Remember Theresa?

Remember Theresa?

There was always something dark and dangerous lurking behind her
mind when she walked alone at night. But this was Sunnydale—happy
little town with one high school where everyone knew each other.
Technically, there shouldn't have been anything keeping her from
walking back late from school. After all, this wasn't L.A.

She heard the rustling behind her. There wasn't anything unusual
about that—probably some stray raccoon wandering around someone's yard.
But . . . at nine o'clock in Sunnydale . . . Theresa quickly jerked her
head around, but saw nothing. She kept walking, but her senses reverted
into hyperdrive. And then she heard the unearthly growling right behind
her. No animal made that sound.

She had heard something like it once. Walking back from the Bronze
with a friend something had stirred in the darkness and made a low
sound like a dog with rabies. When she had whirled around with shocked
eyes the thing had disappeared. All that she remembered was that Buffy
Summers had been standing right there, hands on her hips and staring at
the spot the thing had been in. She had turned and seen Theresa, but
had only looked embarrassed, gave some weird explanation about cats,
and then disappeared. Everyone knew Buffy was a little strange, always
getting into fights, but Theresa was not alone in silently cheering her
position as the feminine protector against stupid aggressive jocks like
Larry.

When the growling came from nearly right behind her Theresa gave a
shriek and ran, terror suddenly coursing through her. But before she
had gotten anywhere she had come right up against it, and her heart
nearly stopped until she looked up.

The most freakishly handsome man she had ever seen in her life was
looking down at her, an odd grin on his face and a daisy in his hand.

"Everything okay?" he asked with a smile.

Shock lanced through her, but then she took a deep breath and tried to compose herself.

"Yeah. I heard—I mean I just thought I heard something," she
stammered. She was sure her heart was about to beat out of her chest.

The man looked concerned, and stepped around her to look down the road.

"No one there," he said, coming back to look at her.

Theresa was beginning to think she had made a complete fool out of
herself, running away from a raccoon. She shook her head a little to
clear her brain and looked up at this man, trying to be polite. He was
amazingly hot—but his eyes were starting to unnerve her, with the utter
blackness of irises blazing against the white. "I . . .um . . .I just
thought . . ." She shook her head a little again. "I guess I was wrong.
I could have sworn—"

"It's okay," he interrupted gently. "It can get a little scary out
here alone at night." Theresa gave a tiny smile, but she was still
feeling nervous. "Hey," he said suddenly, "Don't I know you from
somewhere?"

Little warning signs went off in her head. That line never boded good things . . . She swallowed.

"Don't you go to school with Buffy?"

Buffy Summers? Maybe this guy was a good thing. Relief washed through her. "You know Buffy?"

"Yes I do, very well," he smiled sweetly. "Come on, I'll get you home."

Theresa smiled back, feeling much better. This man was really very
nice. No doubt this was the mysterious handsome man rumored to be
Buffy's boyfriend, but he seemed to be comforting.

"So, do you walk alone at night often?" her companion asked as they
walked down the road. "Because it isn't really safe. There are a lot of
crazies out at night."

She glanced back at him. "Not often, my parents are out of town and
took the car. I usually feel pretty safe in this neighborhood."

The man next to her laughed. He really was incredible looking.
"Except for the dogs rustling around in the bushes, I guess." He
grinned at her and held out his hand. "I'm Angel, by the way. Buffy's
boyfriend?"

"Theresa." She shook his hand, noticing that it was icy cold. "I
like Buffy. I mean, I don't know her that well but . . . she stands up
for us, you know."

Angel showed more teeth. "Oh, I know. Quite a feisty little thing
she is. Keeps me on my toes. But so beautiful" Theresa gave a little
laugh, and they fell into silence.

"So," Angel asked casually, "You've got people at home right? I mean, you aren't going to be home alone?"

Theresa was a little surprised. He really was very concerned. She
would have to mention this to Buffy tomorrow, how nice her boyfriend
was. "Actually no. My parents will be home tomorrow. I'll just lock the
house and put the alarm on and be just fine."

The vampire's mouth stretched into a smile very different from what
he had yet shown this young girl. She really was a lovely thing. Not
quite as lovely as his lady, but acceptable enough to be an interesting
victim. Besides, she was a virgin, and Angelus loved virgins.

