Demon's Aria

The two vampires glared at each other across the wharf, quickly assessing relative positions and weaknesses. Luke's entourage streamed off the ship, fanning out behind him like a pool of darkness in the night, clad in the traditional robes of the Order of Aurelius. Darla cast a quick nervous eye over them. Minions. The Master made no more childer after Joshua abandoned him. If you could believe the rumours he was waiting for the right time, the right candidate, and prophecy had told him to await the coming of the Anointed One.

Darla's only back up came in the form of the new minion - Bethan, a stupid useless girl - and Angelus. For a moment she wished she hadn't sent Drusilla and William away, not that they would have been much use if it came down to a fight. How on earth the Master had managed to find her on Jersey in January was beyond reckoning.

Luke offered his arm and Darla, having spared a warning glance for Angelus, stepped forward and took it, confident that her brother was unlikely to spring any unwelcome surprises. Nothing more than his untimely arrival anyway.

Leaving the others behind to posture pointlessly, the siblings strolled down the quay in silence until they reached the last mooring point. Only then did they stop, far enough from the edge to avoid the waves crashing onto the stone and stood together staring into the night.

Glowing orange sparks followed the cigarette's journey twixt flicking fingers and the sand, where it landed only to be swallowed a second later by the next wave flushing up the beach. The tide was coming in rapidly now and another hour would see all Dru's hard work destroyed by something more indefatigable than Darla.

She raised her tousled head from the complex pattern of lines inscribed on the beach and Spike's fingers itched for want of a brush. The quiet times they'd spent, him playing with her hair and her singing, had been the highlight of the last two months. Ever since Darla and Angelus had run them off with instructions they stay away until needed.

An insistent hand pulling on his brought Spike back to the windswept winter beach and, amused rather than annoyed, he allowed himself to be dragged over to the masterpiece Dru had been creating since sunset. He stood perplexed in the centre of a complex design of swirls and spirals, turning around slowly in the hopes of making sense of it.

"The future, silly. See." She pointed at a spectacularly intricate series of curlicues as if they held the answers to the universe, which, Spike reflected, was entirely possible for Drusilla. From things Angelus let slip, Spike understood that Dru had always had the sight, but since his odd conversation with his demon in the London sewers, he wondered whether being turned hadn't changed that into something else. Sometimes his princess seemed to know the future too well. Though communicating that knowledge in a comprehensible manner to anyone else was another matter entirely.

Giving him an exasperated look worthy of Darla, Dru squatted down and ran her fingers millimetres above the sand, tracing the design with her nails. "Paris." She glanced up to check he was listening then went back, her head cocked slightly to one side as if listening to an internal voice. "We will go to Paris, with Daddy and Grandmother."

"Grandmother wants to consume the baby there but the little one has to go on a journey first." Dru pointed towards another design a few feet away. "A long delicious trip full of pain and magic and hungry hunger. That will make Grandmother unhappy but it must happen. Has to happen." Her hands started to flutter between the sand and her mouth, and a distressed whine built in her throat. "Ohhh!"

"Hey, love." Spike was at her side immediately, holding her tightly and rubbing circles on her back. His first instinct was to annihilate the picture with one swipe of his hand but experience told him that sometimes such things made her worse.

The whine dropped to a low hum and Drusilla leaned into him finally accepting the comfort of touch and words. For a while they sat together listening to the incessant sea and scenting the ozone tang coming in off the waves, the night wrapping them in her cold arms.

She whined again at his reprimand and wriggled in his arms, nearly overbalancing him as he carried her up the steep path toward the cave. But that was the end of the arguments, thank goodness. It had taken him over a week to persuade her to eat rabbit the first time, with Dru swearing that she would get fur-balls like a cat and him telling her not to be stupid. There wasn't enough meat on his princess' bones to be fussy; a decent wind would blow her away.

Once he was certain she wouldn't wander off the moment he left, Spike grabbed his sack and set off to check the snares. There were twenty in all, scattered amongst the gorse and bracken over the common, placed carefully to exploit the regular runs the habitual creatures used during their twilight wanderings. As he approached the first and heard the tell tale sounds of an animal struggling, Spike sent up a word of thanks to Fred and the lads for teaching him the whys and wherefores one night. Who'd of thought he'd ever have needed it.

It turned out to be lean pickings. Although seven of the traps had caught something, only three were still alive, one of the drawbacks of not being able to check them regularly. Of the other four, two were untouched and he fed hungrily off the cooling congealing blood, ripping the tiny corpses open and chewing on the blood sodden flesh. The final pair had been torn up good and proper, fox or badger most likely, though he didn't waste what little blood was left around.

Spike gave the last rabbit a quick shake, stuffed the stunned animal into his sack - all the live prey went back for Dru - and sighed. Pretty soon he'd need to put more holes in his belt. Then he stood and stared out over L'Ouaisine common towards the farmland beyond as he licked his fingers clean. Maybe he could try for a cow. Angelus hadn't forbidden that and anything that might fill his clenching belly would be welcome. A fortnight of starvation rations would even make it taste palatable.

Dru was less than impressed by the meagre offering but made the best of it, not spilling a drop. Finally, as the sun crested the horizon, they retreated to the back of the cave and Spike settled Dru on their makeshift bed of bracken fronds to sleep the day away.

Still too hungry to sleep himself, he paced the walls of the cave exploring its deeper recesses, ending up sorting through the dusty piles of animal bones and rubbish he'd found. It wasn't much more than a way to pass time but he had turned up the occasional trinket.

His questing fingers brushed against something solid amongst the shards of pottery and bone. And he quickly extracted an odd looking figurine. Carved from green stone, it was obviously, almost grotesquely, feminine, with disproportionate tits and hips. Not a particularly attractive piece but the diamond embedded in its stomach could be prised out and might be worth flogging if they ever got back to civilisation. After brushing off the worst of the muck Spike stuck it in his ditty bag along with his other finds and then joined Dru in the hopes of getting his head down for a couple of hours.

She brandished the letter under the vampire's nose, giving Darla the full benefit of the scents it still carried. Sealing wax and coal-smoke - most definitely originated in London then, she thought, resisting the temptation to simply grab the damn thing and read it. Instead she smiled pleasantly and enquired, "What does it say, my dear? Does Louis wish you to return to London?"

"No, no. Better than that." Lily stopped twirling and clasped the letter to her breast, her eyes closing in happiness. "He wants me to go to Paris. I will remain there until the baby is born and then he will come to see me."

"Ah. Yes…Well." Darla thought quickly, as she must to avoid Lily realising that her friend's credentials were not all she believed. "He did mention a surprise to me. A secret he wished to keep from everyone except yourself. And that," she indicated the letter, "must be it."

Darla watched as the young woman waxed lyrical about the wondrous nightlife her impending move would deliver, and became increasingly worried. Lily deciding to move to Jersey had been ideal, it was possible to keep her isolated and away from most people, except the naïve locals who were nothing to fear. Paris however was an entirely different question. The Master would have the city crawling with minions within hours of Lily's arrival and any chance of spiriting the baby away from under his nose would be gone. Unless she had help.

Spike was upright and moving before he was even awake. Barefoot and shirtless, he sprinted towards the beach, zig-zagging through the budding gorse, eschewing the paths and leaping from rock to rock, all consideration for his own safety subsumed with fear for Drusilla.

As he ran, some part of his mind registered that the sun had been down for a couple of hours and a sudden flashback into vivid dreams of rich blood hovering eternally out of reach saw him lose his footing and stumble, rolling upright and running again immediately.

Flying across the uneven ground, Spike berated himself as he went. Bloody idiot, dropping off and letting her wander away on her own. Anything could've happened. She might've drowned - no, vampire! - Alright then, some monster ate her up like them ones Verne wrote all about, or… or… His feet slowed of their own volition, and then speeded up again as he spotted what had gotten Dru so excited.

Spike arrived a couple of paces behind her, the sand spraying out in a wide arc as he skidded to a halt. Ducking his head, he managed a mumbled, "Evenin' Angelus," before sinking his fangs into the other side of the sailor's neck. After a fortnight of rabbit and the occasional goose, the slightly fishy human tasted like heaven and, as the blood went down, all the little scrapes and cuts he'd sustained vanished in a surge of healing.

The smug smirk on Angelus' face had one meaning and one only, but it didn't prevent a moment's rebellion. A flash of gold and guttural growl enforced the demand and Spike sighed and dropped to his knees, quelling the urge to snap at the hand that ruffled his hair as he started to open Angelus' trousers. This would actually be fun if Angelus didn't fucking patronise him.

"Yes, Dru?" A gentle cuff to the back of his head informed Spike that his princess watching wouldn't be allowed to interfere. So he got down to business, allowing the repetitive actions of lick-suck-swallow happen automatically as he shamelessly eavesdropped on the conversation taking place over his head.

