*the next day*

9:30am
Library, Sunnydale High School

Pointedly ignoring the sense of desperate urgency that had it's icy claws buried in his heart, Rupert Giles concentrated his efforts on shelving the few research books that the students had borrowed from the library that week. He had already shelved the books that he and Willow had used for *thier* research purposes.

That idle thought lead him to one of his more pleasant and inviting day dreams. One which did *not* feature his beloved Slayer in any form of danger whatsoever. He hated those, not only for their violence, but their bloody awful frequency. No, this day dream consisted of one day returning to England. With Willow at his side. As he sponsored her into the Watcher Program.

While the fact that she was a female would prevent her from working with a Slayer, she had *lots* of potential. From esoteric research, to spell work, even to minor field work in areas of the world that weren't cursed with a large demon population and thus not drawing the presence of the Slayer to it.

Yes, he truly believed that Willow would make a fine addition to the Watchers. And if she lived up to the potential that Giles saw in her, she could even someday become a member of the Council itself, which was the administrative and ruling portion of the Watchers.

He realized that he should probably bring it up for discussion with her. Her grades were good enough. She had natural talent and a strong belief in the need to stop the demons from harming humans. She was polite and well mannered, and yet she was not afraid to "get her hands dirty" when the need arose. Willow was the perfect candidate to be honest. Still, he had never mentioned it to her. He supposed that down deep, he doubted that Willow would be willing to leave Buffy. And *that* was a quality that he just couldn't bring himself to find fault with. For either girl's sake.

A sound loud shrill ringing sound forcibly yanked him out of his wandering thoughts and back into the here and now. Jumping slightly, Giles stepped out from between two rows of the floor to ceiling bookshelves. The ringing sounded again and he began to make his way to his office so that he could answer the phone. Halfway through the second double ring, the shrill noise cut off and a clicking could be heard. This was followed by a low hum-slide sound. Frowning in confusion, he stepped inside his office...and his frown deepened. He was getting a fax.

Sighing slightly, he set the books still in his hands down on a low side table while he listened to the printhead on his fax machine settle itself into the "start" position. Then, he quickly fixed himself a cup of tea while the document printed itself out and slid into his "catch bin". Tea ready, he quickly cleared off a semi flat space on his desk to review the document. Then, grabbing it off of the machine, he quickly shuffled them into the correct order. First to last, instead of last to first.

Sitting down, he picked up the first page and quickly read through it. It was the promised fax from his colleague in England.

Rupert,

It has been a long while since I've seen you, old boy. I am hoping that this finds you and yours in good health.

While I would be more than happy to dwell on more benign subjects, I felt that you would be the best person to help unravel this latest mystery, in large part because of your unique resources. While on the surface it may seem like gibberish, I feel that it may turn out to be of some importance.

The mystery in question is a copy of a document. In actuality, it's a Journal Entry written by William the Bloody, childe of Angelus: Scourge of Europe, himself. I found the book, quiet accidentally, while on assignment in Asia Minor. I've read through the book and am in the process of copying it in it's entirety for you. I will have it brought across the pond by currier. This one entry, however, seemed much too important to wait. I felt you should see it immediately.

The main problem with it is that it concerns his "sister" Drusilla. Angelus' second childer was hopelessly insane, however, there has been many rumors that her insanity stemmed from her ability to predict the future. Too many, in fact, to completely discount the idea as false. This entry concerns one of her "visions".

Therein lies the problem. The "vision" came from the mind of a mad woman and then was interpreted by the psychopath who had been turned to be her "nursemaid". To truly understand this entry, one must be able to comprehend *both* Drusilla's mad ravings and William the Bloody's rants and poetic ramblings.

It is widely known, though very few speak of it, that you have assess to Angelus. Please see what he thinks of this. I fear it could be a portent of danger to come.

Yours Truly,
Richard Blakely

Carefully placing the fax down, Giles reached out by reflex for his cup of tea. He was somewhat startled to notice that his hand was shaking slightly. Forgoing the tea for a moment, Giles took in a deep breath and held it for a count of five. Then, he slowly let it back out again. He breathed in deep, and then released it slowly once more. And then again. Once his hands had stopped shaking, he picked up his tea and took a long sip. Bracing himself, he flipped through the fax papers until he found the photocopy of the Journal Entry. He began to read.

The Twenty-Forth of January, Nineteen Hundred and Twenty-Two; A Quarter after Five in the A.M.

I hate this. Truly, I do. It's been over two years since that bloody git dared show his face around and about and yet she *still* crys for him. *Yearns* for him. Her precious "Daddy". Her beloved "Dark Angel".

I hate him. So should she. He *left* us. Abandoned us to fate and the world and *her*. The blonde harpy. Did he not believe that we could love him? Forgive him? *Want* him? He showed up around a random corner in a fire and smoke filled city on the very edge of the world, and did we chase him away? Force him to scurry into the dank shadows and hide? Run from us in fear and hatred?

NO! Welcomed him back into the fold, open arms and wide smiles. All that rot. It was beautiful. Killed a Slayer that night. For *him*. And did he stay around to celebrate? No! Did he take his childer to his bed and heap praises and punishment upon us? No!

No, not *him*. Pouffy git. Slinks off into the dawn, he did. Deserter and betrayer once more. And what does my ripe wicked plum do? Cries for *him*. Wails for *him*. And me, a poor substitute for her to cling to and rage upon.

