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3. I only have eyes for you



Angelus. He had to be her priority now. The moment of their meeting was approaching and suddenly all the power she felt running through her veins in those few exalting days was giving the floor to a cold and obscure fear; a sort of presentiment which took her breath away…
The Scourge of Europe. She read all about this powerful and ancient vampire in Giles’ book; dates, places, the staggering and amazing amount of his victims…but it didn’t seem enough. Buffy wanted more. She wanted the essence, not only meagre data. She had just learned directly that a vampire was more than a legend, much more that a paper image described in a dusty tome. Despite the fact that he was dead, a vampire was made of flesh and blood, he was a solid and unpredictable body.
She waited that Giles went away from the library with Miss Calendar -she was taking his arm with confidence and their shoulders were so closed- and then she went in his private office. Maybe she would have found what she was searching for in there…
She shifted through the folders and the records and, finally, when she was nearly to surrender, there it was…
A creased and yellowed photographic reproduction of the only existing portrait of Angelus painted around 1850 and reached by the Council at the beginning of nineteen Century; it had been destroyed during the Second World War.
Forgetful of everything, Buffy sat on the floor, her legs crossed, the photo in her hands. Oh, well…
He didn’t look like exactly as she imagined him…Ok, in the chronicles of the period he was called as the one with the angelic face, but she had never considered that…Oh.
How was that story?
Oh, yeah…the story of Lucifer, the most beautiful angel, the rebel one who become the Lord of the darkness…and seeing the portrait of that young, dark-haired and elegant man, everyone thought spontaneously at him, Lucifer.
His mouth...it seemed it was there to be kissed, bitten, felt and tasted…Oh. And his eyes…of a vivid and three-dimensional black, made to fall deep into them, drowning in them without making any kind of resistance…Oh, well…
Buffy got excited. A strange and untimely heat was rising through her lower abdomen, giving her a titillating fever through all her body…
Hey! Wait a moment! Calm down! What was happening?
She stood up and she dashed off the photo in her bag, then she unlocked the office, making sure of having put everything in its own place. It’s all Spike’s fault, she thought walking through the school’s corridors with the clear and annoying feeling of been luminous as a neon. Yeah, his fault. These new things he taught to her…and now a photo of a guy was enough to make her feel like that!
When she went outside, under the warm, pale sun of late afternoon, Buffy felt better, the ideas cleared up. Ok, it seemed that this Angelus was more attractive than she thought, but he was still a dangerous demon, a bastard, a monster she had to kill. And her crazy hormones will surely calm down with a tisane and some good rest.
Sure!
“You know, they’ve finally rented the house next to us!” said her mother while she was taking off her jacket. “I’ve seen they were carrying the furniture inside…interesting pieces…excellent design, probably European…” Joyce blew in her coffee. “Strange to see that kind of furniture in a neighbourhood like ours…”
Than she realized her daughter’s preoccupied expression and she forgot the neighbours. “Everything’s all right, sweetheart?”
“Just a little headache”, Buffy said smiling. “Tomorrow I’ve a dreadful class test…I was thinking about get ready and go to bed early, if you don’t mind…”
Joyce smiled too, softened. Her little girl had become so good…after all that problems and worries that was a real relief.
“But of course darling…and Xander? He doesn’t come tonight?”
She hesitated a bit. “Well, Xander and me…”
“Oh, you argued…I see” Joyce laughed. “You’ll see it’s nothing. At your age everything seems so insuperable…if you knew how things use to get more complicated after…”
Oh, mom, if you only knew how my life is complicated now, Buffy told herself, going up to her bedroom. She threw her bag away, trying to not thinking about the photo inside. No slay that night…she only wanted to sleep. To rest. A perfect oblivion. She worn the largest and more comfortable pyjama she had, and she snuggled down under the blankets, taking a foetal position, feeling totally, incredibly tired…
She fell immediately asleep. She felt she was sliding down a hill, into a quiet and calm water…
Everything shook…
…shook…
…hips which were moving…
…much more, more and more deep inside…
…again…
…tell me you want me…
…Spike’s voice, in her ears…
…oh, yeah…Spike…she wanted him…yes…
…tell me you’re mine…
…oh, of course it could be only his voice…
…tell me you’re mine…
…Spike? No, that voice…that voice was different…
…a voice which came from the night, a voice made of wind and darkness…
…tell me you’re mine…
…a voice made of warm and liquid gloom…
…another body, strong, vigorous, mighty pushes into her…
…she had to turn; she had to look at him…
…tell me you want me…
A cry died against the pillow and she bit the sheets due to the violence of her orgasm.
Shocked, she stood up in bed; a battlefield of tangled sheets. She was completely sweaty, her panties were wet. God, what a dream…
But was it a dream?
