"You gave him your blood and your warm little diamond
He likes killing you after you're dead...
When he sucks you deep, sometimes you're nothing but meat."
--Tori Amos, "Blood
Roses"
Tahiti was beautiful. Warm,
sunny, bright with tropical flowers. Gwen could lie on the beach every
day, listen to the surf, watch the gulls, swim with the brilliant tropical
fishes.
She hated it.
Lying in the sun, absorbing it, feeling
its heat on her skin, all she could think about was Angel. If he were
here, he wouldn't be able to share this with her. He would have to
watch from afar while she absorbed the sun--
Who was she kidding? If he'd
been here, she wouldn't be out here lying on a towel in the sun. She'd
be in her hotel room lying on him. Or getting laid by him. Whatever.
At night she watched the news and even
here they talked about the mysterious goings-on in Los Angeles. That
the sun had been blotted out, that people had left the city in droves in
the wake of bizarre, mysterious murders.
And she thought about Angel.
Wondered if he was even still there, or if the team at Angel Investigations
had been forced to bring out his evil alter ego.
She worried about him, thought about
him, far more than she should have. Or maybe not. This was a
new experience for her, so she wasn't sure what was appropriate, as far as
how much time you should spend mooning over a man you'd slept with.
She sat in the sun, lay awake in bed
at night, and remembered his touch, and it made her feel that much more isolated.
She went through her day carefully gloved, avoiding contact with everyone
she met, in the way that had become reflexive for her. In the past,
she hadn't thought that much about it, but now it made her sad. Before,
it had just been the way she was, the way she needed to live. Now,
she knew what she was missing.
It might have been better, she thought,
if she'd never let him touch her. Never let him roll her into his bed
that first time. But it had been so good...
Now, when she thought about it, she
couldn't help wondering if he was dead.
Somehow, though, she thought he wasn't.
She couldn't claim to have any kind of bond with him--that would have been
presumptuous, not to mention silly. But she felt like he was probably
still among the living.
Well, figuratively, anyway.
Then, one night, when she was starting
to think she'd had as much of Tahiti as any human being should be expected
to endure in a lifetime, she turned on the news to hear a new story from
LA.
The sun was back.
No one knew how it had happened. But
that afternoon, light had suddenly returned to Los Angeles.
They had done it, then. Somehow, they
had brought down the Beast.
It was time to go home.
#
Her first impulse, getting off the
plane, was to head straight for the AI offices. But Angel's warning still
haunted her--"Don't come back unless Wesley says it's all right."
Surely, though, if the sun was back,
then so was Angel.
Still, she'd promised him she'd be
careful. So, instead of rushing immediately to find a taxi to take
her to the Hyperion, she went to a pay phone, and called Angel Investigations.
No answer. That wasn't helpful
at all. With a sigh, she hung up on the answering machine, picked up
her suitcases, and headed for the taxis.
#
She had half a mind to stop by the
Hyperion, anyway, but in the end she had the taxi take her home. She
called again from there, but still got no answer. How in the hell did
they expect to run a business like that? Frustrated and worried, she
slammed the receiver down onto the table.
She should just unpack, she supposed,
be happy the daylight had returned, and try to call Angel later.
No, Wesley. She was supposed
to talk to Wesley.
The suitcases could wait, she decided.
Plenty of time to unpack later. Leaving them in the middle of the front room,
she headed for her bedroom. She had plenty of clothes in the closet
she could change into.
Peeling off her gloves, she headed
down the hallway, opened the bedroom door--
Angel was there. Leaning against
the bedpost. He looked at her with concern as she stood there staring.
"Gwen," he said. "Sorry to barge in.
I was worried about you."
Gwen scraped him with a look.
He looked perfectly normal--tall and wide, black leather coat, black sweater
and pants.
"How did you know I was home?" she
said.
"I didn't. I've been watching
for you ever since the sun came back."
She nodded, still watching him intently,
still not coming any closer. "Your doing, I assume?"
"I don't like to brag, but yes, actually,
it was." He looked smug, but only for a moment. "You okay, Gwen?"
