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Day of wrath, that day of burning,
All shall melt, to ashes turning,
All foretold by seers discerning.

I beseech thee, prostrate lying,
Heart as ashes, contrite, sighing,
Care for me when I am dying.
- stanzas from "Dies Irae"

A stone cathedral stood like a fortress against the dark night, its stained glass windows rattling every time the winds howled. Inside, candles blazed, creating a barrier of protection, lighting the way for a young woman who stumbled through the doors and all but threw herself into the confessional.

The woman hurriedly crossed herself before speaking. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

"Yes, my child, you have. And I can grant you no forgiveness."

The winds swept through the church and the candles flickered wildly, a few snuffed out by the constant breeze. The young woman kneeling in the confessional was stunned as the door blew open, exposing her to any who might pass by. The priest stepped out of the booth and grabbed her arm, pulling her across the kirk towards the altar.

"Whore!" he bellowed. "You allow a demon to walk free! Nay, you care not for your people because your lust for him burns bright, outweighing your honor and faith. Duty! What is it to you? You, who have taken a demon to your bed!"

"You don't understand," she cried.

"There is nothing to understand," the priest hissed. "Confess to God your sins and pray he has mercy on your soul!"

"Love is no sin," she whispered furiously.

The priest looked shocked, but only briefly. "Love," he spat. "If you truly loved, then you would have DONE YOUR DUTY! An innocent woman is dead because of you!"

"She was not so innocent," the girl retorted, shaking off her shock and pulling herself up.

"You dare," he started.

"I dare," she replied, looking him in the eye. "I dare to speak the truth! Here, in this place of sanctuary, let God be my witness -- "

But then she said no more, for the pain of the knife sliding through her flesh ate her words. Utterly shocked she raised her eyes from her wound, only to watch as he yet again drove the blade into her body.

"Why?" she rasped, her blood flowing beneath her to stain the stairs.

"One dies, another is Called," the priest intoned as she fell to the floor. "I do what must be done to save your immortal soul. The next will not fail …"

"No," she whispered weakly as she felt her life force slip away. "No … no … no … no … no … "

"NO!"

The scream split the night air and Buffy sat up straight, panting heavily as she looked wildly around the room. Seeing only her own pictures on the familiar walls, her curtains stirring in the faint breeze, she began to relax.

Just a dream, she told herself. It was only a dream.

But sometimes dreams come true, a little voice nagged.

"No, it was only a dream," she said firmly, sliding out of bed. As she paced her floor she glanced down at herself, critically noting her sweat soaked body. Sighing, she pulled her sleep shirt off and headed for the bathroom, thanking whatever gods that existed that her mother was out of town.

Five minutes and a quick shower later, Buffy stared at herself in the mirror. Dark circles were still evident beneath her eyes, and she finally admitted that she needed to eat more because she was starting to look like a twig. Even her form-fitting clothes were a little loose, and she tired more easily these days. Wrapping a towel around her body she resolved to eat a good breakfast in the morning. Mom had left some sliced fruit in the fridge for her, and it would go great with her usual bagel and juice. Maybe, she mused, she would drink a glass of milk, too, and try that new cream cheese.

Lost in her mental wanderings, it took Buffy a moment to realize something was off. As she sniffed the air, she frowned. The window that she'd cracked before going to bed was now wide open.

And there was something on the sill.

She approached the window apprehensively, carefully looking around for any signs of life -- or unlife as the case may be. Her spider sense was on alert, but the presence she felt was not immediate. It lingered in the air, though, and there was no doubt he had been here.

Any remaining doubt was erased from her mind when she saw her latest present. There, on her windowsill, was a single black rose, and wrapped around it was a blood covered silver rosary with jet beads. Buffy closed her eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she picked up the accompanying letter. Her name was emblazoned on the envelope in his firm hand, and she still had to blink away the tears that threatened to spill. Flipping it over she broke the wax seal, pulling out two pieces of high quality parchment.

The first was a drawing of her, sleeping. Unlike his previous sketches, which were literal representations, this one envisioned her in a large bed. She was nude, one nipple peaking out from the sheets that twined around her body, and she looked sated, as if all her desires had been fulfilled.

