Rating: NC-17 (all over rating)
Pairing: Angel/Spike, Angel/William
Disclaimer: Our wonderful Joss created them I had nothing to do with it—wish I had. Frankly the boys would be a lot happier with me as their mama! *web
Feedback: Please feed the baby slash ho’ cause she can be quite pathetic. She cries all night if she doesn’t get her daily dose of feedback. *giggle
E-mail: foxhunter2blue@yahoo.com
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~Part: 1~
Driving up the New England coast in early summer had its advantages, but William Danridge would rather be back in London in his flat with a nice cup of tea doing research for another of his 'trash novels' as his editor called them. Trash they might be, but that trash had kept him living in an extremely comfortable lifestyle. He had written his first novel at eighteen on a dare from a fellow Lit Major at Oxford. As a joke his buddy Wes had submitted the book to a major publisher under the name Willow Keating.
That joke had led to more than twenty novels over the past ten years and it had also led his new editor Faith to tell him she had the perfect project for him to come out of the closet---so to speak.
Slowing the car he pulled down his aviators peering at the exit coming up. A smirk curled his lips as he shifted gears and exited off the highway.
Faith wanted a romantic biography then that's what she would get.
***
The village of Finch's Cove was pretty much what one would expect of a small coastal town. The main street was lined with a variety of trees that at the moment were in their fullest bloom. Every possible tree was there from maple, cherry, and apple to oak and evergreen trees.
Turn of the century buildings of brick and clapboard housed hardware, antique, and grocery stores as well as the town library and of all things a Starbuck's. Along side these historic structures were newer buildings with a sixties flavor such as the fire and police stations and the local school. In so many words Finch's Cove was a mix of both the old and new giving it a quaint charm that reminded William of home in an odd way.
Pulling into a parking slot he hopped out of the car, grabbed his backpack, and wandered into what appeared to be the only restaurant on the main street.
'The Bow Spirit' lived up to its name. Decorated in a sailing motif its walls were age-yellowed plaster with dark beams, the booths and tables were made of dark oak, and the lighting fixtures were designed to mimic gaslights. Along the walls were paintings of seascapes and various sailing paraphernalia---nets, anchors, and steering wheels.
William pushed his aviators up propping them on his head amidst the wild tangle of golden-brown curls and looked around finally deciding on a booth at the back that had a view of the ocean. The smell of salty ocean air drifted through the open doors that led to a deck overlooking the marina where a number of patrons sat taking in the warm spring day. Settling into the booth he switched his aviators for his reading glasses as he picked up the menu and scanned it.
"Welcome to 'The Bow Spirit', sir. My name's Fred and I'll be your waitress this afternoon."
Peering over the silver rims of his glasses William's cobalt blue eyes sparkled in amusement as he studied the young woman in front of him. "Now what kind of a bloody name is that for a beautiful young girl, luv?"
A flurry of giggles escaped Fred as her cheeks turned a rosy pink. "My name's Winifred, but everyone calls me Fred for short. Oh, my God! You're English that is so cool and you---you're so..." her voice trailed of as her gaze settled on her pad. "Sorry I have a tendency to run off at the mouth when I'm..."
"Now don't go worrying, pet. Winifred is a lovely name for a sweet girl---my name is William." He smiled wide.
"Nice to meet you, William." She smiled back shyly.
"Now let's get down to business. I'd like a beer if you’ve a bloody decent one and the fish and chips platter sounds great. There is one other thing as well, luv."
Fred looked up from where she was scribbling on her order pad. "Yes?"
"Wouldn't know where this painter Angel lives would you now?"
All the brilliance drained from the young girl's face and for a moment William was quite sure that she was going to crumple to the floor. "Miss are you okay?"
"I...I...we don't," Fred swallowed hard her voice lowering, "...we don't talk about---him." Her eyes were wide and terrified behind her glasses.
Raising a brow William nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps this might change your mind, luv." He slipped a twenty across the table.
Fred's eyes shifted to the twenty, and then she took a deep breath as she snatched it. She was acting as if she were afraid he would change his mind. She leaned close and whispered softly. "Widow's Walk. He's at the end of the road." Straightening she smiled. "I'll have your order for you in a few minutes, sir."
William watched as the young woman disappeared and frowned. Why, he thought, would mentioning an elderly artist cause such a fearful reaction?
Pulling his notes out he began to page through them in curiosity. By all accounts the mysterious Angel should be in his sixties for he first came to attention in the nineteen-fifties and he was in his twenties. With a sigh William leaned back rubbing at his eyes.
A sixty-plus year old artist who seemed to have the same affect as the boogieman on the people of this town---how interesting.
Was there something wrong with him?
Maybe he was a twisted hideous freak or maybe he was insane and living with a house full of cats? Who knew?
"I bloody will," he whispered to himself.
***
Widow's Walk was a steep hill just outside Finch's Cove, almost a small mountain in William's opinion. Driving up the steep incline he noted how the closer to the top he got the more rural it became. Almost surreal as if everything had pulled back except for nature her- self. The trees and brush thickened until he crested the hill and saw that the road came to a dead end at a huge jagged rock formation.
"What the bloody hell?" William stepped from the car and looked around his gaze finally settling on what appeared to be a driveway.
Two stone pillars stood on either side of the gravel drive encircled by wild roses. William carefully studied the drive, and then looked back making a quick decision he headed back to the car.
***
The driveway was longer than he thought it would be, but William was glad he had chose to leave the car behind. Beneath his feet the drive wound narrow like a poisonous snake through thickets of trees and blackberry brambles. Inhaling he could smell rich damp earth, layers of vegetation, and the soft sound of the distant waves crashing on the beach lulled him has he moved. As he stepped out of the woods he was shocked to realize that the sunlight had faded into the deep violets and blues of twilight. Suddenly he wasn’t so sure it had been a good idea to leave the car behind in favor of a walk. As he rounded the bend in the drive he sucked a deep breath in as he got his first glimpse of the mysterious Angel’s home.
William had had not a clue that it was part of the lighthouse complex over looking the ocean, but apparently the house had once been the cottage that had housed the lighthouse keeper’s family. An arm of rocky ground stretched out into the dark ocean leading to the opening into the bay that the town was built on. In the distance he could the lights of the town on the opposite shore of the bay. Out at sea were the lights of boats returning back as night settled over the ocean.
Setting before William was the doorway to a story that he knew must hold romance and a mystery of some sort, though at the moment words failed to explain what he witnessed in the fading light.
The house was more than just a cottage. Its walls rose into the darkness---a weather-beaten pine---wild ivy covering the side that faced him. Two stories high with tall, narrow windows that stared back like dark eyes at him, eyes that demanded to know his reason for being here in this lonely, remote place. As he walked towards the house a chill crept up his spine his eyes lowering to gaze at a low stone wall that surrounded the house---the scent of pine and salty-brine thick on the night air.
Cautiously he moved through the rusty iron-gate and up the rock path to the front porch that stretched around the house disappearing around the corner into the gather -ing shadows. As he stepped onto the porch the wind stirred---tousling his hair---and the ancient wood creaked beneath his weight. Another chill crept through his gut as he stepped up to the wide double door with its leaded glass windows. Above the door was an elaborate carving of a pineapple, a symbol of welcome, yet he felt anything but welcome at the moment.
For a moment the thought crossed his mind that he should leave this place, but William had never been scared to face anything in his life. And damned if he bloody would be this time, he thought, as he lifted his hand and knocked firmly on the faded wood. As the minutes ticked by William became restless and began pacing the porch.
“Well bloody fuck all!” He snapped as he knocked louder this time. “I’d be guessing you aren’t in there then now are you, pet?”
Running his fingers through his hair he followed the porch around the corner and to the back of the house where to his surprise he found two oil lanterns lighting the back entrance. They hung from iron rings mounted at the top of weathered wooden posts at the top of a narrow staircase leading down to the beach far below. Raising a brow William lifted one of the lanterns and carefully made his way down the staircase holding it high, its light glinting off the golden streaks in his hair.
***
Halfway down the staircase William stopped to catch his breath. Had he known that adventure and danger came along with this assignment he would have told Faith to go bloody well fuck herself. The stairwell was narrow, rickety, not to mention slick with algae and the moisture of the sea air.
Leaning against the railing he looked up at the night sky and smiled. He had been behind a desk for far too long and perhaps this was what he needed after all. Perhaps a taste of adventure was far better than never having tasted true life. His gaze lowered from the blanket of sparkling stars to the beach below the sound of the buoys in the harbor a reminder of where he now was.
That’s when he saw what could only be a god or perhaps it was his jet-lagged mind, exhausted and creating such illusions, for an illusion was what this had to be.
A man tall and pale as faded moonlight was walking out of the breakers.
Broad shouldered and narrow waisted.
Even from here William could see the play of muscle beneath that opalescent skin. The shadows dancing across that perfect paleness defining each movement as if the muscles were carved in pure marble.
The man threw back his head shaking water from his ebony hair---or so it appeared in the moonlit darkness--- and William felt his heart leap into his throat.
“So sodding beautiful,” he whispered beneath his breath.
Suddenly the man lifted his head as if he had heard William’s soft whisper. Despite the distance and the darkness their eyes locked and William’s breath caught in his throat---lodged there with his heart---and his knees wavered beneath him.
“Angel,” he moaned softly.
But it couldn’t be---could it?
The man standing on the beach was young, vital, and beautiful, but the man he had come to see was old. It couldn’t be the man he sought---it just couldn’t. Per- haps it was his son or grandson, but not the painter because that was impossible.
His mind whirled as he watched the man move across the beach and for the first time he noticed that the man was nude. William swallowed hard and shook his head trying to clear the fog that had descended over him at the unsettling gaze of those dark eyes.
Slowly he began to move down the remainder of the stairs and finally hit the bottom his boots sinking into the moist sand. As he lifted the lantern he jerked back to see the man---now clothed in faded, worn denims--- beads of water glistening on his skin and in his dark hair.
A gasp escaped him as he lost his footing and he was sure he was about to crack his skull open on a brine- slicked rock. Instead two incredibly strong arms caught him and pulled him back from the jagged rocks. Open- ing his eyes he found the man looking down at him and though his face was expressionless his eyes were filled with a flood of expressions.
“Spike?” The stranger’s voice was filled with some- thing that William couldn’t quite place. Just as sudden as the emotion rose it vanished into coldness. “Who are you and why are you here?” He helped William stand and studied him with narrowed eyes.
“My name is William---William Danridge---I’m a writer and I was looking for Angel, the artist?”
The other man snorted as he stepped around William and began to climb the stairs. “And why are you looking for this, Angel?
William started up the stairs after the stranger trying not to slip on the slick stairs and yet keep up with his fast stride. “I’m here to write a book on him.”
“Book?” With a dark glare the stranger turned to William. “And what makes you think he wants a book written on him?”
“He has a huge following in Great Britain. There are a lot of people who are curious about him.” William raised an eyebrow in amusement.
“They need to stay curious.” The stranger turned around and headed back up the stairs.
“Bloody Christ! What are you his sodding watchdog? There is so much the public wants to know. Where was he born? Where did he study art? Did he ever get married? And why did he go into seclusion?”
As they reached the top of the stairs the stranger growled in the back of his throat. “Maybe it was because of snoopy ass-holes like you! Did you ever think of that?”
William stopped and rolled his eyes. “Well maybe you should let him make the decision you sodding bastard!”
Before he could take another breath William found himself being lifted by the front of his shirt. The stranger snarled as he flung him around like a sack of potatoes and dropped him on his ass---the lantern shattering next to him, the flame going dark.
“You listen to me you little bastard! There’s no story here! There never was and if I find you on this property again they won’t find your body!” He squatted next to William and for a second his eyes took on an almost golden sheen. “So any questions?”
“Fuck off!” William snapped as he scrambled back and stumbled to his feet. “I’ll talk to him with or without your bloody help!”
A soft chuckle escaped the stranger as he stood and walked to the backdoor. “Oh, trust me boy you won’t.”
With those final words the stranger disappeared through the door slamming it shut in William’s face.
“Bloody bastard,” William hissed through clenched teeth, “…don’t get rid of me that easy.”
Stomping around the corner and off the porch he headed up the path to the driveway cursing beneath his breath and vanished into the moonlit shadows. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so angry he might have given the house a second look. He might have even seen some- thing that would have given him pause to rethink what had just happened.
Standing in an upstairs window the stranger watched with sad dark eyes his palm pressed against the glass as he watched. There was something in his eyes that spoke of loss, one far greater than one would think of a young man his age. As he turned he whispered softly to the night sky.
