Title: Shadow Of The Beast
Author: Chelle
Posted: 01-23-2004
Email:
Rating: NC17
Category: Angst
Content: C/A
Summary: This is Beauty and the Beast C/A style
Spoilers: None. This fic is almost AU
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made.
Distribution: Just Fic
Notes: Angel left Sunnydale in Season One (Buffy was unable to see past the vampire, think the way she saw Spike) Cordelia knows the Scoobies and a little of who and what they are (just as other students in their town do), but she was never a part of them. Wesley did come to Sunnydale for a while as a replacement for Giles when he was fired, but left soon after. And in this story, there was never a gypsy curse.
Feedback: Sure
Thanks/Dedication:Part 2 Continued
Cordelia lay quiet and still in the darkened room, a cross clutched tightly in one hand, thoughts of her father, her mother, her life plaguing her mind. How had she come to this? There had been a time in her life that her biggest worries were which date to choose and what shoes to wear.
Her eyes focused on the opened window and the vague muted light that filtered through it and into the room. She had had to open it, unable to stand just the idea of the blackened window, even if the sky was almost as dark as the painted panes. In some ways she thought it must be her fear giving her another form of defense to go along with the wooden cross, thinking to repel the vampire by the idea of a window opened to the sky, no matter that it was still night and wouldn‘t affect him at all. Fear never was a very rational advisor.
She should just leave, go home and get it over with. What difference did it make that she had four more days left when she knew the inevitable outcome?
Of course, her fate wasn’t really sealed, she did have a choice. She didn’t have to go back to Sunnydale.
Cordelia swallowed back a small sob at that thought, that she would even entertain the option of abandoning her father. But why did that surprise her? It was just what her mother had done. Maybe she was more like her than she wanted to believe.
Her eyes focused on the room again as she desperately pulled her thoughts away from guilt and blame. She wouldn’t leave her father. She knew that. Her desperate and brief thoughts of not returning to help him were just her last frantic gasps of oxygen before drowning.
She studied the shadows again, counting them like sheep. One. Two. Three. She stopped. Concentrating on a very large, dark outline near the corner of the room. She squinted, shifted her eyes away and then back again, but no matter what she tried, the shape still looked the same, like that of a man. She knew better, knew that no one had entered the room. But then it moved slightly.
Cordelia’s head shot up from the pillow and she sat straight up, her heart pounding out a frenzied rhythm as she moved to get out of her bed.
“Stay where you are,” the voice rumbled the order softly, like distant thunder.
Cordelia stilled, her left hand twisted in the sheet that covered her just above the legs, while the right gripped the cross she held so hard a splinter pricked the palm of her hand. She waited for his cue, to know whether to speak or scream.
“Why did you come her?” the low voice was filled with anger and admonishment. “Wesley gave you your answer. Did you think coming here would convince me?”
Her fear almost turned to anger at the contempt in his voice. Lifting her chin, she looked in his direction, unwilling to let him intimidate her. She had wanted to plead her case personally, now was her chance. “I had to try. He’s going to kill my dad.”
“So pay him the money,” he said so simply she wanted to cry.
“I don’t have it, or I would,” she bit out.
“Well then, what do you want from me? Money? If you borrowed it from me, wouldn’t you be right back where you started? In the debt of a demon?” his sarcasm was a cruel taunt at her situation.
“I didn’t come here to ask for money,” she stayed the quiver in her voice.
“Then what did you come here to ask me for, Cordelia?”
His voice had been hard and admonishing until her name had crossed his lips, softening the sound and making her uncomfortable at the intimateness of it, the caress it held. “I just….,” she breathed slowly and collected herself. “I thought that maybe you could, would ‘convince’ him to let my dad go. I’d still pay back the money he owes of course, eventually.”
“Oh, ‘convince’. And why should I risk myself for a man who is dumb enough to borrow money from something like a Memlock demon?”
“Why?”
“Well, what’s in it for me? Besides the pleasure of pissing off one of the biggest demons on the West Coast?”
She finally realized. Angel was just like the other demon. He wanted payment. “I’ve got a string of pearls missed by my mother’s quick and greedy exodus. They’re worth about three-thousand.”
“Not enough,” he gave a humorless laugh. “Anything else.”
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t have anything else.
“So, that’s all you have to offer? A necklace for the life of your father, the greedy fool.”
“He’s not a fool!” she argued passionately. “He was desperate.” And so was she. She looked back at the figure, “Please,” the word tore it’s way from her heart and cut straight through him. “I can‘t just leave him there.”
