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Las Vegas, Nevada
Friday night was one of the brightest nights Angel had experienced in a long time.
"Sin City," Doyle called it, with a devilish grin. Cordelia had rolled her eyes, whacked him on the shoulder, and reminded him it was a business trip.
Business, riiiiight.
Despite Doyle's still-waggling eyebrows at the prospect of the seedier pleasures Vegas had to offer, Angel knew the Irish half-demon wasn't faking the migraine vision that had them jumping in the car to make the four hour drive from L.A. Well, three hours, the way Cordelia pressed her boot to the gas and ignored the speedometer. The visions Doyle suffered could not be falsified, no matter how much he craved the few moments of comfort from Cordelia afterward. It took all his strength to keep his human face constant while his mind took over, screaming and churning with half-formed images and a soft name whispered in the melee.
He hadn't been wrong yet. Each vision Doyle gave them led Angel to a lost or hurting soul.
So they came to the sparkling oasis in the desert, looking for trouble. Angel liked the twinkly lights that stretched out towards the bald mountains. Their sparkle, uninhibited by LA's chewable air, spoke of a clean, thin, dry atmosphere. Simple. Pure. Actually, according to the colored flyer discarded on the sidewalk, the city thrived on impurity of every kind. But Angel lived the cost of bringing light out of darkness and knew he probably hadn't been subjected to Cordelia's driving to get a proverbial kitten out of a tree.
"Tell me again how you scored this suite?" Cordelia asked Doyle for the tenth time.
Angel turned away from the window and smiled at the happiness in her voice. In truth, the rooms were payment collected from a client, but Angel had managed to keep that a secret. Surprising Cordelia with beauty and comfort was his decision and judging by the sparkle in her eyes that rivaled the lights outside, it was a worthy choice.
"Well-"
"No! Don't tell me. I don't want to know. Oh, heaven!" she exulted, popping a complimentary chocolate past her lips and collapsing on the double bed. She groaned again at feeling the five pillows and goose-down comforter beneath her. "I may never leave this bed."
"As a matter of fact, that brings up several unique possibilities that I could--" Doyle started. The daunting look of death she sent him had him grinning. "Well, we'll just see what you have to say after you see the Jacuzzi."
Cordelia raised one eyebrow in disbelief and looked to Angel for confirmation.
"It's in my room, but you can use it," he allowed. His bedroom connected to the double room Cordelia and Doyle were staying in and had one king-sized bed. He would have offered it to Cordelia and bunked in with Doyle, but in a rare selfless moment she insisted he take advantage of the thicker drapes and "more room to be all kill-joy." So they each had a double bed while he lounged in the master suite so sumptuous he almost called the former client to protest at the overly-lavish payment. They were in the newest hotel, the Bellagio, which boasted a faux-Venice theme complete with a canal and gondolas, an annual flower budget of six million dollars a year and a shopping plaza that made Cordelia silent for a whole half-hour.
"Heaven," she repeated.
"I'm heading out," Angel announced abruptly, biting down the words 'to hell.' One, he didn't joke about going to hell, and two, Doyle could out do him with the puns on a daily basis and Cordelia hated it. Outside their bullet-proof glass window the main strip danced with color, slick neon and flashing lights, concert announcements, buffet deals and one billboard for a creepy-looking duo draped over a white tiger. Themed hotels towered over their motel rivals and beckoned visitors to come empty their wallets. It was a tourist paradise of hedonism.
"For you, for you," a young Latino man called out, trying to thrust a coupon booklet into Angel's hand. He ignored him, but got stuck at an infernally long stop light and couldn't ignore the legal panhandler who was working the crowd.
"Hey, where are you from?" the tall, lanky man asked a young woman with red hair who was also stuck at the stoplight. His teeth alone would offend, but what really annoyed Angel was his shoes. Untied. Sort of a personal pet peeve.
"From away," the girl answered succinctly, obviously not interested. She turned back to her friends while the guy loudly resented her ignoring tactics.
"That's not what I asked. I asked where you were from..."
Blessedly, the light turned and Angel stepped into the street. Just another tourist out for a fun Friday night.
