Tyger, Tyger

TYGER, TYGER (part3/5)

They had a battle the next day, and it was hard. They had been given battle wear again, just loincloths and the breast band. Everything seemed even skimpier than before. The Keeper had scrutinised the artwork that still adorned their bodies and pronounced himself satisfied. Then they had been led to the cages surrounding the Arena, and installed in their old quarters.

Their opponents were two demons, from different houses, co-operating against this Mated Pair from House Orbath. For the first time they could recognise someone in the tiered seating. Haraeth was on the front row. He seemed to be surrounded by the rest of his House.

The demons from House Demeral and House Ryath were strong and fast. They were also very experienced warriors. Angelus and Buffy were better. They didn’t come away unscathed – Angelus took in his right thigh the spear thrust intended for Buffy, and Buffy was scored across her back by razor sharp talons intended to rip out Angelus’ throat – but they did come away the victors. House Orbath was not fighting the following day. They had time to heal. After that day’s session ended, when they were returning to their quarters, Ezrafel whispered to Angelus that the next encounter, the one of the other sort, would be the following night, after the vampire had rested and healed. Should he send a strange keeper to Angelus, one that he wouldn’t have to see again? Angelus was oddly touched by this consideration.

“No. I prefer it to be you.”

Ezrafel blushed at the implied tr and and nodded.

He had known that the encounter would be bad. He hadn’t imagined how bad. He had been Hired for two hours, and taken in shackles to a different part of the Arena. One with comfortable facilities for private parties. A powerful patron was rewarding some of his acolytes. It was clear that the gathering had worked its way through the starters and the entrees. Angelus was the main course. The patron lounged on a couch on the dais. He would have droit de seigneur, of course.

When that was done, Angelus was shackled, on his knees, on the dais, available to all. They preferred him shackled, of course. It gave them such a feeling of power over this mighty gladiator, this darling of the masses. On his knees. At their mercy.

He pictured the alternatives. Buffy, her diminutive body kneeling in his place, her golden l enc encircled by the rough embrace of the shackles. Here, in this arena of sex and death, or there, where a new Hellmouth might see him dead and unable to protect her from this. So he endured.

Afterwards, the Keeper helped him bathe in a nearby bathhouse area, and brought fresh blood. It was human. Angelus decided not to ask how it had been obtained. He was grateful for it - it would help the scratches, bite marks and other assorted injuries to heal more quickly. Buffy might not see.

He was then returned to their quarters. She was feigning sleep. Good. He climbed into their bed, turning his back on her as he did so. He was unclean, and couldn’t bear to touch her, pollute her golden beauty with his soiled body. Not yet. Sleep was a long time coming.

The next morning, most of the marks had disappeared. A few, the deeper ones, were only half-healed, and she saw those, frowning, but said nothing. He was grateful for that, too.

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

They were, indeed, unbeatable in the arena. They were real crowd pleasers, their fighting elegant, their k qui quick and clean. But they had a lot of catching up to do. In one of the battles, they had been pitted against a family of five demons fighting as one. The Keeper hinted darkly that huge bribes had been given to have that accepted as a single unit warrior. He was sure there would be a stink about it after the Games. It would almost certainly never happen again. But it was happening now. Five demons, powerful creatures, like lithe and slender bears, but sufficiently humanoid to enable them to swing a sword with rare skill. Three had already fallen to the Master Vampire and the Slayer, and Buffy was just finishing off the fourth. Angelus was stalking the fifth. Stalking. There was no other word for it, she thought, as she pulled the sword from the bleeding body. If he had had a tail, it would be swishing. She watched with admiration the ripple of muscle as he made his final charge, and she was reminded of a poem she had once read.

Tyger, Tyger. burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

She had seen the pair of white Siberian tigers at Sunnydale Zoo. Most of the time they were somnolent beasts, soaking up the sun among the bushes, trees and play gear of their enclosure. But one day, one of them had been missing. Then, a peacock had unwisely fluttered down into the enclosure and started to display. The missing male tiger had risen silently from the shadows, and before anyone knew it, the peacock was just feathers and a meal. He had come from nowhere, his camouflage perfect, his muscles rippling, every fibre of his body attuned to the hunt. He was a clumsy beginner, compared to Angelus.

