By Ebony Silvers

|Chapter 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| 9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14|15| Epilogue|

Chapter 1 - "So Wrong"

Angel and Baby were fighting again. That was all they had done for the past week. They had sniped at each other and threatened and postured and yelled until Cordy was heartily sick of it. She was ready to kill the pair of them. Now they were at it again. Cordelia could hear their voices, raised but not quite shouting, through the closed door of her office. She shook her head and looked at her monitor. She didn't want to get up and go out into the lobby to stop them. She just didn't have the energy at the moment. She was tired of trying to play peacemaker. They had always fought but lately it was worse than ever. She couldn't remember a civil word passing between them since the New Orleans contingent had arrived. At least once a day, they nearly came to blows. She wasn't sure what was going on with them but had reached the point where she didn't care. She wasn't going to keep killing herself trying to convince them to make nice-nice with each other. They were grown vampires and could take care of themselves. If they wanted to spend their unlives arguing and griping at each other, then more power to them.

She decided that she'd just let it go. As long as she didn't hear anything breaking or the sounds of bodies being thrown around, she was just going to ignore them.

~~~~~

Half a continent away, Mörderer de Realitäten chanted the words of an obscure spell. The arcane symbols etched on the walls of the cave began to glow, first green, then pink, then gold. The scent of power and ozone filled the air around him, overpowering the bitter smell of the herbs he tossed in the brazier. Swirls of smoke rose from the brazier and from the censer he swung through the still air. The etchings glowed brighter and brighter until the light spilling from them hurt his eyes. He shouted the last words of the incantation and shielded his face with his forearm as the light exploded and filled the chamber. It died rapidly, leaving the cave lit by only the red coals of the brazier and a few dim candles. The elderly demon smiled. He had just removed the threat of the Scourge once and for all.

He wondered exactly what scenario would be played out. Without their leader, the Scourge would be crippled and powerless; if forced to fight and destroy their leader, they would themselves be destroyed. Either way, he would win. Of course, there was always the chance that Angelus would prevail and annihilate his family. Mörderer would win in that case, too. The old man's laughter echoed in the dim cave. Removing the soul from the vampire should have occurred to him months ago. He wished he could be there to see Angel's soul slowly bleed away but that wasn't possible. Ah well, it didn't matter it was done now, in a very short time Angel would cease to exist and only Angelus would remain.

~~~~~

Angel stomped into his office and planted himself behind his desk. A peculiar light gleamed for an instant in his eyes. Baby followed a few steps behind him and slammed the door before throwing herself into a chair. A similar glow lit her eyes for just a fraction of a second. "God damned annoying vampire!" she muttered to herself. "Over-grown, broody bastard!" He ignored her.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. She didn't even know why she let Angel get to her. She smiled sardonically and admitted to herself that she knew exactly why she let Angel get to her. She let Angel get to her because he'd touch her when he got angry. Because he'd put his hands on her. She fought with Angel because she wanted him.

And it was wrong. Wanting Angel was fundamentally wrong on so many levels that it wasn't even funny. It was bad and it was perverted and it was obscene.

She thought about her family. She wondered what they'd say if they knew that she wanted the big Irishman so badly some days that it was a physical ache. That she had to scream at him to keep from jumping on him? They wouldn't understand. They had no idea just how perverted she could be, she knew. No, bless them, they had no idea. For vampires and demons, they were all such innocents in their own way. Well, maybe not Wes. That troubled lovely was the only one who really understood the darkness within. Wes had a core of violence that really appealed to her. They were so similar. Wes was the only one she let hurt her, ever. Spike didn't like to hurt her and so she wouldn't ask that of him. She went to Wes when she needed to hurt. Wes might be the only one who could understand her attraction to Angelus, who wouldn't be disgusted by it. He'd realize that what she felt went way beyond sex. Because it wasn't just sex she wanted from Angel. God knows, she had all the sex she could want. Not only was her husband quite possibly the best lover ever born, she had not one but three other lovers. Uninhibited, inventive, experimental lovers. She had two incredibly handsome men and two unbelievably beautiful women who would gladly give her a tumble any time she wanted one. She had sex that porn writers could only dream of. That romance writers would drool over. And she wanted Angel. Wanted domination and humiliation at his hands. Wanted it so badly she could hardly think of anything else.

She was so fucked up.

Spike alone was all the man any woman could need; he should be all the man any woman could want. Hell, Spike was more man than most women could deal with! God! She loved him so much. What she felt for him was so intense it was frightening. He was everything she had ever dreamed of and then some. There were days she wanted to merge herself with him, just completely submerse herself in his being and disappear forever in him. Spike was perfection and the center of her world.

So why did she want Angel? Because she was fucked up and sick, she decided. Nothing else could explain it. She shifted in the chair trying to settle more comfortably but couldn't find a way to ease the need inside. She breathed deeply as she thought about the conversation she'd had with Cordy just that morning. Cordy had been going on enthusiastically about Angelus' prowess at cunnilingus. The way the brunette had described it… God, it sounded good. Baby could imagine it. Feel it. It would feel so good! Angel's tongue, strong and wet, parting the folds of her labia, searching for that nub of nerve endings that would bring her so much pleasure. She ground her hips into the chair, wishing that she had some privacy and that Spike wasn't out of the building. If Spike were here, she wouldn't need to fantasize about sex. Spike would go down on her at the merest hint of desire. Damn, he was good at it. He was probably better than Angel. She doubted if anyone could be better than Spike at any aspect of the sexual act. Spike would be triathlon gold medal champion if sex were an Olympic event. Crap! She wished he were there. He'd make her forget about Angel.

And she desperately wanted to forget about Angel. It wasn't easy when he was sitting there, not six feet away. Ignoring her.

She should just get up and go find some of the others to talk to. The hotel wasn't empty. Wes and Dru were in their suite. Fred, Gunn, and Cordy were working in their various offices. They were so close, she could hear their phone conversations if she concentrated, could hear them breathing, coughing, hear their heartbeats.

But Angel was here. And she didn't want to leave him. She had to be near him. She couldn't seem to stop thinking about him today. What was wrong with her today? The need was worse than it had ever been. She had known she desired Angel for some time now but since she had been turned, it had grown exponentially. The childe/sire bond often resonated with longing these days. And today it positively throbbed. The longing seemed to grow by the minute. It was as though she had no control over it any more. She couldn't get the visions that Cordy's disclosures had caused out of her mind. She couldn't help it. Cordelia had been pretty explicit about what Angel could do. It conjured up images and sensations that Baby very much didn't need. She wanted him so much it was killing her. She had to do something about it. But what? The need was driving her slowly mad. A thought fraught with interesting ramifications came to her but it was so perverted she hardly dared consider it. It would be so wrong, so sick, but so much fun. And it would be so easy. She found herself seriously considering it after all, but could she actually do it? She didn't dare jack off, did she? Did she dare sit here and get off while Angel watched? It would serve him right after what he'd just called her. That might just be suitable punishment for his cruel, cutting words. Yeah, punish Angel and have a little fun at the same time. How would he react? Would he stop her? Would he say anything? Or would he just watch? How fucked up was he?

Her hand stole beneath the skirt of her dress. She was nude beneath the soft violet silk. He heard the rustle and his head shot up. The scent of her hit him like a two-by-four to the head. She wasn't actually…. Oh God! She was. He was momentarily immobilized.

There was so much danger in this. They were surrounded by people. People who would be shocked at finding her jacking off while Angel watched. And he was watching. Of course, the proximity of other people only heightened the experience. For both of them. The door behind her could open at any moment. The risk was intoxicating. She had definitely cultivated her exhibitionist tendencies to a new high. He had secretly admitted to himself that her complete disregard for the opinions of others was very appealing. That freedom from guilt or public sanction was so alien to his own actions. The part of him that was Angelus wanted to join her in that uninhibited milieu. It hinted of a basic concept of superiority that appealed to the demon. She was a goddess of Darkness, why should she care about the rules or sanctions of her food animals?

He wondered where this would lead. How far would she be willing to go? What was going on behind those feline eyes?

Baby knew he was staring at her. She fantasized about how it would feel to have Angelus caressing her breasts and ran her wrists across her nipples. They were so hard and sensitive that the action hurt. It was a delicious pain and increased her arousal. She could imagine how very, very much Angelus would enjoy inflicting that pain. She looked into his coffee-brown eyes and saw the answering spark of desire. His eyes were fixed on her hands and what they were doing. Hunger had been ignited deep in their brown depths. She rubbed harder and bit her lip to keep from moaning. This had to be done in complete silence. The risk involved... it made it so good. So arousing.

Her other hand, the one beneath her skirt, moved in tiny circles and she arched against the chair. That wasn't her hand. No. It was his. Angelus'. She stared at him, so dark and handsome, so tall and strong. His hands were clenched in fists on his desk and he was starting to breathe. She could imagine just how much he wanted to be the one doing this to her. And in her mind, it was him. Yes, it was Angelus. He was doing this. She could feel the arousal building.

Angel clenched his teeth as she ran the back of her hand over her bust. A muscle jumped in his jaw at her movement. He wanted to bury his teeth in those lush breasts, devour her. He wanted to taste her skin. Wanted to feel her nipples contracting at the touch of his tongue. As she began to unbutton the top of her dress, he bit his lip. This was more than he had expected. She really was going to masturbate right in front of him. She really was such a bitch. He couldn't believe she was doing this.

He couldn't believe he wasn't stopping her.

It was so hard not to moan, not to cry out. She couldn't let the others hear her. There could be no sound beyond a strangled gasp or a shallow pant. They mustn't hear, mustn't guess that just beyond the thin office wall she was being dream-fucked by the most powerful vampire ever turned while said vampire sat and watched, his dark eyes hot and smoldering, fixed on her nearly exposed bust line. The knuckles of his hands were pure white they were clenched so tightly. Clenched so tightly because he couldn't touch her. He mustn't touch her.

She stared into his burning eyes and mouthed words. "Do you want me?" she breathed, no sound escaping, just the movement of her lips communicating her desire to him.

He closed his eyes for a moment before answering. "God. Yes!" His answer was as silent as her question but she heard him just the same. His face conveyed the emotion that his voice couldn't. She hadn't expected him to admit his intense longing. He'd denied it now for over 15 years.

"Tell me what you want," she whispered soundlessly. "Tell me and I'll do it."

He licked his lips. He should stop this now. Throw her out and tell her to never even think of it again. "Move over here where I can see all of you," he said instead.

She got up and moved toward him, the thin material of her dress fluttering around her thighs. She sat down on the desk in front of him and slid one leg around until her legs dangled on either side of his. He watched the movement of that long, smooth limb avidly, secretly praying it would brush against him in passing. His prayer was answered as the side of her foot trailed across his knees. The shock of it, even through his clothing, was so strong his whole body jumped. He knew he should push back from the desk, away from her, make sure she wasn't within reach. But this was so much better. She was only inches from him. The sides of her calves touched the sides of his thighs. Though there was no warmth coming from her undead body, he could feel that bit of contact searing his flesh. Feel heat burning into his soul, turning it to ashes inside him.

