Inside a. dean

HERE'S A COPY OF THE LETTER I JUST SENT TO SAVAGE LOVE. I'VE WRITTEN HIM BEFORE AND NEVER GOTTEN PUBLISHED SO I DON'T HOLD OUT MUCH HOPE, BUT HERE IT IS!!

This metrosexual stuff has to stop! It’s bad enough being a gay man and it being obvious who is gay and who is not through fashion-sense, grooming, etc without being a gay man who can’t tell the damned difference anymore. My gaydar is broken, Dan, and it’s all because of “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” and David Beckham. Stop it, already!! I mean, it’s great that my straight girlfriends can date the Calvin Klein models now, too, but this is getting ridiculous. For the first time in my life, I found myself openly hitting on a straight man. Why? I assumed he was gay! While straight men do serve their purposes (manual labor and knowledge of cars and electronics, mostly) I used to be proud to admit that I could spot the beer-chugging, football-loving, pussy-hounds at 50 paces. It’s not so anymore. And it’s not fair. Everything in life is cyclical by nature, and the chilling idea of the oncoming backlash is what really scares the hell outta me. Once it becomes boring and commonplace to be a neatly-groomed, well-dressed, sensitive and well-manicured man gay men are going to become the new straight men, minus the eating pussy part! This cannot be allowed to happen! Dan, tell your straight male readers to go back in their heterosexual closets and stop looking and acting so damned gay before it’s too late!!

Bend THIS, Beckham!!

"Beyond the Cold" is up guys. Once again. Warnings, blah blah blah. Also, no italics. My computer is acting really funny and it won't let me highlight things with the mouse. Obviously, this isn't the Director's Cut of the story. Also, folks who aren't "Angel" fans won't know what the hell happens at the very, very end. Ask me if you really wanna know. Enjoy!!

The stains won’t come out. I know that. Needless to say, you become an expert on blood stains when you’re a vampire. The sheets are ruined, but it seems as though this is some kind of crude therapy for the boy, trying to wash my sheets. And my clothes. I haven’t had such freshly-laundered and often-laundered clothes since Drusilla decided the four of us were royalty and needed servants back in 1806.

The boy’s mind is going; giving in the same sweet way that Dru’s did, all those centuries ago. She had her obsessive habits toward the end as well; knitting furiously. Knitting just to knit, nothing discernible ever coming of her efforts.

I will miss the boy’s warmth as I did Dru’s way back then. Miss it with a sweet nostalgic longing, but this needs to happen before the boy loses it completely.

I must say that I am amazed at his stalwart nature thus far. It can’t be easy living here with me and trying to put on the face of normalcy during the day. He knows the darkness now; has seen the belly of the beast. Knows what goes bump in the night, and comes to its bed every night with submissive whimpers. None of the old Xander left, really. I killed that, even as I hated seeing the fire go out of his eyes. Its a shame, sometimes.

I’m supposed to be this evil being, this Angelus, but things feel different now. Honestly, I still feel shades of my souled self, just as Angel felt shades of me in his brutal rage which he unleashed only when fighting the forces of darkness with Buffy. He is in me in my newfound compassion for this boy soon to become my Childe. It’s an uphill battle. I know, I’ve been there. It’s not the first time I have performed the act, either. Drusilla, Spike, Penn and all the others. The first time I will be completely alone performing the act. The first time I can truly do it my way. And my way has changed.

+++++++++++

I debate on whether or not to talk to him about what is coming. An animal part of me still craves his resistance and telling him would send delicious waves of that through his body; waves that my expert dominance will easily overtake and turn into trembling submission, like usual. Though maybe not. His mind has been drifting lately.

He is at my door when he gets home from work, knocking gently. He knows better than to walk right in.

“Come in, Xander.”

I am sitting in bed, having only recently awakened; the last rays of autumn sunlight on the floor by the dresser. I am delighted to see him trembling slightly. This happens when he feels bold enough to speak to me, and make requests of me.

He seems about to speak but notices the fire has gone out in my fireplace and rushes across the room to light it. He knows I dislike waking in a cold room. I watch him work feverishly, hands still trembling. The fire is soon roaring. Nothing else to distract him from the matter at hand, though his eyes dart around for some other menial task he can perform for me.

I smile. “What is it, boy?”

“Angelus, umm...” A wave of actual terror pulses my way with its bitter tang. “Duh-dreams, Angelus... I’ve been having dreams that...”

“Come here, boy.” The commanding tone, my hand outstretched.

His feet are rooted for a split-second, then he is rushing forward and taking my hand. I guide his light body into the bed next to me, put an arm around him and press him to my naked form beneath the sheet. He struggles to relax against me, but he is still fighting the trembles and can’t make eye contact. Something is very wrong.

He’s sobbing now, cringing and trembling against me.

“What is it, boy? Dammit, tell me!”

“Darkness, fire... Screaming... Not quite sure... When I woke up... I think I must have written it in my sleep...It was there on my nightstand... my handwriting. I think its a prophecy, Angelus.”

I’m crushing him against me, out of habit. The unruly subject trying to escape or struggle must be restrained. Just habit, instinct. He is trying to break the embrace.

“My puh-pocket, Angelus... I’ll show you. Let me go...”

I loosen my grip just enough to allow him to reach into his back pocket then clasp him tight again with a low growl. He hands me a small piece of paper, catches my eyes for a second, then drops his own away, his head bowing, staring at my chest.

Definitely his handwriting.

“And another shall fall into the Embrace
the two will become one and there be bound
one to fall beneath darkness forever
and two souls will be tied for eternity...”

“What have you been dreaming, boy? Where did this come from?”

“Not sure... Started last night. It scared me so much, but I didn’t want to disturb you this morning. I haven’t been able to think about anything else. What does it mean, Angelus?”

Though the words seem to rip at my core when I read them, prophecies are the kind of thing that generally come true with or without your help and there’s no sense worrying about them too much. They just tend to happen. All vague images and false leads. No way to stop them or discern them enough to avert their course. They usually lead to unnecessary worry.

“Probably nothing. Just forget about it.”

++++++++++

Winter is coming. The clouds that shuttle across the moon with purpose. I chose this mansion because of its wide veranda. I enjoy being outdoors. There’s something magical about the night, that I even noticed when I was a human back in Ireland. Ironically, even back then I was a night person. Being robbed of sunlight wasn’t much of a transition.

Xander is taking a shower in the bathroom off of my bedroom, and I’m plotting to kill him. It’s going to be tonight. Enough time has passed since The Chicago Incident; nearly a year. There have been no further transgressions.

The fire is warming the room very nicely when I walk back in. The shadows are dancing across the ceiling and I feel a slight tremble in my body, knowing what is coming. I climb into the bed, naked, and arrange the soft comforter and pillows around me. Humans are unnerved by my silence and stillness the most, my incredible, immobile patience. They are such busy creatures themselves, always fighting the ticking of a clock, the inevitable onslaught of their impending death that its hard for them to understand true stillness. It’s different for me. No reason not to be still and patient. I literally have all the time in the world if I avoid the Big Four (sun, stakes, beheading and fire).

Xander is still afraid of me. After everything I have subjected him to, he is still very nervous in my presence, which is by my own design. I own him so completely I control his emotions. After living around humans as long as I have I know a thing or two about how to manipulate them to do and feel just about anything I want them to. When that fails, there is force which I get pleasure from, but it’s so much sweeter when they surrender to my will on their own.

He comes out of the bathroom wearing one of my black silk robes, toweling off his hair. This is a scene that has played out countless times over the past months. He senses nothing new, nothing menacing lingering in the air. Utterly oblivious to cold death studying him from the shadows. His eyes haven’t quite adjusted to the flickering gloom.

“Xander...” The tone that makes him weaken beneath me, spoken at a time far removed from such passions causes him to jump a little and drop the towel. His eyes settle on me in the bed and I hear him swallow, smell his fear ratchet up a few delicious notches. Fear born of my casual and constant unpredictability around him, the recipe for his current state of unbalance.

“Yuh-Yes, Angelus?”

Tremble. Oh, the delightful tremor. A wave of bitter nostalgia at that. That will change. The subservient use of my name won’t, but that vocal tremble will. It is certain.

“Come here, boy.”

Another cool draft of fear. I only use that casual way of addressing him when my attentions are entirely focused on him performing some task and he knows it. There is something I want him to do and it could very well be anything. There was a time I bade him to carve my name into the tender flesh of his upper arm with a razor blade. He barely flinched until I dove on him, driven mad by the scent, and drained him unconscious. Another time I made him choose one of his co-workers to be my next victim, then made him watch every second as I brutally tortured and then drained the guy over the course of seven nights.

Though at times like these he finds it nearly impossible to make eye contact with me, he does furtively when he approaches the bed, hoping to find an answer there as to what he is facing. He finds none, and fear washes his frail form again. Expressionless, unsmiling. Those are two of his least favorite ways to find me.

I let him stand there, trembling. He knows better than to question me. Knows it is his duty to stand and wait with no eye contact at this point. Once it was three hours, pinned by my burning gaze. He nearly collapsed that time, but he never questioned me and never met my steady gaze. The most he did was reach out and grip the chair next to him, to prevent him from falling to the floor from sheer exhaustion

“Robe off.”

