Solstice

SOLSTICE
Part 3/10

I’m moderately surprised by how much I managed to achieve last night. I’m also moderately surprised that I let the Watcher live after he saw the inscription I’ve had put into the wedding ring I got for Buffy. It was an extremely private sentiment, a very personal whim. I really think, though, that this would be a sin that she would not forgive. I must never kill her friends or family, and oddly enough, I rarely feel the urge to do so – only when they are being more than normally irritating. I keep reflecting on Tarwordwords in the cemetery, and I’m beginning to feel a bit like one of those dangerous fighting dogs that are always kept on a leash and wearing a muzzle. A Japanese Akita, maybe. And the Slayer holds the leash. Someone should die for that but, just now, I’m not sure who, because I think I’ve probably put the muzzle on myself. I should go out and find a really vile kill to take the taste of this… neutering… away.

But Buffy was right. We are going to have to find some accommodn win with each other, or we’ll finish up with a life filled with fucking and fighting, and nothing else. I don’t mind the first two at all, but after a few decades a life with nothing else would really seem pallid compared to what we could have had. Besides, I do have broader wishes. So, I must look within myself at how I am prepared to compromise and what she might be prepared to live with. I can’t and won’t stop her slaying, either – it’s who she is, after all – so I must give her some leeway. She’s my equal, not my inferior. That’s one of the reasons I love her. Only one of them, though.

I’m off to find her now. Faith has settled into the mansion – she doesn’t seem to mind the builder’s rubble, and the prospect of cleaning up with a wheelbarrow – and she is keeping a weather eye on Lindsey. Well, she’s keeping something on Lindsey; let’s leave it at that. One day, I’m going to deliberately walk in on the pair of them, and demand some compensation in kind for disturbing me… Not that I need an excuse, you understand. I could simply insist on my rights as master here. I prefer to make it something of a game, though. It’s more fun and less pompous that way. For now, though, I’ve taken the penthouse suite at the Sunnydale Hotel. My hotel. I’ve got a couple of surprises for my Slayer there. You’ve seen one of them.

When I get to her house, she has a surprise for me. She isn’t there. Dawn, sulking because she’s not been allowed to go with her sister, tells me that they had reports of some demon fish attacking swimmers off the beach. She’s gone to investigate, and to slay it. Damn it, she’s going to have to learn that she does not go slaying dangerous things unless I’m there with her. And I’m not dressed for the beach.

It doesn’t take long to get there, and she’s easy to find when I do. She’s the one with the sword. The other one is, indeed, a demon fish, and at the moment it’s winning. I am *not* going to lose her now.

It’s a Sarroth demon. It can take the form of any fish it likes, but it generally likes the look of a sunfish. Now, these can grow to 16 feet and weigh 2 tons. They are perfectly disc-shaped, and pretty harmless. They eat meat, but only little things, because they have quite a small mouth. Not the Sarroth. In the real sunfish, the head can be a third of the body size. The Sarroth has a mouth to match that head, with an impressive array of fangs. I hate Sarroths. The body armour is invulnerable to bladed weapons, and there’s only one way to kill them. Buffy doesn’t know it, and she certainly isn’t going to do it. Not if I have any say in the matter, and I do. Damn. I had other plans for tonight.

I stride down the beach and into the sea. In the shallow water, the Sarroth is on its side, all the better to bite her, and she can’t, as I thought, get the sword to bite back. I capture her wrist with my hand – we’ll have no accidental beheadings here, thank you – and duck just in time to dodge the punch that she throws. She laughs with relief when she sees that it’s me. I’m definitely frowning, though. She has no idea how dangerous these things are.

I take the sword from her – she protests, and I’d love to shut her up by kissing her, but not with the demon snapping at my balls – and I slap her on the rump to send her back to the beach. I’ll suffer for lat later, and I just can’t wait to see how…

I smack the demon hard across the nose with the sword, and that huge maw opens up. I have to time this just right to avoid those really lethal fangs. As the jaws gape wider, and in company with quite a large quantity of ocean, I dive down the demon’s gullet.

