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…

XXXIV

Wesley opened the door to his one-bedroom flat with a flourish, then a yelp. "Ah- one moment!" He slammed the door unceremoniously in Daniela's bemused face and hurriedly stuffed all the dirty laundry in his living room into the linens' bag. He hustled the plate with toast crumbs and the cup full of coffee that was beginning to colonize lifeforms into the dishwasher. At last he was ready- no, what was that smell? He turned and marched back into his cubby of a kitchen and tossed the bananas and their fruit fly groupies into the bin and shut the lid tightly. "Now-"

"You know, I didn't always have servants and a big house. I lived in a small garrett in Paris with very little. A dirty plate and a pair of socks will not offend me." Daniela appeared at his elbow and he jumped.

"How did you- I'm so sorry I left you in the hall! I'm so-"

"I'm in here because you told me I was welcome in your home anytime. I presume you know how to de-invite someone?" One slender brow arched.

"I do, but I have no need to do that." Wesley considered apologizing for the state of his home. A small garret in Paris, well- Well, yes, but she also has a castle that is likely of mythic proportions, world travel, and she currently has a house filled with art that a dozen curators would duel to the death for. He went with the feeling. "I'm so sorry about the state of things. I -oh- uh- oops." Wesley set down his luggage and it fell forward, landing on her foot, pouring out laundry on perfect ankles and high heels that were just high enough to speak of sex and demure enough to speak of taste. He laughed nervously and the nervous laughter choked away as he hastily gathered everything up and realized afresh that he lived in a one-bedroom flat. "I did say it was a single bedroom, didn't I? I can take the sofa, of course. Or hotels. There are scads of them in Los Angeles."

This time, both eyebrows went up. "We've already shared a bed."

"I know!" How in the world will I ever forget?

"We- what is the right expression? We have made up."

"Yes, we have. I didn't want to seem pushy." He blushed, feeling quite the simpleton. His father would laugh him into oblivion- right after he quietly drowned him in some remote body of water for willingly bedding a vampire. For defending her. For loving her.

"I like that about you. You don't push. You know when to tread softly, but you have moments when you're bold." A smile teased the corners of her lips. "This was a very bold move. I have read about it, of course, but never seen it."

The smile passed to his own lips, though he appeared more bemused than pleased. "What move?"

"Throwing your underpants at a lady's feet," she whispered, leaning in, her eyes flickering in mischief.

He turned a shade of pink and then, in one of those moments where he knew he ought to make a bold move, he shoved his lips forward and caught hers.

"I- I wasn't expecting you to stay here. When I left for Paris." He pulled back to breathe and inform her of the reasons behind his dismal failure at housekeeping. "And to be honest, the flat doesn't usually look like this. I was thinking about the trip so much that I forgot everything else. Dear Lord, it's a mercy I didn't use the stove that morning…"

"So, this is the real, unvarnished Wesley?" Daniela suddenly sidestepped his arms, placing her own suitcase on the sofa and darting down the hallway before he could stop her.

A bathroom. White curtain on the shower, clean tiles, toothbrush, soap, razor, shaving foam, blue and gray towels.

Bedroom. Bed rumpled, unmade, two pillows, one flattened at the head, one thrown carelessly in the middle. Closet open- so very many weapons, khakis, and suits. Books everywhere. A photo of Cordelia and Angelus, him in the middle. A map with pins in it.

"Such manners." Wesley appeared behind her, filling the doorway.

"I'm a demon, Darling," she laughed softly, sitting on the bed, easing off her shoes.

"Ah ah. You're my demon."

The playfulness was gone, at least for a moment. "Am I really?" she led, voice soft, perhaps even dangerous.

"If you- if you'd like to be."

She laid back, skirt riding up and legs deliberately curving to show her calves and hide anything further. "A demon possesses."

He slowly ran a hand along the sheet, not touching her. "Consumes him?"

"Yes. Changes you. Not for the worse, necessarily." Her hand danced near his, but waited.

"Well…" his throat felt tight. They made love. They'd gone beyond that, he'd fed her, cum in her, essences were in each other and it was- visceral, powerful. He'd felt like a king, but he wasn't a vainglorious one. He knew the honor of wearing the crown, not a king who conquered, one chosen by a queen.