But the worst was the trickle of blood he had drawn on her throat, a crimson path on the black and white rendering that originated from two holes right above the nape of her neck.

Her hands were shaking as she dropped the drawing. She unfolded the other paper and read the single word written there.

SOON.

"And you say you found these after you woke up from the nightmare?" Giles questioned.

Buffy nodded, chewing on her lower lip.

"It may very well be coincidence," he told her as he polished his glasses.

"Giles, you know I don't believe in coincidence," she stated.

"I know," he sighed. "Have you seen the paper?"

Buffy gave him a look. "It's 8am on a Sunday morning, and I came over as soon as I could. So, no."

Without a word he placed the paper in front of her. The headline on the front page screamed at her, reverberating in her mind. Buffy felt nauseous.

'Nun Found Strangled to Death.'

"This is not a coincidence, Giles," Buffy said softly. "That dream means something."

"The dream may simply be guilt, Buffy," he told her gently. "You said yourself that the girl was a Slayer, killed by a priest. How would that connect with Angelus killing a nun and delivering the murder weapon, her rosary, to you?"

"I don't know," she cried, frustrated. "But damn it, Giles, it does!"

"Was it prophetic? Your dream, I mean," her Watcher asked, suddenly worried.

Buffy thought for a moment. "I'm not sure. It kinda felt like my prophecy dreams, but it also felt … finished. Like it happened in the past."

Giles looked thoughtful for a moment, his eyes taking in Buffy's tired and frustrated appearance. "I'll look through the Diaries," he told her. "Meanwhile, do try and get some rest."

The Slayer gave her Watcher a weak smile as she opened his door. "I'll try."

Coincidence or not, the dreams kept coming and Buffy began to dread going to sleep, because to sleep was to dream. And the dreams were horrible. Every time she closed her eyes it seemed she watched the priest murder the other Slayer, but soon there were other scenes of the girl, fragments that Buffy knew held the clue to the girl's identity.

The only saving grace was that there had been no more murders. No more than usual, anyway. Angelus seemed to be lying low, and Buffy worried what his next move would be.

And Giles … He stared anxiously at the calendar, as if somehow he could keep Buffy's birthday from arriving.

Salve Regina, mater misericordiae:
Vita, ducedo, et spes nostra, salve
Ad te clamamus, exsules filii Evae.
Ad te suspiramus, gementes et flentes,
in hac lacrimarum valle.

'Eja ergo, Advocata nostra,
illos tuos misericordes oculos ad nos converter
Et Jesum, benedictum fructum ventris tui,
nobis post hoc exilium ostende.
O clemens, O pia, O dulcis Virgo Maria.

The girl's voice was high and clear as she sang, and the words of supplication rang from tops of the church's stone ceiling making those assembled fully believe her cries would reach the Blessed Virgin.

/flash/

The girl was older now, perhaps all of fifteen, and standing in front of a large assembly of elaborately robed men. "This is your Duty," a tall, heavyset man told her. "Your Calling … "

/flash/

Vampire. Stake. Vampire. Stake. Over and over and over again.

/flash/

Entwined with a man, the girl, now a young woman, learns what passion really is in the arms of her lover. A lover that leaves her bed before dawn, and whom she never sees before dusk. She knows … she does not care.

"My love," he croons, his yellow eyes blazing. "How I adore you, my beloved Susanna … "

Giles pulled off his glasses sharply, turning to face Buffy who had hopped onto the circulation desk. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"One hundred percent sure," she answered. "I mean, I've watched fragments of her entire life the past week or so. It was way wiggy, so I think I'd remember her name. Why?"

"Because I'd narrowed my search based on the, uh, other information your dreams provided and came up with three possibilities. If you now know her name that finishes it," he told her.

"Well?" Buffy urged.

Giles hesitated. He did not want to impart his findings, but knew that Buffy would not be having these dreams were it not important. With a surreptitious glance at the calendar he nearly groaned … this was happening at the worst possible time. However, if he told Buffy what he knew then hopefully her mind would be clear during the test.