It isn’t fun down here. It’s messy, and smelly, and there are all sorts of things that even I don’t feel the need to enquire into. None of my clothes will ever be the same again. Well, silk and digestive juices just don’t mix, do they? The job is simple, though. Break through the stomach wall, hack the heart into tiny pieces, and then cut my way out through the gills. Simple’ish. These things are *really* slender, for all their size, and there’s not that much elbow room. There’s not much standing room, either, so all this has to be done at a crouch. Try it sometime. It isn’t good for the temper. Something a bit smaller than a sword would have been good, so it’s more a case of mincing and slicing than cutting and hewing. It gets the job done, though, if a bit more slowly. This particular sort of demon goo is a sickly custard yellow. You really don’t ever want to see it. When I’m done, I never want to see it again, either.

When I’m finally out, despite the vast expanse of ocean around me, the demon goo sticks like, well, demon goo. It’s in my hair, all over my clothes, up my nose – you can imagine. I stalk back onto the beach as the demon’s body washes gently out into the Pacific, to find that my love has come out of her horror at seeing me disappear into a demon’s gullet, and is laughing uncontrollably at the sight that I present. I glower at her for some very long seconds, and then I, too, see the funny side. Soon, we are both kneeling on the sand, our sides aching and our eyes streaming. In my case the sand adds a fetching textural effect to the demon goo. I have to say that laughing at myself hasn’t been a common practice of mine, but I’m enjoying it now.

Soon, like two overgrown children, we are rolling around in the sand. Apart from anything else, she’s using it as an abrasive to get the goo off, and she’s letting it into all sorts of places that the goo never originally reached, with interesting sensual effects. When I finally wrestle her to a standstill – or a lie-still might be a better description – I am aching for her in all sorts of ways. Discretion is the better part of valour just here, though, since I’ve no wish to introduce lashings of sand into our coital activities. Gently, she starts to remove my clothes, and when I move to stop her, she shushes me and carries on. Oh, well. I’m sure I’ll manage somehow.

That isn’t her intention, though; at least not for now. When we are both naked, and my desire for her is perfectly evident, if a bit sandy, she pulls me to my feet and leads me by the hand out into the ocean. Now, there is something you should know about vampires and large bodies of water. Buoyancy, for a human, is provided by the air in your bodies. As a dead man, I don’t have so very much of that, so I have to remember to breathe. Even doing that, I’ve never been a natural swimmer. She is superb. Out in the deeper reaches, she teaches me movements that a merman would envy, and all the time she is cleaning me, cleansing me, purging me of the inner stench of the demon. Rocked on the billowing waves, entwined with my mate, I can think of only one finer way of spending the night. It’s a close thing at that.

Eventually, we allow the waves to wash us gently back ashore. My clothes, heaped up with hers on the beach, are ruined but there’s nothing else for me to wear, so we clean them up as best we can. All I can say is that it’s a good job that I routinely keep a couple of blankets in the car, for emergencies, and that the hotel has a private elevator from the car park to the penthouse suite. Oh, and the suite has a really good shower. Big. It’s amply big enough for two, in fact.

As we soap each other down, I tell her at length how foolish she is for trying to tackle something like a Sarroth demon without backup. Without me. She makes absolutely no reply. I’m sure she’s listening, though. As we rinse each other off, I go on to explain to her, again at length, how, whenever she goes out slaying, I’ll be with her in future. Still, she says nothing, but she trails her fingers gently around some of the more tender spots that have recently been liberated from their coating of sand and salt. At least one of those more tender spots comes up to greet her, eager to feel more of those questing fingers.

I start to ask her if she understands my strictures on her reckless conduct, but even I can recognise by now that the sounds coming from me aren’t really words anymore. There’s the occasional hissed ‘yessss!’ and ‘more’ and ‘harder’, but the rest is no more than animal grunts and moans. A small, protest of loss escapes me when she withdraws her fingers, but they are instantly replaced by a rhapsody of lips and tongue and teeth. Oh yes, and those fingers again. By this time, I am leaning into the wall, my palms and forehead pressed against the cool wetness of the blue tiles. I am panting. Old habits die hard. When she brings me to an exple, ae, all-consuming fulfilment, I have no capacity for thought, no ability to remember that I have ever wanted to prohibit her from doing anything, except stopping what she is doing now. That, I utterly forbid.

When I am quite recovered, I carry her through to the bedroom and return the favour. In detail. With interest.

Eventually we are sated and at peace, me spooned around her back, my arms enfolding her, holding her warmth and her life into me. Now might be as good a time as any. Well I’m not the sort to go down on one knee, you know.

