Title: Compassion Kills
Author: Kat, a.k.a. KallieRose
E-mail: [email protected]
Rating: NC-17, bondage, non-consensual sex, light bloodplay, (temporary) character death.
Pairing: Willow/Angelus
Disclaimer: I acknowledge Joss Whedon as god of gods. All the characters in this story are his creation, along with Fox, the rest of the Mutant Enemy Crew, and whomever else wants to lay claim to them. I'm merely killing time by putting them in totally unrealistic situations :-)
Summary: Willow comes to Los Angeles during Season 4 of Angel, in order to give Angel his soul back. Things don't go quite as planned (and really, do they ever???) 
Spoilers: For season 4 of Angel

Compassion Kills

Compassion Kills, Part 1

Willow slipped into the lobby of the Hyperion quickly, closing the door quietly behind her, as she breathed a grateful sigh of relief to have finally reached her destination. The ride to L.A. had been long and boring, punctuated by moments of heart-stopping terror as she considered what she was about to do. The drive had given the grateful woman a chance to collect her thoughts and prepare herself for the task ahead of her, but it had also given her enough time for her anxiety to get the better of her. Not to mention the mind-numbing terror her body felt at the thought of seeing Angelus again.

She knew that her friend Angel had never felt any ill will towards her, even though she had returned his soul just as Buffy had plunged the sword into him and sent him straight to hell. A more unfortunate case of bad timing she could never have imagined. But Angel had made it clear immediately upon his return that he didn't hold her responsible for what happened. He didn't blame Buffy either. All blame, as far as he was concerned, laid completely at Angelus' feet.

Somehow Willow didn't think that Angelus would be quite as accommodating. In fact, she was willing to bet money on it.

The lobby was empty, which bothered Willow somewhat. She had expected that the young woman with the sweet southern voice would be there to meet her, along with Cordelia and the rest of the team. But instead of entering the lobby of a bustling workplace, the building was silent and still.

She took in the room at a glance; the last time she had been here was when she had informed Angel of Buffy's latest death. How many times had the blonde died now?  Was it just twice, or had there been a third time in there? Her forehead crinkled as she tried to remember, slightly amused at the direction her thoughts had taken her.

Eyes that had gone too long without sleep began to droop, along with a body that just hadn't gotten enough rest lately. The battle against the first evil afforded her little time for sleep these days, and a solid eight hours without interruption would have been heavenly. But every time she closed her eyes, images of a blood-spattered Tara filled her eyes, refusing to give her peace. Kennedy, one of the newer slayers-in-training, had been pushing her hard, trying to catch her interest, but it was just too soon, and the young woman was just too demanding. Maybe someday she'd be ready, but that day wasn't today.

Her eyes ran lightly over the furnishings of the building, taking in the differences since the last time she had been there. A few more homey touches greeted her eyes:  flowers here and there in the lobby, some new weapons in the cabinet, a few new books strewn around the offices. A small movement caught her eye, and her gaze traveled the room to latch onto the video screen on top of what would have been the check-in counter, in the building's previous incarnation. She moved closer, wondering what it was she was seeing.

Shocked senses saw and heard the sound of a man crying. As she looked closer, she realized that what she was seeing was Angel, locked in a cage, crying deep, heart-wrenching sobs. The tormented vision before her certainly couldn't be Angelus, she knew.  The demon would never feel such remorse. And even if he were capable of it, he certainly would never show such vulnerability, not even in private.

The room he was in had the rough, stark look of a basement, and a cage of iron bars was built into the rock walls. The small containment room held only enough space for a small table and a single bed; more like a simple cot really. Angel sat alone on the fairly uncomfortable-looking piece of furniture, feet on the floor, head in his hands.

Had Wesley tried to do the re-souling spell on his own? The young woman on the phone, the one who had called herself Fred, had said that he might try, if the situation were serious enough. Maybe it had been. But if that was the case, why had they left him locked in the cell, guilt and bitterness pouring out with every cry?

She could see an orb of Thessulah on the floor a bit outside of the cage, along with some herbs and incense. From here it was impossible to tell what kind of condition they were in, but judging from the way that Angel was acting, it seemed quite likely that Wesley had tried the restoration spell and had actually succeeded.

