To Kill A Cat

“Listen!” he hissed, “Just be grateful that whatever they think keeps us close together.” The glare she directed at him would have put Medusa to shame and finished off Perseus in a nanosecond, shield or no. He sighed. “I’ve got the ticket out of here. You do want to come, don’t you?”

He felt her struggle with herself, but eventually her shoulders drooped, and she nodded in acquiescence.

“Wait until everyone has left for the night and I’ll explain. Tell me, what phase is the moon?”

“What?”

He sighed again. Had she always been this difficult? Of course she had – that was one of the things that appealed to him.

“Just answer the question.”

She furrowed her brow in thought. “Just past full moon.”

Damn.

It wasn’t too long before the keeper returned, with a crew of demons manhandling a cage identical to the one they were in. The crew would fit the two together, then simply release the centre panels and slide them away, making a double size cage. The keepers needed adjustable cages. One never knew what the House representatives would find for the Games. But this pair was special. He should have seen it, even when they just had the female. Anyone should have seen it. What had those foolish representatives of the House of Orbath been about, leaving the male behind? Dolts! Not only was it extremely rare to get a mated pair of warriors, but a Slayer and a master vampire? Never before. And what a team they made. They would be magnificent together. Why, the male had even crossed dimensions to find his mate. What would they not do for each other? They were his charges, and he was filled with certainty that, together, they would defeat everything that the Great Game would throw at them. His demon heart swelled with pride.

The cage was quickly fitted. Buffy was alert, looking for a chance to run, Angelus was sure, but he held her wrist tightly. Until the next full moon, there really wasn’t anywhere to run to. A larger sleeping pallet was provided, and the crew were done.

“Are you hungry, vampire?”

“No. I shan’t need to feed until tomorrow.”

“Very well.” The keeper looked at Buffy. “Your supper will be provided as usual, then.” He reached into the bag he was carrying and drew out a small bundle of leather, which he passed through the bars to Angelus. “Here is your clothing for the arena. You will put this on and give me your own.” Angelus shook out the bundle to reveal a loincloth.

“What!”

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

As evening deepened into night, he could see that the moon, indeed, was just past full. He wondered how long a month might be, here. The way things were going, it could be half a year… Buffy had eaten, and now lay curled on the pallet. She had made it perfectly clear without using any words at all that Angelus would trespass on that pallet at his peril. He had explained to her about the properties of the ring, and had seen her face close down, her expression impenetrable, her eyes as hard as diamond. It had made her look even younger and more vulnerable, and he was surprised to find himself wanting to hold her. But he hadn’t.

Now, she was asleep, her back to him, and he lay a little way away, watching her again. Watching the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed, the slight twitching of her muscles as she dreamed. The moonlight silvering her golden skin. Listening to the slow, steady sleep rhythms of her heart. Savouring the scent of her. There was only a faint trace of lavender and vanilla now, but the rest was pure Buffy. It was as he dwelt on her delicious fragrance that he noticed a new scent. Tears. She was crying in her sleep.

He moved towards her and stretched out on the pallet, spooning behind her, his right arm and right leg thrown possessively over her, his hand cupping her left breast. She fitted him perfectly. Mine, he thought, savagely. He held her close and whispered soothing nothings to her until her tears stopped. Then he just continued to hold her close, feeling the softness of her hair on his face. He didn’t notice for a moment that she had awakened, until she spoke, softly.

“Why do they think we are a mated pair? All you’ve ever done is rape me.”

What to tell her? The truth, he supposed. He looked at Angel’s claddagh ring on his own hand. For some unfathomable reason that he did not wish to examine, he had never yet removed it.

“When Angel gave you the claddagh ring, he didn’t tell you all the truth. He said that it was for friendship, and could show that your heart was given, but back in his day, the claddagh was a wedding band. That was how he thought of you – as his mate, his wife. He knew that you wouldn’t know that, but even so, he committed himself to you for life. A life commitment for a vampire is a serious matter. And that marriage was consummated. I was there at the time, this body was there at the time, so I suppose the Hylekians just picked up on the residue of that.” He didn’t really know why the Hylekians had considered Buffy to be just as committed, but it did no good to question that.

Buffy lay in the arms of the demon, feeling his strength around her, his cool chest pressed reassuringly against her back. She wished to God that she could wake up and find that her Angel had been returned to her by some miracle. And she remembered when Angel had given her the ring. How could she ever forget? As luck would have it, she had already known the deeper meaning of the claddagh, although she hadn’t told Angel that. Before her calling, she had read about it in one of the fluffy novels she’d occasionally indulged herself with. She’d thought it incredibly romantic, and it had stuck in her mind. On the night that he had given it to her, he had obviously not meant to tell her the whole, but she had still made vows of eternal love in her own heart. Her life expectance as a slayer might be short, but the commitment was just as serious as a vampire’s. She hoped that this demon never found that out – he would twist it to his own advantage, use it as another thorn to prick her with.