A picture suddenly formed in his mind of her begging for her father’s life in front of the Memlock, of the pleasure it must have brought him. He wanted to rip the monster to pieces for that, to kill her father for causing it and her for lowering herself in front of the creature.
His anger turned into words that lashed out at her, “And did you beg so sweetly when you made your deal with the Memlock?” he hissed between gritted teeth.
He knew.
“What makes you think I’m any different? You know what I am. What’s in my nature to do. I’m a monster just like he is. That’s why you came to me, isn’t it? To find a monster to defeat a monster?”
“Some people say your different than other demons. That you have a soul. Even if you don’t let it show,” she meant the last as an insult and he clearly understood it for just that.
“A soul doesn’t automatically mean you’re good, that you care. There are enough humans in the world that prove that fact on a daily basis.”
“There must be something in you that cares a little. You live with humans.”
“Well, unlike vampires, humans can enter your home without an invitation. Just because I don’t kill them, doesn’t mean that they are welcomed.”
She was tired of the fruitless conversation and the game of words he seemed to be playing, “Are you going to help me, or not?” her voice was soft and weary.
“No,” he answered, his body tensing at the bite in his own voice and the emptiness in her eyes as she resigned herself to her fate.
Cordelia rose then and dropped the cross on the bed. What did it matter now? Die tonight, tomorrow, six weeks from today, she no longer cared.
“Where are you going?” his voice thundered as it had before, demanding a reply.
“Home,” she said as she began to take small steps in the darkness, heading for the light switch by the door.
“Why?”
“Have you been listening? To save my father you jerk.”
“So it’s that easy for you? To trade your life for his. You’d give yourself to that monster so that he can live?”
He sounded outraged and she turned and looked in his direction just before she reached the door, “Yes.”
“So,” he paused, his voice taking on a sinister note. “You do have something more valuable than a necklace,” there was a grimness to his words, and at once she knew he was attempting a bargain. The same one that waited for her in Sunnydale.
Her mouth was dry and her chest rose and fell quickly. She had been prepared for this fate in Sunnydale. What difference did it make which beast she went to? “You’ll get him away from that monster?” she hoped and feared it at the same time.
“You’ll give your life for his?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“And I can believe you? Trust that you’ll do what you say?”
“You hold my dad’s life in your hands. I think tonight should instill enough trust in you that I’ll do anything for that.”
“Then it’s done.“
He moved then, and she thought of what he was, what he needed to live. Could that be what he meant? Literally give her life to him as payment? Unable to control herself, she turned and flipped on the switch, as if the light would banish him as it did any bad dream or creepy shadow; but she couldn’t seem to make herself turn around, to look death in the face. She longed for the forgotten cross on the bed and uttered a silent prayer that he had meant his words. That her death would free her father.
The bright room was an unexpected assault and he knew instantly she had done it to chase him away, thinking that he was going to kill her and that the light would cause him to slither back under his rock like all disgusting things that live in dark places. That was her impression of him, something ugly and evil, cowering in the shadows. He stared at her back as it trembled, the courage she had flashed at him in the dark gone as she came to terms with what she had actually done. He wandered if she would stay true to her word. If he could make her break it. “Don’t make deals you can’t keep, Cordelia,” he warned, daring her to turn around and see the monster to which she had sold herself.
Staring at her trembling hands, Cordelia took a deep breath and turned, readying herself for the hideous sight.
He stood straight and tall in the middle of the room, his amber eyes burning into her, waiting for her to run in terror or collapse to the floor in sobs, begging to take back the bargain. But just like anything viewed in shadows and darkened rooms, whispered about and feared, he became clearer in the light, less monster and more intimidating figure. He was tall and thick, with broad shoulders and a menacing presence; and the muscles that tensed and flexed under her scrutiny, gave her more of a sense of power than menace. His face was definitely one of a vampire, but even that, bathed in the glow of the overhead bulbs was not as terrifying as she had thought it would be. She supposed that running for your life through the Sunnydale Cemetery made the idea of sharp teeth and a bumpy brow much scarier than it seemed now.
She found herself staring into his amber eyes, swimming in the deep emotions of hate and pain that swirled within them, thinking that Fred’s assessment had been right. He was more injured animal than demon. And in some ways that made him all the more dangerous.
