Through this world I've stumbled so many times betrayed
Trying to find an honest word, to find the truth enslaved
Oh, you speak to me in riddles and you speak to me in rhymes
My body aches to breathe your breath, your words keep me alive

And I would be the one to hold you down
Kiss you so hard, I'll take your breath away
And after I'd wipe away the tears
Just close your eyes, dear

- Possession, Sarah McLachlan

Part 1

The next nightfall could not come soon enough for Darla.

It had taken her weeks to get everything ready for her next move, her most important one yet: catching Buffy Summers, the Vampire Slayer, at her weakest point.

It was easier said than done, of course. Darla remembered that the Slayer's dearly departed mother herself had once given her an invitation into her home, which was the only way a vampire could enter the home of a human. But the problem was that Buffy Summers was a hell of a lot smarter than the average Slayer. Her door was lined with garlic cloves and other mystical barriers since those annoying little witches had moved into the Summers home on Revello Drive. The same went for her windows and the basement, which made entry into the house at night, even under the cover of darkness, all but impossible.

And of course, there wasn't any way to get to her through her job in the daytime. Manhole covers near the fast food station were too far away to avoid being noticed by other people if she used them, and it was a busy street. This would have been the sort of thing she sired others for – to do her dirty work – but a string of new bodies rising up would have almost certainly gotten the Slayer's attention, and Darla was not ready for her prey to take notice of her…not yet. And tempting as it was, there was too much risk of engaging The Slayer when she went out alone on night patrol. She would be too revved up, too locked into Kill Mode, to take down head-on. And her instincts were too heightened, making a stealthy attack next to impossible, Darla sure that Summers's natural vampire radar would detect her presence if she got too close.

There were points where the obstacles in her path were so daunting that Darla just wanted to scream, or to head out after dark and snap some unwitting teen male's neck out of frustration. Yet she held off. She hadn't even hunted since arriving in Sunnydale, opting to use her connections to the demon market that she still held there to get blood smuggled to her from the Sunnydale hospitals and blood drives. It wasn't cheap, that's for sure, but there was no way she was lowering herself to drinking pig's blood; the day she drank from the blood of a swine would be the day she'd kiss daylight, that she vowed.

But as much as the thought of getting an audience alone with the Slayer was tempting for…other…reasons, there was a far more practical reason for needing to get to the Slayer: survival.

Darla's second resurrection, manipulated by the evil law firm Wolfram & Hart, was all a means to use her as a pawn against Angel, a ploy to turn the heroic vampire-with-a-soul to the dark side. The key word here was "use", however, and Darla loathed being used. She long vowed after she shed her mortal coil to become a creature of the night that she would never again let herself be used as she was when she was a prostitute in her former life. Her message to the law firm was sent loud and clear in the form of a massacre of a dozen top-level lawyers months ago at her hands. The problem was that Wolfram & Hart were not the type of people – if they could be called that – who let such transgressions and intimidation against them go without a response of their own. They had been hunting Darla relentlessly ever since. Agents of the firm were dispatched to every corner of Los Angeles to find and terminate the powerful vampiress once and for all. But Darla was cunning and had centuries worth of experience in hiding her trail, which allowed her to stay one step ahead of them.

Yet she knew that she could not keep running forever. And frankly, it was starting to wear thin on her. Hiding in cheap hotels, wearing disguises obscuring her stunning features, having to carefully time her hunting for humans so as to avoid detection…this life was not for her. She needed a more permanent way to erase her trail, which meant she had to disappear completely. And then, while hiding on the outskirts of town, she had heard rumors about several ancient relics, the Runes of Kaiyuptus, that granted their bearers amazing powers. One such relic, the Rune of Shadows, was rumored to hold the power to grant its wielder complete invisibility, to the point where they could even hide from mystical and technological means of surveillance, among other things. She knew that such a relic could hold the key to her freedom from being on the run. So she began doing the research, reaching out to old connections, and after a lot of digging, she finally found the location of the rune.

