Summary: In a land divided and at war between man and demon, what happens when one does the unthinkable and falls for the enemy?
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own the BtVS and AtS characters. There is no intention of copyright infringement or monetary gain in the borrowing of characters. They are used only for entertainment purpose.
Previously on Enemy Mine: The Slayer team and the Specialists team try to locate Willow's whereabouts and begin preparations for a search and rescue mission. Willow escapes Angelous while he is conked out and sees for herself where she really is.
Ch. 5 The Lair of Monsters
She closed her eyes tightly, hoping for everything to just go away. Why couldn't it just be all a dream? Why couldn't she be secure in the knowledge that whatever happened, it wouldn't matter because she would eventually wake up and all the fear and the danger would just fade away like so much smoke? It was ridiculous, is what it was. She was used to danger- to a certain degree- every time she went out to patrol with the Slayer, every time she helped avert an apocalypse, every time she handled new spells or dark magic but this was not part of what could be expected. Abducted by the vampire general, bitten - twice! -, merged with the mind of a demon and now held inside a castle amid the Shadowlands surrounded by bloodsucking demons!
A cold hand grabbed her neck, startling her with the suddenness and the temperature difference.
She shrieked in terror but cut it short when the vampire holding her did nothing more than to turn her toward him without adding any extra pressure. She frowned before she could stop herself and wondered why he hadn't crushed her windpipe or broken her neck. He could easily have done that in less of the time it would have taken for her to blink.
"Well, Red?" the shockingly white haired vampire asked. She could only stare at him, immobilized by his grip and the view in front of her. She had seen him before when Angelous had thrust the crazy vampiress that had thralled her and almost bitten her to him. She hadn't seen more than a glimpse of his retreating form before Angelous had decided that she would make a nice chewtoy. Now, looking up at him, up close, she could only take him in and marvel how such a creature that by definition was evil, was dark and just majorly bad, could look - well, for lack of a better word, like an angel? He possessed a beauty that was indescribable, with features that could not be considered pretty if separate but as whole combined something quite breathtaking. His strikingly blonde hair shone in the weak light of the coming day like a halo, framing a face with sharp cheekbones. His dark eyebrows and scar, along with his supernaturally smooth white skin gave him an edge of darkness. But it was his disheveled curls, full sensual lips and unguarded eyes of the clearest blue that deceived with the impression of something more than an essentially dead, evil creature. He was an incongruent mixture of sexuality and innocence in a deadly package.
"Cat got your tongue, pet?"
"W-What?" Really, what more could she say? Yeah right, like she was going to admit to trying to escape. Or confess to what she had been thinking about him.
He sighed. "What are you doing out here?" he asked again and then frowned, just thinking something. "Where's Angelous?"
When it looked like she wasn't going to say anything, he began to reel her in and that quickly broke through her resolve. "Sleeping!" she squeaked.
He chuckled and cocked his head to the side, studying her. "I doubt that," he informed her while caressing her cheek with the thumb of the hand that had been lightly grasping her neck.
"Huh?"
He switched holds and grasped her upper right arm. "Come on, Red. It's back to gramps you go."
"Gramps?" She wondered. She pictured a really old vampire, with glasses, long white hair and human-type age wrinkles. She almost giggled at the mental picture. On the other hand, she had ever come across an old looking vampire. They were all young-looking. Huh? Wonder why that was? She'd be sure to ask Giles if she ever saw him again.
"Angelous, pet," he clarified.
That snapped her out of her musings real quick. "No, please no," she pleaded with him. "Please. Please let me go, please."
He just shook his head at her and continued to drag her down the stairs. When they neared the door to the chamber where the vampire general lay sleeping, she grew more desperate. Without thinking, Willow grabbed the blond vampire's dark long-sleeve button down shirt in both fists and held on. "Please, please let me go. If- If you let me go, I will forever be grateful. I'll- I'll owe you. A favor, I'll. . .I'll owe you one favor. Please!"
He looked down at her and for a breathless moment, it seemed he was considering it. Something behind his eyes said that maybe. . .maybe would have accepted. But the struggle quickly vanished as it had appeared in his gaze and he just closed his eyes, shook his head and dragged her the last remaining steps toward Angelous' room.
"T-two favors, okay. I'm a powerful witch. . . If you let me go, I'll grant you two favors," Willow continued pleading desperately in a low voice for his ears only, when he pulled her inside.
He turned to her with a question in his eyes after taking in Angelous' form sprawled on the bed, unmoving. He frowned and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
Willow tried really, really hard to look innocent.
Must not have been very convincing since he just dragged her to the nightstand and opened one of its drawers. He took out a copper-colored, slender chain that had a cuff at each end. With wide, panicked eyes, Willow watched before she could do anything more as the blonde vampire snapped one cuff close on her left wrist and then snapped the other end on a ring set in the floor next to the bed.
That quickly done, he turned to leave. Willow just silently cried as she watched him exit the room and close the door, leaving her alone and shaking in a room with one of the most feared vampires in Council history.
