Gunn frowned, but said nothing to this latest revelation, watching Connor and wondering what the vampire’s son was thinking. And why he hadn’t attacked Angelus. Faith stirred, and Gunn helped her to the couch. 

“What,” Connor asked, his eyes on the stairs his father and Buffy had disappeared up. “Is the slayer spell Buffy spoke of? She mentioned it, said that it made her more than she was, more than the slayers before her were.” 

Giles looked at the boy, wondering his place in all this. “It was a spell Buffy’s friend, Willow, did to bind all the slayers with Buffy.” 

“And what,” Wesley asked from his position on the couch, his legs unable to hold him any longer “Did Willow promise or sacrifice to whomever to allow this to happen?” 

“I don’t know what she promised,” Giles sighed. “All I know was that it was some kind of test of valor and spirit. She wouldn’t tell me details, and hid the books on it. I fear that whatever it was, should she have lived, Willow sacrificed a great deal for Buffy.” 

Wesley nodded but said nothing, and Giles continued. “The gist of it was to call on all the slayers from the first onwards to bind with Buffy to finish their calling and to help stave off the darkness.” Giles paused and thought back to Willow’s words, trying to remember more, but Anya finished for him exasperated at his poor memory – hey, she missed Willow, too, and Xander. 

“She called on the First Slayer,” Anya said, “To guide and to protect, to counsel and to justify, to allow this to happen, to bind, to grow, and to see and to hear. Everything that the slayer, in its purest, truest form was ever meant to be was called into Buffy. Willow’s sacrifice was to some Japanese goddess, Amaterasu, the goddess of all life or something.” 

Faith nodded her throat sore. She felt like she couldn’t get enough air, but now was as good as any time to join in with her knowledge. Some of it at least. “Amaterasu is the goddess of love, fertility, goodness, wisdom, peace, light, sun, and compassion. Willow asked the goddess for the right to contact the First Slayer and asked the First Slayer for permission. Both granted her that…but she was forced to give up her future.” 

No one said anything for a moment clearly waiting for one or the both of them to continue, and Faith looked to Anya, who reluctantly nodded to the slayer. “Willow’s offspring were meant to be powerful sorcerers, great mages that would help control the balance between life and death. Amaterasu now controls their lives even though Willow is dead. Her children’s souls are in the goddess’ hands now, to be born or not at her whim.” 

Anya swallowed hard at the thundering look on Giles’ face, and finished in a rush. “Willow passed the test because she was not asking for herself but for Buffy. And for the world. If it was a selfish request, then Amaterasu never would have granted it and the First Slayer would have never heard of it. Most likely, something bad would have happened to both Willow and Buffy, and the First Slayer would have sought revenge. Again. But because the balance had shifted, the goddess granted Willow’s request and Willow accepted the terms.” 

Anger leaping out of his eyes, Giles looked at the women before him. “How could she…? Is this why she never told me what exactly the spell consisted of?” Hurt, anger, self-recrimination colored his voice and Giles looked older then than he had since Buffy died. It was his own fault, not pushing Willow for details. He had been too busy researching ways to defeat the First Evil, to stop the Blood Harvest, to think of alternate ways to contact the First Slayer. 

Faith and Anya exchanged another look. “Yeah, um,” Faith floundered then said, “She didn’t want you to stop her, and she knew this was the only way it could be done. She knew what she was getting herself into, Giles.” 

Stalking a few steps forward, Giles asked in a low voice, “How do you two know?” 

Swallowing again, she’d hear of Giles angry – and his alternate ego Ripper – but hadn’t ever seen it. “I helped her with the spell to seek Amaterasu. She needed a second person, an anchor, and I was the only choice. Faith wandered by the room after the spell.” 

Shrugging the slayer nodded. “They were arguing over it; apparently, Willow had lied to Anya about the purpose of the spell, but Anya found out.” 

“I speak how many languages?” She asked now, vexed over Willow’s lack of insight, “Honestly, vengeance demon here, over eleven hundred years old!” 

Smiling faintly, Faith finished, “Came into the argument, didn’t know what to do, who to side with, and agreed – reluctantly mind you – with Anya to keep it all a secret.” 

“It needed to be done, this spell, if we were to win and the only way was for Willow to do this.” Anya added. 

“The consequences to Buffy?” Giles demanded now, his face still thunderous “What are they?” 

Shrugging the women said nothing. Willow promised to see them eviscerated if they spilled the one consequence that was worth noting, and both believed she would find a way to come back from the dead to do just that. Faith had agreed because she suspected Buffy already knew about the immortal power she was about to inherit. Anya agreed because she knew what kind of power Willow could control, and because Willow had told her what Amaterasu had said in regards to Buffy. 

