Title: Riddle Me This…
Author: Helen
Posted: 07/05/05
Email: helen_taft@msn.com
Rating: R (will eventually be NC-17)
Pairing: C/A
Summary & notes: This is in response to Kits ‘Charade’ challenge posted in the challenge thread (Page 4). None spoilery background is that Cordy left Sunnydale after ‘Lovers Walk’ and Buffy died fighting the Mayor. Set in the early days of Ats the fic is entirely AU. As for the CURSE, Willow passed out before she got to that particular proviso.
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with the show, its just fanfic! No profit made and no infringement intended. Also, the basis of the challenge follows Sandra Browns novel, Charade. I’ve not read it myself and won’t be in case it knocks me off stride.
Feedback: Please. Also, feel free to include criticism too if you feel the urge so long as its constructive; both always appreciated.
Posted: AO + ST
Distribution: Go team + Angel’s Archive + Just Fic
Dedication: To Kit for the challenge and letting me start in Ats not BTVS, Also huge smoochey thanks to Zanita for doing my fabulous ficpic.
Extra Note: Huge sloppy kisses in thanks to Lissette for giving me the nod on the spanish. Bloody translators. And helping me fix it! *Mwah*
PART 5
For the first time in her life, Cordelia noticed how erotic watching a guy drive could be. With the small portion of her brain not engrossed in sneaking covert glances at him, she decided it had to be something to do with the handling of the wheel; firm, masterful and assured. Angel had great hands, too. Square palmed with long fingers they were graceful and completely masculine at the same time. Wondering how they would feel exploring her body, while imagining unpeeling all those dark layers to see if the rest of him was as desirable made Cordelia one very distracted woman.
Unfortunately for her, he noticed. “Cordelia, are you okay?”
Coming up to meet the concern in his eyes, she felt a hum begin low in her throat. Already a half melted puddle of want she managed to turn the “Hmmmm?” into a question.
“I said are you okay?” Careful not to make the mistake of sinking into drowsy hazel while driving, Angel returned his attention to the road and explained with a smile, “You haven’t said a word in ten minutes. I was worried you’d gone sick on me or something.”
It took a moment to sink in. He’s teasing me. God, that is so cute. Lolling back her head and revelling in being wired and bonelessly relaxed at the same time, Cordelia lazily lifted a hand to feel the wind rushing through each finger before answering, “I’m great, better than great, actually.” Rolling to face him, she smiled, “I had a wonderful time, tonight; just thought I’d mention that in case I forget later.”
“We’ll be at your door in five. Think your memory will last that long?”
For a manpire that smiled maybe once in a blue moon he was full of them tonight. Half ones, tip-tilted, wry, quizzical, mischievous and sad, they’d covered the range except for one. The big one he briefly bestowed on her had Cordelia blinking and speechless for a second. Huskily she said, “You should do that more often. You have a really nice smile.” Actually, he had a heartbreaking smile because it transformed his face from sombrely handsome to…wow, just wow.
“Thanks,” he gave that endearing little shuck of his head and eyebrow quirk that replaced an actual blush.
In response, her pulse, already thick and languid kicked up a little as a bewildering mix of mushy affection and squiggly, curling lust rose up to swamp her. It was kind of startling just how little she cared that her defences were down. Nestled inside a cramped booth and sitting on cracked vinyl in some dinky little restaurant, Cordelia had eventually spilled her guts about her little health problem.
Sitting and picking at a plate of food, she’d slowly revealed the nightmare of finding out she was dying with her gone parents off, god knows where, after fleeing from the IRS. Downplaying it out of habit, she’d finally risked looking up and caught him staring steadily at her. His expression warned he wasn’t buying the flippancy, and seeing the quiet bottomless sympathy reflecting back out of warm brown eyes, she'd felt a sensation of weightlessness rise up from her toes.
Okay, so it wasn't much as revelations go, but it was strangely reassuring to know she could tell him anything; no matter how bad, painful or humiliating, and know it wouldn’t faze him because he’d done or felt a hundred times worse at some point in his long history. Angel would never judge her because what he didn’t know about shame, agony and crap-inducing fear wasn’t worth knowing. And there was still that caring staring straight at her, reaching out like a warm, fluffy comfort blanket.
A big, muscular, sinfully sexy comfort blanket, she confessed silently and wrestled with a crazy urge to laugh at how easy that was to admit. Caught by that direct and knowing gaze, half of her had been embarrassed at being seen through so easily and the rest was thinking, geeze, if he could find a way to bottle that sincerity he’d be a billionaire, cos every woman on the planet would kill for some to sprinkle on their partner’s weeties.
So, a little tipsy, sated with food and relaxed after good and undemanding company with a handsome man, Cordelia had gone and done the unthinkable; given in to both the night and him. Smack bang in the middle of a mini-epiphany, she’d finally stopped denying that against all odds and a rough history, she was half in love with the dork.
Now being chaufferred home a little while later and curled up with her bare feet tucked under her legs; circumstances conspired to lull her further. The gentle vibration of the car’s powerful engine coupled with warm air rushing through and caressing her scalp slowed her thought processes. Vulnerable with normally prickly defences softened to downy fur and inborn scepticism dormant, Cordelia wondered drowsily why her being attracted to Angel was so outrageous when a simple evening out that she hadn’t even wanted had turned out to be a fantasy.
And if she wanted to extend the fantasy into something a little hotter then that was up to her, too, wasn’t it? Every once in a while even the biggest cynic needed to let go and just roll with it. Tonight was her turn.
No more caveats; disclaimers or anything else she’d been using over the last few weeks to keep him at arms length. The rational side of her brain had officially tossed in the towel. I want Angel, and now I have to figure out a way to make him want me the same way. I wonder does ‘The Art of Seduction’ cover vampires?
Irrationally afraid he could read her mind, Cordelia snuck a glance at him and then relaxed with a silent sigh. Concentrating on the road, Angel looked as casual as someone with the weight of guilt he carried ever could. Meaning he was clueless to how she felt about him. Focusing back on the windshield Cordelia couldn't decide whether to be relieved or pissed about that fact.
Pissed wouldn’t come. Despite the fine tension simmering between them their silence was comfortable, leaving her free to muse as she liked without worrying about chit-chat and being all witty gal. She didn’t feel witty. Wit took effort she couldn’t be bothered extending in her current mood. Worries, consequences and self preservation were a dim memory and now they were nearly back at her place, she wondered a little wistfully if he’d kiss her.