He takes it off without a thought and hangs it delicately over the armchair to his right. It is my robe. He would have let his own drop to the floor. Again with the delicate handling of my garments, that need to prevent stains. The fire is far from guttering out, but I see him tremble again, waiting for his torment to end.

I sweep the bedclothes back slowly, revealing my nakedness. He is staring, transfixed at the floor.

“Get in the bed, boy.”

A wash of relief as he moves to do so, but then he hesitates for a panicked moment. I am on his usual side of the king-sized bed. He doesn’t know if I mean him to climb over me, or scurry around to the other side of the bed to get in and doesn�t dare question me. He weighs the options frantically, opts for the latter and hurriedly climbs into the bed on the other side. In a series of well-trained automatic movements, he presses himself against me, leaning into me, he places his head on my shoulder, arms around me, baring his neck. I am tempted to do it right then, to get it over with, but I remember that I want this to be different.

I push him away, firmly but gently and settle him on his back against the soft pillows. The trembling begins again. He knows I want more than that tonight. He stares at the ceiling, afraid to look at me, remaining as still as possible. His heartbeat is quickening, pulse pounding. He catches my eye for a second, sees the change happen, recoils slightly and I am on him in a flash a snarl rending my throat. The Demon wants him now.

He is shivering, eyes squeezed shut, sweaty palms on my back, neck bared and bracing for the pain and the draining. This is all wrong. No. Not yet. The Demon demands satisfaction. I dash across the room, leaving him exposed and confused, watching me with wild eyes as I pull my clothes on, the black shirt, leather pants, boots and duster.

Without a word, I leave him and hit the streets.

++++++++++

Vampires belong in big anonymous cities, for obvious reasons. Cities with plenty of dark alleys, and most importantly, cities with a lot of cast-offs; people that won’t be missed. I don’t attack criminals and low-lifes because of any moral ambiguity. I attack them because they won’t be missed most of the time. Better not to raise the alarm with local law enforcement types if you can help it. That’s a good rule. In a place like Sunnydale, all bets are off. The place is crawling with all manner of evil, and the Sunnydale disease keeps everyone oblivious to the constant danger. Minneapolis is different.

My stalking skills are so well-tuned that even Angel couldn’t shut them off. They become a part of your being, a part of who and what you are. Being trapped behind Angel’s eyes I was always amused at how he stalked his friends and his beloved Slayer without realizing it. Looming suddenly and silently out of the shadows and scaring the hell out of them every time. If it had been me, they would have been in trouble, but I found it profoundly amusing that even Soulboy never lost his awe of the hunt, even while feasting on pigs blood, rats and the inevitable refrigerated blood bags. Yech!

Most vampires are addicted, not just to the kill, but to everything that comes before it. In a way impossible to put into words, the rush of emotions that flood through a victim are almost tactile, and become a large part of the experience. The most obvious one is fear. Fear is delicious, but ultimately there are more tasty morsels. Fear is, I guess, the fast food of human emotions; so easy to get and cheap to extract. One glimpse of game face and there is enough fear to feed an army of us. I have acquired richer tastes more recently. Lust and desire are a vintage wine, compared to fear’s Coca-Cola. It’s not an easy emotion to elicit, for vampires. I have it down, as of late. Just takes patience and practice.

There’s a seedy bar near the mansion that usually suits my purpose, but on this night there is a Demon fire raging through me that craves something new; it must be sated for me to take the time with the boy that I feel is necessary.

++++++++++

I spot her leaving a club downtown, smelling strongly of bad vodka and follow her to her trendy loft in the warehouse district. Shoulders braced against the chill wind, distracted by some recent events I can’t pick up on quite yet. There are a number of darkened deserted alleys to drag her into, but the Demon wants to follow her home. Wants time and a place to toy with her. She is unaware of my presence until the very end, but I duck into an alley just as she turns around to see who is following her.

It is a public building so I follow inches behind her, silent and undetected. She even stops to check her reflection in a mirror by the elevator, obviously doesn’t see cold death reflected, just an empty space behind her giving her a very false sense of security. She sighs, and shakes her head, unhappy with what she sees; 38 is showing through, even with all the makeup. Her loft is on the sixth floor, and I easily keep pace with the slow, ancient elevator on the stairs.

I see her rounding a corner as she steps off the elevator, moving toward her door at the end of the long hallway. I step around the corner as the massive door slides shut with a click. The hallway is dimly lit, and empty, her door industrial like most trendy lofts. I consider the standard “My car broke down” or “My roommate locked me out” scenarios to gain entrance, old standbys, but I see something delightful. She has left her keys in the lock, dangling, glinting in the light. Alcohol is so wonderful; it allows for such stupid, fatal mistakes.

I snatch them out of the lock and knock sharply on the door then see darkness cover the peephole as she looks out.

“Who’s there?” muffled from inside.

“A concerned neighbor, ma’am. You left your keys in the door. Don’t want any crazies to break in and get you.”

The lock tumbles back loudly, and she slides the door open a crack, gazing timidly at me. Opens it a bit more when she sees my best benign Angel smile, the one my eyes are never a part of.

“Thanks a lot. A bit too much to drink tonight. I don’t know how I can thank you, Mister--”

I hold up the keys just past the threshold, smiling as she reaches to grab them. Almost there, almost there... Now. I snatch her out the door by her wrist and haul her against me in a deft movement. She wants to scream but I press her tightly against me, stealing her breath for a moment.

“Name’s Angelus. Thanks for asking.”

“Oh my god! What the hell are you--” I clamp a hand on her mouth, stifling her screams.

With that authoritative tone in my voice that usually stifles human protests and lets them know unequivocally who is in charge, I say “Shh... None of that, now. If you�re a good girl, I�ll release your mouth. If you scream, I�ll be forced to rip your lungs out. Can you be a good girl?” She can’t! She can’t be good!! Nasty, filthy BAD girl! Rip them out and shower in her hot sweet blood! I ignore the first of what will undoubtedly be many potent Demon suggestions, gazing down at her, smiling. She nods furiously and I remove my hand, patting her gently on the cheek first. “What’s your name?”

“Juh-Janel. Janel Morton.”

I laugh as a tear streams down her cheek. Beach blonde hair, tight skirt; she’s been drinking far too many Cape Cods and smoking too many cigarettes. She was kissed very recently by a disgusting man with appalling body odor who tried to force himself on her, before he was thrown out cursing, by the bouncers. She’s much smaller than me, and much shorter. The top of her head barely grazes my chin.

Time for business. I fix her more intensely with my gaze, catch her eyes, see them widen slightly. Feel her panicked mind start to calm a bit and drift, open wide to my suggestions. “Well, Janel Morton. Shall we take this inside?”

She’s fighting dizziness, close to swooning with liquor and the power of my gaze. I clutch her tighter which shakes away some of the spell. She blinks and breaks the gaze a little with an effort.

“In-inside-- Ohh, umm... What? Inside?”

“Yes, Janel Morton. Where are your manners? Aren’t you gonna invite me in?”

“In-invite you--?”

“Yes, Janel. Repeat after me.” I grab her face and force her wandering gaze back to mine. “I invite you inside, Angelus. Say it.”

“Whu---?“ Drifting again, face screwed up in confusion but being inexorably compelled to obey at the same time. “Oh, umm... I in-invite you in-inside, An-Angelus?”

Comes out like a question, but its enough. “See. THAT was easy enough, wasn’t it? We’re gonna be great friends.“ I sweep her through the door, release her and shut and lock it behind me, sliding the heavy bolt into place. She plunges to the rug, dazed. Hitting the wood floor knocks some of the wayward sense back into her as does being released from my gaze. When she turns around and sees me standing at the door facing her, she screams, scrabbles off the floor, tangled in the hallway rug for a moment and runs deeper into the apartment. I can drag her back whenever I choose but this is part of the fun.

This loft, like most lofts, is a big room with very large windows facing the skyline. This is the very reason you won’t find many vampires in lofts; too much natural light. There are makeshift partitions separating the kitchen from the bedroom, the bedroom from the living area, and there is a door at the back that must be a bathroom.

She is rummaging frantically through the kitchen, looking for a weapon of some kind. I stroll casually that way and stop, crossing my arms and watching for a moment. She’s taking way too long. Even a human could have stopped her by now. She eventually fumbles out a nasty-looking butcher knife. When she turns to face me, I am at her side, and she is locked in my embrace. She screams again, and tries to lunge at me with the knife, which I pluck out of her hand with ease.

The Demon is rife with suggestions, giggling madly. Slit her open like a little piggie. Bathe in her warm innards and smear them on her too-white walls!! Pull out her spine and use it as your paintbrush!!

“The lady likes knives, does she?” I chuckle and bring it up to her face, place the cool, blunt edge on her cheek the razor-sharp tip millimeters from her left eye. “They do come in handy, Janel Morton, and they can be a lot of fun. Not for you of course, but for me in our current circumstance. Do you really think we need to bring a big old butcher knife into this? I don’t. I think we can manage just fine on our own, don’t you?”

Confused again, trembling, she eventually realizes I am waiting for an answer and nods carefully. I remove the knife with a sharp lunge that causes her to scream again. I hurl it at the wall by the sink, burying it halfway in white plaster. She starts struggling again and I allow her to slip out of my embrace and dash to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her and locking it. “When ya gotta go, ya gotta go,” I mutter.

