A Part Of Me

Sharply he slapped her face in an effort to get Buffy to respond. She did not even wince, despite the fact that a livid mark was rapidly coloring her cheek. Running a hand through his hair, Angelus debated on what to do. He couldn’t very well let her die---not yet---but then again, wasn’t death the very thing he wished upon her?

Here she is, completely naked with her blood and your cum running out of her. Isn’t this what you wanted? Isn’t this what you fantasized about for weeks? The only thing missing is your bloody signature scrawled over her back! Leave her to die!

He had wanted it. Badly. Irritably he scowled at her still form, noting how tiny and defenseless she looked. HA! Only after one night, this is what he reduced the Slayer to? He SHOULD just let her bleed to death...

But if she died now, what fun would he have in the weeks to come? Torture just wasn’t as much fun as it used to be, and who knew how long it would take to find a suitable replacement.

Observing the unnatural paleness of her skin, he angrily spat, “Damn you Slayer! You WILL NOT escape me this easily!” Without further hesitation Angelus took a claw and sliced his neck until her blood ran freely from the wound. Holding her head he guided her until her lips touched his crimson skin. When she didn’t move, he pried her mouth open and firmly held it against the welling blood.

Within a few moments Buffy murmured several unintelligible sounds. Closing his eyes, Angelus felt desire begin to build within again. For a vampire, blood and death were always the ultimate symbols of sex and here was a girl who represented all three. Softly her blunt teeth scraped against the raw wound as she began to suck more strongly.

Clasping her small head to his body, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and leaned back against the couch. Her body had lost its normal warmth, taking on a colder touch. He wasn’t sure if this pleased him or not. Could she turn? Did he even want her to turn?

He had only planned on giving her a tiny amount of blood, just enough to take her away from Death’s doorstep, but it just felt so damned good to have the Slayer gathering her sustenance like this. A growing growl built in his throat as he thought of how possibly all of eternity could stretch before them...

Buffy’s body then stiffened and in a show of sudden strength, she wrenched herself away from Angelus. Tasting the blood, she spat it out on the floor. Rubbing the back of her hand against her mouth, Buffy was horrified. “What did you do to me?”

Nonplused he simply stood up and moved away to an armchair. “I saved your life Buffy.” Neither noticed his use of her name. Absently he touched his neck.

“H-how much did I drink?”

A slight pause before, “Not too much.” Pulling his hand away, Angelus observed the ruby stains on the pads of his fingertips.

Impatiently she snapped, “HOW MUCH?!”

“If you want to know if you’re going to turn---”

“Yes?”

Another pause. “I don’t think so. You hardly drank enough.” Leisurely he licked the sweet blood away, wishing that he could taste it straight from the source again.

“You don’t think so!” Buffy began to laugh humorlessly. Not only was she fornicating with evil, she might turn into evil itself. And her would-be sire didn’t even know. Was this the price she had to pay for her sin? “How much does it take?” she rigidly asked.

Steepling his fingers Angelus waited another lengthy pause. “Exactly how much it takes, I don’t know. But I DO know that it takes a helluva lot more than you drank.”

Heedless of her nudity Buffy stalked over to him. “Why?” The quietly spoken word might have been a shout for all the emotion behind it.

Why didn’t I let you die? I SHOULD have let you bleed to death and then danced a merry jig! But now maybe you WILL die and live forever...

Hardening his mind against that he continued his thoughts. Why does even the thought of you joining me for eternity make my long-dead heart quicken? Dammit, it was disgusting! At this rate he might as well pull out a book of bloody love-sonnets or ply poems devoted to her eyebrows!

She’s just another female body, her parts are no more spectacular than any others you have known. Fuck man! None of the chaotic thoughts registered on his impassive face however. Unemotionally Angelus asked, “What would you have preferred Buff? Were you ready to die?”

Frustration laced her words. “You can’t kill me! You are not meant to kill me!” Acrymydion is the one. Not you. What have you done to me?

Taken aback by her vehemence, Angelus surprisedly questioned, “I CAN’T kill you? What do you mean I CAN’T kill you? Look Buff, don’t get any grand ideas about this. I saved your life, not because I care, but because I can’t have a dead Slayer in my home. That’s hardly a declaration of love. So if and when I decide to kill you---”

“Oh will you just SHUT-UP?” Buffy began to pace. She wrapped her arms around her waist in an effort to stop the shaking that was slowly racking her body. She had just been physically close to death. She had just been fed the blood of a vampire. A master vampire, which stood to reason that his blood was alot more powerful than any other vampires to be found here.

Was she dying even now?

Buffy’s teeth began to chatter even though she was biting her lips in an effort to stop it. Why did he have to interfere? If he had only left her alone she would have gotten her strength back. She knew she would have! Her death was set in stone and it wasn’t supposed to be by Angelus!