“Marry me?”

Okay, I’ve done better, I admit it, although never with that particular sentence. She’s dozing a little, though, and doesn’t quite hear.

“Hmm?”

I snuggle a little closer, my mouth against her ear. I give her earlobe the gentlest of nips.

“Will you marry me?”

I hear the sharp intake of breath, and the sudden thump of her heart.

“A…a vampire…wedding?”

“No. A priest and a church and a white wedding gown. Marry me?”

Using her slayer-strength, she forces me to loosen my hold so that she can turn over, and look me in the eye. She thinks I’m teasing her.

“I… I don’t understand what you mean?”

I release her and reach back to the bedside cabinet, bringing out the box that I brought with me from Los Angeles. These rings were made by a family of Plath demons. I’m going to try to attract one of them to my court. They’re superlative gem carvers and jewellers, and I am sure I shall want to give her many other gifts. I open the black velvet box, and hand it to her. I feel like the callowest youth, waiting for her answer.

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

I was angry with him for not trusting me to kill that fish demon, then horrified at what he actually had to do to kill it. When he stalked back out of the sea? I’ve never seen him look so ridiculous. Or so boyish. Cleaning him up and making love to him in the ocean was almost beyond anything. Although not quite beyond making love to him here, tonight.

I love lying next to him, you know. He’s never overheated and sweaty, like a human male. Angel took my virginity and changed me in more ways than one. He spoiled me for any male, except his two halves, physically as well as in my heart. When my demon holds me close, as he was doing just now, he brings a stillness, a calmness, to me that I seem to lack when he isn’t there. I was close to sleep, I remember that, when he said something. His voice was intense with passion, but kept low, and I didn’t quite hear.

“M..y m..?”

“Hmm?”

He snuggles a little closer, his mouth against my ear. He gives my earlobe the gentlest of nips, sending shudders down my spine. I start to crave him all over again, and I’m definitely not sleepy now.

“Will you marry me?”

Did I hear that right? What on earth does he mean? Is he asking me to be his mate? I thought he said we already were. Does he mean an actual mating ceremony?

“A…a vampire…wedding?”

“No. A priest and a church and a white wedding gown. Marry me?”

What? I can’t be getting this right. Or he’s being crueller than he’s ever been to me. I can’t believe that.

Using my slayer-strength, I force him to loosen his hold so that I can turn over, and look him in the eye. I badly need to see him, see his face.

“I… I don’t understand what you mean?”

He releases me and reaches back to the bedside cabinet, bringing out a black velvet box. He opens it, and without a word he hands it to me. There’s something very vulnerable about his expression. It makes me want to hold him and never let him go, to reassure him that I will always be his. Then I look at the box. There are two rings in it. One is a circle of alternating diamonds and deep red rubies set in what looks like platinum or white gold. They are long stones, square cut, curved into parts of a circle, and they sit between two perfectly smooth rings of some black stone, maybe onyx or jet. It is absolutely beautiful, and so Angelus. So me, as well, I think.

The other is a plain, heavy band, again platinum or white gold. It’s a wedding ring. Even I can see that. He said that he would give me a ring to wear, and that we would wear the two claddagh until he had done so. Those little silver rings were somehow lost in the Underworld and my finger has felt naked without it. I don’t know how he has felt, but I have sometimes seen him rubbing that finger, as if something were missing. Now, he has offered me his own. I feel lost for words, a little numb, even, and in this space of time before the emotions hit me – as I *know* they will – I take the two rings from the box and lay them in the palm of my hand. I can see that there is an inscription in the wedding ring.

Anima mea

I don’t know what that means.

“What does the inscription say?”

My voice doesn’t sound like my own. Neither does his, when he answers, but his eyes, those sparkling, devilish eyes, are filled with warmth.

“Anima mea. It’s Latin. It means ‘My s.”
.”

That’s when I burst into tears.

