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.

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