Ma'at

It seems as if we have been at each other’s throats for hours. And at every other body part. His fist buried in my gut, my fist in his throat. His fangs tearing at my collarbone for the very big artery under it, my claws tearing at his thigh, for the equally big one there. Blows to my kidneys, as painful for me as for you, blows to his solar plexus, still debilitating for a vampire. My body is sporting a rainbow of bruises. I’m pleased to see that his isn’t looking much better.

And blood. We are both bleeding from a number of wounds, both major and minor, and I have a very large one where he almost got his fangs round my throat. A long rip in the flesh was the price of that bit of sheer carelessness. There’s blood spatter all over this white marble room now. If I’m going to go down, it won’t be easily.

So far, there has been nothing for the Keeper to do. There are no rounds in this contest. No pauses, or respites, no out for the count. Just ongoing violence until one is dust. There’s been no cheating, either. Well, I’m not going to get torn apart by that Hellcat, and I certainly don’t expect it of Aurelius. Besides, he doesn’t need to. Even I didn’t appreciate the strength of this vampire.

If I were human, and needed to breathe, I should be sobbing with exhaustion now. Little rivulets of blood are running down my arm from a parallel series of gashes made by the slash of his extended claws across my biceps that has left bloody muscle hanging in shreds. More blood is running down the inside of my thigh from where he almost managed to tear my balls off. Those gashes go down to the bone. He’s a dirty fighter. So am I.

He has blood running down the side of his face from where I almost took his eye, and from gashes made by my own four claws, running from hip to hip where I tried to eviscerate him. For a moment, until his skin closed a little, I did indeed see the pinky-purple gleam of intestine through the gashes. Our bruises simply run into one another, and we are covered with scratches, scrapes, gashes and bites.

He’s winning, though.

And then, as I’m running up one of the blood-smeared walls, I turn my head to judge my descent, and I do not believe the opening that he leaves me. He must be more tired than he seems because there is no recovery from this. Using the momentum from my descent, I somersault over him and have my arms under his, my hands linked at the back of his neck. My fangs are ready to sink into his throat. There is a collective rustle and sigh from the balconies, as the clan prepares for a new master. And I hesitate.

I don’t know why I do. I never know why I do. I am not one to hesitate over the kill. Yet I do. Something inside me is beating against my breastbone, screaming silently that he must not die. That if he does, I will be lost too. A pair of night-dark eyes fills my field of vision. And that momentary hesitation is enough. He breaks my hold, and shows me no mercy. We’ve already been battling for over an hour, but he steps up his ferocity, and I don’t have enough response. I try. I try with every ounce of strength in me, but he just has more. He’s no bigger than me, but he’s older and faster and stronger. It’s rare for the clan leader of any clan to be anything but the oldest vampire, and it isn’t going to change for Clan Aurelius. Not today.

I hold out as long as I can, returning as much of his fury as I am able, and neither of us is thinking with our brains now. This is sheer, elemental rage, as fist smacks against flesh and bone, as claw rips into skin and muscle, as fang slips in to draw as much blood as possible. A fight between vampires is a ballet of movement and flight, and ours has been that. Now, though, it’s about sheer, raw power.

In the end, he has me face down on the bloody ground, his fist wrapped in my hair, and his fangs in my neck. Despite my thrashing around, he takes sufficient blood to be sure that my challenge is over. He ceases drinking long enough to get the words he wants from me.

“Do you submit?”

I remain silent, thinking of the chance that I had, the chance missed. He yanks at my hair, pulling my head further back.

“Do you submit?”

The words are louder, now, more intense. And there’s a clear feline growl in there. I think of Buffy, and of all the things I have left undone, especially with her. I test my strength, seeing whether there is just a little leeway anywhere, any sign that I can break free. There is not.

“Just finish it.” His hold on my head is so tight that I cannot say more, but I manage to angle my neck so that my throat is better exposed. Then I just lie there, and wait for the end. There is nothing else I can do.

“Say it!” He loosens that grip just a little. “Say it, damn you!”

“I submit.” Never have I said more bitter words.

He sinks his fangs back into my throat and takes a lot – enough to almost drain me. Then he sits back, his entire weight grinding my crotch painfully down onto the marble of the floor. His hand is still wrapped in my hair, pulling my head back so that my neck is at snapping point, and the gashes along the front of my throat open wide, the little blood left in me sheeting down from the wounds. And he roars. A demonic and feline roar of kingship, of ownership, of triumph, of territory defended, of challengers vanquished, of balance maintained. I try to console myself that at least I have acquitted myself well, and wait for the coup de grace. It doesn’t come. Instead, he lifts himself off me, and I can feel how wearily he does that, still with his fist in my hair.