With a sigh he entered what the Scoobies termed lecture-mode. "Susanna Sabina Koler of Nuremberg was the Slayer during the late fifteenth century. Like you, Buffy, she was found after she was Called, but afterwards she went to live with her Watcher and his family. By all accounts they got on well enough, but there are hints of dissatisfaction. She certainly did not care for slaying, that much is obvious, and she tried to run away on three separate occasions. Despite this, she was an excellent fighter."

Buffy nodded, waving a hand for him to continue.

"The 'trouble' apparently began when she started spending longer amounts of time on routine patrols," he continued. "And then there were her moods -- alternately blissful and sharp. It was Frau Geuder, her Watcher's wife, who first suspected she had a lover."

"And they were all, 'sex is bad' types, right?" she asked.

"Not entirely," he hedged. "Intimate relations outside of marriage could be tolerated, even amongst the middling classes if handled properly. They were not exactly the prudes you imagine."

"Oh," she said.

"To return to the information at hand, she denied having a lover when confronted. The matter was dropped, but her Watcher kept a closer eye on her after that. Eventually she regained his full trust, but … " he trailed off.

"But?" she pushed.

"But shortly after her eighteenth birthday it was discovered that she did indeed have a lover, and that he … "

"Was a vampire," Buffy finished.

"Er, right," Giles continued. "Apparently incensed because her Watcher was moving her to Dresden, the lover exercised his invitation to wreak havoc on the household; most likely he intended to spirit Susanna away. But there were several Watchers present that night that fought the vampire and his minions off. Although several were injured, the only fatality was Herr Geuder's 'sister,' Margaretha. When the dust cleared, so to speak, Susanna was gone."

"Sister?" she questioned, pronouncing the word as he had.

Giles fumbled for a moment. "Margaretha was actually his cousin, and they were raised in the same household. From what very little was written by Herr Geuder about her, it appears that they, uh, that they were lovers … and had been so for many years. Whether his wife knew or not, I don't know. Other sources also say she was involved in dark magic, but considering her associations that would be rather unusual … "

Buffy tilted her head, as if comparing this to her dreams. Slowly she nodded, but there was a frown on her face.

"From what we can gather they met outside the city and made their way east. Somehow she ended up in Angers, France, which is where she died. Herr Geuder's cousin was the Bishop of Angers at the time … What happened to the vampire, no one knows," Giles concluded.

"Murdered, Giles," Buffy stated. "She was murdered. By a priest, in a church, practically on the damn altar! And it was obviously planned!"

"Buffy," Giles began, "she was a loose canon … "

"She was in love, Giles!" she cried.

"With a demon," he retorted. "With a demon who killed a woman her Watcher loved very much!"

As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them. "Buffy, I … "

"Don't, Giles," she whispered. "Just don't. I gotta go patrol."

And with that she was gone, leaving the stunned Watcher with his books.

Hours later Buffy felt immeasurably better. Dusting vamps always gave her a way to work off steam, but tonight she felt strangely empty. It was odd, she thought as she wandered through town, I identified with Susanna so easily, so readily. But if all I had done was read her story, would I feel the same? She was in love, yes. But Giles is right when he said her lover was a demon.

Susanna's lover didn't have a soul. Mine did.

And now he doesn't …

When she woke the next morning Buffy felt … off, somehow, but shrugged it off as anger and fatigue and went to get a shower. It wasn't until after she had dressed and was finishing her breakfast that she realized what was wrong.

She hadn't dreamed of Susanna.

Wondering at this turn of events, she idly brushed the crumbs from her lap and contemplated the situation. She identified with Susanna all too easily, and although she felt pity for her predecessor she could not condone the other Slayer's actions. Giles had been right, she was a loose canon. But they had taken Susanna's story all too personally, and for the first time they had actually spoken of Jenny's murder.

As she rinsed her glass her thoughts turned to the inevitable questions of the situation. Why had she dreamed of Susanna? Why now? What was the connection to the murdered nun? Or was there one?

And why didn't Susanna fight back?

Four men met by moonlight, two pairs wary of the other. One stood forth from each.

"Are we agreed?"

The one from the second pair answered. "Yes. I will accept your … proposition."

"Good," the first stated. "After midnight … do what you will." And with that he and his companion departed, leaving Angelus smirking beneath the light of the full moon.