His brow furrowed and he took a small step back, as if to catch himself, before straightening again and looking at her as if she had struck him. He had expected fear, but he had gotten much worse, a small amount of pity and a large amount of curiosity. The kind of look that might grace the faces of freak-show patrons or students looking into formaldehyde jars. “Get a good look, Cordelia. See exactly what kind of deal you’ve made,” he ordered with a growl, his eyes turbulent and cruel.
He was trying too hard to scare her now and she knew it. She thought about what Xander had told her. That Angel had come to Sunnydale to help and what the result of that attempt had been. She wondered why he never let the others see him, yet gave them a home and, in a sense, took care of them. Why would an evil vampire do that? Why would a marginally good one after being cursed by the first humans he tried to help?
He was putting her through something that he never forced on the other members of his house. Suddenly she was afraid of the possibility that he would change his mind, that he wanted to. That he was giving her a test that she was expected to fail, allowing him to go back on his promise.
Well, she would not let him. She had come too far to give up now. No matter what feelings raged within her at the moment, she could not show fear, regret, or disgust at what he was, enabling him to use that as an excuse to run away, abandon his attempt at helping her the way he had Buffy and the others in Sunnydale.
It might not be too bad living in the old hotel, she reasoned with herself, always the survivor. The others seemed to come and go as they pleased. She’d have Fred for company and she could visit her father, go out during the day. Eventually, maybe even go to school. Cordelia remembered what Fred had told her, how she wished that she could thank Angel for what he had done, no matter how he felt about it.
Tentatively she took a small step forward, causing Angel’s body to visibly tense, “Thank you,” she breathed, showing that she not only wasn’t afraid but even grateful for his help. And in some ways she was, now that she knew the trade had not meant her death and that her father would be set free.
Angel stood in uncertainty, not knowing what to do at the unexpected reaction and words of thanks. Everything about her surprised him, caught him off guard. He stared back into her hazel eyes full of fear at her situation and cautious gratitude. Just as it had before, her bravery shook him, changed everything he wanted to believe about humans.
He looked at the way she stood so still, so brave as she looked at a product of hell. She was holding herself in that regal stance again, the one she had dawned as she walked so fearlessly away from the cab. He stared at her features, the perfect line of her face, the fullness of her lips and her soft, sun kissed glow. Her beauty was much more prevalent as she stood half way across the room like some angelic goddess in the clingy, white night gown. The bronze of her skin enhanced even more by the color of the garment as it gently hugged her curves. Her coffee colored hair tumbling loosely around her face and down her back, urging him to touch it, to run his fingers through it.
The old familiar memory of angry and disgusted eyes came fresh and fast in his mind, the irises morphing from clear, blue to sparkling, hazel. He cursed himself internally at his thoughts and boiled with rage at her for turning on the light, for making him feel so vulnerable to her eyes, and her so inviting to his. She was acting as if she weren’t afraid of him, and for a moment he had believed it. Relished it.
Suddenly he felt over-exposed, imagining, after admiring her beauty, what a hideous creature he must seem to her. “Turn it off,” he growled.
“What?”
“The light! Turn it off!” he roared.
Cordelia stepped back quickly and plunged the room back into darkness. Her hands were shaking again and her heart pounded so hard she felt dizzy.
Angel took several steps until he stood just inches from her, his face hidden again in shadows. She thought about screaming for Wesley. Instead she froze, waiting for his next unpredictable move, for the injured beast to strike.
He stood over her for what seemed an eternity, intimidating, aggressive. The darkness turning him back into the deadly creature he was as his shadow engulfed her, smothered her until she felt as if she couldn‘t breath. “Are you afraid of me, Cordelia?” he finally spoke, his voice was soft and menacing, expecting a truthful answer. He knew she was and wanted to feed that fear, punish her for turning on the light.
“Well,” her voice shook, but she didn’t care. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To scare everyone away so you can lick your wounds in private?”
The truth of her words stabbed him even as their openness created an odd sense of intimacy.
“There is a reason I live in darkness, Cordelia. A reason I don’t want anyone to look at me,” he leaned close to her ear, “Don‘t ever do that again,” he threatened through clenched teeth.
And then he was gone.
Part 3
Cordelia lay across the bed of the brightly lit room, staring at the wooden cross on the nightstand. It had been hours since Angel had disappeared and hours since she had frantically reached up and flipped the light on again. She&#'been unable to turn it off after their confrontation and had spent most of the night curled on the bed wondering if he had gone to Sunnydale and if he had been able to keep his part of the deal. Her father's freedom for her life.
