Masters and Minions
Medea

medealives@hotmail.com




Willow waited at the bus terminal across the street from the Los Angeles Convention Center, her mind still abuzz from her first computer programmers conference. Not only had she been tremendously flattered when her computer science professor had told her she was just the kind of bright student who would benefit from experiences that took her beyond the classroom, but she had been delighted when she met two other cyber-witches at one of the panels she had attended. They had engaged in a passionately animated discussion about everything from Linux to healing spells over dinner, and by the time they parted ways Willow felt as though she had made two new life-long friends. She couldn't wait to tell Tara about them, and their offer to start up an on-line coven. Although she knew that there might be some awkwardness surrounding her own enthusiasm for people that Tara hadn't had a chance to get to know, Willow couldn't help but feel that her girlfriend would like these witches, too.

It left her tingling! There was so much to do in the world, so many people to meet and learn from. After spending years in high school as "geek girl", where her studying and intensity about learning had always made her an oddity (although she had never lacked for good friends), she was discovering just how many possibilities were open to her in college. Los Angeles might not be far from Sunnydale, but after her experience this weekend, Willow felt like she had caught a glimpse of an entirely different universe. There was so much she wanted to do, and so much she could be!

As she basked in the glow of such a wonderful day, Willow gradually became aware of the presence of a young man who was leaning casually against the bus schedule kiosk. Certainly, her Sunnydale instincts had made her more attentive than the average person to the supernatural dangers of the night, but she also knew that the city held dangers of its own. She shifted her book bag on her shoulder slightly, uncomfortably aware that she was a female alone on a street that was a lot more deserted than it had been during business hours.

<Okay>, she thought <the bus can hurry up and get here any minute now....any minute...>

"Pretty."

Willow felt the hairs on her skin stand on end. Not only had the man standing nearby violated the customary, indifferent silence that strangers usually respect when waiting at a bus stop, but he had done so with an overly-personal comment. She tried to stay calm as she slipped her hand inside her pants pocket and felt for her keys -- anything sharp that she could stab at his throat if his verbal menace turned into a physical threat. However, she hoped that if she ignored him he'd get the hint.

<This is not happening...> Willow chanted silently to herself as she continued to act as though she hadn't heard him.

Far from being discouraged by her lack of response, though, the young man advanced upon her almost smugly. With a lithe, predatory pace he moved in front of her and looked her over, repeating his previous taunt:

"Very pretty."

It wasn't a compliment, Willow knew. It was a threat, and a prelude to something unpleasant. Figuring that the silent treatment hadn't worked too well, she put on her best resolve face and warned:

"I don't appreciate you getting in my face. I suggest you back off or I'll scream."

The man smiled wickedly. "Go ahead. Scream for me, pretty."

Before Willow had a chance to show him exactly how loudly a witch with a banshee spell could scream, she found herself locked in a stranglehold with the man's hand clamped firmly over her mouth. But the instant that she felt his cold, clammy flesh muffling her cries for help, she knew that she wasn't even dealing with a *man*. Years of experience with the walking un-dead left no room for doubt about her situation.

Her struggles increased ten-fold, as she desperately fought to free one of her hands in the hopes that she could reach the stake she kept permanently in her book bag. Willow refused to become some vamp's dinner. She kicked her heel with all her might into his shin and bit down hard on the hand covering her mouth. He snarled viciously as his blood flowed between her teeth, and threw her against a car parked on the street. Grabbing her by the hair, he slammed her head against the windshield, leaving the defiant redhead dazed and disoriented. Through the throbbing pain that threatened to splinter her skull, Willow was vaguely aware of the vampire dragging her into a nearby alley, and felt tears sting her eyes.

She wasn't ready to die.

The vamp braced her up against the wall in the alley and wrenched her head to the side, exposing her vulnerable neck to his greedy mouth. Nuzzling at the tender flesh below her ear, he whispered:

"You've got real fight in you, pretty. Such a shame to waste it."

With that cryptic remark, he sank his fangs brutally into Willow's jugular and began draining her life away. In a final effort to summon help, Willow shrieked with every ounce of strength she had. But all too quickly, her mind began to spin from blood loss, and she succumbed to darkness, sobbing internally for the friends who would learn of her demise after a trash collector or random transient found her body in this alley.

Xander. Buffy. Giles. Tara.

So close to the void was she that Willow failed to notice the rich, coppery liquid that trickled down her throat and began setting in motion a fatal metamorphosis in her body.

*****

It was a very disoriented Willow who stirred and opened her eyes nearly twenty-four hours later in a dark motel room. Panicked, she scrambled up off the bed and felt along the wall for the light switch. When she flipped the switch, she discovered several things.

She was naked.

Her attacker was seated on the bed, naked, watching her.

And she couldn't feel her heartbeat.

Nor her pulse.

"You bastard," she hissed as the realization hit her.

Scowling, the vampire leaped up from the bed and struck her across the face with his fist.

"Bitch!" he fumed, "I made you, and you will respect me. Time for your first lesson."

He dragged her back to the bed, threw her down, and proceeded to enforce his dominance as sire over her.

Even as he violated her body, though, Willow found herself preoccupied by a growing suspicion that something wasn't quite right. Or, at least, not everything was as she would have expected it to be.

She didn't feel evil.

*****

"Time to get dressed, pretty. You need to feed."

Willow looked at her sire as he pushed himself off of her and began to hunt for his pants. His initial attack at the bus stop had been so swift that she had barely registered his appearance. Thus, despite the fact that their bodies had been engaged in a violent mockery of a very intimate act for the past hour, Willow felt like she was seeing him for the first time.

He was muscular, but stocky rather than lean. His broad shoulders and thick neck prompted Willow to picture him as a football player in his life before. His hair was brown, but so closely cropped to his head that it looked like a grey shadow. His face struck her as rather ordinary: square jaw, prominent browline, but completely lacking in the strikingly beautiful characteristics that Willow would have expected from a vampire's features.

Then again, the only two she had ever really known were Spike and Angel. Perhaps they had just been handsome men and their looks had carried over.

Resigned to her situation for the moment, if only because of the burning hunger that urged her to hunt and kill, Willow rose up from the bed and began dressing. When she was fully clothed except for her shoes, she bent over to tie up the laces and said:

"My name is Willow."

She straightened up and looked back at her sire, waiting for his response. His eyes revealed no emotion, although they swept up and down her form, as if he were scrutinizing a thoroughbred.

"Willow it is," he said at last, "My name is Mike. But until I decide otherwise, you'll call me Sire. Now let's go. You still need to learn to feed, and you took so long to wake up that we're going to be late getting back."

Willow's forehead wrinkled in confusion as she followed him out of their motel room and into the night.

"What do you mean, late? Getting back where?" she asked.

