She could feel him behind her, stalking her, and frissons of fear sliced through her.

He had been doing it for a week now. Every night she patrolled, he was there, following her in the shadows, never making a sound, never casting his own shadow on any surface she could see. He was the perfect hunter.

Was she his prey?

Her breath caught in her throat and she hurried across the street, heading for the relative safety of home.

Relative because he still had an invitation into her mother's home.

For seven nights he hadn't made a move, had always stayed at least a dozen yards behind her, but she knew that wouldn't continue forever. It couldn't.

She passed under a broken street light and silently cursed herself for patrolling in the worst area of town. It was so empty, so quiet. All she could hear were her own soft footsteps and her own heightened breathing.

She knew her pursuer could hear them as well, with ears much more sensitive than her own.

Turning another corner, she found herself on a narrow street bordered with tall warehouses. There were no lights and she peered into the gloom, hesitating for a moment as she wondered if taking the long way home wasn't worth the extra fifteen minutes it would take. The block was only a couple hundred yards long before it widened out and the street lights returned. In the distance she could make out the neon sign of a convenience store, and knew she was only a few minutes from people.

With only the full moon to guide her, she took a couple of deep breaths and began down the sidewalk, her eyes on the broken pavement littered with refuse. She stumbled over the root of a tree that had burst through the concrete and nearly fell. Cursing, she steadied herself and took another step.

And he was there.

Stepping out of the darkness, breaking away from the building as if he had passed through the brick like a ghost.

But, as his hands reached for her and caught her shoulders, she knew he was no ghost.

Although, even after a year apart, he haunted her dreams.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy looked up into the dark, fathomless eyes of her former lover. His gaze was hard, cold, and sent shivers through her, but she didn't try to pull away.

Although their last meeting had ended amicably, she had sensed the anger, the frustration in him as soon as she had realized he was stalking her. She didn't know what had changed, but she hadn't been willing to confront him.

Buffy had known that the decision would be taken from her sooner or later.

After all, she never had any control over their relationship. He had always made the decisions, the choices. He had always been the one to walk away.

And now he was back.

Angel stared down into her kaleidoscope eyes and watched the emotions whirl through them. He could smell her fear and confusion...and her arousal. She had been on edge for seven nights, ever since she had first sensed him behind her. Her arousal had only spurred him on and he had stalked her relentlessly, waiting until the sweet torment inside them both was just at the point of becoming pain.

He could see the questions in her eyes, the wonder, the concern, but he was in no mood to answer her.

He was in no mood to coddle her.

At their last meeting it had taken all his strength to leave her with that soldier boy. He had wanted to rip Riley's throat out and bathe in his blood. He had wanted to reclaim his mate and force the scent of the boy from her golden body.

Instead, Angel had made a small crack and said his goodbyes and returned to L.A. He had left her again.

And ever since...she had haunted his dreams.

Seven nights ago, the memories, the lust became too much and Angel surrendered to it. And so, he had returned to Sunnydale, he had returned to her.

His hands were cool on the heated skin of her shoulders, covered only with the straps of her tank top. Perspiration slid down her chest, pooling between her breasts, glistening off the cross around her neck.

Angel's eyes fixed on it and he ignored the pain as the vision of it filled his sight. It was the necklace he had given her so many years before. She hadn't been wearing it seven nights ago.

But, she was wearing it tonight.

Buffy finally found her voice and choked out his name.

Angel replied with a low purring growl that sent shivers through her. His lips twisted slightly and his head cocked as his nostrils filled with the scent of her lust.

"Angel, please. What do you want?"

He grinned lazily and pulled her closer. As her body brushed his, she blushed. She could feel his erection pressing against his pants, pressing against her stomach.

Heat blossomed in her and she groaned. "We can't..."

"We will," Angel growled, his voice barely human and sending more lust rocketing through her. Her body trembled in his grip and she felt her legs nearly give out.

"The curse," Buffy cried desperately.

"I don't care," was the succinct reply.

She struggled, fear blanketing her. Had he already lost his soul? "I'm with Riley now."

"I don't care."

And he didn't, Buffy could see that. Everything about him screamed determination. Angel wanted her. He would have her. And his soul be damned.

Just the thought, that he would risk so much...

With a moan of surrender, Buffy sank against Angel, her hands reaching up to the front of his shirt, her mouth sliding across the cool skin revealed as she pulled open the buttons. One of his hands slid beneath her hair, cupping the back of her neck and guiding her mouth to one of his flat nipples. She lapped at it like a kitten, and he groaned, his control breaking.

Growling low in his throat, Angel forced her backwards, up against a wall. She sank weakly against it, panting for breath, her whole body trembling with need. Buffy could feel his eyes on her, heating up until they burned into her skin.

She was on the cusp of orgasm and he had barely touched her.

The last rational thought Angel had was that the brick wall would shred her back, and he glanced around. Spying a large crate a few feet from them, he grabbed Buffy's arm and spun her around. Before she could protest, she was face down over the crate, her toes barely touching the ground forcing her bottom into the air.

The sound of a zipper going down broke the silence, and Buffy gasped harshly. Angel's hands kneaded her cotton covered bottom and she writhed. Her shorts and panties were jerked to her knees and she wriggled, sending them to her ankles, her legs spread as wide as she could manage.

All thought fled, her body reacting instinctively to the touch of her mate. Emotions flooded her--love and lust and sorrow and hunger and fear and need--and she whimpered his name, her voice betraying everything she felt.

A tiny part of Angel screamed at him that this was wrong--he hadn't even kissed her, had barely touched her, she couldn't be ready for him--but his body was in control, and his body needed her.