Angel headed in the opposite direction from the main strip, feeling the unnatural weight of some kind of oppression. Maybe it was the gambling addicts, or simply that he couldn't close his eyes to how the trailers and broken down cement-block houses piled right up to the wealth on the strip like sandbags on the bank of a raging river. His stomach churned seeing a girl barely old enough to be in high school hustled away from the doorway of a seedy club when he walked by.
He was headed to a bar called "John's Bar." He liked it when Doyle got at least a name, or even a description of the person in need. This time all Doyle said after the throbbing pain subsided was that the person was female, and that she needed help "as soon as possible." Angel wondered if there was more his partner was keeping from him, by the way he'd lowered his eyes and hedged saying anything else.
"You might know her," Doyle finally confessed. But he didn't know for sure, or what she looked like, or who it was, or where Angel knew her from. It could be Buffy. It probably wasn't, and he knew the odds of that were probably worse than those on the blackjack tables in the casino, but the tiny thought that Buffy could be in trouble had him walking fast towards the darker part of towns where the lights weren't so colorful and no one bothered to sweep the sidewalks.
He couldn't purge Buffy from his heart, no matter how much he tried. But it had been six months without seeing her and the pain of separation had recently died down to a more manageable level. Cordelia even twitted him about dating, due to the one disastrous date he'd let Doyle rope him into. And he let her jibes go uncontested because the truth was that he wouldn't object to having someone to confide in on a more intimate level.
A girlfriend. Maybe. Finding a woman he'd want to spend time with who didn't mind his reticence and secrets was far easier than hooking up with a woman who wouldn't figure out he was a vampire. "SWM, former master vampire seeks tolerant woman for nebulous relationship." Disastrous odds.
John's Bar was a medium-sized establishment, but it was just a bar, not a casino. And it was decidedly less shabby than some of its neighbors. It boasted the requisite two slot machines in the lobby, their plastic faces yellowed and cracked, but other than that there was no gambling pull. Just a large room with a long bar, twenty or so tables, and a stage that currently held a drum set with dull chrome siding, two microphones, two guitars and a few beat-up amplifiers. The place was full, the patrons obviously waiting for the band to come back from break and start playing so they could bump and grind on the dance floor. Angel found himself relieved it wasn't a strip club.
"Here for the band? Their next set is gonna be in about ten minutes," the bouncer informed Angel, who passed over the cover and accepted the bright pink stamp on his left hand.
"I'm meeting a friend," he replied absently, his sharp eyes scanning the room for someone he knew. Like everything else in Vegas, the dimly-lit room catered to smokers. Angel didn't mind too much- not like he was breathing it in or anything.
The edge of his mind was picking up all kinds of mini-troubles, but the one that compelled him came from a big man sitting at the end of the bar. The man was huge, big enough to be a bouncer, and wore ripped blue jeans and a black sweatshirt. His meaty hand pinned down the wrist of a woman. From far away it might have seemed like they were holding hands, but Angel knew that wasn't the case from the way the woman's fingers were cramped together.
Also, the man was a vampire. Angel knew that right away and craned his head above the crowd. He couldn't see her face, but he felt her heart pumping wildly. Thankfully, not Buffy. He knew her smell and it was always mixed with a little surge of desire to rip her captor's heart out. The woman getting her wrist crushed had pure, desperate fear and Angel almost rushed in fists flying. The place was full, though, and he couldn't save the poor girl that way. Besides, maybe the guy would let up a little when the music started, if he was truly there to hear the band. There had to be a reason he was holding the girl, not dragging her out back to feed. Angel smelled his bloodlust and was both reviled and jealous.
The band shuffled back on stage to set up their next set, and the guy turned to look, giving Angel a clear view of the huge man's unfortunate date. His next meal.
Willow.
End Part 1
Fuck.
Willow? God, Angel hoped not, but there she was. Her straight red hair seemed dulled by static and cigarette smoke and she wore makeup and clothing that made her resemble her doppleganger, but the tears still wet on her cheeks were unmistakably real. It was Willow, and Angel felt paralyzed by responsibility.
This client could not die.
He took a seat at the bar, keeping his black duster closed around him, and ordered a beer. The scotch in this place was sure to taste like... well, not like the fine sample he'd had at the hotel bar on the way out.
The band started their second set and a few people got up to dance on the wooden floor scraped bare as a knee. The cheap speakers managed to be plenty loud enough for Angel to move to the seat behind the vampire without being heard.