Dashing it all to pieces hours later and patching it up with tears and lines of old Russian plays hadn't made that crown rest easily.

"Well?" Her voice was faintly challenging.

His hand latched onto hers, pressing it firmly to the mattress to stop its motion. "If you possess me, then I am your host. You consume me, I feed you. Without me- you'd waste away. Without you, I'd be empty." His other hand came into play, finding her shoulder, until they were both on the bed, in disheveled sheets, heads almost touching. "Let me be yours. I'll fill you up, and neither of us will be empty again."

"God, yes." Such risky words.

He was pressing into her in moments, half-dressed, nothing remotely contrived or seductive in it, just two people, desperate people, people falling in love.

Such risks worth taking. Her eyes fluttered shut as he filled the aching emptiness inside of her and she sank her fangs into his beautifully sinewed shoulder.

"Mine."

"It could be ours. It's a short-term lease, aimed at the college set. We can do better next term," Spike showed her around a single bedroom efficiency that was quadruple the size of her dorm room but just as sterile.

"My mother would kill me!"

"No, she wouldn't! Married folks can't live in the dorms and you'd have no end of trouble getting your studies done in my crypt. The lighting is shocking and the internet- don't you need that for typin' papers?"

She groaned- then smiled. This is what it means to find the other half of yourself. The person who simultaneously puts crypts and internet access for college papers in one sentence. "Research? That's why you think we need an apartment?" Buffy teased.

"Joyce might start to tolerate me soon enough, we've had a few good chats lately," Spike shrugged, his eyes sliding to the half-open door. The landlord had said he'd be up in a few minutes to ask if they had any opinions on the place. "Didja see the bathroom? Big, for a lackluster deal like this."

"You're changing the subject. What's my mother got to do with the bathroom?"

Without warning, he pulled her into his arms, her bottom to the crotch of his jeans, her shoulders to his chest as his lips danced down to her ear. "Slayer, we need a place to get good and cleaned up. Well… I'll clean you up, but I know you. You like soap and water afterwards. As if the smell of me on you isn't the best thing in the world…" he inhaled now and caught those traces, his cum in her, deep in, her arousal, which was never fully stoppered, only siphoned off, her blood, his mixed in it in tiny drips and licks, but he was so full of her now, that together, the difference in their blood was probably indecipherable.

Smelling and touching and hips pressing her forward until the doorjamb of said large bathroom split her thighs and he held her there for a second, until she moaned softly. "Spike, we can't…"

"It's almost time."

"I know! That guy said he'll be -"

"No, Slayer. It's almost time for you to open up, there." He bucked her forward, the hard wood in front putting pressure on her puffy lips and her clit through a cotton skirt and panties, the hardness of him putting pressure on her taut cheeks with their delectable padding.

"I'm open for you all the time," she protested, but faintly. They had to take this apartment now. She'd humped it. Stupid vampire. Sexy, sweet, stupid vampire. "Spike, you-"

His hand connected with the warm, soft hollow between stomach and hips. "Once a month, you're meant to be the chalice that I drink from, without marks or exchanges. Once a month, you make a gift any vampire would kill for, go down on his knees for. Feel the heat starting, warmer, redder…" he closed his eyes and stopped the litany of imagery spewing out of his poet's mouth. "And you'll want a shower after. Or during. A private shower, where Joyce won't wonder why I can't stop singing the Messiah and where your dormmates won't catch sight of the pretty mess we make."

All of that was true- and wrong. And weird. "The Messiah? The thing they play at Christmas on the classical station?"

He winced in irritation."Focus. Want some privacy, recurring, monthly privacy. Want it soon." Spike backed away and let her have space, just as the landlord reentered, a tentative smile on his face.

"Are you interested? It's yours with a deposit and references and-"

Buffy nodded, equally tentative, still unused to the idea that she had a substantial amount of money in her account and not sure what references she could provide. "I like it for a short-term rental, until the semester is done, maybe? But-"

"Mr. Franklin and his- lemme see, seven, eight, nine brothers are my references, and then you can call up the ones I'm about to write down. I'd like the keys now." Spike counted out cash and the stunned man dropped two brassy keys into his palm in exchange. "Run along and get the paperwork, will you? Thank you so much," Spike used his very best posh voice and his widest smile, the one that reached his eyes- and made you wish maybe it hadn't. The eyes were smiling and hard, as if this man was very pleased- and would be very pleased to hurt you if you ruined his plans.

