Porphyria's Lover

Author: Sami

Rating: PG-13 for now but the rating rise to  NC-17

Disclaimer: Last time I checked I was neither Joss Whedon or anyone  else who owned Buffy.

Spoilers: Mid season two before 'Passion' and all the  flashbacks.

Distribution: Near Her Always, Forbidden, Wanna Be  Bad, Red's Soulmates, FF.Net, Between Eternity and Time, and really  anyone who asks.

Summary: Angelus wants to fill the gap in his family with  Willow.

Notes: This is my first W/Aus fic so feedback would be fantastic. The  title comes from a poem by Robert Browning. I’d like to thank my beta, the very fabulous, Lisa Kelley, who because of her magical beta abilities can turn my incoherent sludge into a fic. Thanks hun! Yeah, the game cliche, I'm really sorry! I know Medea did it so much better than I can but I'll try. Thanks to all the people who reviewed you know who you are. Thanks!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
 
 
 

~Part: 1~ Sweet and Dandy

Angelus lay entangled in midnight blue silk sheets and Drusilla on the large, hardwood canopy bed. Their pallor contrasted so with the dark fabric that it was as if they were glowing. Drusilla’s head rested on his abs and her raven locks were spread across his chest. Angelus had his hand on her naked shoulder and the other under his neck. His eyelashes were fluttering as one in deep sleep and his lips were curved into a smile…

Darla was in his arms and on his lap looking fetching in a green, empire style night gown. She was wiggling slightly as she ran her nails down the side of his broadcloth covered thigh. Her golden curls tickled his bare chest while the lush velvet of the sofa relaxed him. The fire was crackling merrily as it fought the chill of winter outside. Vienna was their usual Christmas holiday haunt and now they had a large family to share it with. Angelus was broken from his reverie by clapping.

Drusilla was curled up by his legs in a red nightgown similar to Darla’s and was applauding the youngest member of the Clan of Aurelius. Spike was enthusiastically spinning a yarn about a recent pub brawl he had participated in while throwing mock punches and gesturing wildly throughout. He was similarly dressed as Angelus but with suspenders hanging down from the back of his pants. Spike was just getting into a part where he seduced a barmaid when Darla asked coyly, “Why not demonstrate this seduction?”

Angelus awoke to Drusilla nibbling his collarbone and stroking his thigh, slowly caressing toward his cock. He put a hand under her chin and brought her up to stare into her green eyes. She had gotten quite mature since the 1800s. Was she still his little girl? She was always his girl, but now was grown up. Angelus had felt such pride when she had handled all the minions and the duties as leader of a clan while Spike was indisposed. Drusilla had survived decades without a sire or grandsire, taking care of a childer even if she let Spike believe that he was in control. The boy was easily manipulated by her, no matter how Angelus tried to teach him. His girl had ripened, leaving a gap in his family.

The deep thoughts that occupied Angelus concerning his family had to be put on hold while Drusilla gleefully sucked him off. But once he had orgasmed, and feeling returned to his legs, he sent her off, with a playful swat to the bottom, to play with Spike. She was entirely too distracting.

His mind wandered back to the void in his kin. There were only two women that he held in any esteem; Buffy and Willow. When he wondered why he immediately thought of a woman childe, an easy answer came. He already had ‘sons’; Spike, the brightest and more infuriating, Penn, the obedient wanderer, and then there was Sam Lawson, Angel’s mysterious misbegotten one. He had heard vague rumors of that one’s rampages that made the soul cringe, and him swell with pride. Maybe it was time for the boys to return to the nest and have a sister to greet them. The more he thought about it, the better it seemed. Drusilla was becoming spoiled with all the attention from him and Spike. Siblings around would fix that.

Angelus thought over his candidates and was disgusted by the first one. A lousy lay of a slayer was unacceptable as a childe. Then he had the uncomfortable thought that the soul had left residue before it was booted out. He decided to eat a toddler and torture a minion just to reassure himself. Willow was an odd choice as well; a little bookish redhead in fluffy sweaters and primary colored tights. She was intelligent and it wasn’t as if she didn’t have any spunk; the time when she yelled at him about Buffy and coffee proved it. So, it wasn’t as if she didn’t have any potential, if only a little. What else did he know about her, besides being smart? She was an excellent computer hacker and went on patrol even though she had no fighting skills. That showed cleverness, bravery, and stupidity. And she was pretty; with her big eyes and pixie look to her. He thought of the time in the hallway when she was in his arms, wiggling and scratching trying to get free. That sealed the deal.

Angelus decided that further inspection of Willow would be needed. Hopping out of bed and grabbing his lucky slacks, the ones he wore when he lost the soul, from an open drawer, he pulled them on hurriedly. He would start with Willow tonight. The only other thing on his schedule besides torture, chaos, and mayhem, was a sketch of Buffy. He yelled for Franz, his Sire’s former top minion, to get his paper and coal as he buttoned up a crimson satin shirt and walked out of his room. Angelus was excited to finally have a project. That fact didn’t escape Spike as he rolled down the hallway.

“My, aren’t you bright eyed and bushy tailed. What, are you going to leave the Slayer another picture? Bringing chocolate, too?” He asked with venom.

Angelus laughed before asking, “Hey, Spikey, how about you write a poem to go with it?” He watched his boy mumble something before wheeling away with amusement and concern. He knew that Spike was hiding something and plotting because of Drusilla’s joy over his return. Maybe he should start splitting his attention and get the boy out of the chair. A gift of Sire’s blood ought to cheer him up and into the place he belonged; Angelus’ bed.

Franz appeared with a small case and a polite greeting. Angelus just nodded and threw on a long coat from a rack before stepping outside.

“Franz, my schedule for the evening has changed. If Drusilla asks, tell her that I will be back around dawn. Inform the minions that the Slayer’s redheaded friend is off limits. If she is touched, I will rip someone’s spine out through their anus.” He said taking the case.

The minion bowed before asking out of habit, “Sir is that possible?”

“It is once the pelvis has been crushed.” He paused, “Oh, and find me a toddler.” Angelus turned heel and stalked toward Willow’s house.

~~~*~~~

Willow was lying on her belly in, what looked like, a green jersey reading a book. Angelus was crouched on her balcony hidden behind the foliage. She was reading On The Road by Jack Kerouac and seemed to be engrossed in it by the intense look on her face. There were other such books on her shelf that surprised him; Sylvia Plath, Earle Stanley Gardner, Thomas Hardy, and Louis L’Amour. The eclectic range of them was a shock.

Willow was now biting her lip in anticipation over what was obviously a juicy part in the book. Angelus memorized the expression; her wide green eyes, her succulent bottom lip, and her round blushing cheeks. He could envision her in pigtails and a catholic school uniform just begging to be spanked or bent over a desk with the little skirt flipped up. Mary, Mother of Jesus; now that was a visual, if he didn’t pride himself on his self control, then he might just go in there and ravage the girl; which wasn’t a bad idea because it would get him off and hurt Buffy… But no, that kind of impulsiveness was more Spike’s style and look where that had gotten him.

He makes a mental note to go shopping later for lollipops because Willow’s little mouth would need something to suck besides him and they perfectly suited the little girl role he had in store for her. He looked down and sighed; he was at full salute and straining his slacks. Thinking of less erotic things wasn’t helping as a scantily clad Willow kept popping up in his mind. Of course, soon enough, Drusilla was added to the mix as a naughty teacher and him as headmaster. The notion of all three of them together was one he can’t shake. The prominence in his pants was becoming painful. He might need to make a quick stop at the mansion to fuck Drusilla before heading over to Buffy’s.

Willow sat up, showing a great deal of pale leg, while saving a place in her book. She threw her long auburn hair over her shoulder with one hand and placed the book on the nightstand with the other. The redhead stretched her arms up just enough to show the tops of her thighs but unfortunately nothing more. Angelus figured the show was over and he quietly made his way off of her balcony. He seriously needed to release some tension and think over what he had learned. There was no doubt that he would be back tomorrow.

~~~*~~~

It had been two weeks, the purchase of a catholic schoolgirl uniform, a pack of lollipops, three sketches of Buffy, five of Willow, and hours of watching clocked before Angelus made his move. He had just finished a picture of Willow sleeping he had started to pass the time after Buffy went to sleep. His intentions were to harass her mother when she got back from a late business trip, but he got weary of waiting. His patience for stalking and tormenting his victims was legendary but now he wanted Willow and a full family. Letting himself out of Buffy’s room was a breeze, and in a mortal eye blink he was striding toward the Rosenberg residence.

Angelus hadn’t planned on stealing Willow away so soon but, as many of his greatest triumphs were spontaneous, he wasn’t worried. Drusilla was also a spur of the moment decision. He was eager, filled with a predatory glee as he climbed up to Willow’s balcony. The devilish grin on his face was broad from the knowledge that he would no longer have to wait for his prize.
Getting into her room was anything he hadn’t done before, but his mood changed into something much more solemn as he leaned over to pinch a pressure point on her neck. That convinced him that this wasn’t just going to be a lark. This was right, and Willow was supposed to join his family. Drusilla was the one who read the tarot and divined the future from the heavens, but Angelus was the one who believed in omens. Every one up to this moment had screamed, ‘take the girl.’ And he obeyed.

