Breathing By Rote, Chapter 7.

Warnings: some graphic violence.

oOo

1995

The long legged woman quickly ate up the floor, instincts taking her up from the basement to the north wing of her new home. The mansion was too large for her liking, having grown up in the close confines of a lower middle class income family. Odd that she would miss her non-existent privacy now that she had rooms upon empty rooms to lose herself in. The air surrounding the mansion tingled against her skin like a storm was imminent, and knowing it was the heavy magicks that had been cast to hide them did not stop her from glancing every once in a while out the windows. They were here to monitor their enemies, but had to stay hidden themselves.

"Sire?" she called softly stepping into the dark room. He was where she expected to find him, staring out the window that faced south-west. Towards the home of his future mate and her little brother.

"I can't bear this, princess, I just can't." It hurt her to hear his agony, to know her arms were not enough to take away his pain. Coming around his side she nestled into him, purring gently, soothing as much as a childe could soothe its sire. It was not that she didn't understand his frustration and pain. Abusing and molesting a little kid was a horror story you heard about in the news from towns you never heard of before or your parents warned you to never travel to. To know it was going to happen to someone you loved? To know and be unable to stop it?

"Sire," she whispered, stroking his damp cheek to bring those haunted blue eyes down to her own, "I understand, I do, that you cannot interfere, but what about me? Let me protect your mate." Let me prove my love to you.

oOo

Frank Harris had not always been a bad man, but he had never been a strong one. He blamed his drinking on his parents, his unappreciative bosses, his ugly wife, everyone but himself. When he struck his wife she deserved it, just as his boy did. He'd never wanted kids, he told himself, never wanted any at all. Made the bitch get her tubes tied after she crapped out that piece of trash and wished he'd thought of the idea sooner. Kids were like leeches, sucking away your money and youth. His was damn near useless and quickly learned to shut up and stay out of his way. Ugly little runt, always wanting to stare at him until he'd properly smacked some manners into the brat. Thing was going to eat away all his hard earned wage and what did he, Frank Harris, get in return? Jack shit, that's what he got.

Then the kid got older. Boy lost the baby fat his mother's fat ass never had and Frank started to think of the trash in different ways. He fucked his wife when he wanted and she laid there and quivered and occasionally would try to touch him if he didn't snap at her. All he needed was a hole to fuck, but damn she repulsed him at times. Just somewhere to stick it and what had her brat ever done to earn his keep? Nothing, but Frank was, day after frustrated day, starting to think of how he could get some of his back. Coming home he would claim his easy chair in front of the TV, pop a bottle, and watch that small, pert little ass whenever the brat walked past. Thinking about how tight that hole would be compared to his mother's worn out cunt. Thinking about how he deserved some gratitude.

The world owed Frank Harris a lot and right now he prayed to get some of his back. Another lousy fucking day at the sweat shop, on fucking second shift no less, and he tiredly plodded to his car. Parked at the far end of the lot because he could never get to work early and into one of the closer spots. Seniority meant shit to these people. Maybe tonight he'd finally screw up his courage and take some of that ass that was always parading around.

Seeing a woman perched on the hood of his car brought Frank up short. He wasn't even sure if she was real, with her long red hair and skintight micro dress that showed off the longest legs Frank had ever seen up close. She could have come right out of a skin mag if her breasts hadn't been average. Some damn whore camped out on his car and Frank scowled.

"Get off my car, you fucking cu- Unf!" A heeled shoe caught him across the face, nearly snapping his neck and slamming him to the ground as the woman lashed out.

"Mind your manners, Mr. Harris!"

Frank rolled over, feeling his jaw, but before he could get up the air exploded out of him, the bitch's weight dropping onto his stomach. Her hand, impossibly strong for such a skinny whore, clutched his throat and squeezed. Frank choked, eyes widening in genuine fear.

The bitch smiled. "Do I have your complete and undivided attention, Mr. Harris?" She laughed at his start, lifting her weight and dragging him into a sitting position. "That's right, I know who you are. It's my business to know who you are." Sharp little nails were cutting into his throat and Frank wheezed, but he couldn't seem to move his arms. They were dead, like she'd done something to them, and Frank started to move from fear to terror.

He burbled a protest when her other hand suddenly tore open the front of his pants, taking his underwear and leaving his crotch exposed to the chill air. Her dry hand yanked on his penis, her cold greenish brown eyes staring death at him, her voice hard and uncompromising. "You think about sticking this into your little boy, don't you, Mr. Harris? You think about going into your little boy's room one night, holding him down on his little bed and raping him, of taking away something precious and sacred." She yanked hard and Frank cried, the pain making his legs involuntarily jerk. "You are a sick, pathetic man, Mr. Harris. You should love your little boy, be proud of him, but it's not my job to make you do that. Are you paying attention, Mr. Harris?"

She seemed to want an answer and when he didn't give one, she twisted her hand on his penis. "Yes!" Frank screamed, feeling like she ripped the skin off his rod. Fire was blazing up from his crotch and he cried harder.

"Good. I don't want to repeat myself. My job, Mr. Harris, is to make sure you never hurt your little boy. Do you want to know how I'm going to do that, Mr. Harris?"

