Shrieking Cordelia arched against the bed, tears flowing
from her eyes, her voice as raw from screaming as her wrists and ankles were
from the chains.
The whip arced through the air and landed another perfectly
aimed thwack on her back. This had
been going on for eons, forever and Cordelia could do nothing about it. Angelus
was a sick mother fucker, and yes, she had already known that –
intellectually. But it was nothing compared to what he was now.
Maybe she hadn’t known him as well as she suspected. The
sick mother fucker part, that was. Angel, her
Angel was still somewhere, Cordelia firmly believed that. It was only a matter
or time before her team found a way to re-soul him. Once that was done he’d
feel bad over what he’d done but Cordelia was sure she would – eventually
and after much groveling on his part – forgive him. Then they could
resume…or start…their relationship.
Another lash, but Cordy had screamed herself hoarse.
Sobbing she lay against the bloodied bed and a distant part of her mind wondered
why Angelus hadn’t chained her to a wall.
She had her answer soon enough.
Soft hands stroked her flesh, insistent, unyielding despite
her whimpers, her pleas, to stop. He had raped her when he had first brought her
back to this penthouse suite, insisting that every dark desire he held Angel did
as well. That every craving the demon had the soul did, every kink, every
position, every want of flesh – and mind.
Logically Cordy knew that Angelus was lying, had to be
lying, but something in his tone suggested something she didn’t want to think
on.
Against her will she felt her body respond, felt moisture
seep between her legs, heard Angelus’ triumphant laugh as he plunged his
fingers into her from behind.
Oh, he had raped her, over and over, only once with his
body, bit repeatedly with his fingers, various sexual objects, and once the
handle from the whip that was still soiled with her blood. But he made her feel;
not always and he never cared if she got off or not after he was finished
shaming her, but there were times when he played her body only too well. Made
her a willing participant in their little fuck fest no matter what she wanted
otherwise. He was a master lover, he knew a woman’s body and all her nuances
and her body responded only too easily.
And that was yet another part of her humiliation; she
wanted him or, at least, he forced her body to want him.
Cordelia felt his cold semen on her back signaling his
release just as she screamed again as a vision smashed through her, her body
convulsing even as Angelus’ fangs tore harshly into her throat. He had told
her that she was delicious, her fear, her hatred, but that it was only a
fleeting feeling and he had had better. Now she was so weak, too weak, and the
vision kept coming and coming.
“Tell me what you see, bitch,” Angelus’ cool breath
whispered in her ear.
Why, she wondered, did the visions come every damn time he
raped her? Was someone trying to tell her something?
Not even thinking to refuse him – she had done that once
and he had broken all the bones in both her feet as slowly as possible and made
her stand on them afterwards – Cordelia tried to think clearly. Between the
blood loss – the whippings and the feedings – the constant rapes, and these
again mind numbing visions, her body was shutting down.
“Faith; I saw Faith. And someone else, blonde, they were
fighting.” But she couldn’t see who they were fighting.
Grabbing a fist full of hair he yanked her head painfully
back, snarling at her. “You had better be more specific, whore.”
Whimpering, somewhat amazed at her body’s capacity to
still feel pain after all she had been through Cordelia tried to concentrate.
“They didn’t have any eyes, big X’s over their eyes. And Spike, I think,
he was there. But I don’t know which side he was on.”
Dropping her tear, blood and snot stained face back to the
bloody bed Angelus stood and left her to her misery. There were no windows in
this room; she was chained to the dirty bed, filthy herself though a minion
usually came to clean both her and the sheets. It wasn’t, she knew, for her
comfort but for Angelus’; he had a certain standard of hygiene to maintain,
apparently.
The vampire walked into his own room, unconcerned with his
nakedness as he turned on the shower. He so loved humiliating that bitch seer,
giving her what she claimed she wanted from Angel; it was a delicious irony that
the things he, Angelus, did to her body were ones Angel would have enjoyed as
well. Well, to an extent; the soul had this thing about not beating one’s fuck
toy to death.
Cordelia never realized that the two – soul and demon –
were much more connected than she wanted to think.
But he was always left wanting. She wasn’t as good as she
thought, hell, he had better from virgins! No, he suspected he knew his problem.
His problem was blonde and had spoiled him for any other woman; which was part
of the reason he had stopped physically entering Cordelia after that first time;
several willing women hadn’t done the trick either, so he had taken to getting
himself off.