She wouldn’t wake for hours, which should give him time to finish his preparations. On The Road was on the nightstand and he absently put the paperback in his coat pocket as he listened for others in the house. He had forgotten to check for her parents in his excitement. It was fortunate for her and them that they were away.

Willow lay with her pink comforter draped loosely on her hip as she slept on her side. Her pajamas were a white, empire waist style night gown. So much more appropriate for a kidnapping than her usual attire. Taking a piece of paper of her desk along with a pen he walked over to her closet and jotted down her measurements. After all, she couldn’t just go around naked, no matter how alluring the idea was. This sort of intimate knowledge never failed to unnerve his victims. Contrary to what Spike may think, it was the details, not just gore, which could terrify. He looked forward to putting his tricks to work on Willow.
There seemed to be nothing else to be done, so Angelus picked up the phone and called Willy’s Place. His instructions were brief and brisk; send the minion that he kept there to pick up gossip, and have him bring the car to Willow’s house. Once that tedious procedure was out of the way, Angelus smirked trying to think of the best way to destroy his girl’s room. Not only would it wound Buffy and her gang but, it would hurt Willow’s parents, who were smart enough to imagine all sorts of horrible fates that could befall their darling daughter.

She was the sort who would fight, so he knocked over the night stand and proceeded to make his way around the room. The book shelf was next and it got a few round kicks that sent books cascading to the floor. Then the walls and posters were punched and ripped, leaving the Sunnydale Razorbacks flag torn in two. There was a slaughter of stuffed animals which had fluff flying through the air along with fuzzy ears and google eyes. In the midst of the carnage, Willow was peacefully unconscious. Angelus was getting a minor kick out of such a Spike-like activity. With every teddy bear slashed open and book shredded, he saw the horrified faces of her friends and family. By the time his car was pulling up outside, the room looked like a tornado stormed through.

A thoughtful expression crossed his face as he glanced about the tattered remains of Willow’s room. What could make this sight more grisly? It already had the innocence merrily being stolen vibe to it. That’s when it hit him. He knew he wasn’t going to waste her blood by splashing it around, but he did have a perfectly useless minion down in the car…

~Part: 2~ The Game of Risk

‘When you wake up in an unfamiliar room what do you do?’ Willow asked herself as she pressed up against the head board paralyzed with fear. ‘Add Angel, the evil, leather wearing version, staring at you from across the room. Then what do you do?’ She was clueless, which happened too often since she met Buffy, as to how she had gotten into this situation.

The last thing she remembered was talking to her mom, who was giving her a guilt trip about never wearing the clothes her Nanny Rosenberg had given her. How that came up when they were talking about the quaintest café her mom had found in Prague, she would never know. Willow put on the least juvenile item from the pile of frilly, baby outfits her Nanny had brought. It was an itchy, musty nightgown of lace that suffocated her with its length. But it had shut her mother up.

It was odd, she hadn’t ever been more scared in her life and she had seen some scary things; the Hellmouth opening, Cordelia the day after Thanksgiving, and Giles angry. But all she could think about was how the lace on the dang nightie was driving her crazy and she was for the most part fine with that. There were much worse things to think about.

Angelus didn’t get the nickname, Scourge of Europe because of his good looks though, on that front he could be a contender. She felt her eyes growing large and her heart speed up as all the horrible things he could do to her came to mind. She couldn’t help it. From his boots, to his leather pants, and up to his handsome, smirking face, he radiated something. Evil, without a doubt, but there was also something darker and more seductive that he emanated. It made your eyes follow him in either fear or something else she didn’t want to think about.

When his pupils dilated and nostrils flared slightly, as his chocolate eyes bored into her frightened green ones, she had the crazy thought that he could smell her fear. And he seemed to enjoy it, too.

“Hello, Willow.” He said huskily.

It was his voice that stopped any delusions she might have had about him being Angel, just a little more cranky than usual. There was a joyful note to his voice, but then again there was menace and way too much sensuality for Angel. She wasn’t sure how to respond. Do you give your murderer a cheerful howdy and how ya do?

She gulped before saying, “Hey.”

His fingers twitched as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear revealing the side of her neck. Angelus stood and before she could react, he was sitting in the middle of the bed. Willow squeaked before she could contain herself. It wasn’t just his sudden closeness that was making her heart beat frantically, there was also a hungry look in his eyes. Whatever instinct bunnies have when danger is around she must have it too, and it was telling her to run and hide. He seemed content to look at her, so she looked everywhere but at him.

Her prison was a dark teal room with a dark hardwood floor and furniture; bed frame, bookshelf, and wardrobe, dominating it. There was another door besides the exit to her left. The lone window was large and thin, but unfortunately, had intricate curling iron work covering it. Heavy forest green drapes, which matched the upholstery and duvet, stood guard at the window. It was like she was in an aquarium.

Angelus put a finger under her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. They were the same ravenous brown, but now an upsetting predatory light shined from them. The look made the knots in her stomach become a tangle.

“Willow,” he said as his hand caressed her throat softly before giving it a not so soft squeeze. “Do you have any questions?” His other hand slid up to the other side of her face and his thumb moved in slow circles on the apple of her cheek. He was now upsettingly close and hardly needed to lean into whisper in her ear. “You’re wondering why you?”

His lips brushing against her earlobe sent shocks like ice down her spine. The feather soft caresses now became rough and the pressure he put on her cheek was swiftly becoming painful. If the strength in just his thumb was enough to bruise her and bring tears to her eyes she didn’t want to imagine what the rest of him could do.

“Pretty little Willow, it’s a wonder that no other vampire has tried to eat you up. The fear is just rolling off your lovely body in waves and it’s really something. It smells like…” He paused before giving her neck a lick that made her shake. “Strawberries. You taste that way, too.”

Willow thought she might shake and shiver her way into unconsciousness. She knew better than to beg. If he did rape her than there would be nothing she could do. She began to pray with much more fervor that Buffy would charge on in here with stakes and puns aplenty.

“Makes sense, don’t you think? If, according to Spike, Drusilla is a ripe wicked plum, then you must be my sun-ripened strawberry.” The hand on her cheek moved lower toward her middle before Angelus pulled her into his lap. “My little strawberry all un-plucked and juicy.”

He burrowed his head into the crook of her neck. His hands were busy caressing her hips and belly. She thought she might cry and was frightened to the point of dumb hysteria. Odd thoughts ran through her mind. This situation seemed so Anne Rice; handsome vampire, gothic surrounding, and creepiness. Her heart was racing, as if she were on a roller coaster that jumped the track. She pushed away the upsetting sensations that his touch evoked.

“You’re so warm and inviting that I think I ought to keep you like this at least for a couple of years.” He nibbled on her ear a bit. “Don’t think about escape. I have both childer and minions who would love to get a taste of you.”

Suddenly she was alone on the bed. The change left her sprawled and confused, looking up at a calm, cool, and collected Angelus sitting in the same armchair he was earlier. This was the fearsome scourge that she had read about not the passionate creature of before. His face was a blank and his once active eyes were now only hinting at evil.

“As I said before, escape is impossible. You are mine and Buffy can’t save you, your parents can’t save you, and you can’t save yourself. You are alone in the world except for me and who ever I chose. I am the only one that matters. Now, do you have any questions?” He asked in a business like fashion.

The fear was getting to her because at his words she felt irrational anger. How dare he or anyone else claim her like she was airport luggage? She was getting her hysteria down by focusing on the anger. The fact that she was going to be his captive for awhile hit her. She needed to know more and get the rules. Information was always the key. Knowledge was power.

“What are the rules?” She asked with a tremble in her voice that made her want to smack herself. She couldn’t be weak.

His brow furrowed as he asked, “Rules?”

“You know what is expected of me and what I can and can’t do.”

His lips twisted up into a smirk and that hunger returned to his eyes before he reigned himself in. “Obedience is the first rule, no escaping or I flay your mother. Hmmm, what else? Darling, that’s it. The rules or any demands I make can and will change. I will be looking eagerly for any excuse to punish you, but really I don’t need an excuse. So, if one day I walk in here and start to fancy the idea of spanking you, then consider yourself spanked.” His eyes closed for a second and the hunger was back. “I was planning on raping you, but then I thought about it. What would hurt you more? The fact that you want me desperately, while hating me passionately, or raping you and giving you fuel for your righteous anger? And believe me, you will be begging for me to touch you, kiss you, and spank you… I look forward to seeing you beg.”

Her eyes narrowed and she didn’t trust herself to speak. She didn’t even trust herself to move lest she smack the frilly heck out of his stupid vampire self. Another thing hit her; she would need all of her brains to make it out of this alive. He was unfortunately right, Buffy couldn’t help her. All of the emotions that would mess with her judgment had to be set aside. She needed to see this at a different, less personal level. Her life was at risk, so she had to play this right. Risk, that was it. When she was younger, her and her dad used to play Risk and it was one of those few times where she could lie and bluff. If it was that cut and dry she could strategize better.

