WWWWW
It was the sound of a hangover. Those
first guttural groans of pain, working up through the throat and into a mouth
that felt like it was lined with sandpaper.
"Oh god," Willow
muttered, keeping her eyes firmly shut and snuggling closer to the cool chest
she was lying on, her arms tightening their hold on the broad expanse of flesh.
Then the all too familiar rumble of laughter sounded below her ear and she
moaned. "I'm never drinking champagne again."
"Hush, darlin',"
Angelus purred, his fingers buried in her hair, massaging her aching head while
his thumb caressed her temple. Something shifted beneath her legs and it seemed
that the whole bed moved, eliciting another groan from the suffering redhead.
Cool fingers ran over the arches of her feet as lips suckled against the back
of her knees.
"Ugh, don't," she
hissed, kicking out the hands. The fingers, with one last sweep of her arches,
traveled higher, dragging lightly over her ankles and up to the crook of her
knees that the lips had been caressing. Groaning, she squirmed as a cool tongue
zigzagged across the crack of her ass and followed the path of her spine, the
hands skimming along the lines of her body, coming to rest on her shoulders,
massaging lightly as a hard male body lay down on top of her, forcing her
breath to escape and her stomach to lurch. "Get off me!"
"Spike," Angelus
rumbled the warning at the blond. "Make her throw up on me and you're
giving an encore performance of your death."
"She's got nothing left to
heave. You're forgetting who had hair holding duty..."
"Oh, shut up," whined
Willow, visions of toilet bowls and Spike's teasing voice hollering 'there she
blows' suddenly popping up, unwarranted and unwanted. The laughter came in
surround sound stereo and under the comfortable pressure of Spike's weight she
rubbed her cheek against Angelus' chest. "Make him stop."
"She's so cute when she
begs," Spike laughed, dipping his head to suckle the rounded point of her
shoulder. His fingers played across her ribs, closing in on a sensitive spot
and tickled unmercilessly. Willow squirmed and whimpered under his unrelenting
weight.
"Leave her alone,
Spike," murmured Angelus, pushing the mischievous blond off the girl
sprawled on his chest. With a cheeky growl, Spike mouthed her lower back and
slipped down between his sire's spread legs, one hand still tracing the
suffering girls spine.
"My head aches," Willow
stated, miserably shifting up higher on her saviors chest to escape further
attacks from the tormentor.
"Well what do you expect if
you drink so much?" asked Spike, moving up to lick her spine, blowing
softly on the wet path and smirking at the shiver it produced.
"It's a bad thing,"
stated Willow, a tear escaping from the corner of her eye. It was horrible.
Sure, she'd drunk with Angelus before, enough to get more than a little tipsy,
but the result had never been this severe. Wincing, she opened her eyes and
focused, first on the pale expanse of flesh with a hard dusky nipple and then
on to the sculpted bicep, past that was the wide expanse of rumpled sheets of Angelus'
bed. Willow groaned as various bits and pieces of the night flittered through
her mind. Debauched wasn't the word for it and the images certainly explained
the added aches and pains of her body. Silently, she wondered if the throwing
up had come before or after the decadence, she just hoped it hadn't happen
during. "I'm never going to drink that much again."
And there it was again, the
chuckling, a rumble that vibrated under her ear.
"I'm sure you won't," agreed
Angelus, bringing his hand up to cover her eyes, his thumb caressing the curve
of her eyebrow. "Sleep, you can stay home today."
"School," hissed
Willow, sitting up and instantly regretting it. Clutching her aching head, she
fought to stop from gagging. Although at the sound of Spike's laughter, she
ruefully thought if it had been the blond directly below her she'd gleefully
hurl. Even as Angelus pulled her back down, kissing her tortured brow, she
could only think of one thing. "I've got to go, stupid assessable test
after lunch. I can't let my grades drop."
"They won't," Angelus
whispered.
"What?" she snapped,
pushing herself off his chest and staring down at his smirking face. She shook
her head, ignoring the bile that was rising in her throat, and swallowed back
the pain. "Don't...I don't want you..." she struggled for a suitable
word in her hung over state. "Tampering with my grades. They're
mine."