"What is happening?" Buffy demanded after her fourth attempt to throw a knife at the dummy nearly severed Giles' finger.

"Perhaps you're ill, Buffy. Isn't there some sort of virus going around?" he asked, putting the knife back in its case.

"Yeah," she grudgingly admitted. "Xander's down with it, and Willow's looking paler than usual."

"Well, there you have it," her Watcher said. "You're coming down with something."

"But Giles! I'm never sick! And when I am, I can still throw. Remember last spring? I still managed to kill the Dar Kinder thingy," she reminded him.

"Der Kindestod," Giles corrected.

"Whatever. Point is, I feel really weak … it's like I'm losing my power … " she trailed off.

"Buffy," he said softly, "why don't you go home for the night? Don't worry about patrol."

"But what if --" she started.

"Angelus might be planning something, you're right. So go home and rest -- we need you at full strength," he said.

Grumbling, the Slayer acquiesced, stuffing her gear into her bag. As she pushed her stakes aside to make room for her latest supply of holy water, she remembered her other news. "Hey, Giles?"

"Yes?" he looked up.

"I didn't dream about Susanna last night. At all," she told him.

"Well, uh, perhaps it is over … and maybe it was simply coincidence," he said.

"Maybe," she mused. Or maybe not, she thought.

"I'm outta here," she announced.

"Goodnight," he called as she sailed through the doors.

"And please be safe," he whispered.

"Well, Rupert, she's quite a girl," a voice said from the door of his office.

Giles slammed his hands down and spun around to face his visitor, whose calm face infuriated the Watcher. "Must we go through with this barbaric test?" he hissed.

"It's tradition," the other answered. "If she is as good as you say, then you have nothing to worry about."

"Worrying about her is all I do," Giles retorted. "Without her strength --"

"She has to outwit her opponent."

"Damn it all, Travers! What right do you have to create a test for her? To bring in some outside opponent -- "

"But we didn't," Travers replied, a smug grin on his face. "We have made use of … local resources."

"Local resources," Giles whispered his face ashen. "You don't mean … "

"Angelus?" Travers finished. "Yes, he was very … cooperative. And your Slayer needs to learn to finish her battles, Rupert."

"Sending her to face him without her strength is murder!"

"It is a test, Rupert. One that she will either pass or fail," his nemesis responded.

"I can't let you do this," Giles told him, rising to his feet and searching for his keys. A click from nearby gave him a pause, and he turned to find three German Lugers trained on him, held by members of the Council's elite guard.

"I'm afraid not, Rupert," Travers told him calmly. "I have orders to keep an eye on you. Your devotion to the girl could destroy the test, and we WILL NOT allow that to happen."

As Giles sank back into his seat, Travers pulled up a chair. "Now, what kind of dreams has your Slayer been having?"

Giles sighed. "She's been dreaming of Susanna Sabina Koler."

"The Traitor?" Travers asked sharply.

"Yes, Buffy has been seeing Susanna's life through her eyes. She has also correctly surmised that Susanna's death was ordered, but she does not understand why the girl never fought back," there was a question in his voice.

"It's not common knowledge, even amongst the Watchers," Travers told him. "But considering … " he tapped his finger on the table and looked thoughtful.

"What?" Giles asked.

"Susanna Koler was trailed by our elite guardsmen after she left Nuremberg, and the drug for the test administered via her food -- a common occurrence in that time -- during one of her frequent stops," Travers explained. "Only her demon lover picked up on it and spirited her away once again. Why he simply didn't turn her we'll never know. She intended to claim sanctuary, again we don't know why, and we found someone willing to take care of her … even if it meant defying the Church and the law."

"My God," Giles whispered.

"She scorned her duty," Travers intoned harshly. "All but the most trivial mention of her tenure as Slayer was stricken from the record, and access to the Diaries restricted to the members of the inner sanctum and the active field Watcher."

"And her lover?"

"He's gone … now," Travers said.

"Did the Council ever discern his identity," Giles questioned, eager to put the story together.

"Of course," Travers replied. "He was a leader in the Order of Aurelius, a vampire by the name of Heinrich Joseph Nest."