Buffy was so lost in her tortured thoughts that she did not pay attention to Angelus watching her. He was completely bewildered by her reaction. It wasn’t as if being a vampire was a BAD thing. Hell, it was the best thing that had ever happened to him! So what if she were a Slayer? Surely the weak side of that wretched curse would be burned out once she turned.

IF she turned.

He honestly did not think that she would though. Buffy had hardly had enough to constitute a full exchange. The more time that passed, the surer Angelus became. Besides, IF she was going to turn she would have been physically dead by now. Instead she was pacing back and forth, her eyes wildly darting around the room while she made choked noises in her throat.

Looking at her closer he realized that her teeth were chattering. In fact her eyes seemed rather glazed and she definitely had the look of someone in fever. Perhaps she should get dressed. Before he could say something to her, she saw his discarded coat draped across the other end of the couch. Slightly stumbling she ran past him, picked up the duster, and slipped it on.

The sleeves hung a good foot past the tips of her fingers, while her body became completely swallowed by the cold, black leather. With every step the back of Angelus’ coat dragged behind her. She looked very much like a little girl playing dress-up with her Daddy’s clothes. Only she wasn’t a little girl and the unnatural man sitting so perfectly still was not her Daddy.

At least not her human Daddy.

No! What if he does become my Daddy? What if he becomes my sire? Buffy felt the nausea rise from the pit of her stomach. She would become like THEM. She would kill for pleasure, for joy, for hunger---she would kill just to kill. What kind of monster would she become? She could very well become a sadist; she had already shown the beginnings of one that night in the cemetery.

She had enjoyed inflicting pain on her Angelus. She had loved seeing the stake fly through his hand, tearing the flesh and showering it with countless splinters. She had felt the heady thrill of seeing his surprise turn to agony. She had enjoyed it further when she had let the second deadly stake fly from her fingers. She had even heard the wood enter the firm flesh of his thigh and had felt a satisfaction so intense she had wanted to do it again.

She had felt all these things. All the while being human and most importantly, being the Slayer.

A lock of her hair fell across her cheek. Impatiently she pushed it away only to have another one fall from the top of her head. Jerkily she began pulling her pins out, flinging them about the room in no particular fashion. Lastly, her hand fell upon the jeweled pins Angelus had given her. Yanking them out she held them up in front of her.

The bright sapphires twinkled in the half-light, their merry beauty reminding her of the man-demon who might have ended up doing what should never be done. Have there ever been any other Slayers who became vampires? Was it even possible? Closing her fist tightly, Buffy gladly welcomed the piercing pain of the pins digging into her skin. Eventually the pressure broke through, causing the metal to cut her skin.

Opening up her hand Buffy saw the shallow cut bleed, several trails of crimson liquid snaking down to flow over her wrist. Before her shocked eyes she saw the wound begin to close, stanching the blood-flow. The cut quickly closed into a pink line which rapidly faded to nothing.

Her chest began heaving. She had never healed this fast.

She had NEVER healed this fast!!

Wildly her eyes sought Angelus. He was leaning forward in the chair, his every sense seemingly trained upon her. Buffy recognized the avid gleam in his ebony eyes as the beginnings of blood-lust. “What?! Is this what you want?” she screamed at him. “Is it my blood you want? Again?! It wasn’t enough the first time?! The second time?!!!”

Before he could answer she flung the pins at him. “Here! Lick it off like the GODDAMNED dog you are!” Turning around she fled up the stairs, her tears burning her vision and clogging her throat. Giles would know what to do. He would be able to help her. There had to be something they could do to stop her body’s change!

But what if it were too late? What if she couldn’t even make it to his house? Maybe the sunlight would kill her now. Running across the cold, silent griffin Buffy thought If it’s too late for me, then it’s better that I die now. Better now, then before I start killing...

Reaching the elevator she saw one tiny, black button. Pushing it, Buffy saw a silver panel slide back to reveal another keypad like the other one she had seen. “You can’t get down. Not without the code.”

Whipping her head around, she saw Angelus leaning against the doorway. He looked rather odd without the ever-present smirk. Instead he seemed very wary and confused. Definitely confused.

Not wanting to waste anymore time she demanded “The code---give it to me now!”

Imperceptibly he shook his head. “No. I want you here this weekend Buff. You’re not leaving until I said---”

Before he could finish his statement Buffy stood in front of him, slightly weaving. Her hand viciously slapped him across the face, splitting his lower lip in the process. Between clenched teeth she said “The code. I want it now!”

“You little bitch!” he hissed in fury.

SLAP! Her other hand shot out and landed in a powerful backhand across his jaw. Angel’s claddagh ring cleanly sliced Angelus’ cheek. “GIVE...ME...THE CODE...NOW!”