Chuckling at her outburst,
Angelus trailed his fingers over the soft swell of her naked breasts, causing
the nipples to harden and a scarlet flush to spread across her flesh. Following
the blush upwards, he wrapped his fingers about the gold choker and his smile
faded as he pulled her back down onto his chest.
"And you're mine," he
growled softy. The smile returned at her startled look and he caught her lips,
teasing them open with his tongue and coaxing hers to play. Breaking the kiss,
he released the hold on her choker and wrapped her up in his arms. He smiled
and shook his head as Spike reached out to torment her again. Denied the
privilege, the blond did the next best thing, moved down to rest against the
older vampire's legs and went about tormenting him instead. Closing his eyes,
Angelus leant back against the comfort of his pillow, stroking the vibrant red
hair while Spike played. "You've already missed your first class, you can
go in after lunch if you want to..."
"You don't, do you?"
she asked cautiously, her body tense against him. "Mess with my grades, I
mean? 'Cause I work hard to get those marks and I don't want...I don't...I want
to know that it's me that responsible for getting a good mark not just
because..."
"You get everything you
deserve, darlin'," stated Angelus kissing the top of her head.
"Okay, good," Willow
stated, closing her eyes and relaxing under the soothing stroking of her hair.
Wriggling, she found a more comfortable position on his chest, pressing her
breasts flat against him and throwing an arm about his waist. "I have to
go in anyway," Willow murmured sleepily, wondering what Spike was doing
that kept him so quiet and caused Angelus' muscles to twitch, although she
didn't really care as long as it kept the blond from tormenting her. "You
want me to spend some time with..."
She didn't even get to say
Buffy's name before Angelus cut her off with nonchalant grunt. One of his hands
strayed down Willow's back to stroke Spike's head as the blond's lips closed
around the head of his achingly hard cock.
"You've got plenty of time
to do that. If the opportunity arises, fine," he stated, moaning slightly
as Spike's tongue teased him. "If not you don't have to go out of your
way."
***
The opportunity did arise and
that night found Willow and Buffy patrolling together. After her afternoon
classes had been attended, Willow had hesitantly made her way to the library.
It was complete mayhem with Giles and the Scooby's still frantically searching
for information. Although there were no apologies, she was welcomed back into
the fold, yesterday's events forgotten by all and she was immediately put to
work. Still suffering from a slight headache, Willow was more than happy to
escape to the stacks under the pretense of trying to find information in the
various volumes of demonology. Of course she knew if she had gone straight to
the volume and brought it to Giles attention it would just look too odd for
words, so she lingered in the shadows of the stacks and listened to the various
occupants of the library...or rather to Cordelia and Xander making out. She'd
crept closer to the sounds and watched them through the stacks, catching
glimpses of wandering hands, clumsily grasping at various body parts and she
wondered if the display was typical of an adolescent heavy petting session.
When the panting gave way to muffled moans, she turned away, taking the Velzum
Chronicles with her. It was then, when the harmless nature of the demons had
been revealed, that Buffy had asked Willow to patrol with her and the redhead
had somewhat reluctantly agreed.
Even now, as they walked through the
deserted park, Willow couldn't help but muse over how easy and quickly the
hours had passed. They had left the library together and done the usual rounds,
patrolling various cemeteries and known haunts, including calling in at the
Bronze where they sat for nearly an hour having drinks with Xander and
Cordelia, gossiping about various things. The conversation, while shallow and
superficial, never stopped and to anyone they would have appeared to be nothing
more than two girls out for a walk.
"So, your mom is getting a
new display in for the gallery?" Willow asked as they continued on the
path through the park.
"Yeah, coming up from LA
early next month. She's majorily wigging over it, you should see the PR work
she's got going," Buffy shook her head in disbelief. "I never knew
that it was..."
The abrupt ending of the sentence
was the only warning Willow got that something was wrong before the cold arm
shot across her chest and a grotty hand clamped down on her shoulder. In the
space of a heartbeat, she knew her neck was going to be snapped. As the hand
settled under her chin to twist her head back, Willow swung, pushing against
the loose hold on her shoulder, and turned her body to follow the path her head
would take from the jerk of the hand on her chin. It was just like every time
Spike had tried that move on her in their training sessions, the attacker,
caught off guard by her move into the action, overbalanced and the weight of
her body spinning into his sent them both crashing to the ground. Her assailant's
body cushioned her briefly before it dissolved into ashes and she landed on the
fallen branch that had staked him. Scrambling, she sat up in time to see Buffy
fighting with a second vampire.
