Title: The Long Journey Into Darkness
Author: Crazy_Girl_Mary
Email: crazy_girl_mary@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: The two main characters are Joss', but I'm not stealin' I promise I'll give them back when I'm done.
Summary: A female is on the run from a killer, and he's not going to give up until he has her right where he wants her.
Pairings: Female/Male. This story has a female character a human, and a male vampire from the Buffyverse, but names are not used anywhere in the story. I did this so the reader could envision any characters they wanted. So if you have a thing for Willow/Spike, hey man it's them. There were two characters I had in mind when writing it and some subtle clues you may pick up may lead you to that conclusion, if you want to know who they really are then you can email me and I'll tell you.
Category: Angst.
Spoilers: None, complete AU, just a girl and a vampire.
Rating: NC-17 parts for sexual content, brutal torture, and character deaths.
Author's Comments: This is my latest work, and I think the fact that I've progressed as a writer shows. I'm probably more emotionally attached to this story as corny as it sounds but I still desperately want to know any thoughts, feelings, praises, and most of all criticisms, so please please let me know!

Part XXXIII: Religious Musings (No More Running)


So beautiful, fraught, hurt, strong, helpless, and hungry… hungry for death, a meal only I can feed her. Her body, shit, it’s the ultimate icon, worthy of worship, but I never was much for religion. If I were to start a religion it would be in her name. Funny, others believe in her name just as strongly, their supermodel demigod, look at their beliefs now, strewn wet and naked across her own bathroom floor, a $500 per square foot serving plate.

The huge tub fills up quickly still mingled with the bubbles from her previous entry. I stick my hand in the water to test the temperature. It’s steaming hot; hot enough to burn the skin and I don’t want that so I wait a moment. I watch her and light a cigarette from my pocket. She’s looking up blank faced at me, and I don’t like it. I don’t like that she’s temporarily lost to the moment. I drop the butt in the tub and lean over her. I roughly grab her by one thigh and one forearm and she moans in painful surprise as I lift her into the air above the tub. I drop her heavily into the water and push her under by her head. She doesn’t kick or flail or struggle just stares up at me through the crystal clear steaming water as her face turns a bright shade of red. She’s mocking me. She knows I won’t let her die, not like this. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun with her.

I let go and she can’t play the game anymore. Her head shoots up the surface and she gasps in air desperately. I quickly get to my feet and grab her by the hair. I pull her to her feet and turn the shower on ice cold. She screams involuntarily as the water makes contact with her heated body. “Fuck!” she screams probably without even knowing. She struggles weakly to escape the water and I look down and notice it is running from the full tub and onto the tile floor.

I reach down, turn off the faucet, take one look at her shivering body, just the way I always wanted her, and throw her again heavily to the floor. I smell the blood as soon as she makes contact. Her head bangs loudly but I know she’s not out. I should be more careful. I smile and shrug to her. I need a drink before things get too violent for my taste. “I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere,” I say and it’s weird to hear my voice in the hollow room after so long without conversation.

My feet carry me swiftly back downstairs to the spacious kitchen and I grab the bottle of vodka from the icebox I saw earlier. She always was a sucker for cheap vodka, well, any vodka. I don’t worry about glasses, just her as I hurry back up the stairs and through the house to her beautiful bedroom. She’s on the floor where I left her and I stand there and stare for a while. Her body is shaking with more then the cold puddle she’s lying in and her eyes are clenched, face screwed up… shit… she’s crying… I’ve never seen anything more amazing then that. My mood quickly sours as her mouth opens and instead of the anguish filled sobs I expected, amazing bouts of laughter escape her lips. She’s laughing so hard tears are streaming down her face and her body is sliding all over the floor turning the puddle more pink from the blood and the glass but she laughs even harder.

I open the bottle and take a quick chug, fucked if I won’t need it, then I go over and kneel beside her head. “Something funny to you doll?”

Is something funny to you doll? “No,” I reply quickly and slash out with the knife, “nothing at all cupcake!” It won’t kill him, probably won’t even hurt him that much but it’s all I have. I keep it under the bed just in case. It took a hell of a lot of effort to get over there and back before he returned, but I’m fueled with my anger. I stand up quickly. He’s clutching at his throat, perfect luck on my part that it actually hit something that can hurt him. I grab the bottle of vodka sitting next to him and take a generous swig before smashing the bottle over his head. He screams out in pain as he falls back onto the floor but I know it’s not from the bottle, it’s from the searing liquid in his wound.