The crowd were ecstatic with their darlings.

The next encounter for Angelus was that night. While the blood of the kill was still hot, he thought. It was even worse than the last one. As the Keeper helped him bathe afterwards he thought of how the party was more drunken, the things that had been required of him more demeaning. NO! Better not to think about it. He could never forget – a demon’s memory was an eternal steel trap, after all – but there was no need to score the wound so deeply that even the scar tissue would hurt. Even after the most thorough bathing, the stink of them was still all over his skin, ground into his bones it seemed. He couldn’t escape it. There were more bites and claw marks to keep the memory fresh. Some were so deep, it would be a day or two before they completely healed. He wondered whether to ask the Keeper to simply put him into their cage until morning, but Buffy would ask questions he couldn’t answer. No. Best to slip in quietly, hope that she was asleep, and lie in the shelter of the bed until afternoon.

The Keeper finished drying him off, and offered his clothing back. Such as it was. As he was fastening the ties, the Keeper stood with downcast eyes.

“I am sorry, Angelus.”

The vampire looked up in startlement. The Keeper never used his given name. Just like Buffy. The Keeper’s eyes were sad.

“When you first came here, I understood nothing of you and your people. I know more now. I am beginning to understand how unbearable this is for you. I am sorry.”

Angelus smiled, a thin, papercut smile. “Don’t. I did it to myself, and you know there was no other option. But if I do not get what has been promised to me, if I am not given every last iota of information about the new Hellmouth, a great many people will regret not only that, but also what has happened here.”

“House Orbath is one of the most honourable of our houses. They will keep their promise.”

Angelus gave a curt nod. There was nothing more to say.

The Keeper bade him goodnight at the door to their rooms, then went on down the corridor. Angelus stood for a moment steeling himself, then entered. His heart sank. Buffy was awake, and not in a good mood. He could tell she had been pacing. Normally, she reminded him of a leopard or a cheetah, depending on whether she was stalking from cover or sprinting for her prey. Now, as she turned and walked towards him, fury in every line, she resembled nothing so much as an enraged lioness. He didn’t need to wait long to find out what had enraged her.

She drew herself up to her full height, and despite the discrepancy, managed to stand almost nose-to-nose with him.

“How. Many. More?” She was practically spitting.

“I beg your pardon?”

She looked as if she wanted to grab something – his throat, perhaps, but lacking any clothing to wrap her fist around, she made do with Mr Pointy. She clenched her fist around it, then turned it so that the needle-sharp point pricked the skin immediately over his heart.

“How. Many. More? Don’t lie to me – ever! I can see the marks of them on you. You’re covered with demon stink again.”

Fuck. Slayer senses.

“When are they coming for me? How many and how often?”

Mr Pointy pressed a little further home and a tiny bead of blood ran down his chest, like a raindrop on a window, a herald of more to come.

He remained mute, unable to form words, not knowing what to say and what to hide. He, the supreme hunter, never saw her fist, the one not holding Mr Pointy, as it crashed into his face, knocking him off his feet. He finished up sprawled sideways across the bed. Before he could recover, she had straddled him and was once more pressing the point of her question home. The stake was in about half an inch now. The raindrop was joined by others.

But the important thing was that she be reassured. He could not allow her to think that she would be defiled as he had been.

He clasped his hand around her wrist, not pushing the stake away, simply holding it steady. With his other hand he cupped her cheek.

“I have already told you. No one here will bother you. You are not for Hire.” Damn. He hadn’t meant to mention that word. She picked up on it though.

“But you are?”

“Don’t worry about anything. Just trust me.”

The stake pressed in a hairsbreadth further.

“I’ll trust you when you trust me. Now. Tell. Me. The. Truth.” At each word, the stake pressed harder.

She looked down at some of the marks on him, then locked her gaze with his. It was as if she had laid the demon bare. Understanding flooded her face.

“This is what you meant by Hiring, isn’t it? You’ve been…” she couldn’t say the words. “But you said there wouldn’t be any. I remember, because I couldn’t understand what you meant.” The understanding grew. “You wouldn’t sell them me, so you sold them you. Is that it? Why? I thought you were too alpha for that? I didn’t think Angelus would stoop to prostituting himself! What did you get for it? A nice fat fee?”