And Willow knew, both believed, because she knew Buffy; knew the kind of power that the slayer was about to control was her destiny. Always had been. Both Amaterasu and the First Slayer had spoken of this. 

For a long moment, no one said anything, then Giles sighed. 

He looked once more at the stairs, before glancing at Connor, Wesley, and Gunn, before addressing the rest of them. 

“Faith, Dawn, Anya,” he addressed those he trusted implicitly. “Why don’t you take the potentials and train? It’s obvious no one’s sleeping this morning. Spend an hour or so then eat, maybe sleep will come then.” Giles instructed the group. “We don’t know when the Harvest is coming but we can’t assume the First won’t have demons in his employ that will only attack at night. We need to be prepared and we’ll need a guard schedule.” 

Faith nodded, wondering how she was still in charge with Buffy now here. Wounded, tired, beaten by something Faith hoped was now in pieces, but damn it, she was here! Faith really hated this looking up to her shit. Better when she was the one flaunting the rules, not enforcing them. “We’ll go train then sleep in shifts,” the slayer nonetheless agreed. “A few potentials with someone more trained. There are enough of us, I think, to do it in two hour shifts.” 

Giles nodded, and Faith herded the girls into the basement. She was turning into a decent leader, the watcher thought, as the slayer shot one last look to the second level, obviously wanting to know what was going on with the…couple. Frankly, Giles didn’t want to know; he had his suspicions and thought that was enough. Waiting until the group was gone, Giles turned to the remaining men. 

“There are two rooms down here, both with clean beds; you should be shielded from most of the noise in the house. The both of you look as if you could use some rest. I’ll make you some tea with healing herbs; that, and the rest, should help with what…” Giles stopped, changed his wording. “With the pain,” he finished, not wanting to remind anyone what Angelus had done to Angel’s friends. 

And that Angelus was now upstairs with Buffy. And it was doubtful she was going to stake him anytime soon.

Nodding his thanks, both Gunn and Wesley stood. “Thanks, G-man,” Gunn said as he hefted his crossbow and followed Wesley. “Appreciate it.” 

Gunn left the room before he saw the flash of pain on Giles’ face. “You’re welcome,” the Englishman murmured, pain and memories in his voice. Just because he detested that name didn’t mean he wouldn’t give a lot to hear it again from the mouth of the young man who had coined it. 

Turning to Connor, he asked the boy straight out, “What do you know? What are you not saying?” 

“A lot,” Connor admitted, but didn’t know if he should go into details, didn’t know if he could trust the older man, didn’t know the whole story himself. So he hedged with, “It’s a long story.” 

Giles smiled at the wording and gestured to the seat Connor had abandoned when Angel arrived. “I find that, when people say something’s a long story, it can usually be boiled down to several short sentences that hold the essence of the tale. Start at the beginning,” he suggested, leaning back in the chair he had reoccupied and picking up his glass of whisky. “And when you get to the end, stop.” 

Connor debated for a moment before deciding to trust the older man. He wasn’t sure why he had that feeling, but had learned long ago to trust himself. “You know Angel’s my father?” 

At Giles’ nod, Connor sighed in relief. That was the first and probably hardest obstacle to overcome. Nobody ever really believed that. “Apparently, I’m some form of higher being, though higher. I think.” He looked confused and Giles checked the impulse to comfort him. “I’m not real clear on that, Doyle was a little confusing, using too many words I’m not familiar with; he called them pop culture references. Do you know what he’s talking about?” 

Giles laughed, feeling a bit of the tension bleeding out of him. “I know the term, yes, but please don’t ask me to explain the references; I’ve been told often enough that I don’t understand them either. But who is Doyle?” The name sounded vaguely familiar.

“My guide I guess you’d call him; he said he used to work for Angel. But he’s dead now, so I’m not sure how that all works. Dead people, so far as I was taught, only come back when they’re turned into vampires.” 

Giles nodded at that but refrained from elaborating; no need to confuse the boy. “Used to work for Angel? Ah, I believe I know whom you’re speaking of; Irishman, half Bracchan demon. Angel once told me about him.” It was during the Chumash Indian spirit, er, problem, Giles recalled, Angel had told Giles a little of his new life in LA, and how he wasn’t adjusting to life at all…not without Buffy. 

Connor shrugged at that, “I don’t know; all I know is what he told me. I can’t get a reading on him, he’s…I don’t know how you would describe it. Not on the same plane of existence as we are, I guess. But I’m still getting used to that, so I might have it wrong. I’m some kind of balance being, the ultimate tool or something.” Connor continued, trying to explain something he only just discovered himself. 

“Doyle said he worked for beings higher than the Powers and that I had to stay and help Buffy in this fight, her fight with the First Evil. Something about being there when she couldn’t be. Or doing something she couldn’t.” 

