Title: Rook
Author: Medea
Email: medealives@hotmail.com
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction based on characters and situations created and owned by Joss Whedon and various companies. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended
Summary: A small, dark, broom closet is probably one of the worst places to be trapped with a vampire. Sequel to 'Knight'.

Don't.

Stop.

Breathing.

It was a mantra Willow silently repeated to herself as she trembled in the cramped, darkened space. But whether it was a reminder about that mundane activity that she now managed only in rapid, shaky pants, or a desperate prayer for her future, Willow wasn't certain. About the only thing of which she was certain was that it was dark.

The darkness was so utterly black, so still, so heavy it was suffocating.

Willow felt vulnerable and exposed in a way that most humans do when deprived of their sight. But this was no mere tremor of disquiet, no mild reminder of childhood fears. It was what lurked *in* the darkness, a mere arm's-length away, that terrified her.

She could feel him. His presence chilled the air with the promise of death.

Her death.

Willow wasn't quite sure why he hadn't struck yet. Third time's the charm, after all, and she had somehow managed to find herself cornered by Angelus once again.

Angelus, who had killed Ms. Calendar and callously dumped her corpse in Giles's home. Willow wept for her gentle mentor when she found out, and later agreed to take over Ms. Calendar's computer classes for the remainder of the semester. Between homework, course prep, and researching the strange, haunting presence that had recently provoked fights and phantom gun shots, the young redhead wound up staying later and later at the school. Later than was wise, in Sunnydale.

Of all people, Willow should have known that it wasn't safe to stay in a relatively deserted, public building after dark. Not when there was a vampire out for her blood. And sure enough, Angelus had tracked her down in the library this evening, fully intending to take advantage of the opportunity to kill another of Buffy's friends.

He'd killed the lights, as a prelude.

At the sight of his tall silhouette in the library, the very inner sanctum of the Scooby Gang, a wave of nausea and cold sweat had washed over Willow, and she'd run for her life. Surrounded by his hateful laughter as she'd fled through the halls, Willow cringed at how foolishly she'd panicked. Blind with fear, she'd scrambled down a corridor and darted behind the first door that yielded to her frantic tugging.

The irony of it: she was about to die in the very same broom closet that Xander and Cordelia used for their not-so-secret gropage sessions.

So why wasn't she dead yet?

Willow exhaled shakily as she listened in the dark, barely able to make out the dim traces of the demon who would rob her of her life's blood, and feeling completely defenseless as she waited for him to pounce.

Sensitive, pin-prick goosebumps cropped up all over her skin.

A dull, crunching sound, like someone's foot breaking through a thin layer of ice, drew a startled gasp from her throat. An instant later, she jerked away and squeaked as fingers grasped at her arm. Low curses and angry, forceful struggling disturbed the nearby air. Willow pressed herself against the wall and twisted her brain around an odd fact that just didn't quite seem right.

The curses and thrashing had sounded like they were coming from...slightly...below her head?

As far as Willow remembered, Angelus was taller than she.

Huh?

"What the HELL is this?!?" The familiar snarl was indeed nearby, but much *lower* than Willow would have expected from the ironically 'tall, dark, and handsome' killer. "Is this some sort of spell?!?"

Frustrated thrashing alternated with long, low, sustained grunts and the slap of skin against the floor. At last, after several moments of struggling, Angelus muttered, "So, Rupert has taken to setting wards, has he? Pretty strange place to set one. Unless, of course," there was a pause, followed by a distasteful snort, "he thought it would be amusing to nauseate me with the lingering stench of hormones from the loser and his cheerleader."

Willow was still confused as to what Angelus was talking about (and kind of insulted on Xander's behalf), but nonetheless grateful that she was at least breathing. Wards? Why would Angelus think they'd set--

Oh!

Oh my gosh!

To Willow's amazement, as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she was just barely able to make out the shape of her vampire attacker...albeit, only the top two-thirds of him. It could have been her eyes playing tricks on her, but to Willow it looked like he had sunk right into the floor, all the way up to his knees.

No time to wonder how or why. Willow knew she should take her chance before Angelus broke free -- and she had no doubt that he would. Her earlier mantra forgotten, Willow inched breathlessly along the wall, cautiously edging her way around the immobilized vampire who blocked the direct route to safety. Willow's lungs tightened in her chest as she concentrated so intensely on her escape that she neither inhaled nor exhaled.

The silence was maddening, broken only by the faint scuffling of Willow's shoes against the floor. It was too quiet. Willow's panic rose and her skin crawled with the sensation, the certainty, that her every move was being tracked. She was desperate to escape, yet couldn't shake the horrible feeling that she was inching blindly into a trap.

Just as hope began to glimmer and Willow allowed herself a shaky breath as the doorknob came within reach, the suspense was shattered by a deadly, unyielding grip that clamped down on her ankle. Willow screamed as she was abruptly yanked off balance. She fell, but scrambled desperately for purchase on the dusty, linoleum floor. Angelus tugged her toward him, his hand like an iron manacle around her ankle. With tearful, defiant grunts, Willow kicked at him with her free leg. To her dismay, the sinister vampire merely chuckled as he easily restrained her thrashing leg and wedged it between his powerful thighs. Refusing to go out with a whimper, she continued to squirm and thrust, trying her hardest to kick him where it counted.

