Angel pushed his way through the crowded foyer and into the dark nightclub.  He shoved his way to the metal railing that ringed the sunken dance floor.  There she was, hips swaying, moving gracefully on the precariously high heels she wore.  Buffy danced, flanked by a group of males, all vying for position.  A few of the more daring brushed their aroused bodies against hers.  She didn’t push them away in rejection.  She sauntered a small distance away, coyly breaking the contact.

This continued for long minutes as Angel looked on.  Men begged her with hungry eyes and hard bodies for attention.  She looked slightly drunk and bored.  To the pack she looked bored.  Angel knew better.  He could smell her.  He knew that if he grabbed her by the hair, forced her over a convenient table and rammed his painfully hard cock into her burning cunt that he would slide in like a hot knife through butter.  No matter how aloof her facial expression, her body was begging to be fucked.

He would be damned if he would let any of these frightened little boys lay a hand on his bitch.  That’s what she was, *His Bitch*.  Not so long ago he wouldn’t have dared think such a thought, now he not only thought it, he was damn sure going to prove it.

He had searched for her for almost a year.  A tearful phone call from Willow had pulled Angel from his self flagellation. The rambling explanation that Joyce was dead, Dawn was gone, and of Riley’s abandonment spurred Angel into action.  Darla didn’t matter.  Wolfram and Hart didn’t matter.  All that mattered was finding Buffy.

But he didn’t find her.  And she didn’t come home.  Weeks dragged into months.

An unexpected visit from Xander provided illumination.  Xander still felt a kinship with Riley, probably because Buffy so carelessly wounded both of them.  He related the story of Riley’s vampire obsession ... and of Buffy’s.  Dracula had fed on his woman.  As much as that information enraged Angel, he accepted it.  The notorious Count had used magic and gypsy tricks to lure her close.  In the end Buffy had prevailed without help.

Then came the bombshell.  Spike.

This revelation, Angel did not accept.  He found his errant childe and proceeded to put every twisted bit of information Angelus had amassed on torture and pain to the test.  Spike touched his sire’s woman without permission.  Spike fucked her without permission.  Spike would never do *anything* without his sire’s permission again.

He would not speak, feed, or cry out in agonizing pain without permission.

Cordelia and Wesley were uncomfortable with Spike’s broken and scarred body chained hand and foot to the floor at the end of his sire’s bed.  Still, they knew better than to push the issue.  Angelus was safely bound, but the cold, predatory creature that now employed them was a long way from the kind, ensouled vampire they once called friend.

Angel continued his search for Buffy, not out of his initial need to protect and sooth, but out of his new need to dominate, possess and punish.  He did not want to cuddle her, to gently love her.  He wanted to beat and bite and fuck her senseless.  He wanted her to know her place and whom she called Master.  And now she was here in all her wanton glory.

She would learn her place.

Angel followed the metal railing around the dance floor until he came to a small flight of stairs.  He descended and began to move through the swaying throng towards his prey.  He approached from behind, pushing several of her flock aside.  He grabbed her wrist, swinging her around to face him and pulling her hard against his chest.  Confused, Buffy looked questioningly into his eyes.  Unlike her admirers, his eyes did not beg anything from her, they demanded.

He released her wrist as she splayed her tiny hands against his hard chest.  He grasped her by the hips and ground their lower bodies together.  She let out a gasp, throwing her head back as she closed her eyes and bit down on her lower lip.  His fingers dug violently into the soft synthetic material of her short black skirt.  As he methodically mapped out the curve of her ass, he knew there was no way she was wearing any kind of underwear.

Buffy’s head lolled forward onto his chest.  Her fingers wandered across his shoulders and her nails dug into the firm flesh of his upper arms as she attempted to steady herself.  It wasn’t working.  Angel continued to pull her hips flush against himself.  She could feel the impressive bulge of his erection pushing against her stomach.

She stumbled as he unexpectedly pushed her backward.  Her eyes shot to his, trying to find a reason for the abrupt change.  He glared at her for several heartbeats, watching her throat move as she swallowed nervously.  Her throat.  Unblemished except for his mark.  If Xander hadn’t been so forthcoming, Angel would never have known about her treachery.  The only reason that Spike had any teeth now was that even he wasn’t stupid enough to try and feed from the Slayer.  Spike hadn't laid a fang on her, and Dracula's bite had faded as quickly as the Master’s.

Angel’s mark would never fade.  The bitch would die with it, die marked as used goods, his used goods.

He took her upper arm in his iron grip, pulling her behind him towards the exit.  She didn’t question, just tried not to stumble as she struggled to match his strides.  The front entrance was still packed with people trying to get in, Angel cursed under his breath and dragged her towards a side entrance.  One rumbling growl paired with his piercing glare and the young security guard let them pass.

Buffy held her breath against the stale stench of the alley.  Angel did not look at her and did not slow his pace.  He dragged her forcefully down the alley towards the parking lot where he left his car.  Buffy stumbled once, then again and still Angel didn’t shorten his gait.  As she stumbled a third time, she begged without thinking, "Please, Love."