Intrigued, Giles leaned forward. His eyes were wide with interest, his face and voice betraying his excitement. “Fascinating, you…that would make you…you’re one of the Ancients, then? I’ve heard…but I’ve never…they were only rumors, I mean. Even the Council could never confirm or deny the existence of them.” 

At Connor’s confused look, he elaborated. “It’s said that there is a race of beings, ancient when the universe was new who created everything because they wanted their legacy to continue. They created good and evil, or rather The Powers That Be and The First Evil, the Higher Beings that work for the Powers and the Exalted Minions that serve the First. They were the ultimate in everything. 

“Like Cordelia?” Connor asked with a stab of guilt for the seer. There was a lot of unresolved emotion concerning her, he admitted to himself. His eyes flicked to where she lay, unconscious. 

“Cordelia?” Giles gaze landed on her as well. “What on earth does she have to do with them?” 

“She receives visions that helped Angel with his redemption, and was a Higher Being for a while,” Connor said, not understanding Giles confusion. Hadn’t she always received visions? Granted, even he knew the demon part was new, but surely, the vision part wasn’t. 

Giles snorted at that as Dawn wandered by them, too restless to train, too worried about her sister – and that sister’s not so souled boyfriend – for anything else. She was also listening for the sounds of arguing. She wasn’t disappointed. And while none of them – with the possible exception of Connor – could hear words, the rising and falling of voices from upstairs, confirmed an argument between Buffy and Angelus. 

Dawn wondered why her sister didn’t stake him, but then remembered those months in Sunnydale years ago. She wasn’t there, but since those annoying monks had created her memories from Buffy, and Buffy was there, Dawn knew a little more than perhaps she ought to. Knew that Buffy couldn’t stake Angelus any more than she could Angel. 

“I’m not going up there,” Dawn muttered, spinning back around and walking back the way she came. “Faith can do it herself if she wants to know so badly.” 

Giles smiled at the youngest Summers, and silently agreed. The only way he was venturing upstairs, was to stake Angelus. He didn’t think Buffy would let him, however. Turning back to his conversation with Connor, he told the young man, “I find that hard to believe, the Higher Being part, not the redemption. But,” Giles said, waving that off, “That’s neither here or there, and I suppose anyone can change, Cordelia included. God knows we all have in the time we’ve been doing this.” 

His gaze drifted to the supposed Higher Being once more. Cordelia? Giles couldn’t fathom it, but shrugged it off. He’d seen stranger things during his tenure on the Hellmouth. Not many, but some. Maybe one or two…come to think of it, no, actually, he hadn’t. 

He looked at Connor once more, dismissing that thought. “The point is that the only beings higher than the Powers are the Ancients. And if this Doyle works for them and is your guide to becoming…more, then that means you’re an Ancient. You have gifts…” Giles was awed simply by being in Connor’s presence, and stuttered, “I, I don’t even know where to begin.” 

“Buffy said it was telekinesis, moving objects just by concentrating on them,” Connor said, watching Giles’ eyes; they were expressive, showing clear intelligence about a great many things. His mind was moving quickly, Connor guessed, trying to understand all of this. Heh, join the club, he wanted to say. Whatever club that was. But Gunn and Fred had used that saying, and the situation was similar. 

 “I have this feeling with everything, it’s like I know what everyone’s feeling, what trees are growing, where the animals in the ocean are swimming. It’s strange,” he admitted with a smile, “But it’s so exciting, knowing it all. I can see colors I didn’t know existed before, hear things no other being in the universe can.” 

Giles nodded, just as excited. “I assume that as your powers grow, you’ll be able to talk, in a way, with all the plants and animals, with other beings in the universe. An Ancient,” he repeated, itching to take all this down in a journal, to begin research, to drill Connor for more information. “Can you contact the other Ancients?” 

Shrugging Connor looked a little sheepish. “I don’t know; I didn’t know I was one until just now. But I do know that whatever it is I am, it’s given me a whole different insight into life. I know what Angel…what my dad’s purpose was, what his destiny is…was…is.” 

“So he does still retain his soul,” Giles murmured, then laughed. “Ah, the Scourge of Europe, still in possession of his soul. The justice of it all.” 

Connor smiled, but said nothing to that. “He’s still the souled vampire we need. He’s still the key to defeating the First’s Harvest.” 

Giles shrugged. “What else do you know?” He asked instead. If he had his way, Giles would stake Angelus the moment the vampire walked back down the stairs. He had a feeling Buffy would stop him. The disloyalty that ran through him at that thought was easily pushed aside. This was war, and in war, everyone sacrificed. However, for Buffy, Giles wasn’t sure how much of a sacrifice this was. 

