Track A in Track B 

Drusilla waltzed into the house still twittering about daddy and the Slayer, or more specifically, daddy and his Slayer, which turned into ‘daddy and mummy.’ 

William, walking a bare step behind her, merely shook his head and wondered what good could possibly come out of any such union. Sure, the chit was good looking, in a human Slayer kind of way, and she was the Slayer, which in and of itself was something: power, need, strength, it was all coming off her in almost palpable waves. 

And anything that ejected Darla out of their lives was always good. Even if William always thought Drusilla liked Darla; he hadn’t and never really cared who knew it. But then there was Angelus and his feelings on the bint. After all, Darla was Angelus’ Sire and there was a bond there whether Angelus liked it or not. And he really did seem to enjoy Darla’s many, er, talents. So if what Drusilla was saying was true, then this Slayer was about to change their lives. 

But, and William never professed to understand the majority of what came out of her mouth, Drusilla’s constant ramblings about Angelus and the Slayer were just too much. 

Shag the girl and be done with her. Okay, shag her until you tire of her and then drain her. There was a reason no one had ever won a challenge against Angelus: he had fought and killed five Slayers, draining their blood before their hearts beat their final cadence. 

With the blood of five Slayers flowing through his veins making him stronger and faster than his fellow vampires, he wasn’t easily defeatable. 

Not that William wanted to challenge him, no, he was more than content (for the moment) where he was, but should he ever wish to challenge his Grandsire, it would have to be a sneak attack. A direct frontal assault would only be met with severe and unimaginable pain and suffering: on William’s part. 

“Can you feel it, William, my love?” Drusilla’s voice brought him back from his musing as she opened the double oak doors that led to their current residence. 

“Feel what, pet?” 

“The change in the air, the power and energy. It’s the Slayer, she brings it with her, she causes it.” 

Drusilla floated up the stairs, her dress billowing about her in soft waves. The servants had long since retired for the evening leaving the large townhouse empty and quiet. Most of the domestics refused to stay in the mansion after dark, preferring to take their extra wages – Angelus always compensated well when he wanted privacy – and bunk together in a rooming house…on the other side of town. 

Angelus could feel his Childer the moment they entered the house but said nothing and didn’t move from his position in the early Victorian chair. It was true that he’d made a reputation as one of the most vicious creatures to ever walk the earth, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t another side to him. It was rare and mostly hidden, but there all the same. 

His cruel and merciless smile hid a brilliant mind, expensive tastes, and a craving that he had always thought was for the hunt, the kill, the need to dominate and destroy. Now, though, with Buffy sitting on the bed staring at him like he was the Minotaur about to attack, he began to realize it was something else. With the revelation that his mad Childe believed Buffy to be destined for him, Angelus knew, finally, what that emptiness was. 

Her. 

It was Buffy. He had no idea how she had come to be here in this time and in this place, nor did he know what exactly their connection to each other was, all he knew was that she filled something inside of him that he hadn’t even realized was empty and missing. His dreams had shown him for a year, and now that she was there with him, he realized that the missing part of himself was her. 

It would have been disconcerting, disturbing, alarming, and not a little upsetting. If he had actually cared about anything other than himself and, secondarily of course, his family’s survival. The demon within him screamed; in release, in acknowledgement, in lust, and in need. Everything about him knew, absolutely, that the beautiful woman before him was indeed his Destiny. 

And yes, the fear that things had been preplanned, prophecies and predictions were always disconcerting, was there. And the thought that she was the Slayer was more than a little troubling. But on the plus side, having a Slayer as his Marked Mate would greatly increase his already elevated standing in the their World. 

“If you don’t breathe, you’re going to pass out.” 

Buffy heard the words, but couldn’t make sense of them over the roar of her blood and the pounding of her heart not to mention the screaming in her brain that something was seriously, seriously off here. But she automatically drew in a breath, whether in acknowledgement of his suggestion or simply because her body needed it was unimportant. And with the influx of oxygen came clarity – of a sort at least. 

She was terrified of Angelus, the one she knew; Buffy wanted him, wanted his body, wanted the same feeling, the same release that Angel provided. She loved Angel; she loved his soul, so beautiful and pure. She loved his demon, so possessive and protective. Together, they made a wonderful being who wanted her as much as she wanted him. 

The demon couldn’t deal with that, Buffy realized now, now that she met the Angelus pre-soul. The Angelus she met couldn’t deal with the feelings his soul had towards her so he set about destroying both them and her. But this Angelus, this one didn’t seem bent on killing her. No, he seemed to want her. Which was interesting. And which made Buffy realize something else, too. 