“It can’t be---he can’t be,” a single tear ran down his cheek glittering against his pale skin, “…he can’t have come back---my beautiful boy.”
~Part: 2~
Exhausted beyond words William drove down Widow’s Walk, back through town, and to the outer edge where the Wayside Inn stood. The soft glow of lights eased the tightness in his gut as he pulled into the small private parking area and shut off the engine. Leaning his head against the steering wheel he let out a breath he hadn’t been aware that he had been holding.
“Bloody bastard,” he whispered.
There was something wrong, William thought, something had happened at the top of Widow’s Walk. What he couldn’t say, but whatever it was had left a sheen of cold sweat along his spine that even the night breeze couldn’t dry. Lifting his head he stared up at the night sky and shivered.
“Sodding man thinks he can keep me from Angel he has another bloody thing coming.”
Pushing open the door of the car he hit the button to close the convertible’s top, then popped the trunk. With a faint sigh he stepped from the car and closed the door behind him walking around to the trunk and pulling his luggage out. Shutting the trunk he made his way around to the front entrance of the inn bags in tow.
***
The Wayside Inn was a comfortable, homey place. A two-story white clapboard house with working shutters painted the blue-gray of the sea that churned on the beach below. Neatly manicured lawn and a brick sidewalk that led to a wide porch with lounge chairs scattered among potted flowers. The inside was even homier than the outside of the inn if that were possible.
Part of the reason was Darla Mackenzie the proprietor.
She greeted William at the door with a wide smile and even wider sapphire eyes beneath a loose fringe of golden blonde hair. Dressed neatly, yet casually in faded denims and a simple white tee shirt she guided him to the check-in desk.
“I was beginning to worry Mr. Danridge. Check-in time ends in fifteen minutes.”
William dropped his bags on the floor and picked up the pen scribbling his name on the appropriate line along with the time and date. “I am sorry for worrying you Ms. Mackenzie. I was delayed coming into town.”
She smiled wide and leaned in close. “I have to say that I’ve read all your books.”
Raising one brow William studied her with amusement. “And exactly how did you…?”
Her cheeks turned a soft rosy pink. “Well, I had no idea who you were until your editor called. I’ve been a fan of,” her voice lowered, “…Willow Keating for some time.” She giggled softly.
With a faint sigh William rolled his eyes. “I must look into killing Faith when I return to London.”
Darla’s eyes widened. “Oh, please don’t blame Ms. Alexander. I can be quite persistent when I want, too.”
Chuckling William smiled at Darla winking. “Fear not milady---fair Faith shall live to see another day.” He bowed with a dramatic flair. “Now if you would be so kind as to show me to my room I’d be bloody grateful. It’s been quite the tiring day.”
“Reggie!” Darla called over her shoulder.
A thin dark skinned teenager appeared and gathered William’s luggage. “What room Ms. Darla?”
“The Forest Room.” Darla smiled. “And please do be careful Reggie try not to wake mother.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Reggie winked at Darla, then turned to William. “Come on, sir. Let’s get you all settled in.” Grabbing the keys from the counter Reggie bounded up the stairs and William followed with a soft chuckle.
“Good night Ms. Mackenzie I shall see you in the morning.”
Darla’s eyes narrowed as William vanished around the bend in the staircase. “Indeed you shall.” She whispered.
***
He sat brooding in the wing back chair---before the fire----a glass in his hand. In front of him the fire danced and writhed against the soot covered bricks of the fireplace. Behind him the rising wind rolling off the ocean rattled the windows in their casings and somewhere a loose shutter banged against the house. All he could think of though was the stranger that had invaded his silent haven earlier in the evening.
Taking a sip from the glass he shuddered as he lifted his dark gaze to the portrait that hung above the fireplace. Eyes the color of a stormy sea looked back at him from a pale perfect face of marble.
“William…” he sighed softly.
Could it be just a coincidence? Or could it be true? Could his lover have been reborn?
This boy William was just a bit older than Spike when he had met his mortal end. He slumped in the chair his eyes locked on that beloved face. And the name, he thought, that had to be a sign as well even if Spike had chose to leave it behind.
Almost thirty years since he had lost Spike and it still burned in his gut like a red-hot ember. He remembered each moment with a clarity that made the ember burn hotter and brighter. That pain was so vivid he caught himself often caressing his stomach as if in search of a mortal wound---a physical mark---that would mirror it.
***
New York City, 1976.
Spike had been on his way back to their flat in Greenwich Village when he had crossed paths with a slayer that rainy night. He had managed to escape her with but a few minor bruises and cuts, yet Angel had been furious. Contacting the Watcher’s Council---the imbeciles that were suppose to be in charge of the slayers---he had chewed Rupert Giles’ ear off.
The Watcher’s had known of him and Spike for almost a hundred years. They had made a pact with him and his lover---a simple one. In exchange for information and help in times of crisis they would make sure that every slayer was educated in the history of the two vampires who were constant companions. He and Spike were different they were cursed beings. Vampires with souls---they were not killers, they hadn’t been for quite some time.
Rupert had made promises.
His promises turned out not to be worth the energy they took to voice.
On the subway exactly a week later the slayer had confronted them both. Apparently she had went rogue when her Watcher, a man named Pryce, had been murdered by a band of roaming punk vampires. She hadn’t just been rouge though. She was insane with grief seeking vengeance for the death of the man whom had not only been her Watcher, but her lover as well.
A slayer is terrifying to face for any vampire, but an insane slayer is a nightmare no one---human or vampire---wishes to ever see.
They fought side by side as they had always done. It had been towards the end of the fight that everything had gone to hell. Somehow she had managed to separate them locking Angel in one car as she fought with Spike in another. Angel was quick, but not quick enough.
The slayer had shattered Spike’s spine and he couldn’t stand. He had been crawling towards Angel one hand stretched out when the slayer had shoved a stake into his back and through his heart.
Their fingers had brushed just as Spike’s heart was pierced. Cobalt eyes widened and a choked gasp had escaped his lips.
“Angel…”
Then there had been nothing, but a swirl of dust.
***
Blinking he looked down at the roaring fire trying to shake away the memories that drifted in and out.
He had almost killed the girl---then and there--- except for one thing. As he had wrapped his hands around her throat he had heard it, a faint pulse.
She had been pregnant.
Swallowing hard he closed his eyes as that memory sharpened. In that split second he had pushed his need for vengeance away and had grabbed instead the ring that was all that remained of his lover.
Black onyx and silver---an elaborate letter ‘A’ carved in the stone.
A signet ring identical to the one that hung around his neck side by side with it.
His hand crept up to his throat, fingers tangling in the silver chain. Tears shimmered in his eyes as he began to hum to himself, a song that reminded him of a life he had possessed long ago.
Entr’acte symphonique and Scene.
It had been his lover’s favorite part of Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty.
It had been the awakening.
It was the moment when the prince had awakened the beauty from the evil spell.
***
He was walking through a park in the rain.
Suddenly the hair at the base of his neck prickled up and he frowned. Turning he saw a gorgeous woman her wild curls the color of amber and her skin molten caramel. Her eyes were brown, but a golden brown that seemed not quite human.
“Monster…” she hissed.
“Slayer.” He whispered softly.
She moved like a cat smooth, silken, and dangerous.
“All your kind should be put down and that’s what I’m here for---putting you down.”
Flipping the butt of the cigarette he’d been smoking he smiled wickedly. “Don’t think so, luv. If you’ve been trained all right and proper you know me now don’t you.”
She circled him her eyes never leaving his face. “Yes, I know you demon spawn. Just like the others. Beautiful face, but inside nothing. Nothing but a withered black heart.”
Suddenly he was worried. Slayers for a hundred years had been told of he and his lover Angelus. No slayer was to harm them for they were different---they were protected. There were no others like them.
The woman moved closer and as she did everything blurred---shifting to another place.
He was on the tube.
Another man was with him and they were fighting the same woman, yet this time she was different. There was a madness in her golden brown eyes.
He could feel the sting of each blow and yet he knew he had to fight on.
Everything seemed to swirl and shift around him once more. This time when the fog cleared he was on his stomach dragging himself along the floor of the train unable to feel his legs. Behind him he could sense her, the one that called herself Slayer. Her heart like a pounding sledge hammer, the scent of her blood filled with the ancient power, and her breath ragged---strong with anger and exertion.
That’s when he saw the other man again.
The door exploded out with the sound of shattering glass and shrieking metal.
He stood in the door his face hidden by the flickering neon glow of the lights and the moving shadows as the train barreled through the tunnel. The only things he could see were his eyes---dark liquid chocolate edge with gold ice.
A hand was reaching out to him---strong, pale--- long slender fingers barely brushing his as he reached out towards that hand. Somehow he knew there was safety in that hand. More than safety. There was love, desire, and immortal passion in that pale hand.
Then there was nothing, but pain.
***
“ANGEL!!”
William sat up amidst the tangled sheets with a scream of anguish. For a moment he sat frozen wide eyes staring at the wall across the room with it’s rich silk hunter green wallpaper. His heart danced wildly against his ribcage as he fell back against the soft down pillows his hands scrubbing frantically at his tear filled eyes.
“Bollocks…” he moaned as he blinked, then slowly focused on the ceiling.
It had been ages since he had experienced one of his nightmares. Actually not since he had been at Oxford to be honest. He’d been in his last year at Oxford and a group of his fellow students had decided to wander their way to London for the weekend.
***
London, Spring 1997
It was midnight at least and more than likely later than that, but Charles was insistent that they find yet another pub or club to visit. Wes was thoroughly shit faced and bolder than Will had ever seen him. Who knew that the little geek was a façade erected to hide the pervert inside.
He hadn’t a bloody clue where they were at and he was the only one even half way sober. Glancing over his shoulder he shook his head in disbelief at Wes. Darling pervert that he was he had picked up a little red head at the last pub---an American student if he remembered correctly. Wes now had said red-head pinned to the filthy brick wall and his hand half way up her skirt.
“Bloody hell, Pryce!” Will growled. “Get a room now, mate!”
Wes snorted as he turned. “Jealousy does not become you William…” he mumbled. The slurred words were quickly followed by a series of hiccups.
The little red-head let out a high pitched giggle.
That’s when it had happened for the first time. One of his odd nightmares visited him while he was awake.
Suddenly William Danridge was stone cold sober.
***
It was the same alley, but it wasn’t.
The distant clatter of carriage wheels echoed through the thick fog that slithered through the narrow cobblestone streets. He turned around terrified when he realized that his companions were no longer with him.
A soft hissing sound drew his gaze upward to the streetlight that stood on the corner---a gaslight?
“What the bloody hell?” William swallowed hard as his vision cleared a bit more and he began to make out faint forms moving through the misty streets. “Where the bloody hell am I?”
His voice caught in his throat as he watched a man in the company of two ladies walking down the sidewalk.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in the finest of wool suits. His hair was long---just past his shoulders---and swept back from a broad brow. Dark eyes like molten ebony glittered as he threw back his head laughing.
“Angelus, my dear boy…” there was the soft amused chuckling of the woman at his side, “…why must you tease Drusilla so? She’s not one of us in all ways. You mustn’t promise her things that are impossible.”
William’s eyes focused on the woman walking next to the man and he found himself drawn into the sea-blue eyes surrounded by soft loose golden curls. The gown she wore was a deeper shade of blue than her eyes and its low cut neckline just emphasized the pale creamy mounds of her breasts.
“And why can she not be siring a childe of her own me love? ‘Tis old enough now she is and I grow weary of her childish need for me presence. I canna deal with her when she gets this way, Darla.”
Darla glanced over her shoulder with a tight smile. Her eyes narrowed as they settled on the younger woman behind them---dressed in deep burgundy velvet and cream silk. From beneath a feathered bonnet thick dark sausage curls peaked and wide dark eyes flickered from left to right from the milky pale face hidden in the shadow of the bonnet. Slender pale hands clutched a china doll to her chest like a frightened child.
“Mist whispers…telling me secrets…” she whispered softly in a childish tone.
“Do be quiet Drusilla.” Darla snorted with a shiver.
William watched with wide eyes mesmerized by the three companions as he followed them through the streets. He must have passed out and this was an alcohol-induced dream.
“They are whispering grand-mum.” Her dark eyes narrowed as she moved around Darla and smiled up at Angelus. “Daddy…can you hear them?”
“No, love. Now don’t be forgetting that you’re the special one sweet dolly.” Angelus leaned down brushing his lips against her pale cheek. “Tell da’ what they’re saying childe. What are the mists whispering me baby girl?”