It's no longer that cursed doll that whispers his name into the soft shell of her ear. That I could, and have, learned to deal with. But now the very stars sing of him. Of years and miles and pain and blood. She dances in the moonlight, my dark Goddess does, crying out to the unforgiving Heavens in both sadness and delight.

"Angel in the valley of the damned sun" she cries. "He shall flit in and out of the razor fangs of Hell" she sings. "Oh my beloved Spike, you shall break the chains that bind the beast and the dark eyed Kitten will follow you into death." she whispers.

And I am left to comfort her as she thrashes upon the cold ground, gouging her own eyes from the things she sees, ripping and tearing at her own silken skin to free her pain and make it a living thing with which to fight. Her howls and shrieks pound into my mind and I am left with nothing but hate for him.

"The Kitten shall find the Wizard and the Wizard shall polish a bauble and the bauble shall free his darkness from the light. But 'ware the wolf in people's clothing, my Spike. 'Ware the wolf, for he would like a bone."

Sometimes I wish she would stop saying things like that. Or if she couldn't stop, that at least she would make sense. I mean, who is the kitten, the wizard and the wolf? When I ask, she merely tells me that they are "sleeping in the hall of time " and that "the first and the last shall wake when the Second Hunter has fallen" and that "the magic one shall wake when the Bear and the Eagle fight in the Rain filled Jungle." That's *not* the kind of scarification that I wanted. Made me head hurt worse, it did.

Told her that and she merely laughed and danced some more. Twisting circles around a moon drenched field of poppies. Was beautiful, she was, my princess. That's when she told me to "guard the Kitten around the fallen Angel. For *his* time to be reborn shall not come until the madman kills the twin giants and the eagle banishes the dove."

I don't understand her. I don't understand her visions or her continuing desire for *him*. I hate him. I do. Really. I don't love him at all. Honest.

I just want to know one thing. Why did he leave us?...me?

William the Bloody; aka, Spike

Trembling once again, Giles put down the Journal Entry and stood up from his desk. He desperately needed another cup of tea.

*

12:30pm
Outdoor Courtyard, Sunnydale High School

Wincing from the sudden sharp pain his slight movement caused, Oz looked down at his hand. He had washed out the bite on his thumb and put a bandaid over it, but it appeared to have gotten infected. His entire hand and most of his arm up to his elbow was bright red and swollen. It felt tight and hot, what's more, it itched. Horribly.

Vaguely, Oz wondered if he should stop in at the School Nurse and beg for some antibiotics. Or maybe benedryl? Something...

A wave of dizziness washed over him then, pulling his thoughts away from treatment and focusing them on trying to just stay upright. He braced his good hand up against the sun-warmed brick wall of the High School and sucked in a deep draught of air. That's when the world turned bizarre on him.

The air he pulled into his lungs was *filled* with so many things that he'd never noticed before. Scents and textures and knowledge. Sun-warmed stone and grass, flowers that spilled tons of pollen onto each fluttering breeze. Car exhaust, motor oil, the small furred animals hiding in the bushes. And the people. People scents were almost overwhelming.

Deodorants of all types, perfumes and after-shaves. Shampoo and hairspray, make-up and nail-polish. Cotton and leather, fabric softener and harsh bleach. All of it assaulted his nose.

Under all of those "fake" scents, those man-made chemical smells was something else. Something deep and rich and oh so alluring. Clean skin and fresh sweat. Pheromones and hormones. Warm blood and passionate life.

And Oz could smell it all, almost taste in on his tongue as it washed over him in bright pulsing waves. It was hypnotic and frightening. And one scent, a familiar scent began to become stronger and stronger, overriding all of the others until it filled him. Became his world, his everything. It overwhelmed him and he became lost in that wonderful aroma.

Then Willow was shaking his shoulder gently, her voice tickling his ear and his mind. Forcibly shaking off his olfactory hallucination, Oz concentrated on her face, noting the concerned frown. He offered her up a shaky smile and tried to ignore what had just happened to him.

Slowly, with Willow silently shooting him odd worried looks, he followed her over to the sun drenched picnic table where her friend Buffy was waiting.

*

7:00pm
Library, Sunnydale High School

Buffy frowned in thought as she listened to Willow describe what she had seen when she found Oz right before lunch. Buffy hadn't really noticed anything odd, after all, Oz was *always* quiet, letting the two girls do most of the talking. She *had* noticed Oz's arm and commiserated with him about not being able to play the guitar until it healed.

At first, Willow had put Oz's odd mood off as a combination of the pain from his injury and his depression at not being able to play with the band, but now she was thinking it might be something else. Buffy didn't know.

"I think you should talk to Giles, Willow. If it *is* something Hellmouthy, then he would know what to do about it. I mean, Oz *did* say that he was bitten by his cousin, it's not like some demon took a chunk out of him."

Willow nodded, her face clearing up for a brief moment before clouding over with worry again.

"I know. Honest. It's just...he's been drifting in and out of it all day. It's like his attention just...wanders and he gets this...*look* on his face. I don't know how to describe it. Awe? Fear? Amazement? Doubt? It's...so many things all at once and I'm, well, I'm worried. It *could* be a bad. Right?"

"I don't know. You should talk to Giles. And Oz. If it *is* Hellmouthy, then you need more details from Oz to give to Giles so that he can come up with a plan."