Unfortunately the answer was obvious and put a serious dampener on her good mood. Of course he wouldn’t. A frown creased between perfect brows. That would take actual decisive action and a higher self-esteem than Angel possessed. For a guy that could wade recklessly into battle defending humans against other vampires, Angel was a wuss about relationships. Even from the outside looking in it’d been obvious that Buffy dictated the pace to him and he’d taken it without a fight.
Her heart sunk. That’s it. There’s no way in hell Angel’s going to make a move on me. Fabulous, where’s Angelus when you need him? He doesn’t have a shy bone in his body. “Yikes! Sheesh, I’m not that desperate. I like my body parts where they are.”
“What?”
Sunk deep into mental monologue, she hadn’t been aware of speaking out-loud. Cordelia’s head whipped up to stare blankly. “Nothing,” she denied quickly, adding desperately, “Laundry. I was thinking about Laundry. My um…dryer… it likes to eat my clothes. Seriously, I keep thinking its turning carnivore on me.”
Before she’d even finished she wanted to kick herself. Great topic to bring up with a vampire, Cor, why not just ask flat out, do I look tasty to you? His climbing eyebrow seemed to agree with her. Briefly closing her eyes and slamming the brake on her lips, Cordy pasted on a wide smile and said, “Never mind. It was nothing important.”
Nodding distractedly, Angel got back to pretending a casualness he was far from feeling. After twenty minutes in the car driving with no possible escape, he was jittery and on-edge. Every stroke of her gaze feathering across his profile and neck had only added to that hyper awareness. When that strangely heated gaze had strayed down to his lap earlier, he’d cursed silently and been forced to shift on the seat, praying his coat hid the reaction he couldn’t control.
He couldn’t get her home fast enough despite knowing the same grinding ache of need would torment him relentlessly for the rest of the night.
His teasing had been intended to lower the sizzling tension in the car. Instead it seemed to have only tautened it. She was primed, he was definitely primed and the atmosphere in the Plymouth was thick with it. The lack of conversation didn’t help. Several times during the drive, he’d tried to think of something, anything light-hearted to say and felt like an idiot when his mind stayed stubbornly blank. Irrationally, he was annoyed that she was leaving it up to him. Since when was making conversation his strong point? Where was the usual nonsensical babble that plagued him at work? He needed a distraction, damn it!
That shook him enough he almost overshot a junction. When had she become the only thing he could think about, so much so, that a distraction was necessary? Sitting listening to her shrug off dying, little more than a child and abandoned by her parents? No matter the words coming out of her mouth he’d seen the pained truth bright hazel eyes couldn’t hide. Fingers tight around the wheel, he couldn’t look at her as they sat waiting for the traffic lights to change. It was possible but he doubted it, by then he’d already been captivated, so the question remained. Unfortunately the answer was elusive, buried under a raft of other mysteries all tied into her arrival in his new life. Sifting through the chaos this case was bringing to his emotions would have to wait until he had the time to devote to it. Great, something new to brood about.
Still… Mystified and pulling off again, Angel used needing to check the side-mirror on her side as an excuse to touch and linger on her face. Only instead of answers, he met a soft questioning smile that widened knowingly when his gaze dropped to full lips. Big mistake. Jerking away to stare blindly back at the road, Angel was sure of only one thing, close and confined like this, she consumed his senses.
Swallowing thickly he jerked a thumb at the dashboard, “Do you want the radio on? The tape doesn’t work but the radios, okay, I think.” Going off memory the reception was crap limiting the choice of stations, but at this point, he was desperate enough to suffer through country and western ballads if it would help fill the expectant silence.
She wasn’t co-operating. Her soft, drowsy expression curled around his dead heart. “Leave it off. I’m kind of enjoying the quiet for a change, as hard as that as to believe even for me. Unless you want-”
“No,” he managed a credible shrug, “if you’re okay with it, so am I.” Thwarted, Angel put his foot down on the gas and kept a look out for squad cars.
If he was paranoid enough he might think some pissed off mage had slapped a whammy on him- hell, both of them as revenge. Gee, whatever happened to boiling in oil, skin flaying or even a good old fashioned staking? Angel was only half joking. As much as that explanation appealed he knew better. He’d experienced that kind of external force in the past; knew the differences too well to let himself off the hook that easily.
Ignoring or denying the truth over the last few weeks hadn’t changed the facts. He was attracted to the onetime Queen of Mean, the same girl who’d ruled Sunnydale High’s elite with a steely grip. Back then the Gestapo had, had nothing on her and based on memory she shouldn’t have handled rags to riches so well. But she had, and the changes in her fascinated Angel, compelling him to probe into her life, pick apart both the dramatic and the mundane things that had caused them. As a socialite she’d been stunning and shallow. As a beautiful girl trying to make her way in the world she was wily, courageous and strong with an offbeat sense of humour that kept sneaking under his guard.
It got worse. As much as he didn’t like it, couldn’t afford it and had no idea how to reverse it, for some bizarre reason Cordelia was threatening his self-control. Control was the one constant in his unnaturally long life he’d been able to count on, even when evil. Losing it now could only have catastrophic affects. She needed him to protect her, not fall for her.
Whoa! Love? Desire, lust, attraction, he could admit, but love…
Buffy’s image wasn’t fading from his heart and maybe never would, but the anguish thinking about her usually gave him was diminishing every day. It hurt because he wasn’t ready to accept that even a tiny part of him wanted to move on. Inside Angel resentment burned; at Buffy for dying, Cordelia for resurrecting dead feelings and Wesley for being right. He made a decision. Whatever the cause of the night’s madness, he couldn’t do this again. If she wanted to go out in the future it was too damn bad; he was putting his foot down. What reason he give he’d figure out at the time.
Either way they were headed for some stormy waters. Both hands tightened on the wheel with the knuckles turning white with tension. Doyle, Doyle, Doyle. How could you do this to me? This case was turning out to be a major pain in the ass and since it was Doyle’s last vision that had kick-started it he felt justified in laying some of the blame at his door.
He just wished he could offload some of his guilt over being attracted to Cordelia on somebody else, too. Angel knew he didn’t deserve to move on, certainly not to another innocent human girl unwillingly caught up in his deadly underworld. It wasn’t fair. Unfortunately, his mutinous senses weren’t listening and didn’t give a crap about fair.
Belatedly halting a sigh mid-flow, Angel thought it was lucky he didn’t need oxygen because he didn’t dare take a breath. The last one had been rife with the scent of warm, semi-aroused female and just the teasing memory of it had sweat popping out on his brow. Having recognised the futility of denying he wanted her anymore, he was almost brought to his knees by the knowledge that she wanted him, too.
