Thralls

Title: Thralls, chapter 9
Disclaimer: BTVS and ATS are not mine. No infringement intended.


Dr. Walsh frowned at the monitor. She had made it abundantly clear to all of the Thralls she had released that they were to contact her within a week of meeting their targets. She frowned. Her email address had been drilled into them. Hundreds of repetitions. They knew it by heart. None had contacted her.

The next batch would have implanted tracking devices. No matter what her scientists argued. They had convinced her that the vampires would hear the devices, sense them, and kill the Thralls. Well that had happened to two of them already, and without the damn trackers. Now she couldn't find the others.

A story from New Jersey had caught her eye. Two bodies had been found, drained of blood, throats ripped out. Women. Young. As if they had been torn apart by a wild animal. She knew without seeing the photos that they would be two of her Thralls. She ground her teeth. Was it possible all of them had been killed? After only one week? Why else would they fail to follow their training and use the email contact address?

Jaw clenched, she sent her high priority request to the Medical Examiner for the autopsy reports and photos. She would know soon enough. New Jersey. Where the strange female vampire had been, Dru. Where she had released Anya, who had refused to give her last name, Lt. Paulette Aronson and Jenny Callender. Were they the ones who were dead? And were all three of them dead? If not, which one had survived and why? It was vitally important that she find out the answers if she was going to be able to control this situation, and future vampires she bound to her Thralls.

No bodies that matched the description of the rest of her experimental subjects were in any of the police databases. They might still be alive. They might yet find a way to contact her. If they were alive and didn't contact her, she would eventually find out, and she had plenty of hit teams left under her command. Any loose ends would be efficiently dealt with.

^^^^^^^^^^^^

Angel woke with the sensation of being watched. Not threatened, just as if too many eyes were on him. He lay without moving, without reacting, until he had located all the others inside of the room. Three heartbeats. They weren't moving. They were just sitting, watching him. He didn't like the feeling of being watched. He rolled over, careful, prepared for anything, and came face to face with his three...Thralls. He blinked.

Christ. He had forgotten. Forgotten he was stuck in this fucked situation. Forgotten he now was one of those he hated, one of those he had fled in times past. One of the blood masters. He was part of a blood-circle. He was the owner of three men, humans, all of whom were addicted to his blood, and to his feeding, to HIM, through no choice of his own. Through no desire of his own. He cursed hotly under his breath. And drew in a breath before he thought.

Sex. Sweat. Semen. Blood. A day's worth, more than? The scents crashed over him. Xander, Riley, Graham. Mouthwatering scents, so good, so right, he wanted them, to taste them. Bite them, feel their blood rush into his mouth, down his throat. He wanted to feed off of them. He wanted to fuck them.

"Ghod damn it!" He yelled, vaulting up out of bed. They all shrank back from him, his abrupt action. Xander let out a yelp. Two leaps took the vampire to the bathroom, Angel slammed the door shut, cranked on the knobs to the shower, was under the hot spray, scrubbing them, their smells, off of his skin. Using the scented soap, spicy, expensive. It covered the odors he had been overwhelmed by. He let out a sigh. Thank fucking ghod.

Christ, now what? He turned off the water, reached for a thick, soft towel. They were out there, in his room, waiting. He heard their heart beats. One racing fast. He knew who that was. Xander. One slower, in midrange. Riley. And one perfectly calm, about 50 very fit beats per minute, already down to baseline after the scare he'd only just given them. That one was the one he didn't understand. That one was Graham. He flung the towel up over the railing, spreading it to dry. Then he opened the door and went back into the musk filled room. This time he knew better than to breathe any of it in before he was prepared.

Xander had moved, he was behind Graham and Riley now. He always had good survival instincts, did Xander Harris. Angel had to admire the kid for that. Xander. His now. Unless he killed him. Them. That was the choice. Keep them, or kill them. Keeping them meant feeding off of them, taking them to his bed, living with them, day, after day, after day. Yes.

They gave him power. Control. And all they asked in payment was him. His blood, his body, his presence, his bed. His ownership of them. For him to feed off of them. If he denied them, they would die. Not an easy death, not now. They would die like vampires left out in the sun, withering, decaying, while still alive. Unlike vampires, it wouldn't be fast. Weeks of suffering if they didn't have his blood, if he refused to take theirs.

