Kindred

By Sweetprincipale

Set in early Season Five. When Dracula called Buffy 'kindred'', he was doing a bit more than just saying they had a lot in common. Hungry for knowledge of herself and her power, Buffy didn't realize what kind of connection he had forged with her until he left town, and the damage was done. Hoping to break his hold over her, Buffy requests help from Spike. However, the way you break the hold of one vampire is to let another one possess you more fully. But, it'll only be temporary, right? Simple business, that's all…

Part XXIX

"What did you say about the Twilight Zone?" Spike asked through the corner of his mouth. Harris had just shoved a fruit basket into his arms, said thank you and hurried into the kitchen because everyone else was in the living room.

"Say thank you," Buffy hissed back.

"But he said thank you." Spike looked puzzled and the pineapples and oranges against the black leather weren't helping the image of coherence.

"He means thank you for saving my life, you thank him for the fruit."

"Don't I say you're welcome? It's a thank you gift!"

"I never knew vampires were so polite," Tara whispered, eyes never leaving the hissing couple.

"We're flipping devotees of Emily effin' Post." Spike put the basket down, but gently. "Thanks and you're welcome!"

"Are we even now?"

"You think fruit equals Buffy's life? And they say I'm cheap," Anya muttered.

"Honey!"

"No, it's the acceptable gesture. It just occurred to me that people send these gaudily wrapped packages of perishables when someone dies or is born. Fruit is not worth a human life. And you can't feed an infant bananas. I suppose you could, if you put them in the blender first."

"I think," Giles spoke up patiently, "that we've all strayed just a little bit from the point. We are all deeply grateful that Spike is helping Buffy, even more so that he's allied himself with us to deal with Dracula." Giles cleared his throat. " Now. Hrm. Priorities. That binding spell is going well."

"Too well," Tara couldn't help but giggle. "Giles' record player was stuck in mid-air for five hours."

"That's not an indication of how well it will hold him. He'll fight back. And to that end, Buffy and Spike, you two need to patrol together exclusively as often as possible. I don't like to suggest going into dangerous situations-"

"But go into dangerous situations?"

"That's the best way to practice how well you move together." Giles pretended not to notice the smirk that crossed Spike's face or the rosy flush creeping up Buffy's cheeks. "Back to that binding spell. Perhaps if we were to try it on Buffy or Spike-"

"Can we worry about the chip first?" Buffy asked suddenly. "Getting it out?"

"Oh, it's not like he's going to be forced into it!" Anya said quickly. "Consensual binding. Spike has a lot of supernatural strength and he is a demon, so he's the logical practice choice for this ritual. Spell. Practice bondage. " There was a lot of awkward coughing and Anya rolled her eyes. "I don't mean the sexy way, although I'm sure Spike might like that. A lot of vampires like bondage. Not necessarily receiving it, but-"

"Anya?" Buffy held up one hand. "You're so helpful. But I can't cope with that much imagery right now, okay?"

"And so say all of us." Xander rubbed his eyes harshly- or was he trying to expel them from his head?

"I want the chip out because I would feel better if he could fight back, that's all. In a case of um- non consensual fighting."

Willow frowned. "Is fighting consensual?"

"Attacks, then!"

"Well, I- erm, I'll start powdering herbs for that spell and Willow and Tara, you erm- do what you need to do." Giles waved his hand for them to commence, choking slightly on the words.

"How soon do you think he'll find out about the wedding?" Buffy asked Spike quietly as people broke off into their assorted jobs.

The rustle of paper and shifting of bodies stopped. "Wedding?" Willow repeated.

"We have to lure him out. The only thing we know that worked was his runaway bride running off to marry someone else," Buffy shrugged. "Mom is on board."

"Joyce is on board? Joyce Summers?" Xander shifted attention from eyes to ears. His senses were having a field day and he couldn't even reach his mind's eye, which he wanted to poke out with a sharp stick after the "vampires like bondage" comments.

"It has to look good." Spike ignored the obvious doubt in the boy's voice. "Rupert, you'll have to give the bride away. You'll be the best man, of course?" He turned to Xander.

"I am?"

"Do you see any other brothers standing here?" Buffy demanded with a soft smile.

"Really?" Xander looked thrilled. "Of course I will! I'll- oh. I mean, yes, I'll play along."

"Are we bridesmaids? Do we wear dresses that match and shoes that are dyed?" Anya was suddenly inches from Buffy's face. "Do we get to go with you to those bridal salon places and we can try on the dresses? Even the bridal ones, even though it's far, far too soon to consider getting married?" Anya's eyes swiveled to Xander and back to Buffy. She mouthed, "Not really."

Buffy laughed. "Look, when we do this for real, I want you all to be there in gorgeous dresses and matching shoes, the works. I just don't want my actual wedding to be tainted by memories of one where I'm going to have to decapitate someone."

"I'll do that bit, Luv," Spike said chivalrously. "You can do the staking part. Be easier on your manicure for that day."

"Manicures and pedicures and updos?" Anya squealed.

"No. Simple. Simple-ish. But, yes, manicures if you want. You guys need to focus on holding him in place so Spike and I can do the gross killing stuff. But the next wedding? Sooo much fancy, girly stuff. I promise. Willow? Will you be my maid of honor? Tara and Anya, will you be bridesmaids?"

Spike looked at Xander over the clamor of squealing, jumping women. "They're carryin' on a lot more than you did."