A bemused smile on my face, I walk to the door, knock gently. “Janellll... Come out and play, Janel Morton.“ No answer, just whimpering and crying. She won’t be opening the door anytime soon, so I do it for her. I pull the doorknob through the door with a loud crack, cast it aside, push the door gently open. She’s screaming now, huddled in the claw-footed bathtub.

“No need for you to be frightened, Janel Morton. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Get the fuck out of my apartment, you fucking psycho or I’ll call the cops!”

“Such language. You really want to call the police? Think they can help you? You really do, don’t you? Well, sit tight, I�ll go get the phone.” I spotted it on the wall in the kitchen, black cordless. I lift it from the cradle and bring it back to the bathroom. I smile and toss it to her. She catches it easily. “Go ahead. Call them. Or maybe you should make a call to the morgue, instead. Not wise to waste the time and talent of Minneapolis’ finest on a lost cause. In any case that would just force me to kill them, too. And I�ll do it in front of you, so you know what you caused.”

She is staring back at me, completely unsure. I fold my arms and lean against the doorjamb. She presses the button on the phone and I hear the expectant whir of the dial tone.

“The other option is to toss that phone back to me and stay alive much longer. Maybe even make it through this night in one piece. Your call.”

Three numbers to call them, these days. She is frozen, wanting to call so badly I can literally taste it. Eventually, the mechanical voice comes on and tells her that if she’d like to make a call to hang up and try again. She hangs up, but doesn’t try again. She tosses the phone back to me and I catch it for a split second, then hurl it against the bathroom wall above the tub, causing it to disintegrate and send odd pieces showering down on her. She screams and covers her head.

“Good girl. I told you we can be friends.”

I step further into the bathroom, plastic and metal popping loudly beneath my boots, watch her shrink back and close her eyes, willing it all to go away. This is a nightmare and surely can’t be happening to her. This is called reasoning. The begging will start soon, the delicious pleading, then the bargaining with nothing to bargain with. It never ceases to amaze me that Angel could willingly give this up. Really, it’s so much fun.

I stretch my hand out to her. “Give me your hand. Let me help you out of the tub.”

“Fuck you.”

“I don’t need to give you another lesson in Who�s the Boss 101, do I? Trust me. You don’t want that. You’re such a pretty girl and I don’t want to have to yank both of your arms out of their sockets and beat you to death with them just to prove a point, but I will. Really, you will save us both the trouble if you just do as I say.”

She is suddenly very close to vomiting, her face going pale, the Cape Cods rushing up. She reluctantly moves to comply amid her nausea, but something catches her eye and she shrinks back again, much further this time, blinking and paling even more. Something behind me. I turn and see it instantly. The full-length bathroom mirror. The one I’m not reflected in.

She’s blubbering. “Not happening. This isn’t happening. I’ll wake up soon. Not happening.”

I smile and shake my head. Not coaxing this one out of the tub now or ever. She’ll go insane and die of old age before she steps out. “Ahh, that. You humans have no clue how hard it is to shave without the use of one of these. One of the many things you don�t miss until it�s gone; reflections.“

I bend down in a swift move, scoop her up and carry her gracefully out of the bathroom, cradled in my arms. She’s shaking, but not struggling. There’s usually a point where they sense my strength and that struggling probably won’t help, that it will just make me more violent. Truly, tussling with humans for me is like fighting an unruly, declawed kitten would be for a human. No danger there. Her face is pressed against my leather-clad shoulder, trying to avert her eyes from whatever horror I am about to unleash on her, frantic mind still trying to convince her this isn’t happening.

There is a large, well-worn leather sofa in the living room and I lower her very gently on it and sit next to her. She opens her wild eyes, looks around and pulls her legs off of my lap, draws her knees up to her chest and huddles in the corner of the sofa, shaking and crying.

A quick glance around the apartment confirms some things her mind is already telling me. This woman is very immature. Never really grew up because she has been around enablers her whole life who never demanded much of her. They just let her be irresponsible and childish in every decision she has ever made, including the purchase of this apartment. Well outside of her freelance ad exec budget. “Janel, do me a favor. Stop your blubbering. For once in your fucking life act like an adult and face this.”

The words hit home. She sits up a little, fixes me with a gaze and then I see her eyes dart around looking for another weapon of some kind. Some way out of this. There’s a heavy black marble ashtray on the coffee table well within her reach. Her eyes land on it just as I reach out and grab it, heft it in my hand. Heavy. More than enough to bash someone’s skull in.

I admire it. Just a conversation piece. No ashes. Janel doesn’t smoke in her apartment and doesn�t let anyone else, either. Expensive. It was a graduation gift from an old boyfriend that she can’t let go of. “Nice,” I say. “Black onyx. Moroccan I believe. Maybe Nigerian. Handmade. Quite a collector’s item in certain circles.” I look back at her, face slack with terror that she has unwittingly put yet another weapon in my hands. “You were looking at it just then, did you want it for some reason?” I bring it directly up to her face, cradled in my hand just as one would hold it if they were going to use it as a weapon. I twitch my grip on it occasionally, causing her to flinch each time. The demon chuckles, jeering suggestions. Bash her fucking head in like a cow in the charnel pits!! Bite her and fuck her pretty pussy as she twitches on the floor like an epileptic!!

“Nuh-no, please. I wouldn’t--”

“Ahh, but you would, wouldn’t you? You would bash my fucking brains all over the floor if you could, wouldn�t you?” I twitch it more fiercely this time and tears spill down her face; she closes her eyes, willing this nightmare away again. No answer to a direct question!! the Demon snarls. “WOULDN�T YOU!?” I thunder, Demon rage cresting and spilling.

“No, NO! Never! I would never...” sobbing and trying to sink into the couch cushion behind her, staring at the marble object.

I smile, place it gently back on the coffee table. “That’s to be expected, though. I believe you’d do just about anything to get out of this right now, wouldn’t you?”

“Yuh-yes, I would. Anything.”

“Well here’s something you can do, for starters. Don’t make me pick up another deadly weapon, Janel. I just may have to use the next one. Three strikes and you’re out. Got it?”

“Yes. Got it.”

“You told me you were gonna be a good girl, Janel. You don’t want to find out what I do to liars.”

“Not a liar. I�ll be good.”

“That’s the spirit. Let’s move on. Now, then. I know you have some questions for me. Your fevered little brain is working overtime with big neon question marks. Fire away.”

Realizes that it’s a command, searches her mind frantically. She takes a deep breath, shrugs in a bit of resignation and says, “So, umm... Who are you and what do you want with me?”

“You know who I am, Janel. I told you my name, and as for what I want I think you’ve got that figured out too.”

“The-the mirror... Do you mean to tell me you’re a vam-vampire? That you came here to drink my blood?”

I smile and crook an eyebrow at her. “What do you think?”

“I think I’ve gone insane. Maybe I fell and banged my head somewhere. Tom Cruise, Bela Lugosi. They’re vampires. Vampires aren’t real.”

“But mirrors are, aren’t they? Do you think your bathroom mirror is defective or do you need more proof? I’ve got loads of proof.”

“Umm-- I--”

I hold my hand out to her, move it toward her as gently and slowly as I can. “Give me your hand.”

“Nuh-no, please... I really don’t need more proof. I believe you.”

“Janel, Janel... Honestly, where has the trust gone? I thought we were friends. Give me your hand.”

She shrinks back a little, swallows deeply, then puts her hot, trembling hand in my chilly one. I pull her gently but firmly against me. Almost have to move in slow motion to make humans trust you. I place my other hand on the back of her head, and press her down against my chest, her ear resting above where my heartbeat used to be. She’s shaking uncontrollably. I begin to stroke her hair gently, and I finally sense it; tiny prickle of very conflicted lust starts to whir through her being.

It takes her a moment to realize what she is supposed to realize; then a cute little gasp and, “No heartbeat? Oh my god...”

I release the grip on the back of her head and she slowly, tentatively moves back to her spot on the couch. Her mind is clicking and buzzing, processing all of this new information rapidly. “You have to be invited in, don’t cast a reflection, you’re damn strong, cold hands, no heartbeat.” She pauses, looks at the floor, gulps. “Something’s missing and I don’t even want to mention it because I pretty much think all bets will be off if I bring it up.”

I chuckle. “The teeth? That comes later. I could give you a preview if you want.”

“No! NO! I believe you. Don’t...” A very uncomfortable pause then, and finally: “In the bathroom you said you weren’t gonna hurt me. Does that still apply?”

“Of course. If you behave, you won’t be hurt. Besides, nothing I do hurts . . . much.”

Her eyes widen a bit at that, but she tries to hide her fear. “Okay, then. I’ll do whatever you say. I promise.”

“Good. We’ll get along just fine, then.”

I feel the Demon getting impatient, rumbling. Just fucking bite her, already!! Pansy-ass!! I smile and stand up, take the heavy leather duster off and throw it over a chair. I sit back down, a bit closer to her and she adjusts accordingly, shrinking back a bit, always acutely aware of what proximity my mouth is in relation to her neck.

“No, Janel. None of that. Come here.” I open my arms and beckon her forward. She shrinks back a little, but moves toward me, trembling. She presses herself against me and my arms come around her, in a gentle but insistent embrace. Her own arms awkwardly trapped between us, she puts them tentatively around my back. I melt a little into her warmth, push her blonde hair out of the way and nuzzle her neck softly with a low purr. She gasps and sobs and I feel her fists clench my shirt, bracing herself for pain and death. I let the moment drag on excruciatingly, feel her fear ramp up as I kiss her throat very gently and slowly.