Buffy put her hands on her hips, trying to work up a good argument about why they shouldn't have done this and why it was wrong, the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong reason- and all she could picture was them sharing a safe space every night, a space where they could be… safe. Alone. The rest of the world was crowding in and even her thoughts were bullies, but around Spike, things settled down.

The restless ache in her heart and head were gone.

How did I just now get that?

Buffy stood frozen, a puzzled look on her face.

Too busy, too restless in her hips and her head, too busy with the rush of life and plans and disasters and exes and mothers to notice that what had been fading in the background- was gone.

Spike found himself spinning as she snagged the keys from him and deadbolted the door, laughing and incredulous as she seized him by the hand and hauled him into the bedroom.

"It's done," she gasped into his ear, pressing all of herself to him in a long, shuddering embrace.

"Yes, a done deal. Welcome to Chez Slayer," he laughed, kneading her tight rear, nuzzling into her neck and inhaling the perfume of her hair.

"No. Gone. Spike. It's gone."

Spike pulled back and looked down at her and could read her eyes as clearly as written pages.

She's free. Really free from him, not that he'll let her go. None of 'em give her what she really needs, but none of 'em want to let her go. Except me.

"Free?" he mouthed, eyes sparkling.

"Free," she whispered back. And kept, belong to my Spike, my husband, but free all the same. "There's nothing- nothing pulling at me now. You won."

"We won." He traced her cheek with his fingertips. "You've been mine for days, Pet. Ways that he never could lay claim to." His pelvis tipped to hers pointedly. "The dreams stopped. The heartbeat went back to normal. What changed?"

She rested her head on his chest. "I don't know. I knew it was breaking. I was sure it was broken, but I never got this- thie 'wham!' feeling before, like everything fell into place in my head and in the quiet…" She shook her head. "Maybe it makes no sense why it suddenly felt like that, but it did. It's broken. I can tell. It was going, going, going, gone. Maybe it's like Giles said, we didn't know how many of your bites would outweigh his. We know he packs a pretty powerful whammy. Or maybe it's because for a second, when I thought about having a home with you, a safe place, I felt the peace inside, too. All - all the way inside," she felt herself melting into him more deeply, the heat inside her melting, too.

"All the way inside," he echoed, mouth feeling suddenly dry as she wrapped one hand possessively around the collar of his shirt, fitting her lips to his.

"Me in thee and thee in me." Buffy bit his lip and pushed him against the doorframe of the bedroom.

The heat passed from her to him, a candle wick tipping to light another, share the flame. "Haven," he kissed her, pulling her up against his hips, lifting her.

"Heaven?"

"Haven. Heaven, too. My safe spot. Do you know that we own this? We own this place, legally, a rental meaning ownership for the duration. I haven't owned a home in - ever. I technically predeceased my mother, so the house- it didn't pass to me. It was my father's, then hers, then it would have been mine. But you- you're mine. You are my home, and this is our home- and no wonder it's properly broken. Demons can't have sanctuaries, Luv, very few of us do. But with you," he laughed hoarsely, "anything is possible."

Those old words swirling in the ether of old magicks and things that run deeper than life and souls found their way into her. "Come into me," she breathed.

"Be safe with me."

"Kindred."

The landlord heard soft, enthusiastic noises that made his ears turn pink. He decided to slip the paperwork under the door and come back tomorrow.

He was not used to traveling alone. He had compromised more than he ever wanted or allowed for this one. Dracula reflected that he had a mere scattering of his sacred earth to lay his head in, he would have to be content with illusions of less illustrious dwellings, and he had no bride to warm his bed, and he wouldn't indulge himself with one who was unworthy, not of his Kindred ones.

Now, he was even traveling in less than his normal grandeur, he fumed. He stashed the body of a cabin girl into a bag meant for laundry, then shoved the remains of his lackluster supper softly overboard, a cushion of homemade mist muffling the splash.