"Want me to take you to get your dye-job put into a sexy updo?" Xander grinned crookedly.

"Maybe later. For the real one, I'm not doin' a tux. Suit and waistcoat. An' I don't care what she says, we're not dancin' to Wind Beneath My Wings…" His face went all soppy. "Although, there's that bit about being her hero in it. I dunno. What do you-" Spike stopped speaking abruptly. Xander's face was a study in disbelief. He waited for the yelling and cursing to start.

Xander waited for his brain to get properly organized and begin with the screaming and cursing, starting with how dare Spike take advantage of this situation and what the hell did he mean by "real one" and a thousand other half-formed questions. His mouth slowly moved, Spike's face tensed, waiting to receive a blow on the chin.

That's the look, Xander thought. The tense look when you stand up to the bully and you know they're going to hit you and you're not going to run.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. I'm so not the bully. I may be a jerk sometimes, but I'm not the bully. "Bowtie or regular?"

"Regular." Spike looked stunned.

"Cool. I hate tuxes. Whenever I wear one, something weird happens."

"Like decapitating a centuries old git who wants to enslave your best friend?"

"Shit. Ties are ruined for me now." He let out a giddy giggle. Spike joined him, laughter deeper and more relieved. "She… she doesn't have to marry you. You're not making her? Right?"

"No! God, no. I don't like that idea, not one tick."

"Isn't she sort of… under your spell, no offense? Or, yeah, offense. You shall be offended, I don't care," Xander blustered.

Spike snorted. "Oh yeah, I'm in a right rage and I'm about to flounce off to cry in the corner. No, she's not under any sort of spell or mental control, at least I don't think it's that way. We had a little test. My hold was never about control. It was about helpin'. She can do whatever she bloody wants to do- and b'lieve me she does." Spike sighed deeply. This next little admission would hurt his pride, but maybe help save her heart, so it was all worth it. "I wish it could be one-sided. Slayer needs to pick out the vamp she wants, her choice, calls the shots. She'd have dropped Dracula in a blink. If she picked me afterward and that fixed the mess… and she still wanted me after… " Spike's tone was almost wistful. He shook himself suddenly. "But it doesn't work that way. Hey-ho. Right, lemme see what Red and her bird want to do with my wirin' job." He tapped his skull and moved away.

Xander stared after him. Oh, God. He's like… Lovesick. Wishing Buffy would love him anyway, without all this magical mayhem. Damn. Sympathy for the vampire. He looked over at Buffy, who was trying to listen to Giles and Anya simultaneously but her eyes kept wandering over to Spike, peacefully content whenever they landed on him and he looked back.

Yeah. He's picked.

"Giles! Shouldn't we have a toast to the happy-ish couple?"

"I must be dreaming," Giles muttered, but found himself suddenly with a can of soda in his hand, everyone else hastily grabbing for their drinks or having new ones pressed upon them.

"To Buffy and Spike. The best Slayer in the world and the best man for the job. Good choice, Buffster."

Her eyes shined as she looked at Spike and shrugged, not sure what was happening, only that her friends seemed- okay with it. There was light at the end of the tunnel- even if it happened to be hiding out in a very dark place.

"To Buffy and Spike." Voices echoed.

Her can clinked against his. "To us."


Wesley found himself ushered on board, the small window shades already pulled and the cabin light on, illuminating a figure half in shadow, long, crossed legs under a jewel-tone blue skirt showing off shapely calves. The face was in the dark recesses of shadow, but then she stood.

It was all he had not to gasp. Why hadn't he recalled how beautiful she was? Well, he'd only seen her tired and bedraggled after an evening of kidnapping and torture. That he was complicit in. He wanted to throw himself at her feet and tell her all, ask for her forgiveness. He could finally put his groveling abilities to proper use.

"Welcome, Sorcerer," her voice was amused as she held out a champagne flute. "To happy travels?"

"Bon voyage, yes." He took the glass and put down the shoulder bag he was carrying. Did they shake hands? Hug? Kiss the air above cheekbones? "It's good to see you," he finally said, awkwardly extending a hand and finding it somehow on her waist as she moved in and did indeed do that lovely little swipe of lips to each cheek. He caught the silky brush of her hair- no humans had hair that perfectly thick and glossy, he was certain, and felt the coolness of her skin against his own. His mind went to new places, practical, if not gentlemanly places. Would it be hard to make love to someone cooler than body temperature? Did men have performance problems - inside? Where is was cooler?

"I have been on the edge of my seat the entire time. Waiting to see you," she stepped back and let him see her deep ruby lips and her excited eyes.

No. Men could go for days with that smile to sustain them.

Dear God, I have a crush. A schoolboy infatuation. A rude one, because I'm standing here silently, not saying a thing to my charming, gorgeous hostess who is standing in front of me on a private jet and I - "I couldn't stop thinking about you, either!" It burst out in a torrent, no holding it back once he spoke the first words, "I've been packed since sunrise, only I must have repacked six times. I hope it rains this weekend. Can we go for walks in the rain?"

Such an eagerness to be with her. Not her bedroom. Not to engage in the risky adrenaline rush of sharing blood or the intense, taboo pleasure derived from it, not even a notch on his proverbial belt. He wants to walk in the rain.

"Is that too risky?" he asked, fingers brushing lightly over the back of her hand.