She�s talking, begging, but I only catch snatches of it over the loud rushing of blood and heartbeat filling me head. “Christ, please... Oh, god, don’t... Anything you want...” I smell her fresh tears and feel her tremble.

I back up a bit with a smile, gaze down at her terrified, tear-stained face. “Take off my shirt.”

A simple command, but one that throws her off. She hesitates for a moment, and I pry her mind a bit, feel her battling with herself on this one. Part of her knows she has no choice, but there is still an overwhelming urge to bolt for the door, screaming. She looks down at the buttons of my shirt for a moment, then back up at me, looking for some reassurance. My eyes clutch hers, and its her undoing. The power of my gaze with humans is something I have never really understood. There is always something about drifting and floating and complying to my demands, whatever they may be. Usually, it seems to put them in a trance and makes their own eyes water, weakens them. In any case, Darla and Spike never had this gift. Few vampires do. Drusilla is a nervous bundle of psychic energy and she is able to put people in a trance of some kind at any time. Mine only seems to work when I am about to fuck or feed. There is a mind connection once I have fed and the human survives, and there is a definite concrete connection between Sire and Childe that Xander will experience very shortly, but this human mind control thing is something I have never understood. Not even after 240 years of using it. I just know it works.

Her hot hands are at my buttons, prying each one open, loose of its prison. Amazing that she can do it without looking, but soon all the buttons are open and she is pushing the shirt off my shoulders. I take over the task, pull the shirt off and cast it aside on the floor. For a moment I almost expect Xander to come fluttering in, scooping it up to prevent stains. My gaze shifts a bit at the thought and the connection is broken. She sinks back against the arm of the couch, breathing heavily. Her eyes glance across my revealed chest, lingering a bit on the tight muscles in my arms. I feel that initial prickle of lust in her jump a few notches amid her confusion. The Demon is ready to howl. It is going to be impossible to wait much longer.

I reach out and tug her shirt off in one swift movement. She gasps at the speed and ferocity of the movement, the strength involved. I see tears well up in her eyes. This sudden exposure and vulnerability sends chills through her, and she tries to cover her breasts; I easily grab her arms and press them back, prevent them from obscuring the view. I stare at her, trying not to look like the hungry animal I am, and give her a reassuring smile that I like very much what I see. It must be convincing because she melts a bit. If her desire goes up a few more notches, the Demon will force itself out and take her. It already demands to bask in her heat; the heady warmth she possesses that is radiating off her in thick waves.

When she reaches out very tentatively to touch me, it is far too much. Her warm hands pressing the hard muscles of my chest, thumbs rubbing my nipples, then hands stroking my biceps lightly, tremblingly sure I am going to stop her. With a Demon snarl that sends a sharp spike of terror through her, I clasp her against me, press her down to the couch and my mouth is on hers. She moans and shudders as I pin her, her hands finding a place on my back. She melts into the kiss, making little whimpering sounds. She hasn’t been kissed in a long time. Many years, and never like this. I decide to relax into her, temper the need, and give her as much of this as the Demon will allow. “So cold,” I hear her moan as my mouth moves away.

Her hands are sliding down my hips, tugging desperately at the leather pants. I bite back the overwhelming urge to, well, bite her and drain her dry. Didn’t really think this was on the menu tonight, but it won’t be long now. I lift a bit and allow her to find the zipper, pull my pants down enough. I growl when I feel her hot hand grasp my cock through the silk boxers. She’s struggling to hike her skirt up. With another low Demon growl that thrills and terrifies her, I snatch her hands away, press them roughly above her head with one of my own, then take over the task. The trembling starts again. Always does at this point. Being utterly and completely restrained by something you know could and probably will violently kill you at any second must be beyond terrifying. She opens her mouth to moan, scream or protest and mine covers hers again, silencing her, kissing her as I tear the underwear roughly from her body.

When my kiss moves away towards her cheek, she is panting and moaning, struggling against my unbreakable grip on her hands, writhing helplessly beneath me.

“Please... please... Mr. Ang-Angelus... Oh, god...” she is almost sobbing.

My kisses move slowly, deliberately to her ear, making the trip as slowly as possible and her desperation more painstaking, dragging this out. I bite her ear gently causing a sob of terror and delight, then lick it slowly before saying in a low tone, “Please, what?”

“Please let go of my hands... Please. Need to touch you. Won’t try anything, please...”

I melt a little at that. The Demon is the possessive restraining part. Really, my weight is more than enough to ensure she stay put. I’ve heard it called dead weight before. Though the Demon hisses at the release, I let her hands free and they dart to my back, my shoulders, clasping and massaging the muscles. I kiss her slowly, more gently, allowing her hands to explore, tracing my spine and my hips, back up to my shoulders and she rakes them through my hair. Then a hand darts down between us and roughly yanks my cock free of the silk boxers and indelicately buries it inside her. The Demon grabs her hands roughly again, furious at the loss of control, and I press forward with a snarl, possessing her completely. Her eyes roll back and she moans as my furious kiss lands on her lips. I thrust into her brutally causing screams of delight to rocket into my demanding mouth.

The Demon needs to take her in every way, now. I clench my teeth, trying to hold it back, but it is a losing battle. All I can do at this point is exercise as much restraint as possible. I crush her against me and roll off the couch with her, leather pants ridiculously trapped around my lower thighs, onto the floor, still inside her, bucking wildly, intoxicated by her heat and desire. Her hands released at the motion, I feel sharp fingernails dig into my back and a snarl rushes forth at the sudden pain along with the Demon. She doesn’t see it, will never see it. I sink the fangs viciously just as I trigger her climax and feel a jolt of terror and realization flood her. Sharp fingernails grip my back again. Predator and prey at last; all pretense falling away.

There are two ways and only two ways to drain a human. The fast, painful way that usually involves outright murder or feeding quickly and furtively, and this slow, delicate way which is much more attuned to fucking. The actual draining is far beyond description. Not like eating or drinking really. It’s more like absorbing something fiery hot into your cold being. Something beyond the cold.

Blood drenched in this much lust is absolute bliss washing over my tongue and rushing down my throat. The first hot draws bring about my own climax and I roar against her mortal wound as I gush inside her. One strain of human thought always pushes through the delirium near the end and this time, with Janel, is no exception, Not the worst way to die. She’s weakening, her heart slowing, the steady thudding becoming weaker and more intermittent until it stops completely, along with the warm ebb of blood.

The Demon at last tempered, I stand up and put my clothes back on, then dress her, her limbs still warm and pliant. Not a drop of blood at her neck, just the puncture wounds. I look around the apartment, find a drawer with cash hidden in the back and pocket it. She won’t be needing it.

I walk to the window and look down. Six floors, give or take. The ceilings in this building are high. More than sixty feet to the ground. I pick her body up and bring it to the window, kiss her gently on a cold cheek, brush back the hair from her slack face. I’m not reflected in the window that I hurl her body through.

++++++++++

Xander is still in my bed, his tortured mind conflicted. He knows I dislike cold rooms, and he is weighing whether he should disobey my orders by getting out of bed and rebuilding the dead fire; has been weighing this for quite some time. As I cross the room and begin to undress I feel his eyes on me, feel everything he is feeling. Relief, desire, fear, and shame. Shame because earlier, he did disobey my command by getting up to use the bathroom. Didn’t want to stain my sheets.

The Demon rages a bit at that, Disobedient little whelp must be punished!!, but It is sated for now and doesn’t protest too loudly. I hide the twist of a smile from him by turning my back as I undress. I feel his eyes graze my tattoo, the tight musculature of my shoulders and lower back. “Fix the fire, Xander.”

He’s out of the bed in a flash and hurriedly builds a fire as I lay naked in the bed. Feeling somewhat spent after the evening’s excitement, mood more somber from the long walk home, taste of Janel Morton still on my lips I watch him work, then dash back to my side of the bed, staring down at the floor again. “Get back in bed, boy.”

He hurries around to the other side again, and again follows the trained movements of offering himself to me, baring his neck beneath my mouth, arms around me. Again, I gently push him away, then pull him back, lay his head on my unmoving chest. He feels the warmth, knows I have fed elsewhere and a bit of hurt disappointment floods him as he nuzzles closer. A whimper of gratitude as my hand comes up and gently strokes the black hair still fresh from the shower .

“Are you ready to die, boy?”

“Hmmm...?” melting into my touch.

“Are you ready to die?”

A start as he realizes it is a direct question. “Duh-die, Angelus?”

“Yes, boy. Answer me.”

“I’m ruh-ready to do whatever you say. If it is your will to kill me, then I’ll die. I only ask that you don’t make it hurt too much. ”

Something inside me gives at his words; at his sweet surrender to death if I will it. Something awful. Something new and different that I have never felt before. Angel probably felt it every fucking waking second, but I never have. What the fuck is wrong with me? The Demon has a smart-ass reply but it is strangely muffled for the first time I can remember. Another Angel thing. He’s able to tune that hissing voice out; I never see a reason to.

“Not your place to ask anything, boy. Do you want to die?”

