiff of something familiar. Spike. He’d not seen his devious Grandchilde this past week, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Spike was not one for patience, and for him to now exercise that trait could only mean trouble. But why was he about now? Surely the other vamp would know that he could smell him if he were to get close enough. Why now? Turning away from Buffy’s house, Angel began to track him. ~*~ Spike hadn’t planned on tipping his hand to Angel just yet, but the poof had been told that Buffy was due back from wherever it was that she had supposedly gone with her mum, and he would rather have his Grandsire follow him than learn that Buffy wasn’t going to be back…was in fact waiting for him back at the factory. Just the thought of the golden-haired vision waiting eagerly for his return caused his jeans to cut painfully across his groin. To be honest, he couldn’t wait to get home…back to her. Had it only been a week since he’d made her…taken her from her bleak existence as the Chosen One and given her immortality? He quickened his pace, not caring if Angel followed or not. It was time to spring his trap, get his plans set in motion…time to leave this hellhole and show Buffy the world. He grinned in anticipation. Soon… ~*~ Angel kept the blond vampire in sight and watched as he made his way back to the factory. “What are you up to?” he murmuring into the quiet, crawling onto a crate so that he could gain a better vantage point. What he saw shocked him to the core, and he fell over backwards, landing in a pile of garbage as he crashed onto the ground. Buffy. His beloved, Buffy. She was clinging to him. Spike. Dressed in skintight leather pants and an almost transparent flimsy excuse for a top, she’d thrown herself at him – her legs clamping around his hips as she hauled him close for a kiss. Angel got to his feet, brushing off the bits of garbage that clung to his clothes. He needed to look again…maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him. After all, the room he’d been locked in had been sheathed in magic. Maybe this was some type of glamour spell… something only his worst nightmares could conjure up so that he would rush headlong to her rescue – only it wouldn’t be Buffy. Just someone made to look like her. But, as he got a second look, his face fell. The four of them sat together – Dru, Spike, Buffy, and Xander – and she didn’t seem to be afraid. In fact, she looked right at home, nestled against Spike’s side as she was, Xander sandwiched on her left. Then she did something that went beyond anything he could conceive. He watched helplessly as Spike put his wrist in front of her lips, smiling down at her indulgently. Her face shifted and Angel could do nothing but gape in horror as the slayer…former slayer…latched onto his Grandchilde’s wrist and drank. Some small part of him knew…knew Spike had sired someone. But, his grief over having turned Xander prevented him from grasping the finer points of that bond. Instead, he’d been completely caught unaware by the implications of Buffy being in the other vampire’s presence. Dejectedly, he turned away from the window and made his way to the Watcher’s house. He had to let Giles know that Buffy was gone; that a new slayer had probably been called. ~*~*~*~*~ “Do you think he saw,” Xander asked no one in particular. “Yeah, mate…he saw. And if I know the poofter, he’s on his way to Ripper’s right now. What say we go surprise him…”

Chapter #11 - Silken Sad Uncertain Rustling

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~ The foursome strolled in the darkness of Sunnydale, masters of their territory. Spike led, holding Buffy by the hand, his leather swirling out behind him as he strode towards Ripper’s pad. His eyes swept over Buffy’s outfit appreciatively, the leather pants clinging to her like a second skin, her nipples clearly outlined under the flimsy top. “Nice togs, pet. Tryin’ to get me going?” “I have to try? I’m crushed!” Playful Buffy was a delight; her enjoyment of her new status had transformed her. Gone was the whiny, self-centered girl, submerged completely by the hedonistic and vicious vampire who loved and killed with a passion that eclipsed many older vampires he knew. He laughed, a deep rumble in his chest, and swept her up to spin her round before kissing her and setting her back on her feet. Drusilla looked on with dark, downcast eyes. The pairs’ obvious and deepening affection for each other was beginning to wear on her. She’d been prepared to give him time to raise his Childe, break her to the vampire way, before reasserting her claim on him. But instead of a cowering and obedient demon, Buffy was an equal, Spike’s equal. A rival. She began to sing softly to herself to keep at bay the visions that crowded her head, visions of Spike wrapped in golden hair, eyes full of adoration. That look should be hers. It would be again; she’d bide her time but he would be her Spike. The stars whispered… Xander looked around him with enhanced eyesight; everything looked new, sharper, more defined. He could hear heartbeats, breathing, as they passed through the main street and he struggled to restrain himself from rushing into the crowds and tearing them apart. He wasn’t in full control of his demon yet, but Spike had taken over his instruction in place of his absent Sire and he could at least now repress his vampire features until he wanted them to show. Still, with all that warm, pumping blood so near, it wasn’t easy… Spike turned to check on Xander. He knew this would be a big challenge for the new vampire, the first time he’d been among so much humanity. He flashed his adopted Childe a reassuring glance, nodding slightly in approval as the youngster had managed to retain his human façade. He frowned as he noticed Drusilla muttering to herself, her head down. She was off, his Princess; something was bothering her. He knew what it was…he just didn’t want to do anything about it. He still cared for her; she was his Sire after all, his savior, but what he had with Buffy was different, more intense. Buffy matched him in everything; they were a perfect pair. And just as Spike had always come second to Angelus with Drusilla, Drusilla would have to learn to come second to Buffy with him. He’d deal with it, later, after he’d dealt with Angel. He stopped suddenly, eyes closed, head back as he sniffed the air. Angel was near; they should change direction in order to be waiting for him. He upped the pace, the others following. ~*~*~*~*~ “Giles! Giles! It’s Angel…open up, I need to talk to you.” He was hammering on the door, his fist almost bloody with the impact. “Yes, yes…I’m here…hold on.” Ripper turned back to check that his four visitors were hidden from view before turning on the light and opening the door. He affected a flustered look, his hair ruffled, his spectacles awry. “What on earth is it, Angel? What’s happened?” “Giles, I don’t know how to tell you this…maybe you should sit down. Hell, I know I need to.” “What is it? Come on, man, you’re scaring me now.” Ripper had to keep tight hold of his mocking laughter as Angel’s heavy brow crinkled with concern, his brown eyes full of tears and empathy, the struggle to speak evident. “It’s Buffy,” he whispered. “Spike and Drusilla…they…she’s gone, Giles.” “She’s dead?” Ripper tried to inject as much incredulity into his voice as he could, struggling to stifle the building laughter. For added effect, he hung his head and whipped off the spectacles to dangle from his fingers. “Worse. She’s a vampire.” Ripper stood, turning his back on the hunched form of Angel and walking towards the kitchen. He allowed his mouth to curve into a wide smile as he met up with his allies. They were all enjoying the show and Angel’s grief was clouding his senses to their presence, for now. Ripper grabbed a bottle of scotch and two glasses before slipping his Giles mask back in place as he returned to the living room. He even allowed a tear or two to slip down his cheeks. “Angel, are you absolutely certain? Tell me what happened.” He handed him a glass and Angel gratefully downed the fiery liquid before relating his experiences in the factory. Ripper listened, shocked concern and grief etched on his features. “I don’t know what to say, Angel. I’m just devastated. I can’t believe this has happened. I don’t know what I’m going to tell her mother.” “Yeah, poor Joyce; I don’t know how she’ll cope with…wait…” Angel was looking at Ripper quizzically. “You said she was out of town with her mom.” “Hmm, yes, but obviously she came back.” “But, you said Joyce called you, told you Buffy was with her..….” “Bugger.” Ripper stood up then tossing the glass he held away from him. Angel was backing away, taking stock. “Giles…what is this, what’s going on?” Angel flared his nostrils as he picked up a familiar scent. He growled, fists balled, as Spike came to stand behind Ripper. “So the game’s up, mate. Well, it was fun while it lasted. What’s up, Angel? You seem a bit upset? Eaten someone that didn’t agree with you? Or maybe it’s just…this.” Spike beckoned to Buffy to come to him. She sauntered to stand beside him, twining her fingers in his and meeting his passionate kiss with equal fervor. She looked at her first love and felt only a vague connection to him, a link of blood through her Sire. He was nothing to her. “See, it seems that Buffy here’s traded up. She’s mine now, Angel, all mine. You don’t get to lay a finger on her. Isn’t that right, pet?” Spike turned to Buffy, grabbing her flush against his body as he allowed his fangs to descend. She looked up at him with worship in her eyes, tilting her head in acquiescence as he bit down hard on her exposed neck. Her fingers crushed his shoulders, her own fangs elongating as he suckled and licked at the wound he’d made. The two were becoming oblivious to the other occupants of the room as they lost themselves in each other again. Angel’s roar of anger as he vamped out and rushed at them brought them back to reality. He was no match for the pair, though, and they restrained him easily, Buffy laughing at his discomfort and his pain. This was so much fun! At Spike’s nod to her unspoken question, she pushed Angel flat on his back and straddled his waist. Ripper held on to one clenched fist, Spike the other. Buffy wriggled in an effort to arouse him, her small, pink tongue darting out from between her fangs as she leant towards his mouth. She stopped, inches away; as Spike growled a warning, Buffy flashing her Sire a sidelong look. “What’s the matter, Angel? You don’t like me this way? I don’t believe you…ah, there we are…you’re packing some equipment below the belt…pity I have my own toy…and mine’s a whopper!” She grinned, delighted at her taunts. Spike rolled his eyes; her punning abilities hadn’t made the leap from slayer to vampire. “Get off of him, honey. Drusilla…come play with Daddy.” Drusilla stepped out of the kitchen, her long dress sweeping the floor. She knelt beside Angel, cooing softly, “Bad Daddy to run off like that! Miss Edith was very cross with you. I had games to play….” Spike released Angel, leaving him to Dru’s mad ministrations. He swept Buffy up into his arms and strode out, needing to get inside her to wipe from his mind the memory of her almost kissing Angel and his reaction to it. As Spike and Buffy left, the sounds of Angel’s anguished screams and Ripper’s maniacal laughter followed them. ~*~*~*~*~ “He fucking got away? But you had him at your mercy, Dru? You gone soft?” Spike was enraged, kicking at minions in his way and laying waste to glassware as he rampaged through the factory. “He took me by surprise, my Spike. Daddy’s tricky…he slipped away through my fingers…” Drusilla was swaying as she spoke, lost in the madness of her own mind again. “Oh I give up, you stupid bint. Xander, what happened?” “He just overpowered her, Spike. I couldn’t do anything, he was too strong. And Ripper was knocked out cold when Angel threw him at the wall. I tried…” Spike’s incandescent fury wasn’t abating. The only way to work this off was fighting and fucking. Grabbing Buffy’s hand and dragging her along he set off into the night to slaughter innocents. ~*~*~*~*~ Spike and Buffy were becoming obsessed with each other to the exclusion of all else. Each day was the same; come sunrise the vampire and the former slayer would roll back into the factory, their bloodlust sated but their lust for each other out of control. Before the door had closed behind them they were clawing at each other, clothing ripped away in haste as their need to feel flesh on flesh overwhelmed their senses. Tonight was no different. Drusilla watched from the shadows as the two blondes pawed at each other, skin flushed from their recent feeding and the waves of arousal assaulting her senses. She slid further back against the wall as they passed, cradling Miss Edith to her bony chest and keening softly as she felt her Spike drifting further away out of her reach. “Burning baby fishes, all covered with Slayer…my Spike…bad dog…” She was rocking herself, eyes closed, as her mind drifted off in an attempt to block the sound and smell of her lover fucking her until she screamed. Her movements were becoming more frantic, her head shaking from side to side as she hummed along to her own inner symphony. A warm hand stroking her cheek stilled her movements. “Drusilla…shh, shhh now…don’t fret. Come with me.” Blue eyes met green, the vampire content to be led away by the witch, intrigued by the veiled promise hidden in her gaze. “Pretty witch…all black inside…are your entrails black too? Can I see them?” Willow dragged Drusilla away from the sounds of breaking furniture and rapture, intending to distract her before she lost control. But as she caressed the cool skin, her green eyes were eclipsed by black, the baby-faced innocence replaced by wanton lust as the darkness inside her craved the kiss of the demon inside the vampire. She pressed the dark-haired woman up against the wall, crushing her lips in a bruising kiss and darting her warm tongue into the cool cavern of her mouth. Drusilla responded in kind, wrapping her tongue around the warmth and sucking it further in. Her delicate hands snaked into Willow’s hair, fingers twirling the silken strands as she pulled the girl closer against her. It felt good to be held, even if the body heat and gender was wrong. But sometimes soft, warm flesh and the swell of a breast felt just a good under the tongue. The sounds of frenzied fucking provided arousing accompaniment to the scene now taking place between the two females. Willow had initiated the kiss, but Drusilla was the teacher, Willow very much the student in this heated embrace. The feel of another woman’s body pressed against her made her innocent flesh tingle in places she never even knew existed. Drusilla drew her cold hand around to the front of the girl’s neck, allowing the skein of hair she held to fall back to settle on Willow’s shoulder. The redhead gasped, open-mouthed, as desire coursed through her veins. Slowly she felt the front of the constraining corset give as Drusilla unhitched the laces, felt the delicious delirium thrum through her as the vampire’s experienced and oh so clever hands kneaded and flicked the tender breasts. As chilled fingers tweaked her nipples to throbbing points, her skin flushed hot in response. Willow moaned into her mentor’s mouth. Drusilla giggled in response and renewed her attentions to the witch’s ample bosom, while biting down on the other’s lower lip hard enough to draw blood. The demon inside her wanted out, and her fangs lowered as she sucked on the tender morsel of flesh between her teeth. She drew back to look into dark and hungry eyes, lapping the remaining virgin blood from her mouth. Willow’s chest was heaving with her efforts to control her breathing and her pale cheeks were flushed. Licking at her gashed lip, she held the vampire’s gaze. The moment stretched until she held out her hand, wanting to take this new experience further, wanting completion for the ache she felt between her thighs. Drusilla began to snake out her slender hand – then stilled as she heard the loud, orgasmic cry of the Slayer. Suddenly, the assured sexual creature that was initiating Willow into the ways of the Sapphic sisterhood was gone, replaced by the frightened and confused child who took comfort in insanity and dolls. She softly uttered two words, “My Spike.”

