Author: Misty Flores
Email: mistiec_flores@yahoo.com
Rating: Hard R for violence, some sexual situations.
Teaser: When the Watcher's Council comes after Faith, Angel Investigations must pull from the chaos they've become embroiled in to save the renegade Slayer, and Wesley must face a past that has become more haunting than ever.
Archive: http://www.stoic-simplicity.net/imperfect
Splash: http://www.stoic-simplicity.net/exposure/graphics/angel/digital/rebelrebel-poster.jpg
Spoilers: Sleep Tight
Genre: Action/Drama – General ensemble
--
Additional Notes: Done – but posting only a few chapters a day, again, so as not to overwhelm. No, it's not torture. I swear.
Special Thanks To – the readers of 'How to Date'. I doubt I've ever gotten such a great response out of anything I've written. It was gratifying and … heartwarming. Thank you.
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Chapter Eight
Why must the night crawl by like this
And why do we dwell on what we'll miss
I've got to be careful what I miss
My happiness was his
This is my good bye kiss
- Nina Gordon
--
Staring into the face, was almost as if he was looking into a glimpse into his own past.
Casper Lee once wore a too-tight tie. His hair used to be gelled down, so that not a strand was out of place. He wore three piece suits, and horn rimmed glasses. Like Wesley, he drank tea every morning at six, sorted and cataloged his books aphetically, and once, under controlled circumstances, had staked a vampire.
Wesley had congratulated him with a clap on the back, and a beer down at the pub.
Now, Casper Lee's hair was longer, in tangled strands hanging down over his face, messy and wet with raindrops. His face was bare, a shadow of a beard covering his chin, but doing nothing to hide the hard line of his mouth. Wesley frowned.
"Casper."
"Wesley." Wesley kept his hands at his sides, staring down the pistol of the gun, shivering like a wet dog in the drizzle. Bloody hell.
"Would you really pull that trigger, Casper?"
"I would." The hand was shivering, but the eyes glinted. Wesley's eyes narrowed, hands forming into fists.
"I won't let you kill the girl, Casper."
A shadow of a smile creased across his old friend's lips. "Really. And how exactly would you propose to stop us? You can't fight destiny."
"No," Wesley remarked. "You can't. The Powers had a vision, they chose to get involved…"
"Wouldn't happen to have been that vision that brought that pretty little brunette over here- who we just happened to follow, would it?" Wesley's overcome expression lay naked before him, and Casper nodded. "Follow the pretty seer, get the psycho Slayer – think that's what the Powers had in mind, old chap?"
"I think the Powers work in their own ways – and should NOT be manipulated for one's own purposes," Wesley replied, his mind whirling as he kept his gaze on the gun. Cordelia was here? Please, Lord – let her have gotten to Faith in time. "These things have their ways of coming around, Casper."
"You're a stupid man, Wesley," he answered. "Always were. Never bloody knew why they chose you over me."
"You knew exactly why," Wesley responded easily. "Because you never could control that temp-" He immediately stopped the words, as the gun now touched his nose.
Casper's gaze hardened. "You were saying?"
Wesley's heart gave a loud, deliberate thump. He could care less about the gun, about Casper, about the Council and their ideals…
But dear God – Cordelia and Faith –
"You're a foolish man, Casper. You never could think on your own," Wesley began, edging away from the barrel of the gun. In his mind, he began to calculate ticks of his jaw. In two, he could sweep under and pull the gun. On a normal day, it would be that simple. But the rain was making it hard to see, and his own chilled fingers and weakened body were working against him – everything was so against him now.
"You know the rules, Wesley, just because you choose not to obey them, doesn't mean you've forgotten them. A rogue Slayer must be terminated at all costs."
"She's no longer a rogue."
"She is to us."
"Casper, listen to me- "
"Hush, now, Wesley." Casper's voice was low, barely containing his rage, smug pride. "No mercy – only reason you still have your head is because of who your father is."
Wesley stiffened, a ram rod going straight down his back at the words, often echoed in his past. "I don't see him here," Wesley said tersely. "Do what you will, then."
"Sorry, Wes, ole' boy, don't got the time. I've got a job, see. And I'm here to see it through." The gun swiveled, pushed forward, and Wesley's throat flared, seared with pain as sight of the pistol tore through his stitches. He cried out, slumping back into the concrete, holding onto his throat as Casper disappeared.
All he could do was gasp, pray for the pain to stop – and pray Cordelia had gotten to Faith in time.
