Disclaimer: Everything Buffy and Angel belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox, and other people that aren't me. What do belong to me are any characters you don't recognize and the plot. No copyright infringement intended.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Angel/Spike/Other, Willow/Other, eventually W/A/S/O (angst, romance, smut)
Summary: A skeleton in Angel and Spike's closet returns to remind them that the bond between Sire and Childe can never be broken as Willow is taught the beauty of having a dark side.
Warning: A dark piece--some extreme violence, lots of smut (het and slash, consentual and non-consentual).
Spoilers: Up to Wrecked on Buffy and on Angel, There's No Place Like Plrtz Glrb, i.e., Buffy and Spike have done the deed, Willow's trying to cut the magick cold turkey, and Fred has joined the AI crew.
About the timeline: This is pretty much an AU romp where Angel is Spike's sire, Fool For Love didn't happen the way everyone thinks, and our two favorite vamps have a skeleton in their closet that most people don't know about.
Distribution: Soulmates Till the End of Time, Angels Soulmates, and heck, if anyone else would like to archive it, just lemme know.
Note: While Willow doesn't appear too much in the first few parts, she will have a major role in the storyline.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
~Part: 1~
The call of the hunt was strong that night, the demon within just waiting for its next prey. But not just any piece of flesh would do that evening. After all, he was celebrating. The first decade of his demonic existence had just come to an end.
And Angelus was home.
With predatory grace he stalked the streets of the land of his birth, both human and demon. He'd already been by his childhood home, bloodying it once more as he slaughtered the family that had taken residence there. `For old times sake.' His bloodlust had been sated, but he felt the need for a different kind of kill.
With a sensual grin, he nodded to the streetwalkers that gazed at him in appreciation as he passed, but none of them fit his criteria that evening. Angelus desired something pure, something untouched. Something he could desecrate. And after a little more exploring the streets, he found her.
A goddess.
A young woman who couldn't have been older than twenty had just left the tavern he'd stumbled out of before encountering his sire ten years ago. `How appropriate,' he couldn't help but grin to himself. A basket was clutched in her hands and he was curious to know what a lovely little thing such as she would be doing unescorted in a place such as that. This one radiated goodness, innocence, and purity. Once could almost smell it like perfume. Definitely not a place for this lass.
She was an exquisite thing--long, wavy, dark auburn hair that reached the middle of her back, lovely white skin, and a body, despite her ill-fitting and frumpy dress, that promised nights of pleasurable sin. No fabric could hide her ample bosom or the small waist that flared into soft, rounded hips. Her eyes were a deep green, like the finest of emeralds and so large one could drown in them. As he watched her, he could almost see himself taking her full red lips with his own, nipping them with his fangs and suckling the blood that would flow forth. It had been a long while since a potential victim could cause his thoughts to wander like that.
With a predatory grin, the vampire watched her turn into the same alley that had seen his death. He followed at a brisk pace, surprised when she halted, almost in the exact spot Darla had stood when he'd caught sight of her on the eve of his turning. He stilled a moment, waiting for her to resume her path, but she stood perfectly still as if waiting for something. When she didn't move, he approached silently, stalking forward with the grace of a lion.
"Do your worst, m'lord. Ye shall be doin' me a favor."
~*~*~
With a gasp Angel woke, his dream reminding him of a time he wished he could forget. But wish as he may, the memories of a young Irish goddess would never leave him.
It had been over a decade since he had heard that voice, even in his dreams. She would continue to haunt him, he knew. Once she was in his mind, it would be a very long while until she left. She always made sure of that.
~*~*~
"I must wonder what terrible thing could have happened to you, beautiful boy, to bring you such sorrow?"
The young poet looked up at the beauty before him, her sincere look of concern almost enough to make him stop questioning his worth. But not quite.
"Nothing," he whispered, wiping a tear from his eyes, "nothing. I do wish to be alone."
"No, you don't, lovely. You want nothing of the sort."
"That's quite close enough," he stammered nervously. "I've heard tales of London pickpockets. You'll not be getting my purse, I tell you."
"Indeed not, m'boy. I have no designs on your money. Only you."