He stiffens for a split second, and then hugs me close, almost tipping the rings out of my palm and into the strewn bedclothes. He strokes my hair gently and murmurs soothing words to me, nonsense words, simply giving me comfort. I can’t help it. The emotions have swelled within me until I feel my skin about to burst. I’m too full to speak. I don’t know how, or even if, it can be accomplished, but this demon, my soul mate, loves me enough to want to marry me. And he loves me enough to think of me as his soul. Never, in whatever time we may have together, could I love him more than I do at this moment. He doesn’t understand though. He thinks he’s done something wrong.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I should have thought. I should have known… You still love Angel. It doesn’t matter… I’ll get it changed… Or, we don’t need to have a wedding, if you don’t want…

His voice is gruff, as if he might be close to tears himself.

I tug at a corner of the sheet and use it to wipe my eyes. I could really do with blowing my nose, but not on the sheet. I make do with a deep sniff and swallow, and then I bring up my hand, pulling it out of his embrace to stroke his cheek. I pull his head down towards mine and give him a warm but watery kiss. When I break it, he looks confused and a little lost.

“Don’t you back out on me now, you fool. And you’ll change nothing about those rings. Do you really think you can pull a wedding off?”

That takes a moment to sink in. The smile on his face is worth waiting for.

“If you want it, it’s already fixed. No point proposing, if I can’t deliver.”

He looks a bite a e a puppy that has learned a new trick. I hug him to me, just as hard as I can. If he were human, I would probably have broken several of his ribs.

“Don’t think you can wriggle out of it now – that would be breach of promise. You’d better tell me what name I’m going to have. Mrs Angelus?” He opens his mouth to speak, but I put my finger against his lips. “Not now. Tell me everything later. Everything. Do you know how much I love you, my mate, my husband-to-be?”

I then proceed to show him, in no uncertain terms. I think he gets the message, but just to be sure, I show him a second and then a third time. By that time, I’m fairly certain he understands, but I need to demonstrate it in a different way. I’m still clutching the rings. I hand the wedding ring back to him, and tell him to put that in the box, then I put the other, the engagement ring, on my finger. Third finger, left hand.

“Tell me where you got these from. I’m going to get a matching wedding ring for you – don’t think you’re going to get away without one. You are *mine*, understand?”

“Got it…”

His smile is so unlike his usually rakish smirk, and so like Angel’s, that I could cry again, but I swallow that back. He pulls the sheet over us as we lie together, my head resting on his chest. There are so many things that need to be explored, so many lines to be drawn in the sand, and accommodations to be reached, but none of that is beyond us, I’m sure. Tomorrow will be soon enough for that.

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

I told you I’d got another surprise for her, didn’t I? I gave it to her the next morning. Her marriage settlement. The bills for the wedding will all come to me, of course, but she’s scrimped and scraped for long enough. She needs money of her own. We had a fight about it. She refused to ‘be bought’ and I insisted that she have her financial independence. I don’t want her coming to me for money – ftherther things, definitely, but not for money. If there comes a time that I haven’t got it, she won’t be able to have it, but that isn’t now. When I say we had a fight, it wasn’t just words.

We broke some of the furniture. Well, a lot of the furniture. I said that, since she was now a well-to-do woman of means and since these are the days of equal opportunity, I would allow her to pay for the breakages. That made her laugh. So we stopped fighting and did the other thing. That was much better.

She was just as surprised when I told her the date for the marriage. She protested vigorously, and we almost broke some more furniture, but when I confessed that the date was chosen for her, to give her a mystical independence as well as the financial one we’d already fought about, she became uncharacteristically quiet for a few minutes, then just nodded her head and pulled me back down for more of the other thing. There was something on her mind, though. I can always tell. Eventually, as we lie snuggled up in the afterglow, she puts it into words.

“I thought vampires mated, rather than married.”

Her voice is worried, anxious.

“Yes, they do.”

“Why do you want to marry me, rather than… you know…?”

I can’t do it, just yet. I can’t tell her everything I should. I want to, but I’m too afraid. I want her safely tied to me first. Then I’ll tell her. I’d thought that the simple mating ceremony would be enough, but I’ve been thinking about that. It won’t. It won’t protect her from the plotting, in-fighting and sheer power politics of the vampire world. There is another ritual that will, though. The ritual of eternal mates is a cleaving to each other for the whole of eternity. That’s what we are, but even more so than with a normal mating, the proper rituals need to be performed if she is to have the protection she needs. It’s just that the form of it won’t be acceptable to her. I know it won’t. I’m going to have to ask her, though. Oh, don’t worry, if she doesn’t want to, we won’t do it, but that will give us a whole raft of other problems. Still, we seem to have been living our lives one problem at a time, and who’s keeping score? I prevaricate.

