“The Taj Mahal was built as a tribute to love,” Buffy said as her mouth trailed over Angelus’ chest. 

She knew that because she’d spent a memorable evening with some old storyteller as he wove a truly wonderful and fascinating story about love, devotion, and death. Angelus hadn’t been there, but Buffy assumed he knew the story already, as he was the one to conquer the palace. The story moved her to tears, and she couldn’t help but compare her and Angelus to Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal, the “chosen one of the palace”. 

The storyteller had claimed that some English poet, whom Buffy had never heard of, called it “Not a piece of architecture, as other buildings are, but the proud passions of an emperor’s love wrought in living stones.” (Sir Edwin Arnold) She couldn’t disagree. In fact, she’d let the storyteller live and had threatened any who tried to harm him. 

“Reminds me of us,” she continued, as her mouth whispered over his skin. 

He purred in agreement, his hand tangling in her long golden hair, eyes narrowed and watching as she moved lower. His body responded as it had a hundred, a thousand times before, as he knew it would a thousand times to come. He couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t sate the ache deep within him for her, couldn’t stop the pounding need to join with her, couldn’t stop the love, the passion, he had for her. 

And Angelus didn’t want to. 

They were in the Paradise Gardens, a thick blanket underneath the couple as they enjoyed each other and the quiet. The sun had set nearly an hour ago, and the soft glow of the stars and candles against the water provided more than enough light for them. It was their last night here; Buffy wanted to move on in the morning, and Angelus was perfectly happy to follow her whim. But then he did all this, took over the world, so he could do just that. 

“Buffy,” he whispered, hips arching upwards as her talented mouth caressed him. He felt her smile against him; her nails extend into his hips, stilling his movements, drawing blood. Angelus wanted to take her there, wanted to be encased in her moist depths, wanted to pound into her until they both lay too exhausted to move. 

He didn’t. Angelus waited, enjoying the way Buffy’s mouth moved over him, the way her hair trailed along their bodies, her nails drawing blood from his hips and upper thighs. When his climax crashed through him, when he emptied himself in her waiting and eager mouth, Angelus’ hands jerked hard in her hair, and he roared her name into the still night. 

Buffy crawled up his body, a smug smile in place and wrapped herself around him. Angelus’ arms automatically held her close, and he kissed the top of her head. Eyes closed, hands stroking, he asked, “Where do you want to go next?” 

He asked not because he cared, but because he needed to be ready. He disliked surprising their next destination, disliked not having their guards scout the area out before they arrived. Normally, Angelus wouldn’t care, but Buffy’s safety was his primary concern and for her, he employed the guards. 

“England,” she said, tilting her face to see his. “Giles is back, and I know by now he needs a break.” Angelus said nothing, so Buffy continued. “We’ll stay there a while, okay?” 

“If you wish,” he hedged, knowing the reason she wanted to stay in England, and it wasn’t to see Giles. Not all of it, anyway. No, it was so that once Connor completed that infernal castle in Ireland, they’d be closer to the damnable thing. Angelus dreaded going back; he dreaded seeing Ireland, seeing the place of his birth and death. Of his rebirth. Dreaded seeing his past. Confronting it.
They’d managed to see much of the Old World in the past months, crisscrossing Asia, the Middle East, and North Africa until all that remained was to move on. Angelus didn’t, however, wish to move on to Ireland. For over two-hundred and fifty years, he’d managed to avoid that stupid, tiny, insignificant island. He’d be perfectly happy avoiding it for another two hundred years.
“You don’t want to go,” she said, hand cupping his cheek. Angelus opened his eyes, looking at her. “Why? Because you don’t want to return to Ireland?” She wasn’t stupid, she knew the reasons. But Buffy firmly believed that Angelus needed to confront those reasons before he self-destructed. They had a long time together, and if this was hanging over them, if this was always in his past, then it was only a matter of time before it came between them. 

“I told you,” he growled, making a move to get up. Buffy stopped him, using all her augmented strength to still his movements. For a moment, she thought that Angelus was really going to fight her, but he didn’t. He looked at her, brown eyes blazing in their intensity, their love for her, their hatred for his past. 

“I don’t have anything there. It was a long time ago, and there’s nothing for me there. Not anymore. I killed anything that held me there.” 

“And yet,” Buffy said slowly, softly, “You haven’t returned. If nothing was holding you back, if nothing held you there, then it wouldn’t have mattered. You would’ve returned. But you haven’t.” 

