Chapter Forty-Four

 

Blooming roses stood out everywhere, once fresh scarlet petals drifting from cut stems as if deprived of life.  They fell and littered the floor while writhing brunettes crushed them: naked they claw, and bite and fuck beyond human capability.  With a graceful calm, the male stills his thrusting to spread his strong fingers over the smooth whiteness of her throat, adding pressure to the squeeze as her lustful eyes faded into terror, unrevealed in the sickly sweet smile that seizes her face.  As her breath is cut off, the smile remains. Fangs take a vicious, hungry bite from her exposed column, blood tracking down in a thick river to crest her large breast through force of volume alone, swirling erotically around the rock hard nipple before dripping with finality over the top and to the ribs.

 

The girl takes gasping breaths as the hands finally allow her freedom, her head turned to the side to avoid the acid look of the ridged face leering down at her.  The head falls and a tongue flicks out to lap at the pools of blood, occasionally teeth scraping at the rosebud of her breast causing new rivulets of the reddest rush of fluid.  She was mutilated, and loving it.  In a turn, their faces became clear, and for just one second it was Faith before her dark glossy curls faded to blond, and the figure became one who had been determined dust a long time before.  But the man remained the same, pumping his angry crimson, engorged cock to and fro from her cavity.  The face a twisted parody of an angel, the blissful acceptance of vampire.  Darla, her face enraged but eager, moaning and rubbing against his hard body, fingers stroking the ridges almost with affection.

 

Her body visibly shudders with completion before thrusting the man away with great power.  He snarls as he stalks back to her but her face changes and she jumps to her feet, snarling in return.  They circle each other warily, both naked to the core, lust and affection clashing across the divide.  Enough, they lunge for each other’s neck and fangs sink in, breast pressed against defined chest muscles and tanned skin, cock held viselike between two milky white thighs.  No blood gushes, but both swallow greedily before the fucking continues, once again falling to the pillow of falling rose petals, and one word is screamed when a peak is once again obtained.

 

“Angelus.”

 

A screaming Buffy hit the floor in a terrified tangle with a thump.  Immediately she was scooped up into shaking arms and her head placed against a smooth shoulder.  She gave in to the knowledge, her fear pushing beyond herself as she tried to dig herself into the skin pressed against her face.

 

“Oh God,” she began almost hopelessly.  “Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God…” the line repetitive and heedless as the misery overwhelmed and she became lost in memory and death.  Innocent, needless death. Jenny’s death.  She rocked against the arms holding her tight, her coherence for the moment disappearing in a cloud of expectation that she wasn’t yet ready to share.

 

The sound of a door shutting and hesitant steps breached her introspective state, and her memories faded slowly like vanilla ice-cream.  Not fast like double chocolate, and for that her anger built until it flashed the fences she had begun to erect, and Determined! Buffy finally entered the building.  She raised her face, beyond embarrassed that she had allowed herself to become so overwhelmed by the dream, and she stood, determination rolling off her like ‘out-of- control’ surf.

 

“What happened?”  Giles directed the question to Buffy, but his eyes strayed to the worried expression transforming the face of the blond vampire.  His eyes caught the troubled shake of Spike’s head as Buffy tried to grab hold of words.

 

“It was a Slayer dream, I think.”  Her voice was low, deadly almost in its dislike.

 

The men were left to wonder what dislike had tainted so sharply her earlier happiness.

 

For all of three seconds.

 

“Angelus,” she spat, and their understanding was immediate and chilling.

 

Giles, now clean of demon grunge, sat wearily in his armchair and found a fresh hanky, glasses aiding his thoughtful movements.  The activity for some reason heightened his thinking skills, and also watered down unwanted images- much like a half bottle of scotch was likely to do.  And with images of a lifeless Jenny posed erotically on his bed suddenly swimming in his head, he decided right now was the perfect time to resume his earlier drinking.

 

As they all sat quiet, contemplative, they were unprepared for the bang of the opening door and the entrance of a really pissed off Faith and a sheepish Angel.  Faith took one step away from her captor and collapsed at his feet as his fist connected with her face.  Already she was deformed from bruises and swelling, and with silent cooperation she was trussed up and tied to a chair, much like Maggie Walsh had been earlier.

 

Her defeated posture sent a sigh of relief through those gathered, and they at last felt confident enough to turn their backs away to find repose. 

 

Buffy’s calm was short-lived, and though the buzzing that electrified her danger senses had her nearly bouncing into conflict, Angel ignored her as he turned to the Watcher and wondered aloud what was to become of her.

 

Giles rubbed his hand across his face in defeat.  It would be a miracle to ever sleep again.  Looking hard into the steady stare of the brunette, he told them exactly what the Council plans would be- bolstered by his knowledge of what actually happened from Buffy’s visions- and felt a sense of satisfaction at Faith’s frightened quailing.

 

His quick glimpse to the side revealed an unfocused Slayer, one who reeked of tension, and Giles recalled those startling moments before Angel had arrived, and the name Angelus jumped back to the forefront of his mind.  He was positive it was Angel sitting before him now, and he let out the held breath he had unconsciously pulled in with the anticipation of a fight to defend their lives. 

 

Angel stood in front of them-statuesque in stillness-his face a mask of concern as he looked from one altered expression to the other.  No one spoke; no one sought to fill him in on the change that had occurred since the last moment he was in front of them before departing to retrieve Faith.  Nervousness rushed up through his groin to his throat, and his demon tickled his conscience with a promise of lust and darkness.  His eyes captured the love and closeness between his now souled Childe and ex-girlfriend, and he felt his control once again compromised by a challenge for dominance.  Angelus clawed, scratched- but he continued to hold the evil at bay.  His body went rigid from the struggle and he noticed with a sense of growing alarm Spike’s eyes caught his in query.

 

The draw to darkness had never been so great while with soul, until he found his Childe battered and hiding behind the ravages of time, stripped of all that made him Spike.  His thirst for blood had taken him unawares, and he was horrified to admit quietly to himself that he had felt shifts, just subtle and fleeting, but shifts nonetheless, to Angelus.  There had been moments, the demon had pushed humanity to the side and triumphed.

 

His eyes caught and held the shimmering but enlightened green pools of misery that belonged to Buffy, and his pathetic need to hide and lick his wounds became a force to be answered.

 

“Do you want the Council to take her?”  He asked Giles the question, knowing that despite the history with the Slayer, no one in the room really wanted her to end with the Council sweeper team.

 

“No.”  His answer was brief, to the point.  Watching for the next sign as tension became a tangible thickness in the room.

 

“Good.”  Angel went to the heavily restrained girl, and lifted her over his shoulders.  “I’ll take her with me.  We’ll sort something out.  Maybe I can help her.” 

 

Without discussion, without consent, he left them alone and gaping.

 

With Buffy’s face reflecting understanding and dawning fear.