So the demon and his Slayer fell into a troubled sleep.

**********

I

It had been 26 days. Giles and the teenagers, sat in the library, not knowing what else to do. The beringed stake still lay on the floor where it had appeared when Angelus had left the dimension. During the day, it simply vanished, but as soon as moonlight fell on that spot, it reappeared. And its solidity waxed and waned with the moon.

Willow broke the silence, and said, for perhaps the 26th time, “I guess the moon might not run to the same cycle there.”

Everyone else nodded moodily. They were tired, and they were hurting. They were fighting a running battle with the Kahlavi demons, with cult members moving into town in greater and greater numbers. The demons were good fighters. Astonishingly, Spike and Drusilla were holding up their end of the truce. In fact, they were the ones who generally did the hardest of the fighting. They were the only ones with sufficient strength, after all. That was what they were doing now. The group here had done as much as they physically could, then gathered in the library, as they did every night, for a brief vigil. And to pray to any god that would listen. They sat, silently, determined to wait for a little while longer. Hoping that the moon in Hylek was even now waxing to full.

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

It had been 26 days. As a pair of warriors, they were unbeaten. The contests were for real now. Death in the afternoon. Admirers had sent pieces of pagan jewellery, gold and silver and precious stones, as tokens of appreciation of their skill. They had been allowed to keep those. Indeed, they were expected to wear them, and they did. The keeper had initially tried to remove Mr Pointy from Angelus, but when the vampire, crossing his fingers for luck, had explained that it was a religious devotional object in his clan, the keeper had simply bowed and walked away.

And they had found something that he could eat. Horse. He’d had much worse. At least it was living, fresh blood. Twice each day, they would lead a different horse to the cage, and allow him, under armed guard, to come out and feed. Buffy was pleased, because the horse could afford to lose enough blood to meet his needs, and still live.

Buffy and he had come to some sort of truce in the cage. They didn’t needle or snipe at each other. Well, not much. When she cried in her sleep, she allowed him to hold her and soothe her. Otherwise they slept separately, even if they were only separated by inches. He had wanted to fuck her since the moment he had first arrived in the arena, but he didn’t. Not because he was put off by the other demons watching – vampires weren’t shy when it came to sex, after all – but because she would be. And for some reason, he still wanted her to be willing in their next encounter. So when the need became too great, he’d simply brought himself off as discretely as possible, and waited for the moon to change.

The night before, though, something different, something new and unwelcome, had happened. When he had finished feeding, a different keeper had told him that he would be taken somewhere else for an hour, but would be returned to his mate at the end of that time. There was no escape, so he had allowed himself to be shackled and escorted to a small, bare underground room where he had been pushed to his knees and his shackles attached to bolts in the floor. The chains were short enough to keep him on his knees, whilst still allowing some movement. A broad strip of leather was tied over his mouth. No biting, then. The guards had left, but the keeper stayed, seating himself on the room’s only furniture, a chair tucked into a corner alcove. A few minutes later, two Hylekians had entered, a man and a woman, richly clad. The had had given something to the keeper. It might have been money, but Angelus could not be sure. He thought he knew now what was happening here. He knew it had been common practice in Roman arenas. Why should it be different here? The rich paid for time with the strong. The keeper would stay to ensure that neither gladiator nor client was harmed. The couple moved towards him, the woman to his front, the man to his rear, and together they lood thd the fastenings of his loincloth.

When it was done, he felt soiled. A vampire will fuck anything, true, but only the sire has the right to take a vampire without their consent. Anything else, be it by male or female, is rape and punishable by death. The vampire’s family would hunt down and kill any offender. As the keeper sponged him down, removing traces of his own and the other man’s seed, the woman’s secretions, he knew that it wouldn’t be enough to wash away how he felt. Aurelius had been preferable to this. The keeper told him that he and his mate could expect many such encounters. Others had asked for them, but the rules on hiring mated pairs had been unclear. A properly processed codicil had been added now, and the demand could be met. Angelus could never allow Buffy, his property, to suffer such defilement. He would defend her to the death, and he knew it. Or he would negotiate, and give his own body in place of hers. If he went willingly, without restraints, perhaps that would be enough. When he was returned to the cage, he refused to speak of what had happened, and lay apart from her, needing to be cleansed, yearning for a familiar touch, waiting for the moon to change.