Willow looked around quickly, searching for a door or passage that might lead the way to her friend. The room shown on the monitor reminded her of an unfinished basement, so down was the most obvious direction to head. After a moment she noticed an unobtrusive side door set into the wall behind one of the make-shift desks and opened it slowly, giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the darker stairway before she descended slowly into the basement.

At the bottom of the stairs the room opened up into a large cavern, resembling the image that had shown on the monitor upstairs. Her anxious eyes settled on the vampire, still sitting crying on the cot located on the far side of the room. His head was still bent, but when he heard her approach, he made a concerted effort to dry his tears onto the long sleeve of his dark red shirt. Her eyes traveled further down his body, noting the black leather pants that clung to his lean hips.  Apparently Angelus' tastes in wardrobe hadn't changed dramatically since she had seen him last.

"Willow?" the one word, said softly, carried a wealth of pain and sadness in it. She could only imagine the crushing weight of his horror at what he had done during the demon's latest round of freedom. The redhead knew how terrible it was, the remorse felt by the soul at the taking of a human life. She had killed Warren, after all. And even though he was a putrid, pathetic excuse for a human being, she had still felt remorse and horror at her actions. Maybe not right away, but eventually.

But to compound that emotion by killing time after time after time, well, that was more than any normal soul could take. Her heart went out to Angel, her arms aching to hold him and whisper to him that everything would be all right, even if they both knew it to be a lie.

"Hi Angel," she said softly, watching his face as he realized that this was not some phantom memory, but an actual flesh-and-blood woman before him.  "What happened? Why did they leave you in the cage like this?"

A brief stab of pain flashed across his face and was hidden again before Willow had a chance to do anything more than note it. His lips compressed into a tight line, the tears beginning to dry on his face as he successfully stopped their falling.

"It was my son, Connor. He--he tried to kill me." The words brought fresh tears to his eyes, but they refused to fall. "He thought that if I was gone, maybe Cordy would love him the way that she loves me."

Willow looked at him in shock, her mind whirling at the pure amount of strange and surprising information that he had given her so matter-of-factly. First of all, Cordelia loved him? When the hell had that happened? Admittedly, she hadn't kept in touch with the L.A. gang as much as she should have. Obviously, things had been happening that nobody knew about. And Angel had a son? What the hell was that about? A son that was in love with Cordelia? How old could he have been? One, two, maybe three years old? She shook her head, trying to make sense out of facts and pieces of information that she had no possible way of understanding.

The vampire gave her a moment to process before trying to explain. When her eyes met his he saw the confusion and uncertainty that filled them. He took pity on her and drew her a rough sketch of life in L.A. during the last few years.

"When I was at a really low point in my life, I slept with Darla," he started. He noticed her extra added confusion at his words and added quickly, "Some evil lawyers brought her back, in an attempt to control me. So anyway, even though everything I've ever seen said it was impossible, she got pregnant and had a son.  She killed herself in order to give birth to him, and suddenly it was just him and me. I named him Connor, and I was learning to take care of him, when he was kidnapped.  Some stuff happened, and well, long story short, he was taken by an old enemy and raised by the man in another dimension."

He cast a quick look at Willow, and wasn't surprised to note that although she was still confused, she seemed to understand what he was telling her. She always *had* been the smart one, he remembered with a smile. "A couple of months later he was back, but had grown to be a young adult in just a matter of months.  Apparently time flowed differently where he was. Anyway, he got involved with Cordelia, who thinks she's in love with me, and that's when things got complicated."

Willow smiled wryly at the extent of his understatement, then met his eyes again.  He was happy to see compassion, empathy and even a small amount of pity there.

His eyes followed her as she walked to the bars of his cage, examining the locking mechanism of the door. No key seemed to be in evidence, so she simply said "aberte" softly, and the door opened of its own accord. Angel stood, his expression grim and sad, and Willow went to him instinctively, intending to offer comfort and reassurance.

As she approached him, a sudden feeling of uneasiness enveloped her, but sadly by then it was much too late.

With his enhanced speed, Angelus reached her before she even had a chance to say a word. One large hand covered her nose and mouth, making breathing absolutely impossible. The other hand held her body against his in an iron tight grip, anchoring her hands and arms helplessly to her sides. She struggled wildly, desperate to break free before she suffocated, but the last thing she remembered before she lost consciousness was the evil laugh of the demon behind her, and his softly whispered words in her ear. "Now it's time for some payback, my little witch."