He ignored that, too. 

“I know the destiny of everyone here; not their future, I don’t think. Doyle said it was different, destinies and futures. It’s almost as if I know what their purpose on this earth is, but reaching that purpose is up to them. And I understand the difference now between Angelus and Angel, soul and demon. Even if they are one and the same, in the same body, loved by the same woman – and loving her as well.” 

Why he was confessing his deepest thoughts to a stranger, Connor didn’t know but he felt the need. Maybe it was the way Giles focused solely on him that made Connor do it. The intensity of it reminded the boy of Holtz, of how the man who claimed to be his father sometimes used to listen to him. Or maybe it was the accent? 

Still, Connor drew the line at confiding his brief romance with Cordelia. He was still too confused over the whole thing himself to try and tell the story to a virtual stranger. And now, with the pain Angelus had inflicted, Connor wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look the seer in the eye again. He cared for her, Connor realized over the days Angelus had free reign, but the love he thought he felt for her was not there. 

Maybe, Connor thought now, it was supposed to be this way. If Cordelia and he hadn’t slept together, and Angel hadn’t seen them, then Angelus couldn’t have taken over the body, and none of this would ever have happened. For Cordelia, who lay neglected and forgotten on the floor by the cold fireplace, that might be considered a blessing. But Connor finally understood his purpose in this life, something sorely lacking until Doyle showed up in his prison room. 

Jerking out of his reverie, Connor added, “I know it wasn’t he who did the horrible things Holtz accused him of, I know he felt guilty over them – probably still does. But Angelus is the dominate being now, and it doesn’t matter. He’ll help,” Connor reassured the watcher. “Angelus will help because of Buffy.” 

Giles stood up, sighing as the urgency of their situation fell back to his shoulders. “Yes,” he simply said. “I’m sure he will.” 

“This harvest,” Connor asked when he realized that Giles didn’t share his epiphany. “What is it?” 

“I don’t know, I don’t know enough about it, I wish I did, but information on the Harvest is almost as scarce as that on the Ancients,” Giles admitted with a sigh. “The Blood Harvest, innocent’s blood flowing in rivers, same old, same old. The only thing we have is the prophecy, nothing else, no information more than that. In short, Connor,” Giles said, suddenly feeling all of his years, “We know nothing. Not how to stop it, not what we have to stop, not when we have to stop it by, nothing.” 

“It’s soon,” Connor said, “That’s all I know. Soon as in days at most, more likely hours.” 

Giles looked to the younger man as he stood to put the kettle on for the tea he’d promised Gunn and Wesley. “Isn’t that always the case?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy stared at the steam rising from the claw-footed tub in exhaustion. 

Dawn had started her bath, running the water hot just as Buffy liked it, and then left when Buffy told her too. The slayer was tired, tired to the point of exhaustion, and knew she was ready to fall over. Her body still shook; fine tremors that made it difficult to undo the buttons on her shirt. So she stood there for long minutes, watching the scented water rise, waiting for…something. 

There. There it was, that tingling along her back, racing up her spine. Angelus had arrived. Well, she knew he would. It was inevitable. There was no way he was letting her out of his sight, no way he’d ever let her go now, and Buffy knew that. There was a part of her that didn’t want him to let her go, ever. Angelus was right when he stated that: He wasn’t Angel, he’d never let her go. 

Oh, he’d hunt her, he’d torture her, and he’d torment her; taunt her with Angel’s actions, Angelus’ version of the truth. But he’d never – unlike Angel – let her go. She had to kill him the last time. Okay, well, there was that small matter of saving the world, but really. It was all because of her anyway. He’d told her that enough times to make Buffy finally believe that. 

It was enough to make a girl blush, and Buffy was no exception. 

What woman didn’t want to know that someone felt so much for you, that just to stop – she wasn’t thinking on that, it wasn’t the point – just to try and stop those feelings, so intense, so forceful, deep, and passionate, he’d try and destroy the world. No world, no Buffy. No Buffy, no non-demonic feelings of love. 

Buffy couldn’t say she hadn’t been moved by Angelus’ declaration. And yet…she missed Angel. 

She missed Angel and needed his soft assurances, needed his love, his quiet strength. His possessive passion. Staring at the rising water, Buffy wondered how she’d feel if the spell worked, if she had succeeded in ridding Angel of his demon. Would she still need him? She’d like to think so, but wasn’t entirely sure. Angel had done a lot to hurt her, a lot to scar her. 

And yet she still loved him. 

Just as she loved his demon. And Angelus waited her below. 

Shutting off the faucets, Buffy reluctantly left her bath for a few moments. She had to save…her friends, those who remained – Giles, Anya, Faith. Dawn. Angelus. It wouldn’t take those below long to realize that she’d failed, that the spell had failed; that was, if Wesley, Gunn, and Connor didn’t say anything first. And Buffy couldn’t handle anymore death. She’d lost too many as it was. 

