"Right, pass her up," Spike hissed from the balcony. Balancing on the balustrade below, Drusilla hoisted Christine’s unconscious body into her arms and then over her head for Spike to grab and haul into the second floor bedroom.
"The kid." Seconds later Lily’s baby made the trip the same way, wrapped up warmly and fast asleep in the bassinet. "Now go tell Darla you’re back. And remember don’t say anything."
Dru nodded, leaped down to the ground and vanished into the darkness, leaving Spike to deal with their two unwanted visitors.
He started with Christine, as she was the easier of the two. So long as her presence was kept a secret from Darla - Angelus said there would be hell to pay if she found out - nothing could really go wrong. The contusion on the singer’s temple was the size of a goose egg but her breathing and pulse were regular. So, after checking that her hands and feet were still securely bound and the handkerchief was firmly stuffed in her mouth, Spike bundled her back up in her cloak and stashed her in the wardrobe.
The baby was likely to prove more difficult. Reluctantly he brought the cradle in from outside and placed it on the floor next to the bed, taking a seat himself and staring down at its annoyingly peaceful face.
What the hell had he done? Stealing this child on Dru’s say so, without a thought for what they would do with it afterwards.
Spike threw himself backward on the bed and glared at the ceiling. He was an idiot. Of the first water. He was never going to learn. That was precisely what Angelus and Darla would say the moment they found out what he’d done and he’d be extremely lucky if that were all they said.
At his feet Lily’s baby squirmed restlessly, waking up, as infants do, wet and hungry. It gave a muted little whimper, then a hiccup and then opened its mouth with a fully-fledged howl.
"Bollocks!" Spike grabbed it and fought down his initial instinct, which was to shake it so hard, its neck broke. Luckily the child quieted as it was picked up and his demonic urges quieted with it, but the silence wouldn’t last. It may have been some years since he had contact with babies, or at least anything beyond a kick grab and snack, but Spike remembered that much. The baby was probably getting hungry and he reckoned, in a moment of understanding, that opening a vein for it wasn’t going to get the job done. It needed milk, or at the very least water, and from a bottle, to boot.
As he considered his options Spike jiggled the small girl unwittingly in his arms, his body’s memories of how to handle infants flooding back. Skills learned from long hours in the nursery with his baby sisters when he was a boy.
It rapidly became obvious, even to Spike, that he was going to have to get supplies from somewhere or, better yet, find some human woman and palm the kid off on her. Would that be enough to fulfil Dru’s insistence that it had to go on a long journey?
The baby started to whimper again and Spike gazed down at her and jiggled again. "What do you reckon, pet? Should we find you a new mum? Send you away on a bit of a trip?" Gurgling slightly, the baby stared back, its newborn blue eyes drifting as she tried to focus on his face. He smiled. "You know, for all the trouble you’ve caused, you’re a cute little thing." Her little face screwed up in reply, rosebud mouth opening and quivering, tongue and throat warbling their unhappiness.
"Oh hell," he cursed and stuffed his crooked little finger into her mouth. She suckled enthusiastically for a few seconds on his dead flesh and then spat it out, wailing in dissatisfaction. "I haven’t got anything else for you." Spike tried for the reasonable approach, lifting the little one onto his shoulder. It did nothing to quiet her. "Unless…?" An old remedy his nanny used to use when the girls were fractious sprang into his mind and he groped one handed under the bed. "Where did that bottle of wine go?"
He came up not completely empty, but not with the bottle either. Instead Spike held the ditty bag, full of the trinkets he’d collected in Jersey. "Well, that’s no bloody use, is it?" he muttered, trying to stuff the thing back where it came from. A necklace tumbled out and he picked it and the bag up, plopping them on the bed next to him.
When it became obvious that juggling a whinging baby and putting the unwieldy chain away at the same time was impossible, the kid ended up laid next to the bag while he sorted through it. And for some reason immediately stopped crying.
Spike paused halfway through his task, this turn of events taking him by surprise. "Well, well, noisy Nelly. What’s taken your interest."
Other trinkets had escaped during the wrestling match and the ugly green figurine had ended up near the baby, whose fist was now wrapped firmly around it. As he watched, the infant brought it to her mouth and started to suck, an expression of rapt delight on her face that would have been more appropriate if she’d been nursing at her mother’s tit.
"Like that, do you?" Spike asked, catching hold of the statuette and tugging it away. "Can’t let you have it, love. Valuable that is, what with the diamond."