Struggling with his answer. Knows I want the truth but afraid of my reaction to it. “No, Angelus. I don’t want to die. If you want me to, I know I will; that I cannot convince you not to if you want to kill me.”

I roll over slowly and pin his willing form beneath me, the eyes instantly dropping away as I face him. His heart is thudding rapidly.

“How do you want me to do it, boy? Don’t give me that �However you want to’ stuff, either. I want a real answer. Look at me when you speak.”

His eyes dance back to mine. I see the fear and helplessness, the profound sadness and relief that is boiling deep inside him, the dark gratitude he is trying desperately to hide even deeper than that. He weighs his response. Miles from the shoot-from-the-hip motor-mouth he was in Sunnydale. Every word counts now. He steels his gaze a bit, meets mine dead-on.

“I don’t care as long as I’m in your arms.”

Don’t want him to see my shock, so I growl and nuzzle his neck. I feel his arms go around me, a tremble. Didn’t expect that. Didn’t expect any of this. I feel his thudding pulse suddenly, drawing me, driving me insane. I can smell and see the warm blood below the surface, waiting for me. I lick his throbbing carotid, the only place for a fatal bite. He moans, and then I hear, very faintly, barely a whisper: “Goodbye, Angelus.”

Time for a little-known vampire fact here, folks. The act of turning a human is Demon-free. Even the feeding part. That hissing, growling obscene voice isn’t ever involved in the act itself; not quite sure why. It is the one moment that most vampires hold sacred, because it is completely void of obscene, alien suggestions.

The Demon cannot mock the intensity of the words he just whispered at death’s door, full of regret that he cannot be there for me anymore. There is a fierce loyalty in the boy, a determination to please me that goes beyond mere self-preservation even in the face of every mental torture I can level on him. There is a purity of spirit that I can never touch; that nothing truly evil can ever touch. This is virgin territory for me and I hate surprises. After 240 years the last thing that surprises you is human behavior. When you look at them for what they are; animals out to fuck, fight and feed just like vampires, they lose all mystery and become very easy to read. Even their history, full of generation after generation of the same fatal mistakes, no closer to understanding anything of the truth that surrounds them, their life spans being too short to fully grasp it. The boy is confounding, and I can finally admit it. I wonder briefly who broke who here, grit my teeth in disgust at the very thought.

I begin to kiss the pulse point, gently and then more insistently. His hands are trembling on my back and he is moaning, bracing himself for death. Almost without me being aware, my kiss is leaving his neck, following back up to his chin and then my lips cover his. A shudder and he gives himself to the kiss. I open my eyes briefly, see and smell the tears coursing down his face as he kisses me back with an urgency I haven’t felt in him in a long while. My kiss moves to his ear, and he is gasping passionately.

“Do you want to live forever?”

He pauses, mind scrabbling frantically. Then the words come tumbling out. “You mean, muh-make me like you? I can’t make that decision, Angelus. Please, don’t ask me...”

“You deny me an answer, boy?”

“It’s an important decision, Angelus, and only you know what it really means; the depths. I don’t understand it and never will while I am human. It’s something you can give me if you choose, but I absolutely will not decide one way or another. You can torture me for hours and I won’t be any closer to a decision. It’s not a fair question.”

I grip his arms, letting the Demon visage through, thundering: “I decide what is fair, boy! Answer me!”

Usually my true appearance makes his heart leap into his throat, but he faces the blazing eyes with a defiant smile. “No, Angelus. I can’t answer the question, and I won’t. Do what you will.”

With a snarl I leap at his throat, tear the carotid viciously. He knows this is for real, I make it clear, snatching his arms violently, pinning them above his head. Essence of Xander pours into my being like fire. I draw huge draughts, before I realize my rage is guiding me and that I had better temper it a bit before I lose control completely and make a mistake. I feel his body tense in pain. I am drawing too hard, denying him the languid, lazy death I intend to give him. I slow down, pause, let his heart catch up. I loosen the grip on his hands, allow his fingers to twine around mine, weakly.

His heart is slowing. The blood begins to taste richer, warmer as it pours down my throat and explodes within me. With a final thud, I see the light go out of his eyes, see the last smile. I feel for a moment it may be too late, and part of me thinks that is okay. Things will be so different if I revive him. A tear sliding down his cheek transfixes me for a split second and I am raking a sharp fingernail across my chest, above my right nipple.

The blood begins to seep and I press his cold, unmoving lips against the wound. I shake him violently once, and enough seeps down his throat to revive him and he is sucking, drinking. I feel the bond forming immediately, feel his presence instantly on more levels than someone with the five human senses can fathom. This is a delicate process, and it’s easy to get lost in the pleasures of a new Childe drinking, lose yourself a bit. Especially when the sucking gets more intense, the drawing more fervent. His hands are on my back again; cold, strong hands. At the last moment, I shove him away, to his side of the bed. He lays there gasping and gurgling, dying. This is the mortal death, of course. You see, vampire blood is essentially poisonous to mortals. It attacks their own blood and makes them undead, somehow. It’s fucking painful too. Any halfway decent Sire will help their Childe through the initial process.

I throw an arm across him; brace him to the bed tightly, feeling the seizures run through him, see his face twisted in pain. Luckily, vocal chords are very quick to go and there is no screaming involved. There is eventually paralysis and pain beyond description; a horrifying sense of drowning, strangling. The tremors seize his body for a full ten minutes, about average, and with a final spasm, he’s gone, the last human breath rolling out of his lungs.

I pat his cool head, roll out of bed and get dressed. At the closet I pull out some of my own clothes, and dress the lifeless body. Pull the covers up to his chin, and close the gaping, transfixed eyes with my fingers. Nothing to do now but wait.

++++++++++

I sit in the armchair in front of the fire, fingers steepled on my chest, still and silent. Trying to quiet my mind. Easier for vampires to do that than humans. We know about stillness, you see; know the importance of silence. The Demon is asleep at this point, with one eye open, craned to the proceedings.

I sense he is awake before I hear the questioning, “Hmmm?” that escapes his lips. The bond snaps firmly into place, seems to narrow to a thin focal point and explode within me, the pieces landing where they will lodge for eternity. He’s part of me and I am part of him. Important at this point for him to seek me out, not the other way around. The politics are delicate at this stage, but soon they will settle into place as well.

I hear the rustle of bedclothes and a laugh as he tears the sheet and smashes the lamp he tries to turn on, unaware of his new strength. Wobbly footsteps, padding toward my chair. Gone is the hesitant, submissive shuffle. These steps are unsure, but not in the least hesitant. He pauses halfway to my chair, studying something with absolute awe. I reach out and find his mind, rather than turn to see what it is. He can hear the moving shadows dancing on the walls; can see the dark places they cast with almost microscopic clarity. The dark corners of the room are penetrated easily. He can even see and hear a tiny spider walking on the wall.

His footsteps continue toward me, stop and I feel him kneel by the chair, place his cold fingers over mine. “Sire,” he says.

I turn to him, see the vampire eyes studying me, the manic confidence below the adoration in his stare, see the sadistic lines around his eyes and I smile. Another creation.

“Sit down.” He nods and walks quickly to the identical chair facing mine, plops down and turns to me, smiling. “How do you feel?”

“Alive, confused, strong, different... but the same. I feel like I just woke up from an 18 year long coma that I was somehow present the entire time for. I can hear far too many things I didn’t think made any sound and my eyesight is off the charts. Also, I can smell things. Strange things that I think are emotions or feelings or something. I feel that if I look outside I could count every leaf on every tree and every blade of grass in the yard, and I think I will...”

Darts to his feet, begins to approach the terrace. I chuckle. “Not now. Plenty of time for counting leaves and blades of grass later. Sit down.” I see his eyes narrow a bit as he feels himself compelled supernaturally to obey. It’s very odd at first, I remember. He plops back down in the chair like a spoiled child. Miles to go yet with this one, I sigh.

“My mouth feels funny, too. It itches and burns.”

“You’re hungry. It will be maddening soon.”

He braces himself, transfixed in horror as a car rushes by outside, covering his ears. “So loud... everything so loud.”

“Listen to me,” I say, voice even and flat. “When you hear a new sound, focus on it; find its’ source and focus. If you can’t find the source ask me and I will tell you. You�re not alone in this.”

“It feels so strange. Everything is the same but everything is different. I feel different, but I feel the same. The place looks different, but it looks the same, and the fire... oh god, the fire... so beautiful... so warm... So lovely... But there�s something else different, something... else... Something absolutely MADDENING!! Like a thousand voices screaming in my head!!”

He dashes to his feet at that, panting with no breath. Terrified eyes searching the room. With a weird shrug he sits. His head falls into his hands and he is sobbing violently, muttering beneath his breath, having a conversation with something. Then, he screams and rips at his hair and then starts laughing, an absolutely horrific sound; dry and unrecognizable.

When he looks back at me, he is not the Xander he was a moment ago. I see a cloud of dazed recognition swim across his face, and feel his eyes raking my form, the carnivorous gleam, demon visage showing through as he looks at me, jaundice-colored yellow eyes glinting. He stands, smiling. Something horrible in that smile; ugly and weirdly arrogant, white virgin fangs glinting. He approaches me with a knowing smile, a smile I want to knock off his face. He has come back with something new; something I haven’t experienced before. His moves are slow, stalking and silent. He pads around my chair, circling me like prey and I feel a cool, strong hand snake through my hair. I am rigid, focused on the feet as he circles and circles.