--
Today is the greatest day I've ever known – can't live for tomorrow – tomorrow's much too long-
Guitars, amps and drums suddenly pounded in her ears. She managed to keep standing, her palms scraping against the brick wall behind her.
On a normal day, she would have kicked these idiot's asses. Would have pushed Miss Priss aside and opened a huge can of whoop-ass and – Faith blinked. She used 'whoop-ass'. What the hell was wrong with her?
Sagging against the wall, Faith fought the splintering headache, grateful for Cordelia's fingers threaded through her own as the men came closer. Cordelia pressed something cold, metal, into her palm. At this point, not curious enough to care what it was, Faith kept her gaze on the five plus men that now had them surrounded.
"We don't want to harm you, Ms. Chase," said one, big, old and ugly, and packing a penis shaped gun. Inadequate bastard. "Just give up the Slayer."
"Right. Sure. I've seen what you're going to do to her if you get her." Cordelia's voice wavered slightly, but her stance never faltered. The sword was up, unfailingly straight, swinging a wide arc, keeping the men at bay – even with the guns pointed directly at her. Faith tried to push Cordelia back – it wasn't the chick's fault – but Cordelia only kept her behind her. "Keep STILL, Faith."
Her throat was way too dry to say anything at first. She had to cough, and so she just barely heard their response. "It's our job, Lady. We take our job seriously."
"So do I. You may work for the Council, but I work for the Powers – and my Boss is cooler than yours, okay? So get your asses back." One stepped forward, apparently not ready to believe her, and Faith's eyes widened when Cordelia's blade flashed, leaving him with a bleeding hand, and sputtering curses. "I mean it."
Three more guns came up, eyes hardened, and Faith swallowed. She found her voice, it came right with the hammering of her heart. "Cordelia," she began. "Get the fuck out of here."
"Faith, you're delusional. Shut up."
"Cordelia!"
"Better listen to her, miss. I know you're a smart little thing, but them Visions ain't going to save you from guns, and neither is that sword." A shorter man stepped forward, limbs wiry and lanky, sounding truly apologetic. "We got orders, Miss. We're gonna follow 'em."
"Follow them all you want, but you're not taking her, anywhere."
Faith nearly screamed from the frustration. "You're stupid, you know that? Cordelia – you're the stupidest, most idiotic, stupidest- "
"Shut up, Faith-"
"Just get OUT OF HERE!" Faith finally lost enough control to shriek, shoving at Cordelia, managing to knock Cordelia forward. Everyone was startled, including Faith, as she stared at her arms, a soft intake of breath coming into her when she realized it was coming back, slowly.
Not fast enough, Cordelia was back in an instant, pushing Faith and pinning her to the brick wall. "STAY. PUT," she hissed. "You got a death wish or something?"
"Do you?" Faith shot back.
"Bloody hell, this is what's taking so long? A girl with a sword?" Both girls looked back to see another man enter, with hard eyes, and a hard stance, arms in his pockets, watching them both lazily. Faith's mouth parted, her words dying in her throat as sudden and complete fear enveloped her heart as she looked into those eyes.
Dark, black, expressionless orbs. Eyes of a killer- no conscience – and SHIT-
"You wanna deal with the Seer, Casper?" said the shorter one angrily, waving his gun. "Be my guest. I'm not taking out a Seer – right up there with shooting nuns, that is."
"Cordelia," she said, aching now, slumping back against the wall, and damned near crying as she kept her gaze on the one they called Casper. "Just please, leave. LEAVE."
Her mind counted each beat, watched as the gun was pulled out, and she tried to shove Cordelia out of the way, but there was no strength, no strength at all -
"Murray – you were always too superstitious for your own good."
Faith cried out as the shot was fired. Cordelia jerked with the force of it, hands flailing, form spinning away from her. The screams kept coming, as Faith fell to the ground, splashing in puddles as Cordelia's rain-soaked face slipped into the water. There was red all over, and Faith fought, the metal object in her hand dropping to the ground as hands pulled her away from the body-
There was still screaming, as they pulled her away, let her stumble back, the robe flopping helplessly, falling open.
Even as the blow came down on her head, the screaming continued.
Just before she blanked out, Faith realized the screaming had been coming from her.
--
His phone began to ring incessantly, from deep into his pocket. It was annoying, almost throwing his concentration, and Gunn needed it. Angel was strong, he was a better fighter, he was quicker.
But it was his cell phone, and the only people that called his number were the people who had it – and really few people had it.