I grab a blanket off of the end of the bed and run as fast as I can from the room and to the stairs. As I run I wrap the blanket sloppily around my body, never looking back, knowing odds are he’s right behind me waiting with some snide comment to drawl me in again. As I pass the large pictures and paintings I flip them off the walls behind me hoping they might hinder his speed. I hit the first floor at a surprisingly solid run, I haven’t run like this in years and it was only a few moments ago that I was dead.

I continue to run high speed into the kitchen and as I fumble with the door knowing my car is right outside I realize I don’t hear any sounds behind me. I stop and listen to the silence for a moment, frozen in fear. He’s either standing behind me with that evil smirk on his beautiful face, or he’s not chasing which is an even scarier proposition because that means he knows something I don’t, that he has something up his sleeve. The shrill sound of the phone on the wall breaks the terrifying silence and I actually feel myself jump and turn around quickly in expectation, of what I’m not really sure.

It’s him. Like usually he planned this whole thing somehow. I don’t have a choice but to answer the phone. I know it won’t help my situation at all but I know he could have something to say that would keep me from running, something I need to hear, good or bad. I slowly make my way to the phone, my body perhaps trying to stall, trying to get there too late but the shrill ringing persists longer then any normal caller. This caller knows I’m here, knows my thoughts, and knows I’ll eventually have to answer.

I reach out my hand suddenly in a trance and pick up the receiver. It seems like forever before I feel the cool plastic on my face. I don’t say a word just listen.

“Billie?” the voice asks. My whole body fills with relief. It’s Armando. Then fear consumes me. There is something wrong in the tone of his voice.

“Armando what’s wrong?” I ask urgently.

He laughs but it’s a nervous laugh, “Oh nothing babe, your boyfriend came to visit,” he starts but I hear the phone being ripped from his hand and an ineligible whispered exchange before the arrogant Irish lilt of Michael Kearney floods my ears.

“Hey doll,” he says happily, “You didn’t really think you had heard the last of me did you?”

“I don’t really have time for this bullshit right now,” I say angrily, before remembering that Kearney is one of his lackeys.

“Well, you don’t seem to be doing anything else, certainly not giving in to the inevitable.”

“I’m so sorry I’m not a coward like you, you probably begged him to change you!” I spit back angrily.

“Anyway,” he says in disgust. “I have your friend here and if you don’t go back upstairs like a good little kitten I’ll kill him.”

“What’s stopping you from doing it if I do go upstairs?” I ask looking around the room for any place a camera could be hidden. How did they infiltrate my house? I always hated this damn place!

“I guess you’ll have to trust me this time,” he replies condescendingly. “You have one minute.”

I would’ve shot back with something but he hung up. I look around the room once more then I start slowly up the steps, carefully avoiding the strewn pictures, my instincts in high gear telling me to get the fuck out of there but my heart once again risking my life to save the man in my life. Last time I wasn’t successful, would I be this time?

There is only one way to find out. I make it to the top of the steps and look in the bedroom. He isn’t there. Is he behind me? His black pants on the white carpet catch my attention right before I hear the tingling sound of water coming from the bathroom. The door is only open an inch but I know what he wants. I hate the fact that the thought of him naked still calls me like a lighthouse beacon after all these years. I walk slowly to the bathroom and push the door open with one finger and step into the dark room. The light from my bedroom casts a faint glow into the room and as I step closer I can see his beauty perfectly and painfully.

He’s sitting naked in the huge white tub with his hands along the sides, a cigarette clutched and smoking in one, and his head back. His eyes are closed but the smile that spreads on his face gives away his knowledge of my presence. The control and power he grasps gives him a high that no drug can come close to simulating and I know how that feels. I step into the puddle and let my blanket fall to the floor and slowly step in to the hot water and sit between his legs. I let my body trace his, my back against his chest, my head on his shoulder, my arms on his, my legs inside his. He must be so happy. He turns his hands over and grasps my wrists, so gently it surprises me then he pulls them into the water and swirls them around. His fingers are between mine and he wraps them in to clutch my palms and he leads my hands to my stomach, ribs, and breasts; our two fingers intermingled.