Willow, Xander. Angel. Her beautiful Angel, she’d failed her beautiful Angel. He was now trapped beneath the demon. Her demon. Buffy closed her eyes, and leaned against the wall for a moment, needing the support. Angelus. Angel. God, what had her world become? 

Straightening, Buffy pushed off the wall, and started back down the hallway. She could hear shouting downstairs, the sounds of fighting. Who was stupid enough to attack Angelus? Buffy hurried along the hallway, pushing her aching body faster. Faith, Faith was attacking Angelus, Buffy knew her sister slayer was; and she was going to lose. 

The steps loomed before her, and Buffy blinked to clear her blurry vision. Her body continued to shake, making movement difficult. One step, then two, and another. She made it not quite half way down, gripping the banister tightly to keep from falling. 

“Angelus?” 

Buffy saw him throw something – someone? God, he’d killed someone. He was here not five minutes and he’d killed someone. Who was it? Faith and Dawn were there, and Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. As were Giles, Anya, Gunn, Wesley, and Connor – oh, thank you Lord, he hadn’t killed his son. Then who? Who had he killed? Damn him, who had he killed? 

But then he was standing in front of her, blocking her view of the group gathered below. “Buffy,” he breathed, relief evident in his voice, making her name sound harsh. His hands were moving over her body quickly, long, cool fingers checking her for injuries, for the source of any of her blood. And he was whispering soft things to her in a language she didn’t understand. 

He picked her up, then, holding her tightly to him as he walked up the stairs, and down the hallway. “I’ll take care of you, baby,” Angelus promised in a low voice, ripe with need, fear for her safety, love, anger. A lot of anger. 

“Angelus,” Buffy whispered, closing her eyes, leaning her head against his shoulder. Home. Safety. And then she remembered, “Who did you…?” 

Growling – even now she worried over those who were unworthy to touch her – Angelus gently placed her on her feet in front of the bath tub. Despite his anger over her continued concern about those who were beneath her, he was gentle, careful, loving. “Don’t worry about it,” he instructed, and began to undress her. Why hadn’t she done so already? Why was she still in these filthy clothes? And damn them all, why hadn’t they rid her of the demon-blood spattered garments? “He doesn’t matter.” 

He? Who was he? There were a lot of females here, but very few males. 

Steam continued to rise from the claw-footed tub, as Angelus set her into the hot water, but Buffy didn’t notice. She felt him climb in behind her; felt his arms move around her, his cool hands rubbing the lavender scented soap against her blood-caked skin. 

Leaning back against his cool chest, eyes closed, the soothing scent of lavender wafting around her, Buffy sighed in contentment. The water rippled slightly and constantly with her shivering but Buffy refused to notice it – she knew Angelus noticed, but then the damned man noticed everything. Actually, she was a little surprised he hadn’t said anything yet, but didn’t think on that, either. Buffy closed her mind off to what had happened; the past, the pain, her body’s screams for its mate – Angel, Angelus, both – and the future. She shut everything else out and tried to relax, but it was impossible. 

The dream of Willow dying flashed before her eyes no matter what she did. 

Angelus felt her quaking against him, and then felt her shivering increase. Felt the fine tremors of her body as she shivered in his arms. She needed his blood, that he knew, but he also knew, even without Angel pointing it out, that she’d never take it. This was her worst nightmare, or a variation on it. Buffy never wanted to be turned, never wanted to be a vampire. He’d come close to doing that, to turning her, but hadn’t. 

He wasn’t entirely sure he was upset at that, knowing that what made Buffy, Buffy, that fundamental element about her – soul, heart, love – would be forever altered. With the demon inside, the parts he loved most about her would disappear. 

In failing, however, Angelus had still bound her to him…and had forced her to still rely on one aspect of vampirism. She needed his blood. Not just yet, not to the point where she’d go crazy if she didn’t have it, but soon. For now he’d wash her, clean her of the demon gore, of her own blood, her own sweat. And then he’d figure out a way to force her to drink. 

She wasn’t dying on him, not when he’d gone to so much trouble to keep her with him. Not when he couldn’t live without her any longer. 

“What are you thinking?” He asked in a soft voice next to her ear. Sex dripped from those warm tones, promise and fulfillment, and Buffy shivered in the heated bathwater. Angelus smiled at that, but didn’t push his advantage. 

“About Willow,” she admitted quietly, grief coating her voice, and felt Angelus stiffen behind her at her words. 