“Get onto your feet.”

Ah. Some *special* ending for me, then. Something salutary, perhaps, to persuade other vamps that it isn’t worth even thinking about challenging? But that isn’t how it’s supposed to go. A quick, clean death: that’s the law. He makes the laws, though. It seems to me that he’s making a new one here.

I stagger to my feet, with as much dignity as I can muster. I have no more strength than an infant, now, and all I can do is stare at Aurelius, and keep my expression impassive. And he’s quite a sight to stare at. So am I, I suppose. Looking at him, I think that I have put up a very good fight indeed. He’s a mess. His face is a mask of blood, from his broken nose and from the flap of skin that I ripped off next to his eye. One cheek has been torn open, and through it I can see the glint of enamel from his teeth. Judging by the fang marks and rips, I’ve scorefew few hits around his neck, and his body is a huge purple and green bruise, underlying the lib coa coating of gore and mangled flesh. I can see that he has several broken ribs, and the white gleam of bone shows through in several places. I had a second go at eviscerating him, and almost made it that time, too, so that his abdomen is a lattice of gouges and gashes. Both of us are standing in puddles of blood.

His wounds are healing as I watch, the process powered by his strength and by my blood. Mine aren’t healing, of course, and the need for fresh blood almost overcomes me. It’s a hunger that has the bite of years of starvation, the grip of centuries of addiction and the edge of absolute need. Only by exercising every last ounce of willpower can I stop myself from falling to the floor and lapping up the spilt blood like a dog. Anything else would be entirely beyond me. But there’s blood on the floor, his and mine…

Japheth walks over to us, and makes an obeisance to Aurelius.

“Master.”

That single word acknowledges the outcome. There would be no point in trying to continue the fight, even if I could. The clan would turn on me and kill me. The outcome is beyond question. The Keeper has called time on the contest, so to speak, and confirmed my submission. I await my fate, barely able to stand, overwhelmed by the smell of spilled blood, but I’m damned if I fall to my knees now.

I wonder what will happen to me. Surely, I will be killed, if not sooner then later. Sooner might be very preferable to later, although I suppose that whilst there’s life there’s hope. What then? Will I be condemned to the black sand? I remember my last sight of it, as I walked away from the Underworld with Buffy silent behind me. I remember that unknown sinner running from the attacks of the Furies, and I remember my own suffering at their… well, not just at their hands, that’s for sure. At their hands and fangs and everything else. Is that what awaits me? If it is, I found my way out once. Could I do it again? I’d have to try.

And so I wait, as he changes his grip, stands behind me, his arm tight around my throat, ready to sink his fangs into my neck again, to take back every drop of Aurelian blood from me. I wait. What else is there to do?

***************

Buffy called last night to say that she had arrived in town. She isn’t staying with my friends – that would call too much attention to them. She and Xander checked in to an anonymous motel. She was intending to go and reconnoitre. No more than that. We had very little information, and she was to see what she could discover, and contact me, so that I could do whatever possible to help her. So that I could find out what she faced. She was going in daylight. It’s now midnight, and she hasn’t called. I’ve phoned her, but the phone is switched off. I’ve called my friends. I thought they might believe me to be panicking for nothing, but they don’t. They went to the motel, and found neither Buffy nor Xander. They only found an empty room. All their bags are still there, but they aren’t.

I’m inclined to go there myself, tomorrow, but if something could take Buffy down, it would undoubtedly take me. And who would look after Dawn then? I’m sure Buffy would thank me for leaving her sister alone in the world, apart from a useless father who might not even know she exists. So tomorrow, I’m going to ask Willow and Tara to scry for me.

************

Angelus’ challenge is over, and we have both survived. My plan continues to work. At least, I’m still the one in charge. I was never really in doubt about that, although for one small moment, when I was distracted, I thought that I had blown it. I was not so worried about losing, as about how to keep both of us alive. There’s no point if he’s dead. My small gift of prophecy tells me that we are on the right path, although I could be fatally, abysmally wrong. Still, Palestrina’s echo in my blood seems content. It isn’t her, of course, but it is something *of* her.