"What do you want, Angel?" she asked again in silence.

He resisted the urge to shout 'You!' and grab her. Instead, he answered, "Touch your breasts again. I want to see how hard you can make your nipples. Make them hard for me."

As her small hands closed over her breasts she pretended they were his long fingers closing over her flesh. Her nipples were already so hard that his imagined soft squeezing motion hurt and hurt. It felt so good. She stifled a moan and clenched her hand over her breast, fisting the smooth silk of her shift, the heel of her hand kneading her breast. He couldn't bear it. He had to touch her somewhere. He placed his hands over her silk-covered knees, his fingers flexing and squeezing. She quickly copied his motions. What his hands did to her knees, her own hands did to her breasts. It was delicious and excruciating. Watching her was wonderful. He'd had innumerable sexual experiences but he had to say that this might be one of the best. Watching her slim white hands pleasuring her own body was as erotic as anything he'd seen. Knowing that she was imagining the touch was his, knowing she wanted him badly enough to fantasize about him; it was maddening. Not being able to touch her was killing him. His erection was already throbbing with want and desire.

"I want to see you," he mouthed. "Finish unbuttoning your dress."

She smiled ever so slightly and complied, slipping each tiny purple button from its anchor. It was taking too long. Angel couldn't stand it. He began unbuttoning the dress from the bottom, working his way upwards. He wanted nothing to interfere with his gaze. He wanted nothing between them but air. If they had been playing with fire before, they were toying with a volcano now. If anyone walked in, they'd never be able to explain this away. Sitting before Angel on his desk was one thing, sitting there with her dress completely open was something else again. Nevertheless, he unbuttoned the last fastening on her dress.

Careful not to touch her skin, Angel pulled her dress open, easing it over her shoulders. The slick material slithered down her arms and off, pooling on the desk around her, revealing her body to him. God, she wasn't wearing a stitch underneath. She sat before him completely naked save for the bits of silk draped across her thighs. He could have sworn his heart hammered a time or two. He'd seen her nude before, of course. Hell, he'd suckled those lovely breasts before, but that had been in group situations. When the Scourge played, almost anything was possible. If he touched her then, it was approved. He could touch, lick, caress, and kiss, but even then there were sanctions. He wasn't allowed to touch her sex, wasn't allowed to say how badly he wanted her, wasn't allowed intercourse. It was all safe and non-threatening to either of their mates. This was different. This was something totally new. Dangerous.

They really needed to stop now. He really needed to send her upstairs. Away from him. He put his hands back on her knees; they were still draped in purple silk. As he began to fondle her knees the way he wanted to fondle her breasts, he looked into her golden eyes. Her pupils were dilated with her desire and her lips were parted slightly. He didn't have to imagine what it would feel like to slide his tongue between those pouty lips, he remembered how soft and luscious they felt, how good they tasted. He fought to keep from groaning. God, he wanted her so badly. He had never wanted her more than he did right then. He gave in to temptation and slid his hands up the tops of her thighs, the cloth under his hands moving with him. She tilted her head back and bit her lip. He moved his hands back down to her knees and she stared at him, transfixed. Up and back, he slid his hands in parody of what his body was telling him it wanted to do. What his body had to do.

"Want you," he said silently. "Wanted you for so long now."

She was breathing now, too. He could smell her arousal.

"Touch yourself," he soundlessly ordered. "Touch yourself for me." Her hand dropped between her legs and he watched, fascinated, as her fingers disappeared into her dark hair. His mind screamed for him to take her, to take her now. He wanted her so much. He reached down and unfastened his pants, freeing his erection, before returning his hands to her silk-clad thighs. She stared at his penis as her small fingers worked within her core.

"Pretend it's me," he told her. "Pretend it's me inside you." She spread her legs wider and more of her fingers disappeared from view. She began to saw her hand in and out. She dreamed of what his thickness would feel like sliding inside her, of how it would fill her. She stared at it, wanting its breadth stretching her, wanting its length deep within her. She imagined what it would be like. He'd move slowly at first, allowing the friction to build. He'd whisper depraved obscenities in her ear. Call her vile names: slut, bitch, whore. Oh God, she loved for him to call her 'whore'! It would be Angel's gentle hand that moved possessively over her body but it would be Angelus' lilt that whispered degradations in her ear.

"Want you, girl. Wanted you for so long now." His soundless words sent tiny shivers of sensation straight to her womb. "I've never had to wait so long to have anyone before," he said. "But I've waited years for you, sweetness." She could hear his voice in her mind as his lips moved soundlessly. See the need in the dark eyes gazing so intently into hers. His tongue snaked out, moistening his rich lips.

The smell of her was intoxicating. He could bear it no longer. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand from within her and to his mouth. He sucked her fingers, licking and cleaning them of her juices. It tasted of ambrosia. He groaned. It sounded absurdly loud in the silence, startling them both.

He pulled her head down, resting his forehead on hers. "We have to stop," he whispered, finally speaking. She nodded, a tiny movement against his brow. But neither of them moved. His hand was tangled in her red hair, holding her to him. One hand was still moving up and down her thigh. Her hand rested, still wet from his tongue, on the thin sapphire cloth covering his chest. He could feel the damp seeping through the material, carrying a bit of her onto his skin. He moved his lips to hers and fisted her hair as his tongue slipped between her lips. Minutes passed as he plundered her mouth, tasting her, possessing her. The nails of one of her dainty hands dug into his shoulder as the other creased his shirt in her fist. Finally, he pulled his mouth from hers. "We really have to stop now," he repeated. "We can't do this. Not now. Not ever."

Cool puffs of air beat against his face as she panted. He felt her nod again and there was the tiniest catch to her voice as she said, "I know."

It unmanned him. He crushed his lips to hers. "I want you so much," he murmured. "I want you more than I can even explain." He pulled her down onto his lap, her legs on either side of him. He reached up and finally placed his hand over her left breast, rolling it in his hand. The feel of it was incredible. She winced slightly as he ground into her sensitive flesh. That one glimpse of pain caused his desire to skyrocket. He had to have more.

"Angelus," she breathed as he kneaded her breast harder, eliciting moans of pleasure/pain from her. She pressed against him. Her hips began to move in tiny circles against his burgeoning erection.

He placed his lips beside her ear so he could whisper to her. "Sometimes I pretend it's you. When I'm with Cordy or Dru, I pretend it's you. Fantasized it's you I'm fucking instead of my wife. It's so wrong. But I want you. Want you so much." Angel moved his lips from her ear down her neck, following the line of her carotid artery to her clavicle and on to the hollow of her throat, leaving bruised blue marks. She threw her head back, exposing her neck to him. "I love it when we all have sex together. It's easier to pretend. I've kissed you while you orgasmed with Wes inside you and pretended it was me you came for." He nibbled across her collarbones. "And I want you to come for me. God, I want to make you come. You'd look so good if you were coming for me. You're such a beautiful little whore. You'd do that wouldn't you? Come for me? I can make you come for me, girl." His voice held a hint of Ireland. The sound of that lilt sent a jolt of pleasure straight through her. The pressure was building between her legs. "You'd be so wet for me, wouldn't you? So wet. So hot." Just like she was now. She could feel the wetness coating her curls, feel it coating him as she ground against him, so close to having him inside her but still not quite achieving the reality. She strangled a groan of pleasure and need. He smiled. The feel and scent of her desire was so intoxicating. "Such a slut. So wet."

She could feel his hard body moving against hers, thrusting against her, wanting to enter her, each thrust harder than the last. Faster. Stronger. Strength beyond that of any human male. Strength sufficient to break bones and rend flesh. Strength and power that no mere mortal could match. He was a fitting mate. Fierce and pitiless in his pursuit of what he wanted, his ruthlessness matched hers. The thought of all that controlled power pushing at the juncture of her legs was maddening. She pushed and ground, trying to reach more of him.

"Want you to come for me, darlin'." That soft Irish voice was stronger now. More dominant. "Come for me, Baby. Come on, bitch. You know you want to." She ground harder against him and he slipped his hand between them, searching for her core. His fingers slid inside her and his teeth fastened on her nipple, biting hard. She rocked against his hand, mentally screaming, physically only whispering his demon name over and over. "That's it, girl. You're mine." He moved one arm behind her, holding her upright as she bucked and arched against him. His lips and teeth punished her breasts. "I knew you'd be sweet. Knew you'd be the best bitch I ever had." The ache deep in her was nearly overpowering. She wouldn't be able to hold back much longer. "Do it. Let it go! That's my sweet, sweet little whore." He bit down again, harder. Nearly hard enough to bring blood. She shattered into orgasm and sat silently gasping for breath.

He covered her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue as deeply into her cool mouth as he could. A small part of him was shouting for him to stop, shouting that they hadn't gone too far yet. It was overpowered by the roaring need to possess her. He locked that bit of himself away. He wouldn't be stopped now. He wouldn't be controlled, not in this. She should be his. She was as vicious and passionate as any childe he'd ever sired. Headstrong and stubborn, he would love to break that spirit to his will. He wanted to control her, own her. He had to have her. His hands were busy reigniting her desire. It took only a moment. What he had given her wasn't nearly enough to quench her blinding thirst for him. She wanted him as desperately as he wanted her. He lifted her and placed her back on the edge of the desk. Standing, he towered over her. She slipped her hands beneath his shirt and reveled in the feel of his skin. He grasped her thighs and tilted her hips toward him. With a nearly subsonic growl, he entered her. They both froze. This longed-for, fantasized moment broke upon them with clarity and sweet horror. After years of denial they had finally attained that which they desired. Angel looked into the eyes of his lover and tears started from his eyes. He thrust deeply into her, rejoicing in the feel of her around him, devastated by their adultery. She wrapped her legs round him, pulling him deeper into her with each lunge of his body. Each thrust brought unimaginable joy, each plunge shattered marriage vows a bit more. She cried tears as silent as his as she exulted in the feel of his body in hers and wept for the loss of their fidelity. Something precious and vital slipped further away from them both.

That which made them human was locked away, caged deep within by a forbidden passion that should never have been realized. That which remained reigned ascendant, victorious in its freedom from the constraints of honor or oath, and simply sought self-gratification. Their hold on humanity slipped further with each thrust of Angelus' body into hers. The bars of the cage around their souls was strengthened each time she lifted her hips to meet his.