"Don't ask questions," he retorted sharply, not even looking at her but instead scanning the vicinity for potential victims. A middle-aged man at the motel's ice machine caught his eye. Mike caught Willow by the elbow and guided her toward the intended target. "Come on, little pretty. Let's see if you're a survivor."

As they approached, the man finished filling his ice bucket and turned to walk back to his room. Mike stopped and nudged Willow forward, indicating that he expected her to make the kill on her own. And that was when it hit her.

Despite the fierce hunger that raged within her, she felt no eagerness to kill. She had thought that this would be instinctive, that once the demon had taken residence in her body she wouldn't even think twice about killing. So why wasn't she feeling a thrill...why wasn't she feeling anything at all? Because, as Willow realized, she also felt no remorse at what she was about to do.

Was this what it meant to be evil? To feel nothing?

Willow banished these thoughts from her mind as she went into action. For whatever she might be feeling, or not feeling, she was fully aware of her own nature. She was nothing, if not a vampire. And it was in her nature to kill.

The man had inserted his card key into the door and was just turning the handle when she clutched at his elbow and pleaded in a convincingly frightened voice:

"Can you help me, please?"

Startled, the man turned and looked at her, drawn in by the artfully deceptive panic in her soft, green eyes. Before he had a chance to ask her what was wrong, Willow whispered shakily:

"That man over there by the stairs has been following me, and I don't want him to know which room is mine. Can I use your phone to call the registration desk for help?"

Squaring his shoulders in a classic, protective stance, the man pushed open his door and attempted to set her at ease. "You go in and make the call, Miss. I'll find out what's up with this guy."

For a split second, Willow contemplated hauling him into his room and holding him down for the kill, when she saw a woman inside -- most likely his wife -- watching them both curiously. Flashing the man her best damsel-in-distress smile of gratitude, Willow decided to leave him for Mike. Her sire was in such a hurry to get someplace, so maybe he would appreciate an easy meal.

"Is there a problem, dear?" the woman asked as Willow advanced toward her.

"Yes, there is," Willow nodded, slipping easily into gameface for the first time, "A really, really big problem."

The woman's eyes widened in terror and a cry for help died on her lips as Willow latched onto her neck and pierced her carotid artery with virgin fangs. As she savored the rich, coppery tang of her first blood meal, Willow reeled at the sensations that feeding stirred in her. It felt like liquid fire coursing through her veins, and every inch of her skin tingled. A pleasurable rhythm pulsed from her lips straight down to her toes, which she recognized as the woman's rapidly fading heartbeat. It was hypnotic...decadent... intoxicating. And for the first time since she had awakened that evening, Willow *felt* something -- something primal and terrible.

A rush of power swept over her as she released the fully-drained corpse and let it drop to the floor.

She felt strong.

After a few moments, the rush subsided and Willow remembered that her sire was waiting for her outside. Not wanting to risk angering him, since he had already made clear to her how precarious her status was, she quickly let herself out of the motel room. She wasn't surprised to see him waiting on the other side of the door, propping the middle-aged man's body up against the wall. With an arrogant smirk, Mike dumped the body across the threshold and then pulled Willow into a proprietary embrace.

"Nice technique," he growled as his hands roamed over the curves of her ass, "That'll earn you a reward...later. Come on, let's go."

Wordlessly she followed him, choosing not to ask questions since he hadn't seemed inclined to explain anything to her earlier. With the flush of the kill slowly fading, troubled thoughts once again tumbled through her mind. First and foremost among them was that she didn't care too much for her sire.

She had to wonder about that. Weren't vampires supposed to feel some sort of powerful bond with their sires? At the very least, a dark, sexual attraction? Willow knew that there must be a great deal about vampire existence that she had never learned before, but it still puzzled her that all she felt toward her sire was mild indifference. Well, no...actually, she was still kind of pissed off at him for turning her.

And that was just plain weird.

She remembered how Spike described being turned as the best thing that ever happened to him. Shouldn't she be feeling the same way? Maybe it just took some getting used to.

As if thoughts of the familiar, blond vampire had the power to summon up her past, Willow reflected intensely on what had happened to her, and who she was now. She knew that the old Willow would have been horrified at the thought of killing anybody. And for a few moments, Willow indeed felt badly about what she had done... until she realized that it actually took a fair amount of effort to feel badly. Feeling remorse just didn't seem to come naturally anymore, although she considered that she might be able to do compassion with a little practice. But what the hell was up with that? Why was she, a fledgling vampire, contemplating how to regain some of her old, human compassion?

Lost in thought, Willow hadn't paid attention to her surroundings as she walked beside her sire, so she was caught off guard when he jerked her to a stop.

"Listen to me, and listen close," he ordered sharply, "Once we go inside the lair, you don't speak to anyone but me. The Master is an uptight prick, and I don't want you doing anything stupid to piss him off. I'm still proving myself here, and until you can do the same, just shut up, pay attention, and learn your place. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Willow answered, her sense of disgust for her sire resurfacing.

She was completely unprepared for the backhanded blow that snapped her head back.

"Yes, what?" Mike snarled at her, his eyes gleaming yellow.

"Yes...sire..." she assented through gritted teeth as she rubbed her sore cheek.

He grabbed her wrist brutally and dragged her into what looked like an abandoned apartment building. Plywood boards were nailed across most of the windows and the plastered walls in the foyer were cracked and dingy. Willow's nostrils flared as they were bombarded with the mingled scents of a dozen or so vampires, and she stayed close to her sire. She hoped that Mike had his own room, and that they wouldn't attract much attention before they got there. Something told her she wasn't ready for a full induction into vampire society just yet. However, she soon understood that her hopes were in vain. After several cool stares were cast in her direction, Willow realized that the residents of this lair must detect her scent -- that of an unfamiliar vampire who was not yet established within their community.

Willow kept her expression neutral as Mike led her across the darkened lobby and toward a hallway which seemed to lead to private apartments. However, she grew increasingly disconcerted as she glanced from one lair denizen to another, reading in each of their expressions something that looked like more than just territorial hostility to a newcomer. Willow wished she had more experience in interpreting vampire behavior, because more than anything, she felt as though they were offended by her very presence. Every instinct in her body warned her not to reveal the slightest glimmer of fear.

"What the hell did you bring into my lair?!!" a voice thundered from the stairwell that led up from the lobby to the second-floor apartments.

Mike froze, and Willow did the same. She looked up and saw an imposing figure stalking down toward them. There could be no doubt that he was the Master. He wore black sweat pants and a white t-shirt that seemed to glow against his deep olive complexion. His long, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and the coiled tension in his muscles suggested that he had interrupted an intense bout of sparring...or sex.

"Get down," Mike hissed at Willow as he threw her to her knees. Willow stayed down, kept her eyes on the floor, and steeled her nerves to reveal no fear.

The Master stopped before them and glared at Mike. Willow could literally feel the rage rippling off of him. He spoke again:

"What the fuck did you do?"

"I found her at a bus stop. I turned her," Mike replied deferentially.