Drusilla cocked her head and smiled shyly. “They say a golden boy is coming, daddy.” She swirled around her wide velvet skirt flaring out as she laughed. “A boy who sings to the heart, but is silenced by the winter. He looks at the world through jewels of the prettiest blue. Like the sea during a storm…” she began humming softly. “He rides the frozen wave of a broken heart into the arms of a dark lover.”
Raising a brow Angelus chuckled at Darla’s annoyed expression. “Aye my darling dolly. I’ve promised ye a childe of your own---now haven’t I?”
Drusilla smiled her eyes flickering with a darkness that William couldn’t describe. The only word that came to mind was ‘evil’.
“Daddy…grand-mum…” she shushed them with a slender finger pressed to her curled lips, “…the mists can hear him crying…poor shattered boy of gold and jewels. He’s coming…he’s coming…” she sang out as she danced.
***
William woke in the emergency room of a London hospital in a cold sweat. His friends all now stone cold sober as well surrounding him with terrified expressions. Later after much poking and prodding William was allowed to leave with the insistence that he check in with his own personal physician in two days.
The drive back to Oxford was a silent one.
Once back in the dormitory William had finally spoke to Wesley. “What happened, mate?”
Wes shook his head in confusion. “Honestly I don’t know. You just suddenly collapsed to the ground and your eyes rolled back in your head.”
“Did I say anything?” He picked at the blanket on his bed.
“As a matter of fact you kept mumbling about angels.”
***
William swung his legs over the edge of the bed swiping the dampness off his face with the back of his hand. Taking a deep breath he wandered into the bathroom flicking on the overhead and moved to the mirror.
All the color had drained from his face and his eyes were haunted by the return of the nightmares. The nightmares were so vivid he could almost feel the pain where the crazed woman had thrust the stake into his back. Turning on the faucet he leaned forward splashing icy water over his face, then turned off the water standing straight and staring in the mirror.
“Why now?” He mused out loud. “Why would these sodding dreams be back?” Staring at his reflection he swallowed hard and made the decision. “Call her tomorrow.”
Turning away he flicked the switch letting the darkness close in on him again.
***
Standing in front of the easel he let out a faint pain- filled sigh.
Thirty years.
He’d started this one nearly thirty years ago in that tiny bohemian loft that he’d shared with his lover. Drifting on his memories he remembered the day he’d began this one---remembered as if it were just minutes ago.
“Will…” he whispered, “…my sweet boy.”
Tears welled through his thick, dark lashes and down his face. Sometimes he cursed his memory and other times he was thankful for it. Opening his eyes he focused on the yellowed canvas and the faded charcoal.
“Loved ye more than ye’ll ever know, me beautiful boy.” His voice cracked and deepened with the edge of a brogue he hadn’t spoken in a century.
***
New York, Greenwich Village, 1976
“Lazy thing…”
Spike rolled over with a put upon sigh, then burrowed deeper into the thick comforter. When he finally spoke his voice was muffled by layers of material and goose down. “And who bloody well kept me up half of the day, peaches?”
Sliding beneath the covers Angel smiled at Spike as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. “Well who found the need to stroll around naked as the day he was born?”
Lifting his face from the waded pillow Spike grinned wide his eyes twinkling. “Liked what you bloody well saw didn’t you, pet?”
Suddenly Angel was on him with preternatural speed, flailing arms and legs followed that pounce tangling in the bedding. Laughter and deep roars filled the muffled cavern beneath the comforter as the two men fought for dominance playfully.
“Bastard!” Spike barked.
“Whore!” Came Angel’s muffled reply as Spike pushed his face into the mattress.
“Slut!”
“Pansy!”
The sound of flesh against flesh echoed through the room as they slapped at one another.
“Bloody ponce!”
“Yep! And damn proud of it!”
Another flurry of laughter and both men tumbled off the bed in a tangled heap with the torn comforter twisted around them. As Angel’s head appeared Spike sneezed loudly.
“Sodding feathers…” he mumbled.
Laughter exploded from Angel as he reared up eyes locked on the cloud of drifting goose down. “Well there goes another comforter.”
His gaze lowered to where Spike lay sprawled beneath him, his platinum hair dusted with feathery white down.
He smiled wider.
Another loud sneeze exploded from Spike and he scrubbed at his face. His sapphire eyes narrowed at the smile on Angel’s face. “What you staring at, mate?”
Leaning in Angel’s mouth claimed his in a deep, soft kiss, then he drew back. “You…” he whispered, “…always you…no one else my beautiful boy.” He leaned back in kissing him harder and deeper.
Spike’s arms slid up his fingers tangling in Angel’s long dark hair. “Ponce…” he whimpered against Angel’s demanding mouth, “…need to get rid of that hair. You’d look better with spiky hair.”
Chuckling Angel pulled back. “Next thing you know you’ll have me wearing eyeliner and have blue tips in my hair.”
“Live a little, luv.” Spike snorted. “Don’t see you complaining about my eyeliner.”
Pushing himself to his feet Angel reached down grabbing Spike’s hand and yanking him to his feet.
“Complaining now, boy. You look like a damned raccoon.” He broke out laughing at the hurt pout Spike directed at him. “Well you do, Will.”
“Then I guess I’ll need to wash my face.” Spike raised one slim dark brow. “Care to join me pansy boy?” He turned with a sway of his hips and headed for the bathroom. “Take it or leave it, peaches.”
With a roar of laughter Spike ran for the bathroom Angel close on his heels.
***
“Good morning Mr. Danridge.”
Glancing up from his cell William nodded at Darla as she waved at him. “Good morning ma’am. May I ask if there is somewhere I could perhaps relax at---a garden perhaps?”
“Why of course. We have a lovely garden out behind the house with a number of walking paths.” She frowned and cleared her throat. “Are you okay Mr. Danridge?”
“Yes…I didn’t sleep very bloody well last night.” He turned to go only to feel a gentle hand caress his shoulder. Looking up he smiled at Darla. “Don’t worry it was just the jet lag catching up with me.”
Nodding she smiled back. “Breakfast buffet is open in ten minutes.”
“I’m not very hungry.”
Heading out to the lobby, mind distracted, he didn’t notice how Darla lingered in the doorway.
***
“Hey, Tara…” William slowly walked down the rock path that wove between the swaying grasses, “…it’s Will.” He pressed the cell to his ear tightly.
“Will what’s wrong?” Her usually soft voice tightened with worry.
He shook his head taking a deep shallow breath. “I just need to talk that’s all.”
“Don’t lie to me William. I’ve know you long enough to smell a lie at twenty paces.”
Looking up his gaze focused on the vibrant blue splashes of sky that seeped between the tangled limbs of the sugar maples overhead. He hated this so sodding much he’d thought it was over.
“Tara I’m sorry…perhaps this wasn’t a good idea.”
“Oh, no you don’t mister!”
A soft chuckle escaped William as he settled down on a rock by the path. “It’s the dreams, luv. Thought it was done, but last night I had another one. Almost seven years…” he choked up, “…seven years Tara.”
“Hush now, Will. Everything will be fine.”
Biting his lower lip he sighed softly. “Tara…how’s Red doing?”
“She’s fine, Will---why?”
“I need her to find some information.” He ran his hand over his face. He’d been to New York and he recognized the skyline from his dream.
“What kind of information?”
Inhaling deeply William ran his fingers through his tousled hair. “I need to know where I was born.”
“William you know you were born in London.”
“Do I Tara? I honestly don’t know any bloody more whether I’m coming or going. I think maybe these dreams…” he swallowed hard and closed his eyes behind his aviators, “…that these dreams are connected to my parents somehow.”
“But, William you never knew your parents. Your mother and father were in a car accident. You know that your adoptive parents told you that much. Your birth father died in the accident and your birth mother died from her injuries after giving birth to you.”
“I know what Rupert and Jenny told me, Tara. I don’t know why, but for some reason I just feel these dreams are linked to my parents. Just please ask Red to do her magic, pet.”
“Of course William I’ll ask her to do this, but promise me if anything happens you’ll call us.”
“Of course Tara…I promise, luv.”
“Good. And I’ll have Red call as soon as she has anything---okay?”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later, pet. Oh and could you tell your little sis I said hi.” He smiled as he rubbed at his damp eyes.
“I’ll do that William. Dawn will be tickled to know your thinking of her. Take care and may the Goddess protect you.”
“Take care Tara.” He flipped his cell shut and sat there quietly staring out at the distant ocean. “It’s because of you isn’t it?” He whispered softly. “Some how you and I are connected.”
***
Fingers flying he dipped the broad brush into the paint blending and smoothing it until it was the perfect shade of pale cream. Slowly he began to brush the paint over the canvas filling in the charcoal sketch.
In the background Tchaikovsky’s ‘Sleeping Beauty’ played as it had been for most of the day. This particular section was the Pas de quatre, the wedding.
He hummed softly as the image slowly began to form on the age yellowed canvas. The music softened and faded then rose again; Variation III: La Fee-Saphir. As the music danced around him he smiled.
Lifting his hand he swiped the back of it across his forehead leaving a smudge of cobalt blue across his pale skin.
“I don’t know how or why, but you’ve come back to me.” He sighed softly his other hand lifting the silver chain at his throat rubbing it gently. “But I have to make sure it’s you---don’t I?”
***
Driving up the winding road William began to hum softly to himself. A sparkle of amusement danced in his eyes when he realized what he was humming.
His adoptive parents were quite wealthy and his mother Jenny had been a patron of the arts until her death when he was sixteen. He remembered her favorite composer was Tchaikovsky and she had taken him to his first ballet at the tender age of five.
Tchaikovsky’s ‘Sleeping Beauty’.
He clearly remembered watching in silent awe as the prince wed his beauty. The most vivid image he had was of his adoptive mother’s bright smile as he asked about the winged women who danced across the stage on feather light feet. One had been dressed in gold, one in silver, one in shimmering sapphire blue, and the final one in white covered with sparkling diamonds.
//They are the fairies.//
//Fairies mummy? You mean like the nature spirits in daddy’s books?//
//Yes, my sweet little William.//
His thoughts drifted back to the present and he realized that he was on Widow’s Walk heading to the top. He pushed back his aviators and blinked against the fading light. He had lost hours, he thought, hours that had melted away in a swirl of colors. Head swimming with the knowledge that he was being drawn back to the cottage he had visited last night.
He knew that the man he had spoke with was his only link to Angel. A link that screamed at him with an alien voice and yet that voice was familiar. As if he had known it from the moment of his birth.
The sharp ring of his cell caused him to jerk losing control of the car for a moment. By the time the second ring came he was pulled over on the side of the road.
“Danridge.”
“William it’s me.”
His brows rose in surprise. “Father to what do I owe this call?”
“No need to stand on formality, William. I received a disturbing call today from your friend Tara.”
Gritting his teeth William slumped back against the headrest. “Look I don’t know what she told you, but I’m fine and…”
“I need you to return home, William. I need you to tell Ms. Alexander that you’ve changed your mind about this project.” Rupert’s voice was firm and even.
With a growl William slammed his fist against the steering wheel. “No.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said no father. This project is important to me and you’ve always been supportive. I don’t understand why this would be any bloody different.”
“William please…trust me on this.”
“No, trust me father.” He flipped his phone shut and turned off the ringer. “Damn you, Tara…” he tossed the phone in the back seat and shifted gears roaring out onto the road in a cloud of dust.
***
New York, Greenwich Village, 1976
Spike stretched out on the bed with a soft purr and rolled on to his back looking up with wide sapphire eyes. One brow rose in amusement at Angel’s expression.
“What’s wrong, peaches?” Spike blew Angel a kiss.
Rolling his eyes Angel picked up one of the charcoal sticks on his art supply table. “How am I suppose to sketch you if you don’t stay still?”
A soft chuckle escaped Spike as he rolled back on his stomach his chin resting on his palms. “Fine ponce… won’t move then---how’s that, pet?”
“Better.” Angel grinned wiggling his brows in a suggestive way.
“And you act like I’m the sodding perv!”
Laughing he moved the charcoal across the brilliant white canvas in long smooth strokes. A soft sway of a smooth spine, the long line of a pale throat, and long slender legs. Looking up from the canvas Angel’s eyes narrowed as he sucked on his lower lip.
“Like what you see, pet?” Spike purred softly.
“Too much…” Angel whispered as the charcoal slipped from his fingers.
Moving to the bed he stripped off his jeans and stepped from them, then kicked them to the side. By the time he was on the bed his cock was rock hard and all he could think of was fucking Spike through the mattress.
“Hey, pet.” Spike reared up on his knees giving Angel a perfect view of his own erection straining against his belly. “What happened to posing and painting?”
