TriptychBy Medea
Chapter Two : The Trinity
1. The Son
My head hasn't hurt this much since before Red zapped the chip outta my skull.
Peaches has a bloody nasty right hoo--Ngk!
His left's none too shabby.
His shoes look a tad scruffy, though. Easy to notice when I'm doubled over on the floor, cuppin' my hand under my nose to catch the blood--
Oof!
Shit. Scruffy they may be, but they're still on feet that deliver the most vicious kicks to the gut I've ever felt.
"What part of 'I'll represent our clan' didn't you understand, Spike?"
I'll answer...any minute...just as soon as the ringin' stops and I can focus long enough to tell which one of the three of him I see standin' there I'm s'posed to answer.
"Can't...remember that...far back..." I manage to choke.
Like the Poof expected a straight answer.
Ungh!
Right now, all he bloody well expects is for me to imitate a bloody piñata.
At least Red'll leave me some dignity. She's headed for her room; not a damned thing she can do to prevent this, but she'll spare me the humiliation of watchin' my sire beat me from here to Hell's gates.
"Stay, Willow."
Fuck. So much for dignity. Peaches must really be pissed.
Not much I can do as he drags me back to his room. Well, this is new. Usually when he's set on beatin' the crap outta me, it means a trip down to the basement. Keeps all the spilled blood in one place. Real neat freak, the Poof is. Wonder if this time he means to paint the walls red usin' my blood. 'Course, the wanker could be plannin' to make me write "I will not disobey my sire" one hundred times with the bloody stump of my own finger after 'e rips it off.
He's done worse.
Somewhere through the haze I hear him tell Willow to join us for the show.
In short order, he's got me stripped and shackled to the bed. Sod. It's always got to be mind games with my sire. It's never been in the bed before -- always the basement. Didn't even shackle me proper. I'm just restin' against the headboard, like I'm waitin' for breakfast in bed. 'bout the only thing he did was chain my arms up. Just another way to throw me off balance, get me all worked up, but y'know what? I can't be arsed. Whatever he's got planned, I'll feel it soon enough.
His hands set about unbuttoning the black dress shirt he wore to give the clans an air of Angelus. Crikey, he *can't* be thinkin' of buggerin' me in front of Willow. That's not a punishment, it's bloody foreplay!
"Spike, a full transfusion of every drop of blood in your body with holy water wouldn't even begin to repay you for the stunt you pulled tonight. You know better than that."
The blow I'm expecting doesn't come.
"I thought I'd lost you. I should kill you for making me go through that."
Oh...*God*...ohbloodyfuckinghellmotherof...God! So good, so *damned* good...the feel of my sire's fangs in my neck still reaches straight down to the fledge in me, even a hundred and fifty years after he made me. Tongue on blood skin against skin... Please, sire, don't stop ...don't care any more...drain me dry. Just. Don't. Stop.
What.
The.
Hell...!
He's beaten me unconscious, that's what it is. This is a bloody hallucination. That is *not* what it looks like. My sire is *not* slashin' his chest directly over the heart. There's only two times vamps cut open that vulnerable spot: when they make a childe (and even then, they don't always use heart's blood) and when they take a Mate.
"Blood to blood, one blood evermore..."
If this is a hallucination, it's starin' me down, waitin' for me to answer. But how the hell do I answer?!? We've been sire and childe, we've been enemies, we've even been 'mates' in the sense of two sods drinkin' and shaggin' and generally terrorizin' the world together.
But never Mates.
Angelus never even considered it. Forget the 'favored childe' bollocks. He may've shown more pride in me than in any of his other creations, but he made damned sure I knew my place. At his side, sure -- but always a half-step back.
There's no half-step back with Mates. That's the whole point. Vamps don't need to be Mated to shag; only reason to bother with it at all is to put the two on equal footing.
What the hell is Angel up to?
Oh, hell...
No.
No, that prick!
Just one look at my Red, and I realize exactly what he's up to.
Red's as confused as I am, I can feel her through our bond. Worse, I feel a hollow sorrow and it all begins to make sense. If *this* is my punishment -- bein' forced to choose between Red and my sire -- then Angel has bloody well crossed the line.
How dare he?
Even Angelus wasn't this cruel.
"You bastard!" My voice is cold and I can barely stand to look at him. I steal a glance at my stoic little witch instead.
My sweet Red, who's doin' her best to stifle the pain, but I know.
When the Poof follows my gaze and takes a good look at Red, he crumbles. Now I'm *really* confused.
"Oh, Willow -- no. I didn't mean to...I mean..."
Red and I stare at each other, then at the Poof. At this point, he's makin' about as much sense as Dru in one of her bad spells.
"Willow, come here. I think I should start over."
He's lookin' at Red, his arm stretched out in invitation, and for some reason she trusts him. Always has. My sire and I are already stripped down, so Red bares that glorious body before joinin' us.
Now if we could only get the Poof to snap back to reality, but he's turned in on that thick skull of his. Me bein' all chained up and nowhere to go, I wait.
And wait.
"Tonight was just the beginning. I don't know how long I'll be able to handle ruling the clans. I need you, both of you, now more than ever."
I'm not usually the one for revelations; that was always Dru's lot. But one hits me now, and I realize what my sire's proposing.
A Mated triad.
It's been done, but not often.
For a minute, my mouth won't work. Hell, my whole damned body is as stiff as a proper corpse. I finally manage to look 'im straight in the eye, and there ain't a bloody ounce of doubt in those resolute depths. I've yet to discover a force of nature that could match my sire when he's this determined. He means to Mate us both.
"You're serious."
So I just stated the obvious. Best I can do, under the circumstances. I'd still wager I'm hallucinating.
He nods. "I thought I'd lost you tonight. My first impulse was to pound you to dust. But if I give into the urge when it's just you, what's going to happen when it's every clan in the city? The cycle has to stop, and it has to stop *now*. But it's more than that. If I had lost you...or, Willow, if it had been you...I would have lost *myself*. Neither of us would have walked away from that circle."
Flesh dies, but instincts stay. My chest tightens at my sire's speech even though my heart'd long since given up beating.
Red's cryin' -- sod that, she's bloody well shakin' like she'll never stop. A split-second later all three of us are kissin' and gropin' -- well, alright, so I can't much grope either of 'em, bein' chained up and all. But I do my bit.
Peaches finally pulls back, his shoulders squared and a solemn look in his eyes. With just one look, my sire can set the mood for a ritual a damned sight better than the bleedin' mess of candles and hocus pocus Murdoch paraded out this evenin'.
The shackles come off. He leans in for one more kiss, and in just that one kiss I can feel the change. His tongue teases and invites, rather than possessing. We'll never stop bein' sire and childe, but this is something different. Don't quite know if it's good or bad either -- not many blokes've had their Maker kneel beside 'em and say "I'm no higher than you".
I've spent so long fighting him, trying to prove myself. For close to a century after the curse I tried *anything* to get him to stop ignoring me, stop acting like he was *sorry* he'd made me. Just my luck, it's finally *worked* and I'm at a complete loss for words.
But good or bad, I want this. I want *him*. I want Red. I want the three of us until the sun burns out and this world finally goes to hell.
