Rain. The citizen's of Sunnydale didn't know what rain was. A few drops and they slowed down to ten miles an hour, white knuckles gripping the wheels of their cars as if the Monsoon had hit, angry fists and angry voices rising as they directed their indignation elsewhere; absolutely no common sense, none at all. This unimpressive sprinkling was nothing compared to his youth, to Oxford, to London.

Oxford. He usually tried not to think of those days, except in the quiet hours of the night. If not entirely banishing them, he had at least forced them into some small corner of his mind where they sat alone stewing and occasionally raising their heads to remind him of their existence, that they weren't going away �ever.

He'd been majoring in history at University, had met some people: Deidre, Phillip, Ethan. That had been the catalyst. He'd thought he'd met some friends, dropped out of school to follow them to London, but a youthful adventure had turned into so much more. That's where it all began, that's where Ripper had been born.

A car horn honking behind him snapped him out of the remembrance. He quickly turned into the parking lot of his building and settled his Citron into an available slot. Why the sudden memories of a youth repressed?

"Probably just fallout from an unexpected visit from Ethan." He muttered, shutting off the engine and pulling the keys from the ignition.

The impression of movement out of the corner of his eye startled him, causing him to swivel his head, but only the softly falling rain met his gaze.

Getting jumpy old man.

At times like this, he began to feel maudlin. Who was he, what mark had he left on the world? Was it enough of a legacy to prepare the Slayer, to stay behind the scenes and shape the life of a young girl who was growing up now. Who would not need his advice in the future?

He wasn't even her real father, but God he loved her like he was. He silently cursed the real Mr. Summers who had virtually abandoned his daughter, yet thanked him too. He wanted to see her grow up, wanted to see her accept her duties as Slayer, wanted to know that Rupert Giles had raised this girl. Rupert Giles had produced something good in the world . . .

**********

A knife blade rests in the hollow of a cupped palm. Slowly it drags across the skin, leaving a bloody trail behind and clatters to the floor as it's released. Blood spreads and drips to a chalice underneath.

"Come. You who know all our plans, aiding and abetting our incantations and the arts of the magician."

A head bows in supplication.

A ring of candles marks a boundary, a sanctuary, and a circle of protection from the one who is summoned.

"I call upon the night and the deities of the night."

There is a mix of fear, exaltation, and devotion as the mists of incense compact and expand to manifest a form. A surge of power as he realizes that he, Ripper, controls this being and will command it's action on this plane.

The mists began to solidify, coagulating to create a being from another realm. Seven feet, eight feet it looms, broadening and defining itself until it becomes apparent, clear to Ripper's eye as he stands in front of it.

"Who has summoned me?" A deep voice, thick with the words of a language long since dead resonates through the small space. Ripper has worked diligently to uncover the nuances and pronunciations of the Demon's language. He has prepared well.

"My Lord Eyghon," Ripper begins, trying to affect humble respect, but instead achieving youthful disdain. That is his first mistake . . .

********

. . . Rupert Giles. That was who he was. That was the mark he would leave on this world. It had to be.

Giles went into the kitchen, rattling the teapot as he filled it with water. Mundane tasks were the key to forgetting. How many times had he been through this same exact ritual, too many.

There was no one he could confide these memories to. Everyone from his youth was dead except Ethan, and that was never a choice. Instead, he pushed them inside and ignored them until they managed to surface again. Avoidance had worked for Rupert Giles, just barely.

"Hello Ripper."

"E . .E . . . "Giles stuttered at the sight of a nightmare he'd tried for years to suppress, unsuccessfully.. The body was unfamiliar, but the mark was clear. The Sleepwalker had possessed an unconscious host: Eyghon had returned, again.

Summoning the demon in the first place had been a youthful choice that had led to death, a choice that had unleashed violence and a quest for power that had consumed his soul and nearly transformed him into a mirror of the fiend before him.

"You don't seem very happy to see me?

He'd tried to control this creature once, but failed. "How very astute of you, I'm not."

"There was a time you begged me to show myself, to manifest to you, to grace your little circle of power."

Eyghon leaned against the wall, raising a finger to his lips in contemplation. "Have you forgotten?" He asked with a mock expression of hurt.

Forgotten? Funny. How could you forget what stalked you every time you closed your eyes? How could you forget the blood of your victims, the strangled gasp as their souls departed their body, the shaking of your hands after the deed was done? The first time you had killed? You could ignore it, suppress it, but never forget it. Never. God knows he'd tried.

"You had a hunger for power that took my breath away. I have never seen the like before or since Ripper."

"I . . . I've changed," Rupert sounded very uncertain even to his own ears.

"You've become what- a librarian? A Watcher?" Eyghon shook his head in disgust. "Not even that anymore. You're a mouse, stuck in this hole and it makes me sick to see it."

"Well it makes me sick to think of the deeds I did for you, the atrocities I committed in your name, all that you made me do." Giles' defended, rising up a little.

"All that I made you do?" Eyghon shook his head. "You did nothing that you didn't want to do, that you weren't born to do. Why would you forsake the destiny that has always been yours?" He looked around the apartment's interior, offended. "For this?"

"Because this represents freedom from your perversion, your destruction of everything that I hold sacred." Giles' advanced a step in his passion. "Because this is the only way I could retain my soul, by renouncing you."

"By the Gods,"Eyghon bellowed in amusement. "Even mewling like a pathetic human, you're magnificent. I've missed you Ripper." He shoved off from his position against the wall, moving toward Giles.

"Why are you here?" Rupert asked, backing away uncertainly.

"I want you to come with me, come back to chaos Ripper. Come back to what you know best."

"No!" There was some of the old fire left.

"You pledged yourself to me. Promised me anything I desired if I gave you the power you sought, the ability to summon the night and the deities of the night. Did you think I would never collect? That I would forget?"

Rupert wrenched his arm away to avoid the Demon's touch, but it was fruitless, Eyghon's hand firmly gripped Giles' arm and a burst of light filled the room. A portal, the bastard had opened a portal.

