A/N: Hey, guys – back again! I just realized that my last update date and my original post date are the exact same, only separated by two years. Weirdness abounds! Happy anniversary to me and my fans!
Anyway, this is following the riff off of the first chapter – I've been rearranging and updating my old, badly written chapters to fit with the rest of the story. This chapter needed a lot of work – I realized that I'd made Angelus a horrible bad guy. It was campy and kind of stupid and it didn't provide nearly as much as it needed to. So I upgraded it. (I can no longer hear the word "upgrade" without seeing Beyoncé doing her stupid little HG TV commercial! UHG!)
In case you haven't read this chapter before: This chapter chronicles Angelus' activities during the episode "Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered." It is told almost entirely in his point of view. It is not a retelling of the episode because there's a lot that I needed to change in it to fit my AU story.
The only parts of this story that are copacetic with cannon are a) when Angelus gives Drusilla the human heart for Valentine's Day, and Buffy the roses and b) when Angelus attacks Xander through Buffy's window as he and Cordelia are running from the mob of love-spell-crazed women.
DISCLAIMER: The few lines of script that I borrowed from "B, B & B" are owned by Joss Whedon and his team of creative geniuses over at Mutant Enemy Inc. They may also be owned by FOX, but I'm a little fuzzy on the copyright details.
In any case, "B, B & B" was written by Marti Noxon, an amazing and talented Buffy writer who worked with Buffy through the entire seven season span. I think she may have also written a few episodes of Angel, but I can't be sure. I really hope that she works with Joss on Dollhouse, because they seem to be on the same wavelength about a lot of things.
No copyright infringement intended, I make no money, blah blah blah.
IMPORTANT NOTE I: THIS STORY IS RATED 'M' FOR A REASON – IN THIS CHAPTER THERE WILL BE GORE, SLIGHT NUDITY, SLIGHT SEX, AND VIOLENCE.
IMPORTANT NOTE II: Because in the episode "Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered" Xander gets dumped on V-Day, gets the spell cast the night after V-Day, and then everything happens the next day, and at the end of the episode there's another day of school left, I've made the assumption that Valentine's Day occurred on either a Monday or a Tuesday that week. For the sake of this story, I picked Tuesday.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
the Passion of Angels and Demons
Chapter II
Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered
Tuesday, February 14th, 1997
Angelus was walking home slowly, enjoying the…miasma that poured forth from the Hellmouth everywhere in Sunnydale. It gave anything demonic a boost, and tonight he could feel it like the alcohol of his wasted human youth. He patted his coat pocket gently and felt a little squish as the still-warm human heart spurted out a little squirt of blood. The scent reminded him of the sweet little shop girl he'd ripped it out of, and he smiled at the memory.
"Can I help you, sir?" the little girl asked. She couldn't have been more than fourteen, probably at her first job, so sweet and innocent – her work uniform was layered underneath by an undershirt and a slip, revealing no skin that wasn't decent. His skin positively crawled.
She looked up at him as they all looked up at him – Angelus, the one with the angelic face, the Watchers called him. He rewarded her with a brilliant smile that could have charmed the birds from their nests, and her little brown eyes lit up. A crush – how disgustingly cute.
"Yes, I think you can…Fay," he said, reading her nametag. She nodded eagerly. "You see, I need something very special for a Valentine's Day gift, and I need it for someone with very particular tastes."
"Oh, we've got all kinds of stuff for Valentine's Day," she said, indicating the gift shop behind her. "I can get you whatever you want!"
"Oh, I know," he whispered, a seductive purr underlying his voice. She flushed a bright red, all that hot, innocent blood boiling underneath the guard of her fragile skin, a gift just for him. Surely she would taste as sweet as she looked? He was still smiling when his fist smashed into her chest so hard it broke skin, growling like a tiger as his face shifted into his demon's form.
It was so sweet, the scent of human fear! Surely it was the cage of the soul that made it all seem so much better than his memories! He drank in her fear and felt it shiver deliciously through his being, owning her. He could feel everything as he leaned in and his rough tongue worried at the blood seeping around her innocent little budding breast – the horror, the pain, the terror.
"You'll do just fine," he whispered before he sank his fangs into her neck. She had time for one last scream that echoed through the empty shop like the wail of a banshee before he ripped her soft little heart straight from her chest.
His victims always received the best gifts for Valentine's Day – was there any greater bond than that of predator and prey? He took his pleasures liberally on this day, so devoted to human happiness. He considered the plans that he would have to put forth for the Slayer and his evil smile widened, remembering that beautiful hurt look that Buffy could never hide from him no matter how hard she tried.
Oh, yes, something…special for Buffy this year, he thought to himself. Something she'll love! It had been more than a week since he'd left that delectable little girl dead in the streets as a token of his affection. It had been fun, but he was itching for the real hurt – like the night after he'd fucked her. Now that had been a work of art.
"Angel! I love you!" Buffy whispered brokenly, tears falling down her face, her entire being radiating hurt, confusion, pain, heartbreak. He loved every minute of it; could drink her pain in like blood and he itched to unleash his demon upon her, to drink that boiling, powerful font of Slayer's blood as she screamed…
But no – he would draw this out. This one was going to be even better than Drusilla. This one was going to hurt.
"Yeah, I love you too," he tossed out offhandedly, shrugging a coat on as he strolled nonchalantly out of the apartment. "I'll call you."
He smirked in victory and savored the scent of her tears as she collapsed behind him as he shut the door in her face.