She was amazed at the restraint that he was showing, but preferred not to question it. Or discuss it with him. And for her part, she affected not to notice what he had done for sexual relief. She wondered what had happened to him the previous night, when he had been taken away for an hour. He had brusquely turned aside her question, but she had sensed the anger roiling through him. And something else that she couldn’t quite identify. In a human, she would have said vulnerability, almost as Angel had been vulnerable, but how could that apply to the soulless demon that he was now? So she didn’t try to press the matter and had left him alone. At present, it was enough that they had fallen into the beautifully matched fighting style that she had had with Angel, and that they were still alive. Had saved each other’s lives over and over. And although she longed for home, she wondered just how she could kill this demon who comforted her in the night and saved her life in the killing arena. She, too, was waiting for the moon to change, but for her the waiting was hope and pain entwined. She wondered what it was like for him.

Their keeper approached their cage now. There were still armed guards when he intended to open the door, but they were easier in their relationship since it had become clear that the pair were not thinking of immediate mayhem and escape. He carried something with him.

“May I enter?”

Well, that was new. Angelus looked at Buffy, who acquiesced. Angelus nodded to the keeper.

“Today you will have a very important contest. All the minor houses have been eliminated now, and the major houses are represented by only the very best of the chosen warriors. You will meet a pairing from House Rohath, and they will be difficult for you. Since we have moved into the final stages of the Game, it is usual for competitors to wear symbols of the House they represent. I have come to do that.” He held in his hands an inkpot and a brush. “Who will be first?”

Angelus went first. He lay supine on the pallet as the keeper started his work. It was immediately clear that the demon was a talented artist, something that Angelus himself could appreciate. Deftly, using minimal lines to maximum effect, he used the blue ink to sketch out two stylised dragons coiling over the vampire’s torso. Stylised, elongated wolves twined around his arms and legs, and his wrists and ankles were encircled by thick intertwining bands of thorned vines. On his right cheek was drawn the spiral of eternity. It could easily have been mistaken for pure Celtic art. Angelus was impressed.

Whilst the ink dried, the keeper repeated the designs almost exactly on Buffy.

Then he returned to Angelus. “Onto your stomach please.” The vampire did so. The wolves on his arms and legs were completed. The keeper then turned to Angelus’ back. He felt the demon’s fingers run lightly over the tattoo.

“This is beautiful work.”

“Thank you.”

Then the brush started work again.

“The designs on your front, as you face your opponent, are for the House of Orbath. The design on your back is for you, to spur you forward.”

“What design have you done?”

It was Buffy who answered. “A cat. A beautiful big cat.” As if she needed a reminder, she thought.

The keeper then returned to work on Buffy. As he did so, he kept glancing at Angelus’ back. When he had finished, he invited Angelus to look. It was beautiful. On her right shoulder blade, he had perfectly reproduced Angelus’ tattoo. Except for one thing. Where his lion’s paws held the letter A, hers held the letter Omega. Alpha to Omega, he thought. How very mythic. Padding across her back was the sinuous figure of a leopard. They were, indeed, a matched pair.

The keeper stood silently, apparently admiring his handiwork. Then he raised his eyes to Angelus’ own.

“You should be wary of one of your nentnents today. He has a talon that he can extend from the heel of his palm. This talon contains a venom that weakens other demons. I tell you this because in your case, the effect is more severe than in any other race of demon. It will prevent you from healing your wounds. It will be possible for you to bleed to death if you are injured. This is a thing that sho should know.” He looked at Buffy. “The venom affects only demons, not humans, even those who are slayers. The other competitors know this; you did not.”

He turned and left the cage without a further word. Angelus and Buffy looked at each other in surprise. Never before had the keeper offered information about opponents. Buffy voiced both their fears.

“This sounds really bad. You’d better watch yourself, Angelus.” She tried for flippant, but missed the mark. “Let’s face it, you’re my ticket home – can’t lose you now after you’ve cluttered up my cage for this long.”

And there was another first. Never before had she called him Angelus. Usually, she didn’t call him by any name at all, but if she needed to attract his attention in the arena, she *always* called him Angel. Just to annoy him, he suspected.

Not long after that, the afternoon’s Games started. By the time the announcer called out for the Slayer and the Master Vampire, the Mated Pair, fighting in star position, the sun was getting low in the sky. They both had hopes that tonight the moon might be full. Last night, it had looked to be close.