All of this he could contend with, if the pain wasn't starting to become noticeable, an unraveling sensation that prickled the back of his brain, down his middle, and back up his spine. Whatever it was, he had never felt anything like it, for he had always been the one to break the bond with his wives, severing it along with their necks, or perhaps with a kind parting gesture. The closest he had come to this feeling was with Daniela. Letting her go ached for a bit, like a dull throb in his temples.

"What is this? How is this?" He crept the narrow stairways as he returned to his room, feeling weak despite feeding. The hold on Buffy Summers was weaker than he'd liked, sadly, but it was placed with all of his power and charisma. It should have held up to the interference by that imposter, the vampire who played at mating with her but could never really possess the Slayer as she was meant to be claimed.

Was this persistent pain what it was like when a bond was broken, forced to break?

Discomfort.

Distasteful.

She couldn't possibly have… And yet, what other reason could there be for this unsettled feeling, this dark, burning throb that wouldn't let him rest, that made him feel… incomplete?

"No matter. She'll pay. And then she'll be mine again. Even if death do us part, " he laughed, a little tinge of madness revealing itself as he popped open a bottle of the ship's cheap complimentary champagne.

"May I take you out to dinner?" Wesley, a bit paler than he'd been a few hours ago, found his voice as his breathing returned to normal.

Daniela looked over at him, comfortable with baring her body, posing for his eyes like she was used to being an admired object. "I've eaten," she teased, wiping her lips daintily with one forefinger.

He laughed softly. When combined with sex, the biting was 1% sharp pinching and 99% blinding pleasure. He'd offer her dessert, but she'd decline. "Still, you are my guest. Los Angeles isn't as fascinating as Paris, but it has its moments. I'd like to share them with you."

"Wesley woos," she mused, running her hands along the silky calf she was arching above her chest, a shameless position that made his color rush back. "Wesley blushes. Burns."

"Daniela tempts," he snarled softly, grabbing her hand and pulling her to his chest as she giggled, that beautiful bell-like laugh that made his skin ring.

"You need to eat," she felt his erection rub her thigh and longed to indulge herself again.

"You wouldn't let me take you out!"

"I didn't say no- I didn't say yes, either."

"You're playing with me."

"No… I'm merely playful with you." The smile wavered and turned the beautiful face into something still and silent, almost Giacondesque. "I do not do that with my lovers. I did not do that with my - my Lord and husband. I do that with you."

"Ah. Well… I confess I've never felt terribly playful, either. One must feel- comfortable."

Her lips quirked and eyebrows raised. "You choose to feel at ease with the centuries old demon who has a severe form of attachment disorder? Mon dieu, those English girls must be fierce."

He let out a shout of laughter and tackled her, making her squeal and scream, both of them laughing uncontrollably, before moans took over

"WES! Wesley! Open up or I'm using my key!"

"She has a key?" Daniela looked momentarily indignant.

"I have hers, too. She and I are the best of friends and that is all we shall ever be. And in this business- God, where are my trousers? -it is good to have someone who can get into your house when you're stuck in the hospital or being held captive by a vengeful ghost."

"What?" Daniela finally seemed to catch his panic and yanked the sheet up around her. "My cases! They're still in the hall!"

"I'll fetch them in to you, you stay here! Coming, Cordelia!"

Cordelia burst into the apartment as soon as he made the slightest twitch of the doorknob, launching into his arms with a ferocious hug, then pushing him back to arm's length to stare at him and lecture. "When did you get home? You said you would call! I had to bribe Gunn to Angel-sit! He's going to kill me, you know that? I'm risking death and friendly fire and oh my GOD! Wesley, you have fang marks in your neck! What the hell? Where is that bitch? I'm going to-"

"Cordelia?" Wes asked in a very soft, calm voice that made her freeze in her attempts to shove past him.

She looked at him with annoyance rather than panic as she groaned, "Oh, God, you're evil, aren't you?"

Wesley shook his head, equally annoyed. "No! I was about to say, would you like to come in and meet Daniela? Properly, this time? We're about to go out to dinner. A late dinner." He blinked at the clock. No wonder his friends had been worried. When Daniela and he were alone, time seemed to move all too quickly.

