Mastery
by ComedyofErrors

Chapter 1:

Angelus smiled. It was never a pleasant sight. It meant someone, or something, was suffering, usually by his hand, though he did delight in all misery.

It was his way. The frail blonde creature was curled in on itself, like a broken bird, with its arms splayed to either side, and its legs tucked to its chest. The hair was tangled, streaked with mud, and carrying not a few leaves. It belonged here, in the cemetery, as its heart no longer beat. It would be kind to leave it to the sun. But if he wanted to be kind, he would never have fed it his blood.

She’d been ill, he realized when he tasted her. The illness left him slightly dizzy when he drank from the savage cut on the side of her neck. It was so ragged it would scar, even in her new fast-healing existence. Not that she would have the existence for long, but it was necessary for her to know that she was marked. It was all a part of his artistry. He would have to abuse her for having been sick; circumstances beyond their control were wonderful reasons to torture a fledge. It broke the childe into such lovely pieces.

He’d made it a childe. He had debated with himself, but of course it couldn’t be a minion. Minions rose with their skills in place, and were dependent only on their own hunting abilities. A childe depended on its master. It knew nothing. And it would have feelings and emotions a minion could not begin to be capable of. It could know true anguish, as only an intelligent being could.

Minions screamed. Childer wept. The latter was more to his taste.

He lifted her from the ground, and slung her over his shoulder. He could have injured her now, but there was no point. It was only pleasant if she was conscious. And conscious of what she now was. He would have preferred her to be a virgin, so that each time she would heal, and be hurt the next, but then if she were a virgin, he wouldn’t be here, would he?

She was innocent though. Only once touched by a man, and so tenderly that she had no real conception of what he could do to her. He would degrade her slowly, adding each time a layer of filth to her, until she could see nothing but the dirt she was. He would give her no comfortable pattern, so that each time she would wonder at what trick he would perform. He would need to consider carefully when to let Drusilla have her fun. How wonderful to be a vampire, where incest was the way of unlife. The little slayer would no doubt be shocked to find her own sister abusing her.

He was approaching the mansion. He liked it so much better than the factory. Spike may have been content to live in a hovel, but a discerning vampire needed a suitably respectable lair. Oh, Spike. There could be another layer in the torment, for both his injured grandchilde and the new being on his shoulder. Oh yes.

He entered the mansion and went to his room. He tossed his new childe negligently on a sofa beside the bed. He stripped, then showered. He’d have to send a minion out for new bath soaps. With both Dru and himself using this bedroom and bathroom, the supplies ran out faster, especially considering how often he took her in the shower. She was well versed in its erotic uses, one of the few things Spike had educated her in over the years. Perhaps he should get the boy a thank you note for keeping her warmed up.

Slayer blood was as potent as Spike had boasted, so that even though he’d given her most of her blood back, he was not hungry. He felt like playing. He wondered when Dru would return. If Spike had any feeling below the waist he would just use him, but the insolent little bastard was wounded, and that made him useless for the kind of physical torture he had in mind.

Still, mental torture could satisfy for the moment.
*****
Spike lay on the bed, as always. He had to conserve his strength. His legs needed healing, and he couldn’t spare the blood needed to roam about the mansion in the chair. It had started after Angelus returned from the mall, frustrated at the Judge’s destruction. Dru or the minions had always brought him someone to eat when they returned at night. Sometimes Dru fed him herself.

But the fresh food stopped that night. He had tried ordering the minions to fulfill their duty by him. He was a Master of their Order, they should have no choice but to obey. Unless someone superior to him in the bloodline ordered them not to. That meant Dru or her sire. He could never believe that of Dru. He could only assume that Angelus liked him weak.

He was weak. But not as frail as he should have been on a starvation diet. He’d been a good Master to his minions before his injury. He’d never dusted them without cause. And now he was being paid for it. Four remained loyal. They hated Angelus, both for their own sake and for his.

One he had convinced to break into the library, and steal a book on the treatment of spinal injuries. They split the risk of bringing him pig or beef blood from the butcher while Angelus hunted. Then, a few nights ago, Jacob and Alexa had even managed to bring him an entire cooler of bagged human blood being disposed of by the hospital.

He was feeling the effects of it in his system. Never mind that it was old, and it was the first time he’d fed fully in weeks, as his emaciated form showed. His legs had begun to tingle. Sporadic nerve signals traveled to his brain, in response to imagined stimuli, if he understood the book correctly. Mostly, he felt pain. Sometimes a dull ache radiated from one limb to the next. Sometimes sharp spasms stole through him. But he didn’t care. The sensations were heavenly as far as he was concerned. It gave him hope, something he had long since given up on.

It was still painful, though. He occasionally wished for a distraction, to keep the pain at bay until he had more use of the limbs. He was learning to walk again, slowly. But his atrophied muscles couldn’t take much at any one time. Tonight, he’d filled his quota. His legs had buckled under him after struggling a few moments too long, and he’d had to crawl off the floor of his room and onto the bed. He was massaging them gently, through the jeans. His book had given the directions on how to ease the strain.

He heard and Angelus coming down the hallway. Was he skipping? That could not possibly be good for anyone. Spike slumped farther into bed, trying to look as though he’d been resting. At least he’d taken his boots off.

Angelus burst through the door. Spike was in bed as expected. He wondered vaguely who was feeding him. He hadn’t expected the boy to give up and starve himself, wouldn’t have allowed it in fact. Spike was far too much fun to torment. That sensitive poet half begged to be teased, and always would. No one else could reach inside and rip his heart out like Angelus. The abuser always had such power, he’d found.

“Well, well, my boy, lyin’ about at this time o’ night?” The Irish in his natural voice was diluted from travel, but he called it forth from time to time to annoy or entertain. Even if it was as fake as Spike’s own Cockney.

“I was planning to go get some take out. Want to go along?” Spike knew better than to remain silent. Silence was an invitation to pain far greater than what he was feeling now. Angelus was not to be ignored. But he couldn’t afford to be rebellious. Angelus believed heavily in punishment for those that spoke back to him. Spike could still feel sometimes the iron fireplace poker being alternately thrust into and smacked against his back. Preparation in the fireplace optional, though never for too long. Too hot, and the victim went into shock, and felt no pain.

And yet he loved the vampire before him. William who had been forced into a demon shell, and had made himself comfortable in it as Spike, had always placed a high regard on family. He’d loved his human family dearly. And then he was reliant on the vampire clan that had adopted him. Some of them had wanted to stake him, or worse, throw him out. Angelus had decreed he would remain. Partly out of his own love of family, partly out of a desire to see what he could make of the boy. Will the human had been weak, but proud, and wept and cried so prettily. Good raw material. Even at his most enraged, Angelus wanted Will alive, to learn.

Spike clung to unlife with a passion. And Angelus fed him, rewarded him, punished him. He was everything Will could ever have aspired to be as a demon, and Will was eager to please. He tried to believe he deserved all the beatings. He deluded himself that far for years, and after all he almost always did. And then he felt abandoned when his protector left, carting a soul along.

When they came to Sunnydale, Will now called Spike had hoped to be reunited with his beloved pseudo-sire. Drusilla he loved, but Angelus had remade him. Now they were together, but it was not as the younger vampire remembered. He’d been foolish enough to trust in Dru’s loyalty, even though he knew her sodding Daddy ranked higher in her heart. As for Daddy. At his worst, the old Angelus was precise, and cold. He never attacked family without a reason. The bastard creature before him was more than a little mad. A careless, self-assured, petty egomaniac, who had followed Dru into insanity, even if he was touched in a different way. A hundred years with a soul could do anything to the demon parts.

Maybe there hadn’t been unending love, but there had been some affection. Angelus wanted to see his family succeed. He grew attached to Will during their brief time together, and was set on making him a great beast some day, not unlike Penn. The soul intervened, and once it was gone, a stranger had replaced his boy. Someone who was cocky, and arrogant, and would not be dominated so easily. And it wasn’t his doing. That was unacceptable to the now psychotic father figure.

Spike supposed further that he was to be broken down overtime by this new monster, until he could be remade again. The metal had cured wrong, so it was being softened to rework later. That was why there was hunger, that was why Dru was flaunted, and that was what had brought him here now.

Angelus smiled again. “I’ve fed already Boy, though I thank you for the invitation. I’ve come to invite you to partake, as it were. Come along now.”

Spike lay where he was. He couldn’t let Angelus know he could walk, however slightly, so he had to take the jibe for what it was, and remain still. He could smell blood on Angelus. It seemed familiar, as though he should know the scent.

Angelus’s smile was becoming a constant feature. “I said get up and come with me, Boy.” Two strides had him at the head of the bed. He grabbed the smaller man by his shirt front and a short quick slap graced the right side of his face. The return stroke smashed against the left. Angelus was back at his original position by the door in a moment, leaning against the frame.

Spike’s head reeled from the intensity of the blow. He might well have a concussion. That didn’t mean his mind was so clouded that he would disobey. He edged himself to the side of the bed with his arms, his legs limp as any dead weight. The chair was pulled close to the bed, locked so that he could climb in and out without its rolling. He grasped the armrests, and heaved himself up.

Angelus moved toward him at an even pace, circling around as though to offer him a hand. At the last moment he veered away, striking the right hand wheel lock with his steel tipped boot. The wheel, freed, rotated from the pressure on the armrests by the would-be occupant. The chair spun away from the bed, leaving Spike extended for an instant in the air. The next moment he tumbled to the ground, cracking his skull against the stone floor. He lay immobile, on his face, on the ground, breathing hard.

