"He came for me?" The words came out small and full of disbelief, voice rough from his earlier screaming. A myriad of emotions fled unchecked through Connor's mind, yet he was too dazed to even begin to discern them all.

"Of course," Wesley said, then added, gently, "Did you think he would leave you here?"

I would have, Connor retorted, silently. After all, he had left Angel to rot at the bottom of the sea.

The shock that he hadn't been abandoned despite his earlier, childish fears was waning now, allowing him to acknowledge his initial feelings of gratitude and relief…and an intruding warmth towards his vampire father that he couldn't even begin to understand.

For sixteen years, Daniel Holtz had been the sole recipient of that particular emotion. Then later, albeit to some lesser extent, Cordelia and Fred, though Connor suspected it had more to do with the women's mothering and the fact they kept him fed than anything else.

But to feel that towards Angel, the creature that had slaughtered and maimed for centuries, the so called father who had been the source of much of Connor's pain, was unthinkable and a betrayal of Holtz's memory.

Honour thy father, boy, his guardian had preached during the darkest nights of Quor-Toth.

And yet Angel came for you, a small, niggling part of Connor's mind protested. Holtz killed himself and Angel came for you.

Feeling as though his loyalties were being ripped in two, as though he himself was being torn between the men who would name themselves his father, Connor welcomed the surge of resentment as an old and familiar friend, allowing it to supplant his confusion with something purer.

The anger Connor reserved for Holtz, for leaving his son with the burden of a false and empty vengeance that would come to naught. And just as he hated Holtz for dying, he resented Angel for being the one to live, the only target remaining for his impotent rage.

Connor struggled to rise, anger lending him strength, batting away Wesley's hand as the man tried to prevent him.

"Don't worry," Wesley attempted to reassure him, mistaking his frantic efforts as fear. "I've studied your father's skill with a sword and I'm confident he is without peer. He'll win this battle, have no doubt."

A pretty speech, Connor thought, feeling his upper lip curl in a sneer. "I can fight my own battles," he snarled, frustrated once more as his weakened body continued to betray him and send him back to his knees.

"Clearly," Wesley remarked, dryly. "But perhaps you should let your father handle this one."

Across the cavern, Angel was still engaged with the captain of the Veii's guards, face to face now with the man, their swords screeching where the blades scraped against one another, sparks flying from the sheared metal as both fighters vied for the upper hand.

Angel, perhaps sensing his son's regard glanced his way and for a vital moment, their eyes locked, intense brown engaging embittered blue. Instantly, the vampire's demeanour changed.

With a growl, Angel brought his elbow upwards, striking the captain of the priestess' guards in the face and the man fell back, stunned, effectively ending their stalemate.

Angel spared Connor a quick, determined look, nodding slightly in acknowledgement, before turning his focus back to the battle at hand.

*****

"You know I'm gonna win," Angel remarked, off-handedly, as he faced his rival once more. He had won first blood, though not in any conventional manner as the captain's nose began to bleed.

Chagrined, the man gingerly tested his wound, fingers coming away stained red. "I see now where the boy gets his swagger," he commented, wryly.

"Give it up."

The captain shook his head, readying his sword once more. "I cannot. My priestess orders this."

"Your so called priestess is playing with one card short of a full deck."

Even as he said the words, Angel saw the man's face change, become set, and knew he'd struck a sore point.

"I know," the captain replied, gravely. "But where she commands, I am bound to obey."

He lunged abruptly, point first, seeking the vampire's heart, and Angel was forced to jump backwards, his supernatural speed the only thing to save him from being run through. Steel, unlike wood through the dead organ wouldn't kill him but it would slow him down, might even cripple long enough for his adversary to win a fatal blow.

And his own demise aside, Angel couldn't afford to lose, not with Connor's life at stake.

He anticipated the next lunge and parried, swiping downwards to send the captain's sword glancing aside, away from his torso. For a brief moment, the manoeuvre allowed Angel inside his opponent's guard and he was quick to take advantage, punching the captain in his already damaged face with a short, hard jab.

If the culmination of pain in the wounded area affected the man, he didn't show it, just shook his head to clear it from the daze of Angel's blow.

Something about that dismissive gesture struck Angel as odd, wrong somehow. Most humans would have been unable to match his vampire's strength, would have crumpled under such a strike. Slayer's, like Buffy and Faith, were the exception, possessors of an ancient force that gifted normal girls with incredible, superhuman might. And as for Connor, well the jury was still out on what exactly he was, but the past had proven that even he would be unable to stand for long against his father.

Yet this man, this captain who guarded the Veii so zealously, had done exactly that.

Too, there were other less obvious, more insidious signs. The air was close, warm, even Angel's cold body could feel its heat, yet the captain wasn't sweating, despite their exertions. And his scent remained unchanged, even in the thick of the fight, no adrenaline, no fear. He wasn't even breathing heavily.

Angel eyed him suspiciously as they circled one another. "What are you?" he demanded.

The captain raised a black eyebrow and grinned. "Asks the vampire with a soul."

At that, he unleashed a flurry of blows upon Angel's guard, taking him by surprise at their fury, numbing the vampire's arm with their force. Unable to do little but defend against the shock tactics, Angel found himself retreating, until his foot snagged on something and for a critical second, he lost his balance. The captain's booted kick took Angel in the gut and sent him sprawling backwards to the floor.