One hand around the base of his cock, he slid the other between her legs and felt how hot and wet and swollen her flesh was. The curls covering her mound were drenched and she shivered beneath his touch. Nearly grimacing in satisfaction, Angel moved between her thighs and positioned himself.

Taking her buttocks in both hands, he slammed his cock into her tight heat, beginning a fast, punishing rhythm, unable to take it slowly, to tease and titillate her.

Buffy cried out, her body rocking with his hard thrusts, her lust overwhelming her. She had forgotten... She had forgotten how it felt, his cock so hard and long, so cool, soothing her inferno, the tip nudging her cervix, the girth stretching her and rubbing every sensitive spot inside her.

Angel had forgotten how hot she was, how small. She was as tight and clinging inside as she had been that first night. But, her reactions were no longer innocent. Now, she bucked against him, her fingers digging into the wooden slats, moans of pleasure echoing from her as she used her vaginal muscles to squeeze his cock.

He didn't care.

He didn't care how many men had touched her, because none of them could touch her like he could, and none of them would touch her again.

Growling, Angel wrapped his arms around her, one around her waist and one around her breasts. Using all his strength, he lifted her off the crate, supporting her with his arms and his cock and her legs going back around his thighs.

Buffy mewled and squirmed against him, her hands still on the box, her arms taut as he thrust harder, so hard it hurt.

She didn't care.

The pain only added to the ecstasy building inside her.

Forcing her eyes open, Buffy looked up at the full moon, focusing on it as she tried to control her breathing, tried not to shatter just yet. The moon blurred as her eyes filled with tears of need.

Angel held her easily, pumping wildly into her, knowing he was hurting her. He didn't care. Her cries were not cries of pain. Flinging his head back, he stared at the moon for a moment and the thought flittered through his mind that this was all moon madness, then her muscles clenched around his throbbing cock again, and he growled and buried his mouth in her neck, slamming his hips upwards.

Buffy's stomach clenched and her teeth ground together, as she strained, reaching for the elusive orgasm. Every muscle in her body was taut and she could only groan helplessly as Angel's lips fastened on her neck.

He was suckling at the scar tissue, and that cool touch sent erotic charge through her.

Angel knew it was wrong, it was all wrong, but he didn't care. He couldn't allow himself to care. His human features slid away, his fangs extended, and he sank his fangs to his tender flesh.

Buffy yelled, her cracked cry echoing down the deserted street, as her orgasm slammed through her. She shuddered and bucked and mewled, the pleasure intensified by the painfully erotic feeling of Angel drinking from her.

As she began to relax in his arms, she felt the fear disappear. Though he drank from her, though he fucked her like she was a toy...

She knew deep inside herself that he wasn't Angelus and that he wouldn't hurt her, and that he loved her more than anything in the world.

Buffy's blood nearly drove Angel insane. It was so sweet and hot and full of power and love. Pulling his mouth free, he swallowed eagerly and felt his body explode inside her. He growled and pumped mindlessly as pleasure fried his nerves and sent his eyes rolling back in his head.

Letting her body fall limp, Buffy collapsed onto the crate, panting for breath. She felt Angel's semen spill into her, then he slumped against her, panting harshly into her ear.

A trickle of blood slid down her cheek and across her lips and she licked them slowly, tasting herself and her love for him.

Slowly Angel returned to himself and rose, fastening his pants and his shirt. His mind was still whirling and he refused to let logic intrude.

One thing he did know...He wasn't happy.

Dispassionately, he watched Buffy struggle to her feet, her knees shaking, her hands fumbling with her panties and shorts. As she dressed, he watched her for signs of fury.

She turned to him and gave him a confused look.

Their eyes met and Angel swallowed hard. Whatever had driven him to Sunnydale seven nights before remained in control and he found himself growling, "You're mine," instead of begging for forgiveness.

Buffy nodded in acceptance. "I always have been," she whispered, her voice hoarse with longing. With one shaky hand, she reached out and touched his pale cheek.

Angel caught her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her fingers. "I can't leave L.A. ; you can't leave Sunnydale. No more men for you; no women for me. We meet when we can. We love when we can."

She nodded again, her throat closing as emotions surged within her.

Looking at her, the love and pain shining in her eyes, Angel felt his heart break and the need that had driven him for months diminish. Pain filled him and he dropped his eyes to the dirty, cracked concrete. "I'm..."

"No," Buffy interrupted. "No sorrys, Angel." She shook her head firmly and he looked up at her, amazed at the strength inside her. Taking a step forward, Buffy wrapped her arms around his waist and burrowed her cheek into his chest. "I love you."

"Buffy, I hurt..." he began, his voice strangled by sorrow.

"No, you didn't, not enough that it mattered. And it doesn't matter that you scared me and stalked me and flung me over a dirty crate. It doesn't," she swore fervently. "Nothing matters, except that you've finally accepted that we belong together."

A sudden thought hit her and she lifted her head to peer into his eyes. "What about your soul?" she asked, the fear returning to her voice.

Angel shook his head sadly. "I'm not happy, don't worry. I mean..." He stumbled a bit over his explanation and Buffy began to smile. "Being with you, any way I can, always makes me happy, but I know I frightened you and hurt you. We're on a filthy, deserted and rather smelly street, not exactly the perfect ambiance I want for us. And...I really believe that now that I know of the curse, I can never find that moment of perfect happiness, because there will always be the fear that I will lose my soul."

"Why didn't you tell me that over a year ago?" Buffy asked, a bit exasperated.

Angel smiled softly and brushed his lips across hers, kissing away her frown. "It took me that long to realize it."

"I love you, Buffy, with all my heart and soul."

At his vibrantly truthful words, tears of joy leaked from Buffy's eyes and she kissed him deeply. "I love you too, Angel, forever and ever."

The End

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