Angelus has fought exceptionally well, especially considering the dreadful injuries he recently sustained. I have warned my people of the weapon that did that to him. Anyone who comes against us with that staff will be killed without hesitation or mercy, and used as an object lesson to those who would send such dreadful instruments of death. Hunting us with fire, or sword or stake is fair. After all, we hunt you. But this is barbaric.

When he told me about it, though, my fear was not for the clan. It was for him. We had almost lost him, lost our hope of future survival. You, me, every single being on this planet and on all the rest. *I* had almost lost him. I’ve come to love this vampire as if he were my own childe.

His scars remain, which is good. By the time the contest started, everyone present knew what had caused those. Knew that he was still not properly healed, and yet had come to make good his challenge. Had not tried to weasel his way out of it. Put that together with the way in which he met the punishment that I meted out to him the last time he was here, for his perceived crimes against the clan whilst he was Angel, and my people have developed a healthy respect for him. And they like him more than they did the arrogant youngster they first knew. That will make this easier. I may be clan master, but if they turned on me, I could not defeat them all. I must, when all is said and done, put the interests of the clan before all else. Fortunately, although they don’t yet know it, Angelus *is* the future of the clan. According to the Adrasti he – with the Slayer - is, in some unknown way, the future of everyone and everything in this and other dimensions. I suspect it’s better if he doesn’t know that yet. But, he has to be around to do whatever it is he’s going to do. And, I may be over five thousand years old, but I don’t want to die. Not yet.

So, I stand here, holding him in a grip he cannot break, and he stands as haughtily as he can, disdain written all over his face, waiting for death.

“Angelus. When you issued your challenge to me, under our ancient law, you knew that failure meant death?”

“Yes.” His voice is steady, but I’ve taken so much blood from him he’s ready to fall over, should I let go.

“Tell me, where had you been immediately before you did that?”

He is silent. He doesn’t know what I want him to say. He doesn’t know what *he* wants to say. I prompt a little. Very well: a lot.

“You went into the Underworld to fetch your mate back from death.”

Weak as he is, he stiffens perceptibly.

“How…?” My grip on his throat tightens. “Yes.”

There is a shocked murmur from the balconies. I doubt that any one there would dare the Underworld, and none of them are cowards. None of them.

“Were you successful?”

“Yes.”

There’s another murmured ripple from above. They are very intrigued now.

“Keeper. Remind us what we know of those returning from the Underworld.”

“Very little, Master. There are few accounts of such a thing, and none detail what happened in the Underworld. But, withouceptception, those who journeyed there and succeeded in coming back have been mentally unstable for some time afterwards and have not been considered responsible for their actions.”

“And remind us of those parts of the code pertinent to that situation and regarding a mastership challenge.”

“That the clan master must accept any and all challenges to his or her leadership, with the exception of any who are considered by the clan to be unfit to lead at the time of making the challenge.”

It isn’t about being disliked or disrespected. It’s about being fit to lead – sane enough and intelligent enough. It isn’t just the strongest, with us. Drusilla, for example, could never be judged fit to lead. Not by any sane vampire.

“Thank you, Keeper.”

I can hear the rustle of excited whispers from the balconies. Vampires love drama as much as anyone else, and it’s been a long time since we had drama like this. In fact, it was Angelus’ last visit. That was rather dramatic. Is he always going to make me bend the rules to breaking point for him? Of course he is.

“I’ve no intention of executing someone who made a challenge in that frame of mind. But you will submit to me. If you challenge me again in the next century, I’ll simply have your head. Do you understand?”

He bares his fangs. “You cannot restrict me so.”

“Yes. I can. I can kill you now, if you prefer. Or I can break your neck and keep you helpless for the next hundred years. Or I can simply cage you for my pleasure and anyone else’s I deem fit. I’ll take your word, but I *will* have your compliance.”

He tries to struggle, but he has no more strength than a dying human.

“You will regret this. I promise you that.”

“Oh, I doubt that. Now, do you understand and do I have your word? You have five seconds before I break your neck. I may snap your spine for good measure, too.”

“You have my word.”

His reply is hissed, rather than spoken, although that might just be weakness rather than resentment. I doubt it, though, because he waited every last nanosecond before answering me. I would have had to do it, too.

He’s looking angry and confused. He’s also going to fall over any moment now – he needs blood, and quickly. Showing weakness will never do. I turn necessity into a virtue, and sink my fangs into his throat, tearing him painfully and emptying out as much of his remaining blood as I possibly can. He doesn’t make a murmur. Good boy.