Cordelia hesitated, temporarily at a loss for words, which was not a comfortable feeling for the girl who prided herself on knowing exactly how to use her rather prominent mouth. "Wes, I - um- yes? But- neck? Holes?" She pointed to her own neck with a wince.

"She had a little drink before dinner."

Her eyes closed, shudder running through her shoulder with a visible shimmy. "That's so gross."

Wesley gave her a look that made her blush and feel strangely fluttery in the torso-region. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, but suffice it to say… it is the farthest thing from 'gross' I've ever felt." He turned from her with something like a canary-eating grin on his face and called, "Darling? We have company!"

"Hi," Cordelia smiled stiffly as Daniela emerged in a few minutes. Damn, she's gorgeous. And perfect. Like, you can really notice it when someone's not beaten up and tied to a chair. Which I helped with. Cordelia found herself wincing for a second time.

Daniela stared at her for a minute after returning the greeting. Her eyes narrowed, then widened. "Yes! Yes, I do remember you, vaguely, like a bad dream."

"I bet you say that to all the girls," Cordelia laughed bitterly, startled out of manners.

"Only the ones that help kidnap me," Daniela smiled back, the same tinge of bitterness in the lines of her otherwise perfect lips.

Wesley groaned softly and prayed something under his breath.

"How's the praying working out with the new girlfriend being a - ah. Ah- not Church of England?" Cordelia caught her big mouth a shade too late.

"I'm Romanian Orthodox. Once." Daniela said, something sad stealing over her face. Wesley's groan turned to a muted whimper. "Come on now, Sorcerer. Dinner for two- or is it three now?" She tried to force her face into a welcoming smile at Cordelia.

"I- I don't know. Whatever you ladies prefer."

The Countess and Cordelia regarded each other for a moment, both shifting their gazes from each other to the conflicted figure hanging back.

I should give her a chance. He really wants this to work. And he seems totally fine, moving around and not evil.

It is an empty life without friends. My life was so empty without him. I cannot condemn him to such a fate, to choose one lover and lose all else… "Wesley says you have such beautiful taste," Daniela praised honestly, shocking Cordelia. "Why don't you select a restaurant and then come and look at what I've brought in my cases? You could tell me what is suitable for the establishment."

"Oh, please, you could make a plastic bag into a Chanel original!" Cordelia moved toward her anyway.

"I have a number of them. And Dior. I like the French designers. Italy has its place, of course."

"Of course! What about American designers?"

"I never have considered them."

"I know what you mean. If Angel could afford to pay me what I'm worth-"

"I cannot abide a cheap man!"

"Well, he doesn't take money for helping- not much," Cordelia said, wishing she hadn't just thrown her boss under the bus.

"Angelus was always cheap on others, but not on himself. Nor his Darla."

"He lost his taste when he got the soul. But it's a good trade off, believe me."

"It is possible to have a bit of both, a good heart and exquisite style," Daniela impulsively pulled the girl toward the bedroom and the clothes strewn hurriedly across the bed. "Look at Wesley."

"Wesley?" Cordelia halted in the doorway, trying not to think about why the bed was so hastily made, a rumbled mass of sheets concealed under a drawn up comforter. "Our Wesley? The good heart, for sure! But, exquisite taste? I'm sorry, lady, have you checked his closet yet?"

Daniela smiled archly. "A man is so much more than his clothes. Believe me. Exquisite is the weakest word for him."

Cordelia's mind reeled. She could cut the innuendos with a knife. I'm kinda okay with it. "Glad you see it."

"Yes, I do."

"If you break his heart, I'm gonna ram a stake through yours, okay?" Cordelia said flatly, voice quiet and calm as she started gently running her hands over a black silk dress and a little burgundy cocktail number.

Daniela recoiled slightly. She didn't like threats.

But, if made to protect him…

"I am trying my very best," Daniela whispered, the emotion in her voice too clear and uncontrolled to be a lie. "I wish I could make you a better promise."

Cordy nodded. "That's a really good start. Okay. This burgundy- to die for. What shoes did you pack?"

"You. Were. Gone. For FOUR HOURS!" Angel snarled, each word a bit louder than the last until he was shouting, eyes yellow and fangs dripping.