Angel dived forward pinning Spike to the silk sheets with his aching body. “There’s always tomorrow you pain in the ass…” he leaned in kissing Spike hard and fast with a growl.
Tomorrow never came.
Not for Spike.
~Part: 3~
Twilight had faded into night as William appeared in the front yard of the cottage. He’d driven to the top of Widow’s Walk and sat until darkness fell because for some reason he found the dark comforting. Now he was standing in the front yard his eyes focused on the hollow emptiness of the dark cottage windows and wondering if perhaps the stranger from the night before was watching.
Slowly he made his way up the stairs to the sagging porch and eyed the door with trepidation before he stepped forward. Lifting his hand he curled his fingers into a fist and knocked on the door. Seconds ticked by as he waited and watched for any sign of life, then he lifted his hand again to knock---that’s when he noticed it.
A soft flickering glow as if from a candle or an oil lamp danced behind the frosted glass of the door’s windows. He paused taking a deep breath then knocked gently again.
This time there was an answer.
The heavy door creaked opened slowly to reveal the man from the night before standing in a darkened hall. His eyes black as charcoal focused on William’s face and then a frown creased his brow.
“Have a death wish much?”
William inhaled and gritted his teeth. “You know what I’m here for mister…”
“Liam…Liam Conway. And yes I know why you’re here, but I also know what I told you last night.”
Crossing his arms across his chest William frowned. “I need to speak with Angel…I’m not about to leave until I see him.”
Liam snorted. “Then I guess you’ll be standing out there until hell freezes over.” He turned starting to push the door shut.
Suddenly William opened his mouth and spoke his hand lifting to stop the door. “Is cuimhin liom milis og aghaidh de neanh…de eag….”
Turning back to William his eyes even blacker Liam snarled. “What did you say?!”
William’s eyes grew wide and his body trembled with muscle spasms. “Is cuimhin liom…aghaidh de neanh…” then he crumpled to the porch his eyes rolling back in his head.
Kneeling Liam sat the lamp on the floor and lifted William into his arms carefully. His eyes softened as he moved back into the darkness whispering softly to himself. “Aye…milis aghaidh de mo chroi.”
***
Darla stood at the parlor window staring out at the gathering storm above the distant sea. Danridge had left early this morning and she hadn’t seen him since. In the back of her mind she began to worry about the young man.
“Come set grand mummy…have some tea.”
She dropped her hand letting the heavy drapes fall shut over the dark glass as the first drops of rain splattered against them. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that. You wouldn’t have dared call me that if it were as it were in the beginning.”
A soft tinkling laugh reached her ears causing her to flinch. “Well it isn’t grand-mummy---now is it? And who’s fault would that be?”
Darla snorted and turned on the woman across the room. “This is your fault you crazed bitch!”
“Now…now you really don’t want dolly to get upset now do you grand-mummy? When she’s upset I can’t control her…” the woman began humming softly to herself as she poured a cup of tea from the ceramic pot. “The green eyed monster reared its head when daddy saved the golden boy. Always angry at dolly because she wanted a toy. If dolly hadn’t done it wrong, then no golden boy. Then we would be together. Angel face and dolly with her grand-mummy like peas in a pod.”
Clenching her fists Darla moved to the chair across from the table her sapphire eyes going cold as ice.
“I didn’t ask to be brought back…” she hissed.
Dark sparkling eyes lifted to focus on Darla’s flushed, furious face. “You ruined it all grand- mummy…spoke to the nasty gypsies…cursed dolly’s golden boy and all because of the monster. The monster with sparkling green eyes. You took dolly’s family away and now the golden boy has come back.” Grinding her teeth Darla lifted the cup of tea to her lips sipping as she watched the other woman with narrow eyes. Death hadn’t eased her fury or her jealousy. Angelus had been hers and then the boy had been left by Drusilla in the alley caught between life and death.
That’s when it changed.
“If you want to feel the blood dancing on your tongue grand-mummy I suggest you not plot against dolly.” Reaching out Drusilla lifted the china doll from where it sat dressed in velvet and silk. “Because dolly doesn’t like it. Do you pretty baby?”
Smiling at the doll her face shifted and her eyes glowed a sharp animal gold in the dim candlelight.
***
Rupert sat in front of his fireplace a cup of quickly chilling tea at his elbow and a heavy leather bound book in his lap. His thoughts were a million miles away---across the ocean with his son William.
“Mr. Giles, sir?”
He lifted his head his vacant stare shifting and settling on Joyce. “Yes?”
“It’s well past midnight, sir.”
Shaking his head Rupert’s gaze settled on the grandfather clock across the room as it began to strike the hour. “Oh my…I am quite sorry Joyce. You are dismissed. Do get some rest…as a matter of fact feel free to sleep in tomorrow.”
Joyce moved around and settled in the chair next to Rupert watching with worried eyes as he removed his glasses polishing them with his handkerchief.
“It’s Master William---isn’t it, sir?”
Returning his glasses to his face Rupert sighed. “Yes, I am worried that my own mistakes have come back to bite William on the arse.” He rubbed the knot that was forming between his eyes. “How I do wish Jenny were here. She always knew how to speak with him…they never fought…” his words faded as a tear slipped down his cheek.
“Never told him the truth did you, sir?” Joyce’s head tilted towards the book laying in his lap. “Don’t you believe the boy has a right to know the truth about his parents?”
Rupert’s fingers caressed the weathered leather and he sighed. “We tried to protect him…we kept him as far away from the Council as we could. We had no idea what would happen to him---what he might grow to be?” His gaze shifted to Joyce’s soft face. “His mother was the first Slayer in history to give birth to a child…and the mark…the mark on her stomach…”
“What mark?” Joyce’s brow knotted in confusion.
Rupert opened the book to the title page his finger tracing the stamp beneath the words.
Written in Latin he could read it easily enough, but he didn’t have, too. Those words were burned into his mind for all eternity until he took his final breath on this earth.
“A sun and three stars…” Rupert whispered, “…the Mark of Aurelius.”
***
He sat down in the chair next to the king sized bed, his dark eyes focusing on the pale and still form buried beneath the thick down comforter the color of ripe blackberries. It was like seeing a dream come true---a dream that had consumed him like the strongest of fires. Beneath the comforter the young man shifted, a whimper slipping from his slightly parted lips. A tiny smile crept along his own lips to curl the corners as he leaned forward in the chair his fingers tangling in the sweat dampened curls of sun-kissed reddish brown.
“Sweet William…” he sighed softly, “…none has captured me heart like you, beautiful poet.”
Another whimper rose in the young man’s throat as he writhed beneath the covers. Liam found himself standing and moving to set at the edge of the bed his fingers sliding through William’s hair, then his fingertips tracing down along his cheekbone.
“No…please…” William whimpered his breathing ragged and terrified.
Liam leaned down closer his lips ghosting over the sharp edge of one cheekbone. “Hush now me beautiful boy…nothing will be hurting you.”
He hadn’t even noticed that he had slipped into that brogue he had possessed so long ago. It had been with that brogue that he had spoken the night that Spike had been born in a dank, shadowy alley in London.
***
London, England 1888
A shudder traveled through William as he sat on the barrel hidden in the shadows of the alley. If it had not been, enough that he had been thoroughly humiliated by Cecily he had practically run over a wealthy family as he had fled.
His vision blurred as he looked down at the crumpled sheets of paper in his fist, his knuckles whiter than white. The one thing he knew at that moment was that his life was over. Mother had been wrong, he thought, Cecily could never love a man like him.
“I’m nothing…” he whispered softly to himself as his voice cracked with grief.
“Why are you weeping my sweet golden boy?”
His head lifted wide sapphire eyes peering from behind wire rimmed glasses with a mixture of fear and curiosity. “Who…who’s there?”
Drusilla stepped into the alley with the crisp swish of silk skirts, her dark eyes glittering from beneath the brim of her ruffled bonnet. “The answer to all your secret wishes my beautiful singer of songs. The stars told me to look for you.”
He adjusted his glasses running his trembling fingers through his tousled curls. “Leave me be…” he whispered, “…I have no wish to speak to anyone.”
“Oh, my poor sweet prince…” her voice was like thick sweet syrup, “…who hurt you so?” She moved to his side smiling softly as she lifted a hand stroking along his shoulder.
William flinched away from the touch of her fingers. It felt like ice caressing his skin even through the thick wool of his suit coat. “Madame please…” he waved his trembling hands about, his cheeks burning a bright crimson, “…this is an inappropriate place for a lady to linger. Surely your father would not allow such things.”
Leaning close to his ear Drusilla let out a soft breath of air, a wicked smile curling her lips as she spoke. “Roses and freshly starched linen…” she whispered softly her lips ghosting over the curve of William’s ear.
“P..par…pardon me?” William jerked back stutter- ing, as his eyes grew wide.
Drusilla pouted softly her dark eyes glittering in the shadowy confines of her bonnet. “You smell of roses and linen…” she paused licking her lips, “…and far more my golden boy.” She stepped closer and sniffed at the air as William looked on in horror. “Shame…so bitter and want…desire.”
Suddenly William was on his feet the crushed sheets of poetry drifting to the slimy, filth encrust- ed bricks of the alley. His bright eyes darted in his face from right to left as he sought a means of escape from what was surely a mad woman.
Drusilla advanced towards William as a golden sheen flickered across the surface of her dark eyes and for a moment, he was caught in those eyes. He was nothing, but a tiny fly caught in the silken strands of the spider’s web. Swallowing hard, he felt the wall hit his back and he desperately pressed against it as if he hoped to sink into the very brick.
“The icy queen of winter froze your heart with but one breath. Shattered it like a sculpture of ice into tiny slivers of silver.” Drusilla’s lower lip pushed out in a thoughtful pout.
William’s mouth opened, working like a goldfish gasping out of water, then his voice finally came, cracking with emotion. “Ce…cecily…did she send you?” Tears filled his eyes as his fingers splayed against the damp brick. “Are you o…one of her…her friends?” He stuttered as the tears swelled over his lashes and trailed down his face.
“Cecily?” Drusilla cocked her head as if listening to a distant aria and began to sway. “Is she the one who dared break your fragile heart?”
Shaking his head William clenched his eyes shut and began gasping for air as Drusilla’s soft cold hand stroked his cheek. “Please…” he moaned his frail body shaking.
“I can make it all go away…” Drusilla whispered softly, “…heal your heart, give you strength like you have never know, and immortality my sweet golden boy.” Her icy lips grazed the sharp edge of his cheekbone. “She hurt you…they laughed at you my sweet nightingale---do you not want to avenge yourself upon these frail mortals?”
“…yes…yes I do…” William’s voice was a bare whisper that only Drusilla could hear.
“Then let dolly make it all better.”
She reared back her face shifting as one hand stroked down William’s pale convulsing throat gently. As she lowered her mouth to his throat above the artery that pulsed in time with his pounding heart his eyes opened.
What he saw he would never forget.
***
“NOOO!!”
William sat straight up gasping for air as his hands clawed at the silken comforter, his hair a mass of sweat dampened curls that clung to his pale fore- head. Seconds ticked by as he tried to calm his heart, his breathing, and as he tried to erase the image of that demonic visage from his mind’s eye.
Finally he began to calm and he swallowed hard as his trembling hands lifted---scrubbing at his face.
The last thing he recalled was knocking on the door of the old lighthouse keeper’s cottage and seeing a soft flickering light beyond the glass. Pushing back the comforter he swung his legs over the mattress and tried to focus on his surroundings.
Faint golden candlelight swathed the room in an almost surreal atmosphere. It was as if he had drifted back into the past, into the world of centuries long forgotten by the high-speed revolving door world he knew so well.
As he stood on trembling legs his gaze drifted from corner to corner of the huge bedroom. On the far wall a wide fireplace stood, it’s marble façade glowing a soft moonlit white in a roaring fire. Two high-backed Victorian chairs sat at angles before the fire, a small round claw-footed table between the two. On the tabletop was a cut-crystal decanter filled with a rich ruby liquid that sparkled, two matching brandy glasses, and a leather bound volume.
Creeping closer on bare feet William looked down at the table his hand drifting out, his fingertips stroking the worn leather cover. Faded gold letters told him what he already knew---this was a first edition of Matthew Arnold’s greatest poetry. With gentle hands he picked up the volume and opened the cover with a reverence usually reserved for ancient spiritual artifacts.
A saint’s bones.
The Dead Sea scrolls.
Inside on the flyleaf in faded blue ink, in a beautifully scripted hand was an inscription.