Willow nodded her head in agreement, but Buffy could tell that she didn't really feel all that better. Biting back a sigh, she wished there was more she could do to ease her friend's concern, but she didn't have all the answers, as much as she wished she did.

Pushing open the library doors, they stepped inside to see Giles seated at one of the research tables with a large assortment of old leather-bound books spread open before him. Buffy hadn't read through them all, but she *did* recognize them. They were diary's written by various Watchers.

"Giles? Something going on that I should know about?"

The older man looked up at her, his eyebrows drawn tightly together in concentration, a distracted look in his eyes.

"What?"

She watched as he snapped out of his train of thought and focused purely on her, his eyes becoming sharp and piercing. She shivered slightly. It always gave her a bit of a turn when The Watcher peeked out from behind his mild mannered librarian persona. It was an instant reminder of just how intelligent, knowledgeable and ruthlessly determined this man was. It made her proud.

"Yes, Buffy, as a matter of fact, something is 'going on.' I received that fax from my colleague that I have been waiting for and it contains a Journal Entry from an old Diary, so to speak. One that was written by a vampire."

Buffy exchanged a confused look with Willow, who merely shrugged her shoulders as if to say she didn't get it either. Then Buffy turned back to look at Giles, her head tilted slightly in thought.

"Vampires write diaries? That's a wiggy thought."

Giles hummed slightly and took off his glasses to polish them while he spoke.

"Indeed. It is more pleasant to think of all vampires as less than intelligent and it's even more disturbing when they mimic human behavior. However, there are a few who are chosen specifically *for* their ability to think and act in a certain manner, and this particular vampire author was one of those."

Buffy wrinkled up her nose, somehow offended by the concept of a smart vampire.

"Who would want to make an intelligent minion? I always thought of minions as...well, as canon fodder."

Giles nodded his head and replaced his glasses.

"And they are. This one, however, was never meant as a minion. He was turned to be a childe and that's a far cry from a minion."

Buffy didn't understand the difference and it must have shown on her face because Giles began to explain.

"Think of minions as blood-loyal "hired help". Childer, on the other hand, are more in the nature of family members. Childer are *chosen* for any number of reasons, while minions are made randomly to be, as you say, canon fodder."

That made sense to Buffy in a creepy skin-crawly sort of way. She suppressed a shudder at the thought of a family of intelligent and ruthless vampires roaming around Sunnydale. Minions were horrible enough, but *that*...that was unthinkable.

"Any road, this is one such vampire's Journal Entry and I want Angel to read it. I'm hoping that he could shed some light on what some of the more...odd statements might mean. After all, the Entry is concerning the ravings of another vampire. One who is considered, even among other demons and vampires, to be insane."

"Oh, *that's* a creepy wiggy thought. I mean, how nuts do you have to be for a *vampire* to think you're crazy?"

Buffy nodded in total agreement with Willow. It *was* creepy. However, she had a different question.

"Um, why do you think Angel could help decypher this? I mean, if the vampire it was written about is crazy, how could Angel help?"

Giles sighed then, a sad look flittering across his face briefly before his features hardened once more into the expression that Buffy thought of as 'The Watcher'.

"It's simple really. Both of them, the writer *and* the crazy woman, are his childer. He would be able to make sense of...this Journal Entry better than anyone else. Beyond that, I do fear that it concerns him personally."

For a long moment, Buffy didn't know how to react, what to feel. Intellectually, she was aware that Angel was a vampire and that he had lived a long life before she had even been born, but she usually tried hard not to think of that. She also tried not to dwell on the fact that he had spent much of that time doing horrible despicable acts of evil. It always threw her off balance when she was forced to confront his past and she wasn't sure who she ached more for; Angel or herself.

Finally, she forced her emotional confusion aside to work through later. Right now she had to go and find Angel so that she could bring him back here to help Giles figure out what was up with this fax.

"Okay. Look, Willow? You stay here with Giles. See if there is anything you can do to help him while I go get Angel. He's most likely still at the mansion, so I'll start looking there. Once I find him, we'll both head straight back here to the library. Sound good?"

Waiting a moment for both of them to nod, Buffy then turned on her heel and dashed out of the school and into the early evening.

*****
Part 4:

7:15pm
Drawing Room, Old Mansion on Crawford Street, Sunnydale CA

Fourteen steps to the north. Quick tight turn on his heel and then fourteen steps to the south. Repeat.

His feet have measured the length of the room countless times since an hour before the sun had even set and yet he still hasn't decided if he should venture outside. Into the open where temptation would undoubtedly cross his path in the form of living breathing flesh and blood humans. With their heat and life and noise.

Oh yes, humans were very noisy. Loud. Even when *they* thought that they were being still and quiet and silent. Humans couldn't hear all the noise they made, but he could. The soft whoosh of air being drawn into expanding lungs, only to be followed by the soft whoosh of air being forced out of those same lungs as they deflated. The hypnotic swish-swish-swish of blood as it moved through vein and artery and capillary as it flowed from the heart throughout all of the body's limbs and then back again. The steady lub-dub lub-dub of their hearts as that wondrous muscle contracted in it's four-part rhythm. Oh yes, very noisy indeed.

