Solstice

SOLSTICE
Part 10/10

Not so long ago, Aurelius told me that, from now on, I might have dreams that will speak to me of prophecy; dreams that are real if I can only understand them; dreams like Slayer dreams. I had one of those last night.

I found it hard to sleep. Well, I’m not used to sleeping at night, but there is a lot to do today, and I wanted to be fresh, rested. I am still troubled by the danger to my mate, but I have reconciled myself to that. It is here, it is done, and cannot be changed. She will be more at risk if I am not with her to protect her. So, now, I am just troubled by the fears normal to a man on the night before his wedding. Okay, maybe they aren’t quite the normal masculine fears, but you know what I mean. Will she always love me? Will she ever betray me? Will she become weary of my needs and try to stake me; or worse, to leave me? Should I keep her chained to my bed, just in case? Will my love be too fierce anrk frk for her? It’s on these thoughts that I fall into an uneasy sleep.

Spike comes to me. He is his old insouciant self, still my beautiful, untamed boy. Dead at my hand.

“So, you’re going to tie yourself to the Slayer in front of every demon tribe and vampire clan that’s worth a damn? You’re a fool. You should stick to your own kind. She’ll bring you nothing but misery. *You’ll* bring her nothing but misery. It will never work. She’ll stake you when she realises she can’t change you.”

He runs his hand lightly down my arm: an offer, an invitation. Somehow, I can’t respond.

“You mean to go ahead with it?”

I nod, dumbly.

“Oh, hell, there’s someone wants to talk to you, then”

He stands back, and I see myself behind him. No, not myself. Him. Angel. Just for a split second, I see two Angels, one superimposed on the other. I see the one that looks just like me, wearing his favourite shade of black. The other figure is hazy and only there for a brief moment. It’s huddled and naked and bleeding, with a range of hurts that even I would have been proud to inflict. Then it’s gone, leaving only the Dark Avenger figure. He’s such a poseur.

He stalks over to me.

“What makes you think that you are good enough for her?”

I can neither move nor speak. He grips me by the throat.

“Fail her, and I will kill you.”

Suddenly, I am free of whatever restrains me, and I leap at him with a roar of anger. The fight that follows is fuelled by eternal hatred. This is the creature that has kept me chained for a hundred years, that has denied my every need. I suppose I am the creature that has taken his life, done things that sicken him because he so badly wanted to do them himself. Whatever. It’s tooth and claw now. None of the blows leave any marks, yet every time I touch him, I touch blood. Everywhere on his body, I touch blood. My hands come away bloody and, whenever I touch his bare flesh, I feel it as I do not see it. He looks whole, but he feels torn. He fights with my own strength, though: it’s like fighting myself.

And then I have an opening. I have him on his belly, my weight holding him down, and I can stop him ever being able to torment me again. She loves him. Perhaps she loves him more than she loves me. I can put an end to that now. With a simple twist of andsands, I can remove his head. But she loves him. With a scream of anger, and frustration and something close to despair, I let him go.

He turns over to look at me, but doesn’t move otherwise.

“Perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”

He turns his head to expose his neck.

“Drink. See what waits for you if you fail.”

Almost of their own volition, my fangs find the large vein in his neck, and sink in to find what should be familiar blood, sweet with the taste of family. Instead, it is bitter with pain and sorrow and loss of hope. Something tells me that I am going to have to taste this in reality before my life is through, but not yet. On a thought, I raise him until he is sitting beneath me, and I pull my fangs free. Then I turn my head to expose my own neck.

“Drink. Take strength from me. Take what you need.” I must be certifiably mad.

He looks at me for a few moments, and then he does. I wonder what I taste like to him, with so much more of Buffy, Aurelius, and all those others who have added strength and magic to my blood. I hear Aurelius whispering to me.

“What do you actually need more than you need her?”

Then his voice is gone, and so is Angel.

I wake more refreshed than I have any right to be. I feel well and strong, but I have a sour taste in my mouth. When I look, there is blood on my hands. It fades before my eyes. I feel the side of my neck, and there is a pair of fading fang marks. Then they, too, are gone.

A strange dream, or a prophecy, I don’t know which, but I do know one thing. Spike was right. She cannot change me. Only I can do that. But only she can make me want to. Two things. I neethinthing more than I need her.