(Come back to Chaos, come back to what you know best.)

~~~~~~~~~~

Lungs squeezed beyond endurance, alveoli nearly bursting. Was this a fitting death for a pompous watcher who thought he could control, defeat demons? It was not apparently, because the power of breath came suddenly, causing him to gasp.

He collapsed to his knees, saying a silent prayer of thanks. No matter how he intellectualized it, death was still something he feared. In the wild brazenness of youth he hadn't, but today he had so much to lose, so many people he cared about. He would rather not die today if he could help it.

"Stand up Ripper, greet your destiny like a man." Eyghon gripped Giles' shirt, hoisting him to his feet." And not as a librarian."

"I'll try to remember that" Giles' surveyed the room. "Where are we?" "You're in my realm now." Gyphon had reverted to his true form, the one that had haunted Rupert Giles for nearly twenty years. The demon raised his arms with a flourish, making mystical sigils in the air. "Thus do I bind you, thus do I tie you. You shall know no rest until you have completed the geas I command upon you now."

Gile's looked at the demon blankly. "Are you serious?"

Eyghon waved his hand dismissively in the air. "Yeah right. I'm just kidding Ripper."

"Oh, what a treat."

"You're always so serious, Ruuppeerrtt," The demon drawled in exasperation. "Lighten up. Where going to have fun, you and I"

"No we're not, because I'm going home right now."

"Don't you remember, you were going to be my lieutenant, rule by my side for a thousand years. Well, this is the first day of the rest of your millennium."

"I'm not joining you." No discussion, no argument. It simply wasn't going to happen.

"Soon we'll be killing side by side. Just like the good old days, eh Ripper."

"I will never kill for you again."

"You kill for your slayer," Eyghon reasoned.

"I kill demons and vampires," Giles reminded. "I rid the world of Evil like you."

Eyghon leaned his head back and contemplated the human with narrowed eyes. "Ah, so you wouldn't have any problem killing, oh say, an evil vampire?"

"What are you blathering about?"

"You could kill someone who had murdered innocent people, or had hurt you very much?"

Gile's stared at the demon with an open mouth, blinking in confusion. "You must have a point?"

Eyghon rubbed his hands gleefully together, a strange sight for one of his race. "I have a present for you, to celebrate your return. And a test."

A present and a test?"

"All together in one." Eyghon clapped his hands together. "Send her in."

A heavy door opened a crack and a figure dressed in filmy white gauze slipped through and approached the room's two inhabitants, another nightmare that could never be forgotten.

Drusilla!Giles turned to Eyghon, panic clearly showing on his face. "What is she doing here?"

~``~``~``~

Drusilla looked in curiostity at the Demon and the human. The human, she knew him, how? OH yes, the librarian, the Watcher. If he was here, was the Slayer here as well? Was Spike with them? She surveyed the room, trying to peer in every corner, but she didn't see anyone else. Her Spike wasn't here.

Apathy overtook her curiosity, the emotion showing clearly on her pretty face.

"Are you bored dear," Eyghon asked the vampire.

She'd wanted to see her Spike, she'd been mad at him, but she couldn't remember why now. "Boredom's not a burden anyone should bear."

"No. Do you remember Giles, do you remember Sunnydale?"

Yes she did.. Her face morphed before them and she launched herself at the human, but stopped short just as her hands grasped his shoulders. She fell writhing to the floor, moaning and sobbing in pain.

"What is wrong with her is she having a vision?" Giles asked with mild concern.

"No, look at her neck."

There was a slim band of silver encircling her slender neck. "What is that?" Giles questioned.

"That Ripper, is your protection. It keeps her from biting you."

"Why?"

"So that you can kill her."

More killing? "Why would I kill her, she's essentially harmless, right?"

"And Giles would never harm a helpless creature? But Ripper would. Kill her and prove that you're worthy to stand by my side. Come back to chaos Ripper."

Giles glanced at Drusilla who lay still twitching on the floor. "Never."

"Ripper, I give her to you as a gift. She belonged to the man who killed Jenny, exact your revenge upon him. Kill the Vampire."

Eyghon stared at Giles, peering into his mind. "She killed Kendra."

She had, but now she was defenseless. Something in Giles the Watcher couldn't let him kill a creature that couldn't fight back.

Eyghon sensed Giles' wavering stance. "She is Evil, can you let her exist? If I send her back to your realm, she will kill again and often."

She would. And that would make him responsible for any deaths that occurred. What could he do?

"You will kill her Ripper and join me again, or you will never leave here."

Giles looked down at Drusilla who had stopped her movement and lay still, clutching her neck and whimpering softly.

Never leave here?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Giles sat near the main door of his new 'prison', as if his proximity to it would help him escape. Eyghon would never allow that. He and the vampire were there until one killed the other, how soon that would be, no one knew. They were trapped in this demon's realm, there was no way out except through his mercy. He and Drusilla were locked in a large room. There was a bed, some chairs, a small walled garden outside. Just like a bloody hotel. If nothing, Eyghon had a twisted sense of humor.

Drusilla stood just outside the doors, shoulders rounded as she concentrated on some small task, oblivious to the environment around her. One pale, slim arm was raised, bathed in moonlight. She appeared to be writing something on it.

What was she doing now?

He shouldn't care, but his curiosity was piqued. He rose from his chair and walked hesitantly toward her. She couldn't hurt him, but when she voiced her fragmented thoughts, she made him uneasy, usually sending a cold flush along his spine.

She was fixated on her task. One hand held a small knife; the handle consisted of intricate moldings of vines, birds and flowers, it looked like an ancient weapon. Where had she gotten it, had Eyghon given it to her?

Her lower lip was caught between her small white teeth as she sliced a symmetrical ladder work of cuts down the flesh of her inner arm. Small trickles of red blood wound their way down her limb, swirling together in a cacophony of scarlet.

"What are you doing?" Giles cried, horrified. He shouldn't care, but the sight of a young 'girl' mutilating herself disturbed him

Drusilla looked up wordlessly, staring back at him with eyes that were deep and soulless, bruised by a century plus of damnation.

Was there any doubt in his mind that she was thoroughly demented? No. Was there some spark of sympathy that existed in him? Yes. Try to quell it, squash it down and smother it. She would kill him in a second if she could.

"You're hurting yourself."

"It hurts a little, but it's something you get used to." The corners of her mouth turned up into a ghost of a smile.

Something you get used to? He grabbed the knife away from her. She let it go without a fight. Holding the weapon sent a blackness washing over him, the roar of a thousand voices wailing in agony simultaneously, a din that could never be silenced. Giles tossed it over the wall with a deep sense of relief.

His practical nature surfaced even when faced with an insane demon that looked far too much like a helpless girl. He reached for her hand to inspect her wounds more closely, looking futilely for something to use as a bandage, there was nothing.

Drusilla wrinkled her nose at the librarian. "What are you doing, silly?" He really was a strange man.

"You're bleeding, I've got to find something to bind your wounds."

He wanted to bandage her? Her little Spike had done that, a long time ago. Back then her Angel had loved her. Angelus used to make pretty patterns across her legs and stomach with a whip. Like the nuns at the convent had with their rulers, but he was much more inventive, his designs were so much more intricate than the sisters'. He left small thin lines of pink intertwined with larger, bolder red welts. Like the spider webs that sparkled with dew in the moonlight.

She imagined hundreds of wiggly spiders and laughed. "The spiders come every night to weave me a little blanket to snuggle in." She could see their furry little legs working madly to complete their project.

What was she talking about? "Drusilla," he insisted, trying to draw her back to reality. "Your arm needs attention."

Attention. The dandelions used to stand at attention, waiting for orders from their leader, the sun. When she was human she used to pluck them one by one and snap their heads off, desecrating their ranks in an hour.

She giggled aloud. "I'm the destroyer of armies."

Giles shook her shoulders in exasperation. "Dru!"

Dru? Her little Spike had always called her that. He wanted to protect her from Angel, to lock her up and keep her in a little box that lived inside of him.

Spike helped her, cared for her, cleaned her after her Angel had left his mark on her, signed in her own blood. Spike had done it even though he'd been forbidden to. He'd done it because he loved her. He'd defied their sire for love.