“We are mates, even without the ceremony. We’ve made oaths to each other and exchanged blood. After we’re married, we can talk about whether we want the formal ceremonies for a mating. It’s not important.”

It is, but I can’t say it yet. I can tell she’s not entirely satisfied with my reply, but she lets it go.

I really don’t want to dwell on the next three weeks. Anyone who has ever been involved in a wedding in any capacity whatsoever will know why. I go back, often, to the idea of just running away with her. Cowardice in the line of fire, I know. Just name me one man who hasn’t had the same feelings of terror.

The priest is true to his word, and he comes to talk to Buffy. I introduce them, and am hustled out of the door. I don’t know what they talk about, but both of them look satisfied afterwards. That may be one of the strangest things about this whole affair.

He has reached agreement to borrow the Church of St Michael for the ceremony. I know it – it’s perhaps the most beautiful in Sunnydale, outside as well as in. It stands on a hill to the north of the town – churches dedicated to St Michael, the warrior archangel, seem to be almost always on a hill, as if standing guard. He suggests that we use the exterior. There is a prettily planted garden on the approach to the church, the edges of which blend into the graveyard. There is an expanse of grass, suited to our purposes since this will not be a large wedding, and we can put an arbour there, beneath which we can be wed. It sounds perfect. He has produced a service that will not involve me getting burned by holy objects nor require me to swear oaths by any almighty god. Perfect.

The mansion won’t quite be ready for the day, so the reception will be held at the hotel, and I’ll carry Buffy off for an extended honeymoon afterwards. I’m keeping our destination a close secret. That will be just for us.

At the moment, Buffy is drawing closer to her friends and family, which is good, but she’s becoming quite coy with respect to us. I suppose all brides are like that – saving the best until the wedding night. I’m content to play along. I’ve got any number of willing bedmates, including another Sla I I haven’t made a move on Faith, though. Somehow, that doesn’t seem…right. There’s Lindsey, though. Let’s just say that when I need to relax a bit, I’m occupying myself with Lindsey, as nice a piece of ass as you could find anywhere.

Lindsey was always drawn to the Soul, but the Soul never used that against him, as he should have. It was a weakness he could and should have exploited, rather than trying to make Lindsey want redemption. I’m not so foolish. Lindsey is Japheth’s childe, and I don’t feel inclined to bond him, to share the extras in my blood now that I have so much more of Aurelius, of Sekhmet and of Buffy than ever before. Perhaps I’ll bond him later. Or perhaps, when Drusilla comes back, she can do the bonding. He’ll be akin to my grandchilde then. Or perhaps it won’t matter. I say that, because he’s as attracted to me as he was to the Soul and he’s just as attracted to the power base that I’m building here. He can see a future that might not have some of the disadvantages of a future with the law firm.

He’s finding that he likes the pain as much as the pleasure, too. Well, some of it. He’s finding a whole new world of sensation. So, he makes a nice distraction, while I wait for my bride. Faith can amuse herself elsewhere for a few weeks.

As the day grows nearer, I grow more nervous. Just like you humans, damn it. So long as she isn’t having second thoughts… Tell me again why I haven’t simply run away with her.

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

I can’t imagine anything more perfect, unless Angel were to be here, too. I’ve come to terms with that, as well as I ever will. I understand that the limitations on soul magic mean that the curse can never be renewed. Three times in, three times out, and that’s it. The power of three. So now I pray for his soul, every day. I pray that it has found a peaceful haven, and that we may be reunited in the afterlife. I try not to think too much about the afterlife, though, because what I would really want is for all three of us to be together. I don’t want to be parted from my demon, and I really don’t see how any of that is possible. Still, I can’t do anything about it, so I simply pray for Angel’s peace.

As for the wedding, I have only to wish it, and Angelus ensures that it’s there. It’s making me a bit complacent, but I can’t tell you how good it is to be able to let him shoulder all the responsibilities, just for a little while. He hasn’t talked to me about it, but I know that he has his people patrolling for strangers – strange demons, strange criminals, whatever. For a short space of time, I don’t have to be the Slayer. He hasn’t killed recently, and he’s made no new minions. It’s a sort of truce. Perhaps it’s one we can build on.