“Now, now, Will. Since when are you so clumsy? I assumed you’d outgrow that fledgling awkwardness at some point.” Angelus grabbed him roughly by the neck and the thigh, righted him to a standing position briefly, then dumped him into the chair.

It was just this kind of childish, unreasonable attack that reminded Spike again that this was not his beloved sire. His head stopped spinning eventually, and he realized that Angelus was wheeling him to the other end of the mansion. Looking down at his throbbing legs, he saw them sticking at odd angles from beneath him. Not broken, just arranged very painfully. But he couldn’t admit that. He reached down and casually straightened them, fitting his feet into the footrests.

They reached one of the rooms claimed by Angelus and Dru. It seemed to shift every week or so, depending on which bed they had yet to christen. The door was slightly ajar. Speeding up, Angelus forced the door fully open with Spike’s legs as the battering ram. “Ooooh, good thing you’re numb down that way Will. Else that might have hurt.”

It did hurt, like the sodding devil. Fuck but it hurt. His eyes rolled back and his hands gripped the armrests as discreetly as possible. When he opened his eyes a moment later, he was at an angle, partially facing a small couch at the foot of the bed. Angelus was sitting on the bed, behind and to the right, but in full view. Still smiling, the fucker.

Now he knew why the blood smelled familiar. There she was on the couch. His slayer. The girl he was going to battle when he regained his mobility, and have a chance to win Dru back. Buffy. Dead.

Damned if he didn’t pity her. Pity them both. Because now Angelus would have free reign in Sunnydale, and no one could save them from their plight by killing him. Her friends would try, but Angelus was too experienced to be killed by novices, how ever well meaning. The Watcher had a chance, if he bided his time. He wasn’t a fool.

She looked so innocent. The poor girl was now the childe of the monster that had once been his grandsire. He had suffered as a fledgling, but the goal had been to teach him. Make him a strong member of the family or break him in the process. The breaking was all that was in store for this girl.

The worst part was that he knew, as did Angelus, that she would have her soul along for the ride. She was not the first slayer to be turned. She couldn’t fight very hard against her sire, not while she was so young. The things he must have planned would be demeaning on all levels, physical, emotional, and spiritual.

Maybe Spike could kill her before it went too far. No one deserved this. Least of all his worthy opponent.

Angelus watched Spike watching the small form. “Pretty thing isn’t she? Too bad you never got to taste her while she was alive. Really something. And now she’s your elder in the blood line. Maybe you can ask her for a taste sometime, once she’s a full member of the family. Maybe she’ll let you lick her wrist. Did you ever wonder Spike, while you were fighting her, about what she’d be like in bed?” Spike cast him an unreadable glance. “She is good you know. Hot. Soft. Tight.” He reached down and unzipped his pants, pulling out his mounting erection. He stroked it in time with his words. “She cried out when I broke her hymen. I could smell the blood from the tear. Intoxicating.

“And then tonight, I came up behind her and she didn’t even sense me. Maybe she’s been thinking so much about me she couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. What do you think about that, Boy?”

Spike sighed. “Maybe.” He wasn’t shocked that his grandsire would wank off in front of him. Horny bastard did what pleased him, and he liked to be watched. It wasn’t anything Spike hadn’t seen before, but it got to him now. Maybe because, as Angelus knew, he was too injured to have an erection himself. This was another trick to remind him of just how worthless he was at the moment. He couldn’t even pleasure himself.

It angered him not so much that the wanker was jerking off over the slayer’s death but over what he was going to do when she woke. Slayer blood’s aphrodisiacal qualities were irresistible after all. But Spike had never enjoyed rape. He’d seen it done by Angelus in the old days, and it disgusted him.

Maybe it was the Victorian manners lingering in him that protested. Maybe it was his memory of his broken cousin Charlotte after ‘that thing happened’. She’d killed herself later. Spike suspected though that it was more to do with stealing innocence. He felt no shame in killing. He was a vampire, that’s what he did. But intimate as biting was, he knew that the humans found rape to be the greater violation.

He’d been an innocent little poet when Dru found him. His innocence was destroyed entirely in two days with the family. Sometimes, not that he would ever admit it, he missed the moments when he didn’t know what monsters were. When he was safe with his mother, reading. When he didn’t know what fate held for him. That he would be a monster. Pathetic virgin that he had been at 28, he’d at least been loved by one person.

Angelus sped up his strokes. He felt the tension building. “Boy, come here.” Spike wheeled awkwardly closer, facing his panting sire. Angelus held his wrist out.

Spike slid into game face, fully aware of what was required of him. Blood play in sex was natural to vampires, and Angelus liked pain. His own blood was not worth the tasting. He took the wrist and bit hard. Angelus spasmed. He came with the first pull of blood. Spike continued to pull hard, stealing as much of the slayer residue as he could. As Angelus returned to awareness, he took a final draught, then backed away as quickly as he could in the wheel chair.

Angelus gave him a lascivious smile. He stood and walked behind Spike. He leaned down and licked the burned side of the younger vampire’s face, making sure to cause more than a little pain to the unhealed skin. He spoke into his ear. “Just remember Will that I’m the better man here. I’ve won the slayer. I’ll break her, and be better known for it, while you languish at my mercy. Never forget that that is where you are. No better than a minion. Beneath me and mine.” He wiped his sticky hands on Spike’s shirt. “Go.”

Spike left. Poor Buffy. God help her. She was still one of His, after all.
****
Please Review!*****Chapter 2*****

Rupert Giles sat in his apartment, immobile. A tall scotch at his right glinted in the sunlight that streamed unwelcome through the blinds. Upon his return, he had not bothered with lights. And now, at dawn, he didn’t need them.

He’d awoken at one o’clock this morning to a frantic pounding on his front door. Xander, Willow, and Cordelia were on the other side. They had gone to the cemetery to help Buffy patrol. She had the flu, apparently, and had decided to go patrolling anyways. They’d found blood in the cemetery, and no ashes nearby. Nor had there been a body. After the incident with Jenny, she’d felt like she needed to be out there every night, to protect the world from Angelus. And now she was gone.

“Bloody hell, man, just say it,” he murmured to himself. “The bastard killed Jenny, and now he’s killed your daughter.”

There was no doubt that she was dead. He’d gone to the cemetery with the children. Run there, crossbow in hand. He’d even brought his gun along, for good measure, not that they had known. He’d seen the blood. He’d searched with a flashlight, and found a few drops more, several yards away, and a few more farther on after that. The path pointed straight toward the mansion.

He’d sent the children home without telling them his suspicions. They must have guessed the truth by now, but hearing it from him would only scare them further. He’d have to tell them soon, though. He would need their help when he went to Joyce Summers. He’d have to tell them about the phone call he had just made.

Travers had been sympathetic. That was a first. The man was arrogant and irritating. He was not kind. Giles would have felt better if his superior had been clipped and rude. The man had simply said to his question ‘Yes Rupert. Another has been called, in addition to Kendra. She’s a young girl in Boston.’ Travers had gone on about how devoted Buffy had been, how intelligent, tactfully failing to mention the incident with Angel that transformed him into Angelus.

Giles had rung off as quickly as he could. He couldn’t bare the sympathy. What he wanted now was vengeance.

Buffy had to be considered, however. She was dead, but that didn’t mean she had ceased to exist. There were two reasons that Angelus would have taken her body. Either he wanted time to mutilate it artistically, for display to the girl’s mother and friends, or he had turned her. Turning her would be the grosser insult, so that had his money. Torture awaited her, no doubt. He wondered if Angelus knew that the Powers allowed Slayers to keep their souls. Probably. That would make it worse.

No turned slayer had ever lived for long. They were unruly, and less fun to their masters than anticipated. They were usually staked the first night. Those that were not stood in the sun the next morning, unable to exist as creatures of the night.

Angelus would not allow either option. He would break her. Twist her.

His last attack on Angelus had been ill-planned. The future one would require great cunning. He was determined that it would be he that ended the wanker’s existence, once and for all. No wishes to a demon were required, Giles being quite thorough on his own.

He hadn’t prayed since Jenny’s death, but now he begged the Powers to defend Buffy among the lions. He prayed that her suffering would end quickly, even if it was at his own hand.

Ripper glanced at the clock on the wall. Right now, Joyce Summers was waking. Did she go in every morning to check on her daughter? Did she simply call to make sure that the alarm had gone off? Either way, she would soon be standing in a teenager’s room, staring at an open window and an unused bed.

He stood, straightened his tie, and pulled on a jacket. He called Willow; Xander and Cordelia had stayed with her, rather than going out alone. A wise precaution. He asked them to meet him at the Summers’ home.

Across the line, he could hear Willow’s intake of breath. “Giles. Is she…dead?”

“A new slayer has been called.”

“Do y-you think she’s been turned?” It was a sob, not a question.

No use lying. As gently as he could, he replied, “Yes, Willow, I believe she has.”

Giles detected whispers on the other end of the line. When he next heard a voice, it was not Willow, but Xander. The boy could be quite a prat when the occasion came, but right now he was calm. Quiet. Resolved in a way that struck fellowship in Ripper. “Giles, we’ll be there as soon as we can. After we get this done with Buffy’s mom, I think you and I need to talk battle plans.”

“I agree. I’ll see you shortly.”
_____________

At the Summers’ home five hours later, Giles was not surprised to have another ally. It had been difficult initially, to convince her that he was a watcher, and that Buffy had been a slayer. Not to mention that her daughter was now dead.

She had raged at him for lying to her, for involving her daughter in some kind of cult. When Xander and Willow had tearily defended him, Joyce had asked him point blank if he was a pedophile that had trapped these children. She had been moments away from calling the police when Willow stopped her. The best proof the girl could offer that these things were real was a small bit of magic. Nothing major, just the simplest levitation of the phone Joyce had been reaching for.