“If you let the witch’s death distract you,” Angelus warned in a low growl, jealously and anger warring within him. He knew she loved the witch, but now wasn’t the time to grieve over her. “You’ll be as dead as she is. And then where would your precious friends be, your precious world? Hmm, lover? If you let your grief over the witch win, then the First doesn’t need to do a damned thing.” 

“What do you care,” Buffy murmured tiredly, her hands floating over her stomach in the deep water, hanging suspended at her sides in the buoyancy. Angelus’ long pale legs stretched out beside her, and Buffy wasn’t surprised that the tub was big enough for the both of them. She wouldn’t be surprised, actually, if he’d planned it that way when he bought the damned thing. “You didn’t like her, and you certainly don’t care if this world goes to hell or not.” 

“I care if it affects you, lover.” He replied simply, his cupped hands dribbling water over her hair. “You are the only thing I care about.” 

“Is that why you’re here?” She asked, tilting her head back so the water didn’t run into her eyes. “Is that why you followed me? To instruct me,” she mumbled, uncaring of his reasons at the moment, too tired to wonder about them. “On the folly of my ways?” 

“No,” his voice was a rumble in his chest, deep and dark. His hands softly caressed her body, mouth lowering to her neck to place slow kisses on her heated flesh. To nip at the mark that was even now scaring over. Buffy shivered again, but this time in need as teeth scraped over the sensitive tissue. 

“I’m here,” he said, and his voice as so close to her ear, she thought maybe he wasn’t speaking so much as simply telling her without the benefit of words. “To make sure you survive this little battle, lover. I’m here to make sure you don’t do something stupid and sacrifice yourself again. The world doesn’t care, baby, but I do. And I won’t let you kill yourself for a place that doesn’t love you. But I do.” 

His words were mesmerizing, weaving the spell he wanted them to over her tired mind. Over her aching and battered heart. Buffy said nothing to that, however, merely tilted her head to the side, too weak, too tired, too needy to resist. His mouth moved down her neck, sucking on the scar, tongue tracing the fine bones of her shoulder, a purr rumbling in his chest. 

Buffy gasped his name, and didn’t stop his hands from sliding up her torso to cup her breasts, kneading the sensitive flesh, rolling her nipples between his fingers. His hands aroused her body quickly, knowing all the places she liked to be touched, knowing just what his mate enjoyed. 

Angelus smiled at her responses, a smile that was feral, triumphant, smug arrogance and male domination. No matter what she claimed, she wasn’t immune to him, would never be immune to him. 

She was his. And she knew that.

She was his, and they both knew it. 

The water shifted slightly, and Angelus growled when it felt like Buffy was trying to get out of the tub. But no, she was merely turning around to face him. Her cheeks were flushed from arousal and the heated water, his nipples diamond hard and begging for his mouth. Lowering his head, Angelus tasted one, then the other, sucking and nibbling on the hardened peaks. 

One of his hands drifted into the heated water teasing her own wet heat as she gasped again. Ignoring the water that sloshed onto the tiled floor, and smirking into her passion drugged eyes, Angelus kissed her and settled her atop his aching erection. She was beautiful, passion incarnate, the embodiment of everything he’d ever wanted. Now that he had her, he wasn’t ever letting her go. 

Slowly she moved above him, eyes closed as she felt Angelus’ hands play over her body. She could almost, almost feel Angel there, too, the bright golden light of his soul with her. When Angelus’ face shifted, fangs piercing her neck, Buffy exploded into her orgasm, shuddering around him as he, too, climaxed. But she refused, even in her almost mindless state, to taste his blood. 

She couldn’t do it, she couldn’t be that which she spent her entire life hunting. 

No matter what her body screamed at her. No matter that the slayers all howled in agreement that this was not a threat to them, that he was theirs, their mate, all theirs and that Angelus – and even the golden soul within – should be treated as such. When he offered his neck, she (They) should taste, for she (They) needed him. 

“Baby,” Angelus growled as he came down from his orgasm, realizing what she as doing, “Baby you have to.” He kept his voice soft, but the urgency was clear behind it. He didn’t like this, didn’t like her refusal. He wanted to share this with her, wanted her to know what it felt like to be joined in so intimate a way. 

And damn her, he wanted her to drink so her shakes would finally stop! This was it now, this was what she needed, and he’d be damned himself if she thought he wasn’t going to force her. 

“No, I don’t, Angelus,” she replied with a lazy smile, and kissed him softly, once, before climbing out of the tub. 

Wrapped in a large fluffy towel she had left on a previous secret visit to the home she and Angel had once made, Buffy moved into the bedroom, intent on climbing into the bed and sleeping, nothing more. Angelus had other ideas. 

With a scowl and a growl, Angelus climbed out of the tub, hitting the drain as he did so. There was another towel on the counter, and he grabbed it, briskly running the soft material over his body. He followed her into the main room, uncaring of his nudity; he was not about to let her run away this time. She needed something only he could provide and she was damn well going to take it!