“Not...gonna...happen...Slayer” he angrily spat. The blood from both wounds quickly stopped their flow and they too rapidly closed up before her eyes. Just like hers had. Her eyes were wide with horror as she backed away from Angelus. Buffy’s disjointed thoughts were as frightening as the look on her fever-flushed face. He’s killed me...He’s finally killed the Slayer...The prophesy was wrong...or...maybe it isn’t...Maybe I’m supposed to die as a vampire...

Buffy let out a scream of pure rage. Turning away from him she ran back towards the elevator. Drawing back her fist she punched the control panel in her fury. Like a demented being she howled and screamed with agonized fear.

She was turning! She knew it. Already her body felt foreign and completely unstable. It was as if every sense of hers was over-sensitized and on over-drive. Chills swept across her so fiercely that seemingly every muscle in her body hurt.

Dimly she heard Angelus order her to come with him. Buffy did not care about what HE wanted. All she knew was that she HAD to escape this marble prison. She had to either find Giles or she had to burn. There was no way that she could let herself join him. Even knowing what he was, what he represented, she had been strongly fascinated by him. All the havoc Angelus had caused her the past month had done nothing to curb her unnatural attraction.

All this while she was in full control of her humanity.

Buffy could not even fathom what would happen once she was like him. As a vampire she would be insatiable and completely devoted to Angelus. She knew that as surely as she knew her name.

She had to get out.

When the destroyed panel did not malfunction and open the elevator doors, as she had hoped, Buffy began to pry them apart. She would shimmy her way down the shaft and make it to the bottom floor. The doors easily slid open despite her weakened strength. A shift in the air alerted her to Angelus. Wildly she turned her head and pinned him with a look of pure hatred. “Stay away you piece of shit!”

“You’re cursing now? Didn’t think you had a gutter mouth Buff” he casually commented. His tone sounded unconcerned and faintly mocking, while his eyes reflected the complete opposite. Warily Angelus circled Buffy several yards away while watching her every movement. Something was happening to her, he just didn’t know what. She didn’t smell vampire, but she wasn’t smelling quite human anymore either. Whatever was happening, he would not let her leave this place.

Not until he knew what it was and how this would affect him.

Buffy snarled at him before leaping into the shaft. Suddenly Angelus attacked. Before her feet could touch anything but air, Angelus’ had hold of her arm. Pulling her back into his penthouse, he nearly had to pull the limb out of socket before he had her secure. Even then, it was an up-hill battle. Buffy was a veritable wild animal as she struggled to escape his iron grip.

Her movements quickly became so violent that she shoved Angelus off balance. Falling onto the floor, he was soon straddled by an enraged Slayer. Several times she slammed his head into the marble floor. One assault was so powerful that the floor cracked beneath her furious onslaught.

Groaning, Angelus felt the devil’s own hammer pound inside his skull. He had to get her under control---fast. Before she either split his head like an over-ripe melon or he lost his patience and killed her. A move, at this point in time, that did not seem like such a bad idea. Bringing up his legs, he hooked them around her neck and pulled---neatly dislodging her off his chest.

However he was not fast enough to prevent Buffy from fleeing across the entryway and bolting the massive double-doors from the inside. Letting lose a stream of curses, he rushed the doors and began pulling on the iron handles. They remained firmly barred. Pounding against the heavy frame Angelus roared “Dammit woman! Open the damned door! What the Hell is wrong with you?!”

Empty silence greeted him. Lifting his fist, he was about to hammer on the doors again when he heard a muffled thud. And then another. And another. Regretfully looking at the centuries-old doors (he had taken a fancy to them when they had adorned the hall of certain contessa killed back in ‘42) Angelus lifted a foot and kicked them wide open.

Wood splintered and shattered in the air as he angrily strode into the room. His eyes quickly found Buffy holding a granite pedestal as a battering ram. She only looked at him once, before working even more furiously.

Intently she continuously charged at one of the specially-made windows. Hoarsely sobbing she realized that not even a scratch marred the opaque surface. If this didn’t work she was well and truly trapped. She was so afraid. She couldn’t hide nor could she stop her body from its’ horrible change.

Buffy’s arms ached with fatigue. She was dying. She knew it. Nothing else could explain what was happening to her. The pedestal was ripped out of her hands and flung into the window before harmlessly bouncing away. Numbly she looked at the intact window before looking up at an enraged Angelus. Gripping her weary arms he shook her once before biting out “Had enough yet? No? Here---let me help you.”

Flinging her away he strode over to the window. Raking her with his heated black gaze he brought his bare foot back and kicked it. Nothing happened. Several times he attacked the window with his foot, his fist, even his shoulder but the glass remained firmly intact.