Spike obliged, deep throating Angelus and thought how odd it was that `deal' suggested some level of agreement. The last time he'd checked being face-fucked against a carriage seat while the new minion watched and sniggered in the corner did not constitute agreement. Neither did being forced to his knees morning, noon and night because Angelus had discovered the only thing better than his childe's arse was his mouth. Nicci was right about one thing; Angelus wasn't ever going to leave him alone so Spike was learning to enjoy it, as the straining in his too loose trousers testified.

A gush of salty tepid fluid flooding his mouth brought Spike back to the here and now, and he swallowed every drop - better than cow though not as nutritious - before making sure Angelus was scrupulously clean and tucking him back in.

It was the dark of the moon so all was cast in cold starlight. The sea, moving like oil crested with silver, caressed a beach dotted with electrum shells and edged with the distant lights of towns and isolated farms. Orion and Taurus hung in the sky behind them, candles of the gods and the only witnesses to the bacchanalian rite being enacted in one of the oldest human habitations in Europe.

Angelus leaned back on the sand one arm propped under his head, and watched his childer fuck. With their bellies full of human blood and topped up with some of his own, they were pretty much unstoppable and right now they were performing specifically for him. And what a pretty sight they made. So similar in colouring, pale bodies and dark hair, that it was impossible to tell them apart in this twilight world. They became a hydra, a single form with writhing interchangeable limbs. Or nature spirits, nymphs and fauns disporting themselves for Pan's pleasure. Yes, he liked that image. It carried the weight of ages with it.

"Open her up, boy," he called, voice rising above the shushing of the waves. "All the way." Spike raised Dru's legs, pressing down against her thighs so her knees virtually brushed against her ears, and giving Angelus a perfect view of a pale glistening cock plunging into her compliant body. "That's it," he purred. "Now harder. Fuck her harder."

Chewing on his lip, Spike did his best to comply, working his hips and closing his ears to the little whimpers Dru was making each time he pounded into her. There was no love in this, no care or tenderness, Angelus was seeing to that with his preemptory commands. Yet still he had made her come at least four times and climaxed himself once. In Dru's mouth of course. Apparently he was the warm-up act and Angelus didn't like sloppy seconds.

Where the hell had this come from? Where was his sweetly sensual princess? Certainly not this siren figure riding his cock and screaming to the stars. Medusa - hair a serpent's wing, turning him to stone with her wild mad eyes. Pale Morrigan - the crow-gazed berserker, dark goddess incarnate, whipping him to a frenzy and driving his body to limits he didn't know it possessed.

Tried reciting poetry - aiming for Wordsworth's tranquillity rather than Blake's passion and somehow ending up with the clarity of Milton. Thinking, perhaps for the first time, he understood Paradise Lost, `cos by Lucifer he wasn't sure whether he was falling or being pushed.

Gave up long division - mathematics was never his strong point or so the masters used to say. And that proved his undoing, `cos Dru was off again. Claws ripped gashes that spilled blood. Opened him from collar to sternum, next stop his heart or Australia. Quim like a fucking vice and then it was more than blood, it was him howling, him spilling and… Oh shit, Angelus was going to throw an absolute fit.

It was the older vampire that carried Dru back to St. Helier, her body limp and unresponsive in his arms. Spike followed along, concern personified. Confused by what he saw as her atypical behaviour, he juggled the need for quiet as they passed human settlements with persistent enquiries about Drusilla's well being.

Angelus stopped and gently placed Drusilla on the grass, taking a moment to really look at Spike before addressing him. The wounds on his chest were all but healed, though his shirt was bloodstained. Hair a riot of overlong curls, with sand, grass and dirt ground in to it. He looked liked a tramp, except for his eyes. Eyes - full of emotion, as always. Confusion and worry for his lover. Angelus wondered briefly if he'd ever felt that way about Darla. Probably, soon after he was turned. Before she'd shown her true colours the first time, in that barn, smacking him round the head with a shovel before stealing the only horse. Since then, probably not. He'd learned a hard lesson that night. That Darla was who she was and didn't need him to be what she was. It was about time Spike learned the same lesson.

Angelus indicated the prone body of the powerful vampire lying between them. "Drusilla. You treat her like a child. She has you wrapped around her little finger, twisting at her beck and call, a fish on a hook. Sooner or later she'll leave you, then what will you do?"

"Sod off, Angelus! Yer just jealous." Spike sank to his knees next to Dru, fresh mud adhering to his already filthy trousers and reached out a hand, stroking her face gently as her eyes fluttered open to greet his. As he spoke, his voice softened along with the expression on his face. "You don't understand. No one understands. What we have. I love her and-and she needs me. She'll always need me. We're forever, you know? Nothin'll change that. Nothing."

Angelus looked from his lover, dressed in elegantly cut hard wearing wool, her cheeks flushed and warm from a recent feed, to his childer, still garbed in the clothing they'd worn in London and obviously undernourished, and blinked slowly. The last thing he wanted to do was antagonise Darla but… "Frankly, I don't really care what the neighbours think."

There wasn't a conversation, not a verbal one anyway. Darla glared at Angelus, trying to find fault and, for a change, he didn't drop his eyes and capitulate. Dru was his and, by default, so was Will, and he was getting fed up with them being shoved aside every time Darla wanted him exclusively. If she wanted him at her side in Paris she was just going to have to learn to compromise.

And eventually compromise she did. With a huff of defeated annoyance, she turned on her heel and stalked up the stairs, shooting back over her shoulder, "Just ensure they look presentable. We're leaving for Paris tomorrow and I refuse to travel with them if they continue to resemble the worst type of vagabond."

"Paris! Fuck!" Now it was Spike's turn to stare up the stairs, his mouth gaping around his words as Dru's revelations of the previous night returned to him. Did that mean there was a baby involved and… Bugger, hadn't he promised Dru something about helping it take a journey or something?

When Angelus got upstairs he found a very disgruntled Darla pacing around the bedroom they shared while Bethan carefully folded and hung clothes into the portmanteau. He lingered in the doorway, unsure for the first time in many years of his welcome. He hadn't seen Darla this agitated in a very long time.

Sensing his presence, she snapped, "Get out," at the lady's maid and waited until the minion had scurried away. Only then did Darla approach him, slowly and with an unfathomable expression on her face. She looked pensive, worried, not something Angelus was accustomed to at all. Darla was a rock. In all their years together she had never been at a loss for a plan, be it hunting down their next meal or dealing with Holtz. Nothing fazed her.

"I need to tell you some things." Her hand hovered inches away from his chest as though she were afraid to touch him and he frowned, confused by this sudden strange mood. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on and Darla pressed a finger against his lips. "No. For the moment I need you to listen. You can ask all the questions you want later."

"Master, please don't send me away. There must be another who can perform this task for you?" The young vampire was virtually shaking as she pressed herself to the ground at her sire's feet. For nigh on forty years his lair had described the limits of her world and she was content at his side, the favoured childe, pampered and cosseted by his minions. Humanity seemed more than a lifetime away and she harboured no desire to return.

"Darla, you are the only one I can trust with this task." He reached down and captured her hand, drawing her to her feet to stand in front of him. "Recent events have brought this prophecy into my hands and I must have information. You will be my eyes and ears in the world above. You will be my vanguard, my protector. You will find this benighted babe, this offspring of the death flower and the corrupted prince, and deliver it into my hands. Through you we will ensure that the brat's demise cannot threaten our order or me. And when it is done, you will return to my side and we will rule together until hell itself is unleashed by the old ones."

Angelus stared at his lover, rendered speechless by the tale she had told. He was right. Exactly as he'd suspected in London, Darla was plotting with her sire and yet not against him. "This child," he started hesitantly, "born of the death flower and the corrupted prince? You believe it to be…"

"Lily's baby. Yes. Many occult signs have heralded its birth and the parentage fits the requirements of the prophecy. But Angelus," she dropped to her knees in front of him, grabbing both his hands and staring up into his eyes. "It is vastly more complicated than that." Pausing, Darla gathered her thoughts. "The Master let me leave as he believed that when this prophecy was fulfilled I would forsake you and return to his side. Now the time has come I find I do not want that. I want…"

She stood, turning away from him and clenching her fists at her side before continuing. "I don't want the sewers, Angelus. Nor the Master's lair. I want a room with a view and soft beds. I want Bottecelli's frescos and the rush of the hunt. I want - I want to keep this face. To stay beautiful not get trapped behind my demon forever like the Master. I want…"

Angelus rose behind her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her small frame back against his chest and lowering his face to her hair. "Then that is what you shall have, my love," he whispered. "The old bat will just have to learn to live without you."

Twisting in his arms, Darla turned to face him and raised her hands to cup his face, her own sad and resigned. "He will not. Not while he believes this child exists in the world and that he can defeat the prophecy. I was going to try to steal it before he realised it had been born. Hide it somewhere safe from any demons."