Her life. Just what did that mean? She had thought for one heart-stopping moment when Angel had crossed the room that &#"r life&#"ad meant just as it sounded. An offering, an end. After all, he was a vampire. He had to take the life of a human to survive. Or did he?
He had stopped so suddenly when she turned on the light in fear. The look on his face had nearly brought her to her knees; the shock in his eyes, the hurt portrayed by the lines in his brow and the slight slump of his shoulders. In that moment, as scary as he seemed, being attacked by him almost seemed an impossibility. Almost. She shivered at the thought of what had followed, grateful that apparently promising her life to a vampire had not meant her death. At least not yet.
So what did it mean? Was she doomed to be a resident of this "Hotel California" like the others who seemed inexplicably bound to the place and its owner through their obsessions with revenge, mysterious prophecies, and social apprehension. Had they promised the same thing to Angel, offered up their lives for some favor, sold their souls as willingly as she had hers? Or were Wesley, Charles Gunn, and Fred here for the reasons they claimed; devotion to an un-deciphered prophecy, revenge for a beloved sister, and shelter from a world they were not ready to face.
The smell of clean air after a good rain wafted through the open window, drawing Cordelia's attention to the lightening sky outside. Aching for the bright, warm morning sun and its ability to chase away the dark thoughts of the previous night, Cordelia rose from the bed and walked to the window. Laying her arms across the sill, she leaned her head slightly out into the breaking day, staring up between the buildings at the paper-thin clouds that scattered the sky and intermixed with hues of pink and blue.
As the world outside continued to lighten, a splash from the street below caught her attention. She watched as a small car sped down the short street, using the route as a shortcut, obviously oblivious to its sinister reputation. Cordelia looked back up, this time focusing on the old building that sat across from her window. She recalled the way it had appeared the night before, so ominous and foreboding as she had sat out on her death-march down the dark, abandoned road. In the daylight, however, its appearance began to transform into something so different. She watched intently as the sun crept across the structure, chasing away shadows and replacing them with artistic, architectural curves and old stone masonry, giving it an antiqued or historic appearance as opposed to the haunting, chilling feeling it had conjured the night before.
Its massive size was still daunting, imposing; but no longer did it seem to loom over the street like a dark predator, ready to devour anyone who strayed into its domain. The morning sun shed light into its dark hollows, robbing it of the power it had possessed in being the unknown, the unseen. Its presence was still impressive, awe inspiring; however, as powerful as it seemed, time and experience had weathered it, weakened it.
Its secrets began to unfold with every breaking ray and Cordelia could see it clearly now. The building was old and worn and full of cracks brought about by earthquakes and age. Solitude, neglect and time had made it what it was. But in all its imperfection, its intimidating size and marred facade, it was beautiful. It had simply been forgotten, disregarded, unappreciated for what it truly was, could be. All it was in need of was care. Someone who could see beyond the cracks and age and dusty, dark halls. Heck, with a little TLC it could probably be restored to its former glory.
It was such a contradiction of itself. Strong yet weak, beautiful yet grotesque. She didn't understand how it could encompass so many differing characteristics, or why she even cared. But for some strange reason she did care, couldnt stop h'erself from studying it, analyzing it.
In a way it reminded her of Angel; the contradictions, the way he frightened and fascinated her at the same time, how the light had robbed him of some of his power the night before.
A beep and another splash startled Cordelia and she looked down to the street again as yet another car braved the shortcut, unafraid of its mythical unknown in the light of day. She stared at the street for a moment and then back to the building. A realization hit her.
The building was Angel. What was it he had told her the night before? That there was a reason he lived in darkness? She had thought he had meant that darkness was a necessity. That it was his domain, the world where he could roam freely. But it had nothing to do with freedom or power. He didn't live in the darkness. He hid there, counting on the fear it instilled in humans. He didn't use it to prey on them, but to keep them away. And just as the building she now stared at so intently, Angel, as strong and dominant as he seemed, was full of cracks. Worn by the solitude, scarred by loneliness, bitter and angry from the years of living without external (or internal) light.
Angel was the old building. Empty. Neglected. She wondered to herself what he might have been with care, what he could have contributed to the world if Buffy and the others in Sunnydale hadn't thrown him away.
She pushed away harsh thoughts of Buffy Summers. She couldn't blame the girl, she was the Slayer after all. By nature, Angel was her enemy. And even if she was the one who had chased him away, squelched whatever amount of good that hid inside of him, he had let her. He had let one act of fear throw him from a path that could have meant something, made him someone. Now….now he was nothing. An empty dwelling that everyone feared in the darkness, and forgot in the light.
