"When The Sun Never Rises"
Author: Indie & Tango
Email: indiefic@hotmail.com/tangofic@hotmail.com
Notes: Welcome to a world where the vampire Higher Court rules all
and the humans are kept as slaves and food. The only way to rise to a higher
rank as an insipid human is to become a Renfield - a caste of higher humans,
which only find their place underneath the lowest of the vampire line. Renfield's
are the families of the chosen Harkers - the girls who make up the bi-annual
sacrifice made to keep the sun blotted out as it has been for over a thousand
years. When Buffy Summers is taken in the vampire Higher Court as a Harker
and is scheduled to be sacrificed within a year's time to the powerful lieutenant
to the Master, Lord Angelus, will she die a horrible death as ones before
her?
"Children, children," Nest chided. A sadistic smile lit his gnarled features. Unrest always amused him so, especially among the High Court. "The corpse isn't even cold yet and we're already fighting about next year's sacrifice. What way is this to spend the Feast of St. Vigeous? It's supposed to be a celebration."
Across the enormous circular stone table, Lindsey glowered sullenly. "The Drakuhl are already bringing in next year's potentials. I cannot think of a better time to debate the subject."
Though he rolled his eyes, Nest motioned with his hand for Lindsey to continue. Court life for the immortal inevitably spiraled into tedium if a certain amount of tension and intrigue were not fostered. Thanks to the recent headaches that Lindsey's Nosferat party was giving the ruling Drakuhl, things had been quite interesting - lots of backstabbing, both metaphorical and literal. Nest was reluctant to bring it to an end.
"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Lindsey growled, his golden eyes focusing menacingly on Willow's equally contemptuous countenance, "it demeans all of the High Court, Drakuhl and Nosferat alike, to continue with these archaic rituals."
"You demean the High Court with your stupidity," Willow replied, her boredom with the subject obvious. "And you're wasting my time." On either side of Willow, both Lilah and Penn shifted subtly to give her more room. It was common knowledge that violent deaths were a side effect of Willow's boredom and though the cavernous meeting chamber was filled with no shortage of political foes, they didn't wish to be within easy reach if she felt compelled to entertain herself.
"Humans are vermin," Lindsey spat violently. "By continuing to allow these warm blooded bitches to occupy such an integral position in High Court, we are lowering our own status, tainting our pure blood with their living stench."
"The sacrifices of the Chosen have been done this way for a thousand years," Lilah noted, her voice rife with condescension.
"Precisely my point," Lindsey countered vehemently. "Our most exalted ancestors may have had their superstitious reasons for instigating the practice, but surely in our infinite enlightenment we can admit that it is absurd. The idea that the ritual sacrifice of a Chosen human girl is what prevents some unimaginably bright mythical star from burning all vampires to dust is nothing more than a fairy tale born of ignorance. By continuing to bring these vile creatures into our midst and bestowing upon their families a Renfield rank almost on par with our lowest layers of society is nothing short of heresy."
"Don't be dramatic Linds," Lilah replied with a smirk. "The Renfield are not equals to even our lowest caste."
Shaking his head, Lindsey pounded his fist against the table in frustration. "But you can't honestly insinuate that the Renfield are normal humans. We have laws protecting the damned beasts for fuck's sake."
"It's not illegal to kill a Renfield," Willow said dryly, idly toying with her favorite knife, "merely frowned upon."
"Which should be an affront to all of our pride," Lindsey bit out. "Have you no respect for our sacred bloodline? Humans are food! Even by merely frowning upon their deaths, we are weakening our own race."
"Enough!" Angelus roared, rising to his feet. Turning, he grabbed a cowering Renfield servant girl. The girl pounded impotently on his chest, trying to twist free, but he paid her no mind. "Unlike some of you insolent whelps," he growled, his vision fixed on Lindsey, "I was around a thousand years ago when these archaic rituals were born of ignorance."
Lindsey swallowed harshly, but held his tongue. Nest smiled broadly. The bickering was wearing on his nerves and his most prized Lieutenant, Angelus, was more than able to put a few pups in their place.
"This is the celebration of St. Vigeous," he rasped around his fangs. "The potentials will be brought before the High Court and assigned Masters. So has it been done for a thousand years and so shall it continue for a thousand more."
He looked down at the struggling servant girl, her eyes streaming with tears of terror. He grinned wickedly. "As for the Renfield ..." he said quietly. He lowered his head slowly, rubbing his ridged face against the girl's. She whimpered, but ceased her thrashing. He made calming noises and her sobs abated. Lifting his hand, he gently ran a finger along her jaw. He smiled and a slow, tentative smile crossed the girl's still frightened features. Before she had time to panic, his grip turned to iron and his fangs tore into her flesh, ripping out her throat in one clean move. He tossed her still squirming body onto the center of the table. He looked around the gathering, blood dripping from his lips and chin. "The potential sacrifices are off limits. Every other human is merely food."
Angelus stalked through the grounds of the High Court and to his chambers to prepare for the celebration of St. Vigeous. He purposely had left the Chamber of Officials with blood still streaming down his face, staining his impeccable clothing and leaving them all gaping in his wake. He grew tired of the Nosferat party and Lindsey's band of imbeciles tramping all over their sacred traditions.
He grinned at every Renfield servant he passed, allowing them to take in his blood smeared face. He was known for his vain ways, so he was certain that everyone he left in the meeting would have been well aware of his point even if he hadn't tossed the servant's twitching corpse in the center of the table.
Angelus, the Master and the elder vampires of the Drakuhl knew that the "mystical star," as Lindsey referred so indifferently to the sun, was a real threat and a memory that twisted inside his empty heart. He, unlike the fledgling whelps of the Nosferat, remembered seeking shelter from the burning rays and squinting in the too bright light. He would kill every one of them before he would allow the sun to return.
As he reached his chamber, he knocked aside the Renfield servant girl that stood in the hallway near his rooms to serve him if he needed assistance. Her teenaged head cracked against the wall and he smiled as he opened his door, enjoying the sound of her sobs. He was feeling better already.
He washed and changed before heading to the Feast of St. Vigeous, dressed in his best attire for the event. He lived for this sacred night, when he could rest assured that another year of darkness would reign. Taking his place next to Nest at the ruling table, he felt his Master's eyes on him.
"They're ignorant fools," Angelus growled, "If it were up to them, we'd be feeding upon the Renfields while we hide underground like rats!"
"Until they become too renegade," Nest crooned with a smile, "they're but idle amusement."
"Course," Angelus snapped, falling silent as he saw the great doors opening and the potentials, being dragged across the marble floors. The Harkers, as they were known throughout the High Court, were all attired in the same puritanical white robes, which were loosely fitting, covering them from shoulder to toe. Most of them were screaming and crying, trying desperately to escape, some were just sobbing silently as they were forced along.
Despite whatever differing beliefs the vampires had, all enjoyed the fear rolling off these young women. They were even better than the cages of humans lined along the walls who were to be the food and entertainment for the night.
As Angelus watched the young women, all of them under the age of twenty, trembling and screaming with fear, he was prepared to settle back and enjoy when he noticed one girl walking in of her own volition. He honed in on her, certain that the stoic look of acceptance on her face was a front, but after a moment realized that no fear whatsoever emanated from the girl.
The guards seemed to ignore the petite blonde, almost as if they knew that she would not run and hide. The longer he looked at her, the angrier he became. The outrage filled him as he sneered in her direction. What human would have the audacity to come before this court with no fear? Snarling, he stood, intending to head over and make sure she knew just what exactly fear was, when Nest clucked his tongue.
"Angelus, be calm," Nest said in a quiet voice that was not devoid of amusement. Few things about this sacred night did not fill him with a sense of pride and almost glee for his superior race. "She is a new Harker and her mother is dying. She has no fear of death because the child has nothing left. She will embrace the end visited upon her in a year's time and I look forward to seeing such a sacrifice."
Buffy took her place with the other girls, trying to block out the sight and sound of their terror. Watching them scramble away from the guards, clinging to the bare stone walls and to each other, she envied their passion and appetite for life. She felt nothing but the continual cold numbness that infected her since the healers pronounced that her mother would die. She knew that enduring her own inevitable death would be nothing next to watching her mother waste away. And Buffy's death would indeed be inevitable. Though a dozen girls were pulled before the High Court each year, only one was Chosen. But being passed over did not grant the potentials reprieve. They too would die for food or amusement once they reached the age of twenty-one. Only the Chosen would be spared the indignity of being made sport.