The moment it slipped from the infant’s mouth, she started to wail again, this time with the full not inconsiderable power of her newborn lungs. Damnation! He let the figurine’s feet go and its head was straight back in her mouth. The silly chit was using it as a pacifier!
Resigned to the temporary loss of his treasure, Spike sighed and tucked the baby back into her cradle, ensuring the statuette was wedged in next to her. "I’ll be having that back before you go on this trip, Nelly," he said, chucking her under the chin, "Got plans for that and they don’t involve baby drool."
***
The baby squalled in the corner, ignored and forgotten, as Darla and Angelus reaffirmed their bond, to each other and the unlife they shared. Though neither would have claimed the slightest affection for the minion, her dusting had been so sudden and unexpected it had shaken them to the core and left them wanting.
Darla’s head was thrown back as she rode her lover hard, wringing every ounce of sensation she could from their joining. His mouth fastened round her breast, fangs cutting deep and trails of dark blood trickled down her belly and into the curls already matted with their juices.
She clenched her muscles on the down stroke, stripping his cock as it plunged inside her and he groaned ecstatically into her skin, "Again. Do that again. Christ, Darla. Can’t hold on."
Exactly as she wanted. She pushed him back, supine below her, leaning forwards to brace herself on his chest and increased the pace of her movements. He joined her, thrusting uncontrollably, his hands clenching around her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh, nails drawing more blood. The scent on the air was strong now and driving Angelus to distraction faster than his lover’s relentless rhythm.
With a sudden twist, he rolled them and now she was beneath, covered by his body while he plundered hers with cock and fangs. Now she was the one groaning and gasping for unneeded breath, her nails digging into his flesh and leaving bloody imprints on his skin. They came together, Angelus roaring as his balls tightened painfully, and he shot deep inside her, Darla hanging on to him as her hips bucked helplessly against his, her quim closing around him like a vice.
"My darling boy," she murmured into his hair, running her fingers through the wild dark tresses. Angelus purred contentedly and nipped gently up and down her neck. "My, darling boy," she reiterated, tugging his mouth round to hers for a bruising kiss.
"Hmm, all yours," he agreed when she finally released him and they searched each other’s faces greedily for confirmation and truth.
"Better than your little soprano?" Darla asked, hating the insecurity that demanded she did.
Angelus smirked, enjoying her weakness. "She’s only human, my love. And what could a mere slip of a girl offer that you do not surpass every night?"
"The baby’s unhappy, shall I eat her all up?"
The two older vampires separated slowly, unperturbed by Drusilla’s sudden appearance and Angelus reached out a hand to his childe. "No, leave it be. It’s not for eating."
She drifted over to him, licking her fingers and sank to her knees. "Give us something else to eat then, my Angel." One hand reached out and a scarlet talon caressed his chest from collarbone to navel trailing a streak of blood in its wake. Angelus grabbed her hand and yanked her forwards capturing her mouth and body, the fabric of her dress rustling as she moved. He raised her skirt; his fingers prying open her naked thighs and finding her wetness, her readiness.
Darla knelt up behind her, grasping her waist with one hand as the other caressed her bombazine clad breast, locating her nipple and pinching hard. Large fingers slid into her core, working her slick channel, a thumb grinding over her clit and Dru gasped into Angelus’ mouth, throwing her head back, panting and thrusting back and forth between them, lost in her body as she rapidly climaxed. Two sets of fangs pierced her neck, drawing her blood hard and fast, reducing her to incoherent sobs as another orgasm raced through her, leaving her quivering on the floor.
"Mmm, tasty," Angelus commented with a grin, fixing Darla with a challenge as he cleaned his fingers with his blood coated tongue. She resisted for a moment and then pounced, burying her tongue inside his mouth and removing every trace of Drusilla.
Their play was brought to an abrupt end when the baby’s wailing finally became too distracting even for them. Screams of pain may be an aphrodisiac; cries of hunger and cold were not.
"Be a dear and shut it up will you, Angelus?" Darla complained, rescuing her chemise from the back of the chair.
"And how do you propose I do that? Snap its neck?" She glared at him and he shrugged unrepentantly. "Don’t look at me like that. How would I know how to look after human brats? All I’ve done is eat them for the last century."
"My William will see to her," Dru commented from the floor and then added, "He likes babies. Always finds me tasty ones full of light and innocence."
"The idea was not to eat it, Dru," Angelus snapped pulling on his trousers.