Angelus nodded in understanding, impressed by Darla's plan. "So by keeping it safe you hoped it would live out its normal span and the prophecy would pass by unfulfilled. Thus neither would the Order fall, nor would you have to return to the Master's side."

Darla's voice was starting to take on a slightly hysterical edge, so Angelus held her closer revelling in this rare chance to comfort his normally unflappable sire. "It can still be done. We will do it together. Come on, lover, if we could outrun Holtz for twenty years we can surely steal one baby between us."

"Is the Baron here? Is the Baron here?" Marie pushed her way through the gaggle of girls until she could peer through the curtains. An excited squeal erupted from the petite dancer's lips when she spotted her beau settling into his box, followed by a howl of disappointment when he moved to one side. "No! No, he promised! He was sending her to the country so we could be alone."

Exiled to the sidelines by virtue of being new to the chorus and having no nobleman actively seeking her company, Christine watched as the other girls comforted Marie, flocking around her like highly painted butterflies. The dancer's hands fluttered in front of her face as she gasped for breath, the previous angry howl rapidly changing to a more decorous moan. "How could he! When he said he loved me more than life itself."

Christine remained, hovering near the wings, until Madame Zanella was distracted inspecting the stage for anything that may damage her dancers' fragile feet. Only then did she venture forwards and tweak aside the heavy curtain peeking out into the rapidly filling auditorium. Her gaze automatically went to the box that had received the other's attention and she was disappointed to discover that the Baron in question was a portly middle aged man. She shuddered, wondering how Marie could tolerate his puffy, sweaty hands pawing at her, even with the promise of riches that came with such an admirer.

That would never do for her, Christine was sure. She harboured no illusions that sooner or later some important gentleman would set his cap at her, after all her looks were hardly a handicap but that didn't mean she had to settle for some ugly old goat. Her eyes scanned the audience sorting and cataloguing cut of suit and quality of cloth, age and looks, searching for candidates more to her taste.

There! Box ten. Two gentlemen, one with unfashionably long dark hair, but the obvious quality of their attire proved them to be rich, at least, and the titled were well known for being eccentric in their habits. Ladies of exquisite beauty accompanied them, but that hadn't stopped the other girls.

Christine started, dragged out of her daydream of riches beyond her wildest dreams and nights filled with passionate love, by the sound of Madame Zanella's voice next to her ear. "Y-yes, Madame," she stuttered, confused and embarrassed at being caught.

"And who is it that has such a pretty girl forgetting her duties?" The chef-de-ballet moved Christine slightly to one side and peered over her shoulder. "Hmm. Let me see… Baron de Courcy? No, too old. The Marquis de Montebello? Too cheap." Pausing for dramatic effect the older woman perused the men on offer, her eyes coming to rest on two in particular. "Or could it be that the gentlemen to catch your eye are our new comers? The Comte and Vicomte de Chagny?" The flush rising on Christine's cheeks evidenced Madame Zanella unerring accuracy as she indicated the very box that had absorbed Christine's attention moments before.

"Aha. Your secret is out," the chef-de-ballet crowed. And then, taking pity on the blushing chorus girl, she nudged the young woman and whispered, "You're not the only one, you know. They've attracted much attention since their arrival. Though as far as I know none of the girls have captured their hearts." On the other side of the curtain the orchestra started to tune up, indicating that the performance would soon begin, and Madame Zanella gave Christine a gentle push. "Run along, my dear. Monsieur Gabriel will be most displeased if you are late."

As the blonde girl darted off, her soft shod feet silent on the wooden stage, the older woman shook her head sadly. Yet another one losing her heart to some no good gallant who would exploit her while she was young and pretty only to move on to another once the bloom faded.

He watched her from the flies, evading numerous stagehands with long practised ease. The Prima Donna was adequate; good even, though there were others, like his little bird, who could sing so much better. It had to be the audience that caused the problem because he'd listened to Christine when she was alone and her voice was freer and richer than it ever was when she was on the stage. It was sad, disappointing. Like him, the girl was destined to remain in the chorus, her light hidden under a bushel, shunned and rejected by the others. It made her vulnerable. It made her irresistible. It made him want to raise her to staggering heights before dragging her down into the darkness with him.

Christine was in tears by the end of the performance. Her voice was just terrible. What had seemed rounded and clear in her small hometown sounded screeching and ugly next to the talented singers populating the Paris Opera. Eschewing her chorus master's post-performance lecture, she dodged away hurrying through the dark back ways of the opera house, hardly conscious of where she was heading. Just needing to escape, Christine was somewhat surprised when found herself surrounded by sumptuous gilding and rich velvet hangings. Her hands flew to her mouth as she smothered a cry of horror. She had stumbled into the entrance hall, just under the grand staircase.

Even through a haze of tears she noticed the speaker had a beautiful face, strong and masculine, framed by sleek dark hair, though his cruel eyes and superior sneer detracted from his charm. In an attempt to appear less nervous than she actually felt, Christine swiped at her eyes, clearing them and only then did she recognise that this was the Comte de Chagny, the gentleman she had been watching through the curtains earlier.

Dropping into a rapid curtsy, she ducked her head, overcome with humiliation and shame at being caught here, in the public area, without an invitation, by such an important gentleman. "I'm sorry, monsieur," she murmured. "I did not mean to run in to you."

"Hm. No harm done. See." The Comte held his hands out as if to illustrate his point and Christine couldn't prevent the small smile that slid on to her face. Maybe he wasn't as forbidding as she'd previously thought. She glanced up shyly and saw he was smiling back at her. Please, please, let him say something, she prayed. Let him find me agreeable.

The Comte's eyes widened in recognition and his attention immediately left her, more concerned with the vocalist. Christine's grasp of English wasn't good but she recognised it as the language of the singer. Who, it appeared, was the Comte's younger brother, perched on the banister of the grand staircase and singing at the top of his voice, much to the embarrassment of the rest of his family.

With a short bow and a click of his heels the Comte left her and hurried off towards the stairs. Christine would have liked to stay and watch but being discovered here would cause more trouble than any fun she may have gleaned from the experience. The moment she was dismissed, the singer headed back into the bowels of the opera house and her room.

Leaving a goodly proportion of his face on the granite as he turned, Spike managed to answer, "The `un' bit?" Then, "Ouch!" as Angelus' other fist caught him in the ribs. He shouldn't do it. He knew he shouldn't do it. But it was impossible to resist winding Angelus up. The bastard could be driven into a trembling rage with virtually no effort and the results could be…interesting.

"A bit. Dru and me shared a lush on the way here. Reckon his blood must've been about ninety proof." Spike took advantage of the extra inch of space Angelus had gifted him and squiggled around so they were face to face. "Anyway, it's not like they could understand. I wasn't singing in French."

Angelus willed himself to patience - not a condition that came naturally to him - and glared at the brazenly innocent looking vampire in front of him. "And presumably only the English are capable of learning another tongue."

Sensing Angelus was about to launch into yet another lecture about how stupid/irresponsible/thoughtless Spike was - select any or all of the above - the younger vampire interrupted, "Where're the girls? I lost track of them somewhere between being dragged off the stairs and colliding with the wall. Can't think why, unless it had something to do with the great lout hauling me around by the collar."

The rest of the facetious commentary died in his mouth as Angelus' fist, recently disentangled from Spike's neck, hit the wall with shattering force, spraying them both liberally with stone dust. Spike swallowed thickly and glanced up at his mentor's face noting the depth of black in his eyes and the tightly drawn line of his lips.

Spike clung to the edges of the bunk willing his stomach not to heave up the remnants of his last meal, Angelus' warning still ringing in his ears. "Better feed well, Will. You won't get another chance until we get to Jersey."

The ship pitched again leaving his stomach hovering in mid-air before it slammed back down a couple of seconds later than the rest of him. Fingers clenching to wood splintering tightness, Spike swallowed heavily and then cursed under his breath, "Bloody hell."

Spike grunted, the idea of walking anywhere far from appealing, then rolled with the ship dropping to the floor with more thud and stagger than feline grace. Topside the weather didn't seem so bad, the sky relatively clear though clouds scudded across the moon. He'd halfway convinced himself they were in the midst of a storm, the way things were throwing around down below. Behind him the funnel belched smoke, its coal-laden scent polluting the clean sea air and beneath his feet the engine throbbed, labouring to drive the steamer forward through the water. Slowly, and using the railings more than he would ever admit, Spike made his way towards the bow, suddenly curious about where they were going, this being his first trip abroad.

The spot he wanted, right at the front and clear of any distractions, was already filled. The man in question braced against the railings, the wind goading his coat into snapping against his legs. About to melt back into the shadows, Spike was thwarted when a particularly large wave hit the side of the ship sending him stumbling across the deck and careening into, and nearly over, the far rail.