Chapter #12 - 'Tis Some Visitor Entreating Entrance

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- This it is, and nothing more." Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~ Buffy woke at sunset, languid in the cool embrace of her Sire and lover. She licked at the wounds on her wrists caused by the steel manacles that had held her motionless whilst he bit and clawed at her earlier. The kills had been vicious, the victims dying in agony as Spike vented his fury at Angel’s escape. On their return he’d continued his violence, chaining her to the bed and fucking her with feral abandon. It was intoxicating, the feeling of helplessness that being bound engendered. To be weak, overpowered by another’s strength – it made her head swim. Turning to her left, she settled herself on her elbow to gaze down at the resplendent sight of Spike’s naked body. He turned to meet her eyes. “What, luv?” he growled. “I’m just wondering what I can do to make you scream…Sire…” she whispered before bending her head to nip at his lips. Her amber eyes were locked on his as she drew back from him to settle on the bed, her bruised arms behind her head. He followed her movement, rushing to grab her wrists and settle himself between her legs, his cock hard in an instant as he brushed her wet curls with the swollen head. “Buffy…” he licked her neck, lapping at his original bite mark, reopened during their lovemaking. He growled against her, the vibration traveling south to resonate between her legs. She pushed against him, eager to feel him inside her again, to feel her lover, her Sire, dominate her completely. “You are such a bad girl…so raw…and you are mine,” he ground out before sinking his fangs again into her marble flesh. She responded by wrapping her legs around him, rubbing her clit against the length of his erect shaft and drawing blood with her fingernails on his back. The pain of the nails digging into his skin enraged his demon and he bit down harder, ripping at her flesh savagely. One shift of his hips and his cock sank inside her cool and grasping pussy, marveling anew at the tightness as the muscles gripped him mercilessly. Buffy whimpered with the pain of the bite, a whimper that quickly became a keen of passion as he thrust into her long and hard. The bed was creaking alarmingly, having already traveled a fair distance across the room to hit into the chest of drawers against one wall. The assorted candlesticks and demonic icons arrayed on top had long since crashed to the floor, the entire bedroom looking like a battle zone. The entwined vampires were heedless to the noise they were making as they gouged at bare flesh with teeth and nails, lips and tongues. They were also heedless to the pale, anguished face that looked in through the doorway, her eyes filled with yearning and loss. Drusilla looked at her lover, his back and buttocks covered in scratches, neck bitten and bloody and she couldn’t stand by any longer. She wanted him back. She could smell him, the tang of his semen making her mouth water, the scent of his blood making her stomach rumble. He was hers; the blonde fledgling would have to go. “Shhh, shh Miss Edith…Daddy will fix it…we’ll go get Daddy and he’ll take the nasty Slayer away. Then we can have games and cake…and Princess can have her Spike to play with again. But he’ll need to be punished first…bad dog.” Drusilla hummed along to herself as she made her way out of the factory. Willow watched her go. This wasn’t good. Angel couldn’t be allowed to interfere, there was too much at stake. ~*~*~*~*~ It took Dru two hours to track down her Sire, and even then it was only because of her psychic abilities that she was able to do so. She couldn’t sense him vampire to vampire; he’d taken pains to hide away. But a good little girl always knew where her Daddy was… Skipping as she drew nearer to his hiding place, Drusilla giggled. This was a good game, and Daddy would make everything better. She’d have her Spike back to herself and the new dolly would be gone. The steps down to the sunken garden were littered with ivy leaves and litter, the surface slippery under her feet. Now she was nearer, she could sense him through the Sire-Childe bond just as he could sense her. There was no noise, no movement, but he was inside the derelict mansion awaiting her next move. Drusilla stilled as she approached, a sudden moment of lucidity washing over her. What exactly did she expect Angel to do? Take Buffy off Spike’s hands, stake her, claim her? She really didn’t know, she just knew that she was in trouble and her Daddy would fix it. “Angel? Where are you?” she sang out, stepping through the boarded up doorway. “Daddy? Princess needs her Daddy…” “What do you want, Dru.” An unkempt figure stepped out from behind a pillar, the moonlight illuminating his drawn and haggard features, outlining his greasy and neglected hair. The vampire was taking the news of Buffy’s turning hard it seemed; he hadn’t fed in days, his cheeks sunken, and his skin hanging loosely on his large frame. His eyes were haunted with grief and recrimination, guilt adding to the mix too. “Daddy; poor sad Daddy…” The vampiress slowly padded over to Angel’s side and wordlessly hugged him to her, cradling his head at her neck and singing him a lullaby. Angel gave himself over to her comforting, no strength left to protest. What was there left for him to resist for? Buffy was gone, worse than gone. She was damned to eternal torment and he was responsible for it. He should have found out what Spike was up to before Buffy got hurt. It ripped his insides apart to think of his Grandchilde and his love clawing at each other and taking delight in the mayhem they were causing. If he’d had anything in his stomach to heave, that would have been a welcome distraction. Drusilla led him to sit on the side of the defunct fountain in the middle of the garden. Her clarity of thought continued; her voice when she spoke not that of a confused and addled child but that of a strong and determined woman. “My Angel…we have a bond in common, you and I. I owe you my existence and because of you I found my Spike. I want him back. I need you to help me.” Angel’s soulful brown eyes bore into hers as she continued. “He’ll be mine again when she’s gone, I want her gone. Help me Angel; help me to get my Spike back.” Angel didn’t speak, just continued to look at her. He had no strength left to fight against her, but maybe just enough left to fight with her. He could do little for Buffy now except one thing. He could release her from the torment of life as a demon. “I’ll help, Drusilla; but you’ve got to promise me that you will let me handle Buffy. It’s my fault she’s in this position, it’s my duty to take care of her…it’s all I can offer…” Drusilla reached up a hand to caress his cheek. “She’s yours Angel. But Spike is mine…I won’t let you hurt him, he’s mine to punish.” Angel nodded slightly in agreement. The deal was done. ~*~*~*~*~ Back at the factory, Willow’s black eyes faded again to green, the mist that had surrounded her dissipating to nothing. She turned to face the trio of expectant faces. “Well?” Ripper asked. “They’re both coming. Angel’s intent on releasing Buffy from her earthly torment and Drusilla’s promised to deliver her to him.” “That bitch! She’s dust…” The slap resounded through the factory. “You’ll not harm her, you hear me? She’s my Sire, my dark wicked Princess. You lay one finger on her and I will give you pain.” Buffy’s eyes flashed amber, her fangs descending as she battled the rage within. She was still the Slayer, still had Slayer abilities and strength. The Slayer was not used to following orders, the vampire still anxious to please her Sire. For now, the demon won. She bowed her head acknowledging his authority. “Hang on – Spike, Buffy, this is just what we need. It’s no good having that pillock wandering loose. We need to leave soon and before that we have to be sure that he’s out of the picture. Let them come; it saves us having to find him. But you’ll have to sort Drusilla, Spike. If you don’t – I will.” “Just try it, Ripper, mate…” Spike vamped, snarling as he squared up to the former Watcher. Demon matched demon as each struggled to out-menace the other. Willow’s announcement cut short the posturing. Spike lost the fangs as she spoke. “No time for that! They’re close, no more than a minute. Get ready.” The conspirators scattered as they sensed the approach of Angel and Drusilla. The two vampires walked into the factory, Drusilla back to her insane babbling and Angel looking desolate but determined. Neither of them could sense Spike or Buffy, Willow’s cloaking spell working its magic. “Dru, pet…what have you brought me now?” Spike looked Angel up and down, flicking his Zippo to light the cigarette he brought to his mouth. He took a long drag, blowing the smoke out to curl around his smug features. “Spike. Where is she?” “She? Oh, you mean my Childe, my lover - as in not yours? She’s around. She’s never far from my…hip…” Spike’s tongue curled against his teeth, his free hand splayed against the crotch of his black denims as he taunted the older vampire. He tilted his head, daring his Grandsire to make an issue of it. Just then Buffy sauntered between the two of them, her demon picking up on the rivalry and wanting to play with it. Spike’s jaw worked as he tried to control the urge to slap her across the room; she’d disobeyed him and was in danger of getting her head twisted clean off. But another part of him loved the fact that his newly risen Childe was so strong and confident that she’d defy him in front of his ancestors without turning a hair. With a sly grin, he grabbed her to him, turning so that Angel got a good look at his tongue thrusting into Buffy’s mouth, at the hand dipping below the waistband of her leather pants and the thumb flicking at her nipples through the diaphanous top. Angel’s growl told him he was pressing the right buttons. When Spike lifted his head, Buffy’s forehead was ridged, her fangs glistening with the moisture his tongue had laved upon them. Angel went nuts. “Get away from her, you bastard! Leave her, she’s mine! You’ve no right…” “I’ve every fucking right, you arsehole! I made her, she belongs to me, and you – you arrogant tosser – can go fuck yourself!” In his riled up state, Spike didn’t think about what he was doing; he pushed Buffy away from himself and towards Angel. The flash of wood in Angel’s raised arm galvanized him out of his anger and racing towards his lover. He screamed out, “Noooooooo!” as he placed himself between the instrument of death and his blonde goddess. His unlife flashed before him as the stake began to descend. Everything happened in slow motion, each image clear and defined as things moved towards their inexorable conclusion. Every sensory receptor was focused on the point of the stake as it neared his heart. “Spike!” He turned his head as the anguished cry came from his right. He watched, paralyzed, as the creature that had saved him from mediocrity placed herself between his vulnerable flesh and certain death. Although Angel tried to slow his hand, the arc was completed, Drusilla’s eyes hooded with pain before she exploded in a cloud of dust covering both her Sire and her Childe with the remnants of her existence. Spike stared in shock at the settling dust that coated his outstretched hands, his blue eyes blurred with tears. His Princess was gone. She couldn’t be. Bastard! Blue became amber as the demon demanded payment for his loss. Angel didn’t move, gazing at the stake he held in his hand and the dust motes chasing before of his eyes, all that was left of the woman he’d driven insane then turned as a demon, a woman he’d loved… in many ways. Spike growled at Buffy; she scurried to his side to do his bidding. As one they rushed Angel, flashes of fangs and claws as they tore into him. He didn’t defend himself against the onslaught; let himself dragged to the floor bloodied already from the assault. But despite his guilt and remorse, the survival instinct kicked in and he vamped out to enhance his strength. He lashed out at the writhing and vicious vampiress who was biting him wherever she could sink her teeth into his flesh but she held on. Spike was snarling at him, spitting and hurling insults as he punched and kicked the vampire on the floor. “She was my dark bloody princess, you prick! And you offed her! You bastard!” Angel couldn’t dislodge the combined assault of his descendants, growing weaker with blood loss as Buffy continued to sink her fangs into his veins. Eventually, he stopped struggling, resting back onto the floor with his eyes closed. Maybe this was his fate. He welcomed it if it was and it was fitting that he should finally leave this world at the hands of demons of his own making. The violent onslaught stilled, Spike grabbing Buffy and slapping her when she growled at his interruption. Fangs dripping with Angel’s blood, she turned her golden gaze upon him, her protests still rumbling in her throat before ceding her fate to her Sire with bowed head. Spike watched her struggle to contain the demon, his heart once more overflowing with love for this Childe of his making. He pulled her towards him, hugging her to his cold body, needing to feel a connection with her as he mourned the woman he’d loved for over a hundred years. The two embraced over the prone form of their common ancestor, heedless of him and of Giles, Willow and Xander as they formed a circle around them. “Nice floorshow, Spike mate. But what are we going to do with the arrogant bastard now? You need a stake?” Buffy and Spike moved away from each other slightly, their eyes meeting in mutual understanding. Buffy’s lips curled into a feral snarl, her mouth still painted with Angel’s blood. “Nah, Ripper. We’ve got it covered. You can come and play if you like…” Ripper’s eyebrow shot up. This sounded interesting; he bowed to the experience of the master vampire, trusting to Spike to come up with a nice little distraction. As he drew Willow and Xander away, the latter looking at his downed Sire with a mixture of worry and adoration, he shot a look back over his shoulder. Buffy was dragging Angel by his wrists across the floor, Spike walking after them and lighting a cigarette. Giles continued to the doorway, his rich melodious laugh lingering behind him as Spike shouted after them. “Hey, Watcher! Give us half an hour then come and join us…bring your own branding iron!”

Chapter #13 - Deep Into That Darkness Peering

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~ Angel came back to consciousness, the pain from his bound wrists finally hitting his dulled senses. He felt the pull in his shoulders, his toes barely brushing the floor as he hung suspended by a chain bolted to the ceiling. His eyes fluttered open, desperately trying to focus through the blood loss and agony. He glanced down at his pale body, noting the healing bite marks that peppered his skin with crimson curves. Buffy bite marks. On his skin. Despite himself he found the thought of her sharp fangs piercing his flesh very arousing. The soul rocked at the thought. As his vision cleared he fixed his gaze, unwillingly, on the expanse of milky flesh that lay tangled and writhing on the bed in front of him. Peroxide blonde curls met honey tresses, fangs grazing flesh to bloody welts, the keening and moaning in harmony testament to the pleasure they were giving one to the other. Angel was transfixed by the sight, unable to tear his eyes away. He watched Buffy flip Spike onto his back, her thighs keeping him captive as she nipped at his neck. Spike turned his head towards his bound grandsire. “Hey, kitten…we’ve got an audience…” Buffy’s yellow eyes swept across the space between the bed and the shackles. She laughed, running her tongue around her mouth and licking at her fangs. “We’d better give him a show then…” Buffy’s body was silhouetted against the wall, the flickering shadows from candles bathing her in half-light as she raised her pelvis in order to sink down on Spike’s hardened shaft, slowly drawing him into her slickness. She moaned as her groin connected with his, grinding down on him to feel the pressure on her clitoris. Throwing back her head, she reached down to circle his cock with her fingers, feeling him disappear inside her as she slid up and down on his length. Her fingers wet with their joint secretions she brought them up to his mouth, pressing her hips forwards to rub against him as he sucked and licked at the tips. She growled, the demon wanting blood and violence. Her clit ached to be touched so she brought the hand down again to pinch and squeeze the engorged flesh as she rocked her hips. Slyly, she stole a look at her first love. His pain was clear to see; his suffering, an aphrodisiac. Spike adored this creature, his golden one. The abandonment of her innocence had been total and unexpected, the zeal with which she embraced life as a vampire intoxicating in its intensity. And now she was taunting Angel…the creature she’d sworn to love for all eternity was presently hanging his head to escape the painful images played out in front of him. Angel’s agony was flowing off him in waves, each thrust of Buffy’s hips causing an involuntary flinch from the bound vampire. Spike grinned, a slow, lazy grin, as he enjoyed the feeling of superiority this gave him. Then all thought of one-upmanship was gone as Buffy’s body slumped forwards, her hardened nipples raking against his chest as she pounded him into the bed. Her nails gouged flesh as she grabbed his wrists above his head, her fangs grazing his shoulders, his neck, as she lost control. Spike bucked his hips up to meet her thrusts in a fruitless effort to control the pace. Buffy was in charge, her hunger for him heading straight to his cock and hardening it still further. He dipped his head to suckle a nipple, biting down to draw her blood into his hungry mouth. Buffy’s gasp showed her pleasure, the bouncing of her hips increasing to a frenetic pace. Unable to control herself, she sank her fangs into her Sire’s neck, risking his fury as she took his blood without permission. The climax rushed them both, their screams of ecstasy counterpoint to the backdrop of Angel’s sobs. Resplendent in afterglow as she lay draped across her Spike, Buffy fixed her gaze on Angel’s slumped and pale body. His chest was covered with her bite marks, although they were fading fast. The contrast between the pale flesh and the angry welts was ethereally beautiful to her vampire eyes. He needed more marks… Throwing her leg over Spike’s dozing form, she crawled on hands and knees to stop before Angel’s feet, leaning back to sit on her heels. She looked up, her calculating eyes noting the defined muscle of his thighs, the breadth of his chest, his shoulders. Moving further up, she hissed as she caught his eyes. The look was one of disgust, no longer one of adoration. His loss. “Pet, what you doin’?” “I want to play. Can we play now?” Spike raised himself from the bed, his hair ruffled from the pillow and Buffy’s fingers. She was looking back over her shoulder at him, her face shadowed from the candlelight, her hair spilling down her naked back. The round swell of her ass begged to be caressed as it rested on her heels. He reached for a cigarette and his Zippo, lighting up and dragging deeply on it as he smirked. “Go to it…I’ll watch….” Buffy smiled, her yellow eyes blazing with pleasure as she anticipated the fun to come. She rose to her feet, sweeping her hand across Angel’s bare chest and drawing a shiver from him. He spat at her between clenched teeth, “You are not my Buffy…she’s gone….” Spike’s snarl dragged his attention to the bed. “Too bloody right she’s not your Buffy, you poof! She’s mine, for always, so bloody well get used to it.” Angel’s howl of pain ricocheted off the walls, his body spasming to get away from the pain in his back. Buffy twisted the knife embedded into his flesh, watching the blood flow down to disappear into the dark fabric of his trousers. She coated her index finger in the red fluid and sucked it into her mouth. The taste was different than Spike’s blood, but still familiar. The blood of Aurelius; her line, her heritage. Spike swaggered to stand in front of his bound Grandsire. Uncorking a bottle, he poured it down the front of his elder’s bare chest and laughed maniacally, even delighting perversely in his own pain as the holy water splashed his skin. Buffy backed off, leaving the knife jutting from Angel’s spine. Angel heard the sound of clinking behind him as she rifled through Drusilla’s trunk. The dark haired vampiress had left behind her a legacy of pain and torture, it was only fitting that the instruments Drusilla had lovingly collected and used in highly inventive ways should be the means by which her Sire and killer would be introduced to unimaginable agony. Buffy deftly wrapped a length of spiked chain around Angel’s neck, pulling hard to yank his head back and expose his throat. It wouldn’t kill him of course but it would hurt like hell. The spikes in the links dug into his flesh leaving crimson rivulets running down his chest and back. The smell of the blood was overwhelming to all three vampires, Buffy involuntarily licking her lips and ducking to taste. Spike, for his part, was struggling with the temptation to do the same. The only thing stopping him was the thought of his bloody Grandsire getting a kick from the feel of his tongue on his skin. No, the wanker wasn’t getting any pleasure from him. Angel raised his eyes to look at this Childe of his line. Despite the pain, the agony, and the blood loss that threatened to rob him of his consciousness – he was proud of Spike, proud of Buffy in a twisted kind of way. Vampires weren’t meant to be gentle creatures and Spike and Buffy as a combined entity were among the most vicious he’d known. They were doing their Aurelius heritage proud. Not that they needed to know that. He steeled himself against the pain, licking his dry lips with a rasping tongue as he struggled to form words. Spike smirked at the emotions playing across his elder’s face. “Something wrong, Peaches? You got somethin’ to say?” Angel gathered his remaining strength and spat through gritted teeth, “Just fucking finish it, Spike. I don’t want to be in a world that has you in it…you arrogant, smug, useless excuse for a demon. And if Buffy has you to mentor her - well, she’ll be dust come weekend.” Buffy’s snarl drew the two males’ attention, her yellow eyes cold and vicious, her brow ridged and fangs sharp and prominent. She hissed, the anger she was feeling causing her some difficulty as she tried to rein in the demon inside. Her Sire was in a pissing match with her Great-Grandsire. The conflicting emotions were not sitting well with her newly demonic self and she was struggling to stay in control. Spike’s answering growl just upped the ante so far as Buffy was concerned. It connected on an entirely fundamental and ancient level with the heat between her legs causing a fresh flush of juices to run down her thighs. Her reactions now were pure instinct, her Slayer self entirely subdued by the combined weight of her lust, her desire to please her Sire, and her yearning to rip and rend. Vampire speed aided her as she wrenched Angel’s neck to one side, intent on draining him of his Aurelius blood so that she could offer it to her maker as a gift. Standing behind him, her sharp fangs sank with brutal accuracy into his carotid artery, her tongue lapping the blood into her suckling mouth without any waste. Angel’s skin turned almost blue as she drew great gulps of his blood, his vision clouding as he hurtled towards the oblivion of sleep. But as Spike moved forwards to bite down roughly on the other side of Angel’s neck whilst simultaneously snaking his hand into Buffy’s hair to draw her close, the older vampire gasped as a light shot out of his eyes and excruciating pain rocketed through his bones, his sinews, his soul… Angel closed his eyes against the agony; it was Angelus who next looked through them. Spike and Buffy stopped suckling at their ancestor’s neck as the power of the borrowed blood rushed through them. It was familiar, like the kiss of a lover, the reflection of the id; it made them feel whole, alive. Spike noted the drips of Angel’s blood rimming Buffy’s lips and he moved to clean her. She did the same for him, the lap of tongue on flesh quickly turning into a burning and bruising kiss. Angel was forgotten as the two fell to the floor at his feet. Buffy threw Spike onto his back taking his engorged cock in her fist before grasping it between her cool and bruised lips and sucking hard. She nipped up and down his length, his groans calling forth a gush of fluid between her legs. As she continued to lick at him, biting as she mapped every inch of him with her mouth, she reached down to plunge frenzied fingers inside her grasping pussy, needing some friction to ease the ache building inside her. Angel’s head was slumped forwards, his arms splayed out to the sides by the chains that held him captive. The pain was excruciating both externally and internally. He drifted in and out of consciousness, his eyes lighting on the entwined forms of Buffy and Spike on the floor in front of him. Except now the sight didn’t disgust him…now he wanted to be a part of the play. His cock threatened to burst the button off his fly as it swelled in response to the smell and sight of the fucking. That one perfect moment of happiness clause; seemed like his soul had gotten a happy from being the meat in the vampire sandwich – must be the Buffy bite that did it. Or maybe Spike, maybe them both? Spike hadn’t bitten him since he got the soul, but it sure used to feel good before. Whatever. It didn’t matter. He was back. Buffy was riding Spike, her ass bouncing up and down as she slid up almost entirely off his cock before sinking down to bury his length deep within her. Her fangs were glinting white as she growled her pleasure, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of her breasts as she sought more sensations, more pain, to heighten her enjoyment. Spike’s nails raked channels down her back before gripping her hips to control his thrusts. The slow trail of blood droplets that cascaded down to run over their joined bodies were almost Angel’s undoing as he watched, fascinated, at the violence and ecstasy he saw in front of him. He’d never seen its like, even at the height of his excesses. The two creatures were so alike, equals in strength and hunger that it was beautiful to witness. Spike and Buffy were oblivious to the change they’d wrought, wrapped up entirely in their own hedonistic pleasures. The twin roars of orgasmic ecstasy echoed throughout the factory; Angelus smirked. It was about time he got himself some of that. Gone was the slumped form, the defeated stance of the beaten and souled vampire hero. In its place was the proud and vicious swagger of the master vampire who was legendary for his cruelty. Maybe he wouldn’t let them know he was back just yet…opportunities for undercover mayhem abounded. It mattered not. Buffy and Spike didn’t even look back to him as they rose on shaking legs to clothe themselves and go feed. Spike threw a comment over his departing shoulder. “Hope you enjoyed the show, Peaches. You’ll be seeing it every day for the rest of your sorry existence. Pity you can’t get a boner, huh?” Laughter floated back to him as Angelus stood up straight and tested the chains. They would hold; Spike always knew how to bind somebody real good. He’d need help to escape. And when he did, his wayward descendants would crave the oblivion of death. ~*~*~*~*~ Angelus smiled as he felt his newest toy enter the room. He could sense the hesitation, Xander’s untrained vampiric abilities noting the subtle change in his sire’s essence but unsure what was different and why. Time to teach the pup exactly what it was to be a vampire. “Harris. Come round to the front, let me see you, boy.” Hesitantly, the fledgling did just that, his demon to the fore as he struggled to constrain the change between his alter egos. There was something so intoxicating about the vibes his Sire was throwing off that was messing with his control. Xander risked a momentary peek from beneath closed lids. What he saw caused him to growl. Angel’s bare torso was purpled with bite marks and lines of scratches. Dry blood bathed the pale skin and stood out starkly in the candlelight. Xander was enraged that his Sire had been tortured, but at the same time found the evidence of agony arousing. Tentatively, he reached out a hand to stroke the muscular chest in front of him. The answering growl stilled him mid-movement. “Childe. You must release me from these chains. Free me, and I’ll take you away from here. You need your Sire.” “ But…Spike…Sire…he’ll go nuts…” “I’ll deal with Spike. The chains. Now!” Angelus roared. Xander was cowering in front of him, the pull of his maker’s request warring with his fear of Spike’s retribution if he was found out. Eventually the call of blood won out, and he scurried off to retrieve the keys to unlock the manacles. Moments later, the young vampire was pinned to the floor by an enraged Angelus. “Now, boy…do tell me why you chose to aid that posturing bastard? Let me show you how you atone to ME.” Angelus sank his fangs into the tender neck, tearing roughly to maximize the pain. This was about control – showing Xander that he no longer had any will other than that of his Sire. Of course, there were compensations. The erection that Angelus was now grinding into his Childe’s groin was one of them; his answering hard-on was another. The thing with vampires, pain and pleasure were so closely linked that usually one led to the other. What started out as punishment rapidly became reward. Xander’s keening jolted Angelus back from his musings. If he drained any more, the whelp would be unconscious and that didn’t suit with his plans. Looking around him, he selected a whip from Drusilla’s box of tricks. Red welts leaked blood as Angelus took out his anger on the whimpering form of the late Xander Harris. For good measure, as Xander flashed him a look begging for mercy, Angelus snarled and kicked him in the head. The blood spattered across the floor as Xander’s temple was gashed, his eye closing up and purpling. Content that his newest addition had been taught a lesson, Angelus relented and left the youngster to coil in on himself to ease the pain. He grabbed one of Spike’s shirts and shrugged it on. It was tight across the shoulders and chest but it would do until he could find more his style. Time to stretch out his newly guilt-free body, maybe take in a victim or two before heading out to remind Spike just exactly who was the head of the Aurelius clan in Sunnydale. ~*~*~*~*~ The watchers in the wings panted, the display of violence and raw sexual urges calling to their pleasure centers. Black, lust-filled eyes turned to gaze hungrily on the older and wiser, currently flashing red ones of Ripper. By mutual consent the torture implements they’d brought to join in the game were dropped, their hands needed to rip at the clothing that impeded the contact of bare flesh on flesh. More than one lesson would be learned this day… ~*~*~*~*~ “What’s this…a gift from my ungrateful get? Xander…you shouldn’t have…” Angelus was walking round the bound and gagged Jenny Calendar, her face bruised and bloodied, eyes wide and frightened. She was tied to a chair, hands behind her back, her hair lank and unwashed. By the smell, she’d been there for days. Crouching down in front of her, Angelus loosened the gag. Gasping for air, Jenny sobbed out, “Angel!” “Sorry, no prize this time…care to roll again?” Angelus gloried in the confusion that swept across the exhausted woman’s face. “Angel?” Quieter, more unsure. “I’m afraid…Jen…that Angel has had to leave us rather unexpectedly. Still, no sense in wasting this body is there?” He leaned in to tower over her, hands on her knees as he placed a soft kiss on her lips. Gently, he kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her nose. Then he spoke, barely a whisper. “Jenny Calendar…have you ever been fucked unconscious by a rampant vampire?” Her staring, frightened eyes were fixed on his face as his fangs lengthened and his brow ridged. Her scream as he bit down on her neck echoed throughout the factory. Xander untied her hands and feet to allow his Sire to have free rein with her. Angelus ripped his teeth from her neck leaving a ragged gash that bled profusely. Jenny swooned with the pain, the scant food and drink during her captivity not helping. She was thrown roughly up against the wall, her head bouncing off the surface with a loud thud. Angelus thrust his tongue through her tightly clamped lips, her resistance making him hard and hungry. As she began to respond despite herself, he smirked against her mouth. “Now, now Jenny…not on the first date, surely.” Angelus let go of her, letting her weak body to slump to the ground. He always liked to prolong the moment and he had other things to attend to. There was more than one form of torture… Jenny watched Angelus beckon to Xander and stride from the room. After spending almost four days bound and gagged after Giles had taken her hostage, and the recent bloodletting by Angelus, she was too weary to remain awake, and she viewed the retreating demon’s figures through darkening eyes as she lost consciousness. “Come on, my boy, time to pull some rank around here. Let’s go find us a couple of blondes.”

