…*…
...*Chapter VI*...…*…
His shock at seeing her was only surpassed by the lust she invoked in him, the pull of things far older than them both. He knew he wanted her body, knew he wanted her love, but there was something else… he wanted her blood. Want, though, was a small word in the comparison to what he felt, an all-consuming passion, fueled by raging desire… for her blood.
There was laughter echoing in her voice, a faint reminder of things he couldn't quite remember. He remembered her though, remembered her body and knew he'd had her before. It seemed, from her words that he couldn't quite catch but knew the meaning of anyway, that she remembered him.
Her movements were graceful and fluid: predatory, but hinting at so much more. Shaking her hair out of her face and baring that delightful neck, she strode towards him. Just a little closer and he would overpower her, feast on her warm… Or was it cold?… blood. Then alertness flooded through his system as though he was waking from a drug, and he was shocked at where his thoughts had gone. He didn't want her blood, didn't want to kill her… did he?
This moment of indecisiveness was all she needed, as she was closer to him now, and swiftly she climbed up on the bed, silky dress flowing behind her as she moved to straddle him. Now all his senses were awake and on overdrive. He could feel every inch of her fragile body pressed up against his; feel her curves and bones through the thin material she wore over them.
Soft lips descended to kiss his, and a feeling of complete happiness, complete heaven overcame him. She was so soft, gentle, beautiful, and all he wanted was to keep her there forever, have her with him always. His hands slowly encircled her waist, cautious of the strength he knew was contained in them; he was terrified of breaking her, but in the moment, it didn't matter.
Arching up, she rubbed her body tightly against his, her long, thin hands entangling themselves in his hair, holding him close. Then she was crushed up against him, forcibly, her lips demanding against his, punishing, her tongue snaking into his mouth, her teeth biting down on a lip that she had captured.
His arms pulled her tightly against him until he could feel bones breaking, hear them, but he wouldn't let go; his mouth met hers just as painfully, but it was glorious feeling. The moment of peace was over, never to return. Leaning back, he kept her body flush to his, ready to take her or let her ride him, anything to get them closer. He wanted to be the dominant one, to be in control.
Just as suddenly as the kiss had begun it was over, as she yanked her head away from his. The fire and passion in her eyes teased him of delicious things to come, so he loosened his arms from their death grip around her waist and she rose up above him.
Instead of that silky material coming off and her soft skin pressed up against his, he found her climbing off of him, up and off the bed. She loomed over him from the foot of the bed, her hair wild, her eyes powerful, and a preciseness to her movements that made him wonder how she had seemed so delicate and breakable before.
With his now clear mind, he could hear every word she said easily, their coldness stabbing through his dead heart. "You're not him. You'll never be him!"
Yellow eyes flashing cruelly, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, she turned and stormed away, still just as petite as ever but with a hate that consumed them both.
As he watched her leave, felt his heart being ripped out, her words repeated themselves in his head…you're not him, and he knew that he couldn't let her walk away, had to tell her that he was him! The words left his mouth just as she left sight, "Darla…"
Angel woke with a start, panting heavily, and wide-awake enough to remember every detail of his dream. Darla, his mind berated him, teasing him with memories of the dream intermixed with his – their – past, and reminders of when she had played games with his dreams before. They had been this real, but no, she had never left him so abruptly, never stopped before they were both spent. So, it was a dream then. I was dreaming. About Darla.
A slight groan escaped his mouth as Angel took in the familiar room around him, the familiar warm body pressed against his, and wondered why it felt so alien. Wondered why he was dreaming of his sire again, of her blood and body, and not even pleasant dreams, cruel ones.
This isn't a good sign, Angelus taunted him from just outside his conscious thought stream, and Angel had to agree. Not good at all.
…*…
Tossing the last body in among the rest, Darla stood back and admired her creation. Each victim had a cross carved into their left cheek and an intricate tattoo on their right. The unfortunate young women were still in their traditional nun attire, splattered with their own blood.
The nearly twenty women were lined up forming the shape of an 'A', with looks of terror etched onto their faces and various limbs hanging at odd angles. They've never looked less at peace, she decided with a detached sense of joy.
For his part, Erik looked a little less pleased with their work, or maybe just annoyed by all the burns he had suffered from crosses while dragging the nuns out of the convent. He had not failed to notice that there was a decided message in the bodies and it tired him slightly that his mistress wouldn't share what! Hoping desperately that Darla was in a good enough mood to humor him, Erik asked, "What's the 'A' for?"
However, Darla's mood had quickly deteriorated while she had begun painting 'you're not him' in small letters from the nuns' blood, a quiet message that hopefully he would find last. The vampiress had remembered happier times in convents with her mate, when the killing had always led to pastimes of a different sort but just as enjoyable. Things had been certain then. Sure there had been scuffles, vampire hunters, And admittedly, Drusilla was a beautiful nightmare. But there had always been the assurance of having a mate and not facing eternity alone.