When I can’t draw any more, and he is as white as the marble on the walls – those bits not red-spattered, that is, I turn him round and, pressing his face into my neck, I let him drink, briefly. I’m remaking him again, giving him more and more of my own strength, because he’ll need it. I give him only a little for now, enough to keep him on his feet. He can have a great deal more, later, when we are alone. Whilst he’s drinking, Japheth calls for the minions, and two of them scurry in, carrying flagons of premium blood, newly let. It’s still at blood heat, in fact. At my gesture, one of them takes a flagon to Angelus, who is starting to reel. The boy is stubborn and full of pride, though. He really doesn’t have the strength to both hold himself up and lift the flagon, so he puts one hand on the minion’s shoulder, using that to take his weight. Then he is able to drink.

He needs the strength of the clan around him for the future, and we have made a start.

*************

Giles. I gotta phone Giles. I hurt. I hurt everywhere. I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t help her. I think they just left me for dead and I don’t know how long I’ve been out. I can’t *see*, but I think it’s night because I can’t feel the sun and that means she’s been gone for hours. I’ve felt my way all around here and there’s no sign of her. Phone, where’s the damn phone, I gotta find the phone. Call, damn you Giles, so I can hear it. I’ve failed. I always fail. I’ve got no super powers, just human powers, and I’m a failure, always have been. Phone, where’s that damn phone, all I can feel is sand and rocks and spiky plants and things that crawl and I’m *scared* but she’s not here and that *thing* must have taken her, and they left me for dead, and the one that left me for dead was *Oz* and if she’s dead now it’s all my fault…

************

The senior members of the clan are filing into the hall. I have no clue what is going on, except that I am still alive. Just. I need more blood inside me in order to heal, and I desperately need to wash this blood off the outside and to tend to my wounds, and I’d really like to put some clothes on, but I’m alive. I’m also in serious danger of falling over because I’m so weak – Aurelius almost drained me and only gave me a little back – but I’ll stay on my feet as long as I need to. It certainly won’t do to show weakness here. I have been humiliated enough as it is.

When everyone is gathered, Aurelius turns his attention back to me again.

“Angelus, I think we would all like a small demonstration of your loyalty. A token.”

They what? If they want me to go through all that again, like last time, I’ll go down fighting every last one of them first…

He must have seen my look, because he laughs out loud. Then he pauses for a few moments, head down in thought and abruptly strides over to where I’m almost standing.

“Will you do as I command?”

Now is definitely not the time for irritating him, but I can’t help the flash of amber that I feel in my eyes. His face remains neutral – almost carefully so – as he waits for my response. What am I to gain from this game? I am about to tell him exactly what to do with his commands, and risk the consequences when, perversely, I decide to run with this, to see where it leads; to see whether there is anything here that I can profit from. I won’t say the words, though. I simply nod. Damn me, I’m so weak that this simple movement almost topples me over.

“Françoise. That troublesome family you were telling me about? I know you were going to deal with them, but I think we’ll ask Angelus to do that, see what he comes up with. He leaves with you the night after next. We’ll settle the details tomorrow. Meantime, I think some cleaning up is in order.”

He takes me by the upper arm, and pulls me out of the hall, into his private chambers. There’s a huge shower in there – all mod cons in an eighteenth century palace – and he lets me fold up, gently, onto the floor. I’m really too far-gone to stand any more. He turns on the water, and as the hot needles of spray start sliding down my skin, he kneels in front of me and gathers me to him, pressing my face against his neck.

“Drink.”

And I do. There is power in that blood, and he allows me to take as much as I need. Not as much as I want, though, because I want it all. I can feel myself starting to heal. I’ll be fine within a couple of days, with his blood inside me, particularly if he allows me to feed from him more than this once. There, in the shower, he is the one who plays the servant, the lover. He washes me clean of the blood and gore, cleans my hair, and rinses the suds away, all with an incredibly delicate touch. He dries both of us on the huge towels, regardless of the fact that some of our injuries are still bleeding. Then he helps me up and summons a minion to tend our wounds.

It’s Ahmed. Remember Ahmed? He was my last childe. He is still with Japheth whilst they hunt down Palestrina’s missing bones. Only one to go, he tells me, then he can join me. I remember what I saw in him. Perfect bone structure. Dark, expressive eyes. Skin like golden silk. He’s very beautiful, and he may be perfectly behaved – Japheth has done a good job – but I can tell he’s still full of mischief. I’m looking forward to getting him back. He says that he and Japheth will be leaving almost immediately. It has taken them a long time to hunt down that last bone. Sorcerers who don’t want to be found, especially when the hunters are a pack of vampires intent on bloody revenge, are *really* good at hiding. But Japheth’s family have this one spotted now, and are only waiting for him. Aurelius will be happy, I think.