Chapter #14 - Stillness Gave No Token

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~ A/N: m/m at the end... Ripper ran his fingers through the red hair of his protégée, who was sprawled on her stomach across the bed. Poor thing was exhausted after the hours he’d spent on her initiation into fleshly pleasures. Like the magick coursing through her slim frame, she took to the new experience like a duck to water. A gloating leer passed over his handsome features as one hand squeezed her ass cheeks before he reluctantly pulled away and slipped out of bed. The death of the vampiress, Dru, wasn’t too much a hardship as he’d never been particularly fond of the unstable demon. But, Angelus, on the other hand, was a different matter entirely. He was a wildcard Ripper hadn’t foreseen when he’d concocted this whole plan, even if it had meant getting rid of the pussy-whipped, oh-woe-is-me ensouled vampire. He just hoped now that the demon was back in charge, Angelus would turn his back on Sunnydale and leave Ripper to enact his joint plan with Spike. But if the vampire wanted to see who had the bigger stones…well, Ripper would be more than happy to oblige. Now that Sunnydale’s do-gooders had seen the light, he could drop the old duffer act. Crossing to the closet, he selected a midnight blue silk shirt and soft black suede jeans and slipped them on; his heightened senses reveling in the sensuous touch on bare skin. Ripper walked out into the main area and frowned at the scene before him, the red eyes of his inner demon sparking angrily. Apparently, Angelus was a roistering psychopath with no respect for other people’s belongings – something that would have to be remedied, and soon. The vampire needed to learn his place, or else he’d be following Dru’s dusty path. ~*~*~*~*~ Before he went hunting for his wayward offspring, Angelus made a stop at the local shopping mall. Unconcerned that said mall was closed, he easily broke into the place – pausing momentarily to snack on the rent-a-cop – his heels clicking on the pseudo-marble floor echoed in the deserted building. Xander obediently followed in his wake, unwilling to rile his sire any more than he already was. Stopping first at a leather goods store, the elder vamp quickly forced the lock and found some decent pants to replace the dowdy, nondescript, pair he’d sported as Soulboy. Starting to feel like his former self, he left the shop to find a shirt that fit. Spying a maroon silk that was much more his style, he eagerly tore off the tee borrowed from Spike. Unfortunately, its tight fit meant it had stuck to his healing wounds, so in ripping the offending garment over his head, several reopened causing fresh blood to dribble down his bare chest. “Fuck!” Angelus growled, “If any of this gets on my shirt….” The scent of sire’s blood hit the fledgling hard, and in an instant he vamped out. Not willing to incite another beating just yet, Xander struggled desperately to bring his bloodlust under control before the elder vampire noticed – managed to succeed just as Angelus turned around and regarded the younger. “Boy, get yourself over here,” he commanded. Xander rushed to comply, standing before the other with his head bowed in submission. The fledgling stared, transfixed at the blood dripping down the other’s chest, and gasped in surprise when his sire’s hand gripped the back of his head and brought his mouth towards his body. He braced his hands on the elder vamp’s hips for balance as his tongue darted out in anticipation of such a treat, and he let out a groan when his tongue lapped at the first trail of blood he encountered. The rich, succulent flavor flooded his mouth, and Xander was unable to prevent the groan of pleasure that escaped his lips, couldn’t prevent the instant erection that throbbed painfully against the confines of his jeans. His tongue traced the blood until he reached the gash, gently lapping at it until the healing properties of his saliva started to close the wound. “Nice job, boy,” Angelus rumbled huskily. It had been too long since he’d had a good fuck – the orgy-fest with Darla, Dru, and Spike during his pre-soul days coming to mind – and the actions of his new childe was a forceful reminder of his self-imposed abstinence, as he grew hard within his brand new leather pants. Images of the two blondes going at it as he dangled in front of them flashed before his closed eyes as his childe’s raspy tongue made quick work of cleaning the spilt blood from his pale chest. The lapping motion suddenly stopped, and Angelus opened his eyes to gaze down at the fledgling staring up at him with a worshipful expression, poised, as if he was waiting for orders. A smirk… as if to say why not. No sense searching for Spike when there was a much more interesting proposition practically begging for it in front of him. Still gripping him by the hair, Angelus hauled Xander closer so that he could claim a searing kiss. Growling forcefully as the younger vamp whimpered with lust, he ravaged the fledgling’s mouth, nicking the younger’s tongue and sucking the blood into his mouth. Xander was weak with desire, would have collapsed were it not for the iron hold that was keeping him upright. As it was, the younger vamp just barely managed to hold on as Angelus worked his arousal to fever pitch. The kiss ended as abruptly as it began, and Xander found himself spun around and shoved face first against the wall. He alternately keened and moaned, as first his hard cock was ground into the wall followed by the thrust of his sire’s erection against his ass. In a blink, his shirt was gone, and if he’d needed to breathe he would have forgotten how, as his sire’s naked chest pressed against his back. Fangs pierced his neck and shoulders, producing a hiss of pain-filled pleasure from Xander’s lips, the smell of blood provoking his demon to spring forth. But blood was momentarily forgotten when his jeans were wrenched open and shoved down, letting his cock spring forth and bounce against his stomach. He eagerly toed off his shoes and stepped out of the jeans, kicking them aside as Angelus growled in his ear, “Spread ‘em.” The younger vamp did as requested with such haste that the elder chuckled slightly, reaching round to give the other’s cock a quick stroke as reward. “Gimme some lube, boy,” he whispered and put his fingers before the other’s mouth. Xander opened his mouth, sucking on his sire’s digits to wet them. He whimpered when they were pulled away, but his eyes nearly crossed with pleasure when he felt one circle his sphincter before plunging through the tight ring. In and out his finger went until a second joined the other, and then a third – stretching his passage in preparation. Then those were removed and moments later a rasp of a zipper as it was lowered filled the air, and the younger vamp felt something larger pressed against his opening. A gravelly murmur, “Mmmm… prime virgin territory … I’d forgotten…” then the sudden invasion as Angelus rammed home. Xander howled in delight as his anal passage was filled by his sire’s girth and tried to move to increase the other’s penetration, but was held firmly in place against the wall. “Maybe not a virgin after all, eh boy?” Xander didn’t comment, unwilling to incite the elder vamp’s ire that he’d been fucked, and often, first by Drusilla and then by Spike. Both taking part in the role of Sire over the orphaned fledgling. Pain fuelled the rising pleasure, spreading from his ass to his cock as Angelus started to thrust, slowly at first as his body relaxed, then increasing in speed as Xander hesitantly pushed back in response. When his sire’s cock brushed his prostrate, he nearly came against the wall. Angelus kept him pinned as he fucked relentlessly; grunting and growling as he neared completion, something Xander wasn’t far from himself. He’d never imagined such sensations existed – it was almost too much to bear; he jerked desperately… harder… so close. When his sire gripped the base of his length to stall any orgasm, Xander nearly wept with frustration. He needed to come, his body drawn tight in agony. The slapping of bare flesh in the deserted store increased to a frenzied pace. The first stirrings of Angelus’ climax gripped his body and he gave himself over, spurting his release deep in Xander’s passage. Beneath him, the younger vampire whimpered at being denied his own climax until he heard his sire’s voice in his ear just moments before his hand released his vice-like grip on his cock and started sliding up and down. “That’s my boy. You can come now,” Angelus bade the other in his heavily accented voice as he continued to pump his childe’s cock. Xander needed no further urging and he jerked wildly into those knowing hands, but it was the fangs in his shoulder that sent him over the edge as at last he ejaculated all over the wall in front of him. Utterly replete, he sagged against the wall as his sire pushed himself off. He felt the fangs withdraw before a wet tongue licked at the puncture marks. “Sire,” Xander hissed, the stirrings of renewed desire gripping his body. “Not now - maybe later, after we find my misbegotten family and teach them a lesson they’re sorely in need of.” Xander sighed and sulkily pushed away from the wall to don his jeans and shoes before walking over towards one of the racks to grab a replacement shirt. Turning, he watched as the elder vamp slid into the maroon silk he’d been eyeing earlier and licked his lips in appreciation at the broad expanse of chest. Angelus glanced upon his childe, smirk evident upon his features, at the others appraising look. As a human, the boy’s sense of fashion had been dire – it seemed becoming a vamp made him take more effort with his appearance. It wouldn’t do to have the pup running around looking like geek of the month. After shifting his head from side-to-side and cracking his neck, Angelus quickly led the way out into the night to search for Spike and Buffy.