***
Beloved of all me childer. Mine blue-eyed poet, me boy so sweet and soft. I will never leave you nor fail you in this dark world of immortality.
Beloved always, worshipped forever.
Your Sire, Angelus
***
William swallowed as tears blurred the words before his eyes. A sudden whisper of ice crept up his spine and a memory---wispy as a cloud--- drifted through his thoughts.
“But you did…” he whispered to the empty room.
As sudden as the thought had surfaced, it dissipated and William let the book close again. His body trembled with an emotion that confused him and terrified him all at once.
Sitting the book back down on the polished cherry wood tabletop, his gaze lifted to focus on a portrait that hung above the marble mantle. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open in shock. Stand- ing there in the candlelit darkness William Dan- ridge began to sway, his heart threatening to rip through the frail cage of his ribs, and his lungs emptied of air. His hand lifted shaking as he did something he hadn’t done since he was a tow headed child of twelve.
He made the sign of the cross.
“God help me…” he whispered beneath his breath.
The painting was a picture of exquisite detail, a work of beauty that held in each brush stroke the very heart and soul of the artist.
He---the subject in question---was stretched out on a chaise lounge of a deep purplish-red that remind- ed William of boysenberry jam. Skin the color of virgin snow lay over what could only be described as the natural musculature of a dancer or perhaps a jungle cat. A silky sheer robe that matched the lounge was all the man wore and there was the erotic implication that he was seducing the artist just with his presence alone. That wasn’t what had shocked William though.
It was the man’s face looking down at him that made the pit of his stomach squirm.
The perfectly sculpted face.
High cheekbones, full soft lips, and the eyes---oh, my god the eyes.
“Or, as thou never cam’st in sooth, Come now, and let me dream it truth, And part my hair, and kiss my brow, And say, My love why sufferest thou?”
His words were soft---a bare whisper---that could barely be heard above the crackling fire.
“Come to me in my dreams, and then By day I shall be well again! For so the night will more than pay The hopeless longing of the day.”
William tore his gaze from those beautiful sapphire eyes and turned his gaze meeting the stranger---the man known as Liam’s dark eyes. “How?” He choked out, his hand waving at the painting above the mantle.
“His name was William…” Liam stepped closer his expression unreadable in the firelight, “…he was Angel’s lover.”
“No!” William’s voice rose in a mixture of fear and anger. This wasn’t happening, he thought to him- self. “This isn’t possible!” His gaze moved back to the painting.
“Everything is possible Mr. Danridge. There is more in this world than any of us can guess at times.” Liam’s eyes lifted to focus on the painting and the pain was evident in his expression.
Shaking his head William slowly backed away. “I have to go…”
Liam turned to face William then and the pain, though still evident was overwhelmed by the need and desire. “Please…don’t leave…” he held out his hand, “…I already lost you once. I canna lose you again me precious boy.” His accent became more pronounced as he followed William’s desperate retreat.
Turning, William’s eyes darted around the room looking for an escape route from what could only be a nightmare. Finally seeing the door he made a terrified run for it, but Liam was close on his heels his strong fingers tangling in the thin cotton of his tee shirt.
With a scream of fury, William twisted around swinging his fist. “Let me go you bloody bastard!”
Easily ducking the fist Liam gripped William’s shirt tighter as the slighter man tried to escape. All that happened was William lost his footing falling back on the floor as the cotton ripped away in Liam’s hands.
Standing there in the dim light the sound of the ocean in the distance and the crackling fire the only sound Liam glanced down at the shredded dark blue cotton then swallowed hard. Their eyes met for a moment the fear like a living wave emanating from William very skin. And what beautiful flawless skin it was, Liam thought, as his eyes roved over his sweat dappled, heaving chest.
“What do you want from me?” William gasp as he pushed himself up on his hands, his heels digging into the floor. “What in God’s name?!”
Liam glanced back up into those all too familiar shimmering cobalt eyes. “Nothing lad…nothing, but the truth that would be lying deep inside you.”
Pushing back he tried to put as much distance between him and Liam as possible William shook his head. “I have no sodding idea what you’re talking about!”
Lowering his gaze again Liam’s eyes moved down to where William’s flat smooth belly was heaving with each terrified breath. That was when he saw it---the mark. What appeared to be a wine stain just to the left of his navel and hidden just beneath the waistband of the faded denim.
With a graceful movement---for such a large man-- -he crouched over William’s trembling legs and his hands settled on the other man’s waist. William squirmed as Liam’s fingertips traced along the pale skin of his stomach.
“This secret…” he whispered softly as he gripped the worn denim.
“No…” William choked out.
Nimble fingers popped the first button and William let out a choked cry trying to pull away from Liam’s hands. Liam looked up with pitch black eyes filled with something he couldn’t quite place, but he knew he had witnessed that look before. As the next button popped he whimpered softly his eyes rolling back in his head.
“Angelus…” he moaned.
***
London 1888
Angelus had followed his childe through the misty cobbled streets sure that she would never sense him for her broken mind was far to focused on her des- tination. His dark eyes followed her trail as if it were illuminated by the midday sun and he lifted his head sniffing the air. Senses shifting through the acrid air of London to locate first Drusilla’s scent and then the scent of the young boy.
The boy’s scent didn’t surprise him in the least.
From the moment the boy had pushed between them in his hurry to escape something that Angelus could only guess at he had known. Drusilla’s dark eyes had taken in the trembling slim body and the head of wild curls as he had vanished into the thick fog.
Her golden boy.
Cocking his head he listened intently and a frown marred his heavy brow. The stench of fear and the sound of a dying heart were close by, then there was the soft tinkling laughter of his mad childe.
Quickly he ducked between the shops and watched as Drusilla skipped down the street singing softly to herself. His eyes narrowed as he caught the faint scent of fresh blood on her and he growled beneath his breath.
She had done exactly what he had thought she would. Darla was a fool in her assessment of Drusilla---mad she might be, but stupid she wasn’t.
As soon as she vanished into the fog Angelus slipped from the shadows and followed the scent of blood back to it's source. Cautiously he stepped into the fog shrouded alley a few blocks away his nose twitching at the scent of fresh blood so much stronger here. Trailing the scent he moved amongst the littered refuse of humanity and into a darkened cubbyhole where he found the result of Drusilla’s foolishness.
The boy was older than he had thought at first.
He lay curled on his side the stiff linen of his shirt soaked with the last of his life’s blood as his body trembled with ragged breathes. Kneeling in the scattered straw Angelus rolled the boy over and gasp at the sight of a face pale as silvered moon- light.
“If not anything else at least me crazy childe knows a beauty when she sees one.” He whispered softly as he drew the dying boy in his arms.
Brushing the tangled curls from the boys face he smiled down as his eyes drifted open. It was at that moment he had fallen in love.
Yes, there were those who said demons could not love, but that was untrue. Demons could, but their love was not like human love. Theirs was a love darker and more passionate than any human soul could understand. It ran deeper than the Thames or even the cold depths of the ocean.
“Beautiful boy can ye hear me child?”
Nodding the boy whimpered weakly his perfect lips stained scarlet with Drusilla’s blood. She had fed him, but not enough to complete the trans- formation. What she had done would have left this boy trapped between true life and death forever. He would be a revenant nothing more and in constant pain.
“God has sent me to save ye child. Do ye wish to be saved?”
A shudder traveled through the boy and he blinked a single tear trailing down his beautiful face.
“Aye…then I shall do so and you will be me childe.”
Shifting he pushed up his sleeve lifting his wrist to his mouth biting into his wrist and opening the vein hidden beneath the pale flesh. He turned back to the boy whose breathing was now rattling in his too thin chest. Fear filled those cobalt eyes as he lowered his wrist to the boy’s lips.
“Now me beautiful blue eyed angel drink of the blood…for the blood is life. Does not the Christ tell us this?”
The pale trembling boy swallowed and coughed as he spoke for the first time. “…yes…” his whisper so low as not to be heard by human ears.
Pressing his wrist to the boy’s trembling lips he smiled as the boy began to drink.
“That’s it me beauty…drink and accept life everlasting…”
***
Angel’s fingers traced along the pale skin as he shook his head in disbelief.
“The mark…” he whispered, “…tis’ you me beautiful blue-eyed poet…tis’ you come back to me.” Tears fell down Angel’s pale face as he traced the pattern repeatedly. There was no doubt in his mind now.
A sun and three stars.
The Mark of Aurelius.
~Part: 4~
Outside the storm was moving closer to shore and the rumble of thunder shook the walls of the house like an earthquake. Liam sat staring at the young man who had spoken the name he hadn’t heard in too many years to count.
So much like his lost lover, far too much, and it made Liam’s head spin.
“Angel…” William whimpered softly his head thrashing against the pillow.
Standing he moved to the bed and settled on the edge of the mattress reaching for the bowl of water that sat on the night stand. Reaching in he rang out the wash- cloth, then gently wiped the fever flushed face of the young man. Liam cooed softly trying to calm what- ever nightmares the boy was suffering from.
“Hush now sweet boy. I’m here to take care of you.”
William’s eyes fluttered open, pupils dilated, and unfocused. “Angel…?”
“Aye…it’s me.”
His eyes fluttered close again. “…angel…” he mumbled softly.
Putting aside the bowl Liam reached for the phone and hit speed dial. Patiently he waited until he heard the soft, tired voice on the other end. “It’s me…I need you to come to the house.” He paused frowning as his eyes focused on the whimpering man in his bed. “Aye…I’ll tell ye when ye get here.”
With a soft sigh he settled the phone back in the cradle, then turned back to William Danridge. “Don’t know how? Don’t know why, but I know it’s you me sweet boy.” His fingers traced along the feverish brow. “It’s you and this time I’ll not be letting you go.”
***
London Wells & Jensen Publishing
Faith Alexander unlocked her office door flipping on the lights with a sigh. It was still early and few people were out and about. She was worried about William. The last time she had spoke with him he seemed far away, not himself.
Dropping her briefcase on her desk she went back to the break area and started a pot of coffee. As the water dripped into the pot she stared out the windows that faced out on the Thames. Fog shrouded the streets below giving everything an ethereal quality, a dream like appearance that sent shivers down her spine. Perhaps she shouldn’t have sent him to the States, but she had hoped to draw him out of the comfortable world of trash romance.
The timer went off and she turned away from the window pouring herself a cup of the rich hazelnut liquid. Adding far too much sugar she stirred the coffee idly as she made her way through the quite halls back to her office.
Closing the door behind her Faith settled at her desk, then picked up her phone punching in her v-mail code. As she sipped her, coffee watching the morning sunlight dissipate the fog she scribbled down each message. Suddenly she raised a brow as she heard a familiar voice.
“Ms. Alexander?”
She hung the phone up glancing at the gentleman standing in her office door. “Mr. Giles…what can I do for you?” She stood motioning to the chair in front of her desk.
Rupert moved to chair and sat crossing his legs and smoothing his pants leg. “I need to know where my son is at Ms. Alexander.”
“He’s on assignment in the States.” She leaned against the desk.
Looking up into her eyes Rupert swallowed hard, then cleared his throat. “I am quite aware that he is in the States…what I am unaware of is where in the States he is.”
“Finch’s Cove…in Maine.” Faith frowned at the expression in Rupert’s eyes. “What’s going on?” She demanded.
Rupert’s head dropped as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Dear Lord…” his voice cracked, “…not there…not there…” he whispered.
Now she knew why her gut had been twisting in a knot since that last call. “Rupert talk to me. Tell me what the hell is going on.” She knelt in front of him her hands wrapping around his.
Shaking his head Rupert Giles looked up with tear- filled eyes at the young woman before him. A soft breath escaped his lips as he licked them.
“The past…” he whispered, “…my past choices have come back to haunt him, Faith. My foolish choices and he deserves far better than that.”
***
Angel opened the front door to find Francis Doyle standing on the porch one hand raised as if to knock again. He was soaked to the bone and his expression was less than happy.
“Francis.”
“Don’t Francis me, Liam me boyo!” Shaking the rain from his hair he pushed past Angel into the darkened hallway. “It’s been a bit of a harsh day what with Mrs. Rathers deciding that it was time to pop out wee babe number five.”
Head hanging Angel sighed. “Sorry Doyle. It’s an emergency though.”
Stripping off his coat Doyle tossed it over the banister. “Aye…it’s always an emergency with you now isn’t it.” Doyle grinned at the contrite look on Angel’s face. “Now wouldn’t it be me luck to be the only fool who managed to figure out what you are.”
Eye’s narrowing Angel lifted his head. “Teach you to be far snoopier than the others---now won’t it?”