Just as he reached the point of no return, feet several inches off the deck and fingers clinging desperately to anything they could find, his mind spinning with the humiliation of being in such an ignominious position, a hand grabbed his coat and yanked him backward.

Without stopping to consider the implications, Spike seized the Good Samaritan by the lapels, pulled him down and latched onto his neck, his gyppy stomach settling the second the good stuff hit it. The man's heart slowed rapidly and as it stopped completely, Spike spun and shoved the body hard, sending it flying overboard.

Long experience of sea travel had steeled Angelus against the denials it often brought however he was very well aware of the dangers. He had decided years ago that the best way to pass the time was fucking and sleeping as those particular activities could be done in a cabin, thereby reducing the risk of running into some human who was either begging to be eaten or needed to have their face ripped off.

The second they were alone, he increased his grip and lifted his protégé the crucial few inches that brought his feet clear of the floor. "Thought you could hide it, imbecile," he snarled, shaking Spike until his teeth rattled. "What part of `don't feed' didn't you understand?"

Spike cringed, embarrassment at being discovered adding to extant humiliation and a healthy dose of fear. Together however, and given a couple of moments to marinate, they were a recipe for disaster. In this particular case, rage.

Twisting in his elder's grip, Spike kicked out repeatedly, aiming for Angelus' kneecaps and groin, snarling himself. "Fuck off, ponce. I don't have to listen to you. Think you're so bloody clever. Creeping around like a sodding nancy-boy. Scared of getting yer pretty clothes all messed. We're vampires, for god's sake."

"It's not about the hunt, you fool. It's about control and your lack of it." With a final shake that made the tendons in Spike's neck creak in protest, Angelus launched the spitting furious vampire across the cabin and stalked after him, determined to knock some sense into the recalcitrant idiot. "It's about you not listening. It's about you never, ever doing as you're damn well told!"

It was the expression on Spike's face that gave Angelus pause for thought. As his fist rose, ready to smash down that insolence, it flickered from rage to fear to gritted determination and the punch died a-borning. They'd been here before. That expression was more familiar to Angelus than his own face. It said beat me, thrash me, do what the fuck you want but I will never give up!

Grinding his teeth, Angelus contained his temper with some difficulty, spinning on his heel and glaring at the blanket covered porthole until some level of rational thought returned. It wasn't easy. The aborted fight had left him aroused and hard and… His thoughts stumbled as a memory came back to him. With everything that had happened in the past week, from packing up the house to booking passage to the Channel Islands, all affected by the immediate desire to rejoin Darla, he'd forgotten. And now seemed like the ideal opportunity to remember. To break William, you have to `love' him.

A quick glance over his shoulder showed that determination had now been replaced by wide-eyed wary confusion, exactly the sort of look Angelus wanted to cultivate. Two quick strides took him to the bunk and he reached out, grinning when Spike flinched back from him, and delved under his pillow. His fingers closed around the prize and he pulled it out, tossing it over with an offhand comment, "I believe your protector suggested I use this."

Spike shot a look towards the front of the building where the opera-goers were starting to spill into the streets. They may be in a secluded alcove but the possibility of discovery was high. "Not here, Angelus. It's a bit on the public side."

"So we'll get to see just how unobtrusive you can be." Angelus paused for a moment as if considering his options, before continuing, "Alternatively you can wait until we get back home and I'll take you in front of Darla and Drusilla. Your choice, William."

"What do you think your girl would think of that, eh?" The finger that ran down the side of Spike's face simply served to accentuate the warning tone in Angelus' voice. "Seeing her knight protector beg me as readily as she does. Maybe we should go home. Let her see how truly useless you are."

Instead of speaking, Angelus smirked and made a twirling gesture. Spike sighed, a heavy resigned sound, and dropped his gaze to the ground, his hands going to the buttons on his suspenders. They undid all too easily and he held his trousers up until he was facing the wall, letting them fall when he spread his hands against the granite.

Angelus was immediately plastered against his back, one hand grasping his cock and working it to full hardness, whispering sweet nasties in his ear. "Here we are again. Honestly William, anyone would think you enjoy this, the way you court it." Two fingers tapped against Spike's lips and he obligingly opened his mouth and sucked at them. The self-satisfied commentary continued with more than a hint of snigger. "Oops, I forgot. You do enjoy it, don't you. There wouldn't be a whole hell of a lot of point otherwise." The fingers were withdrawn with a wet plop and pressed hard against his anus, making Spike gasp and blink as they penetrated the tight ring of muscle.

Captured between two points of stimulation he was soon squirming and panting, chewing at his lip to stop himself making any sounds that would draw attention to their presence. Angelus wanted unobtrusive, he could do unobtrusive. Right up to… "Urgh!" Pressure that verged on painful skated unexpectedly over his sweet spot making his hips snap forward and forcing a groan up and out of his throat.

All movement stilled and he hung suspended on the edge of pleasure, Angelus' voice in his ear. "Now then. What say you we start the lesson de jour." And this was why he hated/loved Angelus so much. "Why did we attend the opera tonight?"

His reward was swift in coming, inducing a full body shudder as his mentor's ministrations encouraged him a few rungs up the ladder towards completion, only to stop again at the crucial moment. "Very good. And why were you invited?"

It may be unorthodox but there was no doubting that this teaching method worked. Angelus nuzzled into Spike's hair, blowing cool air over the ear he revealed and grinning when muscles clamped around his fingers. As Angelus had suspected, only when the younger vampire's interest was being held by other matters would he stop and listen. At all other times he was far too interested in the quick cynical comeback and preserving face.

The note of genuine contrition in Spike's voice melted Angelus' resolve. That and the fact that getting caught didn't appeal to him either. Code or no code, it would generate gossip and Spike had contributed enough to that for one evening. "Hmm. Maybe you are."

"I am. Honest, Angelus. I won't do it again." He probably wouldn't, Angelus surmised. Although there were bound to be other equally stupid antics to deal with. And punish. Many undoubtedly worse than singing bawdy songs in the grand foyer of the Paris opera house.

Spike complied and freed Angelus' erection, expertly flicking open one set of suspender buttons. Although disappointed that he wasn't to get the full benefit of an exquisite hand job, Spike was bright enough to conceal his resentment. Frankly after the way he'd behaved tonight he was lucky Angelus was letting him come at all.

Settling more comfortably Spike bent to his task, dipping his head and flicking his tongue over the tip of the shaft in his hand. As always the first taste was overwhelming, full of Angelus' scent yet carrying with it a salty tang that could almost be called human, sending a flood of lust through his already aroused body. Fingers tangled in his hair pressing him insistently closer. He obliged, allowing himself to be guided into a rhythm that satisfied the man above him, alternately rubbing the soft steel flesh against his palate and granting it access into the deepest reaches of his throat. Lips, and occasionally teeth, caught and held, created suction and then released, his tongue danced fleetingly, firmly, sparingly, probing from base to ridged head. His hands, now freed, split their attention; one to the heavy sac that periodically collided with his chin, rolling and pinching the skin, stroking and stimulating the orbs within. The other, almost as an afterthought, catered to his own needs, moving automatically in a strong rhythm that slacked off when his threatened climax became distracting.

This was an activity he enjoyed, revelled in, even. Dru, Darla, Angelus. The who was irrelevant, it was the what and the how that mattered. There was power in it, despite his position, as witnessed by Angelus' continuous litany of murmured compliments, "So good," and "Never get enough of your mouth, boy". But it also carried the piety of self-denial when governed by his elder's rules; something that appealed to the remnants of William's temperate sensibilities.

It pleased the demon and the man, helping to bring them still closer together. His demon embraced some level of delayed gratification with masochistic glee, so long as the promise of reward was not held too far out of reach.

Angelus' thighs trembled and his balls tightened heralding his orgasm. Spike responded by deep throating him and swallowing, purring in his chest as he was rewarded with hitched panting breaths and a second hand tangling with the first in his hair. Pulling back slightly he suckled enthusiastically, working his own member with mindless desperation now he knew he wasn't to be denied this time. The second Angelus came Spike shuddered to his own completion, spilling his seed over the ground between them, his eyes closing in pleasured relief.

A deep groan from above prompted Spike to glance up. Angelus was staring down, his head inclined slightly to one side, eyes half lidded with pleasure, glittering gold, and apparently hypnotised by what he'd witnessed. Well aware of his abilities and the effect he was having, Spike raised an eyebrow cheekily and mugged around the softening cock in his mouth. For a second Angelus' eyes hardened and his grip on Spike's hair increased, then an answering grin broke across his face and the tug turned into a pat as he shook his head in amused resignation.

With a final and almost tender swipe of his tongue, Spike released him and rose to his feet. "That unobtrusive enough for you?" he asked facetiously, hauling up his dress trousers and undoing his coat and vest so he could fish for the lost ends of his suspenders. Angelus grunted a reply, too absorbed in repairing his dress to bother answering.