It was a siren's song to him. Calling him, whispering to him, singing into his ear constantly. Luring him to come closer, closer. To listen and smell. To feel their warmth and touch their skin. To taste and rend and destroy.

Normally he could ignore the dark whispers. Push them from his waking mind and sentence them to the farthest corner of his thoughts. But now? Now those soft whispers have evolved into screams. Screams which echoed through his mind as revenants from his earlier dreams.

Dreams of *her*.

If he closed his eyes he could still see those images his subconscious created in such loving detail for him to explore while he slept. Golden hair spread out in soft gentle waves upon his black satin pillow. Warm hazel eyes gazing up at him with adoration and love as he sank his hard solid length into her virgin tight heat.

Beautiful. So very very beautiful.

Especially as her expression shifted from one of bliss to one of horror as his strokes turned from loving to harsh and painful. A flicker of fear in her eyes just before his clawed hand struck down in a fist against her sternum with all of his demonic strength. Shattering the bone and tearing her flesh wide open. Bright red splash of blood and then he felt around inside of her, searching...searching... And then he finds it. His prize. Wrapping his long fingers around her heart, he *yanks* it out of her chest...and cums.

Golden eyes flashing open in an effort to banish the memories of his dream, Angel found himself standing by the front door with his hand on the knob. A rush of guilt and fear seared along his nervous system and he snatched his hand back and shoved it deep into his jacket pocket.

Turning, he began to pace the length of the room once more. He *couldn't* go out tonight. Not to her, not to anywhere. No one was safe. *He* wasn't safe.

Angelus was far too close to the surface. Angel was afraid.

*

7:30pm
Crawford Street, Sunnydale CA

Lighting up a cigarette, Spike watched his pet with part amusement and part pride. The lanky teenager had been only a tiny bit of a thing when Spike had "adopted" him, but he'd shone lots of potential even way back then. And now, Spike had the pleasure of watching that potential come into maturity.

His pet was a hyper one, full of mischief and energy, both in thought and in deed. Right at the moment, the boy was infatuated with that dark haired bird from the kiddie club they had been at the other night. Cor...something her name was. He babbled about her, fantasized about her and not *all* of his desires for the chit were pure and light.

Spike knew his pet well, and as such, he knew that the boy was heading into full on "stalker-mode". Idly, Spike wondered if the silly bird would find it flattering or frightening if she knew what he did. He also wondered if she would survive his pet's attentions. Either way, Spike didn't really care as long as his lovely dark eyed boy enjoyed himself.

And he was so very delightful when he was having fun. Tuning out his pet's endless chatter, Spike let his thoughts drift back to earlier in the night, to when he had first woken up. His pet had already been out and about, apparently, for he had brought his "daddy" home a gift. Spike *loved* pressies.

This particular pressie had been in the form of a cute young teenaged blonde boy. He was bigger than his pet and taller too. His hair had been cut short and his jacket proclaimed him to be a member of the Sunnydale High School football team. The boy apparently thought he had been picking up his pet for a quick shag considering that he was groping and pawing his Xan with both hands even as his pet's dark seductive eyes pulled him further into their bedroom. Then his pet had gestured with one hand over to him and the boy's surprised eyes had followed.

"See, Larry? I *told* you I had a super cute boyfriend."

The blonde looked worried for a second, but then his pet's honey soft voice cut into his thoughts, deriding his obvious concern before it became an issue.

"Don't worry. It's like I told you. We have a very open relationship...and we like to share."

His pet's eyes had cut over to him, amusement dancing deep within them.

"Don't we Spike?"

"We sure do, pet. And what have you brought me today?"

A cruel grin slid across those full luscious lips for a quick second before the expression melted into that innocent look once more.

"A football player. I thought you might be hungry for some big buff blonde cutie."

Spike chuckled.

"You're too good to me, pet. You know I like 'em big and buff."

His pressie had preened at the implied praise and then went pale, flushed red and went pale again as Spike stood up out of his nest of blankets to reveal his whipcord lean and highly muscled frame in all it's naked glory. Spike was nearly knocked off his feet by the double dose of human male pheromones that instantly flooded the tiny room.

Smirking, Spike sauntered across the room with both boy's eyes riveted on his every movement. He stalked over to his pet and grasped the boy's chin with one hand. Yanking his head around to the perfect angle, he attacked his pet's lips with his own, plundering his mouth and claiming his dominance over the teen. His pet moaned in delight and submitted to his whim happily.

After a long minute, Spike released his pet's mouth and was gratified to hear the boy panting for breath. He slipped his body around Xan until he was pressed firmly up against his pet's back and peering at his pressie over his boy's shoulder. Roaming his piercing blue eyes up and down the other boy's body, Spike enjoyed the blush from his frank appraisal.

"Mmmm, pet. You always bring me the nicest pressies. I'll bet he's a tasty one, eh?"

His pet's answer was to tilt his hips back and rub his firm bottom against Spike's groin while he whimpered deep in his throat. Always a good answer to any of Spike's questions, that, and apparently his pressie enjoyed it too, if the way his heartbeat picked up was any indication. Grinning, Spike tipped his head down and nibbled lightly against his pet's throat.

"Now now, pet. You wait your turn. Pressie first, reward second."

Another whimper followed by a sigh. Spike's grin turned up a notch and then he stalked around his pet towards his pressie. He stepped up to the teen and gazed into a face filled with equal parts lust and fear. Such a wonderful combination. It made the blood taste so sweet, so seductive, so *alive*.