Cordelia breathed in one last breath of morning air before stepping away from the window. Heading toward the small bathroom, she thought about her father and the fate that his actions and her own promise had condemned her to. A life sentence in the company of solitude, loneliness, and bitter anger.
Yet even as she feared what her promise to Angel had meant, in some small corner, just beyond the reach of her consciousness or control, she wondered if she could ever conquer her fear of the darkness, if she could ever see beyond the cracks, age and dusty, dark halls, and if she could ever help the others to do the same.
*****
He was powerful. Even as he swayed slightly, the blood of the Kremlock covering his body, mixing with what flowed from his own wounds, the intruder was more powerful than the two demons that still stood.
Clinton Chase's heart raced as he looked toward the open sewer entrance that the vampire had used to surprise his captors. He looked back to the three bodies as they flung themselves at each other in a frenzy of fangs and gore. The vampire was going to win.
He looked at the sewer entrance again and slowly crawled across the marble floor. This was his only chance. If he waited, the vampire would surely turn his attention to him when his business with the Kremlock had been settled. So, risking one more glance at the battle, Clinton sprinted as fast as his bruised and battered body would allow him to and dove into the opening.
There was a time he would have noticed the smell and grime of a place such as the Sunnydale sewer. Who was he kidding? There was a time that a spec of dust on his best Armani would have sent him into a tail spin. But now none of those things mattered. As he shuffled through the dark tunnel, nothing in the world mattered as much as the safety of his little girl.
He cursed and yelled in his mind for what he had done to himself and his family. How had it gotten so far?
Well he would make it all right now. By the time the vampire killed the other two monsters, he would be far enough away for a clean escape. And without the Kremlock on his back, he and Cordelia could leave Sunnydale, start over.
He stopped and stared at the split in the tunnel ahead, breathing heavily as he tried to discern the best route, the fastest way to freedom.
Catching his breath the best he could, he veered slightly to the left, hoping he had chosen wisely.
"Wrong way" a soft voice echoed through the chamber.
Clinton felt a small pain in his chest and he fought to calm himself as he turned to look behind him. Nothing. He squinted hard in the darkness. No one, no thing. But he knew. Something was there. And he had seen too much in the last few months, knew too many faces his pursuer might wear to risk finding out what the "something" might be. Turning back around, he bolted, running as fast as his racing heart would allow, his bare feet splashing in black puddles, his shoulders occasionally scraping and scratching against the jagged sewer walls. He could make it. If his heart didnt give' out on him, he could make it.
He ran for what seemed an eternity with no end to the tunnel or visible entrances in sight. Adrenaline pumping too hard for a man with a heart condition, he pushed himself faster as he glanced behind himself, trying not to think about the voice he had heard. A tightness began to squeeze his chest and he rubbed at the ache in his forearm, looking down as he did so. He never saw the shadow that passed in front of his path. Never knew that he was running straight toward it until he felt the cold muck of the sewer floor beneath his back.
Stunned for a moment, the fall and chest pains causing a ringing dizziness in his head, Clinton looked up at the shadow that towered over him and tried to focus.
A powerful hand descended from the blackness and grabbed him roughly by the arm that now felt numb. He struggled to stand as the dark figure lead him quickly back the way he had ran.
"What part of ‘wrong way' don't you understand?" the voice was venomous yet soft as it maneuvered them both through the darkness.
Minutes later, Clinton found himself with the stranger in front of the branching tunnels. It was then that he caught a profile of the demon, knew that it was the vampire that had fought, and obviously defeated the Kremlock's gang. As they traveled the lighter tunnel, he could see the extent of injuries the monster beside him had sustained in the fight. On a man they would have been fatal. But for what he knew of vampires……Clinton knew his fate then. Balling the fist of his free arm, he slammed it into the largest gash in the vampire's side. The monster howled in pain and Clinton ran.
The hand caught at his arm again, but where it had been simply firm before, it now was violent, painful. His body slammed hard into the wall as Angel pinned him tightly against the filth with one, strong arm.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the monster growled just inches from his face.
"I didn't escape the Kremlock just to become fuel for an injured vamp" he breathed heavily.
"Escape" Angel almost seemed amused then. "Is that what you think you did?" Releasing his grip, he let the man slip to the floor. "Pretty stupid move. Of course, what should I expect from a man who borrows money from a Kremlock." He backed away a step or two and looked at Clinton for a moment, as if deciding what to do with him. "Wait here" he finally commanded, before disappearing into the blackness.