The demon stirs at this, rages. The Childe must be punished severely for such insolence. He’s stalking the Sire and the Sire must be respected. Tear the skin off his back and make him gargle Christian cross and Holy water until he squeals. Slice his haughty penis with your teeth and cast it into the flames. SHUT THE FUCK UP!! thunders out of me from somewhere. A new, vaguely familiar voice. I feel the demon wince and, dear god, cringe at the voice. NO ONE HERE IS FUCKING INTERESTED!! Such power. Who, for fuck’s sake... Who!? I feel completely disconnected from that voice that made the Demon quail.

Before I can dwell on that too long, Xander climbs into my lap, arms snake around me, his slight form still dwarfed by mine, curling up kittenishly. He gazes into my face with that haughty smugness, the I-Know-Something-You-Don’t-Know taunting, but a sickly-sweet smile in place as well. Smugness buried below adoration, and worship as he studies my face like... Like he has never seen me before. He tentatively kisses me, bringing the change forth in me and our tongues are battling, two chilly mouths full of sharp teeth, vicious vampire kiss. He bites my lip violently as he breaks the kiss, eliciting a simultaneous growl between us. He backs up a bit, pets my hair, studies every aspect of my face, leans into me and smells me.

When he backs up again, I break the silence. “No.”

“You know it’s true. You know what happened. You knew it would happen.”

“No.”

“You stained me.”

“No.”

“You’re stained. Everything’s stained. Everything’s filthy. Or was it always you?”

“No.”

“You can deny it all you want,” he chuckles, smiling. “I will love you no matter who you are because I have to. I’m yours and you’re mine, right? You’re my Yoda, right? No matter who you are.”

“No. Don�t love me. You can�t love and neither can I.”

I’m feeling weak, buckling. This cannot be happening. Won’t let it. Will fight it. Not again.

“It was your love that did it. You realize that, right? You loved me. It wasn’t obsession. You fucking loved me. A creature with no soul knew love and this is the result. You fucking GOT one in your Christmas stocking this year. Or was it last year?”

“No.”

“Remember my dream? Remember the prophecy?”

“No.”

“I was off my fucking rocker then--kinda still am--and I remember it so I damned well know you remember it, Mr. Stoic Broody guy.” He stands up and sings it like a sick and twisted jump rope song.

“And another shall fall into the Embrace
the two will become one and there be bound
one to fall beneath darkness forever
and two souls will be tied for eternity...”

My mind is blank. Swimming. I would have felt the change, wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t things have been different recently? How could this have happened without my knowing? How could this be possible? Xander is practically dancing, spinning in front of the fire. He stops, fixes an odd, distant stare on me. “What about your old buddy Janel Morton? Didn’t you bite her while you were making sweet love to her? Weren’t you gentle? Didn’t you hold back? Didn’t you sense she hadn’t had any in awhile and want to give her some before you killed her? Did you do all that out of the evilness of your heart or what?” He throws his head back and laughs, runs at me with newfound vampire speed, claps his hands on my shoulders as he collides with me, pulls big handfuls of black shirt, tugs me to him: “Where’s the fucking Prince of Darkness? The Scourge of Europe? The Angel of Death. The monster that sucked his own family dry, including his sweet, sweet baby sister. The mean old brutal fangy bastard who used to torture his victims, laugh at their pitiful pleas, and make sure they knew true terror before he sucked them fucking dry? The vicious monster who ate my father’s heart right in front of my mother. Oh where oh where has my Angelus gone? Oh where oh where can he beee...? WHERE IS HEEEEEE?”

Manic face in mine, eyes flashing. Rage building in me, completely my own; separate from the oddly silent Demon. The Childe is not supposed to do this. This SHALL NOT BE TOLERATED. I grab his hands in a flash, pin him to the marble floor, full demon visage to exhilarated human face. He giggles and smiles: “Oh, THERE you are...”

“And don’t you fucking forget it, you little whelp. You may be a vampire, but you are only alive at my fucking whim and you can be dead the same way. You are mine, and I am NOT NOW NOR WILL I EVER BE yours! Don’t you ever forget that!” I hiss this last, rage growing at his unperturbed expression.

“I won’t forget it, daddy. I will remember now and forever.” Sweet singsong little voice, melting under my brutal touch. “I won’t ever fucking forget anything you ever say my sweet Daddy. My... ANGEL.”

He giggles when he sees my face contort in fury and pain. Pain rocketing through me, bracing me, knocking me violently off of him. I feel screams of rage rushing from my mouth because it’s happening, flare in my eyes I remember so vaguely from almost a century ago. That one word is all I needed to hear. Angel. Two syllables. Two innocent syllables spoken by a fucking whelp, a creation of mine that means my end. Sweet fucking God the pain!! Not again... Not...

++++++++++

So much more to feel guilty about now. So many more evil murderous deeds committed. So much more to atone for. Something huge. Something beyond huge; a gaping wound in my stomach.

Xander is on his feet again, whirling in the same manic way, utterly insane. Singing: “Daddy killed the big bad Slayer. Daddy killed the big bad Slayer. Cut her head off and put it on a stick for all to see.”

Buffy. For fuck’s sake. NO!! Her terrified eyes, hurt and confused at the sudden transformation just when everything was so right, dead eyes and body still reeking of undying love even in death, that maddening scent. It’s all there. I was there. I was there, but couldn’t stop it. Watched my worst nightmare come to life and helpless to stop it. Killed her. Oh god, murdered her. She’s gone. They’re all gone!! Buffy, Cordy, Willow, Giles, the Harris�s. Murdered in such gruesome, inventive ways.

And worst of all... This new abomination. This new evil is all because of me. This insane, gibbering lunatic is because of me. Killed his family and friends, let him escape long enough to feel a little safe, came crashing back into his life, tortured him mentally for nearly a full year till there was nothing left, then laid out the welcome mat for the Demon to come in and take his burgeoning insanity to this manic, horrific level. Some kind of psychic power like Dru had. The Demon compensation for the loss of the mind, is my guess.

And who am I? Just who the fuck am I? Angel? Bitter mockery of a name. I’m an angel of death, misery and destruction. If it isn’t my own misery I seek so feverishly, it is everyone else’s. This is the worst thing I can imagine. Waking up from the worst nightmare of my life to find out it is true after all and that I am left here to pick up the pieces; a janitor at the gates of hell.

The merciful thing to do at this point is to break off the leg of a chair and stake this manic creation; set him free. Or, better yet to shove him into the fire, let him burn.

“Two is better than one, daddy. Part of the song left unsung. Not done yet, my Sire. Your Childe isn’t complete. You just need to say it, daddy. Just need to say it, say it, say it... Just need to say it so I�ll be with you forever. Just need to say it...”

“Whu--?”

A blur of movement and he is on me, punching my face again and again, blows landing left and right, pummeling me, screaming in rage. “SAY IT, BASTARD!! SAY IT!!” Hideous demon visage snarling as I grab the hands, push them away, he’s still squirming and struggling viciously, snapping at my face with his teeth, sharp and deadly, eyes blazing, rolling. “JUST SAY IT!! YOU OWE ME THAT MUCH!! YOU OWE THE PROPHECY!! IT MUST COME FULL CIRCLE!! MUST BE COMPLETE!! ONLY YOU CAN DO IT!! SAY IT YOU WORTHLESS, MISERABLE PIECE OF SHIT!!”

“What are you talking about? What am I supposed to do? You�re fucking crazy, XANDER.” His name comes out, a hollow booming echoing sound, that I couldn’t have made.

A bolt of pain rushes through him, he is thrown violently off of me, head smacking marble, stiffening, flat on his back on the floor, arms out in a crucified pose, screaming. I see the flash light his eyes, then go out and he is panting, shaking and... crying? He whispers something I can’t hear. Then repeats it louder. “Two souls will be bound for eternity. Two souls...” He laughs, a dry bitter sound, then sits up and looks at me. The manic gleam is gone. It’s Xander.

“Still going to kill me? Still think that’s the most humane thing to do? Put the mad dog out of its misery?”

“I don’t know.”

“You better know. None of this had anything to do with me. It was your psycho alter ego who had an obsession with me, killed my friends and family and then mind-fucked me for a year. Think he’ll be back anytime soon, because I�d really like to kill him horribly?”

“No. He’s gone. Can’t feel him anymore. I think whatever just happened cemented something. The soul’s not going anywhere this time. It never really left, either, and you can count yourself lucky for that. That�s the only reason you weren�t tortured to death.”

“Lucky?” a dry laugh. “LUCKY? You mean I should count myself lucky that he didn’t kill me within thirty seconds of meeting me? I should count myself lucky? You know exactly what he did and you can still say that without an ounce of humor or irony. I would have been better off dead. He ruined me. Drove me insane. Made me... feel things for him, and that was the worst part. Made me enjoy and look forward to having sex with the evil thing that killed my family and friends. Do you have any idea how that feels? Do you have any idea how filthy and disgusting I feel? How damned to hell I feel? How alone?”

“No, I don’t. I won’t say that I’m sorry because sorry doesn’t cut it here. Also, technically...”

“It wasn’t you. Right. Just your evil, leather-clad, bad boy split personality, I know. So I’m left with no one to vent my rage on. Great.”