For all appearances the Slayer
seemed to be doing okay, landing more punches than she was blocking and the
vamp was cowering down. Then, with a swiftness that terrified Willow, the
downed vamp cannonballed his fist straight into Buffy with enough force to rip
through the flesh, the momentum of the blow rocketing his hand deep up inside
the Slayer. Shocked, Buffy opened her mouth and stared down at the vampire's
disappearing arm and the bright blood staining her top, her own arms fell
uselessly to her sides.
"No," screamed Willow,
clambering to her feet, immediately overbalancing and falling to her hands and
knees. In a flash of peroxide hair and black leather, the attacking vampire was
pulled away and Buffy fell to her knees, a slaver of blood and saliva leaving
her open mouth. Glancing at the brawling vampires, Willow got to her feet and
stumbled towards her friend. By the time she'd turned back, Buffy was
unconscious, looking very much like a discarded rag doll, having fallen in a
crumpled heap.
"Oh god, Buffy,"
whimpered Willow, dropping to her knees beside the prone Slayer, not even
conscious of the fact that she was kneeling in a pool of her friends blood.
Hesitantly, she reached out when Spike's voice halted her movement.
"Don't touch her," he
hissed, looming above the fallen girls.
"But, she's hurt..."
"I know that, give me your
shirts," stated Spike, shrugging out of his duster and squatting down next
to the prone Slayer. Willow stared at him, slacked jawed, her eyes glassy from
shock. "Bloody hell, give me your fucking shirts NOW!"
The force of the command startled
Willow into action, quickly stripping out of the linen shirt and cotton t-shirt
she was wearing, and handing them over to Spike. In exchange, he held out his
duster and all she could do was stare blindly at it. So he threw it at her.
"Put it on, love," he
muttered, folding up the t-shirt and twirling the long sleeve shirt into one
strip. With the skill of any paramedic, he did a makeshift-patching job on the
Slayer, stilling the flow of her blood. That done, he stood and gathered the
damaged girl in his arms. Without even glancing at Willow, he started to walk
away, leaving her holding his duster and kneeling in her friend's blood.
"Move your ass or she'll die."
Stumbling, Willow got to her
feet, pulling on the duster and running to follow the blond as he swiftly made
his way to the Sunnydale hospital.
"We need help here,
quickly!" he shouted, walking through the doors of the emergency room.
Willow watched as people swarmed around him, replacing black and red with pure
white, obstructing her view. They were asking a million questions that Spike
ignored, his bundle still bled, the scarlet liquid dripping down to form a
puddle on the white floor. Willow could only stare at that growing spot of
color as the white continued to hide Spike and Buffy from her. Just as quickly
as it had formed, the swarm of white dispersed in a flurry of noise and
movement, and Spike grabbed her arm, dragging her away.
"Buffy's going to die,"
whispered Willow, faltering as she tried to keep up the pace he was setting.
"I wouldn't be worrying
about the Slayer right now," growled Spike as his fingers dug deeper into
her arm and she struggled to keep up with him. By the time they got back to the
mansion, her arm was numb and Spike was well and truly peeved. He shoved her
into her rooms with enough force to send her sprawling to the ground. "You
fucking stay there."
It was a snarl of pure rage.
Slamming her doors shut, he left to bellow orders and demand answers, his main
concern was to find Angelus.
But Willow didn't hear as she
pushed herself slowly off the floor with a stifled sob. She was covered in
blood, dry and drying. Sitting back on her knees, she turned her hands over,
morbidly entranced by the stains as she struggled to breathe. Buffy was dead,
Willow was certain of that and she had the Slayer’s blood on her hands.
Gagging, she rubbed her hands together in an attempt to clean them, she pulled
at her fingers and clawed at her wrists, the crimson stains only seemed to get
brighter.