The words Angel whispered in her ear now were gentle words of comfort and acquittal. "Shh. It's alright. It's not your fault," he murmured in time with his thrusts. "I need you. Sweetheart, need you so much. Need this." He kissed her face, her eyelids. "It's my fault. Not yours. Never yours." He slipped his hand between them and gently fingered her clitoris. "Sweet girl. My sweet darlin' girl. Come for me, darlin'. For me." She bucked against him as her orgasm took her. As her internal muscles rippled around him, he could hold back no longer. With a soft cry he came, jettisoning his seed deep inside her, sealing their union, their transgression, and their fate.

~~~~~

Baby tried to button her dress with fingers that shook so badly she could barely hold the tiny purple bits of plastic.

"Here. Let me," Angelus said softly and began to do up the buttons.

She looked up at him. He had his head bowed over his task. "I'm scared, Angelus," she whispered. "I'm so scared."

He looked into her eyes, big and golden-green, and suddenly he was kissing her again, telling her it would be all right. Her body molded to his and before he even realized how it happened she was lying on the floor beneath him and he was inside her. Again.

He reached up and locked the door. He wanted her and wasn't going to be interrupted now. He no longer cared if the others heard. They'd know soon enough. In a house full of vampires, you couldn't hide who you had sex with. Scent alone would reveal what they had done. Hidden infidelity was an impossible occurrence in vampire society. Trying to hide their actions didn't matter anymore. They'd had each other and, one time or twenty, it was all the same. They were adulterous lovers. And the minute Spike was within twenty feet of them, he'd know it. Angelus wouldn't even try to hide it. There would be consequences and he would face them when the time came. He was more than capable of dealing with whatever would come.

For now, he had the unrequited cravings of a decade and a half to fulfill. He ground his body into hers. Even having just had her, his desire had not lessened. He had years of self-denial to satiate and he doubted that a week locked away with her would lessen his need for her body. He fastened his mouth on hers and tried to bury himself ever more deeply within her. She wrapped one leg around his shoulder, opening herself more to him.

"Angelus. Oh God, Angelus," she murmured over and over against his lips, his skin. For the first time in fifteen years, he didn't correct her. The name sounded beautiful falling from her lips. Her hands moved over his shoulders, his back, fingers kneading and clawing. They curled around his buttocks, trying to pull him deeper within her. She met his plunging thrusts, met his want, met his need with her own. She tossed her head and begged him to never stop. He rolled his hips, sending her over the edge once more. Unlike Cordelia, Baby didn't scream; she gasped her orgasm instead. He paused his movements and held her, covering her face, throat, and chest with kisses. She finally grabbed his head and guided his lips back to hers. Her mouth was insatiable, her tongue battling and finally capturing his. She drew it into her own mouth, sucking it, moving her tongue up and down his. He groaned and began to move again. She thrust upward, wanting as much of him inside her as possible. Words meaningless and momentous were exchanged. "So big." "So tight." "So good." "So wet." "You're beautiful." "Harder." "Faster." "You feel so good." "I want you." "I need you."

"I love you."

Words that shattered reality and remade it into something unrecognizable. Words and actions that ripped apart the fabric of their lives and left them adrift, without compass or guide. Words that once said could not be dammed, but flowed as a torrent sweeping away artifice and denial. Angelus couldn't stop their flow even if he'd wanted to. His words washed across her as his kiss punctuated each sentence.

"God, I love you."

"I love you so much."

"You're mine."

"I'll never let you go."

"You're mine forever."

And fangs found their way into dead veins that for all their lifelessness pulsed with vitality. Blood, precious and binding, was exchanged. In the primordial way of their kind, blood and sex were not simply separate elements but could, when intermingled, forge a bond that linked individuals in a fashion beyond human understanding. She arose from their coupling not simply his Childe but his Bride.

~~~~~

Finally spent, they lay on the cold floor wrapped in each other's arms, mournful and exultant. Baby stroked Angel's hair. The stiff locks prickled against her chest. "What just happened?" she asked.

He didn't lift his head from her breast or meet her eyes. "We made love," he answered softly, mindful of vampiric ears.

"I know that," she responded. "I mean why? We've fought this for years. Why are we suddenly so…" She couldn't think of a word. She moved on. "You claimed me."

"Yes," he answered simply.

"As consort." Her voice was expressionless.

"Yes."

"Why?"

He stroked her nipple as though it were a kitten. He didn't need to think about his answer. "Because you're mine. You've always been mine." There was the faintest lilt to his words.

"Angelus?" Her voice didn't change, though she now knew the answer to it all.

"Yes, darlin'?" He allowed a finger to circle her areola lazily.

She stroked his temple. "Angel's gone, isn't he? He's not in there at all anymore."

Angelus smiled and ran his hand down and around to settle on her abdomen. "Oh, he's still here, love, but he's not in control anymore. And he won't be. Not ever again."

Chapter 2 - "Crazy"
by Ebony Silvers and Fojiao2

Spike knew something was desperately wrong the instant he walked in the Hyperion. The very air resonated with the wrongness. Instantly alert, he reached out with his enhanced senses. The smell of gore, a sanguine thread, ran throughout the hotel, permeating the air with the sweet-sour scent of human blood. Dread building with each step, he followed the sound of muffled sobs to Charles Gunn's office.

"Shit," he breathed and hurried forward. Fred, her body bowed in agony and grief, sat on the cold stone floor, cradling Charles' head in her lap. One of Angel's broadswords protruded obscenely from the black man's abdomen. Blood covered the floor. Fred's clothes were tattered rags, her bruised and scratched skin showing through dozens of rips and tears. Over the smell of the blood and terror was a scent that Spike recognized far too well. "Angel." He felt his chest tighten and fought back a weakness that dimmed his vision and clenched his stomach. The scent of his sire was everywhere in the room, more so than it normally was. The hotel smelled strongly of Angel at all times but there was something different about the scent, something frightening. "Angelus did this, didn't he?" he said as he knelt beside the pair, heedless of the gore seeping into his denims. Gunn was still breathing but he was unconscious. Spike could feel the pain radiating from the tiny woman. "Have you called 911?" The private investigator still stood a slim chance of surviving if the paramedics arrived in time and knew what they were doing.

She nodded and gulped back sobs. "Why would Angel do this, Spike? Why?"

Spike wrapped his arms around her diminutive form. He had a very good idea of what happened. They all had nightmares of it often enough. "He sounded funny, didn't he? Sort of an accent?" When she nodded again he continued. "It was Angelus. Angel without a soul." He paused before asking the next question. "Did he rape you, pet?" If it wasn't her, then it was Gunn or one of the others. Spike could smell the semen plainly.

She nodded again and sobbed harder. "He… he made Charles watch!" she wailed. "How could he? Spike, how could he?" The devastation on her face sliced through him as surely as Angel's sword had sliced through Charles Gunn.

Spike couldn't explain it to her. He couldn't tell her that for nearly a century he'd been just as bad. That rape, murder, and pain had been their daily bread and wine. He couldn't burden her further. He had to let her hold on to some illusions. "It wasn't Angel," he lied. "It was Angelus." After so many years, it seemed impossible that they'd have to face this. Angel's soul was supposed to be anchored, for God's sake! The shock was rapidly wearing off enough that he could think clearly. "Where are the others? Are they alive? Who was here?"

"Baby was with him," Fred said weakly. Spike actually flinched. Baby wasn't supposed to be at the hotel today. She was supposed to be in San Francisco wasn't expected in back L.A. until after nightfall. She must have gotten in early. Spike's heart contracted and he felt a need to breathe. He clamped down on the feeling. If something horrible had happened to his wife, he would feel it. He reached out through their link and touched… nothing. It was as though a wall existed between him and his wife. It was as if she didn't exist. Fear turned to panic.

"She just stood there watching," Fred continued. She looked up at Spike with such horror and confusion in her eyes that he felt all the air leave the room. His dead lungs craved it. "She just stood there and laughed."

~~~~~

Spike swept through the corridors of the Hyperion, coat flapping behind him like the wings of a carrion crow. He could sense neither his wife nor his grandsire anywhere. They weren't in the hotel, or its nearby environs. He could vaguely sense Drusilla and followed the tentative link to the deep basement of the structure. As he neared the old strong-room he began to call out. Surprisingly, it was Cordelia's voice that answered him. He heard the tumblers of the lock clicking and falling into place even as he reached the door. Cordelia practically fell into his arms, holding him tightly, clinging to him in a way she had never done before. Spike looked over her head and into Connor's dark eyes. The teenager held a battle axe whose sharp edge couldn't have cut Spike as deeply as the pain in those young eyes. Connor had seen too much in his brief life and to see his father turn into the dark monster that was Angelus was possibly more than he could take. Spike wondered if this would be what finally sent Connor spiraling into insanity. Someone with lesser fortitude would have succumbed long ago. Spike held out a hand to the young man. As his mother had, Connor fell into the arms of the man he considered his uncle, allowing tears to finally flow. He had been strong, been stoic through the hours of waiting and wondering if his father, the person he loved more than anything in the world, was going to kill him.

"Why, Uncle Spike? Why?" he wailed. "Why did this happen now?"

Spike held his grandsire's family tightly and didn't try to offer false comfort. "I don't know, brat. But we'll find out." His own pain was nearly overwhelming. Baby wasn't here either. He hadn't really expected her to be. He knew in his heart that she was gone. Physically, she was out there somewhere but whatever lived in her body now wasn't her. The thing that made her his love, the part of her that was the woman he built his life around, was no more. Baby would never have stood by and watched another woman be raped. Never. When Fred had said that Baby simply watched and laughed, he knew that for all intents and purposes, his wife was dead.

"Cordelia?" he finally said. "Can you tell me what happened?"

As she had so many times in her life, Cordy put aside her grief to deal with the current crisis. "Angel and Baby had been fighting all morning and they ended up in his office. I figured they were sulking at each other. You know how they get." She took a deep breath. "They were in there for quite a while and when they came out…" She swallowed and fought back nausea at what she had seen. She didn't know how she could tell Spike this. "Spike… I saw Baby first and there was a new bite on her neck. It was Angel's. It was a… a consort mark." She broke down for a second or two before she could continue. She avoided looking at Spike. She didn't want to look into his blue eyes and see the same devastation she felt. "Then I saw Angel and I just knew. It wasn't Angel. It was Angelus." She shivered. "I ran. I just ran. I screamed for Connor and tried to warn Fred and Gunn. Dru was running down the stairs already pulling Connor with her, screaming that Wesley was gone. She grabbed me and practically dragged me here." She couldn't continue. Even knowing that it was Angelus and not Angel, seeing her husband's mark on another woman had slashed her heart. How could she tell Spike the horrible things Angelus had come and whispered outside the locked door? She tried to shut the evil words from her mind but couldn't. Angel's sweet voice telling her that she wasn't woman enough for him; that she was too sweet and weak had shaken her. Hearing him say that she wasn't exciting enough to hold his attention, that even while Angel was so concerned with being faithful to her, his thoughts had strayed to other women. Asserting that if she'd been woman enough, he'd never have taken Dru and Faith back to his bed, that he wouldn't have lusted after Baby if Cordelia had been good enough. She knew that there was a kernel of truth in Angelus' lies. Cordelia hid her face in Spike's broad chest. She knew that Angel really had wanted his youngest childe. She had seen it in his face whenever he'd fought with the red-head. She kept hearing that beautiful voice telling her that if she'd been a good enough fuck, he'd never have thought of anyone else. She couldn't stop the tears from soaking into Spike's shirt.

Drusilla stood slowly, moving like an old woman. "They've taken our loves away, my Spike. They've left us with ashes and dust and pain." Her eyes were clear and filled with the same pain Spike felt. "I saw Wesley slip away, Spike. A bit at a time, he just slid away from me till there was a stranger staring at me from his eyes." This time Spike was the one who shivered. He wasn't sure he'd be sane if he'd been forced to watch Baby disappear before him. That Drusilla, whose grasp on sanity was tenuous at the best of times, had managed to weather it and even save Cordelia and Connor was a testament to how strong she really was. "Wesley has left with them. He's left me, Spike. What will we do without them, my sweet? They were our reason for being." The loss in her deep blue eyes sunk into Spike's very core. "There's nothing ahead of us but grief and death," she continued as she came toward him. "The very walls are screaming with it. The stars weep from the pain of it. I can't see an end to it, my prince. They're gone and I can't see a way to get them back!" she wailed, finally allowing the grief a voice. As she wrapped her arms around the group, Spike felt something inside him snap. He couldn't contain his own pain any longer. Holding the remains of his family, he threw his head back and roared, his agony so great that his scattered children felt it, and many miles away Angelus smiled.