"Let her go or I shove this stake through you," Angel spoke firmly into the guy's ear as he pressed a pointed piece of wood to the man's back that was deadlier than any gun would be. It was a stupid move, not knowing how many others were in the bar.
"She won't leave with you. She's chained to the barstool," the guy informed Angel in a bored voice. "Get your own food. This one belongs to Jason."
"But I like redheads," Angel said, dipping easily into his Angelus voice. He heard Willow gasp and mentally sent her a calming message. She wouldn't get it, but it helped him relax. The guy holding her was not the guy in charge and therefore, would be easy to dismiss.
"Look, buddy, I let her go and I'm dust. There's a red head waitress somewhere around her. This one belongs to Jason."
"No, she belongs to me." The finality in Angel's voice was inarguable and the guy released Willow's wrist. True to his word, she remained on the barstool and cradled her sore wrist against her stomach protectively.
Angel stepped around the guy's side, making a triangle with his back to the band. Leaning casually against the bar made it seem like they were all old friends.
"Name's Ben. Who're you?" he demanded of Angel with narrowed eyes.
"Angelus."
"Not from around here, obviously." Ben sighed impatiently. "Look, newbie, Jason's master in these parts, and unless you're willing to fight to the death, it doesn't matter who you've claimed. He wants her, and he's coming back to turn her. So just get out, or I'll have you thrown out."
While he babbled, Angel took stock of Willow's situation. Her ankles were chained to the aging stool. It was easy enough to break, and he could always chop the chains off with an axe later if he couldn't rip them off. Her wrist might be broken and her lips looked swollen from kissing, but he smelled no blood on her.
"Unchain her at least. She's still not going anywhere."
"Damned straight," came a calm voice at Angel's right side. An arm linked around Willow's waist and a blond head bent over hers, kissing her hard on her unwilling mouth. Her head arched away but Jason's other hand came up to capture it.
"Boss, this newbie won't leave. Says he's claimed her."
Jason wrenched his mouth from Willow, who took a deep breath and looked nauseous. Then she looked angry. Angel rejoiced. Her fear was dwindling, which said a lot about how her trust in him to save her, but the fury rising in her breast was nothing short of amazing. He knew that would be a boon in their escape.
Jason was a clean-cut vampire in his mid-twenties, dressed like a tourist in jeans and a sweatshirt. His eyes were icy blue and with the blond hair made him resemble a very nasty SS officer Angelus had known in World War Two. But that vampire was dust. Jason was a very real undead threat.
"We're all set here, Ben. Unchain my future bride and you can go back outside." Jason was only humoring Angel, didn't see him as a threat.
It sort of hurt his ego. Was he not intimidating enough? Not scary? Not wearing enough leather?
Angel resisted the urge to kick Ben when he crouched down to undo the chains wrapped around Willow's ankles. Her black-booted feet immediately started kicking, catching the burly vampire in the head a few times before he backed away, muttering some choice insults under his breath.
"You can't claim her, Jason, she's mine."
"Not anymore. Now, look, this place is crawling with my minions. You want to take us all on for some stupid piece of ass who isn't even big enough for a snack?"
Mid-stream, Angel changed tactics. Willow would just have to sweat it out.
"Guess not. But I don't like having things taken from me, at any price."
"That's better. Willow, you know this guy?"
"Yes," came her one-worded response.
"All right then, newbie, name your price. Young girl? Older? Another redhead? I can get you anything you want." Jason was being very solicitous considering the situation, but he was in a good mood. The place was packed, the band was rockin', and by dawn he'd have a new vampire consort with fire in her. His last mistress was a little on the submissive side, but this chit had much more potential.
"I want her-"
"You can't have-"
"-- for one last fuck."
The harsh words hung in the air, naked and very real. Tears sprang to Willow's eyes and she turned her head, fury fading back into fear. Angel inwardly cursed himself for scaring her. God, she probably thought he was Angelus. But he knew what he was doing and he knew Jason would grant him the request. Vampires weren't all that moral, and this one seemed distracted tonight by the band and other things.
"You can have her back after the set," Angel promised. "I think I saw a red-headed waitress that looked like what I want. But as her last master I want the right to say goodbye. My way."