Between the three of us, we soon have the worst of our wounds covered up, but they will soon be healed. Even my scar from the staff is visibly fading. Aurelius’ blood is full of more power than I dare dream about. Ahmed goes, and leaves me alone with my clan master. I think that, perhaps, all either of us wants to do at present is sleep for a million years. Then there’s a rumbling purr at my side, and Sekhmet is rubbing her face against me. She offers me her throat. She has *never* done that before. Her blood is even more powerful than Aurelius’, and the heat of it, powering with his through my veins, is the most incredible rush. I feel invincible, and can tell that all my wounds are closing. I wonder why Sekhmet is doing this, and then I get the suspicion that they know something I don’t know about what is to come. When I pull back, he is smiling down at me, a warm and genuine smile on his human face.

***********

Xander has been found. Buffy has not. Xander is in a bad way. Apart from all his other wounds, both his eyes are damaged, and he will almost certainly lose the sight of the left one. He tells us that they were trying to locate the demon’s lair when they were attacked by a huge pack of wolves. Werewolves. And it wasn’t even full moon.e che change for these creatures wasn’t complete. The one that attacked him, he recognised as Oz. The man he thought was his friend left him for dead in a gully. I’m trying to hope that Oz knew who he was and tried to save him, but I’m very likely to be wrong. Xander hasn’t been bitten, though.

There is no trace of Buffy anywhere. The tracks lead up into the hills, and simply disappear on stony ground. I’m trying to keep going with my brain, but my heart is screaming. She was like a daughter to me. Is like. Is. Present tense. We need another slayer or a certain va… Another slayer. There is another one. Faith. And I cannot find her either. At least, I couldn’t. I’ve been to Willy’s tonight – the bar of last resort, I suppose – to see if there’s gossip concerning her whereabouts.

It’s said that she is with Angelus. It is believed that she is still human. Those two statements seem to be mutually contradictory, and I won’t try to tell you how amazed I am. I thought that Buffy was the one he had designs on. Obviously any one will do. No. I must not allow my hatred of him to colour what I know. I *know* Buffy is the one he has designs on. Has he given up on her willingly returning to him, and he’ll settle for the other Slayer? But if so, why hasn’t he turned Faith yet? If he hasn’t, that is. Or does he just want both? I wouldn’t put *that* past him. It is also said that Angelus is out of town at present, on unknown business. So, I’m here, at the mansion, now, waiting for the door to open, to see if Faith will help. There is a sisterhood of slayers. Surely she will help, no matter whlse lse has happened. And I’m praying that the gossip at Willy’s is correct.

***************

You know something now of our vampire society I believe? But you have primarily heard from the males of our kind. What would we do without them, I ask myself? But they are just like all men of all species. They talk tough, they act tough, but get a hold on their balls, and they are like lambs. Comparatively speaking, of course. Everything is relative.

I am Françoise. My territory is France. Why do you think I took this name? Vampires do not necessarily observe the territorial boundaries that humans impose, but countries usually choose those that are defensible – rivers, mountains, coasts, that sort of thing. The same principles apply when vampires choose boundaries, and I have chosen most of France. I have lived long and my boundaries are good.

Aurelius summoned me to Cairo. When I heard why I – and others – had been summoned, well, I can only say that I looked forward to a very, very interesting match. We were all sure that Angelus would lose, because he is so much younger, and none of us were able to understand why he would have issued the challenge at all – it almost seemed like a death wish. But we knew that Angelus is very strong. After all, he survived an ordeal that no other vampire has survived before. Was pushed past limits to which no other vampire has been tested before, at least not his his clan. If a younger vampire were to succeed, it would be him.

And after the battle, when we learned that he had been to the Underworld… We had heard rumours, nothing more, that he has mated a slayer. The Slayer. She must have died, as slayers are wont to do. And. He. Fetched. Her. Back. None of the rest of us would have tried that. We were *very* impressed.

Not that any one of us wants to lose Aurelius. Between us, we have met a number of clan masters, and he is far and away the best, for a lot of reasons. Even if we didn’t all love him, he is still the best. And Clan Aurelius is much the most successful clan, no matter what yardstick you use. Oh, we have our share of lunatics, vicious monsters and the tragically foolish, but on the whole, we are a better class of vamp. A *different* class of vamp. And no one ever accused any of us of being *stupid*. Well, with the exception of Nest, the idiot with the fruit punch mouth, but that goes without saying.