"I wouldn't concern yourselves. Drusilla and I have been watching for the past five minutes." Darla stepped out from her hiding place her eyes flashing with some level of annoyance well sauced with lascivious glee. "Only to ensure you weren't interrupted, of course. Though I think we can be certain that the Slayer herself would have had difficulties attracting your attentions." As Darla moved aside, Dru glided forward to hand over the garments that had been left behind during the rapid exit from the opera house.

Angelus accepted his gratefully, shrugging into his coat whilst studiously avoiding Spike's eyes. It was one thing for his women to be aware of Spike's submission to him and quite another for them to witness a - he hesitated at the phrase that sprung into his mind - moment of affection? Or anything that could be construed as a sign of weakness.

Pooh-poohing Angelus' concern, Darla explained, "Nothing. I simply told everyone that your younger brother was still suffering after a disastrous mission to the Arctic where he was trapped aboard ship for a full year with only the roughest of sailors for company. By the time I had finished spinning the tale the young ladies were queuing up to offer the poor unfortunate Vicomte their sympathies in person."

"Hah!" Spike chortled triumphantly. "So much for all your poofy `lessons de jours', Angelus. Got all the girls after me now." He grabbed Drusilla, who let out an excited shriek as he swung her round and planted a firm kiss on her lips. "Just as it should be. Bloody irresistible, I am." With an unspeakably arrogant smirk back at the two older vampires rendered speechless by the sudden mood swing from obedient fledgling to self-confident machismo, Spike took off running, still holding tightly to Dru's hand and heading towards the alleys and backwaters to find them both a decent meal.

Christine managed to reach her room before the tears fell, hard and hot down her cheeks. The Comte's rejection coming so hard on the heels of her terrible performance dragged her back into the pits of despair. Her inadequacy rose up to choke her, its grip on her throat preventing any but the most guttural sounds escaping her mouth.

The paper protruded from the corpse's mouth like an obscene parody of a tongue. Taking great care not to come into contact with any dead flesh Mercier reached out and tugged it free, flinching back as his actions caused Monsieur Gabriel's head to loll forwards. Around him gagging sounds arose from the room's other occupants as the movement exposed an empty cavernous mouth, stripped clean of its tongue. The manager averted his gaze and stepped back, eagerly putting some distance between himself and the body before turning his attentions to the letter. It was wet with pinkish saliva; a gruesome testament to the singing master's last living moments.

He would not see but I will show you. Christine will sing the part of Marguerite a week Friday. If you doubt my word or me, consider the object lesson suffered by this fool and believe otherwise, for others will follow where he cowardly led.

Even in her sleep Christine seemed to pull away from him as he entered her chamber. She was beautiful, her pale face relaxed and happy so unlike the tension that haunted her features during the daylight hours. Slowly he reached out a hand, tracing the contours of her body where they filled the soft sheets to alluring proportions. This would have to be done carefully to avoid scaring her but the reward would be worth it.

Christine rose from the bed, her sheer white night gown clinging to her breasts and hips, and placed her hand in his. Together they passed through the secret door, concealed behind the mirror and down into the depths of his lair.

She was beautiful and had a voice like an angel. Her hair shimmered in the limelight, a sheet of spun gold threaded with platinum, and the high notes of the aria were enough to move his unbeating heart to tears. Her eyes dominated her face, burning like the darkest, fiery coals and her vivacious coloratura made his unneeded breath catch in his throat.

The intermission crept up, surprising him with its appearance, and they left the privacy of their box, ostensibly for drinks but really to peruse the livestock. Chat up the fashionable crowd. As before, no one noticed, despite the high polish on the crystal, the numerous gold fittings and mirrors. They were just an unfilled space, a gap in the swirling silk, unrecognised by the stupid humans around them because the Comtess' presence had already been acknowledged by some. In a society accustomed to dispossessed junior royalty and the nouveau riche, they were worth courting and no one enquired too specifically as to their antecedence.

The greetings moved around them, bobbing heads and bended knees, accompanied by courtesies of varying degrees as the humans negotiated their status vis a vis these newcomers. Angelus couldn't have cared less, he was more interested in escaping backstage and hunting down dinner. With hundreds of employees and seventeen floors the Paris Opera House had indeed proved to be one of the richest furrows he'd ever ploughed. Added to that, there was always the chance of finding that exquisite little soprano and having a sip. Her blood should be as intoxicating as her voice. What was her name? Christa? Christine? From the moment Marguerite had appeared on the stage he'd had eyes for nothing and nobody else.

He met Darla's eyes through the fawning crowd and an unspoken communication passed between them. He would hunt. She would entertain. They would meet back in their box where he would share the fruits of his labour. A fun game, and one they had played a thousand times down through the years.

"Dru! Just bloody kill the thing and come back to bed." She pouted prettily at him before resuming her pursuit of the now hysterical child crawling round the bedroom floor. Spike sighed and settled back to sort through the contents of his ditty bag, planning to ignore her if she wouldn't do as she was bid. Darla and Angelus were hunting at the opera again, so he had been left at home babysitting Dru. Apparently he hadn't proved himself `unobtrusive' enough for them to risk taking him again.

His fingers closed automatically around the goddess figurine, the stone warm and smooth against his skin. It had proved a frustration, this piece, the diamond set so firmly it resisted his every attempt to pry it loose. He'd thought of selling it as it stood but somehow couldn't bring himself to part with the ugly little thing.

Seconds later the trinkets flew into the air when the little girl leapt on to the bed and burrowed under the covers. He reached down after her, grabbed an ankle and yanked her back out, yelping when her fingers dug into more vulnerable parts of his anatomy and tried to hang on.

"S'all right for you to say," Spike commented unhappily, splitting his attention between his assaulted manhood and his lover, now cradling the child in her arms as she rocked back and forth in a chair. "Wasn't your bits she…" Realising that Dru was no closer to finishing her dinner than she had been an hour ago he broke off the complaint and barked, "Are you eating it or not, `cos this is getting really boring. Every night since we got here it's been the same sodding tune. `Find me a treat, Spike.' `Catch me a baby'. This bedroom's seen more bloody kids than in yer average Sunday school."

Dru ignored him, focusing on the little girl now paralytic with fear, her face scrunched up and her cheeks streaked with drying tears. A red tipped nail traced its way down the side of her face as Dru sang, "Mummy will eat you, won't I kitten. Run and catch…"

The shadows wrapped around him as he took to the back ways, stalking the narrow staircases and haunting the rehearsal spaces, searching for an unwary dancer or a lonely stage hand. Golden eyes cutting through the darkness, still lungs and silent feet leaving the dust undisturbed in his wake. He found one, eventually. Fed quickly, efficiently. Stashed the body behind scenery that hadn't seen the stage for a decade and likely would never see it again. Then he resumed his journey. Ready now for what must be done. A visit to his golden haired coquette.

Then he heard it. The voice that haunted his every waking nightmare. Chased sleep from his weary eyes. Cast him down even in his moment of triumph. The creature that had stolen all his dreams and created the hollowed out mockery of a vampire he now was. "Is there a problem?"

"How very frustrating for you." Darla kept her expression deliberately bland. Long experience had taught her that trying to persuade Angelus away from these games simply made him play all the harder. "You did, however, feed."

Resisting the urge to reach over and thump him, Darla explained for what felt like the hundredth time. "She must be kept safe and happy. The babe must born healthy. You know this." She winced as her voice rose to a shrill protestation, hating herself for being so weak. It was bad enough that her role in this debacle had become common knowledge without Angelus starting to complain.

It was a beautiful suite, decorated in the highest Parisian fashion but it still felt like a prison. And no matter that Louis wanted her to stay here for her own protection until the birth, she found it hard not to resent her incarceration. At a familiar sound in the street outside, Lily shifted in her window seat and twitched the curtain aside, watching as Darla stepped down from the carriage. She stood next to it for a few moments, seemingly arguing with someone inside, and then Lily caught a quick glimpse of long dark hair before the door closed and the carriage drew away.

The Comte, then. The Comtess' husband. She'd only met him once or twice, though she often felt his hovering presence, and she couldn't say she liked him. He exuded a cold anger and his eyes… God! His eyes burned, sending her body into a near frenzy of fear and desire. He and Darla certainly made a magnificent couple; the passion raging between them was almost tangible.

Darla's gaze bounced around the room before coming to rest on Lily. But not on her face. That was something else Lily had noticed recently. Darla rarely looked at her anymore, and when she did her eyes lingered on Lily's protruding belly as if it contained the answer to some life-altering question.

Nodding, Darla moved around the room, fingering several ornaments before turning and saying somewhat nonchalantly, "You will not forget to send for me. When it starts. Louis would be most disappointed if I were unable to tell him directly that you are both well."