He sighed. Nothing to hide now. The lie was worse than the truth. “The Hellmouth.”

“What?”

“It was the only way we could be readmitted. House Orbath waived their rights, but the Arena wouldn’t. We have to know about the Hellmouth. You said so yourself.”

“What about me – am I sold too?”

“NO! I have told you. No-one touches you without my permission, and that will never be granted.”

She could see the truth of that in his eyes and her expression softened. Mr Pointy lifted a little, and she ran the fingers of her other hand over his cheek.

“What have you done?”

He said nothing. What was there to say?

Mr Pointy pressed down a little more.

“Don’t lie to me. A price had to be paid, yes? And you’ve protected me with your own body again?”

He had no reply to give. She must have seen something in his face, though.

“Have you bathed?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t help, does it?”

He knew what she meant, and for some reason couldn’t look her in the eye. He just shook his head in quiet misery.

She remembered those times in the cemetery, and how she had felt. This demon surely had retribution coming to him. But she also thought of why he had done this. She needed to know about the Hellmouth. Oh, he wanted to know, too, but he would have managed, she had no doubt about that. Humanity’s need was greater. Her need to know. He could have expected her to pay the price for the knowledge, but he hadn’t. He had paid it for her. She couldn’t imagine what it might mean for a creature such as him to submit as he must have done.

And she remembered their last stay here. That night before they came home; his absence from the cage; his anger and vulnerability. She hadn’t understood, then. She’d done nothing to help him then, but he had still saved her life, over and over. And he had never spoken of his shameful ordeal.

She thought of how their stolen weekend had helped to…cleanse…her, in body and in spirit.

She released her hold on the stake, and reached down to the fastenings of his loincloth. Then she rose slightly and loosened the ties of her own, throwing them both to the floor, together with the breast band.

“Bathing doesn’t help. This might, though.” She stretched along his length, like the big cat he saw in his imagination, skin to skin and reached forward to kiss him.

It was a little while before the kiss broke. When it did, he was hard, and ready. She straddled him again, and moved into position. He wanted to reach up and touch her, his palms burning with need, but this was her idea, so he lay still, letting her decide what to do. She ran her fingers over his chest, making him purr in pleasure then she bent over and licked his ear.

“Do you need to be cleansed? Reclaimed?” He knew exactly what she was offering.

“Yesss.”

And she did. Thoroughly.

He let her do exactly as she wished. Here, his submission seemed right, seemed essential to the magic of ritual purification that she was working on him. Then, as she was impaled by him and nearing her climax, she took his hands in hers and pushed them outwards and downwards until the two of them were breast to breast. And she bent her head and bit down on his jugular with her little human teeth. His howl of pleasure must have echoed through the building, but he was mindless, beyond caring, as he burst into orgasm. It was only as he came back to himself, and saw her enter the first spasms of her own fulfilment, that he saw the bead of blood on her lip. His blood. He wanted to reach up, to wipe away something that she could not understand the consequences of, but then her tongue darted out to lick it away as she entered the throes of rapture, and it was too late. And then he ceased to care, as he felt himself harden and reach fulfilment again, in coy wiy with her.

It was later, as he lay with his head cushioned on her breast that he thought of that bead of blood. When a vampire takes a human mate, the vampire is always the dominant partner. When he had drunk from her, back in the park, he had marked her as his and, weak as he was, he had willed himself to dominance. That was as it should be.

Now, she had taken him, she had drunk his blood, from a wound that she herself had made, whilst he had submitted to her will. She had been the dominant one. She had marked him as hers. In all things now, they were equals. It had never been done that way before, so far as he knew.

Still, he was certain that no vampire had ever taken a slayer as mate before, so perhaps it was fitting that they do things differently. They were true and equal mates now, although the ritual had been a bit flaky, and she was quite unaware of the fact.

Damn.

He would either have to kill her or make sure the ritual was done properly at some time in the future, with her full knowledge and understanding. But nothing, absolutely nothing, other than death would change the nature of their relationship as it was now established.

