***

It was the sound of a hangover. Those first guttural groans of pain, working up through the throat and into a mouth that felt like it was lined with sandpaper.

"Oh god," Willow muttered, keeping her eyes firmly shut and snuggling closer to the cool chest she was lying on, her arms tightening their hold on the broad expanse of flesh.  Then the all too familiar rumble of laughter sounded below her ear and she moaned.  "I'm never drinking champagne again."

"Hush, darlin'," Angelus purred, his fingers buried in her hair, massaging her aching head while his thumb caressed her temple.  Something shifted beneath her legs and it seemed that the whole bed moved, eliciting another groan from the suffering redhead.  Cool fingers ran over the arches of her feet as lips suckled against the back of her knees.

"Ugh, don't," she hissed, kicking out the hands.  The fingers, with one last sweep of her arches, traveled higher, dragging lightly over her ankles and up to the crook of her knees that the lips had been caressing.  Groaning, she squirmed as a cool tongue zigzagged across the crack of her ass and followed the path of her spine, the hands skimming along the lines of her body, coming to rest on her shoulders, massaging lightly as a hard male body lay down on top of her, forcing her breath to escape and her stomach to lurch.  "Get off me!"

"Spike," Angelus rumbled the warning at the blond.  "Make her throw up on me and you're giving an encore performance of your death."

"She's got nothing left to heave.  You're forgetting who had hair holding duty..."

"Oh, shut up," whined Willow, visions of toilet bowls and Spike's teasing voice hollering 'there she blows' suddenly popping up, unwarranted and unwanted.  The laughter came in surround sound stereo and under the comfortable pressure of Spike's weight she rubbed her cheek against Angelus' chest.  "Make him stop."

"She's so cute when she begs," Spike laughed, dipping his head to suckle the rounded point of her shoulder.  His fingers played across her ribs, closing in on a sensitive spot and tickled unmercilessly.  Willow squirmed and whimpered under his unrelenting weight.

"Leave her alone, Spike," murmured Angelus, pushing the mischievous blond off the girl sprawled on his chest.  With a cheeky growl, Spike mouthed her lower back and slipped down between his sire's spread legs, one hand still tracing the suffering girls spine.

"My head aches," Willow stated, miserably shifting up higher on her saviors chest to escape further attacks from the tormentor.

"Well what do you expect if you drink so much?" asked Spike, moving up to lick her spine, blowing softly on the wet path and smirking at the shiver it produced.

"It's a bad thing," stated Willow, a tear escaping from the corner of her eye.  It was horrible.  Sure, she'd drunk with Angelus before, enough to get more than a little tipsy, but the result had never been this severe.  Wincing, she opened her eyes and focused, first on the pale expanse of flesh with a hard dusky nipple and then on to the sculpted bicep, past that was the wide expanse of rumpled sheets of Angelus' bed.  Willow groaned as various bits and pieces of the night flittered through her mind.  Debauched wasn't the word for it and the images certainly explained the added aches and pains of her body.  Silently, she wondered if the throwing up had come before or after the decadence, she just hoped it hadn't happen during.  "I'm never going to drink that much again."

And there it was again, the chuckling, a rumble that vibrated under her ear.

"I'm sure you won't," agreed Angelus, bringing his hand up to cover her eyes, his thumb caressing the curve of her eyebrow. "Sleep, you can stay home today."

"School," hissed Willow, sitting up and instantly regretting it.  Clutching her aching head, she fought to stop from gagging. Although at the sound of Spike's laughter, she ruefully thought if it had been the blond directly below her she'd gleefully hurl.  Even as Angelus pulled her back down, kissing her tortured brow, she
could only think of one thing.  "I've got to go, stupid assessable test after lunch.  I can't let my grades drop."

"They won't," Angelus whispered.

"What?" she snapped, pushing herself off his chest and staring down at his smirking face.  She shook her head, ignoring the bile that was rising in her throat, and swallowed back the pain.  "Don't...I don't want you..." she struggled for a suitable word in her hung over state.  "Tampering with my grades.  They're mine."