Gunn gritted his teeth, braced himself for the punch that was so powerful it almost went through his stomach, barely managing to stay conscious for the crack against his jaw. He almost got whiplash as he fell back, but he had been waiting for it – almost thankful he had been paying attention in those training lessons that this damned vampire gave-
He rolled back, let Angel stumble forward with his own weight, and with his brute strength, Gunn pushed up, swiveled, and slammed the sword into Angel's side.
The phone kept ringing.
Gunn was breathing hard, panting now, blood speckled his face, rage colored his cheeks red with it, and he pulled the bloody blade away from the dead body, the living vampire, as Angel gave him a glare through yellow eyes. Angel had no time to react, Gunn already had the sword at his neck.
His heart was beating so loudly, loud enough and hard enough for both of them, and Gunn's fingers twitched.
Neither moved.
"Don't think I don't know the rules, man," Gunn whispered fiercely. "This ain't no Highlander, but I sure as hell can cut this head off and leave one hell of a pile of dust."
Angel could have moved, he could have done one of those quick flashy things he did with that super speed and slipped away from that sword in half a second flat. But he didn't move.
Yellow eyes glowed, he panted open, filling air into those dead lungs. A low growl slid into his voice, and suddenly, it was there, two words.
"Do it."
The cellphone was tinny, digging deep into his pockets, and it nagged at him. His sword hand was up, and Angel was still, completely still.
And suddenly, nothing mattered anymore.
"What the hell is your problem?" Charles demanded finally, slamming the sword the ground, stepping away in disgust. "You got issues, man! But you don't care! You got a family, but you don't care! All you care about is your son, don't even care WHY or HOW…" Charles shook his head, stepping back, never taking his eyes off the vampire fallen at his feet. "You know what? I don't care. You do what you gotta do, Angel. I ain't playing this anymore. I got my family to take care of."
Gunn turned away, digging into his pocket.
"Charles." Gunn paused, shifting his gaze back to Angel. The vampire's visage was human now, the cry was almost plaintive. Almost sorry. Gunn was breathing heavily, as he turned back to him, flipped open his phone.
"This is Gunn."
"Gunn… I… " The voice was tinny, faraway – vaguely familiar.
"Groo?"
"Yes!" came the voice excitedly. "You will forgive me, for not quite understanding which way to-"
"Groo, what is it?" Charles said, quickly, jerking away when Angel stepped forward gingerly.
"I have entered the Hyperion Lobby, and encountered a message in what appears to be Fred's scrawl. I fear for Cordelia. I'm afraid the writing is illegible, but there is an address, and a word about a vision-"
"What?!"
"I have no transportation – perhaps-"
"What's the address?" Gunn ordered. He listened, and nodded firmly. "I'm on my way." Gunn clapped the phone shut. He was hampered in his attempt to move toward his truck, however, when Angel grabbed his shoulder. "Don't touch me!" Gunn hissed.
"What's going on?"
"Family stuff– nothing you'd care about," Gunn said, shooting him a dirty look as he picked up his sword, walked quickly to the truck.
Angel was there in two seconds, eyes a blazing, dark brown. "Charles." The voice was a snap, an unspoken order, as he kept the door from closing, looking up at Gunn. "What's going on," he repeated. This time, there was almost a plea in the voice, a soft lilt, a change, and Charles fought hard for that anger- almost wished he HAD used that sword.
"Cordelia had a vision – went off herself to take care of it or something. Groo can't get there, and he thinks she might be in trouble." Angel was quiet, too quiet, like he was sorting all these thoughts in his head, filing them away.
He straightened, and something in Gunn, almost against his will, sagged in relief, when Angel barked, "Where."
--
Casper ignored Murry's look of disgust, and instead concentrated on the damned lighter.
Shaking his head, he clicked it again, covering it gently as he puffed at the little flame, managing to light the tip of his cigarette. When he sucked in the smoke, he finally allowed himself to breathe.
"No mercy," he repeated, when Murray once again looked at the woman in the rain.
Murray nudged her with his foot. "You shot a Seer, man. That's… you're going to hell for sure."
Casper managed a grim smile. "We're saving the world, Murray. I'm sure the Lord will allow for a few casualties."
"Personally, I'd be more worried about saving my soul." Murray crossed himself, stepping away from her. "So what? We just going to leave her here?"
"I'll take care of it," Casper said, sliding his free hand through his hair, mopping at the droplets that made standing there a tad uncomfortable. "Make it look like an attempted rape, mugging, that sorta thing."