Angelus growled again, his eyes flashing, face shifting. Tension coiled in him, harsh and violent, and Buffy wondered at that. It seemed that he was ready to burst; she could feel his muscles wanting to break free, to hunt and kill and forget. His emotions certainly belied his words, but then that often happened with them. To her, however, Angelus was an open book, easy to read, easy to understand even beneath the layers of masks he employed to keep the world at bay. 

Pressing her lips to his for a moment, Buffy pulled back to stroke the ridges of his forehead, a sad little quirk of her mouth lifted one corner. “You gave me that gift with my father, love. And I know,” she said when he would have interrupted, “I can’t gift you with the same, but I can gift you with the chance for you to come to terms once and for all. You’re one of the strongest beings I've ever known, Angelus. You can deal with this; put it all behind you, finally, if you give it half a chance.” 

Her hand trailed lightly along the side of his face, tracing bone and sinew before cupping his cheek once more. Her smile was soft, loving, tender. Something reserved solely for him as she pressed her lips to his in another gentle kiss. “Let me do this for you, my love.” 

For a long, quiet moment, Angelus said nothing. He simply looked at her and wondered. Could he do this? Even for her? Yes, he could do anything for her. Even this. And if it got her off his back about his father and all that dead man represented, then so much the better. 

“Alright,” Angelus said finally. “We’ll go.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“You all know what to do?” 

They nodded, greed and hunger blazing in their eyes. The group of ten were no fools; they knew this was most likely a suicide mission. If they survived, however…if they survived and won…then the rewards would be unbelievable. More than even they, in their infinite self-indulgence, could imagine. 

“You know the consequences of failure?” 

They grunted in agreement, now just antsy to leave the group before them and do their job. Which wasn’t so much a job, as a fun little adventure. Sure, there was risk, but when wasn’t there? Demon hunters, slayers, other clans, sects, and species fighting for one reason or another; life was full of danger 

“You’ll get your rebellion,” the leader said with a snort. Or it could have been the way he breathed, it was hard to tell. “And Angelus will get what he deserves.” 

The beings before them nodded and simply disappeared from sight. The demons laughed, already planning their own, separate strategy. Usually they didn’t bother with one, but when one went up against the rulers of the world, one had a plan. 