The young poet cowered against the wall. The woman before him, while small, exuded a kind of strength he couldn't begin to fathom. The look in her eyes reflected lust and hunger--something he'd never seen in a woman before. At least not directed towards him. She felt his surprise and with a gentle smile the vampiress stalked toward him, laying a small hand on his chest. "They're all fools, beautiful boy. They're unworthy of one such as you. You walk in worlds others can't even *begin* to imagine." With wide blue eyes, he gazed at her as she closed her green ones, her head cocking to the side, her smile widening. "Yes," she whispered. "I see such greatness in you, my sweet. In here," she moved the hand on his chest to his heart, "and here," she touched his temple tenderly. "What you seek, you cannot find in this place. You seek," she paused a moment and opened her eyes once more, smiling as he stared at her intently, "something glowing, something glistening, something," she her voice dropped into a low whisper, "effulgent."
His jaw dropped slightly, his eyes gazing at her in near adoration. At last, someone who understood. "Yes, God, yes."
"What are you called, beautiful boy?" she asked, moving her hand to stroke his hollowed cheek. "William," he breathed. "My name is William."
"William," she purred. "William, will you let me give you what you seek? I can give you the world, my sweet, I can give you life, I can give you love. I can give you greatness, m'boy, I can give you glory. Will you let me?"
~*~*~
Spike woke from his slumber with a start and immediately reached for his whisky bottle. He took a very deep drink before lighting himself a cigarette.
"Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck," the vampire whispered to the ether.
She was coming back for him.
His glorious one. His true goddess.
~*~*~
In Las Vegas, a bloodless corpse dropped to the ground and a predator beamed with a bloody grin.
Her boys had heard her and in doing so, were reminded of what they used to be.
What they would be again.
~*~*~
"*Why* did he have to be on the bloody Hellmouth? Doesn't he know there are far better places to be? Sometimes I think he'll never learn."
The vampiress stepped out of the shadows and let the energy of Sunnydale's Hellmouth wash over her. Letting the pure evil and stench of impending death wash over her, invigorate her, she let out an unnecessary breath that she had no idea she'd been holding. After thirty years she would be seeing her family for the first time. Starting with her beautiful, beloved boy.
She could feel his rage and anguish before she even made it halfway to California. It only made her drive faster, breaking many speed limits and driving during the day. The intense emotions led her right to him, right to the bar where her boy was drowning his sorrows over the slayer who had forsaken him yet again.
~*~*~
Spike was on his third whiskey bottle of the evening. It had only been two hours ago that he went to Buffy's house to find that he'd been uninvited. After everything he had given up for her, after protecting her sister with his life, she had turned him away once more. It had been two years since he was last able to feed and now that his bite was finally back, he didn't even follow his predatory instincts. Spike had given up the hunt for her. He had given her his body, shared with her his deepest emotions with the slayer. All to be fucked over once more in his miserable unlife.
"All for her," he snarled into his bottle. "I gave up everything I was for her. I loved her. But no more. I'll teach her, that bitch. I'm William the fucking Bloody. My bite is back now and there's nothing keeping me from using the Scoobies' blood to paint my walls." Unfortunately, he knew he didn't have the heart to back the statement. No matter how much to demon inside wanted to rip the entire Scooby Gang limb from limb, he couldn't. In his quest to woo the slayer, he had protected them--all of them. And in a sick way, they were almost like family, even though prolonged exposure to them did bring out his psychopathic tendencies. With a fierce growl of defeat, he let his bottle go and slammed his head on the bar.
However, his self-punishment was put on hold as he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Penny for your thoughts, lovely." Spike whirled around on his barstool, wanting the kick the hell out of whoever disturbed his wallowing. His expression went from snarling to slack when he saw her. A beautiful woman, with a face like an angel and a body built for sin, luminous alabaster skin, huge almond shaped green eyes, and short, spikey blue-black hair. 'I must be drunker than I thought.'
"You're not here. You left," he slurred. "Years and years ago. You left me and Dru so you could take your reign of terror back to Europe. Didn't think you'd ever come back, but I saw you in my dreams--this must be another dream--I want you so terribly--" Her lush red mouth curled in a warm smile as silenced him with a finger over his lips.
"I'm right here, William," she purred with her lilting Irish accent. "I could feel you when I came back to this country. All your rage, frustration. They were like a beacon, baby. How could I turn from all of that pain?"
"Lìobhan," he whispered, letting her take his hand.
"That's right, lovey. Come to your little girl. I'll take all of your pain away."