Chapter #15 - Whispered Words

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"- Merely this, and nothing more. Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~ Angelus walked through the night unerringly, the faint tug of Spike and the newest addition to the Aurelius family a subtle pull on his senses. He was eager to catch up to them. Spike would be easy enough to cow; then he’d have to watch the master in action when he seduced that slut of a slayer. Who knows…maybe he’d let his grandchilde join in… Xander too, then they could have some real orgies. He chuckled as visions of him plowing into Spikes’s ass flitted before his eyes. God, it was good to be back! Two figures raced by him off to the right and he set off after them with Xander in tow. ~*~*~*~*~ Spike marveled yet again at how adept the slayer was on the hunt. No trace of her former role hindered her from plunging headlong into the vampire life. She hunted and fucked with a zest that rivaled his own. He’d chosen this golden girl, and planned to have her with him for a long, long time. After the business with Ripper was concluded, they’d travel. He’d show her the world; experience the sights and marvels together. He glanced over to where she finished her meal, and dropped it carelessly beside her. Her amber eyes pinned him in place, and she affected an exaggerated roll to her hips as she sauntered towards him. He was more than ready, the metal zipper digging painfully into his rock hard cock. When she stood before him, her hand reached out and cupped him firmly inside his jeans. He groaned at the touch and rocked his hips in her grasp. He was just about to shove her down upon the grass and get between her legs when a scent washed over him. ‘You’re slipping, Angelus,’ he thought silently as he turned to confront his poof of a grandsire. The clapping threw him at first, but the voice…well, he’d never forget it. “Don’t stop on my account, William, me boy.” Spike growled low in his throat at the sarcastic tones as the speaker stepped from behind a tree. And it was definitely Angelus, and not the souled-up version, speaking to him now. “What’s this? Time was you loved an audience... Are you getting prudish these days?” The elder vampire’s voice had turned hard: that Spike dared to growl at him…looks like his boy needed to be put in his place. “Sod off!” Behind him, Spike could feel his childe drape around him, instinctively seeking protection from this new, unwarranted threat. Angelus saw the move, his eyes narrowing appreciatively on this latest addition to the family, and couldn’t help chuckling. “Don’t worry, babe. I promise I won’t hurt you… much,” he crooned. “You won’t touch her,” Spike ground out. “She’s mine!” “Do I need to refresh your memory, boy? I seem to recall us having this conversation before…” “I don’t know what planet you’re on, Angelus. You still think you’re cock of the walk, don’t you? Well, I’m only gonna say this once – I am not your boy anymore. Come a long way since you got souled up and left the family. Made my own way. You’ve got a new playmate… go break him in; but you’ll do well to leave me and mine alone.” “Tsk, tsk.” Angelus walked towards the blond pair, not in the least concerned that Spike would try anything, even smiled at him where he stood his ground protecting his childe. As he got within five feet of the pair, he circled them, checking out Buffy’s sexy new look, smelling the blood still lingering on their lips, the faint traces of arousal that had yet to be snuffed out entirely. His hand reached out to trail down Buffy’s hair, but she flinched away from his touch, wanting no part of him. “Need to teach your childe the proper way of things, William,” he growled, pissed off that he’d been unable to easily lure the female to his side. After all, he was the elder, more powerful vampire here. Spike pulled his girl close, baring fangs at Angelus as he growled. “Didn’t you hear me? No one touches her but me. Now bugger off!” “You don’t really think to fight me for her, do you, William?” Angelus circled around to face the pair, noting the younger vamp’s rigid stance and piercing glare. “You do! Oh, this is rich. William here thinks he can actually best me…would actually fight me over something that can never truly belong to him. I guess you do need a reminder. You’ve obviously forgotten that lesson I gave you so long ago…” Spike’s gaze narrowed, as he was suddenly flooded with the memories of that night: his humiliation at the hands of both him and his sire. “Just don't get it now, do you? Well, you're new... and a little dim. So let me explain to you how things are now. There's no belonging or deserving anymore. You can take what you want, have what you want... but nothing is yours.” Angelus leaned in close and whispered in William’s ear as he directed the fledgling’s gaze towards his sire. “Not even her.” “You're wrong. We're forever, Drusilla and I,” William told Angelus. “Ah, still the poet now, aren't we, Willy?” “William,” he corrected automatically. “Right. William. You know, you really should find a new name for yourself. It just doesn't strike the right note of terror.” He stood and made his way over to Drusilla, encircling her tiny waist with his arms as he stood behind her. “Tell you what... William. If you want her... come and take her.” And, just like that Spike attacked. He pushed his childe aside and launched himself at Angelus – a storm of fists and feet pounded down as he let rip a century’s hatred. He was no longer that sad little novice, ignorant of their ways; he was older and very much wiser, a master in his own right. And, if Spike said that Buffy was his and only his, then she bloody damn well would be! Angelus laughed maniacally, enjoying their fight even if he didn’t have the upper hand yet. But he had no doubt that he’d be the victor; and before the sun came up Buffy, and even Spike, would be submitting to his dominance. The older vamp’s head snapped from side to side as Spike lashed blows on that hated face. The laughter had always incensed Spike beyond reason, but now it was time to show his grandsire that he’d learned a thing or two since their so-called good old days together. He’d honed his fighting skills over the last century - determined to be subservient to no one - roamed the world to learn all the disciplines of hand-to-hand combat and the control and stamina necessary to excel in them. It was this knowledge he implemented now as he upped his attack. Angelus was beginning to worry. He’d figured that as usual his grandchilde’s temper would rule and he’d blow all his energy early in the battle. And, Spike had – charging him when the taunts became too much to bear. All he had to do was ride out the younger vampire’s rage and he’d be home free. Yes, Spike was definitely tiring, on the constant defensive from the attacking fists, fangs, and feet. Best finish it quickly in case he got the upper hand…that was something he could never allow, especially in front of Xander. Wouldn’t do to see him beaten by one of his own, might give the fledgling ideas… With a sudden burst of strength, Angelus managed to get in a lucky blow that staggered Spike. Then, he was on him, punching and clawing at the upstart. Finally feeling that he’d gotten a handle on the fight, Angelus started taunting him. “It’s gonna be great, Will,” he told the other, in between blows, “You, me, your hot little girl…” - punch – “all mine…we’re gonna wreak destruction…”- punch – “and mayhem…”- punch – “wherever we go.” Angelus delivered several more blows to Spike’s face causing Buffy to gasp in concern. He turned to her. “Don’t worry, Buff. He likes it. Always was one to enjoy a good box. Isn’t that right, William?” He punctuated this with another blow that sent his opponent crashing to the ground. Angelus turned away from Spike to concentrate on his prize, currently casting anguished looks between him and her fallen sire. His eyes pinned her in place. “Don’t worry about him, baby. I’ll make sure I take extra good care of you. You’ll soon forget him and come to crave my touch. After all, I taught him everything he knows…” “Not everything, you pillock,” Spike growled just before he clubbed the dark-haired vampire with a thick tree branch. The force of the blow sent the elder vampire crashing headlong into a tree, where he crumpled in an unmoving heap at its base. Throwing the branch down in disgust, he turned towards his trembling childe and took her into his arms, soothing her, with kisses to her face and neck. He was feeling a little weak, so he bit into her neck and took a few long pulls of blood to sustain him. When he was finished, he licked the holes closed and raised his head. “Get out here, whelp,” he called out, not bothering to turn around. Xander came out from where he’d hidden from Spike. But, it had been for naught. The master vampire had been aware of his presence, and now he would pay for his earlier betrayal. “I’m sorry, Spike. He just…was there…and he wasn’t like before…he…he…” “Shut up!” Xander’s closed his mouth at that harsh command. “Now, c’mere.” The fledgling made his way towards his adopted sire’s side, prepared for the worst. “You can come with us, or stay with Angelus. Your choice.” It was the last thing he expected and his face showed his astonishment. “I-I…” Xander hung his head shamefaced. “He’s my sire.” “Right then. You’d better get him out of here before dawn. We’re off to England, if you change your mind.” Xander nodded at Spike, before reluctantly moving off to collect his unconscious sire. He had to find somewhere to sleep before the sun came up over the horizon; heaving the bulky vampire over his shoulder, he trudged off. Some emotion…regret maybe…flitted through his mind as he walked away from the pair. He squashed it down and concentrated on getting his sire to safety, then he’d have to find something fresh to eat for them both.

Chapter #16 - Tis the Wind and Nothing More

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice: Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore- Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;- 'Tis the wind and nothing more." Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~ “Ripper! You in here?” Spike snarled when he saw the destruction of his lair. It reeked of Angelus. He glanced at the woman huddled against the wall, her white shirt all bloodied from a ragged gash on her neck. Angelus. Messing where he shouldn’t. “RIPPER!” “Yes, Spike?” Ripper strolled nonchalantly into the room adjusting the cuffs on his blue silk shirt as he walked. “You see this? What happened here?” “I really don’t know. I was…occupied. Maybe we should ask Jenny here. Looks like she’s been a bit busy too.” Ripper crouched in front of the terrified woman, reaching out a hand to cradle her face. Her breathy whimpers were extremely arousing and despite the hours he’d spent on Willow’s tutelage, he was hard again and ready. Giles had been sniffing around her for months now, too scared to even cop a feel and here she was – bound, petrified, clothes delectably disarrayed where Angelus had no doubt pawed at her with his meaty hands. Her neck was butchered by a savage bite and she looked half-crazed with hunger and thirst. True, she could do with a shower but Eyghon wasn’t that particular. He just liked them helpless and crying. He switched to Giles, easily slipping into the cultured tones of the librarian, speaking softly to the hunched figure. “Oh Jenny… Jenny darling, it’s okay, I’ve got you now.” Tear-filled eyes were turned on him. She focused on what she wanted to see, ignoring the evidence of her eyes and the danger her brain was trying to warn her about. “R...Rupert? Is it you?” “Yes – it’s me. I’m here. Are you hurt?” A sob was quickly swallowed. “It was Angel… no, not Angel – Angelus. Oh Rupert, Angelus is back – we’ve got to warn Buffy… the kids.” Jenny looked around in panic, trying to scramble to her feet. Her legs were too weak and she sagged back down to the floor with a sob. Ripper reached to brush the dirty, lank hair from her face and spoke softly. “Tell me, Jenny - tell me what that beast did to you.” “Oh, Rupert! He… he said he was going to rape me… then he was on me and somehow he bit me… I don’t know I’m so confused….” “The swine! Can you stand, dear?” She nodded weakly, and with his help managed to lean back against the wall. Ripper slowly inched forwards so that they almost touched. So far she wasn’t reacting to him, not putting two and two together. Ripper heard soft giggles and whispers between Spike and Buffy. Ah, they’d figured out what he was doing. This was going to be sweet. He sensed them moving round to get a better view. Jenny was slumped against the wall, head bowed and breathing raggedly. Slowly, oh so slowly, he moved forwards further until he felt the heat of her body through her torn clothing. He deliberately pressed himself against her, spreading her legs with his knees so that he could settle between them. Jenny trusted him not to hurt her and didn’t even flinch when he tilted his hips so as to ‘accidentally’ brush her mound with his erection. Simple, naïve fool. How could he have ever fancied such a weakling? Tiring of the game, he snarled and dipped his head to seek out her mouth with his own. He pressed himself harder against her, stifling her burgeoning cries of distress as he bit at her lips. Jenny’s fists flailed against his chest, his shoulders, as she tried to squirm out of his grasp. Ripper wasn’t about to let that happen and gripped her arms tightly to stop the assault. When her struggles stopped, he released her lips allowing her to gasp air into her tortured lungs. “Was it anything like that?” Jenny Calendar was almost broken, her eyes glazed and unfocused, her body shaking. “What… what are you… please, you have to help me…” “Yes… in a bit of a pickle, aren’t you? Don’t worry, Jenny, I intend to help you. I’m going to help you loose the fetters of your pathetic frame. Soon you’ll beg me to end your miserable existence. And maybe I will…” A whisper. “Rupert?” “Not really, or rather – not just Rupert. I’ve traded up; I’d like you to meet Eyghon.” His eyes flashed red then and Jenny screamed until she passed out. “Stupid bitch! WAKE UP!” He slapped her across her face, her head snapping back to hit the wall. Frustrated when she remained unconscious he shoved her away from him to slide down to the floor. “Yeah – that’ll do the trick. Patience, Ripper. Thought you’d know torture’s best taken slow. If they pass out, you’re moving too fast. Give her a minute or two to come round, maybe a sip of water and a crust of bread then try again. Give you a few pointers if you like; I know a fair bit about the subject after all, been giving and taking it for over a century.” “I think, Spike, that I can happily handle this particular task myself. Don’t you have anywhere to be? Such as out tracking Angelus?” You knew about Angelus? And you didn’t tell me?” Spike angrily lit a cigarette, dragging the smoke deep into his lungs. “What are you playing at, you bastard? Just bumped into Peaches as a matter of fact - and his little lapdog. Poofter hasn’t changed, still a sorry sod prancing around like he’s master of the bloody universe. Tried to dust me and make a move on my bird.” “And?” “And… he didn’t, did he? As can be seen with yours truly standing here.” “So I take it Angelus is blowing in the wind then? And Xander?” “Nah, just knocked him out with half a tree. What? He’s my grandsire, man! I can’t just off him like that. Now Angel… yeah, no problem there. But Angelus…h e was my mentor, he taught me the beauty of a drawn out death instead of my usual bite and drain. I owe him. Wasn’t him that dusted Dru, it was that souled up nonce Angel.” “So what? All we need is him out of the picture.” “Yeah, and it’s done. Told the whelp to take him away, said if I saw him again I’d stake him.” “Oh marvelous – Angelus must be quaking in his boots!” “Piss off! I do what I want when I want. Just because we’re best friends now doesn’t mean you make the rules. I’m going along with this for as long as it suits; the minute it doesn’t, Ripper, watch out.” Spike and Ripper were toe-to-toe, waves of loathing and distrust coming off them. Buffy’s eyes glinted with excitement as her demon fed on the angst in the room. Spike sensed her mounting arousal and broke off eye contact with the other man; the pissing contest could wait – Buffy’s delectable pussy couldn’t. With a swagger that belied his annoyance, he grasped Buffy’s hand in his and dragged her off to their room. “We’ll leave you to it then. Give us a shout when you’re ready to move out. Just don’t make it too soon, yeah?” Buffy and Spike’s laughter drifted back as they disappeared from view. Ripper scowled at their departing backs, turning to check on whether the teacher had regained consciousness. She was still out cold. God, this was boring. Willow was back in the bedroom… but no. He had to tidy up the loose ends. It was time to leave the Hellmouth, get to England and set things in motion. He’d toyed with the idea of keeping Jenny, just to play with. But if he did, there’d be all the hassle transporting her. She’d have to be drugged and then she’d be like a zombie, no resistance. And where’s the fun in that? Suddenly he had a mental image of a fragrant ash-blonde. There’s a thought. She’d be vulnerable and needy, no doubt about it -- and worried about her missing daughter. Pile on the guilt and self-recrimination for an hour or two, and if he could offer a manly shoulder for comfort… a bit of touchy-feely might not be out of the question. As Jenny began to stir, he made a decision. Really, looking at the wreck huddled in a stinking heap on the floor there was no choice at all. Time to move on. Ripper scanned the interior, his eyes lighting on the ceremonial dagger that Willow had used to release the dark magicks. He picked it up, weighing it in his left hand and considering the best way to proceed. Something gory. Plenty of blood. Eyghon liked blood. He roughly hauled the almost insane woman to her feet, the stench from her filth delighting the demon but disgusting the man. No, he didn’t want to touch this thing. He grabbed her chin loosely in his right hand to raise her eyes to meet his. Looking steadily into her suddenly lucid eyes, Ripper brought the knife across her throat in a firm sweep, the blue of his shirt instantly splattered with Jenny’s lifeblood as she gurgled out her last breath. Releasing her, the body thudded to the floor, blood pooling around her face with its unseeing, empty eyes. He stripped off the ruined shirt and tossed it on top of her corpse, Ripper strolled off to find a replacement, whistling to himself. ~*~*~*~*~ Buffy was tied firmly to the headboard, both hands together and around a post, naked, kneeling facing away from Spike who was still fully clothed. In the grip of arousal, her demon would not be restrained and she wore her game face, rasping her fangs with her wet, pink tongue. Spike watched her lazily from his seated position, her pert bum raised as she leant forwards to rest her head on her tethered hands. The light from the nightstand outlined her open legs in silhouette, her dark curls clearly visible from Spike’s viewpoint. He fancied he could see the moisture gathering at her opening and trickling on her thigh. His hands moved down his body, gently sweeping his taut nipples through the cloth of his shirt before deftly undoing the button and zipper to his fly. He toed off his boots, one hand gripping his stiff shaft through the open fly, squeezing himself almost painfully. With the other hand he gently caressed his balls, all the while his eyes locked on Buffy’s gleaming body. Buffy looked over her shoulder, her blonde hair cascading down her back, glowing eyes widening in appreciation of the sight of her lover’s hand stroking up and down his cock. She licked her lips, catching her tongue on a fang and slowly swayed her ass at him. In an instant Spike was on his feet and his jeans were kicked off. The black shirt flew after them and then he was naked, his erect cock jutting from the dark curls at its base. Buffy started panting in raw lust as she watched him prowl towards her, his left hand slowly stroking his dick, his tongue sweeping out to moisten his lips before curling behind his teeth. He stopped, inches from the bed, hand stilled. Buffy keened, arched her back so that her butt stuck up further into the air and exposed more of her moist entrance. She pulled repeatedly at her tethers, but they’d been tied by a vampire and would hold. Aching for some control, she begged; “Spike! Please, Sire… my hands… please…” Spike’s game face descended, every sense enhanced by the demon’s mastery of his body. Vampire eyes took in his childe, her body strung tight with tension as she pleaded for his touch. This was what the last hundred years should have been like instead of being second, sometimes third, in the queue to Angelus with Dru. Buffy was his and his alone. She wanted only him, craved only him. Truth be told, he craved only her. He mourned Dru, but he didn’t miss her. Another filled his heart. With a roar of pure animal need, Spike launched himself at the bed, grabbing Buffy’s hips in a bruising grip as he thrust himself inside her to the hilt. He delighted in her cry of pain as he stretched her without mercy. This was nirvana. Her whimpers, laced with the scent of her arousal, hit him right in the groin and he struggled to contain his ejaculation, stilling his thrusts as he leant forwards to lay his body against her back, sinking his fangs into her shoulder blade. Her blood flooded his system and he felt her orgasm build when his suckling became intense. The second her muscles began clenching his cock, he shot spurts of milky semen deep inside her, his hands gripping her hips so hard his nails drew blood. In the lazy aftermath he reached up a hand and unhooked her bound wrists from around the bedpost. He rolled onto his back, taking Buffy with him to lie against him, curling his body around her protectively. She was his childe. His. In the drowsy afternoon the vampires drifted off into unconscious slumber, limbs tangled and demon features melted away. Ripper’s whistle as he made his way out of the factory echoed off the walls of their chamber.

