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It was just four people in the room, but Spike felt like she had pushed all the air out. He still sat in the chair. Drake however was already moving to accommodate her.

"Thank you for coming."

"It was no trouble" she said coolly. Her accent was now more American, the soft lilt changing me into something harder, clipped syllables. Nothing like the old Darla, European whore.

And then the Queen of Frank's empire. What am I doing here?

Spike wisely inclined his head as she swept the room with her blue eyes. Darla was like a beautiful nightmare. Her hair was curled around the nape of her neck, flawlessly perfect but still as gold as the girl above him. Why was he thinking of her now? Spike tried to focus on anything else but the fiery expression she had fastened on when dealing with Hunter or the heartbroken sobs as he slammed the door shut on her old life. Drake had stated it as much, they wouldn’t kill her yet, she was too valuable and they couldn’t simply let her go free. And she's also mine, Spike thought possessively.

Angel struggled against the bonds again, jerking his thoughts back to the present. Sweat coated his bare chest, but for now there were no whip marks. Darla smiled at him and all he could see was Dru, her same white teeth glittering in the sterile light. They weren't related but the resemblance was striking all the same.

Something terrible was going to happen. He just knew it.

The lovelier she looked the more likely that they would all end up dead. It was like an omen amongst the family. Darla was the black spot, the cough before everyone started to fall over, the tainted clothes given to unsuspecting victims.

No, if she was here then Angel was really fucked. Spike almost felt pity.

Unlike Drusilla she was dressed in a light green emerald dress, her hands neatly gloved as though she was about to join a dinner party. Sharp cheekbones so like his own tapered neatly into a crimson mouth that was all about sneering with disapproval. "I hope you hadn't forgotten about me." She took a seat next to Drake, smiling as he visibly leaned away.

"You called her here? Are you insane?" Angel was struggling against his chains with all his might now, not bothering to hide the fear. His dark brown eyes were bloodshot with stress and lack of blood but they barely blinked as he stared at her.

"I had to call her", Drake justified. "She is after all our step mother and a member of the elite circle. I can't ignore the rules just because you did." He winced as Darla patted his cheek with fake affection. She'd graced both their beds, before finally climbing her way into Frank's.

Whores were all the same. No matter if they were only pretending to be one. Stop fucking thinking about her!

Taking out a small knife, the length of her hand, Darla stood again and began to move towards her former lover. "I've been hearing bad things lately, my little Angel." The knife flashed forward, slicing into one hardened breast. "They whisper little stories about you and the enemy, some stupid girl that likes to play at being an adult; cops and robbers."

"It didn’t mean anything." Angel swung his face away as the sweat seeped into the small wounds that Darla carved.

"Don't lie," she said patronizingly. "It wasn't enjoyable when we slept together and it's pointless now." A vicious thrust with the blade scored a new scar that would definitely need stitches. "Dru never sees wrong, and even Drake had to tell me eventually." Spike watched as the two brothers exchanged glances. If looks could kill, Drake would be nothing more than dismembered parts.

"How is your little pet Angel? Drake tells me that she's been given away."

"What do you mean? To who?" There was a panic in his voice that Spike had never heard before. It felt like pure joy. Angel loved the girl or as much as was possible given his lack of soul. Spike fought to keep down his laughter. It was ridiculous that the git would be subjected to his own punishment, ridiculously horrible and at the same time right. Darla must've heard about Drusilla's fate. It didn't matter here though. In the space of the night he had been given more power than any normal family member could dream of. He had Angel where he wanted him, the chance to finally take his revenge, but the only thought he could make sense of kept replaying in his head. The sodding poof had fallen in love.

When Spike looked up, they were all staring. It was finally his turn. "She's been given to me."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, SHE'S BEEN GIVEN TO YOU. YOU DON'T DESERVE HER!" Angel steadied his breathing for a second as Darla kept grinning. There was nothing but desperation in his voice now, strain showing in the tense muscles which rippled along his arms and face. "William" he begged, "I've never asked you for anything-"

"No, you've only ever taken it from me." Cold rage was flowing through his veins now. Drusilla, it always came back to Drusilla.

"I'll give you anything."

"Everything that you owned has already been given" Drake said coldly. "Including that little whore."

"What are you trying to say? You're going to cut me out? Let your own flesh and blood be butchered in front of the family for show?" Angel shook his head as Drake continued to stare directly at him. "I don't believe it."

"You'd better start then. It's already been agreed upon." Darla was almost ignored in the staring match but her words cut the air. "Effective immediately, you are relegated to the place of Masters. People will think you are still in control but all your decisions will be made by me, Drake, Spike and my other associates. Anything and everything you do will be watched. You will never have a moment of peace again, and you will never see her again either." A broken sound escaped Angel's lips. "The girl is Spike's to do with as he will. And" she said leaning as close as was safe to do so, "if you so much as dare to look the wrong way, say anything, then I will butcher not only you but every single person that still means anything to you at all."

The scourge of europe in all her vindictive glory.

Spike expected him to try to argue. The poof was always good with words, far better than he at twisting them into some kind of excuse. But this... his hanging body seemed to slump against the wall despite the chains that held him. It was like his very soul had given up. And then Angel turned his gaze on him and a flood of hate poured out.

"You will pay for this."

"'ve already paid for it. You were the one who destroyed her. And now you can watch as I do it to your precious little Buffy."

Like earlier in the night, Spike once again slammed the door, uncaring as howls of rage carried through. Darla would take care of the physical punishment, hurting Buffy would destroy him from the inside out.

Who said that revenge wasn't fulfilling?





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