He tried to be angry at Buffy, and Cordelia now bore the
marks of that anger, but Angelus realized two things. One, if he killed the seer
– much as he’d truly love to – then he’d have no one to emotionally and
sexually torture and those lovely little and very entertaining visions would be
gone. Not that that was a problem, but he enjoyed knowing what was to come. And
two that, of course, he didn’t want anyone other than Buffy.
Buffy was his mate, he had made a deal with the devil as it
were to rule the world with her by his side. Naturally he’d want, crave,
desire, need her more than any common whore off the streets.
Changing into a clean silk shirt and fresh leather pants,
ah, but it had been so long since Angel remembered how to properly dress, he
went in search of his other victims. There was still time before the next stage
of his plan went into effect and Angelus had loads of energy to burn.
Cordelia certainly wasn’t doing it for him.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Don’t you all look pathetic,” he said, sauntering into another room of
the penthouse designed specifically for this.
Lilah was as good as her word. Setting him up on the top
floor of some tall building, space to spare, guards to watch his so called team,
prisoners to torture, and a nice little army that was even now wreaking havoc on
the LA populace; yes she was good at her job.
“Shame Fred couldn’t be with us today, I’m afraid she
wasn’t as strong as she’d like to believe.” Actually, Angelus hadn’t
laid a hand on her still in that wonderful mental stage of torture before she
died. Heart attack and in one so young; such a sad, sad world, especially when
he had really wanted to dance in her entrails.
“But that’s not why I’m here, Wesley, no I’m here
to let you know that your charge made it out of LA alive. She went straight to
Sunnydale, of course,” Angelus confided, expecting nothing less from the
secondary slayer, “And is helping out my little mate. Maybe you didn’t do
such a bad job with her after all, though I doubt that was your influence.”
Wesley glared at the vampire he once considered his friend
and said nothing. Angelus just laughed, “What, no witty comeback, no scathing
reply? Honestly, Wes, I’m a little disappointed. Thought you were some big bad
demon hunter, all grown up now and ready to face the world, play in the big
leagues.”
He leaned closer, breathed deeply the fear and
mortification that emanated from the former watcher. “Shame that my mate, even
when she was barely seventeen, was much better in that arena than you’ll ever
be. Such a delightful woman she is; I can’t wait until she comes to LA, then
the fun will really begin.”
He turned his back on the still glaring and silent man and
walked over to Gunn. This one he wanted to keep alive, this one was worthy of
being a childe. Even if the human didn’t want it. For now he left the bald man
alone, his grief over Fred’s death palpable in the air around him and a much
better torture device than anything Angelus could do to him.
Lorne was alive, limp and hanging from the wall in obvious
pain, but alive. His red horns were now tiny stumps on his forehead and his skin
peeled away in large unsightly spots.
As Angelus looked at the green skinned demon he thought
that maybe Lorne was better off alive – just for the time being of course. His
skill at reading people could come in mighty handy. Honesty just wasn’t what
it used to be.
No, no one here held his attention so the vampire left them
to their own misery and headed to play with his son. Connor was locked in a
spacious room as Angelus decided his fate. Though the more the boy opened his
mouth the closer he was to just being gutted and done with.
He wasn’t chained to the bed so that counted for
something, didn’t it?
Actually there weren’t any chains at all in the room. Of
course the furniture was bolted to the floor and while there was wooden
furniture in the room, Angelus was confident that he couldn’t be harmed by it.
He wasn’t overly trusting when it came to the First and what It had told him,
but there were several things that It said that were probably right. The fact
that stakes could no longer harm him being one of them.
The windows were unbreakable as well, and tinted against
the sunlight that was currently streaming outside. It was a nice room, small
compared to Angelus’ standards, but his son didn’t think so. Then again, his
son, from what the vampire could tell, was trying not to think of his father at
all.
Too bad for him.
“So, Connor, how do you like the view?”
The sullen child looked away from the window and its false
promise of freedom to his father. “Better than looking at you all day.”
“Ah, the stinging wit of the child. How you wound me.”
Angelus waked casually around the impersonal space. If he thought Connor would
actually go for it, that he wouldn’t try and kill everyone around him, and
escape and that he would care, Angelus would propose a shopping expedition. Just
to liven up the place, it was depressing even for him.
Then again, why should he care? The answer was fast
becoming that he just didn’t.
“No thanks for sparing my life, dad? Truly, I’m
hurt.” Settling in a chair, his hands folded over his taunt stomach he
pondered his son. “It’s like this, Connor. I’m not really sure what to do
with you. Oh, granted there’s that whole son thing, but there’s something
more, too. I’ve never really had much affection for my childer in the grand
scheme of things, just ask them. Yet here you are, alive and well and living a
much better life than your comrades in arms.”