Because toppling Angelus and Buffy’s kingdom, and killing the elder vampire, wasn’t something to scoff at.
~~~~~~~~~~
A brisk wind swept around them as they stepped off the private plane early the next morning. The sunrise was still several hours off, and yet it felt as if they’d been flying for a week rather than half a day. 

Buffy rubbed her hands over bare arms, wondering why she could feel the cold now, when for years, since her change at the hands of a long-forgotten Belinda, she couldn’t. Maybe it was an omen. Most likely, it was Angelus’ mood. He’d been sulky and petulant since leaving India, and Buffy was ready to stake him just to get him to stop. 

She’d never do that, however, never even seriously contemplate that, but she had to do something. Just not killing her lover. Still, he was driving her insane. 

“Giles,” Angelus said with a smirk as the other man approached them on the tarmac. Noticing Buffy’s chills, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her tight against his chest to get her out of the stiff breeze that gusted around them. He may be a little…put out with her and her insistence on going to Ireland, but she was still his, and he so hated to see her in any form of discomfort. 

He’d done his best not to take his anger out in his usual way – raging and hitting – and as a result, had felt more like the damned soul that inhabited his body for a hundred years than himself. Which pissed him off more, and the argument he and Buffy had gotten into on the plane had ended in a physical fight that trashed one end of the machine. Still, as a result, Angelus felt better now. Well, that and the hard fuck he and Buffy had indulged in afterwards. 

“Alone?” He asked Giles as he absently placed a kiss on the top of Buffy’s head. She sighed and snuggled against him, her small hands wrapping around his wrists. 

“Yes,” Giles laughed, though there was a hard edge to it. Obviously, the stress of finding the spell had gotten to him. “Saffir and Willow are at the house, seeing that your dinner is, ah, properly prepared.” 

“Good,” Angelus said, releasing Buffy, only to take her hand in his. Without another word, they walked to the waiting limo Giles had provided. There was little traffic on the road, and it didn’t take long until they reached the converted castle Giles and Saffir shared, now with Willow. Conversation was limited to what Angelus had shown Buffy, and how she’d enjoyed her second – and less bloody – trip round the world. Alighting from the car, and then helping Buffy from the plush confines, Angelus followed a silent Giles into the house. 

“Any progress?” Buffy asked, already knowing the answer. But she’d seen the way Giles held himself, knew the look he had, the stiffness in his shoulders. He often got that look when he couldn’t find the answer to their problems immediately, when he searched and searched, and still no solution presented itself. 

“No,” he shook his head. “Thousands of books, scrolls, stone tablets, you name it,” he spat, “And still nothing.” 

Squeezing Angelus’ hand once, she let go of him and crossed the foyer to where Giles stood, ramrod straight, hands curled into tight fists. He wasn’t one to lose his temper, and yet Buffy knew that he had a formidable one. The fact that he looked close to doing just that, worried her immeasurably. 

“We’ve got nothing but time, Giles,” Buffy said with a reassuring smile. “So it takes a year, so it takes two. It doesn’t matter now.” 

He gave her a small smile, letting some of the tension ease from his shoulders. Buffy had the uncanny ability to say just the right thing at the right time. In a way, she was a lot like Saffir in that manner. But then maybe it was because Buffy loved him enough to see it, and Saffir wanted to. Tried to. Just as he tried to do more than simply care for her. 

“I know,” he finally said on a sigh, patting the hand Buffy had laid on his arm. Saffir chose that moment to walk down the stairs to join them. “But I feel as if it’s right there, and we’re missing it.” 

Another squeeze on his hand, and Buffy returned to Angelus’ side, slipping her hand back into his larger one. Saffir’s place was with Giles, not Buffy’s, and that was fine. 

Buffy genuinely liked Saffir, liked that the older vampiress was there for her watcher and father figure. Liked that Giles had found someone to share eternity with, even if they all knew their time together was most likely limited. Not due to anything other than their individual desires for freedom and change. It, the personal relationships so many formed over the years, was still a comfort that even immortals needed. 

“Where’s Willow?” Buffy asked as Giles led them to the dining hall. 

“Buried, I think,” Saffir frowned with a look towards the upper level, “Under a pile of Ancient Chinese scrolls.” 

“I didn’t know she could read Chinese,” Buffy admitted with a startled blink. 

Giles shrugged, “There area a lot of languages we’ve all learned lately.” 