His face is next to mine, and he turns and kisses my cheek and then my neck so gently. There is no intent in his actions, only passion and love despite the horror of that thought I can’t help but hold my breath, close my eyes, and lean into his sweet kisses. Shit, this is torture. His hands leave mine and begin to slowly explore and caress every part of my body from the most intimate to the most damaged. In this action, in this moment, it is as if I could forgive him for all the pain he has caused me and I could pretend that life is like the dreams I sometimes have. Where he is a wonderfully kind husband, where we laugh and run together on the beach and make love in the wet sand and sunshine.

His hands leave my body after a few moments and lather some soap then he runs them over his previous paths of travel cleansing my cuts and bruises and sending chills up my spine with every movement. His lips come to mine and he whispers my name but it’s filled with intent and direction. I know what he wants, I’ve known what he wanted from the moment I saw him and as much as I hate it I’ve always wanted the same from him. Lips, and sex, and tears, and that’s all we’re good for. And maybe also punishment but I think we’ve both had enough of that for tonight.

I slowly stand and when I turn around to look at him lying beautifully at my feet in the tub as pale as his sculptured body he is standing right behind me. He steps out and turns to me. His face looks more beautiful then I’ve ever seen it without his evil grin only a serious lust and soft, sparkling, almost kind, eyes. He wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me from the tub then lifts me into his arms like a bride and carries me to my bed to consummate. The covers stick to our wet bodies.

I realize how different he has been in this lengthy pursuit. He doesn’t laugh and mock quite as much, or throw threats and accusations. He still aims for the heart and hopes for tears and blood but would he be a demon if he didn’t? Before it was like he was always enjoying himself. He worked on instinct, followed his nose, wanted just to find happiness in others pain. It’s almost as if he has matured which is ridiculous to assume since he has been alive for hundreds of years and only his methods of torture have evolved. But he’s more serious, more determined, considerably more terrifying as an opponent. It doesn’t make sense that he would work so hard all these years for just my feeble attempts at survival, my blood, my death… even my eternal companionship.

If not for this then why is he doing it? To prove to both of us that no one can stand against him? To prove to himself that I’m just flesh and bone like everyone else and when it comes down to it the only difference between me and all those prostitutes he saw me in is that I almost have a hunger or fate to end up in his tortuously provocative grasp?

As much as it hurts me to admit he’s more like an everyday killer in this sense. It’s as if some normal John Doe on the street could come obtain my life. Human beings that commit the crimes that he is so accustom to often try to convince themselves that they’re doing it for the greater good or that the victim deserves it and that is what he has convinced himself of. I deserve this fate. He is also being loving in his assault, as if it would stimulate more attraction between our bodies then a rough and tumble rape. I would still react the same. My traitorous eyes and legs can only feel and see a beautiful man, and I have known many who would rather slam bones viciously, hurting each other as much a goal as coming.

I wonder how this would make him feel. That at this moment so important and expected in him I saw just a regular scum found in any prison or chat room in the world. He wants to be gentle, he wants to try and convince himself that he’s justified, that he’s only giving me what I want, what I need. And maybe all these things are true, it’s not like I’m completely confident in labeling myself the innocent or the hero in this little scenario. If anything I’m the antihero, and that doesn’t even seem reasonable.

A shiver suddenly runs through my wet body and I realize that he is touching me, gently again, with two thick fingers, like an attentive lover, trying his best to ready my body for what is coming and of course succeeding, my body doesn’t take much stimulation to be ready for him. My body was born ready for him and as many times as he associates pain with this coming pleasure my body will still flush and moisten in anticipation of him. But this time is still different, and I have a feeling that this time there will be no pain and that’s all the more painful for me because it’s almost like there’s nothing there for me to loathe.

I can see the damage I caused earlier with the knife on his throat. There’s no scab or blood so his stomach must be empty and maybe he’ll lose himself in my blood when that time finally comes and won’t be able to change me. The cut isn’t as bad as I thought and I realize he could’ve easily chased me down but he had a plan for everything.

He’s smiling down at me not like the evil animal he is but like a happy lover so enchanted by the body he is about to ride. Never have I seen that look in a man, even the men I know now who are interested only in my body, and try their damndest to be loving and impressionable in the bedroom. And never have sweet nothings, so artfully crafted to get the wanted affect, been whispered in my air so carefully and emotionally. It’s almost as if he wants me to forget all our past experience together and consider him my only lover, a man completely in love with me and me with him.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers passionately and then begins to kiss my face and down my neck. Not his regular gut wrenchingly sexy whole-mouth-involved in frenzied passion kiss, but chaste little kisses held as if to savor the change in flavor of my skin from one spot to the other. “I love you,” he whispers in-between my breasts. “I need you,” at my ribs. “I want you,” my navel. “I want to taste you,” my hips. My body is completely his now and it’s heartbreaking.