Oh, but that had been delicious! Yes, something like that was in order again. He craved the stalk, craved that look in the Slayer's eyes from that night in the mall when she had held the stake, ready to kill him, and simply couldn't. He smiled just thinking about it as he silently stepped into the factory where they were holed up. Not for long, though – he hated it here. It was dank and cold, out of the way, nothing like what Angelus preferred.
He frowned as he saw Spike and Drusilla sitting at opposite sides of the long table in the center of the factory. Spike was in a wheelchair and looked as pathetic as a crushed rat. Angelus' features hardened. Spike had kidnapped him in a weakened state after a disastrous run-in with the Jamaican Slayer Kendra, and then tried to kill him in an ancient ritual to bring Drusilla back to health.
It was more than spite at this that kept Angelus from healing him with Sire's blood just yet, though. Spike needed to be taught a lesson – brought to heel, as it were. True, Angelus' reputation had been nearly shattered by that souled pussy's meddling in his body, but he was Angelus, returned to his former strength and glory. He would bring the younger vampire back to where he needed to be and he would accept nothing less. Spike needed to remember that he was lesser than Angelus and always would be.
He smirked as he saw Spike slide a jewelry box across to Drusilla. He should never have allowed his Childe to attempt a Turning without him, but he had. Somehow, William the Bloody had retained too much of his old humanity – but that had always been the curse of the Aurelius line, as Darla had informed him: doomed to be the most human of vampires. He snarled at the thought. He was no human!
Spike was sickeningly devoted to Drusilla, and always had been no matter how capricious Dru could be – hell, he'd only been back for two nights before he'd had his precious dark daughter back in his bed where she belonged. Even he hadn't been that devoted to Darla, and she had made up a true chunk of his undead existence.
Drusilla…his greatest creation. He loved her as much as he hated her; nothing gave him greater pleasure than her pleasure at the same time as nothing gave him more pleasure than her pain. He would never stop hurting her, and she would never stop loving him as much as she hated him. He had created something incredible in Drusilla, something that Darla hadn't been able to appreciate.
He stalked forward as Drusilla lifted up a beautiful gold necklace with a fine chain up from the box. She moaned in approval – Drusilla had always been partial to baubles. The rubies set in the gold would remind her of blood. He had to admit that Spike had chosen well…even though she would of course love Angelus' even more. That was half the point.
"Nothing but the best for my gir—" Spike was saying, but then Angelus emerged from the shadows and reverently set his gruesome gift on the table in front of Drusilla. He smiled beatifically at Spike, gently stroking his bloody fingers over Drusilla's fine, black hair.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Dru," he whispered, his voice deliberately drenched in seduction.
"Oh…Angel," she moaned, enraptured. "It's still warm!"
"I knew you'd like it!" Angelus exclaimed, delighted. He smirked as Spike took a deep, unneeded breath in rage and slowly dropped his hand to stroke the fine column of Drusilla's throat. "I found it in a quaint little shop girl." He looked down derisively at Spike's gift. "Cute!" He slowly draped it over Dru's throat, reaching to clasp it.
"Let me," Spike began, rolling forward, but Angelus clasped it anyway.
"Done," he said simply. "I know Dru gives you pity access, but you have to admit it makes things so much easier when I do things for her." He sneered lasciviously at Spike as the younger vampire went white with rage at the memory of Drusilla's screams of agony and ecstasy ringing out from Angelus' bedroom the night before.
"You would do well to worry less about Dru and more about that Slayer you've been tramping around with," Spike snarled, stinging when stung. Angelus' eyes went dark with rage as he remembered Spike's derisive voice – It made me sick seeing you as the Slayer's lapdog, the vampire had sneered at him. At HIM! But he would not show his emotions as Spike did. Emotions were what made you weak and ultimately controllable.
"Dear Buffy," he said with a sigh, as if pondering a burden. "I've been wondering the best way to send my regards."
"Why don't you rip her lungs out? Might make an impression," Spike said dryly. That right there annoyed Angelus more than anything. Spike was such a brutal beast, not understanding what it was about being a vampire that was so much better, that made immortal life worth living. He didn't understand the value of pain, the ecstasy of suffering. He didn't understand why Angelus had tortured Drusilla the way he had and he'd never understand the pleasure that Angelus and Drusilla experienced together because of that agony.
"Lacks…poetry," Angelus said sadly, humiliating Spike even further as he referenced the British vampire's hated past.
"It doesn't have to," Spike said lightly, his voice stinging with hatred and resentment but trying hard not to show it. "What rhymes with 'lung'?" he asked.
"Don't worry, Spike," Drusilla said slowly, her hands hovering over the human heart before her, sensing the girl's pain and despair. Her dark lips slowly curved into a sultry grin. "Angel always knows what speaks to a girl's heart."
888
In the end he decided that he simply didn't have enough of a plan in mind to act on it that night. Valentine's Day had occurred on a Tuesday this year, so he still had five days left to launch his attack on Buffy. That wasn't to say that he would ignore the holiday completely, of course.
So he purchased a box of beautiful, blood-red roses and left a message inside them. Then he waited in the shadows outside of Buffy's house. She still hadn't even bothered to magically invoke his invitation, and he wondered at the possibilities of playing on that bit of stupidity. She wanted so badly to believe that he was just a nightmare and that her precious Angel would be back one day.
The shattering of that illusion would be so sweet.
He contemplated killing her defenseless mother as the woman tidied up the kitchen but he decided not to. He would need to pace this more than he had with Drusilla; he didn't want to break Buffy as quickly as he had with Drusilla. Although even the memories of the breaking of his Dru could still inspire him to greater debauchery and bloodlust, he'd learned then that he hadn't drawn it out nearly as much as he could have.
He wouldn't make that mistake with this Slayer.