I know he will never be faithful to me, and that bothers me more than I can tell you, but we’re going to have to work that out as we go along. I knew that when I accepted him as my mate. I knew it even more when I accepted him as my fiancé, but perhaps I can keep him sated enough that he won’t want to wander very often… The killing worries me more, but perhaps he knows that. Perhaps he’ll keep on compromising.

Nevertheless, I am going to love him, but I am going to use him, if I can, to create a wider peace for humanity than a single slayer ever could. That was what I told Father Jerome, and he seemed content. He talked to me for a long time, and seemed satisfied that Angelus is in no way forcing me into this relationship. That seemed his greatest worry, not the relationship itself. Yet, when I asked him, he knows exactly who Angelus is. He did tell me, though, that if I am in need of help, I should go to the Church of St Jude’s in Los Angeles. I will always find help there, he says.

I’ve stayed away from Angelus, so far as I can. No, we’ve spoken and we’ve seen each other – I haven’t stayed away like that. But I’m sleeping alone, with only my memories of Angel. I won’t be able to indulge myself like this afterwards. He always seems to know when I’m thinking of Angel, and although he has said that he doesn’t resent my love for his other half, I don’t want to test that too hard. He’s a very unpredictable demon.

Apart from that, I feel nervous, like any bride whose wedding day is almost here. Will he change his mind – he’s so very mercurial, after all? Surely not. I don’t feel anything but love and contentment coming through the link. My love for him seems to have filled every part of my heart. I once read about a Queen of England who said that, when she died, they would find the word ‘Calais’ written on her heart. When I die, I’m sure the name ‘Angelus’ will be etched into my very bones. It will be alongside the name ‘Angel’.

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

It’s the day at last. Or the night, rather. It’s the summer solstice, and from now on the power of the night will be growing. I wasn’t entirely selfless in choosing this night. There won’t be too many people here. Our respective households will attend, of course, including Faith and Oz and Nina. Aurelius is here as my best man. Cordelia, Gunn and Wesley have come from Los Angeles. They haven’t given me an answer yand and I must deal with that before we leave for our honeymoon. Perhaps I’ll just give them an extension…

Buffy has invited Hank and his new wife – I refuse to name her Buffy’s stepmother – on the strict condition that I do nothing to terrify them. Even though Hank is here, he won’t be giving her away. He was a bit put out by that, but hasn’t made any trouble. Giles will have the honours, and that is much more fitting. Dawn and Willow and Tara will be her bridesmaids.

I’m just putting the final touches to my toilet, and nerves are making my fingers clumsy. This is ridiculous. Aurelius has taken over, and is tying my tie. This is so lowering. He has something he wants to talk about, and he decides that now is a good time. Now? Talking? My brain is like porridge, with my nervousness. Now is so not good. Still, perhaps it will take my mind off what is to come. Listen, I may be quite a lot older than you are, but this is still my first marriage.

“Angelus, I have a gift for you, for your wedding.”

Gift? He’s already brought gifts, I know that.

I squint down at him as he fiddles under my chin to finalise the knot.

“I’ve been without a beta for too long now. I’m offering that to you.”

What! That could be either a gift beyond price or a poisoned chalice. With my chin stuck in the air, I have to swallow audibly before I can reply. Damn.

“Why would you offer that to me? You have a number of childer of your own, all much older than me, with higher standing.”

That pains me to say, but it’s the truth. He smiles.

“None of them want it. And before you ask, you are held in sufficiently high regard that I have no doubts about doing this.”

I am? Well, now. There is another issue, though.

“What about Buffy?”

He looks positively mischievous now.

“She may have to demonstrate that her place is at your side, and that she is worthy of their respect, but I don’t doubt that she can do that. Provided you mean to go through with the mating ceremony, that is.”

Ah, there we are again. The thing I haven’t talked to her about. I tell him that.

“Hmm. I can see why you might be wary of raising it, but you must, you know. My childer won’t be a problem, but it will be up to you to deal with the other branches of the clan. And to make sure there are none who will… encroach… from other clans.”

No, I’m not prepared to explain yet. Not until I’ve tried to explain it to Buffy. I nod in silence. He’s absolutely right. I never considered myself to lack courage, but I’m yellow through and through where this is concerned.