Her muscles stiffened, on the alert. Her room was empty, the window closed. But…it was like someone had been there, closed to her, until a few seconds before…someone who smelled of musk and another undefined pungent fragrance…Oh.


Buffy melted distantly her cereals in the pink porcelain cup. The sun shone, anticipating a spring morning, and everything that happened the night before seemed even trivial…but of course. A mere erotic dream: it happened to all teenage people, didn’t it?
“I don’t think it’s fair” mumbled Joyce, looking at her suitcases in the doorway with a gloomy expression. “Tomorrow you turn seventeen and the gallery sends me to Los Angeles…”
“We’ve already talked ‘bout that” Buffy reassured her. “And you’ve promised me an unrestrained shopping day for next Saturday…I’ll take my great vengeance!”
Her mom laughed. “All right. But tomorrow I’ll commit myself to be back here for dinner and I’ll bring a cake…”
Buffy let her talk. Seventeen…she had almost forgot that, with all the things that…and what was that?
She noticed it only at that moment, on a kitchen’s shelf: a small dark wooden case, perfectly embroidered. “Mom…where is it from?”
“Oh, it’s marvellous, isn’t it?” Joyce said. “It’s a present from our new neighbour. He came yesterday evening to introduce himself and to take a coffee. He’s such an attractive young man...and he’s kind. Very acculturate. He was so sad you were already in bed…”
The cereals stuck in Buffy’s mouth, refusing to move. She had to hurry and drink a bit of milk to don’t choke. “An attractive young man?”
“Hey! Not so young you little girl!” Joyce scolded her. “He should be at least ten years older than you…in any case you’ll have other occasions to meet. I told him he’ll always be welcome”.
Buffy could only clutch the spoon. No…it couldn’t be…Or it could?
“And what’s this bloke’s name?”
“…Mhm…O’Connor. Liam O’Connor. He’s an Irishman I guess. Oh, there’s my taxi!” Joyce took the two suitcases and blew her a kiss. “I must hurry love! I’ll call you!”
“Bye” Buffy whispered, still sitting at the table, the spoon pointed to the high like a question mark. C’mon Summers, what do you know ‘bout Angelus? What have you read ‘bout him?
No one knew the year he became a vampire, neither anything about the place, nor about his former human identity. No one who had survived from him was ever so close to him to understand his accent. He was enfolded in the purest and most obscure mystery. The only thing she knew for sure was that The Scourge of Europe was not used to show mercy towards nothing and nobody.
A hesitating, but brave, sight of relief relaxed her breast. Yep, Angelus was like that…and really such a powerful vampire would have wasted his time bringing little presents to her mom to enter in her house? And he would have rented a humble villa in the suburbs, under everyone’s eyes, just to hunt her?
No, monsters like him and William The Bloody didn’t behave like that, didn’t they?
And, besides that, Spike had promised to call her when Angelus would have been in town…right?
Buffy nodded to herself and continued to eat her cereals. That O’Connor should simply be one of that scrawny and nicely guys all moms were fond with. Just that.
She still had time. All the time she needed to prepare herself to that fight.


Above her the laces of the canopied bed wove a secret starry sky, with nameless stars to discover…Drusilla, laid among the pillows, was moving her fine and pale hand like in a dance, spying their movements. She felt he was lying next to her and her pearly face became bright.
“I was dreaming and my dreams were talking to me…” she whispered, brushing his lips with her fingers.
Angelus took one of her dark black locks and smiled to her with one of his sweetest smiles which he kept for her only. “And what were they saying, my love?”
Drusilla squatted against his chest. “That you’ll give me the black medicine and you’ll make me feel better”. He kissed her on a temple and a soft sleepiness overcame her.
“Shhh…Yeah, you’ll feel better. You’ll shine in the night, I promise you…” he whispered in her ears, but she was already asleep.
“She’s getting more and more week…” sighted Spike, nervously lighting up a cigarette.
“We’re almost done. The moon will be full in four days.” Angelus went down from the bed. “Everything ready?”
Spike exhaled the smoke, looking to his grandsire. As usual, he couldn’t avoid himself to look at him. Angelus was surely the most dreadfully beautiful thing darkness and evil had ever generated and for a long - maybe too long- time he aimed to a piece, a miserable surrogate of that gloomy perfection. He used to. Now it was over. Perhaps.
“Yeah, everything’s all right. We have the Manuscript and the Cross of du Lac. And you.”
“…mhm…you’ll stick the knife inside the cross…in my heart?” asked Angelus, waiting for a bit in front of Drusilla’s puppets. That day almost all of them were blindfolded and turned over.
Spike shrugged his shoulders. “No, if you don’t want to…we only need a bit of your blood after all; we don’t need to eviscerate you…”
Angelus smirked. “What a pity, uh?”
The two vampires laughed softly, to don’t disturb Drusilla’s sleep and they went in another room of the old factory.