Chuckling at her outburst, Angelus trailed his fingers over the soft swell of her naked breasts, causing the nipples to harden and a scarlet flush to spread across her flesh.  Following the blush upwards, he wrapped his fingers about the gold choker and his smile faded as he pulled her back down onto his chest.

"And you're mine," he growled softy.  The smile returned at her startled look and he caught her lips, teasing them open with his tongue and coaxing hers to play.  Breaking the kiss, he released the hold on her choker and wrapped her up in his arms.  He smiled and shook his head as Spike reached out to torment her again.  Denied the privilege, the blond did the next best thing, moved down to rest against the older vampire's legs and went about tormenting him instead.  Closing his eyes, Angelus leant back against the comfort of his pillow, stroking the vibrant red hair while Spike played.  "You've already missed your first class, you can go in after lunch if you want to..."

"You don't, do you?" she asked cautiously, her body tense against him.  "Mess with my grades, I mean?  'Cause I work hard to get those marks and I don't want...I don't...I want to know that it's me that responsible for getting a good mark not just because..."

"You get everything you deserve, darlin'," stated Angelus kissing the top of her head.

"Okay, good," Willow stated, closing her eyes and relaxing under the soothing stroking of her hair.  Wriggling, she found a more comfortable position on his chest, pressing her breasts flat against him and throwing an arm about his waist.  "I have to go in anyway," Willow murmured sleepily, wondering what Spike was doing that kept him so quiet and caused Angelus' muscles to twitch, although she didn't really care as long as it kept the blond from tormenting her.  "You want me to spend some time with..."

She didn't even get to say Buffy's name before Angelus cut her off with nonchalant grunt. One of his hands strayed down Willow's back to stroke Spike's head as the blond's lips closed around the head of his achingly hard cock.

"You've got plenty of time to do that.  If the opportunity arises, fine," he stated, moaning slightly as Spike's tongue teased him.  "If not you don't have to go out of your way."

***

The opportunity did arise and that night found Willow and Buffy patrolling together. After her afternoon classes had been attended, Willow had hesitantly made her way to the library.  It was complete mayhem with Giles and the Scooby's still frantically searching for information.  Although there were no apologies, she was welcomed back into the fold, yesterday's events forgotten by all and she was immediately put to work.  Still suffering from a slight headache, Willow was more than happy to escape to the stacks under the pretense of trying to find information in the various volumes of demonology.  Of course she knew if she had gone straight to the volume and brought it to Giles attention it would just look too odd for words, so she lingered in the shadows of the stacks and listened to the various occupants of the library...or rather to Cordelia and Xander making out.  She'd crept closer to the sounds and watched them through the stacks, catching glimpses of wandering hands, clumsily grasping at various body parts and she wondered if the display was typical of an adolescent heavy petting session.  When the panting gave way to muffled moans, she turned away, taking the Velzum Chronicles with her.  It was then, when the harmless nature of the demons had been revealed, that Buffy had asked Willow to patrol with her and the redhead had somewhat reluctantly agreed.

Even now, as they walked through the deserted park, Willow couldn't help but muse over how easy and quickly the hours had passed.  They had left the library together and done the usual rounds, patrolling various cemeteries and known haunts, including calling in at the Bronze where they sat for nearly an hour having drinks with Xander and Cordelia, gossiping about various things.  The conversation, while shallow and superficial, never stopped and to anyone they would have appeared to be nothing more than two girls out for a walk.

"So, your mom is getting a new display in for the gallery?" Willow asked as they continued on the path through the park.

"Yeah, coming up from LA early next month.  She's majorily wigging over it, you should see the PR work she's got going," Buffy shook her head in disbelief.  "I never knew that it was..."

The abrupt ending of the sentence was the only warning Willow got that something was wrong before the cold arm shot across her chest and a grotty hand clamped down on her shoulder.  In the space of a heartbeat, she knew her neck was going to be snapped.  As the hand settled under her chin to twist her head back, Willow swung, pushing against the loose hold on her shoulder, and turned her body to follow the path her head would take from the jerk of the hand on her chin.  It was just like every time Spike had tried that move on her in their training sessions, the attacker, caught off guard by her move into the action, overbalanced and the weight of her body spinning into his sent them both crashing to the ground.  Her assailant's body cushioned her briefly before it dissolved into ashes and she landed on the fallen branch that had staked him.  Scrambling, she sat up in time to see Buffy fighting with a second vampire.