When they entered the arena, Angelus was holding her hand. Buffy wished that the occasion weren’t so deadly. He might be her mortal enemy, but as a warrior, she loved to see him fight. He moved with lethal feline grace that was the more clearly displayed for the lack of clothing other than that simple loincloth and the pagan jewellery. She had learned the play of every muscle. He performed a deadly ballet of motion, and he was beautiful to watch. She did not realise that he loved to watch her for exactly the samasonasons.

They could see why the keeper had thought their opponents would be difficult. The first one was introduced to the crowd as the Trigon. It was a they, and they were hive demons. They were three beings who acted as one. For the purpose of the Games, they were considered to be a single opponent. They were big, and very strong. Grea
Th
The second was simply introduced as Gigas. The Giant. It was. Angelus squeezed Buffy’s hand when he saw it. They were going to have trouble with this one. It was massive, with two dangerous-looking horns on its head. Its claws were daggers. He guessed that might be the one with the venom. Oh, good.

This was not going to be pretty.

Angelus, Buffy, and Gigas, were unarmed. Weapons would be thrown in to the arena later, usually at a difficult moment for one fighter or another. That seemed to add to the entertainment value. Starting with unarmed combat made for a longer contest. More of a crowd-pleaser. Bread and circuses.

The Trigon were a different matter, though. They had a natural weapon other than teeth and claws. Extending from one forearm each had a long length of hardened tendon and scaly skin. It was an extremely effective bullwhip. Great.

The Trigon were the first to approach, with Gigas holding back, waiting for its partners to weaken the vampire and the Slayer. Despite her protests, Angelus wrapped himself around Buffy and positioned them so that he took the fall of the lash. He would not scar; she might. *Nothing* other than himself was permitted to mark his property. For long moments he simply endured the pain, then came the opportunity he was waiting for. One of the whips tangled around his legs. Before it could be freed, he held it fast and yanked it towards him. The owner, of course, could not let go, and followed the whip. He dragged the demon close to his chest and with a burst of vampiric strength he tore the whip from its anchor at the wrist. But not before he had seen the Trigon raise its other palmom wom which a foot-long dagger of bone protruded. The dagger was pointed at his heart. It seemed as if it happened in slow motion, but in truth, the action was almost faster than the human eye could see. He had one hand full of Buffy, and one hand entangled in the whip. He could do nothing. He felt a sharp, piercing pain in his chest, and then the talon was withdrawn. Roaring his fury, he released Buffy and wrenched both hand and dagger from the Trigon’s arm, then pushed the demon to her to deal with. He didn’t think that she had seen, but she had. Her face was shocked. No time for any of that now. He turned to face the other two. This time, it was his chest rather than his back that took the brunt of their lash.

Gigas saw that it was time to make a move. When he and the Trigon had entered the arena and learned the identity of their opponents, they hadidedided to concentrate first on the vampire. Take him out and the slayer’s emotions would surely prevent her from fighting well. She would be easier meat. Roaring in challenge as it came, it pushed through the remaining two members of the Trigon and shouldered into Angelus. It was much more massive than he, and he went down. He was up in a moment, though, grabbing Gigas’s clawed hands in his own and leaning into what was now essentially a pushing match. It couldn’t last, but he needed to give Buffy time to deal with her demon. She did, crushing its throat. Then she leapt onto Gigas’s back and used the whip from the dead demon to throttle the monster. The Trigon, unable to lash at her without hurting their partner, concentrated their efforts on Angelus. Again, he simply endured the pain. He was in game face, calling on every ounce of strength to give Buffy time to succeed. He might have made it work – even Gigas needed to breathe – but neither he nor Buffy noticed that the weapons had been thrown into the arena. When the Trigon stopped flogging him he knew something had happened, and looked around desperately for them. If they attacked Buffy…But they were halfway across the arena, sprinting for the pile of swords that had appeared. ‘Swords’ was probably the closest word, but these were like sharpened chain saws, broad-bladed, sharp-pointed, with large razor-edged teeth running the length of the blade on both sides. They would do enormous damage. And he couldn’t let go of Gigas. If he did, it would drag Buffy off its back in a heartbeat. Two heartbeats later she would be dead. Never. Not so long as he could raise a finger to prevent it. His possession. His responsibility.

“Buffy – go get a weapon,” he gritted out. But she knew that her stranglehold on its throat was all that was preventing Gigas from overpowering him. Once it was loose…

Then it was too late – the Trigon were racing back towards them. Buffy, having seen the danger, was desperately yanking on the whip, but Gigas’s neck was massive and tough. It suddenly reared its head backwards, impaling her shoulder with one of its horns. She cried out, but kept on tightening the garrotte. And then the Trigon were back. Pain seared through him as one slashed at his side with its sword, tearing a gaping wound. The other rammed its sword through the small of his back. An eighteen-inch length protruded from his stomach. The sword stuck as the Trigon wielding it tried to rip it out. Angelus roared in agony. The sword wouldn’t move.