"I'm fine."
"So...Tahiti was good?"
"It was nice."
"You said you were going to bring me
a souvenir."
"Yeah. It's...it's in my suitcase."
"You didn't have to, you know.
All I really wanted you to bring back from Tahiti was you."
Something was wrong. Gwen couldn't
quite pinpoint it, but something just was not right.
"I missed you," he said, his voice
soft and gentle.
"I missed you, too," she said.
He moved away from the bedpost and
came toward her. She held her ground, not sure what he was going to
do. Surely this Angelus person would have killed her by now, instead
of exchanging tender pleasantries.
Then it hit her.
He smelled funny.
Angel had an odd odor, anyway. Not
unpleasant--just different. A tangy sort of scent that she'd always
thought make him smell--well, edible. This was different. Stronger,
for starters; he was a good ten feet away and she could smell him already.
And not as pleasant. It occurred to her that this must be what a real
vampire smelled like, the kind who fed on live humans instead of keeping
pig's blood in the back of the refrigerator.
So, what exactly was going on?
Had he been recently re-souled, and still retained the odors of feeding,
like some people carried garlic odors with them? Or was it something
more sinister?
"Don't I get a kiss?" he said, only
a few steps away from her now. The way he moved, that tilt to his head--God,
this just wasn't right.
Then he was right in front of her,
and he cupped her cheek in one big hand. Sparks skittered between his
fingers, over the back of his hand. He smiled, and bent to kiss her.
She let him, making herself relax into
it. Best that he didn't think she suspected him, particularly if it
turned out she had reason to.
And she was almost sure, now, that
she did. He tasted strange, too, and when he kissed her he pushed into
her, hard, demanding.
She made herself respond as if she
liked it, as if this were exactly what she had expected from him. But
if there had been any doubt before, there wasn't now--this was not Angel.
And suddenly she knew exactly what
he was going to do. He was going to play her, seduce her, and then
he was going to kill her. Probably brutally and inventively.
So she had to play, too.
She laced her arms around his neck,
pulled him into her, moaning a little in the back of her throat. She
wasn't afraid. Which was good, she knew, because if she let herself
feel fear, he would smell it. So she thought instead about his cool,
pale skin, his clever fingers, about what it felt like when he slid deep
inside her. Her body responded immediately, heat and dampness, wet arousal.
There, you bastard, she thought. Smell that.
Apparently he did, because he chuckled
a little and drew back to look into her face. God, those eyes.
Up close, she could see into their dark depths and there was an emptiness
there she'd never seen in Angel. If the eyes were the window to the
soul, then here was the proof he no longer had one.
"God, Gwen," he said, still laughing.
His tone mocked her, not quite gently. "You're always ready for me,
aren't you?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" She wove her fingers
into his hair. "You know what you do to me. You know I always
want it."
"Do you want it now?"
"Of course I do."
He grabbed her shoulders, his fingers
digging in hard, and kissed her again. Did he have any idea how much
different this was from Angel's kiss? Was he capable of understanding
that? She thought maybe he wasn't.
He was bruising her mouth, but she
let him, holding back her current as she would have if she'd been with Angel.
If she tried to take him now, she would lose. She needed him vulnerable.
It was a hideously dangerous game, but she had to play it to stay alive.
So she let him kiss her, hard and bruising,
his tongue invading more than caressing, and by the time he closed a big
hand over her breast, she had fallen into her end of the charade. She
wasn't afraid, she wasn't angry. Her body had gone wet and needy, but
her mind was taut, alert. She had to pay attention, so she would know
when he let his guard down.
The question was, how far would she
have to go? How long would she have to keep this up? His hand
clenched on her breast, kneading, and she wondered if she was going to have
to go all the way. Let him take her.
God, what if he bit her?
A frisson of fear slid down her spine
and she quelled it, making it become more desire, a melting heat and a little
shiver through her body. He slid a hand down her back, tucking her
a little closer, until his hand cupped her hip. His fingers clutched, squeezed
her. The familiar contact, the familiar reach of those fingers, made her
want to forget everything and melt into him, as she'd done before, but if
she lost herself here the way she did when she was with Angel, it would mean
her death.