"No, no, no, no...."
she repeated. With every panicked movement the blood soaked cuff of the duster
brushed against her hands, leaving lashes of fresh blood. The damp feel of the
cuff against her hands halted her excessive clawing and she curled her fingers
around the slimy cuff, her free hand dragging across the leather and coming up
scarlet. There was too much blood. It stained and marked everything, the stench
of it filled the air, mixing with leather and cigarettes. Buffy was dead, she
couldn't have survived after such an attack, not with so much blood loss.
Screaming and struggling Willow tore at the duster, her wild movements tangling
it tightly about her before she managed to pull it off and push it away. Still
there was the smell and the blood...it covered her, large patches of her skirt
had turned dark, the bare skin of her torso had flecks of scarlet against the
pale, even her bra which had been protected by her shirts held specks of red.
"Oh god," she sobbed,
bringing her hands up to push her hair back, smearing the very thing she hated
through the fine strands. Her fingers caught on tangles and she tugged them
free, ignoring the pain of the action. Slowly, she clasped her hands together,
twisting and turning them, watching the light play over the stains as she
rocked on her knees. It was the only thing she could do, stare at the stains
and rock, she couldn't cry, couldn't scream, could hardly even move.
Beyond the doors of her rooms the
mansion had erupted into chaos, various voices echoed about, whispers of what
had happened twisted and warped reality, and those with sense cowered away. At
the sound of the Mercedes roaring down the drive, the few vampires remaining in
the mansion scuttled into the shadows and were no longer visible as the main
door was pushed open with enough force for it to slam into the wall and crack.
"Spike," Angelus
hollered, striding across the foyer and storming up the stairs. "What the
hell happened?"
Within moments Spike had the dark
haired vampire up to date.
"And Willow?" Angelus
asked.
"She's here, in her
rooms," he replied, nodding toward the closed doors.
"And she's alright?"
"Physically," stated
Spike, causing Angelus to tilt his head at the response. "Actually she did
well, took the stupid git out before I even had a chance. The Slayer..."
"Damn the Slayer, I don't
want to know about her," hissed Angelus, turning away to pace. Silently,
Spike lit a cigarette and watched him.
"What do you want to do about
the little girl then?" Spike spoke softly, already knowing what the answer
would be.
"Get the lash, meet me in
her rooms," Angelus stated, walking to the doors that hid her from their
view. As he opened the door he found her exactly where she had landed, Spike's
abandoned duster lying next to her as she rocked, her back to the doors.
"Willow."
She didn't answer him, didn't
once pause in the rhythmic rocking motion, the only response was a slight
increase in her heartbeat and a sharp intake of air.
"Get up, Willow," when
his demand went unacknowledged, he reached out and pulled her to her feet. It
was then that she surged to life, struggling and shoving at him with her
bloodied hands. Mildly amused, he put up with the struggles until one of her
hands struck at his face. Effortlessly, he caught her bawled up fist and
twisted it, making her cry out. "Stop it now!"
He held the glassy green gaze
long enough to know that she'd heard him and would obey. Still he held onto
her, his fingers closing around her upper arms, one hand pressing against the
bruises that Spike had caused. With a firm hold, he looked her over, his eyes
slowly taking in the state of undress, the stale blood and the general grit
that stuck to the fine sheet of sweat that covered her body. His eyes narrowed
as they returned to hers.
"Look at you," he
snarled, pushing her away in disgust. "You're filthy. Covered in dirt and
god only knows what else...why the hell didn't you get cleaned up? It's not
like you've not had the time."
Willow frowned and shook her
head, unable to answer.
"Speaking of time," he
growled, circling the redhead. "What time is it, Willow?"
"What?" she asked,
trying to focus on him.
"Time," he shouted in
her ear, making her flinch away from him. "What time is it?"
His face was set in stone, cold
and hard. Willow glanced around the room, no clocks, no watch, she didn't have
the faintest idea what time it was.
"I...I don't know," she
stated shaking her head, the nights events starting to catch up with her.
"Let's try a simpler
question then," he spoke quietly, stopping in front of her to lean forward
and whisper in her ear. "What time are you meant to be in by?"
She stared blankly at him, unable
to register the importance of the question he asked. Still silent, she frowned
and shook her head. One of the first things he'd ever told her was that she had
to be in by nine...