Darla interceded. "Actually she has a point. Didn’t Spike have younger sisters?"
"Or the pretty singer could help."
***
Spike shot up off the bed looking exceedingly guilty when the three of them barged into the room. His expression soon turned to stunned amazement when he noticed the baby Dru was holding.
"What the bloody hell’s that?" he asked pointing a shaky finger in Dru’s direction and surreptitiously pushing the occupied bassinet under the bed while everyone was staring at Dru.
"I know what you’ve done Spike. I can hear her heartbeat, so there is no need to hide her." Darla accused sending Spike’s brain into meltdown. She knew about Lily’s baby under the bed! Dru must’ve said something!
"She… um. It…" he stuttered trying to think his way out of this disaster.
"Get her, Angelus. She may as well be useful."
Spike swallowed hard as Angelus strode towards him, every nerve shredded in anticipation of the moment of revelation. But the older vampire never got as far as the bed. Instead he wrenched open the wardrobe door to reveal a terrified Christine huddled in the corner.
Spike sagged with relief. Oh, that her. This is what you get from hiding too many females in your bedroom.
"Come on, lass. You’ve a baby to take care of." Angelus hauled the singer to her feet and tossed her bodily onto the bed, following up in his demon face to slice through the sheeting. Christine squealed and tried to squirm away from him but he caught her ankle, using it to pull her back. "Now, now. No need to be like that," he leered, his hand disappearing under her skirt.
Spike and Dru watched with equally lascivious expressions on their faces, only Darla taking exception. "Put her down. There’s no time for that sort of thing."
Reluctantly Angelus withdrew his hand and turned the singer over. The bindings were gone in a second and as Christine started to rub her hands and feet to get the circulation going again, Darla said, "You will see to this child. Spike here will help you and obtain anything you need." Spike opened his mouth to argue and shut it again when he saw the expression Darla’s face. The older vampire continued, "Angelus, you and Drusilla will remain here while I complete the arrangements, someone will come by after sunset to take the child away. The code word is Crawfie, do not allow the child to leave the house without hearing that word pass the messenger’s lips. In the meantime I will be with Luke." Darla stood in the middle of the room her face set and hands on her hips, glaring at her family. "Any questions?"
If there were any, none dared give them voice.
***
The casual passer-by would never have noticed him clinging to the architrave above the window. In fact, even if they had stopped to stare, the chances were high they would only have seen shadows, some blacker than others.
It was a spot perfectly designed for eavesdropping, just like the one above the front window and Erik could hear every word spoken inside. Monitor the comings and goings. Really, Angelus needed to learn to guard his perimeter better; he was becoming complacent in his old age.
Erik had witnessed the Chinese sorcerer opening a portal to collect the baby, seen her escape from the lair and young Bethan being dusted, and the familial bonding that followed. Then, by the simple expedient of moving to the back of the house, he was able to watch as the precious child was passed over to Christine to look after.
That had come as something of a surprise as only Drusilla had entered the apartment during the hours he’d been watching. But Erik didn’t let it phase him. The baby was now his target and it being left with a human who was already under his thrall simply made the task easier. Or in theory at least. Unfortunately, though he watched for as long as he was able, when the coming dawn drove him underground the singer was still being entertained by Angelus and Drusilla.
***
They left her alone just after the sun rose, slinking from the room, the door locked firmly behind them and leaving her to metaphorically lick her wounds in peace.
The tears didn’t come immediately. Despite what had happened, the child had to come first.
Under the bed she discovered a half-empty bottle of wine and used it to calm the hysterical baby, silenced while the vampires were in the room by a piece of the same dirty rag that had kept Christine quiet herself.
The other, the infant Spike had stolen from the house, she found in the same place, fast asleep and clutching a small statue in its fist and working on the principal of letting sleeping babies well alone, the bassinet stayed where it was.
That task completed there was nothing else for her to do except perch on the pillows at the head of the bed, holding the rags of her dress to her body and watch the door. Her head ached but without a mirror she could only guess at the size of the bump. She traced it gingerly with her fingertips; it felt huge and throbbed sickeningly to her stomach.