Sad thing is, it took a Slayer to bring me to the point where I'd be ready for this. I hated sharin' Dru with Angelus...hated sharin' my sire with Dru just as much. Meg was the only one who was ever truly *mine*, and mine alone.
Thought I'd finally found someone I didn't have to share, someone who couldn't be taken from me by my sire.
I lost her anyway.
Made me realize it wasn't Angelus who took Dru from me, or Dru who took my sire from me; it's just the nature of the game. Can't hold anything for long. Nothing comes with a bloody guarantee.
Except this. This is the best shot a vamp ever gets. And now, I'm ready for it.
Angel re-opens the gash over his heart. This time, he starts with Red.
"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."
The sight of 'em reachin' for each other, all gentle, like they think they'll break, would take my breath away if Angelus hadn't made sure of that already. It's hard to watch Red close that deadly mouth over my sire's chest and not touch either of 'em.
When Red lifts her face, Angel's blood coats her lips, rich and dark like nectar. What I wouldn't give to lick her mouth clean, but it's not my turn yet. Red drags a nail across her chest and offers herself to Angel as the shallow furrow wells with blood.
"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."
Angel wraps one arm around her waist and she arches back as he laps at the wound. I want to touch her, want to scream at him to touch her while I watch -- and then he does. His free hand closes over a breast and he rolls the nipple between his fingers. I'm mesmerized by the rise and fall of my sire's head as it rests between those perfect peaks.
They part at last, and my sire turns to me with Red's blood smeared on his chin. It's more than I can take, and I grab him by the hips and lean in to clean it off with my tongue.
Lust. Ain't it grand?
When I'm through, I can't resist a final nip on the jaw, which earns me a deep growl. My sire pulls away, and I see it in his eyes, too. Lust.
Time to wrap this up, so we can get on with the shagging.
"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."
I dip my head and suck, tuggin' lightly at Angel's flesh and runnin' my tongue along the cut -- just how he likes it. Earns me another growl, and I feel his grip on my hips tighten. Cor, there's nothin' to compare to his taste. Forget the dainty, poncy verses about 'love sweet as wine'; this is pure heroin.
And just as addictive.
It's hard to quit. But I do, and a slash and a few ritual words later, I'm drownin' in the sensation of my sire -- now my Mate -- drinkin' from me. He knows just how I like it, too. Nice and hard. He saws at the wound with his teeth, just enough to bring a new flow of blood to the surface, and I don't even bother tryin' to hold back. I howl.
At this point, he's worked me into such a frenzy that when it comes time to swap blood with Red, I can barely keep from attackin' her.
"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."
Someone says the words; can't be sure who. All I know, all I feel, is the blood of both my Mates screamin' through my veins and cool, soft flesh thrusting willingly into my hands. Her blood is wet and slick against my lips and I want to bury myself in the feel of 'er. She's everywhere, there's only her, and I feel other lips, deep in the shelter of her thighs, wet and slick against the tip of my cock.
"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."
Words...blood...it's a blur and Red's mouth is on me and oh HELL!
Vaguely, I can feel Angel steady me. My head clears and I look at my Mates. All three of us are shakin', more than ready to fuck each other senseless. But the Poof's a stickler for formalities, so we'll do it proper.
Together, we take one of the few vows vamps ever pledge to each other.
"You and no others."
And then it's done with.
Demons aren't known for fidelity; not really the nature of the beast. So when we do bother to go to the trouble, it's all the more serious.
This is forever.
That's just a bit of poetic license for humans; to vampires, it actually means something.
Though it doesn't mean exactly what a human might imagine. I once told Meg that vamps don't march up to the altar and promise to be faithful until death do us part. There's the obvious problem -- we're already dead. Not to mention we're predators -- sexual predators as well as the top of the food chain. Some instincts can't be tamed by a ritual. No, this is eternal, but not in the nauseatingly fluffy sense of "soulmates" 'til the end of time. Y'need soddin' souls for that.
Just means we've closed ranks. Forays out to sample a few carnal delights won't be forbidden, but they'll be temporary. When all's said and done, it'll still be just the three of us. We can dally outside the inner circle if something catches our fancy, but nobody else gets *in*.
We alone are equals. We are matched. We are worthy; all others are unworthy.
This is about power, not sex.
Although love, too, comes into play.
Then it all snaps; thought drains away and all that matters is what the blood commands. If I had it in me to think straight, I'd reel at how much's changed in one night.
My Mates and I rule this town.
Plenty of time to crow over that later; right now, there are more pressing matters. We three all feel the pull, like an urgent hunger, but we start slow, leaving plenty of room for the fire to build. Red rubs her brow against my temple, soft and gentle, while Angel nibbles along--FUCK!--yeah, *that* spot, right under the jaw. S'one of the things I love about bein' a vamp: we don't fixate on just those few bits of anatomy that humans do. Sure, most mortals know enough about foreplay to give eachother a passable once-over, but it's damn pathetic by our standards.
Angel's driven me near out of my mind, held me right on the edge by spending hours just sucking and biting my ankle. Red nuzzles like a big cat. She loves to creep up behind me, bury her face against my shoulder and purr.
Don't even get me started about the neck.
I feel 'em everywhere. Skin brushes against skin. I know his touch from hers, but at this point I can't be buggered to sort one from the other. Doesn't matter. The bit of flesh I've got between my teeth twitches deliciously; a bit of my flesh is bein' sucked on, hard enough to give me a rush; everywhere I run my hands, my palms slide over familiar curves and planes, all of it my Mates'. Mine. Ours.
Blood's rushin' in my ears, every inch of me is tense, wired. Angel knows what I need, but it still shocks me when he offers. If I still needed a clue that we've moved past sire and childe, this bloody well seals it. Crouched on the bed, he's lookin' at me over his shoulder, waitin' for me to take 'im up on it. And I've never been one to resist temptation.
Although damn it if the fledge in me doesn't freeze up at the look in his eyes. It's like he's lettin' me go, and for a split second I panic. I tell myself it can't be a good-bye fuck -- we just bloody well Mated! I squint harder, and finally I see it, glimmering beneath the reflective, faraway stare. A steady gleam of pride. And I realize I was wrong, it *is* a good-bye fuck...just not the kind I thought it was.
Good-bye, sire. Hello, Mate.
I drape myself over him and lick his spine, from the neck clear down to the hips -- figure I'll return the favor, since I love it when he does it to me. Then I slide in, and I stop, eyes closed, tryin' to steady myself. It's a few moments before I can pull back again; soon, we're in a rhythm that drowns out everything else. I think Red's beneath him now...hear sucking...
I'm long past coherence, and my head's so addled with lust and my Mates that I don't even notice when the blackness creeps up and overtakes me. Too busy feelin' one thing, one thing over and over, to care whether I pass out.
This is Heaven, or as close as I'll ever get.
*****
2. The Unholy Spirit
I think I've narrowed the cause of the mystery down to two things: one suspected fortification spell, to enable that candidate to survive the Cup of Death, and if so, one cloaking spell to hide the truth. What a night for amateur spell-casters. At least I've got something to go on. I'll have to see what Lacouture says about the side-effects of a failed fortification spell during a blood ritual. Although...I didn't lend my copy of Lacouture to Wesley, did I? Gosh, I hope not. We only have two nights to figure out exactly what we're dealing with. Maybe I could go back and try to read the--
"Stay, Willow."