"Nine o'clock," she
whispered hoarsely as the enormity of the situation hit her. It had been after nine
when she and Buffy had gone to the Bronze, she'd missed her curfew. The brown
eyes that stared her down flashed yellow with anger and she physically stepped
back, her mind going into overdrive to try and reason her way out of the
situation. "But you told me to..."
Her words were cut off as his
open hand cracked across her face. The blow was hard enough to send her
sprawling to the ground, her backward slide halted as she crashed into Spike's
legs.
"Did I say you could break
your curfew?" Angelus growled, glaring down at her. She cradled her face
as the fact hit home. She'd broken one of the first rules ever set and failed
to return by nine. And he was right, he had told her to spend time with the
Slayer but he never gave her permission do more than that and certainly not to
break her curfew.
"It wasn't my fault,"
she backpedaled, desperately trying to stop the terrifying events that were
unfolding. "Buffy promised me..."
With a feral roar of infuriation,
Angelus swooped down, his hand closing tightly about her throat and pulled her
up off the floor. Struggling uselessly, she clawed at his confining hand,
unable to breathe under the stranglehold.
"The damn Slayer!"
snarled Angelus, rolling his eyes in annoyance, accentuating his words by
shaking her. "Why the hell do you put so much faith in that tramp? Is she
here now? Is she the one responsible for your actions?"
With a final shake, he released
her and she dropped back down to her feet, gasping for breath. She stumbled and
fell to the floor, one hand rubbing at her numbed neck. Keeping her eyes on his
boots she spoke out.
"She promised we'd be
back..."
"She promised, she
promised," mimicked Angelus, his features twisting in mockery. Grabbing a
fistful of dirty hair he pulled her up again. "Her promises will get you
killed. Do you know how close you came to death tonight because of her? Tell me
something...did she protect you? Hmm? Come on, tell me she did, tell me she
fought off your attacker and led you to safety...No, she didn't. And you know what,
darlin', she never will."
Using the hand tangled in her
hair, he shoved her back down to the floor, her hands breaking the force of her
fall. The very things that saved her from falling face first into the floor
were yanked from under her and Angelus dragged her into the bedroom. Within the
blink of an eye Willow found herself shackled to one of the tall solid
bedposts, her wrists bound by the thick leather of Angelus' belt. At any other
time, she would have thought it amusing that she was in the same position as
when he'd laced up the corset. Instead, she was terrified, tugging and writhing
against the restraint, the heavy leather cutting into her wrists.
"How late was she,
Spike?" asked Angelus, keeping his eyes fixed on her as he stepped forward
and tore her bra away, tossing it aside like a useless rag.
"An hour and then
some," Spike stated from behind her. She couldn't see him, only hear the
calm voice.
"How much is 'then some' do
you think?" Angelus directed the question at Willow, still uselessly
twisting her wrists. She shook her head, her face paling.
"I...I don't know...fifteen
maybe twenty minutes," Willow guessed.
"Give her a lash for every
minute she was late," Angelus stated, his voice steady and low.
"No! Angel please," she
screamed hysterically, tears falling down her face as she twisted at the belt
that held her hands. It was the first time that Willow had called him that and
to all those present in the room there was no mistaking why she had done
so...she was desperately trying to appeal to any remnant of the man she once
knew. Please, please don't do this. I won't ever be late again. Please..."
***
"Hush darlin'," he
murmured, reaching out to stroke her hair. Slowly, he moved in closer to the
bedpost, both his hands cupping her face. A soft reassuring smile curled at his
lips and his brown eyes caught her frantic gaze. Leaning forward, he kissed her
forehead, his thumbs caressing her wet cheeks. Hiccupping, Willow stilled under
his ministration, closing her eyes she leant into his caress, taking a deep
ragged breath as his tongue traced the path of her tears and he pressed a kiss
to each of the closed lids. Soft butterfly kisses wandered over her temple and
down to her ear. "Poor thing, you have to learn to accept the consequences
of your actions. You broke the rules...accept the punishment."
Before the word had even finished
whispering across her ear, the lash fell with enough force to send her hurtling
into the bedpost. Her feet slid out from under her and the muscles in her
shoulders screamed in agony as she fell, her arms taking her whole weight.