"Please," Frank begged, terrified she was going to rip his tool right off.

Amazingly, she let go of his penis, but the relief was short lived as he felt her sharp nailed hand slipping lower. "We've had a very constructive talk, Mr. Harris. I'm sure I can trust you to remember what I've said, but I am going to leave you with a reminder."

Frank was panting sharply in dreaded anticipation, but when the pain came he wasn't ready for it. It was white hot and he couldn't even scream at first, it was so consuming. The bitch let him go and he fell back to the ground, curling up and sobbing as pain he had never imagined ripped into him. Finally able to move he put a hand between his legs, crying harder when it came back bloody. What the fuck had she done to him?

"Mr. Harris. Mr. Harris." She repeated him name until he looked up at her, standing over him holding a piece of his bloody flesh in her hand.

"Wha? What did you do to me?" Frank sobbed, staring in disbelief at what she held in her hand.

"I removed one of your testicles, Mr. Harris, as a reminder of our conversation. You will continue to go to work and provide for your family. You will leave your wife and little boy alone. When you feel you can't do these things, when your sickness starts to grow, you will touch yourself and remember." She crouched down, her little dress riding up to show her red silk underwear and that wasn't a detail Frank would remember till many years later. "This is my job, Mr. Harris. If you hurt your little boy, I will know and I will come back and we will have this conversation again. Do you believe me, Mr. Harris?"

"Yes," Frank whispered, caught by those cold eyes. He believed.

He was staring into her eyes when they changed, when her entire face changed to reveal her demonic aspect. Frank paled and his bladder finally surrendered to his fear. Those evil yellow eyes did not look away even as her nose wrinkled. "Good. Have a good evening, Mr. Harris." Then she stood up and casually walked away, her heels clicking on the pavement long after she was out of his sight. Hearing her might have just been in his head because he could hear those heels when the security guard came and over the wail of the ambulance and even down the halls of the hospital. Every time one of the nurses or doctors said "Mr. Harris" he flinched, hearing her voice, and when his wife and her brat came to the hospital he saw her yellow eyes staring out of the boy's face. He couldn't look at the kid, could never look at the brat again because that redheaded bitch haunted him for the rest of his life.

She had taken his flesh, his masculinity, and he would never know she carried it back to her sire. He would never know his testicle was happily dropped into a plastic baggy and frozen, to one day years later be given to his son as a present, a testament to a vampire's love. Bloody evidence that Elaine of the Order of Aurelius of the House of William would do whatever was asked of her to safeguard the peace of her House. It was how she was raised.

oOo

Shortly after Riley's birth Dr. Carey had been invited to the Finn's home for the celebration. He'd thought after four the Finns would be slightly less enthused over one more munchkin, even if it was his, but Dean and Maria Finn truly loved all of their children. The tiredness of pregnancy seemed to wash away from the parents surrounded by family and nearly a quarter of the town. Angelus somehow managed to make most of the children's birthdays and paid house calls when needed. Though not a regular visitor he was a common enough sight that when Brigit got sick while their mother was away visiting her sister Riley did not hesitate to call.

Though a little anxious at his little sister getting the flu while he was in charge his boy handled himself well, especially after Dr. Carey assured him Brigit had to have contracted the illness days earlier for it to show now. The house felt oddly empty with only three little souls filling it and Angelus smiled as he strolled down the hall from Brigit's room. If these children were not his the pure devilment of being the wolf let freely amongst the lambs would have tempted him to a spot of fun. But they were his and his normally blithesome youngest was achy and miserable and had wanted cuddles. After assuring the twelve year old that she wasn't going to lose her pretty singing voice he'd sent her to sleep with a good dose of his blood mixed into her cherry flavored medicine. Little Brigit Finn was truly going to be the end of his sanity and he wondered again if there wasn't a siren somewhere down the Finn line to produce that one.

Connor was in his room, his alone since Elaine had vacated the twins' old room and Riley had taken the space. Pausing in the open doorway Angelus watched the bright red head studiously bent over his books. In another life Connor would have made an excellent Watcher. In this life his agile, voracious mind was suckled by texts Angelus provided to him through a book seller in Des Moines. Nothing truly dangerous, nothing that would have Connor blowing up the house just yet. Just enough to keep him fed, keep him interested in learning more. Once he appeared back on the radar he would need a skilled witch to keep the Watchers out of his business.

At his soft knock on the open door Connor looked up, casually turning his body so that whoever was in the doorway could not see what he was reading. The stiff shoulders relaxed marginally at seeing him, though Angelus doubted Riley would have harassed him if he'd thought his little brother was doing his homework. "Hi, Dr. Carey. Is Bridge going to be okay?"

"She's going to be fine, just a spot of flu." Angelus stepped into the small room, running his hand over the spines of the books neatly alphabetized and arranged on their shelf. "I'm going to give you and Riley a booster, just in case you also picked up the flu wherever Brigit did."

The teenager sighed, but gamely rolled up his sleeve. "If she got me sick before my Algebra test she'd gonna wish she was puking because of some bug."