Chuckling Doyle slapped Angel on the back. “Aye, that it will. Now what was so important you had to be dragging me sorry ass out in the worst storm to come this way in the past few years?”
“He’s back, Doyle.”
***
Darla stood in the garden the rain pounding around her, plastering her hair to her head, as she stared out across the angry ocean. She had to escape Drusilla’s mad rantings if but for a few minutes. A shiver ran down her spine as her gaze moved to where the lighthouse stood in the distance shrouded in swirling mist, the waves crashing against the rocky out- cropping.
She remembered everything as if it had happened yesterday, she thought, as her arms folded across her chest.
Once upon a time she had been a powerful immortal creature. A being filled with lust---lust for blood and for the childe she had created. Now she was nothing more than a weak human.
“Angelus…” she whispered her eyes drifting shut as the memories of another life filled her mind’s eye.
***
Romania 1898
Soft laughter drifted through the window above Darla’s head as she leaned against the cottage wall her eyes flickering gold. She’d known from the beginning that Drusilla had royally fucked up, that William---the little worthless bastard, wasn’t her childe. Growling low in her throat she listened to the two voices above as she seethed.
“Quite the lovely lad ye are me sweet William.”
A soft snort of laughter followed Angelus’ comment.
“Don’t be stupid, pet. What if Darla discovers us together like this…in her bloody bed?”
“And what if she would, love? She knows you’re me childe and I won’t be givin’ you up so easily.”
Darla swallowed a snarl and stormed out of the garden in a wild fury. Ten years of smelling that disgusting excuse of a vampire on her childe was enough.
Angelus was hers.
She had made him, molded him, and now it was time for her to take him back.
The night closed in around her as she disappeared into the forest. She knew what she had to do and the answer lay here in the forest, high in the mountains.
The gypsies.
***
“This can’t be…” Doyle mumbled as he stared down at the restless young man in Angel’s bed.
“And why can’t it be Francis?” Angel questioned his voice rough with want---the want for this to be true.
Doyle’s gaze drifted from the bed to the portrait above the mantle, then back again. "You told me yourself that you watched him die, boyo.” He whispered. “This can’t be Spike, then---now can it?”
Turning from the window Angel blinked back the tears that where threatening, then stormed across the room yanking back the comforter. His face contorted in a mixture of anger, desperation, and confusion.
“Then what is that? Tell me I’m a fool all ye want Francis Allen Doyle, but can ye explain this?” His trembling hand pointed at the sleeping man’s stomach. “Explain it!”
With a faint sigh Doyle moved closer sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Now what do you want me to be telling you?” He reached out tracing what appeared to be a wine stain birthmark. “It’s a birthmark, Liam, nothing else.”
“Bullshit! Ye’ll not be telling me that is just a birthmark!” Angel’s accent thickened as he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “The boy knew me name!”
Doyle raised a brow looking up at Angel. “Everyone in the village knows your name you great buffoon. Liam Conway---mystery man.”
Dropping his head Angel snorted. “Not that one ye annoying prick…the other…”
His other brow rose then. “Your…vampire name? The first one?”
“Aye…the one he knew me by before we were different. The one he called out on more nights than I can right recall.”
“Angelus.” Doyle whispered in shock.
***
Romania 1898
Furious Angelus stormed into Darla’s rooms his face shifting, his eyes flickering gold in the candlelight.
“What did ye do woman?!” His fists clenched at his sides as he fought to control the desire to rip her throat out. “Answer me now you right bloody harlot!”
Shimmering ice blue eyes lifted to focus on Angelus in all his fury. “Took back what was mine dear boy.”
He was across the room before Darla could stand wrapping his hands around her throat, yanking her up, and slamming her into the wall. “What was yours? What was yours? You insane wench do ye have the faintest idea what ye’ve done to me childe?”
Darla slapped his hands away with an annoyed laugh that drilled into his spine. “It would do you good to remember who I am.” She hissed softly. “I am your sire. The one who gave you immortality and I am done allowing you the freedom to ignore that. Do you not remember the rules, Angelus?”
Turning he slammed his fist into the wall, plaster drifting down to settle in his dark hair. “Aye! I remember quite well, but I’ll not let ye harm me childe.” He turned back his eyes filled with bloodlust and anger.
“You will not allow me?!” Darla screeched lifting her hand to slap Angelus.
Suddenly she found her hand halted by Angelus’ deadly grip. “Aye…” he growled, “…now you’ll be tellin’ me what ye’ve done.”
Darla’s face shifted, the ridges rippling beneath her soft silken curls. “It is done and there is no undoing it you foolish childe!”
With a low growl Angelus twisted Darla around by her wrist, throwing her to the bed. “He’s ill now… terrified and hidin’ in the basement! What did ye do?! Don’t make me ask again, woman!” He straddled her hips pinning her to the bed.
“Grand mummy fooled the gypsies. Told them all kinds of naughty things so they would give dolly’s golden boy a nasty dreadful gift.”
Angelus looked up into his other childe’s dark eyes filled with a twisted glee. “Drusilla enough with yer crazy bits. Tell yer da’ what Darla did to Will.”
Skipping to the bed Drusilla smiled wickedly, her eyes glittering as she whispered softly. “I heard the stars singing to me, daddy. Dolly and I followed grand mummy into the woods.”
“Drusilla you stupid little bitch!” Darla pushed Angelus off her body with a snarl.
Dark eyes narrowed, Drusilla knelt next to Angelus in the floor. “Daddy…grand mummy is angry…”
Wrapping his arm around Drusilla protectively Angelus growled low in his throat at Darla. “It’s okay, love, tell da’ what ye saw in the gypsy camp.”
With a soft whimper Drusilla snuggled into Angelus’ throat, then whispered softly. “My little prince…he has a nasty soul now.”
***
Angel looked on as Doyle took William’s tempera- ture. He could still hear Darla’s soft, bitter laughter ringing in his ears, even after all these years.
“He looks to be in shock, boyo. I’ve given him a sedative to calm him, but…” Doyle turned to Angel with a frown, “…I need you to be tellin’ me why this birthmark is so bloody important.”
“Mark of Aurelius.” Angel mumbled softly.
Doyle sighed. “Your clan now---isn’t it?”
“Aye, me bloodline.”
“And exactly why would the mark of a vampire bloodline be on an obviously human man?” Doyle set about tucking his instruments back in his bag.
“I don’t know, Doyle. I’ve been asking myself that since he came looking for me.” Moving to the bed he reached out smoothing William’s damp curls from his face.
“Came looking for you he did? Now why would he do such a fool thing?” Doyle moved to the table before the fireplace and poured himself a healthy dose of brandy.
“He’s a writer…from England. Some nonsense about writing a biography on Angel, the artist.” Sitting down on the edge of the bed he traced his fingers gently along William’s sharp cheekbones, down to his full soft lips. “I tried to push him away, but he was always stubborn.”
“Liam listen to yourself, lad. This man isn’t Spike.”
Angel sighed, then whispered softly. “Do you believe a soul can be reincarnated?”
Snorting Doyle tossed back the glass of brandy, then glanced up at the portrait above the fireplace. “Not if I was belivin’ the faith I was raised in. Of course now I would have been saying the same of vampires before I met you, Liam. Who is to say?” He poured another glass and took a deep drink as he studied the portrait.
“What if…” Angel swallowed hard, “…what if he was reborn and this is another test?”
“Another test?” Doyle raised a brow as he sat down the glass. “A test from who?”
“I don’t know…the powers that be? What if that Slayer wasn’t suppose to kill Spike that night?” His eyes filled with tears as he took a deep unneeded breath.
“Speaking of that Slayer, boyo. Why didn’t you kill her that night?”
Angel glanced up at Doyle with a confused frown as his fingers curled around William’s pale, limp hand.
“If I’d been you I might have done just that.”
“I didn’t kill her…because…because…” Angel’s dark eyes widened in sudden realization. “She was pregnant.”
***
Sisters of Mercy Medical Center New York City 1976
The young woman screamed as another contraction rippled through her pelvis. Her breaths were coming in ragged pants as she pushed down, her hands cupping her swollen belly protectively.
“Don’t…oh, God…don’t let my baby die!”
“It’s okay honey…everything is going to be okay.” The nurse stroked back the young girl’s tangled curls with a gentle hand. “Doctor’s on his way. Nothing to fear…your baby will be okay.”
Even she didn’t believe her words.
This young girl was in some serious pain and she was losing a great deal of blood. As a matter of fact she doubted the girl would survive. Her vitals were off the charts and she was burning up with a fever.
Another scream exploded from the girl as she pushed down with all her strength. Around them the delivery room staff worked feverishly to keep this nightmare under control. Doctor Randall entered the room a bit out of breath and began barking orders.
“What do we have people?!”
“Blood pressure, heart rate are off the charts. Fever of a hundred and three.” The nurse replied.
“Cooling blankets?”
“On their way, sir.”
The girl let out another furious scream as she pushed down again. “Feel it…feel it…get it out of my baby!”
Taking a cool cloth the nurse patted the girls sweat soaked brow down as she glanced back at the doctor with a worried expression. “The child is a breach…she’s losing to much blood as well. It’s as if…”
“As if what?” Randall lifted a brow as he slipped into a pair of gloves.
“As if she’s trying to expel something other than her child from her body.”
***
Doyle had left promising Angel that he would look into birth records in New York. It had been the only way that Angel would calm and yet still he wasn’t calm at the moment.
He paced the floor of his bedroom, his fingers moving through his dark hair repeatedly sending it into a mess of wild spikes. Glancing at William sleeping fitfully in the bed he sighed then headed back to the fireplace. He poured a glass of brandy and glanced up at the portrait that hung above the mantle.
“If somehow you’ve come back to me, Will, I wish you would give me a sign.” He tipped the glass back swallowing the brandy, his eyes closing as he relished the burn of the liquor.
“…angel?”
Angel turned as he heard the soft inquiry behind him and he almost dropped the glass.
Sitting up against the pillows William was looking at him with a confused expression, but at the same time somehow Angel knew this wasn’t William Danridge.
“Yes?” He sat the glass down his hands trembling.
“Where are we, pet?” William’s brow crinkled as if he were trying to remember something. “This isn’t our bloody flat in Greenwich.” His cobalt eyes shifted in his pale face as he looked around. “What happened now? How’d we get here, luv?”
Opening his mouth Angel stood there with tears in his eyes gaping like an oversized goldfish as he tried to reconcile what he was thinking.
William’s brow rose in amusement, then that rich accented voice came again laced with sarcasm. “Hey now you great poof, don’t be getting all teary eyed like some crazed bint.”
“Spike?” Angel croaked out through parched lips.
Shaking his head William snorted softly. “Who the bloody hell else would it be? Now quit standing there like some damn village idiot and come here, luv.”
With a deep breath Angel sat the glass aside and wandered to the bed. His chest felt as if it were caving in as his gaze moved from where William’s pale hand lay against the dark silk of the comforter to where his sharp eyes studied Angel with amusement.
“Look now I don’t bite, Angel.” He chuckled as he patted the mattress. “Well not unless you really want me, too.”
Grasping William’s face in his hands he stared at him for the span of a heartbeat, then---as if having made a decision---pulled him close claiming his soft lips in a desperate kiss. Angel channeled all the heartache and loneliness he had felt over the past thirty years into that one action as William’s hands lifted to tangle in his mussed hair. Everything he saw, sensed, and even scented told him that this was his boy---his sweet William.
“What’s up now with all this?” William whispered against his lips. “You’re acting as if you’ve not seen me in ages.”
Angel leaned his forehead against William’s with a soft sigh. “Aye…seems like forever my blue-eyed boy.” The tears he’d been fighting began to slowly trail down his face from beneath his lowered lashes.
Running his hands up Angel’s trembling spine, beneath the soft worn cotton of his tee-shirt, William’s lips traced a line to his ear. His warm breath moved across his cool smooth skin as he whispered softly. "Didn’t think I’d give you up that easy did you, pet?”
With a soft moan Angel leaned forward pushing William into the mattress, his hips grinding into William’s with a mad desire. “Thought I lost you me lovely boy…lost you forever…”
“Never, Angel…” William gasp as he tugged at Angel’s shirt, “…never leave you of my own free will.”
***
Sisters of Mercy Medical Center Maternity Ward New York City 1976
The young dark-haired man stood outside the nursery his sharp green eyes focused on the tiny squirming infant. The child had just been brought in and the nurse was pinning a diaper in place. Tiny chubby legs waved about in the air as the infant shoved one tiny fist in his mouth.
“Sir?”
Turning his gaze rested on the haggard doctor.