"Go!" one of the guards barked, brandishing a gleaming spear point.
Buffy pulled one of the sniveling girls to her feet and pushed her along. She knew it was forbidden to touch the potentials, much less stab them, but one didn't get far relying on the self-control of vampires. "Come on, Chloe, move," Buffy muttered under her breath to the hysterical girl.
Chloe finally complied, managing to take a few stumbling steps before she collapsed into another heap with the rest of the girls, all of them crying and shivering with fear. Buffy looked down at them with pity, but found herself unable to offer any reassurances. She wouldn't buy their calm at the price of lying.
Almost in unison the other potentials let out a sharp yelp of terror. Buffy followed their panic struck gazes to the high table. One of the Lords stood snarling, glaring right at her. She met his gaze passively. He broke eye contact first, turning to look at his Master. With another snarl and a curt nod, he resumed his seat, though he continued to openly glower at her.
"I give you this year's crop," announced their Keeper, a hideously scarred Drakuhl named Rack. Aside from a few appreciative rumblings, most of the room fell silent.
"Tempting group," the Master noted, his mouth twisting into a sadistic grin.
One of the girls broke free from the cluster, attempting to run for the door, her long brunette hair flying wildly about her shoulders. The guards were there, barring her way. They didn't grab her, instead trying to herd her back to the others. Undaunted, she grabbed one of the spears, wresting it out of the guard's grasp. Before he could react, she plunged the handle through his heart and he dusted into nothing.
Not wasting a moment, the girl turned, heading straight for the Master. The other guards were too slow, too taken by surprise to react as they should have. She was mere yards from the Master when Angelus stepped forward, arm extended. He used her own momentum to clothesline her and she tumbled to the ground, choking for breath. Angelus stood over her, one boot planted firmly in the middle of her back. He growled at the guards.
Cowering, they retrieved the dazed prisoner and threw her back into the circle of potentials. Slowly, Angelus took a seat. The Master clapped slowly. "Lively bunch," he said, his voice full of mirth.
Angelus settled back beside the Master and watched with obvious enjoyment as the twelve Harkers, the sacred sacrifices of the High Court, were ritually chained to pedestals along the far back wall. Long chains attached their manacled wrists to the square piece of stone they stood upon. The fear coming off of the girls was increased as they were chained down, all fearing that they would be the next Chosen.
All, that is, except for the infuriating blonde. In the centuries past since this ritual began, Angelus had witnessed every girl who had ever been chained for ritual display. Never had any of them dared to look so uninvolved, if not completely bored by the events. Angelus bit down the urge to roar in frustration before beating the bitch into submission only because it was forbidden to harm the Harkers or taint the sacrifices in any way. Their purity was like a sickness forced upon them in exchange for eternal night.
As Rack slammed his staff against the floor in front of the girls, they all met his eyes, sniveling and filling the chamber with the sweet scent of fear. A chant that started with Rack, spread out to his two assistants standing behind him and then reached the entire High Court until a black whirling tempest broke free from an ancient box at his feet. All of the Harkers, save Buffy, began screaming more loudly and pulling at their chains with more vigor. Almost all of them had been through this ritual before, but all of them knew what happened next.
Time froze in the air and nothing moved but the sly curling black smoke of the fiend as it wrapped itself around the young, trembling bodies of the Harkers. Every vampire in the room grinned freely, enticed by pure human terror. The power nearly stretched the stone walls and screeched out its allegiance to the moon above their heads in the ceilingless room.
The Harkers felt the power of the beast lapping at them, finding the girl would be the next to sate the demonic powers that blocked out the sun. Tension rose to a fever pitch and the power nearly made Faith's hair stand on end as it chose her, striking her body with full force and knocking her unconscious.
"It is done," Rack announced ceremoniously, turning to face his Master with his eyes turned toward the floor in submission.
As was tradition, Willow rose and walked over to Faith's prone body. Gently, she brushed the hair back from the girl's face, speaking to her gently until Faith's eyes finally fluttered open. Faith was dazed for a moment, but as she looked up at Willow, you could see the force of the knowledge hit her. She tried to skitter out of the way, but there was nowhere for her to run once her chains were pulled taut.
Willow grinned malevolently, creeping closer. "You know the ritual, Harker," she cooed. "You're the Chosen."
Faith struggled, but Willow ran her fingers through Faith's long brown tresses, fisting her hand at the back of Faith's head. Caught in Willow's grip, with her hands and feet chained, Faith couldn't get way.
With an expression of purest joy, Willow forced Faith's head back and sank her teeth into the girl's throat. Faith grunted in pain, her teeth grinding together as Willow drank with hungry, grunting noises. After what seemed like an eternity, Willow pulled away.
Buffy could not help but look at the rent flesh of Faith's neck. Blood was still oozing out of the wound, staining her white robe.
"The Chosen has been marked," Willow snarled with satisfaction.
"As it has been," Nest said, looking pointedly at Lindsey, "And ever shall be." The Master stood and held his arms out before the Court. "The Solstice celebration is complete! Before we all share in our feast of celebration for our good fortune," he snarled triumphantly, "the dutiful sacrificer of this year's Chosen will share in his bounty."
The room stilled as Angelus stood up and turned toward the Master, cocking his head to the side to bare his throat. The power coming off the lieutenant from the years he had been rightfully picked to take the Chosen was palatable.
"Kendra's blood in my veins," Angelus stated clearly, "strengthens us all and it is yours for the taking, Master."
Nest released a savage snarl and greedily dug into Angelus' throat, glutting himself on the powerful force in his lieutenant's veins. Nostrils flared and appreciative growls flowed through the room, drowning out the whimpering Harkers' sobs. As The Master continued taking long pulls from Angelus, the high ranking vampire grinned in the pleasure of the act, feeling stronger, not weaker as the blood was sucked from his body. The Chosen's power did not bleed away with the sipping of one other vampire. Her strength remained charging through him.
The feast was a grotesque affair befitting the High Court. The Harkers whimpered as victim after victim was brought before the court to sate their hungers for blood and violence. The first deaths were mercifully quick, serving no purpose but to appease physical appetite. But after hungers abated, the feasting continued. Buffy turned away, not in fear, but in disgust and pity as the night wore on, the human murders ever increasing in sadistic glee.
Even as the language formed in her mind, Buffy knew her thoughts were fundamentally wrong. It was not murder. It was well within the rights of the High Court to dispose of Renfield and human alike as they saw fit. Her mother could be brutalized like this were it not for Buffy's sacrifice. The only thing protecting Joyce, ensuring that she was under the protective care of the healers, was the fact that Buffy willingly acceded to answer her call as a Harker. Nothing could have prevented Buffy from being pulled before the High Court for this ritual, but her compliance made her more attractive. Kakistos, the Court official who found her, assured her that her willingness would make her a far more powerful sacrifice. Buffy swallowed thickly, watching as the High Court raped and tortured their victims before bathing in their blood. At least her death would be quick.
The night wore on, though the passage of time was discernable only by the moon's trek across the sky. But as always, the moon eventually sank beyond the horizon. The festivities tapered off, the High Court so glutted on blood and spirits that they could barely move. The Master, his face stained with death, finally clapped his hands, drawing the High Court's attention.
"With moonset, the feast of St. Vigeous has come to an end," he said contentedly. "It is time for the Harkers to return to their quarters."
Buffy watched as Rack unchained each of the girls. Their terror had abated now that they knew they would not be the next Chosen, leaving behind a deep exhaustion. Only Faith still seemed alert, though she stared blankly at the wall. Buffy could read the tension in her form. Faith would be the next to die. Buffy shivered.
Willow rose from the table and sauntered over to Faith, taking in the dried blood smeared down her neck. As with all Harkers, the wound was healing, but this one would never do so completely. It would scar, proclaiming to all that Faith was the Chosen. Faith didn't meet Willow's gaze so the vampire lifted a hand, running it along her cheek. Faith flinched and Willow smiled. "You don't have to be afraid. Just to please me," she said in a singsong voice.
Faith twisted backwards out of her grip and spat in the Willow's face. Willow screwed her eyes shut, grimacing as spittle dribbled down her face. She slowly opened her yellow eyes.
"Willow," the Master chided, "remember that the Chosen must not be defiled."
Willow smiled wickedly. "Yes, Master," she complied. She leaned in closer to Faith. "Let his words comfort you, child," she whispered. "It will make it all the more sweet when you learn that rules are not absolute."