The trouble was, however, that the rune was located in Sunnydale, in a fire demon nest by the local beach. There were several problems with that. First, there were multiple fire demons living in the underground cove. One fire demon was bad enough, as their skin was made of hot molten lava and burned to the touch, and fire was one of the few things that proved fatal to vampires. But taking on a pack of fire demons alone was suicide. And so feared were they that Darla could not find any demons willing to raid the cave for her regardless of the handsome price she was willing to pay. Adding to that, she realized, was that demons were not the type to trust with such an endeavor. Once they realized what it was that Darla sought in those caves, they would likely turn on her and keep it for themselves, or sell it on the black market for a hefty price. Yet Darla needed that rune, she had to have it, for without it, it might only be a matter of time before Wolfram & Hart found her. And that was something that would not be pleasant for her.

Which was why she decided to take a gamble and look to the most unlikely of all allies: the Slayer. She was stronger than most demons, faster and resilient to boot. From what Darla remembered of the girl, she had that sickening heroic valor thing going for her, as all heroes did, which meant The Slayer could be trusted to not double-cross her. And besides, after all she had heard about the girl from Angel and the wild legends growing about this…Buffy Summers…through the underworld – how she was so brave, so strong, so beautiful, that she was unbreakable, unbeatable, that she slayed demons and gods, how no creature from the underworld was a match for her speed, power and wits - hell, Darla had to admit she was…intrigued. It had been a while since she encountered a challenge in another female, and what was the point of living forever without keeping things a little exciting?

After weeks of surveillance, the vampiress had narrowed it down to only one possible place: The Magick Box. That itself was akin to raiding Fort Knox, in some ways. The two witches, each one of them powerful though the redheaded one was the real threat, frequented there. Her Watcher, Rupert Giles, a man she recognized from idle gossip among the underworld as having a formidable reputation as a fighter and a mage, had been frequenting there as well to train the Slayer. Her sister and that annoying blonde cashier, Anya or Irma or something, were there often as well, though neither one could constitute a real threat. The boy that the cashier slept with, Xavier something-or-other, was a decent enough fighter, but Darla was more than confident she could snap his neck like a twig in half the time it would take him to reach for a stake.

Spike, however, was the main threat. Always hanging around, popping in and out like an unwanted pest, desperately hoping to win points in the Slayer's heart and worm his way into her pants only to get blown off by Buffy as one would shoo away a cockroach. The thought of that pathetic excuse for a vampire Spike made her want to throw up; she may have boiled at the thought of her Childe and former lover Angel getting intimate as he did with Buffy before he left for L.A. to be Detective Save-A-Soul, but soul or not, her dear boy was certainly never one to beg or persist with unwanted advances. He had too much pride for that, a concept that was always foreign to Spike. If only Drusilla could see him now, Darla thought with distaste.

Still, Spike's strength was nearly a match for her own, and his unpredictable nature in a fight left the balance of power shifting more in the Slayer's favor, which was too deadly for Darla to risk. She had to figure out a way to get him out of the picture, locate a weak spot in the Magick Box's defenses and find a way to get to The Slayer – who just happened to be one of the most powerful supernatural warriors on the planet – alone with the rest of her miserable little gang out of the way. Yet Darla was patient. The Master, her Sire, one of the most feared demons to ever walk the earth, taught her the value of knowing her enemy. And if there was one thing she had learned after 400 years in this world, it was knowing when to wait for her moment.

After weeks of watching, waiting, and hiding in a nearby hotel across the street from The Magick Box, her moment had come. She had narrowed down one specific time of the week, around 8 p.m. on Tuesday night, as luck would have it. At that time, the Slayer would work out alone in the training room for about two hours before heading home, the one night off she was affording herself. The shop would be completely empty by then. No Watcher, the shop girl and the boy would go home, the witches would walk her sister home together, and Spike would be out on his weekly night out playing Kitten Poker at Willy's. That left the Slayer alone. Vulnerable. The area behind the building where she had access to the window of the room was obscured by walls, offering Darla cover from prying eyes. And it took a while, but she had managed to obtain the ingredients necessary to get a counterspell that would lift the safeguard of the top window of the training room, one where she could easily get in a decent view of her target. Things were starting to look like they would come up roses for Darla as she began to finalize her preparations…

…and then it all started to fall apart.