Willow wedged herself between the wall and the bed and sat down, drawing her legs up in front of her and wrapping her arms around them for the illusion of comfort and support. After a while, she looked around the room - well, the side where she was currently sitting in. There really wasn't much at all; the gray stone walls were bare except for randomly embedded rings (and judging by how she was anchored, she steered away from the thought of their purpose) and a large fireplace lay cold and empty. There wasn't anything that could aid her escape, but on the other hand, there didn't seem to be anything to aid in torture. Her eyes strayed back to the rings.
She pressed the palm of her hands against her eyes and tried to calm herself. In her attempt, Willow finally paid notice to what was keeping her prisoner. The cuff and chain were decidedly odd. To begin with, she had never seen restraints to be that color. She traced the metal of the cuff with the finger of her other hand. As manacles went, it was dainty, no wider than an inch or two, and the chain was fine with small links of an inch. It made no sense. Didn't look very substantial and she was sure than a strong human could probably break it. She gave it an experimental tug. Nothing happened of course but something about it was bothering her. What was it? What was she missing?
All of a sudden, a face appeared from the side of the bed and Willow shrieked in surprised fear. Brown eyes contemplated her huddled form before an arm lashed out and hauled her onto the bed beside him. Her fearful wide eyes couldn't look away from his.
He broke the gaze to look down at her chained wrist. "There's no use trying to escape, that chain is unbreakable," he told her.
She took the chance of looking down at the chain. She jumped when Angelous took her hand in his and traced the cuff with his other. "No use in trying to use magic, little witch, for this was made by the strongest magics itself and they only open with one single key."
Against her better judgment, Willow just had to ask. "Wh-What key?"
His eyes swept back up to her and he grinned wickedly. "Me."
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He was watching her amid the flowers of the garden. In the indirect, cloud covered light of morning she was a vision of beauty. Her long, pale fingers of one hand touched the special flowers that grew in the Shadowland's with something akin to reverence. Like her, they were deceptive - innocently beautiful looking yet deadly. The dark red almost black petals exuded an intoxicating fragrance like no other, but its white stem and thorns held one of the deadliest poisons imaginable. Even a touch could mean death to a living thing.
"So lovely, so dark and rich. and sinful. . .like blood. Lovely vicious little things, they whisper 'touch me, touch me. . .touch me'. She lightly swayed to some unknown melody as she continued passing her fingers over the petals of the flowers. She stilled and cocked her head toward them as if listening to something and then she slowly smiled and took a deep breath. "Mmm, wicked pets."
Spike was used to Drusilla's idiosyncrasies. To many, she appeared mad, but he knew better. It was true that his ripe, wicked plum was most of the time not all there, but that didn't lessen her intelligence. She always knew things before they happened and her outward appearance of frailty only lulled others into a false sense of security. . .usually before they got their throat slashed by one of her razor sharp nails.
"Did you taste her?" she asked without turning to him.
He knew what she meant but decided to ask anyway. "Who, luv?"
"The naughty fire. . .the little witch." Drusilla turned toward him. "Oh, the power. Her blood smelled so divine. I could almost taste it." She licked her lips and then pouted, "But Daddy didn't let me. Bad Daddy, doesn't want to share." She came toward him and wrapped her pale, slender arms around his waist. "Mrs. Edith tells me things. I wish she wouldn't say such things to me. Awful, awful. She'll have no tea and cakes."
"What does she tell you, Dru?" Spike asked her, knowing full well that it must be something important.
"No! No, I shan't say. Such terrible lies mustn't be spoken." She drew back from him and placed her index finger against his lips, "Shh."
Spike nipped it playfully and she snapped her teeth in return before madly giggling.
"C'mon, luv. It's time for you to go to bed. Dream of fairies and all that."
"And you, my sweet William, my Spike? Shall you sleep, shall you dream of Sunshine?"
"Please, Dru," he said tiredly. It was one discussion he did not want to have again.
Drusilla grazed the back of her hand over his cheek. "Morpheus calls you but you do not go. How long until you begin to dream awake? How long my Spike? You know you cannot hide for long."
Spike closed his eyes for a moment in an acknowledgement of defeat. "I know, Dru, but what can I do? These bloody dreams are driving me insane. I don't even know who she is, but she haunts me."
Dru watched him run his hands through his hair and grab a fistful at each side of his head, yanking it in exasperation. She tipped her head back and looked at the cloudy sky. "The stars. . . Oh, how they shine and shine and giggle. They're coming."
What?" Drusilla's assertion distracted Spike from his frustrations.
"Will you always love your princess best?" asked Drusilla.
"Always," Spike affirmed.
Drusilla smiled sadly. "She dances around you, laughing." She closed her eyes. "Oh, how she burns."
"Luv?"
She opened her eyes again and fixed him with a steady gaze. "They're coming. I can hear their pitter-patter. Sneaky. They think they can vanish. . .but they can't hide from me."
"Who, luv?"
"The little witch's friends." Dru's powerful gaze bore into him. "And soon, my Spike, you'll have your rest. . .for she is coming with them."
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She was dressing for battle and hating herself and the others for having to do so. She knew this mission was nothing short of suicide but protocol dictated that she stand by her team's side. That and she wasn't going to see her friends' lives in danger and do nothing.