Umm...
Okay...Angel looks like he's not quite done polishing his shoes on Spike's gut -- but does he want the old bunny rabbit trick already? Usually it's a good hour or so of assault and battery before he sends for me. So what's the deal?
I thought I'd have some time to do a little research on the Inglewood clan. Figure out what sneaky, no-good trickery they're up to.
"Willow, come with us. This involves the three of us."
I know that voice. Twenty years, and I haven't forgotten Angel's "do-as-I-say-and-do-it-NOW" voice.
So I guess I have to stick around for the show.
Poor Spike. He'd rather I didn't see him like this.
Oh.
Uh...
Well...okay, actually he doesn't mind me seeing him like *this*, all naked and chained to a bed. What on earth does Angel have in mind? Is this some new kind of punishment he came up with while I was away?
One of those punishments that I'm obviously not familiar with where Angel has to get naked?
Erm...
"Spike, a full transfusion of every drop of blood in your body with holy water wouldn't even begin to repay you for the stunt you pulled tonight. You know better than that."
See, that's the kind of disciplinary action I'd be expecting Angel to take right now, but somehow I don't think this full-body blood transfusion is going to happen with Angel's fangs in Spike's neck.
Punishment or seduction?
It really is such a fine line, especially with Angel and Spike. I can't remember a time when they haven't been like this. Spike plowing through every limit like a drunken bull, Angel putting him in his place, and it always ends the same way. With a lot of "bloody good shagging", as Spike would say.
Well, okay, I used to think they were enemies back when I was human. But I was *human*, for pete's sake. There were a lot of things I didn't know about vampires.
I suppose since I've had to learn about sire-childe relations second-hand, they've been as good a model as I could have asked for.
Although I'm still not sure why I get a front row seat tonight. I wonder if Angel would take it the wrong way if I went and made myself some popcorn.
Okay...self-defense mechanisms are functioning properly. Attempt at witty humor in inner monologue? Check. Feeling uncomfortably like a third wheel? Check. Come on, Willow, you've been a vampire for thirty years. Long enough to lose that tag-along feeling.
Get a grip. Demon, remember? Grr...arrgh...
Except that doesn't work so well, since I put so much effort into salvaging the remnant of my human personality. It comes complete with bonus features like, say, residual insecurities, a dose of adolescent alienation, all that good stuff...Here I am, ready to play the part of the Unholy Spirit, the terror of L.A.'s vampires, member of the ruling Trinity, and I still have anxieties about being neglected by Angel and Spike, which can probably be traced back to some kind of transferrance from the distant relationship I had with my own, absentee parents and boy did that thought ever make it obvious that when I was human, I was the child of a psychologist...
It's just that seeing them like this is...well...
It fits.
They fit. And not just in the insert-tab-A-into-slot-B sense of the word, either.
They've both told me the story of the night Angelus turned Spike, but watching them now, it's like their attraction is *palpable*. I don't think it was just the blood ritual that made Angel want to drink from Spike--
"Blood to blood, one blood evermore..."
--or...oh...umm...
Or, say, initiate a Mating bond.
I'm...
...it's....
Okay, I can't help feeling a little jealous. Wait, let's change that to a whole LOT jealous. But this is good...it's right for them. I mean, they got closer while I was away, and now that Angel's soul is safe he can have more with Spike than just the ties of blood between sire and childe and WHO AM I KIDDING?!? I spent all that time looking for a spell not just for Angel, but for *me*. I wanted to stabilize Angel's soul for *me*. So I'll be jealous if I want to! I'm a demon! And right now, I'm feeling darn selfish.
Stop it, stop it, stop it. I am not going to cry.
Turning Angel into a grotesque, corpulent orangutan is mighty tempting, though, for making me watch this.
No. I won't do that.
My whole problem is, I love them.
Dammit, it makes it really hard to pull off a good bout of bitter, dejected, self-absorbed jealousy. Why do I have to care enough about Angel and Spike to see that this is right for them? Spike needs a reason to grow up -- finally -- and Angel needs to be able to stop feeling responsible for everything. But I wish I didn't love them enough to listen to reason. I'd really, really enjoy letting myself go with my demon for awhile -- right now, some extended fuming and sulking sounds appealing.
Oh, Spike, don't do that.
Don't look at me like that.
Can't you see I'm trying to keep up my brave, I-won't-cry-until-I'm-alone-later face? It's really hard when you look at me like that.
"You bastard!"
He can't be.
Spike isn't going to reject Angel for me, is he? I don't believe I'm asking that, considering I was jealous enough to want to turn Angel into an orangutan just a moment ago, and I'm not the only one who's confused, am I? Angel is blinking at Spike like Spike just told him he's been thinking of joining a monastery.
"Oh, Willow -- no. I didn't mean to...I mean..."
Wow. Did Angel just babble? That's *my* line.
At least we're all even now. Yesiree, one big ball of confusion. You know, with all the time I spent on a Hellmouth, not to mention some of the places I've been in the last decade, you'd think I'd stop expecting things to make sense.
But it sure would be nice for a change.
And from the look on his face, I'm guessing Spike is thinking the same thing right now.
Angel isn't always good with words. I figured that out even before I was turned. He's always had this Cordelia strain in him. Not Cordy Vision-Girl Cordelia, but King Lear's Cordelia. Angel can't really heave his heart into his mouth. He makes up for it with actions, though.
Like now. His hand is reaching out to me, and suddenly I'm back in the lobby, thirty years ago, after one of the loneliest nights of my entire existence. Right back at the moment he took me in.
"Willow, come here. I think I should start over."
Just like that, Angel can make everything feel okay. I don't know how he does it, but just with a look and one simple gesture, he quells my demon.
And all those anxieties about being left out? Poof, all gone.
Just have to get out of these slacks...and now the stockings...and I can join them so Angel will finally explain what's going on.
"Tonight was just the beginning. I don't know how long I'll be able to handle ruling the clans. I need you, both of you, now more than ever."
Both of us.
He needs both of us.
"You're serious."
I'm glad Spike can manage to speak. That makes one of us. It's kind of hard for me right now -- I think I broke something. Or severely sprained, at least. That happens when you come to a jarring halt out of a tailspin. I got so caught up in my own fears that I missed the connection. And I'd even guessed it earlier! I barely need to listen as Angel explains how difficult it's going to be for him to rule the clans without slipping into old habits.
Of course it will. Difficult is hardly the word. It will tear him straight down the middle. And he's doing it because I asked him to, so that Cyrene, Hannah, Willow and Loïc would be safe.
He needs the same kind of support from me that my coven offered me years ago -- the same understanding that I couldn't do everything on my own. If we want to be sure that ruling the clans won't consume Angel entirely, it will take more than just Spike and me standing with him as his appointed marshals. We can't bow to vampire conventions of power; we need an alternate path, one less wrapped up in domination.
We need the way of Wicca, and I'm the one who can offer it to Angel.
I can't believe I didn't think of this sooner! I was so confident that our blood was richer in power than any other clan's that I forgot there is a difference between having power and wielding it. Why did I just assume Angel would be okay, that he could take care of himself?