Angel was hers. 

Angel…was…hers. 

There wasn’t anything in any world that was going to change that. And while the being before her wasn’t technically her Angel, he was lacking a soul after all, there were characteristics that were. Little traits that said, ‘soul or no, we’re the same and we want you.’ 

And he did want her, she knew that now. Angel, Angelus, both had always wanted her. 

Again, there was the soul factor. Could she love a demon without a soul? 

She loved Angel with everything she was and everything she had. Angelus confused her, taunted and drew her in to him. She had still wanted him, partly because he was her lover, the same body, same touch, same smell and taste. And partly because there was something there, something else that attracted her, something that was all Angelus and that called to the Primal Force that beat within her, the Dark Force that was all Slayer. 

Swallowing, she looked at the demon sitting across from her and opened her mouth. She wasn’t sure what words were going to make themselves known, all she knew was that the imperative to say something was there and she couldn’t ignore it.  

But then, a knock sounded on the door and Angelus called for them to come in, his imperious tone making Buffy smile despite her confused state. Some things never change. Buffy watched as Drusilla floated into the room. The vampiress had the same standard two feet, Buffy was almost positive, but the way she moved belied that assumption. Maybe it was the craziness that added to the sense of gracefulness that surrounded her. 

“You’re awake, my pretty.” She cooed as she made her way over to the bed and sat next to the still dazed Slayer despite the annoyed look Buffy shot her. 

Thinking ‘wicked witch’ all the way, or maybe crazy wicked witch, Buffy tried to move closer to the headboard, putting as much distance as possible between herself and the vampiress. Unfortunately, two things stopped her: her intense desire to show no fear or to back down from these strange creatures with familiar faces, and her complete and total shock at not only her surroundings but also her realization that Drusilla thought she and Angelus were supposed to be together. 

Okay, yes, Buffy could see her and Angel, but the soulless demon that had killed friends, terrorized yet more friends and family? Who had tortured her watcher and did his best to destroy everything good she and his souled side had? Buffy was having a hard time wrapping her mind around that one. Except that, Angel was hers and she couldn’t let that go. Ever. 

Not to mention that Drusilla hated her, absolutely and utterly. 

Drusilla began to pet her hair, stroking her as she would a doll or dog. She continued to coo at Buffy, whispering nonsense about the stars and a happy family. Buffy was sure the world had just spun off its axis and there was no stopping the insanity now. William looked on with faint amusement, wondering just what his Grandsire and the Slayer were discussing. 

Angelus abruptly stood, commanding immediate attention as he did so. “Where’s Darla, William?” 

The scene before him with his Childe and his almost lover – for he would have Buffy – made him want to smile. But there were things they had to take care of first. The most immediate of which was his own Sire. And the trouble she was sure to cause. Angelus would have been perfectly fine with just leaving her, he had before and no doubt would have again, Slayer or no, but he knew Darla. 

She would never simply allow him to leave her for another mate, let alone a human and Slayer at that. And she would be a constant threat to Buffy. While Angelus was positive that the petite Slayer could handle herself in any fight, it was something he was unwilling to even contemplate. 

The thought of losing her, so newly found and not yet explored, was unthinkable. 

William snorted. “Don’t know, she went off in a huff, flouncing across the street and prancing like the trollop she is.” He didn’t like Darla and had never made a secret of that fact. “Did hear a murmuring, though; seems she was making noises about the Slayer. That there was one in London and how small and weak she looked.” 

Before anyone had a chance to say anything to that Buffy rose from the bed, casting Drusilla uneasy looks as she did so and snorted. “Bitch, I swear I liked her better when she was dust on the Bronze floor.” She threw her hair over her shoulder, standing straight and proud and unafraid, her weight resting on the balls of her feet. “She has no idea what a Slayer really is. She’ll learn, though.” 

Buffy had just about had enough of Darla, brief though their acquaintance was, and, with adrenaline pumping though her from too many revelations and not enough answers, she stalked to the Amour intent on dressing in whatever she could find and hunting Darla down. The flimsy nightgown she wore was certainly not going to be enough to make a public appearance, but she doubted that there were women in pants in 1885.

As she removed a dress that looked complicated and heavy, Angelus restrained his roar and asked, “What do you think you’re doing? And where do you think you’re going?” 