Buffy jerked awake from a nap, her heart pounding in her chest. She had been too hopeful and spoken too soon, because yet again she had dreamed of the other Slayer. And the latest flash showed Susanna weak … weak as Buffy herself was now. And her lover …

The Master. Sweet gods above, Susanna had been in love with the very vampire that killed her successor as a prelude to attempting to bring about hell on earth. So why didn't that bother her?

She shook her head and glanced out the window …

… and saw a beribboned box on the front lawn.

As she descended the stairs, Buffy suddenly felt the full weight of the day wash over her. One year ago this very night she had joined herself to Angel, cementing the bond between them. In return, her lover lost his soul, and she lost her partner.

'Until now,' a voice in the back of her mind, one that sounded suspiciously like Susanna, whispered. 'You can have him back,' it whispered. 'See,' it continued as she opened the box to find a long dress of crimson silk and a coronet of black roses. 'He wants you to return to him. Why do you think he's been courting you? Your beloved yearns for you … he needs you more than blood … go to him … you know where he will be …'

And standing under the light of the luminous moon, Buffy heeded the siren call. Careless of her neighbors, she stripped off her clothes and pulled the dress over her nude body. The silk fit like a second skin, molding to her curves, and the low neckline ended less than an inch above her hardening nipples. She pulled her hair from its messy ponytail and ran her fingers through it, the golden waves spilling over her bare shoulders as she placed the coronet on her head. Sliding crimson slippers on her feet, she stretched out her drug-dampened senses, searching for her mate.

A familiar tingle raced up her spine and she turned, following his trail.

On a dark corner in Sunnydale a small but elaborate church with high ceilings stood empty, its parishioners and clergy unwilling to set foot within its confines so soon after Sister Agatha's murder.

But the church was not empty. Candles blazed, illuminating the sanctuary, and the room's occupants waited patiently, if nervously in the case of the short Englishman. The other merely smirked with the realization that all his dreams were coming to fruition.

Both turned their eyes to the door as it was pushed open, the Watcher believing the Slayer had been chased here and intended to seek sanctuary. He almost pitied the girl; she was an excellent fighter, if only she were more disciplined … He grew confused, though, when she stepped into the light of the candles.

"Angel?" Buffy called, her voice high and sweet. "Where are you?"

"I'm here, my love," Angelus said, stepping forward to face her. "But that's not my name."

The Watcher was shocked as she nodded and replied, "I know, I'm sorry … Angelus."

She tipped her head back to meet his dark eyes. Myriad emotions swirled in those black orbs, and Buffy felt like she could drown in them and be perfectly content. He let his hand cup her face, and she nuzzled into his palm before turning her face up to him again. Her lips parted slightly and he swooped down to capture her mouth, his tongue tracing the outline of the sweet fold. She sighed in relief and capitulated, inviting him in, her tongue dueling with his.

Buffy felt him morph and her responses became more heated. She rubbed against his body as his arms encircled her waist, her hands twisting in his hair as she sliced her tongue on one of his sharp fangs. The blood caused Angelus to snarl, and he pulled away to study his tiny lover.

She was flushed, panting, and still weak from the drugs she had been given ever so slowly. Her eyes were hazy and full of passion …

… and surrender.

Triumph raced through him and he tossed his head back laughed, his beautiful, unholy voice echoing in the cavernous church. He picked her up and spun around, relishing the feel of her in his arms.

The Watcher, meanwhile, had observed these events while in a state of shock. It was the sound of Angelus' laughter, however, that snapped him out of his stupor.

"Whore!" he bellowed. "They were right about you! You are a disgrace to your Calling! How dare you take a demon to your bed?"

Angelus was by turns furious and amused; furious that the Watcher dared to call her a whore, and amused at his hypocrisy. "So," he drawled, "you can make a deal with a demon to have her killed, but she can't choose her own lover? How … amusing."

The man paled as Angelus started toward him, and frantically searched for the stake he had deemed it wise to bring. Failing to find his other weapon, he looked up only to see a black silk chest in front of his face. He started to run only to feel hands clasp about his neck --

Angelus merely shrugged as he snapped the man's neck. "I never said I was trustworthy, you fool … and your partner did say 'do what you will,'" he mocked.