"I have a beautiful garden. Long walkways, fine statuary, and carefully cultivated for shade," she said the last words with a knowing wink. "Rain or shine, we can walk together. Is there… anything else you are particularly looking forward to?"

Kissing you. Do not say that. Do not. "Talking to you. Listening to you tell me about your life. It's fascinating that you've lived so long. Oh, not that I view you as some sort of living history book!"

"I'm not living," she laughed gently.

"Oh. Right, but I meant that I was eager to talk to you for the sake of yourself, not your history," Wesley said so sincerely- although, hopefully to his ears only- it sounded a little ingenuine. He let out a sigh and his expression became apologetic. "I'm sorry, that's not… There's a bit more to it."

She saved him, a deft hand on his wrist. "Sit? We'll be moving in seconds." He sat. "Of course you want to know something of life before your time, or what it's like to live as I have done, as I do now. You're intelligent. Curious. Curious minds always seek knowledge. I accept that."

He sighed and accepted the explanation, which did hold water. He also sighed because now, sitting in the leather chair ensconced beside hers, buckling in, he was able to watch her face up close as she spoke. History and death and life and all those very important things were somehow nowhere near as fascinating as that perfectly sculpted mouth.

"What do you want to know?" Daniela smiled kindly.

"What it would be like to kiss you," Wesley heard himself whisper, still mesmerized. She had been leaning toward him, but now straightened up. He did as well, pop-eyed, hand hurriedly clasped over his mouth. "Oh, dear Lord. I did. I said it out loud. I… I don't mean to be rude, but are you positive you're not exuding some sort of residual thralling powers?"

"The only thing I exude is Ming Shu Parfum, essence of water lily." Daniela smiled more broadly and put a hand over her lips. She giggled. It was her turn to look positively stunned. Mature women laughed. She laughed. She chuckled. Her laugh was smoke and seduction and one of her finest weapons. Giggling was spontaneous and silly. Uncontrolled.

She wondered whether the buttoned up man ever lost control. Something in the way his eyes held hers and then slid hastily away showed her that he might… if he was desperate enough.

"Maybe you simply like water lilies. Or the champagne?"

"If only I could blame it on that, but no. I can hold my liquor and I've only had a sip."

"Let's remedy that. To knowledge." Another clink of crystal.

Goodness, she made him smile. "To knowledge."


Wesley feared that he would come off as an interrogator, having nothing to say to her unless it was clumsy questioning. He was halfway across the country- at very rapid speeds, he might add- before he realized they were still discussing the jet's features, including the in-flight movie selection and the television that slid smoothly down from the cafe au lait- colored paneling.

"What did you think of television when you first saw it?" Wesley ached to ask more. First flights, wars lived through, Titanic, Hindenburg, so many moments such beautiful eyes had witnessed.

"It had been out for many years, but I'd never watched it until I had my own place in Paris. Dracula didn't fancy having modern entertainment in his home. He liked to throw parties and travel. We were never bored. But he would never consent to a phonograph nor a typewriter. I can't imagine he's opened up to stereos, computers, and VCRs."

"You said 'his' home. Wasn't it yours, too?"

She sipped her second glass slowly. "No."

"Oh. Well, with all that travel and entertainment, I'm sure you saw so many fascinating things. Who would need television or anything else?"

Another small shake of her head. "Oh, Sorcerer. I'm afraid I'm the one who has unwittingly deceived you. I saw and traveled with his shadow over me. Have you…" she paused and felt a pang for old modesty, something she had long ago lost, "have you ever seen Dracula's brides? Some call us his handmaidens, even his daughters."

"I've read of course. Always three stunning women."

"Yes. Usually chosen because he admires a quality we have. Beauty, a physical attribute, usually many."

Wesley wasn't sure where this was leading. He nodded supportively, hoping he would figure out what to say before awkward silence set in.

Daniela knew she was blushing, only no one could see it now. She avoided his eyes. "I remember beautiful clothes. Thousands of dresses over the years. Things that would have shocked the world had the public seen them. Now I can order them online from any risque boutique. He told us what to wear and where to sit- always surrounding him or waiting nearby in a room until he was ready to show us off. He'd come to us and select one of us and we'd go away with him to some secluded place and sate him before we went back to our perches. Pretty birds in pretty cages."

"I… That doesn't sound like a life you would have liked."

"At first, for a very long time, years and years, I was so deliriously happy to serve my Dark Master. I questioned nothing. Not even when several of his brides were replaced, I felt nothing but pleased because his dissatisfaction was gone and his amusement in something new returned. For so long… if he was pleased, that was enough."

Wesley touched her wrist and apologized for the flinch it caused. "What changed?"

"I loved one of them. Not sexually. Our bodies were exclusively for him. No, she was all the sister I could ask for. When he went away without us, we talked and laughed. We sewed together. We hunted in the mountain passes where the castle was. She was the first friend I had in over a century. Imagine, then, living with that first friend, for fifty-odd years."

"Like family. Longer than most mortal marriages."

"Indeed, yes. A marriage of minds. She played the piano and I sang. We read together, long days spent read aloud, taking turns. We always liked the same books." She paused, looking at the closed window as if she could see the horizon they were flying toward. "Others came and went those fifty years, but he kept us. We were so different looking, she and I. I was dark as she was light. Her hair was… soft and fine like thistledown and nearly as white, so milky blonde, and her eyes just that shade of violet." Daniela's eyes were soft, capturing memories, a sad smile pulling on the corners of her lips. They moved again. "We looked good together. Two jewels for his crown."