The boy's eyes were almost black with arousal and the air surrounding him was saturated with pheromones making Spike's cock begin to fill as well. Slowly, as if with an animal just two shades shy of spooking, Spike lifted his hand and ran one fingertip along his pressie's jawbone gently. The boy gasped and shivered at his delicate touch.

Softly, slowly and oh so carefully, Spike traced the boy's face until his pressie was pressing into his touch, silently begging for more. His smirk shifting into a cruel leer, Spike suddenly thrust his hand into the short thickness of his pressie's hair and yanked the boy down to his knees. A startled fear filled yelp echoed about the room and his pet giggled quietly behind him.

Confusion etched itself onto the football player's face until Spike shifted his own into his gameface and then fear overrode any other emotion that the boy might have been feeling. His heartbeat began to hammer loudly and his heavy limbs trembled and oddly enough, the scent of his arousal grew even stronger.

His cruel laughter ringing from the rafters, Spike struck like a snake. One second he was standing there staring at the boy, the next his fangs were imbedded deeply into his flesh.

Blood.

Thick rich wonderful blood gushed out of the wound and poured down his throat in a fount of energy power and heat. Pleasure sizzled across long dead nerve endings and his senses seemed to focus a hundred times better. His pressie had been a healthy strong athlete and they always tasted so good. So pure and strong, filled with power and grace.

Moaning his delight, Spike slurped at his pressie's neck, drawing the warm blood into him, letting it fill him, enliven him, make him feel alive again. Slowly, little by little, drop by drop, he drained the teen dry. When no more blood could be coerced from his veins, a quick twist of his wrist snapped the boy's neck with a loud resounding crack.

Straightening up and licking his lips, Spike turned around to see his pet naked and laying on his back on their bed. His cock was straining against his big warm hand and it was purple with it's need. And those big dark eyes were fastened on him, taking in his every move.

"So beautiful when you kill. I love watching you, knowing that someday..."

Spike grinned at him.

"...but not till you're 21 years old."

His pet smirked back at him for a second, but then his expression became one of pleading once more.

"Please...Spike, I need you, *please*."

Chuckling, Spike sauntered back over to the bed he had just left and climbed back in. This time, he was laying on top of his pet, so it was a whole lot more fun. He took care to line up his own hard shaft with that of his boy's and then plastered his own body against his pet's. They both moaned at the pleasure.

For Spike, this was as close to heaven as he was certain he'd ever get. Warm thick blood filling his belly and a warm horny boy under him. *This* was the way unlife was *meant* to be.

He paused a moment to enjoy the wanton look on his pet's face as the boy tilted his head back to expose his throat even as he spread wide his legs so that Spike would settle down in between them. Then, not being able to hold back any longer, Spike had thrust his hips down, grinding his erection against his pet's. They both gasped and shivered for a brief moment and then they fell into a steady rhythm.

Pleasure swirled along his spine in pulses that originated in his cock and traveled along his nervous system and then back around the loop and directly into his balls. His pet thrust up against him as well and the friction was delightful. Heated flesh seared against his own and his pet's pheromones surrounded him in a thick heady cloud. Crimson light gathered at the base of his spine as the pressure in his balls built up to unbearable levels and then his control shattered and his fangs dropped down once more.

"Yes, oh please, yes."

His pet tilted his head to the side in a blatant offer and he could no more resist that than he could hold a cross in his bare hand. Leaning his head down, he ran his tongue up the length of that beautiful throat, the taste of salty sun-warmed skin exploding in his brain. A deep rumbling growl of possession vibrated his chest and then his fangs slid through the skin like twin knives and his pet's wonderful blood splashed against his tongue and throat.

With a shudder, Spike came, his dead seed spurting between their bodies. His pet let out a low moan of pleasure, thrust twice more and then he too was coming in hot jetting pulses.

Carefully pulling his fangs back out of his pet's neck, Spike had painstakingly licked the wound until it stopped bleeding. He needed to make certain that it healed properly and was clean. It wouldn't do for his pet to get an infection.

All in all, it had been a delightful way to start the evening off right. A delicious pressie followed by some sinfully messy frottage was a well spent half hour in Spike's book.

He had been about to delve into some more memories of "fun and games with the pet" when an odd humming sensation swept up his spine and settled into the base of his skull. Pulling himself out of his mental woolgathering, Spike looked around to see that he and his pet had found their way onto a dark and lonely street on the very edge of town. In fact, they were headed in the direction of a huge dilapidated old mansion. The only problem was, Spike couldn't quite figure out where the "humming" sensation was originating.

An elbow poked him lightly in the ribs and he glanced over at his pet to see the boy pointing down the street a ways.

"Is that girl one of the Slayer Candidates that we saw leaving the Bronze the other night?"

Spike followed the path with his eyes and saw the blonde haired girl that was just now turning off the street to enter the unkempt grounds around the old mansion he had just noted a moment ago. He squinted his eyes slightly and concentrated a bit. The "humming" sensation grew stronger.

"Yeah, pet. That's her. Pretty little thing for a Slayer, innit?"

His pet tipped his head in thought for a moment.

"Hmmm, yeah, she is pretty. Although, I can't figure out if she'd look prettier on my cock or just twisted up in a dead heap of flesh."