He could see what must be done. Gritting his teeth against the pain, and before its partner could take another slash at him, he pushed back against the Trigon, driving the sword further through. The Trigon, taken unawares, let go its grip on the weapon. Angelus released Gigas’s hands, and leapt for its head. His leap was angled to drive the sword, which now protruded two feet from his belly, deep into the eye of Gigas. And it did. He felt its razor claws tearing at his ribs in its fury and pain.

“Buffy…” he gasped, as Gigas howled in agony. She knew what he wanted. She leapt onto his back, driving him further down. Then she took hold of the sword hilt and shoved. Angelus cried out again, but the sword penetrated Gigas’s brain, and the demon fell to the bloody sand.

There were still two members of the Trigon to finish. One was racing back to the weapons pile to replace the sword left in Angelus’ body. The other was approaching them warily. He was pinned to Gigas, unable to free himself. Once again he gritted his teeth.

“Do it.”

She placed her foot onto his back and gripped the hilt. His scream echoed around the arena as she yanked the sword out. He fought to remain conscious as he watched his partner, but the venom was taking effect. His demon was weakening, fainting, unable to do what needed to be done to heal his wounds. Shit. Buffy saw, and knew that he was in serious trouble.

He didn’t think that he had ever seen her in such a deadly rage. She faced the first Trigon and had beheaded him in seconds. The other fared no better, the sword left jutting from his chest. And the contest was over.

She returned to where Angelus was slumped across the head of the dead Gigas. She tried to stop him – he was losing so much blood – but he struggled to his knees. Then she wrapped her arms around his head and pressed him to her abdomen. He put his own arms around her and allowed himself to just feel the soft warmth for a moment, a few seconds of comfort in the midst of his agony. Her blood, from the wound in her shoulder, trickled over her belly, and he lapped at it, desperate to taste her before what he thought might very well be his end. Even from so small an amount, he felt the power coil through him, easing his pain a little, giving him some of her strength. But she had little enough to give; he could feel her legs trembling with fatigue.

Then they both became aware that the crowd were roaring their approval. They had never heard such acclamation. At least someone enjoyed it, Angelus thought grimly. He saw the keepers coming towards them over the sand. And in that same moment, he also saw that the setting sun had dimmed enough to reveal the moon standing pale and high in the sky. The full moon.

He staggered to his feet and, with the last of his strength, swept Buffy into his arms.

“Take hold of the stake,” he urged. She looked puzzled, so he turned around.

“Look.”

She saw, and she took hold of Mr Pointy, wrapping her hand around the claddagh ring. The other arm was hooked around Angelus’ neckalanalancing her weight on one arm, he took hold of the stake with his other hand, grasping it above her fist, on the part where his blood had stained the wood. Then he recited the incantation, and prayed that it would work. They were gone before the keepers reached them.

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

The teenagers were about to bid Giles goodnight after another fruitless vigil when there was an explosion of light from the beringed stake on the floor. What followed left them all breathless spe speechless. And aghast.

The game-faced vampire stood where the stake had been, holding Buffy in his arms, her face pressed close to his shoulder. They looked as if they had been painted in blood and ink. Both seemed to have full body tattoos. Both were dressed in skimpy loincloths, and in Buffy’s case, a skimpy bandeau around her breasts. They wore heavy pagan jewellery. And there wae ble blood. There was so much blood. Blood everywhere, fresh blood and clotted gore. A pool of blood was forming at Angelus’ bare feet. His chest was covered in lash marks, but there must be something worse than that. Blood was flowing down the front of his left thigh, from somewhere beneath Buffy’s body. More blood was pouring down his right side from a wound beneath his ribs. There was a deep, penetrating wound in Buffy’s shoulder, but that couldn’t account for anything like the amount of blood sliding onto the floor.

Neither of them seemed able to speak, and Angelus could barely stand. The teenagers were frozen in horror, and it was left to Giles to approach the stricken pair.

“I’ll take her.” He held out his arms for the Slayer.

Angelus started to hold her out towards the Watcher, then, before Giles had time to reach for her, he withdrew the gesture and held her close once more. He looked searchingly into her eyes, then turned and walked unsteadily towards the door. They could see then the dozens of lash marks that covered his back, the deep claw marks over his ribs and the gaping slash in his right side. But the worst was the dreadful hole torn in his lower back, from which blood was flowing freely. The wound must go all the way through, they realised. There was no sign that any of the wounds were healing.