Angel came to a dead stop, his whole body tensing.  He was facing away from her, staring down the alley.  He removed his shaking hand from her upper arm and slowly turned to look at her.  The expression on his vamped-out face as he finally met her eyes was one of barely contained rage.  As she opened her mouth to question him, he backhanded her with all his strength, knocking her against the rough brick alley wall.  Her lip was split and bleeding, mouth hanging slightly agape as she stared at him.

"Don’t you ever call me that, you stupid whore," he hissed deathly slow, painfully enunciating every word through his fangs.

"A-A-Angel?", she whispered in confusion.

It was too much.  He grabbed her, pinning her body against the wall with his own.  His mouth covered hers.  Tasting the blood from her split lip, he pulled it into his mouth, nursing roughly.  Buffy gasped.  As soon as her mouth came open, his tongue plunged in, searching for hers.  Their tongues twined as his hands found their way back to her hips.  He tasted her blood, the vodka concoction she had been drinking earlier and the scent of other men.  It enraged him further, he growled into her mouth as he levered her body upwards and wrapped her legs around his hips.

Buffy whimpered against him but didn’t protest his violent ministrations.  He used one hand around her waist to secure her as he pressed her farther into the wall.  His other hand fumbled with the buttons of his black jeans, finally managing to free them and his cock.  He pushed the jeans to ride low on his hips as he rubbed his hard flesh against her dripping cunt.  Maneuvering her so that both of his strong hands dug into her upper thighs, he thrust harshly into her scalding core.

He didn’t give her time to adjust to his size, pumping mindlessly into her luscious heat.  She rubbed her breasts against his chest, attempting to meet him thrust for thrust.  Mindless of the burgeoning abrasions on her back, Buffy gripped her thighs tighter around his hips and squeezed him purposefully with her vaginal muscles.

With a growl, Angel grabbed a handful of hair at the back of her head.  He pulled back hard until she yelped, baring her neck for him.  With no pretense, he bit deeply into the tender flesh, hearing her moan in pleasure as she came hard around his throbbing cock.  Angel purred as he drew from her, never slowing his thrusts.  He nursed the vein longer than he should have, drawing more sustenance than he needed.  She would be weakened by blood loss, the bite would take even longer to heal, the scar would be even more pronounced.  With that thought, he came violently, spilling his dead seed into her warm body.

Panting hard, he leaned against her, pressing her into the wall.  He could smell the cuts the bricks made on her back.  Pulling out of her body, he unhooked her legs from his waist and deposited her unceremoniously on her trembling appendages.  She wobbled and collapsed in a heap on the dirty pavement.  He stared at her as he tucked himself back into his jeans.  She didn’t look at him.  Her head was bowed, her fingers fumbled with the edge of her skirt trying to cover herself.  He could see his seed glistening in the dark hair between her legs and on the inside of her thighs.  He could see the blood dripping down her neck to stain the white cotton top she wore.  This is what he had wanted from her, this is why he had found her.  It didn’t make him happy.  It was a safe bet his soul wasn’t going anywhere.

He turned and started down the alley alone.  The sound she made stopped him.

Most earthly creatures weren’t even capable of making that sound.  Most earthly creatures didn’t choose partners for life.  Birds did, wolves did, but humans on the whole, didn’t.  But she made that sound.  The soul deep whine of a wounded animal abandoned by its mate and left to die.

Every ounce of Angel’s righteous fury fled as he turned toward her.  Quiet now, she was hugging her knees to her chest, her face buried against them as she rocked slowly back and forth, unable to stop shaking.

This was it, the product of all his jealousy and anger.  He had raged about Riley, Dracula, Spike, even Xander once, but only *he* could ever wound her so deeply.  Buffy sought comfort in Riley’s embrace because it was what he had wanted for her.  She sought it with Dracula and Spike because they reminded her of him.

It wasn’t Riley’s departure that did this to her, or her mother’s death, or her sister’s disappearance.  He had pushed her away.  It was the complete abandonment by her soulmate, her other half, that brought her here.  They had both been in denial since it happened.  Now forced to face the current situation, she realized the truth.  She was dying without him.  Maybe not physically, not yet, but once her soul withered her body would be forced to follow suit.  And that was fine because she wouldn’t live without him.

Buffy dimly registered arms around her lifting her into Angel’s lap, clasping her hard against his chest as he whispered his apologies against her hair.  A giant sob escaped her, wracking her small frame and Buffy burrowed her head against his chest seeking shelter.  His hands were everywhere, soothing her, comforting her as his tears fell into her hair.  Eventually they both calmed but neither of them pulled away.  They sat holding onto each other like drowning people to a life preserver.

Buffy finally lifted her head to look at him.  "I’m sorry," she began but he silenced her with a slow tender kiss.

"I love you," he said simply.  "I will never leave you again.  You’re coming with me."

Buffy nodded her assent.  He stood to rise, still holding her firmly against himself.

Angel walked slowly to the car, opened the passenger’s side and deposited his precious bundle gently in the front seat.  He shrugged out of his duster and used it to cover her bruised and dirty body.  Angel got in, started the car and turned to look at Buffy, taking her hand in his.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice hoarse from exhaustion and relief.

"Home."

The End