This may not have been her Angel, nor yet her Angelus, but that didn’t mean that Buffy couldn’t feel the anger rolling off him in waves strong enough to knock her back into the wall. Equally as strong was the fact that Buffy could feel how much Angelus, this Angelus wanted her; the intensity blazed into her very being, her mark tingled, her blood screamed for its mate. A bubble of comfort, affection, jealous yet undeniable lust and possessive need wrapped around her, drawing Buffy to him as surely as she’d ever been drawn to her Angel/Angelus/lover.  

It was a dangerous combination, intoxicating, provocative, hopeful, even, offering her what she always wanted – Angel/Angelus/lover – but what she could never again have. And it showed her one more thing, too; the hunt wasn’t the only place where she could find release. No, the being before her offered her that as well. He always had. 

“I’m going to find Darla,” she said and her voice echoed around the silent room as she sorted through the dresses hanging before her. “And I’m going to kill her. Sire or not, it’s not only my sworn duty,” she shot a look over her shoulder at Angelus. “But I REALLY hate the bitch.”

William and Drusilla were avidly watching the scene before them. Angelus was always more interested in saving his own skin and if in doing so he saved the skins of his Childer or Sire, then that’s just how things worked out. So the question was not so much about Darla’s continued existence upon this earth but more about Buffy’s safety. 

Now wasn’t that interesting? Just what had happened during the few short hours he and Drusilla had been hunting? 

“You are not going out there, I don’t care who you are. You are my possession, in my care for the time and I’ll not have you unnecessarily risking yourself for some perceived vengeance against my very stupid Sire.” His voice was calm, almost serene in its tenor. But Buffy could hear the underlying…something. Rage was there, yes, but so was concern. Concern for what? Darla’s life or her own? 

When she raised her eyes back to his they were filled with more than hatred towards the vampiress. Anger, betrayal, fear and love were mixed there as well. The combination was intoxicating, drawing Angelus in like nothing else. What had Darla done to this Buffy in her world? What kind of past had the two of them had? And where was he for all this? 

“You’re not going until and unless I say so.” His word was final. 

Except that Buffy wasn’t used to being told what to do; or rather she wasn’t used to actually listening to orders she wasn’t going to follow anyway. And she was scared, her fear turning into anger no matter how right Angelus might be. She didn’t know this place she had found herself in, the town or the people, nothing.

So she did what she normally did in situations such as these. She lashed out, her words designed to hurt him and protect herself. Violence streamed off her in waves as she walked around the bed and stood a scant foot in front of him. No matter how much she longed to listen to him, to wrap those strong arms around herself and take comfort in his presence, she couldn’t allow herself to. 

She had to find a way back home, to her time, to her Angel. She had to kill Darla so her Angel might be spared the pain in doing to. She had to tell her Angel how much she loved him and needed him. She had to breakup with Riley. She had to figure out what the First Slayer had meant and why the forces pumping through her now wouldn’t let her rest. 

“You think you can keep me here?” The words were low and soft, a gentle threat that was all the more powerful for the steel behind it. Despite the almost comical differences in their sizes, Buffy was not intimidated and it showed. “You think you can best me?” 

Angelus shifted his weight, dropping his crossed arms and stared back at her. In a flash he knew what she was doing, the fear she was trying to hide behind anger, the longing and lust and yes, even the love she was denying. He had no idea what had happened between them in her world, in her future but it had scarred her, terrified her. 

Made her both unwilling to trust him and unable not to. 

“You want a fight, Buffy? That’s fine. But you’re not leaving this house until I say so.”

Without warning, she lashed out, surprising everyone with her speed and reflexes. She was faster than any Slayer they had ever seen, her moves a blur and she struck Angles in rapid succession in the solar plexus, twisting with him as she countered his responses with her own. She had the advantage, knowing his moves while he was new to her style. 

But he had been around much longer than she and knew when and how to adapt. So when her foot made contact with his chest, he accepted the blow but caught her ankle before either had time to recover. Twisting her in the air, he watched as she landed on the bed a scant second before flipping backwards off it. 

William and Drusilla leaned against the doorway, watching with interest. 

The room was in shambles by the time the couple realized that their fight was going to end in a stalemate, each as strong as the other, as fast and creative as the other. He had her up against a wall, neither remembering how they had gotten there. Buffy did have the advantage; she was more powerful than Angelus and they both knew it. But she was taking her anger, her fear at her new situation, at her strange circumstances out on him. 

And they both knew that, too. 

And suddenly Buffy didn’t care, didn’t care that this wasn’t her Angel, wasn’t her time or place or anything. Didn’t care that he had left her and she had ‘moved on,’ didn’t care that her friends were worried about her, didn’t care that she had a new lover and that he was probably worried about her, too. Didn’t care that the Angel from her world probably knew of her disappearance by now and was worried as well, and most certainly didn’t care that she really shouldn’t be doing what she was about to do. 