Spike had the prettiest blue eyes. The librarian had pretty eyes too, kind of like her Spike's. They were soft when he looked at her. Had he been mad at her before?

"Are you mad at me?" she voiced the question out loud, because Spike had told her that people couldn't hear the things that were in her head. She wanted to know if he was.

Giles sighed and held her arm up. "You've cut yourself and I want to bandage your arm. I want to help you."

He didn't seem mad. "You don't have to do that." She freed her arm and licked it with her pink tongue in one broad swipe.

Giles could see that her cuts were already beginning to heal. Amazing. "Don't you feel that?"

"Mmmhh," she sighed languidly. "I can feel every molecule of air caressing me, tapping and thumping every inch of me."

Her eyes were closed and she swayed dreamily. "They speak to me but the words are so fast . . . I ask them to slow down, but they don't listen."

"Drusilla, the air isn't speaking."

"Sshh," she cautioned, they were saying something about him and she wanted him to hear it as well. She put her hand on his chest.

"Listen here," she advised, indicating his heart. "They buzz at first, but sink down into the words and it's much clearer."

She licked her lips, trying to discern what they were saying. It was definitely something about the librarian.

~*~

His heart felt like it had stopped when she touched him. He couldn't help but remember the last time she had touched him, the only other time she had.He'd been barely conscious from Angel's torture. She had caressed him, burrowed into his brain and latched onto the darkest most secret place and found Jenny. She'd used his memories to cause him to betray everyone and give Angelus the key to Acathla's release.

Love, friendship, courage, responsibility, everything slid away when he'd realized to his horror, what he'd done. That was the moment he'd realized she was truly a frightening creature.

Then why was he feeling a tingle at her touch? Why when he stared at her lips did he remember the feel of them? Why was he suddenly consumed with the overwhelming urge to see if that memory was true and not something she'd implanted to confuse him?

~*~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air was saying strange things. She didn't know if she could trust it, because it had never spoken to her before. She didn't know if it was reliable. Now the moon, the moon never lied, but for some reason it was mute tonight. Oh moon! Please speak up!

She needed a reliable friend, like Miss Edith. Miss Edith was usually honest. Oh, she stretched things a bit occasionally, but for the most part, she was truthful. But Miss Edith was dead. Spike had left her behind and that was why she was so mad at him. He knew Princess was lost without Miss Edith to tell her things. It didn't matter now though, because Miss Edith was dead- she could feel it. Spike had killed her by leaving her behind, that's why he was so bad and she hated him.

~*~

The vampire shifted and turned her ear toward him. Her dress stretched across her breasts and outlined her nipples and their response to the cool night air. He felt an involuntary excitement surge through him.

~*~

Could it be true? She opened her eyes and stared quizzically at the librarian, hoping to find some proof there. She had a feeling that the air was joking, making fun of her. He was a watcher; there must be rules against it?

"Like the rules against a Slayer and a vampire?" The air whispered.

She looked at the librarian again. She hadn't thought of that. How could she have forgotten the sickening sight of The Slayer and her Angel together?

"Rules are made to be broken," the air challenged.

Yes, broken. Like the body of a tiny dead bird she'd found as a child. She'd prayed to God to make it come to life again, but he hadn't.

God never did anything she asked him to. She'd begged him to take her visions from her when she was mortal, he hadn't. She'd prayed the Lord would save her from her Angel when he'd killed her, when he'd turned her. God hadn't.

For the first couple of years after Angel had made her a vampire, she'd prayed that God would spare her, turn her back into a girl or just make her truly dead. Angel had told her that God couldn't hear her anymore that he never had. And even if God could hear her, he'd never help a devil child like her anyway. She guessed Angel was right. Who would want to help a devil child like her?

~*~

She was thinking about something, he could see the shadows slipping past, behind her dark eyes, could see the wrinkles forming on her brow as she contemplated some inner question. He fought the urge to reach out and smooth the worry from her delicate features, calling himself a fool for even considering it in the first place.

Instead, he tried to superimpose the image of Kendra over the vampire's features, Kendra in her coffin, her flesh already beginning to sink into her bones. He tried to hold that image and remember how much he should hate Drusilla. Kendra had fought to save his life and failed, at the cost of her own. At least he could honor her memory by not mooning over her killer.

~*~

He was thinking about the Slayer. Not Buffy, the other one, the one with the red lips and the dark eyes. The one with the funny way of speaking, like the people in the exotic places Spike used to take her.

She'd killed that slayer in order to bring the librarian to her Angel as a present; she'd bled that slayer like veal. She hadn't drunk from her, is that why he was mad? Had he wanted her to make the Slayer a vampire?

She stepped closer to him, hand still upon his chest and stopped, her lips inches from his. I'm sorry, about the Slayer," she confided softly. If she'd known then, she'd have taken the time to turn the Slayer for him. She didn't want him to be mad at her.

~*~

He stopped breathing as she moved closer, what was she planning, to try to kill him? Was she apologizing for what she as about to do? She didn't seem to be in the middle of a vicious bloodletting rampage.

Sorry. She was apologizing for killing Kendra? Inconceivable, and not enough, not bloody anywhere near good enough. Ripper surfaced as he gripped her shoulders, digging his fingers into her surprisingly muscled shoulders.

Hate twisted through him, building until it seemed to would flow right out through his arms and into the vampire he held so tightly, choked him as he struggled to breathe. So Eyghon wanted him to kill her, well he just might.

He swung her violently around, slamming her into the glass doors, shattering several of the panes with the force of the impact. Small pieces of glass littered her hair and the front of her dress, sparkling in the dim glow of the room's light.

"You will be sorry after I'm through with you, you bitch." He slammed her again into the destroyed frame of the door, jagged shards of glass cut into her causing small rivulets of blood to begin trickling down the delicate fabric covering her breasts, ruining the illusion of vestal innocence.

His face had attained that hue of purple that comes just before frenzy murders sanity. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now?" He shouted, spittle spraying her in his rage.

~*~

Oh, he was magnificent. He reminded her so much of her Angel right now. She could feel his fury humming through her, making her body resonate with the rich, vibrant tone of his violence. What had the demon called him-Ripper? It suited him, like this.

She stared in wonder at the change, the difference between the soft librarian and this being who wanted to kill her, so consumed by rage and anger that he cried for her death, and would hasten that end if only he could find a suitable stake to accomplish that task.

Her Angel had been more calculated in his quest for destruction, his every action weighed and analyzed carefully for maximum impact on the physicality and psychology of his victim.

This Ripper was different, a stunning channel for pure and unadulterated wrath, a mindless avenue for his animosity and savage need for vengeance. If he could learn to control it, he could be breathtaking in his potential, could rival Spike or even her Angel.

She desperately wanted to show him how to control it, how to refine it. Impulsively she kissed him, excited about the possibility.

~*~

The rattling of the shattered frame of the door and the thump of her body echoing against it pleased him on a level that he hadn't felt in so many years. The sounds exhilarated Ripper, who had been forced into dormancy for so long, he'd begun to think he no longer existed. He violently struggled to regain his newfound freedom from oblivion.

The kiss was a shock, but not an unpleasant one. The invasion of her insistent tongue spoke to him of power and possession and the need to take what was rightfully his.

He listened willingly, eagerly as he moved his hands down to grasp her hips and pull her roughly to him. He could feel his swelling erection seeking to insinuate itself at the seat of her power, the origin of all life's power-her cunt. It didn't matter that it belonged to a demon, a vampire, that she didn't have the mortal's power of creation. It was a different sort of conception he sought, one that would last for eternity, the acceptance of his place beside Eyghon, the lord of chaos, his conception and rebirth as Ripper.

~*~