“Call the Slayer. Tell her that I’m here. Better if we observe the plan.”
“What?” Spike put out the cigarette under a Doc Martens. “I thought that…”
“That she was aware that I live next to her?” Angelus’ white teeth shone in the half-light. “It could be, but she is not so smart, isn’t she?” He shook his dark haired head. “Gosh, the Council is no more able to teach to its slayers and watchers…all her powers are still asleep, useless…”
“She moves quite well on the contrary…” Spike objected, repenting immediately. When had he learned to shut up?
Angelus’ dark eyes looked daggers for a while, sly. “I could imagine …But a Chosen one, one with a capital “c” must be able to do more. Yesterday evening she had to notice that her mother was sitting in the lounge with a vampire, but…”
“I hope you didn’t eat her mother…”
“No. On the contrary I drank her dreadful coffee listening to her foolish words…you couldn’t imagine how many commonplaces an American can say about art…” Angelus quivered, and then he looked at Spike again. “You should have trained a lot that little girl…”
“Don’t understand.”
“Oh, you know, she came only smelling my scent…”
Spike swallowed. “Really? I had to use a bit more than my scent to let her come…”
Angelus laughed of that typical childish laugh which had worn out also a stone. He gave him a hit on the back. “Someone can and someone cannot Spikey…” He approached, taking his chin. “Hey, why this sad little face? Are you jealous?”
Spike wriggled. “Jealous? Of that too tight little slut?” He tidied up his leather coat, signing the room next door with his blonde head. “I’ve had fun, but I’ve most serious things to think about. For what it concerns me, you can do all that you want with little Slutty.”
Angelus nodded arching an eyebrow, and he came through the exit. While he moved it seemed that his long black coat was capturing little parts of the night, disassembling them through a prism of dark nuances. “Sure, you cub. I’ll do to her everything I want.”


A bath. She really needed it, after that bad day passed under the bad glances of her schoolmates. She didn’t really care…she wasn’t really impressed seeing Xander and Cordelia together. Made for each other, probably.
But Xander begun to upset her with his continuous reproachful expression; he was treating her as an expert prostitute…
Prostitute? Where that word does came from?
Buffy snorted, while she was finishing taking off her underwear. She had to stop thinking about that.
Hang Xander Harris and his churchy hypocrisy! He enjoyed a lot her little tricks, didn’t he?
And she could bet her shopping-Saturday that Cordelia Chase was quite an expert in that field…
She entered in the tub, enjoying, as soon as she touched the water, the shivers which ran through her body.
When that entire story about Angelus would be over she should find a boyfriend, a real one, she told herself trying to relax without any result. She felt rigid and tense…she missed Spike. Particularly she missed sex. She didn’t understand how someone could live without making sex. Didn’t they feel like they were exploding? Didn’t they wanna scream?
Well, she wanted to.
She went under the water to wash her hair and when she came up two big and masculine hands leaned upon her eyes.
No fear. It was jus him. She…she was waiting for him.
“It’s just me” he whispered from her shoulders, with his voice made of wind and darkness, his full lips brushing her lobe.
“I…I was waiting for you,” Buffy faltered.
“Naughty girl…” continued he, “Don’t you know that good girls don’t think about those things in the tub? But you’re not a good girl, isn’t it? You make some good things to your male friends at school…”
His hands slid on her neck and then down on her breast. “You fuck with vampires against the crypts’ walls…”
And the hands went down, in the water. She could only see those hands, those long fingers, two rings, one with a red stone, the other made of silver with a sophisticated shape. “You naughty, naughty girl…”
The glow of the red stone disappeared between her legs and Buffy instinctively dug her feet against the tub sides. “Weren’t you feeling like you were exploding?” that dark and liquid voice tormented her, “Didn’t you wanna scream?”
His hand was moving faster. “Explode then. And scream.”
Buffy opened her eyes, painfully banging her head against the tiled wall near the tub. Gasping, she waited that the spasms of that new, incredible orgasm calmed down. A dream. Always a dream.
And always the same scent. Musk and something else.
But what was happening then?
The ring of her mobile frightened her, and she banged her head for the second time. She went in her room, still confused, rough and ready wrapped up in a bath-towel…And she noticed it just at the moment she picked up the phone. On the floor there was a big and oblong envelope. It was sealed with sealing-wax. And upon the wax there was a letter: “A”.
Shaking, she picked it up and she opened it. Oh, it contained a drawing. Or, better, a portrait. Her portrait. She was sleeping. Oh…
The paper fell down to her hand and she hardly could keep he mobile-which was continuing to ring- in the other one. “Hello!” she cried, incapable to control her hysteria.
“Ehy slayer…”
Buffy’s eyes were desperately running through every single corner of her room. “Spike?”