His stomach tensed. Something horrible was coming. "Her name?"

"Arina. I called her Sora. It means sister." Daniela shook her head. Why tell him all this? He doesn't need to know any of it.

"What… what happened?" he asked the thing he was dying to know and simultaneously felt like he wanted desperately to avoid, to erase, so she wouldn't have any pain.

"He met a sultan, handsome, young, lavish... Not a proper sultan of a whole country, one of those small caliphate sort of sultans when the Ottoman Empire was like a patchwork quilt. Dracula bit him, made him a 'brother' after a summer of raiding and feasting… I don't know what else. We were home for weeks and then he returned, bringing this newcomer with him." Her eyes flickered, teeth clamped. "The sultan wanted to choose anything Dracula had in the house, some sort of custom, and Dracula agreed. Why wouldn't he? He loved to show off his treasures, his mysteries. But that young king caught sight of Arina and me. He wanted both of us, thought we were a set." That sad smile had darkness under it now. "He was nearly right. Dracula told him to pick one. He took Ari." Her eyes overflowed, anger and sadness dotting her cheeks. "It was the first time I ever stood up to him, asked him for something that had any real value. I asked to go with her or for him to send Ilyana- she was new and sweet, but she wasn't my sister."

"Darling." His head was shaking a frantic no, but she pressed on.

"He released her from the bond in exchange for one of the sultan's 'harem', trading us like we were breeding stock, blood mares. Ari begged him. She came to my room and waited until Dracula said the words. She kissed me on the cheek and left."

Wesley felt relief when she stopped talking. It was short-lived, the silence heavy with waiting. "Did you stay in touch?"

"She didn't get the chance. Ari was brokenhearted, leaving her husband and her sister. She didn't please the sultan properly. He killed her later in the week."

Wesley made a choking sound. "Wh-what? That's horrible! That's monstrous, how could Dracula let that happen?"

"Dracula? He was angry. In the same way that you would be angry if someone borrowed your favorite book and lost it. You'd steam a bit, then get a new copy. But I couldn't get a new sister. Not… not for a very long time. I did again. And again. One even that I loved like a little- like a daughter, which I know must repulse your sensibilities."

"Nothing about you repulses me," Wesley whispered, stunned that it was true. "I cannot imagine living that life and feeling like I was not in my own home, despite living there for decades, despite the same person always loving me and -"

"Love? I suppose he does, in his way. But it was after he threw Jeannette out into the sun for some imagined slight to his ego, for an excuse to take a new wife, another virgin daughter of the Romany kings who wanted a taste of immortality… I told him to release me or kill me, too. I believe he cared for my happiness and that he would have taken it back, his hasty decision to murder her. Perhaps he would have set me free instead, if he wanted another bride so badly."

"Why this fuss about the number three? It seems horrible to keep ending the lives of the women you love, or claim to, simply to get another bride. Hrm- pardon my indelicacy, but many vampires I've heard of seem to have no qualms with numerous partners."

She nodded tiredly. "He could have had affairs if he wanted. We wouldn't have said a word. We already knew he was finding pleasure with the three of us, what's one more? If we could have had the comfort of knowing we would remain together… But he has his rules and his mystique… his madness." She shrugged, a deeply painful, hopeless shrug and upended the flute, draining the last drop. "His control, Sorcerer. What better way to keep your woman in check by holding her life in your hands- and that of the only people she might come to care for?"

Wesley had said earlier that the Countess was a strong woman. Beautiful, smart, sensual. He also saw something he didn't expect, and he acted on it, startling himself. "May I?" he asked, standing suddenly over her as she sat in her seat.

She looked up, equally startled, but moved over.

Wesley wedged himself into the luxuriously wide seat and put his arm firmly around her shoulders. His Daniela was a fighter. And she was so terribly wounded, where no one could see. No wonder she had casually asked him if he'd watched what Angel had done to her and how bad it was. Another rape and beating of the physical kind wouldn't seem like much after centuries of mental control and endless fog punctuated by waking unease, such painful losses. "I am so truly, terribly sorry."

Daniela rested her head tentatively on his shoulder for just a moment. Then sat up and pushed him away gently so she could read his face as she spoke. "I am a killer as well as some pretty woman with a sob-story. Before you console me, you might want to recall the countless deaths that are on my hands, directly or indirectly."

He licked his suddenly dry lips. "Did you kill after he released you?"

She hesitated. "Demon or human?"

That surprised him. "Demon?"

"You do not think I let Ari's murderer live for much longer once I was free to move about, do you?" she asked archly.

He smiled, couldn't help it. "Well done."

"I thought so. And he was, too. Left out on a spire at dawn. A beautiful blaze of fire against a stupa."

"Even in your revenge, you show impeccable taste." I hope never to be on the deserving end of it. "Human?"

"One or two, early on, when I didn't know how to seduce without endangering myself."

Wesley cocked his head. Endangering herself. "You drank too much?"

"No. They said I had not given enough. I hadn't had another lover besides Dracula ever, in my life," she found that annoying blush creeping back, an absent sensation that she'd thought long dead. "At first, I thought the pain was simply my unease, but it wasn't. When they used force… I used force. Too much. I would do it again. I would do it better, as well," Daniela informed him, a hard glint in her eyes, daring him to call her out, judge her for this crime.