Spike chuckled with pride even as his pet turned earnestly innocent dark eyes up at him, a falsely angelic look plastered on his face.

"Can we try out both ideas, just to see? It could be, I don't know, like an experiment maybe?"

Sinister amusement dancing in his mind, Spike considered it.

"What? To see which you enjoyed more? Making her writhe in pleasure or making her writhe in pain?"

His pet nodded enthusiastically for a moment and then sighed and shrugged in pretend sadness.

"I'd probably just get off on both, huh?"

Spike chuckled, and patted his pet on the shoulder in mock sympathy.

"Yeah, pet. You probably would."

They shared an amused glance and then they both broke out in laughter.

They had almost reached the point where they could head onto the property surrounding the old mansion so that they could follow the Slayer inside when a loud banging sound startled them. Acting on reflex, Spike pulled his pet down behind the remains of the crumbling wall edging the property to keep him out of sight and danger. Just then, to his vast surprise, his *Sire* rushed out of the front door, across the lawn and out into the street moving too fast for a human to keep up.

"Angel!"

A feminine voice filled with worry and shock echoed through the still night air and Spike knew that had been the Slayer. For a brief second, he was conflicted in what he should do, but then his priorities straightened themselves out and he made an instant decision.

"Pet. Follow the Slayer. Don't let her out of your sight and don't let her follow Angel either. I'm going after me Sire."

And then in a flash, he was off and running, following his Sire's trail by scent and sound and the call of blood to blood. It was time.

*****
Part 5

* 7:50pm
Outside Sunnydale Highschool

Oz stumbled back a bit when another wave of intense scent hit his much abused nose. He tried to block it by bringing his arm up and covering the lower half of his face with the soft sleeve of his flannel shirt. Unfortunately, all that did was replace the scent of foul decay from the dumpster with the scents of laundry detergent and the lingering traces of the pot he had smoked with Devon earlier. Granted, those were *much* friendlier and welcome smells, but they were still *very* strong.

Walking as fast as he could past the dumpster, Oz tried hard not to feel panic. He kept telling himself that these olfactory hallucinations were not dangerous. That they were merely the product of his slight fever and too much partying lately. He just needed to cut down on the amount of drugs and alcohol that he took into his system. Then everything would go back to normal.

That's why he was out and about tonight instead of with the band. He couldn't play because of his hand and he was afraid that if he got stoned with them again that the smells would just keep getting worse and worse. So, he was going to see Willow. A few hours of calm and serene would do wonders for him. He was sure of it.

Maybe he could talk her into going on a moonlit walk?

Oz glanced up at the waxing moon. It was almost full and it looked particularly beautiful to him tonight. He wasn't the kind of guy who would normally notice things like the moon, but perhaps Willow just brought out the romantic in him? In any case, he just felt good to be under it's shinning rays and he knew that Willow would look wonderful by it's light.

Stepping out of the side street onto the main parkway that led directly to the Highschool, Oz spotted Buffy jogging down the street and heading directly for the school. He figured that she was going there to meet Willow. Oz knew that the two girls often studied in the Library and helped the librarian reshelve the books and stuff. He was about to call out to her and offer to walk with her, when something odd and slightly unnerving caught his attention.

She was being stalked.

He couldn't even say *how* he had noticed the hunter when Buffy didn't, but something about the furtive way the man moved and danced in and out of the shadows spoke to him in a primal way. It stirred something deep down in his blood.

He might not know the man or why he was following Buffy, but Oz knew the "hunter" well. Unbidden images of chasing down prey and discovering all of their secrets within the hidden bits of bone and flesh rose up in his mind. Those thoughts unsettled him and confused him even as they excited him. Shaking his head to banish them away, Oz watched as the man in the shadows darted forward after Buffy once more, only to duck behind a bit of stonework when her head glanced over to the side as she jogged.

A fierce feeling of protectiveness and possessiveness welled up in him. Buffy was *his*. She was *his* girlfriend's best-friend and *his* friend in her own right. Oz wasn't going to just stand by and let some strange man hunt her down and hurt her.

A low rumbling growl cut through the night and a tiny part of Oz's mind recognized it as coming from him, but he didn't pay too much attention to that fact. He had more important things to worry about. Like the fact that Buffy's stalker had just turned to stare at him. An amused chuckle floated softly out of the deep shadows, shadows that Oz could see into clearly to his mild surprise.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

Oz's eyes darted to the side, just long enough to see Buffy's slim form slip through the doors into the Highschool. She was safe. Relief swept through him and his eyes slid back to the hunter only to find that the man was edging towards him. A confrontation was about to begin and for some reason, Oz was looking forward to it. His pacifist beliefs falling away, leaving him with the urge to battle down this interloper on *his* territory.

As Buffy's stalker stepped closer, Oz could see that he wasn't a man, not yet. He was a teenager, like them. A kid. But a kid with a darkness in him, a ruthlessness that Oz could almost sense and appreciate in an animalistic way. Oz shook his head, it didn't matter if he could understand the need to hunt, this dark haired boy had targeted one of *Oz's* friends and that was intolerable.

"Mine!"

His normally soft and mellow voice was a growly snarl, and it would have startled him to hear it at any other time, but at the moment his focus was on the challenger. The boy wasn't upset by this at all. At ease with the night and the darkness around him, the boy merely glanced up at the moon quickly, nodded his head and then smirked at Oz.