Murray visibly shuddered, and he straightened. "Or you could get her to a hospital. Set her up in that little dumpster and make an anonymous call to 9-1-1. Could do that, too."
Casper arched an eyebrow, allowed a smirk to cross his face as he turned. The smile froze at the earnest anger in Murray's face. They stared at each other for one long beat. "Or I could set her up in that little dumpster and make an anonymous call to 9-1-1."
Murray gave a short nod, satisfied. "Gotta get that Slayer bitch back –" he waved his gun toward the Seer. "You take care. Watch your soul, man. Geez." He stepped away from the pretty body with the rim of red blood mingling with the puddles surrounding her, almost afraid to get near her. "Watchers," he muttered, shaking his head and making his way to the end of the alley.
It was curious, the feeling is detachment that came over him as he knelt over the girl, pushed with his shoulders until she turned. She was breathing, barely, but the wound was bad. Very bad. Casper clamped his mouth, running the situation through in his head. This was a Seer, who had led them to the motel, who was the one responsible for the recapture of the Slayer. It was her responsibility, and she paid the price.
His palm stretched over the gunshot wound, high on her abdomen, pulled it away to find it stained red with blood. Pulling out a wet handkerchief, he wiped himself as well as he could, and methodically began to search her pockets, pulling out the wallet, scanning the contents.
"Cordelia Chase," he whispered. "Shame. Pretty girl."
Since he was a child, he was raised to believe in the importance of the mission – and in the solid approach to control. He had a job, he did it. That was partly the reason he still had one.
Wyndham-Price never fully understood the price for the mission, for the oath taken as a Watcher. And if there was one thing Casper truly never understood, even as he lectured at Oxford, and kept accurate accounts in his diaries, was why Watchers only watched.
They were capable of so much more. Pulling out the gun, he felt truly apologetic as he slipped on the silencer, rolling the barrel in his hands.
A warrior for good with misaligned intentions. A dangerous sort.
Placing the gun on her temple, he allowed her one more ragged, barely there breath, saying a soft prayer for her soul.
It was a prayer he never finished, because the soft whiz came so quickly, he couldn't whip the gun in time, and the arrow caught him in his throat, pinning his voicebox, driving him back.
--
Fred lowered the crossbow.
Her eyes were glistening: bright, brown. Her body heaved with pants, and when he fell back she gave him only enough attention to kick away the gun, falling down next to Cordelia.
The man twitched once, twice, but Fred only had eyes for her friend. Her breath was ragged now, fear sliding through her as she trembled, cupping Cordelia's face. With what little strength she had in her wiry frame, Fred pulled at her, chattering in the cold.
"Oh, God, Cordelia. Cordelia-" her eyes widened as her hand pulled back, soaked with warm, red blood. Her palm stayed on Cordelia's abdomen, even as her jeans soaked red. Removing her jacket as well as she could, Fred stayed alone in that alley, holding it against Cordelia's jagged gunshot wound, trying to talk her friend into coming back.
The rain poured down, soaked her jersey shirt, and the alley made the blood wash off, keep going. Droplets pounded against her face, past her glasses, but Fred didn't feel any of it.
If she killed the man, or not – she didn't care.
But when Cordelia's frail body stopped breathing, Fred sobbed, her body shuddering in the cold, keeping the Seer close against her.
In the dark alley, only the pelting rain muffled her cries.
--
"Mr. Daltson!"
Wesley blinked, suddenly brought to consciousness when rough, gloved hands pulled him to his feet, setting him right.
"Any ID?"
"Wesley Wyndham Price," came the same voice. "He's injured, sir."
Wesley's eyes opened, found himself staring into a pair of jade blue eyes, as the man tipped his chin. "Stitches were pulled. That's going to require some work. Medic!"
Wesley grimaced, finally able to gain his bearings as he gripped the wooden bench. Police beams ran over the street, and what had been previously empty, was now bursting with uniforms and yellow tape.
"Sir?" Wesley turned, found a young officer, the one who had spoken earlier, holding a pad in his hand. "Can you speak?"
Wesley winced, placed his hand on his throat. "I… yes – a little."
"Were you-"
"Wesley!" Wesley stood, stared hard across the street until he spotted a familiar female, covered in a brown blanket.
"Fred?" Pushing away the officer, Wesley moved through the crowd, fighting his way through the officers, holding a hand to his throat. "Fred!"
"Wesley!" Officers began to scream orders, but Wesley's relief at finding Fred was short-lived when he saw what she was standing next to.