***************

Willow telephoned the mansion this morning to speak to me. She knows that I am to conduct the mating ritual after the wedding. What she said surprised me into silence for a moment. I don’t know why it should do so – everything about this pairing brings new surprises, and I should be used to that by now. I told her to make her preparations, and then I went to see the priest.

Father Jerome arrived last night, and has spent the night in the mansion. How many priests do you know who would willingly sleep in a building full of demons and vampires, especially when tribal and clan rivalries mean that half of said demons and vampires are itching for a fight? Nevertheless, he did. He is rather less surprised than I was, when I tell him what Willow said. The Goddess, the one known as The Lady, wishes to bless the union. I feel a little as if I’m in a warped version of ‘Alice in Wonderland’. Of course, I can’t show any of this, because I’m five and a half thousand years old, and I have a reputation for omniscience to maintain. It’s getting harder by the day.

“Why are you doing this? Lending yourself to this ceremony? Does your God not disapprove?”

“I haven’t been struck down by a thunderbolt, so apparently not.”

“There is something coming, and the gods need help.”

I make it a statement, not a question. His eyes seem to pierce through me, and I can see him scenting me. That is very interesting. He isn’t entirely human, then. I scent him back. He smells of incense and honesty and just a faint trace of something that, even in my long life, I have never before encountered. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve a hunch it might be important.

“Gods never reject help.”

“Your God will accept the authority of The Lady, as well?”

He simply smiles, and nods. And so it is done.

It is now almost midnight, and she will soon be here. I know that Angelus is nervous, because I can feel it in my blood. He hides it well, though, and there is nothing in his demeanour or his scent to betray his nervousness to the crowd of humans, vampires and demons present in the mansion tonight, come to honour the occasion. More than humans, even, demons and vampires love a good show.

Angelus is wearing all black, relieved only by the gold torc, in stark contrast to the brilliant, festive colours worn by the crowd, and the richness of the room. He has transformed this place. The new silver drapery shimmers in the gentle glow cast by the crystal lamps, set off by rich Afghan carpets. These give warmth to the pale marble floor, the myth and magic of that ancient people knotted into every inch of the complex red and black patterns. Gorgeously coloured tapestries hang from the walls, lending warmth and life. And then there are the flowers. Stunning arrangements of green, white and red - something human, and alive, in this mansion of the dead, to welcome her.

This night is special, the night of the equinox. It is the time when day and night are equal. You could consider that the day is hers, and the night his, and they are equal, like them. She may already be his mate, but, after tonight, that relationship will be acknowledged by humans, vampires and demons alike; that is something that has never, ever been done before. His union with the Slayer will also bring the union of his retinue and hers, for all to see, and that should be interesting, considering the people who comprise those retinues.

One last thing remains to be done, and my two eldest childer, Japheth and Cormac, are here to do it. They have brought in two large wooden chests. These are beautiful and ancient artefacts, and will remain here for the bridal couple, part of my wedding gift. What is more important now, though, is what is inside those chests.

Japheth knows that Angelus will not be using his own chambers tonight. He and his bride will use her new rooms. He’s had one in particular added on to the upper level of the mansion. It’s a solar. It has floor-to-ceiling stained glass window panels all around it, and it is bathed in sunlight from morning until evening. It is a large room, intended for the Slayer and her people, and that may be why he has chosen it for this night. The bed they have had placed in there, just for tonight, is a four-poster, complete with tester and drapes, his only concession to his need for shelter from the sun. Sheer bravado.

The chests are opened at the foot of the stairs, and everyone stops talking to watch. They are full of rose petals of deepest red and purest white. The path from the decorated table, where the final ceremony will take place, to the solar is strewn with them. I don’t need to see it to know what will happen inside the solar. The finely woven bedspread and red cotton sheet will be drawn neatly back and folded onto the foot of the bed. Then a white sheet of crisp, heavy Egyptian cotton will be taken from the lid of one chest and laid over the bed. Rose petals will be spread gently over the whiteness of the sheet, heaps of them, a thick, soft, scented layer, ready for Angelus to bed his mate.

“Every good orgy deserves rose petals, right?”