So, we had no wish to see Aurelius ousted, but neither did we wish to see Angelus die. He’s too much fun. And crafty old Aurelius has managed to keep both of them alive and with honour intact. How *does* he do it? We were shocked to see the scars of Angelus’ recent encounter with a new weapon. When they were both cleaned up, and their wounds tended, he allowed us to examine closely the damage, whilst he described in more detail the magical staff that had done this. He was also prevailed upon to tell us how the staff was taken out. He was proud of the Slayer, you know. He didn’t say it, but we could tell. Hell, even a *human*, with your stunted senses, could have understood that.

You may think it strange that none of us resented the pride he took in her, or felt that it was odd. The Slayer is far from human herself, you know. Predators in other species often try to exterminate each other to preserve their own hunting territory, and the stock roaming it. Lions will kill the lesser predators such as leopards and cheetahs. But sometimes, just sometimes, the predators are equals, and a different relationship can evolve. There are animals that are the offspring of lions and tigers.

She’s a predator, and she will try to exterminate those of us, we other predators, hunting in her territory. When she meets an equal though… And the rest of us look on with interest.

My brother Eudo, who is much brighter than his happy-go-lucky attitude would suggest, has been asked to find the sorcerer or witch involved in making these new weapons. He’s carried out tasks like that for Aurelius before, and is well trusted. Eudo does not have a large territory to maintain. He and his mate roam around Monaco with their two childer, and they do well enough there. He and his family will carry out this task for the clan, and I will look after Monaco until he returns. Perhaps Angelus will look after it with me, for a little while.

And that is where our present errand comes in. Eudo told me just before I left for Cairo that I have a small family of Aurelians who have moved into Marseilles. It’s a very cosmopolitan city with a great many transients. Ideal territory. And it’s mine. If they wish to stay, I want them to submit to me. Would want. It’s in Angelus’ hands now, the task given to him by Aurelius. I wonder what he will do? If he is successful in the task, he could place himself as head of the family there, and claim Marseilles by right of conquest. He could steal it from under me. And I could do nothing about it if I chose not to fight it out with him.

You see, there’s more going on here than meets the eye. Some of us are agreed that Aurelius wants Angelus as his beta, and is testing him to his uttermost limits. Every family has an alpha male and an alpha female. The male is not necessarily the head of the family – that might be his alpha female. Vampires are equal opportunity families, you know. The second male in the hierarchy is the beta, and supports the alpha when necessary. Likewise, each clan has an alpha – the head of the clan – and each clan has a beta. The beta is ready to take over leadership in the event of anything happening to the alpha – at t unt until proper challenges are dealt with. And the beta supports the alpha by carrying out a lot of the dirty work. The clan has been without a beta for thirty years – none of us really wants the job. But we need one. I wonder if Aurelius thinks we don’t know? I doubt it. He’s too canny, and too good at reading us.

As Aurelius’ beta, Angelus can claim any territory from any other family if he’s strong enough to hold it, and if he wishes to be uncivilized about it. He would win himself no friends, but he could do it. And he’s definitely got an edge to him at the moment.

We arrived in Marseilles last night. We had fun, and lots of it.

We tasted some of the local Marseillaise, and very nice they were, too. On the whole, that is. We started with a couple of youngsters – about fourteen, I should think – going home together. Mine was a virgin boy and extremely toothsome. The other one smelled like a virgin girl, but Angelus must have scented something different. He suddenly seemed to hesitate, and I began to feel that my hospitality would prove to be at fault. He did drink, but seemed to get little pleasure from it. Perhaps the girl was not so innocent, or perhaps she was one of those who had stuffed her veins full of crap. But I didn’t detect it.

Anyway, our next hunt was much better. We found a pair of criminals, on the job. They really do make the easiest prey, you know. They are usually already in concealment, after all, and that saves all that snatching and dragging. And their blood is spiced with so much sin. Angelus found these much more to his taste.

He is an incredibly good lover, and we had… fun. He is affable, expansive, and ready to spend some time on holiday when his task is completed, to spend time with me. I really want that. I have no mate at present, and whilst I’m not looking for one immediately, the prospect of spending time with someone as hot as this? Definitely. And who knows what the future might bring. He’s pretty much a rising star, I do believe. Even if he stays with the Slayer, there may still be opportunities.