It was a good thing really - the pain - it stopped her thinking. And thinking, as she’d proved before, didn’t help. Nothing could. She was locked in a vampire’s lair - yes, she had heard the key turn in the lock - and there was no escape. Angelus was going to torture her and… and…
A shudder ran through Christine’s body at the memory of his cold hands pawing at her and she dashed for the washstand, heaving into the empty bowl again and again, until bile burned her throat. Her fingers, white with strain, clenched on the enamelled surface as she shook uncontrollably. Icy sweat beaded her brow and upper lip, and more wetted her back between her shoulder blades.
Slowly, too slowly, the trembling and sweating ceased, leaving her drained and light headed. Stripping off the remains of her dress, she staggered back to the bed meaning only to rest. Within seconds she was fast asleep.
***
Three hours later, Spike made the dash between a sewer entrance and the trees outside the apartment, waited in the shade until his skin had cooled down somewhat, and then ran for the door. Luckily the portico was in deep shadow or, by the time Dru had opened the door, he would have been nothing more than a smear of ash.
"Why, thank you very much. Nice of you to make the effort." The snark was automatic as he dodged inside, throwing a resentful look over his shoulder at the sunlight outside. "Under the circumstances," he added noticing her state of undress.
Drusilla simpered and then pouted when Spike’s only reaction was to roll his eyes.
"Daddy hurt me," she announced indicating the bloody fang tracks up her inner thighs.
He leaned in and kissed her gently. "Yeah, and you love every minute of it, pet."
That elicited a stamped foot and a more pronounced lip from Dru. "You never fight for me any more, William! Why? You were supposed to be my courtly knight and make my Angel play nicely but all you do is say ‘I’ll be good, daddy’ and suck his willy."
Spike gaped at her. She still wanted him to fight Angelus? Despite knowing he would end up bloodied and bowed for his efforts? Despite him knowing that she enjoyed every little thing Angelus did to her? What the hell did she think he was? Stupid?
"Look, love, why don’t you get back to Angelus and I’ll take this lot up to Christine." He held up a shopping basket, a glass bottle of milk peeking out from under the cover cloth.
"You care more about her and the baby then you do about me!" she accused and then stormed away, presenting her pert little bottom covered in red handprints.
He seriously considered following and trying to explain. No, he shook his head. It was pointless. There was no possible way Drusilla with her addled mind would understand why he’d given up fighting for her when she refused to fight for herself. For better or worse, Angelus was now the largest part of both their lives.
But that didn’t mean he had to like it.
In something of a snit, Spike slammed through the bedroom door and tossed the basket onto the bed, narrowly missing the baby and spilling its contents onto the counterpane. The baby squealed in shock, throwing its limbs stiffly out from its sides.
"Let’s get this bloody show on the road, then, shall we?" he growled at Christine who shot upright at his sudden appearance, pulling the sheet up in an effort to cover her bared body.
Spike ignored the child and took another long look at the singer. "Had a bit of a go, did he? Should’ve stayed around to catch the show. Might’a been fun." His leer was cold and calculated to hurt, taking in the finger sized bruises on Christine’s arms and the blood on her naked thighs. The scent of Angelus and Drusilla hung heavy on the air and it was obvious how they had chosen to amuse themselves.
Christine flushed and picked up the child, blinking back the tears that chose this moment to try and escape. Struggling to maintain her composure, she said quietly, "The milk needs to be warmed or the baby will be sick."
Sighing at the resigned note in her voice, Spike grabbed the bottle and left the room. It was no fun when all the fight had gone out of them and by the sounds of Christine, Angelus had broken what was left of her spirit already.
***
As the senior vampire present Darla had titular control over the Master’s minions in Paris. In actuality, Luke, as his lieutenant, would command them, however harebrained the scheme. It was something of a miracle, Darla thought, as she listened to what the great oaf had to say, that he had survived this long and had managed to acquire such a reputation for victory. As far as Darla could tell, the proposed strategy consisted of nothing more complex than an all out, frontal attack on the Watcher’s house and the subsequent slaughter of all the humans inside.
Waiting for the smallest break in the self-important pompous lecture, she asked, deceptively coolly, "Do you think that is wise?"
Luke paused, aghast that anyone would have the nerve to question him. Granted, Darla was the Master’s favourite but she was still only a woman. "Living amongst the cattle seems to have softened your brain, Darla. We are Aurelians, destined to rule the world when the Ancient Ones return and what better way could there be of demonstrating our superiority than decimating this Council outpost? To bring them low in preparation for the great day. Extinguish their pitiful existence."