There is bitterness in Giles’ voice. How will Angelus react to that? There is no time, now, surely? Midnight is at het here.

*************

My love will be here in a few minutes. I have no fears for her safety. A hundred Hylekian guards are posted in the surrounding areas to ensure that no danger is present. Another fifty will accompany the car that brings her here from her old home. She will never live there again. Haraeth has taken it upon himself to provide security, and I am content to let him.

As I look around, everything seems perfect. She will be here soon, the last to arrive, as she should be, attended by Willow, Dawn, Tara and Anya. I know what she will be wearing – I bought it for her, again, but this time I made sure that I peeked – and the thought of her, the vision in my mind, makes me ache.

Japheth and Cormac have spread the rose petals over the bed and over the path we must tread to get there. Why rose petals? Why not? It’s simply a tradition for high-ranking vampires, I suspect as simply another means of titillating our senses. Long ago, humans borrowed it for their orgies, and we have never begrudged them that.

“Every good orgy deserves rose petals, right?”

Damn. That’s Giles. I thought we had dealt with this, but I should have anticipated. He’s thinking of other rose petals, the ones I left for him to follow to his dead lover. This needs dealing with. Now.

I pour us both a glass of wine and take him to one side, into a small, private study.

“The next time your bitterness manifests, I shall send you away
He
He starts to bristle, but I hold up my hand to silence him.

“I cannot restore your lover, and we have agreed that we must make a fresh start, yes?”

He nods, resentment in every lineament.

“I should have said this before. If there cannot be restitution, then before there can be a fresh start, there must be punishment. There is no time to deal with this now. Tomorrow, you will come to see me and we shall discuss an appropriate penalty. You are my creature, Giles, my servant, and I will brook no disobedience, no treachery, no rebellion and no resentment. For the only time, tomorrow, though, I will permit you to take retribution. That will bring an end to it. Are we clear?”

Giles looks confused, as well he might. Watchers do not understand vampires nearly as well as they think they do. In our society, there are clear rules, and here is one. I have mortally wronged one of my own. I can kill him, banish him or allow him to exact a price for that wrong. Most masters would kill him, because that would be easiest, would bring the problem to a clearly defined end. More importantly, they would not have to admit a mistake. I am not most masters, and so I choose the latter. Buffy needs this man, at least for now.

“Buffy…”

“Buffy need never know about this, Giles. Neither does anyone else. That is part of the agreement.”

He considers for a moment, then nods, sharply.

Good. We can get on with things now.

There is an imperious rapping at the outer door. I put down my glass and take a deep, and entirely necessary breath. Her father, surprisingly reconciled to what his daughter is marrying, has been allowed to bring her this far, but Giles is to give her away. That is much more fitting.

“Rupert, I think that must be your charge. Perhaps you will lead her in to me?”

And Giles does.

She is heartbreakingly beautiful. Her dress is simple ivory silk, no distracting frills and furbelows. The back panels extend into a heavy train, and she wears both the golden crown and the lace veil. Giles walks her to the table where I stand with Aurelius, who acts as my best man – who better? The priest stands behind the simple altar, which is decorated only with flowers, and the service commences. It is Dawn who lifts the veil from her face, folding back that long piece of exquisite lace. She is even more beautiful than the picture in my mind. She wears the gold torc and, hanging lower on her breast, that silver cross w Ang Angel gave her the first time they met. Perhaps there is reason for her to remember who and what she is. In any event, it does not offend me. This ais a susurration of sound as those who do not know her see her for the first time, and see the status that the clan has bestowed upon her.

We exchange rings, and we exchange vows. I have heard some of her words before.

“In peace and in war, I will love you and cleave to you. You are mine to protect, as I am yours.”

Brave words, full eanieaning for this strange congregation.

She has also heard some of mine at another time.

“I will cherish and protect you in every way known to human or demon kind. I will never leave you or abandon you, and we will face together everything the future brings to us.”

