Title: Penance
Author: Michael K. Donovan
Email: mike@vmp-canada.com
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters that appear on the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, the WB and Mutant Enemy, Inc.

Drusilla tiredly entered her room and closed the heavy door behind her. Another long day of grueling chores had used up every last ounce of her energy and she wanted nothing more than to go straight to bed. At least no new visions had troubled her lately. Perhaps her efforts to atone had finally begun to take effect. She didn't bother to light the oil lamp as she crossed the chamber, just pulling off her clothes in the dark and changing into her nightgown.

It wasn't until after she had crawled under her blankets that she realized she wasn't alone. When the tall figure moved through the dark and knelt down next to the edge of her bed, she knew immediately who it was.

"Angel." She whispered, her eyes wide and blind in the pitch-blackness.

The corner of her mattress bent under his weight as he sat down.

"I've been waiting for you." He said in a low voice.

She curled beneath the blankets, feeling frightened and defenseless in the dark, following his movements solely by the sound of his voice.

"Joshua told me to stay away from you." She shrank back nervously and pulled the blankets up against her chest.

Angel laid his hand over her bent knee, the same one that he had kissed weeks ago, and stroked it gently through the thick wool. The sweet scent of fresh-turned earth tickled her nose.

"You're brother is dead." He reminded her matter-of-factly, "It's time ya start making decisions for yourself."

She shrank back further, more frightened by this new prospect than anything she could imagine from him.

"What do you want, Drusilla?" he asked softly, reaching out to stroke a cool finger along the curve of her cheek.

The only touch she had felt since coming to the abbey had been the cruel kiss of Mother Constance's crop, nothing near the tenderness of this caress. She started at the contact, heat rushing to the surface of her skin. She could almost feel his smile as he leaned forward a little, listening, waiting.

"I want to be good." She answered quickly, "To make my peace with the Lord, like Mummy wanted."

"That's not what I asked." He took her head in his hands and held it like a treasure, his blunt fingers slipping into her long, unbound hair, "What do YOU want?"

She shivered under his touch, tantalized by an indefinable sense of danger, yet reticent. Her thoughts were jumbled, distracted by his immediacy. Every moral bone in her body screamed at her to send him away, but she didn't, couldn't.

"I . . .I don't know." She tried to shake her head, but he held her steady.

Angel placed the fingertips of one hand against her forehead and drew them slowly down her face, caressing her nose, her cheeks, her lips. She inhaled sharply, holding the breath, as she sensed his face move nearer to hers. As his fingers reached the edge of her chin, he followed the curve of her throat down to where her hand clutched the blankets against her chest.

"What do you want, Drusilla?" he asked again, tugging the blankets down and stroking his hand under the neckline of her nightgown.

She swallowed tensely as he brushed soft circles over the tender flesh between her maidenly breasts. The gradual movements evoked dizzying sensations from her body. Heat flushed through her, collecting under his hand and reaching down between her thighs. She grasped for his arm to pull him away, but he caught her hand and turned it up under his chin.

Gently, he pressed his lips to her wrist and kissed the tiny quickening pulse he found there. Drusilla gasped and closed her eyes, her feet twisting into the blankets. Why was it that when he kissed her wrist, she could feel it all over?

He stood up, still holding her by the wrist, and she heard a soft rustling, like cloth folding against itself. He was undressing.

"What do you want?" he lifted the blanket and slipped under it, sliding his cool body up next to hers.

Angel drew his fingers up along the sides of her neck and leaned into her, his lips hovering only a tiny distance from hers. She released a short, tight moan and shuddered as more waves of heat rushed through her. She was sweating now, a light sheen of it springing up across her face and chest.

"Tell me what you want." He dipped closer, the nearness of his flesh utterly intoxicating, despite the fear that still resided within her.

She opened her mouth to speak and he met her in a strong, passionate kiss. Squeaking once in alarm, she fluttered her hands nervously in the air, but did nothing to resist him, stunned by the exciting contact. Sighing against the solidity of his body, she felt his moist tongue dart between her teeth and tickle against the insides of her lips. His mouth was tinged with a tingling, electrical taste of copper, pulling on hers with gentle insistence. Rolling over on top of her, he pressed her back into the soft mattress with the weight of his naked body.