So instead he messed with her head a little. She knew that he was watching; she knew that he was there. It was enough for now to know that she wouldn't close her eyes for the rest of the night without thinking of him, enough to know that he had shattered another piece of that illusion she still clung to so desperately. He rode on the delicious wave of Buffy's pain all the way back to the factory.
That night he took Drusilla to bed, and felt his orgasm even more satisfactorily as he felt Spike's burning hatred as the other vampire sat across the room, felt Spike wince every time Drusilla screamed in delight at every stroke of the whip, could feel Spike's bitterness and horror as a bloody Dru hungrily rode Angelus' cock until the both of them were yelling their pleasure and drinking from each other in an orgy of blood and sex, falling to sleep in Spike's bed with Spike powerless to do a thing about it.
Thursday, February 16th, 1997
Angelus woke in his bed earlier than usual. He scowled as he realized that the sun was still at its peak; it couldn't be later than two in the afternoon. What the hell had woken him up at this hour? He looked and noticed that Drusilla was gone from the bed as well. This in itself wouldn't be strange; she could just as easily fuck Spike as she could any other minion in this house, more merely spend the day in a state of trance, ignoring everything around her.
That was when he felt it tingling over every part of his body – magic. Strong magic, too; he felt the electricity in the air and the smell of burnt roses lingered over everything. Something was in the air and it had covered the entire town of Sunnydale. He threw himself out of bed and went out – perhaps one of the minions could identify the source.
He passed by two vampires who he didn't even recognize who both respectfully averted their gazes. He looked down and realized belatedly that he was naked. He shrugged and kept going – not like there's anything to be ashamed of, he thought to himself arrogantly.
The factory was quiet, as it should be at this time of the afternoon. Most vampires were asleep at this point – it was only those demons with superior strength that could even make it through an entire day without needing at least a few hours of supernatural sleep to recharge themselves. He followed the sounds and scents of Spike and Drusilla to the main floor of the factory and headed down the stairs.
Drusilla was dressed a dark red dress and was dancing in long, languid, sensuous circles around the main floor, her eyes closed, humming a song he could not name to herself. She was in one of her trances; he could tell. It was likely the magic in the air that had set this one off – now that he was fully awake he could feel it permeating the air even more. Spike was watching, managing to look exasperated, protective and loving all at once.
Angelus was almost loathe to break the silence. There were times like this when he remembered how much potential William had had, how much of that potential he had already lived up to – not even two hundred years old and two Slayers dead! Spike had knack for surviving, which Angelus could appreciate, and a strong core despite his many weaknesses. Yes, no matter how much he needed to bring Spike back under his control, he could recognize that Spike could be a formidable enemy.
He shook his head, annoyed at the thoughts. He was much more given to the contemplation of things like clan bonds after his century of curse-driven foolishness, and he wanted none of it.
Spike looked up as Angelus walked in and Angelus could smell the arousal as Spike perused his naked body in a flickering eye scan but then quickly looked away, holding onto his hot and bitter rage. Not in the mood to deal with this, Angelus chose to ignore it. He could rub the mutual attraction in Spike's face another day. The spell was strengthening as time went on, and there was no telling what an enchantment like this could do on a Hellmouth.
"Does she See anything?" Angelus asked, nodding towards Drusilla. Spike didn't have to ask what he was talking about; he could feel the magic in the air as well as Angelus.
"No. She won't say anything to me but gibberish; I got 'dark puppy' and 'encantada' but that was about it," Spike said grudgingly after a moment. He lit a cigarette and offered one to Angelus after a second of consideration. Angelus nodded gracefully and lit up, enjoying the burn of the smoke and the rush of the nicotine.
"Encantada?" Angelus asked after a moment. "Isn't that Spanish?"
"Yeah. Means 'sing' or some such." A drag on his cigarette, and then "You got half a clue what she's talkin' about?"
"No. Figured she'd have told you. You were always better at picking up on what she Sees than I was," Angelus responded. Spike eyed him in surprise, clearly wondering whether this was a backhanded compliment or not. When Angelus merely took another pull on the cigarette Spike gave him a guarded nod.
"Oh, daddy!" Drusilla said, enraptured, as if just noticing that they were there. She'd stopped spinning for a moment to throw her arms wide and stare up at the ceiling. "Oh, daddy, it sings and it sings and it sings!" She giggled and clapped her hands as she sat down in Spike's lap, leaning back into his embrace.
"What do you See, Dru?" Angelus asked eagerly. Drusilla's visions had a tendency to reveal the darker portents, and he wondered if she'd maybe seen whoever cast this spell. Witch this strong, he figured if he could hunt them down the drinking would give him a buzz for weeks.
"I see you," Drusilla whispered conspiratorially. Her eyes were leeched of her madness for the moment, large and black and regal. There were times when she was caught up in spinning prophesy and magic that he would see a glimpse of her true power, that he would understand that in some ways she was stronger than all of them.
"What do you see about dear daddy, ducks?" Spike asked, stroking her chin. Drusilla smirked and nipped at Spike's lower lip.
"Dru," Angelus snarled impatiently.
"I see that you will be captured by love," she spit out contemptuously. She rose and stalked towards him and he growled warningly, but she took no more notice of him than a misbehaving dog. "Oh, yes, you will lose yourself and lose us all…oh, Angel…" Her voice suddenly changed from attacking to whimpering, her step faltered, her hands going to her forehead as she rubbed uselessly. "Oh…his blood sings…his blood signs and sings with power and power and fire and…and…"
"What is it, Dru?" Angelus asked, stepping towards her, but she shied away from him like a skittish horse.