And then the priest pronounces us husband and wife, and tells me that I may kiss her. I’ve wanted to do that for half an hour now, ever since she arrived. I do so to the applause of the congregation. When I let her go, he leads us to the centre of the room, to stand in front of an Afghan carpet woven with the tree of life. Those who have been standing on that carpet shuffle around to find space elsewhere in this crowded hall. A minion swiftly rolls back the rug, revealing a circle outlined by a continuous silver chain. Other minions bring four engraved dishes of cobalt blue glass. One contains earth, another water, the third has a candle representing fire, and the fourth holds nothing but air. These are placed around the inside of the circle, and we step into it, hands linked. As we do, the mansion doors are thrown open, and everyone turns to look. A white stag stands outside and, in the face of everyone’s gaze, this shy and retiring creature steps daintily into the hall. It is not a type of stag that is found anywhere in this hemisphere, and it is an old and noble creature, with at least twenty-four points on its antlers. It is a king of its kind.

Head held high, ears flickering nervously, it steps towards us and enters the circle. Once there, it lowers its head. It has something hanging around its neck - a silver chain, and threaded onto that chain are the two claddagh ringst dit did not return with us from the Underworld. I unfasten the chain and remove the rings, returning them to what seems to be their rightful place, her finger and mine, although the right hand this time. When I move to give the exquisitely wrought chain back to the stag, it snorts in disapproval, and so I place it around my own neck. I’m not at all sure if that is significant, but it feels as if it will be.

I wait a moment for the stag to lift its head, but it doesn’t. What I have to do, I must do on my knees, in front of this entire gathering. What else would I have expected? I kneel, and the stag turns its head a little, offering its throat. My fangs slide home, and the blood starts to pump down my throat, rich and thick and full of a strange power. There is a fleeting, familiar taste. It is Angel: for a mouthful or two, I can taste the suffering, bleeding Angel from my dream, although I do not understand why this should be. Then this liquid life runs sweet and clean. There is something else, too, that I feel in my blood but cannot describe. This is a pact, a binding agreement, although I’m not at all sure what I am agreeing to. Perhaps it’s just to my mastery of Wolfram and Hart, and that seems right. Perhaps it’s more, though. Perhaps it’s my promise to love and care for this woman, and that thought, too, seems right to me. There are promises here, in return. Long life and happiness, maybe.

Too soon, the stag snorts again, and I withdraw from him. As I rise, his horn swipes against my hand, opening a long cut. He licks at the thin line of blood, taking a little of me into himself in exchange for what I have taken from him, until the wound ceases to bleed, then he watches as I pull my wife to me, and kiss her again, my mouthl ofl of his blood, still laced with the bitter tang of Angel. She takes it from me, licking my lips clean, a slight frown between her brows as if she were puzzled by something, and then she offers him her hand. Once more his antler slices down, and he presses his muzzle into her palm, licking up the drops that seep from the wound. I do believe that, whatever the pact is, it is sealed. His bellow rings around the hall, and then he is seemingly gone, galloping off into the night.

As the minions gather up the four dishes, once more the priest leads us on to another table at the other side of the room. Aurelius steps up, and we come to the most difficult part of a set of ceremonies that will most certainly be talked about for decades to come. I told you that demons love a good show. They are certainly getting one now.

Aurelius speaks the words inviting the Slayer in to the clan, and gives his formal blessing to our mating. He then says the ritual that informs all those gathered that this is to be an eternal mating, that our bodies and spirits will cleave together until the end of time and may never be separated. I shiver a little at that, remembering Buffy’s mortality. She feels it, and understands: she holds my hand a little tighter.

There is a glass chalice in front of him. It’s Roman glass, two thousand years old, aquamarine in colour, spiralled around the outside with gold wire. Dropping his fangs, he nicks a finger and allows a few drops of blood to fall into the chalice, and then he hands it to Buffy. She knows what she must do, and she doesn’t hesitate. She drains the cup. There isn’t enough in there to harm her, but it will mark her forever, in the way that my own blood does, as an Aurelian.

She offers him her wrist, and he bites, taking enough of her blood to stay with him, further acknowledgement that she is part of this clan. Now we come to the hard part. She and I will mate, will exchange blood and mark each other in that most intimate of rites, and the most senior representatives of those here will get to watch. It’s a public mating. It has to be.