Joyce had paused, shocked by the maneuver. She’d begun to listen as the young woman carefully outlined some details from the past year. The attack at the school was used to prove evidence of vampires. Joyce had gotten a good look at Spike when she hit him with the ax, there was no denying that he wasn’t normal. That he had survived being hit, and remained conscious, were certainly telling. Demon eggs and the school basement. The fact that Buffy’s tutor had never been seen in daylight. After that, the distraught woman began to ask the right questions.

Discussing Angelus proved awkward for all. Buffy had been in love with him. Buffy had slept with him. He had lost his soul. He had killed Jenny. He had killed Willow’s fish. He had killed Buffy.

Joyce threw them out of the house after two hours. She was angry. Over-whelmed. Denial had arisen again. Giles gave her his phone number, which she promptly destroyed and threw in his face.

He had sent Willow, Xander, and Cordelia home to his house. The school wouldn’t miss them, not with the epidemic going currently. He gave them express instructions not to leave singly after dark. He had performed the disinvite spell himself after Angelus had left Jenny’s body. Stupid of him not to have done it sooner, but then who knew what kind of evil he would have been done with her remains otherwise.

He did not leave. Joyce was an active woman. She would try to do something shortly. Perhaps go to the police after all, perhaps go to the cemetery, perhaps go to the mansion if they had convinced her of the death. No one had mentioned turning yet. Maybe she would never have to know what her daughter was now. What torments would be perpetrated on her.

It occurred to him that Buffy might survive long enough to make contact. She was a resourceful girl. He would have to mention it to Joyce after all.

Hours after he took up residence on the porch, Joyce stormed out the front door. She didn’t seem surprised to see him. She marched toward him deliberately, and sat beside him on the porch swing. “I just did something that I swore I would never do. I read my daughter’s diary. Everything, absolutely everything you told me is in there.

“I dug out the older volumes from the bottom of her closet. I found several bottles marked holy water and two boxes of crossbow bolts in there too. The book from when she was fifteen says that she met a man outside her school that told her she was a Chosen One. He took her to kill a vampire for the first time.” Giles didn’t interrupt, but he noticed that Joyce was beginning to believe. Her whole bearing bespoke it, as did her firm voice.

“I have seen my daughter come home late. I have washed stains out of her clothes that looked remarkably like blood. I have seen her with scratches. I have seen school principles that told me she was a horrible student, always in fights, often tired in class.” Joyce paused. It was easier than she expected, speaking like this to a man that was almost a stranger to her. He had loved Buffy, almost as much as she had. However much she wanted to deny it, he was telling her the truth. “Am I blind? Why did I never ask her what was going on? She wrote about how she hated lying to me. About how hard it was to be punished when she was performing her sacred duty.”

Giles smiled humorlessly. “Buffy was a resourceful young woman. She was adept at…stretching the truth, even in front of me. Parents tend to believe their children. And since Buffy gave you no indication that anything was wrong, it would have been simple to dismiss these things as just teenage angst run amuck. Who believes in vampires, after all? Other than middle aged librarians. She didn’t tell you because I’m sure she wanted to spare you the pain it would cause you to know that she risked her life every night.”

Joyce shook her head violently. Her self-loathing was intense as she spoke. “No. She did tell me. And her father. We thought she was going crazy. We took her to an institution. We had her kept there under observation for a few weeks, until she stopped telling the truth. She lied, said it was all a figment of her imagination, and we took her home. There was no reason for her to tell me the truth ever again.

“And now my baby is gone.” She had begun to cry. She accepted the handkerchief offered her by the man beside her. The next part was going to be the most difficult. “And this monster killed your friend, Ms. Calendar? Then left her for you to find?”

Giles nodded. He wasn’t sure what to say just now. Buffy had never told him that she had been in an asylum. He reflected that that was why potentials were found early, whenever possible, and taken to be with watchers who would train and understand them. Parents were unequipped to handle this sort of thing.

“What does that mean I have to look forward to? Is he going to leave her body in my house? Or did he make her like him?”

Giles looked up sharply. He had not anticipated that she would realize what Angelus was capable of.

“Don’t look so stunned. I lived in L.A., I know what murders do. Worse, I used to read Anne Rice novels when Buffy was a baby. I’m sure you’ll tell me they’re horrible sources of information, but it’s true isn’t it? Angelus could have turned her into a vampire.” The watcher looked away from her. “Don’t try to spare me now, Rupert.”

The familiarity of the address seemed only natural now, to both of them. They were going to come to know each other better, it might as well begin now. “He cannot enter your home unless invited. Willow, our aspiring witch, removed his first invitation. As to Buffy’s status, I think that yes, even though Anne Rice is horribly flawed, Angelus has chosen to make her his childe. I have books that you can read that will give you a better idea of what that means.”

Joyce nodded. “I want to know everything. I have two more questions. Will my daughter become a killer like him?”

Giles shook his head. “He may try to make her one. But slayers keep their souls when they are turned, so he won’t succeed. He will try everything to torment her, you know.”

Joyce nodded again. She had expected that. “Final question. What comes next?”

“Where do we go from here, you mean?”

“No, I mean how do we make this bastard vampire pay for what he’s done to my daughter?”

Ripper smiled menacingly. “I’ve been contemplating that. Xander and Willow will help, I’m sure, but I will need another adult. May I assume that you are more than willing to assist?”

“Yes.”

“Then I suggest we first call the police, and report a missing person. They will suspect you if you do not do so. They will want to come over and go through her things, so I recommend that right now, we go to her room and remove all evidence of her having been a slayer. We can store it elsewhere in your house, possibly in your room. After they finish, we will go to my apartment, and speak with Xander, Willow, and Cordelia. Our planning will begin then.”

“Very well. Let’s begin.” They stood, and reentered the house.
_____________

Angelus was a believer in certain traditions. Notably those that caused pain. That was why he had ordered his minions to dig a grave in the gardens behind the house the night he returned with his prize. He had further ordered them to find a casket. Once both tasks were accomplished, he and Dru laid the girl in her coffin, and nailed it shut. The minions buried it.

He then took the dark princess inside and screwed her until she bled.
______________

Buffy awoke slowly. It was dark, and her head was throbbing. She reached to her temple to rub it, in hopes of easing the ache. Her hand was blocked by a wall. Impulsively she reached out, and found herself enclosed on all sides. She thrashed frantically. Angelus had buried her alive.

Coherent thought fled her mind as she attacked the top of her wooden prison. Slayer strength melded with vampiric fury and she smashed a fist up through the top of the casket. Earth fell in on top of her and she choked on the dust, not stopping to realize that she no longer needed to breathe. Kicks and punches widened the rift, and the dirt sank down over her. She shot upward, swimming to the surface in the fresh-tilled ground.

She pulled herself out and lay to the side of her unmarked grave gasping. She heard something behind her. Turning she saw Angelus. She felt a wave of something unknown, all at once devotion, and fear, and desire, well up inside her. She leaped up, disgusted by the feeling, hatred penetrating through her foggy mind. She tried to take a fighting stance.

“Bow, childe.”

She didn’t want to. She was compelled. Angelus didn’t have thrall. What was happening? She was spared further thought when a low landed on the back of her head.
_______________

When next she woke Buffy was inside. She was laying on something soft. She remembered being in the graveyard. She remembered Angelus.

Her hand flew to her neck. Where the Master had once bitten her, there was now another, more recent bite. She trembled at the implication. But it was the hunger that confirmed her fears.

Giles had said that fledglings needed to feed as soon as they rose, because of the initial draining. And heaven help her, she wanted blood. She needed it. Craved it. She’d die if she didn’t get some soon. Her conscious mind warred with demon instincts that were trying to take hold.

Shouldn’t she be unable to control herself? Shouldn’t she be rushing off to kill the innocent? She was just hungry.

She opened her eyes for the first time. He was there. Not looking at her. He was by a dresser, closing a drawer full of shirts. She didn’t move, hoping that perhaps she could escape when he left. She was scared to death. ‘Oh, bad pun Buffy.’

“Naughty little sister. Tries to make Daddy think she isn’t here yet.”

Drusilla. On the bed to her side. She hadn’t even sensed her. What was wrong with her? ‘Other than suddenly being a vampire, Buffy?’ She was still in shock over that. If she hadn’t been, she’d be thinking about her mom, and her friends, and Giles. She couldn’t do that yet. Not until she got out of here. Which was going to be hard with two Masters in the room.

Now that she realized there were two of them, her senses started making more, well, sense. As a vampire, she smelled them and their strength. As a slayer she almost always knew when a vampire was around, especially a powerful vampire. Her slayer-spidey sense felt overloaded right now. That was probably why she hadn’t immediately noticed Dru. She supposed that fact that she was now a demon was part of it…

She reached up to touch her face. She found ridges and fangs. Oh, God, she was a demon. She’d been a Chosen One, standing against the darkness all those years and now she was part of it. She was part of Angel’s…no…Angelus’s family. What would Giles say? Maybe he’d try to kill her…

Buffy began to cry. She was a monster.

A hard slap landed on the side of her face. Angelus was standing over her. “Did I tell you that you could cry?”

Buffy glared at him angrily, and growled without realizing what she was doing.

She was yanked up by the jean jacket she still wore from the night of her death. Angelus slapped her roughly, alternating sides of her face until the cool skin burned from his blows. He dropped her roughly to the ground, then pulled her into a standing position by her hair. Several pieces came loose in his hands.

“You will never again show such disrespect to your Sire. If you do, I will break your jaw so that you cannot utter such sounds. Remember this girl: you are my childe. All that you are belongs to me. I have the rights of life, death, and pain over you.” He dropped her back down. She missed the sofa and landed on the floor.