Looking down at herself, she couldn't help make a face of distaste. Black was so blah. Long black sleeve shirt, black breeches, tall black boots and a black woolen cloak. Ugh. And she knew she wasn't over. Alexander Harris would probably want to saddle everyone with the special black chain mail to protect from vampire bites. There was no way she was wearing the shirt, much less the cowl. Her hair would just get ruined. She didn't much see the point of it all. Who were they going to kid? Yeah, they were going in cloaked, but what if Tara's spell failed at some point? Everyone knew that vampire sight was ten times better than a human's. It's not like wearing black would automatically make them disappear in the background. And the mail? Yeah, right. . .maybe slow them down for a second before ripping it off - along with the head.
She sighed. It really didn't pay to work for the Council. She could be living the semi-oblivious life inland, going about her life knowing that others that weren't her were putting their lives on the line to keep the borders protected from invading demons. Too bad, she couldn't live that life. Sure, she wasn't all Chosen like a Slayer that had no choice but to fight demons because it was her destiny, but she was given special abilities. Being a Seer meant that she was at the service of the Council's warriors, trying to avert disasters, giving warnings and alerting them of future events. Sure hurt like a bitch though. Those visions were damn painful and more times than not, she sustained bad bumps and bruises from the unexpectedness of the vision. Falling to the floor was painful but falling to the floor while convulsing was agonizing. She wasn't as bad off as she was when she first began to have the visions. With a lot of practice with the Seers, she had been able to control the effects to a more manageable degree. Just wished she didn't have to deal with that remaining degree.
Oh well.
Just one more piece to put on and she would be ready. The belt was lying on her bed. Black leather as the required color but different in design from others since each one wore one that was specific for their station. For instance, Tara's belt held many pouches for her potions and ingredients for spells. Hers held in the back portion several special sheaths that allowed stakes to be held upside down for easier access. On her right was a holster for a gun and running on her left side was a sheath that held her sword. Looking at the sword in question, that was suspended on the wall in a place of honor, it sang to her. It was The Seer's Sword, a weapon that no one but a Seer could wield, passed down from active Seer to active Seer. Not even the slayer held such a weapon. Purified and blessed numerous times over the centuries, it held a power that could cut down any demon and damage irreparably whatever it sliced thorough. Nobody could tell just by looking at the simple, unadorned, metal sword that it possessed such power. A lesson in the unassuming.
She was buckling her belt on when there was a knock at her door.
"Come in," she said, looking up after she secured her belt. Oz had walked in and stood just inside the door. He had changed into his own black attire: loose, drawstring, black pants and an easily discardable black vest in case he had to go into wolf-mode.
Cordy was surprised at his presence. "Something I can do for you, Oz?" she asked.
"Actually, I came to look for you to ask you that very same thing," he told her.
"Gee, that's sweet, but as you can see, I'm almost ready for this lunacy."
Oz' impassive usual facial expression didn't change. "You think this won't work?"
Cordy gave him a level stare and asked seriously, "When was the last time anyone has breached the Shadowlands without taking along an army?"
"We're not going in to fight. We're going in to retrieve Willow."
"Yes! That is exactly the point," Cordy exclaimed. "Retrieval is always difficult, but this is a search and rescue and we don't even know where we will end up going. For all we know, a trap is already being set up! Going into demon territory is crazy with just our numbers, but add to that who took her and I don't see how anybody can think that any of our efforts will work."
Oz looked sideways when he spoke. "You think it's not worth it? You think she is already dead?"
Cordy shook her head and sighed. All of a sudden she was unbearably tired. "I don't know, Oz." She walked up to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "If Willow can be saved, we'll save her." She gave him a weak smile. "Isn't that what we do?"
Oz allowed one of his rare small smiles to show on his face. "Yeah, that's what we do." He knew that Cordy's objections were valid and he - like everyone else - expected her to complain loud and clear about the situation, but she never backed away from what was right. She was that kind of girl: strong and courageous. They could say a lot of things about her but one thing was for sure, Cordy was fiercely loyal.
When Cordy placed her other hand on his other shoulder and stood there immobile, looking into him, he became curious. "Cordy?"
She closed her eyes tightly for a moment and then released him. She took a few steps away from him and then turned back to face him. "I know you have feeling for Willow. I know there was something between you two. I just thought that maybe I could connect with that and maybe get a vision of her. Something that might help us in getting to her."
"And you didn't," he stated a blatant fact.
Cordelia shook her head in the negative.
"We'll find her," Oz then said with conviction. "That's why we must move quickly. The smaller in number we are, the more chance we have in going in undetected. I'll find her. I'll track her down and we'll get her out."
Cordy was amazed at her teammate's faith "I hope you're right," she softly whispered. God helped them all if they went in for nothing. She really hoped for everyone's sake that there was enough Willow to be rescued.
She turned and strode over to the mantle we're her sword lay suspended over and grasped it to take it down. She was unprepared for the impact and the suddenness of the visions. She gritted her teeth as her eyes closed tight and her body began to convulse with powerful, vivid images. The last thing she felt before she lost consciousness to the agony of the visions were strong, wiry arms catching her before she hit the floor.
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To be continued: Ch 6 Those that Speak to Us