It would be like those biographies she had read on Queen Elizabeth and Cleopatra. Sure, there were a lot of differences in their separate situations. Well, there were hardly any similarities except all of them being woman and being on earth. How does that help again? Oh, yeah, strategy and empowerment.

“Willow, how about you do up your hair in those cute little braids.” Angelus said clearly expecting to be obeyed. He turned his head as if listening. “Franz, come in.”

A short, sandy haired man, with a mole high on his pale cheek, wearing a gray suit walked in the door and gave Angelus a deep elaborate bow. He had the air of an ambassador or a butler. He had a refined manner that was unlike any other vampire she had had the misfortune to meet.

“This is your body guard. He won’t hurt you unless you make him. Your safety is relatively ensured. He has orders to answer any question you may have. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” Angelus said before he walked to the door. He stopped to whisper in Franz’s ear. “Remember,” he said to Willow over his shoulder. “Be a good girl while I’m gone.”

Then he left her alone with only her confused thoughts and a minion for company.

~Part: 3~ History Lesson

Franz turned to Willow and bowed to her. When he straightened he said, “Permit me to further introduce myself. I am Franz Pieterzoon, in the service of Angelus, sired by Darla, of the Order of Aurelius. During the length of your stay I will serve you in a bodyguard or butler capacity. I am obliged to answer any and all questions that you may have. I have been informed that you are a quiet girl and that I should get the ball rolling, so to speak.” He looked uncomfortable with the modern phrase as if he was forcibly being pulled into the present age.

“I believe that my Master would prefer to learn more about you, but he does so enjoy happening on that information himself. So, I leave him to that task. I feel that a short history on the Order of Aurelius is the best approach in this sort of situation.” He gestured to the armchair and she nodded for him to sit, which was odd. She was the prisoner, but he was treating her like a princess. Franz was like an artifact from a Victorian parlor, a gentleman caller or something.

Willow knew that he was reporting all he knew to Angelus, he even admitted it. So, she decided that if he was the ambassador, then she must be the queen. The fear had not left her, in fact, it had doubled as snippets of info on Angelus started to come back to her, a particular passage about a puppy seared her mind.

This would be a good time to put up her ‘Risk’ strategy to work. It’s just like if Dad was trying to break into her South American stronghold. It’s a test to see her defenses.

“If I may begin,” Franz said. His posture was perfect; the entire encyclopedia Britannia would have balanced on his carefully parted sandy head. He looked like a 1950’s news anchor.

To her surprise, an odd calm swept over her body; the facial ticks, nervous gestures, and trembling stopped. This sort of thing had happened when ever she had an exam. Since all he wanted her to do was listen, which as Buffy’s best friend she was good at, she was fine. As long as she had some clue or idea of what she should do, she was fine.

“Aurelius was a famed Roman gladiator. His cruelty and prowess in the Coliseum caught the eye of Kiya, an Egyptian priestess of Anubis. Her undeath only increased her religious fervor. The year was the fifth of the Emperor Augustus’ reign when he was brought over. Aurelius and Kiya shared a passion for the Old Ones, which is the foundation for our mighty Order. The mix of Egyptian, Roman, and Aurelius’ native Gallic mysticism influenced the Order’s rituals for generations.

The centuries passed by and Roman Emperor’s were replaced by Catholic Popes. The year The Master came into the presence of Aurelius was 956. He had traveled to Rome on the behalf of Otto of Saxony. Before the Glorious Ascendance, his name was Heinrich Nest…

The catacombs were a vast and dark place. Heinrich could hardly believe he was in this tomb or temple of worship for early Christians, he wasn’t quite sure. He wouldn’t have believed that his holiness, John XII would have set the Papal guards after him. Well, actually he could. The pope was a hot blooded nineteen year old boy who had called the Saxony people dissolute barbarians while he was preparing to attend an orgy. One would think that the holy throne of Peter would be occupied by a sober and temperate man, but then most of Christendom had never been to Rome. Heinrich had thought his time in King Otto’s court had left him jaded, but then he came to Rome and witnessed the behavior of the clergy that everyone accepted, and he felt quite naïve..

He stumbled in a puddle and then tried to keep his mind from wandering. The clang of swords against mail echoed in the tunnel. His fear was quickly becoming intolerable. John XII had recently castrated a cardinal and if he could do that to a powerful man of the church, what might he do to a lowly foreign courier?

Then he was pulled into a crevice. A hand muffled his screams as he was dragged through mire and darkness. It was like centuries before he heard howling. Was this a secret torture chamber of the Pope? The sudden illumination burned his eyes, and it wasn’t until his captor threw him down that he began to see.

He was in front of a throne of bones and looking into the face of a beast. It had horns and a visage not unlike a serpent down to a forked tongue. He had met Satan, for what else could be so grotesque? Then he looked at the feminine creature beside it. The female had a body with every luscious curve that makes up a beautiful woman, but she had the face of a canine; snout and all. The hideous monsters that cavorted around him were no better, nude demons worshiping the Horned One and his consort.

Satan spoke, “Lord Nest, welcome to my haven. My reports speak of your virtues and strengths. Usually the…courting process is lengthier. But when I had learned that your cub of a pope was going to blind and unman you before sending you back to Saxony in a saddle bag, I knew that the time had come to bring you over. I wish to have a man like you by my side. I will not take no for an answer, but do not fret, all will become clear the next time you wake.”

“I’ll have no dealings with devils, evil one,” Heinrich spit out. Then he was thrown forward and Satan took him by the neck and bit down. Heinrich Nest, son of Rufus the Red, of the noble land of Saxony knew darkness and evil.

Willow was held spellbound by Franz’s words, spoken in a low chant almost. His green eyes were wide and dark when he finished his tale. In a few blinks he was out of his trance and was no longer a bard shaman but again a courtier. The change was startling. She felt the urge to clap.
“Wow, that was a great story,” she said forgetting her queen act.

Franz nodded with a ghost of a smile. “Would you care to learn more about vampires?”

“Yeah, that would be fantastic.” Then she remembered her aloof royalty act, “If you want.” Willow tried not to blush at how lame she sounded. Smooth move, Rosenberg.

“There are three levels of Vampires; minions, masters, and those in between. Minions are barely able to think and need a powerful master to keep them in line. Masters are the ones who lead clans within an Order and have the responsibility to keep minions. The ones in between are like me; we have age, powerful blood, and intelligence but we would rather be free agents and not tied to land or minions.” Franz said with feeling creeping into his voice at the end. Willow thought on that before adding it to the useful info cabinet in her brain.
“What did you mean by ‘lead clans within an order?’?” She asked.

Franz smiled…maybe, the difference was slight. “There are many vampiric orders in the world. The masters pay homage to The Master of the order. The minions are foot soldiers with no loyalty, so a master with a fearsome reputation could bring enemy minions to his side. If an order’s Master has such fame, then he could bring another order’s clan to him. But that is quite rare.” He replied.

Willow had never heard this sort of information on vampires before; Giles books were mostly concerned with what they did and how to kill them. When she got out she would have to tell Giles all about this. “What do those like you do?” She asked. She thought she missed the name Franz gave to those in between. “And you make it sound like these orders are at war.”

“Vampires are essentially at war with everything. Demons despise us for our human origins, and there is always a master who goes into another’s territory to further his name. Also sometimes human witches control a city, like New Orleans and Calcutta, and will destroy any vampires they find. Vampires such as I connect the order to the human and demonic worlds. We are not tied to any order officially, so we have free range over borders,” He said.

Willow couldn’t figure out why Franz served Angelus and she asked him that. Franz laughed…maybe, again, the difference was slight; he could have coughed, and was considerably more loosened up. Sure, he was still sitting like books were on his head, and was still formal, but his manner was less mannequin and more warmish. That was freaking her out. But she wasn’t going to let her metaphor ‘robes of state’ fall again. She vowed to be even more of an info sponge. Someone was going to slip sometime.

“Eternity is quite slow and one does need to network.”

His answer, which was too flippant, made her think back, for some reason, to his introduction. “You said that you were sired by Darla? What does that make you and Angelus?” She asked. His voice had changed when he talked of Darla, maybe that was important. She watched him closely. His eyes hardened…maybe, the difference was slight. That was starting to irritate her…how he was so closed up, but then after so many decades, or centuries, he was bound to pick up *some* acting skills.

“I was given to Darla when I was a human at the court of Queen Elizabeth I’s Viceroy in the Low Countries. She was then only a few years in undeath and The Master was touring his territory in Europe. There is no real story besides that Darla made me to serve her, not as a minion, but as a companion she could trust.”

Willow noted that Darla was a sensitive point for Franz and she should move on. He had become lifeless, when before he was animate in his explanations. And when a vampire looks lifeless, they really, really succeed. That had brought her back to when Angelus was kissing her and the fact that he was basically a walking corpse. Ew. Does that make Buffy a necrophiliac? And she kind of in a way enjoyed him kissing her, maybe. What does that make her? Bad, bad train of thought, must move on.

“So, are vampires suspicious of their…their,” she struggled for the word, “…spawn?”