"Le vetus unos vie en ile!" she shrieked, jerking away from him before she collapsed to her knees, clutching her head in pain. Neither Spike nor Angelus could spare time to look after her, however – her words rang in Angelus' ears like thunder. The Old Ones live in him, she'd said. The Old Ones – the true demons, the masters of this world, banished to Hell eons ago. The very thought of finding one of the ancient bloodlines…
But could he trust her visions? He, Angelus, ensnared by love? The very thought was sickening. Blood singing…surely not…that was just a myth…
Drusilla suddenly leapt up from the floor and stormed towards the hole in the floor at the far end of the factory he and Buffy had left when he'd still had his soul and they had been running as fast as they could to get away from the Judge. He still couldn't quite believe that – the Judge, the mythical juggernaut of the demon world! No matter how powerful the enormous blue demon had been, no matter how much pain Buffy was in and how weak she was, she had shown up at Sunnydale Mall bearing a rocket launcher and an attitude and before anyone could say a word she'd blasted the thing to smithereens.
"Dru," Spike began hesitantly, but she spun on her heel and her demonic face burst out as she roared violently.
"He's mine!" Drusilla screamed furiously, before she dropped into the sewers. Before either of them could say a word her scent faded as she sprinted through the tunnels, away from them without a backward glance.
"Well…that was…unexpected," Spike said after a moment, but Angelus couldn't pay him any mind. All that rang through his head was Drusilla's words.
"I'm going on the hunt tonight," he said absently. "I still owe the Slayer a Valentine's Day gift, after all."
But somehow, the thought of his vengeance wasn't all-important. Suddenly the stalking of the Slayer wasn't at the forefront of his mind, as it had been this last month. He had to find Drusilla, find her and make her talk, make her tell him exactly what she'd Seen.
He turned abruptly and left the main floor as he hurried back to his room to dress, leaving Spike alone to stare after him in hatred, sorrow, longing and self-disgust all at once. But Spike's eyebrow was also cocked as he considered the implications of Drusilla's words. Interesting, the blond vampire thought to himself, and slowly he smiled, likely the first real smile he'd had since Angelus had blown back into town.
888
Angelus left the factory as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. He didn't like travelling through the sewer system unless absolutely necessary – and he knew that the vile stench would have already obliterated Drusilla's scent. He could probably pick it up again if he really tried, but there were far easier ways to track, and also far less disgusting. He took a deep breath of the air and allowed his feet to pick the direction the scent was leading him.
He wasn't particularly surprised to find that the closer he got to Dru, the closer he seemed to be getting to the source of the magic in the air. The lilting scent of burning roses was getting stronger and stronger, and he knew from experience that that meant the enchantment was strengthening as time went on.
He thought back to Drusilla's behavior in the factory; indeed, he'd been pondering little else this day. Drusilla was obsessed with him; he'd made damn sure of that. She loathed and feared him as much as her entire world revolved around him. She'd never gone against him before, ever, and the fact that she had challenged him face to face was profoundly troubling. If this spell was what had made Dru act as she had, it would be his duty as her Sire to eliminate the threat, both to her and to him. Thought he knew that he could defeat her if absolutely necessary, Angelus didn't fancy the thought of Dru as an enemy.
At least now he had a reason to hunt down the witch and drain her dry. Before, he would have done it merely for the pleasure of her blood, now she posed something of a threat to him and would need to be killed. He smiled at the thought.
But thoughts of his Childe and the spell couldn't quash the other thoughts that had been buzzing through his mind like a cloud of midges for the better part of this day. "His blood sings…" Drusilla had raved that day. Mayhap Spike had misunderstood this for delusional vision-babble, but Angelus could think of a different reason that this had crossed her mind. Of course, it was impossible, but still, the very thought of it being a possibility sent tingles of pleasure radiating through him.
Le cruor ut sono, as the legends went. The blood that sings. He had heard tell of it in a demonic enclave in Europe some time in the 1800's, and had asked Darla about it that night.
"Darla," he said, his taloned hands making an enormous "A" on the lush skin of her pale back. They were in an enormous bed in an old house – the owners were still downstairs, the wife still alive. They'd had to gag her to stop her screaming after what they'd done to her husband. Darla lay on her stomach, gloriously naked, her golden hair spread out on the pillows around her. His Sire had said she wanted to rest on silk sheets that night. She shivered as her cool blood, thick with the essence of immortality, began to flow from the wound. Angelus watched, mesmerized, as it began leaking toward her plump breasts.
"Mmmm?" she murmured lazily, but moaned in pleasure as he leaned down to slowly lap up the blood, groaning at the charge that Sire's blood gave to him.
"What's a 'cruor aduro'?" he asked, gently stroking the fine hairs on the back of her neck.
"Where on earth did you hear about that nonsense?" she asked with a bit of a giggle.
"At the bar. There was a crazy old vampire raving about it – I wanted to stake him but one of his Childers shut him up before I got annoyed enough," he said, watching as the wound began to heal under his tongue.
"Uh," she sighed. He grinned against her skin and she tilted her head to look at him. Her face was in its human guise and her icy blue eyes were warm now with arousal. "The Cruor Aduro is an old vampire fairy tale. I asked the Master about it when I was young and he laughed about it," she recalled. He didn't say anything; the Master was not a favorite subject among either of them. Although he knew that she loved him, abandoning her Sire was hard for her.
It was made easier by learning from some brethren of Aurelius, the Master's vampire cult that devoted itself to ritual and prophesy, that the Master had easily forgiven his favored Childe, and the tales of her impertinent Childe's cruelty had also reached his ears. Should either of them grow tired of the human world, they both had open places at the top of the vampiric hierarchy in the Master's court assured for them.