A threatening murmur erupted from the other vampires gathered in the lobby, and some circled in closer. The Master struck out with a powerful fist, which landed with bone-shattering force on Mike's jaw. Willow remained perfectly still as her sire staggered backward.

"What did you say?" the Master demanded in a low, deadly voice.

"I turned her," Mike repeated raspily, as the blood flowing from his mouth slurred his speech, "I thought she'd be good for a fuck...you should try her--"

His attempt at explanation came to a violent and abrupt halt as the Master lashed out again, this time dragging clawed fingernails across Mike's face and leaving behind raw, bloody gashes.

"Do you think I would touch *that*? Her stench is almost human," the Master roared, "Minions do *not* make minions. Tell me, what are you?"

"Your minion, Sire," Mike muttered defeatedly.

"A minion," the Master repeated contemptuously, "And that makes this *creature* less than a stinking minion. There is no place for such a weakling among our kind. To make one is an abomination."

As she listened to the Master rage on, Willow began to know true fear. But as she struggled to clamp down on that emotion, from an untapped place deep within herself, she felt a potent anger growing. Anger toward her hapless idiot of a sire. It wasn't enough that he had taken her life from her. Evidently, in doing so he had broken some sort of vampire code of ethics, with the likely result that Willow would soon find herself staked out of her new existence. And it hadn't even been forty-eight hours yet.

That did it.

Willow was tired of being jerked around like a toy. She wasn't going down without a fight. As she prepared to draw upon every resource she had, two vampires strode forward and gripped Mike by the arms, holding him firmly before the Master.

"You are a fool, and a waste of space," the Master spat in disgust. He held out his hand, and third vampire solemnly placed a stake in it. Mike now struggled in terror, and howled his pleas for mercy. With a swift flick of the wrist, the Master plunged the stake through Mike's unbeating heart and reduced him to dust. He nodded to the two vampires who had restrained Mike, and they roughly jerked Willow to her feet.

Silently, she called upon the Goddess, and began murmuring the words of a spell.

For the first time, Willow looked into the Master's eyes and saw him staring back at her, but not -- to her surprise -- with the disgust he had projected earlier. Unexpectedly, he threw his head back and let out a bark of laughter.

"Theo, you're a sick bastard!" the Master shouted, "I can smell your arousal all the way over here. You actually want this pathetic creature?"

Chuckles circulated through the room, as a lean, sandy-haired vampire moved up to stand at the Master's right hand. He shrugged and admitted with a grin:

"What can I say, Manuel? I'm intrigued. That sorry excuse for a minion squealed like a pig, but this one? No fear coming off of her -- just anger."

"I know. I feel it, too," the Master acknowledged, "I suppose it takes the edge off a little bit."

He reached out to stroke Willow's cheek, almost appreciatively, but it was that slight contact that finally made her snap. Since that fateful encounter at the bus terminal, she had been demeaned, abused, and treated like nothing more than an object for somebody else's gratification. Willow had had enough. She had completed the incantation, and all that remained was for her to open her mouth and let it rip. And what a wail she ripped.

Clamping her hands over her ears, Willow screamed with all her might. The effect was devastating. With the enhancement of the banshee spell she had cast moments before, it was a shrill, destructive noise that shattered what few lightbulbs and windowpanes remained in the decrepit building, and left the vampires surrounding her momentarily stunned. But a moment was all she needed.

Willow dashed for the door and burst out onto the sidewalk. Without even a moment of hesitation she careened down the street, not caring which direction she was going so long as her feet carried her away from the lair. She didn't even worry about the possibility that they would follow her. Every fiber of her being was focused sharply on a single goal: escape. Her strides were a blur and she barely felt her feet touch the ground as she ran.

After what seemed like a terrifying eternity, Willow came upon a temporary sanctuary: a hospital. Still bustling with human activity -- well, relatively speaking, considering that it was almost four a.m. -- Willow felt that she could risk stopping and regrouping for a few moments. She needed to think of a place she could go. She needed help, because it wasn't likely that she could survive on her own for long. Not when her own kind considered her an offense to their nature, worthy only of being staked.

Making her way into the 24-hour lobby of the emergency room, Willow sank down into a chair and closed her eyes. She could sense alarm in some of the humans in her vicinity, and guessed that she must have presented a disturbing picture when she had burst into the lobby. Although Willow hadn't really paid attention to the appearance of her clothes, it was highly likely that her shirt had blood on it. Her behavior was no doubt disconcerting as well, since she had raced in as though the devil were after her, and then had suddenly dropped into a chair to brood.

Abruptly, her eyes snapped open.

Angel.

She was pretty sure that she remembered his address. The question was, where was she right now? Pushing herself up out of her chair, she approached the nurse's station as calmly as she could. When she reached the desk, she insinuated herself between a woman holding a crying infant and the on-duty nurse. Interrupting their conversation, Willow asked:

"What's the address here?"

The nurse stared at her peevishly, irritated by such a blatant display of rudeness.

"If you'll wait just a moment, I'm almost through helping this woman, who was here *first*," the nurse explained tersely.

Willow emitted a menacing growl as flecks of gold gleamed in her eyes.

"What. Is. The. Address. Here."

"S-seventh and Vine Streets," the nurse stammered shakily, her earlier irritation now replaced by abject terror.

Willow racked her brains. Angel's place should be about a mile or two further on Vine and then a few blocks over. She glanced at the clock on the wall, which read 4:12 a.m. There was just under an hour left until dawn, but she should be able to make it. Leaving the visibly shaken nurse behind, Willow stalked back toward the exit and peered outside cautiously for any sign of the vampires she had fled. Stepping just barely past the threshold, she waited tensely, but caught no scent of other vampires. Figuring that the need to reach safety outweighed the risks, she broke out into a full run once again.

In less than ten minutes, she found herself out in front of Angel Investigations. Willow gave a silent cheer for vampiric speed -- she'd never run a mile that fast in her high-school P.E. classes.

Relieved, Willow reached for the door only to find it locked. A moment later, however, she raised another silent hurrah for vampiric strength as the lock gave way to a few forceful tugs. It was only after she crossed the threshold that she stopped to wonder why she had met no supernatural barrier to her uninvited presence, although she quickly reasoned that it had something to do with Angel being a vampire.

And what a vampire he was, she discovered, as her senses were assaulted by his potent signature, which lingered everywhere on the premises. Just the traces of him alone were richer and thicker than what she had inhaled back at the lair when nearly fifteen other vampires had all been within a few paces of her.

<So this is what it means,> she thought, somewhat in awe, <to be a 240 year-old master vampire.>

*****

Angel frowned and set aside the tome on demonology that he had been reading. He sensed an intruder, and would have sworn that it was a vampire, except...

It was strange...this didn't register as a normal vampire... he couldn't exactly place it, but...something about the scent that drifted up to him was unnerving, and mildly distasteful. Whatever it was, though, it would soon be dust unless it had a very good reason for barging into his domain. He stormed out of his private chambers with a vengeance and headed for the cavernous main lobby.