Wesley did not. He got up and went to the ridiculously well-stocked bar and retrieved the bottle of chilled champagne and poured the rest of the bottle into their glasses. "To survival."

"To survival… and better things."


Her home in mid-day was the very epitome of finer things. Even in his boyhood homes (a small listed estate and then a lavish townhouse in the Knightsbridge section of London, close to the Council offices for when his father had to work) where antiques, art, and artifacts had run amok, they paled in comparison. This place was lavish, a collector's dream. Wesley forgot his manners utterly, dropping his suitcase just inside the door and rushing down the hall to look at Greek amphora and a real DaVinci, a small Rafael casting, a Louis XIV chandelier.

"See anything you like?" Daniela laughed softly. She locked the door behind them, taking off the dark belted raincoat, her glasses, and large velvet-y hood that gave the contours of her hidden face a haunting, tantalizing quality. Even when one is avoiding being burned alive, one must look fashionable. The drapes were drawn, windows shuttered. She flicked a switch and the chandelier he admired flickered to life, making him gasp and her give into that silly instinct to giggle.

The servants had been sent home early at her instruction. She hoped they'd remembered to make supper for that night. She often asked them to do that when she was entertaining a gentleman, but so often, the gentleman requested her company rather than food, which was fine. Ordinarily. She wanted to sit and dine with this one.

Wesley turned, enraptured expression on his face. "I like everything I see, especially the hostess. You have eclectic, but excellent taste. How did you ever amass such-"

"I'm evil, dearest. Theft and chicanery, sharp practice, black market, and sometimes I even pay for things at auction. I've been gifted a few things as well. Let me show you to your room and then we'll eat- goodness, it's lunch? Or is it breakfast or supper for you?"

"I don't know." The small jet oustripped commercial flights and put them in Paris just at sunrise. She'd been brave enough to risk an afternoon flight to him and brave enough to risk a car journey in morning traffic. She seemed perfectly calm, but he was praying the whole time that there wouldn't be engine trouble or an accident that would cause them to step outside of her vehicle, a sporty little hard-top Mercedes-Benz with black-tempered glass.

"Well, I could hear your stomach growling, so we'd best eat something. Three glasses of champagne, some cheese and grapes is not enough to fill anyone up." She put her things in the coat closet and smoothed her hair, somehow more nervous to be alone with this man in her hallway than she had been to find him in her bedroom, waking up disoriented with a fiery circle flickering a few feet behind him. She couldn't recall the last time that had happened, either. She suddenly found herself suspicious of spellwork, but what spell could he perform that made her feel… excited? Not aroused, excited.

Wesley smothered an annoyed tsk. Of course her ears had picked up on his rebellious digestive system. "I'd love some lunch. I'm sure you must be famished as well." Which was a tricky bit of the discussion, he supposed, if he let himself think about the intricacies of dining with a vampire. Angel never ate anything but coffee and pig's blood, not when he was in possession of his soul. Did she take her human lovers' offerings warmed up in a fine china bowl? Sip them out of a wine glass? Forego the main meal? And why in the world was he suddenly a little jealous of those men who willingly left her pint bags with their names on them?

She led him further into the central portion of the house and began walking up an opulent single staircase. He would have thought there would be one of those double staircases leading to some sort of fancy exposed upper hall. Well, the upper hall was not exposed, but the stairway curved gracefully, just like the hips that swayed in front of him, and the hallway that was revealed was as stunning as the downstairs, lined with dark blue borders on cream paint, filled with portraits.

"In the morning, I'll introduce you to Stefan and Mia, they look after me. They're not used to my having company for more than a night or two. I have to let Mia come in at least every third day or she worries." She turned and caught Wesley frozen in front of one particular portrait.

"Arina." It was a statement, not a question. His fingers went almost reverently to the frame and drew back before touching. "What a stunning woman."

"Wasn't she beautiful?" Daniela turned back, hand outstretched to lay on his elbow.

"Indeed." And to Wesley's prejudiced eye, she had a faint resemblance to Buffy, only in shades lighter, features narrower and more innocent. But the same slight build, the determined chin, sweetness of her smile… "Damn him."

Her fingers jumped. There was utter poison in his voice. "You mustn't say that."

"Mustn't I?" Wesley asked brashly. God only knew when the same fate would land on Buffy.

"I have no love for him, but you should never make an enemy of him."

"Does he- hear me, somehow?"

"No. No, I have him well-warded from my home and he released me, so he is no longer able to get into my mind, though I don't doubt he could if he wanted to and he was close enough."

"So, you've never wished him any harm?"

Her mouth moved. Soundless, half-apologetic grimaces tried to form words.

"I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

She nodded hastily and moved down the hall, away from him.

Wesley followed, cursing himself internally. "Daniela, I wish I could-"

She flung open a door, "It's next to my rooms. I hope you like it."

He liked it enormously. Like the rest of the house, it was a perfect blend of antiques and modern. He could see a white and charcoal schemed bathroom with gleaming tiles just off the wide, sweeping room with a four-poster bed and a gilt-framed landscape of- "Dear Lord, is that a Turner?"

And her smile was back.

So was his. He could see himself roaming around this house and talking to this fascinating woman for days, if not weeks. Or longer. Calm, Wesley. It's the first flush of infatuation. Maybe even baser instincts talking. You know you have a sexual goddess who has no qualms about casual encounters. Perhaps that's why it's so intriguing.

