Author: Ash
E-Mail: aka_jay66@hotmail.com
Distribution: Anyone who already has some of my fic and anyone else if they ask.
Disclaimer: Yep, Buffy is still Joss Whedon's. Keep them, Joss! I mean, yes, you're a genius, but that genius has created some of the most downright frightening things ever. The Gentlemen? Kept me up nights, I kid you not.
Rating: Oh, I give up. If it's not PG-13, I'll tell you.
*****
Part Seven
*****
Willow's hand passed through the barrier. And the world spun away.
The sensation of wind against her face and a sudden pain in her hand and then
the world had stopped spinning and Willow found herself outside on the balcony.
That, by itself, would have been a bad thing by definition. But she couldn't
see anything and she had a horrible feeling that the blackness blotting out
the outside world wasn't a sudden fog or an unscheduled eclipse, but the
front of Angelus' shirt.
Maybe I've gone blind, Willow thought hopefully. Her eyes refocused and
she noticed shiny black dots in the larger darkness and frowned. Except that
blindness didn't come with buttons.
She kept her eyes down; she couldn't stand the thought of looking up and
meeting those dark eyes in that pale face. She thought there would be triumph
there, and if there was, she thought she might kick him in the shins. In the
interests of surviving to see sunrise, she stared at his shirt and attempted
to evaluate the situation. She was outside. That was bad.
Willow wiggled tentatively, but the motion was instantly stilled as the arms
around her tightened to force her close against him, eliminating the gap between
their bodies. Okay, now she couldn't move. Very bad.
Despite the fact that her face was now pressed to Angelus' chest and despite
the fact that breathing was becoming difficult, Willow refused to look up on
principle. What had gone wrong? She wondered despairingly. He'd been being
so nice and reasonable and – oh. That should have tipped her off.
One of his hands was moving now; Willow could feel it sliding up from the middle
of her back, leaving a trail of electricity wherever it touched.
"Willow." Angelus said softly.
Nu-uh, Willow thought. There's no one by that name here. Come back later.
Actually, don't!
She shivered as his caressing hand gently brushed the sensitive skin at the
back of her neck. And then it was tangled in her hair and nowhere near gentle
as Angelus forced her head up, pulling harder than necessary when she attempted
to resist. Ow, thought Willow. Ow, ow, ow.
Her head was up but her eyes were still cast down. She heard the sound of a
sigh and felt his cold breath ruffle her hair, although it might have been the
wind. She hoped it was the wind.
Angelus gave a final vicious yank to her hair and her eyes shot up to meet his.
Willow said accusingly, glaring at him.
He smiled, a slow curling of his lips that made her wish she hadn't looked
up. It was good that he wasn't in Grr mode, she thought. But bad that he
was smiling. She was beginning to really hate his smiles. They always made her
think that he knew something she didn't, something she didn't really
want to know but he was going to tell her anyway. It made her stomach
twist.
Willow said after a long pause, her voice trembling. It didn't
make sense. Really, why? You don't want to belong to Bu-"
Angelus' smile disappeared and the hand tangled through Willow's hair
clenched, drawing an involuntary yelp of pain from her.
"I have no intention of belonging to the Slayer." Angelus said,
spitting out the words like a curse.
"But what about the spell?" Willow said, staring at him with confusion.
His hand twisted again and she gasped sharply and knew that her eyes were filling
up with tears and it was humiliating and pointless but it hurt.
It might have been just a coincidence but when the lines in Angelus' face
smoothed out and his horrible lovely smile came back Willow had the feeling
that it had nothing to do with what she'd said and everything to do with
the tears in her eyes and the pain in her voice. I hate you, she thought.
"Willow, all that spell does is stop me from killing you." Angelus
said. He dangled the book between them like a toy held in front of a cat, waving
it slowly back and forth and watching as Willow's eyes followed it.
I'm not going to die, Willow thought. That's good. That's about
as good as it gets at this point really, and better than I'd expected.
Um Why is he laughing?
And then in another of those quick movements that made Willow's head spin,
Angelus had flipped them around so that she was pressed tightly between him
and the railing. He wants his hands free, Willow thought. Is he going to strangle
me? Is that not technically killing me? Is there a strangling loophole?
If she survived this, she was buying a Latin language reader.
So I can't kill you, Angelus said then in a tone dark with
laughter. "I can live with that." He ripped the spell book into two
even pieces.
Willow screamed.
*****
Angelus kept his eyes fixed on Willow's face, ignoring the frantic beating
of her hands against his chest, as he methodically tore the book into coin size
fragments. He thought that he could actually see her hope shatter into tiny
jagged pieces that ripped her apart from the inside out. The pain in her eyes
was beautiful.
And finally, when the book was just a handful of torn paper in his hands and
he knew that she'd never be able to put it back together again, Angelus
opened his hands gracefully and let the scraps of paper drift down around them.
Most of the scraps were immediately whisked away by the breeze and disappeared
into the night, winking out like dying stars as they left the circle of light.
Some stayed, dancing around them and settling in Willow's hair and on her
pale tight face, which was staring out after the vanished pieces as if she could
call them back through sheer willw.
The scraps in Willow's hair were incongruously white against the dark red
and Angelus was suddenly struck by the thought that her hair was the color of
blood. Not fresh blood, no. Like the blood on healing wounds, he thought, begging
to be reopened.
And then he could feel the hunger, already inflamed by being so near to her,
stir inside of him like a wild animal at the thought of blood. Her blood, he
thought, and shivered.