“I heard a rumor while you were gone,” Saffir changed the subject, as they adjourned into the dining hall where several goblets of blood wine waited them. Saffir paused until they were seated before continuing. “It seems that a clan of the Federation Movement is starting to make noise about overthrowing us.” 

“The Federation Movement?” Angelus asked, sipping from his goblet. Ah, there was only one thing better than the taste of fear and death, and that was Buffy. “We wiped them out ages ago,” he said confidently. But his eyes strayed to his lover, reassuring himself, even now, with her right there, next to him and in a safe house, that she was unharmed. 

“I know,” Saffir nodded. “I think this is probably just something a group of disgruntled demons reinvented to make themselves sound more formidable than they are.”

“I’ll check it out,” Angelus said immediately, with that half-smirk on his handsome features. 

This was perfect, he thought with a slow wink at Buffy. All his anger, his hatred, his unwillingness to return to Ireland could be put off, perhaps indefinitely. He’d go wherever this supposed uprising was; take all that anger out on a bunch of stupid demons, crush it, and stick around to see what or who else had the impudence to go against his rule. 

And endanger Buffy. 

“Where is this supposed uprising?” He asked, thumb absently stroking Buffy’s hand. He’d realized early on in their renewed relationship that he needed to touch her, all the time, in some fashion or another. At first it was like a sickness, but then Angelus realized that touching her, feeling her, conveyed more powerfully that she was his than a thousand public announcements could. And it eased something twisted tight within him. 

Plus, he enjoyed it, the soft silkiness of her skin under his hands, his mouth. The scents, subtle and unique, the texture, the taste that was Buffy. 

“The Pyreneans,” Saffir said, and then shrugged. “That information is a little vague, but I’ll let you…ah, talk to the informant.” 

Angelus smiled to that, nodding as he took another sip from his goblet. Yes, this was the perfect outlet for his anger, suppressed as it was. He frowned for a moment as a stray thought crossed his mind. A moment from his past…or was it several moments all rolled into one after all these years? Angelus couldn’t remember now, and wasn’t sure he cared enough to sort through the tangled web of thoughts and memories…and feelings. 

‘Sweet Kathy.  No tears; we’ll meet again,’ the human Liam had whispered. 

‘Defy me now, you won’t. Not as long as I live,’ his father had threatened. Promised. 

‘You’ll want to move away from the door now, father.’

’Go through it, but don’t ever expect to come back.’ Another threat and promise, one Liam hadn’t cared for then, he’d never cared what his father had said, though the words had beaten him down enough over his life to make a difference. 

‘As you wish, father.  Always, just as you wish.’ 

‘It’s a son I wished for – a man – instead God gave me you!  A terrible disappointment.’ 

‘Disappointment?  A more dutiful son you couldn’t have asked for,’ Liam had spat back at the looming shadow of his father. Or maybe his father had just looked shadowed from the distance of centuries. Angelus couldn’t remember what his parents – or Kathy – looked like anymore. ‘My whole life you’ve told me in word, in glance, what it is you required of me, and I’ve lived down to your every expectations, now haven’t I?’ 

‘That’s madness!’ A shout, a snarl, his father, always so self-righteous, always so right and godly. Bastard. No wonder he’d killed him. 

‘No.  The madness is that I couldn’t fail enough for you.  But we’ll fix that now, won’t we?’ 

‘I fear for you, lad.’ 

‘And is that the only thing you can find in your heart for me now, father?’ All this time, all these years, and that’s the only thing his father had to say to him. Well, the only thing that wasn’t a derogatory sneer meant to put down the lad he’d sired. 

‘Who’ll take you in, huh?  No one!’ 

‘I’ll not lack for a place to sleep, I can tell you that.  Out of my way.’ 

‘I was never in your way, boy.’

Darla’s voice floated to him from the past. ‘Your victory over him took but moments. But his defeat of you will last life times. Nor can he ever approve of you – in this world or any other. What we once were informs all that we have become. The same love will infect our hearts – even if they no longer beat. Simple death won’t change that.’ 

“Angelus?” Buff’s voice brought him back to the present, and he smiled at her, bringing her hand to his lips. He said nothing, but the smile he sent her reassured her slightly. Whatever it was, she’d ask him about it later. For now, she smiled back and returned her attention to what Giles was saying about England.
~~~~~~~~~~
“You’re not going,” Angelus said in a flat voice, arms folded over his chest. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d said that this day. He looked foreboding, eyes black with rage, brow rigid with his demon’s anger. He looked ready to murder. Buffy merely smiled. She wasn’t afraid of him, in fact his anger aroused her; this wasn’t exactly the time for thoughts like that, however, so she pushed them to the side. 