"Vampire fairy tale?" he prompted her after a moment. She sighed and sat up, careless of her nudity. She eyed him for a moment and smirked at his erection before leaning back against the pillows, smearing the sheets with a few stray drops of blood.
"The Blood Singer, that's what it's called," she explained. "It's sort of like the Greek sirens for vampires, but more than that. As the story goes, for every vampire there is one human in the vampire's entire immortal lifetime that is fated to be their Cruor Aduro. If the vampire can find and Claim the mortal, then they are bound together and the mortal is made immortal for as long as the vampire lives.
"According to legend," she went on, sounding rather bored, "the blood of the Cruor Aduro is the most delicious of all blood for their particular vampire. The vampire need only take a sip of the fount and they will slake the bloodlust for weeks. To have a Cruor Aduro also fills the vampire with power; a vampire who drinks from his Cruor Aduro will be stronger and faster than a vampire who merely drinks mortal blood – sort of like drinking the blood of a Slayer."
"And it's not true at all?" he asked curiously. It sounded intriguing.
"Of course not," she said irritably. "It's just an old story. There are, however, as you have witnessed, some fools in the vampire world who believe it. They have all of immortality facing them, and they waste it all searching for a legend that doesn't exist. Some of them are driven mad, the weaklings," she said derisively. "Why – you going to go search for your human singer, Angel?" She sneered at him and he crawled seductively towards her. She smirked in arousal.
"What need would I have of them when I own you?" he asked with a smirk of his own. She angrily tried to assert her own dominance but she shut up when he slammed his full, thick length inside of her, and instead she screamed in pleasure. He laughed and bit down hard on her neck as she did the same to him. At the end of the day, he owned them all…
Snapping back to the present, he shook his head angrily. Darla had been right – it was just a stupid story and he was stupid to fixate on it like this. Just thinking of Darla was a secret hell – the mere thought of her ending could almost stagger him. He had murdered his own Sire to prove his love for a Slayer!
He was nearing the Summers house, anyway, and he allowed his rage at the Slayer's sympathetic face as she stared at the dust of Darla to fill him as he stormed towards his wayward Childe. The Slayer would get a taste of his rage tonight, he thought – maybe an accident with her mother? Not enough to kill Mrs. Summers, no, just…harm her. Take away that safe bastion that he knew Buffy clung to, oh yes she would cry about that.
He felt a little better as he thought about the Slayer's pain, and some of the red haze of red lifted as he surveyed the house. The scent of the spell was everywhere here, saturated. He snorted. Of course one of the Slayer's stupid humans was behind this. That audacious band of infants had no idea the powers they were fooling with. He remembered them all with a special sort of disgust. Willow, the little mousy redhead, had been starting to study a bit of magic with the computer teacher, he remembered.
Looking up at the house, he was caught by movement in Buffy's bedroom. It wasn't her, there were two people and their shapes weren't the Slayer's lithe little body. He moved a little closer and saw that they were the two purely human and most annoying of the Slayer's little gaggle, Cordelia Chase and Xander Harris.
Cordelia, reluctant Scooby and rich bitch extraordinaire. He remembered her with a bit of admiration. She was completely shameless in her quest to get everything she wanted and more. She was brutally honest and never had a problem getting in your face if she felt like it. She had a floral scent that he appreciated as he contemplated her luscious curves. She'd make one hell of a vampire, he thought to himself. But he knew even as he thought it that she wasn't who he was here for.
Xander Harris, the Slayer's white knight. The little boy with the big mouth who never knew when to shut up and couldn't respect Angelus, even when he was that souled pussy "Angel." He remembered with clenched fists when Xander had stormed uninvited into his apartment and shoved a cross into his face, demanding that he take him to the Master. He'd been torn between admiration, respect and annoyance at the boy, which was usual.
There was infinite possibility with Xander, he decided in an instant. Xander was exactly his type, just like Drusilla; it would be easy to torture Xander, it would be easy to break him. Xander's parents were obviously neglectful and abusive, and he was constantly trying to prove that he wasn't worthless to his friends. He hated himself in ways that his friends would never understand; in some ways, Xander was the perfect victim. But he also had a unique core of strength that told him it would be a pleasurable and delicious challenge to shatter the boy.
Then, of course, there was the matter of Xander's little secret.
Xander was gay, or at the very least bisexual. Angelus could always smell the secret attraction that arose from the boy when he was around. Xander desperately tried to prove that he wasn't, over and over, and Angelus suspected that fear of his father had motivated him into being the classic "gay-panic" closet case. Boy couldn't deal with the fact that he was a natural submissive; Angelus could sense the boy's need to be taken care of in a relationship.
Xander had reacted to Angel with hatred and anger, but Angelus had always known the tension between them had been more than just mutual dislike. Oh, if little Xander only knew the number of lonely nights when thinking of Buffy just wasn't getting the job done and a guilt-stricken Angel would jerk off thinking of Xander's submissive little want-filled glances whenever they were together.
And hell, it wasn't as if the boy was unattractive, Angelus thought. There was clearly a lot more muscle than he let on under his clothes; soft dark hair and big puppy eyes that were always a turn-on for Angelus, especially in boys. The boy's lips begged to be kissed, and that ass…oh, Xander had a nice, round rump that Angelus could just see himself fucking into. The boy gave off a lovely amount of body heat; he could just tell that the boy's passage would be hot and tight…
And his scent! It was indescribable, really; a mix of blood and sex and something deliciously ethereal that was just…Xander. He knew what he was going to do – kill two birds with one stone! He'd fuck Xander and fuck with his mind a little and send him back to Buffy. Xander held the little Scooby Gang together more than the others knew; if Buffy and Xander had a falling-out not only would it hurt both of them but it would weaken the Slayer even more.