For all appearances the Slayer seemed to be doing okay, landing more punches than she was blocking and the vamp was cowering down.  Then, with a swiftness that terrified Willow, the downed vamp cannonballed his fist straight into Buffy with enough force to rip through the flesh, the momentum of the blow rocketing his hand deep up inside the Slayer. Shocked, Buffy opened her mouth and stared down at the vampire's disappearing arm and the bright blood staining her top, her own arms fell uselessly to her sides.

"No," screamed Willow, clambering to her feet, immediately overbalancing and falling to her hands and knees.  In a flash of peroxide hair and black leather, the attacking vampire was pulled away and Buffy fell to her knees, a slaver of blood and saliva leaving her open mouth.  Glancing at the brawling vampires, Willow got to her feet and stumbled towards her friend.  By the time she'd turned back, Buffy was unconscious, looking very much like a discarded rag doll, having fallen in a crumpled heap.

"Oh god, Buffy," whimpered Willow, dropping to her knees beside the prone Slayer, not even conscious of the fact that she was kneeling in a pool of her friends blood.  Hesitantly, she reached out when Spike's voice halted her movement.

"Don't touch her," he hissed, looming above the fallen girls.

"But, she's hurt..."

"I know that, give me your shirts," stated Spike, shrugging out of his duster and squatting down next to the prone Slayer.  Willow stared at him, slacked jawed, her eyes glassy from shock.  "Bloody hell, give me your fucking shirts NOW!"

The force of the command startled Willow into action, quickly stripping out of the linen shirt and cotton t-shirt she was wearing, and handing them over to Spike.  In exchange, he held out his duster and all she could do was stare blindly at it.  So he threw it at her.

"Put it on, love," he muttered, folding up the t-shirt and twirling the long sleeve shirt into one strip.  With the skill of any paramedic, he did a makeshift-patching job on the Slayer, stilling the flow of her blood.  That done, he stood and gathered the damaged girl in his arms.  Without even glancing at Willow, he started to walk away, leaving her holding his duster and kneeling in her friend's blood.  "Move your ass or she'll die."

Stumbling, Willow got to her feet, pulling on the duster and running to follow the blond as he swiftly made his way to the Sunnydale hospital.

"We need help here, quickly!" he shouted, walking through the doors of the emergency room.  Willow watched as people swarmed around him, replacing black and red with pure white, obstructing her view. They were asking a million questions that Spike ignored, his bundle still bled, the scarlet liquid dripping down to form a puddle on the white floor.  Willow could only stare at that growing spot of color as the white continued to hide Spike and Buffy from her.  Just as quickly as it had formed, the swarm of white dispersed in a flurry of noise and movement, and Spike grabbed her arm, dragging her away.

"Buffy's going to die," whispered Willow, faltering as she tried to keep up the pace he was setting.

"I wouldn't be worrying about the Slayer right now," growled Spike as his fingers dug deeper into her arm and she struggled to keep up with him.  By the time they got back to the mansion, her arm was numb and Spike was well and truly peeved.  He shoved her into her rooms with enough force to send her sprawling to the ground.  "You fucking stay there."

It was a snarl of pure rage.  Slamming her doors shut, he left to bellow orders and demand answers, his main concern was to find Angelus.

But Willow didn't hear as she pushed herself slowly off the floor with a stifled sob.  She was covered in blood, dry and drying.  Sitting back on her knees, she turned her hands over, morbidly entranced by the stains as she struggled to breathe.  Buffy was dead, Willow was certain of that and she had the Slayers blood on her hands.  Gagging, she rubbed her hands together in an attempt to clean them, she pulled at her fingers and clawed at her wrists, the crimson stains only seemed to get brighter.