Scrambling for purchase on the floor, she struggled to find her footing only to
have another lash sear her shoulders. This time the leather ripped into the
skin, slashing through muscle that was knotted and tense, drawing blood. It was
the third lash, striking her lower back with enough force to bruise her
kidneys, which made her scream. The whip tongue wrapped about her waist,
cutting through the flesh like a hot knife through butter, and as the blow was
repeated she screamed louder. The leather continued to beat against her back,
her struggles to get back to her feet long forgotten as she hung her head and
cried. The screams died off as she tried to focus on anything but the pain,
gulping in burning breaths as the room spun, the colors becoming nothing more
than black and angry, painful red and the only thing she could hear was the
dull roar of the blood pounding through her body. By the thirteenth blow,
Willow slumped completely against the bedpost, no longer fighting or trying to
alleviate the pain. The fourteenth saw her eyes flutter shut and her head
lolled back. By the fifteenth she was completely unconscious.
"Enough," ordered
Angelus, moving forward, his hands working to undo the belt that bound her to
the bed.
"So disappointing,"
Spike stated curling back the whip, his fingers caressing the leather flay,
coating his digits in her blood. Slowly, he raised his fingers and sucked them
clean, savoring her taste. Tossing the whip aside, he turned and watched as
Angelus released her hands, catching her before she could slump to the ground.
"I really thought she was made of more."
"Mmm," murmured
Angelus, gathering the bleeding redhead up in his arms and carefully laying her
down on the bed and casting her shoes aside. Sitting next to her, Angelus
absentmindedly ran his fingers through the various deep gashes, tracing the
paths of blood that wept from the wounds. "I forgot how very fragile
little girls are..."
"Still, I thought she'd last
longer," Spike said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Always next time
I suppose..."
"There won't be a next
time," Angelus spoke quietly, his fingers nimbly working on the fastenings
of Willow's skirt. "What's the word on the Slayer?"
"Still in the operating
theatre, probably will be until early morning. She'll live," Spike stated,
leaning against the bedpost and watching as Angelus continued to strip away the
remaining few clothes of the unconscious girl.
"What do you make of it
Spike?" he asked, tossing aside the skirt and knickers, his fingers
straying back to the weeping gashes.
"There's not a lot to make
of it. Retrieving a heart, with out damaging it...verification of an
order," idly he searched his pockets and drew out his packet of cigarettes.
"We'll know soon enough. He was badly hurt and can't have gotten far. I
dare say the lads are already on their way back with him."
"He's been sent here,
there's no doubt about that," Angelus mused, glancing up as the blond lit
a cigarette and took a deep drag.
"Do you think it
was..."
"I know who sent him, that's
not important," Angelus stated, sitting up and reaching out for the
cigarette. He took a deep drag before twisting his hand to focus on the glowing
cherry. "What I want to know is how the hell he got so damn close without
us knowing...obviously someone gave him sanctuary..."
"We have a traitor amongst
our midst?" Spike asked, smirking at the very idea as he leant forward to
take back his cigarette. Angelus settled back against the bed, his hands once
more straying to Willow's tattered back.
"No, just a fool and no one
of any great importance. Still," Angelus paused mid stroke. "It's not
something I want to encourage. Make sure the boys bring him back here alive and
call a meeting for two."
"What about her?" Spike
jerked his chin toward the redhead. "She'll need to be cleaned up, all
that filth she's covered in."
"Leave us be," Angelus
stated, tilting his head to watch the blood pooling in the deep cuts.
Pushing himself away from the
bedpost, Spike gave a final glance to the couple on the bed and wandered out of
the rooms. When he returned some hours later the scene was different. The room
had been cleared of any evidence of the brutality that had taken place and
Willow was alone in the bed, clean, carefully groomed and sleeping soundly.
Setting down the goblet he had brought with him, Spike tilted his head as he
watched the girl sleep. He too had been privy to having Angelus clean him up,
undoubtedly the dark haired vampire had carefully bathed the girl and seen to
her wounds with a tenderness that would surprise most. But that time had passed
and she was needed elsewhere.