Still, he needs an answer on the offer he has made to me. It is a very handsome offer. It will involve a lot of time and travel for me in the years to come, but it will give me power and status beyond my years.

“Thank you for the offer. I’m very flattered.”

And I am, especially having so recently challenged him for leadership, and been let off with my life. I may have been defeated, but he’s given me the next best thing.

“You’ll do it?”

“Yes.”

With that, he smiles his pleasure, and leads me out to the car. When we get there, he checks that he has both rings – Buffy has had a duplicate wedding ring made, exactly the same as the one I bought for her. The only difference is in the poesy – after all, she needs no other soul. The one she has shines so brightly now that I’m bedazzled by it, I admit. The inscription she’s had put there made my blood run even colder when I saw it, though.

Endless like my love. Forever.

You have a saying when you feel like that – ‘someone has walked over my grave’. Maybe someone did. It’s not that I doubt her. I don’t. It’s simply that I am eternal, and she isn’t. I know that one day, in the fullness of time, she must die. That ring will remind me of it every day of our lives. Still, I wouldn’t need the ring to do that.

When we arrive at the church, the rest are gathering. The priest is there, in his vestments, standing by the arbour. It is an arch lavishly entwined with red and white roses for true love and passion, and edged with orange blossom, for eternal love, purity and innocence. She’s all that to me. We go to join the priest. I’m amazed that he seems so comfortable with what he is doing. I also remember his price. We agreed that he would tell me what service he required me to perform, and that I should know it before this ceremony was concluded, but he has said nothing. If he does not, I shall consider myself to be free of debt. Perhaps.

As I stand waiting, I wonder what the incumbent priest of St Michael’s thinks of having this alfresco arrangement in his churchyard. I ask Father Jerome. He smiles slyly, and tells me that the good priest owed him a favour.

I have not been allowed to see Buffy today, and although I’ve paid for it, I haven’t been allowed to see her dress. I wonder what she has chosen. And then here she is. Two limousines, decorated with white flowers and ribbons, pull up beside the path. Xander and Anya help the three bridesmaids, all in flattering gowns of palest sea green, from the first limousine, which pulls away so that the second can allow its passengers to alight. Giles gets out first, on the far side, and walks around to help his charge. He opens the door, leans forward, and hands her out. She is the most exquisite creature I have ever seen.

Her hair, shining even in the moonlight, is knotted high on her head, with glowing curls hanging in ringlets from the knots. Her dress is ivory silk, and she wears the silver cross that the Soul gave her when he first met her. It seems right that she should do so. If he hadn’t loved her, and she him, perhaps we wouldn’t be where we are today. She hasn’t lowered her veil yet, and I can see the breathless excitement on her face as well as scenting it in the air, even mingled with the heady fragrances from the bower. She’s holding a simple bouquet of white roses set in a variety of everlasting flowers, blue and white. I suppose the everlasting flowers signify my non-human status.

Giles helps her to shake out her dress. Xander and Anya move back towards the little congregation and the bridesmaids start to move towards her, taking up position at her back.

I know what it is as soon as I hear it. The shot has been silenced, but it still rings out loud and clear to my demonic hearing. All my senses shift to maximum and I *see* the bullet in its trajectory. It’s perhaps three hundred feet from the arbour to the car, and I cover it with the best speed I can muster. I doubt any of the humans here actually see me in motion. Yet, I’m too slow; I can never be anything but too slow. Still, I must. I. I watch the bullet flying to its target, and although everything is moving so slowly that there seems to be all the time in the world, I cannot get there in time. I see her stagger from the impact, and I am too late. I watch the perfect petals of crimson and scarlet unfurl on the ivory silk. Blue blood and red blood, arterial and venous, it’s all heart’s blood from my mate. I’m there to catch her as she falls, and although I’m not in time to stop the bullet that has created those perfect red petals, I am in time to feel the second as it hits me in the back, exactly where her heart would have been had I not caught her. It almost knocks me to the ground, but I manage to keep hold of her, cushion her from the fall.

Gently, gently, I lower her to the ground, my beloved sinking towards the grass and the earth, towards the grave dust at the edge of this graveyard, until both of us are on our knees, and I am clutching her body to mine. The bullet has missed her heart by a hairsbreadth, but it will still kill her. Even if it didn’t, the assassin has made sure she will die. My roar is one of pain and rage and grief. Any vampire within fifty miles will hear it and know my loss.

