He remembered some nights when he and Buffy had been too involved in each other to even notice that the outside world existed. When his arms had been perpetually locked around her small body and her lips had been glued to his; when it would have taken an apocalypse or worse to drive them apart.
The worst had happened. Buffy was moving so fast, he could barely catch her eyes. There would be no spontaneous leaping into his arms. No wresting kisses from his lips. No hungry moans, no brazen touching. He’d never again feel her heart pounding against his chest or smell the warmth of her arousal—and even if he did, it wouldn’t be directed at him.
It wasn’t as though Angel had expected Buffy to fall into his arms, especially after what he’d done to her the year before. After he’d returned from Hell, she’d cared for him; she’d even kissed him once, only that had led to a rather abrasive confrontation with the Scoobies, and she’d since declared them just friends. The declaration was something she’d done for herself; he knew enough to recognize that. They could never be what they’d once been. And though he’d known it, he’d been in no way prepared for her to actually move on.
And to move onto Spike? Honestly, who could be prepared for that?
However, Angel suspected that much of what Buffy was feeling was based on the claim. The claim that, despite the lack of a mark on her throat, he was still certain had occurred. He didn’t know how else to explain her symptoms, or the sudden perverse attraction to his idiot of a grand-childe. Buffy was certainly unpredictable, but he’d never pegged her for being openly and unabashedly foolish.
The trouble was, he didn’t know where claim-induced feelings began. Ever since Darla told him about claims, he’d lived under the impression that they couldn’t generate feelings; rather, claims thrived on feelings that already existed. In rare instances, claims might be instrumental in unearthing certain feelings, but it was impossible to fabricate emotions based on a claim—something several well-noted historic vamps had discovered the hard way. There were a few tales lost to vamp lore about vampires that were so lovesick that they claimed the object of their desire against his or her wish, only to end up a miserable, hollow shell for all eternity. When claims were forced, they only emphasized hatred and resentment. Forced claims did nothing but cut and destroy.
Angel was certain that any claim that Spike had placed on Buffy had been forced, but there was no hatred or resentment. And that meant, of course, that even if she was feeling things through the claim, it was all real. All of it. She’d really lost herself to a vampire, and he couldn’t help it if the notion made him sick.
Which brought him back to the notion that Buffy’s feelings had to be fabricated; that history was wrong. That, like many human fables, the tales about claims were meant to scare vampires into thinking before they selected lifemates. But it was a stretch; it was wishful thinking. Angel had met one or two wrongly claimed vamps; despite want, deep down, he knew that Buffy’s behavior couldn’t be blamed on anything. Not a thing.
She might have hated Spike when the claim was placed, but she didn’t hate him now. No, Angel knew the look in Buffy’s eyes well, only he’d never seen it so powerful. So vibrant. He recalled how it’d felt when she’d really looked at him the first time—when he’d seen her love for him shining in her eyes—and how his heart had leapt in his cold chest. How feeling had touched nerves that had long been singed—how for so long, he’d been numb and void of anything resembling warmth.
When he saw her eyes now, it was like staring down a supernova. He saw a universe explode into creation over and over again. Spike had done that for her. Spike had given her life, whereas Angel had only taken it away.
The Powers had handed him a soul, but gifted Spike with the key to redemption.
That’s not fair, he told himself, casting Buffy another glance. She was moving so fast; even in her weakened state, it was hard to keep up. I had it once. I had it.
The Powers had given him everything but the owner’s manual. Perhaps it was his fault for not researching gypsies in the wasted decades that followed the curse. He’d spent his time dragging himself from gutter to gutter. He’d climb the social ladder, then fall when dizzied by the heights. When he found himself feasting over the body of a man he could have saved if he hadn’t been so hungry for human blood. But in the midst of all that, he’d held onto his soul and attempted to cleanse his red-stained hands time and time again. There had been no indication that the soul wasn’t safely harnessed. None until Buffy barreled into his life.
Well, to be fair, until he barreled into hers.