Connor had yet to move but was tense, listening. He knew
there was no hope for escape – he had tried once he had awoken after being
captured by his father’s forces – and he wasn’t really inclined to die
while trying; it severely diminished his chance to kill Angelus at some point if
he were dead.
“Yeah, thanks.” The sarcasm was strong in his voice but
the little child who hadn’t had the best role model growing up and desperately
wanted to be loved was hinted at, there, just underneath.
“This is how it is, son. Los Angeles is completely under
my control; note the almost complete lack of humans scurrying around out
there.” He nodded his head in the direction of the window. “They’re afraid
and rightly so; people are leaving the city in droves and while that diminishes
the food supply, it also makes my control that much more complete. So you have
two choices here. Join me; rule this dismal town and this pitiable world by my
side. Or die.”
Before Connor could say anything, which Angelus knew was
going to be something along the lines of ‘I’d rather die,’ the vampire
held up his hand. “No, wait; there actually is a third option. Live the rest
of your natural life in pain and suffering with the most imaginative torture
techniques I can think of and then I turn you so I can continue the process
forever.”
Angelus stood, smirking at the child. “Think about it,”
and left without a backwards glance.
He had left out one very important detail when offering
Connor a place by his side. Buffy. He planned on turning her, of course, nothing
else would do. To have her rule by his side as his mate, his lover, his goddess
for all eternity. He felt himself harden just thinking about her, her strength,
physical and mental, her beauty.
Absently he licked his lips, savoring the taste of her; her
blood was ambrosia, her feminine juices addicting. Damn her for making him want
her this badly! No other woman could satisfy him like she did. But he had to
admit, if only to himself, that he missed her body missed that (horrible)
wonderful feeling of being buried in her scalding heat.
Shrugging it off, forcing himself to a calm he didn’t
quite feel, Angelus wondered what his unfaithful mate was up to these days.
By now she had to have heard of Los Angeles, demons had a hard time keeping their mouths shut, especially when the news was this big; plus even the human world was abuzz over LA. She’d be coming for him, of that he had no doubt.
And when she did he’d be ready.
~~~~~~~~~~
Giles looked again at the words before him.
He had opted to stay behind during patrol tonight, opting
to research this Blood Harvest instead; try to find a way to stop it. Willow and
Anya were with him but everyone was exhausted and the girls were curled on
opposite sides of the couch, asleep. He was loath to wake them but this seemed
important.
He stood intent on doing just that when they both snapped
awake. Well that was a little disconcerting. Shifting so they sat fully upright
they waited. Okay, now this was just plain weird. Maybe living on the Hellmouth
for so long had done this?
“Ah…what’s wrong?” He asked, wondering if
dream-sharing was going on again and why it would connect Willow and Anya.
The girls – women, they were women now – looked at each
other then back at him. Giles shuffled his feet as if caught in a lie.
“You found something?” Willow asked at length when it
became apparent he wasn’t saying anything.
“Ah, yes,” Giles nodded and did his best to ignore the
freaky (he had lived with Buffy for too long to use a word like that)
interaction between the two girls. “The Blood Harvest. I, ah, I found a
reference to the Blood Harvest in the Brandarch Journals.”
Anya stretched the kinks from her neck and back. “Is that
the guy who spent his life trying to figure out how to make gold? Some great
alchemist or something?”
“Yes,” Giles nodded, the stray thought that she had
probably met him flashing through his mind.
“But he ah, he also wrote about demons and such as a
hobby I suppose. This passage suggests that the Blood Harvest was tried once
before, several thousand years ago. But was unsuccessful because the balance
between good and evil was in good’s favor; knights went on crusades for more
than to secure the Holy Land, they also went hunting demons, wiping out a large
portion of them at the time.”
Willow stood to look at the book in his hands. “So if
it’s going to work now, then that means…”
Anya nodded, standing as well, and stated what they all
feared. “That the balance between good and evil is in favor of evil. Any way
to stop that?”
“The souled vampire.”
“Which one?” Willow read the passage, she couldn’t
understand all the words but the gist was that ‘He
who walks in dark, a beacon of light to the lost, shall… something, help,
probably, ‘shall help them find their
way.’ There was more, but it went into more detail than she could read.
Something about two and one and combining and…it really made no sense to the
witch.
“Angel, I assume, I doubt Spike is in any way connected
to this.”
“Isn’t Angel, ah…?” Willow faltered but Anya
finished for her.
“If Angel’s dead then how can we stop this Blood
Harvest?”
Giles didn’t answer, but they all knew the answer to that; there really was no way.