Coming back to her trembling form, his hand whipped out when she moved back. “Can you see that you’re not going anywhere Buff? Has it gotten through your thick skull yet, hmm? Yes? Alright then---so just calm the fuck down!”

Trying to focus on his swirling face, Buffy felt as if she were going to lose consciousness at any moment. Angrily, if a bit weakly, she spat “You bastard---you’ve killed me.”

Impatiently he snapped “C’mon Buff, you’re not dead. Quit being so damned melodramatic.”

“I hate you! Do you hear me?” Feebly she tried to shake his hold off, but it was useless. She had no choice but to stumble behind him as he dragged her back to the couch.

“I hear you and I really don’t care. Hate away Buff, hate away.” Angelus boredly replied.

“I hate you and I hope to God that when I do die, I stay dead. And if he isn’t that merciful, I hope that I see the day when another Slayer kills you.”

Releasing her arm he stepped back from her. “Let me tell you what would happen if one finally does: you would kill her for me.” Seeing Buffy shake her head, he pressed in with “Oh yes you would. You would torture her before taking your time in sending her to Hell.”

Not yet satisfied he breezily continued. “You would make a shitty vampire Buff. You’re too damn independent to make a good one. Personally I like my women docile, obedient, and most off all---I like them quiet.” Pointing a finger at her weaving figure he accused “You talk to much. And you’re contrary. Even Almighty God wouldn’t be that vindictive. He wouldn’t saddle me with the likes of you for an eternity.”

Buffy felt the strange urge to laugh and cry at the same time. She couldn’t be completely sure if he was just being sarcastic or totally honest. On some vain and insane level, she was miffed with him for declaring unworthy of being a vampire. Like it was a fucking club that only the cool people were invited to join.

His laments seemed genuine enough. Screw him! Like she wanted to be like him. Her thoughts quickly shifted and she soon began cursing herself. What in the HELL was wrong with her? This wasn’t some game nor was it a popularity contest that she had just lost. If so, losing should be the point.

Blearily looking at him she saw his mouth move, but no understandable words were coming out. What was he still blabbing about? He may like his women quiet, but he could out-talk them all! She’d take Angel’s cryptic-boy routine any day over this.

With effort she focused on his swirling mouth: all five of them. “Listen---IF you do turn, I’ll run a stake through you myself. But you’re not going to turn Buff, if so you’d be dead by now.”

The fight went out of her. She wanted to believe that his words were true and that she was not transforming into a vampire. It would be the easiest thing in her world, at this point, to trust that if anyone knew---he did.

But her body was shouting a different story. The heat and the pain that racked her was ten times more weakening and painful than the worst case of pneumonia could ever be. Her strength was quickly ebbing away and it was taking everything she had just to stand.

It could only mean one thing.

After she had initially taken those first damning sips of blood, she had felt a supreme moment of incredible clarity and strength. It was only when she realized what was happening, did she feel sick. Until then, she felt strong and powerful. For a brief moment in time she had felt infinite.

Eternal.

Could it be that her humanity realized the foul mixture of blood was poisonous? Is this what happens to victims when they change? Can they feel their body destroying itself---eradicating everything that was once human?

Her voice breaking she said “I am dying Angelus. I can feel it. You’re wrong...” Before she could finish her statement, Buffy’s body collapsed on itself and she lost consciousness. Before her head hit the floor, it scraped against the corner of the lacquered coffee table.

Angelus heaved an unnecessary sigh as he walked over to Buffy’s fallen body. All of this crap could have been avoided if she had just done what she was told. But no! She had to lose what little common sense she had and take it upon herself to leave. Even realizing that it was impossible, did she give up? Once again, no. She locked him out of his own drawing room and made him destroy an irreplaceable momento from his past.

He had just had the doors installed two days ago! It had taken him two weeks just to find the present owners of the abandoned Italian fortress and then another week to complete the transaction of purchase. Finally it had taken the workers four days just to remove them, which was a delicate process in itself. Afterall, the pair had hung there for centuries and it was a wonder that they were still intact at all.

Vaguely he remembered the delicate little contessa laying in her bed, blood spurting from her lips, chokingly asking him why. Why had he killed her, why had he lied about his love, why this, why that, why? As he made his way towards the fallen girl, the memory of the other slowly grew into focus.

The ebony hair lay rippled across the white satin pillow. The color was everywhere: on the sheets, the bedcurtains; the furnishings. This suite was an altar to a much-admired beautiful, young, virgin contessa. Even her nightgown was white. Only the nightgown no longer bespoke of purity and innocence. Instead it wept the crimson tears of sacrifice.