“You don’t need to. You’re the one that killed him.”

“How’s that?”

“I don’t know how I know this, but you did it. When you said my name. Just like when I said yours. I don’t know how, but that’s what did it.”

“So what does this mean? He achieved perfect happiness? How can an evil demon achieve perfect happiness?”

“It wasn’t that. I don’t think the soul ever truly left me. It left something behind and some final action made it come back. God, I don’t know. My head hurts.”

“Does this mean that I’m like you, then? A demon with a soul? I mean, I can tell I have no heartbeat and I’m rapidly beginning to do nothing but obsess about biting things so I know I�m still a vampire.”

“You’re like me. I can sense it. And you were just turned so you have to be absolutely starved. I remember like it was yesterday, that feeling. We’ll have to get you something to eat.”

“Uh, Houston, I mean... Suh- I mean, Angel... we have a problem here. Angelus didn’t exactly survive on pig’s blood or plasma bags and I don’t think your world famous Lasagna ala Vampire is going to cut it this time.”

Damn. The boy is right. Usually, I get the pig’s blood from a butcher shop, but it is well past 1AM, not exactly prime time for the local businesses in this sleepy city on a Tuesday night. The plasma bags came from a friend who had a hand in the black market, but this is Minneapolis, not Sunnydale.

“Umm, Suh-Angel...” Shakes his head, continues before I can respond. “First of all, every time I say your name I want to call you �Sire’ and that’s completely creeping me out. Second, I know about this conscience thing we both have, but can’t we find a really, really bad person and rid the world of him or her; maybe a nice, tasty child pornographer? Or what about a juicy, succulent lobbyist?”

“Probably not a good idea. It’s best if you don’t ever know what it’s like to take a human life. A lot of lobbyists and child pornographers are completely decent human beings, most of the time. Everybody deserves a chance at redemption. The Sire thing feels weird, I know. Try calling a fifteenth century noblewoman Sire, if you want to feel weirded out. You can call me Sire if you want to. You don�t need to fight it.”

“Oh, god. So damned hungry. We have to do something. Can we please go find us some evil to drink? Something? Please...”

I can feel the hunger raging through him, thrumming below the surface with a ferocity that will drive him insane, if given time. He’ll become that gibbering lunatic he was without a soul. Looking at him, everything feels conflicted. Here is this new awful creation; this thing that would be better off dead; he’d be better off without a soul or a conscience or a life-force of any kind. But how can I just kill him? I made him what he is; part of me did. And then there’s the fearful loneliness part. Never met another vampire with a soul. Maybe this could be alright. The manic adoration is still there beneath his calm demeanor. He needs me. Haven’t felt needed since... oh, god... Buffy. Nope. Can’t go there yet. Won’t.

I swallow at the painful stab, shake my head. “There’s really only one thing we can do here, Xander. I’ve had more than my share tonight; well, Angelus did, and I’m strong enough to sustain us both for the night. Tomorrow night I’ll track down a butcher.”

“What are you...” He sees me removing my shirt, gets it. “Oh. You mean. You? Can I do that?”

“Of course. It’s perfectly natural for us to feed on each other. Usually it’s just biting, but in a pinch... It won’t hurt me. There’s going to be a part of you that will be screaming for something different, but you need to fight it. It’s really difficult at first; it fades a bit in time.”

“But it’s always there, isn’t it?”

“The more you stay away from humans, the easier it gets. But, yes, it’s always there.”

He looks at me. Unsure. “Don’t know if I know how, Sire.”

I stand up, move toward the bed, hold out my hand as I sit down. “I’ll show you. Come here, Xander.”

Instinct tells him to obey the Sire. But when he walks toward me, his steps are still the slightest bit unsure. Sits down next to me on the bed, takes my hand. A shock rushes through him at my touch, and his eyes catch mine for a brief moment and widen. He turns away and I see tears forming in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks. “Whoa! Oh, god... Oh, god...” he tries to laugh, shakily. “Wasn’t expecting that...”

“What?” I ask gently, knowing the answer very well.

“So weird, so strange, but... Shit, I can’t say it. Can’t... Maybe I will be better off dead. I�m obviously insane.”

“You love me, right?”

“It’s more than that. It’s deeper than that. I feel like I wasn’t ever a whole person until I touched your hand and looked into your eyes just now. Like I wasn’t a complete person even before, when I WAS a person. And your eyes, your touch... Did I mention I am not gay, nor was I ever? And that before all of this I truly did hate you with a fiery passion? Oh, god...”

“Those things don’t matter now, Xander. Do you remember Angelus talking about your subconscious calling to him and that’s how he found you?”

“Yes, vaguely... Back in my apartment before I wigged and went to Chicago?”

“That’s it. Even with a soul, we can’t really feel love. Surprise, but there’s a step deeper than that; more all-encompassing. It’s subconscious. Just below the surface. When you are turned into a vampire, your subconscious merges with your Sire’s. You literally aren’t complete without me, Xander.”

“But, Darla... You killed your Sire. I was there.”

“Like all things, it fades with time. Right now it’s crackling within you like a hydrogen bomb. Eventually, it’ll be a pistol. Don’t worry. Just remember I know what you are feeling because I felt it myself. Give in to your feelings or they will tear you apart.”

“But you can’t possibly imagine how intense this is. Just being this close to you, I feel my entire body humming, begging me to throw myself at you. It’s almost more powerful than the hunger. You were a monster when Darla made you; a demon without a soul. I have a soul. It has to be different.”

That hadn’t occurred to me. Maybe this is completely new territory. His eyes, even turned away from mine; are full of a desperate hunger and longing, more akin to how he was as a human, tortured excruciatingly under Angelus’ expert hand, but still longing for something from him. Desperate for some tenderness and compassion that would never come. Until now...

“Maybe it is. Just know that I am here, and that I’m not judging you in any way. I know you can’t control your feelings and I don’t want you to try. You don’t have to be afraid, Xander. Never again.”

“God... It’s all so new. I’m so confused, and so damned hungry and so in love with you my head is spinning. I don’t know what I want.”

I smile. “Well, let’s start with this. You’re starving, and I know there is a huge part of you that wants payback, right? A way to get back at Angelus for what he did?”

“Of course. You have no idea. But he’s gone.”

“Not really. I’m Angelus, in a way. Use me. Take out your rage on me. You can’t hurt me, not really, as long as you stay away from the Big Four.”

“What are you saying?” Eyes widening at this new offer.

“Take me, Xander. Take me like Angelus took you. You have the upper hand for now. Use it.”

“Nope. I can’t do that. I want to, but I can’t hurt you that way. Can’t hurt anyone like that, even him for some reason. If he was here, and I was given the chance, I’d probably just bind and gag him and make him fucking LISTEN to me for once. He was such a damn bully! Big, strong vampire pushing the weak little human around. Prick! Really, he�s not worth the time or energy.”

A part of me rages at his words; not just because of the vicious protectiveness I feel for him, the thought of another using him, branding him (even though it technically wasn’t another) isn’t really where the bulk of the rage comes from. The thought of someone hurting him, such a gentle creature, even now. This is the part of Xander that Angelus sought so desperately to destroy to make himself miserable, but ultimately proved to be his own undoing; this undying love and compassion in the face of such brutal atrocity and insanity. Trying to turn Xander into something evil had caused some kind of cosmic tear, forced souls into both of our bodies. I know that with a profound clarity, now.

He falls forward, weakly, with a groan, head settling against my shoulder, snaps me out of my rumination. “So hungry, Angel. So damned hungry. Losing it. Can�t go on.”

“Feed, Xander. Find the vein in my neck and bite.”

“Can’t. Where...?” I reach up, grab his head, press him forward, centering his mouth where it needs to be. “Oh, here...? I see it, Angel. I can smell it...”

“Time for you to taste it, Childe. Bite!”

I feel human teeth graze my neck and bite hard, but not hard enough. “The vampy thing isn’t happening. How do I do that?”

“I don’t know how, really. You just flex a new muscle you have. Think about drinking and fighting and blood. Focus on the blood and it’ll happen.”

I hear a low, flat growl and know it has happened. “Feels weird,” voice slurred by fangs. “This won’t hurt you, will it?”

I try my hardest not to scream in laughter. Such courtesy! Even I�m not that courteous. “No, Xander. Just fucking bite!”

I feel his fangs sink into my throat, finding the vein with precision, rending it, and then the painful drawing, eager gulps and sighs, the maddening hunger at last easing. He’s drawing too hard, but the sensation is still ecstasy, the lips moving, drawing as much as possible. Growls rip my throat as his cool strong hands grip my shoulders hard, pressing into my flesh.

He shoves me violently back on the bed, and my basic instinct is to hurl him away, smack the insolent Childe’s face. The Sire is not to be taken this way; disrespected like this, and I instantly feel a hesitance in him. I fight the instinct, reach up and press him closer to me, urging him on. I hear him swallowing, feel the pain ratchet up a few notches as he draws harder again. With a snarl that startles me, he grabs my hands and shoves them down, and my instinct takes over. I struggle, but can’t break his grip. Getting weaker and weaker. Brain firing commands about the Bloodline, the delicate hierarchy that is being so egregiously disrespected. Commands I can’t obey because I am too weak. He isn’t stopping. He can’t kill me like this, but he can incapacitate me for a few days and nights.

