Disclaimer — Buffy the Vampire Slayer is the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and 20th Century Fox. I make no claims to ownership and make no profit from this story.

Barcelona, 1900

"¡Ayúdeme, por favor!"

Anyanka jumped in surprise as a filthy male hand grasped her small wrist, smudging her pristine white gloves. "¡Suélteme!" Her palm connected with the man's chest, sending him flying down the boulevard La Rambla, which was virtually empty at nearly four in the morning.

She huffed, examining her soiled gloves with sorrow and fury; they had been her favorite pair. She angrily flicked her gaze up, expecting to find the man several hundred feet away, and started when she found him standing directly before her. He was young, perhaps twenty-five, and his face, clothes, and long, scraggly brown hair were all covered in dirt and grime. "Please, Anyanka," he begged, switching to English flavored with a strong Irish brogue. "I need your help."

Without warning, Anyanka grabbed the man by the throat, squeezing hard and lifting him a foot off the ground. "I don't know how you know my name, but you should know that I don't help men. I ought to disembowel you for your audacity."

The man just sputtered, unable to speak with Anyanka's fingers crushing his vocal cords, but he wasn't turning colors or panicking like most men faced with inevitable death were wont to do. Anyanka frowned with displeasure. It was so strange, because she could see his soul shining out from his eyes so brightly that it was almost blinding, and he certainly looked human enough. She sniffed the air slightly, and there, just beneath the stench of vermin, lay the answer.

"Well, well," Anyanka snickered, releasing the man. "A vampire with a soul. You must be the once-fearsome Angelus. You're the talk of the underworld."

Angel looked up at her pitifully, massaging his bruised neck. "I'm sorry, I didn't… I just, I was standing over there, across the street, and I recognized you, and please, I wish I didn't have this soul."

Anyanka stepped forward so that her glowering face was directly in front of Angel's. "And why do you think that I would ever grant that wish? I'm not known as the Patron Saint of Scorned Women for nothing, foolish half-breed."

"Destruction," Angel breathed. "You love it; you're legendary amongst vengeance demons for the destruction you've wrought. I was once known as the Scourge of Europe, but like this…" He scratched at his chest, where he could feel his soul burning his eternally still heart. "Like this, I'm useless."

Anyanka smiled, lost in a reverie of a few of her most treasured memories of vengeance. "Destruction is a beautiful thing," she said dreamily. Then her eyes grew hard. "But I like destruction that I wreak. I'm not big on sharing, you see, or competition."

"Oh." Angel's face fell. "Well, then, if you won't grant my wish for destruction's sake, then do it for my… for Darla. She's been terribly hurt by this curse; I know she wants vengeance."

"Wait, let me get this straight," Anyanka began, practically grinning from ear to ear. "You, a male, want me to grant your wish on behalf of your female mate, who has been left desiring vengeance as a result of your curse?" When Angel blankly nodded, Anyanka chortled. "How sweet. Do you love her, vampire?"

Angel blinked. "I… yes," he whispered, his expression belying his words.

"I see. So, what are you prepared to do for me in return?"

Angel's eyes lit up with such hope that any human's heart would have broken. "Anything," he gasped. "I'll do anything, please, just get rid of it!"

"Well, then," Anyanka said, smiling as she leaned lightly against the side of a brick building. Her white teeth glinted in the moonlight, almost as if in warning. "What are you waiting for?"

After a moment, understanding dawned on Angel's face. He shuffled nervously before awkwardly approaching her and then pressed her flush against the wall. Lifting her skirts around her waist, one hand disappeared beneath layers of fabric while the other slid to her heaving bosom. Anyanka gasped as the hand beneath her skirts reached its destination, making her thighs tremble and her eyelids flutter closed. How long had it been since she had been with a male? Buenos Aires, 1763, with Torg when she was incredibly drunk at that breathtaking massacre?

"Mmm," Anyanka mumbled. "That feels…"

"Nice?" Angel suggested, grazing her throat with his teeth. Anyanka shivered involuntarily.

"That feels…" Anyanka repeated whimsically, searching for the right word. She suddenly lifted her knee, slamming it into Angel's groin. The vampire groaned and sank wordlessly to ground, unable to focus on anything but the severe pain radiating throughout his body.

"… really, really nice," Anyanka finished, beaming at her handiwork. "Oh, Anyanka, please, I need your help!" she mocked in her best imitation of an Irish accent. "But not for me — no, it's all for the woman I love! I love her so much, I think I'll fuck another woman to prove it!" For just a moment as Anyanka glared down at Angel's huddled form, she thought she saw another man from centuries past, one with fiery locks but the same bravado.

"Please," Angel begged, his voice on the verge of being a whimper. "You're my only hope. I… I don't love her, you're right, but without her, I… I have nothing."

Anyanka laughed bitterly. "Then I guess you're screwed." She rolled her eyes at Angel's despondent face. "Oh, don't be such a baby," she moaned. "You know, I've had my soul this whole time."

With that, she teleported away, leaving Angel alone in the warm night. His groin still ached terribly, but his mind was now distracted by other matters. Did Anyanka really have a soul? She was legendary amongst demons for her vicious nature, her brutality, and her lack of mercy. Could someone with a soul really have done all of that?

Angel stood, suddenly feeling lighter than air. Maybe he didn't need a vengeance demon to grant his wish; maybe he could make it come true all on his own. Maybe he could still be Darla's darling boy after all.

With that, Angel headed towards the sea, in search of the docks. He'd heard there was a religious war in China.