~~~~~

Spike set about trying to deal with the situation as best he could. Before the blood in Gunn's office had time to congeal, the master vampire was on the phone to Sunnydale warning the Slayer and Rupert Giles of the danger they were in. Giles would in turn warn the Watcher's Council. A call to his pilot and his plane was on the way to pick up his eldest childer. The Gunns' medical care was seen to and every precaution for their safety was put in place. As long as Spike stayed busy, he didn't have to think about his wife and how very much he hurt. But eventually, everything was in place and there was nothing left to do but wait for Angelus to appear in L.A. or Sunnydale.

But he didn't appear. Days passed without any sign of the three missing vampires. Not a word was heard. Spike eventually moved Cordelia, Connor, and Drusilla to New Orleans. The house on Rue Royal was easier to defend than the hotel. Arrangements were made to move the Gunns and Lorne to a safehouse with sufficient guards to protect them. An attack was likely to come at any time.

Faith joined Buffy in Sunnydale, though their request to have the current active Slayer join them was denied by the Council. She was needed elsewhere, they said. Faith sneered that they didn't need some sixteen-year-old, snot-nosed brat helping them anyway. As the second Slayer called since Faith's thirtieth birthday, she was inexperienced at best. The first Slayer after Faith had only lasted nine months and Faith had no greater expectations for this one. She was too completely under the Council's thumb. Faith doubted that this Slayer would be joining her and Buffy in the over-thirty crowd. The next Slayer would be called because her predecessor died, not because her predecessor reached the unbelievable age of thirty. Faith grinned, remembering how shocked the Council had been when their new Slayer was called and they discovered that Faith still lived. They were even more shocked to find that the girl had been called the exact minute Faith turned thirty. Of course, they'd never had an active Slayer reach that age, either.

Drusilla, after a few days of lucidity, lapsed into the sort of dementia she hadn't experienced since joining with Wesley. She floated though La Maison du Rouge s'Elevé talking to the stars and the flowers in the courtyard, carefully watched over by Spike's people but further from reality than she had been in decades. Mention of Wesley's name would send her into a wailing depression that lasted for days. She simply couldn't bear being apart from him. For the most part, unlife had sped by for Drusilla. Years and years and decades, fluttering behind her like pages torn from a calendar, so lost was she in the arms of her blond paladin, her sweet Spike. Only with her precious Wesley had it slowed down, had every delicious minute been appreciated and passed into the waiting hands of memory. The years he had been human were like a fever dream from which she hoped to never awake, for his warmth was always there, the swirling blood within his hands ready to reach out and leave a heat-tattoo upon her marble flesh. That had changed when he was turned, but his affection never flagged, his attention to her even more concentrated because he could hear and feel her from farther away. With the added bond of family, he was even closer to her. She treasured the moments she could spend in his presence. Then came the day when his soul had started to drain from him. She could see it fluttering above his head, a bird being squeezed through the bars of a cage inch by inch until it finally was no longer free but beat ineffectually at the bars. Dru had screamed and cried, had held onto him with force that would have shattered his body had it still been human, and watched his eyes the entire time as the light within them slowly died. Soulless, he was not a ravening monster or suddenly hideously cruel. If anything, he was too polite. He was . . . just another man, a stranger who treated Dru with civility and the deference a fledgling owed to a master vampire, but nothing more. The love that had swept them both up like a maelstrom and drowned them in happiness for decades was gone. When his sire had called him to her side, he had simply turned away and followed Baby without a word to his lover. Now, Dru found that time moved more slowly than she had ever imagined it could. The seconds dragged forward like boot-steps, Boom-Boom, Boom-Boom, each moment a slap against her mind. They would collect themselves into minutes and strike her like a whip's lash, and every hour gave her the impression of a sword driven through her belly. She slept no more, had not shut her eyes in two weeks, so that they dried out and would have stopped functioning if she weren't already dead. She had allowed herself sleep only once after Wesley had gone, and the nightmare that resulted from that lost hour was enough to keep her up for months to come. The idea of thinking ahead even one more day was impossible. Dru now lived from second to second, hoping that the next one would be her last. Only the care of Spike's family and the grief she saw mirrored in her childe's eyes kept her from walking out into the warm sunlight. She would not add to his pain.

Cordelia assisted Spike every way she could, but eventually the waiting became too hard for her and she retreated into researching a way to restore Angel's soul, seldom leaving Spike's library. Tara and all the magic users Spike could find were researching but having no luck in discovering what had ripped the souls from Angel, Wes, and Baby. Shut away there with them, she seldom had to see the wreck that was Drusilla or face the walking wounded that was Spike. Knowing that she was not alone in her pain was not comforting; their pain cut as deeply as her own. She couldn't bear to look at the vampires. It hurt too much. She missed their spouses as much as they did. Her fellow consorts had been so much a part of her life that she didn't realize their importance until they were no longer there to talk to. She would have given worlds for a sarcastic comment from Baby or a quirked eyebrow from Wesley. She had always known that there was some small chance that Angelus would reappear and she had sealed a portion of her heart away against that day. She had never dreamed Wes and Baby's souls could be in jeopardy, too. She felt thrice bereft. She'd lost her husband and her two best friends in one swoop of a fell knife. She didn't even have the solace of physical love to sustain her. Her three most constant lovers were gone. She knew that if she asked, Spike would take her to his bed and comfort her but she also knew that he would only be doing it to make her feel better. Incredible as it sounded, Spike had lost interest in sex. On further thought, she realized that it had been years since Spike had bedded anyone outside the Scourge, outside the family. With that entity broken, he was as alone as she was. She was deeply concerned for him. He'd appeared to be so strong, so in charge of himself and everything around him. He was their general now, directing their troops, handling this unwanted battle. She'd known he was hurting, of course. How could he not be? But she'd had no idea how badly he was hurting until, in search of a particular book and thinking he was out, she had walked into his private rooms one day to find him sitting in Baby's favorite rocker. Looking about the room she realized that he had moved nothing since his wife had disappeared. Baby's discarded clothing was strewn on the chair where she always tossed it. Her toiletries were still out on her vanity; a pair of shoes were still in a corner where she'd kicked them off. The room must have been like this when she left for L.A. He must have called as soon as she vanished and told his people to touch nothing. The chill that rocketed through her had frozen her heart. She suddenly realized how close to the edge Spike was walking. She feared that it would take very little to tumble him over, leaving him as mad as Drusilla. If Spike succumbed, Cordelia wasn't sure she would be able to carry on alone. She prayed daily that he would have the strength to endure this.

Terrified, she buried herself in ancient tomes and in seeing to her son. Connor attended a select private school under the watchful eye of no less than three bodyguards specially trained to deal with vampires. But he was far from doing well. The boy seldom slept and the stress was wearing down even his considerable strength. He was too young for the burdens that had been visited upon him. She knew Spike was protecting Connor as best he could. There were orders that no one speak ill of Angel before Connor and that any news of Angelus be filtered through Spike and Cordelia before it was spoken of to the young man. The worst monstrosities Angelus could create wouldn't touch the boy if Spike had any say-so in the matter. Still, Cordy feared for her son. She felt safe here in the Vieux Carré physically but she wasn't sure that there was emotional safety anywhere for any of them anymore.

Three weeks passed before the first word of Angelus' activities reached the Master of New Orleans. After that first report, news came daily. Spike had thought that his heartbreak was complete. He thought he could hurt no more than he already did, but each report he received splintered him a bit more. Angelus wasn't in Sunnydale. It seemed that for the time being at least, he had no interest in the Slayers. Instead, he was cutting a swath of blood and fire across the American heartland with his new consort at his side. Rumors came, quickly confirmed, of ranches and farmsteads whose occupants were found tortured and dead, of truck stops and restaurants turned into charnel houses, of an entire town in Kansas razed to the ground with not a single citizen left alive. Rumors of death and destruction the likes of which had not been seen in over a century, not since Angelus walked Europe, came to the Master from demons and humans alike. Tales came to Spike of a dark lord and his red-haired lady who reveled in torture and death. The ruthless brutality of the pair was unrivaled in the history of the continent. Angelus' name once more rang out as the epitome of cruelty and malice. His nameless consort/childe was spoken of by those who came before Spike in awed whispers of fear. Her brutality and viciousness were said to be a perfect match for her sire's. A dark mage accompanied them, protecting them with strong magicks and dealing destruction to any who would interfere with the pair. Anguish and Ruin followed where the trio walked and Death rode beside them. Those who saw them and survived invariably described the encounter as having seen a bit of Hell visited upon the Earth.

Spike sent out his childer, trusted and tenacious, to locate his grandsire, but they were always three steps behind. Money for information flowed from Spike's coffers to no avail. Tips were always received too late; Angelus had already moved on. Tara's magicks, Mama Claire's voodoo, Rupert Giles' wizardry, none of it could locate the rogue vampire. Wesley's craft was too strong and the trio was hidden from detection. Even Willow's awesome power couldn't slice the veil that hid Angelus from his pursuers. Angelus was never in one place long enough for Spike to receive a true report on his whereabouts and Spike refused to uselessly chase the other vampire across the continent.

More and more there was a clamor for Spike to do what he could to stop the trio. In the deepest reaches of his heart, the Master of New Orleans prayed that he would not locate them until he had discovered the miracle that would restore them. He didn't want to be placed in the position of killing Angel, though he had promised Angel long ago that he would control Angelus should it ever become necessary. And for all the grief that would cause him, he was willing to do it. He knew it was what Angel wanted. His consort was another matter. Spike simply wasn't sure if he could bear to end the existence of the demon that wore his beloved's body. He wanted that body back here where she belonged. The longer she was gone, the harder it became for him to continue. Each day, his house smelled a bit less like her. Each day, it was a little harder to hear the echo of her laughter in its halls. Each day he lay on their bed because only there, surrounded by her belongings, where everything smelled of her, could he find any peace. There, in the bed they had shared for so long, he could pretend she was still beside him. Only then could he sleep for a few scant hours and escape the ceaseless agony that each night had become for him. Only the hope that he could somehow find a way to restore her kept him functional. The thought of driving a stake through the pale breast where he had so often rested his head sent waves of clenching nausea through him. He couldn't think of separating that lovely head from her white shoulders; it sickened him. He knew he couldn't look into those eyes and kill her. He didn't care what she had done; he couldn't kill her. He wasn't sure but that he was willing to let the world burn rather than destroy her. Indeed he wasn't sure that he wouldn't join her in burning it if it meant he could stand beside her again.