Then he out and out laughed. “I believe the word you’re looking for is childe with an e.” She must have made a face at the incestuous nature of the word because he clarified. “Yes, the term was in part inspired by the sordid and upsetting connections it had. But what else would you call one reborn in darkness?”

He pulled out a silver waistcoat watch from his pocket. It was the honest to goodness old fashioned grandpa kind. Willow figured from the design that it had to be older than her…or her parents for that matter. He stood and walked over to the wardrobe and opened the doors.

“As entertaining as our little session has been, I really must be off and perform my other duties; with your permission, of course, but I wager that you would rather be freshening up than listen to me prattle on,” He said as he pulled out a cream sundress with light red roses on it. “If you be so kind as to put this on after you bathe. Undergarments and toiletries are in the wardrobe and water closet respectively. What is your preferred dish?”

Willow caught his last question but the fact that the dress looked exactly her size made her take a minute to absorb it. “Um, chicken parmesan, orange chicken, fried chicken, bre-“

He interrupted, “so, poultry would be fine.”

“Yup, if it has feathers and can be fried, I’ll eat it.” Willow said with a smile before explaining, “My father is from Louisiana, and I’m Jewish, so remember ‘kosher’ and you’ll be good.”

Franz smiled at her, almost warmly, before bowing and retreating from the room with a polite farewell. Her mind was abuzz with all this new information, but it would have to take a back seat to a nice long shower. She could only wonder what else the day would bring.

~Part: 4~

Angelus was quiet as he opened  and closed the door behind him. He was content to just look at Willow who was staring out  the window, one hand on a dark green drape. Without her usual layer of fluff, he  was better able to admire her slender, fragile body. The room's color scheme,  along with the moonlight flooding the room, cast an eerie glow about her. Her  dress and red hair brought out her pallor and made her seem ethereal.

She was ignoring him, and  except for the tremble in her delicate shoulders, which were bare to his gaze,  and the stiffness of her jaw that belied her soft mouth, she seemed to be  succeeding. Willow still looked furious, though. Angelus  thought he might just pounce on her then and there. She tired of her game and  turned around; he met her angry green eyes, which flashed death in his  direction. He had spoken too soon, now he wanted to pounce. He could hardly wait  to see those eyes darken with lust and flash hot rage while she clung to him  shaking from passion and hatred. This had to be one of his better ideas, he  thought.

"Buffy's going to kick your  ass, you know," she said. He had started to think she was in shock because,  although he could smell her fear, all he could see was  rage.

Angelus laughed as he moved  over to her. "I like your sass," he said before lightly backhanding her. Or what  he thought was lightly, he might have been mistaken, as Willow spun hitting the  window. Her harsh breathing shook her body and made the tops of her pert breasts  strain the dress that, he now realized, was too tight in the chest.

She turned around and all of  her anger and fear hit him, sending the blood rushing to his dick. Bright eyes  promised murder from beneath long lashes and little fists were balled and white  from the effort of not hitting him.

Angelus was really enjoying his new girl.

The smell of blood reached him  before the sight of the crimson liquid dripping down the apple of her pale  cheek. She seemed not to notice it. 'His ring must have scratched her' was a  passing thought as he pulled her roughly into his arms. He used the tip of his  tongue to chase the stray droplets of blood and then the broad side to clean the  scratch. He growled when she tried to pull away and moaned when she  flinched.

His voice was harsh and thick  when he whispered against the cut, "Do you have any idea how your blood tastes?  All that anger and fear make it spicy, and your innocence makes it insanely  sweet. I could get drunk on you. I wonder how you would taste with all the  pleasure I can give rushing through you?"

Angelus could imagine spending hours  playing with her nude body and placing his mark on her thighs, belly, and  breasts while watching her hate him, yet need him, desperately. There would be  no devoted love like with Drusilla, or even love/hate as with Spike. He would  keep her bound to him with hate and lust. After a few parting licks to  her cheek, he moved down to her neck, sucking and licking her flesh. Her heart  was beating an enticing tattoo, yet her body was limp in his arms. He wasn't  sure if he liked that before he realized what it was. When vampires feed, their  victims sometimes go under a thrall, usually only once, but for most humans the  point was moot. Angelus consoled himself that next time she would  struggle.

One hand rose to play with her  slightly curling hair. He had wanted to see if her hair was naturally straight  and he was glad to see that without a hairdryer, it had soft waves. His other  hand caressed her back softly to really relax her before his fingers began a  drumming motion, and then a harder kneading. She was going to relax whether she  wanted to or not.

"I can see us darling," He  whispered between kisses on her shoulder which only had two flimsy straps to bar  his way. "We're on this very bed. You're writhing, and moaning, and struggling  against the ribbon I’ve tied your wrists together with. I'm giving your lovely,  little body the attention that it deserves. I know what you've been hiding and  what those fool boys weren't able to see. Can't you imagine it?"

His hands moved lower, giving  her ass and thighs the same massage as her back. Angelus was delighted to find  that Willow had  the sort of behind he enjoyed; high, firm yet squishy, and of a reasonable size.  That was one of the problems, besides being the Slayer, and a royal pain, that  he had with Buffy. She went from comfortably curvy when he met her, to a stick.  Willow, on the other hand, had a layer of cushion on her slim frame. His sire was the same way.

Looking up, he noticed that  she had her eyes closed and was biting her bottom lip. There was a delicious  battle of emotions on her face, just as he had hoped. Her breathing was shallow,  and as Angelus fell to his knees, it took all of his self control to not free  her from her restrictive garments and act out his fantasies. He had the feeling  that she wouldn't resist much.

Angelus paused from kissing  and nuzzling her hip to muse aloud how creative he should be with her first  bite. Willow's  eyes popped open and the look she shot at him had all the fire of rage and lust.  Her red hair was wild, and in the cool hues of the room, like a neon halo, while  her eyes had an odd almond, almost feline slant to them. His masculine pride  puffed up in the knowledge that it was he who was letting this passionate  creature loose. He knew that she wasn't ignorant about her body physically, but  he was sure that nothing else had ever set her going like this. He could smell  her fear, hate, and desire which were so twisted together he could hardly  separate them. The sight of this exotic girl,  who was still able to maintain control under his assault, pushed back any doubts  he’d had about whether he should have picked the conventionally blonde, blue  eyed Buffy, who probably would have been panting like a bitch in heat and  begging by this time. His sire was one of the few blondes he had known who could  make her English honey beauty into something foreign and exciting. Angelus found  it sad that Angel needed a pale substitute because he missed his  mommy.

"How about the classics?"  Willow asked,  lacking the venom of her earlier statements, but still with plenty of spunk. He  was beginning to think that fear was making her irrational. Good, that’s how he  liked his women.

He chuckled against her thighs  making her rub them together unconsciously. His hands preceded him as he stood  liquidly. The plump curve of her ass made him want to dig his hands in, because  really, for a skinny white girl, it was amazing.

"Darling let us not be so  ordinary. Sure, a bite on the neck will remind you of who you belong to whenever  something rubs that mark, and make you shiver, but there are so many other  places. On your breast maybe? Or your inner thigh. So many delectable places to  choose from…" Angelus said.

He thought back to a movie he  had seen at a drive-in theater while the soul had been looking for rats. The  movie Hellraiser had been playing. The main villain Pinhead, or whatever, was  able to give intense pain and pleasure at the same time. He might be rusty, but  he was pretty sure he could best a guy named Pinhead. He would enjoy introducing  Willow to both  sides of the physical coin.

As he placed a chaste kiss on her lips, he pinched a familiar patch of  her neck rendering her unconscious. Catching her as her knees buckled he swept  her up and laid her on the bed. She looked almost dead and his cock twitched at the thought of her with fangs. Her warmth was nice and everything, but there was  nothing like a vampire. A bruise was blooming on her cheek, which he kissed  hard. He didn't trust himself to be with her any longer. He had better find  Drusilla.

Angelus strode out the door  meeting Franz. "Report," he demanded curtly as his mind was on other  things.

"Miss Rosenberg was frightened  but she didn't try to escape or cause any disturbance. The only notable  occurrence was she requested my rules be laid down for her." Franz said after he  bowed. "Master, I have procured foodstuffs she would enjoy. Shall I fetch any  special tools?"

Angelus laughed, "No, Drusilla  would be put out to see Willow get any special treatment." He paused.  "Have a minion bring some humans in from the cellar. You tend to the girl." He  had big plans for this night and Willow was pushed from his  thoughts.

~Part: 5~

Angelus paused at the door listening to  Drusilla hum a lullaby to Spike. As he thought over his time in Sunnydale, he  wasn't surprised that Spike was pissed at him. First he took over the boy's  house, and then slept with Drusilla and not Spike. Angelus didn't like how he  had handled things, but he was sure that this would put a band aid on the  booboo.