~Part: 2~
Spike drunkenly led Lìobhan to his crypt, the smaller woman supporting his inebriated frame.
"How much did you have to drink tonight, William?"
"No idea. Just started drinking and drinking and--"
"I get the picture. Let's just get you in bed."
"Here for minutes and already trying to get in me trousers."
"Please, William. You'll *know* when I want in your trousers. I just want you sober enough to tell me what's in the hell's been going on."
"I'll tell you what's fucking going on. Bloody women don't know a good thing when they have one."
Lìobhan pulled him into his home and let him direct her to his underground bedroom. Taking a look at the king-sized bed, she purred her approval. 'My boy has taste. Well, in some things. I won't even get started on the slayer issue.' Without another word, she dumped him on the bed and straddled him to remove his duster and shirt. Once the pale, muscled expanse of his chest was bared to her sight, she lovingly caressed the firm flesh. "Any man or woman who doesn't give you the kind of love and adoration and worship fit for a god like you is unworthy my beloved boy," she whispered.
Spike couldn't help but sober at the reverence in her voice. He looked up at her emerald eyes, his chest constricting as he saw the tears gathering there. "Oh, hell," he whispered roughly, "you're really here--with me--after all this time." Lìobhan had been his first dark goddess, his first ripe, wicked plum. His first true love. The vampiress who helped him become the vampire he was today. The only woman who could rival his sire for his heart. His beautiful one, his Lìobhan. He lifted a hand to stroke her soft cheek and purring, she leaned into his touch, reveling in the caress.
"I'm here, my lovely. For as long as you'll have me."
~*~*~
"I'm home, Daddy. Back where I belong--with our beloved boy. It's time for you to join us."
The last day had been hell for the vampire, even more so that when he had been plagued with dreams of Darla. Lìobhan's sweet voice wouldn't leave his head, her dulcet tones ringing nonstop in his ears.
Once she was his greatest lover, his obsession for over a hundred years.
She was his greatest creation.
His first Childe.
His Irish goddess had been sired during his visit to Galway at the end of his tenth year as a vampire. It was her beauty and purity that had called him, but her intelligence, unbreakable spirit, and raw power that made him change her. She was to be celebratory meal, but after her heard her voice for the first time, filled with strength and pride, his plans changed. Unknowingly, the young vampire had set his sights on the village pariah, a young midwife and natural witch who was feared and loathed, but often needed by the community.
He hadn't turned her that evening. Instead, he'd let her go and proceeded to observe her for a few days time. Impressed with her unfaltering spirit, he'd turned her the night she delivered a stillborn baby to the preacher's wife. There had been accusations flying that Lìobhan had killed the child, but she denied them with her head held high, even when the townsfolk demanded she be arrested and put to trial. While he would've been interested to see how that would end, he decided to end her mortal life before some God-fearing vigilante could do it for him. She hadn't fought, but steadfastly accepted his offer of eternal life, promising him he wouldn't regret his decision to bring her across.
Years would pass before he realized she had welcomed his advances only because he'd been the only person in her short life to think she was worth anything. For despite all of her pride, Lìobhan had only ached for someone to show her the smallest it of affection. And that he did.
Lìobhan had been his masterpiece. Angel had told Buffy that Drusilla held that title, but for all intents and purposes, she did. After all, very few knew that Angelus, the Scourge of Europe, had sired Belle Morte, the Beautiful Death.
And his beautiful killer was on the Hellmouth at that moment.
"Are you leaving, Angel?"
Startled, the vampire's train of thought was lost as he looked up to see Fred gazing at him with curiosity in the doorway. Even with his vampiric senses, he hadn't noticed she'd been watching him pack for some time. With some sadness, he put his final essentials in his bag and nodded. "I am, Fred. Something's come up and I have to take off for a while. I'm not sure when I'll be back."
The young woman saw the worry clouding his eyes and stepped into the vampire's bedroom. "Is something wrong? Something I can help fix?"
Angel flashed one of his rare, ultra-bright smiles at her and shook his head at his thoughtful friend. "Nope. This one I have to do on my own," he stated, more to himself than to Fred. "I've got some responsibilities that have gone unfulfilled for far too long."
"Do any of the others know you're going?"
"No," he stated quietly. "This isn't something they'd understand." Then, concerned about the woman before him he asked, "Will you be all right here? By yourself, I mean?"