Idly twirling a silken curl, he had watched the pulse in her throat progressively grow weaker. She had welcomed him with such open arms tonight, regardless of that that her betrothed lay in another section of the fortress.

So much like all the others before her. And as they did, she too would be the price for an unconstant heart.

His courtship of her began in earnest as soon as he had walked through the cavernous hall below. Such a sweet and easy conquest was this spoiled contessa. All it had taken were a few flowery comments, a couple of turns around the portrait gallery (only after dusk---he suffered such terrible megrims in the day), and several burning looks. Voila! Now he was in her bed.

Anna-Theresa's voice was barely a reedy whisper yet he heard it as clearly as if she had spoken right into his ear. Her voice melodious, despite the approaching death, asked "Why did you lie? You said that you found love, here in my home..."

Cruelly smiling he ferverently answered "But Anna, I DID find love her."

Her eyes fluttered, wanting to close in eternal sleep, yet needing to feast upon the handsome contenance of the man she foolishly loved. "Then why..." she achingly asked.

Playfully hitting her up-turned nose with an ebony curl, Angelus admonished "Not you, silly child! Your doors!"

Silver tears glided down the porcelain-pale cheeks of the soon-to-be expired contessa. The last words that passed her bloodied lips were "My doors?"

Before ripping out her throat he answered with such rich admiration "I thought your hall doors were lovely and I wanted them. I must apologize for any misunderstandings that have occured, but you were just a pleasant diversion to pass the time in this dreadful country." His brow furrowed with mock concern. Playful horror colored his voice as he asked "You don't hold it against me, do you my dear?"

Unfortunately a pair of late-night wandering guests had seen him come out of Anna-Theresa's suite, and it did not take long for him to be tried and convicted, in public opinion, as her murderer. Being a hunted man, or demon, made the city-states of Italy rather unsafe for him. It had taken 156 years to finally own the doors that he had so admired.

Now they half-hung off their frames, a destroyed shell compared to their former glory. All the conquest, the bloodshed, the tears, the misery they had been witness to for over four-hundred years---gone. He could weep pure blood tears for this travesty!

And it was ALL Buffy's fault!

Damn Slayer. Why did he even bother? No lay was worth this much. It wasn't like she was even bringing him anything---not even a pair of doors. At least Anna-Theresa had the decency to die AND give him something for his time.

But not this one---all she brought was trouble. He HAD planned for this weekend to be one of demon debauchery and the fleeing of innocence---namely hers. Reaching her crumpled form, Angelus thought No sex, no debauchery, no ravishment. Nada. Zilch. Zero. What Powers That Be did I piss off today?

While he enjoyed this modern era, he had one major complaint about it. Women had entirely too much freedom. They actually believed themselves capable of being a man's equal. Snorting he thought, with complete conviction, If I had been around, NONE of this would have happened.

Turn your back on the world and all Hell breaks loose. Thanks alot Angel.

Reaching her fallen body, Angelus resisted the urge to place a well-aimed kick to Buffy’s stomach. Double-damned Slayer! Looking over his shoulder, he once again saw the splintered, half-hung former glory that had been his doors. Cursing he threw his restraint not out window, but out the massacered doors. Bringing back his bare foot, he kicked Buffy squarely in the mid-section and waited.

She never reacted, not in the form of a whimper nor did she even flinch. Disappointed Angelus gave up any other notions of physical punishment. There wasn’t any point if she wouldn’t moan in agony. Squatting down he lifted her limp body and carried it across the room. Walking through a doorway, he passed by several rooms before reaching the master suite. Pushing the door open with his shoulder, Angelus had no problem finding his way through the darkness to the enormous canopied bed.

Hefting Buffy over his shoulder, he reached out with one hand and pulled the heavy covers back. Tossing her still-unconscious form on the bed Angelus turned away before she landed on the mattress. Feeling a slight chill he strode over to the fireplace. His penthouse came equipped with all the modern ammenities to be found, plus some, including heat. However he was old-fashioned in some respects and, in his opinion, nothing could compare to a fire.

Thusly he had every major room fitted with a fireplace. Running his hand along the newly stained mantle, Angleus felt a thrill of pride at the simple yet intricate beauty of each detail. It was one of his flaws, he knew it yet accepted it: the need for beautfiul things. While being no where near as large as the one in the main room, it was still a sizeable structure of iron, brick and wood. A fire the size of a minature pyre could fit within its’ depths and with the size of his room, it was needed.

Leaving off his moment of homeownership pride, Angelus squatted down and opened up the grate. Lifting several logs he placed them on the rack and began the task of building a fire. Feeding one log after another into the growing flames, his gaze became unfocused and he began thinking about his other home.

The one pleasantly referred to as Hell.