"No, no, no, no...." she repeated.  With every panicked movement the blood soaked cuff of the duster brushed against her hands, leaving lashes of fresh blood.  The damp feel of the cuff against her hands halted her excessive clawing and she curled her fingers around the slimy cuff, her free hand dragging across the leather and coming up scarlet.  There was too much blood.  It stained and marked everything, the stench of it filled the air, mixing with leather and cigarettes.  Buffy was dead, she couldn't have survived after such an attack, not with so much blood loss.  Screaming and struggling Willow tore at the duster, her wild movements tangling it tightly about her before she managed to pull it off and push it away.  Still there was the smell and the blood...it covered her, large patches of her skirt had turned dark, the bare skin of her torso had flecks of scarlet against the pale, even her bra which had been protected by her shirts held specks of red.

"Oh god," she sobbed, bringing her hands up to push her hair back, smearing the very thing she hated through the fine strands.  Her fingers caught on tangles and she tugged them free, ignoring the pain of the action.  Slowly, she clasped her hands together, twisting and turning them, watching the light play over the stains as she rocked on her knees.  It was the only thing she could do, stare at the stains and rock, she couldn't cry, couldn't scream, could hardly even move.

Beyond the doors of her rooms the mansion had erupted into chaos, various voices echoed about, whispers of what had happened twisted and warped reality, and those with sense cowered away.  At the sound of the Mercedes roaring down the drive, the few vampires remaining in the mansion scuttled into the shadows and were no longer visible as the main door was pushed open with enough force for it to slam into the wall and crack.

"Spike," Angelus hollered, striding across the foyer and storming up the stairs.  "What the hell happened?"

Within moments Spike had the dark haired vampire up to date.

"And Willow?" Angelus asked.

"She's here, in her rooms," he replied, nodding toward the closed doors.

"And she's alright?"

"Physically," stated Spike, causing Angelus to tilt his head at the response.  "Actually she did well, took the stupid git out before I even had a chance.  The Slayer..."

"Damn the Slayer, I don't want to know about her," hissed Angelus, turning away to pace.  Silently, Spike lit a cigarette and watched him.

"What do you want to do about the little girl then?" Spike spoke softly, already knowing what the answer would be.

"Get the lash, meet me in her rooms," Angelus stated, walking to the doors that hid her from their view.  As he opened the door he found her exactly where she had landed, Spike's abandoned duster lying next to her as she rocked, her back to the doors. "Willow."

She didn't answer him, didn't once pause in the rhythmic rocking motion, the only response was a slight increase in her heartbeat and a sharp intake of air.

"Get up, Willow," when his demand went unacknowledged, he reached out and pulled her to her feet.  It was then that she surged to life, struggling and shoving at him with her bloodied hands.  Mildly amused, he put up with the struggles until one of her hands struck at his face. Effortlessly, he caught her bawled up fist and twisted it, making her cry out.  "Stop it now!"

He held the glassy green gaze long enough to know that she'd heard him and would obey.  Still he held onto her, his fingers closing around her upper arms, one hand pressing against the bruises that Spike had caused.  With a firm hold, he looked her over, his eyes slowly taking in the state of undress, the stale blood and the general grit that stuck to the fine sheet of sweat that covered her body.  His eyes narrowed as they returned to hers.

"Look at you," he snarled, pushing her away in disgust.  "You're filthy.  Covered in dirt and god only knows what else...why the hell didn't you get cleaned up?  It's not like you've not had the time."

Willow frowned and shook her head, unable to answer.

"Speaking of time," he growled, circling the redhead.  "What time is it, Willow?"

"What?" she asked, trying to focus on him.

"Time," he shouted in her ear, making her flinch away from him.  "What time is it?"

His face was set in stone, cold and hard.  Willow glanced around the room, no clocks, no watch, she didn't have the faintest idea what time it was.

"I...I don't know," she stated shaking her head, the nights events starting to catch up with her.

"Let's try a simpler question then," he spoke quietly, stopping in front of her to lean forward and whisper in her ear.  "What time are you meant to be in by?"

She stared blankly at him, unable to register the importance of the question he asked.  Still silent, she frowned and shook her head. One of the first things he'd ever told her was that she had to be in by nine...