“Any other guess? I told you I would have called you when Angelus would have arrived, so…”
Buffy switched off the phone. She was out of control. She felt anger. Fear. Pure excitement. But fear mostly.
Oh, hang Spike! , she thought, I know that Angelus has arrived. And I also know where he is.


God willing, Giles was still in the library. She found him while he was examining a tome of at least one thousand dusty pages…and she didn’t even try to guess in which dead language it could be written.
“Buffy, it’s late, what are you doing here? What…” the watcher stopped to talk, looking doubtfully at her wet hair.
“Oh, God, the hair-dryer had broken…like that, suddenly.” Buffy said avoiding to make him notice the shadow of red lipstick in his blouse’s reverse. Naughty Rupert…
“Oh. So why are you here? Something wrong?”
Ok, thought Buffy. Lie and say a big lie. He must believe you immediately. “I was thinking about Angelus…”
Giles frowned. “You were thinking about Angelus…”
“Yep…Well, you told me he’s not a common vampire…I mean, he’s not that kind of vampire tat waits for you at a street corner to overtake you…he’s smart. A refined guy, right? And if…if he decides to attack me through my mom? He can do that, right?”
“Buffy!” Giles said, turning pale. “What are you trying to say? Angelus has already arrived? Did he hurt your mom?”
“No, nothing like that!” she reassured him shaking her hands. “But that can happen, right? I’ve read about his…angelic face…If he came in front of the door, with a well-built excuse, mom would immediately invite him to come in…and then…”
“And then it would be over”, sighted Giles. “At least for your mother. Buffy, you’re right. I’m a stupid, I didn’t think about that…It could be typical of Angelus. He has never loved easy ways. He loves overcoming the stereotypes. And he loves playing with his victims, tired them in their minds before than in their bodies…Some watchers had the theory that his goal is not blood, but the dominion. Absolute dominion.”
Buffy gulped, feeling a bit sick. “If your purpose is calm me down…well, stop now!”
“Sorry, I feel like an idiot…but it’s like till now I didn’t want to accept that you have to fight with that monster…”
“And now do you accept it?”
“You seem quite sure about that.”
“And I really am. Call it Slayer instinct…” Buffy stood up, resolute. “Is there any spell to protect the house, or, better, to stop the entrance? My mom is in Los Angeles and I shouldn’t explain her anything about incense, Latin and all this stuff…”
Giles stood up. “Sure!” He went fast up the stairs and disappeared behind the shelves, coming out after a while with a small, bad shaped volume. “I was reading it just some days ago. It’s a small treatise about the most efficient spells to keep out vampires and demons. It contains also a list of ingredients and wordings…but I can search for more material, if you want…”
“Thanks…”, she whispered keeping the book as it were a relic. “I’ll go to the magic shop and then I’ll call Willow to ask her help.”
“Ah…Buffy…” Giles stopped her. He was serious. “I wanted to say that…well, I’m very proud of you. I’ve noticed that you’re growing up and you’re carrying on your mission more seriously. Well done, I was hoping for that.” He smiled rapidly. “I know you think you can face your destiny all alone, but that’s not completely true. You’re the Chosen one, I’m your watcher and I’ve the duty to guide and support you.” He lowered his eyes.
“With the Master…you’ve cut me out. And I’ve understood and accepted your reasons. But, please, don’t do it again. Let me help you. As soon as Angelus arrives come to me. Right Buffy? Do you understand?”
Buffy blushed, hoping that he would think that she was moved by his unusual and paternal speech. She nodded, and she went out running.
Oh Giles, she thought, it’s too late now…


Damn to too tight mini-skirts, mumbled Buffy to herself, fighting to overcome the window. The bag which contained the ingredients for the spell fell down from her hand on the floor with a sinister sound of broken glasses. At the same time, somebody turned on the light.
“Tell me…” Angelus asked her, laid in her bed, with her furry pig, Mr Gordo, in his hands. “Why haven’t used the door, since your mom’s not at home? Habit? Super heroine megalomania?”
Buffy froze, astride the window-ledge. Was it a dream?
No…not that time. Angelus was there. And he was real.
She looked at him, frozen. He wore, under the leather coat, a wine coloured shirt and leather pants. He had leather shoes with silver buckles which looked like spurs. Not a single, bloody detail was unkempt. Not even a dream could be so perfect.
He let that Buffy examined him. “If I were you, I’ll come down from there darling…I can see your panties from here…”
Buffy jumped in, like she got burned, treading on the glasses inside the bag. “So…you’re Angelus…”
The vamp smiled. “The one and the only Angelus.”
“Well…if we have to fight, it’s better going out. I don’t wanna fill my room with your dust”.
Angelus laughed softly, sensually hunching back his dark-haired head. “You’re funny…”
His fingers, with the two rings she knew very well, were diving in Mr. Gordo’s pink fur, in a way Buffy found both outrageous and sensual.