Darla raised her head and leveled her now considerable wrath on the fledgling in front of her, disconcerted and willing to take out her frustration on him. "Did we not already have the Angel conversation?"
"No," Erik mumbled, tossing tattoo ink behind him and using that as a reason to look down, "you asked me if I'd heard of the guy, I said no, and you said never mind."
Getting up, Darla listened carefully for the sounds of any approaching humans; she wanted to be gone before all this hit the news. Keeping her voice level if not acidic, she asked, "And in your imbecile little brain, does 'never mind' mean to keep pestering me? Because to me, now correct me if I'm wrong, 'never mind' means don't ask me again!"
At that moment, absolutely the last thing Erik wanted to do was to 'correct' the angry older vampire. Choosing his words carefully, he answered in what he hoped was a passive voice, "I'm sorry for bothering you, Mistress."
Shrugging her delicate shoulders, Darla waved her hand dismissively and started off into the night slowly, allowing for Erik to catch up with her. "Enough. It's time we left so our present can be discovered."
Pulling open a cell phone that she had swiped from someone inconsequential when they bumped into her, a useful little trait she'd picked up from Spike decades ago, Darla looked down at a flyer and dialed the number. When the person on the other end picked up, the vampiress used her best terrified little girl voice, "Oh god, it's so horrible! There's blood and oh, so much blood! You've got to hurry, East Eighty-Fifth Street, by the old warehouse; I think they're dead! He… it killed them!"
Smirking, she slammed the phone shut without waiting for a response and took off into the night with Erik trailing her; satisfied that her work would soon be discovered.
…*…
Not even fifteen minutes after Cordelia had answered the disturbing phone call from a girl that sounded frightened and young, they were out the door. The rest of the group had taken an early night due to no demon activity, and Angel and Cordelia had been curled up on the couch, planning the rest of their evening.
The vampire had suggested a trap, but they both knew that neither could not go and then feel responsible for some girl's death, not to mention the others. Cordelia had been forced to run for the phone, and even with his preternatural hearing, Angel couldn't listen to the conversation. But the young seer had assured him the girl sounded honestly terrified.
Now as the car pulled next to the abandoned warehouse on East Eighty-Fifth, both of its occupants were on full alert, searching for an attacker or victims.
It was Angel who first noticed the field adjacent to the warehouse, and then pointed it out to Cordelia as they exited the car. Both carried weapons, the human along with a flashlight, and looked cautious as they approached what appeared to be a spotlight in the otherwise deserted field.
The vampire could smell the blood and stench of death and moved faster, his human counterpart running to keep up with him. Neither was prepared for the sight that greeted them.
"Oh, god, Angel!" Cordelia moaned, overwhelmed by the gore and how grotesquely it was displayed in the light. "All the bodies!"
But Angel had bent down on the blood-soaked ground, next to one of the deceased nuns; he was studying her face with a look of discomfort etched on his own. "Look at the shape…" he was trying to force himself to tell her, tell her that this disgusting display was similar to the havoc he had wrought.
Having recovered slightly from the first shock of the bodies, coupled with the image of Angel kneeling so calmly in the blood, surveying it all, Cordelia took a deep breath. I've seen the work of demons before; I've seen the blood and gore. Not that you can ever get used to it, but I can at least function in spite of it. I have to. Taking a closer look at the way the bodies were lined up, trying to ignore the obvious broken necks and bones, she gasped, "It's in the shape of an 'A'. Why is it in a shape like that?"
"I… Angelus, liked crosses. It was a way of defacing old Catholic guilt and the fact that I can't touch them… Carving a cross into the cheek of a victim, it was a trademark of mine - well, one of many. I liked to torture nuns; convents of them we destroyed." Images of Angelus laughing over similarly slaughtered bodies assaulted him.
Putting an arm around her love, Cordelia bent down next to him, careful not to let her knees touch the blood-stained ground, and looked at the bodies. She was torn between wondering if this display was meant for her lover to find or to be blamed for. Nuns, crosses carved into the cheek, and… His tattoo… "Whoever did this… they knew you!"
Leaning back onto his heels and the comforting embrace that was waiting for him there, something else caught his eye. "You're not him…"
Cordelia looked over at the blank face of the vampire she loved - she hated when he brooded, when he could tell what she was going to say… "That's right, Angel, you're not him! You never will be; you never have been."
"No," the dream from last night was back in full visual, he could see every moment of it in perfect detail. 'You're not him, you're not him,' taunted Angel like a badly broken record as he saw everything in slow motion. She's here…