Angel raised his sword, barely in time to block the one that was whipped downwards, seeking to sever his head from his shoulders. Metal scraped with a high-pitched whine and Angel gritted his teeth as he attempted to force the other's blade away.

It took every ounce of his strength and then some, but the captain was persistent and…not human. Glancing away from his opponent's grim, determined features, Angel caught sight of Wesley and Connor. The ex-Watcher was crouched beside the boy, hand placed comfortingly on Connor's shoulder, frowning in worry over Angel's predicament.

As for Connor, Angel could see his son's pale, pain-etched face drawn into a scowl as he watched his father fight. Angel didn't delude himself that Connor's worry was for him, but when their eyes met, some nebulous emotion shifted in the shadowed blue that gave Angel hope.

And a much needed wake-up call. It had never been about the duel, nor defeating the man that was even now trying to decapitate him. It had always been about rescuing Connor.

Saving his son.

In a surge of strength fuelled by purpose, Angel heaved the captain off him. Years of brawling in the taverns of his Irish home had taught Liam to fight dirty and as his opponent came for him once more, Angel grabbed a handful of sand and threw it into the man's face, temporarily blinding him.

"Clichés," Angel said, as he sweep-kicked the captain's legs from under him in a powerful scissor cut. "Don't you just hate 'em?"

Instantly, he was atop the man, punching in quick succession, determined to knock the captain insensible long enough to win and retain the upper hand, ending this farce.

When finally the captain's bloody head lolled back, Angel took that as his cue and grabbed both swords, rolling to his feet.

Groggily, the captain roused, unsurprised to see the vampire towering above him. Slowly, with an exaggerated wince, he dragged himself to his knees before his vanquisher. Angel crossed the blades he held, allowing each edge to rest lightly against the captain's neck.

"Yield," Angel told him, firmly.

"I cannot," the captain replied.

"Don't make me kill you."

"It would be no worse than what she would do to me."

The man reached up to bare his throat, parting the cloth to reveal a glint of metal and Angel's eyes narrowed at what he saw there. A collar, a runed ring of steel that encircled the man's neck.

"You see," the captain said, with a nonchalant shrug, "I am her slave."

*****

Bitterly, Baron allowed the folds of his shirt to close, concealing the hated collar once more. Behind his vampire conqueror, he could see Valenza, her face frozen as she perched elegantly upon her throne, but her fingers fluttered, a sign she was gathering her power.

"No," he told her and flung out his own, powerless hand. "Our laws abide. It is done."

He tilted his head back to permit the vampire a cleaner cut, hoping for nothing more now than that it would be mercifully quick.

So the vampire's unhappy sigh caught him by surprise, as did the lifting of the blades that rested against his vulnerable throat.

"I don't want your life," the vampire said, tossing both swords down in disgust. "I just want my son back."

With that, he turned his back on the defeated captain and headed towards the boy he had fought so hard to reclaim. Baron's men parted swiftly before him like a flock of sheep, their wondering silence speaking volumes.

Moved by the vampire's show of mercy, Baron felt compelled to explain. "It was never for her," he called, and the vampire paused in mid-stride, cocking his head to listen though he didn't turn around. "Your son's capture." Rising to his feet, Baron added, "It was for me."

He spared a glance for Valenza, but she wouldn't look his way, eyes only for the vampire who had stolen her precious prize.

"She wanted to free me," Baron continued, needing to speak the words, to make the vampire understand, "to find a champion worthy of taking my place, so we could leave the Veii's fold, together."

Now the vampire did turn, his contempt and disappointment evident. "Sorry to have ruined your plans to elope, but you don't kidnap children to earn your freedom. As far as I'm concerned," and he allowed his gaze to take in the priestess, "you don't deserve it."

There followed a moment of silence and Baron shot the priestess a worried look. Like ice now, she retained her seat upon her throne, seemingly unmoved, yet one finger tap-tapped against the arm, a sign of a growing storm.

Abruptly, she smiled, all beauty and sunshine. "You should not concern yourself with such things, vampire."

It was an ominous portent and suddenly, Baron felt the need to reach for his sword. Or any weapon. The hairs on his forearms were rising, as his mistress began to call upon the ancient powers.

Valenza pushed herself up, to step into the cold beams of moonlight that spilled through the cavern's ceiling. The rays struck her golden hair first, surrounding her with an unearthly light, then travelled down her arms, towards the very tips of her fingers.

The wild, building energies caused the ground to shake and Baron's men began to murmur in panic, even as the vampire continued to hold his ground before the mad priestess.

"Valenza!" Baron roared, ducking as chunks of rock began to fall from the unstable ceiling above.

Her unseeing eyes looked his way and in them Baron saw nothing of the woman he had come to love, only an empty distraction that would see them all buried beneath the ruins of her temple.

"Now," she said, her pleasantness incongruous in the wake of the shouting, fleeing men. "Where were we?"

The vampire had moved to shield his son from the falling masonry, but when he heard her words, he stepped away from the boy, leaving him to the care of the other man.

So his child wouldn't be an inadvertent target of the priestess' madness, Baron realised and wanted to weep at the injustice of it all.

Before he could speak, say a word of protest or prayer, his mistress called down the lightning, turning the might of her Veii magic upon the defenceless vampire that even now awaited her attack.