Secretly, Angelus was delighted. He had feared for a few moments that she would be too overcome to react. In reality, she had just the fight he was looking for. Oh yes, this next would be fun. He strode over to the bed, and sat down at the foot. “Now Buffy, let us have a conversation. What are you?”
******
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*****Chapter 3*****

Buffy sat on the floor where she had been dropped. She wanted to glare back at him, but had a feeling that she would just get slapped again, and that wasn’t helping her escape. More specifically, the throbbing headache she now had was not going to help her escape. She should have fought him immediately, not let him get the advantage. ‘Stupid Buffy, he’s your sire, he will always have the advantage.’

That frightened her. She thought back to lying beside her grave. He had commanded her to bow and she couldn’t refuse. Giles had told her that fledglings had no control when their sire decided to give a sire order. Sickening as it was, she would have to be obedient to Angelus, at least enough so that he didn’t put her completely in thrall.

He was looking at her expectantly. Oh, right he asked you what you were. Tears started to come forward again, but she hadn’t been given permission, and damn did it make her furious that the bastard would hit her for something as simple as crying. Yesterday, she would have said she was a slayer. Now, though, “I’m a vampire.” Her voice cracked as she said it.

Angelus slapped her again, though not as hard. She looked at him in confusion, and another tear fell accidentally down her face. “No crying!” He yelled. She froze, except to wipe away the tear that had emerged on its own. Angelus leaned forward off the foot of the bed as though he meant to whisper something to her. He put a hand on her shoulder, and pulled her gently closer. His mouth over her ear he said in a low voice, “What are you?”

What the fuck was wrong with him? She’d answered! The demon part of her told her to grovel. To submit. It was her sire’s right to hit her. The slayer part overpowered it. She thrashed to free herself from his grip, but he grabbed her by her hair again and wrenched her head back. She kicked out but missed, he kicked her leg below the knee and hit. Hard. She felt her lower leg break. She screamed in pain. He slapped her again.

“I did not tell you to scream. Now. What are you?” He put a hand on her injured shin.

So this is what the books mean when they say he’s a sadist. Buffy had seen Silence of the Lambs. She had seen The Shining. She’d seen all manner of sacrifices out on patrol. But this was nothing she had ever been prepared for. This thing that looked like the Angel she knew and loved was tormenting her for his own enjoyment.

The pain made her mind hazy, and she felt her will to resist slip. She was starving, she was hurt, and the parts of her that were now vampire demanded that she appease her sire. She let the demon take over. And suddenly she knew the answer to the question. The answer that would keep her from angering her sire further. “I’m yours.”

He smiled at her cruelly. And she felt her demon take reassurance from the smile. It was proud to have made its sire happy. It argued that the aches meant nothing, the sire must be considered. The slayer in her was sickened, and fought back to the surface. The human part, the Buffy part, just wanted it to end. ‘You’re trying to escape not make him happy. You’ve done enough of that.’

But at least, she argued with herself, he’s not hitting me now.

Angelus enjoyed that first round immensely. He’d gotten her to give in to the demon to a small degree. Now, time for encouragement. He knew all about psychology. Positive and negative reinforcement were something he’d invented, not Pavlov and Freud. He was exercising his talents before those men were born, hence Penn, Spike, and Dru. Behold the genius of Angelus. “Much better Buffy. Now climb up on the sofa and let me look at your leg.” He spoke with a tenderness that he knew she remembered form his soul bearing days.

Buffy was too confused to argue. Her demon side was singing. She pulled herself up off the floor and sat gingerly on the sofa. Her ass was bruised from being repeatedly dropped on the stone floor. She used her arms to cushion herself as she sat back fully on the warn pink fabric. She watched as Angelus reached down and lifted her leg gently by the foot.

Angelus sighed, as though pained. He was a damn fine actor if he said so himself. “Oh, Buffy, I’m afraid I’m going to have to set this. It’ll hurt, brace yourself.” He pulled hard. It would have been kinder if he hadn’t warned her, so that her muscles were slack, but Buffy wouldn’t know that. He heard the bone realign, and watched her face’s reaction. She wanted to scream, or at least shed a few tears, he could tell, but she had learned her lesson. She wouldn’t do it without asking. And she was still too proud to ask.

That fact alone would make the rest of this night highly interesting.

It was only about four hours until the sun rose. Buffy had risen around midnight, and had been unconscious for a good hour. Angelus was happy she had not risen immediately after dark, that way he and Dru got away to feed. They were both quite full, which meant they could enjoy the coming spectacle to its fullest. He examined the leg, content that he had realigned it successfully. The last thing he wanted was a lame fledge. Even if he was only keeping her a week.

That was the deadline he’d set for himself. Six days to break her and rest on the seventh. It would break his record on Emilia, that pretty little girl he’d turned before Dru. She had taken three, and had been catatonic by the end. He didn’t want Buffy catatonic. He wanted her able to move and speak. Hell, how could she kill herself if she was out of it? This was the first night. Five more, and he had such a treat planned for the sixth night. He already had minions working on the task, gathering the appropriate victims.

Because the prey had to be in the right mood also. He detested it when his food wasn’t reactive. He wanted at least one girl Buffy’s age, and one a bit younger. A certified virgin.

He could worry about that later. Right now Buffy was the challenge. Her demon had just taught her the value of submission. That must anger the slayer in her. Now he wanted to disgust the human, and what better way to do that than to awaken her to demon sexuality.

“Here Buffy.” He slit his wrist shallowly. “Why did you make me hurt you?”

She didn’t register the words. Well, she heard and resented them, but she was otherwise occupied. Buffy’s nose went into overload. Sire’s blood, offered to her. Her hunger tripled, painfully intense, her stomach constricted. She didn’t even care that it was Angelus. She was so hungry. She reached out for the arm extended toward her, half expecting to have the food taken away at the instant she reached for it. She was grateful when it remained in place. She latched her mouth on, careful not to use her fangs. She knew instinctively that that using them would revoke the offer.

It was the most heavenly thing she had ever tasted. She saw light behind her eyes at the intensity of the sensation. She pulled mouthfuls of blood out as fast as she could, but her inexperience and the deliberate shallowness of the cut prevented her from getting near enough to satisfy her hunger before the skin healed. Damn his reaction, she needed more to heal. She prepared to latch on with her teeth.

“Release.”

Sire command. She dropped the arm and felt herself wither, a little more of her independence gone. If anything, she was hungrier. Her leg throbbed less though, and that was a plus. And again, not being smacked around. She felt a little odd though, almost…aroused. ‘Oh how sick’. She was wet over what had just happened. Ewww. She could smell herself. And if she could that meant Angelus could too. She was relieved when he didn’t comment. She would have…hell she couldn’t die form embarrassment.

Angelus went over to Dru, who had been watching happily. She applauded him. “Oh, wonderful Daddy. Can Princess taste you too?”

He knew there was a reason he hadn’t staked her for her babbling when he first turned her. She played her part so well. He had intended to show Buffy what was necessary if she wanted more, but he hadn’t anticipated his sample playing along perfectly. “Certainly Dru. But you know what that means.”

Dru nodded, smiled, and twirled, happy that Daddy liked Princess as well as Sister. Miss Edith said Sister would be fun to play with. But she wanted Daddy first. Miss Edith could be right later. She said Sister tasted sweet, like canaries. Her Daddy was a peach. She knew what to do now. She untied her corset strings, and pulled herself free of the dress.

Buffy could not believe what was happening in front of her. Angelus acted like she wasn’t even in the room. He hadn’t said another thing to her. He just went and sat on the bed, watching Dru. And Dru? She was fucking stripping in front of her. And she didn’t wear underwear.

Dru stood naked and ran her hands over her in a way she knew Daddy liked. She started with arms crossed, hands on shoulders, resting like birdies and head thrown back. Then she moved down slowly to her breasts and rubbed them, then down along her ribs and onto her hips. At her hips she uncrossed her arms and stroked down across her belly, and brushed her curls. She then began to finger herself.

Buffy tried to stay calm. Throwing up was just not an option right now. She needed to get out of here, and with a broken, if healing, leg her only chance would be if they were distracted. Really distracted. And judging by the way Angelus was growling her opportunity would be here before much longer.

Angelus ignored his new childe. She was getting quite the show from Dru, as was he. No complaints, either, except that he was hard and didn’t feel like bringing himself off. He ordered her to see to him, and she did just that. In an instant she was on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt and tracing her hands over his chest. She licked his nipples, and bit around them with her blunt teeth.

Buffy could smell their arousal, and was sickened when she felt herself go wet again. She had never watched porn, even if she had read a few dirty books. It was more than her near virgin eyes could ignore. She couldn’t help herself, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel dirty. And horny. She knew how to bring herself off. She’d done it a couple times before she lost her virginity. But she couldn’t do it now. It would be wrong and gross and why had she even thought about it?

Involved as he was in Dru’s efforts, Angelus could smell Buffy’s scent growing stronger, and muskier. He called out to her, and looked over Dru’s head to where she sat. “I do not give you permission to touch yourself, childe.”

Buffy would have blushed if the blood could move to her cheeks. But without a pulse, it could not. Did being her sire mean he could read her mind? Or did this just mean that he could read her that well? He probably just figured it out by her smell.

Speaking of smells. They were both naked in front of her now. And doing it. The smell was nauseating. And getting worse by the minute. She wished the room was darker, so she wouldn’t have to see them. But she could see them, all too well with her enhanced vampire senses. Every drop of sweat and every movement she caught. They didn’t even go under the covers.