Spike felt that he was going slowly mad.

Chapter 3 - "Sweet Dreams of You"

René Beaumont sighed and continued his search through the crowded streets of Miami. Spike's latest tip said there was a chance that Angelus was here. It made sense. The streets were crowded with Spring Break revelers. All those exuberant, heedless youths had to be tempting to someone with Angelus tastes for nubile flesh. All that said, so far he'd seen no sign of his great-grandsire. And no sign of his sire's consort. René wasn't sure if he was disappointed or not. He knew that Angelus had to be stopped but he wasn't sure he wanted to be the one to discover him. Because finding Angelus meant finding Baby. And there were repercussions to finding his cher Maman that he didn't want to consider. René ducked into an alley and lit a cigarette. He sighed again. He really wasn't sure he should be doing this. He knew that Spike had no idea how to restore Baby's soul and he knew that the alternative was something he couldn't bear to think of. How Spike could even consider killing their sweet Bébé was beyond him. Surely there had to be another alternative. Thoughts of Baby being dusted sent a crawling coldness wriggling through Rene's guts. Most frightening of all, René had no doubts that Spike would do it. He knew that love wouldn't stop Spike. He had seen his father destroy his rogue children. He was only a few weeks old when he'd seen Spike stake Phillip. He still dreamed of that horrible night occasionally. The first of Spike's children to die by their father's hand, Phillip had deserved it but it didn't spare them the trauma that went with losing one of the family. The pain for them all had been so great. Spike had cried after Phillip was dust, devastated by the action he'd been forced to take. But over time there had been other children who had gone bad and his sire had killed them because it was the right thing to do. Spike always cried afterwards, his heart broken. René shivered. He wondered how long Spike would cry for Baby before he continued his life without her. The Cajun wondered if Spike would take the Slayer to consort. He swore to himself at that thought.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" a beloved voice said in his ear.

"Bébé?" he said and turned to find her standing close to him.

"Of course, honey. Who else would it be?" She smiled and held out her arms to him. He knew what Spike had told them, that she was some soulless creature now and no longer the Baby they knew and loved but somehow he couldn't believe it. Wasn't he soulless? Wasn't Spike? Yet they were who they were. Why should it be different for Baby? Why should having a soul or lacking one make so great a difference? All his unlife, Spike and Baby had stressed that those who were souled were no better than those who weren't. That good and evil resided in the individual not in whether they were soulless demon or souled human. Why could this not be his precious Bébé after all? Baby had always sworn that Angel and Angelus were one and the same. If that were true, and René had always agreed with Baby, then surely his Maman still walked. He allowed her to wrap him in a soft embrace. She smelled the way he remembered and he breathed in her fragrance deeply. He'd missed her so. Knowing she was safe with Spike was one thing but not knowing how or where she was and knowing she was with that bastard Angelus was something else again.

"You all worried about me, my sweet René?" she said, her accent more controlled that he remembered.

"Yeah, Maman, I am. I…" the noise of a group of tourists interrupted him.

She smiled softly. "We can't talk here, honey. Come with me." She took his hand and led him to a fine art deco house near the shore. René had no doubt that the original occupants were lying very dead somewhere, the victims of Angelus' need for a suitable abode and a midnight snack. It was a beautiful house, something you would see in a magazine, but like those professional photos, it was somehow empty and cold. He revised his opinion and decided that no one had ever really lived here. It was too… bright and barren, too perfect. It was like a statue of a beautiful woman, lovely to look at but nothing you could curl up to at night.

"Where's Angelus, Bébé?" he asked as they climbed a dazzling staircase.

She shrugged. "God knows. Or cares." She didn't sound concerned about her lord's whereabouts at all. Since the incident with Wolfram and Hart, Baby had always known where Spike was or worried if she didn't. It appeared Angelus didn't rate the same consideration. René was heartened by the thought.

The beautifully appointed room she led him to looked out over the ocean. He could hear the soft surging of the waves on the white sand. "So tell me why you were talking to yourself in alleys, René," she said as she closed the door behind them. She sat down on the bed and patted a spot beside her.

"We all been worried about you, Bébé," he said as he sat down as she indicated. "Not knowing how you were. Not knowing if Angelus be treating you all right. I seen him hit you before, me, and I don't like it. I don't like to think about it."

She smiled and René felt the familiar tug at his unbeating heart. She placed a gentle hand on the side of his face. He was such a handsome man. Much more so than any of the minions or pets that Angelus had surrounded himself with. More so than Angelus himself. He was as lovely as any man she'd ever seen. Those aqua eyes alone were worth the effort. And he was so very much enamored of her already. It would be so easy to get what she wanted. "My sweet René. Always worrying about me," she said softly just before she kissed him.

Baby had kissed René hundreds of times and he had welcomed every one of them. But this time there was something different about her kiss. It lingered. It felt less maternal. In fact, it didn't feel maternal at all. When he felt her tongue lightly touch his lips he jumped back in shock. "Bébé?"

"Shhh," she said and the look in her eyes sent the blood rushing to his head. He had always made a concerted effort not to think of Baby ever looking at him like that. It made it easier to see her with Spike. He thought of that look as reserved only for his sire though he admitted, not without pangs of jealously, that he had seen that look turned on Wesley Wyndom-Pryce occasionally. René knew it would never be intended for him, not even secretly the way, in unguarded moments, he had seen it directed at Angel. So he firmly told himself that Baby would never look at him that way. But a man couldn't control his dreams and he had dreamed of seeing that look of need and longing on her face for him. Not a week passed that he didn't dream of her with that expression, that he didn't dream of holding her, of loving her. Of making love to her. He closed his eyes to block out the sight of her golden-green eyes. It was too much to see it in reality. It would destroy him, he knew. Once seen, he would not be able to live without seeing that look directed at him daily.

"Shh," she said again and he could feel cool breath on his cheek as she spoke. He felt her lips brush that same spot and he squeezed his eyes more tightly closed. "My sweet, sweet René," she whispered. "Always so full of care for me." Her lips touched his face again just beside the corner of his mouth. It was like an electric shock and he felt a muscle there jump. "Always looking out for me." Soft lips against his, unbelievably soft and yielding against his. "Always there when I need you." Those lips pressed more insistently. "And I need you so much, my René." She ran her tongue tenderly over his lips, seeking entry between them. He opened his eyes and found himself staring directly into hers. The desire so naked in their feline depths drew a groan from him and he found he couldn't resist the pull he'd always felt towards her. Her tongue slid between his lips as soon as they parted and her hands, soft and smooth, caressed his face. He had never been kissed like this. By her. The taste of her was exquisite. It flowed through him like champagne bubbles, ephemeral and dizzying. Her tongue explored his mouth, searching and tasting, leaving nothing untouched. Independent of thought, his tongue twined with hers, not battling but simply investigating, discovering.

He pushed away from her, panting for breath like a living human. "Pere," he gasped. "Spike…"

"Thinks only of his slayer," she said sadly. "All these years, I've always come second to her," she lied. She remembered easily how he had reacted to Spike's near affaire with Buffy. He had been livid. He had even told Spike that if such a thing happened again, he'd take Baby as his own. It hadn't been an idle threat. It had taken a level of devotion that was nearly unimaginable to stand up to Spike and swear to take his consort away if Spike ever messed up again. René had been courting death when he said it and he'd known that. "Do you have any idea how many years I've listen to him call out for her in his sleep?" A little truth could make a large lie sound real. Spike had stopped calling out for Buffy years ago. But it wouldn't hurt for the gorgeous Cajun to think he still did. "I couldn't take it any more, René. I just couldn't."

The sadness on her face twisted his heart. He had never truly forgiven Spike for the pain he'd inflicted on Baby in Sunnydale. Was it possible that Baby had never forgiven her husband his near infidelity? That she had willingly left? That she was finally free?

"And now?" She managed a sad smile for him. He really was just beautiful, such perfect features with that wavy black hair that he was wearing a little too long these days and those eyes! They were almost teal. Such an unusual color and they stood out so from his olive complexion. He was the sort that garnered open stares on the street. He would make a lovely addition to her court. She only kept the finest, the most beautiful, the most brilliant around her. The others were dispatched as soon as she tired of them. This one, with his immortal beauty and his lovely accent she planned on keeping a while. Such a pretty, pretty trophy for her collection. And so besotted. It would be fun to see how long she could keep him hanging on her apron strings. If it worked well, maybe she could seduce other of Spike's childer from him. Jean Claude would be perfect. He was as besotted as this one. And it would hurt Spike so much to lose his sons. It would be so amusing to take away that which he cared about so much. It would be so appropriate, too. She'd make him regret keeping her subservient to that human soul. For loving the soul and hating the demon. She'd make Spike pay. She had to suppress a grin; she could feel the human screaming inside her. Screaming and cursing and fighting against the magic that kept it bound and helpless. Tormenting the soul was nearly as much fun as tormenting a person with a body. Destroying this boy would be so easy and would cause so much pain for the soul locked within her. She wasn't sure she could stop the smile that transformed her face into a sinister mask. She turned away from the young vampire for a moment as though overcome with emotion so he wouldn't see that smile.

She quickly regained control of her features and put on a mask of resigned sadness. "I'm so alone, René. There's no one here who loves me," she lied again. But how could René know that Angelus was capable of such an emotion. "Wesley doesn't think of anything but his books." That was true enough. Wes had barely looked at her since they'd left L.A. He only came to her bed when she called him as his sire. If he wasn't so talented at magic, if having him with her didn't hurt Drusilla so much, if he didn't annoy Angelus, she'd have staked him for daring to be indifferent to her charms.

She brushed a lock of jet hair from René's forehead, the gesture so familiar he couldn't really believe that what Spike had told him about her being a different person was true. "And Angelus… well, Angelus is all wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am on those occasions when he notices I'm even here." That wasn't entirely a lie. Recently Angelus seemed less and less interested in her. He hadn't touched her in well over a week. "I'm so lonely, sweetheart. I need someone to care about me." Her lips brushed against his. "Don't you care about me, René?" And again. She knew exactly what he wanted to hear and she was prepared to give that to him. She'd give him whatever it took to get what she wanted. "Aren't you the one I've always counted on to take care of me?" A light kiss, barely a peck. She could feel him beginning to respond, scenting his arousal growing. "The one who's always cared about me?" Lips more insistent on his. He cared so much, this one. It was disgusting, but very useful. "The one who's always loved me." Hands brushing his face, his shoulders, across his clavicle. Settled gently on his chest now, motionless. Time for the trump card. "Don't you love me, René?"