He wasn’t supposed to be soulless, and he wasn’t supposed to be dead. And the only reason Angel saw in providing him an out to his soul was to make sure his behavior was maintained. Champions, after all, needed their fatal flaws. Their Achilles Heel. Perfect happiness, no matter what he did or how much he sacrificed, was something that he could never have.
He could never have Buffy. And while that pained him, the pain wasn’t anything compared to the knowledge that she’d lost her heart to Spike. It wasn’t anything compared to the knowledge that he had never created a universe in her eyes. Angel had always thought himself special; he’d felt that what they had was special. Different. Something shared by only them and no one else.
The more he saw of Buffy now, the more he realized that their relationship had been a dramatic, hell-laced version of every teen-angst Lifetime Original Movie to have ever aired. And damn if that didn’t sting.
Tonight was the final hurdle. Buffy didn’t have bite marks on her throat, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t have them somewhere else. Angel was just a few percentage points from complete conviction that a claim was the catalyst of her behavior, and if all went according to plan tonight, he and Giles would have enough ammunition to go about fixing whatever mess Buffy had unwittingly gotten herself into.
Unaccepted claims were an easy fix. It would just take separating Buffy and Spike as long as possible. Until the pangs of separation dwindled and life returned to normal. As long as Buffy hadn’t met Spike’s stake on her with a, “yours,” they had nothing to worry about.
If, however, she had accepted—something that Giles refused to afford plausibility, though Angel wasn’t so optimistic—their options were incredibly limited. If she’d accepted, the only thing that would make her feel better was claiming Spike back. Until then, they’d feel pangs of separation, and those pangs would grow worse the longer they were apart. The longer they were apart and the longer Spike’s demon went unclaimed by his chosen.
The vampire that Buffy had to face tonight for the Cruciamentum was called Kralik, and he was a nasty son of a bitch. He’d arrived a few days ago, and Angel had volunteered himself, much to the delight of the Watcher’s Council, to help keep Kralik under control. And though Angel hated the idea of leaving Buffy to face the monster alone, he surprisingly wasn’t too worried about her. Buffy was amazingly resourceful, and he’d be outside the entire time.
And if Angel was right about the claim, it would take Spike all of three minutes to show up.
Angel dug his hand into his coat pocket. “Oh,” he said, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had followed them since they left the library. “I bought you something.”
Buffy jerked to a fierce stop and cast him a suspicious glance. “What?” she demanded sharply. “Why?”
“It’s your birthday.”
“Oh. Yes. Okay.” Buffy shook her head, shivered, and continued walking. “That’s really nice for you.”
“For me?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Don’t you want to see it?”
Her brows arched. “Did it cost a lot?”
“Yes.”
“Does it come from the heart?”
“Buffy—”
“No. I wanna know. I want to know how much energy I should put into throwing it away after I beat the living crap out of you later tonight.”
Angel’s heart wrenched. “What the hell did I do?”
“Oh, don’t give me that!” she spat. “You know exactly what you did. So I’m not fawning over you or crying into my pillow over how you and I will never have the Disney future with fanged children running around the front yard—picket fence excluded. Am I not entitled to anything?”
“You’re entitled to make intelligent decisions, Buffy.”
She balked, her eyes flying open. “But, oh, no mistakes, right? Buffy can’t make mistakes. Buffy has to be flawless in everything she does. A living example for the lesser mortals that run around here. And she certainly can’t be with someone that doesn’t have the ex’s approval.” She shook her head. “Were you this much of a jackass while we were dating, or did losing your soul make you go stark-raving mad?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“No. Not that. Soulless Angel wasn’t that much of an enigma, and at least he was up-front about being a selfish, sadistic, son of a bitch. You? You try to come off as so innocent and condescending and when the hell did you decide that you were better than everything and everyone? Huh?” Buffy shook her head furiously. “You’re an unmitigated, unbelievable, sad, pathetic, and I would go on, but I actually have a life and a boyfriend that I like. And hey! He actually treats me right.”