Darla had discovered that the Slayer's Watcher had suddenly decided to move back to England, something about letting Summers having to grow up and make tough decisions on her own. Darla could only smirk at that; typical male, always leaving when the going got tough instead of sticking it out. That threw The Slayer's schedule into disarray, the little blonde dejectedly beginning to ignore her training sessions, going right out on patrol each night, pushing ever harder, getting more reckless with each fight. It was as if she was punishing the demon populace for all the problems in her life right now. As she watched those fights from a distance, Darla almost groaned several times at the melodramatics of it all. Hell, she had died and come back a few times herself, but you didn't see her throwing a fit about it. But there she was, Buffy Summers, Slayer of Vampires and Gods, letting her fists act out her problems like a hoodlum in the street and crying her heart out in private at night like a schoolgirl. Granted, the sight of her crying was strangely…moving, in a way…but Darla was more furious that the girl had simply fallen into this pattern of irrational mood swings. Life was not about smooth sailing, it was a fight to get yours every day. She had hoped that this Slayer had realized that, that Buffy Summers would be a tigress, a spitfire, a challenge for one such as her…not a mere child playing a woman. If that was the case, then perhaps Darla was wasting her time, she realized, as she was about ready to give up and leave town for Plan B.

And then suddenly, as quickly as it ended, it started again. On this morning, she had seen Buffy grab the silver duffel bag, the one which contained her workout attire, with her on the way to the bus stop to catch a ride to work. Once again, Darla felt a spike of exhilaration, and for two reasons. One, her window of opportunity had once again opened, and she intended on acting on it swiftly lest it close again…and two, well, Darla had learned that as thrilling as it was seeing Buffy Summers in action fighting vampires, it was another experience altogether to see Buffy Summers work out.

For weeks, one of the highlights of Darla's tedious surveillance at night was watching The Slayer exercise in the solace of the Magick Box. Whether it was working on her balance and agility via gymnastics moves using the rings or the pommel horse, knocking a tackling dummy around with powerful punch-kick combinations that blended boxing with Muay Thai, karate, Brazilian capoeira, kung fu and jujitsu, target practice with stakes, meditation or practicing her fighting forms, this Slayer was a sight to behold. Never had Darla seen any being move with such balance, such precision, such a flawless blend of fluid grace, blinding speed and overwhelming power. The way her body moved, every muscle taught, tight and perfectly-sculpted, every curve stretching and bouncing at just the right time in exactly the right way, the way her sun-kissed skin glowed with almost a natural luminescence, even the way her golden hair was tied into a perfect little ponytail…all of it was perfect. Darla could watch her move for hours, days, for weeks and she's still be just as entranced, just as mesmerized.

And the outfits…God, how those outfits worked for her. The way she wore lycra and spandex made Darla think that either the stretchy fabrics were a gift from God, or that Buffy Summers was God's gift to spandex, she couldn't decide which…

Shaking herself from her distraction, Darla began to finalize the items she needed. The ingredients needed for a mix of de-spelling powder to deactivate the mystical safeguards around the shop's windows. A getaway car – a black Mercedes Benz, elegant but able to blend into her suburban surroundings. The dark leather jacket with matching pants and shoes and off-grey silk blouse to blend into the dark. A small smoke bomb, in the event she needed to cover her tracks for a quick getaway. A diamond-tipped cutting tool, necessary to cut a hole in a window. And then, there was the most important item of all: five sedative darts coated with Shyloth venom. These were no easy thing to find. Shyloth demons were rare to find and hard to kill, each one rumored to be standing about 8 feet tall and obscenely powerful. Their saliva glands excreted a fast-acting, powerful muscle-relaxing agent that disrupted one's motor sensory control upon contact, which rendered their victims unable to move for hours. Each dart was also coated with a mix of midazolam, a very powerful sedative used in hospitals – which was also not easy to get.

Combined, these two mixes would likely put a normal human being to sleep for several weeks. It could probably take down a regular-sized elephant for about a day. However, and Darla knew this, this girl was a Slayer, and that changed the rules. While she was largely human, the supernatural power of Buffy's physiology, particularly her quick healing and heightened metabolism, meant she could recover quickly from the effects of normal drugs, as they burned too rapidly within her system for any lasting effects. Darla could probably put her under with a few pressure points she knew of or a hard blow to the back of the head, but that would require close range, and that was not something Darla was willing to risk against an opponent whose strength matched, and in all likelihood, dwarfed her own. That meant that these darts had to be potent, and she had to increase the doses enough so that they would put The Slayer under without killing her in the process. She wasn't sure the doses she was given were perfect, though the flunky demon dealer she received them from assured her – under pain of death - that they were, but time was running short and she had no time for a field test.