Chapter #17 - In There Stepped a Stately Raven

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door- Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door- Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~ Ripper swallowed down the urge to slaughter every single occupant of Sunnydale as he strolled through the centre of town. He watched them mill about aimlessly, burdened down with groceries to feed their bloated bodies, witless smiles plastered on vacant faces. The parents of one of his students stopped to thank him for recommending a reading list; it was all he could do not to rip out their throats as they stood in front of him, sweaty and cheerful, whining on and on about their ‘little girl’. Trying his best to be polite, he managed to escape by pleading a prior appointment. After all, it was the truth. He’d stopped by his old apartment to dress himself in Watcher tweed again, making a telephone call to Joyce Summers as he practiced “concerned Giles” in the mirror. She’d been back a week with no sign of Buffy. Willow had helped enormously by inventing a story about Buffy taking a call from her father to say he’d been in an accident. Since Joyce Summers had no idea of her ex-husband’s whereabouts and Buffy had, under Willow’s supervision, left a brief message on the answer service to say she was with her dad and would call soon, there was nothing to do but wait. A week had gone by without any contact from her daughter and Joyce was becoming anxious. She was already hounding Giles with messages at the school and on his phone and it was only a matter of time before she went looking for Willow and Xander. And once that happened, it would become apparent that all was not right in Sunnydale and his careful planning would start to unravel before he was ready. So here he was on his way to meet the Slayer’s mother at her home. He wasn’t entirely sure how to play it so he’d just have to rely on instinct. At the front door of 1630 Revello Drive, he settled his form into Rupert Giles stance and knocked. After a brief delay the door opened. Joyce Summers was immaculately groomed as usual but her eyes bore signs of restless sleep. She couldn’t help leaning round to look behind him, obviously looking to see if he was bringing home her daughter. “Mr Giles. Please, come in. I haven’t thanked you for looking out for Buffy while I was out of town.” “That’s quite alright, Mrs Summers, it was a pleasure, really.” He was shown into the living room where he took a seat on the couch. After accepting the offer of tea, both of them sat in silence sipping their drinks. “So, have you heard from Buffy?” “Oh, no… I was hoping… when you rang I thought you were coming to tell me she’d been in touch. I just get the feeling that she doesn’t want to talk to me for some reason - maybe because she’s with her dad. I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me for leaving him, bringing her here. Oh, I don’t know! I’m just… I’m not sleeping well. I won’t settle until I speak to her.” Giles smiled, his features trying to remember ‘sympathetic and caring’. “It’s perfectly understandable. Although, I’m sure she’s fine. I think you’re probably right. I know we have discussed her feelings about… well, I don’t want to break her confidence but in the circumstances…” “She’s spoken about the divorce… with you?” “Well, yes – she has. I’m sorry… you don’t even know me. I think it’s fair to say that Buffy has turned to me for some kind of parental support since she’s been in Sunnydale. Oh – don’t take it as a personal reflection on yourself, Mrs Summers.” This was so easy! One mention that Buffy may be affected by her mother’s decision to leave her father and the guilt hit big time. “She really doesn’t blame you. She just misses her father.” Joyce’s bottom lip quivered as she tried to keep a hold of her emotions. “I know. It’s been hard on her… she was only a baby really. I could have tried… but Hank and I …it was over. There was no point prolonging the agony. Do you… do you think that she’s gone for good? Maybe she’s decided she wants to be with him instead?” “I suppose it’s possible. I know she’s been keeping in touch with him. He used to ring her when she was in the library. It was a regular thing…” “She never told me…” Joyce’s voice tapered off to a whisper. “No? Well perhaps she thought you wouldn’t understand.” Tears pooled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. Taking a chance, Giles moved to sit closer to her and ventured a calming hand on her own; it wasn’t snatched away. Emboldened, he sat back on the couch and threw an arm around her shoulders hugging her to him. “Joyce… can I call you Joyce?” She nodded. “Don’t worry about Buffy; she’s a remarkable young woman. She’ll be home soon, I’m sure.” “I just can’t help it. She’s my little girl, you know? I…I miss her.” Gently, so as not to frighten her, Giles placed a soft kiss on her cheek. Unconsciously, Joyce leaned into him, drawn to the feel of warm arms around her, taking comfort from his concern. Ripper stifled a chuckle. Were all the Summers women this easy? No wonder Spike never left the bedroom. Sighing, decision made, she moved in his arms, her lips upturned and parted, begging to be kissed. He obliged her, a chaste meeting of lips with the ghost of a tongue sweeping their plump surface. He drew away from her leaving her gasping at the loss. Time to turn the screw. “Erm… sorry, …I’m sorry, Joyce – that was hardly appropriate. I do apologize.” Giles let go of the hand he still held in his. Joyce flushed crimson, her arms crossed tight against her chest as she withdrew into herself. Not only did she now have “mom-guilt” but she’d also behaved like a sex-starved housewife. “It’s fine, Joyce, I’m sure it was just the fact that you’re distressed with Buffy’s absence. I understand; I won’t draw any inferences from it.” He pushed his spectacles back up his nose and smoothed his tie, face a mask of distaste. For extra effect, he scooted away from her on the couch. “I’ll let myself out. I’ll let you know if I hear anything from Buffy. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’s just making up for lost time with her father. I’ll be in touch, Mrs Summers.” He deliberately distanced himself by using her formal name. She flinched at his words, tears welling and falling again. She was a picture of anguish, head bowed, arms crossed and rocking softly. Ripper grinned. That was a treat. Maybe when he returned from England he’d prey on her again. He closed the door behind him, heading off to the factory to pack up shop and head back to the motherland. ~*~*~*~*~ Willow was still reclined in the tangled sheets, unwilling to leave the bed where she’d discovered such delights. Maybe if she waited long enough, her tutor would return and teach her some more. Or maybe…she could compel him. She was about to summon her inner forces when Ripper walked in the doorway. “Lover, I was just going to send for you… and please lose the tweed – it really doesn’t do it for me.” He chuckled. “Gladly.” Ripper stripped the loathsome cloth from his lean frame, delighting Willow with his complete lack of inhibition. She pouted, however, when he immediately donned his other clothes, concealing the source of her satisfaction. “Get dressed, Willow. We’ve work to do.” She knew by his tone that all the pouting in the world wouldn’t bring him to her bed. Reluctantly she threw back the sheets, her pale skin almost the same shade as the ivory satin. Eyeing him from beneath lowered lashes, she stretched her arms above her head arching her back. Nothing. He really wasn’t in the mood. With a sigh of regret she slid off the bed and padded to the clothes heaped on the floor where she’d left them. The leather pants molded to her flesh and the corset gave a delicious constriction when she laced it tight, the swell of her breasts peeping over the ruffle of scarlet lace. All business now, she turned to face Ripper. “I’m ready; when do we leave?” “Today. Go and alert Spike and Buffy. I have calls to make. I’ll be at my apartment. Be there after sunset.” Willow nodded, breathless at the tone of command in his voice. It hit her right between her legs. To think, she’d gone all of her life without knowing this thrill. Momentarily, she mourned Drusilla and the feelings the dark haired vampire had started to awaken in her. It was something she’d explore further, when time allowed. Smiling to herself she went to wake Spike and Buffy and advise them of Ripper’s timetable. ~*~*~*~*~ “Quentin? Yes, it’s Rupert Giles. I’m aware that I haven’t filed a report… well, perhaps if you’d ever been in the field you’d appreciate that sometimes actions are more important than sending long-winded explanations.” The more he thought about the Watchers’ Council, the more he wanted to just bomb it out of existence. But that would be over too quickly; he had a better idea… “If you could just listen to me for a moment. Thank you. We have a problem. Buffy’s missing… no, I’ve no idea. She just vanished. Yes, I assure you I have exhausted every line of enquiry; I’ve just left her mother in fact. She’s very distressed.” He held the receiver away from his ear as Travers’ condescending tones had him gritting his teeth. “And that’s not all. Angelus has returned.” There was silence at the other end of the line. “Quentin? Did you hear me?” Ripper swirled the glass of scotch he’d snagged from the kitchen; a sly smile stole over his face. “Well, if you insist. You will? Wonderful, then there’s no need to delay. Oh, I think the airfield by the military base will be the nearest. Thank you. I’ll be in touch as soon as I land.” Replacing the receiver, he drained the glass, his eyes flaring red. Well who’d have thought that the Watcher’s Council wanted to welcome him home and were sending a jet for him to boot? Taking a last look around, he left Rupert Giles’ home, bearing weapons and amulets that may prove useful. Time to enter the belly of the beast. And the beast would choke on him. ~*~*~*~*~ Buffy, Spike and Willow were lounging about in the factory when Ripper returned. Willow had sent out for a pizza and was happily devouring a Margherita with mushrooms. Spike and Buffy were finishing off the pizza delivery boy. As Buffy drained the last of his lifeblood, Spike grabbed the empty husk and threw it off to one side to join the other four bodies. Ripper chuckled as he entered. “The people of Sunnydale are really stupid. Who’d be a delivery boy in this place? Do any of them ever return for a second order?” “Couldn’t say, mate. Don’t really care to be honest. What’s the plan?” Spike was sucking at his teeth, getting the last of the blood to wash over his tongue. Buffy mewled at him and he settled her on his knee allowing her to lap at his mouth like a kitten. Ripper looked at them with disdain. Lustful couplings were one thing, but these two were almost sickening in their devotion to each other. “We go to England. I’ve informed Travers of the missing Slayer and of Angelus’ return. I can assure you that I will be welcomed with open arms. I’ll get inside and arrange for a weak spot and then… well, then you can slaughter every living one of them.” “That’s a plan, Ripper. But the Council’s bound to have some sort of Detectovamp setup. How do you suppose Buffy and I will slip inside the hallowed halls?” “Don’t worry, Spike. I’ve thought of that. You do remember we have Willow, don’t you?” He pulled the witch to his side, crushing her lips with a bruising kiss. Willow leaned against him, one hand on his chest. “I think you’ll find that I have surprises in store for them. They’re expecting Rupert Giles – they’re getting Ripper. They don’t know Buffy’s a vampire, they have no idea we’re working together and Willow…well, Willow is our secret weapon.” Spike nodded in acknowledgement. “So, Ripper. We saddle up and head on home?” “We do. Get ready to leave within the hour. Would you believe that the Council is sending the jet for me? It’ll be easy enough for Willow to cloak you two, or work a forgetting spell on the pilot, and there’s no reason why Willow shouldn’t accompany me to give a full report to the Council. The best of everything en route -- if memory serves it’s like the Ritz on board. And it’s all courtesy of those morons. ” “Sounds good. Buffy and I will just go and find ourselves a little snack before we leave. I doubt the Council of Wankers caters to the vampire traveler. We’ll meet you at the airfield. Don’t leave without us!” “Just be there, Spike. Don’t mess this up.” Spike raised his eyebrow at Ripper’s tone. But now was not the time for a face off. Without further words, Buffy and Spike slipped out into the night. Willow moved to stand behind Ripper, slipping her hands around his middle then moving lower to ghost across his groin. Standing on tiptoe, she whispered against his ear. “A whole hour to kill. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?” With a snarl, Ripper turned and grasped her arms. Willow smiled against his mouth as he started to kiss her hungrily, raising her legs to lock around his back as he carried her up the stairs to his bed.

Chapter #18 - Quoth the Raven, Nevermore

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore. "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore- Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!” Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.” Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~ “Wot? Waited until the plane landed, didn’t I?” he argued indignantly. “And you gotta admit it’s the best way – no loose lips to sink ships.” Ripper glanced down at the ravaged necks of the pilot and copilot, who’d been attacked the moment they’d opened the door that had sealed off the cockpit. He couldn’t fault the vampire’s logic, and the speed and skill the two had employed had impressed even him. Maybe teaming up with these two vampires hadn’t been such a bad decision after all. “True,” Ripper agreed. “All done are we?” Spike didn’t spare a glance at the corpses at his feet, just held out his hand to his childe. She eagerly slipped her hand in his, leaning up to lick a stray smear of blood from his lips. “After you, mate.” The foursome took advantage of the car that had been sent to collect them; Willow having cast a cloaking spell to mask the two vampires. The driver, some underling whose mind was no match for the witch’s manipulations, gushed at seeing the pair descend the steps of the aircraft and into the waiting limousine – rambling on about their accommodations while he held the door open for them. Ripper just rolled his eyes at the wet-behind-the-ears youth and bade him shut his trap and the door. “Now him I wouldn’t mind you eating,” Ripper muttered as the driver closed the door and rushed around to take his place behind the wheel. The foursome relaxed in silence as the driver left London Heathrow Airport behind on their relatively short trip into the city and the Lanesborough Hotel. On the off chance the elaborate accommodations were a smokescreen enacted by the “Men in Tweed” and the limousine was bugged, they’d elected to wait until checking in to their room before discussing their plans to take over the Council. Once there, Willow could erect stronger wards to block out even the most sophisticated spying devices, rather than the quick spell she was using right now to conceal the vampires. At the hotel, Ripper stepped up to the desk, suitcase in hand, showing his credentials and Willow’s manufactured ones to the receptionist. “Ah, Mr. Giles, so good to have you with us.” The staff at the Lanesborough was very familiar with the Watchers’ Council and had to undergo in-depth vetting before being permitted to hold a position that would require one-on-one contact with members of the secret organization. “If you’ll just sign right here, Jason will show you to your room. Have you brought any cases with you?” “No, we’re traveling light, just our hand luggage,” Ripper replied in his most stake-up-the-arse voice. The former watcher watched as the card keys were handed to the bellboy waiting to assist them. “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Giles.” Jason turned towards the elevator, as the man and what could be either his daughter or a very young girlfriend, drew near. The elevators closed with a soundless whoosh and the bellboy chatted about the facilities and how fortunate they’d been to secure a room overlooking Hyde Park – completely oblivious to the two smirking vampires leaning against one of the walls. The elevator halted at their floor and the small group was led down the hallway to their room. He quickly inserted the card and opened the door, his prepared speech as he recited the room’s accommodations tumbling from his lips. None of the guests were paying him the slightest attention. The bellboy completed his circuit of the room and swept open the curtains with a flourish so that the pair could take in the scenic view of Hyde Park and Mayfair at night – he’d learned a while ago that that little trick would usually garner him an extra fiver in his tip. When the audible gasps of wonder and awe were lacking, he turned to glance at the couple. The man was seated at the table writing, while the redhead seemed bored with the whole process. “Will there be anything else, sir?” Jason asked. Ripper looked up. “Oh, you’re finished. Good. No, this’ll be quite satisfactory. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have reports to attend to for the Council. I’m sure you understand.” “Yes, sir.” He kept his opinion of the Councilman to himself and pasted on a polite smile. “Here are your keys.” Ripper took the keys, and at the boy’s expectant look, he stood and reached into his pocket to extract a few notes, shoving a couple of the bills into the hand that had suddenly appeared. “I trust you can see yourself out?” “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Goodnight.” The boy was forgotten as Ripper sat back down at the table. “Willow.” His voice was low, the single word inflected with meaning. Nodding, the girl gripped her hands together, tucking them under and pushing them away from her body as she cracked her knuckles. She swiveled her head in a circular motion and more cracking could be heard. A chant in Latin was whispered under her breath, and her hands began to glow as a green ball of energy formed in the palm of her hand. It slowly expanded until it doubled in size, then after a flash of blinding light, the room seemed to glow in a hazy shade of sea green. “Done,” she murmured to her mentor and lover. “How long will it last?” “A few hours, give or take.” “Long enough for us to see about an upgrade,” Spike announced. “I don’t think—” “No, he’s right,” Willow interjected. “We should keep this room for appearances, but set up a separate place to stay. Not that I’m in any way averse to a little voyeurism, or even an orgy or two, but this place is way too small, even for two.” Her gaze swept over the elaborately furnished room with distaste. “Red’s got the right of it. We’ll be back once we’ve found something a bit more us.” “Take Willow with you. She can keep the hotel staff in line while you take care of the room’s occupants. And, just let me be clear. The staff’s off limits. Any of them go missing, it could blow our cover. There are enough morons outside the hotel to keep you both fed and happy for years to come.” The two Brits shared a look. “I’d forgotten how bloody crowded London is,” Ripper grumbled. “It’s a long time since I’ve been spoiled for choice. But it does make ‘take out’ a tad easier.” “Here…take a card key. I’m making a list of the supplies we’ll need. Wilde’s is over in Chelsea, and I’m going to try and look up an old friend while I’m in town. He loves to dabble in the old naughty nasty – very skillful and rather partial to invoking chaos. He may come in handy. And, as faithful minion of Eyghon his talents and contacts will prove very useful.” Spike flicked the card against his forehead in mock salute. “Ta, mate.” ~*~*~*~*~ Gaining access to the Royal Suite had been a breeze thanks to Willow and her magicks. She’d put a glamour spell on the three, transforming Spike into a bodyguard of sorts dressed in a discreet black suit, while garbing herself and Buffy in the type of evening gowns flaunted at movie premieres. The blonde vampire hadn’t been able to see her reflection in the mirror, but a brush past her “bodyguard” as he seated her in her chair told her that she was looking good. After that, it had been a simple matter for the witch to do a quick mind probe to see who was currently occupying the suite and another spell to get the male – an American actor named Jake, currently taking a break from his shooting schedule – to join them at their table. An hour was spent by the two females teasing the man shamelessly: a foot rubbing against the groin, a hand sliding along a sculpted thigh – all accomplished beneath the crisply starched tablecloth as they dined in the Conservatory. Afterward, they practically raced down the secluded hallway leading to his suite, both Buffy and Willow taking up position on either side of the unsuspecting hunk to continue driving him insane with lust. In a practiced move, the two stopped outside the door to his suite and struck a seductive pose. The actor turned, and seeing them hovering in the doorway, issued the invitation that signaled his demise. “Come on in, ladies,” Jake purred in the voice that had women the world over panting in their seats as they watched him on screen. Twin smiles graced their lips as Buffy was able to step over the threshold. “Me first?” the vampiress asked in an aside to Willow, her eyes never leaving her prey. “By all means,” Willow gestured with a wave of her hand. “I’ll just take a look around.” Buffy eyed the man’s crotch, scenting his arousal and lack of fear. Not for very much longer, she’d see to it. She didn’t want to fuck her food, just eat it. Still, the role had to be maintained. Licking her lips, she sashayed towards the actor, her hips swaying seductively, the cut of the “glamoured” gown clinging to her toned body and showing off her curves to their best advantage. “Hear that, big boy? I get first dibs. Think you can handle me?” She stopped before him, one long fingernail trailing down the lapel of his dinner jacket. “Oh yeah…” His hand snaked out and pulled her flush against his body so that she felt the evidence of his desire. He lowered his head and kissed her. Soft, gentle kisses to make sure she wasn’t going to change her mind, moaning in delight when she seemed to have other ideas. Passion – or so he thought – quickly flared between the pair, and Jake suddenly found his head pulled back as her fingers fisted in his hair. His grip on her tightened as blunt teeth nipped lightly at his neck, and he guided them deeper into his suite and towards the white couch situated in front of the fireplace. When his feet encountered the front edge, he sat and leaned back, pulling the blonde female down on top of him. His fingers instinctively sought the fastenings of her dress as she squirmed above him. So intent on his task to see the goddess naked, he didn’t notice her facial features shift against his neck or hear her growl just seconds before she tore into his neck. By then it was too late. She’d stifled his scream with a strategic hand over his mouth, and his last thought before the darkness called to him, was that he should have stayed on the set and not had a power struggle with his director. “Nummy treat?” Willow asked from her position behind the back of the couch. She couldn’t resist trailing a hand along the toned flank of the vampiress still feeding from the man’s neck. The witch chuckled at the warning growl and moved round the couch to stand before the fireplace. “Incendio!” the witch commanded with a wave of her hand. The logs in the fireplace blazed into life and soft light flickered about the darkened room. A moment later, Buffy sat up and licked her lips. “Nice…think you could do something with this?” she questioned the witch as she stood and stepped away from the couch. Willow grinned. “Mobilcorpus!” The limp body of the actor levitated off of the couch and floated after the witch as she moved towards one of the rooms. “Cool,” Buffy commented as her fangs and ridged brow receded and she once more slipped into her human guise. She sensed her sire approaching, so she rushed to the door and opened it just as he arrived. Since the single occupant was no longer among the living, no barrier barred his entry. Spike crushed his childe against him, growling fiercely as he smelled the man’s scent all over her body. Her purring into his neck settled him somewhat, but he wasn’t happy. She was still new to him, only he could touch her. Mark her. Taste her. His temper soared again, and he was just about to throw Buffy over his shoulder and bear her off to one of the suite’s bedrooms, when Red appeared. “Do you two ever take a break?” “Jealous, pet?” Willow snorted, but wisely held her tongue. Since being initiated into the pleasures of the flesh and all it entailed by her master, sex was never far from her thoughts. She could feel their hunger; wisely, she changed the subject. “Do you guys want something to eat?” Willow asked. “You volunteering?” Spike grinned and Buffy growled possessively as both scented the witch’s response to the master vampire’s words. “Some other time - I’ve got wards to put in place.” She fingered one of the keycards on the table near the entrance. It glowed green for a moment as she magically enhanced it. “Here take this with you. You’ll need it to get back in.” “Say, luv…fancy a pub crawl?” Buffy cocked her head to the side. “What’s a pub crawl?” “Trust me. It’s a lot of fun.” She smiled as the word “fun” seemed to roll off his tongue. Honestly, she didn’t care where they went – as long as they were together, she was happy. ~*~*~*~*~ Ripper strolled some distance down towards Knightsbridge before hailing a taxi to take him to Wilde’s. He’d waved off the doorman’s attempts of obtaining him transportation, telling the man that he just wanted to stretch his legs for a bit…glory in being back in his homeland. The sap had sucked up his explanation and winked conspiratorially at him as he bid him a good evening. He’d not ventured inside the magic shop since his hellion days as a demon-worshipping youth. And he laughed inwardly that its true nature had never been revealed, that it had carried on its evil machinations right under the Council’s nose. So naïve he’d been, completely unprepared for all that Eyghon had to offer him. He’d ended up caving to his father’s demands to buck up and fulfill his family obligation to the Council. But, Eyghon was always there, lurking in the dark recesses of his mind. Biding his time. Then it had happened, and the demon had been reborn even stronger than before. No doubt due to his maturity and the fact that his natural inclinations had been suppressed for so many years. Yes, now the demon flowed through his veins…and things were exactly as they should be. He could feel the power even now, crackling at his fingertips, just waiting to be used. Power, unlike anything he’d ever experienced, his to command. A snap of his fingers, a flick of his wrist, even a thought would be all that was required. Chaos, just waiting to be unleashed. The Watchers’ Council would be the beginning. The cab drew to a halt outside the shops lining the Kings Road. Ripper had given the cabbie the street as his destination, rather than an actual building – he was nothing if not cautious. He was too close to having it all to blow it on not paying extra attention to the finer details. He tipped the driver a typical amount, nothing to draw particular notice, and he waited until the car sped off before ambling down towards World’s End. The closer he got to Wilde’s, the sharper his senses became, until he could hear the heartbeats of other pedestrians, the individual engine parts of passing cars, moving in sync with one another; feel the rough fibers of the tweed pants of his “Giles” costume; smell the plethora of distinct odors that assailed his nostrils – some good, some horrendous. Ahhhh… the joys of demonhood, and all the wonderful gifts it entails. He came to a halt before a nondescript little shop. It was just as it had always been, despite the drastic change that had taken place in the area. Gone were the punk boutiques and scruffy shops of his day; now grand and not so grand antique businesses had taken over, yet Wildes still blended in, as anonymous and unremarkable as ever. He stepped up to the door, eyes glowing red. The door swung open without a hand being laid to it and Ripper entered. The entire shop was lined with shelves filled with books and jars, tables and display cases crammed with artifacts and statuary. Gleaming wood and glass. He passed through the shop, some of the tamer items that he needed magically floating to a free table to await his return from the basement. This area was accessible to only the more serious warlocks. In the basement, all sorts of delectable ingredients lay waiting for the right person – the right demon – to summon their power. It was here that Ripper’s feet carried him. The wards in front of the hidden door melted away before Eyghon, and Ripper crept down the rickety stairs. He smiled evilly as he sensed the other’s presence. Good. It saved him the trouble of looking. “Hello, Ethan,” Ripper greeted the other coolly as he reached the last step and walked into the room.