The need on her face was overpowering. He grasped her shoulders and pulled her to him. "Oh Mon Dieu! I love you, Bébé. I do. I always have." He kissed her the way he had always dreamed he would.

~~~~~

René looked at Baby's sleeping form and knew it was impossible for him to return to New Orleans. He had betrayed his sire in the worst way possible. And all for nothing. The woman lying beside him, with the scent of his sex all over her, with his seed inside of her, wasn't Baby. His cher papa had been right. Whatever lived in her body now, it wasn't Baby. It had her memories and her voice but it wasn't her. He had seen it in her eyes when he'd been buried deep inside her. Something cold and hard lived in that beloved body now. There was no love in the depths of her eyes. There was no caring. The thing he loved most about his Bébé, the thing that made him hers was missing. He rubbed his hand across her arm, intrigued by the smooth feel of her skin as he stared out at the beach. In the dark hour before dawn, no one moved across the sand. No birds flew through the salt night sky. It seemed abandoned. As abandoned as the body he held. No, the woman he loved wasn't in there. And had she been, he would never have touched her like his, he knew. She would never have allowed it. Tears flowed unbidden from his eyes but he didn't bother to dash them away. It wasn't the first time he'd cried over Baby and he doubted that it would be the last. She'd broken his heart before. He doubted that it ever really healed. Of course, she had never meant to break his heart. She would never intentionally hurt him. Because she did love him. He knew that. She had once told him so. Had told him that had Spike not consumed her very existence, he was just he sort of man she could have spent her life with. But there was Spike and there would always be Spike. He knew that. For a brief hour he had succumbed to a dream. He had allowed himself to be blinded by an illusion greater than any glamour Wesley Wyndom-Pryce could create. He had allowed himself to believe that Baby wanted him. And the creature that lived in her form had wanted him, had wanted him for the physical pleasure he could provide. And nothing more. It had not cared what he felt or needed. It simply sought its own self-gratification. No, Baby hadn't broken his heart this time. She hadn't done it because she wasn't at home. Some one else, some uncaring thing had taken up residency in her sweet body. But even that thing hadn't broken his heart. He had done that himself. He had shattered his undead heart by daring to grasp a dream he had known could never come true.

He shook his head, disgusted with himself. Damned kicker was that he knew he wouldn't leave. It wasn't Baby that he'd made love to, this near empty body, but it was as close as he would ever get. And for that he'd stay. Because he would take whatever part of her he could have, even if it was just a shell. He stared down at her and listened to the waves pound on the shore outside, the beach as empty and desolate as his heart.


Chapter 4 - "Faded Love"

Angelus looked into the face of his consort and wondered why he couldn't stand the sight of her. Baby looked wonderful. As he had ordered, gone was the tacky streetwalker garb she had previously favored. She now dressed in tasteful attire that accentuated her form and was no less sensuous than her former whorish mode of dress. Her hair was a lovely auburn now rather than the unrealistic and somewhat garish red she had previously favored. Her beautiful bob was perfectly styled, lying smooth and gleaming about her head. Her cosmetics were applied with a delicate and artistic hand. Her fingernails sported the most delicate of French manicures. She exuded West Coast chic. She had a sophistication and stylishness that was the envy of all Angelus' minions. Even while dealing the most gruesome of deaths, she managed to look good. The beauty and elegance of the Consort of Angelus the Cruel was already becoming renowned. She made him ill.

She was vicious and merciless and brutal. She killed without remorse or hesitation. Any pesky morality she had once possessed had fled. She was as indiscriminate with her affections as he could have wished. Fidelity, mercy, restraint-all were missing from her make-up. In their place were licentiousness, callousness, and ferocity. She was likely to take a lover in the morning only to kill him before the sun rose the next day. He should be thrilled at how quickly she had remade herself to suit his wishes. Instead he wanted to scream at her.

Angelus couldn't complain that she hadn't done everything he'd asked of her. She accepted his word as law. She welcomed his every attention, reveling in his touch. She warmed his bed as well as any woman he could wish for. She was wonderfully compliant to his every wish, no matter how depraved or bloody. She was everything he could wish his consort to be. She was perfect in every way. She made his skin crawl.

He wanted to shake her. He wanted to hit her. But he knew that if he did, she would simply ask how she had displeased him and how she could correct the fault. He hated her.

~~~~~

Wesley looked up with mild displeasure on his face as Angelus stomped into the study. "Find a way to restore Baby's soul," the master vampire grated without preamble.

The former Watcher coldly considered his grandsire. "Finally figured it out, did you?" he said in his most annoyingly clipped upper-crust accent. The one he knew grated on Angelus' nerves.

Angelus restrained himself from snapping the other man's neck. "Figured what out?"

Wesley reached up to straighten the glasses he no longer wore. "That she's the one you want and not that ice queen that currently inhabits her body."

The elder vampire sighed. "Yeah, I figured it out." He reached across the desk for the decanter that always sat near Wesley. Seeing no extra glass, he appropriated the ex-Watcher's and drained it. "And you're right, m'lad, she is an ice queen. Colder than the wind off the North Sea and twice as cutting. Enough to make a man's balls shrivel up." He poured a generous measure of scotch into the glass and grimaced at the smell. Damn, why couldn't the Englishman drink decent whiskey? "She'll bed anything that moves but there's no fire in her heart. Nothing there at all." He downed half the liquor in one gulp. "If I have to look at all that perfection much longer, I'll stake her myself," he said.

"I thought that perfection was what you wanted," Wesley said snidely. "You said you hated the way she dressed and talked and acted before. You said you wished you could make her into what you wanted."

Angelus swallowed the other half of the scotch and poured another glass full. "Yeah, well, there's some proverb or something about being careful what you wish for because you might just get it. Well, I got it." He wasn't going to tell the mage that nightly he dreamed of unruly too-red hair and a near-indecipherable drawl. That his unconscious fantasy wore too-tight leather and too-short shirts. That he dreamed of long legs encased in tight denim and worn cowboy boots. He couldn't let Wesley know that he wanted the woman who railed at him and cursed him and showed him no respect whatsoever. That he longed for the sarcastic edge that crept into her voice whenever she began to feel the least fear of him. That he'd kill gladly or, even more shocking, let live anyone who could restore the fire and hate to those golden eyes. How could he tell Wesley that he was desperately, hopelessly in love with a vile-tempered, sharp-tongued harridan who dressed like a cheap tart and would sooner spit on him than allow him to touch her? He looked at the ex-Watcher and knew he didn't have to. Wesley already knew. He drained the glass. "Just do it. Get her soul back. You might want to restore your own while you're at it. You're not nearly the monster your human half was."

Wesley couldn't argue with that. While an accomplished hunter, he no longer felt the need to torment his victims prior to dispatching them. Feeding was gratification enough. He found the effort needed to elicit the screams and fear Angelus and the human Wesley so enjoyed counterproductive. He could better spend his time investigating the texts he'd accumulated and increasing his knowledge and magical abilities. Power lay there, not in eviscerating some poor sod when he could simply drain the body and be done with it. Angelus would learn that one day. When Wesley was strong enough, Angelus would understand where true power lay. Till then, he would do Angelus' bidding. "It will take more than a few days for me to discover what's caused this. I have some idea already but I need to do a bit more research," he told his master. "It may take a fortnight or more."

Angelus nodded. "Do it as soon as you figure out how." Soon, with any luck, he'd have the woman he wanted instead of the demon bitch he despised. In the meantime, he wished her joy in her new puppy. Seducing one of Spike's childer was a stroke of genius. He grinned at the thought of the pain that little act must be causing. He rose easily and went in search of a better bottle of liquor. Maybe if he drank enough, he'd be able to face the ice queen without ripping her perfectly made-up face off.

~~~~~

René watched expressionlessly as the demon wearing Baby's body tormented some poor wretch. One of the minions had messed up or disobeyed her orders or something. He hadn't really been paying attention to the details. In any case, she had the hapless vampire chained to a wall and was engaged in drawing pretty pictures on his writhing body with the point of a stiletto. The sight was sickening but René didn't let his revulsion show. He might be less than two decades old but he was a master vampire in his own right with rule over his own city and a bloodline to be proud of. The other vampires in Angelus' entourage wouldn't see any sign of weakness in him. He was the son of William the Bloody and, though he had betrayed his father, he would bear the name proudly and show these bastards that Spike produced childer they should be afraid of. And the others were afraid of the dark Cajun. He could tell by the sidelong looks they cast his way that they knew he was a force to be reckoned with. The vampires and demons that had gathered around the Angelus gave the Master of Mobile a wide berth. Taciturn and reserved, he seldom spoke to any save the lady of the house. René didn't like to converse with anyone outside of his family and never had. His silence frightened the lesser demons. Angelus' bootlickers soon learned they would get nothing but a fist in their faces or a stake in their hearts if they disturbed him.

None of them dared challenge him. In two short weeks he had proven to them just where he fit in the pecking order. Angelus had made no children since he had emerged, only minions, and as Angelus' great-grandson he was, along with Baby and Wesley, the tip-top of the hierarchy. Baby, of course, as both childe and consort, was second in power only to Angelus himself. Wesley was her childe, Angelus' grandson, and respected accordingly. Even here in the hellish kingdom Angelus had created, family mattered. Those who were of the same bloodline as the Master ruled; they were the royalty in this court. And each of them was more than capable of proving to any of the hell-spawn just why this was so. René smiled to himself. Pity Wes had become so complacent about everything; together he and René could have terrified Angelus acolytes properly. As it was, René barely tolerated the presence of the sort of monsters he was used to killing on a nightly basis. That at least was one thing she had not been able to change. He still hunted only the predators. He still preyed only on criminals. The innocent were safe from René Beaumont's fangs and always would be. He wouldn't break that vow to Spike.

He looked at the murderous creature he had taken as his lover two weeks earlier and fought back a shiver. He sprawled a bit lower in the chair, the picture of boredom and nonchalance. Watching her like this made him want to scream. Not that he hadn't seen Baby torture and maim before; she had become an expert at that about the time he was turned. Hell, she had taught him a thing or two about inflicting pain. But she was never indiscriminate in her predations. Always with his Bébé there had been a righteous anger burning from within. Always her victims had visited cruelties equal or greater on their victims first. What she gave them was retribution. This demon that looked so much like his adored Bébé inflicted pain simply for her own gratification. For the tenth time that day, the hundredth time since he had been taken into Baby's bed, he told himself that he should leave. He had his own city and even if Spike wanted that back, well, there were plenty of places where a strong, intelligent vampire could go. Spike and Baby had trained him well; he'd be able to make his way successfully anywhere in the world. Why the hell did he stay here?

Tired of her screaming play-toy, Baby flipped the knife into the wall and strode toward her new Favorite. She straddled his long legs and settled herself across his lap. "Mm. Bored, precious?" she asked and ran a hand between his legs. She began to stroke and fondle him. "I can distract you," she said in a sultry voice that was almost, but not quite, the one he remembered. She leaned forward and kissed him. Her hair smelled of the gardenia-scented shampoo she had always used. She must have it sent in from New Orleans, he thought. He closed his eyes as her lips trailed down his neck, gently biting and licking. If he didn't look too closely at her, he could almost believe that she was who he wanted her to be. If he pretended just the tiniest bit, then he could believe that this really was Baby he held and not her demon. If he lied to himself, he could believe she wasn't really gone.

That was why he stayed.