Drusilla's singing took on a more sultry  tone and Spike's stream of whimsical endearments stopped. He pushed the door  open to a tension filled scene. Her lush dark hair was done up in two girlish  braids which belied the sheer white nightgown she wore. She was draped over the  boy on the high mahogany bed, staring at her Sire with burning concentration as  she ran her hand down Spike's naked chest. While Drusilla had feigned modesty  even if her gown clearly showed the outline of her nipples, Spike was  unabashedly bare. In the time Angelus had been back he  hadn't seen his grandchilde in such a state. His eyes memorized his family; the  lean, tightly muscled marble that he had spent nights beating into submission,  and his not-so-little girl all slender limbs and graceful, generous curves. He  enjoyed the contrast, especially of their eyes; one pair green and inviting, the  other blue and angry. It was times like this that Angelus' inner drama queen  came out and wanted to shine.

"Just seeing you two brings out all these  fatherly feelings, and with a new sister on the way, I'm down right paternal."  He said with an exaggerated sigh at the end. He wasn't lying. The urge to get  Penn and meet Sam Lawson was getting stronger by the day. Angelus had plans,  bigger than Sunnydale, he wanted L.A. Of course he would keep Spike on the  Hellmouth, but once his reputation was secure and the recon was  done…

The city would be his and the Slayer  couldn't stop him. Hell, she couldn't even drive a car, let alone get an  apartment or a permission slip from her Mama; he had the little girl beat.  L.A. would be  the perfect place to groom Penn, and if he had luck, Sam, to take over other  Californian cities in his name. Angelus had always been ambitious and now that  he was feeling like settling down, only an empire would  do.

He shed his burgundy shirt as he moved over  on to the bed. Drusilla watched him with bright, excited eyes while Spike was  weary. His princess, as usual, had already guessed his game, but the boy wasn't  even in the ballpark. "It's about time we all reaffirmed our  bonds." Angelus said slightly tilting his head. Drusilla pushed Spike up, and  after coyly licking his wrist, she bit deep. Her other pale hand brought one of  Angelus' in its embrace. He had little time to appreciate the view before Spike  latched on to his neck. He murmured thickly, "C'mere Dru."

  ~~~*~~~

'Willow hadn’t answered her phone or come to  school for two days and I didn't even notice that anything was wrong,' Buffy  thought as she leaned against the door frame of Willow's room. The door had been ripped off of  its hinges and was laid down in the hall. She wasn't fighting the tears that ran  down her scared, pale face. The room she stared into wasn't a room anymore; it  was like the set of a bad horror movie.

Willow's bed was a heap of fluff, her  treasured books looked like so many leaves abandoned in fall on the floor, the  computer was scrap metal but the hard drive looked fine. When they got  Willow back  she'd be happy to hear that. And they would get her back; there was no question  of it.

Buffy woke up, the sweat already becoming  chilled beads on her skin. She was shaking as she peeled back the blanket. Her  slayer sense was in hyper drive and her stomach was a mass of fire. She hadn't  felt this sensation since Merrick, her old  Watcher had died. The lamest part of the slayer package was the cramps that  preceded the really bad events; to top that off, a prophetic slayer dream. What  was going to happen? What could be worse than Angel going evil?

The dream was fading, but the message was  clear; the Powers That Be really wanted Buffy to know that the shit was about to  hit the fan. She chased after the dream but the images were fleeting. A charcoal  picture of Willow, a trashed room, and her crying… Then it  all clicked together; Angel drew pictures like that, that was Willow's room, and that’s  what she'd look like when she found…

Buffy was hyperventilating quietly, her eyes  round and panicked. Her breathing didn't slow as she sat up and fumbled around  in the dark for sweat pants but found none. The air was horribly still and was  more like moving through jelly than anything else. She wasn't fast enough, even  if it had only been a minute since she had gotten out of bed. With a cross and  stake in her pocket, clad in only a thin camisole and Donald Duck boxers, Buffy  climbed through her window and jumped recklessly off the porch  roof.

Her heels burned and ankles throbbed when  she landed as sure as a cat, but she paid her body no mind when she took off in  a run. The chill of the December air with its bite of the ocean didn't faze her,  neither did the loss of her cross and stake. The only thing that mattered was  the up-down of her legs as she raced to her best friend. She didn't want to  think of what she would find, or if this would be the day she'd have to stop  talking and kill Angel. If he killed Willow then it would be like he killed Buffy.  She needed all her friends; they kept her alive and strong. They lead her from  the dark and surrounded her with love.

As Buffy ran up the walk to Willow's door, she saw that  the window to the balcony was broken, like something had been thrown out of it.  The door was unlocked when she tried the knob. Looking over her shoulder, she  was relieved to see that the sky was slightly pink. The sun would be up soon, so  Angel wouldn’ t be there.  Buffy  flinched after the thought, her best friend was in danger and she was worried  about seeing her ex.

She pushed the door open, resisting the  desire to literally kick herself. The downstairs was dark and everything seemed  normal; messy pile of books and magazines concerned with psychology on the  coffee table, the gentle chime of the wall clock, and the warm air of the heater  under the stairs. She slowly walked up the steps, her breathing shallow as her  eyes caught a glimpse of a door lying down in the hall, the corner of it stained  by blood which was curiously thick and wet. There hadn’t been blood in her  dream.  There hadn't been blood, why  was there blood now?

As she walked around the door and stared  into the disaster area that was Willow's room, she had to clutch the banister  top to keep her balance. There was a great 'A' written in a fancy old style, but  the letter's lines were made up of five thin red lines on the corner of the wall  where the bookshelf should have been. She prayed it wasn't blood, but that  sickly metallic smell was everywhere.

She heard a rustle and ran into the room.  Willow could be  alive! Then she let out a shriek; the room was almost covered in blood and the  view from the hall didn't do the carnage justice. And there was a twitching  denim covered leg that was oozing blood at her feet, and lumps of red mush that  might have been hands tossed on the bed; not to mention the vampire torso that  was impaled on the bed with what looked like a branch.

Buffy thought she would retch; this was what  Angel did.  Her Angel, her Angel did  this. The head attached to the torso let out a pitiful moan. She reached for her  stake and it wasn't there….

The smell of blood settled in the back of  her throat as she stumbled to what remained of the dresser and shifted through  the open bottom drawer for a stake. She crouched and looked over her shoulder to  see the missing limbs on the balcony threshold. She thought she was so going to  yak. Buffy had to stake the vampire and everything would go away; all the blood,  the gore, the vampire.

Finally she had the wood in her hands,  crawling to the bed she raised the stake and brought it down fast. A whispered,  'thanks' echoed though the room before the sigh of the mutilated body crumbling  to dust and the crash of the branch falling. She collapsed and saw the leg had  turned into a pile of kitty litter. The blood on the wall seemed to disappear  from bottom to top in a wave. Looking over she grabbed Willow's phone with  trembling hands and dialed a familiar number.

"Giles?"

  ~~~*~~~

A line tying Angelus to a minion had been  snapped. It was like a small sting, unlike if a childe had been killed, which  would have been a gut wound. His lazy smile turned into a smirk as Spike  nuzzled his bare side, and Drusilla wiggled astride him. Her lush locks had long  since broken free of their girlish bindings and she looked like a dark Godiva,  looking up at him from hooded eyes as she ran sharp French manicured nails down  his naked chest. Angelus loved the looks Spike kept flashing Dru; the boy looked  like he wanted to push her off his Grandsire…and take her place.

This was how life was supposed to be, he  thought. Dru leaned forward and ground into him, her perfumed hair tickled the  welts on his skin and her cool breath on his ear made him want to shudder. He  settled for a manlier groan as her grinding became more insistent.

"Snap. Snap. Snap. Slayer found the mole.  Wreck. Wreck. Wreck. She found the mess. Fight. Fight. Fight. She used the  Knight. Bite. Bite. Bite. She was used and lost. Steal. Your. Pet…" She  whispered a hint of jealousy powdering her voice.

"Need a translation, mate?" Spike murmured  lazy from the crook of Angelus' neck. "I think she's talking about your new  girl."

Dru would be a kink in his plan with  Willow. She'd  probably snap her neck one day, and it was damn difficult to be cross with  her.  He'd have to sweet talk her.  He cupped her cheek and asked, "Dru, don't you want a sister? A new addition to  our family? When Penn and Lawson come you'll be so outnumbered. I want you to  have a companion to have ‘girl time’ with."

She hummed like an angry bee as she  straightened; her movements became more serpentine as she swayed seductively.  Angelus wasn't going to let her have her way on this one and she would obey him.  Right on schedule Spike saw how this could benefit him.

"Now, I can kill the Slayer. Luv, isn't that  what you wanted?" Spike asked.

Angelus had a burst of inspiration. "She  could be like a daughter…"

Drusilla tilted her head staring at Angelus  who was looking less than pleased and her eyes grew wide like the smile on her  face. "Oh, I'll be a mommy, and she'll be my Vicious Darling… We'll be so happy;  my Daddy, My Knight Spike, and my Vicious Darling."

He smirked and moved his hands up from her  thighs to her bare hips. "Now, Dru, what were you whispering about  before?"

"Slayer, found your prezzie and her heart  screams in agony."