Individuals of lesser standing might not need to do this, but we are theivalivalent of royalty, and some strange customs start to apply. In days gone by, when a queen gave birth to an heir to the throne, the birth was witnessed, not only by her attendant ladies, but also by men of rank and position. This was to ensure that the heir was indeed the heir, that the line of succession was genuine and intact. These men could attest that no one had exchanged some half-dead sickly princeling or princess birthed by the queen for some lusty peasant boy smuggled in earlier. I’m sure it also gave them a bit of a rush to see the royal wife in such humiliating circumstances.

Vampires don’t give birth, of course, but if the protection of the eternal mating is to apply to my wife, if she is to be considered as unchallengeable, then the rite has to be publicly witnessed, in just the same way and for much the same reasons. It must be seen – and felt – to be a true and proper mating. With Aurelius’ support, I have restricted it to the most senior of each tribe or clan present, but I can do no better than that. Members of my own household will form a sort of honour guard around the bed, to prevent any unseemly conduct. Oh yes, it’s that sort of mating we are talking about.

Aurelius walks towards the stairs, and we follow. I have her arm tucked in mine, and I have opened our link, pouring through it all my love and comfort and pride. She smiles and squeezes my hand.

Together, we follow him up that path of red and white petals, until we reach the floor above. Then accompanied by her ladies, she is led to her own bedchamber, and I o mio mine. My supporters here are Estevan, Ezrafel, Ixolon and Japheth, demonstrating the mixed nature of my household, and my position in the clan. In our rooms, the two of us will remove our wedding finery and put on some loose silk robes. I’m the first to enter the solar. Women always take longer, don’t they? Ranking members of both our households have taken position well away from the bed. Faith, Giles, Xander, Wesley, Gunn, Oz and Thomaso. Lindsey has something else to do. He is looking after Drusilla. Some of these may never forgive me, as much for this duty I have given them, as for the ritual itself, but their presence will make her feel better. She told me so.

I take my place by the foot of the bed, and amuse myself by watching the observers jostling for position. Haraeth is in the front rank, and is ensuring that those around him do not press too close. He gives me a wink. I liked that demon when I first met him. I see that even the priest is here, and I find that a little hard to credit. He simply gives me a tight smile, but holds his ground, next to Haraeth. A pungent scent wafts through the open door, and although I cannot see him – and I doubt anyone else can – I know that the stag has announced his presence to me. Aurelius and one or two other vampires turn briefly to the door. They have scented him, too.

Then, the door to the adjoining bedchamber opens and my wife is escorted in by her ladies. All four of them are there, even though it was agreed that Dawn should stay behind. That doesn’t cause me a problem, although I can feel Giles purse his lips in disapproval. I cannot see, of course, because the household members have their backs to me, but I can still tell that he is pursing his lips. Well, Dawn is old enough to see this, and I’m glad to know that she has such a strong will. Buffy crosses the room to me, her bare feet whispering over the carpet of knotted Chinese silk. She stands facing me as we are divested of the crown, the torcs and the cross. Then, the silk robes are gently removed, and she is naked for all to see.

I take her in my arms, pressing her close to me, and then I catch up her right hand with mine, holding our clasped hands between our breasts. I can feel the claddagh rings pressed together by our entwined fingers, reinforcing what I am about to say. I caress her face with my left hand, the soft light glinting on the ring she has given me.

“My body to yours, we are united. Blood of my blood, we are inseparable. Spirit to spirit, I cleave to you. Final death shall not separate us, bringing only our union beyond even the end of eternity. Before my master and in sight of these witnesses, I swear this to you.”

She smiles for me, one of the sweetest smiles she has ever graced me with, and places her left hand against my cheek.

“My body to yours, we are united. Blood of my blood, we are inseparable. Spirit to spirit, I cleave to you. Final death shall not separate us, bringing only our union beyond even the end of eternity. Before this clan and in sight of these witnesses, I swear this to you.”

I pick her up and place her gently on that fragrant bed of roses, and then I cover her with my own body. I have promised her that I would do this, that the observers would not have any unnecessary opportunity to ogle her. Although it gives me a real rush to know how much these people here envy me – the scent of it is thick in the air – I am also possessive of her in a way that I have never been with any other partner. I do not want others to see what is mine, and yet I want them to see and yearn for what they can never have.