“And we cannot fight until I’ve taken part in the ritual to cure Drusilla. You’ve promised that to Spike.” he said, regaining her attention.
“You know about…”
“About your deal with Spike? Of course. I always know everything about Spike’s actions.”
Buffy staggered “Everything?”
“Everything” Angelus replied looking at her. “And, by the way, I don’t wanna kill you.”
“Don’t you?”
“No. Why should I?”
“Oh…let me just guess…” Buffy provoked him, beginning to feel more confident. If she avoided his eyes, black like perdition, maybe she would have a chance.
“Maybe because I’m the Slayer and you are The Scourge of Europe?”
“Roles. Duty. Missions.” He sighted, putting the little pig on the blanket and standing up.
“That typically human tendency to classify and encage…deplorable.” He tided up his coat, looking at her, enjoyed. “You’re not getting what I’m tellin’ you, right? Yeah, you’re not so keen on words…you want action.”
He had been faster than the eye, and suddenly he was close to her, no more than two steps.
And Buffy could see any particular of his face. And she had the evidence that the abyss of his glance was endless.
“You want someone who can teach you to dance…like Spike” He was coming closer, and he was so tall, so…so…
Buffy forgot all the attack or defence gestures. She could only smell that familiar musk scent. And something else. And it was penetrating in her veins, like a bust.
“And what has our Spike done?” Angelus whispered. “Maybe this?”
In a fraction of a second his mouth, that mouth to bite, was upon hers, inside hers. She opened her lips nearly with relief, and the warm contact with the vamp’s tongue gave her a burst of pleasure. Warm, yeah…She wasn’t surprised. She could distinguish blood taste now. And this, for an ancient and mysterious reason, inebriated her. He was so tall…and she caught him by the back of the neck, forcing him to bend more, to devour her…
But Angelus stopped and he took her by the neck, taking her away from him. “And then?” he was gasping a bit. “What has he done? Like that?”
He rudely pushed her against the wall and he raised her, putting her legs under his hips. Her mini-skirt got immediately torn and Buffy suffocated a moan, feeling his erection, ready, against his leather pants. Angelus pushed his pelvis against her and she immediately opened her legs, clutching to his shoulders, with a desperate request in her eyes.
“Is this the dance Spike told you?” Another push. “Well, Slayer…that’s a dance he learned from me…” His lips were titillating her neck and his erections continued to push against her, without giving her any satisfaction. “Like a lot of other things. Mysterious things. Secrets. Truths. Do you also wanna learn from me Buffy?”
Oh, her name…It was the first time he was calling her by the name. And it seemed another name in his mouth. Another girl she didn’t know. And maybe it was time to know her. But she had no breath…no breath to answer.
Angelus freed himself from her, and she fell down. “You know where I am.” He said, turning around the bed. When he was in front of the door he turned round, stolid, as if anything wasn’t happened between them. “If you don’t mind, I prefer the main entrance.”
Buffy remained on the floor, her heart was fool, her thought were confused. He went away.
Gone. Just like a dream. Or a nightmare.
Then she licked her swollen lips, sticky with his taste. Blood taste.
And now she was trapped in that dream. In that nightmare.



4. Birthday



Willow was brushing her hair when the telephone rang. She looked interrogatively at herself in the mirror: it was nearly dawn, who was calling her?
“Hi Will” Oh, it was Buffy! But what a strange voice…weak, tired…
“Hi! Everything all right? And…hey, happy birthday!”
“Wil, you’ve got to help me” Buffy interrupted her. Her tone was so unusually peremptory, that Willow shut up. Surely, something was wrong.
She sat on the bed. “Tell me everything.”
She heard Buffy sigh in the handset. “Soon I’ll fight with a really dangerous vampire…”.
“More than the Master?”
Silence. Another sigh. “More. Yeah. Much more…I need to stay a bit alone Will. Giles still insists on that silly meditation training, but, you know, it works actually…and I have to get ready. I have to think.” A pause. “Do you understand me?”
“Yeah, but…” Willow hesitated. “Today you turn seventeen…won’t be better for you if you stay with your friends? I know that Xander is behaving as a lout, but if he knew that…”
“No!” Buffy nearly looked hysteric. Willow seriously begun to worry.
“Right…Tell me what I’ve to do…”
“I need only one day. You’ve to cover me at school, especially with Giles. He’s already sufficiently anxious, you know…tell him my dad’s come to take me, ok?” Silence again. “Will, I know you don’t like telling lies, but that’s a personal favour. I only can rely on you. Please.”
“But of course. No problem.” Willow pretended a confidence she didn’t have. “Willow takes care of that!”.
She listened to her friend’s cold and mechanical goodbye, than she put down the handset and she stood on the bed, the hands on her knees, looking at the sky beyond the window.