Faith swallowed audibly.
"You can't even begin to imagine all the different ways I can break you without defiling your purity," she said, her face locked into a hard, sadistic smile.
Willow grabbed the chains between Faith's still bound hands and pulled her from the room. One by one, other members of the High Court approached the Harkers, each of them taking a girl and leaving. Finally, Buffy was the only Harker left. She looked around the room nervously. There were still a good number of vampires watching her, but none so intently as the one called Lord Angelus. Buffy shifted uneasily under the weight of his gaze.
With an unearthly grace, he rose from his seat and slowly walked over to where she stood. Buffy was filled with a sense of impending doom. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, warily meeting his demonic countenance. "Yes, my lord?" she asked penitently.
He laughed. "My Harker was the Chosen," he explained. "I sacrificed her earlier. Which means I am now owed a replacement."
Buffy's blood ran cold. Not him. Anyone but him. She had seen his look of absolute disgust earlier. He didn't like her. He wanted to hurt her, she knew it.
"You're mine," he said smugly, tugging on her chains, causing her to stumble against him.
It took all of Buffy's self-control not to jump back at the contact. But she knew that would only please him more so she rested against him, trying not to breathe. He stank of blood and death.
"Don't worry, little one," he crooned. "You won't be like the others. You won't live in this protected life until your twenty-first birthday only to be stripped of your Harker status and thrown in with the rest of the Renfields. You will be the Chosen."
Unable to stop herself, Buffy looked up and met his gaze quizzically.
He ran a fingertip from her forehead down to the tip of her nose. "Power calls to power," he explained. "Other members of the High Court are allowed to keep Harkers. Every now and then one of them is even Chosen. But year after year, it is Willow and myself. Our Harkers are the ones Chosen. The fate that Faith found tonight awaits you in a year."
Buffy trembled and he smiled. "My Master was right. You will be a glorious sacrifice."
Without another word, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, whistling jauntily as he strode from the room.
Buffy thought as a Harker she would be protected from this sort of manhandling, that Lord Angelus wasn't allowed to toss her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. He wasn't supposed to be able to touch her at all. She fought the urge to buck away from him, knowing her fear and revulsion would only please him and that she wouldn't be able to escape. Instead, she hung limply over his broad shoulder and refused to meet the eyes of any vampire or servant who looked over her curiously as they passed.
She was just getting used to his broad gait and the rhythm of his steps when he hoisted her back over his shoulder, setting her on her feet, keeping one of her wrists trapped beneath his strong fingers. He was grinning wolfishly and as she turned to see what he was so happy about, she heard three female voices chiming in a chorus of trance-like whispers, "Mmmm…Angel…"
Buffy looked over the three deadly, beautiful creatures that hovered over a giant king sized bed in the center of a decadently lush bedroom. The four poster bed was impressive with a thick wooden frame adorned with intricately carved writhing bodies, intertwined against each other in both pleasure and pain.
"Do you know who they are?" Lord Angelus growled happily as he jerked her from the doorway toward the massive bed. The women floated over the black silk covered bed, none of them touching its surface, wearing black robes that slashed across their bodies in uneven swipes, leaving one breast free on each of them and a healthy expanse of thigh on their opposing leg. They were all different – one blonde and fair with her hair in long ringlets and fierce green eyes that were glazed over in surrender, one dark with toffee colored skin and equally expressive golden eyes and finally the middle child, with warm almond skin and glittering black eyes.
"N-no," Buffy stuttered honestly as he dragged her closer to them.
"They are the Angry Ones," he answered, smiling at them hungrily. He pushed Buffy roughly when they reached the end of the bed and she tried to catch herself before she was sprawled on top of it, but failed, landing bent over the mattress. She gasped and squeezed her eyes shut as he leaned over her, grinding his aroused groin almost painfully against her backside.
"The Furies," he continued in explanation, his voice hoarse with anticipated pleasure, "the Avenging Goddesses, born of blood from the murdered child…and the three hottest cunts this side of the Mount Olympus."
"Mmmm….Angel…" the goddesses agreed in voices that hinted at the passion to come.
"You can't touch me," Buffy muffled into the black comforter, grasping blindly for the confidence and dulled feelings she had when she walked into the Feast of St. Vigeous hours earlier. She searched her mind for the protective rules of the Harkers. She couldn't be ruined. She had to be pure. Raising her voice she continued, trying to pull away from the leather covered vampire groin rubbing against her, "I'm a Harker! You can't do this to me! I'm pure. You can't …you c-can't … touch me."
"You'd be surprised what I will get away with," he growled softly. She cringed as his ridged face brushed against the nape of her neck.
Buffy bit her inner jaw to keep from screaming as she realized her tormentor had pulled away and left her chained and completely trapped to the end of his bed. Panic seized her as she heard the rustling of his clothes being dropped to the floor and the anticipatory moans of the Furies.
Wiggling and yanking at her chains, Buffy fought to move from the bed, but found that the chains only allowed her to scamper from side to side. She was completely trapped and would be subjected to whatever the vicious fiend had planned for her. Fearfully, she peeked over at the Furies who sank to their knees on top of the bed. Angelus strutted over proudly nude and joined them.
Buffy had a lot of time to experiment with her bonds. She discovered, to her relief, that if she contorted herself sufficiently that she could actually sit on the bedroom's cold, stone floor, though her arms were pulled over her head painfully. She could deal with the pain. It was better than having to be front and center for the unbridled debauchery of Lord Angelus and his three whores.
It had been hours and Buffy was still blushing a bright, crimson red. She was a chaste girl, pure in every aspect. Of course, she heard talk, she knew what sex was - theoretically. Though she had to admit that some of the acts in which Lord Angelus and the Furies engaged were far beyond anything she could have imagined. She couldn't envision that such sordid things could be appealing. But obviously they were. For the duration of her confinement at the end of his bed, Buffy had listened to nothing but the Furies' constant moans of pleasure and the continual chorus of "Mmmm …. Angel."
Just when Buffy was certain she couldn't stand one more pleasurable moan, the bedroom door was thrown open with enough force to make the bed frame tremble. All moans and sighs from the bed ceased immediately, quickly replaced by the sound of rustling clothing. In the doorway stood a vampire, her shoulder length blonde hair complemented perfectly by the fact that she was dressed from head to toe in black leather so tight it was a good thing she didn't need to breathe. She did not look happy. She ignored Buffy, glaring at the bed as she snarled, "Get out."
Oddly silent, the Angry Ones quickly floated out the door, giving the vampire a wide berth. She turned and watched them go, finally slamming the door shut and stepping into the middle of the room. From the bed, Angelus chuckled darkly. "Darla," he nearly purred.
"You insolent whelp," she snapped, "is that any way to greet your Sire?"
He released a long, purring sigh and Buffy could imagine the look of bored satisfaction on his demonic features. "Tonight my veins run with the blood of the Chosen sacrifice. If you have any desire to partake in the feast, it is you who should be greeting me."
Darla frowned darkly, her eyes finally lighting on Buffy cowering at the end of the bed. She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Don't you ever tire of this game?" she asked, though her anger had apparently faded as she walked over to the bed, reaching up to undo the zipper at her throat.
"No," he replied lightly. "Their terror is one of the few things that will never bore me."
Buffy listened to the mattress creak as Darla climbed onto it. If Buffy thought that listening to Angelus and the Furies was the pinnacle of sexual debauchery, she was sadly mistaken. There was snarling and the sound of rending leather before Darla's shirt landed on her. Buffy shook it off distastefully, wishing there was some way she could blot out the sounds and smells and feel of their violent coupling.
Buffy woke up with a start, fearfully realizing that she had fallen asleep even with the debauchery of Angelus and his blonde bitch of a Sire fucking like fiends. All the revulsion and exhaustion had made their way through her whole body until even the pain faded into numbness. Now with the morning, she felt as if her internal organs had been swapping places all night and her muscles were cramping.
She eased herself up, trying to use her legs rather than her sore arms and moved to a crouch to peer over the edge of the massive bed. Lord Angelus was lying sideways, his body tangled in the sheets with his face nestled in the valley of Darla's breasts. Buffy shuddered and bowed her head quickly to look at the floor, but wasn't quick enough to miss Angelus' tongue creeping between his fangs to lick the wound he had left on the inner curve of his vampire lovers' breast.