Tonight, she would go hunting. And her prey, she smiled to herself, would be a fine trophy indeed.

At last, night came. Watching patiently from across the street, binoculars in hand, she observed the shop. First the Watcher left. Then the two witches were the next to go with the Slayer's sister in tow. Next, the shop girl closed up shop with the boy, arms linked hand in hand as they got into their car. Yet, there was no sign of Spike leaving. That was most alarming. She had seen the bastard head in through the back during the daytime, covered in several thick blankets to avoid the sun. Hopefully, he wasn't going to hang around too long. Surely, he was probably trying to sweet talk the Slayer some more, the little worm. Darla's patience was starting to run thin as she looked at her watch. 8:10 p.m. That was 10 minutes behind schedule. She swore that if Spike threw off her plans, she'd drag the miserable lowlife out of his crypt tonight and drive a stake through his chest herself. Slowly.

It turned out she didn't have to. The very next thing she saw was the sight of Spike's carcass careening right out the back door, blown back by some powerful force. That force, Darla realized with a pleased smile, was the Slayer's right leg, extended outwards from the kick she had obviously dealt him. Spike stood and started throwing a stream of curses at the petite beauty, who stood in the doorway scowling at him in distaste, like he was little more than a roach in her eyes. Darla had to swallow a chuckle rising in her throat; whatever sweet talk Spike had planned out must have clearly fallen on deaf ears, and the unamused Slayer was simply not in the mood to deal with his nonsense.

After firing some caustic words of her own at the revolting creep, she could see Buffy, a look of disgust etched on her pretty face, slam the door disdainfully, leaving a spurned Spike furious and embarrassed. At last, she watched with amusement as the jilted vampire stormed off in the direction of Willy's Bar, not bothering to look around and snapping at one innocent bystander who happened to come across his path before he rounded the corner and disappeared.

Perfect, she realized. Now her window of opportunity had arrived. Stuffing the jacket with her darts and powders, she made her descent to the back alley of the hotel before quietly and quickly heading across the street, making sure that nobody was watching her. Fortunately, that was one skill that she had mastered. In the night, Darla long ago learned to move like the shadows, practically invisible when she wanted to be.

She made her way to the alley behind the training room, carefully scanning for anyone coming in or out. Darla knew that The Slayer normally walked out the front door when she left for the night, so she did not anticipate that she would break that routine. Of course, the girl was known not to abide by the normal from time to time, part of why she outlived so many other Slayers. She crouched atop the nearby dumpster that allowed her access to the window of the training room and briefly peeked her head into the window of the training room. No Slayer, no other person in sight. Patiently, she began spreading the powder on the window still, muttering the incantation under her breath:

That which was closed, now is open

That which was blocked, now is clear

That which was sealed, now is widened

As that which was far, now is near

She watched the magicks begin to glow a greenish hue as a shimmering jade wave began to cascade down the window. That took care of the magick safeguards. Now, for the window. With the cutting tool, she began slowly cutting a circular hole in the window, a small enough one where it would not attact suspicion yet large enough for her use.

Now, all that was left was the waiting. Waiting for the woman of the hour to arrive. Darla had to admit, she was starting to feel some…anticipation. Almost…excitement, if one would. All the weeks of planning had led to this moment, this one instant…

…except that The Slayer had yet to make her appearance.

Five minutes went by, then 10. Then 15. Now, Darla was starting to get worried. If the Slayer had opted to skip that workout tonight, that would set back her plans another week, and that was another week that Wolfram & Hart's agents had to get closer to finding her.

Damn you, Spike, she swore inwardly, rage and desperation melding into one frustrating emotion. I'll set you on fire in your sleep for this if you've cost me my –

And then she walked into the room. The Slayer.

Standing in all her glory, her shimmering blonde hair tied in a becoming, cute little ponytail. And sporting what Darla had concluded to be the most sensual piece of fabric she had ever seen the young woman sport. Now adorning the Slayer's perfectly toned physique was a beige-colored leotard resembling a bathing suit, almost the color of flesh, that blended with her golden skin so well that it gave her an almost…nude…appearance.