Maybe because I'm not used to the idea of being as strong as he is. I guess it felt reassuring to believe that Angel would always be the one in charge, the strong one...the one who would handle all the responsibility for our clan...
Oh my gosh, I've been taking him for granted! He really *needs* us.
Both of us.
And he wants...*both* of us.
I'm not even going to try to stop crying. I'm...I can't...I don't know how many times I dreamed of this out in the desert. It was just something to keep my hopes up when sleeping beneath all that sand got to be a bit oppressive. But now that it's actually happening...
We're pulled to each other like magnets. One second, I'm sobbing because Angel has offered me the one thing I never really had -- a true blood bond. Before I know what's hit me, we're practically devouring each other -- real, world-class lip-lock. Our mouths move over each other eagerly, blindly, and I'm so caught up in this delirious sensation of being loved that I don't even think about moving things forward.
Eventually, Angel manages to pull away, and with just a slight shift in his stance and a steady, intense gaze, he creates a mood that's almost sacred. He is so reverent about this, about offering himself to us and asking us to join with him, that the contrast with our frenzied lust barely a minute ago is almost dizzying.
I have to wonder if it's a habit he developed in his quest for redemption, or if it's just in Angel's nature to show compassion for others even when he's asking for help. Either that, or I'm no good at covering up my feelings, and it was pathetically obvious that I felt left out.
This time, when he re-opens the wound above his heart, he turns to me first.
"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."
When my tongue catches the first drop, I feel it in my soul. My *soul* -- this thing that sprang up in me, quiet and unnoticed, like grass and vines crawling over stone ruins. I still don't understand how my soul works; I don't know why it clings to me when the only thing that gives it form is my connection to everyone I care about. But I feel that same connection in the taste of Angel's blood.
At last I have blood ties. I have kin.
I barely knew my sire's touch, but I'll feel Angel and Spike with me forever now.
I just want to close my eyes and let Angel flow through me. His blood trickles down my throat, but it's so much more than blood. It's loyalty...pride...pure joy...
Since it would defeat the whole purpose if I drained him, though, I manage to pull back and offer my blood in return. No more than a shallow cut over the heart -- the most vulnerable part of a vampire's body, and one that we don't puncture or slash carelessly.
"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."
The feeling of connection gets stronger as Angel drinks. Is this what it was supposed to feel like when my sire turned me? What it would have felt like if he hadn't been a minion? I guess there's no way I can ever know, but part of me likes the idea that this is a second chance, that at last I get a glimpse of what being turned *should* be. Our blood hums in my ears, floods me with him, and knits us so closely together that I can't tell if his hands really are touching me, or if I'm dreaming us both.
The bond consumes me so fully that I don't realize how tightly wound I am until Angel releases me, my blood still dripping from his lips. As intoxicating as sheer bliss is, I guess demons aren't made to handle paradise. My head sways a little from the rush, and suddenly I'm relieved that I can recover on the sidelines for a few moments while Angel and Spike take each other to Mate.
And I thought caffeine wreaked havoc with my system. Whew!
Seeing Angel offer his heart's blood to Spike may have made me jealous when I thought I'd be shut out, but now all I can think of is how erotic they are together. Spike doesn't suckle -- he wolfs Angel's blood down, savagely, like he wants to possess Angel by swallowing him whole. And the look on Angel's face...with his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, as if the universe begins and ends at the point where Spike feeds from his chest...
I'm so entranced by the beauty of the act -- by the sight of their solid, powerful bodies embracing, of their mouths bathed in each other's blood -- that I feel like I'm being snapped out of a trance when Spike turns to me to complete our Mating.
Actually, it feels more like somebody flipped a switch and energy is crackling through every point in my body. Spike has a way of seducing me that's like being hunted. It's how I first knew him: as a predator. I don't know what it is that draws us to each other like this. Even after I'd been turned, his first response to me was to stalk, to move in for the kill.
There are traces of that primal relationship -- hunter and prey -- as I slash my chest and offer my blood to him. Even after we've embraced each other as Mates, as equals, I doubt it will disappear completely. As Spike laps greedily at my wound, and I feel him hard and urgent between my legs, I realize that I don't want it to disappear.
There's something to be said for being hunted and claimed, and for having someone who'd like to play it out every night for the rest of eternity.
I blink, and realize that somewhere in there I drank from him and the triadic bond was sealed. I can feel them both, really *feel* them, and it's a hundred times more vivid than the link I created with Spike through my seal on his wrist.
Angel steadies Spike, and we speak the final words of the ritual. They're simple, but as I've learned from my experience with magic, simple words often hold the most power.
"You and no others."
The words are more than a promise. They describe what's in my heart now. Angel, Spike and no one else. Well, Giles, too. And Xander and Tara and Cyrene and Hannah. We wouldn't be caught up in this mess with the clans if they weren't as much a part of me as the blood in my veins. But, it's different with Angel and Spike.
It's not like I wouldn't be me without them -- I was still me for the whole fifteen years we were apart. I just can't see me wanting to be me without them. Together, we're more than just us alone.
Kind of like sex. It's so much better with partners.
And speaking of that, now we get to the fun, snuggly part. Hannah always used to tease me about putting "vampire" and "snuggly" together in the same sentence -- she insisted that it was just my distorted view of things. I can see where she might think that, since her only other experience was with Spike, and he loves to flaunt his sexy-dangerous image.
Which means that Angel and I are among the few who know how much he likes to be cradled in a lover's arms -- just held and caressed. I know that plenty of our kind get off on pain, and Spike is no exception. But just as much, he loves it when I lose myself in tracing my fingertips across his skin, sometimes for hours at a time.
Somewhere inside him, beneath the fierce demon, is the spirit of the poet he was in life. Not the man who struggled to find words which always came out as awkward, pretentious verse -- but the dreamer. The one who wanted to be part of something sublime and beautiful, and always found it just out of his reach. Although Spike likes to act as though this man never existed, from everything Angel has told me, not only was it this spirit which captivated Angelus when he encountered William, but he never lost it, not even when the demon claimed his body.
So I lean against him, rub my forehead gently against his, and let him know he's loved.
Angel must have the same idea, because he draws up alongside me and starts licking and biting Spike's jaw. Spike lets out a low moan, and I feel his fingers tighten slightly at my hip. After awhile, the three of us are clutching each other more urgently.
When Angel drops to his hands and knees and invites Spike to take him, I wait off to the side for a few minutes. This is something they need to do; they have to come to terms with being Mates instead of sire and childe. Even now, I can see in the awed expression on Spike's face that it frightens him a little to cross into this territory. But it passes quickly, and soon he's draped over Angel's broad back, running his hands along Angel's sides and licking his way down Angel's spine as if he wanted to worship his Maker's flesh one last time.
Then Spike straightens up, his hands cupped on Angel's ass, and eases his hips forward. Looking at Angel's face, at his eyes closed tight with desperation, at his passion-parted lips, I can almost imagine I'm feeling everything Angel feels. My imagination has gotten *extremely* vivid in the last thirty years, and in no time the warm tingling between my legs swells to a throbbing ache.
Spectator season is over -- time for some audience participation.
Angel's eyes snap open, dazed with passion, when I kiss him. One brief, gentle kiss becomes many, and soon he coaxes me beneath him. He treats me with the same reverence I saw Spike show him, and I wonder how he has the self-control to be so tender with me when he and Spike are thrusting furiously against each other.