~Part: 6~

Willow didn't feel like  reading, even if Sal Paradise's trip to Mexico normally would have interested  her. On The Road only made her think of drugs that would stop her from feeling  the fear that, if she wasn't careful, sent her trembling. When she had taken a  bath she had just trembled in the warm water and had to cover her mouth to keep  her sobs quiet. The terror was always one step behind her.

Willow wished for a nice cocoon; all  soft and fuzzy like a caterpillar's. She had gotten something close to that the  few times her, Xander, and Jesse had smoked pot before Jesse died. Willow had been paranoid  because she was being naughty, and of course the dangers of reefer madness, but  peer pressure prevailed. She would have never done it by herself, but now she  wanted an escape; any sort of escape.

She knew that a  clear head was the best thing she could have in this gothic nightmare. The  problem was that the fear wasn't just about dying or torture, it was about  staying alive and staying herself. Her clear head was creating some of her fear.  She was scared of losing her identity as her plan called for her to be a girl  who would hold Angelus' interest. Willow would have preferred the plans where she  was a hero, but she needed Slayer powers for that, or for the plans where she  was more of a martyr, but she didn't want to die. It
seemed there was no other  choice. Was there so much shame in wanting to live?

This whole  experience had changed her.  It  seemed odd since it was only the third day of being Hostage Willow, but it was  true. She considered methods of survival that would have been inconceivable  before, it was not like she threw all of her morals to the wayside, but she was  seriously thinking of all she knew of Angelus and getting info from Franz so he  wouldn’t kill her right out of hand. She wanted to have time to escape, to be  with her friends and family, which wouldn't happen if he just snapped her  neck.

She needed to save herself and that was another thing she had learned;  Buffy couldn't help her, and in fact, if Buffy had just killed Angelus… That wasn't fair. She didn't want to think like that, but it had hit her that being friends with the Slayer probably would get her killed. Buffy had saved her so many times, and she was Willow's best friend, but it just seemed that  maybe the rule about Slayers working alone was to protect her would be friends.  But playing the Blame Game didn't help her. It was scary thinking that she was  her own only hope, when there had always been Buffy to rush in and save the  day. She let the  brush, which had been idle, flow through her wet auburn hair.

Willow was dressed in a  shiny teal sundress that reached her calves when she stood, and the chest was  too tight. The whole look, complete with the fancy bun Franz was waiting to put  up, made her look like a child playing dress-up.

Baby with Mama's pearls, she  thought, touching the ornate pearl cameo choker. One would have thought she  would look grown up, but her girlish face ruined the effect. Her one glimpse of  a mirror reminded her of those Regency portraits from the 1700s where the girls  look like they were getting a kick in the pants to hurry them to  womanhood.

"How long will  you ignore me, Ms. Rosenberg?" Franz asked, sounding far away, even though he  was right behind her.

"What?" Oh, I was  thinking." She set the brush down next to her as she faced the wall with her  knee tucked under her. There was no need to see the pale manicured hand that  picked up the brush because after she finished the thought he was already  brushing her hair.

"I shall ignore  the snub then," Franz said. He had an odd calming effect on her, not that she  relaxed per se, but her ‘deer in the headlights’ feeling faded to more  manageable levels. Franz also had another useful purpose; he was her info guy.  She didn't even want to think about if he fed her bad information, but whatever  the reliability of the answers, it was still question time.

"Why are you, no  offense, like my babysitter?"

He chuckled.  "I've been called quite a few names in my time, but that is new. I believe I  prefer nursemaid."

Willow rolled her eyes at his  typical old fashioned-ness as she asked, "Well, then what's the worst name  you've ever been called? If you don't mind me asking."

"The bank clerk  from hell." He was so dry and monotone that she couldn't help but giggle. He  held her hair in one hand letting his knuckles lay against the back of her neck;  he ran the brush though the wet strands sending cool water falling on her back  bringing up goose bumps.

"No avoiding the  question, Mister."

"No avoiding me  then," He said. "I believe he is trying to keep me out of trouble."

"Does that mean  he doesn't trust you?"

"That is very  naïve of you. Why would he put me in charge of his pet if he didn't trust me?"  He asked.

Willow blushed as she tried to think  of a reply. "Maybe he thinks you'd try to take over Sunnydale or  something."

"I'd have to  agree with you if it was anyone else, but I have never wanted territory. Angelus  is quite Irish in his love of owning land. I suppose that is something you can  not kill out of them. I, myself, prefer freedom. Back to your question; he  believes that I would take action against the Slayer for the final death of my  Sire. This is to keep me occupied." Willow was going to ask if he would try to hurt  Buffy, but he spoke before her. "Would you like to hear a  story?"

"Yes." Willow enjoyed his  stories. They were very informative and Darla-centric.

"This all took  place during King George's Reign and Angelus was only two decades in death. We  were at this dinner party…

"Where ever did  Angelus stray?" Darla asked as she and Franz strolled arm in arm around the  garden at the Fox estate.

"Remember that  lout from Liverpool, the one who thought  himself a wit with his insults of Angelus'  brogue?"

"Hmmm, did my  Darling Boy decide to repay the insult?"

"I believe so. He mumbled  about 'arse' and 'Tyrone' and ’English oppression.' From the venom in his voice  I could almost pity the Liverpudlian until the idiot started on  about why the Low Countries were named thus. As  is I have the urge to give Angelus a few suggestions."

Darla laughed.  "Sometimes the English have no sense; just look at the American situation.  Really, the colonies are going to revolt any day now."

"Oh yes, Angelus  told me about your radical views. I suppose you're both pro?"

"Really, he  is?"

"Anything against  the English is his course." Franz said as their moonlit stroll was serenaded by  the howls of the unfortunate Englishman, which luckily for the vampires, was  covered by the warbling of the newest society  beauty. The carriage ride  was enlivened by Angelus' description of his foe's demise. Then Darla stuck her  pale arm out of the window and rapped sharply on the wooden side.

"Driver!" She  called out gaily, "Could you carry the men to Mrs. Windsor's at the King's  Place." The look of surprise on the male’s faces sent her into a fit of  laughter. "I did promise you a night on the town,  Angelus…"

Franz moved her  to face him as he finished his story. His quick fingers brought the few tendrils  to look their best as he asked, "Any questions?"

"What's Mrs.  Windsor's place?"

"A very exclusive  brothel," he replied. Her expression must have surprised him. "And do you  know…?"

Willow hated that, sure, she was a  virgin and had only kissed a few times, but she loved to read, especially what  she wasn't suppose to. She did know that people had sex. Why was it so  surprising to everyone that she didn't blush every five seconds? If Xander or  Buffy had said brothel she might have, but really, sex talk was the least of her  worries. "Yes, I know what a brothel is, and my question is, why did she let you  go?"

"That was one of  her greatest virtues; she was very spontaneous. She always kept us on our toes,"  Franz said. "Boredom kills as many vampires as Slayers."

A thought came to  Willow, but she  was worried that it was too personal. He did give off a  threatening-but-not-to-her vibe, but he had, like, four hundred years to perfect  it. It didn't stop her from thinking of him as a friend. That was dangerous, and  not just because he reported back to Angelus. She needed his information, she  needed to see behavioral patterns in Angelus, and she needed to know about the  whole crazy vampire family if she was going to live long enough for Buffy to get  off of her ass and save her.  Willow  knew she was a scared little girl playing grown-up, and that blaming Buffy  wasn't fair, but she needed to blame someone!

"You have a  question. I can tell by your expression."

"I hate being so  transparent," Willow said bitterly as the feelings of guilt  and fear crashed against her.

"Actually, that  was a guess. You seem to always look curious. Now, your question?"

"What is Angelus  to you?" She had to keep from balling up her skirt in her palm, and it was  difficult to calm her heartbeat.

"Do stop nibbling  your lip.  Endearing, yes, but a  clear sign of your anxiety."

Besides being  transparent, she also hated how difficult it was to play her Risk strategy with  Franz. She couldn't use her favorite trick against Angelus, Random Rampage; a  series of unpredictable moves, on him. The most she could do was her South  American Stronghold and leave nothing for him to attack. He kept looking at her  and it was like an uncomfortable telescope gaze. Willow was beginning to think she needed  another coping mechanism or anything to get her mind off that stare… Finally he  spoke.

"I consider him a  friend and companion. I'm neither family nor servant and I've made that  abundantly clear since the beginning."

"Your stories  make you seem like an uncle or something."

Franz cracked a  smile and was about to say something until the door opened and a shirtless  Angelus walked in. Willow tried hard not to notice how in the dim  light of the room his chest was more defined as every shadow outlined every  muscle. It was odd how that as Angel he was quite understandable; Buffy's brooding boyfriend, but in his soulless evil form he was just so mysterious and  cryptic. Everything just made her more confused. She tried not to bite her lip  and chanted 'Random Rampage' in her mind.

"Were you two  talking about me?" Angelus asked with lazy confidence. Willow surprised herself by  answering calmly, “Yes.” Sometimes it was like she wasn't in her body.

"All  good?"

"From your point  of view."