"Get up," he hissed,
throwing back the sheet, exposing the deep crisscrossing gashes he was
responsible for. Wrapping his fingers about her arm, he pulled the half
sleeping redhead from the bed, causing her to scream. Reaching out, he picked
up the goblet and brought it up to her lips. Twisting her head, she pulled
away, crying out at the pain the movement caused. Spike tightened his hold and
held the glass to her lips again. "I don't have time for these games,
Willow. Drink it or I'll force it down your throat."
Holding back her tears, Willow
closed her eyes and drank, almost choking on the sweet tasting alcohol. It
burnt a path down her throat and caused her empty stomach to roll. As her
stomach lurched, she turned her head, gagging to keep from throwing up on
Spike. He let her go and downed the rest of the wine, savoring the slight taste
of his sire's blood that tainted it. Silently, he turned away to fetch a dress
that had been laid out for her by Angelus. He easily maneuvered her into the
long green dress, Chinese in style but devoid of the tiny colored detail work.
Even as the silk brushed against her back, the tears welled up in her eyes.
Spike pursed his lips, his fingers buttoning up the gown.
"Don't waste your tears, no
one here to appreciate them," he stated and Willow bit her lip, trying to
stop the flood. His fingers left the gown and curled around her arm, dragging
her with him. "Come on."
"Spike, I can't," she
whispered, wanting nothing more than the pain to stop or at least stay in bed
until moving no longer felt like a punishment from hell.
"Listen to me, and listen
carefully," Spike hissed, still pulling her along, making her use the very
muscles that were screaming in agony. "We are going downstairs and you're
going to act like there's nothing wrong. You don't flinch, you don't whimper,
you don't do a thing. Keep your head up, speak when spoken to."
They reached the top of the
stairs and Spike turned to face her, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You
can't afford to fuck this up. Do exactly what you are told. Stay three paces
behind me, when we get down there you stand to the left of Angelus, keeping the
three paces behind him..."
"I don't think..." she
whimpered. Spike shook her hard enough to make her stop.
"No, you don't think, you
just do it," he stated, glaring at her. "Got it?"
Her bottom lip trembled and she nodded,
dropping her eyes down and Spike swore.
"Tell me," he snarled,
tightening his grip and making her gasp. "Isn't that just something I told
you not to do?"
Biting the inside of her cheek,
she took a deep breath and forced herself to block out the pain, the fear, and
the confusion.
"I walk three paces behind
you, then I go to Angelus' left, keeping that distance. I don't look down and
no matter what, I remain indifferent," she spoke softly, trying to keep
the tremor from her voice.
"And don't show you're hurt,
regardless," Spike released her, his eyes searching hers, clearly seeing
the pain. "Right then."
He turned and stepped onto the
top stair and Willow waited, wondering if she could indeed do what he demanded.
When his boot hit the third step, Willow lowered her bare foot to the cool
surface of the first step. Without Spike's support it was difficult for her to
move, her back causing her no end of agony, but she bit down on the inside of
her cheek and forced herself to move. Her false bravado wavered slightly as
Angelus' voice echoed about, she bit harder and focused on Spike's back. Then,
as the room came into full view, her teeth drew blood. Gathered in a semi
circle were twenty or so vampires, some in game face, others not. Angelus faced
them, standing with his legs spread, hands clasped behind his back, but in
front of him was another vampire, broken and bloody, cowering on his knees. It
was the vampire who had attacked Buffy.
Willow, as instructed, stopped
slightly to the left of Angelus, three paces behind him, his bulk basically
hiding her from the room. Instinct took over and she let her eyes wander,
taking in the room's occupants, ignoring the conversation that was going on,
preferring to concentrate on the faces. Spike stood to Angelus' right, clearly
visible, and further on stood Drusilla, her doll firmly tucked into the crook
of her arm, her eyes fixed on the fallen vampire. Willow glanced away as the
dark hair vampire met her gaze, there was no one else that she recognized from
the group and she wondered exactly why she had been brought downstairs.
"Willow," Angelus
purred her name and she turned her head to face him.
"Yes, Angelus," her
voice was quiet but steady, her face emotionless. His back was turned to the
congregation and taking his time he casually made his way over to her, circling
before stopping on her left. Remaining still, she tilted her head slightly and
glanced up at him.