Chapter #19 - Much I Marvelled

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door- Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as “Nevermore.” Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~ Ethan had felt him long before he entered the room. His former companion in chaos was powerful in his own right, but now imbued with the essence of Eyghon, his aura shone like a beacon that drew his eyes and his devotion. “Ripper. I knew I sensed you back in Sunnydale. What was with the beating, old chap? I only wanted to help but you put me on my back before I could even say hello.” “Wasn’t time, had things to do. Now enough chatter. I can count on your loyalty, yes? To me and to our master? Although nowadays it’s one and the same.” Ethan nodded, intrigued. He’d spent the time since he’d fled the States calling in favors and building a nice little bolthole for himself. He suspected something was going to happen after recognizing Ripper, but he was eager to know what. “You know me, always one for a little mayhem. What are you looking for?” Ripper considered. He didn’t trust Ethan. But it wasn’t trust he needed. What he needed was a willing volunteer; somebody who had some power of their own and who’d be a likely sacrifice. Not that Ethan needed to know that just yet… “Just you…perhaps a few items; I have a list.” Ethan took the paper from Ripper’s hand and scanned it. Most of the items were standard fare but a few raised an eyebrow. “This looks interesting… I’ll have to order a couple of them, not something we usually stock. How soon do you need them?” “No time like the present. A couple of days won’t hurt, I suppose.” Ripper chuckled. “In fact, a few days would be just right. No harm in a little playtime before the bloodbath.” The two men, old friends, lately enemies, took stock of each other. They were so alike it had caused conflict in the past, but they both now seemed to be aiming for the same thing. Chaos. “I think this reunion deserves a little celebration, don’t you? I’ve a good single malt upstairs. Shall we make a start on the list…and the bottle?” Ripper grinned. Yes, this was shaping up to be a very good day. ~*~*~*~*~ Willow was bored. She’d returned to their ‘official’ room and had flicked through every available channel on the television. The sounds of Buffy and Spike’s coupling back in the Royal Suite’s master bedroom had been amusing and arousing for a little while, but when they’d moved on to ‘Round 3’ and Willow had brought herself to orgasm in the adjoining lounge for the third time, she’d grown bored and headed out. Where had Ripper gotten to? Pleasuring herself was all right, but it didn’t come close to the raw and bruising touch of her mentor. Even the porn channels were lame – in fact she could show the porn industry a trick or two now. Sighing she flicked off the screen, tossed the remote on the bed and walked to the enormous window the bellboy had been so eager to show them. He was right; it was a fine view. She watched the little figures scurrying about their mundane daily business and sneered. Puny fools, every single one of them too dimwitted to sense the power nestling amongst them. Herself. Ripper. Buffy. Spike. They were all powerful creatures and all hell-bent on destruction. She felt sorry for the ordinary folk for a moment. Just for a moment. The knock on the door drew her from her reverie and she turned just in time to see a maid loaded down with towels and sheets walk in. “I’m sorry, Miss. I didn’t realize anybody was in. I’ll come back later.” Willow smiled. This might be just the distraction she needed. The maid was slim and pale, dark hair flowing over her shoulders. Her voice reminded her of a promise of pleasure cut short by a wooden stake… “No. That’s okay. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your duty. Please, carry on.” The maid nodded and turned to go into the bedroom. Willow followed after her with a nonchalant sway to her hips, chanting as she went. By the time the maid turned, Willow’s eyes were black and hooded. The towels and sheets tumbled to the floor as Willow’s hand wrapped around the young girl’s throat and pressed her back onto the bed. “Don’t worry” the witch whispered, “I’ll take good care of you. And when I’m done – I’ll even give you a tip and wipe your mind.” ~*~*~*~*~ Buffy’s fist was rapidly creating the usual reaction at Spike’s groin. They’d been in bed for hours and still she wasn’t satisfied. He grinned; his girl was wicked and dark and… laid out in front of him on her back, writhing as she turned her talented fingers to stroking herself wet. This was the unlife he’d always envisioned, spent with an equal who could join him in giving and taking pain and pleasure. He’d sensed the witch similarly employed with her own pale fingers in the lounge and – although he was occupied at the time – still got a kick out of it. Any arousal added to the heady mix in his opinion; he didn’t particularly want to share Buffy, or himself to be honest – not just yet anyway – but Red’s succulent flesh may be a feast his Childe could dine on later, once the business with Ripper was finished. Spike licked his lips. Anticipation always made the meal more piquant. Buffy’s moans of pleasure brought him back to the present. His Childe was nearing orgasm, her face screwed up as the pleasure washed over her. Spike slid down her body and nuzzled her fingers away from her pussy. His tongue took over the job, doing it harder and better, if her moans were anything to go by. Buffy tangled her fingers in his hair and wrapped her legs round his neck, locking him in place as he devoured her. A fang sliced the delicate flesh, its sting plunging her into ecstasy. Before she could spiral down from the dizzy heights, Spike slinked up her body and thrust his greedy cock deep within her. He fucked her mercilessly, ignoring her cries of pain as she banged her head against the walnut headboard hard enough to split her scalp. The blood tang drove him on to claw at her skin and Buffy was laughing with him, biting and snarling, as they fought for domination in their coupling. He bit her breast hard, wrenching at flesh as his semen spurted deep inside her, and Buffy howled her pleasure at both penetrations, unable to decide which she craved most. In the afterglow of their violent lovemaking, Buffy realized that they were now alone in the suite. She’d become aware of Willow earlier, had taken pleasure from the scent of Willow’s own arousal at their joining. Musing as she lay in her lover’s arms, she wondered what it would feel like to have soft and yielding warm breasts to play with… “Buffy…” Spike growled, sensing her drifting thoughts. “She’s not for you - at least …not yet. Got things to do and Willow’s needed to create Ripper’s little orgy of mayhem. After that…well, I never said we had to be friends for life.” He grinned, lazily before kissing her deliciously bruised lips. “Get some rest, pet. Not rightly sure what the timetable of slaughter is yet so we’d best get some shuteye while we can.” Buffy nuzzled into Spike’s arms and licked up his neck, keening her need. Wordlessly, the Sire gave his Childe permission to feed and they drifted off into slumber land with their legs entwined and Buffy’s fangs still embedded in his neck. ~*~*~*~*~ Ripper and Ethan were sitting in companionable silence. All the items from stock were bagged and ready to go, the more unusual and rare supplies on order and promised the day after tomorrow. Ripper knew that they’d arrive on time; Ethan had a rare way of punishing slack suppliers. They’d got through the best part of a full bottle of Scotch and were reminiscing about days past, slaughter and mayhem bringing happy memories back to both of them. Ripper’s memories were an amalgam of his own and those of the powerful demon inhabiting his body and he’d amused Ethan by giving the demon’s viewpoint of the night their friend’s life had been taken. Speaking of… “Ethan…I have a special task for you.” Ripper’s eyes were glowing red, leaving his companion in no doubt that the request came straight from Eyghon. “Master! I will do your bidding in all things.” Ethan did his best to hide his terror. He was marked indelibly with Eyghon’s mark and any rebellion would surely be quashed before he even thought it. Until he found a way to remove the tattoo that served as a tracer for the dark demon he’d sworn allegiance to all those years ago, he’d play it safe and lick whatever had to be licked. “I will call on you when it is time. You are a loyal servant, Ethan. Eyghon will not forget that.” ‘Terrific!’ thought the worshipper of chaos. ~*~*~*~ Two days later Quentin Travers closed the volume he’d requested earlier from the stacks. It hadn’t helped much. Giles’ call from California had disturbed him greatly, truth be told. Angelus was back and Buffy Summers, their current Slayer, was missing. In fact, he now knew she was dead, since a replacement had been called; although he hadn’t informed Giles, preferring to deliver the bad news face to face, the better to relish the discomfort and grief of the pointless little man. The next Slayer had already been activated but she was proving to be quite a handful and had immediately slipped away from her designated watcher. Travers had sent out word that she was to be terminated, she was too much of a liability and there were always other girls. He stared at the dark-haired whore depicted by the Council’s identity picture and frowned. Pity. She looked good and strong. His intercom buzzed and he was told that Rupert Giles had arrived accompanied by a young redhead. That would be Miss Rosenberg he supposed, probably frantic about her missing friend and seeking reassurance. If so, she’d come to the wrong place. His greatest pleasure was dashing people’s hopes and watching their faces crumple in pain. His lips curved in malicious anticipation as he requested his visitors be shown in. He was sitting behind the desk, fingers steepled, as the pair was shown in and the heavy door shut behind them. Silence reigned. Willow breathed deeply of the tension in the room. Her nerve endings were zinging now, had been ever since they’d passed the threshold to the Watcher’s Council’s sanctified headquarters, the cloaked vampires who were key to their plan sauntering past the guards in the foyer. The combined power of herself and Ripper were more than enough to deceive the sensors. She smiled, smugly, as she recalled the final ingredient that came from Ethan’s magic shop to complete the spell – his lifeblood. She half-listened to the polite yet uninformative chatter between the Head of the Watcher’s Council and Ripper, her senses being utilized in checking that Buffy and Spike were in place for their coup de gras. She was drawn back to the conversation when she heard Ripper – or rather his Giles façade – gasp. “NO! Oh god, Quentin…she can’t be…dead…” Willow stifled a giggle. Her dark lover was such a good actor. She joined in the fun…. “Giles…please no…not…Buffy…” To add that extra flair she brought a hand up to her forehead, palm outwards, and made as if to swoon. She fell back into the safe hands of her mentor, who under guise of assisting her made sure he crushed her breasts when he caught her against his chest. She struggled to quash the moan of delight. “Would you like a glass of water, Miss Rosenberg? I’m sure it’s been quite a shock for you. Please – feel free to lie on the couch.” Willow staggered to the overstuffed leather couch, slipping one hand behind her to surreptitiously fondle Ripper’s semi-erect cock as it pressed against those god-awful tweed trousers. They were both highly amused and well on the way to being extremely aroused by their little game. There and then, Willow promised herself she’d fuck Ripper on Travis’ desk with the head Watcher laid dead beside it. “A new Slayer has been activated, obviously, but she isn’t in place yet. I’m expecting to rendezvous with her presently.” Quentin Travers smiled his crocodile smile, no emotion reaching his eyes. The room fell silent save for the ticking of the grandfather clock and the creak of leather as Willow made herself comfortable, stroking the cool surface rhythmically. After a few coughs and throat clearings, Travers spoke. “So what can you tell me of Angelus? Do you know his whereabouts?” “Sadly no. He managed to evade us. You’re aware that he sired a…a young friend of ours. Alexander Harris?” “I wasn’t. I haven’t read your report yet, Rupert. It being rather difficult since you have neglected to file it yet. Again, my condolences.” The tosser! Ripper snarled inwardly at the implied criticism. “Thank you. Suffice to say that given the circumstances I’m anxious… we’re anxious to track him down and stake him. And…Xander…the poor boy.” A tear, Willow marveled. Ripper had actually squeezed out a tear! “I’m sure it’s been a very trying time, Rupert. But, I’m afraid given the circumstances I’m going to have to ask you for a full report. The situation is dire.” The heavy door to the room swung open, the pale and lifeless features of Travers’ PA drawing all eyes as she dangled in the death grip of Spike’s bruising fist, head lolling to one side on a broken neck. “Oh dear, Travers…you’ve no idea how dire.” The Head of the Watcher’s Council of Great Britain spun round to see Ripper and Willow leaning against each other, lazy smiles on their faces. He gaped for a second before being drawn back to the doorway by the thud of the deceased Miss Spriggs as her corpse hit the floor. His eyes bugged when Buffy stepped out from behind the male vampire. She spoke one word. It chilled him to the bone. “Quentin.” The pain that followed was excruciating. Willow summoned the forces she’d ingested to lift him from the floor and suspend him near the ceiling. It felt like his bones were being pried apart as Willow tweaked the spell to tug at his limbs. The screams seemed to come from far away. He welcomed the oblivion as he lost consciousness. Spike snorted. “Bugger. What a weak streak of piss! And this is supposed to be lord and master of the high and mighty Watchers? Ooooh, I’m shaking in me Docs.” “He’s a bit of a disappointment, isn’t he?” Ripper was rifling through Travers’ desk, pulling out keys and tiny leather-bound volumes that he hoped contained secrets to help fuel the mayhem. “He’ll wake soon enough. Then he’ll pay for everything I’ve had to go through, everything Slayers have had to put up with since the beginning. I don’t fancy touching him to be honest. But he deserves it – he needs to be on the receiving end of the pain. Willow, any news on the other Slayer? Is that her picture?” Willow nodded and handed the photograph to Buffy. Both girls licked their lips; she looked dark and dangerous. “We managed to grab her right out of the arms of her Watcher. She’s…feisty. She’ll be along soon. She’s just a little avoidy of Watcher stuff – seems like she thinks Travers here may wish her harm.” Buffy grinned. Yeah, she got that. This Faith chick was smart. “Well, we’ll get started and maybe she’ll get to play with what’s left.” Willow clicked her fingers and the strung out body of Quentin Travers twitched in time with his screams. His eyes flickered open; it wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. “Please…you’re so much stronger than I. Have pity. There’s money…” Buffy snarled. This was her moment. Ripper had filled her in on the fate that would have awaited her had she not been reborn into darkness, the almost certain death she faced on her eighteenth birthday with the Cruciamentum administered by the Council, and how the Council had demanded his complicity in her betrayal. The glib way that the Council used their Slayers, young girls on the cusp of life, and impassively waited for the next expendable slave to be called. It pissed her off. She wanted payback. Travers was about to find out what it was like to be trapped in a building with an enraged and hungry vampire. Two of them, actually. Buffy nodded to Willow who lowered Quentin Travers to the ground. It was time for him to run. The man crumpled to the floor, head bowed and resting on his hands and knees. He was gasping for breath. Buffy knelt down in front of him, leaning forwards to look into his eyes. She spoke softly, her words barely audible. “Quentin. Surprised to see me? I bet you’ve already passed my crown to the next sorry victim. It’s funny really. Here I am, dead – and feeling more alive and free than I’ve ever felt. It’s unbelievably liberating.” Buffy allowed her vampire features to slip into place slowly, holding Travers’ gaze the whole time. “You see me? I’ve become the creature you would have me hunt down; the creature you’d pit against me for your own amusement and sick tradition. Giles told me all about the Cruciamentum. How you were all set to drain me of my power and lock me in a building with a deranged vampire.” Quentin Travers was visibly shaking. Buffy leant forwards until her forehead was touching his sweat-marred brow, whispering the words. “Guess what? I haven’t eaten in two days. And the doors? Locked. Very. So…wanna guess what comes next? Travers stilled, his stomach dropping and swallowing bile. No. This couldn’t be happening. Buffy mouthed one word. “Run.” The flash of fang that followed had the clammy man lurching to his feet and hurtling towards the door. Nobody stopped him. It wasn’t time. The slow clap and amused laughter drew her attention. Her sire and mate was applauding her from his vantage point by the door. “Nice menace, pet. Makes me proud…and horny. Let’s give him a head start.” Buffy was molded to his side before he could finish his sentence, her leg wrapped around his hip and her lips locked on his. Spike’s hand made short work of the lacing holding Buffy’s leather top together. The front parted revealing pale skin marred by bites and scratches. Willow’s green eyes were focused on the dusky pink nipples hardened by Spike’s roving fingers, her tongue sneaking out to moisten her lips. Willow could feel heat spread from her groin upwards, the delicious sensation hardening her own nipples to rub against the soft white material of her dowdy shirt. The feel of firm hands bunching up her schoolgirl skirt – a kink of Ripper’s she’d taken great delight in wearing – and the whisper of soft breath against her ear drew her attention away from the sex show. “Willow. Take your greedy little hands away from those succulent breasts. They belong to me. I want you.” Willow shivered. Ripper was right. They did. Hand-in-hand, the two dark masters sauntered off to find their own rutting place.