Then I feel his tongue tease my clit, and I don't wonder about anything. There's nothing at all, except his mouth, his teeth, his incredible, insistent tongue, and I can't move against him fast enough. Oh God...please...so tense, so tight...his tongue is stroking faster, it feels so good...yes...ohgodI'mgoingto....I'm...
When the pleasure hits me, it's so intense my entire body shudders. And still, Angel doesn't let go. His mouth is clamped down on me as if he'll slip away into oblivion if he loosens his grip. He's trembling himself, and I can tell that Spike just pushed him over the edge. I close my eyes and simply enjoy the tingly sparks that wash over me.
It's only when I hear Angel murmur Spike's name that I return to the here and now. Angel's weight shifts, and I feel Spike collapse on the bed beside us.
Spike is blissfully unconscious.
All I can do is shake my head at my beloved, slumbering Fury.
"I *knew* they used too much mandrake," I chuckle.
An old saying about the month of March pops into my head. I wonder if Angel would agree that Spike came in like a lion?
"Mandrake?" Angel asks.
"It enhances the potency of any ingredients in a spell -- in this case, our blood. Spike basically--"
"--got drunk on us," he finishes my thought with a laugh, and it really is so funny that I can't resist joining him.
Of course, it's not long before laughing gives way to sweet, endearing kisses and love bites; then to gentle caresses that deepen to intimate explorations; then to fangs and slow, heated plundering of flesh. The night slips away as our bodies seek union. It's nearly dawn before either of us is willing to slow down.
"That was intense," I sigh, amazed that I was able to keep my voice from trembling.
Angel doesn't say anything, just rests beside me quietly. I know he's not brooding; he looks as peaceful as I've ever seen him. But something about that calm serenity reaches down to the depths of my being, and I want to know what he's thinking.
"Why did you do it?"
He's slow to answer, but this isn't a simple question to answer. It wasn't a simple step to take.
At last, Angel murmurs, "It's been on my mind for awhile. When you were gone, I couldn't stop thinking about how much you had become a part of me. 'Mate' was the only thing that came close to describing how much you meant to me."
"Angel, I know that. I know this is where we were heading. It's just that this was a little sudden, I guess."
We stroke each other gently through another lengthy pause, and I'm reminded once again that Angel isn't really a speech-making kind of guy. This becomes even clearer as he struggles to explain about making choices, about his duty as a Champion for The Powers That Be, and the frighteningly shadowy line between right and wrong. As he goes on, it strikes me that for someone who isn't much for flowery words, he's struggling to deal with some of the most profound questions there are.
It's humbling, because I realize that there *aren't* any eloquent phrases that could address these issues as honestly as his plain words. I wish I could reassure him that we're doing the right thing, but I can't. We don't know that for sure, and it's scary.
Angel speaks from the heart, and captures every uncertainty I have about taking on the leadership of the clans.
"...I can't be in control that completely without becoming... controlling. I'm uneasy about taking it upon ourselves to decide what would be best for the people of L.A."
How many times have we had to go through this? Always faced with choices that could make us responsible for doing greater harm than good. I remember how horrified I was when I got my first clue, after our vengeance on the Watchers Council, that this is just how things work. Looking back, I guess I was pretty naïve to think that winning a battle would solve everything -- that a battle could lead to anything except another battle.
The truth is, the battles aren't about winning or losing or a final triumph; they're about us. Who we are, and who we become after each choice.
Angel understands this. I'm pretty sure it's why he's so worried. I don't want him to think he's alone.
"Wiccans know that any spell will return to the caster; it's the way of things. We may have had the Powers' blessing for what we did to the Watchers Council, but I guess some rules still hold. We destroyed the conspirators, but now we're faced with the same decisions they were -- and we're just as convinced that we know what's right for others."
When Angel's gaze locks with mine, I know I've zeroed in on exactly what's bothering him.
"There were times in the past when I was hunted. I'd find myself running through sewers, or deserted streets, pretty sure that any direction I picked would end in a trap," Angel begins, his brow furrowing as he describes his memories to me. "This is worse. We've considered *every* option I can think of, and I *know* they all lead to one trap or another. And we can't not choose."
He doesn't add: and we'll have to deal with the fact that no matter how we choose, we might be responsible for making things even worse. He doesn't have to. The shared memory of Megan, unprotected and unknown because the Watchers Council was recovering from turmoil *we* had helped create, hangs in the air between us.
"I can help you, if you'll let me."
Angel grins at my offer.
"Where have I heard that before?"
I can't help smiling when Angel reminds me of what he said to me that first morning when I came crawling to him for shelter. Teasing him, I point out, "All things come full circle."
But as much as I wish we could lie here, cuddling and teasing each other indefinitely, there's one more serious matter we have to discuss. Especially since we have to meet with the clans in two nights, and this particular matter could cause problems.
"Speaking of helping you, Angel -- actually, helping all of us -- I think the Inglewood clan tried to sneak a fortifying spell past everyone to rig the outcome tonight."
Everything about Angel's body looks weary at that revelation, and I hate that I'm the cause. It would take a trained eye to see the slight tensing in his shoulders, as if he were bracing himself for impact -- but mine is a thoroughly trained eye. I learned to pick out the leader in any demon clutch by scanning for the same signs I see in Angel now.
Grim determination, hidden so well it could be mistaken for indifference; masked not by deception, but too much experience shouldering whatever burdens Fate sees fit to send along.
"We may have to adjust our plans slightly, then," Angel acknowledges.
I can't help smiling, although it's a sad smile. Angel and his sense of duty -- rarely are the two parted.
Just as I'm about to pull him close and try my darnedest to help him forget duty and the clans for a few hours more, Spike mumbles in his sleep.
"But mother...don't *want* a Latin tutor...going to write poetry like Lord Byron..."
For one split second, neither Angel nor I respond.
Then a beautiful, eye-crinkling smile spreads across Angel's face and he half-kisses, half-chuckles into my mouth.
"Remind me later to tell you about some of William's early poetry dreams," Angel purrs against my chin.
Hmm...now there's an intriguing idea...
Mmmm.....later....much later....
3. The Father
It unfolds like a script.
Drive back to the hotel. Haul Spike out of the car.
Deck him.
Hit.
Hit hard.
Kick.
"What part of 'I'll represent our clan' didn't you understand, Spike?"
I've played this part before, so many times that the lines, the cues are automatic. It's called instinct.
"Can't...remember that...far back..."
Spike knows the script, too.
His insolent remark is a Pavlovian trigger. The words are barely out of his mouth when I deliver yet another kick to his gut, leaving my childe shuddering and dribbling blood from his nose. We both play our roles: defiant childe, punishing sire.
Even Willow recognizes the performance. She's headed for the stairs, probably out of sympathy for Spike. She knows he'd rather not have an audience.
Not that Spike minds an audience. He loved being on stage tonight during the Cup of Death.
That's the whole problem.
All the world's a stage -- especially in vampire society. I knew taking an active role among the clans would be tough, but the fact that I've slipped into the same old pattern with Spike makes it pretty clear that I'm not even close to being ready to handle the challenge.
Not alone, at any rate.
"Stay, Willow."