Almost, but not quite. He could only put it down to the drinking, because there was no way in hell Cordelia knew what she was doing. Either that or she felt safe with him because of the soul and the ragged layer of nobility he shrugged into every dusk. She couldn’t possibly fathom the urges that plagued him, or the horrors he’d inflicted during his existence; no human could. Telling her of the dark hours he spent tussling with his demonic impulses would likely cure her of that dangerous misconception, but Angel was loath to risk losing the friendship he was coming to value more every day.
So, it was up to him to protect her, only what scared him the most was the fact that even as he tried to rationalise her soft, silent invitation a part of him didn’t care about the niceties; such as not taking advantage of someone who was under the influence. Want, take, have had been his motto long enough in the past that he was horribly tempted to ignore the conscience insisting he leave her untouched.
Fortunately for them both, what tipped the scales was the certainty that the guilt afterwards would obliterate any pleasure he could wring out of one night. You live as long as he had and a single night is but a blink of an eye. Something told Angel it would never be enough, and should she be dumb enough *not* to kick him out of her life in the morning, he knew himself enough to be certain there would be no turning back. Obsession was as much a part of the man in him as the demon, perhaps even more so with her because she was human.
It was too dangerous and thanks to his lies and Buffy clouding the issue, Cordelia was forbidden fruit. He had to remember that. With her apartment on the horizon it should have been easy.
“We're here.”
Pulling up with a practised swing of the car’s heavy front, Angel had turned the engine off and leapt out before Cordelia had risen fully from the anticipation tinged plans running through her head. Adjusting his coat and fastening a button for security, he reached the passenger door side just as she started to unfold herself from her curled up position on the seat. Damn, he envied her that ability to adjust herself cat-like to any place she found herself in and attain the optimum comfort. Reaching for the handle, he added versatile to the lengthening list of things about her that enthralled him.
“Oh goodie. Home comforts. Don’t get me wrong I enjoyed it, but I’m dying for a cup of coffee that hasn’t been reheated about a hundred times already.”
“Old filter coffee sucks doesn’t it?” he agreed, happy to be agreeable now escape was at hand.
Opening the door for her, Angel got an eyeful of scarlet-painted toes before she slipped back on the shoes retrieved from the foot-well. Desire sharpened in his belly. Hissing in a breath between gritted teeth, he thought that if life was fair her feet would have shown some sign of the abuse from wearing ultra fashionable, killer shoes. Life wasn’t fair though and they were perfect; almost dainty for a woman her height with a high in-step that begged to explored, lingeringly, along with the rest of her.
*Shut-up!*
Cordelia had been holding out a hand to be helped out. Now with her big, slightly flirtatious smile slipping, she asked, “Did you say something?”
Realising he’d muttered it out-loud, brown eyes flared wide. Panicking, Angel rushed to deny it, “No, not me…I don’t talk much, remember.” Luckily, the rust in his voice gave that statement some credence.
She seemed to buy it and took his hand so he could pull her up. Rising gracefully and smile back in place, she said, “Like I could forget that. Lucky I’m used to it and can fill in the many gaps.”
Since it was topical, Angel couldn’t resist pulling her up on that one. “Normally- maybe.” Adding with a hint of rebuke, “You’ve been quiet almost the whole way here?” She was close and for some reason his feet forgot how to back up and create distance.
“I have haven’t I? Guess I’m tired after being dragged all over town by Mr Party Animal here. Who knew you can actually be a lot of fun.” The light in her eyes coupled with a playful tap against his chest took away any sting.
His lips moved without conscious thought, “I’m all about fun, it’s my middle name. Didn’t Wes tell you?”
Unselfconsciously tugging the suede skirt down smooth thighs, she grinned, “He must have forgot to pass it along. Remind me to put salt in his tea tomorrow as a punishment for keeping me in the dark, okay.”
The abrupt reminder that he was keeping her in the dark was like a douse of icy water. Scarily it only lasted a moment before receding, leaving a sense of poignancy to the end of their evening together. Waiting for her to precede him, his nostrils flared rebelliously and predictably the jagged, hungry need that had set-up shop in his gut ground that much harder as a result. Recognising just how slim was the thread of decency he had left, Angel held on with the single thought that in just a few more minutes, he’d be out of here and she was safe. So was he for that matter.
Reaching the door of her apartment, Angel restrained himself from acting on the urge to take the keys and open it for her when Cordelia fumbled with the lock in the dim light of the hallway. Hands jammed into his pants pockets and dark head tipped back in a desperate attempt to keep hold of slippery patience, he gritted his teeth and asked, “Do you need any help?” C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. How difficult can it be, insert key and turn. As soon as the door was open he was saying a swift goodnight and disappearing.
“No, no I got it. Keep your panties on.”
As if defying him to the end, she then dropped the keys with a hissing curse that was lost to the roaring in Angel’s ears when her ass brushed down his leg as Cordelia crouched to retrieve them. Reacting to the urgent need to move or else, he sidestepped around her and bent down, too. His fingers wrapped around hers.
Hunkered so that his larger frame loomed next to her their gazes collided. Breathless with nerves, Cordelia blurted, “Um, Angel, I have a confession to make.”
Time stood still, “What?” he asked feeling as if he were perched on a knife edge. From where he was standing either side looked like a long fall.
Neither noticed when they slowly rose back to their feet. Dry-mouthed, Cordelia licked her lips and metaphorically speaking grabbed the bull by the horns. “When we left here tonight I was under the impression you were attracted to me,” heart beating a frantic tattoo she finished carefully, “Was I wrong?”
Anxiously watching for every nuance she caught the flicker of something desperate in his eyes. The pause went on too long, “Was I?” she prodded.
“You’re a beautiful woman,” Angel began warily and winced when she rolled her eyes impatiently. “I…um can see that..., too.”
Conscious of her disappointment with such a lacklustre response, he had no way of preparing for Cordelia’s idea of cutting to the chase. Her muttered, “Forget it,” reached his ears just as smooth, hot lips attached themselves to his.
Lightening could have struck and it wouldn’t have shocked him any less. Stiffening and raising both hands to grasp her upper arms, Angel knew only that she was dragging them both over an abyss she couldn’t see and didn’t know needed avoiding no matter what. It was an unbelievable wrench but he dragged his head up and away.
Heavy lidded hazel eyes slammed a fist of lust directly to his groin. Staggered by it, he could hardly believe it when she went up on tip-toe, grabbing his shirt to pull him back down. Gripping her arms tighter he gave her a slight shake and grated harshly, “Cordelia, stop!”