"See what I mean?" Angelus growled fitfully, stretching and purring like an overgrown cat, "The moment she wakes up, I can feel her fear filling the room. Fuck, every second in the presence of any Harker in my bedroom is like a rollercoaster."
"Send her off to do … human things," Darla bit out distastefully, "She reeks of goodness and purity. It makes me sick."
"You need to learn to enjoy the finer things in life," he chuckled, springing from the bed and landing securely on his bare feet. He sauntered around to the end and pulled Buffy to her feet, nearly dangling her before his Sire's eyes. "This bitch is like a constant cock jolt," he said, leaning in to lick her neck, "She tastes like humiliation and fear. There's nothing better."
"I have to go to the bathroom," Buffy croaked, squirming to get away from the naked vampire she was held against even though every movement made the chains scrape painfully against her skin, "P-please let me go."
"How could you not like this?" Angelus asked silkily as he strolled to his discarded pants and pulled out a set of keys. He unlocked Buffy's manacles, making sure his body was in full contact with hers during the entire process, keeping his hands sliding over her skin with every gesture. He laughed out loud and bounded back on the bed as Buffy ran out of the room, holding her robe up to not trip over her own feet.
"You're sick," Darla spat, sliding back to move away from him. "She's a human, Angelus!"
"I never said I wasn't sick," Angelus snarled grabbing a handful of her blonde hair and pulling her against him once more.
After Buffy showered, scrubbing every inch of her body to rid herself of the death and sex that clung to her skin, she redressed in her same robe and wandered out of the bathroom to look through the rest of the house. She made sure to steer clear of the bedroom, hoping desperately that Darla would keep Lord Angelus busy for a long time. Although she knew he wasn't technically allowed to defile her, she still had the terrifying thought that he could …and would if given the chance.
She shuddered with the mental image but was stopped in her tracks as she opened a door and looked into the most beautiful library she had ever seen. The walls were lined with shelves from ceiling to floor overloaded with volumes of all shapes and sizes. There was a world of fantasy to delve into and become blissfully lost.
Entering the room in excited childlike steps, she looked more closely, peering at the haphazard order of the shelves, which seemed to have no rhyme or reason. Thankfully, they were not all of the dark world and magicks, but were widely varied from the newest best seller to the oldest tome. Lost in the exploration, she squeaked out a high pitched sound as a large box in the corner greeted her in a succinct British tone. "Good day," the box stated, "You must be the newest Harker."
Buffy jumped, her hand covering her racing heart.
"Beg pardon," the box said, "I didn't intend to frighten you. My name is Rupert Giles. Giles to most."
"I, uh ... " Buffy stuttered, cautiously venturing closer until she could peer inside the box and see the middle-aged human smiling warmly. "I'm Buffy," she said lamely.
"Very nice to meet you, Buffy," he replied cordially, though there was a pronounced sadness in his eyes.
"Not to be rude, Giles," Buffy ventured, "but what are you doing in that box?"
Giles laughed ruefully. "It amuses Lord Angelus to keep me in here," he explained dryly. "I'm a Watcher by birth and he finds my research skills most helpful. It would be sufficient to merely confine me to the library, but I'm afraid he fears I may find potentially incendiary material in some of his more valuable books."
"He thinks you'll burn up the library?"
Giles smiled at Buffy gently. "No," he said, "that's not exactly what I meant. I was referring to the knowledge that could be gleaned from some of his texts. It could prove quite illuminating in the literal sense."
"Not following you here, Giles," Buffy said with a frown.
"I know," he said sadly. "So let the first lesson begin here. As I have already told you, I am a Watcher, and you, my dear, are a Slayer."
"I'm a Harker."
"No, Buffy, Harkers is the name given you by the vampires. You are a Slayer."
"A Slayer? I have never killed anything in my life," Buffy whispered in confusion, "Besides, I'm just a human. What on earth would I be killing?"
"Vampires, of course," Giles answered with a twinkle in his eye. "That is your destiny. The Slayer is the Chosen. The one girl in all the world with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires, to stop the spread-"
"Ooookay," Buffy said, nodding with an official air, "I think the big evil in there has kept you in this box a little too long."
"Perhaps I ought to back up our story," Giles said with a sad smile, "A thousand years ago, the entire sky was brightened by a large star we called the sun."
"There are stars all over the place and none of them brighten the whole sky," Buffy interrupted. "If he ever lets you out of this box, you should look out the window."
"That's true," he said, "but this star was bright enough and close enough to the Earth to light up sky during the day and its rays were deadly to the vamp-"
Footsteps startled Buffy and caused her to scramble to her feet and away from the man in the box. She bit her lip as she tiptoed toward the door and peeked out. There she found a Renfield girl carrying a load of towels in her arms. When she saw Buffy smiling at her in relief she hurried toward the bathroom.
"Wait!" Buffy called in a voice just above a whisper. "Don't run away. I'm Buffy."
"Amy," she said with a nod. She picked up the pace and quickly flung the towels as neatly as she could into the cabinet. She was shaking like Buffy was some sort of beast ready to pounce on her and edged around Buffy as if touching her would singe her skin.
"I don't bite," Buffy said. Her first instinct was to be insulted, but the girl looked so afraid she couldn't. Smiling lightly, she realized that Amy probably needed a friend. "Do you work here every day? Maybe we can be friends, you know, until I die."
"Look," Amy softly, "I don't mean to be rude, but I don't have it as signed and sealed as you do. No offense, but please don't talk to me."
"Why not?" Buffy asked. "Besides, you probably know what's up with the raving loony in the box in the library."
Amy yelped in pain and Buffy watched in horror as Angelus, wearing nothing but a pair of leather pants pulled the squirming Renfield against his chest. "Tsk, tsk," he growled in evil mirth, holding the girl tighter. "The servants know better than to be speaking to my Harker."
"Please, Master," Amy pled, "I meant no harm. I didn't wish to speak to her."
He seemed to consider to pleas for a moment and then shrugged, tearing into her neck so violently that Buffy heard his fangs scrape against Amy's spinal column. Buffy shuddered, turning away as he noisily glutted himself on the young woman's blood. When finished, he dropped the corpse to the ground, staring at it wistfully. He reached out, grabbing Buffy's chin and forcing her to look into his blood-smeared face. "The servants are forbidden to speak to you," he said with a smile.
She stared at him, her anger overcoming her fear. "You could have warned me," she yelled defiantly.
He laughed at her. Spunk. Spunk was always good. Of course, it wouldn't do to have her thinking she could speak to him in that manner. He grabbed her wrist, dragging her out of the bathroom and across the hall into the library. He tossed her towards the large table that was the centerpiece of the room, knocking the breath from her lungs.
Slowly, he strode into the room. "You don't get to speak to anyone except for me and," he pointed to the box, "him. Only because nothing short of cutting out his tongue can seem to keep him quiet when it comes to his precious young girls. Sadly, I rather need him to be able to speak."
He made his way to where Buffy was half sprawled across the table, face down. He blanketed her back with his body, grinding his leather clad hips against her ass. "Disobey me again," Angelus purred in her ear, "and you'll find out just how far I can take things without defiling your purity." Buffy's eyes searched the room and she found Giles watching them intently, a murderous look on his face. Angelus saw him too and laughed openly. "Ask him," he said, "he'll tell you what happened to the other girls." Grabbing a handful of her hair, he jerked her backwards and proceeded to lick her neck before once again shoving her forward and striding out of the room.
Shaking and feeling violated, Buffy slumped to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around herself. She lifted her tear-filled eyes to Giles, whose expression was stern. "His threats are not idle, Buffy," Giles said, "you cannot imagine the horrors which he can inflict."
Buffy spent part of the afternoon in the library with Giles and then wandered to the marketplace that he told her about once Angelus left to do whatever it was he did when he was away from his home. She found all of the girls huddled in the back of a clothing shop that sold to primarily human customers, just as Giles had directed. The woman who ran the shop, Janna, was Giles' betrothed before he was taken prisoner.
"How is he?" Janna asked, grabbing her gently by both shoulders and looking intently in Buffy's eyes, "Tell me, is he alright? Is he still alive?"
"He's…okay," Buffy said reluctantly, stepping backward from the woman's pleading eyes. She had no idea if Janna was aware that Giles lived in a box these days, but if she didn't, Buffy decided she wasn't going to be the one to tell her. "Are the others here?" Buffy asked quietly, shifting her eyes to the racks of clothes.