She pulled her mouth away from his, gasping and panting with desire, intensely aware of every inch of her body. The soft skin of her lips tingled from contact with him, urging her to seek more. She had never felt such incredible feelings before, the dizzying euphoria, the hot tension building inside her. But it was sin, she was sure of it, the work of the Devil to further despoil her. Pressing her palms against his muscled shoulders, she shifted underneath him, seeking escape, but the movement only sent a fresh jolt of pleasure shooting through her.

"Please . . ." she moaned softly, "Please Angel, don't . . ."

He ignored her plea, reaching down and grasping the hem of her sleeping gown. Burying his face into her neck, he traced his lips up along the tender flesh, nibbling and teasing her with his teeth. And slowly, he brought his hands upward.

Drusilla's breath quickened into high-pitched pants and her legs instinctively parted, squeezing the insides of her knees against his solid thighs. Her entire body felt hot and moist, melting under his careful touch. Kissing her mouth with savage intensity, he slowly drew her breath into his lungs and cupped the palms of his hands against her soft, naked breasts.

A strangled grunt forced its way out of her throat and she reared her head, arching her back as his mouth found her delicate throat. Moistening her lips with a hot tongue, she closed her eyes and tangled her fingers into his dark hair, following his head as he traced a line of kisses down her chest.

Bathed in darkness, her imagination started to play tricks with her. She felt like she was hanging on the edge of a towering precipice, about to fall over. Above her floated the beatific face of the Lord, her God, radiant in His unfathomable mercy and wisdom. Below waited the deceptively beautiful face of Lucifer Himself, surrounded by a dark halo and dancing flames. While she reached desperately to touch the face of her God, the Devil tormented her with forbidden pleasure, seeking to steal away her immortal soul.

The vision was shattered instantly as Angel circled his tongue around her navel, sucking at the tiny depression in her soft midsection. She gasped sharply, her fingers clenched in his hair, and drove her toes into the mattress, delicious tension coiling like a spring inside her, just under his chin.

Every shred of morality she possessed screamed at her to fight free, to escape Angel's tantalizing ministrations and flee for the sake of her eternal soul. She tried to think of John and her dreams of a life with him. But she couldn't think anymore, only feel. All the nerves in her body were on fire, feeling every little movement of his hands and torso against her, the soft wetness of his tongue pressed against her flesh.

"What do you want?" he whispered softly, his voice tickling against her abdomen.

She answered him with a long, stifled groan, twisting her body against him and pushing his head lower.

"Tell me." He demanded quietly, nuzzling into the silken flesh of her upper thigh and teasing her with his lips.

"I want . . ." she gasped harshly, writhing in frustration against him, so close to satisfaction, "I want . . ."

"Say it, Dru." He narrowed his eyes and lovingly kissed her opposite thigh, stroking his fingers up along her legs in gradually increasing circles over her smooth hips.

"YOU!" she cried out desperately, surrendering to the need that dominated her every thought and movement, wrapping her legs tightly around his upper body.

Angel grinned broadly and lowered his head onto her.

"That's just what I was waitin' to hear." He purred, positioning his elongated canines over her femoral artery and piercing her delicate flesh.

Drusilla gasped as the slight pain traveled up her spine, translating itself into pure ecstasy, and the entire length of her body shuddered in answer. She held his head in place and sighed while he drank, drawing slowly from the tiny pinprick holes.

After a moment, he released her soft skin and smiled, studying the residual teethmarks with pride.

"Can't have the good sisters finding marks on you now, can we?" he smirked hungrily, lowering his head once more.

Sister Genevieve stood perfectly still in the corridor outside Drusilla's chamber, her ear cocked toward the door and her mouth hanging open. Another woman, Mother Constance, marched slowly down the hallway and the younger nun beckoned to her.

"Mother Constance?" she whispered conspiratorially, "Can you hear that?"

Constance stopped, lifting her head and straining her ears. From within Drusilla's room, she could hear the girl's sharp gasps and muffled cries, sounding in regular rhythm.

"Why, yes." She answered, considering thoughtfully.

Sister Genevieve bit her lip tensely, her eyes wide and unblinking, "It . . .it sounds like-"

"Penance." The older woman nodded proudly.

"What?" Sister Genevieve lifted her eyebrows in surprise.

"She's finally taken to the crop!" Mother Constance smiled, the wrinkles in her face folding oddly in the uncommon expression, "I knew she'd come round eventually. Such piety is admirable, is it not?"