What was happening?


Buffy took the bag full of weapons and went out early in the morning. It was a fine shiny day.
And she lied to her best friend. As, the night before, she lied to her watcher.
And lying had been dreadfully easy. Even natural.
She walked along the frontage road. She said hello to a couple of neighbours out with their dogs, and then she stopped in front of the number 1628. A villa like the other ones…appearances could be deceptive, wasn’t it?
She filled her chest with a big long sigh, with the fist clenched. Useless to wait more, she had to go immediately, she felt ready- no, no, damn, she was lying to herself also-, during the day, so if something went wrong she could run away where she was sure no one could follow her…she hardly freed the trapped sight. That was the trouble: a part of her was sure that she would never run away from that house, even if she had got the opportunity to…
She turned back for a moment and she looked at the precinct, at the pastel blue sky. It was almost like a goodbye glance. She knew she wouldn’t have seen things as the same way as before, once she had passed that threshold.
When she was sufficiently near she noticed that the front door was opened and left ajar, as he was waiting. What an arrogant bastard, thought Buffy. The dark inside disoriented her for a bit, but she noticed almost immediately some characteristics: the room disposition was alike the Summers’ one, but the furnishing was so different, European, with heavy and carved wooden furniture and Oriental carpets. No noise. With a suffocating sense of oppression Buffy looked at the stairs.
Ok, step by step.
Upstairs she discovered a soft pink lighting which filtered from under a door. She reached out her hand to take the handle, and she noticed she was trembling. Damn, she had to calm down, and be alert.
The door opened slowly on a strange room, wide and nearly empty apart from some little tables in Nipponese style, halogen lamps and Chinese prints. The curtains which covered the windows were made of a thick and cream-coloured fabric; on the floor there were a couple of enormous angora carpets. She saw him immediately and despite herself her heartbeat fastened.
He stood up, his back turned to her, and he was wrapped up in doing something. He worn nothing apart the trousers of a black silk pyjama. Buffy was impressed by the tattoo on his back, on the right shoulder blade: it looked like a bird…No, it was a bat. Yeah, a bat whose claws made a letter, the A.
“Nice tattoo”, she decided to say.
Angelus turned back, showing no surprise at all, with a book in his hand. “Thanks. It was 1760. A Chinese prostitute made these little masterpieces in Marseille’s port.” He smiled thinking about that. “She also was a masterpiece actually…a miniature with alabaster skin who could take the most amazing postures…”
Buffy’s cheeks blushed, when she remembered what she did with Spike, and the same image with Angelus and the little Chinese doing the same occupied her mind inopportunely. That made her nervous. “I’m not here to recall the good old days.”
Angelus threw the book upon one of the little tables. “Hum…and why are you here then?” He pointed at the bag she had on her shoulder. “That is full of weapons…Do you wanna fight or do you wanna learn? Because if you wanna learn you don’t need weapons. Not the ones made by men.” He shrouded her with a sole, penetrating glance. “You’re already armed Slayer. With your power.”
Buffy felt hot, too hot. “Today I turn seventeen” she whispered. “I think that’s the perfect age to learn…I’ve defeated the Master, but it was a lucky chance. With you I’ll lose, I see it. So, if you can teach me more about my powers…ok, I’m in”. She hesitated, but then she finished. “Maybe, guess what, I’ll exceed my teacher and I’ll defeat him”, she ended, keeping her chin high, with all the dignity she had.
He clapped, laughing. “What a good speech…If I had listened to it at the cinema I would have surely felt moved. But you wannna learn. I praise that”.
“So?” she hounded him, more and more nervous. “What happens? You have to blindfold me or something like that?”
Angelus begun to laugh and a series of shivers spread all over her body. “No, wait…let me guess…Spikey blindfolded you?”. He continued to laugh. “Ah, it’s incredible! One hundred and twenty years and he still uses those proletarian-masochistic clichés…” He looked at her again, almost sweetly. “No Buffy I don’t wanna blindfold you. I want you keep your eyes opened”.
Oh, why did he pronounce her name?
When he pronounced it, it was like a blow, a taut sigh, an incredibly sexy sound.
Buffy shook her head, trying to clear her head.
“So, we begin? What can you teach me?”
“Darkness.” He answered, lazily walking in circles, his naked feet that went down on the angora.
“You fight it, but you don’t know it. As all the human beings you conceive it as something totally dark, with no colour at all…but darkness has more than one dimension, more than one nuance, a measureless depth. You can’t only watch it from the opposite line, you have to meet it, fall in its arms, see its breath and its colours.” He stopped, looking at her. “If you really wanna fight darkness, you must taste it before, and understand if you like that taste. And maybe, if you like it, you could have a possibility to defeat it.”