Nothing, but *nothing*, could have prepared him for what he found there.

Were it possible, his heart would have turned to stone, tumbled out of his chest and shattered on the floor. There before him was a girl, a mere child, who in life had been one of the most innocent and caring human beings he had encountered in the two centuries that he'd walked the earth. Horror mixed with pity tinged his voice as he let out a sorrowful lament:

"Oh, Willow...what have they done to you?"

"Angel?" she began hesitantly, "Please...I need a place to stay...I'm in trouble and I don't have anywhere else to go."

He looked at her as she just barely restrained herself from trembling, and fragments of the horrible truth began to fall into place. She was indeed in trouble, even more than she was probably aware of yet.

"What about your sire, Willow?" Angel asked gravely.

"They dusted him," came her reply, voiced with an indifference that further confirmed his suspicions. Only one thing could produce such a weak bond between sire and childe.

"They would have," Angel acknowledged, "Minions don't make minions."

"And that makes me less than a *stinking* minion," Willow laughed bitterly, remembering the Master's tirade.

"Willow, no...don't," Angel urged gently as he held his arms out to her, "Come here."

She took a few cautious steps toward him, and it was clear to Angel that he intimidated her. His age and formidable experience easily over-powered even the most headstrong minions. He could hardly imagine what his presence must be making her feel, given her... unfortunate condition. Willow's face revealed the turmoil of her conflicting desires -- alternately, to flee this powerful elder or to cling to the one friend and ally available to her. Making a decision, he fixed her eyes with a steady, reassuring gaze and extended his hand in a formal gesture.

"I offer you my protection, little one," he promised evenly.

That seemed to tip the balance, as Willow rushed forward with relief and allowed Angel to envelop her in a strong, comforting embrace. They held each other tightly for several moments before Willow pushed back slightly and blurted out:

"I've killed, Angel."

"I know," he nodded, "It would have been your first lesson."

Willow grimaced ambivalently. "No, not quite the first..."

Angel tensed, her remark needing no clarification as he remembered the lessons Angelus had taught his own newly-made childer and minions. But he recoiled slightly at her next words:

"It made me feel good." Seeing the flicker of unease in his eyes, Willow added hastily, "The killing, I mean. Not what my sire did to me."

Angel cupped his hand against her face and stroked her cheek tenderly with his thumb. His voice, however, had a profound sadness in it even as he acknowledged the honesty of her admission.

"There is no more powerful feeling for a vampire than the flush of the kill."

"I...I think I could kill again," Willow admitted quietly, "I know how you feel about taking human life. Would you stake me?"

Angel went very still, and was grateful that Cordelia, Gunn and Wesley weren't around to hear what he was about to say.

"No, I wouldn't, Willow. Not for the present, at least. But you and I have a *lot* of talking to do before the gang shows up for work tomorrow evening. I'll fix us some blood, and then I want you to start from the beginning."

As an afterthought, but just to be on the safe side, Angel added as he guided her toward his suite, "They are strictly off limits, Willow. Is that clear?"

She nodded vehemently. "No biting. I promise."

When they entered his rooms, Angel gestured for her to take a seat on the couch while he rummaged in the refrigerator for a couple of familiar, Red Cross pouches. He emptied them into two mugs which he then heated in the microwave before returning to his red-headed guest and offering one to her.

Willow sniffed it experimentally, and while it lacked the heady aroma of blood fresh from a living vein, it was still nourishment, and the mere proximity of blood made her realize how ravenously hungry she was. The traumatic turn of recent events was finally catching up with her. She tipped her head back and gulped down the mug's contents almost gluttonously.

Angel smiled sympathetically and extended his own, untouched mug to her. When she held back, he pushed it toward her even more insistently and said, "Go on, Willow. You must be famished, and I can heat up some more."

Needing no further encouragement, she drank his mug as well, and then Angel went back for more provisions. Willow was sufficiently sated that when he returned, she was able to sip her blood calmly and prepare to share her story with him.

"So where should I start?" she asked.

"Let's see...how about explaining what you were doing out on the streets of L.A. after dark?"

"Well, Professor Spotnitz -- he teaches database management -- thought I'd get something out of a computer programming conference that happened this weekend. And it was really great. I met these two witches, and when we went to dinner we couldn't find a single restaurant that would seat us before 9:30. I guess you need reservations for everything in this town. Anyway, it was after midnight before we were done, and I kind of lost track of the time, too..."

The details poured forth from Willow's mouth in a steady stream of babble, and Angel had to struggle to sort it all out coherently. But by the time she was she finished, he not only had a clearer grasp of the entire chain of events, but when combined with his advanced years and experience he figured that he understood her situation better than she did. Now in a position to offer advice, Angel decided it was time he answered some of the questions that he knew were ready to burst out of her.

"Willow, I'd like to explain what you are, and why the other vampires responded to you like they did. But first I need to know how much you understand about vampire culture," he began.

"All I know comes from what I've seen tonight, and my experience with you and Spike," she answered forlornly.

She looked as lost as Angel knew she felt.

"And normally, that wouldn't matter because it would be your sire's job to teach you everything you would need to know to survive. But you are a fledgling without a sire, and as much as I hate to see you in this situation, I can't say that I wouldn't have reacted any differently than the Master of that lair. What your sire did... Willow, please don't take this the wrong way, but something like this is *unthinkable* to most vampires. I honestly can't fathom what possessed him, other than to think that he was an incredibly stupid and reckless twit whose ego was too big for his own good."

"He kept calling me pretty," Willow murmured as she bowed her head dejectedly.

"Willow, no -- that isn't what I meant," Angel responded instantly to her crestfallen demeanor. Slipping off of the couch he knelt before her and captured her face with both hands, gently raising it once more so that he could look directly into her eyes. "I'm not questioning his impulse to turn *you*," he assured her, "Even Angelus considered it, once or twice."

"Really?" she beamed delightedly, looking just for a moment like the optimistic, resilient young woman Angel remembered from Sunnydale.

"Really. You were lucky, Willow. That night, he came close to doing more than just killing your fish."

"Maybe it would have been luckier for me if he *had* turned me, considering where I am now," she muttered cynically.

"I'd almost agree with you," Angel sighed as he eased himself back up onto the couch, "Except that you probably wouldn't find yourself much happier with Angelus for a sire. There's a reason that Spike turned out the way he did."

"Then what makes you *almost* agree with me?" Willow prompted him, curiously.