"Oh, yeah," she replied confidently. "And I won't be by myself. Cordy, Gunn, or Wesley are always around. I'll be just fine, Angel. Perfectly fine." Unable to help herself, Fred wrapped her arms around her friend, wanting to give him whatever comfort she could to her obviously distraught friend. "Be careful, Angel. I hope you take care of whatever it is you have to take care of. I'll be thinking some happy thoughts for you."
Touched by her words, Angel readily returned the embrace. "Thank you, Fred. I can use all the happy thoughts I can get."
~*~*~
The moment the sun had set, Angel was on his way to the Hellmouth, much to his chagrin. But he knew it was necessary. If he didn't step in, Sunnydale would never survive its latest visitor.
For the first time in a century, he would be reunited with his favored Childer. He only hoped he wouldn't have to turn them both to dust.
~*~*~
For what seemed the tenth time that night, Willow woke, drenched in a cold sweat, shivering and shaking to the bone. It was only the second night since she'd sworn off her magick and she was suffering withdrawl that could rival that of any junkie.
In her mind, she deserved it. She had abused the powers given to her by the Goddess, endangering the people she loved, and almost gotten Dawn killed. She had broken the tenet of the Wiccan religion--'Do what you will and harm none.'
Cold sweats, chills, insomnia, nausea, nightmares, fatigue--the redhead figured she was getting of easy, but that realization didn't lessen the load on her shoulders. Not only was she physically miserable, she was an emotional wreck. No one in her life trusted her anymore. They kept close watch on her, judging her every move, criticizing her every action. She didn't even have Tara's support. The other witch had left her, no longer able to compete with her addiction.
Willow was alone. Utterly alone.
Once her chills had subsided for that moment, she left her sweat-dampened bed and pulled a pair of jeans over her boxer shorts and slipped on her sneakers. Silently, the miserable witch crept out of the house, careful to watch out for Buffy returning from patrol.
Weak and weaponless, Willow began walking, not caring where she went, and not caring who or what she encountered. All she wanted was to be out of that house--the house that reeked with misery and anger.
When she found herself at the entrance of one of Sunnydale's many cemeteries, she carelessly continued her trek, hoping to find some peace, any peace for her tortured soul.
~*~*~
Angel was barely able to keep his mind on his driving while he sped to the Hellmouth. He was a torrent of emotion as he was pulled closer--both mentally and physically to his two Children.
His thoughts kept going back to Lìobhan and Spike and their many years together. But long before Spike, it was just he and his goddess, leaving a merry trail of blood and mayhem across the United Kingdom. Lìobhan had been over a year old before he had been compelled to return to his Sire. Reluctant to announce Lìobhan as his Childe, he persuaded her to work a spell that masked their connection to all but them.
Angelus knew Darla, knew her *very* well. She would be furious at him, for she had prohibited him from creating his own Childer so soon into his demonic life. She would be angry with him--torture him for a while, but it would be Lìobhan that suffered the most, most likely killed at the hands of his Sire. He introduced her to his kindred as the Childe of one of his enemies. While he had claimed to have dominated her completely, Darla and the Master still thought they should have a turn with the beautiful vampire.
For three years she had been forced to serve Darla, the Master, and the Three. So in love Lìobhan had been with her Sire, that she gave no complaint when her elders tortured her mentally and physically, *inducting* her into the Order of Aurelius. The vampiress gladly suffered, knowing she would spend the rest of eternity with her Angel.
"If Spike thought I had been a right bastard when I lost my soul, he would've thought nothing of it had he known what they did to her," he whispered to himself as he got off the freeway and entered Sunnydale. "After everything she went through, I deserted her. She has every right to hate me, as does Spike--hell, I *know* he does. But I can't hate them. Soul or not, they are my blood, my life. I'll kill them if I must, but then I'll follow before the next sunrise.
~*~*~
Spike was still sleeping when Lìobhan left the crypt at midnight. As much as she would've loved to stay in bed with him all night, her demon ached for blood--warm blood. She'd had her share of the bagged variety and refused to settle when there were plenty of meals within reach.
'Maybe I'll bring William a wee surprise. It's been so long since my boy's had a proper meal. Soon, I'll find a way to reverse what those bastard humans did to him.' Lìobhan had many contacts on the Hellmouth, but had only heard of her love's misfortune weeks ago. It was that knowledge that drove her to stage this reunion. She had tried to reach Drusilla, but to no avail. Perhaps the younger vampiress wasn't ready for it, but she could only hope that in time she would see Dru again.