"Of course," Lily answered, suppressing a sudden shudder at the idea of Darla being anywhere near her when the baby was born. Years of mixing with the aristocracy had taught her to hide her feelings well and her visitor seemed not to notice. "And it cannot come quickly enough. I am starting to find the entire business troublesome."

For a split second Lily hesitated and Darla grimaced in irritation. She was losing the woman. Every tensed muscle and defensive gesture screamed Lily's unhappiness at being in her presence and the vampire wonder briefly if it was maternal instinct or something else that was alerting the human to the danger. As Lily made herself comfortable, presumably not an easy task for a woman so close to her confinement, Darla amused herself by spinning fantasies of what she would do once the brat was whelped. Starting with extracting Lily's fingernails and working up to removing her skin, one strip for each wasted hour and fruitless shilling.

Only one pair of eyes swivelled towards the door when Angelus voice sounded down the hallway, Drusilla was far too absorbed in her game of dress up. The game she'd started after getting bored with the tea party in the parlour.

"Yeah, I know. Make it up to you later, promise." Please love. Do this for me. I don't ask for much. And I'd give you the sodding world if that were what you wanted. Good arguments, all, though they would never make it further than his mind.

She sighed and acquiesced, rising fluidly to her feet and pottering out of the door. Spike waited until it closed behind her before fishing under his pillow for the bag Nicci had given him, tipping the contents out on the nightstand. He only had a couple of minutes to spare but even a clumsy preparation was better than none. One hand addressed his trousers as the other fumbled with the stopper and it crossed Spike's mind that he would have to nick some more soon, the bottle was nearly empty.

"Bugger it all, Angelus, give a bloke half a chance." Reaching back between his legs, he breathed deeply before pressing two well-oiled fingers home, wincing at the slight discomfort that still raced through his body every time. He'd like to have taken it slower - easier on himself in the short and the long term - but Angelus' voice was obvious in its irritation. And this was almost routine by now.

She floated into the salon, her mind obviously miles away and sidled up close, mesmerising him by running a single finger up his chest from waistband to collar. "Running along like a good little boy." Angelus frowned and lifted his head, gazing towards the door. "Ah, ah, ah. Naughty. No looking until I say so."

Angelus shuddered at her offer of his guilty pleasure and he bent his head, licking and suckling gently at her neck. Dru's fingers curled around his head, her sharp nails digging into his scalp as she pressed him closer. Just as he thought he'd won her over, she raked them deeply into his skin, pushing him away. And then, eyes rolling in her head she panted, "Knives and forks. We'll use the cutlery and have a loverly meal for two."

Irritated at the untimely interruption, Angelus glared at Spike who was hovering uncertainly in the doorway, and kept one hand firmly wrapped round Drusilla's waist. "Don't just stand there," he snapped eventually, when there was no perceptible ingress into the room. "Get in here and tidy up. Darla will throw a fit if they ruin the carpet."

Spike shuffled in and started to move the bodies, hauling them towards the hallway two at a time, all the while keeping his eye on the couple locked together in an embrace he had never seen the like of before. His gaze fixated on the blood staining Angelus' collar and the livid scratches decorating his face. When the corpses were stacked by the back door, he started to chuck them into the alley for the small pack of Kalladash demons to clean up before daybreak, grateful that their presence meant he no longer had to carry bodies down to the river.

The menial task finished, Spike locked up securely behind him and went looking for Angelus and Drusilla. The parlour was empty. So was the dining room. And the only sounds were coming from the first floor. He followed them only to discover the pair making out in the hallway, with Dru pinning Angelus against the wall.

It had taken over a year but Spike thought he had worked out how the family dynamic worked. It was all very simple. Angelus shagged Darla when she wanted it, Dru when he wanted it and Spike when he needed it. Darla screamed in ecstasy, Dru moaned in agony and Spike swore on everything that was unholy that he would do whatever Angelus wanted so long as the bastard let him come. The first was about lust, the second about ritual and the last about discipline. And Spike had been looking forward to tonight's punishment. He'd left the parlour in a state on purpose, willing to risk Darla's ire to get Angelus' attention except now Dru had stolen him. He glared balefully at the bedroom door that had been closed in his face and then slumped down the wall. This wasn't supposed to happen.

The sun was breasting the horizon when Darla swept back into the apartment heading directly for her rooms. Lily had been lucky tonight, if the girl wasn't so important in the overall scheme of things she would be no more than an interestingly coloured smear on the wall paper.

Stomping irritably and blinded by vicious thoughts she nearly tripped over her youngest family member huddled pathetically on the floor opposite his bedroom door. Annoyed and with nary a thought as to why Spike might be where he was, Darla bellowed for her lady's maid at the top of her voice.

"Madam?" Bethan slipped into the hallway behind her, dropping into a shallow curtsey when Darla gestured irritably at the heap of vampire on the floor. The minion's quiet lilting voice was full of righteous indignation when she answered. "I told him to move along, madam, but he snarled at me. Showed me his fangs he did and all because I said he was being silly."

For a while Darla simply hovered in the hallway, listening intently to the sounds emanating from the bedroom before heaving a sigh of frustration. "Leave us." She directed and noted with some satisfaction the girl's respectful bob as she retreated back into her own small chamber.

Spike nodded but didn't speak. That in and of itself was unusual. Normally shutting the fledgling up was the order of the day. More curious still was the fact that, apart from the nod, he hadn't moved for the entire time she'd been standing there. Not even to blink. Frowning, Darla knelt in front of him and pulled his face round so that he was looking at her rather than the door. His expression was dominated by red rimmed eyes that seemed confused maybe a little haunted. She knew exactly how to cheer him up. "My rooms? Brandy?" If in doubt get William drunk and laid.

Again he nodded and this time it was accompanied by a long slow blink that somehow acted as a screen for his feelings because, when his eyes opened again, all trace of discomposure had vanished. Hands rubbing rhythmically up and down his thighs, Spike took a deep breath and answered, "Yeah. Sounds good."

She stood and offered her hand, an unnecessary act but Darla was feeling generous tonight, towards family at least. He took it and rose, exerting only the slightest pressure and then, with a small bow, gestured for her to lead the way.

Spike studied the extremely seductive arse sashaying away under its taffeta bustle and shook his head. He'd have to be insensate to miss the obvious come on beneath the invitation. And did he care? The answer was no. He didn't. Dru and Angelus obviously preferred each other's company to his, leaving him with the far from onerous task of catering to the mistress of the house.

Darla glanced back over her shoulder and Spike could see her eyebrows raised in a silent question. He shrugged unrepentantly. It was a complementary enough comment that there was no need to get into the whys and wherefores of quoting verse at her and he certainly wasn't going to admit that sitting outside Dru's door had left him maudlin and nostalgic. A few snifters were exactly what he needed to get back in touch with his less milquetoast side and then they could move on to the more enjoyable part of the day's entertainment.

Half a bottle later he was recovered enough to catch Darla's hand when she passed him another drink and tug her gently onto his lap. She resisted momentarily and then capitulated under a gentle assault of open-mouthed kisses and licks placed carefully up the soft skin of her inner arm, tracing a path from wrist to elbow. "Taste better than the booze, love. Let me taste more?"

Anyone who calls blue a cold colour has never witnessed it tempered with the gold of demonic passion. The heat in Darla's eyes at his request outbid the fires of hell and more besides, and without a word she rose from his lap and stood before him, her pale skin glittering gold in the firelight. Their eyes locked, the challenge flying out from one to the other and a jolt of arousal that bordered on painful shot through Spike's body. With confidence borrowed from the bottom of a bottle he joined her, tentatively running his fingers along her jaw line and up to her ear, brushing aside gossamer strands of loose blonde hair. When she showed no opposition, he cupped her skull and lowered his lips to hers, letting them hardly touch at all, and wondering just how long Darla would let this continue. She responded, equally gently, their mouths ghosting and tasting, opening slightly until their tongues met, touched tip to tip and then danced. It wasn't quite the penny dreadful scenario he'd conjured for Angelus but it contained equally delicious elements.

She grasped his hand and pulled it to her breast, arching forwards against his touch and giving her tacit consent for this encounter to progress however he may. The velvet of her gown held an artificial warmth, forming the perfect contrast to the cool sleekness of her throat. Lips dancing attendance on her neck, Spike turned her slowly in his arms, nuzzling into her nape and allowing the merest hint of fang to caress the nuggets of her spine. His right hand busily roaming from breast to breast, the buttons securing Darla's gown succumbed to the devoted attentions of his left and as each luscious inch of milky skin was unveiled he dipped, kissed and tasted. Finally, and with a lover's sigh, the dress slid from her shoulders and dropped to the floor, a sunlit pool against the grassy hue of the carpet.