Then Aurelius is there, with the witches, still in slow motion. The humans have barely moved, but he has brought these to my aid. It’s too late. Once, when she was mortally wounded, I gave her a few drops of my blood to strengthen her. Now it would only speed her end. I cannot help. But, Never give up, she would say. Never stop fighting.

“Willow. The bullet has fragmented. It had poison in it.”

She chants and gestures. I feel the pain as the pieces of lead are pulled back out of my body the way they came. I see the bullet that has murdered Buffy. It falls, oh so slowly, down the front of her gown. Tears are chilling their way down my cheeks, as Aurelius takes my shoulder and asks something. I don’t know what it is. He repeats it, and is not pleased with my silence. He hits me, hard, across the cheek, and suddenly the humare sre starting to move again and time has snapped back into joint.

“What is the poison? Tell me! Now!”

“I don’tw. w. It’s enchanted. It’s aimed at her, not me.”

It may not be aimed at me, but I can feel it dulling my wits.

“Get away from her.”

Never. I’ll never leave her. I’ll stay here until the sun burns me to ash.

“Angelus. If we are to save her you *must* move. Now.”

Too slow. I’m too slow.

He’s speaking to the witches, and they have fallen to their knees, in this newly blooded grave dirt. They are chanting. Whatever they are doing is not working. I can hear her heart slowing and faltering. Willow speaks to Aurelius.

“I can’t get it out. It’s as if the magic has sunk claws into her. It won’t move. We need to know how to break the spell.”

Her heart is now fluttering wildly, like a trapped bird. Aurelius can hear it, too. He hits me again, and the force knocks me apart from my dying love. He kneels down between the witches, says a few more words to them and takes both their hands. Buffy is lying crumpled on the ground in front of them, the scarlet flower on her breast opening its petals ever wider. His eyes close, and he starts a chant of his own, in counterpoint with their new one. He’s calling on the power of the Hellmouth, a power that neither Willow nor Tara knows how to use, yet. But like me, he does.

They are stopping time. That takes enormous magics, and only here, on the Hellmouth, can they buy me the time I need. Senses, of some sort, have returned to me, and I know what I must do. As the power flows into the three of them, and the bubble of time arises around them, Aurelius looks up briefly.

“Get the bastard. Find out how to undo it.”

And then the three of them, and Buffy, are a frozen tableau, reliving a dying second over and over.

It is Xander who helps me to my feet, careless of my blood, sticky against the palm of his hand. My faculties start to function again, and I feel the rage fuelling my thoughts, as it has done for so very many long years.

“Giles. Wesley. See what you can find out about the poison. If you use some of my blood, will that work?”

It is Wesley who answers. Giles is pulling himself together, but he is still too shocked to take things in.

“If we get a sample quickly, before you alter it.”

We need a receptacle, and there isn’t one. Father Jerome has now joined us, spry for such an elderly, ailing man. He sends Thomaso sprinting for the church. When my minion returns, he is carrying a chalice in his smoking hands, trying to cover the metal with his sleeves. The priest takes the chalice and murmurs a few words over it.

“Put some blood in there. It’s deconsecrated now.”

I must look askance at him, even in my extremity. His reply is impatient.

“We’ll wash it and give it back later. Hurry up.”

I slash my wrist and fill the chalice.

“Take some to Hylek and anywhere else you must.” That to Ezrafel. Then to my court in general, I nod towards the time trap and towards Giles and Wesley and Ezrafel, my researchers. “Anything they need. Anything.”

Xander grips my arm, and for now we are united in hatred.

“Don’t worry about here. Just find him.”

As the rest of the congregation recover their powers of movement, and hurry down to the stricken scene, I’m off and running towards the place where the shot came from. I doubt more than three minutes has passed since then. Whoever it was won’t have gone far. As I reach the spot, more than half a mile away, a fact that argues a trained sniper, I recognise the scent on the breeze. It’s overlaid with gun oil and gunpowder, but it is unmistakeable. I expect my fangs to drop, but find that they already have. So much for not terrifying the in-laws. I have been in demon face almost certainly since the moment the bullets started their flight. I should have killed him when I had the chance. Riley.

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To Chapter 4