“Yeah, if you call raping you treating you right.”
Buffy froze and turned, burying him under a glacier with her eyes. “I’m not going to waste a punch,” she said slowly. “Not now. I’ll wait until I’m better. I’ll wait until I know it’s going to hurt. And I swear to God, Angel, if you ever say anything like that again, you’re dust. Do you understand me? I will send you right back to Hell and who will give a damn? Aside from Giles, I’m guessing no one, and I’m guessing that you’d be hard-pressed for Giles to shed any tears.”
“God, what has he done to you?”
“Ripped the blinders off, that’s for sure.”
“And here I could’ve sworn he was just fastening them into place.”
“That’s only because the blinders I’m referring to are the ones that made me fall in love with you in the first place. But no, if it doesn’t work for Angel, it has to be wrong.”
“So you don’t want your present.”
“Not unless you want it shoved up your ass,” she replied with false sweetness, flashing a bright smile.
Angel fought off an eye roll. It was nice to know that Spike had passed on his more shining personality traits. “You’re not at all the girl I thought you were,” he remarked.
“You can imagine how very much I care.”
He snickered. “You really think you can tame him, Buffy? Has he convinced you that he can go on without feeding on humans? Without killing innocents? Without turning into someone that you will have to kill in much the same way you had to kill me?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. And I should mention, I now recall that last part with fondness and warmth.”
“He can’t keep those promises.”
“Good thing he didn’t make them, then.” Buffy shot him another glare. “Spike hasn’t promised me anything, Angel, and I didn’t ask him to change. Whatever changes he’s made have been voluntary and at his own pacing. I can’t make anyone change. I, unlike some others in this conversation who shall remain nameless, understand that the vampire nature cannot be denied. If Spike changes because I asked him to, it’s not real. It’s only real if he changes because he wants to, and that’s what he did.”
“Spike wants this right now,” Angel barked. “I’m sorry, Buffy, but it’s true. You don’t know him like I do. He has the attention span of a fruit-fly, and eventually, his wants will shift and he’ll leave you in the dust, cleaning up his mess.”
The fire doused in her eyes, and he knew immediately that he’d struck a nerve. Something that she’d considered. Something that, even as he’d spoken the words, he knew was impossible. Spike might be many things, but he wasn’t one to fall in and out of love lightly. In all the years that Angel had known him, Spike had been in love with one woman. Just one. True, he’d been infatuated with some stuck-up nineteenth century wench before he was turned, but after that, the blond pest had only had eyes for Dru. If Spike was in love again, chances were it was permanent.
And Buffy was the same way. Both Buffy and Spike tended to crash head-first with love, rather than fall into it. And if they’d crashed into each other, it was fair to say that all hope for reconciliation was lost.
Especially if they were mated.
“You know what?” Buffy said blithely. “There’s absolutely no need for you to talk to me ever again.”
Angel sighed. She was nothing if not a drama queen. “Buffy.”
“That’s your cue to stop talking to me.”
“Buffy…” He didn’t like what he was about to do. He really didn’t. It was, however, incredibly necessary. He needed Buffy inside the abandoned boarding house with the crazed vampire, and it needed to happen soon. Now. Before Spike decided to randomly show up. Before his window of opportunity closed. He needed Buffy in the boarding house—the boarding house that was very conveniently across the street, the one he’d led her to without even trying—and he needed her in there now. “Buffy, stop!”
“Not until you do.”
“It’s Spike.”
“The source of the stick up your ass is Spike. Again, imagine my surprise.”
“No. Stop! I’m saying that Spike’s…I smell him.” He flinched. This deception was not at all pleasant. “It’s blood. His blood.”
Buffy froze, and the terror in her eyes was devastating.
“It’s coming from over there.” He pointed. “Wait a sec and I’ll—”
Buffy didn’t wait. She never waited. She didn’t even hesitate or question him. She took off like a bat out of hell.
Just like he knew she would.
To be continued…
Author’s Note: I’m so totally evil, aren’t I? ***cackles***