Well, that was accurate vampiric code, anyway. Jason didn't have to honor it, obviously, but he was stupid and completely arrogant in his own power. Secure in his lackey guards. No way was he a true master vampire, just a cocky young man with a keen leadership sense and a little clout in Vegas. Luckily for Angel, he was really liking the band.
"Fine, take her. No biting, though. I want her fresh. Take her out back and then just leave her with Ben when you're done." Jason snapped his fingers and a thin vampire came forward to receive his instructions. His eyes widened when he saw Angel at the bar.
"But, master, that's-" the lackey protested, gesturing towards Angelus.
"A new vamp in town, I know. And I'm feeling good tonight because the band is kick-ass and I want to show this new guy a good time. Vegas nightlife, you know. So what if it's not my usual style. Don't I have the right to be creative?"
"Of course, master."
The lackey shook his head as Angel took Willow's uninjured hand. They followed him behind the stage to a door painted black. The music was muffled from there but they could still hear the cheers of the crowd and smell the smoke and booze.
"Go ahead out. The door locks behind you, so just knock when, uh, when you're done and Ben will open it."
"Do you know who I am?" Angel asked menacingly, hand gripping his stake.
"Y-yes, Angelus. But I heard you were, I don't know. Underground."
"I'm still underground. No taste for crowds, minions, whatever. But I'm not going to let some arrogant prick like Jason take what's mine." Angel laughed, a hollow, cold laugh that made Willow wince. He squeezed her hand in comfort and she huddled against him, effectively playing the part he wanted her to. "Why do you even call him master? Look, I'm taking her back to Dallas where she belongs. Not gonna leave me again, right, Willow?" For emphasis, he pulled her head back, but she faked the painful grimace. He was barely even touching her head, more like cradling it, his fingers sunk deep into her hair.
"No, Angelus," she squeaked.
"What?" he hissed.
"Master. Master..."
Some perverse part of Angel really, really enjoyed hearing that name from Willow and he knew it was time to stop acting. The lure of Angelus was coming on strong, as was the rush of self-hatred. He turned to the lackey and demanded his name.
"Kent."
"Kent. We're going to the bus station and then out of this freakish city. You keep it secret, and I'll let you live. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
Angel didn't answer him, just nodded curtly and gestured towards the door. Kent fumbled to open it and Angel strode confidently into the alley, pulling Willow behind him possessively. She hurried to keep up without falling and being dragged, her heart in the pit of her stomach. Angel quickly hailed a cab back to the main strip and they rode in silence.
He made the cab stop at the New York hotel where they could blend in with tourists and get lost in the maze of restaurants and shops inside. Finding a quieter spot in a dark corner of an eating area, Angel made Willow sit down and returned shortly with a few wet naps and a ginger ale.
"This should settle your stomach."
Willow was already breaking into one of the wet naps, hands shaking as she unfolded the soapy towel to scrub her face free of tears and Jason's unwanted kisses. When she'd cleaned herself up somewhat, she gave him a weak smile.
"Thank you."
"Drink that," Angel nudged her softly.
Unspoken words meaning: you're safe, don't fear, I have you, I won't let you go. The protectiveness he felt for her astounded him. He hadn't claimed her, at least not the way he boasted to Jason. He hadn't bedded her, hadn't drunk deeply from her neck as she cried his name. But a big part of him loved her fiercely, hence the surprise. She was Buffy's best friend, so that gave him reason to look out for her, but inexplicably there was something more to it. The feeling that if nothing else, Willow would be able to understand him.
Maybe be that confidante he so desperately craved these days. Maybe more.
A few minutes later, he summoned up the courage to ask her what was foremost on his mind.
"Jason. Did he do anything other than kiss you? Physically, I mean."
"No. Nothing I didn't ask him to," Willow answered honestly, ashamed at the confusion in Angel's eyes.
"You were with him willingly? A vampire, on purpose?"
"I didn't know he was a vampire at the time." Willow took a sip of the ginger ale and was reminded of sick days as a child, when she lay on the couch and sipped flat soda while her mom plied her with Disney videos and chicken soup. Very comforting taste.
"You have some explaining to do," Angel informed her, leaning forward with the tips of his fingers resting together. "Now."