Concentrating on matters at hand, Lìobhan found herself a ripe, juicy young thing perfect for a late meal not even ten yards from the crypt. A young woman was sitting alone on one of the many benches scattered around the cemetery. While the centuries old demon liked more of a challenge, she was drawn to this one. After regarding her for a moment, the demon noticed something was off about the girl. Ceasing all thought, the vampiress opened herself to the space around her, attempting to learn more about the girl before her. Mere seconds passed before her question was answered. The very attractive redhead had a magickal signature a mile long. There was true power in this one, Lìobhan knew, most of it untapped. But within the signature, something was missing, possibly broken Intrigued, she silently approached, crouching down in front of her victim with a feral smile.
"Pretty little things like you shouldn't be out this late at night, love. All sorts of bad things happen in the dark. Especially to little girls."
Showing no fear whatsoever, the redhead looked Lìobhan in the eye and grinned wryly.
"Do what you will. You'd be doing me a favor."
~Part: 3~
The redhead's words echoed in Lìobhan's ears, bringing her back to a time she would never forget.
"Do your worst, m'lord. Ye shall be doin' me a favor."
Those were the words that had sealed the Irishwoman's fate, the words that separated her from the rest of the human cattle. Little did the redheaded mortal know that her words would do the same.
Those two short sentences evoked a motherly instinct in the vampire as she remembered exactly how she had felt when she gave her Sire permission to do his worst. She had been an outcast--feared, loathed, but necessary at the same time. It seemed her only purpose was to serve others, the same people who hated her for her gift. She thought that life would change if she could only stop the magick that flowed through her veins. But at that time the magick was what gave her life, not the blood.
Liobhan saw the young mortal shaking with the chills and the nausea and the fatigue that came when she tried to ignore the life in her veins. She knew what it was like to suffer, trying to live day to day as if nothing were wrong, like she were just like the rest of humanity, knowing it would kill her, trying to be like them. She lived half a life, wishing, hoping that slow but sure death would overtake her, ending her pathetic existence.
Liam, her Angel had changed all that. He had given her life eternal, shown her the world and all it had to offer. He had shown her love.
This little one needed that unconditional love.
"What is your name, little one?" she asked in a whisper.
Willow looked at her in surprise, assuming the demon would attack the moment she gave up. She had given up trying to live, trying to be the obedient Willow the Slayer wanted her to be. Buffy expected so much from her, never fully understanding what it was like to have the power she did. Yes, Buffy had strength of her own, but nothing like Willow's. Willow could call the elements, bend people to her will, assume great physical prowess of her own. Her world was that of infinite possibility.
She didn't want those possibilities anymore. But one look in the huge jade eyes before her melted her resolve. She would tell this woman, this beautiful monster anything she wanted to hear. "Willow. My name is Willow."
"Willow," Liobhan purred, the name dripping off her tongue like honey. "A beautiful name, a strong name. Very apropos for one such as yourself. You bend with the wind, weep with the rains, but always snap back with strength others can't comprehend."
The young woman was struck silent, never once believing that a vampire she was sure had been intent on eating her would be giving her a pep talk of sorts. She dared to look in the demon's eyes, then believing it was all true. The beautiful killer before her had a haunted look marring her features, as if she knew exactly what Willow was going through.
"You were a witch, weren't you? Before you were turned, I mean," the mortal asked in a whisper. Liobhan's green eyes lit up and she smiled beatifically at Willow.
"I--oh my," she whispered with a delighted smile as an old, familiar chill washed over her. "Slayer."
Willow looked up at her in confusion, not hearing the last word that came from her mouth. "Huh?"
"Never mind that love, but we must part ways now. Other creatures of the night have woken from their slumber and would love a pretty piece of flesh such as yourself. We will continue this, lovey. Soon." Before Willow could respond, the vampires brushed a soft kiss over her lips and stood. "That kiss will keep you from harm until you reach your home. I will return for you, but now I must go."
~*~*~
Spike wasn't surprised when he woke just after midnight in an empty crypt. Disappointed yes, surprised no. He knew Lìobhan. Fresh blood was always her priority upon waking. He couldn't fault her for that. Besides, he knew how thoughtful his love was--she'd probably bring him some take-out.