A body bag.
Oh, God.
"Sir! Sir, I need you to step, back! I'm warning you, sir!"
"I know her!" Wesley said, pushing at the officer.
"It's okay, Officer, let him through." The same detective who had inspected him before, now motioned him over, keeping his hand on Fred's shoulder. "Are you a witness?" he demanded.
Wesley shook his head, trying vainly to understand, searching Fred's red, swollen eyes for an answer. "Witness to what?"
The detective pursed his mouth, and knelt down, flipping open the body bag.
Casper's lifeless eyes stared back at him. "I know him," he found himself breathing.
"How?"
Wesley swallowed, shivering as he stared helplessly at Fred. "He attacked me."
The detective gave him a long stare. "You and two others. You know her?" He thumbed to Fred. Fred, shivering in her big brown blanket, gave a slight nod.
"I do. This is Fred."
"Well, this guy also attacked Fred, and nearly killed another woman-"
ANOTHER? "Who?" Wesley demanded. "WHO?"
"Cordelia," Fred rasped, and turned her face back into the alley. "They won't let me in-"
"CORDELIA!" Panic, raw and rampant, slid through him. "What happened to –"
The men in the alley, paramedics, rushed toward him. "Move, MOVE!" They rolled a white tablet with them, and it was a blur, really, he could barely see – but it appeared to be a slim, weak – almost lifeless version of –
"Cordy!"
Bodies were pushed, bodily through the crowd, Wesley felt his heart skip a beat when he saw two large men now physically throwing officials and spectators to get through the crowd.
"CORDY!"
"Angel," Fred whispered.
"CORDY!" Angel managed to get to the side of the cart, and suddenly Wesley's view was obstructed, unable to catch what the sheer panic on Angel's face had turned to when every policeman in the district it seemed, tried to get Angel away from the trolley.
"Fred!" A low, strangled cry of relief tore through the woman at his side, as the large, black man finally spotted her, made a beeline in her direction. In two seconds, Fred was in his arms, pressing her lips against Gunn's fiercely and holding tight for dear life.
Wesley's own throat was closed tight. He found it impossible to breathe, as Fred whispered in broken sentences what happened. It was her emotional monologue he heard, as the man moved as he finally saw Angel's expression.
"We couldn't find anyone…" Angel's wild eyes, blazing with fear, broken with despair, as his hands cradled Cordelia's face, leaning over her, even as the medic's tried to push him away. "so she just went to help Faith herself, and this guy, he just came in the alley and-" Angel's low, guttural cry of pain, a whimper that could have been made by an animal as he collapsed over her form, sniffed over her wound, tears shining in his eyes. "They say they don't know if she'll make it."
"Cordelia." The word came out aching, edged in need, a fear in the vampire's eyes he hadn't seen since… Connor. When Angel flung off another medic, Wesley was spurred into action, shoes that seemed filled with lead moving quickly.
"ANGEL- ANGEL!" Clutching at his shoulder, the Ex-Watcher barely gave the growling face another look. "You have to let them take care of her!"
"Don't you touch her," Angel hissed, hunched over the trolley. An officer pulled a gun.
"Angel- they'll try and save her, but you have to let her go-"
"I can't let her go, Wesley. I'm not going to let her go- Cordelia!" Angel slammed his hands down, clutching her own in between, making as if he were going to shake her. "Cordelia, come back! Come back!"
"SIR! If you do NOT leave the patient alone, I will be forced to arrest you-"
"That won't be necessary," Wesley assured him. "He's upset, she's very dear to him-"
"I don't care if she fucking had his BABY, he's going to KILL her if we don't get her to the hospital NOW!" a medic snapped.
"Gunn! Fred!" Charles and Winnifred immediately ran forward, trying hard to pull Angel away. "Angel, the sun will rise soon, we have to get you somewhere safe-"
Angel was suddenly still, nuzzling the face of the blank Cordelia. He shuddered, fingers trailing the soft cheek. "Just talk to me," he whispered. "Tell me it's going to be all right. Cordelia? Please."
Wesley felt a lilting tremor go through him. His glance to Fred and Gunn told him they felt it, too. The attempts stopped, and this time, only Fred came close, placed her palm over Angel's, and whispered, "Angel, please. Let them take care of her. We'll follow. She won't leave you, Angel."
"How can you be sure?"
The tear streaked eyes glistened behind Fred's mangled frames. "Because you asked her not to."