She eyed the door. Her moment was coming. ‘Even worse pun. Stop it. It’s not helping’. She saw Dru tense, and heard Angelus roar. She leaped up and began to run, heedless of the broken leg. She made it to the door and yanked it open. She darted into the hallway and was halfway down it when he caught her from behind.

Angelus cursed himself and Dru’s seduction for him being so distracted. He hadn’t considered that the girl would try to escape as injured as she was. That was the point of breaking her leg. Well, that just meant his glory would be that much more when he crushed her.

When he grabbed her from behind, she fought him. She kicked and screamed fit to raise hell. He lifted her off the ground entirely and bashed her head against the wall. He hear the skull fracture, and she went still for a moment. Not out completely, she moaned and tried to move, but was too weak. He dragged her back into the room, and tossed her on the sofa. He didn’t bother to tell her not to cry, but she didn’t do it anyway. The demon in her was in control, and the slayer must have been learning that that helped to chase the pain away.
__________

Chris had been scared to death when he saw the turned slayer come out of the new Master’s room and run toward him down the hall. He had been even more frightened when Angelus came after her, naked and in game face. He watched the struggle and saw them retreat.

It took him a moment to realize that they hadn’t noticed him. He hadn’t been caught on his way to his true Master’s room with an offering of blood. It would be simpler if the four of them could feed Master Spike from their own necks, but Angelus would have discovered it, smelled the wounds. That meant the effort to bring in pig’s blood, ridiculous in its slowness at healing him.

But at least they had that option. He proceeded to the Master’s room, knocked, and was allowed to enter.

He looked so drawn and thin, lying there. His shirt hung loose on him and the jeans rode low on his hips, what weight there had been to keep them in place now shed. Still, his mind was active, and he professed to be walking better. None of them were allowed to witness it, after all it was a very private thing to heal. Injury this severe was among the greatest of vampire taboos. Those who had lived beyond death dreaded reminders of the most permanent form.

That, he suspected was why many of the other minions had not stayed with the Master. They wanted an uninjured leader. Foolish rats. They could not see Master Spike was a superior person to Angelus. He was a vampire, not a torturer like Angelus. Chris felt undue torment to be against the nature of vampires. They killed to hunt, not for pleasure. He knew his philosophy was influenced by his former status as a doctor, but he didn’t mind being different. There were at least four others like him, including the man on the bed.

Alexa, Jacob, and Ryan were already there. They kept the Master company when they had finished hunting to keep his mind from the pain in his limbs. He had never complained, and hid it well, but they knew he suffered. Chris was proud to have a story to share with the blood.

Spike would have loved to have told the little band he led just how much he appreciated their efforts on his behalf. It was unseemly, though, for a Master to share such confidences with his minions. It meant a loss of face, and authority. Even with as intelligent a group as he possessed, there were proper and improper ways to behave. He was glad they knew without being told.

He pushed himself upright in bed, and Alexa positioned his pillows behind him to keep him upright. He took the carton of blood offered him by Chris, who inserted a flexible straw in the top. Altogether Spike was pretty content. He’d walked around his room a few times at different intervals without feeling weak. The taste of slayer’s blood had accelerated the work done by the human blood.

He sipped his blood, eying the deliverer. He smiled at the fidgeting minion. “What’s on your mind Chris. You look like you’ve got a tasty tale to tell. Spill.”

Chris grinned. “Well Master, as I was coming to your room…”

The room was silent after Chris finished his story. Spike sat in thought as he considered what Chris had said. “Good for the Slayer. She may survive him yet.”

“Perhaps Master, she would make a better addition to our small family than to his.” Alexa never hesitated to speak her mind. He reminded her of the slayer that way. He saw that the other three nodded. “If it please you Master.”

“It’s too soon to consider that. We are still here, in his house.” Spike smiled, almost to himself. “But it would please me.” Fight him Buffy. Don’t let him win. You’re better than that.
____________

Buffy wandered in and out of consciousness for a while. When she finally did wake, she wished sincerely that she hadn’t.

The pain was unbearable. She couldn’t go on this way. Her head was split. Her leg ached. She’d heard Angelus reset it after she put her weight on the bones to escape. Her mind hurt, from coming to grips with this new situation.

The seventeen year old in her had given up trying long ago. The slayer wanted rest before she made another attempt to escape. The demon was still hungry.

It was the winning part right now. It hurt less with the demon in command. And the demon had a plan to make the body heal. Buffy felt like she was having a conversation with herself. ‘I’m not a whore.’

‘He gave the blood to Dru when she asked. And it’s nothing you haven’t done with him before.’

‘That was before. When he loved me.’

‘Do you really think you’ll escape if you don’t heal, at least a little?’

Silence.

‘It just needs to be for tonight.’

Silence again. She couldn’t help it. The demon demanded it. And the rest couldn’t resist any longer. “Sire.”

Angelus looked at her lazily from the bed. He felt reasonably sated after the last few hours with Dru. “Yes, Childe?”

“I’m hungry Sire.”

“I’m angry with you for trying to escape.”

“Yes Sire. I’m sorry. May I please have something to eat?”

Angelus sighed dramatically. “You understand this requires a fair exchange?”

Buffy swallowed, willing herself not to whimper. “Yes, Sire.”

He got out of bed and came over to her. “You will not fight me.”

“No sire.”

Buffy ended up crying anyway.
*****
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*****Ch 4*****

She woke slowly. Slowly was of the good. It kept everything from rushing back and overwhelming her. She was alone in the room. She could tell that.

Buffy wasn’t sure how long she slept after he finally let her be. He’d taken her at least twice, but her head had still been spinning. He’d fed her just before leaving the small sofa, and getting back into the big bed with Drusilla. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. It healed her head, she could see clearly. Her leg still ached, but somehow she knew that it would bear weight if it had to.

And then her awareness of other things crept to the fore of her mind. Like how she felt sticky down there. Like how he’d been much gentler than she ever expected. He wasn’t like that with Dru. Her demon rejoiced at his kindness. It said that her Master favored her. That she would get more blood tonight, after she did the same things as last time. The Slayer reared in revolt. That was the only time. Tonight she would escape. That was the only reason she’d given in. That she’d actually asked…

‘Oh God. I am a whore.’ She began to cry but stopped instantly, strangling the sobs before they could begin in earnest. ‘Look how well you’re already trained. Just thinking about him and you do his will.’

But he was her Sire. She should be doing what he wanted. No. That was wrong. That was the demon talking. Even if she was a vampire, Buffy wasn’t going to give in to it. She’d survived the night without killing anything. She could be like Angel used to be. Drink blood from the butcher. Maybe they’d give her a discount for being a repeat customer. She’d be going to them forever after all.

Once her mom was dead. Once Giles was dead. Once Willow and Xander were dead. She couldn’t let them see her like this. They thought she was dead by now. Better that way. What could she say? I escaped by sleeping with him again? Aren’t you proud about how the hero stood up to the villain by laying down for him?

She remembered how he lumbered over. Unimpressed, like she was an afterthought. Well, like he said she probably wasn’t worth a second go. She was just available for itch scratching when Drusilla wasn’t. He was probably gentle because she wasn’t worth playing with. He knew she was a vampire now. She could take anything. She’d been a slayer, didn’t that just make her stronger? Why wasn’t she worth it?

It didn’t matter. She should just stop thinking about irrelevant shit. She’d probably be enough for normal guys in the future when she got away. Which was the point. She was supposed to be getting away. That was going to be a problem now. Her senses were completely awake at last, and they alerted her to something she had yet to realize.

She was in chains.

And it was nighttime. She wasn’t sure how she knew that, but she did know that while she slept the sun and come and gone. It had to be almost midnight again. Her plan to escape tonight was rapidly looking less likely. She examined the chains holding her. They clasped her wrists together, and ran down to her ankles, which were also bound to each other. The chain then ran off the edge of the sofa to the ground.

She angled herself upright with difficulty. The give in the chain was nonexistent. She pulled at her wrists, pulled at her ankles, but to no effect. Not so much as a creak in protest. They were obviously chosen for strength. She inched toward the foot of the sofa, hard to do with only three feet of chain separating her feet and hands. She could crawl, and that was it. Like an inch worm. If she fell off, she wouldn’t be able to get back up.

She saw the chain passing through two iron loops near the floor. If there was a weak spot that was it. She reached down past her feet and grabbed the chain there. She began to pull with all strength she could manage. She rolled backward onto the couch, desperate for some kind of leverage. It didn’t come. The chain stayed firm, and the loops were too strong, even for her. Damn.
*****
Angelus wasn’t normally a fool. He knew if she came to, she would run again. The advantage to living in the Mansion was that its original owner, he, she, or it, had left plenty of bondage equipment lying around. So, when he woke in the late afternoon, he’d gone to the basement rooms with a few minions and tested several chains for strength.

When he found one that he and three minions couldn’t snap, he was satisfied. He went back to his room, and shackled her properly. It meant adjusting his timetable slightly, he hadn’t planned for bondage on the second night. An audience was supposed to come first, but it was a simple matter of switching the dates around. Fans tomorrow, chains tonight.

It also meant that now, coming home from the hunt, he had to find a way to keep Dru entertained while he had his way with Buffy. She’d get her chance with him in a couple of hours, but he didn’t want to overwhelm his new childe. Yes he wanted her to continue to use her demon side, but he didn’t want to make it a defense mechanism. It was possible for a vampire to shut down his or her personality completely, and let the demon take over. Become an animal, strong and feral.

Her soul would make that more difficult, but she could develop a kind of multiple personality, between her conscious self and the demon. The demon would protect her inner mind from him by acting as a shell. To prevent that, he needed to make sure he didn’t give her reason to let the demon take over completely, while giving her no outlet on which to focus her attention accept what was being done to her. It had worked with Spike, there was no reason to believe it wouldn’t work on her.