Chapter #20 - Get Thee Back Into the Tempest

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting- "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~ Quentin Travers cowered in the cellar beneath the library. He’d tried to escape from the building but the exits were locked – and bound with more than mere everyday metal, he’d wager. The locks were both physical and magical – and there was no way out. His mind flashed back to the Cruciamentum, Buffy’s mention of the ancient ritual was disturbing. He’d been involved in three of them in some form or other, the last two during his tenure as Head of the Watchers’ Council. He’d observed them impassively, setting loose a vicious vampire to prey on a weakened girl. He watched not caring who survived, simply noting the Watchers’ files with the outcome. And now he was the hunted. How had the vampires bypassed the barriers? And the vampire with Buffy Summers? He knew him – or knew of him, rather. William the Bloody – Spike. Slayer of Slayers. What had occurred to have the vicious beast turn a Slayer rather than slaughter her? The thought of a vampire Slayer with the combined strength of her natural ability and that of the creature she should be slaughtering was terrifying. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was shaking, whether from the cold or from fear he didn’t know, probably both. He’d burrowed beneath a shoddy desk pushed into the far corner of the cellar and forgotten there for half a century. A pile of old rugs had slipped back into place to cover him in his hiding place and the dust was just visible in the almost total darkness where it was settling down around him. Instinctively, he pushed himself further back into the sanctuary of the desk well. His heart almost stopped when he heard the clacking of heels on the stone floor. He couldn’t tell whether they were approaching or going away, the echoes of the footfalls distorted by the cocoon of rugs and the heavy wooden desk surrounding him. He held his breath as he listened. Silence. Maybe he was safe? Maybe they’d given up trying to find him? His mind raced, panicked, as he went over his options. None. None at all. He’d exhausted all escape routes; even the ones that only he knew about were shut solid. He wondered, idly, which of the interlopers had such strong magic that they could bind the building so completely. Buffy Summers and William the Bloody were vampires; they had no need of magic. That left Giles and the girl. He doubted it would be Giles. He was a failure as a Watcher and would be equally so as a warlock. So it had to be the girl. Willow Rosenberg. He was impressed, despite the dire straits he found himself in. She must have access to enormous power, and still so young. He’d begun to relax as his safe haven remained unbreached and let the tension ease from his aching limbs. The cold and damp from the floor was seeping through him and his teeth began to chatter. Somebody was sure to notice his absence and take steps to oust the intruders. It was only a matter of time. He just needed to sit it out. The Watchers’ Council was impenetrable. Heavier footsteps drew his notice. He could hear the soft sound of someone talking and wondered whether he should peek out to see if his rescue party had arrived. No matter; even if he wanted to, he doubted his legs would obey him. He’d just have to wait and see. Footsteps again, definitely coming nearer – nearer still…stopping. He held his breath once more, willing his racing pulse to quiet and clamping his hand over his mouth to forestall the rising urge to scream from bursting forth. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the sibilant female voice chanted. “Come out, come out wherever you are…” Quentin Travers started to sob quietly. “Yeah, Watcherman – we know you’re here. We can smell you. Right tasty treat, you are – all succulent and full of fear.” The vampires’ quarry whimpered, the sound just barely audible but pinpointing his position exactly. Buffy and Spike shared a smile. They’d slaked their hunger en route to the cellar by draining a number of unlucky Council employees who’d crossed their path; but there were other needs to see to. Revenge. Bloodlust. Chaos. Spike nodded towards the pile of dusty rugs, motioning silently with his hands that he would rip them back. Buffy nodded her agreement, her yellow eyes glistening in the half-light of the cellar. She licked her lips in anticipation of the treat to come. It was her Sire’s gift to her. Quentin was huddled, arms wrapped around his knees as he tried to curl in on himself. He was chanting silently, lips moving, eyes tightly shut. Absolute terror had closed down his thought processes so that all that remained was the repeated litany of a childhood prayer. ‘Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, look upon…’ He felt the rush of air as the rugs were wrenched away, his eyes opening automatically and limbs poised to run with the adrenaline boost his pumping heart delivered. He tried to scramble forwards, only to find his vision filled with feral yellow eyes and murderous fangs. Buffy shot her hand out to grip his throat and dragged him from his bolthole. Travers whimpered, so terrified that he lost control of his bowels and bladder, his jaw slack as he gave up all hope of survival. Buffy wrinkled her nose in distaste; she’d lost all appetite for his blood now that he’d soiled himself. Still, she knew what had to be done to cause him the most horror but he’d have to be cleaned off first. “Ok, pet? Ready to do your worst?” Buffy nodded, squeezing tighter until Travers lost consciousness. Thing was, she couldn’t bring herself to touch his rank body any more than necessary. Spike realized her dilemma when she distastefully dropped the unconscious Watcher to the floor. “No time to go all dainty on me. Big bad vampire now, sweetness. Got to get your pretty little hands dirty every now and then.” Buffy turned to face him, eyes downcast and still blazing yellow, fangs overlapping her bottom lip quite marring her attempt to pout. She was the picture of corrupted innocence. Spike wanted to rip off her clothes and corrupt her even more. But there would be time enough for that. “Right then. No problem – we’ll just bundle him up in a rug and drag him back to his office. You grab his hands, pet. I’ll take the mucky end. And let’s get a move on, yeah? Ripper and Red must be shagged senseless by now and raring to get down to business.” ~*~*~*~*~ Willow stretched out her pale body, arching her back and smiling dreamily as she lay on the carpeted floor of the dining room, surrounded by dead Watchers. Ripper was patting down bodies in an attempt to find some post-coital cigs but so far was coming up empty-handed. Willow lazily waved her hand, the gesture producing the requisite object and matches to lie on the table. Her naked lover grinned and crossed the room, kicking the corpses out of his way as he went. Lighting up, he took a long drag and turned lust-filled eyes on his young protégée lying oh so appealingly, open legged and open armed, with her kiss-swollen lips. Regretfully, he willed his burgeoning erection to sag. Delightful as another round would be, they had other pressing business. Ripper sank to his knees and swept his hand along from her toes up towards her sex. Willow arched into his touch, begging him wordlessly to bring her off again. Then the feel of his fingers was gone and he was slipping on his trousers. “Ripper…please…” “We haven’t time. Later. Once we’ve dealt with Quentin, I’ll fuck you until you scream, I promise. Now we’ve got to go murder some more sorry souls. Get dressed.” Willow sighed, but did as he asked, her mind replaying the events of the past hour and flushing her skin at the heated memories. Hand in hand they’d wandered the corridors, Willow throwing up a glamour as they’d moved through the Council’s headquarters. She took perverse pleasure in casting the illusion of Quentin Travers and chuckled to herself when she noted the glances of distaste that came her way. Locating the dining room, Ripper had thrown open the door to find about a dozen Council employees seated at the table enjoying dinner. The slam of the door without anybody touching it had the diners in a panic and when Willow shrugged off the appearance of their leader and her eyes had darkened to raven pools, cries of consternation had filled the room. She’d silenced them quickly, a gesture shooting them up to the ceiling, arms and legs spread as she’d done earlier to Travers. Reveling in the fear that permeated the air, the witch and the demon had seized each other, tearing at clothes and flesh as they copulated violently under the horrified stares of their victims. As an added pleasure, Willow stretched her captives until they screamed; the orgasms that followed for both her and Ripper were all the more intense for the soundtrack. And when her lust was finally satiated, she’d ripped out their guts and let them fall in a mess of blood and intestines to the floor. “Ready?” Ripper was standing by the door, holding out his hand. Willow scanned the red-stained carpet and the gory bodies with satisfaction. Kicking at a lolling head that impeded her path, she joined her lover and headed back to Travers’ office and the culmination of their plans. ~*~*~*~*~ Spike lounged behind the desk, crossed feet resting on the top as he reclined on the tilted chair. Buffy was pacing in front of the door, still wearing her vamp face as they waited for Ripper and Willow to turn up. Travers lay naked in a wet puddle on the floor, still unconscious. Spike had unceremoniously grabbed a passer-by from the corridor and had him strip the soiled man and bathe him before dumping the Head of the Council back in his room. The cooling body of the unlucky assistant was slumped in a corner, the fang marks in his neck still bloody; his mouth similarly smeared with red. “Spike, why did you have me feed that man?” “You know why, pet. We have to make minions – unless you want to waste all our time on shit jobs like this. I know what I’d rather be doing. Anyway you need to know what to do to make more of us if we’re to have a full complement to pull Ripper’s plan off. Alright?” Buffy nodded, still tasting the tang of blood on her lips and licking at the gash in her own wrist. She mused on how she’d feel when her first sired vampire rose. “But he’s not my…Childe is he -- just a minion?” “Yeah, love, you didn’t give him anywhere near enough blood to make a Childe. And there has to be intent too. But I’m not showing you that…not bloody sharing you with anybody, ever. You’re my only Childe and that’s the way it’s stayin’, and you’re never gonna have one. Minions are all that Ripper needs. Least ways, it’s all he’s getting. Soon as this is over, we’ll cut loose and head off. We couldn’t leave a Childe here, Buffy, there are too many responsibilities. We need to be free of all that; gonna show you how a vampire lives, pet. Gonna show you the world.” Buffy launched herself across the desk, scattering the papers and pushing Spike backwards to the floor, straddling him as he landed. She crushed his lips, slicing them with her fangs and drinking Sire’s blood while her hands were busily opening his shirt and jeans. She seized his cock, pumping it to hardness and loving the way he groaned into her kiss. “Bloody hell! Not that it isn’t a treat watching you two at play, but we do have something to do, I believe.” Ripper and Willow stood watching the vampires, hungry eyes fixed on Buffy’s hand as it slowly continued stroking Spike’s engorged flesh. Buffy didn’t let up until she felt the cool spurt of semen fill her palm and dribble through her fingers. The onlookers watched as she licked her hand like a cat, not wasting a single drop. Spike gazed at her in wonder. She was everything and more than he’d ever dreamed of in a mate. The sooner they’d finished this, the better. Then they could get on with their eternity. Bestowing a kiss to her now smooth brow, he gently set her aside and got to his feet, refastening his shirt and jeans. “You’re late, Ripper. Where’ve you been?” “Occupied. Where’s Travers?” Spike thumbed over his shoulder to the naked and bruised man. Ripper’s delighted smile beamed at him. “Pure genius! I’d never have thought of stripping him. Very humiliating for him – just the job! You are an evil bastard, Spike.” “Thanks ever so, but it was more necessary than planned. Wanker pissed and shat himself when Buffy flashed him the fang.” Ripper chuckled. Giles always thought that Travers was a big bag of piss and wind. Nice to be proven right. “Willow? Wake him. I want him to know what’s going to happen to his precious Council.” The witch snapped her fingers and Quentin’s eyes opened slowly, blinking the room into focus. Seeing familiar surroundings he had a moment’s blissful notion that he’d dreamed the whole experience…until he focused on the other occupants of his personal space. A wail bubbled up inside him but never made it out of his mouth. “Mute.” Willow waved her hand dismissively. They needed him to listen; they didn’t need him to speak. Like a puppet, he rose to his feet, his body under Willow’s control. She jerked his limbs to have him stand in front of his own desk facing Ripper, who was now seated in Travers’ righted chair. “Suppose you’re wondering what we’re doing here? Well, here’s the thing, Quentin. You’re an obnoxious little shit and I can’t find one person with a good word to say about you. But you have power. The Watcher’s Council is powerful. But so am I.” Ripper flashed his demon-red eyes at the horrified man. “See, I’m more than the bumbling duffer you like to think I am. I had a taste of glory many years ago when you were busy trampling over the little people on your way to the top. I have craved more ever since. And now I have the chance. Meet Eyghon.” Ripper’s face became more angular; his eyes red and slanted, his voice deep and booming around the room. “I’m taking over in your place and your army of Watchers will become my army of darkness with access to all your secrets, all your resources. I will use them for the furtherance of evil. And you, my dear Quentin…you can be my right-hand man.” Both vampires rushed him, two sets of fangs piercing his neck simultaneously as they drained him, their hands caressing the back of each other’s neck as they drank. On the point of his death they stopped, listening to his faltering heartbeat. Travers collapsed to the floor on the last beat of his heart, Spike’s gashed and bloody wrist still pressed against his slackening mouth.

Chapter #21 - And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor...