Angel gulped, a sob hiccupping in this throat, and she pulled him away, his eyes never leaving Cordelia's as the medics were finally every to pull her away. A medic turned to Wesley. "You too, we have to take a look at that throat."
Wesley nodded. As he passed Angel, a fist clenched around his elbow, making him wince. It was a terrible moment, when he looked into Angel's hard eyes.
"Don't let her out of your sight," Angel said roughly.
Not even pretending to ignore the relief that coursed through him, Wesley gave an affirming nod.
The three members of Angel Investigations crowded together as the door to the ambulance shut, swept away in the drizzling chaos of blue uniforms and yellow jackets.
Wesley took in a ragged breath, finally allowed the dizzy pain to overwhelm him. His mind, not allowed to think, now took over, and he took an inventory, and found himself wanting one renegade Slayer.
Good, God.
Faith.
--
Mr. Pryce III had a slight headache. His chest was tight with tension, but even with the shortness of breath, he didn't move his hand to his collar to loosen the tie. Since he was 16, he had never been seen with a sloppy tie, and there was no reason that would change now, no matter what the circumstances.
He wondered why now, after all this time, he was forced to be thinking of his son, when he should have been thinking about the mission. A bloody important mission, and they had sent him to take care of it, because Mr. Pryce was reliable. Mr. Pryce got the job done.
His fingers were trembling slightly as he grabbed the pills, let two spill into his palm. Gulping them down, he leaned back in the leather jacket, eyes roving over the suite that was messy, unkept.
This new way of doing things, discreet, involved, was new to him. It was aggravating, disquieting: the times were changing, the council was changing. All because of two Slayers who refused to listen, and refused to die.
Pursing his lips, Mr. Pryce picked up the Montblanc, took his paper, and stared at it. The report read as it should have, shoddy at best: a mission that should have been taken care of, mangled by a group stemmed from Sunnydale, a group that involved his son.
Mr. Pryce understood the importance of this mission: a last ditch effort to do things right. Start over, and circumvent disaster while he was at it. An opportunity to prove himself, show the Council his blood was still as noble.
And Wesley – damned boy – with his new ideals, and new loyalties. He had convinced the council his relationship would not be a problem. Wesley was his child. yes, but he had chosen his path. When push came to shove, he would listen to his father. Wesley always listened. Mr. Pryce had been heavy handed, true, but that was how one simply had to be, when they were fighting for good.
The mission was always more important. Infinitely more important. There was no room for shifting loyalties, and their stance was always more important than family. Blood.
He pursed his lips, distracted when the door opened and a crowd of men, wet, dreary, muddy, burst into the room. In their midst was a slim figure, a black cloth bag over her head.
At the sight of her, his gaze darkened, his heart thumped another beat. A rare opportunity.
Funny how the fate of the world rested on a woman so small. He guessed it must have gone to show something. He wasn't sure what.
"Bring her," he said crisply. With cold eyes, he watched as the men pushed her onto the floor, all the time, studying with his watcher eyes.
The bag was pulled off roughly, and there, face marred with bruises, cuts, weakened with pain, stood the girl who had tortured his son. Ruined his son's life. Ruined his reputation.
Her dark hair hung in wild tresses, the robe was almost lewd, as she tossed her hair back over her shoulder, eyes glassy.
This was the Rogue Slayer, who was responsible for so much. Who would be responsible for so much.
"Faith," he said crisply. "I gather you do not know who I am?"
She blinked, on her knees, staring up at him with confusion. "The fuck who ordered these bastards to kill Cordelia?" she hissed.
He gave a quirk of a smile. She was able to think. Good. "Yes," he answered. "I am that. I am someone with whom you have quite a history." He knelt down, until they were level, eye to eye. The piercing blue eyes flooded through her own, and when she frowned, gasped, leaned back, he knew she understood. "You tortured my boy, Faith. You've done some horrible things. But you've tortured MY boy. He may have been able to forgive you for that – but I certainly haven't."
"Just kill me," she whispered, voice low, desperate.
"Those are the orders," he admitted. "But the Council is always interested in research. A Slayer, we've never fully been able to test one before." He smiled grimly. "It should be quite enlightening." Rising from his haunches, he stood, and ordered crisply, "Get her ready. We'll begin with the first test shortly."
Faith was pulled up, and she flinched as a man dug his fingers into her shoulder, but she didn't say a word. Pryce noted that, gave a nod of affirmation.
Strong. She would last for a while, before she was broken. Good.
He turned. He was looking forward to the challenge.
--
end chapter eight