She was his, and she’d learn that soon enough. He’d followed her here, despite the fact that he knew he was needed for this fight with the First. He’d followed her here, because she was the only thing that mattered to him. To him and Angel – ‘And will you please shut up with the advice! Christ, it’s enough to give a demon a headache.’ 

Angel laughed at that, clearly enjoying his newfound role in life. But Angelus could feel the worry beneath that humor, worry for Buffy. ‘You need all the advice you can get, buddy-boy. Your want-take-have approach isn’t the way with our girl, and you know that.’  

‘Shut up,’ Angelus growled as he stood at the foot of the bed, looking at his lover as she rifled through a bag. 

“If you don’t drink, Buffy,” he said in what he thought was a reasonable voice, “Then the need will eventually overwhelm you; you’ll be mindless, crazy, like an addict. You’ll lose focus.” He went on, his voice hard and forceful as he tried another tactic. 

“Look at you, baby. You’re already shaking with the need; I know you are, I can see it, but more importantly,” his voice dropped an octave, smooth and seductive. “I can feel it. Withdrawal will set in worse then it has, and…you’ll lose, lover. You’ll lose your fight with the First.” And that scared him more than he was willing to admit. 

He didn’t like being scared, didn’t like knowing what would happen; if Buffy refused to drink from him, then the First would take her down without expending any energy at all. No, Angelus and scared didn’t go well together, it made him angry and forceful. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the time to be forceful with Buffy. Still, he was scared and refused to let anything happen to her. Not her, not his mate. 

“You’re not,” Angelus continued, but couldn’t control the anger vibrating in his voice, in his eyes. Not that Buffy was looking at him. So he changed tactics again. “You’re not only hurting yourself, baby. It hurts me to see you like this.” 

She was first, last, and always. Nothing else mattered. 

“I’m not doing it, Angelus, so forget it. I don’t need your blood, so drop it.” She found her brush in her bag someone had obviously brought up – bless you Dawn – and combed out her damp hair, pulling the covers back on the four-poster bed. She was exhausted and planned on sleeping for a week. Or until it was time to attack the First. 

Throwing his hands up in frustration, Angelus demanded, “Why are you hurting yourself, Buffy?” 

Looking over her shoulder, Buffy gave him a measuring look. She loved him, needed him, wanted him. And yet he’d never change. Not even for her. He’d always be the demon who enjoyed the hunt, loved to stalk his prey. Was the epitome of everything she, herself, hunted and killed. A stab of emotion curled her stomach, love, hate, and Buffy wanted to beg him to change, beg him to see that she couldn’t go on like this. That she couldn’t live with him as he was. 

Yet she couldn’t change, either. And that was something she knew Angelus hated. So they were at an impasse; even without the soul’s loophole, they still couldn’t be together. She had the worst luck. 

“You think I need you, Angelus?” She wasn’t going to give the demon the satisfaction of knowing that she did. She couldn’t, and still maintain her distance. And still fight the First and win. And still manage to leave him afterwards, because neither could change who they were. Not even for the other. “I don’t. So get over it. I certainly don’t need your blood. Now,” she said, dropping the towel onto the floor, “I’m going to sleep.” 

She didn’t care that this was their bed, and Angelus would most likely be joining her. She was exhausted, and the battle was days, if not hours away; her personal support system was decaying (dying) all around her and she didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know if Angelus would help, or if he’d fight her the entire way. Didn’t know how deeply his alliance with the First ran. 

Oh, she wasn’t stupid, Buffy knew that Angelus had made a deal with the First, knew that she was part of the bargain. And knew that he’d somehow agreed to do Its battles. Would he go back on that word? Angelus was a demon, and a vicious one at that. But he was honorable when it came to his word. And that scared Buffy the most. 

If he’d agreed to help It in this battle, then would he turn on her? Would he betray her and her remaining friends? Would he do that just so the First could win? Do all that just to keep his word? All her family and friends would die, but Buffy knew that if that were to happen, she’d survive. Angelus would see to that. Because he wasn’t able to let her go. 

With a sigh of frustration, she settled the slightly musty smelling blankets around her, and tried to sleep. Buffy desperately wanted him to hold her, comfort her, and tell her that he’d help, that he cared nothing for the First’s plans, and that he’d never betray her like that. That everything would be okay, that he wasn’t helping the First, and she was silly to think that. 

“Then what is it? Why are you hurting yourself, love?” Angelus challenged her words, knowing them to be false. He wanted, needed to know what was going on inside her mind, because he hadn’t a clue, and it was pissing him off. And scaring him at the same time. 

