AN: I know you guys probably won’t read this, but I’ll say it anyway. This is my very first story, so please be kind! I’ve started it literally about 20 times, gotten half-way through, and become dissatisfied and begun again. I actually really like how I started this one, so I’m keeping it. And to make sure I don’t chicken out: I’m posting, because then I have to finish it. My plan was to complete it, and then post it, but that’s impossible. Anyway...this is completely unbeta’ed, I don’t have one, and took me all in all about 15 minutes to write, so I hope it’s not so horrible that you can’t understand it. Anyway...all of the characters belong to Joss. This story’s been playing in my mind for the past three years, so, hope you like it! Please give feedback!

Prologue

It’s amazing...how much a person can take before they give up hope. There’s no set time span, but one thing is for certain: eventually; we all give up.

I gave up after ten years of bliss, of knowing my wife. Two of them were spent as husband and wife; it was perfect. We were in love. A kind of love that happens once in a lifetime. And she was pregnant. I, “William the Bloody awful Poet,” was going to be a father. Better, a daddy.

I’d never known my own father. He died while my mum was pregnant with me. Tha’s right, ladies an’ gents! I, William the Bloody, was a ‘Mama’s Boy,’ as you yanks say. I was raised solely by my mother, and when she became ill, I took care of her. She gave her life to raising me. I know, that bleedin’ cad showed me as a poet–and a bad one at that. I get a lil’ territorial at times, and he was makin’ eyes at what was mine.

I’ve been a bad, rude man in my day. I know all you chits’re probably sittin’ in your seats, waiting to read abou’ me and the Slayer doing the nasty.

But...I’ve got something better. Something real. Cause you see...the poof and I? We did something bad . We lied. We’re vamps, and we’d do anything to protect what’s ours.

And the Slayer? She belongs to us. And no thing, and no person will take her away from me ever again.

I’ve been without my wife for over 100 years, we’ve got a lot of time to make up for.

Ireland, 1740

There were two people in the alley, a man and a woman. It wasn’t an unusual sight, especially for the man pounding the young girl against a filthy alley wall. He was a large man, tall with broad shoulders, and dark hair that was falling out of the greasy cloth it was tied back with. His clothes were made from a fine material that had obviously seen better days.

He was 26 years old. He should be settled down with a wife and children. Instead, he was in the back alley of his favorite pub, driving his favorite waitress into his favorite wall. The brick was starting to crumble after the abuse.

He had come to the conclusion that his life’s ambition was to wear away at the bricks of this spot, on this wall, in this alley. He had nothing left. Liam had finally exhausted the patience of his good-natured father. He had finally tossed him out, with only the clothes on his back. That didn’t mean he hadn’t snatched up money and a candelabra or two, though.

And the girl? She was unimportant. She was a reasonably pretty face in a sea of nobodies who wouldn’t survive the year.

He collapsed against her shoulder. He allowed her that one moment,
before pulling away. He righted his clothes, and turned to leave. Before disappearing back into the pub, he turned back to her with a cruel smile, pulling a piece of paper out of his purse. She looked up at him with a smile, about to say something– when the note fell to the floor. She stared at it, and back to him before reaching down to pick it up. Silently, she picked up the money and put it in the folds of her dress. She walked back into the pub and to her father, wondering if her virgin blood would show through the filthy rags that she wore.

Liam died that same night at the hands of Darla, the Master’s favorite Childe. Six months later, his family was not found dead, but butchered beyond recognition in their home. The morning after his family’s murder, two other dead bodies were found. The child the young girl carried in her belly had been ripped out of her. The cruelty towards the man’s family was far exceeded by the brutality shown to the young girl who dared to carry Liam’s child. Liam was dead, and Angelus gloried in the brutality he had shown to all who dared remind him that he had once been human.

England, 1860

It was his turn to pick the entertainment, so he’d chosen his favorite game. For the past year, he and his Sire had toured the different churches along the countryside. He had sat in the confessional as a pretty young girl confessed that she saw things. Things that weren’t meant for her to see. She saw the future, and her mother said she was the child of the devil.
Who was he to argue with such an enchanting creature?

“Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession.”

“Tell me your sins, my child.”

“I see things, Father! Things I have no right to see. I see what’s about to happen. Mother–mother says that I am the daughter of the devil, that only God has the right to see what will happen. Or the devil. Why must I see these things, Father? Why have I been cursed so? I have done nothing to deserve this punishment! I see–I see death. I see–men beating wives, children killing parents–all I see is evil. If I must be tormented with the lives of others, why must I see their pain and suffering? Why can’t I see life, and joy?”

“You are an evil vixen! You walk–in darkness, with Satan. You are not worthy of God’s love, and so he sends you visions of what will happen to you if you continue on your path. You must be cleansed of your sins, my child.” And here, his voice gained an Irish lilt, became raw. “And the lord, in his wisdom, has sent me to cleanse you.”

He rose from his seat in the confessional, looking into her own room, straight into her wide, scared eyes. “Don’t run, lass. It’ll just make me want you more.” He pushed aside his curtain, only to see her run towards the church door.

“I love it when they run!” And he took off after her, slamming the massive wooden door closed as she fought to pull it open into the safety of the afternoon sun.

The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was the face of the devil looming over her, bending towards her neck.