It's been six months. Six months since I grabbed the Slayer and left Sunnyhell, six months since we turned up on Angel's doorstep. Six months since I raped the Slayer in a shitty, roadside no-tell motel while she was in shock, six months since my Sire punished me for that very act before welcoming me back in his own, special way.

Six months since I got that bloody chip out of my head.

Six months since they all died.

The Slayer's been moody all week, you know. She knows the 'anniversary' is today so she's thrown herself into patrolling and hunting in the worst parts of town all week.

Alone.

With very few weapons.

Angel nearly chained her up and beat her when he found out what she was doing. His demon's been close to the surface lately and anyone can tell. Lawyer-boy has stayed away, sending messages through Kate the Ex-Cop or by email or fax ...

Anyway, he and I had a long talk earlier this week, right after I met this annoying demon called Whistler. Turns out he and Peaches go back a ways, and he knows the Slayer too. Came to talk about her, actually. I heard yelling, growling and glass breaking before it was over, and then Angel told me that there were going to be a few changes. He sent me out with a list of things to buy; I thought he was gonna soften the blow for her, try to take her mind off things. It was only after I got back that he told me what he was going to do. I told him the Slayer wouldn't agree.

He just looked at me and said she would have no choice.

The bloody floor just about dropped out from under my feet. He loves her so much, as much as I once loved Dru ... more, even. How could he do this? How could he hurt her like this?

How could *we* hurt her like this?

How could we force the Slayer when she was at her peak? Angel told me there would be no force and I scoffed, telling him the Slayer would fight this. He shook his head and told me she wouldn't know until it was done, that she would understand later.

So, we made love to the Slayer. It was wonderful, the water covering the three of us as we drove her into a rapture that she hadn't expected, but through it all I knew what was to come ... and somehow, it both cheapened and enshrined the experience. Cheapened, because I knew what it was a prelude to; enshrined, because it would be the last time I would feel her warmth. I left afterwards, unable to be in the room when my Sire took the Slayer to bed. I heard their moans and cries of ecstasy, then ...

Silence.

The Slayer is no longer the Slayer.

She's dead ... and changing.

The Slayer is dead. Long live the Slayer.

I'm not sure how long I sat there before I felt Angel's hands on my shoulders, those large, strong hands squeezing as if hanging on to a lifeline. When he spoke, it was in a voice full of anguish ... but full of certainty, for all that.

"I had to, Will," he whispered.

I grimaced as I remembered what I overheard and what he told me. "I know, Sire ... but she'll be different."

I could feel his slight nod. "She will adjust."

Remembering my own days as a fledgling Childe and knowing her demon would be nothing but raw instinct without a consciousness of its own, I could not help but ask, "Will you force her?"

He stiffens. I hear a low snarl and when he next speaks it is not Angel I hear. "She'll learn to obey her Sire, my boy, just as you did. Pain ... is a wonderful incentive."

He breaks away then, returning to the bedroom to watch over her. Memories of how Angelus molds his Childer return to me with brutal clarity and it galvanizes me as I rise to my feet and enter the night air. She'll need a very good meal before our Sire begins her lessons.

I know just the person.

She's stalking me ... or rather the chit thinks she's stalking me. I imagine she might have been a worthy adversary, once upon a time, if she had ever really honed her skills. But she didn't, and instead chose a line of "work" that called for only the slightest discretion. I mean, she's almost always had someone cleaning up after her: first the Mayor of Sunnyhell, then the law firm. It's no wonder her form is so pathetic.

Still, she's a persistent little thing, staying just out of reach and teasing me with her nearness. Reminds me of the shit she pulled in the Bronze that time when she stole the Slayer's body ... Buffy's body, I remind myself; she's no longer the Slayer.

But this little bitch is, and I owe her.

"Come out, come out ... here little kitty ... come out and play, Faith."

I hear a grunt and she drops into sight, landing on booted feet with a thud. Looking at the woman in front of me, I can honestly say that Lindsey-the-Lawyer was right: Faith is a mess. She's pale, as pale as we are; her dark hair is stringy and dirty, and it covers her too thin frame like a cloak. The worst, fuck, the worst is her eyes ... I know that look. Dark and bright, ready for a fight and needing the rush of a kill ...

Dru had that look after we left Sunnyhell.

She's insane. Utterly and completely mad.

"It's my hard time guy," she purrs, walking toward me. "Lost your beer, blondie?"

I can't help it. "Lost a lot of things, pet."

She grins, a maniacal look on that once lovely face. "You lose the Bitch and her puppy?"

Bad move, girlie. Only I mock Buffy and Peaches, and only when they let me in good fun. "Nah ... but I'm gonna lose you."

She doesn't even have time to blink. Grabbing her head is easy, and with the all the alcohol -- and is that a whiff of cocaine I smell? -- in her system, combined with her lack of nourishment, it's pathetically easy to knock her out. Once she's out I sling her over my shoulder and head for home. Buffy will rise soon and she'll need to feed before Angel begins her lessons ...

I hear the argument before I'm even in the door, and I dump the body on the floor in front of them as a way to get their attention. It works, of course, and two pairs of yellow eyes turn to face me.

By the gods of hell, she's beautiful.

I've wondered, you know, if it would be the same, if I would be able to look on her demon's face and not wish to see her lovely mortal features, but now ... Fuck, she's gorgeous! Although I knew that I would respond to her if only as one vamp to another, or even as Childer with a mutual Sire, I had no idea she could still have this effect on me.

Her ridges are not as full as some, but the way they slant up her forehead enhances her golden eyes and I can feel a shiver as her presence, her new scent, burns itself into my memory. Those full lips that can scorn or soothe are parted in momentary startlement and I can see her sharp, new fangs emerge. And surrounding all this beauty is a cascade of dark golden hair, silky waves falling about her bare shoulders like a cloak. Instead of looking out of place with her paler skin, the tresses somehow enhance her face just as her eyelashes frame those gorgeous gold eyes.

She looks like a newborn lioness.

I want to push her to the floor and fuck her senseless.

Which is something our Sire has already done, judging by the scents in the air. He watches me carefully, his eyes and senses appraising my reaction to his most recent Childe; his whole body is on alert, ready to take action should there be the slightest reason. Which, of course, there is, but right now I've got other things on my mind.

"Hello, cutie."

The End