"Nine o'clock," she whispered hoarsely as the enormity of the situation hit her.  It had been after nine when she and Buffy had gone to the Bronze, she'd missed her curfew.  The brown eyes that stared her down flashed yellow with anger and she physically stepped back, her mind going into overdrive to try and reason her way out of the situation. "But you told me to..."

Her words were cut off as his open hand cracked across her face.  The blow was hard enough to send her sprawling to the ground, her backward slide halted as she crashed into Spike's legs.

"Did I say you could break your curfew?" Angelus growled, glaring down at her.  She cradled her face as the fact hit home. She'd broken one of the first rules ever set and failed to return by nine.  And he was right, he had told her to spend time with the Slayer but he never gave her permission do more than that and certainly not to break her curfew.

"It wasn't my fault," she backpedaled, desperately trying to stop the terrifying events that were unfolding.  "Buffy promised me..."

With a feral roar of infuriation, Angelus swooped down, his hand closing tightly about her throat and pulled her up off the floor.  Struggling uselessly, she clawed at his confining hand, unable to breathe under the stranglehold.

"The damn Slayer!" snarled Angelus, rolling his eyes in annoyance, accentuating his words by shaking her.  "Why the hell do you put so much faith in that tramp?  Is she here now?  Is she the one responsible for your actions?"

With a final shake, he released her and she dropped back down to her feet, gasping for breath.  She stumbled and fell to the floor, one hand rubbing at her numbed neck.  Keeping her eyes on his boots she spoke out.

"She promised we'd be back..."

"She promised, she promised," mimicked Angelus, his features twisting in mockery.  Grabbing a fistful of dirty hair he pulled her up again.  "Her promises will get you killed.  Do you know how close you came to death tonight because of her?  Tell me something...did she protect you?  Hmm?  Come on, tell me she did, tell me she fought off your attacker and led you to safety...No, she didn't.  And you know what, darlin', she never will."

Using the hand tangled in her hair, he shoved her back down to the floor, her hands breaking the force of her fall.  The very things that saved her from falling face first into the floor were yanked from under her and Angelus dragged her into the bedroom.  Within the blink of an eye Willow found herself shackled to one of the tall solid bedposts, her wrists bound by the thick leather of Angelus' belt.  At any other time, she would have thought it amusing that she was in the same position as when he'd laced up the corset.  Instead, she was terrified, tugging and writhing against the restraint, the heavy leather cutting into her wrists.

"How late was she, Spike?" asked Angelus, keeping his eyes fixed on her as he stepped forward and tore her bra away, tossing it aside like a useless rag.

"An hour and then some," Spike stated from behind her.  She couldn't see him, only hear the calm voice.

"How much is 'then some' do you think?" Angelus directed the question at Willow, still uselessly twisting her wrists.  She shook her head, her face paling.

"I...I don't know...fifteen maybe twenty minutes," Willow guessed.

"Give her a lash for every minute she was late," Angelus stated, his voice steady and low.

"No!  Angel please," she screamed hysterically, tears falling down her face as she twisted at the belt that held her hands. It was the first time that Willow had called him that and to all those present in the room there was no mistaking why she had done so...she was desperately trying to appeal to any remnant of the man she once knew.  "Please, please don't do this.  I won't ever be late again.  Please..."
 

***

"Hush darlin'," he murmured, reaching out to stroke her hair.  Slowly, he moved in closer to the bedpost, both his hands cupping her face.  A soft reassuring smile curled at his lips and his brown eyes caught her frantic gaze.  Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead, his thumbs caressing her wet cheeks.  Hiccupping, Willow stilled under his ministration, closing her eyes she leant into his caress, taking a deep ragged breath as his tongue traced the path of her tears and he pressed a kiss to each of the closed lids.  Soft butterfly kisses wandered over her temple and down to her ear.  "Poor thing, you have to learn to accept the consequences of your actions.  You broke the rules...accept the punishment."