It’s funny how humans have depicted it as being a place of fire and brimstone. Would they even want to know about it? If they only knew what it was really like--- Could they bear to know the truth? Angelus imagined himself on a zealous compaign concerning the true beauty of Hell. Touring the world by night, preaching as ferverently as any Baptist preacher might about the utter perfection of Hell. Scornfully laughing he thought Let the buggers find out for themselves.

Shaking himself from his reverie, Angelus placed one more log onto the blazing fire. Standing up he looked over at the bed, noting the sprawled form of his latest human lover. Buffy was still asleep, unconscious, comatose or whatever she was. Walking back to the bed he leaned over her body, watching for the slightest signs of movement. Other than the minute rise and fall of her chest, she was completely motionless.

Lifting her arm he watched it fall the bed limply. Scenting her blood Angelus remembered how Buffy’s head hit the corner of the table. Brushing back the dried and matted hair he wondered if the wound was deep enough to require stitches. If so, he would make the necessary arrangements to have a physician brought here. He did not need Buffy scarred, especially over her own foolishness. He wanted her flesh to stay as perfect as possible---for as long as possible.

Frowning he wondered at just who would he call. He preferred not having a complete stranger here in his home, especially one who might be indiscreet. Remembering that City Hall was across the street, he thought of the Sunnydale’s most respected civil leader. And a vampire’s newest ally.

A bit flaky, but definitely very useful.

Because the Mayor was somewhat of a clean freak and germ phobe, he always had a doctor nearby. Angelus would just have him sent over. Although how the good doctor would get up here would be rather tricky considering she DID break his elevator...

Angelus’ thoughts careened to a halt and his irritation with her fled as he inspected the now non-existent wound. Dabbing a finger with his tongue, he wiped the dried blood away. Her flesh was perfectly healed, not even a hint of pinkness to betray that there had even been a scrape. Frowning he pulled back.

She had never healed this fast.

Turning her body over to the side, he pulled up his coat to reveal her backside. All the bruises were gone. Her bottom was just as smooth and unmarked as it had been two hours before. Laying Buffy back down Angelus was truly perplexed. He hadn’t lied when he told her that he didn’t think she was turning into a vampire. He did not sense the mark of his species on her.

But now he was also positive that she was not quite the same Slayer-enhanced human she had been. So what was she?

Angelus replayed the earlier scenes in his mind. When she jumped into the elevator shaft, her figure had been just a blur. Buffy had never moved that fast. And when she had locked him out, she had moved with an inhuman speed. Not with Slayer speed, but with inhuman speed. His hands had been rather tied together by her childishness to pay much attention beyond the moment, but now...

She was obviously changing, but into what? He had never seen anything like it. Humans either died quickly and stayed dead OR they died quickly and rose within a couple of days. Either way, a vampire always knew which way it would go. If she was turning he would know it. But now he didn’t know SHIT, and Angelus hated that.

The Slayer now had his speed but was lacking her normal strength. Every movement she had made seemed to take an extrodinary amount of will. Only anger seemed to have made an effect on her, as his head could eloquently testify to. Even so, it was nothing that compared to what she had been capable of---and might still be capable of. So even though her body was incredibly weak, it could be just a temporary affliction.

Or it could be permanent.

All because they had drank from each other?

Thinking back on the night’s events Angelus suddenly realized that he too had been affected by Buffy’s blood. Pulling away from the bed he stood straight, a thoughtful look heavy on his face. Looking across the room he watched the crackling flames hiss and spit as it devoured the dead wood. Without warning he sprinted there and back in the barest fraction of a second.

Craning his head back Angelus stared up at the domed ceiling. His keen eyesight focused on a tiny amber portion of the mural, mentally judging the distance to be about twenty-five to thirty feet. Coiling his muscles he tensed before springing up into the air.

Angelus’ fingers tapped the smoothly painted surface before gracefully landing in a crouch. There was no doubt about it now: his strength, speed, and reflexes were better than before. Much, MUCH better than before.

Standing back up he could not believe how this change had gone unnoticed. He should have realized the difference this morning on his way here. At the time he had attributed it to a vampire’s version of an adrenaline rush, but he should’ve known better.

Flexing his fingers Angelus could feel the power humming throughout him. It felt like the first time he had risen; the newly discovered strength and clarity sharpening all senses. Only this was better. Much, much better. Upon the discovery of the change, it was as if his every nerve was screaming in acknowledgement of the heady power-rush.

Could this be temporary? Angelus simply did not know. Agitated he had the urge to conquer the world, to subjugate and dominate the mere mortal man, to be infinite.

Alas, it was simply not to be. For now.

Unfortunately he had no choice but to stay indoors. Restlessly he prowled throughout the sumptuous top floor and tried out his new-found skills. After throwing one of his matched pairs of Chin-dynasty vases in the air, running throughout the entire penthouse, and catching it before the hapless piece of pottery hit the floor fifteen times---he was bored.