Willow's return to consciousness came in brief stages. The first thing she realized through her fuzz-filled mind was that she seemed to be standing. The next thing she realized was that she was cold. Her brain sent a message to her hand, instructing it to try to pull something warmer over her body to cover it, but nothing happened. She tried again with the same result. Nothing.

At that point, her eyes decided to get into the game. She opened them slowly, looking for anything, but all was black. By concentrating on sensations, she realized that she felt something over her face. A blindfold. That explained the whole 'not seeing anything' bit.

Images began to tumble through her mind, one after another: Angel in a cage; the ingredients for the restoration spell on the ground; opening the door to the cage; and then, way too late, the sudden realization that Angelus had played her for a fool.

She groaned awkwardly, feeling the rough texture of the makeshift fabric gag between her lips and teeth. The same material, probably torn bedsheets, was holding her naked body tightly against the bars of the cage. She hoped desperately that there was some other explanation for what had happened, but as far as she could tell, Angelus had her. She remembered the feel of his hand, covering both her mouth and her nostrils, depriving her of the breath she needed to survive. Before long the merciful darkness had enveloped her, but not before she had heard his final words: 'Now it's time for some payback, my little witch.'

Her arms and legs thrashed back and forth, looking for any weakness to her bonds and finding none. He had her wrapped up as tight as a Christmas present, the only thing missing was the bow on the top of her head. God, how had she let him trick her? How stupid, how naive, how very...Willow, of her.

"Ah, my little witch is awake, is she? And what's up with all the struggling, my little one? Why are you so eager to leave all of a sudden?"

The words came from directly in front of her, and the voice left her in little doubt as to the identity of the speaker. As she had feared, it was Angelus.

He had paced rapidly back and forth before the young unconscious woman, waiting impatiently for her return to the waking world. 'Damn humans and their propensity for unconsciousness. Always passing out and falling asleep at the most inconvenient times.'

An increase in her heartbeat was his first clue that she was returning to him.  Still no sign of activity, he noted, but at least she was headed in that direction. Then at long last, he noticed a few signs of uneasy movement, a testing of her bindings, and Angelus decided that the time had come to make Willow's position perfectly clear to her. Little did she know that her worst nightmare had just come true.

"Ah, my little witch is awake, is she? And what's up with all the struggling, my little one? Why are you so eager to leave all of a sudden?" His words had the desired affect: her body was tense with panic, her heart was racing, and the air was flooded with the scent of her fear. Wonderful, heady, tantalizing, fear. He breathed deeply, savoring the taste of her terror. It consumed him, compelled him, and he couldn't wait to taste her. If the fear was this intoxicating, just imagine what her blood would taste like when flavored with such emotion.

He leaned his head in next to her ear, biting the lobe playfully before whispering to her, his voice as soft and quiet as a lover's. "You came all this way to see me, and I'm *so* grateful. Saved me a bit of trouble, it's true.  You *were* going to be the next stop on my world tour, did you know?"

Her body jerked in surprise, although he was unsure if it was because of the nearness of his voice or the words that he had said. Not that it really mattered.

"Cat got your tongue?" he teased, his lips meeting hers briefly in a cold, chaste kiss. "Sorry about the gag, but I would hate for you to accidentally say the words to a spell while we're together. Who knows what type of mischief you might cause." And it really was a shame, he though. He would have loved to hear the sound of her voice as he took her. She looked like she'd be quite a screamer. Oh well, maybe next time. For there certainly *would* be a next time, he acknowledged. He had big plans for this little girl, and he couldn't wait to get started with them.

Stepping back away from her, he resumed his pacing, tossing words lazily to her as he moved from side to side of the room. "So here's the deal, sweet Willow.  I'm finally free of this cage, thanks to you, of course," he moved in quickly, his hands reaching out to cup her breasts, his fingers cool beneath the warm globes of skin. His thumbs rubbed lazily over her nipples, as he watched with curious eyes as she whimpered and thrashed in her bonds.