When the vampire rolled out of bed, he began to dress for the evening, grinning wickedly at the complete turnaround his unlife had taken in only twenty-four hours. Last night he had been crying in his beer because the Slayer had used and abused him. Hours later his first love had returned to him after thirty years with no intention of ever leaving him again.
It was common belief that Drusilla was his true love. Not so. While he did love his princess like he loved no other, his oldest Sister and his Sire ruled his heart. Many also believed that Dru had sired him. Another fallacy. Spike, then known as William, had been sired decades before the younger vampire. Lìobhan had been the one to discover him and Angelus had been the one to sire him.
Very little fact was known about Darla's progeny. So many stories had been told over the centuries that myth was seen as truth and truth as myth, but some things were the same no matter what tale was told. Angelus, the Scourge of Europe, Lìobhan, Belle Morte, the Beautiful Death, Spike, also known as William the Bloody or the Right Hand of the Scourge, and Drusilla had spread their gospel of murder and mayhem, death and destruction across the continents for decades over. They had butchered royalty, bled entire villages, brought kingdoms to their knees, turned enough nosferatu to create an army to rival that of any nation, and together butchered more Slayers that any other clan in vampiric history could boast. Other vampires looked up to them, wanted to be them.
And *that* was truth.
They were demonic folk heroes.
"Those were the days," Spike told himself as he tied his bootlaces. When Spike was still mortal, he'd had no idea that kind of love and companionship existed. After all, the only woman he had loved then had turned him away in contempt. Even amongst his contemporaries such feeling had been known. Lìobhan and Angelus were the epitome of passion. The way they lived, loved, hated, and killed was evidence of that. Whoever said that vampires felt no emotion surely hadn't come in contact with the Children of Aurelius, as the Master once called them. While their blood connected them, it was their love that bound them. Even when his Sire had lost his soul a few years back, Spike hadn't stopped loving him.
As he thought of his beloved family, he couldn't help but see his devastated Drusilla's face when he betrayed her to the Slayer. He had offered to kill her to prove his love for Buffy. How blind he had been. Spike could only hope that one day his princess would forgive him.
After slipping into his duster, the blonde left his crypt and lit himself a cigarette, preparing to search for his Sister. He had only gotten two steps away from his door before falling to his knees as Angel's presence made itself known to him. His Sire was not happy.
"Looks like our little girl snuck into his dreams too. Time for a family reunion."
~*~*~
Willow walked home in a daze, feeling much burden lift from her shoulders. For the first time in two days, she had been shown compassion--by a vampire no less. A predator had spared her life. That knowledge would get her through the following days, waiting, hoping to see the beautiful vampiress again. The young witch instinctively knew that the demon would not kill her, but show her the way.
What that way would be, she had no idea, but she knew she would follow.
~*~*~
Lìobhan watched Willow disappear into the shadows with a small smile as she felt the Slayer approaching. She would watch that young witch rise to greatness under her tutelage and she would show her the world.
As her Sire.
Still smiling, she took a seat on a gravestone as she waited for the Slayer. Lìobhan could sense another vampire in the area and deduced that it and the Slayer were in battle. It was only moments before the demon and the mortal tumbled into her corner of the cemetery. The vampire in question was a mere minion that was turned to dust in mere seconds.
When Buffy struck the death blow, the old vampiress gave her a round of applause.
"Brava, young Slayer," she complemented sincerely. "It's been a while since I've seen such quick reflexes in one of you."
Buffy mentally kicked herself for not sensing this demon the moment she entered the cemetery. Turning around, she stared at the speaking vampiress, gaping as pure strength and the smell of death washed over her. This one was older than most on the Hellmouth, far more powerful. And she had something more than just being a vampire going for her. Dark mojo surrounded the deadly woman, making Buffy truly fear for her life. She closed her jaw and tried to remain nonchalant as the vampire looked her over. Inside she was trembling nonstop.
Lìobhan felt the girl's fear and didn't bother to keep a smirk from creeping across her lips. The scent of fear was always intoxicating, but to receive it from a Slayer was a treat in itself.
"Calm down, love," the vampiress assure her. "I intend you no harm this night."
"Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my town?" Buffy demanded of her. The more she was able to learn about this creature of the night, the faster she would be able to destroy her. There wasn't a chance in hell she would be able to do it that evening.