~~~~~

René locked his mouth onto Baby's as he pushed his body slowly into hers. She moaned against his lips like a creature in torment, writhing beneath him like one of the damned. He knew this wasn't so; he knew he was the one who was damned. He had known that since the first time he looked at Baby and knew he could never have her, since he had realized that her love for Spike transcended all other aspects of her life. He couldn't have been more than a week old. He'd known it was wrong to feel so strongly for his sire's wife. He knew that. But from the moment of his awakening as a vampire, he'd felt nothing but love for her. Hers had been the last face he'd seen in life and the first face he'd seen in unlife. The first order his sire had ever given him was still burned into his mind: "This is Baby. You must always love and protect her." It was burned into his heart as well. He wondered how Spike felt about the way he was following that order. No, best he not think of that, he told himself. He shied away from contemplating the pain his actions had to be causing Spike. He couldn't think of his father while he was making love to the woman who had been his father's wife for nearly twenty years. His mother. René rethought his condition. No, he was thrice-damned, once for his illicit love, again for betraying Spike, and finally for betraying Baby herself by using her body this way. And this was his punishment. He could have her body. He could sate his desire on her willing form, but he couldn't touch her soul. The part of her that he loved the most was completely out of his reach. He was the one in torment. Holding her, having her beneath him like this, should have been the most glorious experience of his existence; instead, it was the most heart-wrenching.

René allowed the fantasy to carry him past the ache. When he was like this, in Baby's bed, moving inside her body, inhaling her fragrance, he could find some solace, some peace. This was why he stayed, to be close to her, to be able to see her and touch her. To live the dream. He gently stroked Baby's body, his touch tender and caring. He knew it wasn't what the demon wanted; she wanted roughness and pain. He didn't care. At this moment, it wasn't the demon he was making love to; it was Bébé and he did love her. This was her body and he would treat it accordingly. "I love you," he told her before lapsing into French. Like this, the demon didn't exist and he spoke to Baby's spirit-wherever it was-and prayed she could hear him. Here he found the voice that was so seldom heard. Here he was voluble. "Je t'aime. Je te besoin." He touched her in the way he that he wanted to touch his Bébé. The way he would have touched her if she had been there. "Je t'ai aime toujours." Careful not to look into eyes that were worse than dead, he poured out that which he had in place of a soul, poured out his very essence onto her body. "Tu es mon coeur." With the most tender of touches he emphasized what he felt. If he couldn't love the creature within, at least he could love the body without. "Tu es mon âme." And he prayed that somehow his Bébé knew that this was true. She was his soul, or as close to a soul as he would ever have again. She had been the soul for their entire family. Spike was their heart and Baby was their soul. René suspected that neither one existed any more. Some evil magic had taken the soul and the evil he had done would destroy what was left of the heart. "Je vis seulement pour tu." Whatever happened, however this all ended-and René knew it would end badly-she had to know that he was hers until he was dust. "Tout que je suis, c'est pour tu." Right or wrong, he would be here until she sent him away. "Tout que je suis appartient à tu." He didn't try to stop the tears that flowed from his eyes. It would be useless. "Ma vie est pour tu." His hands and mouth accentuated each expression of love. Holding her like this was all he'd ever dreamed of. He immersed himself in that dream. He knew that soon he would be forced back to reality, but for a few moments, a couple of hours each day, he existed here in this fantasy with her. For that brief time he was alive. And he would convey his love for her in the only way he could. He would give this cherished body pleasure at the cost of his own sanity. "Si je dois mourir, laissez-l'être maintenant, comme ceci, pendant tu tenant."

For he knew he was slowly going mad.

He felt her stir beneath him, the beginnings of her orgasm triggering his own. He came, sobbing and calling her name. As the final shudders of their mutual climax traveled through their bodies, gentle fingers wiped the wetness from his cheeks and he heard soft sobs echoing his own. He opened his eyes and stared down into Baby's face. Tears flowed freely from her eyes, eyes that were filled with love and caring and pain equal to his own. Eyes that could only be described as 'soulful.'

He gasped and realized the impossible. "Maman? Bébé?"

The sad smile answered his question. She cupped his cheek in a familiar gestured. "Oh my René, my sweet, sweet René. What have I done to you?" she asked before wrapping her arms around him and drawing him to her. "My dearest boy. What have I done?"

René held her close, their bodies still joined as they cried for what had been both found and lost.

~~~~~

Angelus glanced toward his consort as she slammed into the room followed closely by her Cajun puppy. He started to turn back to the demon he was speaking with when something about her arrested his attention. It wasn't her anger. The ice queen was angry at least half the time. There was something different about her. There was a fire, a spark that he hadn't seen before. The answer hit him about the same time her knee made violent contact with his genitalia. He fell to his knees.

"You whore-son bastard," she snarled. "You motherfucking son of a bitch!" She drew back her arm to slap him but he intercepted the blow and held on to her wrist as he pulled himself back to his feet.

"Hello, Baby," he said with a grin. "I've missed you." He glanced at the gathered minions and demons. "Get out!" he ordered.

They hurried to do his bidding, with the exception of René Beaumont, who stepped forward. "Let her go," René growled. "You leave her be, Angelus."

Angelus growled back. "I'll twist your head off, boy," he grated and stepped toward the young vampire.

"No!" Baby ordered and placed herself between the two men. "René! Go back to our room." The Cajun ignored her and continued to growl at his great-grandsire. "René! I am still your mama and you will do as I say." She knew Angelus was quite capable of killing her son. "Go wait for me in our room. Please."

René had been conditioned to obey her since the moment he was turned and he couldn't resist the pleading look on her face. He growled once more at Angelus and stomped from the room, his stormy countenance scattering the minions and lesser demons from his path.

Angelus laughed. "Good to see you have a strong hand on his leash, sweetness." He turned to his consort and couldn't contain a grin. Her hair looked like it hadn't been near a brush all day, her face was free of make-up, and she was wearing jeans and a loose T-shirt. His grin broadened when he saw the cowboy boots she was wearing. God alone knew where she had scrounged those from. She looked like hell and he had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire existence. "God, I missed you," he said again. The pain from her blow rapidly receding, he felt a rush of desire the likes of which he hadn't experienced in weeks.

"I didn't go anywhere, you motherless bastard," she grated. "I've been here the whole time. And you fucking knew it!" she shrieked. She tried to slap him again but he evaded her blow and recaptured her wrist.

He hadn't felt this good in weeks. "Yeah, I knew it. But I couldn't talk to you, darlin' girl," he said with more Ireland in his voice than he normally allowed. She seemed to bring that out in him. "You weren't able to rail at me and try to hit me. Damn, I missed that." He leaned forward to kiss her.

She brought the heel of her boot down on his instep and wrenched her wrist free. She made a noise of disdain and headed for the door.

Angelus caught her in his arms and grinned more broadly. "And where might you be going?" he asked.

"Home! Home to Spike, where I belong," she snapped, refusing to give him the satisfaction of struggling with him.

"And do you honestly think he'll have you back?" he asked mockingly, tracing the consort mark he'd put on her neck. "After all you've done?"

"It wasn't me. He'll understand that," she answered. "It was the demon."

Angelus' grin was mocking. "Now you and I both know that's a lie. The demon, the human, its all the same. Haven't you been saying that for years? Its simply a matter of control. Any way, the demon wasn't in control the first time I had you," he said. "Before I marked you, we fucked and that wasn't the demon." He brought his thumb around to trace her lips but she jerked away. "You know it and I know it. It wasn't the demon and it wasn't even me. You and Angel were still mostly in control." He laughed. "Or should I say out of control." He brought his face close to hers. "You cheated on Spike and you know there's no way in hell that he'll forgive that." He watched what little color she had drain away. "And even if he took you back, would he ever be able to look at you without seeing you with someone else? Your little demon is a tad on the nympho side, my sweeting. She's bedded anything that had a dick from the Pacific to the Atlantic. You smell like a hundred different males-men, demons, and vampires. How is your oh-so-very-possessive Spike going to deal with that? You smell like his childe. I don't see you sending the boy away. In fact…" He sniffed inquisitively. "Smells like you just crawled off of him. Spike won't ignore that."

She gritted her teeth. "I'll spend the next few centuries making it up to him. I'll beg. I'll crawl on my knees to him if I have to."

He knew she would, too. "True enough. And he probably would take you back. Hell, I couldn't blame him. You're as good a fuck as any I've ever had." He smirked in anticipation. "But will he take you back when you explain how you left Wesley and René to die? Because you see, if you even try to go back to him, if you try to leave me, I'll kill your childer. They die the instant you walk out that door."

He watched his warning take hold of her. It was quite possibly the loveliest sight he'd ever seen. The sheer terror and despair were beautiful to behold. She knew that her sons were strong but she also knew he was stronger and had a hundred minions at his beck and call. She knew he'd follow through on his threat. "You see, darlin', you're mine and I'm not giving you up." He caressed her cheek. "Now, you can stay here as my consort, letting me have your sweet body any time I want, and your boys will be fine. Hell, you can keep the Cajun as a fuck toy. I don't care. But you try to leave and I'll dust them both. And you know you can't stop me. Even if you slip them out, where are they going to go? Back to Spike? I'm sure Wesley can. He'd be welcomed with open arms, but Spike will dust your coonass boy for touching what's his. So where is he going to go? Where is he going hide? There's no place he can go where he'll be safe from me. I'll find your pretty little Cajun and I'll take him apart bit by bit. I'll make sure it takes him days to die." She closed her eyes, unable to look at him. She knew he would do exactly that. "Do you want me to tell you exactly what I plan on doing to him? Do you remember what Wolfram and Hart did to Spike?" She shivered. Those images were indelibly carved into her memory. "I'll do that and more. But don't worry, I won't carve up his face. It's too pretty. Besides, I know a spell that will let me keep his head intact for a few days after I've cut it off. I know you'd like to see it. Of course, he'll be conscious for those few days." She threw up all over his antique Chinese rug.

He waited patiently until her heaves subsided, even rubbing her back and holding her when her arms felt too weak to support her weight. "So are you still mine, sweetness? Do you still belong to me?"

Sitting on the floor, unable to stand because her knees had turned the consistency of Jell-o, she nodded. "I belong to you," she whispered around the tightness in her chest.

She didn't resist when he carried her to his bedchamber. She undressed as he instructed, and climbed into his bed. Angelus joined her but growled when she continued to lie unresponsive underneath him. She looked up at him with hate-filled eyes. "I said I'd do what you wanted and I will, but I don't have to like it."

"Oh you'll like it, my sweet darlin'. I can make you like it," he said. With the patience he was famous for he began to stroke and kiss her, searching for those places he knew were sensitive to his touch and brought her the greatest pleasure. He, who had taken months to torment Drusilla into madness, who had come close to doing the same thing with the Slayer, turned that same energy and persistence to forcing her to respond to him. At first it was no more than a jerk or a snarl but slowly her body began to betray her.