Resuming his previous pacing, he continued talking to her as if they were engaged in a casual talk about the weather or politics. "And now that I *am* free, I'd like to thank you properly." She flinched slightly at the sensual tone of us voice when he mentioned 'thanking her', and he knew she had caught the intent behind the words.

He stood still for a moment, looking hungrily at the vision before him. 'Mine,' he thought, 'All mine.' The other day, when Cordelia offered herself to him in return for his help, he had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at her.  She was so cheap, so easy, so completely *obvious*. Just like the slayer had been. He despised that type, preferring his women to be demure and shy on the outside, but full of the hidden fire within. Just like this one.

Admittedly he had never really given much thought to one Willow Rosenberg before she had restored his soul, thrusting him back into his cage with a ruthlessness that had infuriated him. But since that day she had become an obsession. He had wanted nothing more than to make her pay for what she had done to him.

And then, just like the answer to a prayer he had never sent, she had entered the hotel. Even through rock and drywall and the distance between them, he had sensed her. Maybe it was the soul, and the connection that they shared. Or maybe it was just fate. He didn't know. But he had one chance to get her, and he played it for all it was worth. He turned on the waterworks and acted his ass off.

It had been surprisingly easy to bring the brooding bastard to the surface, trying on the persona like an ill-fitting jacket. But it had worked surprisingly well. Willow's sweet nature was easily fooled into believing every lie he told her. And now the moment he had waited for was finally here.

He approached her again, running his hand over her fiery hair and whispering softly to her. "Shhh, there, there, Willow. Relax. I'm not going to hurt you..." Her body relaxed slightly, and he whispered the final word to his sentence: "...much"

Reaching out a hand, he ran it lightly over her chest, from shoulder to shoulder. His teeth elongated and the demon's face came to the fore, long fangs prominent. Leaning in, he ran a fang across the path that his finger had just traveled, pressing down just deep enough to break the skin. The girl below him writhed awkwardly, trying desperately to escape the pain of his razor-sharp teeth.

He stopped for a moment, looking up at her. "Stay very still sweet Willow," he advised, his voice cold and serious. "I'd hate to make a mistake and bite too deep," he explained, grinning as the girl before him instantly went still.  Satisfied, he went back to his work, finishing the shallow cut across her chest.

He watched as the blood welled up and dotted her skin, cutting a crimson line from shoulder to shoulder. It hadn't been a deep cut, just enough to give her a little color. And now the demon was out of control, clamoring for a taste of her sweet life. Giving in to temptation, he ran his tongue over the rich red line, lapping at the blood and rolling it on his tongue.

As he had suspected earlier, she was delicious. Fear and hopelessness had combined with suppressed magic, giving her blood a flavor unlike any other he had ever tasted. It was all he could do to stop the demon from tearing her apart in search of more of the succulent mixture. He reminded himself that this little girl was to be more than just a tasty treat.

"You're delicious Willow," he said silkily, licking the last droplets of blood from her skin. "Hmmm...I wonder what you taste like down below?"

Angelus watched in amusement as she shook her head wildly, the words uttered from behind the gag coming out only as muffled, tangled sounds. As he knelt down between her legs, he watched the play of her muscles as she tried in vain to bring her legs together. His attention was drawn to her calf, and as he touched and caressed it, he watched it flex and point under his hand.

He moved his hand higher, the feel of the soft smooth skin beneath his fingers a sensual delight. "Hmmmmm," he hummed, as his fingers skimmed the inside of her thigh, moving even higher to her auburn curls. His fingers curled into the hair there, tugging it lightly, watching the girl shiver and wiggle, trying to escape the invading fingers as they finally finished teasing her and moved to open up her sex.

Bringing his nose to her center, he breathed deeply, using his nose to tickle her clit. Much to his pleasure, a new scent bombarded his senses, that of her arousal. "Naughty naughty Willow," he admonished, "I can smell that, you know.  Smell how excited you're getting. You're not quite the good girl that everyone thinks you are, are you?"

Her breathing was becoming labored as he continued to taunt her, both with his words and his fingers. One finger, then two, plunged deep within her, searching for that magical little spot that all women had. As his fingers moved within her, he felt, rather than heard, her sudden strangled gasp, and knew he had hit paydirt.

He teased her with his fingers, sometimes rubbing her g-spot, sometimes avoiding it entirely, merely thrusting in as deeply as possible. Soon he could hear small whimpers of frustration coming from her, begging him for more.