At last sated, he pulls back, falls onto the bed beside me, smiling. I am dimly aware that he is still holding my hand. His voice has lost the frantic edge of desperation. “Are you okay?”

“Yup. Just weak. Don’t ask me to run any laps for awhile.”

“That wasn’t quite what I needed, but it will do for now. You tasted so strong and vibrant, Angel. Not like dead blood at all.”

“The boy has developed a palate. Don’t think this will happen again. Like I said, in a pinch... The Childe doesn’t feed off of the Sire. Doesn’t work that way. We just broke one of the cardinal rules of Sire/Childe etiquette. ”

“It felt forbidden; naughty. I liked it. It wasn’t terrible for you, was it? I mean, I didn’t hurt you did I?”

I laugh, a dry sound. “I’d shake my head, but I don’t think I can right now. Don’t worry about me. I lived on a few rats a month for years. Been in much, much worse shape than this.”

“Rats? Yuck!! I don’t think I could ever, no matter how... Holy SHIT!! What the hell is THAT!!??”

I hear his panic, but can’t turn to see what he is looking at. I feel him cower against me, frantic arms circling me. Dimly, I smell it. Sunrise. Smells like burnt paper and ozone. I can always smell it before it comes, before the lethargy overtakes my limbs. There is an inborn panic that rushes through us; always the worst for new ones. As weak as I am, I must guide him through this. An instinct tells me to.

“Calm yourself, Childe. It’s just the sunrise. It’s about ten minutes off. You will always know before it comes. It’s kind of like a subconscious alarm clock. Are the drapes closed?”

“Yes, they’re shut tight... Angel, I can smell it. Smells like, burnt paper and something like thunderstorms. How can I smell the sunrise?”

“Same way you can smell emotions. Subconscious. It’s not really a sixth sense, it’s your subconscious giving you messages. Just listen to them, no matter how weird, and try not to panic. I’ll always be here to answer your questions. Tell me what you�re feeling.”

“Now I feel something creeping over me, like death. Cold and incapacitating. Ughh... I don’t like it. What is it? I can�t fight it. I can�t fight it! Make it stop!! God, Angel, what the hell is it?”

I laugh again. Always so refreshing to see this through a new Childe’s eyes. Things that have become beyond mundane to me are so new and terrifying, so mysterious and enthralling. Maybe that’s ultimately what compels us to make more like us, beyond the basic instinct to continue the Bloodline; reliving the fear and wonder that we all lost so long ago. “It’s called sleep, Xander. It feels weird, doesn’t it? Just give in to it.”

“Oh,“ he says, and laughs. “Now I’m king of the idiots.“ He sits up and looks at me, smiling, the picture of innocence. His face is beaming, ruddy and warm with my blood. “You want to know what I’m feeling now, Sire?” He looks down, shyly, then smiles again. “Before I tell you, let me remind you again how much I hated you with a fiery passion back in Sunnydale and how very, very not gay I am.”

“Let me remind you again, those things don’t matter anymore. We are not relating on the same levels as human beings. None of that matters to your subconscious. What are you feeling? Incredibly horny? Don�t know if I�m up to the mind-blowing vampire sex thing, right now. Sorry.”

“No, not quite. Let’s just say you’re in for some mind-blowing cuddling.”

I laugh. “And what if I say no? What if cuddling is the last thing I want to do? What if I want to curl up on my side of the bed and brood in peace all day?”

Best Angelus impression. “I could lift you up and throw you across the room, boy. Don’t test me. Don’t make me give you a violent and painful lesson in Who’s the Boss 101. You have no choice in the matter. When I say you�re going to cuddle with me, you�re going to be cuddled dammit! I�m going to cuddle you within an inch of your unlife!! Then, I�m going to TAKE that inch!!”

He falls onto the bed beside me and curls up like a great, sleepy cat; scoops me against him easily, head on my shoulder. “Oh, please Mr. Dark Prince of Pain and Agony, don’t hurt me...” I listen to his chuckle and feel the lethargy settling over me, but before it takes me completely, I say: “Well, this is the test, I guess. Curse must be gone for good.”

Sleepily. “Mmmhmm... Perfect happiness, right?”

“Perfect.”

++++++++++

Things settle into place over the next months. Teaching Xander everything, showing him everything. Being with each other. Not being alone for the first time; being with someone who really understands. Everything is going well; completely uneventfully so.

The second Autumn in the mansion dawns just as we both get restless, ready to move on to something and somewhere new.

++++++++++

Down by the big fire in the living room, settled on our respective sofas, reading again, like usual. Bored and restless like usual. Fire the first of the Autumn, this being the first truly chilly night. I’ve settled back into comfortable brooding and Xander feels enough independence at this point to indulge me on occasion. Thinking over it all, but mostly about what happened in Sunnydale. Buffy and the rest. What Angelus did to them. What he did to the great love of my life and her friends.

If my mind ever travels down those shadowy paths for too long, Xander senses it and stops me. Does or says something goofy to shake me out of it, but it’s always there. The guilt. A need to set it right somehow, to balance things out.

“You certainly are a hard man to track down, Angel. The Midwest. Who woulda thought?”

I leap to my feet with a snarl, and Xander is at my side. A figure standing in the living room, wearing a fedora. Thick Irish brogue. Blue eyes flashing mischievously. Looks like a man, but isn’t.

“Who the hell are you, demon? You made a big mistake coming here.”

Xander snarls and tries to rush at him, but I hold him back. The demon leaps back a bit, but smiles again. “Should keep that in a cage, Angel. Vicious animal.” Impugning the Bloodline so casually, I feel my rage boil. “Name’s Doyle.”

“Give me one good reason not to rip your throat out.”

“Oh you don’t want to do that. I found something you seem to have misplaced. Left it in LA, of all places. Really. It’s always the last place you look.”

Something about his genuine good humor calms us both. “I haven’t been to LA for 4 years. Even then I didn�t spend much time there. What could I have possibly misplaced?”

He smiles in a way that can’t possibly foretell that everything is about to change. His words bolt me to the floor. “Your redemption. That pesky atonement you have been seeking all these years. I have the key to it right here.” He points at his temple and smiles.

the end

A Quick Update

Hey there. Just to let you know the official title of my new story is "Beyond the Cold", not "Stains of Time". It is in the very final approval stages with a few test readers. I will be unleashing it either tomorrow or over the weekend. Check back.

"Movies and TV and "Stains", oh my..."


I forgot to put a couple of movies on that 2003 list from one of my last posts. “Cabin Fever” is giddy, gruesome and so much fun. Not scary in the least; just gross and hilarious. I absolutely don’t want to ruin any of the big laughs, but I can just say stay through the credits. It’s damn worth it. “Thirteen” was also a very good movie. Think of it as “Kids” lite. Not quite so mind-numbingly disturbing, because it mainly deals with the relationship between a mother and a daughter. Holly Hunter and Evan Rachel Wood are absolutely superb. Yeah, it’s a bit of an afterschool special at times, but not to the seriously vomity, predictable point. Well worth a look, in my opinion, and keep your eyes peeled for Evan Rachel Wood in the future. “Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl” was just okay. Although, anything with Johnny Depp is okay with me (and I’m not talking merely hottie factor here, folks) this film did drag a bit. I think it is about a half hour or twenty minutes too long. Still worth a look, though, if you are one of the 3 people that hasn’t seen it on the planet.

Recently, through the never-ending glories of Netflix, I have taken a look at two sci-fi shows. Now, I am not a big fan of sci-fi, particularly the Star Trekkie type stuff, and aliens have never been my bag (unless David Duchovny has been somewhere in the mix, all sexy in his rumpled suits) but I recently watched Steven Spielberg’s Emmy Award-Sweeping Sci-Fi Channel mini-series “Taken” and I have to say I was VERY impressed. Very ambitious at 10 two hour parts, and not quite the light, fluffy undertaking I thought it would be. What’s it about? Starting during WWII it follows several generations of three very different American families and how they deal with their separate alien encounters and their rapidly intertwining destinies. The entire series in expertly narrated by the unflappable eight year old Dakota Fanning, most recently seen in “Uptown Girls” alongside Brittany Murphy. This girl has an eerie talent, guys. I haven’t seen anything like her since-- damn, I don’t know since!! Also appearing in “Taken” is Heather Donahue, my girl from “The Blair Witch Project” as the despicable Mary Crawford. Well worth a look guys, if you have the time.

On the other end of the spectrum, I gave “Smallville” a chance and now I can say I gave it a chance. UGGHH!!! GOD!! What crap!! This is what “Buffy” would be like with bad acting, cheesy storylines, terrible dialogue and the most hackneyed plots to ever NOT grace the small screen. About the best thing I can say is that it is a very pretty show. There isn’t even really a hottie factor; Tom Welling doesn’t do it for me AT ALL. Sorry. He’s no Young Christopher Reeves. It is also absolutely CRAMMED with as much crappy teen pop as can fit in forty minutes. It gets downright annoying and distracting. The opening titles should be a warning about that though: “Somebody saaaaave meeeee...” Yeah, save me from really bad TV!! And, these people are in high school like I am in high school. Two words: AVOID IT!!

One final note: “Stains of Time” is done. One problem: It has two endings at this point, and I hate the title. Once I find the right title and decide on an ending I will unleash it on this website. You have been forewarned.