Super-powers just weren’t any fun unless you had an audience: first to impress and then to cause bodily harm to same-said audience. Hmm...the elevator did need to be fixed. Picking up the phone he dialed the Mayor’s office. It only rang once before a pleasantly-modulated voice answered “Hello, this is Ms. Williams. How may I help you?”

Charmingly he purred “Ms. Williams, how formal. Surely such an exquisite voice can be placed with an equally-exquisite first name.”

At the other end there was a slight pause before a discreetly covered titter echoed in his ear. Rolling his eyes skywards (never heavenwards), Angelus wondered why he even bothered flattering the fairer sex. Perhaps old-habits were just hard to die. “My name is---I mean, you can call me Linda.”

Angelus’ mind darted and discarded face after face before settling on the image of a honey-blonde woman of 5’7” with a slightly rumpled lilac suit, conservative pearls and scuffed low-heeled pumps. Rather average of looks but with an incredibly graceful, long neck and beautifully shaped hands. He saw her briefly the night when he picked up the paperwork for the lovely penthouse that he now owned, courtesy of one Mayor of Sunnydale.

Sitting behind the wide, highly polished desk the short leader of Sunnyhell busily wiped his hands clean of any remnants of black ink. Reaching inside an drawer he pulled out a small bottle of orange anti-bacterial cleanser and squeezed out a healthy dollop. Looking across the desk he politely inquired “Would you care for some?”

Scanning over another page of the lengthly document Angelus merely grunted “No.”

“Come now, you really should try some.” Rubbing his hands together, his mouth twisted in a moue of distaste as he stated “You would be amazed at how filthy common, ordinary paper can get. It gets passed from one person to another to another. God only knows how many people don’t wash their hands!---and then it all ends up here.”

Barely looking up Angelus murmured “Really.”

Thinking he had an audience on the ills of uncleanliness, the Mayor leaned forward and rambled on and on about only Hades knew what before pushing the bottle towards Angelus again. “Even immortals need to take care of their skin. Try some.”

Unwillingly Angelus’ mouth curved in a smile. Although he could be irritating, there was something about this unproposing guy that you couldn’t help but like. Therein lay his true evilness. The bastard.

Reaching across he held out his hand, causing the pink-faced man to beam from ear to ear. Grimacing slightly at the cold ooze, he rubbed both hands together as instructed. Feeling an odd tingle, he arched a questioning brow before being reassured that “The tingle is the true magic of the product Angelus. It’s destroying 99.9% of all the germs that have been in contact with your hands. Don’t you just love it?”

Dryly he replied “More than death itself.”

An odd gleam lighted the Mayor’s pale eyes before he chuckled. “Vampire wit. I like that. It shows that you’re a man who can appreciate a good laugh.” Going back to the subject of gel he questioned “So you liked it, did you?” Enthusiastically he continued with “I’ve worked out a deal with the L.A. distributor that gives me a 20% discount on each crate. I’ve got well more than a year’s supply just down the hall. Would you like some?”

Not giving Angelus a chance to answer, he leaned to the side and pushed the intercom button. “Linda? Would you please bring a box of gel to my office?”

“Sir, I just put five containers in your desk this afternoon! Are you sure you need more?”

A hint of impatience colored his voice as he repeated “Bring a box to my office now.” Apologetically he looked up at Angelus and murmured “She means well but she hasn’t yet learned blind obedience and worship.”

“Would you like some help?” he drawled.

Laughing outloud the Mayor leaned back in his morrocan leather chair. Pointing a finger at the handsome immortal across from him, he chuckled “Oh I like you Angelus. It’s pleasure to have you on our side, it really is.”

A quick rap of knuckles sounded on the door before being opened by a nervous-looking secretary. Her gaze shifted between her employer and Angelus for a brief moment before focusing to a spot on the floor. Holding up a small box she murmured “Here you go sir. Will that be all?”

Coming from around the desk, the Mayor took the soap and said “Yes, that’s all.” As she turned to leave he stopped her and asked “Linda have you been smoking again?” Two bright spots of color stained the secretary’s face as she stuttered “N-no, I mean y-yes, but just once.”

“Huh-huh, just as I thought. What have I told you about that nasty habit? It’s horrible for the complexion, the teeth, not even to mention the lungs. Now if you’re going to be a member of this office, you MUST quit. I’m not joking at all Linda!”

“Yes sir. I’ll quit starting now” she contritely promised.