She tried to get as close to him as she could, to show him the vision she had, to make him understand how important his transformation would be. She wanted him to know that it was all right, the air had told her, she knew what he was feeling and she accepted it, welcomed it.

She knew that he was already started down that precipice, was tumbling down actually. The librarian had lost ownership of the consciousness and Ripper had seized control. She had to show him that it was the right thing, the proper thing.

The air had been truthful. She had the overwhelming urge to thank it, become one with it. She must remove her clothes and allow no barrier to come between her and her new advisor. Ripper should too, because maybe he could hear it better if *he* became one with it. Yes, that was the answer. He needed that in order to find the clarity that she'd discovered.

~*~

She was frantically tugging at his sweater. Mistaking her actions for readiness, he surrendered his grip on her long enough to unzip, then hurriedly slid her dress up over her hips. She was a gift that Eyghon had given and he intended to enjoy that generosity.

Practicality died unmourned as he guided her down to the rough tile of the courtyard. Amid the scattered grains of broken glass, her dark hair spread out underneath her, cushioning her from the sharpest of their numbers.

He stopped momentarily, stuck by the contrast of the dark triangle of hair against her pale thighs; was mesmerized as she drew her knees up to her chest and let them fall to the side, stating her desire by that age-old invitation.

She reached for his hand and placed it against her, rubbing his palm against her swollen lips. Her moisture glistened in the moonlight as it stained his hand with her lust. The scent of her passion enveloped him, buzzing in his head and causing him to swell, to strain at the promise of sliding into her and he couldn't stand it any longer, he gave in.

~*~

The first few thrusts burned, but soon the burning spread throughout her body, spiraling up and down her spine. Her brain separated, floating above, where she could see their bodies twined, writhing against the reddened tiles of the garden. Her dress was ruined- that was naughty of him.

She could see her head thrown back, and the jerk of her shoulders in response to each of his thrusts, could see her legs wrapped around his waist, desperately clenched to find some sort of stability against his rhythm.

His eyes were closed and his expression was distorted, twisted. She shuddered at the sight and felt herself being pulled back into her body, felt the grainy texture of the brick as her hands braced against the ground and the pressure of his weight crushing her. But best of all, she felt his cock filling her. Each time it re entered her, she wanted to beg him not to make it go away, to let it stay there forever. He always took it away, but returned it to her, deeper, more fully. She was thankful for that.

Soon she felt the tickling, it bubbled inside of her, telling her that she needed to take his seed into her, to steal it from him and keep it for herself. He must have felt it too, because he exploded at that moment with a grunt and collapsed against her. She could feel his twitching as his sticky cum flowed into her, dripped out of her, mingled between them and under them.

She smiled and ran her hand along his spine, tracing the vertebrae that lined up there, feeling each individual bump.

"Mmmnn, Ripper," she sighed.

~*~

Ripper. A warning drilled through his brain and he felt disoriented as he looked around in confusion, but the events of the last few seconds played through his memory with crystal clear clarity, daring him to deny them.

What had he done? The realization slammed him with a cold horror. He scrambled backwards, falling in his haste to get away from her. His clothing remained twisted in its disarray, forgotten along with the shards of glass that were now cutting into him.

"Lavender," Drusilla mused.

The scent of lavender did indeed waft through the air. Lavender, his shocked mind scoffed, the flowers of grandmothers and maidens. Neither of which fit this unholy creature splayed out before him.

"A witch told me once that lavender is a flower of the underworld . . . of Hecate." Dru said savoring the feeling of their fluids mixing with the blood from all of her cuts. Ripper had signed his mark in her own blood, like Angel used to. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard to teach him?

The underworld? Now that made more sense. Giles lowered his head as tears began to fill his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~

The librarian had set himself apart from her, making a conscious effort to vacate space whenever she approached. He never let Ripper come out to play. Even now, he sat in the garden pouring over some notebook, seeking an incantation to break Eyghon's hold and free himself from this demon's realm. He still fought to deny what he could become.

Drusilla sighed, leaning back against the battered courtyard doors. The trees had begun talking to her. She'd been tempted to ignore the air after seeing the librarian's reaction to her lesson, but then the trees had joined in force and between the two of them, they never shut up.

"Drusilla."

See, there they were again.

"Drusilla." A touch accompanied the word this time.

She turned in annoyance. Oh, it was Eyghon not the trees. Funny, he'd never come here to their prison before.

"What do you want?" She exhaled in exasperation. The librarian was resisting her plan and it was making her resentful. It didn't help that everything reminded her of her failure, constantly.

Secretly, she harbored a wish to just kill the Watcher and be done with it, but she remembered the pain that had come when she'd tried it before. Unconsciously, she fingered the thin circle of metal at her neck.

"Still alive I see." At her pointed look, Eyghon corrected himself, "Or, still undead as the case may be."

She realized at that moment that she didn't much care for the demon. Perhaps if she ignored him, he might go away. She swung her gaze back to the courtyard and the librarian.

"He always was stubborn," Eyghon said, joining her surveillance.

Yes, that made him endearing, made him worthy of the change she would affect. "He's had a small breakthrough."

"So I heard."

She ignored Giles momentarily, fixing the demon with a cold stare.

He chuckled. "And I thought you merely a sacrificial victim." One scaled hand came up to finger the lace of a new dress that she had found hanging in the room after hers had been ruined. "Now I realize that you are so much more."

Of course, there was nothing that happened here that he did not orchestrate. Why would she have thought any differently? His power was supreme in this realm.

"Do you have some feelings for him?"

"I see his potential." Her face was bland, giving nothing away.

"As did I. But why would you care enough to nurture that potential?

"Because I love destruction. I love to change the things that people think are unchangeable . . ." Her eyes gleamed as she described it." . . . to take something and mold it to the shape I harbor in my mind and give it back; new, better.

Destruction.

Resurrection.

Rebirth . . .they're all the same."

Sweet destruction. She'd been searching for a partner to share that passion. She'd found that long ago, first with Angel and then with Spike, but both had disappointed her. What she needed was someone who would remain unwavering in their quest for power, someone who would be loyal to her, forever. Love was an illusion, but loyalty was everything.

Love? Betrayal and abandonment, those were the gifts of love she had retained. To give all of herself, to accept pain and torture, humiliation and rejection all for that tenuous emotion called love.

She had felt the sting of the whip, the slice of a blade, the brutality of a fist, and bore them gladly because of love. Because she loved and thought she had been loved. Of course that didn't compare to a soul, or a slayer. It didn't compare to a blonde bitch that had taken both of her lovers from her and had a powerful hold over this newest one.

The trees were afraid to speak in front of the demon. Instead, they spoke directly to her mind. (Buffy has taken everything from you, your plans for Acathla, Angel. Even Spike, who swore he would never leave you.)

Yes, Spike had whispered sweet promises of eternal and undying passion, of kittens and princesses and love that could never be broken. He was a liar; he'd turned quickly to the Slayer. Oh, he's said he'd done it for his Dru, but couldn't he have gone to anyone else, anyone but Buffy?

(It's Buffy's fault.)

She'd bewitched Angel and Spike with her golden hair and innocent smile, like a fairy tale princess. Why were all of the fairy tale princess' blondes? Like that automatically made them good.

(Except for that one . . . Snow something; she had dark hair and pale skin . . .)

Snow White.

(That's it.)

Snow White's stepmother had sent a woodsman to cut out her heart. He couldn't, pity. It was easier without a heart. If she'd written that story, she'd do the girl a favor and let the woodsman take it.

(And let her get on with her life.)

The Slayer would probably come and mess that up as well, probably rush in at the last minute and save Snow White. Buffy always ruined everything.

(How would Buffy like it if *you * stole something of hers, stole someone that the Slayer thought would never leave her?)

Like her precious Watcher?

(That's exactly what I mean.)