They stood shocked into stillness as the vampire walked out of the library. Xander was the first to move. He looked at the others.

“Well, we’re not going to just let him walk out of here with her, are we? He’s in no condition to put up a fight. Come *on*!”

It was Willow who took hold of his arm and pulled him back.

“Leave them. He won’t hurt her.”

“What? Are you insane?”

“If she had wanted to stay here, he couldn’t have stopped her. He can’t hurt her, he’s too weak.”

Xander opened his mouth to expostulate, but this time it was Giles who stopped him. He looked to have aged ten years in two minutes.

“Leave it, Xander. Willow’s right, he won’t hurt her. She’ll come back tomorrow, I’m sure.” Yes, he was indeed sure. Giles had never considered himself as having prescient moments, but he seemed to feel one now. The vampire had looked as if he was walking away to die.

**********

They hadn’t spoken. Halfway to the mansion, Angelus could go no further. He fell to his knees, still cradling Buffy to his chest. As he sank to the ground, she freed herself from his embrace and sat, nursing his head in her lap. She wondered if she were quite mad. But this demon had taken this agony upon himself to save her. She couldn’t desert him until that debt was repaid. She held her wrist to his mouth.

“Drink!”

He looked at her, his gaze barely focused. His cheeks seemed to be sunken, and his eyes dull. Then the demon faded away, and he was left with only his human face. If anything, he looked even closer to death. Panic thrummed through her. He couldn’t die now! If he was going to be dusted, it shouldn’t be like this! She repeated her instruction, urgency harshening her voice.

“Drink!”

But how could he, with only his human teeth? She lifted him a little, and pressed his mouth to the bleeding wound in her shoulder. Relief flooded her as she felt him suckle. She knew, though, that drinking from her wound simply wasn’t going to be enough. He was losing blood much too quickly. She prayed that she would be allowed to discharge her debt to this demon, to give him his life back. She refused to contemplate why that seemed to be so important. Then she felt a change in him. She was afraid to look down but when she did, he was back in game face.

He pulled away from her. He was still ashen.

“Drink!” She reinforced the command by pressing her wrist against his fangs. She felt him bite down and draw from her. But it was over too quickly. He couldn’t have taken as much as a pint before he released her wrist.

“More.”

“No.” His voice was weak, but thouthought she saw some colour come back to his cheeks. She thanked God for slayer blood. She tried again, but he was adamant. “No. You’re wounded. You can’t spare it.”

She swore, then looked round at where they were. In the park. A thought came to her.“Sta“Stay here. Don’t even think of moving, mister.” She sprinted away on legs that were only slightly unsteady.

The loss of her touch was unbearable. For some reason, he didn’t want to die alone. He could feel the demon struggling as if trapped in a sticky gossamer spider shroud. It had no control of itself, as if it were fading in and out of consciousness. It couldn’t heal. It really was possible for a vampire to bleed to death. He was doing it now.

But he could also feel her blood, trying to work within him, to restore the demon. He hadn’t dared take more, but he hadn’t taken enough. It might well have been enough whilst he still had more blood in his body. Now, tho he he had almost bled out. There was not enough fluid in his veins to carry the Slayer’s blood to where it was needed. Unless he got blood in very large quantities, he would, indeed, die. And soon. He was only alive now because his heart was still and silent in his chest. If it had been pumping the blood round more quickly, he would be dust.

She was gone no more than ten minutes. Never since her calling had she run so fast. She could see from a distance that he was still exactly where she had left him. She had been unable to find a mugger or a junkie, although she had looked. She would deal with the implications of that later. Not now. She hadn’t dared spend more than a few moments searching, though, as she sped on her way to her goal. Something that she remembered from her patrols. She had found what she was looking for. She ran faster, tugging that something behind her. A horse.

She didn’t know whether her blood had the power to help him. He had seemed a little better after drinking from her, and that had given her hope. When she reached him, she saw that the bleeding had slowed. She felt a frisson of fear. Perhaps it had slowed not because he was healing, but because he was running out of blood. Could a vampire truly bleed out? Looking at him, she feared that the answer was staring her in the face. He couldn’t last much longer.

She tethered the horse to a park bench. Angelus was a big man, but fear lent strength to her tired muscles. She managed to get him to his feet, taking virtually all his weight as she guided him to the horse’s neck. She knhe hhe horse would feel very little pain, but took hold of the head collar just in case. Angelus managed to do the rest.