The pink glow of the halogen lamps was brightening up his skin, flowing over it, underlining every shape and every muscle. “And by the way Slayer, don’t you believe that a power like yours comes only from the light, right? Nothing in Nature is made up only by light. A part of darkness is always needed.”
While he was speaking he approached and his naked and exhibited beauty dried her mouth and dilated her pupils. It wasn’t working in that way…a desperate little voice, buried in her agitated brain was shouting to her that she was already trapped, and that her destiny was already done…
“So Buffy…do you really want that?”, Angelus asked her, turning around her. “Do you want that I teach you how to embrace and taste darkness?”.
Was there still another possibility?
Could she still answer no and run away through the day?
Buffy moistened her lips, although she had no more spittle. “Yes”, she whispered.
She heard him stand for a moment behind her shoulders. “Well. Get undressed.”
She startled. “What?”
“It’s easy. Get undressed, Slayer”, he ordered again, going out of the room. “Take off everything”.
Where did he go? Why had he left?
With a short breath, and the fingers which refused to collaborate, she clumsily took off her jacket, her tennis shoes, her trousers, her t-shirt…she hesitated on her underwear, but he said everything and she was afraid to ask herself which kind of punishment she would have received if she had refused to obey. She was afraid of desiring that punishment…
Why didn’t he come back now?
She didn’t know where keep her hands: she had the instinct to cover herself, but perhaps it was better if she stayed straight and proud, to show him she was free from the charm he believed to have on her…God, what a liar…
At last-oh, yeah, at last- Angelus came back in the room, with a porcelain basin and a big lush. Buffy stiffened. What was the meaning of that? What the hell did he want to teach her with a basin and a lush?
But as soon as the dark eyes of the vamp dwelled on her every doubt disappear in the most total and immediate excitement.
“Your body”, he said putting the basin on the floor and dipping the lush in the water. “Your power is in your body. You must take care of it, treat it as if it were a temple”. He stood in front of her and, after he raised her hair, he approached to wash the back of her neck and her back.
Oh Heaven…Heaven…Heaven…Buffy searched painfully another word for her thoughts…Everything useless. There was only Angelus, and his large and smooth chest which brushed her firmed nipples and that chain, that chain he worn and that she noticed just now…And which swayed, back and forth, in the cavity of her breast. And the hot water was sliding from her neck till her bottom.
And his hand that was holding her hair, the rhythmic pressure of the lush…Oh, Heaven…Heaven…yeah, a black Heaven was coming…
Angelus’ voice, although really near, seemed to come from an incredible distance. “Have you ever asked to yourself why there are no male slayers?”
He moved away to wash the lush in the water again, then he knelt, massaging her gluteus and her thighs. Looking at him standing like that, his dark-haired head at a few centimetres from her belly made her feel dizzy. She tried to reach his shoulders.
“No” he stopped her peremptory. “Don’t touch me.”
He washed her feet then he stood up to concentrate on her breast. “So, have you ever thought about that?”, he insisted moving the lush around her nipples. “Answer”.
Buffy blinked her eyes a couple of times. “uh…no”. She was concentrated on the part of his shoulders that bended trough his upper-arm, the vague imperfections of his skin…so paradoxical, but so true…She imposed herself to look at that point to ignore the streams of hot water which from her chest stopped on her pubes’ locks.
“Only a woman can slay a vampire”, he was explaining to her, quite. “Women and vampires are alike, the two weigh scale.” The lush was on her right hip now. Shivers, a cloud of painful, burning shivers. “Blood Buffy. That links us. With blood women creates, with blood we destroy, but blood is at bottom of our power. The root. The source.” Now the left hip. Oh God…God…”Your strength is blood Buffy. That blood which flows from your deepest recesses, which moves with the tide, which pulses in your fibres as our victim’s veins do, while they give us their life to extend our death”.
Again, Angelus knelt. He introduced a hand between her knees and he made her open her legs a bit, then he begun to brush softly her private parts. Buffy startled: the lush was soft and so hot. Oh God…Somebody was gasping really loud in the room. Who?
Was there anybody else?
Oh, I am…God, I’m gasping so loud…
“Do you feel it Buffy? Do you feel that heat which radiates from your centre?” He observed her, from his underneath position, with his angel face, a deception belied by that too morbid mouth, by that too dark and disturbing eyes. “Do you feel the energy which spread in your blood?”.
He used the lush with a soft and titillating kindness. Buffy stiffened, waiting the orgasm, so dangerously imminent…but when the top was nearly there Angelus went away, putting back the lush and he begun searching in a settle.
Buffy gasped, shocked, her legs which threatened to crack. He gave her a black silk petticoat. “Put it on!”.
Still shocked by an uncontrollable inner tremor she obeyed and the soft fabric moulded to her humid skin. Black silk, the same Angelus was wearing, that swished when the vamp moved. And he was moving, as a feline that studies its victim.