"Oh, is she now, Wolf-boy? I'll keep that in mind...right before I rip her away from you and dance to the sound of her screams."

Oz growled again and crouched down low, his arms swinging free and loose from his body. The boy reacted instantly, coiling up tight and balling his hands into fists. He was a tense spring, ready to unleash it's pent up energy.

"Don't like that thought, Wolf-boy? I think it sounds like a *damn* good time."

Oz wasn't sure why the dark haired teen kept calling him "wolf-boy" and he wasn't about to take the time to ask. Normally, Oz didn't believe in fighting and violence, but at that very moment the only thing he believed in was the almost overwhelming desire to tear this kid apart.

Oz pounced.

With a growl of anger that echoed off of the nearby buildings, he threw himself on the teen. The boy was larger then Oz, taller and broader through the shoulders, but Oz was quicker and much more agile. The boy tried to twist away, but he wasn't fast enough and Oz caught him with a glancing blow on the left side. They both went down in a tumble of limbs.

White sharp pain flared up along the side of Oz's ribcage and he knew that he'd be bruised there tomorrow morning. Most likely in the shape of the teen's boot. Ignoring the throb of pain, Oz merely grunted and rolled with the impact to land back up on his feet in a low crouch. He looked up just in time to see the other boot come flying at his head, but Oz ducked down low and it sailed over him, whistling through the air.

Growing deep in his chest, Oz leapt up and towards the teen. They crashed together and fell back onto the ground. Curling his hands into fists, Oz rained down a few blows before the teen managed to plant his feet solidly on the ground and thrust up his hips, sending Oz flying off of him.

Oz's ears heard the distinctive "shnick" of a switchblade knife opening and then white-hot burning agony danced in a razor thin line along his thigh. His vision dimmed with the force of the pain and his entire body shook and jerked away. Oz screamed.

"What? You didn't think I was carrying a silver bladed knife? Do I *look* stupid to you? Puh-leeease. Give me a *little* credit!"

Oz peeled his eyes open and looked up through his tears of pain to see the bigger teen grinning down at him in glee, a shinning knife with red blood dripping from it in one hand. Oz's heart clenched in his chest and he knew he was going to die. Some part of him urged him to run, to acknowledge the boy as the stronger and more dominant of the two, but another part of him refused to go down without a fight. Oz was preparing to spring back up and go down fighting when a clatter of noise from down the street grabbed both his and his opponent's attention.

Buffy, Willow and Giles.

The three of them were coming down the steps of the school and were most likely headed this way. Oz wasn't sure whether to shout for help or to yell at them to run away and hide. He glanced up at the teen in time to see him start to slink back into the shadows once more.

"Until next time, Wolf-boy."

And then he was gone, slipping into the neck of a dark alley and into the blackness that Oz's eyes couldn't penetrate at this distance.

Turning back to look at his girlfriend, her best-friend and their mentor turning off of the school property and heading in his direction, Oz considered going to them and explaining was just happened, but for some reason, he didn't. It was almost too personal, this fight with the teen. He wanted to think on it and everything that had happened before he let the other's know.

His mind made up, Oz slinked back into the shadows himself. To watch and wait.

*

8:15pm
Westfield Cemetery, Sunnydale CA

Running. He had to keep running away. Far away. From *her*. From himself.

If he stopped running, he knew that he would hurt her. Would play with her, toy with her emotions and then destroy her utterly. Oh, how he wanted to do just that. He craved it like a junkie craves his next fix of heroin. He could feel his blood boil and race at the very thought of drinking her down, pulling her very essence into him.

So he ran. Vampiric speed pushed full out, he whipped between buildings and cars, trees and people. They seemed as if they were merely standing still, yet he knew that to them, he was a rushing blur. A chill gust of wind that would leave them with nightmares that they couldn't explain or understand. Something evil that had crossed their paths, the taint of death and horror drifting along in his wake.

And still he ran. Passed shadows and bright pools of electric light, passed tantalizing hints of scents and sounds. Never stopping to indulge, to explore. Just running. Fleeing. From the monster in his own mind. From the blonde Slayer that he both loved and hated. From *her*.

He ran until the landscape changed from that of the living to that of the dead. Headstones replaced people and lamp posts. Tombs and mausoleums replaced buildings and cars. Green grass replaced asphalt. And still he ran. Searching for some way to escape his own desires.

"Bloody *Hell* mate! Would you just *stop*, you poncy git!"

For a long moment, the words didn't make any sense to him. But the voice...oh that voice caressed his ears and wormed it's way into his brain. Angelus *howled* in his mental cage harder then ever. Screaming out for his boy, his childe...his William.

All at once, Angel realized that the surge of power and energy that he could feel chasing him was *not* the pure golden shimmering aura of the Slayer, but the dark cold power of another Master Vampire. It was a sensation that he didn't feel often...and this one felt familiar in a horrifying, chilling and disturbingly wonderful way.

Spike.

Skidding to a halt, Angel reached out with one hand and grasped hold of a chill gray headstone, pulling it from it's mooring in the ground as he used it to stop his forward momentum. Dirt and grass flew up in random clumps.

Angel looked around, his eyes narrowed in hunger, pain, suspicion and a deep inner unholy joy.