"They're in the back," Janna said, waving toward a doorway covered by a brightly colored curtain. Buffy took an awkward step toward the doorway before she turned back to Janna and said, "He misses you. He didn't say it, but when he talked about you, I could tell."
The other girls looked decidedly different from the last time she had seen them. There was no weeping, no hysteria. They looked bored. Some of them sat on the floor playing cards, two of them were reading. The next Chosen, Faith, was sharpening a knife. Looking up from the whetstone, Faith's eyes met Buffy's. "Well lookie if it ain't the new girl," she said with a mirthless smile.
Buffy nodded to the room and found that most of her fellow Harkers looked at her with a good deal of pity. She found herself avoiding their eyes. It was bad enough what she had to endure as Lord Angelus' Harker, but she hated the idea that other people knew about it. One of the older girls, Justine, motioned for Buffy to sit next to her. As she took her place on the floor, Justine handed her a piece of bread and Buffy realized with some shock that she was starving. She ate the bread ravenously. As she was chewing, Justine leaned over and whispered, "He's just trying to scare you."
Slowly, Buffy ceased her chewing and looked into Justine's face. "What?"
"They can't touch us," Justine said. "My Master, Penn, is very loud. He's always bemoaning the number of things he can't do to me. Lord Angelus' threats are to scare you. He lives on fear. Our purity is necessary. Touching defiles us. He would never risk defiling his Harker."
Buffy swallowed the piece of bread in her mouth, trying not to get excited. Even Giles had seemed to regard Lord Angelus' threats as very serious. But what if Justine was right? Lord Angelus had already been quite vocal about the fact that he loved her fear. Maybe that's all it was. Maybe his threats were simply made to keep her in a constant state of fear. Buffy looked around the room and found the other girls nodding in unison. All except Faith, who seemed lost in her own thoughts.
"Don't mind her," Justine said, motioning to Faith. "It's always hard being the next one to go."
The next few days proved interesting for Buffy and she realized that as short and unfulfilling as her life would be, she was not going to be raped or abused by Lord Angelus before it was over. The few words over bread that Justine told her were enough to almost give her peace. As sick and depraved a monster she lived with until she was sacrificed, she now knew he couldn't rape or beat her. She was safe and her mother was safe - until they killed her.
Every day Buffy tried to make it to the market where she spent time with the other Harkers, who shared stories about their Masters from time to time. Everyone but Faith who kept strangely silent, with the exception of a curt comment interspersed in conversation. Buffy kept silent as much as she could about Lord Angelus, mostly because everyone seemed to fear him more than the others and the mention of his name caused a ripple of shivers to erupt around the room.
Buffy started smiling a secret little smile at those Harker meetings because they hadn't yet heard the roar of fury that Buffy was beginning to hear on an almost daily basis or the grotesque threats that Angelus began taunting her with when she did something to displease him. She had become completely unafraid and it infuriated him more than Buffy could have ever imagined. She almost began to get sick pleasure from his fury, knowing with all his power, he could do absolutely nothing to hurt her.
Giles warned her not to goad him, but Buffy couldn't help it. He had made her first few days under his protection so vile, so absolutely degrading and disgusting that she felt he deserved whatever discomfort she could bring him. He would bark in her face, roar and she would merely watch him placidly. Smiling at him could nearly send him into a full blown rage. Of course, she was always careful not to involve any other humans in her taunting. She stayed far away from Lord Angelus' Renfield servants, not wishing them to be maimed as a way to punish her.
But Lord Angelus was not one to be so easily deterred. He reveled in her fear, her loathing and he would do anything for it. He tried threats, he tried brutality, but there was only so far he could push without defiling her. Giving her the beating she so richly deserved was entirely out of the question. Though quite by accident, he stumbled upon a very effective way of unnerving her. It was so simple, so bland that he never would have thought of it by himself. But without any forethought, he strode into his bedroom where Buffy was searching for some lost book. He had just gotten out of the shower and was quite nude. He himself thought nothing of it, but as Buffy turned, her face burned a bright crimson and she stuttered a few words before making a hasty exit. Angelus stared blankly after her. Oh, it couldn't really be that easy, could it?
Turned out, it was. She was so damned innocent. Yes, he knew that his debauchery with the Furies and with Darla would be enough to rattle her, but she was so chaste, so perfectly naive that his nude physical body alone was enough to send her into fits of moral outrage. Her offended sensibilities excited him and he discovered rather quickly that if his nudity scandalized her, then him naked with a hard on was almost enough to make her have a seizure. It was glorious.
They started showering together the next day. Or rather, he showered while she huddled in the corner doing her best to ignore him. He fixed that problem by making her hold the soap. She clasped the soap between her hands while his much larger ones massaged them together, coating them both with a rich lather. He then forced her to stand with her back against the wall, directly in front of him as he used the lather to coat his cock. Bracing one hand against the wall by her head, he used the other to stroke his rigid flesh. He growled deep in his throat, grunting as he thrust against his own hand. She hated every second of it, but he told her if she closed her eyes he would castrate Giles, so she kept her vision fixed firmly on his cock. His balls tightened with his quickly approaching release. He could smell the scent of her fear and it worked on him like the most potent aphrodisiac available. But beneath that glorious scent, there was something darker, something tangier and that superb little nuance was what finally brought him to completion, roaring as his semen splashed against her naked stomach.
Buffy was shivering and as soon as he lowered his arm, she quickly turned toward the spray of water and let it wash his seed from her skin. Finally clean, she turned to exit the shower and he held the door shut. He leaned over her shoulder, purring in her ear. "Oh, we're not done yet."
"But, I ... I mean you ... "
"Trust me," he said, "I have a little more in mind than just jerking off."
She swallowed thickly as terror threaded through her veins. "Like what?" she asked.
"You're bleeding," he said, licking his lips wetly.
"No, I'm not. See?" she said nervously, spinning around so quickly for him that she almost slipped on the slick shower floor. She took a step towards the door, babbling back at him as she tried to retreat. "You'd better hurry and get dressed. I'm sure there are people to eat and demons to-"
"Oh, no, no," he crooned, pulling her back. There was a glint in his eyes that made her stomach jump to her throat as he knelt before her. Lord Angelus? Kneeling? She let out a screech as he lifted one of her legs to his shoulder and tried to backpedal only to find herself slipping. He held her steady and pressed his face into the secret place between her thighs. Her whole body shook and a sob erupted from her that echoed in the bathroom.
"You c-can't," she rasped, knowing the wetness on her cheeks were tears, not water from the spray still falling around them. She twisted and tried to claw the walls to escape. "I have to be pure."
"Be still!" he growled from between her thighs, "You are pure, pure as the driven fucking snow...and I can't wait to taste it."
"Lord Angelus please!" she cried out, "You can't! Can you? You can't!"
"Your fear," he purred, "it just makes this more decadent. Keep talking, Harker. I like the tremble in your desperate little voice." She snapped her mouth closed and squeezed her eyes shut, but she couldn't stop the gasp from erupting as he began lapping between her thighs. He grunted in satisfaction when a ripple of revulsion shuddered through her.
He pulled her other leg over his shoulder so that his face was trapped between the soft skin of her thighs and she was helpless to do anything but allow him to take what he wanted. He was nearly electrified by her fear as he traced her nether lips with his tongue, teasing her open. Careful not to unintentionally nick her with his fangs, he lapped every inch of her, finding invisible remnants of blood and cleaning her thoroughly before pressing inside her gloriously hot and tight silken cavern to find the welling of blood waiting for him there.
This was good, her fear was intoxicating, but it wasn't enough. What he wanted – no needed – he wasn't going to get so long as she was a frigid, frightened wreck. With more than a little irritation, he lowered both of her feet to the floor again, staring up at her with a dissatisfied frown.
Buffy stared down at him, her huge eyes still welling with tears. She didn't know what had made him stop, but she was grateful nonetheless. He stood, never taking his eyes from her. He gave her another quick, raking gaze from head to foot and said tersely, "Finish your shower and then meet me in my bedchamber."
She took so long in the shower that she half expected him to storm in and forcibly drag her out. But he didn't. She used the soap and scrubbed herself from head to toe, trembling as her mind teemed with the horrible possibilities of what could await her in his bedroom.
She was wrapped in the large towel, somehow managing to make the fabric cover almost every visible inch of skin. Angelus looked at her, his lips pursed together in disdain as he held out a goblet towards her. She looked at it warily, noting that it seemed to be some dark red liquid.
"What is that?" she asked meekly.