That got through and woke her up to the unpalatable fact that Angel was rejecting her. Panting hard enough her upper chest brushed his shirt-front and drowning in humiliation, Cordelia swallowed back the sudden bitter words that wanted to leap out and blindly swung back to the door. This time the damn key was going in if it killed her. Throat closing as the night’s bubble burst and wanting only to put something solid between her and him, she ignored him when he hoarsely called her name.
Damn it, her hands were shaking. She had to say something. “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. Insanity I guess-“
She was as stiff as a board and practically vibrating with shame. Standing behind her, Angel was lost on what to do. No, that wasn’t quite true. He knew what he should do was mutter an apology to go along with hers and leave her. Better she feel this way than fan the flames of an attraction that could only lead to misery and pain later on. He was a vampire and she was human. He’d lied to her almost from the moment they’d met back up in LA, and more, she was a client even if she didn’t know it and he didn’t dare cloud that issue anymore than it already was. The list was endless.
The pained hitch in her breath undid him and all of his resolutions. If there was one positive aspect to his obsessive nature it was the impulse to protect those he cared about. That instinct went into full flood now. Cordelia was hurting because of him and he had the cure. All he had to do was be careful not to take it too far. Decision made, he curved an arm around her waist and clasping her hip, turned her to face him. Before she could grasp what he intended, Angel’s other hand slid under the heavy fall of mahogany hair to lightly grip her nape and pull her in and up for his kiss.
He swallowed her indignant, “Hey!” before it truly escaped.
Finding herself being thoroughly kissed while gently imprisoned against a powerful body thanks to the large hand spread at the small of her back, Cordelia’s humiliation vanished like mist, burnt away as a myriad of sensations swamped her. Skilled and experienced enough not to make it plundering, his kiss was beguiling and teasing in its gentle exploration.
Moulding her lips with his, Angel’s tongue dipped in rhythmic forays and ventured out only enough to leave tingles along the plump flesh of her bottom lip. Shuddering relief and a return of that sweet, draining tension had Cordelia gripping onto broad shoulders for support and mindlessly straining for more.
She was intoxicating. One hand slid up to his nape to sift through dark hair, nails lightly scraping his scalp. Underneath his hand the bare skin of her back burned a siren song. Angel burned, too.
It was only supposed to be a short wade into dangers waters. Aware she was appeased he should have ended the kiss and stepped back. Instead Angel used his thumb to tilt her jaw to deepen the kiss as lost to it as she was. As he’d suspected a small taste of her was nowhere near enough. Man and beast craved more and so more he took. After an eternity of abstinence her mouth was heaven; warm, moist and filled with an honest passion that effortlessly shredded his self-control.
Standing locked together in the deserted hall, existence was limited to the two of them, and all thought other than their kiss was suspended. Sweeping inside the inviting cavern of her mouth, her tongue fluttered tentatively against his; butterfly wings of touch, Angel coaxed to develop into a full mating. It was a mistake because if his senses had been consumed before it was nothing to now. In that moment everything he could want or desire seemed contained within the fragile human body flattened to his aroused one.
Their differences only enthralled Cordelia more. He was hard where she was soft, cool while inside she was so hot molten didn’t come close, and as for the way he tasted- echoes of malt underscored the more familiar and unknowingly missed taste of man, and something else, too, something indescribable that grabbed the desire curling in her belly and sent it shooting through her system.
The door behind her pressed into her shoulder-blades as Angel mindlessly moved her back. Arching to meet his weight the swelling length of him unerringly sought the cradle between her thighs; just as large slightly rough palms shaped the flare of hips and waist before sliding up to wrap around the delicate frame of her ribs.
Needing to feel something other than cloth and leather, Cordelia dropped the hand from his shoulder, and pushing aside the heavy duster burrowed under his shirt to the surprisingly smooth skin of his hip and back. Riding the ridges of muscle and bone to his spine, she clutched him closer by spreading her own fingers wide.
Engrossed, neither noticed the door opening and blithely assigned the sense of falling to the swirling eddies of sensation already buffeting them. Only at the very last second did Angel realise they really were falling and managed to twist them both so she landed in a sprawl on top of him instead of the other way around. Stunned a dislodged Cordelia could only lift her head and gape at finding herself draped all over Angel who was craning his neck to stare shocked at her living room.
Dennis. The thought barely formed before an unseen hand pressed play on the answering machine allowing Wesley’s irate voice to finally unleash itself.
Cordelia, if you see or hear from Angel will you tell him to pick up his damned messages. His cell-phone is off and… There was a pause as if the Englishman was biting back some epithets, Tell him to ring me immediately. Life and death, okay?
Looking back down at the missing vampire in question, Cordelia said all that could be in the circumstances, “Where’s your cell, doofus?”
~
Earlier
Wesley found the jeep he assumed was the one Kate had described and followed the road towards the only building within sight. It was a Hindu temple, The Kali Shiva Vishnu Temple, approaching it with caution he carefully hugged the white–washed walls that he guessed by the scent of flowers and shrubs, surrounded lush landscaped gardens. Coming to the large gap in the wall and dropping to a crouch, he darted inside the wrought iron gates and scurried into a nearest bush; only to let out a high-pitched yelp when a hand latched onto his shoulder.
Kate nearly had a heart attack. Digging her fingers in as revenge, she hissed, “Shhushh, you idiot. Are you trying to get us caught? Take it from me, you don’t want these guys getting their claws on you.” Looking around, she asked, “Where’s Angel?”
Biting back a sharp retort of his own Wesley was grateful for the darkness that hid his blush after emitting such a humiliating screech of fear. Settling for a grumpy “You startled me,” he shook off her hand and pulled his biscuit-coloured blazer back into place. “And you can hardly blame a man for being a bit tense in circumstances such as these-“
The light in china blue eyes suggested he shut-up. He took that advice and stopped with a sigh. Deciding getting down to business was an excellent way to force his recalcitrant nerves to settle down, he forced the peevish tone to disappear and whispered, “Angel is unavailable right now, but I’m left a few messages telling him what’s what. I suggest we get the lay of the land while we can, and I need to know what we’re dealing with here. Describe them to me properly.”
Kate tried and failed not to look dismayed at the news of the lack of Angel’s presence. At his question she blinked and looked blank, “They’re big, ugly and vicious. If you want to know more follow me and I’ll show you.”
“Oh well, that might be a bit precipitous…how close exactly?”
She was already working her way towards the temple itself and said over one shoulder, “Just move it, Wesley. I don’t have all night and neither does Mr Richards.”