Today they had a name for it. DNA. Genetics. They were tied to his genetics. They were addicted to it. Needed it to survive. Needed his company, his touch, his scent, his breath exhaled into their lungs, his blood in their bellies, his teeth in their flesh, his sex in their bodies, his semen soaking their flesh.

He smelled it on them. He had fed from all of them. He had sex with the tall one, Riley. But all of them had the smell of his semen on their skin. They had all touched his ejaculate, wore it on their skins, he wondered if they had figured out why they had wanted to smear it, wear it, not wash it off. Probably not yet. They weren't scared enough.

He tilted his head up. Then moved to the closet, dressing in rapid motions. Boxers, socks, shirt, trousers, jacket, shoes. He left off the tie. And the overcoat. It was warm, people might stare if he was overdressed. He was good at blending in. Getting better all the time.

Now this had to happen. Now he had to separate fact from fiction, find out which of the tall tales were true and which were fables. Find out what he was capable of. What horrendous new powers fate had given him. None of which he wanted.

He headed for the door. Opened it. Stopped. Turned. Oddly reluctant to leave them, the three. He jerked his head towards the door, and the hall beyond. "Time to eat." He said and went out. They followed him, Graham the fastest, then Riley, then Xander, heart still too rapid. Xander had the instincts all right. He was afraid, he wasn't ready to trust anything. He was right.

'Touche, Xan. You have my number, alright. You knew it, all those years ago. That we were going to end up somewhere bad, you and me. Like this. Fate. Kismet. Destiny. Karma. You knew, and you tried to stay away. Tried to talk someone into killing me, tried to kill me yourself. Too late now.' Angel shook his head, ghosting down the stairs, not surprised that he barely heard the footfalls of two of the men who followed him, the soldiers, and Xander, well for most humans, he was very quiet. Loud only to a vampire's ear.

Wesley looked up from the coffee he was spooning into the coffee maker. He counted heads automatically and added several more heaping scoops. Poured the water into the reservoir. Flipped on the pot. Leaned back against the counter.

"Breakfast?" Riley asked, a pathetically hopeful tone in his voice. He was ravenously hungry, had been for hours sitting waiting for Angel to wake. Not wanting to chance a replay of the other night by leaving the room without permission. He throbbed. "Got any aspirin?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do." Wesley moved to the cabinet next to the sink. "Aspirin, Ibuprofen, Tylenol." He flicked a fingernail against a bottle." Whiskey, too. Pick your poison."

"Aspirin." Riley reached for the offered pills, and the glass of water. He gulped them down, finished the water thirstily. Filled another glass, full, with Graham standing right next to him, eyeing the water running into the glass like it was the purest gold. Riley gave the full glass to the shorter man, filled a second, gave it to Xander, who gulped at it, the kitchen was filled with the sounds of drinking, swallowing greedily.

Wesley stood to the side, watching, spellbound. Understanding lighting his eyes. Angel met his eyes, watching his reaction in turn. The former Watcher swallowed hard.

Angel opened the fridge. Took out a bag of blood, looked at it. Put it back. He wasn't hungry. Not even slightly. Damn it. He had fed plenty, too much, last night. He closed the door. His Thralls needed protein. Iron. Meat. Steaks. He doubted he could get them to drink the bags of blood.

"Breakfast." Angel said. "My treat." And headed for the door. His Thralls followed without hesitation.

"Angel!" Wesley almost yelled as the vampire reached the front door. "Angel, stop, it's DAYLIGHT. Are you suicidal?"

"Perhaps," the vampire said, stepping outside into the morning light. Angel smiled, flashing a hint of fang at the gaping man who had rushed out after them all, expecting to see the vampire go up in a puff of smoke and flame.

Nothing happened. Angel stood in full sunlight, gloriously warm on his face. Brilliantly bright.

"Or perhaps not." The vampire concluded, leading the way to his car, completely unaffected by the rays of the sun for the first time in over two hundred years. "Coming Wesley?"

Graham held open the door for the Watcher while he sprinted to catch up, jump into the car. Angel peeled rubber as they left the curb.

ne'ichan
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