"Some call me--" Sharp pain struck Lìobhan's heart at that moment, forcing the vampire to her knees. Rage and regret and sorrow spread through her veins, causing her to smile broadly. Her nearly maniacal grin infused more fear into the mortal, making the demon's smile even wider. "Sorry, pet, this little chat will have to wait. I have a pressing engagement to attend. My Daddy's home." The vampire sprang to her feet and saluted the Slayer before disappearing into the shadows in search of her Brother.
While Buffy was grateful for the vampire's sudden departure she couldn't keep a single question from going round and round in her head.
"What the fuck was all that about?"
~Part: 4~
Spike found Lìobhan in the darkest corner of the alley behind the Bronze, smoking a cigarette in solitude. Feeling her kin approach, she tossed that cigarette to the ground and launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Before he could respond to her greeting, the vampiress took his lips ruthlessly, slicing her tongue with a sharp canine so that her love could drink through their kiss. Lìobhan was exhilarated, almost giddy with the knowledge that her Sire was close and she was eager to share her excitement with Spike, one way or another.
The blonde didn't bother to stifle his groan or to fight the erection that sprang to attention the moment he tasted his beloved's blood. He felt her immense strength flow through him as well as her love and for the first time in years he felt whole, despite the chip in his head.
Spike lost himself as he took his fill of her but was brought back to reality when Lìobhan backed away from him. He opened his mouth as if to protest, but a finger across his lips silenced him before he could speak.
"Silence now, William," she ordered as she unzipped his trousers to release his rock hard sex. "We have much, much time to make up and we'll begin *now."
His chest heaving as he struggled for air he didn't even need, Spike wordlessly acquiesced, all thoughts of his Sire's arrival gone. He didn't question Lìobhan's sudden show of violent affection, but embraced it. He had gone too long without it.
~*~*~
Angel tried to keep a low profile as he prowled the streets of Sunnydale. The last thing he wanted was to run into Buffy or any of the Slayerettes. How would he explain his presence? "Gee, Buffy, I'm here to meet up with Spike and another of my Childer, one that few people know I sired. She's killed several Slayers in the last two and a half centuries; in fact, I've lost count. And if I don't intervene, you'll be next."
"Sure," he muttered to himself. "That'll work when Xander stops eating Twinkies." Clearing all thoughts of the Slayer from his head, Angel headed towards the Bronze. He knew that his younger Childe was comfortable there, among unsuspecting youth. Even if he couldn't drink them, he could still bed them, partaking in whatever comfort he could muster. Lìobhan would like it there too, he figured. She'd always liked crowds, being the eternal social butterfly. How unlike her mortal self she was. All it had taken was a lot of love and a little guidance and she had broken free of her shell. She had become the perfect predator. Beautiful, approachable, unassuming. No one would ever believe that this lovely, intelligent, friendly, and gracious woman was one of the most prolific demonic murderers of the last two centuries.
As he approached the Bronze, his Childer's blood called him, letting him know that they were, in fact, there. He steeled himself for the inevitable confrontation, silently praying to the Powers That Be for strength.
It didn't take him long to find his Children. All he had to do was follow the scent of their blood. And sex. His first sight of his favored ones cut him like no knife could.
~*~*~
Their coupling was bloody, ruthless, and violent--the best kind.
Lìobhan wasted no time throwing Spike to the ground and straddling his lean body before impaling herself upon him. Words weren't necessary as the two lovers became one once more, their moans and bloody kisses communication enough. Between her all-seeing eyes and her yielding, passionate body, Spike lost himself in Lìobhan, allowing his body to become vessel of her pleasure as she rode him. He held his release as long as he possibly could, waiting for his dear one to come. When she did come, her orgasm was explosive, forcing her demon to come to the fore and tear into Spike's jugular. Both actions drove the blonde over the edge, forcing Spike to bite his own wrist to stifle his screams.
But they weren't able to bask in the afterglow of their mating, not when the deep brown eyes of their Sire were gazing at them in anguish.
"Leanaì. My children."
Angel's voice was that of a broken man.
When he came upon them in the alley, fucking like crazed weasels, he did what he did best--remained silent, but the image of his greatest loves intertwined in their frantic embrace ripped him in two--the man and the demon. The demon craved nothing but to be reunited with its progeny, sharing in their blood and lust once more. The man was heartbroken, having been given a graphic demonstration of what he would never be able to do, not without compromising himself or making a mockery of role as the souled enforcer of the Powers That Be.