Except the idea of sleeping with her is positively terrifying. What if I like it and she's simply bored? Or she's so unimpressed she asks me to stop? Oh God…

"Oh dear. The Sorcerer is displeased? Is it the bed? Too old-fashioned without the historical fascination? Here, let me show you another room. It has a Monet- well, a very good print of a Monet. Some things cannot be stolen, no matter who one knows. Well… not without damaging the Louvre and I have a membership." She was rambling. Nervous and rambling. She shouldn't speak, she should take action. She shouldn't have talked to him about her marriage or her sire. He stirred up old feelings and things that wriggled in the back of her mind like a bad dream she felt but couldn't recall.

Daniela was halfway down the hallway before she realized he wasn't following her. She returned to the room slowly, somehow uncertain of what she'd find.

She found him putting his shaving things in the bathroom. "You went quiet again. It bothers me immensely."

"What? My silence?" Wesley raised one eyebrow as he put his aftershave on the basin.

"Not the silence itself, the fact that I can't read it yet." She furrowed her brow.

"Ah."

"I suppose we must have some secrets, then."

Wesley hustled over to her. "Daniela, it's no secret. I… I have spent most of my life with books and spells and research. I have spent much less time with captivating women. So, I suddenly- hrm- inappropriately- thought that uh- I might bore you in certain ways. And I'm sorry. For the inappropriateness of the thought."

Daniela couldn't keep the sudden smile off of her face. She waited for the answering grin to spread and grow until it matched hers. "Wesley delights. Intrigues. Fascinates. And he's humble about it."

"Daniela is-" His speech, which he had just thought of on the spot, full of chivalric sweetness and compliments, was broken by a low gurgling sound. "- Daniela is blessed with superhuman hearing," he sighed ruefully.

"Come along. Lunch and a shady walk?"

"Lovely. Perfect."


A perfect hostess she was not. She tried to be. Curiosity won out over manners when his exhaustion won out over adrenaline. Hs said he was going to shower and come back dressed in time for dinner. She put the dinner Mia made on two plates and picked out two pints from her personal supply. He didn't return. She went up to his room and knocked softly. Nothing. She called and pushed on the door, which gave under her slightest touch.

Wesley was lying on the bed in a towel, breathing deeply in his sleep, his glasses off, pushed up on his forehead.

He was a pretty creature, wasn't he? She appraised the lean torso with the eye of a collector, a connoisseur of the male form, which she was. She felt a momentary pang about seeing him half-dressed while he was unaware, but she shrugged it off. He'd seen her in a similar, but more clothed position. What should really give her a pang was seeing his phone lying on the edge of the bed next to neatly pressed trousers and clean collared shirt. Her fingers twitched to touch him. Perhaps undoing the knot of the towel. Why not wake him up in ecstasy? She could smell desire on him when they were talking.

But it wasn't all she could scent. No mere rutting lust in this one.

Rutting lust was easy to enjoy and discard, and above all, it was plentiful. This one was rare.

Ever so troubling to a woman who has sworn never to give her heart fully away. She preferred being her own mistress, allegiance owed to nothing and no one, except for the perfunctory obligations of honoring Dracula as her sire and of course, taking good care of Mia and Stefan.

It was perhaps self-sabotaging or simply the carelessness of the demon in residence that made her silently glide to his side, take his phone and open the little cover, biting her lip as it beeped once and he snorted.

Text messages.

Missed Calls. AI. AI. AI. Cordy.

Cordy?

Jealousy? Was that jealousy? Unpleasant, alien emotion. It marred her face, twisting her lips.

She let her eyes scan the first message

Cordy: R U Safe? Dumbass is tearing out hair. Srsly. I will 2 if U don't call.

Cordy: 2 ppl have bald patches. U O us. Plz call or text. Srsly. Worried.

Cordy: If she killed you, I kill her.

"Daniela?" Wesley sat up, blinking.

"Who's Cordy?"

"Hm?"

"I just want to know."

"Cordelia? She works with me. Why?" Wesley asked sleepily.

"She says you'd better call. She and 'Dumbass' are frantic."

"Oh Lord, did she call?" Wesley reached for the phone in a panic only to suddenly realize that the situation was wrong. "I fell asleep? Did my phone ring? Did I sleep through it?"

"No. I looked in on you when you didn't come back. I knocked. I called. I felt… emotions I dislike. Worry and jealousy and other horrid things." Daniela made a clicking sound of annoyance, tongue against teeth. "I checked on you and you were so tempting. I thought I could keep my hands to myself only if I put them on something else distracting."

Me, tempting? His ego purred, but only briefly. He frowned. "I'll call her back and tell her I haven't been eaten."

"She knows about vampires? Me?"

"Yes, she-" It was on the tip of his tongue to say "She was there, don't you remember?" But she didn't remember and that was important. "Yes, she implies that with the 'she kills you', bit. And she would, I imagine. Then she'd take everything out of your closet. She would love to be your shopping buddy." Suspicion and anger were swept away in a rosy little fantasy in his head. Daniela and Cordelia, becoming friends. A friend Daniela wouldn't have to lose, not to some demented fiend in a cape, anyway. A rich, well-coiffed friend that Cordy would know how to navigate the world with, at least when it came to fashion, if not fine art. He sat up, suddenly heedless of the towel and its loose knot and motioned for the phone. "Here, I have a picture of her. She wanted to be an actress. I think she's very good, actually, but she doesn't seem to get the right parts. Ah, and you know Angel."

