Angelus ripped the head off of another minion and screamed in rage. He stood, his bare chest glistening in the moonlight as the swirling dust settled to the ground. He spun around looking for another victim, and growled when he realized he'd already killed them all. He glared at Drusilla as she huddled in the corner. She'd been there since they had returned from their hunt.
"Useless, every last one of those idiots was useless. Why did I make the morons anyway?" He started to pace still glaring at Drusilla as she curled into a ball in the corner. He stalked toward her and crouched down on his haunches, the leather of his pants pulling taut against the muscles in his thighs.
"What can you tell me now, Dru?" He reached out and grabbed her chin forcing her to look at him.
"My William, my bonny boy, my jack of hearts, he's gone, and never more will he be mine." She whispered and scratched at her own arms, raking bloody trails along her skin. "Never more will he be mine."
Angelus backhanded her and watched as she slumped against the wall. He walked away. He needed to think, not listen to her incessant chatter about her bloody boy. Someone or something had made it into his home and taken his slayer and Spike. Her friends wouldn't have been able to get through his wards, and they would have left Spike or dusted him. It made no sense.
"Why would anyone want Spike?" He shook his head and watched Drusilla shake and cry.
There was a time when her broken ravings were so enjoyable. They didn't hold the appeal they once had. He closed his eyes trying to push her incessant rambling out of his mind. He needed Spike. Rage boiled through him at the thought, but he knew he needed the annoying runt to care for that bag of crazy.
"Why would another being take him? Other than as a plaything or a nursemaid, what use is the bleached blonde, wheelchair bound pain in my ass?" He shook his head and growled.
He needed to shore up his wards. Then he needed to find what was his. The soul had let his reputation wither, but he would bring it back to life. When He got his Buffy back, he would torture the creatures that had the temerity to lay hands on his playthings.
He thought of all the fun he had been planning for Buffy, and punched the wall. He wanted her here. She was his. He wrenched the chains down and looped them around his body, reveling in the scents of her blood and fear that still clung to them. Her blood and her fear, they were his driving force now. He closed his eyes and imagined Buffy hanging from the St. Andrew's cross he had installed in his bedroom just for her. His fingers traced along the length of the chain gently. He imagined her face as he played with his food in front of her, the hurt inflicted on the woman and the slayer. He uncoiled the chains from his body and flung them across the room.
His day was ruined and he was stuck with a weeping, inconsolable Drusilla because he'd killed all the minions. Without Roller boy, there was no one to make her shut up. He kicked at the piles of ashes and screamed out his frustration again.
He knew he was missing something. He had been over the room a dozen times. He had wandered through the mansion and picked up a strange mixture of their scents on the second floor. There had been a trace of something different about the mingled scent, but it was too bound into the others for him to isolate it. He tried to find the third scent again and again, but whatever had come into the mansion had been packing some serious mojo. There was no trace of its presence, but it had been in here. It had handled both Buffy and Spike. It had gone up the stairs to Spike's room, where Drusilla had left him when he didn't want to sit on his backside anymore. He traced all of this carefully again walking around the mansion with his eyes closed.
He spent the early morning searching for something he had missed, but he found nothing, He went into his room and looked at his special home for his slayer. He closed his eyes and imagined her in the little cage on a silken pillow, waiting for him. He needed to find her. He grabbed a green silk shirt from his closet because it reminded him of her eyes. He heard Drusilla laughing hysterically and decided to spend a bit of time working off some of his rage in her cold body. He stepped out of his room and looked over the banister.
Drusilla stood in the center of the great room and spun in circles. Her arms sending out showers of blood that turned to ash before it landed on the ground. Angelus watched her with his head cocked. She was still a lovely thing and an inventive fuck. He smiled as he decided on their day's amusement. They would order up a maid service. They'd clean up all the dust and then serve for a nosh. Drusilla could play while he figured out how to find his missing toy. He stepped back into his room to make the phone call.
Drusilla collapsed to the ground and stared up at the ceiling. "The knave of hearts, he stole the tart, and carried the summer away." She giggled and closed her eyes, humming.