With a smile he turned back to his lover, who was gazing at the dead man … and the knife that had fallen from his hand. "He would have killed me … like they killed Susanna," she whispered.

"Now they can't," her demon lover soothed. "They'll never touch you again."

"Never again?" she questioned, her eyes beseeching him.

"Never," he swore, picking her up and carrying her up the stairs toward the altar. With one arm he swept the plates and chalices to the side, a few falling to the floor, and lay her down. Buffy gazed back at him solemnly. Her eyes watched as he stripped off his shirt, and she lay unmoving as he pulled her dress from her unresisting body.

When both were nude he crawled up her body, covering her like a shroud. She shivered as his hands caressed her flesh, and felt her nipples harden as they brushed his sculpted chest. Oh, yes, she thought, this was what she had been missing … Angelus ducked his head and suckled at the rosy buds and Buffy whimpered as she started to writhe, hips lifting, her moistening folds rubbing his fully erect shaft, soaking him with her juices. Her whimpers turned to moans, however, when he pierced her aureole with his elongated canines.

Angelus groaned as her warm blood slid over his tongue, inciting his lust and need and possession. She was his, all his damn it! He raised his head, yellow eyes blazing as he gazed at the crucifix on the wall.

/Quod ore sumpsimus/

He snarled and returned his attention to his lover. Buffy's constant rubbing was driving him insane and he finally gave in, entering her in one quick thrust. She screamed as she felt him within her for only the second time, her beloved mate filling her once more. Tilting her hips he angled them for a deeper penetration, and Buffy yelled, her cries echoing in the sanctuary as each of his hard thrusts bumped her cervix.

/de munere temporali/

Angelus ducked his head once more to her bleeding breasts, sucking more of the sweet elixir that was her blood. He felt her silken walls clench on him, spasamming out of control as she orgasmed from his bite. As she recovered Buffy felt his lips once again on hers, and she tasted blood in her mouth as his fangs nipped at her mouth and down the side of her neck.

"Angelus," she moaned. "My love … please … "

/fiat nobis remedium sempiternum/

She moaned as his thrusts came quicker, each one touching the mouth of womb. Oh, yes, she had craved this, this delicious pain and pleasure, the feel of him on top of her. How had she thought to live without him?

/Corpus tuum, Domine, quod sumpsi/

Angelus snarled as he felt his orgasm approaching and slid his hand between their joined bodies to squeeze her tender pearl of pleasure, reigniting her fires. Buffy whimpered as she felt the lust coil once more in her loins, and she screamed as her crisis washed over her, exploding in a blinding flash of light yet again when his fangs sank into her neck.

Buffy was in a rapture so deep she thought she would never surface, nor did she want to. He was what she wanted, this was what she wanted, for always. So when she felt Angelus press his bleeding wrist to her mouth she opened, eagerly sucking his powerful blood.

/et Sanguis, quem potavi, adhaereat visceribus meis/

Triumph filled Angelus as he watched Buffy's eyes slide shut, a trickle of blood remaining in the corner of her mouth. He raised up on his knees and stared defiantly at the image of Christ. "She's mine! All mine!"

/Qui vivis et regnas in saecula saeculorum/

And as the wind howled through the church, extinguishing the flickering candles, the only sound was of Angelus' triumphal laughter.

The End

Note: Yes, this smacks a little of what Angelus did to Drusilla, but the idea would not go away. And, before you ask, there will be no sequels. And the Latin at the end ... it's part of the Communion from the Tridentine Latin Mass. I omitted parts, just using the snippets that worked in the scene. Loosely translated (in order in the story):
Quod ore sumpsimus,
What now we receive,
de munere temporali
from gift temporal
fiat nobis remedium sempiternum.
may become for us remedy eternal.
Corpus tuum, Domine, quod sumpsi,
Your Body, Lord, which I received,
et Sanguis, quem potavi, adhaereat visceribus meis
and Blood, which I drank, may it adhere to my insides
Qui vivis et regnas in saecula saeculorum.
Who live and reign for ages of ages.