Franz smiled at  them both and back away. Angelus smirked and moved close enough so she could  have licked the hollow between his abs. The thought made her blush as did his  hand sliding over her still wet neck. His next move just angered her. He gripped  her bun and pulled up, leaving her no choice but to follow. She glared at him  and tried to speak, but he silenced her with the thumb on his other hand pressed  to her lips. Willow wanted to bite the digit viciously. Her  feelings about him were confusing. She had thought about him and
her situation  all day and had hoped to have figured them out.

His eyes were  dark and intense as he focused on her neck. "Have I mentioned what a treat your  blood is?" He murmured.

She gulped and  the fear rose. "Many times, in fact," she whispered.

Then he was  pressing his thumb nail against the top of her collarbone. She was confused on  when it had left her face but the pain broke that up. She didn't care where it  had come she only wanted it to stop. It hurt, and too soon blood pooled on her  skin. The sparking pain wasn't enough to make her ignore the feeling of his hand  on her butt.

Willow was left gasping when he  started sucking harshly on the wound and cried out when he nibbled with blunt  teeth. She grew silent soon and his attentions turned to licking the cut. His  other arm was wrapped around the small of her back pushing her chest up and out  to better reach her collarbone. She had to hold on to his back and she thought  that they must look like a cover of those romance novels her mother pretended  not to read. Her mind was swimming as he laid her on the bed, and she saw only  him as the men walked out.

Closing her eyes, with a mind not to  disturb her cut, she reached a hand above her head and tugged on a pillow from  the top of the bed, and then very calmly pressed it to her face and  screamed.

~Part: 7~

He buttoned up his burgundy shirt, looking into the mirror watching the silk sheets move as Drusilla rolled on the bed talking about Willow. This was an important day. His princess and heir would meet his pet and soon to be childe. Her private approval would be the key to a peaceful household and publicly it would make Willow’s transition into the Order of Aurelius smoother.

As contemptuous of his Sire’s Order as he was, he knew the clout it held in the underground. He got on the council upon his sire’s death and, with his soul’s penchant for enemies, most in the order figured he would soon follow her. Consequently, Drusilla’s power had grown with the ones in the know. Some, Spike included, thought that Penn would be his heir, but the boy had no imagination and Angelus still hadn’t forgotten that incident in 1877. But Willow’s standing was up in the air and who knew if he would bring her over.

Penn would soon learn of the change in succession when he and the mysterious Sam Lawson were summoned. Angelus had the minions stocking the cellar with humans as he was weakened from rejuvenating Spike. He had no idea how Penn would react to being second, and he didn’t even know Lawson. The thought made him smile. Drama was one thing he always enjoyed.

When he woke up, the night had an auspicious air and he felt a dreamy seriousness. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not, but Drusilla was making more sense.

“Hmmm,” His darling was pressing up against his side and her fingers were creeping up his neck. “Ticking…. Daddy is thinking. Heart as a walnut…” she trailed off then, her eyes, formerly slits, now widened. “Napoleon. Dreams of dynasties. Brother like the Turk. Winter is near.” Her fingers moved his jaw to face her and she shook.

Angelus took her hands and kissed them before sinking a fang into her palm. He backed off leaving her to suck greedily on her wound. “Calm down, Dru, I don’t have a Waterloo. Now, today, you’ll be meeting your sister to be.”

“Ooo, I should bring cakes.”

“No, you’ll need only yourself. Get dressed.” He took one last look at his non-reflection before stepping out of the room.

“Planning an old-fashioned family reunion, eh?” Spike asked before Angelus had closed the door. The boy was swaggering down the shadowed beige hallway with a cigarette perched on his lip.

“Yeah, it’ll be just like old times, only now I won’t stop Penn from giving you noogies.”

“What about the new one?” Spike asked sharply before taking a long drag. Which reminded Angelus of the times he had lit various parts of Penn on fire when he had shown too much aggression and attention to both Drusilla and Spike when they were recently turned. Angelus’ relations with Spike had warmed up considerably, but he still had to tread lightly. It was easy to forget that Spike was now a formidable Master vampire.

“I’m not worried. You turned decent minions who’ll warn one of us if either of them acts up.” A nice pat on the head to keep Spike happy and on his toes, then Angelus left to go to Willow’s room.

She was lying on her stomach reading ‘On the Road’ and the tight bodice on the lilac floral dress she wore showed quite a bit of her pert cleavage. Willow looked up, then picked up her bookmark and saved her place before setting down the book. She got off the bed looking relatively calm, but the fear was undeniable.

“Hello,” Angelus said as he walked up and touched one of the braids he made her wear. “How’s Sal?”

Her eyes were focused on his hand but she answered promptly. “He’s fine. It’s Dean that’s rolling with kids and wives. Compared to that, Sal’s a peach.” She blinked looking back at his face.

“You’ve never met Drusilla, have you?” Angelus asked twirling the braid around his finger. He was smiling. Willow was an excellent way to relax. His attention was on her neck and the blood pulsing in terror. He wanted to know how she could stay so calm and he wanted to know how far he had to go to break it.

“No.”

“She’ll be around soon. Dru’s been pining away, wanting to see you.” He checked her face and noticed that she frowned. Usually her mouth was in a straight, serious little girl line, so what was more frightening about Drusilla? “What?”

“Um, she is insane, right? She’s not going to try to feed me to a doll?” Willow asked.

“Where’d you learn that?” Angelus asked pulling on her braid forcing her head to the side.

“Watcher’s diaries,” She gasped. Her eyes narrowed, then with a sigh she closed them, and she was composed again. Angelus wasn’t sure he liked that calm anymore. It was fun when he could read her every expression. He roughly brought her face up and stared into her eyes. He smiled when he saw burning hatred slip out.

“Nice. What else do they say?”

“That you did something horrible to a puppy, but I try not to think of that.”

Angelus chuckled and wrapped a hand around Willow’s waist before spinning her in front of him. Drusilla clapped at the tableau from her place in the doorsill. She was wearing one of her more grown-up looking outfits; a long red and black number. Willow didn’t wiggle too much, but she did shift, trying to get comfortable. He wondered again about just how he could break open her shell.

“Very pretty! My little Vicious Darling all warm and cuddly! Can I hold her Daddy? Please?” Drusilla asked, stepping up to his pet. She looked up at him through long lashes and started to pout.

“Fine, Princess, but don’t harm her. She is a wee delicate.” Willow looked back at him on that one. Her eyebrow was raised and he laughed. Her attention was back on Drusilla as his darling gathered her up in her arms.

Drusilla placed her hands on Willow’s hips and looked down on her with the same mothering expression her dolls were graced with. His pet looked up at her with wide eyes and, body rigid.

“Ooo, my newest is so pretty. Daddy, can I take out her plaits? I want put love knots through her hair, and doves, baguettes, and branding irons.” She moved a hand up and put it on Willow’s cheek. She asked all this while staring into his pet’s eyes.

“Sure, Dru, but only take out her braids, leave the doves and the rest out of it.” He hoped she wasn’t going to try to thrall his pet, but he knew she would. Angelus sniffed the air and rolled his eyes. Drusilla really did think his new girl was pretty. He had forgotten how much Dru liked to play with girls. “Princess, no seducing.”

She frowned, but nodded. Ducking her head, she whispered in to Willow’s ears. Her hand glided down to Willow’s neck and circled the band aid covering his last feeding. What was she saying? Angelus was getting worried and Drusilla’s glittering eyes didn’t help.

“Drusilla, you can let go of her now.” He was getting lonely being the odd man out at the girl party. She sighed but picked up Willow and laid her down on the bed. Smoothing out the girl’s red hair and then her dress, she didn’t noticed Angelus getting pissed. “What did you do?”

She spun around letting her dress flare around her ankles. She put a hand on his side and soon was clinging to him. Drusilla licked his neck before whispering, “Give our Vicious Darling a kiss.” He shook Drusilla off and leaned over Willow who looked unconscious. He was going to beat the hell out of Dru later.

“Jesus, Drusilla, what…-,” he asked before Willow opened her eyes and put her hand on his cheek. Her other hand moved to his neck and she sat up. Angelus was going to articulate his displeasure to Dru, but then Willow was kissing him. A lick a crossed his bottom lip opened his mouth and soon her tongue was massaging his. She pulled him on top of her and he was too shunned to stop her. Willow arched her back and wrapped a leg around his back. He was soon deep into the kiss and his free hand was grabbing her ass. She kept pulling him closer as she broke the kiss and started to nibble along his neck. That woke him up. She didn’t take a deep breath or pant or gasp from the lack of oxygen. She was under thrall and it was messing with her breathing. Willow really was going to be unconscious in a second if she didn’t get any air.

Angelus pushed her down with one hand and backhanded her with the other. Willow took a deep breath, just as if she had been drowning. Angelus looked over to Dru who was smiling. His pet was shaking as he got up. He would send Franz in to take care of her.

“So, Dru, do you like her?” He asked. Angelus was pissed that she fucked up his progress. Willow was supposed to succumb to his charm and sex appeal.

“Oh, yes, she is a treat,.” Drusilla said before walking out of the room. He followed, slamming the door behind him. His mind was spinning with how to deal with her without wrecking the delicate familial balance. His princess’s punishment was more important than his trembling pet.