He turned her around, still kissing
her, his mouth harsh and rough, and began to back her toward the bed.
She let him, grabbed at his shirt, yanking open the buttons. Her fingers
dug into his skin, and she held the current back. Of course Angelus
knew about it--it appeared he knew everything Angel did--so it wouldn't be
a way to surprise him. But she knew more about her electrical plague
than Angel did. There were things she'd never told him. Like
exactly how much current she could generate if she wanted to.
He backed her across the room until the
backs of her legs hit the bed, then pushed her into it. He pulled away
from her long enough to drop his leather coat and his unbuttoned shirt onto
the floor, then he was there in the bed with her, crawling over her, pressing
her legs open until he lay between them, thrusting his hips between her thighs.
Even fully clothed, she could feel the ridge of his erection rubbing into
her. He pulled her shirt open and bent into her to mouth her breasts,
and she moaned with it, feeling his tongue on her erect nipple, the current
skittering over her skin.
How far? Not yet. He wasn't
vulnerable enough yet. She wasn't sure she could take him, now, without
his realizing what she was doing before she had a chance to do it.
So she grabbed his belt buckle, opened
it, unfastened his pants. He would buy this, she was sure. He was probably
just arrogant enough to think all women found him alluring, irresistible.
Maybe Angel was, but not this freak, wearing Angel's body like a poorly-tailored
suit.
She slid her hand inside his pants,
letting the current pop, stronger than she usually did when she fondled him.
He jumped, then chuckled.
"That hurt, Gwen," he mumbled into
her ear. "Do it again."
Don't be afraid of him. It was
hard not to. But, regardless of the mind behind the eyes, the body
was the same. The same vulnerabilities, the same rules.
He was as erect as she'd ever felt
him, but strangely warmer. From feeding on live blood, perhaps, and
the thought made her stomach wrench. Ignoring it, she tapped his glans,
letting a spark pop there. He let out a strange sound, laughter mixed
with pain and surprise.
"Damn, Gwen, that's good. Don't
hold back on me, baby."
He nuzzled into her neck and she gave
him more current, closing her hand around his shaft, loosening the electricity
into him. He squirmed against her, sliding through her cupped,
sparking hand, his lips right against her throat.
"Make it hurt. God, that's good,
that's right, make it hurt."
How could he possibly think he could
pass for Angel? Did he really think all Angel's friends were that stupid?
Or was he not even trying anymore?
But she had him now, because of that.
His arrogance had given her the opportunity, and now she had him where she
wanted him, vulnerable, with his most sensitive parts cradled in the electronic
powerhouse of her hand--
He bit her. Too slow, too slow,
she thought, you gave him too much time, and then she could feel nothing
but his fangs slicing into her skin, razor sharp, penetrating deep.
It hurt, but not as much as she had
imagined it would. His teeth in her throat, his mouth pulling and sucking
at her, his hand on her breast, her hand on his cock--she felt suddenly weak
and dizzy, consumed with need, aching to have him inside her, ready and all-too-willing
to die here in his arms while he drew out her life's blood, moaning against
her violated skin with arousal and hunger.
But surely if he wanted her dead,
he wouldn't make it this easy. This good.
Her body betrayed her, rising on a
thick wave of arousal as his mouth pulled at her pulse. His hand tightened
on her breast and she clenched her fist on his cock as she lurched into a
hard, pounding orgasm that turned her vision black and made it impossible
to remember where she was, why she needed to stay focused.
Angelus shifted then, pulling his
teeth from her throat, to whisper in her ear, "It's good, isn't it? You wanted
it. You wanted that bad."
He was right. She did.
And it was still pulsing over her, an oceanic wave of ecstasy. He lifted
his hand from her breast and set it between her legs, pressing into her,
and she automatically pressed back, accepting the hard push of his fingers
against the fabric of her pants. She knew what those fingers felt like
inside her--in spite of what she knew he was, she ached for that sensation.