"You were gone for four hours!" Gunn sounded agonized, head cradled in his hands. "Do you know how much he can talk? Damn, I like him better silent."

"We went to a little French place- do you know they have a whole different menu if you whisper something in French to the head waiter? We got these little cheeses wrapped in flaky pastry and topped with fruit and these asparagus tips in balsamic wrapped in- it was like bacon but better, and fig jam and-"

Charles made a dismissive snort as Cordelia swept in, eyes glowing and clearly wanting attention.

"Were you wearing that when you left?" Angel gave it to her, his eyes settling back to brown.

"No. Don't you love it? She gave it to me! GAVE! Doesn't it bring out my boobs?"

"Damn nearly," Charles looked away as Cordelia ran her hands over a curve hugging piece of black silk that had no sleeves, no neck, and pretty much no back.

"I was just saying what you'd be thinking if you weren't so busy grilling me," Cordelia dismissively blew a stray hair back into place. "Don't be mad, Wesley made sure we got something for you. Ummm- steak and portobellos in some sauce thingy that makes you gain twelve pounds- it's not fair, you know? Vampires can eat like crazy and they burn almost all of it off without trying."

Angel slammed his hands on the back of the leather roundabout sofa in the center of the lobby."Back to the four hours! And the dress! The fancy food-"

"The shoes match, don't they? We stopped at my place on the way because her shoes are just a little too small for me."

"Great. Wes bought Cordy back an undead sorority sister."

"Shut up and try the mushrooms."

Charles obligingly shut up and ate. His eyes widened. "Can she take you to a Thai place tomorrow?"

"I don't know if she speaks Thai, but Wesley might, so-"

Angel let out a roar that was so loud and guttural that both of his friends finally took pity on him.

"She's nice! She likes him and he likes her. They're mega cute together and protective of each other. She has money and class and the finer things- all the stuff that Wes would have had if he'd stuck with the Watchers instead of really doing the right thing by you and Buffy. And- Countess lady is going down to Buffy's this weekend to hang with Buffy and Spike. It'll be nice to have some more good vamps around, right?" Cordelia's tone was sweet and soothing.

Angel had begun to look receptive as she earnestly described Daniela's attachment to Wesley. It disappeared at the term, "good vamps." "Good vamps? Good- Cordelia, what did she do? Bribe you with a new wardrobe? A date with a couture house in Paris?"

Her cheeks flamed. So what if Daniela and she got chatty while Wesley was showering and changing? So what if Daniela had bravely- and Cordy could tell it was truly an act of courage on the other woman's part- stated that Wesley planned to visit her again and if she ever wished to come, she would be welcome? So what if she also mentioned that she arranged evening visits, private visits, with the key designers at various Parisienne fashion houses every season and said it would be much better if they had two clients for their trouble instead of one? "She does have connections."

"So did that Winters jerk you almost got eaten by the first month you moved to LA! God, are you still so stupid a year and half later?" Angel hissed, pacing.

"Hey!" Gunn stopped making orgasmic noises into his steak and looked up at his boss. Looked at Cordelia's stung expression.

Angel ignored him. "Same little Sunnydale bimbo, all money and sex, no brains unless you use them for what's in it for you. Winters was gonna make you a star," he mocked, hands spreading, "and what's she gonna do? Make you pretty again? Replace all the things mommy and daddy took when they hopped a plane to Rio and left you behind?"

Gunn rose, foil container shoved aside. "Angel, man, you're so far outta line-"

"Shut up, Gunn. What did she do, thrall you?"

Cordelia put down her evening bag. She loved this guy, this guy insulting her. As a friend and a good champion, and sometimes, late at night, she had thoughts of more. Her eyes were glossy, but queens don't shed their tears in public. Her voice was quiet, which should have tipped him off. It tipped Gunn off, that's for sure. He carefully gathered his food and retreated behind the main desk.

"What makes a good vampire? A soul?"

"Yes! Which she doesn't have! Which Spike doesn't have! What the hell are -"

"- are you doing? Insulting your best friend, the person who forgave you for all the crap you've done, evil or otherwise? Insulting someone who's trying not to hurt others? Insulting someone Wesley obviously likes, who I kinda like? There can be good demons like Lorne and that champion you killed by accident, the one protecting the pregnant chick?" Angel winced. "So, there can be demons without souls, good demons, demons who try, but not good vamps?"