He just stood there as his Childer untangled their spent bodies, Spike stiff with anxiety and Lìobhan gazing at him in amusement. She could feel the fight between soul and demon as her Sire stared at her, this first glimpse of his Beautiful Death in a century.
Despite the soul trying to convince him that he had nothing but distaste for the creature before him, the demon and all that made him male couldn't help but devour her with his eyes. She skin glowed from her post-orgasmic high, her jade eyes bright and shining. Spike's dark blood was stark against her pale flesh as she innocently wiped her blood-stained face and suckled her fingers. His eyes drifted downward, darkening with apparent appreciation of her sinful form. A snug glittery black tee shirt clung in all the right places while a short vinyl shirt was still semi-bunched around her upper thighs. "You should have joined us, Liam," the vampiress stated as she straightened the rumpled skirt and then lit a cigarette. "Would've been fun. Like old times, even."
Angel was taken aback at the use of his Christian name. Even after he had adopted the name of Angelus years after his turning, she still called him by the name his parents had given him and he hadn't heard it in years. He quickly gained his composure and glared at the beautiful woman before him, remembering why he was there in the first place.
"I haven't gone by that name in decades and I don't intend to start now. Liam is gone, as is Angelus. If you thought you could come here and change me to what I once was, you're mistaken. Spike can tell you that even if I lost my soul again I wouldn't be the Sire you loved. There is no place for you here, Lìobhan. None."
"I am your first Childe," Lìobhan reminded him with a sweet smile and the devil in her eyes. "My place is with the one who made me. And right now you're the closest you've been to that man since the bastard Romany gave my beloved Sire a soul."
"What in the hell are you talking about?" Angel demanded. The statement itself didn't alarm him as much as the lips that disclosed it. Lìobhan *always* spoke the truth--even if it was a truth that he wasn't willing to face. His Childe was an infallible judge of truth and character. Never was she wrong about lay in an individual's heart or mind. Lìobhan read minds as one would read a book. She and Drusilla were eerily alike in that matter. And both women were *especially* good at reading their Sire.
Lìobhan's statement also caught Spike's attention. The blonde went from anxious to shocked in seconds. Spike had no idea what was going on, only that Lìobhan knew something that he didn't. That in itself was no big surprise. "Yeah, love--what are you talking about?"
The vampiress laughed, a maniacal giggle that most would identify with someone who didn't have all of their marbles. But Lìobhan was perfectly sane--frighteningly so. Lìobhan was a rare find among the vampire set--a witch, a telekinetic, and a telepath all rolled into one cute, little demonic package. But the most disturbing thing about her was that she never used her magickal talents in the hunt. She thought of it as cheating. Angelus' little girl had destroyed scores of Slayers with nothing but her demon and her bare hands. And with those hands she had also slain anyone or anything that crossed her.
As quickly as Lìobhan's laughter had begun, it stopped, her sweet expression having hardened into a death mask. "You never were all that observant, Liam," she whispered as she stalked toward her Sire. Before he could back away, he found himself trapped between the wall and his Childe. "You don't pay attention to anything outside of yourself, yet you continually miss all that is dire within."
~*~*~
Willow fell asleep the moment her head hit her pillow when she returned home from her midnight trek. The burden lifted earlier did not return and was entirely replaced by a peacefulness she hadn't known in years. That feeling of peace washed over her, preparing her body for a much-needed night of rest.
Not long after the redhead lapsed into a dreamless sleep, Buffy returned from her patrol, still concerned about the vampire she met earlier in the cemetery. With no idea that Willow had left the house that night, she looked in on her friend, surprised to see her sleeping tranquilly, whereas when the Slayer had left the house earlier, Willow had been tossing and turning, whimpering in pain and need.
Guilt reared its head as Buffy thought of the turmoil Willow was going through. As angry as she was that Dawn had been hurt because of the witch's addiction, she was worried that quitting cold turkey would do more harm than good. But as quickly as that thought appeared, another replaced it.
"She'll be fine," Buffy whispered to herself. "Willow's gotten through uglier situations before--she's strong, she'll fight it. In no time she'll be our shiny, happy Willow again. In no time."
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