Smiling at the thought, Angelus easily leapt up to the porch roof that Buffy's window looked down on. Both he and the Slayer made use of this to get in and out of the house without anyone knowing. He leaned in and he could smell the magic out of the room. Either Xander or Cordelia was the source of the spell, and he was going to go with Xander. Cordelia was too smart to mess with the black arts…his boy, however—
MY boy?! Since when is Xander my boy? Angelus thought, startled. It was strange how the possessive term felt…right. He shook himself vigorously. This entire night had been strange beyond measure. He needed bloodshed, he decided, needed bloodshed and gore, get his head straight and back on the wagon. He crept towards the window.
"Good, the mob still hasn't found us yet," Xander was saying as he turned back from the window. Mob? Interesting, Angelus thought, leaning closer. "We should be safer up here."
"Works in theory," Angelus sing-songed from behind him, and he savored that moment of overwhelming terror pouring from the whelp and all the blood draining from Cordelia's face as he locked his arms around Xander's neck and dragged him out the window.
"Xander!" Cordelia yelled, panicked.
"Where's Buffy?" Angelus asked Xander calmly, enjoying Xander squirming against him as he desperately tried to break free.
"Cordy, get outta here!" Xander yelled desperately, and Angelus smirked at Xander's overwhelmingly protective nature even in the face of death and torture. He had a sudden thought of what it would be like to have that protectiveness focused on him and he was annoyed with himself at the bolt of pleasure that shot through him at that thought.
He tossed Xander off the roof and watched him fall. Angelus smiled in satisfaction as Xander groaned in pain when he landed on the ground with a hard thud. He just knew that his boy's back would be all lovely black and blue with bruises the next morning and relished the fact that every time they twinged Xander would be reminded of him. He leapt down after him, landing easily on his feet above Xander's head.
Xander recovered quicker than he'd thought, though, and the boy slammed his fist into Angelus' groin. Angelus roared in pain and anger as Xander surged unsteadily to his feet and tried to run. He charged after the whelp and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck like a cat, turning him around and slamming his fist into Xander's face. Xander yelped in pain and Angelus felt a slight spray of blood spatter his chin. He grinned wolfishly as the delicious scent of Xander's blood, spiced by fear and arousal, scented the air.
"Perfect," he mused aloud as he surveyed Xander's trembling body. "I wanted to do something special for Buffy – actually, to Buffy – but this is so much better!" He grasped Xander by the throat and threw him onto the ground. Xander gazed up at him in a dazed sort of terror, his wide, puppy dog eyes expressing all of his emotions like an aerial.
Angelus slowly knelt down, running his finger through Xander's hair gently. Xander stared up at him in shock and not a little bit of arousal and Angelus smirked as he leaned in, his lips brushing Xander's ear as he whispered seductively in Xander's ear, relishing the resulting full-body shiver that it caused: "If it's any consolation, I feel very close to you right now."
The punch to the face took him completely off-guard.
Angelus flew backward, growling in pain as he slammed forcefully into the trunk of the large oak tree outside of the Summers' home. He threw himself to his feet, stalking toward his attacker, rage simmering off of him in waves. He was the Master of the Hellmouth, the Scourge of Europe and he'd show the—
He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Drusilla picking Xander up carefully, making sure that he was alright. "Don't fret, kitten, mummy's here," she purred soothingly, running her fingers down Xander's face. Angelus froze, stunned, as Xander looked like he was about to wet himself.
"I don't know what you're up to, Dru, but it doesn't amuse!" Angelus snarled, enraged. He shook the shock off of him and took a step toward her. She was going to hurt tonight. She growled threateningly at him and he snarled right back.
"If you hurt one hair on this boy's head…" she whispered, trailing off meaningfully, her yellow eyes glowing with malice.
"You've got to be kidding – him?" Angelus said derisively.
"Just because I've finally found myself a real man…" she responded cuttingly, and Angelus fell back. Something was very wrong here.
"I guess I really did drive you crazy," he commented absently, watching as she turned Xander toward her and starting running her hands through his fine dark hair. He felt a bolt of jealousy as she touched his prey, and he shook himself.
"Your face is a poem," she whispered in rapture to Xander as she swayed like a hypnotic snake. "I can read it."
"Really?" Xander asked, trembling like a leaf in the wind. "Does it say 'spare me' by any chance?"
"Shh," she said gently, kissing him lightly on the lips. "How do you feel about eternal life?" she asked eagerly.
"We couldn't just start with a coffee? A movie, maybe?" Xander stammered, terrified.
"THERE HE IS!!!!" screamed about seventy girls. Angelus whirled around, staring in shock as what looked like the entire female population of Sunnydale, of all ages, pointed straight at Xander Harris like he was the only drink of water in a scorching desert. And then it all clicked in Angelus' head: Love spell gone wrong. He started chuckling to himself as, if it were possible, Xander got even paler. He started to laugh as the wave of women charged down on Xander, some of them in tears – Hell, he even saw Willow waving an axe above Xander's head, screaming about betrayal. He was positively howling with laughter as the High School's lunch lady bumrushed Xander and tried to smother him with kisses. Priceless, even for a Hellmouth.
He watched as Cordelia snatched Xander up and dragged him back into the house, slamming the door in the crowd's faces. His eyes were bright as he sat back to think. Dru would have to be punished, of course, for her defiance, but all in all, this looked like it would prove to be the funniest night of Angelus' long life.