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted- nevermore! Edgar Allen Poe The Raven ~*~*~*~*~ Ethan stepped over the threshold and into the main headquarters of the Watchers’ Council; slung over his shoulder was the limp form of the current Slayer. He was dog-tired but was wise enough not to voice the thought aloud. That’d just get him a one-way ticket to hell. Not that he had any doubt that Satan was even now warming a spot for him, but he still had time left yet before he had to pay that particular piper. A very long time, if he had anything to say about it. No, best keep his mouth zipped and serve his master without protest. Eyghon was unpredictable at best and winding up on his bad side could result in harsh punishments – no matter how loyal the follower. He resettled the Slayer on his shoulder, his weary body nearly buckling from the recent blood loss and jet lag. Ripper had laughed when he slashed his belly, upending his body so that the blood could dribble over the ingredients of the spell he was casting. He’d known better than to whimper a protest even though it had hurt like a bastard, yet part of him had thrilled at Eyghon’s power. Afterwards, he’d been unceremoniously dumped on the floor to lick his wounds while Ripper had completed the necessary incantations – it hadn’t been something he’d been privy to. The complex text recited by the demon in an unintelligible language had sailed right over his head. When his master had wound down, he’d spared him a glance, muttering under his breath and sealing the wound he’d caused. Not that it had eased the pain, but at least he wasn’t going to bleed out, his flesh seemingly knitting together of its own accord until just an angry red welt had remained. He’d soon found out why he’d been spared when Ripper had barked orders for him to board a flight to Boston, everything was already arranged for him. Apparently he was to steal the new Slayer away from her watcher. When he disrespectfully demanded how in the bloody hell he was supposed to accomplish that, the demon had smirked, sending chills down the warlock’s spine, and tossed a vial of green fluid his way. “Use that…oh, and Ethan?” “Yes, master?” “Mind you don’t miss.” Don’t miss? Don’t miss, he says. He’d damn near shit his pants when the near-homicidal slayer had confronted him. Only the threat of Eyghon’s rage had managed to steady his hand and enabled him to get the dart of power-stealing serum into her nubile flesh. She’d crumpled before him instantly, and Ethan had easily scooped her up and lugged her back to the airport. Employing a bit of his own dark magicks, he’d gotten them reseated on the return transatlantic flight, mere hours after his arrival stateside. Now, as he carefully made his way down the hall, stepping over dead bodies that littered the floor, their necks torn out and their mouths caked with blood, he thanked whatever evil power there was that he had his master’s protection. From the number of corpses on show there must have been an army of vampires storming through the Watchers’ stronghold, eating anything that happened across their paths. Ripper had told him to bring the Slayer to the Head of Council’s office, and Ethan followed the subconscious signs that told him he was headed in the right direction: the utilitarian decoration of the building giving way to a more opulent décor. A door swung open at the end of the hall, and he gulped hard as he forced down his fear and kept moving. Suddenly a figure materialized, and Ethan’s body didn’t know whether to harden in desire or cower in terror. He’d seen her not so long ago, the former Slayer, when he’d had his Halloween fun. Her ripe young body had tempted him even then; the fact that he was old enough to be her father just sweetened the pot. If Ripper hadn’t figured out it was he who was responsible for the spell, he’d have swooped in and captured her, and bent her to his evil ways. There was no way to stop his body from hardening at the thought, and he paused as she seemed to sense what he was thinking, pinning him with a pitying smirk. It was unnerving how she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking; how she watched him like she was the hunter and he the prey. He sailed in through the open door; stopping short at the sight of Travers slumped on the gleaming parquet, either side of his neck marred with recent signs of vampiric feeding. Then he noticed the gore-stained lips as well and couldn’t hide the evil grin that transformed his features. “Ripper, that’s bloody brilliant! Never would’ve thought to take out the old bugger that way,” he told his fellow Englishman. “Yeah, well, you always did think more about the chaos you could create, rather than the perfect execution of a diabolical plan. Chaos is all well and good in its place, but it’s the end results that do it for me. Something you could never quite grasp, unlike myself. Why do you think Eyghon chose to make me his vessel of evil? I may have a use for Travers, though he’ll probably make a pathetic fledgling. Now, watch and learn.” Ethan didn’t take umbrage to the remark. He was a lot smarter than he looked. “What do you want me to do with this one?” he asked indicated the unconscious Slayer, still slung over his shoulder. He didn’t want to be in possession of the girl should she wake up and decide to knock him about a bit in retaliation. Ripper was saved from answering when Buffy walked up behind the warlock and took the girl from him. He noticed how tender the vampiress was with the Slayer and filed the information away for later use. Weakness was something to be exploited, and discovering a soft spot in the former Slayer might help keep the pair of vampires in line. Oh, he had no illusions that theirs was a partnership meant to last. Actually, he was surprised that the blond pair were still in London. They’d had their fun, Spike indulging his childe’s whims by allowing her free rein inside the Council’s headquarters. But vampires were a roving lot by nature – something that pleased the demon mightily. He’d not wanted to engage in a battle for dominance with the pair. Far better for them to get their jollies taking out a few of the Council members then be off on their merry way. Infinitely better in fact. There was room for only one place setting at the head of the table. And he intended to be the one to fill it. ~*~ Buffy set the Slayer down carefully on the couch that Spike was sprawled upon. “She’s prettier in person, don’t you think?” she remarked to her sire. “Right knockout, she is, luv,” Spike agreed, already imagining breaking the girl in right. His childe’s growl cut that thought short and he smirked at his girl before snagging her hand and tugging her onto his lap. “Not fit to lick your boots, though.” Buffy melted at his words. His nuzzling of her neck also went a long way towards soothing her jealousy. “Mmmm…Spike… more…” He complied, his face shifting automatically so that he could sink his fangs in his girl’s neck. Her succulent blood flooded his mouth, and he couldn’t prevent the growl of satisfaction that rumbled forth. He was still amazed by the Slayer’s responsiveness to him, how she arched closer making his bite border on pain. “Oh for god’s sake, give it a rest! Bloody hell! Can you two keep your hands off each other for a moment while we focus on the task at hand?” Spike growled, annoyed at being interrupted. But nonetheless he retracted his canines and licked the fresh marks closed. “It’s your bloody show, mate. We’ve done our bit. Just hanging around to catch the fireworks before we mosey off to pastures new.” “So you’re not planning to stay in merrie olde England, then?” “Pfft, hardly… Me and my girl…got places to see, people to kill. We’ll leave you and the witch to your empire-building here.” Ripper relaxed back in his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Well, Spike, you know you’re more than welcome to visit anytime,” he told the vampire, magnanimous in his offer now that he had confirmation of the vampires’ intentions. “Yeah, I just bet I am,” Spike smirked. “Never judge a book by its cover, Watcher, I’m not thick. I’ve sussed the way the wind blows with you and the setup here and I’m not interested in hanging round till we end up coming to blows over who’s gonna run this show.” “In that case, let me make my offer more sincere. You get back this way, don’t be a stranger…” “Yeah, yeah…I’ll be sure to look you up. Now, let’s get to the main event, me and the missus, and the Slayer here have gotta be on our way.” Ripper opened his mouth to object to the pair making off with the dark-haired girl. “No need to get your knickers in a twist, Ripper. We’re not gonna turn her…least not for a bit anyway. Be kinda nice for you not having a Slayer poking her nose where it has no business…right?” Ripper’s eyes gleamed red in appreciation of the vampire’s thinking. “Maybe I ought to keep you around, Spike. You really aren’t as dumb as you look in your retro-80’s getup.” He sighed dramatically. “Alas, I know it’s not meant to be. But, I’ll persevere as always.” “I hope you’re taking the piss there, Rupert. I haven’t forgotten some of the kit you used to sport. Tweed or tweed wasn’t it?” Buffy giggled at her sire’s words and grinned unrepentantly at the look of revulsion that temporarily transformed the features of the man who had been her watcher, in a former life; the one she’d left behind without so much as a second thought. She had to admit, her existence – and that of her friends – was so much better for the transformation they’d gone through. Speaking of friends… She really wished she could see Xander again. She’d grown close to the male vampire in the brief time they had been together…back when Spike had been his pseudo-sire in the face of Angel’s desertion of his childe. Gone had been the awkwardness and doormat mentality that had plagued her friend’s existence when they’d been human. It was as if his demon had freed the inner Xander, had shown the potential of the man just lurking beneath the surface, waiting for someone to recognize his potential. Spike had seen to that, nurturing the boy before Angelus had swanned back in and disrupted their little family, stealing the fledge away. But Buffy understood. There was no way she would have left Spike’s side willingly. She just hoped that Angelus would take care of her friend and not harm the boy in revenge for what Spike had done to him. Movement from the opposite end of the couch drew Buffy from thoughts of Xander. She licked her lips as the Slayer stretched her arms over her head as she came to, the movement exposing the smooth expanse of her taut stomach. ~*~ Faith groaned as she struggled to break free from the chains of unconsciousness. Eyes still closed, she stretched to work the kinks out of her stiff limbs. At the same time, she roused her senses to see if anything dangerous tweaked her internal radar. It was something that had freaked the shit out of her the first time she noticed it, that sense of imminent danger that signaled a bad guy in her vicinity. When her slayer senses lay dormant, she opened her eyes and gasped aloud at the small group staring pointedly in her direction. She would have scrambled to her feet and away to a safe corner, but something kept her from moving. It was like her limbs were bound by an impenetrable force. “Ah…good. She’s awake. I was beginning to think you’d overdone the serum, Ethan.” Faith swiveled her head in the direction of that sinister voice, unsurprised when her gaze collided with beady red eyes staring down at her. The tone had been menacing, pure demon, though she held out hope that he seemed pissed on her behalf, rather than at her. It meant she might live to see tomorrow. As if reading her thoughts, the man smiled, the red glow fading from his eyes allowing the normal hazel to shine through. “No, Faith. We’re not gonna hurt you. Are we, Spike?” “Not unless she asks me nicely,” the vampire snarked, curling his tongue and leering at her. Faith’s gaze was drawn by that seductive drawl, and she couldn’t help the twitter that signaled her awareness of him…even with the girl sitting so comfortably in his lap – make that draped possessively. She managed to finally find her voice, turning back to the man that had spoken to her. “Well, if you’re not here to kill me, maybe you’ll tell me what the fuck I’m doing here? And exactly where here is would be nice too.” “You didn’t say the magic word.” “Yeah, well, I’m fresh out of magic words. Besides, my gig is Slayer, not witch. You want magic, go look one up.” “Oh ho, Ripper. That’s telling you!” “You’re next, blondie, so don’t push me.” “Watch your mouth, little girl,” Spike growled, unimpressed by her show of bravado. “Nothing says I can’t change my mind about offing you.” He flashed a bit of fang for her benefit, smiling when she stiffened in awareness. “But how—” “Benefits of the drug Ethan pumped you with,” Ripper answered. “It causes your Slayer capabilities to lie dormant. It’s why you didn’t recognize that these two are vampires. It’s also why your body can’t obey its fight or flight instinct.” “What? What is it?” she managed to gasp out around her fear. “The serum? Oh, just a little something the Watchers’ Council keeps around in case a slayer makes it to eighteen. It’s their insurance - lets them kill them off under the guise of a test. That way they have a younger, more malleable Slayer.” “Ain’t that some shit,” Faith griped. “Hmmm…quite,” Ripper commented. “But it’s been the easiest way for me to gain your cooperation. And, I trust I’ve got that?” He quirked a brow in the girl’s direction. “It’s not like I can actually argue the point right now, can I?” Ripper’s grin said it all. “No, I suppose not. But, as to why you’re here. Well, I was hoping we could come to a mutual understanding. You see, the man lying at the foot of my desk used to be Head Watcher here at the Council - you’re in London, by the way. Anyway, he was all set to employ the methods we used to get you here, only you would have met with more dire results. So, in a way we saved your neck. And, a beautiful one at that, I might add.” “Erm… thanks,” Faith responded warily. “Uh…what kind of a mutual understanding would that be?” “The thing is this, Faith. We know all about you. The shitty little life you had before you were called, the darkness inside that crawls around just below the surface. We like it.” “Yeah? Well, you’d be the only one.” “So, we’ll let you live…just so long as you don’t interfere with my plans.” “Got no problems with that, Pops. Wasn’t like I actually signed up for this, ya know? But why not just kill me? From what I understand, it’s a short gig for slayers anyway.” “Because if you’re alive, another one won’t get called,” Spike answered. “And that suits me just fine…not that I‘m one to shy from you lot. Just saves me the aggravation. So, you leave us alone, we leave you alone.” “Yeah, sure. Whatever. Only…how will vamps know I’m not gunnin’ for them?” Spike grinned at the girl. For all her bad girl ways, she was still rather innocent. “Simple, pet. You get to play with us.” Faith eyes the others in the room thoughtfully. The two on the couch, yeah, she’d do them both in a heartbeat. Same for the redhead standing so calmly next to the man seated at the desk; she’d yet to say anything, but Faith knew power when she saw it. That girl had it in spades. The man, Ripper – as the vampire called him – also held a certain appeal. Must be the authority figure vibe he was projecting. The lackey, though? She struggled to hide a shudder that thought invoked. “Yeah? Okay, I’m in.” ~*~*~*~*~ The knock on the open office door took the group by surprise, neither the vampires nor the demon sensing the man’s presence until they saw him standing there. “Hello. Sorry if I’m interrupting something important,” the man greeted them. “You will be, mate,” Spike grumbled under his breath as he set Buffy aside and leapt to his feet. “Hold on, Spike,” Ripper called out, causing the vampire to glance incredulously at the other. “Hey! Thanks for that. I wouldn’t want to get blood on the Armani.” Spike arched a brow at that. Man had balls, he’d give him that. Still didn’t mean he wasn’t going to eat him. It just delayed it for a bit. “Name’s Lindsey. Lindsey MacDonald. I’m work in Acquisitions at Wolfram and Hart. Anyway, the senior partners…they like what you’re doing, and flew me over here to see if you had representation.” “Representation? Are you bloody kiddin’ me?” Spike stared at the lawyer as if he’d lost his mind. “No, actually, I’m not. All the serious demons are our clients.” “Serious demons?” “Archduke Sebassis. The Fell Brethren. Izzerial the Devil. Ring any bells? Surely Eyghon knows the names of his, dare I say it, brethren?” “You know that I do,” said Ripper, “So why even mention their names?” “To prove a point.” “And that would be…” “That not all demons rely on themselves to see their dirty work isn’t corrupted by the do-gooders of the world. That your minions or lackeys aren’t forced to endure unthinkable isolation in the world’s prison systems because your egotism was too great to seek representation. Besides, anyone can force their will on the weak-minded. It’s a good demon that can do it and make them believe it was their own idea in the first place - that sets you apart from the rest.” “So, it’s not so much that you want to represent me, it’s that you want to know my intentions,” Ripper concluded. “Wolfram and Hart won’t interfere in your business. Ours is merely a… consultative firm…not to mention that we have the best litigators in the world.” “Right, that explains why people are locked up every day. Can I eat him now?” Spike complained to Ripper. “No…he may…let’s not be too hasty,” he told the petulant vampire. “Fine. Spoil my fun.” Spike resumed his position on the couch while Ripper finished with the lawyer. “I’m assuming you have a card?” Ripper asked. “Right here.” Lindsey fished one out of his card case and gasped as it was ripped from his fingers to float through the air towards the demon seated behind the desk. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the female standing at his side, her eyes black cesspools as she manipulated the tiny scrap of paper with apparent ease. “Neat trick,” he commented, recovering. “Anyway…I’m staying at the Lanesborough. The front desk has my room information.” The lawyer left without further prompting, leaving behind a momentarily quiet group. “Well, that’s new,” Faith commented to no one in particular. “Didn’t think evil was that upfront. No wonder lawyers have such bad reps; they really are the devils’ advocates.” “Hmmm… This may change things a bit. But, an alliance with Wolfram and Hart could prove advantageous. More so than this offal here that’s yet to rise… though that can soon be remedied. Any objections?” “Nah…didn’t much like to admit that I turned the wanker. Offing him…I’ve no problem with that.” “Willow…” “Wait!” Faith struggled to sit up on the couch, the serum slow to drain from her body. “Shouldn’t I be the one to do it? I am the Slayer, after all. Beside, it’s only fair since he was gonna have me killed, doncha think?” “Be my guest,” Ripper invited. “Willow, give the stake to the Slayer.” With a flick of her wrist, the piece of wood sailed through the air and into the girl’s outstretched hand. Faith rose to her feet unsteadily, taking a moment as a wave of nausea tore through her body. That, in itself, seemed to harden her attitude as she realized the fate she would have suffered if the Head Councilman had got a hold of her first. Slow, measured steps took her across the room to where the fallen man lay where he’d been dropped unceremoniously. That he’d been spared no more thought than yesterday’s trash spoke volumes about the group’s feelings. Taking a page from their book, Faith barely paid Travers a glance as she drew back her arm and plunged the stake into his heart…smiling as he crumbled to dust before her eyes. “Well, much as I’d like to say I’m enjoying the action, me and Buffy have to be off. You play nice with the kiddies. Slayer, you’re with us. Ripper, Red…have fun.” Spike wiggled his eyebrows at the pair and pulled his childe to her feet. “We’ll hole up at the room for the day since it’s so close to dawn. Head out come nightfall.” “Sure you don’t want to stay a bit longer?” “Nah…this is your thing, mate.” Spike headed for the door, pulling Buffy along with him. The Slayer trailed slowly behind the couple. “Be seein’ ya.” Not bothering to turn around, he raised a hand in salute and was gone; leaving Ripper, Willow, and Ethan in the room with the corpses that would soon make up their vampire labor force. “You’ll miss them,” Willow commented. Ripper leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the ornate desk. A second later, he had a squealing redhead sprawled in his lap. “Yeah…I think I will. He was the first person I met that actually understood my aims.” His voice was deeper, signifying that it was Eyghon speaking to her. “Rather unusual in a vampire. I figured I’d have to stake him when this was all said and done. But, he proved me wrong. He’s a lot smarter than that grandsire of his ever gave him credit for. I fully expect to see him leading the Aurelius clan someday. He’ll restore it to its former glory.” Willow sensed the demon retreating and snuggled closer to her mentor. Truthfully, she was very tired. She’d been conducting spells for the last few days without a break and her body was protesting the abuse. Still, she’d not relinquished the glamour spell since she’d not been given permission as yet. Ripper glanced down at the girl, sensing her exhaustion. He could have told her to let loose the glamour spell some time ago, but he’d wanted to see just how much he could push his young protégée. She was a secret delight to him. Who’d have guessed that the lowly computer geek would aspire to become a powerful witch? That she still managed to maintain the last spell, even as tired as she was, just proved the potency nestled within her compact body. One that he fully planned to explore once the new minions had risen and knew their new duties. Until then, he’d let the girl prove herself to him. And if she was good, really good, he’d make it worth her while. He smiled, thinking of all the things he could accomplish now. Now that he was free. His blood-red eyes took in the loyal slave he had in Ethan, and the perfect bedmate he had in the redheaded teen. Life was definitely good. Hell, he’d even take the sniveling lawyer up on his deal. It would mean some slight adjustment in his plans, but they’d not been set in stone, so it wouldn’t make much difference. Ripper resettled the girl on his lap, forcing her plaid skirt to bunch around the top of her thighs. She didn’t seem to object as she ground herself against him, warming quickly to the idea of another tryst. “I’ll just uh…yeah…” Ethan commented before retreating from the room. Ripper smirked at the departing man’s back. Once upon a time when he’d have pulled up a chair and enjoyed the show. Guess Ethan was getting prudish in his old age. He chuckled for a second, then quickly forgot about his slave as Willow rotated her hips in his lap. Her fingers fumbled with the fastenings of his pants, his breath leaving him in a hiss seconds later as she grasped him rather forcefully in her slight hands, stroking him from base to tip and back again. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as she suddenly impaled herself on his shaft – the minx had spent the entire time in his company without any knickers on. She wasn’t hesitant in the least, riding his dick as if she couldn’t get enough of him. Ripper could feel power radiating from her frame. How it seemed to envelope them both, elevating their coupling to a fevered pitch. She was moaning little phrases now, naughty little tidbits of filth that drove him crazy, coming from such a sweet young mouth. He gripped the globes of her ass, his nails leaving crescents that filled with drops of blood as he slammed her down on his cock over and over again. He could feel her impending orgasm and increased his pace, his jabbing thrust bordering on pain and he sought his own release. She didn’t seem to mind, too caught up in the act to notice a little discomfort. When she flung her head back and keened her pleasure, Ripper was right there with her, thrusting up into her spasming passage one last time as his cock flooded her womb. Replete for the time being, Ripper relaxed back into the plush chair, allowing Willow to rest against his chest. He closed his eyes, imagining all the things he was going to do now that he was in control of the Watchers’ stronghold. He smiled malevolently as he contemplated his first evil deed. ~*~*~*~*~ Buffy began pulling off clothes the second they entered the Royal Suite. With dawn imminent, she wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed with her sire and sleep until sunset. Her sire’s sudden growl caused her to pause in her striptease, her head cocked to one side as she waited for him to tell her what was wrong. When Xander walked out of the master suite, it took her a moment to react. Then she was flying across the room and throwing herself into her friend’s arms, laughing when he twirled her around and around. “Xander!” she managed to gasp out. “How did—” “Hello, Buff,” Angelus drawled. Spike growled again in warning. Buffy froze, waiting to see what her sire would do, Xander wisely stepping away from the alpha males as they continued to stare each other down. It was Faith that inadvertently broke the pair up as she walked into the room to stand beside Buffy. “What’s up, B?” “Um…” “A slayer?” Angelus roared. “You brought a slayer here? Of all the—” “Shut it, wanker. She’s on our side.” Angelus ignored the disrespectful moniker and settled on what his grandchilde was telling him. He glowered at him, waiting. “Bint’s had enough of bein’ the Slayer. Was actually set to be offed by her boss. We just managed to beat them to it.” “Ok, I get that. What the hell’s she still doing alive then?” “Never could see the obvious, could you?” Spike snorted as he rolled his eyes at the elder vamp. “I let the first one pass, Will. Don’t be thinkin’ I’ll let a second one slide.” “Ooh, is that right? And what are you gonna do about it?” Angelus just fixed his grandchilde with a look. A thrill of anticipation shot through Spike. Confrontations with Angelus got his dead blood pumping and he’d been on the receiving end of some spectacular beatings over the decades that left him broken and battered. But that still didn’t stop him from opening his mouth and laying down a few ground rules. The balance of power had shifted. And Angelus listened and nodded, intrigued by his grandchilde’s plans. THE END