"That brings us back to the reason that your sire's actions were so unconscionable. It's more than just a social convention that prevents minions from siring their own childer -- although that's a big part of it, since as demons go we're a pretty aristocratic lot. Minions learn quickly to stay in their place. But it also has to do with strength. We're killers, Willow -- you've learned that for yourself tonight, in more ways than one. There is no room for weaklings among our kind. That means that no vampire makes another until he has the power to ensure that his creations will be strong. A Master, or one of the Master's childer, can do it with few problems. But minions are by nature the weaker ones among us. If they're lucky and not terminally stupid, they might survive longer than average -- a decade for most. And with age and experience comes increased strength. Only then, when they're approaching the level of Masters themselves, do they have the stamina to sire a true childe. But your sire certainly hadn't attained that status yet."

"How do you know?" Willow countered angrily, "Do I have *weakling* written all over my face? Am I that much of an embarrassment to the Fanged Set everywhere?"

Angel closed his eyes and tried to steady himself. This wasn't going to be easy. Resolved to take things step by step, he asked her:

"What were your feelings toward your sire?"

Her brow furrowed in puzzlement at the sudden shift in topic, but it was nonetheless something she hoped Angel could help her understand better. At last she came up with the one thing she could honestly say she felt about Mike.

"I'm glad they staked him. I might have done it myself one day."

This elicited a slight grin from Angel, who countered, "Not if I'd gotten to him first." He continued with another question, not quite sure that she would be ready to answer it:

"Willow, how do you feel about what you are?"

The young redhead stared back at him warily. She opened her mouth to speak, but promptly closed it after a few moments when she realized the words just weren't coming. The troubled thoughts she had experienced on her walk from the motel to the lair returned to her, and she began to feel extremely uncomfortable. Angel sensed it and proceeded with even greater delicacy.

"Let's start with the killing, then. How do you feel about that?"

"Well, you said it yourself," Willow asserted with false confidence, "There is no more powerful feeling--"

"No, Willow, I don't need you to repeat my own words," Angel interrupted, "How does the thought of killing make *you* feel?"

Anxious and confused, Willow fidgeted for several minutes, while Angel waited patiently as she grappled with the truth. He suspected that he knew what her answer would be, knowing the person that she had been before. But it was important for her to say it herself, for the sake of her own understanding. Absently, she nibbled on her index finger, until her escalating discomfort with Angel's question caused her to true face to slip out momentarily. She pierced her fingertip against one of her fangs, and the taste of her own blood seemed to soothe her nerves somewhat. When she had regained her composure, she fixed her gaze on Angel and stated plainly:

"I don't know. My first kill felt...better than I ever could have imagined. The way her neck throbbed beneath my tongue..." Willow paused, as the memory stirred her darker instincts once again, before continuing, "...but after I was done, one of the first thoughts I had was that the old me wouldn't have wanted to kill anybody. I even tried to feel bad for awhile, but it was too much work. Angel, I don't know what's *wrong* with me! One minute I can kill someone without even thinking twice about it, and the next minute, I'm wondering what my old self would think about my behavior. What kind of defective demon am I? I don't even think I feel evil, but then I can't even tell that because I don't know what feeling evil is supposed to feel like!!"

The last remark came out as a despairing wail, and Willow curled up against the back of the couch in a fetal position, burying her head beneath her folded arms. Angel attempted to console her by stroking her hair, but he knew that his next words would be anything but comforting:

"Willow, your demon isn't defective. But your sire lacked the power to turn you properly. Any minion can drain a human being, but it takes a Master's strength to fully anchor the demon in the body. Your demon has a very weak hold on you, at best."

They sat quietly together on the couch, since Angel didn't want to say anything more until Willow was ready to continue. He wasn't even sure that she would be just yet. Looking over at the clock on his microwave, he saw that it was well past dawn. She must be getting tired by now.

It came as somewhat of a surprise to him, then, when she raised her head up, her face a smooth mask of detached curiosity, and asked him, "So how come I can function?"

"I'm sorry -- what?" he mumbled, struck with mild admiration at the speed with which she had regained her self-control.

"When the body dies, the demon takes over, right?" she explained slowly, as though she were speaking to a small child, "And the demon is what animates a vampire -- well, except in your case, since you have a soul. But I don't feel like I still have my soul, and if my demon is so weak, how can I be walking and talking and feeding?"

A huge grin spread across Angel's face, and he pulled Willow into a fierce hug. "You don't know how happy I am to hear you ask a question like that. That is pure Willow!"

"Okay, now it's my turn Angel. 'I'm sorry -- what?' " she repeated his earlier question.

"I'm not sure how to explain this," Angel confessed, "but you know that vampires still have all the memories of their human lives, right?"

Willow nodded, her brow still knit with puzzlement.

"Where do you think those memories come from, if the soul isn't there any more?" he continued.

The expression that flickered across the redhead's face as she contemplated that particular conundrum lifted Angel's hopes still higher. He saw her agile mind busily at work. Each glimpse he caught of the person she had once been revealed strengths that they could build on.

"There's something else that makes us who we are," Willow concluded finally.

Angel squeezed her hand as he confirmed her statement, "The things we do in life -- our mannerisms, our thought patterns, our feelings -- these leave behind some kind of imprint. I'm not sure what it is, exactly -- but, then, I couldn't explain what a soul is even though I know I have one. But whatever you want to call this imprint -- your personality, a residual essence of your identity -- it's another factor that has the power to influence your behavior as a vampire. Most of us never really notice it because the demon is so dominant. The demon draws upon the imprint to serve its own purposes, as if all the memories were a set of tools. It doesn't tend to work in reverse, with the imprint guiding the actions..."

"Unless the demon is too weak to assert control," Willow finished for him, comprehension dawning on her at last. "So, are you saying that this imprint could act like some kind of a surrogate soul?"

Angel shook his head. "I don't think it works quite like that. True, I think the fact that you were a compassionate human being could be cultivated to help you control the demon. But the imprint is just amoral information -- it isn't capable of really exerting the kind of ethical constraints it would take to rein in a demon."

Willow's eyes twinkled brightly and she giggled at the analogy that sprang to mind, "It's like all the data from my old hard drive was uploaded to my new one. Willow version 2.0!"

The elder vampire shared a genuine smile with her before he sobered somewhat and disclosed the nature of the challenge she would face:

"Willow, if you give me your consent, I think I can help you adjust to your new life. But it won't be easy. We need to work to make you stronger, strong enough to survive any attacks from those of our kind who can't accept what you are. And there will be plenty. But the very things that will give you this kind of strength will also strengthen your demon."

"To the point that I might stop caring about whether or not my old personality can stay in control," Willow agreed, following along with his train of thought.

"That's where I come in. I could help you maintain the balance. Is this what you want, Willow? Will you let me help you?" Angel asked hopefully.

"I don't know...sometimes it's kind of fun to be bad," Willow teased him wickedly.

"Willow..." he cautioned sternly, eliciting an apologetic look from her.

"Oh, Angel, you're no fun..." she sighed, "But yes, I want your help. That's why I came here -- I think I'd be dead *for good* if you hadn't taken me in."

"Well, yes, since dawn was only half an hour away when you showed up," Angel teased in turn, "But I know what you mean."