Before the word had even finished whispering across her ear, the lash fell with enough force to send her hurtling into the bedpost. Her feet slid out from under her and the muscles in her shoulders screamed in agony as she fell, her arms taking her whole weight.  Scrambling for purchase on the floor, she struggled to find her footing only to have another lash sear her shoulders.  This time the leather ripped into the skin, slashing through muscle that was knotted and tense, drawing blood.  It was the third lash, striking her lower back with enough force to bruise her kidneys, which made her scream.  The whip tongue wrapped about her waist, cutting through the flesh like a hot knife through butter, and as the blow was repeated she screamed louder.  The leather continued to beat against her back, her struggles to get back to her feet long forgotten as she hung her head and cried.  The screams died off as she tried to focus on anything but the pain, gulping in burning breaths as the room spun, the colors becoming nothing more than black and angry, painful red and the only thing she could hear was the dull roar of the blood pounding through her body.  By the thirteenth blow, Willow slumped completely against the bedpost, no longer fighting or trying to alleviate the pain.  The fourteenth saw her eyes flutter shut and her head lolled back.  By the fifteenth she was completely unconscious.

"Enough," ordered Angelus, moving forward, his hands working to undo the belt that bound her to the bed.

"So disappointing," Spike stated curling back the whip, his fingers caressing the leather flay, coating his digits in her blood.  Slowly, he raised his fingers and sucked them clean, savoring her taste.  Tossing the whip aside, he turned and watched as Angelus released her hands, catching her before she could slump to the ground.  "I really thought she was made of more."

"Mmm," murmured Angelus, gathering the bleeding redhead up in his arms and carefully laying her down on the bed and casting her shoes aside.  Sitting next to her, Angelus absentmindedly ran his fingers through the various deep gashes, tracing the paths of blood that wept from the wounds.  "I forgot how very fragile little girls are..."

"Still, I thought she'd last longer," Spike said with a shrug of his shoulders.  "Always next time I suppose..."

"There won't be a next time," Angelus spoke quietly, his fingers nimbly working on the fastenings of Willow's skirt.  "What's the word on the Slayer?"

"Still in the operating theatre, probably will be until early morning.  She'll live," Spike stated, leaning against the bedpost and watching as Angelus continued to strip away the remaining few clothes of the unconscious girl.

"What do you make of it Spike?" he asked, tossing aside the skirt and knickers, his fingers straying back to the weeping gashes.

"There's not a lot to make of it.  Retrieving a heart, with out damaging it...verification of an order," idly he searched his pockets and drew out his packet of cigarettes. "We'll know soon enough. He was badly hurt and can't have gotten far. I dare say the lads are already on their way back with him."

"He's been sent here, there's no doubt about that," Angelus mused, glancing up as the blond lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

"Do you think it was..."

"I know who sent him, that's not important," Angelus stated, sitting up and reaching out for the cigarette. He took a deep drag before twisting his hand to focus on the glowing cherry. "What I want to know is how the hell he got so damn close without us knowing...obviously someone gave him sanctuary..."

"We have a traitor amongst our midst?" Spike asked, smirking at the very idea as he leant forward to take back his cigarette. Angelus settled back against the bed, his hands once more straying to Willow's tattered back.

"No, just a fool and no one of any great importance.  Still," Angelus paused mid stroke.  "It's not something I want to encourage.  Make sure the boys bring him back here alive and call a meeting for two."

"What about her?" Spike jerked his chin toward the redhead.  "She'll need to be cleaned up, all that filth she's covered in."

"Leave us be," Angelus stated, tilting his head to watch the blood pooling in the deep cuts.

Pushing himself away from the bedpost, Spike gave a final glance to the couple on the bed and wandered out of the rooms.  When he returned some hours later the scene was different.  The room had been cleared of any evidence of the brutality that had taken place and Willow was alone in the bed, clean, carefully groomed and sleeping soundly.  Setting down the goblet he had brought with him, Spike tilted his head as he watched the girl sleep.  He too had been privy to having Angelus clean him up, undoubtedly the dark haired vampire had carefully bathed the girl and seen to her wounds with a tenderness that would surprise most.  But that time had passed and she was needed elsewhere.