His lips brushed against her ear and
she could feel the hard protrusion of his fangs. "I'm not going to kill you
that way, though. There are other ways. So much slower.
So much better."
Her body clenched and shuddered.
With his teeth out of her throat she was able to focus a little, to turn
her head and look into his cold, yellow, empty eyes. He smiled, thin
and brutal, and kissed her, his fangs sharp against her lips, letting her
taste her own blood.
She tightened her hand, shifted a
little, feeling the brush of his scrotum against the backs of her fingers.
And let the current go.
Gwen could produce a tremendous amount
of voltage when she wanted to. She could concentrate and channel it,
too, to some extent, and she did that now, delivering the equivalent of a
full-on lightning strike directly into Angelus' groin.
And it must have hurt, because he screamed
like a little girl. And passed out.
She scrambled out from under him,
pushing his wide bulk away. Surely there was something here she could
use to immobilize him. She had packing material in her desk; she pulled
out a roll of duct tape and bound his wrists and ankles. She had no
idea if it would be strong enough to hold him, but it was all she had.
Leaving him there, she ran out of the
apartment, heading for the nearest pay phone. It seemed better to get
away, rather than stay in the apartment. She was certain he could track
her if he wanted to, but at least she had a head start.
This time, miracle of miracles, someone
answered the phone at Angel Investigations. She recognized the accent
immediately.
"Wesley, it's Gwen. He's here.
He's in my apartment."
Of course now, when it was nearly
over, was when her voice started to shake. She swallowed hard.
Her hands were shaking, too.
"Are you all right?"
Gwen touched the wound on her throat.
It didn't seem to be bleeding very much. She was a little lightheaded,
but nothing serious. "I'm fine. I'm at a payphone a couple of
blocks away. I tied him up but I don't know if it'll hold him."
"Tell me exactly where you are.
We'll be there right away."
#
Wesley pulled up a few minutes later
in a gray SUV, accompanied by a dark-haired woman Gwen abruptly realized
she recognized.
"Faith?" Gwen said, getting into the
back seat of the car.
Faith eyed her with surprise.
"How the hell you know that?"
"I saw you. I mean, drawings
of you, in one of Angel's sketchbooks."
Wes gave her a look, and Gwen realized
only then exactly what she'd given away. None of the rest of the AI
team knew how much time she'd spent in Angel's company.
Well, she might as well face it--that
cat was about to come out of the bag.
"He bit you," said Wes.
Reflexively, Gwen touched her throat.
The blood had congealed, sticky and thick. "Yeah."
"How do you feel?"
"I'm okay. He wasn't at me very
long." Long enough, though. She could still taste him in her
mouth, still feel the imprint of his fingers in her arms.
"So, you got him tied up at your place,
huh?" Faith looked at her as if Gwen's answer were part of a test.
Gwen wondered if she had half a chance in hell of passing. "How'd you
manage that?"
"You electrocuted him, didn't you?"
Wesley sounded a little surprised and a little admiring at the same time.
"Yes. I, um...channeled enough
voltage into him to knock him unconscious."
Faith followed the conversation with
interest. Her evaluating gaze on Gwen had gained a measure of respect.
"I thought in the past your current
had had a minimal effect on him." Wes had shifted into research mode,
it seemed.
"Well, I, um...I sort of blasted him
in the...well, in the nuts."
Wes winced. Faith nodded in
obvious approval. "Damn. That musta hurt."
"You're not going to kill him, are
you?" Gwen blurted.
Faith's smile faded, resolve hardening
her features. "Not unless I have to."
Gwen nodded, folding in on herself,
afraid she might have said too much.
#
He was gone by the time they got back
to Gwen's apartment.
"I was afraid of that," she said, looking
at the shredded duct tape on the bed. Wes examined the room evaluatingly.
"I think it would be best if we revoked
his invitation," he announced. "He may try again to get in."
"I dunno," Faith said, looking sidelong
at Gwen. "If I'd had my balls barbecued, I'm thinking I might not come
back to the scene of the crime."
Wes winced again. "Yes, well,
in any case, I think it's the wisest thing to do."