Some of my people met us here this evening, and he went out with one of them for a couple of hours to locate the lair. When he came back, he was in high good humour. He sent a couple of my minions on a… shopping… expedition. Alright, let us say ‘acquisition’ expedition, since no money will change hands. And Yves told me about their foray. They found the lair, and he says that, almost immediately, Angelus laughed out loud, and all the way back here, he had a grin on his face.

We will enter the lair tonight, as soon as the shopping list has been filled. Yves believes that there are perhaps thirty vampires in that lair. There are six of us, including Angelus. I had heard that he could be impetuous, but this seems madness to me.

What happened out there, tonight?

*************

I may be a Watcher - *the* Watcher at the moment – and used to mortal combat of both the physical and mental variety with the massed ranks of the supernatural, but I am still only human. And I am filled with human fear. Buffy is still missing. I have found Faith at the mansion, and she is still living, for which I am profoundly grateful. Wonders will never cease. She may have a price on her head from the human forces of law and order, but she is still a slayer. Now that she knows that her sister slayer is missing in action, she will go after her tonight. I have said that I will go with her, despite my dilemma over Dawn’s future welfare, but Faith has resolved that problem. She is having none of it. She says she works best alone. She knows where to start, where Xander was found.

So, I sit here in the Magic Box, examining my more esoteric books, trying to find something to help us, while she prepares. As if I haven’t spent all the time since we heard of this rising threat researching, trying to find something that will be useful. This last minute effort won’t help. But what else can I do? How else can I be of service? To either of them? And I really don’t want my thoughts free to worry about what I’ll do if Faith doesn’t come back. About who I might turn to then.

“Giles.”

Her quiet entrance has startled me.

“Faith. Have you got everything you need?”

“Guess so.”

“Weapons? Money? Cell phone?”

“Yep.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you? Someone else? Willow?”

“Nope. I’m good. But… if the worst happens, tell Angelus. No one at the mansion knows where I’m going, or what’s gone down. He’ll need to know.”

Damn. Damn and blast, and I wish that I might fall on my sword before ever I do that. But I wonder whether I will, whether in the most dire necessity that would then exist, I might turn to a monster for help? If I did, I might fall on my own sword afterwards, though.

“What about transport?”

“There’s a bus all the way there. Like I said, I’m good.”

And with that, she is gone.

I remember staring after her for a very long time, and my thoughts must have drifted rather, although I don’t know quite what I was thinking, but I am startled for the second time this evening. This time, a stranger stands in the doorway. My immediate impression is that he’s in his mid-twenties, tall, dark-haired, and very… poised. Comfortable in his skin. Possibly even charismatic. And he hasn’t said a word yet.

“Can I help you?” It’s very late for customers here, desirable ones, at least.

“Mr Giles.”

It isn’t a question. He knows who I am.

“May I come in?”

“Please do.” Doesn’t matter who – or even what – he is. This ipublpublic place no invitation needed. Oh, and I’ve got an assortment of smaller weapons in the drawer in front of me, just in case. He strolls in, looking every inch as if he owned the place, and gestures questioningly to a chair at the other end of the table from my own. I nod – if he has any violence in mind, it’s harder to do from a sitting position.

He sits. I thought that very little had the power to surprise me any more. It’s amazing how wrong you can be.

“I am Aurelius. There are things that we need to discuss.”

Aurelius? Oh, my. This is the oldest vampire on earth today, so far as anyone knows: the oldest by a long chalk. No one knows how old he actually is, but it’s speculated that he might be almost as old as mankind. No wonder he radiates so much power. His presence here – what in heaven’s name can it mean? As my brain struggles for comprehension, I fall back into tried and tested habits.

“Would you like some tea?”

**************

Angelus has me confused. We are outside the lair, which seems to be in an abandoned warehouse – so very déclassé, don’t you think? We are out of sight of the residents – up on the nearby roofs, in fact – and it is almost dawn. I understand that Angelus wishes every vampire to be back here from their nightly hunt, so that we can deal with the nest as a complete family, but must we spend the whole *day* in there? My clothes are extremely expensive designer wear – or would be, if I had paid for any of them – and who knows what sort of dirt and grime there is in such a shabby lair.

Yves was correct in his assessment of numbers – there are about thirty, give or take one or two. We are still six. I have asked Angelus if I should call in reinforcements – I have loyal family members not too far away – but he simply smirked and shook his head. Ah, now he’s signalling us to move. As we approach the entrance, he is in the lead. He is carrying a heavy satchel over his shoulder, a stake in his left hand and a sword in the right. I am a little behind him, also with a sword and a stake, and each of my four minions has a crossbow, loaded and cocked. We have orders not to kill unless imperative, though. If possible, this is a mission of dominance, not extermination.