"Wine," he said dryly, rolling his eyes. As if he would be gauche enough to waste a perfectly good goblet of blood on a simpering human.
"I don't drink," she replied.
"You do now," he said, forcing the goblet into her hand. He stared at her until she lifted the goblet to her lips and tentatively took a sip. She grimaced. It was strong. "All of it," he demanded. Knowing it would be easier than fighting, she forced herself to drink the wine. After the first few swallows it actually wasn't too bad. As she drank, a warm well felt as if it had opened in her stomach, radiating outward, making her cheeks burn.
She stared at the now empty goblet and then back to him, her brow puckering in a frown. She was tired and scared and she had no idea what he was doing and mostly she just wanted to be left alone. "What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice a strained whisper.
He smirked, looking her up and down. "You're bleeding," he said, licking his lips unconsciously. "Well, you're starting to bleed. If I were inclined to be patient, I could just wait until tomorrow and drink my fill, but I've never been known for my patience. While I have more than enough human donors, Harker blood is a far superior vintage to anything available. Hell, Harker blood is better than sireblood. You didn't honestly think I would forego a taste, did you?"
She was shaking again, clutching the towel even tighter as she stared at him. She had indeed noticed the signs that her menses would start soon, but she never dreamed ... "Y-y-you can't defile me," she said, trying to straighten her spine as she faced him. The alcohol wasn't helping. She felt herself starting to weave.
He rolled his eyes again. "And if I were getting ready to bite you, this would be an issue," he said with wry amusement. Her innocence was just novel enough to keep from irritating him. He took in her confused countenance and sighed in exasperation. "You're bleeding," he said bluntly. "I'm not taking anything from you except what your body is already willingly offering. There is no taint to that action, nothing to sully your purity."
"But you're not supposed to be able to touch us," she whined, clinging to her last hope of reprieve.
"That is just myth," Angelus said, pacing around the room. "Most vampires are idiots and have no control. Telling the Lords they cannot touch their Harkers without defiling them merely keeps them from temptation. There are few as strong and controlled as me. One of them might start off innocently attempting to lick a wound shut and the next thing you know, the Harkers dead on the floor, every drop drained. Your blood is intoxicating. The myth is merely there to ensure Harkers make it to the feast days, so that your death may serve a purpose."
She was wobbling, trying to keep him in focus, but everything was getting a little soft around the edges, diffuse. She was having trouble remembering why she had been so upset. "But I don't understand," she said truthfully, "why did you give me the wine?"
He came closer to her, taking in the rosy blush to her cheeks, her unfocused eyes. "I want you to enjoy things, Buffy," he purred. "It will be so much easier for both of us if you do. The wine just makes you more amenable to my advances." He reached out and brushed his fingertips along her exposed shoulder where the towel had slipped.
She looked at his fingertips and then back to his face, her eyes wide. It was obvious she couldn't even contemplate being attracted to him. With an exasperated sigh, he closed his eyes and concentrated. It wasn't easy, but he hadn't become Lord Angelus without learning a few tricks. He forced his demon to recede.
Buffy watched spellbound as his face shifted, the ridges on his forehead seeming to melt away until he looked like a Renfield or any other human. Slowly his eyes opened, a rich chocolate brown. The goblet clattered loudly to the floor. She gasped, instinctively covering her mouth with her hands while she stared at him in unbridled shock.
He smiled at her and her heart lurched painfully in her chest. He was quite possibly the most beautiful man she had ever seen. But he wasn't a man. She didn't understand.
He stepped closer, once again stroking her arm. "Shhh," he whispered against her ear, "it's a secret, but all vampires were at one time human."
Buffy pulled back, her common sense dulled by the large amounts of alcohol. He held her loosely in his embrace. She studied his face, lifting her hands to trace over his brow, she pushed on his chin and he humored her, smiling widely. There were no fangs in sight.
She was still staring at him like an idiot when he leaned down and caught her lips in a kiss. She shuddered against him as his cool mouth warmed to match her temperature, his tongue doing the same as it traced her mouth, begging entry. It was almost as if an invisible blanket had fallen over him and it was warming his entire body, stealing her warmth as vampires stole blood.
She swaying against him, dizzy from the wine and the shock of the evening. He wasn't even forcing himself on her this time. He was still taking but it was almost as if he would allow her to say no, if she wanted. To her horror, she started kissing him back. She opened her mouth for him and was utterly stunned at his gentle kiss, his roaming hands pushing her towel away. He pulled her naked body against him and threaded his fingers through her hair. Her stomach clinched as a funny feeling fell over her. She knew it had nothing to do with the wine and everything to do with Angelus. When he backed her toward the bed, she went willingly, lost in the feel of his hands and mouth.
He lifted her onto the bed and gave her no choice but to spread her legs around his hips, cradling him against her as he moved from her lips to seek out other warm skin. She did nothing to try and dissuade him. Everything she knew about vampires and Harkers was changing drastically as he skipped over her throat entirely and moved down to slide his lips over her clavicle, then her breasts. He cupped them gently in his strong hands, rubbing her nipples to hard points with his thumbs before tasting one.
"T-this has to be wrong," she gasped. She raised her hips involuntarily and squeezed her thighs against his sides. His eyes shot up to look into her, the velvety brown just as deep and beautiful as she remembered. This man, no, this vampire looked nothing like a demon. There was still no sign of what he was on his face, in his touch. He kept his gaze on her, working her nipple with his tongue and squeezing the other between his numb and forefinger. She was trapped in his eyes as he switched sides, taking the neglected point into his mouth. Slowly, he closed his eyes and focused on his task.
She panted hot breaths out despite her effort not to and whimpered in pleasure as his hand slid down between them, parting her nether lips with his fingers. She wanted to protest. She really did. His voice was soft and didn't even resemble his normal growl when he finally spoke. "You want pleasure, Buffy," he said, barely touching his lips against her skin as he moved down, "how is that wrong?"
Just before he settled between her thighs once more, licking at her now enflamed flesh, she realized with a start, she did want him. A half hour before when he tried to do this, she was ready to kill herself before allowing this monster to touch her and now she couldn't help but wish that he wouldn't stop. She wanted to blame it on the alcohol. That would be so easy. But some horrible little part of herself knew there was much more to it than that.
His lips were warm now as they kissed along her hip bones. He urged her thighs wider, scooting down between them as he licked and suckled along her thighs. He was lost in the smell and taste of her. But not lost enough to ignore the taunting growl at the back of his mind. He could have forced this on her, as he had done to all of the Harkers before her. He could have drank down her terror while making her come against her will. But he hadn't. He opted to give her pleasure, his reasoning as much a mystery to him as it was to her.
He couldn't restrain a small rumbling growl as he tilted her hips, angling her as he lowered his mouth to the wiry curls covering her sex. He took a deep, unnecessary breath, imbibing her unique smell, her Harker blood and musk. Anticipation crackled along his nerves as he slowly extended his tongue, lapping at the seam between her lips. Her flesh was warm and fragrant and oh so wet. He pushed his face against her, his lips and tongue forcing her nether lips apart as he tasted her.
She whined, arching against him and he rewarded her by slowly circling her clit with his tongue, laving it in long, languid strokes that had her bowing off the bed. Her nipples were tightened to stiff peaks and her entire body was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration as her first orgasm ripped through her body, leaving her shaken and panting. He growled in satisfaction, his tongue darting into her still clenching sheath, rooting out her elusive life's blood. When it hit his tongue, it sent a shiver through his large frame. Harker blood was always good, but it was never this powerful.
The shock of her incredible blood flying through his system sent a growl of pleasure to erupt from his lips, the sound mingling with Buffy's cry of pleasure. He almost felt lighter, as if he had downed a bottle of the wine he had given her to sip earlier and he risked a glance upward. He looked over her face but kept his tongue lapping at her delicate flesh in a continuous motion. She looked back down at him, meeting his gaze with languid, heavy lidded eyes, smiling down at him.
He growled against her and a realization struck him so hard, he squeezed his eyes shut and just barely kept himself from moving away from her. Blonde, innocent and beautiful, she loomed above him. Hell help him, he was attracted to her. Not just the taste of her powerful blood, not simply the decadent smell of her fear, not even the lithe shape of her supple little human body, but true attraction. For fuck's sake, he wanted to be nice to her. He wanted to see that look her eyes again and again.