"Get up," he hissed, throwing back the sheet, exposing the deep crisscrossing gashes he was responsible for.  Wrapping his fingers about her arm, he pulled the half sleeping redhead from the bed, causing her to scream.  Reaching out, he picked up the goblet and brought it up to her lips.  Twisting her head, she pulled away, crying out at the pain the movement caused.  Spike tightened his hold and held the glass to her lips again.  "I don't have time for these games, Willow. Drink it or I'll force it down your throat."

Holding back her tears, Willow closed her eyes and drank, almost choking on the sweet tasting alcohol.  It burnt a path down her throat and caused her empty stomach to roll.  As her stomach lurched, she turned her head, gagging to keep from throwing up on Spike.  He let her go and downed the rest of the wine, savoring the slight taste of his sire's blood that tainted it.  Silently, he turned away to fetch a dress that had been laid out for her by Angelus.  He easily maneuvered her into the long green dress, Chinese in style but devoid of the tiny colored detail work.  Even as the silk brushed against her back, the tears welled up in her eyes.  Spike pursed his lips, his fingers buttoning up the gown.

"Don't waste your tears, no one here to appreciate them," he stated and Willow bit her lip, trying to stop the flood.  His fingers left the gown and curled around her arm, dragging her with him.  "Come on."

"Spike, I can't," she whispered, wanting nothing more than the pain to stop or at least stay in bed until moving no longer felt like a punishment from hell.

"Listen to me, and listen carefully," Spike hissed, still pulling her along, making her use the very muscles that were screaming in agony.  "We are going downstairs and you're going to act like there's nothing wrong. You don't flinch, you don't whimper, you don't do a thing.  Keep your head up, speak when spoken to."

They reached the top of the stairs and Spike turned to face her, his voice dropping to a whisper.  "You can't afford to fuck this up.  Do exactly what you are told.  Stay three paces behind me, when we get down there you stand to the left of Angelus, keeping the three paces behind him..."

"I don't think..." she whimpered.  Spike shook her hard enough to make her stop.

"No, you don't think, you just do it," he stated, glaring at her.  "Got it?"

Her bottom lip trembled and she nodded, dropping her eyes down and Spike swore.

"Tell me," he snarled, tightening his grip and making her gasp. "Isn't that just something I told you not to do?"

Biting the inside of her cheek, she took a deep breath and forced herself to block out the pain, the fear, and the confusion.

"I walk three paces behind you, then I go to Angelus' left, keeping that distance.  I don't look down and no matter what, I remain indifferent," she spoke softly, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.

"And don't show you're hurt, regardless," Spike released her, his eyes searching hers, clearly seeing the pain.  "Right then."

He turned and stepped onto the top stair and Willow waited, wondering if she could indeed do what he demanded.  When his boot hit the third step, Willow lowered her bare foot to the cool surface of the first step.  Without Spike's support it was difficult for her to move, her back causing her no end of agony, but she bit down on the inside of her cheek and forced herself to move.  Her false bravado wavered slightly as Angelus' voice echoed about, she bit harder and focused on Spike's back.  Then, as the room came into full view, her teeth drew blood.  Gathered in a semi circle were twenty or so vampires, some in game face, others not.  Angelus faced them, standing with his legs spread, hands clasped behind his back, but in front of him was another vampire, broken and bloody, cowering on his knees.  It was the vampire who had attacked Buffy.

Willow, as instructed, stopped slightly to the left of Angelus, three paces behind him, his bulk basically hiding her from the room.  Instinct took over and she let her eyes wander, taking in the room's occupants, ignoring the conversation that was going on, preferring to concentrate on the faces.  Spike stood to Angelus' right, clearly visible, and further on stood Drusilla, her doll firmly tucked into the crook of her arm, her eyes fixed on the fallen vampire.  Willow glanced away as the dark hair vampire met her gaze, there was no one else that she recognized from the group and she wondered exactly why she had been brought downstairs.

"Willow," Angelus purred her name and she turned her head to face him.

"Yes, Angelus," her voice was quiet but steady, her face emotionless.  His back was turned to the congregation and taking his time he casually made his way over to her, circling before stopping on her left.  Remaining still, she tilted her head slightly and glanced up at him.