A sensual, mocking groan halted her. "Ohhhhhh yeah. Just like that, Willow. For a virgin, you *really* know how to get a guy off."

Willow groaned inwardly. What was it with vampires and smarm, anyway? Bleagh.

She concentrated on trying to pull her leg free. Meanwhile, Angelus removed the sneaker from the foot he held captive in his hand, then peeled off her sock. He circled his thumb lightly over her ankle bone. It tickled. Willow twitched.

Angelus replaced his thumb with his tongue and teased her ankle with soft, wet flicks before nibbling his way around to her heel. As Willow strained against him, he murmured darkly, "Willow, do you know how long it would take me to drain all of your blood just by biting right...here?" He pinched the flesh just below and slightly behind her ankle. "Your posterior tibial artery. I'm guessing you weigh...hmm... around 110 or 115 pounds, so I'd say about six or seven minutes."

The frantic racing of her pulse seemed to slam to an abrupt, painful halt as Angelus pierced her vulnerable flesh with his fangs. Searing, white-hot agony stabbed through her entire leg and Willow shrieked as she had never done before, a primal wail from her very depths.

Oh God oh God oh God it hurt! Razor-sharp teeth tore into her as Angelus suckled greedily. Willow knew then just how misleading a euphemism it was to say that vampires "drained" their victims. This wasn't draining. It felt like her blood was being ripped from her veins, the pain was so unbearable.

Through the near-blinding torment, Willow redoubled her efforts to free herself. She. Would. Not. Die. Like. This. Her mind worked feverishly as she squinted in the darkened closet for anyth...closet...*broom* closet!

Broom closets had brooms!!

Willow craned her neck and, sure enough, spied an assortment of brooms propped against the corner. She heaved her entire torso and stretched her arms to the limit. After two or three tries, her fingers latched onto a broom handle. Not bothering to think how she was going to line up the right angle in her awkward, captive position, Willow seized hold and thrust at Angelus with all her might.

Howling in fury, he released her ankle. Willow pushed against the broom handle, which had impaled him in the chest, and fought to free her other leg.

Relief and adrenaline hummed through her body when she managed to break away from the murderous vampire. Willow huddled against the far wall, which wasn't nearly far enough away from him. Still, she was beyond his reach. Shaking, Willow took a moment to steady herself, assess her injury, and mentally regroup. The wound on her ankle was still bleeding. Grimacing in pain, Willow removed her other shoe, then pulled off her sock and used it as a primitive compression bandage, hoping to stave off the blood loss before it became fatal.

Meanwhile, Angelus tended to his own wounds. He gripped the broom handle and, gritting his teeth, extracted it in one smooth stroke. A feral growl rumbled deep in his throat and he hefted the broom like a spear.

"How about I return the favor, little girl?"

He jabbed it viciously at Willow, who barely dodged aside in time. She choked back her sobs and crouched, one hand raised defensively, as she waited for his next attack. Her cheeks glistened with tears.

Willow screamed and ducked again as the broom stabbed at her. It struck the wall with a resounding crack, narrowly missing her head.

"Crying, Willow?" Angelus taunted, laughing softly. "We're just getting started. I love the scent, though. Salt blended with terror. You smell *almost* as good as you taste."

He thrust once more but stopped short, laughing harder as Willow was unable to stop herself from flinching. Angelus toyed with her, feinting first to the left, then to the right, not masking his sadistic amusement each time she jerked and dodged. At one point, he rammed her shoulder *hard*, hard enough to bruise, but not hard enough to impale her with the make-shift weapon.

Willow felt like a bug in the dirt, being poked and prodded by a very curious, very cruel boy.

At last, her vampire tormenter relented.

"Well, as much fun as this is, there's no point in damaging you any more than necessary," Angelus mused, setting the broom behind him and well out of Willow's reach.

The weary, wounded hacker snorted softly in disbelief at the thought of Angelus *not* wanting to damage her. Yeah, and maybe monkeys would fly out of her butt.

Angelus interpreted her gutteral response correctly. "You don't think I'm sincere? Willow, you wound me." A wry, half-chuckle. "Actually, you *did* wound me. Not that you'll ever be Slayer material -- your aim is pretty far off -- but you've definitely got potential. You could prove...useful..."

Warning bells sounded in Willow's mind.

"Wh-what do you mean?" she whispered shakily.

"Well, let's see: clever, resourceful, not afraid to use violence. You'd bring quite a few talents to the team." Angelus paused to let the terrible weight of his remark sink in, then added. "Not to mention some pretty deadly weapons I could use against the Slayer."

"What makes you th--"

Willow's question died on her lips as her brain caught up with his implied threat. Suddenly, her mouth went dry. After several deep breaths, she said quietly, "I'd never let you. It won't happen."

"You wouldn't have a choice," Angelus countered, wicked mirth shading his every word. "If a vampire wants to turn you, you'll be turned." Willow started to protest, but he cut her off. "Do you really think you'd have the strength to clamp your mouth shut when you were on the verge of death? When you've lost so much blood, you can't move? At that moment, all humans are the same: ours to create or destroy."