Damn.

He really wasn’t sure which alternative to opt for.

Fuck.

The next morning, she awoke with Angelus’ head on her breast. For the only time in her brief experience, he had fallen asleep in her arms, rather than the other way round. She felt what it might be like to have power over this demon, as she was afraid that he had power over her. If only it could be her Angel. But he was gone, and she was afraid he was never coming back.

This was all she might ever have of him – was it enough? Could she set aside her sacred duty for this vampire? She looked at him, relaxed in sleep, impossible to tell apart from Angel just at this moment. She thought of the beauty and deadliness of this tiger again, and then she remembered another small piece of the poem. She thought it had stuck in her mind because Angelus seemed to be essence of tiger; tiger writ large, as it were. So had Angel, when he had fought alongside her.

When the stars threw down their spears
And water’d heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Are we all God’s creatures, she wondered? All playthings for the powers that be? If she could not be with Angel, if she and he could not fulfil their destiny together because of that insane happiness clause, could Angelus take his place? Was that meant to be? That she take this demon and mould him to her own purposes? Just what was the difference between a soul and a demon anyway? When the soul at times acted like the demon, and the demon at times acted like the soul? In this being, did they complete each other? How could she ever know? If only Angel’s soul were here, she would cleave to this demon for eternity. Small steps, she thought. One at a time. And go with gut instinct. It seemed to serve slayers well.

Her arms tightened of their own accord, and she dropped a light kiss on the top of his head, trying not to awaken him. The rest would do him good. But he was awake already. When he felt the kiss, he feathered one of his own across her midriff. Neither of them slept for a while after that.

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

In the afternoons, they rested in their cage, or fought and won their battles. Then it was time for the very last battle. All but one of the other comers had been defeated.

At night, they had waited for the call that didn’t come, the summons to Angelus for his third and final humiliation. Each night, when they were sure there would be no call, they had offered each other comfort in the oldest way known to man and demon. Nothing fancy. Just simple lovemaking. Simple as it was, it took both of them to the places where galaxies are born, and universes die. It left them sated, cleansed and claimed. Each night the demon fell asleep curled around the Slayer, one arm and one leg thrown possessively over her.

Then it was time for the final humiliation, too.

Ezrafel came to them one afternoon, when they had been in Hylek for almost a month, bringing with him the servitors that supplied their meals. They brought fish, a dish of eggs, hot crusty bread and fresh fruit for Buffy, and a jug of blood for Angelus. Human blood.

When the servitors had gone, Ezrafel lingered.

“I must come for you tonight.”

He hesitated, and as they waited, Buffy wrapped her arms around Angelus’ waist, leaning her head against his chest. Suddenly the Hylekian picked up the water jug from the table and hurled it across the room. They had never seen him angry before. He stood silent, hugging himself, his head bowed low. Angelus disengaged himself from Buffy, very gently, and moved over to the Keeper. He put a hand on the demon’s shoulder.

“Tell me. It is better that I know and can be prepared.”

When the Hylekian looked up, there were tears standing in his eyes.

“Never has this been done before! It is beyond all fairness. It is quite unthinkable. Infamous!”

For a moment he was unable to continue. Angelus looked helplessly at Buffy. She, too, moved over to join them, and together they embraced the distressed Keeper. At that moment, Buffy saw little difference between the demon Keeper and her human Watcher. They both seemed to be made of similar stuff.

Angelus tried again.

“Come. Tell me what is wrong.”

The Keeper straightened himself. “Your third Hiring is at the Palace, and may not be gainsaid. You will be there all night tonight, returning at dawn.”

Oh.

“Very well. But we knew that one of the Hirings must be all night.” He felt Buffy stiffen – she hadn’t known. Damn. “What is so terrible about this?”

“Your final battle, the one to determine which House will take the Royal Standard, is tomorrow, at noon.”

Sonofabitch! He had a suspicion of what was happening. “Which House are we competing against? Which is the one left?”

“The House of Vermald. The current Royal Household.”

Ah. They were the ones in the Bursar’s ledger, then. This was their back-up plan.

“And the Council thinks that’s fair play?” That was Buffy, his angry lioness. He had to smile.