He fought the urge to sink his teeth into her femoral artery and drain the bitch dry. All it would take was a simple turn of his head into her thigh. In moments he life would be gone and there would be no more beautiful girl to make him feel beautiful again with just one glance. No human had ever made him want to be nice to her before, no Harker ever got this special treatment. Every fiber in his undead body cried out that he destroy her before it was too late. Instead, he clenched his fingers more tightly into her supple flesh and brought her up against his mouth like a bowl of milk and keeping his eyes closed, he swallowed pleasure and strength until he had his fill.
The room was pitch dark when Buffy woke and she had a few blissful moments of haziness where all she knew was that she was warm and comfortable. But reality intruded quickly and brutally. She sat bolt upright in bed. She wasn't on her meager palette at the end of the bed, her body aching from the hard floor. She was in a decadently comfortable bed – Angelus' bed. And the body wrapped around her own was no doubt the monster of the house, his body warmed with heat he had stolen from her.
Buffy licked her lips and grimaced. The sour taste of wine still lingered on her lips. Though she didn't want to, she forced herself to think back to last night. The things she had done – the things she let Angelus do to her ... She shuddered. But even as she was horrified, she couldn't help remembering how beautifully human he had looked, how gentle he had been. Her body tightened as she remembered the pleasure he had given her.
She had to get out of here. Trying not to disturb him, she scooted towards the side of the bed. She had no idea where her clothes were and she didn't really care. If she could make it out of the room she could find a spare sheet or towel and fashion herself a makeshift toga to get her by. Her feet touched the floor and just as she moved to push herself completely out of bed, Angelus' hand clamped like an iron manacle around her wrist. Before she could even yelp, he pulled her back into bed, flush against his body. His arms banded around her chest and he threw one leg over both of hers.
"Angelus," she objected, trying to scoot away. One arm remained around her waist, holding her to him tightly, but without causing her any discomfort, except for mental anguish, of course.
"You will stay here," he muttered groggily, pulling her fully against him and burying his nose in the nape of her neck.
"Stay?" She sputtered, eyes flying wide open in near panic. No matter what happened the night before or what evil doings Angelus had planned he never made her stay with him. She was always able to escape to her fellow Harkers right after they rose in the morning. Of course, normally she woke on her meager pallet on the cold stone floor at the foot of his giant, glorious bed, rather than in the bed. She wiggled in his embrace until she was able to turn over in bed and look at him. "Stay how long?" she asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.
His eyes were closed and as she watched him, his vampire countenance melted away as it had the night before. Unable to help herself, she sucked in a breath and petted his beautiful face. His mouth still quirked with a little smile at her dismay and shock. She squealed as she quickly went from caressing his face to being beneath the great Lord Angelus with her legs spread to cradle his body, his lips rubbing softly against hers before he licked her lips, begging entrance to her sweet human mouth.
"You will stay until your cycle has ended," he crooned, sliding down to feast on her breasts. He couldn't help being annoyed with himself still that he felt the need to enflame her, to hear her breathy little cries when he touched her intimately. He told himself he was just doing what was necessary to have the Harker blood he wanted, but the truth haunted him. "You won't be spending your time huddling in the back of the gypsy's shop for the next couple of days. You will remain with me."
"How did you know?" she asked, trying not to moan while his talented and now warm mouth sent streaks of pleasure through her body.
"Did you really think you were hiding?" he chuckled, nipping kisses along her rib cage. "Setting aside the sound of human female chatter can be pinpointed in only one place in the High Court, I could track a Harker for miles on smell alone."
"But-"
"But I never stopped you or came to get you?" he chuckled, sliding languidly down her body, "Your blood pumps faster when you're sneaking around. Smells good, besides Janna feeds you. Can't have you starving to death."
"I'm starving to death now," she complained half-heartedly. Something about Angelus' touch was already becoming too comfortable. If they remained like this for the next three to five days, what would happen then? How would she feel about the most vicious creature the High Council had ever produced?
"So am I," he growled. He licked his lips hungrily as he spread her legs wider for him and looked down at her lush, glistening entrance. His cock was rock hard and throbbing to enter that untouched place, but instead he traced her nether lips with his tongue. He needn't be tempted by something he could never have.
As if to mock him, her stomach chose that very moment to rumble loudly. He could feel Buffy's body heat with a blush that had nothing to do with his head buried between her legs. Frowning, he rested his head against her thigh, looking up at her even as she stared blankly at the ceiling.
"I'm hungry," she repeated in a voice so small he could naught but cede to her plea.
In a fluid move, he pushed himself out of bed. Buffy watched in blatant fascination as he pulled on a pair of leather pants, not bothering to button them. Her eyes were drawn to the line of coarse hair that disappeared beneath the zipper.
She forced her eyes up and found him grinning at her in undisguised appreciation. With movements as seamless and deadly as a giant jungle cat, he returned to the bed, pulling the covers up under her chin. She stared into the most beautiful face she had ever seen and couldn't prevent herself from once again reaching out and running her fingertips over his cheek. He smiled and pressed his lips against hers.
This time she didn't even bother to fight. His lips were warm and soft. She opened her mouth and sighed as his tongue caressed against hers. When he finally broke the kiss, she was panting, flushed.
"Stay here," he said.
As he turned away from her, she saw him slip back into his demonic mask. He glanced at her one last time before pulling the bedroom door shut behind himself. Buffy hadn't slept well in months and by the time he returned, less than half an hour later, she was lightly dozing.
Her eyes fluttered open as he strode through the door. When he looked at her, his demonic visage once again receded. Before she could stop herself, she smiled at the sight. She couldn't take her eyes off him as he strode to the bed, a silver platter balanced on one hand. His body was nothing short of perfection, all perfectly flawless pale skin, chiseled muscles and those divine leather pants. Most humans were tired, underfed and overworked slaves, steeped in misery and filth. Never in Buffy's life had she seen a male specimen so impressive. She hadn't even dared to imagine they existed.
He noticed her perusal and approved heartily. He wanted Buffy to want him desperately. Why, he wasn't exactly certain but he wasn't in the habit of denying himself his desires. He settled the tray on the bed and stretched out along side Buffy.
Self-consciously, she tucked the covers around her breasts and propped herself up on one elbow, eyeing the tray with interest. The tray was covered with plates of food: fresh fruit, a variety of cheeses, sweet rolls hot from the oven. There were two carafes, one of fresh steaming coffee and the other for orange juice. The smell alone was making her mouth water. She blushed, unable to prevent herself from drawing a mental parallel between her own actions and what Angelus had said to her the previous night. Her stomach growled again loudly.
"Eat," Angelus said.
Despite her discomfort at the gentle intimacy the moment implied, Buffy couldn't help but obey. She sat up in bed, doing her best to protect her modesty as she used her fingers to stuff the food into her mouth in a most unladylike way. She had never eaten particularly well due to circumstances, but in the last few weeks she definitely hadn't been consuming much. Her body seemed determined to make up for lost time.
Angelus poured her a cup off coffee and a glass of orange juice as she concentrated on the food. He watched while she took a bite of an icing covered roll, sighing in delight as the delicacy nearly melted in her mouth. He lay back, content to observe her actions. All of Buffy's appetites intrigued him, even one so base as physical human hunger.
He wasn't sure what was considered a normal appetite for humans, especially considering the small size of Buffy, but he was fairly certain she had eaten quite a bit. She devoured a number of the sweet rolls with their melted icing, which seemed to be her favorite, and more fruit and cheese than he would have imagined could be stored in such a slight frame. She fell back on the bed and groaned in happiness.
"My turn," Lord Angelus crooned, easily setting the half empty tray on the side table before, tugging on the sheet until her breasts were again in full view. He inched down the sheet, slowly, baring the rest of her golden flesh before he positioned himself between her thighs and lapped at the intoxicating Harker blood that waited for him.
Buffy spent five days and nights in Angelus' bed and when her cycle ended on the fifth day, she half expected him to boot her back to her meager palette on the cold, stone floor. As much as she thought she hated the fiend who kept her captive, but she couldn't seem to summon the hatred she once had. On the fifth night when her menstruation had ended completely, she laid in the bed with Angelus and without a word, he curled around her body, buried his face in the nape of her neck and went to sleep.
In the morning – although there was never any daylight to announce its arrival - she rose from bed with Angelus and went to the bathroom to shower with him like she always had before. It was more than just his beautiful face that attracted her to him but she couldn't quite figure out what. The absence of the demonic face seemed to change his behavior and instead of yelling and saying crude things to her, he whispered dirtier things in her ear.