The stretchy fabric hugged every supple curve, every muscle on her gorgeous torso, and oh, did she ever have them to spare. The back of it, in fortuitous fashion, was a thong-shaped strap, giving Darla a generous view of the young woman's toned bottom. Silken tights, a caramel-type color, sheathed her toned legs and backside, while simple black legwarmers wrapped themselves around her sculpted calves, a new pair of workout sneakers adorning her feet. She was toned, that was for sure, but she didn't overdo it, each muscle sculpted yet slimmed down enough for optimal speed; no use for bulky muscles in the field to slow her down, of course. It was practical for combat, yet also enhanced her beauty to its peak.

With her natural beauty, Buffy looked just as beautiful in baggy pants and a simple sports top, but when those fabrics got tighter, more revealing despite their functionality, The Slayer looked like she was oozing sensuality. And this outfit was racier than any garb that Darla had ever seen her sport, and she had observed her working out on many nights, and the vampiress couldn't deny the spark of desire beginning to flare in her chest where her un-beating heart lay.

The way her lithe and nimble body twisted and arced and bent with each high kick, every split, every roll and cartwheel…it was all Darla could do to keep herself calm at times. Yet she summoned her control, her dignity. After all, base lust was something for a cur like Spike to submit himself to. Darla was above that; she had pride, after all. And after centuries of making those around her lust for her own beauty, she would be damned if she would subject herself to panting like a dog after a mortal, no matter how attractive…how tantalizing…she was.

She watched as Buffy started her normal workout routine, the elder woman trying to narrow down the right time to make her move. She watched as Buffy hammered the tackling dummy with punch after punch, high kick after high kick, each extension of her leg showing off the girl's sculpted thighs to their fullest peak. She watched Buffy's pretty face contort with concentration as she practiced her gymnastics moves, twisting, arching and bending her body with every backflip, somersault and cartwheel on a balance beam, lifting her torso off the wooden beam for a split that gave Darla a tempting view of the Slayer's lower half. She could only imagine what it would be like to let her hands, her mouth, her tongue explore those warm, delicious parts of this nimble beauty.

She observed the Slayer cycle through target practice, hitting every bullseye on the mounted wall targets via her stake with accuracy, first standing, then moving, then adding a little flair with a roll or a cartwheel backwards before hurling the deadly shaft. And Darla's eyes followed every movement, drawn to the girl's every step like a moth would follow a flame. Yet she didn't make a move just yet. She figured the Slayer's instincts would be to heightened during each exercise. She did have a newly sharpened ability to sense attacks coming, something that took years to mold. No, she would have to bide her time, wait for her opening. But she didn't have much longer, as an hour had already passed and she had wasted enough time watching The Slayer…

Then, the young woman walked over to a nearby block. It appears she's about to start her round of aerobics. Darla watched as Buffy hit 'Play' on a nearby stereo. Instantly, the sound of trumpets blare from the speakers.

For a moment, Darla is impressed. She didn't figure someone as young as the Slayer, especially in this generation, to have an appreciation for the fine art of brass instruments. Then, the sound gives way to a screeching, beat-heavy hip-hop sound that Buffy starts bobbing her head to as she makes her way back to the wooden block to start aerobicizing.

Darla's face deadpans, her eyes rolling upwards. Young people and that damned rap music. Figures.

Yet her momentary annoyance yields once the Slayer begins her workout routine. She watches each muscle on her back, from her pretty shoulders down the smooth skin of her back all the way down to that firm little butt of hers, worked in perfect unison, synced with one smooth rhythm, watched the muscles of those delicious thighs of hers stretch and tighten with every step and bounce. It was poetry in motion to behold, art made into life watching her move with such precision, such perfection, such grace, and Darla could feel that lust flare in her again. Such a rare creature this Slayer was.

Then, just as suddenly as she starts her rigid workout, she cartwheels back from the block. The Slayer lets the rhythm of the music guide her as she suddenly starts to dance. And oh, she is a sight to behold. The way she moves, shimmying, hips gyrating, head whipping wildly to the beat as she loses herself to the music, moving so freely, uninhibited, unencumbered in the comfort of her safe surroundings is almost hypnotic as Darla watches her. For once, she drops the façade of forced happiness and fake smiles and for a moment, she genuinely seems…happy, almost.

But now isn't the time to muse on that, Darla realized. Her guard was down. And now was the time to act.