~~~~~~~~~~

She glanced over at the Watcher's reclining form on the bed. At first inspection he gave a believable impression of sleep, but upon closer examination, that illusion was proven false.

His body gave small signals hinting that his repose was anything but restful: splayed fingers twitched periodically, muscles in his face spastically responding to some dream stimulus and deep in his throat came small sounds of terror . . .despair?

She glided quietly over to the bed. Standing over him, she wondered what Giles' subconscious conjured up in the dead of night?

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

The play of unsteady flame against the walls, heavy drifts of smoke, oppressive heat that caused trickles of sweat to wind their way down his torso, and the deafening hum of tension and fear in the air all caused the thrill of awe and wonder that coursed through him. He could feel his bowels clench like a naughty schoolboy caught in the act by the headmaster, filled with equal parts shame and pride.

He raised his arm again and plunged the knife again into the body of a bound demon. An agonized shriek ripped through the air, sent from a throat that was becoming raw from repeated screams, but still intact enough to give him the feedback Ripper so craved.

The arc of blood that splayed over him caused Ripper to smile and he repeated the act, hoping to preserve that perfect moment forever. Yes. Perfect. But perfection never lasted.

Eyghon was teaching him a lesson concerning fear and pain and motivation. This bound demon was a minion who had committed some lesser crime against his Lord, and Eyghon wanted to impress upon Ripper the importance of perfect obedience at all times.