Willow yawned, as if the mere mention of the morning's break were enough to bring all of the strain of the evening crashing down on her at once. "Speaking of dawn, Angel..."

"You look exhausted. Come on," he extended his hand to her graciously and helped her up off the couch, "You can sleep in my room."

Although Willow had lost her sexual inhibitions along with her mortality, she nonetheless glanced awkwardly at Angel, not quite sure how to broach the subject of their sleeping arrangements. Would he expect something in return for his assistance? Not that she minded, really. He was brutally handsome, and the power he radiated, and which had nearly overwhelmed her senses when he had first confronted her that morning, was like an aphrodisiac to her as a newly-made vampire. But one thing she had learned in her brief experience was the close connection between sex and domination for vampires. And she definitely knew that she didn't like being dominated.

As if he could read her mind, Angel dispelled her concerns by assuring her, "I'll sleep on the couch for now, although I think there are some arrangements I'd like to make first, since you'll be here for a while."

She nodded and stepped through the french doors leading to his small but comfortable bedroom. Angel left her there, extending to her the courtesy of privacy, and she quickly stripped off the now-rumpled clothes that she had been wearing for almost two days straight. Crawling beneath the covers, Willow felt a strange sense of ease come over her as she inhaled his scent, which saturated the silk sheets in which she had cocooned herself. It wasn't long before she drifted off to sleep.

*****

It was already approaching dusk when Willow's eyes fluttered open to the second night of her existence as a vampire. Her acute senses registered the proximity of human heartbeats while her newly-enhanced hearing detected the rise and fall of voices in conversation. Willow brushed aside the sheets, stood up and contemplated her clothing options. She scowled in disgust at the clothes she had shed before going to sleep, not wanting to put on *anything* that had been through her recent experiences with her. It was time to start fresh.

<And it has *nothing* to do with the fact that the only other things to wear are Angel's clothes,> she chuckled inwardly at herself as she walked over to the closet to check out his wardrobe. Finding a pair of charcoal sweatpants on the floor and a black turtleneck on one of the lower shelves, she pulled them on and accepted the fact that she was going to feel completely swallowed up by them. She rolled up the legs on the sweatpants far enough so that she wouldn't trip over them, and then made her way out toward his sitting room. Feeling the stirrings of her predatory instincts at the presence of human beings out in the lobby, Willow decided it would be wise to heat up another mug of blood before she sought out her host.

And so it was that her appearance when she emerged from Angel's private rooms -- dark clothing, blood-reddened lips and skin with the pallor of death -- did more than anything Angel had been telling his human companions to persuade them of the fate that had befallen Willow. All conversation ceased as Wesley, Gunn and Cordelia stared uneasily at the approaching figure of someone who resembled the good-natured redhead they had known, but who was no longer that person.

"Hi guys, what's up?" she offered in the best approximation of her old, research-girl voice she could muster. She sat down on one of the plush lounges that evoked the building's original function as a hotel.

"Uhhh, Willow, hi!" Cordelia struggled to offer an up-beat greeting, "Angel was just telling us..."

Wesley, too, stumbled over himself to dispel the sense of awkwardness with a cordial greeting, "Er, yes, you see, we were all discussing the rather unique situation that has presented itself... ah, well, that is to say..."

Gunn simply stared at her mistrustfully.

Of course, far from alleviating tension, the flurry of strained comments that Wesley and Cordelia emitted as they each talked over the other merely served to heighten the awkwardness brought on by Willow's arrival. Not really caring about the human need to tip-toe around sensitive issues anymore, Willow gave them both a slightly bemused look and stated bluntly:

"I'm a vamp -- it's okay, you can say it."

"You're a vamp," the ex-cheerleader and the Watcher blurted out in unison, as they stared at her once again like deer frozen before oncoming headlights.

"And I promised Angel that your necks would be bite-free zones," Willow added.

"That's...quite reassuring," Wesley squeaked, as he managed a weak smile that looked anything but reassured.

At this point Angel, who had been silently observing the proceedings in order to gauge Willow's level of self-discipline around humans, chose to step in.

"Willow is going to be my own, private client," he explained, "I'll still be available to help out whenever Cordelia has a vision, but it might be best if you kept the regular agency business over at your other office for the time being."

"Other office?" Willow asked, feeling out of the loop.

"It's a long story," Angel replied somewhat sheepishly, as the others glanced at each other uncomfortably. "I went through a kind of...uh, bad period for a while."

"That's putting it lightly," Cordelia muttered, momentarily forgetting the nervousness evoked by Willow's presence.

"Yeah, and speaking of that," Gunn observed tersely, "Are you sure about this *special project*? It was another *special project* and another vamp chick that got you into that bad period in the first place."

"Gunn!" Cordelia hissed as she elbowed him in the gut, "This isn't a vamp chick, this is Willow we're talking about."

"Actually, he's right. Vamp chick -- that's pretty much me these days...or these nights, at any rate," Willow babbled, still not quite sure what was going on in this exchange between co-workers. She was struck by the fact that although they seemed to have relaxed more, they were more interested in arguing about Angel's behavior than in coming to terms with the new Willow.

"Whoa, hold it guys!" Angel interjected, "Gunn, I understand your concern, but this situation is a little different. Besides, Willow has nowhere else to turn, and I'm not willing to abandon her."

"That's right, this is completely different," Cordelia agreed, "I mean, it's not like there's any risk that Angel will...I mean, he and Willow wouldn't..."

"A-a-actually," Wesley countered slowly, "They might...if Angel intends to use *every* means at his disposal to assist Miss Rosenberg in her...ah, development."

Willow frowned as she grew increasingly impatient with Angel's human co-workers for talking *about* her rather than *to* her.

"Wait a minute, what wouldn't Angel and I do? I'm right here, guys."

"Wesley," Angel ordered sternly, "why don't you and Gunn go make a Red Cross run. With Willow here, we'll need to stock up more frequently."

"I'll get right on it," the Watcher agreed, happy for a reason to make a hasty departure. With a final, doubtful glance at Angel, Gunn turned and followed Wesley out the door.

Suddenly feeling very uncomfortable at being the only human left in the room with two vampires -- one of whom she wasn't even used to thinking of in the "fanged" category yet -- Cordelia piped up nervously, "Is there anything I can do to help out?"

"I could use some clothes," Willow offered, "Angel's are a little on the big size and the only other ones I have are a bit...ewww... I've kind of been wearing the same things since I was turned two days ago."

Cordelia wasn't sure whether she was deeply disturbed by the blithe manner in which Willow mentioned her own death, or relieved at the opportunity to do something useful that would also get her out of there. Relief won out, and she latched onto Willow's suggestion with enthusiasm, "Shopping, great! Right up my alley. Any particular requests?"