Rolling his eyes Angelus wondered what the hell was the big deal. So what? Who cared? Feeling an imp to annoy the good Mayor, he amusedly pulled out a cigarette and deliberately lit it. The Mayor’s nose began to work as furiously as a tiny rodent’s. The smoke billowed around the room while Angelus unconcernedly took several drags. “Not you too Angelus?” he asked in a shocked voice. Linda backed out of the room, breathing a sigh of relief along the way. Now her employer had another target to expound on the evils of tobacco.

Before another word could be spoken, Angelus grew bored and decided to leave. Standing up the vampire took his copy of ownership and lifted the box of anti-bacterial soap out of the Mayor’s limp hands. Slapping the smaller man on the shoulder Angelus jovially said “Thanks for the present. It will be enjoyed.”

“Linda, this is Mr. Gryphon. I need to speak with the Mayor. Is he in?”

Remembering the gorgeous man of several weeks before she gushed “Of course, I’ll put right through.” A few moments passed before Angelus heard a cheerful voice say “This is a surprise. What can I do for you?”

Pacing in front of the weapons display he answered “I’ve had somewhat of an accident. I need you to send someone to fix my elevator.”

There was a moment of silence before a blandly phrased “An accident? Would that accident have something to do with the Slayer?”

Stopping in mid-stride Angelus silkily asked “What did you say?”

“The Slayer is there, is she not?”

“You seem to know, why bother asking?”

“Now, now Angelus,” the Mayor soothed, “there’s no need to take that tone with me. While I may not approve of pre-marital relations, I understand how important this is. I trust whatever method you choose to take. I was simply---”

“Simply what?” he growled.

Another pause. “Simply asking a simple yet ill-timed question. I apologize. You’ll have a technician there within ten minutes. Oh by the way Angelus? I need this one, so send him back healthy okay?”

“Of course.” Clicking the button he felt a wave of anger flow through him. No one questioned him and no one spied on him. Ever. Beyond that, he did not appreciate his intimate relations being food for thought. Flinging the phone against the wall he felt only a tiny amount of pleasure at seeing the split plastic and torn wires.

The Mayor wanted Buffy dead or disposed off, he didn’t care which. He knew that only he, Angelus, had the ability to take her out of the game. That’s why he courted and wooed him, finally gifting him with this home. Multi-million home and furnishings in return for doing what he planned on all along. At the time it seemed great but now it left him with the acrid taste of being a bought demon, subject to another’s demands.

And to top it all off he was interfering with his afternoon’s enjoyment.

Double-damned Slayer!

Soon he heard activity on the bottom floor. The elevator’s hum announced the arrival of his canceled entertainment. Irritably Angelus strode up the stairs, through the splintered doors, and waited while the technician opened the doors. If the man was at all curious about the negligently dressed man or the half-hung doors or the busted metal panel, he never showed it. Efficiently he replaced the damaged control panel. Within five minutes the man was in and out of the building and Angelus now had a working elevator once again.

Impressed he walked back towards the bedroom. “No wonder he wanted to keep him. The guy IS good.” What was there for him to do now except sleep? His boredom only caused him to break things and he had just moved into the place. Besides he wouldn’t be sleeping alone, even though it would be the double-damned Slayer next to him.

In that case, maybe she should sleep on the floor.

Quickly shedding his clothes, Angelus climbed into the soft bed. Pulling back two cords, the heavy textured bedcurtains surrounded them in complete darkness. Another one of his old-fashioned foibles: bedcurtains. He simply couldn’t imagine sleeping in a bed without them.

Lifting Buffy he slipped his coat off and hauled her up against his body. Pulling the covers over them both, Angelus settled his head on the pillow and forced himself to relax. His mind, however, sped through thoughts and theories as he thought about the last several hours.

Human blood was the purest essence to a vampire. While his kind could survive on basically any kind of blood, it is the humans that lend the best sustenance. It is human blood that can revive even the weakest vampire, if not to full strength, then enough to be more than just a walking corpse. If ordinary human blood held such wondrous properties, then wouldn’t it stand to reason that Slayer blood would be infinitely more powerful?

Angelus’ body could attest to it. Looking down at the blond head nestled against his chest he wondered what would happen to her. Would she die? Looking up at the curtained ceiling he wondered why it even bothered him. It shouldn’t, but it did. It had to be because she was his first Slayer/paramour. That was all. Besides, he didn’t want her to die until HE was ready.

Feeling a surge of energy flow between them Angelus knew a sharp moment of completeness. It was the oddest thing, but that in itself did not make it untrue. They were now bound somehow. The Slayer is a part of me...and I am a part of her. They were connected as surely as a sire and child. Even more so.

Closing his eyes Angelus allowed his body to rest and drift to sleep. He no longer thought about the oddity of a Slayer and Master Vampire sharing a bed in complete peace. It also no longer occurred to him for Buffy to sleep anywhere other than in his bed.