The door didn't stop the girls, however; Drusilla led them to the back and kicked the rear door so hard that it flew into the back wall. Dru was forced to stop, however, when the invitation barrier kicked in.
"Sorry, Dru," Angelus said with a mocking sigh. "Guess you're not invited." He chuckled as she whirled on him with a furious expression on her demonic visage, and turned away from her. He was done here for the night…
It was then that he remembered the fine spray of blood that had sprayed from Xander onto his chin. His face twisted to its true countenance, and he swiped a rough, cat-like tongue down along his chin.
One small drop of blood, perched at the end of his tongue, dripping down his throat, and Angelus roared in something akin to agony and ecstasy and collapsed to his knees as if he'd been punched in the chest by a massive fist. He was on fire, his whole body heated by that one drop, burning through his system like ambrosia! Angelus fell backward, slamming down onto his back as the blood flamed through his body, igniting a fire of lust and love and hatred and want and longing and gods it hurt but it was so damn good that he never wanted it to stop and oh Christ!
He shuddered in rolling aftershocks as he came in his pants, the last droplets of blood trickling down his throat.
Cruor Aduro, a soft voice that was not his own whispered in his mind, and he quaked. He could still feel his orgasm shaking him down to his toes; the demon within was practically purring in contentment and all he wanted to do was chase Xander back and abscond with him to the nearest flat surface where he could fuck him hard and send them both over the brink of oblivion, never to return.
No slave to his passions and no slave to the curiously seductive voice whispering in the back of his mind to find his boy, Claim him and keep him, Angelus whirled and sprinted from the lawn of the Slayer's house, leaving Xander within. The air churned and the stink of magic hit a high peak before it burst into the air like static electricity, dissipating as quickly as it had come on.
The spell was over.
Wednesday, March 25th, 1997
Angelus' mind wandered over that fateful night once more as he surveyed the balcony before him. There were only three other people up there: a couple too busy making out to notice much, and a lonely looking woman who looked like she'd been in her cups for a while now. Xander was leaning on the rail of the balcony, looking down at the Bronze, lost in thought.
He'd noticed Xander's fear-filled anticipation as he'd glanced around the shadows of the Bronze before making his excuses and leaving his friends behind and it filled him with satisfaction that the boy was already so hyperaware of his presence. As well he should be, Angelus thought to himself. His stalking of Xander these past two weeks had been carefully planned and controlled, each step leading closer and closer to this night.
Angelus had allowed all of Sunnydale a false sense of security as he left the running of the Hellmouth's vampiric population in Drusilla's hands. He'd vanished from the world for nearly two solid weeks, but they hadn't been wasted. There had been too much in the boy's blood for the power held within it to be entirely explained away by the Cruor Aduro myth. That had been there in spades, of course, and he could still feel the erotic electricity of it racing through his system.
But there had been something else there – old, strong magic, the kind that you rarely saw at work in this world anymore. It was masking something else, something stranger that tasted ancient and too powerful to describe…something demonic, that Xander himself may not have been aware of but that Angelus knew the boy knew, somehow, but buried it deep in his subconscious.
Angelus had spent the first three days in utter solitude, making his plans and meditating. The sources that he was planning on summoning were not to be fooled with and they would not bargain with him in his agitation. He'd had to sacrifice three girls before the demonic oracle would even come to him, and when it heard what he wanted to know, it had demanded that he spill his own blood, the blood of five innocents, and the blood of five demons.
That was when he knew that something was at work here so old and strong that even the strongest of the demons trembled before it. It filled him with excitement but it also clicked with what he had already begun to figure out, cursed with a soul as he had been. Angelus remembered Buffy telling him about Xander's luck with women – a giant preying mantis, an Incan mummy, love spells going strange around him, demons that always seemed bent on claiming Xander when the boy was in the vicinity…
They sensed the power, obviously, even if they did not know what it was. They wanted it for themselves.
The night of the full moon, Angelus slit the throat of five little orphans he'd kidnapped that night from the homeless shelter in one of the more higher-income parts of Los Angeles. He had lured five idiotic vampires before him and slit their throats as well. Then he finally sliced into his palm and allowed the blood to mingle before the enormous oak tree where Jadyn would be waiting.
He had waited more than an hour before the blood stench finally soaked into the tree, whispering the ancient words until the demon slowly materialized in front of him. Jadyn was a small creature, fragile looking with sickly green skin. Her eyes were the yellow of corn, and in the center of her forehead was a brilliant red jewel. No one knew how Jadyn had ensorcelled herself to become a true Seer, but within her tiny body was the power of the old gods, and one of her brittle-looking fingers could end his existence in the space between human heartbeats.
She drank of her sacrifice and surprised him by asking, in her whispery voice, "Are you certain that you want the answers to this riddle, vampire?"
"Why?" he asked suspiciously. He'd felt the drain on his powers when she'd drank the blood before her and knew that she was going to work a spell over him more powerful than anything he had ever felt before. What the hell was going on with Xander that was this important?
"Some answers lost to antiquity should be lost," she said simply.
"I need to know," he said flatly. Damn the consequences, as he always had done. He was the master of masters and he could do this thing, damn it, and he could Claim his boy and rule.
"Very well, young fool," she said softly. "It is very few times that I get excited about a fortune I will brew, but you? Your death will be very interesting." Her words echoed his to Buffy from months before – Things are about to get very interesting – and he had faint moment of uneasiness before she smiled nastily. "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes," she quoted with a smirk.
Before he could say another word she began to chant in a harsh old language, the moon shining down on them bright enough to hurt and he felt his skin tingling and then buzzing and then he was screaming in pain as white-hot fire shot over his entire being, and the air was filled with screams as the five vampires burned into dust and the dead human children burned to ashes, and suddenly he was…gone.