Which brought him to his plan for Dru.
*****
Spike kept his eyes straight ahead, willing himself not to look at the ground. He placed his right heel in line with his left toe, put his weight down on the right foot, then lifted the left foot and repeated the process. The tight rope walker act was least annoying when he pretended that it had never been done by men wearing leotards. This was supposed to help him build coordination. So far, it had built him a nice collection of bruises.

He stumbled when he heard the footsteps. He was near the wall this time, so he didn’t hit the floor as he had the five times previous. He just collided with the brick, then quickly forced himself back up to a standing position. He walked quickly to the bed, pleased that he actually walked, and didn’t stagger, and climbed in as quietly as possible. He fought against the urge to pant from the slight exertion. Damn but his legs throbbed, as the muscles tried to rebuild themselves.

He expected Angelus. If anything, he was even more disappointed that it was Dru.

He hadn’t seen her much, the last few weeks. He’d become accustomed to the fact that he probably wasn’t going to be hers ever again, not as they had been. Especially not now, with the Slayer captured. She was the one person he’d hoped would defeat Angelus, kill him and get him away form his princess. What was worse, Dru never stopped by of her own free will. It was always because Daddy had sent her. He loved to remind Spike at every opportunity who was in charge.

Dru danced into the room, where Sweet William lay on the bed, poor boy. Naughty boy too, said Daddy, and Daddy must be right. Silly boy thought the Little Sister was his, not Daddy’s. Must learn to share. That’s why Daddy sent her to make sure he knew they were sharing. Sweet William must learn that. “Spike, my darling boy, you look like the pictures from the pretty plague stories.”

‘Way to go Dru, kick me when I’m down.’ Irritating as that statement was, he knew she meant no malice from it. She was just stating what she saw as fact. He was damned pathetic looking, after all. He sighed. Might as well speed up this little confrontation. “Hello Dru. What’s going on?”

“Daddy wants me to stay with you until the night is three quarters full so he can play with Little Sister.”

And torment me at the same time. Bloody bastard. It was a bit after midnight, and he hadn’t been fed yet. The minions wouldn’t be able to get in here until after Dru was gone, and his stomach was already protesting the lack of food. So he would have to sit here, hungry, bored, listening to Dru prattle on, and thinking about the wretched Miss Buffy languishing under the treatment of Angelus.

He had stopped thinking of her as his adversary the night she died. The creature was family now, and he always looked after his family. He honestly wanted to protect her from Angelus. He didn’t really question his motivations that deeply. Maybe he just wanted what Angelus had, or what he perceived had been taken from him. Maybe he wanted revenge over Dru. Maybe he really cared about the new childe. Didn’t matter. He went with his impulses and instincts, and when they pointed that strongly at any one thing, he knew they were right. They rarely failed him.

He realized Dru was prattling on while he had been thinking about poor, pretty Buffy. He let his mind wander back to her and what she was saying. “…Daddy says tomorrow we get to watch the fun. Then he says I get to have all the fun the next night. Then after that depends on Little Sister and how nice she plays and then after that we eat and then after that Little Sister is gone, candle out.”

Spike sat up a little straighter at that. So Angelus wasn’t planning to keep Buffy long? Not happy with just stealing her life he was going to wreck her brief new existence. Dru seemed to know the entire plan. Well, maybe he could put the next couple of hours to use after all. Find out where his plan and Angelus’s overlapped.

What Alexa had said the previous night had gotten his attention. Buffy as part of his group. Soul or no soul, that could be fun. Someone to trade jibes with and talk to. An equal to keep him company, a job the minions just couldn’t fulfill. A friend. He’d thought about it as he fell asleep this morning after they left. Then it had seemed a hopeless fantasy. But if Angelus had in mind what he thought he did, then maybe there was a chance for them both.

“Dru darling, how is the candle going to go out?”
*****
Buffy heard Angelus coming down the hallway, and instantly closed her eyes. She lay still, feigning sleep. He opened, then closed the door. She heard his boots as he walked toward her. The slap caught her by surprise. Her eyes shot open and her body jumped backward, as far as it could. Which wasn’t far.

He was leaning over her, just close enough to make her uncomfortable. He sat on the edge of the bed, still leaning into her space. He sighed, as though frustrated. “Still trying to deceive me. Childe, have I not made myself clear? Is it might fault that you continue to disobey? You are mine now. You need to start acting like it.”

What the fuck? He sounded sincere. Like Angel used to. But this wasn’t Angel. This was some trick to get her sympathy, to make her think something was wrong with her. It wasn’t her fault she was a slayer caught in a vampire’s body. No. She was still a slayer. The body was changed but she was what she was.

Angelus could tell that she understood his trick. Her face was highly expressive. That was alright. She would still be affected by it on some level, and that was what he needed. Repetition of the same theme would keep it at the front of her mind, keep her building toward the attitude of dependence he wanted. If he put forward a constant front, then she would begin to doubt her suspicions. Humans didn’t understand the real skill involved in a vampire’s deception.

He looked down, attempting to seem confused, or ashamed. “Maybe I’m going about this the wrong way. Buffy, listen to me.” He waited until she looked up, and made eye contact. “Buffy, you were a slayer up until a few nights ago. That is making your transition into vampire form more difficult. I know you remember fighting us. I know you still want to. But, Buffy, that’s behind you now. That’s not you anymore. There is a new slayer somewhere in the world that has that responsibility. You’re just going to cause yourself pain thinking about the past.

“The present is what matters. Here and now, you belong to me. I know that’s a hard concept, and we’ll work on that. I just need you to have some faith in me, and in yourself. You are going to make a wonderful vampire. You already have so much darkness in you, it won’t take much for you to reach deep down and tap into it. To understand it and yourself.”

“I’m not dark! I am – I was – a Chosen One and I still - ” The slap caught her off guard. It was a strong backhand that made her eyes water and her jaws ache. Almost immediately afterward, she felt a gentle touch on her uninjured cheek. She heard Angelus speak again, voice full of anguish.

“See Buffy? It’s things like this that I’m talking about. Darling, you just can’t keep this up. I’m your Sire. You need to trust and obey me. When you talk back I have to chastise you. I’d be a bad sire if I didn’t try to get you to behave. I don’t want you to be a bad childe Buffy. I want you to be smart, and strong, so that one day you’ll be a great vampire.”

“Like Dru? She turned out the World’s Greatest Nutjob - ” Another backhand slap cut her off.

“Buffy, when you address me you must refer to me as Sire. Or Master. And you will be sincere. I do not appreciate sarcasm. Those are the rules, and I need you to learn them. Do you think I enjoy hitting you?” He looked at her earnestly, and waited for a response.

Buffy stuck her chin out firmly, and leveled her watery eyes at him. “Yes.”

Angelus raised his hand to strike again. “Yes, what?”

The words tried to stick in the Slayer’s throat, but the little girl didn’t want to be hit again, and the demon demanded the right to respect its sire. “Yes, Master.”

Angelus lowered his hand and stared at her, wearing his best kicked puppy expression. He hated that phrase of the little witch, Willow’s, but it described the sickeningly saccharine expression well. “Buffy how could you think that?”

She snorted, saw him raise his hand, and cowered involuntarily. He seemed appeased by her show of deference. “Because, Master, you do it all the time.”

“Buffy, that’s because you resist all the time. Think about that.”

She did. It was true.

Angelus wanted to grin with satisfaction. She was playing along. She didn’t really believe him, not yet, but she was answering. She was getting involved in the conversation. She herself, the girl that Buffy used to be, the person that huddled inside her mind even now. As long as she involved herself in this kind of exchange of ideas, it meant that she couldn’t just hide from him completely behind a convenient shield. She had to be open to be properly overwhelmed.

“I’m going to keep you in chains for a few days Buffy.” That got her attention. Her eyes widened comically before she made her face impassive. That would also foil any escape attempts she had planned. It would force her to humble herself, and to serve in order to get his goodwill so that she could escape in the future.

Buffy’s mind raced. She wasn’t sure how long she could stay strong physically on the light diet of Sire blood she was getting. As for her mind, that was already in need of serious therapy. She needed to find some way to get the chains off soon. “Master, what about when I take a shower?”

“Silly childe,” he said dismissively. “You can’t take a shower in chains, they’d rust. You won’t take a shower until after they’re removed.”

“But Master I smell,” and boy howdy did she. She reeked from being killed, buried, and raped in the same clothes. It was driving her crazy and making her itch uncontrollably.

“Yes you do.” He was as blunt as possible. She looked angry. “But until you show me you can perform your duties as a member of this family, then you will not be allowed the amenities the others enjoy.”

Buffy sighed. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand to go through this. It had been two days and already she felt as though her life was years behind her. She tried to be optimistic. If she were especially good he might take the chains off by the end of the week. God, could she hold out that long? Sitting here, being raped over and over for her only entertainment. He was being nicer though.

And part of her mind still associated him with Angel. She wanted to believe in spite of everything, even Miss Calendar’s murder that there was something of the man she loved there. He acted right now as if that were so. She missed those first few nights patrolling together, kissing and talking and being friends. Even just drinking coffee at the Bronze. When she used to be human. The tears started welling up again. She fought to keep them in.

“This once childe, I give you permission to cry.” Buffy looked at him in surprise. He caressed her cheek gently, and though she knew it would be more heroic to resist the temptation just because he permitted it, she couldn’t stifle the sobs any longer.

Angelus moved over onto the sofa beside her. He pulled her into a sitting position, then leaned her back against his chest. He placed an arm around her and hugged her gently.