Spike followed, falling to his knees and grasping Darla's hips, pulling them towards him and burying his face in the small of her back. She tensed against him feeling ragged ivory slice through the ribbons and laces that fastened both corset and petticoats securely to her body. They quickly joined her gown creating a moat of fabric around her feet leaving her garbed only in sheer undergarments. Behind her Spike swiftly rose to the challenge, lifting her bodily into the air and depositing her down gently next to the chair. Just as carefully his hands stripped her of the muslin chemise and removed the pins from her hair.

Now he knelt before her, reaching up to undo the bow of one garter and sliding the silk stocking down her leg, his thumbs grazing sensuous circles as he dutifully folded it to prevent any unsightly catches and runs. He returned for the other and Darla raised her leg, resting her foot on his shoulder. Spike froze, and then breathed, leaning forward into her perfume, a hound drawn to the scent. When his cheek rubbed against her inner thigh Darla discovered she was breathing along with him, their synchronised inhalations the only sound in an otherwise silent room. The tension and anticipation twined around her and she found herself already reaching screaming pitch driven there by words unuttered and touches withheld.

The puff of air across her sex had Darla's hands scrambling for his shoulders and Spike couldn't resist the smirk that spread across his face. She was so ripe this woman, her quim bared before him juicy like forbidden fruit.

"Honeyed dewdrops, they are," he whispered, pausing to blow gently before continuing, "trapped in a web of delicious," - another tiny puff - "tasty," - a chaste kiss to her hip - "tantalising," - his finger traced the air around her lips - "promises." Darla gasped and clutched as his fingertip teased her clit so delicately he felt it twitch.

Then she fell backwards spreading her legs over the arms of the chair and Spike buried his face in her, their brief detour into care and gentleness subsumed by the urgency of lust and immediate gratification. His tongue probed between her folds, exploring from pink rose bud to the hard nubbin of desire that pulsed delightedly at the attention. He flicked lazily at it while his fingers painted complex patterns with her wetness on her inner thighs, occasionally dipping and swirling around her entrance.

Impatiently Darla tried to tug at his hair but he deftly avoided her, rising and pulling her forwards so her buttocks balanced on the edge of the upholstery. Remarkably she submitted when he pushed her thighs violently apart, lifting them high and wide enabling him to plunge in again, fucking her hard and fast with his tongue. His hands slunk up her body, discovering her breasts and filling his palms, fingers kneading and pressing until she was arching into them again, making his skin tingle from the promise of her. The air filled with small keening cries as he used his tongue like a sword, thrusting and parrying, searching her inner walls for her weak spot, that perfect place of pleasure.

He knew precisely when he'd found it because Darla's moans became loud cries and she ground down harder on his face, her fingers twisting in his hair until he was certain it would be ripped out in handfuls. His fingers responded, plucking her nipples with bruising ferocity. And then her flavour changed. Quickening from the deep musk of female arousal into something stronger, more fluid, and tangy with imminent orgasm. One final stab took her over the edge sobbing his name as she clamped around him and he drank her down, his own lust forgotten in the heady power of granting this gift.

Spike brought her down gently, bathing her luscious quim with his tired tongue, and feeling the tremble in her thighs as her muscles suffered through the aftershocks of pleasure. Their purrs twining as their hands met and grasped, Darla pulling him upward towards her breast. And much as it would have been pleasant to rest a while in her arms, Spike gave her no time to recover. Instead he hoisted her limp form in his arms and carried her the short distance to the bed, laying her carefully on the plump linen-covered pillows before shucking off his clothes and joining her.

Darla came back to the sensation of the bed dipping and someone - Spike? - straddling her chest. Lazily she cracked open her eyes and met his, stormy with contained arousal, edged with dark lashes and softened by a quizzical grin. She could see why. It was a little difficult to miss.

By all the rules of the game Darla knew she should turn him down and beat him insensible for such presumption. For a youngster such as this to take the dominant role with her was unthinkable. Her eyes narrowed and she could see the confidence drain from the man above her. His Adam's apple bobbed nervously and doubt skated across his face when she didn't respond.

On the other hand it had been a long time since Angelus had given her an orgasm of that intensity and there was only the two of them in the room, no one else need ever know. Darla was also willing to lay a substantial bet that Spike had never had anyone with her skills suck him before. It was time to show the boy what a professional could do.

Her tongue darting out to wet her lips followed hard on the heels of a wicked smile, both designed to cause maximum disquiet. It worked and Spike gulped audibly, remembering their previous encounters and started to back away. In one smooth move, Darla leaned up grasped his rump with both hands and engulfed his cock, taking it straight to the back of her throat.

"Holy hell!" Spike yelped, his palm slamming into the wall as he rocked forward, his other hand instinctively going to Darla's hair. Thankfully some remnant of good sense, or survival, prevailed and, instead of grabbing her and ramming deeper, he gripped the pillow hearing the delicate fabric tear under his fingers.

Darla was good. Not the best he'd had, Nicci still held that prize. Perhaps not even as good as Dru, because she actually seemed to give a damn about who she was doing. The thing about Darla, Spike thought, was that her assault was unrelenting. She fastened to his erection like the proverbial dog with its bone and Spike just knew that she wouldn't be letting go until he came.

Because the next minute she released him with a wet smack of her lips, flipped him onto his back and then really got down to business. Nothing was sacred under Darla's hands and mouth, nothing taboo, and somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind - the parts that weren't reduced to incoherent grunts and whimpers - Spike took it all back. Darla was better than Dru. Better than Nicci. And, as she dragged him along the precipice of orgasm for the umpteenth time in the same number of minutes, he suddenly realised precisely why Angelus had stayed with her for over a century. For the simple reason that Darla sucked dick like a pro. Her tongue and fingers explored all his parts, her teeth nibbled and nipped, sending him reeling between shivers of delight and howls of ecstasy.

And when she finally allowed him to spend only his shoulders and heels retained contact with the linen. His breath, nothing more than juddering heaving, scalded his throat. His fingers carved crescent moons into the palms of his hands and his vocal chords moved beyond screaming and into the realms of voiceless pleading as he arched in pursuit of her mouth. It was a lightening strike coursing through every nerve, the sun he was denied bursting behind his eyes. The petite morte which left him shuddering and uncomprehending in its wake. Wrung out, limp and - he flinched as Darla threw herself down beside him - Christ, overly sensitive to every gust of air that moved over his sluggish sated self. There was not one millimetre of his body that didn't feel used, plundered and ravaged. And, by god, it felt good.

Smug as a kitten Darla curled into the pillows, congratulating herself on the silence and the dazed expression she'd put on the normally effusive fledgling's face. When his breathing had settled back to nothing she reached out, running a single finger down his chest. The skin quivered under her touch and she smiled as he began to harden again. Oh yes, this would be an excellent day.

"Prince Louis sent you." Lily cast a disparaging eye over the young midshipman, as she played with her necklace, a delicate gold cross Louis had sent her the day before. The lad could be no more than twenty and obviously still uncomfortable in his dress uniform. Potentially his companion demanded more respect. Older and greying at the temples, he had the look of a government official and yet there was something distinctively military about his bearing.

There was something they were not telling her but as Lily opened her mouth to say as much, something stilled her, a coldness in Pryce's face that spoke of authority and danger. Lily suddenly understood that whatever it was they were not saying was best left unsaid and that it was in her interest to co-operate.

She watched Pryce thoughtfully as she furnished them with Darla's description, noting how his steel grey eyes grew harder at the mention of her friend's name. When she had finished he questioned her carefully, extracting every detail of their relationship including Darla's payment of her debts in London. By the end he seemed confused, as though he were expecting some snippet of information that had not appeared. His eyes kept returning to the cross at her neck and Lily fought the urge to glance down at it, thinking the necklace must have become tangled or broken under her inattentive fingers.

Eventually the cross-examination ceased and Pryce strode to the window, staring down at the street below where the shadows of late afternoon stretched from building to building. He was muttering to himself, too quietly to be understood though Lily picked up one or two phrases. "It has to be the child," and "Too bad the Slayer is in Greece." After several minutes, he seemed to come to a decision and turned to Lily, saying, "Please, madam, I need you to gather some things for a brief overnight visit. Tomorrow someone will be sent over to pack your remaining belongings."

She didn't get any further. Pryce drew himself up to his full imposing height and announced, "No, Mrs. Langtry. I expect you to leave this place before your `dear friend' returns to murder you and your unborn child in your bed."

The sun was long set by the time Darla roused enough to become aware of her surroundings. The room was warm, unusually so, though she didn't remember telling Bethan to light the fire, and the bed next to her was empty. Spike had left. Without her permission. That may require slight punishment later. Darla's tongue flicked out in anticipation and she tasted him on her lips. Such a flavoursome boy with all his secrets hidden away in his blood just waiting for her to prize them out. It was a knack, reading the blood, one she had never chosen to share with Angelus, preferring to conceal her true self behind human words. There were too many peccadilloes in her past that would leave her open to his cruel wit.