Darla smirked as Luke’s voice conveyed all that he believed in, his fists rising above his head in mimicry of the Master’s typical sermon proclaiming the future of their order. This was going to be too much fun. She settled nonchalantly back in her chair, sending a quick glance around the room at their gathered minions who were nodding eagerly in agreement with Luke’s words. Then she inspected her nails carefully before stating, "I was merely about to suggest that gaining an invitation first would be advisable."
With the cat firmly put among the pigeons, Darla withdrew from the fray leaving the others to fight it out. It was a technique she had perfected during her long years in her sire’s company when her abilities as a commander were at best ignored or dismissed and it had served her well.
True to form, within the hour Luke sought her out, knocking respectfully at the door and waiting for an invitation before venturing into the room. She let him wait, confident that whatever it was Luke wanted would be asked for with infinitely more patience for the delay and the first words from Luke’s mouth when she finally opened the door confirmed it.
"You were right. I am a fool. The oversight was unforgivable and could have led to the destruction of our Order. In the absence of our sire, I ask that you remove my unworthy self from this realm."
Darla stared at the vampire kneeling before her, willingly offering up the means of his own final death. It was tempting to accept it, very tempting. But if she did then, as the victor of the challenge, Darla would be expected to take up the mantle of commander and return to the Master’s side and that was not part of the plan.
"Get up, you idiot. I will not stake you, though our sire may if knowledge of your oversight ever came to his ears." Luke stood, his head hanging dejectedly and Darla pressed on, unwilling to let the opportunity for building her own power base pass by. "However if you do not wish me to be the one to inform him I suggest you remember my generosity."
"I will favoured one. And I owe you a life if you should ever need it."
Taking his huge hand in hers, Darla pressed it firmly encouraging the younger vampire to meet her eye. When he did, she smiled. "Agreed. Now we shall say no more of this, we have more important matters to deal with. Do you trust me to guide you in this matter?"
Luke nodded and Darla pointed him to a seat. "Firstly, your plan to storm the house will almost certainly result in all out war between the Watchers and our Order. This, I am sure, is not what our sire advised when he sent you to Paris."
"No. I was instructed to bring him the child and stay silent as to the reason."
"Thus, it would probably be advisable for us to avoid killing every Watcher in the city." Years of leading men around by the nose had taught Darla a thing or two and she knew full well that she needed to allow Luke to draw his own conclusions.
"Undoubtedly. In fact it would be better if we killed none at all."
"That may be difficult," Darla paused dramatically. "However, I have some ideas about how to acquire a Watcher and persuade the Council to give up the child."
***
"Commissaire Renan to see you, sir."
"Show him please, Beecham."
Pryce laid down his pen and sat back in his chair preparing himself for the interview with the new head of the Parisian police. Rumour had it that the man had an inkling what was happening in this city and the senior Watcher did not find the idea a reassuring one. Things were so much easier in England where the entire force of the Crown could be brought to bear on malcontents. Since the revolution working with the French always entailed negotiating or other equally distasteful pastimes.
The young police officer took a seat across the desk and the two men stared at each other in silence for a few minutes. Pryce, surprising himself, broke first. Nervously organising his papers he said, as casually as possible, "What can I do for you Commissaire Renan?"
"We have a vampire problem at the opera house and I have been informed that you are the man to see."
Sheets of correspondence flew everywhere and Pryce’s hand shot out to catch the teetering inkpot. He missed and it fell, covering the blotter with black viscous fluid. "Damnation, man!" he cursed, leaping to his feet before it could touch his bottle green silk vest. "Have some respect for manners."
"Manners, monsieur?" Renan said, his lips twitching with a badly concealed smile as he watched the Englishman’s dance. "I am sorry but I had no idea that simply asking about vampires would cause such a violent reaction."
Pryce awarded him a glare of unreserved hatred and strode to the door. "Beecham? Fetch cloths and clean my desk. The Commissaire and I are retiring to the games room."
By the time they were settled again, with Pryce in his wing backed leather chair by the fire, a glass of good brandy in his hand, the senior Watcher had managed to gather his composure sufficiently to ask, "Why exactly would you believe that?"
Renan, from his perch on the snooker table, answered, "That we have vampires or that you are the man to see?"
Pryce’s hold on his glass tightened imperceptibly. "As you have no qualms believing that what you seek are indeed vampires, it would seem logical to assume that I am speaking of my role in these affairs."
Taking a deep breath the police officer laid his cards on the table, there was too much urgency to do otherwise. "My maternal uncle, Charles Heatherington, was one of yours. Killed in the line of duty, I believe, some fifteen years ago."