“Why not?” She demanded, moving with fluid grace to stand directly before him in the soft light of their room. 

They’d been having this argument for a while now, and neither wanted to back down. By this time, it was a matter of principle and of pride. Angelus insisted that he and Giles were going to the continent to stop this rebellion, and Buffy insisted that she was joining him. 

“I don’t want you there.” His voice brooked no opposition, but Buffy ignored that. When she raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate, Angelus gave a low growl and did. “Baby, this…” he almost said it wasn’t the place for her, but that certainly wasn’t the way to earn her cooperation. 

Instead he took her by her shoulders, forcing his hands to gentle. His thumbs caressed the silky skin under his hands as he tried to think of how to put his reasons into words. All he could see was Buffy, her petite body stained red with blood right before she turned to dust in his arms. They wanted her dead, Angelus knew that as surely as he knew that this was most likely some sort of trap. 

“They want you,” he eventually said, deciding on the truth they both knew. “The fact that they’re using the name of a group we’ve already eradicated, means that they’re either stupid – which is a distinct possibility – or they’re after something. Or someone.” 

“And you think this someone is me,” Buffy asked, though it was more a statement. Her hands wrapped around his wrists, squeezing tight. “Why do you think that? Why not you? Why wouldn’t they be after you?” 

“I’ve been around a long time, Buffy,” Angelus said, drawing her close to him. He was tired of arguing, tired of going over the same things with her. Hell, he was just plain tired. He wanted to crawl into bed, hold Buffy tight against him, and sleep wrapped in her delicious scent for a week. 

“In the hundred and fifty years I roamed Europe, I never bothered to do more than terrorize the humans – enough to make a reputation for myself,” he admitted with a cocky smile, “But I never bothered to take over the world. With you, I have. Only with you did I bother to do that.” 

“You could have before,” she said, knowing that he hadn’t cared before – this was something they had already talked about. 

He shrugged, knowing the answer to that as well as she did. “If they have you, then they think I’ll lose the will to rule.” Buffy snorted at that, and Angelus smirked down at her, moving her away from him to taste her lips.  