~Part: 8~

Willow was pale and shaking, lying on the bathroom rug waiting for the nausea to stop. Horrible, spine arching sobs were struggling for voice, but she wouldn’t give in. Her stomach clenched at the memory of the pain she’d experienced when her mind had been breeched and she’d felt the vulnerability of not being in control of her own body. There was no where to hide if he could just order Drusilla to violate her mind. Willow thought she might be sick again. Why couldn’t Buffy be saving her now?

There was a knock on the door and she knew it was Franz. She couldn’t throw up anymore because he’d know-- and then Angelus would know. She was trapped and everything was exposed, and no ‘Risk’ strategy could change that. She felt like crying again.

“Miss Rosenberg?” He asked, crisp, brisk, and so normal.

She opened her mouth to speak, but it was dry, so she stumbled to her feet, holding on to the sink for support. Turning on the water, she rinsed her mouth out. Willow managed a shuttering ‘just a second,’ before splashing water on her face. She looked like a nightmare with her hair matted and wild, eyes red. She grabbed mouthwash and gargled while running a brush though her hair. It was a doomed exercise, but Willow tried to look presentable. Pinching her cheeks as she walked over to the door, she took a deep breath before opening it.

“Hi,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. He sat in the chair across from the bed with a serious expression on his face.

“I’ve been informed you’ve suffered a traumatic experience,” he said. Willow nodded. “Would you care to speak of it?” She shook her head. “Not even to ask a question?”

“Bastard,” she said without venom. She was too easy to read.

“I’ve been told. Sit, you look faint.”

She obeyed and sat facing the bathroom. “Has she ever been in your mind?”

“She’s tried, but I rendered her unconscious,” Franz said.

Willow nodded. “I have girly arms. I couldn’t do that.” She didn’t want to look at Franz. She wanted to keep all the emotions she couldn’t get off her face secret. “Did it hurt you when she broke into your mind? Because it hurt. A lot. It didn’t stop until she did. I could feel fingers poking at my brain forcing my movements. I couldn’t even fight it.” Willow sighed and laid down on the bed moving her hand over her eyes. She wanted to confess it all but Franz was one of them. Tears were forming again. “I’m sorry, Franz, but could I be alone? I really want to sleep.”

“As you wish, Miss Rosenberg, do feel better.”

She didn’t watch him leave, but when the door clicked shut she stood and walked to the wardrobe. She didn’t want to leave signs she was upset. After pulling out a nightgown she shed her dress and put on the nightie. She put the dirty laundry in the hamper, then moved to the bed and slid between the covers, curling up and wishing for her mother.

***

“Where is she?” Buffy asked after staking Angelus’ minion.

He was leaning against a mausoleum, smirking like an angry slayer was funny. He wouldn’t think she was funny if he knew what she was thinking. She had gone on a rampage through Sunnydale’s demons trying to vent her frustration at not being able to find his new haunt. Willy was still nursing a black eye and fat lip after he was unable to give her an answer.

“Don’t worry, Buff, your gal pal’s fine. Drusilla’s taking good care of her.”

“Oh, gee, I wonder why that doesn’t reassure me?” Buffy snapped. “Could it be ‘cause Drusilla’s a psycho?”

“Name-calling? Really?”

She stalked up to him with her stake at the ready. “Yeah, and I got a new one for you; dust.”

“Lover, are you calling me out?” Angelus asked his smirk replaced by a grin.

She threw a punch to his gut in reply and used the hand holding the stake to jab his kidneys. His fist pounded her temple and her eyes unfocused before she spin kicked him against the tomb. Buffy needed breathing room, so she did a back flip just missing her ex. She had to be careful, there were small tombstones underfoot and she couldn’t afford to trip. The moon was just a crescent and it was hard to see. Angelus kicked her thigh and she fell on her palms. The stake had left a painful splinter and she winced. Panting, she stared up at him through her lashes before launching her feet into his chest. She landed astride him and pressed her stake to his heart.

“Where is she?” Buffy asked.

They were still. Buffy watched him as his smirk started to fade and his eyes glanced west.

“You won’t find her. I’m starting to take a liking to the girl,” he leered. “She’s a treat when she’s naked and bleeding.” Angelus bucked up and she was knocked over his head. He stood and laughed before saying those last words.

She closed her eyes and when they opened again, full of tears, he was gone. Was she too late? Was her best friend dead? Buffy jerked to her feet and ran towards the school. Giles was still there writing a report for the council and thinking up a story to explain the disappearance.

She hoped no one else would be there. Xander would go crazy and do something stupid again like go to the factory. That’s how they found out it was abandoned. He was going to set it on fire. Snyder’s car was still there when she loped into the parking lot, so she had to go slow in the building. It was torture to pad down the hallway when she needed to be at the library now. Finally, she slipped in the doors and found Giles. Buffy didn’t waste time, she jumped into her story. Reaching Angelus’ parting shot, she paused.

“He said the next time we saw Willow, she would be a vampire.”

***

The minions stood at attention, their true faces showing as Penn walked into the room. He was surprised to see so many; his sire viewed them as an inconvenience. Franz stood at the entrance waiting to greet him and lead him to Angelus. He nodded absently his face blank but his eyes anxious. They walked up the curved staircases with the thump of the minions footsteps as accompaniment. There was going to be a feast tonight with a scared family as dessert. Franz opened the door that separated Angelus from the horde below. The upstairs was decorated in shades of beige with Spanish ironwork everywhere, giving it a decadent, genteel air. The purpose of the drama was to impress, and it succeeded. Penn had walked in with a duffle bag over his shoulder and found that nothing had changed; his sire still drowned in style.

Franz opened another door, from which family bonds radiated. Penn sniffed the air and detected that his sire’s blood had been shared; it made his mouth water. The door closed behind him as he knelt in front of his sire.

“Penn, no kiss?” Angelus asked with the same old smirk. He stood languidly and motioned for his long lost childe to rise. “Me boy, how’ve you been?” He murmured thickly before Penn was in his arms.

Their kisses were brutal in their intensity, and their demon visages brought forth. Penn’s duffle bag was thrown aside as were the remains of his shirt as Angelus continued his assault. Beloved hands caressed his torso exploring the chilled flesh, invoking cries of lust. He had dreamed of this meeting with his Sire for over a century. The reality was better; all he could do was moan was ‘sire, sire, sire’. The pleasure was too much. When the backs of his knees hit the bed, he went down and his legs were spread.

“Usually, I have more skill, but it’s been too long, boy.” Angelus’ eyes were black with desire and his hands were blurs removing garments. Penn felt a surge of pride and a surge of blood, turning his member to rock. His sire was a marble god between his legs; broad shoulders, firm muscles, and the face of an angel. He must have said that out loud because Angelus paused. “You’ve read Spike’s poetry?”

He wanted to respond, but a skilled hand reached down and began a mind blowing rhythm.

***

Penn was alone when he awoke. The antique clock on the mahogany nightstand said that it had only been two hours since he’d arrived. He must have passed out after the last orgasm. He got out of bed and walked to the bathroom to gently sponge clean, while keeping his sire’s scent on him. Penn dressed quickly, determined to find Angelus. Opening the bedroom door, he faced Spike who smelled of whiskey and wore an angry grin.

“Where’s Drusilla?” he asked, puzzled by the breech in tradition which held that his sister would bring her childe. “Or Angelus?”

“With his new pet, so here I am. By the smell I figure the welcome wagon pulled in.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Bit”

“What do you want?”

Spike staggered as he walked down the hall with a motion to follow, “Got claimed again, yeah?” Penn grabbed his unblemished neck in reflex. “Thought not. So, you know about the succession, right?”

“I’m heir,” Penn said, confused.

Spike whirled around, leaning on the wall for balance. He chuckled. “And you’re not staying in his bed?”

“What?”

“Ought to be on Jeopardy. Listen, I’m not gonna be real subtle. He bumped Dru up to tie her to ‘m more. He made her heir. Now, he’s got that pet she can’t shut up about.”

“Liar. Drusilla’s insane, why would he choose a madwoman over his first?”

“You know he’s still got his knickers in a twist over that thing in ‘77.” Penn opened his mouth to deny it, but Angelus, Drusilla, and Franz walked into the hallway.

“Have the boys been playing behind mummy’s back?” Drusilla asked, twirling towards them. “My happy family is almost complete; soon we’ll have our brother and a new sister!” She balanced on tip-toe and kissed them both before gliding forward.

“Come on boys, the entrées may have heart attacks before we get there,” Angelus said, walking between them to put an arm around Drusilla. He was grinning and relaxed.

“And will Miss Rosenberg be secure?”

“Don’t worry, Franz, Dru hasn’t failed me yet,.” he said, looking fondly down at her. Penn felt a chill settle in his stomach as his eyes focused on his sire.

He and Spike were behind their sires and in front of Franz as he leaned over and wrapped an arm around Spike’s shoulders. Penn was smiling, belying his words, “We’ll talk more later.” They looked toward their sires. “Later.”

next | back