I'm as surprised to hear myself voice the command as she is. I think I've just had a flash of inspiration...although not all of me has figured it out yet. The words are still hanging in the air, and while I'm not completely sure of what I'm doing, it's beginning to make sense.
I won't be able to keep up the act, to rule the clans, without losing myself in Angelus. My soul may be permanent, but I spent well over a century as Angelus, and he's the one who knows how to tread the dance of power. I can't trust myself to act like him without *thinking* like him, and if I start thinking like him, I might never stop. Not without help. I need Willow and Spike.
On one level, I already knew this. It wasn't my reputation alone that made the clans agree to the Cup of Death. It was all three of us. They're afraid of the Trinity, not me. But I can't have Spike distracting me, giving me reasons to play the tyrant.
If anyone could ever bring out my darker side, it was Spike. I can't afford that, not now.
He needs a reason to stop playing the part of rebellious childe.
He's needed one for over a century.
I could have given it to him. It was in my power to stop this, but I didn't. I chose not to yield, not to stop wielding power over him. So the cycle continued: each provocation met with swift, brutal punishment...which led to more defiant provocations...and more retaliation...and so on, and so on. Yet another reminder that I'm alot more comfortable with my demon than I'd care to admit.
"Willow, come with us. This involves the three of us."
I can see the confusion on Willow's face, but she follows me as I drag Spike back to my room. He's too groggy to put up much of a fight when I strip him and chain him to the bed.
I have his full attention, however, when I take off my shirt. His eyes are alert and wary. No doubt he's confused about my intentions; usually, when I discipline him, it's in the basement. I've stepped outside the script he expects.
His confusion grows when I strip down completely.
He's not the only one. Somewhere in my mind, I know that this is right, but my demon clamors for me to hit, to punish, to give into the rage my childe triggered when he defied my authority. It's not completely clear which side is in control of my actions, either. My hands twitch with the impulse to strike.
But I don't.
Another urge wins out.
"Spike, a full transfusion of every drop of blood in your body with holy water wouldn't even begin to repay you for the stunt you pulled tonight. You know better than that."
This, Spike expects. I've actually run holy water through his veins once or twice before. But he doesn't expect me to whisper in his ear like a lover.
"I thought I'd lost you. I should kill you for making me go through that."
Then I bite down and taste the blood that wells up around my fangs. I've been waiting to taste it all night, and it's even better than I imagined. Spike has always tasted of passion and fire, even as a human. It was one of the things that drove me to turn him instead of simply draining him. Spiced with ritual magic and the intermingled essences of Willow's blood and my own, it's almost too potent to bear.
So potent, so demanding it chases away any earlier confusion. It takes some effort to wrench my mouth away from his neck -- I could drink blood like that forever -- but I pull back and slice into my chest, directly over the heart.
"Blood to blood, one blood evermore..."
If I weren't in the middle of making one of the most solemn vows a vampire can ever take, I'd laugh at the face Spike is making right now. Yes, boy...wait, not my *boy* anymore. Yes, my intended Mate, this is exactly what it looks like. You're not dreaming.
Wh--
Hold it...
He's...scowling?
He doesn't want--?
"You bastard!"
That's not quite the reaction I'd been hoping for.
In fact, it leaves me completely floored. There was a time when Spike hated me, but I thought we'd gotten past--
Oh, no!
Spike's expression is anguished as he gazes intently at Willow; I feel like an idiot. The look on her face is devastating. It's a combination of abandonment and stoic resignation, and it cuts straight through me. Mentally, I replay my actions as they might have looked to her, and I cringe. It probably looks pretty bad, since Willow can't read my mind to know my true intentions.
I can hear Cordelia's voice chiding me: 'Duh!'
"Oh, Willow -- no. I didn't mean to...I mean..."
Willow and Spike look at each other, then back to me and their eyes leave no doubt that I've left them behind at the last station.
God, this is embarassing.
I've avoided vampire culture for so long, I've gotten rusty.
"Willow, come here. I think I should start over."
I reach out with my hand, and remember the first time I beckoned to her, as she stood, quaking with fear and self-doubt in the lobby. If I had known then...No matter how many times I think about everything that has happened since Willow found her way to my doorstep, it's still too much to fathom.
I had a hard time coming to grips with the Shanshu prophecy. Learning about a possible future is never easy. It's why most so-called psychics tell their clients only the easy, comforting crap they want to hear, rather than the truth. But if anyone had told me back when I first moved to L.A. that someday I'd rule the city's clans with my two Mates, I would have called Wolfram & Hart up to say, "Nice try, guys, but I'm not that stupid."
Yet here we are.
Willow has stripped and joined us on the bed. She and Spike are waiting, still confused, but something about Willow's poise, her demeanor, says that she trusts me. Her trust is just one of many gifts she's given me over the years.
"Tonight was just the beginning. I don't know how long I'll be able to handle ruling the clans. I need you, both of you, now more than ever."
I wish vampires could be photographed. The look on Spike's face -- awe mixed with utter disbelief -- should be preserved for posterity. Or, at least, blackmail. My b-- no, my *Mate* -- has always been beautifully expressive. I could never hope to capture the moment of realization as clearly as it is revealed in his eyes, in his parted lips, right now.
He knows.
"You're serious."
Nodding, I try to help them understand.
"I thought I'd lost you tonight. My first impulse was to pound you to dust. But if I give into the urge when it's just you, what's going to happen when it's every clan in the city? The cycle has to stop, and it has to stop now. But it's more than that. If I had lost you...or, Willow, if it had been you...I would have lost *myself*. Neither of us would have walked away from that circle."
The scent of salt drifts through the air; Willow is crying. She, too, has realized what I'm offering. What I'm asking.
I can't hold her tightly enough; no matter how fully I wrap her in my arms, it's not close enough. Her mouth tastes of acceptance and sweet memories, seasoned with quiet tears. No tears from Spike, but when I reach for him he meets me without hesitation -- with the same swift force he had the night I turned him.
And he's charged ahead at every turning point since then. More than once, hasty decisions have gotten him in trouble. But once he's committed, he hangs on like a pit bull. Angelus saw this lurking beneath the surface of the sentimental poet, and I need it now. Once we set ourselves up to rule the clans, I know there will be decisions I won't be able make.
Spike will.
And he'll enforce them without flinching.
After a hundred and sixty years, I can admit that he is my equal.
I release him from the shackles, perhaps for the last time. After tonight, he won't be mine to discipline.
Cross this last barrier with me, William.
I seduced him with a kiss that first night; I invite him with a kiss again, tonight. He trembles at the gentleness, his tremor a final, parting gesture to his *sire*. One last moment of awe before his Maker.
Then it's time.
This time, I start with Willow. I don't want any doubts in her mind that she is included, that she is loved for her own sake. As strong as she has become, deep down Willow has never fully gotten over starting out as an outcast.
I slash my chest, careful not to cut too deep.
"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."
I feel calm as her tongue touches the wound.
At peace.
I close my eyes at the sensation of power uncoiling and expanding throughout me as our connection grows. This is the strength we will gain as three united.
Willow pulls back gently and draws a nail through the flesh over her heart.
"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."