But it allowed her to know her family. Young William, his gentle sensibilities slowly being concealed by layers of bitterness and volatile anger. Dark and dangerous Drusilla, wrapped up in insanity until her demon sometimes struggled to function. And finally, her dearest darling boy. So ripe for the picking when she originally tasted him. Any doubts about his suitability as her companion vanished with that first burst of him in her mouth. As a human his self-involvement and callous disregard were remarkable, after he was turned he had done and shown her things that made the Master balk.

"Thought you might like breakfast in bed." Spike followed, closing the door behind him and aiming a kick at the motionless figure on the floor. "Sorry it's nothing fancy," he shrugged apologetically, glaring down at what now looked like an unworthy offering. "But I reckoned after yesterday… I dunno. Something was better than nothing, right?"

Darla bit back a smile at the earnestness in his voice. This was what she found so endearing about him. Despite everything he still held the deep-seated belief that he was the paterfamilias, caring and providing for the women around him. She stretched languorously, bathing in the heat from the roaring fire and commented, "I think `something' would be very welcome."

Sitting up in the bed, Darla wrapped her arms round her knees and rested her chin, looking at him quizzically. He shifted, uncomfortable and fidgety, his fingers unconsciously playing around the pocket of his jacket and beneath the scent of blood and human terror Darla could smell cigarettes.

He opened his mouth to deny everything only to grind to halt as Darla blinked and a familiar expression of exasperation fell over her face. Mutely he stared at her, wondering exactly how much she knew. She'd seen them in the alley, that much was certain, but Spike was fairly sure that Darla had only arrived after he'd gone down on Angelus, so that meant she hadn't seen… Had she?

Darla huffed and said, "Angelus has declared himself your sire and as such he is bound to use you as he will. Spike, even if I hadn't seen you that day in London I would have known the minute you arrived in Jersey. You reeked of him then and have done several times since." Through the sour taste of humiliation and embarrassment, Spike did manage to register the irritation in Darla's voice as if she resented having to explain things - again. "Then of course there was this morning."

"Spike!" This time Darla actually snapped. "Surprisingly the thought of Angelus fucking you does not shock me. I am neither one of your mother's bridge partners nor do I need protecting, coddling or…or feeding." She gestured dismissively at his gift, which chose that precise moment to throw up on her precious carpet. Holding her breath, to avoid the sudden stench of regurgitated alcohol and in a probably vain attempt to control her temper, she added, "However I would be extremely grateful if you would remove it from the bedroom."

"Oh, yeah. Right then." Grabbing the human by the ankles Spike proceeded to drag it towards the door. Unfortunately the movement only exacerbated the problem and several extra puddles were deposited before he managed to get as far as the polished wooden floor of the hallway.

Darla slid off the bed, grabbed her robe and picked her way carefully after him. In the doorway she paused briefly watching and then listening to their progress down to street level, complete with accompanying curses and thumps. She only hoped the boy had the sense to stick some chains on the thing and stash it somewhere for later.

And that was a perfect illustration of precisely why Spike drove the entire family up the wall, Darla thought to herself as she called for Bethan to clear up the mess. Despite Angelus' repeated attempts to get through to him the youngster never considered the implications of his actions. It was a habit they had to break with the greatest urgency or he would bring disaster down on all their heads. Especially with Lily's baby due so soon and all of Paris under the Master's watchful eye. They couldn't afford stupid and unnecessary risks.

On his way back up the stairs Spike lurked outside Dru's room, pressing his ear to the door in the hopes of hearing something other than silence. There was nothing. Whatever they had been doing together had obviously been enough to make them sleep straight through the call of nightfall.

Darla's voice next to him made Spike jump and he spun round guiltily, searching for an explanation as to why he had been eavesdropping. "I was… I was just wondering about fetching up some water for Dru. You know. Clean her up a bit before we go out."

He followed her back to her room determined to get a straight answer and found Bethan mopping the floor. The minion gestured to the balcony where the figure of Darla was back-lit by gaslight and Spike nodded a brief thanks before joining her.

Stepping over the threshold he took a deep breath. The Paris air was sweet and fresh in the spring, redolent of new growth and flowers and infinitely more pleasant than London which managed to veer from damp chill to oppressive heat with pitifully few fine nights thrown between them.

Darla was staring out over the city, immersed in thought, her face fraught with worry. It was a curious expression to see and it vanished the moment she sensed Spike standing near her. For a long while they remained silent, Spike wondering how to broach the subject of Angelus and Dru, and Darla considering the implications of her sire discovering her treachery.

Darla glanced sideways at the fledgling and smiled wryly at his continued confusion. Sometimes William was such an innocent. "Come," she ordered, leaping easily onto the balustrade and swinging out across the front of the building, her robe a midnight train behind her.

With only the slightest hesitation Spike hurried after her, struggling to maintain her pace as she easily scaled the sheer frontage to the roof five floors above. Once there Darla did not hesitate for a moment, racing across the tiles and gracefully descending the other side until she came to rest next to another window. Spike's descent was less elegant and he was grateful for the hand that grabbed him as his grip failed at a crucial moment and he nearly plummeted headfirst to the ground. Vampire or no, that would have hurt.

Spike complied and was immediately thankful that the room faced north and was well sheltered by trees or the occupants would have been ashes by now. Only when that shock had passed did the details of what he was seeing start to penetrate.

The chest in the corner was open and spread around it were various restraints and whips Angelus kept for those occasion when he `played' with Dru. On the nightstand lay the stubs of two candles, scarlet wax spilling in frozen cascades over the light coloured wood. The rug adjacent to the bed harboured its own share of toys including a gag and an exquisite bone handled knife, both smeared in blood. Next to them Drusilla lay curled on the floor, fast asleep, her face and clothing covered in sprays of blood, looking exhausted yet strangely content.

But it was to Angelus that Spike's senses were drawn, because he was the source of the alluring scent. The older vampire was chained to the bed and presumably naked, although a gore splattered sheet obscured his lower body. Crimson lines, shocking against pale skin, covered his torso and although it should have been obvious it took a while for Spike to connect the marks with the knife on the floor. The knife that lay by Dru's hand.

Luckily Darla seemed to understand and she gestured to the sleeping couple. "It has been many years since Angelus could give his demon free rein. Like any master vampire he spends all his time staying guarded and in control. This `game' allows him freedom he cannot find elsewhere."

In that instant Spike made a decision. Whatever the future held, however powerful he became, he would never, ever, put his demon on such a leash. What the hell was the point in being undead if you didn't live enough to enjoy it?

Darla left him there, deep in thought as he gazed through the window. She returned to her room alone to prepare for another visit to Lily. If what she had read in Spike's blood was true she would have to be more solicitous of the woman however much she annoyed her. Drusilla's visions were rarely wrong.

Being a sensible sort of a chap who wasn't enamoured by clambering around on roofs when there were perfectly good doors to use, Spike took the slightly longer but easier route back into the apartment. Having taken the time out to smoke a cigarette on the way, he found Darla's door firmly shut and took the hint, his presence was no longer required.

The dining room offered up its usual supply of alcohol, regularly replenished from Angelus' seemingly bottomless supplies of money, and he sank thankfully into a chair with a bottle of red wine and a glass. There were definite advantages to being in Paris and the availability of decent wine was one of them. The other was being able to speak the language. French had been compulsory at school, often heard at university and his mother and sisters had spoken it at home, keeping it fresh in his mind.

Angelus didn't respond and Spike forced himself to remain motionless, eyes fixed on the floor until, painfully slowly, the tension dissipated. In its place grew an uncomfortable silence that Angelus eventually broke by reiterating his order for his charge to dress for an evening at the opera.

The apartment lay in total darkness, not even a scrap of light glimmered from inside. Which was strange. Customarily Lily had a lamp lit in every room and numerous candles besides, almost as though she were afraid of the night. Darla smiled, or maybe it was the things that dwelt within it.

Her gloating was short lived as she listened at the door and realised that not only was the apartment dark, it was empty. The lock gave easily under her grip and the vampire took a tentative step forward, somewhat relieved she could still enter. Perhaps Lily had simply gone out for the evening? She scented the air and a growl rose involuntarily in her throat.

Another step forward and a dull thunk came from down the hall. Darla flung herself sideways just in time to avoid the crossbow bolt that ricocheted off the door and buried itself in the floor showering her dress with small splinters.

Her demon face to the fore and with every sense straining, Darla edged her way further in the direction of Lily's private rooms. It was there she hoped to find some clue as to why the woman had left at such a crucial time. Surely the word of a Watcher alone would not have been enough and they were typically a reticent bunch when it came to sharing information about the supernatural.