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.