"Yes, Sister." Genevieve lowered her eyes to the floor in disbelief, unwilling to argue with her superior.

Mother Constance folded her hands under her chin and turned her face toward the heavens, "It's only a matter of time now before she is delivered unto your hands, oh Lord."

Making another pass through the forest that had become so familiar to him over the last few weeks, John did his best to keep his mind occupied. Monotonous movements formed a pattern which he repeated over and over. Step, step, step, step, adjust the lamp, step, step, step, sweep the end of the rifle.

Rain speckled his wool overcoat, creating tiny beads atop the stray fibers. The dampness chilled his hands to the bone, but he didn't dare put them in his pockets. His breath made pale clouds of steam in the unseasonably cold night, its sound swallowed by the steady hiss of misty raindrops hitting the leaves overhead.

He had been searching for the evil creature that wore Anne Guthrie's face for hours, the same as he had every night for many weeks now, with no luck. But she was out there. The rising number of bloodless animal corpses he had been coming across bore testament to Anne's insatiable hunger. As time went on, it seemed that Anne was getting better at hiding her kills, as well. She was steadily adapting to the wild, becoming one with it. The creatures she hunted now were larger and more challenging. Perhaps he had frightened her when she had come to his door, but she was regaining her confidence, working her way up the food chain toward the top. Time was running out, he realized as he eyed the remains of a ten-point buck he had uncovered just the previous night. If he didn't find her soon, he might not find her at all until it was too late. Soon she would be ready for a human victim.

He lowered the end of his rifle and set the hanging oil lantern down on a flat rock. With a disheartened sigh, he swept a huge hand through his sopping locks, pushing the hair up out of his eyes. His one-man crusade had been costing him. Over the last few weeks, his health had begun to deteriorate from lack of sleep and food. He hadn't shaved in almost a week and his father's business was starting to feel his absentness at the forge. Perhaps it was time for him to give up, to let Anne Guthrie become someone else's responsibility. But he couldn't because the only way that would happen would be when she eventually killed someone from the town, thereby proving her existence to another.

"Where are you, Anne?" he hissed quietly, gripping the stock of his rifle tightly.

"Right where I've been every night, John." The girl's voice lilted sardonically from over his shoulder, "Right behind you."

John whipped around, slipping in the damp leaves and bringing his gun to bear. Anne stood, soaked to the skin but oblivious to the rain, grinning fiendishly at him. Her dress was in tatters, the sleeves and lower portion having been ripped away for the sake of economical movement, exposing her pale, slender limbs. Blonde hair, drenched with rainwater, hung in lank tendrils from her head, tangled with twigs and leaves. There had been a time when Anne would never have shown herself without having first prepared a flawless appearance. London's little dove had become a savage wolf.

She took a slow step forward and John jerked the end of his rifle at her in warning. With a slight, disdainful smirk, she eyed the weapon and raised her eyebrows in question.

"Every night I see you out here." She mentioned casually, taking another step forward, "And every night I follow you and wonder why you do it."

"Stay where ye are, damned creature!" he shouted with another stab of his gun barrel, carefully regaining his feet on the wet ground.

Anne stopped with an accepting sigh and looked up at him with eyes that would have appeared innocent had it not been for the wild glitter that danced in their depths.

"Why, John?" she asked plainly, "Why?"

John hesitated, fear freezing his body to the spot. He had asked himself that same question countless times and only ever come up with one answer.

"Y-you shouldn't be here." He replied, his voice trembling, "You're dead. 'Tis naught but the Devil's work."

"No, John." She shook her head softly, "I'm alive. For the first time ever, I'm truly alive. But you are right about one thing. It is the work of a devil."

Anne tilted her head back and stared into the sky, seeming to enjoy how the rain poured down over her.

"He abandoned me." She revealed absently, "Left me in the ground and forgot about me. Left me with this unending hunger."

John raised his rifle to his shoulder and took aim at the center of her chest, his finger quivering on the trigger. Anne lowered her head to look at him and sighed, unconcerned.

"You're not going to shoot me, are you John?" she pouted.

Bursting forward, she lunged at him with a sharp, blood-curdling scream, her arms spread and fingers curled like talons. Instinctively, John raised his weapon and fired, blasting a hole clean through her mid-section.