Inside the shower, instead of snarling at her and pleasuring himself at her expense, he made her wash his body and then when she reached his arousal, he wrapped her hands around his and told her how it would feel if he were inside her rather than outside. She was embarrassed by his behavior and scandalized as much as before, but the strangest thing happened – she no longer had the urge to tell him no. Her body was hot and flushed from more than just the heat of the shower.
Desire.
It was wrong. She knew that. And when he was in demonic form, forcing these things upon her, she had no doubt that she was nothing more than his victim. But now … He stood, but his body was relaxed, leaning back against the shower wall, his legs spread wide. His hands had long since fallen away, yet she still stroked him, still gave him pleasure - and in return gave herself pleasure. She found a sinful, decadent delight in the ability to make him moan, in the helpless little sounds he made when she touched him this way.
Her life, from the moment she was born, had been filled with nothing but misery and pain. Filth, starvation, sickness, these were the constants of her life - of every human living in this world. If humans weren't physically abused by a vampiric lord, then they faced death by exposure to the elements. It was the place of the human to suffer, to wallow in misery. Buffy knew these truths at the core of her being and yet she couldn't help but think that maybe there was another way. Maybe she wasn't meant to suffer every moment of her life. Maybe she was meant to know something beyond pain and death and horror.
In the greatest of all ironies, she had found reprieve from her human sentence here, as the possession of one of the Lords of the High Court. When it suited him, Angelus could be so gentle, treating her like the most highly prized Drakuhl consort and not a lowly human girl. In his bed, she found warmth and comfort. She found herself able to sleep soundly for the first time in her life, for though Lord Angelus was still largely a mystery, she knew without a doubt that he would protect her with the most lethal force. And to her eternal shame, she found she liked it.
She stroked him firmer, faster, pressing herself tightly against him so that his sex was rubbing against the soapy flesh of her stomach. His head banged back against the shower wall and she could hear his harsh, unnecessary breath coming in swift pants. His fingers bit into her shoulders and she stroked him even faster. With a growl, he came, spilling himself against her stomach.
Buffy ceased her motions, her own breath coming as fast as his. She was flushed, her legs trembling. The secret place between her legs ached with emptiness so sharp tears welled in her eyes. She looked down at her stomach, at his seed slowly sliding down her water-slicked skin. Without conscious thought, she ran her finger through it. Lifting it to her lips, she slowly licked the digit clean, her eyes fluttering shut as she savored the tangy, musky taste of his pleasure.
Angelus' growl caused her head to shoot up and she met his gaze. His eyes were slitted, tinged with yellow. Though the planes of his face were smooth, his mouth was open in a pant and she could see his budding fangs. He grimaced and banged his head backwards against the shower wall again. "Leave," he commanded.
She stared at him, unable to move. "Angelus?" she asked softly.
"Get out of here, now," he snarled, "before I take you here and damn us both."
After finishing his shower, Angelus hadn't dared to return to the bedroom. He knew Buffy was there, curled in the bed they now shared, confused and hurt. He hated that he had hurt her. He hated that he hated that he hurt her. He roared, throwing a vase against one of the towering bookcases that lined the library.
"Feel better?"
A low, rumbling snarl carried easily in the quiet room. "Don't toy with me, human," Angelus growled. "I am not in the mood."
Giles cleared his throat with as much dignity as one could muster while sitting chained in a box. "Well, you are in a mood. Given that you're now in the library, it seems reasonable that you wished to do some sort of research. I dare say that I could be of a great deal of assistance if you allowed me."
Angelus growled again, baring his fangs. He didn't care that none of this was Giles' fault. "Once a year, the Harker under my protection is sacrificed," Angelus bit out.
"Yes, my lord," Giles concurred. "This is true."
"Why?" Angelus roared, striding purposefully across the room. "Why is it that it is always my Harker, or Willow's Harker? Can anyone even remember the last time it was the Harker belonging to one of the lesser Drakuhl of the High Court that was sacrificed?"
Giles took in Angelus' furious countenance. He had no idea what was going on, but he had never seen Angelus exhibit even the least amount of concern for the Harkers under his care. Why exactly this should become and issue was beyond him. "Power calls to power," Giles offered.
Angelus scowled. "Speak English or I will rip out your entrails with a toothpick."
"The ritual of St. Vigeous calls a great deal of power," Giles explained. "You and Willow are without a doubt the two most powerful Drakuhl in the High Council. The dark powers summoned forth by the ritual have no desire to dilute themselves. They run through your line and through Willow's line whenever available. It would go against the very nature of the ritual to utilize a less powerful member of the High Court."
Angelus growled and began pacing around the room. In approximately five months, Faith would be sacrificed before the High Court. Upon her death, the next sacrific would be chosen. It would be Buffy. Angelus knew that with a certainty that sickened him.
He roared again in impotent frustration. He refused to examine exactly why the prospect of Buffy's death angered him. He only knew that it did. With a snarl, he threw himself into one of the chairs, the bridge of his nose pinched tightly between his thumb and forefinger as if it could silence the thoughts screaming through his mind.
Dammit, why did she have to be so irresistible? He'd had hundreds of Harkers before her, and always, his treatment of them was the same. He took his pleasure in their fear, their pain, their humiliation. He reveled in their tears and soft sobs. He could get hard just thinking about the tears of shame steaming down a Harker's face as he glutted himself on her moon's blood.
But it was different with Buffy. Everything was different with Buffy. In all his centuries, he had never had a Harker respond to him as she did. He never imagined how absolutely tempting her supplication and pleasure could be. In the shower earlier, when Buffy had tasted his seed with such an expression of longing on her face, it was nearly his undoing. By whatever perversion of nature had cursed them both, she wanted him. And damn him if he didn't want her just as much.
Rising from his chair, Angelus snarled and turned to face the box that held the Watcher. With barely contained fury, he unlocked the cage and pulled out the middle-aged man by his tattered shirtfront and tossed him across the room. A low growl escaped his throat as he predatorily stalked toward the overturned chair where Giles lay.
"Haven't seen you in awhile," Janna said curiously when Buffy walked into her shop. A blush immediately came to Buffy's face and she fought to control it. After Angelus' reaction to her in the shower that day, she was thoroughly confused and shadow descended over the desire she had felt before.
"I…uh…I couldn't get away," Buffy said, clearing her throat. "Lord Angelus has been somewhat difficult to escape lately."
"Well, go on back," Janna nodded, seeming to accept her explanation. "You must be starved."
Buffy swiftly made her way to the back of the shop where the other Harkers huddled like convicts, nibbling on bits of stale bread and whatever else could be scrounged. She felt immediately guilty remembering the sweet rolls and fresh fruit Angelus had served her on a silver platter and the wonderful, nourishing meals that followed. Her gut clenched. He served her food on a silver platter while her friends and fellow humans hunkered in the dark with stale bread. Suddenly she felt like vomiting. She slid down along the wall to the floor in the corner and chewed on her lower lip, watching them.
"Hey," Justine said, moving to sit next to her. She offered Buffy a piece of bread, but Buffy waved it away with tears filling her eyes. "Are you okay?" Justine asked. She took a big bite of the bread as she waited for Buffy's answer, chomping hungrily on the meager fare.
"Are the Lords allowed to, you know, touch Harkers?" Buffy whispered. Justine was the only other member of their group that she even remotely trusted. She hoped her whisper hadn't carried over across the room, but one glance around told her it had. All of the Harkers focused on her intently. After all, it was news to hear about the mysterious and vicious Lord Angelus. Everyone was afraid of him, even other members of the High Council.
"Touch us?" Justine repeated in a voice loud enough to make Buffy wince. "Has he beaten you?"
"Beaten?" Buffy echoed quietly, "NO! No. I'm just wondering. Can they touch us at all?"
"They can't touch us at all," Justine said, a defiant gleam in her eyes, "They can carry you from the High Council chambers but after that there should be no touching at all. One wrong move and we could be defiled. My Master hasn't so much as brushed against me since I've been here and I'm the oldest Harker."
Every pair of eyes was intent on Buffy's now blushing face. Every pair except for Faith's, that is. Buffy couldn't help but notice that while every other girl looked at her in horror, Faith studiously avoided her gaze, hanging her head in ... shame?
"Buffy," Justine said gently, laying her hand on Buffy's arm, "has Lord Angelus done something to you?"
Buffy shook her head, scoffing like Justine's suggestion was the most absurd notion in the universe. "No," she said forcefully. "No. Never."