Buffy just kept crying. She felt the pressure of the arm around her, and inhaled the scent her demon called Sire. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if he suddenly jumped up and started laughing. That seemed to her something Angelus would do. Point and make fun of her. But he just held on, giving her comfort as a sire should. From time to time he hummed slightly, in a low comforting tone.

Angelus got bored after about ten minutes of silence, but he held off on any sarcastic comments. He had her now. His clinical outlook said that her progress for tonight was almost perfect. One thing left. “Childe, are you hungry?”

Buffy stiffened. She’d been almost asleep again, comfortable for the first time since her death. He’d said this last gently, in the same way that he’d been speaking to her earlier. She had spent the night since finding herself in chains dreading this moment. Right now, she just wanted it over and done with. Then she’d be fed and she could sleep again. “Yes, Master.”

“You know what your responsibility is in my feeding you?”

“Yes.” She did. She wished she didn’t. But she had who knows how many more nights of this before the chains were removed and she could run, and hide from this and everything.

Angelus didn’t speak again. He tenderly leaned her forward on the sofa, and braced her hands against the cushions, so that she could support herself. He spread her knees, which also rested on the fabric, then pulled her skirt slowly up before flipping it over her waist. He was drawing out the experience as much as possible. No underwear to worry about. He’d torn those off last night.

He started with fingers, as he had on their first night together. Then he unfastened his pants and entered her from behind. He massaged her shoulders gently as he thrust deep into her. He deliberately finished before she did, leaving her on the brink. Then he reached in front, and massaged her clit until she came. Angelus was benevolent, when it served his purpose.

Then he laid her on her side again, arranged the pillows comfortably, and massaged her wrists where the chains had worn.

Then he fetched Dru to while away the early morning.
******
Please R&R




“Aim just a little higher. At shorter distances it wouldn’t be necessary, but from here, gravity begins to affect its flight.”

Joyce cocked the crossbow and slid in a new dart. She was getting pretty fast at reloading, if she did say so herself. Rupert was pleased with her progress. He didn’t say very much other than ‘yes’ or ‘good’ or the occasional ‘excellent’. Even so, she could see the maniac gleam behind his eyes flicker to the surface sometimes, when she hit the dummy straight through the heart. He was imagining that it was Angelus, the same as she was.

He’d let out the largest bark of laughter thus far when she accidentally hit the faux vampire through one eye. His grin had been fixed for hours.

She fired the last bolt of the morning, and was satisfied by a firm hit to the heart. This was her fourth day of practice, and she was an exceptionally fast learner. She always had been when there was sufficient motivation. She had learned all the case histories of Angelus by heart. She’d studied Drusilla, too. She now had intimate knowledge about what was most likely happening to her daughter right now.

She wanted revenge. She and Rupert both knew, without ever having spoken of it, that Buffy was probably already beyond saving. If she hadn’t committed suicide yet, it was only a matter of time. If she was still alive by the time they raided the Mansion, it was understood that they would put her out of her misery. No. That they would kill her. Or finish killing her, as that bastard had started the job. No euphemisms welcome here. She wouldn’t let her daughter suffer. She told herself that, but she wasn’t sure she could follow through.

She packed away her crossbow, a present from Rupert, and the bolts, while the watcher hefted the dummy away from the tree beside her house. They left the equipment in the living room, with the other crossbows and the pile of stakes. Her home had quickly become the staging center for the attack that they had planned. It was more conveniently located, being nearer to the monster’s layer. And it seemed fitting to plan his demise from Buffy’s home.

She had been surprised that Rupert allowed the children to be involved with this. They were so young, like Buffy. But they were much stronger than she would have expected. Willow still sobbed quietly from time to time, but that was all. She was resolved to be a part of this mission. The boy Oz and girl Cordelia she didn’t know as well, but they were also determined. Then there was Xander. Rupert seemed especially proud of the way the boy had matured in the last few days. He had military instincts she didn’t expect. Xander said they were courtesy of a bad Halloween experience, but they had clearly served him well.

The two men had been planning the attack. They had set up surveillance watches on the mansion; all of the would be fighters kept track of the number of minions that came and went, dusting a few each night in hopes that Angelus would be distracted by their deaths. That he wouldn’t realize the scope of their plan. Joyce was less able to help with surveillance, due to her work at the gallery. She was going to take a few days off soon. She would tell everyone she needed some personal time after her daughter was kidnapped.

The police had been in contact, only to say that they had found precisely nothing. Yesterday she had been contacted by a very kind police matron who told her they were doing everything they could to find Buffy, but that they didn’t hold much hope. In a town like Sunnydale, a disappearance was as good as a death. Joyce just nodded along, and pretended that this information was a new idea.

Ripper watched Joyce as she arranged her weapon with care. She did the same thing every morning and every evening after target practice. Joyce was stronger than he had imagined her to be. He had a suspicion that Buffy got a good bit of her determination and fire from this woman. If so, Buffy would have been formidable without having been the Slayer.

All of them had performed beyond his expectations. Joyce took to vampire studies like a born watcher. Willow had worked very hard on levitation spells recently. She wanted to use them on stakes during the battle that was to come. Oz was stalwart, and followed orders well. He made no superfluous conversation, but when he spoke it was best to listen. Cordelia had been a surprise. She was practicing her crossbow aim too. He didn’t think she had liked Buffy enough to risk death for her sake, but apparently he had no grasp of the relations between teenage girls. And then there was Xander. He was well and truly the Ripper’s lieutenant. Ruthless in his dustings of the minions every night, he never shirked his duty. He had even been doing better in his schoolwork, his new found determination bleeding over.

Angelus was already dust. He just didn’t know it yet.

Giles took his leave of Joyce, and drove to the school. He entered the library, went to his desk, and pulled a thick folder out of the bottom drawer. Most of his time on campus was spent with this folder in hand. Students came and went. If they needed help he assisted them, brusquely and with a minimum of chat. Always polite, rarely friendly. He shelved books automatically, with a speed that surprised him sometimes. But he always came back to this folder.

It contained hand printed notes, diagrams of the Crawford Street Mansion, the typed minutes of the war councils they’d held every afternoon. It was the sum total of their knowledge on Angelus, Drusilla, and their activities in Sunnydale. Every night the two of them went out to feed at sunset. They returned at midnight. That was the only time when they were out of the Mansion. Minions could be seen entering and leaving at all hours in ones and twos, but the bulk left at dusk, just after their masters.

During the day, the Mansion showed little activity. These vampires were traditional in their preference of nocturnal activity. They had never observed more than four minions on guard at any given time during the day, one at the front entrance, one at the garden door, one at the kitchen, and one at the old servants’ quarters. These vampires were confident in their ability to raise an alarm before anything drastic occurred.

Angelus and Drusilla’s whereabouts within the structure were something of a question. Once they entered the building, their greatest fear was to be separated. Together, they were an efficient, mobile insertion group. Separate, they were frightened amateurs. The primary goal was the destruction of these two vamps. They needed to get a rough estimate of where they would be during the day if they wanted to take them by stealth.

They had briefly discussed the possibility of creating a disturbance, and drawing them into a trap in one of the Mansion’s larger rooms, or even the main hall. There were no guaranties that they would come or that they could be reached in that shambles, however.

Once they eliminated the two leaders, Ripper conjectured that the other vampires would be too frightened to attempt to repulse their attack. It was perfectly reasonable; vampires without a leader were perfectly mercenary. They acted only for themselves. They had one of the highest senses of self-preservation in the demon world.

That left the one wild card. Spike. There was always a chance that he could rally the minions into some kind of force to combat them.

No one had seen anything of the crippled master during the surveillance. They had observed people being brought in by groups of vampires, and had stopped it when possible. However, it was not always possible to get to the humans before they were taken inside. Once there, they probably went to feed the damaged vampire. Or, and this was a far greater worry, Buffy.

It was strange to him that they had not seen any corpses removed during their observation. It was a secondary goal during the battle to liberate any humans who might be alive for snacking purposes during the day time.

The details were coming together. They needed to act soon, already nearing the peak of readiness. Five or six more days would suffice. An eternity for Buffy. But they had only one chance. They couldn’t risk failure.
_________________

“You’ll need to be cautious. And whatever you do, don’t go to Willy.”

Ryan paused in his note taking, puzzled. “He has aided us before, Master.”

“Yeah, and he’d aid anyone else including Angelus, by selling us out, if it brought the right price.” Spike pulled his right leg up to his chest, and massaged the knee cap. Ryan was loyal, but damned if he wasn’t a little dense. Like a block of lead. With proper instruction he got the job done though. He would have rather assigned this task to one of the other three, but he had more sensitive occupations for them tonight. Alexa could meet with whoever Ryan selected later, to confirm the suitability of the choice.

“Right. Be off then, and don’t let the other minions see you with that notepad. They’ll know something’s up. Be casual.”

“Yes Master.” Ryan knew he wasn’t the first choice for this job, and that made him nervous. He so wanted to be a good servant, and find the perfect entity to aid them. He wasn’t the best judge of character, though. It would have been better for him to find the house, but he was young, and nervous around humans. All that blood rushing was too much of a temptation. It was better that Chris handled that. He was used to dealing with people. And he was horrible at surveillance. Master was wise in his decisions.

Ryan bowed, and left the room, casually, and went out as though to feed. On the way he signaled to Alexa and Jacob, who were licking each other in one corner of the main hall. He knew Chris had already left. Had in fact left during the daytime, covered by a thick blanket. He could understand why a realtor insisted on meeting her clients during the daylight hours in this town. She probably carried holy water with her.