She gazed at the grainy photo on the small screen. Pretty woman. She vaguely remembered- something. "She looks familiar."

"She- she was in a commercial for bin liners once."

"That… isn't it. Well, perhaps it is. She's a good friend?" Daniela tried to place the vibrantly smiling face with masses of dark hair.

"Oddly enough, one of my best. I - I think it would be nice if you two met sometime." He wondered if the sweat on his brow could be disguised as remnants trickling from his damp hair. He'd nearly said 'meet again." "In fact… if you think it's safe, perhaps I could repay your hospitality?"

"Stay with you?"

"In Los Angeles. O-or visit a little town a few hours outside of it, Sunnydale? I used to work there. I still have friends there."

He wants me to meet his friends. No mention of his family. She would sort that out later, but she supposed lots of people have reason to shy away from their pasts and their families. She certainly had. She shunned the company of vampires. Angel had been a mistake and an outlier she didn't dare repeat. But… "You mentioned a friend who was in the company of a vampire. It's this Cordy?"

"No. Well, yes. She's friends with Angel. I'm shockingly sorry about his horrible treatment of you. He is the dumbass she refers to and I wholeheartedly agree with her on that score. He is trying to live a reformed life, helping others, but he's extraordinarily stupid at times." He sighed deeply. "Do you know how I learned so much sorcery?" he asked suddenly.

"Books?"

"Yes. The best ones. I was a Watcher. You know the term?"

Her eyes flared wide in surprise. "All vampires of more than a few years should know that term. Did you say you were a Watcher, past tense?"

"And all my fathers' fathers before me. I was fired. I- I cannot abide by their rigid rules anymore. I thought I should tell you. In case it mattered."

It mattered, yes, but only that he made sure to tell her. She found herself leaning close to him, her shoulder bumping his. "Are you hoping to learn about Dracula from me?" she whispered, smile flitting across her face.

"To report back to the Watcher's Council? No. To learn about your life and how that person affects you? Yes. You can ask me all about Watchers if you like." He paused. "It's probably terribly dull."

"You are a very infuriating person," Daniela said, but she was chuckling as she said it. He looked surprised, which was an annoyingly adorable, heart-melting look on him. "You have this wayward notion that you would bore a woman, but you're well-read and you know thousands of things of which most people are unaware. You have such intimate knowledge of the things most humans fear and you walk bravely into my home and invite me into yours." Her fingers stroked over his shoulder and brushed against his pectoral, electricity jumping off her fingertips and down her spine as she felt his outer thigh warm on hers, thin, wiry chest hair under her hand.

"I've been told it. Rather a lot."

"Fools."

The vowels of the word pushed her lips out and they left the faintest kiss of coolness against his overheated skin. "Are we?" Wesley asked in a lightheaded voice.

"No. They are. The ones who pass things up."

"Ah. Right. Things like dinner with you?"

"And being utterly captivated with you. After."


Cordelia answered her phone with a thankful gasp. "Wesley!"

"I'm here, I'm fine, I'm not even remotely eaten. I didn't have signal on the flight and then Daniela had to help me put an international roaming plan on my phone. I should have called you from her office, really." He kicked himself. Why hadn't he thought of that? Oh, well. This would be handy for when they were out and about. This month. Maybe next. The holidays? Where was his mind going? Anywhere but upstairs, where the delicious phrase "utterly captivated with you" loomed since dinner was cleared away.

"Vamp lady put stuff on your phone? She's like- a geek?"

"No! She's smart and knows how to rely on herself and do things on her own."

"And I don't?"

"What? No!" Wesley blinked.

"Okay. Good. Because I know how to do things. Lots of things. And I don't bite."

"I'm sure you don't. Erm. Are you feeling all right?"

"Oh, I'm peachy. I've been on the verge of chaining the boss to the bed since you left."

Wesley rocketed to a standing position. "Oh my God! He's gone evil? Should I get the next flight-"

"No, he's not evil. He's annoying and keeps trying to jump on a plane to save you. When I caught him looking at that portal spell and he asked if I could read runes I had to make the ultimate sacrifice."

"Which is?" He winced.

"I had to stay late at work and put the book under my shirt."

Wesley paused. "You know that won't stop him if he really wants to get that book."

"And it totally stretched out the weave of the sweater. He looks really agonized and growly," her voice dropped and she bent low over her desk, hiding her face from her stalking, grumping boss, "-and his hair is a mess."

"Dear me, he is having a bad day."

"Yeah, well, you're saving Buffy and getting calls from her and he's chopped liver right now." Cordelia hesitated. "Is she making you say you're safe?"

"No! She's a lovely and charming hostess. Not only that, but her house is gorgeous. It's like a very comfortable museum with comfy beds."

"The beds are comfy, huh?" Cordelia's voice turned amused. "I seem to remember her eyeing you up. Are you sure you're not on the menu for dessert, if not dinner?"

"Cordelia!" Wesley gasped, face aflame.

"That wasn't a no! Are you sure you want to do that?"

"I didn't say I was doing that!"

"But she wants you to?"

"I'm not having this conversation!"