"What do you think,
Willow," Angelus asked, motioning towards the broken vampire. "He
begs for mercy..."
Slowly, she dragged her eyes from
the chocolate gaze and stared at the cowering vampire. He'd been badly beaten,
bones that protruded through flesh were safely hidden from her view by his
clothes, but the only thing she could really see were his hands. The hand that
had been thrust so deep within the Slayer was still stained with the blood, the
ragged nails caked with it. Willow kept her eyes firmly fixed on the
delinquent.
"He was aware of the
consequences his actions would cause," Willow stated, her voice cold and
distant. "He should be punished accordingly."
It was a lesson she had learnt
and accepted, one that she had just experienced. If Angelus was testing her,
she'd passed with flying colors.
"Out of the mouths of
babes," Angelus mused, turning away from Willow and strolling back to the
fallen vamp, addressing the vampires before him. "A girl, nothing more
than a child, can, with simplistic ease, understand the most basic of concepts.
And yet you, with your decades of experience, centuries for some, cannot."
He paused, running a critical eye over the group. "I will not tolerate
fools or insubordination and anyone ignorant enough to believe otherwise
deserves a fitting retribution." Slowly, he waited until the vampires
before him dropped their heads, then he turned his attention to the cowering
vampire still on the floor. "You are nothing more than a waste of space.
Crucify him."
A general gasp went up and
murmurs started rippling through the crowd. Angelus turned to Spike, "Take
him to the west garden, under the wall. He can hang from the cross until the
sun does its work."
Spike tilted his head in
acknowledgment, he was already calling for the minions as Angelus turned away.
Ignoring the terrified screams of mercy from the condemned vampire, Angelus
strolled over to Willow and picked her up. Swallowing back a cry of agony, she
wrapped her arms about his neck as he slowly headed upstairs.
"Simple really, isn't
it?" asked Angelus, spinning them around as he headed back to her rooms.
She didn't have the chance to answer as a scream pierced the air, nothing more
than animalistic pain, and Willow shuddered. The screams increased and Willow
couldn't stand it any longer, the tears she'd fought to hide slid down her
cheeks. "What are you crying for, darlin'? Yourself or that worthless
piece of flesh out there?"
Willow shook her head and
hiccupped, the sobs wracking her body, jarring her back. Angelus smirked and
pressed a kiss to her temple, frowning at the heat that replaced the normal
warmth. Setting her down, he cupped her face briefly before his nimble fingers
worked on the fastenings of her dress and he pushed it off. Propping himself up
on her pillows, he pulled her down to him, cradling her to his chest.
"Sleep little girl," he
whispered, stroking her hair, urging her to sleep. Despite the constant screams
coming from the garden, she soon fell asleep, her arms wrapping about him in
her unconscious state. By the time Spike swaggered into the room, sitting down
on the end of the bed, the screams coming from the garden were grating on the
dark haired vampires nerves.
"If he keeps screaming like
that, rip his tongue out, he's giving me a headache," Angelus sighed, his
fingers idly running over the angry red cuts that marked the otherwise pale
skin of Willow's back. He glanced up briefly at Spike, the blond's gaze firmly
fixed on him. "What is it Spike?"
"The Slayer's lot...they
know that the girls were together," he stated, clenching his jaw.
"They'll be looking for her."
"There's time yet,"
Angelus said softly, his hand straying to stroke her hair, pushing the bright
strands away from her throat, baring the gold choker. "Go, leave the
little lamb to me."
Spike stood, his hands seeking
out his cigarettes, and watched as his sire unlocked the choker and cast it
aside. With deliberate care Angelus turned Willow over and as her wounds came
in contact with his arm, she moaned, her eyes fluttering open. Smiling, Angelus
leant forward, placing a kiss on her forehead and then her mouth. Continuing to
kiss his way down, his hand moved to the back of her neck and her head, no
longer supported, fell back as his lips trailed over the old bite marks.
Pulling out a cigarette, Spike turned and started to walk away, tapping the
smoke on the pack before bringing it up to his lips. Willow's soft cry of pain
halted his movements and he turned his head slightly, listening to her whimper
as Angelus bit into her neck. Shrugging, Spike lit his cigarette and walked out
of the rooms.
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