“God,” he drawls and his voice sounds as though it’s completely taken over by love and passion, “You’re perfect everywhere.” My hips and legs are fighting to lift and grant him more access and my mind is not powerful enough to stop them. He doesn’t look shocked at my submission, his eyes still seem so genuinely in love, like he knew this would happen, that all I needed was time. His hands are so gentle as the run softly over my thighs almost lightly enough to tickle. He looks up at my face one more time and then plants a kiss right between my legs, the area he so lovingly prepared, and the kiss quickly turns from chaste to orgasm inducing. The pleasure is out of this world, but the emotions involved are bringing it to an end too quickly.

It just all catches up with me, that I’ve never felt like this physically or emotionally. I feel special, and loved, and stupid, and naive. I remember only a short time ago and every time before that that his movements and words were so dark and painful and they weren’t as bad because they were what I expected. I never expected him to do something like his and as the tears well up in my eyes I realize what horror that yet again this was part of his plan. I close my eyes as his skilled tongue works harder to bring the impending orgasm, struggling to hold back the tears as my mind registers this perfect betrayal.

This is just what he has wanted all this time; he has wanted me to be a complete slave to him and the emotions he induces, a complete slave to his body and whims. Now I’m ready for him and he knew that I would be when he last let me go. He warned me. His plan was perfect, to give me everything I didn’t expect and now I’m broken, just the way he always wanted me. The tears are brimming on my eyes lashes now and I know he can sense them. When the orgasm finally comes the tears stream like a river down my face and onto my sweaty chest. He takes me as far as my body can go then he kisses me again and looks up into my tear-streaked face triumphantly. Now that the tears have begun I don’t know how to stop them and I feel my chest heaving and the sobs that are about to erupt. He never fails at anything and the hate for him and myself is strong in my again but not strong enough to fight him, not strong enough to grant him the submission he’s earned well.

He’s far from done I soon find out. He licks the path back up to my face following and savoring each and every tear, his sexual demeanor now briefly returned. The caring lover soon comes back and I am unable to stifle a moan as I feel him pressed hard between my legs. God, I want him inside of me. I don’t care if it’s all an illusion, it’s a damn good one and the last one before I die should be.

“I want to be inside you,” he whispers huskily in my ear. He wants my permission and I don’t know if I can deny him. I wrap my legs tightly around his hips but it’s not enough and I can see it in his face. Damn he’s so smug, but he’s in control and he’s not breaking me open so I give him what he wants, what he has always wanted. I cried, and I can’t go much lower then that so what’s begging?

“Please,” I whisper lightly, “I want you inside me.” His eyes flicker with that secret evil knowledge that he is being completely indulged in all his dark fantasies but that’s the only slip from this beautiful image he’s conveying for me. Now that he’s got what he wants he could always return to his brutal self, but he doesn’t yet. He wants more tears so he waits. He enters me slowly, letting my body loosen to fit him and we moan together as he withdrawals to the tip only to enter again at an agonizingly slow pace.

He’s skilled and that’s far above being argued, and I can’t sink into my traitorous thoughts and leave this place as he fucks me because damned if it doesn’t feel so unbearably good. New tears sprout and my cheeks are already too moist for them to hide unnoticed. He licks them away and speeds up his movements. “Just think after tonight I’ll be able to teach you how to make people cry,” he whispers and his tone is once again undeniably menacing.

“If I’m alive after tonight the first person to cry will be you!” I answer quickly knowing without a doubt that it’s true and thrust my hips up daring him to stop fucking me like a true caring lover and let out his aggressions, daring him to give me another reason to hate him entirely. He doesn’t take the bait just continues his strenuously slow and gentle movements.

“After tonight you’ll be my sex slave,” he mocks, “You’ll wear a leash and live to service me in any possible way you can and that’s the only thing that will make you happy.”

He’s fucking with me, just trying to scare me, I mean he has to be. “Not a chance lover boy, but while we’re on the subject of sex slaves, you’re already whipped by me, so why should I think you won’t still be following me around for the rest of eternity?”