“Who’s Mr Richards,” asked Wesley following her and wishing he’d thought to change to darker clothing. A blind man could spot him skulking in the shrubbery at fifty paces in his summer light clothes. The light dawned and he grimaced, “Oh, right that would be number twelve, sorry, forget I asked.”
“Already have.”
Rectangular with towers in the middle and on each end, the Hindu temple was fairly new. As where the dead attendants piled beside some trash cans at the rear of the building. Stopping in his tracks, Wesley bobbed his horrified gaze from one bloodied corpse to another. “Good God!”
Impatient as ever, Kate grabbed his arm and dragged him over to the closed door with a ‘no entry’ sign overhead. “Save the exclamations unless you want to join them. I have a guy in there who may still be alive. I can’t waste time on the already dead.”
Heartless but true and deceptive as Kate was anything but heartless. Helplessness was a bitch and she was drowning in it. So many dead over such a short space of time left her breathless and sweating with terror. It was her job to protect and serve, said so on her badge and so far she was doing a suck-ass job of both. This wasn’t her area of expertise and she’d been delighted to let Angel handle any crossovers between the demon and human worlds- until this case had exploded in her face.
Keeping a tight hold of her composure and with her sidearm out and held tight to her chest in a two handed grip, Kate kept her back to the wall next to the door and eyed the gangly Englishman she’d been landed with. “God! I hate this case.”
“A sentiment I entirely empathise with,” agreed Wesley from the opposite side and testing the doors handle as gingerly as possible. There was no reason to announce their presence and every reason to use stealth. The door opened soundlessly when the handle was depressed enough. “Ladies first,” he suggested deadpan with his crossbow held at the ready, too.
Inside would have been pitch-black if not for the moonlight filtering through high arched windows and turning everything grey. The walls were ghostly white barring the golden shrines with what would, in daylight, be colourful cushions and drapes surrounding the ebony multi-armed idols. Leading the way through the atrium with its domed glass ceiling, Kate crabbed her way along the wall, jerking her head to mutely indicate Wesley should follow in her footsteps. The air was redolent with fresh blooms and Kate was no horticulturalist, but she thought she recognised Jasmine. She hated Jasmine it reminded her of her moms funeral when she was ten. Damn, there was another minus to chalk up against the demons, reminding her of her mom.
The floor beneath their feet was plain bleached wood broken only by mats made out of woven rushes. Wesley, focused on the job didn’t smell the flowers held in massive urns beneath the splendid array of arched windows. He smelled sulphur, wax and something unpleasantly reminiscent of burnt hair. That was interesting, but rituals requiring the burning of human hair were numerous and without further information, narrowing it down was impossible.
From up ahead a flickering amber glow led them onwards and toward the rear and left side of the temple. Wherever the light was coming from it wasn’t the main body of the building, but mostly likely some kind of anteroom, Wesley deduced. “We need to get a closer look,” he mouthed to Kate who nodded once. Just as they moved off again a chorus of chanting had them freezing in their tracks.
Eyes wide and standing stiff the pair listened with their hearts in their mouths. However, before they could recover from the sudden shattering of the previous silence; a stream of terrified babbling broke in on the deep litany, rising up as suddenly as the chanting itself. High-pitched and male, the voice begged incoherently for mercy. Mr Richards, assumed Wesley deducing the man had either been unconscious or gagged before now.
“Wait, please, wait. I have a family, daughters and money- I can give you money, all I have, I swear. Just let me leave, please. Please, please just let me leave. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t- Don’t… please put that down. Why are you doing this to me?”
Reacting without thinking and only aware of the terror in the man she’d been supposed to be protecting, Kate shot forward making a beeline for the doorway now visible a few feet away and tucked into an alcove. The babble switched to a screech before she’d taken the first step. “No, No, NO!”
Containing nerves that threatened to cause his self-esteem irreparable damage, Wesley swallowed hard and dived after Kate, crossbow shaking from trembles that refused to be suppressed. He had been perhaps two paces behind her. Reaching the door first, she kicked it open and pistol raised swept inside. Her back was to him as Wesley raced after her. Legs braced apart in the classic firing stance, Kate blocked most of the view. Peering over her shoulder, he saw they were too late to save Mr Richards.
Indeed, they may be too late to save themselves.
~
Flanked on both sides by the same hulking grey brutes that had swept through LA’s finest like a knife through butter; Anton Silverous glared from under bushy grey brows at the two fools interrupting him at work. Raising a hand to stay the lunge of his demons, the elderly and frail looking mage instead held up his other hand, palm imperiously up. “Give me the weapon.” He demanded in a surprising strong, accented voice.
Dumbstruck, a horrified Kate found herself walking towards him. No matter how she tried she couldn’t halt her progress towards the table with its gruesome occupant and the old man who’d commanded her. Behind her Wesley’s shocked voice hissed her name and she couldn’t even look around. Hands, knee’s, thighs even her belly trembled with the effort of battling the unseen force that compelled her to obey. Silently she dropped the pistol into that upraised hand.
Wesley watched Kate cross the small antechamber with a sick fascination that was followed on swift wings with horror. He called her name hoping the sound of it would at least interrupt the thrall she was under, but she didn’t even falter in taking the next step, and then the one after that. After relinquishing the gun she collapsed and finally Wesley’s legs unlocked so he could try and protect the fallen policewoman. Catching Kate with one hand wrapped around her elbow, he raised the crossbow and aimed at the imperiously blank face of the man he assumed was the leader here.
“I know you must be a powerful magician, but be warned I will not hesitate to pull this trigger, and I feel I should warn you I’m an excellent shot. However, if you let us go-“
Powerful muscles twitching, the two demons snarled long and low, the sound as grating as a chainsaw as they edged around their master, fangs dripping with drool at what Wesley guessed was the prospect of additional fresh meat. He ignored them as best he could and maintained eye contact purely with the old man. A scrape of claw on wood behind him along with the fetid and hot breath that washed over the nape of his neck, warned Wesley of at least another one of them hovering directly behind him. His skin crawled with revulsion but the sharp point of the arrow remained steadfast.
“…you’ll what?” Anton asked without much interest. “You might have a stronger willpower than the female but you’re still helpless against us.” Without turning cold blue eyes away from the ex-watcher, he said, “Seize the weapon and hold them, but don’t harm them.”
~
“Okay, who the hell is that guy?” asked, Kate as they watched the new arrivals bow obsequiously before him, adding, “And who are the, flunkies?”
“I can only tell you what I surmise,” replied Wesley in a whisper, “but my best guess would be that they’ve arrived to test the heart they took out of the unfortunate, Mr Richards. As for our elderly friend over there, he’s obviously a mage of some kind.”