Angelus fought for control, pushing down the urge to drain her dry and to hell
with the consequences and to hell with the Slayer. He was playing for high stakes
now, gambling on his own self-control. Which was ironic, he thought dryly, since
he'd spent a good two hundred years working on demolishing his self-control
through a rigorous regimen of sex, death and all of the above, take as many
as you want and call the funeral home in the morning.
But if he lost Angelus thought about living under the mastery of the
Slayer. Her first order would probably be for him to stake himself, if he was
lucky. If he was unlucky and the twit was smarter than he thought she was, it
could be something more along the lines of: 'Act like Angel for the rest of
your un-life.'
Angelus shuddered and the repulsive thought forced his hunger back just enough
to let him look at Willow again.
He was pleased to see that there were tears on her face. She was still gazing
at the scattered pieces in shock, her face as empty as a wax mask. She looks
cute when she cries, Angelus thought almost fondly. If only it meant something
to me.
Angelus wrapped his arms around her again and leaned in, moving closer until
they were eye to eye. When she still seemed oblivious, he gave in to temptation
and slowly licked a tear from her cheek. It tasted tangy and hurt and wonderful,
a pale salty echo of the taste of her blood. He thought that he must have groaned
because Willow was looking at him now, fear in her eyes.
Willow's mouth moved as if she was attempting to form words, but nothing
came out.
Entertained by her efforts, Angelus watched her for a few moments before regretfully
deciding that, as diverting as is would be to see how long it would take for
her to manage coherent speech, they needed to get a few things straight.
Angelus covered Willow's mouth with his hand to stop her futile attempts
to form words and his self-control was almost undone by the feel of her breath
on his palm.
"I imagine you'd like to know what happens next?" Angelus asked.
Willow nodded jerkily, almost dislodging his hand.
"Well..." Angelus said, letting the word trail off, a smile spreading
across his face.
"I've never been in this situation either. He said finally. I
suppose that I'll just have to make up the rules as we go along."
There was a quick flash of anger in Willow's eyes and he knew that she
hadn't missed either the paraphrasing or its meaning. Good. She should
understand that he was in control here.
"All you have to remember for the moment is that it's not up to you,
he said to drive the point home. Don't fight me, defy me or seek help
against me..."
Willow shook her head, trying to get away from his hand. Removing his impromptu
gag, Angelus looked at her with raised eyebrows.
"Remembered how to speak, have you?" He said.
Ignoring his sardonic comment, Willow asked, "And if I don't follow
your rules, then what? You'll kill me? Or have me killed by someone else? Because
I have to tell you, that's not really looking like the worst of my options here!"
"Oh no, Angelus said with a sudden deadly softness. I'll kill
your parents, your friends and your pets..." He moved his hand to her throat,
clasping it just above the hollow where her unsteady pulse was beating strong
and fast. "But not you, Willow. Never you. You, I'll discipline in ways
that will make you beg to die. "
There was terror in her eyes and he felt her heartbeat leap under his hand and
now, it had to be now, he couldn't wait.
And then his face was shifting back to its true form and Willow was opening
her mouth to scream and he put one hand over her mouth and roughly pulled her
head aside to bare her neck. And then she might have been screaming or fainting
or cursing him, he didn't know or care because he was drinking from her
again and it was like coming home.
He'd thought that he remembered it, the taste of it, the feel of it glowing
inside him like a sun, but his memories had been watercolor impressions compared
to the real thing and now the real thing was hot and thick and perfect in his
mouth and Willow was struggling in his arms and that was perfect too and if
he wasn't careful he would take too much.
But then, all too soon, Angelus felt Willow stop struggling and he forced himself
to pull away. He looked down at her and she looked dazed and dreamy, but at
least she was still managing to stay upright. She'd be fine, he thought.
A night's sleep and she'll be good as new. He licked his lips. Better
than new, even.
When Angelus let go, Willow's knees buckled. He caught her just before she hit
the ground, swinging her up into his arms. She was as light as a feather and
again he thought that maybe he'd taken too much. But no, her eyelashes
were fluttering on her cheeks. She was awake.
He carried her over to the open door and whispered, "Say: Come in,
Angelus.'"
Willow made a soft noise in her throat and turned her head away, burying her
face in his chest.
Angelus said a little more firmly. "What choice do
you have?"
Willow said cogently into his shirt, and then sighed and said
dreamily, Come. In. Angelus."
"Close enough." Angelus said, smiling at the top of her head. He walked
inside the room and carried Willow over to the bed, setting her down gently
lest she wake and start screaming again. He put blankets on top of her, sitting
down on the edge of her bed and watching as she burrowed sleepily into the covers.
"When you wake up tomorrow, remember that your blood belongs to me.
He said in a low, menacing tone. And so do you, Willow. Don't forget.
I hope she can still hear me, he thought, looking at her peaceful face. I hate
to waste a good implied threat.
Willow's brow suddenly furrowed into worried lines and she rolled onto
her other side, turning her back to him.
She heard me, Angelus thought, trying not to laugh.
He went out by the front door and left Willow to the safety of her dreams.
______
End Part Seven
Tell me what you think?
I love this fic, you know that? Between this fic, where nobody is really happy
except for Angelus, and my uber-humor Labyrinth fic, where *nobody* is happy
- not Jareth, not Sarah and not the Immutable Forces of Destiny, I really feel
like I've struck some kind of balance. I have humor, angst, death, pretty
villains, blood and predatory bathroom appliances. Really, who could ask for
more?
Replies to comments on the last chapter tomorrow, when I'm awake. (Well, I could
reply to them now. But Id' pretty much be just banging my head up and down on
the keyboard and hoping for the best. ;-)