“They don’t know you as well as they think,” Buffy laughed, leading him to the bed. She slipped off the satin nightgown, and crawled, naked, beneath the thick comforter. When Angelus had joined her, she moved into his arms, nestling close to him. It was a favored position, and one she often found herself unconsciously in whenever they slept. 

“If they knew anything about you,” she finished, “They’d know you’d kill every living thing in this world if something happened to me.” 

“What can I say, lover,” Angelus laughed into the crock of her neck. “You inspire a passion in me I’m helpless to resist.” 

Buffy turned her head, a satisfied smile on her lips as she kissed him. There was something he wasn’t telling her, but Buffy suspected that had more to do with the fact he didn’t want to go to Ireland than anything else. She’d get it out of him eventually, just as she was confident that they’d get to Ireland sooner rather than later. 

As Angelus slipped into her slick coolness, his only thought was of keeping her safe. If something happened to her, he didn’t know what he’d do. His whole world was this woman, his vampiress, his mate. His love. He couldn’t live without her.
~~~~~~~~~~
The next evening, Angelus and Giles left for France. 

Spike, grumbling all the while, and without Drusilla and Faith, had flown in from LA to watch over Buffy – at Angelus’ insistence and despite the fact that he knew, and Buffy reasserted several times, that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Paul traveled with him, but was now detouring towards France to help with the uprising. 

Buffy felt as if it was some big macho thing the men in her Family felt they needed to do, and while she hated being so far from Angelus, laughed it off with Willow and Saffir. 

Connor was flying from Ireland, as well, though not to help defeat the rebels, but to protect Buffy. Again Angelus’ idea, for he knew that Connor would protect Buffy with his life, even at the expense of the rest of their Family. It was a devotion Angelus could understand and appreciate, even if there still was a thread of jealously within him at that knowledge. 

Watching Buffy sit in the gardens as a fat moon shone down upon her, Spike lighted his cigarette and puffed a moment. She looked beautiful sitting there, angelic and pure as her silver gown blew around her in the soft breeze. So innocent, so deceiving, so deadly. Spike wanted her, but knew he could never again have her; usually he was okay with this. Today, he simply wanted. Why, Spike couldn’t have said, there was just something so alluring about her that made so many want her. He was no exception. 

Granted, he was pissed he had to miss all the fun on the Continent, but if it meant spending time alone with Buffy, Spike could deal. Plus, he figured that if Angelus was sending him to keep an eye on his lover, then something else was up. And maybe, even though Angelus had forgiven him – in word and deed – for his past, maybe now his grandsire truly had. It warmed something within Spike he wasn’t willing to dwell on, so he did his best to ignore it. 

“Stop lurking, Spike,” Buffy said, though she never looked away from the night sky. 

“Sorry pet,” Spike laughed with no remorse in his voice. “Wanted to make sure you were alright. Angelus would have my hide if anything happened to you.” 

She just laughed at that, but couldn’t disagree. Instead, she asked, “Do you feel it, Spike? Do you feel the air on your skin?” 

Crushing his cigarette beneath his boot, Spike walked further into the garden. Even now, with summer a ways off, the garden was heavy with scents and colors, making the evening seem somehow wrapped in a cloak of secrecy and romance. Taking a seat next to her, he tried to figure out what was different about her this night. 

“What are you talking about, Buffy?” 

“The night air,” she whispered. “It breaths cold and heavy on my skin, telling me that there are still things out there we haven’t defeated.” 

Her words scared him, but Spike wasn’t about to let her know that. She sounded like Dru did when she had a vision, or Dawn even, when she was in her more crazy moods. Suppressing the shiver of apprehension, Spike shrugged it off, or tried to. “You think this little uprising is more than that? That it’s something to worry over?” 

“No,” Buffy’s soft voice whispered over the darkened garden. “We all know this is just a diversion.” And one that Angelus had risen to because he wanted to avoid the place of his birth. He hadn’t said it aloud, but Buffy knew her lover, and knew that while he may not admit it even to himself, he’d never fully got over killing the man for whom he still carried so much hatred. 

“Ah,” Spike said with another shrug, feeling as if he were floating in the wind, flapping without purchase. This was a change he wasn’t expecting, and it threw him; he didn’t like change, didn’t deal well with it. “Then what is it you think is going to happen?” 

“I don’t know,” she admitted with a shiver. Standing, Buffy looked down at her one time lover and smiled gently. “If I knew the future, Spike,” she laughed softly, “Don’t you think it would have turned out differently?” 

“Can’t dispute that,” Spike agreed with a laugh. But it was hollow, and he knew it. There was something wrong here, something he couldn’t quite place, something that he should know, but teased him just out of his reach. 

Buffy shivered again, and Spike frowned. “Cold, luv?” 

“No,” she sighed, but didn’t elaborate. “When will Connor be here?” 

“Two days from now,” the elder vampire said, “He said he has a few things to wrap up beforehand.” 

Nodding, Buffy went into the house without another word. Her silence, so unlike the vampire-slayer, unnerved Spike. What the hell was wrong with her? Was it something to do with this uprising, or something more? It was, so far as Spike could tell, nothing more than a pathetic attempt at attention for those uprising. Why Angelus had gone himself, Spike didn’t know, but the big poof always was one for doing things himself. 

“Spike?” Willow’s voice called him from the house. 

“Yeah, luv?” Spike asked, lighting another cigarette. Willow didn’t care if he smoked, and frankly, Spike wasn’t nearly as scared of her as he was of Buffy. 

“What did you say to Buffy?” She demanded, the wind brushing her long black hair against her hips. 

“Whoa,” he said immediately, knowing where this was going. Okay, so Willow didn’t frighten him as much as Buffy, but the witch was damned powerful with a mercurial temper. “Nothing, I swear. Just wanted to know what she was doing out here.” 

Willow’s dark eyes narrowed and for a moment, Spike lamented the loss of her bright hazel eyes, full of life and heat. Why was he so sentimental tonight? Damn, he was getting as sappy now as he was when human. Damn, now he was maudlin. 

Shaking the mood off as best he could, Spike looked at his former lover. Maybe that was why he was so rooted in the past, watching over two former lovers – and loves to an extent – wasn’t something one usually found one’s self doing. 

“And what was she doing?” Willow asked, arms folded over her chest. She was exhausted and frustrated from trying to find this spell. While she knew the significance and importance of it, at the moment, Willow didn’t care. 

“Watching the stars,” Spike admitted, and then nodded when Willow’s black eyes narrowed even further. “Really, or that’s what she said at any rate.” 

“You don’t believe her,” she stated. “Why?” 

“There’s something off here,” Spike confessed, and stared at the glowing end of his cigarette as if it was a link to the Oracle at Delphi and had the answers he sought. “I don’t know what, but there’s something wrong.” 

“Other than the fact that this little revolt Angelus is busy squashing is no doubt a trap?” 

“Yeah,” Spike said quietly, eyes straying to an upper room light. It was Buffy and Angelus’ room; somehow he wasn’t surprised. “Other than that.” 

“It’s early still,” Willow said as she followed Spike’s gaze to the window. They watched as the light went out, Buffy safely enclosed in the darkness within. “I’m going hunting, want to join me?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, “But I can’t. If I leave Buffy and something happens to me, Red, even your magick won’t be enough to bring me back.” 

Willow laughed, she couldn’t help it, and agreed. “I’ll bring you back a nice young one, shall I?” 

“You’re good to me,” Spike acknowledged and went inside as Willow exited the compound. He was worried, but that was nothing new. He wasn’t worried about himself, however, though Angelus was bound to hurt him somehow when he returned to London. No, he was worried about Buffy. 

She hadn’t hunted tonight.
~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy shivered again, and snuggled deeper into the quilt she’d wrapped around herself. It smelled of Angelus, of their passion from the night before. It smelled of home and love, and yet it wasn’t enough. 

Her body was on fire; a slow ever-warming blaze that spread through her. It would only get worse, she knew that. Was afraid of what would happen when it became too much for her to bear, to hide. Angelus wasn’t going to be long, but that didn’t slow her body’s need, her craving, her addiction. 

Without Angelus’ blood, Buffy knew she’d descend into madness. 

And yet she’d never tell her mate of the very real need she had of him; it was partly out of a strong sense of pride – Buffy was used to being the strong one. And yet it was also out of a sense of need to see to Angelus’ strength as well. If he knew just how dependant she was on his blood, he might get sloppy, more concerned for her safety than his own. 

Sighing as she felt the comforting tingle of Angelus pulse through her, even from the distance of miles, Buffy forced herself to rest. She’d need her strength should Angelus be longer than the couple of days he promised. Those things never worked out like they wanted. 

“I love you,” she whispered into the darkness, as the slight shakes coursed through her body.

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