“Yeah, well the bastard’s gonna pay for hypnotising me. I could get my ass fired for losing my firearm like that.” Still smarting over that, his first statement didn’t sink in straight away. When it did she turned to him with a frown, “Test the heart?”
They were sat in the corner with chains interlocking them and attached to hooks high up on the wall. They could move perhaps a ft if they tried standing. Uncomfortable and unsure how much Angel had told her, Wesley felt like he was tip-toeing amongst a minefield. “We’re pretty certain the demons, or rather that man over there has been trying to locate the transplanted heart of a deceased vampire slayer. I imagine those people in the cloaks are seers of some kind. If I’m right, they will be able to deduce if they have the right heart.”
“What’s so damn special about a vampire slayers heart? Which by the way I didn’t even know existed, thanks for the heads-up.”
Wesley opted for avoiding that dig by dealing with the question directly. “A vampire slayer is a deeply mystical being whose origins are misted in ancient mystery. What we do know is that they are always female, generally only chosen one at a time and are as strong, or stronger than vampires.”
“Go girl-power. Pity she’s dead.”
“For more reasons than you can know,” agreed Wesley, watching as the still beating heart was carried over in the bizarrely modern and translucent plastic sealed container, “Unfortunately I haven’t been able to narrow down the motive behind such an endeavour. There are a number of spells and potions that call for pieces of a slayer’s heart, but they are dark magic at its very worst, and few practitioners of the dark arts are alive to attempt them.” Pausing, he lowered his voice even further, “There was a purge back in the 1944 during the last world war.”
Kate was unimpressed, “Obviously they missed one, his hold over me felt pretty dark I can tell you.”
“Yes, well I can only imagine what he does intend far exceeds the usual banish-a-wart-spell. The only reason for needing the heart is to tap into the mystical elements that can transform a girl into a creature powerful enough to battle demons. I’m afraid, appallingly potent and not good for us comes to mind.”
She gave him a filthy look, “I got that way back before they killed their second victim. Did you just figure that out?”
Next to her, Wesley wasn’t listening too busy craning his neck to try to see over the table and corpse, wanting to know what was being done with the heart. “At least we know they do need the heart still functioning.” He muttered half under his breath. Given the lack of modern medical technology in the temple’s side room, he imagined the mage had something to do with the heart’s abilities to keep beating outside of its body.
“What difference does that make? Richards is still dead and with him being the last on the list doesn’t that mean this is the slayers heart?”
Not necessarily thought Wesley but kept that to himself. “Let’s wait and see what happens shall we, and hope Angel gets here before this gets any nastier.”
~
None of Anton’s impatience showed on his heavily lined face. Waiting for the seers verdict was excruciating and he could feel the crackle of energy, left-over from the ritual he’d performed to remove a living organ, running between his fingertips. If he’d ever prayed before he hadn’t known to which god, now he felt his lips move releasing only puffs of air as his fervent hopes were dragged from his heart to the earthly plane he stood in. Please, let this be the one!
Time was running out for him and Anton knew it in his bones. At over one hundred years-old, his magic was as potent as ever; more now than when his vendetta had begun over sixty years before. But age was creeping up on him and he was the last of his order. Once he died there would be no-one capable of performing the spell and his revenge would be lost for good. He would not let that happen. The vampire *would* be made to pay for the crimes he’d committed all those years ago. The chain of events he needed where already aligned and all they needed was the right knock to set it all off.
He could feel the accusation glaring out at him from the two captives and wanted to laugh. How young they were to think they could make a difference, and how incredibly foolish.
PART 6
London, England
Frustratingly it was the next day before Teddy could do more than fret about what he’d found in the archives. Fighting the worlds evil didn’t stop for the weekend, but No 36 did run on smaller shifts than during the week. Given the 8 hour time difference between here and California, the few times he had tried to ring Giles, and even heaven forbid, Angel Investigations, he’d only reached answering machines. He left no message believing the information was simply too sensitive.
The time had, however, given him an opportunity to think. “Too, much blasted time if you ask me,” he grumbled, once again climbing the stairs towards the upper offices housed two floors above ground level. As predicted his weekend was turning out to be a disaster and threatened to get worse.
Mumbling dire threats at as yet unknown, idiot receptionists who should have known better to put a call through from a disgraced ex-watcher, he reached the office he was after and entered without even pretending to rap and miss the thin plywood of a door.
“Silas, old boy, we need to talk,” he announced and sat down uninvited.
The bald pate ringed with gunmetal-grey didn’t even rise. “The protocol is: knock first, then enter, then ask if I can spare a minute.”
“I would but you’ll say no.”
“Perceptive still in your old age,” said Silas Young dryly, flicking only the briefest of glances up from the text he was deciphering. The magnifying glass in his hand hadn’t moved from its place over the page. It was a common opinion that he looked more like a one-time rugby player with his large frame showing evidence of once having been beefy and wholesome.
In reply Teddy simple slid a piece of paper across the desk towards the crabby linguist. “Do you remember translating this, perchance?”
Not fooled by the casual tone, so at odds with the piercing look in blue eyes, Silas picked it up and glanced down. That first disinterested glance was swiftly followed by another much longer scrutiny. Dropping it finally, Silas folded his hands over it and said, “I’ve translated thousands of texts in dozens of languages over longer than I like to remember. Why should I recall this one specifically?”
Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, Teddy opted not to answer directly, “From what I can tell it’s an incantation that forms part of a spell to remove a soul from its body. It also includes reference to the heart of a vampire slayer.”
“I can read,” deadpanned, Silas before pinning his colleague with a speaking look, “Where did you find this?”
There was a pause, “Lets not ask that shall we.”
Silas’ dismayed, “Teddy!” was cut off.
“I’ve been informed of a series of ritual murders taking place in Los Angeles as we speak. Each victim is connected only by being a possible donor recipient of Buffy Summers heart. Somebody is butchering innocents in a terrifyingly determined hunt for a slayers heart. This is real, Silas, and we’re at fault.”
That statement did not go down well. Silas stiffened and ground out in a clipped voice, “How are atrocities in the US our fault?”
“The original scroll and the rest of your notes, incomplete or not, are missing. Somebody has removed them. I’m not a huge believer in co-incidences and from my long friendship with you, I know you aren’t either.”
“They’ve been misplaced, perhaps-“
“Co-incidence,” interrupted Teddy, refusing to let him bog them both down in useless denial.
“This is preposterous. What you’re suggesting would mean we have a traitor in our midst.”
“I’m aware of that and not just anybody knows the location of the archives. Who asked you to translate the original scroll, Silas?”