“She’s dead.” His words were spoken with an even calm tone as he turned back to the window.
“Yes…I’m sorry. We tried everything, but it was an incredibly difficult birth…she lost a great deal of blood…”
He nodded his head absentmindedly as he studied the infant. Rosy cheeks, a full head of sunset gold curls, and his eyes---gazing back---were the most vivid blue he’d ever seen. It wasn’t the color that bothered him though---it was the expression. So many emotions flickering in their depths, emotions a newborn infant should not have.
Pryce had been a fool, he thought.
Rule number one for any Watcher was to never get emotionally involved. He had though and not only had it cost the Council a Watcher and a Slayer, it had also mucked up almost a hundred years of coopera- tion with two of the remaining Aurelius line. One of the most ancient vampire bloodlines left roaming the earth.
Now there was nothing to do, but pick up the shattered pieces and hope for the best. Angelus or Angel as he was now known had simply vanished after the death of his childe and lover, Spike. There was a new Slayer being called at this very moment in Paris, an old Slayer to bury, and this infant. A boy child produced through an inappropriate liaison between Pryce and his Slayer and furthermore the child was marked.
“Bloody fool,” he whispered as he lifted a hand to the glass still staring into those ancient cobalt eyes.
The Council had chosen him to watch over this child and when he had called his recently wed wife, she had been tickled. Jenny couldn’t bear children---they had found out just a month ago---and this gave her the opportunity to be a mother.
With a put upon sigh Rupert Giles turned from the nursery window and calmly strolled down the hall into the snowy New York night.
~Part: 5~
St. Brigid Church Norfolk, England April 26, 1992
Spring was coming, but the chill in the air still spoke of winter. A crisp breeze stirred the branches of the trees that stood, like two ancient sentinels, on either side of the graveyard entrance next to the ancient church. If it weren’t for the tiny buds of sharp green one would have thought the branches resembled the very skeletal hands of death.
Rupert Giles straightened his shoulders beneath his black wool coat and inhaled through his nose. Seven- teen years of marriage to Jenny and it was to end like this, he thought, on a chill spring afternoon shortly before her fortieth birthday. He glanced up at the sky, the sharp cerulean color almost surreal in its perfection.
Next to him stood he and Jenny’s son, William, trying his best to be the man he was so close to being. Rupert studied him with eyes that shone with a love he was never quite comfortable showing. William was their son in every way, but blood. They had only sat down with the boy last summer to tell him he’d been adopted at birth. Of course, William had understood---he always understood, no matter the discussion. He was an extremely intelligent boy. A tiny smile flickered across Rupert’s lips as he recalled the conversation.
***
“William we need to speak to you...your father and I.”
William had glimpsed up from his studies at the desk in the library. His sharp sapphire eyes peering above the trim silver framed glasses in curiosity, then worry, as he saw the expression in Jenny’s eyes and the look on his father’s face. He frowned as he closed his book and stood approaching them.
“What is it, mum? Dad?” He turned back to Jenny with a scared look. “ Mum? You don’t look well.”
Smiling gently Jenny had cupped her son’s strong square jaw, her thumb caressing his cheekbone as her eyes shimmered with tears, yet unshed. “You have grown into such a handsome young man,” she whisper- ed as her hand dropped taking his. “Come with us to your father’s study.”
***
A shiver traveled through Giles as he was pulled back to the here and now, the vicar smiling at him gently. “I am so sorry Rupert. Jennifer was a beautiful, vibrant woman.”
He shook the vicar’s hand as he glanced at William from the corner of his eye. “Yes, she was quite the woman. I shall miss her deeply. You know we hadn’t been apart since we met at Oxford in ’71. I am at a loss as to how to survive without her presence.”
“How…may I ask…is your son doing, Rupert? I know he and Jenny were quite close for a mother and son.”
“I’m not sure to be honest, Charles. So much has happened over the past year. His grandmother, my mother, passed in late summer, and then we told him he was adopted shortly after. My mother had made me promise to tell him. And now Jenny’s death.” Rupert paused glancing to where William stood. “He’s been quite stoic, but I worry about him, Charles.”
“Yes, I suppose you would. After all, you are a good father, Rupert. William has always been a strong child and I have no doubt he will make it through this."
***
William could hear them, his father, and the vicar, speaking behind him as he stared out across the rows of graves. In the distance, a small tent had been erected next to an open grave---his mother’s grave. He swallowed hard, one hand drifting up to scrub at his eyes.
“I will not cry...I will not cry...” he whispered beneath his breath.
He knew without a doubt his father was worried, but he had made himself a promise, his mother a promise.
As Jenny had laid dying in ICU she had taken his hand in her cold one and squeezed weakly. He remembered how frail she had appeared wrapped in snow bright gauze and dark bruises marring, her usually beautiful face.
//Promise me, William, promise me that you shall be strong for your father. He does so get lost without me. //
//Yes, mum...I promise. You can go to heaven now, mum. I know you’re hurting here and you won’t hurt there. //
The warm firm grip on his shoulder drew William back from his thoughts causing him to glance up. His best friend Wesley stood next to him with a worried expression, his eyes red and puffy behind his glasses.
“Hey, Will...” he sniffed, squeezing William’s shoulder, “...I am sorry about your mum. She was a lovely lady...really she was...” his voice trailed off sadly as he glanced at his shiny shoes.
“Hey now, Wes.” William couldn’t help, but to smile. He knew his friend had been crushing on his mum since the two of them had begun to notice the fairer sex. “It’ll be okay---you do know that? You know you were always mum’s favorite amongst my friends.”
Wes glanced up with a tear-streaked face and smiled weakly. “Really? Are you quite sure?”
“Yes, you silly bugger!” He mock punched Wes in the arm. “She always said that we were like two bloody peas in a pod---so much alike that we could be brothers.”
A soft sniffle escaped Wes as he wiped at his face. “That was right nice of her. Your parents always made me feel at home. I always figured it was because my father and yours had worked together.”
“Well, whatever it was I’m bloody well glad they did.” William wrapped his arm around Wes’ shoulders in a brotherly hug. “So shall we pay our last respects to the best mum in the world?”
“Yes, I do believe we shall.” Wes smiled softly as he reached beneath his coat pulling out a clear box with two roses in it---one snow white and the other blood red. “I even remembered the flowers.”
William patted Wes on the back as they stepped into the graveyard and followed the procession of mourners to the tent.
***
Present Day Somewhere above the Atlantic British Airways Flight 921 First Class
“Damn it…I do not in anyway care what you think...” Giles hissed into his cell. “I am quite aware of what position you hold on the Council, Travers!”
At the sharp retort of his voice, Rupert Giles glanced up to see a few passengers glancing his way in annoyance. He mouthed quickly ‘sorry’ and stood up from his seat, stepping from the first class lounge into the small hall separating them from coach.
“Listen to me, Travers. He is my son and I will not allow you or any of the other uptight arses on the council to use him---are we clear on that?”
He rolled his eyes in exasperation, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, as he shook his head. “He isn’t anything special. If he were, do you not think it would have shown up by now? He is just a normal young man...no super strength...no destiny like his blood mother...he is just simply a ‘normal’ young man.”
Giles threw back his head laughing bitterly at the man on the other end of the phone. He was quite done, he thought.
“Because you sodding git! He is where Angel is! What do you suppose Angel will do to him when he finds out that he’s the son of the Slayer who murdered his lover? His bloody childe?!”
***
William’s hands were everywhere and nowhere at once as Angel ground his hips down pinning him to the bed. A soft moan rose in his throat as Angel caught his mouth in a deep, searing kiss.
“Missed ye...me sweet blue-eyed boy...” Angel growled against the pliant mouth beneath his. “Missed ye so much I ached inside like a thousand stakes piercing me heart.”
“Silly, git...” William panted out between the quick bruising kisses, “...told ya I’d never leave ya...”
Angel was lost in that voice so much like his childe’s and all he wanted to do was bury himself in that tightness he recalled all to vividly. It didn’t matter that Spike had died all those years ago in New York. He knew with the deepest certainty that this was Spike--- this was the soul he’d loved more than anything.
“Want you…” he growled softly, his hands stroking down that sleek warm body, his fingers curling into the waistband of the soft cotton boxers. “Want inside of you so bad…”
Squirming beneath him William lifted his hips, their cocks clashing through cotton and denim. “Then what are you waiting for you sodding git?” He chuckled as Angel’s hands tore away the thin cotton to release his rock hard cock.
“Nothing…me boy…” Angel grumbled with amuse- ment as William hissed beneath him, his sensitive length brushing against the rough denim of Angel’s jeans. “I’ll take ye hard and fast…fuck ye into the mattress until ye scream me name.”
Reaching for Angel’s waist, he tore open the button fly and released Angel’s cock from its tight confines. “This for me, pet?”
“Aye…” Angel hissed as William’s warm fingers tightened around his cool flesh, “…always for ye, Will.”
Stroking with feather light fingers William looked up into those pitch black eyes and found nothing but lust, want, need, and---love. Love shone like moonlight on the ebony landscape of his home.
A tiny frown formed between his dark brows.
Home.
He tried to focus on that one simple word as Angel’s fingers curled around his hot, pulsing flesh.
A barrage of images hit him as he panted at that familiar and yet new sensation.
A woman with dark eyes and dark hair, singing a sweet lullaby to him.
Flashing lights speeding by on the tube.
Another woman this one with pale honey colored eyes filled with hate in a caramel face of exquisite beauty.
“…no…” William whimpered, his eyes clenching shut tightly.
“Will?”
His eyes flew open at the soft brogue. “Wha…who…?”
Another barrage of images hit him, causing him to flinch in pain. The man above him, touching him, frowned.
Feathers, soft downy feathers, drifted around him and the dark-eyed man. Soft laughter filled with lust and a light of admiration for his body.
//Lazy thing…//
//Well who found the need to stroll around naked as the day he was born? //
William could see a place that was like no other he had ever been, too. A bed so huge that it almost took up half of the room. An easel sat across the room, a canvas propped on its scarred wood, a dark-haired man stand- ing behind it in nothing, but jeans.
Again he whimpered, “…no…”
As sudden as the images came they faded and he shook his head trying to clear the lingering cobwebs away. When he looked up, he found himself staring at the man from his vision, the man by the easel, except now he had shorter hair.
“You…I saw you…” his words faded as he realized both he and the man above him were naked. “Bloody hell!” With a shocked screech, he began to struggle.
Angel shocked by the sudden turn from amorous to terrified released the warm length of William’s cock as William cried out. “Spike?” His brow furrowed.
“Spike? Who the bloody hell is Spike?!” Cringing William’s face burned scarlet in the dim candlelight. “What did you---did we---do?”
A door seemed to close behind Angel’s eyes as he sat back, his hard thick cock heavy against his belly. He reached for his discarded jeans as William pulled the blanket around himself.
“Nothing…” Angel whispered.
William shook his head furiously. “What do you mean nothing? We---you and I---are naked…and your…” he waved a hand at Angel’s erection on the verge of hysterics.
“Like I said…nothing.” Angel stood turning his back as he pulled on his jeans.
Confused, terrified, and shivering William’s gaze roamed over Liam’s body finally settling on the tattoo on his shoulder blade. He sucked a deep breath in as another image played in his head.
Liam was lying on his stomach amidst a tangle of blankets. Firelight played along the length of his spine, leaving the soft hollow above the swell of his ass filled with shadows.
“Angel…” he whispered softly, his eyes widening, “…it’s you…you’re him, but…”
Angel turned his dark eyes softening when he realized how terrified the young man was. “Aye…it’s me.”
Shaking his head, William tightened the blankets around him, all the color draining from his face. “Can’t be---now can it? You were this age back in the fifties…that would be impossible.”
A soft chuckle escaped Angel’s lips as he moved back to the bed. The candlelight played across his pale sculp- tured chest, mesmerizing William, as he moved. A single tear trailed down his face catching the light like a perfectly cut diamond.
“My human name was Liam Sean Conway. I was born in a tiny village in Galway County Ireland in 1727.”
William began laughing at the solemn way Angel spoke his laughter high-pitched with hysteria. “So what does that make you? Couple hundred years old, mate?”
“Including my years as a mortal I’ve existed for exactly two-hundred and seventy-seven years.”
“So you’re what? An immortal? You’re like that guy on that show? On the telly? What’s it called… ’Highland- er’.” William chewed at his lower lip.
“Nay…not quite.”
***
JFK International Airport New York City
As he made his way through Customs Rupert Giles checked his watch for the hundredth time, his foot tapping on the shiny tile of the floor. He knew that he had only a short time before the Council made their way to Finch’s Cove and William.