Minions were so hard to supervise, especially if they began to think for themselves and question their masters. The bound creature, he was nothing; Eyghon couldn't even remember by what name it was called. Besides, it wasn't destined to make it out of this room alive; its purpose was purely educational.

Eyghon rested one gnarled hand on Ripper's shoulder as they observed the restrained demon before them. The creature lay gasping in pain and shock as its blood stained the floor around it. Locked in its own death journey, it was no longer even aware of their presence. With that awareness, went the exhilarating rush of excitement that its fear had brought.

"It's the partnership, the collaboration between oppressor and oppressed that makes it so sweet, "Eyghon explained to his charge.

"So it's not the same when the victim withholds his participation?"

"You tell me, how do you feel now?"

"Disappointed."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sightless, dark eyes stare up at him from his bed. The body of his love lying perfect, but dead and those eyes seem to follow him around the room.

(You let this happen.)

No.

(You could have stopped it, could have warned me.)

I didn't know.

(You knew. Ripper knew, because he would have done the same thing.)

I'm not Ripper. He's dead. I'm a good man now; I do good things.

(Do you? Can you really murder such a part of yourself so thoroughly? Are you really that na�ve Rupert?)

Why are you tormenting me? Jenny, I beg you, have some mercy.

(You know what mercy is? Not getting what you deserve.)

Jenny.

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

"Hhmmnn." The Watcher's features contorted and his shoulders tensed as the sound escaped him, invading the quiet of the room. His naked torso was covered in a light sheen of perspiration.

Drusilla sat next to him. She wanted to see what was inside his head, what lived there. Did the Slayer reign there as well? Could she steal this lover even in his sleep? She reached tentatively out to him, pale fingers smoothing across his cheek, warm flesh under cool digits.

Each exhalation caused her to recall images she hadn't thought about in years: Dappled sunlight flickering thorough the autumn leaves of an oak, the unpredictable fluttering of a butterfly's path as it danced in front of her and her brother. She'd been happy then. Her brother had sought her hand and laughing, pulled her along behind him until her protests turned to squeals of delight. When the visions came, her brother warned her not to tell their father, it would only make him mad. . . and they didn't want to raise his ire.

When her daddy got upset, his fists and his belt would begin to fly and he didn't care where they landed as long as they connected with tender flesh and caused tears and breathless sobs. Her brother tried to protect her from the worst of the blows, but even he could do nothing when the chains appeared . . .

No. That hadn't been her brother that was Spike. And Angel was the daddy who hurt her. Sometimes she got them all mixed up. It had been such a long time since she was a small girl; those memories had begun to deteriorate like everything else. Except her. She'd still be around when everything else was gone. She would be alone, as always.

"You want to touch him," the air whispered.

She did, but was afraid the Slayer held his heart too and that there wasn't any left for her. Besides, she was never gong to love anyone ever again.

"You always say that."

"I mean it this time. You think I want to fight the Slayer for this one too?"

"The Slayer isn't here now," the trees pointed out insidiously. "Besides, he's not dreaming of the Slayer."

The trees thought that they were so smart. She placed her palm against his forehead. They were pushy and should mind their own business, but so far they'd been right.

Dark eyes, dark hair. Not Buffy. The mean teacher ruled his thoughts now, causing that sweet ache that passed through her hand and spoke to her own loneliness and blame. The Watcher might be the only one who could understand how she felt because that same sadness lived inside of him.

His eyelids opened suddenly and the name Jenny escaped his lips involuntarily as he reached out and captured her wrist. His sleep-induced desperation gave him strength, but not enough to keep a vampire captive against her will. He was able to keep his hold because she made no struggle.

She silently willed him to see her and not some dream visitation, to recognize their similarities, to touch her and connect their bodies like he had before, to take away the loneliness that stalked them both.

~*~

He'd been startled to wake up and find her leaning over him. The glint of light on the circle of metal around her neck assured him that her intentions weren't murderous, or at least if they were, she couldn't carry through their execution. Whatever secret, brutal aspirations she harbored would be potential only, for now.

"You were having a nightmare," she explained, eyes darting down his chest and back up to his face.

"Still having one."

She drew back slightly at the insult. He would never give up his mousy librarian existence or his link with the Slayer. She'd been a fool to imagine any other scenario.

He tightened his grip on her wrist, pulling her closer, eyes contrite and full of apology.

"I'm sorry." He said.

Her softening posture encouraged him. He rose up on one elbow, trying to take in her beautiful face , but he couldn't get farther than her lips. They were still drawn together in a frown. Giles stretched further, barely placing his bottom lip against her mouth. His breathing was suspended as he gauged her reaction.

Drusilla's eyes were closed and she hummed softly to herself. Was she ignoring him, refusing his apology? He nibbled a little more insistently, damning himself the whole time.

There must be a special place in the Hellmouth reserved for insane Watchers. Perhaps he'd see Gwendolyn Post there. He could in vision that meeting: "Well Mr. Giles, imagine seeing you here? What did you do?" "Fell in love with a vampire."

Wait. Love? Wasn't that a bit of an overstatement? He was just trying to . . .what . . .He bloody well had no idea what he was trying to do. Perhaps his mind was gone after all.

She guided his hand to her shoulder, sliding it to her breast, where he was more than happy to explore he contours. He looked to her again, for permission . . .encouragement . . .condemnation?

She opened her eyes, let them travel down to his hand's contact with her body and raised them back to meet his questioning look. She smiled softly and shifted closer to him. He needed no further encouragement, quickly unzipped her dress and let it slide to her waist.

Oh yes, a special place in hell.

He leaned down and flicked her nipple with his tongue, enjoying its leap to attention as he sucked it into his mouth. She stopped humming as his tongue and jaw worked in tandem to tease her and she doubted the librarian could do anything that could not be forgiven by his actions at the moment.

She enjoyed the pleasurable sensations he was evoking for a moment, and then stood up quickly. Giles reached out to her, afraid she was leaving in offense, but he didn't know that would never happen. Dru eased her dress over her hips, let it fall to the floor and stepped back to the edge of the bed.

Giles reached out to grasp the back of her thighs and rested his forehead against her belly, breathing in the smell of her desire and his own overwhelming sense of relief that she wasn't ending this. He didn't want to ever see the conclusion to this madness. Of course, intellectually he knew it was wrong, insane; but he wouldn't consider that now.