The Keeper went on, “It has been deemed fair because only one of you is involved. The other will be fresh and…uninjured.”

Buffy intervened again. “Can we appeal? We must be able to, right?”

“No. The only appeal is to the Royal Household. They have done this deliberately. There is more. There is intelligence that they are unwilling to relinquish their current status and are taking steps to make sure they are not ousted. I do not believe you will be killed tonight – there is too big a risk of mob riots, you are so popular – but you may be harmed so that you cannot fight, or at least cannot fight well.”

They both took in the implications of what the Keeper had said. All three remained in an embrace of mutual comfort for a long time, before Ezrafel called in a servitor to clear up the broken glass.

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

When it was over, when Ezrafel helped Angelus back into their room, Buffy was shocked. The claw and bite marks were only a little worse than she had seen before, but the vampire was stiff and ungainly, with none of his accustomed animal grace. When the door had opened, he had not tried to hide the pain on his face, a reflection of both mind and body. When he saw her companion, though, his expression closed down, became carefully neutral. Haraeth. He had come a little before dawn, with a gift.

Haraeth rose from his chair now and stood before Angelus. He seemed lost for words. His jaw tightened, and he simply pressed the small enamelled box into Angelus’ hand then strode from the room.

Buffy moved to help Ezrafel, and together, they lowered Angelus to the bed. She took the box from him.

“The Orbaths are furious. The entire House has spent all night finding this. They had to go outside this dimension. It’s spelled, and they say it’ll heal you in time for the contest. I think Haraeth would be happy to take a swing at those rulers himself.” She ran her fingers down his cheek. “Those sonsofbitches aren’t going to know what’s hit them when I find them!”

He smiled for her. His lioness.

Ezrafel hurried off to fetch some more blood. He had a small supply of fresh human blood, obtained against this day. It would help Angelus heal more quickly, give him more strength, than animal blood.

Buffy had something else in mind. She put her wrist to Angelus’ mouth.

“Drink.”

“No.” He pushed her arm away. “You will need all your strength. You cannot afford to lose any.” He reached up and stroked her hair. “But thank you.”

She started to argue, but he put his finger over her lips.

“No. That is final.” He looked at her. His golden girl. His obsession. He had to admit that now. An unaccustomed warmth swept through him. “I…”

He bit off the rest of the words he had been about to say. They had nothing to do with demons. They were impossible. Unthinkable. He wouldn’t lie to her, make her think that he was capable of…No!

“Turn over.”

He didn’t; he simply reached for the box. “I can manage.”

She wouldn’t let go of it. “Turn over. Now!” She stroked his face again. “Angelus, I know you’ve got a chunk of pride as big as Texas, but we’re in this thing together. Turn over, dammit or I’ll turn you over!”

He did. His lioness. She was a fit mate for him. She was the only possible mate for him. In a fit of unaccustomed self-introspection, he wondered whether he was ready for her as his mate, whether the Hylekians had seen something that he hadn’t acknowledged? Well, perhaps time would tell. She unfastened the loincloth, and he heard her sharp intake of breath at the damage she found there. Then she set to work.

The ointment felt wonderful. Soothing and cooling. Buffy’s little fingers made sure it reached where it was needed. He could feel it working immediately. She was in the middle of her ministrations when Ezrafel returned, carrying a pitcher of blood.

The demon blushed when he saw what he had interrupted. If Angelus could have blushed, he would have too. It was an unaccustomed feeling for him. Only Buffy seemed completely unfazed.

“Thank you Ezrafel. Can you bring a glassful over here?”

She finished her work, and Angelus turned over to take the brimming glass of blood. It was good. He felt better already.

“You have 6 hours to rest and heal. I will come for you then. The servitors will bring your breakfast, Slayer, in about an hour. Otherwise you will be undisturbed.” With a small bow, he turned and left.

Buffy ran a fingernail down Angelus’ chest, scraping over his nipple as she did so. He hissed in pleasure. She smiled, and as she bent to kiss him she murmured, “We’ve got an hour, anyway.” Then she proceeded to purify him and reclaim him in her own special way.

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

On to chapter 4
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