When he was finished, he had taken seven or eight pints and that fresh, living blood was sweeping Buffy’s blood around his body. He could feel the power of slayer’s blood working within him, supporting his own, reviving the demon, freeing it from the deadly embrace of the venom. Just in time. He was almost able to stand by himself, and the flow of blood had slowed to a trickle. The wounds, still ugly, were at least starting to close. With her help, he was able to get on to the horse’s back. The horse staggered, weakened now, so she spared it her own weight, and led it slowly towards the mansion.

When they got there, he was still unnaturally pale, even for him, but he looked stronger. Together, they entered the mansion, leaving the horse to find its own way back to its stable.

They went straight to his rooms, and into the bathroom. There, in silence, they stripped off and washed the dirt and the blood and the memories from each other, kneeling in the shower because he was still too weak to stand unaided. Perhaps surprisingly, he had a large first aid kit, and in silence they tended to each other’s wounds. Buffy was surprised to notice that, where the inked designs on his body had been damaged, the wounded skin was returning complete with the colour of the ink. Would they both remain tattooed for life? Or would it simply wash away with time? Well, they’d find out soon enough.

Bandaging complete, she helped Angelus lead her into his bedroom. In silence, holding the bedpost for support, he pulled back the crimson cotton sheet and stood back for her. She climbed onto the bed and under the covers. He followed. In silence she curled up, and he curled around her, one arm and one leg thrown possessively over her, his mouth buried in the crook of her neck. Mine, he thought, as he relaxed into sleep. Buffy tried not to think at all as the darkness enveloped her.

They slept until the following evening. Angelus was first to rise. He lay for a moment savouring the feel of the naked girl in his arms, the clean, fresh smell of her. And the pounding of her in his blood. He knew that he had been as close to death as he wished to come, and that it was her blood that had brought him back from the brink. She was in his blood forever now, even if she hadn’t been before. Reluctantly, he let go of her, and got up. He walked over to the telephone and dialled Willow’s number. He had them all committed to memory. She answered on the second ring.

“Willow. Bring a set of Buffy’s clothes to the mansion, will you? And some orange juice.”

“Angelus! We thought, I mean…erm…what sort of clothes?”

“Anything. Whatever you want. She can’t go home in a loincloth.”

Willow’s sigh of relief was audible. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

He crossed the room to where she still lay sleeping and he sat down on the bed, stroking her cheek, tracing the blue spiral that was inked there. His golden girl. His obsession. Buffy. She woke, and smiled at him. It seemed to him that it was a smile of love, until she remembered who it was she was smiling at.

“Willow will be here in half an hour with some clothes for you to go home in.”

“You’re letting me go?” she whispered.

He continued to trace the spiral. “You aren’t a prisoner. And your mother and your friends need to know that you are OK. You know where the bathroom is.”

He got up, gathered some clothes for himself, and walked from the room, leaving her, for reasons she couldn’t fathom, feeling bereft.

By the time she had showered, Willow had arrived. Giles had driven her, but he remained outside. Angelus took the orange juice from her, and poured out a large glassful. He mned ned to Willow to follow him, and climbed the stairs to his rooms. Buffy was wrapped in a towel, drying her hair. He handed her the glass and the carton.

“Counteracts blood loss,” he said simply, then turned back to Willow. He was amused to see that she was staring at the bed, at the rumpled sheets and at the indentations made by two heads on one pillow. She was blushing furiously and her knuckles were white as she gripped the bag she had brought. Gently, he prised the bag out of her hand and gave it to Buffy. Then he left them alone.

As he descended the stairs, he saw that Giles was standing in the doorway. His face was a frozen mask of hate, but at least he wasn’t holding a weapon.

Angelus waited for him to speak.

“I shall never forgive you for murdering Jenny, nor for what you have done to Buffy. But I think I tha thank you for saving her life. I don’t know what happened there, and I don’t know why you did it, but I don’t think she would have survived alone. For that, I am in your debt.”

He spat the words out as if they were acid, but Angelus had no doubt that he meant them. He simply nodded.

After a few moments he said, “I’m a demon. To her I look like Angel, and I know that she hopes the soul will return and give him back to her. But you and I both know that Angel’s soul is lost and gone. I’m not him. I will never be him. But she is *mine*, and I will not permit her to be hurt. Of that you can be certain. Not by humans, not by vampires, not by other demons. Only I have that right.”

Giles shivered slightly at the implications of that statement, and the vehemence of it; he wondered, what was to become of them all? Had any other slayer in history, or even in prehistory, ever had a guardian demon as fierce as this one? As her Watcher, as her surrogate father, what should he do? What *could* he do? His hatred for this vampire was a white-hot flame in his heart, but he could somehow feel the shape of the future, and it included this…thing. He looin tin the vampire’s face and saw only truth and absolute conviction. Their gazes locked, each assessing the other’s commitment to one golden girl.