Theresa, meanwhile, was quite unaware of her companion's change of
mode. But as they stopped in a deserted alley she turned to him
confused. "Um, I think we came the wrong way. I'm sorry, I wasn't
really paying attention . . ."

"Don't worry," Angel soothed, coming up behind her so quickly she didn't even see it. "I was."

Theresa jumped as she felt cold hands grasp her shoulders and a low
voice murmured in her ear. "You're very pretty, Theresa. And we're
alone, in a deserted alley. What do you think is going to happen next,
hmm?"

Her breaths were coming in short bursts, the horrible reality of the
situation hitting her hard. "Please," she whispered, her voice coming
in nothing but a tiny, strangled scream.

"Please," Angelus crooned. "Such a wonderful word. I do love
begging. Not," and here he gave the side of neck a long, cold lick,
"That it's going to do you any good." He spun her around and she was
forced to look up into his face, that beautiful, cold face with utterly
merciless eyes. The smile he gave her was now the most chilling thing
she had ever seen.

For a moment she was absolutely frozen, the fear choking the screams
that wanted to bubble out of her throat. He slowly backed her up until
she felt hard concrete against her, and the grip on her wrists was so
hard she thought they were going to break.

“You know,” he said, looking down at her and cocking his head to the
side, “It's hard to find virgins these days. They used to be a dime a
dozen—walk down the street and find practically any unmarried girl
and—“ he winked, “There you were. But now, it's they're getting
scarcer. Now it's more the young one's you have to go after. Fourteen,
thirteen, twelve . . .but you, now you, Theresa, you're perfect.
Seventeen really is the perfect age, isn't it?'

Theresa was in a nightmare of pain and horror. The man—Angel—let go
of her and started circling. Every time she tried to run he caught her
and threw her back against the wall. At the last throw a stabbing pain
shot up through her back and she knew she couldn't run anymore. Her
face crumpled and the tears began to flow nonstop.

“Buffy was seventeen too,” Angel crooned in her ear as he pulled her
forcefully against his chest. “So fresh, so innocent. She was crying
too, you know.” And here he bent down and licked the tears off her
cheeks. Theresa shuddered.

“Of course,” he continued, forcing her onto the filthy pavement of
the alley, “She was crying for a different reason, but the fear was
still there.” He knelt above her and ran his hands under her skirt,
finding her underwear and ripping it off. Theresa gave a sort of
choking sound as his cold hands ripped the garment, but her throat
refused to unclog to she could scream. She cried harder as he pulled up
her skirt and then leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“She was perfect,” he murmured, almost soothingly. “So hot, so soft, so very, very tight.”

She could feel him unfasten his belt, and then heard the zipper as
he unfastened his pants. Her breath was coming out in frightened
hisses, her hands desperately and ineffectually batting against his
shoulder. She might as well have been trying to move a mountain.
“Please,” she managed to whisper.

“Yes,” the monster above her breathed. “She said that to me too. So
wanting, and willing she was.” Angel grabbed Theresa's head and looked
down at her, smiling slowly. And then, with a strange crunching sound
his face blurred before her eyes and turned into something more
horrible than she had ever seen. Recoiling in horror, she finally
screamed.

Through her screaming she felt his shaft tear her open, and she
choked and sobbed as he continued pounding into her, every stroke like
searing hot iron along her delicate tissues. She could hear him
grunting and growling by her neck, his weight crushing the breath out
of her and his body cording and pushing above her.

But finally he stopped, his cock still within her. His hands grasped
her face and she was forced to look at him. Yellow eyes, ridges, and
fangs looked back at her. Even through the fangs he was smiling. “Tell
Buffy I send my love,” he whispered. Theresa stared at him, mesmerized.

And then he pulled back and sunk his fangs in her throat. Wonderful,
rich, young blood spiced beautifully with terror welled up into his
mouth. Not as wonderful as Buffy's blood smelled, but certainly the
next best thing. As the heartbeat beneath him began to falter, he
pulled back and ripped into his own wrist. Holding the girl's head to
his arm, he closed his eyes in bliss, thrilling at the feeling of the
blood pulling from his veins, and dreamed of the Buffy. Not long now,
and he would no longer need substitutes. The Slayer would be his.

Buffy and Angel Stories