He just grins and his pace doesn’t quicken at all. This is excruciatingly enjoyable, just like he wants it to be and it’s killing me. He leans down and sucks on my breasts and my neck, my shoulders and lips, everywhere his mouth reaches. He feels so good inside me and I hate how much he knows it. I want to kill him but instead he’ll kill me. The time for fighting back is over and when I think back I didn’t really do that much fighting to begin with. He starts whispering my name, his eyes are closed and I know he’s on the verge of coming but he has so much will power and he won’t come until he feels me. He wants us to do this together.

His lips suddenly come to one of my hard nipples and he bites down hard with his blunt teeth and this erotic act is enough to send me free falling over the edge of oblivion. I incoherently scream his name having not made the choice to do so. I would’ve never made that choice but he does, he screams my name too, praising me for me beautiful body and my tears and my mouth and my strength and weakness.

He can’t wait anymore, and truthfully it always shocked me at how he waited as long as he did. His beauty is taken from him in a second and replaced by a rigid evil monster’s visage and it doesn’t even begin to deter me from the physical pleasure I’m still receiving in vast waves that are threatening to drown me. In the back of my mind this vaguely disgusts me but I continue to moan in the pleasure and he continues to move in and out of me, and push our joint orgasm as his mouth comes down to my throat.

He growls and bites in to my throat roughly. Rightly claiming what he has called his for years. There’s no way out. No way for me to avoid what’s coming. I feel the blood flowing from my veins to his mouth and a flush comes over my face. If only he would lose control just this once and take too much blood. Fuck! Take it all! I won’t need it. No such luck. After a little less then a minute he stops and as I watch his bloody demon face pulls back into my direct view and the room spins around me.

His beauty is restored once more and he leans in to kiss my lips with his lips and mouth, lips smeared with my life, and a mouth tainted by it. I try to pull away but I’m too weak. He stops, he doesn’t want to fight. He gently kisses each of my cheeks then, still close to my face, he drags a fingernail roughly down his own throat and leaves a trail of blood behind it.

Looking in my eyes he gently lifts my head in his hands and directs it to his small bleeding wound like a baby to mother’s breast. I close my mouth stubbornly and my eyes follow. I’m faint, and I’m using all of my leftover energy to try and not follow this innate desire to take his offering, to drink his blood, my blood, and become like him.

“Come on,” he lightly coaxes. I wonder if he’s worried, if maybe he thinks I’m going to just die. I doubt it; he knows how much he took.

He lays my head back on the pillow and runs a finger up his wound collecting a gathering of droplets on the finger, which he puts to my lips. That’s it. I’m screwed. I wonder how much blood you have to take to become a vampire, and if the few drops that seeped between my lips and onto my teeth are enough. My wondering soon stops. There’s no need to wonder how little because suddenly I plan on taking a lot… a whole lot… as much as I can.

My hands reach up and find his hair and I pull his neck to my mouth and viciously sink my dull teeth in a little to secure the place, then I suck as much blood into my mouth as I can. This hunger is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before and I know it’s wrong and I know I’ll only become what I despise but just for this simple taste of sire’s blood it’s suddenly something I’m willing to risk, a worthy sentence.

I feel the blood flow through my blood killing healthy cells in its wake. My arms start to weaken in their death grip and he pulls me gently from his throat and lays my head back on the pillow. I just stare at up at the ceiling, take my last breath, and inventory the death juice’s path through my anatomy. I feel him curl up next to me and his hand goes over my heart to feel the last beats and the last warmth.

I’m going to be a vampire, a soulless murdered. I’m going to hurt people like he’s hurt me, make them feel what he’s made me feel. Fuck that! I’m going to make him feel what he made me feel. If he thinks I’m just going to be his little play thing he’s got another damn thing coming. I close my eyes and feel the darkness overwhelm me. I guess I’m going to die now, I mean I’m already dying, but my body no longer needs to breath and yet my mind is convinced I still need oxygen so I’ll pass out and then wake up in a while, hours maybe days. That’s when my revenge can begin.

I finally have her right where I want her. She’s dying in my arms. I run my hand over her chest to feel her fleeting heart beats under my fingers and try and remember how her warm skin feels to be touched. It was a shame to kill such a beautiful warm creature, as I’ve known it would be from the beginning and maybe that’s why it has taken me so long, but I know the reward will be well worth it. Before she dies a smile graces her lips and she looks so peaceful and happy. What could possibly be making her so happy? Maybe now she finally realized that this is for the better and all the fun we can have together. I doubt it. She seemed to leave with a triumphant thought in her mind and I’ll have to wait until she wakes to find out what that thought was that finally gave her peace.