"Sweats, t-shirts...clothes she can maneuver in," Angel broke in before Willow had the chance to speak up. She looked over at him quizzically, and he explained, "I'm going to teach you to defend yourself, so you'll need clothes that can survive a few tumbles."

"And that blood will wash out of easily," Willow added dryly, "Cordelia, I guess this means you should go with dark colors. Just as well -- it fits my new lifestyle."

"Got it. How about the size? What are you, a 6?"

"Anywhere between a 5 and a 7, depending on the store."

Cordelia nodded and then turned to Angel, her palm stretched out expectantly. He handed her a credit card, and she scurried toward the door, leaving Willow alone with her self-appointed mentor.

"So, Angel...can I ask you a question?" she said when he failed to break the silence.

"You're wondering what Wesley was talking about," he observed evenly.

"Yup, that kinda piqued my curiosity," Willow parried just as smoothly, even as she sense a subtle tension in their exchange. She picked small flecks of lint off of the turtleneck she wore while she waited for Angel to continue. It was clear that he didn't quite know how to broach the subject, although she didn't sense any embarrassment from him.

"It has to do with blood," he explained, choosing his words carefully, "And the effect that the quality of blood has on a vampire's strength. Not all blood is the same."

"That's for darn sure," Willow agreed emphatically, "I mean, I appreciate all the bagged stuff you have in the fridge, but it leaves a little to be desired."

"Well, yes...but that's not exactly what I'm talking about. Do you remember what I told you about the reason that minions don't make minions?"

Willow nodded, attuning herself to the seriousness in Angel's voice. "They're not strong enough to do it right."

"What it comes down to is their blood. A vampire's strength is in his blood. What sets a childe apart from a minion is the quantity of blood the sire chooses to give up. And while we're made to feed on human blood, even that isn't as powerful as the blood of a Master," Angel continued.

"And you're a Master," Willow picked up his trail.

"Older and stronger than most in this city," Angel added. Seeing that she had already discerned where he was headed with this, he decided he might as well lay all his cards on the table. "The fastest way for you to get stronger would be for me to give you my blood. But it would add a few complications to our arrangement."

<Would it ever!> Willow thought to herself, as her dead stomach somehow sprang back to life and did flip-flops. Or at least, it felt that way, as she imagined what it would be like to swallow draughts of his blood, with its two-hundred-year-old vintage. She shuddered. It was hard enough to resist him as it was, when all she had to contend with was his nearness, or the heavy scent that pervaded his domain. But the idea of suckling at his neck, or his wrist, or...or some other place...conjured up very wicked sensations that threatened to dissolve what little, fragile control she had built up thus far. Hadn't that been something Angel had cautioned against earlier, when they had discussed the balance between her demon and the remnants of her old personality?

"Um, Angel," she murmured softly, "I already have a hard enough time being around you as it is. That would probably send me over the edge."

"I know," he acknowledged, closing his eyes and savoring the scent of her openly. Willow was stunned by the unabashedly erotic act, and even further unsettled when he practically purred his next words. "You were thinking some very naughty thoughts just now."

"And you're not helping matters," she growled, her demon visage coming to the fore.

Angel opened his eyes and grinned at her in amusement. In a calming voice he said, "Willow, take control again."

Glaring at him, she struggled against every dark desire that his taunts had summoned up in her, and eventually forced herself to return to her human face. But flecks of yellow still flared in her eyes as she rebuked him crossly, "That wasn't funny, Angel. I don't appreciate having my chain yanked like that."

"There's a method to my madness," he conceded apologetically, "Willow, we both know how it would end if you fed from me. That isn't what concerns me, since I think we both find the idea appealing."

"You do?" Willow managed to choke out incredulously.

"Did I not make myself clear?" Angel's voice dropped once again to a seductive purr. However, when he sensed that his provocations had elevated her arousal to a near-fever pitch, he eased off and chided her, "Stop that, Willow. It's distracting. And it's just this kind of response that *does* concern me."

"I can't help it," she complained, "When you get like that, I just want to..."

"...throw me down and ravish me right here?" he concluded in graphic detail.

"That would be a big yes," Willow answered quickly.

"And while I don't question your ability to re-assert your self-control, since I've provoked you shamelessly and you haven't responded with much more than a slip of the face, I *do* think that the tug-of-war could be a little hard on you."

"Angel, you don't know how close I came to planting my fangs in your neck a few moments ago."

"Oh, yes I do. But you didn't -- and that alone demonstrated a degree of discipline that you, as a minion's minion, shouldn't even possess at this stage. By all rights, you should have attacked me when you first arrived this morning. The only thing I can think of that could explain why you didn't is that something about who you were as a human is allowing you to draw on strengths that the average minion doesn't have."

"So," Willow mused, "Where does this leave us?"

"That's a choice I wanted to leave up to you," Angel replied carefully, "You've had a taste of what it would be like, and this was just a little harmless flirtation. I'm offering you my blood, but my goal is to make you stronger, not overload your circuits. If you don't feel comfortable with the idea of direct feeding, we could work out a less-problematic, indirect method. I could open a vein into a glass or a mug, for example."

"That sounds so...artificial," Willow murmured, frowning. But as Angel opened his mouth to reassure her, she stretched out her arm and silenced him by placing her finger against his lips. Leaning in closely, she let her eyes slip shut and nuzzled her face against his.

"Here's my decision," she whispered against his lips as she covered them with her own. Wanting to rattle his sense of restraint as much as he had rattled hers, she dropped her human mask and bit into his bottom lip with slow, deliberate precision. She felt him tense ever so slightly when she pierced his flesh to release a rich trickle of blood, and his hands swept sensuously up her sides as she lapped at his mouth. It wasn't long before his fangs elongated and cut into her tongue, releasing a stream of her blood that rapidly coated his own lips and tongue. A feline growl rumbled deep within his chest, and he pulled away from her, locking her gaze with his. Willow saw hunger to rival the depths of her own passion, etched across the ridges of his demon face.

"It's customary to wait until you've been invited," he chided seductively.

"So invite me already," Willow suggested coyly.

With a feral grin, Angel cupped the back of her head and drew her in toward his neck. Willow pressed herself against him eagerly and drew her tongue along his swollen artery in broad, languid strokes. She smiled when she felt him harden against her thigh as he hissed:

"Tease!"

Drowning in the intensity of the experience, Willow gave into the primal voice that screamed out for her to savor the taste of him. With a swift, fierce motion she bit down on his flesh, hard, eliciting another ragged growl from deep within her lover. As ecstatic as her first kill had left her the night before, it paled in comparison to the wave of pleasure that tore through her as Angel's potent blood filled her veins. Her head swam as she drew mouthful after mouthful down her throat. It was like drinking raw power. Tongues of fire burned throughout her entire body and attacked her loins with a ferocity that caused her to jerk her mouth free of his neck as she cried out in her release.