End Part 2
Willow fought the urge to mimic Angel's pose on the table. Now that she was safe, adrenaline was rushing through every vein, making her giddy. Also, she wanted cheesecake. How odd was that after everything she'd been through that night? Her watch only read 11 p.m. Not even the witching hour.
"I came here on the bus from Sunnydale. We have a long weekend and I wanted to get laid."
"No, really, Willow. I want to help."
Willow looked him straight in the eye and sucked on her straw. It took him a full minute to believe her and when understanding dawned she was prepared for the anger and the confusion, but not the little glint of humor she saw in his eyes. She figured he'd express the emotions in order like a good little private investigator, and then maybe she could try and make him understand. No one else seemed to.
"That's a bloody stupid plan. You almost died."
Anger.
"I met Jason on the bus from Sunnydale and we talked the whole way. He was really nice, offering to show me around and stuff. I swear I didn't know he was a vampire until later."
"You were too busy trying to seduce him to notice?"
"Pretty much. I wasn't very good at it," she said wistfully. Angel nearly smiled. But there were a few fuzzy spots in his brain and they needed focus.
"What about Oz?"
Ah, there's confusion.
"He dumped me the first week of school. We're just friends now. And we've both dated other people, but this weekend I just needed to get away, go to a place where no one knew me, and relax."
"And have sex with a stranger," Angel scoffed at the stupidity of it. "I could go Public Service Announcement on your ass, but I have a feeling you know the lecture."
"I designed their website," Willow nodded, unfazed. "Come on, Angel, don't you ever get lonely... you know, in that way?"
Even asking the question made her blush and Angel knew there was a thick coating of bravado over her words.
'I do," he confessed. "Daily." <> "But even if I could, I wouldn't have sex with someone I didn't know, just to relieve the tension."
"Not even if you really, really want it? And no one would find out? It's not that big a deal."
"It is to me." <> he added silently, knowing she was thinking the words. "Sex is something to be shared, not taken, not cheapened by anonymity."
"PSA," Willow warned him. Then sighed. "I know. That's why I came here. It's like the only place I know where sex is so openly a business. I thought it could work. But deep down I know you're right, so can we just forget this ever happened?"
"By that I mean you'd like me to never tease you about it to your friends? Which you know I would never do. But this talk is far from over."
"Damn," Willow muttered. Having a heart-to-heart with Angel was not on her list of weekend activities. "Well, can we at least get some cheesecake? You know, if we're in for The Talk."
Angel frowned and got up again, for which Willow was grateful. Her knees were shaky from her ordeal, probably not the best supports for her walking right now. He returned with a piece of chocolate cheesecake and two forks.
Two hours later, he understood a little better where she was coming from and was not as angry. Willow was shocked that Doyle's vision was what led Angel to her.
"I've never had an out-of-town case before," Angel admitted. He sat back in his chair, admiring Willow in her leather outfit. At least she had the costume down pat, if not the accompanying attitude.
"Where are they now?" Willow wanted to know.
"Probably out gambling and drinking. You know, Vegas nightlife."
"You know," Willow repeated. And since the hard parts of the talk were over, dealing with their shared insecurities and other less-than-pretty thoughts, she could find a little bit of wistful lightness. "I just wanted someone to make me scream. I guess I'll just have to wait."
They stood and wound their way around the crowd, getting lost in the cobblestone "streets" . Angel took her hand in his, linking their fingers. He had confided his loneliness to her, told her what he wanted in a friend, and she agreed he should find one.
"And since only Buffy can make you truly happy, there's no big curse scare," Willow had said sensibly. And almost offered herself as option number one, but feared he'd reject her. And rejection tonight after everything else was not looking really attractive.
"Make you scream?" he asked when they got outside, looking down. She blushed again, but smiled. He was smiling too, and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind one ear as a yellow car full of screaming people rushed by on the roller coaster above their heads.
"You know, Las Vegas is like living in a life sized cartoon," Willow hedged cheerfully.
"Willow," Angel prodded, sliding his hands around her waist. After everything, it seemed natural. And it could be fun, and it wouldn't be meaningless, and he cared for her deeply, and she wanted....
"Will you make me scream?" Willow questioned him softly, tilting her head up to be kissed. As Angel lowered his head to oblige, she heard his last words and shivered in pleasure.
"I'll make you beg."
The End
read the sequal 'Threat or Promise II' by Beth M.