She didn’t care about anything except him and her and what they could feel together. 

No one would ever find out, no one would ever know that she had fucked her lover’s evil alter ego. No one would ever realize that she had needed him so desperately that she had taken what comfort she could and kissed him. 

Always before they had come first; even when she fought for a Them, her friends’ safety had come first. Because they were the non-supernatural ones who helped her, because if anything happened, it wasn’t Buffy who’d be in danger, but them, those closest to her. So they came first, while Buffy’s desires, her need to be with Angel, came last. 

Angelus stood before her, exuding a power that sparked something within her, that made her glow in his presence and for a moment, Buffy was breathless. She’d forgotten what it was like, basking in the aura that Angel/Angelus/lover exuded and how it always made her feel. No more. Things had changed, Buffy knew that. But what had never changed, was the way the being before her made her feel. 

It enveloped her in a warmth, a blanket that covered her, protected her, shielded her from harm. 

The feeling was the same. 

The feeling in his arms as he held her trapped against the wall, as his large body molded itself to her smaller curves, as they fit perfectly together, it was all the same. Lust spread through her lightening quick, and Buffy went with it, not caring that once the initial need was sated and the Dawn cast her Light on Buffy’s sins, she’d probably regret this. 

She couldn’t help herself as her lips met his. 

Couldn’t help it as her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. Buffy Always one to take what he wanted, and he most assuredly wanted her, Angelus’ hands skimmed down her sides, finding the hem of her nightgown and lifting it over her hips, his long cool fingers trailing over her soft heated flesh. Rending the soft material down the seam, he pushed it away, needing to feel more of her delicious heat. 

Neither noticed the smirk on Drusilla and William’s faces or when that couple turned to leave for the temptation of each other in their own bed. 

Moving her hands to the shirt he wore, Buffy tried for several lengthy seconds to untuck the lacy material from his pants, but grew too impatient as his cool hands found her breasts, pinching her nipples and sending a sharp wave of lust straight through her. The shirt shredded under her hands and was pushed to the floor. 

Mouths pressed so hard as to taste the copper sting of blood, hands bruising, teeth biting. Her teeth and tongue found his ear, moving lower to clamp around his jugular, and he growled deep in his chest, quicksilver points of pleasure shooting through his body. Clothes were ripped to expose flesh to hungry lips and seeking hands, and all Buffy could think about was that this was what she needed. For the past year, this was who she needed. Skin was attacked with needs too intense to ignore, yet an oddly gentle quality was present that neither chose to acknowledge. 

It was mutual and necessary and neither wanted to stop. They couldn’t if they tried, the waves of passion riding over them in succession, blocking everything out but the other. 

Angelus sucked one diamond hard nipple into his mouth, scraping extended teeth over the point just enough to invite intense pleasure, but stopping short of drawing blood. His hand twisted in her waist length hair, anchoring her head to his even as his other molded flesh; Buffy’s nails scraped down his bare back, leaving angry bloody welts in their path and Angelus roared in need. 

Lifting her against the wall, her legs automatically wrapping around him, he stared into her desire-laced eyes, eyes that focused solely on him, and the innocuous thought that this was indeed what he had been waiting for crossed his mind. But then she purred his name, one hand reaching to caress his cheek, the ridges of his demon, lips soft against his as she lightly ran her tongue over his fangs. 

And the only thought he had was her. Her body, her skin, her softness and life and if the love that shone in her eyes wasn’t necessarily for him, it was for some part of him. With one hard thrust, he entered her waiting warmth and paused for just a moment to savor the delicious sensations. 

As the first wave of her climax exploded over her, Buffy shouted his name, a silent plea for more, clenching her inner walls around his hard length, demanding he move. He continued to thrust in and out, noting in some small portion of his still functioning brain that she kept pace with him perfectly, reveling in her almost animalistic cries of pleasure, in her total loss of restraint. 

In the fact that she was his. Her hands latched onto his head and angled it to meet hers, tongues dueling for supremacy. In less then a dozen strokes, they were both exploding, both swamped with intense feelings of pleasure, of gratification. 

And somewhere in the midst of all this Buffy had turned her head to the side and offered her neck to her lover. Pausing for only the briefest of seconds, Angelus licked the scar already there and gently bit in, tasting her orgasm as she exploded again, tasting her love and lust. 

The brand was now his. It didn’t matter that it was originally some other his, that other was far away. No, it was now his.

Part 4        Part 6

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