Angelus pulled a syringe out of his coat pocket, re-pocketing the cap as he knelt in front of the boy. Vein easily found and he pinched a nerve in his elbow to deaden the pain as he slid the needle home. Connor didn't comment on the dark color of the medicine simply because he didn't have much experience with drugs that came in another color and Angelus again thanked the gods of hell for locating the Finns in such a small town that no one questioned a lower income family having a single physician.

Injected directly into a vein his blood acted quickly. Syringe put away he barely smoothed a plaster over the small puncture before Connor slumped forward into his arms. "It's okay," he murmured, lifting the boy up to carry to his bed, "you know this is how medicine hits sometimes. It means its working."

Connor mumbled a sleepy response, but Angelus didn't bother catching it. Tucking the boy into his bed he pressed a last kiss to his forehead before leaving. Two down and that left his cherub all alone. Trotting silently down the stairs he slipped into the kitchen to watch his boy humming softly to himself at the stove, stirring what smelled like chicken noodle soup. It was the season for sweaters and the teen was wearing his even indoors, the house barely warmer than the outside. Angelus wanted it off. He wanted to see that virile body, finally blushing into the grace of manhood. The want to have his childe, to throw away the future, to risk everything and simply take what he had so long waited to possess . . . His eyes glowed gold and he knew he was too close. His mark called to him the same way Riley's clean, slightly nutmegish scent did. Would it be so dangerous if he played a little?

"Making soup, Riley?" The boy jumped at his voice, making a little eeping noise as the spoon he'd held arched a spray of yellow broth through the air before clattering to the floor. Riley spun around and Dr. Carey held up his hands. Beneath the consolatory façade Angelus chortled. Yeah, a little juvenile, but Riley was too cute to not have fun with. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

Mortified and blushing furiously Riley crouched to retrieve his spoon. "Th-that's okay, Dr. Carey. It's just so quiet and I didn't hear you. Is Bridge okay?"

"She's fine." Curling his hand around the boy's arm he guided him to his feet and called on his mark. His possession seemed to ripple through the slender form, the witchy hazel eyes darkening to near black. Wanting to have that mouth did not even form into a thought before Riley was moving into him, head tilting to receive his tongue. Tasted a little salty from the soup and Angelus savagely reined himself in, knowing he had to stay gentle, to not bruise or in any way leave a mark that would confuse the boy later. Just a little daydream that would be forgotten shortly after Angelus released him. Soon, he promised himself, he would have his childe's innocence. It was unthinkable, that someone else could claim it before him. That that someone could be a Slayer.

Riley whimpered and pressed closer at his angered growling, hands petting his flat stomach and muscled chest, instinctively trying to soothe his master's upset. Such a good childe, so wanting to please. Angelus loved that in a childe, loved the selfless attention and didn't he just know this boy would be so giving? Moira was too needy, the twins too selfish but to their other half, Elaine too independent, Connor too smart by half and Brigit just never shut up.

"Perfect," Angelus whispered, letting his noble hearted boy nibble at his throat, strong hands kneading. Darkness swirled about that heart, expressed itself in his aggression in his sports, in the sexual fantasies Liam lead him through in his dreams. Most childer were made with care, groomed and nurtured before their final turning, but few to the degree that Angelus had taken with this one. Though he had acted mainly with anger at Darla he had still spent months on Drusilla and William had lived with him for years before he was ready to be turned. Sires did this with purpose, knowing the more exposure the mortal had to demon kind lessened the trauma at their turning, increasing the chances of retaining more of the original personality. Minions were ravening beasts, demons that annihilated the soul in the possession. Childer like his Will, like his Riley one day, were strengthened by their demon rather than overwhelmed. By first his blood and now the mark Angelus protected those aspects of Riley's he coveted even as he corrupted others.

"Perfect, my love," and he let his cherub feel his pleasure even as he turned him back to stove, taking his hand in his larger one and guiding the spoon back to its stirring. Maria would probably be relieved to learn that the good doctor had stayed the night to look after her youngest and wasn't that a riot. That muscular little backside was warm against his groin and he slid his free hand up underneath the red sweater to feel those defined abdominal muscles shiver at his chilled touch. Riley's nose brushed his neck and Angelus nudged him back to his task. How the hell did you know when soup was done?

"Such a good brother you are," he whispered into a ear. "One day soon I will have all of my Finn children at court, a dynasty that will bring glory to the Aurelius name. And you, my beautiful childe, shall be there at my side." Or on his lap, in that outfit that dark haired chit had worn chained to the giant slug in that Star Wars movie Will had insisted they watch for 'research purposes'. Did Xander really expect a two hundred year old vampire to know American popular culture? Hmmm, but the image of Riley in a loincloth chained to his throne had him pressing the teenager more tightly to him.

A vampire only possessed so much patience and he was almost out of his. Taking these opportunities to enjoy his future mate, even if Riley wouldn't remember, was what kept him from tossing the whole plan and just . . .yeah, gotta keep those thoughts bottled tight. Guiding their clasped hands he took a sip of bubbling broth. Bleugh. Needed salt.

TBC.