The only consideration he had at the moment was for cool, pale skin, the musk of an aroused woman and his own need to bury himself in her, to release in her and seal his own fate.

Giles pushed his face against the damp triangle of hair between her thighs, seeking entry with his tongue. She widened her stance, allowing him access and swallowed the lump in her throat. This was why she always gave love a second chance: kisses and tongues and the throbbing between her legs. They always made her forget the bad parts, the parts that came later.

As his tongue worked farther inside of her, stabbing into her in fast, sharp strokes, she gasped and her hands flew to grasp his head and try to pull him deeper into her. She wanted him to live inside of her always, wanted them to inhabit the same skin. But most of all, she wanted to feel him inside of her all the way, like before. She prayed for it, but not to God, to the air, to the moon, to the trees, to the spirit of Miss Edith and to herself because these were the only things that had never betrayed her.

~*~

She stood on her toes, swaying against him as he lapped at her in frenzy. Giles tightened his hold on her buttocks and as her clitoris surrendered to spasms, he worked that flesh with his tongue as it quivered.

A hell he was beginning to crave.

~*~

Drusilla looked down at where he perched, her own fluids glistening on his lips and chin. He was flushed, eyes bright and chest heaving with exertion and excitement. A further perusal revealed his arousal and readiness.

She pushed at his shoulder, hard enough to send him careening back against the mattress and shivered at the sight of him lying there expectantly. She could smell his desire mixed with her own scent. This time *she * had marked her lover.

Drusilla knelt down and rested her hands on his thighs, running her palms along his muscled limbs and kneading them rhythmically. Her lips led the way up his frame and her torso followed, sliding intimately until they were face to face. She kissed him, tasting him and the remnants of her orgasm in his mouth.

~*~

Giles grasped her waist as she spread herself, letting her thighs fall along the outside of his. It was ridiculously easy for his cock to penetrate her, striving to join them in the most primitive of embraces. They were beginning to fit together so naturally that it seemed they were meant to fuck each other.

"Oh . . ." Giles gasped.

~*~

She kept moving her hips, taking him in and letting him slide out, repeating the process into delicious oblivion. But she strained to catch the name he would call out at the height of his release; the mean teacher, Buffy, God, his mother?

"�Drusilla," he finished in a whisper.

She smiled and nuzzled his neck as she felt him explode inside of her.

Giles knelt on the rough bricks of the courtyard, dried herbs streamed from his hand as he demarcated a circular area in outline of dried greenery.

". . . Rulers of the elements, guardians of wisdom. As above so below, I conjure you. Between the worlds of flesh and spirit, let this space be a portal from the realm of Chaos to my own. Let the . . ."

"Damn." Giles clenched his fists in disappointment and gestured violently in the air.

"What's wrong pet is your spell not working?" Drusilla called out in amusement. She'd been observing the Watcher, occasionally calling out helpful suggestions, incantations in Latin and Sumerian, invocations to minor deities, whatever she could think of. He was frustrated, trying to piece together a ritual from memory.

"You've done this before?" She asked for about the tenth time.

"I've seen it done-once," he explained through gritted teeth.

He'd watched Eyghon open a portal once and now wished he'd paid closer attention. It didn't help that he'd had to improvise with whatever dried herbs he could find in the courtyard. Whatever piece of the equation was causing the blockage; it didn't matter, because he was still no closer to freeing himself than he had been an hour ago.

The librarian was doing an admirable job really, considering he was working with scavenged materials and a memory he'd tried to suppress for so long.

She could testify to the difficulty of that, many of her human memories were hazy. Certainly they'd changed with over a century of living as a demon. Most of the images from that time were more like a dream, disjointed, jarring, corrupted by other scenes her mind had interspersed. Sometimes she had a hard time remembering the proper order of things.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A small blue flame flickered into existence, struggling, then spreading into an arc that would soon encompass the Watcher. A circle of protection, he'd decided to start from the beginning. Each step in its proper place, order from chaos, that was the key.

The line of blue flame stretched, nearly completing its circle, two feet left, one �

The clatter of metal against stone distracted his attention as an object slid across the floor, skittering into the circle just as the beginning of blue flame met its end.

"What the devil . . . "

Before him lay a thin circlet of metal, perhaps a little larger that the span of his hands, like a necklace.

He looked up in panic

Drusilla crouched down, bringing herself face to face with the Watcher. Her neck was bare, adorned only by her collarbone and the hollow at the base of her throat.Eyghon had said it was time to remove it and she agreed. The librarian was ready for the completion of his transformation.

She reached out to her lover but frowned as she was denied entrance to his circle. He was trying to keep her out?

"Luv, take down the circle so we can be together," she asked in a reasonable tone.

"I can't do that." The timber in his voice hinted at his assurance that she would kill him in an instant.

He was being difficult. He thought of it as the end instead of his beginning, their beginning. Yes, it was new, it could be frightening, but didn't he see that she was here to help him, to guide him?

"Giles," she purred. "Let me in." He was making her angry. Why was he shutting her out? Didn't he want to be with her, had she read the signs incorrectly?

"You'll never get into his circle unless he breaks it or closes it himself."

The trees. Did they think she didn't know that?

"I'm aware of that," she sniped.

"They know that darling," the air assured her. "I think they mean that you must entice him to voluntarily dismiss the circle."

"Of course that's what we meant," the trees sulked.

The air ignored their outburst and continued, "He has feelings for you child, but you make him recall a past that shames and excites him at the same time. He not only fights you, he fights himself."

"Well, why did you let him erect the barrier?" The trees accused.

"He imposes his will upon the elements, I am compelled to obey his commands." The air explained.

"Well what am I to do about it?" She was close to giving up hope.

"He's only a man."