This is grace, something no one could ever earn. Certainly with my history, I don't deserve it. Not even close. Yet, for whatever reason, this will be not the first, but the second time I've known grace. For all the evil upon my head, the Powers still saw fit to give me the chance to be with Buffy one last time, to share the lovers' farewell that her murderers had stolen from us.
Now, Willow offers herself wholly to me: body, blood, demon, soul. The look in her eyes, reverent and loving, is one I've seen from only two others -- Buffy and Spike.
Her blood is rich and smoky with magic. As I drink I can almost feel the power spreading through every vein, seeping right out through my pores. I still don't know everything about her travels, but she must have had some interesting experiences for her blood to taste like it does. It's almost hypnotic...soothing...more than anything, it's the blood that guides me as I run my hand over her breast, starved for the feel of her.
I'm dizzy.
I don't really want to let Willow go, but I do, and turn to Spike. He's even more affected by this than I am. I've barely had the chance to release Willow before he grabs me and leans in to lick her blood from my chin.
Spike truly has the most urgent tongue I've ever--GOD!...he knows just how to use his teeth, too.
Enough playing.
"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."
The brush of his lips against my chest and the sharp tug of his teeth at the wound are enough to take me back through a hundred nights we shared, all flashing like a single, instantaneous memory. That first night, though, stands out. The night I made my boy. I'd sired dozens of others by then, but none fought like he did. It wasn't his life he was fighting for, either. William fought me for control. He was greedy for my blood, as if he wanted to force my hand. At the time, I thought I'd created my masterpiece in William.
I was partly right; it's closer to the truth to say he and I have been creating each other ever since.
His mouth is just as greedy for my blood now. But he won't wrest control from me; not this time. I offer it freely.
Then.
My turn.
"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."
A taste that has been with me for over half my existence hits my tongue. His blood is as cold as mine, but somehow it manages to warm me as much as the true stuff of life. More than any other, this taste reminds me of my own darkness, provokes every one of the demon's instincts: claim, rend, drink, possess, rule. I bite hard to draw out Spike's blood as if I were killing him again, and can't help feeling gratified by his howl.
"Blood to blood, one blood evermore."
Willow and Spike complete the ritual, closing our circle with their exchange of blood. Spike must be feeling some after-effects from the Cup of Death; he's so lost in the blood he seems dazed. He's given himself entirely over to the Mating; I'm not even sure he's aware of his surroundings, or anything other than our blood.
To tell the truth, I'm not far behind him. The power of our blood, the connection we've forged, burns through me, but there's still one step left. I rest my hands on Spike's shoulders, anchoring him until I'm sure he's passably coherent, and then we take the final vow.
"You and no others."
We don't bother with a reverent pause to mark this solemn occasion. Once the words are said, we close in on each other like the predators we are. Single-minded stalking with the intent to devour. Willow and I surround Spike; while she nuzzles him gently, I begin a calculated assault on his jaw, biting every spot that from experience I know will make him twitch.
Watching Spike twitch in ecstasy gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'dead sexy'.
For a long time, the three of us enjoy just touching each other. It's not that I feel the need to rush. We had to do without this for so many years, and it feels good just to touch, to feel their smooth skin. But tonight needs to be more than just sex. We need to be clear about the fact that our positions have changed. So after one, last, hard kiss, I drop down on my hands and knees and invite him to take me.
I can sense his hesitation, even though it's fleeting. But it's there, and I know Spike has to figure this out on his own. I have to remind myself that I'm not just offering myself to him. In doing so, I'm taking away something that has defined him for over a century: the unyielding, untouchable sire.
For the first few decades after I'd turned him, I was my boy's ideal of the powerful, remorseless demon -- the Supreme Being who had chosen him, and thus proven the error and folly of every society acquaintance who had ever ridiculed him. I was the mentor who taught him how to prolong their agony for a sweeter vengeance than could be bought by just killing them. As he once said, I was his Yoda.
My strength became his; my slaughter of a continent, his glory.
Now, I'm asking him to embrace a different idea of strength.
I wouldn't have asked if I didn't think he was ready.
Not that I can take credit for it. He took care of himself, and Drusilla, for a hundred years. In that time, he figured out that there's a subtlety to power, that yielding can be the key to strength.
And that there is no formula for being an ideal vampire.
I'll be the first to admit that I have Willow -- and Megan -- to thank for teaching him that.
His grip on my hips, firm yet gentle, brings me back to the present. He drapes himself over my back, and I feel his tongue sweep slowly down my back. Pure seduction. Then a slow, steady fullness as he inches his way in, pauses for a moment once we're joined, and then thrusts with all his might.
My eyes are squeezed shut -- Spike knows how to make it feel so good that they'd probably pop right out of the sockets if I didn't have my face clenched up tight. I'm so focused on the rhythm he's set that it startles me when Willow's lips brush against mine.
I stare at her, feeling the pull of our blood, and for one, jagged splinter of time everything...
...stops...
So much because of her.
I have my soul.
I have Spike again.
I'm part of a family. More than that, I now have Mates.
All because of...
Memories flash through my mind.
<"Angel?...Please...I need a place to stay...I'm in trouble and I don't have anywhere else to go.">
Shaking with something deeper than passion, I cup my palm against Willow's cheek, drunk with the taste of her mouth.
All because of...
<"We make a good team. I'm just the one who decided to act like it tonight.">
Willow's tongue entwines with mine as she matches my desperation. The hunger uncoils within me, and I want to devour everything she has to offer. All of her.
All because of...
<"Final?...Do you not want me here any more?">
Her groan kindles a primal satisfaction within me. That's right, my beloved, moan for me. As I will for you.
All because of...
<"You were with me, no matter where I went...">
Balancing on one arm as Spike continues his frenzied onslaught, I manage to coax Willow beneath me until I can drape one of her knees over my shoulder and bow my head to feast at the crux of her thighs. Her fingers thread through my hair, massaging my scalp to the rhythm of her need as I savor the salty essence that pools on my tongue.
There was a time -- a dark, lonely time -- when I thought I would never be free to drown in her like this. When I believed I would always be a pariah, a misguided drifter on the fringes of human and vampire society, vainly hoping for a redemption that would never come.
I still can't predict the future where my redemption is concerned.
But when it happens, if it happens, I have to believe it will feel something like this.
<"...you are my home, Angel. You are my heart, and my soul.">
Willow is my redemption.
And Spike, at this rate, will be the death of me. I think my bones are actually rattling, he's going at it so furiously. But, so help me, it's good. Better than good; I can't even think straight -- for the moment, everything I am has fled the conscious reaches of my brain and rushed straight to my groin. I'm...
...close...so damn close...
With one, last, violent jerk, Spike spills everything he's got, growling something halfway between my name and a curse. A few seconds later, I join him as a wave of bliss sweeps through me, pouring out like fire. Desperate for something to hold onto, I grip Willow's thighs and squeeze, only remotely aware that I'm sucking on her furiously enough to make her scream. However, her cries don't trigger any alarms in my head -- the liquor of her desire, which drenches my lips in a rush, persuades me that her cries are those of pleasure, not pain.
I rest my cheek against Willow's hip, exhausted from the intensity of the Mating we just consecrated. I feel her tremble beneath me, and know that she's been just as deeply affected.
After a few minutes, I notice something odd about Spike's weight.
It's still on my back.
He's not moving.