Alexa and Jacob walked hand in hand to the Master’s room, knocked, and entered. They had discussed the plan outside his hearing, and were happy to find no flaws in it. Minion culture forbade outright protest before the Master, at least if they wanted to remain undusted, but they had always found polite suggestions to be heard, though sometimes grudgingly.

Alexa could sense the tension in the Master tonight. They knew he was going to be called to witness something tonight. Something bad. He had not told them everything he had learned from Mistress Drusilla, but it had been enough to set him on a daring course. And primarily for the sake of the little blonde vampire being held by her sire. He really had some feeling for her, more than familial, if he was willing to so openly defy Angelus. He was filth, but he was powerful filth.

Spike sniffed the air slightly. These two minions had been making out again. Normally, vampires were not so single minded in their affection. Promiscuity was their way. But these two were different, as he himself was. He hadn’t strayed from Dru, even when she went to Angelus. It was reassuring that these two were that devoted to each other. “You know your posts?”

“Yes Master.” It was Alexa who replied. She was the dominant in the relationship, as she was in many conversations. Jacob was bright, like her, just quiet.

“Remember. The Watcher is the biggest threat. Angelus spoke slightingly of all the rest, but that doesn’t mean they’re as stupid as he claims. It only takes one lucky shot with a crossbow.”

“What would you have us do if we encounter them?” Good for Jacob. Asking important questions.

“It depends on what they do. Use your judgment. You don’t want to turn and run if they can get you in the back. Do not, under any circumstances, kill them. Just go, watch, and don’t let them suspect that you are there. I need all the information I can get on what they have planned, and their numbers.”

The minions nodded. “Be well tonight Master. We will bring you food and news in the morning.”

“Good luck. To all of us.” We’ll need it, Spike thought to himself.
______________

Miss Edith said Daddy was playing with fire. Fire pretty. Dru loved the flames as they flickered and died and were reborn. Sweet William had caught her playing with them once, when the fire came to sit on her hand. He had been frightened and made her promise not to play again. But if Daddy played it must be alright.

Daddy said it was time for Spike to come and meet Little Sister. He would watch tonight. Dru skipped happily down the hall to William’s room, and breezed in. He was already in his chair, such a good boy he remembered what she’d told him last night. How she was to fetch him.

Spike didn’t bother to smile, or respond to Dru’s chatter. He just wanted to get there, get this over with, and get back. He hated to admit it, but he was squeamish enough about Angelus being with Buffy without having to witness it. They rolled down the hallway at an irritatingly slow pace, and paused for Dru to do a few elegant twirls before opening Angelus’s bedroom door.

Spike was pushed inside and around to the near side of the bed. Apparently they wanted him to get a good view. He could here Angelus in the bathroom, probably doing his bloody hair. Bastard always did like to be watched. It was surprising he didn’t have the fucking minions here to admire his skill. Dru skipped over to the bathroom door, knocked on it rhythmically, and was admitted.

Spike hadn’t needed to look for her when he first entered. He could feel her to one side, at the foot of the bed. He glanced at the couch which contained her now, while Angelus and Dru couldn’t comment on his scrutiny. And he couldn’t take his eyes away from the spectacle.

It was exactly what he’d imagined. That didn’t mean it was easier to look at. His proud slayer in chains. Hair and clothing plastered to her body by old sweat and mud. Unwashed. And worst, he could smell Angelus’s cum all over her. Her eyes were open, staring blankly ahead, toward the bed. How did she still manage to be beautiful? Because she did.

Her game face was a sight to behold. She had a high forehead, and cheekbones that met with her eye ridges in tear drop shaped sockets. The ridges were smooth, and slight, and her fangs were sharp, and needlelike. She looked more like a sprite than a demon.

Her face was calm, sad, touching. A scared little girl trying and failing to be a martyr. It was a fucking tragedy. She looked sculpted in her stillness. Immobile. She used to fidget with nervous energy, bounce on her toes, and smile involuntarily from time to time. He remembered on the tapes he had of her fighting style, and the more enjoyable personal encounters, that she had such passion. Now, it was as though she’d become used to the chains already.

Angelus walked in from the bathroom, shirtless, with Dru hanging form his arm. Smug wanker was going to get his. He just wished for Buffy’s sake it could be sooner. But they had only one chance of making this work, and patience was key. And it was also far from his strong suit. Especially faced with a sight like this. His slayer, brought low by a bastard like Angelus. It was sacrilegious, to do that to her. She was his. Would be his.

Buffy felt Dru bring him in. She felt him staring at her, and decided to return the favor. She hadn’t seen Spike in quite a while. Hadn’t even really thought about him. Seeing him now made her realize no one else had been thinking about him either. He was skeletally thin, and still wheelchair bound, probably because of malnutrition. She met his eyes, and was startled by the depth the clear blue showed.

She had expected him to laugh, or at least make snide comments. He didn’t. He just looked at her with complete sympathy. Did she look worse than him, that she deserved it? Maybe he just understood so well what she was going through that he couldn’t help but be moved. Misery loves company, and they were certainly the two most miserable beings in the general area. She found herself returning the sympathetic stare.

“Well, I think its time we begin this demonstration.” Angelus walked over to Buffy, and Spike saw her tense ever so slightly. Still not quite dominated. Good. He unlatched her chains from the floor without actually releasing her wrists or ankles, and set her on the bed so that she was facing Spike. Angelus walked between them, and stood leaning against a bedside table, adorned with an iron lamp.

“Now, Childer, this night is exclusively for your benefit. To remind you, and by that I mean William and Buffy, what is required of you in the way of familial duties. I want you to learn from Drusilla. Observe how she does not question my authority. She does not complain, and addresses me properly. Therefore, she is happy, well fed, and does not need to be disciplined.

“The two of you, on the other hand, have failed many times in this respect. This is the last chance I give you to learn and take advantage of my leniency. If you cross me in the future, beatings do not begin to cover the depth of chastisement that I am required to use to teach you.” Angelus forcibly held off the smile that threatened to break out on his face. Spike snorted, and looked away. Angelus darted forward and clocked the side of his head with the reading lamp.

Buffy watched as Spike’s head rolled back, and he panted slightly at the pain. Her immediate impulse was to get up and help him, stem the blood flow from his punctured temple. The chains prevented her. After a moment he righted himself, and looked suitably subdued.

Angelus sighed. “This is the kind of thing I’m talking about Will. I wouldn’t have thought a cripple who lives out of my kindness would be so ungrateful. Darla would have killed you Will, long ago, if she found you disabled. It weakens the bloodline to have you here, like this. It is my affection for you that keeps you alive. Don’t you think him a bad childe Buffy?”

Spike saw Buffy’s eyes go wide, and look at his, pleading for him to understand. He did, and nodded. “Yes, Master,” she replied.

“Good. I’m glad that your judgment is improving, Buffy.” He pushed Buffy to the far side of the bed, away from Spike, and beckoned for Dru while tossing away his trousers. She came, and immediately began to undress for him. He leaned forward and bit her, hard, and she cooed in response. Once she was undressed, he reached back and spanked her hard on the ass. Dru purred, and arched her neck, murmuring thank you's.

As the couple took to the bed, with Dru on the bottom and Angelus rutting above her, Buffy and Spike looked away. Consequently, they looked at each other. The empathy between them deepened. They were here, listening and smelling as past loves that had abandoned them flaunted their current lover; there was something uniting in an experience like that. Buffy was surprised when Spike, after a clandestine peek at the two vampires, turned his attention back to Buffy, and gave the couple two thumbs down.

Buffy didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. She wanted to do both but neither was available. So she beamed back at him. She felt a sudden jar back to herself. All day long she had just been waiting. Given the demon reign, suppressed herself. Hadn’t thought about anything but the now, because the past was an ache of pleasure and remorse, and the future was an unknown terror. But Spike was a link. He was in the past, he was here suffering with her, apparently unconcerned that they used to be enemies, and he was part of her future in this family. It was a comfort. It gave her back a little of herself, and she was grateful.

Angelus finished with Dru, and gave her a little Sire’s blood as a reward for playing so well. “Now, Buffy, it’s your turn.” He rolled the little slayer over, onto her back. It would be an awkward position with the chains, but he didn’t want her burying her face in the blankets and pretending she was elsewhere. He thrust in without bothering to see if she was ready. She wasn’t, and let out a little cry of pain, and closed her eyes.

He slapped her. “Buffy, I didn’t tell you to close your eyes. You look at me while I grant you this opportunity.”

“Yes, Master,” she answered. Spike clenched his fists to keep from protesting. It would do neither of them any good. He saw the little spark he’d struck recede as Angelus pounded into her, drawing blood in his viciousness. Dru, not to be left out, reached between them and began to flick the slayer’s nipples. Spike saw Buffy shudder at her touch. Angelus and Buffy climaxed. Buffy made no sound, and seemed to take no pleasure. Angelus slit his wrist across a fang, and let Buffy drink.

“Good girl Buffy. You see, even though you don’t give me the pleasure Dru does, you can still be fed when you behave.” Spike’s fists tightened further, his short nails drawing blood from his palms. Buffy looked catatonic. Completely submissive.

Dru whined and Angelus motioned her over. He didn’t move Buffy aside, just laid Dru beside her and started again. “Oh, Will, you’re dismissed.”

Spike gripped the wheels on his chair and headed for the door. As he reached it he angled himself around to get a last glimpse of Buffy. She was staring at him, her eyes nervous, as though expecting some blame for what had happened. Spike forced his angered face to soften, and sent as much reassurance to her in a look as he could. She smiled back, apparently relieved.

He wheeled away quickly, seething. He and his minions were going to have a very long talk come dawn. ‘Hold on pet.’
*******
Please R&R.

 

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