Reaching into her jacket, she draws out a small short range projector gun specially made for tranq darts. She would have preferred something more quiet, but a blow gun would require breath and, well, vampires don't breathe. She had only one shot at this, which means she has to be as quiet as possible. That's why she loaded the gun before heading across the street. It's live, locked and loaded and the only thing it's waiting for is a pull of the trigger. Steeling herself, Darla waited patiently for the dancing beauty inside to turn her back, oblivious to the danger that was on the other side of that window. Slowly, she put the gun barrel through the hole in the window, and took aim.

Gotcha, Darla smirked.

POP!

The barrel's sound wasn't that loud, but audible enough for Buffy's super hearing to pick up. But not before the dart finds its mark, hitting her in the back of her upper right thigh, just an inch under the smooth curve of her bottom. She lets out a moan of pain before she whirls around, eyes darting wildly down to the protruding dart in her thigh, then to the window, where Darla has ducked out of sight, though she manages to peer in ever so slightly. It's then when the vampiress manages to see Buffy pluck the dart out of her skin, staring at it in bewilderment and shock before she looks at the window.

Damn it all, Darla cursed to herself. If that dart wasn't all it was cracked up to be, then she had only a few seconds to get to higher ground before an angry, pissed off Slayer starts heading for the outside. There wouldn't be any time to fire off a second shot, she'd see that coming a mile away.

"Who's…whozzere…?" the Slayer shouts in demand, but her voice suddenly slurs. Darla catches that, noticing how the little blonde shakes her head, as if trying to shake off cobwebs. Hope leaps up in Darla at that.

Then, the Slayer, her hand holding her likely throbbing head, tries to take a step towards the window, but her normally perfect balance fails her as she nearly trips over her right foot. She tries to catch her balance, arms and hands extending outwards as if to try and steady the spinning world around her. It's not working out, though, as Darla catches sight of her legs starting to wobble as if comprised of Jello. She starts to stagger more with every step until she stumbles against the wall just underneath the window, letting out a cry of pain as her shoulder hits the bricks of the structure.

"Whu...whuzzhappenintome...?" the confused, frightened question tumbles out drunkenly from The Slayer's lips, her voice becoming slower as a glassy, distant look sets into her clouding sea-green orbs, from what Darla can see in the mirror across from her. Not that Buffy could spot her. Vampires cast no reflection. Lucky for me, Darla smirked. Not so lucky for you, Slayer.

Darla sees how Buffy is struggling, her legs finally giving out as she slumps to her knees. Her breathing is becoming more labored, each breath becoming more strenuous by the moment. Her heart starts to beat more erratically in Darla's preternatural ears, and she can smell the chemicals of the dart mixing with her perspiration and fear to create a rather delicious smell. It was the smell of victory in sight.

Desperately, The Slayer tries to crawl on the floor towards the door, gasping for air as she urgently trying to will herself to the safety of the other side, but each movement costs her precious energy as the drug begins to work its will. She gets about halfway across the room, farther than Darla would have thought she would have made it; this Slayer is really something else. For a moment, Darla wonders if she will make it to the door after all. Then, her figure suddenly freezes midway as she extends her arm in vain towards the exit door…and finally collapses face-down on the floor, a final sigh escaping her lovely lips before she goes still, her heartbeat slowing to a crawl.

Victory for Darla. And for the Slayer…defeat.

Impatient and seeking her prize, Darla reaches through the small hole in the window and pops open the latch. The window gives way easily as she drops down into the room, a triumphant smile on her flawless features as she slowly makes her way towards her fallen prey. Her eyes drink in the sight of the sleeping Slayer. She's absolutely lovely, a vision of nubile perfection, her young flesh still glistening with perspiration of the workout, but in a lovely way, not too overt.

As Darla kneels down, she almost feels a tremble in her hand from excitement. After all the days and weeks of having to watch this lovely flower from afar, here she was, just inches from her. Before she even realized what she was doing, her cold, pale hand was gliding across the young woman's right thigh, smoothly tracing up her tights, taking pleasure in the way the fabric swished beneath her gentle touch. She traced her way up her hips, across the soft, stretchy material covering her torso, fingers teasing along toned muscles of The Slayer's stomach, before casually brushing up her chest, the undead demoness taking delight in the feel of Buffy's warm flesh against her cool touch.