Anne's slight body bucked from the impact and she crumpled lifelessly to the forest floor in a heap. John swallowed nervously and stared at her, transfixed with horror. He'd had no idea how terrible it would be to finally kill her. Even though she was now a creature of the Devil, she had once been sweet innocent Anne Guthrie, a girl who had never meant a drop of harm to anyone.

Her body stirred and a strangled moan of pain issued forth. Weakly, her hands reached out as if of their own accord and pawed through the dirt.

John's mouth fell open in sickened awe. She was still alive!

"J-John . . ." she mewled, crawling haltingly across the ground toward him, " ... help me ... "

Shame filled him as he looked down at her pain-filled face, rain water dripping off his nose and chin. So small, so helpless, what had Anne ever done to deserve such a fate? Overcome with remorse, he knelt next to her, taking her hand in his with the intent of holding it until she expired.

Pain lanced through his huge frame as Anne's fist slammed into his stomach with the force of a horse's kick. The rifle went spinning out of his hands and he tumbled back across the wet ground, coughing and wheezing. Anne sprang to her feet, totally unharmed.

"Stupid man!" she spat venomously, "You think I'm so weak. Weak like you are."

John shrank back, reaching blindly through the leaves for his rifle without finding it. Anne's face had transformed into the visage of the creature he had seen the first night she had come to him. Fleshy ridges had risen over and around her eyes, filling the hollows with harsh shadows from the weak lamplight. Her teeth had become jagged fangs and the color of her eyes had turned feral yellow. The eyes frightened him the most. They almost seemed luminescent in the darkness.

"Don't be afraid, John." She soothed, "I'm going to take all your fear away. You won't be weak for much longer."

John's hands stopped rifling over the ground and he froze, staring wide and unblinking at her.

"W-what do ya m-mean?" he swallowed nervously.

Anne chuckled lightly, the sound reminiscent of her once-innocent laughter yet tinged with dark design. She stretched out one of her arms and stroked it admiringly with a pleasant sigh.

"I'm going to make you strong." She explained, "Like me. Except you won't be abandoned the way I was. I'll teach you everything you'll need to know."

As she approached, John crabbed backward and his hand fell on the stock of his rifle.

"Get away from me!" he roared, swinging the weapon around.

Anne reacted far faster than he ever would have imagined, catching the barrel before it was even halfway pointed at her and wrenching the gun out of his grip. Offhandedly, she smashed it against the trunk of a tree, shattering it as she continued to advance.

"You can't stop me, John." She chided, "No one can. I'm immortal now."

Desperate to escape, he turned over and tried to run, his feet slipping in the sodden leaves. Anne struck his back with an impossibly strong fist, throwing him flat. Arms outstretched, he hit the ground, his chest impacting with painful force.

"Anne, no, please." He begged, crawling instinctively to the small circle of dim light surrounding his lamp.

Anne paused, just outside the light's edge, "You're a good man. I need you to help me find him. It has to be this way."

She lunged again and this time he knew there would be no stopping her. His body reacted reflexively, hooking his fingers through the top of the lamp and swinging it forward with all his strength.

Glass shattered and a huge gout of oil and flame burst forth, splashing Anne's small body. She staggered back, shrieking at ear-piercing volume, as the fire licked greedily over her flesh, engulfing her. Blindly, she staggered and lashed out, her body blazing like a living inferno.

The blow glanced off the side of John's face, knocking him into a stand of trees and away from her as she stumbled and fell over a deadwood tree. One of the tree's long, pointed branched pierced her, lancing up through her tainted heart.

John watched, mesmerized, as her body disintegrated with a hollow shriek. Her corpse was completely gone, leaving behind a vaguely human shape of burning oil guttering on the leaves. Even her bones were gone, like the Devil Himself had reached up through the flames to claim the remains of His servant.

Rising to his feet, John leaned heavily against a tree, feeling sick and drained. She was gone. The devil-creature had been defeated, but the victory brought him no relief. Another had made her, the same way she had intended to make him. The true evil still lurked somewhere, perhaps nearby.

All the terrible happenings lately were finally starting to make sense now. Evil had set upon this small corner of London, killing wantonly and without remorse in a pattern that could inevitably lead to only one person. Drusilla. Tomorrow she was to be inducted into the sisterhood, but he understood now that it would not save her. The evil would not relent while she still lived in London.

Scooping up as much of the remaining oil as he could with a thick branch, he held it aloft like a torch and started resolutely back toward his house.

Tomorrow, he would go to her and see that she never had to deal with tragedy again.




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