"Heatherington, Heatherington?" Pryce frowned searching his memory for the unfamiliar name.
"I doubt you would have known him. He was working with the Raj in Bombay as a liaison with the natives before a cult decided to use him for a human sacrifice. My aunt never recovered from the shock and died three years later."
It was a familiar story. Too many young Watchers lost their lives in Pryce’s experience and the vast majority for no good reason. Certain that it had never been said before, he offered his condolences.
Renan shrugged. "I hardly knew him either, though his tales of daring-do kept the rest of the family amused at Christmas. That was when I first heard of the Watchers and the work you do keeping the world safe for the rest of us."
"And you never thought to question that vampires were real?"
Rueful laughter filled the room and the Commissaire shook his head, "As a policeman, Monsieur Pryce, I have seen more than enough evidence with my own eyes, though many will deny they have seen anything untoward. It never ceases to amaze me how many escaped lunatics and wild beasts we have in Paris."
"Currently it would seem in the opera house."
"And its environs, yes. As of today twelve victims…"
Pryce interrupted with a wave of his hand. "I am fully cognisant of the facts Monsieur le Commissaire. The Council has been aware of their presence for several weeks."
"Yet you have chosen to do nothing."
Defensively the Watcher retorted, "What the Council does, and when, is frankly, none of your business."
"I’m afraid it is when the general populace starts to gossip."
That had Pryce raising his eyebrows. It was the first he’d heard of gossip but then that was another facet of working in Paris, the locals tended to be closed mouthed around Englishmen. Seeing his surprise, Renan sighed and continued, "This last attack left a visiting dancer dead and the star soprano missing. Even the narrow minded tend to sit up and take notice when such prominent people are targeted."
And suddenly Pryce was all business. He stood, tugging at his jacket to smooth away the wrinkles and held his hand out to Renan. "Then under the circumstances we should do all we can to ferret them out. Thank you, Monsieur le Commissaire for bringing the immediacy of the situation to our attention. I will endeavour to ensure that the appropriate steps are taken."
The dismissal was clear and Renan nodded brusquely, shook the Watcher’s hand and left. Lost in thought Pryce wandered to the snooker table, picking up one ivory ball and rubbing it against his sleeve before sending it spinning down the baize. It ricocheted off the bottom cushion and returned to his hand only to be spun away once more. Up and down the table it ran. The thud from one end echoed by the meaty tap from the other. Again and again, each time a little faster than the last, until Pryce slammed his hand down and cursed roundly.
He did not want to send the Slayer to the opera house, not now that Lily’s baby had been born, and yet neither could the unspoken threat in Renan’s words be ignored. If the small nest in the opera house was not destroyed questions would be asked, probably at the highest levels and Pryce had no wish to see a diplomatic incident tarnish his so far impeccable record.
"Bally French," he muttered and stalked to the door slamming it open. "Beecham!"
The young Watcher scurried out from the office and hurried up the hallway. "The desk is cleaned, sir…"
"Never mind that, lad. Fetch Grainger and tell him to get Sondra ready. They are going to visit the opera house and rid them of some unwelcome guests."
***
Drusilla rolled over in her sleep, searching out her own side of the bed away from Angelus’ arms. Briefly he considered waking her, taking her again, making her bleed and come for him, and then he remembered what was available in the other bedroom. Warm and pliant, scared and full of fresh hot blood, and much as he enjoyed his girl, there was something about an unwilling human…
The door was ajar when he arrived and he hovered listening to the voices buzzing inside. Spike’s insistent, "Shut your bloody mouth or I’ll rip your head off," and the singer’s moans as she pleaded with him to stop hurting her. Curious, Angelus pushed gently against the door, swinging it open just far enough so he had a good view of what was going on.
Within seconds Angelus was chewing the inside of his mouth in an effort not to laugh. As he suspected the boy was fucking Christine, or at least trying to, and the human was not co-operating in the slightest. Neither was she fighting, as such, simply pleading quietly and crying, her body lax and unresponsive. The whole performance seemed to be throwing Spike off his game and the boy seemed to be having problems sustaining an erection.