He was floating in the moonbeams, and he knew somehow that his body was somewhere below him, on the ground. He couldn't be bothered; all he knew was that he was floating onward, onward into the mother's arms and then he was gone, gone, gone.
888
He'd woken up one week later in an old alley, naked, with his entire body throbbing, shivering in thirst and bloodlust. He felt weak and old and tired, and he all that he could remember of his experience was that he'd been both blessed and cursed with knowledge, the knowledge of everything, more knowledge than any being had a right to know, and it had been awesome and terrifying.
He couldn't remember all but a few basic points of the answer to his question, and one prophesy that Jadyn's voice had chanted into his ears, over and over until he had it more than memorized, he would never forget it:
From the ashes of saints and the fires of Hell
One will be born of purest dark and purest light
And he will be the Doorway
And he will have to choose between the two
For only one born with a foot in both worlds
Will have the strength to bear the Child of Light
The Phoenix will rise
And he will choose which world to burn.
888
It had taken him two full days to return home. He'd staggered into a small church on the way home, still naked, his demon's face out and snarling like a caged tigers. The humans screamed and tried to protect their spouses and children but he fell on them without much care. By the time he'd drained six of them he could feel all of his strength returning and then some. He could have left them alive, but what would the point of that be?
So he'd glutted himself, but he hadn't stayed long enough to torture them. Instead, he'd murdered them all – snapped necks, crushed hearts, he'd even endured the pain of touching a wooden cross to ram it into the pastor's horrified heart. It had put him in a much better mood, and he'd stolen some clothes and a set of car keys to get him to Sunnydale all the faster.
For the next two and a half weeks, he'd dropped all of his other activities. Following his instructions, his confused minions continued to act as if he were still out of town. Drusilla was enjoying the game immensely, too much, if truth be told, and he had a suspicion that she knew exactly what was going on. He'd told the rest that he was lulling the Slayer into a false sense of security, but Drusilla merely eyed him cannily and spent most of her nights in Spike's bed again.
Spike was noticing, too, and Angelus couldn't help but be thankful that that particular viper was no longer too interested in poisoning the entire nest.
For that entire two weeks, his focus was on Xander, and Xander alone. Xander would wake up to find little presents outside his window, on his front porch. Dead animals that his would-be suitor would kill for him. Money, still stained with the blood of its original owner, before Angelus had killed them. Sketches and paintings of him, of Angelus, of him and Angelus together.
Angelus stalked Xander everywhere he went, sometimes allowing the boy to catch glimpses of him so that Xander would know the fear of the prey. Angelus put it out to the local demonic underground that should any harm befall Xander Harris, the perpetrator would suffer the most inhumane tortures that Angelus could possibly visit upon them. By then, Angelus' reputation as an artist of torture was well known, so the demons and vampires of Sunnydale took the threat seriously.
By the end of the two weeks he knew that Xander couldn't even sleep well at night – Angelus had never known that spending nights outside Xander's window would be so interesting. The boy was fascinating when all of his walls were down – so innocent and sweet and vulnerable. It made him even more eager to have the boy in his house.
He knew that Xander hadn't said a thing to Buffy, and he knew that the boy never would. This was between them two and them two alone, and they both knew it.
Angelus finally felt ready with his plan – with the Slayer more relaxed than she'd been in months, he knew exactly where she would go and where she would take her friends: the Bronze. And what better place was there, than that private, dark little haven where you could lose yourself in shadows than for his capture of one Alexander Harris?
He assembled his forces and gave them their instructions, never specifying why. He put them under Drusilla's command and then he delivered a single red rose outside of Xander's window, with a handwritten note tied to it in black ribbon. It merely said Tonight. Angelus had watched possessively as Xander slowly took the rose into his room that morning and stared at it numbly.
Angelus had grinned in triumph and gone to hide from the cruel sun.
And as soon as the Scoobies had been out after sundown, Angelus stalked. He hunted his prey, his mate, his boy. The possessiveness and lust for the boy's blood had been driving him insane, and he counted it as an achievement that his self-control had lasted for so long. For he had no doubt that Xander would be his tonight. All it would take would be for Angelus to push the right buttons with his newfound information…and what a simple matter that would be, for a Master such as himself.
When the Slayer and her faithful Slayerettes had suggested a trip to the Bonze, Angelus had grinned a feral smile, and he watched, waiting in the shadows of the Bronze's corner. He had watched as his clever boy became aware of the eyes on his back, eyes watching his every move. Eyes that narrowed when one of the girls his boy was dancing with pressed too close. Eyes that took in Xander's fear-mixed arousal, and smiled.
And eyes that rejoiced when Xander broke away from his friends, heading up to the mostly empty upper level of the Bronze.
And so, with no Slayer to block him or friend to help, Angelus slowly stalked up the stairs, smiling as he saw his boy standing away from everyone else. Angelus watched as Xander stiffened, hyperaware of his presence. Angelus grinned wolfishly as he leaned in close to Xander's ear and whispered, "Hello, lover."
A/N: Tah-dah! I was rereading this chapter and I realized that it need the most help of all of it, and I just love this so much better. If I was blogging right now my mood would be marked as "accomplished." I'm sorry that it was so long but the chapters are going to get a little shorter after this until we hit the epically long chapters later.
Rest assured that I am already working on Chapter XX, but it's more important to me now that the entire story be copacetic and non-contradictory, so I'm going to finish updating these chapters before I post that one.
After this chapter I will be reduxing all three parts of "The Balcony Scene" before I'm satisfied, so check those next for more Passion goodness!
I hope you enjoyed and please read and review!