Travers was a bastard.
All these years he had kept Rupert in the dark. From the moment that he’d agreed, for Jenny’s sake, to take the slayer’s child into his home the plan had been in place.
They had wanted to keep an eye on William, to protect him for their own nefarious purposes. Even Pryce would have been horrified at the conduct.
“Mr. Giles! Mr. Giles!”
Rupert glanced up with a frown to see Wesley Wyndam-Pryce waving his arm. With a sigh he collected his carry-on bag and nodded curtly at the security guard. A few quick strides and he was standing in front of William’s best friend.
“Wes…” he shifted his bag onto his shoulder and pulled the young man into a fatherly embrace.
Wes pulled back his eyes filled with amusement. “That would be the most interesting greeting I believe that I’ve ever received from you, Rupert.”
Looking decidedly uncomfortable Rupert drew a deep breath and smiled. “I’ve missed you, son.”
“I do believe it is quite more than that.” Wes took his bag and guided him through the crowded terminal towards the parking lot. “Now tell me what all this is about. Your message said that William was in danger from someone. I dropped everything and crossed the States to get here. Cordelia was not in the least happy about that.”
Rupert removed his glasses polishing them briskly as they stepped into the elevator. “I imagine she wasn’t considering she is pregnant.”
Eyebrow quirked Wes turned to Rupert. “How in the bloody hell did you…?”
“We must go somewhere to speak, Wes. There is quite a bit that I have to say and it would be best that it be discussed privately.”
***
“Do you expect me to believe that load of shite?”
Angel shook his head as he stared into the flickering flames one arm braced on the mantle; the other lifted his fingers worrying at the chain around his neck. “I don’t expect you to believe anything, William.”
“But you’re saying that you’re an immortal.” William pulled his legs up, his chin resting on his shaky knees.
“Not an immortal…” Angel whispered, “…I’m a…well I’m a…”
William glanced up at Angel’s hunched shoulders. “Then what if not an immortal?”
“I’m immortal, but I’m a vampire.” Came the solemn reply as Angel straightened, turning back to look at William with sorrow filled eyes.
A hysterical giggle escaped William as he shook his head. “There are no such creatures as vampires. Their creatures of legend…”
“That’s how we survive.” Angel’s voice was soft and hypnotic. “All of us…the monsters…humans don’t believe anymore, except the Council.”
William stared with wide eyes at Angel. “The Council? How do you know about the Council?”
A frown marred Angel’s brow as he stepped closer to the bed. Settling on the edge of the mattress his voice lowered even further. “How do you know the Council?”
Shivering William tightened the blanket even further around his body. “My father works for the Council.”
“Your father?” Angel’s brow rose in shock. “Who is your father?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but his name is Giles…”
“Rupert Giles?” Angel hissed.
Backing up further William seemed to try to become one with the headboard. “Yes…how?”
“His fool friend Roger Pryce is the reason I lost…” his voice trailed off as his breath hitched.
“Him.” William’s gaze drifted to the sensual portrait above the fireplace. “How did he die?”
Suddenly the idea of this man in front of him being a vampire wasn’t the least bit insane. In fact, it would explain a great deal of things that had happen-ed over the years. His father had kept his work secret, saying that it was national security, but that hadn’t explained the books on magic, demonology, and mythology.
“A slayer murdered him.”
“A slayer? What the bloody hell is a slayer?” William croaked out through a parched throat. He was quite afraid of what the answer would be, but he had to ask.
Angel looked up with dark, bottomless eyes. “One woman is chosen in each generation to fight the vampires and the demons.”
“A woman?” William whispered softly as the image of a young woman flickered across his mind’s eye.
“Aye…they are the chosen, stronger and faster than common humans with the ability to heal quickly. The first Council created them thousands of years ago when the vampires and demons ran rampant on the earth. One being that could fight what seemed impossible to fight.”
“So what is the Council?”
Angel studied William’s now relaxed yet curious face with an intense gaze. “Your father works with them and you don’t know?”
“He told me it had to do with national security.” Will- iam chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. “Told me that he couldn’t discuss his work, but me mum knew.”
Without a doubt Angel knew the young man before him wasn’t lying. He would have been able to smell it on him if he were. It was at that moment a soft buzzing shocked them both.
“My cell.” William scrambled off the bed and reached in his jacket pocket where it lay---draped over a chair--- next to the bed. He flipped it open and answered breath- lessly, one eye still on Angel. “Danridge.”
“Jesus, Will! Where the fuck have you been?”
“Faith…nice to hear from you, too.” He snorted.
“Cut the crap, Will. What the hell is going on? Your father showed up at my office two days ago demanding to know where you were. He was freaking really bad.”
William’s eyes widened as he clutched the phone closer to his ear. “My dad? What did you tell him?” He whispered, glancing at Angel who seemed to be studying the pattern on the comforter.
“I told him where you were. What the hell did you think I would do? Why haven’t you been answering your phone? I must have left a million messages.” A worried sigh drifted over the line. “Will are you in trouble? Tara told me you had Red researching your birth place.”
Groaning William ran one trembling hand through his tousled hair, his head dropping back against the wall. “Do all you women do is gossip? Bloody hell…Faith where is my father?”
“He’s probably in New York by now. He was going on about the past coming back to bite you in the ass. You’d tell me if you were in trouble---wouldn’t you?”
“Of course, Faith.” His voice lowered. “You know that’s a silly question.”
Silence greeted his reply, then a faint clearing of Faith’s throat. “Is it another woman, Will? Cause that’s fine… just don’t lie to me. It’s not like we’re married or engaged. Just a bit of fun on the side---remember? Friends with benefits.”
William chuckled softly. “Yeah…friends.”
“I gotta go sugar…” Faith whispered, “…call me--- okay? Call me no matter what.”
“Okay, pet.” William’s eyes drifted shut as he sighed. “You okay?”
“Yeah…five by five.” Faith chuckled. “What about you?”
“Five by five, luv. Later.”
“Later.”
He flipped the phone shut as he released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
“You okay?”
His eyes drifted open to focus on Angel. “Not sure. Not sure at all…about anything.”
***
Pushing the door open Darla sighed as her gaze settled on Drusilla, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the huge curtained four-post bed. Around her sat a number of dolls, most porcelain, and their glass eyes fixed accusing-ly on her.
Drusilla lifted her gaze from the doll in her lap and smiled at Darla. “Oh…there you are grand-mummy. Dolly was quite worried about you…” her dark vacant gaze drifted back to the doll in question, “…weren’t you, dolly?”
A few steps and Darla was at the table next to the window setting down the tray she was carrying. “I brought you dinner.” She stepped back glancing at Dru with barely suppressed disgust.
“Dinner?” Drusilla’s voice took on a singsong quality as she slid from the bed in a cloud of velvet and lace. Her eyes sparkled as she clutched her doll with its golden curls tightly to her chest. “Pig? Silly grand- mummy pigs are filthy creatures. I believe dolly and I want to go hunting tonight. Don’t we dolly?” She questioned the doll as she whirled in a circle to an aria of her own making. “Fresh and sweet like the baker’s biscuits…drizzled with icing and filled with cream.”
Darla moved to the chair next to table, slumping into the seat. “Dru you can’t go hunting again.”
With a hiss, Drusilla turned on Darla, her eyes flashing gold. “I shall do as the stars say! Dolly and I must be well fed on sweetmeats for the poor little prince with golden curls is soon to dance with daddy.”
Gaze drifting from the floor to Drusilla’s mad gaze Darla swallowed hard. “Angelus? He knows what Angelus is.”
“Daddy is no more…nasty soul…” Drusilla pouted as she curled her fingers in her long dark hair. “Daddy is hiding in the bad man with wings. Dolly and I must release him from the dark place so we can play again.”
Sighing Darla shook her head. “And exactly how do you suppose you will do that, Dru.”
A shimmer of gold drifted across Drusilla’s eyes as her face shifted ridges rippling along her forehead. “Sing- ing…the stars were singing about the sweetest of biscuits. Take a sweet biscuit and dip into it's filling. Taste the sweet fruit of the prince’s heart.”
Soft crazed laughter exploded from Drusilla as she whirled around the room.
***
Romania 1898
Angelus stood in the pouring rain, sniffing at the air for a sign of his childe and lover. After confronting Darla he’d stormed down to the basement and tried to coax William from his hiding place. It had all been to no avail though as he watched his beautiful boy cringe and scuttle against the earthen walls.
No longer did he look into those deep cobalt eyes and see joy, want, need, hunger, and lust. All he could see was madness and guilt. Guilt that was deeper than the deepest ocean. Guilt that had been brought about by Darla’s intense need to destroy the only thing Angelus had ever loved in either his mortal or immortal life.
Darla was nothing, but a jealous and conniving whore and now that he understood what she had done his fury had no bounds.
“William!” Angelus roared his voice echoing through the darkness. “Do not be fearin’ me beautiful boy. I’d never be hurtin’ you me sweet childe. ‘Tis not ye fault what that whore Darla had done.”
For a moment, he thought he caught a faint scent of his childe and then it was lost once more on the storm torn wind. He growled in frustration as his dark eyes scann- ed the trees.
“Why must you waste your time on that ensouled beast my dear boy?”
Angelus turned with a roar, his face shifting, eyes glowing with flecks of amber fire. “Harlot! Ye did this to keep us apart! Jealous whore!” His fists clenched as he stepped closer to his sire.
From beneath the hood of her cloak, Darla peered with blue-gold eyes, her lips curling in a smug smile. “I am your sire, Angelus. As your sire, I should be the center of your world, but you forgot that one small rule. You allowed that whorish upstart to take your attentions from your maker and that, my dear boy, I will not allow!”
“Allow? Allow? Are ye mad woman? I am a master vampire in me own right! I’ve sired three childer in me time and I’ll not be letting you address me as a mere fledgling!” Angelus stepped closer with quickness that caught Darla off guard. His fingers tightened around her throat, digging into the pale flawless skin.
“It matters not Angelus! I am still she who sired you and for my gift of the eternal you will…”
Angelus snarled lifting her off her feet, her tiny satin clad feet dangling from beneath the edge of her cloak as she thrashed in a fury. “Does not be matterin’ to me what ye chose to do with that ugly pisser of a sire that gave you the eternal kiss! I unlike ye have a wee mind of me own!”
Her blue eyes flashed gold as her hood fell back, the rain soaking her silken curls, and plastering them against her head. “You dare speak of the Master as if you are superior?”
“Aye, love I do!” Angelus growled deep in his throat as Darla swung out one dainty foot just missing his groin.
“I shall teach you the true place of a childe!” Darla snarled as she finally broke Angelus’ grip on her throat.
“Will ye now?” Dark laughter rippled through Angelus as he backhanded Darla.
Her face shifted to her demon visage with crackling of bone and the fight was on. Each blow she thrust upon her childe was met with an equal blow and as the battle played out Darla began to fear.
She feared she had underestimated the hold William had over Angelus. Perhaps she had been to soft on Angelus because of her own desires. She had chose him over the Master when confronted with a choice, but her sire had allowed it where as she could not imagine letting her dear boy free.
A sudden slap sent her hurling into a tree, her head spinning as she slowly slid to the ground. Before she could hit she found herself pinned to the rough bark of the tree trunk her childe smiling at her in a dark manner that boded ill.
“Angelus…” she moaned.
One ridged brow rose as Angelus’ smile widened revealing sharp glistening incisors. He cocked his head to the side licking his own blood from his split lip.
“Aye…was yours once Darla, but now you’ll be letting me go.”
He leaned forward his breath caressing her face.
“You never let go of your humanity completely did you my childe…” she gasped through a constricted throat.
Chuckling Angelus leaned closer his tongue rasping against a slash on her cheek. “I seem to recall you wanting me for that reason, love.” He whispered in her ear as he nipped her throat. “Me darkness was the reason you were drawn to me in the first place---now wasn’t it?”
“Yes…” she moaned, “…you were so beautiful…like a panther on the hunt.
“Aye…you’ve told me that before. But ye seemed to have forgotten something my love.” Angelus hissed softly.
Panting Darla opened her eyes to look into Angelus’ exquisitely demonic face. “And what would that be my dear boy?”
Angelus lifted a broken piece of wood, a branch from one of the ancient trees. He cocked his head again with a smile, as her eyes grew wide in realization. Before she could draw an unneeded breath to speak, she felt the sharp wood pierce her heart.
As Darla exploded in a swirl of gray ash Angelus stepped back dropping the weapon to the muddy ground.
“I killed me own family for far less.”
Turning he walked away.