Then, as he sensed she was just on the edge of her release, he encircled her thighs with his arms as he sank his teeth deep into the lips of her sex. He eliciting a muted scream from his captive, mixed of equal parts of pain, pleasure and surprise, as she came trembling in his arms. Her muscles spasmed round his fingers, still buried deep inside her, as he continued to drink from her sex, the juices from her release mingling with her blood and driving his taste buds absolutely insane.

He pulled away reluctantly, licking his lips in satisfaction. "You're absolutely delicious," he told her, his hands reaching up to lightly tweak her nipples. "And you make such a delightful sound when you cum." He watched her face as he spoke, finally giving in and pulling off the blindfold, eager to see the emotions in those emerald eyes.

What he saw surprised him. He had expected to see the hatred and the fear, and those emotions were certainly there. The thing that surprised him was the lust shining in those depths, challenging him to do his worst to her. There was a darkness deep in her soul that he hadn't expected. Certainly he had known it was there; had anticipated being the one to bring it forth. But it looked like someone, or something, had beaten him to it. He watched her curiously, wondering what event in the last few years had opened that door within her.  Maybe he would ask her. Later.

The time to play was over. His erection, which he had been doing his best to ignore, was nearly tearing a hole in his pants. He quickly unzipped his pants and stepped out of them, watching with pride as her eyes grew large at the sight of his penis standing proudly before him.

"Are you ready?" he whispered. Without waiting for her response, he brought his cock to her folds, running it teasingly back and forth before finally plunging deep within her in one thrust. She whimpered again, pain clouding her eyes for a moment, but instead of allowing him to stop, she thrust her hips towards him as much as she could, impaling him even further into the depths of her warm, welcoming body.

He looked into her eyes, impressed with her actions, and proud that he would be the one to bring her into his world, strong and powerful, both in body and in mind. No, she would not be an insane, broken toy when he made her his childe.  He had learned his lesson with Dru.

Making her his childe had not been a conscious decision. The thought had merely come into his mind as if it had always been there. She would be his childe, his mate, his greatest creation. The demon world would bow down before them, and they would be the beginnings of a new dynasty, stronger than any that had come before. Minions would tremble in fear at the mere mention of their names. Humans, those who knew of demons and vampires, would refuse to even think their names, for fear of bringing down their wrath.

A strangled cry from the redhead brought his thoughts back to the present. He was pushing her into the bars of the cage so hard with his thrusts that he imagined he could feel the bones in her body beginning to crack. Tears were glistening in her eyes, and the pleasure that she had felt earlier was turning to pain at the onslaught of his body.

She wasn't a vampire *yet* he reminded himself, reigning in his enthusiasm and changing his deep, strong thrusts to softer but quicker movements. Soon he was on the edge, his cock squeezed tight by her warm channel, the muscles massaging him gently.

As he reached his orgasm, he growled her name aloud, then brought his hands up to her neck, tilting it to the side and sinking his fangs deep into her.  She made no move to escape this, her fate, merely cried out as she came with him, their bodies working together to prolong their pleasure.

Angelus savored the taste of her blood once again, knowing that this would be the last time he would taste it this warm. The next time he tasted it, she would be a vampire. It would still be glorious, but the flavors and temperature would be different. It would never be quite the same. A part of him regretted that, but he knew that it was necessary to turn her; she would never have stayed with him willingly if he had let her live.

All too soon the last of her blood filled his mouth, and he slowly, regretfully eased his sharp fangs from her neck. Using a nail to slice a deep line along his neck, he finally removed the gag from her mouth, taking a moment to admire her like this: naked, restrained, their juices pooling and running down her legs, her face a mask of death and desire.

Then the moment was over and he brought her mouth to his bleeding neck, his fingers gently running through her hair as she drew her new life's blood from his body.

When she was finished and unconsciousness had again claimed her, he released her body from the walls of the cage and cradled her in his arms. He held her there, running his hands possessively along her body, until he heard the distant sounds of his former employees. It was time to go. He gathered his childe in his arms and left for the tunnels, trying to think of the perfect place to take his new mate to wait for her first awakening.

He hoped it didn't take long. He had never been any good at waiting.

The End

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