"Those- those demons are rare exceptions."

"Seems pretty rare to me. Three vampires out of how many hundreds that we have tangled with?"

"Well- but - you are confusing-"

"No, you are confusing. You tell me that if you have a soul, you're good, but here you are, the good guy, hurting the innocent- and gorgeous- heroine."

Angel looked shocked. "I never touched you."

"And now who's stupid?" Charles muttered over a mushroom.

"You don't have to hit me to hurt me, Angel. Daniela's not perfect and I don't think she would call herself good. But I would call her kind and honest and tell you that I think she'd die if something happened to Wes. That makes her okay in my book. You? I'm not so okay with, right now. You wanna ride home, Gunn?"

"Sure." Charles snagged his jacket and scooted over to the woman he considered his very dear, very annoying and bossy big sister. Angel stared after them. He felt guilty for a second, all the vamp's people leaving him- kinda for other vamps. The bro code would tell him to stay and help fill the void of Wes and Cordy.

Except that Angel just called his sister-lady dumb and she was not dumb, she was frustratingly smart. "You talked with your brain in park again," Gunn informed the seething vampire, patting him roughly on the shoulder as he hurried to Cordy.

"Smart people apologize when they hurt their friends," Cordelia reminded him pointedly, leaning against the doorframe, and damn if Charles didn't wanna go over and smack Angel for insulting anyone who could work a dress like that.

Angel walked toward her, hands outstretched. "Cordy! I'm sorry. You're not stupid. You're smart and I- I know that, it's just that you're young and you're new to this side of the world, and you don't know how a vampire can string you along- sometimes for days, months, even years, before they finally attack. They like to play with their food. The hunt. The kill is better after a good one." Angel's voice sounded almost wistful, as if savoring such memories.

"That's real comfortin'," Charles said, tugging Cordelia toward the door.

"You remember what she said? Some like fear. Some like passion? She's not giving up her hunt, she's- she's like - on safari."

"What the hell does that mean?" Angel snapped. "Is this another piece of valley girl slang I'm supposed to-"

"Oh, figure it out!" Cordelia stomped out, calling over her shoulder, "I expect a real apology tomorrow! With flowers! And doughnuts!"

"Y'all be crazy," Charles sighed, double-stepping after her. She humphed at him. "Question? An' don't kill me, but what does it mean, when she's on safari?"

"Like- a safari is where you keep hunting and hunting, maybe not with a gun, but with your camera? I don't know. I guess, with a real hunt, once it's done, the prey is dead or caught. Daniela and Wes are so not done with each other."

"He's banging the undead? Shit, there goes the steak." Charles put a hand on his stomach.

"It's not like that! Ugh, I can't explain it. Some things you have to see to get, okay?" She stopped and turned to him. "Trust me?"

He nodded slowly. "I trust you."

"Exceptions to the rules happen."

"Like the smart valley cheerleader who can rock a stake as well as daddy's credit card and those Gucci heels?" he teased gently, his broad smile showing there was no true venom in his words.

"Yeah. Huh." She climbed into her car with a puzzled expression.

"What?"

"Two prom queen types who have- not entirely deplorable fashion sense and look like we're better with pompoms than crossbows. That's Buffy and me. Two in a million."

"Yeah, from what I hear, that girl was pretty-"

"And there's Daniela and Spike- Spike was majorly messed up and horrible to Buffy in high school by the way- and so was Angel, actually… and I guess if you ran into Daniela a century ago she would be pretty bloodthirsty, too. Man." She rested her head on the steering wheel for a moment.

"What are you getting at?"

"I don't know. There are exceptions to the rules. People change. That's all. Want to go drink Sea Breezes with Lorne and drive off his regular customers when we sing?"

"Make it a beer and I'm all yours."

To be continued...

End note: Sorry! I didn't get sucked into a black hole just a huge vortex of writing. But, it has rewards! The new trilogy is done! The Undertaker's Daughter Series is completed and I hope you'll like it if you give it a whirl. A Victorian mystery/romance. If you like shades of William, you'll like this ;) Free with Kindle Unlimited, or cheap if not.