There, amongst those scented petals, I try toe hee her forget that anyone else is in the room. If I am to shield her with my body, what I can do is restricted, but still more than enough. The link between us is wide open and I let all my feelings of desire flood over her. A woman’s erogenous zones start with her mind, you know. I kiss my way down the line of jaw,jaw, murmuring to her as I do so, whispered words of love. I suckle lightly at her neck, as I press my body against hers, reminding her through the bond of the passion of the flesh that we so recently shared. My hands seek out all her favourite places, and she does the same for me. I press a line of gentle kisses along her collarbone and then down to her soft breasts. In what seems like no time at all, she is giving tiny gasps of delight and pressing up against me in need. Still I devote myself to her pleasure, with lips and tongue and teeth, as well as with my fingers and the palms of my hands, feeling the lushness of her, the silk of her skin, and the moist welcome of her feminine flesh. Every movement, no matter how slight, ensures that the petals brush against our bodies, exciting the tiniest nerves, and pressing their satin curves against every point of pleasure, a thousand delicate fingers.

As the petals and my own fingers work to bring every nerve alive, I suckle gently at both the mating marks I have left on her – the one in the tender crook of her arm from the time I thought I should die in the park, and the one on her neck from our time in Fenrix’s dungeons. There is no place on her body more welcg ofg of my touch, more able to focus her desire than the mark of her mate. Finally, when I am sure that she is wound up as tightly as I can contrive, I thrust gently into her. She is slick, and wet and ready. She wraps her legs around my hips, pulling me down further, closer. There will be no teasing tonight. We aren’t going to give these interlopers more of a show than necessary. We have the rest of the night and the rest of our lives to look forward to. She wants hard, and she gets it. Together, we build towards rapture, and at the first signs of that longed-for fulfilment, I bite down into her neck, into the scar that already marks her as mine, and I reinforce my love and passion and ownership, impressing into the bond everything I feel for her. Her blood, flowing freely over my tongue, fuels that explosion of agonised ecstasy until it threatens to consume us both in its raging fires. The tiny part of my mind that is still functioning recognises the storm of pheromones that has burst from us, and I know that every single demon there will be drinking them in.

Reluctantly, I withdraw my fangs from my mate’s neck, and it is her turn. She must make the wound herself and take some of my blood. I cannot help her by tearing my flesh. She doesn’t bite, though, and for the moment I wonder whether her nerve has failed her. It has not. Using all her slayer strength, she flips us over without allowing our joining to falter, until she is sitting astride me, open to the view of all. The scent coming from her, and the emotions coming through the bond, all tell the same thing. The Slayer is not afraid. I couldn’t be more proud of her if I tried, and I want to slay every observer here, for seeing something that only I should see.

She starts to ride me, gently at first until she feels me swell once more to completely fill her. Then, she rides me harder, until I can feel her new climax rising through her. She grasps my hands and presses my arms outwards and downwards until we are breast to breast. She bends her head and kisses me, tasting her own blood on my mouth before slicing her tongue across my fang. I suck the offering of blood from her, and that is enough to bring us both to completion. As this second tidal wave of fulfilment rushes over us, she breaks the kiss and then moves backwards a little before biting down as hard as she can, just over my heart. Her human teeth cannot penetrate as well as mine, but she does enough. Skin and muscle parts before her assault, as if welcoming her in, and I know this will be the only scar my body has so far accepted. I feel her pouring out her love and devotion and desire and, damn it, *ownership*, into the bite and the bond. I know that the observers have had another tempest of pheromones, and they understand what she has done.

Well, we are already equals, from the moment of our first mating. It’s only fair, I suppose, that we should reinforce it this way. And then I have no more space for thought or rationality, just the utter abandon of a release centred round the indescribable bliss of having her drink from me. Not much – she has only freed a trickle of blood – but enough to give me such ecstasy as I have rarely felt before. Together, we are joined in eternity, as we should be, everyone else forgotten, until we sink down into those fragrant, welcoming petals. Eternal mates. She is mine, forever, and I am hers, in the sight of demon and man.

************

As head of the clan, I am in control of this ceremony. I knew that Angelus intended to shield the Slayer as much as possible – this is not a rite where I would expect any human to feel comfortable. However, she cly hly has had other ideas, and is expressing them with vigour. I am glad, because it is better this way, if she is to be regarded as his equal. I can feel the level of sexual energy in this room, and it has just spiked into hot and high as Buffy takes the lead in their joining. Everyone in the mansion is now aware that the Slayer is an equal partner in this mating, and that Angelus wishes it to be so. There’s a level of demonic excitement at that that I don’t think I have ever seen before. Everything here is new territory.