Clinton did what he was told this time. He couldn't escape death now. It was what he deserved for what he had done to his family. At least he could rest with some peace in knowing that the Kremlock was dead and that he would never be able to get his hands on Cordelia.
When the vampire reappeared, Clinton braced himself for whatever pain was to come. He closed his eyes and felt a soft, heavy object hit his leg. Opening his eyes, he looked down at the dark canvas bag that lay at his feet.
"Bus ticket, a little money, and a change of clothes" Angel explained from the opposite wall of the tunnel.
Clinton stared suspiciously at Angel as he knelt slowly to the bag. He unzipped and rummaged through it. Just as the vampire said, there was a bus ticket, a pair of slacks, a shirt, shoes, and enough money to get him and Cordy far away from Sunnydale, and then some. His hand trembled. Joy, gratitude, hope overwhelmed him. He looked up with wet uncertain eyes. "Thank you" he whispered.
Angel's face softened for a moment, then hardened in anger. "Don't" his voice was the venomous whisper it had been before. "Never be grateful for a good deed before you know the motives behind it."
Clinton could care less about the vampire's personal motives, good or bad. He was free. And now so was Cordy. He zipped the bag and stood, letting his unlikely rescuer lead the way.
With every step, the sewer tunnel grew lighter and lighter, until they reached what was obviously a manhole.
"This is as close to the station as I can get you."
Clinton paused for a moment and looked at the being in front of him; his jagged fangs, his disfigured face, the blood that still dripped from his side. "I don't know why you did this. I don't really care actually. But I can't help but be grateful. You saved more than my life tonight."
Angel swallowed down the long forgotten taste of guilt, "Your bus leaves soon. If you want to stay alive, get out of Sunnydale and never come back" he tried not to growl the response but failed.
"I will. As soon as I find my daughter, we'll be as far away from this place as we can get" Clinton said before turning to the entrance.
"You won't find her" he didn't know if it slipped out or if he had wanted to hurt the man intentionally.
The words took a moment to sink in, took a moment to register in Clinton's brain. "What?" he finally turned and asked in bewilderment.
"Cordelia's not here" Angel answered coolly, almost arrogantly.
Shock froze Clinton into place. He could do nothing but stare, unwilling and unable to believe that this monster knew about Cordelia.
"I told you, never be grateful until you find out the motives" he offered quietly.
"You son-of-a-bitch!" Clinton dropped the bag and charged.
Angel stood as a solid wall, letting the man vent his anger for a moment before pinning him to the ladder leading to the street above.
"If you touch her! If you lay a hand on her!…"
"You'll what Chase?" he taunted. "Come on. Scare me. You've done such a great job of it already."
Clinton collapsed back against the steps with a sob, desperation replacing his anger. "Please, I'll do anything. Whatever you want. Oh God, please. Take me in her place" he cried.
Angel's anger escalated, "Don't you think you've done enough bargaining when it comes to Cordelia?" he tightened his hold. "She's made her deal. Bought you're freedom for the price of her own. She's my responsibility now. Mine he let" go of his hold, allowing Clinton to drop down to his knees.
Angel stared at the man who sobbed at his feet, begging for his daughter's life. Her father didn't deserve her. It was his weakness that sent her to the Kremlock, to L.A..
"Please let her go. Please" Clinton cried freely but was met with an icy stare. "You're going to make her like you. Aren't you?"
"She would never be like me. Even if I did turn her."
"What will you do?" he feared the truth and needed it at the same time.
"What you couldn't. Protect her. Keep her safe from the things you've exposed her to. Give her the life you tried to bargain your soul for. She'll have everything and anything she wants."
"Except her father" by the look on the vampire's face, Clinton knew he had planted a seed. "She's a smart girl" he tried to regain some composure and stood. "You think she'll believe I'm safe just because you say I am? If you do, then you don't know her, not at all."
Angel hadn't thought of that. She would want proof. And he would need it as leverage to make her honor her part of the deal. He thought for a moment and took a step toward the bag, took out the envelope that held Clinton's bus ticket and scratched Wesley's cell phone number on the paper in blood. "Call this number at midnight. She'll answer."
Angel turned away from the man then, only to turn back for one last warning. "And Mr. Chase, if you're thinking about talking her into leaving or escaping, just remember who'll be standing beside her as you try."
The tunnel was suddenly empty, and Clinton's arms trembled as he climbed the steps up to the manhole, trying desperately to think of a way to save his daughter.
Continue on...