As her fingers slid up The Slayer's breasts and stopped at the nape of her neck, Darla studied the beauty slumbering helplessly beneath her grasp. So pretty, so peaceful, so completely at the mercy of the vampiress above her.

Darla's fingers slowly formed a grip around the unconscious young woman's throat, watching with fascination as the pretty little blonde's chest slowly heaved up and down with each sleeping breath, and for a moment, part of her briefly considered how easy it would be to end the young heroine right then and there. So many options, too – she could just give The Slayer's neck a good,effortless twist, she could squeeze that slender, swan-like throat of hers until all life and breath left her, or she could sink her fangs into her jugular and see if Slayer's blood really was the aphrodisiac that it was rumored to be.

But that would not suit her needs. No, she needed The Slayer alive for what she had to offer. At least, for the moment.

As she brushed a few stray blonde locks away from Buffy's face, Darla couldn't help but to marvel at her beauty. So vibrant this Slayer was, so beautiful, so full of potential that she had yet to tap. She looked forward to trying to bring it out of her.

Her hands cupping The Slayer's pretty face, she leaned in close to the sleeping warrior and let her nostrils take in her full scent – vanilla, perspiration and something ancient and powerful beneath the surface – as she softly pressed her lips against Buffy's, allowing herself a small taste of what she had been hunting for weeks. The kiss was not a full, probing one, merely one that allowed her to get a taste of what this deadly beauty offered.

As she broke the kiss, Darla's gaze roamed over her fallen prey, letting her fingers glide about The Slayer's face.

"So…a Sleeping Beauty without her prince," Darla mused, chuckling wryly. "Well, princes are overrated, anyway. As I'm sure you've long figured out, my dear. But it's clear that you're in need of rescuing. From this life. This burden. This prison that you can't even see holding you in shackles. But don't worry, Slayer…"

At that, she slipped her free hand underneath the young woman's legs, while letting her other hand wrap around Buffy's torso as Darla lifted the Slayer up and off the ground and cradled her into the older woman's arms, Buffy's head bobbing up and down as her arms hung limply by her sides. A sort of mockery of a princess being whisked to safety by a heroic price. But in Darla's eyes, that is exactly what it was. She may not realize it yet, but she was indeed saving Buffy from this miserable existence. And she would thank her…sooner or later.

"…Darla's here to save the day," she whispered, a smile a mile wide spreading on her dark ruby lips.

Shaking herself from her musings, Darla moved with swift preternatural speed. She shut off the light in the room with one hand as she moved to the door, unconscious Slayer in arms, and peered her head out the exit. With no sign of anyone after checking a good 10 seconds, she used one astonishing burst of power to leap upwards onto the adjacent roof of the next building. Taking a quick look to see if her…guest…was still sleeping – and she was, Buffy's eyes briefly fluttering before her head lolled to the side as she slumbered in the drug's grip – Darla moved quickly across three rooftops before stopping at an empty parking lot where her getaway car stood. Leaping down from the building was easy enough for her strength. Fortunately, the walls obscured much of the view to this place, and the area was dark enough for cover. Having left the doors open for quick access, Darla fumbled with the side door before she popped it open, gently setting Buffy's sleeping form into the leather seat before she fastened the seat belt. Shutting the door as quietly yet firmly as she could, Darla swiftly made her way to the driver's side, hopping into the driver's seat and closing the door.

She cursed for a moment as she fumbled around in her jacket for the keys before she finally found them. As the engine roared to life, Darla felt a triumphant smile on her lips. Once she drove to the hiding spot she had so carefully selected, she'd be home free. And safely out of reach of any meddling friends who might want to search for their dear heroine.

The car started moving and away they rolled, the mighty young heroine in a drug-induced sleep, Darla's hiding spot in their sights and not a soul in sight to get in the way now.

Turning to the sleeping beauty in the side seat, Darla allowed herself a smile as she gently brushed a stray golden strand back from Buffy's face. God, she was so adorable when she slept.

"Trust me, sweetie," Darla said with a chuckle as she leaned in and left a gentle kiss on an unaware Buffy's cheek. "You'll thank me for this later. Besides…you look like you're about overdue for a vacation. And boy, do I have an itinerary for you."

TBC