Silas was shaking his head in disbelief before the question was fully framed, “You’re barking up the wrong tree. There is no way that is the connection.”
“Humour me.”
Sighing deeply Silas shrugged, “Since you insist and just to ally your paranoia. I was asked by Harry…before Sylvestor retired.”
Harry, or Henry Marchingham was the Director General of the Watchers Council. There was nobody higher than him within the hierarchy of the council. He reported only to the Home Office. Teddy was as far from being reassured as it was possible to be. Dear God! His despairing, “Shit!” earned him a reproving glare.
It was a well known fact that Harry had an almost fanatical hatred for a certain vampire, considered him in abomination far worse it seemed than before he’d been cursed with the return of his soul. Sucking in a breath and raising a shaking hand to mop at a brow beaded with sweat, Teddy said, “Did I happen to mention the vampire Angel is also involved. He’s investigating the killings apparently; not to mention his previous and intimate relationship with the slayer.”
Opposite him and behind the desk he’d sat behind for fifteen years, Silas lost every single scrap of colour from his usually ruddy face.
~
“Let me get this straight. You want me to hack into the DG’s email so you can have a good ole’ gander at what the old fart’s been up to?”
“Well, really-“
“Yes, exactly right,” interrupted Teddy, flicking a reproachful Silas a warning look. “I should warm you it’s a dangerous undertaking, young man, so I wouldn’t ask it of you lightly.” Finished, he maintained eye-contact and mentally crossed his fingers, hoping he’d assessed the youngster accurately.
“Danger’s right up my street, mate, no worries about that,” assured T J Ratner, alias Ratty, who then sucked his teeth and looked thoughtful. Behind him a whole rack of computer’s buzzed and pinged busily. This was the IT department of the Watchers Council and predictably it was under-funded and ridiculously short-staffed.
“I could lose me job, if we get found out couldn’t I?”
“That’s a good possibility in those circumstances, yes. However, I understand you’re quite good at um…getting away with such things.”
Ratty grinned. “Heard about my rep have you?” He looked more proud than abashed, “Those were good times. Much better than now I can tell you. Boring as shit this job is. In fact this is the most intriguing thing I’ve had to do all year.” The grin widened to reveal yellow, tobacco stained teeth, “Okay, I guess that means I’m in.”
Swinging back to the nearest monitor, he began tapping importantly and speedily at the keyboard. “Gimme a minute to get up his inbox and then you owe me a crate of Coors. Word of warning don’t get me any of that German shite, hate that stuff. It tastes like icy piss.”
“You can’t tell,” sharing a shudder with Silas, Teddy tried not to crowd too close in the torturously uncomfortable typists chair with its squeaky wheels.
A few moments later and the slight figure of Ratty, lost in his bulky Nike tracksuit and baseball cap, pushed away in his chair to let Silas wheel in and browse, boasting, “There you go; easy as taking candy off a baby.”
There were several pages of emails and going through them all took a while. “There’s nothing here,” Teddy announced, disappointed and leaned back to wipe the accumulation of dampness off his brow with a crisp white square of linen. His hand was shaking.
“I told you-“
“I know I’m not wrong, Silas, and I think whatever you say to the contrary you think so to.” The craving for a cigarette abruptly dug in like talons. He almost asked Ratner for one of his.
“That may be,” Silas conceded, adding pragmatically, “but if we can’t prove it. We have no case to present.”
“What about a personal email account?” asked Ratty, rolling a piece of chewed gum around his mouth. He was sat stretched out, as casual as casual can be, hands up behind his head.
They’d forgotten he was even there. Both men looked over at him in confusion. “Personal email?”
“Personal emails, you know, like hotmail and the rest. You can login to them anywhere with a password.”
Shaking his head to clear it, Teddy said, “Never heard of them. How do we find out if Harry has one?”
Popping a pink bubble, Ratty cocked his head to mull the problem over. “Temporary Internet folders would be the easiest. I don’t figure he knows enough to clear them out. Should be accessible from that. We’d need to go on his PC though. Can’t do that from here.”
If Silas had looked unnerved before, he turned green now. “Are you suggesting sneaking into the Director General’s office and snooping on his actual computer.”
Another bubble popped and slight shoulders shrugged. “What’s the diff from doing it here?”
“If you need me to explain it, then there is really no point,” Silas replied dryly; then turned to Teddy with bleak eyes, “You can’t be seriously considering it?”
~
The Kali Shiva Vishnu Temple, Los Angeles
There was a splatter of blood decorating a toe of the naked corpse. Around the ankle the brown leather cuff holding the foot was still fastened to the gurney, as if the deceased man with the gaping hole in his upper thorax was going to make a sudden, unexpected stab for freedom. Doing his very best not to linger on the man with a family who’d grieve for him, Wesley concentrated on the ones who’d ritualistically murdered him.
Left arm going numb from the chains, he shifted on the hard floor to get some ease and thinking at least he had a clear view from where he sat. Whether that was a plus or not would depend on what happened in the next few minutes. The mage, as he’d labelled him in lieu of a name, was clearly the one with all of the power here. Tall with stooped shoulders and a shock of grey hair, he could have been anybody’s grandpa. If you discounted the blood spattered red vestment-like garments, that is. Too far away to hear much of the conversation, Wesley surmised from the chalk marks being inscribed on the floor that the assessment of Richard’s heart was soon to commence.
Which was all well and good except he still had no clue as to who they were, and why hadn’t they killed him and Detective Lockley? Those questions along with many others circled maddeningly. Alas, those thoughts brought with them the debilitating and familiar terror that had always transfixed him in the past. Rather than succumb to it, Wesley chose instead to consider in as detached a manner as he could fake the reasons for keeping them alive; especially given the merciless modus operandi of the magician and his demon servants.
An unwillingness to kill unless it was the unfortunate donor seemed preposterous. An audience? Hardly, true magic doesn’t require active participants other than the wielder. So, that left him with the unpleasant idea they were Scooby snacks for the demons; a sort of well-done treat. His belly gave a terrified lurch and the urge to jibber a useless round of pleas was fairly overwhelming.
Get a grip on yourself, man, you’ve been in tighter spots than this and lived to fight another day. Bolstered, Wesley drew a long slow breath and got back to gnawing at the facts.
That was another mystery. Demons don’t generally serve men, at least not unless compelled to by supernatural force. Even then it would have to be for the vilest of reasons. You don’t control such bestial creatures by denying their desire to maim and destroy. You feed it and bind them even more strongly to your will. Another gruesome thought given the precarious position they were in.
