Masters & Minions

By Medea

Chapter One

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.>

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