“Collect the energy” he whispered. “All your emotions; fear, anger, excitement…Collect them in your blood, in the original core, let them hoard…and then, free them.”
Buffy breathed in and out. Emotions…fear…anger…excitement…
“Think about the first motion your instinct suggests you”, he continued. “And free your power”.
She was contemplating his lips, the shape they assumed when he talked.
Emotions…fear…anger…excitement…
She did not realise what she was doing. An instant before she was preparing a fist, and an instant after Angelus went on the carpet.
He whistled, holding on his elbow and rubbing his chin. “My congratulations! A good straight right…” he challenged her, arching an eyebrow. “But was it really the first motion your instinct suggested you?”
She was on him in a minute. “Shut up”. She took his face, passing her thumb on his mouth to open it, and then she filled it with her warm breath. “Shut up”. She kissed him, pressing, voracious, desiring his blood’s taste, inebriating with his musk’s scent, and she took his member in his trousers.
She felt it growing up, becoming harder, and raved she left his mouth to stand upon him, trying to guide it inside her. She wasn’t expert…at that point it had always been up to Spike…but she wanted him. She couldn’t wait anymore. And it was easy at last…maybe too much.
With a typically feminine sexy gesture she put her petticoat up her hips and she begun to move, asking him only with her glance an answer in his dark distant eyes…but Angelus didn’t cooperate. He lied relaxed, with a lazy smile, indifferent.
She fastened the rhythm, unsatisfied, concerned. Was she committing some mistakes?
Damn, help me!
“You don’t free anything…”he whispered, provocative. “anything at all…”
Buffy reacted beating his chest with little angry fists, on the edge of a top she knew she couldn’t reach all of her own. She moaned, frustrated.
Suddenly Angelus took her wrists. “Do you want that I show you what it means free your power Slayer? Do you want Buffy?”
She was nearly crying, and she nodded. Oh yeah, free me…please, free me…
He transformed with a roar and, still inside her, he put her on her back, pushing her under himself. The rhythm immediately changed, becoming slower and more resolute.
He made love differently from Spike, he moved his hip in a way she was forced to follow him, to experience like that his pushes with more depth…and every push was a flash of blinding pleasure which she felt in her stomach.
And his face…She had never seen him in his demon-face…he was still so particularly handsome. His eyes were yellow and bright. He has golden eyes, Buffy told herself amazed, God, he has golden eyes…and that teeth…suddenly she desired to be penetrated in all the possible ways. She wanted to feel him, everywhere.
“Bite me…”, she implored him. “Please, bite me…”
But Angelus didn’t listen to her. He fixed her arms over her head, entering in her with no mercy and Buffy was overwhelmed by more that one orgasm, one inside the other; a unique, multiform wave of ecstasy which ran through her, from her feet’s fingers till her hair.
And the black oppressive sky fell down and swallowed her.


Was the day still outside?
Did it really exist?
Or the whole world had disappeared and only that room, that carpet had remained?
And was it normal that she felt her body so dilated, with no stable borders?
Bored of the decorations on the roof, she turned to her lover, the Scourge of Europe, who was looking her quietly, the face on his crossed arms.
She had scratched him, during their sensational embrace. A dribble of blood was coming down the complicated tattoo. She reached out a finger taking a drop and she tried to taste it, but Angelus stopped her hand. “No. You’re not ready for that blood yet.”
Looking in her eyes he sucked her finger. Buffy sighed, bending her back a bit.
“Is that what will happen?” she asked. “You’ll do that to me?”
He smiled, looking incredibly young. “I won’t do to you anything that you don’t want to…”
Oh God…all right then…
Buffy took off her petticoat and she rubbed herself on the carpet. “Do you need some suggestions?”



“So?” Joyce cried from the kitchen. “How do you feel after having turned seventeen?”
“Nothing special” mumbled Buffy squatted on the sofa. On the TV screen, a 40’s couple was singing a sweet classical song, in a musical of the period. “I’m just older.”
Her mom appeared bringing a small cream cake with a candle on its top. “What a lot of sadness…Something’s wrong?”, she asked, while her smile becoming less convictive. “I know that cake’s not so beautiful, but the plane had landed in late and…”
“No, what are you saying?” Buffy apologized. “I’m just tired…you know, the party at Willow’s house was so funny…”
Joyce sat next to her, with a doubtful expression. “Xander was there I suppose…You are still angry right?”
Buffy shook her head. “Yeah…but don’t worry. You’re cake’s beautiful and I love you.”
“Me too my darling. Happy birthday!” She gave her the cake. “C’mon, if you blow out the candles, your wish will come true!”
Buffy smiled and she put her head on her shoulder, cuddling up to her. “Mmm…then I’ll let them blow out…”








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