He watched as Spike spat into his hand and worked his cock frantically, trying to get hard enough. The other hand gripped Christine’s hair, holding her head still as he plundered her lips, tongue delving into the girl’s mouth. Memories of his own initial foray into such adventures flooded Angelus’ memory, how Darla had held his victim down and encouraged her childe to take just enough blood so that the girl still had the strength to cry and beg him to stop. Darla’s words as she’d explained that any fool could take an unwilling woman by beating her into submission, their terror was as much food for the demon as blood, whereas it took an entirely different sort of animal to acquire the sophisticated taste of despair. It was a flavour he had sought out over the years, learned to induce in his victims and to savour it in their tears and blood, and he could never thank Darla enough for showing him how.
It looked like it was time to return the favour.
"Having trouble, William?" he asked casually.
Spike’s head whipped round at the enquiry and Christine pushed feebly at his shoulders. "No," he insisted, lowering his body onto the singer’s. "Think I know how to do this without your help."
Making no attempt to conceal his smirk, Angelus sauntered further into the room and swung a chair round, plonking it, and himself, down in such a way that a worthwhile view was guaranteed. When Spike didn’t continue, Angelus sniggered and waved his hand, saying, "Carry on. Don’t mind me, I was simply hoping to watch a master in action."
Spike ground his teeth in frustration. He couldn’t ‘carry on’, as Angelus put it, without revealing the problem he was having, though with every passing second that was becoming less of an issue. There was nothing like Angelus’ taunting to raise the non-existent blood pressure. With a low growl in his mentor’s direction, Spike hooked an arm beneath Christine’s knee and positioned his now rock hard erection at her entrance.
"Hang on."
Exasperated by the interruption to what was now promising to be a pleasant shag, Spike glared over at Angelus, who was sitting forwards in his chair frowning, and snarled, "What the bloody hell’s wrong now?!"
Angelus pursed his lips and pointed - pointedly - at Spike’s erection. "You’re cheating."
Spike glanced down, confused. "Cheating?"
"If that’s for her then I’m an Englishman."
"For Christ’s sake, Angelus, what are you going on about? Course it’s for her. Or was till you poked your nose in where it wasn’t wanted."
"Right, fuck away then." Angelus smirked and leaned back, waiting until Spike was ready to go again before interjecting, "Make sure you look at her eyes when you rape her, though. You wouldn’t want to miss exactly how she feels about you."
It was like being told not to think of pink elephants. The second Angelus mentioned Christine’s eyes Spike had to look. With a groan his head dropped, along with other things. Talk about a passion killer, the singer was misery and despair personified. Silent tears caught in her lashes limning her eyes with diamonds before running down her cheeks. She seemed so young and vulnerable, so totally crushed that not even fear remained. Simply resigned to what was about to happen.
A firm hand landed on his neck, pressing Spike’s mouth into the woman’s neck just under the jaw where her pulse beat strong and heavy. "Taste her," Angelus’ hypnotic voice commanded. "Pain comes in many guises, boy, and you need to learn them all. Taste her blood and banish your weakness. Taste her tears and feel a true demon’s desire."
Spike’s fangs cut through the hot flesh, copper bursting onto his tongue bathing his gums making him burrow for more and more. Angelus’ grip tightened, an explicit warning not to feed, and Spike complied, pushing his demon face away and lapping at the spilled blood. As he’d suspected it was caustic with despair, not sweetened by fear or spicy with arousal and it reminded him of the first time he had tasted coffee as a child. Even as the bitterness repulsed him, there was something addictive about it, a flavour that promised so much more if he could be bothered to acquire it.
Panting slightly, he pushed back against Angelus’ hand, raising his head to look again at the woman beneath him. Her eyes were screwed shut and he ran his tongue over her cheek, diluting the blood with piquant tears. And the promise was there again. Not blind like lust and rage, but cool and clear, a vulnerability that belied everything he had tasted before, enticing the rejected man as much as the appetite driven demon. He was caught in it, beyond feeling the hand that guided his engorged cock into Christine’s body until her heat surrounded him.
"Christ!" he sobbed when it hit him. A tight sheathe grasping and tugging, and "Oh, god," the heat. Furnace hot. Like being bathed in sunlight. Moving through his dead flesh in waves of life. Better even than the despair, it felt like heaven. Her pulse beating around him awarded him a heartbeat of his own and when her tears began to fall again he drank them down, revelling in their taste as though they were the ultimate aqua vitae.
Angelus watched, allowing the self-satisfaction he felt show on his face. Rape was not the penchant of every demon, as witnessed by Nicci, that sorry excuse for a vampire. But this one? Ah, this one had promise. He would make an Aurelian of William yet.