"What do you think, Willow," Angelus asked, motioning towards the broken vampire.  "He begs for mercy..."

Slowly, she dragged her eyes from the chocolate gaze and stared at the cowering vampire.  He'd been badly beaten, bones that protruded through flesh were safely hidden from her view by his clothes, but the only thing she could really see were his hands.  The hand that had been thrust so deep within the Slayer was still stained with the blood, the ragged nails caked with it.  Willow kept her eyes firmly fixed on the delinquent.

"He was aware of the consequences his actions would cause," Willow stated, her voice cold and distant.  "He should be punished accordingly."

It was a lesson she had learnt and accepted, one that she had just experienced.  If Angelus was testing her, she'd passed with flying colors.

"Out of the mouths of babes," Angelus mused, turning away from Willow and strolling back to the fallen vamp, addressing the vampires before him.  "A girl, nothing more than a child, can, with simplistic ease, understand the most basic of concepts.  And yet you, with your decades of experience, centuries for some, cannot."  He paused, running a critical eye over the group.  "I will not tolerate fools or insubordination and anyone ignorant enough to believe otherwise deserves a fitting retribution."  Slowly, he waited until the vampires before him dropped their heads, then he turned his attention to the cowering vampire still on the floor.  "You are nothing more than a waste of space.  Crucify him."

A general gasp went up and murmurs started rippling through the crowd.  Angelus turned to Spike, "Take him to the west garden, under the wall. He can hang from the cross until the sun does its work."

Spike tilted his head in acknowledgment, he was already calling for the minions as Angelus turned away.  Ignoring the terrified screams of mercy from the condemned vampire, Angelus strolled over to Willow and picked her up.  Swallowing back a cry of agony, she wrapped her arms about his neck as he slowly headed upstairs.

"Simple really, isn't it?" asked Angelus, spinning them around as he headed back to her rooms.  She didn't have the chance to answer as a scream pierced the air, nothing more than animalistic pain, and Willow shuddered.  The screams increased and Willow couldn't stand it any longer, the tears she'd fought to hide slid down her cheeks.  "What are you crying for, darlin'?  Yourself or that worthless piece of flesh out there?"

Willow shook her head and hiccupped, the sobs wracking her body, jarring her back.  Angelus smirked and pressed a kiss to her temple, frowning at the heat that replaced the normal warmth.  Setting her down, he cupped her face briefly before his nimble fingers worked on the fastenings of her dress and he pushed it off.  Propping himself up on her pillows, he pulled her down to him, cradling her to his chest.

"Sleep little girl," he whispered, stroking her hair, urging her to sleep.  Despite the constant screams coming from the garden, she soon fell asleep, her arms wrapping about him in her unconscious state.  By the time Spike swaggered into the room, sitting down on the end of the bed, the screams coming from the garden were grating on the dark haired vampires nerves.

"If he keeps screaming like that, rip his tongue out, he's giving me a headache," Angelus sighed, his fingers idly running over the angry red cuts that marked the otherwise pale skin of Willow's back.  He glanced up briefly at Spike, the blond's gaze firmly fixed on him.  "What is it Spike?"

"The Slayer's lot...they know that the girls were together," he stated, clenching his jaw.  "They'll be looking for her."

"There's time yet," Angelus said softly, his hand straying to stroke her hair, pushing the bright strands away from her throat, baring the gold choker.  "Go, leave the little lamb to me."

Spike stood, his hands seeking out his cigarettes, and watched as his sire unlocked the choker and cast it aside.  With deliberate care Angelus turned Willow over and as her wounds came in contact with his arm, she moaned, her eyes fluttering open.  Smiling, Angelus leant forward, placing a kiss on her forehead and then her mouth.  Continuing to kiss his way down, his hand moved to the back of her neck and her head, no longer supported, fell back as his lips trailed over the old bite marks.  Pulling out a cigarette, Spike turned and started to walk away, tapping the smoke on the pack before bringing it up to his lips.  Willow's soft cry of pain halted his movements and he turned his head slightly, listening to her whimper as Angelus bit into her neck.  Shrugging, Spike lit his cigarette and walked out of the rooms.
 

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