Yes he was for now.

~~~~~~~~~~

Four bowls intersected the circle, Drusilla held the fifth. She raised it to her lips and sampled the contents, leaving a gloss of red on her lips.

Blood.

She placed the container on the ground, marking a fifth space on the circumference of the circle. From the folds of her skirt she produced a familiar knife, her hand caressed birds and vines and flowers as she made a puncture on the heel of her left hand. She allowed several drops to drip into the bowl on the ground, an act replicated five times now, and dropped the weapon to the ground.

She remained crouched as she regarded her captive. "Now I encompass your sanctuary, it exists within my boundaries."

It felt good to be the pursuer. Too many times she'd succumbed to someone else's will, allowed them to uproot her life and plans because they wanted her, needed her, were obsessed with her. She'd always bent to the will of others, played the game of the seduced that always lead to the sacrifice of dreams as you were molded to another's image.

Angelus had made her love him. Back then, he had been ruthless, discovering every secret desire and using each one to break her down. Angelus had taught her the art of war and of love. Very often they were the same thing, the passion of love merging with the fury of hatred. She knew that first hand now, but it had been hard to learn at the time.

She'd forgotten that lesson until Spike had reminded her. Using a hated enemy to fight a war for love, that had been very clever of him but of course he'd always taken Angelus' lessons to heart.

She inhaled deeply. Giles exuded a small amount of fear. He was brave-for a human. She'd never been very brave neither as a human or a vampire and she liked that about him, it would exist well within Ripper.

She was unable to focus on anything but his surrender, it hummed through every cell in her body until she could hear nothing, feel nothing else and it made her hands shake as she dipped one finger in a bowl of red liquid.

Painting deliberately, carefully, she dragged her finger over the brick, leaving behind a smear of crimson. Repeating this act, she produced archaic symbols, each painstakingly formed with a dedication and adherence to detail that hinted at her religious upbringing, pride and fear woven into every line she created.

She'd never wanted to bite anyone more than she did at this moment.

Hard work was the reward. The sisters had instilled this idea into her. Service to the Lord was the greatest achievement and pride was a sin and cause for punishment.

But as far as she was concerned, success was the highest ideal. Blood and screams, cum and surrender were the best rewards for hard work .The Lord had been dead to her for a long time and pride was a natural consequence of being clever. The sisters had been wrong about so many things.

What would the sisters think of her now? She grinned an impish smirk a she dipped her finger into the blood again and began the next symbol.

What would her Spike think of her now if he saw her taking the initiative? How would he feel if he knew she no longer needed him to write her life for her, that she'd decided to direct her own destiny? No one was ever going to tell her what to do ever again.

The bloody strokes she created aged, changing from near transparency against the reddened stones, to darkened rust as they solidified into being. Time was smiling on her.

"What are you kids up to?" Eyghon approached the pair.

The demon. She was weary of him; banding her like a little pet, trying to manipulate her. When she managed to turn Giles, to free Ripper, Eyghon would be the first in line to try and take him away from her. That must never happen.

She abandoned her writing and rose, turning to greet the demon at her full height. Her stature was nothing compared to his, but she was determined to rid herself of his interference once and for all, to break any claim he may feel for Ripper. Once she had the librarian, nothing would ever come between them.

"You let him raise a circle? You idiot girl, are you insane?" He corrected himself immediately," of course you are, but are you stupid as well? You have proven completely worthless, I should have staked you long ago."

Eyghon wrenched a length of wood from the doorframe and stepped towards her.

Someone else trying to determine her future, it was really becoming too much to bear. Her features shifted, sliding into game face and she circled her opponent.

"He thinks you're weak," the trees warned.

Yes. She could feel it, his disregard, and his annoyance. She was nothing to him, a pest, a fly to be exterminated. Didn't he even see that she meant to kill him? If he did, would his ego even allow her to be a serious threat?

No. He stood there so calmly, ready to punish her for not being what he wanted. Just like everyone else.

"Don't be ridiculous." Scorn. Irritation. Disbelief that she would ever stand up to him, let alone fight back.

Just like everyone else.

"But I want to amuse you," she assured. "I don't want my host to regret inviting me." His nose was still curled as if she were something foul he'd stepped in. Suddenly, she desperately wanted to smash it back into his skull.

"If I didn't already have a full agenda with my plans for Ripper, I'd enjoy taking you apart slowly, piece by piece."

"It's already been tried by better than you." Throughout her years, unlife back through childhood, people had tried to break her and she'd been more than willing to let them because that's what she thought she deserved.

The muscles in the demons arm tensed and the need to spill his blood sang through her until she sprang at him with the single intent of proving that neither he nor anyone else was going to dictate to her again.

She went for his eyes, hoping to blind him. He was taken aback by the violence of her fury and unable to use the stake while fighting in such close proximity, but did manage to raise one massive arm and hit her with such force that she immediately dropped to the ground, stunned. He raised the stake high . . .

A loud buzzing drone heralded a disturbance in the air as a portal opened behind the combatants.

Without explanation, Giles saw his own hand penetrate the field of protection he had erected and grab the knife that Dru had dropped.

Before he could question his actions, he found himself standing behind the combatants, he saw his arm reaching around, inserting the blade into the demon's eye socket, pushing deeper until it pierced his brain. Blood and gore spattered him as Eyghon half turned in disbelief, then collapsed against him.

Giles shoved the corpse off of him with a shudder and stopped when he saw Drusilla unmoving, a wooden shaft embedded in her right breastbone. The demon had missed. Drusilla was weak, but not dust.He should finish it. All of the people she'd killed, tortured, all the pain and anguish she'd caused for over a hundred years demanded it.

And he couldn't.

He walked back to the circle, quietly picked up the metal necklace and walked back to her still unmoving form.

If he left her, she would heal. It would take a while and be very painful, but she didn't really need him.

He fastened the metal band around her neck.

If he stepped through the portal, she would be trapped here forever and the innocents in his world would be safe.

Closing his eyes and grimacing, he twisted the shaft of wood, jerking it from her and throwing it fiercely to the side, where it struck the wall and rattled to the ground. He put his hand against the exit wound to staunch any blood flow.

Drusilla opened her eyes and smiled when she saw him kneeling over her, covered in Eyghon's blood.

"Ripper, you love me," she whispered.

"Why would you say that?" He asked patiently, testing to see if her wound had stopped bleeding.

"Because you killed for me."

He had. Chaos had some small victory, even though Eyghon was dead.

Drusilla would mend. Right now he couldn't bring himself to see her vampire face and murderous lips speak of love. He had to get through the portal before it closed; the best thing was to leave her there, she didn't need him.

He gathered her tenderly in his arms, stepped into his broken circle and through the still active portal.

He'd found his hell and had better learn to live with it.

Other Het Fic

Main Het Fic list