Angel clasped her tightly and drew her lips against his in a brutally passionate kiss. With painstaking slowness, he gradually inched his lips away from hers and marked a trail of licks and nips along her jaw line and up to her ear. As he worried the flesh of her earlobe with his tongue, he whispered, "That was just the beginning, little one."

Without further warning, Angel raised himself up from the lounge, taking Willow with him. Reaching down, he caught hold of her ass and hoisted her up into his arms. Willow eagerly wrapped her legs around his hips and threaded her fingers through his short, spiky hair as he carried her back to his private quarters.

When they reached his bedroom, Angel paused briefly in the entryway and the two of them remained locked in their top-heavy embrace as Willow bathed the ridges on his forehead like a cat. He shifted his hands slightly and she responded by reluctantly releasing the vise-like grip of her legs around his waist, as he let her body slither down his until they were standing face to face. Catching her lips with his mouth, Angel plunged his tongue deep inside and practically ravaged her with it. Continuing his sensual assault, he scraped his teeth downward over her chin and along the column of her neck with such agonizing tenderness that it left her trembling on the edge.

Meanwhile, he slipped his hands beneath the turtleneck she had borrowed and gently pushed it upward, pausing to cradle her breasts in his palms for a moment before tugging the sweater up and over her head. Seductively, he raised his wrist to her lips even as he moved to stand behind her with his muscular arm wrapped around her protectively. Accepting his invitation, Willow took hold of his arm with both hands and punctured his wrist with her deadly canines, moaning as the rich blood poured onto her lips once again.

Angel alternated between suckling tenderly at the arc of flesh where her shoulder met the base of her neck, and murmuring gentle encouragements to her as she drank of him. He wrapped his free arm around her and rhythmically massaged her belly, tentatively sliding his hand lower and lower, until it finally burrowed beneath the sweatpants that hung low on Willow's hips. Nudging her thighs apart, he took the full weight of her against him in a primitive embrace, stroking her center as she rocked her hips in response and ground her lips even more urgently into his wrist. She writhed deliciously on his hand, as their bodies entwined with each other like serpent and branch. Succumbing to his own, baser instincts, Angel plunged two fingers into her depths and pistoned them in and out mercilessly, wanting to hear the wanton creature in his arms scream. And he didn't have to wait long before she gave him exactly what he wanted, as she surrendered to the orgasm that racked her body, and jerked her head abruptly away from his vein to release a howl of pleasure.

From that moment on, what transpired between them was a heady blur of purely animal interaction. After frantically disposing of their clothes, Angel pulled Willow onto the bed with him and proceeded to play her body like a finely-tuned instrument. And while he allowed himself the luxury of losing himself in white-hot release once or twice, he was careful to stay focused on encouraging her to feed heavily. It was only when he began to feel the tell-tale signs of lightheadedness brought on by significant blood loss that he allowed them both to collapse in their exhaustion. He pulled Willow against his side, and she willingly molded her hips to his while draping her torso across his chest, clinging to him like a child. He caressed her back and shoulder blades languidly as they relaxed together for an extended period of time.

Willow wasn't quite sure whether she was completely and thoroughly drained from their rigorous coupling, or exhilarated from the feel of Angel's blood coursing through her veins and strengthening her sinews. She wondered if it were possible to be *both* at the same time, then closed her eyes and shivered in delight at the sensation. Finally, she propped herself up on her elbows, looked down into his deep brown eyes and murmured softly:

"Thank you, Angel."

He smiled up at her and stroked her cheek. But as she gazed at his tender expression, a thought occurred to her and she tilted her head to the side, puzzled.

"That *is* still you in there, isn't it Angel?" she asked cautiously, "I mean...with everything we did, your soul didn't..."

"No," he assured her, "Everything is all right Willow."

"Should I be insulted?" Willow prodded, arching an eyebrow.

Angel chuckled, pleased by how quickly she adjusted from violent, demonic passion to a relatively calm state in which her old sense of humor was able to express itself. Yet another promising sign for the work ahead of them.

"Not at all," Angel purred, craning his head up to place a lingering kiss on her lips, "That was some of the most incredible, mind-blowing sex I've had in a long time. But sex and happiness aren't the same thing. It wasn't physical pleasure that cost me my soul, it was the kind of pure happiness that came from sharing myself completely with a woman who loved me as deeply as I loved her. And you know that what you and I did, what we will do, isn't about love. Please...don't be hurt by that."

"I'm not," Willow acknowledged honestly, "It's hard for me to even remember what love felt like. My memories tell me that I loved Tara...but I can't experience that feeling anymore..." When she saw the sadness glimmering in his eyes at her words, she swatted at him playfully and insisted, "Fair is fair, Angel. I promise not to be hurt that I don't do it for you enough to release Angelus, and you promise not to feel sorry for me. I'm going to be okay."

Angel managed a bittersweet grin and acceded to her demand. "I'm sorry, Willow. My soul aches for everything you've lost, even though I know you can't fathom that loss, not in your condition. But I promise I won't brood over you...too much..."

"Good!" she declared, "So, didn't you say something about teaching me to defend myself? When do we get started?"

He groaned in disbelief and slapped her on the behind. "One step at a time, little one. Do you think I strengthened you with my blood just to turn around and batter it out of you in the next instant?"

The sting of his hand on her flesh sent pricks of desire coursing through Willow's body once more, and she hissed, "Angel, are you coming on to me again?"

"Easy, Willow," he coaxed gently, "I just want you to have time to assimilate my blood. Besides, we need one more thing before we're ready to start your training."

"What do we need?" Willow asked, intrigued.

"Spike."

"Spike?! What for? As his sire, wouldn't you already know everything he might be able to teach me, and more besides?" Willow argued incredulously.

"Yes, but it's not a question of how much I know...it has to do with the fact that I've been souled for such a long time. There are certain survival skills that I wouldn't be comfortable teaching you, but which Spike has mastered like a virtuoso."

"And you're *okay* with this?"

"I won't be okay with it if you ever take it to the level that my Rebel Childe does, but I also have no delusions about what it will take to help you come into your own as a vampire. I may have hopes that, eventually, you'll learn to survive without killing, but I also know that your progress will depend on a certain amount of killing at the outset. You can subsist on bagged blood, but you can't grow stronger on it. So," Angel concluded, "do you think you'll be able to work with Spike, in spite of the fact that he nearly killed you once before?"

"Considering my new outlook on the world, Angel, I can't really hold it against him anymore, can I?" Willow reminded him impishly, "Although it's possible that he might not be too willing to help *me*. I mean, after Buffy turned down his romantic advances, and the rest of us treated him like a social leper, I think it made him pretty bitter."

Angel looked at his young, red-headed protege in utter and absolute shock at the revelation that she had let drop so casually.

"Willow," he said when his jaw had finally unclenched enough for him to squeeze out the words, "I think it would be a good idea if you brought me up to speed with what has been going on in Sunnydale for the past few months."

END

*****

To be continued in Masters and Minions 2: The Pit