"No!" Willow blurted out, her attempt at defiance weakened by the tremor in her voice. "I. Won't. Let. You."

Angelus ignored her.

"How bitter it will be for poor Buff to know that I drank down every sweet drop of her best friend's blood," the demon gloated. "And what perfect despair when she's faced with the choice: her duty or her heart. I wonder if her nerve would fail her when she had you at the end of her stake, or if she'd just *do* it and slowly let herself die, night after night, with your dust burned into her memory."

Willow resisted the temptation to close her eyes and cover her ears in a feeble effort to block out his chilling, hateful insinuations. She couldn't risk letting him catch her off-guard, not if he really planned to do as he threatened. Of course, he could simply be toying with her, painting a macabre portrait of her worst nightmare just to break her spirit. And it *was* her worst nightmare. She wasn't ready to give up yet. She didn't want to die. But she would rather die once and for all than come back as just a tool that Angelus could use to torture everyone she loved.

Even as Willow steeled her nerves against her adversary's horrible taunts, something odd about his voice triggered a brief, elusive insight. It was veiled, carefully shielded by malice and hate, but it was still there.

Pain. Loss. Inconsolable grief.

Not that Willow felt even an ounce of pity for him. Angelus was still the sadistic, psychotic monster who had killed Jenny Calendar, and that poor homeless man, and countless others. And he was being pretty persistent in his attempts to kill her. But nevertheless, Willow began to understand what drove the demon, began to perceive a method to his madness.

Time enough to think about that later, though. She still had to find a way to escape before she became his latest victim.

Maybe she could try for the door again. This time, though, she'd start out armed.

Broom closets also had mops.

Slowly, she reached toward the corner and grasped the handle of a shaggy mop. As she clutched it, Willow knew that she wielded it more like a security blanket than a weapon. She had no illusions about her abilities. She was an average teenager, not even very good in P.E., and definitely a far cry from the Slayer. It would be easy for Angelus to overwhelm her. But she didn't have to defeat the powerful vampire; she just had to get past him.

Once again, Willow scooted along the wall. Just a straight line to the side, then a straight line forward...she could do this...she *had* to do this...

Once again, Angelus followed her every move.

"Coming back for more?" the dark vampire teased coyly. "I can hardly wait. I barely had the chance to whet my appetite. This time, though, I think I'll sample the wares from a better spot. The ankle has its allure, but I've always been fond of the femoral artery, right at the crux of a woman's thigh..." He chuckled seductively, almost purring. "And I know nobody's ever tasted you there, Willow."

Willow said nothing, and merely gripped the mop even tighter as she slowly approached the door.

What followed was a blur, a deadly tug-of-war that escalated with such deadly speed, Willow could only act on instinct. Just as her fingertips brushed the doorknob, Angelus seized the end of the mop handle which Willow had pointed defensively at him. She fumbled frantically with the door even as she attempted to fight her would-be killer back with the mop. But her strength was laughable compared to that of a centuries-old vampire, and at the very moment that Willow managed to open the door, Angelus yanked the handle and sent her tumbling toward him.

With a roar, he dispensed with any further teasing and lunged for her neck, jagged fangs to the fore.

Angelus was out for blood.

Willow wasn't quite sure what made her do it. She had no plan, no vision of what it would accomplish: she simply acted on impulse. With a ferocity she never knew she had, the shy, timid young hacker who inevitably found herself tongue-tied around cute boys opened her mouth wide--

--and bit down savagely on Angelus's own neck.

More startled than hurt, Angelus froze. It was all the opening Willow needed. She pushed off against his bulk and fell backwards out of the closet. Too late, the enraged vampire lunged after her, but encased as he was in the linoleum floor, his reach was limited.

Nearly choking with relief, Willow spat out his blood and scooted several yards away on her butt before pulling herself up against a wall. Ignoring the stabbing pain in her ravaged ankle, she hobbled away from the broom closet as fast as she could manage. Angry howls followed her, but it was the sound of metal smashing against the floor that prompted Willow to pick up her pace. Angelus had somehow gotten his hands on the janitor's heavy, industrial-strength pail. She didn't want to stick around to see how long it would take for him to batter the floor and break free.

Each sharp crack of the pail against the floor jolted her like a battering-ram demolishing the castle gates. Angelus had shattered yet another one of her safe havens. Like she'd told Giles: school was even more homey than home. However, it wasn't a fortress. It was foolish, she knew, to imagine that such a public building could ever be safe in a town swarming with vampires. But Willow had still felt that way. Until Angelus had taken it away from her.

But he hadn't taken her life.

Willow hadn't won, but she'd survived.

More importantly, she now knew one of Angelus's secrets. A secret that she just might be able to use to help Buffy finally defeat him. If only she had enough time, it *might* work.

For the first time in weeks, Willow had hope.

She burst through the main door to the high school, one step closer to safety.

As she limped away, the eerie, haunting strains of a 50s, shoo-wop love ballad filtered through the air until the door swung shut behind her.

THE END