"Spike," I mumble.
Nothing.
Not that I mind being sandwiched between Spike and Willow, but I'd rather curl up with them in a more comfortable position.
"Spike," I repeat a little louder.
Still no response. I push up from Willow slightly and shrug the weight of Spike's body off my back.
When I turn to look down at Spike, it's all I can do to keep from laughing. I manage to shake my head. He's out cold.
He'll never live this down. His own Mating, and he barely lasted an hour.
"I *knew* they used too much mandrake," Willow sighs, also shaking her head.
"Mandrake?"
"It enhances the potency of any ingredients in a spell -- in this case, our blood. Spike basically--"
"--got drunk on us," I can't help chuckling. I wonder if mystical intoxications come with hangovers.
Willow grins. Then her eyes rove wickedly over me, and we stop talking.
It's a good four hours later before I roll onto my side, pulling Willow close. We're both sated -- for the moment -- and I enjoy the simple feel of her body pressed against mine.
"That was intense," she says, her eyes twinkling.
I feel too good to talk, so I don't answer. I just want to lie here and--
"Why did you do it?"
Guess I'm not off the hook after all.
This isn't exactly how I wanted to have this conversation; I hate discussing business in bed, even if this isn't strictly business. It's just that I can still count the number of times I've been able to make love and then relax with my lover, feeling happy. I learned the hard way with Buffy; I still can't remember what happened when I changed that night -- the images are vague -- but my memory of making love with Buffy will always be tainted by the fact that we didn't have the chance to hold each other, to bask in the afterglow, nearly as long as I wish we could have.
I'm still getting used to the experience. I want to glut myself on it.
But Willow does need to know.
"It's been on my mind for awhile. When you were gone, I couldn't stop thinking about how much you had become a part of me. 'Mate' was the only thing that came close to describing how much you meant to me."
"Angel, I know that," Willow smiles at me. "I know this is where we were heading. It's just that this was a little sudden, I guess."
All I can do is nod in agreement. The words don't come right away, since I'm still figuring it out myself. It's not like I'm afraid of examining my emotions; I've had centuries for self-reflection. I just tend to be more comfortable with action.
Finally, I find my voice. I wish it sounded more certain.
"Have you ever just...known...that you had to make a choice?"
Willow rolls her eyes and snorts. "More often than I cared to."
"I tried to fight fire with fire, once. Not too long before you were turned, actually -- it was the Darla situation I told you about. I spiraled down pretty far."
"And you're worried that the same thing will happen again," Willow concludes, sparing me from having to spell it out.
One more reason I love her. She understands me well.
Although 'worried' is an understatement.
"Willow," I begin slowly, grateful when she takes my hand in both of hers and squeezes gently. I need the support. "Ruling the clans is going to test me in ways...I don't even want to think about it right now. There are going to be times when we'll have to resolve conflicts over which clan has legitimate claim to hunt in a certain section of the city -- to *kill* *people* in a certain section of the city. I'm a Champion for The Powers That Be. I'm supposed to prevent that kind of killing."
"And you will. Angel, I know this will be hard, but you've never been able to stop every kill, and by preventing a clan war you're saving hundreds of lives."
I can hear the demon laughing in my mind.
<Think of all the *good* you could do, all the lives you could save...>
An uneasy shiver runs down my spine.
"Maybe in the short term. But who's to say I'm not just delivering those lives to a later death? There aren't any clean choices -- it isn't even a question of right and wrong any more. And that's what scares me."
Willow drops a light kiss on the back of my hand, and looks at me with such intense empathy, I can almost feel it. Actually, I *can* feel it, through the alchemy of our new status as Mates.
At least in this, I made the right choice. I'll have to wait and see whether I made the right call on the clans.
"Angel, you didn't create this cycle of violence -- you're just stuck working within it. Hopefully, the three of us will be able to break that cycle. Remember? The whole reason we agreed to do this was long-term change. We won't be able to save every life; yes, some humans will die because of us; but ultimately, we might be able to force the clans to adjust to a different way of existing."
"I know. That's exactly why I asked you and Spike to Mate me tonight. I need to be able to rely on you both, as my equals. If this is going to work, I have to step back. I can't be in control that completely without becoming...controlling. I'm uneasy about taking it upon ourselves to decide what would be best for the people of L.A."
It reminds me too much of the Watchers Council, and their self-righteous attitude about being the authorities on what was *right* that let them believe they were justified in killing Buffy.
As if reading my mind, Willow's expression sobers.
"Wiccans know that any spell will return to the caster; it's the way of things. We may have had the Powers' blessing for what we did to the Watchers Council, but I guess some rules still hold. We destroyed the conspirators, but now we're faced with the same decisions they were -- and we're just as convinced that we know what's right for others."
Nothing is ever simple. I've had more than enough time to learn this, and way too much experience with the cold truth that "good" and "evil" aren't anyone's birthright. I've saved lives, but I murdered even more. I've been the hunter, and the hunted. And it was all me -- I can't pretend that it's all dead and buried, or that I have a monopoly on 'right' now that I serve The Powers That Be. For all my efforts at atonement, my sins are just as black as those of anyone I've ever brought to justice.
"There were times in the past when I was hunted. I'd find myself running through sewers, or deserted streets, pretty sure that any direction I picked would end in a trap," I explain to Willow, almost wishing that my problems were still as simple as finding a way to escape a mob of enraged vampire-hunters. "This is worse. We've considered *every* option I can think of, and I *know* they all lead to one trap or another. And we can't not choose."
For as long as I've known her, loyalty has been Willow's strong suit. So it doesn't surprise me when she says, "I can help you, if you'll let me."
Some of my memories are better than others. This is one that makes me grin.
"Where have I heard that before?"
A free, open smile spreads across Willow's face; it could be the smile, or it could be an effect of our bond as Mates, but any worries I had vanish for a moment.
"All things come full circle," Willow muses.
I can't help staring at her.
But her smile fades, and it snaps me out of my daze.
"Speaking of helping you, Angel -- actually, helping all of us -- I think the Inglewood clan tried to sneak a fortifying spell past everyone to rig the outcome tonight."
The weight that returns to my shoulders is all too familiar. Duty. I'm not sure why I even notice it any more.
"We may have to adjust our plans slightly, then," I agree.
Already, my mind is working through strategies and gambits I perfected during my years as Angelus. We'll need to start strong, with a lesson that won't need to be repeated. But how to assemble all of them without drawing suspicion before--
--or maybe I'll think about this later...oh, God...Willow feels good.
Just when I'm ready to ease into her arms and let her offer me the comfort I know she thinks I need (and she's probably right), Spike mumbles through his Mandrake-induced sleep.
"But mother...don't *want* a Latin tutor...going to write poetry like Lord Byron..."
Oh...he *isn't*!
Not *that* one!
Was it the Mating that brought this dream on, or the Mandrake? Before I can stop it, a chuckle rumbles up from my throat as Willow brushes a soft kiss against my mouth.
I wonder if Spike ever shared this particular quirk of his early days as a vampire with her?
"Remind me later to tell you about some of William's early poetry dreams."
Willow leans into me with an urgency that shuts any further thoughts out of my brain. Through our bond I sense pure, unrestrained desire.
Poetry can wait until later.
Much later.