"So you can do that? Take away his
invitation?" It seemed like that might come in handy, when dealing with vampires.
"Yes, of course. It's a relatively
simple spell. I have what we need in the car. I'll go get it,
and we'll do it right away."
He hustled out of the room, a preoccupied
expression on his face. Suddenly dizzy, Gwen sank onto the bed, touching
the wound on her neck.
"You okay?" Faith said, sitting next
to her.
Gwen's hands were shaking. She
folded them together in her lap. "I'm fine."
Faith picked up a handful of the torn
duct tape, wadded it into a silver ball. "He was in your bed?"
"He was in the bedroom when I came
home."
Faith nodded sagely. "He's been
here before."
"Well, yes. He's been in the
apartment. Obviously, or he wouldn't have been able to come in this
time, right?"
Faith looked at her, her face hard.
"No, I mean he's been in your bedroom before."
Gwen bristled. "I barely know
you. Why are you interrogating me?"
"I got a vested interest in keeping
Angel alive and with-soul. Now, Wes and them, they yanked it out on
purpose, but I don't think they knew he was playing fast and loose with it
in your ridiculously large bed."
Now Gwen's hands were shaking more
from anger than fear. "You have no idea what's happened between me
and Angel, and it's none of your damn business, anyway."
Making no effort to disguise the anger
on her face, Faith turned to face Gwen, leaning into her. Gwen refused
to be intimidated, and held her ground. If Faith touched her, Gwen
knew full well who would get hurt. "Look, they hauled my ass out of
jail to bring him back. I don't want to have to do this again."
"You won't." Suddenly the anger
faded, leaving tears behind, and she hated herself for it. "He hasn't
been happy for a very long time, much less perfectly happy." She collected
herself; hopefully Faith hadn't seen the tears. "And I couldn't turn him,
anyway, because he doesn't love me."
Faith's eyes narrowed, her expression
softening a little. "You love him?"
"No." She said it too fast, made
it come out firm so she would believe it. "No. I can't.
But I need him. You don't understand how I need--" She stopped.
There was no way she could explain this, not to this hard, judgmental woman
she didn't even know.
But Faith nodded soberly. "No.
I think I get it. That electricity thing--it pretty much bites, huh?"
Gwen laughed, bitter. "Yeah.
It does."
A smile quirked across Faith's mouth.
"He any good?"
Gwen blinked at her. "What?"
"Angel. He any good? In
bed, I mean."
Gwen felt her face go hot. "I've
never been with anyone else. But I guess I can't complain."
"I figured he must be, the way Buffy
mooned over him. She only got it once, but it musta made an impression."
She grinned, impudent. "I know he kisses like nobody's business."
Gwen fought an unfamiliar emotion--jealousy.
But obviously Faith had never slept with him. "It's not just that,"
she fumbled. He's--he's a good man." She hesitated, swallowed
hard. "Do you think you can save him?"
Faith had gone still and sober.
"He saved me once. I'll damn sure do everything I can." She studied
Gwen's face. "You look a little pale. Let's go get you some oj."
#
With Gwen's apartment secure again,
Wes and Faith departed. Wes left behind a few wooden crosses and a
spray bottle of holy water, for her to take with her when she went out.
She took them, thanked him numbly. In spite of what had happened today, she
still found it hard to think of having to defend herself against Angel.
It didn't really strike her until
she lay alone in her wide bed that night, smelling the strange vampire smell
Angelus had left behind, feeling the ache in her neck where he had bitten
her.
Angel was gone. The creature
who had attacked her today was all that was left. And Angel might never,
ever come back.
She cried for a long time, remembering,
summoning the sensation of his hands on her body, remembering what he felt
like sunk to the hilt inside her, coming inside her. If she could never
feel that again--not necessarily just with him, but with anyone--how could
she live the rest of her life like that?
She had to do something. Had
to separate herself from this thing with Angel and do something for herself,
to make things right. Surely she had enough contacts to find something,
some way. Magical, mystical, technological--it didn't matter.
Whatever it took, she would find it.
END.