Then the spell was broken as Buffy and Willow came down the stairs, silent, but otherwise like two normal teenagers.

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

Buffy didn’t patrol for the next week, whilst her injury healed. On the day after she had left the mansion, a note was delivered to Giles. It was from Angelus, saying that the Kahlavi cult were being dealt with by him. They would be no immediate threat to the Hellmouth, and his negotiations would be helped if no one killed any more of them. He would let Giles have further news when there was news to give. And he understood that the truce between them was now over.

Giles showed the note to Buffy before he told the others. Buffy’s lips tightened, but she gave no other response.

Nothing more was seen or heard of Angelus for the week that Buffy remained off patrol.

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

It was Friday night, again, and Buffy was back in the Cemetery of Eternal Rest. She was standing in front of the mausoleum. That mausoleum. She was remembering those terrible occasions and wondering whether the claw marks on her soul had perhaps eased a little. She thought they might have.

And then she felt that tingle. That special tingle. *That* vampire. Before she could even turn, she was face down on the grass, subdued by his weight, his hands clasping her wrists, holding them down to the ground. “Hello, lover,” he purred in her ear.

She had never believed that hearts actually broke, but she believed it now. She had heard and felt hers crack. She didn’t try to move. She supposed she still owed him a debt, and anyway, she didn’t think she had it in her tonight to fight him. Tomorrow, perhaps, but not tonight. After all they had been through together, she had hoped that he would…would what? Show more respect, perhaps? She didn’t know. But she should have remembered that vampires and cats were definitely not respecters of people. And nothing would ever change. This was a demon, not her beloved Angel. Oh, he wore Angel’s flesh, but that was all. She should have known.

It was several moments before she realised that some things had indeed changed. He hadn’t bound her hands. He hadn’t ripped her panties off. And he wasn’t gripping her neck with his teeth. Instead, he was gently licking the pulse point in her neck. Nuzzlinr, lr, like a large, affectionate cat. Rubbing his cheek over her jaw, as if marking her with his scent. The sensual feel of his tongue on that sensitive skin in her throat was enough to flood her with heat. He would surely smell her arousal. He did, and smiled.

Then his weight was gone from her back, and he swept her up into his arms. Taken by surprise, she didn’t struggle. He looked at her, his eyes dark and unfathomable. She thought that she was beyond being surprised by him, but what he said next showed her she was wrong.

“You know, there were a great many things that I wanted to do to you whilst we were in that cage. I thought we’d start tonight, and see how many we got through by Monday morning.”

“What!”

He grinned. He looked almost boyish when he did. He also looked like a completke.
ke.

“You need a vacation. This weekend is it.”

He started to walk towards the mansion, still holding her to his chest. She could see that the spiral of eternity was still inked on his cheek, as it was on hers.

“I’ve sent Spike and Drusilla away on an errand. They’ll be gone for at least a week. I’ve got food in for you – proper human stuff, four food groups and all – and we can send out for the rest. You can telephone your mother and Giles when we get there, and say you are staying with a friend. Apart from that, you are MINE.”

He bent to kiss her mouth, raised so alluringly to his. She turned away.

He stopped. He looked at her face. For once, he couldn’t read her. He felt a small thrill of fear.

“Have you fed tonight?”

No point trying to hide what he was. “Yes. I picked off a couple of muggers in the park on the way here. They’ll keep me going most of the weekend. I’ve got some bagged blood for Sunday, so I won’t have to go out.”

She frowned and beat at him with her fist. “And you want to kiss me with a mouthful of blood? You can just make sure you clean your fangs first, mister! I’m not kissing you until you have!”

He threw back his head and gave a shout of pure laughter. She was going to be so difficult. That was one of her attractions. But she was going to make his life so damned interesting. He didn’t know what the future held with her, although he was positive that he would have fun finding out. And he would never, ever be bored. To think that in his madness he had nearly thrown it all away on Acathla…

He gripped her more tightly, and they started off again for the mansion, the Slayer and her demon. She wrapped her arms around his neck, entangling her fingers in his silky hair. She wondered if she would be damned to Hell for trying to see the bigger picture, cast out of Heaven for all eternity for saving this demon and permig hig him to continue in his evil. For not killing him. But she thought of the cat again, as she felt the ripple of muscle under his shirt. And then she thought that, after all, there *is* more than one way to kill a cat.

THE END
But continues in 'Tyger, Tyger'
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