~~~~~

Angelus let her return to her own room and the arms of her precious Cajun. He was quite pleased with this day's work. She hadn't climaxed, and he hadn't expected her to, but there had been moments when she had bit her lip to keep from crying out because what he was doing felt so good. He lay back in his big bed and contemplated his next moves. He knew he could seduce her, that he could make her enjoy what he did to her physically. He was her sire and he had resources at his disposal that no one else would have. As her sire, she was instinctively drawn to him. That would definitely help. Yes, he'd make her enjoy the physical aspect of their union and that would make her hate herself. He knew her well and knew what would cause her the most turmoil. Enjoying being with him would be catastrophic. It was a good thing she didn't have a reflection because she'd never be able to face herself in it once he was done with her. He loved seeing her so miserable. She looked so beautiful when she was in such pain. God he loved her. Breaking her would be more gratifying than anything he'd ever done. He could barely wait for the next move.

~~~~~

René looked down at Baby in concern and disbelief. "What do you mean we're staying? You need to go home."

She shook her head. She didn't think she could say the words again. Home didn't exist any more. Not for her. Home was Spike and he'd never let her near him now. She couldn't blame him. She'd promised him that she'd never willingly let Angelus touch her. So much for that vow, she thought. So much for ever seeing Spike again. She looked at René and saw the worry and concern he felt for her. She couldn't bear it. She covered her face with her hands.

"Bébé, please," he begged, running a hand over her hair, letting her know he was there.

She threw her arms about him and let him rock her gently. "What is it, hey? You tell your René so he can fix it for you."

She looked up at him and realized that in this household he was the only one who really cared about her. He was the only one she could depend on. "Hold me, René, please. Hold me," she said. He complied wordlessly and continued to rock her as though she were a child.

Finally, through tear-strained eyes, she looked up at him. "René, I smell like him. I hate it. I don't want to smell like him. I won't be able to sleep if I do." With a shaky hand she stroked his perfect face. "Make me not smell like him. Make me smell like you."

He looked down at her in horrified wonder. "Bébé? What you saying?"

She looked into eyes the color of a tropical sea, eyes that didn't lie or hold cruelties or a twisted sickness disguised as love. "Love me," she said in a tiny voice. "Just love me." She drew his head down into a kiss that tasted of ashes and tears and hopelessness.

~~~~~

René wished there were some way he could turn back time and make the last few months not exist. He'd rather never have held Baby than to have to hold her like this. Her pain was so great, so sharp, he felt it as a living thing crawling inside his chest, gnawing at his heart. But he couldn't reverse time and he couldn't make everything right, so he did the only thing he could and did as she asked. It wasn't hard to do; he did love her. And each second that passed here in the hell that Angelus had created, he loved her a little more. He would make sure she knew she was not alone. As long as he was quick above the ground, she would never be alone. So as René held her and for the first time made love to his Bébé, he repeated the words he'd said when he had held her demon. In his soft Cajun-French he told her again, "I love you. I need you. I've always loved you. You are my heart. You are my soul. I live only for you. Everything I am, it is for you. Everything I am belongs to you. My life is yours. If I have to die, let it be now, like this, while holding you."

Chapter 5 - "I Fall to Pieces"

Angelus murmured and whispered against Baby's skin. Words of love mingled with admiration of the darkness inside her flowed from his lips. She shivered and kept her head turned away. She wasn't sure what disturbed her more, the thought that he really did love her in some twisted way or the horrible things he saw within her. She focused on a painting on the wall beside the bed. It was a rather clichéd seaside scene and she tried to remember where they were now. Myrtle Beach? Cape Hatteras? She wasn't sure. Angelus kept them constantly on the move. They stayed no more than three days in any one location. She was tired of the constant travelling. She was tired of living out of a suitcase. She was tired of sleeping in strange beds. She wanted her own bed. Her own bed with Spike in it. She wanted that so desperately that sometimes it made her feel as though her insides were being sucked out and replaced by ice cubes and razor blades.

She was too tired to deal with Angelus today. Too tired to fight against him. While she could turn away and block out the sight of him, she couldn't block out the sound of his voice. His words clung to her. She felt them sticking to her skin like syrup. His words adhered like obscene paint baked onto her by his fiery touch. She would need to scrub and scrub to get his words off her flesh. There wasn't enough soap in the world to remove them. A lake of boiling water wouldn't be enough to cleanse her of them, she knew. She'd never be clean again.

She would need René to help her obliterate some of the horror of Angelus' words. Only René's gentle hands could ease the burning of Angelus' touch. René's love was the only clean thing left in her life and she had sullied even that, had perverted it by using it as a tool to help her forget for a few hours that she belonged to Angelus. She was as great a monster as Angelus was. She knew that she was slowly destroying René as surely as Angelus was destroying her. Her love for René, her need for him, would kill the young man as surely and as painfully as morning sunlight burning through him.

Angelus' hateful words were less dreadful than her inner reflections and for once she was glad that she couldn't block them out. "You and I have always been truthful with each other," Angelus said softly. "That's the one thing Angel really respected about you. But that wasn't what turned him on," he said as he expertly tongued one plum-brown nipple. "I was turned on because I knew that deep down, you wanted me. That it didn't matter that you were married to Spike, you wanted me. Your desire for me and mine for you was our dirty little secret." She kept her face turned away, refusing to look at him, refusing to acknowledge that he was even there. "Of course, I like my women on the dirty side. And you're as dirty a little thing as I've ever seen." He ran his fingers over her abdomen, searching, questing, his touch light and teasing. "You know that the demon can only bring out what's already in the human. We can't be anything that isn't already there. We really are one and the same. The demon, the soul, we're all just parts of the same person. Your demon was a cold, calculating, manipulative bitch, sweetness." He eased his hand between her legs, pleased when she involuntarily jerked away. He didn't want her willing and compliant. Not yet. He wanted to take his time and enjoy breaking her to the leash. "She was also the biggest whore I've ever seen." He watched a muscle jump in her jaw. "I've never seen a woman who wants it as much as you do, darlin'. There is no way any one man can keep you satisfied. It's no wonder you took Wes, Dru, and Cordelia into your bed. Damn, I don't know how Spike kept you to himself as long as he did. But then, Spike always did have stamina. Or were you always playing with his childer? Hmmm? Is that it? Were you playing sex games with your boys? You always smelled like those two Cajun ones. Did they give you a good time without getting off themselves? Couldn't have Spike smelling that, now could you." She longed to hit him. To just make him shut up. But she wouldn't. He'd only hit her back and talk even more. "No, I don't think you did. I think you just thought about it. I think you thought about fucking them just like you thought about fucking me." He moved further down her body. She tasted superb, she really did. He could actually taste the distress she was feeling. It was damn near intoxicating. "Is that how you managed to stay true to my grandchilde? By being false to him in your mind? Well, you know what the Bible says about that, now don't you, darlin'? Tell me, how many fantasy fucks did you have, sweetness? How many lovers have you imagined? Or were your Cajuns and I enough for you?" He explored her navel with an insistent tongue. "At least you don't have to worry about that anymore. It's all reality now. Your Cajun boy and I, we'll keep you satisfied." He moved lower, licking the sensitive area above her mons. "So tell me, precious, how is your coonass treating you? Is he keeping my darlin' girl happy?" He smiled. She had made his task so much easier by taking the Cajun as her lover. "Does he make you feel like this? I'll bet he does. He looks like he'd be really good in bed. I'll have to find out one day. But first, I want to make sure you know that however good your pretty boy is, I'm better." He fastened his mouth onto her clitoris, sucking and nibbling. As he began his most serious assault yet on her, she couldn't stop her hips from pushing up to meet his lips, couldn't keep from moaning when he delved his tongue deep inside her. He smiled. After two-and-a-half weeks of his forced attentions, she was ready finally. With persistence and determination, he had used his hands and mouth to force her body to accept him, to want him. It had taken time but he was patient. He was also very, very good at pleasuring a woman. She still refused to look at him but that didn't matter. She was listening to him and she was responding to his touch. He could wish for no more than that. When, with clenched fists and eyes squeezed shut, she climaxed, he couldn't help but smile. It was time for him to begin her final destruction.

"My sweet darlin' girl," he crooned. "I always knew you were the one for me. You belong here, you know. Oh I know you think you love Spike, and maybe you do. But you always end up hurting him." He noted the tiny wince. There was the weak spot. He'd be able to use that to make sure she never left him. "He's not like me, sweetness. He won't understand you needing other men. But I understand." He stroked her gently. He sometimes liked to play the lover, especially while he was playing the tormentor. "I don't mind that you're a whore. It doesn't bother me." He could practically smell her anguish. It was sweet. "Though, I don't suppose whore is the right word. You don't sell it, after all; you don't expect anything in exchange except a good time. You give it away to any man that asks. No, whore's too harsh. I guess you're just a slut." His smile was blinding as he saw a tear slip from her tightly closed eyes. "Just a filthy little tramp who can't keep her legs together regardless of what she feels. I mean, you hate me but you just came for me. What was it you said? 'Don't stop. Harder'? Well I did what you asked and you came so good, honey. Thrusting up against me like that, with your legs all wrapped around me, your pussy squeezing me. Damn it was good, sweetie. You are just the most dick-hungry little cunt I've ever seen." He kissed one nipple gently, pleased that it was still pebbled and hard. "I don't entirely understand it. You don't really have any reason to be so horny; it's not like you're not getting any. I mean, you're doing it with your own stepson daily." He laughed softly. "Hell, several times daily from the sound of it. Jesus, he must be exhausted." His amusement was replaced by desire. "You are just the hottest little piece of ass. I like it." He sucked at that nipple and fingered her clitoris again. He hummed against her breast in a tone guaranteed to send any fledgling into ecstasy and was gratified when she arched a bit against him. Being her sire really did make this so easy. "You're just like your demon and, Satan knows, she'd fuck anything that moved. And a few things that couldn't. It's really amazing how you managed to hide that all those years, but then again, you really didn't, did you? You bedded Wesley, Cordy, and Dru regularly. I heard you made it with Ripper once. Is that true?" It wasn't, but she wouldn't defend herself to him. "You and Spike went at it like weasels all the time. Oh and then you had your little human pets. Some FBI agent, right? And a police detective? You like lawmen, I guess. No one could ever call you a one-man woman, honey. But like I said, I don't mind. You b