"If you weren't having this conversation, you would have told me no! Oh geez, Wes. Be careful, okay? Um. I don't know. I'd ask Angel if there were safe-sex tips for vamps, but I'm pretty sure I'll end up with a ripped sweater and runic dictionary in my face."

"I have assured you that I'm all right. May I go and leave this humiliation?"

"Only if you don't die."

"I will do my very best."


This was more comfortable. Black lace. Sheer stockings. Cleavage accentuated, but tastefully so. Waiting to seduce the willing. Of course, he would be willing.

She yanked her silk robe back on. She didn't want to have a quick fuck with him. She wanted to make him happy, in the way that went beyond an orgasm that left his knees weak. "Damn."

"Daniela?" Wesley's voice called from outside her bedroom door.

Show time. Sort of. "I… I need a minute."

"There's no rush. I was going to say- I'm not too tired. Would tonight be a good night to go see the lights in the city? Or would tomorrow be better?"

"I'm feeling a little tired. Tomorrow would be better." For so many things. "I'll just be a moment."

"I'll let you get your beauty sleep. Not that you need it! But I'm- I'm suddenly tired, as well." He was tired and relieved. This felt far too rushed and very unlike him, falling into bed with a woman after two meetings.

The door cracked open, revealing gloriously creamy skin hidden under a sheath of black silk pulled closed. The robe shielded her body, but not her face. "Oh no. You look upset. Did I-"

"No. You are being a perfect gentleman. I am out of my depth. I do better with slightly imperfect gentlemen. I know what to expect."

"Ah." He was in his robe as well, although his was not nearly so fancy, navy blue cotton with a fine white stripe. "What does an imperfect gentleman do? I'll endeavor to live down to their standards." He grinned.

"He can't wait to undress me and have his pleasure," she said without rancor. "Which I thoroughly enjoy. I love the sensations of sex."

Wesley thought he'd swallowed a match. That's what the sudden internal burn felt like. "W-well, I'd certainly like that as well."

"Yes, but that's not all you want. You want me. Brain and heart and body, conversations and outings. The others do that as well, but this," she gestured behind her to the half-made bed, "this is their ultimate goal. What is yours?"

"To get to know you. Because I like you." He told her with absolute honesty. His hand reached through the door and caressed her cheek. "I like you immensely after only a brief time. This scares the hell out of me."

Her shocked expression made him laugh as she blurted. "Me, too!" Wesley had a feeling Daniela didn't blurt, ever. Everything was very controlled, deliberate. And that was rather telling, wasn't it?

"Finding yourself liking someone suddenly, without much in the way of good reasons to do so, must feel unexpected. Uncontrollable. An uncontrollable feeling must be very scary. Especially for you."

"Me? Why me?" There was a trace of defensiveness in her voice, even as she opened the door and motioned him in.

"Because of Dracula. It sounds as if sometimes you had no control. Perhaps not even of your emotions?" he hedged. He could remember all too well what she'd told him. I prefer genuine emotion after centuries of finding my own feelings … muted. I like full volume.

Perceptive. The sorcerer had listened. More than could be said for her ex-lord and master, who sometimes went pigheadedly against her if only to show that even after decades, then centuries, Daniela could not control him, that he was indeed her master in all things.

"I like to take charge of my own life now. Yes. But for you, even for an hour or two, or a night or two, I find myself more interested in what Wesley likes. Wants. Needs. It's rather terrible, if I'm honest. I'm a demon, you know."

"I know."

She turned away and shuddered. She was in front of her mirror on her dressing table, not that it was of any use to her personally. But she could see him. She watched to see when he would catch on to what was happening. Watched to see fear, horror, disgust.

Wesley's breath caught. He saw it in profile first. The elegant nose seemed to lift to make room for slender fangs, her eyes were a deep, fierce orange, and her brow slipped up, changing the soft widow's peak in her hair very slightly.

"But did you believe? Seeing is believing, they say. We can whitewash anything, we can pretty it up and paint it, ignore it if we like… Until it stares at us." She came painfully close to him, close enough that her breasts hit his chest when he breathed harshly as her finger slipped across his cheeks. She sniffed. He smelled… like ambrosia. There were hints there that she had missed, hadn't savored, even with some of her dear, long-term lovers of the past. He stared, unflinching, but didn't speak.

Ah. It is easier, after all, if we don't show the ugliness, even if we're well aware of it. She began to revert, and that fraction of a second was when his hands sank into her hair and he plunged his mouth down on hers. The seconds ticked by and tongues met up and danced. Her face smoothed back to its human features, again wearing an expression of shock.

Wesley pulled back and spoke between pants. "Yes. I believed. Funny. With you, it doesn't seem to matter."

Maybe her steps shook a little or her hand was slightly unsteady as she asked, "Shall I close the door, Sorcerer?"

Maybe his grip was a little spastic and his voice was higher than customary as he answered, "If you wouldn't mind my company?"

"I would love it." She heard the words exiting her mouth, and her heart felt them bore in, sharper than any threatened stake. She should run. She would love this, probably far too much. She would yield things to him that she swore never to give. She should flee…

She did. Right into his waiting arms.

To be continued...

Author's Note: Thank you all for continuing to read, comment, and review. If you're a fan of spuffy-esque erotica and romance, I hope you'll check out CrossRealms: You an' Me Against the World and the Vampire in Vegas series by S.C. Principale on Amazon. (Free with Kindle Unlimited, cheap if not.)