We reach the doors, and pause very briefly, as if drawing a collective breath. He nods to me, in game face, and I pull the steel barrier aside. Then we enter.

Not without opposition, it has to be said. The nest are completely taken by surprise, but two of them, quicker witted than the rest, rush towards us. Angelus simply lashes out with the stake, and then swings the sword in a fast and level arc, taking the second fledgling’s head. Both are dust. Before the others can react, he gives a short coughing roar, the menace of a tiger facing down rivals. That stops them for the briefest moment. And he never stops or slows – all this time, he is stalking down the centre of the huge but dilapidated interior, towards a throne-like chair, whilst my minions and I walk at his back, covering the others with our weapons. This family has a female Master – vampires are all about the strongest and the most powerful, not the most male – and she is sitting on the throne. At first, she was as surprised as her minions – they are all minions here, there are no childer – but now she has an odd look on her face. Calculating, I think would be the word.

She holds one hand up, very white, with long, long nails in a French manicure, and her minions stay where they are, confused and alarmed but alert. As he strides down the seemingly never-ending length of this space, he reaches into the satchel, and brings out a pair of manacles on a lengthy chain. There is a rumble of sound and a rustle of movement all around us, and again he gives that cough of warning. Stay. Back. The woman on the throne licks her lips.

Then he is on her, the stake and sword discarded on the floor, the chain slung upwards onto an overhead girder, and the manacles locked around her wrists. He is holding her down while he secures the fetters, which hook into each other so that her wrists are fixed together. He reaches for the neckline of her dress, which is passé, very décolleté, layers of red gauze printed with huge black and red roses, and he rips downwards. She is wearing nothing underneath. I might have known.

He turns her, pressing her hands over the back of the throne, and kicking her legs apart, so that she is presented to him, helpless. He himself does not disrobe, simply unfastens his zipper, wraps one hand into her long black hair, yanking her head back, almost to snapping point, and then he is into her in an act of dominance that perhaps some of you share with us. He takes her hard and painfully, his hand still wrapped in her hair, whilst the other claws cruelly at her breasts and between her legs. Soon, blood is dripping from her lacerations onto the throne, and then, with another roar, he sinks his fangs iher her neck and drinks deeply. She screams, but not in pain. Everyone can scent her as she comes in an orgasm of brutal pleasure, shaking from the force of it.

He won’t let it end, though. Still, he forces himself into her, thrusting with every ounce of his demonic strength, and still his free hand leaves gouges in her flesh. Her breasts are gored and torn, her pubic mound, unseen beneath the curve of her body, has received similar attention, and blood is streaming down her legs. She shudders as I see him reach a little further to sink those claws into her clitoris. Several times, he drags his fangs down her back, leaving deep, redly-seeping furrows to mar her whiteness. Then he bites hard down into her neck again, this time marking the other side. Again she screams, her anguish-pleasure even louder, greater, longer than before as he roughly draws on her veins, taking deep draughts of her blood.

I had heard about this side of him, but I have not seen it in the days we have been together. Oh, I like rough sex. All vampires do. But not like this. This is all about him, about dominance and possession. She should get no pleasure from this. But she does. I prefer what I have seen of him. Mainly.

This time, he allows himself release. His roar of triumph is not very different to Aurelius’. Unseen, you could mistake one for the other. Interesting.

When he has emptied himself into her, he rests a m a moment, both hands now on the small of her back, taking his weight. She is pressed down into the seat of the throne, her shoulders straining against the chains, and the manacles digging into her wrists. He flips her over. He cannot push her to her knees – the chain is too short for that – but he forces her to crouch as low as she can. Then with his seed still spilling down her thighs, mixing with her blood, he thrusts his crotch into her face.

“Clean me up – proy!”
y!”

She does so, with some avidity. When she has done it to his satisfaction, he refastens his pants and uses her shredded dress to wipe the body fluids from the seat of the throne. He sits down and thrusts his hand into her hair again, pulling her head back so that he can stare into her face. She returns the stare, and utters the first word that she has said in the time that we have been here – ten minutes at the absolute maximum.

“Daddy.”

“Drusilla.”

Ah. I had never seen her before. Now I understand. So do the others here, and there is a diminution of the killing tension. The change is palpable.

*************
Continued in chapter 6