Spike ground to a halt ten feet away, his bleached blonde hair gleaming white under the moonlight, his black leather duster whipping about his legs. Once again, Angel was hit with the sight of his long-lost childe. His beautiful William, with the carved marble cheekbones and eyes the shade of a sunny spring morning. His greatest pride and his deepest regret.

Angelus went mad inside of his mind. The demon's lust and desire for his childe was almost overwhelming. He threw memories and images at Angel in swift succession. The two of them chasing down a bunch of rowdy sailors on the docks of some nameless small coastal town. The two of them escorting Darla and Drusilla to some fancy ball and then feasting on the rich and powerful guests. Hunting through the dark alleys of every city they had ever visited. Nights spent curled around each other's naked bodies in front of a roaring fireplace. Violent blood soaked sex as they penetrated each other over and over with cock and fangs alike.

A slight tremble shook Angel's hands at the force of the emotions behind those images and memories. He clutched desperately at the headstone in a crushingly tight grip to hide that tremor from Spike's keen eyes.

"You're not an easy man to track down, luv. Gave me a good bit of sport, too. Then again, you always were a wanker. You *do* know that, don't'cha peaches?"

Unsure how to deal with the fact that part of him, the souled part, wanted to stake Spike as a soulless demon and merciless killer and that the *other* part of him, the one that was *also* a demon...and Spike's Sire to boot, wanted to strip the blonde down naked and fuck him into submission, Angel decided to go on the offensive.

"Spike! What are you doing here?"

Spike spread his arms wide, a falsely innocent expression pasted onto his beautiful face.

"Peaches! You wound me. I'm just here to have a long overdue talk with me Sire, ain't I? No mischief, me."

Spike's look of shock and hurt innocence melted into a leer.

"Well, not *much* mischief anyway."

Angel growled. He was irritated at Spike for being here. For threatening, not only the populace of Sunnydale with his very presence, but for threatening Angel's fragile hold on his sanity and his soul.

"There is *nothing* we have to say to each other."

Spike growled at him. The blonde pointed at him and spoke in a voice that was half snarl.

"That's where you're wrong, mate. We have *plenty* to say to each other. If you like, we can start with why the *bloody hell* you left? Me and Dru, we didn't know where you were, if you were even undead and kicking ass somewhere or just a big ole pile of dust. All we had was your cow of a Sire to replace you with, and let me tell you straight up, that *wasn't* adequate compensation, luv."

Old well-worn guilt rushed up inside of Angel at Spike's words. Guilt for leaving them, guilt for creating them in the first place. Guilt for never staking himself or just letting them know what was going on with him. The pain of losing his childer was almost as strong as the pain of being rejected by his Sire. Of being pushed away without any care or regard.

Angel sighed, he felt suddenly tired and he knew that despite that, he couldn't let his guard down. He had to continue to fight, only now it was on two fronts. Spike on the outside and Angelus on the inside.

"I didn't have any choice. You *know* that."

Spike stomped his foot and threw a balled up fist into the air and shook it at Angel.

"No! I *don't* know that! You *did* have a bloody choice! Do you *honestly* think that Dru and I *cared* about your stupid fucking soul? We would have taken you *back*! You were our bloody SIRE!"

Angel's head snapped up and he stared at Spike in shocked confusion.

"But Darla said that..."

He never got to finish that thought. Spike cut him off with a wave of one hand through the air and his sharp toned voice.

"Bugger that *bitch* Angelus! She didn't speak for me and Dru. She had no hold over us beyond the fact that she was our only link to *you*!"

Angel felt as if he'd been slapped. His heart ached for the pain and loss that not only *he* had suffered, but that he was just now realizing that his childer had suffered as well. Angelus howled and raged inside of him. The demon *wanted* his childe, wanted to feel him close, to hunt and kill side by side once more. To fuck and fight, to love and destroy. To be a *family* again.

"But..."

Spike shoved his hands into his duster's pockets.

"NO. There is *no* 'but' here Angelus. You were our *Sire* and you just up and *left* us because of that tarted up whore's actions. It was *her* fault that you got cursed and it was *her* fault that you were banished from our unlives."

Spike looked up at him then, an odd look that told Angel more than any words could that his childe was no longer the young fledgling that he had left behind. Spike was a Master Vampire in his own right and was very very dangerous.

"It ends now. Here, catch."

And with those softly whispered words, Spike whipped his hands free of the duster pockets and threw something small at Angel. Acting purely on reflex, Angel reached out and caught the small object in one hand. Instantly, he could feel strong magics wash over him and Angelus thrashed inside his mental cage in unholy glee. In horror, Angel glanced down at the thing and had a quick moment to see that it was a talisman. A little shiny bauble with a strong curse on it.

Pain flared bright hot in his chest and a wave of sickening vertigo washed over him, making the world spin and shiver around him. Clutching the talisman tightly in his fist, Angel dropped to his knees, fighting back the urge to vomit.

Then suddenly, Angelus' mental cage was flung open and the demon was set free in his mind and Angel felt himself roughly shoved inside of the cage in it's place. The mental door was shut and the key twisted in the lock. Shuddering with fear and horror, he realized that Angelus was free to hunt and kill...and he had a front-row seat view of everything that was going to happen, trapped inside of Angelus' head. A tear streaming down his face, Angel heard Angelus talk using his own voice.

"FREE AT LAST!!!!!!!"

*****
tbc...