“I’m not hurting myself, Angelus,” came the calm reply, though Angelus could tell she was anything but. She was shaking still, her body calling for his to ease the raging need within her. Not calm was perfectly okay with him, he could work with that. “This is how it is. You can’t deal, tough. I make my own decisions; you haven’t a say in anything I do.” 

“I most certainly do have a say!” He roared, stalking closer to the bed, his own nakedness ignored, though he was aroused. Just thinking about her aroused Angelus, being so close to her had him always on edge with need. “I love you, and I am damn well going to make sure that you’re safe and taken care of!” 

He kissed her then, angry and desperate. He could see her body shaking, but more frighteningly, he could feel it. Feel her boy tremble from across the room. And it wasn’t out of passion. Or, well, not entirely. 

So, he’d do it his way. He’d trick her. Because damn if he’d let her just kill herself. 

Angelus felt his fangs elongate, felt Buffy moan into his mouth, wrap her arms about his neck. She couldn’t deny the passion between them, couldn’t control her reaction to him. Good. 

If she wasn’t going to bite him, then he was going to force her to do so. 

Deliberately, he sliced his tongue on his fangs, letting his blood trickle into her mouth. Buffy stiffened at the first taste, tried to pull back, but he held her close. Again, he sliced his tongue, forcing his blood into her mouth, forcing her to swallow it. It wasn’t as much as he’d have liked, but already Angelus could feel the shaking stop. 

“Damn you!” She shouted when he finally released her. She pulled away so hard, she hit the headboard; Buffy didn’t notice the impact. Glaring at him, breathing hard, Buffy fumed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Angelus? I told you I didn’t need your blood. And I don’t want it, either!” 

“Tough,” he snarled, climbing into bed with her. “I don’t give a fuck what you want, Buffy. You need my blood, and I’m giving it to you. Get over it.” 

“Bastard,” she hissed, moving away from him, but not breaking eye contact. “I am not some helpless woman you can bully into doing your bidding. I don’t need your blood, and I certainly don’t need you!”

“Shut up,” he ground out, eyes flashing golden-red. He was breathing hard, considering he didn’t have to breathe at all. “You are my mate,” he told her in no uncertain terms. “I love you, I need you, and I’ll be damned if you die on me just because of your own stubbornness! Now, if you won’t take care of yourself, lover, then I’m going to do it for you.” 

“Is that what you call it?” Buffy wondered hotly as she settled against the pillows, turning her back on him. “Taking care of me? forcing me to drink your blood, forcing me to do something I don’t want to do. Threatening my friends, killing one of my own, just so you can, what? Take care of me? God help me then.” 

His hands were on her shoulder, just as she knew they would be. No one turned their backs on Angelus, but Buffy didn’t care. She knew he was angry, but that anger matched her own. Looking her straight in the eye, voice firm and brooking no opposition, Angelus stated, “I’m not giving you up, Buffy. You can think whatever you like, you can pretend, you can delude yourself; I don’t care. But you are mine, you belong to be as surely as I do to you. Now if this involves forcing you to drink from me when you’re too damned stubborn to realize you need me, then I’ll force you. Hell,” he shouted, leaning closer, “If it involved defeating the First, fine. If it involves pretending that I don’t want to kill all those annoyances down there, fine. But you aren’t getting away from me ever, ever again.” 

“Angelus,” Buffy said in a hot voice. Then stopped, tired, drained. There wasn’t any use in talking to him. He was arrogant and egotistical, and right now, she was too exhausted to fight. She missed Angel, missed his soft words of comfort, missed his presence. Wondered if she’d be having this fight with him had he been before her, not Angelus. 

Angelus’ presence sparked something in her that Buffy couldn’t deny, and that was fine, she craved him, loved him. But taking comfort from him? He was there when Willow died, Buffy thought, looking into his irate face. He’d held her, and comforted her when she had that dream about Willow. 

“You can’t change,” she finally said, voice bone weary. The true reason for refusing him, for distancing herself, for pushing him away. “You won’t, not even for me, and I know that. You won’t change who you are, the hunting, the killing. And yet you expect me to change for you. You expect me to change, and to give up what and who I am, just as surely as you accuse those friends you so despise of forcing the same from me.” 

She looked into his eyes, saw the anger, the passion, and deep down, the soul. “In the end, you aren’t any better than they are.” 

Buffy was prepared for his anger, the black of his eyes engulfing her so she thought she’d drown. Buffy was prepared for the hands that reached out, lightening fast, to grab her and pull her to him, the silk of his sheets tangling between them. Buffy was prepared for the fangs that glistened in the faint light, menacing and threatening. 

She wasn’t prepared for the spark of hurt that flashed briefly in his eyes. 

Part 5        Part 3

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