He didn’t recognise the breed and struggled to even categorise them. Most demons walk on two legs if they even have legs, but these were multi-jointed and appeared to be comfortable upright and on all fours. Covertly he studied one of the pair flanking the mage. They were not a pretty sight. A red crest rose between pointed ears that slanted up on the sides of a scaled head. Below, malformed snouts jutted out from a flattened nose while deep-set burning eyes gave them an almost biblical appearance that was deeply disturbing.
Mired deep in unpleasant thought, it didn’t register immediately that his subject was staring straight back at him until he made the mistake of returning that stare. Connecting with it briefly, Wesley sensed cold, unremitting evil so strong his bowels threatened to empty.
Oh God, they were doomed!
Unluckily, distraction was at hand. At the other end of the room, the conference between mage and seers ended abruptly with the old man violently flinging the container to smash into the wall. With his own heart thudding sickly and guessing Richards heart hadn’t been the right one after all, Wesley didn’t suppose the question of their surviving the night would be left unanswered for much longer.
Beside him, Kate stiffened, too, and when he caught her gaze, he recognised the flash of fear she didn’t stamp out in time. In tandem they tested the chains, stopping when a threatening grunt reminded the pair they had a bigger problem than mere metal. It wasn’t so much the chains that imprisoned them, as the third beast eyeing them hungrily out of blood-red slits from perhaps three ft away.
One of the seers had been sitting inside the ring of chalk symbols. When Anton heard the verdict and snatched up the container with its fragile contents in a towering rage, the walls of the room seemed to shrink back and the air cackled with sinister energy. As they watched fury leeched every vestige of humanity from the old man’s face, turning softly wrinkled skin ravaged and mottled with veins that stood out in grotesque relief. The transformation sent the cloaked seers leaping back to cower back against the wall as if hoping it would magically move out of the way of their retreat. A wise move it turned out as all that rage was for them.
His ranting at them in an arcane language froze the marrow in Wesley’s bones.
Understanding the words wasn’t necessary. Some things were universal. Finally the mage calmed enough to warn hoarsely, “I am at the end of my patience. After sixty years of waiting, planning and sacrificing everything I was before, I am thwarted by imbeciles. I warned your employers what would happen if they failed me. Do they need a lesson on taking me seriously?”
“No, My Lord,” quavered one of the seers, obviously braver than his partner, “there is but one name left on the list. They must have been given the slayer heart you seek.”
Anton was forbiddingly unimpressed, “Hardly reassuring when, so far, you and yours have failed miserably to locate the person who has that name, now is it?”
Hearing that silkily voiced question, sweat broke out all over Wesley’s body as it dawned on him exactly why they’d been allowed to live. It made horrible sense now. Who better to interrogate about that last name, than a pair of interlopers who shouldn’t have been aware of what was going on? Oh God, please let me withstand whatever torture this monster plans, or better yet- Angel will you kindly move your arse and get here!
As if he’d read Wesley’s mind, Anton turned slowly on his heel and gazed steadily and coldly at the bound man and woman. “However, all is not lost. I think we have our breakthrough sitting right in this room.”
Wesley was lost for words, Kate wasn’t and glaring rebelliously, she spoke up, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, or who the hell you are for that matter. I had a list with twelve names and thanks to you they’re all dead. Oh, and just in case I forget to say before you kill me, too. You’re not going to get away with this. You’ll pay one way or another. Bank on it.”
Calm, his face was restored to its previous state. Unmoved by her passion, Anton folded his hands over his middle and deigned to reply, “Who I am is irrelevant and I don’t disagree. Everything has a price and I fully expect to pay mine. If it makes you feel better, I have no doubts it will be far more excruciating than any price your authorities could exact.”
There could be no doubting the man’s zeal or willingness to pay. Something smouldered inside him that transcended both age and knowledge. What terrified Wesley the most as he sat helpless before him was the instinctive realisation that this person was not naturally evil. He’d been driven to it by something. Perhaps the same rage that would not let anything deter him, including the murder of innocents.
Since they were engaged in dialogue of sorts, Wesley asked one of the questions that had been confounding him since walking inside this death chamber. “So why do it? You’re no arrogant dabbler in madjicks ignorant of the consequences of using such forces, but a master at it. What could be so important that you would be willing to pay the price of body and soul?” Even as he asked, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.
Anton didn’t get a chance to reply. A splintering crash saw the door violently parting from its frame to fly across the room, smashing into the gurney and sending it on a collision course with the petrified seers.
“Revenge” announced a new voice, one infinitely recognisable. Inside the shattered frame stood a tall, black coated figure with spiked dark hair and a forbidding expression. Angel, sword in hand stepped trough the remains of the door.
Hope soared ridiculously high inside both Wesley and Kate. “About damn time,” they chorused in unison.
Angel ignored them to focus purely on the old man. “Hello, Anton. It’s been a long time.”
Unfreezing and blue eyes now lit with loathing, Anton inclined his grey head, “Angel.” The atmosphere with frigid, brittle enough to shatter, perhaps splintering into a million pieces of hatred. “I told you we would see one another again.”
Taking two slow and very deliberate steps into the room, Angel made a show of inspecting the room. Survey complete he returned to Anton and said grimly, “This is new isn’t it? What happened to bringing balance and abhorring the senseless loss of life?”
If the reminder was supposed to faze, Anton it didn’t work. “I learned the end justifies the means- from you. Did you think I would forget such an important lesson?”
Wesley saw Angel’s flinch even though it barely showed on the surface. “I guess not,” replied the vampire, edging closer to the two bound humans and blocking them with his body. “You’ve been busy. Tell me, do you think Serena would still be proud of her father now?”
This time the barb was right on target. “Do not even say her name, vile monster.” Anton howled, losing control at the softly spoken charge. Breathing heavily the old man advanced, continuing hoarsely, “You do not have that right. My daughter died at your hands, she loved you and you killed her to save your soul!”
For the bound witnesses all thought of rescue faded. Feeling ridiculously like an interloper and mesmerised by the drama being enacted before his eyes, Wesley looked to Angel hoping for a swift denial. It wasn’t forthcoming and the vampire’s profile was, if possible, even more closed off than normal.
The demons who served Anton advanced with him; their thick skin flushing to russet as his wrath stroked their own eruptible natures. With the broad sword raised defensively, a father’s hell seared Angel from 10 ft away. Coming to a standstill savage purpose was audible in every word as the grieving mage revealed his intent. “I will bring down all of the torment and hell I can bring on you, vampire. I am the bringer of your worst nightmares, exactly as you were of mine.”
~
Continue on...