Now, the mating is complete, and as the two sink into repletion, there is a deep sigh from the observers, and then a susurration of whispers. Nobody moves, yet, except for Buffy’s ladies – including a very wide-eyed Dawn – and Angelus’ supporters, who move towards the bed holding the silk robes. Buffy stands first, seemingly unworried that she has Angelus’ seed glistening on her thighs, and her ladies help her into the maroon robe, wrapping its capacious volume carefully around her. Angelus stands on the opposite side while his supporters do the same. The members of the household who have stood guard – and haven’t they had a shocking experience, although one that I think must ultimately bind them closer to our mated pair – now disperse to help with the culmination of this night’s ceremonial. It’s time for the giving of gifts.

Chairs are brought for Angelus and the Slayer, who sit as regally as any king and queen waiting for tribute from their subjects, and that is entirely appropriate. As I designate the guests to come forward in order of precedence, starting with Haraeth, the wedding gifts are given. Most of the gifts are material objects, but others are not. Some clans and tribes are rich in influence and power but poor in material goods. Their offerings are different. Some, for example, are gifts of service. All are valuable in their own way.

These gifts, though, must be looked at in another way than material value. Some are gifts of esteem from powerful allies; others are gifts of friendship from those of equal status. Yet others are from people of doubtful intent, there to mark a holding position until they decide whether to be friend or foe. All the rest, no matter how the giving is couched, are indeed tribute, pledges from those who recognise power when they see it. I believe that this is the start of an alliance such as has neen een seen before. Since I learned that all our safety depended on Angelus and the Slayer, I have sensed that they would need the strength of the clan around them. Now they have more than that. They have the beginnings of empire. Life is going to be very interesting.

*************


In the mansion, the attendants have carefully drawn the drapes of the bed around their master and mistress, heavy tapestries to protect him from the sunlight that will flood the room at dawn. Gifts are heaped on the floor, to be examined and appreciated at leisure. The festivities to entertain the guests whilst the master and mistress entertain themselves, and the sexual energy of the mating ritual that has pervaded the mansion, have had entirely foreseen consequences. Demons, vampires and even some humans are involved in all manner of couplings driven by vampiric and slayer pheromones. Aurelius was perfectly correct. Life will be very interesting for those involved with Angelus and the Slayer.

There is an old Chinese curse.

May you live in interesting times.

Within the heavily curtained bed, Angelus and Buffy lie sated, in sleep. At least, she is asleep, and he is in that hinterland somewhere between waking and sleeping, and he is not-quite-dreaming. He thinks of Drusilla, telling him that the Slayer would change him, and of his response to her, that the sun would stand still in the sky before that would ever happen. He realises, now, that for him the sun might as well be in permanent solstice. He isn’t the Soul. He will never be the Soul. But he isn’t the mad demon any more. He is different. So long as she is here, he is different. More balanced.

He has never heard of the old Chinese curse. Not yet, anyway. It will be many years before times become much more interesting than even the last eight years have been. He snuggles closer to the warm armful of female flesh that brings him such peace, and drifts off into dreams of an empire to give her in return.

***********

Deep under the black cliffs, Angel has a brief respite from torment. He’s now suffering not from blood games, but from mind games. They are giving him visions of how many ways he can torture and kill the Slayer. In how many ways his dark half can destroy her. But he knows his name again, and they have left him in peace for a little while.

The stag has come back, nec neck bloody, and it is licking his hand, cleaning the claddagh ring that has so newly appeared. He looks at the ring, and has no idea why it should be there, but when he saw it, he knew who he was and why he was in this place. As he looks at it, it seems as if someone has clasped his hand. Two other hands, perhaps, and he feels the chink of ring on ring. The stag watches him gravely. There are words, distant but clear, and he repeats them to himself, her face reflected to him in the shining eyes of the deer.

“My body to yours, we are united. Blood of my blood, we are inseparable. Spirit to spirit, I cleave to you. Final death shall not separate us, bringing only our union beyond even the end of eternity. Before my master and in sight of these witnesses, I swear this to you.”

