Disclaimer: The characters herein are owned by Joss Whedon and Fox/UPN. I use them with grateful thanks and hopefully do a good job. I do not use them for profit, only for pleasure.

Author: Jacqueline Burns

Rating: General, should be suitable for everyone. Hardly any swearing and not much violence!

Feedback: Yes please!! jay.b@slayme.com. Always appreciated, good or bad. Let me know what you think!

Setting: Not really set anywhere in particular in the series. When you read it, that'll make sense! Buffy/Angel ship. Imagine Buffy as a vampire……

Part 1....

Prologue………………………………

Angel came slowly into wakefulness, blinking slightly in the semi-darkness of the room. A single lamp burned dimly in a corner. He could feel the sun setting, the urge to rise shrilling along his nerves, coursing through his body, the urge to rise and feed. It always woke him; there was no need for anything else. Always the same. His mouth curved in a grimace as he fought to ignore the gnawing pain deep inside.

He carefully swung long legs over the edge of the bed, rising to stretch muscles cold and tight from sleep. The pale light from the lamp highlighted the play of sinew and muscle beneath taut, smooth skin as he moved forwards and into the bathroom, clicking on the bright light and moving towards the sink. He rested his hands on the edge, looking into the mirror. Dark, haunted eyes stared back at him, eyes that had seen things he didn't want to remember. Abruptly he looked away, running the tap, splashing cold water onto his face, momentarily breaking away from the memories that screamed and crowded through his mind, endless and repeated.

* * * *

And the story begins……………………………

The bathroom steamed from the heat of the water he'd used and the mirror ran with a film of condensation, as he emerged from the shower, water beading his powerful shoulders and chest, towelling roughly at his hair. Muscles flexed and moved beneath smooth, pale skin, making the dark tattoo on one shoulder blade stand out even more; the wings of an Angel. To remind him that he was a demon with the face of a heavenly creature. He grimaced and roughly pulled on his clothes, everything in dark velvety shades of black and blue, and headed impatiently across the apartment to the kitchen. To the fridge.

He opened the door, white light spilling out, staring in at the tubs ranked neatly on the shelves. White plastic, the dark liquid inside barely visible - but he could smell it, even through the containers. Heavy, coppery sweet – the scent of blood. He reached in and lifted a tub from the fridge, watching the liquid move sluggishly against the plastic, thick and dark, and moved to heat it up. Cold blood was no good to a vampire……

* * * *

Angel tilted his head to one side, setting the mug down quickly as he heard the sound of footsteps outside his door. The liquid slopped over the side, and he stared, fascinated by the warm crimson pool spreading out on the table. The door opened, smoothly and silently, and Buffy stepped inside.

He gazed at her, watching the way the dim light from the dusk outside moulded itself around her golden hair and skin. "Hey," he said softly, feeling his mouth curve in a smile, beginning to stand up.

She started, and he realised that she couldn't see him. Not in the darkness. Feeling behind him, he snapped on a light, flooding the room with dim golden radiance. Buffy came to an abrupt halt, looking at the spilled blood and the half empty mug. Her eyes lifted to his, seeing his Changed face, the demon side of him, and she drew in a startled breath. "Angel? Are you alright?"

"I'm – I'm fine," he answered. "Just – I was hungry. That's all." As Buffy watched, he swayed slightly, looking down at the thick spill of crimson on the table top. One hand lifted uncertainly to his face, touching the cold skin, before dropping back down to the table top, landing in the pool of viscous liquid. His eyes burned greenly, the ridges of his face shadowed, but enough for Buffy to see his parted lips and fangs, so sharp and white, long and glinting even in the shadowed light…...

* * * *

He licked his lips. Strange, the heady scent from the blood. He could almost see it, a thick scarlet trail in the air, rising towards him, wrapping round, covering him. Drawing him in.

Everything red…… Blood. Pulsing, quicker and quicker. Faster, louder. The rhythm faltering, even now. So early. Beats, missing, now quick, now slow, slow. A heartbeat. Not his; then whose? Nothing but the blood. Red and thick, sweet in his mouth, flowing. A sound, then. A moan. Not him. Just the blood. The blood, sweet and singing through him, filling him with its glow and taste. Alive again. Blood, all and everything. Nothing else. Blood… … … blood….

Angel screamed and wrenched backwards, dropping the girl cradled in his arms. Warm blood flowed down her neck in ribbons, staining her golden hair, bright against her pale skin. Her breath hitched in shallow gasps and her eyes were glazed. He crouched over her, reached out a shaking hand to touch her soft hair.

"Buffy? I'll get help…… oh, God, Buffy, I'm – I don't know what happened!" He was babbling when her eyes focused on him. She whispered something he couldn't hear, so he leaned down, dipping his head to her mouth. Trying not to smell the blood on her, trying not to think about the taste.

"Just…….a…little…..longer. Just a little more," she gasped. "Then……you…." He shook his head, confused. Weakly, she reached up and grasped his head in her hands. She turned her face away. And pulled him down. To feed.

He knew when the moment approached. Her heartbeat slowed, faltering in its steady rhythm. The beats staggered now. Grew fainter. He let her go then, looking into her blue eyes, glassy, seeing the knowledge of what she wanted. "I'm not afraid, Angel. I'll be with you," she whispered almost inaudibly. He lowered his wrist to her then, gasping with the sudden sharp pain as she fastened onto it. And drank.


* * * * *

She lay on his bed, tangled amongst the sheets, an arm flung out to the side, clothes dark against the white linen. He watched over her, waiting for her to wake. To rise. She'd feel the hunger even more than he did, being a newborn. He could feel the shrill of sunset beginning along his nerves. She'd wake, and soon. And he would have to control her. The memory of what had happened was dim in his mind. He tried to think clearly. He'd been drinking. Pig's blood. She'd come and he'd spilled some. And then – redness. Everything distorted, clouded. The smell and taste of blood in the air. And Buffy, asking for – asking to be made into a demon. A thing, cursed, unable to see the sunlight – ever – a creature of darkness.

She stirred then, eyes opening as she felt the call of the sun sinking and the night world that would take its place. She sat up and stretched slowly, looking at him, staring as the hunger started, feeling her face change. With a trembling hand, she reached up. Felt the ridges and the sharpness of her teeth. Her voice quivered.

"Angel?"

"I'm here," he said gently. "Are you alright?"

She nodded uncertainly, then smiled tremulously. "I – I'm hungry. I feel strange. But strong." She glanced round the room, wide eyed. "And I'm still – still the Slayer," she faltered. "I feel it. Inside. Demon and Slayer strength. Combined. The next Slayer hasn't been called. There's just – just me." She looked back at him, face smoothing as she Changed, frowning. "Surely I should be – just a vampire? I can't Slay. Not now."

Angel stared at her and spoke slowly. "Buffy, I think we need to go. And see Giles."