Then it is her turn, and he hears the words of her oath.

The stag closes the distance between them, and presents its bloody neck to him. He wants to feel his gorge rise, to be disgusted at the thought of feeding here, but he isn’t. He leans forward and sucks hungrily at the oozing wounds, closing the circle.

He tastes himself and Buffy. He tastes promises given and received. And it comforts him a little.

************

The Lady and the Duality have watched the ceremonies in the mansion that night, then gone to the black sand and watched Angel’s soul, tormented beyond bearing, but still refusing to say the words that would deprive his mate of her consort. The Lady, tears standing in her eyes, turns to her dark lover.

“Are they strong enough?”

His smile is reassuring and warm.

“Yes. They have much still to learn and to accomplish, but yes, they are strong enough.”

When they return to their tiny Eden, the stag is waiting. Blood from the vampire’s bite still runs down onto his shoulder. At a word from The Lady, he s his his neck and allows her to gather some of the precious drops on hengernger. The three of them taste it, the knowledge it carries, and the pact woven into the blood, and they know that they have chosen well. There is, indeed, hope for the future, although there is so little time. Too soon, the Duality will have to go back to the edge of the universe and fire another arc of galaxies in the hope that they can save another trillion trillion souls from the invader. The Universe will be smaller before the time is right.

They all give their thanks to the stag, and The Lady heals his wounds. Then, the three lie down together to share the greatest comfort they have to offer each other against the screams of a trillion trillion deaths. The Lady her her consorts make love, this triumvirate of equals who maintain the balance and keep the forces of chaos at bay. From their joining this night, they allow an ecstatic disruption of the balance between the powers of creation and the powers of destruction, and a tiny handful of new galaxies burst into existence on the far side of the universe, safe for the moment from the invader. A trillion trillion souls wait to populate planets that have not yet formed. Yet they wait with hope.


THE END
31 July 2004

Afterword

Thanks to everyone who has stayed with me through this story cycle. When I first wrote ‘The Nature of the Beast’, it was a stand-alone story, with no follow-ups intended. You asked for them. You wanted to know how Buffy and Angelus got together, and how he established his empire. You also wanted to know what happened after her death. I partially gave in and wrote the prequels – and I’m glad I did, because I’ve had such fun doing it. I did hedge my bets a little, though, because I said in ‘To Kill A Cat’ that it was one possible, although not necessarily *the* prequel. The cycles of time are tricky things…

Because ‘Nature’ was written as a single story, I put in a lot of things that I never expected to have to make good on, but I have tried to stay true to everything I wrote there. There is just one tiny detail that is different, and that’s deliberate – it’s to keep you on your toes!

The reason that I started writing in the first place was as practice, because I want to start writing novels, and so I have tried different styles of storytelling in this series – third person, first person, and so on, and I hope that it’s all worked for you.

What comes next? A story cycle, as constructed here, has no ending – the first story is also the last. In between, though, this series has explored their early relationship, the taming of a demon, and the seeds of his empire. ‘Solstice’ is the last in that chain of events.

As for Our Heroes, and their life together – not to mention the poor, tormented Angel – well, they’ve got seventy years before Buffy dies, and I’m sure we’d all be pushing up daisies before I managed to fill that amount of time up with stories, which is why I’ve chosen to end it here. I am also sure, however, that we will be visiting them from time to time during that very long lifetime, to find out what they get up to. After all, what about those wedding night dreams? And the three demi-gods of Wolfram and Hart? Would I leave those as loose ends, to tantalise and frustrate you? My name’s Jo, not Joss.

What’s that you say? What happens after Buffy’s death? I always said that I didn’t know where I could take it after the end of ‘Nature’, and so I wouldn’t do any sequels. Well, you’ve got me there. I know exactly where it’s going to go, now, and you have seen the shadow of the future woven into the fabric of the present. We do, after all, need to know whether Buffy and Angelus meet again, whether Angel remains trapped forever on the black sand, and whether anything can be saved from the parasite. I think you can expect to see the second story cycle in ‘The Nature of the Beast’ series before too long. Such a demanding audience….

Thank you.

Jo
31 July 2004